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Cccentric ^Mirror: 

A faithful and interesting Delineation of 



Who hive been particularly distinguished by extraordinary 

Natural or Acquired, 
Comprehending singular Instances of 





BODY, &c. &c. &c. 

With a faithful Narration of 

Manifested intlie Livesand Conduct of Characters who have rendered themselves 
eminently conspicuous by their Eccentricities. 

The U'hole exhibiting an interesting and f 



Grand Theatre of the World. 

Collected and re-collected, from the most authentic Sources, 



VOL. ir. 

lottBctt : 

Ivy Lane , Paternoster-Row 





FEW countries can produce such numerous in- 
stances of extraordinary longevity as the British 
islands, which afford incontestible proof of the 
healthiness of their climate. Among these ex- 
amples, the most remarkable is, perhaps, that of 
Henry Jenkins, who attained the patriarchal age 
of 169 years. The only account now extant of 
this venerable man is that given by Mrs. Anne 
Saville, who resided at Bolton,in Yorkshire, where 
Jenkins lived, and had frequent opportunities of 
seeing and conversing with him. 

" When I came," says she, to live at Bolton, 
I was told several particulars of the great age of 
Henry Jenkins ; but I believed little of the story 
for many years, till one day he coming to beg 
an alms, I desired him to tell me truly how old 
he was. He paused a little, and then said, that 
to the best of his remembrance, he was about 162 
or 3; and I asked, what kings he remembered* 
He said, Henry VIII. I asked what public thing 

VOL. H. .NO. J 1.. A. 


lie could longest remember r he said Flowdcn- 
iield. I asked whether the king was there? he 
said. No; he was in Trance, and the earl of Surry 
was general. I asked him how old he might be 
then; he said, I believe I might be between 1O 
said 12; for, says he, I was sent to Northallerton 
with, a horse-load of arrows, but they sent a big- 
ger boy from thence to the army with them. 
All this agreed with the history of that time ; for 
bows and arrows were then used, the earl he 
named was general, and king Henry VIII. was 
then at Tournay. And yet it is observable that 
Jhis Jenkins could neither read nor write. There 
were also four or five in the same parish that 
vere reputed all of them to be 100 years old, or 
within two or three years of it, and they all said 
lie was an elderly man ever since they knew him; 
for he born in another parish, and before 
any registers were in churches, as it is said. He 
told me then too that he was butler to the lord 
t'onyers, and remembered the Abbot of Foun- 
tains abbey very well before the dissolution of 
the monasteries. "Henry Jenkins departed this 
lite, December 8, Ifi/O, at Ellcrton upon Swale 
in Yorkshire. The battle of Flowden-field was 
fought September {), 1513, and he was 12 years 
old, when Flowden-field was fought. So that 
this Henry Jenkins lived 16'9 years, viz. 1 6 years 
longer than old Parr, and was, it is supposed, 
the oldest man born upon the ruins of the post- 
diluvian world. 

u In the last century of his life he was a fisher- 


man r and used to trade in the streams: his diet 
was coarse and sour, and towards the latter end 
of' his days he begged up and down. He has 
sworn in Chancery, and other courts, to above 
140 years memory, and was often at the assizes 
at York, whither he generally went on foot; and 
I have heard some of the country gentlemen af- 
firm, that he frequently swam in the rivers after 
he was past the age of 100 years. In the king's 
remembrancer's office in the Exchequer, is a re- 
cord of a deposition in a cause by English bill, 
between Anthony Clark and Smirkson, taken 
1665, at Kettering in Yorkshire, where Henry 
Jenkins, of Ellerton upon Swale, labourer aged 

157 years, was produced and deposed as a wit- 



About seventy years after his death a monu- 
ment was erected at Bolton, by a subscription of 
the parishioners to perpetuate the memory of 
this remarkable man. Upon it was engraved thia 
inscription : 

" Blush not marble to rescue from oblivion the 
memory of Henry Jenkins, a person of obscure 
birth, but of a life truly memorable : for he wns 
enriched with the goods of nature, if not of for- 
tune, and happy in the duration, if not variety 
of his enjoyments : and though the partial world 
despised and disregarded his low and humble 
state-t the equal eye of Providence beheld and 
blessed it with a patriarch's health and length of 
days, to teach mistaken man these blessings are 
entailed on temperance, a life of labour, and a 
A 3 


mind at case. He lived to the amazing age of 
*69. Was interred here, Dec. 1 6, 1070, and 
,Vad this justice done to his memory, 1743*" 


MARIA Eleonora Schoning was the daughter of 
a mechanic at N urn berg, in Germany. The life 
of her mother was sacrificed in giving birth to her 
child. She had the misfortune to k>se her father 
at an age when females are most environed with 
da-ngers, when seduction employs all its arts to 
destroy their innocence and peace of mind. She 
tras not mor6 than seventeen when she buried 
him. Ever since her thirteenth year she had 
been the only attendant on her beloved parent, 
whom a paralytic seizure, and the loss of the 
use of his limbs confined to his bed. This long 
period of the best years of her youth Mariu 
passed beside the bed of sickness, without ever 
beholding the face of heaven, except when she 
went abroad for medicines or food. She had not 
entered a place of divine worship since the day 
sbe was confirmed. The duties of a nurse occu- 
pied all her time. She fomented his aching 
limbs, lifted the helpless old man in her yet fecnie 
arms to and from his sick-bed; and had to at- 
tend to all the domestic concerns. Day after 
day Maria manifested the same patience, wil- 
lingucss, and indefatigable assiduity, and watchsti 



during many a tedious night, in which the groans 
of the sufferer called her to- his bed. Her youth 
was spent in grief; she grew up in tears, a stran- 
ger to the pleasures of childhood and the harm- 
less sports of youthf The last words pronounced 
by her expiring father were addressed to his con- 
fessor. " My dear Maria, said he, has treated 
me like an angel, during my whole log afflic- 
tion ; the most disagreeable offices never 'ex- 
torted from her a look of discontent; her eye 
never met mine, hut it beamed with compassion, 
or was suffused with tears for my sufferings. 
God," he exclaimed " will reward my excellent 
girl for her dutiful attention to me ! M He said 
and closed his lips for ever. His wish may be 
fulfilled in eternity, in this world the confident 
hope of the expiring parent remained unaccom- 
plished. .. 

Maria still sat weeping after the bier, on which 
her father, her friend, the only bond that united 
her to the world, the object of her cares, and 
the hope of her future joys, was carried to the 
grave. The last doleful tolls of the bell were 
still accompanying her lamentations, when two 
tax-officers, entered the house, and demanded the 
papers of the deceased, that they might ascer- 
tain whether he had always paid a sum conform- 
able to his oath and his property. 

It should here be observed, that the taxes paid 

by the inhabitants of Niirnberg were originally a 

voluntary contribution, each giving according 

-to his inclination and circumstances. Ai the be- 

A 3 


ginning of ihe fifteenth century a certain stan- 
dard was fixed, and at present each citizen is an- 
nually obliged to take an oath that the sum paid 
by him is duly proportionate to his property. 
At his death the tax office has a right to inspect 
his books, and to examine whether his contri- 
bution was always, in proportion to his real pro- 
perty. If they find ihe contrary, if the deceased 
was not scrupulously exact, even to the merest 
trifle, all that he leaves behind is confiscated; and 
in spite of wife or family, the city exchequer be- 
comes his heir. After tins little explanation*, 
which the reader will not think unnecessary, we 
proceed with the narrative. 

After the few documents had been examined 
and compared with the registers of taxes, the 
spies of justice declared they had found facts suf- 
ficient to prove, that the deceased had not paid 
a sum proportionate to his circumstances; which 
consequently imposed on them the duty of 
placing all the pioperty he had left behind under 
lock and seal, and requesting the young lady to 
retire to an empty apartment till the tax-office 
should have decided the business. 

Maria, grown up amid privations, accustomed 
to compliance, the easily intimidated Maria, 
readily obeyed. She hastened to the emptiest 
garret, leaving the officers unmolested to put 
seals upon the doors, and to convey to the tax- 
office all the papers they could find. 

Tsight came on, when Maria, exhausted with, 
fatigue and weeping, sought a place of repose. 


She found the door of her chamber sealed, and 
was obliged to pass the night in the garret upon 
the floor. A few days elapsed before the officers 
returned, and directed Maria to leave the house, 
adding that the commissioners had adjudged the 
property left by the deceased to the city-exche- 
quer, as it had been proved that her father had 
defrauded the city in the payment of his taxes, 
and had not contributed in proportion to his cir- 
cumstances. The deceased, before his illness, 
was by no means rich, but he lived in good re- 
pute, had no debts, and was able to pay in ready 
money for the raw materials which he wanted for 
his business. Three years of indisposition had 
indeed consumed the greatest part of the fruits 
of his industry; but still a sufficiency was left, 
not only to secure his daughter from immediate 
want, hut to maintain her, in the economical 
manner to which she was accustomed till she 
should obtain some situation or other, and have 
become better acquainted with the world. Such 
was the idea that administered consolation to her 
expiring father. A being whose past existence 
had consisted of a series of sorrows and painful 
privations, whose life had been an uninterrupted 
scene of affliction, was incapable of pleading in 
her own behalf. Struck dumb with terror and 
astonishment, like a dove driven from the ma- 
ternal nest, Maria found herself thrust out of 
her father's house, and the door shut against her. 
All her riches consisted in the clothes she had 
on ; her pocket afforded not one solitary penny. 


She had no relations to who'n she could apply; 
for those of her mother had never concerned 
themselves about her, and her father was a native 
of Lower Saxony. She had no acquaintance, as 
all her father's friends had deserted him at the be- 
ginning of his illness; no companion, for who 
would associate with a sick-nurse ? Never was 
human being more solitary and forlorn in the 
midst of its fellow-creatures, than was this inno- 
cent girl, who was now a houseless wanderer in an 
extensive city, in which her exemplary conduct, 
her filial tenderness and mild virtues/ had they 
been known, must have commanded the admira- 
tion and esteem of every generous mind. 

Night drew on apace, and Maria knew not 
"where to find a shelter. With tottering step she 
went to St. James's church-yard, where reposed 
the ashes of her father; she threw herself upon 
the bare hillock that covered them ; she resigned 
herself a prey to grief; and had it been possible 
for despair and distress to have burst the bonds 
\vhich attached her to life, Maria would that 
night have been released from all her misery. 

The morning dawned over the city; the streets 
began to be thronged ; the bell rnng for morn- 
ing piayer, and the'grating of the church-doors, 
ronzed the disconsolate maiden from death-like 
stupor. The bashful unfortunate hastened from 
the grave; she concluded that men who had 
driven her from her home, and from every thing 
that had belonged to her father, would certainly 
not suffer her to linger on the turf that covered 


his relics. She left the church-yard, paced slowly 
through the city gate, and threw herself under a 
hedge, to spend the coining day, as she had done 
the preceding night, in tears. 

Slowly crept the hours of this dismal day for the 
wretched Maria. Night approached, and hunger 
drove back the sufferer into a. place which had 
robbed her of every thing but her wretchedness, 
where she had nothing left but a life that she 
would most joyfully have resigned. She had not 
the courage to beg, and to the idea of stealing 
her innocent soul was a stranger. The last glim- 
mer of evening found her again at the grave ot 
her father. 

The church-yards of most of the German ci- 
ties are equally pernicious to morals and to 
health. They have lost the venerable character 
by which they were formerly distinguished; their 
loneliness and solitude render them the undis- 
turbed haunts of vice and beastly depravity. It 
was close beside the grave of her father that Ma- 
ria fell a prey to a roving debauchee. The bru- 
tal monster took advantage of her situation, and 
the purest innocence lost that jewel which the 
emaciated Maria, half- dead with hunger, watch- 
ing and grief, had neither the strength nor the 
spirit to defend. Fate seemed to be in league 
with her ravisher, and to have paralysed with 
malignant officiousness the faculties both of her 
body and mind, while he perpetrated the crime. 
It was one of those nights of autumn in which 


the villain had no occasion to exclaim with Lady 

Come thick night 

And pall fhee in the dunnest smoke of hell, 
That my keen knife see not the wound it makfs, 
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark 
loco Hold, hold! 

An awful silence pervaded the church-yard; 
all the creatures of day had retired to rest; Na- 
ture seemed wrapped in the sleep of death. No- 
thing was heard amid this grave-like stillness, 
save the flight of a solitary bat, the hooting of 
the screech-owl, or the rattling of " chapless" 
skulls in the neighboring charnel-house. 

Maria sat upon the grave of her father : the con- 
sciousness of her degradation, a sentiment which 
it was impossible to suppress, had stupefied all 
her senses. Her father, knowing what snares are 
laid in this deceitful world for female virtue, had 
often warned his daughter to beware of them, and 
had made her acquainted with the trials to which 
her innocence would be exposed. She was, 
therefore, fully sensible of her loss. Amid the 
impenetrable gloom in which she was enveloped, 
the times past appeared in lively colors before her 
eyes, unsusceptible of any external impression. 
She beheld her sick, her emaciated parent, with 
uplifted hands, conjuring her to preserve her in- 
nocence, if she would not destroy his repose, of 
which he had enjoyed so small a portion in this 


world, even beyond the grave. She imagined 
that she heard his dying voice, ascending from 
his tomb, and pronouncing these words : f< Be- 
gone, wretch ; leave a place where thou hast de- 
voted thyself to infamy ; thy innocence was sa- 
crificed on the grave of thy father." 

This imaginary denunciation of her departed 
father, together with the dreadful darkness of the 
night, and its spectre-like attendants, terrified to 
the highest degree, the already dismayed Maria. 
She fled as though infernal spirits were driving 
her from the church-yard. She had not pro- 
ceeded far, when -she was stopped by the watch- 
men, to whom she was a welcome prize, as they 
receive a piece of money, of about the value of a 
shilling, for every girl they find abroad after ten 
o'clock. It was midnight, and Maria was con- 
veyed to the nearest watch-house. 

Being carried the next day before the magis- 
trate, a haughty an,d imperious man, he up- 
braided her in the harshest terms as a public 
prostitute. This unjust reproach had such an 
effect on the innocent creature, who, notwith- 
standing the last guilty night, had no reason to 
blush for any criminal propensity of her heart or 
will, as though she were seized by the icy hand of 
death. She swooned, and it was not without 
great difficulty that the officers of the police re- 
stored her to her senses. The magistrate having 
farther reprimanded her, dismissed her with the 
threat that the next time she should be brought 

VOL.2. NO. 41. B 


before him, he would send her with a smart lec- 
ture into the house of correction. 

Maria's heart torn by this cruel treatment, and 
by her own recollections,, now formed a resolution 
which could not have arisen in her gentle mind,, 
had it not been engendered by the contempt she 
felt for herself. The events of the past night; 
the harsh hehavior of the magistrate ; the dis- 
graceful appellation which he applied to her, and 
which she thought she merited ; her forlorn con- 
dition all these contributed to inspire the reso- 
lution of drowning herself. With this design 
she hastened out of the town towards the river 

As she passed through the suburb of Wordt, 
she met a soldier's wife, who, in her father's life- 
time, had assisted her in various domestic occu- 
pations that were too heavy for her strength. 
She was startled by the appearance of the girl, 
whom she addressed in a. friendly tone, enquiring 
how she did, and what brought her so far from 
home. To a being driven about as she had been 
by the blasts of misfortune, the tone of tender- 
ness was a cordial. These were the first words, 
sweetened with humanity that any human crea- 
ture had spoken to her, since those of her ex- 
piring father. Her dormant sensibilities were 
awakened." With impassioned fervor she threw 
her arms around the woman, whose looks and 
words were so expressive of sympathy and affec- 
tion. With difficulty she gave her an account, 


interrupted by sobs and tears, of her misfortunes, 
her sufferings, and her resolution. The good 
woman wept with her, pressed the wretched or- 
phan to her heart, and inlreated her in the ten- 
derest manner, to relinquish her melancholy in- 
tention, as by taking away her own life, she 
would deprive herself of all hope of eternal feli- 

Maria was pliable, timid, and open to religi- 
ous impressions ; it required not much persuasi- 
on to induce her to abstain from an action at 
which her heart trembled, and which her religi-, 
on condemned. She accompanied her guardiat> 
angel, Whose name was HUrlin, to her habitation, 
at no great distance. 

This honest woman was, likewise, one of those 
whose whole existence is a continued series of 
affliction and'distress ; for whom the world has 
no other balm than sleep, no other physician 
than death. She was married to one of the cit} r - 
soldiers, who had been long ill and confined to 
his bed. Two young children constituted all her 
riches; she maintained herself and family by 
washing, and a difficult task she found it to pro- 
vide bread for four persons. She had several 
times, by want of work, and the cries of the 
hungry children been driven to the brink of des- 
pair, and had been on the point of putting one 
of her children to death, that she might herself 
be relieved from the burden of life. This she 
thought Would be a remedy for all their wants; 
the remaining child would be placed in the or- 


phah house and her husband in the hospital, 
while her execution would reconcile her with 
God, and she shoirkl be happy with her mur- 
dered infant. These tragical ideas she commu- 
nicated to Maria, on whose mind they made a 
deep impression. In a subsequent conversation 
on the same subject, she declared herself incapa- 
ble of conceiving how it was possible to take away 
the life of any human creature, and in particu- 
lar, of an innocent child. " And for that very 
Reason, because it is innocent, I would send it 
before me out of the world, in which no plea- 
sures await it. Do you suppose I would chuse to 
suffer for the sake of a bad child ? On that ac- 
count, too, I would take Nanny with me, be- 
cause she was always so dutiful and so good ; 
but as for Frank, he has already learned some 
tricks, and is fitter for the world." This answer 
frightened the tender Maria, who hugged the 
children closely in her arms, as though she 
would protect them from their mother. 

The woman, whose poverty was equalled only 
by her hospitality, kept the forlorn orphan in 
her house. She redoubled her efforts to procure 
\vork, in which Maria was her faithful assistant. 
Thus these hapless mortals passed the summer ; 
they were never in absolute want of the most 
necessary articles of subsistence, though thir 
supply was indeed but scanty. 

Winter arrived, and brought with it a season of 
dreadful affliction for this wretched family. Har- 
liri herself fell ill : grief and hard labour had ex- 


hausted her strength, and symptoms of a con- 
sumption began to appear. Maria strained every 
nerve to support her friend and her family; but 
this far exceeded her ability. She neither pos- 
sessed the boldness, nor the persuasive faculties 
that are requisite for the procuring of employ- 
ment ; and hence, with the best inclination in 
the world to work, she was often obliged to 
keep holiday. Every article of the least value 
was sold or pawned and the house was stripped 
as Dare by the iron hand of necessity, as were 
the adjacent gardens and the neighbouring wood 
by the rigors of winter. 

Spring was not far distant when HUrlin began 
to amend. She wanted nothing but strength ; she 
could not hold herself upright. The physician had 
directed her to take nourishing food, and a little 
wine daily, assuring her that if she adhered to this 
diet, her health would soon be restored. Maria was 
present when the physician gave her this consola- 
tory intelligence ; she rejoiced for the first time 
in her life ; it was the first and the last pleasing 
illusion that her soul ever cherished. Her 
thoughts were wholly occupied in devising 
how to procure her friend the prescribed refresh- 
ments ; but in vain did she rack her invention, 
no method, no opportunity of effecting this ob- 
ject could she discover. 

Harlin gradually grew weaker, and at the same 
time inore silent and pensive. When Maria ob- 
served her thus lost in thought, she conceived 
that her despairing friend was brooding over the 


plan of murdering her child, in order to put an 

i to her, own life. This apprehension gave in- 

-slble pain to the excellent girl; and so 

i more as the little creatures clung about 

her with the most chijdlike attachment, and the 

tei:dfci Maria felt a love and affection for them 

as strong as though she had herself been their 


Under these cruel circumstances, arrived tb 
day pregnant with her fate. On that day none 
of the miserable family had a morsel to eat. 
Night came on and their teeth chattered with 
the cold. The children cried for bread. Maria sat 
beside the straw bed of her friend ; who uttered 
not a syllable, no, not even a sigh. The sor- 
rowful Maria grasped her hand ; it was shrunk, 
cold and lifeless. She stroked her cheek, adown 
which trickled big, heavy tears. She asked, 
whether she was in much pain, but obtained no 
answer. Maria's heart was ready to burst ; she 
was on the brink of despair. A courage not her 
own animated her sonl. In this state, so contrary 
to her nature, she conceived the idea of saving 
her friend at the expence of her own person. 
She hastened, as if impelled by a supernatural 
power, to put it into execution. 

She recollected that the ravisher of her inno- 
cence had been desirous of expiating his offence 
by the offer of money. Maria formed the pain- 
ful resolution of seeking to earn something in 
the same way, and of relieving her friend with 
the produce of her guilt. It was now dark ; she 


went into the city, but durst not venture to ap- 
proach the church-yard in which her father was 
interred. She repaired to other lonely situations, 
but not a creature did she meet with. The wea- 
ther was unfavorable ; the snow fell fast, and a 
tempestuous wind howled through the streets. 
No night could have been more perfectly adapt- 
ed to cool the passions of the debauchee. Poor 
Maria, how cruelly wast thou treated by froward 
fate ! In pious simplicity thou kneltst at the 
grave of thy father, virtuous and pure, and thy 
innocence became the prey of a brutal ravisher. 
Thou sinnedst without inclination, without en 4 - 
joyment, without resistance. Sorrow, hunger, 
and want had deprived thee of energy, and thy 
nerves of the power both of acquiescence and of 
resistance. Nature and man were leagued to af- 
fect the dishonor of the pure, of the spotless 
Maria. Now, when the unfortunate creature, 
who thoroughly despised, herself, was excited to 
a repetition of the guilty deed by the virtuous 
motive of* saving four of her fellow creatures 
from starving, she could find no opportunity of 
committing this magnanimous crime. She con- 
tinued to wander through the streets. The tempest 
howled with increased fury; the snow was now 
of considerable depth ; breathless and fatigued 
she sought shelter beneath a shed. Into a corner 
of this building a watchman had crept for refuge 
from the rigors of the night. To him she was a 
welcome guest, and in a trice she found herself 
ia the watch-house. 


The next morning she was carried before the 
same hard-hearted magistrate as had treated her 
so roughly on a former occasion. He sent her with- 
out any father ceremony to the house of correc- 
tion, ordering at the same time that she should 
receive the usual welcome. On her arrival, she 
was directed to wait in the front court-yard. 
The master of the house appeared, tied her to a 
post, and prepared to inflict on her the severe 
discipline of the whip. She begged, she intreated, 
sh.e screamed, she made all the opposition in her 
power but in vain. Seeing no chance of escap- 
ing the disgraceful punishment she exclaimed in 
a fit of despair: 'Stop! I deserve a very diffe- 
rent punishment; I have murdered an infant 
child." " That, to be sure, is a different affair ;" 
said the man, unbinding her. He immediately 
sent an account of the circumstance to the city- 
judge. An officer presently appeared, examined 
the girl concerning the crime of which she ac- 
eused herself, and as she persisted in her first 
declaration, she was conveyed as a murderer to 

In a few days sbe was brought up for a 
closer examination. It was represented to her 
that she could not have committed the crime 
alone, and without accomplices, as she could not 
have gone out immediately after her delivery to 
dispose of the child. She then acknowledged 
that Harlin was privy to the whole affair, that 
she had assisted her at the birth, and had buried 
the child in the wood. From the beginning of 


ker confinement, Maria had cherished the idea of 
involving her friend in her fate. She wished to 
help her out of the world, and to spare her the 
necessity of perpetrating the crime of murder; 
and the present opportunity appeared too fa 
vorable to be neglected. Full of this thought 
she heartily rejoiced at the service which she 
should thus render to her friend. 

HUrlin was at this time too ill to he removed 
to the prison : an officer was therefore placed 
over her in her own house. When she was 
so far recovered as to be able to go abroad she 
was confronted with Maria; who repeated her 
former declaration in her presence. " For God's 
sake Maria, how have I deserved this treat- 
ment?" was all the reply that the astonished wo- 
man was able to make. She denied the whole, 
and to every question of the judge, she returned 
no other answer than" I know nothing of thfe 
matter." The two prisoners were repeatedly ex- 
aniined in the presence of each other ; the same 
scene was invariably exhibited, Maria persisting 
stedfastly in her declaration, and HUrlin in her 
denial of the fact. 

At the fifth examination, HUrlin was threaten- 
ed with the torture; the instruments were 
brought, and arranged by the executioner; and 
she was warned for the last time either to con- 
fess at once, or to prepare for inevitable torture. 
This menace terrified poor Maria in the highest 
degree: a convulsive agony shook her whole 
frame. She was desirous of releasing her friend 


from a life of misery, wot to draw down upon 
her unavailing torment. She hoped to be her 
benefactress ; she now looked upon herself as her 
executioner. She stepped hastily towards her, 
and presssing her bounden hands between her 
own: " Hannah! dear Hannah !" she exclaimed, 
" All will be provided for, ai>d Nanny too will 
be put into the orphan-house!" 

Maria's motive instantly flashed like lightning 
upon the mind of Harlin. She now saw with grate- 
ful emotion, the benevolent design of her friend, 
which, without the perpetration of guilt, would 
remove them into eternity. With cheerfulness 
and courage she now addressed herself to the 
judge. She acknowledged herself to blame in 
having so long denied the charge, and confessed 
that Maria's declaration was perfectly consist- 
ent with truth. Aa the prisoners adhered with- 
out variation to this confession, an early day 
was appointed for their trial, and they were both 
sentenced to be beheaded. 

The day before the execution the two delin- 
quents were allowed an interview, which gave 
occasion to an exceedingly affecting scene. 
The approaching catastrophe had changed the 
sentiments of Maria with respect to her friend. 
'She now thought it cruel and inhuman in herself 
to devote her generous benefactress to death. 
She was on the point of disclosing the whole 
truth, but was restrained by the desire of death, 
by the invincible solicitude to quit the world. 


When she saw Harlin advancing towards her 
with a serene and cheerful countenance, she ut- 
tered a loud scream of anguish; and gave free 
scope to her sensations. She threw herself into 
the arms of her friend, and amid sobs and sighs 
incessantly implored her forgiveness. Her tears 
flowed without ceasing. HUrlin pressed the 
afrficted girl with the most fervent affection to 
herhe'art; like a tender mother she dried the 
tears from her cheeks ; assured her in the mo^t 
friendly manner, that she had nothing to forgive 
her, but, that on the contrary, she was her only, 
her greatest benefactress, as she had spared her 
the commission of a grievous sin, and released 
her from a world of misery. Dreadful was the 
conflict of opposing sensations in the bosom of 
the' wretched Maria. The soothing expressions 
of f her tender, magnanimous companion; her 
solemn protestations that she would undertake to 
answer for them both before the judgment-seat 
of Gocf, were incapable of alleviating the anguish 
she endured. There was no end to her tears and 
lamentations, and sh wrung her hands like one 
reduced to despair. 

The presence of the clergyman, and the pre- 
parations for the sacrament at length restored to 
her soul a degree of composure. " Come, Ma- 
ria/' said HUrlin, " let us partake of this holy 
sacrament with cheerful reliance on God, and on 
the enjoyment of eternal happiness." These 
consolatory words, pronounced by the lips of af- 
fection, and accompanied with looks of tender- 


ness, recalled peace for a few minutes to her 
troubled soul. They communicated together, 
and parted in melancholy silence. The excellent 
woman ouce more pressed the desponding girl 
to her bosom, and said, " Be of good cheer, 
Maria; to morrow we shall be yonder above, 
and all our afflictions will remain here below." 
She then hastened from her; on reaching her 
cell, she heaved a deep sigh, and exclaimed, with 
emphasis: " God be thanked that this is past; 
the anticipation of this scene alone embittered 
my confinement, otherwise the sweetest and 
most agreeable portion of my life!" She then 
thanked the gaoler for the indulgence with which 
he had treated her, took an affecting leave of her 
family, and her whole behavior displayed a hea- 
venly serenity, as though they had already be- 
longed to the beings of a better world. 

On the day of execution she conducted her- 
self with the same cheerfulness and equanimity. 
She heard the bell ring, and proceeded to the 
scaffold with an ease, fortitude, and intrepidity, 
equally remote from timid dejection, and auda- 
cious boldness. A sacred serenity that touched 
every spectator appeared in her whole behavior. 
She seemed to unite the simplicity of innocence, 
with the dignity of an exajted mind. Very dif- 
ferent was the state of the wretched Maria. The 
desponding girl, who still accused herself of being 
the murderer of her friend, suffered inexpressible 
anguish, and nothing but the hope that she 
should still be able to save her innocent compa- 


nion by a frank confession of the truth, preserved 
her from total stupefaction and insensibility to 
all that was passing around her. She walked 
not, but was dragged more dead than alive to 
the place of execution. HUrliri went first; fre- 
quently did she look back with love and compas- 
sion at her Maria. When their eyes met, she 
would turn hers joyfully towards heaven, as 
tUough she would have cheered her friend with 
the idea: " We shall soon be yonder." 

They now stood at the foot of the scaffold. 
Harlin was to be executed first. She once more 
took leave of the half-dead and trembling M^ria. 
(( Dear Maria," said she tenderly at parting, " in 
a few moments we shall be together in heaven !** 
She then ascended the steps. Maria's eyes fol- 
lowed her. She beheld her friend surrounded 
by the assistants of the executioner, busily em- 
ployed in binding up her hair, and uncovering 
her neck. This spectacle operated with the 
greatest violence on the girl ; she saw her friend 
in the hands of the executioner, and she alone 
was the cause of her death, she alone was her 
murderer. It seemed as though this sight and 
this idea, transfused new life into her almost in- 
animate frame, and supplied every nerve with 
new energy. With a loud and piercing voice, 
she cried, " Stop, for God's sake, stop ! she is 
innocent !" She then threw herself at the feet 
of the sheriff and the clergyman, imploring 
Siem to save Harlin, \\lio was perfectly innocent t 

YOL. <2. NO. 11. C 


adding, that she had herself invented the whole 
story from disgust of life; that she had never 
borne, much less destroyed a child; she was 
ready to die; but she begged for heaven's sake 
that they would not load her with the crime of 
murdering her friend by her false evidence, and 
that the sentence might be executed on her aione 
for having forged such a charge. The sheriff 
asked Harlinif Maria's declaration were true, or 
if she adhered to her confession. She answered 
sorrowfully and with evident reluctance: t( Most 
certainly what she says is true; I acknowledged 
inyself guilty, because I wished to die; and it 
may, therefore, easily be siupposed that now, 
when I am so near the object of my desire, this 
declaration of my innocence proceeds not from 
the. motive of preserving my life. My only ob- 
ject is to confirm the truth as disclosed by Maria, 
and to relieve her from the distress she feels for 
having accused me though innocent." 

This explanation, together with the persua- 
sions of the clergvmen, and the murmur of com- 
passion that proceeded from the people, induced 
the sheriff to .send the town-adjutant, with a re- 
port of the circumstances to the town-house^ to 
demand a reprieve of the members of the senate, 
assembled there. It should be, observed that at 
!N mem berg, it is customary for the three oldest 
senators to remain together at the town- house, 
till an execution is over, thnt in case of an ex- 
traordinary exigency, they may give the neccs- 



sary directions how to proceed, in the name of 
the whole senate. 

During the interval that elapsed till the return 
of the messenger, one of' the clergymen thought 
fit to reprimand Harlin severely on account of 
the first statement she had given. " 1 confess 
the truth/' replied she, " not with a view to save 
my life. The murder was feigned by Maria, for 
the purpose of helping herself and me out of the 
world, of which we were both tired and dis- 
gusted. At fir-jt conscious of my innocence, 
and ignorant of the good intentions of my 
friend, I denied the murder. But of what avail 
was this? My protestations were branded as lies 
and shameless impudence. I was threatened 
with the torture, and my hands were already 
bound so tight, that my wrists still bear the marks 
of the cords. One of the gentlemen present 
threatened that I should be stretched till day- 
light might be seen through me, and then he 
imagined, I should be ready enough to confess 
my guilt. I had no inclination to await the ful- 
filment of this threat, and chose rather to ac- 
knowledge myself guilty immediately; and this I 
did the more cheerfully, as I was by this time ap- 
prised of the kind intention of my Maria." 

Still the clergyman was so hard-hearted and 
unreasonable as to persecute her wfth farther re- 
proaches, to which the magnanimous woman, 
deigned not to reply. The only words she ut- 
tered besides, during this melancholy pause were 
c 2 


addressed to the unhappy partner of her fate. 
" O Maria, Maria, said she, a few moments pati- 
ence longer, and all had been well ; it had all 
been over by this time, and we happy !" The 
wretched girl lay senseless on the steps of the 
scaffold. The last violent exertion had ex~ 
hausted her strength; she was in the agonies of 

The messenger returned. The answer directed 
the sheriff to proceed with the execution. Thig 
intelligence restored HUrlin to her former sere- 
nity. Her head was struck off amidst the la- 
mentations of the people. . The executioner was 
incapable of dispatching more than one inno- 
cent person at a time. He felt unwell; his at- 
tendants were obliged to perform his office upon 
Maria. She had before expired; Death had 
employed his powerful scythe to cut down a 
flower which was already withered. Such was 
the end of two morfrals, whose lives were not 
worth the enjoyment, and who appear to have 
been created merely for the purpose of dying a 
violent death. 


THIS negro, who can scarcely be distinguished 
from any other black when dressed and with his 
hat on, may justly be considered as a very re- 
markable phenomenon of nature. Part of his 


forehead is white ; the hair and skin fr^m thence 
to the back part of his head are as white as the 
finest wool, and shine like silver, while the rest 
of his head and hair is black as jet. On other 
parts of his body, on his breast, arms, and legs, 
the black is likewise intermixed with white spots, 
equal in delicacy to the color of any European. 

This extraordinary man was born at Guanga- 
boo, in the parish 'of St. John, near Kingston, 
Jamaica, July 5, 1774, of black parents, v>ho 
were slaves in the Rev. Mi\ Pilkington's plants 
tions. His' mother, who had four children, be- 
sides, was so alarmed when she discovered this 
her youngest was spotted-skinned, that she 
eould not be prevailed upon to give him the 
breast. Such an astonishing child soon excited 
the attention of his master, and other gentlemen 
in the plantations, but particularly of Mr. Blun- 
dell, an eminent inrrchart of Liverpool, who hap- 
pened to be in Jamaica, when he was oniy a few 
months old, and declared him to be the greatest 
curiosity in nature he ever saw. As soon as ho 
had* completed his second year he was, (at the 
suggestion of Mr. Graham of Kingsfxm and 
others) exhibited as a public show and a likeness 
of him was painted and sent to England. It was 
afterwards deposited in St. Andrew's college at 
Glasgow as a singular lusus nature. 

Oa the death of the Rev. Mr. Pilkington, the 
plantations and slaves, including poor Bobey, his 
father and mother, were sold to Arthur Macken- 
zie,, Esq. the present pioprietor, and with whom 
c 3 


his relations still remain. His former master 
having had several children, who were sent to 
England for their education, left to one of his 
sons (Henry Pilkington, who now resides at Bir- 
mingham) considerable property, together witli 
this spotted negro, whom he was to take care of 
and keep as his servant; but the young man ne^ 
ver possessed either the property or servant, 
through the treachery of those to whom the trust 
was committed. 

Daniel Dale, Esq. uncle to Mr. Pilkington, is 
at present in the possession of many plantations 
in Jamaica, and likewise became the master of 
Bobey, who, at the age of 12 years was sent 
by him to England, and was christened at St. 
John's church, Liverpool, by the Rev. Mr. Hud- 
son ; the addition of Richardson was made to 
his name in honor of a gentleman, a very re- 
putable merchant at Liverpool, who was very 
partial to him. He was then sent to London, 
where he arrived on the memorable day when 
his Majesty attended by the most distinguished 
ef his subjects went in procession to St. Paul's 
cathedral to return thanks on his recovery in 
1789. He was first exhibited in the Haymarket 
nt 2s. 6d. each for about two months. Soon af- 
ter his arrival in England, he was sent by Sir W. 
Bogle, of Bloomsbury-square, for the inspection 
of the university of Oxford. The gentlemen of 
science there, particularly Dr. Thompson, con- 
cluded that the extraordinary spots on his skin, 
being so beautifully variegated all over his body, 



could not have originated from a fright of the 
mother, as in such case they would have been 
confined to one particular part : nor could they 
in any degree account for so singular & work of 

Mr. Clarke, the then proprietor of the wild 
beasts, &c. at Exeter Change, visiting this curio- 
sity at the Hay market, purchased him as an. ap- 
prentice, by indentures, of Mr. Dale for 400 
guineas, arid he was in consequence exhibited at 
Exeter Change. The principal nobility of the 
kingdom now visited the Spotted Negro, w^io 
was also presented for inspection at Buckingham- 
House to their Majesties by Mr. Tenant, of Pen- 
tonville. Prince William of Gloucester fre- 
quently came to see him at Exeter Change, and 
Bobey being then placed near an Arabian savage, 
which was particularly attached to him, the Duke 
would frequently pretend to beat Bobey, while 
the consequent rage of the savage afforded much 
mirth to the company. 

In process of time Mr. Clarke sold his Mena- 
gerie by auction, and Bobey on this occasion as- 
sisted to bring forward the lots of monkeys, and 
other animals. As soon as they were disposed 
of, it came to poor Bobey 's turn to be offered for 
sale, but having during his short stay in England 
acquired some notions of our free constitution 
having already felt the blessmgs of liberty, and 
being convinced that mankind cannot be sold 
here like brutes, as in his native country, with 
honourable indignation he refused to come for- 


ward, and, declared he would not be sold like 
the monkeys. Mr. Pidcock, the purchaser of 
the wild beasts, however, bought the remainder 
of his time by indenture, of Mr. Clarke for 
60 guineas. 

Bo bey, having enlarged the circle of his ac- 
quaintance, and learning from his friends that 
no apprentice in this country could be transfer- 
red without his own consent, agreeably to their 
advice, still refused his concurrence to the sale, but 
continued in the service of Mr. Clarke for some 
mohths after the auction. Not contented, how- 
ever, with Mr. Clarke's situation, he engaged 
himself with Mr. Pidcock at Exeter Change at a 
more liberal salary than what he had hitherto 
enjoyed. He left Pidcock after about four 
months service, and became the husband of an 
English lady, whose brother is principal painter 
to the Circus. For some time they visited the 
fairs in company with the exhibitors of wild 
beasts and from the great encouragement they 
received, they now resolved to set up in business 
for themselves. By a proper appftcation of 
their savings, they soon made up a good collec- 
tion of monkeys, birds, beasts, &c, and not- 
withstanding the expence of travelling, and the 
maintenance of five horses and men, such are 
the exertions and industry of this couple, and 
the satisfaction they give at all the principal 
fairs, that there is little doubt but in a short time 
they will accumulate a decent fortune. 

During their exhibitions Bobey has been fre- 



quently -examined and rubbed by some ignorant 
people, who have imagined that his skin was 
painted; but they have been soon satisfied that 
there was no deception. He 19 about 5 feet 8 
inches high/ well proportioned, his features re- 
gular, and, for one of the African race, may be 
considered handsome. He has a remarkable 
manner of imitating singing birds, particularly the 
sky-lark, thrush, blackbird, nightingale, and 
\arious others; also the young pig, puppy, and 
other animals. He has been for some years a 
member of the first masonic societies in this 
kingdom, both of the ancient and modern or- 
ders. He very willingly submits, when required, 
to be examined by the curious, with respect to 
the reality of his spots, in conversation he is affa- 
ble, and in his dealings so very correct, that we 
may venture to say there are many white charac- 
ters who would be found more black and fuller of 
blemishes than this Spotted Negro. 


THE extraordinary history of this woman, is re- 
lated by Dr. Plot in his natural history of Ox- 
fordshire. " In the year 16,30, says that writer 
Anne Green, being a servant-maid of Sir Tho- 
mas Read of Duns Tew, in Oxfordshire, was 
with child by some servant or other of the fa- 
mily (as she constantly affirmed when she had 
little reason to lie,) and, through over-working 
herself in turning of malt, fell in travail about 


the fourth month of her time: but being young, 
and not knowing what the matter might be, she 
repaired to the privy, where the child (scarcely 
above a span long, of what sex could not be dis- 
tinguished,) fell from her unawares. Presently 
after, there appearing signs of some such matter, 
and she having before confessed that she had 
been guilty of zchat might occasion her being with 
child, a search instantly was made, and the infant 

" Whereupon, within three days after her deli- 
very, she was conveyed to the castle at Oxford, 
where forthwith (an assize being purchased on 
purpose) she was arraigned before Serjeant Ump- 
ton Croke, then living at Marston, who sat as 
judge by a commission of oyerand terminer, and 
by him sentenced to be hanged; which was ac- 
cordingly executed on the 14th of December, irr 
the castle yard, where she hung about half an 
hour, being pulled by the legs, and struck on the 
breast (as she herself desired) by divers of her 
friends ; and, after all, had several strokes given 
her upon the stomach with the but-end of a sol- 
dier's musket. Being cut down, she was put in- 
to a coffin, and brought away to a house to be 
dissected ; where, when they opened it, notwith- 
standing the rope still remained unloosed, and 
straight about her neck, they perceived her 
breast to rise; whereupon one Mason, a tailor, 
intending only an act of charity, set his foot up- 
on her breast and belly; and, as some say, one, a soldier, struck her again with the but- 
end of his musket. 


Notwithstanding all which, when the learned 
and ingenious Sir William Petty, then anatomy 
professor of the University, Dr. Wallis, and Dr. 
Clarke, then president of Magdalen College, and 
Vice-ehanceilor oi' the University, came to pre- 
pare the body for dissection, they perceived some 
small rattling in her throat; hereupon desisting 
from their former purpose?, thev presently used 
means for her recovery by opening a vein, laying 
her in a warm bed, and ca-^in^ another to go into 
bed to tier; also using ravers remedies respecting 
her senselessness, head, throat, and breast inso- 
much, that within fourteen hours she began to 
speak, and the next day talked and prayed very 

" During the time of this her recovering, the 
officers concerned in her execution would needs 
have had her away again to have completed it oa 
her: but by the mediation of the worthy Doctors, 
and some other friends with the then governor of 
the city, Colonel Kelsey, there was a guard set 
upon her to hinder all further disturbance till he 
had sued out her pardon from the powers then in 
being; thousands of people in the mean time 
coming to see her, and magnifying the just pro- 
vidence of God in thus asserting her innocency 
of murder. 

" After some time, Dr. Petty hearing she had 
Discoursed with those about her, and suspecting 
that the women might suggest unto her to relate 
something of strange visions and apparitions she 
had seen during the time she seemed to be dead 


(which they already had begun to do, telling 
about that she said, she had been in a fine green 
meadow having a river running round it, and that 
all things there glittered like silver and gold) he; 
caused all to depart the room but the gentlemen 
of the faculty who were to have been at the dis- 
section^ and asked her concerning her sense and 
apprehensions during the time she was hanged. 

" To which she answered at first somewhat 
impertinently, taking as if she had been then to 
sufTcr. And when they spake unto her concern- 
ing her miraculous deliverance, she answered that 
she hoped God would give her patience, and 
the like: afterwards, when she was better reco- 
vered, she affirmed, that she neither remembered 
bow the fetters were knocked off; how she went 
out of the prison ; when she was turned off the 
ladder; whether any psalm was sung or not; nor 
was she sensible of any pains that she could re- 
member: what is most remarkable is, that she 
came to herself as if she had awakened out of a 
sleep, not recovering the use of her speech by 
slow 'degrees, but in a manner altogether, be- 
ginning to speak just where she left off on the 

" Being thus at length perfectly recovered, af- 
ter thanks giren to God and the persons instru- 
mental in it, she retired into the country to her 
friends at Steeple Barton, where she was after- 
wards married and lived in good reput amongst 
her neighbours, having three children afterwards, 
and not dying till the year 1659-" 


BIOGRAPHY contributes perhaps more than 
any other species of writing to a knowledge of the 
nature of the human mind. On-an attentive ob- 
servation of the characters it pourtrays, we cau- 
not forbear admiring the dispensation of the su- 
preme creator, and acknowledging the wisdom 
and bountiful providence he has displayed, in 
this portion of his works. It teaches us that 
there is scarcely an affliction incident to our na- 
ture, however severe, which we are not capable 
of enduring, and that when the accumulation of 
misery and misfortune threatens to overwhelm 
the wretched mortal, he is generally endued with 
a fortitude and resolution, which enable him to 
struggle against the storms of fate and the most 
painful vicissitudes of life. Very different is the 
picture, when the case is reversed. How seldom 
is it that men, suddenly raised from indigence or a 
low station, to the pinnacle of affluence or power, 
retain that equanimity, that moderation, and 
that prudence, which are necessary for the proper 
use of the one, or the due exercise of the other ! 
How much more frequently do we observe them 
intoxicated with those gifts which fortune has 
thrown into their hands! How often has not 
their success operated with such destructive cf- 
VOL. 2 NO. 12. 


feet on their minds, as to enervate and to hurry 
them into a thousand extravagancies, which can 
only be ascribed to absolute insanity ! 

Hence it would appear, that the inind of man 
is much more dangerously affected by the sun- 
shine of prosperity, than by the bleak blasts of 
adverse fortune. When we reflect how many of 
our fellow- creatures have to encounter the latter 
to one who is exposed to the deleterious influence 
of the former, we shall confess that this is wisely 
ordered by him, in whose hands is the distribution 
of human happiness or misery. 

These observations are suggested by the history 
of Thomas Anello, who about the middle of the 
seventeenth century, elevated himself from the 
lowest situation to the temporary sovereignty 
over the metropolis of the kingdom of Naples. 
Had his mind possessed sufficient firmness to 
support this exaltation, and had his ambition been 
equal to his success, he might undoubtedly have 
acted the same part in that country, as Cromwell 
Vfas, about the same time, performing in Eng- 
land, and 'perhaps have founded a new dynasty 
in the southern division of the Italian peninsula. 

Thomas Anello, by construction called Massa- 
n'iello, was born in the year J&23, and at : the 
time when he attracted the notice of the world, 
was about twenty-four years of age. He lived in 
a corner of the great market-place at Naples, 
and it was a singular circumstance, that under 
one of his windows wre fixed the arms and name 
of the emperor Charles the Fifth. That mo- 


tiirch had grained to the people of Naples, a 
charter of privileges, which about this period, 
va re greatly violated. Massaniello was, robust, 
of a good countenance, and middle size. Hs 
wore linen trowsers, a fylue waistcoat,, and vyenr 
barefoo.t, with a manner's cap. His profession 
was that of a, dealer in fish; which lie either 
caught tumself or purchased for the purpose of 
retailing. The discontents excited in the city 
did not escape the observation of Massaniello ; 
uoy, so alive was he to tbe cause of them, that, 
notwithstanding the meanness of his profession 
tye b.egaji to form a project of effecting a. refor- 
mation. Goiag l,iome o;ie day violently agitated, 
he met \v;ith the famous Barxditto Perrone, a,d 
one of bis companions, as he passed by a church 
to which they had tied for refuge. Being known^ 
to them, they enquired wliat ailed, him: o# 
which he replied, that he would be bound to, be 
Ranged, if he clid not right the city. They 
laughed at the extreme improbability o,f such U 
event, but Massaniello swore that, if he had two. 
or three of his own humour to join him, he woulcj 
keep his word. They gave him a solemn pro- 
mise of assistance, and he departed. 

His resolution was soon afterwards strength- 
ened by a circumstance in which he was perso- 
nally interested. Some of the officers of the cus- 
toms having met his wife carrying a small quan- 
tify of contraband flour, seized her, and carried 
tier to prison ; nor could Massaniello procure hev 
release till he had sold the whole of his property 


to pay a fine of one hundred ducats as the price 
of her freedom. He now determined to avail 
himself of the opportunity afforded hy the po- 
pular discontents, on account of the tax on fruit, 
which fell particularly heavy on the lower classes, 
and accordingly went round among the fruit- 
shops in his quarter, advising the keepers of them 
to go in a body the next day to the market, and 
tell the country-fruiterers that they would buy 
no more taxed fruit. 

The market-place was frequented hy a great 
number of boys, who assembled there to pick up 
such fruit as fell. Massaniello associated with 
them, taught them certain cries and clamors 
suited to his purpose, and collected such a num- 
ber of them between sixteen and seventeen years 
of age, that at first they amounted to five hun- 
dred, and afterwards to five thousand. Of this 
youthful army, Massaniello acted as general, pro- 
viding each of the individuals who composed it 
with a small cane. The shop-keepers complying 
\vith his instructions, a great tumult took place 
the next day ^between them and the fruiterers. 
An officer, named Anaclerio, was sent by the 
viceroy to quell this disturbance. 

Among the fruiterers was a cousin of Massa- 
iiiello, who seconding the vie\vs of the latter, en- 
deavored as much as possible to inflame the 
people. He found that he could not sell his 
fruit, unless at a very low price, which, when the 
tax was paid, would be less than the prime cost. 
On this he fell into a violent rage, and threw two 


Jarge baskets on the ground, exclaiming: " Gpc| 
gives plenty, and the bad government a dearth. 
I care not for this fruit, let those take it that 
will." The boys eagerly ran to pick up and eat 
;he fruit. At this moment Massaniello rushed 
\n among them crying out : " No tax ! No tax I" 
Anaclerio threatened him with whipping and the 
gallies, on which not only the fruiterers but the 
rest of t|ie people threw iigs, apples, and other 
fruits with great fury in his face. Massaniello 
bit him on the breast with a stone; and encou- 
raged his regiment of boys to follow his example: 
but Anaclerio saved his life by flight. 

The people, by this time, flocked in multitudes 
to the market-place, loudly exclaiming against 
the intolerable grievances under which they 
groaned, and protesting their resolution to sub- 
mit to them no longer. The uproar still in- 
creasing, Massaniello leaped upon the highest 
table among the fruiterers, and harangued the 
crowd. He compared himself to Moses, whp 
delivered the Egyptians from the rod of Pharoah ; 
to Peter who was a fisherman like himself, yet 
rescued Rome and the world from the slavery of 
.Satan, promising them a similar deliverance from 
iheir oppressors by his means, and declaring his 
^readiness to sacrifice his life in such a glorious- 
C#u*e. By harangue? of this kind, Massaniello 
jyonderfully inflamed t,he minds of the people, 
-and disposed theni to assist heartily in his de- 

They commenced their operations by setting 
D 3 


fire to the house next to the toll-house for fruit, 
both of which were burned to the ground, with 
all the books, accounts, and goods they con- 
tained. All the shops were by this time shut 
up, and the numbers increasing, many thousands 
of people went in bodies to those, quarters of the 
city where all the other toll-houses were situated. 
These they plundered of all their books and wri- 
tings, great quantities of money and many rich 
rnoveables, all of which were thrown into a great 
fire of straw, and burned to ashes in the streets. 
Meeting with no resistance, the people became 
still bolder, and proceeded towards the palace of 
the viceroy. First marched the corps of Massa- 
iiiello, consisting of 2000 boys, every one holding 
up his cane with a piece of black cloth at the 
top, and with loud and doleful cries exciting the 
compassion, and intreating the assistance of their 

OM their arrival at the palace, they not only de- 
manded, by loud cries, to be relieved from the 
fruit-tax, but that all others, especially the tax 
en corn should be suppressed. At length they 
entered the palace, which they rifled, in spite of 
the resistance of the guards, whom they disarmed. 
The viceroy endeavored to escape in his car- 
nage, with the intention of securing himself in 
the church of St. Lewis, but being observed by 
.the people, they stopped the coach, and sur- 
rounding it with drawn swords, threatened his 
life, if he refused to take oif the taxes. By 
means of fair promises and assurances of redress, 


and by throwing money among the multitude, 
which they were eager to pick up, be, at length 
reached the church in safety, and ordered the 
doors to be shut. The people then applied to 
the Prince de Bisagnano, who was greatly be- 
loved by them, to be their advocate. He pro- 
mised to obtain what they desired ; but, finding, 
after much labor and fatigue that it was impos- 
sible to restrain their licentiousness or to quell 
their fury, he availed himself of the first oppor- 
tunity to escape from the labyrinth of popular 

Finding themselves without a head, after the 
retirement of the prince, Massaniello was nomi- 
nated by the people, to be their leader, which 
charge he accepted. They appointed Genoino, 
a priest of approved knowledge, temper, and 
abilities, to attend his person ; and for a compa- 
nion they added the above-mentioned famous 
Banditto Perrone. By his spirit, good sense, and 
resolution, Massaniello gained the hearts of all 
the people, who became willing to confer solemn- 
ly upon him the supreme command, and to obey 
him accordingly. A stage was, therefore, erected 
in the middle of the market-place, where, clothed 
in white, like the IS eapolitan mariners of those 
days, he, with his counsellors, gave public audi- 
ence, received petitions, and pronounced sen- 
tence in all cases both criminal and civil. 

.Massaniello now had no less than one hundred 
and fifty thousand persons under his command. 
An incredible multitude of women, likewise ap- 


peared with arms of various kinds, like so ma,ny 
Amazons. A list was made out of above sixty 
persons who had farmed the taxes, or been \n 
any manwr concerned in the, custom-houses. 
These, ir \\as said, had enriched themselves with 
the blood or the people, and ought to be made 
examples to posterity. An order was, therefore, 
issued that their houses and goods should be 
burned; and it was executed with such regularity, 
that no one was suffered to carry away the smal- 
lest article. Many, for stealing mere trifles from 
the flames were hanged by the public executioner 
in the market-place, by the command of Massa- 

The viceroy, who had left the church and shut 
himself up in the castle was meanwhile devising 
methods to appease the people, and to bring 
them to an accommodation. He applied to the 
archbishop of whose attachment to the govern- 
ment he was well assured, and of whose paternal 
care and affection for them the people had no 
doubt, to second his endeavors. He gave them 
the original charter of Charles the Fifth, which 
exempted them from all taxes, and on which they 
had all along insisted, confirmed by legal autho- 
rity, and likewise a general pardon for all offences 
that had been committed. Furnished with these 
powers the archbishop prevailed upon Massani- 
ello to assemble the principal leaders of die 
people, and great hopes of a happy accomxaoda- 
tiou were entertained. 


While this negociation was on foot, five hun- 
dred banditti,, all armed and on horseback, en- 
tered the city under pretence that they came 
tor the service of the people, but in reality, as it 
afterwards appeared, for the purpose of destroy- 
ing Mnssaniello ; for they discharged several shot 
at him, some of which narrowly missed him. This 
proceeding immediately put a stop to the whole 
business, and it was suspected that the viceroy 
was concerned in this treachery. The streets 
were barricaded and orders were issued, that the 
aqueduct leading to the castle in which were the 
-viceroy and his family, together with all the prin- 
cipal officers of state, should be cut off, and that 
no provision except a small quantity of roots and 
herbs should be carried thither. 

The viceroy again applied to the archbishop, 
iftharging him to assure the people of his good in- 
tentions towards them, of his abhorrence of the 
design manifested by the banditti, and of his re- 
solution to e^ert all his authority to bring them 
to condign punishment. The treaty was re- 
newed and soon concluded, after which it was 
judged proper that Massaniello should pay a 
visit to the viceroy in his palace. He directed 
that all the windows and balconies should be 
hung with the richest silks and tapestries, that 
could be procured. He threw off his mariner's 
habit, and dressed himself in cloth of silver, with 
n fine plume of feathers on his hat; and mounted 
on a beautiful charger, with a drawn sword in his 


hand, he went attended by fifty thousand of the 
choicest of the people. 

During his interview with the viceroy in the 
balcony of the palace, he gave him surprizing 
proofs of the ready obedience of the people : 
whatever cry he gave out was immediately re- 
echoed by them,, and when he put his finger to 
his mouth the mos.t profound silence prevailed 
among the multitude. At length he ordered 
them all to retire, and was obeyed with such, 
promptitude as if the crowd by whom he was, 
attended had vanished away. 

On the following Sunday the stipulations were 
signed and solemnly sworn to be observed in the 
Cathedral of the city. Massaniello having now 
accomplished his designs, declared his resolution 
to return to his former occupation. Had he ad- 
bered to it, he might justly have been reckoned 
among the greatest characters that any age or 
country has ever produced. But as it is vari-. 
pusly reported, being either instigated by his 
wife and relations, induced by fear, or allured by 
the tasted sweets of power, he stili retained bis 
authority, and what was worse he exercised it 
jn such a capricious and tyrannical manner that 
bis best friends began to be afraid of him. It 
has been imagined that something was infused 
into his drink to take away his senses, or, 
what is still more probable, that he drank *Q 
such excess as to deprive himself of reason. Bo 
the cau&u, however, what it might, hU conduct 


*as highly improper. He galloped through to 
Mreets Itke a madman, wantonly cutting and 
main/ing every person without distinction. The 
natural consequence was, that instead df being 
followed by the people as -"before, they all avoid- 
ed his presence. Fatigued and exhausted with 
this uncommon exercise, he 'took refuge in the 
church of the Carmelites. 

The archbishop immediately sent information 
of this circumstance to the viceroy, and Massa- 
niello was meanwhile taken care of by the religi- 
ous belonging to the church, 'who provided him 
with refreshments, after the fatigue occasioned 
by his violent proceedings. 

Some gentlemen now entered the church and 
thinking to ingratiate themselves with the vice- 
roy, as they passed through the cloister, they 
cried out; " Long live the King of Spain, and 
let none henceforth on pain of death obey Mas- 
saniello ! " The people, so far from opposing 
them in their search, made way for them and 
they proceeded to the convent of the church en- 
quiring for Massaniello. The unfortunate man 
hearing his name pronounced, ran out to meet 
his foes, saying : " Are you looking for me, my 
people? Here I am. " The only answer he re- 
ceived was the discharge of four muskets on him 
at once. He instantly fell, and had only time to 
exclaim: *< Ah ! ungrateful traitors] " before he 
expired. One of his murderers then cut off his 
head which lie carried to the viceroy,' to the 
great terror of the .populace, who had assembled 



to the number of eight or ten thousand in the 
church and market-place. A more remarkable 
instance of the inconstancy of popular favour 
can scarcely be produced from the records of 
history; for so far from avenging the death of 
their captain-general, they not only remained 
quiet spectators but even exhibited signs of sa- 
tisfaction. Nay, no sooner was the breath out 
of his body, than those who had hitherto been his 
followers took his mutilated corpse and afterwards 
procured his head, dragged them through every 
kennel and gutter of the city and at length 
threw each of them into a different ditch. The 
same mutability of disposition was exemplified 
the succeeding day. The mangled relics of the un- 
fortunate Massaniello were then carefully sought, 
and when found were washed from the filth by 
which they were defaced. A more sumptuous 
.funeral was never seen in Naples than that pre- 
pared for Massaniello. His body was followed 
to the cathedral by five hundred priests, and forty 
thousand persons of all ranks composed the pro- 
cession. The Spanish ensigns were lowered as 
it passed, and the viceroy sent out a number of 
attendants with torches to assist at the ceremony 
and to honor him in death. The commotion in 
Naples began 7th of July 1647, and was terrain 
nated on the ]6th of the same month by the 
death of Massaniello, who thus ruled nine days, 
with more unlimited power than was perhaps 
ever enjoyed by any sovereign. 



THIS lady was born at Milan, and baptized at 
the parish of St. Eusebius the 14th of September, 
1781. In her infancy she made considerable 
progress in the German and French languages 
under the tuition of a native of Strasburg, named 
Madame Depuis. This lady having in her 
youth belonged to the company of the Comedie 
Fran$aise, possessed some information, and en- 
gaged her pupil to apply to study with pleasure, 
by the amusing means she employed of reciting 
and explaining, sometimes in one, and sometimes 
in another language, such small pieces of comedy 
and romance as were within her reach, and 
obliging her to repeat the same by degrees. It 
is not improbable, that in consequence of so many 
comic and romantic ideas arising from these 
amusing studies, this young lady insensibly con- 
ceived a passion for the military profession, and 
adopted the maxim, that women might run the 
course of glory and science as well as men, if 
they entered on it with equal advantages of in- 
struction and education. 

At ten years of age she was put under the care 
of the Nuns of the Visitation, an institution in 
high repute throughout Italy for the education of 
young ladies; and here she conducted herself 
so as to obtain and deserve the esteem and friend- 

VOL. 2. NO. 12. E 


ship of the whole house, for her sweet, amiable 
and engaging disposition. Such are the very 
expressions made use of by the venerable .and 
distinguished superior, Madame de Bayanne, to 
convey her approbation, and the general sense of 
the nuns of this respectable establishment. 

Towards the end of 1794 her father, Mr. Jo- 
seph Scanagatti, resolved to send his daughter to 
Vienna as a boarder with a widow-lady, in order 
to improve her in the knowledge of the German 
language, and to qualify her in the details of 
house-keeping. On the journey she was dressed 
in boy's clothes to avoid trouble and imperti- 
nence, and she was accompanied by one of her 
brothers, who intended to stop at Neustadt, in 
order to attend a course of military studies in the 
Academy of that town, which is esteemed the 
nursery of the best officers in the Austrian army. 
The pupils, to the number of four hundred, 
mostly officers' sons, are maintained and edu- 
cated by the Imperial Court, and, besides the 
military exercises, are instructed in languages, 
mathematics, and the belles-lettres. 

During the journey the brother fell sick, and 
acknowledged to his sister, what he had not had 
the courage to avow to his father, that he had 
neither taste nor inclination for a military life. 
His sister then strenuously urged him to return 
Lome with the servant tore-establish his health : 
and having obtained from him the letter of re- 
commendation he was to deliver to M. Haller, 
surgeon on the staff of the Academy, and at 



\vhose house he was to have boarded, she had 
the courage to introduce herself, under its sanc- 
tion to the gentleman as the recommended boy, 
and as such received the kindest welcome. In a 
short time she had the good fortune to gain the 
friendship of M. Haller, his wife, and two lovely 
daughters, so as to be considered as one of the fa- 
mily. Giving daily proofs of an amiable cha- 
racter and a docile disposition, she obtained from 
the Court permission to attend the lectures at 
the Academy, and so conspicuously distinguished 
herself by her exemplary conduct and her pro- 
gress, that she bore a\?uy the principal prizes in 
both the years 1795 and 17S-6 siie remained 

At this Academy she perfected herself in the 
knowledge of German ;nd French, and also ac- 
quired a knowledge of the Edglish language un- 
der Mr. Plunket, an Irish divine, one of he pro- 
fessors of the institution, who declares that he 
never had the smallest suspicion of young Scana- 
gatti being a girl, but considered her as a very 
mild and accomplished boy, of uncommon pru- 
dence. Here also she applied with the greatest 
success to fencing and military tactics, as well as 
to the various branches of the mathematics. 
*- In the month of February, 1797, she resolved 
tjjjfddress the Supreme Council of War at Vi- 
Wna to be admitted an officer in the army, sup- 
porting her application by the most honourable 
testimonies of conduct and talents, which the 
Academy could not refuse her, and accouipany- 
E 2 


ing these with more eloquent vouchers, namely 
the prizes awarded her during the two preceding 

The Supreme Council being at this time parti- 
cularly in want of good officers, to replace the 
great numbers who had fallen in the preceding 
campaigns, readily appointed her to an ensigacy 
'in the regiment of St. George. 

Her promotion being notified to her through 
the channel of the Academy, shi immediately 
set out for Vienna, where she v<?ceived orders to 
join a transport of recruits Li Hungary, and pro- 
ceed with it to the Up^er Khine, where the bat- 
talion lay to which she was appointed. This 
"battalion was composed of Waradiners, and 
was commanded by Major Seitel. It was sta- 
tioned on the right bank of the Rhine, in the 
neighbourhood f Kehl, and at the extreme out- 
posts when she joined it; but shortly afterwards 
it was obliged to retire to the town of Manheim, 
the enemy having passed the Rhine between Kil- 
stett and Diersheim. 

At length the peace of Campo Formio put an 
end to the campaign, and Mademoiselle Scana- 
gatti having passed about sixteen months in dif- 
ferent cantonments in the Empire, Silesia, and 
Stiria, received an order to repair to Poland, to 
join the fourth battalion of the regime 
Wenzel Colloredo, then commanded by Maj 

- She was now stationed in the town of Sando- 
mir; and here she experienced the most distres- 


sing inquietudes, through the dread of her sex 
being discovered. As she frequented the Cas- 
sino, where the most select company associated,. 
some of the ladies who assembled there conceived 
doubts of her sex, either from her figure or her 
reserved manners, and communicated their sus- 
picions. Accordingly one day a young gentle- 
man belonging to the town said ingenuously 10 
her (f Do you know, Ensign, what these ladies 
observe of you?" She immediately suspected 
where the blow was directed ; but, concealing 
her alarm, she answered, she should be glad to 
know in what respect she had attracted their no- 
tice. " Why, replied the gentleman, they ob- 
serve in you the appearance and manner of a 
lady." On this she fell a laughing, and, with an 
arch and lively air, rejoined,-" In this case, Sir, 
as the decision of the question is competent to a 
lady, I beg leave to select your wife for my judge." 
This proposal he did not think proper to accept, 
and, wishing to disengage himself, protested that 
he was far from believing any such thing, and on- 
ly hinted at what the ladies whom he named had 
suspected. She withdrew earlier than usual that 
day, aud passed rather an uneasy night. But, 
having fully meditated on her situation, she re- 
solved to bear herself through, put on a good 
face, appear at the Cassino next day, and there 
converse in the most gallant and free manner with 
the ladies in order if possible to remove their 
suspicions. Accordingly, alter the usual com- 
pliments she introduced the subject and declared 
E 3 


that far from being offended, she was on the con- 
trary highly flattered, in hopes that the opinion 
they entertained would render them less difficult 
to favour her with such a verification as would 
enable them to pronounce their judgment with 
greater certainty. This produced the eflect 
she wished : the ladies, astonished by this mili- 
tary air of frankness, immediately retracted their 
opinion, saying, " You are too gallant, Ensign, 
for us to presume doing you any farther the in- 
jury of believing you a lady:" and thus the mat- 
ter ended. 

Some time after, having received orders to 
proceed to Chelm, she had the good fortune to 
escape the prying looks of the fair sex there, who 
obliged her to use unconvmon circumspection. 
But she fell sick. on the road, and was under the 
necessity of stopping at Lubin, the head-quar- 
ters of the battalion. On this occasion she was 
under much obligation to Captain Tauber, of the 
same regiment, who shewed her uncommon 
marks of humanity, attention and kindness, in a 
country where she was quite a stranger. Here 
also she had some difficulty to conceal her sex; 
for, being affected with a general debility, she 
was obliged to commit herself in all her wants to 
the care of a soldier who was her servant, but 
who, happily for her was a young man of 
such simplicity, that she ran no risk from his pe- 

She had scarcely recovered, when, having re- 
ceived notice that the Council of War had re- 


moved her to the regiment of Barmat she report- 
ed herself ready to join immediately; and, not- 
withstanding the advice of her commander to 
suspend her journey until she had sufficiently re- 
cruited her strength, she persisted in undertaking 
it, and arrived on the 6th of May, 1799, at Pene- 
zona, in the Bannat, where the staff were sta- 

Some promotions were at this crisis taking 
place in tlie regiment, and being one of the old- 
est ensigns, she expected to be promoted to a 
lieutenancy, but was no less surprized than hurt 
to find two younger ensigns preferred over her 
head. Being sure of her ground, in so far as to 
know that the conduct-list given in her favour 
by the regiments in which she had before served 
had left not the smallest room for leproaeh; not- 
withstanding her mild and patient character, she 
presented very sharp remonstrances, protesting 
that she should be ashamed to continue to wear 
the unifoim of the regiment if the injury done her 
was not repaired. In answer to this remonstrance 
she received a rescript of the 18th of July, 
which entirely satisfied her; the regiment declar- 
ing that the mistake proceeded from' not having 
known that Ensign Scanagatti had been trans- 
ferred to it when the promotions were proposed, 
but that they would not fail to take the first 
opportunity of doing justice to his merit; and in 
fact she obtained a lieutenancy on the 1st of 
March following. 

.She was now placed in the battalion of re- 


serve, which generally remains inactive in can- 
tonment, and was then under the command of 
Lieutenant-Colonel Einsfeld. But anxious to 
share in the glory of the campaign, she solicited 
to be removed to one of the battalions of the 
same regiment which were then acting against 
the enemy in Italy, and she was in consequence 
appointed to the sixth, encamped on the momi- . 
tains to the east of Genoa, which she joined with- 
out delay. 

Here she encamped with her battalion, com- 
manded by Major Paulich, with which sharp 
skirmishes and actions more frequently took 
place than at any other of the outposts. She 
fought under that officer particularly in two bat- 
tles that took place on the 14th and loth of De- 
cember, 1799; i the neighbourhood of Scoffera, 
and at Torriglia, where she had the satisfaction 
of being the first that entered the enemy's in- 
trenched redoubts, which they were then forced 
to abandon, but which they retook next day, 
through the superiority of force with which they 
renewed the attack. 

In this unfortunate afTair the brave Major 
Paulich being severely wounded and made priso- 
ner, with a part of his battalion, the main body 
of the army in that neighbourhood, under the 
command of. General Count Klenau, was oblig- 
ed immediately to retire. Ensign Scanagatti was 
then directed^to post himself at Burba Gelata, 
with a small detachment, to coyer the retreat 
on that side ; and oil the 25th of the same month 


received order?- to iam the battalion lying at 
Campiano and Castelbardi, in the territory of the 
Duke of Parma. 

* Captain Golubowisch, and afrer him Captain 
Kliunowich, succeeded to the command of the 
battalion, which, about the end of February, 
1800,- was sent into quarters at Leghorn. At 
this time Ensign Scanagatti having been dis- 
patched en the regimental business to Venice, 
Mantua, and Milan, had the satisfaction to revi- 
sit her family in passing through Cremona, of 
which town her father was then intendant. 

Here she stopt a clay and- two nights. Her 
mother during all that time never suffered her 
out of her sight; and having remarked in the 
morning that, when dressed, she laced her chest 
very straitly, to efface evei y exterior sign of her 
sex, and that so strong a compression had al- 
ready produced a certain degree of mortification 
and some lividity in that part, Madame Scana- 
gatti commucated her fears to her husband, that 
their child would soon fall a victim to a cancer, 
if they delayed any longer to oblige her to quit 
the service. 

The father, from the moment the news reach- 
ed him that his daughter had introduced herself 
to the Academy as a boy, had never ceased to 
importune her to return to the avocations of her 
sex, but at the same time carefully concealed 
this transaction of a daughter of whom he re- 
ceived the most satisfactory reports, and from 
whose spirit he had also to expect some impru- 


<lent resolution if counteracted by violent measures 
He now seriously reflected on the most efficient 
means to be employed to calm the uneasiness of 
his wife, and, if possible, to withdraw his daugh- 
ter without irritating her feelings. He renewed 
the attempt to engage her voluntary compliance, 
insisting strongly, among many other dangers 
to which she was exposed, on the discovery 
made by her mother, and offering to accommo- 
date her in his house with every thing that could 
give her satisfaction. 

This attempt was however fruitless. She an- 
swered respectfully, that she would not fail to- 
pay attention to what her mother had remarked 
respecting her; nor would she hesitate a moment 
to fly to the bosom of her family (always dear TO 
her,) as soon as peace should take place, and 
which could not be at a great distance ; but she 
begged him to reflect, that she should lose the 
the little merit she had acquired in her career 
were she to quit it at that crisis. She concluded, 
that he might make himself perfectly easy on 
her account, as, in the course of three years 
and an half, she had been able to support her 
character in the midst of an army, and in a va- 
riety of critical situations. In this manner she 
took leave of her parents, and .proceeded to exe- 
cute the remainder of her commissions. 

Meanwhile her father resolved to go to Milan, 
and in this dilemma to be guided entirely by 
Count Cocasteli, a nobleman who had much re- 
gard for him, and who, being Commissary Ge- 


neral of his Imperial Majesty ii> Lombardy, and 
near the Army of Italy, could be of service to 
him in an affair of such delicacy. In conse- 
quence of his advice, and through the medium 
of the Count, he addressed a memorial to his 
Excellency Baron Melas, disclosing the story 
of his daughter, and soliciting for her an honour- 
able discharge. 

The lady in the mean time having executed 
her commissions, while her father was, unknown 
to her engaged in this scheme, returned to her 
regiment, which she found, at the outposts in 
the blockade of Genoa, encamped on Monte- 
Becco, and near Monte-Face io. On the same 
day the latter place capitulated, she received 
notice that the Commander-in Chief had sent an 
order to the battalion of thesame regiment to per- 
mit Lieut. Scanagatti to join his family at Milan. 
This permission, unsolicited by her, was equally 
disagreeable and unexpected. She immediately 
perceived that it must have come through her 
parents; but, cruelly disappointed, she consoled 
herself that her sex was not discovered, but that 
she was treated as an officer in the very order of 
the Commander-in-Chief ; and what confirmed 
her in this flattering idea was, the next day being 
at dinner with General Baron de Gottsheim, 
commanding the division of the Imperial army 
in this neighbourhood, she was always addressed 
by the title of lieutenant, and nothing occur- 
red that gave her the smallest suspicion that 
her sex was known. 

Amidst these reflections she resolved, on the 


3d of June, J800, to proceed on her Journey to- 
wards her paternal mansion, but on the 8th of the 
same month having learnt at Bologna that the 
enemy had ju t entered the Milanese, she thought 
it advisable to 'proceed to Verona, to which 
city the staff of the Austrian army was then re- 
moved. She there applied for and obtained a 
new route for Venice, where her father then was, 
and where she remained, tired of an inactive life, 
till the peace of Luneville permitted her to re- 
turn with safety to her country. It was with no 
small regret she laid aside a uniform obtained 
through the most signal merit, and supported in 
an honourable and exemplary manner. To at- 
test the truth of these particulars, and the well- 
merited opinion of her zealous and faithful servi- 
ces, the Commander-in- Chief, General Baron 
Melas, in a rescript of the 23d of May, 1801, 
announced to the supreme Council of War, that 
on the 1 1th of July, 1800, he had conferred her 
lieutenancy on her brother, who was then a cadet 
in the regiment of Belgiojoso. 

It is only necessary to add, that this adventu- 
rous young lady, having resumed her sex in the 
bosom of her family, is no less a pattern now of 
female merit, than she formerly was of military 
conduct; fulfilling, with unexampled sweetness 
and equanimity of temper, the office of governess 
to her younger sisters, and otherwise assisting her 
venerable mother in the management of her do- 
mestic concerns. 


THIS man was by, trade a tinker, and followed 
that business till six weeks before his death. 
His apartments pourtrayed symptoms of the most 
abject poverty, though at his death he was 
found to be possessed of property to the amount 
of between five and six thousand pounds. Pie 
bad a wife and several children, whom he brought 
up in the most parsimonious manner, often feed- 
ing them on grains and the offals of meat, which 
he purchased at reduced prices. He' was no less 
remarkable in his person and dress: for, in order 
to save the expence of shaving, he would encou- 
rage the dirt to gather on his face, to hide in 
some measure the unseemly excrescence. He 
never suffered his shirt to be washed in water ; 
but after wearing it till it became intolerably 
black, he used to wash it in urine to save the"ex- 
peace of soap. His coat> which time had trans- 
formed into a jacket, would have puzzled the 
wisest philosopher to make out its original color, 
so covered was it with shreds and patches of dif- 
ferent colors, and those so diversified, that it re- 
'sembled the trophies of the several nations of Eu- 
rope, and seemed to vie with Joseph's " coat of 
many colors." 

The interest of his money, together with all 
be could heap up from his penurious mode of 
living, he used to deposit in a bag, which was 

VOL. 2. NO. 12. F 


covered' up in a tin pot, and then conveyed to a 
brick kitchen; one of the bricks was taken up, 
and a hole made just lar^e enough to hold the 
pot ; the brick was then carefully marked, and a 
ttilly kept behind the door of the sum deposited. 
One day, his wife discovered this hoard, and re- 
solving to profit by the opportunity, took from 
the pot, one out of sixteen guineas, thut were 
then placed there. Her husband soon discovered 
the trick, for when he came to count his money, 
and finding it not agree with the tally behind th 
door, which his wife did not know of, he taxed 
her with the theft; and, to the day of his death, 
even on his death-bed, he never spoke to her 
without adding the epithet " thief* to every 

In his younger days, he used at the death of 
any of his children, to have a little deal box 
made to put them in, and without any of the 
solemnities of a regular funeral, he would take 
them upon his shoulder to the place appropriated 
for their reception , where, once interred, he 
seemed to verify the old adage, te Out of sight, 
out of mind;" and went home as unconcerned as 
if nothing had happened. 

A short time before his death, which he evi- 
dently hastened by the daily use of nearly a quart 
of spirits, he gave strict charge that his coffin 
should not have a nail in it, which was actually 
the case, the lid being fastened with hinges made 
of cord: there was no plate on the coffin, but 
barely the initials E. N. cut on the lid. His 


shroud was made of a pound of wool ; the coffin 
was covered with a sheet instead of a pall, and 
was carried by six men, loeach of whom he left 
half-a-crown ; and at his particular desire, not 
one who followed hirn to the grave wore mourn- 
ing; but, on the contrary, each of the mourners 
seemed to try whose dress should be the most 
striking, the undertaker even being habited in a 
blue coat and scarlet waistcoat. He died at Horn- 
church, in Essex, aged 55 years, without a wiU, 
and his fortune was equally divided among his 
w iie and family. 


MARC CATOZZE, called the Little Dwarf, 
wa born at Venice, in the year 1741 /of robust 
parents, He had several brothers, all of whom 
were tall and well made; his body was not c!e- 
formedj and appeared to belong to a man of five 
feet six inches ; but he had neither arms nor legs, 
the pectoral members consisting of a very promi- 
nent shoulder, and a perfect hand. The lover 
part of the body was very flat, terminating in a 
mis-shapen foot, but complete in all its parts. 

This man was well known ; he had spent the 
greatest part of his life in traversing almost all 
the states of Europe, exhibiting himself to the 
public curiosity. He attracted the multitude, 
not only by the singularity of his form, but like- 
2 F 


wise by the astonishing strength of his jaws, and 
the dexterity with which he threw up into the 
air,' sticks anil other things with one of his hands, 
and caught them with the other. 

As lie could scarcely reach his mouth with the 
ends of his fingers, his ..greatest difficulty would 
have been to feed himself without assistance, if 
nature had not furnished him with the extraor- 
dinary power of protruding, and at the same time 
lowering his under jaw, as was discovered in dis- 
secting his body after his death. 

Though Catozze could walk and stand upright 
on his feet, yet he would have experienced great 
difficulty in reaching objects situated above, or 
at a certain distance from his hands. He had 
therefore contrived to lengthen them, as it were, 
by a very simple instrument which was to him of 
the utmost utrlify. This was a hollow piece of 
elder, about three feet in length, through which 
passed a cylindrical iron rod, fixed so as to slide 
up and down, terminating in a very sharp hook. 
If he wished to lay hold of an object at some dis- 
tance from his hand ; for instance to button his 
clothes, to take up or set down his metal goblet; 
to pull the clothes upon him in bed, he took his 
tube, which he always kept near him, in one 
hand and pushed it between his fingers, till he 
brought the hooked end towards the hand that 
was at liberty ; then seizing the object that he 
wanted with the hook, he drew it, towards him, 
turning it any way he pleased, without letting go 
the stick, but drawing back the hooked piece of 


iron, as into a sheath. The habit of using this 
instrument had rendered him so dexterous, thnt, 
by means of it he has frequently been seen 
to take up a piece of money from a table, or 
from the ground. 

It will scarcely be credited, that a man of this 
description should have met with several women 
whose affections he had the art to gain; at least, 
he frequently boasted to that effect. 

In his youth, Catozze travelled on horseback ; 
for this purpose, he procured a particular kind of 
saddle, and usually appeared in public, holding 
the reins, beating a drum, going through the mili- 
tary exercise with a musket, writing, winding up 
his watch, cutting his victuals, or performing other 
manoeuvres. He possessed a very robust consti- 
tution ; was of a disposition more than cheerful, 
arid took a pleasure in relating his travels and ad- 
ventures. He spoke very well, and wrote En- 
glish, German, French and Italian. The viva- 
city of his disposition rendered his conversation 
extremely interesting; but he was addicted to 
wine and spirituous liquors, and was fond of good 
living. He was very obstinate, had much self- 
love, and a ridiculous haughtiness. When he 
went abroad for instance, he was drawn in a 
small vehicle, by a man whom he called his 
horse, and to whom he gave a few half pence ; 
but he never suffered this man, whom he consi- 
dered as his servant, to eat with him. 

The lower extremities, as has been already ob- 
served, consisted only of his feet ; yet he could 
3 F 


use them for walking in an upright position. 
More than once he has been seen walking in the 
court of the hospital at Paris in which he re- 
tided during the last years of his life, and even 
to go nearly three quarters of a mile on foot. 
In order to rest himself, he turned out his toes 
as far as he could, supported himself before on 
his stick, and behind against any place that he 
happened to be near ; and thirs remained whole 
hours conversing with strangers who called to see 

He expired at the age of 62, of an inflamma- 
tion of the bowels ; having for two previous 
to his death, complained of violent pains of thfc 


FOR some years of the latter parr of Ms life, this 
singular man displayed numerous peculiarities in 
his manner of living, which, while they were per- 
fectly innocent, served, by the occupation they af- 
forded his mind, to smooth the path he was tra- 
velling on to eternity. Mr. King was born of poor, 
but very reputable parents at Hammersmith, and 
was very early placed out by them as s4io'p-boy 
to a hattttr and hosier in the Strand. After ha- 
ving served his master, who was a kind and very 
indulgent man, for several years, with great dili- 
gence, credit, and honesty, and having on all 


Occasions proved himself trust- worthy, he, mar- 
Tied a very respectable young woman who lived 
in the neighbourhood, and had gained his affec- 
tions. He very soon after, with his master's as- 
sistance, and by the help of the small fortune he 
had obtained with his wife, set up for himself in 
Holborn, where, by his modest deportment, 
-frugality, and unremitting attention to his busi- 
ness, he in process of time acquired {i very com- 
fortable competency, which, enabled him to quit 
his business, and to live at ease, in decent re- 
spectability, for the remainder of his days. He 
retired to Islington, where he hired a small 
house for himself and wife, never having had 
any children. Not having the usual avocations 
to fill up his time, and the number of his ac- 
quaintance being rather scanty, he found this 
new mode of life, though more dignified, not al- 
together so consistent with his happiness as he 
expected it would have been. Other amusements 
failing him, he began, soon after his retirement, 
to bestow unusual care upon his dress. In his 
youth, when it was the fashion to wear laced 
clothes, he had frequently betrayed strong marks 
of admiration at the happiness that he conceived 
must accompany the being so finely dressed; 
but he was prevented from indulging himself in 
this way by the narrow state of his finances. In 
old age this passion for dress returned upon him 
with redoubled vigour ; and he began scon after 
his retirement from business* to indulge himself 
in fine clothes to a raost immoderate extent. At 


first he used to \valk out in the town in his laced 
clothes : but this attracted the attention of idle 
boys, who, upon his appearance gathered in 
crowds about him, to admire his laced clothes, 
the want of which would, not many years ago, 
have been almost equally an object of singularity. 
He at length found it necessary to confine him- 
self to his own territories ; 'chysing rather to de- 
prive himself of his accustomed perambulations, 
than to part for a moment, with any of his fine- 
ry. He was now almost unceasingly occupied in 
devising new modes of adorning his person, his 
wife never attempting to check this propensity, 
but rather encouraging him in it, seeing how 
great was the satisfaction he derived from it, 
and that their finances could bear it without in- 
convenience. Decked in his gold-laced clothes, 
slashed sleeves, and highly powdered perriwig, 
he walked about his house, changing his dress 
several times in the course of the day. While 
not occupied with his dress, two favourite Tom 
cats were a grand source of amusement to him: 
these had been his constant and faithful compa- 
nions for several years, and were rather looked up- 
on by him as friends and equals than as brutes, and 
had their places at table regularly assigned them 
every day. Finding so much satisfaction from 
dress himself, he was disposed to extend this 
soure of amusement to his friends the cats, and 
<! laced habits were accordingly provided for 
them and the poor pusses generously bore the 
incumbrance with which they were loaded, as if 


to make some atonement lo their kind master, for 
the care he bestowed upon them. Thus almost 
secluded from the world, Mr. King lived for 
several years happy in the society of his own 
adorned person, his now almost superannuated 
wife, and his cats, and admitted but t'.vo or three 
friends, now and then to see him ; and as he 
was kindly indulged in his peculiarities, he was 
always affable and obliging to them. The death 
of his wife was so severe a shock to him, that he, 
the day after took to his bed, and survived her 
riot more than a week. His passion, however, 
for fine clothes forsook him not on his death- 
bed; for such part of the day as he could sit ap 
he was regularly attired in them. Having no re- 
lations living, Mr. King left the whole of his pro- 
perty to an old servant, who had been his careful 
and constant nurse, accompanied, however, with 
the most earnest injunctions to support, his old 
friends the cats in a manner suitable to the 
friendship he entertained for them. He died 
at Islington, at the beginning of the year 1806, 
aged 75. 


TlIIS gentleman was nearly as remarkable a 
character as Mr. Eivves, of penurious memory. 
He was originally a tanner in South wark, and 
lus dealings were so extensive, that his stock in 


trade was, For many years, supposed to be worth 
sixty or seventy thousand pounds. He had been 
long in business, and was reputed to be worth a 
plumb. Mr. Pope at length became a money- 
lender, and launched into discounting and buying 
annuities, mortgages and other transactions of a 
like nature. He was not, however, so success- 
ful in this branch of business as he had been in 
liis former dealings; for the name of Pope, the 
Usurer, frequently appears in the proceedings of 
pur courts of law, when the venerable sages on 
the bench thought very differently from Mr, 
Pope, of his practices in this line of business. 
The most remarkable, and the hist instance of 
this sort was, when he was cast in JO/JOOl. 
damages for some usurious or illegal practices, 
in some money transactions with Sir A-exander 
Leith. This was generally thought a severe 
sentence, and, perhaps, the well-known cha- 
racter of the man contributed not a little to- 
wards it. Mr, Pope himself thought it so op- 
pressive and unjust, that he complained -of it 
without ceasing, and even printed a case, setting 
forth the particulars of his grievance. To be even 
with his adversary Mr. Pope went with all his 
effects and property to France ; where a man 
of his advanced age and ample fortune, without 
any family but his wife, who was a most worthy 
woman, might certainly have lived very comfor- 
tably : but Mr. Pope abroad, was removed from 
his friends and customers. His money being idle, 
which was always considered by him as a great 


misfortune, he resolved to return home, and, to 
shew his resentment to his oppressors, as he 
termed them, he preferred a residence in prison, 
to the payment of the money. Such was his 
constancy and resolution, in this particular, that 
lie actually suffered confinement for eleven years 
and a quarter. Mr. Pope, at one time, might 
have got his liberty for one thousand pounds, but 
he remained inflexible, and said, that his com- 
pliance \vould be an acknowledgment of the 
justness of the debt, and he would forfeit his 
life rather than make any such admission. In 
prison, Mr. Pope had many opportunities of in- 
dulging those propensities for which he had ever 
been remarkable; he always looked at the pint 
of small-beer, before he paid for it, to see that 
the pot was full : for this he was in some degree 
excusable, as the pint generally lasted him two 
days, that and water been his only beverage. 
He has indeed being known to drink, a little 
strong beer, with some of his fellow prisoners at 
their apartments, but this was very rarely prac- 
tised, and he never ordered any for himself. He 
purchased his three-farthing candle by weight, 
and chose the heaviest of six, eight, or ten for 
his money. 

During the whole time of his confinement he 
never had a joint of meat on his table ; a four- 
penny plate of meat from a cook's shop was his 
greatest luxury, and that generally served him 
for two meals. But his family, though living at 
a, distance, frequently sent him a comfortable 


and proper supply; and on these occasions, Mr. 
Pope sometimes gave some leavings to his er- 
rand-girl, or to some distressed object. 

It must indeed, be admitted, that Mr. Pope, 
upon some occasions, sometimes so far departed 
from himself, as to be liberal. When young iu 
trade, he gave away upwards of a stone of meat 
every week, among his workmen and poor neigh- 
bours ; and this practice he never discontinued 
not even when he was every day weighing his 
candle, or looking after the measure of his small- 
beer. In money transactions lie suffered great 
frauds and impositions in prison; as he had not 
the choice of customers in his confined state, 
and always endeavoured to make the most of his 
money, he was more easily imposed upon. By 
such means, he is supposed to have lost more 
money than would have paid his. whole damages 
and costs. He died in the Fleet Prison in th 
month of July 1794, aged 6'G years. 


BEFORE the metropolis had any bridge over 
the Thames, the conveyance was by a ferry, 
which used to carry passengers, from South- 
wark to the city by boats ; which ferry was rent- 
ed of the city by John Overs, who enjoyed it for 
many years. This man, though he kept many 
servants, was of so covetous a disposition, that 
he would not, even in his old age, spare his fee- 
ble body, nor abate any thing of his unnecessary 
labour, only to add to his wealth. He had al- 
ways been accustomed to put his money out to 
use, and in time it increased to such a degree 
that he was almost as rich as the first noblemen 
in the land; notwithstanding, his habit, house- 
..keeping, and expences, indicated the most abject 

This Charon had one daughter, both pious and 
beautiful ; and he took care enough to have her 
liberally educated; but when she grew up, and 
fit for marriage, he would suffer no man (by his 
good will) to have any aqcess to her. However, 
a young gentleman took the opportunity, when 
he was picking up his penny fares, to get ad- 
mitted to her company. The first interview 
VOL. 2. NO. 13. G 


pleased well, the second better, and the third 
concluded the match. Meanwhile, the silly, 
rich ferryman, not dreaming but things were as 
secure by land as they were by water, continued 
in his former course, which was as follows. He 
was of so penurious a disposition, that, when he 
would not be at the charge of a fire, he roasted, 
or at least, warmed, a black pudding in his bosom, 
and ate it; and gave his servants their portion 
out of his bosom, heated by his rowing over the 
water. Puddings were then a yard for a penny ; 
and whenever he gave them their allowance, he 
used to say, " There, you hungry dogs, you will 
undo me with eating!" 

He would scarcety afford his poor neighbours 
permission to light a candle, lest they should im- 
poverish him, by taking some of the light. In the 
night he went to scrape upon the dung-hill, and 
if he could find any bones, he would bring them 
home in his cap, and have them stewed for pot- 
t;te; and instead of oatmeal, he would buy the 
srftings or' coarse meal, and with this make the 
poor servants their broth. He bought his bread 
at the market, not caring how mouldy or stale it 
was ; and when he brought it home, he cut it in- 
to slices, and laid it in the sun, that it might be 
the harder to be eaten. Meat lie would not buy, 
unless it were tainted, and therefore would go fur- 
ther in the family; and when his dog refused it, 
he said, he was a dainty cur, and better fed than 
taught, and then ate it himself. He needed no 


eats, for all the rats and mice voluntarily left ins 
house, as there were no crumbs left by his ser- 
vants to feed them. 

It is farther reported of him, that, to save one 
day's expences, he first feigned himself sick, and 
the next day counterfeited death, for no other 
purpose than to save one day's provisions ; appre- 
hending that, whilst his body was above ground, 
his servants would not be so unnatural as to take 
any manner of food till they had seen him in the 
earth, purposing to recover the next morning af- 
ter the charge was saved ; and with this he ac- 
quainted his daughter, who, against her own will, 
consented to satisfy his humour. He was then, 
laid out for dead, and wrapt up in a sheet, for he 
would not be at the expence of a coffin. He was 
laid out in his chamber with one candle burning 
at his head, and another at his feet ; which was 
the custom of the time. His apprentices hearing 
of the glad tidings, came to see the joyful specta- 
cle, and supposing him really dead, began to 
dance and skip about the corpse. One ran into 
the kitchen, and breaking open the cupboard, 
brought out the brown loaf; another fetched out 
the cheese; and the third drew a flagon of beer. 
They immediately began rilling their empty bel- 
lies having been before almost starved, and re- 
joicing among themselves in the expectation of 
future comfort, and deliverance from the hard 
usage they had endured. The old man lay 
quaking all this time to see the waste, and think- 
*0 lie should be undone, he could endure it no 
c 2 


longer. Stirring and struggling in his sheet, he 
stalked forth like a ghost, and taking a candle in 
each hand, was going to rout them for their bold- 
ness, when one of them, thinking it was the de- 
vil, in his likeness, in amazement caught hold of 
the butt end of a broken oar, and at one blow 
struck out his brains. Thirs he, who thought on- 
ly to counterfeit death, actually lost his life, 
through his own contrivance, and the law ac- 
quitted the fellow of the act, as the deceased was 
the prime occasion of the accident. 

The daughter's lover hearing of her father's 
death, instantly posted away ta town, but., with 
more haste than good speed, for in riding fast, 
his horse unfortunately threw him, just at his en- 
trance into London, and broke his neck. This,, 
and her father's death, had such had an effect on 
her spirits as to bereave her of her senses. The 
father, who, for his usury, extortion, and the sor- 
didness of his life, had been excommunicated, 
was not allowed Christian burial ; but the daugh- 
ter, for money, prevailed upon the friars of Ber- 
mondsey abbey, in the absence of the abbot, to 
get him buried. 

When the abbot came home, seeing a new 
grave, he enquired who had been buried there, 
in his absence. On being truly informed, he 
Caused the body to be taken up, and commanded 
it to be laid on the back of his own ass, for it was 
the custom of the times for the heads of religious 
houses to ride upon asses, then making a short 
prayer, he turned the beast with his burden out 


at the abbey gates, desiring of God that he might 
carry him to some place where he best deserved 
to be buried. The ass went with a solemn pace, 
unguided by any, through Kent Street, till he 
came to St, Thomas-a-watering, which was then 
the common execution place, and then shook 
him off, just under the gallows; where a grave 
was instantly made, and, without any cere- 
mony, he was tumbled in, and covered with 
earth. Such was the remarkable end of his in- 
famous and abominable avarice.' 

These disasters coining on the daughter in 
such rapid succession, and being troubled with a 
number of new suitors, she resolved to retire into 
a cloister of religious nuns; and determined, that 
whatever her father had left her at his death, she 
would dispose of as nearly as .she could to the ho- 
nour of her Creator, and the encouragement of 
his religious service. Near to the place where her 
fattier lived, and where she was born, she there- 
fore caused the foundation of a famous church 
to be laidj which was finished at her own charge, 
and dedicated by her to the blessed Virgin Mary. 
In memory of this pious act, and that her name 
might live to all posterity, the people added her 
name to that given by her, and called it St. Ma- 
ry Overs, which title it bears even to this day. 
To the public spirit of the priests of St. Mary 
Overs, London Bridge owed its origin. Before, 
there had been a ferry left by her parents to their 
only daughter Mary, who founded a nunnerv, 
and endowed it with the money received from the 
G 3 


profits of the boats. This house was afterwards 
converted into a great college of priests, who not 
only built the bridge, but kept it in repair. The 
first bridge it should be observed was of timber, 
the materials of which it was constructed were 
at hand, and most probably were rudely put to- 


THIS relative of the noble family of the same 
name, being half brother to the late venerable 
and illustrious Earl Camden, was a man of sin- 
gular character and affords a remarkable instance 
of unconquerable taciturnity, and tenacious ac- 
curacy of memory. Though by no means an 
avaricious man, he always preferred the upper 
floor of a house for his residence, on account of 
its tranquillity; and regularly, while on shore, 
dined in a room by himself at a tavern, where 
lie daily drank a solitary bottle of wine, without 
intoxication. He was seldom heard to speak, 
but no circumstance, however urgent, could pre- 
vail on him to break silence at whist, the favourite 
amusement, or rather occupation, of his life ; 
and, at the conclusion of each rubber, he could 
correctly call over the cards in the exact order \\\ 
which they were played, and enumerate various 
instances of error or dexterity in his associates, 
with practical remarks. 
.But taciturnity was the favourite, the habitual 


or the affected pleasure of his life: he chose tot 
forego many little satisfactions and comforts, ra- 
ther than be at the trouble of asking for them. 
The endearing chit-chat of friendship or affec- 
tion, the familiar small-talk of domestic life, the 
lively intercourse and' spirited conversation of 
polished circles, which the votaries of solitude 
sometimes relish, he sedulously avoided. In his 
voyages to the east, he often doubled the Cape 
of Good Hope without opening his lips. On a 
certain occasion, the ship had been detained by a 
long and troublesome calm, more distressing to a 
sailor, than a tempestuous sea. The anxious 
and dispirited crew were at last revived by the 
wished-for breeze, which sprung up and wafted 
them to the place of their destination. A shabby 
seaman proclaimed the welcome tidings of land 
from the top-mast. While the officers and ship's 
company were congratulating each other on the 
approaching comforts of terra jirma, the features 
of Mr. Pratt were observed somewhat to alter, 
and unbend. " I knew, said he, you would en- 
joy the sight of land ; I saw it an hour before the 
careless raggamuffin aloft." And these were the 
first, the last, and the only words he uttered du- 
ring the voyage. This unsocial and reserved be- 
havior probably originated from ill-treatment on 
his first voyage, a hasty unfavourable opinion of 
his associates, the boisterousness of the waves, or 
an ill-founded and ungenerous prejudice, in 
which he was supported by a learned writer. 
" I prefer a prison to a ship," said Dr. Johnson, 



nm ft 

" for you have always more room, and generally 
better company." This illiberal sarcasm, from 
man who knew and taught better things, seeing 
highly reprehensible. 


Op the origin of this eccentric artist who fol- 
lowed the trade of a carver and gilder at York, 
with considerable reputation, nothing farther is 
known, than that he was horn in the year 1703. 
He seems in the early part of his life to have em- 
braced the military profession, and to have been 
one of the retinue of his Royal Highne&s Wii- 
liam Duke of Cumberland. He fought under 
the Earl of Stair at the battle of .Dettingen, and 
under the Duke of Cumberland in the battle of 
Fontenoy ; was at the siege of Carlisle, and at the 
battle of Culloden. 

He settled at York at the latter end of the 
year 1746. His habitation having been burnt 
down, he took the singular resolution of not lying 
in a bed, which he had not done for the last 
thirty-eight years of his life. He used to steep 
on the floor or upon one or more chairs with his 
clothes on. During the whole of this period he 
lived alone, cooked his victuals himself, and sel- 
dom admitted any person into his habitation, 
carefully concealing the place of his bisth or to 
whom he was related. It was supposed that he 


was born in or near London, and that he had 
relations resident there at the time of his 
death. He appeared to have had a liberal edu- 
catioN, and was fond of being styled Sir Chris- 
topher Pivett. He was also remarkable for 
many other singularities. Among other un- 
common articles which composed the furniture 
of his apartment were a human skull arid some 
old swords and armor on which he set a great va- 
lue. He retained his faculties to the last, de- 
clined the indulgence ol a bed or even of a mat- 
trass, and refused all medical assistance. He 
was an ingenious artist, and an honest man, and 
died in York, in 1796, at the advanced age of 
93 years. 


NO stimulus has ever been found to operate 
with greater power upon the human mind than 
ieligious enthusiasm. Under the influence of 
this .passion which perhaps more thoroughly 
subdues the reason and understanding than any 
of the others implanted in the' bosom of man, 
the misguided fanatic braves 'every danger and 
there is no enterprize too preposterous and extra- 
vagant for him to undertake. Such was the 
principle that reigned with unlimited dominion 
in the heart of John Kelsey. 

This man, likewise" distinguished by the ap- 


pellation of John the Quaker, was bom of low 
parents and lived during the reign of Charles the 
II. He conceived no less a design than that of 
converting the Grand Signior to the Christian 
faith, and for this purpose absolutely went to 
Constantinople. He placed himself at the cor- 
ner of one of the streets of that city, and preach- 
ed with all the vehemence of a fanatic ; but 
speaking in his own language, a crowd of peo- 
ple gathered round him, and stared with asto- 
nishment, without being able to guess at the 
drift of his discourse. He was soon considered 
to be out of his senses, and at length was taken 
to a madhouse, where he was closely confined for 
six months. It happened that one of the keepers 
knew a little of English, and discovered him to b& 
an Englishman. Lord Winchelsea, who was then 
ambassador to the Porte, was informed that a mad 
countryman of his was then under confinement, 
His Lordship immediately sent for him, and he ap- 
peared in an old dirty hat, very much torn, which 
no persuasion could induce him to take off. The 
ambassador thought that a little of the Turkish 
discipline might be of some service to him, and 
accordingly gave orders that he should receive 
the bastinado. This had the desired effect, and 
caused a total change in his behaviour, and he 
even confessed that the drubbing had a good ef- 
fect upon his spirit. Some letters were found up* 
on him, addressed to the Great Turk, in which 
he told him, that he was a scourge in the hand 
of God to chastise the wicked j and that he 


sent him not only to denounce, but to execute 
vengeance. Soon after he was put on board a 
ship for England, but artfully found means to es- 
cape in his passage, and got back again to Con- 
stantinople. He was soon discovered, and sent 
on board of another ship, and means were taken 
to prevent the possibility of his making a second 


THIS remarkable and eccentric character, died 
on the 23d of January, 1804, at Cowpen, in 
Northumberland in the 99th year of his age. 
For many years he had such an antipathy against 
medical men, that even in his last illness/ he 
would not suffer any to attend him. He w^as 
very partial to the dress.and company of the fair 
sex, but never had the pleasure of tying the hy- 
meneal knot. \Vhen seventy years of age, his 
thirst For innocent and childish amusements was 
such, that he actually went to the dancing school, 
where he regularly attended, and appeared highly 
gratified with his youthful associates. About 
two years before his decease a sister, who resided 
in London, was at the trouble of paying him a 
visit ; and during her short slay, he generously al- 
lowed her milk and lodging; but with bread ancl 
other necessaries she was obliged to provide her- 
self. When he had any money to send to his 


banker at Newcastle, three of his most trusty sej 
van is were well mounted and armed with pistols; 
his principal man rode in the middle with the 
cash, and the other two at proper distances from 
him, in his van and rear. In this defensive man- 
ner they marched along, the better to resist any 
attack that might be attempted by daring high- 
waymen. Though so singular in his manner, no 
person deserved better the name of a good man. 


AMONG the many instances of the remarkable 
judgments of Heaven against persons guilty of 
the atrocious crime of murder, the following is 
not the least extraordinary. It affords ^an addi- 
tional and striking demonstration that though 
the day of retribution may long be delayed, the 
murderer seldom escapes, even in this world, the 
punishment decreed by society for his offence. 
William Andrew Home was the eldest son of 
a gentleman who possessed a good estate in the 
parish of Pentridge, in Derbyshire. There he 
was born on the ,30th. of November, 1685. By 
his father wh > was reputed the first classic scho- 
lar in the county, he was taught Latin and Greek, 
in neither of which he made much progress. 
Being a favorite with the old gentleman he was 
indulged at an early age with a horse and money, 



which enabled him to ramble from one place of 
diversion to another. In this course of dissipa- 
tion, he gave a loose to his vicious inclinations, 
and particularly to his passion for women. Not 
content with debauching his mother's maid ser- 
vants, he afterwards acknowledged in a paper 
written with his own hand, that he had been the 
occasion of the murder of a servant girl who was 
with child by him, and that he had a criminal 
connection with his own sisters. 

In the month of February 1724, one of his sis- 
ters was delivered of a fine boy. Three days af- 
terwards he went at ten o'clock at night, to his 
brother Charles, who then lived with him at- his 
fathers, and told him he must take a ride with 
him that night.^ He then fetched the child, 
which they put into a long linen bag, and taking 
two horses out of the stable, rode away to An- 
nesly in Nottinghamshire, five computed miles 
from Butterley, carrying the child by turns. 
When they came near the place, William 
alighted, and asked whether the child was alive. 
Charles answering iu the affirmative, he took it 
in the bag, and went away, bidding his brother 
stay till he should return. When Charles asked 
him what he had done with it, he said, he had 
laid it by a hay-stack, and covered it with hay. 

After his condemnation, he declared that he 
had no intention the child should die; that to 
preserve its life, he put it into a bag lined with 
wool, and made a hole in the bag to give it air; 
that the child was well dressed, and was designed 

VOL. 2 NO. 13. H 


as a present for Mr. Chiuvorth of Annesly, and 
was intended to be laid at his door : but on taking 
it from his brother, and approaching the house, 
the dogs made suck a constant barking, that he 
durst not go up to the door for fear of a disco- 
very, there being a light in one of the windows; 
that upon this disappointment, he went back to 
some distance, and at last determined to lay it un- 
der a warm hay-stack, in hopes of its being dis- 
covered early next morning, by the people who 
came to fodder the cattle. The child was indeed 
found, but it was dead, in consequence of being 
left there all night in the cold. 

Not long afterwards, Charles, having some dif- 
ference with his brother, mentioned the affair to 
his father, who enjoined him never to speak of 
it again. It was, accordingly, kept a secret till 
the old gentleman's death, which happened 
about the year J/-17, when he was in his 102d 
year. Charles having occasion, soon after this 
event, to call on Mr. Cooke an attorney of Der- 
by, on parish business, related to him the whole 
affair. Mr. Cooke said he ought to go to a ma- 
gistrate, and make a full discovery. He accor- 
dingly went to Justice Gisborne, but that gen- 
tleman told him, it would be better to be silent, 
as it was an affair of long standing, and might 
hang half the family. After this Charles men- 
tioned it to several other persons. 

Charles at this time, was far from being in 
easy circumstances. He kept a little ale-house 
at a gate leading to his brother's habitation ; and 


though he used frequently to open the gate for 
him,, pulling off his hat at the same time, yet Wil- 
liam would never speak to him. Not only his 
brother, but the whole country round had reason 
to complain of his churlishness and rigor ; he 
would scarcely suffer a person, who was not qua- 
lified, to keep a dog or a gun, so that he was 
universally feared and hated. 

About the year 17*54, Charles being very ill of 
a flux, sent for Mr. John White ef Ripley, and 
said he was a dying man, and could not go out of 
the world without" disclosing his mind to him. He 
then acquainted him with the incest and murder. 
Mr. White said it was a delicate business, and 
he knew not what to advise. A few days after- 
wards, Mr. White seeing him surprisingly reco- 
vered, askecFhim to what it was owing, to which 
Charles replied, it was in consequence of his 
having disclosed his mind to him. 

A short time previous to this circumstance, 
William Andrew Home threatened one Mr. Roe 
for killing game, and meeting him at a public 
house, an altercation arose on this subject, hi 
which Roe called Home an incestuous old dog. 
For these words he was prosecuted in the ecclesi- 
astical court at Litchfield, and being unable to 
prove the charge, he was obliged to submit, and 
to pay all expences. Roe being afterwards in- 
formed that Charles Home had informed some 
persons that his brother William had starved his 
natural child to death, went to them, and found 
his intelligence to be Uue. Upon this he applied. 


about Christmas 17^8, to a justice in Derbyshire, 
for a warrant to apprehend Charles, that the 
truth might come out. The warrant was grant- 
ed ; but as the justice did public business on 
Mondays on]y, the constable took Charles's word 
for his appearance on the Monday following. 

Meanwhile, William being informed of the 
warrant, endeavoured to prevail on his brother 
Charles to perjure himself, promising to be a 
friend to him. Charles refused to comply, say- 
ing that he had no reason to expect any favour 
fiv-m him, but as he was his brother, if he would 
give him five pounds to carry him to Liverpool, 
he would immediately embark for another coun- 
try. William, however, refused to part with the 

The justices of Derbyshire, discovering some 
reluctance to sift the affair to the bottom, an ap- 
plication was made about the middle of March, 
1759, to a justice of the peace in Nottingham- 
shire, who granted a warrant for apprehending 
W r illiam. It was soon endorsed by Sir John 
Every, a gentleman in the commission of the 
peace for the county of Derby. About eight at 
night the constable of Annesly, went to Mr. 
Home's house at Butterley, and knocked at the 
door, but was refused admittance. He then left 
the above mentioned Roe and two others to guard 
the house, and came again the next morning. 
He was told by a servant man that Mr. Home 
was gone out. They insisted he was in the 
house, and threatened to break open _the door, 


ton which they were admitted. They searched 
all over the house, but could not find Mr. Home. 
Roe pressed them to make a second search. In 
one of the rooms they observed a large old 
chest, in which Home's wife said there was no- 
thing but table linen and sheets. Roe insisted 
on inspecting the contents/ and was aboutj to 
break the lid, when Mrs. Home opened it, 
-and her husband started up in a fright, bare- 
headed, exclaiming, " It is a sad thing to hang 
me, for my brother Charles is as bad as myself; 
and he cannot hang me without hanging him- 

He was carried before two justices of Not- 
tingham, and after an examination of some hours, 
was committed to Nottingham gaol, to take his 
trial at the assizes. Soon after his commitment 
he made application to the court of King's 
Bench, to be removed by Habeas Corpus, in or- 
der to be bailed. For this purpose he went to 
London in the custody of his goaler, but the 
court denied him bail, so that he was obliged to 
return to Nottingham, where he remained in 
confinement till the summer assizes, held on the 
10th of August 1759, before Lord Chief Baron 
Parker. After a trial whi^h lasted nine hours, 
the jury having withdrawn for half an hour, pro- 
nounced a verdict of Guilty. Thirty-five years 
the justice of heaven had lingered, but now it 
descended with redoubled weight on the head of 
the hoary sinner. On this occasion the very per- 
sons who found the child appeared and corrojbo- 
Ii 3 


rated the brother's evidence, lie immediately 
received sentence to be hanged the Monday fol- 
lowing, but in the evening, at the intercession of 
some gentlemen who thought the time too short 
for such an old offender to search his heart, the 
judge was pleased to respite the execution of the 
sentence for a month; at the expiration of 
which he obtained another respite till farther 

This time he spent chiefly in fruitless applica- 
tions to persons in power for a pardon, mani- 
festing little sense of the crime of which he had 
been convicted, and often saying it was doubly 
hard to suffer on the evidence of a brother for a 
crime committed so many years before. A day 
or two previous to his execution, he solemnly de- 
nied many atrocious things which common re- 
port laid to his charge, and said to a person!, 
" My friend, my brother Charles was tried at 
Derby twenty years ago, and acquitted; my dear 
sister Nanny forswearing herself at that time to 
save his life, which you see was preserved to hang 
me." He told the clergyman who attended him, 
" that he forgave all his enemies, even his bro- 
ther Charles ; but that at the day of judgment, if 
God Almighty should ask him how his brother 
Charles behaved, he would not give him a good 
character." He was exactly 74 years old the 
day he died, being executed on his birth-day. 
This he mentioned several times after the order 
for his execution was signed, saying, he always 
used tp have plumb-pudding on his birth-day, 


and would again, if he could obtain another re- 

He was of such a penurious disposition^, that it 
is said he never did one generous action in the 
whole course of his life. Notwithstanding his 
licentious conduct, his father left him all his real 
estate, having some time before his death given 
all his personal property by a deed of gift to 
Charles. The father died on a couch in the kit- 
chen, and had, at the time, about twelve guineas 
in his pocket, which undoubtedly belonged 
to Charles. William, however, took the cash 
out of the pocket of his deceased parent, and 
would not part with it^ till Charles promised to 
pay the whole ^xpence of burying the old 
man. This he did, and afterwards insisting on 
his right, the elder brother turned him out of 
doors, and though he knew he was master of 
such an important secret, he refused to afford 
him the least assistance ; or to give a morsel of 
bread to his hungry children, begging at the door 
of their hard-hearted uncle. Besides his incest, 
and the murder of the young woman, who was 
with child by him, he confessed that he broke 
with a violent blow, the arm of one Amos Killer, 
which occasioned the poor fellow's death, 


IT is matter of just regret that Mr. Day, left 
behind him no friend able or willing to present 
the public with a complete account of his life. 
The particulars which have been given con- 
cerning this original and truly eccentric cha- 
racter seem to justify the presumption that such 
a narrative would have afforded equal instruc- 
tion and entertainment. From such scanty ma- 
terials as can be procured, the following facts 
are gleaned; but justice obliges the compiler to 
acknowledge, that, for most of them, he is in- 
debted to the interesting account of Mr. Day, 
given by the ingenious Miss Seward, in her 
" Memoirs of the Life of Dr. Darwin." 

Thomas Day was born in London in J748. 
He was educated at the Charter-house, and from 
that institution was removed to Corpus Christi 
College, Oxford. His father died during his in- 
fancy, leaving him an estate of twelve hundred 
pounds per annum. Soon after that event Mrs. 
Day married a gentleman of the name of Phi- 
lips, one of those ordinary characters who seek 
to supply an inherent want of consequence by an 
officious interference in circumstances with 
which they have no real concern. Mrs. Philips, 
with a jointure of three hundred pounds- a yea> 


out of her son's estate, had been left his guardian, 
in conjunction with another person, whom she. 
influenced. Being herself under 'the influence 
of her husband, the domestic situation of her 
son, a youth of high spirit and no common ge- 
nius, was often rendered extremely uncomfort-:. 
able. It may easily be supposed that he impa- 
tiently brooked the troublesome authority of a 
man whom he despised, and who had no claim 
upon his obedience, though he considered it his 
duty to treat the husband of his mother with 
some exterior deference and respect. She often 
repined at the narrowness of her jointure, and 
still more frequently expressed her anxiety lest 
Mr. Philips who had no fortune of his own, 
should, by losing her, be deprived in the decline 
of life, of a comfortable subsistence. No sooner 
had Mr. Day come of age and into possession of 
his estate, than he augmented his mother's join- 
ture to four hundred pounds, and settled it on 
Mr. Philips during his life. Such bounty to one 
who had needlessly embittered so many years of 
his infancy and youth, affords incontestible evi- 
dence of a truly noble and elevated mind. ?. 

Mr. Day was a phenomenon rarely seen in 
these latter times, especially among, persons of 
his rank in society. Even at that period ." when 
youth, elate and gay, steps into life/' he looked 
quite the philosopher. Powder and elegant 
clothes were at that time the appendages of gen- 
tlemen, but Mr. Day wore neither, la person 
he was tall, and stooped in the shoulders; he was 

22 THOMAS DAY, r.s'o. 

full made, but not corpulent; and in his pensive 
and melancholy air were blended awkwardness 
and dignity. Though his features bore the traces 
of a severe small-pox, yet they were interesting 
and agreeable. A kind of weight hung upon the 
lids of his large hazle eyes, but when he declaimed 

Of good and evil, 

Passioa and apathy, and glory and shame, 

the expression that flashed from them was highly 

His moral character was moulded after the an- 
tique model of the most virtuous citizens of 
Greece and Koine. He proudly imposed on 
himself rigid abstinence, even from the most in- 
nocent pleasures ; nor would he allow any action 
to be virtuous that was performed from the hope 
of a reward here or hereafter. This severity of 
principle had, however the effect of rendering 
him rather sceptical towards the doctrines of re- 
vealed religion. Strict integrity, active friend- 
ship, open handed bounty, and diffusive charity, 
greatly over-balanced the tincture of misanthro- 
pic gloom and proud contempt of common-life 
society, which marked his character. For such 
;miseries as spring from refinement and the softer 
affections, Mr. Day had no sympathy ; but he 
evinced genuine compassion for the sufferings of 
cold and hunger. To the pleasure of relieving 
these he nobly sacrificed all the parade of life 
and all the gratifications of luxury. For po- 


lished society he expressed supreme contempt, 
and cherished a particular aversion for the mo- 
dern plans of female education, ascribing to 
their influence the disappointment he experi- 
enced from the fickleness of a young lady to whom 
he had paid ,his addresses. He, nevertheless, 
thought it his. duty to marry; he indulged syste- 
matic ideas of the powers of philosophic tuition 
to produce future virtue, and took great delight 
in moulding the mind of infancy and youth. 

The distinctions of birth and the advantages 
of wealth were ever regarded by Mr. Day with 
contempt. He resolved that the woman whom 
he should chuse for his wife should have a taste 
for'literature and science, for moral and patriotic 
philosophy. She would thus be a fit companion 
in that retirement to which he had destined him- 
self, and might assist in forming the minds of his 
children to stubborn virtue and high exertion. 
He likewise resolved, that in her dress, her diet^ 
and her manners she should be simple as a moun- 
tain-girl, fearless and intrepid as the Spartan 
wives and Roman heroines. The most romantic 
philosopher could not expect to find such a crea- 
ture ready made to his hands, and Mr. Day was 
soon convinced of the necessity of moulding some 
infant into the being his fancy had pictured. 

To the accomplishment of this plan he pro- 
ceeded in the following manner. When he 
came of age, he procured credentials of his 
moral probity, and with these he travelled to 
Shrewsbury, accompanied by his friend the late 


Mr. Bicknel, then a banister in considerable 
practice, to explore the hospital for foundling 
girls in that town. From among the little in- 
mates of this institution, Mr. Day, in the pre- 
sence of his friend, selected two of twelve years. 
They were both beautiful; the one, fair, with 
flaxen locks arid light eyes, he called Lucretia; 
the other, a clear, auburn brunette, with darker 
eyes, more glowing bloom and chesnut tresses, 
)ie named Sabrina. The written conditions on 
which he obtained these sirls were to this effect: 

O * 

that, within a year he should place one of them 
with some reputable tradeswoman, giving one 
hundred pounds to bind her apprentice, and 
maintaining her, if she behaved well, till she 
married or began business for herself, in either 
of which cashes he promised to advance four 
hundred more. He avowed his intention of 
keeping and educating the other, with a view 
to make her his wife; solemnly engaging never 
to violate her innocence, and if he should re- 
nounce his plan, to maintain her in some cre- 
ditable family till she married, when he promised 
to give five hundred pounds as her wedding por- 
tion. For the performance of this contract Mr. 
Hicknel was guarantee. 

With these girls Mr. Day immediately , went 
to France, and that they might imbibe no 
ideas but such as he chose to communicate, he 
took with him in this excursion not a single En- 
idish servant. Notwithstanding all his philoso- 
phy, his young companions harassed and per- 


plexed him not a little ; they were perpetually 
quarrelling and fighting, and at length, falling 
sick of the small-pox, they chained him to their 
bed-side by crying and screaming if they were 
left a moment with any person who could not, 
speak to them in their native language. Their 
protector was therefore not only obliged to sit up 
with them many nights, but also to perform for 
tfaem the lowest offices that are required of a 
nurse or a domestic. Health returned, and with 
it all their former beauty. Soon after the reco- 
very of his wards, Mr. Day was crossing the 
Rhone with them, On a tempestuous day, when 
the boat overset. Being an excellent swimmer 
he saved them both, though not without consi- 
derable difficulty and danger to himself. 

After a tour of eight months, during which his 
patience and perseverance had been abundantly 
exercised, Mr. Day returned to England, hear- 
tily glad to separate the little squabblers. Sa- 
brina having become the favourite, he placed 
the fair Lucretia with a chamber milliner; she 
behaved well, and afterwards married a respecta- 
ble linen-draper in London. He committed Sa- 
brina to the care of Mr. Bicknel's mother, while 
lie settled his affairs at his own mansion-house, 
Bear-hill in Berkshire, from which filial tender- 
ness would not permit him to remove his mother. 

About this time the fame of Dr. Darwin's ta- 
lents induced Mr. Day to visit Lichfield. Tlli- 
ilier in the spring of 1770 he conducted the beau-, 
u-ous Sabrina, then thirteen years old, and took 

VOL. C.~ *o. 13. i 


for twelve months a pleasant mansion in the lit- 
tle green valley of Stowe. Here he resumed his 
endeavours to implant in the mind of his charge 
the characteristic virtues of Arria, of Portia, and 
Cornelia, but his experiments were not attended 
with the desired success. He found it impossible 
to fortify her mind against the dread of pain 
and the sense of danger ; when he dropped 
melted sealing-wax upon her arms she did not 
endure it without flinching, and when he fired at 
her petticoats pistols which she believed to be 
charged with balls, she could not forbear starting, 
and expressing her apprehensions by violent 
screams. More than once when he tried her fi- 
delity in keeping pretended secrets^ he discovered 
that she had communicated them to the servants 
and to her playfellows. She manifested an aver- 
sion to study and books, which afforded little pro- 
mise of ability that should one day be responsible 
for the education of youths who were to emulate 
the Gracchi. 

In these experiments Mr. Day persisted, to his 
uniform disappointment, during the year he 
spent in the neighbourhood of Lichfield. The 
difficulty consisted in giving Sabrina a motive 
for exertion, heroism, and self denial. His 
plan rejected the usual sources pecuniary re- 
ward, luxury, ambition, and vanity. His vigi- 
lance had kept her in total ignorance of the va- 
lut? of money, the reputation of beauty, and the 
love of dress. The only inducement which she 
could have to subdue the natural preference of 


ease and sport to pain and the labour of thinking, 
was the desire of pleasing her protector, and in 
this desire fear had a much larger share than af- 
fection. At length,, discouraged by so many 
fruitless trials, he renounced all hope of moulding 
Sabrina into the being he had so fondly imaged, 
and relinquishing his intention of making her hie 
wife, he placed her at a boarding-school in War- 

His confidence in the power of education be- 
e:an to falter and his aversion to modern elegance 
subsided. During his residence in the vale of 
Stowe lie had enjoyed daily opportunities of con. 
versing with the beautiful Miss llonora Sneyd, 
of Lichfield, the object of the inextinguishable 
passion of the gallant and unfortunate Major 
Andr. The mental and personal accomplish- 
ments of this lady made such a deep impression 
on the heart of Mr. Day, that he made her an 
offer of his hand. She admired his talents, re- 
spected his virtues, but found it impossible to 
love him, and candidly told him so. He now 
transferred his heart to her sister Elizabeth, a 
very engaging young lady, though far inferior to 
Honora, and she, with equal candor, acknow- 
ledged that she could have loved him, had he ac- 
quired the manners and habits of society, in- 
stead of those austere singularities for which he 
was remarkable. 

To these our philosopher now began to ascribe 
all the disappointments he had hitherto experi- 
enced in love, lie told Elizabeth, that, for her 


sake, he would renounce his prejudices against 
external refinements, and endeavour to acquire 
them ; for which purpose he would go to Paris, 
and place himself for a year under the tuition of 
dancing and fencing masters. This he actually 
did, but, notwithstanding the man}' painful re- 
straints to which he submitted, and the incessant 
assiduity with which he studied to acquire in his 
air, manners, and address, the graceful ease and 
polished exterior of a man of the world, he was 
unable entirely to conquer habits to which time 
Trad given such strength. 

He now returned to England, but only to en- 
dure fresh disappointments. The attempts he 
made with visible effort to assume the polish of 
fashionable life, and the showy dress in which he 
presented himself to his fair one, appeared in- 
finitely more ungraceful and unbecoming than 
his natural simplicity of manners and of garb. 
She confessed that Thomas Day, blackguard, as 
he jestingly styled himself, was much less displeas- 
ing lu lit-r eye than Thomas Day, fine gentleman. 

After such sacrifices and such efforts, it is easy 
to conceive what must now have been his morti- 
fication. Relinquishing his hopeless suit, he re- 
sumed his accustomed pjainness of attire, and 
neglect of his person. He again visited the con- 
tinent, where he passed another year, and re- 
turned to England in 1773. From that period 
Mr. Day resided chiefly in London, where amid 
the select circle to which he confined himself, he 
.often met the elegant Miss Esther Mills, of Der- 


byshire. Brought up amid the luxuries,, and pos- 
sessing ihe accomplishments suited to her large 
fortune,, this lady had cultivated her understand- 
ing by books, and her virtues by benevolence. 
She soon discovered his talents and his merit, 
and in her eyes die unpolished stoic possessed ir- 
resistible charms. Her regard for him mani- 
festeditself in the most unequivocal manner ; but 
repeated disappointment had caused Mr. Day to 
look with distrust on all female attention, how- 
ever flattering. It was not till after ye-ars of mo- 
dest, yet tender devotion, that he deigned to ask 
Miss Mills, if, for his sake, she could renounce 
all the pleasures, all the luxuries, all the ostenta- 
tion of the world ; if, after procuring the ordi- 
nary comforts of life, she could resolve to em- 
ploy the surplus of her fortune in clothing the 
naked and feeding the hungry; if she could bury 
herself with him in the country, and shun, 
through the rest of her life, the infectious taint 
of society. 

Had not the heart of Miss MilJs been influ- 
enced by the most devoted attachment, she coukl 
scarcely have assented to such proposals. They 
were, however, gladly accepted ^ but something 
more remained. Mr. .Day insisted that her 
whole fortue should be settled upon her, to- 
tally out of his comroul, that if ever she grew 
tired of such a system of life, she might return 
to that to which she had been accustomed, when- 
ever she pleased. 

Having, upon these conditions, made Miss 
i 3 


Miljs his wife, Mr. Day retired with her into the 
country about the year 1780. Mrs. Day had no 
carriage, no servant of her own, no luxury of 
any kind. Music, to which she was strongly at- 
tached, was deemed trivial, and she accordingly 
banished her harpsichord and music books. Mr. 
Day made frequent experiments on her temper 
and her affection; and never did the most depen- 
dent wife make such absolute sacrifices to the 
most imperious husband, as did this lady, who 
was in secure possession of an affluent indepen- 
dence, and of whom nothing was required as a 

It was not long after his marriage that Mr. 
Day began to compose the History of Sandford 
and Morton, a work on which it is unnecessary 
to pass any eulogium here. Its general adoption 
as ft book of education by enlightened parents 
and instructors of youth, sufficiently attests the 
merits of Mr. Day's labours. He was likewise 
the author of two noble poems, which appeared 
previous to Sandford and Merton. These were 
The Devoted Legions and The Dying Negro. The 
third edition of the latter he dedicated to Rous- 
seau, in language replete with energy and every 
grace of eloquence. 

The useful life of Mr. Day was cut short in its 
meridian. He fell a victim in the year 1789 to, 
one of his uncommon systems. He thought so 
highly of the gratitude and sensibility of horses, 
that whenever they were vicious or unruly, he 
conceived it to be owing to previous ill usage. 


Having reared a favourite foal, he resolved to 
accustom him to the bit and the burden himself, 
without the assistance of a horse-breaker. He 
accordingly mounted the animal, which, disliking 
this new kind of treatment, plunged, threw his 
master, who was not a good horseman, and with 
his heels, struck him a blow on the head which 
instantly proved fatal. 

So deeply was Mrs. Day affected by his loss, 
that it is said she never afterwads saw the sun ; 
but, confining herself to her bed, within the 
curtains of which no light was admitted during 
the day, she rose only at night, and wandered 
alone in her garden, amid the gloom that was 
congenial to her sorrows. She survived her 
adored husband two years, and expired of a bro- 
ken heart. Mr. and Mrs. Day left no issue. 

The reader will not be displeased to find a few 
farther particulars relative to the fortune of Sa- 
brina, subjoined to this account of her patron. 
We left her at school at Sutton Coldfield in 
Warwickshire. There Sabrina remained three 
years, grew elegant and amiable, and gained the 
esteem of her instructress. On her leaving 
school Mr. Day allowed her fifty pounds per an- 
num. She resided some years near Birmingham, 
and afterwards at Newport in Shropshire, secu- 
ring herself friends by the strict propriety of her 
conduct and her virtues. In her twenty- sixth 
year, two years after Mr. Day's marriage, his 
friend Mr. Bicknel offered his hand to Sabrina 
She accepted his addresses, rather from motives 


of prudence than of passion, but became one of 
the best an:! most affectionate of wives. On he* 
asking Mr. Day's consent to this match, his re- 
ply was ; " I do not ref'tse my consent to your 
marrying Mr. Bicknel ; but remember you have 
not asked my advice." Faithful to his promise 
he gave her on this occasion a portion of five 
hundred pounds. 

The issue of this marriage was two boys, the 
eldest of whom was five ycarsold when Mr. Bick- 
nel was removed from his family by the hand of 
death. As foe had no patrimonial fortune, and 
had always lived up to his income, his widow 
was left without any provision for herself and her 
infants. In this situation Mr. Day allowed her 
thirty pounds a year, in aid, as he said, of the 
efforts he expected her to make for the mainten- 
ance of her children. A subscription was made 
among the gentlemen of the bar, and the sum of 
6001. was raised for the use of Mrs. Bicknel and 
her sons. Tub excellent woman has lived many 
years with Dr. Burney of Greenwich, as his 
house-keeper and assistant io the cares of his 
academy, where she is treated with every mark 
of esteem and respect that is due to her virtues. 
Mrs. Day continued the allowance made by her 
husband to Mrs. Bicknel, and bequeathed its 
continuance from her own fortune during the life, 
of the latter. 



THIS celebrated dwarf, was born at Oakham in 
Rutlandshire, in I6l9j and about the age of 
seven or eight years, being then but eighteen 
inches high, was retained in the service of the 
Duke of Buckingham who resided at Burleigh on 
the Hill. Soon after the marriage of Charles I. 
the king and queen being entertained at Bur- 
leigh, little JefFery was served up at table in a 
cold pye, whictv, when cut open, presented to 
the astonished royal visitors the climunitive Jef- 
iery armed cap-a-pee. This pye was purposely 
constructed to hold our little hero, who, when 
the dutchess made an incision in his castle of 
paste, shifted his situation until sufficient room 
was made for his appearance. The queen ex- 
pressing herself greatly pleased with his person 
and manners, the dutchess presented him to her 
majesty, who afterwards kept him as her dwarf. 
From the age of seven years till thirty, he never 
grew taller; but after thirty he shot up to three 
feet nine inches, and there fixed. 

Jeffery became a considerable part of the en- 
tertainment of the court, and Sir William Da- 
venport wrote a poem on a battle between him 
and a turkey-cock, which took place at Dunkirk^ 
where a woman rescued him from the fury of his 
antagonist. In 16.08, was published a very small 
and curious book called " The New Year's Gift," 
presented at court from the Lady Parvula to the 
Lord Minimus (commonly called Little Jeffery), 
her majesty's servant, Sec. written by Microphi- 
us, with a portrait of Jeffery prefixed. 


Before this period, our hero .was employed in a 
negociation of great importance. This \\ as, to 
procure a midwife for the queen., but on his re- 
turn with a lady of that profession and her ma- 
jesty's dancing-master, with many rich presents 
to die queen from her mother, Mary cle Medicis, 
he was taken by the Dunkirkcrs; and besides 
what he was bringing for the queen, he lost to 
tiic value of two thousand five hundred pounds, 
that he had received in France, on his own ac- 
count, from the queen's mother, and ladies of 
that court. This happened in the year 1 030. 

JefTery lost little of his consequence with the 
queen on this misfortune, but was often teazed 
by the courtiers and domestics with the story of 
the turkey-cock, and trifles of a similar descrip- 
tion ; his temper ,vyas by no means calculated to 
put up with repeated affronts, and at last being 
greatly provoked by Mr. Crofts, a young gentle- 
man of family, a challenge ensued. Mr. Crofts 
coming to the rendezvous armed only witli a 
squirt, the little creature was so enraged, that a 
real duel ensued; and the appointment being on 
horseback with pistols, to put them more on a 
level, Jeffery at the first fire, shot his antagonist 
dead. This happened in France, whither he had 
attended his mistress in the troubles. 

He was afterward taken prisoner by a Turkish 
rover, and sokl for a slave in Barbary ; but did 
f\ol rf main long in captivity, for at the begin- 
ning of the civil war he was made captain in the 
royal army; anil in 1044, attended the queen 
aimin into France;, where he remained till the re 

f)R. HO WAR I). 35 

storation. At last, upon suspicion of his being 
privy to the popish plot, he was taken up in 
1664, and confined in the Gate-house, Westmin- 
ster, where he ended his life, at the age of 6":3. 


1 HIS gentleman of facetious memory was 
chaplain to the late Princess Dowager of Wales, 
and rector of Saint George, Southwark. De- 
lighting much in the good things of this world, 
he so far indulged his hunger and thirst after de- 
licacies, that he found himself much in arrear to 
many ~ of his trading parishioners. Fortunately 
for himself he lived in the rules of the King's 
Bench, which shielded him from the rude Sntn - 
sion of clamorous creditors. The Doctor, how- 
ever, was a man of humour, and frequently hit 
upon expedients to keep them in good temper. 
Irle once preaqhed a sermon to them, from the 
following text " Have patience and 1 will pay 
-ye nil." He expatiated at great length on the 
virtue and advantage of patie.-ice. " And now, 
my brethren," said Jie, " I am come to the second 
part of my discourse, which is And I will pay you 
all but that 1 shall defer to a future opportunity.'* 
Another anecdote of him may ttncl to eluci- 
date his character. Passing by a peruke-ma- 
ker's shop in Leicester-fields, he saw a canonical 
wig in the window, which took his fancy, and en- 
tering the shop he gave orders for one in the 
same pompous style, and of the same colour. In 
order to obtain credit, he informed the master 
that he was Rector of St. George's Southwark, 



and chaplain to the Princess Dowager of Wales. 
Happy in the acquisition of such a customer, 
the hair-dresser finished the peruke with the ut- 
most dispatch ; but before he sent it home, he 
had heard some whispers about the reverend doc- 
tor which did not perfectly please him, and 
therefore ordered his journeyman, whom he sent 
with the wig, not to deliver it without the mo- 
ney. f< I have brought your wig, sir," said the 
journeyman to his reverence. ' " Very well, put it 
down." " I can't, sir, without the cole."" Let 
me try it, however, to see whether it will fit me." 
This the man thought so.reasonable a request, that 
he consented to it. The consequence was, that the 
doctor ordered him instantly out of the room 
without the peruke, protesting that if he touched 
it after he had sold and delivered it, he would 
prosecute him for a robbery ; a regular transfer 
had been made, and it was now his property. 

The Doctor, when collecting a brief with the 
parish officers of St. George, called, among the 
rest of the inhabitants, on a grocer, with whom 
he had a running account. To prevent being 
first asked for a settlement, he enquired if he was 
not some trifle in his debt: on referring to the 
ledger, there appeared a balance of seventeen 
shillings in favor of the tradesman. The Doclor 
had .recourse to his pocket, and pulled out some 
halfpence, a little silver, and a guinea ; the gro- 
cer eying the latter, with a degree of surprise ex- 
claimed, " Good God, Sir, you have got a stranger 
there 1" <f Indeed I have, Mr. Brown," replied 
the wit, returning it into his pocket, " and before 
we part we shall be better acquainted" 


AMONG the eccentric characters who, about 
half a century ago, attracted public notice in the 
Britib metropolis was the Chevalier Desseasau. 
He \\cis u native of Prussia, of French extraction 
and e \rly in life bore a commission in the Prus- 
sian service. This he found himself under the 
necessity of quitting abruptly. A disagreement 
between him and a brother officer was carried to 
such a height that a duel ensued, in which his 
antagonist was dangerously wounded. Uncer- 
tain of the event and dreading the consequences 
should the wound prove fatal, he ensured his safe- 
ty by fligh 

The chevalier sought a refuge in F'-'^and, and 
contracted so great a partiality for this country, 
that he resolved to pass in it the remainder of his 
days. The singularity of his dress^and character 
soon drew the attention of the cui^Ws. He was 
well acquainted with Foote, Murphy, Goldsmith, 
Johnson, and most of their contemporaries, emi- 
nent for genius and talent in the walks of litera- 
ture and the drama: nor was there a bookseller 
of any note- who did not know the Chevalier 
Desseasau. His chief places of resort were Old 
Anderton's Coffee-house in Fleet Street, the 

VOL. 2. NO. 14. K 


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 composi- 
tions among his friends. On these occasions his 
vanity often got the hetter of his good-sense, 
and led him to make himself the hero of his 
story. As an instance of this he frequently re- 
peated the following lines with an emphasis which 
indicated the most self-complacent satisfaction : 

11 n'y a au monde que deux licros, 

Le roi de PJ usse, et Chevalier Desseasau. 

which may he thus rendered : 

In all the world but heroes two! know, 
Prussia's fam'd King, and Chevalier Desseasau. 

He never' suhmitted any of his performances 
to public view, but confined them to the circle 
of his frk?nds. He would often rehearse them 
hi'.iiseJf before select company, and during the 
last years of his life, he derived his principal 
means of subsistence from the presents made him 
in return. 

At this period he was reduced by misfortunes 
and perhaps also by the inliimities of age, to. a 
residence within the rules of the Fleet prison ; 
but such \vas the confidence placed in his honor, 
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 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 some- 
times two. The reason for this singularity was, 
according to his own expression, that he might 
afford an opportunity to his antagonist, 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 
occasioned a partial derangement of the cheva- 
lier's intellects. 

With respect to his figure, he was short in 
stature, slender in the lower extremities and not 
very unlike the lady, who was said to be a natu- 
ral daughter of Prince Henry of Prussia and was 
well known in London, where she appeared in 
male attire, by the name of the Chevalier de 

Desseasau died at his lodgings in Fleet Mar- 
ket; 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 called the 
French Poet ; he has left a great personage, a cu- 
rious sword, a gold medal and a curious picture." 
Whether these articles were ever disposed of 
conformably to his bequest we are not informed- 


JN O place can afford a fairer field for the ox* 
ertion of talents, or honest industry, than the ca- 
pital of the British empire. How many instances 
might be adduced of persons there raising them- 
selves by those recommendations from the most 
abject indigence to prosperity and wealth ! Of 
many of these, however,, it is to be regretted that 
so little is known. t( It would be amusing," says 
the Rev. Mr. Granger, ft to trace the progress, 
of a lord mayor from the loom or the fishmonger's 
stall to the chair of the chief magistrate ; to be in- 
formed with what difficulty he got the first hun- 
dred pounds, with how much less he made it a 
thousand, and with what care he rounded his 
plumb." Mr. Cappur though he did not attain 
to such honors or such opulence affords, how- 
ever, an example of the truth of these observa- 

He was born in Cheshire, of humble parents ; 
his family being numerous, he came to London 
at an early age, to shift for himself, as he used 
to say, and was bound apprentice to a grocer. 
Mr. Cappur soon manifested great quickness and 
industry, and proved a most valuable servant to 
his master. It was one of the chief boasts of his 
life, that he had gained the confidence of his 
employer, and never betrayed it/ 


Being of an enterprising spirit, Mr. Cappur 
commenced business as soon as he was out of his 
apprenticeship, in the neighbourhood of Rose- 
marv-Lane. His old master was his only friend, 
and recommended him so strongly to the dealers 
in his -line, that credit to a very large amount 
was given him. In proportion as he became suc- 
cessful, he embarked in various speculations, but 
in none was so fortunate as in the funds. He 
at length amassed a sum sufficient to decline all 
business whatever. 

Mr. Cappur therefore resolved to retire from 
the bustle of life. This best suited his disposi- 
tion; for although he possessed many amiable 
qualities yet he was the most tyrannical and over- 
bearing man living, and never seemed so happy 
as when placed by the side of a churlish compa- 
nion. For several days he walked about the vi- 
cinity of London, searching for lodgings, with- 
out being able to please himself. Being one day 
much iiitigued, he called at the Horns at Ken- 
nington, took a chop and spent the day, and 
asked for a bed in his usual blunt manner, when 
he was answered in the same churlish style by 
the landlord, that he could not have one. Mr. 
Cappur was resolved to stop, if he could, all his 
life, to plague the growling fellow, and refused 
to retire. After some altercation, however, he 
was accommodated with a bed, and never slept 
out of it for twenty five years. During that time 
he made MO agreement for lodging or eating, but 
wished to be considered a customer only for the 
K 3 


clay. For many years he talked about quitting 
this residence the next day. 

His manner of living was so methodical, that 
he would not drink his tea out of any other than 
a favourite cup. He was equally particular with 
respect to his knives and forks, plates, &c. In 
winter and summer he rose at the same hour, 
and when the mornings were dark, he was so 
accustomed to the house, that he walked about 
the apartments without the assistance of any 
light. At breakfast he arranged, in a peculiar 
way, the paraphernalia of the tea-table, but first 
of all he w r ould read the news-papers. At dinner 
he also observed a general rule, and invariably 
drank his pint of wine. His supper was uniform- 
ly a gill of rum, with sugar, lemon-peel, and 
porter, mixed together ; the latter he saved frein 
the pint he had at dinner. From this ccconomi- 
cal plan he never deviated. 

He called himself the Champion of Govern- 
ment, and his greatest glory was certainly his 
country and king. He joined in all subscrip- 
tions which tended to the aid of government. 
He was exceedingly choleric, and nothing raised 
his anger so soon as declaiming against the Bri- 
tish Constitution. In the parlour he kept his 
favourite chair, and there he would often amuse 
himself with satirising the customers, or the land- 
lord, if he could make his jokes tell better. It 
was his maxim never to join in general conversa- 
tion, but to interrupt it whenever he could say 
,any thing illnatured. Mr. Cappur's conduct to 


his relations was exceedingly capricious; be ne- 
ver would see any of them. As they were chief- 
ly in indigent circumstances, he had frequent 
applications from them to borrow money. " Are 
they industrious r" he would enquire; when be- 
ing answered in the affirmative, he would add, 
" Tell them I have been deceived already, and ne- 
ver will advance a sixpence by way of loan, but 
I will give them the sum they want; and if ever 
I hear they make known the circumstance, I 
will cut them off with a shilling." 

Soon after Mr. Townsend became landlord of 
the Horns, he had an opportunity of making -a 
few good ready money purchases, and applied to 
the old man for a temporary loan: " I wish, 
" said he, " to serve you, Townsend ; you seem 
an industrious fellow ; but how is it to be done. 
I have sworn never to lend, T must therefore 
give it thee ;" which he accordingly did the fol- 
lowing day. Mr. Townsend proved grateful for 
this mark of liberality, and never ceased to ad- 
minister to him every comfort the house would 
afford ; and what was, perhaps, more gratifying 
to the old man, he indulged him in his eccentri- 

Mr. Cappur was elected steward of the par- 
lour fire, and if any persons were daring enough 
to put a poker in it without his permission, they 
stood a fair chance of feeling the weight of his 
cane. In summer time, a favourite diversion of 
his was killing flies in the parlour with his cane: 
but as he was sensible of the ill opinion this would 


produce among the company present, he would 
with great ingenuity introduce a story about the 
rascality of all Frenchmen, " whom/' says he, 
" I hate and detest, and would knock doxvn just 
the same as these flies." This, was the signal 
for attack, and presently the killed and wounded 
were scattered about in all quarters of the room. 
From this fly-killing propensity he acquired the 
name of Domitiart, among the customers who 
frequented the house. 

This truly eccentric character lived to the age 
of seventy-seven, in excellent health, and it was 
not until the Tuesday morning before 1m decease 
that a visible alteration was perceived in him. 
Ha\ing risen at an earlier period than usual, he 
was observed to walk about the house, exceed- 
ingly agitated and convulsed. Mr. Townsend 
pressed him to suffer medical assistance to be 
sent for, to which Mr. Cappur then, and at all 
times, had a great aversion. He asked for a pen 
and ink, evinced great anxiety to write, but 
could not. Mr. Townsend, apprehending his 
dissolution nigh, endeavoured, but in vain, to get 
permission to send for Mr. Cappur's re-laiions, 
and tried to obtain their address for thatpurpose. 
He refused, saying that he should be better. On 
the second day, seeing no hopes of recovery, 
Mr. Townsend called in four respectable gentle- 
men of the neighbourhood, and had seals put 
upon all Mr. Cuppur's property. One of the 
four gentlemen recollected the address of Mr. 
Y two nephews, of the name of Dutton, 


who were immediately sent for. They resided 
in 'the neighbourhood of Rosemary-lane. 

On searching his apartment after his death, 
his relations found a will curiously worded, and 
made on the hack of a sheet of banker's checks. 
It was dated five years back, and the bulk of his 
property, which was then upwards of 30,0001. he 
left equally among his poor relations. He died 
on the 6th of September 1804. 


THIS singular character, commonly called 
" Duke of Bolton, King of Vine-street, and Go- 
vernor of Lambeth Marsh/' died lately in that 
neighbourhood, and his remains were attended to 
the grave by a great number of persons whom 
his bounty had made comfortable. 

Parsons, the comedian, speaking of the sub- 
ject of the following particulars, frequently de- 
clared with the greatest gravity, that he would 
rather expend a crown, to hear Harry Paulet re- 
late one Of Hawke's battles, than sit gratis by the 
most celebrated orator of the day. " There was," 
(said Parsons), <f a manner in his heart-felt nar- 
rations that was certain to bring his auditors in- 
to the very scene of action ; and when he de- 
scribed the moments of victory, I have seen a 
dozen labouring-men at the Crown public-house. 


rise together, and moved by an instantaneous 
impulse, give three cheers, while Harry took 
breath to recite more of his exploits." 

Thia man, whose love for his country cannot 
be excelled, was, in the year 1758, master of an 
English vessel in ]Xorth America, and traded np 
the river St. Lawrence; but heir. a: taken by the 
enemy, he remained a prisoner under Montcalm 
at Quebec, who refused to exchange him, on ac- 
count of his extensive knowledge of the coast, 
the strenglh of Quebec and Louisburg, with the 
different soundings. They therefore came to a 
resolution to send him to France to be kept a 
prisoner during the war, and with this intent he 
was embarked on board a vessel ready to sail with 
dispatches to the French government. Being 
the only Englishman on board, Harry was ad- 
mitted to the cabin, where he took notice one 
day, that the packet hung in an exposed situa- 
tion in a canvas, bag, for the purpose of being 
thrown overboard on any danger of being taken: 
this he marked as the object of a daring enter- 
prise; and shortly after, in consequence of the 
vessel being obliged to put into Vigo for provi- 
sions and intelligence, he put his design into ex- 
ecution. There were two English men of war 
lying at anchor, and Mr. Paulet thought this a 
proper opportunity to make his meditated at- 
tempt; he therefore one night, when all but the 
watch were asleep, took the packet out of the 
bag, and having fixed it in his mouth silently let 
himself down to the water, and, to prevent being 


discovered, floated on his back to the bows of 
one of the English ships, where he secured him- 
self by the cables, and calling for assistance was 
immediately taken on board with the packet. 

The captain, charmed with this bold attempt, 
treated him with great humanity, and gave him a 
suit of scarlet clothes trimmed with blue velvet 
and gold, which he retained to the day of his 
death. The dispatches being transcribed proved 
to be of the utmost consequence to our affairs in 
North America, and Harry was sent with a copy 
of them post over land to Lisbon, from whence 
he was brought to Falmouth in a sloop of war, 
and immediately set out for London. Upon his 
arrival in town, he was examined by proper per- 
sons in the administration, a'nd rewarded agree- 
ably to the nature of his service; but what is 
most remarkable, an expedition was instantly 
formed upon a review of these dispatches, and 
our successes in North America, under Wolfe, 
and Saunders, are in some degree to be attri- 
buted to the attachment of Paulet to the interests 
of his country. 

For his services the government rewarded him 
with the pay of a lieutenant for life, which, with 
other advantages, (for Harry had ever been pru- 
dent) he was enabled to purchase a vessel. Here 
fame takes some liberty with his character, and 
asserts that he used to run to the French coast, 
and then take in a cargo of brandy ; but be that 
as it may, Harry was one morning returning, 
when the French fleet had stolen out of Brest 
under Conflans, while admiral Havvke was hid 


behind the rock of Ushant to watch the motions 
of the enemy. Mr. Paulet, loving his country 
better than his cargo, soon ran up to the British 
admiral, and demanding to speak with him, was 
ordered to make his vessel fast, and come on 
board; upon his telling Hawke what he knew of 
the enemy, the admiral told him, if he was right, 
he would make his fortune; but if he had de- 
ceived him, by G d he would hang him upon 
the yard-arm. The fleet was instantly under 
weigh, and upon Paulet's direction to the mas- 
ter (for he w r as an excellent pilot) the British 
fleet was presently brought between the enemy 
and their own coast ; and now the admiral or- 
dered Paulet to make the best of his way; but 
Harry begged of the admiral, as he had discovered 
the enemies of his country, that he might be al- 
loweeL to assist in beating them. This request 
was assented to by the commander; and Paulet 
had his station assigned, at which no man could 
behave better ; and when the battle was over, 
this true born Englishman was sent home co- 
vered \vith commendations, and rewarded with 
that which enabled him to Jive happy the remain- 
der of his life. 

Mr. Paulet possessed a freehold estate in Corn- 
hill, London: and, respecting the good he did 
with his income, there is not a poor being in the 
neighbourhood of Pedlar's Acre, who does not 
testify with gratitude, some act of benevolence 
performed for the alleviation of his poverty, by 
this humane and heroic Englishman. 




i HIS man was a very extraordinary posture-mas- 
ter who resided, in Pall Mail. Though well-made, 
and rather gross than thin, he exhibited, in a 
most natural manner, almost very species '.of de- 
formity and dislocation. He frequently diver- 
ted himself with the tailor*, by sending for one 
of them to take measure of him, and would so 
contrive it a.s to have a most immoderate rising 
in one of the shoulders: when the clothes were 
brought home, and tried upon him, the deform- 
ity was removed into the other shoulder; upon 
which the tailor asked pardon for the mistake, 
au.d altered the garment as cxpeditiously as pos- 
sible : but,, upon a third trial, he found him per- 
fectly free from blemish about the shoulders, 
though an unfortunate lump appeared upon his 
buck. In short, this wandering tumour puzzled 
all the workmen about town, who found it im- 
possible to accommodate so changeable a cus- 
tomer. He dislocated the vertebrae of his back, 
and other parts of the body, in such a manner. 
that Molins, the famous surgeon, before whom 
he appeared as a patient, was shocked at the sight, 
and would not ev.en attempt his cure. He often 
passed for a cripple among persons with whom he 
had been in company but a few minutes before. 
Upon these occasions he would not only change 
VOL. C 2. NO. 14. - I, 


the position of his limbs, but entirely alter the 
figure of his countenance. Tbe powers of his 
face were more extraordinary thun the flexibility 
of his body. He would assume all the uncouth 
grimaces that he saw at a quaker's meeting, the 
theatre, or any other public place. Ue died 
about the beginning of King William's reign. 
It appears from Evelyn's TSumismata that he was 
not living in 1697. 


EDWARD ALLEYN, a celebrated actor in 
the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and King James, 
and founder of the college at Dulwich in Surry, 
was born in London, in the parish of St. Bo- 
tolph, Sept. 1, 1566, as appears from a memo- 
randum in his own writing. Dr. Fuller says, 
that he was bred a stage-player; and that his fa- 
therwould have given him a liberal education, but 
that be was averse to a serious course of life. 
He was, however, a youth of excellent capacity 
of a chearful temper, a tenacious memory, a 
sweet elocution, and in his person of a stately 
port and aspect, and was a man of great benevo- 
lence and piety ; so devout, that when he re- 
ceived his quarterly accounts, he acknowledged 
it all to be the gift of God, ami resolved to dedi- 
cate it to the use of his fellow creatures. From 
various authorities it appears that he must have 


been on t'le stage some time before 159*2; for 
he was then in high favour with the town, and 
greatly applauded by the best judges, particular- 
ly by Ben Jonson. 

It may seem surprising, how one of Mr. Al- 
leyn's profession should be enabled to erect such 
an edifice as Dulwich college, and liberally en- 
dow it for the maintenance of so many persons. 
But it must be observed that he had some pater- 
nal fortune, which, though small, might lav a 
foundation for his future affluence ; arid, it is to 
be presumed, that the profits he received from 
acting, to one of his provident and managing 
disposition, and who by his professional excel- 
lence drew after him such crowds of spectators, 
must have considerably improved his fortune. 
Besides, he was not only an actor, but master of 
a playhouse in White-Cross-streer, built at his 
own cxpencc, by which he is said to have amas- 
sed 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 spectators; and the profits arising 
from these sports, are *aid to have amounted to 
five hundred pounds per annum. He was thrice 
married ; and the portions of his two first wives, 
\vho left him no issue to inherit, might probably 
contribute to this benefaction. 

Donations such as Mr. Alleyn's, have been fre- 
quently thought to proceed more from vanity 
and ostentation than real pietv ; but Mr. Alleyn'* 
has been ascribed to a very singular cause ; for 

C L 


the devil is said to have been the first promoter 
of it. Mr. Aubrey men Liens a tradition, " that 
Mr. Alleyn playing a demon wiih six others, in 
one of Shakespear's plays, was, in the midst of 
the piece, surprized by :m apparition of the devil ; 
which so woiked on bis fancy, that be made a 
vow, which he performed by building Dulwich 
c; &e&q>" He began the * n of this col- 

under the direction- of the famous Jnig-o 
Jones, in 161.4; and on the buildings, gttjd&M, 
&e. finished in 1&17, he is said to have expeiui- 

i.out 1 (>,000! . 

Alter the college was built, lie met with some 
difficulty in obtaining a charter for settling his 
,ltu!s in mortmain ; fur he proposed to endow it 
wish 8001. per annunvfor the maintenance of 
one master, one warden, and four fellows, three 
of whom were to be clergymen, and the fourth 
a skilful organist; also six poor men, and as 
many women; besides twelve poor boys, to be 
educated till the age of fourteen or sixteen, and 
then put out to some trade or calling. The ob- 
struction he met with, arose from the lord chan- 
c'ciior Bacon, who wished K-ing- James to settle 
part of those lands for the support of two HI 
iiiical lectures; and he wrote a letter to the mar- 
quis of Buckingham, dated August IS, IfilS, 
intreating him to use his interest with his majes- 
ty for that purpose. Mr. Alieyn's solicitation 
was however at last complied with, and h< 
tained tho royal licence, gi\ina him full p 
to lay the foundation of his intcndid li" 


at Dulwich, called The College of God's Gift. 
Tlie rules prescribed for this foundation are, that 
all future benefaetions are excluded ; and visitors 
nre to be the churchwardens of St. Botolptif, 
Bishopsgate ; St. Giles's, Cripplcgate ; and St. 
Saviour's, Southwark ; who, upon any difference 
arising between them, are to 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 eon- 
temporaries, " He was so mingled with humi- 
lity and charity, that he became his own pen- 
sioner, humbly submitting himself to that pro- 
portion of diet and clothes, which he had be- 
stowed on others." There is no reason to think 
lie ever repented of this distribution of his sub- 
stance, but on the contrary, that he was entirely 
satisfied, as appears from the following memori- 
al in his own writing found among his papers: 
" May '2(3, iG'JO, my wife and I acknowledged 
the fine at the common pleas bar, of all our lands 
to the college : blessed be God that he has given, 
us life to do it." His wife died in. the year JG'23, 
and about two years afterwards he married Con- 
stance Kinchtoe, who survived him, and receiv- 
ed remarkable proofs of his affection, if we may 
judge of it by his will, in which he left her con- 
siderable property. He died Nov. 25, 1626, in 
the 6lst year of his age, and was buried in the 
chapel of his new college. 

In this college, by the statutes, the warden 
succeeds the master, and takes upon him the 
3 L 



^ee immediately on the master's death. The 
fdiuider directed that the muster and warden 
'\\ be of the name of Alien, or Alleyn, 
and every person of that name is eligible to be- 
come a- candidate. Celibacy is a sine qua ?ion. 
Theeleetion i> 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's Gift" are written, is the warden 
elected. The late master, William Allen, Esq. 
enjoyed his situation upwards of fifty two years. 
The revenues of this college are large and in- 
creasing. The master's apartments in the college 
aer extremely grand ; at his taking possession 
of the place, he is obliged to purchase the furniture, 
which is as elegant as can be imagined; and 
being lord of the manor, he lives in all the 
state of a mitred abbot. Notwithstanding 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, among those of the name of Alley n. 
The library is well furnished with classical and 
iHodern books, and behind the college is a good 
garden, where there are pleasant walks and fruit 



A MOST extraordinary instance of native genius 
was afforcledby this man, who was born in 1705 at 
Eimeton in Derbyshire. His father was a school- 
master, and yet from some strange neglect or in- 
fatuation, Jedediah was taught neither to write 
nor read. So peat, however, were his natural 
talents for calculation, that he was remarkable 
for his knowledge of the relative proportions of 
numbers, their powers and progressive denomi- 
nations. To these objects he applied all the 
powers of his mind, and his attention was so eou- 
tantly rivetted upon them, that he was often to- 
tally abstracted from external objects, and when 
he did tak*- notice of them, it was only with re- 
5pect to their numbers. If any space of time 
happened to be mentioned before him, he would 
presently inform the company that it contained 
so many minutes, and if any distance, he would 
assign the number of hair-breadths in it even 
though no question were asked him. 

Being required to multiply 45(5 by 378, he 
gave the product by mental arithmetic, as soon 
as a person in company had completed it in 
the common way. Being requested to work it 
audibly that his method might be known., he 
first multiplied 456 by 5, which produced 2280; 
this he again multiplied by 20, and found the 


product 45,600, which was the multiplicand mul- 
tiplied by JOO. This product he again multi- 
plied by 3, which gave 136,800, the product of 
the multiplicand by 300. It remained therefore 
to multiply this by 78, which he effected by 
multiplying 2280, or the product of the multi- 
plicand multiplied by 5 by 15, as 5 times 15 is 
75. This product being 34,200, he added to 
136,800 which gave 171,000, being the amount 
of 375 times 456. To complete his operation 
therefore, he multiplied 456 by 3 which pro- 
duced 1368, and this being added to 1/J,000 
yielded 172,368, as the product of 456 multi- 
plied by 378. 

From these particulars it appears that Jede- 
diah's method of calculation was entirely his 
own, and that he was so little acquainted with the 
common rules of arithmetic as to multiply first 
by 5, and the product by 20, to find ttie amount 
when multiplied by ICO, which the addition of 
two cyphers to the multiplicand would have given 
at once. 

A person who had heard of these astonishing 
efforts of memory, once meeting with him acci- 
dentally, proposed the following question, in or- 
der to try his calculating powers. If a field be 
423 yards long and 38o broad, what is the area ? 
After the figures were read to him distinctly, he 
o-ave the true product, 162,009 yards, in the 
space of two minutes ; for the proposer observed 
by his watch how long each operation took him. 
The same person asked, how many acres the 


said field measured, and in eleven minutes here- 
plied 33 acres, I rood, 3.5 perches, ( 20 yards and 
a quarter. He was then asked how many bar- 
ley-corns would reach eight miles. In a, minute 
and a half he answered 1,520,640. The next 
question was: Supposing the distance between 
London and York to be 204 miles how many 
times will a coach-wheel turn round in that space, 
allowing the circumference of that wheel to be 
six yards ? In thirteen minutes he answered 
59. ,840 times. 

On another occasion a person proposed to him. 
this question : In a body, the three sides of 
which are 23,145,7 Bl> yards, 5,642,733 yards, 
and- 54,965 yards, how many cubic eighths of an 
inch ? In about five hours Jedediah had accu- 
rately solved this intricate problem, though in the 
midst of business and surrounded by more than 
a hundred laborers. 

Though these instances which ore well authen- 
ticated are sufficient prooFs of Jcdediah's strength 
of mind, yet for the farther satisfaction of the 
curious, the following facts <?re subjoined. Being 
asked how long after the firing of one of the 
cannons at Retford, the report might be heard 
at. Hough-ton Park,lhe distance being five miles, 
and supposing the sound to move at the rate of 
1 142 feet in one second : In a quarter of an hour 
he replied in '.23 seconds, 7 thirds and that 4() 
remained. He was then asked: Admit that 
;>.3S.t brocoli-plants' are set in rows, four feet 
and the plants 7 feet apart In a recta a- 


gular plot of ground, how imuii land will thest 
plants occupy? In nearly half an hour he said : 
f Z acres, 1 rood, 8 perches and a half. 

This extraordinary man would stride over H 
piece of land, or a field, and tell the contents of 
it as accurately as if he had measured it by the 
chain-. In this manner he had measured the 
whole lordship of Ehneton, consisting of some 
thousands of acres, belonging to Sir John 
Rhodes, and brought him the contents not only 
in acres, roods, and perches, but even in square 
inches. After this he reduced them for' his o\vn 
amusement into square hair-breadths, computing 
about 48 to each side of an inch which produced 
such an astonishing number as appeared almost 

Next to figures, the only objects of Jedediah's 
curibsity were the king and royal family. So 
strong was his desire to see them, that in the be- 
ginning of the spring of 17.54, he walked up to 
London for that purpose, but returned disap- 
pointed, as his majesty had removed to Kensing- 
ton just as he arrived in town. He was, how- 
ever, introduced to the Royal Society, whom he 
called the Folk of the Siely cowt. The gentle- 
men present asked him several questions in arith- 
metic to try his abilities and dismissed him with 
a handsome present. 

During his residence in the metropolis he was 
taken to see the tragedy of King Richard the 
Third performed at Drury Lane. It was ex- 
pected that the novelty of every thing; in. that 


place, together with the splendor of the surround- 
ing objects would have filled him with astonish- 
ment; or that his passions would have heen 
roused in some degree by the action of the per- 
formers, even though he might not fully com- 
prehend the dialogue. This certainly was a ra- 
tional idea ; but his thoughts were far otherwise 
employed. During the dances, his attention 
was engaged 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 declared that 
in this part of the business he had perfectly suc- 

Heir to no fortune and educated to no particu- 
lar profession, Jedediah Buxton supported him- 
self by the labor of his hands. His talents, had 
thev been properly cultivated might have quali- 
fied him for acting a distinguished 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 for himself and family. 

When he was askecl to calculate a question, he 
would sit do'.vn, take off his old brown hat, and 
resting upon his stick, which was generally a 
very crooked one, in that attitude he would fall 
to 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 equi- 
valent to his desires. Though the powers of his 
mind raised him far above his humble compa- 
nions, 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 Joss of any of the 
pleasures he had left behind him. 

Buxton was married and had several children. 
He died in the year 1775, aged seventy years. 


A LEARNED Florentine, and librarian to the 
grand duke of Tuscany, -was born in Florence, 
October the <)> 1033. His parents were of so 
low and mean a, rank, that they were very satis- 
fied when they had procured him a service with 
a man who sold herbs and fruit. He had never 
learned to read, and yet he was perpetually por- 
ing over the leaves of old books, that were used 
as waste paper in his master's shop. A booksel- 
ler who lived in the neighbourhood, and who had 
often observed this, and knew the hoy could not 
read, asked him one day, " What he meant by 
staring so much on printed papers?" He said, 
" That he did not know how it was, but that he 
laved it of all things; that he was very uneasy in 
the business he was in, and should be the happi- 


est creature in the world, if he could live with 
him, who had always so many books about him." 
The bookseller was astonished, and yet pleased 
with his answer ; and at last told him, that he 
should not be disinclined to take him into his 
shop, if his master would be \villing to part with 
him. Young Magliabechi thanked him with 
tears of joy ; and his happiness was highly in- 
creased when his master, on the bookseller's de- 
sire, gave him leave to go where he pleased. 
He went therefore directly to his new and much 
desired business ; and had not been long in it, 
before he could find out any book that was asked 
for, as readily as the bookseller could himself. 

Some time after this he learned to read, and, 
no sooner had he made this acquisition, than he 
employed every leisure moment in reading. He 
seems never to have applied himself to any par- 
ticular study. A passion for reading was his rul- 
ing passion ; and a prodigious memory his great 
talent.. He read every book almost indiscrimi- 
nately as they happened to come into his hands : 
he went through them with surprising quickness, 
and yet retained not only the sense of what he 
read, but often all the words, and the very man- 
ner of spelling them, if there Was any thing pe- 
culiar of that kind in any author. 

His extraordinary application and talents soon 
recommended him to Ermini, and Marmi, libra- 
rians of the grand duke of Tuscany. He was by 
them introduced into the conversation of the 
learned, and made known at court, and began 

VOL. 2. NO. 14. M 


to be looked upon every where as a prodigy, par~ 
ticularly lor his vast and unbounded memory. 
It is said, that a trial was made of the force 
of his memory, which, if true, is very amazing. 
A gentleman at Florence, who had written a 
piece which was to be printed, lent the manu- 
script to Magliabechi; and, some time after it 
had been returned with thanks, came to him 
again with a melancholy face, and told him of 
some invented accident, by which, he said, he 
had lost his 'manuscript. The author seemed 
almost inconsolable for the loss of his work, and 
intreated Magliabechi, whose character for re- 
membering what he read was already very great, 
to try to recollect as much as he possibly could, 
and write it down for him, against his next visit. 
Magliabechi assured him he would, and, on set- 
ting about it, wrote down the whole manuscript, 
without missing a w r ord, or even varying any 
where from the spelling. 

By treasuring up every thing he read in so 
strange a manner, or at least the subject, and all 
the principal parts of all the books he ran over, 
his head became at last, as one of his acquaint- 
ance expressed it, " An universal index both of 
titles and matter." He was so famous for the 
vast extent of his reading, and his amazing re- 
tention of what he had read, that it began to grow 
common among the learned to consult him, 
when they were writing on any subject. He 
would tell them not only who had treated of 
their subject designedly, but of such also as had 



touched upon it,only accidentally, in writing on 
other subjects, both which he did with tlie great- 
est exactness, naming the author,, the book, the 
words, and often the very number of the page in 
winch their observations were inserted. He did this 
so often, so readily, and so exactly, that at last he 
was looked uponalmost as an oracle, for the ready 
and full- answers that he gave to all questions, 
that were proposed to him, in any faculty or 
science, whatever. 

It was his great eminence this way, and his 
vast knowledge of books, that induced the grand 
Duke, Cosmo the Third, to confer on him the 
appointment of librarian: and what a happiness 
it must have been to Magiiabechi, who delight- 
ed in nothing so much as in reading, to have the 
supreme command and use of such a collection 
of books as that in the Great Duke's palace, may 
be easily conceived. He was also very conver- 
sant with the books of the Lorenzo library ; and 
had the keeping of those of Leopoldo and Fran- 
cesco Maria, the two cardinals of Tuscany; and 
yet even all this did not satisfy his extensive ap- 

To read such vast numbers as he did, he lat- 
terly made use of a method as extraordinary as 
any thing hitherto mentioned of him. When a 
book first came into his hands, he would look the 
title-page all over, then dip here and there in the 
preface, and advertisements, if there were any, 
and cast his eyes on each of the divisions, the 
different sections, or chapters, and then he would 
M 2 


be able for ever to krow what that book con- 
tained ; for he remembered as steadily as he con- 
ceived rapidly. It \vas after he had taken to this 
way of reading, that a priest who had composed 
a panegyric on one of his favourite saints, brought 
it to Magliabechi, as a present. He read it over 
the very way above mentioned, and then thanked 
him very kindly for his excellent treatise. The 
author, in some pain, asked him, " Whether 
that was all he intended to read of his book r" 
Magliabechi coolly answered, " Yes, for I know 
very well every thing that is in it." 

-Magliabechi had also a local memory of the 
places where every book stood, and seems to 
have carried this farther than only in relation to 
the collection of books with which he was perso- 
nally acquainted. One day the Grand Duke 
sent for hirL, after he was his librarian, to ask 
him, whether he could get him a book that was 
particularly scarce. " No, sir," answered Magli- 
abechi, * f It is impossible, for there is but one in 
the world; that is in the Grand Signior's library 
at Constantinople, and is the seventh book on the 
second shelf on the right hand as you go in." 
Though Magliabechi must have lived so seden- 
tary a life, with such an intense and almost per- 
petual application to books, yet he attained to a 
good old age. He died in his eighty-first year, 
on July 14, 1714. 

By his will he left a very fine library, of his 
own collection, for the use of the public., with a 


fund to maintain it ; and whatever should remain 
to the poor. He was not an ecclesiastic, but 
chose never to marry; and was quite negligent, 
or rather quite slovenly in his dress. His appear- 
ance was such, as must have been far from en- 
gaging the affection of a lady, had he addressed 
himself to any; and his face in particular, as-ap- 
pears by the several representations of him, whe- 
ther in his busts, medals, pictures, or prints', 
would rather have prejudiced his suit, then ad- 
vanced it. He received his friends, and those 
who came to consult him on any points of litera- 
ture, in a civil and obliging manner, though in 
general he had almost the air of a savage, and 
even affected it, together with a cynical or con- 
temptuous smile, which scarcely rendered hislook 
the more agreeable. 

In his manner of living, he affected the cha- 
racter of Diogenes ; three hard eggs, and a 
draught or two of' water, were his usual repast. 
When any visitors went to see him, they usually 
foimd him tolling in a sort of fixed wooden cradle, 
in the middle of his study, with a multitude of 
books, some thrown in heaps, and others scat- 
tered about the floor, all round him ; and this 
his cradle, or bed, was attached to the nearest 
piles of books, by a number of cobwebs. At 
their entrance, he commonly used to call out to 
them not to hurt his spiders. An old cloak 
served him for a gown in the day, and for bed- 
clothes at night; he had otfe straw chair for hi* 
K 3- 


table,, and another for his bed, in which he con- 
tinued fixed among his books till he was over- 
powered by sleep. 


1 HIS wretched culprit, if we may judge from 
the concluding scene of his life was a man of no 
ordinary po\vers of mind and 110 common way 
of thinking. He was executed for the crime of 
murder at Wicklow, in Ireland, in 1738. On this 
occasion he behaved in a strange but undaunted 
manner, and just before the sentence of the law 
was carried into execution, he made the follow- 
ing remarkable speech : 

f< My friends, you assemble to see What ? A 
man take a leap into the abyss of death. Look, 
and you shall see me go with as much courage as 
Curtius when he leapt into the gulph to save his 
country from destruction. JVhat then will you 
.see of me ? You say that no man without virtue 
can be courageous. You will say, I have killed 
a man. Marlborough killed his thousands, and 
Alexander his millions. Marlborough and Alex- 
ander, and many others who have done the like,, 
are famous in history for great men : but I killed 
one solitary man ay, that's the case one soli- 
tary man ! I'm a little murderer, and must be 
hanged . Marlborough and Alexander plundered 
countries they were great men, I ran in debt 


with the ale-wife 1 must be hanged! Now, my 
friends, I have drawn a parallel between two of 
the greatest men that ever lived and myself; but 
these were men of former days. Now I'll speak 
a word of some of the present days. How many 
men were lost in Italy and upon the Rhine, during 
the last war, for setting a king in Poland! But 
both sides could not be in the right: they are 
great men ;. but 1 killed a solitary man, I'm a little 
fellow. The King of Spain takes our ships, plun- 
ders our merchants, kills and tortures our men \ 
but what of ail that ? what he does is good ; he's 
a great man; he is cloathed in purple; his in- 
struments of murder are bright and shining, mine 
was but a rusty gtin ; and so much for compa- 
rison. ISovv [ would fat ti know, what authority- 
there is in scripture for a rich man to plunder, to 
torture, and ravage whole countries; and what 
law it is that condemns a poor man to death for 
killing a solitary man, or for stealing a solitary 
sheep to feed his family. But bring the matter 
closer to our own country i what is the difference 
between running in a poor man's debt, and by 
the power of gold, or any other privilege, pre- 
venting him from obtaining his right, and clap- 
ping a pistol to a man's breast, and taking from 
him his purse ? yet the one shall thereby obtain a 
coach, and honours, and titles, &c. the other 
what ? a cart and a rope. From what I have 
said, my brethren, you may, perhaps, imagine I 
am hardened; but believe me, I am fully con- 
vinced of my follies, and acknowledge the just 


judgment of God has overtaken me. I have no 
hopes but from the merits of my Redeemer, who 
I hope will have mercy on me, as he knows that 
murder was far from my heart, and what I did 
was through rage and passion, being provoked 
thereto by the deceased. 'Take warning, my 
dear comrades : think ! O think ! What would 
I now give, that 1 had lived another life 1" 


MR. Ostervald, a well-known French banker, died 
at Paris in December 1790, literally of want. This 
man, originally of Neufchatel, felt the violence 
of the disease of avarice, (for surely it is rather a 
disease than a passion of the mind) so strongly, 
that, within a few days of his death, no impor- 
tunities could induce him to buy a few pounds 
of meat for the purpose of making a little soup. 
" Tis true," said h, " I should not dislike' 
the soup, but I have no appetite for the meat ; 
what then is to become of that?" At the time- 
that he refused this nourishment, for fear of 
being obliged to give away two or three pounds 
of meat, there was tied round his neck a silken 
bag, which contained 80O assignatsof 1000 livres 
each. At his outset in life, he drank a pint-of 
beer, which served him for supper, every night 
at a house much frequented, from which he car- 
jiecl home all the bottle-corks he could coina aU. 


Of these, in the course of eight years, he had 
collected as many as sold for I L 2 louis-d'or, a sum 
that laid the foundation of his fortune,, the super- 
structure of which was rapidly raised by his un- 
common success in stock-jobbing. He died 
possessed of three millions of livres, or 125,0001. 

Another extraordinary instance of avarice, and 
of a still more miserable death was exhibited in 
the same country in the person of M. Foscue. 
This man, one of the farmers-general of Langue- 
doc, under the former government had amassed 
considerable wealth by grinding the poor within 
his province, and every other means, however 
low, base or cruel ; by which he rendered him- 
self universally hated. He was one day ordered 
by the Government to raise a considerable sum : 
on which, as an excuse for not complying with 
the demand, he pleaded extreme poverty ; but 
fearing lest some of the inhabitants of Languedoc 
should give information to the contrary, and his 
house should be searched, he resolved to hide 
his treasure in such a manner, as to escape the 
most rigid examination. He dug a kind of cave 
in his wine-cellar, which he made so large and 
deep, that he used to go down with a ladder ; at 
the entrance was a door with a spring lock on it,, 
which, on shutting, would fasten of itself. Soon 
afterwards, Mons. Foscue was missing: diligent 
search was made after him in every place; the 
ponds were drawn, and every method which hu- 
man imagination could suggest, \vas taken to find 


him, but in vain. In a short time after his bouse 
\vas sold, and the purchaser beginning either to 
rebuild, or to make some alterations in it, the 
workmen discovered a door in the cellar, with a 
key in the lock, which he ordered to be opened. 
On going down they found JVJons. Foscue lying 
dead on the ground, with a candlestick near him, 
but the candle he had eaten ; and on searching 
farther they discovered the vast wealth that he 
had amassed. It is supposed, that when Mons. 
Foscue went into his cave, the door, by some ac- 
cident shut after him, and being out of call of any 
person, he perished for want of food. He bad 
gnawed the flesh off both his arms, as is supposed 
for subsistence. Thus did this miser die of 
want, in the midst of his useless heaps' of hoarded 
treasure ! 


1 HIS man, a native of Kirkmond in Lincoln- 
shire, was a most extraordinary lusus natum. He 
was perfect to his elbows and knees, but without 
either arms or legs. Above one of his elbows 
was a short bony substance, like the joint df a 
thumb, which had some muscular motion, and 
was of considerable use to him. 

Nature, however, compensated for his want of 
limbs, by giving him a strong understanding, and 
bodily health and spirits. When Sir George 


\ , 

Barlow, the last baronet of that ancient family, 
rented of Edinond Tumor, Esq. the manor and 
lordship of Kirkmond, he kept a pack of hare- 
hounds. Tom was for many years emploved as 
his huntsman, and used to ride down the hills, 
which are remarkably steep, with singular cou- 
rage and dexterity. His turn for horses was so 
great, that, on leaving the service of Sir Geovge 
Barlow, he became a farrier of considerable re- 
putation, and, indulging in his propensity to li- 
quor, seldom came home sober from the neigh- 
boring markets. He, however, required no other 
assistance from the parish, till hebecame infirm, 
than a habitation, and the keeping of ahorse and 

What is perhaps more remarkable, he married 
three wives! By the first, who was an elderly 
woman, he had no children ; but by the second 
he left tvyo sons, who at his death were in 'good 
situations as farmers' servants, and buried him 
in a decent manner. He died May l6, 1797, 
aged 85. 


SURNAMED the Flying Barber, of Cambridge, 
was many years hair-dresser to Clare-hall. He 
was eccentric in his manners, but respected as an 
honest man. The gentlemen of the University, 
bought him a silver bason by subscription ; and 
it was no small honour for a stranger to say, that 
he had' been shaved out of Forster's bason. The 


celerity with which he almost <f annihilated hoth 
space and time/' to attend his masters, which 
procured him his title, as well as the dispatch he 
made with their heards when he got at them, 
were very extraordinary; and, in fact, in his 
walk, or rather run, his feet moved somewhat 
like the spokes of a chariot wheel. With the 
utmost glee did this poor fellow follow a gentle- 
man to the rooms of his friend the present Bishop 
of Cloyne, to shew him the many comical letters 
that had been sent, but post paid, from London 
and elsewhere, addressed to Robert Fly Forster, 
Esq. and replete with fun and drollery, in verse 
and prose. But more particularly he brought him 
his famous silver Mambrino's helmet, decorated 
in its centre with the barbers arms, which were 
said to be the device of the late ingenious George 
Stevens, Esq. On showing this great curiosity, 
he said, " They tell me, sir, that I am to have a 
razor set in gold to shave his majesty when he 
comes to Cambridge; such fun do the gentlemen 
make of me, sir." His meagre figure, his apo- 
logy for a wig, his gait and shaving attitude, are 
admirably expressed in a humorous carricature 
print, published at Cambridge some years ago. 
This print consists of two compartments, \vhich 
might very properly be intituled " Forster pas- 
sant," and " Forster rampant;" ihe one repre- 
senting him as scudding the streets, and the 
other as in the attitude of levelling the first stroke 
ata ^oiuieiii an's beard. He died at Cambridge 
January 2,3, 1800. 




THOUGH the republicans of America manifest 
the utmost contempt for every other country 
when placed in the scale with their boasted land 
of freedom, yet it is well known, that Slavery, 
clad in all her horrors,, there brandishes her in- 
human scourge and pollutes this pretended coun- 
try of liberty and equality with the most barba- 
rous atrocities. Among the unfortunate beings 
whose lot subjected them to her dominion, but 
who experienced comparatively a small portion 
of her rigor, was the venerable female known by 
the nam<* of Alice. 

She was a notive of America, being born in 
Philadelphia, of parents who came from Barba- 
does, and lived in that city until she was ten 
years old^ when her ma&tpr removed her to 
Dunk's Ferry, in which neighbourhood she con- 
tinued to the end of her days. She remembered 
the ground on which Philadelphia stands, when 
it was a wilderness, and when the Indians (its 
chief inhabitants) hunted wild game in the woods, 
while the panther, the wolf, and the beasts of the 
forest, were prowJiug about the wigwams and 
cabins in which they lived. 

Being a sensible, intelligent woman, and hav- 
ing a good memory, which she retained to the 
last, she would often make judicious remarks on 
the population and improvements of the city and 
VOL. 2. NO. 15 N 

country ; hence her conversation became pecu- 
liarly interesting, especially to the immediate 
descendants of the first settlers, of whose ances- 
tors she often related acceptable anecdotes. She 
remembered William Penn, the proprietor of 
Pennsylvania, Tliomas Story, James Logan, and 
several other distinguished characters of that 
day. During a short visit which she paid to 
Philadelphia, in 1801, many respectable persons 
called to see her, who were all pleased with her 
innocent cheerfulness, and that dignified deport- 
ment, for which, though a slave and uninstruct- 
ed, she was ever remarkable. 

In observing the increase of the city,, she point- 
ed out the house next to the episcopal church, 
to the southward in Second-street, as the first 
brick building that was erected in it; and it is 
more than probable she was right, for it bears 
evident marks of antiquity. The first church, 
she said, was a small frame that stood where the 
present building stands, the ceiling of which she 
could reach with her hands from the floor. She. 
was a worthy member of the episcopal society, 
and attended their public worship as long as she 
lived. Indeed, she was so zealous to perform 
this duty, in proper season, that she has often 
been met on horseback, in full gallop, to church, 
at the age of 95 years. The veneration she had 
for the bible induced her to lament that she was 
not able to read it; but the deficiency was in 
part supplied by the kindness of many of her 
irjends, who, at her request, would read it to 


her, when she would listen with great attention, 
and often make pertinent remarks. / 

She was temperate in her living, and so care- 
ful to keep to the truth , that her veracity was 
never questioned ; her honesty also was unim- 
peached, for such was her master's confidence 
in it, that she was trusted at all times to receive 
the ferriage money for upwards of forty years. 

This extraordinary woman retained her hear- 
ing to the end of her life, hut her sight began to 
fail gradually in the ninety-sixth year of her age. 
At one hundred she became blind, so that she 
could not see the sun at noon day. But her last 
master kindly excused her from her usual labour ;. 
bring habituated from her childhood to con- 
stant employment, she could not be idle, for 
she afterwards devoted her time to fishing, at 
which she was very expert,, and even at this late 
period, when her sight had so entirely left her,, 
she would frequently row herself out into the 
middle of the stream, from which she seldom re- 
turned without a handsome supply offish for her 
master's table. About the one hundred and se- 
cond year of her a^e, her sight gradually return- 
ed, and improved so far, that she could per- 
ceive objects moving before her, though she 
could not distinguish persons. Before she died,, 
her hair became perfectly white, and the last of 
her teeth dropt sound from her head at the age 
of 1 1(3 years. At this age she died, in 1802, at 
Bristol, in Pennsylvania. 

N & 


TlIIS gentleman was born to an independent 
fortune, but commencing life at a time that be 
was incapable of judging of the world, or of 
himself, he was led by a single passion, for he was 
not actuated by any other. He devoted himself 
entirely to the blind goddess, and worshipped her 
incessantly under the form of two ivory balls. 
He was remarkably thin, not very tall, though 
above the middle size: his face was a perfect 
vacuum, with respect to every possible idea ex- 
cept billiards. So infatuated was he. in pursuing 
this game, that to attain the summit of excel- 
lence he sacrificed to it days, nights, weeks, 
months, and years. At length he arrived at such 
a degree of perfection, as well in the theoretical, 
as the practical part of the game, that no player 
in Europe could equal him, except one, who 
was the celebrated Abraham Carter, who kept 
the tables at the corner of the Piazzas, Russel- 
street, Coven t Garden. Mr. Andrews was the 
most devoted adept at this game that ever nature 
produced: he seemed but to vegetate in a bil- 
liard-room, and indeed he did little more in any 
other place. He was a perfect billiard valetudi- 
narian, in the most rigid signification of the ex- 
pression. He ate, drank, slept, walked, nay> 
'talked but to promote the system of the bulls. 
His regimen was tea, and toast and butter, for 

MR', AND HEWS-. 5 

breakfast, for dinner, and for supper. It might 
reasonably be imagined, that so regular a profes- 
sor would obtain all the advantages thai could 
result from the science. He won considerable 
sums, but knew not the value of money ; and 
when playing for only five or ten pounds, he 
took no pains, but seemed perfectly indifferent 
about winning or losing. There was a latent 
finesse in this,, but it did not operate to his ad- 
vantage : he w r as laying by for bets, but as they 
were seldom offered, the strength of his play be- 
ing very well known, he often lost by repeated 
small sums very considerable ones. It i gene- 
rally believed, however, that he has played for 
more money at billiards than any other person 
ever did. The following is a remarkable circum- 
stance : he one night won of a Colonel W e 

upwards of 10001. and the colonel appointed to 
meet him the next day, to go with him into the 
city, to transfer stock to him to the amount of 
the sum lost. Being in a hackney-coach, they 
tossed up who should pay for it Andrews lost; 
and upon this small beginning he was excited 
to continue, till he lost the whole sum he won the 
night before at billiards. When the coachman 
stopped to set down, he was ordered to get up 
again, and drive them back, as they had 
no occasion to get out. By these pursuits he 
lost very large sums which he had won* at bil- 
liards ; and in a few years, hazard, and other 
games of chance, stripped him of every shilling 
fee could command. He had still left a small an- 


nuity , which he endeavouved to djspose of, but 
1 twjis so securely settled upon himself that he 
could not sell it; otherwise it is probable that it 
would soon have been transferred at the gaming- 
table. He was living within these few years in a 
retired manner in Kent, where he declared to an 
intimate, old acquaintance, that he never knew 
contentment while he was rolling in money; but 
since be was obliged to live upon a scanty pit- 
tance, he thought himself one of the happiest 
mea in the universe. 


1 HE propensity of persons who have had the 
misfortune to be denied the blessing of sight to 
cultivate the science of music, is notorious to 
every person of the least observation. With this 
propensity is not seldom combined an extraordi- 
nary genius for mechanics, but few have posses- 
sed both in a greater degree than Mr. Joseph 

He was a native of Carlisle and was blind from 
his birth. Notwithstanding this disadvantage, 
he displayed even in his infancy astonishing skill 
in mechanics. He attached himself early to the 
study of music, and was a good performer on the 
organ. The following circumstance affords a 
striking instance of his ingenuity and perseve- 
irance, by means of which he contrived to pro- 


duce every thing he thought worth possessing : 
At the age of fifteen he one afternoon concealed 
himself in the cathedral of Carlisle, during the 
time of divine service. When the congregation 
had retired and the doors were shut, he proceed- 
ed to the organ-loft, and examined every part 
of the instrument. He was thus occupied till 
about midnight, when, having satisfied himself 
respecting the general construction, he began to 
try the tone of the different stops, and the pro- 
portion they bore to each other. This experi- 
ment could not however be concluded in so si- 
lent a manner as the business which had before 
engaged his attention. The neighbourhood was 
alarmed; various were the conjectures as to the 
cause of the nocturnal music, at length some 
persons mustered courage sufficient to go and see 
what was the matter, and Joseph was found playing 
the organ. Next day he was sent for by the dean, 
who after reprimanding him for the method he 
had taken to gratify his curiosity, gave him per- 
mission to play whenever he pleased. 

He now set about making himself a charaber- 
organ, which he completed without any assis- 
tance whatever. This instrument he sold to a 
merchant, and it is now in the possession of a gen- 
tleman of Dublin, who preserves it as a curio- 
sity. Soon afterwards he made another, on which 
he used to play both for amusement and devo- 

At the age of twenty he could make himself 
almost every article of wearing apparel j and all 


his household furniture with few exceptions, was 
of his own manufacture. Besides these he con- 
structed various pieces of machinery, and among 
the rest a model of a loom, with a figure repre- 
senting a man working in it. The first pair o'f 
shoes he made, was for the purpose of walking 
from Carlisle to London, to visit Mr. Stanley, 
the celebrated blind organist of the Temple 
Church. This visit he actually paid, and was 
highly gratified with the jaunt. 

Though he indulged his fancy in the manner 

described above, yet these amusements did riot 

prevent him from following with great assiduity 

, the business of a diaper weaver, at which he was 

accounted a good workman. 

-Till within a few months of his death, he was 
a constant attendant at the cathedral ; but not 
being able to accompany the choir in chaunting 
the psalms, he composed several hymns which 
corresponded with the music, and which he sub- 
stituted as an act of private devotion during the 
performance of that part of the public service. 
It is not known whether any person was ever at- 
tentive enough to copy these pious effusions, 
which were certainly respectable from the motive 
by which they were dictated, and for the ob- 
taining of which he afforded ample opportunity 
as they generally made a part of his musical per- 
formance before strangers, and indeed that part 
in which he seemed to take the greatest pleasure. 
Mr. Strong was married at the age of twenty 
five, and had several children. He died at Car- 
lisle in March 1798 in his 66th. year. 


TlIE name of this gentleman is principally ren- 
dered remarkable by the sense of distress, almost 
unparalleled, in which he was involved, and oi 
which he gave to the world a horribly faithful 

Mr. Holwell went from England to the East- 
Indies in the civil service of the company, and 
in 17-3G was next in authority, at Fort ^Wilttanfc 
in Calcutta, to the governor Mr. Drake. The 
nabob of Bengal, Su rajah Dovvla, was then en- 
:') in a war with the East-India company, and 
'niduct of governor Drake, who had among 
other things unjustly imprisoned Omychund, 
^'considerable Gentoo merchant of the country, 
drew his resentment upon the English factory at 
Calcutta. He marched against it in person, and 
laid siege to the fort. Drake, the cause of this 
misfortune, no sooner beheld it approach, than 
he deserted his station, leaving the gentlemen 
of the factory, and the garrison, to shift for them- 

On the departure of the governor, Mr. Hol- 
well look the command upon himself, and resolv- 
ed to defend the place as long as he was able, 
This voluntary opposition incensed the nabob 
againsthim, and conceiving that he would not from 
disinterested motives have undertaken a work of 



supererogation attended with such fatigue and 
clanger, he concluded that there were very great 
treasures in the fort, in which Mr. Holweli was 
deeply concerned as a proprietor. He therefore 
pushed the siege with great vigor, and on the COth 
of June 17oQ, made himself master of the place. 
Of the events that followed a most interesting 
account is given by Mr. Holweli in the subjoined 
letter to his friend Mr. Davis. 

"Dear Sir. 

" BEFORE I conduct you into the Black Hole, 
1 must acquaint you that the Suha, named 
SurujalvDowla, viceroy of Bengal Bahar, and 
Orixa, and his troops were possessed of the fort 
before six in the evening, with whom 1 had in 
all three interviews; the last in durbar, or coun- 
cil, before seven, when he repeated his assuran- 
ces to me, on the word of a soldier, that no harm 
should come to us; and indeed, I believe he 
only ordered, that we should, for that night, be 
secured, and that what followed was the result 
of the revenge of the lower jemmaatdars, or ser- 
jeants, to whose custody we were delivered, for 
the number of their order killed during the siege. 
However this be, as soon as it was dark, we were 
all, without distinction, directed by our guard to 
sit down quietly under the arched veranda or 
piazza, to the west of the Black Hole prison, 
and just over against the windows of the gover- 
nor's easterly apartments. 

" The factory was at this time in flames ; to 
the right of us the armory and laboratory, and to 



the left the carpenter's yard ; though we now ima- 
gined it was the cotto, or the company's, cloth- 
warehouses. Various were our conjectures on 
this appearance, but it was the general opinion 
that they intended to suffocate us between two 
fires; which was confirmed about half an hour 
after seven, when some officers and people with 
lighted torches in their hands went into all the 
apartments to the right of us, as was then imagi- 
ned, to put their scheme in execution. We 
hereupon, presently resolved to rush upon the 
guard, seize their scymetars, and attack the 
troops upon the parade, rather than be tamely 
roasted to death ; but it was, upon enquiry, dis- 
covered that they were only searching for a place 
to confine us in, the last they exam, u ct being 
the barracks of the court of guard behind us. 

Here I cannot omit doing honor to the memo- 
ry of a man to whom I had in many instances 
be<*n a friend ; this was Leech, the company's 
smith, as well as clerk of the parish; who, having 
made his escape, when the Moors entered the 
fort, returned, as soon as it was dark, to inform 
me that he had provided a boat, and would en- 
sure my escape, if I would follow him through 
a secret passage, through which he had then en- 
tered. Having thanked him in the best terms 
I was able, I told him I could not prevail on my- 
self to take such a step, as I should thereby very 
ill repay the attachment the gentlemen and the 
garrison had shewn to me; but I pressed him to 
lose no time in securing his own escape; to 


which he gallantly replied, that he was then de- 
termined to share my fate and would not leave 

" We were no sooner all within the barracks, 
than the guard advancing to the parapet wall, 
with their muskets presented, ordered us to en- 
ter the room at the southernmost end of the bar- 
racks, commonly called the Black hole; while 
others, from the court of guard, pressed upon 
those next them, with clubs and drawn scyme- 
lars in their hands. This stroke Was so sudden, 
and the throng and pressure upon us next the 
door of this prison so great, that, as one agita- 
ted wave impels another, we were obliged to 
give way and go into the room ; the rest followed 
like a torrent, few of us, except the soldiers hav- 
ing any idea of the dimensions of a place we 
had never seen ; for if we had, we should rather 
have rushed on the guard, and chosen, as the 
less evil, to be cut to pieces. 

" Among the first that entered were myself, 
Messrs. Baillie, Jeuks, Cook, T. Coles, Ensign 
Scott, Revely, Law, Buchanan, Sec. 1 got pos- 
session of the window nearest the door, and 
Messieurs Coles, and Scott into the window with 
me, they being both wounded (the first 1 believe 
mortally.) The rest of the above mentioned gen- 
were close round about me. It was now about 
eight o'clock. 

" It is impossible fully to describe the situa- 
tion of a hundred and forty-six wretches, exhaust- 
ed by continual fatigue and action, crammed 


together in a cube of eighteen feet, in a close 
sultry night, in Bengal, shut up to the eastward 
and southward (the only quarters from whence 
air could reach us) by dead walls, and by a wall 
and door to the north, open only to the westward 
by two windows, strongly barred with iron, from 
which we could receive^ scarce any the least cir- 
culation of fresh air. 

" What must ensue, appeared to me in lively 
and dreadful colours, the instant I cast my eyes 
round and saw the size and situation of the room. 
Many unsuccessful attempts were made to force 
the door ; for having nothing but. our hands to 
w r ork with, and the door opening inward, all en- 
deavours were vain and fruitless. 

" I observed every one giving way to the vio- 
lence of their passions, wherefore, I entreated 
in the most pathetic terms, that, as they had 
readily obeyed me in the day, they would now for 
the sake of themselves, and their friends, regard 
my advice. I assured them that the return of 
day would give us air and liberty, and that the 
only chance we had of surviving the night 
was a quiet resignation to our fate, earnestly be- 
seeching them, as much as possible to restrain 
their passion, the giving a loose to which would 
only hasten their destruction. This remonstrance 
produced a short interval of peace, which afford- 
ed me a few minutes for reflection ; though it 
was not a littie interrupted by the cries and groans 
of the many wounded and especially of my two 
companions in the window. 

VOL. 2. NO. 15. O 


" Among the guards posted at the windows, 
I observed an old Jemmautdaar near me, who 
seemed to carry some compassion for us in his 
countenance. [ called him to me, and pressed 
him to endeavour to get us separated, half in one 
place and half in another, and that he should in 
the morning receive a thousand rupees for this 
act of tenderness. He withdrew; hut in a few 
minutes returned, and told me it was impossible. 
I then thought I had been deficient in my offer, 
and promised him two thousand ; he withdrew a 
second time, but returned soon, and (with, I 
believe, much real pity and concern) told me, 
that it could not be done but by the suba's order, 
and that no one dared awake him. 

" We had been but a few minutes confined be- 
fore every one fell into a perspiration so profuse, 
you can form no idea of it. This brought on a 
'raging thirst, which increased in proportion as 
the body was drained of its moisture. 

" Various expedients were thought of to give 
more room and air. To obtain the former, it was 
moved to put oif their clothes ; this was approved 
as a happy motion, and in a few minutes, I be- 
lieve every man was stripped (myself, Mr. Court, 
and the two young gentlemen by me excepted.) 
Fora little time they nattered themselves witli ha- 
ving gained a mighty advantage; every hat was 
put in motion to produce a circulation of air, 
and Mr. Baillie proposed that every man should 
sit down on his hams. This expedient was seve- 
ral times put in practice, and at each time many 


of the poor creatures, whose natural strength was 
less than that of others, or who had been more 
exhausted and could, not immediately recover 
their lea's, as others did when the word was given 
to rise, fell to rise no more ; for they were in- 
stantly trod to death, or suffocated. When the 
whole body sat down, they were so closely wedg- 
ed together that they were obliged to use many 
efforts, before they could put themselves in mo- 
tion to get up again. 

" Before nine o'clock every man's thirst grew 
intolerable, and respiration difficult. Efforts 
were made again to force the door, but in vain* 
Many insults were used to the guard .to provoke 
them to fire in upon us ; which I afterwards 
learned, were carried much higher, when I was 
no longer sensible of what was transacted. For 
iny own part, I hitherto felt little pain or uneasi- 
ness, but what resulted from mv anxiety for the 
sufferings of those within. By keeping my face 
between two of the bars I obtained air enough 
to give rny lungs easy play, though my perspira- 
tion was excessive, and thirst commencing. At 
this period, so strong an urinous volatile effluvia 
came from the, prison, that I was not able to 
turn my head that way, for more than a few se- 
conds at a time. 

" Every one, excepting those situated in and 
near the windows, began to grow outrageous, 
and many delirious ; Water, u'ater, became the 
general cry. And the old Jeinmautdaar before 
mentioned, taking pity on us, ordered the people 
o 2 


to bring some skins of water". This was what I 
dreaded. I foresaw it would prove the ruin of 
the small chance left us, and essayed many' times 
to speak to him privately to forbid its being 
brought : but the clamour was so loud, it became 
impossible. The water appeared. Words can- 
not paint to you the universal agitation and ra- 
ving the sight of it threw us into. I flattered 
myself that some, by preserving an equal temper 
of mind, might out-live the night ; but now the 
reflection, which gave me the greatest pain, was, 
that I saw no possbiiity of one escaping to tell 
the dismal tale. 

" Until the water came, I had myself not suf- 
fered much from thirst, which instantly grew ex- 
cessive. We had no means of conveying it into 
prison, but by hats forced through the bars; and 
thus myself and Messieurs Coles and Scott (not- 
withstanding the pains they suffered from their 
wounds) supplied them as fast as possible. But 
those who have experienced intense thirst, or 
are acquainted with the cause and nature of this 
appetite, will be sufficiently sensible it could re- 
ceive no more than a momentary alleviation ; the 
cause subsisted. Though we brought full hats 
within the bars, there ensued such violent strug- 
gles, and frequent contests to get at it, that be- 
fore it reached the lips of any one, there would 
be scarcely a small tea-cup full left in them. 
These supplies, like sprinkling watr on tire, only 
served to feed and raise the flame. 

" It is out of my power to convey lo you an 



idea of what I felt when I heard the cries and 
ravings of those in the remoter parts of the prison, 
who could not entertain a probable hope of ob- 
taining a drop, yet could not divest themselves 
of expectation,, however unavailing ;; and calling 
on me by the tender considerations of friendship 
and affection, and who knew they were really 
dear to me ! Think, if possible, what my heart 
must have suffered at seeing and hearing their 
distress, without having it in my power to relieve 
them; for the .confusion now became general 
and horrid. Several quitted the other window 
(the only chance they had for life) to force their 
way to the water, and the throng and press upon 
the window was beyond bearing; many forcing 
their passage from the further part of the room, 
pressed down those in their way who had less 
strength, and trampled them to death. 

" From about nine to near eleven, I sustained 
this cruel sense and painful situation, still supply- 
ing them with water, though my legs were almost 
broken with the weight againsc them. By this 
time I myself was nearly pressed to deatb, and 
my two companions, witn Mr William Parker, 
(who had forced himself into the window,) were 
really so* 

" For a long time they preserved a respect and 
regard to me, more than indeed I could well ex- 
pect, our circumstances considered : but now all 
distinction was lost. My friend Baillie, Messrs. 
Jenks, Revel j, Law, Buchanan, Simpson, and 
several others, for whom 1 had a real esteem and 
o 3 


affection, had for some time been dead at my feet ; 
and were now trampled upon by every corporal 
or common soldier, who by the help of more ro- 
bust constitutions, had forced their way to the 
window, and held fast by the bars over me, till at 
last I became so pressed and wedged up, that I 
was deprived of all motion. 

" Determined now to give every thing up, I 
called to them, and begged, as the last instance 
of their regard, they would remove the pressure 
upon me, and permit me to retire out of the win- 
dow, to die in quiet. They gave way ; and with 
much difficulty I forced a passage into the cen- 
ter of the prison, where the throng was less by 
the many dead, (then I believe amounting to one 
third) and the numbers who flocked to the win- 
dow ; for by this time they had water also at the 
other window. 

" In the black hole there is a platform corres- 
ponding with that in the barrack. This platform 
was raised between three and four feet from the 
floor, open underneath ; it extended the whole 
length of the east side of the prison, and was 
above six feet wide. I repaired to the further 
end of it, and seated myself between Mr. Dutn- 
fcleton, and Captain Stevenson, the former just 
then expiring. I was still happy in a calmness of 
mind ; death I expected as unavoidable, and only 
lamented its slow approach, though the moment 
I quitted the window, my breathing grew short 
and painful. Here my poor friend Mr. Edward 
Eyre came staggering over the dead to me, and 


with his usual coolness and goodnature, asked 
me how I did ; but fell and expired before I had 
time to make him a reply. I laid myself down 
on some of the dead behind me, on the platform ; 
and, recommending myself to heaven, had the 
comfort of thinking my sufferings could have no 
long duration. 

(< My thirst grew now insupportable, and the 
difficulty of breathing much increased ; and I 
had not remained in this situation, I believe, ten 
minutes, when I was seized with a pain in my 
breast, and palpitation of heart, both to the 
most exquisite degree. These roused and oblig- 
ed me to get up again ; but still the pain, palpi- 
tation, thirst, and difficulty of breath ing increas- 
ed. I retained my senses notwithstanding; and 
had the grief to see death not so near me as I 
hoped ; but could no longer bear the pains I suf- 
fered without attempting a- relief, which I knew 
fresh air alone would and could give me. I in- 
stantly determined to push for the window 7 op- 
posite to me ; and by an effort of double the 
strength I had ever before possessed, gained the 
third rank at it, with one hand seized a bar, and 
by that means gained the second, though I 
think there were at least six or seven ranks be- 
tween me and the window. 

"In a few moments the pain, palpitation, and 
difficulty of breathing ceased ; but my thirst con- 
tinued intolerable. I called aloud for Water for 
God's sake. I had been concluded dead ; but as 
soon, as they found me amongst them, they still 


had the respect and tenderness for me, to cry 
out, Give him water, give him reciter ! nor would 
one of them at the window attempt to touch it 
until I had drunk. But from the water I had no re- 
lief ; my thirst was rather increased by it ; so I de- 
termined to drink no more, but patiently wait the 
etfent, and kept my mouth moist from time to 
time hy sucking the perspiration out of my shirt 
sleeves, and catching the drops as they fell, like 
heavy rain,from my head and face; you can hardly 
imagine how unhappy I was if any of them escaped 
nay mouth. 

tf I came into the prison without coat or waist- 
coat ; the season was too hot to bear the former, 
and the latter tempted the avarice of one of the 
guards, who robbed me of it when we were un- 
der the veranda. Whilst I was at this second 
window, I was observed by one of my miserable 
companions on- the right of me, in the expedient 
of allaying my thirst fcy sucking my shirt-sleeves. 
He took the hint, and robbed me from time to 
time of a considerable part of my store; though 
after I detected him, I had the address to begin 
on that sleeve first, when I thought my reservoirs 
tvere sufficiently replenished ; and our mouths 
and noses often met in the contest. This plun- 
derer I found afterwards was a worthy young 
gentleman in the service, * jVlr. Lushington, one 
of the few who escaped from death, atid who 
has since paid me the compliment of assuring me 

* Sir Stephen Lushington, late one of the Directors of thn 
East India Company, who drcd in January, 1807. 


that he believed he owed his life to the many 
comfortable draughts he had from, my sleeves. 
Before I hit upon this happy expedient, 1 had 
in an ungovernable fit of thirst, attempted drink- 
ing my urine ; but it was so intensely bitter, there 
Was no enduring a second taste, whereas no 
Bristol water could be more soft or pleasant than 
what arose from perspiration. 

". By half an hour past eleven, the much great- 
er number of the living were in an outrageous 
delirium, and the others t,uite ungovernable; 
few retaining any calmness, but the ranks next 
the windows. They all now found, that water, 
instead of relieving, rather heightened their un- 
easinesses ; and Air, air, was the general cry. 
Every insult that could be devised against the 
guard, all the opprobrious names and abuse that 
the suba, Monickchund, could be loaded with, 
were repeated to provoke the guard to fire upon 
us, every man that could, rushing tumultuously 
towards the windows, with eager hopes or' meet- 
ing thefirstshot. Then a general prayer ascended 
to heaven to hasten the approach of the flames to 
the right and left of us, and put a period, to our 
misery. But these failing, they whose strength and 
spirits were quite exhausted, laid themselves down 
and expired quietly upon their fellows ; others 
who had yet some strength and vigour left, made 
a last effort for thew indows, and several succeed- 
ed by treading and scrambling over the backs and 
heads of those in the first ranks ; and got hold of 
the bars, from which there was no removing them. 


Many to the right and left sunk with the violent 
pressure, and were- soon suffocated ; for now a 
steam arose from the living and the dead, which 
affected us in all its circumstances, as if we were 
forcibly held by our heads over a bowl of strong 
volatile spirit of hartshorn, until suffocated ; nor 
could' the effluvia of the one be distinguished 
from the other; and frequently, when 1 was 
forced by the load upon my head and shoulders, 
to hold my face down, I was obliged, near as I 
was to the window, instantly to raise it again, to 
escape suffocation. 

" 1 need not, my dear friend, ask your com- 
miseration, when I tell you, that in this plight, 
from half an hour after eleven till near two in the 
morning, I sustained the weight of a heavy man, 
with his knees on my back, and the pressure of 
his whole body on my head ; a Dutch serjeant, 
who had taken his seat upon my left shoulder, 
and a Topaz or black Christian soldier bearing 
on my right : all which, nothing could have en- 
abled me long to support, but the props and pres- 
sure equally sustaining ine all around. The two 
latter I frequently dislodged, by shifting my 
bold on the bars, and driving my knuckles into 
their ribs ; but my friend above stuck fast, and, 
as he held by two bars, was immoveable. 

" When 1 had endured this conflict above an 
hour, despairing of relief, my spirit, resolution, 
and every sentiment of religion gave way. I 
found I could not long support this trial, and ab- 
horred the dreadful thoughtof retiring into the in- 


neral part of the prison where 1 had before suffer- 
ed so much. Some infernal spirit, taking advan- 
tage of this extremity brought to my remem^ 
brance my having a small clasp pen-knife in rny 
pocket, with which I determined instantly to 
open my arteries to put an end to my misery. 
I had got it out, when heaven restored me to 
fresh spirits and resolution, with an abhorrence of 
the act of cowardice I was just going to commit; 
but, the repeated efforts I made to dislodge this 
insufferable incum brance upon me, at last quite 
exhausted me, and towards two o'clock, finding 
I must quit the window, or sink where I was, I 
resolved on die former, having borne, truly for 
the sake of others, infinitely more for life, than 
the best of it is worth. 

" In the rank close behind me was an officer 
of one of the ships, whose name was Carey, and 
who behaved with much bravery during the siege, 
(his wife, a fine woman though country born, 
would not quit him, but accompanied him into the 
prison, and was one who survived.) This poor 
wretch had been long raving for water and air ; 
I told him I was determined to give up life, and 
recommended his gaining my station. On my 
quitting, he made an attempt to get at my place ; 
but was supplanted. 

" Poor Carey expressed his thankfulness, and 
said, he would give up life too ; but it was with 
the utmost labour we forced our way from the 
window, several in the inner ranks appearing to 
me dead standing, unable to fall by the thtong 


and equal pressure around. He laid himself down 
to die : and his death, I believe, was very sudden, 
for he was a short, full, sanguine man : his 
strength was great, and 1 imagine had he not 
retired with me, I should never have been able to 
have forced my way. 

" I found a stupor coming on apace, and laid 
myself down by that gallant old man, the reve- 
rend Mr. Jervas Bellamy, who Jay dead with his 
son the lieutenant, hand in hand, near the 
southernmost wall of the prison. When I had 
lain there some little time, I still had reflection 
enough to suffer some uneasiness in the thought, 
that I should be trampled upon, when dead, as I 
myself had done to others. With some difficulty 
I raised myself and gained the platform a second 
time, where I presently lost all sensation : the 
last trace of sensibility that I have been able to 
recollect after my lying down, was, my sash be- 
ing uneasy about my waist, which I untied and 
threw from me. Of what passed in this interval 
to the time of my resurrection from this hole of 
horrors, lean give you no account; and indeed 
the particulars mentioned by some of the gentle- 
men who survived were so excessively absurd and 
contradictory as to convince me that very few 
of them retained their senses; or at least, lost 
them soon after they came into the open air, 
bv the fever they carried out with them. 


"In my own escape from death the hand of 
heaven was manifestly exerted. The manner ef 
it was as follows: 


"When the day broke, and the gentlemen 
found that no intreatics could prevail to get the 
tloor opened, it occurred to one of them (I think 
to Mr. Secretary Cooke) to make a search lor 
me, in hopes [ might have influence enough to 
gain a release from this scene of misery. Accord- 
ingly Messrs. Lushington and Walcot undertook 
the search, and by my shirt discovered me under 
the dead upon die platform. They took me from 
thence, and imagining I had some signs of life, 
brought me towards the window 1 had first pos- 
session of. 

" But as life was equally dear to every man, 
(and the stench arising from the dead bodies was 
grown so intolerable) no one would give up his 
station in or near the window : so they were 
obliged to carry me back again. But soon after 
Captain Mills, who was in possession of a seat 
in the window, had the humanity to offer to re- 
sign it. I was again brought by the same gen- 
tlemen and placed in the window. 

" At this juncture ttie suba, who had received 
an account of the havock death had made among 
us, sent one of his Jemmautdaars to enquire if 
the Chief survived. They shewed me io him; 
told him I had some appearance of life remain- 
ing : and believed I might recover if the door 
was opened very soon. This answer being re- 
turned to the suba, an order came immediately 
for our release, it being then near six in the 

" The fresh air at the window soon brought 

VOL. 2,-^-NO. 15. 


me to life, and restored me. to my sight and 
senses : but I will not attempt to describe what 
my soul suffered, on the review of the dreadful 
destruction around me; and indeed tears, a tribute 
I shall ever pay to the remembrance of these 
bra^ve and valuable men, restrain my pen. 

" The little strength remaining among the 
most robust of the survivors rendered it difficult - 
to remove the dead piled up against the door; so 
that I believe it was more than twenty minutes 
before we obtained a passage out for one at a 

" I was soon convinced that the particular 
enquiry made after me did not result from any 
dictate of favor, humanity, or contrition. When 
I came out, being in a high putrid fever and un- 
able to stand, I threw myself on the wet grass, 
without the veranda, when a message was brought 
me, signifying that I must immediately attend 
the suba. They were obliged to support rhc un- 
der each arm, and on the way, one of the jem- 
mautdaars advised me, as a friend, to make a 
full confession where the treasure was buried in 
the fort, or that, in half an hour, I should be 
shot off from the month of a cannon, a sentence 
of death, common in Indostan. This intima- 
tion gave me no concern at all, for I should now 
have esteemed death the greatest favour the ty- 
rant could have bestowed upon me. 

" Being brought into his presence, he soon ob- 
served the wretched plight I was in, and ordered 
a large folio volume, which lay on a heap of plun- 
der, to be brought for- me to sit on. Twice or 


thrice I endeavored to speak, but my tongue was 
clrv and without any motion. He ordered me 
water,, and as soon as I could speak, [ began to 
recount the dismal catastrophe of my miserable 
companions; but, interruptingme, heacquainted 
me that he was well informed of a great treasure 
being buried or secreted in the fort, 'that I wa* 
privy to it, and must discover it, if I expected 

" I said all I could to convince him there was 
no truth in the information, or, that if any such 
thing had been done, it was without my know- 
ledge. I reminded him of his repeated assu- 
rances to me the day before; but he resumed 
the subject of the treasure, and all I coald urge 
' seeming to gain no credit with him, he gave or- 
ders for my being a prisoner under Mhir Mud- 
don, general of the household troops. 

" I was ordered to the camp, to Mhir Mud- 
don's quarters, within the outward ditch, some- 
thing short of Omychund's garden, which is 
above three miles from the fort; and with me 
Messrs. Court, Walcot, and Burdet. The rest 
who survived the fatal night, gained their li- 
berty, except Mrs. Carey who was too young 
and handsome. The dead bodies were promis- 
cuously thrown into the ditch of an unfinished ra- 
velin, and covered with the earth. 

" My being treated with this severity, I have 
sufficient reason to affirm, proceeded from the 
suba's resentment, for my defending the fort af- 
ter the governor had abandoned it; his preposses- 
sion touching the treasure ; and, thirdly, the in- 


stigatipns of Omychund, in revenge for my not 
releasing him out of prison, as soon as I had the 
command of the fort ; a circumstance which, in 
the heat and hurry of action, never once occurred 
to me, or I had certainly done it, because I 
thought his imprisonment unjust. But, that my 
hard treatment may be truly attributed in a 
great measure to his suggestions and insinuations, 
I am well assured, from the whole of his subse- 
quent conduct ; which was farther evident from 
the three gentlemen selected to be my compa- 
nions, against each of whom he had conceived 
particular resentment. 

" We were conveyed in a hackery (a coach 
drawn by oxen) to the camp, the 21st of June in 
the morning, being so loaded with fetters, and 
stowed all four in a seapoy's tent, about four feet 
long, three wide, and three high ; so that we 
were half in and half out. All night it 'rained 
severely; but it was, however, a paradise com- 
pared with our lodging the preceding night. 
Here I became covered from head to foot with 
larc;e, painful boils, the first symptom of my re- 
covery; for till these appeared my fever did not 
leave me. 

" On the morning of the C2d, they marched 
us to town in our letters under the scorching 
beams of an intensely hot sun, and lodged us at 
the dock-head, in the open small veranda front- 
ing the river, where we had a strong guard over 
us, commanded by Bundo Sing Hazary, an offi- 
cer under Mhir Muddon; and here the other 
gentlemen broke out likewise in boils all over 


their bodies a happy circumstance, which, as I 
afterwards learned, attended every one who came 
out of the Black Hole. 

" On our arrival here, we were soon informed 
that we should be sent to Muxadabad ; and on 
the 24th, in the afternoon we were embarked in 
a large boat, which bulged ashore, a little after 
we set off: however, they pushed on, though 
she made so much water that she could scarcely 
swim* Our bedstead and bedding were a plat- 
form of loose, unequal bamboos, laid on the bot- 
tom timbers: we had scarcely any clothes, and no- 
thing but a piece of mat, and one or two pieces 
of old gunny-bag to defend us from the sun, 
rains and dews. Our only food w r as rice, and the 
water along-side. 

" Though our destresses were very deplorable, 
the grateful consideration of our being so provi- 
dentially a remnant of the saved, made every 
thing else appear light to us. Our rk:e and wa- 
ter-diet, designed as a grievance, was certainly a 
preservation; for, could we have been indulged 
in flesh and wine, we had undoubtedly died. 

" When we arrived at Hughly Fort, 1 wrote 'a 
"short letter to Governor Bisdom, informing him 
of our miserable plight; who had the humanity 
to dispatch three several boats after us with fresh 
^provisions, Ikjuors, clothes, and money, none of 
which reached us. But " whatever is, is right :* 
'our rice and water were more salutary and pro- 
per for us. 

" When we came opposite to Santipore, they 
P 3 


found that the boat would not be able to proceed 
for want of water in the river, and one of the 
guard was sent ashore to demand of the zemindar 
of that district, light boats to carry the prisoners 
bf state under their charge to Muxadabad ; but 
the zemindar, giving no credit to the fellow, drove 
him away. 

" This produced a most terrible commotion; 
our jemmautdaar ordered his people to arms, in 
order to take the zemindar and carry him bound 
a prisoner to Muxadabad. They accordingly land- 
ed, when it occurred to a mischiev is mortal 
among them, that the taking me with them would 
be a proof of their commission, and of the high 
offence of the zemindar. 

" Being immediately lugged ashore, I urged 
the impossibility of my walking, covered as -my 
legs were with boils, and several of them in the 
way bf my fetters: and in treated, if I must go,, 
that they would for the time take off my irons, as 
it was not in my power to escape from them ; but 
I was constrained to crawl, under a .scorching sun 
near noon, for more than a mile and a half; my 
legs running in a stream of blood from the irrita- 
tion of my irons, and myself ready to drop 
every step with excessive faintness and unspeak- 
able pain. 

" When we came near the cutcherry of the 
district, the zemindar wa& ready to receive us; 
but as soon as they presented me to him as a pri- 
soner of state, estimated and valued to them at 
four lacks of rupees (50,0001.) he confessed his 
mistake, and made no farther resistance. The 


jemmautdaar gave orders to have him bound 
and sent to the boat ; but on his farther submis- 

, sion, matters were accommodated, and he was re- 

" I became so very low and weak from this 
cruel travel, that it was some time before they 
would venture to march me back ; and the stony-* 
hearted villains, for their own sakes, were, at last, 
obliged to carry me part of the way, and support 
me the rest, covering me from the sun with their 

" We departed immediately in expectation of 
boats following, but they never came ; and the 
next day, I think the last of June, they pressed 
a small open fishing dingy, and embarked us on 
it, with two of our guard only ; for in fact any 
more would have sunk her. Here we had a bed 
of bamboos something softer, 1 think, than Ihose 
of the great boat ; but we had so. little room, 
that we could not stir without our fetters bruising 
our own or each other's boils, and did not arrive 
at Muxadabad till the 7th of July in the afternoon. 
However, by the good-nature of Shaik Bodul, 
we now and then, latterly got a few plantains, 
onions, parched rice with jaggree (molasses), 
and the bitter green, called curella; all which 
made the rice go down deliciousjv. 

(f On the 7th of July we came in sight of tbe 
French factory. I .had a letter prepared for Mr, 
Law, the chief; and prevailed on my friend Bo- 
dul to bring to there. On the receipt of my let- 
ter, Mr. Law, with much politeness and huma- 
ul.ty, came down to the water-side, and remained 


; near an hour -with us ; he gave theshaik a hand- 
-some present for his civilities, and offered him a 
considerable reward and security, if he would 
permit us to land for an hour's refreshment ; but 
he replied, that his head would pay for the indul- 
gence. After Mr. Law had given us a supply of 
clothes, linen, provisions, liquors, and cash, we 
left his factory with grateful hearts. 

(e We could not, as may easily be imagined, 
long abstain from our stock of provisions: though, 
however temperate we thought ourselves, we 
were all more or legs disordered by this first in- 
clulgence. A few hours after,' T was seized with 
a painful inflammation in my right leg and thigh ; 
but about four in the afternoon we landed at 
Muxadabad, and -were deposited in an open sta- 
ble ; not far from the suba's palace, in the city. 

" I will freely confess that thus led, like a felon, 
a spectacle to this populous city, my soul Could 
not support itself with any degree of patience. 
The pain too, arising from my boils, and the in- 
flammation of my leg, added not a little, I believe 
to the depression of my spirits. 

(s Here we had a guard of Moors placed on 
one side of us, and a guard of Gentoos on the 
other, and being destined to remain here until 
the suba returned to the city, the immense crowd 
of spectators so blocked us up from morning till 
night, that I may truly say, we narrowly escaped 
a second suffocation, the weather proving exceed- 
ingly sultry. 

" The, first night after our arrival in the stable, 
I AY as attacked by a fever ; and that night and 


next day, the inflammation of my leg and thigh 
greatly increased ; but all terminated the second 
night in a regular fit of the gout in my right foot 
and ancle, the first and last fit of this kind I ever 
had. How my irons agreed with this new visitor,. 
I leave you to judge ; for I could not by any in- 
treaty obtain liberty for so much as thatpoorieg. 

" During our residence here we experienced 
every act of friendship and humanity from 
Messrs. Law and Vernet, the French and Dutch 
chiefs of Cossimbuzar, who left no means unes- 
sayed to procure our release. Our provisions 
were regularly sent us from the Dutch tanksall 
(mint) in Corimabad, and we were daily visited 
by Messrs. Ross and Ekstone, the chief and se- 
cond there ; and indeed received such instances 
of commiseration and affection from the for- 
mer, as will ever claim my most grateful remem- 

" TheAvhole body of Armenian merchants too 
were most kind and friendly to us, particularly 
Aga Manuel Satoor ; and we were not a little in- 
debted to the -obliging behavior of Messrs. Has- 
tings and Chambers, vvhogflve us as much of their 
company as they could. They had obtained 
their liberty by the French and Dutch chiefs 
becoming bail for their appearance, which se- 
curity was often tendered for us, but without ef- 

"The llth of July the suba arrived in the 
city, and with him Bundoo Sing, to whose house 
Vve were removed that afternoon in a hackery ; 
and here we were confirmed in a report, wlych 


had before reached us^ that the suba, on his re- 
turn to Hughly made inquiry for us, with inten- 
tion to release us ; and that he had expressed 
some resentment at Mhir Muddon, for having so 
hastily sent us up to Muxad abaci. 

" Though we were here lodged in an open 
bungulo only, yet we once more breathed the 
fresh air, and were treated with much kindness 
and respect by Bundoo Sing, who entertained us 
with hopes of being soon released. 

" Tlie 15th, we were conducted in a hackery 
to the keila or residence ofthe^suba, in order to 

? have un audience, and were kept above an hour 
in the sun opposite the gate; but receiving ad- 

-vice that we should have no admittance that day, 
'we were remanded to the stable, where we had 
the mortification of passing another night. 

" Towards five, the shaik waked me with notice 
that the suba would presently pass by to his pa- 
lace of iMooteejeel : we roused, and desired the 
guard would keep the view clear for us. When 

'the suba came in sight, we made him the usual 
salaam, and when became opposite to us he or- 
dered his litter to stop, and directed that we 
should be called to him. We advanced, and I 

'addressed him in a short speech, Setting forth onr 
sufferings, and petitioned for our liberty. The 
wretched spectacle we exhibited, must, 1 think, 
have made an impression on the most brutal 
breast; and if his heart were capable of pity or 
contrition he must have felt it then. He gave 
me no RIMV, b;,t ordered two inferior officers 
immediately to sec our irons cut off, to conduct 


us wherever \ve chose to go, and to take care we 
received no molestation or insult. Having re- 
peated this order distinctly, he directed his re- 
tinue to proceed. As soon as our legs were free, 
we took boat and arrived at the tanksall, where 
we were received and entertained with real joy 
and humanity." 

It was probably the effects of these dreadful 
sufferings endured by Mr. Holwell that obliged 
him to leave the East Indies. He returned soon 
afterwards to England in the Syren sloop, and 
penned the above account during the passage. 

Mr. Holvvdl was the author of several pieces 
on India affairs, and died at an advanced age^ in 
the year 1798. 


THIS man, during the early part of his life 
was a farmer's servant, in which honest and la- 
borious vocation he contrived to save 200/. With 
this and a sum which he borrowed he purchased 
a small farm at Cambridge in Cumberl and, and 
thenceforward resided upon his little estate. He 
never married, nor hired a servant into his house, 
but lived alone, and principally cultivated his 
land with his own hands. 

His great object was to save money; and, to 
that end, he denied himself not only the conve- 
niences, but what, by most, are considered the 
necessaries of life. His food was of the most 
homely kind, and used sparingly: the contents 
of his wardrobe were scarcely sufficient, to clothe 
his shivering limbs, or to hide his nakedness; 


and, being covered with dirt and vermin, were 
consigned to the flames immediately after his 
death. A razor had not been applied to his face 
for many years, nor a brush nor a broom to his 
house. His bed was half filled with chaff and 
stjaw, and a fleece of wool supplied the place of 
a pillow. This, with a few other miserable arti- 
cles of household furniture, when drawn from 
the wilderness of streaming cobwebs, which had 
been accumulating for the last twenty years, were 
sold at a public sale for less than ten shillings. 

By a continued observance of the most rigid 
parsimony, Milbourne soon cleared himself of his 
pecuniary incumbrances, and, in the end, had 
scraped together property in land, money and 
cattle, to the amount of near lOOOL His love 
of money did not.desert him even on his death- 
bed; lying in a very languid state, his friends, by 
his desire, where searching for some concealed 
treasure. They drew forth a large bunch of 
promissory notes, on which he exerted his remain- 
ing strength in, a loud exclamation of " There, 
you see, now !" But, although Thomas was the 
great banker of the neighbouring villages, he 
had no idea of usury ; and few of his neigh- 
bours, who deserved any credit, asked his assis- 
tance in pecuniary matters in vain; some limes even 
his too great confidence in the honesty of others 
was imposed on by artful knaves. He died at 
Cambridge, in the parish of Cum\vhitton, near 
Cailisle, 1800, aged be ween TOandbO. 


But Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring, 
AndSedley curs' d the form that pleas'd the King. 

THESE lines of the great English moralist 
would lose none of their truth if applied with the 
alteration of the name, to the interesting Shore, 
whose personal accomplishments, added to*hose 
of her mind, raised her to an elevation which* 
mtrst have rendered her subsequent calamities 
still more poignant and severe. 

Jane Shore was the daughter of a citizen of 
London, who, anxious to obtain an eligible 
establishment for his daughter,, insisted on her 
marrying a rich jeweller in Lombard Street, for 
whom she felt neither affection nor esteem. Such 
were the charms of her person that their fame 
reached the ears of King Edward the Fourth, 
who frequently visited the shop of her husband, 
for the purpose of feasting his eyes on her beau- 
ty. When she was present, he bought any 
trinkets that were shewn him, but if he did not 
see her, he disapproved of every article and be- 
spoke others, that he might have a pretext for 
repeating his visits. 

These interviews at length produced the effect 
he desired. Jane, though possessing a most 
VOL. 2. NO. 16. 


amiable disposition, had not virtue sufficient to 
resist the persuasions of the King; and the in- 
difference she felt fgr her husband led her with 
less reluctance to throw herself into the arms of 
the monarch. 

" Frailty thy name is woman !" exclaims the 
prince of Denmark. When we farther recollect 
the testimony of a contemporary historian, " that 
Edward was the goodliest personage that ever 
his eyes beheld, exceeding tail of stature, fair of 
complexion, and of the most princely presence," 
we shall be the less surprised that Jane Shore was 
unable to resist the entreaties of her royal sedu- 
cer. Nor was she the only female of her time, 
on whom Edward's manly beauty was calculated 
to make a powerful impression. On this subject 
the following curious anecdote is recorded by 
Baker. In the fourteenth year of his reign a 
contribution was raised among his subjects in aid 
of the expence incurred by his wars in Fiance. 
A rich widow was among others called before 
him, and he merrily asked what she would will- 
ingly give him towards his great, charges. " By 
my troth," replied she, " for thy lovely counten- 
ance thou shah even have twenty pounds/' The 
King, who expected scarcely lialf that sum, thank- 
ed her and lovingly kis-ed her ; which so wrought 
on the old widow that she immediately protested 
he should have twenty pounds more, and counted 
out the sum with the greatest pleavme. 

Edward loved his mistress with unbounded af- 
fection ; his purse as well as his heart w r as entirely 


at her command, but she made no improper use 
of his munificence; her greatest happiness consis- 
ting in feeding the hungry and relieving the 
wants of the distressed. Though the power of 
her charms was irresistible, yet her courtly be- 
haviour, facetious conversation and ready wit, 
were far more attractive than her person. It is 
recorded of her that she could read and write, 
qualifications very uncommon in that age. She 
employed all her interest with the King in reliev- 
ing the indigent, redressing wrongs and reward- 
ing merit. With Edward she con tinned to share all 
the advantages that royalty can bestow, till his 
death in 1483. Tne affection she had felt for the 
King, naturally attached her to his children. This 
circumstance probably paved the way to that 
connection, which after his decease was formed 
between her and the accomplished Lord Hastings. 
The known partiality of both to the young prin- 
ces, rendered them equally obnoxious to the am- 
bitious protector, Glocester, who immediately 
took measures for removing such powerful obsta- 
cles to the attainment of his ambitious views. He 
accused them at the council-board of witchcraft 
and conspiring against his life, exposing his wi- 
thered arm and declaring that it had been re- 
duced to such a state by the incantations of 
Shore. Hastings was dragged from the council- 
table by the order of Richard, who swore he 
would have his head before he dined. The 
council was held in the apartment still called the 
council-chamber in the Tower, and such was the 


haste of the tyrannic Glocester to dispatch a man 
whose sole crime was his fidelity to his own 
nephews, that the unfortunate Hastings had only 
time to make a short confession to a priest who 
was accidentally passing, and his head was ta- 
ken off on a log which happened to lie on the 
Green, before the Chapel. 

Having lost her protector, Jane Shore next 
fell a helpless victim to the malice of Richard. 
She was committed by his order, to the Tower, 
and tried on the ridiculous charges he had ad- 
vanced against her. Being disappointed, by her 
excellent defence, of convicting her of witch- 
craft,, and confederating with her lover to de- 
stroy him, he attacked her on the weak side of 
vfraiity. This was undeniable. He seized her 
house and fortune, and consigned her to the seve- 
rity of tt*e church. She was carried clothed in a 
white sheet, with a taper in her hand, to the pa- 
lace of the bishop of London and thence con- 
ducted to the cathedral and to St. Paul's Cross, 
before which she made a confession of her only 
fault. " Every other virtue," says Mr. Pennant, 
in his Account of London/' bloomed in this 
ill fated fair in the fullest vigor. She could not 
resist the solicitations, of a youthful monarch, 
the handsomest man of his time. On his death 
she was reduced to necessity, scorned by the 
\\orkl and off by her husband, with whom 
she was paired in her .childish years,, and forced 
to fling herself into the arms of Hastings." 

The account of her penance is given by Ho- 


linshed with all the simplicity and truth which 
characterize the more early of our modern histo- 
rians. " In her peftance, Cf says he/' she went, 
in countenance and pace demure, so womanly^ 
that albeit she were out of all array, save her 
kirtle only, yet went she so fair and lovely, 
Damely while the wondering of the people cast a 
eomely red in her cheeks, (of which she before 
had most miss) that her great shame won hei* 
much praise among those, who were more amo- 
rous of her body than curious of her soul. And 
many good folks who hated her living, and glad, 
were to see sin corrected, yet pitied they more 
her penance,, than rejoiced therein, when they 
considered that the Protector procured it more 
of a corrupt intent than any virtuous affection." 

Rowe who has worked up a most interesting- 
piece from her history, has thrown this part of ifc' 
into the following poetical dress: 

Submissive, sad and lovely was her louk; 
A burning' taper in her hand she bore, 
And on her shoulders carelessly conf'us'd. 
With loose neglect, her lovely tresses hung; 
Upon her cheeks a faintKh flush was spread j. 
Feeble she seem'd and sorely smit with pain. 
While, barefoot as she trod the flinty pavement, 
Her footsteps all alona; weremark'd with blood. 
Yet silent still she pass'd and unrepining; 
Her streaming eyes beut ever on the^earth, 
Except when in some bitter pang of sorrow, 
To heav'n ihe sceiu'd in f erven', zeal to raise, 
And beg that mercy man denied her here. 

The poet has adopted the fable of her beiiig 


denied all sustenance and perishing of hunger. 
Popular tradition has favoured the idea that she, 
expired in a ditch, and that from this circum- 
stance the street called Shoreditch derived its 
appellation : but-the fallacy of this opinion has 
been demonstrated by respectable antiquaries. 

All historians agree in asserting that this un- 
fortunate female lived to a great age, but in 
great distress and miserable poverty ; deserted 
even by those, for whom she had, in prosperity,, 
performed the most essential services. She drag- 
ged wretched life even to the time of Sir Tho- 
mas More, who introduces her story into his life 
of Edward the Fifth. " Proper she was and fair;" 
says the chronicler who has been already quot- 
ed, sf nothing in her body that you would have 
changed, but you would have wished her some- 
what higher. Thus say they that knew her in 
her vouth. Now is she old, lean, withered and 
dried up ; nothing left but rivelledskin and hard 
Lone ; and yet, being even such, whoso well ad- 
vise her visage, might guess and devise, which 
parts how rilled would make it a fair face." 

The writers who have noticed the extraordi- 
nary vHssitudes of the life of Jane Shore, are 
silent with respect to the time and place of her 
-death. It is impossible to peruse the story of the 
royal favourite without lamenting the severity of 
the fate she was destined to endure, yet while we 
sympathize in her misfortunes it must not be for- 
gotten that they were the consequences of indis- 
cretions, which cannot fail to call forth the repro- 
bation of every virtuous mind. 


THE frequency of accusations of witchcraft 
and executions for that supposed crime, during 
the seventeenth century, may be traced back tx> 
the publication of our weak and-witch-ridden mo- 
narch James 1. entitled D^monologia or a dis- 
course on witchcraft." Fortunately for the pre- 
sent 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 cre- 
dulous. Of the mischiefs resulting from such .no- 
tions, the subjoined account of the havock com- 
mitted by one person only, affords ample evi- 
dence. The reader while he peruses it with aston- 
ishment and horror, will not fail to discover in it 
a signal example of the retributive justice of Pro- 

Matthew Hopkins resided at Manningtree, in 
Essex, and was witch-finder for the associated 
counties of Essex, Suffolk, Norfolk, and Hunt- 
ingclonshire. In the years 1644, 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 reputed- 
witches of his own county of Essex. The old, 
the ignorant and the indigent, such as could nei- 
ther plead their own cause, nor hire an advocate, 
were the miserable victims of this wretch's ere- 


dulity, spleen, and avarice. He pretended to be 
a great critic in special marks, which were onjy 
moles,, scorbutic spots, or warts, that 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 toge- 
ther 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 experiment, was deem- 
ed 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 u as some persons had renounced their bap- 
tism 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 tvere consequently guilty, and there- 
fore taken out and burnt; if they were innocent 
they were only drowned. The experiment of 
swimming was at length tried upon Hopkins 
himself, in his own way, and he was upon the 
event condemned, and, as it seems, executed as 
a wizzard. Dr. Zach. Grey says tluit he had 
seen an account of between three and four thous- 
and persons, who suffered death for witchcraft in 
the king's dominions, from 1G43 to the restora- 
tion of Charles II. In a letter from Serjeant Wid- 
drinton to Lord Whitelocke, mention is made 
of uaoiher fellow of the same profession as Hop- 

S N 


kins. This wretch received twenty shillings 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 ? 
" Fully empower'd to treat about 
" Finding revolted witches out? 
^ " And has not he within a year, 

" Hang'd threescore of them in 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 lor putting knavish tricks 

" Upon green geese and turkeys-chicks, 

"Or pigs that suddenly deceas'd 

" Of griefs unnat'ral as he guess' d, 

" Who after prov'd himself a witch 

" And made a rod for his own breech." 

Hudib. P. II. Cant. 3. 

In an old print of this execrable character he 
is represented with two witches. One of them 
named Holt is supposed to say: My Impes are 
]. Ilemauzyr; 2. Pye-wackett; 3. Pecke in the 
Crown; 4. Griezell Griediegutl." Four animals 
attend; Jarmara, a black dog; Sacke and Su- 
gar, a hare; Newes, a ferret; Vinegar Tom, a 
bull-headed greyhound. This print is in the Pe~ 
pysian library. 



1 HE history of this extraordinary poet, which 
involves a considerable degree of mystery, affords' 
a singular example of the truth of the observation 
that genius is not always allied to the more useful 
qualities of prudence and discretion. 

The origin of Beronicius is buried in pro- 
found obscurity, and it is even unknown of what 
country he was a native. In 1672, a small book 
was printed at Amsterdam, the fourth edition 
of which appeared in 1716, in 12mo. 204 pages, 
with five copper-plate engravings, entitled, P. 
J- Beronicii, Poeta incompaiabitis, qua extant, P. 
Rabus recemuit et Georzatchontoindckia notas ad- 


didit. Editio quanta emendatlns curata. " Bat- 
tle between peasants and magistrates (in 
1672), or the talcing of Middelburg; in heroic 
verse, written immediately from the extempore 
recitation in Latin, and contained in two books, 
by an eye-witness, (meaning likewise ear-wit- 
ness); freely translated into Dutch prose, by P. 

Thewbole poem consists of 9-0 lines ; and at 
the end are eight odes, and a satire, together with 
514 lines, likewise in Latin; two congratula- 
tory odes on the arrival of the prince of Orange 
in Vlissingen, 1668; on the death of Jacob 
Michieise, M. D. 1671 ; one congratulatory on 
the election of a Burgomaster ; on the Polyglot 
Bible; an Epitbalamiuin on the nuptials of Pro- 


fessor John cle Raay ; a Complimentary Ode to 
William the III. Prince of Orange and Nassau; 
and a Satire on a Philosopher. 

The following account of the author is taken 
from a small hook of Lectures, in Latin, by Ant. 
Borremahs, printed at Amsterdam in 16/6; and 
from a Dutch preface to the Poem,, by P. Rabus. 

Besides this volume, no other works of Bero- 
nicius are to be found ; because this most won- 
derful poet, and the most extraordinary ever 
heard of, never wrote his verses, but recited them, 
extempore ; and when he was once set a going, 
with such celerity, that a swift writer could with 
great difficulty keep up with him, and thus a 
great number of his verses are lost. 

In the year 1674, the celebrated Dutch poet, 
Antonides Vander Goes, (who died in 1684), be- 
ing in Zealand, happened to be in company with 
a young gentleman who spoke very highly in 
praise of the wonderful quickness and incredible 
memory of his la ; iguage*master, Bt roaicius. An- 
tonides, and others who were present, expressed 
a desire to see such an extraordinary genius. 
They had scarcely spoken, when there entered a 
little, black, round, thick fellow, with hardly 
a rag to his back, like a blackguard. But on 
closer examination, something uncommon and 
lofty appeared in his ferriage, and the expres- 
sion in his countenance was serious, and blended 
with a majestic peculiarity. His eyes glowed 
ike Keiy coals, and his arms and legs were in a 
perpetual nimble motion Ever) one eagerly 


eyed him, welcomed him, and asked him if it 
were all true, that his pupil had been telling 
them. " True ?" said that singular creature, 
" yes ; 'tis all perfectly true." And when they 
answered that they could not so lightly believe 
such incredible things, the man grew angry, and 
reviled the whole company, telling them they 
were only a parcel of beasts and asses. 

He had at that time, as was his daily custom, 
drunk a glass too much, and that was the cause 
of his bullying them and bragging of his own 
wonderful powers by which he could make all 
manner of verses extempore. But those to whom 
he told this, looked on him as a mad man, 
out of whose mouth the wine spoke. Upon 
which he continued to tell them, that he was the 
man who had added eight hundred words to the 
great dictionary of Calepini; that he could im- 
mediately versify correctly any thing on any sub- 
ject he had only once heard ; and lastly, that he 
had many times, standing or walking, translated 
the weekly newspapers into Greek or Latin verses. 

Nobody appearing willing to believe him, he 
ran out of the house, cursing and swearing as if 
he had been possessed. The same company met 
the next day at the principal tavern in Middle- 
burg; and after dinner, the conversation hap- 
pened to turn on a sea fight which had lately 
been fought by the Hollanders and Zealanders 
against the English. Among others who were 
killed, was a captain de Haze, a Zealand naval 


hero, and on whom Antonides had composed aa 
epitaph, in Dutch verse. 

The point turns on the name, de Haze, signi- 
fying the hare, and the poet says, the Zealand 
hares turned to lions. He had a written copy of 
this for one of the company, when Beronicius 
entered accompanied by his pupil. He excused 
himself for his extravagances of the day before, 
and begged pardon, hoping they would attribute 
his misbehaviour to the liquor, and forgive him. 
He then directly began to talk of his poetical 
powers, and offered to give them a specimen if 
they chose it. 

As they now found that, being sober, he re- 
peated what he had bragged of when drunk, they 
undertook to try him so as to get at the truth. 
A fair opportunity offered, as Antonides had just 
shewn him his verses, and asked his opinion of 
them. Beronicius read them twice, praised 
them, and said, " What should hinder me from 
turning them into Latin instantly ?" They 
viewed him with wonder, and encouraged him 
by saying, " well, pray let us see what you can 
do." In the mean time the man appeared to be 
startled. He trembled from head to foot as if 
possessed by Apollo. However, before he began 
his work, he asked the precise meaning of two or 
three Dutch words, of which he did not clearly 
understand the force; and requested v that he' 
might be allowed to Latinize the v Captain's name 
of Hare, in some manner so as not to lose the 
pun. They agreed; and he immediately said, 

TOL. <2.-^NO. 16. H 


<( I have already found it, I shall call him Dtf- 
sypus" which signifies an animal with rough 
legs, and is likewise taken by the Greeks for a 
hare. " Now, read a couple of lines at a time 
to me, and I shall give them in Latin." Upon 
which a poet, named Buizero, hegan to read to 
him, and Beronicius hurst out in the following 

Egregia Dasypus referens ^irtute leonem 
In. hello, adversus Britonas super requora gesto, 
Impavidus pelago stetit, aggrediente moiossuin 
Agniine, quern tandem glans ferrea rnisitad astra, 
Vindictae cupidum violate jure profundi. 
Advena, quisquis ades, Zelaudae encomia gentis 
Ista refer, lepores demta quod peile leoneyu 
Assuraant, quotquot nostro versantur in orbe. 
Epitaphium Herois Adrian: de Haze, ex Belgico rersum. 

When our poet had finished, he began to 
laugh till his sides shook, jeering and pointing 
at the persons in company, who appeared sur- 
prised at his having, contrary to their expecta- 
tions, acquitted himself so well ; every body 
highly praised him, which elated him so much 
that he began to scratch his head three or four 
times; and fixing his fiery eyes on the ground, 
repeated without hesitation, rhe same epigram in 
Greek verse, calling out, " There ye have it in 
Greek." Every one was astonished, which set 
him a laughing and jeering for a quarter of an 

The Greek he repeated so rapidly, that no one 


could write from his recitation. John Frederick 
Gymnich, professor of the Greek language at 
Duisburg, was one of the auditors, and said he 
thought the Greek version surpassed the Latin. 
Beronicius was afterwards examined in various 
ways, and always gave such proofs of his wonder- 
ful learning as amazed all the audience. 

Beronicius spoke several languages so perfectly 
that each might have passed for his mother 
tongue; especially Italian, French, and English. 
As to his Latin, the celebrated Gronovius was 
fearful of conversing with him in that language. 
But Greek was his hobby-horse; Greek was the 
delight of his life, and he spoke it as correctly 
and as fluently as if he sucked it in with his mo- 
ther's milk. He conversed with the above-named 
professor Gymnich, in Greek, and ended witli 
these words :" 1 am quite weary of talking any 
longer with you in Greek, for, really, my pupils 
who have been taught a twelvemonth by me, 
speak it much better than you do." This was 
not very polite, but he was not to be restrained; 
and he often spoke his mind so freely, that he 
was threatened with a thrashing : on such occa- 
sions he was the first to step forward and to 
show that he was not at all averse to a battle, 

Age, si quid habes, in me moranon eiit ulla. 

He gave excellent accounts of all the ancient 
Greek and Roman authors; his opinions of 
R 2 


whose writings were always correct, complete, 
and delivered with great judgment, and without 
hesitation. He could immediately distinguish 
genuine writings, and was a perfect master in the 
knowledge of the various styles, measures, and 
idiouis. His memory was prodigious. He knew 
by heart the whole of Horace and Virgil, the 
greatest part of Cicero, and both the Plinys\ and 
would immediately, if a line were mentioned, 
repeat the whole passage, and tell the exact work, 
book, chapter, and verse, of all these, and many 
more, especially poets. As to .Juvenal, his works 
were so interwoven in his brain, that he perfectly 
retained every word, nay every letter. 

Of the Greek poets he had Homer so strongly 
imprinted in his memory, together with some of 
the comedies of Aristophanes, that he could di- 
rectly turn to any line required, and repeat the 
whole sentence. His Latin was full of words se- 
lected from all the most celebrated writers. 

The reader will probably be desirous of know- 
ing what countryman our extraordinary poet, Be- 
jonicius, was; but this is a secret which he never 
would discover. When he was asked which was 
his country, he always answered, " that the coun- 
try of every one was .that in which he could best 
live comfortably." Some said he liad been a 
professor in France, others a Jesuit, a Monk; but 
this was merely conjecture. It was well known 
that he had wandered about many years in 
France, England, and particularly the Nether- 
lands, carrying, like a second Bias, his whole 


property about with him. He was sometimes 
told he deserved to be a professor of a coHege; he 
replied, that he did not delight in such a worm- 
like life. Notwithstanding which, poor man ! he 
gained his living chiefly by sweeping chimnies, 
grinding knives and scissars, and other mean oc- 
cupations. But his chief delight was in pursuing 
the profession of juggler, mountebank, or merry- 
andrew, among the lowest rabble. He never 
gave himself any concern about his food or rai- 
ment; for it was equal to him whether he was 
dressed like a nobleman or a beggar; nature 
was always satisfied with very little. His hours 
of relaxation from his studies were chiefly spent 
in paltry wine-houses, with the meanest company, 
whtfre he would sometimes remain a whole week, 
or more, drinking without rest or intermission. 

His miserable death afforded reason to believe 
that he perished whilst intoxicated, for he was* 
found dead at Middleburg, drowned and smo- 
thered in mud, which circumstance was men- 
tioned in the epitaph which the before-named 
poet, Buizero, wrote upon him, as follows lite- 
rally translated: 

Here lies a wonderful genius> 
He liv'd and died like a beast ; 
He was a most uncommon satyr, 
He liv'd in wine, and died in water; 

This is all that is known about Berenices, 
As to his translating, or rather reading, the Dutch 
newspapers off hand in Greek or Latin verse, the 


poet Antonides often witnessed his exertion of 
this wonderful talent ; and so did professor John 
de Raay, who was living at the time jof Beroni- 
eius's death,, which was in 1676, and had been 
acquainted with him above twenty years. There 
were still living at Rotterdam, in 1716, two gen- 
tlemen who knew him in Zealand, one of whom 
hehad^taught the French language. 

He is slightly mentioned in Le Nouveau Die- 
tionaire Historique, in a few lines from Borreman's 
Latin book, from which most part of the above 
account is taken. He is not mentioned by Bayle. 
Moreri has slightly noticed him ; and the new- 
Biographical Dictionary, in 15 vols. Svo. 1798, 
has likewise half a dozen lines about him. 


THE inhabitants of Connecticut in New En- 
gland, are to this day remarkable for their ex- 
terior shew of piety. Here was born and bred 
Mary Baker. She was the daughter of a repu- 
table mechanic ; she was soberly and according 
to the practice of that country, religiously 
brought up. After receiving at school an education 
suitable to her rank in life, she was taken home 
to be instructed in the useful and domestic duties 
of life. She had given early proofs of a mascu- 
line understanding, and united with it, what is 
not generally the case, that 'female grace 


captivating softness of nature which, it is to be 
feared, too often incapacitate the sex for defend- 
ing themselves against the attacks of their sedu- 
cers, but " in which the charms of u woman 
chiefly consist." 

With such attractions it was her fate, or rather 
misfortune, to form an acquaintance with an 
agreeable young man, the son of one of the prin- 
cipal magistrates of the town, which intimacy 
soon grew to a tender attachment. They expe- 
rienced the usual difficulties of love, which are 
always encreased by inequality of condition. 
The repeated injunctions and remonstrances of 
their families, only served to make the young 
couple more diligent in procuring interviews, and 
to enhance the value of those precious moments 
when procured. It is unnecessary here to dwell 
upon scenes passed over in rapture, but remem- 
bered with regret; which, to those best acquaint- 
ed with them, only prove that men are false and 
women credulous. She was thrown off her 
guard by his promising to marry her, and ki an 
incautious moment undone IRejected by her 
relations perfidiously forsaken by her betrayer 
pregnant without fame, and without a friend 
the pains of child-birth were added to wretched- 
ness, and loss of reputation. After recovery, 
those who supported her became clamorous in 
their demands, and her personal beauty being 
unimpaired, she became the mistress of a neigh- 
bouring trader. This Unhappy woman,, once the 
darling of her family doated on by a lover, who, 


had she been cruel, still would have been 
looked up to and respected for virtue, and good 
sense by all her acquaintance, was now a wretch- 
ed outcast from society the ridicule and con- 
tempt of many with less vinue, but more prudence 
than herself, and reduced by a strange kind of 
base necessity to support herself and a helpless in- 
fant by illicit practices, to tread the odious, the 
disgusting path of vice and infamy. 

Such conduct was not to be passed over with- 
out legal punishment in ISiew England, at that 
time the hot-house of cahinistic puriianism. In 
consequence of this and other natural children, 
she several times suffered stripes, fine, and im- 
prisonment. On one of these occasions, being 
brought before a court of justice, in order that 
sentence might be pronounced against her, she 
surprised her hearers by the following remarkable 

" I am a poor unhappy woman, who have no 
money to fee lawyers to plead for me, and 
find it very difficult to get a tolerable livelihood. 
I therefore shall not trouble your honours with 
a long speech, for I have not the presumption to 
expect that you will deviate from the sentence 
of the law in my favour. All that I humbly 
hope is, that your honours would charitably 
move the governor in my behalf to remit the 
fine. It is not, I confess, the first time that I 
have been dragged before this court on the same 
account; I have paid heavy fines; I have been 
brought to public punishment. I do not deny 


that this is agreeable to the law; but since some 
laws are repealed from their being unreasonable, 
and a power remains of somewhat dispensing 
with others from their bearing too hard on the 
subject, I take the liberty to say, that the act by 
which I am punished, is both unreasonable, and 
in my case particularly severe. I have always 
led an inoffensive life in the neighbourhood 
where I was born ; and defy my enemies (if I 
have any) to say I ever wronged man, woman, or 
child. I cannot conceive my offence to be of so 
unpardonable a nature as the law considers it. 
I have brought several fine children into the 
world, at the risk of my life; I have maintained 
them by my own industry, vtiihout burthening 
the township: indeed I should have done it bet- 
ter but for the heavy charges and fines I have 
paid. Can it be a crime in the nature of things, 
to add to the number of his majesty's subjects, 
in a new country that really wants peopling? I 
own, I should think it a praise-worthy, rather 
than a punishable action. I have deprived no 
woman of her husband I have not debauched 
or enticed any apprentice, nor can any parent 
accuse me of seducing their son. No one has 
any cause of complaint against me, but the mi- 
nister and justice, who lose their fees in conse- 
quence of my having children out of wedlock. 
But I appeal to your honors if this be a fault of 
mine. \ou have often been pleased to say that 
I do not want sense ; but 1 must be wretchedly 
stupid, indeed., not to prefer the honourable state 


of marriage to that condition in which I have 
lived. I always was and still am willing to enter 
it ; and I believe most who know me are con^ 
vmced, that I am not deficient in the duties and 
necessary qualifications for a wife as well as a 
mother, sobriety, industry, cleanliness, and fru- 
gality. I never refused an oiler of that sort: on 
the contrary, I readily consented to the only pro- 
posal of marriage that ever was made me. I was 
then a virgin, and confiding too readily in the 
sincerity of the person who made it, unhappily 
lost my own honor, by trusting to his. After 
yielding to him all that woman can give, on my 
being pregnant, he ungenerously forsook me. He is 
well known to you all, and since that time is be- 
come a magistrate. Indeed, I was not without a 
hope that he would have this day appeared on 
the bench, to try to moderate the court in my 
favor. I should then have scorned to mention 
ii, for I cannot but complain of harsh and un- 
just usage, that my betrayer and undoer, the first 
cause of all my failings and faults, should be adr 
vanced to honor and power by that government 
\vhich punishes my misfortunes with infamy and 
stripes. But you will tell me what I have been 
often told, that were there no act of assembly in 
the case, the precepts of religion are violated by 
my transgression. If mine then be a religion* 
offence leave it to a religious punishment. You 
have already excluded me from the church com- 
munion ! You believe I have offended heaven 
and shall suffer everlastingly! \Vhythen will 


you encrease my misery by additional fines and 
whippings ? I own your honors will, I hope, for- 
give me if I speak a little extravagantly I am. 
110 divine, but if gentlemen must be making 
laws, it would rather become them to take into 
consideration the great and growing number of 
bachelors in this country, many of whom from 
the mean fear of the expences of a family, never 
sincerely and honourably courted a woman in 
their lives! By their manner of living they leave 
unproduced (which is little better than murder) 
hundreds of their posterity, to a thousand gene- 
rations. Is not this a greater offence against the 
public good than mine ? Compel them by law, 
cither to marry, or to pay double the fine of for- 
nication every year. What must poor young 
women do ? Custom forbids their making over- 
tures to men; they cannot, however heartily they 
may wish it, get married when they plea'se." 

Her judges, as well as all present, were strong- 
ly affected by the circumstances of her case; she 
wap discharged without punishment, and a hand- 
some collection made for her in court. The 
public became interested in her behalf, and her 
original seducer, either from compunction, or 
from the latent seeds of affection which had been 
suppressed but never eradicated, married her 
shortly after. 

The arguments of our heroine, it must be con- 
fessed were strong and powcifnl. Some, how-' 
ever, which we have thought proper to omit, were 
upecious; particularly when she endeavoured to 


prove her failings not contradictory to religion. 
Let it be however a lesson to parents and sedu- 
cers, who are generally accountable for the er- 
rors of weak women. This unfortunate daugh- 
ter, often tasting the sorrows of repentance af- 
ter subjecting herself to difficulty, disgrace, and 
punishment, was at last married to her original 
lover. But it is to be hoped, no woman of com- 
mon sense will be induced by this rare instance 
of tardy justice to imitate her misconduct. 


AMONG the instances of voracity which are 
from time to time recorded, we shall scarcely be 
able to find any that can equal the following. 
The reader might perhaps be inclined to doubt 
the authenticity of these particulars, did they 
not rest on the credit of persons of the highest 
respectability. To remoTe every shadow of sus- 
picion we shall give them in the form in which 
they originally made their appearance. 
Copy of a Letter from Dr. JOHNSTON, of Somer- 
set Place, Commissioner of Sick and Wounded 
Seamen, to Dr. BLAME. 


HAVING in August and September last been 
engaged in a tour of public duty, for the purpose 
of selecting from among the prisoners of war 
fuch men as, from their infirmities, were lit ob- 


Jects for being released without, equivalent, I 
heard, upon my arrival at Liverpool, an account 
of one of these prisoners being endowed with an 
appetite and digestion so far beyond any thing 
that had ever occurred to me, either in my ob- 
servation, reading, or by report, that I was desi- 
rous of ascertaining the particulars of it by ocular 
proof, or undeniable testimony. Dr. Cochrane, 
Fellow of the College of physicians at Edinburgh, 
and our Medical Agent at Liverpool, is fortu- 
nately a gentleman upon whose fidelity and accu- 
racy I could perfectly depend ; and I requested 
him to institute an enquiry upon this subject 
during my stay at that place. I inclose you an 
attested copy of the result of this ; and as it may 
probably appear to you, as it does to me, a docu- 
ment containing facts extremely interesting, both, 
in a natural and medical view, I will beg you to 
procure its insertion in some respectable periodi- 
cal work. 

Some farther points of enquiry concerning this 
extraordinary person having occurred to me 
since my arrival in town, I sent them in the form 
of queries to Dr. Cochrane who has obligingly 
returned satisfactory answers. These I send 
along with the above-mentioned attested state- 
ment, to which I beg you to subjoin such re- 
flections as may occur to you on this subject. 

I am, my dear Sir, 

Your most obedient humble servant, 

To Gilbert Blane, M. D. F. R. 5. and one of the 
Commissioners of Sick and Wounded Seamen. 
VOL. 2. NO. 16. S 


Charles Domery, a native of Benche, on the 
frontiers of Poland, aged 21, was brought to the 
prison of Liverpool in February 179*^ having 
been a soldier in the French service on board 
the Hoche, captured by the squadron under the 
command of Sir J. B. Warren, off Ireland. 

He is one of nine brothers, who, with their 
father, have been remarkable for the voracious- 
ness of their appetites. They were all placed 
early in the army ; and the peculiar craving for 
food with this young man began at thirteen 
years of age. 

He was allowed two rations in the army, and. 
by his earnings, or the indulgence of his com- 
rades, procured an additional supply. 

When in the camp, if bread or meat were 
scarce, he made up the deficiency, by eating four 
or five pounds of grass daily ; and in one year 
devoured i 74 cats (not their skins) dead or alive ; 
and says, he had several severe conflicts in the 
act of destroying them, by feeling the effects of 
their torments on his face and hands : sometimes 
he killed them before eating, but when very hun- 
gry, did not wait to perform this humane office. 
Dogs and rats equally suffered from his merci- 
less jaws; and if much pinched by famine, the 
entrails of animals indiscriminately became his 
prey. The above facts are attested by JPieurd, a 
respectable man, who was his comrade in the same 
regiment on board the Hoche, and is now present; 
and. who assures me he has often seen him feed 
on those-animals. 


When the ship on board o. c which he was had 
surrendered, after an obstinate action, finding 
himself, as usual, hungry, and nothing else in his 
way but a man's leg, which was shot off, lying 
before him, he attacked it greedily, and was feed- 
ing heartily, when a sailor snatched it from him, 
and threw it overboard. 

Since he came to this prison, he has eat one 
dead cat, and about twenty rats. Bat what lie 
delights most in is raw meat, beef, or mutton, of 
which, though plentifully supplied by eating the 
rations of ten men daily, he complains he has not 
the same quantity, nor indulged in eating so 
much as he used to do, when in Fiance. The 
French prisoners of war were at this time main- 
tained at the expence of their own nation, and 
were each allowed the following daily ration ; 
Twenty-six ounces of bread, half a pound of 
greens, two ounces of butter, or six ounces of 

He often devours a bullock's liver raw, three" 
pounds of candles, and a few pounds of raw beef, 
in one day, without tasting bread or vegetables, 
washing it down with water, if his allowance of 
beer is expended. , 

His subsistence at present,4ndependent of his 
own rations, arises from the generosity of the 
prisoners, who give him a share of their allow- 
ance. Nor is his stomach confined to meat; for 
when in the hospital, where some of the patients 
refused to take their medicines, Domery had no 
objection to perform this for them ; his stomach 


never rejected any thing, as lie never vomits*, 
whatever be the contents,, or however large. 

Wishing fairly to try how much he actually 
could eat in one day ; on the 17th of September 
1799, at four o'clock in the morning he break- 
fasted on four pounds of raw cow's udder; at 
half past nine, in presence of .Dr. Johnston, 
Commissioner of sick and wounded seamen, ad- 
miral Child and his son, Mr. Forster, agent for 
prisoners, and several respectable gentlemen, he 
exhibited his power as follows: There was set 
before him five pounds of raw beef, and twelve 
tallow candles of a pound weight, and one bottle 
of porter ; these he finished by half past teno'clock. 
At one o'clock there was again put before him 
five pounds of beef and one pound of candles, 
with three bottles of porter; at which time he 
was locked up in the room, and sentries placed 
at the windows to prevent his throwing away 
any of his provisions. At two o'clock when I 
again saw him with two friends, he had nearly 
finished the whole of the candles, .and a great 
part of the beef, but had neither evacuation by 
vomiting, stool, or urine ; his skin was cool and 
pulse regular, and in good spirits. At a quarter 
past six, when he was to be returned to his pri- 
son, he had devoured the whole, and declared he 
could have ate more ; but from the prisoners 
without telling him we wished to make some ex- 
periment on him, he began to be alarmed. It is 
also to be observed, that the day was hot, and 
not having his usual exercise in the yard, it may 


be presumed he would have otherwise had a bet- 
ter appetite. On recapitulating the whole con- 
sumption of this day, it stands thus : 

Raw cow's udder 4lb. 

Raw beef 10 

Candles 2 

Total I61b. besides 
five bottles of porter. 

The eagerness with which he attacks his beef 


when his stomach is not gorged, resembles the 
voracity of a hungry wolf, tearing off and swal- 
lowing it with canine greediness. When his 
throat is dry from continued exercise, he lubri- 
cates it by stripping the grease off the candles 
between his teeth, which he generally finishes at 
three mouthfuls, and wrapping the wick like a 
ball, string and all, sends it after at a swallow. 
He can, when no choice is left, make shift to dine 
on immense quantities of raw potatoes, or tur- 
nips; but, from choice, would never desire to 
taste bread or vegetables. 

He is in every respect healthy, his tongue 
ckan, and his eyes lively. 

After he went to the prison, he danced r 
smoaked his pipe, and drank a bottle of porter; 
and, by four the next morning, he awoke with 
his usual ravenous appetite; which he quieted 
by a few pounds of raw beef. 

He is six feet three inches high, pale com- 
plexion, grey eves, long brown hair, well, made 

! S 


but thin, his countenance rather pleasant, sfnd i 

The above is written from h|s own mouth, in 
the presence of, and attested by 

.Destauban, French Surgeon. 

Le Fournier, Steward of the Hospital. 

Revet, Commissaire de la Prison. 

Le Flem, Soldat de la sec Demi Brigade. 

Thomas Cochrane, M. D. Inspector and Sur- 
geon of the Prison, and Agent, &c. for Sick and 
'Wounded Seamen. 

Liverpool, Sept. 9, 1 799- 

(A true Copy.) 
JOHN BYNON, Clerk in the Office for Sick and 

Wounded Seamen. 


l.What are the circumstances of his sleep 
and perspiration ? 

H6 gets to bed about eight o'clock at night, 
immediately after which he begins to sweat, and 
that so profusely, as to be obliged to throw off 
his shirt. He feels extremely hot, and in an 
hour or two after goes to sleep, which lasts until 
one in the morning, after which he always feels 
himself hungry, even though he had lain down 
with a full stomach. He then eats bread or beef, 
or whatever provision he may have reserved 
through the day ; and if he has none he beguiles 
the time in smoaking tobacco. About two 
o'clock he goes to sleep again, and awakes at 
five or six o'clock in the morning, in a violent 



perspiration, with great beat. This quits him on 
getting up; and when he has laid in a fresh cargo 
of raw meat (to use his own expression) he feels 
his body in a good state. He sweats while he is 
eating ; and it is probably owing to this constant 
propensity to exhalation from the surface of the 
body, that his skin is commonly found to be 

2. What is his heat by the thermometer. 

1 have often tried it, and found it to be of the 
standard temperature of the human body. His 
pulse is now eighty-four; full and regular. 

3. Can this ravenous appetite be traced higher 
than his father? 

He knows nothing of his ancestors beyond his 
father. When he left the country, eleven years 
ago, his father was alive aged about fifty, a tall, 
stout man, always healthy, and can remember he 
was a great eater ; but was too young to recol- 
lect the quantity, but that he eat his meat half 
boiled. He does not recollect that either him- 
self or his brothers had any ailment, excepting 
the small-pox, which ended favourably with them 
all. He was then an infant. His face is per- 
fectly smooth. 

4. Is his muscular strength greater or less than 
that of other men at his time of life. 

Though his muscles are pretty firm, I do not 
think they are so full or plump as those of most 
other men. He has, however, by his own decla- 
ration, carried a load of three hundred weight 


of flour in France, and marched 14 leagues in a 

5. Is he dull, or intelligent? 

He can neither read nor write, but is very intel- 
ligent and conversable, and can give a distinct and 
consistent answer to any question put to him. 1 
have put a variety at different times, and in dif- 
ferent shapes, tending to throw all the light pos- 
sible on his history, and never found that he va- 
ried; so that I am inclined to believe that he ad- 
heres to truth. 

6. Under what circumstances did his voracious 
disposition first come on? 

It came on at the age of thirteen, as has been 
already stated. He was then in the service of 
Prussia at the siege of Thionville ; they were at 
that time much straitened for provision, and as 
he found this did not suit him, he deserted into 
the town. He was conducted to the French 
General, who presented him with a large melon, 
which he devoured, rind and all, and then an im- 
mense quantity and variety of other species of 
food, to the great entertainment of that officer 
and his suite. From that time he has preferred 
raw to dressed meat : and when he eats a mode- 
rate quantity of what has been either roasted or 
boiled, he throws it up immediately. What is 
stated above, therefore, respecting his never vo- 
miting, is not to be understood literally, but im- 
ports merely, that those things which are most 
nauseous to others had no effect upon his stoinacU 


There is nothing farther to remark but that 
since the attested narrative was drawn up he has 
repeatedly indulged himself in the cruel repasts 
before described, devouring the whole animal, ex- 
cept the skin, bones, and bowels: but this has 
been put a stop to, on account of the scandal 
which it justly excited. 

In considering this case, it seems to afford 
some matters for reflection, which are not only 
objects of considerable novelty and curiosity, but 
interesting and important, by throwing light on 
the process by which the food is digested and dis- 
posed of. 

Monstrosity and disease, whether in the struc- 
ture of parts, or in the functions and appetites, il- 
lustrate particular points of the animal cecohomy, 
by exhibiting them in certain relations in which 
they are not to be met with in the common 
course of nature. The power of the stomach, in 
so quickly dissolving, assimilating and disposing 
of the aliment in ordinary cases, must strike 
every reflecting person with wonder; but the 
history of this case affords a more palpable proof, 
and more clear conception of these processes, ju'st 
as objects of sight become more sensible and 
striking, when viewed by a magnifying glass, or 
when exhibited on a larger scale. 

The facts here set forth tend also to place in a 
strong light the great importance of the discharge 
by the skin, and to prove that it is by this outlet, 
more than by the bowels, that the excrementi- 
tious parts of the aliment are evacuated : that 


there is an admirable co-operation established 
between the skin and the stomach, by means of 
that consent of parts so observable, and so neces- 
sary to the other functions of the animal cecono- 
my : and, that the purpose of aliment is not 
merely to administer to the growth and repair 
of the body, but by its bulk and peculiar stimu- 
lus to maintain the play of the organs essential 
to life. 


1 HIS man was remarkable for a most singular 
natural defect, the incapacity of distinguishing 
colors. An account of him was communicated 
by Mr. Huddart to Dr. Priestley, and was in- 
troduced into the Philosophical Transactions for 

Harris was a shoemaker and lived at Mary- 
port in Cumberland. Mr. Huddart had often 
heard that he could clearly discern the form 
and magnitude of all objects, but that he could 
not distinguish their colors. This report exci- 
ted that gentleman's curiosity and he frequent- 
ly conversed with Harris on the subject. The 
account he gave was this that he had reason 
to believe other persons saw something in ob- 
jects which he could not see ; that their lan- 
guage seemed to mark qualities with precision 
and confidence, which he could only guess at 
with hesitation and frequently with error. His 
first suspicion of this arose, when he was about 


four years old. Having by accident found a 
child's stocking in the street, he carried it to a 
neighbouring house to enquire for the owner ; 
he observed that the people called it a red stock- 
ing, though he did not understand why they gave 
it that denomination, as he himself thought it 
completely described by being called a stocking. 
This circumstance however remained in his me- 
mory, and, together with subsequent observations^ 
led him to the knowledge of his defect. 

He also observed that, when } ? onng, other 
children could discern cherries on a tree, by some 
pretended difference of color, though he could 
only distinguish them from the leaves by the dif- 
ference of their size and shape. By means of 
this difference of color, his companions could 
see the cherries at a greater distance than he 
could, though he could see other objects also at as 
great a distance as they, that is, where the sight 
was not assisted by the color. Large objects he 
could see as well as other persons ; and even the 
smaller ones if they were not enveloped in other 
things, as in the case of cherries among the 

There was every reason to believe that he could 
never do more than guess the name of any color, 
yet he could distinguish white from black, or 
black from any light or bright color. Dove or 
straw color he called white, and different colors 
he frequently called by the same name ; yet he 
could discern a difference between them when 
placed together. In general colors, of an equal 


. Yet 

degree of brightness, however they might other- 
wise differ, he confounded with each other, 
he could distinguish a striped ribbon from a 
plain one; but he could not tell what the colors, 
were with any tolerable exactness. Dark colors, 
iu general, he often mistook for black ; but ne- 
ver imagined white to be a dark color, nor dark 
to be a white color. 

Harris was an intelligent man and very desi- 
rous of understanding the nature of light and 
colors, for which purpose he had attended a 
course of lectures in natural philosophy. He 
had two brothers in the same circumstances with 
respect to sight, and two other brothers and 
sisters, who, as well as their parents had nothing 
of this defect. One of the first-mentioned bro- 
thers Mr. Huddart met with at Dublin, and from 
the experiments he made on his powers of sight, 
he obtained exactly the same results as those 
above stated. 

T I ( OM AS LAUGH 1C H,rtW/w///V t',i/f'd OLD T O 
r /^w ffi'/ftf/ Agred 107, /^ 6\'<>/t fast ?/(*>' 


THOMAS LAUGHER, better known by the 
name of Old Tommy, is a living instance of the 
good effect of temperance on the human consti- 
tution, for to this cause his venerable age must 
undoubtedly be in a great measure ascribed. He 
was born at the village of Markley, in the coun- 
ty of Worcester, and was baptized*as appears by 
his register in January 1700. His parents were 
natives of Shropshire, and were themselves ex- 
amples of unusual longevity, his father dying at 
the age of 97, and his mother at 108. In the year 
following that of his birth they removed with 
him to London where he has resided ever since. 

In the early part of his life Laugher followed 
for many years the profession of a liquor^mer- 
chant in Upper Thames Street. Though in a 
line of business in which wines and spirits of every 
kind presented themselves freely and plentifully, 
he never drank any fermented liquor, during the 
first fifty years of his life, his chief bever-age be- 
ing milk, milk and water, coffee and tea. This 
profession he was at length obliged to relinquish 
by some heavy losses which he experienced. 

Laugher remembers most of the principal oc- 
currences of the last century, but, from his ex- 
treme age, his memory begins to fail him; his 
other faculties he enjoys in a surprizing degree^ 

VOL. .-^NO. 17. T 


His residence is in Kent Street, in the Borough, 
from which he walks every Sunday morning, 
when the weather permits, to the Rev. Mr. Cox- 
head's chapel in Little Wild Street, Lincoln's 
Inn Fields : he even wa&ed lately as far as Hack- 
ney and back again. 

To all appearance Old Tommy has been a re- 
markably well-made man, and rather above the 
midd-Je stature though now he is somewhat beiit 
by the weight of years. Having lost his teeth, 
he falters a little in speaking, but his lungs ap- 
pear to be very strong and sound. It is not less 
surprizing than true, that after a severe fit of ill- 
ness, at the age of eighty, he had a fresh head 
of hair and new nails both on. his fingersand toes; 
a contraction which took place at the same time 
in the finger of each hand, has never since left 
them. His hair is thick and flowing, not tho- 
roughly white, but grey on the outside and 
brown underneath, as are also his eye-brows. 

This venerable man has been for some time 
supported by the donations' of charitable and 
well-disposed persons. From a spirit of inde- 
pendence, he used for several years, to sell laces 
for stays, garters and other little articles of that 
nature, for which he found customers among his 
friends, who always liberally encouraged his in- 

Laugher had a son who died about four years 
since at the age of eighty. This son, whom he 
called his " poor Tommy," had the appearance 
of being considerably older than himself, which. 


occasionally produced curious mistakes. Among 
others the following anecdote is related on this 
subject : Walking, some years since in Holborn 
\vithhisson, the difficulty wriixm the latter found 
to keep up with him drew the attention of a gen- 
tleman,, who went to old Laugher and began 
to expostulate with him for not assisting his fa- 
ther. When informed of his mistake, he would 
not give credit to the old man till convinced by 
some person who knew them both of the truth of 
his testimony. 

This inversion in the order of nature, was at- 
tributed by the old man to his son's having lived 
freely. He has been often heard 10 say ; " If the 
young fool had taken as much care of his health 
as I have, he might now have been alive and 

As far as his memory goes Old Tommy is ex- 
tremely willing to answer any questions that may 
be proposed, and has not that austerity and 
peevishness which so frequently accompany ex- 
treme age. He is much pleased to hear of Old 
Jenkins and old Parr, and says his family came 
from the same county as the latter. His inoffen- 
sive manners and uninterrupted cheerfulness, have 
gained him the respect both of old and young 
in the neighbourhood of his residence. 

Such are the particulars we have been able to 
procure concerning this venerable man, of whom 
our engraving, after a drawing from life, 
give the reader a correct idea. 

T 2 


IN this gentleman we find a rare example of 
extraordinary abstinence and seclusion in the 
midst of a gay and luxurious city. For the long 
period of forty-four years he withdrew himself 
from all society, and during that time never tasted 
either fish, flesh, fowl, or any strong drink. An 
account of his remarkable life was published in 
1637, the year after his death, under the title of 
" the Phenix of these late Times." We shall 
give it to the reader in the somewhat quaint, but 
yet expressive language of his anonymous bio- 

This noble and virtuous gentleman, Mr. Hen- 
ry Welby, born in Lincolnshire, was the eldest 
son of his father, and inheritor of a fair revenue, 
amounting to a thousand pounds by the year, 
and upward, first matriculated at the University, 
and after made a student at one of the Inns of 
Court, where, being, accommodated with all the 
parts of a gentleman, he after retired himself in- 
to the country, and matched nobly to his own 
good liking; but thinking with himself that the 
world could not possibly be contained within this 
island, and that England was but the least piece 
and member of the whole body of the universe, 
he had a great mind to travel, as well to profit 
him in experience, as benefit himself in languages; 


and to that purpose spent some few years in the 
Low Countries, Germany, France, and Spain, ma- 
king the best use of his time. 

But true it is, that there was some difference 
and menacing words past between his brother 
and himself, which he divers times passed over 
with patience; but this innocent gentleman,, 
measuring the dispositions of others by himself, 
and not imagining such barbarous cruelty could 
be in man of what condition so ever, much less 
in a brother, he held them as the rash menaces 
of unbridled youth, which by good counsel, or 
complying with the other's desires, might be 
easily reclaimed, reckoning them as words that 
would never break into wounds, and doubtful 
language that could not easily beget danger* 
He was of opinion, that, on seeing two men re- 
viling each other with injurious terms, said, he 
of you which abstaineth most from villainous and 
(etvd speeches, is to be held the most sage and wisest 
o/' the t&o. And as true innocence goeth stili 
armed with confidence, and he that is guiltless 
still dreadless, so he neither feared his courage, 
nor shunned his company, till at last the two 
brothers meeting face to face, the younger drew 
a pistol charged with a double bullet from his 
side, and presented upon the elder, which only 
gave fire, but by one miraculous providence of 
God no further report; at which the elder, seiz- 
ing upon the younger, disarmed him of his pistol, 
and without any further violence offered, left 
Jiinr, which bearing to his chamber, and desi- 
T 3 


rous to find whether it were only a false n*re r 
merely to fright him, or a charge speedily to 
dispatch him, when he found the bullets and ap- 
prehended the danger he escaped, he fell into 
many deep considerations, and thereupon ground- 
ed this his irrevocable resolution, which he kept 
to his dying day. 

Which that he might observe the better, he 
took a very fair house in the lower end of Grub- 
street, near unto Cripple-gate, and having con- 
tracted a numerous retinue into a small and pri- 
vate family, having the house before prepared 
for his purpose, he entered the door, choosing 
to himself, out of all the rooms, three private 
chambers best suiting with his intended solitude ; 
the first for his diet, the second for his lodging, 
and the third for his study, one within another; 
and the while his diet was set upon the table by 
one of his servants, an old maid, he retired to 
his lodging-room, and while his bed was making, 
into his study, still doing so till all was clear; and 
there he set up his rest, and in forty-four years 
never upon any occasion how great so ever, issu- 
ed out of these chambers, till he was borne thence 
on men's shoulders. Neither in all that time did 
son-in-law, daughter or grandchild, brother, 
sister, or kinsman, stranger, tenant or servant, 
young or old, rich or poor, of what degree or 
condition soever, look upon his face, saving 
the ancient maid, whose name was Elizabeth, 
who made his nre, prepared his bed, provided 
his diet, and drest his chamber, which was very 


seldom, or upon extraordinary necessity that he 
saw her. 

As touching his abstinence, in all the time of 
his retirement, he never tasted any flesh nor fish; 
he never drank either wine or strong drink ; his 
chief food was oat-meal hoiled in water, which 
some call gruel, and in summer now and then 
a sallad of some choice cool,herta for dainties; 
or when he would feast himself, upon an high 
day, he would eat the yolk of an hen's egg, but 
no part of the while ; and what bread he eat, he 
cut out of the middle of the loaf, but of the crust 
he never tasted ; and his continual drink was 
four-shilling beer, and no other : and now and 
then drank red cow's milk, which his maid Eliza- 
beth fetched for him out of the fields hot from 
the cow; and yet he kept a bountiful table for 
his servants, with entertainment sufficient for any 
stranger or tenant, that had any occasion of bu- 
siness at his house. 

In Christmas holidavs, at Easter, and upon 
all solemn festival days, he had great cheer pro- 
vided, with all dishes seasonable to the times, 
served up. He himself (after having given thanks) 
put a clean napkin before, and putting on a pair 
of white Holland sleeves, which reached to his 
elbows, would call for his knife, and cutting dish 
after dish up in order, send one to one poor neigh- 
bour, the next to another, leaving it in writing 
how it should be bestowed, whether it was brawn, 
beef, capon, goose, &c. till he had left the table 
quite empty ; then would he again lay by his li- 


nen, put up his knife, and cause the cloth to be 
taken away ; and thus would he do dinner and 
supper upon those days, without tasting of any 
thing whatsoever; and this custom he kept to his- 
dying day, an abstinence far transcending all the 
Carthusian Monks or Mendicant Friars that ever 
yet I read of. 

Now, as touching the solitude of his life, to 
spend so many summers and winters in one small 
room, dividing himself not only from the society 
of men, but debarring himself from the benefit of 
the fresh and wholesome air, not to walk or con- 
fer with any man, which might either shorten 
the tediousness of the night, or mitigate the pro- 
lix-ness of the day; and if at any time he would 
speak with any one, there was a wall between: 
them; what retirement could be more? or what 
restriction greater? In my opinion, it far surpas- 
ses all the vestals and votaries, all the anchores- 
ses and anchorites, that have been memorized 
in any history. 

Now, if any shall ask how he spent his hours, 
and past his time? No doubt, as he kept a kind 
of perpetual fast, so he devoted himself to con- 
tinual prayer, saving these seasons he dedicated 
to his study, for he was both a scholar and lin- 
guist, for he hath left behind him some collec- 
tions and translation of Philosophy; neither was 
there any author worth the reading, either 
brought over from beyond the sea, or published 
here in the kingdom, which he refused to buy at 
\vhat dear rate so ever j and these were his com- 


panions in the day, and his counsellors in the 
night, in so much, that the saying may be veri- 
fied in him" he was never better accompanied 
than when alone." 

He was no Pharisee, to seek the praise and 
vain ostentation among men; neither did he blow 
a trumpet before him when he gave his alms; 
neither when any impudently clamoured at his 
gate, were they presently relieved, but he, out 
of his private chamber which had a prospect 
into the street; if he spyed any, sick, weak, or 
lame, would presently send after them, comfort, 
cherish, and strengthen them, and not a trifle to 
serve them for the present, but so much as would 
relieve them for many days after ; he would 
moreover enquire what neighbours were indus- 
trious in their callings, and who had great charge 
of children, and by their labour and industry 
could not sufficiently supply their families; these 
were his cetain pensioners. And now conclud- 
ing he may not improperly be called a Phenix; 
for as he in his life may be termed a Bird of 
Paradise, so in his death he might be compared 
to that Arabian Monody, who, having lived 
fourscore years, half in the world and half from, 
the world, died in a swoon, the nine and twen- 
tieth day of October last, (10*36) as he sat in his 
chair, having built his own funeral nest or pile, 
composed of terebinth and cinnamon, inter- 
woven with onyx and calbanum, with the sweet 
and odoriferous smells of myrrh, aloes, and 
cassia, and so made his death-bed an altar ; and 


his godly zeal kindling those sweet spices, sent 
up his soul as an acceptable incense to that sa- 
cred throne, where a contrite heart and humble 
spirit were never despised. 

To this account is prefixed a picture of Mr. 
Welby sitting at a table on which is inscribed: 
Vantias vanitat&m, omnia vanitas. He is repre- 
sented with a long thick beard, and with a staff 
in his right hand. The Rev. Mr. Granger in his 
Biographical History of England, says of him 
that, " his plain garb, his long and silver beard, 
his mortified and venerable aspect, bespoke him 
an ancient inhabitant of the desert, rather than 
a gentleman of fortune in a populous city/' The 
same writer adds that Mr. Welby had a very 
amifeble daughter who married Sir Christopher 
Hilliavd, a Yorkshire gentleman ; but neither she, 
nor any of her family ever saw her father after 
his retirement from the world. His remains 
were interred in St. Giles's church near Ciipple- 


field, in Scotland, where he was heir to an estate 
which his ancestors had possessed above 40O 
years; and was related to some of the first fami- 
lies in the North, by intermarriages with the no- 
bility. Having received a liberal education, he 


wiade choice of the profession of arms, and first 
served under the Duke of Muriborough as an en- 
sign of foot, but was soon advanced to the rank 
of cornet of dragoons. Being a most expert 
gamester, and of a disposition uncommonly avari- 
cious, he made his knowledge of gambling sub- 
servient to his love of money ; and while the ar- 
my was in winter quarters, he stripped many of 
the officers of all their property by his skill at 
cards and dice. He was, however, as knavish 
as dexterous ; for when he had defrauded a bro- 
ther officer of his money, he would lend him a 
sum at the moderate interest of an hundred per 
cent, and take an assignment of his commission 
as a security for the payment of the debt. j Jbhn, 
duke of Argyle, and the earl of Stair, were at this 
time young men in the army; and being deter- 
mined that the inconsiderate officers should not 
be ruined by the artifices of Charteris, they ap- 
plied to the earl of Orkney, who was also in the 
army, then quartered at Brussels, representing 
the destruction that must ensue to the young 
gentlemen in the military line, if Charteris was 
not stopped in his proceedings. The earl of Ork- 
ney, anxious for the credit of the army in gene- 
ral, and his countrymen in particular, represent- 
ed the state of the case to the duke of Maribo- 
rough, who gave orders that Charteris should be 
put wider arrest, and tried by a court-martial. 
This court was composed of an equal number of 
English and Scotch officers, that Charteris might 
have no reason to say he was treated with partiali- 


ty. After a candid hearing of the case, the 
proofs of his villainy were so strong, that he was 
sentenced to return the money he had obtained 
by usurious interest; to he deprived of his com- 
mission, and to be drummed out of the regiment, 
his sword being first broken; which sentence was 
executed in its fullest extent. 

Thus disgraced, he quitted Brussels, and in 
the road between that place and Mechlin, threw 
his breeches into a ditch, and then buttoning his 
scarlet cloak below his knees, went into an inn 
to take up his lodgings for the night. It is usual 
in places where armies are quartered, .for military 
officers to be treated with all possible respect; 
and- this was the case with Charteris, who had 
every distinction shewn him that the house could 
afford, and, after an elegant supper, was left to 
his repose. Early in the morning he rang the 
bell violently, and the landlord coming terrified 
into his room, he swore furiously that he had 
been robbed of his breeches, containing a dia- 
mond ring, a gold watch, and money to a con- 
siderable amount; and having previously broken 
the window, he intimated that some person must 
bave entered that way, and carried off his pro- 
perty, and he even insinuated that the landlord 
himself might have been the robbef. It was in 
vain that the inn-keeper solicited mercy in the 
most humiliating posture. Cnarteris threatened 
that he should be sent to Brussels, and suffer 
death, as an accessary to the felony. Terrified 
at the thought of approaching disgrace and dan- 


ger the landlord of the house sent for some friars 
of an adjacent convent, to whom he represented 
his calamitous situation, and they generously 
supplied him with a sum sufficient to reimburse 
Charteris for the loss he pretended to have sus- 

This unprincipled and abandoned youth now 
proceeded to Holland, whence he emharked for 
Scotland ; and had not been long in that king- 
dom before his servile submission, and his money, 
procured him another commission in a regiment 
of horse; and he was afterwards advanced to the 
rank of colonel. The duke of Queensberry was 
at this time commissioner to the parliament of 
Scotland, which was assembled at Edinburgh, to 
deliberate on the proposed union with England. 
Charteris, having been invited to a party at cards 
with the duchess of Queensberry, contrived that 
her grace should be placed in such a manner, 
near a large glass, that he could see all her cards; 
and he won three thousand pounds of her by this 
stratagem. In consequence of this imposition 
the incensed duke of Queensberry brought a bill 
into the house, to prohibit gaming for above a 
certain sum; and this bill passed into a law. 

Charteris still continued his depredations on 
the thoughtless till he had acquired considerable 
sums, and estates in Scotland; he then removed 
to London, which, as it was the seat of great 
dissipation, was a place better adapted to the ex- 
ertion of his abilities. Here he became a no- 
ted lender of money on mortgages, always re - 

VOL.2. NO. I?. IT 


ceiving a large premium, by which at length he 
became so rich as to purchase estates in England, 
particularly in the county of Lancaster. He was 
equally infamous for his amours,, having in pay 
some women of abandoned character, who, go- 
ing to inns where the waggons put up, used to. 
prevail on the simple country girls to go to the 
colonej's house as servants; in consequence of 
which, their ruin soon followed, and they were 
turned out of doors, exposed to all the miseries 
consequent on poverty and a loss of reputation, 
His agents did not confine their operations to 
inns; but wherever they found a handsome girl 
they endeavoured to decoy her to the colonel's 
house; and amongst the rest, one Ann Bond fell 
a prey to his artifices. 

This young woman had lived in London; but 
having quitted her service on account of illness, 
took lodgings at a private house, where she reco- 
vered her health, andwas sittingat thedoorwhen a 
woman addressed her, saying, she could help 
her to a place in the family of colonel Harvey; 
for the character of Charteris was now so notori- 
ous, that his agents did not venture to make use 
of his real name. Bond being hired, the woman 
conducted her to the colonel's house, who gave 
her money to redeem some clothes, which she 
had pledged to support her in her illness, and 
would have bought other clothes for her, but she 
refused to accept them. He now offered her a 
purse of gold, an annuity for life, and a house, 
if she would comply with his wishes; but the vir- 


tnous girl resisted the temptation, declaring, that 
she would only discharge her duty as a servant, 
and that her master might dismiss her, if her 
conduct did not please him. On the day follow- 
ing, she heard a gentleman asking for her master 
by the name or' Charteris, which encreased her 
fears still more, as she was not tmapprized of his 
general character. She therefore told the house- 
keeper that she must quit her service, as she was 
very ill. The house-keeper informing the colo- 
nel of this circumstance, he sent for the poor 
girl, and threatened he would shoot her if she 
left his service. He likewise ordered the servants 
to keep the door fast, to prevent her making her 
escape; and when he spoke of her it was in most 
contemptuous terms. On the following day he 
directed the clerk of his kitchen to send her into 
the parlour, and, on her attending him, he hid 
her stir the fire. While she was yius employed, 
he forcibly seized and committed violence on her, 
first stopping her mouth with his night-cap; and 
afterwards, on her saying that she would prose- 
cute him, beating her with a horse-whip, and 
calling her by the most opprobrious names. On 
his opening the door the clerk of the kitchen ap- 
peared, to whom the colonel pretended, that she 
had robbed him of thirty guineas, and directed 
him to turn her out of the house, which was ac- 
cordingly done. 

The unfortunate girl now went to a gentlewo- 
man, named Parsons, and informing her of what 
had happened, asked her advice how to proceed, 
u 3 


Mrs. Parsons recommended her lo exhibit arti- 
cles against him for the assault ; bin when the mat- 
ter came afterwards to be heard by the grand jury, 
they found it was not an attempt, but* an actual 
commission of the fact; and a bill was found ac- 
cordingly. When the colonel was committed to 
TSevvgate he was loaded with heavy fetters; but 
he soon purchased a lighter pair, and paid for the 
use of a room in the prison, and for a man to 
attend him. He had been married to the daugh- 
ter of Sir Alexander Swinton of Scotland, who 
bore him one daughter, who was married to the 
earl of \Yeuiys; and the earl happening to be in 
London at the time of the above-mentioned trans- 
action, procured a writ of Habeas Corpus, and 
the colonel was accordingly admitted to bail. 
By the law of the land, bail for a capital offence 
is not admissible. It must, therefore, reflect no 
small disgrace on those to whom the administra- 
tion of it was at that time committed, that power 
and interest should thus triumph over justice. 

His trial came on at the Old Bailey, February 
25, 3730, and every art \vas used to traduce the 
character of the prosecutrix, in order to destroy 
the force of her evidence ; but, happily, her re- 
putation was so fair, and there was so little rea- 
son to think that she had any sinister view in the 
prosecution, that every artifice failed, and after 
a long trial, in which the facts were proved to 
the satisfaction of the jury, a veidict of guilty 
was given against the colonel, who received sen- 
tence to be executed in the accustomed manner. 


On this occasion Charteris was not a little obli- 
ged to his son-in-law, lord Wemys, who caused 
the lord president Forbes to come from Scotland, 
to plead the cause. before the privy-council ; and 
an estate ofSOOl. perann.for life, was assigned 
to the president for this service. At length the 
king consented to grant the colonel a pardon, on, 
his settling a handsome annuity on the prosecu- 
trix. Soon after his conviction, a fine mezzotinto 
print of him was published, representing him 
standing at the bar of the Old Bailey, vvith his; 
thumbs tied; and under the print was the follow-* 
ing inscription: 

" Blood ! must a colonel, with a ford's estate, 

Be thus obnoxious to a scoundrel's fate ? 

Brought to the bar, and sentenc'd from the bench, 

Only for ravishing a country wench ? 

SUaJl men of honour meet no more respect ? 

Shall their diversions thus by laws be check'd ? 

Shall they be accountable to saucy juries, 

For this or t'other pleasure? hell and furies \ 

What man thro' villainy would run a course, 

And ruin families without remorse, 

To heap up riches if, when all is done, 

An ignominious death he cannot shun ?" 

After this narrow escape, froii a fate which 
he had so well deserved, he retired to Edin- 
burgh, where he lived about two years, and then 
died in 1731, aged 63, a victim to his irregular 
course of life. He was buried in the family-vault, 
in, the church-yard of the Grey Friars of Edin- 
burgh ; but his vises had rendered him so detesu 


able, it was with some difficulty that he was put 
into the grave; for the mob almost tore the 
coffin in pieces, and committed a variety of irre- 
gularities, in honest contempt of such an aban- 
doned character. 

The celebrated Dr. Arbuthnot gave a severe 
but very just, character of Colonel Charteris, in 
the following satirical epitaph > 

HERE lieth the body of 


Who, with an inflexible constancy, 

And inimitable uniformity of life, 

Persisted, in spite of age and infirmity, 

In the practice of every human vice, 

Excepting prodigality and hypocrisy j 

His insatiable avarice 
Exempting him from the first, and 
His matchless impudence 

From the latter. 

Nor was he ore singular in 

That undeviating viciousness of life, 

Than successful in accumulating wealth: 


Without trust of public money, bribe, 

Worth, service, trade, or, profession, 

Acquired, or rather created, 

A ministerial estate. 
Among the singularities of his life and fortune 

Be it likewise commemorated, 

That he was the only person in his time, 

Who would cheat without the mask of honesty ; 

Who would retain his primaeval meanness, 

After being possessed often thousand pounds a year, 

And who, having done, every day of his life ; 

Something worthy of a gibbet, 

Was once condemned to one. 

Think net, in dignant reader 


His life useless to mankind : 


Farored, or rather connived at, 

His execrable designs, 

That he might remain, 

To this and future ages, 

A conspicuous proof and example, 

Of how small estimation 
Exorbitant wealth is held in the sight of the 


By his bestowing it on 

The most unworthy - 

Of all the descendants of 


It was reported that he died worth seven thou- 
sand pounds a year in landed estates, and about 
one hundred thousand pounds in money. 


1 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 notorious in the seven- 
teenth century for his fanaticism, and the singu- 
larity of his religious opinions. 

James Nailer, or Nayler, was the son of a far- 
mer of some propert} r , and was born in the pa- 
rish of A rdesley, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire, 
about the year 16 J 6. 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 
parliamentary army, and served eight years, first 
under Lord Fairfax, and afterwards as quarter- 
master, under General Lambert ; till, disabled 
by sickness in Scotland, he returned home, in 
1(548. Hitherto he had professed himself a Pres- 
byterian and Independent, but in \6o\, he be- 
came 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, and strong 
imagination, he soon commenced preacher: and 
in the opinion of his followers, acquitted him- 
self well, both in word and writing, among his 
friends. Towards the end of 1654, or beginning 
of 1655, he removed to London, and there found 
a meeting which had been gathered by Edward 
Burrough and Francis Howgil. He soon dis- 
tinguished himself among them : so that many, 
admiring his talents, began to esteem him far 
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 female adherents, 
publicly interrupted Howgil and Burrough in 
preaching, and disturbed their meetings. Being 
reproved by them for their indiscretion, the wo- 
men complained so loudly and passionately to 
Nailer, that as Sevvel in bis " History of the 


observes: Quakers, " It sinote 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 ioss in his judgment, and estranged 
from his best friends, because they did not ap- 
prove his conduct; insomuch that he began to 
give ear to the flattering praises of some whimsi- 
cal people, which he ought to have abhorred and 
reproved them for." It will be seen from the 
subsequent part of this history, that these ' flat- 
tering praises,' of which Sewel speaks, were too 
powerful for the poor man's intellects, and pro- 
duced that mental intoxication or derangement, 
to which alone his frantic conduct can be attri- 

In J6o6, we find him in Devonshire, whither 
he was undoubtedly carried by a zeal for propa- 
gating his opinions. These were of such an ex-, 
traordinary nature, that he w r as apprehended and 
sent to Exeter goal, 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 cir- 
cumstances, apparently the most trivial, operate 
frequently with irresistible 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 conceived 


the wild idea that he was transformed into Christ 
himself. He assumed the character of the Mes- 
siah, was acknowledged as such by his deluded 
followers, and accordingly affected to heal the 
sick and raise the dead. 

After his release from the prison at Exeter, he 
intended to return to London ; but taking Bris- 
tol in 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 Bris- 
tol, they proceeded in mock procession to that 
c'ity. 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 cf 
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 this 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 Jerusalem to 
pass unpunished, apprehended Nailer, and com- 
mitted him to prison, with six of his associates. 

Being searched after his apprehension, some 
letters, which shew the fanaticism of his follow- 
ers, 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 righteous- 
ness, and prince of peace. 1 beseech thee wait, 
my soul travelled! to see a pure image brought 
forth > and the enemy strives to destroy it, that 
he may keep me always sorrowing and ever seek- 
ing, 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 purity 
which my soul believeth I shall see, and so in 
the faith rest, 


" From linden, \Gtkday 
of the 1th month" 

" O THOU fairest of ten thousand, thou only 
begotten son of God, how jny heart panteth 
after thee. O stay me with flaggons and 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 
calling thee to come away, and I am, 


To this blasphemous rhapsody was subjoined 
the following by the husband of the writer : 


< Postscript. Remember my dear love to thy 
master. Thy name is no more to be called 
James, but Jesus. 


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, when I behold thee in the eternal 
unity, where I do embrace thee in the ever- 
lasting 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 previ- 
ous to bis commitment are too curious to be 


omitted. Being asked his name, or whether he 
was not called James Nailer, he replied the 
men of this world call me James Nailer. Q. An 
thou the man that rode on horseback into Bris- 
tol, a woman leading thy horse, and others sing- 
ing before thee, c Holy, holy, holy, hosanna, 
See. ? 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 
into their hearts; and it is like it might be the 
song of Holy, holy, holy. Q. Whether or no 
didst thou reprove these women ? A. Nay, but 
I bade them take heed that they sang nothing 
but what they were moved to of the Lord. Q. 
Dost thou own this letter which Hannah Stran- 
ger sent unto thee? A. Yea, I do own that let- 
ter. Q. Art thou, according to that letter, the 
fairest of ten thousand ? A. As to the visible, 1 
deny any such attribute to be due to me; but if 
as to that which the father hath begotten in me, 
I shall own it. Q. Art thou the only son of 
God ? A. I am the son of God, but L 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 ? 
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 
VOL. 2. NO. 17. x 


110 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 he any joined 
with him. If they speak of the spirit in me, I 
own it only as God is manifest in the flesh, ac- 
cording as God duelleth in me, and judgeth 
there himself. Q. l>y whom were you sent r 
A. By him who hath sent the spirit of his son in 
me to try, not as to carnal matters, but belong- 
ing to the kingdom of God, by the indwelling 
of the father and the son, to be the judge of all 
spirits, to be guided by none. Q. L> 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. A. As to that, I have no- 
thing at present given me of my father to an- 
swer. A. Was your birth mortal or immortal : 
- 1 A. Not according to the natural birth, bur ac- 
cording to the spiritual birth, horn of the im- 
mortal seed. Q. Wert thou ever called the 
Lamb of Godr A. I look not back to things 
hehmd, 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 whether or no is she a virgin r A. 
Nay, according to the natural birth. Q. Who 
is thy mother according to the spiritual birth r 
A. No carnal creature. Q. Who then? (No an- 


<\vcr.) Q. Is the" hope of Israel in thee? A. 
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 Hod is manifest in the flesh, there is the 
everlasting son, and I do witness God in the 
flesh : I am the Son of God, and the Son of 
God is hut one. Q. Art thou the Prince of 
Peace.? A. The prince of everlasting peace is 
begotten in me, Q. Why dost thou not reprove 
those that give thee tl*o*e attributes? A. I have 
said nothing to them but such things as are writ- 
ten. 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 
made no reply. Q. Art thou the everlasting son 
of God, the king of righteousness? A. I am; 
and the everlasting righteousness is wrought in 
ine; if ye were acquainted with the Father, ye 
would also be acquainted with me. Q. Did any 
kiss thy feet? A. It might t>e they did, but I 
.minded them not. Q. When thou wast called 
the king of Israel, didst thou not answer thou 
sayest it: A. Yea. Q. How dost thou provide 
for a livelihood r A. As do the lilies, without 
care, being maintained by rny Father. Q.Whoiu 
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 di- 



rectecl 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. It was sent to me to 
Exeter goal, by one the world calls Thomas Sy- 
rnonds. Q. Didst thou not say : If ye had 
known me, ye had known the Father ? A. Yea, 
for the Father is my' life. Q. Where wert thou 
born r A. At Ardeslow, in Yorkshire. Q. 
Where lives thy wife? A. She whom thou call- 
st my wife lives in Wakefield. Q. Why dost 
thou not live with her ? A. I did till I was 
called to the army. Q. Doth God in. any man- 
ner sustain thee without 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. Q. How 
art thou cloathed ? A. I know not. Q. Dost 
thou live without bread ? Q. A. As long as my 
heavenly father will. I have tasted of that bread 
of which he that eateth shall never die. Q. How 
long hast thou lived without any corporeal sus- 
tenance, having perfect health ? A. Some fif- 
teen or sixteen days, sustained without any other 
food except the word of God. Q. AVas Dorcas 
Erbury dead in Exeter two tlays,^ and dids 
thou raise her: Q. I can do nothing of myseli 
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 tliou the 
unspotted Lamb of God that taketh away the 
sins of the world r A. Were I not a larnb, 
wolves would not seek to devour me. Q. Art 
thou not guilty of most horrid blasphemy by thy 
own words ? A. Who made thee a judge over 
them r Q. Whom meant thy companions by 
Holy, holy, Sec.? A. Let them answer for them- 
selves, they are at age. Q. Bid not some spread 
their clothes on the ground before thee, when 
thou didst ride through Glastonbun- and \V r cllsi' 
A. -I think they did. Q. Wherefore didst 
thou call Martha Symonds mother, as George 
Fox affirms ? A. George Fox is a liar and H 
lire-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; and some children I have, which,, ac- 
cording to the flesh, are mine. Q. "books 
which thou bast written, wilt thou maintain them 
and affirm what is therein. A. Yea, with my 
dearest blood. 

The frantic adherents of Nailer were likewise 
examined. They uniformly attested their con- 
viction that he was Jesus, the Son of God, the 
Prince of Peace, the everlasting Son of Righte- 
ousness, and King of Israel, and that in their 
conduct towards him they had only complied 
with the injunctions of the Lord. But the tes- 
timony of Dorcas Erbury, mentioned above, and 
who was the widow of William Erbury, once a 
x 3 


minister, is an astonishing compound of blas- 
phemy and delusion. 

Being asked, Dost thou own him that rode 
on horseback to be the Holy One of Israel r - 
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* 
Gt>d. 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 in James JSai- 
lor : A. Yea, in him whom thou callest so I 
do.- Q. By what name dost thou use to call him ? 
A. The Son of God ; but I am to serve him, 
and to call him Lord and Master. Q. Jesus vva> 
crucified ; but this man you call the Son of God 
is alive. A. He hath shaken off his carnal body. 
: Q. Why what body hath he then r A. Say 
not the scriptures, Thy natural body I will 
change, and it shall be spiritual. Q. Hath a 
spirit flesh and bones ? A. His flesh and bones 
are new. Q. Christ raised those that had been 
dead ; so did not he. A. He raised me. Q. In 
what manner? A. He 'laid his hand on my 
head, after I had been dead two day?, and said, 
4 Dorcas arise!' and I arose and live as thou 
seest. Q. Where did he this r A. In the goal ^ 
at Exeter. Q. What witness hast thou for ihis? 
A. My mother, who was present. Q. Hi* 


power being so great, wherefore opened he not 
the prison-doors, and escaped : A. The doors 
sha^ll open when the Lord's work is done. 
Q. What apostles hath he ? A. They are scat- 
tered ; but some are here.- Q. Jesus Christ doth 
sit on the right-hand of the father, where 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 

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 committee of the house, which 
made their report on the 5th of December, he 
was next day summoned to appear, and heard at 
the bar. On the 8th the house came to this rq- 
solution : ' That James Nailer is guilty of horrid 
blasphemy, and that he is a grand impostor and 
a great seducer of 'the people.' The subject was 
resumed from that time both forenoon and after- 
noon, not without some warm debates, and was 
proposed the twelfth time on the 16th of De- 
cember. How much time it took up in the 
house appears from two letters of Secretary 
Thurloe, dated Dec. the 9th and 16th. hi the 
first he says, " These four or five last days have 
been whqlly taken up about James Nailer, the 
quake r, who hath had a charge of blasphemy 
exhibited against him ; and upon hearing mat- 
ter of fact, he is voted guilty of blasphemy ; 
and the consideration now i^, (which I believe 


may be determined this evening) what punish- 
ment shall be inflicted. 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 clone nothing these ten 
days but dispute whether James Nailer, .the qua- 
kcr, shall be put to death for blasphemv. They 
are much divided in their opinions. It is possi- 
ble 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 to a vote on Nailer's business, viz. that lie 
should have his tongue bored, a brand set on his 
forehead, be set in the pillory, and whipped, and 
imprisoned for life. The question for his life 
was lost by fourteen voices." 

On the 1 7th, after another long debate, the par- 
liament, pursuant to their vote, came to the fol- 
lowing resolution : e( That James Nailer be set 
in the pillory, in the Palace- 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, and 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 
also stigmatized in the forehead with the letter B 


for blasphemer. And that that he afterwards be 
sent to Bristol, and be conveyed into and through 
the said city on horseback, with his face back- 
ward ; and there also publicly whipped the next 
market-day after he comes thither. And that 
from thence he be committed to prison in Bride- 
well, London, and there restrained from the so- 
ciety of all people, and there to labor 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 btrt what he earns 
by his daily labor." 

Cromwell was at this time protector of the 
-kingdom, and several petitions in behalf of Nai- 
ler were presented to him by persons of different 
persuasions, but he resolved not to read them 
until sentence had been passed. On the 1 8th 
of December he suffered the first part of his pu- 
nishment, which was inflicted with such rigor, 
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 exe- 
cuted two days afterwards, but he was reduced 
so low by the cruel whipping, that his farther 
punishment was respited for a week. During 
that interval many persons, looking upon him 
rather as a madman, than guilty of wilful blas- 
phemy, petitioned the parliament and Cromwell 
to remit the remainder of his sentence. On this 
some of the protector's chaplains went and con- 
versed with the culprit, and their report frus- 


trated the design of these applications. The 
rest of his sentence was executed ou the '27th of 
December, after .which, being sent to Bristol, 
be was conducted through that city on horse 
back, with his face backward, and publicly whip- 
ped. Then being remanded to London, he was 
committed to Bridewell. 

Nailer's suffering* brought him to his senses, 
and to some degree of humility. He wrote a let- 
ter to the magistrates of Bristol, expressive of 
his repentance of his former behavior in that 
city. During the time of his confinement in 
Bridewell, which was about two years, he mani- 
fested unfeigned contrition for his follies and of- 
fences. Having also, notwithstanding his sen- 
tence, obtained pen, ink, and paper, he wrote 
several small books, in which he retracted hi* 
past errors. In one of tliem he says : " Con- 
demned for ever be all false worships, with whicii 
any have idolized my person, in the night of any 
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 dishonor the Lord, or draw the minds of any 
from the measures of Christ Jesus in themselves 
to look at flesh whicii is as grass, or to ascribe 
that to the visible whicii 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 : f Thy name 
shall he no more James Nailer, hut Jesus.' this 
I judge to he written from the imagination; and 
a fear struck me when 1 first saw it, and so I 
put it in my pocket close, not intending any 
should see it ; which they rinding on me, spread 
it abroad, which the simplicity or' my heart never 
owned. So this I deny also, that the name of 
Christ Jesus was received instead of James Nai- 
ler, or ascribed to him. And all these ranting 
wild spirits which then gathered about me in thafc 
time of darkness, and all their wild actions and 
wicked words against the honor of God, and his 
pure spirit and people; and deny that had 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 of the truth ; though that power that 
quickens the dead I deny not, which is the word 
of eternal Jife." 

He likewise cow posed some other pieces, 
which may be seen in Se\vel's History of the 
Quakers. These people had disowned him dur- 
ing his extravagant flights, but after his repen- 
tance, they re-admitted the lost sheep into their 

About the latter end of October, 1660, Nailer 
set out from London towards the north, with a 


intention of going home to his wife and children, 
who still lived at Wakeiield. Some miles be- 
yond Huntingdon he was taken ill, having, as it 
was reported, heen robbed by the way, and left 
bound. Whether he received any personal in- 
jury is not recorded, but being found in a field 
by a countryman, towards evening, he was car- 
ried to a friend's house, at Holm, near King's 
Riptqo, where he expired in November, 16GO. 
Such was the end of this enthusiast, who ren 
dered himself as miserable as possible, without 
doing any service to mankind. From him we 
learn that a most abundant source of error and 
delusion, and a principle the most mischievous 
of any in its consequences, is a spirit of enthu- 
siasm, spurred on bv 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 rea- 
son such follies as have rendered the persons 
possessed with them a plague to the world, as 
well as to themselves; 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 particular care to 
preclude the access of so disagreeable a guest in- 
to his bosom,, not only for his own sake, but for 
that of the society of which he is a member. 

0R T 


TlIIS lady, was daughter of Matthew Robinson 
Esq. late of West Lay ton in Yorkshire and Hor- 
ton in Kent, and sister to Lord Uokeby or eccen- 
tric memory. She was born about the year 17-50. 
The care of her education was committed to her 
relation, the celebrated Dr. Conyers Middleton, 
the author of the life of Cicero, and other admir- 
ed publications. 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 trans- 
cribed the whole of the Spectator at eight years 
of age. This icport almost exceeds belief, though 
it has been attested by the best authority,- and 
\vas always solemnly affimed by Dr. Mousey, a 
particular friend of Dr. Middleton, as well as 
of the lady herself. 

From the respectability of her connexions M iss 
Robinson 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 matrimonial ties, she might have 
commanded his title and fortune. It is well known 
that she assisted this nobleman in the composi- 
tion of his Dialogue* of the Dead, and some of 
VOL. 2. NO. IS. y 


the best portions of that work were acknovvleclg- 
edbyhis lordship to have proceeded from her pen. 
It has been imagined that she was at one time at- 
tached to Pulleney, the celebrated earl of Bath, 
f&lic afterwards accompanied that nobleman and 
his lady on a tour through Germany. 

Miss Robinson conferred her hand on. Ed ward 
Montague Esq. of Denton Castle in Northum- 
berland, grandson to the first Earl of Sandwich, 
whom she survived many years. We have alrea* 
dy seen that the early promise of her literary ge- 
nius was not disappointed in her matnrer years. 
She was not only a good scholar but possessed a 
sound judgment and excellent taste. These led 
her to com pose her Essay on the Writings and Ge- 
nius of ' ti/Mkespeftre, in answer to the frivolous ob-r 
jections of Vohnire. This performance, the only 
avowed production of her pen, must always rank 
with the best illustrations of the powers of the En- 
glish bard. It is not an elaborate exposition of ob- 
scure 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 hisnsu- 
lil asperity presumes to censure the father of the 
British drama for defects which he does not pos- 
sess, and exaggerates the improprieties that are 
to be found in his writings. The truth is, that the 
productions of no mortal can boast of perfec- 
tion; that considerable allowance must be made 
for the complexion of the times when the poet 
luved; and, lastly, that Voltaire, being not tho 


roughly acquainted with the English language, 
was by no means competent to the task he hud 
undertaken, in thus sitting in judgment on the 
ornament and glory of our country- 
Many able judges of literary merit have pro- 
nounced an eulogium on Mrs. Montague's per- 
formance, and even fastidious readers have pe- 
rused it with pleasure: there is a neatness in the 
style, and clearness in the arrangement,, and a be- 
nevolence in the tendency and design of her ob- 
servations. But we will not conceal from our rea- 
ders that the colossal Johnson grotcted, and 
vented his spleen in ill-natured expressions con- 
cerning 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. Mon- 
tague possessed much playfulness of fancy; she, 
in this department, exceeded even her cele- 
brated female name-sake, whose letters, how- 
ever doubtful their orgin, were marked for ap- 
propriateness of spirit and gracefulness of expres- 
sion. By some, the subject of this memoir had 
the palm of superiority assigned her. Her epis- 
tolary excellence particularly displayed itself in 
her correspondence with Dr. Mousey, physician 
to Chelsea College, to whom she wrote during 
her excursion through Germany. He lived to a 
very advanced age. The following is an extract 
of a letter of pleasantry from this lady to Dr. 
Mousey, dated Jan. J7S5: 


f ' I FLATTER my self you do not love me 
less vehemently at ninety than you did at eighty- 
nine. Indeed J feel my passion for you increase 
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 wd antique on your 
character, and set a higher price on your affec- 
tion every day If the winter of the year had 
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, that I 
durst not venture myself abroad under its influ- 
ence/' &c. 

In private life, Mrs. M. was an example of 
liberal discretion and rational benevolence, f lev 
hand was extended to the protection of genius 
and to the relief of distress. Her mansion was 
the resort of distinguished characters, and all 
were ready to pay the homage due to the endow-, 
me tits of her head and to the amiable qualities of. 
her heart. One singular instance of her benevo- 
lence must not be pilled over unnoticed: for 
.s>mc years previous to her decease, she annually 
riUertaincd, on the first day of May, with roast 
beef and plumb- puling, the cjtimneyrfn'eepen 
of the metropolis, in the conn-yard of her -house, 
in Portnum-siiuare ! It was reported that her pre- 
dilection for the sooty tribe originated in her hav- 
ing onro lost a child, which she found amongst 
them. Hut this cannot be a fact, for she never had 
a family. The real cause was, her delight to do 


good; and, in imitation of Jonas Hanway, she 
tliought her regards were particularly due to this 
unfortunate class of' society. Mrs Montague 
died at her house in Portman-square, 1800, ha* 
ving reached an advanced age. 

Notwithstanding the mean opinion of Mrs. 
Montague's Vindication, which Dr. Johnson pro- 
fessed to entertain, and which was one of tho>e 
into which he was sometimes goaded either by 
peevishness or the importunity of his friends; we 
find him on another occasion expressing the fol- 
lowing, and which were probably his real senti- 
ments concerning this lady; " She did not make 
a trade of her wit, but was a very extraordinary 
woman. She had a constant stream of conver- 
sation, 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 to the esteem and imi- 
tation of posterity. 


THE history of this lady serves to shew r the dan- 
ger of too precipitate an interment of persons 
in whom life is suddenly to all appearance extin- 
guished. She was mistress of the Jewel-oftice^ 
y 3 


and sister to the great duke of Marlborough. 
During her residence at.Tunbridge, in 17'2<2, she 
conceived such an esteem for the family of Miss 
Seal, afterwards mother of the celebrated Mr?. 
Bellamy,, that she offered to bring her up and 
have her educated in every respect the same as her 
own daughter, Miss Godfrey: Mrs. Seal, how- 
ever, having at this time no reason to doubt that 
her child was amply provided for, politely de- 
clined the offer, but agreed, that on Mrs. God- 
frey's return to town for the winter, she should ac- 
company, and spend three or four months with 

That season being now come, Mrs. Godfrey 
?et out for London, and upon her arrival, heard 
that her noble brother was given over by his 
physicians; but having been for some time at 
variance with the duchess, on account of her ex- 
posing, though reduced to a state of second 
childhood, the man who had rendered himself 
so famous an imprudence which deservedly gave 
offence to Mrs. Godfrey, she had not the satisfac- 
tion of seeing him before he died. Here, it must 
he observed, that the Duchess of Marlborough, 
much to her discredit, used to take the duke with 
her in the coach, whenever she went abroad, 
even upon the most trivial occasions, exhibiting 
as a public spectacle the hero who had lately 
kept nations in awe, and whose talents in the 
cabinet were equal to his valour and military 
knowledge in the field. 

Mrs. Godfrey was prevented, by this disa~ 


greement, from paying a visit herself at Marl- 
borough-house,, to condole with her sister-in-law 
on the loss which their family and the nation had 
sustained. Having, however, an inclination to 
know how things were conducted there, she sent 
her woman, Mr. Busby's daughter, to make, en- 
quiries: and the latter, overcome by the impor- 
tunities of Miss Seal, who had attended Mrs. 
Godfrey to town as proposed, accompanied 
her to see the remains of the duke lie in state. 
When they arrived at the gate of Marlborough- 
house they found it open, but to their infinite 
surprise, met not a living creature during their 
passage to the room in which the body was de- 
posited. So totally was this great man neglected 
in the last stage of his mortal exhibition, that 
not a single attendant, or one glimmering taper, 
remained about him as tokens of respectful aU 
tendon. The ladies were obliged to the day- 
Jight alone for the faint view they obtained of 
the funeral decorations. This melancholy and 
disrespectful scene was no sooner described to 
Mrs. Godfrey by her woman, than it had such 
an effect upon her as to occasion a long and se- 
vere illness ; which at length reduced her to such 
a state, that had she experienced the same neg- 
lectful treatment her brother had done, she must 
have been buried alive. 

One Sunday, fancying herself better than she 
had been for some time, and able to go to cha- 
pel, as she was dressing for that purpose she sud- 
denly fell down to all appearance dead. The 


screams of her women brought Colonel Godfrej 
into the room, who having probably seen instan- 
ces of persons remaining in a state of insensibi- 
lity for a considerable time, and afterwards reco- 
vering, directed that his lady should be immedi- 
ately put into bed, and that two persons should 
constantly continue with her, till indubitable 
symptoms appeared of her decease. The conse- 
quences proved with how much judgment the 
colonel had acted. 

Notwithstanding the opinion of the physicians, 
who all declared that the breath of life was irre- 
coverably departed; and in opposition to the so- 
licitations of his friends to have the body interred, 
he continued resolute in his determination till the 
Sunday following, when exactly at the same 
hour on which the change had happened, signs 
appeared of returning sensibility. So punctual 
was nature in her operations upon this singular 
occasion, that Mrs. Godfrey awoke from her 
trance just as the chapel bell was once more 
ringing, which so perfectly eradicated from her 
memory every trace of her insensibility, that she 
blamed her attendants for not waking her in time 
to go to church, as she had proposed to do. 
Colonel Godfrey, whose tenderness to his lady 
was unremitted, taking advantage of this inci- 
dent, prudently gave orders that she should by 
no means be made acquainted with what had 
happened, lest it should make a melancholy im- 
pression on her mind; and to the day of hea 
death she remained ignorant of the circumstance* 


TfllS lady was the wife of Leofrie, Earl of 
Mercia, and with her husband, founded in 1043 
;i monastery for an abbot and twenty. four Bene- 
dictine monks, at Coventry, which was dedicated 
to the Virgin Mary, St. Peter, and St. Osburgh. 
Leofrie and his lady, who both died about the 
latter end of the reign of Edward the Confessor, 
were buried in the church of the abbey they had 
founded. The former seems to have been the 
first lord of Coventry, and the latter its greatest 
benefactress, as will appear from the following 
extraordinary and indeed romantic tradition, 
which is not only {irmly believed at Coventry, 
but is recorded by many of our historians: 
The earl had granted the convent and city many 
Valuable previleges , but the inhabitants having 
offended him, he imposed on them very heavy 
taxes; for the great lords to \vh6m the towns 
belonged, under the Anglo Saxons, had that pri- 
vilege, which cannot be exercised at present by 
any but the house of commons. The people 
complained grievously of the severity of tiie 
taxes, and applied to Godiva, the earl's lady, a 
woman of great piety and virtue, to intercede i.u 
their favour. She willingly complied with their 
request, but the earl remained inexorable: he 
told his lady, that were she to ride naked through 

1O GOtfiTA. 

the streets of the city, he would remit the tax 
meaning that no persuasion whatever should pre- 
vail with him, and thinking to silence her by the 
strange proposal ; hut she, sensibly touched by 
the distress of the city, generously accepted the 
terms. She therefore sent notice to the magis- 
trates of the town, with the strictest orders that 
all doors and windows should be shut, and that 
no person should attempt to look out on pain of 
death. These precautions being taken, the fady 
rode through the city covered only with her fine 
flowing locks. While riding in this manner 
through the streets, no one dared to look at her, 
except a poor taylor, who, as a punishment, it 
is said, for his violating the injunction of the 
noble lady, which had been published with 90 
pious and benevolent a design, was struck blind. 
This taylor has been ever since remembered by 
the name of Peeping Tom, and in memory of 
the event, his figure is still kept in the win- 
dow of the house from whence it is said he grati- 
fied his curiosity. The lady having thus dis- 
charged her engagements, the earl performed his 
promise, and grunted the city a charter, by which 
they were exempted from all taxes. As a proof 
of the truth of this circumstance, in a window 
of Trinity church are the figures of the carl 
and his lady, and beneath the fallowing inscrip- 
tion ; 

" I, Lcofric, for the love of ihee, 
" Do set Coventry toll free." 

To this day, the benevolent act of Godiva is 


annually commemorated on Friday in Trinity 
week, when a valiant fair-one rides, not literally 
like the good countess, but in silk, closely fitted 
to her limbs, and of colour emulating her com- 
plexion. The figure of Peeping Tom, in the 
great street, is also new dressed on the occa- 
sion. Mr. O'Keefe has produced a musical en- 
tertaimnent on this subject, written with all the 
delicacy the subject would admit. 


IT must be a subject of pain to every humane 
mind, that by the admission of circumstantial 
evidence into the system of the criminal judica- 
ture of Britain, innocent persons have frequent- 
ly suffered the punishment due to guilt. The 
subject before us affords an instance of as re- 
markable an escape from this fate as can^ per- 
haps, be produced. 

John Oakes resided at Macclesficld, in Che- 
shire, where he followed the humble occupation 
of a collier, and by his industry supported a large 
family. About the year 1785, two persons, 
named Lowe and Oakes, charged with coining, 
were apprehended at Mucclesfield. Oakes was 
merely a carrier, and Lowe the actual maker of 
the base coin; but as the law admits of no acces- 
sary, every person assisting being a principal, 
Oakes was convicted and executed. Lowe was 


more fortunate ; though found guilt}', and sen- 
tence passed, in consequence of a flaw in the in- 
dictment (the omission simply of the particle OF) 
his case was referred to the opinion of the twelve 
judges,, and his life saved. 

About this period a man, a stranger from 
^Birmingham, arrived at Maeclesfield, and took 
a room in the house of Orme, under the pretext 
of keeping a school. Here he remained a few 
weeks, till a vacation time came on, when he 
told his landlord, Orme, he should go and see 
his friends at Birmingham, and on his return 
would pay his rent. Stopping, however, longer 
than he promised, Orme from necessity broke 
open his lodger's door; when on entering the 
room he found a crucible for coining, with a few 
base shillings, the latter of which he put care- 
lessly into his pocket, but, as he solemnly pro- 
tested, did not attempt to utter them. 

A few days after this circumstance, some cot- 
ton having been stolen from a mill in the neigh- 
bourhood, a search-warrant was granted, when 
among others, the constables entered Ormc's 
house, where they found the above article for 
coining. As might naturally be supposed, they 
concluded that Orme was a party with Lowe and 
Oake's, and seized the instrument eagerly carry- 
ing it before a magistrate. A warrant was im- 
mediately granted -to apprehend Orme on a 
charge of coining, and he was taken from his 
employment at the bottom of a coal-pit. On 
their wav to the magistrate's office, he was in- 


farmed by the constables of the nature of the 
charge against him; when, recollecting the bas<* 
money he had in his pocket, jirst as ho Was en- 
tering the office, his fears got so much the as- 
cendancy over his prudence, that he hastily put 
his hand into his pocket, and taking out the shil- 
lings, crammed them into his mouth, from whieli 
they were taken by a constable. A circum- 
stance apparently so conclusive against the 
prisoner, could not fail to have its weight with 
the jury at his trial, and the poor fellow was 
convicted. Judgment of death was accord- 
ingly passed by the late Lord Alvanly, iheut he 
Hon. Pepper Ardcn. 

Orrhe was sentenced to die with Oal;e-, but 
a few days before that which vsas a;>puin: 
be his last, a brother of Ornie's resident in Lon- 
don, a cheese-factor and hop-merchant i:i the 
Borough, arrived at Chester with a respite for 
a fortnight. In this interval a gentleman ac- 
quainted with the circumstances of the case, 
drew up a petition to the fountain of mercy, the 
king, and principally assisted by the late Molls 
Legh, Esq. procured the signatures of a consi- 
derable part of the grand jury to the same. 
Orme's respite expired at one o'clock on Mon- 
day, the hour that was to terminate his earthly 
existence. On the Saturday night preceding, 
his friends waited at the post-oilice with an anx- 
iety and solicitude that words can but faintly de- 
scribe : at the hour of eleven, the unpropitious 

VOL. '2. NO. 17. z 


and unwelcome information arrived that all had 

This failure had arisen in consequence of the 
prisoner attempting to .break out of gaol after 
sentence had been passed : and here the rough 
but honest bluntness of Mr. Rolls Lcgh ought not 
to be forgotten, On applying to the foreman 
of the grand jury to sign the petition, the latter 
objected, saying, te he could not, as Orme had 
attempted to break out of the castle." Mr. 
Legh exclaimed " By G d so would you, 
if you were under sentence of death." 

Not a ray of hope was now left, and the un- 
fortunate prisoner had no expectation of living 
beyond the appointed moment. Accordingly 
the dreadful accompaniments of a public, ig- 
nominious death were prepared a hurdle to take 
his body to the fatal tree (as in cases of ..petty 
treason);, the sheriff's officers were all summon- 
ed, and a coiiin was made to receive his remains. 
Supported by conscious innocence, never was a 
man better prepared to meet so awful an end 
than Orme; all the Sunday his mind was serene, 
placid, and Comfortable, not the least emotion, 
not even a sigh escaped him; and when the news 
arrived of his deliverance from death, he silently 
received it with apparent disappointment. About 
ten o'clock on that night the king's special mes- 
senger arrived with a reprieve, the persevering 
and fraternal affection of his brother having ul- 
timately succeeded. He suffered, however, five 


ycnrs incarceration in the castle, from the time 
of his reprieve, and the governor, the late Mr* 
Faithful Thomas, has been heard to say, he did 
as much good in reading religious tracts to the 
prisoners, as any ordinary could possibly h-ave 
done in the same period. 

He survived his liberation (procured by 'the 
late Judge Bearcroft) nearly sixteen years j 
brought up a 'large family by honest industry, 
and his memory, we hope, Will be embalmed 
with the poor man's only meed, next to the sa- 
tisfaction of his own heart the approbation of 
posterity. He died at Macclesfield in J806\- 


lody eminently distinguished forherihge*-' 
nuity, was born at a small country-house of her : 
father's at Codston in "Wiltshire on t'he 14th- of 
May 1700. Her descent arid family connections 
were highly honorable,, she being the -daughter or' 
Bernard, a younger brother of George Granville 
Esq. afterwards Lord Landsdovvn, a nobleman 
whose virtues and abilities, whose friendship 
w r ith Pope and Swift, and other eminent writers 
of his age, together with his general patronage 
of men of genius, have been so often recorded; 

Belonging to such a family Miss Gran.ville 
could not fail of receiving the best education." 
She resided chiefly with her aunt iLady -Stanley 
2 2 


at Whitehall, but paid frequent visits to her en 
de Landsdown in the country. In the society ol 
a nobleman, who united the accomplishments ol 
the polite courtier, with those of the elegant 
scholar, her understanding was much improved, 
her taste refined, and she acquired a grace and 
dignity of' manners which she preserved till the 
close of her life. 

At Long Leat, the seat of the Weymoutb fa- 
mily, occupied by Lord Landsdown during the 
minority of the heir, Miss Granville first saw 
Alexander Pendarvis Esq^a gentleman of large 
property at Roscrovv in the county of Cornwall. 
He immediately paid his addresses to ber, and 
so strenuously were they supported by ber uncle> 
whom she had not the courage to refuse, that she 
gave a reluctant consent to the match, and accor- 
dingly it took place in the course of two or three 
weeks, ahe being then in the seventeenth year of 
her age. 

In consequence of a great disparity of years, 
and other causes, she \vas very unhappy during 
the* time this connection lasted. She however 
employed the retirement to which she was con- 
fined in the farther cultivation of her understand- 
ing, ami particularly made a great proficiency in 
music. In 1724 she become a widow, on which oc- 
casion she quitted Cornwall and fixed her princi- 
pal residence in London. 

For several years, between 1730 and 1736, she 
maintained a correspondence with "Dean Swift, 
and some of her letters are inserted in his works. 


In J743 after remaining a widow nineteen years, 
she was married to Dr. Delany, with whom she 
had long been acquainted. This union, which in 
some degree compensated for the unhappiroess of 
the former, was dissolved by the decease of the 
doctor in May 1768. 

Mrs. Delany had in her early years formed an 
intimacy with the duchess dowager of Portland, 
and which after this event her grace cultivated 
with increased assiduity. In winter scarcely a 
day passed in which the duchess, unless confined 
by illness, did not pass some time with Mrs. De- 
Jany at her house in St. James's Place. The sum- 
mer was spent by the latter at Bulstrode, the ele- 
gant mansion of her friend, or in excursion's 
among her relations in the counties of Warwick 
and Stafford. 

On the death of the duchess, the king assigned 
fier, as a sammer- residence,. a house at Windsor 
completely furnished, and to prevent inconyeni- 
enee from this increased establishment, conferred 
on her a pension of three hundred pounds a year. 
The manner in which this 1 pension was paid, ad- 
ded to the gracefulness of the gift. To prevent 
the customary deductions^ the queen herself, in 
the most condescending manner, carried to her 
every half year the bank-notes in her pocket. 
Mrs. Delarny did not stand in need of this gift as 
an eleemosinary appointment; the munificence 
of the king proceeded from the esteem which 
their majesties entertained of her character, and 
from their desire to have near them a lady bf 
z 3 


such uncommon merit and endowments. To 
the latter it is owing, that Mrs. Delany has 
been admitted to a place in this work. She was 
particularly distinguished for her skill in painting 
and in other ingenious arts/ one of which was 
entirely of her own invention. With respect to 
painting, she was late in her application to it. 
She did .not learn to draw till she was'mbre than 
thirty years of age, when she put herself under 
the instruction of Goupy, a fashionable master 
of that time, and much employed by the father 
of hi,s present majesty. She did not take to oil- 
painting till she was past forty. So strong was 
her -passion for this art, that she was frequently 
known to employ herself in it^ day after day, 
from six o'clock in the morning till dinner-time, 
allowing only a short interval for breakfast. She 
was principally a copiest, but. a very fine one. 
The only considerable original work by her in 
eil was the raising of Lazarus, which, after her 
death, came into the possession of her friend 
Liuly Bute. The number of pictures painted by 
her, considering how late it was in life before 
she applied to the art, was very great. Her own 
house was full of them, and athers were among 
the chief ornaments of Calswick, Welsbourn and 
11am, the respective residences of her nephews 
Mr. Granville and Mr. Dewes and her niece 
Mrs. Port. 

Among other accomplishments Mrs. Delany 
xc elled in embroidery and shell-work ; and in 
of her life produced many elegaat 


specimens of her skill in these respects. But . 
\vhatismorereinarkable with regard to. her is, 
that, at the age of seventy-four she invented a 
new and beautiful mode of exercising her inge- 
nuity. This was by the construction, .of a Flora 
of a most singular kind, formed by applying co- 
lored papers together, and which might not im- 
properly be called a species of mosaic work. Be- 
ing perfectly mistress of her scissars, she cut out 
the planter flower which she purposed to imitate,; 
that is she cut out its various leaves and parts in 
such colored Chinese paper as suited l>er subject; 
and as she could not always meet with a-?color tp 
correspond with the one she. wanted, she then 
<}yed her paper to answer her wishes> ..She 
used a black ground as best, calculated. to tlirow 
out her flower; and not the least astonishing 
part of her art was, that though she- never eny- 
ployed her pencil to trace out the form or/shape 
>f the plant, yet when she applied .all the pieces 
of which it was composed, it hung so loosely and 
gracefully, that every one who saw r it was per- 
suaded it must have been, drawn out and repeat- 
edly corrected by a most judicious hand, be/ore 
it could have attained the ease and air of truth 
which, without any impeachment of the honor 
of this accomplished lady, might justly be called 
a forgery of Nature's works. The effect was su- 
perior to what painting could have produced ; 
and so imposing was her art, that she would 
sometimes put a real leaf of a plant beside one of 
her own creation, which the eye could not de- 


detect even when she herself pointed it out, 
Mrs. Delany continued in the prosecution of 
her design till the eighty- third year of her age 
when the dimness of her sight obliged her to lay 
it aside. However, by her unwearied persever- 
ance, she became authoress of by far the most 
complete Flora ever executed by the same hand. 
The number of plants finished by her amounted 
to one hundred and eighty. This invaluable 
collection she bequeathed to her nephew, Court 
Dewes, Esq. 

The liberality of Sirs. Delany r s mind rendered, 
her at all times ready to communicate her art. 
She frequently pursued her work in company: 
Was desirous of shewing to her friends how easy 
it was to execute; and was often heard to lament 
that so few would attempt it. It required, howw 
ever, two essential requisites to undertake it with 
fcucces's, great patience, and a great knowledge in- 
botanical drawing. 

When Mrs. Dekiny had entered the eightieth 
year of her age, she prefixed to the first volume 
of her Flora the following lines, having never 
written, so far as is known, any verses before. 

" Hail to the happy Itour when Fancy led 
My pensive mind the flowery path to tread, 
And gave me emulation to presume 
With timid Art to trace fair Nature's bloom : 
To view with awe the great creative power 
That shines confest in the minutest flower j 
With wonder to pursue the glorious line^, 
And gratefully adore the hand divine>'* 


These lines are succeeded by what follows, in 
prose : 

" This paper "Mosaic work was begun in the se^ 
verity-fourth year of my age, which 1 at first only 
meant as an imitation of an Hortus siccus, and 
as an employment and ami^ement to supply the 
loss of those that had formerly been delightful to 
me, but had lost their power of pleasing; being 
deprived of that friend, whose partial approbation 
>vas my pride, and had stamped a value on them. 
Though the effect of this work was more than I 
had expected, I thought that a whim of my own 
fancy might fondly beguile my judgment to 
think better of it than it deserved ; and I should 
have dropped the attempt as vain, had not the 
duchess dowager of Portland looked on it with 
favourable eyes. Her approbation was such a 
sanction to my undertaking as made it appear of 
consequence, and gave me courage to go on with 
confidence. To her I owe more than I dare ex- 
press; but my heart will ever feel, with the ut- 
most gratitude and tenderest affection, the ho- 
nor and delight 1 have enjoyed in her most gene- 
rous, steady and delicate friendship, for above 
forty years. 


,, The same desires, the same ingenious arts 
Delighted both. : \Ve own'd arrables's'd fha't power 
Thatjuin'd at once our studies and our hearts ! ' ' 

,.. . Masov, .Elegy I JL 

" Bulstrock 5th July,. 1779," 


The following pleasing anecdote relative to tM< 
subject should not be omitted : Mrs. Delany, 
while in Ireland was presented with a citron, the 
seeds of which she planted, and reared to a tree, 
which at the time of her leaving that country was 
in its perfection. When she was become ena- 
mored of her new work, she often wished to per- 
petuate the tree she had left behind her, and in- 
timating this wish to the duchess dowager of 
Portland, her noble friend with that benevo- 
lence which distinguished her character,, contriv- 
ed to gel the tree sent over to Bulstrode. As 
soon as it was recovered from the accidents of 
so long a journey, it was placed in the gallery, 
and when Mrs. Delany admired the beauty of the 
plant,, she was informed by her grace that it was 
the identical tree she had so often been desirous 
of obtaining. The celebrated Mr. Keate hap- 
pened to pay a visit at Bulstrode, just as Mrs. 
Delany had finished the portrait of a branch of 
her favourite citron-tree: and hearing the history 
of it, a desire was excited in him, of commemo" 
rating an event, which gave him an opportunity 
of recording the abilities of Mrs. Delany, and 
the discerning and attentive friendship of the 
duchess. This he accordingly did in an elegant 
copy of verses entitled " A Petition from Mrs. 
Delany'a Citron Tree to her grace the Duchess 
dowager of Portland." 

In 17812 Mrs. Delany lost her sight, and on 
the loth of April 1788 she expired, after a short 
indisposition, at her house -in St. James's Place* 


having nearly completed the eighty eighth year 
of her age. She was buried in a vault of St. 
James's Church, and on one of its columns a 
stone is erected to her memory briefly recording 
her descent, marriages and character. 

Mr. \Valpole in the later editions of his " An- 
ecdotes of painting," speaking of a particular pic- 
ture, which was in the possession of the duchess 
dowager of Portland, expresses himself in a note 
as follows: " This portrait. the duchess, at her 
death, bequeathed to her friend, the widow of 
I)r. Delany and correspondent of Dr. Swift: a 
lady of excellent sense and taste, a paintress in 
oil, who, at the age of seventy-five invented 
the art of paper Mosaic, with which material^ 
colored, she in eight years, executed within 
twenty of a thousand various flowers and flower- 
ing shrubs, with a precision and truth mi parallel- 


VvERE it possible to collect a complete account 
of the variegated scenes of which the life of this 
most eccentric person was composed, the work 
would probably be as entertaining as any in the 
English language. His father was of the same 
name as himself, and his mother was Lady Mary 
Worthy. Montague celebrated for her accom- 
plishnients and herliterarv talents. 


Their son was placed for education at West- 
mihstr School, but from that seminary he ran 
away three several times. Exchanging clothes 
with a chimney-sweeper, he followed for some- 
time that disgusting occupation. He then en- 
gaged with a fisherman and cried flounders at 
Kotherhithe. lie afterwards sailed as a cabin- 
boy to Spain, where he had no sooner arrived 
than he ran away from the vessel, and hired him- 
self a driver of mules. 

After leading for some time this vagabond life, 
he was discovered by the English consul, who 
sent him home to his family, by whom he was re- 
ceived with demonstrations of the most sincere 
joy. A private tutor was employed to recover 
those rudiments of learning, which a life of dis- 
sipation and vulgarity might have obliterated* 
He was then sent to the West Indies, where he 
remained some time, and on his return to England, 
was chosen a member in two successive parlia- 

Soon after his reconciliation with his father, 
the latter (tied very suddenly, without having al- 
tered his will, as he intended, in favour of his 
son. Not long afterwards he had the misfortune 
to offend his mother irreconcileably. The cause of 
this antipathy was probably an union which he is 
said to have formed with a female who aspired to 
a character no higher than that of a washerwoman. 
As the marriage was solemnized in a frolic, he 
never deemed her sufficiently his wife to cohabit 
with he\ but allowed her a maintenance. Too 



Too submissive to be troublesome on account of 
the conjugal rights, she lived content on this 

Whatever might have been the cause of his 
mother's inflexible aversion, certain it is that she 
cut him off with a shilling from all. the inheri- 
tance she ever had it in her power to leave him. 
Previous to this event he had quitted his native 
country involved in debt, and as if unable to 
conquer a propensity he had imbibed in early 
youth, commenced the wandering traveller lie 
continued till the time of his death. He was 
abroad when he received his mother's legacy, 
which he gave with the utmost gaiety to a friend. 
By these means a vast estate came to Lord Bute 
who had married the sister of Mr. Montague. 
Nevertheless, that nobleman with a generosity 
highly creditable to his heart ceded to his bro- 
ther-in-law much more than he could possibly 
have claimed or obtained by litigation. 

Mr. Montague had very accommodating prin- 
ciples and a fine constitution for travelling. The 
last fourteen years of his life were entirely spent 
in foreign parts, where he became enamored of 
the dress and manners of Arabia, to which lie 
conformed to the end of his life. Before that 
time he had been frequently heard to say that he 
had long since drunk his full share of wine and 
strong liquors, and that he had never once been 
guilty of a small folly in the whole course of his 

He was now a perfect patriarch in his manners^ 

VOL. 2.NO. J8. 2 A 


and had wives of almost every nation. When 
he was with AH Bey in Egypt, he had his .hous- 
hold of Egyptian females. At Constantinople 
the Grecian women had charms to captivate this 
unsettled wanderer. In short he knew perfectly 
well how to accommodate his taste to the coun- 
try in which he was. But, continually shifting 
his place, he never permitted his wives to 
attend him, considering them as bad travelling 

The best account of the manners of this singu- 
lar man is given by the late l)r. Moore in his 
Travels in Italy, in company with the duke of 
Hamilton. " Hearing," says this writer, " that 
Mr. Montague resided at Venice, the duke had 
ihe curiosity to wait on that extraordinary man. 
He met his grace at the stair-head, Jind Jed us 
through some apartments, furnished in the Ve- 
netian manner, into an inner room in quite a 
different style. There were no chairs, but lie 
desired us to seat ourselves on a sopha while he 
placed himself on a cushion on the floor, with 
his legs crossed in the Turkish fashion. A young 
black slave sat by him, and a venerable old man, 
with a long beard, served us with coffee. 

" After this collation some aromatic gums were 
brought and burned in a little silver vessel. Mr. 
Montague held his nose over the steam for some 
minutes and snuffed up the perfume with peculi- 
ar satisfaction ; he afterwards endeavoured to 
collect the smoke with his hands, spreading and 
rubbing it carefully along his beard, which hung 



ju hoary ringlets to his girdle. We had a great 
deal of conversation with this venerable looking 
persoo, who is, to the last degree acute, com- 
municative and entertaining, and in whose dis- 
course and manners are blended the vivacity of 
a Frenchman with the gravity of a Turk. We 
found him, however, wonderfully prejudiced in 
favour of the Turkish character and manners, 
which he thinks infinitely preferable to the Euro- 
pean, or those of any other nation. 

" He describes the Turks in general as a peo- 
ple of great sense and integrity, the most hospi- 
table, generous and the happiest of mankind. 
He talks of returning as soon as possible to 
Egypt, which he paints as a perfect paradise; 
and thiuks that, had it not been otherwise or- 
dered for wise purposes, of which it does not 
become us to judge, the children of Israel would 
certainly have chosen to remain where they were, 
and have endeavored to drivjj the .Egyptians to 
the land of Canaan. 

" Though Mr. Montague hardly ever stirs 
abroad, he returned ihe duke's visits; and as we 
were not provided with cushions, he sat, while 
he staid, upon a sopha, with his legs under him, 
as he hud clone at his own house. This posture 
by long habit is now become the most agreeable 
to him, and he insists on its being by far the 
most natural and convenient; but indeed he 
seems to cherish the same opinion with respect' 
to all the customs which prevail among the Turks. 
I could not help mentioning one which I suspect- 


rd would be thought both unnatural and incon- 
venient by at least one half of the human race ; 
that of the men being allowed to engross as many 
women as they can maintain, and confining them 
to the most insipid of all lives within their ha- 
rems. < No doubt/ replied he, ( the women are 
all enemies to polygamy and concubinage ; and 
there is reason to imagine that this aversion of 
theirs, joined to the great influence they have 
in all Christian countries has prevented Maho- 
metan ism from making any progress in Europe. 
The Turkish men, on the other hand,' continued 
he, ' have an aversion to Christianity equal to 
that which the Christian women have to the reli- 
gion of Mahomet. Auricular confession is per- 
fectly horrible to their imagination. No Turk, 
of any delicacy, would ever allow his wife, par- 
ticularly if he had but one, to hold private con- 
ference with a man, on any pretext whatever. 

tf I took notice that this aversion to auricular 
confession could not be a reason for the Turks 7 
dislike to the p rotes tan t religion. s That is true,' 
said he, ( but you have other tenets in common 
with the catholics, which renders your religion 
as odious as theirs. You forbid polygamy and 
concubinage, which, in the eyes of the Turks, 
who obey the dictates of the religion they em- 
brace, is considered as an intolerable hardship. 
Besides, the idea which your religion gives of 
heaven is by no means to their taste. Jf they 
believed your account, they would think it the 
most tiresome and comfortless place in the uni- 


verse, and not one Turk among a thousand 
would go to the Christian heaven if he had, his 
choice. Lastly, the Christian religion considers 
women as creatures upon <a level with men, and 
equally entitled to every enjoyment both here 
and hereafter. When the Turks are told this/ 
added he, s they are not surprised at being in- 
formed also, that women, in general, are better 
Christians than men; but they are perfectly asto- 
nished that an opinion which they think contra- 
ry to common sense, should subsist among the 
rational, that is to say, the male part of chris- 
tians. It is impossible/ added Mr. Montague, 
'to drive it out of the head of a mussulman, 
that women are creatures of a subordinate spe- 
cies, created merely to comfort and amuse men 
during their journey through this vain world.,, 
but by no means worthy of accompanying be- 
lievers to Paradise, where females, of a nature 
far superior to women, wait with impatience 
to receive all pious mussulmans into their arms/ 
" It is needkss to -relate to you any more of 
our conversation. A lady to whom I was giving; 
an account of ii the day on which it happened,, 
eould with difficulty allow me to proceed thus far 
in my narration ; but interrupting me with im- 
patience, she said, she was surprised I could, re- 
peat ail the nonsensical, detestable,, impious 
maxims of the odious Mahometans ; and she 
thought Mr. Montague should be sent back to 
Egypt with* his long, beard, anil not be allowed 
to propagate opinions, the bare mention of which, 


however reasonable they might appear to Turks, 
ought not to be tolerated in any Christian land." 
The concluding transactions of the remarkable 
life of Mr. Montague have been thus related : 
During his residence at Venice, he received in- 
^telligence of the death of the original Mrs. Mon- 
tague, the washerwoman, and as he had no issue 
by her, his estate was likely to devolve to the se- 
cond son of Lord Bute. To prevent this he re- 
solved to return to England and marry. He ac- 
quainted a friend with his intentions, and com- 
missioned that friend to advertise for any young 
decent woman who might be in a pregnant state. 
The advertisement was inserted shortly after in 
one of the morning papers, and consisted of the 
following words : " Matrimony. A gentleman 
who hath filled two succeeding seats in parlia- 
ment, is near sixty years of age, lives in great 
splendour and hospitality, and from whom a con- 
siderable estate must pass if he dies without is- 
sue, hath no objection to marry any widow or 
single lady, provided the party be of genteel 
birth, polished manners, and five, six, seven, 
or eight months gone in her pregnancy. Letters 

directed to Brecknock, Esq. at Will's 

Coffee-house, facing the Admiralty, will be ho- 
noured with due attention, secrecy, and every 
possible mark or' respect." Several ladies an- 
swered this advertisement, one of whom was se- 
lected as being the most eligible object. She 
waited with eagerness for the arrival of her expcc- 
led bridegroom from Venice ; but, while he was 


on bis journey, death arrested him in his ca- 

This account, however, has been positively con- 
tradicted, and if the former statement relative 
to the generosity of Lord Bute be correct, it cer- 
tainly appears highly improbable that Mr. Mon- 
tague would behave in the manner here describ- 
ed, towards the family of that nobleman. Cer- 
tain it is, that, on his return to his native coun- 
try, in the passage from Marseilles to England, 
he was choaked with the bone of a becca-Jigua 
in 1776. 

Mr. Montague possessed great natural abilities, 
and an abundant portion of acquired knowledge. 
Y\ r ith the Hebrew, the Arabic, Chaldean, and 
Persian languages he was as well acquainted as 
with his native tongue. He published several 
pieces ; among the rest, a tract entitled, " He- 
flections on the rise and fall of ancient Repub- 
lics," aod another, " On the Exploration of the 
Causes of Earthquakes." 


FEW characters have a jnster 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 
1 6o9. Arrived at years of manhood, he married, 
but left his country in consequence 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 to a 
strong inclination for voluptuousness, by degrees 
qualified him for the management of public 

In 1708, Heidegger came to England, where, 
by his address and ingenuity,, he soon obtained 
the chief direction of the opera house and mas- 
querades. In this situation he is said to have 
accumulated a fortune of five' thousand pounds 
per annum. He possessed an extraordinary me- 
mory, and great facility of writing operas ; but 
his person, though tall and well made, was un- 
commonly disagreeable, from the excessive ug* 
liness 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 lord- 
ship would not be able to produce so hideous a 
face in all London. After a strict search, a wo- 
man was found whose features were, at first sight, 
thought even stronger than those of the Count, a^ 
he was ludicrously called ; but on clapping her 
head-dress upon him, he was universally allowed 
to be the. ugliest. 

This singlar man who, in. the twelfth number 
of the Tatler, is humorously styled a Surgeon, in, 
allusion to his preparing the singers at the Opera 
Louse, lived On terms of great familiarity with 
the nobility of the ti in e, who, however sometimes 


mad u him pay dearly. for it. Of this the follow- 
ing curious anecdote is recorded : 

The facetious Duke of Montague, (the memo- 
rahle author of the Bottle-conjuror at the Hay- 
market), gave an entertainment at the Devil 
Tavern, to several of the nobility and gentry, se- 
lecting the most convivial, and a few hard drink- 
ers, who were in the plot, Heidegger was in- 
vited, and in a few hours after dinner was so 
drunk, that he was carried out of the room, and 
kiid insensible upon a bed : a profound sleep ensu- 
ed, when ]\'Jrs. Salmon's daughter was introduced, 
who took a mould from his face in plaister of 
Paris: from this a mask was made; and a few 
days before the next .masquertttie, at which the 
king promised to be present, with the Countess of 
Yarmouth, the duke made application to Hei- 
degger's valet de chambre, to know what sort of 
of clothes he was likely to wear ; and then procur- 
ing a similar dress, and a person of the same sta- 
ture, he gave him his instructions. On the even- 
ing of the masquerade, as soon as his majesty 
was seated (who was always known by the con- 
ductor of the entertainment, 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 
Heidegger, ordered them to play ' Over the water 
to Charley/ The whole company were instantly 
thunder-struck, and all the courtiers, not in the 
plot, were thrown into a stupid consternation. 


Heidegger flew to the music gallery, swore, stamp- 
ed, raved, accused the musicians of drunkenness, 
or of being suborned to ruin him. The king and 
the countess laughed so immoderately, that they 
hazarded a discovery. While Heidegger stood 
in the gallery, ' God save the kin*' was the tune ; 
hut when, after setting matters to rights, he re- 
tired to one of the dancing rooms, to observe if 
decorum was kept by the company, the counter- 
feit stepped forward, and placing himself upon 
the floor of the theatre, just before the music 
gallery, called out in an audible voice, imitating 
Heidegger, saying they were blockheads, had not 
he just told them to play ' Charley over the 
water f' A pause ensued ; the musicians, who 
knew his character, in their turn, thought him 
either drunk or mad : but as he continued his 
vociferations, Charley was played again. At this 
repetition of the supposed affront, some of the 
officers of the guards were for ascending the gal- 
lery, and kicking the musicians out ; but the then 
Duke of Cumberland, who could hardly con- 
tain himself, interposed. The company were 
thrown into the greatest confusion ; ' Shame J 
shame !' 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 artfully addressing himself to him, 
told him ' the king was in a violent passion ; that 
his best way was to go instantly and make au 
apology, for certainly the musicians were mad 
and afterwards discharge them.' Almost in the 


same instant he ordered the false Heidegger 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 musici- 
ans, but the false Heidegger advanced, and in a 
plaintive tone cried out, " Indeed, sire, it was 
not my fault, but that devil's in my likeness." 
Poor Heidegger turned round, stared, staggered, 
grew pale, and could not utter a word. The 
duke then humanely whispered in his ear the 
sum of his plot, and the counterfeit was ordered 
to take off his mask. Here ended the frolic ; but 
Heidegger swore he would never attend any pub- 
lic amusement, if the wax-work woman did not 
break the mould, and melt down the mask before 
his face. 

Whatever may have been the faults or foibles 
of Heidegger, they were far exceeded by his 
charity, which was abundant. He died in the 
year 1/49, at the advanced age of ninety years. 


1 HIS whimsical painter was a native of Gouda, 
in the Netherlands. He early prosecuted his art 
with great ardor, under the direction of -an uncle, 
who was a tolerable proficient in painting, but a 
better scholar. Ketcl 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 architect, a friend 
of his uncle. Here his works grew into esteem. 


and he was much employed by the merchants ot' 
the metropolis in painting portraits but was sel- 
dom engaged on history, to which his inclinati- 
on chiefly led him. Having, however, painted an 
allegorical piece, of Strength vanquished by Wis- 
dom, it was purchased by a young merchant and 
presented to Sir Christopher Hatton. This cir- 
cumstance led to Ketel's introduction to court, 
after which he executed portraits of the first cha- 
racters of the age, and had the honor of painting 
Queen Elizabeth 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 had acquired by his various perform- 
ances, several of which were of an historical na- 
ture, he formed a scheme of making himself 
known by a method of painting entirely new. 
Laying aside his brush, he painted only with his 
fingers, and began with his own portrait. The 
whim took, so that he repeated the practice ; 
and it is pretended that these fantastic works 
were executed with great purity and beauty of 

The folly of the artist kept pace with his suc- 
cess, so that at last his lingers appeared to be 
tools of too easy a kind, and he undertook to 
paint with his feet. Even in this ridiculous ca- 
price he was indulged with the applause of; the 
public. The performances of Ketel are strongly 
colored, and with a full pencil, and are always as 
large, or rather larger than nature. He returned 
to Holland and died in the year KJ02. 


shall introduce our account of this once ce- 
lebrated female with the words, with which she 
concludes her own history of her life. " Should 
the relation," says she, " of my errors and their 
consequences prove a document to my own sex; 
warn them to shun the paths I have pursued ; 
and inspire them with a greater degree of pru- 
dence and reflection than I have been possessed 
of, I shall have employed my time to some good 
purpose. The certain effects of inattention to a 
prudential system are poverty, distress, anxiety 
and every attendant evil as I have most severely 
experienced." An awful lesson which cannot he 
too deeply impressed on the mind of every read- 
er, but especially of the female sex ! 

The mother of Mrs. Bellamy was the daugh- 
ter of an eminent farmer and hop-planter at 
Maidstone, whose name was Seal. He was one 
of the people called Quakers, and grew so opu- 
lent, as to be enabled to purchase an estate at 
Tunbridge Wells, called Mount Sion. Dying 
young and intestate, his whole fortune fell into 
the hands of his widow, who married a second 
husband named Busby; a man of supposed pro- 
perty, but, in fact, so involved in debt, that Mrs. 

VOL. 2. NO. 19. 2 B 



Busby, not having taken the necessary precau- 
tions to secure a maintenance to* herself and 
daughter, was left destitute of support. Before 
this sad reverse of fortune she had furnished her 
houses on Mount Sion, and let them during. the 
season, to persons of the first distinction. One 
of those who occasionally occupied these houses 
was Mrs. Godfrey, sister to the great Duke of 
Maryborough, who contracted such a friendship 
for Mrs. -Busby and her daughter that she of- 
fered to bring up the latter in every respect like 
her own daughter. This offer, though declined 
at first in the prosperous circumstances of Mrs. 
Busby, was now gratefully accepted. Mrs. God- 
frey accordingly placed Miss Seal, with her own 
daughter, at a boarding-school in Queen-square. 
Here she remained till the age of fourteen, 
when she unfortunately attracted the notice of 
Lord Tyrawley, who accidentally met with her 
while upon a visit. Young and inexperienced as 
she was, his lordship soon persuaded her to 
elope from school, and to give up every hope of 
her kind patroness. Lord Tyrawley carried his 
fair prize to his own apartments in Somerset- 
house, where she was treated with the same re- 
spect as if she had been really Lady Tyrawley ; 
a name which he had frequently promised, be- 
fore her elopement, to confer upon her, and he 
still continued to assure her that he would fulfil 
his engagement. She assumed his name, and 
lived with him for several months, till his lord- 
ship was ordered to join his regiment in Ireland, 


where, upon his arrival, he found his estates so 
involved by the management of his steward, that 
nothing could retrieve his affairs but an advanta- 
geous marriage. 

With this view he paid his addresses to Lady 
Mary Stewart, daughter of the Earl. of Blessing- 
ton, whose fortune was reputed to be 30..QOOL 
and who, though not handsome, had a genteel 
person and most engaging disposition. During 
the courtship, the Earl of Blessington, having 
heard much of the connection between his in- 
tended son-in-law and Miss Seal (then called 
Lady Tyrawley) wrote to the latter to. desire in- 
formation concerning the nature of that connec- 
tion, at the same time explaining, the mativo&'pf 
his request. This letter was received by H ; js 
Seal, just after her recovery from her fitst lyuig- 
ki of a son. In the violence of her resentment 
she enclosed Lord Blessington every ktteP she 
had received from her iciver. Among these *v^s 
one she had just received l>y the same post, aftd 
which she sent unopened. In this letter, Lord 
Tyrawley, after explaining the necessity of his 
marriage, added, that (< he should stay no longer 
with, his intended wife, than- was necessary to re- 
ceive her, fortune, when he would immediately 
fly. on the wings of love to share it with her: that 
he had made choice of Lady Mary Stewart, who 
was bath ugly and foolish, in preference to one 
with an equal fortune, who was beautiftil and 
sensible, lest an union with a more agreeable per- 
2 B. 2 


son might, be the means of decreasing his affec- 
tion for her " 

Lord Blessington, highly irritated on the peru- 
sal of -this letter, instantly forbade his daughter 
ever to see or write again to her perfidious lover. 
But his injunction came too late; they had been 
already privately married. Lord Tyrawley, how- 
ever,, was disappointed of his- expected fortune ; 
his mistress renounced her connection with him ; 
a separation from his lady ensued ; and his lord- 
ship, the .disappointed victim of his duplicity, 
ivas sent, at his own solicitation, in a public cha- 
racter to Lisbon. 

On her separation from Lord Ty raw ley. Miss 
Seal embraced the theatrical profession^ and 
going over to Ireland, performed the first charac- 
ters there, for several years, with some reputa- 
tion. But a disagreement arising between the 
proprietors of the theatre and herself, she, on a 
sudden, took the strange resolution of embarking 
for Portugal, in order to renew her intimacy 
with Lord Tyrawley. 

His lordship, who had previously sent her 
many pressing, but hitherto ineffectual invita-* 
tions, had lately forborne them. He now re- 
ceived her with open arms; but having recently 
formed a connection with a Portuguese lady, a 
circumstance of which he did not care to inform 
Miss Seal, he placed the latter in the house of an 
English merchant. In this family she became 
acquainted with Capt. Bellamy, who having in 

-GEORGE Affttff 

vain solicited her to accept-bis hand/ and sus- 
pecting that her refusal was occasioned by a se- 
cret partiality for Lord Tyrawley, who likewise 
^visited at the -same house, informed her of bis 
lordship's connection with Donna Anna. Rage 
accordingly supplied the place of affection; she 
immediately married the captain, and set sail 
with him for Ireland. 

After the arrival of Capt. Bellamy aiwl his -new 
married lady at the place of their destination, our 
heroine was born on St. George's day, 1733, 
some months too soon for the captain to claim 
any degree of consanguinity to her. Her mo- 
ther had so carefully concealed her pregnancy 
and connection with Lord Tyrawley from her 
husband, that he had not entertained tbe least 
suspicion of her' incontinence*, Her birth, bow- 
ever, discovered the whole, and s*o exasperated 
was the captain at her duplicity, that he imme 1 - 
diately left the kingdom, and never after either 
saw or corresponded with her. 

Lord Tyrawley, though greatly displeased at 
Miss Seal's sudden departure from Lisbon, wrote 
to his adjutant in Ireland/ -to request, if she 
proved pregnant in time, to consider the child 
as his, and to take care of it as soon as born, 
without, if possible, suffering the mother to seg 
it: for his lordship did not conceive her connec- 
tion with Capt. Bellamy, to be of an honorable 
nature. Accordingly, Miss Bellamy wsfs put 
out to nurse till she was two years' old : and, at 
the age of four, was placed, foi; her education^ 
2 B 3 


at a convent at Boulogne, where she continue 
till she was eleven. Oi .being ordered home, a 
Mr. Du Vail, who had been a domestic of his 
lordship's, but now lived in St. James's-street, 
was directed to meet her at Dover; and with 
him she resided till his lordship's return from 
Portugal, when he received her in the most pa- 
rental manner, and soon took her to a little box 
he had hired in Bushy-park. Here she was in- 
troduced to all his visitors, who were chiefly the 
witty and the gay; and who, the more effectual- 
]y to please Lord Tyrawley, were lavish in their 
praises of his daughter, and very early tainted 
her mind with the pernicious influence of flat- 

His lordship being soon after appointed am- 
bassador to Russia, she was left under the care 
of a lady of quality, with an annual allowance of 
1001. and under an express injunction not to see 
her mother. The latter, however, who had mar- 
ried again, and whose husband, after stripping 
her of ^very thing valuable had deserted her, 
prevailed upon her daughter to quit her kind 
protectress, and live with her. In consequence- 
of this, the ample allowance, which had been her 
mother's inducement to this imprudent step, was 
'withdrawn, and Miss Bellamy was renounced by 
her father. 

Soon after, Mr. Rich, of Covent Garden The- 
atre, having by accident heard her repeat some 
passages in Othello, engaged her as a performer. 
jShe had perfected herself in the characters of 


Monimia and Athenais, and the former was 
fixed on for her first appearance. Mr. Quin, 
when she was introduced to him, and who go- 
verned the theatre with a rod of iron, while Mr. 
Rich, though proprietor, was, through his indo- 
lence a mere cypher, insisted on the impropriety 
of a child's attempting a character of such im- 
portance, and recommended to her to play Senna 
instead of Monimia. Rich, however, persevered 
in bringing her forward in her chosen character. 
A rehearsal was called, when the fair adventurer 
was treated by the company with sovereign con- 
tempt. Mr. Quin who was to play Chain out, 
was absent, Mr. Hale mumbled over Castalio, and 
Mr. Ryan whistled Polydore ; but as she had the 
opportunity of seeing the piece performed at 
Drury Lane Theatre the night before her ap- 
pearance, it gave her a sufficient knowledge of 
the business of the play. Her performance met 
with universal approbation, and the congratula- 
tions of Quin, while Rich expressed as much tri- 
umph as he usually did on the success of one of 
his darling pantomimes. 

The talents displayed by Miss Bellamy on her 
first appearance gained her the friendship of 
Quin, who in order to compensate for the con- 
tempt with which he had before treated her, was 
now warmer, if possible, in his eulogiums than 
he had before been severe in his sarcasms. Nor 
was applause the only tribiue he pnid to her 
merit; but various circumstances prove that he 
entertained a real friendship for her. He en- 


quired into the circumstances of her family, ant 
in the most delicate manner supplied theirimme- 
cliate wants. He sent Miss Bellamy a general 
invitation to the supper, he usually gave four 
times a week, enjoining her at the same time ne- 
ver to come alone : jocularly observing that he 
was not too old to be censured. 

The natural benevolence of that gentleman is 
honorably displayed in the following anecdote. 
One day after the rehearsal, he desired to speak 
with Miss Bellamy in his dressing room. As he 
had always carefully avoided seeing her alone, 
she was not a little surprised at such an invita- 
tion. She was apprehensive that she had of- 
fended a man whom she now loved as a father,, 
but her fears were not of long duration. As 
soon as she had entered his dressing-room, he 
took her by the hand with a smile of inexpressible 
benignity. " My dear girl/' said he, you are 
vastly followed i hear. Do not let the love of 
finery or any other inducement prevail upon you 
to commit an indiscretion. Men in general are 
rascals. You are young and engaging, and there- 
fore ought to be doubly cautious. If you want 
any thing in my power, which money can pur- 
chase, come to me and say 'James Quin, give 
me such a thing' and my purse shall be always 
at your service." This noble instance of genero- 
sity drew tears of gratitude into Miss Bellamy's 
eyes, while drops of humanity, and self-approba- 
tion, glistened in those of her parental monitor. 

Having thus happily commenced her theatri* 


cal career, she had the good fortune to acquire the 
patronage of the first ladies of distinction ; and, 
at the same time, had among the gentlemen, 
many professed admirers, among whom was 
Lord Byron ; but as she would listen to nothing 
but marriage and a coach, his lordship chagrined 
at her rejecting his own terms, contrived a plan 
to be revenged ; in consequence of which a no- 
ble earl, a friend of his lordship called, one Sun- 
day evening, to inform her, that Miss B , an 

intimate of hers, was in a coach/at the bottom 
of Southampton-street, and wished to speak to 
her: when, on going to the coach-door, without 
hat or gloves, she was suddenly hoisted into it by 
his lordship, and carried off as fast as the horses 
could gallop. When a little recovered from her 
astonishment, which at first had deprived her of 
utterance, she gave free vent to her reproaches. 
The coach soon stopped in a lonely place at the 
top of North And ley-street, fronting the fields; 
Oxford-street, at that time, not extending so far 
as it does at present. Here the earl got out, and 
took her into his house. He then left her,- as he 
said, to prepare a lodging for her, which lie had 
already seen at a mantua-maker's in Broad-street, 
Carna by market. He soon returned: and \\ith 
him came the person she least expected to sec 
her own brother. She instantly flew into his 
arms, but was repulsed so violently, that she fell 
to the ground. The shock of such a repulse from 
a brother in the moment in which she hoped 
to find him her protector, deprived her ot her 


senses. Oil her return to sensibility, the only 
object that appeared, was an old female servant, 
who told her that she had orders to convey her 
to the lodgings that had been prepared for her. 
From this old Woman she learned, that her bro- 
ther had bestowed manual chastisement upon the 
earl ;, but that, as he seemed to suppose that she 
had consented to the elopement, he had declared 
he would never see her more. The woman added, 
that he had threatened the earl and his associate 
with a prosecution, which had so terrified her 
master, that he gave orders to have her removed 
out of the house as soon as possihle, as her be-- 
ing found there might make against him. 

Miss Bellamy was not a little perplexed to ac- 
count for the sudden appearance and extraordi~ 
nary behavior of her brother on this occasion. 
She afterwards learned, that he had just return- 
ed from sea, being a lieutenant in the navy, and 
by one of those extraordinary accidents which 
sometimes occur, he reached Southampton-street 
just at the moment when the coach was driving 
away with her; that little imagining the person 
thus treated to be his sister, he ran after the 
coach. to rescue her, but without effect, on which 
he proceeded to the house where Miss Bellamy 
and her mother resided. There he was informed 
of what hud happened ; he was now convinced 
that the female whom he had seen carried off 
was his sister, and knowing that it would be im- 
possible to overtake the coach, he thought it 
more prudent to go directly to the eaiTs house. 


Not finding him at home, he walked about with- 
in sight of the door, till his lordship returned, 
when he accosted him in the manner related 
above : on which he repaired to the house of Lord 
Byron whom he accused of being concerned with 
the earl in seducing his sister; but his lordship- 
solemnly denying, upon his honor, any know- 
ledge of* the affair he made no further enquiries. 
Concluding his sister to be depraved enough to 
form an illicit connection with an old, unprinci- 
pled, married man, he immediately set out for 
Portsmouth and left her unprotected. 

Her elopement having been misrepresented in 
the newspapers, she wrote her mother a true ac- 
count, in hopes to retrieve her favour ; but Mrs. 
Bellamy, at the instigation" of a wicked female 
relation, who h'ved with her, returned her daugh- 
ter's letter unopened. Thus abandoned by her 
mother, and too much depressed by public scan- 
dal to attempt a reinstatement in the theatrical 
line, the anguish of her mind brought on a fe- 
ver, that had nearly proved fatal, but of which 
her youth and constitution at length got the bet- 
ter. On her recovery, she paid a visit to a fe- 
male relation of her mother, named Clarke, at 
Braintree, in Essex, whose family being qua. 
kers, it was probable, had not heard of her dis- 
grace : and here she met with a very cordial re- 
ception. The remains of recent illness would 
have appeared a sufficient motive for this visit, 
had it not been supposed likewise, that she came 
to claim a legacy of 3001, that had been left to 


her by a sister of Mrs. Clarke, on condition 
that she never went upon the stage, and which 
they paid her immediately, without enquiring 
whether she had forfeited it. The famous Zacha- 
ry Moore, who from possessing an estate of 
25,0001. a year, was reduced, by his extravagance, 
at the age of forty, to the necessity of accepting an 
ensigncy in a regiment at Gibraltar, happened to 
be on a visit in that neighbourhood, and unfor- 
tunately discovered that this picture of sainted 
simplicity was no* less a personage than Miss 
Bellamy, the celebrated actress. This discovery 
put a period to her sojourning with her quaker 

From Clarke Hall she repaired to Ingatestone, 
in order to visit Miss White, another quaker re- 
lation; whose family happening then to be at 
the yearly meeting at London, she procured ad- 
mittance into the house of a Roman Catholic 
farmer, near the town, with whom she boarded 
for some time. Her account of her residence 
here, and of the unexpected sight of her mother, 
has the pleasing air of romance, with the in- 
teresting charms of truth. All the letters which 
she had sent to her mother had been unanswer- 
ed : for they had all been intercepted by the 
wicked relation before-mentioned ; whose death 
produced this discovery, and teiminated in a 
reconciliation between Mrs. Bellamy and her 

On her return to town in 1754, she was en- 
gaged by Mr. Sheridan, to accompany him as a 


theatrical recruit to Ireland. On her arrival there, 
she was acknowledged by Mrs. O'Hara, lord 
Ty raw ley's sister, as her niece ; and she was in- 
troduced, in course, into the first circles in Dub- 
lin. Here she continued for two seasons ; and 
became acquainted with :-t Mr. Crump, on whose 
account, in the sequel, she suffered much perse- 

On her return to England, she was again en- 
gaged at Covent Garden theatre, and by the 
kind interposition of Mr. Quin, reconciled to 
lord Ty raw ley. This, in the sequel, terminated 
in another elopement from this theatre; for his 
lordship being extremely urgent with her lo mar- 
ry Mr. Crump, she suffered herself one evening,, 
to be carried off from the theatre by Mr. Metham, 
while the audience were waiting for her appear- 
ance in the character of lady Fanciful, in the 
fifth act of the Provoked Wife. 

In this part of her narrative she relates a laugh- 
able incident, that happened at a rehearsal of Co- 
riolanus, while it was preparing for the benefit 
of Thomson's sisters. Mr. Quin's pronunciation 
was of the old school. In this Mr. Garrick had 
made an alteration. The one pronounced the 
letter a open ; the other sounded it like an e ; 
which occasioned the following ludicrous mistake* 
In the piece, when the Roman ladies come in 
procession to solicit Cortolanus to return to Rome, 
they are attended by the tribunes, and the cen- 
turions of the Volscian army bearing fasces,, 
their ensigns of authority ; they are ordered by 
VOL. 2. NO. 39. 2 c 


r IV T^ 

the hero (the part of which was played hy Mr. 
Quin) to lower them as a token of respect. But 
the men who personated the centurions, imagin- 
ing, through Mr. Quin's mode of pronunciation, 
that he said their jaces, instead of their fasces, 
all bowed their heads together. 

Mr. Methain hired an elegant house for her at 
York, where in a few months she was delivered 
of a son. In the ensuing season she was again 
engaged at Covent Garden theatre, and s/oon af- 
ter effected another reconciliation with lord Ty- 
ra'wley. By, a deception of Mr. Lacy, she was 
engaged the season after at Drury Lane ; and, 
in a subsequent one, again at Covent Garden. 
Her connection with Mr. Metham did not 
prove permanent, through jealousy on his part, 
and resentment on hers. She vowed never to 
live with him again, either as mistress or wife; 
and, though lie would fain have purchased a re- 
conciliation by making her the latter, she con- 
tinued inflexible in her resolution. She determin- 
ed, moreover, never to form a connection with 
any other man ; but, through circumstances of 
persuasion and deception, was induced to listen 
to the proposals of Mr. Calcraft, (hen an agent 
to the late Lord Holland, secretary at war, 
though she declared him a man it was not in her 
power to love. With this gentleman she lived 
about nine years and a half; but a connection, 
in which, according to her own account, her ex- 
travagance was boundless, and his meanness in- 
supportable, could not be permanent. 


During her connection with Mr. Calcraft who 
lived in great splendor, a circumstance occurred 
which does great honor to the goodness of her 
own heart, and to the humanity of Mr. Fox, 
afterwards Lord Holland. We shall relate it 
in her own words. 

" I had heen told/' says she " that a lady, who 
would not leave her name or any message had 
called upon me several times, and as she said by 
my own appointment. As I was punctilious, 
even to the very letter of the word, 1 was sur- 
prized at my having been guilty of such a breach 
of good manners; I accordingly gave orders to 
the porter that the stranger should be admitted 
whenever she came again. 

" One morning I had just sat down to break- 
fast when the person was shewn in. But how 
shall I describe to you the figure that entered the 
room. Picture to yourself a tall, thin, pale, de- 
jected woman, in whose looks was accumulated 
every degree of distress and misery. Yet there 
shone through all this wretchedness, something 
which seemed to declare that she was not bora 
to suffer indigence. I requested her to sit and 
enquired her commands. She then informed me, 
that having lost the use of her hands, she had 
been obliged to another to enable her to address 
me. And as the reason was assigned in the letter 
which she had sent me, of her not giving me 
then an explanation, she reminded me that I 
had kindly written an answer in which I had dc- 



sired to see her. As soon as she mentioned this 
I recollected the circumstance. 

" Upon my pressing her to drink a dish of 
chocolate, she requested, as my maid was in the 
room, she might be permitted to speak with me 
alone. As soon as my maid had withdrawn, the 
stranger threw open, a decent cloak that covered 
her, and displayed such a scene of wretchedness, 
as an attempt to describe with minuteness would 
i-Jjiiost call my veracity in question. Let it suffice 
to say, that her gown, or the garment which had 
once been a gown, had no sleeves to it ; two 
pieces of cloth were fastened close to her sticks 
of arms, which, if possible, made them appear 
thinner than they were. In short the whole of 
her dress conveyed such an idea of extreme pe- 
nury, as I had never been a witness to upon any 
occasion before. This distressful sight awaken- 
ed within me every compassionate feeling. 

" She proceeded to inform me that she was 
the unfortunate widow of the late Sir James 
Lindsay, who had been first lieutenant of a man 
of war, and blown up in her during an engage- 
ment. She said, as the match between Sir 
James and herself had been more incited by love 
than prudence, his father, upon his decease, had 
left him a very small estate only, together with 
a title which was rather an incumbrance to 
those who had it not in their power to support 
the dignity of it. She added that she hud five 


(f Her eldest son, Sir John, had been taken 
from her by his uncle, an eminent merchant, 
and from whom he had expectations of a future 
support. Her eldest daughter, during the time 
she lay in with one of her other children, had, 
through the carelessness of the servant, fallen. 
out of a window, by which she had broken one 
of her legs. An amputation followed, and she 
was otherwise rendered a cripple. The terror 
arising from the sad catastrophe of her dear hus- 
band had thrown her into labor sooner than na- 
ture-intended, when she was delivered of a boy, 
who to all appearance would prove an idot ; as, 
at four years of age, he could not feed himself ox- 
speak articulately. 

(f These accumulated sorrows, added to the most 
pungent distress, had greatly injured her health 
and occasioned the loss of the use of her limbs. 
She had, however, recovered the use of all Yat 
her hands, by which alone she couul support 
herself and four children; ru-r ] ifteea 

pounds a year, br.- j- barely sufficient 

to procure a habitation fo<- She bad beeu 

obliged to part vvif.h every tiling upon vyhicl 
could reuse money. Ti'.c i;ai a ad ,-ioak she ..^d 
on-, the only decent part or' her apparel were 
borrowed. She colluded with spying that she 
had been advised to apply to me, a i. eitc u -ra^-- 
edbythe character I bore for humanity, she 
had taken that liberty. 

" Some money Mr. Calcraft had just before left 
me was still lying on my dressing-table. I took 
2 c 3 


up what there was and gave it to her. It amouut- 
ed to a few guineas only. But the sum exceed* 
ing her expectations, the poor woman was ready 
to faint with transport. As soon as she was a 
little recovered, and had found the power of ut- 
terance, half-choaked with the fluttering emo- 
tions of her grateful heart, she said, ( I did not 
mean, madam, to intrude upon your generosity, 

f{ She had proceeded thus far, when Mr. Fox 
entered the room. He saw me so affected that 
he was going to retire ; upon which 1 ran to him, 
and taking hold of his hand exclaimed : * O my 
dear Sir, you are the very person I want!' As f 
had never taken the liberty to lay hold of his 
hand before, and now pressed it most vehement- 
ly, he imagined from that, and the agitation of 
my whole frame that something of the utmost 
consequence must occasion it. He therefore en- 
quired in what he could oblige me. I repeated 
the affecting tale, simply as I had just heard it. 
At the conclusion of it, I found that I still press- 
ed his hand between mine and that I kept him 
standing. I was confounded. The earnestness, 
with which I interested myself in my petitioner's 
woes made me forget the decorum due to the 
person to whom I was applying in her favor. 

? I had been in many delicate situations be- 
fore, but never felt myself in so awkward a one 
as the present. I could not prevent my tears 
from flowing; and 1 found simplicity to be 
aiore efficacious, in pleading my own cause a& 


as \vell as that of my supplicant than all the stu- 
died arts of eloquence. While humanity beam- 
ed from the countenance of the worthy man, he 
cor doled with the lady on her misfortunes, and 
bidding her be comforted, told her he would see 
what was to be clone for her. Then taking out 
his pocket-book he gave her a bank-note. The 
value of it I did not see. My unfortunate visi- 
tor was oppressed before, but now she was over- 
whelmed. She fell oil her knees. Her stream- 
ing eyes and grateful looks thanked us with in- 
expressible energy; but her tongue refused its 
aid upon the occasion, and she took her leave 
without being able to utter a syllable. 

" I own I felt myself happy when Lady Lind- 
say quitted the room. My sensibility was wound 
up too high. It became painful. Mr. Fox 
walked to the window, and by the use he made 
of his handkerchief, I found that his eyes bore 
witness to the benevolent emotions of his heart. 

" In the month of March following, I had the 
pleasure to inform Lady Lindsay in person, that 
her four children were placed upon the compas- 
sionate list, with an appointment of ten pounds a 
year each; and farther, that his Majesty, in consi- 
deration of her late husjband's having lost his 
life while he was bravely fighting in 4iis service, 
had granted her fifty pounds yearly out of the 
Treasury, in addition to her pension. 

fc When I had made her happy with this 
pleasing intelligence, I asked why I had never 
seen her sin<: he* first application to me. She 


replied that the alteration in her family had ta- 
ken up all her attention;. and as she thought I 
felt too much at her distress when she first 
made me acquainted with it, and perceived that 
nothing could hurt me so much as thanks, she 
had refrained from giving me farther pain. She 
told me that she supposed, I had beea made ac- 
quainted with Mr. Fox's bounty, who had pro- 
vided against her wants for some time, by nobly 
giving her in the bill I saw, fifty pounds. 

" Lady Lindsay added, that her eldest daugh- 
ter, the cripple, was 'happily released by death 
from her miserable situation ; and that the child, 
of whose mental faculties she had been apprehen- 
sive, was now, to her great comfort, become one 
of the most sprightly boys of his age. She much 
regretted his not being at home to thank me; 
' but/ continued the grateful w.oman, ' we p;ay for 
you, and our worthy benefactor every night and 
morning/ Just as I was taking my leave the 
little fellow came in ; and from the description 
his mother had, I suppose, given of me, imme- 
diately knew me ; for he ran to me, and kneeling 
down, with a graceful ease, kissed my hand. I 
raised and caressed him ; and desired his niother 
would bring him often to see me. 

Jsjever did I feel more real happiness than in 
being the means of relieving this amiable woman 
and her family from the extreme distress in which 
they were involved. The same pleasing reward 
attended, I doubt not, the great and good man, 
to whose noble beneficence that relief principally 


owed its furtherance. How supremely blest are 
those who possess as he did, the power as well as 
'the inclination to relieve the unfortunate!" 

The causes to which we have already alluded 
produced a dissolution of the connection between 
Mrs. Bellamy and Mr. Calcraft. Her debts, at 
this time exceeded ten thousand pounds, the 
greatest part of which sum, was, as she asserts, 
expended in Mr. Calcraft's housekeeping. That 
gentleman promised to discharge her debts, but 
refusing afterwards to fulfil this promise, she was 
involved during the remainder of her life, in in- 
extricable difficulties and subjected to frequent 

Without following Mrs. Bellamy through her 
excursions to the continent and her engage- 
ments in the theatres both at London and Dub- 
lin, after leaving Mr. Calcraft, we shall briefly 
touch on the more prominent events of her sub- 
sequent chequered life. 

In Ireland she became the wife, as she ima- 
gined of Mr. Digges, the actor, who was after- 
wards discovered, to be, like Mr. Caicrai't,a mar- 
ried man. She next formed a connection with 
Mr. Woodward, a gentleman of the same pro- 
fession ; he left her in 1777, all his plate, jewels, 
and a reversion on the death of his brother of 
seven hundred pounds, the whole of which ex- 
cepting about sixty pounds she lost through the 
chicanery of the law. 

A kind of fatality seemed to pursue her during 
the last years of her life. Among other unto- 


ward circumstances, it appears that a fortune o 
several thousand pounds, left her by a Mr. Sykes, 
who died in France, was lost through the villainy 
of his servant who absconded with his will and 
effects. Nor should it be forgotten that having 

o o 

incurred the displeasure of Mr. (Dolman, by refu- 
sing, with some other performers to sign tin ap- 
probation of his conduct as acting manager of 
Covent Garden theatre, during his dispute with 
Messrs. Harris and Rutherford, she was finally 
discharged from that house. 

At length we find her obliged to take lodgings, 
under the name of VY^est, at Walcot Place, Lam- 
beth, and even reduced to such extremity as to 
be tempted to put a period to her life. Her re- 
lation of this dreadful circumstance, which is 
equally affecting and instructive, is as follows: 

" I had now parted with every thing that I 
could raise a shilling upon ; and poverty with all 
her horrid train of evils stared me in the face. 
In this dreadful situation, worn out with cala- 
mity, and terrified with the gloomy prospect 
which presented itself to my view, I endeavored 
to persuade myself that suicide could not be a 
crime. I had no person -to look up to. Every 
body whom I was related by the ties of blood 
was abroad. Sir George Metham had presented 
me with a temporary relief; but he, as well as all 
the nobility, was out of town. Not being pos- 
ses d, as I thought, of a shilling, nor the expec- 
tation of getting one; oppressed by debt; with- 
out the common necessaries of life; an useless 


member of society I taught myself to believe 
that it would be a meritorious action, to free my- 
self from being any longer the burden I was to 
the world and myself. I accordingly formed the 
resolution to put an end to my existence by 
throwing myself into the Thames. 

" Unhappily in this moment of despair,, every 
spark of confidence in heaven was extinguished 
in my bosom. Inspired by the black ideas which 
had taken possession of my mind, I one night 
left the house between nine and ten o'clock. As 
there was a door which led from the garden into 
the road, I went out unperceived ; for I had not 
resolution to speak to my faithful attendant, whose 
anxious eye might have discovered the direful 
purpose of my heart impressed upon my counte- 

" Having effected, unobserved, my elopement, 
I wandered about the road and fields, till the 
clock was on the point of striking eleven, and 
then made my way towards Westminster Bridge. 
I continued to rove about till that hour, as there 
was then a probability that I should not be in- 
terrupted by any passengers from carrying my 
desperate design into execution. Indeed 1 was 
not without hopes of meeting in St. George's 
Fields with some freebooters, who wouid have 
prevented the deed of desperation^ I was about 
to perpetrate, by taking a life I was weary of. 
Nor would this have been- an improbable expec- 
tation, had I met with any of those lawless plun- 
derers that oftentimes frequent those parts ; for 


their disappointment on finding me permyless, 
might have excited them to murder me. A con- 
summation I then devoutly wished. 

(C Having reached the bridge, I descended the 
steps of the landing-place with a sad and solemn 
pace and sat down on the lower stair impatiently 
waiting for the tide to cover me. My despera- 
tion, though resolute, was not of such a violent 
kind, as to urge me to take the fatal plunge. As 
I sat, 1 fervently recommended my spirit to that 
being I was going to offend in so unwarrantable 
a manner, by not bearing patiently the afflictions 
he was pleased I should suffer. I even dared to 
harbour the thought that a divine impulse had 
given rise to the idea; as if the ( Everlasting had 
not fixed his cannon against self-slaughter.' 

" The moon beamed faintly through the 
clouds, and gave just light enough to distinguish 
any passenger who might cross the bridge ; but 
as I was in mourning there was not any great 
probability of my being discerned and interrupt- 
ed. I had taken off my bonnet and apron and 
laid them beside me on the stairs ; and leaning 
my head upon my hands,remained lost in thought, 
and almost stupified by sorrow and the reflec- 
tions which crowded upon my mind. 

" Here pause a moment and admire with me 
the strange vicissitudes of life! Behold your once 
lively friend, reduced from the enjoyment of 
case, affluence, esteem and renown in her profes- 
sion, to the most desperate state that human 
wretchedness will admit of, a prey to penury, 


grief, contumely and despair standing tip-toe 
on the verge of the world, and impiously daring 
to rush unbidden, into the presence of her crea- 
tor ! I shudder at the recollection. Let me draw 
a veil across it and proceed 

<l In the pensive posture just described, did I 
sit for some minutes, watching the gently swel- 
ling ti'de, and blaming its tardy approach, when 
it pleased 

the Power 

Unseen that rules th' illimitable world, 
That guides its motions from (he brightest star 
To the least dust of this sin-tainted mould, 

to interfere and snatch me from destruction. 

" I was suddenly rouzed from my awful reve- 
rie by the voice of a woman at some little dis- 
tance, addressing her child, as appeared from 
what followed, for they were neither of them vi- 
sible. In a soft, plaintive tone, she *>aid : 
( How, my dear, can you cry to me for bread, 
when you know I have not even a morsel to car- 
ry your dying father :' She then exclaimed m 
all the bitterness of woe : (f My God, my God, 
what wretchedness can compare to mine ! But 
thy almighty will be done ! v 

" Tiie concluding words of the woman's pa- 
thetic exclamation communicated instantane- 
ously, like the electric spark, to my desponding 
heart. I felt the full force of the divine admo- 
nition, and struck with horror at the crime I had 
intended to commit, I burst into tears, repeating, 
in a sincere ejaculation, the pious sentence she 
had uttered 'Thy almighty will be done 1 ' 

VOL. 2. NO. ly. <2 u 


" As I put my band into my pocket to take o 
my handkerchief in order to dry my tears, I felt 
some halfpence there which I did not know I 
was possessed of. And now my native humairty, 
which had been depressed, as well as every other 
good propensity by despair, found means to re- 
sume its power in my mind. Impelled by its 
pleasing influence, I hastily ran up the steps, 
and having discovered my hitherto invisible mo^. 
nitress, gave them to her. I received in return a 
thousand blessings; to which I rather thought 
she had a right from me for having been the 
means of obstructing my dire intent. 

" I now returned to the place where the impi- 
ous $cene was to have been acted and humbly 
adored that being by whom it had been pre- 
vented. Having done this, I remounted the 
steps and found my mind inexpressibly relieved. 
The gloom which had so lately overwhelmed it 
was in an instant cleared away, and a tranquillity, 
I had long been a stranger to, succeeded it. 
Such a transition from the blackest despair to 
peace and hope, I was well assured could only 
have been effected by some invisible agent ; for I 
never felt such a ray of comfort diffuse itself 
through my heart, since those blessed days of in- 
nocence I spent in my much regretted convent. 
It came over my mind as the immortal bard de- 
scribes the power of music, 

like the sweet south 

That breathes upon a bank of violets 
Stealing and giving odor.' 


The reader will not be displeased to find in this 
place a few miscellaneous anecdotes relative to 
the subject of this memoir, and various persons 
with whom she was connected, though they 
ought in strict propriety to have been introduced 
in an earlier part of the narrative. 

It was likewise during Mrs. Bellamy's connec- 
tion with Mr. Calcraft that she became ac- 
quainted with Lord Digby, whose mother, and 
Mr. Fox, afterwards Lord Holland, were twins. 
The account she gives of the former nobleman is 
uncommonly interesting, and from the frequent 
visits he paid at Mr. Calcraft's she had abundant, 
opportunities of becoming acquainted with his 
character. Among other things she could not 
forbear remarking a singular alteration in his 
dress and demeanor, which took place at the two 
great annual festivals of Christendom. At Christ- 
mas and Easter, he was more than usually grave, 
and always wore an old shabby blue coat. Mrs. 
Bellamy, in common with many others attribut- 
ed this periodical singularity to some affair of the 
heart, a supposition which his great sensibility 
rendered by no means improbable. 

Mr. Fox, who had great curiosity, wished 
much to discover his nephew's motive for appear-*** 
ing, at times, in this manner, as lie was, in ge- 
neral, esteemed more than well-dressed. On ex- 
pressing this desire, two gentlemen, one of whom.'* 
was Major Vaughan, undertook to watch his 
lordship's motions. They accordingly set out, 
and followed him at a distance, to St. George's 
2 D 2. 


fields, till they lost sight of him near the Mar- 
s l a:sea Prison. 

Wondering what could carry a person of his 
lordship's rank arid fortune to such a place, they 
enquired of the turnkey, if such a gentleman, 
(describing him) had not entered the prison-. 
t( \es, masters,*' exclaimed the fellow with an 
oath ; but he is not a man, he is an angel. For 
he comes here twice a year, sometimes oftener, 
and sets -a number of prisoners free. And he not 
only does this, but he gives them sufficient to 
support themselves and families, till they can 
find employment. This, " continued the man," 
is one of his extraordinary visits. He has but a 
few to take out to day." " Do you know, who 
the gentleman is ?" enquired the major " We 
none of us know him by any other marks," re- 
plied the man, " but his humanity and his blue 

Having gained this information, the gentle- 
men immediately returned and reported it to Mr. 
Fox. As n<> man possessed more humanity, the 
recital afforded him exquisite pleasure; but fear- 
ing his nephew might be displeased at the illicit 
manner in which the intelligence had been ob- 
tained, he requested that the knowledge of it 
might be kept a profound secret. 

Mrs. Bellamy, however, could not resist her 
curiosity to make farther enquiries concerning an 
affair which afforded her extraordinary pleasure. 
The next time she saw his lordship in his alms- 
giving coat, she enquired his reason for wearing 


such a singular dress. With a smile of ineffa- 
ble sweetness, he replied that her curiosity should 
soon be gratified; adding, that as she and himself 
were congenial souls, he would take her with him" 
when he next visited the place to which his coat 
was adapted. " A compliment," says the lady, 
" more truly flattering and more acceptable to 
me than any I ever had, or could receive." 

The night before his intended visit, his lord- 
ship, requested her to be in readiness to go with 
him the next morning. They accordingly pro- 
ceeded together to that receptacle of misery, 
which he had so often visited to the consolation 
of its inhabitants. His lordship would not suf- 
fer Mrs. Bellamy to enter the gate, lest the noi- 
someness of the place should prove disagreeable 
to her ; but ordered the coachman to drive to the 
George Inn, in the Borough, where a dinner was 
ordered for the poor wretches he was about to li- 
berate. There she beheld near thirty persons res- 
cued from a loathsome prison at an inclement 
season of the year, it being .Christmas, and not 
only released from confinement, but restored to 
their families and friends, with some provision 
from his lordship's bounty for their immediate- 
support. It is impossible to describe the tribute 
of gratitude his lordship received from these ob* 
jects of his beneficence, or the satisfaction he 
derived from the generous act. 

Not long was Lord Digby permitted to enjoy 
on earth the happiness resulting from the exer- 
cise of his virtues. A few months after the cir- 
2 D 3 


ciunstance recorded above, lie went to Ireland to 
\isit his estates in that country. Being obliged, 
by the mistaken hospitality of the natives of that 
island to drink more than he was accustomed to 
do, and that, at a time when he was indisposed 
with a violent cold, a fever, attended with a 
putrid sore throat was the consequence. This 
amiable young nobleman was thus soon removed 
to those realms where alone his expanded heart 
could obtain the reward of the benevolent pro- 
pensities in which it indulged. By his death, 
the poor were deprived of a generous benefactor, 
bis acquaintance of a desirable companion, and 
the community of one of its brightest ornaments, 
!"Jone felt his loss more severe than major 
Vaughan, who has been mentioned above, and 
to whom he was an unknown patron. The major 
regularly received a benefaction of fifty pounds 
every quarter, which he concluded to come from 
Earl Fitzwilliam, that nobleman \\ith whom he 
had been bred up, having always held him in great 
esteem. But, on the death of Lord Digby, the 
bounty was found to flow from his liberal purse. 
Mrs. Bellamy, resided at one time at Chelsea, 
and afterwards took a house in Jermyn-street ; 
but while the hitter was fitting up, she continued 
to sleep at Chelsea, though she was in town all 
day. During this interval the upholsterer's man 
found means to secrete a quantity of damask and 
chintz and some very fine Dresden china, with 
which she had been presented. As his honesty 
had been more than once suspected by his ein- 


ployer, a search warrant was obtained to exa- 
mine his lodgings, where the whole of Mrs. Bel- 
lamy's property was found, but nothing belong- 
ing to his master. 

The upholsterer was a man of a most implaca- 
ble disposition. He went to Chelsea in the even- 
ing while Mrs. Bellamy was absent, and by 
means of threats, so far intimidated her maid- 
servant, as to prevail upon her to go before a 
justice and swear to the goods which were found. 
This she did, and was bound over to prosecute irk 
a penalty of forty pounds. But the offender hav- 
ing a very large family, the native benevolence 
of Mrs. Bellamy influenced her in his favour to 
such a degree, that she kept her maid from ap- 
pearing against him. She then set on foot a sub- 
scription towards paying the forfeiture of the 
bond, and in this manner raised thirty guineas 
towards it. 

As the maid did not appear, the culprit was 
discharged, and the very same night called at 
Mrs. Bellamy's house. As she supposed that he 
had no other business than to return thanks for 
her lenity, and as she had a particular aversion 
to such acknowledgments, she directed the ser- 
vant who brought in his name to say she was 
busy and could not see him. The fellow then 
sent in word that he must see Mrs. Bellamy, or 
it would be worse for her, as she had compound- 
ed felony, and before a few hours were passed, 
she might be called to answer for it. 

She was alarmed at the insult, but^not being 


conversant with the law, she was at a loss to com- 
prehend his meaning. It was therefore necessa- 
ry to refer to some person for advice, and accord*- 
ingly sent for a cousin of hers, who followed the 
profession of the law, to settle the affair, while 
the ungrateful wretch waited at a neighbouring 
public house. He made a peremptory demand 
of fifty pounds, which he insisted on being 
paid immediately, otherwise he would lodge 
an information against his benefactress. Find- 
ing from her cousin that there was no re- 
dress, Mrs Bellamy paid him the money. Thus 
did she become a victim to her humanity, by 
means of a monster, who deserved to suffer the 
severest punishment of the law for his ingratitude, 
though he had escaped the due deserts of his dis- 

On this occasion Mrs. Bellamy makes the fol- 
lowing judicious reflections: " This instance," 
says she, " serves to prove, that however strongly 
humanity may urge to the contrary, the regular 
prosecution of an offender against the laws of his 
country is a duty we owe to ourselves as well as 
to the community. In such cases lenity ceases 
to be a virtue. A stronger claim than delicacy of 
feeling calls for a spirited exertion upon these 
occasions. The trouble and inconveniences which 
attend a prosecution ought to be cheerfully sub- 
mitted to; and though services rendered our 
country of this kind are noi. attended with so 
much eclat as those where liie is exposed in her 
defence; ygt they are a duty incumbent on every 



citizen, and as deserving of a civic crown. 
Justice, indeed, should ever be tempered by mo- 
deration, and humanity should always be exerted, 
whenever prudence does not forbid." 

In the course of her narrative, however, Mrs. 
Bellamy has an opportunity of relating one or two 
>necdotes of a far more pleasing nature. While 
she was an inhabitant of Parliament Street, a 
period, she says, pregnant with sorrows, she re- 
commended a person, who wrote a very fine hand, 
as a clerk to Mr. Calcraft. About two years 
afterwards he informed her, that he had an 
opportunity of going to the East Indies in a Very 
advantageous situation, at the same time assuring 
her that he should ever retain a grateful remem- 
brance of her favors. On his return to England, 
thjs gentleman, whose name was Hearne, made 
many enquiries after Mrs. Bellamy, and hearing 
of her distress while at Edinburgh, he generously 
sent her two hundred pounds. Tliis, she says, 
was the most acceptable favor she ever received, 
as it evinced the gratitude of the donor. 

Another circumstance of a similar kind, which 
happened about the same time, deserves to be 
recorded. Mrs. Bellamy once had a servant 
named Daniel Douglas, who lived with her about 
nine years. At length she recommended him as 
a domestic to Lord Hume, then governor of Gib- 
raltar. His lordship made him his major-domo, 
and Daniel conducted himself so much to his 
master's satisfaction, that he left him a handsome 
legacy at his death. When Mrs. Bellamy lived 


at Edinburgh, she was informed that a Mr, 
Douglas had caljed several times at her house 
when she happened not to be at home. One 
day, walking up the Castle Hill, she was accosted 
by a person whose face was familiar to her, 
though she could not recollect him. He burst 
into tears, and having made himself known,* 
begged her to permit him to speak to her the 
first rime she was at leisure, as he was detained 
at Edinburgh by no other business. She ap- 
pointed that afternoon to see him at her house, 
and could not imagine what his business might 
be, for though she had always endeavored to 
deserve tiie regard of her domestics, she never 
had been particularly kind to him. 

When he came, he informed her that he had 
saved eleven hundred pounds, and that his wife 
had taken an inn upon the .Dover road, for which 
they were to pay seven hundred. He then said 
he hoped Mrs. Bellamy would forgive his pre- 
sumption, but he feared she was not in such cir- 
cumstances as formerly. If she would be so gooet 
as to make use. for her own time, of the remain- 
der of the little fortune she had been the means 
of his acquiring, it would afford him more real 
pleasure than he could receive from disposing of 
it in any other way. 

Mrs. Bellamy could scarcely refrain from 
tears at the manner in which this tender was 
made. It seemed rather as if he hud been soli- 
citing a loan than offering a favor. She thanked 
him cordially for his intended kindness, but de- 


cllncd accepting it; assuring him at the same 
time, that she did not do so from being hurt at 
the offer, which gave her singular pleasure, but 
because she had recently received a liberal sup- 
ply from Mr. Hearne, whom he well knew. She 
added, that she could not think of borrowing the 
money for which he had labored many years, 
without being certain of repaying it, even were 
she actually distressed, consequently she would 
not contract a debt of such a nature, when she 
really had no immediate occasion. The worthy 
creature reluctantly acquiesced in this determi- 
nation, and took his leave, apparently as much 
mortified at the refusal of his money, as others 
would have been if they were dunned for it. 

The history of this lady will, it is hoped, ope- 
rate as a warning to every youthful reader, to 
shun the first step towards vice. This once taken, 
the rest of the road leads the unhappy victim by 
the specious ^allurements of pleasure, with head- 
long precipitation into the abysses of misery. 
This is a serious and solemn truth, which cannot 
be too deeply impressed upon the mind. No 
sun e'er rose with fairer promise on the morning 
of life than did that of Mrs. Bellamy. With her 
respectable connections, and with the talents she 
undoubtedly possessed, she might have passed 
her days in the enjoyment of all the comforts 
and conveniences that affluence can procure. 
And what is of far greater importance, the good- 
ness of heart, the benevolence, and the amiable 
disposition with which she seems to have been 


gifted, would have diffused their genial influence 
on all around her, nnd conferred happiness not 
only on them, but also on herself. How melan- 
choly is the contrast which is presented by her 
story! In the early stages of her progress, she 
was, it is true, attended by the smiles of fortune, 
but how large a portion of her life was embittered 
in consequence of her own indiscretion, by em- 
barrassments of various kinds, by pecuniary dif- 
ficulties, and by all those evils which are invari- 
ably experienced by persons removed from ease 
and plenty to a state of indigence and penury. 
How greatly must the sufferings of such be en- 
hanced also by the reflection that they have 
brought ail these evils upon themselves by their 
deviation from the path which virtue pointed 
out; while the compliance with her dictates 
would have ensured them all the approbation of 
their own consciences, and all the external fe- 
licity which man is capable of tasting in this sub- 
lunary existence. 

Mrs. Bellamy took her leave of the stage in. 
1784, and died oppressed with poverty and dis- 
ease on the iGth of February, 1788. 

MOOKE <** 


AMONG those characters which deserve atten- 
tion not for any eminence in virtue on the one 
hand, or uncommon depravity on the other, but 
for a certain eccentricity of conduct, which, with 
the same advantages in life, no other person 
would imitate, Bampfylde Moore Carew deserves 
a prominent place. Portraits of such persons, 
with some general traits of their character, are 
gratifying, not so much from any useful lesson 
to be derived from their history and adventures, 
as for their being objects of curiosity. We turn 
to them just as the philosopher, who loves to 
contemplate the beauties of the creation, adverts 
sometimes to the delineation of any uncommon 
object, to the sportive productions of nature, in 
her occasional deviations from her general laws. 
These human curiosities are by no means with- 
out their use. When the reader contemplates 
such characters as that of Edward Wortley 
Montague and Bampfylde Moore Carew, who' 
neglected all the advantages of birth, fortune, 
and education, to associate with the lowest of 
mankind, he will perceive instances of a volun- 
tary self-degradation, that must excite the most 
mortifying reflections on the inconsistency, and 
even occasional irrationality of the human cha- 
racter; and he may be led to this awful truth, 
that as the only way to rise in moral excellence, 

VOL.2. NO. 20. 2 E 


and of course to happiness, is to cultivate our 
talents and advantages, and to form our minds to 
habits of virtue in this stage of our existence; so 
nothing can be more humiliating, than the sight 
of a man of family, who, by long association with 
the low, ignorant, and unprincipled, loses sight 
of the moral principle, unfits himself for the 
duties of his station, and at length expires with- 
out having once experienced the soothing con- 
solation that results from the consciousness of a 
well-spent life. 

Bampfylde Moore Carew, one of the most ex- 
traordinary characters on record, was descended 
from an ancient and honorable family in the west 
of England. He was born in 1693, at Bickley, 
in Devonshire, of which place his father, the 
Rev. Theodore Carew, was many years rector. 
Never was there known a more splendid appear- 
ance of persons of the first distinction at any 
baptism in the county, than were present at hi.. 
Hugh Bampfylde, Esq. and Major Moore, of fa- 
milies equally ancient and respectable as that of. 
Carew, were his godfathers, and from them he 
received his two Christian names. 

The Rev. Mr. Carew had several other chil- 
dren, all of whom he educated in a tender and 
pious manner. At the age of twelve years, his 
so^ the subject of this article, was sent to Tiver- 
ton school, where he contracted an intimate ac- 
quaintance with many young gentlemen of the 
first families in Devonshire and the adjacent 

During the first four years of young Carew's 


residence at Tiverton school, his close application 
to his studies gave his friends great hopes that 
he might one day appear with distinction in the 
profession which his father became so well, and 
for which he was designed. He actually made 
a very considerable progress in the Latin and 
Greek languages. The Tiverton scholars, how . 
ever, bavins: at this time the command of a fine 

' O 

pack of hounds, Carew and three other young 
gentlemen, his most intimate companions, at- 
tached themselves with such ardor to the sport of 
hunting, that their studies were soon neglected. 
One day the pupils, with Carew and his three 
friends at their head, were engaged in the chase 
of a deer for many miles, just before the com- 
mencement of harvest. The damage done to the 
fields of standing corn was so great, that the 
neighboring gentlemen and farmers came witl 1 
heavy complaints to Mr. Rayner, the master of 
the school, who threatened young Carew and his 
companions so severely, that through fear they 
absconded, and joined a gang of gypsies who 
then happened to be in the neighborhood. This 
society consisted of about eighteen persons of 
both sexes, who carried with them such an air of 
mirth and gaiety, that the youngsters were quite 
delighted with their company, and expressing an 
inclination to enter into their society, the gypsies 
admitted them, after the performance of the re- 
quisite ceremonies, and the administration of the 
proper oaths ; for these people are subject to a 
form of government and laws peculiar to them- 



selves, and all pay obedience to one chief who is 
styled their king. 

Young Carew was soon initiated into some of 
the arts of the wandering tribe, and with such 
success, that besides several exploits in which 
he was a party, he himself had the dexterity to 
defraud a lady near Taunton of twenty guineas, 
under the pretext of discovering to her, by his 
skill in astrology, a hidden treasure. 

His parents meanwhile lamented him as one 
that was no more, for though they had repeat- 
edly advertised his name and person, they could, 
not obtain the least intelligence of him. At 
length, after an interval of a year and a half, 
hearing of their grief and repeated enquiries 
after him, his heart relented, and he returned to 
his parents at Bickley Being greatly disguised 
both in dress and appearance, he was not known 
at first by his parents ; but when he discovered 
himself, a scene followed which no words can 
describe, and there were great rejoicings both in 
Bickley and the neighboring parish of Cadley. 

Every thing w r as done to render his home 
agreeable, but Carew had contracted such a 
fondness for the society of the gypsies, that, 
after various ineffectual struggles with the sug- 
gestions of filial piety, he once more eloped from 
his parents, and repaired to his former connec- 
tions. He now began to consider in what man- 
ner he should employ himself. The first charac- 
ter he assumed for the purpose of levying con- 
tributions on the unsuspecting and unwary, was 
that of a shipwrecked seaman, in which he was 


very successful. He next gave himself out to 
be a fanner, who, living in the isle of Sheppey 
in Kent, had the misfortune to have all his lands 
overflowed, and all his cattle drowned. Every 
scheme which he undertook, he executed with 
so much skill and dexterity, that he raised con- 
siderable sums. So artful were the disguises of 
his dress, countenance, and voice, that persons 
who knew him intimately did not discover the 
deception, and once, on the same day, he went 
under three different characters to the house of 
a respectable baronet, and was successful in them 

Some time after Carew's return to the vagrant 
life, we find him on a voyage to Newfoundland, 
from motives of mere curiosity. He acquired, 
during his stay, such a knowledge of that island, 
as was highly useful to him, whenever he thought 
proper afterwards to assume the character of the 
shipwrecked seaman. He returned in the same 
ship to Dartmouth, where he embarked, bring- 
ing with him a dog of surprising size and fierce- 
ness, which he had enticed to follow him, and 
made as gentle as a lamb by an art peculiar to 

At Newcastle, Carew, pretending to be the 
mate of a collier, eloped with a young lady, the 
daughter of an eminent apothecary of that town. 
They proceeded to Dartmouth, and thqugh he 
undeceived her with respect to his real character, 
she was soon afterwards married to him at Bath, 
They then visited an uncle of Carew'*, a clergy- 
2 E 3 



man of distinguished abilities, at Dorchester 
who received them with great kindness and en- 
deavoured, but in vain to persuade him to leave 
the community of the gypsies. 

Again associating with them, his disguises 
were more various and his statagems not less suc- 
cessful. He first equipped himself in a clergy- 
man's habit, put on a band, a large white wig, 
and a broad-brimmed hat. His whole deport- 
ment was agreeable to his dress ; his pace was 
solemn and slow, his countenance grave and 
thoughtful, his eyes turned on the ground ; from 
which, as if employed in secret ejaculations, he 
would raise them to heaven : every look and ac- 
tion spoke his want; put at the same time, the 
hypocrite seemed overwhelmed with that shame 
which modest merit feels, when obliged to soli- 
cit the hand of charity. This artful behaviour 
excited the curiosity of many people of fortune 
to enquire into his circumstances, but it was 
with much reluctance that he acquainted them, 
that he had for many years exercised the sacred 
office of a clergyman, at Aberystwith, a parish 
in Wales, but that the government changing, he 
had preferred quitting his benefice, (though he 
had a wife and several small children) to taking 
nn oath contrary to his principles. This relation 
he accompanied with frequent sighs, and warm 
expressions of his trust in providence ; and as he 
perfectly knew those persons it was proper to ap- 
ply to, this stratagem succeeded beyond his ex- 
pectations. But hearing that a vessel, on board 
f which there were many quakers, bound for 


Philadelphia, had been cast away on the coast 
of Ireland, he laid aside his gown and band, 
cloathed himself in a plain suit, and with a de- 
mure countenance, applied to the quakers, as 
one of those unhappy creatures, with great suc- 
cess, and hearing that their was to be a meeting of 
them from all parts, at Thorncombe in Devon- 
shire, he made the best of his way thither, and 
joining the assembly, with a seeming modest 
assurance, made his case known, and satisfying 
them by his behavior, that he was one of the sect, 
they made a considerable contribution for his re- 

With such wonderful facility did he assume 
every character, that he often deceived those who 
knew him best, and were most positive of his not 
being able to impose upon them. Going one 
clay to Mr. Portman's at Brinson, near Blandford, 
in the character of a rat-catcher, with a hair-cap 
on his head, a buff girdle about his waist, and a 
tame rat in a little box by his side; he boldly 
marched up to the house in this disguise, thougte 
his person was known to all the family ; and 
meeting in the court with the Rev. Mr. Bryant, 
and several other gentlemen, whom he well knew, 
he asked if their honours had any rats to kill. Mr. 
Portman asked him if he knew his business, and 
on his answering in the amrmati\e, he was sent 
in to get his dinner, with a promise, that after 
he had dined they would make a trial of his abi- 
lities. Dinner being over, he was called into a 
parlour among a large company of gentlemen 


and ladies. " Well, Mr. Rat-catcher/' said Mr. 
Portman, "can you lay any scheme to kill the rats 
without hurting my dogs r" " Yes, yes/' replied Ca- 
rew, " I shall lay my composition where even the 
rats cannot climb to reach it" " And what coun- 
tryman are you r" " A Devonshire man, an't 
please your honour." "' What's your name r" Carew 
perceiving, by some smiles and whispers, that he 
was known, replied, by telling the letters of 
which his name was composed. This occasioned 
a good deal of mirth, and Mr. Pleydell, of St. 
Andrew's Milbourn, who was one of the compa- 
ny, expressed some pleasure at seeing the famous 
Bamfylde Moore Carew, whom he said he had 
never seen before. " Yes, but you have," said 
he, " and given me a suit of cloaths." Mr. Pley- 
dell was surprised, and desired to know when it 
was ; Carew asked him if he did not remember 
being met by a poor wretch, with a stocking 
round his head instead of a cap, an old woman'? 
ragged mantle on his shoulders, no shirt to his 
back, nor stockings to his legs, and scarcely any 
shoes to his feet, who told him that he was apoor 
unfortunate man, cast away near the Canaries, 
and taken up with eight others, by a Frenchman, 
the rest of the crew, sixteen in number, being 
drowned ; and that after having asked him some 
questions, he gave him a guinea and a suit of 
cloaths. This Mr. Pleydell acknowledged, and 
Carew replied : " He was no other than the ex- 
pert rat-catcher now before you." At this the 
company laughed very heartily; and Mr. Pley- 


dell, and several others, offering to lay a guinea 
that they should know him again, let him come 
in what form he pleased, and others asserting the 
contrary, Carew was desired to try his ingenuity ; 
and some of the company following him out, let 
him know that on such a day, the same compa- 
ny, with several others, were to be at Mr. Pley- 

When the day arrived, he got himself close 
shaved, dressed himself like an old woman, put 
a high-crowned hat on his head, borrowed a lit- 
tle hump-backed child of a tinker, and two others 
of a beggar, and with the two last at his back, 
and the former by the hand, marched to Mr* 
Pleydell's ; when coming up to the door, he put 
his hand behind him, and pinching one of the 
children, set it a roaring, and gave the alarm to 
the dogs, who came out with open throats, so 
that between the crying of the child, and the 
barking of the dogs, the family was sufficiently 
annoyed. This brought out the maid, who de- 
sired the supposed old woman to go about her 
business, telling her she disturbed the ladies. 
"God bless their lady ships," replied Carew, " I am 
the unfortunate grandmother of these poor help- 
less infants, whose dear mother, and all they had 
was burned at the dreadful fire at Kirton, and 
hope the good ladies will, for God's sake, bestow 
something on the poor famished infants." This 
pitiful tale was accompanied with tears, and the 
maid going in, soon returned with half a crown, 
and a mess of broth, which Carew went into the 


court to eat. It was not long before the gentle- 
men appeared,, and after they had all relieved 
him, he pretended to go away, when setting up a 
tantivy, tantivy, and an halloo to the dogs, they 
turned about, and some of them then recollecting, 
from his altered voice, that it could be no other 
than Carew, he was called in. On examining 
his features, they were highly delighted, and re- 
warded him for the entertainment he had given 

Carew so easily entered into every character, 
and moulded himself into so many different forms, 
that lie gained the highest applauses from that 
apparently wretched community to which he be- 
longed, and soon became the favourite of their 
king, who was very old. This flattered his low 
ambition, and prompted him to be continually 
planning new stratagems, among which he exe- 
cuted a very bold one on the duke of Bol- 
ton. Dressing himself in a sailor's ragged 
habit, and going to his grace's near Basingstoke 
in Hampshire, he knocked at the gate, and with 
an assured countenance, desired admittance to 
the duke, or at least that the porter would give 
his grace a paper which he held in his hand : but 
he applied in vain. Not discouraged, he waited 
till he at last saw a servant come out, and telling 
him he was a very unfortunate man, desired he 
\vould be so kind as to introduce him where he 
might speak with his grace. As this servant had 
no interest in locking up his master, he very rea- 
dily promised to comply with his request, as 


soon as the porter was off his stand; which he 
accordingly did, introducing him into a hall 
through which the duke was to pass. He had 
not been long there, before the duke entered, 
upon which dropping on one knee he offered 
him a petition, setting forth, that the unfortu- 
nate petitioner, Bampfylde Moore Carew, was 
supercargo of a vessel that was cast away coming 
from Sweden, in which were all his effects, none 
of which he had been able to save. The duke 
seeing the name of Bampfylde Moore Carew, 
and knowing those names to belong to families 
of the gratest worth and note in the west of En- 
gland, asked him several questions about his fa- 
mily and relations, when being surprised that he 
should apply for relief to any but his own family, 
who were so well able to assist him, Carew re- 
plied, that he had disobliged them by some fol- 
lies of youth, and had not seen them for some 
years. The duke treated him with the utmost 
humanity, and calling a servant, had him con- 
ducted into an inner room, where being shaved 
by his grace's order, a servant was sent to him 
with a suit of clothes, a fine Holland shirt, and 
every thing necessary to give him a genteel ap- 
pearance. He was then called in to the duke, 
who was sitting with several other persons of 
quality. They were all taken with his person 
and behaviour, and presently raised for him a 
supply of ten guineas. His grace being en- 
gagedro go out that afternoon, desired him to 
stay there that night, and gave orders that he 


should be handsomely entertained, leaving his 
gentleman to keep him company. But the duke 
was scarcely gone, when Carevv found an oppor- 
tunity to set out unobserved towards Basingstoke, 
where he went to a house frequented by some of 
his community. He treated the company, and 
informing them of the bold stratagem he had 
executed, the whole place resounded with ap- 
plause, and every one acknowledged that he was 
most worthy of succeeding to the throne of the 
mendicant tribe, on the first vacancy that should 

In the same disguise he imposed upon seve- 
ral others, and having spent some days in hunt- 
ing with colonel Strangeways, at Mel bury in 
Dorset, the conversation happened one day at 
^ dinner to turn on Carew's ingenuity;, the colonel 
seemed surprised that several who were so well 
acquainted with him, should have been so deceiv- 
ed; asserting, that he thought it impossible for 
Carevv to deceive him, as he had thoroughly 
observed every feature and line in his counten- 
ance; on which he modestly replied, it might be 
so, and some other subject being started, the 
matter dropped. Early the next morning Ca- 
revv being called upon to go out with the hounds, 
desired to be excused, which the colonel being 
informed of, went to the field without him. Soon 
after, Carevv went down stairs, and slightly in- 
quiring which way the colonel generally returned, 
walked out, and going to a house frequented by 
his community, exchanged his clothes for a rag- 


ged habit, made a counterfeit wound in his thigh, 
took a pair of crutches, and having disguised his 
face with a venerable pity-moving beard, went in 
search of the colonel, whom he found in the 
town of Evershot. His lamentable moans be- 
gan almost as soon as the colonel was in sight: 
his countenance expressed nothing but pain ; his 
pretended wound was exposed to the coloneTs eye, 
and the tears trickled down his silver beard. As 
the colonel's heart was not proof against such 
an affecting sight, he threw him half a crown, 
which Carevv received with exuberant gratitude, 
and then with great submission desired to be in- 
formed if colonel Strange ways, a very charitable 
gentleman, did not live in that neighbourhood, 
and begged to be directed the nearest way to his 
seat; on which the colonel, filled with compas- 
sion, shewed him the shortest way to his own 
house, and on this he took his leave. Care\v 
returned before the colonel, and pretended to 
be greatly refreshed with his morning's walk. 
When they had sat down to dinner, Carew in- 
quired what sport they had, and if the colonel had 
not met a very miserable object. " I did a 
very miserable object indeed/' replied the co- 
Jonel. " And he has got hither before you," says 
Carew, " and is *iow at your table." This oc- 
casioned a great deal of mirth; but the colonel 
could not be persuaded of the truth of what Ca- 
rew asserted, till he slipped out, and hopped in 
again upon his crutches. 
VOL. 2. NO. 20. 2 F 


About this time Clause Patch, the king of the 
mendicants, died, and Carew had the honor of 
heing elected king in his stead; by which dig- 
nity, as he was provided with every thing neces- 
sary by the joint contributions, of the community, 
he was under no obligation to go on any cruize. 
Notwithstanding this, Carew was as active in his 
stratagems as ever ; but he had not long enjoyed 
this honor, when he was seized and confined as 
an idle vagrant, tried at the quarter sessions at 
Exeter, and transported to Maryland; where 
being arrived, he took the opportunity, while 
the captain of the vessel and a person who 
seemed disposed to buy him, were drinking a 
bowl of punch in a public house, to give them 
the slip, a,nd to take with him a pint of brandy 
and some biscuits, and then betake himself to 
the woods. 

Having thus eluded their search, as he was 
entirely ignorant that none were allowed to tra- 
vel there without proper passes, or that there 
was a considerable reward granted for appre- 
hending a runawa)', he congratulated himself on 
his happy escape, and did not doubt but he 
should find means to get to England; but going 
one morning early through a narrow path, he 
was met by four men, when not being able to 
produce a pass, he was seized, carried before a 
justice of peace, and thrown into prison. But 
here obtaining information, that some captains 
to whom he was known were lying with their 
ships in the harbor, he acquainted them with his 


situation., on which they paid him a visit, and 
told him, that as he had not been sold to a plan- 
ter, if the captain did not come to demand him, 
he would be publicly sold the next court-day, 
and then generously agreed to purchase him 
among themselves, and to give him his liberty. 
Carew was so struck with their kindness, that he 
could not consent to purchase his liberty at their 
expence, and desired them to tell the captain 
who brought the transports where he was. 
They at last agreed to his request ; the captain 
recer'--d the news with great pleasure, sent round 
his .boat for him, had him severely punish- 
ed with a cat-of-nine tails, and a heavy iron 
collar fixed to his neck, and with this galling 
yoke he was obliged to perform the greatest 

One day, when his spirits were ready to sink 
with despair, he saw the captains Harvey and 
Hopkins, two of those who had proposed to 
purchase his liberty. They were greatly affected 
with the miseries he suffered, and having sound- 
ed the boatswain and mate, prevailed on them 
to wink at his escape ; but the greatest obstacle 
was the pen?ilty of forty pounds and half a year's 
imprisonment for any one that took off his iron 
collar, so that he must be obliged to travel with 
it on. The captains acquainted him with all the 
difficulties he would meet with ; but he was far 
from being discouraged, and resolved to set out 
that night, when directing him what course to 
take, they gave him a pocket compass to steer 
2 F2 


by, a steel and tinder-box, a bag of biscuits, a 
cheese, and some rum. After taking an affec- 
tionate leave of his benefactors, he set out; but 
be had not travelled far before he began to re- 
ilect on his wretched condition : alone, unarmed, 
unacquainted with the way, galled with a heavy 
yoke, exposed every moment to the most immi- 
,nent dangers; and a dark tempestuous night 
approaching increased his terror; his ears were 
assaulted by the yells of the wild beasts; but 
kindling some sticks, he kept them all night at a 
distance, by constantly swinging a fire-brand 
round hU head. When day-light appeared, he 
.h'ld nothing to do but to seek for the thickest 
tree he could find, and climbing into it, as he 
had travelled hard all night, he soon fell asleep. 
KtriV lie staid all day, eating sparingly of his bis- 
cuit and cheese, and night coming on he took a 
large dram of mm, and again pursued his jour- 
ney. In this manner travelling by night, and 
^concealing himself by day, he went on till he 
\vas out of danger of pursuit, or being stopped 
for want of a pass, and then travelled by day. 
His journey was frequently interrupted by rivers 
and rivulets, which he was obliged either to wade 
through, or swim over. At length he discovered 
five Indians at a distance ; his fear represented 
them in the most frightful colours; but as he 
came nearer, he perceived them clothed in deer- 
skins, their hair was exceeding long, and to his 
inexpressible joy, he discovered they had guns' 
in their hands, which was a sure sign of their 


being friendly Indians ; and these having accost- 
ed him with great civility, soon introduced him 
to their king, who spoke very good English, and 
made him go to his ?cvg?cY/w, or house, when ob- 
serving that he was much hurt by his collar, the 
king immediately set himself about freeing him 
from it, and at last effected it by jagging the steel 
of Carew's tinder-box into a kind of saw, his 
majesty sweating heartily at the work. This 
being done, he set before Carew some Indian 
bread and other refreshments. Here he was 
treated with the greatest hopitality and respect; 
and scarcely a dav passed, in which he did not 
go out with some party on a hunting match, and 
frequently with the king himself. 

One day as they were hunting, they fell in 
company with some other Indians near the river 
Delaware, and when the cliace was over, sat 
down to be merry with them. Carew took this 
opportunity to slip out, and going to the river 
side, seized one of their canoes, and though en- 
tirely unacquainted with the method of managing 
them, boldly pushed from shure, and landed near 
Newcastle, in Pennsylvania. 

Carew now transformed himself into a quaker, 
and behaved as if he had never seen any other 
stsrt of people; and in this manner travelled to 
Philadelphia, meeting every where with the 
kindest treatment and the most plentiful supply; 
from hence he went to New York, where going 
on board a vessel belonging to Captain Rogers, 
he set sail for England ; and after having pre- 


vented his being pressed on board a man of war, 
by pricking his hands and face, and rubbing 
them witk bay-sail and gunpowder, to give him 
the appearance of the small-pox, safely landed at 
Bristol, and soon rejoined his wife and begging 

Here terminates the narrative of the adven- 
tures of this extraordinary person, who, with un- 
common talents and the greatest advantages, 
connections, and interest, might have figured in 
the highest and most respectable walks of life. 
What became of him afterwards is unknown, 
but he is said to have diecl about the year 1770, 
aged 77. 


IN modern, as well as in ancient history, we 
find examples of intrepidity recorded of women, 
that equal any which have been given by the 
other sex ; and it may also be remarked, that in 
the latter they more frequently proceed from a 
virtuous or praiseworthy motive. Such was the 
action which acquired celebrity for the Coun- 
tess-dowager of Schwarzburg, who, by the bold- 
ness and resolution of her conduct, struck terror, 
on one occasion, into the formidable Duke of 

When the emperor Charles the Fifth, who was 
also king of Spain, passed through Thuringia ; 


on his return, in the year 1547, from the battle 
of Muhlberg, to his camp in Suabia, Catherine, 
coun tess- dowager of Schwarzburg, born princess 
of Henneberg, obtained of him a letter of safe- 
guard,, that he*r subjects might have nothing to 
fear from the Spanish army on its march through 
her territories; in return for which she bound 
herself to allow the Spanish troops that were to 
cross the river Saale by the bridge at Rudoi- 
stadt, to supply themselves with bread, beer, and 
other provisions, at a reasonable price, in that 
place. At the same time she took the precaution 
to have the brfdge which stood close to the town 
demolished in all rpste, and re- constructed over 
the river at a considerable distance, that the too 
great proximity of the city might be no tempta- 
tion to her rapacious 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 to the castle of R-udolstadt. 
Meanwhile the Spanish general, attended by 
prince Henry of Brunswick and his sons, ap- 
proached the city. By a messenger whom they 
dispatched before, they announced their inten- 
tion of breakfasting with the countess of 
Schwarzburg. So modest a request, made at the 
head of an army, was not to be rejected. The 
answer returned was, that they should be sup- 
plied with what the house afforded ; that his 
excellency might come, and be assured of a wel- 
come reception. However, she did not neglect 
at the same time to remind the Spanish general 


of the safe-guard, and to urge the conscientious 
observance of it. A friendly reception and a weli- 
furuished 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 honor to the laws of hospitality. 
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 sol- 
diers had used violence in some villages on the 
way, and had driven off the cattle belonging to 
the peasants. Catherine was a true mother to 
her people; whatever the poorest 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; which done, she returned to the hall, and 
rejoined the princes, who were still at table, 
Here she com plained to them, in the most 
moving terms, of the usage she had met with, 
and how badly the imperial word was kept. 
They told her, laughing, that this was the cus- 
tom 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 G d !" raising her 
voice in a threatening tone (( princes' blood for 
oxen's blood !" With this emphatic declaration 
dhe quitted the room, which, in a few moments, 


was filled with armed men, who, sword in hand, 
yet with great reverence, planting themselves 
behind the chairs of- the princes, took the places 
of the waiters. On the entrance of these fierce- 
looking fellow^, the duke of Alva changed color, 
and the guests all gazed at one another in silence 
and affright. Cut off from the army, surrounded 
hy a resolute body of men, what had they to do, 
but to summon up their patience, and to appease 
the offended lady on the best terms they could? 
Henry of Brunswick was the first that collected 
his spirits; and smothered his feelings by burst- 
ing into a loud fit of laughter; thus seizing the 
most reasonable way of coming off, by turning 
all that had passed into a subject of mirth ; con- 
cluding with a warm panegyric on the patriotic 
concern and the determined intrepidity the coun- 
tess had shewn. He intreated her to make her- 
self easy, and undertook to prevail on the duke 
of Alva to consent to whatever should be found 
reasonable; which he immediately effected' by 
inducing the latter to dispatch 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 cer- 
tificate that compensation had been made for all 
damages, the countess of Schwarzburg politely 
thanked her guests for the honor they had done 
her castle ; and they, in return, very courteously 
took their leave. 

It was this transaction, no doubt, that procured 


for Catherine the surname of the Heroic. She 
is likewise highly extolled for the active forti- 
tude she displayed in promoting the reformation 
throughout her dominions, which had already 
been introduced hy her husband, Count Henry 
XXXVIIth, as well as for her resolute per- 
severance in suppressing monastic institutions, 
and improving the system of education. Num- 
bers of protestant preachers, who had sustained 
persecution on account of religion, fled to her 
for protection and support, which she granted 
them in the fullest extent. Among these was a 
certain Caspar Aguila, parish-priest at Saalfeld, 
who, in his younger years, had attended the 
emperor's army to the Netherlands in quality of 
chaplain ; and, because he there refused to bap- 
tize 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 immi- 
nent danger of his life, and a price of oQOO flo- 
rins was set upon his head, because the emperor 
was enraged against him for having attacked 
one or' his measures from the pulpit. Catherine 
had him privately brought to her castle, at the 
request ot the people of Saalfeld, 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 honored 


and lamented, in the 58th year of her age, and 
the ^<)th of her reign. Her remains were depo- 
sited in the church of liudolstadt. 


THIS gentleman, was a native of Scotland, who 
in the course of a short life acquired an uncom- 
mon degree of celebrity, and on account of his 
extraordinary endowments both of mind and 
body, obtained the appellation of " the admirable 
Crichton," by which title he has continued 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, 1560. His lather 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 
grammatical education at Perth, and to have 
studied philosophy at the university of St. An- 
drews. His tutor at that university 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 
Manutius, who calls Crichton first cousin to the 
king, he was also instructed, with his majesty, 
by Buchanan, Hepburn, and Robertson, 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 insti ninents. 

Possessing these numerous accomplishments, 
Crichton went abroad upon his travels, and is 
said to have first visited Paris. Of his trans- 
actions at that place, the following 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 ail the pillars and 
posts before the houses belonging to the most 
renowned literary characters in that city, invit- 
ing all those who were well versed in any art or 
science, to dispute with him in the college of 
Navarre, that day six \yeeks, 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 languages, Hebrew, Syriac, Arabic, Greek, 
Latin, Spanish, Trench, Italian, English, Dutch, 
Flemish, and Sclavonian; 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 hunt- 
ing, hawking, tilting, vaulting, riding, tossing the 
pike> handling the musket, and other military 
feats; or else he employed himself in domestic 
games, such as balls, concerts of music, vocal and 
instrumental, cards, dice, tennis, and the like 
diversions of youth. This conduct so provoked 
the students 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 perfection, the readiest 
way to find him is to enquire for him at the 
tavern, or the houses of ill fame." 

Nevertheless, when the day appointed arrived; 
< 'richton appeared in the college of Navarre, 
nnd acquitted himself beyond expression in the 
disputation, which lasted from nine o'clock in 
the morning till six at night. At length the pre- 
sident, after extolling him highly for the many 
rure 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 the university, gave him -a 
diamond ring and a purse full of gold, as a tes- 
timony 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 
VOL. 2. NO. tO, 2 G 


he went the very next day to the Louvre, where 
he had a match of lilting, an exercise then in 
great vogue, and in the presence of a great 
number of ladies, and of some of the princes of 
the French court, carried away the ring fifteen 
times successively. 

We find him, about two years after this dis- 
play 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 extempore any question 
that may be proposed." In a city which abound- 
ed in wit, this bold challenge could not escape 
the ridicule of a pasquinade. It is said, how- 
ever, 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 wonderful proofs of 
his universal knowledge, that he excited no less 
surprize than he had done at Paris. Boccalini, 
however, who was then at Rome, gives a some- 
what different account of the matter. According 
to that writer, the pasquinade made such an im- 
pression upon him, that he left a place where be 
had been so grossly affronted, as to be put upon 
a level with jugglers and mountebanks. 

From Rome, Crichton proceeded to Venice, 
where he contracted an intimate friendship with 
Aldus Manutius, Lanrentius Massa, Speron Spe- 
ronius, Johannes Donatus, and various other 
learned persons, to whom he presented sevcrai 


poems in commendation of the city and univer- 
sity. At length he was introduced to the doge 
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 hut this prodigy of nature 
was talked of through the whole city. Tie like- 
wise held disputations on the' subjects of the- 
ology, -philosophy, and mathematics, before the 
most eminent professors and large multitudes of 
people. Hfs reputation was so great, that the 
desire of seeing and hearing 'him brought to- 
gether a vast concourse of persons from 'different 
quarters to Venice. It maybe collected from 
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' advice of his friends, 
to Padua, the university of which was, at that 
time, in great reputation. The day after his arri- 
val, there was an assembly of all the learned men of 
the place at the house of Jacobus Aloysius Corne- 
lius, when Crichton opened the meeting with an 
extempore poem in praise of the city, the uni- 
versity, and the company who had honored him, 
with their presence. After this, he disputed for 
six hours with the most celebrated professors on 
various subjects of learning; and he exposed, ia 
2G .2 


particular, the errors of Aristotle and his com- 
mentator^ with so much solidity and acuteness, 
and at the same time with so much modesty, 
that he excited universal admiration. In con- 
clusion he delivered extempore an oration in 
praise of ignorance, which was conducted with 
such ingenuity and elegance, that his hearers 
jvvere astonished. This exhibition of Crichton's 
talents was on' the 14th of March, 1581* 

lie soon afterwards appointed a day for ano- 
ther disputation, to be held at the palace of the 
bishop of Padua, not for the purpose of affording 
higher proofs of his abilities, but in compliance 
with the earnest solicitations of some persons 
who were not present at the former assembly. 
According to the account of IVlanutius, various 
circumstances occurred which prevented this 
meeting from taking place; but Imperials relates 
that h^ was informed by his father, who was pre- 
. sent on the occasion,. that Crichton was opposed 
by Archangerus Mercenaries, a famous philo- 
Bopher, and that he acquitted himself so well as 
to obtain the approbation of a very honorable 
company, and even of hjs antagonist himself. 

Amidst the high applauses that were bestowed 
upon the genius and attainments of the young 
Scotchman, still there were some who endeavored 
to detract from his merit. For ever, therefore, 
to confound these invidious- 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 Aristotle, 


and of all his followers, were almost innumerable ; 
and that the latter had failed both in explaining 
their master's meaning, and HI treating on theo- 
logical subjects. He promised likewise to refute 
the dreams of certain mathematical professor?, 
to dispute in all the sciences, and to answer to 
whatever should be proposed to him, 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 
verses, at the pleasure of his opponents. Accord- 
ing to Manutius, Crichton sustained this contest 
without fatigue for three days ; during which 
time he supported his credit and maintained his 
propositions with such spirit and energy, that he 
obtained, from an unusual concourse of people, 
unbounded praises and acclamations. 

From Padua Crichton set out for Mantua, 
where there happened to be at that time a gladi- 
ator who had foiled in his travels the most skil- 
ful fencers in Europe, and had lately killed three 
who had entered the lists with him in 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 
150O pistoles. Though the duke was unwilling 
to expose such an accomplished person to so 
great a hazard ; yet reiving on the report he had 
heard of his martial feats, he agreed to the pro 
2 G 3 


posal, and the time and place being appointed, 
the whole court attended to behold the perform- 
ance. At the beginning of the combat Criohton 

. stood only upon his defence; while the Italian 
made his attack with such eagerness and fury, 
that he began to be fatigued, Crichton now 
seizcd the opportunity of attacking his antagonist 

in return, which he did with so rauth dexterity 
and vigor, that he ran him through the body in 
three different places, so that he immediately 
died of the wounds. On this occasion the accla- 
mations of the spectators were loud and extra- 
ordinary; and it was acknowledged by all of 
them, that they had never seen art grace nature, 
or nature second the precepts of art, in so stri- 
king 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 fighting with his anta- 

. gonist. 

It is asserted, that in consequence of this and 
^is other wonderful performances, the duke of 
Mantua made choice of him as preceptor to 'his 
*on Vincentio de Gonzaga, who is represented as 
being of a riotous temper and a dissolute life. 
The appointment was highly pleasing to the 
court. We are told that Crichton, to testify his 

. gratitude to his friends and benefactors, and to 

.contribute to their diversion, composed a come- 
dv, in which he exposed and ridiculed all the 
weak and faulty sides of the various employments 
in which Bsten are engaged. This was regarded 



as one of the most ingenious satires that ever 
was made upon mankind. But the most asto- 
nishing part of the story is, that Crichton sus- 
tained fifteen characters in the representation of 
his own play. Among the rest, he acted the 
divine, the lawyer, the mathematician, the sol- 
dier, and the physician, with such inimitable 
grace, that every time he appeared upon the 
theatre he seemed to he a different person. 

From being the principal actor in 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 people in masks. The assailants found 
that they had no ordinary person to deal with, 
for they were not able to maintain their ground 
ngainst him. Having at length disarmed the lea- 
der 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 
upoiv his knees, and expressed his concern for 
his mistake ; alledging that what he had done 
was only in his own defence, and that if Gon- 
zaga 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 at- 
tendants, that he instantly ran Crichton through 
ihe. heart. 

Various have been the conjectures concerning 
the motives which could induce Vinceutio de 


Gonzaga to be guilty of so brutal and ungenerous 
an action. Some have ascnbed it to jealousy, 
asserting that he suspected Criehton to be more 
in favour than himself \vlth a lady whom he pas- 
sionately loved; while others, with greater pro- 
bability represent the whole transaction as the 
result of a drunken frolic : and it is uncertain, 
according to Imperialis whether the meeting of 
the princeand Criehton was by accident or design. 
It is, however, agreed by all, that Criehton lost 
his life in this rencounter. The time of his de- 
cease is said by the generality of Iris biographers 
to have been in the beginning of July ].?83, 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 liis 
22d year, at the period of that tragical event, 
and this fact is confirmed by the nobleman just 

Crichton's tragical end excited a very great 
and general lamentation. If Sir Thomas. Urqu- 
hart is to be credited, the whole court of Man- 
tua went into mourning for him three quarters 
of a year; the epitaphs and elegies composed 
upon his death, would exceed, if collected, the 
bulk of Homer's works ; and lor a long time af- 
terwards, his picture was to be seen in most of 
the bed-chambers and galleries of the Italian no- 
bility, rcpiesenting him on horseback with a lance 
in one hand and a book in the other. The ame 
author tells us that Criehton gained the esteem 


of kings and princes by his magnanimity and 
knowledge; of noblemen and gentlemen 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 arid wisdom ; of the young by his 
rriirth and gallantry ; of the learned by his unU 
versa! knowledge; of the soldiers by his undaunt- 
ed valor and courage; of the merchants and dea- 
lers, by his upright dealing and honesty ; and of 
the fair sex by his beaut} 7 , in which respect he 
was a master-piece of nature. 

Such are the accounts of the admirable Crich- 
ton which have been given by a succession of 
writers. They are indeed so wonderful that nin- 
ny have been disposed to consider them in a great 
-measure, if not altogether fabulous; and the 
arguments to this effect adduced by Dr. Kippiu 
in the Biographia Britannica seem to have con- 
siderable weight. That writer questions, and 
apparently on very just grounds, the authority of 
those by whom those accounts were first cir- 
culated, and reduces the pretensions of Crich- 
ton within a much narrower compass. " What 
then," he asks " is the opinion which on the 
whole we are to form of the 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 at- 
tainments. He appears to have had a fine per- 
son, to have been adroit in his bodily exercises, 
to have possessed a peculiar facility in learning 


languages, to have enjoyed a remarkably .quick 
end retentive memory, and to have excelled in a 
power of- declamation, a fluency of speech and 
a readiness of reply. His knowledge, likewise, 
\vas probably, very uncommon for his years; and 
this, in conjunction with his other qualities, ena- 
bled him to shine in public disputation. But 
whether his knowledge and learning were accu- 
rate, or profound, may justly be questioned, and 
it may equally be doubted wether he would have 
risen to any extraordinary degree of eminence 
in the literary world. It will always be reflected 
upon with regret, that his early and untimely 
death prevented this matter from being brought 
to the test of experiment." 

Those who recollect the popular infatuation, 
which very recently prevailed in favour of a cer- 
tain juvenile theatrical performer, the excessive 
praises and the extravagant sums that were la- 
vished on his exhibitions, together with the opi- 
nion -expressed by persons untinctivred with the 
epidemic mania of the day, will not find it Very 
difficult to reconcile these contradictory state- 
ments, and will be equally disposed to admit the 
justice of the sentiments here advanced by the 
jrevereu4 biographer. 


THIS man, celebrated for the recluse life he led 
in his latter years, was clerk to Simon Mayne, of 
Dinton, in. Buckinghamshire, one of the judges 
who passed sentence of death on King Charles I. 
He was not deficient either in learning or under- 
standing, lived in great respectability and pos- 
sessed considerable property. After the restora- 
tion of Charles II. he began to grow melancholy, 
probably on account of the ruin entailed by that 
event on the fortunes of his patron and those 
who had espoused the same cause. He retired 
from the world and made a cave at Dinton, his 
solitary habitation during the remainder of his 

In a civilized and 'populous country, a being 
who thus separates himself from society cannot 
fail of being an object of curiosity. To the cha- 
ritable donations of visitors who were led to him 
by this motive, was Bigg indebted for subsistence 
in his retirement; but it is remarkable that he 
never asked for any thing but leather, which he 
would nail or tack to his clothes. He kept three 
bottles constantly bunging to his girdle; one of 
these was for strong beer, another foT small beer, 
and the third for milk. He died in 1696, at the 
advanced age of 97 ye^ w occupy ' h ^ cn 

preserved afier hi:- 



composed of about a thousand patches of leather. 
One of them was placed in the Bodleian reposi- 
tory, and the other in the collection of Sir John 
Vanhatten of Dinton; who some years after his 
death had his cave dug up, in hopes of discover- 
ing something relative to thh singular character, 
fcut without success. 


James Cimdee, Printer, 



A. LICE, a female negro who Jived to the age of lid years, ac- 
count of her XVI. 

AUeyn, Edward, account of him, XIV. 14; singular anecdote re- 
lative to him 16 ; he founds Dulwich College ibid; his death 


Andrews, Mr. anecdotes of his fondness for play, XV. 4. 

.Audio, Thomas, history of, X[[. 1 ; his personal appearance and 
occupation 3 ; forms a plan of obtaining a redress of grievances 
for the people of .Naples ibid ; organizes an army of boys 4 j 
harangues the people 5 ; excites a general insurrection 6 ; is 
appointed their leader by the people 7 ; hi* interview with the 
Ticeroy 9 ; he resolves after the completion oi his purpose ta 
return to his former occupation JO; subsequent inconsistency 
of his conduct ibid. 11 ; he is assassinated ibid . alternate in- 
dignities and honours bestowed on his remains 1'2. 

Arbuthnot, Dr. his epitaph on Colonel Charteris, XVII. 18. 

Aubrey, Mr. singular anecdote of Mr. Alleyu related by him, 
XIV. 16 

Baker, Mary, account of her early years, XVI. 18.; her remark- 
able address in an American court of justice 2(>. 

Bellamy, George Ann, life of, XIX. 1 ; her birth 5 ; her juvenil* 
years 6 ; she adopts the stage for a profession ibid ; she ob- 
tains the friendship of Quin 7 , her adventure with Lord Byron 
9 ; :>he elopes with Mr. Metham 13 ; leaves him and becomes 
the mistress of Mr. Calcraft 14 ; dissolution of her connection 
with him ; '21 ; marries Dirges, the actor ibid ; her subsequent 
distresses and fatal resolution'*^, 27 ; miscellaneous anecdote* 
respecting her 27, 36 ; her death ibid. 

Beronicius, his extraordinary history, XVI. 10 ; description of 
his person 11 ; anecdotes of his astonishing literary talents 12, 
16 ; his propensity to low occupation* 17 } his miserable 

TOL li J 


Bigg, John, a singular recluse, particulars concerning, him XX. 


', Jolm Richardson Primrose, account of him XI. 28 ; re- 
markable spots on different parts of his body 29 ; born in Ja- 
niaicaa, ibid ; is sent to England 30 is exhibited at Kxeter 
Change 3l; forms collection of animals himself 34; imitates 
the song of various birds and the cries of animals 3^> ; pamcu- 
lars respecting h;s person and character ibid. 

Butler, author of Hud.bras, his lines descriptive of Hopkins, 
the \utch-finder, XVI. 9. 

Buxton, Jedediah, his extraordinary talents at calculation, XIV. 
19 ; anecdotes of his visit to London 22 ; his death 24. 

Cappur, Joseph, account of his early life, XIV. 4 ; his singulari- 
ties 6 his death 8 ; Im'will 9. 

Carew, Bampfylde Moore, account of, XX. 1. his birth and 
tonally 2. his education and elopement from school 3; joins a 
gang of gypsies ibid ; his extraordinary and successful artifices- 
5, 13 ; is elected king 01 the mendicants 14; is transported to 
America ibid ; his adventures in that country 14, 1? ; returns 
to England 17 

Catozze, Marc, a remarkable dwarf, description of his figure 
XEI. 27 ; his ingeiuo-.s contrivance to supply the want of hand* 
28 ; particulars respecting his disposition and habits 29 ; hi* 
death SO. 

Charteris Francis, account of, XVII. 10 ; his expertness nt gamb- 
ling and avaricious disposition 11 ; is dismissed' from the army 
with disgrace 1*2 ; his adventure at Brussels ibid ; his amour* 
14; is condemn* d at the Old Bailey for a rape 16; obtains a 
pardon 17; his death ibid, epitaph written for him by Dr. 
Arbuthnor 18. 

Clark, Joseph, his extraordinary faculty of assuming every kind 
of deformity and dislocation, X[V. 1 ">. 

Cochraiie, Dr. his ac< (Hint ol Charles Domery, XVI. 26./ 

Crichton, James his birth and education, XX. 123 ; his extraordi- 
nary attainments '21 ; Ins challenge to the literati of Paris 24 j 
his 'feats at Rome 26; his disputation^ at Padua 27 , he en- 
gages and vanquishes a celebrated fencer at Mantua v9 ; i* 
chosen by the duke of Mantua as preceptor tor hi* son ; ; 
his tragical d^ v ath 31 ; particulars of him related by Urty.ihart 
32 ; doubts concerning the authenticity of his history 33. 

Day, Thomas, his birth and education, XIII. 20; instance of Ins- 
generosity 21 ; description of h ; s person ibid ; his character 
22; his singular phm h/r oMaiinug a v,-i!e ').;'. ; history ot Lu- 
cretia and Sabrina 2V ; Mr. DJIV'-- extraordinary exi'eriments 
with the latter 26 , Ins -iis .p,>ri:uments in love 27 ; his mar- 
riagt'29; his literary works ;u : hi- d^-at 1 : 31 . 

Delany, Mrs. Mary, her birth :unl I laity coii'.ecti; ns, XVII. 15;, 
unliappiness of her first luarrmtie J, ic: uni-.u w^ibDr. De- 
Jaiiy 17 ; her proficiency in paintuig .nd the arts 18 ; her in^ 
Tcu'uon of the art of composing flowers \vith colored paper 19 j 


pre8*p<t by her to her Flora '.20; anecdote of 

tree 2i ; her death ibid, 
fctsseasau* Ghcvaiier, history of, XIV. 1> his singularities ? j 

};is death 3. 

>igby Lord, anecdotes of his benevolence XIX. 27. 
Donk-ry, Charles, account of, XVI. '2 j ; anecdotes of his ex- 
-tessiVe voracity ^6, 29 ; farther particulars ot ins habits, man- 

ners and history jO. 

Douglas Uaiiid/anecdote of his gratitude, XIX. 33. 
>ulwich College, founded by Mr. Aileyn, XIV. i6 ; particulars 

coftce-iling ft I?, 18, 
Edward iV. anecdote of him, XVI. 2. 
Iforster, Robt-rt, the flying barber of Cambridge, anecdotes of 

him, XIV :>5. 

y;>.cuc> Mr. excessive avarice and inUfriible death, XIV. S3. 
J"<^x, Mr. ('aiter-.vards Lord Holland) anecdote ot his benevolcnc^ 

XIX. 15. 

Fuller, Dr. hU character of Mr. Alleyn XIV. 14. 
Godfrey, Hon. 31 rs. anecdote of her narrow escape froM pret 

mature interment, XVIf 5. 
Goriiva, history of, XVU. 9. 
Granger, Rev. Mr. observation on lord mayors, XiV 4} parfictl* 

larb concerning Henry \Velby, XV IL. 10. 
Green, Aniie, account of, XI. 35 ; hot 1 trial and execution on A 

thafge of child-murder 34 j shfe rteOvCf* ttitfef fe.^gfutlori && } 

her subsequent hlsur t v 56= 

HewK his ineauaeUy e'ditipgihiiip[ eM}o?f, XVI 34. 
Heidegger* JOba Jms, hisioryof, XVUI Hi h^ omp lo 

England and ebtair)! tlje dlfpefbn Qt the Uporg>tHiH9 $% \ hi 

exlreme ugliuenn Ibid i ludierQUi Hiu'td-te <Ji linn 31 ; 

HoHnshed, hia neeeunt of Die penance of Jane Shore, XVL 5, 
IJolxvp]!, John ifephfUi'uili, history of ~XV T 9 ; account of his suf. 

fcririgs in I'.e llluck FJoIeat Calcutta 10, 16 j liis subsequent 

ftdven f ure.s in India 26, 35; his de.ith ,S5 
Hopkin,', !vlalthe-v, the witch-finder, history of, XVI. 7 ; is him-. 

self executed for a wizard 8j described' by Butler in his II a* 

diliras, 0. 
Jlorne, William Andrew, his birth and education, XIIL. 12; ha 

exposes the child of one of his sisters uv himself 13 ; circuni-r 

stances that led to the disclosure of this transaction IT; his trril 

and condemnation 17 ; his singular observations after conviction 

18 ; aiu'crloies of his penurious disposition and profligacy 19. 
Howard, Llev. Dr. anecdotes ot his eccentricity, XI II. o."*. 
Unddart, Mr. his account of a singular u stance of iut opacity td 

dittinguish colors, XVI. S4. 
Hudson JeiFerv, a remarkable dwarf, his history, XIII. 33 ; si^ 

gular duel iij which he kills his autagonist 34 ; his iteath i$, 


Jenkins, Henry, account of him, XI. 3; his extraordinary tcntfr- 
vity 4 ; monument un'i inicriptum lo his memory 5. 

Johnson. Dr. his observations" on a ship, XIII 7; iiis character ofl 
Mrs Montague 5. 

Ke;:'c, Mr. smecdute of him,XVlt. 22. 

Kel.sey, John, account of, XII I. 9 ; goes to Constantinople with 

a View to effect the conversion of the Grand Signior 10. 
Ketel, Cornelius, his whimsical tncrhod of painting, XVIII. 3/5. 
King, Peter, account of, XII." 30; his extraordinary fondness for 

dress 31 ; his remarkable attachment to his cats, whom, he 

dressed up in laced clothes o2 ; his death 33 V 
Kippis, Dr. observations on the history of the admirable Crich- 

ton, XX. 33. 

Laugher, Thomas, history of, XVII. 1 ; description of his person 

^; anecdote ot his son j. 
Lindsay, Lady, her affecting history, XIX 15. 

JMagliabc'chi, Anthony, meanness of his birth, XIV. 2 -I \ he if 
taken into the service of a bookseller,- , Mid learn-* to read 5 ; 
liis extraordinary nie'uory Vo ; is a pointed ii'irarian to the 
grand duke of Florence 2T ; his method of reading, ibid ; a nee*' 
dote 01 his an mory 28 j eccentricity of his 'habits and man* 
ners i:9. 

Manly, George, remarkable speech delivered by him previous tfr 
his execution for 'murder, XlV. 30, 

Jtlilbourne, TliuniHs,, Jus t'Xtreiny pai^iHuitiy^ XV, 85i 

JMor-e, Sir 1 honuti, hi* dt'sciijitiou o( th pernou ot Jnne 
N \ ! 6, 

Kontffue, Mrs, her birth and education, XVl'I. 1 ; lior 

on the writings and genm* ol Shaksjienre V; her Ult'Ms t 
tjpistol-.tory compoMtiou 3; h'tler written, by her to Dr. Mou- 
sey 4; her benevolence >md ttmiuui treat to the chimney- 
sweepeis, ibid; her death '>. 

Montague, Kdwurd VVortley, uci'ount of, XVIII. ;? ; hisj'iv?nilo 
ndveninres C 3 I ; his ramUnitv dispusition ^.5 ; account of his 
manners and sentimenis, b\ Dr. .Moore -6; advcrtiyeuient for 
a wife attributed to him 30; his death, ibid ; ins lileiary uc* 
quiremenls, ibid. 

Montague, duke of, anecdote of him, XVIII. S3. 

Naih r, Jctmes, the fanatic, history of, XVII 19: his military services 
2 ; he turns preacher, ibid ; . xM-avaLiiii.ce i>i lii^ Jollowers 1 J1 ; is 
conducted by them in procession into Bris'ol y i 2 ; is appre 
hended, ibid; ridiculous letters found upon him ^3,^1; sub- 
stance of his examination 20, 29; testimonies of his iidhcfents 
29, ."31 ; warm debates in the House of Commons concerning 
him 31 ; Lis sentence -:^ ; he recants his errors C34 ; his 
death .V;]. 

'/s KdwaVd, his pi-rsim-miou* habits. XII. 2:> ; method ofcou- 
cealing liis money 25, 2o"i hii singular directions respecting his 
funeral 26, 27. 


Onnc, John, remarkable circumstances attending his trial and 
conviction, though innocent, to,- coming, XVil. 11; his friendi 
obtain a reprieve 14; nis liberation and death 13. 

Ostervald M. his excessive avarice , XIV. ->-2. 

Overs, John, history of hiu. Mill. 1 , hU parsUnomow disposi- 
tion 2; singular curcurtjstai-ces attending liis death $; bis 
daughter builds the church of M. Mary Overs, Southwaik 5.. 

Paulctt, Harry, account ofliiiu, XIV 9; his perilous adventure 
j(); gives informaUuii io S.r i^u^m-d il wke of the sailing ot 
the French fleet 11. 

Piveti, Christopher, his eccentricities, XiU. 8,9. 

Plot, Dr. his narrative of the remarkable history of Anne Green, 
XI. 33. 

Pope, Benjamin, account of, Xil. 33; he subjects himself to le- 
gal penalties by usurious practices 31 ; preiers a res deuce in 
prison to the payment ot 'the damages awarded hy law 35; 
his penn ious habits, ibid j instance of his liberality j6 ; his 
deat.'i, ibid. 

Prait, Edward, his remarkable Mciturnity, XIII. 6; instance of 
it during an East-India \oyage 7. 

Quin, James, anecdote of his benevolence, XIX. 8. 

Roberts, Thomas, account of him, XIV. 31. 
Ro\ve, extract irom ins Jane Shore, XVI. 5. 

Snviile, Mrs. Anne, her account of Henry Jenkins, XT. 3. 

Scana<^;itti, Frances, her birtii and education, X!I. 13; she ob- 
tains admission in the d(cs>s ot a boy Into the Austrian military 
academy at Neustadl 14, 1). is appointed to an ensigncy 1(1; 
suspicions rospecting her sex 17; obtains a lieutenancy 19; 
apprehension-, of her parents concerning her '21 ; they procure 
her disnv^ion fro.u tlie army -^..5 ; her character !2i. 

Schoning, Maria El:-onora, history of, XI. 6; death of her 
father 7 ; she i$ turned out of his house by the tax-officers 9 ; 
passes the night by the grave of her father 10 ; loss of her in- 
nocence 11; is seisod by the wwtcheaen aad carried before a 
magistrate 1i; resolves to drown herself 14; is dissuaded 
from her resolution by a soldier's wife named liarl.n !."> ; is 
received by her into her house 16; her magnanimous deter- 
mination to save her friend and family from starving 13; ac- 
cuses herself of murder '20; implicates Hiirlin in the charge, 
ibid; she receives sentence of death 22, retracts her accusa- 
tion at the scarfohi '25 ; her deatli 28. 

Schwarabujrg, couiress of, anecdotes of her heroic spirit, XX 13. 
Shore, Jane, lii-tory of, XVI. 1 ; -he becomes the mistress of 
Kinir Ed". aid IV. '2; persecutions endured by her after the 
king's death 3 ; is obliged to do penanoc 4 ; description of her 
person in old age, by Sir Thomas More 6. 

icy, Marlow> anecdotes ol his eccentric di-poition, XIII. 1!. 
tt; anger, Hannah, lier letters, to Jaucs .Naikr, XVll. 23. 


, a Wind man, Recount of, XV. 6 ; antidotes of \\'n 
extraordinary skill iit Qieelmuies 1, to, his ;au v toi C'>R)pu 
sitions 8. 

, Sir Thomas, psrficulurs qunceming the a4'ira' CricU 
ton, related by him, XX, 3^, 

\Vi\lpole, Mr. his observations on Mrs Dclanv, XVl(. ^3. 
\Ve!h^', Henry, h'Vory c(, XVII. } his di;)VrfjT:c itl h| brtt* 
tlicr 5 ; he \vilhdi<tw<s iuiu swjjtttrv >ec!usit)n ti ; 

Wilson, G. H. 
9990 The eccentric mirror