Portraits of curious characters in London, &c. &c. : with descriptive and entertaining anecdotes

CHILDREN'S BOOK £•
COLLECTION

LIBRARY OF THE

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

PORTRAITS

CURIOUS CHARACTERS

LONDON, $c. $c.

DESCRIPTIVE AMD ENTERTAINING ANECDOTES,

4 There's none but has some fault ; and he's the best,
( Most perfect he, who's spotted with the least."

LONDON:

PRINTED BY AND FOR W. DARTON,
58, HOLBORN-HILL.

1814.

NATHANIEL BENTLEY, Esq.

Known ly the Name of Dirty Dick,
Late a Hardware Merchant, in Leadenhall-street.

MR. BENTLEY resided at the corner of the
avenue leading to the house formerly the Old

Nathaniel Bentley. 3

Crown Tavern, Leadenhall-street, not far from
the East-India House.

The house and character of this eccentric in-
dividual are so well described in a poem pub-
lished in the European Magazine, for January
1801, that we shall transcribe it:

" Who but has seen (if he can see at all)
'Tvvixl Aldgate's well-known pump and LeaderihalJ,
A curious hard-ware shop, in general full
Of wares, from Birmingham and Pontipool ?
Begrim'd with dirt, behold its ample front,
With thirty years collected filth upon't.
See festoon'd cobwebs pendent o'er the door,
While boxes, bales, and trunks, are strew'd around the
floor.

" Behold how whistling winds and driving rain
Gain free admission at each broken pain,
Save where the dingy tenant keeps them out
\Vith urn or tray, knife-case, or dirty clout!
Here snuffers, waiters, patent screws for corks;
There castors, card-racks, cheese-trays, knives and forks:
Here empty cases pil'd in heaps on high ;
There pack-thread, papers, rope, in wild disorder lie.

" O say, thou enemy to soap and towels !
Hast no compassion lurking in thy bowels?
Think what thy neighbours suffer by thy whim
Of keeping self and house in such a trim !
The officers of health should view the scene,
And put thy shop and thee in quarantine.
Consider thou, in summer's ardent heat,
When various means are tried to cool the street.
What must each decent, neighbour suffer then
From various vapours issuing from thy den.

** When fell Disease, with all her horrid train,
Spreads her dark pinions o'er ill fated Spain,

A 2

4 Nathaniel Bentley.

That Britain may not witness such a scene,
Behoves us doubly now to keep our dwellings clean.

«; Say, if, within the street where thou dost dwell,
Each house were kept exactly like thy cell ;
O, say, thou enemy to brooms and mops!
How long thy neighbours could keep open shops.
If, following thee in taste, each wretched elf,
Unshav'd, unwash'd, and squalid like thyself,
Resolv'd to live ? — The answer's very plain,
One year would be the utmost of their reign:
Victims to filth, each vot'ry soon would fall,
And one grand jail-distemper kill them all.

" Persons there are, who say thou hast been seen
(Some years ago) with hands and face wash'd clean;
And, wouldst thou quit this most unseemly plan,
Thou art ('tis said) a very comely man :
Of polish'd language, partial to the fair,
Then why not wash thy face and comb thy matted hair?
Clear from thy house accumulated dirt,
New paint the front, and wear a cleaner shirt."

Many are the reports concerning his civility,
and polite manner of attending to the ladies
•whenever they have honoured him with their
commands ; and several curious persons have
come to town from various parts of the country,
on purpose to see so remarkable a figure.

Before the powder-tax was introduced, Na-
thaniel frequently paid a shilling for dressing
that head, which of late years he scarcely
seemed to think worthy of a comb ! He mends
his own clothes and washes his own linen, which
he proudly acknowledges. His answer to a gen-
tleman who wished to convert him to cleanli-
ness, was, " It is of no use, Sir ; if I wash my

Nathaniel Bentley. 5

hands to-day, they will be dirty again to-mor-
row." On being asked whether he kept a dog
or cat to destroy rats, mice, &c. he replied,
" No, Sir, they only make more dirt, and spoil
more goods than any service they are of; but as
to rats and mice, how can they live in my house,
when I take care to leave them nothing to eat?"
If asked why he does not take down his shutters
which have been so long up, or why he does not
put his goods in proper order, his answer is,
" he has been long thinking of it, but he has not
time."

With all Nathaniel Bentley 's eccentricities, it
must be acknowledged, he is both intelligent
and polite : like a diamond begrimed with dirt,
which, though it may easily conceal its lustre
in such a state, can easily recover its original
polish — not a diamond indeed of the first water
— not a rough diamond — but an unwashed dia-
mond.

In his beauish days, his favourite suit was blue
and silver, with his hair dressed in the extremity
of fashion; but now — strange fancy — his hair
frequently stands up like the quills of the por-
cupine, and generally attended in his late shop
without a coat, while his waistcoat, breeches,
shirt, face, and hands, corresponded with the
dirt of his warehouse.

A3

ANN SIGGS,
Contrast to the Character last mentioned.

THOSE who are in the practice of walking the
principal streets of this metropolis, leading from
Bond-street to Cornhiil, must have been at-
tracted by the daily appearance of Ann Siggs,
a tall woman, walking apparently easy with
crutches, and mostly dressed in white, sometimes
wearing a jacket or spencer of green baize; yet

Ann Siggs. 7

always remarkably clean in her dress and ap-
pearance.

It does not appear, however, that this female
ranks very high among the remark ables9 having
but very few eccentricities, and nothing very
singular, except her dress and method of walk-
ing. The great burthen of warm clothing which
she always wears, is not from affectation, or a
disposition to promote popular gaze, but from
the necessity of guarding against the least cold,
which she says always increases a rheumatic
complaint with which she is afflicted.

When we consider the great number of beg-
gars who daily perambulate London, and the
violence they commit against decency, cleanli-
ness, and delicate feelings, one naturally feels
surprised they are so often the receivers of the
generosity and bounty of the passing crowds;
but independent of the commendable garb
which adorns the interesting figure of Ann Siggs,
we have repeatedly noticed another rare quality
so very uncommon among the mendicant tribe,
and that is, a silent and modest appeal to the
considerate passenger, which almost involuntarily
calls forth inquiry.

She is about fifty-six years of age, and is said
to have a brother still living, an opulent trades-
man on the Surrey side of the water ; she also
had a sister living at Isleworth, who died some
time since.

This mendicant receives from the parish of St.
Michael, Cornhill, a weekly allowance, \vhich,

8 Martin Van ButchelL

with the benevolence of some well-disposed per-
sons, probably adds considerably to her comforts,

" But cannot minister to the mind diseas'd."

It appears she has lived in Eden-court, Swal-
low-street, upwards of fifteen years, the lonely
occupant of a small back room, leaving it at 9
o'clock every morning to resume her daily walks.

Her father lived many years at Dorking, in
Surrey, maintaining the character of an indus-
trious, quiet, and honest man, by the trade of a
taylor, and who having brought up a large family
of eight children, died, leaving the present Ann
Siggs destitute of parental protection at the age
of eighteen ; and after many revolutions of bright
and gloomy circumstances that have attended
her during her humble perambulations, which
the weakest minds are by no means calculated
to endure, these have in some measure wrought
upon her intellects. She is however perfectly
innocent

MEMOIRS OF THE CELEBRATED

MARTIN VAN BUTCHELL,

Surgeon, Dentist, Kc.

OF MOUNT-STREET, BF.RKELEY-SQUARE.

The appellation of extraordinary may, indeed,
well apply to this ingenious and whimsical man.
All the remarkable eccentricities which have yet
been the characteristic of any man, however cele-

Martin Van Butchell

brated, may all hide their diminished heads he-
fore Martin Van Butchell. He is the morning
star of the eccentric world; a man of uncom-
mon merit and science, therefore the more won-
derful from his curious singularities, his man-
ners, and his appearance. Many persons make
use of meaas to excite that attention which

10 Martin Van Butchell.

their merit did not deserve, and for the obtain-
ing of credit which they never possessed. It
appears, as an exception to these rules, that the
singularities of Martin Van Butchell have tended
more to obscure, than to exalt or display the
sterling abilities which even the tongue of envy
has never denied him.

The father of Martin Van Butchell was very
well known in the reign of George II. ; being
tapestry- maker to his majesty, with a salary of
^50 per annum attached to the office.

The education of the son was equal to the
father's circumstances ; who lived in a large
house, with extensive gardens, known by the
name of the t: Crown House" in the parish of
Lambeth, where several of the gentry occasion-
ally lodged for the beauty of the situation and
air; the son, who had many opportunities of
improvement, by and through the distinguished
persons who paid their visits at hisfather's house,
was early taken notice of, and very soon pos-
sessed a knowledge of the French language, and
arrived at many accomplishments. He main-
tained a good character, with a prepossessing
address ; recommendations which induced Sir
Thomas Robinson to solicit his acceptance to
travel with his son, as a suitable companion, in
a tour through Europe. This offer, it appears, was
not accepted ; but in a short time after, he joined
the family of the Viscountess Talbot; where, as
groom of the chambers, he remained many years:
t situation so lucrative as to enable him to leave

Martin Fan Butchell. 1 1

and pursue with vigour his endeared studies of
mechanics, medicine, and anatomy.

The study of the human teeth accidentally
took up his attention through the breaking of one
of his own, and he engaged himself as pupil to
the famous Dr. J. Hunter. The profession of
dentist was the occasion of first introducing him
to the notice of the public ; and so successful was
he in this art, that for a complete set of teeth
he has received the enormous * price of eighty
guineas! We have heard of a lady who was
dissatisfied with teeth for which she had paid
him ten guineas ; upon which he voluntarily re-
turned the money : scarcely had she slept upon
the contemplation of this disappointment, before
she returned, soliciting the set of teeth, which he
had made her, as a favour, with an immediate
tender of the money which she originally paid,
and received them back again.

After many years successfully figuring as a den-
tist, Martin Van Butchell became no less eminent
as a maker of trusses for ruptured persons. A
ph3*sician of eminence in Holland having heard
of his skill in this practice, made a voyage for the
purpose of consulting him, and was so success-
fully treated, that, in return for the benefit re-
ceived, he taught Martin Van Butchell the secret
of curing fistulas ; which he has practised ever
since in an astonishing and unrivalled manner.

The eccentricities of Martin now began to
excite public notice ; upon his first wife's death,
who, for the great affection he bore towards her,
iie was at first determined never should be bu-

Ifc Martin Van Butchell.

ried ; after embalming the body, he kept her in
her wedding clothes a considerable time, in the
parlour of his own house, which occasioned the
visits of a great number of the nobility and gen-
try. It has been reported, that the resolution of
kis keeping his wife unburied, was occasioned by
a clause in the marriage settlement, disposing of
certain property, while she remained above
ground: we cannot decide how far this may be
true, but she has been since buried. He has a
propensity to every thing in direct opposition to
other persons : he makes it a rule to dine by
himself, and for his wife and children also to
dine by themselves ; and it is his common cus-
tom to call his children by whistling, and by no
other way.

Next to his dress and the mode of wearing
his beard, one of the first singularities which dis-
tinguished him, was walking about London
streets, with a large Otaheitan tooth or bone in
his hand, fastened in a string to his wrist, in-
tended to deter the boys from insulting him, as
they very improperly were used to do, before
his person and character were so well known.

Upon the front of his house, in Mount-street,
he had painted the following puzzle :

HIS MAJESTY'S

Thus, said sneaking Jack, . speaking like himself,

I'll be first 5 if I get my money ,RO 1 dou*t care who suffers.

LETTERS PATENT,

MARTIN
VAN BUTCH ELL's

Martin Van Butchell. 13

NEW INVENTED

With caustic care and old Phim

SPRING BANDS

AND FASTNINGS

Sometimes in Six Days, and always ten —

the fistulse in Ano.

THE APPAREL
AND FURNITURE

July Sixth

OF

Licensed to deal in Perfumery, i. e.

HUMAN BEINGS
Hydrophobfa cured ia thirty days,

BRUTE CREATURES

made of Milk and Honey.

which remained some years. In order a little to
comprehend it : some years ago, he had a famous
dun horse, but on some dispute with the stable-
keeper, the horse was detained for the keep, and
at last sold, by the ranger of Hyde-Park, at Tat-
tersai's, where it fetched a very high price. This
affair was the cause of a law-suit, and the reason
why Martin Van Butchell interlined the curious
notice in small gold letters, nearly at the top, as
follows: — " Thus said sneaking Jack, speaking ,
like himself, I'll be first; if I get my money, I
don't care who suffers."

After losing his favourite dun horse, a pur-
chase was soon made of a small white poney,
which he never suffers to be trimmed in any
manner whatever; the shoes for it are always
fluted to prevent slipping, and he will not suffer

14 Martin Van Butchell.

the creature to wear any other. His saddle is
no less curious. He humorously paints the
poney, sometimes all purple, often with purple
spots, and with streaks and circles upon his
face and hinder parts. He rides on this equi-
page very frequently, especially on Sundays, in
the Park and about the streets.

The curious appearance of him and his horse
have a very striking effect, and always attracts
the attention of the public. His beard has not
been shaved or cut for fifteen years; his hat
shallow and narrow brimmed, and now almost
white with age, though originally black: his
coat a kind of russet brown, which has been
worn a number of years, with an old pair of
boots in colour like his hat and about as old.
His bridle is also exceedingly curious; to the
head of it is fixed a blind, which, in case of
taking fright or starting, can be dropped over
the horse's eyes, and be drawn up again at
pleasure.

Many have been the insults and rude attacks
of the ignorant and vulgar mob, at different
times, upon this extraordinary man; and in-
stances have occurred of these personal attacks
terminating seriously to the audacious offender.
One man, we remember, had the extreme auda-
city to take this venerable character by the beard;
in return, he received a blow from the injured
gentleman, with an umbrella, that had nearly
broken a rib.

We shall now endeavour to exhibit his remark-
able turn for singularity, by his writings, as pub-

Martin Van ButchelL 15

lished at different times in the public prints, and
affording entertainment for the curious :

" Corresponding — Lads — Remember Judas :

And the year 80 ! Last Monday Morning, at 7 o'clock,
Doctor Merry man, of Queen-street , May -f air ^ pre-
sented Elizabeth, the wife of Martin Van Butchell,
with her Fifth fine Boy, at his House in Mount Street,
Grosvenor Square, and — they — are — all — well — . Post
Master General for Ten Thousand Pounds ( — we mean
Gentlemen's — Not a Penny less — ) I will soon con-
struct—such M ail-Coach — Perch — Bolts as shall never
break !

To many I refer — for my character: Each will have
grace — to write his case ; soon as he is well — an history
tell ; for the public good ; — to save human blood,
as — all — true — folk — shou'd. Sharkish people may —

keep themselves away, Those that use me Hi — I

never can heal, being forbidden — to cast pearls to
pigs; lest — they — turn — and — tear. Wisdom makes,
dainty : patients come to me, with heavy guineas, — be-
tween ten and one ; but — / — go — to — none."

Mender of Mankind ; in a manly way.

In another advertisement, he says :

" That your Majesty's Petitioner is a British Chris-
tian Man, aged fifty-nine — with a comely beard — full
eight inches long. That your Majesty's Petitioner was
born in the County of Middlesex— brought up in the
County of Surrey— and has never been out of the
Kingdom of England. That your Majesty's Petitioner
( — about ten years ago — ) had often the high honour
(—before your Majesty's Nobles—) of conversing with
your Majesty ( — face to face — ) when we were hunting1
of the stag — on Windsor Forest."

16 John Statham.

" British Christian Lads ( — Behold— now is the
day — of Salvation. Get understanding- , as the high-
est gain. — ) Cease looking boyish ; -become quite
manly! — (Girls are fond of hair: it is natural. — )
Let your beards grow long: that ye may be strong:
— in mind — and body: as weie great grand dads: —
Centuries ago ; when John did not owe — a single
penny: more than—he -could — pay."

Many more equally whimsical advertisements
might be selected, and many additional anec-
dotes might be told of him ; but what we have
here recorded concerning this complete original
may be depended upon. Not one word of w:hich
is contrary to truth.

PARTICULARS RELATING TO

JOHN STATHAM,

A REMARKABLE BLIND YOUNG MAN,
Well known about the streets of London.

IT seems that this extraordinary character was
born blind, about the year 176& Having been
deprived of his father, whilst very young, he
was taken care of by his father-in-law, a brass-
founder; and, early in life, habituated to attend
very constantly the public worship of the church
of England; but it appears, the visits he then
made to places of worship were more from the
authority of his father-in-law, than from any
relish he had for the benefit of assembling
amongst religious people; on the contrary, he
was averse to the practice of going to church,

John Statham.

17

and therefore it is not to be wondered at, that
he should be found at length professing openly,
by words and actions, similar dislike even to re-
ligion itself. But his continuance in these sen-
timents was suddenly changed, in accidentally
meeting with the Countess of Huntingdon's
Hymns, and the preaching of a gentleman at
B3

18 John Statliam.

Spa Fields Chapel, so that he became more and
more enraptured with the sublime doctrines of
the Gospel ; and has ever since constantly at-
tended upon the dissenting meetings. And
though blind, he does not walk in darkness, like
too many professing Christians, " who have
eyes, but see not."

Those who have the use of their sight, and
have been constantly resident in London, are not
better acquainted with the town than poor Sta-
tham. With astonishing precision, he finds his
way, from street to street, and from house to
house, supplying his customers with the various
periodical publications that he carries ; and this
only by the means of an extraordinary retentive
memory. His constant companion being a
stick, whereby lie feels his way. Such is his
care and recollection, that he has never been
known to lose himself.

Whilst living with his father-in-law, he paid
great attention to the brass foundery business
and still remembers the process of that art. On
the death of his father- in -law, poor Statham be-
came possessed of a very small freehold estate :
the produce of which is, however, so trifling,
that were it not for the occasional assistance of
benevolent persons, and his little magazine walk,
the wants of nature could not be supplied. He
uses every exertion within his power to increase
his weekly pittance ; but the cruelty exercised
upon him by inconsiderate people has, at dif-
ferent times, given him severe pain and bitter
disappointment : the inhumanity we allude to, is

John Stalham. W

that of sending him orders for magazines to be ta-
ken to places, several miles distant, which when
purchased and conveyed to the fictitious place, he
has been told, " No such books have been ordered,
nor is there any one of that name lives here." Now
if the persons so treating a poor defenceless man,
only reflected a moment, at least they would
forbear the shameful exercise of such wanton
cruelty.

As we have hinted at the strength of his me-
mory, we will now produce some facts to sub-
stantiate the truth. Hecan repeat all the Church
of England service, and a great part of the Old
and New Testament; some particular portions of
Scripture which he considers remarkably striking
he delivers with peculiar emphasis; besides the
recollection of Lady Huntingdon's Hymns. Eve-
ry sermon he hears he will go over, when returned
home, with astonishing precision.

Equal to his retentive memory is his ingenuity,
possessing an extensive knowledge of metals, cop-
per, tin, brass, pewter, &c. &c. He can like-
wise tell if pinchbeck is or not a good mixture of
copper and brass of equal proportion !

And no less remarkable is his retention of hear-
ing: we remember upon a time, a person only
having been once in his company, and after an
absence of some months the same gentleman
paid him. a second visit; poor Statham imme-
diately looked to the spot from whence the voice
proceeded, and having repeatedly turned his
head, wiithout any further information, instantly
addressed the gentleman he recollected.

20 Anne Longman.

It appears he is extremely fond of music, and
what is called spiritual singing. His mode of
living is always regular and frugal ; strong liquors,
so much used by the poor of this country, are
by him religiously abstained from. These cir-
cumstances cause him to receive the advantages
of a regular good state of health, and that cheer-
fulness of mind and patience in suffering so very
conspicuous in his character.

Since the above account was written, this unfortunate indi-
vidual was found, by the road side, near Baeuigsje Wells,
frozen to death, on Christmas morning-, December 25th, 1808,
having lost his way in that memorably severe storm of frost
and snowj of Christmas eve of that year.

ANNE LONGMAN,

SINGER AND MUSICIAN.

WE have now to take notice of a female who
never fails to attract particular notice; she is
mostly attended by a crowd : with the assistance
of a musical instrument, called a guitar, she adds
her own voice, which, combined with the in-
strument, has a very pleasing effect.

A decent modesty is conspicuous in this per-
son, more so than in any other we have ever wit-
nessed following so humble a calling. She is
wife to a soldier in the foot-guards, and lost her
sight by suckling twin children, who are some-
times writh her, conducted by a girl, who seems
engaged to assist the family both at home and
out of doors. Cleanliness, at all times the

Anne Longman.

Si-

nurse of health, is by nine-tenths of the poor of
this land banished existence, as if it were matter
of misery to be distinguished by a clean skin and
with clean clothes; now this rarity, we speak
of, is amply possessed by Anne Longman, and
though not quite so conspicuous in this parti-
cular as Ann Siggs, yet she lays strong claim to
pity and charitable sympathy. It cannot be
supposed that her husband, possessing only the
salary arising from the situation of a private in

22 John and Robert Green.

the foot-guards, can support, without additional
assistance, himself, his wife quite blind, and a
family of four childrejuwithout encountering
some severe trials and dimculties ; so that, upon
the whole, it is a matter of satisfaction and plea-
sure to find, that, incumbered as she is, some
addition is made to their support through the
innocent means of amusing the surrounding spec-
tators by her melody.

JOHN AND ROBERT GREEN,

THE WANDERING MINSTRELS.

THESE pedestrians form a singular sight; twins
in birth, and partners in misfortunes in life;
they came into the world blind ; and blind are
compelled to wade their way through a world
of difficulties and troubles.

Though nothing very remarkable can be re-
corded of them, yet there is something in their
looks and manners that at least renders them
conspicuous characters.

They are continually moving from village to
village, from town to town, and from city to
city, never omitting to call upon London, whe-
ther outward or homeward bound. It is observ-
able, however, they never play but one tune,
which may account for their not stopping any

John and Robert Green. 23

length of time in one place. For upwards of
twenty years they have always been seen to-
gether.

John and Robert Green are visitors at most
country fairs, particularly at the annual Statute
Fair, held at Chipping Norton, which they never
fail to attend ; and at this place, it appears, they
were born.

When in London, they are always noticed
with a guide ; and as soon as the old harmony

24 Tom and his Pigeons.

is finished, one takes hold of the skirt of the
other's coat, and in that manner proceed until
they again strike up the regular tune. We are
inclined to think the charity bestowed upon them
is not given as a retaining fee, but rather to get
rid of a dissonance and a discord which, from
continual repetition, becomes exceedingly dis-
agreeable ; though in this manner they pick up
a decent subsistence.

TOM AND HIS PIGEONS,

A noted Character,

ABOUT ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD, &C.

THOMAS SUGD EN seems determined to distin-
guish himself from the rest of his brethren, by
carrying two pigeons upon his shoulders, and one
upon his head ; healthy and fine birds continue
so but a little time with him. He is the dirtiest
among the dirty; and his feathered companions
soon suffer from this disgusting propensity ; one
week reduces their fine plumage and health to a
level with the squalid and miserable appearance
of their master, whose pockets very often contain
the poor prisoners, to be ready to bring them
forth at the first convenient stand he thinks it
most to his advantage to occupy; and from this
mode of conveyance are they indebted for broken
feathers, dirt, &c.

Tom and his Pigeons.

1

Sugden, a native of Yorkshire, lost his sight in
a dreadful storm, on board the Gregson merchant-
man, Capt. Henley, commander : the particulars
he sometimes relates, and attributes his misfor-
tunes to an early neglect of parental admonition,
when nothing but sea could serve his turn. He
addresses his younger auditors upon this subject,
and remonstrates with them on the advantage of
obedience to their parents,
c

ROGER SMITH.

ELEVATED as the belll-ringing tribe are above
this humble creature, the correct manner of his
ringing, with hand-bells, various peals and song
tunes, would puzzle the judgments of a very
large portion of regular-bred belfry idlers.

Numbers of persons have attended upon his
performance, particularly when his self-con-

George Romondo. 27

strutted belfry was in existence, near Broad Wall,
Lambeth, containing a peal of eight bells, from
which he obtained a tolerable livelihood ; here he
was soon disturbed, and obliged to quit, to make
way for some building improvement. He has
ever since exercised his art in most public places,
on eight, ten, and sometimes twelve bells, for
upwards of twenty-four years. He frequently
accompanies the song tunes with his voice, add-
ing considerably to the effect, though he has
neither a finished nor powerful style of execu-
tion. While he performs upon the hand-bells
(which he does sitting), he wears a hairy cap,
to which he fixes two bells ; two he holds in
each hand ; one on each side, guided by a string
connected with the arm; one on each knee;
and one on each foot. It appeal's, he originally
came from the city of Norwich, and was em-
ployed as a weaver in that place some years,
but, having (from a cold) received an injury to
his sight, resigned his trade for the profession,
which necessity now compels him to follow.

GEORGE ROMONDO,

IV-ell known for his imitative abilities

AND GROTESQUE APPEARANCE.

IT seems the important study of ass-braying,
wild-boar grunting, and the cry of hungry pigs,

2$ George Romondo.

has engaged for some years the attention of this
original. In addition to these harmonious and
delightful sounds, another description of melody
he successfully performs, which is on the trum-
pet, French horn, drum, &c.

An Italian took a fancy to his wonderful inge-
nuity, and had him imported into England. As an
inducement to obtain George's consent to leave
the city of Lisbon, in Portugal, the place of his

George Romondo. 29

nativity, he was most flatteringly assured of
making his fortune.

Romondo took shipping for England, safely
arrived in London early in the year 1800; and
soon after commenced operations in a caravan
drawn by horses, nearly resembling those used
by the famous Pidcock, for the travelling of his
wild beasts up and down the country. In this
manner Romondo began making a tour of Eng-
land, from fair to fair, under the style and title
of " THE LITTLE MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN."
He now became alternately pig, boar, and ass,
for the Italian's profit, with an allowance of
2s. 6d. per day, for himself. It is natural to
suppose such a speculation could not be attended
with success; the event actually turned out so;
and after some time it was given up, and our
poor mountain hero left by this cunning Italian,
to shift for himself.

He, however, soon after commenced opera-
tions upon his -own account, and continues to
this day to exercise his surprising talents !

He is about forty-three years of age, wears a
cocked hat, drooping a prodigious length over
his shoulders, completely in the fashion of a
dustman or coalheaver, and with a coat ac-
tually sweeping the ground. In height he is
about three feet six inches; his legs and thighs
appear like a pair of callipers ; he is said to be,
in temper, very good natured ; and is very fond
of the ladies, often kissing their elbows, which
come exactly parallel with his lips, as he walks
the streets of London; and in exchange, many
c3

SO Toly.

a box on the ear has been received, with appa-
rent good nature. At particular times, he is
seen in his full dress, with a round fashionable
hat, white cotton stockings, and red slippers.

TOBY,

A CONSPICUOUS NEGRO.

A frequent visitor about the streets of London.

FROM the unintelligible crying jargon this man
utters, while supplicating charity, one would be
induced to suppose him ignorant of the English
language ; but he possesses, at least, as perfect
a knowledge of it as most persons in his humble
sphere.

The use of his own native language is of great
advantage to him, in exciting the pity and fixing
the attention of the passenger; and is, besides,
a great inducement to many to extend their
charity to this apparently distressed stranger.
Indeed he exercises every art, and leaves no me-
thod untried, to work upon the various disposi-
tions of those he supplicates. Very often he
will preach to the spectators gathered round
him, presuming frequently to make mention of
the name of Jesus; and, sometimes, he will
amuse another sort of auditors with a song;
and when legging, he always appears bent dou^

Toby.

ble, as if with excessive pain and fatigue. But
here again is another deception and trick of a
very shallow manufacture : for in the same day
we have seen him, when outward-bound, in the
morning, so bent double as with &fixed affliction ;
but on his return home in the evening, after the
business of the day is closed, this black Toby
reverses his position, lays aside all his restraints,
walks upright, and with as firm a step as the
nature of his loss will allow, begins talking Eng-

32 Toby.

lish, and ceases preaching. To all appearance,
a daily and universal miracle appears to be
wrought; for scarcely are he and his jovial
companions assembled together in one place
and with one accord; or rather scarcely has
liquor appeared upon the table, than the blind
can see — the dumb speak — the deaf hear — and
the lame walk ! Here, indeed, as Pope has said,
one might

" See the "blind beggar dance, the cripple sing:"

Or, as he has neatly said upon a more solemn
occasion,

" Hear the dumb sing ; the lame his crutch forego,
" And leap, exulting, like the bounding roe."

To descend from the imitations of these
poetic strains, we add, that to such assemblies*

* From some such meetings as these, we suppose the
following circular club letter to have been issued :

" The company of all mumpers, cadjers, match-makers,
dandelion-diggers, dragon-fogrum-gatherers, water-cress-
fisherss and others, is earnestly requested, to-morrow even-
ing, at the Old Blind Beak's Head, in Dyot-street, St.
Giles's, at 9 o'clock precisely. As the house has been
altered, the company will be accommodated with a large
room up stairs; but those who are not really lame, are
desired to leave their sticks and crutches at the bar, to
prevent mischief. After the admission of new members,
the president will give directions from the chair, for
avoiding beadles and all other unlucky persons ; point

Totnj. 33'

as those just described, Toby is a visiting mem-
ber, and is frequently called upon from the
chair to amuse the company; and ns a beggars
life is avowedly made up of extremes, from
these midnight revels, he adjourns to a miserable
two-penny lodging, where, with the regular
return of the morning, as a carpenter pu.tteth on
his apron, or as a trowel is taken into the hand
of a bricklayer; even so Black Tob}^, laying
aside all the freaks of the evening, again sallies
forth in quest of those objects of credulity, that
will ever be found in a population so extensive
as that of this metropolis.

Toby was employed on board a merchantman,
bound from Bermuda to Memel, and in the voy--
age, from the severity of the weather and change
of climate, lost the whole of his toes in the
passage. From Memel, he found his way to

out, for the benefit of country members, the best parts for
strolling, the method of making artificial sores, &e.

" Mr. Nick Froth, the landlord, also informs his friends
and customers,that,onaccountof the many evening lectures
and methodist meetings, in the winter season, the club
will meet an hour later than usual. He will also allow
sprats to be broiled on the tap-room five, let. his boy fetch
hogs' maws and sheeps' heads.— And that he likewise
sends strong beer in white jugs or black tin pots (cut of
a blind) to any of the stands, at a reasonable distance from
his house.—

" N. B. A good stand to let, now occupied by a person
who is under the necessity of going' into the Lock Hos-
pital"

34 Sir John Dinely, Baronet.

England, on board the Lord Nelson privateer,
and ever since has supported himself by the im-
proper charity he receives from begging.

MEMOIRS OF THE FAMOUS

Sir JOHN DINELY, Baronet,
One of the Knights of Windsor.

" Take him for all in all,

*' We ne'er shall look upon his like again."

SIR JOHN DINELY is descended from a very illustrious
family, which continued to flourish in great repute in
AVorcestershire, till the late centuiy, when they ex-
pired in the person of Sir Edward Dinely, Knight.

The present heroic Sir John Dinely has, however,
made his name conspicuous by stepping into a new
road of fancy, by his poetic effusions, by his curious
advertisements for a wife, and by the singularity of his
dress and appearance.

Sir John now lives at Windsor, in one of the habi-
tations appropriated to reduced gentlemen of his de-
scription. His fortune he estimates at three hundred
thousand pounds, if he could rccoier it !

In dress, Sir John is no changeling; for nearly
twenty years past he has been the faithful resem-
blance of the engraving accompanying this account.
He is uncommonly loquacious, his conversation is
overcharg-ed with egotism, and such a mixture of re-
partee and evasion, as to excite doubts, in the minds of
superficial observers, as to the reality of his character

Sir John Dinely> Baronet*

and abilities. With respect to his exterior, it is really
laughable to observe him, when he is known to be
going to some public place to exhibit his person ; he
is then decked out with a full-bottomed wig-, a velvet
embroidered waistcoat, satin breeches and silk stock-
ings. On such occasions as these, not a little inflated
with family pride, he seems to imagine himself a^
great as any lordling : but on the day following, he
mviy be seen slowly pacing from the chandler's shop

':(j Sir John Dinely, Baronet.

with a penny loaf in one pocket^ a morsel of butter, a

quartern of sugar, and a three-farthing candle in the

other.

He is still receiving epistles in answer to his adver-
tisements, and several whimsical interviews and ludi-
crous adventures have occurred in consequence. He
has, more; than once, paid his addresses to one of his
own sex, dressed as a fine lady : at other times, when
he has expected to see his fair enamorata at a window,
he has been rudely saluted with the contents of very
different compliments. One would suppose these ac-
cidents would operate as a cooler, and allay in some
degree the warmth of his passion. But our heroic
veteran still triumphs over every obstacle, and the hey-
day of his blood still beats high ; as may be seen by
the following advertisement for a wife, in the Reading
Mercury, May 24, 1802:

" Miss in her Teens — let not this sacred offer escape your
eye. I now call all qualified ladies, marriageable, to chocolate
;>t ray house every day at your own hour. — With tears in my
< yes, 1 must tell yon, that sound reason commands me to give
you but one: month's notice befoie I part with my chance of an
infant baronet for ever: for you may readily hear that three
widows and old maids, all aged above fifty, near my door, are
now pulling caps for me. Pray, my young charmers, give me
a fair hearing*, do not let your avaricious guardians unjustly
fright you with a false account of a forfeiture, but let the great
Scwel and Rivet's opinions convince you to the contrary; and
that I urn. uu\v in legal possession of these estates ; and with
the spirit of an heroine command my three thousand pounds,
and rank above half the. ladies in our imperial kingdom. By
your ladyship\* directiKg a favourable line to me, Sir John
Dinely, Baronet, at my house in Windsor Castle, your attor-
ury will satisfy you, that, if 1 live but a month, eleven thou-
sand pounds a year w ill be your ladyship's for ever."

Sir John does not forget to attend twice or thrice a
year at Vauxhall and the theatres, according to ap-
pointments in the most fashionable daily papers. He

*

The Polite Grocers of the Strand. 3?

parades the most conspicuous parts of Vauxhall, and
is also seen in the front row of the pit in the theatres ;
whenever it is known he is to be there, the house is
sure, especially by the females, to be well attended.
Of late, Sir John has added a piece of stay-tape to his
wig, which passes under his chin; from this circum-
stance, some persons might infer that he is rather chop-
fallen ; an inference by no means fair, if we still con-
sider the gay complexion of his advertisements and ad-
dresses to the ladies.

PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE

POLITE GROCERS OF THE STRAND.
" Brother John and I."

OUR engraving represents two singular characters,
whose eccentric humour is well worthy of the attention
of the curious. Messrs. AARON and JOHN TRIM are
grocers, living at No. 449, Strand, nearly opposite to
VillierVstreet ; at this shop curiosity would not be dis-
appointed of the expected gratification, from the per-
sonal appearance of the two gentlemen behind the
counter, if there was nothing else to strike the at-
tention. One of the gentlemen is so short, as fre-
quently to be under the necessity of mounting the steps
to serve his customers. And the shop itself displays
no common spectacle : a dozen pair of scales are strewed
from one end of the counter to the other, mingled with
large lumps of sugar and various other articles; the
floor is so completely piled with goods, one upon the

38 The Polite Grocers of the Strand.

other, and in all parts so covered that there is passage
sufficient but for one person at a time to be served :
and we believe there is no shop in the neighbourhood
so much frequented, although there are a great many
in the same business within two hundred yards of A.
and ,T. Trim. Their shop is remarkable for selling
is termed " a good article" These gentlemen

The Polite Grocers of the Strand. 39

exercise the greatest attention to their customers, and
such good humour and urbanity of manners, as to be
characterised the " POLITE GROCERS." They were
born in the same house in which they now live, and
have remained there ever since ; and where their father,
a man well esteemed, died some years back, leaving the
business to his sons, with considerable property.

The church of England never had more regular at-
tenders upon -its ministry and forms of worship than in
the persons of Messrs. Aaron and John Trim, whose at-
tendance at the public worship, at St. Martin's, in the
Strand, is as regular with them as the neglect and de-
sertion is common by the generality of its members.

The whole of the business of the Polite Grocers is
conducted by themselves, with now and then the as-
sistance of a young woman, who appears principally
to have the management of the Two-penny-post ; and
from the extent of their trade, the smallness of their
expenses, and their frugality, it is generally supposed
they must be rich ; but though extremely talkative
upon any other subject, yet on every point relating to
themselves, and their private concerns, they very pro-
perly maintain the most impenetrable closeness and
reserve.

Abounding as this age does with so many temptations
and examples of extravagance and waste, it requires no
small portion of resolution to maintain a due observance
of economy, to be kept from following the public cur-
rent in its wasteful fashions and extravagant expenses.
Now, that the Polite Grocers maintain this economy,
cannot be doubted ; and which, in the present situation
of things, must be considered no small virtue. Economy
without penuriousness, liberality without prodigality !

D 2

40

AXX JOHNSON,

THE HOLBORN LACE-WEAVER,
A conspicuous blind voman.

ANN JOHNSON is a poor industrious widow, cleanly,
sober, and decent, inoffensive and honest, and quite
blind. The engraved portrait of th s interesting figure
may be depended upon for its faithful representation
of the much-to-be-pitied original. She was born at

Ann 'Johnson. 41

Eaton, in Cheshire, on St. Andrew's day, old style, in
the year 1743, was apprenticed to a ribband weaver
at the early age of ten years, and was twenty four
years old when she lost her sight, occasioned by a
spotted fever.

Sitting exposed to the inclemency of hot and cold, of
wet and dry weather, for upwards of six and twenty
years, in the open streets of London, might naturally
undermine a constitution the most vigorous and healthy.
It certainly has considerably affected Ann Johnson,
whose regular appearance, even in the bitterest days
of winter, has been as uniform as the finest in summer,
on Holborn-hill, upon the steps at the corner of Mar-
maduke and Thomas Langdale's house, the distillers.
Here she exhibits the expert manner in which she
makes laces, attracting the notice of the considerate
passenger ; she is rendered additionally interesting, by
the cheerfulness of her conversation and the serenity of
her countenance, using words, in effect, similar to the
following beautiful lines :

" Are not the ravens daily fed by thee?

And wilt thou clothe the lilies, and not me?
Begone distrust ! — I shall have clothes and bread,
While lilies flourish, or the birds are fed."

She resides at No. 5, Church-lane, Bloomsbury, and
has been an inhabitant of London upwards of thirty-
eight years. We particularly recommend her to the
considerate attention of every little girl or young wo-
man, and, when they are in want of any laces, to think
of Ann Johnson. — Such great industry deserves en-
couragement.

D3

SAMUEL HORSEY,

A REMARKABLE MAN WITHOUT LEGS,
Called the Sing of the Beggars,

SUCH as have seen this man in London (and there are
very few that have not) \vill be instantly struck with
the accuracy of the engraving!

He has literally rocked himself about London for
upwards of nineteen years, with the help of a wooden
seat, assisted by a short pair of crutches; and the faci-
lity with which he moves is the more singular, when

Miss Theodora de Verdion 43

we consider he is very corpulent ; he appears to possess
remarkably good health, aiid is about fifty-six years of
age. In his life we have no great deal to notice, as
wonderful or remarkable. His figure alone is what
renders him a striking character; not striking for the
height or bulk of his person, but for the mutilated
singularity and diminutive size so conspicuously at-
tracting when upon his move in the busiest parts of
London streets ; in places that require considerable care,
even for persons well mounted upon legs, and posr
sessing a good knowledge in the art of walking, to get
along without accidents ; but even here poor Samuel
works his way, whilst buried, as it were, with the press
of the crowd, in a manner very expeditious, and
tolerably free from accidents, except being tumbled
over now and then by people walking too much in
haste.

Miss THEODORA DE VERDION,

commonly known by the name of

CHEVALIER JOHN THEODORA DE VERDION,

Who lived in London disguised as a man, a teacher of
languages and a walking bookseller.

THIS singular woman was born in the year 1744, at
Leipsic, in Germany, and died at her lodgings in Up-
per Charles-street, Hatton-Garden, London, July 15,
1802. She was the only daughter of an architect, of
the name of Grahn, who erected several edifices in the
city of Berlin, particularly the church of St. Peter.
She wrote an excellent hand, and had learned the ma-
thematics, the French, Italian, aad English language*.

44 Miss Theodora de Ferdion.

and possessed a complete knowledge of her native
tongue. Upon her arrival in England, she commenced
teacher of the German language, under the name of
Dr. John de Yerdion. In h'er exterior, she was ex-
tremely grotesque, wearing a bag wig, a large cocked
hat, three or four folio books under one arm, and an
umbrella under the other, her pockets completely filled
with smali volumes, and a stick in her right hand*

Miss Theodora de Verdion. 45

She had a good knowledge of English 4jooks ; many
persons entertained her for her advice, relative to pur-
chasing them. She obtained a comfortable subsistence
from teaching and translating foreign languages, and
by selling books chiefly in foreign literature. She
taught the Duke of Portland the German language,
and was always welcomed to his house ; the Prussian
Ambassador to our court received from her a knowledge
of the English language; and several distinguished
noblemen she frequently visited to instruct them in the
French tongue ; she also taught Edward Gibbon, the
celebrated Roman historian, the German language, pre-
vious to his visiting that country. This extraordinary
female has never been known to have appeared in any
other but the male dress since her arrival in England,
where she remained upwards of thirty years ; and upon
occasions she would attend at court, decked in very su-
perb attire ; and was well remembered about the streets
of London ; and particularly frequent in attending book
auctions, and would buy to a large amount, sometimes
a coach load, &c. Here her singular figure generally
made her the jest of the company.

Her general purchase at these sales was odd vo-
lumes ; which she used to carry to other booksellers,
and endeavour to sell, or exchange for other books.
She was also a considerable collector of medals and
foreign ^coins of gold and silver ; but none of these
were found after her decease. She frequented the
Furnivars Inn coffee house, in Holborn, dining there
almost every day ; she would have the first of every
thing in season, and was as strenuous for a large quan-
tity, as she was dainty in the quality of what she chose
for her table. At times, it is well known, she could
dispense with three pounds of solid meat ; and, we are
sorry to say, she was much inclined to extravagant
drinking1.

46 Miss Theodora de Verdivn.

The disorder of a cancer in her breast, occasioned
by falling down stairs, she was, after much affliction,
at length compelled to make known to a German
physician, who prescribed for her; when the disorder
turned to a dropsy, defied all cure, and finished the
career of so remarkable a lady.

To foDow lovers, women there have been

Disguis'd as men, who've dar'd the martial scene j

Or, in pursuit of an inconstant swain,

Experienc'd all the dangers of the main.

Not so DE VERDION, for some other plan

She laid aside the woman for the man.

Perhaps she thought, that female garb and looks

111 spoke the gravity of German books;

That as a woman she could not pretend

To teach, translate, and literature to vend ;

That as a woman she could never be

A DOCTOR, since 'tis man takes that degree:

Who can deny that a lag wig denotes

More sense, more consequence, than petticoats f

And probably our hero-heroine knew

That otherwise her nostrums would not do !

But haply Prudence urgM this strange disguise,

(For in concealment modesty oft lies)

Assur'd she'd have to deal with wicked men,

She might have chose this metamorphose then,

And, as poor women always weak are thought,

Security from men's appearance sought ;

Then let not ridicule insult her name,

For who can tell but virtue was her aim;

That she disclaimed her sex through pious care,

And thus, ye fair ones, left a name that's^/oir;

For, nature's common frailties set aside,

She liv'd a Christian, and a Christian died;

Nor man nor woman by attire is known,

The PROOF OF ALL WILL BE THE HEART ALONE !

Daniel Lamlert.

47

DANIEL LAMBERT,

Aged Thirty-six Years.

THE astonishing weight of this man is fifty stone and
upwards, being more than seven hundred pounds;
the surprising circumference of his body is three yards
four inches; his leg, one yard and an inch; and his

48 Daniel Lambert.

height, five feet eleven inches; and, though of this
amazing size, entirely free from any corporeal defect.

This very remarkable personage received his birth
in Leicester; at which place he was apprenticed to an
engraver. Until he arrived at the age of twenty years,
he was not of more than usual size, but after that pe-
riod he began to increase in bulk, and has been gra-
dually increasing, until within a few months of the
present time. He was much accustomed to exercise in
the early years of his life, and excelled in walking,
riding and shooting; and more particularly devoted
himself to field exercises, as he found himself inclined
to corpulency; but, to the great astonishment of his
acquaintance, it proved not only unavailing, but really
seemed to produce a directly opposite effect. Mr.
Lambert is in full possession of perfect health ; and
whether sitting, lying, standing, or walking, is quite
at his ease, and requires no more attendance than any
common-sized person. He enjoys his night's repose,
though he does not indulge himself in bed longer than
the refreshment of sleep continues.

The following anecdote is related of him : — " Some
time since, a man with adancirg bear going through
the town of Leicester, one of Mr. Lambert's dogs tak-
ing a dislike, to his shaggy appearance, made a violent
attack upon the defenceless animal. Bruin's master did
not fail to take the part of his companion, and, in his
turn, began to belabour the dog. Lambert, being a
witness of the fray, hastened with all possible expedi-
tion from the seat or settle 'on which he made a prac-
tice of sitting at his own door) to rescue his dog. At
this moment the bear, turning round suddenly, threw
down his unwieldy antagonist, who, from terror and
his own weight, was absolutely unable to rise again,
and with difficulty got rid of his formidable opponent."
He is particularly abstemious with regard to diet,

Daniel Lambert. 49

and for nearly twelve years has not taken any liquor,
either with or after his meals, but water alone. His
manners are very pleasing ; he is well-inforrned, affable,
and polite ; and having a manly countenance and pre-
possessing1 address, he is exceedingly admired by those
who have had the pleasure of conversing with him.
His strength (it is worthy of observation) bears a near
proportion to his wonderful appearance. About eight
years ago, he carried more than four hundred weight
and a half, as a trial of his ability, though quite un-
accustomed to labour. His parents were not beyond
the moderate size ; and his sisters, who are still living,
are by no means unusually tall or large. A suit of
clothes costs him twenty pounds, so great a quantity of
materials are requisite for their completion,

It is reported, that among those who have recently
seen him was a gentleman weighing twenty stone : he
seemed to suffer much from his great size and weight.
Mr. Lambert, on his departure, observed, that he
would not (even were it possible) change situations
with him for ten thousand pounds. He bears a most
excellent character at his native town, which place he
left, to the regret of many, on Saturday, April 4, 1806,
for his first visit to London.

THE DEATH OF MR. LAMBERT!
FROM THE STAMFORD PAPER,

Friday, June 23, 1809.

We have to announce the death of this celebrated
man, which took place in this town at half past
S o* clock on Wednesday morning last.

50 Daniel Lambert.

Mr. Lambert had travelled from Huntingdon hither
in the early part of the week, intending to receive the
visits of the curious who might attend the ensuing races.
On Tuesday evening he sent a message to the office of
this paper, requesting that, as " the mountain could not
wait upon Mahomet, Mahomet would go to the moun-
tain/' Or, in other words, that the printer would call
upon him to receive an order for executing some hand-
bills, announcing Mr. Lambert's arrival, and his desire
to see company.

The orders he gave upon that occasion were de-
livered without any presentiment that they were to be
his last, and with his usual cheerfulness. He was
in bed — one of large dimensions — (" Ossa upon
Olympus, and Pelion upon Ossa") — fatigued with
his journey; but anxious that the bills might be
quickly printed, in order to his seeing company next
morning.

Before nine o'clock on that morning, however, he
tvas a corpse ! Nature had endured all the trespass
she could admit: the poor man's corpulency had
constantly increased, until, at the time we have men-
tioned, the clogged machinery of life stood still, and
the prodigy of Mammon was numbered with the
dead.

He was in his 40th year ; and upon being weighed,
within a few days, by the famous Caledon's balance,
was found to be .52 stone 1 1 pounds in weight (I4lb. to
the stone), which is 10 stone lllb. more than the great
Mr. Bright, of Essex, ever weighed. — He had apart-
ments at Mr. Berridge's, the Waggon and Horses, in
St. Martin's, on the ground floor — for he had been long
incapable of walking up stairs.

His coffin, in which there has been great difficulty
of placing him, is 6 feet 4 inches long, 4 feet 4 inches
iride, and 2 feet 4 inches deep ; the immense substance

Mary Jones. 51

of his legs makes it necessarily almost a square case.
The celebrated sarcophagus of Alexander, viewed with
so much admiration at the British Museum, would not
nearly contain this immense sheer hulk.

The coffin, which consists of 112 superficial feet of
elm, is built upon 2 axletrees and 4 cog wheels ;
and upon these the remains of the poor man will be
rolled into his grave ; which we understand is to be
in the new burial-ground at the back of St. Martin's
church. — A regular descent will be made by cutting
away the earth slopingly for some distance — the win-
dow and wall of the room in which he lies must be
taken down to allow his exit. — He is to be buried at
8 o'clock this morning.

N. B. There is a very good coloured portrait of Daniel Lambert,
published by W. DARTON, Holborn j with particulars
concerning him. Price One Shilling.

MARY JONES,

COMMONLY CALLED

MAD MOLLY,

Well known about Clieapside, Newgate- Street,
Holborn-Bridge9 fyc. fyc.

WHIMS wild and simple lead her from her home,
'Mongst London's alleys, streets, and lanes, to roam.

Mary Jones.

When morning wakes, none earlier rousM than she,

Pity she claims and kind humanity.

Affliction sad hath chas'd her hard,

Frailty her crime, and mis'ry her reward !

Her mind's serenity is lost and gone,

Her eyes grown languid, and she weeps alone.

And oft the gaily-passing- stranger stays

His well-tim'd steps, and takes a silent gaze ;

A well-known Carver. 53

Or hears repeated, as he passes nigh,
One short, but simple word, " Good-by!"
A beauty once she was in life's gay morn ;
Fled now's her beauty, and she's left forlorn.
Once was she happy, calm, and free,
Now lives in woe, in rags, and misery.
A revolution too hath taken place,
In manners, actions, and grimace.
Unlawful love has marr'd her former peace,
Quick vanish 'd hope ; and left her comfortless !
She merits every kind protecting care :
Of generous bounty let her have her share.
Childish and trivial now are all her ways ;
In peace, oh ! let her live; with comfort end her days.

A WELL-KNOWN CARVER,

IN FLEET-MARKET, ANNO 1806.

« HOT OR COLD."

Hot or cold, she carves away
Ham and Beef all through the day ;
Enough of work she's sure of finding,
In stopping hunger or stomach lining.
Through winter's cold, or summer's heat,
Full is the shop whene'er we see't.

E3

A well-known Carver.

55

THE LIFE OF

JOHN ELWES, ESQ.

Member in three successive Parliaments for Berkshire.

MEGGOT was the family name of Mr. Elwes;
and his name being John, the conjunction of Jack
Meggot induced strangers to imagine sometimes
thathis friends were addressing him by an assum-
ed appellation. The father of Mr. Elwes was an
eminent brewer; and his dwelling-house and offi-
ces were situated in Southwark ; which borough
was formerly represented in parliament by his
grandfather. Sir George Meggot. During his life
he purchased the estate now in possession of the
family of the Calverts, at Marcham, in Berkshire.
The father died when the late Mr. Elwes was only
four years old; so that little of the singular cha-
racter ot Mr. Elwes is to be attributed to him :
but from the mother it may be traced with ease ;
she was left nearly one hundred thousand pounds
by her husband, and yet starved herself to death.
The only children from the above marriage, were
Mr. Elwes, and a daughter, who married the
father of the late Colonel Timms; and from
thence came the entail of some part of the pre-
sent estate.

Mr. Elwes, at an early period of life, was sent
to Westminster School, where he remained ten or
twelve years. He certainly, during that time, had
not misapplied his talents ; for he was a good clas-
sical scholar to the last; and it is a circumstance
yery remarkable, yet well authenticated, that he

56 The Life of John Elwes, Esq.

never read afterwards. Never, at any period of
his future life, was he seen with a book ; nor had
he in all his different houses left behind him two
pounds worth of literary furniture. His know-
ledge in accounts was little; and, in some mea-
sure may account for his total ignorance as to
his own concerns. The contemporaries of Mr.
Elwes, at Westminster, were Mr. Worsley, late
Master of the Board of Works, and the late Lord
Mansfield; who, at that time, borrowed all that
young Elwes would lend. His lordship, how-
ever, afterwards changed his disposition.

Mr. Elwes from Westminster-School removed
to Geneva, where he shortly after entered upon
pursuits more congenial to his tern per than study.
The riding-master of the academy had then three
of the best horsemen in Europe for his pupils :
Mr. Worsley, Mr. Elwes, and Sir Sidney Mea-
dows. Elwes of the three was accounted the most
desperate: the young horses were put into his
hands always; and he was, in fact, the rough-rider
of the other two. He was introduced, during this
period, to Voltaire, whom, in point of appearance,
he somewhat resembled ; but though he has often
mentioned this circumstance, neither the genius,
the fortune, nor the character, of Voltaire, ever
seemed to strike him as worthy of envy.

Returning to England, after an absence of two
or three years, he was to be introduced to his un-
cle, the late Sir Harvey Elwes, who was then liv-
ing at Stoke, in Suffolk, the most perfect picture
of human penury perhaps that ever existed. In
him the attempts of saving money was so extraor-

The Life of John Elwes, Esq. 57

dinary, that Mr. Elwes never quite reached them,
even at the most covetous period of his life. To
this Sir Harvey Elwes he was to be the heir, and
of course it was policy to please him. On this
account it was necessary, even in old Mr. Elwes,
to masquerade a little ; and as he was at that
time in the world, and its affairs, he dressed like
other people. This would not have done for Sir
Harvey. The nephew, therefore, used to stop at
a little inn at Chelmsford, and begin to dress in
character. A pair of small iron buckles, worsted
stockings darned, a worn out old coat, and a tat-
tered waistcoat, were put on; and forwards he
rode to visit his uncle; who used to contemplate
him with a kind of miserable satisfaction, and
seemed pleased to find his heir bidding fair to
rival him in the unaccountable pursuit of avarice.
There they would sit — saving souls! — with a sin-
gle stick upon the fire, and with one glass of
wine, occasionally, betwixt them, inveighing
against the extravagance of the times; and when
evening shut in, they would immediately retire to
rest — as going to bed saved candle-light.

To the whole of his uncle's property Mr. Elwes
succeeded ; and it was imagined that his own was
not at the time very inferior. He got, too, an ad-
ditional seat; but he got it as it had been most re-
ligiously delivered down for ages past: the furni-
ture was most sacredly antique: not a room was
painted, nor a window repaired: the beds above
stairs were all in canopy and state, where the
worms and moths held undisturbed possession ;
and the roof of the house \vas inimitable for the
climate of Italy.

5 8 The Life of John Elwes, Esq.

Mr. Elwes had now advanced beyond the for-
tieth year of his age ; and for fifteen years previous
to this period it was that he was known in all the
fashionable circles of London. He had always a
turn for play; and it was only late in life, and
from paying always, and not always being paid,
that he conceived disgust at the inclination.

The acquaintances which he had formed at
Westminster-school, and at Geneva, together
with his own large fortune, all conspired to In-
troduce him into whatever society he liked best.

Mr. Elwes, on the death of his uncle, came to
reside at Stoke, in Suffolk. Bad as was the man-
sion-house he found here, he left one still worse
behind him atMarcham, of which the late Colonel
Timms, his nephew, used to mention the following
proof. A few days after he went thither, a great
quantity of rain falling in the night, he had not been
long in bed before he found himself wet through ;
and putting his hand out of the clothes, found the
rain was dropping from the ceiling upon the bed.
He got up and moved the bed ; but he had not
lain long, before he found the same inconveniency
continued. He got up again, and again the rain
came down. At length after pushing the bed quite
round the room, he re tired into a corner where the
ceiling was better secured, and there he slept till
morning. When he met his uncle at breakfast, he
told him what had happened. "Ay! ay!" said the
old man, seriously ; " I don't mind it myself; but
to those that do, that's a nice corner in the rain."

Mr. Elwes, on coming into Suffolk, first began
to keep fox-hounds ; and his stable of hunters, at

The Life of John Elwes, Esq. 59

that time, was said to be the best in the king-
dom. Of the breed of his horses he was certain,
because he bred them himself; and they were
not broke in till they were six years old.

The keeping of fox-hounds was th e only instance
in the whole life of Mr. Elwes of his ever sacri-
ficing money to pleasure. But even here every
thing was done in the most frugal manner. His
huntsman had by no means an idle life of it.
This famous lacquey might have fixed an epoch in
the history of servants ; for, in a morning, getting
up at four o'clock, he milked the cows. He then
prepared breakfast for his master, or any friends
he might have with him. Then slipping on a
green coat, he hurried into the stable, saddled
the horses, got the hounds out of the kennel, and
away they went into the field. After the fatigues
of hunting, he refreshed himself by rubbing down
two or three horses as quickly as possible ; then
running into the house, would lay the cloth and
wait at dinner. Then hurrying again into the sta-
ble to feed the horses ; diversified with an inter-
lude of the cows again to milk, the dogs to feed,
and eight horses to litter down for the night.
"What may appear extraordinary, this man lived
in his place for some years; though his master us-
ed often to call him " an idle dog!" and say, " the
rascal wanted to be paid for doing nothing."

An inn upon the road, and an apothecary's bill,
were equal objects of aversion to Mr. Elwes.
The words "give" and "pay" were not found in
his vocabulary; and therefore, when he once re-
ceived a very dangerous kick from one of his horses,

60 The Life of John Elwes, Esq.

who fell in going over a leap, nothing could per-
suade him to have any assistance. He rode the
chase through, with his leg cut to the bone ; and
it was only some days afterwards, when it was
feared an amputation would be necessary, that
he consented to go up to London, and, dismal
day! part with some money for advice.

The whole fox-hunting' establishment of Mr.
Elwes, huntsman, dogs, and horses, did not cost
him three hundred pounds a year !

AVhile he kept hounds, and which consumed a
period of nearly fourteen years, Mr. Elwes almost
totally resided at Stoke, in Suffolk. He sometimes
made excursions to Newmarket ; but never enga-
ged on the turf. A kindness, however which he
performed there, should not pass into oblivion.

Lord Abingdon, who was slightly known to
Mr. Elwes in Berkshire, had made a match for
seven thousand pounds, which, it was supposed^
he would be obliged to forfeit, from an inability
to produce the sum, though the odds were great-
ly in his favour. Unasked, unsolicited, Mr.
Elwes made him an offer of the money, which
he accepted, and won his engagement.

On the day when this match was to be run, a
clergyman had agreed to accompany Mr. Elwes to
see the fate of it. They were to go, as was his cus-
tom, on horseback, and were to set out at seven in
the morning. Imagining they were to breakfast at
Newmarket, the gentleman took no refreshment,
and away they went. They reached Newmarket
about eleven, and Mr. Elwes began to busy him-
self in inquiries and conversation till twelve, when
the match was decided in favour of Lord Abing-

The Life of John Elwes, Esq. 61

don. He then thought they should move off to
the town, to take some breakfast; but old Elvves
still continued riding about till three; and then
four arrived. At which time the gentleman grew
so impatient, that he mentioned something of the
keen air of Newmarket Heath, and the comforts of
a good dinner. "Very true," said old Elwes;
"very true. So here, do as I do;" — offering him at
the same time, from his great-coat pocket, a piece
of an old crushed pancake, "which," he said, "he
had brought from his house at Marcharn two
months before — but that it was as good as new."

The sequel of the story was, that they did not
reach home till nine in the evening, when the
gentleman was so tired, that he gave up all re-
freshment but rest ; and old Mr. Elwes, having
hazarded seven thousand pounds in the morning,
went happily to bed with the reflection — that
he had saved three shillings.

He had brought with him his two sons out of
Berkshire ; and certainly, if he liked any thing,
it was these boys. But no money would he la-
vish on their education; for he declared that
" putting things into people's heads, was taking
money out of their pockets."

From this mean, and almost ludicrous, desire
of saving, no circumstance of tenderness or affec-
tion, no sentiment of sorrow or compassion, could
turn him aside. The more diminutive the object
seemed, his attention grew the greater: and it ap-
peared as if Providence had formed him in a mould
that was miraculous, purposely to exemplify that
trite saying Penny wise, and pound foolish.

62 The Life of John Elwes, Esq*

From the parsimonious manner in which Mr.
Elwes now lived, (for he was fast following the
footsteps of Sir Harvey,) and from the two large
fortunes of which he was in possession, riches roll-
ed in upon him like a torrent. But as he knew
almost nothing of accounts, and never reduced his
affairs to writing, he was obliged, in the disposal
of his money, to trust much to memory; to the
suggestions of other people still more ; hence eve-
ry person who had a want or a scheme, with an
apparent high interest — adventurer or honest, it
signified not — all was prey to him ; and he swam
about like the enormous pike, which, ever vora-
cious and unsatisfied, catches at every thing, till
it is itself caught! hence are to be reckoned vi-
sions of distant property in America; phantoms
of annuities on lives that could never pay; and
bureaus filled with bonds of promising peers and
members long dismembered of all property. Mr.
Elwes lost in this manner full one hundred and
fifty thousand pounds !

But what was got from him, was only obtained
from his want of knowledge — by knowledge that
was superior; and knaves and sharpers might
have lived upon him, while poverty and honesty
would have starved.

When this inordinate passion for saving did not
interfere, there are upon record some kind offices,
and very active services, undertaken by Mr. Elwes.
He would go far and long to serve those who ap-
plied to him : and give— however strange the word
from him — give himself great trouble to be of use.
These instances are gratifying to select — it is

The Life of John Elwes, Esq. 63

plucking the sweet-briar and the rose from the
weeds that overspread the garden.

Mr Elwes, at this period, was passing — among
his horses and hounds, some rural occupations, and
hiscountry neighbours — thehappiest hours of his
life — where he forgot, for a time, at least, that
strange anxiety and continued irritation about his
money, which might be called the insanity of sav-
ing! But as his wealth was accumulating, many
were kind enough to make applications to employ
it for him. Some very obligingly would trouble
him with nothing more than their simple lond :
others offered him a scheme of great advantage,
with " a small risk and a certain profit," which
as certainly turned out to the reverse; and others
proposed " tracts of land in America, and plans
that were sure of success." But amidst these kind
offers, the fruits of which Mr. Elwes long felt, and
had to lament, some pecuniary accommodations,
at a moderate interest, were not bestowed amiss,
and enabled the borrowers to pursue industry
into fortune, and form a settlement for life.

Mr. Elwes, from Mr. Meggot, his father, had
inherited some property inLondon in houses; par-
ticularly about the Haymarket, not far from which
old Mr. Elwes drew his first breath ; being born
in St. James's parish. To this property he began
now to add, by engagements with one of the A dam's
about building, which he increased from year to
year to a very large extent. Great part of Mary-
bone soon called him her founder. Portman Place,
and Portman Square, the riding-houses and stables
of the second troop of life-guards, and buildings

64 The Life of John £ lives, Esq.

too numerous to name, all rose out of his pocket;
and had not the fatal American war kindly put a
stop to his rage of raising houses, much of the
property he then possessed would have been laid
out in bricks and mortar.

The extent of his property in this way soon
grew so great, that he became, from judicious cal-
culation, his own insurer: and he stood to all his
losses by conflagrations. He soon therefore be-
came a philosopher upon fire: and, on a public-
house belonging to him being consumed, he said,
with great composure, " well, well, there is no

freat harm done. The tenant never paid me, and
should not have got quit of him so quickly in
any other way."

It was the custom of Mr. Elwes, whenever he
went to London, to occupy any of his premises
which might happen to be then vacant. He tra-
velled in this manner from street to street ; and
whenever any body chose to take the house where
he was, he was instantly ready to move into any
other. He was frequently an itinerant for a night's
lodging; and thought master of above a hundred
houses, he never wished to rest his head long in
any he chose to call his own. A couple of beds,
a coupie of chairs, a table, and an old woman,
comprised all his furniture; and he moved them
in about a minute's warning. Of all these move-
ables, the old woman was the only one which gave
him trouble ; for she was afflicted with a lameness,
that made it difficult to get her about quite so fast
as he chose. And then the colds she took were
amazing; for sometimes she was in a small house

The Life of John Elwes, Esq. 65

in the Haymarket ; at another in a great house in
Portland Place: sometimes in a little room, and
a coal fire ; at other times with a few chips, which
the carpenters had left, in rooms of most splendid,
but frigid dimensions, and with a little oiled paper
in the windows for glass,

Mr. Elwes had come to town in his usual way,
and taken up his abode in one of his houses that
was empty. Colonel Timms, who wished much
to see him, by some accident, was informed his
uncle was in London; but then how to find him
was the difficulty. He inquired at all the usual
places where it was probable he might he heard of.
He went to Mr. Hoare's, his banker; to the Mount
Coffee-house; but no tidings were to be heard of
him. Not many days afterwards, however, he
learnt, from a person whom he met accidentally,
that they had seen Mr, Elwes going into an unin-
habited house in Great Marlborough Street. This
was some clue to Colonel Timais, and away he
went thither. As the best mode of information,
he got hold of a chairman; but no intelligence
could he gain of a gentleman called Mr. Elwes.
Colonel Timms then described his person — but no
gentleman had been seen. A pot-boy, however,
recollected, that he had seen a poor old man open-
ing the door of the stable, and locking it after him,
and from every description, it agreed with the per-
son of old Mr. Elwes. Of course, Colonel Timms,
went to the house. He knocked very loudly at
the door; but no one answered. Some of the
neighbours said they had seen such a man; but no
answer could be obtained from the house. The
F3

oVj The Life of John Elwes, Esq.

Colonel, on this, resolved to have the stable-door
opened; which being done, they entered the house
together. In the lower parts of it all was shut and
silent; but, on ascending the stair-case, they heard
the moans of a person seemingly in distress. They
went to the chamber, and there, upon an old
pallet-bed, lay stretched out, seemingly in the
agonies of death the figure of old Mr. Elwes.

For some time he seemed insensible that any body
was near him ; but on some cordials being admi-
nistered by a neighbouring apothecary, who was
sent for, he recovered enough to say, " That he
had, he believed, been ill for two or three days,

The Life of John Elwes, Esq. 6?
and that there was an old woman in the house ;
but for some reason or other she had not been near
him. That she had been ill herself; but that she
had got well, he supposed, and was gone away."

They afterwards found the old woman — the
companion of all his movements, and the partner
of all his journeys — stretched out lifeless on a rug
upon the floor, in one of the garrets. She had
been dead, to all appearance, about two days.

Thus died the servant ; and thus would have
died, but for a providential discovery of him by
Colonel Timms, old Mr. Elwes, her master ! His
mother, Mrs. Meggot, who possessed one hundred
thousand pounds, starved herself to death ; and her
son, who certainly was then worth half a million,
nearly died in his own house for absolute want.

Mr. Elwes, however, was not a hard landlord,
and his tenants lived easily under him : but if they
wanted any repairs, they were always at liberty to
do them for themselves ; for what may be styled
the comforts of a house were unknown to him.
What he allowed not himself it could scarcely be
expected he would give to others.

He had resided about thirteen years in Suffolk,
when the contest for Berkshire presented itself on
the dissolution of parliament; and when, to pre-
serve the peace of that county, he was nominated
by Lord Craven. To this Mr. Elwes consented ;
but on the special agreement, that he was to be
brought in for nothing. All he did was dining at
the ordinary at Abingdon ; and he got into parlia-
ment for the moderate sum of eighteen-pence /
Mr. Elwes was at this time nearly sixty years

68 The Life of John Elwes, Esq.

old, but was in possession of all his activity. Pre-
paratory to his appearance on the boards of Sc.
Stephen's Chapel, he used to attend constantly,
during the races and other public meetings, all
the great towns where his voters resided; and at
the different assemblies he would dance with
agility amongst the youngest to the last.

Mr. Elwes was chosen for Berkshire in three
successive parliaments: and he sat as a member
of the House of Commons above twelve years.
It is to his honour, that, in every part of his con-
duct, and in every vote he gave, he proved himself
to be an independent country gentleman.

The honour of parliament made no alteration
in the dress of Mr. Elwes: on the contrary, it
seemed, at this time, to have attained additional
meanness, and nearly to have reached that happy
climax of poverty, which has, more than once,
drawn on him the compassion of those who passed
him in the street. For the Speaker's dinners, he
had indeed one suit ; with which the Speaker, in
the course of the session, became very familiar.
The minister, likewise, was well acquainted with
it : and at any dinner of opposition, still was his
apparel the same. The wits of the minority used
to say, " that they had full as much reason as the
minister to be satisfied with Mr. Elwes — as he had
the same habit with every body 1" At this period
of his life, Mr. Elwes wore a wig. Much about
that time, when his parliamentary life ceased, that
wig was worn out : so then (being older and wiser
as to expense) he wore his own hair ; which, like
bis expenses, was very small.

The Life of John Elwes, Esq. 69

He retired voluntarily from a parliamentary life,
and even took no leave of his constituents by an
advertisement. But, though Mr. Elwes was now
no longer a member of the House of Commons,
yet, not with the venal herd of expectant placemen
and pensioners, whose eyes too often view the
House of Commons as another Royal Exchange,
did Mr. Ehves retire into private life No ; he
had fairly and honourably, attentively and long,
done his duty there, and he had so done it without
te fee or reward." In all his parliamentary life, he
never asked or received a single favour ; and he
never gave a vote, but he could solemnly have laid
his hand upon his breast, and said, '* So help me
God ! I believe I am doing what is for the best !"

Thus, duly honoured, shall the memory of a
good man go to his grave : for, while it may be
the painful duty of the biographer to present to the
public the pitiable follies which may deform a cha-
racter, but which must be given to render perfect
the resemblance on those beauties which arise
from the bad parts of the picture, who shall say,
it is not a duty to expiate?

The model which Mr. Elwes left to future
members may, perhaps, be looked on rather as a
work to wonder at than to follow, even under the
most virtuous of administrations. Mr. Elwes came
into Parliament without expense, and he perform-
ed his duty as a member would have done in the
pure days of our constitution. What he had not
bought, he never attempted to sell ; and he went
forward in that straight and direct path, whichcan
alone satisfy a reflecting and good mind. In one

TO The Life of John Elwes, Esq.

word, Mr. Elwes, as a public man, voted and act-
ed in the House of Commons, as a man would
do who felt there were people to live after him,
who wished to deliver unmortgaged to his child-
ren the public estate of government; and who
felt, that if he suffered himself to become a pen-
sioner on it, he thus far embarrassed his posterity,
and injured their inheritance.

When his son was in the Guards, he was fre-
quently in the habit of diningatthe officers' table
there. The politeness of his manner rendered him
generally agreeable, and in time he became ac-
quainted with eveiy officer in the corps. Amongst
the rest, was a gentleman of the name of Tempest,
whose good humour was almost proverbial. A
vacancy happening in a majority, it fell to this
gentleman to purchase; but as money is not al-
ways to be got upon landed property immediately,
it wras imagined that some officer would have been
obliged to purchase over his head. Old Mr.
Elwes hearing of the circumstance, sent him the
money the next morning, without asking any se-
curity. He had seen Captain Tempest, and
liked his manners; and he never once afterwards
talked to him about the payment of it. But on
the death of Captain Tempest, which happened
shortly after, the money was replaced.

This was an act of liberality in Mr, Eiwes
which ought to atone for many of his failings. But
be -old the inequalities which so strongly mark this
hiai.au being' Mr. Spurling, of Dynes-Hall, a
ve: j> a. live and intelligent magistrate for the coun-
ty oi Essex, was once requested by Mr. Elwes to

The Lift of John Elwes, Esq. 71

accompany him to Newmarket. It was a day in
one of the spring meetings which was remarkably
filled with races ; and they were out from six in
themorningtill eighto'clock in the evening before
they again set out for home. Mr. Elwes, in the
usual way, would eat nothing; but Mr. Spurling
was somewhat wiser, and went down to Newmar-
ket. When they began their journey home, the
evening was grown very dark and cold, and Mr.
Spurling rode on somewhat quicker; but on go-
ing through the turnpike by the Devil's Ditch, he
heard Mr. Elwes calling to him with great eager-
ness. On returning before he had paid , Mr. Elwes
said, "Here! here! follow me — this is the best
road!" In an instant he saw Mr. Elwes, as well as
the night would permit, climbing his horse up the
precipice of the ditch. " Sir," said Mr. Spurling,
" I can never get up there.'* " No danger at all !"
replied old Elwes : " but if your horse be not safe,
lead him !" At length, with great difficulty, and
with one of the horses falling, they mounted the
ditch, and then, with not less toil got down on the
other side. When they were safely landed on the
plain, Mr. Spurling thanked heaven for their es-
cape. " Ay," said old Elwes, " you mean from
theturnpifce: very right; never pay a turnpike if
you can avoid it!" In proceeding on their jour-
ney, they came to a very narrow road : on which
Mr. Elwes, notwithstanding the cold, went as slow
as possible. On Mr. Spurling wishing to quicken
their pace, old Elwes observed, that he was let-
ting his horse feed on some hay that was hanging
to the sides of the hedge. " Besides," added he,
" it is nice hay, and you have it for nothing!"

72 The Life of John Elwes, Esq.

Thus, while endangering his neck to save the
payment of a turnpike, and starving his horse
tor a halfpenny-worth of hay, was he risking the
sum of twenty-jive thousand pounds on some iron
works across the Atlantic Ocean, and of which
he knew nothing, either as to produce, prospect
or situation.

In the advance of the season, his morning em-
ployment was to pick up any stray chips, bones,
orotber things, to carry to the fire, in his pocket;
and he was one day surprised by a neighbouring
gentleman in the act of pulling down, with some
difficulty, a crow's nest, fcr this purpose.

The Life of John Elwes, Esq. 73

On the gentleman wondering why he gave himself
this trouble,

" Oh, Sir/' replied he, " it is really a shame
that these creatures should do so. Do but see
what waste they make!"

To save, as he thought, the expense of going to
a butcher, he would have a whole sheep killed,
and so eat mutton to the— end of the chapter.
When he occasionally had his river drawn, though
sometimes horse-loads of small fish were taken,
not one would he suffer to be thrown in again,
for he observed, ff He should never see them
more !" Game in the last state of putrefaction,
and meat that walked about his plate, would he
continue to eat, rather than have new things killed
before the old provision was exhausted.

When any friends, who might occasionally be
with him, were absent, he would carefully put out
his own fire, and walk to the house of a neighbour;
and thus make one fire serve both. His shoes he
never would suffer to be cleaned, lest they should
be worn out the sooner. But still, with all this
self-denial — that penury of life to which the inha-
bitant of an alms-house is not doomed — still did
he think he was profuse ; and frequently said, <{ he
must be a little more careful ot his property.' '
When he went to bed, he would put five or ten
guineas into a bureau, and then, full of his money,
after he had retired to rest, sometimes in the mid-
dle of the night, he would come down to see if it
was safe. The irritation of his mind was unceas-
ing. He thought every body extravagant ; and
when a person was talking to him one day of the

G

74 The Life of John Elwes, Esq.

great wealth of old Mr. Jennings, (who is sup-
posed to be worth a million,} and that they had
seen him that day in a new carriage, " Ay, ay,"
said old Elwes ; " he will soon see the end of
his money !"

Mr. Elwes now denied himself every thing,
except the common necessaries of life ; and, in-
deed, it might have admitted a doubt, whether
or not, if his manors, his fish-ponds, and grounds
in his own hands, had not furnished a subsistence,
where he had not any thing actually to buy, he
would not, rather than have bought any thing,
have starved. He one day, during this period,
dined upon the remaining part of a moor-hen,
which had been brought out of the river by a rat!
and, at another, ate an undigested part of a pike,
which a larger one had swallowed, but had not
finished, and which was taken in this state in a
net! At the time this last circumstance hap-
pened, he discovered a strange kind of satisfac-
tion ; for he said to Capt. Topham, who happened
to be present, "Ay! this is killing two birds
with one stone !" Mr. Eiwes, at this time, was
perhaps worth nearly 800,0001. and at this period
he had not made his will, of course was not saving
from any sentiment of affection for any person.

As he had now vested the enormous savings
of his property in the funds, he felt no diminu-
tion of it.

Mr. Elwes passed the spring of 1786 alone, at
his solitary house at Stoke ; and, had it not been
for some little daily scheme of avarice, wtitild
have passed it without one consolatory moment.

The Life of John Elwes, Esq. 7*
His temper began to give way apace ; his
thoughts unceasingly ran upon money! money!
money! — and he saw no one but whom he ima-
gined was deceiving and defrauding him.

As, in the day, he would not allow himself any
fire, he went to bed as soon as day closed, to save
candle ; and had begun to deny himself even the
pleasure of sleeping in sheets. In short, he had
now nearly brought to a climax the moral of his
whole life — the perfect vanity of wealth !

On removing from Stoke, he \vent to his farm-
house at Thaydon Hall; a scene of more ruin and
desolation, if possible, than either of his houses in
Suffolk or Berkshire. It stood alone, on the bor-
ders of Epping Forest; and an old man and wo-
man, his tenants, were the only persons with
whom he could hold any converse. Here he fell
ill ; and, as he would have no assistance, and had
not even a servant, he lay, unattended, and almost
forgotten, for nearly a fortnight — indulging, even
in death, that avarice which malady could not
subdue. It was at this period he began to think of
making his will; feeling, perhaps, that his sons
would not be entitled, by law, to any part of his
property, should he die intestate : and, on coming
to London, he made his last will and testament.

Mr. Elwes, shortly after executing his will,
gave, by letter of attorney, the power of ma-
naging, receiving, and paying all his monies, into
the hands of Mr. Ingraham, his lawyer, and his
youngest son, John Elwes, Esq. who had been
his chief agents for some time.

Nor was the act by any means improper. The

76 The Life of John Elwes, Esq.

lapses of his memory had now become frequent
and glaring. All recent occurrences he forgot en-
tirely ; and as he never committed any thing to
writing, the confusion he made was inexpressible.
As an instance of this, the following anecdote may
serve. He had one evening given a draft on
Messrs. Hoares, his bankers, for twenty pounds;
and having taken it into his head, during the night,
that he had over-drawn his account, his anxiety
was unceasing. He left his bed, and walking about
his room with that little feverish, irritation that
always distinguished him, waited with the utmost
impatience till morning came, when, on going to
his banker, with an apology for the great liberty he
had taken, he was assured iherc was no occasion
for his apology, as he happened to have in their
hands, at that lime, the small sum of fourteen
thousand seven hundred pounds !

Mr. Elwes passed the summer of 1788 at his
house in Wei beck-Street, London, without any
other society than that of two maid servants; for
he had now given up the expense of keeping any
male domestic. His chief employment used to be
that of getting up early in the morning to visit his
houses in Marybone, which during the summer
were repairing. As he was there generally at four
o'clock in the morning, he was of course on the
spot before the workmen ; and he used content-
edly to sit down on the steps before the door to
scold them when they did come. The neighbours,
who used to see him appear thus regularly every
morning, and who concluded, from his apparel, he
was one of the workmen, observed, " there never

The Life of John Elwes, Esq. 77

was so punctual a man as the old carpenter."
During the whole morning he would continue to
run up and down stairs, to see the men were not
idle for an instant, with the same anxiety as if his
whole happiness in life had been centred in the
finishing this house, regardless of the greater pro-
perty he had at stake in various places, and for
ever employed in the minutiae only of affairs.
Indeed, such was his anxiety about this house,
the rent of which was not above fifty pounds a
year, that it brought on a fever, which nearly cost
him his life.

In the muscular and unincumbered frame of Mr.
Elwes, there was every thing that promised extreme
length of life ; and he lived to above seventy
years of age without any natural disorder attack-
ing him : but, as Lord Bacon has well observed,
" the minds of some men are a lamp that is con-
tinually burning ;" and such was the mind of Mr.
Elwes. Removed from those occasional public
avocations which had once engaged his attention,
money was now his only thought. He rose upon
money ; upon money he lay down to rest; and as
his capacity sunk away from him by degrees, he
dwindled from the real cares of his property into
the puerile concealment of a few guineas. This
little store he would carefully wrap up in various
papers, and depositing them in different corners,
would amuse himself with running from one to the
other, to see whether they were all safe. Then
forgetting, perhaps, where he had concealed some
of them, he would become as seriously afflicted as
a man might be who had lost all his property,

78 The Li/e of John Elwes, Esq.

Nor was the day alone thus spent: he would
frequently rise in the middle of the night, and
be heard walking about different parts of the
house, looking after what he had thus hidden
and forgotten.

It was at this period, and at seventy-six years
old, or upwards, that Mr. Elwes began to feel,
for the first time, some bodily infirmities from
age. He now experienced occasional attacks
from the gout : on which, with his usual perse-
verance, and with all his accustomed antipathy
to apothecaries, and their bills, he would set out
to walk as far and as fast as he could. While
he was engaged in this painful mode of cure, he
frequently lost himself in the streets, the names
of which he no longer remembered, and was as
frequently brought home by some errand-boy, or
stranger, of whom he had inquired his way. On
these occasions he would bow and thank them, at
the door, with great civility ; but never indulged
them with a sight of the inside of the house.

During the winter of 1789, the last winter
Mr. Elwes was fated to see, his memory visibly
weakened every day; and, from his unceasing
wish to save money, he now began to apprehend
he should die in want of it Mr. Gibson had been
appointed his builder in the room of Mr. Adam ;
and one day, when this gentleman waited upon
him, he said, with apparent concern, " Sir, pray
consider in what a wretched state I am ; you see
in what a good house I am living ; and here are
five guineas, which is all I have at present ; and
how I shall go on with such a sum of money,

The Life of John Elwes, Esq. 79

puzzles me to death — I dare say you thought I
was rich ; now you see how it is !"

The first symptoms of more immediate decay,
was his inability to enjoy his rest at night. Fre-
quently would he be heard at midnight as if strug-
gling with some one in his chamber, and crying
out, " I will keep my money, I will ; nobody shall
rob me of my property !" On any one of the family
going into his room, he would start from his fever
of anxiety, and, as if wakened from a troubled
dream, again hurry into bed, and seem unconsci-
ous of what had happened. At other times, when
perfectly awake, he would walk to the spot where
he had hidden his money, to see if it was safe.

In the autumn of 1789, his memory was gone
entirely; his perception of things was decreasing
very rapidly; and as the mind became unsettled,
gusts of the mostviolent passion usurped the place
of his former command of temper. For six weeks
previous to his death, he would go to rest in his
clothes, as perfectly dressed as during the day.
He was one morning found fast asleep betwixt
the sheets, with his shoes on his feet, his stick in
his hand, and an old torn hat upon his head.

Mr. Elwes, on the 18th of November, 1 789,
discovered signs of that utter and total weakness,
which carried him to his grave in eight days.
On the evening of the first day he was conveyed
to bed — from which he rose no more. His appe-
tite was gone. He had but a faint recollection
of any thing about him ; and his last coherent
words were addressed to his son, Mr. John Elwes,
in hoping " he had left him what he wished,"

80 The Plying Pye-man.

On the morning of the 26th of November he

expired without a sigh !

Thus died Mr. Elwes, the most perfect model
of human penury which has been presented to
the public for a long series of years.

THE FLYING PYE-MAN.

THIS person is well known in the neighbour-
hood of Fleet-market, daily making his appear-
ance there as the vender of hot pudding and

Thomas Laugher. 81

pies. His actions and language are superior to
the common way of those people who follow so
humble a calling. His hair is mostly powdered,
his dr^ss is extremely clean, and even genteel ;
his tongue is constantly at work, and his voice
strong. He moves ™ith astonishing rapidity, is
followed by a crowd, and enjoys an extensive
trade.

THOMAS LAUGHER,

Aged 109 Years.

THOMAS LAUGHER, supposed to be the oldest
man now living in England, was baptized on the
6th of January (old style), in tiie ye r 1700, at
Markly, Worcestershire: he no.v resl les (June
the 20th, 1809,) .it the Park coftee-nouse, Worces-
ter-street, South wa. ; ."iseqdently he is up-
wards of 109 ye i • s his lather died at the
age of 97, his mo- Lb 1 08, -uid his son at 80.

When King W «i' i.ujj yiiu. Queen Mary died, he
was a little boy : hx- very <x-eii remembers Queen
Anne going to fhe House of Peers, 1705, on horse-
back, seated on a pillion, behind the Lord Chan-
cellor. He says he was formerly a wholesale wine
and brandy merchant in Tower-street, and that he
lost, by the failure of the house of Neele, Fordyce

82 Thomas Laugher.

and James, Bartholomew-lane, the sum af
^198,000 ; and that the sudden loss of his pro-
perty took such an effect upon him, that it struck
him blind, and speechless, and caused quantities
of skin to come from off his body. He was edu-
cated at Christ's College, Oxford; and, after a
residence of eleven years and a half at that place,
he took a tour on the continent of Europe, and
visited many parts of Turkey, in which he re-
sided upwards of seven years.

He never drank strong beer, small beer, wine,
or spirits, until he was above 53 years of age.
His principal sustenance was tea, coffee, bread
and spring water. He never ate any animal food
whatever, nor butter, nor cheese. He recollects
the quartern loaf at 2|d., primest meat at Id.
per pound, and the best fresh butter at 2|d. per
pound.

His grandmother died 141 years old, and she
lived upon dry bread and cold pump water. This
astonishing man, whose looks are truly venerable,
is, to all appearance, strong and hearty, and seems
likely to live many more years; and, for a man of
his great age, can walk about extremely well. He
rises mostly at 4 o'clock in the morning, takes a
long walk before breakfast, and eats and drinks
veiy sparingly, though he now lives upon animal
food and beer, and but rarely, if ever, drinks any
spirits, except for their proper use.

[Since the foregoing account was written, he has de-
parted this life, in the year 1812.]

83

THE LIFE OF

DANIEL DANCER, ESQ.

Content it wealth, the riches of the mind,
And happy he who can that treasure find;
But the base miser starves amidst his store,
Broods o'er his gold , and, griping still for more,
Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.

DRYDEN.

IT is presumed by philosophers, that the most
important study for the improvement of mankind
is MAN; and this know ledge cannot be more pro-
fitably acquired, than in perusing those true ex-
amples of human life, recorded in the vicissitudes
and incidents which biography presents impar-
tially to the mind, with the direction of truth for
their application to the purposes of our own lives
and actions, for imitation or abhorrence.

In this view, however elevated or depressed the
hero of the piece may be, some useful instruction
may still be gained, as we find ourselves more or
less interested in his transactions. In relating the
splendid actions of ambitious heroes, little is of-
fered that can be adopted or imitated by the
most numerous class of society ; but in detailing
the events concomitant with the most miserable
penury, alesson is produced fraught with wisdom,
the chief purport of which is to show in what esti-
mation riches are in the eyes of God, who wisely •
and equally condems to human distress, the mi-
ser that scrapes, and the spendthrift that scatters,

'

Life of Mr. Dancer. 85

Avarice, the most degrading of all passions to
the understanding, and the most deleterious to our
happiness, exhibits a humiliating picture of hu-
man nature, and most impressively illustrates the
undeniable truth, that wealth cannot grant ease to
its possessor; but, on the contrary, fills him with
the most alarming fears for the safety of this
imaginary good, and naturally suggests the most
consolatory reflection to forbearing poverty ,whose
unequal share in the distribution of wealth is
more than counterbalanced by the comparison.

With this view is here presented to the public,
the following exact particulars of the most re-
markable instances of the misery which is ever
attendant upon the mind cursed with the insanity
of saving. It appears by the parish register, that
Mr. Daniel Dancer was born in the year 1716,
and was the eldest of four children, three sons and
a daughter. His father lived on Harrow- Weald
Common, near Harrow on the Hill, where he
possessed property to a very considerable amount,
and which his son, by the most determined and
whimsical abstemiousness, increased to upwards
of three thousand pounds per annum.

The years of his minority probably passed
unnoticed, as nothing is recorded of him in his
youth that might indicate the singularity and
propensity to save, which so peculiarly distin-
guished his maturer years ; but a detail of his
actions is now offered to the world, as the most
perfect examples of saving knoioledge, and how
misery may be multiplied by self-denial, for the
purpose of accumulating useless riches.

86 Life of Mr. Dancer.

Mr. Dancer, as before observed, had a sister,
whose disposition to reserve perfectly accorded
with his own; and, as they lived together many
years, their stories are necessarily connected, and
will furnish, in the sequel, the most melancholy
and degrading instance of the infirmity and folly
of human nature.

The daily appearance of this lady abroad, when
it happened that necessity or condescension drew
her out, exhibited the most perfect resemblance
of one of the witches in former times : for it is
certain, that had not philosophy, and the exten-
sion of knowledge, long ago banished the belief
in witchcraft, Miss Dancer had certainly been
taken up by the witch-fmders,'and most probably
burned for her acquaintance with poverty, which
made her appear in such a questionable form, that
even the sagacious Matthew Hopkins, witch-
hunter to King James, might have mistaken this
bundle of rags for a correspondent with familiar
spirits ; for her appearance might, with j ustice, be
pronounced not to be of this fashionable world.

Here accoutrements were usually a mixture of
male with female paraphernalia, tied round with a
raveling of hemp ; for even in this part of attire
she studied how to make one cord last long by
untwisting it to make it go farther ; and, thus
equipped, she would sally forth, armed with a
broomstick or pitchfork, to check the progress
of such daring marauders as had the audacity to
intrude upon her brother's grounds; on which
occasion her neighbours observed she had more
the appearance of a walking dunghill than one
*f the fair sex.

Life of Mr. Dancer. 87

The miserable hovel in which this parsimonious
and uniform pair took up their earthly residence
was perfectly of a piece with themselves. Like
Drake's ship, it had suffered so much by repair,
and still wanted so much, that a bit of the ori-
ginal building could scarcely be distinguished by
the most diligent antiquarian; for there was not
one article of moveables which can be mentioned,
but had, at one time or another, been nailed to
some part of the mansion, either to keep out the
weather, or, which Mr. and Miss Dancer deemed
more troublesome,theneihgbouring feline species,
which, strange to declare, often ventured into this
house of famine, lured, no doubt, by the inviting
scent of the vermin within, some of which species
often had the temerity to dispute the antiquity of
their right of possession ; for it cannot be sup-
posed that this saving pair could think of the
extravagance of keeping a cat, who daily denied
themselves the natural call of appetite.

A neighbour going in one day, found Mr.
Dancer pulling some nails out of the sides of his
bellows ; and, upon asking him the reason, he re-
plied, that wanting some nails to fasten a piece
of leather to a hole which time had effected in
the boarding of the house, he thought he could
spare some out of this useful piece of furniture,
which would save buying; observing, that un-
dertakers, trunk -makers, and bellows -makers,
were the most extravagant and wasteful fellows
in the world in their profusion of nails.

Miss Dancer's disposition exactly corresponded
with his own ; and she lived, or rather vegetated,
H 2

88 Life of Mr. Dancer.

in this delightful mansion, winter and summer,
making each season ktep pace with her frugal
maxims ; for out of a little she had learned to
sparej as extravagance was in her opinion the
most unpardonable fault.

The purpose of life is for refinement and im-
provement in some pursuit or other. This cou-
ple only lived to save money, therefore every
action of theirs only tended to the accumula-
tion of wealth ; and it was a long time before
they had arrived at the summit of the ART of
SAVING, by absolutely denying themselves re-
gular repasts, however coarse in qualitv, or
scanty in quantity; for they, for a series of
years, lived as sumptuously as three pounds of
sticking of beef, and fourteen hard dumplings,
would allow for the short space of seven days ;
and this supply, for years, served them week
after week ; and though, during hot weather in
summer, the meat might urge greater expedi-
tion, and fresher supplies, yei they never were
observed to relinquish their daily portion, with
one cold dumpling and a draught if water.
Half a bullock's head, with occasionally a few
stale trotters, made broth for weeks ; and this
was sometimes rendered more savoury by the
addition of a few picked bones which he took
up in his walks, and of which he daily deprived
the dogs.

Their way of life suffered no variation ; one
uniform application of the principle of saving
pervaded every action of their lives, and was the
constant object of every point of view. Their

Life of Mr. Dancer. 89

economical arrangements were constantly the
same, save that, now and then, accident might
throw something in their way, which might
spare their weekly expenditure for three pounds
of sticking. Mr. Dancer's constant and strict
attention, in his walks about his grounds, some-
times afforded him a piece of delicious viand,
which the hand of more dainty and more extra-
vagant appetite had thrown aside; not so much
for the sake of variety, as for the nauseous in-
crease of smell it had acquired ; which, ren-
dering it unfit for its former owner, seemed,
when picked up, to endear it the more to the
parsimonious finder, who immediately calculated
upon the saving it would produce to this thrifty
pair in their weekly commons.

An uncommon instance of this kind occurred
one summer's morning, which for many weeks
discontinued the inquiries at the butcher's shop
after the allowance of neck-beef; and, while it
offered a change in their mode of living, gra-
tified their darling avarice, and insatiable pro-
pensity to save money. It happened one morn-
ing, as Mr. Dancer was taking his usual walk
upon the common, to pick up bones, sticks,
or any bit of rag or other matter that might
go towards repairing his clothes or his house,
that he found a sheep, which had apparently
died from natural disease, and most probably
was in a putrid state. This was a rare prize for
Mr. Dancer; and, incredible as it may appear,
he took it up, and bore it home on his shoul-
der in triumph to his sister, who received it as

Life of Mr. Dancer.

the immediate gift of heaven, to bless their poor
souls with a change of food ; for they had not for
years tasted any thing like it ; and now they were
likely to feast for a great length of time uncon-
trolled, and at no expense neither, which was
the most delicate sauce that could accompany
such a delicious morsel as carrion mutton to the
appetite of a miser.

It was immediately skinned, and cut up, and
the fat carefully laid aside, and an immense
number of pies made of it, with proper season-
ing; so that Mr. Dancer's house, for a while,

Life of Mr. Dancer. g i

resembled a Perigord pie-maker's shop, preparing
to pack up for exportation. On these they feasted
with their accustomed frugality for several weeks,
until the whole were exhausted. It is even said
that Miss Dancer importuned Mr. Dancer to send
two handsome ones to Mr. James Taylor, the
Borough usurer.

When a miser finds a treasure, he is sure to
lock it up. Whether Mr. Dancer thought his
sister extravagant in the indulgence of her sto-
mach at the beginning of the pie-feast, or whether
it was his pleasure at the thought of living at a
small expense, or at the change of diet the pies
supplied, he became unusually careful of them at
last, and locked them up in one of his strong
coffers. The truth of this, the following anecdote
will illustratively supply. The neighhours one
morning observing Miss Dancer rather lower
spirited than usual, kindly inquired into the
cause, when after some hesitation, she acknow-
ledged, that her brother Daniel had scolded
her for eating too much of the mutton pies, and
told her she was very extravagant, which she
observed, with tears in her eyes, was an exceed-
ing hard case, as she loved to save as well as
himself; but what vexed her more, he had
locked them up in his strong trunk, in order
to make them last longer, not trusting her with
the key. Miss Dancer, upon the whole, seems
to have been a very proper companion ;or
her brother; for it would have been a difficult
case to have matched him any where for saving-
ness.

92 Life of Mr. Dancer.

This couple never manifested any predilec-
tion for any mode of worship. Religion did
not teach how to save money ; so that whenever
Mr. Dancer happened to stray into a church or
meeting, which happened sometimes, in his long
walks, it was only for a little resc; and he was
sure to depart before the collection was to be
made, as he thought the gift of a penny was part-
ing with the seed of a guinea, which might by
little and little increase to an hundred. He
might indeed be deemed a Predestinarian from
the following circumstance ; but, as Mr. Locke
observes, " Let ever so much probability hang
on one side, and a covetous man's reasoning and
money in the other, it is easy to foresee which
will outweigh." It was during the last illness,
which terminated his sister's life, that he was
importuned to afford her some medical assistance ;
to which he shrewdly replied, it would cost him
money ; and, besides, continued he, ft Why
should I waste my money in wickedly and wan-
tonly trying to oppose the will of God? If the
girl is come to her latter end, nothing can save
her ; and all I may do will only tend to make
me lose my money; and she may as well die
now as at any other time. If I thought bleeding
would recover her, I would open a vein myself;
but I cannot think of paying for physic for dying
people." The dread of incurring expence, and
parting with his darling coin, was insurmount-
able. Mr. Dancer's reasoning on the conduct of
Providence, even tended towards his favourite
penchant— SAVE MONEY.

Life of Mr. Dancer. 93

Perhaps never having felt the inconvenience
of ill health, or, from that callosity of heart ever
attendant upon the avaricious mind, he, at this
period, allowed his sister, in her last exigency,
but the usual portion of sticking of leef, with
the cold hard dumpling; to which he added the
miser's humanity, u If you don't like it, why,
go without." But Mr. Dancer's deficiency of
care was very amply supplied by the late lady
Tempest, who afforded every attention and kind-
ness necessary to the case of Miss Dancer. The
latter was possessed of more than 20001. which
she intended to leave Lady Tempest tor her ex-
traordinary care of her in her last illness; but
she, unfortunately for Lady Tempest, expired
before she could sign a will in her favour ; and
her property being thus left intestate, and at the
disposition of the law, her two brothers wished
equally to divide it with Mr. Dancer ; but to
this proposal he would not agree, and obstinately
refused to comply with any proposal they could
make, insomuch that, after a long while perse-
vering, and obstinately refusing to come to any
agreement of participation, a law-suit followed,
and Vir. Dancer recovered 10401. of his sister's
f on tine, as the regular price of her board and
lodging for thirty years, at thirty pounds per
annum, and one hundred pounds for the last two
years ; for this charge he declared to be very
reasonable, as duing that time she had done no-
thing but eat and lie in led The remainder of
her fortune, after these extraordinary deductions,
was equally divided between the two brothers and
Mr. Dancer.

94 L\fe of Mr. Dancer.

Mr. Dancer's calculations for saving money
were systematical and regular; nothing escaped
his a'tention to that sole object of his soul ; and
so rigid was his avarice, that he rarely washed
his face or hands, because soap was dear, towels
would wear out, and, besides, when dirty were
expensive washing. However, to obviate the
too great inconvenience of the accumulation of
filth, he would, once in two or three weeks, in
summer time, repair to a neighbouring pond, and
there wash himself with sand, and afterwards lie
on his back in the grass to dry his skin in the
sunshine.

His wardrobe might very justly boast more
sorts and colours, and more substances, than
the paraphernalia of a strolling company of
players. His stockings were so much darned,
that it was difficult to discern what they were
for patches ; for none of the original could ever
be discovered; and in dirty 01 cold weather,
they were strongly fortified with ropes of
twisted hay, for which he had a happy talent.
This contrivance served him for boots; and
when he declined them, he could untwist them,
and they served to increase the bulk of his
bed.

For many years it was his opinion that every
man ought to be his own cobler; and for this
employ he had a lucky genius, which he indulg-
ed so far as to keep by him the most necessary
tools for mending shoes; but these, it must
impartially be observed, cost him nothing ; for
he had borrewed one at a time from different

Life of Mr. Dancer. 95

persons until he had possessed himself of a com-
plete set, and with these he mended nis own
shoes so admirably, that what he wore, by the
frequent jobs and coverings they had received
from his thrifty hands, had become so ponderous,
that running a race in them would have been
impracticable; and, besides, their dimensions
were so much enlarged, that they resembled hog-
troughs more than shoes. To keep these upon
his feet, he took several yards of cord, which he
twisted round his ancles in the manner the an-
cient Romans wore their sandals.

Linen was a luxury to which, notwithstand-
ing his avaricious disposition, he was not quite
a stranger ; for at an early period of his saving
career, he used to buy two shirts annually ; but
for some years previous to his death, he never
allowed himself more than one, for which he
would constantly bestow at some old clothes
shop two shillings and sixpence ; and was never
but once known to go to so handsome a price
as three shillings. After it had got into his
possession, it never underwent the necessary
operation either of washing or mending ; upon
his back it was doomed to perpetual slavery
until it fell off in rags. Hence it cannot be
doubted, nor will it surprise the reader to be
told, that, notwithstanding Mr. Dancer's pecu-
liarity of disposition induced him to shun the
world, he never was without a numerous retinue
about him, whose lively spirit, and attachment
to his person, made his acquaintance, as well
as his neighbours, extremely cautious of approach-
ing him.

96 Life of Mr. Dancer.

After his sister's death, a pair of sheets, as
black as soot bags, were discovered upon the
bed ; but these he would never suffer to be re-
moved ; and when they were worn out, were
never replaced ; so that after that time he relin-
quished the use of linen to sleep in.

. He would not allow any one to make his bed,
though Lady Tempest often solicited him to
permit it ; and for many years his room was
never swept. Towards the time of his death,
it was observed to be filled with sticks, which
he had stolen out of the different hedges. A
considerable quantity of odd shapen gravel stones
•were also found in a bag, but for what use these
were intended is unknown.

The report of his riches, and the idea of its
concealment about the house, once brought a
troop of house-breakers, who very easily entered,
and, without any search-warrant, rummaged
every corner of the place ; but although this
domiciliary visit cost the lives of some of them,
they rook away but little property. Old Dan-
cer had been long on his guard ; and his mode
of hiding was so peculiar to himself, that the
grand object of the thieves was never disco-
verable by them. Mr. Dancer concealed his
treasure where no one could ever think of seek-
ing for it. Bank notes were usually deposited
with the spiders; they were hid amongst the
cobwebs in the cow-house; and guineas in
holes in the chimney, and about the fire-place,
covered with soot and ashes. Soon after the
robbery, when the thieves were apprehended,

Life of Mr. Dancer. 97

and to be tried, it being very necessary that Mr.
Dancer should attend the trial, Lady Tempest
requested that in order to appear a little decent,
he would change his shirt, and she would lend
him a clean one. "No, no," he replied, "it
is not necessary. The shirt I have on is quite
new; I bought it only three weeks ago, and then
it was clean.3'

His extreme love of money overcame every
other consideration ; and to this idol, Mammon,
he even sacrificed brotherly affection. From the
evident want of this principle, and to his at-
tachment to gain, may be accounted his strange
behaviour, as before related, to his sister at her
latter end. But in one singular instance, and
to the canine species too, he seemed, in some
measure, to forego his favourite idea of saving.
This was a dog, of which he was extremely
fond, and which he called by the familiar appel-
lation of, Bob my child. His treatment of this
animal affords an instance of that inconsistency
of human acting, which philosophy seeks in vain
to account for.

While his self-denial was so severe that he
denied himself a penny loaf a day, and existed
entirely upon Lady Tempest's pot liquor and
scraps from her kitchen, of which he would
cram so greedily, that he was frequently under
the necessity of rolling himself upcwi the floor
before he could go to sleep, he allowed this dog,
he called Bob, a pint of milk daily ; and this he
paid for as it was constantly supplied by a neigh-

98 Life of Mr. Dancer,

bouring farmer, when he had parted with his

farming stock, and had not one cow left.

Once upon a time a complaint being made to
him that his dog Bob had worried some of his
neighbour's sheep, he took the dog to a farrier's
shop, and had all his teeth filed down.

For this barbarous action he never gave any
reason; possibly it might be to prevent the like
again ; as he might shrewdly guess, that any far-
ther damage from his dog's mischievous manner
might bring expenses upon him, as he was cer-
tainly liable to be compelled to pay them.

Life of Mr. Dancer. 99

His sister being dead, and finding himself
lonesome, he hired a man for his companion ;
and in his choice he shewed much discernment ;
for his man Griffiths was a proper counterpart
of himself— both miserable alike. When they
went out, they took different roads, though both
followed the same occupation ; only that the
servant indulged more taste for strong beer; a
liquor which Mr. Dancer carefully avoided, as
costing money ; but Griffiths would tipple a lit-
tle, which was the cause of much altercation at
night when these saving souls met. However,
Griffiths generally came loaded with bones,
some of which having some fragments of flesh
on, served to heighten their repast, and quieted
the master's impending storm. This fellow had,
by as severe parsimony as that exercised by Mr.
Dancer, contrived to accumulate 5001. out of
wages which had never exceeded 101. per annum.
At the time he lived with Mr. Dancer, he was
upwards of sixty, and hired himself to him for
eighteen pence a week. Every trait of so sin-
gular a character is interesting. Mr. Dancer
having occasion to come to London one day for
the purpose of investing two thousand pounds
in the funds, a gentleman, who did not know
him, met him near the Royal Exchange, and
mistaking him for a beggar, charitably slipped
a penny into his hands. Jemmy Taylor, the
Borough usurer, who stood by, was a little sur-
prised; but Mr. Dancer seemed to understand
the gentleman very well ; and observing to Tay-
lor, every little helps, he pocketed the half- pence,,
I 2

100 Life of Mr. Dancer.

and walked on. Perhaps he might consider
this penny as the seed of a pound, to which it
might attain by gentle gradations ; and as the
human mind is always pleased with prospects of
what it wishes, Mr. Dancer might contemplate
this penny multiplying itself progressively, until
it arrived at thousands; tor, as Lord Chesterfield
observes, take care of the pence, and the pounds
wiil take care of themselvts. In fact, the truth
is, that wealth is at first acquired by very minute
particles: small sums are the semina of great
ones, and may very aptly be compared to seconds
of time, which geneiate years, centuries, and
even eternity itself.

Lady Tempest was the only person who had
any influence over this unfortunate miser; and
though she knew his fortune was at iasi to De-
volve to her and Captain Holmes, yet she, with
that gentleman, with the utmost solicitude, em-
ployed every contrivance to make him partake
of those conveniences and indulgences, which
his fortune could supply, and which his advanc-
ed years required; but ail their entreaties were
without effect. " Where was he to get the mo-
ney? How could he afford it? If it was not for
some chariiuble assistance, how could he live ?"
One day, however, this lady, with a greui deal
of persuasion, prevailed upon him to purchase
a hat, which he did at last, of a Jew, to? a shil-
ling, having worn the one he then possessed up-
wards of fourteen years; but yet it was too
good in his eye to throw away. When Lady
Tempest visited him the next time, she, to her

Life of Mr. Dancer. 101

great astonishment, perceived him still with his
old hat on. On importuning him for the rea-
son, he at last told her, that, after much solici-
tation, he had prevailed on his OLD MA\T GRIF-
FITHS to give him SIXPENCE protit upon the
hat he had purchased, by her desire, of the Jew,
a few days before.

To those who cannot exist without every
convetiiency in life, and even without every
artificial appendage to luxury, let them turn to
this old miser, worth more than THREE THOU-
SAND pounds per annum, who, for the sake of
making that sum scill more, foregoes even that
superlative comfort, a fire in winter time! Ye
spendthrifts, read -.hi> anecdote and blush.

Mr. Dancer had arrived at his 7&th year be-
fore he felt any serious cause of complaint to
call in a d )ctor. His antipathy to the medical
tribe has been already mentioned ; therefore it
was in vain to advise him to take any medicine,
even when there was a necessity for it.

During the illness which terminated this mi-
serable man's misspent life, in the 78th year of
his age, in the month of October 1/94, Lady
Tempest accidentally called upon him, and found
him lying in an old sack, which came up to his
chin, and his head wrapped up in pieces of the
same materials as big as a bee-hive. On her
remonstrating against the impropriety of such,
a situation, he observed, that being a very poor
man, he could not afford better; and having
come into the world without a shirt, he was de-
termined to go out in the same manner.

102 Life of Mr. Dancer.

His opinion of the professors of physic was
rather singular, and seemed to border upon pre-
destination. To use his own language, the me-
dical linkers were all a set of rogues; who,
while they patched up one hole, always contriv-
ed to make ten, for a better job ; but he allowed
of the utility of surgery in repairing accidental
fractures.

His prejudice against the whole tribe of law-
yers was determined in the extreme. Indeed,
his inveteracy was the result of strongly feeling
the effects of their chicanery; and his aversion
to this class of men was go great, that he would
even forego his own interest to gratify his re-
sentment, as the following anecdote will prove.

Having, as was usually his half yearly custom,
agreed with an old clothes- wom^n for a shirt for
half a crown, as he thought, the dealer called at
his house, and left him one worth three- shil-
lings; but for which he refused to pay any
more than his original agreement of 2s. 6d.
Notwithstanding the party urged the goodness
and the fineness of the article, Mr. Dancer was
impenetrable; and no more than the half-crown
would he pay ; which the woman as perempto-
rily refusing, at last applied to the court of Re-
quests of the district, to which he was obliged
to repair, although it cost him fivepence on the
journey for bread and cheese, and the cost of
hearing, &c. in all upwards of four shillings
and sixpence. This had such an effect on Mr.
Dancer's mind, that he ever afterwards held the
lawyers in abhorrence ; for to give, or pay, were

Life of Mr. Dancer. 103

Hot to be found in his vocabulary. Addition and
multiplication were his favourite rules, and usury
was the foundation of his good deeds.

Though Mr- Dancer, by his spirit of covetous-
ness, debased himself in this sordid manner, yet
he kept a mare, for which he showed a great par-
tiality ; but he never allowed her more than two
shoes at one time, deeming it an unnecessary
expense to shoe the hind feet of the animal ; and
he used to say, it was more pleasant for a horse
to feel the naked grass, than to be confined in
unnatural shoes.

Mr. Dancer was the most perfect picture of
human penury that perhaps ever existed, and the
most singular character that ever lived; his habits
were those of an hermit , and his extreme avarice
rendered him as abstemious as any ascetic of the
desert.

In this manner lived, and in this situation died,
Daniel Dancer, Esquire, a monumental proof to
the world, that the advantages of fortune, unless
properly directed, will not make their possessor
happy. Lady Tempest, it ought to be observed
here, had but a very short enjoyment of the great
accession of wealth she acquired by this miser's
death ; for she contracted an illness during her
attendance upon Mr. Dancer's last hours, that in
a few months closed the period of her own life,
which happened in January, 1795.

The house, or rather the heap of ruins, in
which Mr. Dancer lived, and which, at his death,
devolved to the right of Captain Holmes, was a
most miserable decayed building, frightful and

104 Life of Mr. Dancer.

terrific in its outside appearance ; for it had not
been repaired for more than half a century. But
though poor in external appearance, the ruinous
fabric was very rich in the interior. It took
many weeks to explore its whole contents ; and
Captain Holmes and Lady Tempest found it a
very agreeoble task to dive into the miser's se-
crets. One of the late Mr. Dancer's richest
scrutoires was found to be a duiiij-heap in the
cow-house; a sum little short of c£2500 was
contained in this rich piece of manure ; and in
an old jacket, carefully tied, and strongly nailed
down to the manger, in bank-notes and gold» five
hundred pounds more.

Several large bowls, filled with guineas, half-
guineas, and quantities of silver, were discovered,
at different times, in searching the corners of the
house ; and various parcels of bank-notes stuffed
under the covers of old chairs and cushions. In
the stable the Captain found some jugs of dol-
lars and shillings. It was observable, that Mr.
Dancer used to visit this place in the dead of the
night; but for what purpose even old Griffiths him-
self could not guess ; but it is supposed, it was to rob
one jug to add to a bowl which he had buried,
and was nearly full, when taken up from under
one of the hearth tiles.

The chimney was not left unsearched, and
paid very well for the trouble ; for in nineteen
different holes, all filled with soot, were found
various sums of money, amounting together to
more than 2001. Bank-notes to the value of 6001.
were found doubled up in the bottom of an old

Life of Mr. Dancer. 105

tea-pot. Over these was a bit of paper, whim-
sically inscribed, " Not to be too hastily looked
over/'

Mr. Dancer's principal acquaintance, and the
most congenial companion of his soul, was the
penurious Jemmy Taylor, of the Borough of
Southwark. This genius became acquainted with
him accidentally at the Stock Exchange, where
they chanced to meet to transact some money
affairs: and they often visited each other after*
wards; for it was a ceitain satisfaction to each.
to edify by the other's experience. No doXb*"
their conversation ran much upon refinements in
hard living ; for Jemmy was as rigid an ascetic
as tne ether, though he did not go quite in so
beggarly a style.

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