Eccentric Personages  

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Eccentric Personages is a book by William Russell.

Full text[1]

HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY

THE BEQUEST OF EVERT JANSEN WENDELL

(CLASS OF 18S2) OF NEW YORK.

1918

1

Jk^.f, /^Y^.

•k *

ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES

BY

W. RUSSELL, LLJ). -/SuiM fL^ £cc^.c. u"

i^l > l»

THB AMBRIOAN NEWS 00MPAN7,

119 AND 121 Nassau Strut.

1866.

H 1 1 r . . 4, t

h/uiVARO COLLEGE LIBRARY

FROM

THE BEQUEST OP

VEBT JAN8EN WENDELL

CONTENTS.

PAGl

Monsieur LB DocTEUR DEViNif 6

Sir Andrew Sbllwood, Knight 60

Beau Bruhmell 60

Lady Hester Stanhope 74

Beau Nash 81

Sir Gerald Massey, Knight 90

Margaret Fuller 100

The Earl oe Peterborough 114

Sir Samuel Smith, Attorney-at-law . . . 128

Amazon Snell 152

Captain Mowbray 163

Daniel DE Fob 174

The Honourable John LoFTus 189

Jonathan Swift, D.D. and Dean oe Saint

Patrick 211

Lady Mary Wortley Montague 225

Christina op Sweden 240

John Abernethy, Surgeon 254

Captain Morris 262

IV CONTENTS.

PAOl

J. M. W. TuENEB, R.A 276

Lord Norburt 288

The Chevalier D'Eon 801

Joseph Balsamo 807

Thomas, Marquis of Wharton & Malmesbury 824 Philip, Duke OF Wharton & Northumberland 831 Bamfylde Moore Carbw ....... 847

Monsieur Blaise . 870

Madame la Oomtesse de Oenlis 890

The Lady-witch 406

A Descendant of Owen Glendowbr ... 412

ECCENTEIC PMSONAGES.

MONSIEUE LB DOCTEUR DEVINE.

In the street of Saint Jacques, Havre de Grfice, Nonnandy, and nearly opposite the jQne cliurcli of Notre Dame, dwelt Antoine Tricard, a boot-and-shoemaker in a respectable way of business. He kad been twice married ; his second wife, ^'une belle Allemande" — Oerman women of the middle class are rarely beautiAil, by the way — ^had a son by a pre- vious marriage— Eugdne Devine. This union took place in 1742, Eugtoe being then about five years old; a preco- cious boy, singulariy so, he is reported to have been. Re- markably impressionable too; any striking circumstance was indelibly photographed upon his sensitive mind. He was an artist of promise, and might possibly, had not an accident led him to embrace the medical profession, have become an eminent painter. When about twenty years of age, Madame d'Estr^ was condemned to be executed at Rouen for the murder of her husband. M. Tricard went with the young Bovine to witness the terrible spectacle. Madame d'Estr^ was a young woman of raro beauty, who had mfirried a rich man thrice her own age, under parental compulsion — ^the family Marin, her maiden name, being at the time, if not absolutely poor, in pressing difficul- ties. M. Marin was a grocer at Havre de QT$ce. The Tricards visited at the grocer's, and Eugene Devine appears to have early conceived a boyish passion for the beautiful

6 EccEmnuc pebsokages.

girl, who was about two years older than he, knowing at the same time that she was attached and affianced to Edonard Gazo, the son of a herbalist established in the Rue de Paris. The wealth of Monsieur d'Estr^s, a farmer- general of king's taxes, was too potent an influence to be resisted by the grievously-embarrassed M. Marin ; and at his stem command Josdphine Marin was sacrificed in marriage to the rich merchant. In less than two months afterwards, M. d'Estr^ was seized with sudden and fatal illness immediately after taking his breakfast; M. Portalis, an eminent physician of Eoueo, near which city M. d'Estr^es resided, was quickly in attendance, but medical aid was useless. The farmer-general had been poisoned, and was dying in great agony. He could only ejaculate with much difficulty, and a word or syllable at a time, in answer to M. Portalis, *^Ma femme — ma femme m^a empoUonni — le ca/6 — le caf4:** (My wife— my wife has poisoned me — the coffee — ^the coffee) — and died with the last words upon his lips. The wife, who passionately protested her innocence, was immediately arrested and taken to prison. A long inquiry into all the circumstances of the case ensued. The main facts establiehed were, that a subtle tasteless poison had been mixed with the coffee of which M. d'Estr^ had partaken — Madame d'Estr^ as was her custom, had previously breakfasted — ^the coffee was prepared in the kitchen, but of course Madame d'Estr^es, who was in the breakfast-room where it was served two or three minutes before her husband came down stairs, and lefl it immediately he did, which she was also proved to be in the habit of doing, had full opportunity of mixmg the poison with the coffee. It was also proved that Edouard Cazo had been seen prowling about near M. d'Estrto' residence for several days previous to that on which M. d'Estr^ was murdered. No one had, however^

MONSIEUB LB BOCIBUB DEVINE. 7

fleen him and Madame d'Estr^ together. The only person in the farmer^neral^B establishment who had been seen with him, and that more than onoe, was Fanchette Le BlanCy a personal attendant of Madame d'Estrtoi, whom she had brought with her from Hayre de Orfice. Fanchette Le Blanc was a fine-lookiDg, fine-eyed girl, the daughter of a Havre tradesman, who not long before had been reduced in circumstances. Before that, her family had visited upon equal terms those of MM. Marin and Caiso. It also came out that Fanchette Le Blanc and Edouard Cazo had been intimate in a lover sense with each other. It was Fanchette Le Blanc who carried up M. d'Estr^s' breakfast. These circumstances were not, however, supposed at the ime to have any significance with regard to the guilt or innocence of Madame d'Estrto, except by one person — ^Eugdne Devine. The young man had chanced to saive the life of Monsieur Gourtrai, a surgeon in excellent practice at Havre de Gr&ee. Devine had been to Harfleur, upon some busi- ness for his stepfather, Monsieur Tricard. M. Courtrai was there, in compliance with a pressing message from the Prince de la Tour d'Auvergne, an ancestor, I suppose, of the present French ambassador at the English courts who, in passing through Harfleur, had met with an accident, and, having no confidence in the medical skill of the place, sent for M. Gourtrai. His difficult professional duty successfully performed, for which service the Prince felt very grateful, M. Gourtrai, extremely anxious to get back to Havre, and no decked vessel being for the moment procurable, and it beii^ fine summer weather, embarked in a large open boat which was laden with fowls and other provisions for the Lavre market. Devine also took passage in the boat. Suddenly when they were about half way from Harfleur to Havre a white squall arose. A <' white squall'^ is a furious wind which gives no token of its approadi by dark gath-

8 EOCENTBIO PSBSONAGES.

ering clouds, and ihe coming on of which can only be discerned by watchful, experienced mariners. It is usually brief as violent. The white squall struck the sails of the boat or barge with such force that it instantly capsized ; and the crew, four men, M. Gourtrai, and Eug^e Devine, were of course precipitated into the boiling sea. The crew disappeared at once, and were not seen again. Devine swam like a cork, and was a powerfully-framed young man, though lees than sixteen years old. M. Gourtrai had been a tolerable swimmer in his youth, but the weight of seventy years pressed him down, and he was sinking when the youdi Devine struck out to his assistance, attracted by the suigeon's cry of mortal agony. He was just in time to clutch the collar of the drowning man's coat. The barge, which, as I have said, had turned over, had already drifted, driven by the fierce wind and strong current, to a consider- able distance. By dint of great exertions, however, he contrived to reach it, and drag himself and M. Gourtrai on to its upturned bottom. Fortunately, the squall was a very brief one : the rapid tide of the channel quickly runs down the heaviest sea when the wind has abated, and there was soon no danger of being washed off the boat, incapable as M. Gourtrai was of holdmg on by his 0¥m efforts. After about two hours of anxiety and exposure they were rescued by a fishing smack, and conveyed in safety to Havre do Grace.

M. Gourtrai felt grateful for the service rendered him by Eugene Devine, and finding moreover that the young man wafl possessed of singular intelligence, he sent him to the Ecole de M^decine, Paris, where he made such rapid pro- gress as to call forth the highest encomiums of the pro- fessors, who predicted for him a brilliant future.

That dazzling prospect was suddenly overcast. A letter from M. Tricard told of the death of M. d'Estrto, the

MONSIEUR LE BOCTBUE BBVINE. 9

frightftd aocusatioii brought Bgainst his widow, her anest, and the generaUy-entertaizied ojunioa that she would be capitally connoted.

The studies pursued by Eugene Devine with so much ardour and success immediately lost all their charm. *^ I could think/' he said, in his minute diaiy, "only of Josephine Marin. If I read, her image gleamed from the page ; and so morbidly excited did my brain become, that I sat for hours absorbed, horrified by a mentally-pictured panorama, in which all the incidents of the terrible affair, past and in aU probability to come, passed before me, — ^the death of d'Estr^es — ^the declaration of the dying man — rash, unfounded, I had not the slightest doubt. Pid I not know Josephine ? — ^the guileless candour of her nature— the spotless purity of her life ? But rash, unfounded, that declarati(m would not, I felt, be the less fatal to Josephine. The gl6omy mental procession moved on. I saw Josdphin^ in her dark prison-cell, bowed down, sobbing with agony — her face white as stone, and yet palely lustrous with the light of a conscious innocence. Then passed before mo the trial — ^the scowling audience; I heard the judges pronounce sentence of death ; and at the last dreadful scene of all pictured to my excited imagination, I several times lost my senses — ^fainted !

" Could I — even I — ^poor, uninfluential as I was, do nothing for that beautiful unfortunate ? I was conscious of possessing an analysing, critical intellect. Might I not, by diligent enquiry on the spot, discover some clue to the real murderer, who, I was sure, positive as of my own life, was not Madame d'Estr^s ? It was quite useless to affect attention to study. My thoughts were fiur away. I was a favourite with Uie principal of the college. Dr. Cabanis. I may almost venture to say that, notwithstanding the great disparity of years, I was his friend. I spoke with him

10 SCCENTBIO PEBSONAQES.

about Madame d'Estrto, or by the name my heartrknew her — Josephine Marin. He was the father of the Cabanis, friend of Turgot, Mirabeau, and Gondorcet, bnt a man very different from his distinguished son. He had sym- pathy with sentimentalism, with human weakness; he heard me with padent kindness^ but his logical mind re- mained, I need hardly say, totally unaffecled by my pas- sionate assertions of Madame d'Estr^' innocence, grounded solely upon my estimate of her character before her com- pelled marriage with a man old enough to be her grand- fkther, and whom she did not affect to esteem, much less to love. The accusing words uttered by the poisoned man were, I could see, conclusive proof with him of the wife% guilt. Still, pity for me, and the possibility — the very faint possibility that by personal persistent investigation I might be able to elicit some fact or facts which might throw doubt iipon the young wife's criminality, induced him to give me three months' leave of absence, and a letter of introduction to M. Portalis, the eminent physician who had attended the Sieur d'Estrdes in his last moments. MM. Portalis and Gabanis had been fellow-pupils.

<< Arrived at Rouen, I waited without dday ttpon M. Portalis. He could tell me nothing more than I had read in M. Tricard's letter. I inquired the nature of the poison which had been taken by M. d'Estrdes. <HaI' said M. Portalis, < that is the<circumstance— the nature of the poison — ^which has caused me to doubt for a moment of the wife's criminality. It is that well known to the profession as poudre de tuccesswn. Its sale, its manu- facture even, is prohibited under rigorous penalties^ and I myself do not know where it could be procured. Like almost all poisons, it is said to be a potent remedy in certain cases.' ' I know— I know,' said I. « Only in Paris could it be obtained, and there only of one— perhaps two per-

HONSIBtni LE DOCTBtJE BEVINE. 11

sons — at a heavy price, and by some one in irbom the ven* dor oould repose implicit confidence. How should Madame d'Estr^ a young countrywoman, country girl, have any knowledge of such a deadly drug, much less know of whom to purchase it in Paris, if indeed she has ever been there ?*

< The difficulty is obvious,' said M. Portalis ; ' but Madame d^Estr^ has been to Paris, and made a long stay there with her husband, who in those days supplied her with any amount of money she aaked for. Her motive for get- ting rid of her husband is very clear. He was veiy jealous of his beautiful young wife — ^whether for good cause or not I cannot s^; bitter quarrels took place, and M. d'Estr^s, a man of iron will, told her in the hearifag of several persons that he should completely change the dis- position of hib wealth — ^bequeath her only a baiQ subsist- ence, whereas he had formally executed, during the first week of the hme de miel, a notarial deed which would have entitled her at his death to every thing he might die possessed of. Had he told her, which is the fact,' added M. Portalis, ' that he had actuaJly destroyed the first deed and executed another in the sense of his threat, poudrt de succession would not have been mixed with the unfortunate fermier-g^n^ral's caf($. She expected to be deprived of the

< succession ;' and being unaware that she had been l^ally so depriyed, resolved to be swift and deadly. She was swift and deadly.' 'Pardon, Monsieur Portalis; and I b^ you to excuse the freedom with which so young a man as I presume to address you. My conviction of Madame d'Estr^s' innocence is as firm, as unalterable as yours is of her guilt.' *Parbleu!' replied he with a half-cynical smile ; * but there is this difference, my young friend, that your conviction has no other foundation than

.the illusions of boyish sentiment, whikt mine is baped upon the inexorable logic of facts.' ' Presumed facts, permit me

12 ECCENTRIC PEBS0IUGB3.

torobserve, mondear. And there is one point which occurs to me, whicli seems to deny completely the always im- probable supposition that Madame d'Estr^ purchased the poudre de succession^ so called, in Paris. She was with her husband in Paris, you say, during the first part of the honeymoon, when he adored her, and had no mistrust of her. Was it at such a tune, I would ask, that the newly-wedded wife would deyise means, and face terrible risks to obtain them, for destroying the indulgent husband's life at some distant period — a life which in the course of nature could not long endure?' <That is plausible, young man, very plausible. Error is often plausible — ^more frequently so, perhaps, than strict truth. The devil very soon effects a lodgment in the heart, and whispers his suggestions in the brain of a young, beautiful woman, who 13 fettered by the marriage chain to an aged man whom she loathes. But this is yam talk, M. Devine. The fate of Madame d'Estrdes will be decided by the Court of Criminal Justice, not guided by your conviction or mine. If, however, there is any real service I can render you in this sad affair,. I will willingly do so.' I reflected a few moments, and said quickly, ' Yes, monsieur ; I very, very much desire to ^ee Madame d^Estr^es. Could you obtain me an order to be admitted to a private interview with her in the prison?' Monsieur le M^ecin paused. Such orders were difficult of obtainment. He, however, promised to speak to the magistrate who alone had power to grant such permission, and if I called the next day, he would tell me the result. I thanked M. Portalis, bowed, and withdrew.

'^ I was so restless, so perturbed, that, contentmg myself with a glass of wine and a biscuit for dinner, I took my way to the deceased M. d'Estr^es* domicile. I wished to speak with Mademoiselle Le Blanc, whom I had known in Havre de Orfioe.

MOK3IET7B LE DOCTEUR BEVINE. 13

"As it happened, she was upon the point of leaving the house as I approached it. Our eyes met; she started ; a visible terror shook her frame, and her face paled to the hue of marble. What might be the meaning of that? Fanchette Le Blano re-entered the hall, and sank down half fainting upon a seat. ^ How i' said I to Mademoiselle Le Blanc ; ' does the sight of an old acquaintance alarm, terrify you?' 'No — ^no,' che said, recovering herself by a strong effort. 'What folly to suppose such a thing I seeing you brought suddenly to mind the dreadful tragedy b which poor Madame d'Estrees is involved. Of course,' she added, with a glimmer in her glowing eyes, which I could but doubtfully interpret — ' of course, I long since knew how much you adored — I mean, felt interested in her welfare.' ' You knew the truth, Mademoiselle Le Blanc. Who, indeed, would not feel a profound interest in so charming, so amiable, so pure and innocent a being, and now especially ?' The glimmer in the fierce eyes brightened to a vivid flash, and her lip curled with a mocking expression, as she exclaimed, ' Linocent — ^innocent 1 Well, I hope so. But youthful lovers seldom see stains or defects in their idol.' ' That is not laoguage, pardon me, mademoiselle, to address to JSug^ne Devine at such a time. Has M. Edouard Cazo,' I asked abruptly, 'seen Madame d'Estrdes since her arrest — ^interested himself for her ?' ' Oh, no 1' was the reply, in as abrupt a tone as mine, whilst her eyes flamed, her cheeks flushed with what bore the expression of exultant scorn, — ' oh, no— assuredly not !' ' Yet he was seen lurking about the place several days before the catas- trophe occurred.' ' That is exact,' said Le Blano, the hot colour in her cheeks fading again. ' He did not speak with Madame d'Estr^s, I understand ?' ' I did not see him speak with her. ' He came and spoke with you. Made- moiselle Le Blano?' ^Eh hien! — yes. You are very

14 EOCENTRIO PERSONAGES.

inqaisitive, M. Devine/ retorted the demoiselle, oolonring again. Have yon any serious question to ask me?' she added. 'If not, I must make yon my adieu; I hare business in Rouen.' * I will not detain you, Mademoiselle Le Blanc. Stay one moment. Edouard Gazo's father is a skilful herbalist — a veiy skilful herbalist. Do you think it possible that he may know the secret of making the

vegetable poison called poudre de ntccessionj and have *

Before I could finish the sentence, Fanchette Le Blanc, who had risen, fell back into the seat, and fainted outright. There was a carafe of - water on a table in the hall, and I soon restored her to consciousness. Another woman-ser- vant appeared before I could again address her, and both entered the house together.

" ' This is all very dark,' I murmured to myself as I walked toward Rouen. 'I strongly suspect Fanchette Le Blanc and Edouard Gazo arc the poisoners of M. d'Estr^es.' Knowing or believing that the murdered gentleman had disposed of his wealth in favour of his wife, and imagining that he, Oazo, had the same hold of her affections as previous to her marriage, ho might have prevailed upon Le Blanc, for a large promised reward, to administer the poudre de tuccession ; Le Blanc having probably informed him that no time should be lost. The affair had no doubt been blundered. Poudre de succession should be administered in such small doses that the vic- tim at first merely feels malaise^ a sensation of uneasiness, and gradually sinks about the seventh, eighth, or ninth day, according to the strength of his stamina; whereaE such an overdose had been given that d'Estrdes died almost immediately, and in great agony. It might pos- sibly have happened that during the entrance into, oi approach of some one to, the room where the operation was going on, all the terrible powder was tipped in at

MONSIEnE LB D00TST7B BEVH^. 15

onoe, in order tibat it should not be seen in her hands. This, of course, was mere conjecture, but the words and manner of Le Blanc gave it a strong colour of likelihood. Time proved that I had not quite hit upon the truth, but very near to it. I determined, however, and wisely, to give no hint of my suspicions, except to the Avocats whom M. Courtrai and M. Tricard would enable me to engage in defence of the accused. I already knew that Madame d'Estr^s was without means of paying Messieurs Ics Avocats.

<^ M. Portalis was successful. When I waited upon him on the following day, he placed in my hand a written order to the governor of Rouen jail, to see Madame d'Estrdes, accused of the murder of her husband ; the interview to be for half-an-hour, and private ; and I was warned that the application would not be again acceded to.

'< A terrible interview I My imagination in the panora- mic vision I have described had not deceived me. There she sat in the gloomy cell, bowed down with agony — the shadow of an inexpressible despair on her white, beautiful face, yet illumined or rather arrayed in conscious inno- cence. Her father had been some months dead ; she was an orphan, and believed herself abandoned by God and man. Unhappy Josephine ! She threw herself into my arms with a spasmodic, passionate cry of joy. ' Help me, Eugene ! save — save me from the terrible doom with which they threaten me! I am innocent, Eugene ; indeed, indeed I am T

" A flood of fire — a hurricane of tears and flame swept through me at that agitating moment. I thought I should have fainted — ^to hold her in my arms, who had been the angel of my boyhood — to hear her express a fearful hope that I might save her, abandoned as she was by the whole world — I, Eugene, which name, speaking to

16 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES.

mc, had never before passed her lips ! It was the sapreme moment of my life I When we had sufficiently calmed down, I qnestioned her tenderly as to all the circumstances connected with the accusation. She could tell me nothing I did not know. She knew nothing, I found, of the pecu- liar nature of the poison. I needed no assurance of that. I pointedly mentioned the names of Edouard Gazo and Fanchette Le Blanc — ^that they had been seen together near M. d'Estr^' house. Josephine glanced, at me with sudden, eager scrutiny, as if my words gave form and colour to some thought, some yague surmise which had arisen in her mind. It was so. ' Eugene,' she said, again Eugene 1 speaking in a low shaking voice, ' I cannot help thinking that those two persons are guilty of the murder of M. d'Estrdes 1 ' Asking her the reasons of her belief that they were the culprits, she could give no other than that such was her impression. That Gazo, whom she as much disliked and despised, and for sufficient reasons, as she had once liked him, had sent her a note requesting a meeting \^ith her. This note was brought to her by Le Blanc. It was immediately torn in pieces before her face, and the girl was told that her master should be made acquainted with her unpardonable insolence in making her- self the bearer of such a request to his wife. ' The girl's face darkened as I spoke, and her eyes flamed with rage. I at once gave her notice to quij, but was finally persuaded to promise not to inform M. d'Estrdes, at least not for the present, of the criminal indiscretion she had been guilty of, if she did not repeat it.'

^< The precious half-hour had terminated. I was com- pelled to quit the persecuted, unhappy Josephine. She was not more unhappy than myself.

'< I called once more on M. Portalis to assure him of my conviction of the accused's innocence: as, however, I had

M0KSIET7B LB DOCTEUR DEYINE. 17

no proofs no legal proof, the phyacian remained firmly iacrednlons. I mentioned Laving called at M. d'Estr^s' boase, and that I had seen Mademoiselle Le Blano; but I did not allude to what had passed between us. ' A demoi- selle of spirit/ said M. Portalis, <is Le Blanc, and a handsome one too. Poor d'Estrdes, a man of extravagant caprices as regards le bean sexe, must have taken a strong fancy to her, for he has left by the instrument which superseded that made, in favour of his wife, forty thousand livres toumoU to Mademoiselle Le Blanc'

• ^ ' Forty thousand livres toumois (about eighteen hun-

dred pounds sterling) — forty thousand livres toumois to Mademoiselle Le Blanc, which bequest a man so capricious might have at any moment revoked I Ha I light bc^n? to break from the black, lowering clouds. And Le Blanc knew of this large bequest ?* ' Possibly ; but there is no proof that she did. Such a man as d'Estrdes would be likely enough to tell her that he had made her a handsome provision.' ' Certainly he would. And it was Fanchette Le Blanc who served the poisoned coffee. Light breaks, I say again.' * Error — ^illusion, young man I you are blinded by sentimental enthusiasm. The possible culpabi- li^ of Mademoiselle Le Blanc has not escaped the attention of authority. A rigorous inquiry has been instituted, and the report, for various cogent reasons, acquitted her of the slightest complicity with Madame d'Estrdes. In fact, Le Blano and her mistress were on bad terms, Madame d'Estrdes having given her peremptory notice to leave her service.' * It is very well. Monsieur Portalis ; but I repeat, light breaks — ^is hourly becomiog brighter, clearer. Nous verrons. T start in an hour for Havre, and, thanking you for your kindness, I take my leave. I salute you, Mon- aeur Portalis.'

"M. Tricard and M. Gourtrai were quite willing to B

18 SCCENTBIO P^lBSONAGBS.

famish me witJi siiiSScient money to engage an Avon^ and two provinciallj-celebrated Avocats to defend Madame d'Estr^es; but both were firmly persuaded of her guilt. Nothing could weaken this conviction — ^nothing that I oould say. And this rooted prejudice against Josephine, if it could not be eradicated, would destroy a hope which I had not ceased to cherish — that in the last resort, when all other hope had vanished, M. Courtrai would invoke the aid of Le Prince de la Tour d'Auvergne, who was all- powerful at /court, to at least save the unfortunate lady from the last dread penalty of the lawl M. Courtrai would not lift a finger to save a convicted murderess of whose guilt he felt no doubt. That set me thinking : we shall see with what result.

'^The trial in the Hall of Justice, Rouen, would not commence in less than two months. In my restless mood of mind, I was constantly 'gomg backwards and forwards from Rouen to Havre, from Havre to Rouen. It was something to look upon the prison whore Josdphine was confined, to stroll through the grounds where she had often strolled. I was always romanesque: eccentric was the word applied to me by the commonplace humdrums of society. That absurdest, vainest of eccentrics, De Oeniis, had the impertinence to call me in one of her trashy books Un drdle de ginie. But havardage is out of place in this page— a dark, terrible one — over which a mist of blood seems to hang. Whilst haunting Uie grounds round about the deceased Bionsieur d*£str6»' mansion, I frequently amused myself by sketching the most striking scenes. This desultory occupation proved of great after-service.

'^ I certainly did, whilst hattant le pavi at Rouen, a very silly thing, which no staid, sensible youth, unless he had been madly in love— and staid, sensible youths never

MONSIBtJR LB DOOTEUR DEVINE. 19

are, aecording to mj experience, madly in love — ^wonld haye dreamed of doing. I chanced to hear in a caf^ where I was dining that one of the turnkeys of the Rouen prison had been taken suddenly ill, and that some trust- worthy person was immediately required to take his place. Hey I presto I I was off in an instant ; hurried to a ffipier*s (second-hand clothes-shop), pnrchased such apparel as I Uiought suitable ; waited upon the Ayou^ who was engaged for the defence of Madame d'Bstr^s, asked him to give me a certificate of respectability and trustworthiness under his own well-known signature. He readily complied. M. Portalis did the same. Of course I did not mention for what purpose I required such docimients; but I do not remember — I made no note in my diary — what excuse I made for requiring them. With these documents in my pocket, and suitably attired, I presented myself to the governor of the jail. A turnkey was urgently required. I seemed a suitable person enough, though rather too young. I was engaged, and signed an agreement for one month, during which time I should not be permitted egress from the prison, that being a rigorous stipulation with all the subordinate officials. I was distinctly informed that the sentinels at the gate would no more hesitate to put a ball or a bullet through me, should I attempt to leave the place, than if I were a regular prisoner. I was duly shown to those gentlemen, in order that they might recog- nise me, and should it be desirable to do so, instantly act upon that knowledge. The motive for this stringent regulation was to prevent any clandestine correspondence being carried on, through the medium of the officials, between the prisoners and their friends outside. Keys duly numbereii were given to me, and when the time came to lock up for the night, I should be shown the different cells.

20 ECCENTRIO PEBSONAQES.

" * How is that?* aaid I to a brother official who was instructiDg me in my duties^ and helping to dispose of a flagon of wine, the cost of which, according to usage, I, a new hand, defrayed. ' How is that, my friend ? I always onderstood prisoners were confined under lock all day and night.'

" ' Farhleu / That is correct of prisoners under deten- tion for crime, but not as to debtors. This is the debtor department of the prison. Quite a separate building is that where criminals are confined.'

• 'Good heavens I I was as hot as fire in a moment,

from the crown of my head to the sole of my foot. What an ass I had made of myself t

" < Well, but the two buildings communicate with each other, I suppose ? ' said I.

" * Pas du tout. Not at all. They are, I tell you, separate buildings. It is impossible to pass from one to the other without first going into the street — quite impos- sible. To your health, comrade, once more. You don't look well.'

" No wonder that I didn't look well. I was com- pletely boulevers4 — turned up and down, inside out. What the devil I was I to be shut up in that dismal place, without a chance of seeing or speaking with Madame d'Estr^cs, for a whole month, unable to communicate with her even through the Avoud (attorney)? It was dreadful — desokting — ^the end of the world I I should go mad I I refiegted for a few moments as well as the hot tumult in my brain permitted.

" ' Maitre Jean Dubois,' said I, ' you are right in say- ing I don't look well. It is impossible that I should. I am very ill. The close, dank atmosphere of this place has already produced a terrible eficct upon me. Should I remain, it will kill me. I must speak with the governor.

MOKSIEUB LB DOCTEUB DEVINE. 21

It is vexing to be obliged to give up so good — at least, so promLdng a place; but life, you know, before alll*

" ' Parbleu ! But- listen, my friaid: whether you live or die here, you must remain till the term for which you have engaged— one month, six months, twelve months — has expired. The doctor will attend you. Certainly, if you die, and Monsieur le Mddecin certifies you are really dead, your friends, if they bring a coffin, may have your body. Yes, I think that indulgence is allowed — I am sure of it. And, mon enfanty it is weU to remember, as you are retained for one month — ^you said one month? Tes. Well, remember that really means two months. You must give a month's notice of your desire to throw up the place, before the expiration of the stipulated month, and then, if your services are needed, they won't let you off. Mon ami r added the veteran, ' taking service here is much Hke taking service in the army. It is an easy hfe for a strong active fellow like you, but very, very difficult to get out of. A ta 8ant6, mon cher. We'll have another flagon. I could tell you a good story,* continued Dubois, * of one of us who shammed mortal illness m order to get out. There was a wealthy merchant confined here. He had great transac- tions — ^had been arrested unexpectedly, and there were papers in his house that would have gravely compromised him. No letters are allowed to pass out of prison; but all that are sent are received and opened. Well, Joseph Mar- ceau was prevailed upon to assist the merchant out of his alarming difficulty. Marceau feigned, as I have said, dan- gerous iUness, and feigned so well that an order was ^ivcn to carry him home in a litter. This was done. Marceau saw the merchant's wife, gave her a list of the compro- mising papers, which were of course immediately destroyed. That done, the merchant had nothing to fear, and was soon afterwards liberated. Marceau, who was very poor

22 SCCBKTBIO PEB80NAQBS.

before, took the Poisson d'Or taytsm in the Bue d'Aro. This raised sospicion ; an mqoiiy took place, and, though the affair was by some means hashed up^ enough transpired to cause the issue of an edict that no subordinate prison official in France should leave until the expiration of the term agreed upon, and notice of a montli beyond that. And th^ do not engage married men; old soldierB are preferred,' &o., &c. The garrulous old man talked and drank on unmtermpted by me. The situation in which I, with the heedlessness of a schoolboy, had placed myself, con- founded, appalled me. The thought of being caged in that gloomy dungeon for two months was maddening. Madame d'Estr^ would belieye I, like the rest of the world, had abandoned her. And there was a considerable sum of money at my lodgings wherewith to pay Messieurs les Avooats^ who would certainly not plead for Josephine if not previously paid. And I could communicate with no one, as I was told, not even with M. Portalis. Sacr64-6 1 — nom de — nam de Dieul 'Bah I' I reflected, recovering myself, ' this must be an invention of that old farceur Du- bois. I will see the governor at once.' I feigned sudden ilbess, and asked that, if not better in the morning, I might be allowed to go into the town of Bouen for an hour, half- an-hour, to consult a physician who understood the malady • which afflicted me. The governor, a grim, good-natured veteran, smiled, and said it was simply impossible to comply with the request. I should have well considered before accepting the post. The prison r^ulations were, he admitted, absurdly strict; but they could not be relaxed under any ciroumtances. No communication could be permitted with the outside world by the subordinate custodians of the prisoners. ' Well, Monsieur le Colonel, will you send a note, an open note, to M. Portalis?' No> he dare not do so. ' A verbal message, then T < No ; it is

, MONSISTB LE BOCTEUB DEVINE. 23

impossible to know wliat oocnlt meanisg may be oonv^ed in seemingly the eimplest message. There are state prisoners just now in the Bouen jail, and it is important that no possible oommunioation shall be had with them. It is trae ihcy are on the criminal side, but Messieurs les Autoritds at Paris haye, in their ignorance of the building, prescribed the same rules for the custodians of debtors as for men or women accused of crime. That is their affair ; mine is to obey the instructions sent to me. There is nothing to be said, young man ; no one obliged you to come here. As to your iUness, if it be real, you can have no better advice than that of the resident physician, M. Bourdon. Now leave me; I ain busy.'

" Hundred thousand devils ! this was the climax I I had not previously believed that such insane regulations could really be in force. I afterwards knew the reason why such ridiculous orders had been sent from Paris. That, however, is a subject upon which I do not care to touch, even in my private journal.

<' But, good heavens I what was to be done? How get away from those accursed walls? For three miserable days and nights I pondered that question of questions; but no solution came to me. On the fourth day a bright idea struck me : Madame Chiron, who was emphatically the governor's governor, had a dog, delicately white, with a glossy black tail, black head, and brilliant eyes ; the paws of the animal were also black. I am not a connoisseur in dogs, and do not know whether such a curiously-coloured dog is rare or valuable. Enough for me that madamc's affections appeared to be centred in the little beast. That set me thinking. I must state that, having shown my knowledge of medicine, I had free access to M. Bourdon's laboratory, and saved him labour in compounding medica- ments for the prisoners.

24 . EOCENTBIO PEBSONAGSS.

'< Madame'a pet^og is taken very ill, refuses food — ^will not toucli the most ddicate yiands— droops, pines — ^will, it is evident, if some remedy be not foond, die. Dr. Bour- don is summoned. He prescribes. The remedy is of no avail. That was my afiair. « Madame is in despair. The dog gets worse and worse. Madame, in such a state of distraction as a tender mother would be if a dear child was dying, hurriedly enters the laboratoiy. I meant to have sought her had she not come. Fleurette is nobetter — ^worse — and can nothing be done? ' Where is Bourdon — ^the unskilful fool ?' she added, ragefully. ' He will be here presently. Will madame permit me to remark that neither M. Bourdon nor myself, though I have studied in an Eoole do Mddeoino, understands the maladies of dogs? The charming Fleurette — ^beautiful Fleurette — ^will certainly die if the proper remedy be not promptly applied.'

" ' Well, and the proper remedy ! You say you are not . acquainted with it?'

'^ ' That is quite true, madame. I recognise in Fleu- rette the same symptoms which I saw in another dog, which did not, however, die. I will give madame the proof. To- morrow, or perhaps not till next day, Fleurette's 1^ will be paralysed. And then the remedy must be prompt It i% however, certain to be effectual.'

« < What remedy, I ask again ?' said madame, with passion.

• • ' I have already said that I myself am not acquainted

with the remedy, but I know where to find the man who could cure Fleurette in five minutes. That is to say, I would undertake to find him in, say, three or four hours/

'< Madame, who was a shrewd woman, looked at me sharply, suspiciously. I sustamed her scrutiny very well, and she left the laboratoiy, bidding me tell Dr. Bourdon that she wished to see him immediately.

MONSTETDR LB DOOTEUR DEVINE. 25

" At about four o'clock the next day madame Bent for me. She was alone and in tears. Flenrette's 1^ were paralysed, stiff, cold. ' See, see,' exclaimed the lady, with extravagant passion, ' the electnaiy which, by that fool Bourdon's directions, you administered, has done poor Flenrette no good. It is as yon said it would be-^her feeantifol legs are paralysed. And yon are sure that a certain remedy may be obtained ?' ' Quite certain, ma- dame. But there is not a moment to spare. It may, as I said, be three or four hours before I can find the indi- vidual who possesses the secret.' < Three or four hours 1 Flenrette will live till then ?' ' No doubt of it, madame.' 'You will return with the medicine yourself?' * Undoubt- edly, madame, at my best speed. I answer for Fleurette's perfect cure.' 'You do ! I will confide in you then. My husband is absent. Follow me ; I will let you out by the private door. Aliens 1 I must risk something to save Flenrette. When you return,' said madame, as she softly unclosed a private gate — ' when you return, pull three times— each stroke about a minute apart — at this bell. I shall be at hand. Now go, quick.' I did go quick — ^ran to my lodgings, discarded my turnkey habiliments,. and was myself again. I was not, however, ungrateful to Ma- dame Chiron. I, that had administered the bane, knew the antidote, and a phial containing it was delivered in less than three hours at the private gate, accompanied by a note ^m me, stating that I could not, for peculiar reasons, return to the prison, but had sent the potion for Flenrette, which, speedily administered, would restore her to perfect health, as if by magic. It did restore her, and the affair w^ allowed to pass mh tHentio,

'* There were several letters awaiting me at the hotel, amongst them one from my heavrp^e Tricard. It contained a startling piece of news. Edouard Case was married to

26 SCCENTBIO FBB80NAGB8*

Fanchette Le Blano, who had reoeiTed a fbrtona of forty thoosand francs. Gaso^ so enriched, was abont to give up the herbalist business, and embark in some other, which, would give more scope to his ambition. Ho! ho!

• ^ Josephine d'Estrto was conyicted of the murder of

her husband--« conviction due, in some measure, although the dying declaration of Monsieur d'Estrte would perhaps haye sufficed, to the calculated malignity of Cazo and his wife. Cazo could never have loved Josephine. His was a nature utterly incapable of love in its exalted sense, its purifying influences, its Belfsacrifice--a sensuous passion merely — straw on fire. How eagerly I watched them both during that terrible trial — noted the facial index of their cruel hearts, their fear-haunted consciences I Glancing from them to the pale, tremulous features, the suffused eyes gemmed by anguish to a more touching beauty, of Madame d'Estr^ it seemed to me that I was before the tribunal of a Rhadamanthus, where fiends were pleading for the con* demnation of an angel.

Ghiilty 1 Sentence of death! I am lost. A universe has crumbled at my feet, and I remember nothing more till the morrow of that dreadful day. My friends Tricard and Courtrai were present when [ awoke fix>m that trance of despair; but, attentively perusing their faces as soon as I was able to do so, I read no hope there.

<< They believed Josephine to be guilty — ^that she had committed a brutal, unnatural murder, in order that her husband, by whom she had been treated with the most deferential kindness, should have no time to alter the testa* ment made in her favour. < Un assassinat inexpiable,' said M. Courtrai; ' and thy obstmacy in persisting she is iimo- cent, is to me only another proof that, with all thy capaci- ties, there is something flighty, something flawed in thy inteOeot' ' Tou will at leasts M« Couxtxai^ give me a ktter

MON^JEHB LB BOGTBUR DEVINS* 27

to the Prinoe de la Tour d' Anveigne, aaking 1dm to inter- cede with the king-*to intercede, I mean, for the saving of Madame d'Estrto' life ?' < I would not/ was his pitiless reply, ' move a filler to save the murderess from the just doom pronounced upon her. Certainly not.' < An appeal has been lodged, I suppose ?' < Oh, yes ; but it will avail nothing. The righteous sentence will be carried out.' < Therighteoua sentence 1 But never mind, I pass that. If you, M. Courtrai, can bemorally convinced that Madame d'Estr^ 18 an innocent woman, you wiU appeal to the Prince de la Tour d'Auvergne V ' Yes, with the greatest plasure. But the thing is impossible. Thou art a dreamer of dreams with regard to that beautiful serpent.' We shall see, monsieur — ^we shall see.'

The appeal could not be judged m less than three months. I had plenty of time. M. Cabanis prolonged my leave of absence, and I set to work with energy. The idea was germane to that which an English dramatist, I have smce heard, embodied in a play called Hamlety but diffe- rently oaried out. Ever smce I can remember, I possessed a talent for taking likenesses of persons, and not only of persons, but of scenery — ^fields, trees, men, women, the living and the dumb world. Those sketches were not models of painting, very far firom that. But they presented the man, the woman, the trees, the fields, vividly before you. He who had seen could not fail to recognise them at a glanoe.

<< M. Gourtnd was somewhat intimately acquainted with Edouard Cazo. He had known, respected his father, and had attended him doling his lii^ering last illness gratuitously. He also. liked the new Madame Gaze — ^thought her a worthy woman. He was a man of skill in his profession, of great skill, and well-informed generally, but he had no faculiy of vision to see through human masks. I had, and

28 ECCENTBIC PERSONAGES.

Still have ; and in the oaae of Madame d^Estr^ love, pity, rage, added strength to that peculiar power. I was as sure, aftei; I had seen and heard them give evidence at Rouen against the accused, that ihey were the murderers of Monsieur d'Estrto, as I wa« of' my own life.

'< At last I was ready for the decisive experiment I had painted with my best skill four tableaux. Never have I achieved such sncoess as a painter. The an^e gardien of Josephine must have guided my pencil The four paintbgs are now in the possession of M. Gourtrai's nephew. The first showed Edouard Cazo and Fanchette Le Blanc con- versing eagerly with each other at a spot near Monsieur d'Estrto' mansion, where I had ascertained they had more than once met. He was handing to h^ a small packet The dark light of meditated murder gleamed gloomily in the eyes of both. The next sketch reproduced a small apartment in M. d'Eatr^' mansion, contiguous to that in which that gentleman took breakfast It was in that room a garden in the establishment handed Le Blanc the tray upon which was the cafetidre with various comes- tibles. This was proved at the trial. I felt sure it was there the poudre de succession had been mixed with the coffee. Madame d'Estrto was in the breakfast salon, the door of which she might have opened at any moment to bid the waiting-woman bring in her master^s breakfast The painting represented Le Blanc in the act of pouring the powder into the cafeti^ with her shakbg hand — ^her fierce, averted, straining eyes fixed the while intently upon the door I The. accessories were faithfully done. I had taken a sketch of the apartment and furniture. The cafetidre itself was re- produced with exactness. The third tableau supposed that the real culprits had been discovered ; the scene was the High Court of Rouen, but instead of Madame d'Estrto,

MONSIEUB LB DOCTEUB DEVIKE. 29

Edoimrd Ca20 and his wife weienpon ' le bane de» accuse ' (the bench where prisoners seat themselves when not under course of being 'questioned ' by the magistrate) — Edouard Cazo and his wife. The witness — the denouncing witness giving her testimony was Madame d'Estr^s, and into her face I threw all the force, the expression, which I was ca- pable of depictmg. She was a beautiful embodied Nemesis, as with flashing eyes and outstretched hand she pointed to the trembling prisoners. The last tableau represented M. and Madame Cazo in the charrette on the way to execution. Ah ! that painting occupied longer than all the other three. The brush often and often fell from my hands, as with sudden sickness at heart and a hut flush in my face I bethought me that those two vile figures, were Truth the artist, would be painted out, and in their stead would stand the pale, martyred- angel of my life— Josephine !

" It was finished at last. The paintings were carried &om my bed-chamber, where no one had been permitted to see them, to the principal salon. They were hung to- gether in a row, a green silk curtain with rings running upon a stout wire before.

" M. Courtrai and M. Bourdon humoured the caprice, yet smiled sadly at my folly. 'As thou wilt,' said the patron, < but it will end in nothing ' (cela ahoutira en rien).

Monsieur Courtrai would, however, do his part in the petit conUcUe de drcomtance, and mark, closely mark, the demeanour, the countenances of Monsieur and Madame Cazo

Monsieur and Madame Cazo were invited to dine at fiellevue, the private residence on the cdte of M. Courtrai. It was a great honour, and the Gazos accepted the invita- tion with eagerness — delii^ht.

80 BCCKNTBIO PEBSONAOSS.

<<Tlie dinner was capital — Uie amvivti in excellent spirits. There were only present Monsienr and Madame Conrtrai, their widowed amiable daughter Madame Bon- lean, author of La Fille Sage (The Wise Girl,) Mon- sienr, Madame and Alphonse Trioard, myself, and die two Gasos.

« Madame Bonjean, who was in the secret of our little plot, was hopeful of it. She had long known Madame d'Estr^, and spite of the general concurrence of public opinion in the judgment of the Bouen court, could not believe her guilty of the murder of h^ husband. I was charmed with Madame Bonjean.

« The dinner is over — ^the dessert accomplished. M. Gourtrai inyites his guests to view his pictures. We all rose. There were some excellent. wo£ks of art, Dutch chiefly, which all admired.

<< < I have four pictures concealed by this curtain/ said M. Gourtrai, with marked emphasis, addressing the two Gazos, and looking fixedly at them. Madame Bonjean, who had only returned to Havre a week previously, had helped to shake his conviction of Madame d'Estrto' guilt — < I have four pictures concealed by this curtain, which are more than pictures. They reveal both the past and the future. Look, Monsieur and Madame Gaco.'

" A wild, bubbling scream broke from Madame Gazo's lips. She fainted, and would have fallen to the ground had not Madame Bonjean caught at and upheld her. As for Edouard Gazo, he was transfixed with terror, as if con- fronted by a new Gorgon, and I noticed that his fascinated glance was rivetted by the fourth picture— the going to execution in a charrette, surrounded by a hooting multi- tude, ne was as white as paper, and large beads of per- spiration stood out upon his forehead

- MONSIEUB IiB DOCTEDB DJfiVuMJfi. 81

« ( Leave mj honse. Monsieur and Madame Gazo !' said M. Conrtrai, in his sternest accents. < I had not thought to entertain assassins. B^ne I'

<< The guilty pair left without a word, not daring even to lift their eyes. The terrible secret which haixnted their Lives, and, in the shadowy shape of the murdered man, pur sued them during day, and crept with them at night to bed, whispering, suggesting horrible fantasies, was known to others. One unseen had looked upon their deeds. That chanette with its two occupants would never pass £rom their memoiy till the world itself did.

" < Eugdne,' said M. Gourtrai, ^ thou art right, I am cort- vinced. But no l^al proof is supplied by what we have just seen. I shall, however, speak of it to the Prince de la Tour d'Auvergne, and set off for Paris in the morning. There must be no delay, my poor Eugene, for the appeal I knew this morning has been rejected, and the sentence — the imjust sentence — ^will be executed this day week. There, don't you faint away. I shall be successful, depend upon it, in saving Madame d'Estr^es' life. More than that I dare not hope for. Now take a glass of eau m^dicinale, and go to bed, or you will be seriously ill.'

<< The day of doom had dawned. Monsieur Tricard and I, who had arrived in Rouen the previous evening, were early up. Need I say that I had not slept smce the de- parture of M. Courtrai for Paris ? Yet, early as we were, the Rouen folk were astir aa early, and groups of country- men and women were streaming into the city, brutally eager to obtain a near view of the < spectacle ' appointed to take place at ten precisely. We had not heard from M. Cour- trai since he left for Paris, and I walked in the shadow of a gigantic despair. Through M. Portalis we made a vehe- ment application to the authorities to delay carrying out the sentence for a few hours. The request was granted;

82 ECCENTRIC PEBS0NAQE3.

the time changed from ten to two o'clock, greatly to the chagrin of the sightseers from the country. Their indig- nation rose to fever-heat as, soon after ten o'clock, the dear bright sky became overcast, the clouds grew black and dense, and soon thd rain poured down heavily, and with every sign of continuance for some hours at least.

'^I had not been able to obtain an interview with Madame d'Estrto since her condemnation. Only a priest could be allowed to see her. Pdre Duchesne was a worthy, warm-hearted man. He sympathised with me in my ter- rible distress, and readily charged himself with a note to the unfortunate, by which she would know that it was through no coldness or want of effort on my part that I did not personally see and endeavour to support her in the afflictive days through which she was passing. ' It is as well, perhaps, my young Mend, that you have not been permitted to see Madame d'Estrto. It would but torture you and intensify her despair. She ib completely ahattue, prostrated with terror. She is deaf to religious consolation, not for want of piety, but because her mind is overwhelmed, paralysed with horror. She has never for one moment doubted your unceriiy, your devotedness. I have never had a duty so painful to perform. I can only weep with — ^pray for her.'

One o'clock has struck; the rain still pours down in torrents ; but the crowd around the scaffold — sanguinary brutes— does not diminish. As for me, there is not only rage in my heart, but blasphemy in my brain. I doubt the good- ness, the justice of God. There could be no omnipotent, merciful Father, if such a crime as the l^al murder of that innocent woman took place. What a frightful fasci- nation the black scaffold, the hideous apparatus of death, exerts over me I I cannot wrench my eyes away. Jose- phine—the imputed crime being the murder of a husband — is to be- broken on the wheel Horrible! a thousand

MONSIEUR LE DOCTEUE DEVINE. 88

times horrible I Yet I cannot leave the spot, though passionately urged by the good Tricard, with tears in his eyes, to go away. No I must see out the terrific tragedy, should the last act drive me mad.

'^ A ferocious shout in the distance, rapidly increasing in multitudinous Tobune as the charrette slowly approaches the scaffold. The priest is kneeling therein over the doomed woman, who is crouching in terror at the bottom of the cart The mob can only catch sight of the white, coarse, penitential dress of the victim. This enrages them. They have come to gloat upon the murderess, and refuse to have the entertainment curtailed. < Debout I debatU, assassin r (Up, up, assassin 1) they shout. That de- mand of devUs produces no effect. A numerous armed force is present, and the multitude are powerless. * 4c 4c ^K They lift Josephine out of the charrette, and bear her up the steps of the scaffold. She is insensible from terror. Better so, infinitely better.

• ' Hark I There is another shout from the south en-

trance into Rouen; carriage-wheels moving rapidly can presently be heard; the officials on the scaffold look eagerly in that direction, and the terrible preparations arc suspended. In a few minutest the carriage comes full in sight. M. Gourtrai, whom I instantly recognise, occupies it^ with an officer in uniform; both gesticulate violently; the officer waves a sheet of parchment, M. Gourtrai a white handkerchief They are shouting, but their voices cannot be heard for several minutes. At last, the words ' GrSce I gr^e I Sa majesty lui fait grfice ! ' are heard. A howl of rage arises from the multitude, who stop and are endeavouring to overturn the carriage in their ferocious madness, when the mounted arquebusiers force their way through the crowd and rescue M. Gourtrai

84 BooEirrBio psrsokagbs.

and the offieer. The officer in command takes the parchment, speaks a few words to the oooapants of the carriagOy and rides swiftly back towards the scafFold. I became cold as stone wlule this was going on — ^rigid as death — I see and hear, but as if in a dream ; not with my bodily eyes and ears. I saw the ezecntioner nnbind and give np Josephine to the care of the priest and two civil functionaries whQ had helped her to mount the steps to the scaffold, and who now prepared to assist her back to the charrette amklst a storm of wolfish execrations from the disappointed populace. I hear, see no more. As when sentence was pronounced, I recover intelligent conscious- ness — ^the certainty that I am not dreaming — ^but to lose that recovered consciousness, and am borne safely out of the crowd by the good Triqard. M. Courtrai had not only obtained, through the good offices of the Prince de la lour d'Auveigne, remiEsdonof the capital sentence upon Madame d'Estr^ but that instead of being confined for life in the Bagne at Brest or Toulon, which was the usual secondary punishment awarded in such case, she should be transferred to the prison La Force, Paris. That was a great, unusual favour ; and but that de la Tour d' Auvergne was at last brought to believe in the innocence, or more correctly to doubt the guilt of madame, he would not have persisted till that relaxation of punishment was granted. It was simply seclusion, consequently, to which Madame d'Estrto was finally condemned ; and at La Force she could be supplied with such modest luxuries as her friends would be disposed to supply her with.

, Two days after the narrow escape of the unfortunate lady from a cruel death, Eug^e Devine and the P^re Duchesne altered the room in the hotel where M. Tricard impatiently awaited his stepson, he being anxious to leave

MOKSIXDB IB DOOTBUB BSVINE. 85

wiiliout delay for Le Havre. M. Coartrai had left the same eyeaing he arrivod at Roaen from Paris.

Engine was evideLtly much excited — ^veiy pleaaorally 90. Father Dachesne was also agitated, but nneasy.

" Give me your blessing, cher papa ! " exclaimed Define — yoor blessing and felicitations. I am married I

« What art thou talking of, Engine ? Married ! Thou art either jesting or mad."

" Neither, P^e Tricard. Father Duchesne married me to Josephine d'Estr^s, widow, in the prison about half-an- hour since. Madame Devineis now on the road to Paris."

• • It is true. Monsieur Tricard," said the Rev. Duchesne ;
• ^ I have been prevailed upon to coi.fer the sacrament of

marriage upon Josephine d'Estr^ and Eugene Devine. There is no law of the Church which forbade my doing so. That which prevailed with me was, first, the conviction I had acquired of the lady's innocence ; secondly, the devoted affection felt for her by Eugtoe, who is a virile man in intellect, if not in years; lastly, because it will give him a right to see her once in each month, in the presence, it is true, of one or more of the prison officials, and minister to her needs. He will also have the right, if he sees fit, and reliable evidence of their guilt can be obtained, of prose- cuting certain persons at Le Havre, who,8mce the incident of the four tableaux, neither you nor M. Courtrai doubts are the real asHaamnB of Monsieur d'Estr^es."

Well," said M. Tricard, << I doubt the prudence of such a proceeding ; but it being an accomplished fact, I shall take no step to annul the ceremony — and I only could do so. Do you return to Havre, Eugene ?** he added with a grave smile, << or does your body follow your soul to Paris?"

"It is of the first necessity, said Eug^e, "that I resume my studies without further loss of time."

86 ECCENTBIO PSB80NAOB8.

" Precisdy j I knew that would be your answer. Well, then, we have simplj to dine and depart our several ways."

Devine completed his brilliant studies at the Ecole de Medicine, and in due time received a diploma. NothiDg meanwhile had been discovered that promised to remove the stigma of guilt from his wife, pining her life away in prison — the only ray of light which penetrated its cheerless gloom being the visit, once a month, of her true, faithful husband, for a few minutes only, and always in the presence . of a third party. Still, even that made sunshme in the dismal place. As for M. le Docteur Devine, the one sole object of life was to free his beloved wife from prison, restore her to society. A terribly uphill game to fight. The odds against success were as one thousand to zero.

Messieurs Courtrai and Tricard both died in the same year, when Devine was in his 27ih year, and Madame Devine had been incarcerated eight years. Le Sieur Courtrai bequeathed his prot^g^ thirty thousand francs, Monsieur Tricard five thousand. These bequests fell in opportunely. Devine had made an important start in life. He had taken a house, or portion of a house, on account of its cheapness, in an unfavourable locality. His clientdle, when his patron and stepfather died, was consequently a very scanty one ; would barely have sufficed, without the bountiful aid of M. Courtrai, to keep body and soul together.

Much reflecting upon this condition of things, and knowing that in the utterly corrupt, rotten French Court of the period, the only talisman which could burst open the dungeon-doors where his adored wife was slowly dying — ^languishing to death — ^waa gold — gold in heaps ; Engine Devine, one of the most skilful physicians thi^ ever lived,

MOKSIBXm LS DOGTEUB DEVINE. 87

yoTmg as he was, determined to re-be^ the world as a obarlatan. Quack, we should say. << I had tried the legi- timate, and should have starved ; so I betook myself to the ill^dmate I It was an inspiration, without which miae would have been an utterly defeated life. The world is mostly composed of fools.' My ezpdrience was young, but it had grasped that truth and held it firmly. I bought a carriage, had it painted in gayest colours ] the coachman were acoat half scarlet^ half yellow. Two couriers, habited in like manner, preceded the carriage, which traversed the principal thoroughfares of Paris at a slow pace batting the solenmity of the high mission intrusted to the gen- tleman seated within, whom his heralds (the aforesaid oouriets) prochdmed to have been miraculously gifted with the power of indefinitely prolon^ng himian life — ^waa possessed of the true EUzir Yit», of which the 'Pilule Pivine ' was an indi^peosable preparative. < Pilule Divine ' (Divine PiD)— the second letter so formed that in a Court of Justice, as afterwards happened, I cotdd say that it wa^ Devine's Pill.

'< The Pilule Divine, as everybody knows, had an im- mense, an extraordinary success. Yes, and it was a very excellent pilL I had very early detected the Intimate charlataniy of the profvjsaon, and convinced myself that eertain simple medicaments would, in nine cases out often, have a beneficial e£fect The result confirmed my judgment, (jold flowed in upon me in a torrent — ^tho shower of Danae was nothing to it. I tried to utilise that gold in the only way for which it was precious in my eyes — ^the liberation of my wife from that accursed prison. I did not succeed — ^was always vie imiied. One Jezebel, whom I knew tc have intimate relations with the kmg, robbed me of ten thousand francs upon the solemn promise that before noon on the morrow tiio king's pardon for Josephine Devine^

88 EOCBNTRIO PERSONAGES.

otherwiae d'Estr^es, should be sent to La Foroe. Bah ! I vraa swindled I and, veritable ass that I must have be^, deserved to be swindled.

<< The next year the petite virole (smaU-poz), of which Louis the Fiftoenth subsequently died, broke out with great virulence in Paris. I had had opportunitiea of studying the disease, and had satisfied myself that the ordinary medical treatment was wholly wrong. Instead of shutting up the patient in a close room, and stifling him or her with blankets, and reducing the system, I opened the windows, gave free access to the air, and administered stimulants enabling the sufferer to throw out the disease. This was the real secret of my great suooeas; but the 'Pilule Divine' had all the credit of the cures. I cannot think there was any crime in that pretence. No one would have believed in fresh air, light covering, ordinary stimu- lants ; but all did in the 'Pilule Divine,' and hundreds of lives were saved. My fame resounded throughout Paris.

« Early one morning I was summoned to Le Petit Trianon, Versailles. The all-powerful Du Barry had sent for me. Her mulatto proUgi had sickened, it was feared, of the small-pox. My heart leapt up at the message. A great hope sprang to life within me. I hurried off with the messenger, saw ihe mulatto, and that he was really seized with the petUe virole^ but, I judged, of a mild type. I looked grave, but expressed confidence, neverthdebs, that the 'Pilule Divine' would conquer the disease.

" I was quite aware, with ali Paris, of the attachment of the beautiful Du Bairy for the young Afiioan, and I carelessly asked if that lady had been in the room. Yes, once, before the nature of the malady was suspected. And madame wished to see me before I lefb. That was enough.

" I think the Du Bairy was the loveliest creature I have ever seen. I did not wonder that the sensuous king

HONSISUB IiB BOCTHUB BEVZNB. 89

vna hot Blare— ^tliat La Fran^oe, as sbe used to oaD the French sumarch, did her bidding aa a slave would. 'Well, what is the disorder?' she asked. 'La petite viroUy madame; and of a very virulent type.' 'Grand Dieu / he vrill die, then ?' 'No, I can save him ; at least, I believe (hat to do 80 is within my power.' I looked keenly at the beautiful creature. 'Will madame/ said I, softly, ' permit me to feel her pulse, to see her tongue?' The Du Barry turned deathly pale, and trembled in every limb. She complied with my request. I assumed my gravest look. 'It is surely impoflsible that madame has entered the infected room?' I said. 'Yes; once — once only,' she almost screamed. 'You do not mean, you cannot mean, that I — ^I — ^have caught the — ^the— ' She could not finish the sentence. 'No question, madame, that you have caught the infection.' This was true. 'It is false,' she shrieked, springing upon her feet ; ' it must^ it shall be false !' She stamped her beautiful foot with rage and terror. 'It is true, madame ; but I can save you.' 'Ah, yes, my life, perhaps; but the disfigurement — ^you cannot save me from that.' And the Du Barry sank down upon t^e gilded canap^ in an agony of distress. 'Yes, I will undertake that not the faintest blemish shall mar madame's dazzling beauty ; but I must insist upon conditions.' 'Conditions ?— what con- ditions? Gold? You may have whatever sum you please to name.' ' Not gold, madame. The condition is simply this: — That madame ^ves me a written memorandum, promismg that if I save her life, her fiioe and person from disfigurement, and the life of her servant, she will obtain the king's full pardon for my wife — ^my innocent wife — imprisoned in La Force 1' 'I know — ^I know. I have heard that history. I give you my word,' the Du Barry added, ' that if you fidfil your promise, Madame Devine ahall receive the king's pardon.' ' Excuse me^ madame, I

40 BCCSNXRIO PERSONAGES.

most have the promise in writing, or I decline to act The happiness of my life equally with your own is at stake. This is a great chance which Uod has Yonchsafed to me. I will not cast it away. I farther pledge myself that it shall never be known, that no whimper shall go forth npon the subject to the gay world, which, whilst crouching at madame*s feet, are eating their hearts away with envy of her marvellous beauty, her supreme influence.'

<< This was perhaps maladroit on my part. Madame du Bany had been saturated with compliments npon her beauty, by persons whose adulation was worth courting; that of a pill-manufacturer, though the pill was a divine one, she considered a gross impertinence! JS.fsr glorious eyes told me that. Still, Death— the Shadow of Death- is the master of the world. She believed that I, perhaps alone of all the doctors in Paris, could certainly shield her from, exorcise the homble phantom. She glared at me like a beautiful panther at bay; but I feared not her spring. Madame du Barry would have done, promised, given anything rather than it should be surmised she was or had beon infected by such a loathsome malady as the petite virole, A ridiculous notion was pfevalent at the time that the disease, though it was subdued, if not a visible trace of the attack was to be seen, had never- theless tainted, vitiated the blood for ever with malignant scrofula, which, sooner or later, might break out in other forms. 'Tou feel no doubt that I am infected with that dreadful disease, and that you are certain of being able to save me from death and disfigurement?' < There is not the slightest doubt, madame, that you are infected by the disease; and that I can save you, not only from ueath, but from the least disfigurement' < I consent to tho condition. There are writing materials: draw up. the memorandum yourself.' I did so. Madame signedj and

MOKSISUK LE BOCTSUA DEVINB. 41

placed it in my hand. ' Now, Monsieur Devine,' said she, 'let US quite understand each other. I shall seclude myself till the danger is past. How long may that he?' 'Ten days at most' 'Ten days. Fortunately the king has left for the proyinces^ and will not return in less than a fortnight. Bcvenons. I was ahout to say that I shall write a note to his majesty, place it in a sealed packet to be delivered to him immediately after my death. It will consign you to the Bastile for life. More than that : should I be disfigured, I shall still have sufficient influence to inflict upon you and Madame Devine the same doom; and be quite assured I will in the case supposed exert that influence. On the contrary — ^if you fulfil your promise, I will keep honourable word with you. Madame Devine shall receive the king's plenary pardon, and I will besides promote your interest in every way within my power.' ' Madame, I joyfuUy agree. But there is no time to be lost. You must immediately take my magic pill and other medi- caments which I constantly carry about me, according to the directions labelled thereon. Have you a discreet, trustworthy female domestic ?' ' Tes.' ' I must see her then, and give her a few plain, simple instructions, which must on no account be neglected ; and it will be best to give out that madame is suffering from a slight attack of fever.' This suggestion was approved. Madame la Comtesse added that, if possible to be done, she was desirous to conceal the nature of the malady even from the trustworthy female attendant. It was of such para- mount importance to obtain the written promise of the all-powerful favourite, that I should not have hesitated at any assertion, however audacious it might be ; and I boldly replied that I had little doubt my remedies would so act ajB to render it quite possible to prevent the attend- ant from suspecting the real state of the case. At last

42 BOOENTBIO PERSONAOKS.

all was arranged^ and I left Le Petit Trianon floating upon the wings of an inexpressible eestacy {^flottant 9ur hss ailes dune extcue inexprimible*)" — a bewildering meta- phor of the eccentric doctor's, and attributable, we maj benevolently conclude, to the exaltation of his brain when on reaching his domicile, he wrote it down in his journal.

Fortune faTourod, as the fickle goddess often does, the brave and bold. Madame du Barry had gone through the different phases of the terrible disease, and was com- pletely conyalescent several days before the king's return to Paris. But two pustules had appeared : one on the nape of madame's neck, the other on the great toe of her left foot Her brilliant beauty was undimmed. She was grateful to Monsieur le Docteur Devine — ^presented him with a large sum of money, and assured him again that his wife should be pardoned, liberated within twenty-four hours after the king's return. The mulatto also recovered. It seems reasonable to conclude that the '< charlatan " doctor, 80 called, was really much in advance of the medical profes- sion of the day in his treatment of la petite virole and other blood-diseases. Monsieur le Docteur Devine thus continues his journal : —

" My heart is torn with impatience. It is forty-eight hours since the king alighted at the Tuileries ; and Ma- dame du Barry promised that within twenty-four hours my wife should be set free. What am I to think ? Can it be' posssible that his majesty has not visited Le Petit Trianon? — ^that some new favourite has thmst Madame du Barry from her throne, usurped her place in the king's affection? That would be terrible — fatal 1 But no — impossible! * * * * Joy I Eestacy I I hold a note — three precious lines, which dazzle me. They are now gold, now vermilion, the blue of summer skies. ' The royal pardon for your wife has been sealed, and an order

MONSIKUR LB BOCTEUH BBYIKB. 43

sent to the goyemor of La Force to liberate Madame Devine. Yon had better present yourself at the prison without delay. ^ Your wife awaits you. The written pro- mise must be returned to me by a sure hand.'

" There was no signature to this precious note, and the hand was a disguised one. Bagatelle! The great purpose was accomplished. In a few minutes my beloved Josephine would be in my arms^ recovered to free Ufe, to love, to happiness I I give Philip just ten minutes to be ready with my coach 1 Ban gargon ! he has done it even in less time. Je tors,"

Madame Devine, trembling in every limb, faint, be- wildered, dizxy with the suddenness of so great a change, was given into the charge of her husband, lifted into his carriage, and driven off to a charming sijour in the envi- rons of Paris, which he had rented since his interview with Madame du Barry, and named L'Elys^e<

" Seen in the sunlight of revealing day, how pale, how worn, how mournfully sad was that sweet face, that wasted form 1 Was I too late ? Could it be that she, so young, guileless, beautiful, was smking into the tomb in ihe/raiche matirUe — ^the young morning of her life 1 I feared so, and the fever of that fear excited in my brain, whilst she was still insensible, a veritable access, paroxysm of insanity, violent but brief— tears relieved me. In a few hours I had satisfied myself that although the springs of life were weakened in Josephine, she was suffering under no organic disease. Quiet, care, the tenderness of a lavish love, with scientific ministrant agencies, would bring back the roses to her pale cheeks, roundness to her shrunken form. This was my prayer — ^my hope. The prayer was accepted, the hope realized. Josephine's health was rapidly restored. At the end of three years she was the mother of two beau-

44 BCOBSTTRIC PBRSOKAGES.

teoos buds of promise, herself still as fresh and fn^rant a flower as any that flourished in the king^s parterre.

" In the meanwhile, doriog those three years of deli- cious life, I had played my part in the world with suooess. Madame la Gomtesse da Barry pushed my fortunes : the ' pilule divine ' was sought after by the highest classes ; esteemed to be a universal panacea I And, as I have said before, it was a good pill, — a really good piU. I changed my variegated liveries every month — the bizarre display always going on crescendo. Paris, valetudinarian Paris, was at my feet All that greatly amused Josdphine, and enriched mc« Vive le charlatanisme ! Yet I was not a charlatan — ^far from it. I was a more, much more, scien- tific adept in pathology than the solemn humdrum fools who affected to laugh and sneer, and in reality were burst- ing with envy at my success.

" The brightest prospects fade, grow dim. The heavens are overcast ; the sunlight disappears, and the gay, laugh- ing landscape — gay, laughing but a short time since — is sombre ; the gorgeous hues of the trees and flowers become neutral, gray with a tendency to black. This is every one's experience. It was mine in a moral sense. My success could not be forgiven by the faculty of medicine. Their calumnies gradually produced an impression. The falling off in the denumd for the ' pilule divine ' was rapid, continuous. One or two, perhaps five or six, oases termi- nating fatally — ^which fatal result all tho physicians in Paris could not have averted or postponed — ^helped to swell the strong current of prejudice setting in against me. I had soared to the sun like the lark, and had got my wings singed ; but there was a charming, well-lined, sweetly com- panioned nest upon the earth, into which I could quietly drop down and pass my days in peace, — ^poace hallowed by the consciousness of duty done — rafter an odd fashion, it

HONSIBUB LE BOCTECB DEVINE. 45

may be admitted — ^but dnty done, neTertheless, and illn* mined by the pnrple light (^ a pure, constant love.

'^ ' Bien ainUe,* said I, addressing Josephine one calm balmy evening in summer, as I sat beside her in the veranda of L'Elys^ ; ' Bien aimie, I have made money enongh. I — ^yon and I are rich. I have resolved to aban- don, with your consent, this feverish life of Paris '

" Josephine interrupted me with a cry, a sob of joy. ' Ah I my husband, that is my desire, my hope.'

" ' And, Josephine, I should wish to settle at Le Havre de Grfice, your birthplacQ, beloved.'

" ' Engine, you have read my soul.'

<< ' There we can watch the Oazos, and I have a firm confidence that in good time we may elicit proof, irrefrag* able proof, of your perfect innocence, now only known to Qod and me. What say you ? '

" < Nothing but God bless you, Eugene ; Qod bless you I '

"We have lived upon the charming c6te which over- looks Havre de Gr&oe, in quiet, retired style, for some four or five years ; two additional children had been bom to us, when Monsieur le Cur^ of Notre Dame called at our house, and asked to speak with me in private.

"'Monsieur Devine,' said the venerable priest, 'you are, I know, acquainted with — at least you know — Mon- sieur and Madame Cazo, of the Bue de Paris.'

« < Cazo the grocer, whose father was a clover herbalist ? Yes.'

" ' Madame Cazo is dead. She died miserably about four hours since. Some live ember in the charcoal chauf- feretto under her feet set fire to her dress. Sho was dreadfully burned. There was no hope of life from the first. I was sent for. The physical torture of the wretched woman was nothing compared with the soul-agony by

46 BCOBNTBIC FKBSOKAGBS.

which she was ooDTtibed— maddened. During an interTal of comparative calm, she aolemnly enjoined me to say to Dr. Deyine, to his wife, to all the world, that it waa she, Madame Cazo, then Fanchette Le Blanc, who poisoned M. d'Estr^es — ^that Madame d'Estrto was innocent of the deed as an unborn babe. I have not failed to communi- cate that aToiEal of the dying woman to the authorities, by which means it will have general publicity, though that may be of no legal value.'

' Of not the slightest legal value, but its moral value to me, to mine, is immense. Those words vouched to have been uttered by the dying woman by a witness of unim- peachable character will go far to dissipate the shadow in which my wife, our children, have been so long encom- passed. Did the repentant woman say who it was that furnished her with the poison, with ^e poudre de sue- cession f

" < Tes. But it was said under the seal of oonfesfflon. That dread secret cannot be divulged. Still I have a right to proclaim aloud the innocency of Madame Devine, to declare that / know she is innocent.'

" ' Bemerdments — milU re7nereCiit«n/*— thanluHHi thou- sand thanks, reverend father. Possibly we may yet be vouchsafed such l<^al proof of my wife's innocence as will compel the High Court of B.ouen to rescind the judgment upon Madame d'Estr^es.'

«a have Uttlo doubt of it Trust in God, in Bi$ mercy. That is a staff that will never fail you.'

'< My Paris reputation had both preceded and followed me to Havre do Qrfice. Though I had given up practice, I from time to time gave advice, always gratuitously, under special circumstances. I was held to bo an oraclo in cases or petUt virole.

M0NSIBT7B LB DOCTBQE BSVOTB. 47

'< One eveiiing, soon after we liad dined, an assistant to M. Maasieu, a physioian, called at the hoose, and desired to immediately speak with me.

<< He was the bearer of a message of intense interest to me from Massieu. Cazo and his only child, a daughter, the very apple of his eye, had been stricken down by small- pox. Informed that he must abandon all hope of life, that nothing could be done for either him or his child Fanchette, he, refusing to die, insisted that H. le Docteur Devine should be sent for. K he required a fee of ten thousand francs, it would not be refused.

<< I hastened with the assistant to the Rue de Paris — not, Ood knows, to receive a heavy fee, but in the hope that some confession might be made by Cazo, which would effectually and for ever clear the character of my wife.

«Edouard Cazo was dying. He was past cure— past liope; but with his daughter the disease had taken a favourable turn. She would live— of that I was quite sure. The change denoting that the disorder was killed, the plague stayed, was not observed by M. Massieu. Ho had had less experience than I. M. Massieu honestly be- lieved, and was honestly telling Cazo, when I entered the room, that he and his daughter would be in their graves before twelve hours had passed. We bury the dead quickly out of our sight in France, especially in such cases.

'< There was a world of agony, of terror, of despair in the look which Edouard Cazo fixed upon me. I passed from him to the daughter; thou turning towards the doomed felon, I said, ' Nothing can save yo\u But I can, will save your child, if you will confess before an officer of the niunicipallty that it was you who furnished Fanchette Lo Blanc with the poudre de succeision with which she

48 sccE:arTBiG persokag&s.

poisoned M. d'Estr^es. The confession must be a formal one, r^olarlj attested/

• ' There was a mighty straggle in the dark mind of

Edooard Cazo. Rage, hatred of me, of me and mj, by oomparison, triumphant life, which he was required to make yet more triumphant, and love, intense, absorbing love — the fallen angels no doubt retained some hues of the Paradise they had lost — swayed his struggliDg spirit by turns. Love conquered. He consented to make the con- fession. The proper functionary, much against his will, attended ; the instrament was formally drawn up, signed ; and an hour afterwards Edouard Cazo was a loathsome corpse. The daughter recovered."

The High Couit of Rouen finally rescinded the judg- ment and sentence pronounced upon Madame Devine, ci-devant Madame d'Estrdes, and condemned the represen- tative of Edouard Cazo to pay all the costs of the investiga- tion from first to last. M. le Docteur Devine refused to take advantage of the judgment of the court in that regard. Mademoiselle Cazo was not mulcted in a single franc.

After this, nothing worth transcribing is reported of M. le Docteur Devine, except that he resumed the harlequin attire which, for business purposes, he had assumed in Paris, and laboured assiduously to revive the reputation of his " pilule divine " — ^not with any marked success.

When Louis the Fifteenth sickened of small-poz, of which disease ho died, Madame du Barry — ^who in losing the king, would lose all — despatched messengers to summon Dcvioe to his majesty's assistance. Unfortunately, the charlatan physician had but a few days previously had his thigh broken by the falling across it of a tree which he was assisting to fell. He could not move — ^bo moved. The king died ; and to the day of his own death M. Ic

MONSIEUB LB BOGTEOB DEVXNE. 49

Dootenr Devine persisted in explaining to all who would listen to him, that but for the sadden falling of that tree, Lonis the Fifteenth would have been saved — ^the crown might not have devolved upon the head of Louis the Six- teenth till ho was able to sustain the splendid burthen — and monarchy would have endured another thousand years in France.

That there was some fissure^ some flaw, in M. le Boc- teur Devine's brain can scarcely be denied : yet he was a clever, skilful physician, one of the tenderest of husbands and fathers, and emphatically a good man. His eccen* tricity was healthily developed : it harmed no one, and enriched himself and his. Madame Devine died two days before her husband. She was not apparently ill — physically ill — ^when she expired in his arms. The blow was mortal. He refused to be comforted. Nor would he move from the chair where he was seated when he last pressed her dying form to his bosom. Ho would not have the coffin-lid screwed down, and his gaze continued to be fixed upon the dead face till his eyes had lost their specu- lation, till he himself was dead. He was so found by the attendants. M. le Docteur Devine died possessed of, foi France, great wealth. His two surviving children, Madame Josephine Ouvrard and Madame Estelle Bontemps, were amply provided for; and he left funds for the endowment of a MaisourDieu at IngouviUe, near Havre.

SIR ANDREW SELLWOOD, KNIGHT.

Thx word ' ecoentrio' applied to haman character, I hardly Deed say, usually means one whose bent of mind prompts him or her to overleap or break through the conventional barriers which hedge-in the different classes of society — ^to escape at any risk from the beaten highways of life. These are frequently persons of powerful, if flawed, intellects ; and to some of them the world owes much. In some instances they are justly entitle^ to be called the pioneers of society : though they themselves, in their devious gropings, often stumble into inglorious, forgotten graves, they leave footprints on the sands of time, which, followed by more wary walkers, lead to great results. Of this truth I have to sketch some striking illustrations.

The story of Andrew Sellwood, Esquire, " soldier, artist, mechanician," is somewhat obscure. Notices, fragmentary notices of him are scattered here and there in the meagre chronicles of the county (Northampton) in which he was bom, for the most part lived, and at a comparatively early age died. Still, those brief notices fit together, and enable me to depict his chequered career with a oneness — con- sidered in its totality, and allowance being made for certain gaps and obscure passages — ^which will give the reader a tolerable correct idea of '* Crazy Andrew Sellwood."

Sir Andrew Sellwood, Benight, was bom in the parish of Blakenley, in Northamptonshire, and was the son, or the reputed son, of a shoemaker, Jacob Sellwood. The year of his birth was 1620 — the year, by the way, when the

SIB ANDBEW SBLLWOOB, EmGHT. 61

Pilgrim Fathers sailed from Southampton, in the May- flower^ for the Promised Land. An enterprise whioh Andrew Sellwood would have abominated from the bottom of his heart, had he been of age to abominate any thing; his ruling passion, strong in death, haying been loyalty — chiefly, I apprehend, because he believed himself to be a natural Boa of the Duke of Buckingham (Steenie) — ^the Duke of Buckingham who was slain at Portsmouth by Felton. Jacob BeUwood's wife— Andrew's mother — ^was a very handsome woman, and much younger than her husband. She was the granddaughter of one John Fothergill, a gentle- man of local celebrity and good estate, who had the folly to join the northern insurrection provoked by Henry the Eighth's fordble suppression of the monasteries, and got hanged for his pious zeal, in plentiful companionship, at York. From that time the family appears to ha%'e rapidly declined in circumstances. Fothergill's only son espoused a damsel of low degree, the sole issue of which marriage was Maigaret B'othcrgill, the mother of Sir Andrew Fothergill, Knight — a gay-spirited damsel, who for some three or four yean resided in London with an ancient female relative of her grandfather's as a sort of humble

companion It were needless to mark, even if

accuracy were attainable, the d^rees of d^radation by which Margaret Fotheigill fell so low that she was content to marry Jacob Sellwood, who, with some money she brought him as dower, set up as a master shoemaker in a humble way in his native county. Her son Andrew was bom six weeks after the marriage. The husband seems to have been a good-natured, industrious clod, who lived in great awe of his wife.

Mrs. Margaret Sellwood died when her son was in his fif^nth year. She had taught him to read and write << as well as any clerk in the county." When dying, the

52 BocEirrBia psrsovageb.

mother's last words were, " Never forget, Andrew, ibat you are a bom geatleman."

The strangely-tempered urchin had, in a certain sense, long since forgotten, thongh I suppose he had often been admonished to that effect^ that he was a bom gentletaan. He was always skylarking, as the phrase is — ^robbing orohards^puddling in ponds, and altogether grievously misoonductmg himself. There were flashes, nevertheless, revclative of a high and generous, if erratic, disposition. Take, for example, bis rescue of Peg Twynham, a reputed witch, which has been quoted. " Old Peg " — a half-crazed beldame, who gained a scanty, precarious livelihood by fortune-telling— had earned the gratitude of the lad by fishing him out of a river when, being an indifferent swimmer, he had got out of his depth and was in danger of drowning. He did not forget that supreme service. A murrain had spread amongst the cattle in the neighbour- hood, and the superstitious fools of the place believed that old Peg had bewitched them. She was consequently to be lynched after the old English fashion of dealing with witches — viddicet, tying their hands and feet together, and throwing them into a sufficiently deep pond or river. If she swam, there could be no doubt she was a witch, and summary execution followed. If she sank, the result^ as regarded the poor wretch herself, was generally the same, but there was a moral acquittal. The clamour consequent on the seiKure of old Peg caught the ear of Andrew Sell- wood, who, seizing one of his father's sharp shoe-knives, hurried to the rescue, and dealt about him vigoroudy^ « wounding, though not mortally, five of the ringleaders. Upon the God-speed of the busmess, some gentlemen of the Northampton Hunt came up, by whom the riot was quelled, and the old woman and Andrew Sellwood saved from the rage of the mob."

Sm ANBRBW SSLLWOOD, KNIGHT. 53

Before his mother's death, and encouraged by her, sle being a skilled musioian upon the '< virginals/' Andrew Sellwood, who had a <' turn for mechanics and harmony/' completed after a fashion what seems to hare been a rude sort of barrel-organ. This he obtained permission to ex- hibit before the family of Sir Balph Brisbane. The in- strument, whatever it was, did not obtain the approbation of Sir Ralph. Andrew Sellwood's pretension to be an iny^tor of musical instruments was rudely mocked at, except by the baronet's third daughter, Lucy — " a young and beautiful ^1, to see whom was to look into the face of an angel." Lucy Brisbane spoke a few kind words, which words photographed upon his sensitive boy-heart by the light of her rare beauty, became the scripture of his soul, the illumination, or, more correctly perhaps, the ignU fatuus of his life.

The immediate consequence of the youth's failure in the musical-instrument manufacturing lino was that ho ran away from a home made desoiate to him by the death of his mother, and more repuhdve still by the insistence of the father, that smce his supposed skill in organ-build- ing had proved to be a delusion, he should stick to shoe- making.. <<01d "Peg" lent or gave Andrew sufficient money to pay his way to London, and in about a month after his departure from Northampton, Andrew Sellwood was serving as cabin-boy or powder-monkey on board the Oarland-H)ne of Admiral Sir William Monson's fleet, des- patc|ied to frustrate or break a combination which was forming between the French and Dutch navies. It was in a chance encounter, during a tempest, of the Oarland with the Jungfrau, a ship of superior force, that the ex- ploit occurred which, first reported to Prince Maurice, and by him to Prince Bupert, obtained for Andrew the command of a << a Colour of horse " in the last-named

54 BCCENTRIO PlfiRSOIfAaBS.

Prinoe's fiimoaa cavalry. Daring the aforesaid ohanoe dDgagement, the two ahipH forged together, in sailor-phrafle. The Dutch boarded^ During the desperate fight on deck, Andrew Sellwood, cabin-boy or powder-monkoy, had mounted, certainly not in discharge of his routbe duties, to the main-yard. The boarders were led by a celebrated captain — at least he was aflerwards celebrated for his con- duct in the great fights between Admirals Bhike and Tromp. The boarders, I have said, were led by a cele- brated captain; his name, Van Spyck, or Spycke. He was the life, the soul of the assailing party, and the struggle was going against the En^iah, when Master Andrew Sell wood, nicely judging his opportunity, literally '* dropped down upon the Dutch captain; that is to say, having no fire-arm with which to kill Van Spycke, it occurred to him thai; his own body would be pretty nearly as efiective as a cannon-balL The consequence was, that the fighting Dutchman suddenly found himself in the condition of Sinbad the Sailor, the dilFerence being, that instead of an old m^n of the* sea, it was a young sea-monkey that be- strid Ids shoulders, and by the shock of the collision pros- trated . him face foremost on the deck. Captain Van Spycke was sorely bruised, and made prisoner. Curiously enough, the termination of the battle is not set forth. I conclude it was a drawn fight; that the greatest portion of the Dutch boarders got back to their Jungfrau, and that the ships parted unpleasant company.

The next notice I find of Andrew Sdlwood is that he was in command of "a Colour of horse" in Rupert's cavalry, and fought in the action or skirmish at Shalgrove, where John Uampden gave up his pure great life. At the assault upon Donnlugton Castlo,'by Earl Manchester, the Parliamentary Oeneral, ho so distinguished himself

8I& AITDBBW SSIXWOOD, KNIGHT. 55

tlmt Chiles I. created him a Knight npou the actaal field of battle. He was seTerely wouuded in the last encounter, and ever affcerwarda limped in his gait. Disqualified for active service, he necessfuiiy left the army.

About that time, I imagine, though the dates are rarely given, Sir Andrew Sellwood was informed that the relative with whom his mother lived in her youth had died, and bequeathed to him her whole property, lauded estate and money, amounting, in capital value, to the enormous sum, in those days, of fifty odd thousand pounds.

Sir Andrew Sellwood, Knight, would not have been an exemplar chosen by me of eccentric character had he, having come into immediate unmolested possession of his aged relative's large legacy, set up a private establish- ment, and married sensibly, having first erased from his brain all trivial fond records aneut one Lucy Brisbane, whom he had never heard of since he ran off to sea, and who, no question, had long ceased to have the faintest recollection of the shoemaker's son who had essayed to manufacture a new-fangled instrument, and failed to ac- complish his task.

Sir Andrew Sellwood, Knight, decided upon a very different course. He must have, one would think, lost count of time, and thought not of the havoc which Time works amidst the best-laid schemes of mice and men, to say nothing of the certain evanishment of Youth's fantastic dreams.

The imago of Lucy Brisbane was fresh as over in his memory. He imagined, and not without some reason, that fifty odd thousand pounds— equivalent to two hundred thousand pounds, at least, in these days — ^would atone for his limping gait and ignoble birth. The old shoemaker had been dead and buried some years.

56 EGCEmmo personages.

Sir Andrew went to Northampton incognito, — I mean that he pat oS his rank, — and reappeared amongst such old friends as had not fallen into the sunless land, as Andrew Seliwood, the runaway son of Jaooh Sellwoud, the shoe- maker, and not greatly improved in his wordlj circum- stances, hesides having hecn lamed. His purpose was, of course, to ascertain how the land lay.

Lucy Brisbane had been married to Sir Arthur Fuller from about the time when he, Andrew Sellwood, dropped down upon Captain Van Spycke from the mainyard of the Garland. It was a marriago of affection ; but Sir Arthur, through loss of estate brought about by the civil war, he being on the Royalist side, had become, people said, cankered in temper, dissipated, giving way more and more to excess, and would, people with wisely-waging heads prognosticated, soon bring himself and family to utter ruin. .

It chanced, too, that he was just then in want of a groom. Andrew Sellwood at once determined upon the absurdly romantic step of tendering for the place. He was engaged ; and for fourteen years, incredible as the story seems, Sir Andrew Sellwood, his knighthood, his wealth unguessed of, remained in the service of the family.

At least he himself believed, or affected to believe, that he was known only by the Lady Lucy and her husband as Andrew Sellwood, the son of the shoemaker. I doubt this. It is not credible. The lady must have wilfully shut her eyes — affected blindness. Whence could she suppose those large sums of money came which always arrived so oppor- tunely when her husband, of whom, spite of his follies, she appeared to have been exceedingly fond, was pressed with debt ? Sir Andrew, who, by the way, was soon advanced from the post of groom to that of butler, prided himseli

SIR ASTDBEW 8SLLW00D, EITIGHT. 57

apon the clever expedients bj yrhioh he sought to conceal the Booiee from which such fairy treasores so opportunely flowed. But he deceived himself ; closed his eyes at noon- day and said it -was dark. " Grazed Andrew " was happy to so think. There is reason to believe that a sabre- wonnd on the skull which he received from one of Crom- well's troopers l|ad irreparably damaged his intellect, though the illusion took but one direction ; he being peifectly sane in aU things except when the Lady Lucy was concerned. Like Hamlet) he was only mad west^nor'-west.

The Lady Lucy's husband had once been an epthusiastic and very serviceable Royalist ; but finding himself — as did thousands of others — n^lected at the Eestoration, flung aside like a shelled peasood, he became bvolved in the plots of factions who, from various motives, sought the destruc- tion of the Stuart dynasty. As every body knows, there was no end of ^' plaats/' real or imaginaiy, during the reign of Charles II.

Finally, the reckless man had so gravely committed him- self, that a warrant was issued for his apprehension upon the chirige of high treason.

Conviction was certain ; escape seemed imposdble. Captain Aymard and his soldiers surrounded the mansion, and presently a thundering summons at the haired outer door demanded admittance in the king's name. The game was up. The inculpated rebel, who had not the faintest notion, it would appear, that he was suspected of complicity with traitors, was in the house ] and there was but one hiding hole — ^a recess in which Aigitive priests were in the •preceding reign bidden, not always succ^uUy, from the hunters. The Lady Lucy was in a state of distraction closely bordering upon insanity. 8he sought — ^vehemently sought— counsel of the butler, Andrew Sellwood. This circumstance oonfirms the impression made upon me by the

58 ECCENTRIO PEBSONAQBS.

Darratiye that the Lady Lncy was perfectly oonscions, though she may never have admitted the fact distmctly, even to herself, that she had a devoted cavalier servente in Sir Aindrew Sellwood.

Sir Andrew Sellwood did not fail her. A few words between him and the Lady Lucy sufficed.

There was a hot search through the manfflon as soon as Captain Aymard had forced an entrance, without success- ful result for some time ; but as it was well known that the proclaimed rebel was there, the king's officer declared, and he meant to keep his word, that he would pull the house down sooner than permit the traitor to escape.

" Can I speak with you, captain, a few words in private ? " asked a serving-man.

" Certainly ; step aside. What have you to say ? "

'< If I showed you where the man you want lies con- cealed, would the promised reward be paid to me ? "

" Yes ; I pledge you my word it shall be paid to you, and without delay."

« Follow, then, with a file of soldiers. You will not betray me to the Lady Lucy ? " added the butler, who .was no other than the "traitor" himself. I would re- main in her service."

" Do not suppose for a moment I ^vould do such a thii^. Lead on."

" Here," said the pretended butler, in a whisper, and pomting to a panel in the Wainscoting, <<here is the priest's-hole. You vrill find your man there. I will be gone."

The captain did find his man there. At least he thought he did, neither he nor one of his soldiers ever having se^ the person he was in search of. Nottheshadowof a doubt

BIB ANBBBW SELLWOOD, KNIGHT. 69

was entertamed that they had got the right man in the right place.

The rebel baronet was arraigQed at the Old Bailey. There was a great crowd, and Justice Scroggs |)resid6d. A great drama — a solemn tragedy was about to be enacted. Error ! It was a farce, to be concluded in one scene.

A distinguished personage who sat on the Bench with the Chief Justice, and was present to hear the trial, started up the moment the prisoner was placed in the dock, and exclaimed aloud, " Why Qod be gracious to us 1 the prisoner is my valiant friend and comrade. Sir Andrew Sellwood, knighted on the field by my royal uncle himself. What mockery is this ? "

The speaker was Prince Kupert 1 There was great com- motion, of course. Sir Andrew, spite of the prince's urgent enl^aties, he himself offering to be bail in any amount for his appearance, was remanded to prison. When it was known Ihat the real delinquent had escaped to France with his wife, with a large amount of coin supplied by Sir Andrew, that self-sacrificed gentleman was tried and con- Yifited of misprision of treason, and condemned to imprison- ment for life. He died in fetters. The following is his brief obituary, .extracted from a newspaper — ^the Public Lecher : " Sir Andrew Sellwood, Knight, died yesterday in the goyemor's apartments, Newgate. The curious revelations which came out upon his trial are still fresh in the public memory. He was a good, gallant, but singularly eccentric gentlemaa. He was no doubt crazed by love— an early love; avery rare instance.

BEAU BEUMMELL.

It is a solemn troth that every death-bed is the fixml soene of a great tragedy, though the death be a beggar's, the bed * one of straw. Yet to the human imagination the supreme oatastrophe is magnified in its impressive terror when the miserable death strikingly contrasts with the glittering life, as, for example, in the instance of his spl^did Grace of Buckingham, who expired

<< In the worst inn*8 worst bed, Where tawdry yallow strove with dirty redj**

and — a modem illustration — ^the tinsel life of Beau Brum- mell fading into the darkness of death in the hospital of the Qood Saviour, Caen, France.

The perverted, lost life of the famous Beau Brnmmell dates from the 7th June, 1778. He was one of three children — two boys and a girl. The father of George Biyan Brummell was secretary to Lord North, of disas- trous memory. The noble lord's administration, however unfortunate for his country, was greatly beneficial to Brummell, senior, who was able, by wise thriftiness, to save upwards of sixty thousand pounds, which, at his death, when the future Beau was but sixteen years of age, was bequeathed in equal portions to his children.

Beau Brummell received a fair education, and was a student at Eton when his father died. He exhibited very early much cunning perception, and seems to have foreseen the Georgian Era wUch was soon to dawn, when taste in

BSATT BBXTMKSLL. 61

tailoring would be a more potent introdaotion to "H^ Bodety than fiune in arts, arms, or learning. He waa, besides, weQ fitted by nature to be a distingai&bed elothes- p^. His face was not se handsome as the late Count d'Oisay's; but his el^ant figure would show-off a tailor's skill as weD as could that doubtful nobleman, or Piinoe Florizel — Mr. Thackeray's Prince Florizel— -afterwards Geoige lY. Geoige Brummell had one virtue in perfection ~^thai of cleanliness in person and apparel. Lord Byron, who knew him well, has said, with respect to his dress, that is was only remarkable for its exquisite propriety. The noble lord himself belonged to the now happily obsolete class of " dandies. Young Brummell's general character whilst at Eton was that of <' a deyer idle boy." He had some humour too— good-natured humour. One trifling anecdote is sufficient proof of this. A bargee having in some way offended the Eton students, was seized by a number of the exasperated lads, and was about being hurled from the bridge over the Thames into the river, when Oeorge Brummell interposed in perhaps tho only manner that, during the excitement of the moment, would have been sucessfuL "My good fellows," he exclaimed, "don't; the man is in a high state of perspiration, and would be sure to catch cold." The droll way in which this was said tickled the boys. They burst into laughter, and the alarmed baigee was set at liberty, with a solemn warn- ing not to offend again.

From Eton, George Bryan Brummell went to Oxford, and was entered at Oriel College. Previous, however, to leaving Eton, he had attracted, by the "exquisite propriety " of his dress, the favourable notice of the Prince of Wales, who had seen him on the terrace at Windsor. That favourable notice, which the young man plumed himself upon as about the hi^est honour that could be

62 ECCSNTRIO PERSONAGES.

conferred upon a human being, was nnqnestion&blj the great calamity of his life — ^the nnbarriog of a door which led by a primrose path for a oonsiderabie distance, presently with abundance of nettles and thorns, towards the end, whence thero was no taming back, to the abyBS of shame and rain.

At Eton yoang BnmuneO was smitten with the ex- ceeding loveliness of a youthfol damsel, the niece of Colonel Brewster, a retired officer in the service of the East India Company. The yoong lady had perhaps not been strictly educated, her uncle, by whom she was adopted as a daugh- ter, not having long returned from India. George Brum- mdl would appear to have been as much in love as such an incarnation of vanity and conceit oould be; but was suddenly disenchanted. '^ How is it that yoa are never seen now with Colonel Brewster's niece ? asked one of his companions. " Don't speak of it, there's a good fellow," rejoined young Brummell with a shudder ; << she asked for soup twice."

At Oriel, Geoige Bmnunell was remarkable chiefly for breaking the college rules^ and assiduous tuft-huntmg. He was a devout believer in the doctrine enforced by Mr. Thackeray in one of his lectores at the Maiykbone Insti- tute — '^ Cultivate the society of your betters, young men," by betters, meaning persons of tlie highest reachable social position, possessed of present wealth and distinction, and in some cases glorified by the gleam of stars and garters shining in the distance. He entered himself as a compe- titor- for the Newdegate Prize, and, though diligently << coached," was onsuocessful — ^not a result to be sur- prised at

His failure was more than compensated by the gift of a cometcy in the Tenth Hussars, then commanded by the Prince of Wales, who had so admired the ecoentrio

BXAU BBUMMXLL* 63

ezqnisLte on tlie terrace at Wmdaor. The notion of making Oeoige Bnmunell a soldier 1 He rode pretty well ; jetbnt £3r one fortanate circumstanoe wonld never have recognised his company when the regiment was paraded : one of the non-commissioned officers had a remarkably large bine nose — ^red and bine, more correctly«~«nd of very brilliant tints. That nose waa Brommell's beacon. '^ My good feUow/' said he, offering the man a handfoll of sUver — ^' my good fellow, take care to keep up that illumination -, it's worth the cometcy to me."

His inefficiency as a soldier did not, however, prevent his rapid advancement. He was gazetted captain on the Ist of June, 1796, through favour of Prince Florizel, with whom he continued to be a great favourite. He wos also the "soul of the mess — a very earthly, mundane soul, • the coarse quality of which no coating of vamieh could conceal from moderately discerning eyes. Still the protigi of a prince, and that prince the colonel of the regiment, would necessarily be a pet of the dandy officers of the aristocratic Tentii, especially as Brummell claimed to be the direct descendant of a line of illustrious ancestry, dating from the Conquest. The endorsement of Prince Florizel sufficed to make curr^t this claim to an illustrious, as distinguished, I suppose, from a noble descent.

The remark attributed, I fancy wrongly, to the Chan- cellor Ozenstiem, of Sweden, who, alluding to some flagrant instances in question, exclaimed, '^ See with what little wisdom the world is governed I" might, with perfect appo- siteness, be paraphrased into " See with what slender wit the world of fashion may, under certain circumstances, be amused, delighted, entranced 1 Before what a poor human- ity all that glittering, pretentious throng will bow down in wondering admiration l"

The very best witticisms recorded as the utterances of

64 Eccsinmo pb&sokaqes.

Gfeorge Bminmell, in his time '< the glass of fashion and the Dionld of fonn," and with which he set the mess-table of the gallant Tenth in a roar, were sony stuff. He had a slight cold, and being asked how he caught it, said, " I went to Pietri's Hotel, and was shown into a room where there was a damp stranger." This saDy convidsed the officers of the gallant Tenth. Again — ^this was ailer he obtained Us cap- taincy — " Why, Captain Brummell, you surely are not off

with charming Lady M ." " An ounce of civet, good

apothecary," replied the incipient beau, who had probably read el^ant extracts from Shakespere-^^' an ounce of civet, good apothecary. I positively saw her eating cabbage !" " But surely you, Captain BrummeU, sometimes eat vege- tables ?" said a somewhat gruff old major. '< Yes, yes, major ; yes, I once ate a pea."

Having attained his majority, and come into possession of his inheritance, 30^002. or thereabouts, the principal having augmented during his minority, and there moreover being ugly rumours afloat that even the Tenth Hussars might be ordered upon foreign service, George Brummell, who had a constitutional objection to expose himself to the action of that villainous saltpetre which ought never to have been digged out of the bowels of the harmless earth, sold his oonunission and retired from the service.

Qeoige Brummell at once determined to cultivate " a life of pleasure" — Sybarite, Epicurean pleasure ; therein being at one with his patron the Prince of Wales. That flowery path to ruin was gaily trod. Mr. Brummell took a house in Chesterfield Street, fiimished it in exquisite style, and forthwith devoted himsef to the cultivatfon of society in " high life," and the best mode of tying white neckerchiefs. He succeeded in both those grand objects of ambition to his heart's content << I can stand," he boasted, <' in the pit at the opera, and beckon to Lovain (Duke of Argyll } on one

BEAU BBUMMSLL. 65

BidO| and to YiUiers ( Ijord Jersey ) on the otber, and see them oome to me." Fortunate Brummagem Bean Brum- mell ! But the tie and set of the white neckerchief was his America of discoyerj. The how and the why disturbed the peace and exercised the ingenuity of the whole fashionable world. Vainly was he importuned to disclose the wonderful secret. The oracle remained persistently dumb. Not even to the Prince would he shed a ray of light upon that sacred myst^y. It was only when hurriedly leaving England to avoid a debtor's prison, that he vouchsafed to enlighten *' high life " through the medium of his friend Lord Alvanley. " Starch is your man," he wrote with a pencil, directing the scrawl to that nobleman. The Lord Alvanley was delighted, and gave in after-years substantial proo& of his gratitude for so signal a favour. The beau monde participated in the enthusiasm of Alvanley at the solution of the grand secret. Such were your gods, Israel I And these Brummells, peers, princes, were contem- poraries with the men who wrestled down the giant wars which for a qnarterof a centuiy had convidsed Europe.

That Bean Brummell was the rage amongst the upper ten thousand is indisputable. No dinner, no ball, no assembly was held to bo complete if he were absent. Y cry careful was he to preserve his exolusiveness. He recognised the peerage, but no other class of society, and like another Begency-Geoige-the-Fourth impostor, John Wilson Croker, affected to be ignorant that there was such a locality as Russell Square " within the confines of civilisation."

Once, when remonstrated with by the wealthy father of a young man whom he, Brummell, had helped to " pluck " at cards, he said, <* Upon my honour, sir, I did much for your son. I once gave him my arm all the way from White's to Walters'. Think of that, sir T '

Brummelly as I have said, had some humour of a weak B

66 EGGENTRIO PEBSONAGES.

caa-4e^oIpgiie kind. Ho oondescended to accept an inTi- tation to dine with a rich young man whose aoqoaintanoehe had made in a gaming-hoojae. The young gentleman called upon him abodt half-an-hour hefote the time that dinner would be served to remind the Beau of his promise. In the mean time Brommell had received an invitation from Lady Jersey ; and just as the rich nobody was speaking with Brummell; her ladyship's carriage stopped at the door to convey the distinguished dandy to her residence. " Well/' said the plebeian acquaintance, <^ I see you will not honour me with your company to dinner this evening. Lady Jersey's claim is of course paramount. As my house lies in the direction of her ladyship's, I will ride with you part of the way.'* '^ Good Grod I" exclaimed Brummell, <^ride with me ! But perhaps you mean to get up behind" By the bye, one of the Beau's notions was that a sedan chair « was the only vehicle for a gentleman."

One Mr. Snodgrass, a F.R.S. and grave philosopher, happened to attract the notice of Brummell. The name offended the Beau, and he would ring the bell, and knock at the door about midnight, when there was no one up but the philosophic student himself. The window of the vene- rable man's study was thrown open, the venerable head thrust forth, and an angry demand screamed forth in pan- taloon treble to know the meaning of such knocking and ringing at that dead waste and middle of the night. ' <' i«  your name Snodgrass ?" asked the mellifluous bland voice of Brummell. << 1$ your name Snodgrass ?" << Yes, it is — what then ?" Only, my dear feUow, that it is an extremely vulgar name. Snodgrass is decidedly vulgar." '< You be

" — wo need not print the participle past — ^was the reply,

as the- window was slammed down. The torment was fitfully repeated, till at last Mr. Snodgrass found himself obliged to auoeal to tjbe authorities, and Beau Brummell

BBAU BSOMUELL. 67

leceived an emphatic waming that suoh conduct would incur ignominious punifihment The Beau kissed the rod, and no more disturbed the philosopher's peace. This incident suggested the once popular faroe of Monsieur Tonson.

Once Brummell 'was induced to accept an invitation to dine from a wealthy alderman, having first, however, obtained the civic dignitary's promise ^^ not to tell." The dinner was "served, and Brummell, who had made himself waited for a considerable time, at last arrived. There was a baron of beef on the table. '^ Good heavens 1" he ex- claimed, glancing, at the table ; <^ Good heavens — Oz 1" and vanished.

The familiar terms upon which he stood with the so-called great men of thcL realm will be sufficiently illustrated by one or two anecdotes.

He was walking with the Buke of Bedford along Pall Mall, when his Grace asked him if he liked the out of his coat — an improvisation of the Duke's tailor. Beau Brummell examined critically the ducal coat, and the survey finished,, said, with an air and accent of deep compassion: My dear Bedford, do you call this thing a coat ?"

Again, being on a visit at Belvoir Castle, the seat of the Duke of Rutland, where a numerous company was assembled, and feeling somewhat indisposed, he left, at an early hour for film. Suddenly sounding a powerful alarm or fire-bell, which at once arrested the flying feet of the dicers, — *' I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen," said the Beau, from the gallery which overlooked the salon de danse ; I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, but there is no hot water in my room."

There have been various versions of the origin of the Beau's quarrel with the Prince R^nt. The accc^^ted story was tlxat Brummell, having dined at Carlton House,

68 ECCENTRIO PERSONAGES.

and being desironB of tasting Bome wine of a celebrated vintage, said, " Wales, ring the bell ;" wlierenpon the Prince did ring the bell^ and to the answering servant said, " Order Mr. Bnunmell's carriage." The same story or something like it, used to be told of Thomas Moore and the R^nt. Bninunell always denied that he had so mis- behaved himself. According to the Beau*s own version, his disagreement with the Prkoe was entirely owing to the marriage of his Koyal Highness with Mrs. Fitzherbert. He had in some way offended that lady, and the *^ night crow," all powerful for a time, placed her veto against his admission to Carlton House. The Prince deeply resented Bmmmell's behaviour towards or concerning Mrs. Fitzherbert; and fop, fribble as he was, Geoige lY. was a good hater. He never foigave. Brummell used to show his resentment in his own small way. Once after the final rupture with the Regent, the Beau, riding through Bond Street with Lord Sefton, met the Prince, who was takbg an airing in a carriage. Seeing Sefton, the carriage was stopped. The prince and peer exchanged some commonplace courtesies. Sefton presently rejoined Brummell. << Who is our fat friend in the carriage?" he asked, affectmg not to have recognised the Prince. This sort of thing used to be thought very witty, cruelly sarcastic 1

In the mean time the Beau's thirty thousand pounds are rapidly diminishing, becoming fine — ^very fine by degrees and beautifully less. At last all is gone, and Beau Brum- mell's exquisite neckties will not appease the clamour of his furious creditors.

One incident in the eccentric life of this gay glitter- ing human moth should be mentioned before I follow him into exile, and show what this ^'observed of aL observers " was when the paint and plumes were stripped off. If not a vain boast, which is most likely, it speaks^

BBATJ BRUUIC£LL. 69

in perbaps a dubiotis sense, to hiB credit. The Beau was on a visit to Earl H — . It was understood that his stay would be a long one. Three or four days only had passed when Brummell, brusquely pre^ting himself, said to his lordship : '< My lord, I must leave at onoe. I cannot stop here." " Why, in Heaven's name ? " " I am in love wkh her ladydiip, your wife." " The devil you are I But never mind Uiat A passing fancy. Nothing more. Her ladyship is not in love with youJ* " Well, your lordship, I am afraid her ladyship does mdine to be in love with xne." Brummell left immediately.

Alderman Coombe, an extensive brewer-^Beau Brum* meU wiU be most faithfully depicted by these stray anec- dotes — ^Alderman Goombe, an extensive brewer, had lost a considerable sum of money to the Beau, who with hilarious impudence said, whi st pocketing his winnings, <' All right, Alderman Coombe; in future T shall never drink any porl^r but yours." " I wish," retorted the angry alder- man, that every other scoundrel in London would say the same, and keep his word." In this passage of arms between the Beau and the Brewer, the latter had certainly the best of it.

At last aH was gone: the pet of high society, the inventor of unapproachable neckties, was cleaned out. He must make himself scarce as quickly as might be ; but in order to pass over the strait which divides Dover from Calais ftmds were required. There were half-a-dozen exe- cutions in his house, and no money could consequently be obtained by sale or by hypothecating or pawning of furniture, plate, &c. In this extremity, Oeoige Bryan Brummell sent a note to one of his friends, a Mr. Scrope Davis. I subjoin the note and the reply :

"ifay 16, 1816.

" Mt Dxab Scbopb,— Lend me two hundred pounds.

70 ECCSNTUO FSRSOKAGBS.

The banks aro shut, and all my money is in the Three per Gents. It shall be repaid to-morrow morning. — Yours, G. B.'

Mr. Scrope Davis to G. B.

" Mt dear GEOBas,-^It is very unfortunkte, but all my funds are in the Three per Gents.*^ Yours truly, ScBOPB Davis."

Brummell must have been more successful in other quar- ters, as he certainly raised funds enough to enable him to reach Calais, and support himself there till he could orga- nise a method of levying black-mail on his titled 'English friends, upon whose charitable alms Beau Brummell, the star of fashion, was thenceforth content to exist.

The habits of this eccentric gentleman clung to him through life. He was as preposterously exclusive when a fugitive from his creditors, and living upon the charity of his former acquaintances, as in the days of his ephemeral prosperity. He took up his quarters at a Galais hotel, where he lived in vciy comfortable style for seventeen years. His correspondence and the occasional visits of great people imposed upon the Frendi tradesmen, who believed that he was suiOfering under a temporary eclipse only, and would again shine out resplendently, a bright particular star in the aristocratic galaxy of England. The French are an acute people, but they have strange notions with r^ard to England and English society. For example, they believe the Lord Mayor of London to be a potentate second only in dignity and power to the monarch of Great Britain.

It is not at all surprising that they should have believed in Brummell. The Duchess of York, a very amiable lady, sent him not only money, but a table-cover worked with

BEAU BBrMVXIiL. 71

her own hands. This steadfast friendship of Her Royal Highness seems to show that, after all, the Tain oozoomb must have had something good id him. Lord Sefton moreorer paid him a Tisit; so did Wellesley Pole, and Prinoe Puckler Mnskao, the Prossian nobleman who once made a small splatter in the literary line:

Let US pass swiftly over the decline and fall of this once celebrated gendcman. His debts in Calais rapidly accumulated. His English friends, generous as many of them were, oould not supply his extravagances ; and when G^ige lY. passed through Calais on a visit to Hanover, and did not send for ce ciUbre Bnimmell, the faith of the French in the great man sank to zero as quickly as did that of Justice Shallow in Sir John Falstaff, when Henry V. (in the play) publicly rebuked and cast him off. Bmmmell was revised cr^t, and a prison was not ob- scurely hinted at. Driven to desperation, he applied to the Duke of York to procure for him, through his in- fluence with the Ministry, a Government appointment. The application was successful, and on the 10th of Sep- tember, 1830, Beau Bnimmell was appointed English Consul at Caen, at a salary of four hundred pounds per annum.

Landed at last, one would think, safe out of Fortune's reach. Not at all. His debts followed j his foolish habits clung to him to the last; till at length the only person whom he could rely upon to befriend him was Mr. Armstrong, a grocer established in Caen. " My dear Armstroiig," he wrote one day, " lend me seventy francs to pay my washerwoman." Yet the man who wrote that note would not " honour " with his presence any assem- blage at which people in the remotest degree connected with commerce were to be met with !

72 ECOSKTBIO PSBfiONAGES.

Beau Brammell had been Ckmsal but aboat two yean wbea he appears to have been smittea with positive lunacy. He memorialised Lord Palmerston, then Foreign Secretary, to the effect that there was no necessity for a British Consul at Caen. He appears to have ima^ned that if he gave up the Caen Consulship he would certainly obtain a more lucrative one— in sunny Italy, he hoped. Lord Palmerston took the unfortunata Beau at his word — abolished the Caen Consulship, presented Mr. Geoige Bryan Brummell \vith a solatium of two hundred pounds, but gave no hint of the recipient obtaining any other appointment. This was the dimax. No sooner were the arms of England taken down from the front of his house, than his French creditors determined at once to arrest his no longer inviolable person. This was done wiUi a great deal of unnecessary display and circumstance; and poor Brummell was carried off to jail. A very weak creature the pet of courtlj circles proved when subjected to the pressure of misfortune. He could do nothing to help him- self; continued to weep and wail, and pour forth biCter complaints that his dinner was not regularly served-*that his washerwoman did not get up his white cravats so well as she had formerly 1 At last, the grocer, Armstrong, who appears to have been actuated by a real sympathy for the broken-down Beau, proposed that he himsdf should go to England and personally solicit — ^being, of course, furmshed with proper credentials — the help of Mr. Brum- mell's rich friends. This was done. Armstrong's mission was so far successful that sufficient fimds were obtained to release Brummell from jail. But the Beau's future was bleak and dreary as ever. The end was near at hand. The intellect, such as it was, gave way ; and it was deter- mined by Mr. Armstrong and other friends to obtun him an asylum in the hospital of " Le Bon Sauveur." This

BEAU BBUMMELL.

73

eharitable design waB carried out ; and GkDrge Bryan Bmmmell, screaming with idiotic terroi:, for he fancied he was about to be again shut up in jail, was conyejed to the convent or hospital. There he died, and was buried. The sad lesson which this life teaches needs no interpreta- tion. He who runs may read its mournful significance.

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LABT HESTEE STANHOPE.

Shx sorely mnst be a Bingnlarlj eooentric woman who, bom in almost the bigliest rank of the upper ten thousand, and who before she was out of her teens was possessed of great political influence, chose, whilst stiU young, to cast in her lot with semi-civilized inhabitants of Asia, and who, though not in the slightest degree influenced by genuine religious feeling, cherished visions, and died dreaming of a sacerdotal empire in the East— of a throne to be shared with the Messiah in Jerusalem 1

Lady Hester Stanhope was the eldest of three daugh- ters — Hester, Griselda, Lucy. They were the children of Charles Earl Stanhope, by hisfirst wHe the sbter of William Pitt, the great Minister.

Charles Earl Stanhope was himself a singularly eccen- tric personage, and one cannot help thinking of flawed intellect. Himself a peer of the realm, he professed pro- found contempt for hereditary rank, and, as a tangible proof of the reality of his convictions, ordered the erasure of the armorial bearings from his coach-panel I A whim- sical gentleman in other respects: he slept. Lady Hester reports, under the weight of a dozen blankets; and when he rose, squatted down on the floor, and ate his breakfast of tea and dry bread. The noble peer, not satisfied with having painted out the armorial insignia of his coach-panels, sold the carriages. The second Lady Stanhope was indig- nant at this development of aristocratic democracy. Pre- cocious Lady Hester devised a plan to shame her father

LADT HE8TEE STANHOPE. 75

cmt of liis plebeian propensitiea. She got a pair of stUta and stamped down a muddy road where the Earl would be sure to see her.

"I say, little girV said his lordship, "what have you been doing? Where was it I saw you going upon that pair of— the — ^the devil knows what — eh, little girl?" To ^hich Lady Hester replied, that as the Earl had sold his carriage, it seemed to her that the best mode of getting through the mud was by the help of stilts. The practical lesson thus taught had its effects upon the Earl, who promised to restore the carriage, " but no more armorial bearings."

There must have been an hereditary craze in the noble family of the Stanhopes, but tho disease manifested itself in divers forms. The Lady Hester, for example, gloried in being an aristocrat of the purest, most exalted blood and breedings-one conclusive proof that there was no particle of common clay in her composition being " that her instep was so high that a kitten could walk under the sole of her foot."

Education, in the true sense of the term, she had none; neither had her sisters. After the death of her mother, who died whilst she was still' young, the ladies were con- signed to the jurisdiction of their graDdmother, the Dowager Lady Stanhope^ who employed French and Swiss gov- ernesses. Their most important duty was to squeeze the Ladies Hester, Griselda, and Lucy into symmetrical shape by backboards. " How I did hate those wretches 1" Lady Hester often exclaimed in after-years. " They would have squeezed me, had it been possible to do so, into the size of a tiny miss;" and — ^inconceivable misappreciation of the infallible sign of distmguished lineage — ^positively en- deavoured to flatten down the sole of her foot, ^^ which a kitten could walk under." One reason for her ladyship's

76 SGOESTTBIO FEBSONAOES.

lofly disUke of the British people was, that as a nation they are deficient in the pedal arch — a flat-soled generation of whom no great and noble achievement could be hoped for. Mr. Pitt, her uncle, invited her to reside with him pennanentlj, and preside over his household. Lady Hester at once accepted the offer, and continued with the great minister till his d^ath. Lady Hester had a sovereign contempt for books, especially books of history, which the instinctive genius of a lady possessed of such a high instep instructed her were all lies. She was not, however, incredulous of biographic sketches of her charming self. " Men who were no fools declared that I might well be proud of the alabaster whiteness 6f my neck, rivalling that of any pearl-necklace, of my cheeks' fine contour, rounding off so beautifully that the exquisite Brommell exclaimed, <Eor Heaven's sake, take off those earrings, that we mav see what is beneath them.' " The chivalrous sailor Sir Sydney Smith's admiration was, if we may believe her ladyship, more enthusiastic still. He is said to have thus described her entrde into the society of the grand monde assembled at Mr. Pitt's mansion. ^'You entered the room in your pale skirt, exciting our admiration by your magnificent and majestic figure. The roses and lilies were blended in your face, and the ineffable smiles of your countenance diffused happiness around you." The Lady Hester must, one would suppose, have anticipated Captain Cuttle's advice to make an immediate note of any thing thought worthy of preservation by the hearer. The same with the following passage, uttered by no less a personage than his Majesty (Jeorge the Third; "You have not reason, Mr. Pitt, to be proud that you are a minister, for there have been many before, and will be many after you ; but you have reason to be proud of your niece, Lady Hester, who unites every thing that is great and good in

LADT HESTER STANHOPE. 77

man or woman." And yet this lady, who comprised in her own person all that is great and good in man or woman, was, according to her own candid confession, '< a mischievous mimic, as fierce and piond as the devil."

A very precocious damsel, too, was the Lady Hester Stanhope in other respects. The Dowager Lady Stanhope had given strict orders to the French find Swiss governesses to keep the young ladies in ignorance of all things improper for young ladies to know. Lady Hester, though only six- teen summers had passed over her head, '^ quickly knew and remembered everything." She nevertheless admired, or affected to admire, delicacy of manners, and speaks approvingly of Earl Grey, thien a young man. She dropped one of her garters at the trial of Warren Hastings, and the earl, knowing whose it was, handed it to a female attendant who served tea and coffee in the lobby.

Lady Hester Stanhope not only reigned supreme in Mr. Pitt's establishment, but had a potential voice in the disposal of the minister's patronage. Of marriage, which the young lady early knew to be all " star," she appears to have thought but little, "though there were men who would have gone through fire and water for me." " She had determined to bo the wife of no one leas clever than herself" Mr. Pitt, hearing her express that resolution, exclaimed, " Then you wiU never marry. There is no such man."

Her ladyship further reports that Mr. Pitt once remarked, " That it would be quite useless trying to conceal any thing from me ; for if I wished to cheat the devil, I should suc- ceed in BO doing." Quite true, complacently added the youthM Lady Hester.

Mr. Pitt died, and, as by a cotip de thidtre, the brilliant scene in which the Lady Hester had so long shone supreme at once disappeared. The obsequious crowds of courtiers,

78 ECCENTRIC PERSOIUOES.

who had been ao proud to son themselveB in her smileB when the haughty damael condescended to bestow them, made the sndden discovery that the delightful hrusquerie of speech, the charming frankness which they had ao greatly admired, was in reality, hoydeniah impertinence ; her con- tempt of conventionalism, which, whilst Mr. Pitt was living and in office, they had supposed to indicate a great original genius, to be, after all, mere vulgar rudeness, and indicative only of the revolt of a coarse-minded girl-woman against the decencies of polished society.

Queen Hester's reign was over^^the diadem reft from her brow. She removed to a splendid residence in Mon- tague Square; but nobody that was anybody visited her there. She next tried rustication at a cottage in Wales. That did not at all harmonise with her ladyship's soaring, transcendental vbions; and she finally resolved to abandon England, and seek a home either in the mysterious East, or the teeming West. The world was all before her ; and possessed of a pension of fifleen hundred pounds per annum, regularly paid in good honest sovereigns out of the British exchequer, her future looked bright enough.

The Lady Hester was unfortunate at the outset of the voyage. The vessel in which she sailed was shipwrecked off the Island of Ehodes, and her ladyship narrowly escaped with life. She proceeded to Gonstaatinople — sojourned there for some months, whiling away the time by inditmg a voluminous correspondence, the subject-matter of which was mainly the glorification of Napoleon Bonaparte and herself I

Finally, this eccentric lady settled at Dar Joon, in Syria, not very distant from St. Jean d'Acre. Whilst there her spiritual visions assumed a distinct shape. The Millennium was close at hand, and she was the chosen bride of the Messiah of Nations — chosen from before the foundations

lADT HESTEE SIAimOFB. 79

of the earth were laid; — ^whose advent she hourly expected, and not leas confidently after, by the lapse of time and the indulgence of vicious habits, she had withered into a smokingi chewing old crone, whose diief occupation was swearing at the '< black beasts/' her servants.

Many persons from Europe visited her at Dar Joon* The most distinguished of them was M. Lamartine, who, in his Eastern Travels^ plentifully bedaubs her with plaster- of-Paris artistically coloured. Lady Hester had conde- scended to prophesy high things of ihQ French poet; her chief avowed reason for assuring him that he would rise to eminence in his own country being, that although he could not pretend to an exalted instep like her own, which a kitten might creep under, water would flow beneath his pedal-arch without wetting it. Lamartine positively re- peats this craziness, as if he were transcribing the sayings of a Plato. Lady Hester also vouchsafed to show M. Lamartine two foals, curiously marked on their backs, upon which the Messiah and herself would make their entry into Jerusalem !

The chosen bride of the Messiah had strangely enough grown oblivious of the maxims of common honesly. A pension of fifteen hundred pounds per annum must have been an enormous income at Dar Joon ; but her ladyship could not, somehow or other, make both ends meet. Creditors became, clamorous, and some of the wiliest of them instructed agents in London to apply to a Court of Equity for relief. The pension — at least a considerable portion of it — ^might, they thought, be set aside for the liquidation of her ladyship's dobts. That, however^ could not be done ; but Lord Palmerston, then Secretary for Foreign Affairs (1838), apprised of the circumstances by Colonel Campbell, the English Consul at Beyrout, wrote to her ladyship, politely intimating that payment of the

80 SCCBHTBIO PEBSONAGBS.

pension wonld be snspeuded, unless she ^roiild make a bona fide effort to settle with her creditor?.

This '< impertinence to a Pitt " was warmly resented by Lady Hester, and not condescending to reply direct to the Foreign Secretary, she addressed a letter to the Queen of England herself, threatening to give np her pension, and with it the name of an English subject and the slavery which it entailed. As to Colonel Ganu>beU, her ladyship had half a mind to shoot him, either herself or by proxy ; he having richly deserved that fate, '^ for having alienated from the queen and the country a ^rson whom great and small must acknowledge had raised the English name in the East higher than any one had before done, besides having made philosophical researches of every description for the benefit of mankind in general/'

The final renunciation of the pension was, however, postponed ; and soon a more potent creditor than those who had invoked the intercession of Colonel Campbell put in his daim. Lady Hester Stanhope died suddenly in June, 1839. The favourite and beautiful niece of the great William Pitt fills an obscure grave in the Syrian wilder- ness, her only bequest to the world being the sad moral of her life.

BEAU NASH,

Thebe are many kinds as well as degrees of celebriiy. Lord Chancellor Brougham once, under the influence of an excess of acrid humour^ observed, in illustration of his Bigament, and pointing towards the Dukes of Wellington and Cumberland, who were conversing quietly together on the cross-benches of the House of Lords, that the one was illustrious by his deeds, the other illustrious by courtesy.

Quite true. The remark is of every-day application, and takes in a wide range of character. Bichard Nash, esquire, master of the ceremonies and king of Bath, was, equally with George IV., king of England, illustrious by courtesy. His* Majesty of Bath, with all his weaknesses and follies, was, however, a far more respectable man than his Majesty of Britain. This must be conceded even by those who recognise the truth as well as admire the caustic force of the verses attributed to Lord Chesterfield. In what wsB then known as " Wiltshire's Ball-room, Bath," a statue, life-size, of Beau Nash was placed between the bofits of Newton and Pope. Chesterfield wrote :

"The statue placed these basts between Gives to my satire strength ; Wisdom and wit are little seen ; And foUy at full length."

The right of fribble Chesterfield to sit in judgment upon fribble Nash may be disputed, but there can be no doubt as to the strict applicability of his lordship's lines. Foi all that, the Beau of Bath was a superior man to Lord

82 1SGCENTRIC PEBSONAOES.

Chesterfield. A triflor, sycophant if you will ; but Beau Nash, OS I shall presently prove, had a heart in his bosom ever responsive to the sad music of humanity. The noble lord who, if we accept the dictum of Doctor Johnson, published a book which taught the morals of a prostitute and the manners of a dancing-master, was, morally estimated, far below the standard of Richard Nash, — and that was not a high one.

Richard Nash wob bom at Swansea, Glamorganshire, on the^ 18th of October 1674. Ub mother was niece to Colonel Poyer, who made a gallant stand for Charles I., when that monarch's fortunes were utterly desperate, and whom Cromwell crushed with an effort as slight as it was merciless. ^

The king of Bath was educated at Jesus College, Ox- ford ; but his genius, or inclination more properly, lying in the direction of fine clothes and elegant deportment, it is not surprising that he did not take a d^ree. He left the University considerably in debt ; a petty liability for which he considered the property he left behind him — one pair of boots, two volumes of plays, a fiddle, and tobacco-box — sufficient security.

Arrived in London, he contrived to raise a sufficient sum of money to purchase an ensigncy. The temptation must have been the uniform, for assuredly no man was over less fitted for the vocation of a soldier than Beau Na«h. The commission, however, served his purpose, by introducing him to the society of persons in high life, with whom his obsequious deference for every one who had any claim to social distinction soon made him a favourite^— Nash repaying himself for lip-homage by his success as a game- ster, a profession in which he was an early adept.

It was at this time that the first striking instance occurred illustrative of the double nature of this vaio

BBAU ;NASH* 8S

popinjay of a man. He was introduced to and fell vx love with a Miss Terdnn. She was beautiful, and posBeased of a moderate dowry. The father, who had risen from obscurity, and looked with reverenoe upon the el^;ant fop who was hand-and-glove with nobility, insisted upon his daughter's aoeeptanoe of Nash's offer. The lady had, however, formed a prior attachment, and candidly confessed It to her exquisite suitor, who behaved admirably. Nash sought an interview with the father, and finally prevailed upon him to allow his daughter to marry the man of her choice. Nash himself gave the bride away ; a sorry gifl, for the woman eloped with her footman after a few months only of married life. Nash, upon being informed of what had occurred, entertained a gay party at the Smyrna Coffee- house, and having related the disinterested part he pUyed in promoting his rival's suit, remarked that the result was a stxihing illustration of the moral aphorism which declares that virtue is its own reward. The husband, looking at the matter from a different pomt of view, committed suicide.

Scared by war's alarms, brought home to him by the ominous fact that his r^ment was about to be sent on active service. Beau Nadi, who had had an instinctive horror of vile guns, sold his commission, and entered him- self in the Middle Temple. He would become a famous barrister, and glimpses of the great seal flashed across his ambitious vision. That dream did not last long ; Richard Nash was not slow to discover that he had no more genius for law than for war. His refined manners, elaborate yet el^ant courtesy stood him, however, in good stead. Upon King William III.'s accession to the throne, that monarch, in compliance with time-honoured custom, accepted an entertainment at .the Middle Temple. The Benchers requested Nash to do the honours, the oereiLonial speechify -

84 BGCENTBIC PSBSOKAGES.

ing ; and ho well did he acquit himself that the king offered to confer upon him the hononf of knighthood. The reply of Nash was apt and prompt : '< If your Majesty should condescend to create me a knight, I would humbly beg that it should be one of the poor Knights of Windsor, as I should then have a modest income wherewithal to support the dignity." The-king did not take the hint. Honour he was quite willing to bestow, but money and profitable places were required for very different claimants.

Nash was also treumrer to the Benchers of the Middle Temple, and when, for the last time, he made up hi& accounts, one item therein greatly surprised the auditors :

• < For making one man happy, ten pounds. Mr. Nash

explained that he had made a present of the ten pounds to a man who declared that such a sum would be his salvation — << would make him the happiest man in the world. The Benchers, not for a moment doubting his word, passed the item. This anecdote is a proof not only of Nash's good nature, but of the confidence which the Benchers must have had in his integrity.

The barrister's gown, like the ensign's uniform, was cast off, and Beau Nash, with no resource but his skill at play, ostentatiously devoted himself to the pursuit of pleasure — of sensuous but refined enjoyment. It is curious, too, that this man, whose hand was open as day to relieve indigence and misfortune, had an inveterate dislike to paying his debts. A gentleman to whom he owed twenty pounds, having ofben and often applied to him in vain for payment, hit upon the expedient of asking a mutual friend to affect distress and borrow thirty pounds of Nash. The mutual friend did so, and Nash lent the money. On the next day the creditor called upon the gentleman, who was always generous, if not just. After the common interchange of courtesies, Mr. Nash said, '< Ah, I suppose you are come

BEAU NASH. 85

about that twenty ponnds ? Well, I daresay that in the coarse ^f a few weeks I shall be able to pay you.'

'< You have told me that stozy, my dear friend, a hundred times," was the reply, *^ but there is no necessity to tell it

again. Mr. , to whom you lent the thirty pounds

yesterday, gave mo twenty, and I have now to return you the difference." Nash, upon hearing that, flew into a yiolent rage, swore he had been swindled out of his money, and had he not been a rigorous disciple of the peaoe-at- any-price doctrine, would probably have kicked his dever friend down stairs.

Bichard Nash, esquire, now determined upon a provin- cial tour ; but his first essay was unfortunate. He must needs try his comparatively 'prentice hand at York, where he was completely cleaned out — lost every shilling he possessed. The sharpers by whom he had been fleeced were not altogether bad fellows of their sort^ and agreed to return him fifty guineas if he would consent to stand in a white sheet for half-an-hour at the door of the Cathedral. Nash consented, and being recognised by one of the clerical dignitaries, to whom he had been introduced in London, said, in answer to the dignitary's astonished inquiry as to what such an exhibition meant, that " it was a Yorkshire penance for keeping bad company 1 " Another proof of the low state of his exchequer at that period is that a man of his fastidious habits won a large wager by riding naked through a village upon a cow I

For some time Richard Nash, esquire, remained under a cloud ; })ut at last he turned up resplendently at Bath, the medicinal waters of which city had attained fashionable celebrity by a visit of Queen Anne, and the benefit it was alleged her Majesty had derived from their use. Nash was not only a man of fashion, an universal gallant, but a professed, apd, upon the whole, highly successful gamester

86 ECCENTRIC PERSOKAQES

»-6accessful, that he was before long enabled to set up a coach drawn by six gray horses, and although often put to degrading shifts, managed to maintain a fictitious splendour, till he died in extreme old age — an apparent pauper.

His ascendency in BatJbi society was quickly achieved, and so firmly established that his claim to be King of Bath was never disputed. Nash was a veritable despot of ball- rooms, and, it must be admitted, a judicious one. Dancing began at six precisely, and terminated at eleven. This rule was peremptory, and never broken during his reign. The Princess Amelia, it is stated, was refused another dance after the fixed hour had chimed.

Some of the regulations framed by Beau Nash display sense and some slight humour. Duels, fotight in hot blood, were frequent in those days ; az.d to diTpinish the evil, and give time for reflection, the King of Bath re- fused to allow swords to be worn at either the Pump or Ball-rooms. Amongst the rules which he had printed and framed were these :

" No gentleman shall give his ticket for the balls to any but gentlewomen. — N.B. Unless he has none of his ac- quaintance

" No gentleman or lady must take it ill that another dances before them^ except such as have no pretence to dance at all.

The anecdotes related of him are amusing enough

He one night played a game of piquet for two hundred pounds, and won the stake. One of the on-lookers, a poor gentleman with whom he had a slight acquaintance, ex- claimed in a subdued, soliloqubing tone, but quite/audible to the sensitive ear of Nash, " My Ood, how happy that money would make mel" "Take it, then," said Nash, without an instant's hesitation ; " take it, and be happy."

BEAU NASH. 87

The distressing ease of a eleigyman was brought under his notice. The income of the reverend gendeman was thirty pounds per annum, upon which he, his wife, and six children starved. Nash at once zealously exerted himself to relieve the unfortunate divine's necessities, raised a hand- some subscription, and did not cease importuning his influ- ential friends till he had obtained him a livmg worth two hundred and sixty pounds per annum. Whilst the sub- saiption was going on, Sarah Duchess of Marlborough entered the Assembly-room, and, addressing Nash, said, " I Lave come here without money. You must put something in the plate for me." With pleasure, your grace. One, two,

three, four, five " " Stop, Nash ; five guineas are surely

enough." '^ Consider the eminent position filled by your grace, and the clergyman's cruel necessities. Six, seven,

eight, nine, ten, eleven " " Nash, remonstrated the

Duchess, *'you will drive me mad." " Twelve, thirteen, fourteen," — Nash did not stop, till he had counted as far as thirty, when finding the Duchess was becoming furious, he held his hand.

Another crcditablo anecdote is thus told : One Colonel Montague, a ruined gamester, endeavoured to inveigle a young lady of great beauty into contracting a marriage ruinous to both. Beau Nash baffled his scheme, and the enraged Colonel forthwith challenged his Majesty of Bath. The <^ King," like a sensible man, refused to fight. The Colonel left Bath, and joined the Dutch army in Flanders, where he served for eome years in the ranks, and returned to Ei^land in such deplorable destitution that he was fam to join a company of strolling-players exhibiting at Petcjr- borough. Meanwhile the young lady, who had never con- cealed her partiality for the Colonel, had come into pos- session of fifteen hundred pounds per annum. Beau Nash, who knew of the condition and whereabouts of Cotenel

88 ECCENTRIC PERSONAQES.

Montogae, iuvited the damsel and her mother to accompany him to Peterborough, giying no hint of his real purpose in going there. Arrived at Peterborough, the party went to the theatre. The piece played was The Conscious Lovers, in which Colonel Montague, in the assumed name of Egerton, was to play Tom. The lovers instantly recognised each other, and there was a new scene of Conscious Lovers enacted. The young lady fainted ; '< Tom " bolted, and another actor had to walk on for the part. ^ Finally, an interview was arranged, and Beau Nash, joining the hands of the loving

couple, exclaimed, " Take her. Colonel; and d , say I,

whoever attempts to part you.*'

The consideration shown by Beau Nash for the Earl Townsend was marked by a real magnanimity. The young nobleman had a perfect mania for gaming, but was utterly deficient in skill He played with Nash, and lost every thing— estate, carriages, horses, furniture. Nash gave back all upon condition that he would not play again, and give a written promise to pay him, Nash, five thousand pounds, should he ever stand in need of the money. The time did eome when the King of Bath was in pressing need of the money, but before that Earl Townsend was in his grave. Nash applied to the heirs, who honourably discharged the obligation.

This euriously-constituted man, cringingly servile to the possessors of wealth and rank, so lavi^y bountiful to the needy, who had worked for many months and with great ultimate success, in conjunction with Dr. Oliver, to found a Qeneral Hospital in Bath, and who, as his feeble foot-fall approached nearer and nearer to the setting sun, manifested a terror of death as abject as did (Jeorge IV. or Doctor Johnson, lived on — if his last years can be called life— till his eighty-eighth year. The day after his death the Cor- poration met, and voted fifty pounds to defray the cost of

BEAU NAsn. 89

the " King of Bath's" funeral. The worshipfnl Corporation did more even than that for the man whom they had left to die in indigence, as the following epitaph, engraved npon his tomh, in commemoration of his merit and the magnani- mous liberality, which induced them to perpetuate his memory, will testify:

" Richard Nash, Esquire,

Died February 13th, 1761, aged 88.

He was bj birth a gentleman,

and educated at Jesus College, Oxford.

He erected the City of Bath into a Province of Pleasure,

and held sacred Decency and Decorum.

Of Lis Noble Public Spirit

and

warm gratefal heart,

the Obelisk in the Grove

aud

the Beautiful Needle in the Square

are Magnificent Teitlmoniet."

SIR GERALD MASSET, KNIGHT.

I DO oot know if Sir Gerald Maascy, knight, who died at Halifax, Yorkshire, in 1792, at the ripe age of ninety-six, was a progenitor either of Gerald Massey, the'peet, or Mr. Massey, M.P. and Chairman of Committees in the House of ComnuMis. That, in a small way, he was both poet and politician, is not of course decisive evidence of such rela- tionship. Sir Gerald was, at all events, a very odd fellow, not to bo matched, I should suppose, by many of the tens of thousands of self-proclaimed odd fellows — the mass of whom I rather think are pretty even with the world.

Sir Gerald Massey was "picked up" in a field about two miles out of Halifax, by a shoemaker of the name of Cross. Not at all an appropriate cognomen, C harles Gross being a man of remarkable benignity, who with not very large means — ^though he was one of the principal tradesmen in Halifax — " went about doing good." The child was about seven years old when found by Mr. Gross. He was clothed — ^if clothing it could be called — in dirty rags, and had fallen asleep in a gravel-pit from fatigue and exhaustion. The only account the boy could give of himself was that his mother and father were travelling tinkers, and that when he awoke in the morning they were gone, He had tried to find them, but could not ; and hungry, weary, laid himself down, he believed to die. His mother, the hoy said, could read and write, but was the slave of her hu >band — not the boy's father — who cruelly ill-used her He w as always called Jim ; but his mother who might' have known that her husband

SIB UERALD MASSBT, EKI6HT. 91

was determined to rid himself of the enoumhrance, had written something on a piece of linen only a day or two before he was abandoned, and stitched it on the inside of his trousers. Mr. Cross examined the piece of linen, but could only make out clearly two words, ^' Qerald Massey." More hud been written, but the ink had run, and the sen- tence, whatever it was, could not be read.

Mr. Cross took the boy home, and, having no children, was gradually so won upon by the boy's endearing ways, that he adopted Gerald Massey as his own son. Gerald was placed at school, received a good plain education, and when of the proper age was put to learn the craft of a cordwainer.

Gerald was a good boy enough, but he was refractory as to shoemaking. He could not abide it. A taste for tinkering — outof-door tinkering — ^possessed the lad. With the pocket-money allowed him by Mr. Cross he procured the few tools and the materials necessary for the tinker- trade, and one day, before his benefactor had risen, set ofi <' to seek his fortune '* by mending poto and kettles. He earned sufficient to keep body and soul t(^ther, and inspired probably by the example of John Bunyan, with whom he had at least this resemblance, that both were tinkers, and conscious of possessing considerable talking ability, he commenced the practice in his twentieth year, perhaps earlier, of preaching on Sundays in the open air. At that period of life his creed was Calvinism — Calvinism in its mosji outrageous form — its blasphemous denial that the fountain of God's infinite mercy is ever, and will for ever remain, open to all. This fit of fanatical enthusiasm brought Gerald Massey to grief more than once. He was finally cured of his preaching propensity by a long spell in the stocks, supplemented by a terrible whipping, at the cart's-tail, through the Yorkshire village of Upham

92 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES.

or Updown. It seems hardly credible that even in those cruel days such punishment could be awarded to a man guilty only of preaching without a license what he believed to be the Gospel. I cannot, however, find that any other charge was preferred against him.

Gerald Masscy was not the shi£f of which martyrs are made. He discontinued preaching, and made his way back to Halifax.

Mr. Cross, whose health was fast failing, received the ungrateful truant kindly, and was willing to let bygones be bygones, if he would thenceforth lead a steady, quiet life. Gerald Massey promised to do so, and kept his promise, till one day a woman, stylishly dressed, and at- tended by a servant, entered the place, inquired for Mr. Gross, and asked that person if it were true that he had found a boy, as she had been informed he had, in a gravel-pit aEout two miles from Halifax, in 1696 ? Mr. Cross admitted that he had. The woman or lady said she was the boy's mother, and mentioned the circum- stance of her having stitched a piece of linen with his true name written upon it inside the child's trousers. She also described some natural marks upon young Mas- sey's body, and no reasonable doubt could be entertained that he was, as she alleged, her son. Times had changed with her. The tinker husband had died— she had married Mr. Gerald Masscy, a gentleman of fortune, the father of her illegitimate son. Ho too had been several years dead. She was in tolerably affluent circumstances ; resided at a place near Appleby, Westmoreland, and had, after much difficulty, found by God's mercy her son and only offspring. Gerald Masscy was out when the widow Masscy called, and when he returned did not recognise his mother. The image of the mother, which dwelt in his memory, was that of a tall woman with dark hair. This woman was

filB GERALD HASSB7, KNIQBT. 98

not more ti^an a medium height, and her hair was brown, whereas the almost invariable tendency of age is to darken and whiten hair, as the case may be. Still Qerald — ^bnt seven years of age when he lost, or was separated from his mother, and over twenty years having passed dnoe then— «ould not confide in the faithfulness of his memory, even with r^ard to that mother's personal appearance. Besides the temptation to believe, or affect to believe, Mistress Massey was his mother, would half unconsciously perhaps tinge his recollection — ^not sickly it, over with the pale cast of thought, but shedding the glow of a luxurious future over the life of an aspiring young man who had suffered the ignominy of the stocks, and been publicly whipped at a cart's-tail. Grerald Massey left Halifax with his real or pretended mother for Stone llall, Appleby.

This narrative will be an imperfect one. I cannot discover any thing of importance in the life of Gkrald Massey till the close of the year 1727, when he went up to London to present an address of congratulation to Qeo]^ II. upon his accession to the throne; of condo- lence also, I suppose, for the loss of his father, Oeoige I. The new king knighted him — ^in very bad English — ^but it sufficed, and Sir Gkrald Massey returned to his seat near Appleby in high feather. It is pleasant to know that his benefactor, Mr. Cross, having fallen into difficul- ties. Sir Gerald paid all his old and first friend's debts, and made his age comfortable and happy. Mr. Gross died in 1738.

When Mrs. Massey died I have not been able to dis- cover. I should judge about 1740. At all events, Sir Gerald Massey, soon after her death, entered the army; was present in 1743 at the battle of Dettmgen ; behaved very well, was badly wounded, and— though the French were defeated and compelled to repass the £hine with

94 BccxarcRio psbsonaus.

precipitation — ^had the mischance to be taken prisoner. After confinement in a fortress for two years, he managed to escape, with the aid of a Frenchwoman who had nursed him whilst he was «affering from the wounds received in the battle. He safely reached England — ^the woman with bim— where Sir QeraJd married her ; in London probably. Her maiden name was Marie Lefranc. Sir Qerald appears to have been ardently attached to her, and she bore him several children. ^

Soon after his marriage. Sir Gkrald, who had given np his commission in the army, became infected with a mania for cock-fighting, dog-fighting, bull-baiting— entered with all his heart and soul into those refining amusements— converted one of his best rooms into a cock-pit — ^baited bulls in his own park, freely admitting, spite of the remon- strance of his French wife, all tho lowest rabble to witness the sports, at which he assisted, dressed in the highest style of fashion. These cock-fights and bull-baitings were immensely attractive ; and hugely rejoiced was the small farmer or humbler rustic if he was permitted to make a wager with the eccentric knight, as Sir Gerald always paid if he lost, and refused the wagerer's money if he won. He never betted with gentlemen or with men of wealth. This game went on for several years, and Sir Gerald had gained a character for one of the best and oddest gentle- men in the whole country side. A man of rare pluck, too, was the knight Ealph Button, a brawny pugilist of local celebrity, was given to cruel practical jokes. One hot day Sir Gerald, a great walker, finding himself some thirty miles distant from Stone HoU, and at a place where he was personally unknown, entered a humble hostelry, called for refreshment of some kind, and sat down amidst a number of rude peasants. It was Sunday— the time, after- noon. Balph Button was there, swaggering and bullying

SIB CrXRALD UASSBT, KKIGHT. 95

after liifi usual fadiion ; bat one especial object of his enmity and spite was a gray-haired man named Travis. The old man was guardian to a niece who would in a few weeks be entitled to the splendid fortune of one hundred pounds. That one hundred pounds was much coveted by the brutal pugilist, and the rejection by John Travis of his request to go a-courting the niece was savagely resented. A^r a good deal of bitter chaff on Button's part, he affected a wish to make it up, be good Mends, and offered his hand to the old man in token of his sincerity. The pledge of amity was accepted, and then Button, grasping the hand of Travis in his own, <* and keeping the fingers straight," pressed them together with i^ vice-like force. Many people know by experience that this inflicts excru- ciating torture; and the old man yeUed with pain. Sir Gerald, who was eating powdered beef, sprang up and struck Button in the face with such right good will, that blood spurted from his nose and mouth, and he let go the old man's hand. The brutal pugilist turned fiercely upon Sir Qerald. Had he mentioned who he was. Bully Button would not have dared to assault a titled, wealthy county magistrate, or the rustics present, who must all havo heard of "good" Sir Qerald Massey, would have immediately interfered, and settled Button's business in a twinkling. Sir Oerald disdained to do so. A r^ular turn-up fight ensued, and after a contest which lasted nearly an hour, the thews and sinews of the pugilist prevailed. Sir Gerald was beaten into a state of insensibility, but not till he had inflicted severe punishment upon his adversary.

A doctor was sent for, and the injuries which Sir Gerald had received being very serious, and in the medical gentle- man's opinion might possibly have a fatal result, the patient's pockets were searched to ascertain whom he might be. To the astonishm^t and oonstemation of the

96 ECCBNIBIO PflBSOKAGBS.

landlady, and great delight of the doctor, it was foond by papers or letters he had about him that the man who had fought a vulgar public-house fight with a low professional buUj was Sir Ocndd Massej, of Stone Hall, near Appleby I Button fled the county, and enlisted in the army.

Sir Gerald quickly recovered, and so little malice did he feel towards the brute by whom he had been so severely beaten, that he made ^e fellow's mother, a paralytic woman, who had been dependent upon her son for support, a present of ten guineas, and allowed her five shillings per week during life.

Not bug afterwards^ Sir Gerald Massey was engaged in a more serious contest than that with the pugilist. Captain Goldsworthy, a handsome tvuSy had dared in some way to insult Lady Massey at a ball given by Sir Lewis Leaven- worth. It was afterwards alleged that the lady, in conseauenoe of her imperfect knowledge of English, had misunderstood or misconstrued the words addressed to her by Captain Gi)ldsworthy. That, however, upon the face of it, is unlikely. Women know perfectly well when they are insulted, though they may not have a nice appreciation of the oral language in which the insult is conveyed.

Be that as it may-— a duel with swords was fought between Sir Gerald and Captain Goldsworthy the same evening. Goldsworthy was ran through the body, and died of the wound four days afterwards, protesting to the last that the offensive compliments he had addressed to Lady Massey were merely playful badinage.

The death of Goldsworthy had a painful effect upon the mind of Sir Gerald Massey. He had gone to ask the dying man's forgiveness, which was not given, and the white, ghastly face of the moribund, with its expression of hate and despair, haunted him for ever afterwards. It help^ to cloud Sir Gerald's never very olear intellect.

8IR GERALD MASSEY, KNIGHT. 97

Not long after Gbldsworthys death, an aged man, dressed in tattered apparel, and whom Thomas Barnes, an ancient serritor, recognised as a travelling tinker whom he had seen many years before, arrived at Stone Hall, and requested to see Sir Qerald. The request was refused; but the man would not be denied, scribbled something upon a piece of paper, which procured an immediate interview with Sir Gerald. The interview was a long one, and at its termination the travelling " tinker " lefl the Hall, seemingly in the highest spirits, and << chinking gold money in his pockets."

Sir Qerald was not seen by any of the servants for several days after the tinker's visit. Lady Massey was taken ill, and had not recovered when the tinker returned — this time in high feather — and accompanied by Mrs. Justin, a youngish widow, and it was soon given out the relict of the nephew of the late Mr. Ckrald Massey, who, but that the son had been discovered, would have inherited the Massey property. High words — ^ficrce wrangling be- tween the new-comers and Sir Gerald and his lady, ,were overheard by the servants, though they did not catch the cause of the dispute. At last i compromise, it seemed, was effected — the old tinker and the young wife went their ways, and were not again seen together at Stone Hall.

Lady Maasey's illness, owing, it was said, to nervous agitation, terminated fatally. Sir Gerald, in pursuance of a promise — it was exacted ^firom him on her death-bed by his wife — ^became a member of the Romish Church and a devout one. He left Stone Hall for London, returned in about a year, bringing with him a bride, no other than the widow Justin, niece-in-law to Sir Gerald's reputed father. She had a grown-up daughter. Both were ugly, bitter-tempered viragos, and soon made the house too Hot to hold Sir Gerald's own children. They lefl Stone Hall

Q

98 SCCSNTBIO PEBS0NAGE3.

one after the other, fairlj provided for, it is estimated, probably by an ante-nuptial settlement previous to the last marriage. Sir Gerald, after they were gone, seemed to weary of his life — took again to cock-fighting, bull-baiting, found the old pastimes flat^ stale, unprofitable — essayed jockeyship, won a cup at some race, and horse-whipped Sir Claude Gregson, who refused, upon some futile pretence, to pay him a heavy bet.

All would not do. Theife wais secret grief— some sting of remorse rankling in his bosom ; at least, it was so be- lieved by those who had opportunities of observing him closely. Domestic strife helped to embitter his life — ^to weaken his intellect Quite certainly a very hideous ske- leton was hidden, but ever present to himself at Stone Hall.

At last, a few days after a visit froi4 his confessor, Sir Gerald Massey disappeared. He had left no trail behind. There was search, languid search made by order of the widow, but nothing could be hoard of him — ^nothing authentic, that is to say. One report, to which more than one witness testified, was that Sir Gerald Massey had been seen pursuing the trade of a travelling tinker. This may be, and I think was true, notwithstanding that in 1762 he suddenly returned to Stone Hall, infinitely to the disgust and dismay of Lady Massey and her daughter, Charlotte Justm, who was on the point of marriage. The contract was broken off-^^stponed at all events. Sir Gerald appeared^ to be vehemently desirous of attending at the court of the young Eong George the Third, and ordered a very expensive dress in which to appear before the sovereign* Again a fit of caprice or insanity seizes him : he once more vanishes, and is afterwards seen by many persons in the streets of London, and its mpst frequented coffee-houses, always glitteringly attued, and known as the <^ Mad Baronet," though baronet he was not He was very

L

^SIB OBBALD MAS5ET, EKIGHT. 99

otaritaUe, especially to the class of "nnfortanateB,*' and this without giving canse for any serious stain upon his moral character — ^in that r^ard at all events. Sir Gerald had taken care at his last ^iait to Stone Hall to secure to himself a r^ukrly paid and sufficient income. The end came, as it will eome to all, whether they be eccentrio or wisely self-governed. On the 18th August/ 1792, a man — the mere skeleton of a man rather — was found in a kneeling posture by the grave of the first Lady Massey. There was no difficulty in deterMoing that it was the corpse of Sir Gerald Massey, of Stone Hall* .

MARGABET FULLER.

This very eooentrio Amflrican lady, daughter of TimoHiy and Maigaret Fuller, was bom in the State of Maasaohu- Betts on the 9th of May, 1810. She is known in Europe by ber Woman in the Nineteenth Century y a cleyer book, but far from jostifying the prophetic laudation which she bestowdSl upon herself in comparatively early days. It is a striking illustration of the propensity of all strong-minded ladies to monster nothings. Mine, she wrote, is a lai^, rich, but nnclarified nature. My history presents much superficial temporal tragedy. The woman in me kneels and weeps in tender rapture ; the man in me rushes forth, but only to be baffled. Tet the time will come when firom the union of this tragio king and queen shall be bom a radiant sovereign-self. Strange hallucination 1 Amus- ingly wonderful the microscopic introspection which could magnify, transform mere fluent, erratic cleverness into even the semblance of creative genius I It is only the air of America which can fill such self-glorifying trumpets as that blown by Margaret Fuller.

This intellectual prodigy— this-spiritual king and queen, of which, in the fulness of time, was to be bom a radiant sovereign-self-— could not boast of the beauty of the tene- ment which enclosed so divine a soul: a defect, it has often been observed, common to intellectual female prodigies, and especially trae, it seems, of this mountainous me," another amusing trick of sdf-description quoted by Mar-

MABaARBI FULLEB. 101

garet Fallcr'3 biographer, Mr. Emerson. Pity that a ^ mountainonB me " aimomioedy with floorishiDg of trum- pets to deafen one, to be in travail with a new and more perfect Evangel, should invariably present the hopefully- expectant world with a tiny ridiculus mus / Mr. Emerson says, '< the unpleasing oast of her features was increased by a disagreeable habit of opening and shutting her eyelids, and the nasal tone of her voioe/' This last peculiarly- national characteristic ought not, in fairness, to have been flung in Margaret Fuller's face, plain as it may have been. The home-nurture of "Mountainous Me was not a judicious nurture. Mr. Fuller, who, though a thorough business man, prided himself upon his knowledge of Greek and Latin, no sooner ascertained that his daughter had a capacity for retaining words in her memory, than he deter- mined to rigorously educate her according, to the classio and now well-nigh exploded formula. The child was relentlessly drilled into a knowledge superficial' as, except in rare instances, suc^i knowledge, if it deserve the name, must necessarily be. When only six years old, she could read Latin — at seven OreeL The intellectual and moral education of Margaret Fuller had been accomplished. She knew the names of many things in three languages at least, and her mind had been elevated,* purified by th^ study of Ovid's Metamorphoses, Martial's Epigrams, and other dassicality. Mr. FuUer, a rigid Puritajl, had no objection to his daughter amusing herself duriin^ the inter- vals of Sabbath worship vrith that refining literature ; but when he caught Mai)garet on a Sunday afternoon with a volume of Shakspeare in her hand, he was exceedingly wroth. To read Samlet on a Sunday was profanity — a desecration of the holy day. Gould she not be content with Catullus or Petronius Arbiter? The pride of being able to react, however haltingly, imperfectly, Greek and

102 ECOENTBIO PERSONAGES.

Roman anthors in the original, strangely blinds men to the filthiness of many classic writings.

The stem discipline which compelled incessant stady of Qreek and Roman literatore was equally enforced with respect to' other branches of learning, and the consequence was broken health, hectio nerrousncss, and spectral illusions. She would frequently start up in the night-and flee shriek- mg from the horrible shapes with which her overwrought brain peopled her bed-chamber. Positive iosanity might probably have been the result, but for the soothing influence, the compassionate tenderness of her mother, to whose worth Margaret Fuller testifies in a passage which does honour both to Mrs. Fuller and her daughter:

'< My father's love for my mother was the one green spot on which he stood apart from the commonplaces of a mere bread-winning existence. She was one of those fair and flower-like natures which spring up even beside the dusty highways of life— a creature not to be shaped into a merely useful instrument, but bound by one law with the blue sky, the dew, and the floric buds. Of all persons I have known, she had in her most of the angelic— -that spontaneous love for every living thing — ^man and beast and tree — ^which restores the golden age."

Windy exaggeration this, no doubt, but redeemed by filial love. And what were the first-fruits which this stemly-enforced semi-pagan education produced in Mar- garet Fuller ? Chiefly a belief in the influence of the planet Jupiter, in omens, in sortesy fl talismans, and in the occult power and- signification of precious stones. " When I first met with the name of Leila," wrote this transatlantic prodigy of intellect — this Mountainous Me — "when I first met with the name of Leila, I knew it in a moment, and said ' it is mine.' I knew that it meant night — night which brings out* truths."

MARGABET FULLEB. 103

Margaret Fuller herself was a precions stone of the masoTiline gender — a living oarbancle! Carbuncles, she said, were of two kinds, male and female. <' The female casts oat light, the male has light within itself. Mine is the male." When writing to friends for whom she had a strong r^ard, Margaret Fuller always put on her finger a male carbuncle. If she were writing to less-yalued acqu^ntance, she would tise an onyx or amethyst. She was, moreover, a firm believer in the mummeries of Mesmerism. A pet project of Mountainous Me was to get up a female congress in Washington as a rival to the male bipeds who congregate in the Capitol, — ^herself to be president, because, I suppose, of her quality as male carbuncle. The assembly would be female carbuncles casting out light ; but a president, whose chief duty it would be to keep order, maintain the decorum of debate, could require only the inner light. This serious silliness appeared at one time to have a chance of being adopted, and lively controversies, pour et contre, were printed in the American papers. The notion was perhaps not more ridiculous, more absurdly American, than the institution of baby-shows. It, however, like the babies, fell through.

All this while her contributions to the not very luxu- riant literature of " the greatest nation on the face of the universal airth " were criticisms written for the New York Tribune and the Dial, poor pretentious stuff about upon a par with Horace Greeley's p^tical articles. John Sterling, son of the real old original Thunderer, whose life Carlyle has written, was, according to Miss Fuller, a poet of the highest order, Longfellow a mere rhymester ; Beethoven's music she declared to be the sublimest expression of which the soul of man is capable, and distinct, positive, literal in its meanings as-human speech ; an old, long-since exploded

104 EGOENTBIO PEASOKAOES.

Gkrman eztrayagance, the assamption being 'pretty nearly BB tenable with respect ta music, as of colour, perfume.

And yet the woman who could write such outrageous folly was, for a long period, the observed of all observers in the literary circles of Northern America — ^the lion^ or should it be lioness — of bas-bleu coteries. The literati of the New World acquiesced with deferential recognition in

ithe truth of her self-estimate, when before a numerous company she said, " I am acquainted with all the people worth knowing in America, and I have found no intellect comparable to my own. Mr. Emerson says he was both delighted and astonished at her talking gifts. Surely there mtut have been something in this much-bepraised woman, although written records of her " philosophic eloquence," if they ever existed, have been lost or mislaid.

Miss Fuller was a teacher in several establishments of high standing, and she was accustomed to say, with the quiet assumption of superiority which habit had made natural and easy to her, looking down upcm her audience as she spoke from the lofty stilts of a self-conceit unmatch- ablo in this used-up Europe, " that she had formed the minds of hundreds of young girls and men upon the model of her own unmatched intellect, as closely as natural inferiority would permit."

There was no intellectual •achievement to which Miss Fuller, if we are to take her at her own valuation, was not equal. Like Horace Oreeley,.of the New York TribunCy she was a zealous protectioiAk, and more than once expressed a wish that she might be a member of the British bouse of Commons, in order to have an opportunity of extinguishing once and for ever the free trade orators of that assembly — Sir Robert Peel, Richard Cobdcn, John Bright, and others.

One Sunday morning it was announced at the chapel

MABOARET FULLER. 105

frequented by Margaret Puller that tlic minister — one of the great pulpit-guns of a distant State (Illinois, if I remember rightlj) — ^had been seized with sudden illness, and as there was no substitute immediately available, the service would only consist of prayers and psalms. This was a great disappointment to the crowded congregation. Margaret Fuller beckoned to the chief office-bearer after the minister of the chapel, and offered to preach a sermon. Taken by surprise, the bewildered gentleman wonderingly acquiesced. Margaret Fuller mounted the pulpit and de- livered a very eloquent oration, — quite as well, however, suitable to a temple of Jupiter Olympus as to a Christian church. This bold dhnarche of strong-minded Margaret Fuller was notflatteringly commented upon at the time ; but social religious life is very crowded in America — extravagance succeeds eztravagance-H)ne pushing out the other in endless succession, and impulsive Miss Fuller's escapade was soon forgotten. One of her friends has affected to doubt the truth of the story. I must not omit to mention that a few weeks after the death of her father, of cholera, in 1835, a calamity under the influence of which her proudly-worn mantle of self-glorifying arrogance fell partially off. Miss Fuller, divesting herself for the nonce of her paganish fantastic eccentricities,' warmly interested herself in behalf of the miserable female outcasts shut up in the prison of Sing-Sing, and on Christmas preached from the text, << The bruised reed he will not break ; the smoking flax he will not <Pench." About this time she enunciated in the columns of the Trxbuneh&r belief that had ShoUey lived twenty years longer, he would have become a Christian, and so have attained the mental harmony neces- sary to him. The filthy rags of philosophic paganism woveii by Jier early studies were falling off, giving to view the white vesture beneath them of a Christian maiden.

106 . EOCENTRIO 'PERSONAGES.

Margaret Fuller, finding teaching — ^but especially writing — was mighty dead work/' that much study was a weariness to the flesh/' determined upon visiting England in company with a Mr. and Mrs. Spring. This was in 1847. Before leaving America it was arranged that Margaret Fuller, in a series of letters to be published in the Tribune, should repay with compound interest the libels on the social life of the wondrous republTo perpetrated by such malignant stribblers as Frances Trollope, Charles Dickens, and others. I will lay bare, anatomise that monstrous sham, English society," wrote this formidable damsel ; " and I regret that the keenness of the sacrificial knife may be perhaps dulled by the memoxy of an English lady, the first angel of my life, whom I met with in youth. But private feeling must yield to public duty." Alas for England I

Before following this very singular lady to the old worn- out country, I may relate a few anecdotes of her early youth at the time when she made the acquaintance of "the first angel of her life." '

Her first vivid experience was, she says, one of death — the death of a sister, " a sweet playful child, in whom death and life were alike beautiful/' a bitter, enduring sorrow. ^ There can be no doubt that there was in Maigaret FuUer a fount of womanly tenderness — sympathy which, allowed free play, would soon have swept away the incrus- tations created by a radically-vicious education overlaying a true and generous spirit. #

Her meeting and brief acquaintance with the English lady, " first angel of my life," the recollection of whom would, she feared, blunt the pomt of the sword intended to sxnite England under the fifth rib, I shall describe in her own words:

" I was reading Guy Mannering^ and my eyes were

MABQAKET FULLER. 107

wet and dim with tears drawn forth by the loss of little Eenrj Bertram, when an English lady of surpassing beanty^ on a brief visit to that part of Amerioa, observing me, approached and accosted me. She did not question, but fixed on me looks of beantifol love. She did not speak many words; her mere presence was to me a gate of Paradise. I laid my head against her shoulder and wept, dimly feeUng that I must Jose her and all who spake to me of the same things-^that the cold waves would rush over me. She waited till my tears were spent, then rising, took from a box a bunch of golden amaranths. They were veiy fragrant. ' They came to me,' shQ said, 'from Madeira.'. The departure of the lady threw me ' into a deep melancholy, from which I was with difficulty roused. I kept the amaranths during seventeen years. Madeira for long, long afterwards, was pictured in my imagination as an Island of the Blest. And when ships sailed past the coast, their white wings glancing in the sunlight, I fancied they must be bound to happy, fortu- nate Madeira T'

This erratic young lady did some audacious things, but they were always dictated by a generous spirit. She, when about sixteen, was on a visit to an aunt and cousin, Mrs. Paulding;^and her "datight^, who resided about ten miles frouL B^ton.' Mis. Paulding's only son, Arthur Paulding, had not long before married against his mother's consent. It appears that his mother's decided aversion to the match was not m much caused by the wife's inferiority of social position, as that her family h^ grossly insulted and defrauded Mrs. Paulding's deceased husband. The widow was inexorable, and mentally roistered a vow never to forgive^ never to willingly set eyes upon her son — never, if he were starving, to afford him the lightest assist- ance. The rash yousg man veiy soon had preadng need

108 ECCENTRIC PEBSONAOBS.

of pecnniary help. He w&b desirous of going west with his young wife, but had no means adequate to the purchase of a wagon, horse, implements, and many things essential to such an enterprise. He wrote many letters to his mother, asking foigiveness and money. His sister Caroline sympathised with him, but could do nothing. A letter &om him arrived when Margaret Fuller was on a visit to her aunt and cousin. It was a request for a loan — ^merely a loan--of five hundred dollars. The letter was read by Mrs. Paulding, and cast contemptuously aside.

" * Caroline,' " sud Margaret Fuller, having previously taken care to place the appropriate carbuncle upon her finger; '<< Caroline,' " said Margaret to hJ&r weeping cousin, '^ 'you must «Qt in this monentous afiair for aunt, ' for your mother's better self. She will live to bless you for so acting. From Arthur's despairing, bitter letter, I fear poor Arthur — and we know his impulsive, yet positivo disposition— will commit suicide. That would kill your mother by slow, lingering torture. You write aunt's letters, draw and sign her cheques. Well, draw one for the five hundred dollars in favour of Arthur. I will deliver it to him with my own hand, and make some ex- cuse to prevent his writing to acknowledge its receipt. Aunt is rich; she never examines her banker's or any other account, leaving all to you : you are, we may assume, your mother's only 'child. Her money, regarded from a moral point of view, is as much yours as hers. It is your duty, your positive duly, to do for aunt that which, temporarily dominated by unreasoning passion, she refuses to do for herself.' — Much more I uj^ed to the same tune; and finally prevailed with Caroline, by the power which strong natures exercise over weak ones! The cheque was drawn, and I myself placed it in Arthur's hands. About two months afterwards my aunt was attacked with serious

MABGABBT FULLER. 109

and, it was &ared, mortal illness. The approach of Death, whose dread step she fancied sounded nearer and nearer eveiy honr, awakened, not alarm only, but remorse in her bosom. She bethought herself of the outcast Arthur ; and calling Caroline to her side, bade her at once send Arthur one thousand dollars, and assure him of her forgiveness. A cheque for five hundred dollars was sent immediately, and the matter was happily terminated. I believe that I rightly advised Caroline.

The voyage to England was a pleasant ^ne : Margarot Fuller brought with her numerous letters of introduction to Carlyle and other literary, celebrities of the land which she had promised to smite with the flashing sword of her incomparable wit and sarcasm She carried out that promise to the best of her ability. Her letters on Eng- land are certfunly not more stupid nor half so malignant as the rantipole rubbish lately written and pitted by Hawthorne.

Margaret FuUer rather patronised Thomas Carlyle. She seemed to> admit that the author of Sartor Eesartos" might almost take rank with the writer of Woman in the Nineteenth Century." No other English man or woman could she for a moment think worthy of being placed on so lo% a pedestal. Of English society, Englieb manners, English people generally, Maigarot Fuller, who had thoroughly gauged, analysed that " compound of sham," during her ten days' sojourn in England, spoke with seren- ity — superior, good-naturod disdain — ^la that nasal tone of hen, and with full play of the unpleasant habit of opening and shuttmg her eyelids. France was much more fortunate than England, but for no Frenchman or Frenchwoman did she feel such esteem, such adniration as for Madame Dudevant (G«ozge Sand). She, if you like, vras a model

110 ECCENTBIC PfiRSONAQES.

woman, craelly maligned, especially by her nm^erous loverB, who must have known better than the outside world how good, amiable, charming she was, not perhaps according to the orthodox standard of an obsolete world, but judged by her own transcendental sense of right and wrong and the eternal fitness of things. Margaret Fuller had at last found an intellect equal to her own, or pretty nearly so.

Miss Fuller having exhausted, finished with France in something less than a fortnight, determined to visit and dissect Italy. There an event befel which saved the land of Dante and Tasso from being withered up, as England had been, by Margaret Fuller's scathing pen.

A Marquis, — a real live Marquis, — ^the Marquis Gio- vanni Angelo Ossoli, made Margaret Fuller's acquaintance at Rome. He was a disciple of Mazzini, a Republican pur tang, and an idolater of the famous republic destiaed in the near fulness of time to absorb the universe. No wonder that, although the illustrious Marquis was miserably poor, was never quite sure that he would be given this day his daily bread, was unaoqusunted with books, destitute of enthusiasm, and remarkable only Ibr good .sense and good temper," he should have found favour in those ever- lastingly opening and shutting eyes of Margaret Fuller. Would not she by acceptance of that hand of his— empty as it might be — ^become the Marchioness d'Ossoli ? Ah I if it were ever worth whilo^ which I doubt, to catch in a matrimonial sense a strong-minded woman imbued with stern republican principles, you can find no surer bait than a title. Ladyship is a great thing — but Marchioness I good heavens I The Marquis d'Ossoli knew veiy well what he was about ; a well-principled, gifted woman, if a little given to strange fancies, whose facile pen commanded a considerable revonue — ^in Italian estimation, was not so bad a prize to draw, in the lottery of marriage. The

MABQARET FtTLLEB.

Ill

'Mailj-bread " difficulty would bo got rid of; and the end was that Maigaret Fuller became (1848) Marchioness d'Ossoli. The happy pair intended to leave almost imme- diately for the then United States; and the following paragraph went the round of the American papers : '^ Our highly-gifted countiy-woman Margaret FuUer, now Mar- chioness d'Ossoli, is expected to arrive with her husband, the Marquis d'Ossoli, at New York, in the course of the next month."

Circumstances detained them in Italy — ^the Marchioness d'Ossoli became the mother of a fine boy, who was baptised Angelo, after his father. Marriage and maternity wrought a marvellous ehange in the lady. The supercilious pedant disappeared, and in her place was seen a true, trustful woman. An American lady acquainted with her since she was a child, and who had often been repelled, di^nsted by her haughty self-sufficiency and petulant temper, was astonished at tlxe transformation : '^ How unlike is she to the Margaret Fuller of former days I The masculine intellectual gladiator ready to challenge all comers, is now so delicate, so simple, so confiding, so affectionate, with a true womanly heart and soul, and, what was to me a still greater surprise, possessed of so broad a charity that she could cover with its mantle the faults and defects of all about her. There could scarcely be a more striking illustration of the great truth, that a woman^s natural, / liealthful life is the Christian life.

The revolution broke out in Italy. The Marquis d'Oasoli, an enthusiastic Mazzinian, was drawn into the vortex, and the Marchess, fully sharing her husband's political principles, cheerfully accepted the office of direct- ress of one of the hospitals for wounded soldiers during the si^ of Bome by the French— one of the blackest

112 ECCBirCBIO PERSONAGES.

Bpota in the pages c£ the history of France, in which there are very many black spots.

Rome capitulated — ^yielded after a valiant, stubborn resistance to overwhelming force. Garibaldi, his true wife Anita, with a remnant of his gallant followers, had previously lefb the Eternal City ; and the Marquis d'Ossoli, who was deeply compromised, reached Florence in safety ; the Marchesa, with her darling Angelo, soon joined him. - They remained in Florence till May, 1850, supported in modest respectability by the proceeds derived from con- tributing to the American press by the untiring pen of the Moichesa d'Ossoli. The lady pined for home, to again embrace her mother; and on the 15th of May, 1850, the husband and wife, with their infant son and a servant of the name of Celeste, embarked * from Leghorn in the Elizabeth, an American barque, James Harley, master. Forebodings of shipwreck, common to continental lands- men, haunted the mind of d'Ossoli, and, from sympathy, I suppose, were shared by his wife. D'OsaoU recalled to mind that he had been warned long since to bewarerof the sea, an injunction which almost all inland Italian mothers address to their sons. The Maiohesa appears to have feared chiefly for her son, lest " he should be de- voured by the howling waves or die in unsolaoed iUness. For herself she took very high ground indeed. I am quite content," she wrote, — ^'^I am quite content, if it ihoidd be thought I need so much tuition in this planet, to stay my threescore years and ten; but it is borne in upon me that my earthly career will soon close. It may be terribly trying, but will not be a very prolonged agony; Ood will transplant the root if He wills, to rear it into fruit-bearing." She prayed that if one was doomed to perish, all three — herself, husband, and son^-might die together.

MAROAfiET FULLSB. 118

Her prayer was granted. On the morning of the 16th of July the Elizaheth, an ill-hnilt, unskilfnlly-handled fihip, after labouring through the night in a fierce hurri- cane, went ashore on Fire Beach, off the Jersey coast, America. Mr. Channing, in his graphic, solemn narrative of the afflicting catastrophe, says : — After twelve hours' communing face to face with Death, a sea struck the for^ castle, carrying with it the deck and all upon it — the steward and Angelo were washed upon the beach, both dead, though warm some twenty minutes afterwards — Celeste the servant and d'Oasoli were caught up for a moment by the rigging, but the next wave swallowed them up— Margaret sank at once — ^when last seen she was seated at the foot of the foremast, clad in a white night- dress, with her hair fallen loose upon her shoulders.

Thus untimely passed away a gifted, high-principled, eccentric woman, who, for the healthy development of her very considerable powers, seems to have required but a prolongation of the better, the natural life which she had but recently embraced. Let iis hope that the belief em- bodied in a sentence of hers, penned during the vigoxir of life, sustained her in the trymg death-hour: "1 have faith in a glorious explanation which will make manifest perfect justico, perfect mercy, perfect wisdom.'*^

THE EARL OF PETEB30R0UGH.

The names of Cromwell, Marlborough, Wellington, are household words ifi the country which gave them birth; but how many Englishmen, speaking in a comparative sense, are familiar with the marvellous, if eccentric, career of Charles Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough and Mon- mouth, as daring a soldier as either of them ? — the man to whom it is mainly owing that the magniloquent boast of Louis XIY ., when he supposed his grandson the Duke of Anjou would asc^d the throne of Spain, and by the French monarch's aid maintain himself thereon, There are no longer Pyrenees," became an empty vaunt

ihe date of the birth of this remarkable man was 1658, or thereabouts. His father was a zealous royalist, but Charles, Lord Mordaunt, the son, long before he had lived to manhood, hated and despised the restored Stuart, Ejng Charles II., and his brother James, Duke of York. In his eyes they were both contemptible, worthless men. The military and naval glory of England, achieved under Cromwell excited and inflamed his imagination. " The Protector's Burial," he once observed to Algernon Sidney, '< was, it is sidd, a grand afiGEiir ; but what funeral honours ever paid to a hero could be compared with the thunder of De Ruyter's Dutch cannon in the Thames— echoing the shouts of a vile populace shouting in triumph over the exhumed bones of Cromwell and others, gibbeted by order of the second and worst Charles Stuart 1"

THE EABL OF PETERBOROUGH. 115

A sparo small man was the great earl — spare and small as Nelson, but, like the great admiral, of an un- conquerable, fiery spirit. He was the firm friend of Algernon Sidney and Lord William Russell, and pas- sionately resented the murder of those true heroes. Nevertheless, he managed to keep clear of the clutches of the law. Judge Jeffreys himself could find ho pretence to hang him, ardently as he desired to do so. There is a laughable anecdote which may account for Jeffrey's baffled anxiety to weaye a hempen necklace for Lord Mordaunt. This happened before the judge was raised to the judicial seat, at least I conclude so, though the data upon which I ground this supposition are confused and contradictory.

Jeffreys, I have io say, whether barrister or judge, courted, not honourably, a peasant lass living as servant to a Mrs. Curtis, at Parson's Green. The girl's name was Sophia Crowe. Jef&eys had made an assignation with the silly wench, who was to meet him at some place near Ful- ham, in a hack-coach which he would send for her. By some means the young Lord Mordaunt became acquainted with what was going on. The Gentleman^ s Magazine opines that he was smitten with the damsel himself. At all events he took care that the assignation should not be kept. Possibly he made a confidant of Mrs. Curtis. Be that as it may, Sophia Crowe did not keep the appoint- met, and Lord Mordaunt did. The coach was to arrive at an appointed spot at a particular hour — evening. It did so, and a nicely-attired young lady, but wearing a thick muffler, was in waiting. She gave the signal agreed upon, entered the coach, and was driven off to London. Jeffreys welcomed the lady with rapture, and presently found that the charming damsel upon whom he was lavishing his endearments was — Lord Mordaunt ! Very provoking, one must admit.

116 ECCEITTBIO PERSONAGES.

A rerj wild dip was Charles, Lord Mordaimt. Ad- mitted behind the scenes of courtly and clerical life — such as that courtly and clerical life was in the days of Charles 11., he was early an entire sceptic, not only as to the Pivine Eight of Kings — ^but Revelation. It may be doubted that he believed in a future existence. He had a sovereign contempt for '< popular preachers.'* One would fancy he was writing about Mr. Spurgeon when he says — after the great and learned Selden, by the way — " To preach long, lo^d, and damnation is the way to be cried up.

They love a man who d s them, and then run after

him to save them. This fatal scepticism — open, avowed scepticism — ^made him innumeral>le enemies, and was one main cause of his disparagement by the chroniclers of his time. He had, it seems to me, something of Percy Byashe Shelley's spirit, .though not gifted with poetic genius. He would in a spirit of antagonism have torn up and cast into the furnace all the creeds in the world, though sadly con- scious that there was nothing which could fill their place. The whole family would appear to have been afflicted with the like bigotry of unbelief; the despair of a future. Philip Mordaunt blew his brains out after inditmg the following doggrel:

" L'opiam peat alder le sage ;

Hals, Belon mon opinion, ^ U lai fant an lien d'opinm

Un pifltolet et dn conrage.

Both Charles and Philip Mordaunt were members of the " Hell-Fire" club — an association of " noblemen and gen- tlemen" who not only discountenanced Christianity, but engrafting stupidity upon scepticism, denied the existence of a Creator. Blasphemy has never been so rampant iu England— has never raised its brazen front in high places

THE EABL OP PETERBOROUGH. 117

with sach audacity as during the reigns of the sons of the Stuart of pious memory — ^whose execution for high treason in making war upon his people^ if we are to accept the dictum of cleiio flunkeyism^ can only be expiated by the consumption of salt fish and e^-sauce on each succesdve twenty-ninth of January.

• Charles, ,Lord Mordaunt, led for some years a wild, eccentric life. At eighteen years of age he fell into a love-craze for a pretty actress of the name of Barton, and had she not been a wife, though living apart from her hus- band, might possibly have married her. As it was, the young lord joined the compiCny of strollers to which she belonged, passing under the name of Nepas, and played Benedict to her Beatrice at Worcester with tolerable success. The love-fit passed away; and the young nobleman, aware that the chief cause of the temporary dissolution of patnership between Mr. and Mrs. Barton was the <' woful want o' siller," visited the husband at his lodgings in Great Titchfield Street, London, and bluntly proposed to make him a present of five hundred pounds, upon condition that he returned to cohabitation with his wife. Mr. Barton gladly consented, and, for aught that appears to the contrary, they lived afterwards happily together. Lord Mordaunt had borrowed the money upon his personal bond.

At last an opportunity was afforded of entering upon the state of life for which nature had fitted him. The depre- dations of the Barbary pirates upon British commerce had reached such a height that even the pusillanimous Govern- ment of Charles II. found itself compelled to send a fleet to the Mediterranean under the command of Sir John Narborough. The mode in which Blake had dealt with those gentlemen was to be feebly imitated. Lord Mor- daunt vohnteered his services; ihqr were accepted, and he

118 ECCBIfrRIO PBRSONAGES.

joined the Engli^ 8quadxx)n. Sir Jolm Narborough was uot Blake, and little was done except by an attack with boats under the command of Lieutenant^ afterwards Sir Cloudesley Shovel, in the harbour of Tripoli. The Algerine corsairs, moored under the shelter of batteries and armed with, for that age, powerful artillery, deemed them- selves perfectly secure, there not being sufficient depth of water for the much heavier EngKsh ships to close with them within cannon-shot. The corsairs were mistaken. The English boats dashed on to the attack, the pirate ships were carried, captured, burned, and one of the foremost in the fray was Charles Mordaunt. He is true metal, and if he has a chance will go far," remarked Cloudesley Shovel in one of his letters.

Mordaunt had no opportunity of going far " at that time. The heart of England, tested by the Government of England, had ooUapsed — at least was only capable of slight, spasmodic action. Peace at acy price was advocated in the Sybarite court of Charles II., as it is in the couriiels of a noi^, if in an essential sense utterly uninfluential, party of the present day. Lord Mordaunt had i^o option for a man of his temperamect but to plunge again into the licentiousness and laxity of London life.

But a better time was coming. The Stuart incubus would be speedily thrown off. Charles II. outwardly pro- fessed Protestantism during his scandalous life, though he died with the Host sticking in his throat ; but James II. honestly avowed him^lf to be a Roman Catholic. The dynasty was doomed ; and no one saw that with clearer insight than gay, giddy, reckless Charles Mordaunt. The marriage of the English Princess Mary' with William of Orange naturally attracted the eyes of the English people towards that prince, and Lord Mordaunt was one of the first of eminent Englishmen who went over to Holland to

THE EAKL OF PETERBOROUGH. 119

endeaTour to prevail upon William to make a deacent npon England, and free her from the yoke of a Papist king. The prince listened, bat could not commit himself by a positive declaration. The English atmy, numbering forty thousand men, he remarked, and commanded by Lord Churchill too (ailerwarda Duke of Marlborough), would be far too many for such Dutch troops as he could transport to England. The English army, Mordaunt assured him, would not fight for James. Churchill himself was disaf- fected. The prince gave heedful audience to all that Mordaunt had to say ; but the young gaHant returned to London, unassured that the Prince of Orange would really embark in the enterprise of delivering England, and placing the greatest crown of all the earth upon his brow. The enterprise, not at all an audacious one, was, we all know, finally resolved upon by William of Orange. James was the mere simulacrum of a king. His tnoops, who, had they been willing to fight for the Papist kmg, would have made short work of the Dutch deliverers, deserted James ; ^ the nation had withdrawn from him ; and that which is known as the glorious revolution of 1688 was accomplished with the utmost facility. Lord Mordaunt played his part — ^not a very conspicuous one — ^in the drama, but does not appear to have gained much favour at court. No com- mand of importance was offered him, and he again subsided into the restless unrest of London life.

An amuflipg anecdote is related as having occurred just about the time of the flight of James. Mordaunt was in love — it may, indeed, bo doubted that he was ever out of love. Mordaunt was in love with a lady who had a fancy to a beautiful canary belongmg/to the proprietress of a coffee-house near Charing-cross, and insisted that her noble lover should at any price procure it for her. Lord Mordaunt endeavoured to do so, but the landlady refused

120 ECCENTRIC PERS0NAC(£3.

to part with her pet for any Bom of money. The lady insisted. He must bring the canary, or not presume to see her face again. Thus goaded, Mordaunt hit upon a clever expedient Searching the depots of bird-fanciers, he found a canary closely resembling the superb songster which had so charmed his lady-love; but it was a hen canary, and could not chiprup a note. Hastening to the coffee-house, Lord Mordaunt contrived to get rid of the land- lady — ^a Catholic, and devoted loyalist — ^for a few minutes, and adroitly substituted his female for the male canary. After a considerable time, he called at the coffee-house and asked the proprietress if she did not r^ret having refused the handsome offer ho had made for her bird. Oh dear, no," said the woman, "he is more precious to me than ever; for do you know that since our good king was compelled to leave his kingdom he has not sung a single note I"

Here is another freak of his. Driving along Bong Street, Covent Oarden, in his coach, on a muddy day, he noticed a comedian dressed out in extravagant fashion. The man was. probably going to dine with some grand friends. The sight stirred the bile of Mordaunt, who at once stopped the coach, sprang out, and drawing his dress- sword, pricked the astounded player, principally in his calves, "which were out of proportion," till the man, despairing of rescue — there were no day-police in those good old times — and running for his life, slipped down, and was bcmired in the slush of the street. Lord Mordaunt sheathed his sword, helped the bedevilled player up, and on the morrow made such ample money amends that the player said " the mad freak of the eccentric lord was about the best benefit he was ever likely to get."

On the 19th June, 1697, Charles Mordaunt succeeded to the earldom of Peterborough. Stirring events cast

THB £A£L OF PETERBOBOUGH. 121

their shadows before. The death of William III., the ac- cession of a woman, Queen Aone, to the English throne, was deemed a fit opportanity for realising the dream of Louis XIY. — ^that he was destined to restore the empire of Charlemagne — not immediaiiely, perhaps, in its entirety — ^but to a great extent.

The "Grand Monarque" was much mistake. The Queen of England happened to have in her service two great men, the Duke of Marlborough and the Earl of Peterborough. Her valiant soldiers and seamen would be well commanded, and to discerning eyes the horizon was bright with the coming gloiy of England.

England, victorious England, met Louis XIY. in the Low Countries, under the guidance of Marlborough. In Spain, the Earl of Peterborough trampled into dust the pretensions of the French king to annex practically Spain to France.

An expedition was prepared in 1705 at Spithead, and placed under the joint command of Sir Cloudesley Shovel, Lord Gharlemont, and the Earl of Peterborough. The military force consisted of between three and four thou- sand men. They were an undisciplined set of men, but being made of the true soldier-stuff, somethiag might be made of them under energetic leadership.

The destination of the force was Barcelona, Spain ; and its purpose was to assist Charles III. in resisting the pre- tensions to the throne of St. Ferdinand of Louis XIV.'s grandson.

The expedition was only saved from ignominious failure by the eccentric earl. The fortress of Monjuich commands Barcelona, and Lord Gharlemont, Sir Cloudesley Shovel approving, decided that the English force was utterly inadequate to storm it.

The Earl of Peterborough demurred to that ooonsel,

122 BCCBNTBIO PSRSONAQBS.

and resolved to &8certaia peisooaUj if the defences of Monjuioli were so utterly unassailable as was asserted. To do so, he disguised himself as a peasant — a French peasant— chaiged with conveying to the commandant of the fortress a written message in cipher. The letter written in cipher was not fictitious. Lord Peterborough had intercepted, but not opened it. A courtesan of Bar- celona, with whom he had formed acquaintance, informed him that the Count BeauviUiers, disguised as a peasant, was the bearer of an important missive to the commandant at Monjuich, and would sleep at her house. The Earl's measures were swiftly and silently taken. Monsieur le Comte BeauviUiers was rudely awakened at the dead of the night, and hurried away to strict confinement; the missive, or letter, having of course been taken possession of. It was from the Spanish Ckueral Las Torres.

Armed with that document, Lord Peterborough boldly presented himself at the citadel, was admitted, and the genuineness of the document he carried being kqown to the governor of the fortress, not the slightest suspicion was fdt. The supposed Count BeauviUiers was treatea with the highest distinction, and allowed to roam at his pleasure over the castle. He soon came to the conclusion that Monjuich could not be carried by open assault, and returning to the English camp, agreed with Charlemont that the enterprise was a hopeless one, and that the troops ought to be at once re^mbarked. Preparaliona to do so were immediately commenced. The garrison of Monjuich were thus thrown completely off their guard, and whilst lulled in that fool's paradisd, and keeping slack watch and ward, were surprised in the night by the Earl of Peterborough, who, stealthily creeping up to the walls under cover of night, succeeded in surprising and master- ing the garrison. The capital of Catalonia was lost to the

THE BABL OF PETEBBOBOCOH. 123

French Pretender to die Spanish crown. Charles UL wrote the Earl a yerj complunentary letter upon his bold and fortunate aohievemont. Lord Charlemont did not second Peterborough's daring. He was left alone in his glory. He practised, and, as far as I know, was the inventor or originator of a new system of war-tactics. The problem to be solved was, how he, with one hundred and fifty dragoonS| could drive the army of Las Torres, numbering some ten thousand men, out of Valencia? Bather a hard nut that to crack. Peterborough did it. His entirely unscientific strategy was to despatch a few of his troopers, previously well instructed, and whom he could trust, to the enemy's lines. They were deserters, and informed Las Torres that an army, thrice as strong as his own in numbers, was advancing rzqpidly, in the hope of taking him at a disadvantage. A few dragoons, the advanced guard of an overpowering force, would herald the approach of that overpowering force. The device succeeded. The army of Las Torres, panic-stricken at the s^ht of the " advanced guard " of dragoons, fled pre- cipitately, and Peterborough, by like artifices and dash, daring, consummate skill, his renown, rapidly attracting thousands to his standard, released the northern provinces of Spain from the Anjou yoke, and rendered, as I have before remarked, the grandiloquent phrase of Le Orand Monarque — " Jl n*y a phis de PyrinieB " — ^an empty vaunt. But it is not my purpose in this paper to dilate upon the military skill of the Earl of Peterborough — to sketch, however briefly, his wonderful Spanish campaign. It was successful; Charles III. owed his crown to the English earl. That is eulogy enough. It is the end which crowns the work. Earl Peterborough, though a disbe- liever in the inspiration of Scripture, could not deny the truth of one of the sacred texts— <' Put. not your trust in

124 BCC1&NTRIC PERSONAGES.

princes." The rccomponse for bis great services was a royal request that he would quit Spain. The Spanish officers were jealous of the great Englishman. It was ever thus. The Conde de Toreno, for a short time Prime Minister of Spain, wrote a book a few years ago to prove that the great battles in the Peninsula, where England met Napoleon, were mainly won by Spanish soldiers I But the other day an official paper, published at Vienna, enraged with Lord Palmerston for his denunciation of the atrocious aggression upon valiant little Denmark by the two preponderant German powers — great in no sense of the word can they be called — said that after all there might be some truth in Baron Muffling's assertion that it was the Prussians who really won the battle at Waterloo — Prussia, that had not one soldier killed in the conflict, which finally checked, for nearly fifty years, the tide of French impetu- osity and success. This, however, by the way.

Lord Peterborough was, fortunately for himself, not dependent upon the favour of kings. He returned to England, took his seat in the House of Peers, and made a short, sensible speech there, when an attempt was made by the right reverend bench of bishops to pass an Act of Parliament making it penal to speak against the Thirty- nine Articles. "I am content," said Lord Peterborough, " with a parUamentaiy king, but I refuse to acknowledge a parliamentary religion — ^a parliaihentaiy Qod."

Like many other men of original genius, he appears, notwithstanding his military proclivities, to have held the gewgaw glories of the world very cheap. High," fashion- able society wearied and. disgusted him. He was in the habit of taking long walks into the country, and upon one occasion met with a remarkably pretty girl, with whom he was much struck. She was the daughter of a miller, one James Smithers, and a modest, worthy girl. On the

THE EABL OF PETBRBOROUGH. 125

following day Lord Peterborough, ^ying the name of Oopp, and attired in homely fashion, presented himself at the mill, obtained an interview with James Smithers, and offered a laige sum — the amount is not specified — ^to be taught the art and mystery of the miller's crafl, making, no doubt, some plausible excuse for the request, which was complied with;- and Charles Mordaunt, Earl of Peter-, borough, under the name of Bichard Copp, positively worked in a mill near the village of Wheatstone, for several weeks, in the hope of ingratiating himself vrith Jane Smithers. He did not succeed ; '^ pretty Jane was engaged privately to the son of a neighbouring farmer, and one fine morning it was discovered that she had secretly married a week previously. The Earl was fiercely wroth, and in his rage revealed his rank. One can hardly sup- pose that John Bunt, the successful rival, and husband of '^pretty Jane," would haye appropriated the miller's daughter had the Earl tempted her with a coronet. As it wa^, he had not only lost his love and the money- premium paid to the miller, but got himself laughed at, sung in ballads, and altogether made to cut a very ridiculous figure. The authenticity of this anecdote has been questioned ; but there can bo little, if any, doubt of its essential truth.

The celebrated soldier was soon again over head and ears in love. This time the lady was Miss Anastasia Bobinson, a singer on the public stage. The Earl was so struck with her charms that he immediately sought an introduction. This was refused; the noble lord's character being but too well known, and the beautiful Anastasia a young woman of virtue and high principle. She lived at Chelsea with her father, who always escorted her home. He was but a feeble man, who could only afford her moral protection. One night, at one of the most

126 BOCESmtlO PERSONAGES.

• i

solitary spots on the road to Ohelsea, at that time really a saburban village, their hack-coach was stopped by two craped horsemen, and their purses demanded under pain of immediate death. The lady was fainting with fear, when the gallop of horses rapidly approaching was heard, and the yisored ruffians fled in apparent terror and dismay. The horsemen ^soners were the Earl of Peterborough and two of his servants; the pretended highwaymen also were his servants. His lordship's introduction to Anas- tasia Robinson was thus effected under very favourable 4;ircumstances; though one can hardly believe that so shallow a device — the precedent circumstances considered -—could have imposed upon a lady, of whose clear insight of men and things the Earl thought so highly : She reads a love-swain," he wrote, in his usual affected style — <' she reads a love-swain as easily as she does a lov&«>ng."

Deceived in the highwayman affair or not, the Earl could only obtain Anastasia Robinson by making her his countess. They were married ; but, to the Earl's dis- honour, he insisted that the marriage should be kept secret, and the Countess of Peterborough, whilst openly living with her husband, continued to sing on the stage as Anastasia Robinson. This gave occasion for a striking dramatic incident. The lady happemng to tread upon the professional toes of one Signer Senesimo, that individual taunted her with being the mistress of Lord Peterborough. The insult was bitterly resented. The Earl happened to be in the theatre — ^probably behind the scenes — ^when informed by his wife of what had taken place. Signor Senesimo had gone on again, and was flourishing away in a favourite bravura^ when he was suddenly assailed by Lord Peterborough, and most unmercifully caned ; the audience, though ignorant of 'Hhe reascm.why/' greatly applauding such an unexpected episode in the opera. They knew that

THB EA3L 07 PETERBOROUGH. 127

the assailant was Lord Peterborougli, and that he was caning an Italian foreigner. Sufficit After this incident, the marriage of the Earl to Anastasia Robinson was acknowledged, and the Countess retired from the stage.

The marriage was kept seoret so long for no better reason, it appears to mc, than that Peterborough was laying pretended siege to the heart of Mrs. Howard — the mistress of Gkoige the Second, and by him created Duchess of Buffolk. The Earl's fulsome lore-letters, written, no doubt, for the purpose of obtaining, through the favourite's influence, some employment in which he eould win addi- tional honour or fame, haye been published, as have also the lady's answers. The Duchess fooled him to the top of his bent. Her vanity may have been gratified ; but the great soldier's honeyed phrases did not beguile her into a belief of his smcerity. She accepted his homage, but did not, for a moment, think of rewarding it — ^and the ridicu- lous correspond^ce ceased without the Earl profiting in the slightest d^ree thereby.

The dreams of ambition faded away — ^the eccentric, wayward, defeated life of the Earl of Peterborough was drawing to its dose, and he withdrew with his good and faithful wife to a residence on Serb Mount, about a mile distant from Southampton, and commanding a view of some of the most charming scenery in the world. There he for a time rallied in both mental and bodily health. It was but the last flicker of a lamp of which the oil is spent. Advised that a warmer climate might benefit him, he embarked for the Azores, and died during the voyage out. The last object upon which his glaamg eyes were bent was his wife ; the last name which trembled on his Up was hers^ Anastasia I

SIB SAMUEL SMITH,

ATTORNKT AT LAW.

The first start in life, apon his own aooonnt, of this Eng- lish worthy and true gentleman — a life which exceeded by five years, within a few days, the orthodox span of man's existence — ^was an unpromising one. It lived but faintly in his own memory. He recollected, dimly recollected, that he once lived in a pretty house, was nicely dressed, and that having been put to bed as usual, he upon awak- ening found himself id a donkey-cart, wrapped in rags. He must have been about five years old, not perhaps quite so much, and bemg terribly frightened, b^an to cry bitterly. This, a man and a woman in the cart, whom he had never seen before, put an inmiediate stop to by cruel chastisement. They gave him nothing to eat but bread, which his stomach rejected, for which daintiness of appetite he was again severely beaten. Sleep, as darkness drew on and the earlier stars glinted forth, relieved his misery, and when he awoke, the donkey-cart was motionless and empty, standing before a house in which loud revelry was going on — a public-house, no doubt The street was crowded with people, and the poor little boy contrived to creep out at the back of the cart, drop with much hurting himself on the pavement, and ran off with the intention of getting back home. He had been running some time, becoming every moment more tel*rified, when, whilst passing a street, a brewer's dray ran against him. Ho

SIE SAMUEL BMITH, ATTORNHF-AX-LAW. 129

was knocked down, and remembereA nothing more till he found himself in bed in a strange place, sedulously attended to, and, though in great pain, comforted by the kind looks of the people about him. His right leg had been broken by contact with the dray, and he had bc^ carried to St. Bartholomew's Hospitd, Smithfield. The child's 1^ was set ; his blood was in a healthy state, and he got rapidly well When asked his name and where he came from, he could give no further information than that the gentleman's name was Smith, himself Sanmiy Smith. This gentleman came to see him sometimes, and was always cross. Once a lady came, who kissed him and anei very much. This was not long before he was kidnapped. There was but one servant kept in the pretty house, an elderly woman, who was very kind, but forbade him to ask any questions about any thing. He could not tell the name of the county where the house was situate, though he should be sure to know the place again. Barbara would, he was sure, cry bitterly when she found he had been stolen away. This was all. The rags he had on when brought to the hospital afforded no indication. The only course would be to send him to the poorhouse as soon as ho was fit to be removed.

This would have been done had not a casual nurse in the hospital, the wife of Edward Lov^ove, a journey- man watchmaker, who lived in Hosier Lane, Snow Hill, taken a fancy to the friendless boy, and having but one child of her own, a girl named Fanny, about his own age, decided, with her husband's consent, to adopt the little fellow. Fanny and Sammy grew up together as brother and sister, and received the same homely education. Inquiries were set on foot by the hospital and parish authorities, but without substantid result. One man called in the dusk of evening and left fifty guineas for

J

130 EOCENTRIO PERSONAGES.

Samuel South the foundling, together with a note expressing a wiah that the said foundling should be bound either to Lov^roTe himself or some other trades- man, to induce him honestly to earn his own bread by the sweat of his brow. The donor lefb no name. Once, in the dusk of evening, a lady clad in deep mourning, the lady who kissed him and cried, met him on Snow Hill. She seemed to have been waiting for him. She caught the boy up in her arms and almost smothered him with kisses, sobbing passionately the while. The gentleman " who was always cross " came up, and with angry words, " the meaning of which, except that they were angry words, I did not understand, took the lady away. A coach was waiting for them, into which they got and drove off. The lady had left a big purse in my hand. It contained fifty guineas. This was a godsend to my benefactor Lovegrove. He was, I afterwards knew from his own lips, much in debt (for him) at the time, owing to a fall in Church Lane, by which his right wrist was strained, and he rendered inca- pable of work for many months. This was a grand chance for me — ^though I could then have had no notion of its importance — to return the mighty obligation I was under to my honoured benefactor and benefactress."

Mr. Lov^ove thought to teach his adopted son the trade of watchmaking, but the lad felt no vocation for the business. For some years he had a mania for tending the sick in Bartholomew Hospital, whither he often accompanied his foster-mother, as we may call Mrs. Lov^rove. He had great tenderness for suffering, a heart readily responsive to the sad music of humanity, and became an immense favourite with both the professors and patients in the hospital.

This whim ^f the boy mainly determined the course of his life. Antony Firmin, an attorney in large practice,

Sm SAMUEL SmTH, ATTORKET-AIVLAW. 181

residing in* Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, whilst passing beneath or near to a scaffolding in East Smithfield, was knocked down and grievously injured by the falling upoa his shoulders of a hodful of bricks. A labourer going up a ladder had missed his foothold, fell himself, was killed on the spot (the man was drunk), and the bricks falling in a compact shower upon Mr. Antony Firmin's head and dioolders, prostrated that gentleman with terrible violence — ^made him bite the dust, in classic phraseolc^. An action for assault and battery would clearly have lain against the hodman had not the grim seijeant Death superseded it by his final ea-sa. Mr. Firmin was forthwith conveyed to St. Bartholomew's Hospital. The case was a serious one ; removal to the sufferer's own house impossible. "For seven weeks it was not certain that he would outlive the ' day or night ; Mr. Firmin was a bachelor ; had no relatives ; none, at least, who cared for him, or for whom he cared. Mrs. Lovegrove was his nurse ; but his constant, assiduous attendant was young Samuel Smith. The lawyer, discerning the intelligence of the boy, and appreciating his kindly nature, took a great fancy to him. The end so far was that Samuel Smith entered the office of Mr. Firmin as copying clerk; when older, and having proved his integrity, the young man was articled, the expenses being defrayed by his master, Mr. Firmin.

The vulpine, if eccentric intellect of Samuel Smith had found its true vocation. Mr. Firmin had a good criminal as well as civil practice. The former was chiefly attended to by Smith, and his success in getting up cases in defence of accused persona became notorious. He was not a valuable ally in prosecutions — ^very far from it ; and more than once was known to have privately ^ven hints to coxmsel for prisoners, to help to convict whom Mr. Firmin was fee'd, which led to their acquittal. When he had

182 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGSS.

convmoed Limself, rightly or wrongly, that a client was innocent of the imputed crime, there was no deyice to which he would not have recourse to free him or her from the meshes of the blind, iron law.

The case of Phoebe Somers will be remembered by those^who are fond of groping amidst the dusty records of the criminal courts. Phoebe Somers was accused of at- tempting to poison her master, Edwin Cartwright, a book- seller, established at 157 Holborn, and his family. Phoebe was a very pretty girl about seventeen years of age. Samuel Smith, then over twenty, fell in love with her at the first interview in Newgate. She, standing within the shadow of the scaffold, heard the young lawyer's avowal of enthusiastic passion with astonishment She, too, an illi- terate country maiden, '^ who could scarcely read, and could not write," — she readily promised to become his wife, his " true, faithful wife," if he should succeed in saving her from the dreadful doom which apparently awaited her.

The circumstances were peculiar." I do not remember to have read of a more complex, involved business. PhcBbe Somers being, as I have before said, a girl of singular beauty, found herself within a short time after her arrival in London from High Bamet, her native place, an object of attraction to her master, Edwin Gartwright, and to Joel Dunstane. Both were married men. Dunstano, a master- baker in Gray's Inn Lane, served the Cartwright family with bread. Cartwright and Dunstane had both married 3hrews — ^vixens. The criminal overtures of both the rascals were rejected with disdain by Phoebe Somers, who gave aotice to leave, but without informing her mistress of the reason why she did so. Thereupon a plot was concocted by Cartwright and Dunstane to entrap the beautiful orphan into their power. The GentlemarCs Magazine says there frere two single plots and one double plot. I do not

Sm SAMUEL SMITH, ATTORNBY-AT-LAW. 133

understand this. All which appears certain is, that Phcebe Somers was adcosed of attempting to poison the Cartwright family. The case in some particulars resembles that of Eliza Penning, whose judicial murder not so very many years since so strongly moved the national conscience. The Dean of Faculty, pleading at Glasgow for Madeleine Smith, charged with having poisoned her lover, Langelier, made it, will be remembered, effective use of that terrible catastrophe.

Phoebe Somers was, I repeat, accused of having attempted to poison the Cartwright family.

These were the circumstances: — PhoDbe Somers made a cake, a rich cake, the occasion being the birthday of Caroline Cartwright, a girl ten years of age, her father's eldest child. All who partook of the cake were taken ill, but not, as it proved, dangerously. Phoebe Somers did not eat any portion of the cake. There was nothing in that, as she was not allowed to eat pastry of any kind by Mrs. Cartwright. Neither did Mr. Cartwright eat of the cake, " though he was known to be fond of sweet stuff." The cake was eaten, every crumb consumed, and, as before stated, the consumers were seized with violent sickness, though of brief duration. A medical inquiry was ordered, and the conclusion arrived at was that poison — ^mineral poison — ^had been administered, and in the cake. There does not appear to have been any scientific chemical analysis of the contents of the stomach of either sufferer : but a con- clusive proof that mineral poison had been mixed up in the cake was held to be that the blades of the knives with which the cake had been cut had turned blue. This absurd conclusion was pronounced to be decisive by no less than three learned physicians — Doctors Forsyth, Leadbetter, and Jennings.

The dough of which the cake was made had been deli-

134 BCCENTRIO PERSOVAGES.

rered at tbe lionse by one Frederick Jenkins, a jonng man in the employ of Donstane. He had the same morning delivered other parcels of dough. They were all specially directed. A split flat piece of stick with the name of the customer written upon it was stuck into each lump of dough. This was all he (Jenkins) knew about the matter, sohe said; but 'cute Samuel Smith, who was in the police-court unnoticed, Mr. Firminnot havmg been then retained, after- wards recalled to mind the deponent's white face and his shaking speech whilst giving evidence.

Phoebe Somers was committed for trial on the capital charge of attempting to poison the Cartwright family. There was no great hubbub about the business. News- papers were few and guarded. It was very different from now, when rumours, tmsifted rumours, which practically prejudge the accused, take the wings of morning and fly to the uttermost comers of the earth. That gross injustice is a modem institution*

I now ^ve an almost literal transcript from Samuel Smith's diary. The spelling is changed, and a considerable amount of surplusage made up of lover-rhapsodies omitted. There is, however, quite enough retained.

" Christmas Day : I have now seen Phoebe Somers for the fourth time since we have been engaged by Mr. Barstone of High Bamet for the defence. Pity is, they say, akin to love. I think and' am sure it is. I first pitied the sweet girl, and now I adore her with an extra- vagant fondness. We understand each other. The deep, the unsuspected deep of a fount of tendemess in my heart is broken up. The ecstasy of a new joy overwhelms me. I know she was guiltless of offence— of the shadow of crime. I did not require her to assure me of that. I felt even annoyed that die should assure me of her innocence.

Sm 8AHUBL SMITH, ATTOB^TBY-AT-LAW. 185

Bat I am not tbe world. I must act, not dream. I shall straggle with fate till I come off victor. To dally with danger is to be lost

<< January 2ni> : Donstane has a servant lass of the name of Nugent, Sasan Nugent. I have met her several times at private theatricals in Greek-street, Soho. She goes out by the sly, and is a clever, unscrupulous devil, if I. am any judge of character. A comely lass too. Would like to be married to a theatrical husband, and go on the stage. I once played Romeo to her Juliet. She is of a warm temperament, and, for such a giri, represented the Vero- nese bride with fire and spirit The best of it is, that she only knows me as Greville Arlingford, my theatrical name, and believes me to be a young man of quality who has run away from his fine home in the country. I daresay that I, by hints and innuendoes, suggested that belief. She must have thought me a little crazed, too — ^not far wrong in that, perhaps. I always, when attending these private theatricals, dressed in fine fantastic attire, and sported a spruce young-beau costume hired for the occaaon. I was a favourite with her. I have not the slightest doubt she would condescend to marry me, did I solicit so great a favour. Something, I thought, might come of this inti- macy. My suspicions point to Dunstane, the more steadily that he has through this very Susan Nugent conveyed hints to Phcebe that he and he only can save her from the scaffold, clear her good name, and make manifest her innocence. This was very cautiously glanced forth — as one may say, conveyed — ^previous to the final commitment, to the prisoner by looks, nods, gestures, rather than by absolute words. Yes, yes ; Susan Nugent is in the black secret"

" This terrible business quite unhinges one. I feel as if

136 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES.

oppressed by nigbtmare. The world seems dark at noon- day. The weather, to be sure, is gloomy, even for this gloomy time of the year. I have seen Cartwright in my proper capacity as Mr. Firmin's confidential clerk. He is a thorough wretch, a villain of the deepest dye. With a diabolic leer, for which I could have stabbed him, he said it was possible he might be induced not to press the prose- cution. That would depend upon the young girl herself. I endeavoured to make him speak more ezplicitiy. He is too wily a fox for that. What is to be —what can be done ?

'^ I have met Susan Nugent by appointment in Hatton Garden. She is certainly a very clever girl. Somehow she seems to divine my thoughts. Her hawk-eye pierces through one like a sword. She has inquired concerning me of Mrs. Lovegrove, having by some means discovered who and what I am — ^that I am Samuel Smith, parentage unknown, possibly base, instead of Greville Arlingford. She is not, however, the less friendly. She seems to be governed by romantic crotchets. Fancies that I shall turn out to be a lord or lordling, and is ardently desirous of sharing my fortunes, shadowy as they may be."

" Nugent can save Phoobe Somers if she choose to do so ; I feel almost sure of that. It is a moral conviction only; but not the less firmly held. Frederick Jenkins, the lout who delivered the dough, is as madly attached to her as I am to Phoebe Somers. It is by him I think she would work out Phoebe's deliverance, if I would but pay the price."

A very fanciful price. Susan, I have said, has a notion that I am a stray slip (at the worst) of some grand family; and that some day I shall be converted into a rich, prosperous gentleman ; emerge suddenly from my grub-chrysalis state, and soar, like a richly-gilded but- terfly — she. Madam Butterfly, accompanying — ^into tho

SIR SAMUEL SMrj% ATTOBNET-AT-LAW. 187

empyrean of fortune and flisbion. Till that blessed time tihall arrive, which can hardly be anticipated till the third volume of this improvised Minerva-press romance of life approaches completion, vre can pass life charmingly away, having first been united in the holy bonds of matrimony, as Mr. and Mrs. Greville Arlingford, as first actor, first actress in a provincial strolling company of players. It is very comical. I laugh obstreperously — ^miserable as I am in mind. Susan is, however, perfectly serious; and knowing the strength of the ligature by which I am bound, has no doubt of being able to noose me. Truly I should be a precious prize.

Samuel Smith was, laugh as he might, securely noosed. The day of trial for FhiBbe Somers wore on. A true bill for the capital crime of attempting to murder the Cart- wright family was found, and the opinion of the counsel consulted by the prisoner's solicitor unmistakably fore-sha- dowed a verdict of " Guilty," with the r^ulation " sus. per col." to fojlow within forty-eight hours. In the good old hanging times, execution was done within that number of hours from the delivery of the judgment to die. The maker of a bill of exchange or promissory note had then as now three days' grace allowed, which clearly shows that the wisdom of our ancestors accurately appreciated the immense difference between the value of men and money.

The Old Bailey sessions sometimes lasted three or four weeks. The trial of Phcebe Somers would not come on in less than nine or ten days from the finding of the true bill. But what would avail that brief respite? Smith was in despair. Mr. Firmin did not believe there was the slightest chance of the deliverance of Phcobe Somers from the frightful doom of an intentional murderess. Very likely there were links in the chain of circumstantial evi-

138 SCCBNTBIC PEBS0NAQE3.

dence which, from the imperfect reporting of those daj^, have dropped out of the narrative. This I cannot hut think must have heen the case, as upon the face of the matter the evidence appears utterly insufficient, not only to warrant a conviction, hut to justify the commitment for trial.

There was hut one way. Samuel Smith finally deter- mbed to pursue that one way. He sent a scrawl hy a sure hand, requesting to see Susan Nugent at the Saluta- tion Tavern, Newgate Street, without delay. The girl came at once. The interview is given at great length by Smith, but the substance can be compressed into a small compass. It is a very queer story. Its truth alone makes it intercstmg.

Susan Nugent declared with a positiveness which im- posed upon Smith, that she could save Phoebe Somers, but her price was marriage with himt Overwhelmed with despair, and after an afflictive farewell with Phoebe Somers, he again met Nugent, and agreed to be her husband. The nuptial knot was to be tied on the morning of the day fixed for the trial. The marriage was celebrated at St. Sepulchre's, the Reverend Mr. Onwhyn officiating, at half- past ^ght in the morning. At about eleven the trial came on before Mr. Justice Goold, the Recorder assisting.

The proceedings will be best understood, and the stoiy told, by a summary of the examination of the witiiesses.

Gartwright called. Said he had partaken of a cake made by the prisoner. He was very ill afterwards. His wife and children, who had eaten of the cake, were also seized with violent pain in the stomach — ^retching. Had been informed that the cake contained arsenic.

Cross-examined by Mr. Serjeant Bowles: He was not aware that the prisoner could have any motive for poisoning himself and family. Had ho (the witness) ever solicited

SIR SAHUBL SMITH, ArrOBl^rET-AT-LAW. 139

the prisoner in an improper way ? Witness did not tinder- stand what was meant by the question. Sergeant Bowles : " Oh, no one can understand the question more clearly than you do, Mr. Cartwright." Here Mr. Justice Gould re- marked that Counsel must not make speeches under cover of cross-examination. " My lord, I made a remark, not a speech, or the fragment of a speech," returned Serjeant Bowles. " Well, well;" said the Justice, " go on." Ser- jeant Bowles to witness : " Did you ever solicit the prisoner in an improper manner?" "No." "Have a care, dr. Have you not done so indirectly ?" " No." " You have spoken with Samuel Smith, Mr. Firmin's clerk ?" " Yes." " Did you say it depended upon the prisoner herself whether or not you would prosecute?" "I do not remember." "You do not remember? That will do." Mr. Justice Groold thereupon remarked that he did not see what essential bearing the questions of Mr. Serjeant had upon the case. Mr. Seijeant retorted warmly. There was a sort of scene, which, however, does not appear to have lasted long. The trial proceeded. Dunstane was called. He looked pale and trembled very much. He said that the dough he had sent to Gartwright's was the same he sent to all other customers. He would sv^ear to that. Being asked and much pressed by Mr. Serjeant Bowles as to whether he had not given a powder to his man, Frederick Jenkins, to be mixed with the lump of dough to be delivered at Mr. Cartwright's, Dimstane fainted, and was carried out of court. Tho medical testimony was given, and though it was much shaken by the learned seijeant's cross-questioning, it evi- dently made a strong impression upon the jury. The c^se for the Crown was closed, and no one in the court doubted that the prisoner would be convicted. Mr. Justice Goold asked Serjeant Bowles what possible answer he could make to such a case. " My lord," said the Serjeant, " were I

140 ECCENTBIC PEBSONAGES.

allowed to speak I could make a sofficient answer, humble as may be my abilities, to the case for the prosecution, with- out calUng one witness for the defence, and " Mr.

Justice Qoold (interrupting) said, " I will have no speeches, Mr. Serjeant, in defence of felons." Serjeant Bowles : <' That is a remark which jour lordship ought not to have made." Mr. Justice Goold: "How? What is that? Po you presume to correct me ? <' I presume," said the seijeant, " to do my duty to the unhappy girl whose case is intrusted to me. My client is not a felon ; and no man, •though he be seated on the bench, has a right before con- yicUon to call her so." Here there was applause in court, several of the jury joining therein. Mr. Justice Goold rebuked them, and said he made use of the term " felon" not as specially applicable to the prisoner, but in the sense that counsel weie not allowed to address the court and juiy on behalf of persons accused of felony. After some further talk the learned seijeant called Susan Nugent. She was sworn by that name, though she had been married to Smith three hours previously. The young woman deposed that she knew her master, Mr. Joel Dunstane, had a liking for the prisoner, Phoebe Somers ; knew it from various circum- stances; also knew that he had sent to her to say that, " if she would promise to be kind" no evidence worth a straw would be brought against her ; she herself had taken the message. Frederick Jenkins could, however, tell all about it. He was Mr. Dunstane^s man. Cross-examined by Counsellor Sherlock : " Frederick Jenkins was a sweetheart of hers ?" " Yes." " Would do or say or swear any thing if he thought it would please her ?" " Did not know about that. Thought not." " You are going to be married to him?" " I don't see, Mr. Counsellor, why you should catechise me about that ; suppose I am, and suppose I ain't, what them ?" "You are a smart damsel." "Many better-looking men

SIR SAMUEL SMITH, ATTOBNET-AX-LAW. 141

than you have told me tliat." (A laugh.) Counsellor Sherlock had no more to say to the brighireyed, sharp- tongued damsel.

Frederick Jenkins, called by Mr. Seijeant Bowles. Said he was in the employ of Joel Dunstane. Bemem- bered taking a " lump of dough " to Mr. Cartwright's. His master and Cartwright were very intimate— very— K)ften talked together. One morning Mr. Dunstane called him into his private room. He said, " Fred, you want to marry Susan, and she won't have you ?" " Well, perhaps not." " I know," says he, "she won't unless you can get a litde money to set her up in some little way of business." " I said that waa true." " Now," says he, " can you be trusted?" "Yes," says I, "when it's worth my while." " Ah," says he ; "yes, and I'll make it worth your while.

Now," says he, " look here " Mr. Justice Gk)old, again

interrupting, sidd, " Be careful, young man ; be careful. I don't like your manner, I promise you. It is too glib. Be careful ; speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, — this you have been sworn to do; and remember that you have sworn to tell all the truth, and the truth only." The young man said he knew that very well. He declared that he saw his master mix something with the lump of dough which was sent to Mr. Cartwright. It waa a white powder shaken out of a blue paper — a little bag. " He did not know that I saw what he was doing. He afterwards told me to be sure that I delivered the right lump of dough to Phoebe Somers, Mr. Cartwright's servant, as it was made of very fine flour and mixed with miik instead of water." Witness promised to do so — ^tobe very particular. Did not think much of the matter at the time. Knew master had said to the prisoner's friend from Bamet— did not remember his name — that all would be right if she would promise not to be a fool.

142 SOCXNTBIC PBBSONAasS.

Upon croeuhezaminatioii, the witness said he had not mentioned the circumstanoe of having seen his master mx powder in tlie dough till he heard of the ilbess which had overtaken the Cartwright family ; and then, perhaps two or three days afterwards, to Snsan Nugent Susan Nugent did not advise him to go before the magistrate and state what he knew. She said he had better keep quiet She had persuaded him to come and '< speak up " at the trial That was the reason he had come, << Were he and Susan Nugent sweethearts?" "Well, yes." "Any thing more than sweethearts ?" Witness boggled and blinked, and said he didn't quite know. (A great laugh.) " Were he and Susan going to be married ?" " That's just as it may be." "No doubt as it may be, but when will it be?" Witness could not say, and wouldn't if he could. "It is no busmcss of Mr. Counsellor." "Will it be next week?" " Mayhap yes, mayhap no." " Susan Nugent is a parti- cular friend of one Smith, Mr. Firmin's clerk, he that is employed to defend the prisoner ?" " Smith is a sweetheart of the prisoner. He had told him so, and said Susan is a cousin of his, and had known each other from childhood. She (Susan) wished her well, and said that she could get her out of her trouble. Knew nothing about the white powder ; it might be sugar of lead, anything in creation, as far as he knew. Did not want to know either. It was no concern of his. What should the counsellor badger him so for?"

It is needless to dwell further upon the repor(r--the halting, imperfect report ot the trial. The result was the acquittal of Phoebe Somers, the jury, however, having takqn more than six hours to consider their verdict. Had the Scotch-jury system prevailed, "Not proven" would no doubt have been the verdict. The jurors would seem to have been neither satisfied that the prisoner waa guilty

6IB SAMUm BMHEU atiobnsy-at-law. 143

or iimocent; and it is possible that the chaige.of Mr. Justice Ooold, wliich was dead against the prisoner^ bj ex- citing a feeliDg of antagonism in the minds of tbe jury, may Lave helped to the liberating verdict. At all events, the testimony of Nugent and Jenkins had 43ast so much doubt upon the prisoner's criminality, that the jurors gave her the benefit of that doubt. * " "

So far Samuel Smith's oonduct, judged by ordinary rules, is intelligible enough. It is true that few young men would have married one girl whom he did not love for the chance of saving the life of another girl to whom, though he madly loved her, he must thenceforth be as a stranger — brother we will say. Still, in the exaltation of a fervid, romantic passion, such a piece of folly, shall we call it ? may be understood. But how are we to compre- hend Samuel Smith's motives for bolting away from Lon- don on the morrow of his beloved's acquittal, merely . leaving a brief note for Mr. Firmin, which duly stated that the writer was disgusted with the law and London, and should not again appear at the office. Dr. Southey has hazarded an opinion — ^which, however, the sequel of ^e story does not, as I think, bear out — that the evidence given on the trial — imperfectly, tamely, as I have said, reported — convinced Smith that Phcebe Somers was really guilty. In the distraction of mind induced by that belief he resolved to leave his familiar haunts for ever, to seek in new scenes oblivion of the past and peace for the future. Whether he took formal leave of Mrs. Lovegrove and her husband is not stated ; I should suppose he did, for he was warmly attached to them. . He may not have said upon what mad errand he was bound or with whom he was about to journey.

It is pretty clear that he left London about a week aflcr the acquittal of FboDbe Somers, without seeing the damsel

144 ECCEKTRIO PERSONAQES.

of his affections, and in company with his bride. Thcj departed upon a strolling expedition, and obtamed an engagement at Rochester, Kent. The acting was done in a bam, or large outhouse. The salaries, were not very magnificent, we may be sure, and not so regularly paid as ^vidends on Consols. The pair managed to live, exist, vegetate, durii^ three years and upwards, at about the end of which period Samuel Smith appeared as clown in Richardson's booth in Bartholomew Fair.

He was then the father of two children, who were taken care of by Mrs. Lovegrove, whose loving kindness for her enfant trouvi was constant and unabated. The wife, towards whom Samuel Smith appears to have comported himself with unvarying kindness, finding from doleful experience that she had no real paying talent for the boards, had taken service with a family of the name of Sawkins in Cheapside.

Mrs. Lovegrove — ^her husband was dead— grieved to the heart to see her adopted son figuring as clown at Bartho- lomew shows — ^his clown name, by the way, was Rayner — took upon herself to see Mr. Firmin, the attorney. She found wifeless, childless Mr. Firmin in a state of rapidly- declining health. He had made inquiries after Smith without success, and was much grieved and disquieted about him. He at once penned a letter, which he gave Mrs. Lovegrove to be delivered to Smith without delay. Every thing was to be for^ven and forgotten. Samuel Smith was requested and implored to return to the office ; a liberal salary would be secured to him, and a homo proyided for his wife and children. Smith, thoroughly tired of his Bohemian existence, accepted the offer, resumed his former empbyment, cohabited again with his wife, had his children home, and lived happily with them. Mr. Firmin died and left the business and a laige sum of

Sm SAMUEL 8MITH9 ATTOBir£T*AT-LAW. 145

money to Samuel Smith — all he possessed, with the excep- tion of some trifling legacies. Samuel Smith, attomey- at-law, was a moderately rich man, with the prospect of bcoomiDg much richer.

Sad misfortunes, which we are truly told come not single spies, but in battalions, befel him. His wife-— a good, loving wife-nrickened of fever and died. Mrs. Lovegrove caught the infection, and soon followed Mrs. Smith to her long home. Then the children in quick succession were carried to their graves. Samuel Smith was a lonely, melancholy man.

. He had not heard ofPhoDbeSomers since he left London, a few days after her acquittal ; had made, as I take it, no inquiry after her — at any rate, only occult inquiries, which led to nothing. But it may be presumed she had never been absent from his thoughts.

Mr. Firmin had left many bundles of papers, which Smith examined at his leisure. They chiefly related to bygone, concluded transactions, which possessed no mterest, and were burnt as soon as read. One evening, while so engaged, he lit upon a note, much less discoloured by age than the others, which gave him a real heartquake. It was in the handwriting of Phoebe Somers — a sorry scrawl which he knew wdl. It was a request for money assistance. . Mr. Firmin had relieved her before, but she had been unable to obtain a situation, the verdict of acquittal not having efiiaced the stain of guilt which public opinion had branded her with ; and this was a humble, very humble, request for further aid. It was also asked if any tidings had been heard of Samuel Smith. There was no address ; if there had been one, it must have been torn o£ A mcwi. in Mr. Firmin's hand was subjoined to the letter : ^'I shall send the poor creature two guineas. She will

146 ECCXNTBIC PJSBSONAGBS.

sooD, I fbar, be on tlie town. Poor thing ! poor thing 1 But I am afraid she was guilty, and 8o must S. have thought, or why did he ran away ? "

This fragment of a paper was too mnch for Mr. Samad Smith. He had reeourae to all sorts of agencies—had bills posted, one of which is to be found in the British Museum, describing her, with, I should suppose, much flatteiy. It was all in yain ; he did not hear of her, ner the faintest inkling of her whereabout She was dead, probably ; had passed from crowded life, unmarked, un- cared for. I

I shall not add another line of my own. Sir Samuel Smith must himself conclude this^ I fear, tedious and assuredly not very lucid narrative.

" The business grew apace : I made money rapidly. But glitter of gold is not sunshine of the soul. Odd, too ; but I was a very odd fellow, oveiy body said. Odd, too, that I gained much of my money by that very oddness. That peculiarity took this shape, at least this was one of its shapes. I used to bunt about the purlieus of the two big theatres, about Banelagh, peep under gay ladies' bon- nets in the hope of discovering her beneath, at whose glance the latent fire in my heart had leapt to flame. This behaviour of mine excited curiosity-— caused amuse- ment. < He, that youngish-looking man in green spectacles (coloured spectacles were a new, a comparatively new invention)— that youngish-looking man, but he is no chicken,' I have heard people say, *ia Mr. Samuel Smith, Attomey-at-Law. He, don't you remember ? who con- ducted the great suit of Tredgold versus Cummins, and was complimented in open court by the Chief Justice.' ' Ah, I know : a queer card, ain't he ? Something wrong in the upper works? Something about a woman ?'< Very likely.

SIE SAMUBL SMITH, ATTORNBY-AT-LAW. 147

but I don't know.' That is about a £ur samplo of the remarks upon my angular self I used to hear.

'< But I oould not find Phcftbe Somers. Though I was most anxious about that girl — I could not help thinking of her as a girl, though at the time I am now writing she oould not have been much less than fortf . I come to the crisis of mj life. Any one, any unfortunate who had a grievance or a supposed grievance that might be redressed, came to me. I obtained great praise, as all the world knows, for undertaking the suit of Charlton versus .Charl- ton, the defendant one of the richest men in Suffolk. He married privately, but by regularly published bans, Mary Shepherd, a pretty, nice gurl, under the name of Rogers* He thought to evade the obligation of marriage by that shallow device. I showed him the contrary — ^no gre^t merit on my part. No man can avail himself of his own wrong. But I am babbling — ^a bad habit, though it is only upon paper. The only thing was that I had con- ducted the suit at my own cost and risk — ^very unprofes- sional, no doubt of that.

" I was sittbg in my private-room one afternoon, chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies — ^the former very faint, scarcely discernible— when a clerk amiounced Miss Danby. I bade-him show the lady in.

" Miss Danby was young, very young-*-not more than' eighteen. / 1 judged that at the time, and knew so after- wards. She was dressed in half-moumiDg, and wore c thick black veil. I invited her to be seated, and presently she lifted her veil. Heavens I how startled I was I The lady was Phoebe Somers, young, fresh, radiant as when 3 first saw her. To be sure the radiance was somewha* eclipsed by the atmosphere of Newgate, but its starli* pxirity pierced through.

<<<Mis6 Somers!' I exclaimed impulsively. ^No, sir

148 ECOSNTBIO PEBSONAOES.

my mother's maiden name was Somen. I come &om her to you/ I sank — ^fell hack into a chair, oTcrwhebned with ft ruah of emotion. Her mother 1 The train of ideaa aet b motion by that word swept through my brain like lurid lightning ; and, ridiculous fool that I was, I burst into a passion of tears. !f hat ever a middle-aged man and lawyer could be such a spoony, b^gars belief — ^fact, nevertheless.

<' I at first listened to EUen Danby's story like one in a droam. I heard what she said, but did not catch, realize the sense, the meaning. My thoughts were far away. I was living again in the old time. Rousing myself, I apologised for my inattention, and asked her to bcgm again.

<^ ' My mother, Mrs. Danby, I was saying, sir, is vezy ill, cannot leave her bed. My father is also indisposed. You appear to be suffering, sir. Shall I go away, and return after a while T

"'No, no,' I said, 'goon; a sudden spasm, nothing more.'

" < My mother only knew where to find you a few weeks ago, and then by the merest accident (The business had continued to be carried on as Firmin and Go.) You once rendered her the greatest service, she says, that one person can render to another, and in addition she owes entirely to you the splendid position she has occupied for twenty years, and from which, if you cannot help us, she will be cast down. My mother thought to have written and sent you a full statement of the trouble she is in, but after- thought su^ested to her that I had better call and have a personal interview with you. (I understood that quite well. Phoebe Somers knew the effect which the apparition of her second-self would have upon me.)

' Oo on, Miss Danby, go on. But first tell me what

BIB SAMUEL SMTEHy ATTOBNST-AT-LAW. 149

jmi meant bj Baying that Mrs. Danby ow€B to me the splendid position she has occupied during the last twenty years.'

' The explanation is very simplci mr. A huly who, as I understand, took great interest in you when you were a child, having seen reports ,in newspapers — ^newspapers which mentioned your name in connection with the infa- mous accusation brought against my mother— endeavoured to find you out. She was then a widow — '

"* Her name?'

" ' Mordaunt ; Mrs. Mordaunt of Beach Hall, Essex. Not being able to obtain news of you here, sir — you had gone away, as I understand, no one knew whither — Mrs. Mordaunt sought and found my mother. The result was that Mrs. Mordaunt engaged her as companion. The time passed ; no one heard of you. Archibald Danby, Mrs. Mordaunt's nephew, fell in love with my mother. They were married with Mrs. Mordaunt's full consent. They have lived happily together. We are nine children, sir. Nme : mother has not lost one. Do I pain you, sir?'

" * No, no ; go on. Why do you come to me?'

" ' Mrs. Mordaunt) sir, died about a twelvemonth since, loaving all the property to my mother. An elder nephew of hers— elder to my 'father — ^has now stepped in, and claims every thing as heir-at-law. It appears that by ante- nuptial settlement,' continued Ellen Danby, reading from a memorandum in her hand, — 'it a{^>ear8 that by ante- nuptial settlement between Julia Royston and Philip Mordaunt, it was agreed that only in case of their dying without issue could the survivor dispose by will of the property.'

<< < Well, yes; I understand* Go on again, I say.'

t50 EOCENTBIO PERSOHTAGBS.

<< < My mother, sir, believes tliat you are the irae, direct heir — that the property is yours.'

" * What do you say? Your mother belieyes that I am the direct heir of a Mr. Mordaunt? What mockery is this?'

" * It will, I hope,, he found to be no mockery, sir. But you had better, sir, read this paper— drawn out by my mother — ^yourself.

I read it, and ridiculous donkey that I was, should have passionately kissed the writing — ^well known to me — but for the young girl's presence. The substance may be briefly stated : Mrs. Mordaunt's marriage had been a clan- destine one, contracted in defiance of the well-known will of Philip Mordaunt's father. The consequence was that I, the offspring of the union, was brought up in conceal- ment, and called by the name of Smith. There were doc- uments, it was said, which would prove that I was the legitimate heir.' Mrs. Danby, having by accident heard that I was alive, and where I was, had determined upon appealing to me. She preferred being in my hands rather than in those of Sir Qervoise Mordaunt, the grasping nephew, who was the eager claimant for the estates.

^' After the affair was, l^ally speaking, finally disposed of-^^ny legitimacy and heirship proved — I, for the first time, ventured upon a visit to Beach Hall. Phoebe Spmers (Mrs. Danby) was but slightly changed. What the Americans describe as an Indian summer — ^a summer of the soul — shed its light, its mellow Ught^ over her well- remembered countenance. The children were charming children, the husband a mild-mannered man. All were depending upon my fiat. Never shall I foiget the thrill of ecstasy which flashed through me as, rising to depart, I presented Mrs. Danby with a. Deed of Gift, conferring

SIR SASCTTEL 8MITH9 ATTORNET-AT-LAW. 151

upon her the whole of the property, real and perBonal, to which I had been proved to be the heir 1 Never !

"After all, though people have called me madman, eccentric dotard, and all sorta of pleasant names for so acting, I made no Tcrj wonderful sacrifice. What did I want with the three or four thousand a-year derived from the Mordaunt estate? My business is a lucrative ono— * very lucrative. I am rich. Ellen Danby's marriage-por- tion was a handsome one. I danced at her wedding. Shall I hope to do so at the wedding of her brothers and sisters? Danby and I are cronies, and it is agreed that when I leave off business I shall take up my abode at Beach Hall."

Mr. Samuel Smith was knighted in reward of his suc- cessful exertions in the case of Throgmorton vernu the Earl of Bute.

AMAZON SNELL.

Thxbi is no denying that the glare and glitter, the pomp, pride, circomstanoe of war, hare » strong fascination for the great mass of mankind ; ay, and not only of men, but of women. There are thousands of nndereloped Joannes d'Arc, Maids of Saragossa, in the world. It is useless to indite homilies in rebuke of this propensity. No sylvan pipe ean stir the blood, or quicks the pulse, as does a trumpet. If the teachings of the New Testament hare failed to bring about effectiye abhorrence of war, the Society of Priends, now the fast-diminishing disciples at a fallen faith, may well despair of the task. Amazon Snell was one of such bellicose girls, but has not, like the French and Spanish heroines, been so fortunate as to have her exploits celebrated by a Lamartine and Byron in magniloquent prose and verse. Amazon Snell's eccentric heroism will have a far humbler chronicler, though her courage was as great, her patriotism as ardent^ as those of the maids of Orleans and Saragossa.

Amazon Snell by popular, Hannah by church baptism, was bom in Fryer Street, Worcester, in 1723. Her &ther was a hosier and dyer, and she was one of a family of nine children, three sons and six daughters, all of whom, with one exception, became soldiers or sailors, or the better- halves of soldiers and sailors. The sensible exception, Mary Snell, married one James Gray, a house-carpenter, who finally settled in Ship Street, Wapping, London.

They were a very martial family ; enthusiastic partisans

AMAZON SNSLL. 153

^f the Protestant saccessron, and inveterate haters of the expelled Stuart dynasty. Samuel Snell was the first to enlist, and got his quietiu at the battle of Gulloden. It was a stirring time. The, << Pretender " was as great a bugbear to the simple English folk of that day as Bona- parte was some sixty years agone. Mrs. Snell was a good ballad-singer ; had a fine, if not highly cultivated voioe, and mainly educated her children by warlike songs. Hannah had also a fine oijgan, but cared little for music except that of the fife and drum. The young girl actually organised a company of boy-soldiers, nominated herself captain, and used to parade the city of Worcester at their head. It was thus she earned the sobriquet of Amazon SneU. She was a good-looking damsel and captivated the affection of one of her youth-soldiers — the son of a principal goldsmith established in Worcester — ^to such a degree that his father's suspicion of the .danger to which his only son was exposed being aroused, he insisted upon the discontinuance of the amateur soldiering and the acquaintance of the too attrac- tive Amazon. The poor youth fell ill, and so seriously that the alarmed father sent for Mrs. SneU, waived his opposition to the match, and took his son into partnership as soon as he attained his twenty-first year. It wanted but about seven months till then. The doctor had said it would have a beneficial effect upon his patient if Hannah would see him. Mrs. Snell was in ecstasies. Such a match could not have been hoped for. Her husband was equaUy delighted. The fortune of the family was made, Mr. Sawyer being reputedly worth twenty thousand pounds at the very least, and ailing — ageing too, very fast. He was a widower, and had no other child. It was thought he would, being senior alderman, be elected to the dignity of mayor in the following year. An immense lift in life this for the Snell family. WeU, yes, it looked so ; but

154 ECCENTBIO PEBfiOKAGES.

the same agency wbicli " gave the injBuit world a shog," and famished a theme for the Paradise Lost, npset also this iroman's promising project. Amazon Snell — Sneil is a disagreeable name for a heroine; but it cannot be helped — ^Amazon Snell consented to visit her rich lover— she did so. The cordial proved effective, red elizir-vit», and Sawyer, junior, was soon convalescent. Not for long. The enamoored swain had not comprehended^-certainly had not fully appreciated — ^the force of eccentricity which prompted a young woman to form a company of juvenile soldiers, and march at their head— drums beating, flags flying-^through the streets of Worcester. He no doubt looked upon it a[s a passing romantic whim — something to make merry about daring their blissful honeymoon. He was dreaming in a fool's paradise, as so many of us have done in the mommg of life, <' when the blandishments of passion, to quote Johnsonian pomposity, <'take the reason prisoner." Amazon Snell, as soon as he was quite recovered, suddenly checked his rapturous aspirations by the announcement that she would never be married except to a soldier. The insipidity of trade-life disgusted her. Gould he prevail upon his father to obtain him a commis- sion in a horse or foot r^ment ? If he could, she would be his wife, follow him faithfully to the wars ; if not she would remain single. Sawyer, junior, who had not the sli^test vocation for soldier-life, decidedly demurrod to such a proposition. The world, with all its substantial comforts and elegancies, would be theirs. Why on earth, therefore, should he dress himself up in a red coat for the express purpose of being shot at ? The Amazon expressed her profound disdain of such unheroio reasoning. He, Charles Sawyer, was, it was quite evident, *^ of the earth —earthy," and no fit mate for her. The amazed lover appealed to the daman's parents. They were quite as

AUAZOK SKBIfL. 155

indigttant as he, and angrily romoDStrated with their' daughter upon her folly. But the warrior-soul of the Amazon was no more to be subdued by parental threats than mollified by a lover's tears. Feeling that coeroive measures might be had recourse to, the damsel set off, voiihovt beat of drum, for London, and took refuge with her sister, Mrs. James Gray. This was in 1741, when she had consequently reached her eighteenth year. The wilful girl was not reclaimed by father or mother, and the forsaken lover consoled himself, before many months had passed, with a wife of less combative proclivity. A good exchange, in a marital sense I mean, with all respect for the Amazon's heroic qualities.

While staying with! her sister, Hannah made the acquaintance of one Jan Summs, a Dutch mariner, belong- ing, as she believed, to the Dutch Military Marine. This was an infamous deception. Jan Summs, so-called, was really Jan Spyk, who had run away from his home and entered as a common saOor on board the Jung Frau, a ship hailing from Rotterdam. Happenmg to make Hannah's acquaintance at Wapping, and struck with her comeliness, he and she, mutually deceptive, it is asserted (though how the bride, residing at a ship-carpenter's in Wapping, could have assumed to be any thing better, in a worldly sense, than she was, is difficult to understand), were married on the 16th of January, 1742. After a few weeks' cohabit- ation, Jan Spyk disappeared, and was nev^ seen by his wife again.

The Amazon in due time gave birth to a child, which opened its eyes upon another world, after having unclosed them upon this a few hours only. Deserted by her husband, for whom she appears to have felt a real affection, and impa- tient of her actual position, Amazon Spyk borrowed a suit

156 BCCEKTRIC PERSONAGES.

of James Gray's clothes, had them altered to fit her own person, walked off withoat acquainting any one with her purpose or destination, and found her way, after enduring much hardship, to Coventry. Oeneral Guise's regiment was stationed there. The Amazon enlisted in Captain Miller's company, in the name of her brother-in-law, James Gray. The new reoruit was oft at drill, and got through her duties creditably, but came to great grief through an act which reflected honour upon her. One of the seijeanta of her company, named Davis, had a design upon some poor and pretty girl in Coventry, whom he proposed to seduce under promise of marriage. The Amazon knew he wis married already, and privately informed the girl that he was, requesting, however, that the name of the informant should not be disclosed. This condition was not adhered to. Serjeant Davis discovered who it was that had " betrayed his confidence,*' and resolved upon taking a signal revenge. It waa easy in those days of martinet militaiyism to inflict almost any amount of punishment upon a '< common soldier," at the suggestion of an officer whether commissioned or non* commissioned. It was thought essential to the discipline of the service that a charge preferred by an officer against one or more of the men should, without more than a formal inquiry, be visited with condign punishment Serjeant Davis accused James Gray of insubordination, neglect of duty, &c., and the unfortunate aspirant for the honours of war was sentenced to receive one hundred lashes. This sentence was rigorously recorded upon the Amazon's back. This first instalment of ^^ glory" was very distasteful to the valorous woman. But for shame, she would have returned to Worcester, or, at all eventa to her sister, Mrs. Gray. Reflectrng, however, that the glorious profession of arms could not possibly number in its ranks many Serjeants Davis or Captains Miller, she would seek service in some

iJCAZON SKBIL. 157

Other corps. The Amascrn aocordingly stole off and tradged on to Portsmouth on foot.

There was a great danger to be enoountered. The deserter would be actively pursued, and if retaken, death, or worse punishment, would oertainly be her fate. "If, peradrenture, my sez did not save me ; I had dependence upon that, remembering the case of Charlotte Watkins. That gave me courage."

The day was already high when the Amazon, about five miles out of Coventry, saw a number of pea-pickers at work. She had gone across fields, and the locality was a solitary one. The pea-pickers, that morning, it being the month of June and very hot, had divested themselves of their outer dothing, which they had deposited under a hedge. Mrs. Jan Spyk took the liberty of exchanging her Boldier-eoat for one of the rustics', and so disguised went on her way rejoicing. She arrived safely at Portsmouth, enlisted as a marine, and was in a few days drafted on board the Swallow, sloop-of war. There she might have been comfortable enough, had not the sister of a marine, Beuben Cheeres, who came frequently on board to see the brother, taken a violent fancy to her. So violent a fancy, that when George Henshaw — the Amazon's new alias — she had an undo of that name^^repulsed her advances with perhaps inconsiderate rudeness, the love-sick damsel jumped overboard. The young woman was saved with difficult, but refusing to be comforted, Mrs. Jan Spyk was compelled to reveal the secret of her sex to the half- demented maiden. The cure was, of course, instantaneous ^-complete ; and the confidence reposed in the girl was not abused.

It was not long before the Swallow was ordered ip join Admiral Bosoawen's fleet, then stationed in the West Indies. The Swallow was an unlucky vessel. Twice she

158 SCCEinBIO PBES0VAQE9.

had to put back to Portsmouth from stress of weather, and when at last she proceded on her voyage, sprang so targe a leak, that it was with difficulty she made Lisbon. There the Swallow, after having undergone a thorough repair, continued her voyage, and ultimately joined Bos- eawen's squadron, which had received orders to proceed to the East Indies. It arrived at Madras, and there dis- embarked the troops and marines on board. Mrs. Spyk was soon in the thick of the fight with the French. Her first serious experience of war was not, to ordinary appre- henfflions, a very exhilarating experience. She was put to work in the trenches, and had hardly been so placed five minutes, when a cannon-ball smashed the head of a marine who was working by her side. This man, Richard Perkins, had been her especial friend as well as constant comrade. She was besprinkled with his Uood. " This baptism of death made me furious. I caught up the slain man's loaded musket-^mine was uncharged as it chanced, took steady aim at the oannonier who fired the gun, and ahot him dead. At least I supposed so, as he fell backward with a yelling scream."

Amazon Spyk received five wounds in about as many hours. Only one, in the groin, was serious. It was, ci course, impossible to consult the r^imental surgeon, if she would conceal the secret of her sex. The brave woman had recourse to the aid of a native woman who had a reputation for skill in surgery. The ball ihis ex- tracted, the Amazon recovered her health ; but the un- faithful black doctress disclosed the secret of her sex to Captain Mellor. That gentleman became in consequence importunate with the charming marine, and before long so much inflamed that he offered her marriage. The Amazon frankly told him she was already married, and that her husband, she had no reason to doubt, was alive.

AMAZON SKmii. 159

Thereupon the gallant captain appears to have waxed wroth; and to avoid hia persecution the Amazon Spyk absconded^ and after Buffering much danger, and passing through many vicissitudes, reached Bombay. The details of her journey are wanting. At Bombay she entered as ' a common sailor in the Elthom man-of-war, commauded by Captain Lloyd. Misfortune still pursued the mis- guided woman. She was accused of stealiug one of the seamen's shirts, and flo^d; the shirt was subsequently' found. Captain Lloyd expressed his regret for what had' occurred. The ship put in at Lisbon, and there the Amazon, having revealed her sex, was at her own request discharged.

Amazon Spyk must have saved some money, as she remained in Lislxm over three months without employment. She then entered as a common sailor on board a vessel bound for Oenoa. There she fell into the company of Dutch seamen, one of whom being questioned by her as to whether he had ever heard of Jan Spyk, replied that he did know Jan Spyk, who about a twelvemonth previously had been hanged at the yard-arm of his ship, the Jung Fran, for inciting the crew to mutiny. The relator was one of the crew, and always having been friendly with Jan Spyk^ the latter *' conversed with him earnestly before his execution. Amongst other confidences, he said that that which troubled his conscience, and lay heaviest at his heart, was a circumstaDce in his life which occurred in England. He had there married a beautiful girl of the name of Hannah Snell, and after a short time cruelly abandoned her. The litUe property that he possessed — watch and chain, twenty-five Dutch ducats — ^he had left with the captain of the Jung Frau in trust for his English wife.

This queer story rests upon the authority of the Amazon

160 ECCSKXRIO FBBSOKAOES.

herself; who says, after << a great pother "she obtained the watch and money.

The Amazon returned to England, got a regtdar dia- chaige from the aervioe, and thanks to the good offices exerted in her favour by the Duke of Cumberland, ob- tained a pension of two shillings per diem during life.

A curious phase in the vagrant life of this strange woman now occutred. She was sitting in a coffee-house in Cheap- side, dressed, as was her wont, in male attire, when her •attention waa attracted by a youngish gentleman of the name of Bawle, whom she had known at Worcester. He seemed much disturbed in mind, and at last confessed the cause of it. He had written and published a scurrilous libel upon a Major Piorrepoint. The major, to whom he was personally unknown, had sent him a challenge by letter, which he would be obliged to accept or be for ever disgraced. Now he (Rawle) was not of a valorous tem- perament, would rather fight with tongue or pen than with sword or pistol. Besides the constitutional objection to risking his life in a duel, was superadded the consideration that he was about to wed in a few days a young, blooming, rich widow. And he had no skill with either sword or pistol. He had, however, sent off an acceptance of the challenge, and the meeting was to come off early the next mormng at Chalk Farm. Being in want of a second, and being a comparative stranger in London, he had written a note to a military gentleman with whom he had a slight acquaintance, proposing to meet him at the Falcon Coffee- house, where they then were. He had not arrived, and had not, perhaps, received the note. (I do not quite un- derstand whether Bawle knew the Amazon as well as she did him. Possibly he mistook her for one of her brothers.) Amazon Spyk reflected for a few moments. She knew Maior Pierrepoint, and the stuff he waa made up of, quite

AMAZON BNELL. 161

well. The printed libel which Rawle handed to her was, she also knew, true in every pardcolar.

" Mr. Rawle/' said she, '^ this Major Pierrepoint has not seen yon, and does not know yon personally ? You have no doubt upon that point ? " << Not the slightest doubt." " Very well. You are well off, unskilled with sword or pistol, and about to marry a rich young widow. On the other hand, I am very poorly off, can handle sword or pistol indifferently well, and am not going to marry a rich widow. Now, what will you give that I appear as prin- cipal in the duel, you the second ?" << The poltroon Rawle, says the Amazon, <<was delighted with the pro- posal, and after some higgling paid me down one hundred guineas to be his substitute. I was equally pleased. The next morning we went in a coach to Chalk Earm. Major Pierrepoint — a major of militia — had, I afterwards knew, heard that Rawle was a wretched craven — a very hand- some one, by the bye-— and had no doubt that an abject apology would be tendered on the ground. The major himself, I knew, was no fire-eater — very ikr from it. Arrived on the. ground, where we found the major and his second, a Mr. Snodgrass, a suggestion was made by the latter that an apology for the libel should be made, in which case the affinir would be at an end. ^ Yes,' said I, ' an apology for the libel, the libel, the affronting libel con- tained in the letter of challenge. Here it is. Major Pierrepoint calls me a slandering scoundrel. I must have a very ample written apology for that.' My bold countenance quite put out the feather-bed major. He turned aU sorts of colours, which finally resolved themselves into a deadly white. I saw my advantage. ' But it's of no use talking ; Mr. Snodgrass,' said I, ' measure the ground, and let us settle this little affair out of hand. It won't last long.

L

162 ECCENTRIC PSBSOITAGES.

My hand will haye lost its cimning if it doasn't settle the major by one click of the trigger.'

" The horribly terrified major beckoned to Snodgrass and whispered him earnestly. 'What apology do yon require, Mr. Rawle ? ' 'A written one, and an order npon the major's banker to pay me a hundred guineas as com- pensation for having been detained in London to attend this meeting, to the neglect of urgent affairs which required my immediate presence in Worcester.' ' That cannot be listened to/ said Mr. Snodgrass ; ' it is preposterous.' ' Very well j then let us take our places at once. I am the challenged party, and object to a greater distance than ton paces.' The major again eagerly whispered with Snod- grass. The result was an agreement with my terms. We adjourned to the nearest tavern, where the gallant major, as soon as good liquor had sufficiently steadied his hand, wrote a very humble apology, for which I did not care a^ tittle, and an order on Roberts, the city goldsmith, for one hundred guineas, payable to James Rawle or bearer. I had made two hundred guineas very easily."

The next we read of Amason Snell is, that she was engaged to sing at Goodman's Fields. She had consider- able success in that vocation, and was still engaged therein when she died, in 1779, in her fi%-seventh year.

This brief memoir of her erratic career differs essentially from any previously written one ; but is, I belieye, strictly accurate as far as it goes, though unavoidably incomplete. It is thought^ for example, that Amazon Snell was pt^ent in a great naval battle fought in -the West-India waters ; but I can find no record of the fight in any authority which I have been able to consult.

CAPTAIN MOWBRAY.

Philip Mowbkat, a brave soldier, inveterate dneUist, Qotoriotis gambter, and an earnest eloqnent preacher, strange as such a conjunction appears, was bom at Shrewsbory

m the year '-, He was a posthnmons child. His

father, the Keverend Tobias Mowbray, had been many years in the enjoyment of a good living, and had loft his son between five and six thousand pounds. Having been long a widower, he left his friend Thomas Charl* wood trustee and guardian. At his father's death Philip Mowbray was sixteen years old. Mr. Charlwood took the youth to his own home, Dovecote House, engaged a private tutor, and caused him to be careMly educated. The young man had a strong devotional bias, with a very decided inclination towards religious extravagances ; with that was combined a spirit of fun, of practical joking, exuberant, inexhaustible. He was an adept, too, at all athletic sports ; could kill a partridge before it was a foot above the herbage from which it had been started. Colonel Hawker makes a passing allusion to '^ Mowbray's remark- able skill as reported. He was'also singularly skilful with the pistol and small-sword — a skill acquired by con- stant practice. It is said that the anecdote related in one of his novels by Sir Bulwer Lytton (I forget which novel), where he makes the hero of his book shoot a bird on the wing with a pistol-bullet, was suggested by that seeming impossibility having been achieved, and more than once, by Philip Mowbray. This may or may not be correct.

164 ECCEirtBIO PEBSOKAQES.

Hifl love of the small-Bword exercise brought sore diflcomfitnre and no slight danger to Enoch Bnrfield, an invalided seijeant of dragoons, in the service of Mr. Gharl- wood as a sort of valet, groom of the chamber, and groom of the stable. The worthy veteran having some skill in fence, or having once had before his sinews became stiff and feeble with age, was coaxed, pestered, hectored bj Mowbray into perpetually, practising with him. Of coarse foils were used, but not always, it would appear, wire masks for the face. '< Where is Burfield?" one day in* quired Mr. Charlwood. ^<In bed, sir, was the reply; ^'the doctor is with him, and so is Master Mowbray." "What is the matter?" << Master Mowbray, sir, has poked Burfield*s right eye out» sir, with one of those swords with buttons at the end of them, which they are always playing with." Whilst they were thus talking, Mowbray came into the room. "What is this I hear about Burfield?" demanded the master of the house. " Well, sir," replied the hopeful youth, who was greatly moved and excited, " poor Burfield ran one of bis eyes upon the point of my foil, and the unfortunate truth is, that he has lost it; the eye, I mean, not the foil." " It is a very shocking affair," said Mr. Charlwood. " Yes, very shocking, sir; I am much grieved," replied Mowbray. " There is one consolation — it is his bad eye, the one that squinted, you know." This was not unfeeling badinage. Mowbray arranged with his guardian that the poor fellow should be allowed thirty pounds per annum aa compen- sation for the " bad eye which squinted."

Master Mowbray must next take it into his feather- head to fall in love with a "plain Quakeress," which meana a damsel or matron who has not swerved from the strict rules of the founder of the sect : abjures bright colours, music, &o., and feela somewhat surprised that in the

CAPTAIN MOWBRAY, 16f

oonncOs of God at the creation it was decreed that thi world should not be drab-coloured, or that even a bird wen allowed to sing. This votary of an obsolete faith was Ann( Gumej, and a yery pretty girl. This she perhaps oon sidered to be a kind of sin. The combination of rose and lily in her face could not be quite right, though laid on bj Nature's own sweet and cunning hand. Master Mowbraj did not think so; and, finding '^ sweet Anne" to be in* ezorable in her determination to decline the acquaintance of any one who was not, like herself, a conscientious, pure, and simple disciple of the plain and pure apostle oi Quakerism, he at once put off his fine clothes, in the cut, colours, and fashion of which he had taken pride, and assumed the garb of plainest Quakerism.

He did more than that Amie Gumey*->not, we must conclude, convinced by clothes — continuing to look coldly upon the aspirant for her favour, he regularly joined the Society of Friends; and upon more than one occasion, being moved by the spirit — ^which we can easily believe —he held forth, " to the great admiration of the assembled • friends."

But it nothing avidled with the obdurate maiden. She preferred a "bom plain Quaker" — John Bice— and frankly told the enamoured Mowbray that she did so, when he pressed her for a final decision. Thereupon Master Mow- bray, flinging off his drab-coloured suit, arraymg himself in his gayest attire, and taking two stout cudgels in his hand, waylaid the successful rival, offered him the choice of cudgels, which being mildly declined, Master Mowbray so belaboured John Bice with one (or both) of them that the bridegroom expectant '< did not rise from his bed for more than a month."

Master Mowbray's guardian and trustee was fain to oampzomise so gross an outrage, and paid a lazge sum d

166 ECGSETrBIO PEBSOKAOBS.

money, tboogb dottbtiog if he had a legal right to do so^ oat of the fonda left by the reverend rector.. " I had, however, confidence in the youth's honour, the fulleat confidence. I knew that when he attained his majority he would make it all right. A strange young man, but the very soul of honour."

A veiy strange young man. Dissatisfied, as it seems, with the failure of his love-chase, refusing to be comforted by Miss Charlwood, who, there appears reason to believe,- would have been quite willing to heal up his spirit-wounds. Master Mowbray, having made acquaintance with a son of Captain Clements, commander of the frigate Pallas, thirty- two guns, ran off, or went off-^there had been an un- pleasantness, or quarrel, between the guardian and guardee (it may be respecting Miss Charlwood; this, however, does not clearly appear)^-and entered on board the Pallas, then at Sheemess.

The Pallas not long afterwards sailed for the Irish coast, and was one of the three ships — ^olus, Brilliant, and Pallas — despatched by the Duke of Bedford, Lord-Lieu- tenant of Ireland, to put an extinguisher on Captain Thurot, who, in command of a considerable French squadron, had been playing the mischief in the Bay of Carrickfergus. Thurot's career, as most of us are aware, was closed in a battle fought near the Isle of Man, upon which occasion Master Mowbray so behaved himself as to obtain from Captain Clements a certificate that there was no more promising youngster in the service.

As far as the naval service was concerned it was promise unfulfilled. The attaiimient of lus majority, the possession of his '< fortune, and some obscure quarrel with one of the gun-room officers of the Pallas, induced him to abandon the naval professicm, though there waa no doubt

CAPTAIN MOWBRAY. 167

he WMld have creditably passed in due time for the grade of a lieutenant.

We next glimpse Philip Mowbray at the Court of • George the Third in 1763. How introduced is not very , clear; but he was page of honour or page in waiting, f

whichever may be the more appropriate phrase. At all events he managed to M in love with a maid or l|idy of f

honour, the Honourable Cecilia Barrington. This cala- *

mity was a heavy one, far more pardonable than his

passion for the plain Quakeress. The Earl of C , the

name is not ^ven at length — an Irish peer, also admired the Honourable Cecilia Barrington. The lady, as was natural, inclined to the peer. This offended, as was but natural, too, Philip Mowbray, Esquire, and he determined upon settling with the Irish lord after a summary fashion. They used to meet at a fashionable gaming-house, an^ Mowbray with malice aforethought cheated so audaciously — ^pretended to cheat, I should say, for there can be no question that he intended to return the money he won —

that the Earl of C loudly called him a rogue and

swiadler. An immediate duel was the consequence. It took place in a garden at the back of the gaming-house, This was precisely what Mowbray wanted. He gave his

opponent the choice of weapons. The Earl of C chose

the small sword, and received a wound severer than the Honourable Cecilia's eyes could have inflicted, though not through the heart, as it happily chanced. The Earl recovered; the nobleman had influence at court; the occasion of the duel was related after the manner most favourable to the Earl — ^most discreditable to Mowbray. To be sure the latter had taken pains to furnish his de- tractors with ample materials. Philip Mowbray, Esquire, was dismissed from his office of honour or page in waiting ; ^

thciHonourable Cedlia Barrington dedined the honour of

168 EGCBinBIO PEBSONAGES.

his acqaaintanoe, and mj gentleman was literally thiown npon the world and his own resources; Mr. Charlwood, his guardian, having died in the interim.

Mr. Philip Mowbray did not shine forth very brilliantly for some years after this misadventure. He took to gaming and dicing. I must not, however, foi^t to mention a oharaoteristio and honourable anecdote of this '^ strange person." On the day of the marriage of the Earl of G— to the Honourable Cecilia Barrington — ^if Barrington were her true simame — the noble lord received a sealed packet from Mowbray containing six hundred odd guineas, the amount unfairly won at the game which led to the dueL A note was enclosed — this digointed, incoherent one :

Mt Lo&d, — You are one of the luckiest scamps in the world. I did not succeed in killing you; shall not probably have another chance. You are married — the devil confound you^to the most beautiful girl in England : ay, or in twenty Englandsl and now I return you the money which I unfairly won — unfairly won in fact, but not in intention. I never intended to keep your dirty dross. It may, perhaps, amuse your bride to know that I have myself this morning espoused Charlotte Beath, thf daughter of a chimney-aweep—a master chimney-sweepy- do not forget that; he does not now climb chimneys hiin- self, has not done so since he was. twelve years old. T^is he assures me of, upon ^ his honour.' And I tell ^ou what, you cowardly Hibernian — ^how could you have been bom in Ireland ? I tell you this, you cowardly Hibernian, you could hardly hold the sword in your shaking hand : it was no credit to me to run such a fellow through his preposterous belly. Yes, I tell you, you rascally Hiber- nian, I shall be happier to-night than you. I shaul^ think so! It will be just as well not to pretend to le j^

shaul^

CAPTAIN MOWBRAY. 169

real husband. Leave yonr bride at the church-door, you emasculated^ incapable thing.

"Philip Mowbray." "N.B. If you do not think this letter sufficiently insult- ing, I will improve upon it at the slightest hint.'*

There cannot, T think, be two opinions as to Philip Mowbray's state of mind when he penned the forcing epistle. It was quite true that Philip Mowbray, " the gifted, gentle, handsome Philip Mowbray, had manied Charlotte Beath, the daughter of a chimney-sweep— a master chimney-sweep. If we are to take the evidence of her portraits-said to be her portrait, painted by a great master, in the Vernon collection — she was a very charming creature. Education, high thoughts, — ^her hus- band's teachings, not by words and dtscoursea only, but bold, valiant, glorious deeds — ^though not trumpeted forth to the world by the post-horns of the time, must, no doubt, have greatly improved and refined her, when the portrait was painted. She wears a red cardinal, and the face is one of the sweetest ever limned.

Philip Mowbray married in a passion. His fancy had been caught by the plebeian beauty, though the Honour- able Cecilia still dominated over his imagination. Ah, well! he soon learned to forget the Honourable Cecilia.

Meeting the Earl of C one day in Pall Mall, a few

months after an extraordinary run of luck at cards, he said, "My dear fellow, I heard last night at the Club that you were infernally hard-up. Now that is an un- pleasant position. I have a right to say so, as I speak from experience ; will a cool five hundred be of any use to you?"

The astonished Earl said it would be of the greatest use to him — ^would in a sublunary sense, be his salvation.

170 ECCENTaiC PEBS0NAOE9.

" Here then are the notes/' said Philip Mowbray. The Earl was profase ia his acknowledgment, and offered to sign any paper necessary to secure repayment of the loan at a given day. "No loan at all, my lord," retorted Mowbray. '* It is but an instalment of a great debt I owe your lordship." "Debt— debt — what debt — debt? (His lorship seems to have had a habit common at that time of repeating himself. The King set the example.^ Debt, debt! I don't understand you, Mr. Mowbray." " The explanation is very easy, my lord," said Mowbray; "your lordship kindly relieved me of a brimstone lady,

now the Countess of C , thereby enabling me to marry

the daughter of a chimney-sweep, for which benefit five hundred pounds is a poor repayment."

Philip Mowbray had no children. This was a canker- ing grief, though it did not disturb the marital harmony. Ennui, however, grew upon Philip Mowbray. He longed to have something to do in the world besides eating, drink- ing, and gambling. The war with America had broken out. He was acquainted with Oolonel Tarleton, one of the most dashing cavalry officers that have ever charged, from Tamerlane to Murat. Ho obtained a commission in that officer's r^ment, — a cometcy, and embarked with it in the Glasgow frigate for America. He would not^ however, enter into the sejvice, great as were the tempta- tions to a mind constituted like his, till the "master chimney-sweep's daughter" consented to go with him. There does not appear to be any reluctance on her part, and the pair safely reached Boston.

Comet Mowbray attained a captaincy ; was present and distinguished himself in all Colonel Tarleton's raids. At the " Cowpens," the only positive defeat sustained by Tarlotcn, Captjun Mowbray, one of the very last to leave the field, shot one of two American offioers who were

CAPTAIN MOWBRAY. 171

riding against Idm, and then threw the discharged pistol in the face of the other with such force and direct aim that the Yankee, stanned and blinded, fell from his horse. Captain Mowbray escaped without a scratch.

The most singolar of his militazy adventures occurred a few weeks before the war with America substantiallj tenninated.' La&yette at the head of the French force, and Washington in conmiand of the Americans, were besie^ng Yorktown, in which Comwallis had permitted himself, .with about four thousand men, to be cooped up. Tarleton had long since discovered the military imbecility of Comwallis, seen through the hollowness of his Indian reputation, 4nd chafed like a madman at the unhappy thought of surrender which was entertamed by the titled general. He offered, it is well known, to break through the hostile beleaguerment, and join Clinton, if Comwallis would give him but two thousand men. Comwallis hesi- tated. How could he attempt such a thing, not knowing the enemy's strength? "What part of his line could be attacked with a chance of success? Tarleton said he knew a man — Captain Mowbray — ^who would soon ascer- tain that. Leave was given to make the experiment. Mowbray's consent was promptly obtained, and he agreed to set out upon the enterprise before the lapse of an hour.

'< Beflecting upon the matter after Tarleton left, I could not do away with the impression that Comwallis would aevcr, whatever my report might be, attempt so bold a venture. I talked with my wife. She agreed with me. Comwallis would surrender. The troops might be kept prisoners till the war terminated, which would be only heaven knew when. I must, she argued, do my duty, of course. At the same time, whilst doing that^ we had a right to provide for our own safety and freedom. I agreed ; and the result of our deliberations was, that we

172 BCCSNTRIO PBRSONAGES.

should diagaise ounelYes as ne^^ minstrels, creep, under cover of night, oat of the camp, and present oarselves boldly before the French or American general, when opportunity offered. We should be patriotic negroes who had been captured by the English, and who knew all the seereta of their camp ; that is, of their position and means of defence. The reason of our pretended minstrelsy was that we were hasting away to our home in Louisiana, and did not wish to be detained on the road, even by the patriotic forces. Our rude music was to pay our way. We both were pretty well up in the negro dialect, knew several n^^ songs, and two rude guitars made up a suffi- cient orchestra.

"We got away very well; were, as it was certain we should be, captured, taken first before Colonel Symes, and, after some preliminary talk, shut up in a rude sort ot hut^xmgeon. The next day we were led before the two generals. There was mighty questioning. I told my story pretty well, but was not trusted. My wife was even less successful; but by God's especial grace, and the favour of a sentry — ^handsomely paid for it, as we had not been searched — ^we stole away in the night. After much peril and suffering we gained General Clinton's lines. Next we started for England."

A deep sense of the depravity of war had seized the mind of Captain Mowbray, and he thenceforth determined " to fight only with Satan, the enemy of souls." He liired a chapel in Southwark, in or close by Bermondsey, '^ and did much godiy work." His wife officiated as clerk. A volume of his sermons has been printed. They breathe a spirit of earnest faith and piety. But the old Adam within him was unsubdued. The breaking out of the French Bevolution kindled the smouldering ashes of his old war- spirit to flame. He solicited military employment. The

CAPTAIN MOWBRAY. 173

rcqacst was granted ; he was appointed to a company in one of . the ' laments — ^nnmber not mentioned — ^which formed part of the force placed under the command of the Dnke of York. He was killed at the siege of Valen- ciennes. The daughter of the master sweep was with him during the campaign, and closed his eyes when he died from a severe wound received in the trenches.

Captain Mowbray died poor. The petition of his widow to the king is a curiosity in its way. Charlotte Mowbray sets forth "that her husband fought for his king and countiy in many battles in both worlds, had wrestled with Satan to the advancement of Christ's kingdom, and when dying told her to rely upon the justice of God 'and the king." She (Charlotte Mowbray), therefore, "humbly solicited such a provision for her age as would suffice to keep soul and body together till such time as Gtod would require the first—earth and worms the latter. And the petitioner would ever pray, et cetera,*^ The petition was 60 far successful that Charlotte Mowbray was allowed twenty pounds a-year. She did not live to enjoy the king's magnificent bounty more than about two years.

DANIEL DE FOE.

Thk worid does not recognise — not, at least, ostensibly — its chief benefactors. Splendid monuments are erected over the dost of statesmen and warriors, and glorifying titlies are inscribed upon them ; but men who have shed light and mirth — ^who will continue to shed light and mirth as long as the language in which they wrote shall endure— find scant stone or marble recognition. It is, perhaps, well that it should bo so. Iheir works, instinct with the life of life, are their true monument. <^ Si requiris monum^tum, oircumspioe " is the grand epitaph of Sir Christopher Wrui inscribed over the front of the chancel of St. Paul's. That epitaph has a wide application ; and to few men it more directly applies than to the author of the History of the Plague and of RohiTiMm Cru90t. It is not embodied in brass or bronze, but is written indelibly upon the hearts of millions.

He was an odd wrong-headed man this Daniel De Foe, the author of Robinson Crusoe, He did not even know or suspect, till he was sixty years of age, that he could write fiction; did not, before then, imagine that he had a RohvH' son Crusoe^ a Citizen^ s Account of the Plague of London^ &c., &c., in him. An altogether wayward man, and suf- fered the penalty which ail incur who persist in knocking their heads against the othodoz granite walls by which " Sodety" is bounded and enclosed.

Danid Foe was his real name ; the << De " was added

DANIEL D8 FOS. 175

iQ afterlife, vlien, with venial weakness, ho was desirons it should not be known that hia father, James Foe, was a batcher long established in Londpn. He waa bom in 1661 in the parish of St. Gileses, Gripplegate. James Foe was desirous that his son should haye nothbg to do with trade, and he himself being a dissenter, he resolved that Daniel should be a dissenting minister. But Daniel was not made of the right stuff for that vocation. He was a very refrac- tory, unpromising pupil of a Mr. Moreton, who kept a dissenting academy on Newington-green ; but at which academy he, nevertheless, acquired a smattering — scarcely more — of five languages, mathematics, logic, geography, and history.

The '^ principle of dissent — ^that of refusing submission to, or acquiescence in, authoritative teaching — took firm hold of Daniel Foe's mind, which was essenti^ly combative and antagonistic, i At the age of twenty-ene, and just towards the close of Charles the Second's infamous reign^ when unblushing licentiousness had full sway in high places, he must needs write a biting satire upon the clergy, entitled Speculum Crapegownorum. There was nothing very terrible in that paper thunderbolt — a weak flutter only of tha young eagle's literary plumes. Disappointed that his pen failed to overthrow the half-Romanised Church, Daniel Foe had recourse to the sword, and joined, when but twenty years-old, the Duke of Monmouth's rebellion against Tames the Second, much against the sage counsel of a friend, who advised him that, since he felt no aptitude for preach- ing, it would be wise to follow his father's trade — slaughter beasts, not men — ^which vocation he would find to be as much more profitable as it was decidedly more moral. Daniel Foe, who had not then cut his wisdom-teeth, do- murred to his good fricnd*s advice; ran off from the .*< academy," set up for teaching the young idea how to

176 ECCENTRIO PEBSONAQES.

Bhoot in an evangelical direction, and was quite in time to take part in tlie battle of Sedgmoor. Wo have the testi- mony of Lord Macaulajy that never was the stubborn bravery of peasant Britain more conspicuously displayed than by Monmouth's mob— a mob ill-furnished with efficient arms — than in that fatal fight. It is doubtful that the victory would have been with James's disciplined troops, had it not been for cannon which the Protestant Bishop oi Winchester enabled the Royalist commander to bring up against the << Rebels." This prelate lent his caniage* horses to drag the guns into action -against men who were fightbg to prevent the subver^on of the Church of which his lordship was one of the mitred chiefs. Foe often alluded to this circumstance with great bitterness.

How the rash young soldier escaped the veogeance of the triumphant party is not shown with distinctness. There are several versions of his hair-breadth escapes from the hunters. According to one account, he was at a farm-yard in the capacity of swine-, sheep-, and cow-herd, when it was visited by a {>arty of " Elirke's Lambs," as the murderous ruffians were popularly named. They were, as usual, in search of victims. Listead of concealing himself, Daniel Foe, whose secret was known to the farmer and his wife, waited, in a ploughman's guise, upon the soldiera, and " made merry with them."

Be that true or not, he escaped the myrmidons of James ; and instead of figuring in a dock at the Bloody Assize, we find him working for bread as a commercial traveller for several London houses who dealt mainly in hosiery. Skill in stockings was hardly to be expected in Daniel Foe, and yet so speedily was it acquired, that in 1687 he was chief buyer, for eminent houses in the trade, of the provincial producers. It was then he assumed the aristocratic prefix < De " to his name. <' It gave him consideration with the

BANIBL DB FOE. 177

mannfactnrers. He also, being free by birth, became an enrolled citizen of London."

A great event was now on the eve of accomplishment. The nation was in travail with the Revolution of 1688. The army, it was well known, from the exultant shouts, when news reached them of the acquittal of the bishops, had become thoroughly disaffected to King James, and could no longer be made the instruments of his cruel rage. William of Orange was known to be actively preparing for a descent on England ; the tongues and pens of numerous speakers and writers wore loosened, and the agitation, the enthusiasm of the people, especially of the Londoners, hourly increased. Daniel De Foe rushed at once into the miUe. He had made a great advance in dialectic power, and was by no means one of the least formidable of the king's assailants.

The Revolution itself was hailed by De Foe with transports of joy; and he ever after kept the 4th of November, the anniversary of William's landing, as a festival. After that monarch's decease, no Orangeman in Ireland ever drank' the glorious, pious, and immortal memory with more hilarious gusto than De Foe. He, moreover, buckled on his sword again, and joined a royal regiment- of volunteer-horse, who made a gallant show upon the occasion of William and Mary's first ceremonial visit to Guildhall.

The Revolution established, the Constitution settled, the enthusiasm of the nation for the " Deliverer," visibly cooled; the main cause of which appears to have been that he was not an Englishman. This waywardness on the part of the nation greatly incensed De Foe, who again rushed into print in d^ence of his hero. This time it was a satirical poem, entitled The Trute-hom EnglUh/man, It is written with rough vigour, and proves^

H

178 EOCSFTBIO PBRSONAGES.

what no ono ever doubted, that the inhabitants of this island are a race compounded of many races of men, — Welsh, Saxons, Danes, Normans, Germans, French, Scotch, Irish, &c., — for which reason he argued, with curiously- twisted logic, that the true-bom Englishman, according to the popular idea, was a myth, and that in real sense King William was as much an Englishman as any one bom within the sound of Bow bells. The king was so much pleased with the poem that he sent for De Foe, and highly complimented him upon his genius and good sense; the sincerity of which praise was proved by the monarch's frequent consultation with De Foe on important matters of state during the latter part of his reign.

The king's favour, if it conferred a sort of factitious fame on De Foe's literary efforts, did not fill his purse. It was very pleasant to be a man whom a king delighted to honour— in words — ^but a man with a wife, and a fast- coming family, could not be content even with regal breath, and Daniel De Foe turned again to the vulgar stocking* business.

He enlarged the sphere of his commercial operation; set-up as a shipowner and merchant, trading with Spain and Portugal, and £ailed; — not, however, discreditably. No doubt, as struggling men generally do, he committed some faults in the hopeless endeavour to recover hlj po- sition. They could not, however, have been very serious faults, as his creditors accepted the composition offered, and consented to accept his own personal security for its due payment,

Dr. Johnson, in his Dictionary^ gives as one definition of patriotism, that it is the last refuge of a scoundrel It may also, I may observe inter alia, be the resource of a highly moral person, as witness the learned Doctor's pamphlets, in which the right of England to tax the

-DUmSl DB FOB. 179

anrepreseuted Amenoan Colonies was ui^d ;inth all thd Doctor's ornate pomposity of style and forcible feeble argumentation. Those pamphlets, nevertheless, gained him his pension of three hundred per annum.

De Foe was not so learned in dead languages as the famous lexicographer, but he was a man of original in- ventiye genius, which Doctor Johnson certainly was not in any just sense. The peculiar eccentricity of the bro- ken-down merchant or trader was never more strikingly illustrated than by the mode hit upon by Daniel De Foe to r^ain a good position in the world.

He had sadly failed to provide ways and means for the support of himself and family; but, nothing deterred by that trifling failure, he at once addressed himself to the task of instructing the Government as to how they should provide for the " ways and means " of the nation. His counsels were appreciated, some of his suggestions were adopted, and his expedient for 'Vraising the wind had a double effect. The financial measures of the ministty derived a certain success from his suggestions, and he in reqitital obtained a situation with other favours, which placed him in a position of modest competence.

Daniel De Foe had nothing more to fear in a worldly sense. He had gained at last one of the minor heights of society, and might, perched thereon, have passed his days in contentment

But De Foe was not a man to pursue the safe beaten paths of life, though he had given hostages to Fortune in a beloved wife and children. He was off at a tangent again. The accession of Queen Anne to the throne was the signal for an outburstof bigotry such as has been rarely witnessed in this country. The High-Church party had solved Pon- tius Pilate's question, " What is truth ? " to their own entire satisfaction, just as the Spanish inquisitors did.

180 EOCBimUG PERSONAQKS.

Yeiy earnest persons, tborooghlj 8elf-<K)nTinced men arc indeed always persecutOTS, and this from motives of benevo- lenoe. <' Why should I permit my brother to perish ? Let us put down false teachers by the strong hand of authority." Mr. Samuel Pope and Mr. Lawson are modern teachers of the world-old dogma of bigots, succinctly expressed by the French princess in the often-quoted sentence, '^ II me iemble quHl fCy a que moi qui a toujoun raison^ Q^ It seems to me that I only am always in the right.")

Agabst this theory of slavery, — spiritual slavery, — a thousand times more galling than chains, which only bind the body*-the combatant spirit of Daniel De Foe fiercely revolted ; yet, spite of all that has been urged in his defence, it must be admitted that his pamphlet, entitled The Shortest Way with Dissenters, was not happily com- piled. The High-Church party were rampant, and, in- flamed by the teaclungs of Dr. Sacheverell, a university preacher, a furious mob swept through the streets of London, demolished Dissenting places of worship, burned the dwellings, and obtained such a brutal ascendency that it was not safe for any known Dissenter to be seen in the streets.

Such a triumphant combination of fierce intolerance with brutal stupidity had naturally excited the wrath of De Foe ; but he mistook his audience in thinking that by exaggerating the High-Church '^ principles," arguing those principles to a natural conclusion in a logical sense, he would make them revolting to the common herd. It was a clever caricature of the High-Church party, but so subtilely coloured that the more blatant of that party deemed they had never been limned by a more skilful appreciative artist. De Foe had out-Heroded Herod ; enunciated in glowing language the really true and only effectual mode of dealing with Diss^t The Dissenters

DAmEL liS FOB 181

were astotmded — ^written as the pamphlet was by one ot their professed zealous champions. These two facts amply prove that De Foe*s arrows had gone awry ; that he had failed to hit the mark aimed at.

" High Church " appears to have first become aware of the true esoteric moaning of the pamphlet. A prosecution was instituted against him for seditious blasphemy. The ostensible purpose of the book was hypocritically assumed to be the real one. To burke his defence and insure the punishment of " one of the most profligate of men," he was persuaded to plead '< Guilty," under the most solemn assurances by high>placed people that the Queen's pardon would be immediately extended to him. , De Foe's keen sagacity must have failed him at this trying crisis. He was rudely awakened from his dream. Directly his plea of " Guilty " was recorded, he was sentenced to be pilloried three times, have his ears snipped off, to pay a fine of one hundred marks, be imprisoned during the Queen's pleasure, and upon liberation find sureties for good behaviour during seven years. He was about to pay dearly for having broken with the solemn dignified hypocrisy of the world. With all his keen insight of mankind, he had not measured the influence, the power of that solemn dignified hypocrisy.

Pope's infamous line in allusion to De Foe in the pil lory,

" See where on high stands nnabashed De Foe, .

is interpreted by the courageous thuxker and writer of hie life his highest eulogy. The selfish cringing meanness ol Pope brings out by comparison the defiant firmness of De Fo3 in brilliant relief. Admitted that Daniel de Foe could not have written the Sape of the Lock ; neither could he have grovelled in the dust before stars and garters, titled gentleman and ladies, drunken and noble lords and demi- reps, as Pope did

182 JBCCENTRKI PERSONAGES.

/^ To be Bare, Pope made a <' better end,!' in common esti- mation, than ^^ the unabashed De Foe " — but the true end IS not here. And even hert now at the present day, tho inoral estimate of Daniel Do Foe is infinitely higher than that entertained for Alexander Pope.

rit would have been a great loss to England, and to the world, had Daniel de Foe not been an eccentrio man ; if he had been content to dwell in conventional decencies after attaining his place. No nation has ever been defi- cient in <' respectabilities." They are the dust of grave- yards ; the spots where they lie, in crowded heaps, signalised by lying tombstones. Daniel De Foe lives with hearty vigorous life in tens of hundreds of thousands.of homes in both worlds.

De Foe was equal, superior to his &te. He recoveied, when cast down into apparently remediless ruin, his pristine mental vigour. He penned a Bymn to the PiUory during his bravely-borne imprisonment, and commenced his ReoUmy and reengaged in political-pamphlet warfare with as much energy and fierceness as ever. He abated not one jot of heart or hope. The Whigs, for whom he had so strenuously laboured, abandoned him to his fate. Tho Tories, to whom he had always been strenuously opposed, were more gene^ rous, more just towards the wayward, wilful, hig^-prin- cipled writer. Upon the accession of Harley, through the influence of Mrs. Masham, to power, that minister induced Her Majesty to order De Foe's liberation from prison, and even prevailed upon the Queen to liquidate from the privy purse his fine and expense. This was not, perhaps, a piece of purely Quixotic generosity ; Harley and Bolingbroke having been, no doubt, anxious to secure for their party the pen of so vigorous and versatile a writer. The horison brightened rapidly. Harley commissioned De Foe to act as confidential agent at Edinbui]^ in endoavouriog ta

DANim DB FDS. 18S

bring aboat Uie nnioii of Scotland and England ; a duiy of whicli He creditably acquitted himself.

.Still this utterly unpractical man would' not lend his talents to the advocacy of the Tory measures of the cabinet. He, however, refrained &om writing against them. His obligations to Harley commanded such a negative service as'that

He determined to withdraw from the active conflict of parties. He had suffered mudi mora frmn his reputed political friends than enemies. Unwarned, however, by the persecution brought upon him by The Shortest Way of Dealing, toith Dissenters, he must needs launch forth a similar ^rod^ure, by which, to ordinary minds, he appeared seriously to propose the bringing in of the Stuart Pretender, to the exclusion of the Hanoverian dynasty. This was done, as in the former instance, by caricaturing and exaggerating the arguments of the Jacobites. The irony wa& not understood by the commonalty. One Benson, an ardent partisan of the Whigs, honestly thinking that De Foe was in covert league — (his official, or officious connec- tion with the Harley-Bolingbroke ministiy giving forco and colour to this suspicion) — with the exiled Stuart, petitioned that Daniel de Foe might be tried for high treason. A judge was found to commit the unlucky pamphleteer to Newgate for presuming to write in defence, or rather explanation of the inculpated pamphlet, after Benson's accusation had been preferred before the grand jury — ^a true bill found — ^and he had been compelled to find heavy bail to surrender for trial. But for his ministerial friends it might have gone hard with him, so inveterate were his enemies, so obtuse the public as to the true meaning of the pamphlet. Harley, to avoid all danger to a man whoso talents he respected — ^much as he laughed at his erratic follies — covered him with a royal pardon ;

184 ECCENTRIC PERSONAQES.

an inddent to which he afterwards alladed with much humour.

The aocessioQ of Geoige the First put the finishing stroke to De Foe's political career. He had no longer one single influential friend — ^was sixty years of age — had once been struck with apoplexy — was lonely, and afflicted with gout and stone. Under these exhilarating circumstances this peculiar, indomitable man betook himself to romance writing 1 His first essay was the immortal Eobinsan Cnuoe. The idea was suggested by the story of Alex- ander Selkirk, a Scottish seaman who had sailed in the ship commanded by Captain Rogers, in his voyage round the world. Selkirk was marooned for some offence, and left upon the Island of Juan Fernandez in the Pacific, where he contriTed to exist for four years. Cowper has some verses upon the subject, beginning with I am monarch of all I survey." The idea was derived from Selkirk's story, but the treatment of the narrative is incomparably striking and original. '< The great beauty of this fiction, remarks an Edinburgh Reviewer, ^'consists not in the hero, but in his situation, and the admirable manner in which he is made to adapt himself to it Human sympathy attends his every action, and the simple, natural pathos of a plain, unsophisticated man, and the sublimity and awfulness of perfect solitude, moves more than would all the feeling and eloquence of Rousseau, had ho attempted a similar story. No wonder this tale has been translated into every European language, and even into Arabic, according to the testimony of Burckhardt"

This criticism is just, as far as it goes, but to render it per/ectli/ just, it should have been added, that only the first part of the book, before the Spamards arrive <m the island, is invested with the indescribable charm which has made the work popular throughout the world. But the

DANIEL DB FOB. 185

same may be said of Milton's Paradise Lost The first six books are magnifioent — ^the others pale their intellec- toal fires in the blaze of glory which illttminates those first chapters. The mightiest wing would flag and droop before ihe termination d so exhaostive a flight.

The other romances of Daniel De Foe have fallen out of the current literature, are practically dead and buried. Moll Flanders, Colonel Jack, Captain Singleton, have dis- appeared, though they were not without much merit. The pre-eminent quality of De Foe as a writer of fiction was his power of realisation. Any one would go before a magistrate and make an oath that, to the best of his belief, A Citizen^ s Accoitnt of the Great Plague of London waB a simply-told narrative of what had really, and to the writer's knowledge, taken place. This is a very rare quality in an author.

Ah 1 yes; but genius when not combined with discretion, when its possessor refuses to be bound by the shackles and safeguards of conventionalism, will rarely have a good balance at his banker's. De Foe, though his writings had a large sale, was beset with pecuniajy difficulties, embittered by domestic aflSdction. Himself on the verge of both gaol and grave, he was doomed al&o to experience — ^how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child. His son, to whom he had made over in trust some property for the benefit of his wife and daughters, appropriated the whole t9 himself. The sad story will be best told in the following touching letter — the last of the writings of* the author of Bobinson Crusoe, addressed to Mr. Baker, an eminent naturalist^ who had married De Foe's favourite daughter, Sophia: .

"Dear Mb. Bakeb, — ^I have your very kind and affectionate letter of the 1st instant. It did not reach me

186 BOCENTBIO PXESONAOSS.

till the lOth : Low it Lais been delayed I know not. Ad year. kind manner and kinder thongbt, from wbicli it flows -^for I know all you say to be suicere, Nathaniel-like, with- oat goile— is a particular satisfaction to me ; so the delay of a letter, however it happened, deprived me of that cordial too many days. I stood so much in need of it, to support a mind sinking under a wei^t of affliction too heavy for my strength, and looking on myself as abandoned by every comfort, every friend, every relative, except such only as are unable to give mo any assistance.

« I was sorry you should say in your letter you were debarred from seeing me. On the contrary, it would be a greater comfort to me than any I now enjoy, if I could reoeive your agreeable visits with safety, and could see both you and my dearest Sophia, could it be without giving her the grief of seeing her father in his present situation, bowed down under the load of insupportable sorrows. I am sorry I must open my griefi so far as to tell her it is not the blow I received from a wicked, perjured, contemptible enemy that has broken my spirit. She well knows I have borne up against greater disasters. But it has been the inhuman dealing of my own son which has ruined my family and broken my heart. As I am at this time under a weight of very heavy iUness, which I think will be a fever — and a fatal one — I take this occasion to vent my grief in the breasts of those who I know will make a prudent use of it; nothing but this has conquered or could conquer me.

« I depended upon my son ; I trusted him ; I gave up my two deiar u|iprovided children into his hands ; but he has no compassion, and suffers them and their poor dying mother to b^ their bread at his door, and to crave as it were as alms what he is bound under hand and seal, beside the most solemn promises, to supply them with, hioi-

BANIBL BE FOB. 187

fletf at the same time living in a profusion of plenty. It is too mnch for me. Ezcnae my infirmity ; my heart is too full. I can say no more ; my heart is too full. I only ask one thing of yon as a dying request. Stand by ihem when I am gone, and let them not be wronged whilst my son is able to do them right. Stand by them as a brother; and if you have any thing within you owing to my memory — I, who have bestowed upon you the best gift I had to give — ^let theia not be injured and trampled upon by false pretences. I hope they vrill want no help but that of comfort and counsel ; and that they will indeed want, being too easily led by words and promises.

'^ It adds to my grief that I must never see my little grandson. Give him my blessing, and may he be to you both your joy in youth, your comfort in age, and never add a sigh to your sorrows. But that, alas 1 is not to be expected. Kiss my dear Sophy once more for me ; and if I must see her no more, tell her this, that her father loved her above all to his last breath.

" Tour unhappy D. F.

« About two milei from Greenwich, Kent "Taesday, August 12th, 1730."

This great and good, out unconfined and unconfinable man did not cast off the burden of mortality so soon as, when he penned the fon^ing letter, he expected. He Iffigered on till the 24th of April, 1731, when he sank to his final rest. He died whore he was bom, in the parish of St. Giles, Gripplegate, and was buried in Bunhill Fields. He would have been more fortunate had he been less highly principled. But 'twas ever thus. Who- ever attempts to stem the torrent of the time is sure to be

188 ECCENTRIO PBRSOKAGBS.

wtelmed in it. To sail with the tide is the only chanoe of reaching pleasant pastares. To be sure, those who go with the maltitude will, like that multitude, £11 forgotten graves ; but it is a cruel irony upon humtn life to say of ft rarely-gifted man like De Foe, that he died in miseiy and lives in fame.

THE HONOUEABLB JOHN LOFTUS.

This highly yariegated and vivacious gentleman ia assamed to have been a stray scion of a distinguished family who tiad large estates both in England and Ireland. The fact mainly rests upon his own assertion ; bat how, in such 3ase, he could legally or by courtesy be entitled to the prefix of Honourable, puzzles one.

There is, however, proof, though shadowysand indis- tinct, of the truth of the statement in the remarkable, strongly contrastive life he led up to Christmas-Day, 1782, vrhen he perished, in his thirty-fourth year, in a manner as heroical and self-sacrificiag as ever shed an aureole round the brow of warrior, priest, or king.

John Loftus was bom, or, to speak by the card, is believed to have been bom at or near Oarrickfergus, Ire- land, in the year 1748. As to what surroundings accom- panied his birth and boyhood, nothing trustworthy is known. He certainly received a fair education — ^was a gay, frolicsome boy, fearless as frolicsome, and very good- looking. He had very considerable talent for mimicry and personation, and gained much applause at amateur private theatricals in Dublin, where business or pleasure had taken him when he was in his twentieth year. He must have moved in or been admitted into what is named good society, as he was known by sight and name to the Duke of Bedford, then Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, a nobleman of somewhat debauched habits, but not destitute of administrative talent.

190 ECCENTRIC PEBSONAQES.

His excellency, not long a^ter yoong Loftos arriTed in Dublin, indulged in the undignified whim of making one at Donnybrook Fair, disgoiaed, of course, as completely as might be. He was accompanied by two of his suite only, both metamorphosed, like his grace, into Irish peasants. That Loftus knew of the Duke's intention is not positively stated. The rollicking young man had merely, perhaps?, determined, independeutly for himself, to assist at a soetie where an Irishman was proverbially to be seen in the full blaie of his gloiy. However that may have been, the Duke and his companions entered with such gusto into the !ipirit of the fair — ^its boisterous, riotous fun — that he got singled out at last by^ a powerful countryman, and chat leoged to fight by the usual prelude to such encounters — a crack upon his excellency's skull, inflicted by a stout shillelagh. This was carrying the fan much too far. To discover himself was impossible, except in the last extremity to save his life. John Loftus, who must have been eagerly watchful of what was going on, and either knew beforehand or had penetrated the Duke's guise — ^he himself being habited as a rough country lad — crushed forward and felled the assailant upon his grace with one tremendous blow. The din and riot going on prevented Immediate attention being paid to so unusual an incident IS the interposition of a third party between two com- batants; but it being well known to Loftus that the Duke's adversary belonged to a " faction," which, as soon as they beard what had happened, would rush furiously to the rescue, the young fellow whispered hastily to his grace : '^ Leave this place, my Lord Duke, without delay ; you are in great danger ; your horses are without; I and some rough acquaintances shall manage well enough to insure you a sufficient start."

The Duke and his elderly friends did not wait to be told

THE HONOXTRABLE JOHN LOFTUS. 191

twice; they bolted forthwith, and reached Dablin CasUe scatheless, except for the crack upon his grace's crown, given without the slightest malice or suspicion, by the man, whom it was he had assailed, in pure gaiU de eanir. Loflus and hia friends made a fierce fight of it with the help of some of the '< boys " who belonged to a faction opposed to that to which the man who assaulted the representative of royalty belonged, and got clear off with no more than the ordinary average Donnybrook damage to themselves.

Young Loftus was not -one to n^lect improving such a lingular chance. The very next day he presented himself at the Castle, handsomely attired, and sent in a note ad- dressed to the Duke of Bedford, marked '^ private and very important." He had not long to wait for an audience, a lengthened one. The Viceroy was naturally anxious to " hush up ' ' 80 scandalous a story ; Loftus solemnly assured him that he had been recognized by himself only. It need bardly be said that Loftus promised to keep the adventure inviolably secret — of course, in consideration, the perfectly well-understood consideration, that he should receive a hand- some quid pro quo. The Duke believed himself to be quite safe with respect to hb courtly companions. He was not wrong' in counting upon their fidelity as long as his viceroyalty lasted. That terminated, their tongues were loosened — ^in accordance with the theory of moral ethics which teaches that political gratitude can only in the eternal I llUji r f - * fitness of things, and its highest sense, be held to mean no lu ^fi^ u^x ' more than a keen sense of favours to come. The story was 1^ /' f* ^^O-!'.. * circulated amongst the fashionable circles of Dublin, with ; t ;^ /^^ many varieties and additions. One was that his gracevytn*^ » -'^.'^ knighted his young champion on the spot. Who the young *^/fu/'C^^L fti man was that so promptly interposed in favour of the Lord- i.^^^ c\ c J^ • /' * Lieutenant was not known, except to the Duke and Jolnv^/ « < / *

192 BCGENTBIC PSRS05AQES.

Lofttis, till flome years afterwards. The story waa flatly ooQtradicted by "aathority;" bat the denial did not weaken the oredenoe attached to it by the gossips *of Dablin.

The sabstantial resalt to Mr. John Loftos was, that he obtained the commission of comet of cavalry, and the post of attache, or something analogous, at the Viceroy's coart. No post of the kind could, I suppose, have made Loftos an Honourable, even in Ireland.

About this time (1759) the French monarch made a great combined effort by the fleets assembled at Dunkirk and Brest to redress the catastrophe of Minden by descents on the British and Irish coasts. The main design was de- feated by Hawke's splendid victory in Quiberon Bay. A gallant French captain, of the name of Thurot, achieved, spite of the vigilance of the British fleet, some small suc- cesses amongst the western islands of Scotland. Thurot s squadron consisted origitially of five frigates. One of the hu^st of these became unserviceable through stress of weather, and was sent back to France. Another of the remaining frigates foundered at sea. Not abating one jot of heart or hope, Thurot sailed with his shattered force to the Bay of Garrickfergus, where on the 2l8t of February he effected a landing with about 700 men. Colonel Jen- nings, with four companies only of raw recruits, was in the open town of Garrickfergus. Ho made a resolute, but of course an unsuccessful resistance, then retired to the dila- pidated castle, in which there was neither store of provisions nor ammunition, except the small quantity ho could carry in with him. En revanche there was a breach about fifty feet wide in the crumbling wall. The colonel, in the hope* of being quickly succoured by regular troops, filled up the breach with rubbish, and gathered up heaps of stones to use instead of bullets and balls. Let us leave the gallant

THE HONOTTRABLE JOHN LOFTUd. 198

colonel with his bulldog resolution, and retxim to John Lofkos, cornet nnattached, in Dnblin.

The suQcesses, such as they were, of Thurot, greatly irritated ihe English people, and threw a shade even upon Hawke's victory. What! — ^was the nation who had so signally discomfited the French upon their own coasts and harbours to be harassed by a beaten enemy on its own sea- board, he finding no check? The Duke of Bedford was subject to much abuse by the Press, and to implied censure by the Cabinet, and was very desirous of signally restoring his tarnished reputation for watchfulness and vigour. News came of Thurot's doings at Carrickfei^s, where his ships were in the bay. Messengers from Jennings succeeded in reaching Dublin, from whom his excellency learnt that Jennings could not hold out many hours, although he had repulsed the French at the first attack. Thurot had, it was also reported, received intelligence that the r^ular troops were within a few marches of Garrickfergus, and the French commander was preparing to embark his troops and leave ' the bay with all possible expedition, and in order to do so had offered to accept the surrender of the castle upon the easiest possible terms. The English soldiers were to be at once exchanged for the same number of French sailors or sddiers who had chanced to be made prisoners. The castle was not to be blown up, nor the town of Garrick- ferpxs to be burned or pillaged.

The Duke of Bedford had despatched three frigates — the ^^lus, the Pallas, and the Brilliant — to Carrickfei^us Bay, their mission being to extinguish Thurot once and for all. But should the French frigates have left before their arrival, the Lord-Lieutenant would have no chance of setting himself right with the British people and British ministry. How could he make sure that the English fri^tes, when they opened up the bay, would there find N

19 ECCEinSIC PSBfiONAGBS.

Thniot'B shipB? That was tlie question which he deter* mined to discuss without a moment's delay with Comet Loftus, whom he knew to be a Garrickfergus man, and in whose dash, bravery, and fertility of resource he had much confidence, notwithstanding certain bizarre peculiarities which he frequently indulged in. In fact, the comet's life was one long practical joke, broken fitfully by serious, earnest deeds.

One of his jests has, apparently, been reproduced by Christopher North, in the *< Noctes Ambrofdansd, originally published in Blackwoods Magazine, It is necessary to relate it in this place, or the adventure at Carrickfergus would scarcely be credited. The story told in the "Noctes," and admirably told, is— I quote from memory — ^that Professor Wilson (Christopher North) caused an advertLsment to be inserted in one of the Edin- burgh papers to the effect that an elderly genUeman, of large means, was desirous of entering into the bonds of matrimony with a suitable partner — ^he, a bachelor, never having experienced the bliss of that state of life. In order that any lady who might be disposed to entertain the proposition should have an opportunity of personally view- ing the candidate for connubial honours, the advertiser would seat himself, towards the "gloaming," on the m(H^ row of the day when the advertisem^t appeared, at a particular spot on the Calton Hill. Christopher goes on, in richly humorous description, to describo the throng by whom he was beset, their jibes, sarcastio derision, &c.

The real adventure of the Honourable John Loftos differs in its minor accessories from the imaginary one of Professor Wilson.' Loftus, I have previousdy remarked, was a handsome young man. That beauty was of a feminine tjpe, stout-hearted, courageous as he in scores of instances proved himself to be. He had fine flowing dark-

THB HOKOUAABLB JOHN LOFTUS. 195

brown hair, wUch he was dever at arrangiiig in female &8hion. He would in other respects cleverly '< make np " as an interesting young lady — or elderly lady for that matter — so cleverly that he more than once danced at the Viceregal court balls as a Miss M'Clarty, or M'Carthy of Boscommon — ^a distant relative of his, I apprehend — a left- handed one probably — if, indeed, there was any such pers(^ m existence, for whom he had himself procured the neces- sary order of admittance. Upon neither occasion was the cheat discovered by those most intimate with Comet Loftus.

Now, Comet Loftus had a gradge or pique against Captain Bobert Brady, also an attach^ of the Yicer^al court. Brady was an especial favourite of the Lord- Lieutenant, who would have secretly, though not perhaps openly, resented any quarrel fastened upon, him provoc^ tive of a duel, or no doubt Loftus woidd, in the spirit of the time, have chosen that mode of avenging himself upon Brady. He hit upon a plan of much more refined, artistic vengeance.

One of those advertisements so common now, but novel- ties at that time, alleged by Loffcns to have appeared hi a Publin paper, set forth that a young lady of high family, considerable personal attractions, and a fortune of thirty thousand pounds at her own disposal, was desirous of becoming tiie wife of a miUtaiy officer not under the rank of captain. He must be a handsome man, not more than thirty years of age, and of ancestral descent equal to her own. Money she cared not for, having plenty for both. At such a time, on such an evenbg, the lady would be found at the entrance of a wood in Boxby Park, near Swords, attired in a riding dress, and with a riding whip in her hand. This was signed 0. M^C.

A postHuriptom added, that the candidate for hu fiwom

196 ECCENTRIC PERSONAQES.

most wear a wliite rose in his button-hole. The lady woold, on recognising the sign, ruse the trhip in militaiy- salute fashion; and both would then exchange more in- timate courtesies, as if old acquaintances. If the officer — not below the rank of captain — ^this was indispensable — answered the description given, and could give unexcep- tional testimonials to character — this was also indispensable — the ceremony might take place as soon a^ the bridegroom wished.

Into this clumsily-contrived trap poor Brady rushed at a mxL He was a handsome man, no one would deny; and as to descent, he claimed for one of his ancestors no less a personage than Brian Boirhomme himself; and he was, without doubt or question, veiy poor — ^poor to extreme indebtedness.

Comet Loftus, who for some time had been very asn- duously '^ making it up" with Captain Brady, and had succeeded in doing so, suddenly rushed into the gallant captain's quarters one fine morning with a slip of printed paper in his hand, which he declared he had just cut out of a Dublin paper. The '^slip" contained the two para- graphs I have quoted. As to its having been cut from a Dublin newspaper, that was an invention, like the rest He had caused the << slip to be printed " in confidence."

" Captain Brady," exclaimed Loftus, — ^it is the comet' himself who tdk the story, — "Captain Brady, my fine fellow^ fortune, an immense fortune, is in your grasp. You have but to close your hand. Bead — read, captain, read. You are the angled-for — ^the very man. Ah, it is true, as the fellow says in the play, some people have greatnesE thrust upon them. That, I fear, will never be my case ; whilst you "

I do not undeEStand," intenupted the pusaded captain.

THE HONOURABLE JOHN LOFTUS. 197

In what way can this absord advertisement ooncem me?"

Mj dear fellow, it concerns no one bat yon. Hear me oat. Haye I not heard yoa say that you once had the honoar, not long ago, to dance at a Castle ball with Miss Charlotte McCarthy of Roscommon ; a lady — — "

"Honoor be " angrily ezclaimed Captain Brady.

Three times, and in qaick saocession, the jade trod on that com of mine — three times, aa if she knew exactly the place to pitch upon. I thought I should have fainted. Th^ devil take Miss McCarthy !"

" Thou pray'st not well, my noble captain. It will not be the devil, but a devilish good fellow, for all that's come and gone, that will take Miss McCarthy; namely, your fascinating self, you lucky son of a gun."

" By the powers, Loftus, you have been drinking ; and it is not quite ten yet. But perhaps it is last night's drink, not slept off."

You have, I suppose, slept it off. It does not seem so, though ; for a foggier-brained fellow I have seldom met

with. Can't you understand *M*C ' means Charlotte

McCarthy? and what captain besides you within a circuit of fifty miles is handsome, highly bom, not more than thirty years of age, and decidedly poor, eh ? Answer me that?"

The gallant captain began to listen with both his ears. He b^an to dimly comprehend what his enthusiastic friend was driving at. Miss McCarthy was a handsomish hoyden ; but thirty thousand pounds I

"I had no occasion," continues Comet Loftus, "to extra butter the bait ; he swallowed it like sack and sugar, and I left him quite sure that he would be punctual to the appointment. Of course I had told him that Miss M^Carttiy was for a time residing, to my knowledge, with

198 ECCENTBIO PSRSONAOSS.

an aimt at Swords. That was 'oonfirmation strong as proof from Holy Writ' I often quote plays, and without exactly knowing it at the moment. I once thought in my very green salad days I should like to turn player/ I mean in the ordinary sense. Is not ' all the world a stage, and all the men and women merely players V The only doubt I experienced when I left that prince of conceited fops, Brady, was whether, when the curtain fell upon the decisive scene of the little comedy I had invented, it would be found I had been playing the knave or fool 1 I t^oit on for knave, but in tiie transformation scene I might be wearing motley and the cap and bells I — ^an unendurable thing 1 If it should so fall out, I would kick the puppy, defiant of Bedford's choler I

There were quartered at Swords at that time eix compa- nies of Irish dragoons, the officers of which were amongst the gayest, most rollicking of those proverbially gay and rollicking spirits. With these Comet Loftus was an espe- dal favourite, and they were, of course, secretly apprised of the matrimonial adventure about to be engaged in by Captain Brady. Comet Loftus did not give them his entire confidence, nor nearly. To have done so would have spoiled the fun, and marred his main purpose.

At the appointed time and place the blushing McCarthy found herself die object of the admiration of all the dra- goon officers, and all wearing white roses, in full dress. But to none did she condescend to show the sign of favouring recognition by giving the military salute with the riding-whip. All the sugared, high-flown compliments paid could not elicit a word or a smile. She was stem, silent, inexorable..

The thing was getting tiresome, no captain having appeared, and they were about returning to Swords, when the lady's eyes, which had been steadily fixed in one direo-

THB HONOUKABLB JOHN LOFTUS. 199

tion, fiaddenlj lightened, and a bright smile parted her lips. Captain Brady had at last put in an appearance. He was walking very slowlj; as if doubtful of the proprie^ of his conduct in answering personally such an adver- tisement, and its likelihood of success. It happened, from the peculiar curve of the road, that the galUmt captain was seen before he had glimpsed either the lady or her numerous military wooers. There being now a certainty of sport, the dragoon officers at a signal £rom one of them, ' Charles O'Reilly, the plotter's especial crony, the whole party disappeared within the wood, where, unseen them- selves, they could witness the sport.

Captain Brady was most graciously received by the lady. Words breathing ardent devotion were stammer- ingly poured or rather gurgled forth ,^m the gallant officer's bewitchmg lips. The modest acquiescence of the gratified fair one was accompanied by a soft, smiling allusion to their former meeting at the Castle ball, whioL must, one would suppose, have elicited a painful reminis- cent twinge from Captain Brady's corn-toe. But thirty thousand pounds I That was a salve for all sores; and the golden goal being won, or as good as won, who can be surprised that the enraptured officer — ^his itching palm already closing in imagination upon the splendid fortune of his betrothed, as the McCarthy might now be called — should plump down on his knees, after a nervous glance around to ascertain there was no witness of the scene except the blushing bride expectant, and vowing, swearing — A guffaw of many voices interrupts him; the gallant captain leaps to his feet, and, flaming to the colour of a peony, is obliged to hear the compliments, the congratu- lations of the dragoon officers. They were too late, one of them said, by a few minutes, or, by the powers, the captain would not have carried off the precious prize so

200 ECCSNTRIO PSBSONAQXS.

eaaly. During this rade badinage, Brady looked daggeti at the intmsive roysterers, who at last, tiring of chaf^ went off in the direction of Swords. It was some time before their boisterous laughter died away in the distance.

Of course Captain Brady was very irate, much di»- torbed — who so circumstanced would not be? Never mind. ^^H tit bien qui rit dernier J' He should have the last laugh. And so, composmg his ruffled plumes as best he could, the captain renewed his billing and cooing in the most dulcet tones. He declared that her image had

• been ever present to him unce the night of that fairy ball;

and had it not been that a friend of his, Comet Loftos, had privately infoimed him who G. M^C. was, he should never have thought of coming to the enchanted spot where he now breathed the air of Paradise, &o., &o.

As to the lady's fortune, that to him was of total insignificance. Indeed, he ahnost wished she was entirely portionless, that he might be able to prove beyond aB doubt his disinterested devotion. It is hardly credible that a man of mature years and of the world could have made such a gaby of himself, and possibly the mocking narrative of the Honourable John Loftus may be some- what highly coloured.

"It was now my cue to speak," continues the Hon- ourable John Lofkus, in very fair English, by the way, improved by his national brogue — ^< It was now my cue to speak. ' That generous declaration,' said I, 'has mightily relieved me, since, to confess the truth, the thirty thou- sand pounds is — is a '

" ' Is a what, Miss McCarthy ?' gasped Brady, turn- ing all the colouis of a dying dolphin. ' Is a what^ Miss McCarthy?'

'^ < Is a dream, dear captain — an illusion. In short, I

THB HONOUKABLB JOHN LOFTUS. 201

do not possess thirty thousand farthings. It is true that

my aunt may, at her death, leave me a few hundreds '

" * D your aunt! Let me go, will you?*

"'Why, you false, perfidious man — did you not say, only a minute ago—'

" ' Never mind what I said ; let me go, I say.* " 'But I won't let you go, you false, deceitful viUaia.- I'll let you know what it is to insult a McCarthy— -you beggarly spalpeen I * "

The gallant and utterly bewildered captain found himself seized by the throat-collar with a grasp of iron, and the accursed riding-whip, to be lifted by agreement in the fashion of a military salute, was laid most unmerciAilly across his shoulders with heartiest good-will. Brady strog^ gled fiercely, but could not &r a time release himsdf from the grasp of the "female fiend,** who nearly throttled him. At last he broke away, in a firantic state, running at top speed, pursued by that dreadful Miss McCarthy. He, at last, seemed to have dropped her, and having wiped his streaming forehead, and readjusted himself generally, the crest-fallen captain walked with as much nonchalance as he could, at such short notioe, assume, into the mess-room of the dragoons. He did that, probably, under a confused impression that the virago, from whom he had with such difficulty got free, would never dare to follow him there.

Error I delusion I unfortunate captain. He had no sooner b^gun to apologise for his disordered appearance, caused by a smart run — he was fond of running—- than in bounced Miss McCarthy— flew at the wretched maQ, who vainly attempted effectual resistance to the athletic young rascal in whose power he had placed himself, and got unmercifully beaten; the accompaniment to which unmerciful beating was the lady's furious abuse of the poor feUow for having dared insult a M'Cartby— amid the

202 SCCHNTBIO PB&SOITAGBS.

soreaming langhter of the dragoon officers. At last, the terrible fair one stayed her wearied arm, and sailed out of the mess-room, remarldbg that Captain Brady wonld not be insolent to an Irish lady of family— one of the onld stock^-again in a hony. The captain disappeared next day from Swords, and in a few days afterwards &om Dublin. It was clearly impossible he conld remain there. The story of his having been whipped by a lady had taken the wings of the morning, and was known all over Dnblin before the flagellated captain had left Swords — ^that, to him, for-ever-memorable village. What became of him is not recorded. He vanished into space. The Honourable John Loftus was of opinion that he believed himself to have been whipped and pummelled by a young woman to the day of his death. This anecdote does not 8h<nv the Honourable John Loftns in a very favourable light. The vengeance taken, all things considered, was monstrously disproportionate to the offence.

This lively young gentleman was the chosen of the Duke of Bedford to out-general or out-man<Buvre Thurot, the t&ilful and daring French sea-captain. Loftus accepted iSbe miflfiibn, for the accomplishment of which he possessed peculiar facilities, with alacrity, and took leave <^ his excellency with an assurance that he would so manage matters that the English squadron should find that of France in the bay of Gairiokfergus.

The Honourable John Loftus had an intrigue with a pretty girl in the service of one John Donovan, a silversmith iiad jeweller of DubEn. The girFs name was Mary Bear- den. John Donovan was the brother of a well-to-do farmer residing in the immediate neighbourhood of Ganiddergus. ]^th were arrant JaooUtes, and well known to be such, although no overt act of treason could be proved against either of them. The bxoUiers had not seen each other for

THE HONOURABLE JOHIf LOFFUS. 203

years ; nor had either seen a maiden sister sinoe they were children. This lady's domicile was somewhere in ITlster. She, like her hrothers, was a Jacohite enragi, and it was known to Loftns through Maiy Rearden — the intrigue I have spoken of, as we shall presently see, was not a criminal one-^it was known to Loftus through Mary Bearden that the sister had at last made up her mind to visit her brothers, him at Dublin first, next him living near Gar-

Other particulars, more detailed information from the same source, enabled the Honourable John Loftus to plan, mature, and carry out a very notable scheme.

Mrs. Donovan, a very nice elderly lady, with a bright complexion that did not at all harmonise with her gray locks, reached Dublin and her brother's house several days before she was expected. An excellent excuse was made. The Canickfeigus brother had been taken suddenly ill, and she, Mrs. Donovan, being desirous of seeing him, had taken Dublin en route, where she could only stay a few hours. John Donovan was pleased to see his sister, very pleased, and feeling anxious for his brother and his niece Anne, that brother's daughter, who might be left destitute by her fiither's death, he gave his sister a letter to James, assuring him of his sympathy, and alao that he had whispered in her ear certain matters which it was of importance should be communicated to the ^' Liberators." Loftus had succeeded beyond his hopes. A scrap of introduction was all he had hoped for ; but the letter would at once give him the political confidence of James Donovan. That was very important.

Loftus started at once for Garrickfergus in his Gomet's uniform, with the make-up of an elderly dame packed away in a valise or knapsack. Arrived within a not very great distance from Carrickfeigus, he exchanged his man's for

204 BCCSNTBIO PER30NAQES.

woman's apparel, hired a Yehide of some kind, and driven to the abode of James Donovan. He was most cordially received ; the daughter was delighted to see her aunt, embracing her over and over again ; a demonstration '^ which I quietly checked, as it might lead to dangerous consequences." Miss Donovan was a remarkably pretty girl.

Comet Loftus could not, besides, ttifle with time. He found that Thurot, alarmed by rumours of the rapid advance of a huge English force, and that a British squadron would soon make its appearance in the bay, was, after granting highly favourable terms to Colonel Jennings, working with hot haste to get his troops, &c., on board, and be off with the kast possible delay. This precipitation would greatly im- pair the efficiency of his ships, two of the frigates being under repair, and the squadron not half victualled.

If Loftus was to prove worth his salt, he must check that precipitate flight. Twelve hours' delay, less than that, would insure the destruction of the French armament, signally avenge the outrage to British pride of a successful invasion of Ireland, in a small way no doubt, by a contempt- ible French force, relatively considered, after the defeat of Conflans had seemed to render such an event of impossible occurrence.

James Donovan was in immediate communication with Captidn Thurot, who thoroughly trusted him. The French commander knew him to be in communication with the principal Jacobites of Ireland, and on more than one occasion had proved the trustworthiness of intelligence ob- tained by his agency. Loftus assured Donovan, as from his Dublin brother, that the troops assembling for the relief of Carrickfeigus could not reach that place in less than four days at earliest, and that the ships about to be despatched by' the Duke of Bedford—only one of which

THE nONOTJI^BLE JOHK LOFTUS. 205

had arrived in Dablm Bay — could not, be wind and weather ever so favourable, make their appearance off Carrickfeigus in less than that time. Donovan hastened off with the news to Thurot. The French commander did not, perhaps, attach implicit confidence to the report ; but it so for influenced him that he did not hurry his preparations for departure with such impatience as before. More than twelve hours would be gained. Loftus felt satisfied of that, and that he himself should be handsomely rewarded for so signal a service by his EzceUency the Lord-Lieute- nant.

There was an under-play going on in the Donovan household, the full details of which Loftus, in his character of aunt, was speedily made acquainted with by her woe- stricken, sobbing niece, the charming Mary. Her father, feeUng that he was too deeply compromised to remain in Ireland — that if he did so, an oflben-recurring imag- inative halter tightening unpleasantly round his throat might become a terrible reality — ^had determined to depart with Thurot. To that end he had converted into cash eveiy thing he possessed of marketable value. His daughter was to go with him, and worse than even that, in the damsel's estimation, was to become the wife, before embarkation, of a Lieutenant de Poncy — a man whom she greatly disliked, and who was old enough to be her father. That dislike had been within a few days intensified to abhorrence — one Charles Sullivan, an old «weetibeart, who had been for many months absent from that part of the country, having returned, and at their first stolen interview renewed his vows of attachment and constancy — ^vows supplemented by the agreeable fact that he had succeeded to a considerable property in the West of Ireland, of which it was his soul's desire to make her mistress. But Sulli- van was not only a Protestant, but notoriously loyal to the

206 BCCENTBIO PEB80KAGBS.

H01186 of Hanover ; and Donoyaa p^re oonsequently hated him with an^ahaolnte hatred. Donovan was not in other respects a harsh &ther. The nieoe poured her sorrows into the sympathising hosom of her aont^ who bade her be of good cheer, as she would not fail to work out her deliver- ance, jealously as she was watched and guarded. She was enjoined to believe in her aunt's fflnoerity, notwith standing she might appear to coincide with the father's views, and &vonr the pretensions of Lieutenant de Poncy.

Commodore Thurot wiU delay no longer. The air is thick with rumours of the swift approach of British land and sea forces. Thurot has dallied with the time, and must not lose another moment He resolves to sail soon after dawn on the morrow. Donovan's effects— portable effects— are on board the flag-ftigate. Donovan himself goes on board just as the first rays of light pencil them- selves upon the eastern horison.

His daughter will quickly foUow. Lieutenant de Poncy is in waiting at the house to escort her to the boat ; he has a French seaman with him. They will stand no n<msense ; the damsel's tears, prayers, expostulations, will not avail her. Her lot is cast irrevocably ; her doom sealed. The aunt is with her, but even if she could be melted by the tenderness of tears, her sympathy would practically avail nothing.

A mistake ! as M. le Lieutenant de Poncy found to his cost.

• • • AU(ms/* exclaimed the lieutenant, addresang the

mourning bride (I am quoting just literally from Loftus) ;

• alloM / we must be gone. The squadron will lift anchor

in lees than a quarter of an hour. We shall be the last to leave this maucUt shore.'

<< * It was of your own choice you came to this '^cursed*'

THB HOKOUBABLB JOHIST LOFTUS. 207

shore/ said the aunt ; ' though not, perhaps, qmte of your own will that you go away.*

'^ The Frenchman stared at me. Then he said, ' Bonne femme, be pleased to speak in a more polite, respectful tone when addressing me. Now then, mademoiselle, come with me at once. I do not wish to use force without necessity, having your father's sanction and authority.'

" Boom / The report of a heavy gun shook the air.

<' ' It IS the signal for departure,' exclaimed the French lieutenant, excitedly. ' Nbm de Dieu I we shall be left behind. Here, Jacques,' he added, calling to the French sailor, — ^ Here, Jacques, help me to master and bind this young lady, who refuses to obey her father's commands I *

" Poor Mary Donovan was in despair, and looked at me with an expression so piteous, so reproachful, that knowing as I did there could be but little doubt of her successful rescue, the French having all embarked except the en- amoured lieutenant and his man, I burst into a fit — an immoderate fit of laughter. I cannot account for it, but I am generally affected with spasmodic bursts of merriment when excited and about to engage in some exploit out of the common mode. It was so then. Mary Donovan stared at me through her fast-falling tears. The lieute- nant stared also, and there was a certain expression oi doubt and surprise. He detected, I fancy — ^for I had dropped the female falsetto— the ring of a man's voice in the few words I uttered.

'^ ' Let that young lady alone 1 ' I exclaimed in my own natural voice, pitched in its fiercest key — < let that young lady alone 1 Do you hear me ? ' (I spoke in French.) ' Diable I ' said the Frenchman, ^ what does the old Uid;y mean ? ' ' I mean this,' said I, suddenly drawing forth a pistol. The lieutenant started. ' Diable I ' was repeated in a less jeering tone — ^ diable ! ' ' Gk) away, lieutenant,' I

208 ECCENTRIC PEBSONAGBS.

said; 'get on board yoar ship before she wdgbs andior. This jeane demoiselle remains with her aunt' ' Sacn tonnerre ! exclaimed the lieutenant, ' do yon think I am to be baulked by a cursed old woman ? ' His sabre was oat in a twinkling, and he rushed at me. He meant, I daresay, only to disarm me, unless he suspected, guessed, or imagined I was a man disguised in female attire. My pbtol-bullet was swifter than his sabre^troke. He fell with a scream prone upon the floor-nlead 1 The sdlor went off with all sails set.

The Honourable John Loftus gave Mary Danovan into the safe keeping of Sullivan, and had the honour of being best-man to the bridegroom. He had also been entirely successful in his political mission. Thurot's delay, though but for afew hours only, in the Bay of Carrickfergus, was fatal to him. The English squadron overtook and cap- tured the French ships, after a severe fight, in which the gallant Thurot was killed.

Comet Loftus was a '< bright particular star" at the Viceregal Court for some months after his Carrickfergus exploit, and won so much upon the favour of a ducal fiunily that he would have been accepted as a suitor to his grace's niece. She was neither young nor handsome — ^far from being so ; but the Duke promised a dowry of ten thousand pounds. *<It was a tempting bait," remarks Loftus; " but I had courage and virtue to say, ' (jet thee behind me, Satan.' I had conceived a fervid attachment to Mazy Rearden. Not mere boyish passion — straw on fire. So I turned my back on the Duke's niece, and married Maiy. The union was kept secret for a while, as his excellency had more than half promised to obtain me a good appoint- ment I took lodgings for my wife at the village of

THE HONOURABLE JOHN LOFTUS. 209

Howtb. It was not Tory long before it was whispered about that Comet Loftos had married a serving-girL The Duke sent for and questioned me. I did not deny the fact. Being brought to bay, I faced the matter boldly out, and gloried in what I had done. His grace, was indignant ; I insolent — ^my blood being up. We parted in extreme wrath.

I had but a few shillings over twenty-guineas, — that was all my worldly wealth. I tried friends, but might as well have attempted to reap the wind. So, after much dubitation, I and Mary hit upon the scheme which has given us so much notoriety. She sang well, especially in part-music, haying a fine natural ear. So we started off upon an itinerant tour — dressed in the extreme of fashion, both of us. I gave out, at every town we came to, that we were playing at wandering minstrels for fa laige wager. That is to say, I hinted it mysteriously to the landlords or landladies of hotels and taverns. We had to make up a great sum in a given time. The success was great. People believed me to be a lord, my wife a lady. I played, she played ; and both sang very well. No one presumed to offer us less than a silver piece ; and sometimes gold was tossed to us. My wife's beauty had much to do with it We made money fast — ^passed over to England, where we made it much faster. I had two children — ^flowers of Paradise ; and had saved a large sum, when an advertise- ment appeared in the Irish and English journals, stating if John Loftus, who formerly resided at Garrickfergus (I had sold my cometcy), would call or communicate with

Messrs. B , Merrion-square, Dublin, he would hear of

something to his advantage."

The Honourable John Loftus did communicate with- out delay; and the result was that his wayward, wandering life ended in his settling down at a place called Chevers,

210 ECOKNTBIO PBBS0NAG88.

in the County (Mway, Ireland — an estated gentleman. His descendants stilly I understand, inhabit the fine old

mansion bequeathed by the will of the Earl of ; and

ono gentleman, a member of the present Parliament, and a relative of his, I suppose, in a left-handed way, only the names are totally dissimilar, exhibits eccentricities which go far to prove that oddness or eccentricity of character, though differing in tjpe and fashion, runs in the blood of the family.

JONATHAN SWIFT, D.D., AND DEAN OF SAINT PATRICK.

Thbrx can be no doubt of the audaciotls eocentricily of this reverend and dignified gentleman, — dignified bj position, not by character, nor by seemly observance of even the common decencies of life. It is difficult to understand how Swift acquired his great reputation. Sir Walter Scott, in the feeblest paper he ever wrote (1824), pronounced him to be one of the greatest men this country had produced. One feels astounded that such a sentence should have flowed from such a pen. No question that Dean Swift possessed a vigorous, sledge-hammer kind of mtellect. He was a sort of clerical William Gobbett, wearing a gown instead of a smock-frock, but utterly deficient in the tenderness for women which was the most amiable characteristic of the Hampshire ploughman* With the exception of OuUivet'a Travdsj nothing of Swift's really lives in the popular mind. The taste of readers has so far improved since his time that indecent coarseness no longer passes for wit, nor irreverent mockery of all that constitutes the grace and glory of life for profound, searching wisdom. The true solution of the enigma presented by the career of Dean Swift is, in my judgment, this — that he was in a certain morbid sense insane from an early age. The mental malady grew upon him with advancing years, and at last became apparent to the dullest

"n

212 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES.

observer, fully jxistiijing the second line of an often-qooted couplet :

"Down Marlboro's cheeks the tears of dotage floir, And Swift expires a drireller and a show."

This much-talked-of Dean is commonly claimed by Irishmen as a countryman of theirs. No one would grudge the Isle of Saints such honour as that circum- stance might be supposed to confer : but the fact is not so ; except, to use a trite vulgarism, a man is a horse if he happens to be bom in a stable. Jonathan Swift*s father was a Yorkshireman, and married Mrs. Abigail Erick, of Leicestershire. Famous people were the Swifts of York- shire, if we are to believe the Dean's historiographers; though not by auy means equal in historic lustre to the Ericks, — Mrs. Abigail Eriok having been a direct des- cendant of Eriok the Forester, who flourished in the days of William the Norman !

Mr. and Mrs. Swifl, though rich in ancestral honours, were poor in an actual money sense. The father of the celebrated Dean was the youngest son of his father, and inherited a youngest son's portion. He accepted the situation or office of steward to the Socieiy of King's Inn, Dublin ; went to reside in that city ; and there was bom, before the expiration of the honey-year, if such a phrase be permissible, the subject of the present sketch, on the 30th of November, 1667. His father died when he was about a year oldj leaving his widow almost penniless. She had recourse to her deceased husband's brother, reputedly a rich man, but not really so. Godwin Swift befriended her to an extent much beyond his real ability. Jonathan's education was secured, and ultimately he entered Trinity Goll^, Dublin. He was not very successful in his studies there, and prone to all sorts of vagaries. He incurred

JONATHAlTBWIFry D.D. 213

seventy penalties for gross ofEenoes against the discipline of the coU^, and was compelled to make a most humiliating apology to Mr. Owen Loyd, the Junior Dean. He, how- ever, obtained a d^ee, which seems to have been con- ferred upon him more from compassion than as a guerdon of merit. Swift was abeady at war with the world ; but with the astuteness which is often found in men of unsound but powerful intellect, he early determined to be on the right side of the world, which he secretly scorned and despised. He sketched the first rough outline of his Tale of a 'Tuh, and showed it to his coU^ friend Mr. Waiying, who did not greatly approve of the High-Chuxoh dogmas which it set forth. He did not, however, suspect that the production was a sample of Jonathan Swift's rabid insincerity.

Pecuniary troubles again clouded the never-veiy-bright morning of young Swift's life. Godwin Swift was unable any longer to afford " supplies." Dryden William Swift filled up the gap for a while, not very efficiently ; but his cousin Swift, settled abroad as a merchant, came to the rescue in the very nick of time. Jonathan Swift was at his wits' end-=--and that, whatever we may think of his moral character, was a long way to go — when the captain of a merchant-vessel came to Trinity GoUege, and having found out the person ho was in quest of, presented him with a considerable sum of money, a gift from tLe cousin. Toung Swift was overjoyed, as well he might be. He offered the captain a large fee for his fidelity in the trans- action, which the honest sailor refused to receive.

Swift meanwhile had made great progress in what was, and still is, esteemed learning. He was a fair Greek and Latin scholar, and he had given evidence of the possession of a fluent biting tongue and coarsely-sarcastic pen.

His worldly prospects still, however, looked gloomy

2^4 XGCBNIBIO PEB80HAGX3.

enough, when a nj of lights though bat a fidnt one, pieroed through the cloads. He attracted the notice of Mr. Temple, who procured him a sitoation as secretaiy or amanuenais to hia uncle, Sir William Temple^ of Mooi Park, Hampshire, brother of the then Lord Pahnerston.

The connection was not an agreeable one to either Swift or Sir William Temple. The former thought himsdf undervalued, which was true enough; and tho baronet, whose lofty opinion of himself is well known, was annoyed by the supercilious assumption of the secretary. A truce was, however, for a lime patched np. Sir William Temple had drawn np a series of papers npon state affiurs, for the edification of King William the Third, and sent them by his secretary, who was charged to make clear to his Majesty any point or passage which the monarch might not distinctly comprehmid.

Swift acquitted himself so well of this duty, that his Majesty offered me/' says the facetious Dean, '< the oommaud of a troop of horse, and to show me how to cut asparagus the Dutch way." Whatever may have been the Dutch mode of cutting asparagus, the manner of eating it seems to have been extraordinary. Som^ time after his interview with the Eang, Swift was dining with an acquaintance, who heartily partook of the asparagus on the table, and pronounced it excellent. How is it, then, you do not eat it ? " exclaimed Swift. " You Jiave left the stalks." " Of course I have : who the devil could eat the stalks?" "Sir, his gracious Majesty eats the stalks. The Eiug, sir, when, as I was just now remark- ing, he offered me a troop of horse, showed me not only how to cut asparagus, but bow to eat it. He and his nation always eat tho stalks." If the Sang had offered Swift a lucrative post in the civil service instead of a

J05AIHAN SWIFI, D.J>. 215

troop of hone, we may be soie that the asparagus joke, if joke it can be called, would never have been uttered.

In 1692 we find Mr. Jonathan 8m£t at Oxford Uni- versity, where he obtained the d^ree of M.A., and wrote Pindaric odea, not much worse than those of Cowley or DoDne. His consin, John Diyden, to whom he sent a copy, wrote slightingly of them, an offence which the High-Ghnrch author of A TaU of a Tub never forgave.

Jonathan Swift, M.A., returned to Moor Park, but not to abide long there. He and Sir William Temple had an angry quarrel, the secretary not being as decorous in his life and conversation as the baronet was desirous he should be. That being so, Mr. Swift aonounced his intention to go to Ireland, and there take holy orders. He went and took holy orders; but as that initiatory ceremony is barren of desirable fruit unless supplemented by a living, the Rev. Mr. Swift wrote a penitential letter to Sir William Temple, soliciting his pardon and good offices with the Lord Deputy of Ireland, who had livings in his gift. The good-natured baronet was at once mol- lified, freely forgave his reverend correspondent, and so warmly commended him to the favour of the Lord Deputy, that that high officer presented the young cler- gyman with the living or prebend of Kib:tx>t, in the diocese of Connor, worth about one hundred pounds a-year.

Previous to this, the Rev. Mr. Swift had wooed Jane Warying, sister of his coUege-friend, and promised to marry her as soon as circumstances should enable him to do so with prudence. The courtsliip lasted four years, and was chiefly carried on by letter. At last the lady, wearying of the long delay, asked that some day should be fixed for the celebration of the marriage. To this the reverend suitor replied that he had changed his mind; he had discovered she was too ugly for his wife. This

216 BOCENTBIO PSRSOITAOBS.

ladj he was accustomed to address by the name of <' Varina. Swift had a fancy for such noms doanani — though genuine lover he never was throughout hb chame- leon life.

A curious anecdote, variousij reported, is related of the Beverend Jonathan Swift Whilst vegetatbg at Kilroot, and preaching to a congr^tion which sometimes reached ihe unusual number of seven persons, the clerk inclusive, he, b^ng out for a walk, met a poor clergyman—one much poorer than himself, as he had to maintain a wife md eight children upon forty pounds a-year. It is only m the pages of the poet — a true poet notwithstanding — who lamented the good old times of England when every rood of ground maintained its man, that a parson can be passing rich upon that stipend. And yet, as the story goes, this starving clergyman bestrode a fine black mare, his own property. The Reverend Mr. Swift was desirous of doing the poor curate a good turn, but naturally ex- pecting some recompense for a charitable deed, asked for the loan of the horse. As the Reverend Swift was, we may presume, personally known to the poor parson, the request was complied with. Shortly afterwards, according to Sir Walter Scott, the prebend of Balroot was vacated by Swift, and presented to the indigent clergyman, the Reverend Jonathan retaining the black mare as a fee for the conversion of forty into one hundred pounds per annum, through his, the Reverend Swift's influence and exertions. It is a strange story, and scarcely credible, though believed in by Sir Walter Scott. Lord Orrery — ^no friend of Swift's — gives a veiy different version of the affair; but as his imputations arc not sustained by proof, it would be unfair to quote them. The truth of the matter I suppose to be this : Swift had obtained of Lord Berkeley, one of the Lord Justices of Ireland, a promise of the rich deanery of Derry,

JONATHAN SWUT, D.D. 217

and being abont to leave Ealrooi, reoommended the dexgyman witih a wife and eight children to the Taoated prebend, and accepted the "fine black mare " as a present of gratitade.

The Reverend Jonathan Swift was grievously disap- pointed in his expectation of the rich deanery of Derry. The Lord Jnstice's private secretary had an insaperable objection to the arrangement. Another candidate, anxious to be the instrument of savihg souls in that particular dean- eiy, was willing to hand over one thousand pounds for the possession of the blessed privil^e. The Reverend Jonathan Swift had not, perhaps, a thousand pence. Aaufficiently rich client was found, the secretary of the Lord Justice pocketed the thousand pounds, and Swift's anger found impotent expreesion in a letter, wherein he exclaimed, with reference to the Lord Justice and his secretary, God confound you both for a couple of scoundrels I"

The Lady Berkeley was friendly to Swift, and through her influence the youthful divine obtained the vicarages of Laracor and Rathbeggan, with the prebend of Bunhun — the gross income derived from which amounted to four hundred pounds Sryear.

About ttns time the Reverend Jonathan carried out a practical joke which caused much amusement. One John Partridge published a Prophetio Almanack, which had a large sale. It was not, perhaps, more absurdly audacious than our modem Francis Moore and Zadkeil's publications. It^ however, so stirred Swift's bile that he sent a letter to the papers, subscribed Isaac Bickerstaff, the Modem Merlin," in which he foretold the death of Partridge, naming the day and hour when that sad and solemn event would take place.

Poor Partridge was terribly annoyed: the prediction seemed likely, as sometimes happens, to fulfil itself. He,

218 EOCSNTBIC PSRSONAGBS.

however, sanriTed the day upon whieh Isaac Bickerstaff, as interpreter of the stars, had foretold that he would die. He annoonced that important fact in Uie belief that it would put his persecutor to shame. Not at all ; very far from that. The only notice taken by Swifb of the Almaa- actmaker's assertion that he was alive and well was the publication of a monody on his death. The assertion of his being alive was coolly ignored. Vainly did the perse- cuted Partridge write again to the newspapers, <' Blessed be God, John Partridge U still living and in health, and they are all knaves who report otherwise." Strange to sav, the Stationer's Company believed Isaac Bickerstaff, and prohibited the publication of Partridge's Almanack — for- asmuch as that person was defunct. In his extremity, Partridge engaged the facile pen of Dr. Yalden, who wrote a pamphlet which set forth the pros and cons of the argu- ment, very elaborately summing up the case by a hesitating opinion that John Partridge was still in the flesh. The Doctor was a wag and a friend of Swift's. John Partridge was never able to successfully prove his own identity, and at last he appears to have been himself somewhat doubtful of it

I shall pass rapidly over those sad episodes, so to speak, in the life of this misplaced man, which repute has con- nected with Miss Esther Johnson and Miss Vanhomrig — the Stella and Vanessa of his repulsively selfish egotistical verses. Esther Johnson he met with at Moor Park. She was his pupil, and a beautiful girl. He gained her affec- tions, and with her sister, Mrs. Dingle, she followed him to Ireland. Miss Vanhomrig was a later acquaintance, and she also pursued the fascinating parson to the Emerald Isb. Ultimately Swifb married Esther Johnson (Stella), privately, in Dublin — ^tha condition being that the union should not

• JONATHAN SWrPT, D.D. 219

be acknowledged till suoh time as he himself chose to aonounce it. That time never came. Miss Vanhomrig CV'anessa) died of a broken heart, to use a conventional pbrase^ which sometimes expresses a substantial truth. A great reverse in life, whether it arise from disappointed affection or baffled ambition, will often so weaken and depress the vital force of life, that the slightest physical disorder will extinguish the flickering flame.

The Reverend Jonathan Swift had not, and did not care to have, an extensive cure of souls. His cougrega- tion usually consisted of about half-a-dozen hearers, and upon one occasion he had only one auditor, the parish-clerk, one Roger Coxe, whom, on commencing his sermon, this facetious champion of High-Church orthodoxy addressed as <^ Dearly beloved Roger I "

The Reverend Jonathan Swift, in sooth, cared but for the emoluments of the Church, though he did write a pamphlet upon the best mode of promoting the advance- ment of religion. A Whig in poHtics, he, finding Harley and Bolingbroke in favour with Queen Anne, abandoned his former friends, and employed his bitter pen to vilify them. He was constantly in London soliciting and impor- tuning for preferment — ^money 1 " If the Queen," wrote the high-flying Churchman to Stella, "does not give me a thousand pounds, I am ruined."

When in London, Swift used to frequent Button's Coffee-house, where he was known as " the Mad Parson." He rarely spoke to any one, and was in the habit of pacmg the room to and fro in moody silence. He broke that silence one day by an odd sally. A country gentleman in mud-bespattered boots came in. Swift instantly accosted him with " Pray, Sir, do you remember any fine weather in the world ?" The country gentleman thanked God that

220 ECGKNXBIO PEBBONAaSS.

he had in hia lifetime known mnoh fine weather. " Well, air, then your experience and mine diffdr. The weather ifl always too hot or too oold, too wet or too dry." Beool- lectiog his Church livery, Swift sanctimcmioaaly added, y However, Qod contrives it is all well at the end of the year."

Dr. Arbathnot, who now and then dropped in at Button's, tried a fall with the mad parson, and got the worst of it He had written a note in the coflfee-roomi and stepping up to the mad parson," asked if he could &vour him with a little sand to dry the ink. " No, sir," said Swift; << I have no sand; but I could aooommodate you with a little gravel."

Lord Wharton, of not yery odorous reputation, was appointed Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and was, of course, pursued by the importunities of Swifl. He was unsuc- cessful. Dr. Loyd, who was on sufficiently intimate terms with Lord Wharton, had observed that an attendant upon her ladyship, upon whom she had bestowed the sobriquet of Foysdy, was an especial favourite with hia lordship. Dr. Loyd made vehement court to the young lady — actually proposed marriage to her; upon hearing which Lord Wharton exclaimed, with the fervour inspired by a great deliyerance, '<Why, then, he shall have the first bishopric that falls vacant." Dr. Loyd was in no hurry to midce dear Foysdy Mrs. Loyd. He waited till a bishop- ric did fall vacant — ^that of Cork, and immediately married Foysdy. Lord Wharton endeavoured faithfully to fulfil his part of the baigain, but Queen Anne could not be persuaded to nominate Loyd Bishop of Cork, and that eminent divine was compelled to accept a not very Jucrar tive deanery in the North, as the best BoUxtium obtainable for his disappointment. Swift indulged in much coarse merriment at Dr. Loyd's expense.

JONATHAN SWIFT, D.D. 221

Mrs. Masliam, the influential favonrite of Queen Anne, was a steady friend to Swift, and but for his irritable temper, might have succeeded in procuring him the bishopric of Hereford. There were, however, tu>o favour- ites — the Duchess of Somerset, and Mrs., subsequently Lady Masham. Her majesty alternately listened to the advice of one and of the other. Swift knew that her Grace of Somerset disliked him, and in a fit of petulance wrote and caused to be printed a scurrilous libel, in which he charged her with the murder of her first husband. At the earnest request of Lady Masham, to whom he had sent a copy, and who knew how much it would offend the queen, he gave orders to the printer to destroy all the copies. He was too late. The duchess had obtained one of them, which she showed to the queen, who was exceed- ingly indignant that such a charge should be made against a person whom she held in favour and esteem. The Archbishop of York also opposed himself to Swift's pre- tensions, and spite of Lady Masham's powerful support, the bishopric, which he believed himself to be in almost actual possession of, became a rapidly-dissolving view. He afterwards avenged himself, after his fashion, by' the fol- lowing couplet :

" Bj an old murderess pursued, A crazj prelate, aad a royal prude. ,

At last he so far succeeded in the struggle for the loaves and fishes of the Church as to obtam the deanery of St. Patrick, Dublin. Th^re being nothing more to hope fbr from the English Ministry, Swift determined to set up for a flaming Irish patriot,-^he, who had always proclaimed his di^ust with Ireland and all things Irish. Once at the town of Kells, he asked the landlord of the tavern in which he was staying his name and country. The reply

222 ECGBNTBIC PERSONAGES.

WBfl, My name is JoaaUan Belcher, and I am an Englieihman bj birth." Good heavens 1 " exclaimed Swift, " an Englishman baptised Jonathan here /"

The Dean preached political pamphlets, not sermons; and soon came to be veiy popular in Dablin. He had not. to wait very long for an opportonity of displaying his newly-kmdled Irish zeaL

William Wood was authorized by royal patent to coin copper-money for Ireland to the amount of one hundred and eight thousand pounds. This would have been a per- fectly legitimate, unobjectionable transaction, had it not oosed out that the patent had been obtained through the influence of the Duchess of Kendal, the king's mistress^ who was to share half the profits with Wood.

Swift at once took up the eudgels nominally against Wood — ^really against the Ministiy. He wrote under the name of A Drapier, and his vigorous Billingsgate produced immense effect. Harding, the printer of the letters, was thrown into gaol, and a reward of three hun- dred pounds was offered for the discoyery of the writer. Every body knew the Dean was the author — the moral proof was conclusive, but legal evidence of the fact was not obtainable. Harding steadily refused to give up the name of the author. Swift himself was a witness of the man's constan<7. He visited Harding disguised as an Irish peasant. Whilst there. Government emissaries arrived; they came with liberal offers from the viceregal govern- ment if Harding would enable them to convict the seditious pamphleteer. Harding refused — ^preferring to remain in prison rather than betray the confidence which Swifl had reposed in him. The Dean found himself nevertheless in great jeopardy. A servant who had taken the manuscript to Harding and brought back proofs, presuming upon the possession of so perilous a secret^ replied to the Dean in

JONATHAN SWIFT D.D. 223

an insolent manner, hinting that he might bo induced to claim the reward oflFered by the Government. " Strip off your livery I" exclaimed the enraged Dean. Begone, and do yonr.worstl " The man b^ed pardon, and was .forgiven.

One curious incident in this absurd imbroglio deserves notice. Swift attended a lev^e held by Lord Calcot, the lord-lieutenant, and, bursting through the brilliant entour- age, fiercely demanded how his lordship dared to keep such an honest man as Harding in gaol. Lord Calcot, who knew perfectly well, as every one else did, that Swift was the Drapier, replied with a good-humotired classical quota- tion, and the matter ended. The obnoxious patent was ultimately cancelled.

There are innumerable anecdotes related of the Dean, all, or nearly all, exhibitive of a coarse, offensive nature. Nasty is the true word. His deanship did not engage a servant without first questioning him or her as to their willingness to perform the most servile, unpleasant offices. If the answers given were satisfactory, showing the requisite slavish spirit, the man or woman was engaged, not other- wise.

One not unsavoury anecdote told of this man is that when " Mary Cook" sent him to table a l^of mutton over- done, he rang for and desired her to take it away, << and do it less,"

The fierce erratic intellect rapidly gave way at last. He was himself conscious — had for years felt conscious that his brain was flawed. It was a morbid sympathy with unfor- tunates afflicted with mental derangement which prompted him to found the Hospital for Idiots. One day, reading his Tale of a Tub, ho suddenly exclaimed, '< Good Heavens 1 what a genius I had when I wrote that book I It is gone now — gone — gone for ever 1" This reminds us of the aneo-

224 EccBirrBic personages.

dote of Marlborough, who, when in his dotage, gazing upoD a portrait of himself when he was in the flash and hejdaj of life, exclaimed, in a childish, treble voice, ^ That vxu a manr

When stroIUng with a friend in the oonntry. Swift gave utterance to the dismal forebodings which had long pos- sessed him. They came upon a noble ekn, the topmost branches of which were withered. " Ah my friend !" exclaimed Swift, '^ like that tree, I shall die at the top /*'

Prophetio words — soon to be realised. Dean Swift died raving mad, leaving little behmd him, spite of great talents, which the world has not willingly allowed to die.

LADY MAET WOBTLET MONTAGUE.

The Lady Mary Pierrepoint waa the eldest of the three daughters of the Earl of Dorchester, afterwards Duke of Kingstown. She waa his fayourite, very heantiful as a child, and of that type of beauty which maturity perfects and enhances. A singularly precocious girl was the Lady Maiy Pierrepoint; her talent, genius — such talent and genius as she ppssessed — not only budded; but flowered early. The splendour and the perj^ime were, in a com- parative degree, but the suppliance of a nunute — sweet not lastbg — forward, not permanent.

The first distinct view we have of her ladyship is at the once famous Eit^at Club in 1698. It waa the custom at that very aristocratic riunion to assemble at the commence- ment of the London season, to nominate the lady who should be their standing toast for the year, haye her name inscribed upon their drinking-glasses, and her portrait painted in Eat^sat fashion — head and bust merely. Li the year named, 1698, the members of the Olub were somewhat puzzled as to the choice of a lady who would accept the honour. To end the difficulty the Earl of Dorchester proposed his daughter, the Lady Mary Pierre- point. There waa some demur to the proposal, no member of the Club haying seen the young lady. To obyiate that ol>jection, the earl said he would go at once and fetch her if the members were willing that he should do so. There could be no possible objection, and it waa not long before the earl returned with a beautiful girl not quite nine years p

226 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES.

old. She was received and nominated with ezal)eraiit aoclamation. The members were delighted, and the Lady Mary received their compliments with a grace and sweetness almost womanly, which won upon the hearts of all. She herself was in an ecstasy of delight. The incaise of admiration intoxicated her at that child-age. " Pleasure," she afterwards wrote, " pleasure were too poor a word to express my sensations; never again throughout my life have I spent so happy a day." There is in these few words a self-revelation which gives the key to her wayward ladyship's whole life — ^a life of which the master-passion was vanity, insatiable vanity, a craving after notoriety, &om the attainment of which she would certainly not be hin- dered by old humdrum prejudices.

The charming nominee of the Kit-cat Club was bom in 1690, at Thoresby, Nottinghamshire. She was in her fifth year when the Countess of Dorchester died, since when her studies had been directed by the earl, her father. The curriculum adopted was identical with that pursued by her brother, the Earl of Newark. The girl soon distanced the boy. He was nowhere in Classics. When she was still in her early teens the Lady Mary had mas- tered the Greek and Latin languages, and acquired so true an insight into the social and political condition of England, that she translated Epictetusy after a fashion, and sent the manuscript to the Lord Bishop of Salisbury, acoompanyii^ it with a long, laboured epistle, in which she proved to her own perfect satisfaction that the smking liberties of England " could only be saved from speedy and total wreck by the patriotic fortitude of soul which his lordship wiis known to possess. The dixir vitas recommended by her young ladyship for the effectual renovation of England, whose fine ladies, this pretty minx of fifteen assured the bishop, were more atheistic than the loosest rakes, was the

LADY MARY VOBTLEY MOKTAGUB. 227

enforced eduoation of English girls and women in the dead languages ; which means that they should he conse- crated to Ohristianitj hj the haptism of Pagan moralists. What answer was returned hj my lord the hishop to this silly stuff does not appear. Mr. Stuart Wortley, the present Recorder of London, if I mistake not, is of opinion that that early flight of genius showed that the charming girFs talents would, bear her very high in the literary empyrean. His Recordership's law, we may be permitted to hope, is sounder than his critical acumen.

It is difficult, if not impossible, accurately to estimate Greek and Latin scholarship. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred it is a pretentious sham. Person, the most famous of Oreek scholars, used to admit in his cups that he really knew less of the Qreek language than an ancient Oreek cow-boy. Mr. Gladstone would probably make the same admission. Professor Person, moreover, denied that the scholastic Germans knew anything of Greek :

<* The Germans in Greek Are sadly to seek, Not one in ten score, Nor yet in ten more, Except my friend Hermann, And Hermann's a German—"

There are other tests more decisive then mere critical dicta. The highly-cultivated classic taste of Lady Mary Pierrepoint was of so refining a quality as to cause her to revel with delight over the highly-intellectual pages printed at the Minerva Press, to admire and effusively sympathise with Corydons, Oelias, Grandisons, Aramintas, who sigh, simper, maunder, and preach through dreary records of impossible life. The English dramatic writing which thb young lady (whom her biographeis would have

228 EOCENTRIO PEBSOl^AGES.

Uie world believe eonld not only read in the original Imt folly appreciate Sophocles and Enripidea) most highly esteemed, was not Shakespeare's. She seems to have cod- desoendingly patronised the anthor of ffamlet something after the saperolioos &shion of Mrs. Montaga and the author of Irene. Her admiration of the Britbh stage oolminated in Lilly's magnificent Oearge BamwdL The finroe of genius could not soar a loftier flight than was etinoed in that immortal drama. After this, the anecdote of the enthusiastio Scotchman who, standing up in the pit, after the successful representation of Home's tragedy of DouglcUf exultingly exclaimed, looking down upon the Bn^ish audience from the immeasurable height of Cale- donian conceit — What do you think of your Wooly Shakespeare noo?" reads like the utterance of a seosible

Beantifiil Lady Maxy was, it would seem, by her own oon&saion, by no means fkstidious as to personal clean- liness. One of her French ihtinntes remarked that her hands were not so clean as they might be. <' Mes maim I Ceet vrai ; mats ai vou$ voyiez mespiedi I " Q^ 'HLj hands 1 It is true ; but if you could see my feet 1 ")

A frolicsome girl was this daughter of the Duke of Kingston, destined in that age of literary gourd-tribe luxuriance, to attain rapidly as lofty as spurious a reputar tion for genius. She ordered a boy's fantastic dress of many colours, very picturesque, becoming in a certain sense no doubt, and used to delight in riding a fayourite pony boy-fashion, at a pace which made the attendant groom, though well mounted, toil after her in vain. She was, perhaps, as good a horse-woman as Queen Victoria.

Her eccentricities, whilst she was still young — ^not ua- sexed, un-Englished, by a cosmopolitan cynical scepticism —often .inclined to virtue's sido, to use a much-quoted

LAD7 IfABY WORTLEY MOHTAGUB. 229

namby-pambjism. An elderly person in the estabHahment had been goilly of some impertinence towards her, which coming to the Earl of Dorchester, or the Duke of Kingston's knowledge (the date of the anecdote is not so clear as the &ct itself), the woman was discharged without notice. She was poor. The Lady Mary — her anger, excited by the servant's want of manners, having subsided— managing, under pretence that she required a considerable sum of money for the replenishment of her wardrobe, to obtain fifty guineas of the earl or duke, went herself to the woman's dwelling, and, handmg her the fifty-guinea purse, said, " Now mind, you very impudent creature, that if you ever dare mention that I have given you money, not only will I never give you another fartiiing, but I will have you hunted out of the country. Remember that 1 " The woman, or some other person cognisant of the circumstance, must have mentioned it, as it soon became known in the Lady Maiy's father's establishment, and the servant was before long readmitted to the situation horn which she had been abruptly dismissed.

The home-education of the Lady Maiy Pierrepoint was well adapted to early-fashion a girl of her peculiar idiosyn- crasy and temperament into a self-willed, vain, self-con- fident girl-woman of the world. She was mistress of her father's housdiold, presided at her father^s table when she was in her sixteenth year. The conveisational contact incident to such a position, in a house where the guests were chiefly men, could not be otherwise than destructive of the maidenly modesty of manner which constitutes the charm of girlhood.

Still she was a much-admired, much-toasted young lady not only at the Kit<!at Olub, but other resorts of fashion- able gentlemen/ No wonder that her not very powerful, though to a certain extent creative brain, was turned by the

230 ECCENTRIO PEBSONAaSS.

adulation of society, that the iaoesise layishlj bomt before the shrine of the noble young beauty by a multitude of titled fools and tufl4iunters should have developed her organ of vanity — originally lazge enough, in all conscienoe — ^to a prodigious extent. Beautiful — ^fascinating, whea ffhe chose to be so — and declared to be the wittiest woman of that or any other age, it is not surprising that she esteemed hersdf to be superior to all the men and women in the world — ^in that hallucination presenting a marked resemblance to Maigaret Fuller, the American phenome- non, who made her brilliant cUbutj passed across, and made her sudden exit from the stage of the world a century and a half after her English prototype. Well, the Lady Maiy was certainly witty — not with the wit of Rosalind or Beatrice, or its faintest reflex, but she could string together shining sentences. Not much in them^ but the gold varnished glittered. There have been, are, and I suppose always will be, adepts in that art. They resemble the artist-workers of Birmingham, who, it is said, can manu- facture a thousand pounds' worth, sale-worth, of jewehy out of a sovereign and a copper ooalshute.

Lady Mary was especially proud of her epistolary powers. " Do not destroy or mislay my letters," she wrote, with laughable igoisme, << Forty years hence they will be as highly esteemed as those of Madame de S^vignd.

I give a specimen of one of the compositions which were to rival, possibly surpass, those of the spirituelle French- woman. Lady Mary was on a visit in Yorkshire, whence she addressed the following barren, blotting-paper imitation of the De SdVignd style to her friend Anne Wortley, the grand-daughter of Admiral Montague, Earl of Sandwich. She is writing of the Yorkshire beaux :

<^ In the first form of these creatures is a Mr. Yanbeig. Heaven, no doubt compassionating his dulness, has inspired

LADT MAB7 W0BTLE7 MONTAGUE. 231

him with a passion which makes ns all ready to die with laughing. 'Tis credibly reported that he is endeavouring at the honourable estate of matrimony, and is resolved to lead a sinful life no more. It is hard to say whether pure holiness inspires, or dotage turns his brain. 'Tis certain he attends the Monday and Thursday market assemblies constantlyy and for those who don't regard worldly advan- tage much, thero's extra good and pl^itifnl choice. I believe there were two hundred pieces of woman's flesh — fat and lean — last Monday. But you know Van's taste was always odd. His indinalion for ruins has given him a taste for Mrs. Yarboruugh. He sighs and ogles so, that it would do your heart good to see him, and she is not a litUe pleased, in so small a proportion of men amongst suc^ a number of women, that a whole should fall to her share."

The Lady Mary had a multitude of lovers, admirers, and danglers ; not one of whom did she r^ard with the slightest real favour. But she amused herself mightily with them. One desperately enamoured and very rich young gentleman, a Mr. John Beauohamp, who made im- passioned love to her, and who, when she had just passed her eighteenth birthday, sent a formal offer in writing to her noble father. The young gentleman was a wretched horseman. He had been brought up effeminately by a timid, fearful aunt. A John-Oilpin equestrian, he preferred a walking pace while on the back of a horse, or at the worst a veiy mid amble. Mischievous Lady Mary -resolved to give him a practical lesson upon the folly of seeking to unite himself in the blessed bonds of wedlock to a lady whose tastes, habits, proclivities were so directly^ opposed to his own.

John Beauchamp, esqtdre, attended in the forenoon at the duke's^mansion to receive, as he phrased it, his life or death-wairant. He barely escaped, in grim reality, the

232 SOCSNTRIO FERSONAOBS.

latter alternative. Lady Haiy Pierrepoint was waitii^ for the sighing swaia in the fore ooort-yard ; her high- blooded pony was ready, as was another equally high- blooded animal, though in appearance meek, mild to a fault. << You will take a ride with me ? '* said her young ladyship, flashing upon her daszled suitor one of her most brilliant smiles : " I have had the quietest mare m the stable saddled on purpose for you. We shall have a delightful ride on this beautiful day." What oould the ardent lover do but accept so flattering an invitation, whatever his misgivings as to the quietest mare in the stable ? I am almost sure, by the way, he was the Hon- ourable John Beauohamp, so called, at all events, if I remember rightly, in an old number of the OenUeman's Magazine, from which I derive the anecdote. Whether honourable or not, the highly-flattered, dreadfUly-fright- ened lover mounted the meek mare with a groom's as- sistance, and away went the fast pony with her faster ladyship, the quiet mare following suit with a will. It was cruel, terrible— sit upright, holding on solely by the bridle, the Honourable John Beauchamp could not, at that terrible pace ; and stooping down, like Cowper's hero, he grasped the mane with both his hands and eke with all his might. Ah, my Lady Mary, it is useless to wave your handkerchief, as, half-turning round in the saddle, you do, by way of courteous encouragement, to that frightfully scared swain. The quietest of mares has become unusually excited— wondering and perplexed, no doubt, as to the kind of animal which bestrides her. She passes the pony like a cannon-shot, and makes straight for a five-barred gate, which she has leapt a hundred times. The Hon- ourable John Beauchamp screams with terror, but holds on, nevertheless, like grim Death, to the mare's. mane and neck, till the terrible leap takes place, when he is shot out

LADY JfAKY WOETLBY MONTAGUE. 233

of the saddle like a stone from a sling. The Lady Mary and groom ride np, and the frolicsome maiden was a good deal alarmed by the result of her practical joke, as she looked upon the white face of her loyer, and the blood ooadng from the back of his head. The Honourable John Beauchamp was, fortunately, not killed, though the escape from death was a narrow one. It does not seem that he ever again renewed his offer of marriage, or requested a more decisive reply to that which he had sebt. He was quite satisfied, and in after years, when the Lady Mary had developed into the bluest of hcu-bleuBf the strongest of strong-minded women, was wont in his convivial hours to rejoice in the memory of that tremendous ride. Bitter in the mouth, but sweet in the stomach.

Meanwhile, a marriage between her eccentric ladyship and the Honourable Edward Wortley Montague was initiated. Mr. Wortley Montague, a solemn, methodic gentleman, an incarnation of red-tape routine, became enthralled by her lovely ladyship — ^by her face and figure — a merely sensuous paadon. Lady Mary Pierrepoint met the gentleman one day at his sister's. He, like most dull pedants, affected contempt for femmine acquirements, feminine genius. Lady Mary put forth all her powers to compel the practical retraction of that cynical creed ; the artillery of her eyes, and general personal beauty, being ^ infinitely more effective, we may be sure, than smart I flippancy of tongue, which never since the world b^an / enchained the affections of a man. It was especially I hopeless to attempt doing so in this particular instance. Had the Lady Mary been gifted with genuine wit oi humour, it would have been as useless attempting to cut blocks with a razor, as to have sought the subjugation of Mr. Wortley Montague by such a weapon. At their first interview, it came out that her ladyship's classic curricu-

284 ECOENTBIC PKBaONAGBS.

lnm did aot oomprise Qaintos Gartias. Tliis afforded Mr. Wortley Montague an opportaoity of Bending his charmer a copy, on the fij-leaf of which he wrote the foliowing dreary doggrel :

<< Beantj like hen had yanqnished Persia sbown, The liacedon had laid his empire down, And polished Greece obeyed a barbaroaa throne. Had wit BO bright adorned a Gieciaa dame,

• The amorous youth had lost his thirst for fame,

Nor distant India sought through Syria- s plain, But to the Muses' stream hither had run, And thought her lorer more than Ammon's son."

This supremely dull and pompous personage was how- ever, unmistakably in love with the Lady Mary's beauty. He could not escape its influence, though nervously de- sirous of domg so. The Reverend Sydney SmiUi used to say that he must have recourse to an umbrella to shidd himself from the ^' Norton " rays. Mr. Wortley Montague contemplated the adoption of a far more effective defence against such sun-strokes — that of flight. But he could not convert purpose into action ; he could not break his chains. His correspondence with the eccentric enchantress was commenced through the medium of his sister, Anne Wortley. Wortley Montague wrote the letters, the fervour of which, supposedly uttered by female lips, would have been insipidly absurd. One of ^e Lady Mary's replies is explicative enough — is only another illustration of the instinct by which Vuprit vient auxJUles :

" I am infinitely obliged to you, my dear Miss Wortley, for the wit, beauty, and other fine qualities you bestow upon me. Next to receiving them from heaven, you are the person from whom I would receive gifts and graces. I am very well satisfied to owe them to your own delicacy of imagination, which represents to you the idea of a fine

LADY MARY WORTLET MONTAGUE. 235

ladj, and you have good nature enough to fancy I am she. All this is mighty well, but you do not stop there. Ima- gination is boundless. After giving me imaginary wit and beauty, you give me imaginary passion, and you tell me I'm in love. K I am, it is a love of ignorance, for I doa't even know the man's name. I passed the days of Not- tingham Kaoes at Thoresby, without seeing or wishing to 6^ one of the sex. Now, if I am in love, I am very un- fortunate to conceal it so industriously from my own knowledge, and yet reveal it so plainly to other people. 'Tis against all form to have such a passion as that without giving one sigh for the matter. Pray tell me the name of him I love, that I may, according to the custom of lovers, sigh to the woods and groves hereabout, and teach it to their echo."

Miss Wortl^ died, and the thin, transparent device of wooing by proxy — ^lisping love for a woman by the voice of a ^1 — ^was necessarily given up. Mr. Wortley Montague courted in person instead of by attorney ; but the trumpet gave an uncertain sound, and the replying echoes were still more uncertain.

" You think," said the lady, " that if you married me I should be distractedly fond of you for one month, and of somebody else the next. Disabuse yourself of that notion. Neither would happen. I can esteem, I can be a friend, but I don't know whether I can love. Expect all that is complaisant and easy, but never what is fond in me." Mr. Wortley proposed that immediately the nuptial knot was tied, the " happy pair " should retire to the glades, permanently it would seem — the world forgetting, by the world forgot. A paradisal hermitage was dimly pictured in his foggy imagination. The Lady Mary had no such stuff in her thoughts. " Retirement," said the stroog-minded young lady, '* would soon be dis-

236 SCCINTBIO FBBSONAGBS.

agreeable to jou. A face is too slight a foandation for happiness. You would soon be tired of seebg eTery day the same thing." Again : " Lore ta a mere madneas — the passion of a child for a well-dressed doL It delights him till in a short time the tinsel coyering wears tiirongh, and he discovers that it is mainly made of sawdust" Truly a plain-spoken damsel, perfectly secure of her vic- tim, if she elected to lead him to the altar of sacrifice. In another of these amiable rejoinders she says : " Make no answer to this. If you can like me on my own terms, 'tis not to me you must make the proposals. If not^ to what purpose is our correspondence ?"

Lord Whancliffo remarks in his poorly and partially- written biography of his ancestors that Mr. Wortley Mon- tague was horribly afraid of uniting himself for better for worse with such a very original damsel, and struggled fiercely to break through the meshes in which she had bound him ; " but every struggle to get free left him still a captive, galled by his chain, yet unable to break one link of it effectually."

Who can control his fate ? Mr. Wortley surrendered at discretion, and made a formal proposal for the hand of the fascinating daughter of the Earl of Dorchester. The proposal was accepted with reservations as to how the property should be setUed. Mr. Wortley, inspired by his lady-love, who differed with society — ^^'hLgh" society, it is well understood — ertne de la crime — ^with respect to the justice of the laws of entail and primogeniture, re- fused to entail the whole of his landed estate upon the oldest male issue of the proposed mairiage, who might, he remarked with prophetic truth, prove a spendthrift, an idiot, or a villain. Lady Mary was decidely of opinion that the fathers and mothers of children should reserv joint power to make such disposition of their property as

LADT MABT WOBTLBY MONTAQUE. 2S7

they saw fit. The Earl of Dorehester would not listen to sach revolutionary doctrines, and the marriage negotiation was abruptly broken off.

Principle and passion are very unequally matched antagonists. A new, and in the opinion of the Earl of Dorchester, more eligible suitor for the hand of Lady Mary Pierrepoint appeared suddenly in the field. This genlJeman, who was yeiy rich, would sign and seal to any documentary settlement the earl chose to dictate, and readily agreed to maintain a town establishment. This cardinal point had neyer been distinctly conceded by Mr. Wortley. The Lady Mary hesitated. She preferred Mr. Wortley. But the earl, her father, threatened that if she did not marry the man of hU choice, he would forthwith pack her off to some oiit-of-the-way country place and keep her locked up till she came to her senses. I cannot but think it would have been happy for the wilful young lady had the earl been able to carry out his purpose. But the Lady Mary's organ of combativeness had been called into play ; and it was an oigan of much more than ordinary size and development. The wedding-dresses were ordered, sent home. It was imperative to decide at once. The Lady Mary cast off her indecision, though tremblingly. An elopement was arranged. The following extract of a letter, written on its eve, lets in betraying light on the lady's character :

" I tremble for what we are doing. Are you sure you will love me for ever ? Shall we never r^ret the step we are about to take ? I fear, and I hope. I foresee much that will presently happen. My family will be i^uriously incensed. The world generally will blame my conduct;

the friends of will invent a thousand stories to my

discredit ; yet 'tis possible you may compensate me for all. Li your last letter, which I mudi like, you promised me

238 BCCBinxic pbbsonaqss.

all Uiat I wIbIl [Tho town establishmeat ?] Knoe I wrote 80 far, I received your/Friday letter. I will be only yours, and I will do as you pleaae."

The elopement was successfully carried out^ though as the bride was in her twenty-fourth year, and as a con- sequence at her own disposal, the necessity of such a pro- ceeding does not clearly appear. Lady Mary Pierrepoint was married to Mr. Wortley Montague in May, 1713.

A miserable marriage 1 The lady's mind daily becoming << stronger ^^ in the social-science sense of Uie phrase, enabled her to mentally tear asunder — I think only mentally^the flimsy conventionalisms, the coloured cob- webs, which have nevertheless sufficient power to hedge^in the sanctity of domestic life, with the mass of ladies — ^not, indeed, transcendental femalities — ^but wives not too bright or good, as Wordsworth expresses it, for human nature's daily food. The hectic fever of passion was soon chilled by satiety: Mr. Wortley Montague cared nothing for his wife ; the wife despised her husband. VanUas vanitatum I

Mr. Montague, through the Duke of Kingston's interest, was iq>pointed to the post of British Ambassador at Con- stantiuople. The ^' Ambassadress " accompanied him. The female domestic life of the Orient amused her way- ward fancy. She sympathised with its indolence, with its practical creed of '^ eat, drink, and be meny, for to-morrow we. die." She audaciously asserted hi letters that '< in forty years after they were written would be esteemed as highly as Madame De S^vign^'s," that married women in Turkey, where a wife can to this day be sewed up in a sack and flung into tha sea at the pleasure of a husband, enjoy more real liberty than English wives. One remark of this beautiful oddity is a curious one. She, from frequently seeing the Turkish ladies at the baths, was

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE. 239

impressed with a notion that vera the saperfluities t)f dress dispensed with, which, hat for a false delicacy would he quite practicahle in sunny eastern climes, the faces of women in comparison with their figures would attract no attention. Ladj Mary Wortley Montague, also, in these laboured letters of hers, constantly bemoans her piercing insight into the realities of things, and sighs to think that a simple milkmaid, by whom " the burden of the mystery " —not the Lady Mary's phrase, but her meaning — had not been felt, waa necessarily much happier than such lofty intelligences as herself !

Betumed to England, she fluttered about the English Court, flirted with Pope the great poet, — so nominated in .the history of English poets, though it would puzzle his admirers to quote one inspiscd line in all his melodious verses, — ^laughed at him, and ueyer more mockingly than when she expressed her joy that, having done with the humdrum world,

"They would meet with champagne and a chicken at last,

— ^nezt definitely separated from her husband (1739), and i^ain left England for Turkey, where she resided for upwards of twenty years, though often implored to return by her daughter. Lady Bute.

Oriental sensualism is not so keenly enjoyed at seventy as at seventeen, and her husband being dead, Lady Mary Wortley Montague returned to England in 1761, and occu- pied the brief remnant of a weary life in gaming, scandal, speculation in South-Sea bubbles ; and dying, left no other memorial of her life than a collection of cosmopolitan letters, industriously puffed into circulation and celebrity, but utterly destitute of genius, and worse than all, con- taining no spark of womanly feeling, tenderness, or truth.

CHBISXINA OF SWEDEN.

Tex readers of the Legends of MowtroMt^-^iL who has not read them ? — ^will remember the enthusiaatic eulogiea of Ouatayua Adolphus, Bang of Sweden, Lion of the North, Bulwark of the Protestant Faith, &o., nnetaonBlj enmiciated in season and out of season, by Dugal Dalgetty . It would seem that he never heard of Christina, the only o&prisg of the Northern Lion, but for whom the riotories of Ousts vus Adolphus would have been fruiUess, the cause of scriptural truth itself lost, and been mortally stricken down with its metaphorical immortal champion at the battle of Lutaeen in Uppe^ Saxony. The sun of England has, we know, set for ever, very many times — a phenomenon which the British people rather enjoy than otherwise ; perhaps be- cause custom or habit becomes a second nature. Be that as it may, Sweden felt itself doomed, given over to perdition, when, in the year of grace 1632, news reached Stockholm that the great King and Lion of the North had fallen in victorious battle.

Amidst the general dismay. Chancellor Oxenstiem, the reputed original author of the saying — though a truth so trite must have been uttered a thousand and a thousand Umes before Sweden was a naticm — '^ Behold, my son, with what little wisdom the world is governed I " — gave a striking illustration of his theoxy or platitude by reminding the hastily-assembled States that the glorious king had left a daughter, who, though about seven years of age, might, if immediately recognised as (jueen of Sweden, itave the

GHBISTIBrA OF BWBDSN/ 241

f

▼essel of the State ^m foimdering. He oonduded by introducing the child, who was immediatelj acknowledged to be the picture in little of the Oustavus Adolphus. '^ Behold/' exclaimed a leading peasant deputy, " Behold the very features of the Orand Oustavus. We will have her for our sovereign. Seat her on the throne, and at once proclaim her King." This was done, and Sweden ipso /ado saved.

Christina herself was no less enchanted than the nation to whom she was the herald and sign of salvation. The enthroned girl, many years afterwards, when she had developed into a Brummell-Brummagem royal celebrity, thus wrote of herself and the occasion : '^ I was so young that I knew not either my own worth or my great fortune ; but I remember how delighted I was to see all those men kneeling at my feet and kissing my hand." She adds, with touching modesty : << It was Thou, Gk)d, that diilst render the child admirable to her people, who were amazed at the grand manner in which I enacted the part of queen upon that first occasion. I was little, but upon the throne displayed an air and oountenance that inspired the beholders with respect and fear. It was Thou, Lord, that caused a girl to appear thus who had not yet arrived at the ftill use of her reason. Thou hadst impressed upon my brow a mark of grandeur not always bestowed by Thee upon those Thou hast destined, liked me, to glory, and to be Thy lieutenant over men .' *

This innate greatness' of Christina had been foreseen, predicted by the astrologers, whom Gustavus Adolphus, Bulwark of the Protestant Faith, had consulted with res- spect to the child with which Maria Eleanora, his queen was in travail. Both their majesties imparted their dreams to the wise men, who, having interpreted them by the light of the signs in heaven, — ^the Sun, Mars, Mercury, Venus,

B

242 ECCSNTBIO PERSONAGES.

being in oonjunction,— deelared the ooming child would be a boy, and that if he outlived the first twenty-four hours, which that miachievous Mercury rendered doubtful, he would attain as great celebrity as his father. The sex oi the child was a sad stnmblmg block to the soothsayers at first, but soon removed, as easily as John Gumming, D.D., will explain in 1867, that his prediction of the end of all sublunary things in 1866 was a %urQ of speech, having reference to the extinguishment of the Maori tribes, and the passing away, as a heathen country, of New Zealand from the map of the world. The mistake of the Swedish soothsayers was, after all, a merely verbal one ; the girl, Christina, << having been bom with the head of a Machiavelli, the heart of a Titus, the courage of an Alexander, and the eloquence of a Tully." Who would not be entitled, speaking of an incarnation of such heroic qualities, to exclaim, ^' This is a man 1 "

Qustavus Adolphus, though ardently desirous of a sod, bore the disappointment with greater equuiimity than at first did the astrologers. His sister, the Princess Cathe- rine, was the first to announce that the expected boy was, in sad truth, a girl. << Sister," said the king, let us re- turn thanks to God. I trust this daughter will, prove as valuable to us as a son ; and may the Almighty, who has vouchsafed her to us, graciously preserve her. She will be an arch girl," the king added, ^* who b^ns to play tricks upon us soon." This was an allusion to the announcement of the attendants at the birth, who, momentarily misled by the thick hair which encased the child's head, the thidc down upon her face, and the harsh, loud cry with which she greeted the world, proclaimed that a man-child was bom.

The Lion of the North was resolved that though this child would be queen by sex, she should be a king — a

OHBIBXmA OS* 8WSDSN. 243

warrior king, like bimaelf, thereto fashioned hy edaeation and onstom. He, the Bulwark of the pore Christian Faith, dil^ently instilled into his o&pring a taste for the pomp, pride, and ciroumstance of glorious war. " When but three years of age, delightedly exclaimed the Cham- pion of Christendom, " she, as a soldier's daughter should, crowed and clapped her tiny hands at the blare of trumpets and roar of cannon."

The Lion of the North promised his very promising child, when she could have but dimly, if she did dimly, comprehend his meaning, that she should one day be a partner of his in real glories ; — ^the slaughter — scientific slaughter of impious people who declined acquiescence, or were coerced by their rulers into resisting, vi et armis, the Qospel of Peace, as interpreted by the Great Oustavus. " To my irreparable misfortune," sighingly simpers this once much-belauded-lady, — << to my irreparable misfortune. Death (a terrible promise-breaker in a vicarious sense is Death) prevented him from keeping his word, and me from serving an apprenticeship in the art of war to so complete a master." ^

Concurrently with a taste for the glories of war, the great Qustavus was very desirous that his daughter should be thoroughly grounded in tho Lutheran Faith, and, especially, should be versed in Holy Scripture, the ground of all true knowledge. An odd nUlange.

In subsidiary matters the masculine, military propendties of Christina were developed by the system of instruction devised by Oustavus Adolphus, who sought from her cradle to mould the infant Queen of Sweden into a reflex of himr self. He was so far successful that in a very few years she had acquired, and loudly expressed, illimitable contempt foi women — ^her own mother compassionately excepted-*-and was constantly regretting she was not a man ; not that she

244 MCSKTRIO prasoNAQis.

eared maob for men— but they had this adTanti^ diey were not womeD. Her own portrait has been giyen by a graphic hand. A more accurate pen-and-ink sketch has seldom been drawn ;

< Bj her petticoat so slight, And her legs too much in sight,-* By her doublet, cap, and dress, To a masculine excess, — Hat and plume, and ribands tied Fore and aft in careless pride,— By her gallant, martial mien. Like an Amazonian queen,— Nose from Roman consul spran( And a fierce virago's tongue, Large eyes, now eweet, anon severe, Tell us 'tis Christina clear."

This mentally unsexed girl was not unattraotiTO as to personal charms. Her figure was peHte, but well-enough formed. She had fine hazel eyes, and a profusion of bright-brown hair ; her teeth were fine and r^ular, which a more constant use of a tooth-brush would have improved. Her mouth was hirge, her lips coarse as the boisterous laughter and frequent oaths in which the girl-queen lavishly indulged. Christina was devoured by a restless energy, which made her the torment of all about her. " The meo and women," she wrote, '< who waited upon me were in despair, for I gave them no rest night or day. They had the audacity to propose retiring from their posts. They should have known that I would not permit them to escape the bondage in which I held them. Incensed by the appli- cation, I made their yoke more galling. I did so upon principle, and no one ever afterwards dared propose to quit the Sovereign's service." Queen Christina was indcfatig- aUy studious^ at least she herself says so, and it is certain

GHBISTIKA OF SWEDEN. 245

she rajiidly acquired a showy, superficial knowledge of the Greek, Latin, two or three modem langoages, geography, astronomy, mathematics, philosophy, and divinity. Her theological studies did not, howeyer, include the only com- mandment with direct promise — Honour thy fiiiher and thy mother — for so intolerable. a life did she lead the Dowager Queen, that that lady fled secretly to Denmark, leaving a note upon her toilet-table declarative of her inten* tioQ rather to b^ her bread elsewhere than live with all the appliances, the outward show of royalty, at her daughter's court I The two Queens were, however, ulti- mately reconciled, and Maria Eleonora returned to Stock- holm.

It has been truly said that the possession of absolute, irresponsible power would corrupt and debase an angeL Christina, though no angel, affords a striking illustration of that truth. The prime article of her political creed was the divinity of monarchs. They were the gods of the earth, to whom all sublunary power had been del^ated by the Eternal. She remorselesaly exercised that absolute power when but a mere child. "Those," she writes, " who believe that childhood is the season when a princess that will one day wield the sceptre hears wholesome truths, are mistaken, for in the cradle they are feared and flattered. Men fear the memories of royal children as much as their power, and handle them as they do young lions, who can only draw blood now, but hereafter will have strength to tear and devour."

Christina as child-queen proved herself quite equal to the representation of the royal rdle. She had scarcely passed her seventh birthday when, seated upon a loAj silver throne, she received ambassadors from Muscovy in great state* Chancellor Oxenstiem and others sought to fortify the mind of Christina, in order that she might

246 BOOBHTBIO PBB8OHA0BS.

Mqoit benelf ereditebly at the andienoe. "Why," said the aelf«confideDt ohildy *^whj should I be airaid or tiiiiid before men with long beards ? Ton also have long beards, and am I afraid or timid before 70a? " There could be bat one answer to that question.

At fifteen Christina openly presided in the senate, '^ and beeame at onee/' >wrote home the French ambas- sador, ^< incredibly powetfdl therdn. She adds to her quality as sovereign, the graces of honour, courtesy, and the art of persuasion, so that the senators are astonished at the influence she gains over their sentiments.'* A veiy shallow gentleman this French ambassador: Christina herself could have whispered in his ear the true secret of her influence over the sentiments of the senators. The daughter of Oustavus^had reached an age when, if so willed, she "could tear and devour." A fact, we may be sure, never for one^ moment absent from the minds of the grave and reverend Swedish senators.

The nominal r^ncy of Chancellor Ozenstiem exfnred on the 18th of December, 1644, Christina's eighteenth birthday, and the Queen no longer affected to be swayed by any other influence than her own imperious will. She was remorselessly indefatigable in the ezerdse of absolute power, regulating every detail of government by the simple magic of " such is my will." Taxation, the freedom or limitation of commerce, questions of war and peace, were decided by her peremptoiy " shall" or ^< shall not" Having no taste for the elegance of dress, she issued sumptuary decrees forbidding Swedish ladies to wear lace or coloured ribbons; prohibited any festal rejoicings at betrothals, bridals, baptisms. People sometimes drank to excess at such meetings, and that, Christina, who was a total abstainer just then, could not tolerate. Funerals, it was also decreed, should never exceed in cost about five

CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN. 247

poonds of Englisii money; and gaming was forbidden under severest penalties. How a nation coold quietly submit to such extravagance of despotism is a marvel.

In other than government matters the wayward, eccen- tric girl exhibited the same love of capricioas domina- tion. In a fit of educational enthusiasm, Christina en- dowed universities, academies, appointed larguly-salaried professors, and suddenly changing her mind, dismissed them all with abuse and contempt. Two solemn philoso- phers, whom she had taken into favour, she one day, brusquely interrupting a grave colloquy, compelled to play at shuttlecock with each other as long as they could move their arms. Three of the most eminent scholars in Sweden she made pirouette before her in a Greek dance, she screaming with laughter the while, and uiging the musicians to play faster, faster, until one of the venerable men fainted and fell on the floor. Descartes, whom sh^ had induced by the most flattering promises to take up his residence at her court, she literally worried into a consumption, by insisting, in that terrible climate and the season winter — a more than usually rigorous winter — upon his presenting himself in her library punctually at five o'clock every morning. The young queen's manner was always very suave, almost caressing, like Ferdinand VII.'s of Spain, when she had once decided upon the death or ruin of any one who had oflFended her. The velvet covering con- cealed a terrible claw. Christina was but nineteen when Cap- tain Bulstrode, a Danish officer, and said to be one of the handsomest, most accomplished men of his time, being present/upon some mission from his sovereign at her court — ^he was, I suppose, a subordinate member of the Danish embassy — attracted her notice. She honoured him with her hand in a dance, and on several occasions comported herself veiy graciously towards him. The handsome officer miscon-

248 BCCE5TRI0 PEE80KAGBS.

omed tlie motiye of the yooi^ Queen's gnctonsneaB, and was indiscreet enough to boast that he shonld one day be King Consort of Sweden. This silly, impudent Taunting was reported to Christina, whom it deeply offended. She had always boasted of being an adept in the art of vea* geanoe, and now gaye a aignal proof of her skill in the demoniac science. Captain Bnlstrode fonnd himself treated with more pointed favour than ever, and at last it was confidentially intimated to him that if he obtained the royal license of his soTereign the King of Denmark to throw up his allegiance to that monarch, and beemne naturalised as the subject of Queen Christina, there was nothing he might not hope for. Bulstrode swallowed the bait with avidity, knowbg as he did that the Queen could not marry the subject of any other potentate than herself. The King of Denmark consented, Bulstrode's connections being very influential, and all rejoiced at the great fortune in store for their handsome relative. Other necessary pre- liminaries were completed, and the gallant captain was to all l^al intents and purposes the subject of the absolute Queen of Sweden. Ho, in a state of overflowing jubilant vanity, solicited the honour of offering his devoted homi^ to the new sovereign to whom he had sworn fealty — a request promptly granted. The triumphant captain was ushered with much ceremony into "the presence." Chris- tina was alone, and emboldened by the flattering reception given him, this military Malvolio threw himself at the sovereign's feet, and poured forth a high-flown declaration of passionate love. Christina's answer was characteristic. She listened with a smile of withering scorn, and in reply said, Poor witless fool ! I will teach you what it is to falsely boast at your filthy or^es of tho favour of a queen." Summoning her attendants as she spoke, '< Take thb man, who has dared to insult mo, to prison. Let him be guarded

CHBISHNA OF fiWEDEK. • 24&

flecarely, and fed during my pleasure upon the coaneBt priBon fare. Not many dayg Trill have passed before it vill he necessary to confine him in a prison for lunatics during life. That shall be his fate. Away with him 1 " The astounded dupe was never again heard of. He died in either an ordinary prison or one specially reserved for the reception of lunatics. The saying of Solomon was terribly true, till the English people struck down kingly despotism in the person of Charles the First, giving flunkeyism, to quote Carlyle, a crick in the neck, from which it has never since fully recovered, and is not likely to recover. <' Cnrse not the king/' wrote the royal sage, who had found that all was vanity under the sun — " Curse not the king, even in thy bedcl^mber ; for a bird of the air will carry the news, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.

Queen Christina's determination, in opposition to her Chancellor's counsel, to finish with the thirty years' war, is creditable to her judgment. She boasted to have been bom in the palms and laurels thereof,^' but the cypresses so thickly intertwined with those bloody j»alms and laurels seem to have at last made an impression even on her by no means sensitive conscience. The year following the Peace of Westphalia, Christina indulged herself in the caprice of being solemnly crowned Sang with great splendour. On the afternoon of that day of high festival the Queen or King issued an order commanding that the illuminations in Stockholm should be continued in unabated splendour till the dawn of day.

By this time the Swedish people, with whom the Que^ was universally popular, spite or possibly because of her eccentric vagaries, were exceedingly anxious that Christina should marry, lest peradventure they should, some disas- trous day, find themselves queenless — a doomed nation, with not even a child six years of age to save them from perdi-

250 BCOBNTBIO FEBSOITAGBS.

tioiL Th6 crown beings as her Majesty smilingly observed, '< a very pretty girl/' there were abundance of eoitors for the sacrificial honour of dividing the glittering burden with her. The Ebgs of Spain, of Poland, of Naples, with no end of electors, dukes, nuurgraves, were willing to nnder^ take the onerous duty: but Christina bagged to dedine the assistance so generously proffered. Neither heaven nor earth, she vowed, should compel her to many, <^ an act which required far more courage than to fight a battle." Taking pity, however, upon her loyal people, who were daily becoming more and more demented by the dreadful risks they were daily running of sinking into insignificance by being reduced to the condition of lost fatherless and motherless sheep, — ^an unhappy flock, destitute of shepherd or shepherdess, — Christina suddenly nominated her cousin, Charles Augustus, Crown Prince of Sweden, whereupon the alarm of the people subsided.

• Wearied at last by the very indulgence of her petulant^ capricious humours, disgusted with the sameness <^ the difflipation in which she had so long lived, and was living, Christina, by way of change, fixed her thoughts upon heavenly joys. She admitted to her confidence several clever Jesuits, who, having succeeded in converting her, or, more correctly, cajoling her into the belief that she was converted to the faith of Boman Catholicismj advised her to '^ put money in her purse " — abundance of money— and then exhibit to the world the edifying spectacle of ihe daughter of the crowned arch-heretic, Gustavus Adolphus, renouncing an earthly for a heavenly crown. Sacrifice so heroic and sublime would insure her a glorious immortality in this world and the next; canonisatien would follow in due course, and no name in the holy hierarchy of heaven would be more frequently invoked than that of Samt Christina t

CHBI8TZKA 07 SWEDEN. 251

Tbe cbildren of Loyola were too strong for her. As no Soman Gatholio conld, bj the fundamoital law, wield the Swedish soeptTe, she determined upon resigning the crown in favour of the bnt recently-nominated Grown Prince. The solenm act of abdication took place on the 6th of June, 1654, in presence of the Assembly of States. Whitelock, Cromwell's enyoy, was there. This the wilfhl woman did in defiance of the remonstrances of her wisest and most attached counsellors. The English envoy reported the speech delivered by the Marshal of the Boors upon the occasion, which is conclusive as to her general popularity amongst thc^ masses of the population. ^^0 Heavens I madam/' exclaimed the rude, coarsely attired, but com- mon-sense countiy-fellow, — " Heavens ! madam, what are you about to do ? It humbles us to hear you speak of forsaking those who love you as well as we do. Can you be better than you are? You are queen of all these countries, and if you leave Ihb large kingdom, where will ybu get such another ? If you should do it«— as I hope you won't for all this — ^both you and we shall have cause, when it is too late, to be sorry for it. Therefore, my fellows and I pray you to think better of it, and keep your crown upon your head ; then you will keep your own honour and our peace ; but if you lay it down, in my conscience you will endanger all. Continue in your gears, good madatii, and be the forehorse as long as you live, and we will do the best we can to bear your burthen. Your &ther was an honest man, a good king, and very shining in the world. • We obeyed and honoured him whilst he lived. You are his child, and have governed us very well. We love you with all our hearts ; and the Prince is an honest gentleman . When his time comes we shall be ready to do our duties to him as we do to you. But as long as you live we are

252 BCCSHTBIO PEBSOKAem.

unwilling to part with you, and therefofe I pray, mftdam, do not part with qb."

The entreaties of the blnni«poken Marshal of the Boots did not prevail; the formal act of abdioation was aceom- pliahed, and Ohristina hastened oat of thekingdom, takii^ with her an enormous amount of treasoie in gold, mlver, and jewelsL A few weeks afterwards she openly renoonced the reformed religion, and was solenmly reoeiyed into the fold of Bome. *< The greatest soandal she oonld afflict ns with/' remarked the Pope, when the intelligence reached him, << unless the idea of writing a book in defiance of the £aith should unhappily seise her."

Cardinal Mazaiin, the prime minister of France, dif^ fered from the Pope, and despatohed a French teoop of comedians for the express purpose of giving idai to so illustrious a conversion. Balls, play% concerts, masque- rades, succeeded each other for many weeks in celebra- tion of the great event The conversion, we need hardly say, was false, factitious, the vagary of a hot brain am- bitious of notoriety. When leaving the play one evening^ Christina remarked to a lady, sotto voctj ^^ Th^ ooold do no less than treat me to a play after I had indulged than with a farce." That particular mind-fever soon passed off. The woman would seem to have doubted the exist- ence of God. " If there is a God," she whispered to a confidant, after finishing her first confession, — " If there is a God, I shall be prettily caoght." In a letter adressed at the same period to the Countess Sparre, she wrote, My chief employmente are to eat well and sleep well, to study a little, chat, langh, see French and Italian plays, and pass my time in an agreeable dissipation. In conclusion, I hear no more sermons, and utterly despise all orators. As Solomon said, <A11 wisdom is vanity.' Eveiy one ought to live contentedly, eat, drink, and be merry."

CHMSTINA OF SWICDEN. 253

Christina could not herself follow Solomon's advice. The remainder of her ruthless life was chiefly consumed in vain efforts to regain a crown, that of Sweden or of Poland, and in quarrelling fiercely with successive popes. One dogma she strenuously insisted on, her divine right of taking the life, with or without cause, of any of her former Buhjects. She carried this article of her political creed into execution. Suspecting her chamherlain Monaldeschi of having hetrayed or threatened to betray her interests, she ordered the captain of her guard to stab, murder him almost in her yeiy presence. His piteous screams for mercy availed nothing. The crime was consummated, and aft<»Twards defended by her as a legitimate exercise of authority committed to her by Ood, which she had not and could not give up 1 The plea was allowed by '^ the gods of the earth." The murder was committed at the Palace of Eontainebleau, and even the philosopher Leibnitz was of opinion that Christina was justified by her inherent royal power 1 Christina died, having shortly before obtained plenary absolution of the Pope, in April 1689, in the sixty* third year of her emtio, bizarre, blood«stained existence.

JOHN ABERNETHT, SURGEON.

This eooentrio humorist, ekilffil Boigeon, and eoooelleiit man, was the son of John and Elizabeth Abemethy. He has been claimed as an Irish and a Scotchman, but it has been dearly established that he was born in London, and was christened at St Stephen's Ohnrch in 1764. He received his preliminary ednoation at a day-sdiool in Lothbury, and at a comparatiyely early age was sent to a high-class seminary at Woherhampton. He does not appear to have taken kindly to the classios. JDr. Bobert- son, the master of the school, did not regard him with favour. His task one day being to translate into Latin a chapter in the Oreek Testament, the erudite doctor wo amazed at the fluency and correctness of the Vulgate version. A rigid investigation tockk place, and it was dis- covered that John Abemethy had a Gredc Testament with a Latin translation in contiguous columns; which Latin translation he had faithfolly copied. HLb reward was that the book was shied at his head by the irate doctor. He not long afterwards left Wolverhampton, and at the early age of sixteen was apprenticed to Mr. Blick, after- wards Sir Charles Blick, surgeon of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital.

John Abemethy had now found his troe field of action —one in which he was destined to reap abundant, blessing harvests. Such a labour of love to him was the healing art, so rapidly did he master the science of surgery, that

JOHN ABEBNETHTy BURGSOIT. 255

at the age of twenty-two he was appbinted aasistantHniTgeoii to the hospital, and a few months afterwards promoted to the chair of anatomy and soigery. For so yonng a man this was an unparalleled honour.

I do not propose to go into the history of this great man's Ufe. The anecdotes which I qnote will best illjs- trate his character : show how kind, how good a heart beat beneath an midemonstrative exterior; how sympathising, compassionate the nature which the rongh tongue at times perplezingly interpreted.

Mr. Abemethy hod a orotdiet: all clever men hav6. They discover a truth, and in some measure unconsciously exaggerate its importance. Mr. Abemethy was disposed to attribute all, or nearly all, the diseases to which flesh is heir to a disordered stomach. Opinions differ upon that point; but no one, we suppose, will dispute the soundness of his dictum, exemplified through life, that ^< operations are a reflection on the healing art; that the habitual operator is a savage in arms, who performs by violence what a civilised person would accomplish by stratagem."

A curious anecdote is vividly illustrative of Abemethy's persistent praotioe in this respect : A poor Irishman, not long after Mr. Abemethy had succeeded to the post of chief-surgeon at St. Bartholomew's, was brought into the hospital He vras suffering from a diseased 1^. Ampu- tation was advised, but Abemethy refused his consent^ and finally succeeded in curing the diseased limb. Going one day through the hospital with his pupils, the Irish- man, thrusting the 1^ out of bed, shouted out, " That's the 1^, your honour ; that's it. Glory be to God. Your honour's the boy to do it, and to the devil vrith the spal- peens who said your honour would cut it off." Abemethy, improving the occasion, lectured the pupils upon the folly of hastily crippling a person for life, whilst there was a

256 BOGENTRIG FBBSOITAGES.

chance of curing a disiaadd member of the body. Paddy endorsed all the doctor said, repeatedly tossing his r^ covered 1^ into the air, and exclaiming, Diyil the lie in it. It*8 all true. That's the leg, gmtlemen."

There are many anecdotes of the native goodness of this, in many respects, eccentric gentleman. I relate m few of them without reference to date.

Mr. Abemethy was going to attend a very poor man^ from whom he never had received, and nev» would reoeive a fee. The Duke of York called and said the Prince of Wales wished to see him immediately. Mr. Abemethy could not for some hours attend his Boyal Highness : he was going to visit a suffering patient But surely you will first wait upon the Prince?" said his Grace of YoerL

<<If not, I must call upon /' «I>o so. He will

suit the Prince better than I should."

A pupil of Abemethy was sent for to attend a case in an obscure quarter of London. The house was one of Uie meanest and dingiest of the mean and dingy locality. The patient, an elderly much-afflicted man, received the surgeon with a grace and amenity which convinced that gentleman that the sufierer had fallen from a considerable social height upon evil days. The proper remedies were prescribed, and the surgeon was about to leave, when the invalid tendered the customary fee. It was politely de- clined. The refusal excited the old gentleman's ire to such a pitch of rage that the doctor was fain to accept the proffered honorarium. Had you persisted in your refusal/' said the patient, I would never have seen you again. I wished for your advice," he continued, because I knew you had studied under Abemethy. Me visited me once^ and declined to receive his fee. ' By God I sir,' e](;olaimed I, 'you shall take ii.' ' By God I sir, I won't,' was his answer, as he bolted out of the room. I shall never send

JOHN ABERKlETHYy SITRaBON. 257

for him again." The patient succumbed to the diaease vhidi had fastened upon him, and it was found that he had a considerable hoard of money by him. JTe, also, appears to have been a very eccentric person.

A fozhunter, somewhat stricken in yearff, consulted Aberoethy. The man's digestion was not so good as it had been. He had lost his appetite ; man delighted him not, nor woman either. "Sir," said Abemeihy, "you drink a great deal." "Now, said the fozhunter, when relating the interview, "now, supposing I do drink a grea* deal, what the devil was that to him?"

A literary gentleman called upon him. He, too, had a disordered stomach. " Of course you have," said Aber- nethy ; " a half-blind man could tell that by your nose."

He used to have his wine of a merchant whose name was Loyd. He one day called to pay for a pipe, and thrust a handful of papers containing fee? into the wine- merchant's hand. " Stop-*stop, doctor," said Loyd. There may be much more here than you have to pay i" " Never mind, Loyd. I can't stop. You have them as I had them."

He was very cardess of money. He would receive a heavy fee, place the money on the table, and forget all about it. " Lead me not into temptation," is the holiest, because the humblest prayer. Some few of his pupils were led into temptation. The loss of money was so con- siderable that Ihe surgeon determined to ascertam who was the delinquent. He marked his money, and appearing suddenly before his pupils, said, " Now, young gentlemen, be pleased to show me your purses." The thieves were discovered and dismissed.

He was one day about to perform an operation-^a painM one. As was his custom, he took xutre to see himself that all the required instruments were at hand,

S

258 Bocraraio psbsonagm.

and in firit-rate order. ^" I think ereiy thing is all ri^t," said one of the aasistants. " No, sir, every thing is not all right)" replied Mr. Abemethy. << Qet a napkin to eon- oral those terrifying instniments. The man need not be horrified by the sight"

Abemetiiy was offered a baronetcy by the Earl of Liver- pod. He annoonoed the proposal to his family by saying, as they were about to sit down to dinner, " Lady Aber- nethy, permit me to hand you to your seat." He after- wards explained that he had been offered the tide, but^ for cogent reasons, declined the honour.

The memory of Mr. Abemethy was singularly active and tenacious. A friend, of a poetical turn of mind, com- posed some verses complimentary of Mrs. Abemethy, which he recited afler dinner on her natal day. Aber- nethy listoicd attentively, and immediately the reading terminated, exclaimed, " Come, that is a good joke to attempt passing those verses o£f as your own origmal composition. I know them by heart ;" and Abemethy at once repeated them without the mistake of a word. The "poet" was astounded, mystified, angry I The amused host explained, and offered to repeat verbatim any piece of about the same length which any one in the company would recite.

There is a droll anecdote told of a certain major, which Mr. Abemethy used to relate with great humour and con- tagious laughter. The major dislocated his jaw. The accident was a trifling one, and easily remedied. It was, however, likely to occur again. The surgeon of the regi- ment was as export at the simple process as Abemethy him- self. One day, however, the gallant officer, dining at a con- siderable distance from the regimental quarters, thought- lessly indulgbg in a fit of laughter, dislocated his jaw. The nearest Medicus was sent for. That gentleman did

JOHN ABEBNKCH7, BtJBGBON. 259

not undeTstand how the accident shonld he remedied ; palled the nnfortanate major's jaw about for a oonsiderahle time, inflictisg great agcmy, during which manipulation the major, who could not speak, manifested by furious panto- mime his indignation at, and contempt of, the clumsy practitioner. His ragefol action thereupon decided the doctor that the major was distraught^ and he forthwith sent for a strait-jacket, which he fastened upon the furious major, had his head shaved, applied thereto a blister and placed the victim in bed. The ill-used gentleman foamed with rage, but finding that his wild gesticulations availed nothing, subdued himself into seenung acquiescence, and made intelligible signs that he desired to be furnished with writing materials. This was done ; and the major wrote, '< For God's sake send for Mr. Abemethy or the surgeon of the r^;iment." Mr. Abemethy was as quickly as possible in attendance, and the major was relieved and released. He fiercely threatened, upon recovering his voice, to bring an action against the medical man by whom he had been so maltreated, but was persuaded by Abemethy to forego his purpose. <' Tou cannot doubt, said Mr. Abemethy, << that the clumsy dunce was actuated by wh&t a certain unmention- able place is paved with — ^good intentions."

Benevolence in Mr. Abemethy was largely developed. He was much more gentle with poor or pauper patients than rich ones. He was just stepping into his carriage to attend a duke, when a message was delivered to him solicit- ing his immediate attendance upon a sufferer who acknow- ledged he was without means of tendering a fee. <' I can- not go to him at present," said Abemethy, getting into his carriage. " K you do not go at once," said the messenger, -* it will be useless to go at all." The carriage was moving on as these words caught Abemethy's ear. He pulled the check-string. << Where," said he, <<did you say this poor

260 SOCINtBIO PSRS0NAG18.

gentleman U^bb ?" The address was giten, and Abenieiliy ordered the coachman to driye there. << The Doke mnst wait/' he muttered. << Besides, he can command the ser- Ticesof twenty snigeons."

A widow brought a child to him from the country. She had heard of the skill in the tareatment of such comi^aintB of the great London doctor, and had managed to raise sofficient money to pay the proper fees. Abemethy cured the child, receiving hb fees the while, but returned them to her when she was about to return to her home, with the addition of a cheque for fifty pounds !

Another widow came to the hoepitalto have an operatioD performed. She was carefully prepared to undergo it, but on the eve of the day when it was to come off, the woman announced her intention to leave the hospital. Abemethy waa greatly annoyed, enraged, and expressed himself in very angry terms. " Her father is dying in the country, interposed an assistant, <<and wishes to see her." The wrath of Abemethy was instantly diverted from the woman to the assistant. " You confounded fool 1" he exclaimed,

• ^ why did yon not teU me that before ?" He apologised to

the woman, said of course she must go, gave her the money that she might travel easily, and bade her retora to have the operation performed aa soon as she possibly could.

Such traits of character are an ample BetH>ff to the rade- ness of manner which Abemethy occasionally exhibited. A lady in consultation with him remarked that when she lifted her arm-pit higher than usual, the pain was intense. '< Then why the devil do you, madam, lift your arm higher than usual?" was the gruff response. Another lady who consulted him was so annoyed, that she threw his fee upon the table and said sharply, " I had heard of, but never witnessed your vulgar rudeness before." He had written a prescription. << What am I to do with this?" the lady

JOUN ABEBNXTHT, 8XJB6E0N. 261

asked. '< Any thing you like : throw it on the fire, if you iiill/' She did so, and left the apartment. Mr. Abemethy hastily followed to return the fee. The lady did not con- descend to notice him, and he flnng the money after her.

Abemethy, at all events, was no flatterer. He went to sit for his portrait to Sir Thomas Lawrence. Whilst he was waitmg to see the fashionable painter, he fell into a conversation with a strange^genileman who was contem- plating a newly-finished portrait of the Duke of York. '^ Beautifolly painted and an excellent likeness," remarked the gentleman.' ' '< Y^, a good painting.' ' '< And a capital likeness; the express image of his Boyal Highness,*' per- sisted the stranger. "No," retorted Mr. Abemethy; "it is not the express image of the Duke. He is not half so handsome." It was the gentleman's first torn for a sitting. Mr. Abemethy followed after. "So," said Sir Thomaa Lawrence, " you have, I find, been telling Lord Gastlereagh that you do not think my portrait of the Duke of York is a faithful likeness." "Lord Gastlereagh I Why, I had never seen him before. Bat my dear sir, it is not a like- ness. You painters — and especially you — flatter so con- stantly and cleverly. Now mind you must not flatty me"

Mr. Abemethy had a countiy-seat at Enfield, Middlesex. Whilst journeying there one day, her was ran over and severely bruised. The people who picked him up proposed

to send for a doctor. " D doctors I" was the reply.

" Get me a hackney coach."

These anecdotes might be indefinitely multiplied ; but enough has been told of the oddly-compounded nature of the man — an essentially noble nature, the specks and flaws of temper showing only like spots on a white robe, b; contrast with the purity of the general texture.

John Abemethy died at Enfield on die 20th of April, 1831.

CAPTAIN M0ERI8-

This flighty and amiable gendeman first opened his ejei npon the world in the dingy locality of Lore Lane, leading from Leadenhall Street to Billingsgate Market Hif fiither, Joel Morria, was a fishmonger in a large way of bnsmeas. Arthur, his sole surviving child, was petted and spoiled. Joel Moiris was a widower before ^e boy was five years old. He doated npon his son and determined he should be a gentleman. That which Morris senior meant by gentleman was the common signification attached thereto : the possessor of fine clothes, a fine house, a carriage, and abundance of money. To so provide his son, the well- meaning, fond fishmonger toiled incessantly, rose early, sat up late, and ate the bread of carefulness. He did not neglect young Arthur's education ; his natural shrewdness suggesting that to be really a gentleman, it was necessary to have a decently-cultivated mind. That part of the gentlemanising process he got through at little cost. He had sufficient interest to place the lad in Christ's Hospital, or Blue-coat School Being a boy of large capacity, he, spite of a constitutional indolence — his own ^excusative phrase— ^proved an apt scholar, and knew as much when he left as the teachers.

Morris senior had managed to scrape t(^ther between thirty and forty thousand pounds; and finding himseli growing prematurely old and infirm, he made up his mind, though with much reluctance, to dispose of his business, the goodwill of which would net a handsome sum. The

CAPTAIN MOBBIS. 263

result waSy that at hb father's death, Arthur Morris found himself in possession of over 40,0002. cash, besides some house property; and was contracted by his father's will and a signed agreement with the lady and her father, a wealthy goldsmith, to Arabella Smithson, a person of mature years, rigid principles, and a devotedly pious, plain Quaker.

Now this sort of lady was not at all suited to the taste of Arthur Morris. He was fond, extravagantly fond, of fine clothes ; ^' the happiest day of his life was that upon which he finally cast the slough — ^the blue coat and yellow stock- ings of Christ Coll^. He piously respected the last wishes of his father; and would perhaps have unhesitar tingly complied with them — especially as, if he refused to consummate the marital bargain upon which his father had set his heart, half his fortune would go to the disap- pointed damsel — ^but that, having been in the habit of secretly frequenting the theatres (utter abominations in the eyes of Jod Morris), he had contracted an intimacy with Emily Melville, a stage songstress and dancer. Melville was probably an assumed theatrical name. Be that as it may, the fascinations of the actress ultimately prevailed over those of the plain Quaker, gilded though these were with 20,0002. His mode of announcbg the decision he had come to was characteristic. Mr. Smithson, I should have stated, was a relative, and Joel Morris was himself inclined to Quakerism : —

"Friend Smithson, — After careful consideration I have concluded that it will be more conducive to the happiness of Arabella that she take the 20,0002. instead of me. I am not worthy of her, my aspirations being much less spiritual. Your sincere well-wisher,

Abthttb Mobbib."

2(74 BCCBNTBIO PEBBOKAGBS.

ThiB note ooald hardly have been delivered, when Arthur Morris and Emily Melyille were united in the bonds of holy matrimony at St Paul's Church, CoTont Garden. He appears to have been derotedly attached to her, and the brief summer of their bliss was unclouded by a passing shadow. She died of feyer wiUiin six months of the marriage. Her mother had lived with them. She must have been an amiable woman, something under forty years of age. The dying daughter's anxiety wafr concen- trated upon that good mother, whom she commended to her husband's tenderest care. Kneeling by her death-bed, he made a vow, searcely audible for his sobs and groans, that he would honour and cherish her as long as he lived. The expiring wife aooepted that vow "with a heavenly smile, in the sunshine of which she passed from earth to heaven."

Arthur Morris determined to enter the army, and lodged the price of a commission in the Line with the proper agents, but whilst waitmg till a vacancy should occur, — some two or three years, — fell into wild courses, and at last found himself enmeshed by the wiles of another actress, whose name is not given. He knew her to be unworthy ; that if he married her, Mrs. Melville would be compelled to leave his home ; and conscious of his own weak, impression- able nature, he adopted the singular expedient of securing himself against a violation of the vow he made to his wife, by proposing to marry her mother. There was no abso- lutely legal impediment to the union, and he espoused Emily Melville the elder, in the same church where he had joined hands, till death should them part, with her daughter.

There is a droll anecdote connected with this union. Arthur Morris was fond of convivial society; he sang a capital song; and stayed out late at night in taverns, the Wrekin, Covent Garden, being his especial place of deleo-

CAPTAIN MOBRIS. 26S

tation . On the evening of his wedding-day, he betook him- self to the Wrekin ; sang, diced, drank, till the small honra of the next morning, utterly oblivions of his bride, till reminded about three A.M. that he had been married the morning before. '^ Good Heaven 1" he exclaimed, starting up, <' that is true ; and I had totally forgotten it."

The commission was obtained, dnd Lieutenant Monris joined the 27th of the Line, then stationed in the island of Jersey. Major-General Don was the Lieutenant-Governor of that << Peculiar of the Grown of England, to use the phrase of Falle, the quaint historian of the island. Lieu- tenant Morris, who had left his wife in England, comfort- ably provided for of course, soon became very intimate with General Don, and it was he, there can be no doubt, who suggested the brilliant idea to the Lieutenant-Governor which, in a local sense, has immortalized his name. The iUand of Jersey, when General Don arrived there, was in a miserable plight as to roads ; the towns and villages were onpaved, unlighted, and the people rebelliously averse to being taxed to remedy those evils.

The problem to be solved was, " how to do it ? whether by loan from the Imperial treasury, — which could scarcely be hoped for, — or inducing the '< States" of the island to impose a tax upon the inhabitants, whose peculiar privilege and boast had been from time immemorial that they were an untaxed race. The '< States," it was soon ascertained, If ould consent to no such proposition. Better muddy, dark streets, almost impassable roads, than to be mulcted by the tax-gatherer 1

Lieutenant Morris worked out the problem in very simple and effective fashion. When matured in his own mind, he sought aspecial interview with General Don, and laid it before him. Very likely the Lieutenant Governor gave it additional touches, altered or amended some of its details^ but sobstan-

266 ECGSlffTRIO PBBSOSTAGSS*

tifllly Lieatenftnt Marrifl was Uie aathor. He proposed to repair, widen, and keep in repair the island roads, light and pave the towns, without the disbursement of a shilling, and yet the woA should be honestlj paid for. The scheme was simple as effeodve. Every person who possessed a house, every one by whose ground or fields raa a road, was obliged to sign bank-notes to the amount of the oost incurred in paving and lighting before their house or houses-— of wid- ening and levelling the portion of the road contiguous to their fields and grounds. These notes they would be obliged to give silver for on demand \ but inasmuch as they were guaranteed by the Yingtaine or parish authorities, they oould be immediately sent into eirculation again by the changers. The writer of this paper was once in a barber's shop iu St. HeUer's, when a man brought in a note to be changed, to which the barber's signature was attached. The barber's bank happened to be at that moment in a very Sony state. Silver and gold the hapless shaver had none ; a few coppers being the whole of his ^< reserve." Of little consequence that. Taking the presented note in his hand, he left the shop with it, stating that he would return with tlie silver in a minute or two. He merely stepped into a neighbouring baker's, bought a k>af, received change for the note, came back with the loaf under his arm, the silver m his hand, and h(xiestly acquitted himself of his oUigatiQa as an issuer of bank-notes payable on demand.

Curiosities of currency, as developed in the Channel Ishmds, would gladden Uie hearts of Englidi paper-money maniacs. There are thousands of notes issued ol which it is setf<Mrth upon the face of them, that the sole security for their redemption arc the Methodist chapels in the island which those notes built. A certain tradesman in the town had, however, undertaken, for a consideration of course, to cash Methodist chapels' promises to pay," — though under

CAPTAIN HOfiBIS. 267

no legal obligation to do SO. It puzzles one to understand how the holder of a handful of sach promises could manage, should the gentleman who had undertaken to give silyer for the notes abdicate his function. This system, substantially inyented by Captain Morris, though popularly ascribed to Qeneral Don, is in full rigour to this day. It must have collapsed long ago-— the importation of sc^ and hard goods from England being taken into consideration— were it not for the great number of English officers on half-pay who have taken up their quarters in the Channel Islands. The drafts forwarded to them always command a considerable prmnium, and are returned to Unghmd, in payment of manufactures, as fast as they are received. Sovereigns, Bank-of-England notes, in like manner, make unto them- selves wings, and fly away to the country where they were coined and issued. The metallic currency of the island is almost exclusively composed of French five-franc and one- firanc pieces. There is, however, a good deal of copper money afloat, coined in Birmingham.

The eccentric genius of Captain Morris soon led to the adoption of a vocation which would seem to be very oppo- site to that of inventor of paper-money. It is, however, one in which large sums of solid cash are often netted with- out the trouble and expense of its manufocture. Arthur Morris — ^who, in writing to Friend Smithson, declined to marry the pious Arabella, had given as one ground of his refusal that his aspirations were less cfpiritual than hers — became suddenly affected by the wildest religious enthusi- Bsm. He had been paying a visit to the North of England, where a great <<rerivaV' as it is now the £ishion to call such spiritual masquerades, was brought about by the fer- rid teachers of Wesleyan Methodism. Captain Morris caught the infection. Benevolent as he was imaginatk/e, the gallant officer was horrified at the tremendous truth

268 ECCENTRIC PERSONAQES.

that << every day, every hour, every minute that paaeed, hundreds of human bouIs were falling through the Mirza bridge of Life into the gulf of eternal perdition, where the worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched, whilst the means of saving themselves from so inexpressibly terrible a doom w^re always within reach, if ihey could only be per- suaded to ask for it in sincerity and truth/' Deeply im- pressed with this conviction, conscious of possessbg con- siderable powers of illustration and a fluent tongue, Captain Morris was soon himself amongst the Prophets. He did not, however, join the Wcsleyan sect — preferring to pursue an entirely independent course. He became a favour- ite with the people, and might possibly have founded a Morrisonian Church, but for an untoward accident

The old Adam within him had been rebuked, but not vanquished. Very far indeed from that. He had always been very pugnacious; could relish and put away comfort- ably a couple of bottles of wine at one sitting — ^not at all an extraordinary performance in those days. The chains of evil habit are with much difficulty broken. He could sing a capital song; had made acquaintance in Jersey amongst the garrison-officers, several of whom were Irish- men, and by their own admission could sing <^ The Night before Larry was stretched (hanged) as well as^ if not better than, any native of the Emerald Isle.

As the Father of Mischief would have it, the head- quarters of the re^mcnt with whose officers he had hob- nobbed in Jersey were quartered in Ipswich, Suffi)lk, where it had been announced he was to preach on a given Satur- day. The people were invited to assemble in a field near the town, the use of which had been kindly granted by a Mr. Selward. Thursday was chosen, from its being market- day, and a Is^rge attendance might be hoped for after the traffic of the day should be concluded. Several of his old

OAFTAUr MOBBIS* ^269

oomrades or oompanions were Btill with the regiment^ and all the officers mianimously resolved to witness the performance of Captain Morris in his new character of preacher. The time fixed was' six in the afternoon of a summer's day. The concourse was large ; but the captain, in the> opinion of his admirers, was not so fervent and unctuous as usual. He had caught sight of the merry faces of his former acquaintances, and the amused expression which gleamed from their eyes and wreathed their lips. The officers had dined, and were elevated, to use a mild phrase, with wine, — one, the most rollicksome of them, Patrick Blake, a lieutenant and excellent mimic, more so than the rest However, decorum was fairly maintained till the conclusion of the discourse, — ^a very short one ;^ after which Captain Morris gave out the number and first verse of a psalm or hymn. Before the hymn or psalm could be commenced by the improvised field choir, Patrick Blake burst out with " The Night before Larry was stretched," in closest imita- tion of the captain's peculiar voice and manner; his com- rades joined in obstreperous chorus. Those of the auditory who were disciples or admirers of the captain were immedi- ately scandalised, but the majority cheered and shouted in sympathy with the jbreverent officers. Finally, Captain Morris, unable to control his risible muscles, joined in the almost general guffaw, jumped off the cart which had ser- ved for pulpit, and attempted to hurry off. He was inter- cepted by some of the officers, and carried away captive to the principal hotel tavern in Ipswich. It was a genuine self-consciousness which dictated the avowal to Friend Smith- son, that his was not a highly spiritualised nature in the conventional sense of the phrase. His imagination had been inflamed by the passionate oratory of religious fana- tics; but his understanding had not been convinced, his heart had not been touched. He remained with bis old

270 ECGSHISIO PBBSOHiLSES.

aequaintanoe tUl early nunrmog, and moBtlikdyiraa encored morothanonoein <' The Night before Lariy was stietohed.

He left the nert day withoat beat of dnun, and a few days afterwards got a friend to write a letterfor him to the editor of the Ipewioh newspaper. This letter, dictated by himself, annonnced his own deatli, ** partly in conseqoenoe of the debauch in which the Enemy of Mankind indnced him to take part, and partly from remoTBe of conscience. He died truly contrite," it was added, '< and begged fi>igiTe- nesB of all his former friends for the great scandal he had brooght npon a sacred profession for which the infirmities of his fallen nature — ^not suspected by himself, till he was tried in the balance, to be so gross as they proyed to be — totally unfitted him.

This effusion was duly printed in the Ipswich newi^aper, in the following number of which weekly sheet an announce- ment appeared signed by a r^ukr Wealeyan preaeho', the Rev. Mr. A—, who <' declared his intention to address his hearers on the erening of the next Sabbath, upon the awful lesson read to mankind m general, and the inhaUt- ants of Ispwich in particular, by the sudden cutting off oi Captain Morris, a man of gifts and considerable woridly knowledge, who had prematurely perished for having put his hand to the plough and looked back."

This semK>n in petto reached Captain Morris, who re- solved without a moment's hesitation to be present in the body at his own funeral sermon. He felt a strong suspi- don that he should be roughly handled by the Ber. Mr.

A J and felt desirous of viewing himself in the mirror

to be held up before him by that saintly, snuffling gen- tleman.

The conventicle, or chapel, was crowded. Captain Morris, coarsely attired, his face enveloped in bandages, as if he were suffering from combined toothache, earache, and

CAFCAZS KOBBIS. 271

tibdoulomeaz, and nBraoogiuBed by die eiowd, elbowed hia way to the foot of the piiIpit«taizB. ^

Preliminary prayer and praise- comcladed, the Be7. Mr^

A eommenoed his sermoa in a moderate* key, but

gradually kindling into holy ferroor, went on crescendo, till having folly worked himself to the requisite pitoh, he avowed his opinion that the reprobate backdider, unless he had been saved by a miiaole of God's mercy at the last momait^«whiohroould soaroely be hoped for by the mosl charitable, was at that moment gnashing his teeth in helL This was too much. Captain Morris, strippiiag off his &eial difignise, i^rang up the pulpit-stairs, and adzed the astounded preacher by the throat, pommeUiog him soundly, shouting the while, " You are a fying raaoal 1 I,. Captain Morris, am here, and you are mueb neaier hell than hd ; and I have a good mind to piteh you headlong out of the pulpit which you disgrace." There was a great uproar ; but in the end the captain contrived to escape^ though" not without considerable damage to his person.

The next lour or five years are a bhmk in the published histoiy of the wayward impulsive captain. Those yean were years of calamity : his wife had died, the immediate cause of her dea^ being a shock to her nervous system. One Jane Evers, who had been her schoolfellow and attached friend since they had known each other, had fox some cause or ether — ^alove-disi^pointment is glanced at — gone mad. She was confined in Bedlam or Bethlehem Hospital, where she was visited by Mrs. Captain Morris. The treatment in those days of lunatics, real or presumed, was very different from that which obtains in the present time y " a dark house and a whip " were held to be the only curatives, and these were applied to both sexes. 1} must be presumed that Mrs. Captain Morris saw Jane Evers in Bedlam when the unfortunate young woman was

272 BCCBRTBIC FEBSONAGBS.

in a very pitiable oo&ditioa ; not only when she was mad, but had been scourged for madness I Mrs. Morris was enceinte at the time ; and the distraeted husband lost at one terrible Mow wife and expected child. The captain waa prostrated for a time by so cruel a strokeof &te ; but nltimatety recovered Jiia physioaly if not his mental health in its entirety.

His restless energy now took one direction, in oomplianoe with the dymg request of his wife. He would rescue Jane Even from the tomb in which iahe, living, was immured. He first thought to release her by force, and he initiated several combinations with that object The notion waa ridiculous ; a conclusion to which he himself reluctantly came. His next move was to petition the ministers^ especially Eari Bathurst, with whom he appears to have been on friendly terms of acquaintanceship. It was useless ; he could get no one to believe in the alleged mismanage- ment of Bedlam — the cruelties to which real or supposed lunatics were exposed. A sort of inquiry was instituted, but the managers of the establbhment, sustained by the statements of eminent medical men, refuted, to the satisfac- tion of an indifferent Home Secretary, aU the chaiges made against the mode of treatment practised in the asylum. Veiy likely those charges contamed many exaggerations. It is a common error with enthusiastic men possessed of one idea to overstate their case ; a great error when you have to deal with astute and unscrupulous opponents.

Captain Morns was not convinced by the meagre official report — ^very far indeed from being so ; and casting about in his inventive brain for some practical means of proving that his assertions were well-founded and called for peremp- tory interference, he hit upon an expedient which, read by the light of common sense, would be conclusive that he himself was a fit candidate for Bedlam. There is no doubt,

CAPTAIN MOKRIS. 273

let me not foiget to state, that Mrs. Captain Morris firmly believed, and impressed that belief upon her husband, that Jane Eyers, if ever afflicted in the J)rain, was perfectly sane when she visited her, and was dying of the cruelly coercive treatment to which she was subjected.

" Friend Smithson and fortunate but still unappropri- ated Arabella had taken up their abode at Stamford Hill. Captain Morris, who was a frequent visitor at their house, had vainly endeavoured to interest them in his efforts to liberate Jane Evsrs. They believed l^e was labouring under an illusion, or that some motive more powerful than a promise made to his dyiog wife induced him to make such strenuous exertions in her behalf. Morris perfectly divined their but half-expressed thoughts, and formed his plans accordingly. In less than a fortnight after his final resolve was taken. Friend Smithson and his daughter vre^fi quite convinced that Captain Morris was mad as a March hare. He would start up of a sudden, seize a decanter of wine, fiing it under the grate, or smash a pier-glass, and immediately break into a fit of wild, maniacal laughter. Friend Smithson was much alarmed. Medical opinions were obtained. Captain Morris was placed under imme- diate restraint, and to confirm beyond doubt the opinion of the doctors that he was insane, a paper was -found upon him which could only have been dictated by a man conscious of mental infirmity. It was to the effect that if the malady which he felt was obtaining mastery over him should not be subdued, he wished to be confined in the Bethlehem Hos- pital, in the same building with his beloved Jane Evers, till it should please Almighty Qod to restore him. This wish was complied with, and Captain Morris was soon in a condition to prove on oath from actual experience the course of discipline which governed Bedlam. He wished for no further enlightenment; and when the dootornext

T

274 BCCIHTBIO P8BS0NAGBS.

viated him be demanded his release, allying that be bad perfectly reocnrered bis seoses, and was no longer laboming under any illusion whatever. The hospital Medicos smiled merednlonsly, said his liberation for some time, peibaps^ years to come, conld not fcv his own sake be consented to. The real madness of his oondnct flashed upon the captain. He remoostrated, threatened the doctor and all ooneemed with direct yengeance, and finding all he eonld say nn- svaiiii^, threw himself upon the doctor, and might have throtUed him, bmt thAt instant efiective help was at band. The now really mad captain was seised, a strait-waisteoat strapped upon him, and he was taken to the ward ^pio- priated to violent Innatics. <' There," be writes, "I languished, eating my heart away with impotent rage, for more than two years. I was sometimes indulged with the sight of a new8p]q>er, and one day I read that General Don was in London, and had attended the royal lev^. Hope revived in my heart One of the keepers was a very decent mm, who in his heart believed I was as sane as himself. I ofiered him a heavy bribe, to be paid thereafter, if he would secretly procure me pen, ink, and paper, and post a note which I would write to General Don. He tigroed to do so, and fulfilled his promise. The very next day General Don, accompanied by a still more influential per- sons^ whose name I am not at liberty to mention, visited the hospital. The General demanded to see me. I told my stoiy, was believed, and the next day I was liberated by order of the Home Secretary. Poor Jane Ef^rs had died several months previously. My mad freak produced beneficial results. Bethlehem Hospital was placed under strict supervision, from which insulted much benefit to the afflicted inmates.

The busy world into which Captain Morris had again emerged was to him a desert^ and by General Don's advice

OAPTAIN MOBBIS. 275

be applied for and obtained actiye serrice in the anny. Sbortlj afterwards be ezcbanged into a regiment lender orders for India, served tbere witboredit, if not distinction, and closed bis erratic career at tbe storming of Rangoon in the Burmese war. '^ ]9e fell," wrote Major Thompson, in a note subjoined to bis friend's diary — ^^ be fell at tbe moment of victory, which be as much as any soldier there bad helped to win. A braver, a better man neve^ lived, and but for his impulsive, wayward nature, be might have attained high rank in tbe service."

J. M. W. TURNER, R.A.

It is in no cfpirit of detraction tbat I string together a number of descriptiye anecdotes of this great painter's eccentricities of character and manner. They afford another illustration of the world-old truth, that the life of the highest and the best of us is woven of a mingled yam of good and evil. Social shortcomings or extravagances, deviations from the beaten path of decorum, are little noticed in ordinary men. There is no violent contrast to strike the eye — no fine gold seen in incongruous mixture with common clay. The dazzling mantle of genius reveals and magnifies such spots. This is one of the penalties of intellectual greatness.

Joseph Mallord William Turner was bom in 1773, in Maiden Lane, Covent Ghurden, nearly opposite the Cider Cellars. His father, William Tumer, was a barber. Some of the admirers of the greatest of English landscape-painters have endeavoured to attenuate the disagreeable fact that he was bom in such a vulgar locality, by poin^g out that Andrew Marvel occupied a second floor there in the days of Charles the Second, and that even M. de Voltaire, the prince of persiflage, and a bright particular star in the galaxy of French celebrities, lodged there for several years at the sign of thb White Peruke. J. M. W. Tumer, R.A., may be excused having been bom in a street or lane so patronised.

William Turner, the barber, and his father were natives of South Molton, Devonshire. The barber was an illiterate,

J. M. W. TUENER, R.A. 277

close-fisted, but not ill-natured man. When, in after-life, Turner was reproached with his penurious way of life — how nobly redeemed, all England knows — ^he would reply, " You would not be B[arprised if you knew the lessons instilled into me during boyhood. My father never praised me except for having saved a half-penny.

William Turner did not neglect his son's education. Comparatively with his scanty means he was Hberal in that respect. J. M. W. Turner was sent for the benefit of his health to an uncle and aunt who kept a butcher s shop in Brentford. Whilst there he was sent to an academy, opposite the Three Pigeons — the master of which academy" was a pedagogue of the sternest kind. His name was White. The future Boyal Academician was next sent, at the age of thirteen, to a school at Mar- gate, then a little fishing-village. It was there he formed an acquaintance which coloured, tnd in a moral sense ruined, his future life. He fell in love with the sister of one of his schoolfellows ; tremblingly declared his pas- sion when on the point of leaving, and was accepted. Toung Turner, then a sprightly youth, trod the empyrean. It had long since been ■ determined he should be a painter. Feeling with the infftmctive consciousness of genius that he was certain to obtain eminence in his art, he looked with confidence to the future. At nineteen he left for a lengthened tour in the North, to sketch scenery from the great book of Nature, after first exchanging vows of mutual fi^ielity with Miss . He wrote con- stantly, but the young lady was not permitted to see one of his letters. Her stepmother, who did not approve of

the contemplated match, intercepted them. Miss

believed herself to be forgotten, forsaken, and finally con- sented to receive the addresses of a new lover.* The day was fixed for the xoarriage, when Turner, who, spite of not

278 BCCBKXBIO PEBSONAasS.

having veceiyed an answer to one <tf (ds letteis — ^the oanae of which he must have divined — ^had never for one moment doubted his beloved's constanoj, oame bad^ to London, and forthwith betook himself to the joong lady's abode. When informed how matters stood, he was wild, mad — ^psanon* ately implored Miss — to biesk off an engagement into whieh she had been inveigled. The ladj, believing she had gone too far to reoede, refused. The marriage was soon afterwards eelebrated. A most unhappy one it proved to the bride. To yoong Tomer the marrisge-beUs sonnded the death-knell of his hopes. The blow was mortal : he never reoovered from it; and to it most be attributed, in an almost entire degree, his misanthrc^io manner, his negleot of appeannoes, and his contempt of the world, except as a pboe m whieh money might be scraped to- gether. One unbroken idol at whose shrine he nuight worship remamed to him — ^Art, and to that worship he for the f utore devoted himself vrith all his heart and strength.

The goddess rewarded her votary vrith her especial &vounH-inspired, inflamed his genius, but for many years was niggardly dTtempcnral gifts.

Turner took up his abode in his old dingy bedroom over the barber's shop in Maiden Lane, drew sketdbee, whieh when he had gained recognition would have brought hundreds of pounds, for three or four shillings eadu He aeqxdred the art of engraviiig, greatly excelled in.it, and was much patronised by the print-publishers, vriih whom, till he became odebrated, he was perpetually at war— 4t such low prices did they require him to work. Through- out his life he cherished a Utter hatred of publishers.

The sole relaxation which this remarkable man permitted himself, besides certain potations— but it was not till late in life that he at times over*indu]ged-*was fishing. He

J. H. w. tubheb, B.A. 279

might bo seen wending his way to the riter-ude, dressed in the oddest fashion — a flabby hat, ill-fitting green Mon- monib-Btreet coat, nankeen tronsers much too short, and highlow boots, with a dilapidated ootton umbrdla, and a fishing-rod. From early morning till nightfidl would he sit upon the river's bank, nnder pelting rain, patiently, shielded by his capacions nmbrella, even though he did not obtain a single nibble. He was not, however, an nnskilfiil angler, and was very proud of a good day's sport. He oflen fished in the Thames at Brentford.

Turner engraved for a livelihood; he painted for ftme, and fame came at last The world of London awoke to the knowledge that a great painter had arisen amongst them. Tet was the recognition for some time doubtftdy hesitating. The critios of the press abused unmercifiilly his painting of '< Carthage,'^ exhibited at the Boy^ Academy. The gentleman who had ordeied and was to pay one handred poxmds for it refused on account of those strictures to complete the bargain. Not very long after- wards Turner was offered thousands for the same work. << This is indeed a triumph," he ezelaimed, with natural exultation. He was at last at the top of Fortune's wheel. His paintings commanded any price he chose to ask for them, and he aoonmnlated money at an astounding rate. He had removed to 48 Queen-Anne Street West, a street north of Cavendish Square — a house subsequently known as Turner's Den." Truly a den. The windows wero never cleaned, had breaches in them patched with paper ; the door was black and blistered, the iron palisades rusty for lack of paint. If a would-be visitor tnocked or rang, it was k>ng be&re the summons was replied to — up to 1812 by a wizened, meagre old man, who unfastened ^e chain sufficiently to see who rang or knocked, and the almost invariable answer was, " You can't come in." After the

280 EGCENTBIO PEBS0NA0E6.

old man's death, Mrs. Danby, an elderlj woman with a diaeased face, supplied his place. ,

A profound melancholy shadowed not only ihe sodal, bat artbtio life of Turner, relieved by occasional, far- between flashes of merrim^t. Mr. Buskin has remarked upon this in his usual forcible language— << Sunset and twilight on ruins were his faTOurite ^ects." Speaking of the Liber, the great art<$ritic goes on to remark — ^^ A feeling of decay, of humiliation, gives solemnity to all hia simplest subjects, even to his views of daily .labour. In the pastoral by the brookside, the child is in rags and lame. In the hedging and ditching, the labourer is mean and sickly, the woman slatternly. The mill is a ruin; the peat-bog dreary."

Nothing could be more true. Even his glorious picture of the last of the Old T^mdraire, is the T^m^raire going to be broken up. "Ah I the fallacies of hope 1" was his frequent exclamation when he was in the full blaze of his fame and rolling in riches. " Ah I the fallacies of hope," — a thought which, if seldom uttered in words, is ever burning in the brain of finely-organised poetic natures, and Turner's was a finely-organised poetic nature, if there ever was one. The burden of the mystery is too heavy for them. The highest poetry of the nineteenth century is but the melodious echo of this deep-seated feeling, this religion of despair.

Turner loved to mystify people. His great picture of Polyphemus, the one-eyed Cyclops whose eye Ulysses put 3ut, with a tree pointed like a stake, wh^ the monster iras asleep, the subject of which was taken from the. Odi/ssey, had an immense success. One- day Turner dined with a large party, amongst the guests at which were the Reverend. Mr. Judkins, and a lady, who greatly admired

J. U. W. TUBNEB, B.A. . 281

Tnmer'B piotares. They were sitting opposite ^Turner and talking in whispers. " I know what you are talking about/' exclaimed Turner, his keen eyes glittering with fun; "you are talking of my picture." This was true, the lady having expressed great admiration of the Poly- phemus ; " a sweet picture/' she called it. The Key. Mr. Judkins intimated assent; they were talking about his picture. "And where do you think I got the subject from, sir?" asked Turner. *'Why, from the Oiywcy, of course." " Not a bit of it^ my dear sir ; I took it from Tom Dibdin. Don't you remember the words ?^

' He ate his matton, drank his wine, And then he poked his eye oat.' "

One Mr. OiUat, a wealthy manufacturer of Birming*- ham — ^it was the wealthy merchants and manufacturers, not the aristocracy, by whom Turner was chiefly patronised — ^Mr. OiUat was determined, if possible, to possess himsell of some-of Turner's pictures. With that fixed purpose he came to London, called at the Den, 48 Queen Anne Street, rang the bell again and again, till at last it was answered by the old woman with a diseased face. He' told his busi- ness, and the usual reply was given-— "You can't come in." The Birmingham gentleman was not so easily beaten. He had got his foot in the doorway — ^the housekeeper had incautiously unhooked the chain — and Mr. GiUat made a forcible entry. He had hardly gained the first landing when Turner, hearing strange footsteps, rushed out of his particular compartment in the Den and angrily CQpfronted the intruder. " What do you want here ?" <' I am come to purchase some of your pictures." I have none to sell." But you won't mind exchanging them for some of mine? You have seen our Birmingham pictures?" " Never 'eard of 'em." " I will show you some," rejoined

282 SCOlOrXBZC PBRSOKAGia.

the gOQtleiium firom Binnix^am, polling oat a roll cf Bank^of'Bngfaind notes to the amount of &V9 AaaaaaA poondB. *' You are a mm one/' said Turner. " Those are pictores, too, that mast not be eopied." The Birmii:^- ham gentleman was soooessfol, and earned oflP fiTe thousand poonds' worth — now perhaps worth five times that som —of the great artist's creations.

Tomer coold not bear to sell a favoorite painting. It was a portbn of his bemg; to part with it was a rendering .up, the blotting oat of that spaoe of his life spent in its creation. He was always dejected, .mdaneholy, after such a transaction. I lost one of my children this week," he woold sadly exclaim, with tears in his eyes.

At a meeting at Somerset Hoose, presided over by the late Sir Robert Peel, it was decided to purchase Tomer's two great pictores, the Rise and Fall of Carthage, for the National OaUery. A Mr. Griffiths was commissioDed to offer five thousand pounds for them. A noble offer/' said Tumer, " a noble ofier ; but no, I cannot part with ihem. Impossible." Mr. Griffiths, greatly disappointed, took leave. Tumer ran after him. Tdil those gentle- men," he said, " that the nation will, most likely, have the pictures after all."

Long before this Tumer had matured a purpose whidi continued to be his dominant idea till the curtain fell upon the incongmous drama of his lifo. This was to bequeath to his country a Turner's Gallery of noble pictures, and amass one hundred thousand pounds at least, to build and endow an asylum for decayed artists. It was for tiiis great end that he scorned delights, except such cheap luxuries as fishing, and the indulgence, at times, of some- what Ignoble tastes; consented to be esteemed a miserly curmudgeon, lived in a £tate of almost absolute squalor, dressed in suck a Paul-Pry fashion — Paul-Pry run to seed

J. M. V. TUBNER, ILA. 283

-^tbat oonntry Mends, hb well as his aristoeratio acqaaint- aaces, gave Iiim the sobriqaet of Old Podgy.

His resolve onoe made coald not be shaken. A wealthy merchant of Liverpool offered him one hundred thousand ponnda down for the art-treasures roQed np in dark closets —hanging ftom dripping walls in the Den, Queen Anne Street " Give me the key of the house, Mr. Turner," said the would-be purchaser, and here is the money," " No thank you," replied Turner, " I havo refused a better offer," which was true.

Upon another occasion an eager speculator called upon him to effect purchases. Turner happened to be in one of hia jocose moods, and he displayed his wonderful sketches bound up in volumes. The purchaser expectant was in ecstasies as the gem-like pages flashed one after the other upon him. His bid for them rapidly increased till it reached the sum of one thousand pounds per volume. " You would very much like to have them, I daresay ?" « Yes, very much." " Well, then, you won't."

Yet this large-souled man — a mighty spirit prisoned in the shabbiest of shells — could be guilty of the most niggardly meanness. He caused a tablet to be placed in St. Paul's. Some masonry work was required to fix it; the charge for which was seven-and-sixpence, which one of the churchwardens paid, believing, of course, that Mr. Turner would immediately reimburse him such a trifle. Mr. Turner was much pleased with the tablet, but his mood changed when the little bill was presented. <' Send me a receipt from the mason," said Turner ; ** I won't pay it till you do." It was not worth the trouble to do so, and the churchwarden lost his money. *' He a great man I" growled a Southend boatman, one of two whom Turner used to hire to pull him about the Thames shore whilst he was sketdiing. ^* He a great man I over

284 BCGENTBIO PBBSONAGES.

the left I Why, he takes oat a big botde of gin r^alar, and never axes as to have a nip."

Yet even with respect to that least-significant sign or evidence of trae beneTolenoe, indiscriminate almsgiving, the great artist was often, veiy often, impulsively, lavishly generous. An old Irish beggar-woman importuned him in the streets, to his great annoyance. He rebuked her angrily, but presently repenting of his harshness, ran back and slipped a five-pound note into her hand.

He was sometimes munificait, even during life, in afibrding help to those Vho he knew really needed it A gentleman who used to buy his sketches when he was working in the dingy bedroom over his father's shop in Maiden Lane, and always prophesied high things of him, fell into difficulties, and was about to sell the timber on his estate. Turner heard of this, and sent many thousands — twenty it is said — anonymously to the gentleman's steward. The embarrassment was temporary only, the gentleman recovered himself, and Turner received back his twenty thousand pounds.

Especially for stru^ling artbts he felt an ardent sympathy, and was ever ready to assist them with advice and money. One young man who had painted '< OaUleo in the prison of the Inquisition," showed the work to him. << It is a good picture," said Turner ; " full of promise." Then seizing a brush, he dashed in some geometrical figures upon the prison walls. This was worth fifty guineas to the young painter.

One incident gives high proof of the native generosity of his nature. He was one of the hanging committee, as the phrase goes, of the Royal Academy. The walls werb full when Turner's attention was attracted by a picture sent in by an unknown provincial artist of the name of Bird. Turner examined it carefully. A good picture,"

285

he exclaimed; "it must he hxmg np and exhibited/' '< Impossible/' responded the committee of Academicians. " The arrangement can't be disturbed. Quite impos- sible 1" "A good picture," iterated Turner; "it must be hung up;" and finding his colleagues to be as obstinate as himself, he hitched down one of his own pictures and hung up Bird's in its place.

Another time Sir Thomas Lawrence exhibited a paint- ing which was hung dose by one of Turner's. The exceeding brightness of the latter rendered the dulness of Sir Thomas Lawrence's repulsively apparent The courtly portrait-painter was much annoyed, but there was no help for it. The next day, a friend called upon Turner, and adked what, in the name of heaven, he had been doing with his picture. The colour was all smudged out. " Yes, yes — Lawrence looked so miserable. But it's only lamp-black ; it will easily wash off."

Turner never entertained any one, never gave a. dinner during his life. Upon one occasion he had no option but to do so. He had paid a visit to Edinburgh, and whilst there had been hospitably entertained by a Mr. Thompson. He had, in fact, made that g^tleman's house his own. Mr. Thompson came to London, and Turner could not do less than invite him to dinner. The invitation was accepted, greatly to the consternation both of Turner and his father. There seemed, however, to be no help for it, when fortune came to their relief. Mr. Thomspon called upon a nobleman, who pressingly invited him to dine at his mansion tho next day, the last he should remain in town. Mr. Thompson pleaded his previous engagement with Turner. " Bring Turner with you," said the noble- man. Mr. Thompson delivered the message. Turner, secretly delighted, affected to hesitate. " Well, I suppose I must, butr— " " Go, Billy," exclaimed the father, fur-

286 BOCXNXBIO PBBSONAaSS.

tivdy opening the door, on the ootride of which ho had been listening. Go, BiUj; the mutton need not be boilei

The BofiSsring of hiB friends grievondy affected Tnmer. Their death enoompasBed him for a time with the ^kwm of an inooDSolable despair. He had, nnhappUj, .o ratigiona oonvictions, and the thought of annihilation was to him a sooroe of constant terror and dread. The death of his jovial-hearted friend Chantaiey) the soolptor, deeply affected him. He ooold never be induoed to enter a sick-room, and would not visit at the house where a friend or acquaintance had died.

At last the sere of life had Men upon this great genius. He felt, though he refused to acknowledge it to himself, that he was fast approaching the setting sun, that the imi- verse was fading from his sight, crumbling at his feet He strove to escape from himself, as it were: << He would give all his wealth to be twenty years old again." He was re- cognised at the Yorkshire Stii^ by a very slight acquaint- ance. He may have indulged in potations at times. '^ I shall often come, said the man, now I knowyou frequent the house." Turner never went there again ; but the world was a blank for him: he had no cheerful fireside— no home in its true saving sense.

Becoming more and m<»c conscious of the swiCtappxoach of death, and fancying, perhaps, that a change of scene — seclusion from society — might retrim the expiring lamp, he suddenly left Queen-Anne Stareet with merely a change oi linen, as if he were going out for a walk, and took lodgingB in a cottage at Chelsea, next door to which ginger-beer was sold, and not far &om the present Oremome Pier* It was a long time before his whereabout was discovered by his old faithful housekeeper, Mrs. Banby, by accident.

f. M. W. TUBNER« B.A 287

He had not then many days to lire. A medical gentle- man whom he had known at Margate — Margate which he was never weary of visiting, and the memories of which were present to him in his last honrs — had been sent for, and he had no sooner looked upon the moribnnd than he gently but firmly annoxmced that the last hoar was at hand. Tamer was greatly shocked, and refused to believe that his end, that '< annihilation" was so near. " Gfo down-stairs, trembled from his adien lips, <' go down stairs, and take a glass of wine. Then come and look at me again." The medical gentleman did so, retained, and again interpreted in the same words the doom of inevitable death written unmistakably upon the great painter's brow. A few hours afterwards, on the 19th of December, 1851, J. M. W. Tur- ner, R. A.,-expired, aged 79 years. He was buried in St. Paul's.

By his will he bequeathed one hundred and foriy thousand pounds to found an asylum for poor artists bom in England, and a magnificent art-treasure to his oountiy. This latter bequest was, however, coupled with the condition that his Rise and Fall of Carthage should be hung up in the National Gallery between Claude's Sea-port and MilL

LORD NORBURT.

The Mr. John Toler who, by force of unblushing syco- phancy, unparalleled impudence, and a pair of hair-txig- ger pistols, became Lord Norbury, and Chief Justice of the Court of Common Pleas, Ireland, was of respectable parentage, notwithstanding that his only fortune when launched upon the world was fifty pounds and the hair-trig- ger pistols. These qualifications sufficed in those days — although he knew little of law, in a comparative sense of course, and was utterly destitute of eloquence — to clear his way to the high offices of Solicitor-, Attomey-Gteneral, Chief- Judgeship, and to place a coronet on his truculent brow.

This man, called to the Irish bar in 1771, was in person fat, podgy, with small gray cunning eyes, which ever sparkled with good humour, irrepressible fun, especially when he was passing sentence of death. He was never so jocund as then, especially if there was a large batch of criminals. Lord Norbury was at once Sancho Panza and Judge Jeffireys. He had not, and did not care to^have, a particle of moral courage; but was animally brave, or pretty nearly so, as a buU-dog is. He was always ready with his pistol. He fought some half-dozen duels, one with fire-eating Fitzgerald; frightened James Napper Tandy, who died a French General, nearly out of his small wits by the threat of one ; and Sir Jonah Barrington's very respectable brains he would probably have blown out, but for a ludicrous mishap. Of these incidents more presently. Lord Norbury, it must be admitted, only followed the fashion

LOBD NOBBURT. 289

j£ the times. Lord Ghanoellor Clare " went out ** with the Master of the Bolls, {ohn Philpot Garran. There was a mania for-daelling. To have stood fire, at least once, was held to be the only stamp of a raal gentleman. It was a customary query for a father or mother to put to-any t)ne who advocated the pretensions of a suitor to his or her daughter's hand : '^ What family is he of ? Did he ever Btaii4 ft blaze ?" Judge Fletcher, a learned, humane, bibu- lous man, and a terrible glutton, wh^ summing up the evidence in theoase^of the King v. Fenton, who was indicted for the murder of Major HiUens, said, It is my duty to tell you, gentlemen 'Of the jury, that to kill a man in a duel is by law murder. It is my duty to say that ; but upon my honour, gentleman, a/atrer dud I never heard or read of." Fenton was of course acquitted. What a distance, looked at from our present point of view, seems to have elapsed since such sayings and doings were possible in high judicial r^ons ! The march of civilisation and refinement may be slow, but it is palpable and decisive.

Notwithstanding that Lord Norbury was seen by dullest eyes to be a coarse vulgar embodiment of a mean rascality, unredeemed by the fabtest gleam of hon<5ur or patriotism, the man was tolerated by Society for his convivial talents. He could sing a capital song, often did so in naiisoellaneous company, long after he was Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, and sometimes delivered smart, if not exactly witly, sayings. His best songs were ^< Black-eyed Susan *' and « Admiral Benbow." His character will be best portrayed by anecdotical penstrokes. In so doing it will be neces- saiy to mix up the tragic and the trivial, the savagexy and jocoseness, which made up Lord Norbury. It would, indeed, be impossible to separate in his moral portrait those oharaoteristics from each other. His judicial ferodty was

U

290 BCCEKTRIO FEBS0KA0E3

invariably tinged with a sort of ghastly fan, jnst as hi< jocosity was ever spiteful, venomous, brutal.

Mr. John Toler, become Attomey-Oeneral, prosecuted, on the part of the Crown, John and Henry Sheares, young bairisters of good family, who had rashly mixed themselvee up with one of the abortive rebellions rife in that troubled exciting time. They were the dupes and tools of more astute and cunning conspirators. This was especially true of Henry Sheares, a young man of weak, not to say cowardly, spirit The trial, which took place before Lord Carleton, was a lengthened one. Mr. Gurran, when the case for the prosecution closed, asked for an adjournment, he being physically incapable of addressing the jury with effect. <<What do you say, Mr. Attorney?" said Lord Carleton. Mr. Attorney Toler objected. He was as much exhausted as the counsel for the rebels. Such adjourn- ments, he added, were prejudicial to the public interests, and a waste of time. The trial went on, the accused were convicted — sentenced to death. Mr. Attorney immediately rose and prayed that execution might take place on Uie following day. The prayer was granted.

. Mr. Attomey-Gkneral Toler had a purpose in view. He was aware that Sir Jonah Barrington, one of the most loyal of men, and held in high esteem by the Lord Lieutenant, had been acquainted with the prisoners — that he felt great commiseration for them, and would do his utmost to avert or mitigate their doom ; and Mr. Attorney-General could not endure that the quarry which he had hunted down should be rescued by any impertinent interference. Mr. Attorney's was a well-calculated haste. Henry Shearea wrote a letter, immediately after sentence was pronounced, to Sir Jonah Barrington, imploring him, in the most path- etic phrases, to see the Lord Lieutenant, and intercede for his, the prisoner's, life. The ^tter itself was abundant

LOBB NORBUBY, 291

proof that the craTen who wrote it conld never have serionalj contemplated rebellion. Lord Clare yielded, and fient a respite staying execution, in the hope that the doomed man might be able to make revelations which would justify him, the Lord Lieutenant, in granting a full pardon. Sir Jonah Barrington hurried off, and arrived before the gaol in just sufficient time to see and hear the executioner hold up Henry Sheares' head, and exclaim: " This is the head of a traitor I" *

There is only one step, we are told, from the sublime to the ridiculous : in the instance of this man there is but one, and a short one, so closely do they approximate, from the horrible to the funny — ike ludicrous. Take for ex ample, the following anecdote :

Lord Redesdale, appointed Lord Chancellor for Ireland, a dull prosaic man, who believed himself to be a wit of the first water, was anxious to exhibit himself to advantage in his first social intercourse with the Irish bar, the rollicking humour of whom was well known. He fared but badly, Mr. John Toler contriving to turn the laugh against him at every tilt of repartee. Lord Redesdale mentioned that when he was a lad cock-fighting was in vogue, and that ladies went to see the exhibition full>dressed and wearing hoops. " Ah," exclaimed Toler, "now we get at the ety- mology of cock-a-hoop." IThis was thought very clever, and a general laugh followed. His lordship subsequently remarked — the conversation having turned upon skating — that in his youth skating was not a dangerous pastime, in- asmuch as that the skaters fastened bladders under their arms, m that if the ice broke beneath them, they would be suspended above water by the bladders. ** Ha, La !" shout- ed Toler, "now I imderstand what blatherum-skate means." Poor stuff, no doubt, but there was not much superior to it in Lord Norbury's motley coat of many colours.

292 BCCBNXRIC PBBSOKAOES.

The Bight Honourable John Toler crept^ crawled, bullied his way into the Irish House of Commons, when it was really worth while to be a ^ncmber of that assembly. The English government were bent upon abolishing the Irish parliament, and votes for the Union were to be pur- chased at any price. The Eight Honourable John Toler was very useful in flattering all voters with his praise^ and in bullying the opponents of the scheme, it being well known to all that a skilfully-pointed hair-trigger would echo his insults at a moment's notice. His first onslaught was upon Mr. Geoige Ponsonby. He told the honourable gentleman that if he had heard any one utter such words out of the House as he, Mr. Ponsonby, had wiibin it, he would have seized the ruffian by the throaty and trampled

• him into the dust. Mr. Ponsonby took no notice of the

right honourable gentleman's Billmgsgate. Mr. Toler next fell foul of the Honourable Jonah Barrington, and having dined and drunk very freely, was more than usually abusive. Sir Jonah Barrington curtly replied: '<! shall only give him the character which he deserves ; this, that he has a hand for everybody and a heart for nobody." The instant Sir Jonah sat down, Toler gave him an unmistak> able hair-trigger wink with one of his small gray eyes, and out of the House hurried both the honourable gentlemen. They were not, however, quick enough. The Seijeant-at- Arms' assistants were ordered to follow, and bring the honourable members back into the awful presence of the Mace. Toler was captured. His coat-tails were caught in a doorway he was passing through ; and though, tugging with might and main, he at last freed himself at the cost of his tails, the delay was fatal. He was seized and brought back to the House. Sir Jonah got as far as Nas- sau Street, where he was overtaken, rudely seized, carried back by four stout fellows, and fiang like a sack of sawdoat

LOBD NORBUBT. 293

upon the floor of the House. Both members were ordered to declare upon their honour'* that the affair should pro- ceed no further. The Right Honourable John Toler rose to explain — ^to defend himself; but hia appearance, dentided as he was of the skirts of his coat, was so ludicrous, that the House burst into roars of laughter. As soon as he could make himself heard, Curran, with great apparent in- dignation, rose and exclaimed : ^< A more intolerable insult has never been offered to this House. One honourable member has positiTely dared to -tbdc the jackxt of another honourable member within these walls, and nearly within yiew of the Speaker I" This sally intensified the merriment^ amidst which the comical fracas OTaporatedy BO tospeak.

The Right Hononrable John Toler voted for the de- struction of the Irish Parliament; a wise measure, it may be, but carried by infamously corrupt means. The right honourable gentleman drove a famous bargain with the government— a peerage fi>r his wife, already an old woman, and the chief-justiceship of the Common Pleas for himself, with the title of Lord Norbury. Upon this being com- municated by Lord Gastlereagh to the Lord Chancellor Clare, that learned dignitary replied, '<No, no, that will never do; make Toler a bishop, an archbishop even, but not a chief justice." The Lord Chancellor was obliged to . yidd, the Union was carried, and Lord Norbury was placed in possession of the seat and salary of the chief justice, You have sold your country," said an Lrish lady, not having the fear of hair-tiiggers before her eyes ; " you have basely sold your country." " Very lucky for me that I had a country to seU," was the rejoinder. " I wish I had another."

Lord Norbury, as Chief Justice, reflected no honour upon his office or upon those who had appomted him to it.

294 BOCENTBIC PBBSONAGBS.

Anecdotes of his eondact on the bench of justice are nmne- rouB. I select a few. He never would nonsoit a plaintiff'; he had a eonstituHonal objection, forsooth, to withdraw the decision of any case from a jury. Upon one ooca^on he was niged in bolder terms than were ordinarily employed byr the counsel for the defendant to grant a nonsoit " For once, my lord, have the courage to grant a nonsnif " I tell you what Mr. Wallaoe," rejoined the Chief Justice, — " I tell you what, Mr. Wallace ; there are two kinds of courage — courage to shoot and courage to nonshoot I hope I have both. But nonshoot now I won't."

Lord Norbuiy, it has been already said, had a strong liking for capital punishments. He was never so hilarious as when putting on the black cap. It happened, however, that upon one occasion, during a trial of some interest, he manifested considerable emotion. Mr. Harvey Orady, a barrister of ability, who had been chafed by some of the judge's remarks, thereupon said, The incident reminds me, my lord, of a judge who was never known to weep but once, and that was in a theatre." " Tragedy — deep tragedy, Mr. Grady," said Lord Norbury. " No, indeed, my lord. It was in the Beygars^ Opera, when Macbealh was reprieved." Lord Norbuiy tried the nnfortunate Robert Emmett for high treason, conducting himself throughout the proceedings as a Jefi&eys or Scroggs might have done. My lord," said the high-minded, if mistaken, young man, irritated by a brutal taunt, — " my lord, there are men concerned in this conspiracy who would disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand." The judge revenged himself by passing sentence of death in a sneering, mocking tone, omitting to add the usual formula, " And may the Lord have mercy upon your souL"

Some of Lord Norbury's impromptus are apt and humorous. He was told by a gentleman that he heard

LOBB NOBBUBT. ' 295

an old enemy of bis was dead. '< Do yon believe it ?" asked his friend. '^ I don't know/* said Lord Norbory. '^ He is villain enough to live or die, jost as it soits bis own convenience."

Again. Daring a session of the Irish Parliament, when a strong effort was made to induce the House of Goaimons to pass a Catholic Emancipation Bill, the friends of the measure hit upon the notable expedient of inviting over from England Edmund Burke's son, for the purpose of drawing up the petition to be presented to the House. The father was an eloquent vnriter, and it was concluded that his son must be the same. The young gentleman failed to please his patrons. The petition was nevertheless presented, and an acrimonious debate ensued. Young Mr. Burke was in the gallery, but, becoming much excited, walked down and entered the House itself, and walked up towards the chair. As soon as the audacious act was noticed, loud cries of " Privily," " There is a stranger in the House, arose on all sides. Serjeant-at-Arms, do your duty," roared Mr. Speaker. The intruder was dumb- foundered, paralysed with terror. Thunder had fallen upon him. The imminence of the peril partially restored his faculties: he turned; the Serjeant-at-Arms ^rith a drawn sword in his hand, blocked his way: instantly doubling, he was stopped by the Clerk of the House: turning again, he fairly took to his heels, followed at full speed by the door-keepers. He, however, escaped. The incident produced some excitement amongst the members, one of whom observed that he did not believe such a thing had ever happened before. "I beg your pardon," ex- claimed the Eight Honourable John Toler ; " I found the same incident, a few days hence, in the cross-readings of a newspaper. Yesterday a petition was presented to the

iu96 XCCBNTBIC PXRSONAQES.

House of Comsumfl — ^it fbrtonately missed fire, and lihe TilUdnranoft"

This, again, is tolerably smart. A gentleman had been tried for arson and acquitted legally, thongh not by the verdict of general opinion. This gentleman attended a Castle ley^. " I am glad to see you A^rv," said the Right Honourable John Tolor. " It Will be my last visit for a long time," said the gentleman, as I am about to become a Benedict." « Ah, well," said the Right Honourable John, '< St Paul says it is better to marry than hum"

The Chief Justice of the Common Pleas was as averse to signing bills of exception as to directing a nooHSuit One was tendered against his lordship's ruling by the late Daniel O'Connell, between whom and Lord Norbuzy there was perpetual feud. They hated each other bitterly. If a judge refuse to sign a bill of exceptions, he is liable to a penalty of five hundred pounds. Lord Norbury was yet more loath to pay five hundred pounds than to sign a bill of exceptions. << Surely, Mr. O'Connell," he exclaimed, ^'you cannot be serious." The great Daniel replied that he was never more serious in his life. The duty he owed his client required him to insist either that his lord^p should sign or refuse to sign the bill of exceptions. Lord Norbury was sure Mr. O'Connell would always do his duty towards his dienls. He was a bright example to the bar in this respect. But he was disinclined either to sign the bill or refiise to sign it " I wish your lordship had spared me the infliction of your praise. I must insist either that your lordship signs or refuses to sign." " Certainly I shall not refuse to sign, nor sign now. Come to me by and by at chambers, and we will see about it" Mr. O'Conneli attended at chambers, and the bill of exceptions . was signed.,

LOBD KOBBtJRT. 291

In aaoiiher tilt with Lord Norbnty, Daniel O'OonneU did not come off so well. The late Sir Bobert Peel, when Secretary for Ireland, had challenged Mr. O'Connell to mortal combat, in consequence of some offensive expres- sions made nse of towards him by the celebrated agitator at a public meeting. Mrs. O'Connell, discovering what was going on, caused her husband to be arrested and bound over to keep the peace with all the king's subjects in Ire- land. Mr. Peel immediately started for Ostend, first sending a written message to O'Connell that he intended to do so. Mr. O'Gonnell foUowed shortly, was again arrested in London, and bound over by Lord EUen- boroughy in heavy penalticEi, to keep the peace with all his Majesty's subjects. Mr. O'Connell returned to Ireland, and a short time afterwards was arguing a knotty point of law before the Chief Justice. Lord Norbury paid UttLe attention to the argument, preferring to fondle a Newfbund- land dog he had with him on the bench. ^My lord," exclaimed Mr. O'Oonnell, '^I am afraid your lordeAup does • not apprehend me." "Ib^yourpardon, Mr. O'Connell," replied the Chief Justice with a sneering diuckle, <<no one is more easily apprehended than Mr. O'Connell when he wishes to be"

Irish gentlemen are proverbially the most hospitable race in the world. Lord Norbury was an exception. He waa, however, liberal enough in his invitations, but there was very lenten entertainment grudgingly placed before such persons as, not knowing his lordship, ventured to ^accept them. He once pressingly invited an elderly lady and gentleman, with whom he had been long acquainted, to come and spend a week at Cabra, his lordship's seat, at a considerable distance from Dublin, little imagining his invitation would be accepted. He was mistaken. The

298 ECOBirrBio personages.

lady and gentleman packed up Hnch neoessaries as would ho required daring a week's sojonm at Gabra, where thej iofelj arrived, and were most politely received by Iiord Norbury. "Well, now, this is kind," said bis lordship; " I am BO happy to see you both, and must insist — now, no excuse — that you stop and take dinner. Yon mnat^ indeed : I will take no refusal, — certainly not"

The Chief Justice once, when passing sentence of death, at Garlow, upon a lot of rebels, was attired in a masquerade dressi He had, some weeks previous, been present at a grand masquerade given by Lady Castlereagh, where he appeared in the character of Hawthorn in Love in a Village. His dress was green tabinet^ with mother-of- pearl buttons, striped yellow-and-black waistcoat^ and buff breeches. When about to dress on the momii^ of the day when so many sentences would have to be passed, and the weather being extremely hot, he examined his wardrobe to select the lightest, coolest dress he could find. This happened to be his masquerade costume, which he at once decided upon. Wh^ he took his seat on the bench, his robe concealed the under-dress ; but soon overpowered by the heat, Lord Norbuiy threw back his robe, disclosing his masquerade attire to the amazement of a crowded court, and went on with his pleasant labour in a comfortable state of both body and mind.

Lord Norbuiy clung to the great office which he dis- graced to the last At length the Qovemment determined to abate so pemioiouB a scandal, and a private intimation reached him that he would be required to resign the Chief Justiceship. The intelligence made him wild — furious ; life would be valuetees if not enlivened by the power of passing death-sentences, a delectation which the absurd chicken-heartedness of modem l^;islat(NS had already shame-

LOBB NOBBimT. 299

fully curtaSed. The Ohief Justice quickly Tesolved upon lu» plan of campaign. Mr. Gr^ry. the Lord Lieutenant's private secretary, would be the person selected to present him with his Excellency's compliments, and ppUtely inti«  mate the request of (Government that he would tender his resignation. Lord Norbury sent for Mr. Oregory at once, conducted him to a private room, carefully closed the door, turned the key, and then with the fierce glimmer in his eyes which his auditor well knew indicated mischief, thus addressed him : " My dear Gregory, you are my oldest firiend. There is no one I respect so much. It seems that our mock king in the Phoenix Park is about to publicly insult me, and I never yet brooked a saucy look. I am to be asked to resign my seat on the Bench 1 Of course the sham monarch himself cannot be punished, but the minionj whoever he is, whom ho intrusts with such a message, shall be ; I will have his life. Qr^ry, my old, my valued friend — ^you will stand by me, 1 am sure. The hair- triggers are ready as in the days of Tandy and Fitzgerald.*' Mr. Gr^ry, who had been charged to deliver the offensive intimation without delay, left without doing so. Lord Norbury's bullying tactics, however, availed nothing. A few days afterwards he was requested to resign by a letter from the Lord Lieutenant himself. Driven to bay, the Chief Justice asked for time to consult a friend. This in- dulgence was granted. The friend was in India 1 This was a twelvemonth gained. The Chief Justice thought so. He deceived himself. Having fallen asleep during a trial for murder, a petition presented to the House of Commons by Daniel O'Connell compelled the Government to require his instant resignation of the judgment seat — and Lord Norbury, alias John Toler, retired to die at Cabra. His coarse humour did not forsake him in the last hours. Ho

800 XCOBSTBIO PBBSOKAOES.

had a neigfaboar' who had been bedridden for years, and was at the point of death. Apprised bj his physician that his end was near, ineritable, he, the shook of the annonnoe- ment over, said to a servant in attendance, <' James, go with my complimoits to Lord Bme, and tell him it is now a dead heat between him and me." Thus died the bloody- handed JosterJadge.

THE CHEVALIER DTEON; •

Thb life of tliia gdntleman ib one of the still unsolved mysteries of what may be ealled the oocolt history of courts and courtesans, royal intrigues, and underplots of bestarred and beribboned flunkeyism. Much has been written upcHi the subject, but no key has yet been found that will turn the look of the riddle. I am about to try the effect of my file upon that one which seemed to fit the wards most accurately. It is a subject which requires delicate handling, and I shall so handle it.

Charles Qeneyidve Louise Auguste D'Eon de Beaumont was bom at Tonnerre, Franoe, in the year 1728. It is somewhat curious, considering D'Eon*s after-life, that of his four baptismal names tw^ were masculine and two feminine. He was a dever boy — " mais tant soit pm eccentrique" (but more or less eccentric.) His features being small and delicate, he more than once passed himself off as a girl at rustic fgtes, and could only be induced to abstain from such objectionable license by the serious warnings of a magistrate.

Charles Genevidve Louise Auguste d'Eon de Beaumont's domicile did not harmcmise with such sounding titles. The family was poor and proud, and ^e young man was hugdy delighted when he was at last free to seek his fortune in Paris, furnished, it is true, with a light purse, but influential introductions to great people. The old noblesse of France were true to their order, false and tyrannous as they were to the mere people. It was these

802 BCCJSNTRIO PEBSOKAGES.

iniaroductionB, and not the wish j-'waahy pampUeta he wrote and published, which oommended him to the notice of the Prince of Conti, and through hia prinoeship to that of King Louia XY . His handsome presence and pleasing manners secured the favour which princely patronage had initiated. He was appointed equerry to the king, created a knight, thenceforth Chevalier D'Eon, and as if to make a doctor of law and an advocate of the parliament were as easy to the monarch as to manufacture an equerry or a knight, had the dignity of doctor of law and an advocate of parliament conferred upon him.

The sun of good fortune continued to smile. He was appointed to the secretaryship of the French embassy at St. Petersburg, and by his adroitness, spirit of adventur- ous intrigue, and glozing tongue, so ingratiated himself with the Czarina Elizabeth, one of the most atrocious fiends that ever fiUed the Satanic throne at Muscovy, that he soon became, to the superseding of the titular ambas- sador, the medium of communication between the Empress Elizabeth and Louis XV. It is needless to go into the details, so far as they are unreliably known, of Ihe plots, treacheries, massacres, schemes to which D'Eon was pri^, and the thread of which web of devilism he held. Enough that both Elizabeth and Louis approved hia services. The Czarina gave him money, and Louis made him a captain of dragoons, and by letters patent granted him a penaon of about, in English money, one hundred pounds per annum.

During the chevalier's sojourn in St. Petersbuig, he was in the habit of frequenting places of amusement, balls, &c., in the guise of a woman. His appearance when so attired was so completely feminine that no one unacquainted with him could have detected the imposture. This was a mania with the chevalier. There was nothing he so delighted in

TAB OHEVALISR d'eON. 803

as receiving the amatory oomplimeQta of men attracted by the beauty of his oountenancey and the artistic make-ap of his figaie. And yet this man was a brave soldier, and proved that he was in more than one bloody encounter. Verily the contradictions and inconsistencies of human nature are inscrutable, past finding out.

No question that the eccentric chevalier was a veiy clever person. There is no more doubt that he was un- scrupulous as to the means to be employed for rising in the world. A young gentleman, moreover, of amaidng fertility of resource, who could conceive and carry out unheard-of schemes for the replenishment of an exhausted purse which a less fertile brain would never have dreamt of. And in this we shall, I think, find the true k^ to the unlocking of the D'Eon mystery. The puzzlement— it scarcely deserves the name of mystery — ^lies in a nutshell. It was simply a novel mode of raismg the wind by the help of unscrupulous intermediaries. It is surprising that Sir Charles LasoeUes Wrazall, Mr. Eobert Chambers, and others who have written so largely upon the subject, should not at a glance have perceived what a transparent swindle the whole thing was.

The Chevalier D'Eon contrived to obtain the appoint- ment of attache to the embassy in England, the ambassador being the Due de Nivernois. In London the chevalier's restless spirit of intrigue, his audacity of enterprise in search after political advancement, were as conspicuous, though not so successful, as at St. Petersburg. He pur- loined, secreted, whichever may be the most appropriate word, some important papers, and made capital of their possession. The Due de Nivernois returned to France much dissatisfied with D'Eon, who however continued for some time to fulfil the duties of Chai^ d'Affidres at the English Court

804 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES.

He wm at last deprived of his office, and rednoed to sabeist upon his pension of one hundred pounds per annmn -^a sorry income for so gay a chevalier. With the. help of gaming, wagering, and other contrivances familiar to the initiated, he managed to carry on the war for full foTirteen years. By that time he had reached the length of his tether, and a gaol loomed with dark distinctness in the '< illimitable perspective.'*

I This had been for at least six years — ^much longer, probably— a ferine conclusion with the chevalier; and he, if I read his life aright, had prepared for the inevitable oatastroi^e after a very novel fashion. Doubts of whether ,the chevalier was a man or woman were circulated; and Hayes, a suigeon, with whom D'Eon was well acquainted, bet one Jacques, amoney-broker and under-writer, a wager, of which the conditions were that Hayes would pay to Jacques fifteen guineas per cent upon the sum of seven hundred pounds till such time as D*Eon was proved to be a woman ; whenever > that fact should be clearly substan- tiated, Jacques was to pay over the sev^ hundred pounds. No secret was made of this wager; scores of persons entered into the speculation, and it was believed that from sixty to seventy thousand pounds were hazarded in France and England upon the result of this strange contention. People said that the chevalier had offaided the French court by refusing to publicly acknowledge his sex, and on that account he had been deprived of office.

The chevalier's fouids being at a very low ebb indeed, Hayes, his intimate fiiend, commenced an action in the King's Bench against Jacques for the recovery of the seven hundred pounds. The success of this suit, it was held, would decide the whole of the wagers. The chevalier took care that Hayes should win. It was, of course, in his own power to put the matter beyond dispute. That was not his

THE CHEYALIEB D^EOIT. 805

game. Two willing dapos^ or tools, were foond — ^a M. Le GtOQXy saigeon, and a M. De Morandei The trial, predded over by Chief Justice Mansfield, came off en the 1st of July, 1777. Mr. Buller was counsel for the plaintiff, Mr. Mansfidd for the defendant Messieurs Le Oouz and De Morande swore positively that to their knowledge the pre- tended chevalier was a woman. De Morande had jested with her, and something more, upon the subject. He had also been shown her woman's wardrobe.

The fact that D'Eon was a woman could not, it appeared to the defendant's counsel, be disputed, and he relied for the verdict upon the plea that such wagers were illegal, especially as Hayes knew from the positive information of Le Gouz and De Morande that the sham chevalier was a woman.

Lord Mansfield was not of that opinion, though he would reserve the point for the decision of the full court. His lordship instanced a case which had come within his own knowledge, when two gentlemen made a wager as to the dimensions of the Yenus de Medicis. One of the wagerers said, " Remember, I am sure to win, for I have measured the statue ;" to which the other replied, " Do you think I should be such a fool as to bet if I also had not measured the statue?" Under his lordship's direction a verdict was returned for the plaintiff for the full amount claimed.

So far Chevalier D'Eon and Co. were successful. Un- fortunately for them the full court decided that such wagers were not legally recoverable, and the game was up.

The chevalier escaped to Franco, and in order, as I believe, to save the credit of his tools and accomplices, assumed female attire, giving out that he was compelled to do so by order of the king. I have seen biographies of D'Eon, the writers of which appear seriously to believe that such was the case I

The next move of this eccentric gentleman was an V

806 BCCBNTRIO PERSONAGES.

endeavour to pat money in his pane by tandag author. He wrote and printed twelve volumes of apocryphal history, and equally fictitious anecdotes, entitled Loisin du Chevalier 2>*i^— (Leisure Hoars of the Chevalier D'Eon) — ^which netted all they were worth — nothing. He had, however, token a pretty accurate estimate of Queen Charlotte, of German memory.

The Revolution found D'Eon not at all bettered in cir- cumstances by his artifices. His only and sure friend was M. Elis^, afterwards first surgeon to Louis XVIII. M. Elis^ supplied the chevalier with funds, enabling him to reach England, and support himself there, tiU a sufficient revenue could be obtained from a fencing establishment, which the chevalier set on foot in London, he being a very expert mattre d*arme$. He died in 1810, and the post- mortem examination was decisive that the chevalier was a man. The pretence of being a woman was unquestionably a mere swindle, and that of the most obvious kind, though reams of paper have been blotted with the argumentation of writers who persisted that the Chevalier D'Eon was the victim of some mysterious state-policy. The chevalier is not the only whimsical charlatan who has had his foolery exaggerated, though it has seldom been done in so out- rageous a faahion as in this case.

JOSEPH BALSAMO.

<< Betteb to reign in hell than serre in heaven " is the expression put by Milton into the mouth of the Prince of Darkness. I suppose something of the same feeling influences men who exult in preSminence, and would pawn their souls to attain it, though it be preeminence in rascality. A chief amongst this cla^s was Joseph (Giuseppe) Balsamo, oonmionly known as Alessandro Count de Cagliostro.

A very clever fellow, no question, with unbounded faith in the gullibility of mankind, and amply endowed with ihe gifts which enable the possessor to shear the simpletons of society with effect — ^voluble plausibility and impudence — above all, impudence. A sublimer rascsil never breathed. There must have been a fatal flaw in Balsamo's brain, else he could not have failed to discern, before it was too late, that the path upon which he had entered — ^tum, twist, double upon it as he might — ^must end in ruin, moral and material.' Erratic, eccentric individuals who strike out for themselves new modes of acquiring wealth, believing, and acting upon the belief, that they have discovered a short cut to fortune, and have never pondered the wisdom of the homely proverb which reminds us that " the longest way round is the shortest way home " — in fact, all suc- cessful charlatans have been more or less crazed in mind. This is their excuse, their daim upon the charitable con- sideration of mankind.

808 ECCEKTRIC PERSONAGES.

Giuseppe Balsamo, eon of Pietro and Felicia Babamo— the sponsors who gave him that name were not, seers into futurity^ was bom in Palermo, Sicily, on the 8th of June, 1743. The fat, stordj little stranger did not open his eyes upon a very promismg abode. Pietro Ualsamo was a needy, straggling man, and was perfectly resigned, whilst Giuseppe was yet an infant, to let fall the oar with which he had so long and vainly been striving to stem the adverse current of his fortunes, and sink into the silent peace of the tomb. Could Pietro have foreseen the future eminence of his son in the realm of ral^caldom, he might perhaps have struggled on till the first beams of its false splendour had dawned upon his darkened Ufe.

The widow had a sore struggle with the world, and but for the assistance of one of her brothers, would have sunk under the burden. Giuseppe, or Beppo, as he was fami- liarly called, was a most unfortimate urchin, blessed or cursed with a tremendous appetite and strong digestive powers. This, under the circumstances, was a calamity, which became more and more aggravated as the boy in- creased in years and voracity. It was crael that one with such gastronomic capacity should be restricted to the scanty fare which irr^ularly found its way into the dingy Balsamo domicile. There was a world outside full of fat things, and why should not he help himself to a portion thereof by the only means in his power — theft ? Beppo decided upon that course, and followed it up so vigorously that a hue and ciy was soon raised in the neighbourhood against Beppo Maldetto— who ran off with the good peo- ple's sausages, or any other savoury comestible which he could lay hands on.

The uncle must, for his sister's sake, put an end to such a scandal, and Beppo was placed by him in the seminary of St. Boch. The change was utterly distasteful to the

JOSEPH BALSAHO. 809

Toiacious, idle young vagabond ; and no wonder, the foe for tlie papib ehiefly consisting of soupe maigre — ^beans, y^table diet generally, and a scanty allowance of that, whilst flagellation for the most trifling offence was HberaUy administered. It was not endurable, and the future Count de Cagliostro was constantly running away, only to be •driven back to the enjoyment of diminished fare with increase of stripes. Fle»h and blood — ^Balsamo flesh and blood, at all events-*could not stand it. The mother's heart of poor Felicia was melted by her son's sufferings, and she appealed again to the generosity of her moneyed though close-fisted brother. <<Well, Beppo," said that gentleman, moved by his sister'a tears, <* what, dost thou propose to do? What career in Hfe dost thou suppose will best suit thee ?'* Beppo replied that, if he could have his choice, he should decide at once to be a gentleman. '^ Per Banco 1 no doubt of that. But the means, Beppo ?" Beppo admitted there was a difficulty in that respect, and finally consented to enter the Church. He was accord- ingly sent, at the age of thirteen, to the monastery of Cartigione, then in possession of the Benfratelli, or Brothers of Mercy. There Beppo, very early in his novitiate, got into favour with the apothecary of the establishment, and acquired the knowledge of medicine, the properties of certain drugs, &c., which in after-life he turned to such profitable account. The apothecary was an alchemist of small calibre, and was always experimenting in chemical oonjurorship with divining-rods, Leyden-jars, acids, phos- phorescent compounds, and other aids to the acquirement of proficiency in the science of natural magic — a suggestive school in which to teach the latent Balsamo idea how to shoot.

But though Beppo found favour with the Medicus of the establishment, he was held in great dislike by the Ben*

810 ECGEIITBIO PEBSdfAGES.

firatelli generallj. Thej doabted his orthodoxy, and wera soandaliBed bj hia omnivoroos appetite. The reins of oor- rective discipline were tightened, and, to the infinite diegost of Beppo, it was ultimately resolved to make a strennona effort to saye the soul of the neophyte by mortifying hia flesh. They hit upon one very aggravating expedient for carrying out their praiseworthy purpose. On feast^ays-^ every one of which was punctually kept at the Monaateiy of Gartigione — when the good Brothers of Mercy fared sumptuously, Beppo was condemned to assist at the banquet in tfie capacity of reader instead of convive ; that is to say, he, whilst the good brothers were luxuriously feasting, had to read aloud the Martyrology of the saints, with the agreeable prospect that, after dinner and dessert had been consumed, he (Beppo) might regale himself with dried pulse.

After a while Oiuseppe Balsamo determined upon a sin- gular revenge, one that would inevitably insure his expul- sion from the monastery. The Brothers of Mercy were seated at the well-famished table : Beppo was commanded to read the Martyrology. He obeyed, merely substituting for the names of the saints, as he went on, those of the most notorious harlots and rogues in Palermo. At first little heed was given to the reader ; the brothers were absorbed in their dinner. Presently, however, their atten- tion was aroused, and though scarcely at first believing their ears, it was but a minute before they realised the blasphemous obscenity in which Beppo Maldetto was in- dulging. Bising as one man, they rushed on the impious wretch, pummelled him to their hearts' content, and, that done, thrust him out of the monastery.

The charily-benevolent uncle was again had recourse to. Well, since the priestly vocation did not suit Beppo, what was to be done ? what other attainable course of life would

JOSEPH BAL8AM0. 811

he make choice of? Beppo believed, or said he did, that he was the staff of which great painters were made. He should like to try his chance in that profession. This was agreed to. Palettes, pencils, colours, were supplied him ; and it is said he really showed some skill in the art. But the results were unsatisfactory. The labour required was intolerable, and it would be long, yery long, before tbat labour would meet with substantial reward, if ever, lyiean- while he, being expert at imitative writing, might eke out his scanty income by a judicious use of that skill. Beppo, in his coups d^essai in the line, flew at very small game. He forged orders of admission to places of public amuse- ment, sold them for a trifle to his scamp acquaintances, carrying on his very little game with success for a consider- able time. His flight as a foiger was not, however, long in soaring to a very dangerous pitch. ^ He was in the habit of visiting a notary at Palermo, in whose office he found a will. He determined to substitute a forged one in its stead ; intending to go shares with the community — vl religious house — ^in whose favour the fictitious will was made. That pretty project fell through, and though no tangible proof of his guilt could for the time be obtained, he was strongly suspected to be the forger. He was besides believed by many persons to have murdered a canon of the church. This accusation appears to be void of foundation. Be that as it may, Sicilian soil, especially that of Palermo, was fast becoming too hot for the soles of his feet. It would be prudent to seek in other lands the opportunity of mounting the social ladder which was denied him in the land of his birth, and with his " usual blubbery impetuosity," to quote Carlyle's disparaging phrase, he resolved not to defer his departure. But he had not a feather to fly with. Charily- benevolent uncle would not assist him ; and he finally hit upon a scheme for bringing a goldsmith of the name of

812 BCCKHTBIO PBBSONAGBS.

Marano under oontribatioa. "Bejpgo had already aoqnind . a reputation for akill in chemical dlrining-rod conjonnahip, and betaking himself to the goldsmith, who asaniedly mnsi have had the oigan of credulity laigely devebped, persoadJd him that he (Beppo) had diacoyered, by means of the divining-rod, where a laige sum of money was buried^ at some distance from Palermo. It conld not^ however, £»> some cabalistio reason, be secured by the person who made the discovery, though he (Beppo) might be present and assist at the disinterment of the treasure. He would coor duct Marano to the spot on two oondidoQS : finite that he should be paid sizly ounces of gold down, and be after- wards entitled to one moiety of the discovered treasure, the sixty ounces to be, of course deduct^ from his share. The goldsmith consented : the gold ounces were handed oveV to Beppo, and at the time agreed upon — about mid- night—he and Marano betook themselves to the indicated spot. Scarcely, however, had they commenced dig^;ing, when they were set upon by nx of Beppo's diaaolute acquamtances, transformed into devils by the aid of goat- skins and burnt cork, by whom Marano was severely belaboured and driven off. The goldsmith at once com- prehended that he had been duped, and vowed to take fflgnal vengeance on the robber. Beppo would not have been much frightened had Marano merely threatened pro- ceedings at law ; but the goldsmith wore a stiletto, and would not, Beppo knew, hesitate to use it should he find or make a fitting opportunity. That was a peril to flee from in all haste, and Beppo forthwith took leave of his native land, omitting in his hurry to hand over to his assistant devils the stipulated price of their services. Bqppo sub- sequently expressed soirow for the oversight^ but it is not said that he paid the monqr. Joseph. Balsamo visited in succession Naples and Qer-

JOSEPH BALSAMO. 818

many. At Westphalia he made the aoqaaintanoe of the arch-quack Qermain, who declared that he vraa several hundred years old, a fact due to his possession of the secret of manofactoring the Elixir Yitae. We next find Joseph Balsamo at Alexandria, Hhodes, Malta — we haye at least his word for it that he sojourned for some time at those places — certainly he passed through Yenice, and took up his 'temporary abode at Rome. In the Eternal City he met with Lorenza Feliciano, a Boman donzella of surpass- ing beauty. She was in a very humble sphere of life, of keen capacity, not encumbered with moral impedimenta, and Beppo, readily appreciating the advantages of possess- ing such a wife, married her.

Balsamo had supported himself meantime in precarious splendour by the sale of beauty-water, wine of Egypt, and love-philtres : he had acquired a knowledge of the properties of cantharides in the laboratory of the apothecary to the Monastery of Cartigione. His g^ius soon embraced a wider range. He claimed the power of restoring youth to the aged, and by means of his beauty-water of conferring loveliness upon the plainest of womankind. Hundreds, chiefly of the richer classes, Italian counts and countesses, French envoys, Spanish grandees, believed in Balsamo, and were deservedly well fleeced for their folly.

Beppo now assumed the title of Marquis Pellegrini, and by whatever motive induced, returned to Palermo, was recognised by the vindictive goldsmith, and cast into prison on account of that trifling matter of the sixty ounces of gold. It would have been heart-breaking to have such a Mure— a future, he himself remarked, " immense, but confused" — compromised by so paltry an incident. His wife, the Countess Seraphina, so rapidly has the lovely Boman servant^l risen into the highest social regions, procured his Uberation. She had fascinated the son of one of the

814 BOCBamuo psasoNAais.

moat powerful prinoes of Sioily, and the eoamouTed yoaili, meetiog with the advooate of the goldsmith in the hall of the Palace of Justice, so outrageously bullied and beat him, that the President could only rescue the advocate by running to his aid in person. The end was that the prose- cution was dropped, and the marquis allowed to leave the prison and Palermo.

The chronology of the life of this eccentric quack-*- whom M. Alexandre Dumas, with the help of plaster-of- paris, has coarsely modelled into a grotesque likeness of a man of profound science, of wondrous occult knowledge, in direct communication, moreover, with the unseen world of spirits — ^is obscure and involved. It would seem to be in 1772 that Balsamo paid his first visit to England, and was reduced to such straits as to accept a job from one Dr. Benemio to paint his house. The genius-of Balsamo did not lie in that line. He smudged instead of paintbg the doctor's house, and was refused payment. There is a scandalous anecdote told of Balsamo and the doctor's daughter, an only child; but the whole story may be apocryphal Balsamo persistently denied tbat he had been in England previous to 1776. It must have been some other Italian of the name of Balsamo, who undertook to paint the doctor's house, and who corrupted lus daughter. Beppo's denial is not, however, of much value. His cool effrontery in challenging the most patent facts was some- thing marvellous.

At all events, his reappearance in Germany with the charming Donna Seraphina is indisputable as his success. Seraphina gives out that she is between sixty and seventy years of age, and that her youthful loveliness has been preserved by the miraculous beauty-water. The sale of that and the Yin d'Egypte goes up amazingly. Count de Cagliostro — ^Beppo*s new and last title — ^boldly professes

JOSEPH BALSAMO* 815

to ocMnmimioate between the Uving and the dead, and by means of a magio-Iantem and jdiosphoraB blue fire, pro- duces efieots which leave no doubt upon the minds of thou- sands that a true miracle-worker, a real prophet, has again visited the earth. It was not only the ignorant, credulous, vulgar, whether rich or needy> whom this audacious quack imposed upon. Lavater — ^honest, simple-minded Lavatei — ^believed to a certain extent in Gagliostro.

^* Gagliostro," wrote Lavater, << is a great man, a man such as few are, in whom, however, I am not a believer. Oh that he were simple at heart, and humble like a child; that he had feeling for the simplicity of the Gospel and the Majesty of the Lord I Who were then so great as he? Gagliostro often tells what is untrue, and promises what he does not perform ; yet do I in nowise hold his promises to be deception, though they are not what ho calls them."

O Lavater, prince of physiognomists, once at all events so esteemed, it is passing strange that that broad gross nose, those cunning' eyes, blubber lips, and blubber brains, big as the head was^ could impose upon you ; that one of the most audacious and ignorant quacks that ever breathed could impose himself upon you as a man of divinely-in- spired genins I

We may well ask, if Lavater so esteemed G^^lioetro, what must the multitude have thought of him? The answer to that query is not doubtful. Gagliostro was literally worshipped, and the offerings of the faithful pour- ed in upon him in such abundance that he rolled in riches ; the splendour of his equipages could be scarcely rivalled by reigning princes. If he passed a statue of Ghrist, the audacious charlatan would dart a recognising glance at the figure and exclaim, as if to himself, " Ah ! there you are; we meet again."

The reputation of beauty-water and wine of Egypt was

816 BCOSNTBIO PEB80NAGE3.

on tbe wane ; it was necessary to invent some new impos- ture. The scoundrel faculty was stiU Oagliostiro's, and in full rigour. He met with a book, as it is said, written by Oeorge Goflon, an Englishman, which professed to detJl the mystic ceremonies of Egyptian Masonry. The hint sufficed. The Count de Gagliostro at once gave out that he was a native of Medina, and had been educated at Mecca, — ^the holy city of the Mahometans, wh^e he was known by the name of Acharat The prophets Enoch and Elias, who were the true founders of Egyptian Masonry, had visited him in the body, and commanded him to go forth and initiate the western nations into the sublime redeeming mysteries of which they gave him the key, nominating him at the same time Grand Kofti of the order.

But for irrefragable proof of the fact, it would be in- credible that so gross an imposture could impose upon a child. Its success was prodigious. Lodge after lodge was established, and the worship of the new Messiah — ^which he in substance proclaimed himself, and was proclaimed to be — grew in fervency and faith. Disciples would remain for hours together prostrate before Joseph Balsamo, wrapt in contemplative awe and wonder. His wife, the loveliness of whose face the hand of time had begun, though lightly as yet, to lessen, shared in these divine honours. She was the Archpriestess, the female Kofti of the order. The precious pair had discovered a mine of wealth which seemed inex- haustible.

Still the best-laid schemes of mice and men gang aft argee. The Grand Kofti's pretensions to miraculous cura- tive powers, his knowledge of the future, the pretence that Egyptian Masonry was a divine institution, were fiercely ridiculed by two exceedingly powerful bodies, the physicians and the priests. The physicians of Strasbourg refused to

JOSEPH BALSASh). 817

aUow. Balsamo to practise in that city. He nevertbelesB maiatained liis popularity by distributing gratis, amongst the poor, medicaments which were yery possibly' as benefi- cial in many cases as any to be found in the pharmacopoeia of orthodox practitioners. The priests awaited their time. The first fatal step leading directly to the abyss, he was urged to take by Madame La Motte and the Cardinal De Kohan. These two worthies were deeply implicated in the world-known swindle of <' The Diamond Necklace." A brief summary of that pretty business must be given in order to follow appreciatively the gyrations of this prince of mountebanks.

Boehmer, a jeweller of Paris, was seized with the am* bition to produce the most splendid diamond necklace ever known, and, after infinite trouble, a vast outlay, and the incurrence of a large debt, Boehmer obtained thirly dia- monds of the finest water, and all matching in size. The necklace was a chef-d'oeuvre — that was conceded. The price Boehmer hoped to obtain for it was the enormous sum of 30,000?., and even that amount would scarcely clear the cost of the splendid toy. Boehmer had some reason, or pretended he had some reason, for believing the Sultan would purchase the necklace for presentation to his favourite Sultana. The Sultan declined the offer, and Boehmer solicited Marie Antoinette, Queen Consort of Louis XYI, to buy it. Her Majesty peremptorily de- clined to do so. She remarked, England being then at war with France, " that they had more need of line-of- battle ships than of diamond necklaces." Boehmer was in despair.

Hope shone upon him from an unexpected quarter. There lived at the time in a sort of loose contact with the French Court, one Madame La Motte, or Comtesse de la Motte. She was the Court Milliner, and had apartments in

818 SCCENTBIO PEBSOKAQES.

the palace. She claimed to be tbedeBoendant in a left-hand- ed way of Heniy II, king of France. This lady knew all aboat ihe oeoklace from Madame Do Campan, one of the qneen'a ladiea of honour. The !q>parently wild notion struck her that ahe might obtain the incomparable necklace for herself. The plan matured in her scheming brain was feasible ODongh. It might fail, certainly, but the prise was a splendid one. She would try, at any hazard.

The Comtesse de la Motte went to the house of the de- jected jeweller, and asked for a private confidential inter- view. It was eagerly eonceded, we may be sure, and Boehmer learned to his- intense delight that the queen was deurous, very desirous, of poflseasing herself of the neck- lace, butcould not venture just then to ask the king for so large a sum of money for such a purpose. Her Majesty would, however, give her acknowledgement for the 30,0002., to be paid as soon as it would suit the queen's convenience to liquidate the debt. Boehmer was overjoyed. With the queen's written acknowledgment of the debt, he would have no difficulty in pacifying his rapacious creditors, for a time at all events. A paper was drawn out, setting forth the purchase by the queen of the necklace for 30,0002., with which Madame La Comtesse left the jeweller's.

She returned the next day with the document^ which was subscribed <^ Bon — Marie Antoinette." Upon receipt ' thereof, Boehmer handed over the necklace, which, poor dupe, he was never destined to see again.

Boehmer's creditors were satisfied for a time. Still even B<»i — ^Marie Antoinette " was no available substitute for current coin of the realm, and the bewildered jeweller was again importuned by hungry creditors. Boehmer declared that he must apply direcdy, personally, to the queen. Madame La Comtesse required time— it was in fact» indicpoisable that she should obtain it. On finding

JOSEPH BALSAMO. 819

Boelimer obstinately resolved npon speaking to the qneen, she hit upon another expedient to pacify him till sach time as it woidd no longer signify to her that the gigantic fraud she had perpetrated shonld be discovered.

The Prince Cardinal De Bohan^ a weak, vain man, was in disfavour at Court. The queen had conceived a dislike for him, and he would do any thmg to r^ain her favour. Upon Uiat foundation our clever Countess set to work. She waited upon the Prince Cardinal, said she was in- trusted with a very delicate mission, but the personage who sent her was sure that her oonfidento in the Prince De Bohan's honour would not be misplaced or abused. ** Mis- sion from whom, Madame La Motte?" From Her Majesty, Queen Marie Antoinette.*' " The Queen Marie Antoinette I" The Cardinal was lifted off his legs; could not believe that he heard aright.

Madame La Motte explained, ran glibly over the neck- lace affair, said her Majesty could not at that moment advance so immense a sum, tiiat she feared it would come to the King's ear that she had made so imprudent a pur- chase, if Boehmer were not satisfied — ^and that she would feel herself under the greatest obligation if he, the Prince De Bohan, would settle with the jeweller, holding at the same time her written security for re-payment.

The gudgeon bit eagerly at the glittering bait. Madame' La Motte was to assure her Majesty that bis entire fortune was at her disposal, and that she should suffer no annoy- ance about the matter. Madame La Motte left the Prince, charged with a message to Boehmer, who was to wait upon his eminence without delay.

The Prince had not a very latge sum in cash by him, but his bond, with interest payable at short dates, would no doubt be accepted by the jeweller's voracious creditois.

820 EccianaLio pbbsohaoas.

No question of that. The dates of payment are arranged, and the afibir appears to be settled.

Yes; but^ Ciell how is this? M. Le Prinoe Cardinal Do Rohan is received as coldly by Marie Antoinette when he presents himself at Coaii as eyer. Not a smile — not the faintest sign of recognition of his devotion in taking upon himself so tremendous a responsibility. Swiftly the months roH away ; the time for paymg the first instalment —only fifteen thousand pounds — ^is close at hand. The Cardinal Prince cannot by possibility raise the money. He communicates the melancholy fact to Boehmer, causing thereby a terrible derangement of the jeweller's system (dirangemeni terrU>le dans ma physique), Madame La Motte, whose wings are not yet plumed for flighty is sent for. She readily obeys the summons, and having heard all the perplexed prince and jeweller have to say, coolly informs them that if they make any application to the Queen, or speak of the afiiEor so loudly that a rumour may reach the King's ear, her Majesty will deny that she has ever had the necklace, that ** Bon — Marie Antoinette " is not her handwriting. At this astounding announcement the Cardinal and jeweller were seized as with vertigo, dancbg, whirling, stamping about the apartment like two madmen, as for the time they probably were.

Madame La Motte succeeded in pacifying them, though with much difficulty. If they would wait for a short time, all would be welL

M. Le Prinoe Cardinal sullenly acquiesced; but de- termined to consult the great magician, the inspired prophet, Count de Cagliostro. He had already consulted him by letter, and had received certain cabalistic jutterances in return, which afforded him no guidance or comfort what- ever. Ci^liostro must come to Paris, so that he might bo

JOSEPH BALSAMO. 321

consiilted personally. The prophet complied — consnltationB were held with him bj the Prince Cardinal and Madame La Motte; the lady, no doubt, laughing merrily boils cap, at the oracular interpretation of his doings and sayings in reference to the diamond necklace, which the soothsayer solemnly enunciates.

The jeweller, who has no faith in Caglioetro, and very little in Afadame La Motte, determines to get at once to the bottom of the mystery. To do that it is only necessary to write a plain note to the Queen, and make sure it is delivered into her own hands. He does that, and the astonished Marie Antoinette, carrying it at once to the King, a terrible uproar ensues. M. Le Prince De Bohan is arrested as he enters the palace — lettres de. cachet are issued against Madame La Motte and the poor Count de Cagliostro, who really had n/>tlung to do with the diamond necklace swindle. No matter for that, he is seized by command of Chesney^and thrust wit^ Monsieur the Prince Cardinal and Madame La Comtesse La Motte into the Bastille.

In that dismal prison Cagliostro remained during the winter months through which the criminal process insti- tuted by the Procureur du Roi dragged its slow length along. Cagliostro's defence at the final hearing was con- dusiye, and as it incidentally helped to fix upon Madame La Motte the guilt of the transaction, that lady threw a brass candlestick at the-charlatan's head. De Rohan was acquitted, Madame La Motte sentenced to be branded, scourged, and banished the kingdom. Joseph Balsamo was discharged with a caution, and thrust out of the Bastille without a franc in his pockets. Neither the Chevalier de Chesney, by whom he had been arrested, nor De Launay, the Governor of the Bastille, could recollect anything about the jewels and mon^ he had about him

W

822 BCCEHTBIO PBBSOlTAaES.

wbea ponnoed upon by the King's offioen. .It mus not likely they should.

The imprisonin^t and trial of Gagliostro did not in the slightest degree lessen him in the estimation of his dupes. It had the reveise effect Many houses in Paris were illuminated on the night of his Uberation, and the foUowing kudatoiy lines were oomposed in his honour :

« De rami des hommes reconnoiBsez lea traits : Tool ses jonzs sont marqa^s de nonyeauz bienfiutB ; n prolonge la Tie, il secoort Tindlgence ; Le plaisir d'Stie utHe est sa seole recompense."

Escaped from the Bastille, the Count and Gounteei Gagliostro made the best of their way to England — ^to London. There they reaped a plentiful harvest for aboat two years. Then disputes, difficulties innumerable beset them. A number of persons, a Misa Fiy amongst them, alleged that the new Messiah had swindled them; and set a pack of hungry attorneys upon the unfortunate Count Latitats, ne exeats, warrants were showered upon him thick as hail — ^never had he had such terrible enemies to deal with : all the conjuring in ihe world was thrown away upon them : the only eUxir vitsd which they believed in was the golden elixir which purchases beef and bread. The Count was thrown into the King's Bench prison, but was ultimately liberated by his wife. She vras still re- markably handsome.

Some time afterwards GagUostro published a ^' Letter to the English people." After depicting himself as one of the most persecuted of human beings, he gave a list of the persons by whom he had been traduced and wronged, showing that he was under the special protection of Ood, «rho avonged him of his aiemies even during this life:

'< The woman Blenay, whom I had loaded with benefits,

JOSBPH BALSAHO. 828

imd who afterwards -deliyered me into the hands of two Bcoondrels, is dead.

" The Demoiselle Pry, who mijnstly persecuted me, i* dead.

" Broad, friend and spy of the Demoiselle Fry, is dead.

^' Dmining, the Demoiselle's counsel, is dead.

" Wallace, my comisel, who betrayed his trost, is dead.

^< The magistrate at Hammersmith, who issaed a warrant against me and my wife, is dead.

Crisp, Marshal of the King*&-Bench prison, who cheated me out of fifty guineas' worth of plate, is dead.

" Villeton, who betrayed my confidence, is dead."

Other parts of the letter are composed of similar rubbish. It produced no effect. Cagliostro's star had long once culminated, and was soon to disappear beneath the horizon. He left England, and by the persuasion of his wife betook himself to Rome. There he was suddenly arrested, whilst engaged in pretended tricks of diablerie, by the officers of the Holy Inquisition, and imprisoned in the Castle of Sabt Angelo* There was a long, tedious trial Gagliostro was found guilty of bemg a Freemason, and s^tenced to death. Pope Pius YI. commuted the sentence to im- prisonment for life. He was transferred to the fortress of Ban Leu, where he died, in 1795. His wife was con- demned to pass her life in a convent

THOMAS, MAKQUIS OP WHARTON AND MALMESBUKT.

" Thx Marqtda Wharton," wrote Swift^ " is a presbyterian in politicB, and an atheist in religion. He is a had liar and a bad dissembler, and jet these are the qualities upon which he ohiefly prides himself. He has largely profited by lies, but the ends attained were chiefly to be attributed, it appears to me, to the frequency of them rather than to any art they

displayed He will go to the castloHshapel and pray on

his knees, and will afterwards talk and blasphemy at

the chapel doors He bears the gallantries <^his lady

with the indifference of a stoic, a^d thinks them well repaid by a retom of children to support his family without the

fatigues of being a father He has been frequently

heard to say that he hoped one day to make his mistress — (Swift's is a mucli coarser ezpres^on) — that he hoped to live to see the day when he might make his mistress a bishop."

I should not have dared to transcribe these pages had they not been written by a dignitary of the United Church of England and Ireland. They refer to the time when Lord Wharton filled the office of Viceroy of Ireland. Swift's character of the marquis must be largely discounted, for very cogent reasons. Swift had solicited, in veiy abject terms, to be appointed chaplain to his excellency; his petition was refused : Lord Somers afterwards endeavoured to persuade the lord-lieutenant to bestow a vacant bishopric

MARQUIS 07 \raAATON AND MALMESBUBT. 825

apon the chderio dean. <<No, no, my lord/' was Lord Wharton's reply, " we mast not prefer or countenance such fellows. >We have not character enough oorselyes. Swift avenged the taunt after his own peculiar fashion. If the marquis had his slanderers, he was, on the other hand, amply provided with pen-champions. His character and administration were glorified beyond measure by Sir Bich- ard Steele in the Spectator^ some say by Addison. One can hardly decide which dose must have been the most nauseous, Swift's coarse abuse, or Steele's adulation — treacle laid on with a trowel. The treacle, I should think.

This diversely ^*ainted gentleman — ^a great man in his time — was the son of Philip, Lord Wharton, who distin- guished himself on the Parliamentary side in the civil war. Thomas, Lord Wharton, was bom in 1640. He sat b several parliaments during the reigns of Charles and James, each the second of those inodorous names.

Lord Wharton cared little, I apprehend, whether a Papist or Protestant filled the throne of England. But he had a keen eye for the future; he could discern, earlier than most men, indications of the rising sun upon the political horizon, and devoutly spread his mat and turned his &ce thitherward, whilst less clear-sighted m^ regained in a state of mental dubiousness as to whether the son, spite of those faint pencillings of light, would rise in that quarter. They might be the indications of a false dawn 1 Who knew? Thomas, Lord Wharton, wrote the draft of an address to the Prince of Orange, praying him to come over with his army for the deliverance of an oppressed people ; and Thomas, Lord Wharton, was one of the first to welcome the Dutch deliverer when he landed at Torbay.

The patriotic keen-sightedness of the noble lord had its reward. He was made a privy councillor and appointed Controller of the Household, by WUliam and Mary. He

826 BOCINTBIO PBBSOITAaXS.

kad wen deserved these prefioments if only fbr writing the' doggrel soDg of '^Lillibollero," which, it is said, had more efieot ia exeidBg the people to stand by "Protestant asoendency" than all the printed paper iasaed during the oontroTersy — ^more eftet 4han the aeqnittal of the seTen hishope, and the butcheries of the << bloody assize presided over by Judge Je&eys. It is supposed to be sung by an Irish papist, the occasion being the appointment, by James II, early in 1688, of General Dick Talbot, created Earl of Tyroonnel, to the Lord-Lieutenancy of Ireland. The refrain " Lillibullero, bullen>la," were the watchwords, it is said, which the Irish Catholics used in 1641, when massacring, in vindication of the divine ri^t of Charles I, the Protes- tant parliamentarians. There is a rough, telling humour about it :

<< Ho 1 broder Teagae, dost hear do decree,

Lilliballero, bnllen a-la, Dat we shall have a new Depntie,

LUliballero, buUen a-la,

Lero, lero, liUiballero^ lero^ lero, boUai a-liL

. " Ho 1 by Shaint Tjbnrn, it is de Talbote, Lillibullero, bollen a-la. And he will cat de Englishman's troate, Lillibullero^ bnUen ft-Ia.

« Dough, by me shoul, de Enklish do prate,

Lillibullero, buUen ft-la, De laws on their aide, and Chtist knows what,

LniibuUero, bullen i^la.

" But if a dispense do come from de Pope,

Lillibullero, bullen aria. Well hang Magna Gharta anddem in a rope,

Lilliballero, bollen a-la.

« For de good Talbot is made a lord, LOlibullero, bullen a-la,

UABQUIS OP WHABTON AND UALKKSBUBT. 827

And with brare lads ia coming abroad Lillibollero, bnllen a-la.

" Who all in France haye taken a sware.

Lillibnllero, bnllen a-la, Dat dej will hare no protestant heir,

LiUiboUero, balleo a-la.

" Arrah : bnt why does he stay behind ?

Lillibnllero, bnllen a-la, Ho, hj me shoul, 'tis a protestant wind,

LiUiboUero, buUen a-la.

^' Bat see Tjreonnel is now come ashore,

LiUiboUero, bnUen a-la, And we shall have commissions galore,

LUUbnUero, ballen a-la»

• i And he dat wUl not go to do Mass,

LUHballero, bnllen a-la, Shall be tarn oat and look Uke au ass,

LUliboUero, fallen a-la.

" Now, now (te heretics all go down,

LUUbnllero, bnllen a-la, Be Christ and Sk Patrick the nation's onr own^

LiUiboUero, boUen srla.

^'Dere was an old prophecy fonnd in a bog,

LiUiboUero, buUen a-la, >xeland shaU be roled bj an ass and a dog,

LUUbnllero, bnllen a-la.

" And now dls prophecy is come to pass,

LUUbnllero, boUen a^la. For TalboVs de dog, and James is de ass,

LUUbuUero, boUen a-la.

This song became a great fayoorite wiih the '^ Orange Boys," and was fer many years the osoal musical aooom- paniment to the glorious^ pious, and immortal memory of

828 EOCXKTBip . Fm$ONAGSS.

King WUUam, who saved IreUuad ftom Popexy, darety, brass money, and wooden shoes. There is something in the smack of the song Which suggests Thackeraj*8 incomparable Battle of the Shannon ; one the production of a deverish man, the other the creation of caustic genins.

Appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Lord Whartoa sntered upon the duties of his high office with much dig- nity and iclatf made an excellent speech to the Parliament, dwelling especially upon the necessity in the interest of yital rell<,ion to be united amongst themselves, or the en- croachments of Popeiy could not be successfully withstood. Like George lY, the Marquis Wharton, when before the footlights, could tread the stage with dignity. It was a great relief to him when the hour came to throw off his masquerade robes. It is indisputable that he indulged in low company, disreputable intrigues, and was never happier than when engaged in such ddauemenU. There is much of coarse truth in one of Swifl's scathing sentences : <' Wharton, by force of a wonderful constitution, though past his grai^d climacteric, whether he walks, whistles, swears, or talks, acquits himself beyond a Templar of three years* standing."

His Excellency used to delight in playing the part of a sham Haroun Alraschid — this was a favourite pastime of several Irish viceroys— disguised in various ways, and thus made himself familiar with the slang and slander of Dublin. Like the Dukes of Rutland and Bedford in afler years, the Marquis Wharton created more than one knight during his drunken orgies, which it was not always possible to abolish by money giHs, or a good place. The members of the English aristocracy of those days, of whose inner life casual glimpses have been obtained, cut but a sorry figure ; but they are very impomng, magnificent even, in their robes and coronets.

MARQUIS OF WHABTON AND MALMESBUBY. 829

The Marquis Wharton pre^minentlj so. Deprived of his vioeroyship by Queen Anne, how grandly be came out a flaming patriot; with what a noble vehemence did he do battle for the maintenance of the Protestant faith — ^the Protestant succession I << Hail, Star of Brunswick 1" would be the appropriate tag to his Orange speeches. He declaims well too, and sometimes, in behalf of constitutional freedom, propounds schemes of national polity breathing a brave, clear-visioned spirit. He W38 often witty. That was a capital mot of his when Sir Robert Walpole, to swamp a hostile majority in the Lords, created twelve new peers at one batch. " Pray may I ask," said Lord Wharton, when the new peers had taken the oaths and their seats, — pray, may I ask if these noble lords intend to vote singly, or hy their foreman f" Yes; Thomas, Marquis of Wharton has an imposing appearance when seen en grand tenue ; and who, af^r all, could brave the ordeal of curious eyes when en dUkahUlef Very feW, I suspect, and certainly not the noble marquis.

He had not only reconciled himself but had rendered such efficient services to the (Government of the day, that he was created Duke of Wharton, an earnest, if the King's patent was to be believed, of greater honours to come. He was not destined to clutch those honours. His only son, Philip, a youth of wonderful promise, in whom all his hopes and projects for the future were centred, contracted an im- prudent marriage before he had reached his sixteenth birth- day, ^ and gave other indications of a wild, untameable character, which convinced the newly-created duke that the hopes he had indulged in with respect to his son's future career never would be realized. That conviction killed Duke Thomas Wharton. He died within six weeks of the rash marriage of his son. The duchess did not long

830 KOOXNTRIO PEBflONAGBS.

Bnrvive bim. Philip, Dake of Wluurton, sacoeeded to the title and estates, worth sixteen thousand ponnds Arjear. The next paper will relate the sad bat instroctive stoly of the yonng man's life, to whose emtio career the forcing slight sketch is bnt preliminaiy.

PHILIP, DUKE OF WHABTON AND NORTHUMBEELAND.

The oharacter and career of Philip, the last and moat gifted of the Wharton family, was thus epitomised by Pope. I omit some lines which might, bx this refined age, offend -by their jdain-spoken trothfolness :

'< Wharton, the Bcom and wonder of onr days, Whose ruling passion was the last of praise : Bom with whatever could win it from the wise, Women and fools mast like him, or he dies ; Though wondering senates hong on all he apokey The clnb most hail him master of the joke. • • • • •

Thus with each gift of nature and of art, And wanting nothing but an honest heart; Grown all to all, from no one yice exempt *, And most contemptible to shun contempt ; His passion still, to coret general praise. His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways ; A constant bounty which no friend has made ; An angcl-tongae which no man can persuade I A fool, with more of wit than half mankind, Too rash for thought, for action too refined : A tyrant to the wife his heart approTCS, A rebel to the yerj king he loves ; He dies, sad outcast of each church and state, And harder sUU I flagitioua, yet not great"

832 BCCENTRIO PJERSONAGBS.

There b nerve in these lines, but assuredly thej have beea much overrated. Pope was a great master of antithesis and rhyme, to the exigencies bf which he seldom scrujded to sacrifice truth. The broad, salient outlines of Philip Dnke Wharton's character have been hit, in the above quotation, truthfuUy enough ; yet was there an underlying current of goodness in Philip Duke of Wharton, which was constantly welling up from his inner nature, which such a dry-bones formula aa Pope could not understand, and much less appreciate at its true value. Alexander Pope was, perhaps, the most melodious rhymer the world has known ; he could set off commonplaces in very brilliant colours; but, as I before remarked, no ori^al thought of his dwells in the memory of mankind.

There was a soul of goodness in this young, highly gifted man that shone through all the darkening follies to which he stooped after familiarbing himself with the " highest" society, and finding nothing there. I propose to show this by the dry record of his erratic, kaleidoscope career.

Philip Poke Wharton was bom in 1699. He early displayed very remarkable powers of both memoiy and perception. His father caused him to be educated at home. As it was hoped and believed that, in the fulness of time, he would prove himself a stem champion of the Protestant faith, he was sedulously iostmcted by a French Huguenot^ in the Genevan Calvinistic creed, by way of a preparative, I must suppose, for a milder religious regimen. The astute intellect of the youth revolted against the doctrines of the murderer of Servetus, and it may be for a time, under the influence of reaction, confounded Christ with Calvin. Breaking impetuously loose from the ligatures of a false conventionalism, this heir to a dukedom and a revenue of sixteen thousand pounds per annum, having fallen or fancied himself ui love with a pretty damsel, and poor as

PHILIP, mSKB 07 TTHABTON. 833

pretty, a cUttghter of Brevet-General HolmeB, married her before he had reached his sixteenth birthday. The nuptial knot was tied by a Fleet parson.

This marriage, blotting ont the brilliant fatore, as they believed, which had been anticipated for him by his father and mother, was, as I have before observed, fatal to both the dnke and duchess — a catastrophe which for a short time overwhelmed the impulsive young nobleman with remorsefal grief. The unequal union prdved to be a most nnhappy one, from no fault of the girl-wife, whose personal attritions were enhanced by sweetness of temper, but solely in consequence of the husband's fickleness of temperament. Constancy to one object, one purpose, was foreign to his nature. To this strongly-developed passion for change, Philip Duke of Wharton mainly owed the wreck of his life.

The- guardians appointed under his father's will endea- voured to carry out the testator's views relative to his son's education. They sent him to a religious establishment at Geneva, and with him his French Huguenot tutor. They could not have taken a more unwise step. Utterly dis- gusted with the cold, hard formalism which prevailed, the young duke fled to Lyons, in which city the indignant tutor, for whom he had conceived a strong antipathy, joined his rebellious pupil.

The Chevalier Saint George, the Pretender, as he was called, then resided at Avignon. The boy-duke purchased a handsome stone-horse, and sent it with his respectful duty, to the son of the exiled Stuart. The present was accepted, and he received an invitation to Avignon. He went thither, was very graciously received, and created Duke of Northumberland i He returned to Lyons, but remained there a few days only. Ho would visit Paris, and shake off the incubus of his hated tutor for ever. His farewell

884 HOCINTBIO PEBSOHAOBS.

epistle is chmeterirtio. He had some little time previoaalj parehased a beards cab, which he made a pet of for a wiuHe^ and on leaving made a present of to the Hogaenot^ In tlie following complimentary terms : '< Being no longer aUe to bear with jonr iUtOsage, I think proper to be gone from jtm. However, that yon may not want company, I have left you the bear, as the most soitable companion in the world that conld be picked out for yon."

Arrived at Paris, Doke Philip further committed him- self with the Stuart faction. The queen-dowager was residing at Saint Oermains, and there the madcap duke hastened to pay his disloyal respects. He [oofeflBed un- bounded devotion to the banished dynasty, and equally intense abhorrence not only of the Hanoverian Elector, but of his religious creed ; he himself being detenmned, as soon as he attamed his majority, and was consequently freed fiom the yokeof guardians, to embrace the BomanCathoHo faith. Meantime, and unUl he came into possesnon of his estates, he was cruelly hampered for money. The queen* dowager was delighted at the accession to Uie ranks ^ the Pretender's partisans of so considerable a personage as the Duke of Wharton,-— one too who it had been sedulouslj given out, was destined to be one of the most ekKjueat chamiAons, as his father had been, of the Protestant sue- cession. Questioning him as to his immediate wants, the gay nobleman said two thousand guineas would be of great service to him just then. The queen-dowager, though startled at the laigeness of the sum, promised to oblige him if ehe conld raise the ways and means. Her Majesty endeavoured to borrow the requisite amount of the French king, but it was low water just then in the Bourbon ex- chequer ; her friends among the French noblesse, who had long bled pretty fVeely, could not assist her; and her Majesty was at last fain to pawn her jewels. Philip Duke

FHUJP, DUKB OF WHARTON. 885

of Wharton had no sooner obtained tho money than he plnnged into the wildest ezceaeeSy and openly proclaimed his devotion to tho^fallen dynasty of thefituarts. Earl Stair, the English ambassador, choosing to look upon his oondnot as the ^ervescenoe of a giddy youth suddenly emancipated from control, remonstrated mildly with him. The earl hoped, nay, he was sore, that he would follow in the stepa of his excellent father, that ^\ai of the Protestant succes- sion. ^' Thank yon, my lord," was the ^uick-witted retort : " thank you, my lord, for your good advice. Ton, too, had an excellent father, and I hope you will follow his example." This was a home-thmst. Earl Stair having ratted, influenced by not the most creditable motives, from the Jacobite prin- ciples of his family.

A very scapegrace was this young duke. Women, wine, gaming, fQled up the measure of his daily, nightly life* The young bacchanal would never reach middle, much less old age ; that was early apparent. Seated at the ambassa- dor's table he would call a servant, bid him go to the Earl rf Stair, and tell him he was about to drink his health as the greatest rogue and traitor in existcDce. Similar mes- sages were sent to several distinguished guests. No serious notice was taken of them ; they were but ebullitions of strong youthful spirits heated by wine, and signifjring nothing.

A young English Jacobite medical student studying in Paris, exdted by loyalty and liquor, amused himself by RnmAjng the JSnglish ambassador's windows, for the suffi- cient reason that they were not illuminated on tho^night of the 10th of June. This enthusiastio |Hroceeding brought the student to grief. He was arrested, imprisoned, fined. Buke Wharton resented this conduct on the part of the authorities. The loyal student should have been rewarded, not punished, for his patriotic seal He determined to

836 BCCBNTltIO FEBSOHAOISS.

break the ambassador's wmdows liiinself ; but as tiie work leqaired to be done quickly, if unpleasant coosequaiees were to be avoided, he asked the help of an Irish colond in the Pretender's service to assist in the good woik. The colonel declined. He was willing to make war upon the Hanoverian usurper, but not after the novel fashion of breaking his ambassador's windows. The young nobleman would not be baulked ; he performed the loyal duty him- self ; was discovered, arrested, and set free at Lord Stair's request. Much must, we all understand, be foigiven a young duke of large intellectual promise, and soon to be in possession of sixteen thousand pounds a-year !

Philip Duke Wharton's adhesion to the Stuart interest was a mere romantic caprice ; unsusUdned by the slightest principle or conviction. Some years subsequently, in con- sequence of his mad extravagance, he accepted a loan of two thousand guineas — the same amount which he had borrowed of the Queen Dowager — of the Chevalier Saint George. Not long afterwards an EngUsh gentleman remon* strated with him upon the folly, if nothing worse, of linking his own to the fallen fortunes of the expelled dynasfj. " My dear fellow," said the duke, " I have pawned my principles to Gordon, the Pretender' banker, for a oon^ dderable sum, and till I can repay him I must be a Jacobite. When that is done, I will return to the Whigs."

The two thousand guineas did not last long. His guardians inexorably refused to forward funds to him whilst he remained in Paris in connection with the Jacob- ite faction ; and the metropolis of Paris rapidly becoming too hot to hold him, he was fain to leave for England. It must, however, be remembered that his money was not all, or nearly all squandered in debauchery. The young noble- man never rejected an appeal to his generosity, his charity ; but his gifts, akuhdeeds, were bestowed indiscriminately.

PHILIP, DUKB OP WHARTOir. 837

The borrower or b^gaf* might or might not be worthy ol relief; Philip Dake of Wharton and Northumberland recked not of that. It was this weakness of character to which Pope alludes in the line :

« A coDstant boanty which no friend has made.^

a failing, no doubt ; a falling, if you will, but one which leant, if not at a very decided angle, to virtue's side.

The young duke did not remain long in England. The society of his duchess had n(f special charm for him, and he went over to Ireland. His incipient fame— if I may use such a phrase — ^had preceded him there. The fierce Orange peers of Ireland could not have heard of his back- slidiDg at St. Germains, or they would never have voted him of age, he being not quite eighteen, and caused him to foe summoned to take his seat in the House by the tides of Earl of Rathfamham and Marquis of Caltheron. The angel- tongue — ^admitted by Pope to be an angel-tongue — ^there first found worthy audience. His speeches were admirable both in matter and method, and being untainted in the faintest d^ree with Jaoobitism made him an immense favourite.

Philip Wharton turned his " privil^e of Parliament," so to speak, to profitable account. He insisted that the tenants upon his Irish estates should pay him their rents ; and when it was objected that ho was not of age, he indignantly exclaimed, " How dare you say I am not oi age, when the Parliament has declared that I am I Impudence succeeded, as impudence rarely fails to do, especially when backed by a title — ^a ducal title too !

Ireland soon became unpleasantly warm, and our young duke loft the Emerald Isle for England. Not that his person was in danger ; but constant << dunning" isunplea-

X

388 xcGXirnuo psbsonagbs.

8ant, ana a too moontainoiu accumQlation of eyen debts of honour a harassing burden to bear, especially when a Geree Whiskerando— many Whiskerandos — ^looking pistols or small-Bwords at your choice, demand practically, highway fashion, your money or your life. Duke Philip was ready enough with his pistol, as he proved upon two oocasions ; but though he came off unscathed, he could not but reflect that the pitcher which goes often to the well will probably be broken at last, and he wisely banished himself from the land of duelling jpar exceZ2ence.

Upon attainment of his majority, the duke took his seat in the English House of Peers. He forthwith plunged into virulent opposition to the Ministry of the day. Not only by speeches in the House that were much admired, the merits of which, as they were very inadequately reported, yfe must take upon trust ; but by pamphlets and speeches at public meetings, he assailed the policy and principles of the Government. His defence of Atterbury, Bishop of Ro- chester, whom it was proposed to visit with a bill of pains and penalties, was considered a masterpiece of eloquence and argumentation. The vehemence of his opposition was inflamed by practical discomfiture. He strove to stir up the Cily of London, became himself a citizen wax-chandler, and started a periodical called T?ie True Briton, All would not do. The stars in their courses fought against Philip Puke Wharton. Still, so greatly varied were the young noble's powers, that only by his own acts could he suffer irremediable defeat. His wild, extravagant course of life knew no pause or ebb ; and finally his creditors appealed to the High Court of Chancery, who appointed a receiver of the rents of his estates, allowing him twelve hundred pounds a-year till his debts were liquidated. There is an anecdote in connection with him and Dean

PHnjP, BUKB OF WHAllTOir. 8S9

Swift, the ranooroas asaaUani of his father, whioh is worth tranflcribing : Wharton was recounting, with ezoellentglee, the many glorious frolics he had enjoyed. The Dean said, keeping his dignified countenance admirably, '^ You haye had some capital frolics, my lord, and let me recommend ODB to you. Take a frolic to be virtuous : take my word for it, that one irill do you more honour than all the other firolics of your life."

His infant son, the Marquis of Malmesbuiy, died about this time of small-poz. To him it was a most afilictive visitation. In his rage he^ttributed the death of his child to the duchess his wife. He left the mother and son in the country, and gave her strict injunctions, as he was leaving for London to attend his parliamentary duties, to remain there with the child. The duchess, for some reason or other, disobeyed his injunction, and followed her husband with their son to London, where small-pox was prevalent. The baby Marquis of MaJmesbury sickened and died of that terrible disease. The duke never again spoke with his wife, who died broken-hearted on the 14th * of April, 1726. '

Duke Wharten foiled, baffled in his ambitious projects, mainly, as I have said, by himself, bade adieu to England, for ever as it proved. First he betook himself to Vienna, no doubt as an accredited agent of the Pretender. What may have been the precise nature of the mission intrusted to him is not known. It produced no result. Thence this restless knight-errant proceeded to Spain. His arrival in Madrid caused a great sensation. The Spanish Ministry sent special messengers to the Court of St. James's, with the positive assurance that Duke Whartm was the bearer of no political mission from any prmce or power whatever, and that if he were, it would not be listened to. Upon receiving this message, a warrant was issued imder the

840 BCC1SNTBI0 PEBSONAGSS.

Privy Seal for the arrest of Philip Duke of Wharton, and the bringing him to England.

This act waa clearly beyond the power of the English Privy Coutncil. Duke Wharton refosed to obey it, and ai^)ealed to the Spanish Conrt for protection, It was granted, and a mptnre with England in consequence waa with some difficulty avoided — postponed more correctly.

Whatever might have been the volatile young duke's primaiy purpose in visiting Spain, it was soon eclipsed and set aside by a more potent influence. He fell desperately in love with a MissO'Byme, one of the ladies of honour to the Queen of Spain. Miss O'Byme was* the daughter of an Irish colonel in the service of Spain, who had been some years dead ; and the widow's sole dependence was a penaon bestowed upon her by the Spanish Queen.

Puke Wharton formally proposed marriage to the beauti> ful maid of honour. The offer was accepted, upon condition that the Queen's consent should be obtained. The Queen peremptorily refused her consent. Such a union, she said, would be one of the maddest acts imaginable ; the duke being possessed of a mere pittance of revenue, his rank considered. The duke being this time really in love fell into a deep melancholy, which culminated in a low, lingering fever, that soon threatened p. fatal result. The Queen, moved by the lover's sufferings and danger, sent him a message to the effect that he must adopt means of restoring himself to health (the duke had obstinately refused medi- cine or curative aid of any kind,) and she would consider more favourably of his request. Upon receipt of the mes- - sage, the lover, rallying what strength he had left, caused himself to be conveyed to the palace, and falling upon his knees before the Queen, implored iier to give him leave to marry Miss O'Byme, " or order him to die." The Queen relented, consented to the marriage, which she nersisted

PHILIP) DUKE OF WHARTON. 841

tihcy would both bitterly repent of, and* Miss O'Byme became a few weeks afterwards Duchess of Wharton and Northumberland.

The happy pair set out for Rome, where tiiey passed the honeymoon. It was there the Pretender conferred the Blue Bibbon upon the Puke of Northumberland.

The infirnuty of human nature is such that bliss, the purest, most ecstatic, soon cloys; and by way of ohaage Puke Wharton dedded upon varying the entertainment of life by a little fighting — the substitution of war's alarms for the endearments of marital love. He left Bomb for Barcelona. I conclude that writs of ne exeat" did not issue from the Boman courts, as the duke's departure was unopposed. Privilege of English peer or parliament would not) it may be presumed, have availed in the Eternal City.

Arrived in Spain, the duke lost no time in offering his services to the Iberian king. He was willing to assist in the siege of Gibraltar, war having broken out between England and Spain. Thex)ffer was accepted. Philip Puke of Wharton fought in the Spanish ranks, received a severe wound in the foot, and wearied of a service in which neither glory nor gold could be obtained, rejoined his duchess at Bouen, France. There they lived in sumptuous style for a considerable time upon the strength of his ducal title and blue ribbon. His levies at last becoming inconveniently crowded by tailors, butchers, grocers, by milliners and dressmakers to the duchess, the unthrifty lord quitted Bouen in a hurry, leaving his equipages and horses behind to be equally shared amongst his angry creditors. It was at this time, I believe, though some memoir-writers make the date much later, that ihe duchess applied to be rein- stated in her former post of personal attendant upon the Queen of Soain — ^a request which was graciously complied

842 BOOXETCRIO PBB^ONAOXS.

with. Her Spaoidi Majeetj had a great regard for tbe poor daoheaa*

In Paris the condact of Philip Duke of Wharton and Korthamberland was marked bj the aame Haurdene as bcfere. I only ha?e space to quote two iUnstratiye inci- dents. A Portngaeee Eni^t of the order of Christy with whom he had casually formed aoqoaintanee, invited him to a high festival to be given in honour of the Founder of the Order. Duke Wharton, whose wardrobe was neither ample nor brilliant, said he should be delisted to aooept the in- vitation, but was ignorant of the cothtme worn upon such oooasioiis. " Oh, a black-velvet suit," said the P<»rtagnese knight; ^'ihat would be most appropriate." << Ah, well, yes; but I have no black-velvet suit, nor do I know a tailor in all Paris in whom I oolild confide to furnish me with one." '^ That, my dear Duke, Is easily arranged. I will send my own taUor to you. He isa very honest fellow, and will fit you admirably." Philip Duke of Wharton and Northumberland consented; the suit of Uack-vehet was made, sent home, and his grace honoured the festival with his presence. I^ortly afterwards the tailor presented his little bill. '< What is this for?" asked Duke Wharton. << For the soit of black-velvet" << Honest man," said his impudent grace, you mistake the matter very much.

You must cany this bill to the Chevalier B ] for be

pleased to understand that whenever Iputonaix)ther man's hveiy, my master always pays for the clothes."

Lord M (the proper names are only initialed in

the memoirs of the eccentric duke,) Lord M , a

wealthy, easy-going young Irish Peer, had made the Duke's acquaintance at St. Germains,. and, like all who came with- in his influence, was charmed and delighted with his wit, humour, his conversational powers generally. One night

PHILIP, DUKE OF WHARTOK. 843

when it was growing late, hLi grace drove np to the hotel

where the Lord M was staying, informed his lordship

that he was engaged in a very important a£fair, and begged the loan, for a few hoars, of his lordship^sooach, coachman, and lackeys. << Certainly." The young Irish Peer was only too happy to be able to oblige his grace. " And now," said the Duke, when it was annoujiced that the coach was in readiness, " I have an additional favour to solidt, which is, that your lordship accompany me." The complaisant lord agreed, and away drove the coach. The first step in the important business was to hire a coach, hunt up seven or eight of the musicians attached to the opera, who were mostly gone to bed, hire their services for the next twelve hours upon liberal terms, seat them in and upon the hired

coach, and drive oflf toward St. Germains. Lord M

must have been considerably mystified, but all was made clear upon the arrival of the party at the castle of St. Ger- mains. The musicians were ordered out, and commanded to serenade some young ladies with whom his grace had been flirting. Well, there was a good laugh ; perhaps the good-natured Hibernian's laugh was the loudest; and since the musicians were there, it was determined to wake

up a friend of the duke's, one Mr. B , an English

gentleman, who resided near the village of Poissy. The addition of two trumpets and a kettle-drum would make the band complete. These were, with some difficulty, pro- cured, and the jubilant party set out for Poissy, which quiet village was thrown into a state of astonishment and alarm by the visitors with their trumpets and kettle-dnims.

Mr. E was in doubt, when he found the strangers

intended honouring him with a visit, whether he had not better bolt at once. Philip Duke of Wharton reassured him — the intruders were liberally regaled, and the affair terminated so far very pleasantly. Yes; but there was the

844 BCCSNTRIO PSB80KAGBS.

Boore to pay for the mufiicians, &c. When it was caSed for, the Bom-totol was seen to be somethigg upwards of

twentj-five Louis d'or. " My dear Lord M ," said his

Oraoe of Wharton — " My dear Lord, I have not a angle frane. Do you pay this time, and if I have ever an oppor- tunity I will requite the fayour.'*

This wretched feverish life grew wearisome, and tiie Duke's next freak was to enter a monastery near Pari% with the avowed intmtion of becoming a monk. Writers^ favourable to his grace, assert that he entered the monastery not with any intention of beooming a monk — ^though before he could many Miss O'Byme, he had beeen obliged form- ally to embrace the Catholic faith — ^but for quiet study, especially to finish a translation of Telemachus, which he had begun, but would certainly never finish whilst dwelling amidst the Babel of the world. What a consummate hypo- crite — no, not exactly hypocrite— what a c(xisummate actor this gay man must have been ! The monks were so struck^ 80 edified by his exemplary devotion, that they attributed it to a direct interposition of Heaven, and the miraculous virtues of the sacred relics which enriched and gkrified the monastery. The religious whim is of brief duration, — Telemachus flung aside and forgotten; the wandering Duke betakes him again to Borne, where he has.Another meeting with the Pretender, who advifi^s him to draw nearer to England, where his services might shortly be re- quired. He accordingly revisits Paris, and having received his half-year's allowance — six hundred pounds — ^which would go but little way to satisfy the cMmants on his purse in that city, he sails down the Seine as far as Bouen. His creditors there had been arranged with, but, as remembrance of the past precluding credit obliged him to .pay ready money for all he required, the six hundred pounds dwindled away with alarmmg rapidity, and he was

PHILIP, DUEB OF TmABTON. 845

before long finanoially oairat-elbows, his ragged iervants literally so.

In the meantime a bill of indictment for high treason had been preferred against him, the evidcsEioe relied upon in support of which being that he had fought against his sovereign at the si^ of Gibraltar.

Neither king nor ministiy were disposed to deal hardly with him. An English gentlemim of position had an inter- yiew with the Puke at Bouen, to urge him to make his peace with the English Oovemment. A letter to the monarch or the minister would suffice, all past o&noes would be condoned, and he would come into immediate possession of his estate, which now realised, after the in- terest of mortgages had been paid, 6000{. a-year. Philip Puke of Wharton, though in an almost destitute condition, -^ peremptorily refused to do so. He would starve sooner than make submission to the Elector of Hanover. There was sterling metal, after all, in this Protean man.

Raising, by some means or other, sufficient funds, he went to Orleans, and thence dropped down the Loire to Nantz. There he embarked with his ragged retinue for Bilboa (they were, he said, recruits for the King of Spain,) and soon a^erwards joined his regiment at Lerida.

His originally fine constitution was fast breaking up. He was dying in the thirty-second year of his age. Mineral waters in the mountains of Catalonia effected a partial rally of his worn-out system — a partial, fleeting rally. Becoming worse, he again had recourse to the mineral waters, was seized with one of his frequent faint- ing-fits in an obscure Spanish village, and would have died utterly destitute of the necessaries of life but for the com- passionate charity of some monks of St. Bernard, who had him conveyed to their convent, where he died on the 11th

846 BGCXRTBIO PBB80NA0BS.

of Mi^y 1731, Qiidieered by the presence of one fiiend or relatiTe. He was buried in the monks' cemetery. jDyu^ witihout issne, the title was extinct^ and has not since been reffived. The duchess snrviTed to a great age. She died in London, in Febmary 1777, and was buried m St. Pan- eras ehnrohyard. This is the Doke Whartcm's epita]^ as written by Lord Orford :

<' He amused the grave and dull by throwing away the brightest profusion of parts and witty fooleries on soampa. With attadiment to no party, thou^ with talents to govern any party, he exchanged the free air of W^tmin- ster for the gloom of the Escurial, the prospect of King George's bbie ribbon for the Pretender's; and with indiffiarenoe to all religion, this frantic lord, who had lampooned the Archbishop of Canterbury, died in the habit of a Capuchin."

BAMFYLDB MOOBB CAKEW.

This veiy erratic gentleman, and Bomething more, could boast of quite a distinguished lineage. He was descended from the Carews, an ancient Devonshire family, several members of which had rendered important services to the country. His father was the Bev. Theodore Carew; Bector of Bickley, near Tiverton, and a gentleman of fortune independent of his rectorship.

Bamtylde Moore Carew was bom in July, 1693. His advent was celebrated with great rejoicings; the baptism which made him a child of God was one of the most ex- pensively got-up affairs — ^with reference to the quality of the company assembled, and the entertainment provided — that had been known for many years in the west country. The Honourable Major Moore and the Honourable Hugh Bamfylde, the sponsors, who pledged themselves, rash enthusiasts, that their godson should renounce the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of this world, with all covetous desires of the same, contended which of them should have the honour of conferring the first bap- tismal name upon the boy. The gentlemen tossed for choice. The Honourable Hugh Bamfylde won, and the honoured child was named Bamfylde Moore Carew.

Many years had not passed before the lad was seen to be a youngster of mark and likelihood. He was handsome, lithe, active, brave, and made satisfactory progress at the High School, Tiverton. He acquired the usual smattering of Greek and Latin, and it waa hope4 by his fond parents

848 SCGENTRIG PBBSONAGES.

that he would prove a shining light in Israel — ^rise poasiUy through the gradations of the clerical hierachj to the locrative dignity of a Bishop ; the Carews having consider- able Parliamentaiy interest^ which, if reinforced by resqiect- able talent, might lead to spiritual elevation as great n that

The youth, was clever— that could not be disputed ; bat his juvenile fancy was much more excited by the scaiiet coat of the hunter than the black cassock of the priests The High School at Tiverton was, in a provincial sense, a «  highly aristocratic establishment. • Only young gentlemen of rank and ({ffospective) wealth were admitted. Those fortunate youths, Oarew being of the number, kept a first-rate pack of hounds. The most eager in the chase were, Garew, John Martin, Thomas Coleman, and John Bscot. These promising youths were attached to each other by similarity of taste and sentiment. Genial lads were they, and if not pleasant in their liv^ and lovely ia an orthodox sense, were seldom divided in their pn^ress through this vale of tears and thieves. All four were " youths of condition."

A sporting farmer, who used to hunt with the High' School hounds, rode to Tiverton, and gleefully announced that a fine deer with a collar round its neck, which had, no doubt, strayed from some neighbouring gentleman's park, was quietly feeding in a wood no great distance ofl^ and would afibrd capital sport The temptation was irre- sistible. Garew, Martin, Coleman, and Escot were quickly in their saddles, and guided by the sporting farmer, soon found the deer. They had a famous run; none the less diverting to such madcap youths, that it led throng corn-fields nearly ripe, causing great damage to the crops. The deer was caught, killed, and generously offered to the farmer, who declined the giit. The en-

BAM9TLDS HOOBB CAlt2W. 849

graved collar proved the animal to be the property of a Colonel Nntcombe, a gentleman who would pursue to the ends of the earth any one that stole, shot, or hunted his deer. The best thing to be done was to send the carcass tb its owner ] and a cart coming that way, the dHver was requested to carry the dead deer to Colonel Nutcombe's house.

This honesty — shall we call it honesty ? — did not prove to be the best policy. The carter knew the young men by sight and name, though he spoke and behaved himself as if he had never seen one of them before. The successfol hunters returned home in high spirits — ^had a rare jollifica- tion — and, no doubt, slept soundly.

The afternoon's amusement did not, coolly oonsidered, bear the momiug's reflection. The desolated corn-fields through which they had galloped with such reckless speed, snggested painful misgivings. And how about the can- tankerous colonel ? Supposing he should find out who it was that killed the deer ? The youthful sportsmen entered upon their morning scholastic duties with nothing like the alacrity of spirit with which they had sprung to saddle on the previous afternoon.

Their gloomiest forebodings were realised. Colonel Nut- combe, accompanied by a number of farmers whose com had been trampled down, arrived at Tiverton early in the day, the treacherous carter identified the culprits, and the head-master assured the angry complainants that, notwith- standing the social condition of the offenders, they should be visited with condign punishment directly the duties of the day had terminated.

This was hint enough. Ejiowing quite well what condign punishment at the High School meant, the terrified young men — ^taking brief counsel together — determined to be off^

850 BOCEHTBIO PEBSOHAGES.

whithar precifldy thej ndther knew nor gteadj oaied* The world was all before theniy Proyidence their ^de.

They did not go far. The first stage on the journey of independent, vagabond life was a short one-— about two miles only. Being hot and thirsty, and, as I have said, near harvest-time, the truants concluded to rest and lefiresh themselves at a secluded alehouse — ^Brickhouse was its de- signation.

As it chanced, there was high festival held there that day by a c(»npany of gipsies, male and female, presided over by their celebrated King, Clause Patch, the venerable father of eighteen children, and of grandchildren, great grand- children, past counting. The four truants were invited to partake of the feast, and very heartily they enjoyed the ducks and fowls,— cariug nothing that they had not been paid for, except by the trouble and risk of stealing them; There was music and dancing through the night. Some of the Princesses, the old scamp Song Clause Patch's daughters and granddaughters, I should suppose, were very pretty — altogether a most delightful party. Carew, Martin, Coleman, and Escot proclaimed their determinar tion to join such ft jolly community. The proposition was lauded at The gipsies could not believe the '* house- dwellers " to be in earnest But when the request was next morning repeated, and with evident earnestness, it was agreed to with some reluctance ; and after solemn wamiog that the bond once signed would be indissoluble, the four truant youths were accepted as members of the Bohemian fraternity, the oaths of implicit obedience to the King or Queen were administered, and they were initiated into the secrets of the confederated vagabonds.

His Majesty Clause Patch addressed them upon their duties to society — the society of course. It was a hi^y

BABIFHiDB MOOBB OASBW. 851

philosopliio lecture. The oomnnuiity into whose ranks the young men had yolnntarily enrolled themselves was very ancient, and dated from time immemorial. Like all other professions, its members lived by the necessities, the pas- sions, and the weaknesse&of theii- fellow-creatores. Vanity, greed, and compassion are the chief charaoteriatics of the human race: these constituted the stock-in-trade of the Bohemian people, and would prove, as long as diligence and fidelity to the rules of their ancient community prevailed amongst them, an unfailing mine of wealth : with much more to the same effect.

Garew, with whom in this paper I have chiefly to deal, was enchanted. To escape from the plodding pedagogic world into such a free-and-easy society, was a wonderM relief. To be sure, the luxuries of life were, or would be, in his Intimate possession in far greater abundance than could ever be obtained by gipsy wiles, whether of cajolexy or theft. But what of that ? Was there not the charm of clever cheatery — ^the romance of robbing by brain-skill — not vulgar violence ? and were not stolen pleasures proverb- ially the sweetest? Besides, had he not sworn fidelity to the laws of the community ? Should he break his oath ? Not for the wide world I He was a youth of much too tender conscience for that l-

A superior education helping young Oarew, he soon distinguished himself amongst the fraternity. Travelling through the land, he found many occasionB of proving how exactly he fitted the groove, as we should now say, into which Fortune had shunted him. His first coup dUsiaif on a considerable scale, occurred near Taunton, Somerset- shire. A Mrs. Muflgrave, residing near that city, was, he heard, possessed of a notion that a large treasure was buried somewhere in her grounds. Garew wrote to the kdy stating that if she would grant him an interview, he

352 EGCENTBIO PEES0KAGE3.

doubted not that he would be able to point out the ezaet spot where the treasure could be found. Credulous Mrs. Mui^graye would be happy to see the writer, who waited upon her, capitally made-up for the part. Having gravely listened to what she had to say, he required a few days to consult the stars. The time expired, he again waited upon the lady, and informed her that gold and silver in laige quantities would be found buried under Utie laurel- tree in her garden ; but as her fortunate planet would not rule dll that d&y week) and at a particular hour, it would be useless to make the search till then. Mrs. Musgrave was delighted, and gave substantial proof of her gratitude by presenting the astrologer with twenty guineas 1

It would seem that Oarew had not yet entirely sacf- ceeded in casting off old-world prejudices. The grief for his absence of the old folks at home, proved by their con- stantly advertised offers of reward to any one who would bring them tidings of the lost one, at last so prevailed with him that after about eighteen months' absence he suddenly presented lumself at his father's house. He was welcomed with exuberance of joy; not a word of reproach was uttered; the neighbours far and near sympathised with the delight of the worthy rector: the church-bells were rung, both in Bickley and the adjoining villages. Parties of pleasure were got up almost every day for the gratifi- cation of the recovered truant ; and no means were ne- glected to wean him from the vagabond career he had madly embraced.

All would not do. He fell 01 ; not with active malady, but from sheer weariness of spirit A gipsy girl, who had seen and spoken with him, said in an ale-house, where they were talking of him, that he would not be long with the house-dwellers. " He would either die or go back to the gipsies.

BAMFVLDB MOOBB CAEEW. 853

The gipsy girl was right. Carew suddenly left his home without leaTe-taldng, and made his way to the alehouse where he had first joined the Bohemian community. Several persons were there waiting, in expectation of his coming. He was at onoe oonduoted, as a prisoner, to head-quarters, where there was sitting a general assembly, on a minor scale, of gipsies, presided over by the queen, the wife of Clause Patch, who could not attend by reason of illness. This was fortunate for Oarew, who made a very ingenious defence in excuse of his temporary backsliding; and it was voted that he should be re-admitted, after renewing his oath of allegiance and submitting to the usual penance — a severe one, stripes not a few, and smartly laid on. The queen, however, old Clause Patch's fifth or sixth wife, and a young woman, was so pleased with the culprit's speecb, and the manner of its deliveiy, that she remitted the punishment, reminding him, however, that a second falling away from his sworn duties could not be forgiven, and the penalty, certain to be inflicted, however ingeniously he might try to conceal himself* would be Death ! She then sent him on the forage, remarking that, with his abilities, he might soon make up for lost time by adding largely to the common stock.

Carew may now be looked upon as fully committed to a life of vagabondage. He embraced it boldly ; made up cleverly as a shipwrecked sailor, and in that guise levied contributions. So well did he gloze the melancholy story of his sufferings, on his way to Kingsbridge, Dovonshire, that he transmitted a sum to his or her majesty which fully condoned the offence of which he had been guilty in the opinion even of those who thought he ha«l been let off too cheaply.

At Eangsbridge he met with his old schoolfellow Cole- . mao. He too had abandoned the Bohemian f ratanity for

Y

854 BGCEsriBic personages.

a time ; bat soon wearying of beii^ penned up in towns and houses, had returned to his alle^ianee. This was not quite true. He had been induced bj threats and promises — his own wishes inclining him to yield — to rejoin tlie formidable brotherhood. He had not the luck of Care^ though he reached head-quarters but a day or two after his friend had been dismisaed scatheless. He did not find such favour with her majesty as Carew did; he was uo^ so handsome perhaps, nor possessed of such a wheedliog. flattering tongue. At all events, he was rudely flagellated, told that he had been most mercifully dealt with, and warned to deserve the mercy which had been extended to him, by diligence and strict fidelity, lest a worse thing befal him. He was then dismissed on the forage, but was not successful, and expected every day to receive a message from Clause Patch, if he were well enough to resume the duties of his kingly office, if not, from his brimstone Jezebel of a wife, requiring his presence at head-quarters to account for the disgraceful paucity of his contributions to the general stock, that is, to the luxurious sustenance, in a gipsy sense, of the king, (^ueen, and royal family — a large number, aa we have seen, of voracious mouths to feed. Poor Ooleman was quite cast down— -disconsolate ; cursing, there can be little doubt, the day when the chasing of Colonel Nutoombe's deer led him indirectly into- such hope- less captivity. It was pleasant enough, no doubt, to camp out in the fields in fine summer weather, live well and lazily; but there were terrible drawbacks. Gipsy life was one of those things which did not improve upon intimate acquaintance.

Carew condoled with his friend ; observed that it was no use to kick against the pricks, and that he would help bim from the superfluity of his own gains to make a decent contribution to the royal treasury. With that understand* -

BAMirrUDB ICOOKB CABBW. 855

ing the young men-— onoe on the first form at Tivertoa High School—- jonmejed on in company, meeting with but poor sacoess, till they reached Totneas. There the dreaded message from the qoeen was received by the unhappy Coleman. His services were required in another pari of the country, where it was hoped and expected he would be more successful He lefb with a heavy heart. Oarew never saw him again; and heard, not long afterwards, that he had left the Bohemian world for the land where ^psies cease from troubling, and the weazy are at rest How he died, whether by the visitation of God or of man, was a moot-question with Carew. The secrets of the gipsy-camp are never spoken of even amongst the fratemify them-

Garew, having used up for a time, and in that locality, the shipwrecked sailor dodge, attired himself in a plain neat rustic suit, and assumed the character of a broken- down honest country farmer, from the island of Sheppy, whose grounds had been overflowed, and his cattle drowned, leaving himself, a wife, and seven helpless children in a state of destitution. The distressed-farmer device was very successful.

I might fill a volume with anecdotes of successful cheating, accomplished mainly by clever personation, by a master in the art; but as there is much to tell more creditable to this eccentric gentleman, and opening a curious leaf in the colonial history of England, which few are familiar with, I can only transcribe a few of- the more salient of Carew*s ezpbits.

Justice Hull, of Exmouth, was the terror of gipsies. Like the late Sir Peter Laurie with reference to distressed widows, Justice Hull had determined to put the gipsies down. They were his abomination ; and he was espe-

856 XOCSNTBIC PEBflONAOBS.

cially desiroiu of getting hold of that disgrace to hia fBoSly^ with some members of which he was well acquainted, — Bamfylde Mooro Carew. This was a challenge whi^ Carew determined to accept. He waited upon Mr. JuBlioe Hull, who had more than once conTcraed familiarly with liim at Bickley Bectaiy,-^in the character of a miller, whose mill and entire sdbstance had been consomed hy lire, owing to the carelessness of an apprentice. Carew iraa seyerelj cross-examined by the jnstice, but he stood the ordeal well ; the magistrate was convinced he had to do with a very honest straight-forward miller, a myth in popular estimation at that time ; but Justice Hull was free of vulgar prejudice, and presented Carew with a guinea, for which he received an acknowledgment in full by the next day's post :

<< My bear Ma. Justics Hull, — ^I am afraid that when with you I did not anciently express the gratitude I felt and feel for your very liberal donation, yesterday, of a guinea, to the plain, straightforward, honest miller, who had lost his entire substance by a fire, caused by the care- lessness of an apprentice ; and who had a sick wife and nine children to support The honest miller now repeats his heartfelt thanks for your generosity to the gipey,

" Bamftldb Mooeb Carevt."

Jnst fancy the-rage^f Mr. Justice Hull, who was saffer- ing from gout too, upon reading Garew's audacious note !

At a Mr. Portman*s, near Blandford, Hants, who was entertaining a large party, he presented himself as an old withered crone, wearing a dirty mob-cap, a high-crowned hat, a ragged kirtle, and carrying a little humpback child on his back ; two others he held, one in each hand. Pinching the hump-baok baby, he made it squeal so as to

BAliFTLDB MOORB CAfiEW. 857

set the dogs balking furicmslj. A woman servant came out to bid him begone, as the uproar disturbed the ladies. " Gk>d bless their ladyships/' whined the old woman, ^' I am the unfortunate grandmother of these poor children, whose dear mother, and all she possessed, was burnt at the dreadful fire at Thirkton." This was reported to their lady- ships;, who feeling for them, the old woman with her brats were brought into the house, and a plentiful meal was set before them. Some of the gentlemen-guests came into the kitchen. One said, ^' Where do you come from, old woman ? " • " From Thirkton." " The devil take Thirk- ton 1 There has been more money collected for Thirkton than Thirkton is worth." NeverfJieless all the gentlemen and ladies gave bountiful alm^ifts to the old woman from Thirkton. As in the case of Mr. Justice Hull, Mr. Port- man received a letter the next day, acknowledging the generons gifts of their ladyships and gentlemanships, signed <'B. M. Carew, alias an old grandmother from Thirkton.

Carew assumed the character, and made use of the language of Edgar in Lear as '< Mad Tom," whom the foul fiend puisnes, and so on. This part, cleverly sustained, netted much money.

One Mr. Jones, a very benevolent gentleman of ABhton, near Bristol, hearing from his brother, who was present at Mr. Portman's, how the company were so cleverly bam- boozled, declared that he never could be deceived by Carew, whom he knew very well, or more correctly speldc- ing, had known very well by sight. Error, Mr. Jones; Carew pillaged you just three times in one day. First as an unfortunate blacksmith, with sooty face and singed apron^ who had lost his little all by a fire. A few hours afterwards, by a poor cripple, paralysed totally on one sid3, and partially on the other, who was desirous of trying the Bath waters^ but afraid he should never reach that city for

858 BOCEMTBIO ]PBBSONAaES.

want of charitable asoBtanoe. Later in the day, an mifor- tanate tinner called. He had been disabled by damp and hardships goffered in the mines. Mr. Jones received, in doe coarse of post, the written acknowledgment of B. M. Garew, aliag the blacksmith, the cripple, and the tinner.

Several tames during bis predatory rambles, Garew called at the Bickley Bectory, so disguised, so exactly imitative in voice and manner of die character he personated, as to eom* pletely deceive his own father and mother. '^ Avowing myself to be a gipsy, they always questioned me respectlx^ theirson: < Had I seen or heard of him? Washealive?' I could scarcely restrain my tears whilst with them," said Garew, " and when I left and was unobserved, wept bitteri j. But there was no escape from the thraldom to which I had subjected myself, — ^more than that, I did not really wish to escape.

Garew's cleverness was highly appreciated by the Bohe- mian brotherhood ; and at the annual general assembly for the year, he was honoured with a seat on the right (^ the king and queen, a distinction which was undeistood to be the precursor of higher honours to come.

Instinctive love of freedom, independence of action — ^the consciousness that he* was playing the part of a fbol and madman — ^rendered Garew at times very resUess under the galling yoke. When in one of these moods, he met^ at Dartmouth, John Escot, another of his school-fellows, whom that gipsy oigie at the Brickhouse bad demoralised, ruined. Escot was wretched^ but dared not make the slightest endeavour to emancipate himself. The bare thought of incurring the displeasure of the ubiquitoos community in which he had enrolled himself, brought on a fit, or caused him to break out into a cold perspiration.

CareVs bolder spirit infused some cours^ into hk There was a vessel atDartmouth, bound for Newfoundland,

'^^

BAMFYLDB MOOfiB OABEW. 869

oommanded hj a Captain Holdswortih. Why not take passage in her, and if their resolution held to free them- aelyes of, literaUy, the Egyptian bondagennder which they groaned— groaned by fits and starts in the case of Garew — go on to the plantations in America ?

They agreed to do this ; the berths were engaged ; bnt at the hist moment Escot's heart failed him, and Oarew sailed without his companion.

Arrived in Newfoundland, Carew diligently explored the island, studied its commercial and especiaUy its fishing capabilities, and was, it would seem, casting about for a trade-opening, so to speak, for his restless energies, when an emissary from the gipsy-king arrived out, with a summons requiring Garew's immediate return to England. Escot, who, under the influence of some vague fear that he might be suspected of conniving at the escape of Garcw, though final escape was just impossible, had informed Olause Patch that Oarew had sailed for Newfoundland, adding that he (Garew) thought he might reap a rich harvest there for the benefit of the brotherhood. This excuse was unanimously scouted. It was settled in general council that the field in which the richest harvest could be reaped by Garew was in England. Garew was told by the mes- senger that if he obeyed the summons, there was nothing to fear, especiaDy bs he had a good friend at court — alluding, no doubt, to the ^psy queen. Escot was under a cloud and strictly watched. A charming predicament that huntof the deer in the^oodsand fields about TiveHon had brought the first-form scholars of the High School of that town into 1

Garew obeyed the ^psy chiefs mandate, and sailed in a "fish-schooner" for HuU, where, after a perilous voyage, he safely landed. It is evident, though the subject is slightly alluded to, that Carew's peace was «o(»k made. The queen

860 ECOENTRIC PERSONAGES.

probably stood his friend. It is ocrtain thai he was quickly despatched on the forage. He was very saccessful, his knowledge of Newfoundland standing him Li good stead. His principal prey were just then the masters of vessels trading to Newfoundland and the adjacent countries^ With them he was a master-mariner, whose ship, of which he was chief owner, had been cast away, and all hands on board drowned except himself. Cross-examined, he evinced such a minute knowledge of the localities, that no doubt was entertained of the truthfulness of his story — so that he had soon money and lots of it in both pockets. He must have found richer dupes than sea-captains ; and I cannot help thinking have shamefully choused the Bohe- mian royal family, or he could never have shown out in such splendour as he did shortly after his visit to Newoaa- de-upon-Tyne — ^in a new phase. There his constitutional flightiness manifested itself after a novel fashion. He must needs fall in love — serious, not Bohemian love — ^with a Mias Oeary, the daughter of an apothecary long estab- lished in the town. The young woman was both beau- tiful^md amiable — superlatively so, looked at through the Claude-Lorraine glasses of Carew's lover-eyes. He made the damsel's acquaintance, wooed her ardently, and knew that he had made a favourable impression, but was quite aware that if he popped the question in the character of a gipsy — a Christian gipsy we will say — ^his suit would be at once rejected. Garew represented himself to be the master of a trading vessel — an assertion vouched for by Captain Lewis,* of Dartmouth, whose friendship he had gained. The young lady coyly yielded to Carew's pressing impor- tunities ; eloped with him ; and went with him on board Captain Lewis' vessel, which made a swift passi^ to Dart- mouth, where the loving pair were united in the bonds of holy, l^itimate — not Bohemian matrimony.

BAMFYLDE MOOBB CABBW. 361

Mr. and Mrs. Oarew, trayelling in qnite grand style- no question tliat the Bohemian royal family must have been awfully swindled — ^passed a joyous honey-month. I imagine it must have not un&equently oceurred to the bridegroom that the queen might not pro^e such a zeal- ous protectress as she had been when this marriage with a charming house-dweller became known, and this would be very soon.

Tutl Taste life's glad moments while you may, is sound Epicurean and Bohemian philosophy. Carew and his bride conformed to it, visited Bath, Bristol, and made quite a sensation in those cities, though in what name they travelled I cannot discover. Presently we find them the guests of an uncle, the Rev. Mr. Carew, a dignified clergy- man at Porchester, Hants. The reverend relative'oonjured Bamfylde Moore Carew to abandon his Liwless life, and return to the paths of virtue, at the same time promising that virtue should not be its own, that is, its only reward. He would provide for him liberally at once, and make him heir to all he possessed — a tempting ofier, which the young wife was eager to accept The husband was also, we may presume, strongly inclmed to do so. But there was a lion in the path. More than one peremptory message had reached Carew from the sovereign to whom he had twice sworn allegiance, and he had no choice but to submit. The reverend uncle would not give him a guinea except upon condition that he withdrew himself at once from the d^ading companionship of gipsies; and his own funds were miserably low. He must even take to the great high- way of life again, and seize such happy chances as may present themselves thereon.

Carew chose to reappear on the stage upon this occasion as a distressed clergyman, persecuted for conscience-sake.

S62 ECCENTRIC PSBSONAGES.

He wore a black loose gown, a laige white peruke, and a broad-brimmod hat. His pace was slow and solemn. He appeared overwhelmed with the shame which worthy, modest men must feel when compelled to solicit Christian charity. When questioned, he, with mnch relnctazioe, informed his Christian friends that he had filled the sacred office of clergyman at Aberystwith in Wales. The change of goTemment had engendered scruples of conscienoe which induced him to resign his liviog. The apt introduction of Latin phrases helped out the imposture, and his attenuated purse began again to swell into respectable rotundity.

A yeiy fertile brain was Mr. Carew's. Readhig in a newspaper that a ship bound for Philadelphia, in which were many Quakers, was lost, he diligently made himself acquainted with all particulars, the names of the Friends, and other essential details, and so furnished, presented himself as one of the shipwrecked Friends at a large gathering in London. He had lost all — everything except the clothes on his back. No doubt was entertained of the truth of his story, and he was generously relieved.

The few instances I have transcribed depictive of Carew's career will suffice to guide the reader to a right judgment upon it as a whole. He was a compassionate man. Eeal misery — and who so quick as he at detecting imposture? — ^he never failed to relieve to the utmost extent beyond the extent of his abUity. He was often known to sell or pavm articles almost indispensable to his own comfort for the relief of starving, perishing wretches.

Carew's reputation amongst the Bohemian brotherhood was at its height when Clause Patch died. He made a pathetic last dying-speech ; the most interesting passage in

BAH7YLDB MOOBB OAKEW. 868

whicH to his eighteen children was, that he leflr them (me hundred ponnds sterling each — not a large sum, the old reprohate observed, " but improveable;"

Two or three weeks afterwards there was a grand assembly in London to elect a new king. The voting was by ballot, and there were ten candidates. Carew being one, made a speech, which carried all before it, so resplend- ent was it with the brilliant rogneries he had perpetrated. He was nnanimously elected king. It was a very jolly meeting. The following verses were song with uproarious applause. It was, and is, the gipsy coronation anthem :

" Oast your caps and cares away, This is gipsies' holiday; In the world look ont and see, Who 80 happ7 a king as he.

At the crowning of onr king Thus we e^er dance and sing ; Where's the nation livesiso free And so merrily as we ?

Be it peace or be it war. Here at liberty we are ; Hang all Harmanbecks, we say, We the Cuffins Qaeer defy.

We enjoy oar peace and rest, To the field we are not prest ; When the taxes are increased, We are not a farthing cessed.

Nor will any go to law With a gipsy for a straw ; All which happiness he brags Is only owing to his rags.'*

Harmanbecks and Queer Cuffins was gipsy slang for oon* stables and magistrates.

864 BCOSNTKIO PEBSOKAOES.

The new king refofied to be a Bai fainiant, sittiiig at home at ease, supported by the oontributioas of the com- munityy after the fashion of his royal predeoessora. The widow of Clause Patch watf deputed to carry on the govern- ment during his absence, and he himself went on the forage as before. This was imprudent. He should hare ^ remembered that Fortune is fickle, and never more likely to desert her favourite than when he is perched <m the top of her wheel. He himself, however, attributed the misfortune that befel him to an act of daring impety. Finding himself at Stoke-Gabriel, near Totness, and bu- siness in his ordinary line slack and unprofitable, the notion came into his head of waiting upon the parson of ^e parish to request him publicly to offer up the thanks- giving of himself and the reverend gentleman's congre- gation for the wonderful preservation of himself, James Hawkins, master mariner, when his vessel, the Rose, was struck by lightning, and all on board perished except himself. The Rose, James Hawkins master, hailing from Newcastle, had been struck by lightning a few days pre- viously, off the Devonshire coast. The report in the local newspapers said all hands were supposed to have perished, though there was a rumour that Hawkins, the master, had escaped by swinmiing. Upon that hint Carew had acted* The credulous parson, who had read the newspaper account, readily believing that the devoutly grateful applicant was the real James Hawkins, willingly acceded to his request, and preached a pathetic sermon upon the perils and suffer- ings of those who go down to the sea in ships. A collec- tion was made at the conclusion of the service, and the proceeds handed over to the pious mariner.

A few days only had elapsed when his Majesty came to grief in a most unexpected, aggravating manner. He rang the outer-gate bell at the house of Justice Lethbridge, near

BASFTLSyE UOaSS CAB3SW. 865

Barnstable. He had Dot the slightest ftar of being recog- nised, so carefully was he disguised, although as Carew he was personally known to the Justice, whom he had victimised, and his butler, John Wigon.

A very civil sernmt, uncommonly civil, answered the bell, promptly unchained the gate, rochained it as soon as the distressed £ither of a large bumt-ont family had passed throngh, then politely conducted the unfort-unate ^vagrant, who was already struck with a presentiment that he had made a mess of it for once in his life, to the hall. Retreat being impossible, the only chance left was to boldly play out his part

" Ha 1 good morning, Mr. Carew, said John Wigan, the butler, who opened the hall-door, and who had with him two other men-servants — <^good morning, Mr. Ca^^ew; we have been expecting you would favour your old friends with a visit. The justice will be glad, very glad to see you; he has stopped at home on purfjose. But," added the chuokHng buUer, " that you may see his worship, it will be as well to pull off ihe black patch over your right eye." Suiting the action to the word, ^' the mocking knave" tore it away with his own hand.

His worship was overjoyed, and first indulging in a hearty langh at the gipsy King's discomfiture and practical deposition from his high office, consigned him to " the care of his myrmidons," with orders to lodge him safdy in Exeter gaol. Colonel Browne, of that city, fully committed him, and shortly afterwards he was tried and found guilty, not- withstanding the ingenious pleas of the counsel retained for the defence by his sorrowing subjects.

<< You have travelled, I believe ?" remarked the facetioua chainnan at Quarter Sessions.

'^Yes,"' said Carew, " in Denmark, Sweden, France,

866 ECCENTBXC PERSONAGES.

Spun, Portogal, NewfonncOand; Wales^ and some parts of Scotland."

<' I have heard Bome utoiy of the kind before. You inB. have to visit a hotter climate than either of those jon have mentioned." Sentence was then pronoonced. He was to be transported to SCaryland, America, and there sold into sU- very. A terrible downcome this for his Bohemian Majesty !

Carew was harried on board the Juliana, Captain Froade, whose property he with many other prisoners on board had become. The practice was for the captain of a ship to pay so much a-head for his convict passengers, taking the chance of profit or loss upon their sale at the plantations.

The Juliana cast anchor, all well, in Miles's river, Haiy- land, and the sale by public competition of a prime lot of English handicraftsmen, labourers, and derks, was im- mediately advertised.

The competition of the planters was rather brisk. One Griffith, a tailor, fetched a thousand pounds' weight of tobacco. Prices varied. As to Carew, he' persisted that he could do nothing, was not worth buying at any price, and could not even dig, though to b^ he certainly, as his antecedents proved, was not ashamed. This modest esti- mate of his own merits was not believed; his thews and einews were witnesses against him; his price ran up to a high figure; the punch went merrily round; Captain Froade had made a profitable venture. The competition for Carew was at last confined to David Hunter, formerly of Lyme, Dorsestshire, and one Hamilton, a Scotchman Finally, they agreed, being near neighbours, to go halves in him, and had just concluded the bargain when it was dis- covered that Carew had contrived, during the uproarioiu jollity, to slip off unobserved, and was nowhere to be found. He had fled to the woods.

BAMTTIiBE MOOBE CABEW. 867

« He managed to evade pursoit dxLring several weeks, sab- sisiing upon such wild fruits as he could find, and the pro- duct of occasional nocturnal visits to solitary farmsteads. He was at last apprehended, and not being able to give a satisfactory account of himself, was lodged in prison, pre- paratory, in accordance with the laws of Maryland, to being sold by auction, should no one claim him before the appointed day.

In this pretty predicament he chanced to hear that the vessels of Captains Harvey and Hopkins, of Bideford, had cast anchor in Miles's river. He was favourably known to them as a Devonshire man, of ancient family. They sympathised with the unfortunate prisoner, who, in their eyes, had been guilty of no offence callmg for such cruel expiation. Immediately Carew's message reached them, they sought him out, listened to his story, returned to their ships, opened a negotiation with Captain Froade, and finally agreed for the price of his freedom.

Carew, informed of the generous conduct of the Devon- shire captains, after taking some time to consider the matter, refused to avail himself of the generosity of his friends. The price insisted upon was exorbitant, and he was not sure of being ever able to repay Captains Harvey and Hop- kins, to whom such an outlay would, he knew, be a serious matter. He resolutely declined, therefore, to purchase his freedom at their cost, and to put an end to all importunity, informed the magistrate by whom he had been committed that he was the property of Captain Froade.

This heroic act of self-sacrifice, for such it really was, met with a scurvy reward. Captain Froade sent for him, and immediately he had him on board the Juliana, flogged him without menjy ; then sent for a smith, who rivitted an iron collar, called a pothook, round his neck. He was, however.

868 KCCE5TBI0 PEB60HAGE8.

allowed to walk the ship's deek dmiDg sUted Ikhixb of monung and eyeoiiig. This dicnmstance soggested to Hie oompaasiooate captains the means of procuring his release, and punishing Froade through the pocket for his erudij. A boat after nightfall was towed, as preyiously arraiiged between the captive and the captains, under the Juliana's quarter; Caiew slid quietly down the side, and his escape was accomplished. Three months afterwards he was in England, not long before Froade arrived home.

This was a severe lesson, but it failed to cure Garew of his vagabond propensities. Sir Thomas Carew, to whom he paid a visit with his wife and daughter, offered him a handsome income if he would give up all connection with the gipsies. The answer was an emphatic << No, I will not."

His habitual caution must have forsaken him. Walking on the quay of Exeter with his wife one fine afternoon, he was recognised by a convict-merchant, as such men were called, of the name of Davey. This man was co-partner with Captain Froade, and considered himself very mudi ill-used — ^robbcd, in fact, by Carew's escape from Mary- land. ^'Hal ha I" said he, seiring Carew with the aid of ruffians by whom he was accompanied — '^hal hal You came back from America for your own pleasure; now you shall go back for mine." Spite of a frantic resistance, Garew was carried off to the Phillares brig, Symonds master, lying off Powderham Castle, bound to America with convicts, and waitiog for a fair wind.

Carew again landed in Maryland, was sold at a high figure, and again made his escape to England. Misforione, suffering — stem but true teachers — ^had at last brought home to him an abiding sense of the worse than folly which had flawed his eccentric, wasted life. He gained a laige sum of money by speculations in the lotteries of the day,

BAM7TLDE MOOBE CABEW.

86d

bj wluoh means he propitiated Bohemia, and obtained leave to resign the kingly office and cease to be an active member of the commnnity. His influential connections qbtained from the Oovemmeut a kind of ticket-of-leave for him, and retiring to a modest home which he had purchased in Devonshire, he died there in peace, aged sixty .years.

MONSIEUR BLAISE.

Jean Loxtvoib Harie Blaise was an invalided French seaman, establiahed for some years as a barber in the Kae du Bao, St. Malo. He was not an old man in 1804, not mncb more than forty years of age, when the war between Great Britain and France, lolled for a brief period by the truce of AmienSy burst forth again witb augmented farj. Monsieur Blaise was delighted. He had never foigiven Messieurs les Anglais for blowing him up almost Uterally sky-high on the 1st of June, 1782 (Lord Howe's victory). He was then serving on board La Sylphide, frigate at corvette, which had been set on fire by the dose broadsides of three English frigates. One only really engaged La Sylphide. But Monsieur Blaise, a worthy fellow in his way, had, as we ^hall see, an inventive genius. La Syl- phide, at all events, caught fire, was soon enveloped in flames, which reaching the magazine, up she blew, and Jean Louvois Marie Blaise remembered nothing more till he found himself terribly scorched and shaken on board one of the cursed ships that destroyed La Sylphide. He had been picked up by one of the frigate's boats, and Jean Louvois Marie could not deny that ho was treated with skiU and a sort of rude kindness — the insular brigands were not all, quite all, bad. " Certainly not." Monsieur Blaise used to say when descanting upon the catastrophe of La Sylphide, a subject of which he never wearied, if his hearers did — <' certainly not ; but dam 1 they had made me pay dearly : but for the protection of the Holy Virgin "

HOKSIEUB BLAISE. 871

(here Monaeur BUuse, who was a devout man, always orossed himself and said an Ave) — ^but for the protection of the Holy Yiigin — nothing less than the price of my soul." .

Monsieur Blaise explained. He had been educated in the profession of a barber^ and having, when convalescent, happened to mention that circumstance to a ^'mecshecp- man " — he had acquired a perfect knowledge of the English language whilst on board the cursed frigate, he candidly admitted having received that advantage — ^having, I say, mentioned that he was a barber par ^tat to the " meesheep- man," he was forthwith pressed into the English service in that capacity, the English shaver on board knowing better how to handle a handspike than razors, scissors, and curling- tongs. << Thunder of Ood 1 it was terrible — ^the tempta- tion, I mean. Imagine yourself to have at your mercy the yery captain of the brigands who had blown up La Syl- phide, myself with her, holding him by the nose, whilst the sharpest of razors glided over the grtdirCt chin and throat. But that I did not cease to implore the aid of the Holy Virgin throughout the operation, the devil would have had me, — nothing. can be more certain than that; but I shall, plaise d DieUj repay Mesaeurs les Anglais for all their favours yet before I die."

This grievance is strongly insisted on by the patriotic barber in a brochure written from his dictation by a com- patriot of genius," and published at St. Male in 1816, from which brochure are derived all the facts — ^liberally-coloured facts, I suspect«-of which this brief narrative is woven. It may be seen in the public library at St. Male, and is entitled FaiU divers de VSiitoire Navale de la France depute 1793 jutqu'd 1810. The chapter which dilates in exalted language upon the cruel ill^ality of being compelled

872 ECGENTBIO PBBSONAGES.

to act aa barber on board the Englidi frigate is beaded in capital letters:

TXHPTATION OF JEAN LOTTVOIS HABIE BLAISSj'

<< At last/' continues J. L. M. Blaise, ondoi << at last Providence fayoored me-^tbougb I baidly thought it a favoor at the time — with a chance of escape fiom the enemies of France and the human race, The brigands projected an expedition intended to bum and destroy the French merchantships anchored near die mouth of the Oaionne, under the protection, of a battery. It was a nightrczpedition in boats. It was dark as a wolfs mouth, but the English were guided direct to the ships by the. lights they showed. This was im|Hrudent. They should either have been extinguished or screened to seaward. I contrived to slip into one of the boats unnoticed, being dressed exactly like one of the English pirates. Ah 1 that cost me dear. The boats pulled steadily with muffled oars towards the French ships. The boats were not seen. That in which I was, attacked the ship nearest the land. The French crew, completely surprised, could offer no resistance. She was the prize of the pirates. Suddenly a thought, an inspiration seized me. The wind had sud- denly veered about several points since we, at a lei^e's distance, left the frigate, and was blowing towards the shore. The English officer commanding the boat had also observed this, and his maledictions were furious, savage It had been intended to let fall the qpls of Qie merchant- men, and so get them off without the labour of towing. That would be now impossible. A thought, an inspiration, as I have said, flashed upon me. I glided to the bows of the ship, and with an axe severed the cable that held her. Ah 1 it was delicious to hear the chorus of goddams which

MONSIEUR BLAISE. 873

arose £rom the savage Islanders when thoy found the ship wa« driving on shore directly towards the battery, the ganners of which had been roused by the firing on board one of the ships of muskets, pistols, &c. ; her crew having, with the heroic courage which animates all Frenchmen, attempted a desperate, but, against such odds, unsuccessful resistance. Meantime the Yille de Nantes was driving on shcRre. Blue lights were constantly thrown up from the battery. It was in a certain sense light as day. The French cannoniers directed their fire at the French ships which the English were towing off— not, I r^et to say, with success — I mean, the firing of the French cannoniers was not successful. The English sea-wolves carried off their prey. Only the Ville de Nantes escaped their greedy dutch, thanks to me ; and charmingly I was rewarded for it. But of that presently. My young friend says I digress too much. Eh him I The English, seeing they could not hope to carry off the ship, took to their boats, the officer shouting through his trumpet to his men to < bairand,' which is English for dSptchez^ous. All but two obeyed. These were below, and already half drunk with some brandy they had found in the captain's cabin. The English sailor se wmle (gets drunk) whilst you are looking round. He does not drink; he pours brandy down his throat without tasting it. They bad been of course left behind with myself.

'< The Yille de Nantes beaches without sustaining much injury. We all get on (Ihore ; — ^the captain and crew of the ship are received with effusive cordiality by the com- mandant of the battery, his officers, and men. They are warmly congratulated upon their escape from the English scoundrels ; but I, who was the instrument of that escape, have handcu{& fastened upon my wrists, and am thrust with the two drunken English hogs into a dark hole where

874 SCCBKTBIO PEBSONAGSS.

we cannot see, and can acaicd j breathe. Vainly I hxre appealed to the commandant — ^proudlj aaserted m j <}iialit7 of Frenchman. <So much the worso for thee, then/ said Monsieur le Capitaine d'ArtiUerie Hugon; 'for in that case thou must be a tndtor ; one of the Tillainous ^migr^ perhaps?'

<< This was channing, as I have said ; very much so. I had certainly done a yeiy fine thing for myself. Bat it had always been so. I had a strange capacity for runnii^ my head against stone walls. My excellent father, Piene Blaise — ancien mariny like myself, perruquier also — and a superb artist, thousands of the cidsens of Saint Male will testify, for many years kept an establishmait at Numdro 14 Rue du Bac, three doors off to the right from the house in which I cany on business at Num^ 11, on the riyhi of Numdro 14, as I have said and repeat, mistakes haying occurred. Num^o 14 is now occupied by a 9oi<[ucoU professor of our art < Bichon, late Blaise,' is painted over the door. Bichon, which in itself is right, appropriate, in small insignificant characters^Blaise, whi<^ in itself is also in good taste, appropriate, in large blue letters. Halte 1 My esteemed young friend says I am dictating a bng parenthesis which has nothing to do with VHistoire NaoaJk de la France. I submit, and resume. . " My excellent father, Pierre Blaise, ancien marin like myself used to say, ^ Jean Louvois Marie Blaise, mon gar- 9on, thou art too impulsive — eccentric; art always getting thyself into trouble. Believe me, if thou hadst less generous itourdissement in thy composition, it would be better for thee. It is not by the indulgence of philanthropic senti- ments that one's bread is buttered — in this world at all events : how it may be Id ?Mut is another question.' From which parental maxim it resulted that I, looking to my own safety, considering the equivocal position in which I was

HONSIEUB BLAISB. 875

placed, otight not to have oat the cable of the Yille de Nantes, rescued the ship and crew from the English brig- andSy and have returned quietly to the English £rigate. Such reflections certainly crossed my mind during that terrible night passed in the dark hole with the drunken English sailors. But what will you ? It is my nature, my destiny to be self-sacrificing. Sti^ I strongly object to the sacrifice being too great, eztendjuog to the perdition of one's life, for example :— one must stop somewhere.

<< When day dawned through the crevices of the door I awoke the English sailors, who had slept and snored through the night to my intense disgust and irritation. As soon as they had yawned and stretched themselves into a sort of ani- mal consciousness and vitality, and emptied all three pitchers of water to cool their burning throats, I said, < My friends' — ^they were not my friends, the brutes— far from that — but it is well to speak civilly to the devil himself, if you want a favour of him — ' my friends, you will be asked if I will- ingly served on board the English frigate. Without doubt you will say I was forced to serve, under penalty of being hanged. Of course you will say that!' The infernal 9ciUrat$ pretended not to comprehend me. It could not be that they did not understand my English, which is known to be perfect. No, they were resolved to betray, to rain me. I could see that thought twinkle dimly in their blood-shot, ferocious eyes. A cold shiver ran through my vein3l

" It was ten o'clock — bread-and-water were supplied to us for breakfast. I could not eat — the least morsel would have choked me — the English ogres ate mine as well as their own. We were taken before the commandant and other officers. An English lieutenant, a marine soldier — and the evil star of my destiny — who had been taken pris- oner, and who spoke French very well, excellently for an

876 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES.

Englishman^ with a certain guttural accent, of course — the organization of that people is not delicate enough to give pure expression to the refined and noble language of France. They have not, I am informed, a respectable poet. No one could expect that an Englishman could rival the grandeur of our Moli^res, our Eacines. Ah t I am digressing again, and at a most interesting orisis in the narrative. I beg pardon, and resume.

" The affair of the English sailors was soon disposed of. They were to be sent to the interior as prisoners of war. Then came my turn. ' You say you are a French.- man/ said the Commandant, in a voice rough as gravel, and a face hard as granite. I felt myself to be on the brink of a precipice. A cold perspiration ooEcd out at my fingers' ends. ' You say you are a Frenchman. What is your name?' <Jean Louvois Marie Bhdse,' said I, rallying, ' native of Saint Malo, Brittany, perruquier par itatf marin by profession.' *In what ship have you served ?' ' In La Sylphide ; blown up at the great battle off Bochefort, so glorious for the French marine, defeated though we were by the tyrants of the sea. The cypress was full as glorious as the laurel.' ' No havardage, if you please, Monsieur le Perruquier,' said Monsieur le Com- mandant, with a hrusquerie of tone and manner, which I may be permitted to say was not polite. 'You were picked up, I suppose, by the enemy?* 'Yes, Monsieur le Commandant I found myself almost as much dead as alive on board the English frigate.' ' And out of grati- tude, I suppose, you volunteered into the English service?'

• Pardon me, monsieur ; I was compelled, under penalty of

being hanged, to take service, — ^to officiate as barber to the captain, officers, and crew. Ahl it was terrible. The temptation, but for the protection of La Sainte Yierge, would have been irresistible.' * Farce /' growled the Com-

MONSrSDB BLAISE. 877

mandant; the English, brutal as they may be, do not hang prifloners of war. Passing from that, barbers are not usually employed in cutting-out expeditions. Whereas Ma Blaise, le perruquier, is found boarding La Yille de Nantes. He is armed to the teeth, and is seen to cut with an axe the cable of the ship. It was essential that the Tessel, if it was to become the prize of the English, should be towed quickly out of cannon-fire. Jean Louvois Marie Blaise, perruquier, recognising that important condition, and that time should not be lost in bringing the anchor home, seyered, as I hare said, the cable with an axe. It is true that, owing to a shift of wind which the renegade was not aware of — ' * Monsieur le Commandant,' said I, interrupting, 'this is a frightful misconception. Permit me to assure you upon the honour of — ' < Upon the honour of a perruquier,' broke in the Commandant with contemptuous anger. ' Holy blue ! but that is rich, impay- ahie I To finish. You with the others boarded the Yille de Nantes — the Indian weapon, a tomahawk, in hand — you took part in the slight conflict which ensued against your countrymen, and as I have said, to facilitate the capture of the French ship, severed the cable.' ' Excuse me,' I exclaimed again, eagerly interrupting. I was by turns cold and hot in every member of my frame; an officer entering having left the door open, through which I per- ceived a firing-party drawn up, who were, I could not doubt, waiting to bestow their favours upon me, the situation was becoming desperate. ' Excuse me. Monsieur le Command- ant — ' ' Hold thy tongue, beast V thundered the grim old veteran. < How came it that there were found upon thee twenty-two English guineas? Answer me that I' ' Monsieur le Commandant,' said I, ' the English officers, to do ihem justice, are generous— extremely generous as to

878 BCCBirrBic pbbsokaoss.

money— England, it is known, ia the country of gold, and I was nearly two years in the infernal frigate. Natorall^ hoping to get ashore in La Belle France, to escape, that Is, I placed all the money I possessed in my pocket' ' Bah 1' the Colonel hroke in again. ' Let the English sailors be questioned.' The officer of marines interpreted the Com- mandant's interrogatories. 'What do yon know of this man ?' < He is a Frenchman, and fuMraiU chvMcrapere^^ which is English for * barber of the highest class.' This I at first thought was gjnerous, chiyalric e^en, as I re- membered having more than once gashed the fellow's chin out of spite; he being an impudent rascal, if ever there was one. Ah I I was soon undeceived. ' Did he volunteer mto the British service?' ' Yes;^ and took the bounty. He used to say he hated the 9an9<ubUeB^ and loved the Bourbons.' It was finished with me. I felt that. Never- theless, I denied the infamous cha]^ with all the eneigy of my soul. It was useless. I was found guilty of having fought against France. I, that would have shed my li^ blood for our glorious patrie, and condemned to die the death of a traitor — ^that is, to be shot forthwith. By that time the room was quite filled with spectators of the beau seze— -several of them girls and women, one the charming daughter of M. le Commandant's wife. Ls beau $exe is an expression which I take leave to remark is not, according to my experience, strictly accurate, I mean not universally applicable — ^very far, indeed, from being so. Never mind, the women and girls present^ five or six, all counted — ^the entire female population of the batteiy — with the exception of Madame, the Commandant's wife, sympathised with me, and when the sentence, /usUU $ur le champ, to be shot immediately, was pronounced, testified that sympathy by tears and sobs. Several officers interpoeedi remonstrated-*-

MONSIEim BLAISB. 879

■ ^ not against the sentence, but its hasty ezecutron. -Thongh unworthy to remain on earth, I might, with a few hours of priestly preparation, be made quite good enough for heaven. Miserable logio that, it seemed to me, but not under the circumstances to be repudiated. Certainly not. Till a man is dead, he lives — ^that is certain, positive— and whilst he lives there is hope. I prayed — still indignantly protest- ing my innocence — to be allowed time to avail piyself of religious consolation — to receive the viaticum indispensable to a safe passage to the other world, and a benevolent recep- tion there. Monsieur le Commandant smiled grimly, but granted eighteen hours' delay. The firing-party was dis- missed, and I led back to the oelL It was solitary now, till the priest came. A famous gaUlard was the holy man. He had seen so much of death from his youth upwards till he was fifty years of age — he looked, dimly as I saw, much younger than that — ^in the American war, when France delivered the people of the United States from the oppres- sion of perfidious Albion ; during the fever of the Eevo- lution, when the guillotine was in full activity ; and since, in the armies of the Republic, that he had at last come to regard shooting a man as quite a natural mode of insisting upon his exit £rom this world. He assured me it was nothing, positively nothing, when over. < Oood and evil, my son,' said the old reprobate, ' pain and pleasure, are nothing when passed away. Dost thou really wish me to go through the service Y he added, with a guttural accent, which reminded me of the Englishers — ^blind buzzard that I was — taking out of his pocket an old dc^-eared breviary 'If so, kneel down; but I should advise — as, modestly speaking, I don't think my certificate would count for much Hi hawt — I should advise, par prifh'ence, that we dispose between us of these two bottles of excellent wine.' I had observed that he bad a basket in his hand, and some

880 ECCSNTRIO FSRSOKAQES.

capital cigars. < Vogue la gdUre* inmt on ^e Pdre Men- loa, ' you will sleep all the sounder, though not, parbleu, so sound, my son, as you will to-morrow night.'

" I reflected whilst he was pouring out the wine, the glug-glug of which was pleasant to the ear, that the priest could not be of the least eerrice to me — if I could not get to heaven without his aid, the drunken old smner, I might as well make up my mind for the other place. Eh hien — I could say my prayers when alone — invoke the Holy Mother's protection, which has never failed me. En atten- dant, a few glaases of wine and a cigar would be invigo> rating, decidedly so. < Clinqwms* said the Pdre Meulon. ^ With all my heart,' responded I, affecting iC gaiety I did not feel — my heart being just then as heavy as a lump of lead — * with all my heart Clinquons' We touched each other's glasses, and tossed off the contents. Beally excel- lent wine 1

" ^ Jean Louvois Marie Blaise,' said the P^re Meulon, his keen blue eyes glistening in the dark with mirth, much out of place at such a time — ' Jean Louvois Marie Blaise, thoir art beau gargon, I know at least one person who thinks so.'

I did not at first understand what the priest meant ; but gradually he enlightened me. 'One Mademoiselle Jaubert, who was present when you were sentenced to death, has taken a fancy to you. She has great influence with Madame, the lady of the Commandant, who is, in fact, the Commandant, and can save your life, if she chooses to do so. The condition, is marriage. I must make you man and wife, here, in this ceU, — ^which I take to be, looking at the situation, genuine priestly consolation ! ' < Mademoiselle Jaubert ! ' I stammered. ' Mademoiselle Jaubert i ' My head seemed turning round, and I hardly knew whether I stood upon it or upon my ftet. * Made*

MOirSIEtJR BLAISB, 881

moiselle Janbert t-^o yon mean the yonng lady in a bine- silk dress, with a white rose in her blaok hair ? '

<^ The fellow grinned diabolically, showing his teeth, very white teeth, with disgusting effrontery. * No, — ^no, — no. That is an excellent joke, Monsicnr le Permqnier I The yonng lady in the blue-silk dress, with a white rose in lier bl&ck hair, is Monmenr lo Commandant's daughter, $a fille unique,* < Who then, in the devil's name, is Made- moiselle Jaubert ? Except that young person, all the other females, as far as my certainly confused recoUeotion goes, — there was no doubt, a mist before my eyes, — ^were detestably ugly.' ' That is a matter of taste,' said the P^ Meulon, as he called himself. ' The Mademoiselle Jaubert is not probably a Venus, but she is young and sufficiently good-lookiug. She will make Monsieur Blaise an excellent wife, and, which is the essential thing, save him from the bullets of the firing party. Does M. Blaise consent ? ' " -

Joan Louvois Marie Blaise, in his prolix narrative, dwells at great length upon the mental pros and cons which suggested themselves to his mind ; the conclusion finally arrived at being, that it was better — varying the precept of St. Paul — ^that it was better to marry than be shot. He answered in that sense ; and the priest, having settled some minor details, lefl the cell, promising to return with the^ lady in some three or four hours, to go through with the interesting ceremony, the means of flight having been previously arranged. M. Blaise and his bride would take wing from the prison-house. Mademoiselle Jaubert would, moreover, the priest said, bring her husband a dowiy of six thousand francs 1

All this was possible, if we are to accept, without re* serve, the version of the story told by Barber Blaise ; but he soon discovered a needless mystification played off upon liim by the drunken priest, or believed he did. It was

8S2 SCCENTBIO PKaSOJTAGES.

HadfimoiseDe Roland, the Commandant's daughter, who had taken a fancy to the good-looking French seaman. In oon- acquenoe of her intercession, enforced by Madame's nctfolo, siejubeo, it had been conceded, he was presently told, by the Commandant, that the escape of the prisoner should be winked at, facilities eyen afforded him for getting away.

The decisi?e moment approached," continues M. Blaise. I was trembling from head to foot with excite- ment. The priest enters ; he has a lamp in his hand ; behind him steab gently, with softest footfall, a figure— a youthful figure — draped in bhe silk. My heart beats violently. Am I awake ? Can it be possible ? Yes I the

bride is the Commandant's daughter The

ceremony is over ; we indulge in one embrace. The priest — ^whose face I had not once disdnctly seen, it having been almost totally dark when he first came in, and now that he has brought a lamp, his cowl is drawn almost completely oyer it — the priest gives us his blessing, adding, as he draws the bride away some paces, and in a low voice ^ves her what I suppose to be confidential pious counsel, *Ah / le9eiUrat:

" The lady renews the cloak, that of an acolyte ; the cowl of a priest concealed her face, as that of the priest did his, and which she had thrown off after entering the odL The door was closed as the priest hands me a paper, which I read by the light of the lamp. It is a printed form, filled up and signed by the Commandant : — ' Let the bearer of this and his companions pass out freely.' We go tbrth : the sentineb, three of them in all, scrutinise the paper, recognise its validity, and we are presently clear of the batteiy. A caUche is in waiting for us ; we take our seats, and are driven off at a gallop. The bride is reserved, draws herself up in one comer of the vehicle, and speaks but in monosyllables. The gravity of the situation, I think

MONSIETJK BLAISE. • 888

to myself, impresses her ; placing herself, as she haa, in an access of romantic caprice, at the direction of a man whom she had seen bat for a few minutes, and of whose character she is necessarily ignorant. Well, she is a charming creatnre, and will find, me a tender husband, a man of strictest honour. I was disquieted somewhat, I must con- fess, as to the actuality of the six thousand francs ] no doubt they were in the valUe under the seat. Madame Blaise could not, surely, have forgotten to secure that essential item in our contract I Not likely — cependant. But it would be indelicate to speak upon such a subject Besides, Madame Blaise had fallen asleep.

^* The caUche, after about two hours, stops at a wayside aubergcy not far^ as I perceive by tho pale starlight, from the left bank of the Garonne. We do not descend, and as the air is fresh and chill, I willingly accept one, two, three petits verres, brought out to me by the obliging conductor of the eaUche. The eaurde-vie is not bad, but has, it seems to me, a peculiar taste. Again en route, faster, if poanble, than before. Fatigue, the swinging motion of the Tehicle, cause a drowsiness which I cannot resist. I fall into

profound slumber At last I awake, slowly,

with effort I am wide awake. Grand Diea ! How is this ? Am I mad ? Why, a hundred thousand devils 1 I am again on board of the cruiser Phoebus, English frigate, in my old berth 1 ' And where is Julie — ^where is my wife ? ' I ask frantically of the sailors near by. I am answered with insult, laughter; told to sleep out my drunken fit by the brutal god-dams. What do they know about my wife ? I cannot yet believe my senses. Thunder of heaven, I am crushed. It is the end of the world 1 I jump up, hastily search my pockets. Nom de Dieu t I find iu them the twenty-two English guineas which had

SSJt EOOSNTEIC FBBSOKAGES.

been taken from mo— nothing else t A vertigo seises me, and I swoon outright.

"Recovered somewhai, I seek an interview with the captain. He tells me that a compassionate French fisher- men foand me lying drunk and speechless on the shore; that a < Monsieur ' — a stranger to him — came up and said I was an English sailor who had escaped from a militazy prison, and that it would be a charity to place me on board the EDglish frigate standing off and on the coast The fisherman agreed to do so, and — me voUdt. I was stunned, and could neither speak nor think connectedly for several days. The mystery was inscrutable."

Not inscrutable, if not of easy solution, even to some who had been behind the scenes when the curious comedy was being acted at the Battery. Poor Blaise was soon made to comprehend the trick which had been played him — ^par- tially, at least.

Upon the fourth day subsequent to his being reconsigned to the Phoebus, a boat put off at earliest dawn from the shore, and pulled for the frigate. Bestless Jean Louvois Marie Blaise was on deck, and watched with curiosity and interest the approach of the boat^ in which females were seated. That curiosity and interest became inflamed, in- tensified, as soon as he discerned that one of the ladies wore a blue dress. Could it be Julie, his charming wife, who was about to rejoin her husband ? Blaise begged the, loan of a glass. An officer handed him one. Heavens I the lady was Julie, his beautiful bride. The mystery would be explained, and he should be the happiest of men. No one — ^not cvea an Englishman — ^would have the heart to detain him on board the Phoebus, and deprive him of the society of a newly-wedded wife. Joy ! Ecstasy 1 Jean Lou*

MOKSIEUB BLAISE. 885

Tois Marie Blaise capered about the deck like a maniac, to ihe great amusement of the captain and lieutenants of the frigate^ who were in the secret.

" Julie — adorable Julie 1" exclaimed M. Blaise the moment the lady's foot touched the deck, and rushing towards her with extended arms. ' ^< Julie — adorable

Julie ! " " Go to the devil I" interrupted a gruff voice,

accompanied bj a violent thrust from a powerful arm, which hurled M. Blaise half across the deck. The assailant was the English lieutenant who interpreted at the court-martial. Malediction I — he — that infernal lieutenant — introducd Julie to the captain of the frigate as " My wife, Madame Seymour." This Monsieur Blaise saw and heard, for the moment doubting the evidence of his ears and eyes. A vertigo must have again seized him, as he was carried below in a state of insendbility."

The explanation, as given by M. Blaise, is not very clear. It Appears that Lieutenant Seymour, who was a prisoner on parole, expecting every day to be exchanged, had found favour with Mademoiselle Juhe, daughter of the command- ant) and that his secret suit was smiled upon, not only by the desired one herself, but madame her mother. Lieuten- ant Seymour, besides being a handsome, well-bred man, was the heir of a large fortune and a title — ^would be a << milord," according to madame's apprehension, and it was certain that his wife would be a « miladi " before many years had passed. That being so, the difference between a peerage and a baronetcy was inappreciable. But the commandant was a stem hater of the English. True that madame would ultimately have coerced her husband into giving his assent to the marriage, but that would have required time, and time was not to be had. Now the commandant had never seriously meant to allow execution to be done upon poor Blaise, and the expedient hit upon was to obtain the

886 BCCBNTRIO PEB80NAQBS.

governor's consent to bis escape upon condition ihat he married Annette Janbert, who had really oonoeived a liking for the good-looking and unhappy French seaman, and of which damsel, a great fayoorite of his wife, Monaenr le Commandant was very anxious, for reasons of his own, to be rid as soon as might be, or else farewell the tranqnil mind, farewell content on his, the conunandant's part, before more than five or six months had passed away. The dnmken old chaplain attached to the Battery was made an accomplice in the plot. He lent Seymour his clerical habiliments, and the next morning, when the flight of Mademoiselle Julie was discovered, persisted that he had married her to the French seaman, by the especial order of Mcmsieur le Commandant Had he not said, '^ A young lady has fallen in love with the French seaman condemned to death : marry them ; afler which they can both be off. This paper will enable them to leave without being questioned.*' It so fell out ; though why Seymour, dis- guised as the priest, went through the mock ceremony, is not so clear. One understands that it was essential that Lieutenant Seymour should be entirely free from suspicion, or the commandant might, till hb daughter were restored to him, refuse — and the millitary authorities would have sustained such refusal — to give effect to the exchange which was about to be carried out. The female who came off in the boat with Madame Seymour was Mademoiselle Jaubert. There was some attempt made to bring about a match between her and Jean Louvois Marie Blaise, but that per- secuted marin was too much disgusted with the sex to listen for one moment to the proposal. It is incidentally remarked by M. Blaise, towards the end of his pamphlet, that the commandant became reconciled to his daughter's marriage with the English lieutenant, and that both he and madame speak with a proud comjdacency of Miladi Seymour. One

MOIfSISUB .BLAISB. 887

condition of foigivenoss he made, wldch was that Mademoi* selle Jaubert should on no aoeonnt return to France. He had conceived a violent antipathy to that damsel, who ought to many and settle in England. *<< Effectively/' adds M. Blaise, <' Mademoiselle Jaubert did many in Albion, w^d the dishonour which it was thought to fix upon me was reserved for an Englishman. Ee would not care much for that if she brought him a dowry of six thousand francs."

Through the hons offices of Lieutenant Seymour, M. Blaise was sent ashore on some part of the coast of France with money in both pockets.

" From that time," saysM. Blaise, "I was the irrecon- cilable foe of the English nation. Like the Carthaginian fiannibal, I shall at a fitting age insist that my two sons, Jean and Philibert, make oath at the altar of €k>d of wagmg eternal war against that perfidious people by whom I have suffered so much. Meanwhile I volunteered into active service against them. I entered on board the Calypso corvette, and may say, without boasting, that some rays of the gloiy acquired by that vessel fell upon me. After that I was drafted to the Bedoubtable, Capitaine Lucas. That ship was covered with imperishable honours at the fatal, but glorious battle of Trafalgar. I was a capital marksman^ and was stationed in the maintop. I saw the famous Nelson on the quarter-deck, pacing to and fro. I aimed at him : my ball took effect, but not that time upon the admiral. No — ^but one feU I I afterwards, upon reading the bulletins, thought it might have been his secretary. Perhaps: I am not sure. I fired many times, not without effect At last I had an opportunity of taking steady aim at the English admiral — ^there was no niifltjiking him. I fired, as did — let me be frank — three or four of my camaradea at the same moment, or nearly 00. The

888 BGOENTBIO PBBSONAOBS.

great admiral — the tenor of tbe Fr^ch navy — no, not tenor; the word is misplaced: terror is xmknown to the French heart — ^I should say the great admiral, who was the most saooessfol commander of the English sea-wobes, fell prone upon the deck, mortally wonnded. I cannot poo- tivdy say— I am not entirely sore that it was by my hand the English admiral fell ; bat the belief that it was is a bahn tomyheartt

^ In that terrible fight I was wounded in the leg. We made frantic efforts, seeing that the battle was inevitably lost, to avoid an English prison. A dosen of ns contrived to let ourselves down into a boat alongside. We rowed towards a Spanish ship, were received on board, and safely landed at Gadii. Thence, by help of the French c^msol, I was enabled to reach France — St Malo. I at once es- tablished in the Rue du Bac, married, and have, as I odd, two children — boys— devoted to assist in the destruction of England. For myself, I am constantly studying plans for the annihilation of the British Marine whenever the war breaks out again. I incline strongly to the use of balloons. But there are difBiculties, which I hope to be able to surmount. My wife is opposed to these enterprises of mine ; one reason being, that, by an accidental explosion during an experiment, the too£ of the house was blown of^ and a woman was killed in the street by the falling of a laxge piece of timber upon her head. Poor woman ! I deplored the accident with a sincere sorrow. But what will you have? Science, like war, has its victims, yet both are glorious ! Jeannette also fears that I may n^ect my business. That is a vain fear. It is still carried on, as I have said, with vigour and success, at Num^ro 11 of the Bue du Bac. Be pleased to notice the number; and I trust, before long, to present my beloved France with

MONSIBUB BLAI8B. 889

terrible eogineB of destruction, that will enable her to amply ayenge Trafalgar, Waterloo, and many other battles, chiefly won by English gold."

These patriotic aspirations were not to be realised. The enterprising projector blew himself np one fine day, more effectually than did the English off Rochefort. In one of the gray^ards of St. Malo there is a rather pretentious monumental stone, upon which is inscribed, '< Ci git Jean Louvois Marie Blaise, Perruquier, victime deson godtpoi- tiontU pour le science. His afflicted widow and sons still carry on the htimness at NunUro 11 Rue du BacJ' The last two lines must either haye been borrowed from an inscription at P^re-la-Chaise, or the PaiiA widow must haye copied that at St. Malo.

MADAME LA COMTESSE DE OENUa

This ladj made a great noLse in her lime, was <me of the self-appointed reformers of the world, and one too, who set herself serionsly to the task of teaching the na- tions how to liye. The pity of it was that her lessons had but slight self-applicability. A very clever w<Hnan, no doubt of that, laughingly as we may demur to her glorify- ing sdf-estimate when, writing in her eightieth year of the magnificent promise of her youth, she says : ^ The colossal reputation I have since achieved, and which I am bold to predict, time will confirm and extend, had then scarcely risen above the intellectual horizon." One may smile at this whilst admitting that she composed some veiy pretty papers. The Palace of Truth, for example, might in these publishing revival days pay for reprinting. The maiden name of Madame de Genlis was Stephanie F^cit^ Ducret de St. Aubin. She was bom at Ghampc^ry, prte d'Autun, early in the year 1746. That she was destined to distinction was evident to discerning eyes — I am quoting her own Mimoires Inidits — ^when she was still in her cradle. By a special Providence only 'was this future light of the world saved from extinguishment, at that tender age, by the heavy blear-eyed mayor of Autun. '< The nurse," writes Madame de Gknlis, '< having much needlework to despatch, and being careful of my safety, sewed up in a soft pillow — ^my body only, not my head — and placed me in a large /auteuU, I was always a quiet docile child| of remarkable sweetness of diq>osition. Mon-

liADAME LA GOMTESSE DB GEIOJS. 891

sienr le Maire d' Anton came in ] he irished to speak with mamma. The nurse said she would infonn Madame that MoDsisur le Maire had called, and wished to see her. Thank you/ said the ponderous functionary ; and spread- ing the tails of his r&Iingote, was ahout to seat himself upon me. Happily the nurse had not left the apartment. Her scream of alarm arrested the movement of Monsieur le Maire, and I was saved. It was not the good nurse who saved me ; no ; it was Ood himself acting hy her instru- mentality. He had given me a mission upon earth, which He had decreed should he fulfilled."

The success of that mission was, according to Madame's own account, complete. She thus wrote in the eighty- second year of her age, when her sight needed not the aid of spectacles, and her hearing was as acute as ever; her memory, intellect brighter, if that could be possible, than ever, and she was preparing to re-write the Encyclopidie with the very laudable purpose of superseding the impious compilation of d*Alembert, Voltaire,^and their brother sceptics. It is I, exclaimed octogenarian Madame la Comtesse, " who will strike down, never to rise again, the monsters of Infidelity and Atheism. To do so will be the fulfihnent of my sacred mission. Already have I dealt terrible blows at a false sterile philosophy. And who will deny that I have exercised a supreme and salutary influ- ence upon public and private education, especially as regards the study of living languages, which I have brought into fashion ? The world, moreover, owes to me the total extinction of fairy tales, once permitted to bo used in the education of children. To sum up, I have fought victori- ously against heresy in all things, especially in literature."

The marquisate and chdteau of St. Aubin had been bought of a bankrupt proprietor by Stephanie F^licit^'s father, he thereby acquiring nobility by purchase. My

892 BCCENTBIO PSBBONAQfiSt

fint title to preeedenoe/' writes the De Genlis in those ox thick Toloznes of Mhnoire$ IniditSj — " my fiist title to preeedence was derived from a higher source. At sevea years of age the Grand Prior of the noble Chapter of Allix, at Lyon — discerning, he has been pleased to say, the aurS- oU of moral grandeur, the first rays of which shed li^t upon my youthful brow— Ksreated me a canoness of the illustrious Chi^ter ; a dignity which at once oonfera the secular tide of countess. If in after years the neophyte chose to complete her profession, to devote herself to a reli^ous life, she could do so, and thereby share in the rich prebends at the disposal of the Grand Prior. Only a French woman, and a singularly eccentric one, oould write thus of herself; and with a nam calmness, too, indicative that her self-laudation was entirely sincere.

Stephanie F^licit^, I should have before stated, was publicly baptized in Paris, whatever pttblio baptism may mean ; at which ceremoay the precious child wore an iron collar round her neck, " to keep my small Grecian head well set upon my shoulders, and blue goggles on my eyes, to con- ceal and correct a slight squint, which if not remedied, would have marred the ezpreseion of mild gentle candour which has been held to be my eyes' supremest charm." The Marquise de Bellevue, her godmother, remarking upoo the name given her, F^cit^, s^d, '* Ah, dear child, felicity will not be hers I she has too much sensibility." " She was right," remarks Madame la Comtesse. Alas, she was right!"

The reader will understand that I present him with the portrait of Madame de OenUs as painted by herself; I neither attempt to heighten nor subdue its colouring. I acquired with wonderful facility the elements of education. My brother who was esteemed a prodigy, — ^he had learned to read and write perfectly in six weeks, — ^I distanced with

UADAMB LA C0HTES8B DB GSZTLIS. \ 893

ease. In sbort, and I baye earned the right to say so, before I was fifteen all the mental treasures of the world were familiar to me. Weary at last of poring oyer the thoughts of others, profoundly imbned with a propbetio instinct, which has not deceived me, that I bad facalties, divine gifbs, equal to those of the greatest lights in litera- ture ; conscious, too, that by force of the harmonies of my being I was a bom musician, I determined first to be actress and author. No opposidon was offered to the gratification of my wishes. They were encouraged, stimulated. Private theatricals were extemporised at the chateau ; and it was declared by competent judges that n^ Zaire was equal to, if it did not surpass, Clairon's ; whilst my Ph^dre [Countess Stephanie being at the time in ber sixteenth year] was held to be far superior in passionate force to hers."

Madame de Genlis piously attributes ber faculties, her charms, to the all-powerful Being who created her. She seems, when half out of breath in enumeratbg her perfec- tions, to be always modestly ejaculating with Dogberry, « Gifts that God gives— gifts that God gives 1

The Countess Stephanie, as author or authoress, was from the first eminently successful. " My pen possessed a charm unknown to myself till I was made aware of it by the ardent applause of all classes. One thing I must say in praise of myself. That which distinguished me from all other persons of a romantic imagination was, that I only in my books invented incidents which would afford me opportunity for portraying qualities of the soul which I venerated — ^patience, courage, presence of mind, firmness. Thus even in the reveries of my infancy there was a found- ation of love, of glory and vLctue, which in a child must be pronounced remarkable."

It was not alone in the field of literature, of poesy, that she could repeat Caesar's Thrasonian brag, <' Vent,

894 BOOBNTBIG PEBSONAGBS.

^icU, vicp' — ( I came, I saw, I ooaqnered"). Kate Kear- ney, — ^Lady Morgan's Kate Kearney's glance could not have been more fatal to the rash gazer than that of th^ Coontess Stephanie. ^' I was but eleven yean old,*' she writes, << and small of my age, when I inspired the fint passion — ^at least the first avowed passion— quite nncon- scioosly. I even felt shocked, grieved, when a son of one Pinat, an apothecary, proclaimed a devotion whidi he could no longer conceal, in verses glowing with a Sappho's fire. If there was no other proof of the distrac- tion of mind, the delirium of love, with whieh Louis Pinat was afflicted, it would be manifest in the fact that he had overlooked the impassible gulf which must ever separate, as to honourable relations with each other, noble- men and apothecaries." Mademoiselle Stephanie Fdlidt^ loftily rebuked young Pinat's audacity, and advised him, since it was highly improbable he could ever be cured whilst residing near, he had daily opportunities of seeing her, to leave that part of the countiy before the mischief aheady done was irremediable, and betake himself to some part of the world where such fatal facilities would be denied to him. ^'The young man," says Madame de Oenlis, yielded to my advice, and departed for Paris, where he obtained a situation." When lovers come, it would seem from the young Countess Stephanie Fdlicit^s experience, they come in crowds. ^' A Monsieur de Men- doige, the first man," she says, '< who gave me the idea of a. conversation really agreeable, after hearing me sing one of his own songs, composed in my honour, and feeling, that the disparity in our ages considered, marriage was out of the question, sought safety in flight, rejoined his family — a large one — and ultimately succeded in banishing my image from his memory." One Louvel, an avocat, was the next victim. He was a young man of great promise

MADAHB LA OOMTESSB J>B GBKLISU 895 '

in his profession; but coming within the iaflnence of Stephanie F^licit^'s <<Boft spiritual eyes/' and meeting with a peremptory refusal, first determined upon suicide, but having been educated by a pious mother, he changed his mind, and emigrated to Saint Domingo. ' This irresistible siren did not herself boast of trans- cendent beauty, with the exception of *^ the brightest of brown hair, and the sweet candour of soft spiritual eyes." It must, therefore, have been her accomplishments, her wit, her conversational powers — Madame herself inclines to this opinion — which compelled the adoration of mankind. It is true that some snarling objectors — ^' sceptics of a mean, malignant type" — ^have asserted that Madame's "conquests," as reported by herself, are edronger proofs of her imaginative powers than all her acknowledged romances put together. But it was ever thus. Envy, we all know, does merit like its shade pursue. If Yenus and Minerva were to appear in tho flesh, thousands would pronounce one to be plain, the other a fool. So at least says the authoress of the Palace of Truth and the Siege of Bochelle. She was perhaps right. There are scores of decently-educated men of the present day who will tell you to your face that Thackeray was a sour, pretentious pump ; that Dickens is destitute of genuine humour; that Miss Braddon is a mistake. Que vouUz-wms t

The brightest of brown hair, the sweetest candour of soil* spiritual eyes, did not unfortunately avail to pay interest on mortgages, liquidate butchers', bakers', wine- i^erchants' bills. M. de St. Aubm, after some despairing struggles against adverse fate, sold his marquisate and ch&teau to meet the demand of ravening creditors, who insolently persisted in claiming and enforcing their just debts. Finding that but about four hundred per annum

896 XCCSNTBIO PEBflONAGXS.

remained to him, unmarqniaed Moiusienr de Si. Anbin embarked for Saint Domingo, wbeie he met with Louvd the avocat, whose bleeding, broken heart, a BncceeaM siigar- specolation had ataanched and bound up. Pe St. Aubin himself waa not 80 fortunate, and after a not very lengthened xeaidence in the island, returned to Europe, not to the port of France for which he sailed. The ship in which he embarked was snapped up by the English loups de mer, and M. de St. Aubia found himself a prisoner in Lannceston castle, Cornwall, instead of with his wife and family at Plassy, France, whether they had betaken themselTes when he left Stb Aubin, and were still residing.

• ' It was at Plassy," says Madame de Qenlis, '< that I

myself first became conscious of a faculty bestowed upon me by the Eternal — no question with a special purpose* It was the gift of judging the soul by the face. I poaseBsed that gift in a high degree. I knew, and told Monsieur de la Papalin^, a farmer-general and generous patron of literature, that de Chalons, a neighbour, was a secret assassm. This a subsequent discovery confirmed. And I foretold that the Abb^ de la Caste would be hanged. This was not strictJy, but substantially correct. The abb^, who was not a clergyman, was condemned to the galleys."

It would have been merciful had the fascinatiDg Countess Stephanie F^cit^ publiAed, placarded her inexorable determination, arrived at before she had passed her four- teenth birthday, to marry only a man of quality and attached to the court It might have saved the life of poor Baron de Zeolachen, Colonel of Swiss Guards, and eighty years of age, who fell so hopelessly in love with the irresistible, fascinating damsel, " that his days," records his destroyer, "were shortened," — (surely not by many years, he being eighty when he succumbed to the sorceress)

ICADAMB LA C0UTBS8B DB GENUS. 897

-— <<were shortened by the yiolenoe of his emotions. It was better so, perhaps," adds Madame. << There is foiget- fubess in the grave.

Mademoiselle Stephanie Fdicit^ and her mother had meanwhile removed from their dwelling at Plassy to the Convent of Lea Filles da Pr^ienx Sang. Whilst there, Mademoiselle wrote a second novel, cored the mother superior and many nuns of seemingly mortal maladies by tirop de cdlaba»h-~h compound of her own invention-— and enslaved the Baron d' Andlaw, a gentleman of unblemished descent, who could prove that not one of his long line of ancestors had ever done anything useful or beneficial to mankind, — ^built a house or a ship, — written, much less printed, a book, — neither invented nor improved anything. He sent a list of this illustrious ancestry, pedigree so called, to the divine Stephanie F^licit^, accompanied by an offer of marriage. The young lady, upon whose brow the auriole of coming glory was daily brightening, dedined the honour. " But there was balm in Gilead, she su^ested ; "could he not transfer his offer and pedigree to her mother?" He did so, it bebg then supposed that Mon- sieur de St Aubin was dead. That supposition was premature ; but when, very shortly after, he returned to France, and unmistakably died a prisoner for debt in Fort r£vdque, Madame de St. Aubin became Baroness d*And- law. A monsieur de Morville, "a youthful widower of large fortune, great accomplishments, and of a noble, romantic style of beauty," vainly struggled to resist the spell which the future Madame de Oenlis oast upon him. His suit was rejected, he bemg neither a man of quality nor attached to the court. Decidedly, if the institution called Committee of Public Safety had been invented in her young days, and the members had known and acted up

898 8CCSNTBI0 PXBSONAaKS.

to their duty, -Hademoudle Stdphaaie would have been locked np,— oondemned to sedusion for lifel

At last we obtain a glimpse of the right man, soon to be m the right place. He ia M. le Gomte de Genlia^ who has served in India, under Lallj ToUendal, the crasj, ohiTsl- rooB Irishman whom the French king beheaded, — "mur- dered/' wrote Voltaire, " with the sword of justice,*' — beoanse he had not beaten the English soldiers commanded by Sir Eyre Coote. The Coont de Genlis embarked for France, but, like M. de St. Aubin, was made prisoner by the En^ish sea-wolyes, after "a desperate combat," says Madame, " in which twen^-two out of twenty-three French officers were dain, and M. de Genlis, sole sorvivor, reoeiTed eight woonds, one of which he kept open till he was married." The last sentence is a pouling one. It could hardly mean a woond in the heart; woonds in that region, not by soft spiritual eyes, but by a cutlass or pistol-bullet^ being generally fatal

The Count de Oenlis was confined in the Castle of Launceston with bis future fkther-in-law, H. de St. Aubin. The two became intimate acquaintances, &st friends; and the young gallant captain heard much from the father's lips of the genius and accomplishments of HademoiseUe de. St. Aubin, and promised himself the pleasure of seeing her whenever he again set foot upon the soil of la belle France. Both gentlemen were liberated at about the same time, and returned to France; M. de St Aubin to be arrested for debt, and die in Fort I'Evdque ; the Count de (Jenlis to be raised to the rank of Colonel of Grenadiers for his gallantry in the naval action related in the Mimoires IniditSj the only record of the fight I have met with. He appears to have been in no hurry to visit the daughter of his deceased friends Possibly the awkward fact that that friend had

MADAHB LA C0]I!rE8SB DB OBNIIS. ' 899

died a prisoner for debt had a deterrent effect. He was about to be married, moreover, to a Mademoiselle de la Motte, a lady possessed of forty thousand francs per annum.

At last the Count de Oenl^ did pay a visit to the con- vent of Les Pilles du Pr^cieux Sang; "saw, conversed with me, says Madame, '^ and it was immediately evident that I had obtained an irresistible ascendency over him."

So it proved. MademoiseUe de la Motte, with her sixteen hundred pounds a-year, was forgotten, repudiated, and Mademoiselle de St. Aubin was converted by Holy Church into Madame la Comtesse de Oenlis.

I rather doubt that the gallant count who had married in such haste thought even earlier than is generally the case that he need scarcely have been in such a huny. He should have taken more time to consider. He had married a remarkably strong-minded woman — ^young as she was — when her daughter Caroline was bom she was barely twenty ; and that particular variety of the female genus does not, with some men, improve upon acquaintance — a deficiency of taste, no doubt, upon their parts. Still one can scarcely help sympathbing with a gallant colonel of gr^adiers whose wife, being a capital horsewoman, was perpetually scouring the country in quest of interesting people— such as betrayed damsels, n^lected geniuses, — indefatigable in her inquiries as to the state and progress of education ; and, as if this were not enough, must study phlebotomy under the guidance of one Racine, the village barber, to perfect herself in which science by practice, she paid thirty sous to every peasant or peasantess who would allow him or herself to be bled. M. le Comte complained, and one must admit with some reason, of the frightful expense incurred by such eccentricities. He remonstrates in vain ; Madame's mission must be fulfilled.

Soon her aunt, Madame de Montesson, succeeds in

400 ECCEKTRIO PBB80NA0ES.

inducing th6 aged imbecile Duo D'Orl^ans, the father of Egalitd, grandfather of Looia Philippe, to marry her. Great glory that for Madame la Comtesse, who forthwith makes her appearance at coort, and soon becomes a great favourite with Egalit^ and Us amiable duchess. The favour of her grace does not long eDdure, but that of the duke was lasting, permanent Egalit^ offered the office of "governor" to his children. M. de Gknlis, who had not accompanied Us wife to Parb, being informed of the duke's gracious proposition, demurred thereto, and requested his wife to rejoin him in the country. She refused to do so, and they never again saw each other.

Madame de Qenlis forwith entered upon her funetioos as governor or governess of the Orleans children, at a salary of about five hundred pounds per annum ; apartments^ board, and a promise of the oordan hUu^ when her task should be fulfilled.

That task was an onerous one, if the lady govemees is to be believed. The cUldren knew nothing— positively notUng. She writes : " The Duo de Yalois (afterwards Duo de Chartres d'Orl^ans — ^Eing Louis Philippe,) the Due de Yalois, who was eight years old, was totally devmd of application. I b^an with a few Ustorical lectures. He, not even affecting to listen, stretched himself, yawned, lolled back upon a sofa, and placed his feet upon the table before us." This could not be endured ; the young prince was discreetiy punished, and thenceforth " he quietiy sub- mitted to my firm and reasonable rule."

One of this lady's educational crotchets was that every one, no matter what their station in life, should be in- structed in one or more useful trades or prpfesfflons. The male scions of the Orleans family were in accordance with her theory taught gardening, carpentry, shoemaking, sur- gciy, &c. Madamo herself undertook to preside over the

MABAMB LA COMTBSSB DB QISSU3. 401

phannaioeatical department^ which she oaUed instrnoting her pupils in chemistry. The Dae de Chartres, by diligent practice with the servaiits of the establishment, could open a vein with tolerable dexterity, and once broke the jaw of a boy-helper in the stables who was suffering from toothache by way of trying his 'prentice hand in dental surgery. It was, however, in carpentry that the future King Louis Philippe best yindicated Madame's educational theory, though his abilities as a bricklayer and builder were far above mediocrity. Madame's success with the Duo Hlq Chartres had but one drawback ; he became so violently attached to her as to be quite troublesome. " He attached hijnself passionately to me," says the Irresistible, who as of right — ^being as she then was the young prince's senior by more than a quarter of a century — ^remonstrated with him upon the absurdity of having no eyes, no ears for any one but her overpowering self, putting himself, to use Madame's not very elegant expression, " putting himself always in my pocket." It was useless to attempt moderating the ardour of De Chartres' passionate devotion. It was throwing oil upon flame. Some years subsequently, when a dvio crown was awarded to the prince for having saved a man from drowning, he instantly despatched a leaf, not to his mother, sisters, or brothers, but to Madame : << for without you, what should I have been ? " That leaf the romantic Comtesse preserved with religious care. It was one of her most precious relics of the heart. The fervid attachment towards her of Egalit^ Due d'Orl^ans, and of De Chartres, caused Madame, who was on an educational tour through France with her grown-up pupils, to exclaim in her very best, most affecting manner, whilst gazing with them upon the sculptured tomb of Diana of Poictiers, <' Happy womaaj She was beloved alike by father and son." Madame, who like De Chartres, had at first ^lailed the B5

402 EOCENTBIO PERSONAGES.

Berolutioii— *tbe Prince, as most of us are aware, joined the Jacobin Clab — ^like him was fortunate enongh toeyade, and bat just in time, its deadly clutch. He escaped to Switzerland, Madame to England, thence passed over to Belgium, and was in Hamburgh, when a message from Napoleon, then First Consul, reached her through Lava- lette^ The victor of Marengo, " alive to the necessity of attaching to his triumphal chariot-wheels the great intel- lects of France, invited me to return to Paris. I was to have an allowance of six thousand francs per annum, upon condition that I wrote something every fortni^t, whether of politics, literature, morality, — any thing that came into my head. I eagerly complied, for exile had become in- 8u£ferable, and Napoleon acknowledged he had made an excellent baigain/' As Madame had previously obtained an annuity of one thousand crowns of Caroline, Queen of Naples, by her Orphean skill on the harp, and impas- sioned advocacy of monarchical principles," she was at last quite well off. The consideration which was stipulated for by Napoleon was a mere bagatelle to a lady who boasted of having written in one short morning an article upon the censorship of the Press, by official order ; the first chapter of a new novel ; a feuilletan called Fridale the Artist ; and an Euay upon Sympathy, at the solicitation of her amiable friends the Misses Byrne.

Madame continued her career of glory to the end ; her powers of intellect and fascination l*emaining as bright, — we have her own word for it, and she ought to know, — as bright and resplendent at eighty as at eighteen I "

I must not conclude this eccentric life without tran- scribing an episode which throws a strong revealing light upon it. Madame shall state her own case ; the commen- tary will be furnished by Thomas Moore, author of Loves of the Angels.

\

MADAME LA COMTESSE DE GENUS. 403

In the year 1787 a charming English child was received into Madame de Genlia' family circle, and educated with her princely pupils. Madame, who wa^ an admirer of Bichardson, gave her the name of Pamela. This child grew np to be a beautiful young woman, and was, being very amiable and sensitiye, profoundly grateful to her benefactress. When Madame fled, just in time, from Paris, Pamela accompanied her, remaining with her throughout her continental wanderings, and when at Hamburgh, where Madame la Comtesse received the welcome as well as com- plimentaiy message from Napoleon, the charming Pamela attracted the notice and subjugated the heart of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, the unfortunate Irish patriot in Milesian estima- tion, an audacious rebel in the English vocabulary.

Lord Edward, finding himself hopelessly enthralled by the divine Pamela, formally offered her his hand in marriage. This was a great catch for the young lady, a second edition of PamdUy or Virtue Rewarded.

The young lady was quite willing, and her kind, judici- ous preceptress accepted the homage for her proUgie of so distinguished a nobleman, upon one condition, that the consent in writing of the Duchess of Leinster to the mar- riage should be first obtained. This, after some delay, was obtained, and the wedding took place in Hamburgh. In the marriage-raster the bride is called " Citoyenne Anne Caroline Stephanie F^licit^ Sims, daughter of William de Brixey.'^ Immediately after the ceremony the happy pair net out for Dublin.

The early history of the interesting Pamela is circum- stantially set forth by Madame la Comtesse in one of her books. The pretty story is thus told :

Pamela's father, whose name was Seymour, married in the city of Christchurch, Hampshire, one Mary Sims, with whom he embarked for a place called Fogo, in Newfound-

404 EOOENTBIO FEBS0NA6ES.

land, where Pamela was bom and baptized Anne, after her maternal grandmother. Seymour died, and the widow with her child reiomed to Christchurch, and there by a happy ooncatenation of circnmstanoes happened to be M. Forth, an agent of the Bake of Orleans, specially-commis- sioned by Us royal highness to procure him a pretty English girl-chUd. M. Forth was struck with the beau^ of the infant Pamela ; a negotiation ensued, and Madame Seymour, nie Sims, parted wiih her child for a handsome consideration. M. Forth brought her to Paris, and Madame de Cknlis, with the tender generosity which distinguished her, agreed to superintend her education. As she advanced in years, beauty, and goodness, she became more and more attached to, and beloved by, Madame la'Comtesse, who at last became alarmed lest the mother should reclaim her.

• • I consulted several eminent jurisconsults," writes Madame,

'< and was advised that the only mode by which I could legally secure possession of one whom to part with would have been death to both of us, was by inducing ihe widow * Sims ' (nc) to apprentice her daughter to Madame de Genlis, for the whole term of Pamela's or Ann's minority. This was done," says Madame, in a legal form. The mother was cited before the grand banc, then presided over by the grand juge, Lord Mansfield ; the mother and Lord Mansfield signed the indenture of apprenticeship, and I'amela could no longer be torn from me.

This farrago of absurdities could hardly have been that which imposed upon Lord Edward Fitzgerald and the Duchess of Leinster. Pamela's father, as we have seen, wus set down in the marriage-register as William de Brixey, — ^not Seymour or Sims. The commentary of Thomas Moore in his Life of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, is pithily expressed: The indisputable truth is, that Pamela was the daughter of Madame de (}enlls by the Duo d'Orldans."

I

HAPAHE LA OOMTESSB DB GSNLIS. 405

Madame la Gomtesse continued to live a pleasant life in Paris. She was the adviser and confidante of the sno- cessive consular, imperial, royal governments, — ^^'but un- happily," she sadly remarks, my counsel, the result of profound study of the actual situation — study undisturbed by passion — ^was not always followed. Hence the catas- trophe of Moscow, — the July barricades 1 Napoleon and Charles X. were wise too late. Had either permitted him- self to be implicitly guided by me, all would have been well."

This omniscient, if not exactly immaculate lady, died in her eighty-fourth year, on the 31st of December, 1830, a few months only after her distinguished pupil, Louis Philippe, who without her would have been nothing," leapt from the barricades into the throne vacated by Charles X.

THE LADT-WITCH.

Thb curious story of the Lady Morris, onoe hdd in Don- caster and the country-side for miles around to be gospel truth, but for the last century poob-pooh'd even there into oblivion, must have had a strong foundation of troth. In- ternal and external evidence seem to prove that. The lady, it may be admitted, fras a magician, but hens was natural magic — the magic of singular beauty, combined with an astute, unscrupulous intellect; and her moral or immoral husbandry found an ezhaustless field for its exercise in the ever-fruitful soil of human weakness and credulity. The success of the Lady-Witoh, like that of Joseph Balsamo, is easily enough accounted for without the attribution of supernatural functions. It seems pretty clear that the only mesmeric influence, in which I have any faith — ^that which flashes from the dark, liquid, penetrative eyes of a beauti- All woman, revealing by its dazzling light unfathomable depths — ^was with her a vezy potent instrument of power.

Helen Royston was bom in a cottage situate in the en- virons of Doncaster, and distant a few miles only from that city. Her mother died when she was still an infant (1653,) . and her father, once one of Cromwell's world-famous troop- ers — " Valiant-for-Truth Royston" was his military tohri- quet — after the "crowning mercy" at Naseby, where he was severely wounded, settled down for the remainder of his days near his native city ; married ; had one daughter, Helen; followed his loving and beloved partner to the grave; and thenceforward the stem practical man of war

THE LADY-WITCH. 407

came gradaaUj to be a dreamer of dreams. The near approach of the period when Satan should be bonnd for a thousand years— which he had once as firmly believed in as that it was his duty to smite the ungodly, hip and thigh, and spare not — ^faded from the tablet of his creed. He ceased to believe in the Millennium. At all events he ceased to hope that it would dawn upon a sinful world in his own lifetime — that is, if that lifetime could not be inde- finitely prolonged. The hazy speculations of the veteran took that direction, and like hundreds of other alchemaio visionaries, he diligently set himself to the study of the sci- ence taught by the adepts conversant with the doctrines taught by the brethren of the Eosy Gross. In other words, he devoted himself to the discovery of the £lizir of Life — the manufacture of gold from the basest metals, his dazzling reward, perennial life ; inexhaustible riches !

We need not foUow John Royston through the mazes of a dream from which he never awoke, dyii^ as he did at the veiy moment when for the thousandth time he believed that the hour of supreme success was about to strike.

Royston inherited a modest income, partiy terminable with his life, more than sufficient for his own and daughter's needs. He had also skill in pharmacy, was acquainted with the qualities of herbs and other simple medicaments. These in many cases-^some pronounced incurable by orthodox practitioners — ^were administered with great success. His daughter, as she grew up in strength, remarkable intelli- gence, and rare beauty, took this good Samaritan work into her own hands. She acquired a strange influence over her patients. The most fractious, obstinate, and wayward, were subdued in her presence as by an irresistible spell. Some muttered to themselves or each other that she had <'an evil eye, and that though she cured persons for the time, it was only to make them her bond-slaves, and that

408 BOCBNTBIC PEBSONAQJBS.

when the time came, they would be made to fed the joke of Blaveiy to which, by having recourse to her, they had subjected themaelTCS.

No fable was too gross fbr general acceptance in those days, and, sooth to say, the present day, in many and many a rural district of enlightened England. The old Crom- wellian and his beautiful daughter, burrowing in such starange seclusion, were believed by hundreds of men and women, who, in the ordinaiy affairs of the worid had their heads screwed on rights to be wiiard and witch ; and that, though apparently kind and charitable, their alms-deeds and medicaments were but devil's gifts, which would have to be repaid with hellish usury one day, no one knows how soon. One thing was certain — ^neither the father nor daughter ever went to church. This would, of course, be the case, orthodox Church-of-England services bemg alone tolerated. It was not likely that Yaliant-for-Truth Boyston would join a prelalic Church, of which Charles I. was the first martyr, or encourage his daughter to do so.

The old man died dreaming, as I have said, of the immediate realization of his Bosicrucian visions. Helen shut herself up in strict privacy for a while, during which time her keen, ambidoua intellect was casting about to dis- cover the true means by which gold could be extracted from inferior substanceSp

By and bye it was known that the lady-witch might be again consulted, and it was given out ^t she not only cured paralytic and otherwise diseased men and women by charms and spells, but that she could tell the future as well as the past of everyone's life ; and that any one who should incur her enmity was doomed to destruction. Helen Boyston had a singularly melodious voice, and would some- times of a moonlight night betake herself to a sort of arbour not many yards distant from a tby lake near the

THE LADY-WITCH. 409

cottage, where her father had kept several swans ; and, herself concealed, warble forth snatches of delidons song. The singer being inyisible, it came to be at last an article of popular faith that on certain moonlight nights HelcDi Boyston assnmed the shape of a swan, for some purpose certainly not heavenly, and known only to herself and the Evil One 1

Suddenly an epidemic spread amongst the horses about the neighbourhood ; scores died ; veterinary skill was powerless to arrest the destruction going on, and horse- doctors whispered solemn hints that the lady-witch was at the bottom of the sad business. Had not old Gaffer Huns- bridge, in whose stables the disease had first broken forth, quarrelled with and, being drunk, -cursed her,— otherwise he would no more have durst do so than have taken a lion . by the beard, — ^for allowing or setting on, as he said, the huge savage mastiff, without which animal she never left the cottage, to worry a favourite pup of his ? There could be no doubt about it ; and was she, because she was a lady-witch ; — ibjit is, dressed finely, and was beautifnl^a device of the devil that too — to escape the well-merited fate which coarse and ugly witches had righteously under- gone ?

Certainly net Still the most forious held back when it was proposed to convert intent into action. At last, the epi- demic not ceasing, a professional witch-finder was summoned to the rescue ; a kind of minor Hopkins, of the name of Stubbs. He had no scruples ; and backed by a mob, the young lady-witch was seized, and spite of the fimous resistance of the mastiff, who lost his life in the vain attempt to defend his mistress, would have. been subjected to the ordeal by water, in the tiny lake where she had so often appeared in the semblance of a swan, but tor the sudden appearance upon the spot of Arthur Morris and a

410 ECGRHTBIC PERSONAGES.

nnmber of college youths, who, like him, were at home for the yacation. Ardior Morris was the youngest eon of the lord of the manor, and had been more than ODoe seen sidling along with the lady-witch in her wood-walks. The interfoence of Arthur Morris and his friends was decisive. Stubhs, " whose heart was well in his work," angrily remon- strated, assuring Arthur Morris and his friends that whoever interfered by force in favour of a witch would certainly pine away and die before the year had passed.

The lady-witch was rescued and restored to her home, and the witch-finder's prophecy was realised so &r as regarded Arthur Morris. He was the shadow of Helen Royston whenever she appeared abroad, and made some excuse for not returning to Cambridge, when he should have done so. He was not, however, it seemed, a favourite with the fair witch who held him in thrall ; so Arthur Morris gradually pined away and died. At the last hour, or nearly so, of his life, the dying son prevailed upon his father, Sir Richard Morris, to send for the lady-witch, for whom the baronet felt almost as superstitious a repugnance as did the stupidest of the boors upon his estate.

There was no end to the stories related of the mis- chievous marvels performed by the b^uiling lady — her supernatural reputation being no doubt much heightened by the eccentric vagaries in which she delighted to in- dulge. I have no space to reproduce the many curious anecdotes circulated respecting her.

At last another victim was about to be offered up to the siren's infernal arts. Richard, eldest son of Sir Richard Morris, the brother of Arthur had fallen under the spell. He, like that unfortunate, might be seen wandering about the woods and meadows with the beautiful witch. Sir Richard was warned. He hastened at once from London, instantly took his infatuated son into strict custody-— at his

THE LADY-WrrCH. 411

own manor-boase, of course — and consulted his brother magistrates as to bow a person who habitually conducted herself in such an altogether ontrof-the-way fashion, bad, it could be proved, ruined the health, destroyed the peace of mind of several very estimable young men, and caused a pestilence amongst the cattle for miles around, should be dealt with.

There were, it would seem, long and grave consultations, without producing any decided result The stories told of the fair witch— -her incantations, her ilight across the lake, when, in the shape of a swan, she received a fnll charge of shot from the gun of a sportsman, screaming as she flew, and that in consequence of the wound she could not appear out for many days — ^broke down, even in the hazy estima- tion of the Doncaater Solomons. At last Sir Kichard, it was reported, had determined to take the matter into his own hands, and no doubt justice would be done. The lady had been summoned to the manor-house— that was positive, for several persons had seen her enter therein. Judgm^ilt would no doubt be speedily pronounced by Sir Bichard. The expectation was verified, and speedily. '< It is all settled," said one of Sir Bichard's deerkeepers, entering a hostdiy one evening. '< The lady-witch won't trouble any of us much longer — '— "

"Hurrah!"

" Won't tronble any of us much longer : 'cause why ? She be gwine to be married right out of hand to Sir Eiohard's eldest son 1 Talk of witches, I say. Whe-e-w.

A DESCKllDANT OF OWEN QLENDOWEB.

I 3>o not Tonoh for the aath^ticity of the genealogy claimed by David Ap Jones Ap Owen, sometime of Gla- moiganshire, Wales, and now, as reported, a saint of respectable standing, second or tburd only in authority and distinction to the great Brigham Yonng himself. Whether David Ap Jones Ap Owen really was, as he asserts, Imeally descended from the warlike Welshman, at whose birth the ftont of heaven was fnll of fieiy shapes, who conld call spirits from the vasty deep, bat which spirits, if we may believe sceptical Hotspur, did not as a rule come at his call — ^David Ap Jones was certainly heir-apparent, whilst only six years old, to a pretty estate in the vicinity of Glamor- gan, his widowed mother having died soon after her beloved wayward boy had passed his sixth birthday. He, moreover, inherited shares in coal and iron mines, and was thought to be heir to a net rental of something like two thoosand pounds a-year — ^not to speak of the accumulations, judi- » cioualy invested by his guardians, two highly-respected Welsh notabilites, which he would come into possession oi on the day he attamed his majority. Blessed, moreover, with health, strength, fine animal spirits, and a handsome person, David Ap Jones was assuredly, could he have thought so, one of the luckiest fellows upon the face of the eartL The genealogy, reaching up to Glendower, might be, and probably was, moonshine; but the estate and mining shares woe substantial verities, in the title to which

A DESCENDAlirr 07 OWEN GLSNDOWBB. 418

the most critical and jaundiced antiquary, in creation could detect no flaw. Fortunate youth 1

Fortunate, do you Bay? David Ap Jones would have replied, whibt yet but sixteen — << a disputatious lad from his youth upwards," swore one of his guardians in an affidavit filed for a certain purpose, to be presently men- tioned, in the High Court of Chancery. << Fortunate, do you say ? No, I am a robber, sir. The arraDgements of society are most absurd, and I am one of its absurdest illustrations. What right, what possible right can I have to the property which the unsocial law will give me in a few years? None whatever. A new gospel, is being preached upon the earth, and its apostie is Robert Owen."

In sober sadness, this descendant of Owen Glendower — that now was a distinction of which he might be legiti- mately proud— was an enthusiastic adherent at a very early age to the social theories of amiable, crack-brained Robert Owen. He was endowed with fine qualities — ^brave, un< selfish, generous — ^a heart open as day to melting charity ; but all of which merits, in the eyes of his matterof-fact friends and relatives, were marred by his ridiculous notions of social equality, equally divided parallelograms, and the like subversive nopsense.

Once, it would seem, in or about 1825-6, his friends had

hopes of him. His fancy WuB caught by the charms of a

• young lady whom he met with at a county ball at Shrews-

buiy. A new light dawned upon him as to the expediency

of sharing every thing with every body. He would have

no partnership in the divine Miss . Certainly not

He proposed for the lady's hand — ^was conditionally ac- cepted ; meaning that he might hope to lead the enchan- tress to the hymeneal altar, if, after due inquiries and wary n^otiations, the << settiements " could be satisfactorily arranged. This, to such a young gentieman as Owen

414 ECCENTRIC PERSONAGES.

Olendower'fl Oweoiaed descendant, must have been alto- gether distasteful, disgnstiDg. Bat he reflected that the peeriess divinity herself oould have had no voice in the^ initiation of sach a slave-niart bargain : he would appeal direct to her. Love in a parallelogram would more than suffice for him; and no doubt the same sublimity of sentiment animated the gentle bosom of his beloved. In- fluenced by that conviction or feeling,. David Ap Jones, Esquire, of Glendower Hall, Glamorganshire, penned the foUowing missive, which subsequently formed one of the grounds of a petition to the Court of Ghanceiy from his relatives, either to order a commission de lunatico tn- quirendoy or at least to issue an injunction to restrain him from making over a fine property which had been in the Ap Jones Ap Ow^ family for thirty descents, to social swindlers, or dreamers — ^the petitioners inclining for choice to the stronger designation. Such was the malignity of the old immoral world, as seen through socialist spectacles 1 In this particular instance, however, that, malignity was foiled by Lord Chancellor Eldon, who, after much less doubting than he was wont to indulge in, dismissed the petition in re David Ap Jones Ap Owen. The following is a copy of the letter :

'< Dearest, — ^The flattering delight with which I read your brief, charming though brief, note in answer to the letter I addressed to you, no -words of mine could express. Angel of my life i every hour of that life shall be devoted to promote, insure your happiness.

'SBut, as sometimes happens at the brightest noon of a summer's day, an envious chilling cloud shadows and glooms the splendour and warmth of the genial day, so has a letter

from Mr. , your esteemed, well-meaning guardian,

obscured, chilled the sunshine of soul kindled by your smiles. He talks of < settlements.* I am to tie up estates^

A DESCEZ7DANT 07 OWEN GLENDOWER. 415

which but a few weeks once I- came mto l^al possession of, for sappositioiis heirs: other conditioDS are mentioned, the sordid air of which oonld only be proposed by a gentle- man whose natnral goodness of heart has been perverted by the doctrines of a false immoral civilisation, which doctrines or dogmas, I feel certain, cannot harmonise with the phil- anthrophio sentiments of my adored Emily.

'^ I will, however, to prevent the possibility of misappre- hension, be entirely candid with you upon this matter. Candonr, openness of speech, is indeed a necessity of my nature, for which I claim no merit, being, as we all are, formed by the force of circumstances and education.

^' I hold as an indisputable fact that I have no right, no moral right, to a larger portion of the earth or the earth's fruits than an equal share with my fellow-men and women. I intend, consequently, to hold the property, which the old immoral law cdls mine, in strict trust for the general uses of the community; and am now in communication with the venerable apostle of a new gospel of peace and harmony, Robert Owen, as to how the properly at my disposal may be best invested in order to contribute, as far as it goes, to the general benefit of the hxmian race— the community dwelling in this principality to be first considered.

This declaration of a fixed principle, which nothing can shake or weaken, may, I fear, shock in some d^ree, I tmst in a very slight d^ee, the natural prejudices which an erroneous system of moral polity may, by education, have engendered in your mind. I ^all not therefore object — and I am certain that the Gamaliel without guile, whose reverent disciple I am proud to avow myself, would approve of the proposal — ^to settle upon you for our exclusive use, so long as you may deem it right to avail yourself thereof, three hundred pounds per annum. Beyond this my con- science would not permit mo to go. Waiting with ardent

416 SOCSNTBIC PERS0NAQB8.

impadenoe for a leassuring word from yoa, I am, with my whole hearty

Your devoted lover,

David Ap Jones Ap Owen."

In the Ghaaeerj piooeedings the yoong lady's reply la not set forth. She was, there can he little qnesdon, alike mystified, ao^ry, and indignant Three hundred a year ! Prepoaterons 1 She, too, who might by a smile, bring Sir

, one of the wealthiest magnates of Wales, to her feet,

Not, perhaps, so handsome — certainly not so young, as David Ap Jones Ap Owen ; bnt having an nncracked brain at all events, and a clear rental of twice the amount of that which David Ap Jones was gobg to toss to a lot of Bed- lamites to scramble for. Three hundred a year 1 Absurd I It would scarcely do more than find her in gloves.

I take the foregobg to be a pretty accurate guess at beloved Emily's soliloquy, basing that guess upon the fiM)t that the lady's guardian promptly replied on behalf of Us ward as well as himself to the ^' preposterous " letter of the eccentric descendant of Owen Glendower, respectfully declining an alliance with a gentleman infected by such levelling, outrageous principles.

David Ap Jones forthwith fled from his ancestral demesne, spite of the dissuasion of his host friendd, amongst them a well-known M.P. for a Webh county, betook himself to London, where he consorted, in all innocence of hearty with the chiefs of the Socialist fraternity, and was seen, so his relatives allied, engaged as a salesman in a baiaar at or near Kbg's Cross, opened under the auspices of Bobert* Owen, of Lanark, and closed under an execution for rent

David Ap Jones was far from being cured by that catastrophe of his '< old corrupt world-despising opinions. His vagaries, however, did not run in a straight line, —

A DESCBNDAlfr OF OWBN GLENDOWEB. 417

I snppoee yagaries seldom do, — ^and he diverged from King's Cross to some amateur theatrical concern, carried on in what is now Wellington Street, Govent Garden; plajed Borneo, Hamlet, and all the topping characters; but had not, it seemed, hit upon his true vocation. Cer- tainly he had the gift of genius, inventive genius, if it be true that he wrote a fictitious narrative, which attracted much attention at the time, puiportang to be the actual experiences of a young man from the country, who had been buried, alive by the falling in of the roof of the Brunswick Theatre.

It was written, imquestionably with much graphic power, and I am inclined to believe that the damsel therein men- tioned was no mythic personage, but the Bosina Kendall, a pretty and amiable milliner-girl, ambitious of stage dis- tinction, whom the heir of Owen Olendower ultimately married, and with whom he lived in tamed-down content- ment somewhere in Devonshire. His wife died — ^whether she was B4)6ina Kendall or not, but there is very little doubt about that, — and three children, all they had, followed her in quick succession to the grave.

David Ap Jones Ap Owen had not yet made away with tne bulk of his patrimony, and appears to have contem- l^ated returning to the old corrupt world, in accordance with the advice of the M.P. before spoken of, who had never lost sight of him. There was blood-relationship between them, and blood, we all know, is thicker than water; espedally so in Wales, and amongst all Celtic nations.

Unfortunately, judging firom my own standing-pointy some Mormon itinerants made the acquaintance of Owen Glendower's lineal descendant. Their theories seemed to httrmonise with those which had been the dreams of his youth. Joe Smith and his golden book were swallowed by the neophyte, and in defiance of the reasoning and

CO

418 BCCSNTBIO PSBS0NACIB8.

efforts of his friendly relatiyes, who again vainly essayed to invoke the restraining power of the law, David Ap Jones Ap Owen, the descendant of an ancient family, if not oi the half-mythic Olendower, sold his paternal estate, and, on the 21st of September,. 1846, embarked at Liverpool, in the Baltimore liner, for New York, with the avowed inten- tion of joining the oommonity of Mormons. He realised that purpose, — ^became, and still, it is said, remains the confidential friend and adviser of Brigham Yonng. He sustained the hardships of the exodus with the people he had joined, till they found at least a temporary resting- place for the soles of their feet at Utah, on the Salt Lake, and, as previously stated, is there, says report, second only in authority to the arch-impostor, Brigham Yoxmg. A melanchdy catastrophe for such a man, who, no one can deny, was possessed of gifts, both mental and physical, which, under proper guidance and discipline, might have assured him a high social position in his native land.

ZHH flSI)*