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The Surprising Adventures of Bampfylde Moore Carew
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Transcribed from the 1850's Thomas Allman and Son edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

[Picture: Bampfylde Disguised with Children]



THE SURPRISING ADVENTURES OF BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW, KING OF THE BEGGARS; CONTAINING HIS LIFE, A Dictionary of the Cant Language, AND MANY ENTERTAINING PARTICULARS OF THAT EXTRAORDINARY MAN.

[Picture: Bampfylde Frightening the Bellman]

LONDON: THOMAS ALLMAN AND SON. W. WALKER AND SON, OTLEY.



THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW.

Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew was descended from the ancient family of the Carews, son of the Reverend Mr. Theodore Carew, of the parish of Brickley, near Tiverton, in the county of Devon; of which parish he was many years a rector, very much esteemed while living, and at his death universally lamented. Mr. Carew was born in the month of July 1693; and never was there known a more splendid attendance of ladies and gentlemen of the first rank and quality at any baptism in the west of England, than at his: the Hon. Hugh Bampfylde, Esq., who afterwards died of an unfortunate fall from his horse, and the Hon. Major Moore, were both his illustrious godfathers, both of whose names he bears; who sometime contending who should be the president, doubtless presaging the honour that should redound to them from the future actions of our hero, the affair was determined by throwing up a piece of money, which was won by Mr. Bampfylde; who upon this account presented a large piece of plate, whereon was engraved, in large letters,

BAMPFYLDE MOORE CAREW.

The reverend Mr. Carew had several other children, both sons and daughters, besides Mr. Carew, all of whom he educated in a tender and pious manner; and Mr. Carew was at the age of twelve sent to Tiverton school, where he contracted an intimate acquaintance with some young gentlemen of the first rank in Somersetshire, Devonshire, Cornwall, and Dorsetshire.

The desire of the reader to be informed of the person of the hero of whom they are reading is so natural, we should be guilty of a great neglect, were we to omit satisfying our readers in this respect, more particularly as we can, without making use of a figure in rhetoric, (which is of very great service to many authors,) called amplification; or, in plain English, enlarging, present our readers with a very amiable picture.

The stature of our hero was tall and majestic, his limbs strong and well-proportioned, his features regular, his countenance open and ingenuous, bearing all those characteristical marks which physiognomists assert denote an honest and good-natured mind.

During the first four years of his continuance at Tiverton school, his close application to, and delight in his studies, gave his friends great hopes that he might one day make a good figure in that honourable profession which his father became so well, for many years, and for which he was designed.

He attained, for his age, a very considerable knowledge in the Latin and Greek tongues; but soon a new exercise or accomplishment engaged all his attention; this was that of hunting, in which our hero soon made a surprising progress; for, besides that agility of limb and courage requisite for leaping over five-barred gates, &c., our hero, by indefatigable study and application, added to it a remarkable cheering halloo to the dogs, of very great service to the exercise, and which, we believe, was peculiar to himself; and, besides this, found out a secret, hitherto known but to himself, of enticing any dog whatever to follow him.

The Tiverton scholars had at this time the command of a fine cry of hounds, whereby Mr. Carew had frequent opportunity of gratifying his inclinations in that diversion. It was then that he entered into a very strict friendship and familiarity with John Martin, Thomas Coleman, John Escott, and other young gentlemen of the best rank and fortune.

The wise Spaniards have a proverb, Tell me who you are with, and I will tell you what you are; and we ourselves say, Birds of a feather flock together. It is generally allowed that proverbs are built upon experience, and contain great truths; and though at this time very young, he contracted no acquaintance, and kept no company, but with young gentlemen of birth and fortune, who were rather superior to himself than beneath him.

It happened that a farmer, living in a county adjacent to Tiverton, who was a great sportsman, and used to hunt with the Tiverton scholars, came and acquainted them of a fine deer, which he had seen with a collar about his neck, in the fields about his farm, which he supposed to be the favourite deer of some gentleman not far off; this was very agreeable news to the Tiverton scholars, who, with Mr. Carew, John Martin, Thomas Coleman, and John Escott, at their head, went in a great body to hunt it; this happened a short time before the harvest. The chase was very hot, and lasted several hours, and they ran the deer many miles, which did a great deal of damage to the fields of corn that were then almost ripe. Upon the death of the deer and examination of the collar, it was found to belong to Colonel Nutcombe, of the parish of Clayhanger.

Those farmers and gentlemen that sustained the greatest damage came to Tiverton, and complained heavily to Mr. Rayner, the schoolmaster, of the havock made in their fields, which occasioned strict enquiry to be made concerning the ringleaders, who, proving to be our hero and his companions, they were so severely threatened, that, for fear, they absented themselves from school; and the next day, happening to go in the evening to Brick-house, an alehouse, about half a mile from Tiverton, they accidentally fell into company with a society of gipseys, who were there feasting and carousing. This society consisted of seventeen or eighteen persons of both sexes, who that day met there with a full purpose of merriment and jollity; and after a plentiful meal upon fowls, and other dainty dishes, the flowing cups of October, and cider, went most cheerfully round, and merry songs and country dances crowned the jovial banquet; in short, so great an air of freedom, mirth, and pleasure, appeared in this society, that our youngsters from that time conceived a sudden inclination to enlist into their company; which, when they communicated to the gipseys, they, considering their appearance, behaviour, and education, regarded as only spoke in jest; but as they tarried there all night in their company, and continued in the same resolution the next morning, they were at length induced to believe them to be serious, and accordingly encouraged them, and admitted them into their number; the requisite ceremonials being first gone through, and the proper oaths administered.

The reader may perhaps be surprised at the mention of oaths administered, and ceremonials used, at the entrance of these young gentlemen; but his surprise will lessen when we inform him, that these people are subject to a form of government and laws peculiar to themselves, and though they have no written laws, by which means they avoid all perplexity with lawyers, yet they pay obedience to one who is styled their king; to which great honour we shall hereafter see our hero arrive, having first proved himself worthy of it, by a great number of necessary achievements.

There are, perhaps, no people so completely happy as they are, or enjoy so great a share of liberty. The king is elective by the whole people, but none are allowed to stand as candidates for that honour, but such as have been long in their society, and perfectly studied the nature and institution of it; they must likewise have given repeated proofs of their personal wisdom, courage and capacity; this is the better known, as they always keep a public record or register of all remarkable (either good or bad) actions performed by any of the society; and they can have no temptation to make choice of any but the most worthy, as their king has no titles or lucrative employments to bestow, which might influence or corrupt their judgment.

The only advantage the king enjoys is, that he is constantly supplied with whatever is necessary for his maintenance, from the contributions of his people; whilst he, in return, directs all his care to the defending and protecting his people from their enemies, in contriving and planning whatever is most likely to promote their welfare and happiness, in seeing a due regard paid to their laws, in registering their memorable actions, and making a due report of all these things at their general assemblies; so that, perhaps, at this time, it is amongst these people only that the office of a king is the same as it was at its first institution;—viz. a father and protector of his people.

The laws of these people are few and simple, but most exactly and punctually observed; the fundamental of which is, that strong love and mutual regard for each member in particular, and for the whole community in general, which is inculcated into them from their earliest infancy; so that this whole community is connected by stronger bands of love and harmony, than oftentimes subsist even in private families under other governments; this naturally prevents all oppressions, fraud, and over-reachings of one another, so common amongst other people, and totally extinguishes that bitter passion of the mind (the source, perhaps, of most of the other vices) envy; for it is a great and certain truth, that Love worketh no evil.

Their general meetings at stated times, which all are obliged to be present at, is a very strong cement of their love, and indeed of all their other virtues; for, as the general register of their actions, which we have before spoken of, is read at these meetings, those who have deserved well of the community, are honoured by some token or distinction in the sight of all the rest; and those who have done any thing against their fundamental laws, have some mark of ignominy put upon them; for they have no high sense of pecuniary rewards, and they think the punishing of the body of little service towards amending the mind. Experience has shown them, that, by keeping up this nice sense of honour and shame, they are always enabled to keep their community in better order than the most severe corporeal punishments have been able to effect in other governments.

But what has still more tended to preserve their happiness is, that they know no other use of riches than the enjoyment of them; but, as the word is liable to be misconstrued by many of our readers, we think it necessary to inform them, we do not mean by it that sordid enjoyment which the miser feels when he bolts up his money in a well-secured iron chest, or that delicious pleasure he is sensible of when he counts over his hoarded stores, and finds they are increased with a half-guinea, or even a half-crown; nor do we mean that enjoyment which the well-known Mr. K—-, {12} the man-eater, feels when he draws out his money from his bags, to discount the good bills of some honest but distressed tradesman at fifteen or twenty per cent.

The people we are speaking of are happily ignorant of such enjoyment of money, for they know no other use of it than that of promoting mirth and good humour; for which end they generously bring their gains into a common stock, whereby they whose gains are small have an equal enjoyment with those whose profits are larger, excepting only that a mark of ignominy is affixed on those who do not contribute to the common stock proportionably to their abilities, and the opportunities they have of gain; and this is the source of their uninterrupted happiness; for by this means they have no griping usurer to grind them, lordly possessor to trample on them, nor any envyings to torment them; they have no settled habitations, but, like the Scythians of old, remove from place to place, as often as their conveniency or pleasure requires it, which renders their life a perpetual scene of the greatest variety.

By what we have said above, and much more that we could add, of the happiness of these people, and of their peculiar attachment to each other, we may account for what has been matter of much surprise to the friends of our hero, viz., his strong attachment, for the space of above forty years, to this community, and his refusing the large offers that have been made to quit their society.—But to return to our history.

Thus was Mr. Carew initiated into the mysteries of a society, which, for antiquity, need give place to none, as is evident from the name, as well as their origin, which they derive from the Egyptians, one of the most ancient and learned people in the world, and that they were persons of more than common learning, who travelled to communicate their knowledge to mankind. Whether the divine Homer himself might not have been of this society, will admit of a doubt, as there is much uncertainty about his birth and education, though nothing is more certain than that he travelled from place to place.

Mr. Carew did not continue long in it before he was consulted in important matters: particularly Madam Musgrove, of Monkton, near Taunton, hearing of his fame, sent for him to consult in an affair of difficulty. When he came, she informed him, that she suspected a large quantity of money was buried somewhere about her house, and if he would acquaint her with the particular place, she would handsomely reward him.

Our hero consulted the secrets of his art upon this occasion, and after long toil and study informed the lady, that under a laurel-tree in the garden lay the treasure she anxiously sought for; but that her planet of good fortune did not reign till such a day and hour, till which time she should desist from searching for it; the good lady rewarded him very generously with twenty guineas for his discovery. We cannot tell whether at this time our hero was sufficiently initiated in the art, or whether the lady mistook her lucky hour, but the strict regard we pay to truth obliges us to confess, that the lady dug below the roots of the laurel-tree without finding the hidden treasure.

When he was further initiated in the art, he was consulted upon several important matters, and generally gave satisfaction by his sagacious answers. In the meantime, his worthy parents sorrowed for him as one that was no more, not being able to get the least tidings of him, though they publicly advertised him, and sent messengers after him in every direction; till, at the expiration of a year and a half, our hero having repeated accounts of the sorrow and trouble his parents were in upon his account, his heart melted with tenderness, and he repaired to his father's house, at Brickley, in Devonshire. As he was much disguised, both in habit and countenance, he was not at first known by his parents; but when he discovered himself, joy gushed out in full streams, stopping the power of speech; but the warm tears they bedewed his cheeks with, whilst they imprinted them with kisses, performed the office of the tongue with more expressive eloquence; but the good heart and tender parent will feel this much better than we can describe. The whole neighbourhood, partook of this joy; and there was nothing for some time but ringing of bells, with public feasting, and other marks of festive joy.

Mr. Carew's parents did every thing possible to render home agreeable to him; every day he was engaged in some party of pleasure or other, and all his friends strove who should entertain him, so that there seemed nothing wanting to his happiness. But the uncommon pleasure that he had enjoyed in the community he had left, the freedom of their government, the simplicity and sincerity of their manners, the frequent changes of their habitation, the perpetual mirth and good humour that reigned amongst them, and perhaps some secret presages of that high honour which he has since arrived at; all these made too deep an impression to be effaced by any other ideas; his pleasure therefore grew every day more and more tasteless, and he relished none of those entertainments which his friends daily provided for him.

For some time these unsatisfied longings after the community of gipseys preyed upon his mind, his heart being too good to think of leaving his fond parents again, without reluctance. Long did filial piety and his inclinations struggle for the victory; at length the last prevailed, but not till his health had visibly suffered by these inward commotions. One day, therefore, without taking leave of any of his friends, he directed his steps towards Brick-house, at Tiverton, where he had at first entered into the community of the gipseys; and finding some of them there, he joined their company, to the great satisfaction of them, as well as of himself; they rejoiced greatly at having regained one who was likely to be so useful a member to their community.

We are now entering into the busy part of our hero's life, where we shall find him acting in various characters, and performing all with propriety, dignity, and decorum.—We shall, therefore, rather choose to account for some of the actions of our hero, by desiring the reader to keep in mind the principles of the government of the mendicants, which are, like those of the Algerines, and other states of Barbary, in a perpetual state of hostility with most other people; so that whatsoever stratagems or deceits they can over-reach them by, are not only allowed by their laws, but considered as commendable and praise-worthy; and, as the Algerines are looked upon as a very honest people by those who are in alliance with them, though they plunder the rest of mankind; and as most other governments have thought that they might very honestly attack any weak neighbouring state, whenever it was convenient for them, and murder forty or fifty thousand of the human species; we hope, to the unprejudiced eye of reason, the government of the gipseys in general, and our hero as a member of it, will not appear in so disadvantageous a light, for exercising a few stratagems to over-reach their enemies, especially when it is considered they never, like other states, do any harm to the persons of their enemies, and nothing considerable to their fortunes.

Our hero being again admitted at the first general assembly of the gipseys, and having taken the proper oaths of allegiance to the sovereign, was soon after sent out by him on a cruise upon their enemies.

Our hero's wit was now set to work, by what stratagems he might best succeed. The first that occurred to his thoughts was that of equipping himself with an old pair of trowsers, enough of a jacket to cover his nakedness, stockings such as nature gave, shoes (or rather the body of shoes, for soles they had none) which had leaks enough to sink a first rate man of war, and a woollen cap, so black that one might more safely swear it had not been washed since Noah's flood, than any electors can that they receive no bribes. Being thus attired, our hero changed his manners with his dress; he forgot entirely his family, education, and politeness, and became neither more nor less than an unfortunate shipwrecked seaman.

Here, if we may be allowed to compare great things with small, we could wish that all orders of men were strict imitators of our hero; we mean that they would put on the characteristics and qualifications of their employment, at the same time they invest themselves with the ensigns of it; that the divine, when he puts on his sacred and venerable habit, would clothe himself with piety, goodness, gentleness, long-suffering, charity, temperance, contempt of filthy lucre, and other godlike qualifications of his office; that the judge, at the time he puts on his ermined robes, would put on righteousness and equity as an upper garment, with an integrity of mind more white and spotless than the fairest ermine; that the grave physician, when he puts on his large perriwig, would put under it the knowledge of the human frame, of the virtues and effects of his medicines, of the signs and nature of diseases, with the most approved and experienced forms of cure; that the mechanic, when he puts on his leather or woollen apron, put on diligence, frugality, temperance, modesty, and good nature; and that kings themselves, when the crown, which is adorned with pearls and many precious stones, is put on their heads, would put on at the same time the more inestimable gems of all the precious virtues; that they would remember at times, they were invested with the dalmatica at their coronation, only as an emblem of the ornament of a good life and holy actions; that the rod they received was the rod of virtue and equity, to encourage and make much of the godly, and to terrify the wicked; to show the way to those that go astray, and to offer the hand to those that fall; to repress the proud, and to lift up the lowly; and the sword they were girt with, was to protect the liberties of their people, to defend and help widows and orphans, restore the things which have gone to decay, maintain those which are restored, and confirm things that are in good order.

As to our hero, he so fully put on the character of a shipwrecked seaman, that in his first excursion he gained a very considerable booty, having likewise ingeniously imitated the passes and certificates that were necessary for him to travel with unmolested.

After about a month's travel, he accidentally, at Kingsbridge, in Devonshire, met with Coleman, his late school-fellow, one of those who entered with him into the community, as before related, but had, after a year and a half's sojourn, left them and returned to his friends: however, not finding that satisfaction among them as with the gipseys, he had again joined that people—great was the joy, therefore, of these two friends at their meeting, and they soon agreed to travel together for some time; and accordingly proceeded to Totness, from thence to the city of Exeter, where they raised a contribution in one day amounting to several pounds.

Having obtained all he could desire from this stratagem, his fruitful invention soon hinted another. He now became the plain honest country farmer, who, living in the Isle of Sheppy, in Kent, had the misfortune to have his grounds overflowed, and all his cattle drowned. His habit was now neat but rustic; his air and behaviour simple and inoffensive; his speech in the Kentish dialect; his countenance dejected; his tale pitiful—wondrous pitiful; a wife and seven helpless infants being partakers of his misfortunes; so that if his former stratagem answered his wishes, this did still more so, he now getting seldom less than a guinea a day.

Having raised a considerable booty by these two stratagems, he made the best of his way towards Straton, in Devonshire, where was soon to be held a general assembly of the gipseys: here he was received with great applause, on account of the successful stratagems he had executed, and he had an honourable mark of distinction bestowed upon him, being seated near the king.

Though our hero, by means of these stratagems, abounded with all the pleasures he could desire, yet he began now to reflect with himself on that grand and noble maxim of life, that we are not born for ourselves only, but indebted to all mankind, to be of as great use and service to them, as our capacities and abilities will enable us to be; he, therefore, gave a handsome gratuity to a famous rat-catcher (who assumed the honour of being rat-catcher to the king,) to be initiated into that, and the still more useful secret of curing madness in dogs or cattle.

Our hero, by his close application, soon attained so considerable a knowledge in his profession, that he practised with much success and applause, to the great advantage of the public in general, not confining the good effects of his knowledge to his own community only, but extending them universally to all sorts of people, wheresoever they were wanted; for though we have before observed that the mendicants are in a constant state of hostility with all other people, and Mr. Carew was as alert as any one in laying all manner of schemes and stratagems to carry off a booty from them; yet he thought, as a member of the grand society of human kind, he was obliged to do them all the good in his power, when it was not opposite to the interest of that particular community of which he was a member.

Mr. Carew's invention being never at a loss, he now formed a new stratagem; to execute which, he exchanged his habit, shirt, &c., for only an old blanket; shoes and stockings he laid aside, because they did not suit his present purpose. Being thus accoutred, or rather unaccoutred, he was now no more than Poor Mad Tom, whom the foul fiend had led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire, that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew, set ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud at heart to ride on a bay trotting horse over four-inch bridges, to curse his own shadow for a traitor; who eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water-newt; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, swallows the old rat and ditch dog, drinks the green mantle off the standing pool;

And mice and rats, and such small gear, Have been Tom's food for seven long year.

O do, de, do, de, do, de; bless thee from whirlwind, star-blasting, and taking; do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes; there could I have him now, and there, and there again, and there; through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind; Tom's a-cold! who gives any thing to poor Tom?—In this character, and with such like expressions, our hero entered the house both of great and small, claiming kindred to them, and committing all manner of frantic actions; such as beating himself, offering to eat coals of fire, running against the wall, and tearing to pieces those garments that were given him to cover his nakedness; by which means he raised very considerable contributions.

But these different habits and characters were still of farther use to our hero, for by their means he had a better opportunity of seeing the world, and knowing mankind, than most of our youths who make the grand tour; for, as he had none of those petty amusements and raree-shows, which so much divert our young gentlemen abroad, to engage his attention, it was wholly applied to the study of mankind, their various passions and inclinations; and he made the greater improvement in his study, as in many of his characters they acted before him without reserve or disguise. He saw in little and plain houses hospitality, charity and compassion, the children of frugality; and found under gilded and spacious roofs, littleness, uncharitableness and inhumanity, the offspring of luxury and riot; he saw servants waste their master's substance, and that there were no greater nor more crafty thieves than domestic ones; and met with masters who roared out for liberty abroad, acting the arbitrary tyrants in their own houses:—he saw ignorance and passion exercise the rod of justice; oppression, the handmaid of power; self-interest outweighing friendship and honesty in the opposite scale; pride and envy spurning and trampling on what was more worthy than themselves;—he saw the pure white robes of truth sullied with the black hue of hypocrisy and dissimulation; he sometimes, too, met much riches unattended by pomp and pride, but diffusing themselves in numberless unexhausted streams, conducted by the hands of two lovely servants, Goodness and Beneficence;—and he saw honesty, integrity and goodness of mind, inhabitants of the humble cot of poverty.

All these observations afforded him no little pleasure, but he felt a much greater in the indulgence of the emotions of filial piety, paying his parents frequent visits, unknown to them, in different disguises; at which time, the tenderness he saw them express in their inquiries after him (it being their constant custom so to do of all travellers) always melted him into real tears.

It has been remarked, that curiosity, or the desire of knowledge, is that which most distinguishes man from the brute, and the greater the mind is, the more insatiable is that passion: we may, without flattery, say no man had a more boundless one than our hero; for, not satisfied with the observations he had made in England and Wales, (which we are well assured were many more than are usually made by gentlemen before they travel into foreign parts,) he now resolved to see other countries and manners. He was the more inclined to this, as he imagined it would enable him to be of greater service to the community of which he was a member, by rendering him capable of executing some of his stratagems with much greater success.

He communicated this design to his school-fellow, Escott, one of those who joined the gipseys with him, (for neither of the four wholly quitted the community). Escott very readily agreed to accompany him in his travels, and there being a vessel ready to sail for Newfoundland, tying at Dartmouth, where they then were, they agreed to embark on board her. Nothing remarkable happened in their passage which relates to our hero; we shall therefore pass it by, and land him safe in Newfoundland. Having remained there during the fishing season, he acquired all the information he possibly could, and which he thought might be useful to him, and returned in the same vessel to Dartmouth, from whence he had at first sailed, bringing with him a surprising fierce and large dog, which he had enticed to follow him, and made as gentle as a lamb, by an art peculiar to himself. Our hero was received with great joy by his fellow gipseys, and they were loud in his praises, when they understood he had undertaken this voyage to enable him to deceive his enemies with the greater success. He accordingly, in a few days, went out on a cruise in the character of a shipwrecked sailor, lost in a vessel homeward bound from Newfoundland, sometimes belonging to Pool, sometimes to Dartmouth, at other times to other ports, and under such or such commander, according as the newspapers gave account of such melancholy accidents.

If the booty he got before under this character was considerable, it was much more so now, for being able to give an exact account of Newfoundland, the settlements, harbours, fishery, and the inhabitants thereof, he applied with great confidence to masters of vessels, and gentlemen well acquainted with those parts; so that those to whom before his prudence would not let him apply, now became his greatest benefactors, as the perfect account he gave of the country engaged them to give credit to all he asserted, and made them very liberal in his favour.

It was about this time our hero became sensible of the power of love; we mean of that sort which has more of the mind than the body, and is tender, delicate and constant; the object of which remains constantly fixed in the mind, and will not admit of any partner with it. It was in the town of Newcastle, so famous for its coal-works, which our hero visited out of curiosity, appearing there undisguised and making a very genteel appearance, that he became enamoured with the daughter of Mr. Gray, an eminent surgeon there. This young lady had charms perhaps equal to any of her sex; and we might in that style, which one, who calls himself an author of the first rate, calls the sublime, say, "Here was whiteness, which no lilies, ivory, nor alabaster could match. The finest cambric might be supposed from envy to cover that bosom, which was much whiter than itself;" but we must confess we always feel a cold horror shoot through our limbs at the reading of this puerile sublime, and we make no doubt but many other readers do the same, as it greatly tends to make our hearts ache by putting us in mind of what our posteriors have suffered for us at school. We shall therefore content ourselves by saying, this lady had charms sufficient to captivate the heart of any man not unsusceptible of love; and they made so deep an impression upon our hero, that they wholly effaced every object which before had created any desire in him, and never permitted any other to raise them afterwards; and, wonderful to tell, we have after about thirty years enjoyment, seen him lament her occasional absence almost with tears, and talk of her with all the fondness of one who had been in love but three days. Our hero tried all love's soft persuasions with his fair one in an honourable way; and, as his person was very engaging, and his appearance genteel, he did not find her greatly averse to the proposals. As he was aware that his being of the community of the gipseys might prejudice her against him without examination, he passed with her for the mate of a collier's vessel, in which he was supported by Captain L—-n of Dartmouth, an old acquaintance of our hero's, who then commanded a vessel lying at Newcastle, and acknowledged him for his mate. These assertions satisfied the young lady very well, and she at length consented to exchange the tender care and love of a parent for that of a husband. The reader may perhaps be surprised that she did not make any farther inquiries about him; it is therefore necessary that we should inform him, that our hero had engaged on his side a very eloquent and persuasive advocate or counsellor, for we know not which denomination most properly belongs to him; one, though still beardless, existed as soon as the first woman was created, and has had ever since, till within this last century, very great practice in the business of uniting both sexes for life; but of late years a neighbouring counsellor, named self-interest, has by underhand dealings, false insinuations, and mean suggestions, taken away the greatest part of his business, so that he is seldom retained on either side. Our hero, however, engaged him in his service, and he pleaded so strongly for him in the young lady, that he removed all her objections, and silenced all her scruples, and at last persuaded her to leave her home and venture on board Captain L—-n's vessel with her lover; for, though this counsellor, according to a very good picture of him drawn by a famous master, has more of the wanton roguish smiles of a boy in his countenance, than the formality, wisdom, and gravity of those counsellors whom thou hast perhaps seen in Westminster-hall; and never wore one of those ponderous perukes which are so essential to the knowledge, wisdom, and eloquence of those gentlemen; yet we are assured none of them ever equalled him in persuasive arguments, removing of difficulties, and silencing of doubts; for he indeed differs in practice from most of the counsellors we ever heard of: for, as these are apt to puzzle and perplex their clients by their answers, and make intricate what was plain before, on the contrary, the gentleman we are speaking of had a wonderful faculty of making the greatest difficulties plain and easy, and always answered every objection and scruple to the entire satisfaction of his client.

The lover and his fair one being on board, they soon hoisted sail, and the very winds being willing to favour these two happy lovers, they had an exceeding quick passage to Dartmouth, where they landed. Our hero being now no longer able to conceal his being a member of the community of gipseys, after some previous introduction, declared it to the young lady, who was not a little surprised and troubled at it; but the counsellor we have already spoken of being near at hand, soon composed her mind, by suggesting to her the worthy family her lover was sprung from; that the community of the gipseys was more happy, and less disreputable than she imagined, that the person of her lover was quite amiable, and that he had good nature, and love enough to make her happy in any condition.

As these suggestions entirely satisfied her, the lovers in a few days set out for Bath, where they lawfully solemnized their nuptials with great gaiety and splendour, and were those two persons whom many of the old slanders at Bath remembered for many years after to have made such an eclat, but nobody could, at the time, conjecture who they were, which was the occasion of much speculation and many false surmises.

We cannot conclude on this head, but with the deserved praises of our hero, from whose mouth we have had repeated assurance, that, during their voyage to Dartmouth, and their journey from thence to Bath, not the least indignity was offered to the innocence or modesty of his dear Miss Gray.

Our lovers began to be at length weary of the same repeated rounds of pleasure at Bath, for at that time the wit of man had not reached so high as the invention of that most charming, entertaining, never-cloying diversion, called E, O, which seems to have been reserved among the secrets of fate to do honour to the present age; for upon the nicest scrutiny, we are quite convinced it is entirely new, and cannot find the least traces of its being borrowed from any nation under the sun; for, though we have with great pains and labour inquired into all the games and diversions of the ancients; though we have followed untutored Indians through all their revels, and though we have accurately examined into the dull pleasures of the uncouth Hottentots; yet in all these we find either some marks of ingenuity to exercise and refresh the mind, or something of labour to invigorate the body;—we therefore could not avoid interrupting our history, to do honour to this truly interesting and original game.

Our lovers having left Bath, visited next the city of Bristol, where they stayed some time, and caused more speculation there than they had before done at Bath, and did as much damage to that city as the famous Lucullus did at Rome, on his return from his victorious expedition; we have some reason to think they first introduced the love of dress among those plain and frugal citizens. After some stay here, they made a tour through Somerset and Dorset to Hampshire, where they paid a visit to an uncle of our hero's living then at Dorchester, near Gosport, who was a clergyman of distinguished merit and character; here they were received with great politeness and hospitality, and abode a considerable time.

His uncle took this opportunity of making use of every argument to persuade him to quit the community of the gipseys; but our hero was so thoroughly fixed in his principles, that even that argument which oftentimes convinces patriots in a few hours, that all they said and did before was wrong, that kings have a divine right to grind the faces of their subjects, and that power which lays its iron hand on Nabal's goodly vineyard, and says, "This is mine, for so I will," is preferable to heavenly liberty, which says to every man, "Possess what is thine own, reap what thou hast sown, gather what thou hast planted, eat, drink, and lie down secure;" even this powerful argument had no effect upon our hero; for, though his uncle made him very lucrative offers for the present, and future promises of making him heir of all his possessions, yet remembering his engagements with the gipseys, he rejected them all; and reflecting that he had long lived useless to that community, he began to prepare for his departure from his uncle's, in order to make some incursions on the enemy.

To do this with more effect, he bethought himself of a new stratagem. He therefore equipped himself in a loose black gown, puts on a band, a large white peruke, and a broad-brimmed hat;—his whole deportment was agreeable to his dress;—his pace was solemn and slow, his countenance thoughtful and grave, his eyes turned on the ground—but now and then raised in seeming ejaculations to heaven: in every look and action he betrayed his want, but at the same time seemed overwhelmed with that shame which modest merit feels, when it is obliged to solicit the cold hand of charity; this behaviour excited the curiosity of many gentlemen, clergy, &c., to inquire into the circumstances of his misfortunes; but it was with difficulty they could engage him to relate them, it being with much seeming reluctance that he acquainted them with his having exercised for many years the sacred office of a clergyman at Aberistwith, a parish in Wales; but that the government changing, he had preferred quitting his benefice, to taking an oath contrary to his principles and conscience. This relation he accompanied with frequent sighs, deep marks of adoration of the ways of Providence, and warm expressions of his firm trust and reliance in its goodness and faithfulness, with high encomiums on the inward satisfaction of a good conscience. When he discoursed with any clergyman, or other person of literature, he would now and then introduce some Latin or Greek sentences, that were applicable to what they were talking about, which gave his hearers a high opinion of his learning; all this, and his thorough knowledge of those persons whom it was proper to apply to, made this stratagem succeed even beyond his own expectations. But now, hearing of a vessel bound to Philadelphia, on board of which were many Quakers, being cast away on the coast of Ireland, he laid aside his gown, cassock, and band, clothes himself in a plain suit, pulls the button from his hat, and flaps it on every side; his countenance was now demure, his language unadorned with any flowers of speech, and the words You and Sir, he seemed to hold in abomination; his hat was moved to none, for, though under misfortunes, he would not think of bowing the knee to Baal.

With these qualifications, he addressed himself to persons of the denomination of Quakers with great success (for indeed it is to be wished that all other sects would imitate them in their readiness to relieve their brethren); and hearing that there was to be a great meeting of them from all parts, at a place called Thorncombe, in Devonshire, he makes the best of his way there; and with a demure look and modest assurance enters the assembly, where, making his case known, and satisfying them, by his behaviour, of his being one of their sect, they made a very considerable subscription for his relief.

So active was the mind of our hero, that he was never more happy than when engaged in some adventure or other; therefore, when he had no opportunity of putting any great stratagem in execution, he would amuse himself with those which did not require so great a share of art and ingenuity. Whenever he heard of any melancholy accident by fire; he immediately repaired to the place where it happened, and there, remarking very accurately the spot, inquired into the cause of it, and getting an exact information of the trades, characters, families, and circumstances of the unhappy sufferers, he immediately assumed the person and name of one of them; and burning some part of his coat and hat, as an ocular demonstration of his narrow escape, he made the best of his way to places at some distance, and there passed for one who had been burnt out; and to gain credit, showed a paper signed with the names of several gentlemen in the neighbourhood of the place where the fire happened, recommending him as an honest unhappy sufferer, by which he got considerable sums.

Under this character, he had once the boldness to address Justice Hall, of Exmouth, in Devon, the terror and professed enemy of every order of the gipseys; however, our hero managed so artfully, though he went through a strict examination, that he at last convinced his worship that he was an honest miller, whose house, mill, and whole substance had been consumed by fire, occasioned by the negligence of an apprentice boy, and was accordingly relieved by the justice.

Coming one day to Squire Portman's, at Brinson, near Blandford, in the character of a famous rat-catcher, with a hairy cap upon his head, a buff girdle about his waist, and a tame rat in a little box by his side, he boldly marched up to the house in this disguise, though his person was well known by the family, and meeting in the court with Mr. Portman, the Rev. Mr. Bryant, and several other gentlemen whom he well knew, but did not suspect he should be known by them, he accosted them as a rat-catcher, asking if their Honours had any rats to kill. Do you understand your business well? replied Mr. Portman. Yes, and please your honour; I have followed it many years, and have been employed in his majesty's yards and ships. Well, go in and get something to eat; and after dinner we will try your abilities.

Our hero was accordingly placed at the second table to dinner, and very handsomely entertained; after which he was called into a great parlour, among a large company of gentlemen and ladies. Well, honest Mr. Rat-catcher, said Mr. Portman, can you lay any schemes to kill the rats, without hurting my dogs? Yes, boldly replied Mr. Carew, I shall lay it where even cats can't climb to reach it. And what countryman are you, pray? A Devonshire man, please your honour. What may be your name? Our hero now perceiving, by the smiles and whispering of the gentlemen, that he was known, replied very composedly, B, a, m, p, f, y, l, d, e, M, o, o, r, e, C, a, r, e, w. This occasioned a good deal of mirth; and Mr. Carew asking what scabby sheep had infected the whole flock? was told, Parson Bryant was the man who had discovered him, none of the other gentlemen knowing him under his disguise: upon which, turning to the parson, he asked him if he had forgotten good king Charles's rules? Mr. Pleydell, of St. Andrew's, Milbourn, expressed a pleasure at seeing the famous Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew, saying he had never seen him before. Yes, but you have, replied he, and gave me a suit of clothes. Mr. Pleydell testified some surprise at this, and desired to know when it was. Mr. Carew asked him if he did not remember a poor wretch met him one day at his stable-door with an old stocking round his head instead of a cap, and a woman's old ragged mantle on his shoulders, no shirt on his back, nor stockings to his legs, and scarce any shoes on his feet; and that he asked him if he was mad? to which he replied No; but a poor unfortunate man, cast away on the coast, and taken up, with eight others, by a Frenchman, the rest of the crew, sixteen in number, being all drowned; and that Mr. Pleydell having asked what countryman he was, gave him a guinea and a suit of clothes. Mr. Pleydell said he well remembered such a poor object. Well, replied our hero, that object was no other than the rat-catcher now before you: at which all the company laughed very heartily. Well, said Mr. Pleydell, I will bet a guinea I shall know you again, come in what shape you will: the same said Mr. Seymour, of Handford. Some of the company asserting to the contrary of this, they desired our hero to try his ingenuity upon them, and then to discover himself, to convince them of it.

This being agreed upon, and having received a handsome contribution of this company, he took his leave; but Parson Bryant followed him out, and acquainted him that the same company, and many more, would be at Mr. Pleydell's on such a day, and advised him to make use of that opportunity to deceive them all together; which our hero soon resolved to do. He therefore revolved in his mind what stratagem was most likely to succeed: at length he fixed upon one, which he thought could not fail answering his purpose.

When the day was come, the barber was called in to make his face as smooth as his art could do, and a woman's gown and other female accoutrements of the largest size were provided for him. Having jumped into his petticoats, pinned a large dowde under his chin, and put a high-crowned hat on his head, he made a figure so comical that even Hogarth's humour can scarcely parallel; yet our hero thought himself of something else to render his disguise more impenetrable: he therefore borrowed a little hump-backed child of a tinker, and two more of some others of his community. There remained now only in what situation to place the children, and it was quickly resolved to tie two to his back, and to take the other in his arms.

Thus accoutred, and thus hung with helpless infants, he marched forwards for Mr. Pleydell's; coming up to the door, he put his hand behind him, and pinched one of the children, which set it a roaring; this gave the alarm to the dogs, so that between their barking and the child's crying, the whole family was sufficiently disturbed. Out came the maid, crying, Carry away the children, old woman, they disturb the ladies. God bless their ladyships, I am the poor unfortunate grandmother to these poor helpless infants, whose dear mother and all they had was burnt at the dreadful fire at Kirton, and hope the good ladies, for God's sake, will bestow something on the poor famishing starving infants. This moving story was accompanied with tears; upon which, the maid ran in to acquaint the ladies with this melancholy tale, while the good grandmother kept pinching one or other of the children, that they might play their parts to greater perfection; the maid soon returned with a half crown from the ladies, and some good broth, which he went into the court-yard to eat, (understanding the gentlemen were not in the house,) and got one of the under-servants, whom he met, to give some to the children on his back. He had not long been there, before the gentlemen all came in together, who accosted him with, Where did you come from, my good old woman? From Kirton, please your honours, where the poor unfortunate mother of these helpless babes was burnt to death by the flames, and all they had consumed.

D—-n you, said one of the gentlemen, (who is well known by the name of Worthy Sir, and was particularly acquainted with Mr. Carew,) there has been more money collected for Kirton than ever Kirton was worth; however, he gave this good old grandmother a shilling, the other gentlemen likewise relieved her, commiserating her age, and her burden of so many helpless infants; not one of them discovering our hero in the old woman, who received their alms very thankfully, and pretended to go away.

But the gentlemen were not got into the house before their ears were saluted with a "tantivy, tantivy," and halloo to the dogs, upon which they turned about, supposing it to be some brother sportsman, but seeing nobody, Worthy Sir swore the old woman they had relieved was Carew; a servant therefore was dispatched to bring her back; and she was brought into the parlour among the gentlemen, where, being examined, she confessed herself to be the famous Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew, which made the gentlemen very merry, and they were now all employed in untying the children from his back, and observing the features and dress of this grandmother, which afforded them sufficient entertainment. They afterwards rewarded our hero for the mirth he procured them.

In the same manner he raised a contribution of Mr. Jones, of Ashton near Bristol, twice in one day, who had maintained, with a gentleman of his acquaintance, that he could not be so deceived. In the morning, with a sooty face, leather apron, a dejected countenance, and a woollen cap, he was generously relieved as an unfortunate blacksmith, whose all had been consumed by fire: in the afternoon he exchanged his logs for crutches; his countenance was now pale and sickly, his gestures very expressive of pain, his complaints lamentable, a poor unfortunate tinner, disabled from maintaining himself, a wife, and seven children, by the damps and hardships he had suffered in the mines; and so well did he paint his distress, that the disabled tinner was now as generously relieved as the unfortunate blacksmith had been in the morning.

Being now near the city of Bath, where he had not long before made so great a figure with his new married bride, he was resolved to visit it in a very different shape and character; he therefore tied up one of his legs behind him, and supplied its place with a wooden one, and putting on a false beard, assumed the character of a poor old cripple. In this disguise he had an opportunity of entertaining himself with the different receptions he met with from every order of men now, from what he had done before in his fine rich clothes. The rich, who before saluted him with their hats and compliments, now spurned him out of their way; the gamesters overlooked him, thinking he was no fish for their net; the chairmen, instead of Please your honour, d—-d him; and the pumpers, who attentively marked his nod before, now denied him a glass of water. Many of the clergy, those disciples of humility, looked upon him with a supercilious brow; the ladies too, who had before strove who should be his partner at the balls, could not bear the sight of so shocking a creature: thus despised is poverty and rags, though sometimes the veil of real merit; and thus caressed and flattered is finery, though perhaps a covering for shame, poverty of soul, and abandoned profligacy. One character alone vouchsafed to look upon this contemptible object; the good man looked upon him with an eye melting into tenderness and soft compassion, while at the same time the hand which was stretched out to relieve him, showed the heart felt all the pangs which it supposed him to feel. But, notwithstanding the almost general contempt, he raised very considerable contributions; for, as some tossed him money out of pride, others to get rid of his importunity, and a few, as above, out of a good heart, it amounted to no small sum by the end of the season.

It is almost unnecessary to inform the reader, that these successful stratagems gained him high applause and honour in the company of the gipseys: he soon became the favourite of their king, who was very old and decrepid, and had always some honourable mark of distinction assigned him at their public assemblies. These honours and applauses were so many fresh spurs to his ingenuity and industry; so certain it is, that wherever those qualities are honoured, and publicly rewarded, though but by an oaken garland, there industry will outwork itself, and ingenuity will exceed the common bounds of art. Our hero, therefore, was continually planning new stratagems, and soon executed a very bold one on his grace the Duke of Bolton. Coming to his seat near Basingstoke, in Hampshire, he dressed himself in a sailor's ragged habit, and knocking at the gate, desired of the porter, with a composed and assured countenance, admittance to the duke, or at least that the porter would give his grace a paper which he held in his hand; but, as he did not apply in a proper manner to this great officer, (who we think may not improperly be styled the turnkey of the gate) as he did not show him that passport which can open every gate, pass by the surliest porter, and get admittance even to kings, neither himself nor paper could gain any entrance. However, he was not disheartened with this, but waiting near the gate for some time, he at last saw a servant come out, whom he followed, and, telling him that he was a very unfortunate man, desired he would be so kind as to introduce him where he might speak to his grace. As this servant had no interest in locking up his master, for that belonged to the porter only, he very readily complied with his request, as soon as the porter was off his stand; which he accordingly did, introducing him into a hall, where the duke was to pass through soon. He had not been long there before the duke came in, upon which he clapped his knee to the ground, and very graciously offered a paper to his hand for acceptance, which was a petition, setting forth that the unfortunate petitioner, Bampfylde Moore Carew, was supercargo of a large vessel that was cast away coming from Sweden, in which were his whole effects, and none of which he had been able to save. The duke seeing the name of Bampfylde Moore Carew, and knowing those names to belong to families of the greatest worth and note in the west of England, inquired of what family he was, and how he became entitled to those honourable names? He replied, they were those of his godfathers, the Honourable Hugh Bampfylde, and the Honourable Major Moore. The duke then asked him several questions about his friends and relations, all of which he answers very fully; and the duke expressing some surprise that he should apply for relief in his misfortunes to any but his own family, who were so well able to assist him, he replied, he had disobliged them by some follies in his youth, and had not seen them for some years, but was now returning to them. Many more questions did the duke, and a lady who was present, ask him; all of which he answered to their satisfaction.

As this was not a great while after his becoming a member of the community of the gipseys, the duke had never heard that any of the noble family of the Carews was become one of those people; and was very glad to have it in his power to oblige any of that family; he therefore treated him with respect, and called a servant to conduct him into an inner room, where the duke's barber waited on him to shave him. Presently after came in a footman, who brought in a good suit of trimmed clothes, a fine Holland shirt, and all the other parts of dress suitable to these. As soon as he had finished dressing, he was introduced to the duke again, who complimented him on his genteel appearance, and not without reason, as few did more honour to dress. He was now desired to sit down by the duke, with whom were many other persons of quality, who were all greatly taken with his person and behaviour, and very much condoled his misfortunes; so that a collection was soon made for him to the amount of ten guineas. The duke, being engaged to go out in the afternoon, desired him to stay there that night, and gave orders that he should be handsomely entertained, leaving his gentleman to keep him company; but Mr. Carew, probably not liking his company so well as the duke's, took an opportunity, soon after the duke was gone, to set out unobserved towards Basingstoke, where he immediately went into a house which he knew was frequented by some of his community. The master of the house, who saw him entering the door, cried out, Here's his Grace the Duke of Bolton coming in! upon which there was no small hurry amongst the company. As soon as he entered, he ordered the liquor to flow very plentifully at his private cost; his brethren discovering who he was, were greatly amazed at the appearance he made, so different from the usual custom of their order; but when he had informed them fully of the bold stratagem he had executed, the whole place resounded with applause, and every one acknowledged he was the most worthy of succeeding their present good old and respected king.

As our hero's thoughts were bent on making still greater advantage of his stratagem, he did not stay long with his brethren, but went to a reputable inn, where he lodged, and set out the next morning for Salisbury; here he presented his petition to the mayor, bishop, and other gentlemen of great note and fortune, (applying to none but such who were so,) and acquainted them with the favours he had received from his grace the Duke of Bolton. The gentlemen, having such ocular demonstration of the duke's great liberality, treated him with great complaisance and respect, and relieved him very generously, not presuming to offer any small alms to one whom the Duke of Bolton had thought so worthy of his notice. In the same manner, and with the same success, he visited Lord Arundel, Sir Edward Bouverie, and many other gentlemen in the counties of Wilts, Dorset, and Somerset. Coming into Devonshire, his native country, he visited all his friends and most intimate acquaintance in that part, and was relieved by them, not one of them discovering this unfortunate supercargo to be Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew. Being one morning near the seat of his friend Sir William Courtney, he was resolved to pay him three visits that day: he went therefore to a house frequented by his order, and there pulled off his fine clothes, and put on a parcel of rags; in this dress he moved towards Sir William's: there, with a piteous moan, a dismal countenance, and a deplorable tale, he got half-a-crown of that gentleman, as a man who had met with misfortunes at sea; at noon he put on a leather apron, a coat which seemed scorched by the fire, with a dejected countenance applied again, and was relieved as an unfortunate shoemaker, who had been burned out of his house, and all he had; in the afternoon he went again in his trimmed clothes, and desiring admittance to Sir William, with a modest grace and submissive eloquence he repeated his misfortunes as the supercargo of a vessel which had been cast away, and his whole effects lost, at the same time mentioning the kindness he had received from his grace the Duke of Bolton. Sir William, seeing his genteel appearance and behaviour, treated him with that respect which the truly great will always pay to those who supplicate their assistance, and generously relieved him, presenting him with a guinea at his departure. There happened to be at that time a great number of the neighbouring gentlemen and clergy at dinner with Sir William, not one of whom discovered who this supercargo was, except the Reverend Mr. Richards, who did not make it known till he was gone; upon which Sir William dispatched a servant after him, to desire him to come back. When he entered the room again, Sir William and the rest of the company were very merry with him, and he was desired to sit down and give them an account by what stratagem he had got all his finery, and what success he had with it, which he did; after which he asked Sir William if he had not bestowed half-a-crown that morning on a beggar, and at noon relieved a poor unfortunate shoemaker. I remember, replied Sir William, that I bestowed such alms on a poor ragged wretch. Well, said Mr. Carew, that ragged wretch was no other than the supercargo now before you. Sir William scarcely crediting this, Mr. Carew withdrew, and putting on the same rags, came again with the same piteous moan, dismal countenance, and deplorable tale, as he had done in the morning, which fully convinced Sir William that he was the same man, and occasioned much diversion in the company; he was however introduced again, and seated among them in his rags; Sir William being one of the few who pay a greater regard to the man than the dress, can discern and support merit under rags, and despise poverty of soul and worthlessness in embroidery; but, notwithstanding the success of this stratagem, our hero always looked upon it as one of the most unfortunate in his whole life; for, after he had been at Sir William's, as above-mentioned, coming to Stoke Gabriel, near Totness, on a Sunday, and having done that which discovered the nakedness of Noah, he went to the Reverend Mr. Osburn, the minister of the parish, and requested the thanksgivings of the church for the wonderful preservation of himself, and the whole ship's crew, in the imminent danger of a violent tempest of thunder and lightning, which destroyed the vessel they were aboard of. Though Mr. Osburn knew him very well, yet he had no suspicion of its being him in disguise, therefore readily granted his request; and not only so, but recommending him to his parishioners, a handsome collection was made for him by the congregation, which he had generosity enough to distribute among the poor of the parish, reserving but a small part to himself. Though this was bringing good out of evil, he still speaks of it (after above thirty years lapse since the commission) with the greatest regret and compunction of mind; for he is sensible, that though he can deceive man, he cannot deceive God, whose eyes penetrate into every place, and mark all our actions, and who is a Being too awful to be jested with.

It was about this time the good old king of the mendicants, named Clause Patch, well known in the city of London, and most parts of England, finished a life of true glory, being spent in promoting the welfare of his people. A little before his death, finding the decays of nature increase every day, and his final dissolution approach, he called together all his children, to the number of eighteen, and summoned as many of his subjects as were within a convenient distance, being willing that the last spark of his life should go out in the service of his people; this summons was obeyed with heavy hearts by his loving subjects, and, at the day and place appointed, a great number assembled together.

The venerable old king was brought in a high chair, and placed in the midst of them, his children standing next to him, and his subjects behind them. Reader, if thou hast ever seen that famous picture of Seneca bleeding to death in the bath, with his friends and disciples standing round him, then mayest thou form some idea of this assembly: such was the lively grief, such the profound veneration, such the solemn attention that appeared in every countenance; but we can give thee no adequate idea of the inward joy which the good old king felt at his seeing such unfeigned marks of love in his subjects, which he considered as so many testimonies of his own virtues; for, certain it is that, when kings are fathers of their people, their subjects will have for them more than the filial love or veneration of sons. The mind of man cannot conceive any thing so august, as that of a king beloved by his subjects. Could kings but taste this pleasure at their first mounting the throne, instead of drinking of the intoxicating cup of power, we should see them considering their subjects as children, and themselves the fathers, to nourish, instruct, and provide for them as a flock, and themselves the shepherds to bring them to pleasant pastures, refreshing streams, and secure folds; for some time the king of the mendicants sat contemplating these emotions of his subjects, then bending forward, thus addressed them:—

"Children and friends, or rather may I call you all my children, as I regard you all with a parental love, I have taken you from your daily employments, that you may all eat and drink with me before I die. I am not courtier enough yet, however, to make my favours an honest loss to my friends; but, before you depart, the book shall be examined, and every one of you shall receive from my privy purse, the same sum that you made by your business this day of the last week. Let not this honest act of generosity displease my heirs; it is the last waste I shall make of their stores: the rest of what I die possessed of is theirs by right, but my counsel, though directed to them only, shall be of public good to all. The good success, my dear children, with which it has pleased heaven to bless my industry in this our calling, has given me the power of bestowing one hundred pounds on each of you, a small, but improvable fortune, and of most use, as it is a proof that every one of you may gain as much as the whole, if your own idleness or vice prevent it not;—mark by what means! Our community, like people of other professions, live upon the necessities, the passions, or the weaknesses of their fellow-creatures. The two great passions of the human breast are vanity and pity; both these have great power in men's actions, but the first the greater far; and he who can attract these the most successfully, will gain the largest fortune.

"There was a time when rules for doing this were of more worth to me than gold; but now I am grown old, my strength and senses fail me, and I am past being an object of compassion. A real scene of affliction moves few hearts to pity: dissembled wretchedness is what most reaches the human mind, and I am past dissembling. Take therefore among you, the maxims I have laid down for my own guide, and use them with as much success as I have done.

"Be not less friends because you are brothers, or of the same profession: the lawyers herd together in their inns, the doctors in their college, the mercers on Ludgate-hill, and the old clothes-men in Monmouth-street: what one has not among these another has; and among you the heart of him who is not moved by one lamentable object, will probably be so by another; and that charity which was half awakened by the first, will relieve a second, or a third. Remember this, and always people a whole street with objects skilled in scenes of different distress, placed at proper distances: the tale that moves not one heart, may surprise the next,—the obdurate passer-by of the first must be made of no human matter if he feels no part of the distress that twenty different tales have heaped together; and be assured, that where it is touched with a kindred misfortune, it will bestow.

"Remember, that where one gives out of pity to you, fifty give out of kindness to themselves, to rid them of your troublesome application; and for one that gives out of real compassion, five hundred do it out of ostentation. On these principles, trouble people most who are most busy, and ask relief where many see it given, and you'll succeed in your attempt. Remember that the streets were made for people to walk, and not to converse in: keep up their ancient use; and whenever you see two or three gathered together, be you amongst them, and let them not hear the sound of their own voices till they have bought off the noise of yours. When self-love is thus satisfied, remember social virtue is the next duty, and tell your next friend where he may go and obtain the same relief, by the same means.

"Trouble not yourselves about the nobility: prosperity has made them vain and insensible: they cannot pity what they cannot feel.

"The talkers in the street are to be tolerated on different conditions, and at different prices; if they are tradesmen, their conversation will soon end, and may be well paid for by a halfpenny: if an inferior clings to the skirt of a superior, he will give twopence rather than be pulled off; and when you are happy enough to meet a lover and his mistress, never part with them under sixpence, for you may be sure they will never part from one another.

"So much regards communities of men; but when you hunt single, the great game of all is to be played. However much you ramble in the day, be sure to have some street near your home, where your chief residence is, and all your idle time is spent, for the night. Here learn the history of every family, and whatever has been the latest calamity; of that provide a brother or a sister that may pretend the same. If the master of one house has lost a son, let your eldest brother attack his compassion on that tender side, and tell him he has lost the sweetest, hopefullest, and dutifullest child, that was his only comfort: what would the answer be, but, aye, poor fellow! I know how to pity thee in that; and a shilling be in as much haste to fly out of his pocket as the first tear from his eye.

"Is the master of a second house sick? waylay his wife from morning till night, and tell her you will pray, morning, noon, and night for his recovery. If he dies, grief is the reigning passion for the first fortnight, let him have been what he would: grief leads naturally to compassion, so let your sister thrust a pillow under her coats, tell her she is a poor disconsolate widow, left with seven small children, and that she lost the best husband in the world; and you may share considerable gains.

"Whatever people seem to want, give it them largely in your address to them: call the beau Sweet Gentleman, bless even his coat or perriwig, and tell him they are happy ladies where he is going. If you meet with a schoolboy-captain, such as our streets are full of, call him Noble General; and if the miser can be any way got to strip himself of a farthing, it will be by the name of Charitable Sir.

"Some people show you in their looks the whole thoughts of their heart, and give you a fine notice how to succeed with them: if you meet a sorrowful countenance with a red coat, be sure the wearer is a disbanded officer: let a female always attack him, and tell him she is the widow of a poor marine, who had served twelve years, and then broke his heart because he was turned out without a penny; if you see a plain man hang down his head as he comes out of some nobleman's gate, say to him, Good worthy sir, I beg your pardon, but I am a poor ruined tradesman, that once was in a good business, but the great people would not pay me. And if you see a pretty woman with a dejected look, send your sister that is at hand, to complain to her of a bad husband, that gets drunk and beats her; that runs to whores, and has spent all her substance: there are but two things that can make a handsome woman melancholy: the having a bad husband, or the having no husband at all; if the first of these is the case, one of the former crimes will touch her to the quick, and loosen the strings of her purse; in the other, let a second distressed object tell her she was to have been married well, but that her lover died a week before; one way or other the tender heart of the female will be melted, and the reward will be handsome. If you meet a homely, but dressed-up lady, pray for her lovely face, and beg a penny; if you see a mark of delicacy by the drawing up of the nose, send somebody to show her a sore leg, a scalded head, or a rupture. If you are happy enough to fall in with a tender husband leading his big wife to church, send companions that have but one arm, or two thumbs, or tell her of some monstrous child you have brought forth, and the good man will pay you to be gone, if he gives slightly, it is but following, getting before the lady, and talking louder, and you may depend upon his searching his pocket to better purpose a second time. There are many more things of which I have to speak, but my feeble tongue will not hold out. Profit by these: they will be found sufficient, and if they prove to you, my children, what they have been to me these eighteen years, I shall not repine at my dissolution."

Here he paused for some time, being almost spent: then, recovering his voice and spirits, he thus began again: "As I find the lamp of life is not quite extinguished, I shall employ the little that remains in saying a few words of my public conduct as your king. I call heaven to witness, that I have loved you all with a paternal love: these now feeble limbs and broken spirits have been worn out in providing for your welfare, and often have these dim eyes watched while you have slept, with a father's care for your safety. I call you all to witness that I have kept an impartial register of your actions, and no merit has passed unnoticed. I have, with a most exact hand, divided to every man his due portion of our common stock, and have had no worthless favourite nor useless officer to eat the honey of your labour. And for all these I have had my reward, in seeing the happiness, and having the love of all my subjects. I depart, therefore, in peace, to rest from my labours; it remains only that I give you my last advice, which is, that in choosing my successor, you pay no partial regard to my family, but let him only that is most worthy rule over you." He said no more, but, leaning back in his chair, died without a sigh.

Never was there a scene of more real distress, or more unfeigned grief, than now appeared among his children and subjects. Nothing was heard but sighs and exclamations for their loss. When the first transports of their grief were over, they sent the sorrowful news to all the houses that were frequented by their community in every part of the kingdom; at the same time summoning them to repair to the city of London on a certain day, in order to proceed to the election of a new king.

Before the day appointed for the election a vast concourse of mendicants flocked from all parts of the kingdom to the city of London; for every member of the community has a right to vote in the choice of their king, as they think it inconsistent with that of natural liberty, which every man is born heir to, to deny any one the privilege of making his own choice in a matter of so great importance.

Here, reader, as thou wilt be apt to judge from what thou hast seen, thou already expectest a scene of riot and debauchery; to see the candidates servilely cringing, meanly suing, and basely bribing the electors, depriving themselves of sense and reason, and selling more than Esau did for a mess of pottage; for, what is birthright, what is inheritance, when put in the scale against that choicest blessing, public liberty! O, Liberty! thou enlivener of life, thou solace of toils, thou patron of virtue, thou encourager of industry, thou spring of justice, thou something more than life, beyond the reach of fancy to describe, all hail! It is thou that beamest the sunshine in the patriot's breast; it is thou that sweetenest the toil of the labouring mechanic! thou dost inspire the ploughman with his jocund mirth, and thou tunest the merry milk-maid's song; thou canst make the desert smile, and the barren rock to sing for joy; by thy sacred protection the poorest peasant lies secure under the shadow of his defenceless cot, whilst oppression at a distance gnashes with her teeth, but dares not show her iron rod; and power, like the raging billows, dashes its bounds with indignation, but dares not overpass them. But where thou art not, how changed the scene! how tasteless, how irksome labour! how languid industry! Where are the beauteous rose, the gaudy tulip, the sweet-scented jessamine? where the purple grape, the luscious peach, the glowing nectarine? wherefore smile not the valleys with their beauteous verdure, nor sing for joy with their golden harvest? All are withered by the scorching sun of lawless power! Where thou art not, what place so sacred as to be secure? or who can say, this is my own! This is the language only of the place where thou delightest to dwell; but, as soon as thou spreadest thy wings to some more pleasing clime, power walks abroad with haughty strides, and tramples upon the weak, whilst oppression, with its heavy hand, bows down the unwilling neck to the yoke. O, my Country! alas, my Country! thou wast once the chosen seat of liberty; her footsteps appeared in thy streets, thy palaces, thy public assemblies: she exulted in thee: her voice, the voice of joy and gladness was heard throughout the land: with more than a mother's love she held forth her seven-fold shield to protect thee, the meanest of her sons; whilst justice, supported by law, rode triumphant by her side with awful majesty, and looked into fear and trembling every disturber of the public quiet. O, thou whom my soul loveth, wherefore dost thou sit dejected, and hidest thy face all the day long? Canst thou ask the reason of my grief? See, see, my generous hardy sons are become foolish, indolent, effeminate, thoughtless; behold, how with their own hands they have loaded me with shackles: alas! hast thou not seen them take the rod from my beloved sister, Justice, and give it to the sons of blood and rapine? Yet a little while I mourn over lost and degenerate sons, and then with hasty flight fix my habitation in some more happy clime.

Though the community of the gipseys at other times give themselves up to mirth and jollity with perhaps too much licence, yet nothing is reckoned more infamous and shameful amongst them than to appear intoxicated during the time of an election, and it very rarely happens that any of them are so, for they reckon it a choice of so much importance, that they cannot exert in it too much judgment, prudence, and wisdom; they therefore endeavour to have their faculties strong, lively, penetrating, and clear at that time. Their method of election is different from that of most other people, though, perhaps, it is the best contrived of any, and attended with the fewest inconveniences. We have already observed, that none but those who have long been members of the community, are well acquainted with the institution of it, and have signalized themselves by some remarkable actions, are permitted to offer themselves as candidates. These are obliged, ten days before the election, to fix up in some place of their public resort an account of those actions, upon the merit of which they found their pretensions of becoming candidates; to which they must add their opinions on liberty, and the office and duties of a king. They must, during these ten days, appear every day at the place of election, that their electors may have an opportunity of forming some judgment from the lineaments and prognostics of their countenance. A few days before the election, a little white ball, and as many black ones as with the white one will equal the number of candidates, are given to each elector.

When the day of election is come, as many boxes are placed as there are candidates, with the name of the particular candidate written on the box which is appropriated to him; these boxes are quite closed, except a little opening at the top, which is every night, during the election, locked up under the keys and seals of each candidate, and of six of the most venerable old men in the community; it is in the little opening at the top of these boxes, that the elector puts in the little ball we have just now mentioned; at the same time he puts his white ball into the box of the candidate whom he chooses to be his king, he puts a black ball into the boxes of all the other candidates; and when they have all done so, the boxes are broken open, and the balls counted in presence of all the candidates, and of as many electors as choose it, by the old men above mentioned; and he who has the greatest number of white balls is always duly chosen. By this means no presiding officer has it in his power to make one more than two, which sometimes happens in the elections amongst other communities, who do not use this form. There are other innumerable advantages attending this manner of election, and it is likely to preserve public liberty the longest; for, first, as the candidates are obliged to fix up publicly an account of those actions upon the merit of which they become candidates, it deters any but those who are truly worthy from offering themselves; and, as the sentiments which each of them gives upon public liberty, and the duty and office of a king, is immediately entered in their public register, it stands as a public witness against, and a check upon that candidate who is chosen, to deter him from a change of sentiments and principles; for, though in some countries this is known to have little effect, and men have on a sudden, without any alteration in the nature of things, shamelessly espoused those principles and sentiments, which they had vehemently all their life before opposed, yet in this community, where there is so high a sense of honour and shame kept up, it must necessarily be none of the least binding obligations. Secondly, by this method of balloting, or giving their votes by balls, the elector's choice is more free and unbiassed; for, as none but himself can know the candidate he gives his white ball to, there can be no influence of fear, interest, ties of blood, or any other cause, to oblige him to give his vote contrary to his judgment; even bribes, if they were known amongst these people, would lose their effect under this method of voting; because few candidates would choose to bribe, when they could have no security or knowledge whether the bribed elector might have put a black ball instead of a white one into his box.

Our hero was now one of the candidates, and exhibited to the electors so long a list of bold and ingenious stratagems which he had executed, and made so graceful and majestic an appearance in his person, that he had a considerable majority of white balls in his box, though there were ten candidates for the same honour; upon which he was declared duly elected, and hailed by the whole assembly, King of the Mendicants. The public register of their actions being immediately committed to his care, and homage done him by all the assembly, the whole concluded with great feasting and rejoicing, and the electors sang the following ode:

I.

Cast your nabs {58a} and cares away, This is Maunders' holiday; In the world look out and see, Where so blest a king as he! {58b}

II.

At the crowning of our king, Thus we ever dance and sing; Where's the nation lives so free, And so merrily as we!

III.

Be it peace, or be it war, Here at liberty we are: Hang all Harmenbecks, {58c} we cry, We the Cuffin Queres {58d} defy.

IV.

We enjoy our ease and rest, To the field we are not press'd; And when taxes are increased, We are not a penny sess'd.

V.

Nor will any go to law With a Maunder {58e} for a straw; All which happiness, he brags, Is only owing to his rags.

Though Mr. Carew was now privileged by the dignity of his office from going out on any cruise, and was provided with every thing necessary, by joint contributions of the community, yet he did not give himself up to the slow poison of the mind, indolence, which, though its operations are imperceptible, is more hurtful and fatal than any of the quicker passions; for we often see great virtues break through the cloud of other vices, but indolence is a standing corrupted pool, which always remains in the same state, unfit for every purpose. Our hero, therefore, notwithstanding the particular privilege of his office, was as active in his stratagems as ever, and ready to encounter any difficulties which seemed to promise success, of which the following is an instance.

Happening to be in the parish of Fleet, near Portland Race, in Dorsetshire, he happened to hear in the evening of a ship in imminent danger of being cast away, she having been driven on some shoals. Early in the morning, before it was well light, he pulled off his clothes, which he flung into a deep pit, and then unseen by any one swam to the vessel, which now parted asunder; he found only one of the crew alive, who was hanging by his hands on the side of the vessel, the rest being either washed overboard, or drowned in attempting to swim to the shore. Never was there a more piteous object than this poor wretch hanging between life and death; Mr. Carew immediately offered him his assistance to get him to shore, at the same time inquiring the name of the vessel, and her master, what cargo on board, whence she came, and whither bound.

The poor wretch replied, she belonged to Bristol, captain Griffin, master, came from Hamburg, was bound to Bristol with a cargo of Hamburg goods, and had seven men and a boy on board; at the same time our hero was pressing him to let go his hold, and commit himself to his care, and he would endeavour to swim with him to shore: but, when the danger is so imminent, and death stands before our eyes, it is no easy matter to be persuaded to quit the weakest stay; thus the poor wretch hesitated so long before he would quit his hold of the vessel, that a large sea broke upon the wreck, and overwhelmed him in the great deep. Mr. Carew was in no little danger, but, being an excellent swimmer, he with great difficulty got to shore, though not without hurt, the sea throwing him with great violence on the beach, whereby one of his arms was wounded. By this time a great number of spectators were gathered on the strand, who rejoiced to see Mr. Carew come ashore alive, supposing him to be one of the poor wretches belonging to the ship. Naked, spent with fatigue, and wounded, he raised a feeling of pity in all the spectators; for, so strongly is this tender passion connected with our frame by the beneficent Author of Nature, to promote the assistance of each other, that, no sooner does the eye see a deplorable object, than the heart feels it, and as quickly forces the hand to relieve it; so that those whom the love of money, for we think that the greatest opposite to pity, has rendered unfeeling of another's woes, are said to have no hearts, or hearts of stone; as we naturally conclude no one can be void of that soft and Godlike passion—pity, but either one who by some cause or other happens to be made up without a heart, or one in whom continual droppings of self-love or avarice have quite changed the nature of it; which, by the most skilful anatomist, is allowed in its natural state to be fleshy, soft, and tender; but has been found, without exception, upon inspection into the bodies of several money lovers, to be nothing but a callous stony substance, from which the chemists, by most intense fires, have been able to extract nothing but a caput mortuum, or an earthy, dry, useless powder.

Amongst the spectators of Mr. Carew, was the housekeeper of Madam Mohun, in the parish of Fleet, who had a heart made of the softest substance; for she immediately, agreeable to the beneficent precepts of the gospel, pulled off her own cloak to give to him that had none: and, like the good Samaritan, giving him a handkerchief to bind up his wounds, bid him follow her, and led him to her mistress's house, where, placing him before a good fire, she gave him two large glasses of brandy, with loaf sugar in it; then bringing him a shirt and other apparel, she went up stairs and acquainted Madam Mohun, her venerable mistress, in the most feeling manner, with the whole affair.

Here, could we hope our work would last to future ages, we might immortalize this generous woman.—Her mistress was so affected with her relation, that she immediately ordered a warm bed to be prepared for the poor wretch, and that he should be taken great care of, which was accordingly soon done, and Mr. Carew lay very quiet for three or four hours; then waking, he seemed to be very much disturbed in his mind; his talk was incoherent, his groans moving, and he tossed from one side of the bed to the other, but seemed to find ease in none: the good people seeing him so uneasy in bed, brought him a good suit of clothes, and he got up. Being told the bodies of some of his shipmates were flung up by the sea on the shore, he seemed greatly affected, and the tears dropped from his eyes. Having received from Justice Farwell, who happened to be there, ill of the gout, a guinea and a pass for Bristol, and considerable contributions from the great number of people who flocked to see him, to the amount of nine or ten pounds, he expressed an inclination of making the best of his way to Bristol: and the good Justice Farwell lent him his own horse to ride as far as the town of Dorchester, and the parson of the parish sent his man to show him the way.

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