quarrelled about the speed of a greyhound, and the decision of a course, and had mutually vowed never to pass each other's door. The sight of his antagonist's card (left in one of Mr Coningsby's absent fits), so mollified the most testy elder of the two, that he forthwith returned the visit, and the opposite party being luckily not at home, a card was left there also; and either individual thinking the concession first made by himself, was emulous in stepping forward with the most cordial hand-shaking when they met casually at dinner at a third place.

But Mr Coningsby's visiting blunders were not always so fortunate; where they healed one breach, they made twenty; and once had very nearly occasioned a duel between two youngsters, lords of neighbouring manors, between whose game-keepers there was an outstanding feud. The card left was taken as a cartel-a note of defiance; and, but for the interference of constables, and mayors, and magistrates, and aunts, and sisters, and mammas, and peace-preservers of all ages and sexes, some very hot blood would inevitably have been spilt. As it was, the affair terminated in a grand effusion of ink, the correspondence between the seconds, a delicious specimen of polite and punctilious quarrelling, having been published for the edification of the world, and filling three columns of the county newspapers. It came to no conclusion; for, although the one party conceded that a card had been left, and the other that the person to whom the name belonged did not leave it, yet how the thing did arrive on that hall table remained a mystery. The servant who opened the door happened to be a stranger, and somehow or other nobody ever thought of Mr Coningsby ;-nay, he himself, although taking a great interest in the dispute, and wondering over the puzzle like the rest of the neighbourhood, never once recollected his own goings on that eventful morning, nor dreamt that it could be through his infirmity that Sir James Mordaunt's card was left at Mr Chandler's; to so incredible a point was his forgetfulness carried.

If, in so simple a matter as morning visiting, he contrived to produce so much confusion, think how his genius must have expanded when so dangerous a weapon as a pen got into their hands! I question if he ever wrote a letter in his life without some blunder in the date, the address, the signature, or the subject. He would indite an epistle to one person, direct it to another, and send it to a third, who could not conceive from whom it came, because he had forgotten to put his name at the bottom. But of the numerous perplexities to which he was in the habit of giving rise, franks were by very far the most frequent cause. Ticklish things are they, even to the punctual and the careful; and to Mr Coningsby the giving one quite perfectly right seemed an impossibility. There was the date to consider, the month, the day of the month, the year-I have known him to write the wrong century;-then came the name, the place, the street, the number, if in London-if in the country, the town and county;— then, lastly, his own name, which, though so simple an operation as it seems, he would contrive generally to omit, and sometimes to boggle with, now writing only his patronymic, as if he were a peer, now only his Christian name, as if a prince, and now an involution of initials that defied even the accurate eye of the clerks of the Post-Office. Very, very few can have been the franks of his that escaped paying.

Of course his friends and acquaintance were forewarned, and escaped the scrape (for it is one) of making their correspondents pay triple postage. Bountiful as he was in his offers of service in this way, (and keeping no account of the numbers, he would just as readily give fifty as one), none incurred the penalty, save strangers and the unwary. I, for my own part, never received but one letter directed by him in my life, and in the address of that, the name, my name, the name of the person to whom the letter was written, was wanting. "Three Mile Cross" held the usual place occupied by "Miss Mitford."

"Three Mile Cross→→→→
Reading,
Berks,"

ran the direction. But as I happened to receive
about twenty times as many letters, and especially
franked letters as all the good people of "The Cross"
put together, the packet was sent first to me by way
of experiment, and, as I recognised the seal of a dear
friend and old correspondent, I felt no scruple in
appropriating for once, like a Scottish laird, the style
And I and
and title of the place where I reside.
the postmaster were right; the epistle was, as it hap
pened, intended for me.

Notes would, in his hands, have been still more dangerous than letters; but from this peril he was generally saved by the caution of the two friends most anxious for his credit, his wife and the old butler, who commonly contrived, the one to write the answers to all invitations and general billets that arrived at the house, the other to watch that none from him should pass without due scrutiny. Once, however, he escaped their surveillance; and the conse

quence was an adventure which, though very trifling,
proved, in the first instance, so uncomfortable, as to
cause both his keepers to exert double vigilance for
the future. Thus the story ran.

A respectable but not wealthy clergyman had been
appointed to a living about ten miles off, had mar-
ried, and brought home his bride, and Mr Coningsby,
who as county member, called upon everybody within
a still wider circuit, paid a visit in due form, accom-
panied by, or rather accompanying his lady, which
call having been duly returned (neither party being
at home), was followed by an invitation for Mr
and Mrs Ellis to dine at Coningsby House. The in-
vitation was accepted; but when the day arrived, the
dangerous illness of a near relation prevented the
young couple from keeping their engagement; and
some time after, the fair bride began to think it neces-
sary to return the civilities of her neighbours, by
giving her first dinner party. Notes of invitation
were despatched accordingly, to four families of con-
sequence, amongst them Mr Coningsby's; but it was
the busy Christmas time, when, between family
parties, and London visiters, and children's balls,
everybody's evenings were bespoken for weeks before-
hand; and, from three of her friends accordingly,
she received answers declining her invitation, and
pleading pre-engagements. From Mr Coningsby
only, no note arrived. But accidentally Mr Ellis
heard that they were to go at Christmas on a distant
visit, and, taking for granted that the invitation had
not reached the worthy member or his amiable lady,
Mrs Ellis, instead of attempting to collect other
friends, made up her mind to postpone her party to a
more convenient season.

The day on which the dinner was to have been given proved so unfavourable, that our young couple saw good cause to congratulate themselves on their resolution. The little hamlet of East Longford, amongst the prettiest of our North-of-Hampshire villages, so beautiful in the summer, from the irregularities of the ground, the deep woody lanes hollowed like water-courses, the wild commons which must be passed to reach it, and the profound seclusion of the one straggling street of cottages and cottage-like houses, with the vicarage, placed like a bird's-nest on the side of a steep hill, clothed to the very top with beech woods; this pretty hamlet, so charming in its summer verdure, its deep retirement, and its touch of wildness in the midst of civilization, was, from those very circumstances no tempting spot in mid-winter; vast tracts across the commons were then nearly impassable; the lanes were sloughs; and the village itself, rendered insulated and inaccessible by the badness of the roads, conveyed no other feeling than that of weariness and loneliness. Mr and Mrs Ellis, who, although not insensible of the inconveniences of their abode, had made up their minds to bear the evil and enjoy the good of their situation, could not help congratulating themselves, as they sate in their snug dining-parlour, after a five o'clock dinner, on the postponement of their party. The snow is above a foot deep, and the bridge broken, so that neither servants nor horses could have got to the Eight Bells; and where could we have housed them? said the gentleman. And the drawing-room smokes So, in this heavy atmosphere, that we cannot light a fire there, responded the lady; never to be sure was anything so fortunate!

And just as the word was spoken, a carriage and four drove up to the door, and exactly at half-past six (the hour named in the invitation), Mr and Mrs Coningsby were ushered into the room.

Imagine the feelings of four persons, who had
never met before, in such a situation, especially of
the two ladies. Mrs Ellis, dinner over, with the
consciousness of the half-bottle of port and the quar-
ter of sherry, the apples, the nuts, the single pair of
mould candles, her drawing-room fire that could not
be lighted, her dinner to be provided as well as
cooked, and her own dark merino and black silk
apron! Poor Mrs Coningsby, on the other hand,
seeing at a glance how the case stood, feeling for the
trouble they were giving, and sinking under a con-
sciousness far worse to bear than Mrs Ellis's-the
consciousness of being overdressed. How heartily
did she wish herself at home again! or, if that were
too much to desire, what would she have given to
have replaced her claret-coloured silk gown, her hat
with its white plumes, her pearls and her rubies
back again in their wardrobes and cases!

It was a trial of no ordinary nature to the good
sense, good breeding, and good humour of both
There happened to
parties, and each stood it well.
be a cold round of beef in the house, some undressed
game, and plenty of milk and eggs; the next farmer
had killed a pig; and with pork chops, cold beef, a
pheasant, and apple fritters, all very nicely prepared,
more fastidious persons than Mr and Mrs Coningsby
The host brought
might have made a good dinner.
out his best claret, the pretty hostess regained her
smiles, and forgot her black apron and her dark
merino; and, what was a far more difficult achiev-
ment, the fair visiter forgot her plumes and her
satin. The evening, which began so inauspiciously,
ended pleasantly and sociably; and, when the note
(taken, as was guessed, by our hero from the letter-

boy, with the intention of sending it by a groom), was found quietly ensconced in his waistcoat pocket' Mrs Coningsby could hardly regret the termination of her present adventure, although fully resolved never again to incur a similar danger.

Of his mishaps when attending his duty in Parliament, and left in some measure to his own guidance (for, having no house in town, his family only go for about three months in the season) there is no end. Some are serious, and some are very much the reverse. Take a specimen of his London scrapes.

Our excellent friend wears a wig made to imitate a natural head of hair, which it is to be presumed that at the very best of times, it does not very closely resemble, and which, after a week of Mr Coningsby's wearing, put on with the characteristic negligence of his habits, sometimes on one end, sometimes on the other, always awry, and sometimes hind side before, assumes such a demeanour as never was equalled by Christian peruke at any time or in any country.

One day last winter, being in London without a servant, he, by some extraordinary chance, happened to look in the glass when he was dressing, and became aware of the evil state of his caxon,-a piece of information for which he had generally been indebted to one of his two guardians, Mrs Coningsby or the old butler,--and, recollecting that he was engaged to a great dinner party the ensuing evening, stepped into the first hair-dresser's shop that he passed to bespeak himself a wig; where, being a man of exceedingly pleasant and jocular manners (your oddities, with the exception of the peculiar oddity, are commonly agreeable persons), he passed himself off for a bachelor to the artificer, and declared that his reason for desiring a wig of peculiar beauty and becomingness was, that he was engaged to great party the next day, at which he expected to meet the lady of his heart, and that his fate and fortune depended on the set of his curls. This he impressed very strongly on the mind of the perruquier; who, an enthusiast in his art, as a great artist should be, saw nothing extraordinary in the fact of a man's happiness hanging on the cut of his wig, and gravely promised that no exertion should be wanting on his part to contribute to the felicity of his customer, and that the article in question, as perfect as hands could make it, should be at his lodgings the next evening

at seven.

Punctual to the hour arrived the maker of perukes; and, finding Mr Coningsby not yet returned to dress, went to attend another appointment, promising to come back in half an hour. In half an hour, accordingly, the man of curls re-appeared, just in time to see a cabriolet driving rapidly from the door, at which a maid servant stood tittering.

Where is Mr Coningsby? inquired the perruquier. Just gone out to dinner, replied the girl; and a queer figure he is, sure enough. He looks for all the world like an owl in an ivy-bush.

To be sure he has not got his new wig on!-my wig! returned the alarmed artist; he can never be such a fool as that!

He's fool enough for anything in the way of forgetting or not attending, responded our friend Sally; and he has got a mop of hair on his head, whoever made it, that would have served for half-a-dozen wigs.

The article was sent home untrimmed, just as it was woven, replied the unfortunate fabricator, in increasing consternation; and a capital article it is. I came by his own direction to cut and curl it, according to the shape of his face; the gentleman being particular about the set of it, because he's going a-courting.

Going a-courting! exclaimed Sally, amazed in her turn; the Lord ha' mercy upon the poor wretch! If he has not clean forgot that he's married, and is going to commit-I don't know what you call it-to have two wives at once! and then he'll be hanged. Going a-courting! What'll Madam say! Going acourting! He'll come to be hanged, sure enough.

Married already! quoth the perruquier, with a knowing whistle, and a countenance that spoke BeneWhen ! dick the married man in every feature. One wife at a time's enough for most people. But he'll not be hanged. The fact of his wearing my wig with the hair six inches long will save him. He must be non compos. And you that stand tittering there can be little better, to let him go out in such a plight. Why didn't you stop him?

Stop him! ejaculated the damsel; stop Mr Coningsby! I should like to know how!

Why by telling him what he was about, to be sure; and getting him to look in the glass. Nobody with eyes in his head could have gone out such a figure.

Talk to him! quoth Sally; but how was I to get him to listen? And, as to looking in a glass, I question if ever he did such a thing in his life. You don't know our Mr Coningsby, that's clear enough.

I only wish he had never come in my way, that I never had had the ill luck to have known him, rejoined the discomfited artist, if he should happen to mention my name as his wig-maker, whilst he has that peruke on his head, I am ruined—my reputation for ever! gone

is

No fear of that, replied Sally, in a comforting

tone, struck with compassion at the genuine alarm of the unlucky man of wig. There's not the slightest danger of his mentioning your name, because you may be certain sure that he does not remember it. Lord love you, he very often forgets his own! Don't you be frightened about that! repeated the damsel, Soothingly, as she shut the door, whilst the discomfited perruquier returned to his shop, and Mr Coningsby, never guessing how intirely in outward semblance he resembled the wild man of the woods, proceeded to his dinner-party, where his coiffure was, as the hairdresser had predicted, the theme of universal astonishment and admiration.

This, however, was one of the least of his scrapes. He has gone to Court without a sword; he has worn coloured clothes to a funeral, and black to a wedding. There is scarcely any conventional law of society which, in some way or other, he hath not contrived to break; and, in two or three slight instances, he has approached more nearly than beseems a magistrate and a senator to a démêlé with the laws of the

land. He hath quietly knocked down a great fellow, for instance, whom he caught beating a little one, and hath once or twice been so blind or so absent, as to suffer a petty culprit to run away, when brought up for examination in virtue of his own warrant. But it is remarkable that he never, in his most oblivious moods, is betrayed into an unkind word or an ungenerous action. There is a moral instinct about him which preserves him, in the midst of his oddities, pure and unsullied in thought and deed. With all his "distractions," he never lost a friend or made an enemy. His opponents at an election are pozed when they get up a handbill against him; and for that great test of amiableness, the love of his family, his household, his relations, servants, and neighbours, I would match my worthy friend, George Coningsby, against any man in the county.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
(Passages from the latest and best Life of him, by
Patrick Fraser Tytler, Esq. No. XI. of the Edin-
burgh Cabinet Library.')

RALEIGH'S ACCOUNT OF THE SCENERY OF CANARI,
IN SOUTH AMERICA.

WHEN we ascended, says he, to the tops of the first
bills of the plains adjoining to the river, we beheld
that wonderful breach of waters which was precipi-
tated down Caroli, and might from that mountain
see the river how it ran in three parts above twenty
miles off; there appeared ten or twelve falls in sight,
every one as high over the other as a church tower,
the water descending with that fury that the rebound
made it seem as if it had been all covered over with
a great shower of rain, and in some places we took it
for a smoke that had risen over some great town.
For mine own part, I was well persuaded from
thence to have returned, being a very ill footman;
but the rest were all so desirous to go near the said
strange thunder of waters, as they drew me on by
little and little into the next valley.

*

I never, he continues, saw a more beautiful country, nor more lively prospects; hills so raised here and there over the vallies; the river winding into divers branches; the plains adjoining without bush or stubble; all fair green grass; the ground of hard sand, weary to march on either for horse or foot; the deer crossing in every path; the birds towards evening singing on every tree with a thousand several tunes; cranes and herons, of white, crimson, and carnation, perching on the river's side; the air fresh, with a gentle easterly wind; and every stone that we stopped to take up promising either gold or silver by its complexion.*

As Raleigh lay at St Michael's, waiting the arrival of the commander-in-chief, who was again running after some fruitless enterprise, a carrack, of eighteen hundred tons, loaded with treasure, bore in with all sail amongst his ships, mistaking them for Spaniards, at which sight he gave orders to haul down every flag, and that no one should, at the highest peril, either fire a gun or put off a boat. All lay quietly at anchor, eyeing their golden victim, which, without suspicion, was proudly advancing, and, in a few minutes retreat would have been impossible, when a loggerhead Hollander, either neglecting or mistaking the signals, discharged a shot at the stranger, who, perceiving her error, changed her course as nimbly as a frightened dove; but at the same moment the wind chopped about, and she ran aground under the town and fort. Here the rear-admiral followed in his barges, with the design of boarding; upon which, finding the danger inevitable, the Spaniards, after having set fire to her in many places at once, betook themselves to the boats that came to their assistance

from the shore. Still, says Gorges, in his ani

mated description of this incident, Raleigh and his men pursued to board and prevent loss, though not without great danger to his row-barge where he was, the surge being very outrageous. But before he

• Discovery of Guiana. Works, Vol. viii. p. 442.

could get up to her, she was all over thunder and
lightning, her ordnance discharging from every port,
and her whole hulk, masts, cordage, and furniture,
overrun with such a thorough, yet distinct and un-
confused blaze, as represented the figure of a ship
more perfectly in fire than could be done by any
painter with all his art and colours; and when she
was consumed, even to the surface of the water, she
exhaled at her last breath such clouds from her spicy
entrails, as for a great way, and for many hours per-
fumed the air and coast around.

Lasting Traces of a Great Man.-It is a remarkable
point about this eminent man, that wherever he had
settled, or his influence extended even for a short
period, he left some traces of his usefulness and acti-
vity. At Youghall, in the county of Cork, of which
county he was mayor, and where his house and gar-
dens are still seen, the finest potatoes ever planted in
Ireland were introduced by Raleigh, who had
brought them from Virginia; and he is also said to
have been the first propagator of the cherry in that
island, which was imported by him from the Cana-
ries. At Lismore, which formed part of the exten-
sive grant made to him by Elizabeth, we find a still
more interesting memorial in a Free School which
he founded; and the large and beautiful myrtles in
his garden at Youghall, some of them twenty feet
high, are associated with that love of shrubs and
sweet-smelling plants, and that elegance of taste in
his rural occupations, which remarkably distin-
guished him.

What

river.

"I remember well his study," says this amusing and garrulous author, "it was a little turret that looked into and over the Thames, and had a prospect as pleasant, perhaps, as many in the world, not only refreshing the eyesight but cheering the spirits." In his best time there was an air of dignity and command about him, an "awfulness and ascendency," as it is well expressed by Aubrey, "above other mortals," which was displeasing to many, and particularly to the King; yet by his sailors and ships' crews, as we learn from Cecil, he was wonderfully beloved. The interior of his palace was magnificent, his taste in furniture being marked by the same love of splendour which appeared in his dress. He delighted in richly carved panels, in antique chimney pieces, in decorating the walls and ceilings of his apartments with his armorial bearings, in beds with green silk hangings, and legs like dolphins, overlaid with gold. His splendid dress, his shoes and doublet studded with precious stones, have been already described. Perhaps he indulged in it to a weakness; but it was an age of magnificence, and it is to be remembered that this wealth in jewels was in Raleigh the result not of extravagance, but of the rich prizes which he had taken from the Spaniards. He glittered with the spoils of the New World; but his jewels were the insignia of his skill and bravery, the fruits not of purchase, but of honourable conquest.

Portrait of Raleigh.-Although his person was
noble and manly, his voice was weak and somewhat
shrill; his long residence at Court could not conquer
his strong Devonshire accent, which, with all the
power of a youthful habit, clung to him to the last.
His conversation and social qualities were eminently
attractive; and whether he sat smoking his long
silver pipe among his literary friends at the Mer-
maid, or talked with his royal mistress when she ad-
mitted him to the privy-chamber, or assisted with
his advice and experience at the council-table, he
swayed and delighted the intellects which came into
contact with his superior mind. We know, from
one who was no partial judge, that the queen loved
his company, and esteemed his judgment as highly
as his wit. In his youth, he was violent and hasty,
and did not scruple to beat at a tavern Charles
Charter, a loquacious and insolent fellow, who had
annoyed him by his remarks; after which he laid
him on his back and sealed up his upper and nether
beard with hard wax. These were youthful follies.
As he grew up he became an indefatigable student,
and, in the judgment of Secretary Cecil, himself one
of the most laborious men of his age, "would toil
terribly when he was busy." Not content with his
reading on shore, he carried with him a trunk of
books on his voyages, and strictly economized his
time. His love of science and experiment was so ar-
dent, that his chemical pursuits and study of natural
history were enthusiastically pursued at sea.
ever corner of the world he sought, his curiosity was
active, and his observations unremitting. In his last
fatal voyage, when broken by disease and disappoint-
ment, his Manuscript Journal, which is preserved in
the British Museum, shows the same unwearied love of
science. He goes ashore with his Indian guide, "to
discover the trees which yield balsamum, of which
he had found a nut smelling like angelica and ex-
ceeding precious;" and on one of its blank leaves
he has sketched the representation of some of the
fruits of the country. Shortly before his death, in
one of his conversations with Sir Thomas Wilson in
the Tower, he alludes to a machine which he had
invented for turning sea-water into fresh; and even
in those melancholy hours he took pleasure in ex-
plaining to him a theory he had formed to account
for the saltness of the ocean. His knowledge of
chemistry and medicine seems to have led him into
that unhappy practice of almost daily drugging him-
self, which is so common a weakness amongst lite-
rary and sedentary men. In his letters to his wife
from the Tower, he asks her, in the same sentence,
to send him his manuscripts, and his powder of steel
and dumex, with some more bitony. He was fond
of music, and it seems to have been an hereditary
taste in his family, Sir Carew Raleigh performed
delicately on the olpharion, an instrument, probably,
similar to the lute, and his grandnephews, Walter
and Tom, had delicate tunable voices, playing well
on the violin. In the productions of the sister-art
of painting he took much delight, carrying his fa-
vourite pictures with him even on his voyages, and
extending his patronage to the best artists of his time,
by sitting to them himself, and employing them to
paint his wife and children. He was fond also of
antiquarian studies, a purchaser of ancient records
and rare charts, and not only prided himself upon
the rich inlaid coat of silver mail which he wore on

gala days, but had collected a fine armoury. In architec-
ture his taste was sumptuous. Durham House, where
he lived during his greatness, is described by Aubrey
as a noble palace; yet he left the spacious apart-
ments to his family, and for himself preferred a small
library which enjoyed an extensive view over the
*Nauston. Fragmenta Regalia,' p. 109.

POLYSYLLABIC RHYMES.

WE have but few rhymes of four syllables, and
these are hardly made but by some whimsical and
far-fetched expressions. Swift, who indulged him-
self much in these trifles, will furnish an example.
For this, I will not dine with Agmondesham;
And for his victuals, let a ràgman dish 'em.
Words, accented on the fifth syllable from the end,
are extremely rare, and, of course, rhymes to them
nearly impossible to be found. I have met with a
single instance.

Why did old Euclis take his only child,
And shut her in a cloister rèparatory?
Because she was a rebel whig, and wild,
And he resolved to tame and keep her a tory.`

But the verses of Swift, upon the ancient dramatic authors, exhibit the most extraordinary specimen of the sort of rhymes we are now considering, that the English language contains. He had superior abilities in rhyming, and he appears to have set himself down to this piece merely for the purpose of exerting them. The following lines are an extract;—

I went in vain to look for Eupolis

Down in the Strand, just where the new pole is;
For I can tell you one thing, that I can,
You will not find it in the Vatican.
"He and Cratinus used, as Horace says,
To take his greatest grandees for asses.
Poets, in those days, used to venture high;
But these are lost full many a century.
Thus

you may see, dear friend, ex pede hence, Thy judgment of the old comedians.

Proceed to tragics; first, Euripides
(An author where I sometimes dip a-days)
Is rightly censured by the Stagirite,
Who says his numbers do not fadge aright.
A friend of mine that author despises
So much, he swears the very best piece is,

For aught he knows, as bad as Thespis 's; S
And that a woman, in these tragedies,
Commonly speaking, but a sad jade is ;
At least, I'm well assured, that no folk lays
The weight on him they do on Sophocles. !
But, above all, I prefer Eschylus,
Whose moving touches, when they please, kill us.
And now I find my muse but ill able
To hold out longer in trisyllable.

Crowe, on English Versification.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

THE gentleman through whose friendly letter from Scotland we had the first information of Mr Simpson's permission to make use of his book, was requested to accept our acknowledgments in a paragraph which was left for insertion last week, but which the press of matter kept out.

We learn, for the first time, that the Bradford We need not say Observer is an old friend of ours. how valuable is the repetition of its approbation after "a lapse of six months."

An accident compels us to postpone further notices to correspondents till next week, when arrears will be duly discharged.

LONDON: Published by H. HOOPER, 13, Pall Mall East. From the Steam-Press of C. & W. REYNELL, Little Pulteney-street.

LONDON JOURNAL.

TO ASSIST THE INQUIRING, ANIMATE THE struggling, AND SYMPATHIZE WITH ALL.

For every

thing to seeing the fields at a distance.
picture is a kind of window, which supplies us with
a fine sight; and many a thick, unpierced wall thus
lets us into the studies of the greatest men, and the
most beautiful scenes of nature. By living with pic-
tures we learn to "read" them,-to see into every
nook and corner of a landscape, and every feature of
the mind; and it is impossible to be in the habit of
these perusals, or even of being vaguely conscious of
the presence of the good and beautiful, and consider-
ing them as belonging to us, or forming a part of our
common-places, without being, at the very least, less
subject to the disadvantages arising from having no

THE CELEBRATED

CASE OF MARY SQUIRES AND ELIZA

BETH CANNING.

MARY SQUIRES, an itinerant pedlar, gipsy, and smuggler, who might have lived unnoticed, and died without remembrance, had not a prosecution for robbery, by which she was condemned to die, suddenly fixed the public eye upon her; and as prejudice or party operated, alternately rendered her a general object of detestation, pity or contempt.

Persisting with the most solemn asseveration, that she was in a distant part of the kingdom on the very day she was accused of having committed the crime, and naming a variety of persons who could prove it, the compassion of Sir Crisp Gascoyne, at that time Lord Mayor of London, was excited; by his example, several well-meaning individuals were induced to join him in examining a most perplexed and intricate business, and she was ultimately recommended as an object of mercy to the crown.

It appeared, by the declaration on oath of Elizabeth Canning, a young woman about nineteen years of age, that, in the beginning of the year 1755, having procured leave from a person with whom she lived as servant, to pass a day with her uncle at Saltpetre bank, she remained with him from eleven in the morning till nine at night; that, on her return, two lusty men in great coats met her near Bethlem Wall, Moorfields, violently assaulted, robbed her of a gown, apron, hat, and half-a-guinea in money, tied her hands behind her, and, on her struggling, gave her a violent blow on the temple, accompanied with oaths

and execrations.

They then laid hands on her, one on each side, and dragged her with violence and abuse for some hours, I part of which time, from fits, she was not sensible, till they arrived at the house of Susannah Wells, which she afterwards found was situated at Enfield Wash. On being forced by the two ruffians into the house, she was accosted by Mary Squires, who asked her, as if she would go their way? and if she would, that she should have fine clothes; words of which, at that time, she did not understand the import, though she replied No; but she afterwards conceived that it was nothing less than for her to submit to the odious life of a prostitute.

Elizabeth Canning further deposed, that, on her answering No, Mary Squires, with a long knife ripped up the lace of her stays, which she took from her, and, after many intimidating threats, pushed her into a back room, or hayloft, where she was confined for twenty-seven days, with no other sustenance than a slender pittance of bread, some water in a broken pitcher, and a small minced-pie which she accidently had in her pocket.

During the whole of the time, she declared that no human creature visited her; that, the bread and water being exhausted, she broke down a board, nailed on the inside of the window, through which she crept on a sort of pent-house, and then jumped on the ground, which, from her description, was nine or ten feet from the window.

Having quitted the house, she walked home as fast as her weak condition permitted; after so long an absence, it was natural to expect that her mother should be alarmed, by the squalid and diseased appearance of her daughter; and by her distressing account of the injurious treatment she had experi

enced.

A circumstance of this kind naturally excited the sympathy and resentment of the public, ever compassionately attentive to female injuries; a subscription was set on foot in favour of the young woman; Squires and Wells were taken into custody, under the most violent impressions of popular prejudice and indignation, tried at the Old Bailey, and sentence of death passed on the former.

But Sir Crisp Gascoyne perceived much contradiction in the evidence, and considered the description given by Canning of the room which she said was the place of her confinement, to be very different from the actual state and dimensions of the hayloft, in Wells's House; he was also startled by a principal witness in Canning's favour, Virtue Hall, wholly retracting her evidence, though she had positively sworn to the seeing Canning at Enfield Wash, and to a good part of the conversation said to have passed between that young woman and Squires, particularly to her ripping off the stays.

For these, and other reasons, this worthy, but at that time unpopular magistrate, presented a memorial to the king, mentioning the presumptive circumstances in favour of the old woman's innocence.

In consequence of this application, Mary Squires was respited for six weeks; the consideration of the matter was referred to the attorney and solicitorgenerals, who reported, that the weight of evidence was in the convict's favour, and she ultimately received a free pardon.

If Squires was not guilty, it was impossible Canning could be innocent; her conduct, considering her years, must have been cruel and atrocious in the

highest degree; combining at once the crimes of
perjury and intended murder ;-murder, too, of the
most cruel, base, and premeditated kind, for the pur-
pose of supporting a groundless prosecution for
felony; under the colour of justice to take away the
life of an innocent person, and to raise contributions
on the public by a fabricated narrative.

For these, and other reasons, it was judged proper
to apprehend her on a charge of wilful and corrupt
perjury; she was arraigned at the bar of the Old
Bailey, nearly twelve months after the trial of Mary
Squires; and five days were occupied in examining
a variety of witnesses, with a patience and a laborious
search after truth, equally honourable to the judges
on the bench, the counsel, and the jury.

It was observed, in Canning's defence, that her not flying from justice, during the long interval that elapsed between the trials, was a strong presumption of her innocence, since neither herself nor friends were bound by any recognizance.

To this it was answered, that one who had been able, for so long a time, by an artful story, to prejudice so many in her favour, and to receive such ample countenance and pecuniary support, and every prospect of evading justice by well dressed evidence, and the strong force of popular opinion; in which case, her triumph over truth would have been complete, her reputation as a species of martyr established, and her reward, in all probability, would have been splendid.

The previous and accurate description of a broken pitcher which was discovered in the room; and the hay-loft which, in some particulars, tallied with her account, though in many circumstances it failed, as she did not mention a jack-line and pulley, a broken casement over the chimney, and a chest of drawers, all of which were proved, by an accumulation of dust and cobwebs, to have been very long residents.

Yet, as the pitcher, and the description of the room and its contents, though not correct, prove some previous acquaintance with the loft, a reference to the evidence of one of Canning's witnessses (Robert Scarratt) helped to clear the mystery.

Incited by curiosity, and, according to his own account, unsolicited, Mr Scarratt had, though a perfect stranger, called at her mother's house soon after her return, and, in the course of his evidence, acknowledged having often, on former occasions, been at the house of Susanah Wells, a place not of the most creditable description, at Enfield Wash.

If we can suppose, for a moment, an iniquitous communication to have taken place between Elizabeth Canning and Robert Scarratt, whose evidence was by no means satisfactory, this difficulty vanishes, and the appearance of truth given to certain parts of the impostor's story, may be accounted for.

It was submitted to the court, that even if Squires could prove, by positive and circumstantial evidence, that she was in a distant part of the kingdom at the time laid in the indictment, it did not follow that Canning had maliciously perjured herself, it being as possible for a person to be deceived by a similitude of deformity, as well as of beauty; though the old gipsy, when the constable went with the warrant to apprehend her, said to Canning, on being charged with robbing her of her stays,-" Do you say I robbed you? Pray look at this face; if you have once seen it, it must be remembered, for I think God Almighty never made such another."

When this part of the evidence was related, the eyes of every one present were earnestly fixed on Mary Squires, whose countenance exhibited an assemblage of features uncommon, and diabolically hideous; her portrait, as a curiosity, is preserved by some of the collectors.

The sufferings of Canning, and the evidently re-
duced state of her health, so much so as to be thought
at first irrecoverable, were also mentioned, as con-
vincing proofs of the truth of her allegations.

The man that hangs, or beats out brains,
The devil's in him if he feigns

if any person in their senses would bring themselves
was quoted on this occasion; and it was asked
to the brink of death, to procure friends and contri-
butions? Would the girl kill herself for the sake of
a subscription?

The counsel in [behalf of Canning strongly dwelt
on the danger of allowing convictions for wilful and
corrupt perjury, on the score of mere improbability
of facts, which have been credited by twelve men on
their oaths; he insisted that such proceedings tended
to overturn the common and established forms of

justice, and would at last intimidate individuals from
bringing guilty persons to punishment, lest they
themselves might afterwards be prosecuted.

[This doctrine was acknowledged by the court to
be well worthy of attention, though in the present
instance from the recantation of a principle witness,
and for other important reasons, it was thought
advisable to depart from a good general rule.]

On this occasion it was observed, that things seemingly impossible for human power to have performed, have been proved true, though no credit was allowed

to them when first asserted; and declarations have been proved false, which had every appearance of credit and authenticity, and which at the time were thought the most unlikely to be attested, if not really

true.

An improbable and unparalled ride from London to York, in one day, on the same horse, prevented the conviction of a prisoner for a highway robbery, though he confessed himself guilty of it immediately after his acquittal.

William Harrison, a steward in the Gainsborough family, was also mentioned, who suddenly dissappeared with a considerable sum of money in his charge, of which he was supposed to have been robbed and then murdered. The family were terrified and alarmed, and, after a certain time, as he said, by remorse, Edward Perry, a man residing near Cambden, accused himself, the wife and sister of the absent man, of having murdered him; he added, that they had thrown the body into a certain pit in the neighbourhood, which was searched, but no body could be found; yet, as he persisted in his accusation, they were all three indicted, tried, and hanged. Harrison a few months afterwards returned, giving a particular and satisfactory account of his absence, equally shocked and perplexed by a sanguinary, but unaccountable depravity, which had thus exterminated his family.

The contradictory accounts of Canning were explained by her friends, as amounting to no more than this, that a general fact, compounded of a variety of things done and said at various places, when related on particular occasions, and at different times, had not always been told minutely and exactly the same way, a defect to which every long and compli cated story must in some degree be liable.

Some allowance, they said, ought to be made for the aggravated feelings and expressions of a parent, who believed her daughter to have been treated in the manner described; and some to an injured female, under the impressions of fear, famine, an emaciated body and an agitated mind.

Several witnesses proved their having seen Mary Squires on or about the 16th, 17th, and 23rd of December, at Enfield Wash. She was observed, according to the evidence of one man, telling a person's fortune; another swore to her applying to him for leave to sleep in his barn; and a third, to her inquiring of him about a horse she had lost.

A physician and an apothecary proved the languid and reduced state of Elizabeth Canning, on her return to her mother's, and that she appeared like one who had suffered extreme hunger, thirst and cold; but they acknowledged, that a person might be as she was from other causes.

An attendant at the Stamford Hill turnpike, swore, that about the fore-end of January, but could not speak positively as to the day, he saw a girl, in company with two men, pass the gate, sobbing and crying; that they jostled her along, and used abusive language.

He described her as having a light coloured gown and apron, and that it was about eleven o'clock at night.

On this evidence it was observed that Canning could not be the woman who passed the turnpike, for she had sworn that her gown and apron were taken from her in Moorfields;-add to this, that the turnpike gate is four miles from Moorfields, and seven from Wells's House, and she swore, that she was brought to Wells's about four in the morning.

Thomas Bennett saw a miserable, poor wretch, in a ragged dirty condition, on the 29th of January, near Enfield Wash, on her way to London, and deposed, that she asked him the road. Two other witnesses swore to their meeting a girl, whom they verily believe to have been Elizabeth Canning, on the road between Enfield Wash and London, but described her as looking pale, though her hands and face were said, by herself and others, to be black and blue.

On the part of Mary Squires upwards of forty persons were called, to prove that she was upwards of 130 miles from Enfield Wash, in company with her son George, and her daughter Lucy, at the time she was accused of having committed the robbery.

On the 29th of December, according to the evidence of Mrs Hopkins, the landlady of a public house at South Perrott, in Dorsetshire, they all three lodged with her; and on the 30th they called at Winyard's Gap, an ale-house about a mile further, to take refreshment. At this last house, the frightful countenance of Squires, so remarkably attracted the notice of the daughter of the woman of the house, that she compared her to a picture of Mother Shipton, hanging in the room. Their appearance on the same day at Lytton, a village nine miles further on the road, was also proved by several witnesses; by James Hawkins, at whose house they slept two nights; by her son's being shaved there by Francis Gladman, and by their dining on a couple of boiled fowls; Mr Moreton observing, that this was a remarkable dinner for gipsies, George answered, that

Knight, labourers, swore that they lopped several ject: Henry Fielding exercised his pen in favour of, cluded, and taken into account by such a penetrating

trees that grew near the window of the workshop or hayloft in question, on the 8th of January; and that, while they were employed in it, two women, Virtue Hall and Sarah Howick, appeared at the window

and conversed with them for more than half an hour.

Had Canning been in the room she must have been seen, or might have called for help. She had sworn that no person of any description entered the garret or loft, during the whole of her confinement.

It was also remarked, that a night-gown and handkerchief, which she said she took to cover herself with, out of the room at Wells's, she claimed as her mother's before the Lord Mayor, and wished to take them, as well as the pitcher, into her possession. To the information before Mr Fielding she set her mark, as if unable to write her name, but afterwards wrote a fair legible hand.

After an examination of more than a hundred and twenty witnesses, the jury retired for fifteen minutes, and brought in a verdict-guilty of perjury, but not wilful and corrupt. This the recorder told them he could not receive, as they must either find her guilty of the whole indictment, or acquit her. After half an hour's consultation, they brought in a verdict guilty of wilful and corrupt perjury.

In May, 1754, being called up to receive sentence, she addressed the court in the following words:

"I hope your lordships will be favourable to me, for I had no intention of swearing the gipsy's life away; I am an unfortunate woman, and what I did was only in my own defence."

The recorder (Mr Moreton) then addressed her in the following words :

"Elizabeth Canning,-You stand convicted on the clearest proof of wilful and corrupt perjury, a crime attended with the most fatal and dangerous consequences to the community, though as yet it is not punished with death.

"Your trial has taken up a great deal of time, and the several witnesses have undergone the strictest examination: I think I may venture to affirm, that there is not one unprejudiced person of the great numbers who have attended it, but must be convinced of the justice and impartiality of the verdict.

and Sir John Hill against the female impostor. In
August, 1754, she was transported to New England,
where she married advantageously, and one of her
original supporters left her a legacy of five hundred
pounds. Before her departure, not willing to lose
that valuable prerogative of her sex, the last word,
Canning published a declaration, which concludes in
these words:-"I declare, in the most serious man-
ner, that I am fully persuaded and well assured that
Mary Squires was the person who robbed me, and
that the house of Susannah Wells was the place in
which I was confined twenty-eight days."

This article ought not to conclude without paying
a tribute of praise to the humane zeal of Sir Crisp
Gascoyne, the acute investigation of Mr Moreton,
and the discriminating precision of Sergeant Davy.

- Linnæus's theory of medicine is amusing, if not instructive. He supposes the human body to consist of a cerebroso-medullary (brain-marrowy) part, of which the nerves are processes; and a cortical (bark) part, including the vascular system and its fluids. The nervous system, which is the animated part, derives its nourishment from the finer fluids of the vascular system, and its energy from an electrical principle inhaled by the lungs. The circulating fluids are capable of being vitiated by acescent putrid ferments, the former acting on the serum, and causing critical fevers; the latter or the crassamentum, and exciting phlogistic diseases. Eruptic ailments are excited by external causes, which he supposes to be animalculæ. The cortical or vascular system, undergoing continual waste, requires continual reparation, which is effected by means of suitable diet. Its diseases arise from improper food, and are to be remedied by sapid (palatable) medicines; while those of the medullary system are cured by olid (nauseous)

substances.-Lives of the Zoologists.