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THE

EDINBURGH MEDLEY

OF

ENTERTAINMENT.

SEI>TG

A NEW AND EXTENSIVE SELECTION

OF

HISTORICAL ANECDOTES, EONS MOTS,

AtiD WITTY STORIES.

equally adapted

10 AMUSE THE MIND, IMPROVE THE FANC'/,

AND MELIORATE THE HEART.

WE CULL THE CHOICEST.”

{Stritrtui-gS :

Printed for T. Brown, No. i. NortE-Bridge, Ey 'Join Moir, Paterson s Court,

j8oc.

HISTORICAL

ANECDOTES,

ANb B ON-MOTS.

Who could imagine that Locke was fond of romances j that Newton onte studied astro-

> that Dr Clarke valued himself for his agility, and frequently amused himself in a private room of his house in leaping over the tables and chairs j and that Pope himself was a great epicure ? When this last gentleman spent a summer with a certain nobleman, he v/as accustomed to lie whole days in bed on account of his head-achs, but would at any time rise with alacrity, when his servant informed him there were stewed lampreys for dinner. On an evening of an important battle, the Duke of Marlborough was heard chiding his servant for being so extravagant as to light four candles in his tent, when Prince Eugene came to confer with him.

' Elizabeth was acsquette, and Bacon receiv- A

4 His torical Anecdotes.

ed a bribe; Dr Busby had a violent passion for the stage j it was excited in him by the applauses he received in acting the Royaf Slave before the king, at Christ-church ; and he declared, that if the Rebellion had not broke out, he had certainly engaged himself as an actor. Luther was so immoderately passionate, that he sometimes boxed Melanc- thon’s ears j and Melancthon himself was a believer in judicial astrology, and an inter- preter of dreams. Riehlieu and Mazarin were so superstitious as to employ and pension Morin, a pretender to astrology, who cast the nativities of these two able politi- cians. Nor was Tacitus himself, who generally appears superior to superstition, un- tainted with this folly, as may appear from the twenty-second chapter of the sixth book of his Annals. Men of great genius have been somewhere compared to the pillar of fire that conducted the Israelites, which frequently turned a cloudy side towards the spectator.

The celebrated Marshal de Turenne was no less remarkable for the extraordinary affability and coolness of his disposition, than

-pftrrjrt

FROWTIS-riECE .

Historical Anecdotes. C

for iiis uncommon penet-r.tion and lieroic at- chievemems in war. One day, in summer, having returned from hunting, he was iyi. g over his window enjoying the cool air, dressed in the hunter’s uniform } viz. a short coat, leather bieeches, and boots. One of his vaiets, coming into the room, and seeing only hi* buckskin breeches, and hunter’s

jacket, took him for one of his feiio.v-servants, and, out of sport, gave the Marshal a severe stroke with his hand on the buttocks: Turenne, smarting with the blow, turned a- bout a little angry : The valet, seet jg his master, fell upon his knees entreating his forgiveness, saying, ‘ I thought, my Lord, it ‘ was John.’ ‘ And although it had been. ' John,’ said the Marshal, with great coolness, ‘ you need not have struck so hard.’

A young country gentleman, who did not know the Marshal, one day, when there was a stop in the streets of Paris, struck his coachman ; .a tradesmen, with a cudgel in His hand,came outoi theshop, crying one, ;Hovf ‘ now, what, treat M. de Turenne’s people

* in this manner !’ At that name, the > g gentleman, cjuite out of countenance, came

A 2

6 Hittorical Anecdotes.

to the door of the coach to make his excuse to the Viscount, who said to him, smiling, ‘ You understand very well, Sir, how to ‘ correct servants ; allow me to send mine ‘ to you when they do amiss.’

He went frequently a-foot to hear mass, and then took a turn alone upon the rampart of Paris, without his servants or any exterior mark to distinguish him. One day in his walk he passed near a' crowd of tradesmen who were playing at bowls ; and who, without knowing him, called upon him to judge of a cast ; he took his cane, and having mea- sured the distances, gave his opinion 5 the man whom he had determined against abused him ; the Marshal smiled, and, as he was going to measure the ground a second time, several officers who had been seeking him, came up and accosted him $ the tradesman was confounded, fell down upon his knees, and begged pardon ; the Viscount answered him, ‘ Friend, you was in the wrong to ima- ‘ gine that I would cheat you.’

He went sometimes, though seldom, to the public shows. He was one day alone in a

Historical Anecdotes. 7

box in the play house, when there came in some country gentlemen, who, not kmnvjng him, would oblige him to give them his seat in the first row ; upon his refusing, they had the insolence to throw his hat and gloves upon the stage : without being moved, he desired a young lord of the first quality to ga- ther them up for him. Those who had insulted him, finding who he was, blushed, and would have retired, but he stopped them, and, with a great deal of good humour, told them, that ‘ if tl ■ y woc'd on- ‘ trive and sit close, there was room enough ‘ for them all ’

Thus this Hero mixed often with the crowd, but still maintained his character.

Coming home one night, he fell into the hands of robbers, who stopped his coach upon the rampart of Paris •, on his promising

i them too Louis d’ors to let him keep a ring of a great deal less value, they returned it, and one of them had the boldness to go to his house next day, and, in the midst of a great company, to whisper him and demand the performance of his promise j the Viscount ordered the money to be paid him, and, be-

- A 3

8 Historical Anecdotes.

fore he related the adventure, let the robber have time to escape, adding, ‘ That a pro- * inise ought to be kept inviolably; and that ‘ an honest man should never break his word, ‘ though given to knaves.’

While Turenne was in his camp near Lens, where he staid twelve days, he sent the Count de Grandpre, afservrards Marshal de Joyeuse, at the head of some squadrons to Arras, to escort a convoy that was coming from thence : the young Count having an engagement with a lady, let the convoy go away under the command of the Major of his regiment. A Spanish party that was marauding, attacked the escort, but was repulsed and defeated by the Major, who happily brought the convoy safe to Lens. M. tie Turenne was informed of Grandpr&’s folly, and knowing it would have ruined him nt Court, said to the officers who were about him : ‘ The Count de Grandpre will be very ‘ angry with me for having given him a pri- ‘ vate commission, which kept him at Arras * at a time when he would have had an op- £ portunity of shewing his bravery.’ The Count, at his return, being told what his


General had said, ran to his tent, threw himself at his feet, and expressed his gratitude and repentance with tears full of affection. The Viscount then spoke to him with a paternal severity ; and his reproofs had such an effect on that young officer, that, far from falling again into the same error, he signa- lized himself by the gallantest actions, during the rest of the campaign, and became at length one of the ablest captains of his age.

The Marshal de Turenne’s death was very extraordinary. Going to reconnoitre the German army, which was commanded by the celebrated Montecuculi, who was now under the necessity of flying before Turen- r.e, be met my Lord Hamilton, who said to him 5 ‘ Come this way, Sir, they are firing ‘ the way you ride to which the Viscount answered, ‘ I should not willingly be kill’d ‘ to day he went on and met S. Hilaire

j Lieutenant General of the artillery, who said to him, pointing with his hand ; ‘ Look,

[ ‘ Sir, upon that battery which 1 have raised * there.’ Scarce had he turned two paces back, when a ball from a canon, fired by the enemy at a venture, having first carried off

IO Historical Anecdotes.

S. Hilaire’s arm that was stretched out towards the battery, took the Viscount full in the breast; falling fortvard, his face lay upon the saddle-bow, and in this posture his horse carried him back to the place where he had left his company j there the horse stopped, and the Great Turenne, having twice opened his eyes, fell dead in the arms of his servants. S. Hilaire’s son thinking his father mortally wounded, and beginning to weep and cry, the father said to him, ‘ It ‘ is not for me, child, that you should lament, ‘ it is for that great man,’ pointing to the Viscount’s body.

The fatal event was soon known through the army, notwithstanding all the endeavours of the generals to conceal it. The doleful news flew from rank to rank, and every where spread a profound silence, which was interrupted only by sighs and lamentations. ‘ Our father is dead,’ cried the soldiers, tear- ing their hair, ‘ and we are undone.’ Every one had a mind to see his General’s body ; that sad spectacle renewed their tears : they cried out with one common voice ; ‘ Lead ‘ us to battle, we will revenge the death of ‘ our father.’ Montecuculi, the German


general, by a greatness of soul rarely to be found in rivals, seemed unaffected with any thing but grief, and often repeated these words, ‘ There is a roan dead who was an 4 honour to human nature.’

The Trench, after Turenne’s death were obliged to repass the Rhine, after fighting the Germans. When crofling that river at Altenheim, some soldiers, covered with wounds, said one to another : ‘ Alas ! if our ‘ father had been alive, we had not been thus * wounded.’

The Duke of Luxembourg, who so often defeated King William the Third, was a man of an ungracious figure, having a pro- tuberance on his back. King William, enraged at the loss of a great battle, exclaimed, when retreating, in the presence of his officers ‘ What! shall that Haunch-back always ‘ beat us !’ This expression being repeated to Luxembourg, ‘ How, in the name of ‘ wonder,’ said he, smiling, ‘ does King ' William know that I am haunch-backed * i He never saw my back, but I have often * seen his !’.

ta ■' Historical Anecdotes.

When Arras was besieged by the Spani- ards, commanded by the Great Conde, Don John of Austria, and the Duke of Lorrain, the army of France, under the command of the Marshals Turenne and Ferte, came to the relief of the besieged. The French generals encamped near the army of Spain, for some days j during which time, they sent frequent couriers to the city, to know how long the Governor could hold out. The Governor generally sent back his answers on a small bit of paper, wrapped in a bali of lead, lest they might fall into the hands of the enemy. One of these couriers, being under the necessity of passing through Con- de’s lines, and fearing he might be taken, swallowed the ball. When brought before the Generals Turenne and Ferte, he could give no satisfactory account of the state of the city. As it was of the last importance to the Generals to know how matters stood with the Governor, Ferte, in a violent passion, cried, ‘ D n the fellow, rip him ‘ up !’ The poor wight was so frightened, that he soon deposited the bullet in his breeches. In consequence of the information contained in it, the army of France at-

Historical Anecdotes* r3

tacked the Spanish lines, and raised the siege. ■ —Related by the Duke of York, (afterwards James the Seventh,) in his Me- moirs.

It is pretty generally known that Mallet was a great free-thinker, and a very free

t speaker of his free thoughts; he made no scruple to disseminate his sceptical opinions wherever he could with any propriety introduce them. At his own table, indeed, the Lady of the house (who was a staunch advocate for her Husband’s opinions) would often, in the warmth of argument, fay, ‘ Sir,

we Deists.'' The lecture upon the non credenda of Free-thinkers was repeated so often, and urged with so much earnestness, hat the inferior domestics became soon as ible disputants as the heads of the family. The* fellowr who waited at table, being horoughly convinced, that for any of his misdeeds he should have no after-account to nake, was resolved to proBtbythe doctrine, md made off with many things of value, par- icularly the plate. Luckily he v.’as so close- y pursued, that he was brought back with is prey to his master’s house, who examixi-

14 Hiitorical Anecdotes.

ed him before some select friends. At first the man was sullen, and would answer no questions put to him ; but, being urged to give a reason for his infamous behaviour, he resolutely said, ‘ Sir, i had so often heard ‘ you talk, of the impossibility of a future ‘ state, that after death there was no reward ‘ for virtue, or punishment for vice, that I ‘ w'as tempted to commit the robbery.’— * Well, but, you rascal !’ replied Mallet, ‘ had you no fear of the gallows ?’ ' Sir,’ said the fellow, looking sternly at his master, ‘ what is that to you, if I had a mind to ‘ venture that ? You had removed my great- i est terror 5 why should I fear the lesser

Antonio Moro (Sir Anthony More), who was born at Utrecht, was much noticed < and patronised by Philip II. This Prince, who made slaves of his friends, and friends of his painters, treated Moro with extraordinary familiarity. This great Artist had not all the courtly discretion of Coello, and met the King's advances with the same ease with which they were made ; so that one day, whilst he was at work, and Philip looking on, Moro dipped his pencil in carmine, and


with it smeared the hand of the King, who v/as resting his arm on his shoulder. The jest was rash, and the character to which it was applied, not to be played upon with impunity. The hand of the Sovereign of Spain (which even the Fair sex kneel down to salute) was never so treated since the foundation of the monarchy. The King surveyed it seriously a white ; and, in that perilous moment of suspcnce, the fate of Moro ba- lanced on a hair. The Courtiers, who were in awful attendance, revolted from the sight with horror and amazement. Caprice, or I would rather say pity, turned the scale ; and Philip passed off the silly action with a smile of complacency. The Painter, dropping on his knees, eagerly seized those of the King, and kissed his feet in humble atonement for the offence ; and all was well, or seemed at least to be ; but the person of the King was too sacred in the consideration of those times, and the act too daring, to escape the notice of the awful office of the Inquisition. These holy and enlightened Fathers, maturely weighing all the circumstances of the case, learnedly concluded, that Antonio Moro, being a foreigner and a traveller, had either

B

i6 Historical Anecdotes.

learnt the art of magic, or obtained in Eng- land some spell or charm, wherewith he had bewitched the King. Moro therefore thought it prudent to retire to Brussels. It was in vain that Philip moved him to revoke his resolution ; in vain that he solicited him, by letters under his own hand, expressed in terms the most kind and condescending, and declarations even of affection to his person, as well as esteem for his talents: the terrors of a tribunal, from which even the Royal hand that he had so familiarly treated, could not snatch him, weighed down all the caresses, all the solicitations of the King ; and he departed, loaded with the rewards of Philip’s munificence, and penetrated with the proofs of his complacency and indulgence.

One day, as Dr Young was walking in his garden at Welwyn, in company with two Ladies, (one of whom he afterwards married) the servant came to acquaint him, a Gentleman wished to speak with him ‘ Tell ‘ him,’ says the Doctor, ‘ I am too happily en- ‘ gaged to change my situation !’ The La- dies insisted upon it he should go,, as his vi- sitor was a man of rank, his patron, his


friend j and, as persuasion had no effect, one took him by the right arm, the other by the left, and led him to the garden-gate $ when, finding resistance in vain, he bowed, laid his hand upon his heart, and in that expressive manner for which he was so remarkable, .spoke the following lines.

‘ Thus Adam look'd, when from the garden driven, 1 And thus disputed orders sent from heav’n : ‘ Like him I go, but yet to go am loth ; ‘ lake him I go, for Angels drove us both ; * Hard was his fate, but mine still more unkind; * His Eve went with him, but mine stays behind.

To show what great events spring from trivial causes, it may be observed, that the Public are indebted to a most trifling incident for the greatest part of Mr Guy’s (the founder of the Hospital that goes by his name) immense fortune being applied to charitable uses. Guy had a Maid servant whom he agreed to marry ; and preparatory to his nuptials, he had ordered the pavement before his door to be mended, so far as to a particular stone which he had marked. The Maid, while her Master was out, innocently looking on the paviours at work, saw a brok-

B 2

x8 Historical Anecdotes.

cn place they had not repaired, and mentioned it to them; but they told her, that Mr Guy had directed them not to go so far. ‘ Well,’ says she, ‘ do you mend it; tell him ‘ I bid you, I know he will not be angry.’ It happened however that the poor Girl pre- sumed too far over her wary Lover, with whom the charge of a few shillings extraor- : dinary turned the scale entirely against her; for Guy, enraged to find his orders exceed- ed- renounced the matrimonial scheme, and built Hospitals in his old age.

Mrs Bellamy relates a remarkable story of Mrs Montford, afterwards Mrs Vanbrug- gen, wife to the promising actor of that name, who was unfortunately murdered as he was escorting the celebrated Mrs Brace- girdle home from the theatre. On Mrs Montford was the justly.celebrated and well- known ballad of Blacl- eyed Susan, written by Mr Gay. Lord Berkeley’s partiality for this actress induced him to leave her, at his decease, three hundred pounds a year, on condition she never married. His Lordship likewise purchased Cowley for her, which was afterwards the summer residence of Mr


Rich; and she besides received from him at times very considerable sums. After this she fell in love w:th that veiy capital actor, Mr Booth; but the desire of retaining her annuity, prevented her from being joined in the bands of wedlock with the lover whom she preferred to numbers that were candi* dates for her favour. This consideration obstructing, the union could not take place, and Mr Booth soon found another mate. Mrs Vanbruggen had contracted an intimacy with Miss Santlow, a lady celebrated as a dancer, and esteemed a tolerable actress. She was the declared favourite of Secretary Craggs, through whose liberality she became possessed of a fortune sufficient to enable her to live independent of the stage. What Mrs Montford could not effect, Miss Santlow did. Mr Booth, transferring his attention from the former to the latter, soon obtained possession both of her person and fortune. Mrs Montford no sooner heard of the perfidy of her lover, and the ingratitude of her friend, than she gave way to a de- speration that deprived her of her senses. In this situation she was brought from Cow- ley to London, that the best advice might


be procured for her. » As, during the most violent paroxysms of her disorder, she was not outrageous, and now and then a ray of reason beamed through the cloud that over, shadowed her intellects, she was not placed under any rigorous confinement, but suffered to go about the house. One day, during a lucid interval, she asked her attendant what play was to be performed that evening, and was told it was Hamlet. In this piece, while she had been on the stage, she had always met with great applause in the character of Ophelia. The recollection struck j and with cunning, which is usually allied to insanity, she found means to elude the care of her servants, and got to the theatre, where, concealing herself till the scene iit which Ophelia was to make her appearance in her insane state, she pushed on the stage before her rival, who played the character that night, and exhibited a more perfect representation of madness than the utmost ex* ertions of mimic or art could do. She was in truth Ophelia herself, to the amazement of the performers, as well as of the audience. Nature having made this last effort, her vital powers failed her. On her going


off, she prophetically exclaimed, It is all over! and indeed that was soon the case ; for, as she was conveying home (to use the concluding lines of another sweet ballad of Gay’s, wherein her fate is so truly described) ' She, like a lily drooping, then bow’d ‘ her head, and dy’d.’

The night succeeding Queen Anne’s coro- nation, or rather the morning, her Majesty turned to the Prince, her husband, with a smile, ‘ George, will you go to rest ?’ The Prince, joyous with his company on that most joyous occasion, replied, in the same strain, ‘ No, Madam : how dare I go to bed ‘ to my Sovereign ? I am now only your ‘ subject, and, like other subjects, am un- ‘ der the command of my Prince.’-—‘ Why ‘ then, George, I command you to come to ‘ bed.’

The whimsical and immortal author of Tristram Shandy was married to Mrs Sterne on a Saturday morning. His parishioners had timely information of this circumstance j and knowing he would preach the next morning at his parish.church, and desirous, at the


same time, of seeing the bride, they assembled in such crowds, that the church was

» full before the bell had done tolling. The bride, as was expected, made her appearance ; and the country folks indulged themselves with usual observations, till Sterne mounted the pulpit. Here every eye was directed to him, and every ear ready to catch the words of his text, which turned out, to their astonishment, to be the following : ‘We have toiled all night, and caught ‘ no fish.’ The congregation looked at each other: some smiled, others stopped their mouths with their handkerchiefs, to prevent them from laughing 5 while the old folks wore very serious faces, and thought the humourist a very odd sort ol a man for a pulpit-lecturer : however, they attended to his discourse, which turned out, as usual, very instructive ; and all went home very highly delighted with the text, but poor Mrs Sterne, who blushed down to her fin- ger ends, every step of the way to her house.

During Mr Pope’s last illness, a dispute happened in his chamber, between his phy.

Historical Anecdotes. 23 — ■■:■■■ ■■ t-i.1

sicians, Dr Burton and Dr Thompson ; the fo'mer charging the latter with hastening his death, by the violent purges he had pre- scribed, and the other retorting the charge. Mr Pope at length silenced them, by saying, ‘ Gentlemen, I only learn, by your dis- * course, that I am in a dangerous way; ‘ therefore, all I have now to ask is, that 4 the following epigram may be added, after ‘ my death, to the next edition of the Dun- * ciad, by way of postscript :

‘ Dunces, rejoice, forg ve all censures past; ‘ The greatest Dunce has kill'd your foe at last.’

It was then generally believed, that these lines were really written by Burton himself j and the following epigram, by a friend of Thompson, was occasioned by the foregoing one :

‘ As Physic and Verse both to Phoebus belong, ‘ So the Co-,',., oft dabble in poricr and s ng; £ Hence Burton, resow'd his ejtieticvhaU nit, ‘ When his recipe faibvgives ?. puke with his wit.’

Most of wh?t c in be told concerning Mr Pope’s petty peculiarities, . as commu.df ated by a iemal? domestic of the £arl o:’ Oxford, who knew him perhaps after the middle of life. He was then so weak as to stand in


perpetual need of female attendance ; extremely sensible of cold, so that he wore a kind of fur doublet, under a shirt of very coarse warm linen, with fine sleeves. When he rose, he was invested in boddice made of stiff canvass, being scarce able to hold himself erect till they were laced ; and he put on a flannel waistcoat. One side was contracted. His legs were so slender, that he enlarged heir bulk with three pair of stock- ings, which were drawn on and off by the maid •, for he was not able to dress or un- dress himself, and neither went to bed nor rose without help. His weakness made it very difficult for him to be clean.

His hair had fallen almost all away ; and he used to dine sometimes with Lord Ox- ford, privately, in a velvet cap. His dress of ceremony was black, with a tye wig, and a little sword.

The indulgence and accommodation which his sickness required, had taught him all the unpleasing and unsocial qualities of a valetu- dinary man. He expected that every thing 1

should give way to his ease or humour, as a child, whose parents will not hear her cry, | ^as an unresisted dominion in the nursery.

Historical Anecdotes. 2 j

C’est que 1’enfant toujours est homme, C’est que i’homme est toujours enfant.

When he wanted to sleep, he nodded in company; and once slumbered at his own table, while the Prince of Wales was talking of poetry.

The reputation which his friendship gave, procured him many invitations $ but he was a very troublesome inmate. He brought no servant, and had so many wants, that a numerous attendance was scarcely able to supply them. Wherever he was, he left no room for another, because he exacted the attention, and employed the activity, of the whole family. His errands were so frequent and frivolous, that the footmen, in time, a- voided and neglected him 3 and the Earl of Oxford discharged some of the servants for their resolute refusal of his messages. The maids, when they had neglected their business, alleged that they had been employed by Mr Pope. One of his constant demands was coffee in the night 3 and to the woman that waited on him in his chamber he was very burdensome 3 but he was careful to re- compense her want of sleep 3 and Lord Ox- ford’s servant declared, that in a house where


lier business was to answer his call, she would not ask for wages.

He had another fault, easily incident to those who, suffering much pain, think themselves entitled to whatever pleasures they can snatch. He was too indulgent to his appetite j he loved meat highly seasoned, and of strong taste : and, at the intervals of the table, amused himself with biscuits and dry conserves. If he sat down to a variety of dishes, he would oppress his stomach with repletion, and, though he seemed angry when a dram was offered him, did not forbear to drink it. His friends, who knew tire ave- nues to his heart, pampered him with presents of luxury, which he did not suffer to stand neglected. The death of great men is not always proportioned to the lustre of their lives. Hannibal, says Juvenal, did not perish by a javelin, or a sword ; the slaugh- ters of Cannse were revenged by a ring, d he death of Pope wras imputed by some of his friends to a silver sauce-pan, in which it was his delight to heat potted lampreys.

That he loved too well to eat, is certain j but that his sensuality shortened his lif; will not be hastily concluded, when it is re mem-


ed that a conformation so iiregular lasted six and fifty years, notwithstanding such pertinacious diligence of study and medita- tion.

In all his intercourse with mankind, he had great delight in artifice, and endeavoured to attain all his purposes by indirect and unsuspected methods. He hardly drank tea

: without a stratagem. If, at the house of his friends, he wanted any accommodation, he

[was not willing to ask for it in plain terms, but would mention it remotely, as something

1 convenient; though, when it was procured, | he soon made it appear for whose sake it had been recommended. Thus he teased Lord Orrery, till he obtained a screen. He practised his art on such small occasions, that Lady Bolingbroke used to say, in a French phrase, that he played the politic.an about cabbages and turnips. His unjustifiable impression of The Patriot King, as it can be imputed to no particular motive, must have proceeded from his general habit of secrecy and cunning 5 he caught an opportunity of a sly trick, and pleased himself with thq thought of outwitting Bolingbroke.

C


Lewis XVth’s passion for the Marchioness j of Pompadour increased in so violent a man- | ner, and the ambition of the Favourite took so high a flight, that she was the universal; topic of conversation, from one end of the kindom to the other. She became the chan- nel of all favours, which she could not con- centrate in herself or her family ; she appointed and disgraced the Ministers and Ge- nerals $ she was the arbitress of peace and war ; but she presided more especially over the department of pleasure, the only one indeed she held at first, the only one which became her, and which she filled with equal; taste and talents.

Madame L’Etioles had procured a di vorce from her husband ; it was no longe proper that she should bear his name j an more particularly, that of a simple under farmer of the revenue. The King dignifie her with the title of Marchioness of Pom padour, which was the name of an ancien house, extinct. Soon after this elevation there happened a very droll scene in th provinces. M. D’Etioles, banished fro Paris, and recalled to life, was endeavour^ ing, during the convalescence, to confirm hil


health, and to dissipate the remains of his melancholy by a variety of objects : for this purpose, he travelled through the skirts of France, till he should be permitted to draw nearer the capital. He was well received and entertained by the men j sought after and caressed by the wom^n. The first courted his protection j the latter distinguished him by their favours. It was not doubted, but that he would return to Paris, and acquire a great influence there : or, at least, that his Wife, when she came to be informed of the attention that had been shown him, would be pleased •, and that this circumstance would be a claim to her protection. In every province, the first Nobi- lity sought his company, and were desirous of giving him entertainments. At one of these he met with an old country Gentle- man, happy enough to know nothing about the Court, the King, or his Mistress ; and even ignorant of his having one. He was only attentive to the veneration which the Traveller seemed to inspire all the guests with, and wished to conform to it. For this purpose, he inquired of one of his neighbours the name of the Stranger. He wa»


told, that he was the husband of the Mar* chioness of Pompadour. He kept it in his mind ; and, the first time he took up his glass, looking at M. D’Etioles, according to the old custom, wdiich he thought still in use, he said: ‘ Monsieur le Marquis de * Pompadour, will you give me leave to have ‘ the honour to drink your health ?’ All the company immediately burst out a laugh, ing, except the stranger, whose sorrows were cruelly revived by this; and the speaker was stricken dumb at the general ridicule. He was terribly ashamed •, when one of the company had the charity to explain to h’m the folly which his ignorance and indiscre- tion had made him guilty of: a folly so much the more disagreeable, as it was ol a nature not to be repaired by any excuse j and that it was necessary the subject should be entirely dropped.

Madame de Pompadour was naturally fond of the Arts, and of Literature. When she was only Madame D’Etioles, she was attended by men of wit, and authors. Among these rvas Voltaire :—the favour of this La- dy served only to strengthen the attachment of this great Poet, who, at that time, was


likewise very ambitious. She employed him at first in her festivals $ and, at the time of the Dauphin’s marriage, he composed the Princess of Nuvarre, a comedy, with inter- ludes, music, and singing. M. de la Poupe- liniere, a Farmer-general, and a man of letters, inserted some airs into it : Rameau had composed the music; and for all this the piece was not the better. The Poet, however, was rewarded„with the post of Gentle- man of the Bedchamber in ordinary, without purchase. This was a present of about 6o,coo livres, * and the more acceptable, as, a short time after, he obtained the singular favour of being allowed to sell his place, while he kept the title, privileges, and func- tions of it. He had himself jested upon this performance, and upon the excessive price he had received for it, in an extem- pore, which is little known.

My Hcnriai and my Za-i-re, My fair American Alzire, Were all unnoticed by the King;

* Two thousand five hundred pounds.


I’d many foes, and very little fame. Honours and wealth now plenteous spring.

From a foolish thing, A farce that scarce deserves a name, f

The ill success of the Princess of Navarre, did not prevent the Marchioness of Pompa- dour from employing Voltaire on the King's return. The bus ness was to celebrate, in a proper manner, the victories of their Mo- narch, and to crown him as a here. He contrived an Opera, entitled the Pimple of Glory. In this heroic ballad, Lewis the Fif- teenth was indicated by the name of Praja»: he was not running after that Deity ; she came to him, associated him to herself, and placed him in her temple, which was immediately changed into the temple of Public Felicity. This spectacle, first executed in the petits appartemens, was represented by the Noblemen and Ladies of the Court, a-

I Mon Henri Quaere & ma Zaire, Et mon Americaine Alzire, Ne m’ont jamais valu un seul regard du Roi; J’avois mille ennemis, avec ties peu de gloire ; Les honneurs, & les biens pleuvent enfin sur moi. Pour une farce de la foire.


niong whom the favourite shone conspicuous. She played the principal character j and we may imagine how well the Monarch must have been pleased, at seeing himself crowned at once by Glory and Love.

Among the few that can boast of compli- mentary verses from the late Dr Samuel Johnson, Mrs Piczzi seems to be the greatest favourite. ‘ As I went,’ says that lady, ‘ into his room the morning of my birth-day ‘ once, and said to him, “ Nobody sends me “ any verses now, because I am five and- “ thirty years old; and Stella was fed with' “ them till forty-six, 1 remember my be- ‘ ing just recovered from illness and confine- ‘ mem, will account for the manner in which ‘ he burst out suddenly ; for so be did, with- ‘ out the least previous hesitation whatsoe- ‘ ever, and without having entertained the ‘ smallest intention towards it half a minute

1 ‘ before

‘ Oft in danger, yet alive, ‘ We are come to thirty-five ; ‘ Long may better years arrive, ‘ Better years than thirty-fire; ‘ Could Philosophers contrive ‘ Life to stop at thirty-Svct

34 Histot icnl Anecdotes.

‘ Time his hours should never drive 4 O’er the bounds of thirty-five. 4 High to soar, and deep to dive, 4 Nature gives at thirty-five. 4 Ladies, stock and tend your hive, 4 Trifle not at thirty-five ; 4 For, howe’er we boast and strive, 4 Life declines at thirty-five ; 4 He that ever hopes to thrive, 4 Must begin by thirty-five ;

4 And all who wisely wish to wive, 4 Must look at Thrale at thirty, five.’

The following instance of the love of money, and meanness, has not perhaps its paral- lel in the whole circle of the Peerage. With- in a fortnight after Lord Tavistock’s death, the venerable Gertrude had a route at Bed- ford House. The good Duke (who had only 6o,cco 1. a-year) ordered an inventory to be taken of his Son’s wearing-apparel, down to his slippers, sold them all, and put the money in his pocket, 4 he amiable Mar- chioness, shocked at such brutal, unfeeling avarice, gave the value of the clothes to the Marquiss's servant, out of her own purse. That incomparable woman did not long survive her husband. When she died, the Dutchess of Bedford treated her as the Duke

Hi\ toriccri Anecdotes. 11

treated hts only son : she ordered every gown and trinket to be sold, and pocketed the money.

This inglorious Nobleman was horse-whipped, in the most exemplary manner, on the course at Litchfield, by J/Ir Murphy, a country attorney. This gave rise to the following story. When the late K;ng heard that Sir Edward Ha.vke had given the French a drubbing (an expression made use of by the Admiral in his letter'! his Majesty, who had never received that kind of chastisement, was pleased to ask Lord Chesterfield the meaning of the word. ‘ Sir,’ says Lord Chesterfield, ‘ the meaning of the word— ‘ But here comes the duke of Bedford, who ‘ is better able to explain it to your IVLjes- ‘ ty than I am.’

King Charles II. asked Stillingfleet, how it came about, that he always read his ser. mons before him, when he was informed he always preached without book elsewhere ? —He told the King, That the awe of so noble an audience, where he saw nothing that was not greatly superior to him, but chiefly

36 'Historical Anecdotes.

the seeing before him so great and wise a Prince, made him afraid to trust himself. With which answer the King was very well contented. ‘ But pray,’ says Stillingfleet, ‘ will your Majesty give me leave to ask * you a question too :—Why you read your ‘ speeches, when you can have none of the ‘ same reasons ?’—“ Why, truly, Doctor,” says the King, “ your question is a very “ pertinent one, and so will be my answer : “ / have ashed them so often, and for so much “ money, that I am ashamed to look them in “ the face.'"

The following laughable adventure was related by the late Samuel Foote, Esq. who was himself a witness to the entertaining scene. The late Sir Thomas Robinson was usually called Long Sir Thomas; not only from there being another person who bore exactly the same name and title, but also from his uncommon tallness, which was rendered the more conspicuous by his being almost as thin as a skeleton. To this was added the most uncouth and awkward carriage that can be conceived. In short, he was not much unlike the figure which is so finely de»


picted in the last book of that beautiful allegory, *Porsena; he seemed to want nothing but the scythe, to make his resemblance perfectly similar to that destroyer of mankind.

The circumstances of the Baronet being in no flourishing situation at that time, he thought a journey to Paris, where he had a sister married to a rich Financier, would be the means of recruiting them. He accordingly set out for France, but in a garb equally as uncouth and outre as his figure. He wore a brown scratch wig, a short riuing- coat, together wnth a pair of jack boots; and carried in his hand a postillion’s long-lashed whip. Thus accoutred, he arrived at the gate of the hotel, where his Brother-in-law resided. The Swiss, who opened the door, beholding such an extraordinary being, stood aghast ; and, when Sir Thomas would have entered, bluntly told him he could not be admitted, as his Lady had company. Tho* the Baronet did not understand the language in which the prohibition was conveyed, lie guessed the purport .of it by the man’s coun-

' fU; Uodsley’s Collection.

B

$8 His tor in / Anecdotes.

tenance; and made shift to utter, in broken French, Her frere, her frcre l

The Porter, hearing this, ran to call the Groom of the Chambers, who understood a little English ; and Sir Thomas, having made known to him his affinity to the Lady of the liousfe, his arrival, without any more obstruc- tion, was announced. As it happened to be dinner-time, when this mirror of knighthood arrived, his Sister, after cordially embracing him, placed him, habited as he was, at the table, between an Abbe and a Maccaroni. He was no sooner seated, than the two gentlemen between whom he sat, struck with the oddity of his figure, dress, and deport- ment, stared at him wfith marks of the greatest astonishment. At length, the latter, unable to restrain his curiosity, laid down his fork*, and thus addressed him : i Monsieur, ‘ ne seeiez vous pas, par hasard, le fameux ‘ Robinson Cr usoe, de qui on pcirle dans l'his~ ‘ toire P—Pray, Sir, are you not the famous “ Robinson Crusoe, of whom we read in “ history r” The mirth so singular and

* In France, a fork and spoon are commonly used, instead of a knife and fork.

and Bon Mots. 15

unexpected a question occasioned, is better conceived than described.

It was upon this Knight that Lord Ches- terfield exercised Iris wit, by that famous reply to a Gentleman, who, during the Earl’s illness, feared that, as his disorder seemed of a lingering nature, he would die by inches.— ‘ I am very glad,’ says his Lordship, ‘ I am ‘ not so tall as Sir Thomas Robinson.’

The Duke of York, it is said, one day told the King his brother, that he had heard so much of old Milton, he had a great desire to see him. Charles told the Duke, that he had no objection to his satisfying his curiosity 5 and accordingly, shortly after, James, having informed himself where Mil- ton lived, went privately to his house. Be- ' ing introduced to him, and Milton being informed of the rank of his guest, they conversed together for some time j but, in the course of their conversation, the Duke asked Milton, Whether he did not think the loss of his sight was a judgment upon him for what he had written against the late King, his father ? Milton’s reply was to this tf»

D

43 Historical Anecdotes,

feet • ‘ If your Highnes-. thioks that the ca- * Ir.i- ities which befal us here, are indica- ‘ tionS of the wrath of Heaven, in what ‘ manner are we to account for the fate of ‘ the King your father ? The displeasure of £ Heaven must, upon this supposition, have ‘ been much greater against him than against ‘ me ; for I have only lost my eyes, out he ‘ lost his bead.' The Duke was exceedingly nettled at this answer, and went away soon after very angry. When he came back to the court, the first thing that he said to the King, was, “ Brother, you are greatly to “ blame that you don’t have that old rogue “ Milton hanged."—‘ Why, what’s the mat- ‘ ter, James ?’ said the king : ‘ you seem in ‘ a heat ! What, have you seen Milton — “ Yes,” answered the Duke, ‘‘ I have seen “ him.”—• Well,’ said the King, ‘ in what ‘condition did you find himi"—“ Ccndi- i: tion ! replied the Duke, “ why he’s old, “ and very poor.”—‘ Old and poor !’ said the King ; ‘ well, and he is blind, is he noti” —‘ Yes.” said the Duke, “ blind as a bee- “ tic.”—‘ '* hy then you are a fool, fames,’ replied the King, ‘ to have him hanged as a 1 punishment: to hang him will be doing

and Bon Mots. 41 4 him a servce j it will bt taking him out ‘ of his miseries. No, if he is old, poor, 4 and blind, he is miserable enough in all ‘ conscience : let him live.’

Poctox Hooch, some time since Bishop of Worcester, who was as remarkable for the evenness of his temper, as for many other good qualities, having a good deal of company at his house, a Gentleman present desired his Lordship to show him a curious weather-glass which the Bishop had lately purchased, and which cost him above thirty guineas. The servant was accordingly desired to bring it, who, in delivering it to the Gentleman, accidentally let it fail, and broke it all to pieces. The company were all a little deranged by the accidtnf ‘ Be ‘ under no concern, my dear Sir,’ savs the Bishop, smiling, 4 1 think it is rather a lucky ‘ omen : we have hitherto had a dry season) ‘ and I hope we shall have some rain, for I 4 protest I do not remember ever to have * seen the glass so /oiv.'

Of the many curious particulars handed down to us by different writers, of the Czar

D 2

42 Historical Anecdotes, »-■ ■ ■■ ■ —■ ■ ■ • — -■ ■ ■ - - Peter the Great, the following anecdote is but little known. Amongst the various females that attracted his Majesty’s notice, was a beautiful young lady, the daughter of a foreign merchant, in the city of Moscow. He first saw her in her father’s house, where he dined one day: he was so much taken with her appearance, that he offered her any terms she pleased, if she would live with him ; which this virtuous young woman modestly refused: but, dreading the effects of his authority, she put on a resolution, and left Moscow in the night, without communicating her design even to her parents. Hav- ing provided a little money for her support, she travelled on foot several miles into the country, till she arrived at a small village, where her nurse lived with her husband and their daughter, the young lady’s foster-sister, to whom she discovered her intention of concealing herself in the wood near that village : and, to prevent any discovery, she set out the same night, accompanied by the husband and daughter. The husband, being a timber-man by trade, and well acquainted with the wood, conducted her to to a little dry spot in the middle of a mo-

and Bon Mots. 43

rass ; and theie he built an hut for her habitation. She had depos ted her money '- ith her nurse, to procure little necessaries for her support, which were faithfully conveyed to her at night, by the nurse or her daughter, by one of whom she was constantly attended in the night-time.

The next day after her flight, the Czar called at her father’s to see her, and finding the parents in anxious concern for t* e.r daughter, and himself disappointed, fancied it a plan of their own concerting. He became angry; and began to threaten them with the effects of his displeasure, if she was not produced : nothing was left to the parents but the most solemn protestations, with tears of real sorrow running down their cheeks, to convince him of their innocence and ignorance what was become of her, as- suring him of their fears that some ratal dis- aster must have befallen her, as nothing be longing to her was missing, except what she had on at the time The Czar, satisfied of their sincerity, ordered great search to be made for her, with the offer of a considerable reward to the person who should discover what was become of her j but to no pur-

03


pose : the parents and relations, apprehend- ing she was no more, went into mourning for her.

Above a year after this she was discovered by an accident. A coloneL who had come irom the army to see his friends, going a hunting into that wood, and following his game through the morass, he came to the hut, and looking into it, saw a pretty young woman in a mean dress. After inquding of her who she was, and how she came to live in so solitary a place, he found out at last that she was the lady whose disappearance had made so great a noise : in the utmost confusion, and with the most fervent intreaties, she prayed h>m on her knees that he would not betray her ; to which he replied, That he thought her danger was now past, as the Czar was then otherwise engaged, and that she might with safety discover herself, at least to her parents, with whom he would consult how matters should be managed. The Indv agreed to his proposal, and he set out immediately, and overjoyed her parents with the happy discovery: the issue of their de- liberations was to consult Madam Catharine i as she was then called) in what manner the

and Bon Mott. 45

affair should be opened to the Czar. The colonel went also mon this business, and was advised by Madam to come next morning, and she would introduce him to his Majesty, when he might make the discovery, and claim the promised reward. He went according to appointment, and being introduced, told the accident by which he had discovered the lady, and represented the miserable situation in which he found her, and what she must have suffered by being so long shut up in such a dismal place, from the delicacy of her sex. The Czar shewed a great deal of concern that he should have been the cause of all her sufferings, declar- in'! that he would endeavour to make her amends. Here Madam Catharine suggested, that she thought the best amends his Ma- jesty could make was, to give her a handsome fortune and the colonel for a husband, who had the best right, having caught her in pursuit of his game. The Czar, agreeing perfectly with Madam Catharine’s sentiments, ordered ote of his favourites to go with the colonel, and bring the young lady home ; where she arrived, to the inexpressible joy ct her family and relations, who had all been

46 Historical Anecdote',

in mourning for her. The marriage was under the direction, and at the expence of the Czar, who himself gave the bride to the bridegroom ; saying, That he presented him with one of the most virtuous of women j and accompanied his declaration with very valuable presents, besides settling on her and heirs three thohsand rubles a year. This lady lived highly esteemed by the Czar, and every one who knew her.

While the late Lord Chancellor Northing- ton continued at the Bar, he went the Wes- tern Circuit; and, being of lively parts, and a warm temper, he was, like some other Lawyers, too apt to take indecent liberties in examining witnesses. An extraordinary instance of this kind happened at Bristol. In a cause of some consequence, Mr Reeve, a considerable merchant, and one of the people called Quakers, was cross-examined by him, with much raillery and ridicule. Mr Reeve complained of it at the time j and, when the Court had adjourned, and the Lawyers were all together at the White- Lion, Mr Reeve sent one of the waiters to let Mr Henly know, that a gentleman want-

and Bon Mots. 47

ed to speak to him in a room adjoining. As soon as Mr Henley had entered the room, Mr Reeve locked the door, and put the key into his pocket. ‘ Friend Henley,’ said he, ‘ I cannot call thee ; for thou hast used me ‘ most scurrilously. Thou mightest think, ‘ perhaps, that a Quaker might be insulted ‘ with impunity j but I am a man of spirit, ‘ and am come to demand, and will have sa- ‘ tisfaction. Here are two swords—here ‘ are two pistols : choose thy weapons, or * fight me at fist-cuffs if thou hadst rather j ‘ for fight me thou shall, before thou leavest * the room, or else beg my pardon.’ Mr Henley pleaded in excuse, ‘ That it was ‘ nothing more than the usual language of ‘ the Bar $ that what was said in Court ‘ should not be questioned out of Court ; ‘ Lawyers sometimes advanced things to ‘ serve their client, perhaps beyond the ‘ truth ; but such speeches died in speak- 4 ing : he was so far from intending any in- 4 suit or injury, that he really had forgotten 4 what he had said, and hoped the other 4 would not remember it j upon his word 4 and honour he never meant to give him 4 the least offence ; but if, undesignedly, he

4.5 Historical Anecdotes,

1 had offended him, he was sorry for it, and ‘ was ready to beg his pardon, which was a ‘ gentleman’s satisfaction.’—‘ Well,’ said ‘ Mr Reeve, ‘ as the affront was public, ‘ the reparation must be so too. If thou ‘ wrilt not fight, but beg my pardon, thou ‘ must beg my pardon before the company ‘ in the next room.’ Mr Henley, after some difficulty and some delay, submitted to the condition ; and thus this fray ended. No farther notice was taken on either side, till, after some years, the Lord Chancellor wrote a letter to Mr Reeve, informing him that slich a ship was coming into the port of Bris- tol, with a couple of pipes of Madeira on board, consigned to him. He therefore begged Mr Reeve to pay the freight and duty, and to cause the casks to be put into a waggon, and sent to the George •, and he would take the first opportunity of defray- ing all charges, and should think himself in- finitely obliged to him. All this was done as desired ; and the winter following, when Mr Reeve was in town, he dined at the Chancellor’s, with several of the Nobility and Gentry. After dinner, the Chancellor related the whole story of his first acouain-

and Bon Mots. 49

tance with his friend Reeve, and of every particular that had passed between them, with great good humour and pleasantry, and to the no small diversion of the company.

It is well known, that Mr Nash, the vain though useful superintendant of public pleasures, firs! introduced order and elegance in places of entertainment j and, on account of the authority he was indulged to assume, was styled King of Bath. In consideration of his services, the corporation resolve to give him a public and durable mark of their gratitude and regard. A full-length picture of the Miiiarch was, at their expence, placed in the Purnp-room, between the busts of Newton and Pope. The want of judgment that directed, and the vanity that accepted such a monument, were severely lashed in the following lines, written by the late Lord Chesterfield :

‘ Immortal Newton never spoke ‘ More truth than here you’ll find;

‘ Nor Pope himself e’er penn’d a joke 1 Severer on mankind.

5° Historical Anecdotes,

‘ This picture, plac’d the busts between, ‘ Gives satyr all its strength ;

‘ Wisdom and Wit are little seen, ‘ While Folly glares at length.'

Some years since, Voltaire wrote a very- severe satire upon the King of Prussia, which so nettled him, that he never could forgive it. Upon hearing that the Bard was at Leip- sic, he told Count de , one of his Aid- de-camps, that he could confer a singular o- •b’igation on him; the Aid-de-camp, who said he only lived to obey his Majesty, was told the object was to properly requite Mr Voltaire for the obligation he had conferred in that satire. The hint was sufficient ; the Count flew to execute his Sovereign’s pleasure ; he repaired to Leipsic ; and, waiting one morning upon Voltaire, complimented him upon his extraordinary merit, and enquired if he was not the author of that particular poem ; to which the bard very innocently replied, ‘ Yes.’ ‘ Then, Sir,’ said the Count, ‘it is a scandal to the judgment ‘ of the present age, that you have not yet ‘ been recompensed for it. I have a cora- ‘ mission, Sir, to reward you liberally for

and Eon Mots. 5i

‘ this production j and I have too great a ^ sense of its value, and too much generosity, ‘ to deprive you of any part of your due.’ Having said this, he fell to work, and caned him very severely, whilst the unfortunate bard in vain pleaded for mercy. The obligation being thus requited, the Count drew up a receipt in the following terms, which he insisted on Voltaire’s signing, on pain of further corporal punishment: ‘ Received of his ‘ Prussian Majesty, by the hands of the ‘ Count de , one hundred bastinadoes, ‘ very judiciously applied *, for having writ- ‘ ten a satire upon his said Majesty : in full ‘ of all demands. Witness my hand,

* Voltaire.’

Jaqueline of Luxemburg, Duchess of Bed- ford, had, after her first husband’s death, so far sacrificed her ambition to love, that she married Sir Richard Woodville, a private Gentleman, afterwards honoured with the title of Lord Rivers) to whom she bore several children, and amongst the rest, Eliza-

* The original French is more expressive ; but cannot be rendered in English with equal force. Cent etiifi de sane bien appliques.

5 2 Historical Anecdotes,

beth, who was no less distinguished by the beauty and elegance ot her person, than the amiable disposition of her mind. Elizabeth espou ed Sir John Gray, of Groby j but her husband being slain in the second battle of St Alban’s, fighting for the family of Lan- caster, and his estate being, on that account, confiscated, the young widow retired to her father’s seat at Grafton in Northampton- shire, where she lived some time in privacy and retirement. Edward IV. King of Eng. land, happening to hunt in that county, went to pay a visit to the Dutchess of Ledford ; and Elizabeth resolved to embrace such a favourable opportunity, of obtaining some grace from this gallant Monarch. Accord- ingly she came into his presence, and, throwing herself at his feet, implored a maintenance for herself and children. The sight of so much beauty in distress, made a deep impression on the amorous mind of Edward. Love stole insensibly into his heait, under the guise of compassion 5 and her sorrow and afHiction, so graceful in a virtuous matron, recommended her no less to his esteem and veneration, than her personal beauty made her the object of his af-

and Bon Mots. <,3

fection. He raised her trom vh-: ground, with assurances of favour. He found his passion daily strengthened by the company and conversation of the lovely widow ; and in a short time, became the supplian- of the woman whom he had lately seen on her knees before him. But sucli was the ieso- lute virtue of Elizabeth, that she positively refused to gratify his passion in a dishonour- able manner. All the intreaties, promises, and endearments of the young and amiable Edward, were not sufficient to gain her con- sent. At last she plainly told him, fhat, though she was unworthy of being hi' wife, yet she thought herself too good to be his concubine ; and would therefore remain in the humble situation to which Providence had reduced her. This oppjsition served but the more to endave the passions of the young Monarch, and heighten his esteem for such exalted sentiments : he therefore offered to share his throne, as well as his heart, with the woman whose personal and mental accompli-hments rendered hsr so deserving of both. The nuptials were accordingly so- lemnized at Grafton, A. 13. I465. •

E 2


The Spanish settlement of St Augustine was attacked, in the year 1747, by the Eng- lish, who were obliged to raise the siege ; at which time a party of Highlanders, who attempted to cover their retreat, were routed, and gieat numbers of them cut to pieces. A Serjeant, being taken prisoner by the Spanish Indians, was reserved for that lingering death, of roasting by a slow fire, to which those savages devoted their prisoners. This unfortunate soldier, when he beheld the preparations for the horrid tortures that attended him, being well acquainted with the Indian language from some years residence in Georgia, with equal plausibility and resolution, addressed the unrelenting barbarians in a speech to the following purport : ‘ Heroes and Patriarchs of the new ‘ world, you were not the enemies I sought ‘ to meet j you have, however, gained the ‘ victory ; make what use of it you think fit. ‘ The fate of war hath delivered me into ‘ your hands ; and I dispute not your right. ‘ But, since it is the custom of my fellow- ‘ citizens to offer a ransom for their lives, ‘ listen to a proposition which is not to be ' rejected. Know then, brave Americans !

and Bon Mot}. Si

‘ that in the country which gave me birth, ‘ there are certain men endowed with super* ‘ natural knowledge. One of these sages, ‘ who was allied to me by blood, gave me, ‘ when I became a soldier, a charm which ‘ was to render me invulnerable. You saw ‘ how I escaped all your darts: without that 4 inchantment, was it possible I should have 4 survived the many blows with which you 4 assailed me ? I appeal to your valour. Did 4 I either seek for ease, or fly from danger ? 4 It is not so much my life that I now beg 4 of you, as the glory of revealing a secret 4 of importance to your preservation, and of 4 rendering the most valiant nation in the 4 world immortal. Only leave me one of 4 my hands at liberty, for the ceremonies of 4 the inchantment; I will give you a proof 4 of its power upon myself in your presence.’ The Indians hearkened with avidity to a speech that equally suited their warlike disposition, and their inclinations towards the marvellous. After a short deliberation, they unloosed one of the prisoner’s arms. The Scotchman requested, that his broad-sword should be given to the most alert and most vigorous person in the assembly j and, lay-

Historical Anecdotes., 56

ing bare his neck, after he had rubbed it o- ver with magic signs, and muttered a few in- articulate words, he called out, with a loud voice and a cheerful air, * Behold ye now, ‘ sage Indians, an incontestable evidence of ‘ my sincerity. You, warrior, who grasp ‘ the instrument of death, strike with your ‘ whole force ; you are not only unable to ‘ sever my head from my body, but even to ‘ pierce the skin of my neck !’ He had scarce pronounced these words, when the Indian, fetching a most dreadful blow, made the head of the Serjeant fly to the distance of twenty yards. The astonished savages stood immoveable. They looked at the bloody carcase, and then cast their eyes on themselves, as if to reproach one another for their stupid credulity. Admiring, however, the stratagem employed by the stranger to shorten his death, and to avoid the torments that were prepared for him, they granted to his corpse the funeral honours of their coun-

uy.

The late Mr Ralph Allen, who has been universally honoured with the epithet of good, was originally born to no profession.

end Bnn Mots. 57

A fund of good sense, however, showed him the most likely methods of procuring an immense estate ; and his conduct proves the ancient adage, that ‘ Every man is the ma- * ker of his own fortune.’ The cross-posts all over England were of his contrivance : these he farmed from the Government, and they turned out highly to his advantage. An estate, he purchased near Bath, was bought with equal prudence : it was found to contain a quarry, from which the stones for building the most beautiful parts of that town were taken. By this estate he gained such considerable sums, that, though he gave numberless benefactions to the indigent or meritorious, he died worth more than an hundred thousand pounds. It is told of this excellent man, that he once courted a young lady,whose father wanted to drive the match, as it was very advantageous. The young lady, however, was pre-engaged to another lover; which when Mr Allen knew, he ge- nerously portioned out his mistress from his own fortune, and gave her away himself to his own rival. The honours which so much virtue deserved, were amply recompensed by Mr Pope, in these fine lines:


‘ I.et modest Allen, with ingenuous shame, ‘ Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.’

Charles V. Emperor of Germany, being eager in the pursuit of a stag, lost his company, and killed the stag two miles from Madrid ; when an old country fellow happening to come by with an ass and a load of wood, he offered to give him more than the wood was worth, if he would carry the stag to Madrid ; and the countryman merrily answered, ‘ By the Lord, friend, I believe you ‘ are a fool: you see the stag is heavier than ‘ the ass and wood together, and yet you ‘ would have the poor ass to carry him : it ‘ were better that you, who are a lusty fel- ‘ low, should carry them both.’ The emperor was pleased with the reply ; and, whilst he waited for his company, fell into discoure with the old man, asking him, How many kings he had known ? The peasant answered, ‘ I have lived under five kings ; John, his ‘ son Henry, king Ferdinand, king Philip, ‘ and this Charles.’—‘ Which of them, Fa- ‘ ther,’ says the emperor, ‘ was the best, ‘ and which the worst ?’—‘ There is no doubt ‘ to be made,’ replied the old man, ‘ but

' nnd Bon Mott. 59

‘ Ferdinand was the best j and who the worst ‘ I sha’n’t say ; but he we have now is bad * enough ; always rambling to Italy, Ger- ‘ many, and Flanders, carrying all the mo- ‘ ney out of Spain ; and though his revenues ‘ are great enough to conquer the world, yet ‘ he is always laying on new taxes, so that ‘ we poor countrymen are quite beggared.’ The emperor, finding the fellow was in ear- nest, began to plead his own cause the best he could, without discovering himself, till his company came up : when the countryman, seeing the respect they shewed him, said, ‘ It were pleasant if it should prove to * be the king; but, had I known it, I would 1 have said much more.’ The emperor was so far from being displeased with the discourse, that he gave the old man a sum of money, and settled a portion on his daughter.

At the battle of Malplaquet, a ludicrous circumstance happened :

A young Swiss recruit, when his regimen- tals were making, had procured a round iron plate, bordered with small holes, which he desired the taylor to fasten on the inside of

6o Historical Anted' tes,

Iris coat, above his left breast, to prevent his being shot through the heart. The taylor, being a humourous fellow, fastened it in the seat of his breeches; and the clothes being scarcely on his back when he was ordered to march into the field, having no opportunity to get his aukward mistake rectified, before he found himself engaged in battle, and being obliged to fly before the enemy, in endeavouring to get over a thorn-hedge in his way, he unfortunately stuck fast till he was overtaken by a foe, who, on his coming up, gave him a push in the breech with his bayonet (with no friendly design) ; but it luckily hit on the iron plate* and pushed the young soldier clear out of the hedge ; this favourable circumstance made the Swiss honestly confess, ‘ that the taylor had more ‘ sense than himself, and knew better where ‘ his heart lay.'

A certain Cham of Tartary, going a progress with his nobles, was met by a dervise, who cried, with a loud voice, ‘ Whosoever ‘ will give me a hundred pieces of gold, I ‘ will give him a piece of advice.’ The cham ordered him the sum : upon which the

and Bon Mott. 61

dervise said, ‘ Begin nothing, of which thou ‘ hast not well consideied the end.’ The courtiers, upon hearing this plain sentence, smiled ; and said, with a sneer, ‘ The der- ‘ viseiswellpaidforhismaxim:’ Buttheking was so well satisfied with the answer, that he ordered it to be written, in gold letters, in several places of his palaces, and engrav- ed on all his plate. Not long after, the king’s surgeon was bribed to kill him with a poisoned lancet, at the time he let him blood. One day, when the king’s arm was bound, and the fatai lancet in the surgeon’s hand, he read on the ba^on, ‘ Begin nothing, ‘ of which thou hast not well considered the * end.’ He immediately started, and let the lancet fall out of his hand. The king observed his confusion, and inquired the rea. son. The surgeon fell prostrate, confessed the whole affair, and was pardoned, and the conspirators died. The cham, turning to his courtiers, who heard the advice with contempt, told them, ‘ That counsel could ‘ not be too much valued, which had saved ‘ a king’s life.’


There is a remarkable anecdote recorded by Winstanley, in regard to a Flay, intitled “ Lingua,''1 which points it out to have been, in some measure, the cause of those trouoles which disturbed the peace of these realms in the middle of the seventeenth century. He tells us, vvhen this Play was acted at Cam- bridge, Oliver Cromwell ^then a youth) performed a part in it. The substance of the piece is a contention among the Senses for a Crown, which Lingua has laid for them to find. The part allotted to young Cromwell was that of Tactus, or Touch, who, having obtained the contested coronet, makes this spirited declaration : “ R.oses and Bays, pack hence ! this Crown and Robe “ My brows and body circles and invests : “ How gallantly it fits me 1—Sure the slave “ Measur’d my head, that wrought this Coronet.— “ They lye that say complexions cannot change ! “ My blood’s ennobled, and 1 am transform’d “ Into the sacred temper of a King. “ Methinks I hear my noble paratites “ Stiling me Caesar, or great Alexander, “ Licking my feet,” &c.

It is said that he felt his part so warmly, and more especially the above-quoted speech, that it was what first fired his soul vrhh am-

and Bon Mots. 63

bition, and excited him, from the possession of an imaginary crown, to stretch his views to that of a real one, for the accomplishment of which he was contented to wade through seas of blood, and, “ shut the gates of mer- “ cy on mankind.”

A few months before the ingenious Mr Hogarth was seized with the malady which deprived society of one of its most distinguished ornaments, he proposed to his matchless pencil, the work he has intitled a Tail- Piece ; the first idea of which is said to have been started in company, while the convivial glass was circulating round his own table. “ My next undertaking,” said Ho- garth, “ shall be the end of all things.—‘ If that is the case,’ replied one of his friends, 4 your business will be finished, for there will 4 be an end of the Painter.'—There will so,” answered Hogarth, sighing heavily, 44 and “ therefore the sooner my work is done, 44 the better.” Accordingly, he began the next day, and continued his design with a diligence that seemed to indicate an appre- hension fas the report goes) he should not live till he had completed it. Thi;, howe-

e


vt r, he did in the most ingenious manner, by grouping every thing which could denote the end of all things. A broken bottle—an old broom, worn to the stump—the butt end of an old musket—a cracked bell—bow un- strung— a crown tumbling in pieces—towers in ruins—the sign-post of a tavern, called the World's End, tumbling—the moon in her wane—the map of the globe burning—a gib- bet falling, the body gone, and the chains, which held it, dropping down—Phoebus, and his horses, dead in the clouds—a vessel wrecked—Time, with his hour-glass and scythe broken, a tobacco-pipe in his mouth, the last whiiT of smoke going out—a play- book opened, with exeunt omnes stampt on the corner—an empty purse—and a statute of bankruptcy taken out against Nature. ‘ So far so good,’ cried Hogarth, ‘ nothing ‘ remains but this,’ taking his pencil in a sort of prophetic fury, and dashing off the similitude of a Painter's pallet broken. ‘ Fi- ‘ nisi' exclaimed Hogarth, ' the deed is ‘ done—all is over !’ It is a very remarkable fact, and little known, perhaps, that he died in about a month after this Tail-Piece; and, it is well known, he never again took

and Eon Mots. 65

the Pallet in hand, to the infinite loss of society.

In the war carried on by Louis XII. of France, against the Venetians, the town of Brescia being taken by storm, and abandoned to the soldiers, suffered, for seven days, all the distresses of cruelty and avarice. No house escaped but where Chevalier Bayard was lodged. At his entrance, the mistress, a woman of figure, fell at his feet, and, deeply sobbing, ‘ Oh ! my Lord, save my life j ‘ save the honour of my daughters.’—“ Take “ courage, Madam,” said the Chevalier; “ your life, and their honour, shall be se- “ cure, while I have life.” The two young ladies, brought from their hiding place, were presented to him 5 and the family, thus re- united, bestowed their whole attention on their deliverer. A dangerous wound he had received, gave them opportunity to express their zeal : they employed a notable surgeon ; they attended him, by turn, day and night ; and, when he could bear to be amused, they entertained him with concerts of music. Upon the day fixed for his depar- ture, the mother said to him, ‘ To your


‘ goodness, mv Lord, we owe our lives; and ‘ to you, all that we have belongs, by right ‘ of war ; but we hope, from your signal * benevolence, that this slight tribute will ‘ content you ’ placing upon the table an i- ron coffer full of money. “ What is the “ sum said the Chevalier. ‘ My Lord,’ answered she, trembling, ‘ no more than ‘ two thousand five hundred ducats, all that ‘ we have j but, if more be necessary, we will ‘ try our friends.’—“ Madam,” said he, ‘‘ I “ never shall forget your kindness, more “ precious in my eyes than a hundred thou. “ sand ducats : take back your money, and “ depend always on me.”—‘ My good Lord, ‘ you kill me, to refuse this small sum : ‘ take it only as a mark of your friendship ‘ to my family.’—“ Well,” said he, “ since tl it will oblige you, I take the money j but “ give me the satisfaction of bidding adieu u to your amiable daughters.” They came to him with looks of regard and affection. “ Ladies,” said he, “ the impression you “ have made on my heart will never wear “ out. What return to make, I know not; “ for men of my profession are seldom opu- “ lent: but here are too thousand five hun-

and Bon Mots. t'l

“ dred ducats, of which the generosity of “ your mother has given me the disposal' “ Accept them as a marriage-present j and “ may your happiness in marriage be equal “ to your merit !”—‘Flower of chivalry !’ cried the Alother, ‘ may the God who suf- ‘ fered death for us reward you here and ‘ hereafter !’

The circumstances attending the funeral of the gallant General Fraser were very remarkable, and are thus related by General Eurgoyne :—‘ Early in the morning General ‘ Fraser breathed his last—and, with the ‘ kindest expressions of his affection, his last ‘ request was brought to me [General Bur- ‘ goyne], that he might be carried, without ‘ parade by the soldiers of his corps, to the ‘ great redoubt, and buried there.

‘ About sun-set the body of General Fra- ‘ ser was brought up the hill, attended only ‘ by the officers who had lived in his fami- ‘ ly. To arrive at the redoubt, it passed ‘ within view of the greatest part of both ‘ armies. General Philips, General Reide- ‘ sel, and myself, who standing together, f were struck with the humility of the pro-


‘ cession : they, who weie ignorant that pri- ‘ vacy had been requested, might construe * it into neglect. We could neither endure * that reflexion, nor indeed restrain our na- ‘ tural propensity to pay our last attention ‘ to his remains.

‘ The incessant cannonade during the so- ‘ lemnity j the steady attitude, and unaltered ‘ voice, with which the chaplain officiated, ‘ though frequently covered with dust, ‘ which the shot threw up on all sides of ‘ him ; the mute, but expressive mixture of ‘ sensibility and indignation, upon every * countenance ;—these objects will remain, 1 to the last of life, upon the mind of every ‘ man who was present. The growing ‘ duskiness added to the scenery ; and the ‘ whole marked a character of that juncture, ‘ that would make one of the finest subjects ‘ for the pencil of a master, that the field * ever exhibited. To the canvass, and to ‘ the faithful page of a more important his- ‘ torian, gallant friend, i consign thy me- ‘ mory ! There may thy talents, thy man- ‘ ly virtues, their progress and their period, ‘ find due distinction j and long may they

a n/1 Bon Mots. 69

‘ survive !—long after the frail record of * my pen shall be forgotten.’

Some years ago, a stranger, dressed in a plain citizen’s attire, took his seat at the Pharo table at Aix-la-Chapelle, when the bank was proclaimed more than commonly rich. After having some little time engaged in the common play of the table, he chal- lenged the bank, and tossed his pocket book to the banker, that he might not question hk faculties of payment, in case he lost. The banker, surprise4 at the boldness of the! ad- venturer, and no less at his ordinary appearance, at first hesitated to accept the chal- lenge ; but, on opening the book, and seeing bills to a prodigious amount, and on the stranger’s sternly and repeatedly insisting on his compliance with the laws of the game, with much reluctance, he prepared the cards for the great event. The surprise was naturally great, and all eyes attentive to the trembling hands of the affrighted banker, who, while the stranger sat unruffled and un- concerned, turned up the card which decided his ruin and the other’s success. The table of course was immediately broken up, and


the stranger, in triumph, with perfect coolness and serenity of features, turned to a person who stood at his elbow, to whom he gave orders for the charge of the money. “ Heav- “ ens!” exclaimed an old infirm Officer in the Austrian service, and who had sat next to him at the table, “ if I had the twentieth ‘‘ part of your success this night, I should “ be the happiest man in the universe.”— ‘ If thou wouldst be that happy man,’ replied the stranger, briskly, 4 then thou shalt have ‘ it j’ and, without waiting his reply, disappeared from the room. Some little time afterwards, the entrance of a servant astonished the company, as much with the extraordinary generosity of the stranger, as with his peculiar good fortune, by presenting the Austrian officer with the twentieth part ot the Pharo bank. 4 Take this, Sir,’ says the servant, ‘ my roaster requires no answer;’ and he suddenly left him, without exchanging a- ny other words. The next morning, it w’as rumoured at Aix-la-Chapelle, that the King of Prussia had entered the town in disguise; and, on the recollection of his person, the town soon recognised him to be the success-- ful stranger at the Pharo table.

and Bon Mots. 71

The humane reader will feel the finest springs of his affections moved by the following anecdote, related by a Clergyman of high rank, who reveres the memory of the late Dr Fothergill, and places his obligations to him, in a very trying season, near to his heart. A friend of his, a man of worthy character, who has at this time an income of about one hundred pounds a year, church- preferment, was, in the earlier part of his life, situated in London, upon a curacy of fifty pounds per annum, with a wife and a numerous family. An epidemical disease, which was at that time prevalent, seized u- pon his wife and five of his children : in this scene of distress, he looked up to the Doctor for his assistance, but dared not to apply to him, from a consciousness of his being unable to reward him for his attendance. A friend, who knew his situation, kindly offered to accompany him to the Doctor, and give him his fee. They took the advantage of his hour of audience •, and "after a description of the several cases, the fee was offered and rejected j but a note was trken of his place of residence. The Doctor called assiduous- ly the next and every succeeding day, till his

72 Historical Haccdotes,

attendance was no longer necessary. The Curate, anxious to return some grateful mark of the sense he entertained of his services, strained every nerve to accomplish it; but his astonishment was not to be described, when, instead of receiving the money he offered, with apologies for his situation, the Doctor put ten guineas into his band, desiring him to apply to him, without diffidence, in future difficulties.

Mr Addison, so deservedly celebrated for an uncommon accuracy in thinking and reasoning, has given abundant proof of his belief of Christianity, and his zeal against infidels of all kinds, in his “ Evidences of the Chris- “ tiar. Religion.” All his writings on reli- gious subjects discover a strong masculine, and steady piety ; and his amiable conduct, in every part of his life, gives us the most convincing proof that what he wrote tvere the genuine sentiments of his mind : but his virtue shone out brightest at the point of death ; for, after a long and manly, but vain struggle with his distempers, he dismissed his physicians, and with them all hopes of life ; but, with his hopes of life, he dismissed not

and Bon Mots. 73

his concern for the living, but sent for a youth (Lord Warwick, his son-in-law), nearly related, and finely accomplished, yet not above being the better for good impressions from a dying friend. He came : but life now glimmering in the socket, the dying friend was silent. After a decent and proper pause, the youth said—*' Dear Sir ! you sent for me, “ 1 believe, and hope you have some com- “ mands ; I shall hold them most sacred.” May distant ages not only hear, but feel, the reply ! Forcibly grasping the youth’s hand, he softly said, ‘ See in what peace a Chris- ‘ tian can die !’ He spoke with difficulty, and soon expired.—The pamphlet from which this is quoted, is entitled, Conjectures on Ori- ginal Comfiosition, and, although published a- nonymous, was written by the great Dr Ed- rvard Young;—nor can we, with more pro. priety, close the character of Mr Addison, than with this very gentleman’s obseivation on the anecdote just mentioned ; in which he tells us that it is to this circumstance Mr Tickel refers, where, in his lines on this great man’s death, he has these words—

“ He taught us how to live; and, oh ! too high “ A prize for knowledge, taught us how to die.’)


Major. Bernardi informs us, that, after the fatal battle of Worcester, Charles II. arrived at the late Sir George Norton’s house near Bvistol j that he went into the kitchen, by the advice of his supposed mistress (Mrs Lane, who was aiding in his escape), the better to conceal himself; that, as he was standing by the fire side, near the jack, the cook-maid desired him to wind it up ; and he fumbling until the spit stood still, the maid struck him, and calling him a black blockhead asked, “ Where the De- “ vil he had lived, that he had not learned- “ to wind up a jack ?” The King modestly answered her, with a blush, ‘ That he was ‘ a poor tradesman’s son, and had not been * long in his lady’s service.’

It is remarkable, that the expletive Mr Pope generally used by way of oath, was, “ God mend me 1” One day, in a dispute with a hackney-coachman, he used this expression. ‘ Mend you !’ says the coachman, 1 it would not be half the trouble to ‘ make a new one.’

and Bon Mots. 75

Mr. Sheriean- relates a remarkable incident, occasioned by Wood’s half-pence, which he says was communicated to him by Mr Hoffsleger, a native of Germany, then a resident merchant of some eminence in Dublin, who was present when it happened. The day after the proclamation was issued out against the author (Dean Swift) of the Drapier’s fourth letter, there was a full levee at the Castle. The Lord Lieutenant was going round the circle, when Swift abruptly entered the chamber, and pushing his way through the crowd, never stopped till he got within the circle ; where, with marks of the highest indignation in his countenance, he addressed the Lord Lieutenant with the voice of a Stentor, that re-echoed through the room: “ So, my Lord Lieutenant, this is a “ glorious exploit that you performed yes- “ terday, in issuing a proclamation against a “ poor shop-keeper, whose only crime is an “ honest endeavour to save his country from “ ruin. You have given a noble specimen “ of what this devoted nation is to hope for, “ from your government. I suppose yo “ expect a statue of copper will be erected “ to you, for this service done to Wood.”

G


He then went on, for a Ion. time, -nvc,’orb- ing in the bitterest terms against the pa'ent, ana displaying, in the strongest colours, all the fatal consequences of introducing that execrable coin. The whole assembly were struck mute with wonder, at this unprece- dented scene. The titled slaves, and vassals of power, felt, and shrunk into, their own littleness, in the presence of this man of virtue. He stood super-eminent among them, like his own Gulliver amid a circle of Lil- liputians. For some time a profound silence ensued : when Lord Carteret, who had listened with great composure to the whole speech, made this fine reply, in a line of Virgil’s:

‘ Res dura, tS* regni novitas trie talia icgunt ‘ Molir!.'

' Hard fortune, and the newness of my reign, compel € me to such measures.’

The whole assembly was struck with the beauty of this quotation, and the levee broke up in good humour j some extolling the magnanimity of Swift to the skies, and all delighted with the ingenuity of the Lord Lieu- tenant’s answer.

and Bon Mots. 77

M* GARRiCK. frequently, when disengaged from business, attended the debates of the House of Commons, especially on such important questions as he knew would bring up all the best speakers of both parties. In the spring of 1777. he happened to be present in the gallery, during a certain motion, which produced an altercation between a Right Honourable Member and another Right Honourable Gentleman, which proceeded to that degree of warmth, that the Speaker and the House were obliged to in- terpose, to prevent some apprehended bad consequences. A Shropshire Member happened to observe that Mr Garrick was sitting in the gallery, and immediately moved to clear the House. Mr Burke rose, and appealed to the Honourable Assembly, whether it would possibly be consistent with the rules of decency and liberality, to exclude from the hearing of th?ir debates, a man to whom they were all obliged ; one who was the great master of eloquence ; in whose school they had all imbibed the art of speakt'-g, and been taught the elements of rhetjric. For his par., he owned that he had been greatly indebted to his instructions. Much more he

G 2


said in commendation of Mr Garrick, and ivas warmly seconded by Mr Fox? and Mr T. Townshend, who very copiously displayed the great merit of their old preceptor, as they termed him : they reprobated the motion of the gentleman with great wrarmth and indignation. The House almost unanimously concurred in exempting Mr Garrick from the general order of quitting the gallery. He wrote a little poem on the occasion, wdiich will, we hope, prove an agreeable entertainment to the Reader.

‘ Squire B n rose with deep intent, ‘ And notify’d to Parliament, ‘ That 1, it was a shame and sin, ‘ When others were shut out, got in; ‘ Asserting, in his wise oration, ‘ I gloried in my. situation. ‘ I own my features might betray ‘ Peculiar joy I felt that day ; [ I glory when my mind is feasted • With dainties it has seldom tasted ; ‘ When Reason chuses Fox’s tongue ‘ To be more rapid, clear, and strong ; ‘ When, from his classic urn, Burke pours ‘ A copious stream through banks of flowers; 4 When Barre stern, with ancients deep, 4 Calls up Lord North, and murders sleep ; 4 And, if his Lordship rise to speak,

and Bon Mots, 19 1 Then wit and argument awake : ‘ When Rigby speaks, and all may hear him, ‘ Who can withstand ridcndo •uerum ? ‘ When Thurlow's words attention bind, ‘ The spells of a superior mind. ‘ Now, whether I were Whig or Tory, ‘ This was a time for me to glory ; * My glory farther still extends, ‘ For most of these 1 call my friends : 4 But if, Squire B n, you were hurt 4 To see me, as you thought, so pert, 4 You might have punish’d my transgression, 4 And damp’d the ardour of expression. 4 A brute there is, whose voice confounds, 4 And frights all others with strange sounds : 4 liad you, your matchless pow'rs displaying, 4 Idke him, Squire B n, set a braying, 4 I should have lost all exultation, 4 Nor gloried in my situation,’

The ri'e of Prince Menzikoff, from a low condition, was owing to his being instrumen- tal in saving the life of the Czar Peter I, Menzikoff was born of gentle, but very poor parents; and they dying, left him very young, without any education, insomuch that he could neither read nor wr te; nor ever did he to the day of his death. His poverty obliged him to seek service in Moscow, where he was taken into the house of a Pastry-

So Historical Anecdotes,

cook, who employed him in crying minced- pies about the streets j and having a good voice, he also sung ballads : whereby he was so generally known, that he had access into all the Genllemen’s houses. The Czar, by invitation, was to dine one day at a Boyar’s, or Lord’s house ; and MenzikofF, happening to be in the kitchen that day, observed the Boyar giving directions to his cook about a dish of meat he said the Czar was fond of, and took notice that the Bovar himself put some kind of powder in it, by way of spice. Taking particular notice what meat that dish was composed of, he took himself away to sing his ballads, and kept sauntering in the street till the Czar arrived ; when, exalting his voice, his Majesty took notice of it, sent for him, and asked him if he would sell his basket with the pyes ? The boy replied, he had power only to sell the pies \ as for the basket, he must first ask his master’s leave j but, as every thing belonged to his Majesty, he needed only to lay his commands upon him. 'i bis reply pleased the Czar so much, that he ordered Alexander to stay and attend him, which he obeyed with great joy.

and Bon Mots. % r

Menzikoff waited behind the Czar’s chair at dinner, and, seeing the before-mentioned dish served up and placed before him, in a whisper begged his Majesty not to eat there- of. The Czar went into another room with the boy, and asked his reason for what he had whispered to him ; when he informed his Majesty what he had observed in the kitchen ; and the Boyar’s putting in the powder himself, without the cooks perceiving him, made him suspect that dish in particular : he therefore thought it his duty to put his Majesty upon his guard. The Czar returned to table without the least discompo- sure in his countenance, and with his usual chearfulness : the Boyar recommended this dish to him, saying it was very good ; the Czar ordered the Boyar to sit down by him, (for it is a custom in Moscow for the master of the house to wait at table when he en- tertains his friends) and, putting some of it on a plate, desired him to eat, and show him a good example. The Boyar, with the utmost confusion, replied, ‘ That it did not ‘ become the servant to eat with his master;’ whereupon the piate was set down to a dog,


who soon dispatched its contents, which, in a very short time, threw him into convulsions, and soon deprived him of life : the dog being opened, the effects of the poison were clearly discovered ; and the Boyar was immediately secured, but was found next morning dead in his bed \ which prevented all farther discovery,

Menzikoff’s remarkable introduction soon gained him credit and confidence with his Royal Master ; which, from being one of the meanest and poorest, raised him to be one of the richest subjects in the Russian empire : he was not only dignified with the title of a Prince in Russia, but also declared a Prince of the Roman Empire.

The very ingenious and amiable Bishop Berkeley, of Cloy n, in Ireland, was so entire- ty contented with his income in that diocese, that when offered by the late Earl of Ches- terfield (then Lord Lieutenant) a bishoprick much more beneficial than that he possessed, he declined it with these words:

‘ I love my neighbours and they love me : ‘ why then should I begin, in my old days, ‘ to form new connexions, and tear myself

and Bon Mots. 83

‘ from those friends whose kindness is to me ‘ the greatest happiness I can enjoy ?’—acting, in this instance, like the celebrated Plu- tarch, who, being asked, “ Why he resided “ in his native city, so obscure and so little ?” —answered, ‘ I stay, lest it should grow less.’

An admirable description of the Bishop is given in the following anecdote.—Bishop Atterbury, having heard much of Mr Berke- ley, wished to see him ; accordingly he was one day introduced to that Prelate, by the Earl of Berkeley. After some time, Mr Berkeley quitted the room j on which Lord Berkeley said to the Bishop, “ Does my “ Cousin answer your Lordship’s expecta- tions r” The Bishop, lifting up his hands in astonishment, replied, ‘ So much understand- ‘ ing, so much knowledge, so much in- ‘ nocence, and such humility, I did not think ‘ had been the portion of any but Angels, ‘ ’till I saw this Gentleman.’

In familiar or convivial conversation, it does not appear that Pope excelled. He may be said to have resembled Dryden, as being not one that was distinguished by vi-

S4 Hisforical Anecdotes^

vacity in company. It is remarkable, that, so near his time, so much should be known of what he has written, and so little of what he has said : traditional memory retains no sallies of raillery, nor sentences of observation ; nothing either pointed or solid, either wise or merry. One apophthegm only sands upon record. When an objection raised a- gainst his inscription for Shakespeare was defended by the authority of Patrick, he replied—‘ llorresco referens'—‘ that he would * allow the Publisher of a Dictionary to * know the meaning of a single word, but not ‘ of two words put together.’

He was fretful, and easily displeased, and allowed himself to be capriciously resentful. He would sometimes leave Lord Oxford silently, no one could tell why, and was to be courted back by more letters and messages than the footmen were willing to carry. The table was indeed infested by Lady Mary Wortley, who was the friend of Lady Ox- ford, and who, knowing his peevishness, could by no intreaties be restrained from contradicting him, till their disputes were sharpened to such asperity, that one or the other quitted the house.

and Bon Mots. M

He sometimes condescended to be jocular with servants or inferiors ; but by no merriment, either of others or his own, was he ever seen excited to laughter.

One of his favourite topics is contempt of his own poetry. For this, ifit had been real, he would deserve no commendation : and in this he was certainly not sincere } for his high value of himself was sufficiently observed. And of what could he be proud, but of his poetry ? He writes, he says, when he has just nothing else to do ; yet Swift complains that he was never at leisure for conversation, because he had always some poetical scheme in his head. It was punctually required that his writing box should be set upon his bed before he rose ; and Lord Oxford’s domestic related, that, in the dreadful winter of Forty, she was called from her bed by him four times in one night, to supply him with paper, lest he should lose a thought.

Of his domestic character, it is said, fru- gality was a part eminently remarkable. Ha- ving determined not to be dependent, he determined not to be in want, and therefore wisely and magnanimously rejected all temp- tations to expence unsuitable to his fortune.


This general care must he universally ap- proved ; but it sometimes appeared in petty artifices of parsimony, such as the practice of writing his compositions on the back of letters, as may be seen in the remaining copy of the Iliad, by which perhaps in five years five shillings were saved ; or in a niggardly reception of his friends, and scantiness of entertainment, as, when he had two guests in his house, he would set at supper a single pint upon the table 5 and having himself taken tw» small glasses, would retire, and say. Gentlemen, I leave you to your wine. Yet he tells his friends, that be has a heart for all, a house for all, and, whatever (hey may think, a fortune for all.

That he loved adulation, is a truth that needs not to be insisted on here. To gratify which, Swift complimented him, and o- ther Wits of the Augustan age, in the following sprightly verses*

‘ In Pope I cannot read a line, ‘ But, with a sigh, I wish it mine: ‘ When he can in one couplet fix ‘ More sense than I can do in six, ‘ It gives me such a jealous fit, ‘ I cry, Pox take him and his witr

nnd Bon Mofs. 87 4 1 grieve ta be outdone by Gay 4 In my own humorous biting way. 4 Arbuthnot is no more my friend, 4 Who dares to irony pretend, 4 Which I was born to introduce, 4 Refin’d at first, and show’d its use. 4 St John, as well as Ptlltney, knows 4 That I had some repute for prose ; 4 And, till they wrote me out of date, 4 Could maul a Minister of State. 4 If they have mortify’d my pride, 4 And made me throw my pen aside ; 4 If with such talents Heaven has blest ’em, 4 Have I not reason to detest ’em.

When the great Duke of Marlborough visited the Duke of Montague at Boughton, he in high terms commended the excellency of his water-works 3 to which the latter, with great quickness, replied, < But they are by ‘ no means comparable to your Grace’s Jire- ‘ zvorh.

The Earl of Chesterfield, in one of his letters to his son, gives an entertaining account of the alteration in our style ; which we insert as a parliamentary anecdote :

“ I acquainted you, in a former letter, (says his Lordship) that 1 had brought a Bill into the House of Lords for correcting and

H

88 Historical Sinecdotcs,

reforming our present Calendar, which is the Julian; and for adopting the Gregorian. I will now give you a more particular account of that affair, from which reflections will naturally occur to you, that 1 hope may be useful, and which I fear you have not made. It was notorious, the Julian Calendar was er- roneous, aud had overcharged the solar year with eleven days. Pope Gregory XIII cor- rected this error: his icformed Calendar was immediately received by all the Catholic countries in Europe, and afterwards adopted by all the Protestant ones, except Russia, Sweden, and England. It was not, in my opinion, very honourable for England to remain in a gross and avowed error, especially in such company. The inconveniency was likewise felt by all those who had foreign correspondences, whether political or mercan- tile. I determined, therefore, to attempt the reformation. I consulted the best Law- yers, and the most skilful Astronomers; and we cooked up a bill for that purpose. But then my difficulty began : 1 was to bring in this bill, which was necessarily composed of law jargon and astronomical calculations, to both which I am an utter stranger. How-

and IS on Alois.

ever, it was absolutely necessary a i >, : the House o£ Lords think that l knew sdtne hmg of the matter •, and also, to make ttiem believe they knew something of it themselves, which they do not. For my own part, I could just as soon have talked Celtic or Stla- vonian to them, as Astronomy j a id they would have understood me full as well ; so I resolved to do better than to speak to the purpose, and to please instead of informing them 1 gave them, therefore, only an historical account of Calendars, from the Egyp- tian down to the Gregorian, amusing them now and then with little episodes j but I was particularly attentive to the cnoice of my words, to the harmony and roundueSs 01 my periods, to my elocution, and to ny action. This succeeded, and ever will succeed j they thought I informed, because I pleased tnem: and many of them said, that I had made the whole very clear to them j when, God knows, i lyad not even attempted it. Lord Macclcsaeid, who had the greatest share in forming tne bill, and who is one of the greatest niathematiciaus and Astronomets m Eu- rope, .poke afterr.ards, with infinite Know- ledge, and all the clearness that so intricate

H 2


a matter would admit of : but, as his words, his periods, and his utterance, were not near so good as mine, the preference was most unanimously, though most unjustly, given to me. This will ever be the cast j every numerous assembly is a mob, let the individuals who compose it be what they will. Mere reason and good sense is never to be talked to a mob 5 their passions, their sentiments, their senses, and their seeming interests, are alone to be applied to. Understanding, col- lectively, they have none; but they have ears and eyes, which must be flattered and seduced 5 and this can only be done by eloquence, tuneful periods, graceful action, and all the various parts of oratory.’

In the walls of the ancient house of Sir Edward Dering, in the county of Kent, lately pulled down and rebuilt, a Latin manuscript was found, written by a bastard son of Richard III. not mentioned by any of our Historians. The occasion of its lodgement was as follows : This youth was privately e- ducated in the country, at a great expence, under the best masters in every science. The tuition answered the royal expectation.

and Bon Alois. 2L

The night be! e the fatal battle of Bos- worth Field, the King sent for him, and he was privately conducted to his tent. The attendants being dismissed, he declared to him the grand secret,—that he was his father, and, presenting him with fifteen hundred pounds (a large sum in those days), said, ‘ Son, thou must wait the issue of to- 4 morrow : if fortunate, I will acknowledge 4 thee, and create thee Prince of Wales: if * the battle goes against me, and I fall, for- 4 get what thou art, and live retired : there 4 is that (the money given) which will pro- 4 cure a maintenance.’ The Son withdrew to a place of secrecy and observation. The fatal day came : the battle ensued ; Richard fell: his Son immediately set off for the capital, and, being about sixteen years of age, placed himself with a Mason of great eminence. The gracefulness of his person and behaviour bespoke that parentage, which, however, he had the art and address care- fully to disguise and conceal. The master quickly discovered the genius of his appren- tice, whose skill and judgement he relied upon in the nicest and most difficult parts of architecture. Being engaged in some alter.

H 3


ations and repairs in this ancient house, Ri- chard’s son was sent down to superintend the workmen, where his wit, not less than his ingenuity, was so engaging, that the owner of the seat retained him, and permitted him to build on his estate a little mansion to reside upon. He lived some years in this retirement, devoted to reading and contemplation, in great repute for his learning, piety, and modesty ; and, during that period, he wrote his life. At the approach of death, he gave the manuscript to his patron, with a request not to read it till after his decease. He recovered, but soon after died ; and the aforesaid manuscript (Enclos- ed, as it is supposed, by his friend within the wall) was not known or discovered till so lately as 1768. It is now in the possession of the family of the Derings, to whom the lovers of history, and the public in general, would be greatly obliged for the pub- lication.

As Dr Johnson knew that Mrs Piozzi kept a common-place bock, in which she wrote several of his most admired sayings and observations, he told her that He would

and Ban Mots. 93

give her something to write in her Reposi- tory. ‘ I warrant,1 said Mr Johnson one day, ‘ there is a great deal about me in it : ‘ you shall have at least one thing worth ‘ your pains 5 so if you will get the pen and ‘ ink, 1 will repeat to you Anacreon's Dove ‘ directly; but tell, at the same time, that, ‘ as I never was struck with any thing in ‘ the Greek language till I read that, so I ‘ never read any thing in the same language ‘ since, that pleased me so much. I hope ‘ my translation,1 continued he, ‘ is not ‘ worse than that of Frank Fawkes.1 See- ing Mrs Piozzi to laugh, ‘ Nay, nay,1 said he, ‘ Frank Fawkes has done them very ‘ finely.’

Lovely courier of the sky. Whence, and whither dost thou fly, Scatt’ring, as thy pinions play. Liquid fragrance all the way ? Is it business, is it love ? Tell me, tell me, gentle Dove.

4 Soft, Anacreon’s vows 1 bear, ‘ Vows to Myrtale, the fair, ‘ Grac’d with all that charms the heart, ' Blushing nature, smiling art. 1 Venu11, courted by an Ode,

‘ On the Bard her Dove bestow’d;


‘ Vested with a master’s right, ‘ Now'Anacreon rules my flight, ‘ His the letters that you see, ‘ Weighty charge, consign’d to me. ‘ Think not yet my service hard, ‘ Joyless task without reward : ‘ Smiling at my master’s gates, * Freedom my return awaits; 1 But the liberal grant in vain ‘ Tempts me to be wild again. * Can a prudent Dove decline ‘ Blissful bondage, such as mine, ‘ Over hills and fields to roam.

‘ Fortune’s guest, without a home ; ‘ Under leaves to hide one’s head ; ‘ Slightly shelter’d, coarsely fed ? ‘ Now my better lot bestows * Sweet repast, and soft repose ; * Now the generous bowl l sip, ‘ As it leaves Anacreon’s lip ; ‘ Void of care, and free from dread, * From his fingers snatch his bread ; ‘ Then, with luscious plenty, gay, ‘ Round his chamber dance and play, ‘ Or, from wine as courage springs, * O’er his face extend thy wings, ‘ And, when feast and frolic tire, ‘ Drop asleep upon his lyre. ‘ This is all: be quick and go, ‘ More than all thou canst not know. ‘ Let me now my pinions ply ; ‘ 1 have chatter’d like a Fye.’

and Bon Mots. 9S

When Mrs Piozzi had finished—‘ But ‘ you must remember to add,’ savs Mr John- ‘ son, that though these verses were planned, ‘ and even begun, when I was sixteen years ‘ old, I never could find time to make an ‘ end of them before I was sixty eight.’

The activity and hardiness of Charles XII, of Sweden, are well known : he was on horseback for four and twenty hours suc- cessively, and thus traversed the greatest part of his kingdom, almost entirely alone. In one of these rapid excursions he met with a very singular adventure : accompanied only by a few guards, whom he had left far behind, his horse fell dead under him. This might have embarrassed an ordinary man j but it gave Charles no sort of unea< ness. Sure of finding another horse, but not equally so of meeting vith a good saddV and pistols, he ungirts his horse, claps the vhole furniture upon his cwn back and, thus accoutred, marches to the next inn, which, by good fortune, was not far r ff. Eaten::' the stable, he there found a ho:se entirely to his mind j theiefore, without fiirther ceremony, he claps on his saddle and housing with


great composure, and was just going to mount. When the Gentleman who owned the horse, was informed of the matter, he asked the King, bluntly, How he came to meddle with his horse, having never seen him before ? Charles easily replied, squeez- ing his lips, as was his way, that he took the horse because he wanted one—4 For yon see,’ continued he, ‘ if I have none, I must ‘ be obliged to carry the saddle myself.'’ This answer did not satisfy the Gentiemaa, who instantly drew his sword : in that the King was not much behind hand with him, and to it they went. When the guards, now come up, testified that surprise which is natural at seeing arms in the hands of a subject against his King, the Gentleman was not less surprised than they, at this unde- signed insult upon his Majesty. His astonishment, however, was soon dissipated by the King, who, taking him by the hand, called him a brave fellow’, and assured him that he should be provided for. He was not worse than his word : the Gentleman was afterwards promoted to a considerable command in the army.

and Bon Mots. 97

There is not an instance of any country having made so sudden a change in its mo- rals as the Hebrides, and the vast tract in- tervening between these wastes and Loch- ness. Security and civilization possess every part; yet forty years have not elapsed, since the whole was a den of thieves, of the most extraordinary kind. They conducted their plundering excursions with the utmost po- licy, and reduced the whole art of theft into a regular system. From habit, it lost the appearance of criminality : they considered it as labouring in their vocation ; and, when a party was formed for any expedition against their neighbours property, they, and their friends, prayed as earnestly to Heaven for success, as if they were engaged in the most laudable design. The constant petition at grace, of the old Highland chieftains, was delivered, with great fervour, in these terms : *• Lord) turn the world upside down, that “ Christians may make bread of itThe plain English of this pious request was, That the world might become, for their benefit, a scene of rapine and confusion. They paid a sacred regard to their oath j but, as superstition must, among a set of banditti, in-

9$ Historical Anecdotes,

fallibly supersede piety, each, like the dis. tinct casts of Indians, had his particular object of veneration ; one would swear upon his dirk, and dread the penalty of perjury, yet make no scruple of forswearing himself upon' the Bible ; a second would pay the same respect to the name of his chieftain ; a third again would be most religiously bound by the sacred book; and a fourth, regard none of the three, and be credited only if he swore by his crucifix. It was always necessary to discover the inclination of the person, before you put him to the test: if the object of his veneration was mistaken, the oath was of no signification. The greatest robbers wrere used to preserve hospitality to those that came to their houses, and, like the wild Arabs, observed the strictest honour towards their guests, or those that put implicit confidence in them. The Kenne- dies, two common thieves, took the young Pretender under protection, and kept him with faith inviolate, notwithstanding they knew an immense reward was offered for his head. They often robbed for his support ; and, to supply him with linen, they once surprised the baggage-horses of one of our

and Bnn Motf. 99

general officers. They often went in disguise to Inverness, to buy provisions for him. At length, a very considerable time after, one of these poor fellows, who had the virtue to resist the temptation of thirty thousand pounds, was hanged for stealing a cow', value thirty shillings. The great crime among these felons, was that of infidelity a- mong themselves ; the criminal underwent a summary trial, and, if convicted, never miss- ed of a capital punishment. The chieftain had his officers, and different departments of government: he had his judge, to whom he intrusted the decision of all civil disputes ; but in criminal causes, the chief, assisted perhaps by some favourites, alw’ays under- took the process. The principal men of his family, or his officers, formed his council ; where every thing was debated respecting their expeditions. Eloquence was held in great esteem among them, for by that they could sometimes work on their chieftain to change his opinion •, for, notwithstanding he kept the form of a council, he always reserved the decisive vote for himself. When one man had a claim on another, but wanted power to make it good, it was held lawful

I

lOD Historical Anecdotes,

for him to steal from his debtor as many cattle as would satisfy his demand, provided he sent notice (as soon as he got out of reach of pursuit) that he had them, and would return them, provided satisfaction was made on a certain day agreed on. When a creach, or great expedition, had been made against distant herds, the owners, as soon as discovery was made, rose in arms, and wTith all their friends made instant pursuit, tracing the cattle by their track for perhaps scores of miles : their nicety in distinguishing that of their cattle from those that were only ca- sually wandering, or driven, was amazingly sagacious. As soon as they arrived on an estate where the track was lost, they imme. diately attacked the proprietor, and would oblige him to recover the track from his land forwards, or to make good the loss they had sustained. This custom had the force of law j which gave to the Highlanders this surprising s'. 11 in the art of tracking. It has been observed before, that to steal, rob, and plunder, with dexterity, was esteemed as the highest act of heroism. The feuds between the great families were one great cause. There was not a chieftain but that

and Bun Mots. JCI

kept, in some remote valley in the depth of rvoods and rocks, whole tribes of thieves, in readiness to let loose against his neighbours, when, from some public or private reason, he did not judge it expedient to resent openly any real or imaginary affront. From this motive, the greater chieftain-robbers always supported the lesser, and encouraged no sort of improvement on their estates but what promoted rapine. The greatest of the heroes in the last century, was Sir Ewin Ca* meron. He long resisted the power of Cromwell; but, at length, was forced to submit. He lived in the neighbourhood of the garrison fixed by the Usurper at Inver- lochy. His vassals persisted in their thefts, till Cromwell sent orders to the commanding officer, that, on the next robbery, he should seize on the chieftain, and execute him in twenty-four hours, in case the thief was not delivered to justice. An act of rapine soon happened : Sir Ewin received the message , who, instead of giving himself the trouble of looking out for the offender, laid hold of the first fellow he met with, and sent him bound to inver lochy, where he was instantly hanged. Cromwell, by this severity, put a stop

I 2 . ,iW- (A

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to these excesses, till the time of the Resto- ratipn, when they were renewed with double violence, till the year 1745. Rob-Roy Mnc- gregor was another distinguished hero in the latter end of the last, and the beginning of the present century. He contributed greatly towards forming his profession into a science, and establishing the police above mentioned. The Duke of Montrose unfortunately was his neighbour : Rob-Roy frequently saved his Grace the trouble of ga- thering his rents; used to extort them from his tenants, and, at the same time, give them formal discharges. But is was neither in the power of the Duke, or any of the gentlemen he plundered, to bring him to justice, so strongly protected was he by several great men, to whom he was useful. Ro had his good qualities : he spent his revenue gene- rously ; and, strange to say, was a true friend to the widow and the orphan. Every period of time gives improvement to the arts. A son of Sir Ewin Cameron refined on those of Rob-Roy, and, instead of dissipating his gains, accumulated wealth. He, like Jona- than Wild the Great, never stole with his owm hands, but conducted his commerce with

and Ban Mats. 103

an address, and to an extent, unknown before. He employed several companies, and set the more adroit knaves at their head ; and never suffered merit to go unrewarded. He never openly received their plunder j but employed agents to purchase from them their cattle. He acquired considerable property, which he was forced to leave behind, after the battle of Culloden gave the fatal blow to all their greatness. The last of any eminence was the celebrated Borrisdale, who carried these arts to the highest pitch of perfection : besides exalting all the common practices, he improved the article of commerce, called the black-meal, to a degree be. yond what was ever known to his predeces- sors. Thisw'as a forced levy, so called from its being commonly paid in meal, which was raised, far and wide, on the estate of every nobleman and gentleman, in order that their cattle might be secured from the lesser thieves, over whom he secretly presided, and protected. He raised an income of five hundred a year by these taxes) and behaved with genuine honour in restoring, on proper consideration,'the stolen cattle of his friends. In this he bore some resemblance to our

I 5


Jonathan ; but differed, in observing a strict fidelity to his own gang: yet he was indefa- tigable in bringing to justice any rogues that interfered with his own. He was a man of polished behaviour, fine address, and a fine person. He considered himself in a very high light, as a benefactor to the public, and preserver of general tranquillity ; for on the silver plates, the ornaments of his Ealdrick, he thus addresses his broad sword;

Ha: tibi erunt artes, pads componere mores, Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos.

Upon the ruin of the Royal Family, and the death of the King, (Charles I.) Lord Orrery retired to Marston, in Somersetshire, his seat in England, which his father had bought of Sir John Hippisley, and which was formerly part of Edmund Earl of Corn- wall’s estate. His Lordship used to repeat to his company a remarkable incident that happened during his residence there 5 which, as it will show the distress of the Royal party in those days, may perhaps be acceptable to the curious. The parish-church of Marston is very near to the mansion house: Lord Orrery never failed to go thither on a

and Bon Mots. 10 5

Sunday j but one Sunday, having sat there some time, and being disappointed of the then qualified minister, his Lordship was preparing to return home, when his servants told him a person in the church offered to preach. His Lordship, though he looked upon the proposal only as a piece of enthu- siasm, gave permission, and was never more surprised or delighted than with the sermon, which was filled with learning, sense, and piety. His Lordship would not suffer the preacher to escape unknown, but invited him to dinner, and inquiring of him his name, life, and fortune, received this answer : ‘ My Lord, my name is Asberry j I ‘ am a clergyman of the Church of England, ‘ and a loyal subject to the King: I have ‘ lived three years in a poor cottage under ‘ your warren-wall, within a few paces of ‘ your Lordship’s house. My son lives with ‘ me, and we read and dig by turns. I have ‘ a little money, and some few books ; and I ‘ submit cheerfully to the will of Provi- ‘ dence.’ This worthy and learned man (for such Lord Orrery always called him) died at Marston some years after j but not till his Lordship had obtained an allowance of

Historical Anecdotes, ic6

30I. per annum for him, without any obligation of taking the covenant. As a memorial of the above transaction, the poor cottage in which Mr Asberry lived, with a little garden adjoining to it, was kept up in its old form by the late Earl of Cork and Or- rery, being taken to his gardens j and the two rooms of which it consisted, viz. a kitchen and a chamber, are furnished as much as possible in the taste of those times, with all sorts of useful furniture, and books, prints, &c. of equal antiquity.

It is well known, that, while Voltaire was in England, the darling subject of his conversation was Milton; whom he once took occasion to abuse, for his episode of Death and Sin. Whereupon a certain wit turned the laugh against him, by the following smart Impromptu :

‘ Thou art so witty, profligate, and thin, ‘ ThouTt Milton’s devil, with his Death and Sin.’

We are not told who this certain wit was; but, if we recollect aright, it was the celebrated Dr Young; a writer, at that time, as well as since, of very different disposition and principles from Voltaire.

and Bon Mots. TO?

In the reign of King Wiliam. Oliver Cromwell (grandson to the Protector) found it necessary, on some account or other, to present a petition to Parliament. He gave his petition to a friend, a member, who took it to the House of Commons to present it. Just as this gentleman was entering the House, with the petition in his hand, Sir Edward Seymour, the famous old Tory member, was also going in. On sight of Sir Edward so near him, the gentleman found his fancy briskly solicited, by certain ideas of mirth, to make the surly, sour, old Sey- mour, carry up a petition for Oliver Crom- well. ‘ Sir Edward,’ says he, stopping him at the instant, ‘ will you do me a favour ? ‘ I this moment recollect, that I must itn- ‘ mediately attend a trial in Westmirtster- ‘ hall, which may detain me too late to give ‘ in this petition, as I promised to do tills ‘ morning. ’Tis a mere matter of form ; ‘ will you be so good as to carry it up for ‘ met’ ‘ Give it me,’ said Sir Edward, The petition went directly into his pocket, and he into the House. When a vacancy happened, proper for producing it, the knight put himself directly his feet, and

Historical Anecdotes, jo8

Lis spectacles on his nose and began to read With an audible voice, ‘ The humble peti- ‘ tior, of—of—of the devil!’ said Seymour, ‘ of Oliver Cromwell !’ d'he roar of laughter in the House, at seeing him so fairly taken in, was too great for Sir Edward to withstand ; so he flung down instantly the petition, and ran out of the House in the utmost confusion.

George Villiers, duke of Buckingham, with the figure and genius of Alcibiades, could equally charm the presbyterian Fair- fax, and the dissolute Charles. When he alike ridiculed that witty king, and his solemn chancellor; when he plotted the ruin of his country with a cabal of bad ministers, or, equally unprincipled, supported its cause with bad patriots j one laments that sucli parts should have been devoid of every virtue. But when Alcibiades turns chymist ; when he is a real bubble, and a visionary miser ; when ambition is but a frolic ; when the worst designs are for the foolishest ends ; contempt extinguishes all reflections on his character. An instance of astonishing quickness is related ef this witty duke; being pre-

and Bon Mots. 109

rent at the first representation of one of Dry. den’s pieces of heroic nonsense, where a lover says,

‘ My wound is great, because it is so small.’

The duke cried out, ‘ Then 'twoud be greater^ rvere it none at all.

The play was instantly damned.

Not long before Mr Garrick left Paris, in 176 t, several persons of the first distinction, of both sexes, English and French, met by appointment at the Hotel de Mr and Mrs Garrick, and Mademoiselle Clairon, were of the party. The conversation turned for some time on the Belles Lettres ; in which the merits of several e- minent writers were discussed with equal jodgment and candour. Many critical observations were made on the action and eloquence of the French and English theatres ; and, at the request of this very brilliant circle, La Clairon and Garrick consented to exhibit various specimens of their talents ; which produced much entertainment. This friendly contest lasted a considerable time, with great animation on both sides : the company loudly declared their approbation, in the strongest terms, of the two exhibiters. It

no Historical Anecdotes,

■was remarked, that the French gave the preference to Mr Garrick ; and that the English, with equal politeness, adjudged the ■ ictory to Mademoiselle Clairon. But as the greater part of the former were but little acquainted with the English language, Mr Garrick was induced to relate a fact, and afterwards to exhibit it by action, w’hich which happened in one of the provinces of France at the time he was there, and of which he had been an eye-witness. A father, he said, was fondling his child at an open window, from whence they looked in- to the street; by one unlucky effort the child sprung from his father’s arms, fell upon the ground, and died upon the spot. What followed, he said, tvas a language which every body understood ; for it was the language of nature, He immediately threw himself into the attitude in which the father appeared at the time the child leaped out of his arms. The influence which the representation of the father's agony produced ,on such a company, and exhibited by this darling son of nature, in the silent but expressive language of unutterable sorrow, is easier to be imagined than expressed; let

and Bon Alois. in

it suffice to say, that the greatest astonish, ment was succeeded by abundant tears. As soon as the company had recovered from their agitation. Mademoiselle Clairon catched Mr Garrick in her arms, and kissed him; then turning to Mrs Garrick, she apologiz- ed for her conduct, by saying, it was an in- voluntary mark of her applause.

Of the many instances of humanity recorded of the celebrated Mr Nash, King of Bath, the Spectator takes notice of one, tho’ his name is not mentioned. When he was to give in his accounts to the Masters of the Temple, among other articles, he charged, * For making one man happy, ten pounds.' Being questioned about the meaning cf so strange an item, he frankly declared, that, happening to overhear a poor man declare, to his wife and a large family of children, that ten pounds would make him happy, he could not avoid trying the experiment. He added, if they did not choose to acquiesce in his charge, he was ready to refund the money. The Masters, struck with such an uncommon instance of good nature, publicly- thanked him for his benevolence, and d?dr-

■xr w

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Historical Anccrlotcs, ZI2

ed the sum might be doubled, as a proof of their satisfaction.

The above circumstance probably took its rise from the following story. A Gentle, man told Mr Nash on; day, ‘ He had just ‘ come from seeing the most pitiful sight his ‘ eyes ever beheld 5 a poor man and his wife, ‘ surrounded with seven helpless infants, al- ‘ most all perishing for want of food, rai- ‘ merit, and lodging j their apartment was as * dreary as the street itself, from the wea- ‘ thei beating in upon them from all quar- ‘ ters ; that, upon inquiry, he found the pa- ‘ rents were honest and sober, and wished to * be industrious, if they had employment ; ‘ that he had calculated the expence of m ik- ‘ ing the whole lamily comfortable and hap- e py-1 How much money,” exclaims Nash, •' would relieve, and make them Iran- “ pv —‘ About ten guineas,1 replied the friend, ‘ would be sufficient for the purpose.1

Nash instantly wrent to his bureau, and gave him the cash ; at the same time pressing him to make all possible haste, for fear of the sudden dissolution of the miserable family. ‘ I need not go far,1 savs the friend, smiling, and putting the money into his pocket~

and Bon Mots. IJ3

‘ you know you have owed me this money a ‘ long while ; that I have dunned yo i 'irit, ‘ for years, to no manner of purpose : ex- ‘ cuse me, therefore, that I have thus im- ‘ posed on your feelings, not being able to * move your justice ; for there are no such ‘ objects as I have described, to my know- 4 ledge . the story is a fiction from beginning 4 to end : you are a dupe, not of justice, but 4 of your humanity.''

Not long after the death of Mary, Queen of Scots, Margaret Lambrun (who had been one of her attendants, became in some measure desperate, on account of the loss of a husband whom she dearly loved—a loss which had been occasioned by grief for the melancholy fate of that unfortunate Prin- cess, to whose retinue he had also belonged) formed a resolution to revenge the death of both upon the person of Queen Jiliza'oeth. To accomplish her purpose she dressed herself in the habit of a man, assumed the name of Anthony S;iark, and attended at the Court of England, with a pair of pistols constantly concealed about her ; one to kill the queen, when an opportunity should of-

K a

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Historical Anecdotes^ 114 '■m.a fer ; and one to kill herself, if her crime should be discovered. One day, as she was pushing through the crowd, in order to get near her Majesty, who was then walking in the garden, she accidentally dropped one of the pistols. This circumstance being observed by the guards, she was immediately seized, in order to be sent to prison. The Queen, however, interfered, and desired to examine the culprit first. She accordingly demanded her name, her country, and her quality; and Margaret, with a resolution still undaunted, replied, ‘ Madam, though I * appear before you in this garb, yet I am a * woman. My name is Margaret Lambrun ; ‘ I was several years in the service of Mary, ‘ a Queen whom you have unjustly put to * death, and thereby deprived me of the best * of husbands, who could not survive that ‘ bloody catastrophe of his innocent mistress. ‘ His memory is hardly more dear to me than * is that of my injured Queen j and, regard- * less of the consequences, I determined to e re venge their death upon you. Many, but * fruitless, were the eiTorts I made to divert * m: frpm my purpose. I found myself con- * strained to prove, by experience, the truth

J

and Bon Mots.

‘ of the maxim, That neither reason nor ‘ force can hinder a woman from vengeance, ‘ when she is impelled to it by love.’ High- ly as the Queen had cause to resent this speech, she heard it with coolness, and answered it with moderation* “ You are per- “ suaded, then,” said her Majesty, “ that in “ this step you have done nothing but what “ your duty required : What think you is “ my duty to you ‘ Is that question put “ in the character of a Queen, or that of a “ Judge ?” replied Margaret, with the same intrepid firmness. Elizabeth professed to her. it was in that of a Queen. ‘ Then,’ continued Lambrun. ‘ it is your Majesty’s ‘ duty to grant me a pardon.’ “ But what “ security,” demanded the Queen, “ can you “ give me, that you will not make the like “ attempt upon some future occasion ?”—‘ A ‘ favour ceases to be one, Madam,’ replied Margaret, ‘ when it is yiel led under such * restraints : in doing so, your Majesty would ‘ act against me as a Judge.’ “ 1 have been “ thirty years a Queen,” cried Elizabeth, turning to the Courtiers then present, “ and “ had never such a lecture read to me he. “ fore .and she immediately t-'tanted tire

*3

Hi toricat Anecdotes. J it>

psrdon entire and unconditional, as it had been desired, in opposition to the opinion of the President of the Council, who told her Majesty, that he thought she ought to have punished so daring an offender. The fair criminal gave an admirable proof of her prudence, in begging the Queen to extend her generosity one degree further, by granting her a safe conduct out of the kingdom : with which request also Elizabeth cheerfully complied ; and Margaret Lambrun, from that period, lived a peaceable life in France.

The Czar Ivan, who reigned over Russia about the middle of the sixteenth century, frequently went out disguised, in order to discover the opinion which the people enter, tained of his administration. One day, in a solitary walk near Moscow, he entered a small village, and, pretending to be overcome by fatigue, implored relief from" several of the inhabitants. Kis dress was ragged ; 1 's appearance mean ; and what ought to have excited the compassion qf the tiHagers, and ensured his reception, was productive of refusal. Full of indignation at such inhu- vian treatment, he was just going to l$ave

end Bon Mots. U2

the place, when he perceived another habitation, to which he had not yet applied for assistance. It was the poorest cottage in the village. The Emperor hastened to this, and knocking at the door, a peasant opened it, and asked him what he wanted.—“ I am al- “ most dying with fatigue and hunger,” answered the Czar 5 “ can you give me a lod- “ ging for one night—* Alas!’ said the peasant, taking him by the hand, ‘ you will ‘ have but poor fare here : you are come at ‘ an unlucky time : my wife is in labour ; her ‘ cries will not let you sleep : but come in, ‘ come in j you will at least be sheltered ‘ from the cold ; and such as we have you ‘ shall be welcome to.’—The peasant then made the Czar enter a little room, full of children : in a cradle were two infants sleeping soundly j a girl, three years old, was sleeping on a rug near the cradle j while her two sisters, the one five years old, the other seven, were on their knees, crying, and praying to God for their mother, who was in a room adjoining, and whose piteous plaints and groans were distinctly heard.—‘ Stay here,’ said the peasant to the Emperor; ‘ I l will go, and get something for your sup.

Historical Anecdotes, It8

‘ per.’—He went out, and soon returned with some black bread, eggs, and honey.— ‘You see all I can give you,’ said the peasant 5 ‘ partake of it with my children. I ‘ must go and assist my wife.’—“ Your cha- “ rity, your hospitality,” said the Czar, “ must bring down blessings upon your house :

I am sure God will reward your good- “ ness.”—‘ Pray to God, my good friend,’ replied the peasant, ‘ pray to God Almighty, ‘ that she may havfc a safe delivery : that is ‘ all I wish for.’—“ And is that all you wish ‘ to make you happy f”—‘ Happy, judge for ‘ yourself, I have five fine children j a dear * wife that loves me ; a father and mother ‘ both in good health •, and my labour is suffi- ‘ cient to maintain them all.’—” Do your ‘ father and mother live with you ?”—‘ Cer- ‘ tainly ; they are in the next room with my * wife.’—•* But your cottage here is so very “ small!”—‘ It is large enough ; it canholl ‘ us all.’—The good peasant then went to his wife, who an hour after was happily delivered. Her husband, in a transport of joy, brought the child to the Czar : ‘ Look,’ said he, ‘ Look \ this is the sixth she has brought ‘ me ! What a fine hearty child he is! May

and Bon Mott. ”9

* God preserve him, as he has done my o- ‘ thers !’—The Czar, sensibly affected at this scene, took the infant in his arms: “ I “ know,” said he, “ from the physiognomy “ of this child, that he will be quite fortu- “ nate : he will arrive, I am certain, at great “ preferment.’ —The peasant smiled at this prediction j and at that instant the two eldest girls came to kiss their new born brother, and their grandmother came also to take him back. The little ones followed her j and the peasant, laying himself down upon his bed of straw, invited the stranger to do the same. In a moment, the peasant was in a sound and peaceful sleep ; but the Czar, sitting up, looked round, and contemplated every thing with an eye of tenderness and e- motion—the sleeping children and their sleeping father. An undisturbed silence reigned in the cottage.—‘ What a happy calm ! ‘ What delightful tranquillity !’ said the Emperor : ‘ Avarice and Ambition, Suspi- * cion and Remorse, never enter here. How ‘ sweet is the sleep of innocence !’—-In such reflections, and on such a bed, did the mighty Emperor of all the Russias spend the night! The peasant awoke at break of day j and his

i 20 Historical Amcdbtes%

guest, taking leave of him, said, ‘ I must re- ‘ turn to Moscow, my friend ; I am acquaint- ‘ ed there with a very benevolent man, td 1 whom I shall take care to mention your s kind treatment of me. 1 can prevail upon ‘ him to stand godfather to your child. Pro- 1 mise me, therefore, that you will wait for 5 me, that I may be present at the christen- ‘ ing : 1 will be back in three hours at far- ‘ thest.”—1 he peasant did not think much of this mighty promise ; but, in the good- nature of his heart, he consented, however, to the stranger’s request. The Czar immediately took his leave : the three hours were soon gone j and nobody appeared. The peasant, therefore, followed by his family, was preparing to carry his child to church ; but as he was leaving his cottage, he heard, on a sudden, the trampling of horses, and the rattling of many coaches. He looked out, and presently saw a multitude of horses, and a train of splendid carriages. He knew the Imperial guards, and instantly called his family to come and see the Emperor go by. They all run out in a hurry, and stood before their door. The horsemen and car- Hagy-s soon formed a circular line \ and, at

avd Bon Mots. X 2 X

last, the state coach of the Czar stopped, opposite the good peasant’s door. The guards kept back the crowd, which the hopes of seeing their Sovereign, had collected together. The coach door was opened j the Czar a- lighted ; and, advancing to his host, thus addressed him : ‘ i promised you a godfather j ‘ I am come to fulfil my promise ; give mC 4 your child, and follow me to church.’— The peasant stood like a statue ; now looking at the Emperor with the mingled emo- tions of astonishment and jov ; now observing his magnificent robes, and the costly jewels with which they were adorned ; and now turning to a crowd of Nobles that surrounded him. In this profusion of pomp he could rot discover the poor stranger, who had lain sll night with him upon straw. The Empe- ror, for some moments, silently enjoyed his perplexity, and then addressed him thus: ‘ Yesterday you performed the duties of hu- * manity : to-day 1 am come to discharge * the most delightful duty of a Sovereign, ‘(that of recompencing Virtue. I shall not 1 remove you from a situation to which you * do so much honour, and the innocence and ‘ tranquillity of which I envy ; but I will


' bestow upon you such things as may be use- ‘ ful to you. You shall have numerous e flocks, rich pastures, and a house that will ‘ enable you to exercise the duties of hospi- ‘ tality with pleasure. Your new-born child ‘ shall become my ward ; for you may re- ‘ member,’ continued the Emperor, smiling* ‘ that I prophesied he would be fortunate.’ —The good peasant could not speak j but, with tears of grateful sensibility in his eyes, he ran instantly to fetch the child, brought him to the Emperor, and laid him respect- fully at his feet. This excellent Sovereign was quite affected : he took the child in his arms, and carried him himself to church; and, after the ceremony was over, unwilling to deprive him of his mother’s milk, he took him back to the cottage, and ordered that he should be sent to him, as soon as he could be weaned. The Czar faithfully observed Isis engagement, caused the boy to be edu- cated in his palace, provided amply for his future settlement in life, and continued ever after to heap favours upon the virtuous pea. sant and his family.

(

and Bon Mott. 123

When the Earl of Stair was ambassador in Holland, he made frequent entertainments, to which the foreign ambassadors were constantly invited, not excepting the ambassador of France, with which nation we were upon the point of breaking : in return, the Abbe de Ville, the French resident, as constantly invited the English and Austrian ambassadors, upon the like occasions. The Abbe was a man of vivacity, and withal was remarkable for a quaintness, in which he took great pride. Agreeable to this humour, he one day proposed a health in these terms, “The rising Sun, my master $ alluding to the motto of Lewis XIV". which was pledged by the whole company j it came then to the Baron de Reisbach’s turn to give a health, and he, to countenance the Abbe, and to please him, proposed, The moon and

fixed stars, in compliment to his mistress the the Empress Queen, which was greatly ap- plauded ; and when it came to the Earl’s turn, the eyes of all the company were turned upon him ; but that nobleman, w’hose presence of mind was never wanting upon ordinary as well as great occasions, drank to his master by the name of Joshua the sen of

L

124 Historical /Inicdutes,

Nun, who made the sun and moon to stand still.

A poor woman, who had seen better days, understanding from some of her acquaintance that Dr Goldsmith had studied physic, and hearing of his great humanity, solicited him in a letter to send her something for her husband, who had lest his appetite, and wras reduced to a most melancholy state by con- tinual anguish. The good natured poet waited on Iter instantly, and after some discourse with his patient, found him sinking fast into that worst of sickness, poverty. The doctor told them they should hear from him in an hour, when he should send some pills, which he believed would prove effica- cious. He immediately w^ent home, and put ten guineas into a chip box, with the following label.—1 These must be used as ‘ your necessities require ; be patient, and ‘ of good heart.’—He sent bis servant with this prescription to the comfortless mourner, who found it contained a remedy superior to any thing Galen or his tribe of pupils could administer for his relief.

Bon Mots. I2>5

A gentleman observing on the smartness of C. F.—, while he was yet a lad, another who was standing by observed, that wheti children discovered o much genius in their early years, they generally grew very stupid when they came to maturity. ‘ If that is 4 the case,’ said C. F. 4 then you must have 4 been very remarkable for your genius when ‘ you was a child.’

A shopkeeper, selling some goods to one who said that 4 he asked too much for them, ‘ and that he should not buy so dear of hith ‘ as another, because he was his friendre- plied, 4 Sir, we must gain something by our ‘ friends, for our enemies will never come to ‘ the shop.’

The French monarch having at first received a lying flattering account from one of his courtiers concerning the success of Mr Conflans. 4 Well,’ demanded the k.ng, and * did M. Hawke strike P 4 Yes,' answered a blunt German: 4 such a stroke as your Ma- ^ jetty's marine witl not recover these severt 1 years j


A poor but worthy clergyman, who possessed only a small lectureship, from the income of which he had a large family to maintain, had been under the necessity, through some expensive family sicknesses, &c. of contracting debts with several in the parish, and being unable to answer their demands, absconded for some time, for fear of being troubled : and, in short, was so ashamed of facing his creditors, that he even prevailed with a friend to officiate for him on Sundays. However, considering this method of life could not last long, he took courage, and resolved to preach the following Sunday before his parisioners; when he took h|s text from the New Testament, in these w-ords, ‘ Have patience, and 1 will pay you all.’ He divided his discourse into two general heads, first, Have patience. Secondly, And I will pay you all. He expatiated very large- ly and elegantly on that most Christian virtue, patience j after which, ‘ and now,’,says he, ‘ having done with my first head, viz. “ have patience,’ I come to my second and ‘ last general head, which is, ‘ and I will “ pay you all—but that 1 must defer till ‘ another opportunity.’ Which excellent

and Bon Mots. !27

conclusion so pleased his creditors, that they gave him his own time to pay his debts, as- suring him, that they would never trouble him more.

A gentleman named Ball, being about to purchase a cornetcy in a regiment of horse, was presented to the Colonel for approbation, who, being a nobleman, declared he did not like the name, and would have no balls in his regiment: ‘ No, nor powder nei- ‘ ther,’ said the gentleman, 1 if your Lord- ‘ ship could help it.’

A learned judge was about to try a prisoner for a rape, and observed the ladies seemed very unwilling .to leave the court; upon which he acquainted them of the im- propriety of their presence : some of them had indeed the decency to retire, others stay- ed. He again expostulated with them on the indecency of staying, but without effect-, when the facetious Mr S (the judge’s clerk) told his Lordship he might proceed on the business, as all the modest ladies were gone. This smart repartee had tne desired effect, and they all retired immediately,

x- 3


A tragedy, presented in one of the theatres, being opened by a princess, declaring her rank, added, ‘ Hither from Arabia, am ‘ I come,’ Merryman in the pit exclaimed, ‘ Then pray sit down, for your highness ‘ must certainly be tired.’ This witty observation put a stop to the performance.

A puritan coming to a cheesemonger’s shop to buy cheese, when he gave him one to taste, put his hat before his eyes to say grace.—‘ Nay,’ said the cheesemonger (taking it away) ‘ instead of tasting, I am afraid ‘ you intend to make a meal.’j

Whilst the immortal Garrick was one night performing the part of Hamlet, (a character in which that inimitable actor dis- * played an exquisite knowledge of nature,) and when he was now arrived at one of the most affecting scenes in that tragedy,— the audience all mute attention,—when even a pin might have been heard falling to the ground,—all at once, to the astonishment of the spectators, Garrick was seen to burst out into a violent fit of laughter, and run suddenly off the stage; In a moment all the

and Bon Mots. 129

players followed his example. The audience, amazed at the strangeness of this conduct, cast their eyes around every corner of the house, when they immediately discovered the cause of Garrick’s merriment.—A jolly round faced butcher was seated in the front of one of the higher boxes, wiping his bald- pate, from which the sweat flowed in copious streams :—his sagacious mastiff', no doubt eager to enjoy, as well as his master, the admirable performance of the Prince of Tra- gedians, had placed his forefeet upon the front of the butcher’s box, and was looking eagerly down upon the stage, his grave phiz dignified by his master’s full bottomea wig.

The audience found it impossible to retain their gravity at this ludicrous sight: The loudest peals of laughter burst from the pitt, the boxes, and the galleries 5 and it was a great while ere the performers could again resume that gravity necessary for performing a tragedy so deeply interesting.

An Irishman, some years ago, attending the University of Edinburgh, waited upon one of the most celebrated teachers of the

Historical Anecdotes,

German flute, desiring to know on what terms he would give him a few lessons; The flute-player informed him, that he generally charged two guineas for the Jirst month, and one guinea for the seconds ‘ Then, by my soul,’ replied the cunning Hibernian, ‘ I’ll come the second month.’

An Irish gentleman, perceiving that one of the great branches of an apple tree in his garden, had been by some accident entirely blasted, was determined to lop it off. To effectuate this purpose, the shrewd son of St Patrick mounted the tree, and got across the withered branch, and began very deli- berately to saw it off betwixt himself and the main trunk; The withered branch, being nearly cut through, gave way, and down tumbled the gallant Hibernian, not a little stunned by the fall, and considerably bruised by the weight of the incumbent branches, but still more astonished at the mystery of this inexplicable accident.

The mildness of Sir Isaac Newton’s temper, through the course of his life, commanded admiration from all who knew him,

and Bon Mots. lJL but in no one instance perhaps more than the following : Sir Isaac had a favourite little dog, which he called Diamond ; and, being one day called out of his study into the next room, Diamond was left behind. When Sir Isaac returned, having been absent but a few minutes, he had the mortification to find, that Diamond having thrown down a lighted candle among some papers, the nearly finished labour of many years was in flames, and almost consumed to ashes. This loss, as Sir Isaac was then very far advanced in years, was irretrievable ; yet, without once striking the dog, he only rebuked him with this exclamation,—‘ Oh, Diamond ! Diamond ! ‘ thou, little knowest the mischief thou hast ‘ done.’

Sia Isaac, one evening in winter, feeling it extremely cold, instinctively drew his chair very close to the grate, in which a large fire had been recently lighted. By degrees the fire having completely kindled, Sir Isaac felt the heat intolerably intense, and rung his bell with unusual violence. John was not at hand; he at last made his appearance, by the time Sir Isaac was almost

J3» Historical Anecdotes,

literally roasted. ‘ Remove the grate, you ‘ lazy rascal!’ cries cut Sir Isaac, with a tone of irritation very uncommon with that amiable and placid philosopher, ‘ remove the ‘ grate, eve I am burned to death !’ “ Please “ your honour, might you not rather draw “ back your chair,'' said John a little waggish- ly. ‘ Upon my woid,’ said Sir Isaac, smiling, ‘ l never thought of that precaution.’

Mr. Addison, on first visiting France, met with a very young child in the streets of Ca- lais, who spoke the French language with fluency and elegance,—‘ Good heaven ! is ‘ it possible,’ exclaimed the astonished Ad- ‘ dison, that even children here speak the * French language with purity !’—

Every one must allow, that, notwithstanding the extreme modesty of the amiable Thomson, that poet understood, and must have felt all the force of, the tender passion. The following anecdote gives us reason to believe that he drew the charming portrait of Musidora from nature :—and indeed from whence could he draw such an enchanting

and Bjn Mots. _

picture, but from that source of perfection ? —Thomson was on a visit to a friend, with whom, at the same time, lived a lovely young female relation. The poet’s bedchamber was immediately above that of the young lady, a circumstance which, it seems, 'J homson was some how or other apprised of. The son of Apollo soon found means to perforate the floor of his room, and through this orifice nightly admired the loveliest of nature’s works, drank deep draughts of in- spiration, and, we cannot doubt, raised his pious thoughts, from the contemplation of ‘ Nature’s works, up to Nature’s God,’— One evening, as the unsuspicious nymph was undressing, she heard an unusual noise, and desired her maid to find out the cause. ‘ Oh, ‘ Madam,’ cried Betty, ‘ be not alarmed, ‘ ’tis only the Poet at bis bole f—But permit ‘ me,’ continued Betty, ‘ and I will afford ‘ you some fun.' Betty immediately mounted a chair, and applied the lighted candle to the sacrilegious orifice. The good poet had been, it seems, at his accustomed aevotions ; but, overcome by love, wine, or fatigue, had unwittingly submitted to the all powerful commands cf the drowsy god. To drop al«


legory—he was snoring loudly at the afore- mentioned hole\ but was speedily awaken- ed from his slumbers by the flaming torch of the mischievous Betty, though not till he had got completely rid of the skin of the noisy member that had betrayed his theft profane—“ if aught profane to love.” The triumph of Betty and her mistress was complete—and the tiose of the unfortunate Poet but too loudly proclaimed his disgrace.

An Italian Bishop struggled through great difficulties without repining, and met with much opposition in the discharge of his epis- copal function without ever betraying the least impatience.— An intimate friend of his, who admired those virtues, which he thought it impossible to imitate, one day asked the Prelate if he could communicate the secret of being always easy ?—‘ Yes,’ replied the old man, * I can teach you my secret, and ‘ with great facility ; it consists in nothing ‘ more than making a right use of my eyes.’ His friend begged him to explain himself. ‘ Most willingly,” returned the Bishop : ‘ In whatever state 1 am, I first of all look ‘ up to heaven, and remember that my pria-

and Bon Mels. *3S

‘ cipal business here is to prepare for my jour- ‘ ney there : I then lock down upon the ‘ earth, and call to mind how small a space I ‘ shall occupy in it when I come to be inter- ‘ red : I then look abroad into the world, ‘ and observe what multitudes there are who, ‘ in all respects, are more unhappy than my- ‘ self. Thus I learn where true happiness is ‘ placed, where all our cares must end, and ‘ how very little reason I have to repine or ‘ complain.’

The Khalif Haroum Alraschid was accosted one day by a poor woman, who complained that his soldiers bad pillaged her house, and laid waste her grounds. The Khalif desired her to recollect the words of the Al- coran, “ That when princes go forth to battle, the people, through whose fields they pass, must suffer.” ‘ Yes,’ says the woman, ‘ but it is also written in the same book, that ‘ the habitations of those princes, who au- ‘ thorize injustice, shall be made desolate.’ —This bold and just reply had a powerful effect upon the Khalif, who ordered imme- diate reparation to be made.

M

Historical Anecdotety *36

It was a beautiful turn given by a great lady, who, being asked where her husband was, when he lay concealed for having been deeply concerned in the conspiracy, resolutely answered, “ She had hid him.” I his confession drew her before the King, who told her, nothing but her discovering where her lord was concealed, could save her from the torture. “ And will that do,” says the lady ? ‘ Yes,’ says the King, ‘ I give you ‘ my word for it.’ “ Then,’’ says she, “ I “ have hid him in my heart, where you’ll find “ him.” Which surprising answer charmed her enemies.

The most wonderful anecdote, perhaps, in the world of letters, is the following ••—Mil- ton, that glory of British literature, leceived not above ten pounds at two different pay- ments for the copy of Paradise Lost; yet Mr Hoyle, author of a Treatise on the Game of Whist, after having disposed of all the fust impression, sold the copy to the bookseller for 200 guineas.

Edmund Burke, and the Hon. Charles Fox, supping one evening at the 'I hatched House,

and Bon Mots. *37

were served with dishes more elegant than useful.—Charles’s appetite happening to be rather keen, he by no means relished thfc kickshaws before him, and addressing the ora- tor, ‘ By G—d, Burke,’said he,‘ these dish- ‘ es are admirably calculated for your palate, ‘ they are both sublime and beautiful'

Colonel Bond, who had been one of King Charles the First’s judges, died a day or two before Cromwell} and it was strongly reported every where, that the Protector was dead.—‘ No,’ said a gentleman, who knew better, ‘ he has only given B&nr/tothe Devil ‘ for his farther appearance.’

Lord Mansfield being willing to save a man that had stole a watch, desired the jury to value it at tenpence ; upon which, the the prosecutor cries out, “ Hen pence, my Lord, “ why the very fashion of it cost me Jive li pounds." ‘ Oh,’ says his Lordship, ‘ we * must not hang a man for fashion's sake.'

A French gentleman presenting, familiarly, a young marquis, named De Tierceville, to a lady of his acquaintance ; “ Madam,”

M 2

r 38 Historical Anecdotes,

said he, “ this is the Marquis de Tierceville, “ and he is not so great a fool as he looks to “ be.” ‘ Madam,’ answered lierceville, * there lies the difference between him and ‘ me.’

Milton was asked by friend, whether he would instruct his daughters in the different languages? to which he replied, ‘ No, Sir, ‘ one tongue is sufficient for a woman.’

A Witty divine receiving an invitation to dinner, wrote on the ten of hearts, by a young lady of great beauty, merit and fortune. This the gentleman thought a good opportunity to give the lady a distant hi«t of his hopes; he wrote therefore the following lines on the same card, and returned it by her own servant:

Your compliments, lady, I pray now forbear, For old English service is much more sincere; You’ve sent me ten hearts, but the tythe’s only mine. So give me one heart, and take back t'other nine.

Lady W is celebrated in Scotland for wit and beauty. Happening to be at an assembly in Edinburgh, a young gentleman,

and Bon Mott. 139

the son of his M-.jesty’s printer, who had the patent for publishing Bibles, made his appearance, dressed in green and gold. Being a new face, and extremely elegant, he attracted the attention of the whole company. A general murmur prevailed in the room, to learn who he was; Lady W instantly- made answer, loud enough to be heard,— * Oh! dont you know him ? it is voung * Bible, bound in calf and gilt—but not let- ‘ tered.’

A young lady at Chichester was playing at what is it Like, in company where was present an old lady of venerable character, named Boucher : she likened the t'.ing thought on to Mrs Boucher’s stick. It proved to be the History of Pamela. * The ‘ History of Pamela,’ said she, ‘ is like Mrs ‘ Boucher’s stick, because it is the support ‘ of virtue.’

The late Lord Chesterfield happened to be at a route in France, where Voltaire was one of the guests. Chesterfield seemed gazing about the brilliant circle of the ladies; Voltaire accosted him, ‘ My Lord, I know

Historical Anecdotes, 140 ■ sn

4 you are a judge, which are more beautiful, 4 the English or the French ladies ?'—‘ Up- 4 on my word.’ replied his Lordship, with his usual presence of mind, 4 I am no con- 4 noisseur of paintings.’ Some time after this, Voltaire being in London, happened to be at a nobleman’s route with Lord Ches- terfield ; a lady in company, prodigiously painted, directed her whole discourse to Vol- taire, and entirely engrossed his conversation j Chesterfield came up, tapped him oil the shoulder, saying, 4 Sir, take care you 4 are not captivated.’ 4 My Lord,’ replied the wit, 4 I scorn to be taken by an English 4 bottom under French colours.’

The Russians and Turks, in their w'ar before the last; having diverted themselves long enough in murdering one another, for the sake of variety thought proper to treat of a peace. The commissioners for this purpose were, Marshal General Keith and the Turkish Grand Visier. These two perso- nages met, and the interpreters of the Russ and Turkish betwixt them. When a’l was concluded, they arose to separate ; the Mar- shal made his bow with hat in hand, and the

and Bon Moti. J4*

Visier liis salam, with turban on his head: But when these ceremonies of taking leave were over, the Visier turned suddenly, and coming up to Keith, took him freely by the hand, and in the broadest Scotch dialect, spoken by the lowest and most illiterate of our countrymen, declared warmly, that ‘ it made him ‘ unco happy, now he was sae far frae hame, ‘ to meet a countryman in his exalted station.’ Keith stared with all his eyes; but at last the exclamation came, and the Visier told him, ‘ My father, ‘ said he,1 was beil-manof ‘ Kirkaldy in Fife, and I remember to have ‘ seen you, sir, and your brother often occa- ‘ sionally passing.’

One of the clergy of the celebrated Fe- nelon, Archbishop of Cambray, congratulat- ing himself, in Fenelon’s presence, for having effected the abolition of the custom of the peasants to dance on Sundays and Pray- er days, M. Fenelon replied—‘ Mr Rector, ‘ let us refrain from dancing ; but let us per- ‘ mit these poor people to dance - why should ‘ we prevent them from forgetting for a moment the extent of their griefs.’

142 Historical Anecdotes and Bon Alois.

The following saying of a literary man, on witnessing the destruction of his library by a fire, has been justly praised 5 * I should ‘ have derived very little advantage from ‘ my books, If 1 had not learnt to support ‘ their loss.’ But Fenelon’s saying, on a similar occasion, is much more simple and affecting ;—‘ I had much rather,’ said he, ‘ that they were burned, than a poor man’s ‘ cottage.’

He frequently visited the environs of Cambrai on foot} and, entering the cottages of the peasants, sate himself down by them, and gave them comfort and consolation. The old men who had the happiness of seeing him, were accustomed to speak of him with the tenderest respect, ‘ That,’ said they, ‘ is the wooden chair on which our good ‘ Archbishop used to sit in the midst of us; ‘ we shall never see him more !’ and they shed tears.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

J. Mow, Printer, Paterson’s Court, Edinburgh,

INDEX

A. Page Arabs, Anecdote of 48 Alphonso of Arragon 51 Abradates, king of the

Susians 54 Araspes ib. Abre St, Marquis of 67 Alexander the Great 6 > Abdalonimus ib Anthony, Mark 73 Alfred 73 ib. Athenian manners 107 Artaxerxes Mnemon 11 5 Anacharsis 128 Allegory by Franklin 120

B Boethius I Bentixoglio I Britain, King of 3 Borsieri, William 52 Black Prince 64 Brutus 73 Bernouilli, Daniel 76

C Cervantes 1 Camoens X Clerk, Lady 4 Cleopatra 7 Chesterfield, Earl, 41 Charles V. 44 Cyrus of Persia 54 Charles XII. 68 Commenus, John 71 Chatterton Ic8 Coallier’s wife xxz

Clown, ignorance of a 113 D

Diana of Poitiers 7 Denina 7'.* Dionysius of Syracuse 116 Dion ib

E Elgin, Countess of 4 English Officer 9 English Drummer 54

F Fi ederick the Great 24 96 Frederick William of

Prussia 92, 93, 94, 95 Franklin, Benjamin

Allegory by 129 G

G imaldi, Herminio 52 Gray, Mr 103 Goldsmith, Dr 104

H Hxgi, Baron of I Helen 7 Hendrick, King of the

Five Nations 20 Hephestion 69 Henry Duke of Sax-

ony 109 Heraciides 1x6

I Indian Savage 9 Irishman, blunderof a 125

J James I. of England 126

[ “ 1

Page Johnston, Sir William 20 Johnson, Samuel 41, 117,

ir9 John King of France 64

K .Koenig 77

L L’Enclos, Ninon 4. 75 Louis XIV. 66 Louvois, Marquis of ib. Louis XII. 70 Lucilius 73 Leo X. 76 I ogan, Indian Chief 89 Louis XIV. 126,127

M Montague, Duke of 3 IWarischall, Lord 28 Mahomet the Great 71 Macklin 119 Marlborough, Duchess

of 120 M'Gregor, Donald 124

N Nolan, Mr 22 Newton, 77 Negroes, Stories of 9o, 91 Northumberland, Du-

chess of 104 P

Plautus 1 Peter the Great 13,14 Poite, Abbe de la 47 Pownall, Captain ib.

I Page ; Panthea 54 j Piper, Count 68 I Phiiopemen ib.

Philip of Macedon 69 Plutarch 107 Plato 116 Pitcairne, Dr 122

R Reding, General 31

S Swiss, Character of 31 Semiramis ~ 7 Sawer, Captain 47 Spartan manners 107 Sarah, Duchess of

Marlborough 123 Socrates 127 Stair, Lord ib.

,T Terence t Tasso ib. Turenne, Marshal 66 Timotheus 116

V Vaugelas I Voltaire 7? Vildac, Story of 807

W Wade, Marshal 38 Whitefield 119 Wallace, Lady 126

Z Ziethen, General 28 Zeuxis 128

j Zeno ib.J

/

HISTORICAL

ANECDOTES,

AND BON-MOTS.

The following short but melancholy list proves the justice of a remark which wounds sensibility, viz. that many a wise head anti many a worthy heart, are doomed to live in misery and die in obscurity and want. Plau- tus turned a mill, Terence was a slave, Boe- thius died in a jail, Tasso was often distressed for five shillings, Bentivoglio was refused admission into the hospital he himself e- rected, Cervantes died of hunger, Camocus ended his days in an alms house, and Vauge- las left his body to the surgeons, to pay his debts as far as it would go !

The baron of Haegi was a gentleman of the territory of Vinterthur in bwitzerland he was possessed of several fiefs, and had his castle near the city. This gentleman, who

A


lived about the year XJOO, made agriculture his ordinary occupation. His plough was drawn by fine horses. His son, who was a handsome young man, drove them with the whip in his hand, while the father, with grey hairs, opened the bosom of the earth, and traced the furrow’s. A duke of Austria, going on horseback from Rapperschweill to Vinterthur, was surprised at the distinguished air of the labourers, and the beauty of their horses. He stopped, and turning to. wards the grand master of his household ; “ I have never seen, said he, so handsome peasants, and horses so well fed, labour the fields.” “ Do not be surprised at it,” my lord, “replied that officer; these are the baron Hmgi and his son. There is the ancient castle of their family, at the foot of the hill; and, if you doubt it, you may convince yourself of it to-morrow; when you will see them come and offer you their services.” In fact, the next day, the baron of Hfcgi, accompanied by seven of his people, all on horseback, came to Vinterthur to pay his respects to the duke, who did not fail to aik him if it was him he had seen the day before, following a plough superbly equipped.

and Bon Mots. p

“ Yes, my lord,” replied the baron with dignity ; “ after a war for the defence of one’s country, I think there is no occupation more worthy of a gentleman than that of cultivat- ing his own lands, and I give the example: of it to my son.’’ The duke could not but admire the old man j he gave him the most flattering reception, and loaded his Son with caresses. The ancients had the same idea of agriculture ; ‘ omnium rerum ex quibus

! ‘ aliquid exqueritur, nihil est Agriculturs ‘ melius, uberius, homine libero dignius.’

One day that the late Duke of Montague attended the levee, for the first time after a visit to his daughter’s family in Dalkeith house, his Majesty, after the usual compliments, &c. inquired of the duke after the health of his grand children. His grace, thanking his majesty, told him they were all well, and making a meal of oat meal pottage every day. His Majesty aske dif they got good oat meal. The duke told him that they had it excellent from a Mr James Mut- ter in Middle Mills, uear Laswade •, upon which his Majesty desired the duke to commission some for him ; and I believe the


royal family are supplied with that article from the same mills.

When the lady of Sir John Clerk of Pen* nycuik was presented to the king after her marriage with Sir John, the king said to her that she was become mistress of a beautiful estate. Her ladyship begged to know how his majesty knew that; whereupon his majesty began at the source of the river Esk, and told the situation a..d appearance of e- very villa during its course, to her ladyship’s no small surprise. He made very pertinent remarks, mentioning how such and such estates could be improved.

As the countess of Elgin was at court one day, his majesty came up to her and said, ‘ My lady, a’ve gotten a letter frae your son the day, and he’s brav.ly.’

In the year 1633, as the famous Made- moiselle Ninon de L’Enclos one day sat a- Jone in her chamber her servant announced the arrival of a stranger, who desi'ed to speak wdth her, but refused to tell his name. The young lady bade answer, that she was

and Bon Mots. %

engaged with company. ‘ No, no,’ said the stranger to the lacquey ; ‘ I know well that ‘ Miss is by herself, and for that very rea- ‘ son call upon her at present.—Go, tell her, ‘ I have secrets of the last moment to im- ‘ part, and cannot take a refusal.’—This extraordinary message, by exciting female curiosity, procured the stranger admittance. He was of a low stature, of an ungracious aspect, and his grey hairs bespoke age. He was dressed in black, without a sword, wore a calotte (a small leathern cape which covers the tonsure) and a large patch on his fore- head : in his left hand he held a very slender cane ; his features were expressive, and his eyes sparkled vivacity.—‘ Madam,’ said he, on entering the apartment, ‘ please make ‘ your waitifig maid retire $ my words are ‘ not for third persons.’—Miss L’Enclos was a good deal startled at this preamble -r

but reflecting she had to do with a decrepit old man, mustered up some resolution, and dismissed her maidi ‘ Let not my visit a- ‘ larm you, madam ; it is true I do not ho- ‘ nour all indiscriminately with my presence, ‘ but be assured you have nothing to fear. f All I beg is, that you will hear me with

A 3


1 confidence and attention. Yon see before 4 you a man whom the earth obeys, and 4 whom nature has invested with the power ‘ of dispensing her gifts. I presided at your e birth ; the lot of mortals depend upon my ‘ nod ; and 1 have condescended to ask what c lot you would wish for yourself; the pre- ‘ sent is but the dawn of your brilliant days. ‘ Soon you shall arrive at that period, when ‘ the gates of the world shall fly open to re- ‘ ceive you } for it depends wholly upon 4 yourself to be the most illustrious and the 4 most prosperous lady of your age. I sub- 4 mit to your choice supreme honours, im- 4 mense riches, and eternal beauty. Take 4 wdiich you chuse ; and, depend upon it, ‘ there exists not a mortal who can make 4 you the same ample offers.’ 4 That I ve- 4 rily believe.’ replied the fair one, in a fit of laughter 5 4 besides, your gifts are so very 4 splendid !’—‘ 1 hope, Madam, you have 4 too much good sense to make sport of a 4 stranger : Once more, I seriously make you 4 the same offer,—but decide instantly.’ 4 Then, truly, Sir, since you are so good as ' give me my choice, 1 hesitate not to fix 4 on eternal beauty .• —but how, pray, am I

and Bon Mots. 7.

‘ to obtain such an inestimable prize ?’— ‘ Madam, all I ask is, that you would put 1 down your name in my tablets, and swear ‘ inviolable secrecy.’ Mademoiselle de I’En- clos immediately complied, and wrote her name upon a black memorandum-book with red edging. The old man at the same time struck her gently upon the left 'shoulder with his wand.—‘ This now,’ resumed he, ‘ is the whole ceremony j henceforth rely * upon eternal beauty, and the subjugation ‘ of every heart. I bestow on you the un- ‘ limited power of charming—the most pre. ‘ cious privilege a tenant of this nether orb ‘ can enjoy. During the 6200 years that I

‘ have perambulated this globe, 1 have found ‘ only four who were worthy of such rare ‘ felicity. They were Semiramis, Helen, ‘ Cleopatra, and Diana of Poitiers ; you are ‘ the fifth, and 1 am determined shall be the ‘ last. You shall be ever fresh and ever

‘ blooming : charms and adorations shall ‘ track your steps : whoever beholds you, 1 shall that instant be captivated, and they ‘ whom you love shall reciprocally love you: ‘ you shall enjoy uninterrupted health and - longevity, without appearing old. Some


‘ females seem born to bewitch the eye, and ‘ some the heart $ but you alone are fated to ‘ unite these different qualities : you shall ‘ taste of pleasure at an age when others of ‘ your sex are beset with decrepitude 5 your ‘ name shall live while the world endures. ‘ —1 am aware, Madam, that all this will ‘ appear to you like enchantment, but ask ‘ me no questions, for I dare not answer a 4 word. In the course of your life you shall 4 see me once again, and that ’ere fourscore 4 years be run.—Tremble then ! for three 4 short days shall close your existence ! Re- 4 member my name is Night-Walker.' With these words he vanished, and left the Miss of eternal beauty shivering wdth fear.

This lady of amorous memory, adds the story, had a second visit from the little gentleman in black in the year 1706, as she lingered on her death-bed. In spite of the efforts of servants, he had found his way in- to her apartment} he stood by her side, opened the curtains, and gazed,—the patient turned pale, and shrieked aloud. The un- welcome guest, after reminding her that the third day would be that of her dissolution, exhibited her own signature, and disappear-

and Bon Alois. 9

ed, as he exclaimed, with a hideous voice, ‘ Tremble ! for it is past, and you are to fall ‘ into the hands of Lucifer.’ The third day came, and I’Enclos was no more.

During the war before last, a company of Indian savages defeated an English detach* ment. The conquered could not escape so swiftly as the conquerors pursued. They were taken and treated with sfTch barbarity, as is hardly to be equalled even in these savage countries.

A young English officer being pursued by two savages, who approached him with up- lifted hatchets, and seeing that death was inevitable, determined to sell his life dearly. At this instant, an old savage, armed with a bow, was preparing to pierce his heart with an arrow ; but scarcely had he assumed that posture, when he suddenly let fall his bow, and threw himself between the young officer and his barbarian combatants, who instantly retired with respect.

The old Indian took the Englishman by the hand, dispelled all his fears, by his caresses, and conducted him to his cabin, where he always treated him with that ten-


dern.ess which cannot be affected. He was less his master than his companion ; taught him the Indian language, and made the rude acts of that country familiar to him. They lived contentedly together, and one thing only disturbed the young Englishman’s tranquillity ; the old man would sometimes fix his eyes on him, and, while he surveyed him attentively, tears fell in torrents from his eyes.

On the return of spring, however, they re- commenced hostilities, and every one appeared in arms. The old man had yet strength sufficient enough to support the toils of war, and set off with the rest, accompanied by his prisoner. The Indians having marched above two hundred leagues through forests, at last arrived on the bor- ders of a plain, where they discovered the “English camp.

The old savage, observing the young man’s countenance, shewed him the English camp. ‘ There are thy brethren,’ said he to him, 4 waiting to fight us. Be attentive. 4 I have saved thy life. I have taught thee 4 to make a canoe, a bow, and arrows j to 4 surprise an enemy in the forest, to ma-

and Bon Mots. 11

‘ nage the hatchet, and to carry oft' a scalp. * What wast thou, when I first conducted 1 thee into my cabin ? Thy hands were like ‘ those of a child 5 they served neither to ‘ support nor defend thee : thy soul was bu- ‘ tied in the obscurity of night j you knew ‘ nothing j but from me you have learned ‘ every thing. Wilt thou be so ungrateful, ‘ with a view to reconcile yourself to your ‘ brethren, as to lift up the hatchet against ‘ us ?’

The young Englishman protested, that he would rather a thousand times lose his own life, than shed the blood of one of his In- dian friends.

The old savage covered his face with his hands, and bowed his head. After having been some time in that posture, he looked on the young Englishman, and said to him, in a tone mixed with tenderness and grief: ‘ Hast thou a father ?’—‘ He was living,’ said the young man, ‘ when 1 quitted my ‘ my country.’ ‘ Oh ! how unfortunate is ‘ he !’ cried the old man-, and, after a moment’s silence, he added, ‘ Knowest thou that ‘ I have been a father ? I am no more such ! ( I saw my son fall in battle 5 he fought by


' my side ; my son fell covered with wounds, ‘ and died like a man ! but I revenged his ‘ death, yes, 1 revenged it.’

He pronounced these words in great agitation j his whole body trembled, and sighs and groans, which with difficulty found their way, almost suffocated him ; his eyes lost their usual serenity, and his sighs could not find a passage from his heart. By degrees, he became more serene, and turning towards the east, where the sun was rising, he said to the,young man; ‘ Seest thou that gilded ‘ heaven, which spreads abroad its resplen- ‘ dent light ? Does it afford thee any plea-

‘ sure to behold it ?’ ‘ Yes,’ said the Eng- lishman, ‘ the sight adds new vigour to my ‘ heart.’ ‘ Ah, thou happy man : but to ‘ me it affords no pleasure !’ replied the savage, shedding a flood of tears. A moment afterwards, he shewed the young man a shrub in bloom; ‘ Seest thou that beautiful flower ?’ said he, ‘ hast thou pleasure in beholding it ?’ ‘ Yes, I have,’ replied the young man.’ ‘ To me it no longer affords any,’ answered the savage hastily, and then concluded with these words: ‘ Begone, hasten to thy own * country, that thy father may have pleasure

and Bon Mots. 'J 1 in beholding the rising sun, and the flowers ‘ of the spring.’

Peter the Great was one day question- ing some of his ministers, returned from their missions at foreign courts, relative to the progress of the young gentlemen he had sent abroad for education, to the different countries of Europe, and seemed highly pleased with the favourable accounts given of them, when the conversation was suddenly interrupted by de Costa, one of the jest- ers, vociferating from a corner of the room, 4 Peter, you are a fool !’ This abrupt and singular salutation drew the emperor’s attention, who declared, that if de Costa could not make good his assertion, he should be tossed in a blanket immediately, and called on him therefore to begin. The jester, by no means disconcerted, advanced gravely to the middle of the room, where there always stood a round table, covered with red cloth, containing implements for writing; and taking a sheet of fine paper, doubled it, and, after drawing the ivory cutter hard over the ply, bid Peter try to take it out.

B

«4 Historical Anecdotes,

The emperor, with much good humour, set about the task assigned him by his jester j but after working some time, was obliged to confess himself unable to effect it. 4 Then,’ sa)TS de Costa, ‘ I hope you now a» ‘ vow yourself the fool, and not me j so let ‘ us change places, for I must be emperor in ‘ my turn.’ How'ever, Peter declared that he still did neither understand his claim, nor allegory j and he must explain, or cut ca- pers in the air. ‘ Then,’ says de Costa, ‘ the moral and meaning of my folded paper ‘ is this: You send young men abroad, at ‘ the age of fifteen or sixteen, to acquire fo- ‘ reign instruction and manners, to civilize ‘ your empire j but they have already taken ‘ a ply at home, like my paper, which can ‘ never be taken out; so that if you wish, * O ! Czar, to do the work effectually, send 4 children abroad for instruction, who are 4 still without impression of any kind, and 4 they will facilitate thy labours.’

Whilst the great Legislator of the North was in France, the Roman church w^as not idle in all its branches, to persuade him to make certain changes in his national religion,

Grid Ban Molt. n

as preliminary steps to an union with the see of Rome, so much desired by the sovereign Pontif. For this purpose, several men of e- minence and talents were sent from Rome, under pretence of complimenting the Rus- sian Czar, but secretly to assist the French clergy in this great work.

The Emperor, with his usual good sense, replied to repeated attacks on the subject, that when arrived in his dominions he would not fail to refer the affair to the Synod, who were better judges of such matters than himself.

However, this wise and prudent answer did not prevent him from being still strongly urged for permission to talk the matter over with- his confessor in the mean time, whom they certainly supposed to have as much power over his master’s mind, as those of France and Spain had over those of their sovereigns at that period. Peter was thrown into a disagreeable dilemma by this unexpected demand, as, whilst he disdained the illiberal appearance of refusing it, he was by no means convinced that Bitka’s theology was sufficiently orthodox, to be the champion of the Greek church, who he knew had

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i6 Historical Anecdotes,

conversed more with the jovial sons of Rus- sia, than with the ancient fathers of its religion. However, on his communicating the proposal and his doubts to his confessor, the reverend father begged him to have none, as he was assuredly a match for the whole Sor- bonne in his own way, as he was perfect master of a powerful argument, which he trusted tvould strike the whole of his antagonists dumb-, and desired nothing better than to put them to the trial, if Peter would only promise to keep out of the way, and leave the whole business to his own manage- ment. These preliminaries being agreed upon, the learned theologists were invited to the conference on a fixed day, and our Rus- sian Pope or Papa, as he is called at home, had a splendid repast prepared for the occasion.

Before sitting down to dinner, Bitka presented each guest with a small silver cup of sweet brandy from his own hand, as a pro- vocative to appetite, according to the custom of his country, which the whole company had the complaisance to drink with their host, desirous to shew every attention

and Bon Mots. !7

to a man who was to have so great a hand in their favourite work.

During the first course, the reverend Rus- sian father rose with great solemnity from his seat, and, after stroaking his well combed beard, filled a boukal [a boukal is a large fine crystal glass, often ornamented with a coat of arms, or other bearings, used at great festivals in Russia to drink the sovereign, the church, &c. and holds from a half to a whole bottle. The person who first fills it, commonly some great man, stands up, and with much ceremony presents it to his next neighbour, who must take off the cover, (e- quivalent to your pledging any one) and hqld it till the first has drank off this birth-day bumper, when it is his turn to rise up and do the same, till it has made the tour of the table] of champaign, to the holy Catholic. Church, which of course the Roman clergy could not refuse to pledge him in. After a proper interval, father Bitka rose a second time, with equal gravity, to drink a boukal to the holy Greek Church ; a toast which the French doctors were too politic to refuse or. the present occasion, especially after

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l8 Historical Anecdotes,

the Czar’s confessor had drank to the La- tin

The second course was ushered in with a third boukal, to the so much desired union of the two churches, which it would have been folly to refuse : and the last dish of it Was graced with the health of the pope himself, which it would have been a bold priest in those days, who would have refused drinking.

After having so well regaled his guests at dinner, father Bitka told them that they had one duty still to fulfil before proceeding to business; at least it was one that he would never omit, with all his attachment to the two holy churches, viz. drinking his sovereign’s health, the Czar of Moscovy ; and the French clergy were too good courtiers to refuse it in the present moment.

Lastly, our contessor after having, with much fervour, exclaimed, ‘ render unto Cre- ‘ sar what appertains unto Ctesar, &c.’ from holy writ, rose and drank a last bumper with great solemnity, to the great monarch, the French king; and his clergy made shift tq pledge him in it as in duty bound.

l

aud Bon Mots. *9

1'he Russian church militant, thinking himself now a match for Romish theology and eloquence, invited the Sorbonne to the proposed conference in the Czar’s chamber of state, up one pair of stairs, and led the way himself with a firm pace and stately gait.

On being seated in his master’s state chair, lent to him for the occasion, father Bitka expressed much surprise at finding but two of the whole Sorbonne had followed him up, a couple of rosy bishops ; to whom, after waiting a proper time for the rest of his antagonists, he addressed a short latin speech in favour of the Greek church, ending it by declaring he was prepared to hear all their learned arguments for the desired union, whilst he was open to conviction.

The well seasoned Russian champion now found he had kept his word with the Czar, and literally struck his antagonists dumb with the power of his strong arguments ; for not a word could be articulated on repeated efforts, by either one or other of the bishops, whose truant tongues for once refused the defence of the Roman church j so that, after' a short pantomimic harangue, they were o-

20 Historical Anecdotes^

bilged to leave father Bitka master ol the field and dispute, who told them on parting, that he never doubted to see the mother church triumph over all the attacks of her seceding sons.

Peter, on coming home in the evening, was highly diverted with his confessor’s victory ; and did not fail next day at court to in- vite the French doctors to a second conference with Bitka, which they politely refused, relying on his former promise to refer the affair to his synod, on his arrival in Russia.

Soon after the late Sir William Johnson had been appointed superintendant of Indian affairs in America, he wrote to England for some suits of cloaths richly laced. When they arrived, Hendrick, king of the five nations of the Mohawks, was present, and particularly admired them. In a few days, Hendrick called on Sir William, and acquainted him that he had a dream. On Sir William’s inquiring what it was, he told him, he had dreamed that he had given him one of those fine suits he had lately received. Sir William took the hint, and immediately

and Bon Mots. 21

presented him with one of his richest suits. Hendrick, highly pleased with the generosity of Sir William, retired. Sir William, sometime after this, happening to be in company with Hendrick, told him he had also had a dream. Hendrick, being very solici- tous to know what it was, Sir William informed him, he had dreamed that he (Hen- drick_) had made him a present of a particular tract of land (the most valuable on the Mohawk river,) of about five thousand a- cres. Hendrick presented him with the land immediately, with this shrewd remark: * Now Sir William, I will never dream with i you again, you dream too hard for me.’

A few years ago, a woman who rented a snug house in Dublin, alarmed the neighbourhood with a strange story of a ghost, dressed as a female in black robes, that o- pened the curtains of her bed, surrounded by an illumination like lightening, and with a countenance labouring under some heavy burden, beckoned the woman to follow her. The person haunted, called in two relations to sleep with her next night ; bnt they were ■also equally frightened with groans and an

2a Historical Anecdotes.

uncommon noise, and le.t the house next day.

The occupier of the'house still persisted that she was no‘ only haunted, but threatened by the ghost j and to this she made the most solemn oaths, as well as imprecations, and accordingly took lodgings in a neighbouring street.

The story having gone abroad, hundreds were daily drawn by curiosity into the street where the haunted house was: and it be- coming the subject of conversation every where, Mr N dan, so well known for his poetical and political abilities, took up a sporting bet, that he would suffer himself to be locked up in the house one whole night, without the company bf any human being- Aboui nine o’clock he went, and was shut up but, for the sake of defence against any imorope; practices, he took with him a dog and a case of loaded pistols, and was not re- leased till six o'clock next morning, when he was found by his companions fast asleep.

Suffice it to say he saw’ no ghost, though he heard a great deal of noise ; and louldly threatened to shoot the first one who should approach him, whether of this world or of

and Bon M' ts. 2?

the other. This discreet ghost riesi: ed, and the people got rid of their fears in that neighbourhood. The following elegant stan- zas will best show the situation of his mind during the time of his vigils.

If from the cearments of the silent dead. Our long departed friends could rise anew;

Why feel a horror, or conceive a dread, To see again those friends whom once we know ?

Father of All! thou gav’st not to our ken, To view beyond the ashes of our grave ;

’Xis not the idle talcs of bu y men That can the mind appal.—The truly brave,

Seated on reason’s adamantine throne, Can place the soul, and fears no ills unknown.

O ! if the flinty prison of the grave Could loose its doors, and let the spirit flee,

Why not return the wise, the just, the brave. And set once more the pride of ages free !

Why not restore a Socrates again ? Or give thee, Newton, as the first of men ?

In this lone room, where now I patient wait, To try if souls departed can appear,

O could a Burgh escape his prison gate, Or could I think Latouche’s form was near.

Why fear to view the shades which long must be Eacred to freedom and to charity ?


A little onward in the path of life. And all must stretch in death their mortal frame;

A few short struggles end the weary strife, And blot the frail memorial of our name.

Torn from the promontory’s lofty brow. In time the rooted oak itself lies low.

It is well known that Frederick II. king of Prussia, incurred the displeasure of his father, a harsh and barbarous soldier, govern- ing a rude people, destined to be polished and aggrandized by his successor, and that this displeasure was chiefly incurred by the prince’s honourable addresses to a young lady of the court, whom the tyrant caused to be whipped under the window of the royal lover, after which the prince resolved never to cohabit with the princess who was destined to supplant the unhappy mistress of his genuine affection.

This brutal insult offered by the king to the lady, to the prince his son, and to humanity, was committed by the instigation of a general officer in the king’s service, whose name it may be better, on account of his respectable family, tc conceal from the eyes cf the public.

and Ben Mots. H

When, after the release of the prince of Prussia from his confinement, where he laid the foundation of his future greatness, by- learning wisdom in the school of adversity, the king became sick of that malady which carried him to his grave, he sent for the prince his son to his bed-chamber, where, upon his arrival, he walked up to the royal presence with the erect and stately step of a right-hand-man of a batallion, and at a considerable distance from the king, he halt- ed in the same soldierly manner. The king said, ‘ Advance, my son.’ The prince advanced. The king said, ‘ Come nearer, Sir.’ The prince came nearer. ‘ Kiss me, Sir,’ said the king, ‘ as a son ought to salute his ‘ father.’ The prince kneeled, and saluted his father.

‘ 1 have been thought harsh to you, Sir j * and some of my worthy veteran oflicers ‘ have incurred your resentment, as advising ‘ my paternal discipline too strictly. 1 am ‘ now about to die, swear to me by God,. * that you will forgive all those who were ‘ the causes of your discontent.’ “ I will “ forgive them all but one, Sir,” said the prince j kneeled, and saluted his father,

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26 Historical Anecdotes^

bowed three times, turned to the right a- bout, and marched out a la milkaire as he entered. The king died two days after. V Some time after the succession of the pnnce to the throne, he caused an intima- tion to be given of a general levee to his court and officers of the army, to which he sent a particular invitation to the culprit general, who had advised his father to destroy his mistress.

The general attended, and, after the levee, when he saw the general retiring, he ordered him to be informed that the king forbade him to retire till he had seen him, after the court was finished. When all were gone, the king said to the general, ‘ Follow * me, Sir.’ The general, trembling, obey, ed ; and, as the king passed, he locked the door of communication with the anti chamber ; and so passing through slowly the various apartments, he clicked the doors with bis pass hey behind him ; when at last, on opening the door of the great guard room, on the other approach to the royal apartments, the unhappy general beheld the room hung round with black, and containing all the fatal apparatus of death by the hand of

and Ben Mots. 27

an executioner, who, with his axe in his hand at the block, and two clergymen standing by, were ready to perform the sentence of the law, which, awarded by a court-martial, was put into the hand of the general by the judge-advocate. After a long pause, while the cold sweat stood on the brow of the unfortunate man, the king said, ‘ Sir, you can- ‘ not but confess that punishment, though * slowly, has come, at last, to reward your ‘ perfidy and your cruelty $ but I will not ‘ be the means of hurrying you to your exit, * without giving you leisure to write your ‘ last will, and to see your family.’ Hav- ing said this, a long and dreadful pause ensued, suited to the king’s purpose y he said to the general, ‘ Follow me,’ and went in- to an adjoining closet. He then looked with a mild but steady countenance on the general, and said, ‘ General, it is now all over. ‘You have received your punishment, which ‘ must shew you experimentally, that the * cruelty you advised my father to perpe- * trate, was worse than a thousand murders, ‘ as murdering the finest feeling of humani- ‘ ty. I forgive you. There is your gold *■ key again j there is your regiment, and

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28 Historical /Anecdotes,

‘ your place upon the staff. Learn to be 4 humane, to forgive, and to have no future ‘ occasion for forgiveness. There is a pair ‘ of colours for your eldest son. Come to ‘ the Caffe to-night, and thank me. Adieu.

The foliotving is another instance of the great Frederick’s sublame benevolence. One day at the Caffe, when the king was in the midst of a most interesting conversation, he observed old Lord Mareschal of Scotland, who had been sick, fallen asleep on a sopha in the corner of the room. The king immediately beckoned to the court for silence j and, treading softly towards Lord Mareschal, and taking out his pocket handkerchief, he threw it gently over the old man’s head, and retired into another apartment, where he took up the conversation just where it had been interrupted.

We shall add a few more characteris- tic anecdotes of the great Frederick ; who, on the 25th of January 1785, caused old Ziethen to sit in his presence at court, his son, brothers, and all the great officers being present, as a public testimony of his grati-

and Bon Mots. 20

tilde to the general, and his affection for the man. Of this magnificent and truly senti- mental exhibition, there is a picture, from ■which an engraving was made by Chodo- wrecki at Berlin, and furnishes a proper ornament for the cabinet of a man who has a soul to perceive the beauty of the action. Ziethen is represented attempting to get up ; and the king, with a noble expression of heroic tenderness, preventing him, by laying his right hand on the shoulder of the veteran. The tear stands in the eye of Zie- then } and all the spectators appear moved with what is passing. The persons represented in this piece with the king, are, the hereditary prince, late kingj prince Ferdi- nand, the king’s brother ; the prince of Brunswick ; general Ziethen j general Mol- lendorff 5 prince Frederick j William of Wirtemberg ; general Braun j general Pret- wittz ; general Schulemberg ; general Hol- zendorff 5 Dolfs, the commander of the Gens d’Armes ; Wolfradt, major commandant of Ziethen’s Hussar regiment j Lentz, ditto j Tempelholff, major of artillery ; Wedel, lieutenant and adjutant of Waldeck regiment j Garten, ditto ; Probst, lieutenant

c3


and adjutant of Ziethen’s ; Eichstadt, dit- to ; H. F. Christ. Lewis Ziethen, son of the old general; and Schildwacht, another officer in the king’s service.

The magistrate of a little village in the marquisate of Brandenburgh, committed a burgher to prison, who was charged with having blasphemed God, the king, and the magistrate. The burgomaster reported the same to the king, in order to know what punishment such a criminal deserved. The following sentence was written by his majesty in the margin of the report :

‘ That the prisoner has blasphemed God, ‘ is a sure proof that he does not know him : ‘ That he has blasphemed me, i willingly ‘ forgive ; but for his blaspheming the ma- ‘ gistrate, he shall be punished in an exem- ‘ plary manner, and committed to Spandau * for half an hour.'1

The above anecdotes, and many others that might be adduced,unquestionably evince the magnanimity of soul that distinguished the great Frederick.—It would have been fortunate to the interests of humanity, had

and Bon Mots. 31.

his m’nd been, at all times, under the influence of the amiable principles of Justice and Religion. Instigated by revenge, we have seen him too often sport with the lives of his fellow creatures:—Influenced by interest, he frequently lost sight of justice, and cruelly despoiled surrounding nations of their most sacred rights and privileges :— And, led astray by vanity, or by the sophisms of a pernicious philosophy, he promoted, by his writings, and by his example, those nefa- rious combinations against the Christian Re- ligion, that have, at last, burst every barrier, — deluged Europe with blood and crimes—. and, by undermining all the principles of morality, threaten the subversion of every legitimate Government.

If, then, we pay just homage to the rung- nanimity and patriotism of Frederick II., let us, at the same time, feel a virtuous imligna- tion at the recollection of those vices that obscure all the glories of the sovereign, and obliterate all the virtues of the man.

A sometimes wild, but yet upon the whole, a good natured race, inhabit the desa.ts of the Alps in Switzerland. Their stormy hea-

Historic ill Anecdotes, ? 2

ven lenders them hardy and strong j and their pastoral lire renders them mild. An Englishman has observed, that he who has never heard the thunder among the Alps, can form no conception of the roar, the re- verberation, and the long protracted noise, as it rolls along the whole horizon among, these mountains ; and, on this account, the inhabitants of the Alps who have never had an opportunity of seeing better houses than their own huts, nor any other country than the Alps, consider the whole world in the light of a rough, a stormy, and a toilsome waste. Perhaps it is so. But as tlie heavens after an awful storm resume their serenity and smile 5 so the beads and hearts of the Swiss are alternately wild and complacent. This 1 can prove from history and facts.

One of these citizens of the Alps, Gene- ral Reding, a native of the canton of Schweitz, had lived fromhisyouth with the Swiss guards in Paris and Versailles, and rose in the service of the French king to the rank of lieutenant-general, but remained, nevertheless, always a Swiss. When Prance, about thirty- years ago, adopted a new regulation for the Swiss troops in her service, it was believed

and Bon Mots. 33

in the canton of Scnewitz, ths this regulation was inconsistent with their ancient rights and privileges 5 and the blame was laid on 'General Reding. In the mean time, the General’s lady, who lived in the country, was engaged in raising recruits; but the French standard was now for once hated in the Schweitz j and the white cockade on the hat of an independent Swiss was seen with displeasure. The recruiting was forbidden by the magistracy, not to irritate the people in the midst of this fermentation. Mrs Re- ding desired to have a written order for this prohibition j but the magistracy had not courage enough to take this public step a- gainst France 5 and the General’s lady continued to inlist. Nowr the rage of the people was excited against this daring female. An assembly summoned j and Mrs Red- ing stood before the 4000 members. “ The drum,” said she, “ shall not cease to beat, until I receive a written prohibition from the canton, as a vindication of my husband’s character at court j for at present his corps is not complete.” The prohibition was granted, and the General was ordered to exert his ut-

Ili.torkfil Anecdotes^ 34

most influence at court in behalf of his coun- r try. More favourable reports were now ex* pected by the men of Schweitz ; but the ve-: ry opposite took place. The cry was raised" by those who possessed credit and influence, that the ew regulation was dangerous to re- : : a and liberty.—This raised the displea-

ot the whole people to madness. Con* ■ventions were assembled,—the service of; Trance was strictly forbidden,—the treaty of; 171^ was openly torn from the public regi- ster •,—and Geneial Reding was commanded to return home with his soldiers, on pain of being de'la.;ed an enemy to his country. Red- ing obtained a discharge from his majesty, for himself and his men j and they returned hcm“. He raarchtd into Schweitz, the chief town of the canton, at the head of his soldiers, with colours flying and music playing. The procession went to the church ;—Red-. ing planted his odours by the great altar,— kneeled down, and thanked God. He then took leave of his men, who wept with him, 1

remitted all their debts, and made them a present of their fine clothes and their arms. 5 Thus the man tvas now in their power whom the whole country believed to be perjured.;

(in i Bon Mots. a

and a traitor,—to have favoured the new regulation at the court of Versailles,—to have lent his assistance to inflict a mortal wound on his country. The enraged assembly met. Reding was ordered to relate the whole history, that it might be known with certainty on what fooling they were with France j that all the crimes of the traitor might be c- vident $ and that mercy or justice might be administered. The General knew well, that all reasoning would rebound from the angry brows of his unfeeling countrymen, without making the smallest impression in his favour. He therefore briefly and dryly said, “ The “ history is known to every one ; and 1 am “ innocent both with regard to the new regu- ‘‘ lation,and my dismission from the service.” 4 Then if he will not confess himself a trai- 4 tor, let him be hung upon the nearest tree, 4 —let him be hewn in pieces here immedi- 4 ately.1 Thus exclaimed the enraged multitude from all quarters ; and the boisterous and bloody request was repeated from the mouths of 4000 men. Reding was immoveable. A troop of frantic boors mounted the stage on which he stood with the magistrates. It rained. A boy, who was Reding’s god-

3*5 Historical Anecdotes,

son, held an umbrella ever his head. One of the madmen from the crowd broke it in peiees with a stick. ‘ He shall stand under ‘ the bare heaven ! the villian !’ The boy also catched the frenzy—‘ I did not know ‘ tl at my godfather was such a traitor 5 now ‘ I must believe it; give me a cord that I ‘ nay strangle him.1—The members of the council formed a circle round the General, and begged him, with outstretched hands, for God’s sake to step forward in order to save his life ; and at least to grant, that perhaps he had not opposed the innovations with so much warmth and zeal as he ought to have done; that in this he was blameable ; and that as a punishment, he made them an oiftr of all his property, provided they would only save his life.—Reding now came forward from the circle, with a slow and pensive step, —invited silence by a motion of his hand, and tlie whole assembly were instantly still. —All listened with eagerness in expectation of a penitent and supplicatory conlession of his crime ; and in many breasts the hope a- ro>e that he might yet be pardoned. The General then addressed them ; “ Ye know,

my beloved brethren and fellow citizens, ;

«

and Bon Mats. 3^

“ that I have served the French king now “ two and forty years ;—ye know, and many “ of you who were with me were witnesses “ of it, how often i have marched against “ the enemy, and in how many battles I “ have been engager! 5 each of those bloody “ days I thought my last. But here, in the “ presence of the omniscient God, who hears “ my words, and is the judge of us all, I so- “ lemnly declare, that on none of those days u did I enter the field of battle with the se- “ rene, the cheerful, and the guiltless con- “ science, with which I shall this day meet “ my fate, if you shall stain your hands with “ ray blood, for refusing to confess a treason “ which I have not committed.” The dignity with which the General uttered these words, and the radiance of truth which shone around him, softened the hearts of the assembly, and he was acquitted 5 but immediately after the dangers of this day, he retired with his lady from the canton, went to Uri, and lived two years a hermit in the cave of a rock. In the mean time the in-J toxication of his brethren evaporated. Red- ing returned j forgot all, aided and was serj viceable to them every where he could. The

D

Historical Anecdotes,

whole country acknowledged his worth,— testified their sorrow for the injustice they had done him ; and, in order to recompence him, raised him to the rank of Landatnman, that is, the highest in the state $ and, which happtnshut very rarely, he was invested with this dignitv three different times.

Thus, wild, and at the same time good-natured, are the pastoral inhabitants of the Alps in Switzerland. Their characters are formed by solitude and imagination 5 they are alternately violent and friendly, like their climate. But I willingly acknowledge, that I would rather be a hermit in the land of Uri, than Landamman of Schweitz.

The late Marshal Wade, it is well known, had too great an itch for gaming, and fre- quented places of all kinds where gaming was going forward, without being very nice as to the company meeting there : at one of which places one night, in the eagerness of his diversion, he pulled out an exceeding valuable gold snuff-box, richly set with dia- monds, took a pinch, and passed it round ; keeping the dice-box four or five mains before he was out; when recollecting scaie-

and Bon Mots. 39

thing of the circumstance, and not perceiving the snuff-box, he swore vehemently no

' man should stir till it was produced, and a general search should ensue. On his 'ight sat a person dressed as an officer, though shabby, that now and then, with greathumi- lity, begged the honour to be permitted going a shilling with him, and had, by that means, picked up four or Sve. O i him the suspicion fell, and it was proposed-to search him first ; who, desiring to be heard, declared, ‘ I know the Marshal well; yet he, nor ‘ all the powers upon earth, shall subject ‘ me to be searched whilst I have life to ‘ oppose it. I declare, on the honour of a ‘ soldier, I know nothing of the snuff box, ‘ and hope that will ratisfy the man doubt- ‘ ing; follow me into the next room, where ‘ I will defend that honour or perish.’ The eyes of all were turned on the Marshal for an answer, who, clapping his hand eagerly down for his sword, felt the snuft'-box (supposed to have passed round, and clapped there from habit) in a secret pocket of his breaches, made for that purpose. It is hardly to be conceived the confusion that covered him, on the occasion, that he had so slight-

D 2

40 Uiit otic a! Anecdotes.

ly given way to ‘■uspicion. Remorse, mixed with compassion and tenderness for the wounded character (because poor) of hi fellow-soldier, attacked him at Once so forcibly, that he could only say to him, on leaving the room immediately, ‘ Sir, 1 here, with * great reason, ask your pardon 5 and hope to 4 find it granted, from your breakfasting with ‘ me, and hereafter ranking me among your f friends,’ It may be easily supposed the invitation was complied with ; when, after some conversation, the Marshal conjured him to say what could be the true icason that he should refuse being searched. “ Why, “ Marshal,’ returned the Officer, “ being up- “ on half-pay, and friendless, I am obliged “ to husband every penny : I had that day “ very little appetite ; and, as I could not “ eat what 1 had paid for, nor afford to lose “ it, the leg and wing of a fowl, with a man- ‘‘ diet, were then wrapped up in a piece of “ paper in my pocket ; the thought of which

being found there, appeared ten times “ more terrible than fighting the room rouni^, ’ ‘ Enough! my dear boy p you have said ? enough ! your name ? Let us dine at * Svyect’s to morrow': we must prevent yomi

and Bon Mots. 4l

‘ being subjected again to such a dilemma.’ They met next day ; and the Marshal presented him a Captain’s commission, with a purse of guineas, to enable him to join the regiment.

When Dr Samuel Johnson first conceived the design of compiling a Dictionary of the

Dogfish Language, he drew up a Plan, in a Letter to the Earl of Chesterfield. This very Letter exhibits a beautiful proof to what a degree of grammatical perfection, and clas- sical elegance, our language was capable o being brought. The execution of this plan cost him the labour of many years; but when it was published, in 1755, the sanguine ex- pectations of the public were amply justifi- ed •, and several foreign Academies, particularly della Cruse a y honoured the Author with their approbation. ‘ Such are its merits,’ says the learned Mr Harris, ‘ that our lan- * guage does not possess a more copious, ‘ learned, and valuable work.’ But the excellency of this great Work will rise in the es- timation of all who are informed, that it was .written, as the Author declare?, “ with lit

O 3

rr,


< tie assistaoce of the Learned, and without ‘ any patronage of the Great ; not in the ‘ soft obscurities of retirement, or under the ‘ shelter of Academic bovvers, but amidst ‘ inconvenience and distraction, in sickness ‘ and sorrow.’ Lord Chesterfield, at that time, was universally esteemed the Msecenas of the age ; and it was in that character, no doubt, that Dr Johnson addressed to hint the Letter before mentioned. His Lord- ship endeavoured to be grateful, by recom- mending that valuable Work in two Essays, which, among others, he published in a paper, entitled ‘ The World*,’ conducted by Mr Edward Moore, and his literary friends. Some time after, however, the Doctor took great offence at being refused admittance to Lord Chesterfield; a circumstance which has been imputed to the mistak’ of the porter. Just before the Dictionary was published, Mr Moore expressed his surprise to the great Lexicographer that he did not intend to dedicate the book to his Lordship. Mr Johnson answered, * That he was under ‘ no obligation to any Great Man whatever,

* No, loo, iox.

and Bon Mots. 43

' and therefore he should not make him his ‘ patron.’ “ Pardon me, Sir,” said Moore, “ you are certainly obliged to his Lordship u for two elegant papers he has written in “ favour of your performance.” ‘ You quite ‘ mistake the thing,’ replied the other j ‘ I ‘ confess no obligation ; I feel my own dig- ‘ nity, Sir : I have made a Commodore An- ‘ son’s Voyage round the World of the Lng- ‘ lish Language j and, while I am coming ‘ into port, with a fair wind, on a fine sun- ‘ shining day, my Lord Chesterfield sends ‘ out two little cock boats to tow me in. I t am very sensible of the favour, Mr Moore, ‘ and should be sorry to say an ill matured • thing of that Nobleman ; but I cannot help ‘ thinking he is a Lord amongst Wits, and a ' Wit amongst Lords.’ The severity of this remark seems never to have been forgotten bv the Earl, who, in one of his Letters to his Son, thus delineates the Doctor;— ‘ There is a man, wdiose moral character, ‘ deep learning, and superior parts, i ac- ‘ knowledge, admire, and respect j but whom 4 it is so impossible for me to love, that I am ‘ almost in a fever whenever I am in his t company. His figure, without being e-


‘ formed, seems made to disgrace or ridicule ‘ the common structure of the human body. ‘ His legs and arms are never in the position ‘ which, according to the situation of his ‘ body, they ought to be in, but constantly ‘ employed in committing acts of hostility ‘ upon the Graces. He throws anywhere, ‘ but down his throat, whatever he means to ‘ drink ; and only mangles what he means to ‘ carve. Inattentive to all the regards of ‘ social life, he mistimes or misplaces every ‘ thing. He disputes with heat, and indis- 4 criminately j mindless of the rank, charac- 4 ter, and situation, of those with wdiom he 4 disputes. Absolutely ignorant of the seve- 4 ral gradations of familiarity or respect, he 4 is exactly the .same to his superiors, his e- 4 quals, and his inferiors ; and therefore, by 4 a necessary consequence, absurd to two of 4 the three. Is it possible to love such a ; 4 man ? No ; the utmost I can do for him 4 is to consider him as a respectable Hotten- 4 tot.'

When the Emperor Charles V. bid a final adieu to all his regal possessions, and landed :

at Laredo, in Biscay, on his journey from :

ana Bon Mots. 45

Zealand to the Monastery of St Just, in Spain, he fell prostrate on the ground, and, considering himself now as dead to the world, he kissed the earth, and said, ‘ Naked came ‘ I out of my mother’s womb, and naked I ‘ now return to thee, thou common mother ‘ of mankind !’

As this was the melancholy mansion in which his Majesty had resolved to end his days, he endeavoured to conform, in his manner of living, to all the rigour of monas> tic austerity. He desired no other society than that of monks, and was almost conti- nually employed with them in chanting the hymns of the Missal. As an expiation for his sins, he gave himself the discipline in secret with such severity, that the wrhiji- cords which he employed as the instrument of his punishment were found after his de* cease tinged with his blood. Nor was he satisfied with these acts of mortification ; which, however severe, were not unexam- pled. The timorous and distrustful solici- tude which always accompanies superstition, still continued to disquiet him, and, depre- ciating all that he had done, prompted him to aim at something extraordinary, at some


new and singular act of piety, that would display his zeal, and merit the favour of i Heaven. The act on which he fixed was as ; wild and uncommon as any that superstition ever suggested to a weak and disordered fancy. He resolved to celebrate his own : obsequies before his death. He ordered his tomb to be erected in the chapel of the mo- ! nastery. His domestics marched thither in funeral procession, with black tapers in their hands : he himself followed in his shrowd, - He was laid in his coffin with much solem- i nity. The service for the dead was chant- ed, and Charles joined in the prayers which j were offered up for the rest of his soul, mingling his tears with those which his attendants shed, as if they had been celebrating a real funeral. The ceremony closed • with sprinkling holy water on the coffin, in :

the usual form ; and all the assistants retir- • ing, the doors of the chapel were shut. Then 9 Charles rose out of the coffin, and withdrew V to his apartment, full of those awful sentiments which such a singular solemnity was e calculated to inspire. But, either the fa-j •) tiguing length of the ceremony, or the impression which this image of death left on

and Bon Mots. 47

his mind, affected him so much, that next day he was seized with a fever, which ter- minated in his dissolution.

The Abbe de la Porte, who visited this monastery in 1755, informs us, that one of the monks told him, That one day, when the Emperor went in his turn to awake the Novices, at the hour of matins, one of them, whom he shook too violently, because he still slept, addressed him in these memorable

■words; ‘ Hast thou not troubled the repose ‘ of the world long enough, without coming ‘ here to disturb that of the peaceable men ‘ who have forsaken it ?’

Captain Pownall, who made so gallant a hgure in the last war, and Captain Sawer, had agreed to share with each other the a- mount of whatever prize money either might separately gain by captures. Putting in at Lisbon, they paid their addresses to the Miss M s ; and, as far as inclination went, were favourably received by the ladies : But t heir father, a merchant of immense property, although sensible of their personal merit, objected to their want of fortune, and desired, that they would relinquish all thoughts


of continuing their courtship, until they* should become more affluent. Soon after the lucrative division of the prize-money, gained by the capture of the Hermione, had made a more than favourable change in their circumstances, the earthquake happened at Lisbon, and Mr M lost all his property. These generous captains immediately repaired to Lisbon ; where, yielding to the full and noble gratification of love and friendship, they settled an annuity on the father, and desired the daughters to accept their J hands in marriage. The request was com-: plied with, and domestic mutual felicity became the consequence.

The following anecdote strongly exem- plifies the deep thought and penetration of the Arabs.

Three Arabs, brethren of a noble family, ;j who were travelling together for the im- ! provement of their minds, wrere accidentally | met by a camel-driver, wTho asked them, if they had not seen a camel, w'hich had stray- ed from him in the night. ‘ Was t ot the

camel blind of an eye said the eldest<j Yes,’ said the man. ‘ It had a toorh out

and Bon Mots. 40

‘ before,’ said the second. ‘ It is very true,’ he replied.—‘ Was it not a little lame ?’ added the third. ‘ Why really it was,’ returned the owner. Taking it for granted, then, that they had seen his beast, he be- sought them to tell which way it went. ‘ Follow us, friend,’ said they. He did so, and had not gone far, till he happened to say, ‘ that the camel was laden with corn.’ ‘ And it had,’ continued the Arabians, ‘ a ‘ vessel of oil on one side, and a vessel of ‘ honey on the other.’—‘ It had so,’ said the driver ; ‘ therefore let me conjure you to ‘ tell me where you met it.’ ‘ Met it!’ cried the eldest of the brethren, ‘ why we never ‘ saw your camel at all.’—The man losing patience at this, began to load them with reproaches ; and, «s they were passing through a village, he raised the people, and caused them * to be apprehended. The Cadi or Judge of the town, before whom they were brought, not being able to deter-

* If this story was a fact, it is not improbable, that from this circumstance arose that oriental proverb ;— ‘ If any one ask you if you have seen the camel, answer * no V i. e. do not, by impertinent conversation in- velve yourself into difficulties.

E


mine the cause, sent them to the prince of ' the country, who, perceiving by their behaviour, that they were persons of distinc- j tion, set them at liberty, lodged them in his ‘ palace, and treated them with all imaginable respect. After some days, he took an occasion of politely requesting, that they would clear up the mystery of the camel, and explain how they could possibly hit upon so i many particulars, without ever having seen it. The young men smiled at the importu- nity of the prince ; and, after having return- , ed him abundance of thanks for the civilities ) they had received, the senior of the brethren thus spoke : ‘ IVe are neither deceiv- ‘ ers nor necromancers ; neither did we use ‘ any other instruments of divination than ‘ our senses and reason: for my part, I judg. * ed it was blind, because, as we went along, ‘ I observed the grass eaten up on one side ‘ of the road, and not on the other.’ ‘ And ‘ I,’ said the second, ‘ guessed it had lost a ‘ tooth before, as, where the grass rvas crop- 4 ped closest, there was constantly a little ‘ tuft left behind.’ ‘ And I,’ added the third, ‘ concluded it was lame, because the ‘ prints of three feet were distinct in the

end Bon Mots. 51

road, whereas the impression of the fourth was blurred ; whence I concluded, that the aniraal had dragged it, and did not set it to the ground.’ ‘ All this I apprehend,’ said

he king ; 4 but how, in the name of wonder, could you discover that oil and honey was a part of its loading ?’ ‘ Why,’ rejoined

he travellers, ‘ this, upon finding our first surmise was right, we afterwards conjec- tured, from remembering we had seen, on one side of the path, little troops of ajtts ferreting the grass j and on the other, the flies assembled here and there in groups, insomuch that few or none were on the wing.’

One of the treasurers of Alphonso king of Arragon, had brought him a thousand ducats. An officer who was there at that time, said in a low voice to somebody, I should ask no more than that sum to be happy : you shall be so, said Alphonso who had heard him, and he made the ten thousand ducats be given him directly.

In a war between the French and Spani- ards in Flanders, a soldier being ill treated by a general officer, and struck several times with a cane, said coolly, that the officer

E 2


should soon repent of it. A short time after, the same officer commissioned the colonel of the trenches to send him out a bold fellow, who for a reward would undertake a dangerous piece of work. The soldier mentioned offered his service; and taking with him thirty of his comrades, performed the work with success. The officer highly commended him, and gave him an hundred pis- toles, the reward promised. The soldier, after distributing them among his comrades, turned to the officer, and said, ‘ I am, Sir, ‘ the soldier you abused fifteen days ago, apd ‘ I told you that you would repent it.’ The officer melted into tears, threw his arms a- round the soldier’s neck, begged his pardon, and gave him a commission that very day.

Herminio Grimaldi, a Genoese, was the lichest, and at the same time the most ava- ricious man of his time in Italy. He did not know what it was to do a kindness to his fellow citizens, nor to be polite to stran- gers. William Borsieri, a man of condition, who 1 ad heard of the humour of Grimaldi, went to see him one day, at a pretty enough house which he had caused lately to be built.

/'• S '■

and Bon Mots.

After having seen the apartments, which rvere ornamented with curiosities, ‘ Well’ says the proprietor to him, ‘ you who have ‘ so extended a knowledge, can you tell me 1 any thing new, which you have not seen ‘ here, and which I can cause to be made * into a picture for this house V Borsiefi, surprised at this question, answered him, that he could give him the subject of an excellent picture, which should represent a thing which was wanting at his house, and which was never seen there. Being pressed to tell the name of it, ‘ I would advise you,’ said he, ‘ to make a painting of Generosity.’ Grimaldi, struck with that word, took his part immediately. ‘ Yes, Sir,’ answered he with a vivacity which was not usual to him, ‘ I will cause it to be represented in such a * manner, that nobody shall be able to re- ‘ proach me with not having known it.’ From that moment he changed his conduct entirely ; and made so splendid a use of his great riches, that they speak of nothing but the magnificence and liberality of Giumaldt.

In the late war, an English drummer having wandered from his camp, and getting too

E 3

54 Historical Anecdot.es,

near the French lines, he was seized and brought before the French Commander, on suspicion of being a spy disguised in a drummer’s uniform. On being asked who he was by the General, he answered, ‘ a drummer in ‘ the English service.’ This not gaining credit, a drum was sent for, and he was desired to beat a couple of marches, which accordingly he did, and removed the Frenchman’s suspicion. However, he desired the drummer to beat a retreat. ‘ A retreat, Sir ! ‘ (replied the Briton) ; 1 don’t know what ‘ it is, nor is it known in the English ser- ‘ vice.’ This ansuer so pleased the French officer, that he dismissed the drummer, and wrote to his General, commending his spirited behaviour.

In that notable victory which Cyrus the Persian obtained over the Assyrians, Pan- thea, wife to Abradatas King of the Sustans, was made a captive 3 and being a lady rec- koned the most beautiful of Asia, was reserved for Cyrus, by his Captains. Her husband was not in the battle, being employed to treat of an alliance betwixt the Assyrians and the King of Bactria. Cy^us, calling to him Araspes, the companion of his youth)

and Bon Mots.

recommended Panthea to his care. ‘ Have ‘ you seen this woman, O Cyrus,’ said Aras- pes ? Cyrus answered, No. ‘ But I did,’ replied he. ‘ When we chose her for you, she ‘ was sitting in her tent, without any distin- * guishing mark or habit, surrounded by her ‘ women. But, desirous to know which was ‘ the mistress, we immediately found her out, ‘ though covered with a veil, and looking on ‘ the ground. She got up to receive us, and ‘ we perceived that she excelled in stature, in ‘ grace, and beautiful shape. The eldest a- ‘ mong us addressed her in the following ‘ words: “Take courage, woman. Wehave “ heard that your husband is a brave man ; “ but now you are reserved for one not in- “ feiior to him, in person, understanding, “ and power j for, it there be in the world “ who deserves admiration, Cyrus is the “ man, and to him you are destined.’’ The ‘ woman, hearing this, tore her robe, and ac- ‘ companied with her servants, set up a la- ‘ mentable cry. Upon this, part of her face ‘ was discovered, and her neck and hands. ‘ And be it known to you, Cyrus, that we all ‘ thought never was produced such another ‘ woman. Therefore, by all means, you must ‘ sseher.’ Cyrus answered, “ That now he was

56 Historical i/Inecdotes,

“ resolved against it.’’ ‘ Why so said the young man. “ Because,” saidCyrus, “ if upon “ bearing from you that she is handsome, I am “ persuaded to see her, I am afraid I shall be

more easily tempted to see her a second “ time, and perhaps come to neglect my af* ' “ fairs, and sit gazing on her.” Araspes smiling, ‘ Do you think, Cyrus, that beauty can ‘ necessitate one to act contrary to reason ? s If this were naturally so, allwould be under ‘ the same necessity. But of beauties, some e inspire love, some not 3 for love is volunta- 4 ry, and every man loves whom he pleases.’ ,4 How comes it then to pass,” replied Cyrus, r< if love be voluntary, that one cannot give it “ over when he inclines ? I have seen persons 4i in grief and tears upon account of love, “ Wishing to be rid of it as of any other dis- “ temper, and yet bound by a stronger tie of “ necessity than if bound in iron chains.” The young man to this said, ‘ There are indeed 4 examples of this kind 3 but such are misera- i 4 ble wretches 3 for though they are always ;

4 whhing themselves dead, ?.s unhappy, yet 4 they never think of parting with life, just . 4 such wretches are they who commit t-ieft; ; 4 and yet, O Cyrus, I observe that you treat

and Bon Mots. SI rrrtr. ‘ these with great severity, as reckoning theft ‘ no such fatal necessary thing. So persons ‘ that are beautiful do not necessitate others to ‘ love them, or to covet what they ought not. ‘ Weak men, impotent in mind, are slaves to ‘ their passions; and to excuse themselves, ac- ' cuse love. But the firm and resolute, though ‘ fond of gold, fine horses, beautiful women, ‘ can with ease abstain, so as to do nothing ‘ contrary to right. I, who have seen this ‘ woman, and think her extremely beautiful, ‘ remain notwithstanding free, and ready in * all respects to perform my duty. But per- ‘ haps>’ said Cyrus, ‘you retired before the time 1 that love naturally lays hold of a man. It ‘ is the nature of fire not instantly to burn ; 1 yet am I not willing, either to meddle with ‘ fire, or to look on beautiful persons.’ ‘ Be 1 easy,’ said he, Cyrus : ‘-Though I look on ‘ Panthea without ceasing, I will not be so ‘ conquered, as to do any thing I ought not.’ “ You speak,” said Cyrus, “handsomely; Be “ careful of the woman, for she may be of “ service to us in some future exigency. And “ thus they parted.”

Araspes, partly by conversing w’itb a woman not less wise than beautiful, partly by


studying to serve and please her, partly by her gratitude when he was sick, and her anxie- ty for his recovery j by all these means, he was made her captive in love. He ven- tured to open his heart to her ; but without success : For she had the warmest affection for her husband. Yet she forbore complain- ing to Cyrus, being unwilling to hurt Aras- pes. Araspes began to think of force ; for his passion was now too violent to be restrained. Upon this, Panthea, apprehensive of the consequences, was no longer silent: she sent an eunuch to Cyrus to inform him of her danger. Cyrus, laughing at the man . who thought himself above the power of love, commanded his chief minister to tell Araspes, That if he could prevail by persuasion. it was well ; but that by no means was he to think, of force. The minister used no tenderness in delivering the commission j he accused Araspes as a betrayer of his trust, reproaching him for his injustice, i and imnotence of passion. The young man, struck to the heart, shed many tears. Cyrus, sending for him, “ I see,” said he, “ that j “ you are overwhelmed with fear and shame j. “ but be comforted, for I have read, that the-

end Bon Mo Is. 59

“ gods themselves have been conquered by “ love. The wisest of men are not exempt- “ ed frqm this passion ; and I pfonounced “ upon myself, that if I conversed with beau- “ tiful women, I was not enough my own “ master to disregard them. It is I that am “ :he cause of your misfortune, by shutting “ you up with this irresistible beauty.” A- raspes warmly replied ‘ You are in this, O ‘ Cyrus, as in other matters, mild, and dis- * posed to pardon the failings of men. But ‘ how shall I hold up after this miscarriage ? ‘ My friends ■will neglect me, and my ene- ‘ mies triumph over me. Cyrus said. “ A- “ greeable to me is thy sorrow, O Araspes: “ lives there a mortal without failings ?— “ Happy he who profits by them.”

Panthea, charmed with this conduct in Cy- rus, and admiring his excellent qualifications, endeavoured to gain her husband Abradatas to his side. She knew there was no cordiality betwixt him and the king of Assyria. That prince had attempted to take Panthea from him • and Abradatas, considering bim as an unjust man, wished nothing more earnesly, than an opportunity to quit his service. For this reason he listened to the solicitations of

6d Historical Anecdotes,

his wife ; and came over to Cyrus with two thousand horse. Panthea informed him o_f the virtue of Cyrus, and of his tender regard for her. ‘ What can I do, Panthea,’ said Abradatas, ‘ to show my gratitude to Cy- ‘ rus ■” ‘ What else,’ said she, ‘ but to ‘ behave towards him as he has behaved to- ‘ wards you?’ Upon this, Abradatas, coming to Cyrus, and taking him by the hand, said, ‘ O Cyrus, in return for the benefits ‘ you have bestowed upon us, I give myself ‘ to you, an ally, a servant, and a friend.’

From that time, Cyrus had no ally more, attached to his interest than AbradLatas. The morning of that day in which Cyrus over- threw Croesus, Panthea brought to her husband, preparing for the battle, a golden hel- met, bracelets for his wrists, a purple robe, and a crest of a violet colour. These things having been prepared without his knowledge, he said to her, ‘ Have you made me these ‘ arms, Panthea, by destroying your own or- 1 naments ?’ ‘ No, surely,’ said she, ‘ not * by destroying what is the most valuable of ‘ them ; for you are my greatest ornament.1

Proceeding to put on the armour, tears trickled down her cheek', though she endeavour-

and Bon Mots. Cl

ed to restrain them. Abradatas, in this dress, appeared most beautiful and noble. Panthea, after desiring all that were present to retire, spoke as follows: ‘ O Abradatas ! ‘ if ever there were a woman who regarded ‘ her husband more than her own soul, you * know that I am she. And yet, though I ‘ stand thus affected toward you, I swear by ‘ our mutual friendship, that rather would ‘ I be put under ground with you, approv- ‘ ing yourself a brave man, than live with ‘ you in disregard and shame. We both ‘ lie under great obligations to Cyrus, that ‘ when I was a captive, and chosen for him- ‘ self, he kept me for you, as if I were his ‘ brother’s wife.’ Abradatas, struck with admiration at her discourse, gently took her hand into his, and lifting up his eyes to heaven, made the following prayer ; ‘ Do thou, ‘ O great Jupiter, grant me to appear a hus- ‘ band worthy of Panthea, and a friend wor- ‘ thy of Cyrus !’ and having said thus, he mounted his chariot, and moved along. She could not refrain from following, till Abra- datas, seeing her. said, ‘ Have courage, Pan- ‘ thea, the gods take care of the virtuous dni upon this she Was conducted to her tent.

F

Historical Anecdotes, 62

Though Abradatas in his chariot made a no ble appearance, yet he drew no eyes till Pan' thea was gone.

The victory that day was complete : Cy rus routed his enemies, and got possession o their camp. Toward the evening, whei the battle was over, Cyrus, calling some o his servants, inquired, 1 whether any of thetj * had seen Abradatas ?’ But Abradatas wa; now no more ! he was slain, breaking in up on the Egyptians. All his followers, ex cept some trusty companions, had turner their backs when they saw the compact bo dy of the enemy. And Cyrus was inform: ed, that Panthea had retired with the dea^ body to the bank of the river Pactolusytha her servants were digging a grave for it; and that she herself Was sitting upon til; ground with the head of her dead husban upon her knees. Cyrus, hearing this, smot his breast, and hastened to Panthea. Sed ing Abradatas lying dead, he shed tears, an said, ‘ Alas, thou brave and faithful soul hast thou left us, and art no more ?’ Aj the same time he took him by the riglj hand, which came away, for it had been cu off in battle. The woman, smothering hd

and Bon Me is.

grief, took the hand from Cyrus, kissed it, joined it to the body, and said, ‘ The rest, 4 Cyrus, is in the same condition. But why * should you look upon this mangled body ? ‘ for you are not less affected than I am.— 4 Fool that I was ! frequently did I exhort 4 him to show his friendship for you j and I 4 know he never thought of what he himself 4 might suffer, but of what he should do to 4 gain your favour. He died, therefore, 4 without reproach, and I, who urged him 4 on, sit here alive.’ Cyrus, shedding tears, 4 spoke thus : 4 He has died, O woman ! 4 but his death has been glorious j for he 4 has vanquished hi$ enemies. Honours * shall be paid him suiting a conqueror. A 4 lofty monument shall be erected for him j. 4 and all the sacrifices shall be made that 4 are due to the memory of a brave man.’ Having said this, he went away, with great concern for the woman who had lost such a husband ; sorrowing also for the man who had left such a wife behind him, never to see her more.

The woman ordered her eunuchs to retire, —4 till such time,’ said she, 4 as I have la- 4 snented over my husband.’ She retained

F 2

c

f>4 Historical Anecdotes, CJi '-.i-.i ■ : i- .. :■ i ■ only one faithful attendant, commanding, that when she was dead, she should be wrapped in the same mantle with her husband.— The servant, after repeated remonstrances, finding h*r intreaties unsuccessful, broke in. into a flood of tears. Panthea, being be- forehand provided with a sword, thrust it into her bosom, and, laying her head upon her husband’s breast, died. The maid-servant, setting up a most lamentable cry, co- | vered the bodies as she had been directed. Cyrus, informed of this melancholy scene, hastened to the place, struck with admiration of the woman, and lamented over her. Their funeral rites were performed in the most solemn manner j and their monument is to be seen there to this day.

The Prince of Wales, named the Black Prince, who distinguished himself by his conduct and bravery in the battle of Poic- tiers, was not less admired, after the victo- rv, for his modest and generous behaviour to his prisoner king John. The evening after the battle, the Prince refused to sit down with the King at supper, but attended him to entertain him with discourse. As the

and Bon Mots. 65

King’s thoughts were wholly employed a- bout his present misfortune, the Prince said to him, in a modest and unaffected manner, ‘ That his Majesty had one great reason to ‘ be comforted j which was, that the battle ‘ tvas not lost by his fault; that the English, ‘ to their cost, had experienced him to be ‘ the bravest of princes j and that God a- ‘ lone had disposed of the victory. And,* continued he, ‘ if fortune has been your ‘ adversary, you may at least rest secure, that ‘ an inviolable regard shall be preserved for ‘ your person •, and that you shall experience ‘ in me a very respectful relation, if I may ‘ glory in that title.’ The King, upon this, recovering himself, turned to the Prince, and said, with an air of satisfaction, ‘ That since * it was his destiny to be vanquished and ‘ taken in an action wherein he had done * nothing unbecoming his character, he found ‘ great comfort in falling into the hands of ‘ the most valiant and generous prince alive.’ It is said, that when King Edward, father to the Prince, received the news of this battle, he declared, that his satisfaction at so glorious a victory was not comparable to

(6 Historical Anecdotes,

what he had from the generous behaviour o: his son.

The inhabitants of a great town offered Marshal de Turenne ico,ooo crowns, upor condition he would take another road, an£ not march his troops their way. He answered them, ‘ As your town is not on the ‘ road I intend to march, I cannot accept ' the money you offer me,’

The Marquis of Louvais, jealous of thc“ Marshal de Turenne, did all in his power secretly to cross his designs. This jealousy was the main spring of the misfortunes oi France in the campaign 1673. The King saw himself upon the point of being forsaken by his allies, and left alone to maintain ^ war against the Empire, Spain, and HollandJ The Marshal de Turenne could not dissem-j ble his uneasiness, and there appeared in hisj countenance an air of thoughtfulness and meJ laucholy. Having returned to court, after* putting his army into winter-quarters, the1

King received him with great demonstrations of esteem and affection. His Majesty, in private, conversed frequently with him of

and B jh Mots. 67

the means to re establish affairs next campaign j and (tpoke to him one day of the fatal Consequences of Louvois’s counsels j which j>ave Turenne a favourable opportunity to revenge himself of the minister, had he been so disposed. The Marshal contented himself with answering, ‘ That the Marquis dc ‘ Louvois was very capable of doing his Ma- jesty service in the cabinet, but that he ‘ had not experience enough in war to take ‘ upon him the direction of it.’ This moderation and generosity extremely pleased the young King, who assured Turenne, that in spite of all his ministers, he should always be his favourite. He then spoke of the Marquis de St Abie, acquainting Turenne that St Abre had blamed his conduct, and written to Louvois, that if he had been consulted, he could have saved Bonne, without hazarding Alsace, ‘ Why then did he ‘ not speak to me ?’ said the Marshal, with great moderation : ‘ 1 should have heard him ‘ with pleasure, and profited by his advice.’ He then excused St Abre, commended him, gave an exact account of his services, in- treated the King not to deprive him of so able a lieutenant-general, and left not the

l

68 Historical Anecdotes, *-■■■■ ■ * ■■ ■ ■ ——■ .-—ttz—.— "--t-—-.--...-—. cabinet till he obtained from the King a gras tuity for him.

Charles XII. of Sweden, when he de- throned King Augustus, was advised by Count Piper to annex Poland to his dominions, as a fair conquest, and to make the people Lm therans. To repair his losses, to enlarge hi^ kingdom, to extend his religion, and to a- venge himself of the Pope, made him ba« lance a little. But, reflecting on his decla^ ration to the Polish malcontents, that higi purpose was only to dethrone Augu^us, in: order to make way for a king of their own nation, ‘ I reject a kingdom,’ says he, ‘ that ‘ 1 cannot keep without breach of promise,; ‘ Upon this occasion, it is more honourable1

* to bestow a crown than to retain it.’

Philopemen, the celebrated general of the Achtean League, arriving the first at an inn' where he was expected, the hostess, seeingj him an unsightly fellow, and taking him for: one of PhilopemenYsprvants, employed him* to draw water. His train arriving presently' after, and surprised to see him thus employ-;

Bon itfo/x. £9

ed ; ‘ I am,’ said he ‘ paying the penalty of * my ugliness.’

Philip of Macedon being advised to ba- nish a man who had railed at him ; ‘ Let us 4 first see,’ says he, 4 whether I have not gi- ‘ ven him occasion. And understanding that this man had done him services without receiving any reward, he gave him a considerable gratuity.

Alexander, having conquered Sidon, recommended to Hephsestion to chuse for king the most worthy of the citizens. He offered the crown to two young men of illustrious birth, bis landlords; who refused the same, because they were not of the royal stock ; saying, that it was against the law of their country for any other family to inherit the crown. Hephrestion, admiring their magnanimity, cried out, ‘ O ! happy young men, ‘ who know how much more wise it is to re- 4 ject a crown, than to receive it unjustly !’ And, as a mark of his esteem, he requested of them to chuse the king. They pitched upon Abdalonimus, of the royal family, who being reduced to poverty, had nothing to


live on but a Ihtle garden in the suburbs* The young men went into the garden, with the crown in their hands, and found Abda- lonimus busy at work. They saluted him king, and exhorted him to be ever mindful of the low condition from which he w’as tak'* en ; adding, that his poverty and industry had bestowed this honour upon him. Alex- ander inquired of him, whether he had bornd poverty with any degree of patience ? * 1 ‘ wish.’ says he, ‘ I may bear prosperity with ‘ the same equality of mind. I had little : ‘ but I wanted little; and these hands sup * plied what I wanted.’

‘ The French,’ observes Seisel, * have al* ‘ ways been free in expressing their thoughts * of all men ; and even of their princes, not ‘ only after their death, but when alive, anc ‘ sometimes even in their presence.’ Loui' XU. being dangerously ill, was representec on the stage pale and languid, and surround1

ed with physicians consulting about his dis: i ease. They agreed upon a dozen of porta,; ble gold : He instantly recovered, and hac no remaining system, but an ardent thirst: Louis, informed of the success-of that farce

and Eon Mots. 71

said coolly, ‘ 1 love rriucb belter that my a- ‘ varice should make my courtiers laugh, ‘ than that my profuseness should make my 1 people weep.’

Johv Commenius, Emperor of Trebisond, on his death-bed, left his son and heir, a child not four years old, under the tuition of his brother David. David, an- ambitious prince, being tempted by this favourable opportunity, seized the crown, after putting his nephew to death. But he did not long enjoy the purchase of an act so peifuiiou:. He was attacked by Mahomet, emperor of the Turks and, after being led prisoner to Constantinople, it was left in his choice to die, or to change his religion. Considering the character of this man, could one turesee that he would rather die than become a Ma- hometan ? From this example vve see, that ambition may prevail over conscience, and yet that conscience may prevail over the fear of death.

Among the captives taken by Mahomet the Great, upon the surrender of Negro, pout, was Anne Erizzio, a young Venetian.


Mahomet, charmed with her beauty, made an offer of his heart. The lady resolutely: said, that she w’as a Christian, and a virgin and that she abhorred more than death the debaucheries of his seraglio, and the impoi- soned smoothness of his promises. All means were used in vain to gain her. Mag- nificent habits, costly jewels, were rejected with disdain. Mahomet, irritated with un- exampled resistance, fell from love to ha- tred, and cut off her head in a transport of, fury. And thus our heroine, by the sacri- fice of a frail life, acquired immortal glory.

Vertot reports of Mahomet the Great, ! that though he had conquered two empires, twelve kingdoms, and about three hundred cities ; yet these were so far from satisfying his ambition, that toward the close of his , life he was deeply engaged in new enterpri* ses. This is vouched by the inscription he ordered to be ingraved upon his tomb, which, 1

without the least hint of his former victories, ; is as follows : ‘ My ambition was the con- ‘ quest of Rhodes and of proud Italy.’ None of our pacsior.s are so oppressive and tyran-

and Bon Mots. 73

nical as ambition and avarice. They know no end, and are never to be satisfied.

At the battle of Philippi, when Brutus, after the rout of his army, was in hazard of falling into the hands of his enemies, his bosom-friend Lucilius gave him an opportunity to escape, calling out, ‘ I am Brutus, lead ‘ me to Antony.’ Being conducted to An- tony, he spoke with great resolution. ‘ I ‘ have employed this artifice.’ said he, ‘ that ‘ Brutus might not fall alive into the hands ‘ of his enemies. The Gods will never ‘ permit that fortune shall triumph so far o- ‘ ver virtue. In spite of fortune, Brutus will ‘ always be found, dead or alive, in a situa- ‘ tion worthy of his courage.’ Antony, admiring the firmness of Lucilius, said to him, ‘ You merit a greater recbmpence than it is ‘ in my power to bestow. I have been just ‘ now informed of the death of Brutus j and ‘ as your fidelity to him is now at an end, ‘ I beg earnestly to be received in his place; ‘ Love me as you did him, I wish no more.’ Lucilius engaged himself to Antony, and maintaining the same fidelity to him that he

G

54 Historical Anecdotesy

had done to Brutus, adhered to him when he was abandoned by all the world.

When the illustrious Alfred, king of Bri- tain, was repulsed by an army superior to his own, he was obliged to submit to the wretched necessity of the times. Accord- j ingly, he assumed a disguise the most likely ' to conceal him j and after having properly ' disposed of his family, and settled a method i of communication with some trusty friends, he engaged himself in the service of his own j cow-herd. The wife of the herdsman was J ignorant of the rank of her royal guest, and, seeing him one day busy by the fire-side in ■ trimming his bow and arrows, she desired him to take care of some cakes that were baking at the fire, while she was employed ; in other domestic affairs : but Alfred, whose thoughts were otherwise engaged, forgot the , cakes ; and the woman, on her return, finding them burnt, chid the king very severely, telling him, ‘ that he was always willing e- !! ‘ nough to eat her hot cakes j though he was : ‘ negligent in turning them.’ The patient prince entreated her pardon, and premised to be more careful for the future.

75 and Bon Mots.

Ninon de I’Enclos, (of whom a remark* able anecdote appears in page 4th of this volume), was a very distinguished French cour- tezan, who, with a fine understanding and philosophic spirit, w’ould reason like Socrates, though she acted like Lais j while, therefore, the great Cond&, the Villarceaux, the Sevig- nes, the Rochefoucaults, enjoyed her as a mistress, the learned consulted her as a philosopher or a critic ; for her house was a common rendezvous to the learned, as well as to the fine gentlemen of the world Scar- ron consulted her upon his ‘ Comical Ro- mance St Evremond, upon his Verses j Moliere, upon his Comedies; and Fonten- elle, upon his Dialogues.—This bewitching woman died in 1706, aged 90, retaining her personal charms to the last. She left some children j and one of her sons died, before her, a very tragical death indeed. Not knowing her to be his mother (for all her opera-

! tions were conducted with secrecy and mys- i tery^ he actually fell in love with her j and

when, to get rid of his passion, she discovered herself to him, through* shame and de- • spair he poignarded himself in her presence.

G 2

-6 Historical Anecdotes,

Leo X. Pope of Rome, ever to be remem- bered by Protestants as having been the cause of the Reformation begun by Luther, was born 1475, and died 1521. He was a lover and patronizer of learning and learned , men, and equally favoured arts and sciences, being himself a man of taste. For this he has been often celebrated, and by our coun- ; tryman Pope in particular :

‘ But see ! each Muse iu Leo’s golden days [bays; ‘ Starts from her trance, and trims her wither’d ‘ Rome’s ancient genius, o’er its ruins spread, * Shakes off the dust, and rears his rev’rend head. ‘ Then Sculpture and her sister arts revive; ‘ Stones leap to form, and rocks begin to live ; ‘ With sweeter notes each rising temple rung j f A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung.’

Daniel Bernouilli was a celebrated phi- s losopher and mathematician, born at Gron- j ingen Feb. 9., 1782. He was extremely re- spected at Basil; and to bow to Daniel Ber- 1 nouilli, when they met him in the streets,: was one of the first lessons which every fa- ;

ther gave every child. He used to tell two little adventures, which, he said, had given him more pleasure than all the other honours j

■

and Bon "blots. 77

he had received. He was travelling with a learned stranger, who, being pleased with his conversation, asked his name. “ 1 am “ Daniel Bernouilli,” answered he with great modesty.-—1 And I,’ said the stranger (who thought he meant to laugh at him) ‘ am Is- ‘ sac Newton.’ Another time he was giving a dinner to the famous Koenig the mathematician, who boasted, with a sufficient degree of self-complacency, of a difficult problem he had resolved with much trouble. Bernou- il!i went on doing the honours of his table, and when they went to drink coffee presented him with a solution of the problem more elegant than his own.

MARiE-Francis Arouet de Voltaire, gentleman of the bedchamber and historiograph- er to the king of France, a most celebrated French historian, philosopher,dramatic writer, and epic poet, born 1694. died 1778. la his earliest years he displayed a ready wit and a sprightly imagination, and, as he said of himself, made verses before he was out of bis cradle ; indeed, such was the precocity of his talents, that many of his essays are now existing, which, though written when he was

G 3

7S Historical Anecdotes,

between 12 and 14, shew no marks of infan- : cy. He was intended for the profession of 1 the law, but became soon disgusted with the f dryness of that pursuit, and devoted his life to the service of the muses. His tragedies are chefs d'ceuvres of pathos and dignity ; but 1

his ‘ Lettres Philosophiques’ abound in bold ' expressions and indecent witticisms against , religion. The ‘ Henriade’ is a very fine e- pic poem ; and his ‘ Histories’ of ‘ Charles j ‘ XII’ and the ‘ Czar Peter,’ are models of historic composition.—Of his character the 1 following is a brief but just sketch : He was j a Free-thinker at London, a Cartesian at Versailles, a Christian at Nancy, and an In- ' fidel at Berlin. In society, he was alternate- J lyan Aristippus and a Diogenes. He made pleasure the object of his researches; he en- \ joyed it, and made it the object of his pra'se; : he grew weary of it, and turned it into ridi- j cule; he had sensibility without affection; \ was voluptuous without passions, open without sincerity, and liberal without generosity; ! was stedfast to nothing by choice, but every thing by irregular starts of fancy. His life was an uncommon and perpetual change from 1 greatness to meanness, from glory to con-

and Bon Mots. 79

tempt, and frequently has he combined the gravity of Plato with the legerdemain of Harlequin ! Though he has often availed himself of his amazing talents to promote the cause of reason and humanity, to inspire princes with toleration, and with a horror for war 5 ye' he too often exerted himself in ex- tenrJn/'fi.he principles of irreligion and an. archy As a man of letters, however, he will and in the first rank with posterity, for brilliancy of imagination, for astonishing ease, exquisite taste, versatility of talents, hnd extent of knowledge.

It is very justly remarked by Denina, (in his history of the Rise, Progress, and Decline of Literature), that Voltaire affects, in his Universal History, and in many of his other writings—‘ to lay open to his readers the ‘ heart of t/zatt-. whilst he displays every where ‘ only his own heartfalsely concluding that all mankind are, and have uniformly been, actuated by principles equally vain, selfish, and mean, as those by which his own life was governed.

When the incursions of the victorious Danes had compelled Alfred the Great to

So Historical Anecdotes,

retire to Athelny, in Somerset-sliire, he was reduced to such extremity as only to be master of one single loaf of bread. But that vicissitude which would have depressed a weak mind, seemed to exalt that of Alfred’s} for, instead of drooping under, he actually rose superior to his misfortunes; and though ' unable to assist himself, he stretched out his , hand to relieve his fellow creatures. An 1

humble mendicant solicited the queen’s assis- : tance, who, knowing the scantiness of her | csvn store, mildly denied the reiterated re- ; quest. The king, finding the petitioner im- | portunate, desired the loaf might be divid- ‘I ed between them ; saying, “ He who could : feed five thousand men with five loaves and two fishes, can certainly make that half loaf J more than suffice for our necessities.”

The following interesting narrative is ex- ' traded from a work published in France ( some years ago.

“ —I am going, dear friend, to intrust you with a dreadful secret, which I can tell no body but you. The marriage of Mademoi- :

selle de Vildac with the young Sainville took l place yesterday} as a neighbour I was oblig. !

and Bon Mots. 81

ed to be there. You know M. de Viidac j he has an inauspicious physiognomy, which I always feared. I observed him yesterday, in the midst of all these festivals: far from taking a share in the happiness of his son-iu- law, and daughter, the joy of the rest seemed to be a load to him. When it was time to retire, I was conducted to an apartment at the foot of the great tower. I had scarcely fallen asleep, when I was awaked by an indistinct noise behind my head. I listened, and heard some body dragging chains, and who was descending softly some steps. At the same time a door of my chamber opened : the noise of chains re* doubled. He who carried them advanced towards the chimney ; he approached some coals half extinguished, and said, in a deadly voice, ‘ Ah ! how long it is since 1 have ‘ warmed myself!’ I confess to you, my friend, I was affrighted. I seized my sword, to be able to defend myself: I opened gently my curtains. By the light which the coals gave, I perceived an old man chained, and half naked, with a bald head and a white beard. He held his trembling hands to the cinders. That sight moved me. Whilst I


was considering it, the wood produced as

flame : he had his eyes turned towards the door by which he had entered, and was a- ; bandoning himself to the most bitter lamentations. In a moment he kneeled down upon his knees, struck his head against the floor $ and I heard him in the midst of sobs : to utter, ‘ My God! O my God !’ At that . moment the curtains of the bed made a : noise; he turned round with the greatest I terror: ‘ Is there any person,’ said he, * is 1 there any person in that bed ?’ ‘ Yes, * replied I, at the same time opening the :

‘ curtains wide, but who are you ?’ His tears hindered him from answering me for a considerable time ; at length he became more calm. ‘ I am,’ said he, * the most * miserable of mortals. Perhaps I ought 1 * not to tell you more; but for these many ‘ years I have not seen a human being, and ' * the pleasure of speaking to a fellow crea- ' * ture opens my mouth. Fear nothing; j! ‘ come and sit down beside the fire. Have ; ‘ pity upon me ; you will soften the rigour ' of my fate in hearing my misfortunes.’ j The fright which his first appearance had put me in, gave place to compassion. I a- !

and Bon Mots. S3

rose and sat down beside him j this mark of confidence gave him courage. He took hold of my hand, and moistened it with his tears. ‘ Generous man,’ said he, ‘ begin ‘ first by satisfying my curiosity, tell me ‘ how you came to lodge in this apartment, ‘ which has hitherto been uninhabited j ‘ what means that terrible din and unusual ‘ bustle which I heard this morning in the ‘ castle ?’ When I told him it was occasioned by the marriage of Vildac’s daughter, he raised his hand towards heaven, ‘ Vildac a daughter, and married . . . Just ‘ God ! O make her happy ! but above all ‘ allow her to be ignorant of her father’s ‘ crimes. Know then, benevolent stranger, ‘ who 1 am ... You speak to the father of ‘ Vildac ... of the cruel Vildac.—But ought ‘I to complain of him ? Is there no one ‘ but a father to accuse him ?’

‘ What,’ cried I with astonishment, * is * Vildac your son ? and does the monster im- ‘ prison you here in such misery, load you ‘ with chains, and seclude you so long from ‘ the world ?’

‘ Behold,’ replied he, ‘ in my sufferings, 1 the fatal effects of self interestedness,


Feeling is an utter stranger in the hard; and savage heart of my son. Insensible to the ties of kindred, he has lent a deaf ear to the cry of nature: in order to be the* sooner in possession of my fortune, he has; loaded me with irons.

‘ One day he paid a visit to a neighbour-; ing lord who had lately lost his father 5 hej found him surrounded writh his vassals, busied in receiving rents and in granting lea ses. That sight had a dreadful effect up4 on the mind of Vildac. The thirst for receiving his patrimony had been devouring him for a long time past. I remarked, at! his return, that he had a graver anJ more, reserved countenance than usual. Fifteen days after, three men in masks carried meji off during the night. After having strip-. ped me of every thing, they took me into! this tower. I am ignorant of what means Vildac took to publish the report of my! death j but I guessed, by the ringing o^ bells, and other mournful ceremonies, thati he was celebrating my funeral. The ide of this ceremony plunged me into a mos profound melancholy. I in vain asked, as a favour, to be permitted to speak with]

and Bon Mott. ■85

‘ Vildac: those who brought me food, look- ‘ ed upon me, no doubt, as a criminal, con- ‘ demned to perish in this tower. I have ‘ now been here almost twenty years. I per. ‘ ceived, this morning, that in bringing me ‘ my morsel, they had shut my door careless. ‘ ly. I have waited till night to profit by ‘ their negligence : I do not wish to make * my escape, but a few paces of more liber- ‘ ty is always some consideration for a pri« ‘ soner.’

‘ No,’ cried I, 1 you shall quit this un- ‘ worthy mansion : Heaven has sent me to ‘ be your deliverer :—let us depart imme- ‘ diately : all is in silence. I shall be your ‘ defender, your support, and your guide.’ ‘ Ah,’ said he to me, after a moment’s reflection, ‘ this kind of solitude has much al- ‘ tered my principles and my ideas. I have ‘ long ago resigned myself to my fate; why ‘ should I then quit this peaceful abode, to ‘ expose myself again to the viscissitudes of ‘ the world ?—My lot is cast: I shall die ‘ here.’

‘ Are you dreaming,’ replied I ; ‘ come, ‘ we have not a moment to lose ; the night * is advancing.’

H


‘ Your zeal moves me : but l have only 1 a few days to live j and liberty gives me * but little temptation. Why should I go ‘ to enjoy it only for a few days, and disho. ‘ nour my son all the rest of his life, which ‘ may otherwise be long and prosperous ?’ ‘ He has dishonoured himself.’ ‘ Ah! what ‘ has his young daughter done ) that young 4 innocent is now in the arms of her spouse. 4 I should cover both with disgrace, and 4 render the remainder of their lives miser* 4 able. Ah, if fate but permitted me to see 4 her, to fold her in my arms, and to bathe 4 her with my tears !—But 1 am talking to 4 no purpose. I never shall see her! A« 4 dieu :—the day begins to break, we shall 4 be heard, therefore I will return to my pri- 4 son.’ .... 4 No,1 said I, taking hold of his arm, 4 1 will never suffer you to depart j 4 long confinement has weakened your spi- 4 rits .... it is my duty to give you cou* 4 rage, and lend you assistance. We will en- 4 deavour to conceal who you are : in the in- 4 terim my house, name, and fortune, are at 4 your service j but first let us secure your li- 4 berty. The world will be ignorant who you ‘ are; and the crime of Vildac may be con-

and Bon Mots. 87

* cealed j therefore what have you to fear ?’ ‘ Nothing, I am affected with gratitude :—• * I admire your benevolent disposition j yet ‘ all your entreaties are in vain :—I cannot * follow your advice.’ ‘ Well, if you ra- ‘ ther choose that I should leave you here, ‘ and go to the governor of the province, I ‘ wdll lay before him your whole story, come ‘ with an armed force and retrieve you from * the hands of your barbarous and unnatural ‘ son.’

‘ Take care that you do not reveal my ‘ secret, allow a wretch to die here who is ‘ unworthy of seeing the day-light.—.I once * committed a crime which just heaven has * ordained that I should expiate j the most * horrid, most inhuman deed Turn * your eyes towards that door, and behold 4 upon the wainscoat and upon the wall, 4 faint traces of blood. That blood was once 4 my father’s ; you see before you his assas- 4 sin. Like Vildac, my ungovernable am- 4 bition overcame me Ah ! my ima- 4 gination still paints him before my eyes . . . 4 there he stretched out his bloody arms to- 4 wards me 5 he wished to stop my polluted

H 2

RS Historical Anecdotes,

‘ hands ; he falls, Uh frightful image ! Oh ‘ despair!’

“ At the same time the old man fell down upon the ground, tore his hair, and was in dreadful convulsions; I saw he dared not to look me in the face ; I remained motionless for a while. After some moments of silence, we thought we heard a noise. The day began to break j he arose. ‘ You are { penetrated with horror,’ said he, ‘ adieu. ‘ I shall go up to the tower, from whence I ‘ shall never more return.’ I remained for a while mute and motionless: every thing I had seen and heard in this castle impressed my mind with horror . . . therefore the sooner I left it the better. I am preparing to go and stay in another of my estates, for I can neither see Vildac nor live near him. O, my friend, how is it possible that the human race can produce such unnatural mon- sters.”

This adventure happened in Provence, towards the beginning of this century ; before it was printed, it was foupd necessary to dis« guise the names.

and Bon Mots, 89

The following is a beautiful specimen of Indian eloquence, and, in simple pathos, may justly vie with the orations of a Demosthenes, a Cicero, or those of the most celebrated o- rators of ancient or modern times.

Logan was a distinguished Indian chief of the Mingoe tribe, and the faithful friend of the whites, until Colonel Cresap treacherous- ly murdered his wife and children, in revenge of an outrage committed by a patty of the Shawanee Indians, in the year 1744, on an inhabitant of Virginia. Logan immediately joined the enemies of the British, and fought against them with desperate valour. The British prevailed in the decisive battle fought at the mouth of the Great Khanaway, against the united forces of Shawanee, De- laware, and Mingoe Indians :—They sued for peace :—Logan disdained to appear a- mongst the suppliants, but sent the following speech to -Lord Dunmore, governor of Virginia, explanatory of his enmity against the whites :

‘ I appeal to any white man to say, if ever ‘ he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and he ‘ gave him no meat j if ever he came cold ‘ and naked, and clothed him not. During

H3

9o Historical Anecdotes,

‘ the course of the last long and bloody war, ‘ Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advo- ‘ cate for peace. Such was my love for the ‘ whites, that my countrymen pointed as they * passed, and said, “ Logan is the friend of “ white men.” I had even thought to have ‘ lived with you, but for the injuries of one ‘ man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in ‘ cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all ‘ the relations of Logan, not sparing even ‘ my wTomen and children. There runs not a ‘ drop of my blood in the veins of any living ‘ creature. This called on me for revenge. 4 I have sought it; I have killed many ; I 4 have fully glutted my vengeance. For my 4 country, I rejoice at the beams of peace j 4 but do not harbour a thought that mine is 4 the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. 4 He wall not turn on his heel to save his 4 life. Who is there to mourn for Logan ? 4 Not one!’

A native of Guinea sold his wife, who had not been delivered above a month of twins. She was put into the hold among the rest of the slaves ; but as it happened to be fine weather, the vessel had not sailed a«

and Bon Mots. 2L

bove a league, before the slaves were all ordered upon deck, and passed in review before the master. This poor mother, irresistibly impelled by her affection for her children, instantly threw herself into the sea, determined still to nourish her babes, or perish in the attempt. The inhuman crew let fly a shower of balls at her ; but heaven favoured her heroic astempt, and she got to. shore unhurt.

The following letter was addressed by a Jamaica lady to a female friend ; ‘ One ‘ morning taking an airing along the piazza ‘ leading from Kensington to the fields, an ‘ old negro, who was dressing his sores, beg- ‘ ged alms of me. I passed by without tak- ‘ ing any notice of him j but immediately ‘ reflecting on the poor creature’s situation, ‘ l returned and gave him a bit, letting him ‘ know, that I had very few remaining.’ The man expressed his gratitude by significative gestures, and hearty wishes for my prosperity. Some days after, having occasion to pass the same way, I saw the same negro, who attempted to come toward me, but so slowly besause of his sores, that he did net over-


take me. He called after me, begging for a single word. I turned back, and he spoke to the following effect: ‘ That, from what * ‘ I had said the other day, he suspected I 4 might be in wantj and that he could not ‘ be easy till he saw me again.’ Upon which ; he pulled out a purse containing, as he said, !

28 doubloons, telling me that it was collect- • ed by begging, and that he could beg more ; * praying me to take it, for that a lady could not beg, but must die for want of yam yam if she had no money. My heart was pierced at the generosity of this poor fellow. I : thanked him for his kind offer, but chat I had got money since I saw him, and had no ; occasion for his parse. I inquired why his master suffered him to beg: He told me, . that being old, he could work no longer, f and that his master had turned him out of doors to beg, or starve 5 that he had been a 1

slave from his infancy, and that his sores were occasioned by severe labour. After 1 giving him another bit, and cautioning him |y to conceal his money, I left him.

PkEDERicx William (father of the great . Jrederick of Prussia) was a prince of singular

and Bon Mots. 93

idisposition. The reverse of his father Frede- rick I. who delighted in pomp and magni-

' licence even to folly,—this prince despised parade and luxury ; but, at the same time, he expelled from his court every philoso.

1 pher and learned man, and, with Gothic ' fury, declared war against the arts and | sciences—the science of war, and the art of | amassing riches, excepted : These he inces- i santly studied; and, by the formidable ar-

mies and immense wealth he left his succes. sors, laid the foundation of the future gran- deur of Prussia. He affected to be pious, and forced all his army punctually to attend divine service, and the sacraments of the church. But all his religion was confined to this exterior devotion j and, as none o his chaplains durst tell him, that gentleness, 1 u-

; inanity, and indulgence, were virtues at least equally essential, he never conceived that there was any harm in treating his children, his servants, and his subjects, as a grootn would his horses, or an Algerine his slaves.

The following anecdotes are characteris- tic of Frederick William.

When he had reviewed his troops, it was his custom to walk through the city. Every


bo>.!y - i fle 1' before him He would re suff r a woman to be in tne streets Whe evei he met one. he would send her ho: instantly, with a ^ood box on the ear, stroke with his cane or a kick : ‘ iVhat doi * this beggar here ?’ he would say ; ‘ hone; ‘ women should keep at home.’

One fine summer day, he surprised man ladies, who were walking behind the castle* in a public place, called e The king’s gar* ‘ den,’ but which was used only as a parade, At this sight, he called his soldiers, sent foi a number of brooms, and obliged the fair ladies to sweep for half an hour.

Nor could he bear to see the ministers oi the gospel on the parade $ and, whenever he perceived any of them, he would send them home with a few strokes of his cane, to study their bible, and make sermons.

The prince-royal, spending some days with his father at Bonn, the elector Clement Au- gustus, of the house of Bavaria, treated them with all possible magnificence j and, among . other entertainments, he gave them a ball. 1 Frederick William was always ill-dressed j for he wore an uniform as long as he could; and whenever he was obliged to order a new

and Ban Mots. 95

coat, he would make the old buttons do. The dress of the prince-royal was hardly more elegant: he was, moreover, very melancholy, and enjoyed no kind of pleasure in these amusements. The king perceiving it, enquired the reason of his melancholy, and why he did not dance. The prince, with a downcast eye, looked at his almost worn- out dress. But the vigorous monarch answered, by giving him a severe cuff before

r all the company, and pushing him into the room, saying, ‘ Go, go, Sir, dance.’—The tears trickled down the prince’s cheeks $ but it was necessary to ask a lady, and to dance with her.

Nor did his judges escape these manual censures. One of his generals having complained to him of a sentence which the court of justice had awarded in an affair in which he was interested, t’ - king went instantly to the hall where the members of the tribunal were assembled ; and there,* beginning with the president, he dealt his strokes of the cane on all the judges, repeatedly calling them knaves and rascals.— It was truly a farcical scene, to see all these grave sages of the law, running here and there, to avoid


the strokes of the cane, while his Majestj pursued them.

A corporal of the life-guards of Frederic the Great, who had a great deal of vanity, bui at the same time, was a brave fellow, woe; a watch chain, to which he affixed a muske; bullet, instead of a watch, which he was unr able to buy. The king being inclined on day to rally him, said, ‘ Apropos, corptjt ‘ ral, you must have been very frugal to bu ‘ a Watch: it is six o’clock by mine 5 te; ‘ me what it is by yours The soldie1> who guessed the king’s intention, instantl drew the bullet from his fob, and said, ‘ Sirei e my watch neither marks five nor six C ‘ clock ; but it tells me every moment, tha ‘ it is my duty to die for your Majesty.’-^. 4 Here, my friend,’ said the king, quite al fected, ‘ take this w-*ch, that you may bj 4 able to tell the hour also.’—And he gav him his watch, which was adorned with bri Hants.

Frederick rung one day, and nobody ai swered. He opened the door, and found tl page sleeping on a sofa. Fie was going

and Bon Mots. 97

wake him, when he perceived the end of a billet out of his pocket. He had the curiosity to know the contents : he took, and read it. It was a letter from the mother of the young man, who thanked him for having sent her a part of his wages, to assist her in her distress. She concluded, by beseeching God to bless him for his filial goodness. The king returned softly to his room, took a roller of ducats, and slid them, with the letter, into the page’s pocket. Returning to his a- partment, he rang so violently, that the page opened it, and entered. ‘ You have slept 4 well,’ said the king. The page made an apology, and, in his embarrassment, he happened to put his hand into his pocket, and felt, with astonishment, the roller. He drew it out, turned pale, and, looking at the king, burst into tears, without being able to speak a word.—4 What is the matter ?’—4 Ah ! 4 Sire,’ said the young man, throwing himself at his feet, 4 somebody would wish to 4 ruin me : I know not how I came by this 4 money in my pocket.’-—4 My friend,’ said Frederick, 4 God often sends us good in our 4 sleep. Send this to your mother. Salute

I


1 her in my name j and assure her that I shall ‘ take care of her and of you.’

Note.— Engel has made this anecdote; the subject of a little drama, entitled 4 The ‘ Page.’

It was customary with Frederick, when-; ever a new soldier appeared in his guards, to:

ask him three questions; viz. How old are you? How long have you been in my ser«; vice ? Are you satisfied with your pay and \ treatment ? It happened that a young sol- ] dier, born in France, who had served in his ;

own country, desired to enlist in the Prus- sian service, his figure caused him to be im- ; mediately accepted : but he was totally ig- ; norant of the German dialect ; and his captain giving him notice that the king would question him in that tongue the first time he would see him, cautioned him at the same time to learn by heart the tWee answers that he was to make the king. Accordingly he learned them by the next day ; and as soon as he appeared in the ranks, Frederick came up to interrogate him ; but he happened to begin upon him by the second question, and esked him ‘ How long have you been in my

.V«tl

- - -

TiJ-

g

and Bon Mots. 90

‘ service‘ Twenty-one years !’ answered the soldier. The king, struck with his youth, that plainly indicated that Ire had not bore a musket so long as that, said to him, much astonished, ‘ How old are you ?’—* One ‘ year, an’t please your Majesty.’ Frederick, more astonished still, cried, ‘ You or I must * certainly be bereft of our senses.’ The soldier, who took this for the third question, replied firmly, * Both, an’t please your Ma- * jesty.’—‘ This is the first time I was ever * treated as a madman at the head of my ‘ army,’ rejoined Frederick. The soldier, who had exhausted his stock of German,

# * * kept silent, and when the king questioned him again, to penetrate into this mystery, the soldier told him in French, that he did not understand a word of German, at which the king laughed heartily, and advised him to learn that language, and exhorted him to perform well his duty.

Frederick had ordered piazzas to be e- rected round the church of St Nicholas, at Potsdam ; by which means the lower range of windows was entirely covered, and the church deprived of some light. The over.

I z

too Historical Anecdotes,

seers and churchwardens were dissatisfied, and presented a memorial to the king, requesting that he would discontinue the building, and pull down what had already been erected. But their memorial was returned, and the following was written at the bottom, in the king’s own hand ; ‘ Blessed are they ‘ who do not see, and yet believe.’

The prisoner,—a recent Fact. “ A dreadful din was wont “To grate the sense, when entered here, from

groans, “ And howls of slaves condemned, from clinck of

chains, “ And crash of rusty bars, and creeking hinges! “ And ever and anon the light was dashed “ With frightful faces, and the meagre looks “ Of grim and ghastly executioners.”

Congreve.

The tolling of the dreadful bell, summon- ing the miserable to pay their forfeited lives to the injured laws of their country, awoke Henry from the first sleep he had fallen in- to since he entered the walls of a dismal prison.

Henry had been a merchant, and married the beautiful Eliza ia the midst of .ffluence j

and Bon Mots. ioi

but the capture of our West India fleet, in the late unnatural American war, was the first stroke his house received. His creditors, from the nature of the loss, were for some time merciful j but to satisfy some par- tial demands, he enteredi nto a dishonoura- ble treaty, which being discovered, Henry was thrown into a loathsome goal. He had offended against the laws, and was condemned to die.

Eliza possessed Roman virtues. She would not quit his side, and, with her infant son, she preferred chacing away his melancholy in a dungeon, to her father’s house, which was still open to receive her. Their hopes of a reprive from day to day, had fled •, but not before the death-warrant arrived. Grief overpowering all other senses. Sleep, the balmy charmer of the woes of humanity, in pity to their miseries, extended her silken embraces ever them, and beguiled the time they had appropriated for prayer, and Eliza, with the infant, still continued under her influence.

Father of Mercies, exclaimed Henry, lend ti\ine ear to a penitent. Give attention to my short prayer. Grant me forgive-

102 TIL torical Anecdotes,

ness endue me with fortitude to appear before thee :—and O God ! extend thy mercies to this injured, this best of thy servants, whom I have entailed in endless miseries— Chace not sleep from her, till I am dead The Keeper interrupted his devotion by warning him to his fate.—If there be mercy in you, replied Henry, make no noise, for I would not have my wife awaked till I am no more

He wept even he, who was inured to misery He who, with apathy, had for a- ges looked on distress, shed tears at Henry’s request Nature, for once, predominated in a Goaler.

At this instant the child cried !—O heavens, said Henry, I am too guilty to have my prayer heard.—He took up his infant, and fortunately hushed it again to rest, while the Goaler stood petrified with grief and astonishment.— At last he thus broke out—This is too much—My heart bleeds for you—I wmuld I had not seen this day.

What do I hear, replied Henry ?—Is this, an angel, in the garb of my keeper ?—Thou art indeed unfit for thy office—This is more

and Bnn Mots. 103

than I was prepared to hear Hence, and let me be conducted to my fate

These words awoke the unhappy Eliza j who, with eagerness to attone for lost time, began to appropriate the few moments left, in supplicating for her husband’s salvation.

Side by side the unhappy couple prayed as the Ordinary advanced to the cell. They were too intent on devotion to observe him. The holy man came with more comfort than what his function alone could administer. It was a reprive, but with caution he communicated the glad tidings.

The effect it had on them was too affecting to be expressed. Henry’s senses were over-powered, while Eliza became frantic wuth joy—She ran to the Man of God, then to her child, ere she perceived her husband apparently lifeless. He soon inhaled life, from her kisses, wdiile the humane Gaoler freed him from his fetters.

Mr Gray, the celebrated author of the E/egy in a Country Church Yard, being in London before his promotion to the profes- sorship of Modern History in the university of Cambridge ; and when his circumstances


were sp crampt that he could indulge him- ■ self in very few gratifications, went with a friend to a private sale of books, in which the lots were very large : among the rest, there was a very elegant book case, filled with a well chosen collection of the best :

French classics, handsomely bound, the price | loo guineas. Mr Gray had a great longing! for this lot, but could not afford to buy it. • The conversation between him and his friend | was overheard by the amiable Duchess of ) Northumberland, who knowing the other t gentleman, took an opportunity to ask who his friend was ? She w as told it was the celebrated Gray. Upon their retiring, she j bought the book-case and its contents, and ;

sent it to Mr Gray’s lodgings, with a note,, importing, that she was ashamed of sending j so small an acknowledgement for the infinite ; pleasure she had received in reading the E- j legy in a Country Church-Yard.

The late Dr Goldsmith, sitting one even- ! ing at the Globe-Tavern, Fleet street, he , called for a mutton-chop, which wras no \ sooner placed on the table, than a gentle- t man with whom he was intimately acquaint- ;

and Eon Mots. 135

ed, turned up his nose, and asked how the doctor could suffer the waiter to place such, a stinking chop before him ? ‘ Stinking !’ says the Doctor, ‘ in good truth I don’t smell ‘ it,’ “ I never smelt any thing so disagree- “ able in my life,” says the gentleman : “ the “ rascal deserves a caning for being so heed- “ less as to bring you such carrion.” * In ‘ good truth,’ says the poet, ‘ I think so too j ‘ but I will be less severe in my punish- 1 ment.” He instantly called the waiter, and, after persuading the poor fellow that the chop stunk worse than assafceuda, he insisted, as a punishment, that he should sit down and eat it himself. The waiter ar- gued $• but he might as well attempt to beat Charles Macklin out of an opinion : the doctor threatened to knock him down with his cane, if he did not immediately comply with the punishment.

When the waiter had swallowed half the chop, the doctor gave him a glass of wine, thinking, with his usual good nature, it would make the remainder of the sentence less painful. When the waiter had done. Goldsmith’s friend burst into an horse laugh. * What, in God’s name, ails you now V says

v. 1

ic6 Historical Anecdotes,

the poet. “ Indeed, my dear friend, I could j “ never think that any man, whose know- 1 “ ledge of letters was so extensive as your’s, “ could be so great a dupe to a stroke of “ humour 5 the chop was as fine a one as I “ ever saw in my life.” ‘ Was it ?’ says the 1

Doctor, ‘ then I shall never give credit to | l< what you say again ■, and so, in good truth, * I think I even with you.’

One asking a lazy young fellow, what ; made him lie in bed ro long ? ‘lam busied,’ says he, * in hearing counsel every morning. ; ‘ Industry advises roe to get up, Sloth to tie * still; and so they give me twenty reasons 1

* pro and con. It is my part to hear what * is said on both sides j and by the time the * cause is over, dinner is ready.’

A sovereign, in a progress through his ; kingdom, was informed, in one of his capital towns, of a singular fact, That one of the inhabitants, a man of seventy years old, had nevet been without the walls. The man was called to the King ; and, being poor, obtain- ; ed a pension ; but, upon the following pro- j

and Bon Mots. 107

vision, That he should forfeit his pension if ever he set foot out of town. But here even custom could not prevail over love of liberty : The man did not continue long at ease $ his confinement became insupportable, and he lost his pension in six months.

The ancients spoke of humanity in a less studied phrase than we ; but they knew better than we how to practise it. There is a passage in Plutarch which may be applied to them and us with propriety, and which I cannot foibear transcribing. ‘ At the thea- ‘ tre in Athen«, a venerable old man was * looking about for a seat, which some young ‘ ones at a dbtance perceiving, they beckon- ‘ ed him to come to them, intimating they ‘ would make room for him ; but, when he ‘ came near them, they filled up their seat, ‘ and made a jest of him ; the old man went ‘ from seat to seat, in great confusion, being * all the while ridiculed by the Athenian ‘ youth.’ But the Spartan ambassadors being piesent, and seeing his distress, rose up, and placed him honourably in the midst them. The transaction was noticed by the

io8 Historical Anecdotes,

whole audience, and the behaviour of th: Spartans was received with universal a plause : whilst the old man shook his heal and cried, ‘ What a pity the Atheniar ‘ should know what good manners are, bt ‘ that the Lacedemonians only should pti * them in practice !’

The late prodigy of genius, the unfo: tunate Chatterton, was amusing himself or day, in company with a friend, reading tf epitaphs in Pancras church-yard. He wi so deep sunk in thought as he walked o;| that not perceiving a grave that was j dug, he tumbled into it. His friend obser ing his situation, ran to his assistance, a as he helped him out, told him in a jocu manner, he was happy in assisting at the surrection of Genius.—Poor Chattert smiled, and taking his companion by arm, replied—‘ My dear friend, I feel t; ‘ sting of a speedy dissolution—I have be ‘ at war with the grave for some time, aq ‘ find it is not so easy to vanquish it asi ‘ imagined we can find an asylum ‘ hide from every creditor but that !’ friend endeavoured to divert his thougf

tind Bon Mott. ,09.

from the gloomy reflection but what will not melancholy and adversity combined^ subjugate In three days after the neglect* ed and disconsolate youth was no more !

Henry Duke of Saxony was by nature fierce and haughty, eager in his pursuits, im-* patient of disappointment or control. This temper was fostered by bad education. So soon as he could reflect, he reflected that he was a sovereign, and he was ever soothed in the notions that a prince is above all lawi At the same time he was inclined to the principles of justice and honour, where his passions did not oppose j and he had a profound awe for the Supreme Being, which, by his wicked life, deviated into superstition. The outrages committed by this prince were without end ; every thing wras sacrificed to his lust, cruelty, and ambition ; and at his Court, beauty, riches, honours, became the greatest misfortunes. His horrid enormities filled him with suspicion ; if a grandee ab- sented, it was for leisure to form plots j if he was submissive and obedient, it was dissimu- lation merely. Thus did the prince live wo- ftdly solitary, in the midst of fancied socie*

Historical Anecdbtes, J T Q

ty ; at enmity with every one, and least o£, all at peace with himself; sinning daily, re* penting daily ; feeling the agonies of reprov- ing conscience, which haunted him waking,; and left him not when asleep.

In a melancholy fit, under the impressions of a wicked action recently perpetrated, he dreamed that the tutelar angel of the coun-*j try stood before him with anger in his looksJ mixed with some degree of pity. ‘ Ill-fate<S‘ ‘ wretch,’ said the apparition, ‘ listen to th 5 awful command I bear. The Almighty, un ‘ willing to cut thee off in the fulness of ini Equity, has sent me to give thee warning Upon this the angel reached a scroll of paper, and Vanished. The scroll contained th following words, After site. Here the drea ended ; for the impression it made broke hr rest. The prince awaked in the greates consternation, deeply struck with the vision He was convinced that the whole was fro nr God, to prepare him for death ; which hn conckiJed waste happen in six months, per' haps in six days ; and that this time was a loted him to make his peace with his makfl hy an unfeigned repentance for all his crimep How idle and unpleasant seemed now the!

j

and Bon Mots. in

objects which he formerly pursued at the expence of religion and humanity ! Where is now tb-t lust of command, which occasioned so much bloodshed} that cruel malice and envy against every contending power j that suspicious jealousy, the cause of much imaginary treason j furies fostered in h’s bosom, preying incessantly upon his vitals, and yet darlings of his soul ? Happy expuV.ion, if not succeeded by the greatest of all fuiies, black despair.

Thus, in the utmost torments of mind, six days, six weeks, and six months, passed a- way 5 but death did not follow. And now he concluded, that six years were to be the period of his miserable life. By this time the violence of the tempest was over. Hitherto he had sequestered himself frony mankind, and had spent, in abstinence and private worship, the short time he thought allotted him. Now began he to form resolutions of a more thorough repentance •, now was he fixed to do good, as formerly he had done mischief, with all his heart. The supposed shortness of his warning had hitherto not left it in his power to repair the many injuries he had committed, which was ths

K 2


weightiest load upon his raind. Now was lie resolved to make the most ample reparation.

In this state, where hope prevailed, and some beams of sunshine appeared breaking through the cloud, he addressed himself to his Maker, in the following terms: ‘ O thou

‘ glorious and omnipotent Being, Parent and * Preserver of all things ! how lovely art

‘ thou in peace and reconciliation ! but ph ! ‘ how terrible to the workers of iniquity ! ? While my hands are lifted up, how doth ‘ my heart tremble ! for manifold have been 1 my transgressions. Headlong driven by 1 impetuous passion, I deserted the path of ^ virtue, and wandered through every sort of £ iniquity. Trampling conscience under foot, 5 I surrendered myself to delusions, which, ‘ under the colour of good, abandoned me ‘ still to misery and remorse. Happy only ‘ if at any moment an offended conscience ‘ could be laid asleep. But what source of * happiness in doing good, and in feeling the ? calm sunshine of virtue# and honour ! O ? my conscience ! when thou art a friend, 4 what imports it who is an enemy ? when ? thou lookest dreadful, where are they lied,

and Bon Mots. if*

all the blessings, all the amusements of life ? Thanks to the superabundant mercy, that hath not abandoned me to reprobation, but hath indulged a longer day for repentance. Good God ! the lashes of agonizing remorse let me never more feel; be it now my only- concern in this life, to establish with my conscience a faithful correspondence. My inordinate passions, those deluding inchant' ers, root thou out; for the work is too mighty for rny weak endeavour. And oh ! mould thou my soul into that moderation of desire, and just balance of affection, without whiclt no enjoyment is solid, no pleasure unmixed with pain. Hereafter let it not be sufficient to be quiet and inoffensive ; but since gracious- ly to my life thou hast added many days, may all be spent in doing good 5 let that day be deemed lost, which sees me not employed in some works beneficial to my subjects, or to mankind > that at last I may lay me dowti in peace, comforted if I have not proved in every respect an unprofitable servant.” His first endeavours were to regain the con-

fidence of his nobles, and love of his people. With unremitting application he attended to their good ; and soon felt that satisfaction

£3

H4 Historical Anecdotes,

in considering himself as their father, which he never knew when he considered them as his slaves. Now began he to relish the pleasures of social intercourse, of which pride and and jealousy had made him hitherto insensible. He had thought friendship a chimera, devised to impose upon mankind. Convin- ced now of its reality, the cultivation of it was one of his chief objects, Man he found to be a being honest and faithful, deserving esteem, and capable of friendship ; hitherto he had judged of others by the corrupt emo- tions of his own heart. Well he remember- ed his many gloomy moments of disgust and remorse, his spleen and bad mumour, the never-failing attendants of vice and debauch- ery. Fearful to expose his wicked purposes, and dreading every searching eye, he had estranged himself from the world ; and what could he expect, conscious as he was of a de- praved heart, but aversion and horror ? Mi- serable is that state, cut off from all comfort, in which an unhappy mortal’s chief concern is to flv from man, because every man is his enemy. Alter tasting of this misery, how did he bless the happy change ! Now, always calm and serene, diffusive benevolence

and Bon Mots. Ill

gilded every thought of his heart, and action of his life. It was now his delight to be seen and to lay open his whole soul j for in it dwelt harmony and peace.

Fame, now his friend, blazed his virtues all around ; and now in distant regions was the good prince known, where his vices had never reached. Among his virtues, an abso- lute and pure disinterestedness claimed every where the chief place. In all disputes, he vyas the constant mediator betwixt sovereigns, and betwixt them and their subjects j and be gained more authority over neighbouring princes by esteem and reverence, than they had over their own subjects.

In this minner elapsed the six years, till the fatal period came. The vision was ful- filled ; but very differently from what was expected, For at this precise period, a vacancy happening, he was unanimously chosen Emperor of Germany.

Ar.taxer.xes Mnemon, flying from his enemies, being reduced for a dinner to dry figs and barley-bread j 1 How much plea- 4 sure) ’ said he, ‘ have I been ignorant of!*


Dionysius the tyrant having been entertained by the Lacedemonians, expressed some disgust at their black broth. “ No wonder,” said one of them, “ For it wants seasoning.” ‘ What seasoning?’ said the tyrant. “ Labour,” replied the other, ” joined with hunger and “ thirst.”

* Timotheus the Athenian general supping with Plato, was entertained with a frugal meal and much improving discourse. Meet- ing Plato afterwards, ‘ Your suppers,’ said he, ‘ are not only pleasant at the time, but equal- ‘ ly so the next day.’

Plato, seeing the Agrigentines building at great expence, and supping at great expence, < said, The* Agrigentines build at if they were ’ * to live for ever, and sup as if it were to be f their last.’

When ^ion had rescued Syracuse from slavery, Heraclides his declared enemy became his humble suplicant for mercy. Dion was exhorted not to spare a turbulent and wicked man, who bad brought his country almost to ruin, Dion answered, ‘ Those

and Bon Alois. HI

‘ who are bred up to arms seldom think of ‘ any study but that of war. I was educat- ‘ ed in the Academy, and my chief study ‘ was, to conquer anger, revenge, envy, ob- ‘ stinacy, plagues that corrupt the human ‘ heart. The true test of such victory, is ‘ not kindness to friends and to good men, ‘ but lenity to wicked men that are our en- ‘ emies. It is my resolption to overcome ‘ Heraclides, not by power and prudence, ‘ but by humanity. Nor is any man so per- ‘ verse or wicked, as not to yield at length to ‘ good treatment.

Dr. Johnson happening to sit in a coffee- room where a dog was very troublesome, he bid the waiter kick him out; but in the hurry of business he forgot it. The dog continuing to pester him, he said, if the waiter did not kick the dog out, he would kick him out. ‘ Sir,’ said a young coxcomb, ‘ I ‘ perceive you are not fond of dogs.’ ‘ No,’ said the doctor, ‘ nor of puppies neither.’

The first time Dr Johnson was in company with Mrs T., neither the elegance of his conversation, nor the depth of his know-

Historical Anecdotes, 118

ledge, could prevent that lady’s being shocked at his manners. Amongst other pieces1

of indecorum, his tea not being sweet e*i nough, he clapped his fingers into the sugar dish, and supplied himself with as little ceremony and concern, as if there had not been a lady at the table. Every well-bred cheek was tinged with confusion ; but Mrs T. was! so exasperated, that she ordered the sugar- dish immediately from the table, as if its contents had been contaminated by the fin-i gers of Pomposo. The doctor prudently took no notice, but peaceably swallowed, as usual, his several cups of tea. When he had done, instead of placing his cup and saucer upon the table, he threw them both very calmly under the stove. The whole tea- table was thrown into confusion. Mrs T. screamed out, * Heavens! doctor, what have ‘ you done ? You have spoiled the hand-, * somest set of china I have in the world !’ 4 I am sorry for it, Madam,’ answered Dr Johnson, ‘ but I assure you I did it out of:

‘ pure good-breeding •, for, from your treat- * ment of the sugar-dish, I supposed you ^ ‘ would never touch any thing again that I ‘ once soiled with my fingers.’

and Bon Mots. I IQ \

Macklin and Dr Johnson disputing on a literary subject, Johnson quoted Greek. ‘ I ‘ do not understand Greek,’ said Macklin.— * A man who argues should understand eve- ‘ ry language,’ replied Johnson.—‘ Very * well,’ said Macklin, and gave him a quotation from Irish.

When the late Dr Whitfield arrived at America, observing* during his voyage, the dissolute manners of the crew, he invited them to one of his pious declamations, and took occasion to reprehend them for their infamous manner of living. ‘ You will cer- ‘ tainly,’ says he, * go to hell.—God will ‘ never save your wicked souls.—Perhaps ‘ you may think I will be an advocate for *youj but, believe me, I will tell of all ‘ your wicked actions.’—Upon which one of the sailors, turning to his brother mess-mate, observed, that ‘ the greatest rogue always

A farmer, came to a neighbouring lawyer, Expressing great concern for an accident he said had just happened. ‘ One of your oxen,’ vcutinued be, ‘ has been gored by an unlucky


‘ bull of mine, and 1 should be glad to know * what reparation I am to make you.’ “ Thou “ art an honest fellow,” replied the lawyer, “ and will not thinkit unreasonable that I have <! oneofthy oxen in return.” ‘It isnomorebut ' ‘ justice,’ quoth the farmer.—‘But what did I ‘ say? I mistook ! It is your bull that haskil- * ledoneofmyoxen.’ “ Indeed!” says the lawyer, “that alters the case : I must inquirein- “ to the affair, and if”—‘ And r//’interrupted the farmer ; ‘ the business 1 find would have ‘ been concluded without an if, had you been ‘ as ready to do justice to others as to exact ‘ it from them.’

A young gentleman had long, in vain, entreated Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, to use her influence in procuring him a commission in the army. Being one day in a large and polite company, where the Duchess was present j her Grace, overstraining herself, unfortunately produced a very loud explo- sion. The young gentleman, who sat next her, immediately rose up, and made a handsome apology to the company for being guilty of so unlucky a breach of good manners j and thus freed the Duchess of any suspicioA

and Bon Mots. I 21

of being the guilty person. Her Grace, charmed with the young man’s gallantry, presented him with a commission next day, saying, ‘ ’Tis an ill wund which blows no ‘ body good.’

A fat parson, who had long dosed over sermons in his pulpit, and strong beer in his parlour, happened one Sunday, after a plen- tiful crop of tithes, to exert himself mighti- ly. His text was, the patience of Job. Deeply impressed with his own discourse, he, for the first time, acknowledged to his spouse at supper, that he was somewhat choleric, but that hereafter he was resolved to practise himself what he had preached to others. ‘ But now, my jewel,’ says he, ‘ let ‘ us refresh ourselves with a sip of the best. ‘ Remember the favourite barrel, may not ‘ this be a proper time to give it vent?’ The obedient wife, ravished with his good humour, flew to the cellar. But, alas, the barrel was staved, and quite empty. What should she do ? There was no hiding. “ My dear,” said she, “ with despair in her

1“ eyes, what a sad accident has happened!” ‘ 1 am sorry,’ replied the parson, gravely.


‘ if any one has met with a misfortune ; for ‘ my part, if it relate to me, I am resolved | ‘ to bear it with Christian patience.’ But where is the beer all this while ? “ A- “ lack-a-day, that is the very thing. How] “ it has happened, I cannot understand, buti “ it is all swimming on the ground.’’ What' do pious resolutions avail, when the hour ofj temptation comes ? The parson fell into ai violent passion, raved, exclaimed. “ My] “ life,’’ says she, “ do but reflect upon your “ sermon, think of the patience of Job.” ‘ Job,’ said he, ‘ don’t talk to me of Job’s, * patience 5 Job never had a barrel of such; ‘ beer.’

The celebrated Dr Pitcairne lived some: years in Holland, but seems to have enter tained no very favourable sentiments of tha industrious people, as appears by the follow ing extemporary lines on Ids taking farewel of the country : .

Amphibious wretches, sudden be your fall; May man undawn you, and G—-d d n you ail1

The clergyman of a village a few-mile south of Edinburgh, (which is almost e

and Bon Mots. 123

tirely inhabited by coalliers) being one day engaged in examining his parishioners on the principles of the Christian religion, and finding them extremely defective in their knowledge of those divine truths, fel^ it his duty to display, in pretty strong terms, the punishment that awaited the wicked in a future world ; observing that they ‘ would be * cast into a place of utter darkness, where * there would be weeping, and wailing, and ‘ gnashing of teeth !’ ‘ Let them gnash that ‘ have teeth,’ cries an old woman from a corner of the church, ‘ for my part I have ‘ had nane these thirty years.’

A clergyman, in a northern county of Scotland, being engaged in the same duty as the above mentioned, discovering a very old man amongst his audience, grossly ignorant; of the most simple truths of Christianity, enquired if he knew the name of his Maker ? John scratched his head, and at last answered, ‘ It was my father.’ The clergyman, turning to a child a few years old, said, ‘ Pray, my dear, who made you ?’ The child readily answered, ‘God Almighty.’ The parson addressing the hoary clown, re»

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marked, how criminal it was m a man of his advanced age, to be ignorant of his Al- jnighty Creator. Preserver, and Benefactor, when even an infant could so readily answer the question. ‘ De’il thank him,’ said the old fellow, ‘ he was last made.'1

Donald M‘Gr.egor, a notorious sheep- stealer (alias sheep-lifter) in the north High- lands, being at last overtaken by the grim tyrant of the human race, was visited by the minister of the parish, whose appearance, however, was by no means pleasant to Do- nald. The holy man warmly exhorted the dying Highlander to reflect upon the long and black catalogue of his sins Defore it was too late, otherwise he would have a tremen- dous account to give at the great day of re- tribution, when all the crimes he had committed in this world would appear in dreadful array, as evidence of his guilt. ‘ Och ! ♦ Sir,’ cries the dying man, ‘ and will a’ the ‘ sheeps, and the cows, and ilka thing Do- 4 nald has helped hersell to, be there ?’ 4 Undoubtedly,’ replied the parson. 4 Then f let ilka shentleman tak’ her nain again,

and Bon Mots. 12$

‘ and Donald will be an honest man !’ cried the Highlander,—and expired.

An Irishman, on board a man of war, was desired by his messmate to go down and fetch a can of small bear: Teague, knowing that preparations were making to sail, absolutely refused. ‘ Arrah, my shoul,’ says he, ‘ and so when I am gone into the cel- ‘ lar to fetch beer, the ship will sail away ‘ and leave me behind.’

Young Squire Booby, just come from his first term at the university, was willing to give his parents a specimen of his improvement there. ‘ Father,’ says he, ‘ 1 can chop ‘ logic.’ ‘ Ay,’ says his father, ‘ how is that, * Tom ?’ ‘ Why,’ says Tom, ‘ here dye see, * father, are a couple of fowls at table, I can ‘ prove they are three fowls.’ ‘ How’s that ?’ quoth the father. ‘ Why, there’s one,’ says Tom, ‘ and there’s two,’ pointing to one dish, ‘ and one and two make three, father.5

‘ Well done,’ says the father, turning to his wife, ‘ Tom’s a conjuror $ you take one fowl, * and I’ll eat the other, and let Tom have ‘ the third for his logic.’

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J 26 Historical Anecdotes,

King James I. mounting a horse that was unruly, cried, ‘ The deel tak my saul, sirrah, ‘ an ye be na quiet, I’ll send ye to the five ;

* hundred kings in the House o’ Commons. ' They’ll soon tame ye.’

Such is the force of female curiosity, that j Lady Wallace, who is never at a loss for an • answer, one day affected to be wanting on that point; ‘ Pray, sir, (said her ladyship ‘ to a country gentleman), I am often asked ‘ what age I am $ what answer should I ‘ make ?’ The gentleman immediately guess- ing her ladyship’s meaning ; said, ‘‘ Madam, “ when you are asked that question again, “ answer that you are not yet come to years

of discretion.”

‘ Wherefore have you painted Lewis XI. as a tyrant t’ asked Lewis XIV. at Me- zerai.—‘ Wherefore was he one ?’ answered . the intrepid historian.

A provost of St Andrew's, who kept the public house where the presbytery dined, both before and after the Revolution, being asked what was the difference between the

and Bon Mots. 1^7

one and the other, answered, there was not much. In the time of episcopacy, the deaa used to call boldly for a bottle of wine. Af- terwards, the moderator whispered the maid to fetch a magnum bonum.

One day Socrates, having for a long time endured his wife’s brawling, went out of his house, and sat down before the door, to rid himself of her impertinence. The woman, enraged to find all her scolding unable to disturb his tranquillity, flung the contents of a chamber-pot on his head. Those that happened to see it, laughed heartily at poor So- crates j but that philosopher told them, smiling, ‘ I thought, indeed, after so much thun- ‘ der we should have rain.’

Louis XIV. was told that Lord Stair was one of the best bred men in Europe. ‘ I ‘ shall soon put that to the test,’ said the King ; and, asking Lord Stair to take an airing with him, as soon as the door was o- pened, he bade him pass and go in. The o- ther bowed, and obeyed. The King said, ‘ The world is in the right in the character


‘ it gives. Another person would have ‘ troubled me with ceremony.’

Zeuxis entered into a contest of art with I Parrhasius. The former painted grapes so - truly, that birds came and pecked at them, i The latter delineated a curtain so exactly, that Zeuxis,* coming in, said, ‘ Take away ‘ the curtain that we may see this piece.’ And finding his error, said, ‘ Parrhasins, 4 thou hast conquered ; I only deceived birds, i ‘ thou an artist.’

Zeuxis painted a boy carrying grapes ; the ' birds came again and pecked. Some ap- plauding, Zeuxis flew to the picture in a pas- ; sion, saying, ‘ My boy must be very III 4 painted.’

Anacharsis, the Sythian sage, being ask- , ed, ‘ In what respect learned men differed ‘ from unlearned r” answered, “ As the liv- “ lag from the dead.”

Zeno thus addressed a garrulous youth— i e Nature gave us two ears, and one mouth $ i ‘ that we might hear much, and talk little,’ .

'

and Bon Mots. 129

CONCLUSION.

We cannot better conclude this Medley of teria mixta jocis, than by the following beautiful Allegory, (said to have been written by the celebrated Ben- jamin Franklin)—descriptive of the happiness of beings removed beyond the reach of misery and vice,—whose celestial endowments and ineffable happiness are delineated in colours so glowing,—so irresistibly attractive, as cannot fail to give delight to every mind susceptible of virtuous impressions, The picture is alas, ideal! may it, how. ever, kindle in the youthful breast the generous glow of imitation

******** In a dream I thought myself in a solitary

temple. I saw a kind of phantom coming towards me, but as he drew near, his form expanded and became more than human ; his robe hung majestically down to his feet j six wings whiter than snow, whose extremities were edged gold, covered a part of his body : then I saw him quit his material substance, which he had put on not to terrify me ; his body was of all the colours in the rainbow. He took me by the hair, and I was sensible

i^o Historical Anecdotes,

I was travelling in the setherial plains without any dread, with the rapidity of an arrow j sent from a bow drawn by a supple and ner- vous arm.

A thousand glowing; orbs rolled benfestb me : but I could only cast a rapid glance on j all those globes distinguished by the striking colours with which they were diversified.

I now suddenly perceived so beautiful, so j flourishing, so fertile a country, that I con-

^ceived a strong desire to alight upon it. My wishes were instantly gratified j I felt myself gently landed on its surface, where I was surrounded by a balmy atmosphere. I found myself reposed at the dawn, on the soft ver- dant grass. I stretched out my arms, in to. ken of gratitude, to my celestial guide, who pointed to a resplendent sun, towards which swiftly rising, he disappeared in the luminous j body.

I rose, and imagined myself to be trans- ported into the garden of Eden. Every thing inspired my soul with soft tranquillity. The most profound peace covered this new globe ; nature was ravishing and incorrup- tible here, and a delicious freshness expanded my sense to extacy j a sweet odour so-

firu] Boa Moir. HI

companied the air I breathed j my heart, which beat with an unusual power, was im- mersed in a sea of rapture j while pleasure, like a pure and immortal light, penetrated the inmost recesses of my soul.

The inhabitants of this happy country came to meet me 5 and after saluting me they took me by the hand. Their noble countenances inspired confidence and respect; innocence and happiness were depicted in their looks j they often lifted their eyes to- wardi Heaven, and as often uttered a name which I afterwards knew to be that of the Eternal, while their cheeks were moistened with the tears of gratitude.

I experienced great emotion while I conversed with these sublime beings. They poured out their hearts with the most sincere tenderness; and the voice of reason, most majestic, and no less melting, was, at the same time, conveyed to ifey enraptured ear.

I soon perceived this abode was totally different from that which I had left. A divine impulse made me fly into their arms; —I bowed my knees to them ; but being raised up in the most endearing manners, I

T 3 X Hi§torica! Anecdotes.

was pressed to the bosoms that enclosed such excellent hearts, and I conceived a presenti- ment of celestial amity, of that amity which united their souls, and formed the greatest portion of their felicity.

The Angel of darkness, with all his artifice, was never able to discover the entrance into this world !—Notwithstanding hisover- w’atchful malice, he never found out the means to spread his poison over this happy globe. Anger, envy, and pride, were there unknown ; the happiness of one appeared the happiness of all! an extatic transport incessantly elevating their souls at the sight of the magnificent and bountiful Hand that collected over their heads the most astonishing prodigies of the creation.

The lovely morning, with her humid saf- fron wings, distilled the pearly dew from the shrubs and flowers, and the rays of the rising sun multiplied the most enchanting colours, when I perceived a wood embellished by the opening dawn.

The youth of both sexes there sent forth hymns of adoration towards Heaven, and were filled at the same time with the gran- deur and majesty of God, which rolled al-

and Bon Mots. M3

most visibly over their headsj for in this world of innocence, he vouchsafed to mani- fest hirnself by means unknown to our weak understandings.

All things announced his august presence, the serenity of the air, the dies of the flowers, the brilliancy of the insects, a kind of universal sensibility spread over all beings, and which vivified bodies that seemed the least susceptible of it, every thing bore the appearance of sentiment; and the birds stopped in the midst of their flight, as if attentive to the affecting modulations of their voices.

But no pencil can express the ravishing countenance of the young beauties whose bosoms breathed love. Who can describe that love of which we have not any idea, that love for which we have no name, that love, the lot of pure intelligent beings:—Di- vine love, which they only can conceive and feel ? The tongue of man, incapable, must be silent!—The remembrance of this enchanting place suspends at this moment all the faculties of my soul.

The sun was rising—the pencil falls from ray hand.—Oh, Thomson, never did your

M

*34 Historical Anecdotes,

Muse view such a sun !—What a world, and what magnificent order! I trod, with regret, on the fiowery plants, endued, like that which we call sensitive, with a quick and lively feeling ; they bent under my foot, only to rise with more brilliancy : the fruit gently dropped, on the first touch, from the complying branch, and had scarcely gratified the palate when the delicious sensation of its juices were felt glowing in every vein : the eye, more piercing, sparkling with uncommon lustre ; the ear was more lively ; the heart, which expanded itself all over nature, seemed to possess and enjoy its fertile extent ; the universal enjoyment did not disturb any individual; for union multiplied their delights, and they esteemed themselves less happy in their own fruition than in the happiness of others.

This sun did not resemble the comparative paleness and weakness which illuminates our gloomy, terrestrial prison ; yet the eye could bear to gaze on it, and, in a manner, plunge itself in a kind of ecstacy in its mild and pure light: it enlivened at once the sight and the understanding, and even penetrated the souk The bodies of those fortunate persons be-

and Bon Mots. IM

came, as it were, transparent j while each read in his brother’s heart the sentiments of affability and tenderness with which himself was affected.

There darted from the leaves of all the shrubs that the planet enlightened, a luminous matter, which resembled, at a distance, all the colours of a rainbow ; its orb, which was never eclipsed, was crowned with sparkling rays that the daring prism of Newton could not divide.——When this planet set, six brilliant moons floated on the atmos-

-re j their progression, in different orbits, xh night formed a new exhibition. The

multitude of stars, which seem to us as if scattered by chance, were here seen in their true point of view, and the order of the universe appeared in all its pomp and splendour.

In this happy country, when a man gave way to sleep, his body, which had none of the properties of terrestrial element, gave no opposition to the soul, but contemplated in a vision, bordering on reality, the lucid religion, the throne of the Eternal, to which it was soon to be elevated. Men awaked from a light slumber without perturbation

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Historical Anecdotes, iii or uneasiness; enjoying futurity by a forci- ble sentiment of immortality, being intoxi- cated with the image of an approaching felicity, exceeding that which they already enjoyed.

Grief, the fatal result of the imperfect sensibility of our rude frames! was unknown to these innocent men; a light sensation warned them of the objects that could hurt them; and nature removed them from the danger, as a tender mother would gently draw her child by the hand from a pitfall.

I breathed more freely in this habitation of joy and concord; my existence became most valuable to me : but, in proportion as the charms which surrounded me were lively, the greater was my sorrow when my ideas returned to the globe I had quitted. All the calamities of the human race united as in one point to overwhelm my heart, and I exclaimed piteously—‘ Alas! the world I in- ‘ habited, formerly resembled yours ; but ‘ peace, innocence, chaste pleasures soon va- ‘ nished.—Why was I ever born among you ^ 8 What a contrast! The earth that was my ‘ sorrowful abode is incessantly filled with * tears and sighs; there the smaller number

and Bon Alois. 137

‘ oppress the greater j the daemon of proper- ‘ ty infects what he touches, and what he ‘ covets. Gold is there a god, and they sa- ‘ crifice on his altar, love, humanity, and the ‘ most valuable virtues.

‘ Shudder you that hear me ! The great- ‘ est enemy that man has is man ■, his chiefs ‘ are his tyrants ; they make all things bend ‘ under the yoke of their pride or their ca« ‘ price j the chains of oppression are in a * manner extended from pole to pole : a ‘ monster who assumes the mask of glory, ‘ makes lawful whatever is most horrible, ‘ violence, and murder. Since the fatal in- ' vention of an inflammable powder, no mor- ‘ tal can say, To-morrow I shall repose in ‘ peace •,—to-morrow the arm of despotism ‘ will not crush my head;—to-morrow dread- ‘ ful sorrow wflll not grind my bones ;—to- ‘ morrow the wailings of an useless despair, ‘ proceeding from a distressed heart, will not ‘ escape my lips, and tyranny bury me alive ‘ as in a stone coffin!

‘ Oh my brethren! weep, weep over us ! ‘ We are not only surrounded with chains ‘ and executioners, but are moreover depen-

dent on the seasons, the elements, and the

Historical Anecdotes, -Ji ‘ meanest insects; All nature rebels against ‘ us 5 and even if we subdue her, she makes * us pay dearly for the benefits our labour ‘ forces from her. The bread we eat is earn- ‘ ed by our tears and the sweat of our browj ‘ then greedy men come and plunder us, to * squander it on their idle favourites.

‘ Weep, weep with me my brethren ! Ha- ‘ tred pursues us j revenge sharpens its poin- ‘ ard in the dark ; calumny brands us, and ‘ even deprives us of the power of making ‘ our defence ; the object of friendship be- ‘ trays our confidence, and forces us to curse ‘ this otherwise consolitary sentiment. We ‘ must live in the midst of all the strokes of * wickedness, error, pride, and folly.’

Whilst my heart gave a free course to my complaints, I saw a band of shining seraphs descending from Heaven ; on which shouts of joy were immediately sent forth from the whole race of these fortunate beings. As I gazed with astonishment. I was accosted by an old man, who said, ‘ Farewell, my friend! 4 the moment of our death draws near ; or * rather, that of a new life. The ministers * of the God of clemency are come to take 4 us from this earth •, we are going to dwell

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4 in a world of still greater perfection.’ ‘ Why, father,’ said I, ‘ are you, then, strnn- ‘ gers to the agonies of death, the anguish, * the pain, the dread, which accompany us ‘ in our last moments V

‘ Yes, my child,’ he replied, ‘ these an- ‘ gels of the Highest come at stated periods, * and carry us all away, opening to us the ‘ road to a new world, of which we have an ‘ idea by the undoubted conviction of the ‘ unlimited bounty and magnificence of tbs ‘ Creator.’

A cheerful glow' was immediately spread over their countenances ; their brows already seemed crowned with immortal splendour; they sprang lightly from the earth in my sight; I pressed the sacred hand of each for the last time, while with a smile they neld out the other to the seraph, who had spread his wings to carry them to heaven.

They ascended all at once, like a flock of beautiful swans, that taking flight raise themselves with majestic rapidity over the tops of our highest palaces. 1 gazed with sadness ; my eye followed them in the air, until tbeit venerable heads were lost in the s:l. er cloud*,

* '

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140 Historical Anecdotes, fee.

and I remained alone on this magnificent de-j sert land.

I perceived I was not yet fitted to dwell in it, and wished to return to this unfortu: nate world of expiation : thus the animal escaped from his keeper returns, following the track of his chain, with a mild aspect, and enters his prison. Awaking, the illul sion was dispelled, which is beyond the pow. er of my weak tongue or pen to describe ir its full splendour : but this illusion I shall for ever cherish j and, supported by the foun dation of hope, I will preserve it until death into the inmost recesses of my soul.

1 THE END.

J. MoiR^Printer, Paterson’s Court, Edinburgli.

I

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