THE NEWGATE CALENDER 1741-1799

Vol 2 1751-1767

1824

Contents

1751

1: Richard Butler; 2: William Parsons, Esq.; 3: John Caulfield; 4: Thomas Colley; 5: Thomas Quin, Joseph Dowdell, and Thomas Talbot; 6: William Dellicot; 7: The Quibbling Thief; 8: William Chandler; 9: James Welch and Thomas Jones; 10: Mathias Keys; 11: William Baker

1752

12: William Stroud; 13: Elizabeth Jeffries and John Swan; 14: Mary Blandy; 15: John Cather, Patrick Kane, and Daniel Alexander; 16: Anthony De Rosa; 17: Nicholas Mooney and John Jones; 18: John M'Cannelly And Luke Morgan; 19: Thomas Wilford; 20: Moses Moravia and John Manoury; 21: Ann Whale and Sarah Pledge; 22: William Montgomery; 23: Captain Peter De la Fontaine

1753

24: Ann Williams; 25: Dr. A. Cameron; 26: Christopher Johnson and John Stockdale; 27: William Smith; 28: Mary Squires and Elizabeth Canning; 29: John Hambleton

1754

30: Nichol Brown; 31: Captain John Lancey; 32: Davis, The Mail-Robber; 33: Paul Tierney

1755

34: Robert Alsop, a Midshipman, and Six Seamen; 35: Henry Samuel; 36: John Grierson

1756

37:  Eli Gonzalez Alias John Symmonds Alias Spanish Jack; 38: Charles Frederick Wysenthall; 39: Lieutenant John Lander; 40: William Cannicott; 41: John Berry, Stephen M'daniel, James Egan, James Salmon And ― Blee; 42: Joshua Kidden; 43: Christopher Woodland

1757

44: Admiral Byng; 45: Edward Morgan; 46: John Young; 47: William Adams; 48: Richard Hughes;

1758

49: William Page; 50: James White and Walter White

1759

50: Mary Edmondson; 51: Doctor Florence Hensey; 52: Joseph Halsey; 53: John Stevenson; 54: Eugene Aram; 55: John Ayliffe, Esq.; 56: William Andrew Horne, Esq.; 57: The Reverend Mr Wheatley

1760

58: Mungo Campbell; 59: Robert Tilling; 60: Laurence, Earl Ferrers; 61: Francis David Stirn; 62: Patrick M'Carty

1761

63: Theodore Gardelle; 64: Thomas Andrews; 65: Thomas Daniels; 66: Peter Pattison; 67: John Perrott; 68: Robert Greenstreet; 69: John M'Naughton, Esq.;

1762

70: Captain James Lowry; 71: John Plackett; 72: Peter Annet; 73: James Farr, William Sparry and William Biddle

1763

74: Daniel Blake; 75: William Harrow; 76: Ann Beddingfield and Richard Ringe; 77: John Rice; 78: Paul Lewis; 79: Hannah Dagoe

1764

80: Thomas Watkins; 81: William Corbett; 82: Major Colin Campbell

1765

83: John Wesket and John Cooper; 84: Barney Carrol and William King; 85: Patrick Ogilvie and Catharine Nairn;  86: Peter M'kinlie, George Gidley, Andrew Zekerman, and Richard St. Quintin

1766

87: William Whittle; 88: John Crouch and Wife

1767

89: The Countess of Bristol, otherwise the Duchess of Kingston

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1751

1: Richard Butler

Executed at Tyburn, February 10, 1751, for forgery.

HOW GREAT the disappointment, and how melancholy the reflection, when men who have passed the probation of truth with credit, sink into idleness and gaming, from thence to thieving, and ending a life well begun, at the gallows!

Of this description of miserable beings was Richard. Butler. He was born at Turlus [Thurles― transcriber], in the county of Tipperary, Ireland. His father was a reputable farmer, who bound him apprentice to a baker, in Waterford. He proved so faithful and diligent a servant, that he was held in universal esteem; and, upon the expiration of his apprenticeship, his father gave him a hundred pounds, for the purpose of establishing him in business.

The above sum enabled him to open a shop in Waterford, where he had a favourable prospect of success: but, instead of attending to his business, he frequented horse-races, cock-fighting, and other gaming meetings, and engaged in a variety of expenses greatly beyond what his income could afford; the consequence of which was, that in about six months his affairs were in a most embarrassed situation.

Being unable to continue his business, he returned to Turlus, where he formed a great number of infamous stratagems for extorting money from his relations; and they threatened, that unless he quitted that part of the country, they would cause him to be apprehended, and proceed against him with the utmost rigour of the law.

Butler applied to a clergyman at Turlus, representing his case in a plausible manner, and supplicating that he would use his interest with his father to prevail upon him to grant twenty pounds in addition to his former favours. The worthy divine pleaded in behalf of the young man, and with the desired success. Upon delivering the money, the reverend gentleman exhorted him to apply it to proper use; which he promised to do, adding that he would immediately depart for Cork, and not return to the place of his nativity till, by an unremitting perseverance in a system of integrity, he had made atonement for all the errors of his past conduct.

On his arrival at Cork, he procured employment as a journeyman; and in that capacity he was so industrious and strictly economical, that in a short time he made such addition to his stock, that he was able to open a shop on his own account. He was much encouraged, and his circumstances were supposed to be more flourishing than they were in reality.

Coming into possession of a handsome sum of money, by marrying the widow of a customhouse officer, who lived in the neighbourhood, Butler took a tavern of considerable business, where his circumstances would have been much improved, but for his connexions with maritime people, to whom he gave unlimited credit, and was under the necessity of taking smuggled goods in payment or losing his money.

An information being lodged against him for having smuggled goods in his possession, his effects were seized for the use of the crown, and he was under the necessity of quitting Ireland. Butler and his wife took shipping for Plymouth, and in that town they hired a house, which t hey let in lodgings to seafaring people. In about three years he was obliged to quit Plymouth, and repaired to the metropolis in a most distressed condition.

He had not been long in London, before the grief consequent on the various scenes of distress he had passed through, produced the death of his wife.

Butler now being in very distressed circumstances, he communicated his case to some of his countrymen; and he yielded to their persuasions for acquiring a livelihood by forging seamen's wills.

Butler, Horne, and a woman named Catherine Gannon, went to the Navy-office: to inquire what wages were due to Thomas Williamson, a foremast man belonging to the Namur, and learnt that the sum was about eight and thirty pounds. They then made application to a proctor, the woman producing a forged will, and declaring herself to be the widow of Williamson. They were desired to call the next day, when a probate would be granted.

Butler and his female accomplice attended according to the appointment; but the proctor having, in the mean time searched the offices, found that the will in question was opposed by four caveats; and having further reason to suspect an intended fraud, he caused them to be apprehended. Being taken before the lord-mayor, Gannon acknowledged that she had received a few shillings from Butler and Horne, who had promised to make the sum up to five pounds; on condition of her swearing herself to be the widow of Thomas Williamson. Butler was committed to Newgate; and Gannon and Horne were admitted evidences for the crown.

At the ensuing sessions at the Old. Bailey, Butler was tried, and sentenced to die. While under sentence of death he regularly attended prayers, in the chapel and employed a great part of his time in private devotions, agreeably to the doctrines of the protestant faith. At the place of execution he prayed with great fervency of zeal, acknowledged the justice of his sentence, and after addressing the populace, was turned off.

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2: William Parsons, Esq.

Eldest Son of a Baronet, who became a Swindler and Highway Robber, and was executed for returning from Transportation, 11th of February, 1751

THE UNHAPPY subject of this narrative was born in London, in the year 1717, the eldest son and heir to Sir William Parsons, Bart. of the county of Nottingham. He was placed under the care of a pious and learned divine at Pepper-Harrow, in Surrey, where he received the first rudiments of education. In a little more than three years, he was removed to Eton college, where it was intended that he should qualify himself for one of the universities.

While he was a scholar at Eton, he was detected in stealing a volume of Pope's Homer in the shop of a bookseller named Pate. Being charged with the fact, he confessed that he had stolen many other books at different times. The case being represented to the master, Parsons underwent very severe discipline.

Though he remained at Eton nine years, his progress in learning was very inconsiderable. The youth was of so unpromising a disposition, that Sir William determined to send him to sea, as the most probable means to prevent his destruction, and soon procured him the appointment of midshipman on board a man of war, then lying at Spithead, under sailing orders for Jamaica, there to be stationed for three years.

Some accident detained the ship beyond the time when it was expected she would sail. Parsons applied for leave of absence, and went on shore; but having no intention to return, he immediately directed his course towards a small town about ten miles from Portsmouth, called Bishop's Waltham, where he soon ingratiated himself into the favour of the principal inhabitants.

His figure being pleasing, and his manner of address easy and polite, he found but little difficulty in recommending himself to the ladies.

He became greatly enamoured of a beautiful and accomplished young lady, the daughter of a physician of considerable practice, and prevailed upon her to promise she would yield her hand in marriage.

News of the intended marriage coming to the knowledge of his father sir William, and his uncle, the latter hastened to Waltham to prevent a union which he apprehended would inevitably produce the ruin of the contracting parties.

With much difficulty the uncle prevailed upon Parsons to return to the ship, which in a few days afterwards proceeded on her voyage.

The ship had not been long arrived at the place of destination, when Parsons resolved to desert, and return to England, and soon found an opportunity of shipping himself on board the Sheerness man of war, then preparing to sail on her return home.

Immediately after his arrival in England, he set out for Waltham, in order to visit the object of his desires; but his uncle being apprised of his motions, repaired to the same place, and represented his character in so unfavourable, but at the same time in so just a manner, that he prevented the renewal of his addresses to the physician's daughter.

He went home with his uncle, who observed his conduct with a most scrupulous attention, and confined him, as much as possible, within doors. This generous relation at length exerted his interest to get the youth appointed midshipman on board his majesty's ship the Romney, which was under orders for the Newfoundland station.

Upon his return from Newfoundland, Parsons learnt, with infinite mortification, that the duchess of Northumberland, to whom he was related, had revoked a will made in his favour, and  bequeathed to his sister a very considerable legacy, which he had expected to enjoy. He was repulsed by his friends and acquaintance, who would not in the least countenance his visits at their houses; and his circumstances now became exceedingly distressed.

Thus situated he applied to a gentleman named Bailey, with whom he had formerly lived on terms of intimacy; and his humanity induced him to invite Parsons to reside in his house, and to furnish him with the means of supporting the character of a gentleman. Mr Bailey also was indefatigable in his endeavours to effect a reconciliation between young Parsons and his father, in which he at length succeeded.

Sir William having prevailed upon his son to go abroad again, and procured him an appointment under the governor of James Fort, on the river Gambia, he embarked on board a vessel in the service of the Royal African company.

Parsons had resided at James Fort about six months, when a disagreement took place between him and governor Aufleur; in consequence of which the former signified a resolution of returning to England. Hereupon the governor informed him that he was commissioned to engage him as an indented ser vant for five years. Parsons warmly expostulated with the governor, declaring that his behaviour was neither that of a man of probity or a gentleman, and requested permission to return. But so far from complying, the governor issued orders to the sentinels to be particularly careful lest he should effect an escape.

Notwithstanding every precaution, Parsons found means to get on board a homeward-bound vessel, and being followed by Mr Aufleur, he was commanded to return, but cocking a pistol, and presenting it to the governor, he declared he would fire upon any man who should presume to molest him. Here upon the governor departed, and in a short time the ship sailed for England.

Soon after his arrival in his native country, he received an invitation to visit an uncle who lived at Epsom, which he gladly accepted, and experienced a most cordial and friendly reception.

He resided with his uncle about three months, and was treated with all imaginable kindness and respect. At length one of the female servants in the family swore herself to be pregnant by him, which so incensed the old gentleman, that he dismissed Parsons from his house.

Reduced to the most deplorable state of poverty, he directed his course towards the metropolis; and three half-pence being his whole stock of money, he subsisted four days upon the bread purchased with that small sum, quenching his thirst at the pumps he casually met with in the streets. He lay four nights in a hay-loft in Chancery-lane, belonging to the master of the rolls, by permission of the coachman, who pitied his truly deplorable case.

At length he determined to apply for redress to an ancient gentlewoman with whom he had been acquainted in his more youthful days, when she was in the capacity of companion to the duchess of Northumberland. Weak and emaciated through want of food, his appearance was rendered still more miserable by the uncleanliness and disorder of his apparel; and when he appeared before the old lady, she tenderly compassionated his unfortunate situation, and recommended him to a decent family in Cambridge Street, with whom be resided some time in a very comfortable manner, the old gentlewoman defraying the charge of his lodging and board; and a humane gentleman, to whom she had communicated his case, supplying him with money for common expenses.

Sir William came to town at the beginning of the winter, and received an unexpected visit from his son, who dropped upon his knees, and supplicated forgiveness with the utmost humility and respect. His mother-in-law was greatly enraged at his appearance, and upbraided her husband with being foolishly indulgent to so graceless a youth, at the same time declaring, that she would not live in the house where he was permitted to enter.

Sir William asked him what mode of life he meant to adopt? and his answer was, that he was unable to determine; but would cheerfully pursue such measures as so indulgent a parent should think proper to recommend. The old gentleman then advised him to enter as a private man in the horse-guards; which he approved of, saying, he would immediately offer himself as a volunteer.

Upon mentioning his intention to the adjutant, he was in formed that he must pay seventy guineas for his admission into the corps. This news proved exceedingly afflicting, as he had but little hope that his father would advance the necessary sum. Upon returning to his father's lodgings, he learnt that he had set out for the country, and left him a present of only five shillings.

Driven now nearly to a state of distraction, he formed the desperate resolution of putting an end to his life, and repaired to St. James's Park, intending to throw himself into Rosamond's pond. While he stood on the brink of the water, waiting for an opportunity of carrying his impious design into effect, it occurred to him, that a letter he had received, mentioning the death of an aunt, and that she had bequeathed a legacy to his brother, might be made use of to his own advantage; and he immediately declined the thoughts of destroying himself.

He produced the letter to several persons, assuring them that the writer had been misinformed respecting the legacy, which in reality was left to himself; and under the pretext of being entitled to it, he obtained money and effects from different people to a considerable amount. Among those who were deceived by this stratagem was a tailor in Devereux court in the Strand, who gave him credit for several genteel suits of clothes.

The money and other articles thus fraudulently obtained, enabled him to engage in scenes of gaiety and dissipation; and he seemed to entertain no idea that his happiness would be but of short duration.

Accidentally meeting the brother of the young lady to whom he had made professions of love at Waltham, he intended to renew his acquaintance with him, and his addresses to his sister; but the young gentleman informed Parsons that his sister died suddenly a short time after his departure from Waltham.

Parsons endeavoured, as much as possible, to cultivate the friendship of the above young gentleman, and represented his case in so plausible a manner, as to obtain money from him, at different times, to a considerable amount.

Parsons' creditors now became exceedingly importunate, and he thought there was no probability of relieving himself from his difficulties, but by connecting himself in marriage with a woman of fortune.

Being eminently qualified in those accomplishments which are known to have a great influence over the female world, Parsons soon ingratiated himself into the esteem of a young lady possessed of a handsome independency bequeathed her by her lately deceased father. He informed his creditors that he had a prospect of an advantageous marriage; and as they were satisfied that the lady had a good fortune, they supplied him with every thing necessary for prosecuting the amour, being persuaded that, if the expected union took place, they should have no difficulty in recovering theirS respective demands.

The marriage was solemnized on the 10th of February, 1740, in the 23d year of his age. On this event, the uncle, who lived at Epsom, visited him in London, and gave him the strongest assurances that he would exert every possible endeavour to promote his interest and happiness, on condition that be would avoid such proceedings as would render him unworthy of friendship and protection. His relations in general were perfectly satisfied with the connexion he had made, and hoped that his irregular and volatile disposition would be corrected by the prudent conduct of his bride, who was justly esteemed a young lady of great sweetness of temper, virtue, and discretion.

A few weeks after his marriage, his uncle interceded in his behalf with the right honourable Arthur Onslow; and through the interest of that gentleman he was appointed an ensign in the thirty- fourth regiment of foot.

He now discharged all his debts, which proved highly satisfactory to all his relations; and this conduct was the means of his obtaining further credit in times of future distress.

He hired a very handsome house in Poland Street, where he resided two years, in which time he had two children, one of whom died very young. From Poland Street, he removed to Panton- square, and the utmost harmony substituted between him and his wife, who were much respected by their relations and acquaintances.

But it must be observed, that though his conduct in other respects had been irreproachable from the time of his marriage, be was guilty of unpardonable indiscretion as to his manner of living; for he kept three saddle-horses, a chaise and pair, several unnecessary servants, and engaged in many other superfluous expences that his income could not afford.

Unfortunately Parsons became acquainted with an infamous gambler, who seduced him to frequent gaming-houses, and to engage in play. He lost considerable sums, which were shared between the pretended friend of Parsons, and his wicked accomplices.

Parsons was now promoted to a lieutenancy in a regiment that was ordered into Flanders, and was accompanied to that country by the abandoned gamester, whom he considered as his most valuable friend. The money he lost in gaming, and the extravagant manner in which he lived, in a short time involved him in such difficulties that he was under the necessity of selling his commission, in order to discharge his debts contracted in Flanders. The commission being sold, Parsons and his treacherous companion returned to England.

His arrival was no sooner known, than his creditors were extremely urgent for the immediate discharge of their respective claims; which induced him to take a private lodging in Gough-square, where he passed under the denomination of captain Brown. He pretended to be an unmarried man; and saw his wife only when appointments were made to meet at a public-house. While he lodged in Gough-square, he seduced his landlord's daughter, who became pregnant by him; and her imprudence in yielding to the persuasions of Parsons, proved the means of involving her in extreme distress.

His creditors having discovered the place of his retreat, he deemed it prudent to remove; and at this juncture an opportunity offered by which he hoped to retrieve his fortune; and he therefore embarked as captain of marines on board the Dursley privateer.

Soon after the arrival of the ship at Deal, Parsons went on shore, provided with pistols, being determined not to submit to an arrest, which he supposed would be attempted. He had no sooner landed on the beach, than he was approached by five or six men, one of whom attempted to seize him; but Parsons, stepping aside, discharged one of the pistols, and lodged a ball in the man's thigh. He then said, he was well provided with weapons, and would fire upon them if they presumed to give him further molestation. Hereupon the officers retreated; and Parsons returned to the ship, which sailed from Deal the following morning.

They bad been in the channel about a week, when they made prize of a French privateer, which they carried into the port of Cork. Parsons being now afflicted with a disorder that prevailed among the French prisoners, was sent on shore for the recovery of his health. During his illness, the vessel sailed on another cruise, and he was no sooner in a condition to permit him to leave his apartment, than he became anxious to partake of the fashionable amusements.

In order to recruit his finances, which were nearly exhausted, he drew bills of exchange on three merchants in London, on which he raised £60; and before advice could be transmitted to Cork, that he had no effects in the hands of the persons on whom he had drawn the bills, he embarked on board a vessel bound for England.

He landed at Plymouth, where he resided some time under a military character, to support his claim to which he was provided with a counterfeit commission. He frequented all places of public resort, and particularly where gaming was permitted. His money being nearly expended, he obtained a hundred pounds from a merchant of Plymouth, by means of a false draft upon an alderman of London. Some time after the discovery of the fraud, the injured party saw Parsons a transport prisoner on board a ship bound to Virginia, lying in Catwater bay, where he assured him of an entire forgiveness, and made him a present of a guinea.

From Plymouth, Parsons repaired to London, and his money being nearly spent, he committed the following fraud, in conjunction with a woman of the town: taking his accomplice to a tavern in the Strand (where he was known), he represented her as an heiress, who had consented to a private marriage and requested the landlord to send immediately for a clergyman. The parson being arrived, and about to begin the ceremony, Parsons pretending to recollect that he had forgotten to provide a ring, and ordered the waiter to tell some shop-keeper to the neighbourhood to bring some plain gold rings. Upon this the clergyman begged to recommend a very worthy man, who kept a jeweller's shop in the neighbourhood: and Parsons said it was a matter of indifference with whom he laid out his money; adding, that as he wished to compliment his bride with some small present, the tradesman might also bring some diamond rings.

The rings being brought, and one of each chosen, Parsons produced a counterfeit draft, saying, the jeweller might either give him change then, or call for payment after the ceremony; on which the jeweller retired, saying, he would attend again in the afternoon. In a little time, the woman formed a pretence for leaving the room, and upon her not returning soon, our hero affected great impatience, and, without taking his hat, quitted the apartment, saying, he would enquire for the people of the house whether his bride had not been detained by some unforeseen accident.

After waiting a considerable time, the clergyman called the landlord; and as neither Parsons nor the woman could be found, it was rightly concluded, that their whole intention was to perpetrate a fraud. In the mean time, our hero and his accomplice met at an appointed place, and divided their booty.

In the year 1745, he counterfeited a draft upon one of the collectors of the excise, in the name of the duke of Cumberland, for five hundred pounds. He carried the draft to the collector, who paid him fifty pounds in part, being all the cash that remained in his hands.

He went to a tailor, saying, he meant to employ him, on the recommendation of a gentleman of the army, whom he had long supplied with clothes; adding, that a captain's commission was preparing for him at the war-office. The tailor furnished him with several suits of clothes; but not being paid according to agreement, he entertained some suspicion as to the responsibility of his new customer; and therefore enquired at the war-office respecting captain Brown, and learnt that a commission was making out for a gentleman of that name. Unable to get any part of the money due to him, and determined to be no longer trifled with, he instituted a suit at common-law, but was non-suited, having laid his action in the fictitious name of Brown, and it appearing that Parsons was the defendant's real name.

Parsons sent a porter from the Ram Inn, in Smithfield, with a counterfeit draft upon Sir Joseph Hankey and Co. for five hundred pounds. Parsons followed the man, imagining that if he came out of Sir Joseph's house alone, he would have received the money; and that if he was accompanied by any person, it would be a strong proof of the forgery being dis covered; and as he observed sir Joseph and the porter get into a hackney-coach, he resolved not to return to the inn.

He next went to a widow named Bottomley, who lived near St. George's church, and saying that he had contracted to supply the regiment to which he belonged with hats, gave her an order to the amount of a hundred and sixty pounds. He had no sooner got possession of the hats, than he sold them to a Jew for one half of the sum he had agreed to pay for them.

Being strongly apprehensive that he could not long avoid being arrested by some of his numerous and highly exasperated creditors, by means of counterfeit letters, he procured himself to be taken into custody, as a person disaffected to the king and government; and was supported without expense, in the house of one of the king's messengers, for the space of eighteen months.

Being released from the messenger's house, he resolved in his mind a variety of schemes for eluding the importunity of his creditors and at length determined to embark for Holland. He remained in Holland a few months, and when his money was nearly expended he returned to England. A few days after his arrival in London, he went to a masquerade, where he engaged in play to the hazard of every shilling he possessed, and was so fortunate as to obtain a sufficient sum for his maintenance for several months.

His circumstances being again distressed, he wrote in pressing terms to his brother-in-law, who was an East-India director, intreating that he would procure him a commission in the company's service, either by land or sea. The purport of the answer was, that a gentleman in the Temple was authorised to give the supplicant a guinea, but that it would be fruitless for him to expect any further favours.

Having written a counterfeit draft, he went to Ranelagh on a masquerade night, where he passed it to a gentleman who had won some small sums of him. The party who received the draft offered it for payment in a day or two afterwards, when it was proved to be a counterfeit; in consequence of which Parsons was apprehended, and committed to Wood Street compter.

As no prosecutor appeared, Parsons was necessarily acquitted; but a detainer being lodged, charging him with an offence similar to the above, he was removed to Maidstone gaol, in order for trial at the Lent assizes at Rochester.

Mr Carey, the keeper of the prison, treated Parsons with great humanity, allowing him to board in his family, and indulging him in every privilege that he could grant, without a manifest breach of the duties of his office. But such was the ingratitude of Parsons, that he formed a plan, which, had it taken effect, would have utterly ruined the man to whom he was indebted in such great obligations. His intention was, privately to take the keys from Mr Carey's apartment; and not only to escape himself, but even to give liberty to every prisoner in the gaol: and this scheme he communicated to a man accused of being a smuggler, who reported the matter to Mr Carey, desiring him to listen at an appointed hour at night, when he would hear a conversation that would prove his intelligence to be authentic. Mr Carey attended at the appointed time, and being convinced of the ingratitude and perfidy of Parsons, he abridged him of the indulgences he had before enjoyed, and caused him to be closely confined.

Being convicted at the assizes at Rochester, he was sentenced to transportation for seven years; and in the following September be was put on board the Thames, captain Dobbins, bound for Maryland, in company with upwards of one hundred and seventy other convicts, fifty of whom died in the voyage. In November, 1749, Parsons was landed at Annapolis, in Maryland; and having remained in a state of slavery about seven weeks, a gentleman of considerable property and in fluence, who was not wholly unacquainted with his family, compassionating his unfortunate situation, obtained his freedom, and received him at his house in a most kind and hospitable manner.

Parsons had not been in the gentleman's family many days before he rode off with a horse which was lent him by his benefactor, and proceeded towards Virginia; on the borders of which country he stopped a gentleman on horseback, and robbed him of five pistoles, a moidore, and ten dollars.

A few days after, he stopped a lady and gentleman in a chaise, attended by a negro servant, and robbed them of eleven guineas and some silver: after which he directed his course to the Potomack river, where finding a ship nearly ready to sail for England, he embarked, and after a passage of twenty-five days landed at Whitehaven.

He now produced a forged letter, in the name of one of his relations, to a capital merchant of Whitehaven, signifying that he was entitled to the family estate, in consequence of his father's decease, and prevailed upon him to discount a false draft upon a banker in London for seventy-five pounds.

Upon his arrival in the metropolis, he hired a handsome lodging at the west end of the town; but he almost constantly resided in houses of ill fame, where the money he had so un justly obtained was soon dissipated.

Having hired a horse, he rode to Hounslow-heath, where, between ten and eleven o'clock at night, he stopped a postchaise, in whicb were two gentlemen, whom he robbed of five guineas, some silver, and a watch.

A short time afterwards he stopped a gentleman near Turnham-green, about twelve o'clock at night, and robbed him of thirty shillings, and a gold ring. He requested that the ring might be returned, as it was his wife's wedding ring. Parsons compiled with the gentleman's request, and voluntarily returned the gentleman five shillings, telling him, at the same time, that nothing but the most pressing necessity could have urged him to the robbery: after which the gentleman shook hands with the robber, assuring him that, on account of the civility of his behaviour, he would not appear to prosecute, if he should hear of his being apprehended.

Returning to his lodgings near Hyde-park-corner one evening, he overtook a footman in Piccadilly, and joining company with him, a familiar conversation took place, in the course of which Parsons learnt that the other was to set out early on the following Sunday with a portmanteau, containing cash and notes to a considerable value, the property of his master, who was then at Windsor.

On the Sunday morning he rode towards Windsor, intending to rob the footman. Soon after he had passed Turnham-green, he overtook two gentlemen, one of whom was Mr Fuller, who had prosecuted him at Rochester, and who perfectly recollecting his person, warned him not to approach. He however paid no attention to what Mr Fuller said, but still continued sometimes behind and sometimes before them, though at a very inconsiderable distance.

Upon coming into the town of Hounslow, the gentlemen alighted, and commanded Parsons to surrender, adding that if he did not instantly comply, they would alarm the town. He now dismounted, and earnestly entreated that the gentlemen would permit him to speak to them in private which they consented to; and the parties being introduced to a room at an inn, Parsons surrendered his pistols, which were loaded and primed, and supplicated for mercy in the most pathetic terms.

In all probability he would have been permitted to escape,had not Mr Day, landlord of the Rose and Crown at Hounslow, come into the room, and advised that be might be detained as he conceived him very nearly to answer the description of a highwayman by whom the roads in that part of the country had been long infested. He was secured at the inn till the next day, and then examined by a magistrate, who committed him to Newgate.

Parsons was now arraigned for returning from transportation before the expiration of the term of his sentence: nothing therefore was necessary to convict him but the identifying of his person. This being done, he received sentence of death. His distressed father and wife used all their interest to obtain a pardon for him, but in vain: he was an old offender, and judged by no means a fit object for mercy.

While Parsons remained in Newgate, his behaviour was such that it could not be determined whether be entertained a proper idea of his dreadful situation. There is indeed but too much reason to fear that the hopes of a reprieve (in which he deceived himself even to the last moments of his life) induced him to neglect the necessary preparation for eternity.

His taking leave of his wife afforded a scene extremely affecting: he recommended to her parental protection his only child, and regretted that his misconduct had put it in the power of a censorious world to reflect upon both the mother and son.

He suffered at Tyburn, on the 11th of February, 1751. At the place of execution he joined in the devotional exercises with a zeal that proved him to be convinced of the necessity of obtaining the pardon of his creator.

In tracing the depraved and melancholy course of this ill-fated man, the humane reader cannot but be struck with the apparent hollow-heartedness and apathy of his father. It is, no doubt, difficult to tell the precise degree of provocation Sir William had received; but we see that young Parsons was befriended, long after his natural protector had abandoned him, by an uncle, and several other more distant connexions; and it should be recollected that, if the child owes affection and patient forbearance towards its parent, the latter is no less bound to exercise similar duties towards the being whom he has been instrumental in bringing into the world. Nothing but the most hopeless and resolute depravity (if even that) should extinguish a father's tenderness; and it certainly does not appear to us that the wretched subject of the preceding narrative had reached that point at the period of his utter desertion by the baronet. If, at their last recorded interview, instead of advising his penitent son to enter the horse-guards as a private (for which purpose, too, he left him altogether unprovided), Sir William Parsons had extended to him the feelings of real kindness and reconciliation, it is possible that his own name might have been saved from ignominy, and the youthful prodigal (who was then at an age, perhaps, the most susceptible of moral improvement) restored to his family, to himself, and to his God.

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3: John Caulfield

Murder foretold by a Dream, in consequence of which the Murderer was apprehended, convicted, and executed at Waterford in 1751

ONE Adam Rogers, a creditable man, who kept a public-house at Portlaw, a small village nine or ten miles from Waterford, in Ireland, dreamed one night that he saw two men at a particular green spot on an adjacent mountain; one of them a sickly-looking man, the other remarkably strong and large. He then fancied that he saw the little man murder the other, and he awoke in great agitation. The circumstances of the dream were so distinct and forcible that he continued much affected by them. He related them to his wife and also to several neighbours next morning.

After some time he went out coursing with greyhounds, accompanied, amongst others, by one Mr Browne, the Roman Catholic priest of the parish. He soon stopped at the above- mentioned particular green spot on the mountain, and, calling to Mr Browne, pointed it out to him, and told him what had appeared in his dream. During the remainder of the day he thought little more about it. Next morning he was extremely startled at seeing two strangers enter his house about eleven o'clock in the forenoon. He immediately ran into an inner room, and desired his wife to take particular notice, for they were precisely the two men whom he had seen in his dream.

When they had consulted with one another, their apprehensions were alarmed for the little weakly man, though contrary to the appearance in the dream. After the strangers had taken some refreshment and were about to depart, in order to prosecute their journey, Rogers earnestly endeavoured to dissuade the little man from quitting his house and going on with his fellow-traveller. He assured him that if he would remain with him that day he would accompany him to Carrick next morning, that being the town to which the travellers were proceeding. He was unwilling and ashamed to tell the cause of his being so solicitous to separate him from his companion. But as he observed that Hickey, which was the name of the little man, seemed to be quiet and  gentle in his deportment, and had money about him, and that the other had a ferocious bad countenance, the dream still recurred to him. He dreaded that something fatal would happen, and he wished, at all events, to keep them asunder. However, the humane precautions of Rogers proved ineffectual; for John Caulfield— the other's name— prevailed upon Hickey to continue with him on their way to Carrick, declaring that, as they had long travelled together, they should not part, but remain together until he should see Hickey safely arrive at the habitation of his friends. The wife of Rogers was much dissatisfied when she found they were gone, and blamed her husband exceedingly for not being absolutely peremptory in detaining Hickey.

About an hour after they left Portlaw, in a lonely part of the mountain, just near the place observed by Rogers in his dream, Caulfield took the opportunity of murdering his companion. It appeared afterwards, from his own account of the horrid transaction, that as they were getting over a ditch he struck Hickey on the back part of his head with a stone, and when he fell down into the trench, in consequence of the blow, Caulfield gave him several stabs with a knife, and cut his throat so deeply that the head was almost severed from the body. He then rifled Hickey's pockets of all the money in them, took part of his clothes, and everythingelse of value about him, and afterwards proceeded on his way to Carrick. He had not been long gone when the body, still warm, was discovered by some labourers who were returning to their work from dinner.

The report of the murder soon reached Portlaw. Rogers and his wife went to the place, and instantly knew the body of him whom they had in vain endeavoured to dissuade from going on with his treacherous companion. They at once spoke out their suspicions that the murder was perpetrated by the fellow-traveller of the deceased. An immediate search was made, and Caulfield was apprehended at Waterford the second day after. He was

brought to trial at the ensuing assizes and convicted of the fact. It appeared on the trial, amongst other circumstances, that when he arrived at Carrick he hired a horse and a boy to conduct him, not by the usual road, but by that which runs on the north side of the River Suir, to Waterford, intending to take his passage in the first ship from thence to Newfoundland. The boy took notice of some blood on his shirt, and Caulfield gave him half-a-crown to promise not to speak of it. Rogers proved not only that Hickey was seen last in company with Caulfield, but that a pair of new shoes which Hickey wore had been found on the feet of Caulfield when he was apprehended; and that a pair of old shoes which he had on at Rogers's house were upon Hickey's feet when the body was found. He described with great exactness every article of their clothes.

Caulfield, on cross-examination, shrewdly asked him from the dock whether it was not very extraordinary that he, who kept a public-house, should take such particular notice of the dress of a stranger accidentally calling there. Rogers, in his answer, said he had a very particular reason, but was ashamed to mention it. The Court and prisoner insisting on his declaring it, he gave a circumstantial narrative of his dream, called upon Mr Browne, the priest, who was then in the court, to corroborate his testimony, and said that his wife had severely reproached him for permitting Hickey to leave their house when he knew that in the short footway to Carrick they must necessarily pass by the green spot in the mountain which had appeared in his dream. A number of witnesses came forward; and the proofs were so strong that the jury, without hesitation, found the panel guilty. It was remarked as a singularity that he happened to be tried and sentenced by his namesake, Sir George Caulfield, at that time Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench, which office he resigned in the summer of the year 1760.

After sentence Caulfield confessed the fact. It came out that Hickey had been in the West Indies two-and-twenty years, but falling into a bad state of health he was returning to his native country, Ireland, bringing with him some money his industry had acquired. The vessel on board which he took his passage was, by stress of weather, driven into Minch Head. He there met with Frederick Caulfield, an Irish sailor, who was poor, and much distressed for clothes and common necessaries. Hickey, compassionating his poverty, and finding he was his countryman,

relieved his wants, and an intimacy commenced between them. They agreed to go to Ireland together. And it was remarked that on their passage Caulfield spoke contemptuously, and often said it was a pity such a puny fellow as Hickey should have money and he himself be without a shilling. They landed at Waterford, at which place they stayed some days, Caulfield being all the time supported by Hickey, who bought there some clothes for him.

Caulfield walked to the gallows with a firm step and undaunted countenance, being executed at Waterford in 1751.

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4: Thomas Colley

Executed 24th of April, 1751, for the Murder of People who were reputed to be possessed of Witchcraft

ON the 18th of April, 1751, a man named Nichols went to William Dell, the crier of Hemel Hempstead, in Hertfordshire, and delivered to him a piece of paper, with fourpence, to cry the words which were written on the paper, a copy of which is as follows:--

"This is to give notice that on Monday next a man and a woman are to be publicly ducked at Tring, in this county, for their wicked crimes."

This notice was given at Winslow and Leighton Buzzard, as well as at Hemel Hempstead, on the respective market-days, and was heard by Mr Barton, overseer of the parish of Tring, who, being informed that the persons intended to be ducked were John Osborne and Ruth, his wife, and having no doubt of the good character of both the parties, sent them to the workhouse as a protection from the rage of the mob.

On the day appointed for the practice of the infernal ceremony an immense number of people, supposed to be not fewer than five thousand, assembled near the workhouse at Tring, vowing revenge against Osborne and his wife, as a wizard and witch, and demanding that they should be delivered up to their fury: they likewise pulled down a wall belonging to the workhouse, and broke the windows and their frames.

On the preceding evening the master of the workhouse, suspecting some violence, from what he had heard of the disposition of the people, sent Osborne and his wife to the vestry- room belonging to the church, as a place the most likely to secure them from insult.

The mob would not give credit to the master of the workhouse that the parties were removed, but rushing into the house searched it through, examining the closets, boxes, trunks, and even the salt-box, in search of them. There being a hole in the ceiling which appeared to have been left by the plasterers, Colley, who was one of the most active of the gang, cried out: "Let us search the ceiling." This being done by Charles Young, with as little success as before, they swore they would pull down the house and set fire to the whole town of Tring unless Osborne and his wife were produced.

The master of the workhouse, apprehensive that they would carry their threats into execution, informed them where the poor people were concealed; on which the whole mob, with Colley at their head, went to the church and brought them off in triumph.

This being done, the mob conducted them to a pond called Marlston Mere, where the man and woman were separately tied up in a cloth; then a rope was bound round the body of the woman, under her armpits, and two men dragged her into the pond and through it several times, Colley going into the pond and, with a stick, turning her from side to side.

Having ducked her repeatedly in this manner, they placed her by the side of the pond and dragged the old man in and ducked him; then he was put by, and the woman ducked again as before, Colley making the same use of his stick. With this cruelty the husband was treated twice over and the wife three times, during the last of which the cloth in which she was wrapped came off and she appeared quite naked.

Not satisfied with this barbarity, Colley pushed his stick against her breast. The poor woman attempted to lay hold of it, but, her strength being now exhausted, she expired on the spot. Then Colley went round the pond collecting money of the populace for the sport he had shown them in ducking the old witch, as he called her.

Colley was taken into custody, and when his trial came on, there being a variety of strong proofs of the prisoner's guilt, he was convicted, and received sentence of death.

The day before his execution he was removed from the jail of Hertford, under the escort of one hundred men of the Oxford Blues, commanded by seven officers, and being lodged in the jail of St Albans was put in a chaise at five o'clock the next morning, with the hangman, and reached the place of execution about eleven, where his wife and daughter came to take leave of him; and the minister of Tring assisted him in his last moments, when he died exhibiting all the marks of unfeigned penitence.

His body was hung in chains at a place called Gubblecut, near where the offence was committed.

Still more surprising it is to find that the dangerous absurdity of the belief in witchcraft was manifested in England in the beginning of the more enlightened nineteenth century. Two ignorant and deluded people, H. Ibbelson and his wife, were committed to Wakefield House of Correction for violently assaulting and wounding E. Berry, their niece, who had been lately married.

These ignorant people, having conceived the idea that the young woman had bewitched them, formed a plan to draw blood from her, in order to dispel the charm; and meeting with her in the market-place they both suddenly assailed her, the woman biting and scratching her, while the husband stabbed her in the body.

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5: Thomas Quin, Joseph Dowdell, and Thomas Talbot

A Gang of Notorious Thieves, executed at Tyburn, June 17, 1751, for robbery.

"At length these miserable robbers see,

Unhappy fruit, suspended on the tree;

They teach, sad lesson! in their wretched state,

That shame and ruin are the villain's fate;

And that too late each guilty man will find,

Justice, though sometimes slow, is never blind."

THE villains disclosed in this narrative, will shew the necessity of the act of parliament for inflicting punishment on masters and mistresses giving a false character. of a servant.

A corrupt servant is the most dangerous inmate of a house; and therefore too much caution cannot be used in admitting such domestics.

Quin, a murderer in his own country, Ireland, was recommended to London as a youth of good morals; while his disposition was base to a great degree.

Dowdell, who in his apprenticeship had injured his first master, procured a recommendation to another, to whom he also proved a villain.

Talbot, the third of this dangerous gang, after having robbed on the highway; and being afraid of apprehension; applied to be restored to honest servitude, and was refused; but his master, in pity to his distresses, recommended, him to a nobleman.

Talbot, on the first opportunity, robbing his noble employer, we would ask whether the late master, knowing the servant to have been a thief, was not, in recommending him to an honest employ, virtually, the greater villain of the two? In fine, they were all from early youth, delinquents; and each had been imposed on honest people by those who knew them to be such. No wonder, then, that they will be found thereof the greatest rascals in this calendar of crimes.

Quin was a native of Dublin, the son of honest, but poor parents; and his father dying while he was a child, his uncle put him to school, and afterwards placed him apprentice to a buckle-maker, with whom be served three years faithfully; but his friends supplying him with clothes too genteel for his rank in life, he began to associate with gay company, and was guilty of many irregularities.

These thoughtless youths were frequently concerned in riots, and Quin was considered as the head of the party. In one of these nocturnal insurrections, Quin murdered a man, whose friends, watching him to his master's house, desired that he might be delivered up to justice; but some of the journeymen sallying forth with offensive weapons, drove off the people; on which a warrant was issued for apprehending the murderer, when his master advised him to depart for England.

A subscription for his use being raised by his friends, he came to London, having recommendations to some gentlemen in that city; but of these he made no use, for, frequenting the purlieus of St. Giles's, he spent his money among the lowest of his countrymen, and then entered on board a man of war.

After a service of six months, he quitted the ship at Leghorn, and sailed in another vessel to Jamaica, where he received his wages, which he soon spent. He now agreed to work his passage to England, and the ship arriving in the port of London, he took lodgings in St. Giles's, and soon afterwards became acquainted with Dowdell and Talbot, of whom we are now to give an account.

Dowdell was the son of a bookbinder in Dublin, who being in low circumstances was unable to educate his children as he could have w ished. His son Joseph, who was remarkable for the badness of his disposition, he 'prenticed to a breeches-maker, but the graceless youth grew weary of his place before he had served two years of his time.

Dowdell being ordered by his master to take proper care of some green leather, particularly to defend it from the snow; instead thereof, he heaped such quantities of snow and ice on it, that it was greatly reduced in value. This circumstance so exasperated his master, that he was glad to get rid of him by delivering up his indentures of apprenticeship.

Thus at large, and the father ill able to support him, he was recommended to the service of a gentleman in the country, with whom he might have lived happily: but he behaved badly in his place, and  running away to Dublin, commenced pickpocket.

After some practice in this way, he became connected with a gang of housebreakers, in company with whom he committed several depredations in Dublin. Having broke open a gentleman's house, he was opposed by the servants, and effected his escape only by the use he made of a hanger; soon after which he was taken by the watchmen, and being carried before a magistrate, he was committed to prison till the next morning, His person was advertised, and he was brought to trial, but none of the servants being able to swear to him, he was acquitted for want of evidence.

He now renewed his dangerous practices, and committed a variety of robberies. The following is one of the most singular of his exploits. Going to the house of a farmer, near Dublin, he pretended to be a citizen who wanted a lodging, for the benefit of his health, and he would pay a liberal price.

The unsuspecting farmer put his lodger into the best chamber, and supplied his table in the most ample manner. After a residence of ten days, he asked the farmer's company to the town of Finglass, where he wanted to purchase some necessaries. The farmer attending him; Dowdell purchased some articles at different shops, till seeing a quantity of gold in a till, he formed a resolution of appropriating it to his own use.

Having returned home with the farmer, Dowdell pretended to recollect that he had omitted to purchase some medicines, which he must take that night, and which had occasioned his going to Finglass. Hereupon the farmer ordered a horse to be saddled, and Dowdell set forwards, on a promise to return before night. On his arrival at Finglass he put up his horse, and stealing stealing unperceived into the shop above- mentioned, he stole the till with the money, and immediately set out for Dublin.

In the interim, the farmer missing his lodger, went to Finglass, and not finding him there, proceeded to Dublin, where he chanced to put up his horse at the same inn where Dowdell had taken up his quarters.

In a short time he saw our adventurer with some dealers, to whom he would have sold the horse; on which the farmer procured a constable, seized the offender, and lodged him in prison.

For this presumed robbery (a real one, doubtless, in the intention) he was brought to trial; but it appearing that the farmer had intrusted him with the horse, he could be convicted of nothing more than a fraud, for which he received sentence of transportation.

The vessel in which he sailed being overtaken by a storm, was dashed on the rocks of Cumberland, and many lives were lost, but several, among whom was Dowdell, swam on shore, and went to Whitehaven, where the inhabitants contributed liberally to their relief. Dowdell travelling to Liverpool, entered on board a privateer, which soon took several prizes, for which he received 60l. to his share, which he soon squandered in the most thoughtless extravagance. Being reduced to poverty, he robbed a Portuguese gentleman; for which he was apprehended, but afterwards released on the intercession of the gentlemen of the English factory; on which he sailed for England, and  arrived at London.

He had not been long in the metropolis, before he associated with a gang of pickpockets and street-robbers (among whom was one Carter), whose practice it was to commit depredations at the doors of the theatres. Dowdell had not long entered into this association, before he and Carter went under the piazzas in Covent-garden, where the latter demanded a gentleman's money, while Dowdell watched at a little distance, to give notice in case of a surprise. While Carter was examining the gentleman's pockets, he drew his sword and killed the robber on the spot, and a mob gathering at the instant, it was with great difficulty that Dowdell effected his escape.

He now went to the lodgings of a woman of ill fame, who having been heretofore kept by a man of rank, he had given her a gold watch and some trifling jewels, which Dowdell advised her to pawn, to raise him ready money.

The girl hesitating to comply, he beat her in a most violent manner, on which she swore the peace against him; whereupon he was lodged in Newgate, but discharged at the next sessions, no prosecution being commenced against him.

He was no sooner at large, than he made a connexion with a woman of the town, whom an officer had taken to Gibraltar, and during her residence with him she had saved a hundred moidores. Dowdell having possessed himself of this sum, soon spent it extravagantly, and then prevailed on her to pawn her clothes for his support.

Talbot was the son of poor parents, who lived in Wapping, and having received a common education, he engaged himself as the driver of a post-chaise, in the service of a stable-keeper in Piccadilly. While he was driving two gentlemen on the Bath road, a highwayman stopped the carriage, and robbed them of their watches and money.

This circumstance gave Talbot an idea of acquiring money by illicit means; wherefore, on his return to London, he made himself acquainted with some highwaymen, assuring them that he was properly qualified to give them the intelligence necessary for the successful management of their business.

His proposal met with a ready acceptance; and a company having soon afterwards hired a coach and six of his master to go to Bath, Talbot gave one of the highwaymen notice of the affair; and it was resolved that the robbery should be committed on Hounslow-heath.

The highwaymen meeting the carriage on the appointed spot, robbed the parties of all they had, so that they were obliged to return to London for money before they could pursue their journey. Talbot's share of this ill-gotten booty amounted to fifty pounds, which gave him such spirits that he resolved to pursue the same iniquitous mode of living.

In consequence of this resolution, Talbot informed the highwayman of some company going to Bath, and he attempted to rob them, but a gentleman in the carriage shot him dead on the spot.

Mortified at this accident which had befel his friend, Talbot no sooner arrived in London than he determined to resign his employment, and commence robber on his own account; but previous to engaging in this business, he spent his ready money in the worst company.

After several attempts to commit robberies, and having narrowly escaped the hands of justice, he grew sick of his employment, and requested his former master to take him into his service. This he declined, but in pity to his distress, recommended him to a nobleman, in whose family he was engaged.

Talbot had been but a short time in his new place, before he robbed the house of several articles of value, which he sold to the Jews, to supply the extravagance of one of the maid servants, with whom he had an amour.

This theft was not discovered at the time; but Talbot was soon discharged from his place, in consequence of the badness of his temper, which rendered him insupportable to his fellow servants.

On his dismission he spent his ready money with the most abandoned company, and then commencing housebreaker, committed a variety of depredations in the neighbourhood of London; for one of which he was apprehended and brought to trial at the Old Bailey, but acquitted for want of evidence.

On the very evening he was acquitted, he stopped a carriage in Drury-lane, and robbed a gentleman of his money, which he soon spent among the most dissolute of both sexes; and within a week afterwards, he broke into a house in Westminster, where he obtained plate and cash to a large amount, but was not apprehended for this offence.

In a few days he was taken into custody for picking a gentleman's pocket, brought to trial, at the Old Bailey, sentenced to be transported for seven years, shipped to America, and sold to slavery.

He had not been long in this situation, when he embarked at Boston, in New England, on board a privateer; but when at sea he entered into a conspiracy with some of the sailors, to murder the officers, and seize the vessel; but the confederacy being discovered in time, a severe punishment was inflicted on Talbot and the other villains.

Talbot, quitting the privateer, sailed to England in a man of war, and engaging with some street-robbers in London, was apprehended, convicted, and sentenced to die: but he found interest to obtain a pardon on condition of transportation.

However, he had not been long abroad before he returned, in company with an abandoned woman, who had been transported at the same time; and this woman introduced him to the acquaintance of Quin and Dowdell, in company with whom he committed a considerable number of robberies.

These accomplices robbed six coaches one evening, and obtained considerable plunder; but this being soon spent in extravagance, they at length embarked in a robbery which cost them their lives.

Having made a connexion with one Cullen, they all joined in a street-robbery, and stopping a coach near Long Acre, robbed a gentleman of his watch and money. Some people being informed of the affair, immediately pursued them; and Cullen, being taken into custody, was admitted an evidence against his accomplices, who were apprehended on the following day.

Being brought to trial at the next sessions at the Old Bailey, they received sentence of death; but, after conviction, seemed as little sensible of the enormity of their crimes, as almost any offenders whose cases we have had occasion to record. Dowdell and Quin were Roman Catholics; and Talbot refusing to join in devotion with the ordinary of Newgate, at the place of execution, we can say nothing of the disposition of mind in which they left this world.

We would have wished the following exclamation the mouths of these miserable sinners, at the time they made their dying atonements

"O omnipotent Creator! Such hellish deeds

My soul abhors. O Lord! behold my frame,

My inmost frame, and cleanse my sinful thoughts

Then ever guide me in thy perfect way,

The way established to eternal bliss?'

These men died, we fear, unrepenting sinners.

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6: William Dellicot

Convicted of Petty Larceny, in July, 1751, and his Estate forfeited for stealing a Penny

WILLIAM DELLICOT was convicted at the Quarter Sessions, July, 1751, for Salisbury (Wiltshire), of petty larceny, for stealing one penny, whereby his effects, consisting of bank-notes of one hundred and eighty pounds and twenty guineas in money, were forfeited to the bishop as lord of the manor; but his lordship humanely ordered one hundred pounds of the money to be put to interest for the benefit of the wretch's daughter, twenty pounds to be given to his aged father, and the remainder to be returned to the delinquent himself.

Thus have we shown the punishment for stealing a single penny. Now then let us look at that of a public defaulter, to the amount of thousands and tens of thousands of pounds. The following, taken from the term's notes, is the sentence passed upon this wholesale peculator:―

"In the Court of King's Bench, on the 19th of June, 1809, Valentine Jones, Esq., late Commissary-General in the West Indies, was brought up to receive the judgment of the Court, having been found guilty of fraud and peculation, to the amount of eighty-seven thousand one hundred and seventy-nine pounds, being but a moiety of the sum of which the country had been defrauded by his collusion with Mr Mathew Higgins.

"Judge Gross, after commenting upon the enormity of the offence, said that whatever other proceedings might be instituted, it was the duty of the Court to pass such sentence as would be likely to prevent future peculation, and therefore adjudged him to be imprisoned three years in his Majesty's jail of Newgate, and be incapacitated from serving his Majesty in future."

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7: The Quibbling Thief

Who stole a goose, and saved himself by a pun

A POOR PUN will sometimes answer a good purpose. A baker once calling upon Mr. Justice Jones, of Coventry, with the last loaf in his basket, was observed, as he returned through the Court-yard, to lay hold of a fat goose, on which his worship, who was at one of the upper windows, bawled out, Baker! Baker! Baker! The varlet took no notice, but trudged off with his prize. When the Justice, in the afternoon went to his house, and asked him how he could have the villainous impudence to take the goose?

"God bless your worship," returned he, "I only did as you commanded,― you bid me bake her, and I did so, and thank your worship's health at the eating of her."

"'Tis a poor pun, said the justice, but it shall make thy peace;— but beware, lest the next GOOSE you steal, brings down the LAW upon you, hissing hot."

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8: William Chandler

A singularly artful villain, transported in the year 1751, for perjury.

THE scheme laid by this man for the purpose of plunder, in art and consummate hypocrisy, had not been equalled by any of his fraternity. His plan was to rob a whole county. Every robbery committed, the hundred where it happens, or the county at large, are responsible for the amount of the loss which the injured, in certain cases, may sustain. In his attempt at this kind of fraud, he implicated three innocent men, by whom he pretended to have been robbed, and which, had his tale met credit, would have consequently affected their lives. Happily his diabolical attempt was frustrated, and we are almost led to regret that the utmost vengeance of the law could not overtake him.

There is a palpable contradiction between the laws and the natural sentiments of mankind in the case of oaths which are administered to a criminal to make him speak the truth, when the contrary is his greatest interest; as if a man could think himself obliged to contribute to his own destruction, and as if, when interest speaks, religion is not generally silent: religion, which in all ages hath, of all other things, been most commonly abused. And indeed, upon what motive should it be respected by the wicked, when it has been thus violated by those who were esteemed the wisest of men? The motives which religion opposes to the fear of impending evil and the love of life are too weak, as they are too distant, to make any impression on the senses. The affairs of the other world are regulated by laws entirely different from those by which human affairs are directed; why then should you endeavour to compromise matters between them? why should a man, be reduced to the terrible alternative either of offending God, or of contributing to his own immediate destruction? The laws which require an oath in such a case, leave him only' the choice of becoming a bad Christian or a martyr. For this reason, oaths become, by degrees, a mere formality, and all sentiments of religion, perhaps the only motive of honesty in the greatest part of mankind, are destroyed. Experience proves their inutility. I appeal to every judge whether he has ever known that an oath alone has brought truth from the lips of a criminal? and reason tells us it must be so; for all laws are useless, and in consequence destructive, which contradict the natural feelings of mankind. Such laws are like a dike, opposed directly to the course of a torrent; it is either immediately overwhelmed, or by a whirlpool formed by itself, it is gradually undermined and destroyed.

Perjury is an offence particularly prevalent among the inferior ranks in society; it is to be attributed in no small degree to the want of proper solemnity, and previous explanation on the administration of oaths. Nothing can exceed the unimpressive and careless manner which is in practice in calling upon witnesses to make this solemn appeal to the Supreme Being. It would seem highly necessary that all oaths should he administered in the most impressive manner by the judge, and that a form should be devised, calculated, in the greatest possible degree, to impress upon the mind of the party a high sense of the obligation he or she has come under to speak the truth.

On the whole, it may be asserted that nothing could tend to improve the police of the country and the metropolis more than a general revision of the laws respecting misdemeanors, and particularly the act of the 17 Geo. II. cap. 5, and subsequent acts respecting vagrants and rogues, and vagabonds; so as to assimilate them in a greater degree to the present state of society, and to render their execution more certain and beneficial to the community.

The Irish formerly used to swear BY THE HAND. This mode of taking an oath they, perhaps, adopted from the Prophet Isaiah, ch. lxii, v. 8. "The Lord hath sworn by his right hand, and by the arm of his strength."

If Virgil had suffered Mezentius to swear, who could say "Dextra mihi Deus," Æn. x. 773, it would have been, no doubt, by his HAND.

Dean Swift, who was an Irishman, has exemplified this oath of his countrymen, in his description of an Irish feast

"By my hand you dance rarely"

William Chandler was the only child of Mr. Thomas Chandler, of Woodborough, near the Devizes, a gentleman farmer, of two hundred pounds a year, who at the age of about seventeen, fixed him with Mr. Banks, clerk of the goldsmiths' company, from whom, by reason of frequent disputes, he was turned over before two years had passed, to Mr. Hill of Clifford's Inn, and here he gained the love of his master, and respect of his clients.

Chandler, while he was with Mr: Banks, had married the maid servant, but so artfully concealed it, that it was never suspected by either of his masters, nor any of his own family; and Mr. Hill having a long contested lawsuit in hand for the father, the profits of which he made over to his son, he was enabled to keep his wife in lodgings. Chandler's clerkship being nearly expired, he had projected a scheme to double his fortune. This scheme was to get as much money into his hands as he could possibly raise, to set out with it to the country, upon some plausible pretence, swear he was robbed of it by the way, and then sue the hundred. To do this in the ordinary way he knew was hazardous, and liable to many miscarriages, he therefore laid his plot so deep, that, as he thought, it should be beyond the reach of human discovery.

In the first place it was necessary to raise a sum, which could not be done without deceiving both his father and master; he therefore told the former that he had an advantageous match in view, and the latter, that he had a rich uncle in Suffolk, whom he pretended to visit, and to have received from him several bank bills, which he shewed to favour the deceit. By these artifices he obtained from his father, the possession of an estate worth about four hundred pounds, and accounted to his master for his having five hundred pounds more, which it does not appear how he acquired.

He then applied to his master, to advance five hundred pounds upon his new estate, which, with his other five hundred pounds, he was going, he said, to lend to one Mrs. Strait, of Salisbury, on an estate at Enford, within six or seven miles from his father's house, on which there was a prior mortgage of five hundred pounds, with interest due to one Mr. Poor, of Enford, who wanted to call in his money.

Mr. Hill believing his clerk implicitly, even with respect to the value of his estate, procured the five hundred pounds of one Mr. Winter. While the mortgage was making, Mr. Chandler went down to Mrs. Strait and offered to pay Mr. Poor his five hundred pounds and interest, and to advance to her five hundred pounds more, on the same estate, which she readily accepted; and though it was now the 14th of March, 1747, he appointed her to meet him at Enford, on the 25th of the same month, to receive the money. He then hurried home, and immediately prepared a proper assignment for Mr. Poor's mortgage, to himself, with receipts for the thousand pounds, and wrote to Mrs. Strait, not to forget the day, (March 24, 1748,) appointing ten as the hour of meeting. Now on the 22d the mortgage of Chandler's own estate to Winter was executed, and the money paid in three banknotes, which Chandler the next day changed, at the bank, for eight of fifty pounds, and five of twenty pounds each, all of the same date, and payable to Henry Taylor.

On the 24th early, having got most of his cash in small bills, to the amount of nine hundred pounds, he found, when he came to put these in canvas bags under his garters; where he  proposed to carry them for safety, that they made too great a bundle, and therefore he took several of the small bills, with some cash, amounting to four hundred and forty pounds, and exchanged them at the bank for two notes, one of four hundred  pounds, and the other of forty pounds; the first of which, in his way home, he changed in his master's name at Sir Richard Hoare's, for one note of two hundred pounds, and two of one hundred pounds each; but told his master, that the bank clerks were a little out of humour at the trouble he had already given them, and that he had changed his small notes with a stranger in the bank-hall for the notes which he in reality, had received at Sir Richard Hoare's. Mr. Hill, at Chandler's request, having wrote down the numbers and dates of the several bills, and seen them put safe up, Chandler took leave of him, and about twelve o'clock set out.

About four the same afternoon, though he had ninety miles to go by ten on the morrow, he had reached no further than Hare-hatch, about thirty miles from London, where he stopped at Mr. Butler's to refresh, and about five, just as he had left his inn, was, as he said, unfortunately met by three bargemen on foot, who, after they had robbed him of his watch and money, took him to a pit close by the road, and there stripped him of all his bank notes, bound his hands and feet, and left him, threatening to return and shoot him, if he made the least noise. In this woeful condition he lay three hours, though the pit was so hear the road that not a single horse could pass without his hearing; yet when night came he could jump, bound as he was, near half a mile all up hill, till, luckily for his purpose, he met one Avery, a silly shepherd, who cut the strings, but could give no account what they were or how fastened.

The first question Chandler asked Avery after he had unbound him was, where a constable or tythingman lived; upon which Avery conducted him to Richard Kelly  the constable's just by, and with him Mr. Chandler left the notices required by the statutes; with the description of the persons who robbed him, so exactly, that Mr. Young of Hare-hatch remembered three such men to have passed by his house about the very time the robbery was said to have been committed, who were also seen and known by Mr. Dredge; the mayor of Reading, on Maidenhead thicket, between four and five the same day. Chandler then returned to the inn where he had refreshed, and after telling his deplorable tale, and acquainting his landlord with his intentions of suing the hundred, he ordered a good supper, with a bowl of punch, and sat down with as little concern as if nothing had happened.

Next day Chandler returned to London, acquainted his master with what had happened, and requested his assistance.

Mr. Hill gave him the memorandum he had of the numbers, dates, and sums of the notes, and sent him to the bank to stop payment, but instead of that he went to Mr. Tufley, a silversmith in Cannon-street, bought a silver tankard, and in payment changed one of the notes for one hundred pounds which he received the day before at Sir Richard Hoare's; and on his return to his master, told him that the bank did no business that day because the hurry the city was in on account of the fire in Cornhill, which happened the night before; he therefore went again next morning, and when came back being asked by Mr. Hill for the paper on which he had taken down the numbers, &c. he said, he had left it with the clerks of the bank, who were to stop the notes; but that he had taken an exact copy of it; which was false, for he had reserved Mr. Hill's copy, and left another at the bank, in which he had so craftily altered the numbers and dates of the three notes he received at Sir Richard Hoare's, amounting to four hundred pounds, as to prevent their being stopped, and Mr. Hill's remembering the difference. Thus, he opened a way for getting four hundred pounds into his hands, without obstruction. But when it appeared that three of the notes had been falsely described, there having been none such given out by the bank, and Chandler was questioned by his master about it, and ordered to bring back the original paper, he made a pretence of going to the bank, and then brought back word, that the clerks could not find it; and said, they never kept such papers after they had made an entry.

On the 26th, he inserted a list of his notes, being fifteen in all, with their dates and numbers, in the daily papers, offering a reward of fifty pounds for the recovery of the whole, or in proportion for any part; and on the afternoon of the same day withdrew his advertisement in all the daily papers and, took his own written copy away at each place. And on the 29th of March, 1748, he put the notice of the robbery and the description of the robbers in the London Gazette, as the law directs, except that he did not particularize the notes, as he had done in the other papers.

On the 12th of May following, he made the proper information before a justice of the peace; but though Mr. Hill, his master, was with him, and had undertaken to manage the cause for him, yet he made the same omission in his information, as in his advertisement in the London Gazette.

All things being prepared on the 19th of July, 1748, Chandler proceeded to try his cause, and after a hearing of twelve hours, by a special jury at Abingdon assizes, obtained a verdict for nine hundred and seventy pounds, subject, however, to a case reserved for the opinion of the Court of Common Pleas, concerning the sufficiency of the description of the bank notes in the London Gazette, and the information; which case was afterwards decided in favour of the county.

In the mean time Chandler, fearing that by what came out upon the trial, he should soon be suspected, and that he might be arrested by Mr. Winter, who had now discovered that his mortgage was insufficient, obtained a protection from Lord Willoughby de Brooke, and gave out that he was removed into Suffolk, to reside, as he had before pretended, with his rich uncle; but in reality, he retired to Colchester, where his brother-in-law, Humphry Smart, had taken an inn, with whom he entered into co-partnership, and never came publicly to London afterwards. He was, however, obliged to correspond with his master, on account of the point of law, which was soon to be argued; and therefore, to come at his letters Without discovering his place of abode, he ordered them to be directed, "To Mr. Thomas Chandler, at Easton, in Suffolk; to be left for him at the Crown at Audley, near Colchester, in Essex."

Mr. Hill having written several letters to Mr. Chandler, pressing, him to come to town, (as the term grew near) and he evading it by trifling excuses, began to suspect him, even before the point of law was determined.

Just before this event, twelve of the notes, of which Mr. Chandler pretended to be robbed, were all brought to the bank together, having been bought, October 31, 1748, at Amsterdam, of one John Smith, by Barent Solomon, a broker, there; and by him transmitted to his kin Nathan Solomon, a broker, at London. Upon further inquiry, it appeared, that John Smith, who sold the notes, stayed but a few days in Holland, that he was seen in company with Mr. Casson, a Holland trader, and came over in the packet with him; Mr. Casson was then found, and his description of John Smith answered the person of Chandler, who was then pressed, by letter, to come to town and face Casson, to remove suspicion, but he refused.

And now the scene began to open apace; about this time the very paper which Chandler left when he stopped payment of the notes at the bank, was found; which, when Mr. Hill saw, and that it was not his writing, he quite gave up his clerk, and from that time, assisted in the prosecution. By means of the bank books, they traced every circumstance that has been related of his taking out the £400 note; afterwards changing it at Sir Richard Hoare, for three lesser notes, his passing these notes, and by whom received; and even his buying the tankard of Tufley; which tankard was afterwards produced in evidence against him. All that now remained was to come at his person; and with this view, Mr. Wise, Mr. Hill, and Mr. Casson, about Midsummer, 1749, set out for Colchester, from thence went to the Crown, at Audley, and there inquiring for Easton, were directed first to one place, and then to another of that name; and after a fruitless journey of one hundred and fifty miles, they returned to the very inn then kept by Chandler at Colchester, and departed for London, without gaining any intelligence.

Chandler, who himself saw them at his house, immediately sold his goods, and: took a small inn at Coventry, where, though one hundred and fifty miles from Colchester, and ninety-one miles from London, he was still apprehensive of being arrested by Mr. Winter; and therefore he sent a draft to Mr. Gauntlet, a linen-draper of his acquaintance, for one hundred and fifty pounds to be paid to Mr. Hill, and by him to Mr. Winter. This draft he procured at Northampton, and there put it into the post. By the post-mark of this letter he was at length traced to his new habitation at Coventry, where an indictment for perjury having been found against him; he was apprehended by a judge's warrant, and detained in gaol there, till by an habeas corpus he was removed to Reading, in order to take his trial at Abingdon assizes, on the 22d of July, 1750. But though the prosecutors were ready, with their Witnesses, at a vast expense, yet he traversed the indictment, as by law he might, and put off his trial, to the Lent assizes held at Reading; where the facts, already related being proved, he was sentenced to stand on the pillory the then market-day, and to be transported for seven years. But the former part of this sentence was changed by the judge into three month's imprisonment, for fear the populace, who were greatly enraged, should kill him

[This prosecution produced two acts of parliament, one for remedying inconveniencies that may happen proceedings in actions on the statue of Hue and Cry, and the other to render prosecutions for perjury and subornation of perjury more easy and effectual.]

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9: James Welch and Thomas Jones

Executed on Kennington Common, 6th of September, 1751, for Murder.

WE come to execute the task of proving the innocence of Richard Coleman, who, our readers will recollect, suffered death for the murder of Sarah Green.

Two years had passed since Coleman had been ignominiously laid in his grave before his memory was rescued from disgrace. Circumstances then, and not before, arose which proved that James Welch, Thomas Jones and John Nichols (the latter of whom was admitted as evidence for the Crown) committed this abhorred murder; and the discovery without a search, so inscrutable are the ways of Providence, was thus effected:

Welch, one of the murderers, and a young fellow named James Bush, while walking on the road to Newington Butts, their conversation happened to turn on the subject of those who had been executed without being guilty; and Welch said: "Among whom was Coleman. Nichols, Jones and I were the persons who committed the murder for which he was hanged." In the course of conversation Welch owned that, having been at a public-house called Sot's Hole, they had drunk plentifully, and on their return through Kennington Lane they met with a woman, with whom they went as far as the Parsonage Walk, near the churchyard of Newington where she was so horridly abused by Nichols and Jones that Welch declined offering her any further insult.

Bush did not at that time appear to pay any particular attention to what he had heard, but soon afterwards, as he was crossing London Bridge with his father, he addressed him as follows: "Father, I have been extremely ill; and as I am afraid I shall not live long, I should be glad to reveal something that lies heavy on my mind."

Thereupon they went to a public-house in the Borough, where Bush related his story to his father, which was scarcely ended when, seeing Jones at the window, they called him in and desired him to drink with them.

He had not been long in their company when they told him they had heard he was one of the murderers of Sarah Green, on whose account Coleman had suffered death. Jones trembled and turned pale on hearing what they said; but soon assuming a degree of courage said: "What does it signify? The man is hanged and the woman dead, and nobody can hurt us." To which he added: "We were connected with a woman, but who can tell that was the woman Coleman died for?"

In consequence of this acknowledgment Nichols, Jones and Welch were soon afterwards apprehended, when all of them steadily denied their guilt; and, the hearsay testimony of Bush being all that could be adduced against them, Nichols was admitted evidence for the Crown. In consequence of which all the particulars of the horrid murder were developed.

The prisoners being brought to trial at the next assizes for the county of Surrey, Nichols deposed that he, with Welch and Jones, having been drinking at the house called Sot's Hole on the night that the woman was used in such an inhuman manner, they quitted that house in order to return home, when, meeting a woman, they asked her if she would drink; which she declined unless they would go to the King's Head, where she would treat them with a pot of beer.

Thereupon they went and drank both beer and geneva with her, and then, all the parties going forward to the Parsonage Walk, the poor woman was treated in a manner too shocking to be described. It appeared that at the time of the perpetration of the fact the murderers wore white aprons, and that Jones and Welch called Nichols by the name of Coleman— circumstances that evidently led to the conviction of the unfortunate man of that name.

On the whole state of the evidence there seemed to be no doubt of the guilt of the prisoners, so that the jury did not hesitate to convict them, and sentence of death was passed of course.

After conviction these malefactors behaved with the utmost contrition, being attended by the Rev. Dr Howard, Rector of St George's, Southwark, to whom they readily confessed their offences. They likewise signed a declaration, which they begged might be published, containing the fullest assertion of Coleman's innocence, and, exclusive of his acknowledgement, Welch wrote to the brother of Coleman, confessing his guilt, and begging his prayers and forgiveness. The sister od Jones living in a genteel family at Richmond, he wrote to her to make interest in his favour; but the answer he received was, that his crime was of such a nature, that she could not ask a favour for him with any degree of propriety. She earnestly begged of him to prepare for death, and implore pardon at that tribunal, where alone it could be expected.

They were executed on Kennington Common, on 6th of September, 1751.

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10: Mathias Keys

Executed on Kennington Common, 6th of September, 1751, for Highway Robbery

MATHIAS KEYS was the son of an inn-holder of good repute at Billericay, in Essex, who placed him apprentice to a vintner; and when his time had expired― which, however, was not passed without censure— placed him in a respectable inn at Bristol.

The house had long-been well frequented, but Keys, presuming upon being a "mother's darling," was more addicted to horse-racing, cocking and gaming than to attending to his guests. It is therefore little to be wondered at that such men become bankrupts, and so with him a failure soon happened.

He fled from his creditors, taking with him every portable valuable he possessed, and came to London. There, among other profligate young fellows, he became intimate with one William Russel, then an unworthy articled clerk to an attorney of good practice in Air Street, Piccadilly. In company with this reprobate he committed divers highway robberies; but the career of Russel was very short, for he was hanged ere he had attained manhood.

In the month of August, 1747, Keys was apprehended for a highway robbery, was tried, and condemned to death at Chelmsford; but no other crimes being then alleged against him, though he had committed many, his sentence was remitted on condition of transporting himself for life.

On the 14th of November, 1747, he entered on board a man-of-war, on the point of sailing to the East Indies, under Admiral Boscwan, and performed his duty with much bravery at the siege of Pondicherry, where he lost an eye. With his ship he returned to England, and immediately again commenced highwayman.

He committed a daring robbery on two gentlemen in a post-chaise, in the vicinity of London, who had pistols with them, but were taken with too much surprise to be able to use them. No sooner however had he ridden off with his booty than, with the assistance of the post-boy, they quickly unyoked the horses and galloped after him.

Unapprehensive of pursuit he was riding at a moderate pace, waiting to levy his contributions on the next travellers. They seized him, in their turn, before he could make resistance, brought him to London, and prosecuted and convicted him, having found the money upon him of which but a few minutes before he had robbed them. He was hanged on Kennington Common, on 6th of September, 1751.

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11: William Baker

A City Merchant, executed at Tyburn, 31st of December, 1751, for forging an East India Warrant in order to avoid Bankruptcy

WILLIAM BAKER was born in Cannon Street, where his father kept a baker's shop, and lived in good reputation. The youth was educated at the Merchant Taylors' School, and at the usual age bound apprentice to a grocer in a considerable way of business; and he proved so faithful and diligent a servant that soon after the time of his apprenticeship had expired his master admitted him an equal partner in his trade.

Having carried on the grocery trade for about seven years, he declined that business and connected himself in partnership with Mr Carter, a sugar-baker, and by this new undertaking he flattered himself in the expectation of speedily acquiring a fortune.

About the period of his commencing as sugar-baker he married one of his cousins, who was the daughter of a clergyman in Northamptonshire, and with her he received a handsome fortune. For several years he fulfilled all his engagements with the greatest punctuality, and was supposed to be possessed of considerable property.

He attended the sales of the East India Company's goods, and frequently purchased very large quantities of teas, and he had extensive dealings in other articles. But he often sustained considerable loss by the sale of his goods, and his circumstances at length became so embarrassed that he was under apprehension that a commission of bankruptcy would issue against him.

He flattered himself, however, that, if he could support his credit for a short time, matters would take a more favourable turn and his circumstances be retrieved. His anxiety to avoid a bankruptcy induced Mr Baker to forge an East India warrant for goods to the amount of nine hundred and twenty-two pounds. But it must be remarked that the forgery was not committed with any intention to defraud, but merely to raise a supply for present exigencies.

Mr Baker passed the counterfeit warrant into the hands of Mr Holland, who sent it to the India House, where the forgery was detected, and Baker was in consequence apprehended.

Baker being put on his trial at the Old Bailey, several gentlemen of reputation appeared on his behalf, and spoke to his character in the most favorable terms; but both the forgery and the uttering the counterfeit warrant having been proved against him by indisputable testimony, and strongly corroborating circumstances, he of course was condemned to suffer death. Being conveyed to Tyburn in a mourning-coach, he appeared to be in a composed state of mind, and entirely resigned to his fate.

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1752

12: William Stroud

A Notorious Impostor, who was Six Times whipped through the Streets of Westminster, in the Month of March, 1752

WILLIAM STROUD was well born and educated, but very early in life took to little tricks of cheating. When but a schoolboy he used to purloin blank leaves from the books of his companions, and was remarkable for robbing them of their marbles.

This disposition continued while he was an apprentice; and at length he embarked in business for himself. But he had not been long a master before he considered trade as a drudgery; on which he sold off his stock, took lodgings in Bond Street, and assumed the character of a fine gentleman.

He now lived in a most expensive manner, supplying the extravagances of women of ill-fame. This soon reducing him to indigent circumstances, he fixed on a plan of defrauding individuals; for which purpose he got credit with a tailor for some elegant suits of apparel, took a genteel house, and hired some servants, by which he imposed himself upon the public as a man of large estate.

An extensive credit and a splendid mode of living were the consequences of his elegant appearance; but some tradesmen bringing in bills, which he was equally unable and unwilling to discharge, he sold off his household furniture and privately decamped.

He now took handsome lodgings in Bloomsbury, and dressing himself in velvet clothes he pretended to be the steward of a nobleman of high rank. He likewise took a house in Westminster, in which he placed an agent, who ordered in goods as for the nobleman; and the tradesmen who delivered these goods were directed to leave their bills for the examination of the steward. But the effects were no sooner in possession than they were sold to a broker, to the great loss of the respective tradesmen.

Stroud used to travel into the country in summer, and, having learned the names of London traders with whom people of fortune dealt, he used to write in their names for goods; but, constantly meeting the wagons that conveyed them, generally received the effects before they reached the places to which they were directed. London and the country were equally laid under contribution by him; and jewellers, watchmakers, lacemen, tailors, drapers, upholders, silversmiths, silk-mercers, hatters, hosiers, etc., were frequent dupes to his artifices.

He was at length apprehended as a common cheat, and committed to the Gatehouse, Westminster. On his examination a coachmaker charged him with defrauding him of a gilt chariot, a jeweller of rings to the amount of a hundred pounds, a tailor of a suit of velvet trimmed with gold, a cabinetmaker of some valuable goods in his branch, and several other tradesmen of various articles.

The grand jury having found bills of indictment against him, he was tried at the Westminster Sessions, when witnesses who had been duped and plundered by him appeared to give their evidence; and he was instantly found guilty.

The Court sentenced him to hard labour in Bridewell for six months, and in that time to be whipped through the streets six times; which was inflicted with the severity which they intended. He was scourged so as to be made an example to others in the like cases offending.

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13: Elizabeth Jeffries and John Swan

Deprived of her Uncle's valuable Estate, the Woman and an Accomplice shot him dead after paying another Man to commit the Crime.

THE case of these offenders is one of the greatest atrocity. Elizabeth Jeffries was the niece of a gentleman of respectability residing at Walthamstow, who, having acquired an ample fortune, and having no children, adopted his brother's daughter, and made a will in her favour, bequeathing to her nearly his whole estate. The girl, however, returned her uncle's kindness with ingratitude; and, having heard him declare that he would alter his will on account of her bad behaviour, she determined to prevent his carrying his design to her detriment into execution by murdering him.

She soon discovered her inability to complete this project single-handed, and she gained the assistance of her accomplice in the crime, John Swan, who was in the employment of her uncle, and with whom there is good reason to believe she was on terms of intimacy. They endeavoured to suborn a simple fellow named Matthews to assist them, but although the promise of a large reward at first staggered him, his terrors eventually steeled him against the temptations held out to him. The night of the 3rd of July, 1751, was fixed upon for the completion of this villainy; and at the trial, which took place at Chelmsford, before Mr Justice Wright, on the iith of March, 1752, the following facts were proved:--

Matthews, having travelled from Yorkshire, was accidentally met in Epping Forest by Mr Jeffries, who gave him employment as an assistant to Swan, who was his gardener. After he had been at work only four days he was sent upstairs by Miss Jeffries to wipe a chest of drawers, and she followed him and asked him if he was willing to earn one hundred pounds. He answered that he was, "in an honest way" ― on which she desired him to go to Swan. He accordingly joined him in the garden, and he offered him seven hundred pounds to murder their master. He acquiesced. On his being dismissed, two days afterwards, Swan gave him half-a-guinea to buy a brace of pistols; but having spent the money given to him he was ordered to meet Miss Jeffries and Swan at Walthamstow on the Tuesday following, at ten o'clock at night, the object being then to carry out their intentions with respect to the murder.

When he arrived he found the garden door on the latch, and going into the pantry he hid himself behind a tub till about eleven o'clock, when Swan brought him some cold boiled beef. About twelve Miss Jeffries and Swan came to him, when the latter said:

"Now it is time to knock the old miser, my master, on the head."

But Matthews relented and said: "I cannot find it in my heart to do it."

Miss Jeffries then immediately replied: "You may be d―d for a villain, for not performing your promise!"

And Swan, who was provided with pistols, also loudly abused him, and said he had a mind to blow his brains out for the refusal.

Swan then produced a book, and insisted that Matthews should swear that he would not discover what had passed; and he did so, with this reserve, "unless it was to save his own life." Soon after this Matthews heard the report of a pistol, when, getting out of the house by the back way, he crossed the ferry and proceeded to Enfield Chase. Immediately afterwards Miss Jeffries appeared at the door of the house and called out for assistance, and, some of the neighbours going in, they found Mr Jeffries dying, but they failed in discovering anything which could lead to the supposition of any person having quitted the house. Suspicions in consequence arose, and Miss Jeffries was taken into custody; but no evidence arising to incriminate her she was discharged, and immediately administered on her uncle's estate and took possession of his property.

Renewed suspicions, however, were raised, and, Matthews having been discovered, Jeffries and Swan were apprehended. Upon this testimony a verdict of guilty was returned.

After conviction Elizabeth Jeffries made a full confession of her guilt. On the day of execution the convicts left the prison at four in the morning, Miss Jeffries being placed in a cart and Swan on a sledge. The unfortunate woman repeatedly fainted on her way to the gallows; and, having fallen into a fit, had not recovered when she was turned off. The execution took place near the sixth milestone in Epping Forest, on the 28th of March, 1752, and, the body of Miss Jeffries having been delivered to her friends for interment, the gibbet was removed to another part of the Forest, where Swan was hung in chains.

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14: Mary Blandy

Executed 6th of April, 1752, for murdering her Father at the Request of her Lover

IT has been a melancholy remark that two young ladies— Miss Jefferies and Miss Blandy— well educated, and of considerable expectations from the parents whom they murdered, should, as it were, at the same moment contemplate the death of their protectors.

Yet, though Miss Blandy's crime was committed on blood nearest in consanguinity, she does not appear to have been that determined murderess we find in Miss Jefferies.

Public conversation was long divided on their fate, and in comparisons of their different degrees of crimes.

There is too much reason to fear that both had been seduced by villainous men: but Miss Jefferies, as will be seen, was a premeditated and determined murderess. Over the fate of the wretched Miss Blandy we may indulge somewhat of commiseration; for the profligate wretch who seduced her was a disgrace to the noble blood from which he derived existence; and what renders his crime more heinous was his being a married man.

It will appear that, had not this corrupt twig of the noble branch of the tree of genealogy from which he grew spread his insidious snares to entangle the heart and corrupt the mind of Miss Blandy, she would not have been guilty of the abominable and unnatural crime of parricide.

In a moral point of view, though the law may not immediately overtake the villainy, we would appeal to the hearts of the readers of our own sex— nay, we would ask the question, in cooler moments of youth— "Can there be a more destructive vice than the seduction of a virtuous female, under promise of marriage?" Will not your inflamed passions cool? and then what must be the stings of conscience when you find the too-willing sacrifice to your lust a wretched creature, neglected by her friends, the scorn of the virtuous part of her sex, and the prey of your own?

Thus are we led to acknowledge, with sorrow, the lines of the poet, on a seduced woman:--

"Man, the lawless libertine, may rove,

Free and unquestion'd, thro' the paths of love:

But woman, sense and nature's easy fool --

If poor weak woman swerve from virtue's easy rule --

If, strongly charm'd, she tempt the flow'ry way,

And in the softer paths of pleasure stray --

Ruin ensues, remorse, and endless shame,

And one false step entirely damns her fame:

In vain with tears the loss she may deplore,

In vain look back to what she was before;

She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more."

Mary Blandy was the only daughter of a Mr Francis Blandy, an eminent attorney at Henley-upon-Thames, and town-clerk of that place. She had been educated with the utmost tenderness; and every possible care was taken to impress her mind with sentiments of virtue and religion. Her person had nothing in it remarkably engaging, but she was of a sprightly and affable disposition, of polite man ners, engaging in conversation, and was much distinguished by her good sense.

She had read the best authors in the English language, and had a memory remarkably retentive of the knowledge she had acquired. In a word, she excelled most of her sex in those accomplishments which are calculated to grace and dignify the female mind.

The father being reputed to be rich, a number of young gentlemen courted his acquaintance, with a view to make an interest with his daughter: but, of all the visitors, none were more agreeable, both to father and daughter, than the gentlemen of the army; and the former was never better pleased than when he had some of them at his table.

Miss Blandy was about twenty-six years of age when she became acquainted with Captain William Henry Cranstoun, who was then about forty-six. He was the son of Lord Cranstoun, of an ancient Scotch family, which had made great alliances, by intermarriages, with the nobility of Scotland. Being a younger brother, his uncle, Lord Mark Ker, procured him a commission in the army, which, with the interest of fifteen hundred pounds, was all he had for his support.

Cranstoun married a Miss Murray in Scotland, in the year 1745, and received a handsome fortune with her; but he was defective in the great article of prudence. His wife was delivered of a son within a year after the marriage. About this period he received orders to join his regiment in England, and was afterwards sent on a recruiting party to Henley, which gave rise to the unhappy connexion which ended so fatally.

It may seem extraordinary, and is, perhaps, a proof of Cranstoun's art, that he could ingratiate himself into the affections of Miss Blandy; for his person was diminutive, he was so marked with the small-pox that his face was in seams, and he squinted very much: but he possessed that faculty of small-talk which is  unfortunately too much esteemed by many of the fair sex.

Mr Blandy, who was acquainted with Lord Mark Ker, was fond of being deemed a man of taste, and so open to flattery, that it is not to be wondered at that a man of Cranstoun's artifice ingratiated himself into his favour, and obtained permission to pay his addresses to the daughter.

Cranstoun, apprehending that Miss Blandy might discover that he had a wife in Scotland, informed her that he was involved in a disagreeable lawsuit in that country with a young lady, who claimed him as a husband; and so sure was he of the interest he had obtained in Miss Blandy's affections, that he had the confidence to ask her if she loved him well enough to wait the issue of the affair. She told him that, if her father and mother approved of her staying for him, she had no objection.

This must be allowed to have been a very extraordinary declaration of love, and as extraordinary a reply.

Cranstoun endeavoured to conduct the amour with all possible secrecy; notwithstanding which it came to the knowledge of Lord Mark Ker, who wrote to Mr Blandy, informing him that the captain had a wife and children in Scotland, and conjuring him to preserve his daughter from ruin.

Alarmed by this intelligence, Mr Blandy informed his daughter of it; but she did not seem equally affected, as Cranstoun's former declaration had prepared her to expect some such news; and, when the old gentleman taxed Cranstoun with it, he declared it was only an affair of gallantry, of which he should have no difficulty to free himself.

Mrs. Blandy appears to have been under as great a degree of infatuation as her daughter, for she forbore all farther inquiry, on the captain's bare assurance that the report of his marriage was false. Cranstoun, however, could not be equally easy. He saw the necessity of devising some scheme to get his first marriage annulled, or of bidding adieu to all the gratifications he could promise himself by a second.

After revolving various schemes in his mind, he at length wrote his wife, requesting her to disown him for a husband. The substance of this letter was, that, "having no other way of rising to preferment but in the army, he had but little ground to expect  advancement there, while it was known he was encumbered with a wife and family; but, could he once pass for a single man, he had not the least doubt of being quickly preferred, which would procure him a sufficiency to maintain her, as well as himself, in a genteeler manner than now he was able to do. All, therefore (adds he), I have to request of you is, that you will transcribe the enclosed copy of a letter, wherein you disown me for a husband; put your maiden name to it, and send it by the post: all the use I shall make of it shall be to procure my advancement, which will necessarily include your own benefit. In full assurance that you will comply with my request, I remain, your most affectionate husband,

"W. H. Cranstoun."

Mrs. Cranstoun, ill as she had been treated by her husband, and little hope as she had of more generous usage, was, after repeated letters had passed, induced to give up her claim, and at length sent him the requested paper, signed Murray, which was her  maiden name.

The villainous captain, being possessed of this letter, made some copies of it, which he sent to his wife's relations, and his own: the consequence of which was that they withdrew the assistance they had afforded the lady, which reduced her to an extremity she had never before known.

Exclusive of this, he instituted a suit before the lords of session, for the dissolution of the marriage; but when Mrs. Cranstoun was heard, and the letters read, the artful contrivance was seen through, the marriage was confirmed, and Cranstoun was adjudged to pay the expenses of the trial.

At the next session Captain Cranstoun preferred a petition, desiring to be heard by counsel on new evidence, which it was pretended had arisen respecting Miss Murray. This petition, after some hesitation, was heard; but the issue was, that the marriage was again confirmed, and Cranstoun was obliged to allow his wife a separate maintenance.

Still, however, he paid his addresses to Miss Blandy with the same fervency as before; which coming to the knowledge of Mrs. Cranstoun, she sent her the decree of the Court of Session, establishing the validity of the marriage.

It is reasonable to suppose that this would have convinced Miss Blandy of the erroneous path in which she was treading. On this occasion she consulted her mother: and, Cranstoun having set out for Scotland, the old lady advised her to write to him, to know the truth of the affair.

Absurd as this advice was, she wrote to him; but, soon after the receipt of her letter, he returned to Henley, when he had impudence enough to assert that the cause was not finally determined, but would be referred to the House of Lords.

Mr Blandy gave very little credit to this assertion; but his wife assented at once to all Cranstoun said, and treated him with as much tenderness as if he had been her own child; of which the following circumstance will afford ample proof.

Mrs. Blandy and her daughter being on a visit to Mrs. Pocock, of Turville Court, the old lady was taken so ill as to be obliged to continue there for some days. In the height of her disorder, which was a violent fever, she cried "Let Cranstoun be sent for." He was then with the regiment at Southampton; but, her request being complied with, she no sooner saw him than she raised herself on the pillow, and hung around his neck repeatedly exclaiming "(My dear Cranstoun, I am glad you are come; I shall now grow well soon!" So extravagant was her fondness, that she insisted on having him as her nurse; and he actually administered her medicines.

On the following day she grew better; on which she said "This I owe to you, my dear Cranstoun; your coming has given me new health and fresh spirits. I was fearful I should die, and you not here to comfort that poor girl. Flow like death she looks!"

It would be ungenerous to the memory of Mrs. Blandy to suppose that she saw Cranstoun's guilt in its true light of enormity; but certainly she was a most egregious dupe to his artifices.

Mrs. Blandy and her daughter having come to London, the former wanted forty pounds, to discharge a debt she had contracted unknown to her husband; and Cranstoun coming into the room while the mother and the daughter were weeping over their distresses, he demanded the reason of their grief; of which being informed, he left them, and, soon returning with the requisite sum, he threw it into the old lady's lap. Charmed by this apparent generosity, she burst into tears, and squeezed his hand fervently; on which he embraced her, and said, "Remember, it is a son; therefore do not make yourself uneasy: you do not lie under any obligation to me."

Of this debt of forty pounds, ten pounds had been contracted by the ladies while in London, for expenses in consequence of their pleasures; and the other thirty by expensive treats given to Cranstoun at Henley, during Mr Blandy's absence.

Soon after this Mrs. Blandy died; and Cranstoun now complaining of his fear of being arrested for the forty pounds, the young lady borrowed that sum, which she gave him, and made him a present of her watch: so that he was a gainer by his former apparent generosity.

Mr Blandy began now to show evident dislike of Captain Cranstoun's visits: but he found means to take leave of the daughter, to whom he complained of the father's ill treatment; but insinuated that he had a method of conciliating his esteem; and that when he arrived in Scotland he would send her some powders proper for the purpose; on which to prevent suspicion, he would write, "Powders to clean the Scotch pebbles."

It does not appear that the young lady had any idea that the powders he was to send her were of a poisonous nature. She seems rather to have been infatuated by her love; and this is the only excuse that can he made for her subsequent conduct, which appears otherwise totally inconsistent with that good sense for which she was celebrated.

Cranstoun sent her the powders, according to promise; and Mr Blandy being indisposed on the Sunday se'nnight before his death, Susan Gunnel, a maid-servant, made him some water-gruel, into which Miss Blandy conveyed some of the powder, and gave it to her father; and, repeating this draught on the following day, he was tormented with the most violent pains in his bowels.

When the old gentleman's disorder increased, and he was attended by a physician, his daughter came into the room, and, falling on her knees to her father, said, "Banish me where you please; do with me what you please, so you do but forgive me; and, as for Cranstoun, I will never see him, speak to him, or write to him, as long as I live, if you will forgive me."

In reply to this the father said, "I forgive thee, my dear, and I hope God will forgive thee, but thou shouldst have considered before thou attemptedst any thing against thy father; thou shouldst have considered I was thy own father."

Miss Blandy now acknowledged that she had put powder in his gruel, but that it was for an innocent purpose; on which the father, turning in his bed, said, "O such a villain! to come to my house, eat of the best and drink of the best my house could afford; and, in return, take away my life, and ruin my daughter. O! my dear, thou must hate that man."

The young lady replied, "Sir, every word you say is like a sword piercing to my heart; more severe than if you were angry: I must kneel, and beg you will not curse me." The father said, "I curse thee my dear! how couldst thou think I would curse thee? No, I bless thee, and hope God will bless thee, and amend thy life. Do, my dear, go out of the room; say no more, lest thou shouldst say any thing to thy own prejudice. Go to thy Uncle Stephens; and take him for thy friend: poor man! I am sorry for him."

Mr Blandy dying in consequence of his illness, it was suspected that the daughter had occasioned his death; whereupon she was taken into custody, and committed to the gaol at Oxford. She was tried on the 3d of March, 1752; and, after many witnesses had been called to give evidence of her guilt, she was desired to make her defence, which she did in the following speech:--

"My lord,— It is morally impossible for me to lay down the hardships I have receivcd.— I have been aspersed in my character. In the first place it has been said I spoke ill of my father; that I have cursed him, and wished him at hell; which is extremely false. Sometimes little family affairs have happened, and he did not speak to me so kindly as I could wish. I own I am passionate, my lord; and in those passions some hasty expressions might have dropped; but great care has been taken to recollect every word I have spoken at different times, and to apply them to such particular purposes as my enemies knew would do me the greatest injury. These are hardships, my lord, such as yourself must allow to be so. It was said too, my lord, that I endeavoured to make my escape. Your lordship will judge from the difficulties I laboured under:

"I had lost my father; I was not permitted to go near him; I was forsaken by my friends;  affronted by the mob; and insulted by my servants. Although I begged to have the liberty to listen at the door where he died, I was not allowed it. My keys were taken from me; my shoe-buckles and garters too; to prevent me from making away with myself, as though I was the most abandoned creature. What could I do, my lord? I verily believe I must have been out of my senses. When I heard my father was dead, I ran out of the house, and over the bridge, and had nothing on but a half sack and petticoats, without a hoop;  my petticoats hanging about me. The mob gathered round me. Was this a condition, my lord, to make my escape in? A good woman beyond the bridge, seeing me in this distress, desired me to walk in till the mob was dispersed: the town-sergeant was there. I begged he would take me under his protection, to have me home: the woman said it was not proper, the mob was very great, and that I had better stay a little. When I came home they said I used the constable ill. I was locked up for fifteen hours, with only an old servant of the family to attend me. I was not allowed a maid for the common decencies of my sex. I was sent to gaol, and was in hopes there at least this usage would have ended; but was told it was reported I was frequently drunk; that I attempted to make my escape; that I did not attend at chapel. A more abstemious woman, my lord, I believe, does not live.

"Upon the report of my making my escape, the gentleman who was high-sheriff last year (not the present) came and told me, by order of the higher powers, he must put an iron on me. I submitted as I always do, to the higher powers. Some time after he came again, and said he must put a heavier one upon me; which I have worn, my lords till I came hither. I asked the sheriff why I was so ironed. He said he did it by command of some noble peer, on his hearing that I intended making my escape. I told him I never had any such thought, and I would bear it with the other cruel usage I had received on my character. The Reverend Mr Swinton, the worthy clergyman who attended me in prison, can testify I was regular at the chapel when ever I was well: sometimes I really was not able to come out, and then he attended me in my room. They have likewise published papers and depositions, which ought not to have been published, in order to represent me as the most abandoned of my sex, and to prejudice the world against me. I submit myself to your lordship, and to the worthy jury. I do assure your lordship, as I am to answer at the great tribunal where I must appear, I am as innocent as the child unborn of the death of my father. I would not endeavour to save my life at the expense of truth: I really thought the powder an innocent inoffensive thing; and I gave it to procure his love (meaning toward Cranstoun). It has been mentioned, I should say, I was ruined. My lord, when a young woman loses her character, is not that her ruin? Why, then, should this expression be construed in so wide a sense? Is it not ruining my character to have such a thing laid to my charge? And, whatever may be the event of this trial, I am ruined most effectually."

The trial lasted eleven hours, and then the judge summed up the evidence, mentioning the scandalous behaviour of some people respecting the prisoner, in printing and publishing what they called depositions taken before the coroner relating to the affair before them: to which he added, "I hope you have not seen them; but, if you have, I must tell you, as you are men of sense and probity, that you must divest yourselves of every prejudice that can arise from thence, and attend merely to the evidence that has been given."

The judge then summed up the evidence with the utmost candour; and the jury, having considered the affair, found her guilty without going out of court.

After the conviction she behaved with the utmost decency and resignation. She was attended by the Reverend Mr Swinton, from whose hands she received the sacrament on the day before her execution, declaring that she did not know there was anything hurtful in the powders she had given her father.

The night before her death she spent in devotion; and at nine in the morning of the 6th of April, 1752, she left her apartment, being dressed in a black bombasin, and having her arms bound with black ribands.

The clergyman attended her to the place of execution, to which she walked with the utmost solemnity of deportment; and, when there, acknowledged her fault in administering the powders to her father; but declared that, as she must soon appear before the most awful tribunal, she had no idea of doing injury, nor any suspicions that the powders were of a poisonous nature.

Having ascended some steps of the ladder, she said, "Gentlemen, don't hang me high, for the sake of decency." Being desired to go something higher, she turned about and expressed her apprehensions that she should fall. The rope being put round her neck, she pulled her handkerchief over her face, and was turned off on holding out a book of devotions which she had been reading.

The crowd of spectators assembled on this occasion was immense; and when she had hung the usual time she was cut down, and the body, being put into a hearse, was conveyed to Henley, and interred with her parents, at one o'clock on the following morning.

It will now be proper to return to Cranstoun, who was the original contriver of this horrid murdcr. Having heard of Miss Blandy's commitment to Oxford gaol, he concealed himself some time in Scotland, and then escaped to Boulogne, in France. Meeting there with Mrs. Ross, who was distantly related to his family, he acquainted her with his situation, and begged her protection; on which she advised him to change his name for her maiden name of Dunbar.

Some officers in the French service, who were related to his wife, hearing of his concealment, vowed revenge, if they should meet with him, for his cruelty to the unhappy woman; on which he fled to Paris, from whence he went to Furnes, a town in Flanders, where Mrs. Ross had provided a lodging for his reception.

He had not been long at Furnes when he was seized with a severe fit of illness, which brought him to a degree of reflection to which he had been long a stranger. At length he sent for a father belonging to an adjacent convent, and received absolution from his hands, on declaring himself a convert to the Romish faith.

Cranstoun died on the 30th of November, 1752; and the fraternity of monks and friars looked on his conversion as an object of such importance, that solemn mass was sung on the occasion, and the body was followed to the grave not only by the ecclesiastics, but by the magistrates of the town.

His papers were then sent to Scotland, to his brother, Lord Cranstoun; his clothes were sold for the discharge of his debts; and his wife came into possession of the interest of the fifteen hundred pounds above mentioned.

This case is one of the most extraordinary that we shall have occasion to record in these volumes. The character and conduct of Cranstoun are infamous beyond all descrip tion. A married man seeking a young lady in marriage, deluding her by the vilest artifices, and the most atrocious falsehoods; and then murdering her father to obtain the object of his wishes, exhibits an accumulated picture of guilt to which no language can do justice. His sufferings afterwards appear to have been a providential punishment of his crimes. We are to hope that his penitence was sincere; but it is impossible to think highly of a religion that offers immediate pardon and absolution to a criminal, of whatever magnitude, on the single declaration of his becoming a convert to that religion.

With regard to Miss Blandy, the public have ever been divided in opinion on her case. Those who have presumed on her innocence have tacitly acknowledged that she was very weak, which contradicts the accounts we have of her genius and mental acquirements. On the contrary, those who have insisted on her guilt, have made no allowances for the weakness of the female mind; nor considered the influence of an artful man over the heart of a girl in love.

Her solemn declaration of her innocence would almost tempt one to think that she was innocent; for it is next to impossible to suppose that a woman of her sense and education would depart this life with a wilful lie in her mouth.

Be all this as it may, an obvious lesson is to be learnt from her fate.— Young ladies should be cautious of listening to the insidious address of artful love as they know not how soon, and how unsuspectedly, their hearts may be engaged to their own destruction, founded on the violation of all their nobler duties.

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15: John Cather, Patrick Kane, and Daniel Alexander

Pilloried for extortion,  1751.

THERE are a set of villains constantly prowling for plunder in the metropolis and its environs, who extort money from men of property under threats of accusing them with some heinous or abominable crime.

Oftentimes the gentleman thus singled out by these conspirators, though innocent, dreading even the breath of suspicion against his character, is terrified into consent to give them money; and, when once the devoted victim has thus yielded to their design, there is no end to the extortions from time to time made upon him; his whole fortune would scarce satisfy the rapacity of such rascals.

In the present case the Hon. Edward Walpole became the mark of these extortioners. It appeared in evidence, on the trial of these men, that Mr. Walpole had been secretary to the Duke of Devonshire, while his grace was lord-lieutenant of Ireland; and, on his return to London, being in want of a confidential servant, he wrote to his friend Lord Boyle to procure him one, who some time after sent to England John Cather, the culprit above named, who was the son of one of his lordship's Irish tenants; but Mr. Walpole having in the meantime hired an English servant, with whom he was well satisfied, he declined taking him; but told him to remain in his house until a place could be found for him.

Thus was Cather, when he committed the basest act of ingratitude, maintained like a gentleman, Mr. Walpole having, from time to time, even supplied him with pocket money.

One day he was observed by one of Mr. Walpole's servants in new gay clothes, which he put on and off with much privacy, and slipped in and out of the house in a way that showed he did not wish to be seen in his new dress. This soon came to the knowledge of the master, who, confident that he could not honestly come by the means of procuring such articles, suspected he had been plundered, and forbade him his house.

From this moment the ingrate meditated revenge; and, when the mind is prone to vice, we soon find an opportunity of putting it into practice. Cather, during the time he enjoyed Mr. Walpole's bounty, having no employ, formed acquaintance with bad characters; among whom were a gang of his own countrymen, who supported their excesses by extorting money: one of these was William Smith, who was hanged the 3d of October then last past.

These villains laid their snare for Mr. Walpole, but were therein caught themselves. He resisted their attempts, and caused them to be apprehended.

On the 5th of July, John Cather, Patrick Kane, Daniel Alexander, and Dixon, were brought up to the King's Bench, charged with a conspiracy in swearing a disgraceful crime against the Hon. Edward Walpole. The trial lasted several hours, when they were found guilty, and received the following sentence:

John Cather to stand three times in and upon the pillory: the first time at Charing Cross, the second in Fleet Street, and the third in Cornhill; to be kept to hard labour in Clerkenwell Bridewell for the term of four years; then to give security, himself in forty  pounds, and two sureties in twenty pounds each, for his good behaviour for four years more.

Patrick Kane to stand once upon the pillory, amid to be kept to hard labour in Clerkenwell Bridewell two years; then to give the like security for five years more.

Daniel Alexander ―This man,

'O Name it not in Gath ―

Proclaim it not in the streets of Ascalon,'

was an attorney-at-law, and solicitor to the conspirators!

The attorney, undoubtedly the greatest villain of the gang, was sentenced to stand once upon the pillory; to be imprisoned three years in the King's Bench Prison; to give security for good behaviour for three years more, himself in two hundred pounds, and two sureties in one hundred pounds each; and to be struck off the roll of attornies.

Dixon ran away from his merited fate.

The law, which confiscates a man's estate for stealing a penny, and hangs him for thieving to the amount of a shilling, had hardly provided adequate punishment for extortioners, conspirators, perjurers, swindlers, gamblers, and rogues of those descriptions.

To some men (and surely all such men must be lost to shame) the pillory would be no punishment. To stand with the head and hands fastened to a block of wood for an hour, and where no pain arises from the punishment, would hold up no terror to evil-doers, were not the honest populace, indignant at the law's not hanging such diabolical villains by the neck on a gallows, in some measure to make good the defect. This was amply done on the present villains; they were most severely pelted and hooted.

These exemplary punishments were exhibited in the latter end of the year 1751.

Dixon, above mentioned, for a while eluded the search made after him; but, being at length taken, he was brought to trial, and on the 4th of May, 1752, sentenced by the Court of King's Bench to be imprisoned two years, to find sureties for his good behaviour, and to stand once upon the pillory at Charing Cross, where the mob treated him with no less severity than they had already done his quondam friends in villainy.

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16: Anthony De Rosa

Hanged at Tyburn for robbery and murder, 23rd March, 1752

THIS malefactor was the son of an Englishman of Portuguese extraction; but his father, going abroad, settled in one of the Bermuda Islands, where be married a Portuguese woman, and Anthony was the first child of that marriage.

His father, being at different times master of several vessels which traded up the Mediterranean, brought his son up as a seaman, and he continued with him till the old gentleman's death; but, when that event happened, he engaged himself as mate in another vessel, in which station be remained about two years.

The vessel putting into the port of Lisbon, De Rosa embarked on hoard an English man of war bound to Ireland, and afterwards to this kingdom. When the ship's crew were paid off he quitted the naval service, lived in an idle manner, and supported himself some time by forging seamen's wills and powers. After this he became acquainted with Emanuel De Rosa, and one Fullagar, with whom he combined in the commission of robberies.

On the 11th of June, 1751, Mr. William Farques, a young gentleman who lived in London, went to dine with his uncle, who kept an academy at Hoxton; and, having staid to supper, left the house about a quarter after ten o'clock, on his return to town.

Between eleven and twelve o'clock on the night the murder was committed, Mr. Hendrop, of Hoxton, was going home to his house, when, seeing two men standing by a person lying on the ground, he asked what was the matter; to which one of them replied, 'I believe there is a gentleman murdered.' Mr. Hendrop took hold of his hand, and found it warm. He then lifted up the body of the wounded man, who seemed to attempt to speak, but was unable. He then observed that the body was bloody, and felt some blood withinside the clothes; on which he went to a public house in the neighbourhood, where, meeting some men who had a lantern, he returned with them to the spot; but the party was then dead, though by the clothes it was known to be Mr. William Farques; on which the body was carried to the house of his uncle.

The coroner took an inquisition on this occasion, when the verdict of the jury was 'Wilful murder by persons unknown.' We have mentioned that this affair happened on the night of the 11th of June; but a discovery of the perpetrators of it did not arise till above six months afterwards.

On the 26th of December Emanuel De Rosa was apprehended as a disorderly person, and lodged in Bridewell, where the terrors of his conscience on the reflection of the murder were so great, that he determined to make a discovery of the affair, at once to ease his mind, and preserve his life by becoming an evidence for the crown.

Having informed the keeper of Bridewell of his intention, he then sent to Anthony De Rosa to come and see him; on which he was taken into custody, having in his pocket a knife with which he had stabbed the deceased.

Emanuel De Rosa, having given in his deposition before a magistrate, was admitted an evidence; and, when the trial came on at the Old Bailey, he swore to the following particulars:--

That he had been acquainted with the prisoner about three years, and had been concerned with him in forgery, and defrauding people of money; that the prisoner came to his lodgings, near the Maypole, in East Smithfield, about nine o'clock on the night the robbery was committed; that they went together to the Minories, where they found Fullagar; when all three of them went down Houndsditeh, into Moorfields, towards the Barking Dogs (a public house opposite the late Mr. Whitefield's tabernacle), where many people were then walking. The prisoner said he wanted money that night, and bade them come along, and not be afraid of anything. They walked backwards and forwards for some time, thinking it was too soon to attack anybody, as the clock had not then struck ten.

The prisoner soon afterwards said "Let us cross over that road," meaning by the Barking Dogs; and the gentleman who was murdered was coming alone in the middle of the path, when the prisoner asked him for his money. Mr. Farques said, "Gentlemen, I have no money for myself." Upon this Fullagar gave him two or three blows on the head with a stick, which had a piece of iron on its head. Hereupon the gentleman turned round, on which Fullagar struck him on the back of the head; but, as he did not fall, Anthony De Rosa bade the evidence hold his arm, which he did, and the other drew a knife, and stabbed him five or six times in the breast and body, as fast as he could repeat the blows; and Fullagar at the same time striking him near the ear, he fell against the pales. The prisoner and Fullagar now searched his pockets, and the former produced eleven shillings only.

The murderers now went together to the Nag's Head, on Tower Hill, and drank two pots of beer; and there the evidence received two shillings as his share of the plunder. About ten o'clock the next morning the prisoner called on the evidence, and bade him take care of himself, for that he and Fullagar were going down to Chatham.

The reader is already apprised of the circumstance which led to the apprehension of Anthony De Rosa, on whose trial the knife with which he had stabbed Mr. Farques was produced; yet he steadily denied having any concern in the wicked transaction, and attempted to set up a defence, by endeavouring to prove an alibi: for Dorothy Black and her son swore that on the 11th of June the prisoner had a cold; and the woman added that she gave him a sweat, and that he was not out of her house one minute during the whole day and night; and this latter circumstance was likewise sworn to by the son.

No credit, however, was given to the testimony of these evidences; the jury found the prisoner guilty, and the Court directed that Dorothy Black and her son should be taken into custody, to be tried for perjury.

At the time of trial the prisoner was exceedingly debilitated by illness; but, being considerably recovered in about ten days, he was advised to make a full confession of the barbarous fact for which his life was so soon to pay the forfeit, and to consider the consequence of dying in the solemn attestation of a falsehood.

In reply to this serious exhortation he said "I am as innocent as the child unborn'; and, being farther urged on the subject, he exclaimed 'Would you have me own myself guilty of what I know no more of than you do? I know, if I be guilty and deny it, I must send my soul to the bottom of hell, which I hope I know better than to do."

He was equally obstinate at the place of execution in denying the fact for which he suffered, solemnly declaring to the last that he knew nothing of the matter.

He was hanged at Tyburn on the 23d of March, 1752.

The horrid nature and unprovokedness of the crime which cost this man his life is almost without example. To the honour of this country he it remarked, that the instances of murder in consequence of robbery are fewer with us than in most of the other kingdoms of Europe; and we hope they will be fewer than they have been.

The source of De Rosa's misfortunes appears to have been idleness; for, if he had followed the lawful calling in which he was brought up, be might have lived happy in himself, and been an useful member of society: instead of which be was cut off in the prime of life, (for he was only twenty-eight years of age when he suffered,) and became an object of public contempt and abhorrence.

Of all things, then, let youth avoid idleness: let them consider that industry is the road to riches and honour; let them remember and apply the words of the poet:―

In works of labour or of skill,

I would he busy too;

For Satan finds some mischief still

For idle hands to do.'

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17: Nicholas Mooney and John Jones

Executed at Bristol, May 24, 1752, for highway robbery.

THERE was somewhat of a noble mind in the character of Mooney, though he suffered for an ignoble action. Many of the unfortunate men whose career we trace to an untimely end, have possessed hearts worthy of a better fate. Juvenile indiscretions have paved the way to enormities; and to support an ill-acquired habit, they have been driven to commit crimes, at which their minds have revolted. Melancholy, indeed, are our pictures of such men; and, if our drawings could but save one single youth from wandering into the road to ruin, our labours would be gratified in mental retrospection.

The exposition of crimes and punishments goes to this end, and the editors sincerely, hope, that their comments will strike abhorrence in each reader against the violation of the laws, both of God and man.

Nicholas Mooney and John Jones were condemned at Bristol, for a highway robbery. When brought to the bar, to receive sentence of death, Moony, who during the trial had pleaded for his fellow culprit Jones, thus addressed the Judge;

"My Lord,

"Permit me, again, to entreat for John Jones, whom I have inveigled and drawn into this trouble (as I have done many others before) that your Lordship will be pleased to spare his life.

"As to my own part; I have committed many robberies and have been a rebel against my king, and have wronged my country, by coining money for which I can never make the public restitution, and therefore I am content to die, as I deserve.

"I pray God to bless every one to whom I have done any wrong, and if there be any gentlemen of Bristol here, whom I have injured, I heartily ask their forgiveness, and more especially Mr. Washborough, (who stood near to the penitent culprit,) whom I attempted to murder, but God saved his life, for which I can never praise him enough."

"My Lord,

"I desire only three Sundays, and after that time has elapsed, I am willing to launch into eternity, and I hope, when I come to the place of execution, that God will open my mouth to warn all against my wicked course of life. I pray God to bless your Lordship, and this honourable Court, and may the Lord Jesus receive my soul!"

On the 24th of May (three Sundays having passed since sentence was pronounced) Nicholas Mooney, John Jones, and William Cudmore, for

returning from transportation before the time of his sentence had elapsed, were brought out of prison for execution.

When arrived at the fatal tree, Mooney, in a pathetic manner, warned the surrounding multitude against deviating from the paths of rectitude, and warned them by his untimely fate.

He left a letter to a gentleman who had been kind to him, in the following words

"Sir,

"Before I die, I take this opportunity of acknowledging your kindness to me in times past. Oh ! that I had deserved it; for then I had not brought myself into these circumstances. But God is wise, and seeing that; I do not hear his voice, and turn from my wicked life, he gave me up to my own heart's lust, and permitted me to fill up the measure of my iniquity, that in me at last should be shewn the severity of his justice.

"You took me, the most abandoned wretch, for an honest man; and, as such, you kindly and generously recommended me where I might have done well— it is my own fault I did not. On Friday I am to meet the fate my crimes too justly deserve. I merit not only death, but hell; to the former man has doomed me; from the latter, Christ, I hope, will save me. Oh ! the riches of his mercy in Jesus Christ, who has made, my prison as a palace, my chains as ornaments, and I am quite happy.. I  hope every one will pray for me, that my faith fail not. I am longing for death, and in firm expectation of a glorious resurrection to eternal life.

"Your most obliged and dying servant,

"'N. MOONEY."

When his irons were taken off, he smiling, said, "Death has no sting for me," and when released from this incumbrance, he ejaculated, "I have got rid of the chain of my sins;" and he appeared cheerful. When the executioner put the rope about his neck, he said, "Welcome halter, I am saved as the thief upon the cross;" coming to the fatal tree, his expression was, "Welcome gallows, for I have deserved thee many years."

The executioner was about to tie up Jones; but, with much earnestness, Mooney exclaimed, "Tie me up first, for I am the greatest sinner;" and then said, "As the breath leaves my body, from my sincere repentance, I am confident I shall go to heaven." So saying, and we trust his words were verified, with the two, other unfortunate men, he yielded up his life; all of them hoping forgiveness in that to come.

"Parent of nature! Master of the world

Where'er thy Providence directs, behold

My steps with cheerful resignation turn,

Fate leads the willing, drags the backward on.

Why should I grieve, when grieving I must bear?

Or take with guilt, what guiltless I might share?"

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18: John M'Cannelly And Luke Morgan

A Daring Burglary committed in the House of Mr Porter, of the Raike Farmhouse, near Chester, by M'Cannelly, Morgan, Stanley, Boyd and Neill, Irish Haymakers, for which the first two were executed on the 25th of May, 1752

AS harvest approaches, numbers of the lowest class of Irish come over to the nearest counties in England, to be hired, as thy receive better wages, and live better than in their own country, and a wild, ferocious, and knavish set generally mix among the industrious and honest, for the purpose of plundering their employers.

Mr Porter, a wealthy farmer of Cheshire, had engaged a number of these people, in the year 1752, in his harvest-fields. One evening his house was beset by a gang of them, who forcibly broke open his doors, advanced to him while at his supper-table, seized and bound him with cords, at the same time, with horrid threats, demanding his money.

They also seized his eldest daughter, pinioned her, and obliged her to show them where her father's money and plate were deposited. In the confusion the youngest daughter, a heroic little girl of thirteen years of age, made her escape, ran into the stable and got astride the bare back of a horse only haltered; but not daring to ride past the house beset by the rogues she galloped over the fields, leaping hedges and ditches, to Pulford, to inform her eldest brother of the danger they were in at the village. He and a friend, named Craven, determined on attacking the villains, and for that purpose set off at full speed, the little girl accompanying them.

On entering his paternal roof the son found one of the villains on guard, whom he killed so instantaneously that it caused no alarm. Proceeding to the parlour, they found the other four in the very act of setting his father on the fire, after robbing him of fourteen guineas, in order to extort more. They had stripped down his breeches to his feet, and his eldest daughter was on her knees, supplicating for his life.

What a sight was this for a son! Like an enraged lion, and backed by his brave friend, he flew upon them. They fired two pistols and wounded both the father and the son, and a servant-boy whom they had also bound, but not so as to disable them, for the son wrested a hanger from one of them, cleft the villain to the ground, and cut the others.

The eldest daughter having unbound her father the old man united his utmost efforts by the side of his son and friend, and so hard did they press that the thieves jumped through a window and ran off.

The young men pursued and seized two more on Chester Bridge, who dropped a silver tankard. The fifth got on board a vessel at Liverpool, of which his brother was the cook, bound for the West Indies; which sailed, but was driven back by adverse winds.

The account of the robbery, with the escape of the remaining villain, having reached Liverpool, a King's boat searched every vessel, and at length found the robber, by the wounds he had received, and sent him in fetters to Chester jail.

Mr Porter had a servant-man in the house at the time, a countryman of the robbers, who remained an unconcerned spectator, and, afterwards running away, he was also sent to prison, charged with being an accomplice. They were brought to trial at Chester Assizes, in March, 1752, and condemned.

Boyd, on account of his youth, and his having endeavoured to prevail upon the others not to murder Mr Porter, had his sentence of death remitted for transportation. The hired servant of Mr Porter was not prosecuted.

On the Thursday previous to the day fixed for execution Stanley slipped off his irons and, changing his dress, escaped out of jail, and got clear off. On the 25th of May, 1752, M'Cannelly and Morgan were brought out of prison in order to be hanged. Their behaviour was as decent as could be expected from such low-bred men. They both declared that Stanley, who escaped, was the sole contriver of the robbery.

They died in the Catholic faith, and were attended by a priest.

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19: Thomas Wilford

A Cripple, who murdered his Wife in a Fit of Jealousy, and was executed at Tyburn on the 22nd of June, 1752

THE jealous subject of our narrative was born of very poor parents, at Fulham, in the county of Middlesex; and, coming into the world with only one arm, he was received into the workhouse, where he was employed in going errands for the paupers and occasionally for the inhabitants of the town, and he was distinguished by his inoffensive behaviour.

A girl of ill-fame, named Sarah Williams, being passed from the parish of St Giles-in-the-Fields to the same workhouse, had art enough to persuade Wilford to marry her, though he was then only seventeen years of age; and their inclinations being made known to the churchwardens they gave the intended bride forty shillings to enable her to begin the world.

The young couple now went to the Fleet and were married, after which they took lodgings, in St Giles's; and it was only on the Sunday succeeding the marriage that the murder was perpetrated. On that day the wife, having been out with an old acquaintance, stayed till midnight, and on her return Wilford, who was jealous of her conduct, asked her where she had been. She said, "To the Park," and would give him no other answer; a circumstance that inflamed him to such a degree that a violent quarrel ensued, the consequence of which was fatal to the wife; for Wilford's passions were so irritated that he seized a knife and, she advancing towards him, he threw her down and, kneeling on her, cut her throat so that her head was almost severed from her body.

He had no sooner committed the horrid deed than he threw down the knife, opened the chamber door, and was going downstairs, when a woman, who lodged in an adjacent room, asked who was there; to which Wilford replied: "It is me. I have murdered my poor wife, whom I loved as dearly as my own life."

On this the woman went down to the landlord of the house, and was immediately followed by Wilford, who said he had killed the woman that he loved beyond all the world, and was willing to die for the crime he had committed; and he did not make the slightest effort to escape.

On this the landlord called the watch, who, taking Wilford into custody, confined him for that night, and on the following day he was committed to Newgate by Justice Fielding.

Being arraigned on the first day of the following sessions at the Old Bailey he pleaded guilty; but, the Court refusing to record his plea, he was put by till the last day, when he again pleaded guilty, but was prevailed on to put himself on his trial.

Accordingly the trial came on, and the prisoner was found guilty. He was the first to suffer death in consequence of an Act passed in the year 1751 for the more effectual prevention of murder, which decreed that the convict should be executed on the second day after conviction: for which reason it was customary to try persons charged with murder on a Friday, by which indulgence, in case of conviction, the execution of the sentence was, necessarily postponed till Monday; and by the same Act it was ordained that the convicted murderer should be either hanged in chains or anatomised.

The jury having found Wilford guilty, sentence against him was pronounced in the following terms:--

"Thomas Wilford, you stand convicted of the horrid and unnatural crime of murdering Sarah, your wife. This Court doth adjudge that you be taken back to the place from whence you came, and there to be fed on bread and water till Wednesday next, when you are to be taken to the common place of execution, and there hanged by the neck until you are dead; after which your body is to be publicly dissected and anatomised, agreeable to an Act of Parliament in that case made and provided; and may God Almighty have mercy on your soul!"

Both before and after conviction Wilford behaved as a real penitent, and at the place of execution he exhibited the most genuine signs of contrition for the crime of which he had been guilty.

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20: Moses Moravia and John Manoury

Convicted at the Old Bailey, 27th of June, 1752, for sinking a Ship and swindling Insurers

SHIP-INSURERS were about this time greatly defrauded by conspiracies of villains to sink vessels, in order to swindle the underwriters, and the utmost difficulty was always experienced in bringing the crimes home to them.

It was usual for those who practised the imposition upon ship-insurers to purchase goods, pay for them, get them on board, and in the night-time take them clandestinely out of the ship and dispose of them for what they would bring.

Thus when they had sunk the ship they could produce receipts for the goods, and the shipping papers for the same; upon which the insurers were compelled to pay the amount.

This was precisely the crime proved upon these Jews, who, conspiring with one Samuel Wilson, who died before his trial came on, and Captain Misson, commander of the ship Elizabeth and Martha, sunk that fine ship at sea, in order to defraud the underwriters. Misson absconded, and a reward of fifty pounds was offered for apprehending him, but he was never brought to justice.

Moravia and Manoury were arraigned for this offence at the bar of the Old Bailey, on the 27th of June, 1752, and, after a long trial, found guilty. Solomon Carolina, another Jew, was tried with them, as an accomplice; but, the proof not fully reaching him, he was acquitted.

They were sentenced to a year's imprisonment in Newgate, and in that time to stand in the pillory, once on Tower Hill and once at the Royal Exchange; to pay a fine of twenty pounds each, and to find securities for their good behavior for five years, themselves in two hundred pounds each, and such other securities as the Court might require.

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21: Ann Whale and Sarah Pledge

Ann Whale, strangled and then burned, for the Murder of her Husband; and Sarah Pledge, hanged for being her Accomplice.

ANN WHALE was born of respectable parents, at Horsham, in Sussex; but her father dying in her infancy, she was left to the care of her mother. Early in life she gave evidence of an uncontrollable disposition, and, having a dispute with her mother, she wandered into the country and associated with people of bad character; but her mother, in order to save her from ruin, at length prevailed on her to return home.

Soon after this she was addressed by a sober young man, named James Whale; and as a relation had left her a legacy of eighty pounds, payable when she was of age, and the mother readily consenting to their alliance, the marriage took place. They had not been long wedded when they went to reside at a place called Steepwood; but soon returning to Horsham they took up their residence in the house of Sarah Pledge, who was distantly related to Mrs Whale.

A short time after their abode there, a misunderstanding happening between the women, Mr Whale forbade Mrs Pledge to come into his apartment— a circumstance that only tended to foment the quarrel. Soon afterwards, however, the women were privately reconciled; and as the man was remarkably sober, and they were of the opposite character, it is the less to be wondered at that they sought the means of his destruction.

Mrs Whale having lain in, and being tolerably recovered, Mrs Pledge took the advantage of her husband's absence to come into her room, when she said: "Nan, let us get rid of this devil!" (meaning Mr Whale). The wife said: "How can we do it?" To which the other replied: "Let us give him a dose of poison."

The abandoned woman too readily consented to this horrid proposal; and the only difficulty which appeared to arise was how the poison should be procured.

They first attempted their purpose by roasting spiders and putting them into his beer, but finding this did not produce the effect, Mrs Pledge undertook to purchase something more efficacious, and for that purpose went to several market-towns; but as she went into each apothecary's shop she saw or fancied she saw, some person who knew her, or that her conscience interposed. At length she went to an apothecary at Horsham to whom she was a stranger, but was still afraid, though she made the purchase.

Hastening to her more wicked friend, she gave her the bane, who with equal dispatch administered it; for at the moment her husband was fondling their child, on whom he doted, she mixed it in some hasty pudding prepared for his supper. Unsuspicious, the affectionate but unfortunate man ate, was soon seized with the racking torments occasioned by that corrosive mineral, and the next day expired; but, the neighbours suspecting that his death was occasioned by some sinister arts, a surgeon examined the body, and the coroner's jury being summoned brought in a verdict of "Wilful Murder."

Thereupon Mrs Whale and Mrs Pledge were taken into custody, and carried before a magistrate. The latter wished to become evidence; but being separately examined, and both confessing the fact, they were committed to Horsham Jail. On their trials the confessions which they had signed were read and, some corroborative evidence arising, they were convicted, and received sentence of death.

For some time after conviction Mrs Pledge behaved in the most hardened manner, making use of profane expressions, and declaring that she would fight with the hangman at the place of execution. On the contrary, Mrs Whale acknowledged the justice of the sentence which had condemned her, and gave evident signs of being a real penitent.

On the evening preceding the execution the clergyman who attended them brought Mrs Pledge into a better state of mind, and then administered the Sacrament to both the convicts.

They suffered on the 14th of August, 1752, at Horsham, in Sussex. An immense crowd attended at the place of execution where Pledge was hanged; and Whale, being tied to a stake, was first strangled and then burned to ashes, in the twenty-first year of her age.

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22: William Montgomery

Executed at Tyburn, December 2, 1752, for defrauding his creditors

IN A COUNTRY like England, and more especially when we view the overgrown capital, though productive of crimes in fraudulent debtors, we must advocate acts of insolvency.

The good of many must be pre-eminent to the villainy of a few; and, where we find one punished for the abuse of the lenity of the legislative body, we happily find thousands of unfortunate beings rescued from the horrors of a prison, where they had long been immured without the means of support, much less were they able to satisfy the demands of inexorable creditors.

The necessity of good faith in contracts, and the support of commerce, oblige the legislature to secure for the creditors the person of the bankrupts; and in this point of view may the subject of this case, and all others who take the benefit of an act of insolvency, be considered.

The fraudulent bankrupt should be punished in the same manner with him who adulterates the coin of the realm; for to falsify a piece of coin, which is a pledge of mutual obligations between men, is not a greater crime than to violate the obligations themselves.

But the bankrupt who, after a strict examination, has proved before the commissioners that either the fraud or losses of others, or misfortunes unavoidable by human prudence, have stripped him of his substance, on what barbarous pretence is he thrown into prison, and thus deprived of the only remaining good, the melancholy enjoyment of mere liberty? Still more hard is the case of an unfortunate trader, who, disclosing his whole transactions, and offering to assign over to his creditors the remains of his stock, is cast into prison by a single hard-hearted unrelenting claimant. Yet this is constantly done in Britain.

Why is such a man cast into a loathsome prison, ranked with criminals, and, in despair, compelled to repent of his honesty? Conscious of his innocence, he lived easy and happy under the protection of those laws, which, it is true, he violated, but not intentionally. Laws are dictated by the avarice of the rich, and tacitly accepted by the poor, seduced by that flattering and universal hope, which makes men believe that all unlucky accidents are the lot of others, and the most fortunate only their share.

Mankind, when influenced by the first impressions, love cruel laws, although, being subject to them themselves, it is in the interest of every person that they should be as mild as possible; but the fear of being injured is always far more prevalent that the intention of injuring others.

But, to return to the innocent bankrupt. Let his debt, if you will, not be considered as cancelled till payment of the whole; let him be refused the liberty of leaving the country with out leave of his creditors, or of carrying into another nation that industry, which, under a penalty, he should be obliged to employ for their benefit; but what pretence can justify the depriving of an innocent, though unfortunate, man of his liberty, without the least utility to his creditors?

Then it may be in answer be said, that the hardships of confinement will induce him to discover his fraudulent transactions: an event that can hardly be supposed, after  a rigorous examination into his conduct and affairs.

It will be necessary to distinguish fraud, attended with aggravating circumstances, from simple fraud, and that from perfect innocence. For the first, let there be ordained the same punishment as for forgery. For the second, a punishment with the loss of liberty; and if perfectly innocent, let the bankrupt himself choose the method of re-establishing himself, and satisfying his creditors.

With what ease might a sagacious legislator prevent the greatest part of fraudulent bankruptcies, and remedy the misfortunes that befall the innocent and industrious! A public register of all contracts, with the liberty of consulting it allowed to each tradesman― a public fund, formed by the contribution of fortunate merchants, for the timely assistance of unfortunate industry― would be the establishments that could produce no real inconveniences, but would be attended with numberless advantages.

Many eminent bankers, in the history of the trade of London, by an unexpected run upon their house, must have become bankrupts, and thereby embarrassed thousands, had not the Bank of England come to their assistance; but alas! The unfortunate tradesman has no one to prevent his fall. Unhappily, the most simple, the easiest regulations, await only the nod of the legislator to diffuse through nations wealth, power and felicity; laws, which would be regarded by future generations with eternal gratitude, are either unknown or rejected. A restless and trifling spirit, the timid prudence of the present moment, and a distrust and aversion to the most useful motives, possess the minds of those who are empowered to regulate the actions of mankind.

It must at the same time, be acknowledged, that the baseness of a few failures often tends to render callous the feelings of creditors.

No act of insolvency has been carried into effect without the detection of fraud. Eager to embrace its benefits, and thus rid themselves of debt, men will wade through perjury, and employ every means to accomplish their purpose.

After the destruction of the prisons in London, during the riots of the year 1780, an act was passed for the purpose of absolving all who had been confined. Of this every rascal in London was ready to take the advantage. A mere form was only necessary, to enter their names; but the signatures, that Lord Chief Justice Mansfield, to his infinite honour, ordered the lists to be printed and published, which put to rout whole hives of impostors. Names were herein found that might as well have expected to appear in the list of Gazette promotions.

A man of this description was the subject who led to this enquiry.

William Montgomery was a native of Elphinstone, in Scotland, and educated in the Presbyterian form of religion.

His father dying when he was about thirteen years old, his mother sent him to sea in a ship belonging to Alloa. Having continued in the naval line of business some years, he at length married, and opened a public house in Bishopsgate-street; and dealing largely as a smuggler, he frequently went to Holland, to bring home prohibited goods.

Quitting Bishopsgate-street, he lived some years at the sign of the Highlander, in Shadwell; but, on the death of his wife, he resolved to decline business as a publican; and having saved some money, he entered again into the matrimonial state, and taking a lodging in Nightingale-lane, he let lodgings to seafaring men.

Meeting with success, he took a shop as a seller of seamen's clothes; but left the care of it chiefly to his wife, while he employed his own time in frequent trips to Holland, in pursuit of his former illicit practice of smuggling.

An act of insolvency passing in the year 1748, favourable to such persons as had been in foreign parts fugitives for debt, Montgomery took the benefit of it, swearing that he was at Rotterdam on the last day of the preceding year: in consequence of which, he was cleared of his debts, to the injury of his creditors.

No notice was taken of this affair till the expiration of four years, when , Montgomery having arrested a neighbour, the man gave notice of his former transactions to one of his creditors, who laying an information before the lord mayor, Montgomery was lodged in Newgate on suspicion.

Being brought to trial at the next sessions at the Old Bailey, several persons deposed that they spent the evening with him at his own house at the time he alleged that he was in Holland, in order to take the benefit of the act: so that he was convicted, and received sentence to die.

For some time after conviction he behaved with apparent signs of devotion; but asserted his innocence, and said that the witnesses against him were perjured; and in this tale he continued till the arrival of the warrant for his execution.

Being pressed by the divine who attended him to tell the truth, he persisted in the former story until the Friday before his death; but in the afternoon of that day he acknowledged, that after having been on board a Dutch vessel; in order to take his passage for Holland, he had come on shore, owing to the contrary winds.

On the following day he insisted that, "as he had been sworn according to the methods used in Scotland, without kissing the book, his crime could not come within the meaning of the act". In rely to this he was told that the mode of administering could make no difference to the nature of an oath.

Hereupon he made a full confession of his crime, and owned that, having come on shore, he concealed himself for some weeks in his own house; then appeared publicly, saying he had been at Rotterdam: after which he surrendered himself to the warden of the Fleet prison, and obtained the benefit of the act of insolvency.

On the Sunday following, when he was pressed to declare the whole truth, he exclaimed, "What would you have me say? I have told you all the truth, and can say no otherwise than what I have done. If I did, I should belie myself, and my own knowledge."

This malefactor appeared dreadfully shocked on the morning of execution, and wished for time for repentance, which he now considered highly necessary. At the place of execution he warned the spectators to beware of covetousness, which had been the cause of his destruction.

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23: Captain Peter De la Fontaine

Convicted of Forgery

THE following short sketch of this artful and daring foreigner would furnish incident for a novel or a romance.

De la Fontaine was born of noble parents in France, received a military education, and served at the siege of Phillipsburgh, under the Duke of Berwick.

The campaign being ended, he went to Paris, where a gentleman invited him to spend some time at his country seat, when he fell in love with his daughter, who wished to marry him; but the father interposing, she eloped with her lover, and they lived a considerable time, as married people, at Rouen.

On their return to Paris the young lady lodged in a convent; but De la Fontaine appearing in public, some officers of justice, seeing him in a coffee-house, told him they had the king's warrant for apprehending him: on which he wounded two of them with his sword; notwithstanding which he was seized, and lodged in prison.

On this he wrote to the young lady, telling her he was obliged to go into the country on urgent business, but would soon return; and, having made an interest with the daughter of the keeper of the prison, she let him out occasionally, to visit his mistress.

Being brought to trial for running away with an heiress, he would have been capitally convicted, agreeable to the laws of France, but that the young lady voluntarily swore that she went off with him by her own consent. Soon after his acquittal she was seized with the pains of labour, and died in child-bed.

After this De la Fontaine went again into the army, and behaved so bravely at the battle near Kale, that the Duke of Berwick rewarded his courage with the commission of lieutenant of grenadiers.

A young lady of Stratzburgh, who had fallen in love with De la Fontaine, at Paris, before his former connexion, now obtained a pass from the Marshal de Belleisle, and, being introduced to the Duke of Berwick, told him she wished to see De la Fontaine; and the duke, judging of the cause, ordered her to be conducted to him.

On the following day she went to the duke, dressed in men's clothes, and, begging to enter as a volunteer in the same regiment with De la Fontaine, she was indulged for the novelty of the humour. She went through the regular duties of a soldier, and reposed in the same tent with her paramour; but, in the winter following the campaign, she died of small-pox, leaving a part of her fortune to her lover.

The Duke of Berwick being killed at the siege of Phillipsburgh, De la Fontaine made the tour of Europe; but, returning to Paris, he fought a duel with an officer, who being dangerously wounded, our hero repaired to Brest, and embarked as lieutenant of marines on board a vessel bound for Martinico.

The ship, being taken by a Turkish corsair, was carried into Constantinople, where De la Fontaine was confined in a dungeon, and had only bread and water for his sustenance. While in this situation he was visited by another prisoner, who had more liberty than himself, and who advised him, as the French consul was then absent, to apply to a Scotch nobleman then in the city, who was distinguished for his humane and generous feelings.

De la Fontaine, having procured pen, ink, and paper, with a tinder-box to strike a light (all by the friendship of his fellow- prisoner), sent a letter to the nobleman, who had no sooner read it than he hurried to the cells, to visit the unfortunate prisoner.

Having promised his interest to procure his enlargement, he went to the grand vizier, and pleaded his cause so effectually, that De la Fontaine was released, and went immediately to thank the vizier, who wished him happy, and presented him with a sum of money.

Hence our adventurer sailed to Amsterdam, where, having a criminal connexion with a lady, who became pregnant, he embarked for the Dutch settlement of Curaçao; but, finding the place unhealthy, he obtained the governor's permission to go to Surinam, and continued above five years on that island.

While in this place the governor invited him to a ball, where one of the company was a widow lady of rank, of whom he determined, if possible, to make a conquest; nor did he long fail of an opportunity, for, dining with her at the governor's house, they soon became very intimately acquainted.

The consequence of their sociability was a residence as husband and wife; and four children were the fruits of the connexion, three of whom died; but the other, a boy, was educated by the governor of the island.

Other officers having addressed the same lady, De la Fontaine was occasionally involved in difficulties on her account.

One of these officers having traduced him in his absence, our hero, on meeting him, bid him draw his sword; but the other refused, on which De la Fontaine struck him with his cane, and cut off one of his ears.

On this our adventurer was seized, and tried by a court-martial, but acquitted; and the officer degraded, on account of the provocation he had given; and from this time De la Fontaine was treated with unusual marks of civility.

He still lived on the best terms with the lady, and their affection appeared to be reciprocal.

The governor bestowed on him a considerable tract of land, which he cultivated to great advantage; but the malice of his enemies was so restless, that they prevailed on one of his negro servants to mix a dose of poison in his food.

Unsuspicious of any villainy, he swallowed the poison, the consequence of which was, that he languished several months: and the lady, affected by his situation, gave way to melancholy, which brought on a consumption, that deprived her of life.

After her death De la Fontaine obtained the governor's permission to return to Europe, and lived for some time in a splendid manner at Amsterdam; but at length determined to embark for England.

Having arrived in London, he took elegant lodgings, lived in the style of a gentleman, and made several gay connexions.

Among his acquaintance was Zannier, a Venetian, who had been obliged to quit his own country on account of his irregularities. This man possessed such an artful address, that De la Fontaine made him at all times welcome to his table, and admitted him to a considerable share of his confidence.

Zannier soon improved this advantage; for, contriving a scheme with an attorney and bailiff, he pretended to have been arrested for three hundred pounds, and prevailed on his new friends to bail him, on the assurance that he had a good estate in Ireland, and would pay the money before the return of the writ; but, when the term arrived, our hero was compelled to discharge the debt, as Zannier did not appear.

Hitherto De la Fontaine had been in London without making any connexion with the ladies; but, there being a procession of freemasons at that time, he dressed himself in the most superb taste, and his chariot being the most elegant of any in the procession, he was particularly noticed by the spectators.

Among the rest, the daughter of an alderman had her curiosity so much excited, that she caused inquiry to be made who he was; and on the following day sent him a letter, intimating that she should be at a ball at Richmond, where he might have an opportunity of dancing with her.

Our hero did not hesitate to comply; and, when the ball was ended, he received an invitation to dine with the young lady on the following day, at her father's house. He attended accordingly; but the father, having learnt his character, insisted that she should decline his visits, which put an end to all his hopes from that quarter.

The circumstances of our hero being greatly reduced, he resolved, if possible, to repair them by marriage, and was soon afterwards wedded to a widow of considerable fortune; but his taste for extravagance rendered this fortune unequal to his support; nor was his conduct to his wife by any means generous.

Soon after his marriage he was at the lord mayor's ball,  where he made the acquaintance with the wife of a tradesman, which ended in a criminal connexion.

The parties frequently met at taverns and bagnios; and De la Fontaine having written to the lady, appointing her to meet him at a tavern, the letter fell into the hands of her husband, who communicated the contents to her brother, and the letter was sealed up, and delivered according to its address.

The brothers agreed to go to the tavern, where they told the waiter to show any lady to them who might inquire for De la Fontaine.

In a short time the lady came, and was astonished to be introduced to her brother and husband: but the latter was so affected, that he promised a full remission of all that was passed, on her promise of future fidelity. These generous terms she rejected with contempt, and immediately left the room.

De la Fontaine, being acquainted with this circumstance, was impressed with a sense of the husband's generous behavior, and advised the lady to return to her duty. At first she insulted him for his advice, but at length thought proper to comply with it.

Our hero now saw his own conduct in an unfavourable light; on which he went into the country with his wife for some time, to avoid his old associates, and then returned to London, determined to abandon his former course of life.

Unfortunately, however, he had not long formed this resolution, when Zannier went to him, begging his forgiveness for obliging him to pay the debt. De la Fontaine too easily complied with his request, and once more considered him as a friend.

Zannier and De la Fontaine, going to a tavern, met with a woman whom the latter had formerly known, and a man who was dressed in black. While De la Fontaine was conversing with the woman, the stranger (who afterwards appeared to be a Fleet parson) read the marriage-ceremony from a book which he held in his hand; and the next week De la Fontaine was apprehended on a charge of bigamy, and committed for trial at the Old Bailey.

The villain Zannier visiting him in Newgate, De la Fontaine was so enraged at his perfidy, that he beat him through the press- yard with a broomstick with such severity, that the turnkey was obliged to interpose to prevent murder.

In revenge of this, Zannier swore that De la Fontaine had been guilty of forgery, in imitating the handwriting of a gentleman named Parry: in consequence of which De la Fontaine was brought to his trial, and capitally convicted, though a gentleman swore that the writing resembled that of Zannier, and there was too much reason to believe that his hand committed the forgery.

Yet the jury found De la Fontaine guilty; the Court sentenced him to death, and the day was appointed for his execution. He was, however, respited, and this was from time to time continued, during five years, then he was pardoned on condition of transportation.

In September, 1752, with many other convicts, he was shipped to the English colony of Virginia, in America.

The villainy of Zannier, and the consequence of dissipation in the life of De la Fontaine, are the circumstances proper for remark on this occasion. The man who, like the former, could abuse the confidence of a trusting friend, is unworthy of all pity, and deserving only of general de testation.

It is to be lamented that the forgery could not have been fixed on Zannier, in which case he would probably have met with the due reward of his villainy. With regard to De la Fontaine, we see that a life of dissipation ends only in disgrace, if not in absolute destruction. The fate of this man should teach us that the plain path of virtue and religion can alone be the high road to happiness.

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1753

24: Ann Williams

Burnt at the stake for murdering her husband, April 13, 1753

THE behaviour of this fiend had long been a prelude to the diabolical crime which she committed. She was in her family turbulent and dictatorial; her husband the very reverse. His mild and quiet disposition served only to nurse her opposition and violence. He had long given way to her in all things, and she, in return, ruled him with a rod of iron.

Before the commission of this horrid deed we have found women make use of man's unqualified indulgence. Hence arose the vulgar saying of 'the grey mare being the better horse,' of 'hen-pecked husbands,' and many other irritating observations on men troubled with shrews.

One of the wisest of the ancient philosophers had his Xantippe; and the poet sings,

'When man to woman gives the sway,

To what is right they oft say Nay.'

The pliancy of the more unfortunate man in question could not shield him from the consequence of the ascendancy she had over him; it sunk into contempt, and she determined to rule alone. To effect this, her wicked heart suggested the death of her husband. For this horrid purpose she prevailed on their servant-man to purchase some white mercury, which she mixed in some gruel, and caused him to eat it. This mode of administering the poison, it was conjectured, was adopted in contempt of him; for it appeared the poor man did not like gruel. She then directed him to draw her some ale, of which he also drank; and was immediately seized with violent purgings and vomiting. She told the man, whom it seems she meant afterwards to share her bed, that she 'had given her husband the stuff be brought, and that it was operating purely.'

The dying man, in his agonies, said his wife was a wicked woman; that he was well until she made him eat some pap, which had done his business, and that he should be a dead man on the morrow: and, in spite of medical aid, he died next day, his body being in a state of mortification.

The horrid crime being fully proved against her, she received sentence to be burnt at the stake, which sentence was accordingly carried into execution at Gloucester, April 13, 1753, among a number of spectators, who showed little pity for her fate, and which became still more shocking from denying the fact, so incontrovertibly proved, to the very last moment of her existence.

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25: Dr. A. Cameron

Executed at Tyburn, 7une 7, 1753 (greatly lamented) for High Treason.

AS THE REBELLION was suppressed, and the British nation enjoyed internal peace, we could almost have wished the royal mercy had been extended to Dr. Cameron; as he took so small a part in the crime for which he suffered, and was drawn into it by attending, in his professional capacity, upon his elder brother.

The brother of this unfortunate man was the chief of the family of their name in the Highlands, and had obtained the highest degree of reputation by his zealous and effectual endeavours to civilize the manners of his countrymen.

Dr. Cameron, being intended by his father for the profession of the law, was sent to Glasgow; where he continued his studies some years; but, having an attachment to the practice of physic, he entered in the university of Edinburgh; whence he went to Paris, and then completed his studies at Leyden in Holland.

Though well qualified to have cut a respectable figure in any capital city, yet he chose to reside for life near his native place; and, having returned to the Highlands, he married, and settled in the small town of Lochaber; where, though his practice was small, his generous conduct rendered him the delight and the blessing of the neighbourhood. His wife bore him seven children, and was pregnant of the eighth at the unfortunate period of his death.

While Dr. Cameron was living happy in the domestic way, the rebellion broke out, and laid the foundation of the ruin of himself and his family. The Pretender having landed, went to the house of Mr M'Donald, and sent for the doctor's brother, who went to him, and did all in his power to dissuade him from an undertaking from which nothing but ruin could ensue.

The elder Mr Cameron having previously promised to bring all his clan in aid of the Pretender, the latter upbraided him with an intention of breaking his promise; which so affected the generous spirit of the Highlander, that he immediately went and took leave of his wife, and gave orders for his vassals, to the number of near twelve hundred, to have recourse to arms.

This being done, he sent for his brother, to attend him as a physician; but the doctor urged every argument against so rash an undertaking; from which he even besought him on his knees to desist. The brother would not be denied; and the doctor at length agreed to attend him as a physician, though he absolutely refused to accept any commission in the rebel army.

This unhappy gentleman was distinguished by his humanity; and gave the readiest assistance, by night or day, to any wounded men of the royal army, who were made prisoners by the rebels. His brother being wounded in the leg at the battle of Falkirk, he attended him with the kindest assiduity, till himself was likewise slightly wounded.

Dr. Cameron exhibited repeated instances of his humanity; but when the battle of Culloden gave a decisive stroke to the hopes of the rebels, he and his brother escaped to the western islands, whence they sailed to France, in a vessel belonging to that kingdom.

The doctor was appointed physician to a French regiment, of which his brother obtained the command; but the latter dying at the end of two years, the doctor became physician to Ogilvie's regiment, then in Flanders.

A subscription being set on foot, in England and Scotland, in the year 1750, for the relief of those persons who had been attainted, and escaped into foreign countries; the doctor came into England to receive the money for his unfortunate fellow sufferers. At the end of two years another subscription was opened; when the doctor, whose pay was inadequate to the support of his numerous family, came once more to this country, and having written a number of urgent letters to his friends, it was rumoured that he was returned.

Hereupon, a detachment from Lord George Beauclerk's regiment was sent in search of him, and he was taken in the following manner:— Captain Graves, with thirty soldiers, going towards the place where it was presumed he was concealed, saw a little girl at the extremity of a village, who, on their approach, fled towards another village. She was pursued by a servant and two soldiers, who could only come near enough to observe her whispering to a boy, who seemed to have been placed for the purpose of conveying intelligence.

Unable to overtake the boy, they presented their guns at him; on which he fell on his knees, and begged his life; which they promised, on the condition that he would shew them the place where Dr. Cameron was concealed.

Hereupon the boy pointed to the house where he was, which the soldiers surrounded, and took him prisoner. Being sent to Edinburgh, he was thence conducted to London, and committed to the Tower.

While in this confinement, he was denied the use of pen, ink, and paper, and was not suffered to speak to his friends but when the warder was present. On his examination before the lords of the privy-council, be denied that he was the same Dr. Cameron whose name had been mentioned in the act of attainder; which made it necessary to procure living evidence to prove his identity.

Being brought to the bar of the court of king's-bench on the 17th of May, he was arraigned on the act of attainder, when, declining to give the court any farther trouble, he acknowledged that he was the person who had been attainted: on which the lord chief justice Lee pronounced sentence in the following terms: "You, Archibald Cameron, of Lochiel, in that part of Great Britain called Scotland, must be removed from hence to his majesty's prison of the Tower of London, from whence you came, and on Thursday, the 7th of June next, your body to be drawn on a sledge to the place of execution; there to be hanged, but not till you are dead; your bowels, to be taken out, your body quartered, your head cut off, and affixed at the king's disposal; and the Lord have mercy on your soul!"

After his commitment to the Tower, he begged to see his wife, who was then at Lisle in Flanders; and, on her arrival, the meeting between them was inexpressibly affecting. The unhappy lady wept incessantly, on reflecting on the fate of her husband, herself, and numerous family.

Coming to take her final leave of him on the morning of execution she was so agitated by her contending passions, that she was attacked by repeated fits; and, a few days after the death of her unfortunate husband, she became totally deprived of her senses.

On the 7th of June, the sheriffs went to the Tower, and demanded the body of Dr. Archibald Cameron, who was accordingly brought to them by William Ranford, Esq. the deputy-lieutenant.

As soon as he was seated on the sledge, whereon he was to be drawn to the place of execution, he requested to speak to his wife, but being informed that she had left the Tower, after taking leave of him, at eight o'clock, he replied, he was sorry for it; upon which the sledge moved towards Tyburn, among a great number of spectators, who all pitied his situation.

The doctor was dressed in a light-coloured coat, red waistcoat and breeches, and a new bag-wig. He looked much at the spectators in the houses and balconies, as well as at those in the streets, and bowed to several persons with whom he had been acquainted.

At a quarter past twelve the solemn procession reached the place of execution, where he looked on the officers and spectators, with an undaunted and composed countenance; and as soon as unloosed from the sledge, he started up, and with a heroic deportment, stept up into the cart, whence looking round with unconcern on all the apparatus of death, he smiled. Seeing the clergyman, that had before attended him, coming up the steps, he came forward to meet him, and endeavoured, with his fettered hands, to help him up, saying, "So, you are come:— this is a glorious day to me!— 'tis my new birthday!— there are more witnesses at this birth than at my first"

The clergyman being now at the side of the cart, asked "how he felt himself;" he answered, "thank God, I am very well, but a little fatigued with my journey: but, blessed be God, I am now come to the end of it."

The sheriff asked the clergyman, whether he would be long about his office, Dr. Cameron immediately took the words, and said, he required but very little time; for it was disagreeable to be there, and he was as impatient to be gone as they were.

This truly unfortunate man then told the sheriff, he would no longer presume upon his patience; but the sheriff, with looks that shewed a great deal of concern, begged he would take as much time as he pleased, for he would wait until he was ready. The doctor thanked him. He turned to the clergy man, and said, "I have now done with this world, and am ready to leave it."

He now joined him in some short prayers, and repeated some ejaculations out of the Psalms; then embraced the clergyman and took his farewell.

As the divine was going down from the cart, he had nearly missed the steps, which the doctor observing, called to him in a cheerful tone of voice, saying, "Take care how you go; I think you don't know this way as well as I do;" and now, giving the signal, the cart drew from under him.

The body, after hanging twenty minutes, was cut down: it was not quartered; but the heart was taken out and burnt. On the following Sunday, the remains of Dr. Cameron were interred in a large vault in the Savoy chapel.

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26: Christopher Johnson and John Stockdale

Executed at Tyburn, 3rd of July, 1753, and their Bodies hanged in Chains, for Murder

CHRISTOPHER JOHNSON was born in Newgate, both his parents being convicted of fraud. Having imbibed false ideas of gentility, he procured some elegant clothes and frequented the gaming-houses, where he soon made the most dangerous connections and arrived at the head of his profession.

From the practice of gaming he took to that of forgery, at which he was remarkably expert in imitating the hands of other people to notes payable to himself; by which he repeatedly acquired money, but still escaped detection.

His daring was such that he sometimes arrested persons on whom he had committed forgeries and compelled the payment of the money, by having people ready to swear that the handwriting was that of the party whose name was subscribed to the draft.

The following is one specimen of his devices. He forged a note on a lady of considerable fortune, and signed her name to it so like her writing that she almost discredited her own sight when she read it. Johnson arrested her. But as she knew she had given no such note, she bailed the action and prepared to stand trial; but the guilty man declined all further proceedings.

After this Johnson took to picking pockets and other low practices of defraud; but a miserable poverty still attended him, for what he got dishonestly was soon spent in dissipation. At length he met John Stockdale, at Sadler's Wells, and agreed to see him the next evening at a house in Holborn.

Stockdale was born at Leicester, where his father was a reputable proctor, who gave him an excellent education, but was too fond of him to keep that strict guard over his conduct which might have been essential to his future welfare. He very soon showed a disposition to idleness, which was not properly checked by his parents, who would not permit his schoolmaster to chastise him for his faults. When the father saw his error he determined, in pursuance of the advice of some friends, to send him to a proctor in Doctors' Commons, where he hoped to hear of a speedy reformation in his manners. Stockdale, however, was of too idle a disposition to brook confinement. His extravagance exceeded the bounds of his father's allowance, and he borrowed of his acquaintances to supply his immediate wants. In this way he went on frequenting places of public diversion, till those who had lent him money teased him for a return of it; and he was at a loss for further resources when he met Johnson at Sadler's Wells.

On the following day these ill-fated youths met at the appointed place and made a contract for their mutual destruction. At this time Johnson was under twenty and Stockdale not eighteen years of age. Stockdale agreed to accompany Johnson, and the next day they hired horses and rode towards Romford, near which the party lived whom they intended to rob; and having wasted the time till night, they tied their horses to a hedge and, being armed with pistols, knocked at the door, which was opened by the old gentleman. Johnson presented a pistol to his breast, and then they bound him and his two servants, and told the master that he must expect immediate death if he did not discover where his money was concealed.

Terrified by this threat, he told them to take a key from his pocket which would open a bureau, where they would find a bag containing all the cash then in his possession. The robbers having seized the property, Johnson put the bag into his pocket and then remounted and rode to London, where they found the booty to consist of one hundred and fifty pounds; but this they soon dissipated in acts of extravagance, and then proceeded to commit a number of robberies on the roads of Essex and Kent.

They took horses in Holborn, and, having ridden to Edmonton, turned up a lane, where they met a postman, who was carrying letters round the neighbourhood. The man good-naturedly opened the gate for them to pass, when Johnson demanded his money and watch, which he held out to them, and at that instant was shot dead by Stockdale.

The murder was no sooner committed than they hastened to London; and, though the country was alarmed by what had happened, they rode on the following day to Hounslow, where they dined. After dinner they called for their horses, but Stockdale was so intoxicated that he at first fell from the horse, but was replaced.

The magistrates having by this time sent out a number of constables, the murderers were taken into custody and carried before a magistrate, when Stockdale acknowledged his guilt; but by this time Johnson was so drunk that he was insensible of his confinement to Newgate.

When brought up to receive sentence of death, Johnson was so unwell that he was indulged with a chair. Stockdale kept up his spirits with decent fortitude until his eyes met those of a gentleman near him with whom he had lived, when he burst into tears, and continued in great agitation the remainder of the awful time, frequently beating his head and breast in a violent manner.

Johnson was so extremely debilitated that he could pay no attention at the place of execution to the preparation of his soul for another life; but Stockdale prayed fervently, and made a pathetic address to the populace at the fatal tree. After hanging the usual time their bodies were taken to Surgeons' Hall for dissection; and preparations for that purpose were being made when an order came from the office of the Secretary of State that they should be hung in chains on Winchmore Hill, where they were accordingly placed.

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27: William Smith

Executed at York, 14th Of August, 1753, for poisoning Thomas Harper, his Stepfather, and his two Children, William and Anne Harper

WILLIAM SMITH was a farmer in good circumstances at Great Broughton, in the county of York. His mother had married a second husband, one Thomas Harper, of Ingleby Manor, who had already two children. Smith therefore wished to rid himself of those whom he considered obtruders between him and his prospects from his late father's estate.

After forming several diabolical plans for cutting them off, and his resolution as often failing him, being one day in an apothecary's shop purchasing some physic for his horses, the evil spirit whispered to him that the means were at hand, and he immediately asked for a little arsenic to kill the rats in his barn. The apothecary, not suspecting a man of Smith's respectability meant the deadly powder for any other use, sold him twopennyworth.

The day chosen by this now-determined sinner to administer the poison was the Good Friday of the year 1753, when, observing a large cake being prepared, of which some neighbours had been invited to partake, he unperceived, as he imagined, mixed it with the flour, and thus it was served up to the table.

It providentially happened that the neighbours did not come to dinner, and none ate of the cake except Thomas Harper and two of his children, William and Anne.

Having made preparations for flight, the murderer, the moment he found his wickedness had taken its desired effect, set off for Liverpool, from which a suspicion arose that he was the perpetrator of the horrid deed.

The unfortunate people languished in excruciating torments until the next day, when they expired.

No sooner had Smith reached Liverpool than his conscience began to rebuke him, and having no kind of employment his existence became a burden to him. Nor could he find the least respite until he returned to the very spot where he committed the murder, where he was immediately apprehended, and confessed his crime.

At the autumn assizes for the county of York, before Mr Serjeant Eyre, Smith was, on his own confession, the evidence of the apothecary, and a maid-servant who saw him busy with the flour, with other corroborating circumstantial evidence, found guilty, and received sentence of death.

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28: Mary Squires and Elizabeth Canning

The first was convicted of robbery, and pardoned; the second was convicted of, and transported for, Perjury, in swearing to that robbery.

THERE is so much of mystery in the following case, that it seems beyond the bounds of human sagacity to determine on which side the merit lies. The story, with all its particulars, must be within the memory of many of our readers, who have already formed their opinion of it; and it has been of such public notoriety, that few persons can be wholly unacquainted with it: we shall, therefore, only give an abridged account, fairly stated from the evidence as it arose, without favour or affection to either party.

If Elizabeth Canning's own story may be credited, she quitted the house of her mother, near Aldermanbury, on the first of January, 1753; and, having visited her uncle and aunt, who lived near Saltpetre-bank, was, on her return, assaulted in Moorfields by two men, who robbed her of half a guinea, which was in a small box in her pocket, and three shillings that were loose. They also took her gown, apron, and hat, which one of them put into the pocket of his great-coat; on which she screamed out; but he bound a handkerchief round her mouth, and tied her hands behind her, after which, she received a violent blow on the head, which, added to her former terror, occasioned her falling into a fit, a disorder to which she had been subject about four years.

On her recovery from the fit, and about half an hour before she reached Wells's house, she found herself by the road side, the two men dragging her forward. She observed water near the road, and arrived at the house where she said she was confined about three hours before day-light. When she came into the house, she did not see the mistress of it, Susannah Wells; but saw Mary Squires, a gipsey, and two girls.

Squires taking Canning by the hand, asked her if she chose to go their way, and, if she would, she should have fine cloaths. Canning, understanding that her meaning was to commence prostitute, replied in the negative; on which Squires took a knife from a drawer, cut the lace from her stays, and took them from her. Then Squires pushed her up a few stairs out of the kitchen, to a place called the Hayloft, and shut the door on her. On the approach of daylight, she found that the room had neither bed nor bedstead, and only hay to sleep on; that there was a black pitcher nearly full of water, and about twenty-four pieces of bread, in the whole about the quantity of a quartern-loaf; and that she had in her pocket a penny minced-pie, which she had bought to carry to her brother.

She said, that she covered herself with a bedgown and handkerchief, which she found in the grate; and that, for the space of twenty-eight days within a few hours, which she remained there, she had no food nor liquor except what is abovementioned, nor had the common evacuation of nature.

About four in the afternoon of Monday the 29th of January, she pulled down a board that was nailed on the inside of the window, and getting her head first out, she kept fast hold by the wall, and then dropped into a narrow place by a lane, behind which was a field.

Having got into the highway, she enquired her way to London, but did not stop. When she came into Moorfields the clock struck ten; and she thence prpceeded to her mother's near Aldermanbury, where she told the above story to two gentlemen with whom she had lived as a servant: to which she added, that the place where she had been confined was near the Hertfordshire road, which was evident from her having seen a coachman drive by, who had frequently carried her mistress into Hertfordshire.

A number of circumstances giving reason to suspect that the house in which she had been confined was that of Susannah Wells, a warrant was issued to apprehend her and Squires, and such other people as might be found in the house.

Mr Lion, with whom she had lived servant, and several other persons, went with her to execute the warrant. When she came to the place, she fixed on Mary Squires as the person who bad robbed her; and she said that Virtue Hall stood by while her stays were cut off.

On this, all the parties were carried before Justice Tysh maker; when Hall so solemnly denied all knowledge of any such transaction having happened since she had been in the house, that she was discharged; but Squires was committed to New-prison for the robbery, and Wells for aiding and abetting her.

Soon afterwards, justice Fielding was applied to for a warrant for the apprehension of Hall, and she was examined before the magistrate for six hours, during which she continued in her former declaration. At length the justice said, that 'he would examine her no longer, but would commit her to prison, and leave her to stand or fall by the evidence that should be produced against her;' and he advised an attorney to prosecute her as a felon.

Hereupon she begged to be heard, and said she would tell the whole truth: and the substance of her declaration was, that Canning had been at Mrs Wells's, and was robbed in the manner that she herself had declared.

On this, Squires and Wells were brought to trial at the Old Bailey, and convicted, principally on the evidence of Virtue Hall, the first for assaulting and robbing Elizabeth Canning, and the latter for harbouring, concealing, and comforting her, well knowing her to have committed the robbery: and John Gibson, William Clark, and Thomas Grevil, having positively sworn that Squires was in Dorsetshire at the time when the robbery was said to have been perpetrated, they were committed to be tried for perjury.

Some gentlemen who had heard the trial, being dissatisfied with the evidence, made such application, that a free pardon was granted to Squires.

In the mean time, numbers of people were of opinion that the countrymen had sworn to the truth; and measures were accordingly taken to indict Canning for perjury: but, at the next sessions, her friends preferred bills of indictment against the men. Bills of indictment against the opposite parties being brought at the same time, the grand jury threw them all out; being resolved not to give any countenance to such a scene of perjury as must arise on one side or the other.

This happened at the sessions in April; but, at the next sessions, in June, bills of indictment were found against the countrymen: these, however, were intended to be removed into the court of King's Bench, by writ of certiorari; but the court refused to grant the writ, alledging, that the indictments ought to be tried at the Old Bailey, because the king's commission of gaol-delivery was directed to that court. Hereupon the countrymen were bailed; and, at the sessions held in the month of September following, they were arraigned, but were honourably acquitted, no person appearing to give evidence against them.

Squires being pardoned, and these men thus acquitted, the public opinion of this singular case became still more divided. Every one saw that there must have been perjury in the affair; but it was impossible to determine on which side it lay.

The lord mayor of London, at that time, was Sir Crisp Gascoyne, who exerted himself in the most vigilant manner to come at the truth of this mysterious affair; for which, as is but too common, he was abused with a degree of virulence that reflected the highest infamy on his calum niators; for, whatever might be their private opinion, or whatever his own, it was certainly the duty of a good magistrate to endeavour to investigate the truth.

In the month of May, 1754, Elizabeth Canning was indicted at the Old Bailey for wilful and corrupt perjury, in swearing, that she had been robbed by Mary Squires. A great number of witnesses swore that Squires was near Abbotsbury at the time that the robbery was said to have been committed: and, on the dontrary, more than thirty persons of reputation declared on oath, that Canning's character stood so fair, that they could not conceive her capable of being guilty of suchan atrocious crime as wilful perjury.

Ingenious arguments were used by the council on each side; and the jury, after mature deliberation, brought in a verdict, that she was guilty; in consequence of which, she received sentence to be transported for seven years.

No affair that was ever determined in a judicial way did, perhaps, so much excite the curiosity, or divide the opinion of the public, as that in question. The newspapers and magazines were for a long time filled with little else than accounts of Canning and Squires: prints of both parties were published, and bought up with great avidity. Canning was remarkable for what is called the plainness, and Squires for the ugliness, of person; and perhaps there never was a human face more disagreeable than that of the latter.

We should hardly be thought to exceed the truth, if we were to say that ten thousand quarrels arose from, and fifty thousand wagers were laid on, this business. All Great Britain and Ireland seemed to be interested in the event: and the person who did not espouse either one party or the other was thought to have no feeling. The first question in the morning was, 'What news of Canning?' and the last squabble at night was, whether she was honest or perjured; but this, however, could never be determined; and it will probably remain a mystery as long as the world endures.

Elizabeth Canning was transported to New England on the 31st of July, 1754, having first received some hundred pounds collected by the bounty of her friends and partizans.

She was afterwards reputably married in America; and the newspapers gave notice, that she died some years ago in that country.

From this story we may learn two useful lessons, on the fallibility of human testimony, and the horrid crime of perjury. If Canning was guilty, her crime was of the most enormous magnitude, that of endeavouring to swear away a life, in order to cover, perhaps, her own disgrace; for some persons thought that she had been debauched in her absence, and that the whole was a concerted scheme to conceal the truth. If she was innocent, what a variety of perjuries must have been committed by the opposite parties!

Upon the whole, we must end as we began: this story is enveloped in mystery; and the truth of it must be left to the discoveries of that important day, when all mists shall be wiped from our eyes, and the most hidden things shall be made plain. In the mean time, it is our duty to admire and adore those inscrutable decrees of Providence, which can bring good out of evil, and answer its own wise and gracious purposes, by means least apparent to finite comprehension!

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29: John Hambleton

A Soldier of the Guards, executed at Tyburn, 10th of December, 1753, for the Murder of Mr Crouch

MR CROUCH, the murdered man, was head cook to the Earl of Harrington.

On the 17th of August, 1753, he went upon the business of his employer to Chelsea, and in returning through King's Road, about nine o'clock in the evening, he was met by Hambleton and his associate, named Lattie, who, with horrid imprecations, demanded his money.

Mr Crouch was a resolute man and refused to be robbed; thereupon they fired two pistols at him, without effect. Being himself unarmed, he had recourse to a pocket-knife, which he opened and told them to keep off; but they closed on him, in doing which he wounded Lattie in three places. The villains overpowering him, they threw him to the ground and rifled his pockets of his money and his watch; they then, not content with their booty, with which they might have escaped, wrested the knife from his hand, ripped open his belly, then stamped upon his mangled body, beat him on the head with the butt-ends of their pistols, and left him weltering in his blood. Early next morning some labourers going to their work discovered him still alive and able to describe the robbers, with his place of residence, which was a small house in Green Street, Grosvenor Square, near his noble employer's mansion. Thither he was carried, where he languished in excruciating torments three days, and then died, leaving a widow and three children.

The murderers, from his description, were soon apprehended. Lattie had the wounds about him given by the deceased, who was able to identify them the day before his death.

Hambleton was brought to his trial at the Old Bailey, and sentenced to die; but Lattie died of the wounds given him by the murdered man before the time of his being arraigned, thus robbing the gallows of its just due.

The surviving murderer was executed at Tyburn, professing himself a Roman Catholic, and his body was given to the surgeons for dissection.

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1754

30: Nichol Brown

Executed for the murder of his wife, August 14th, 1754

IN the account given of this man there is a savage ferocity which has not before come under our notice; for, though we read in Captain Cook's, and other accounts of circumnavigators, of their meeting with cannibals and, further, that even civilized men, by the dire dint of the excruciating pains of hunger, have slain, and, with horrible compunction, eaten one of their companions, to support life in the rest; yet where shall we find, except in this instance, a savage, in the land of civilization and of plenty, eat human flesh? After this it no longer remains astonishingly horrible that such a brute could force his wife into the fire, and burn her to death.

This atrocious monster was a native of Cramond, a small town near Edinburgh, where he received a school education. At a proper age he was placed with a butcher in that city, and, when his apprenticeship was expired, went to sea in a man of war, and continued in that station four years. The ship being paid off, Brown returned to Edinburgh, and married the widow of a butcher, who had left her a decent fortune.

Soon after this marriage Brown commenced dealer in cattle, in which he met with such success, that, in the course of a few years, he became possessed of a considerable sum. His success, however, did not inspire him with sentiments of humanity. His temper was so bad, that he was shunned by all serious people of his acquaintance; for he delighted in fomenting quarrels among his neighbours.

Taking to a habit of drinking, be seldom came home sober at night; and, his wife following his example, he used frequently to beat her for copying his own crime. This conduct rendered both parties obnoxious to their acquaintance; and the following story of Brown, which may be relied on as a fact, will incontestably prove the unfeeling brutality of his nature.

About a week after the execution of Norman Ross for murder, Brown had been drinking with some company at Leith, till, in the height of their jollity, they boasted what extravagant actions they could perform. Brown swore that he would cut off a piece of flesh from the leg of the dead man, and eat it. His companions, drunk as they were, appeared shocked at the very idea; while Brown, to prove that he was in earnest, procured a ladder, which be carried to the gibbet, and, cutting off a piece of flesh from the leg of the suspended body of Ross, brought it back, broiled, and ate it.

This circumstance was much talked of, but little credit was given to it by the inhabitants of Edinburgh till Brown's companions gave the fullest testimony of its truth. It will be now proper that we recite the particulars of the shocking crime for which this offender forfeited his life.

After having been drinking at an alehouse in the Cannongate, he went home about eleven at night, in a high degree of intoxication. His wife was also much in liquor; but, though equally criminal himself, he was so exasperated against her, that he struck her so violently that she fell from her chair. The noise of her fall alarmed the neighbours; but, as frequent quarrels had happened between them, no immediate notice was taken of the affair.

In about fifteen minutes the wife was heard to cry out 'Murder! help! fire! the rogue is murdering me! help, for Christ's sake! ' The neighbours, now apprehending real danger, knocked at the door; but, no person being in the house but Brown and his wife, no admission was granted; and the woman was heard to groan most shockingly.

A person, looking through the key-hole, saw Brown holding his wife to the fire; on which he was called on to open the door, but refused to do so. The candle being extinguished, and the woman still continuing her cries, the door was at length forced open; and, when the neighbours went in, they beheld her a most shocking spectacle, lying half-naked before the fire, and her flesh in part broiled. In the interim Brown had got into bed, pretended to be asleep, and, when spoken to, appeared ignorant of the transaction. The woman, though so dreadfully burnt, retained her senses, accused her husband of the murder, and told in what manner it was perpetrated. She survived till the following morning, still continuing in the same tale, and then expired in the utmost agony.

The murderer was now seized, and, being lodged in the gaol of Edinburgh, was brought to trial, and capitally convicted.

After sentence he was allowed six weeks to prepare himself for a future state, agreeably to the custom in Scotland.

He was visited by several divines of Edinburgh, but steadily persisted in the denial of his guilt, affirming that he was ignorant of his wife being burnt till the door was broke open by the neighbours.

Among others who visited the criminal was the Reverend Mr. Kinloch, an ancient minister, who, urging him to confess his crime, received no other reply than that, 'if he was to die to-morrow, he would have a new suit of clothes, to appear decently at the gallows.' Mr. Kinlioch was so affected by his declaration, that he shed tears over the unhappy convict.

On the following day, August the 14th, 1754, he was attended to the place of execution at Edinburgh by the Reverend Dr. Brown; but to the last he denied having been guilty of the crime for which he suffered.

After execution he was hung in chains; but the body was stolen from the gibbet, and thrown into a pond, where, being found, it was exposed as before. In a few days, however, it was again stolen; and, though a reward was offered for its discovery, no such discovery was made.

It is impossible to express sufficient horror at the crime of which this man was guilty; and it is therefore the less necessary to make any remarks on his case, as no one can be tempted to think of committing a similar crime till he is totally divested of all the feelings of humanity. From a fate so wretched as this may the God of infinite mercy deliver us!

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31: Captain John Lancey

Executed at Execution Dock, 7th of June, 1754, for burning a Ship at the Instigation of a Member of Parliament

THIS unfortunate man fell a dupe to an artful and wicked villain, his employer, who at the time was a disgraceful Member of the House of Commons, and who, to avoid the punishment due to his crimes, fled, and left the unfortunate subject whose case is before us a victim to his baseness.

Captain John Lancey was a native of Bideford, in Devonshire, respectably born and well educated. As he gave early proofs of an inclination for a seafaring life he was taught navigation, was attentive to his studies, and gave proofs of a goodness of disposition that promised a better fate than afterwards attended him.

Lancey was sent to sea as mate of a ship, of which Mr Benson, a rich merchant at Biddeford, was the proprietor. Lancey, having married a relation of Benson's, was soon advanced to the command of the vessel. This Benson was Member of Parliament for Barnstaple, in Devonshire, and what kind of character he deserved will appear in the sequel.

After Lancey had returned from a long voyage he was for a considerable time confined to his bed by a violent illness, the expense of which tended considerably to impoverish him. When he had partly recovered, Benson told him that he proposed to refit the ship in which he had formerly sailed; that Lancey should have the command of her; that he (Benson) would insure her for more than double her value, and then Lancey should destroy the vessel.

This proposal appeared shocking to Lancey, who thought it but a trial of his honesty, and declared his sentiments, saying that he would never take any part in a transaction so totally opposite to the whole tenor of his conduct.

For the present nothing more was said; but soon afterwards Benson invited Lancey and several other gentlemen to dine with him. The entertainment was liberal; and, Captain Lancey being asked to stay after the rest of the company were gone, Mr Benson took him to a summer-house in the garden, where he again proposed destroying the ship, and urged it in a manner that proved he was in earnest.

Captain Lancey hesitated a short time on this proposal and then declined to have any concern in so iniquitous a scheme, declaring that he would seek other employment rather than take any part in such a transaction. But Benson, resolving if possible not to lose his agent, prevailed on him to drink freely, and then urged every argument he could think of to prevail on him to undertake the business, promising to shelter him from punishment in case of detection.

Lancey still hesitated. But when Benson mentioned the poverty to which his family was reduced by his late illness, and offered such flattering prospects of protection, the unhappy man at length yielded, to his own destruction. A ship was now fitted out, bound for Maryland: and goods to a large amount were shipped on board, but relanded before the vessel sailed, and a lading of brickbats taken in by way of ballast. They had not been long at sea when a hole was bored in the side of the ship and a cask of combustible ingredients was set on fire, with a view to destroying her. The fire no sooner appeared than the Captain called to some convicted transports, then in the hold, to inquire if they had fired the vessel; which appears to have been only a feint to conceal the real design.

The boat being hoisted out, all the crew got safe on shore; and then Lancey repaired immediately to Benson to inform him of what had passed. Benson instantly dispatched him to a proctor, before whom he swore that the ship had accidentally taken fire, and that it was impossible to prevent the consequences which followed.

Lancey now repaired to his own house, and continued with as much apparent unconcern as if such a piece of villainy had not been perpetrated; but he was soon afterwards taken into custody by a constable, who informed him that oath had been made of the transaction before the Mayor of Exeter by one of the seamen. Lancey, however, did not express much concern, secure in his idea of protection from the supposed influence of Benson.

On the following day Lancey and one of the ship's crew were committed to the jail of Exeter, where they remained three months; and being then removed to London were examined by Sir Thomas Salisbury, the judge of the Admiralty Court, and committed to the prison of the Marshalsea. Application was afterwards made to the Court of Admiralty to admit them to bail; and there appeared to be no objection to granting the favour, but Benson, on whom they had depended for bail, had absconded, to escape the justice due to his atrocious crime.

Being committed to Newgate, they were brought to trial at the next Sessions of Admiralty held at the Old Bailey,when Lancey was capitally convicted, and received sentence of death, but the other was acquitted.

Lancey lay in prison about four months after conviction, during which his behaviour was altogether consistent with his unhappy situation. His Christian charity was remarkable towards Benson; for, though that wicked man had been the cause and instigator of his ruin, yet he never once reflected on him, but imputed all the crime to himself, and appeared to behold it in its genuine light of deformity.

It was presumed, when he was first apprehended, that he might have been admitted an evidence against Benson, if he would have impeached him; but this he steadily refused to do.

His devotional exercises were exemplary: he attended prayers in the most regular manner, and gave every proof of his contrition. He was accompanied to the place of execution by two clergymen; and, having confessed his guilt in a speech to the surrounding multitude, he underwent the sentence of the law on the 7th of June, 1754, at Execution Dock, in the 27th year of his age.

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32: Davis, The Mail-Robber

Executed and hung in chains near the place where he committedthe robbery

THIS man was a tallow-chandler in Carnaby-market, London, where he had some time carried on business with apparent credit, until his goods were distrained upon by his landlord, for rent. On taking an inventory thereof, a pistol was found in a drawer of a bureau, with some parts of bank notes, and several bills of exchange.

As the Cirencester mail had been robbed above two years before, and the customary reward had been in vain advertised for the discovery of the thief, a suspicion arose against him. The notes being shewn to an officer of the post-office, he suspected them to have been taken out of the mail; but lest he should prove innocent, and the charge be detrimental to him, a stratagem was used to carry him before a magistrate, to answer for some broils in which he had lately been involved. He was then charged with robbing the mail, which he denied.

But when he was upon the point of being discharged, a person came to the office with a silver tankard, which had been advertised to have been purchased with one of the notes plundered from the mail, of Mr Harding in the Minories, and found concealed in Davis's house.

Mr Harding was then sent for, who swore that the prisoner purchased it of him. Hereupon he confessed that he knew the person who had robbed the mail, and who, he said, then lay under sentence of death in Newgate.

To this falsehood he was answered, that the person he described, was sentenced only to transportation; upon which he turned pale and was agitated. He was thereupon committed to prison, and a warrant of detainer lodged against the convict whom he had accused.

He was removed by writ of habeas corpus, to Aylesbury, and on the 12th of March, 1755, there brought to trial.

When asked, in the usual form, whether he was guilty, or not guilty, to the charges laid in the indictment? He refused to plead till his irons were taken off. This the court consented to, and he then pleaded, 'Not guilty'; but after a trial which occupied five hours, he was convicted.

On the third of April following, he was executed at Gerrard's Cross, in Buckinghamshire, the place where he committed the robbery, and there hung in chains.

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33: Paul Tierney

A Traitor, executed August 30, 1754, for enlisting Englishmen to serve the enemy.

FOR SOME few years after the suppression of the second Scottish rebellion, a secret trade of treachery was by many disaffected villains carried on, by enlisting men for the service of the King of France.

We have already adduced instances of the detection of this vile species of treason; and though it was well known that death would soon follow conviction: yet still we find men hardy enough to risk the consequences.

Paul Tierney was of this description. He, like Thomas Reynolds had succeeded too well; for he deluded several soldiers from their duty to their country, and secretly conveyed them to France.

At one time, on false pretences, he inveigled eight, by keeping them in a state of intoxication. At Calais he threw off the mask, gave them a livre each, and declared they were then soldiers to the King of France. The poor fellows, now sobered by their voyage, were so indignant at this duplicity and treachery, that with one accord they fell upon him, and in an instant would have beat him to death, if the captain of the French guard had not rescued him.

They were now bound with ropes, carried to Dunkirk, and were thrown into a loathsome dungeon, where they long suffered on bread and water.

One of them had the good fortune to escape, and procuring sailor's clothes, got back to England. At this time Tierney was a prisoner in Maidstone gaol, which circumstance coming to the knowledge of the much injured man, he went thither, and charged him with crime.

On the trial it was proved that Tierney received three pounds each for the recruits, which was paid him in the presence of the prosecutor.

He was convicted, and hanged upon Penenden-heath, near Maidstone.

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1755

34: Robert Alsop, a Midshipman, and Six Seamen

Convicted in 1755 for committing a Riot in the City of London, and impressing a Citizen thereof, but treated leniently in order that they might fight against France

A PRESS-GANG in the year 1755, in a riotous manner, forced themselves into the house of Mr William Godfrey, a citizen of good repute and a cooper, of the City of London. They knocked him down and dragged him through the streets with only one slipper on, and thus forcibly put him on board a King's ship in the River Thames. There he was confined in the hold among a number of other subjects, where there was a suffocating stench, the effects of which long endangered his life. Twelve hours was he thus confined, to the scandal, as the printed accounts of this lawless baseness of the time said, of all government, and in derogation of the rights and privileges of the City of London. At length, the Lord Mayor exercising his authority, Mr Godfrey was released, and his friends set about the laudable task of bringing those spoilers to condign punishment.

Robert Alsop, William Sturges, John Dodsey, Frederick Offler, James Williamson, Charles Powell and Benjamin Tidsdale, a part of this press-gang, were indicted, and committed to prison.

Being brought to trial at the Guildhall of the City of London, Sturges and Dodsey, having surrendered themselves, and pleading for mercy, were acquitted; but the others were found guilty.

While the Court was deliberating on the punishment to be inflicted on them some officers of Government interceded, and prayed that their country might not long be deprived of their services against the French, then at war with us; and in consequence thereof, and on their knees suing for mercy, backed by Mr Godfrey's generous forgiveness, they were sentenced to only ten days' imprisonment.

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35: Henry Samuel

A Jew, punished for breaking the Christian Sabbath.

AT the same sessions wherein Alsop the midshipman, and the seamen were found guilty of committing a riot, this. unbeliever was convicted of being a sabbath-breaker and profaner of the Lord's Day, in permitting card-playing on Sunday, at his house in Duke's-Place, for which crime he was fined thirteen shillings and four-pence, and imprisoned three months in Wood-Street Compter.

The son of Israel pleaded, that Sunday was not his Sabbath; but it was replied, that as he was permitted, unmolested, to turn Saturday into Sunday, he surely might behave with decency on the Christian's day of rest and prayer.

Thus Jews, in a Christian country, lose a day in each week: but, aided by activity and cunning, they frequently do, more (in their way) in five days, than we do in six.

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36: John Grierson

Transported for marrying without Banns, or License,  December, 1755.

JOHN GRIERSON was indicted, for that he, after the twenty-fifth of March, 1754, to wit, on the twenty-seventh of June, in the twenty-ninth year of his present majesty, at the Savoy, did unlawfully, knowingly, wilfully, & feloniously, solemnize matrimony between JOSEPH VERNON, then a batchelor, & JANE POITIER, a single woman, without first publishing of banns, or any license first had, and obtained of a person having authority to grant the same, in contempt of our Lord the King, and against the Statute, &c.

He challenged all the twelve jurymen, who had been trying that sessions on the Middlesex side.

Upon which his trial was postponed till next day, when fifty-nine freeholders more were summoned, and a jury of twelve sworn.

MICHAEL DEATH: I am an apothecary, and live in Greek-street, Soho. I know JOSEPH VERNON, and her that was JANE POTIER; he lived in Great Russell-street, Covent-garden, and the Compton-street, St. Anne's; and I know the prisoner. I was present at the marriage of VERNON & POITIER at the Savoy chapel; they were married by the prisoner, and I gave her away. She was then in the twentieth year of her age.

Q.: Do you know whether they had any License?

DEATH: I do not know anything concerning it.

Q.: Do you know whether there was any consent of parents?

DEATH: There was no farther consent than a written paper signed by the mother of the young woman, which was produced to the prisoner and the clerk.

Q.: Did he ask them, before they were married, if there was the consent of parents?

DEATH: He did, and scrupled to marry them without that consent.

Q.: What was the purpose of that paper?

DEATH: It was this, "June 14, I do hereby declare my daughter, JANE POITIER, to be at free liberty to marry whomsoever she pleases." Signed by the mother.

Q.: Did any-body ascertain this paper to the prisoner?

DEATH: Yes, I and Mr. SEVANE did, that it was signed by the mother.

Council: Is her father alive?

DEATH: He is, and in court; but he did not approve of the marriage.

Council: Were they married immediately after the paper was produced?

DEATH: They were; neither did the prisoner go out of the room, but proceeded to marry them directly.

Council: Did you acquaint Mr. [John] Grierson there was a father?

DEATH: He knew that very well, for we had told him so; and we likewise told him that the father would not consent.

JOHN SEVANE: I know JOSEPH VERNON, & JANE POITIER, & was present at their marriage in the Savoy chapel, by the prisoner at the bar.

Q.: In the Savoy chapel in the parish of Covent-garden?

SEVANE: I don't know what parish it is in.

Q.: Were any questions asked about consent?

SEVANE: There were. The last evidence & I, the night before the marriage, had heard the mother say her daughter was at liberty to marry whom she pleased. I believe she had made some endeavours to persuade her against the marriage before that; but she said her daughter was at liberty, and her daughter called in the last evidence and me to hear her mother say that. I have heard since that the father disapproved of the marriage. The mother said to us, "You may tell the person that marries them he never will be troubled by any of our family." We told the minister what the mother had said. He replied, he thought that "consent was not sufficient; but if we had it signed by the mother, that he took to be sufficient;" and upon that he married them.

STEPHEN BROWN: I am clerk of the parish of St. Martin's. Here is the register of the births in our parish.

Q.: Have you any entry there relating to JANE POITIER?

BROWN: Yes; here is "Born June 8th, 1736, & baptized the 11th, JANE HENRIETTA POITIER, daughter of MICHAEL & CLAREMON," the father & mother's names.

Q.: Were there any banns published, or license produced?

DEATH: Not as I know of.

SEVANE: There was a kind of license, but I don't know what it was, filled up I believe by the clerk; it was taken from out of a cupboard, or off a table in the chapel.

THE PRISONER'S DEFENCE:

I rest entirely on your lordship's judgement; I did not knowingly do it to offend against the laws of my country; it is not probable I should do such a thing knowingly when I married my own son there. I never knowingly or wilfully transgressed the laws of my country; I married by a license, & that I thought a proper authority.

WILLIAM FORREST: I have lived in the Savoy upwards of 20 years.

Q.: During that time, how have you looked upon the Savoy to be under the church jurisdiction? Did you look upon it to be in diocese of London, or what?

FORREST: I am not a judge of that question.

Q.: Have you served offices there?

FORREST: I have served overseer of the poor twice; I have never had notice given me, for not attending any where else. I never heard of the bishop of London, or any of his officers interfering there; neither was I ever called upon as chapel-warden, in the bishop's court; nor ever heard that any was called upon in my time; nor did I attend any of the bishop's visitations; nor did I ever hear that there has been any of the bishop's jurisdiction exercised there.

Q.: Is it a parish?

FORREST: No, it's a precinct.

Q.: If a man dies there, where is his Will proved?

FORREST: In the Commons, where I suppose the administration is granted.

Q.: Did you ever know any marriage by license there before the late act?

FORREST: I never did see one.

GEORGE DORMAN: I have lived in Savoy about 20 years; and look it to be a jurisdiction of itself with regard to ecclesiastical affairs; and I believe no bishop or archdeacon ever came to do any acts there. I always looked upon it as a place peculiar to itself. I have served overseer and chapel-warden. Wills are proved in the Commons.

Q.: Do you know of any marriage there with a license before the last act of parliament?

DORMAN: Yes, about 25 years ago; it was granted by the bishop of London.

Q.: Where do you baptize your children born there?

DORMAN: At the Savoy chapel; and in the chapel-yard we bury our dead.

Q.: for the Prisoner: Do you know of any license ever granted by a minister to any under that jurisdiction?

DORMAN: No, I don't know that.

Q.: Before whom are your sworn chapel-warden?

DORMAN: Before a justice of the peace; we assemble in the vestry-room; we are but a few people. The money raised for the poor, & other charges, is accounted for in the vestry among ourselves.

Q.: Does not the crown pay most of the money?

DORMAN: No; I know of no such thing.

Q.: Did you ever see a justice's warrant to the Savoy?

DORMAN: Only to maintain the poor; which is directed to the church or chapel-warden.

RICHARD PHILIPS: I am clerk to the chapel in the precinct of the Savoy, & have been for about five years; and I look upon it to be a peculiar jurisdiction.

Q.: How do you govern yourselves?

PHILIPS: There is a chapel-warden & overseer, but they do not qualify themselves at the Commons.

Q.: Who repairs the chapel?

PHILIPS: The minister has done several repairs.

Q.: Has Mr. Wilkinson been minister since you came there?

PHILIPS: Yes; & I know he has granted licenses; he did so before the late act of parliament, and all my time, & they have been registered in that manner.

Q.: Have you known any licenses brought there from other courts & rejected, as denying their authority?

PHILIPS: I have several & was never called to account for it.

Q.: Look upon that book.

PHILIPS: It's the register book, and the oldest we have.

Council: Read there.

PHILIPS: July 6th, married THOMAS PAGE & ELIZABETH PRICE by license, 1687. Here are a great many by publication of banns, and some by License; we still do it in the same manner, but more perfectly.

Q.: Did you ever see in any register any alterations, where it was by a different license?

PHILIPS: I think I have seen two instances, one by license from the archbishop of Canterbury, & the other from the bishop of London; all the other licenses are by the minister of the Savoy; & I thought them good licenses. I never knew any jurisdiction as to the bishop of London or Canterbury, to be exercised in this chapel; nor never looked on ourselves as under any visitation. I looked upon it that the minister himself was ordinary, and sufficient to grant licenses.

Q.: What is the form of your licenses?

PHILIPS: The form of them is this: That whereas such & such persons, aged so & so, are desirous to live in the holy state of matrimony, without publication of banns, &c. therefore he consents that the same may be solemnized in St. John Baptist's chapel; and signs his name JOHN WILKINSON, ordinary & minister. (He produces a license on parchment). This is the License the pair were married with. It was filled up before they were married, and signed by WILKINSON before it was filled up.

Q.: Do you remember anything of the marriage of VERNON?

PHILIPS: I do; I remember it was very remarkable. VERNON & Miss POITIER came three or four days running, and desired to be married; they were refused, because she was something under age. They could not be married unless she had her friend's consent.

Q.: Who refused it?

PHILIPS: Mr. [John] Grierson & I did. The last day they came, they brought two gentlemen along with them (who have been sworn) to facilitate the matter. She said she had a father, but her father & mother had been parted several years. But she said, as for me, my father don't care if I go to the devil. We said, you must have the consent of them, or else you must not be married. Then Mr. DEATH, and the other gentleman, went to her mother with a paper; for Miss [POITIER] said she would never go home till they were married; and upon this the two gentlemen returned, and produced the mother's consent, and they both testified it, and said they saw the mother sign it; and we made them sign their names and placed of abode. Then we filled up the license, and they assented to every part contained therein. The one declared himself a batchelor, the other a single woman.

Q.: Do you think Mr. [John] Grierson used such caution for fear of offending against the act of parliament?

PHILIPS: He was very cautious always in these cases.

Q.: How many couples have you married in the chapel since the commencement of the act?

PHILIPS: I reckon about 1,400 couples.

Q.: How many hundreds of them lived in the precinct?

PHILIPS: There were many came distressed out of the country, big with child.

Q.: How many families live in the precinct?

PHILIPS: There may be 30 to 40 families.

Q.: How many couples might come distressed out of the country?

PHILIPS: There might come 900 big with child, some who could not be married any where else.

Council: Was you appointed surrogate?

PHILIPS: I was appointed clerk, not surrogate; for I did not apprehend I had any-thing to do with the bishop.

Q.: Where might Mr. WILKINSON himself be at the time of this marriage?

PHILIPS: I believe he was not far off. There were at that time bills of indictment and warrants against him, which obliged him to abscond. In these indictments he was charged with clandestine marriages.

Q.: When did he absent himself?

PHILIPS: Sometime the latter end of May; & in May he applied to this gentleman to officiate for him; this was after the bills of indictment.

Q.: Did Mr. WILKINSON keep a curate before these bills of indictment were found?

PHILIPS: He has had some.

Q.: Does Mr. [John] Grierson officiate in reading prayers, or preaching?

PHILIPS: No; there is one Mr. BROOKS does that.

Q.: Had Mr. WILKINSON a curate to solemnize marriages before?

PHILIPS: No, he always did that himself.

Q.: How is it possible he should think of Mr. [John] Grierson? How did he find him out? Is he a settled minister?

PHILIPS: Really I can't tell; he used to appear in his gown as a clergyman. Mr. WILKINSON being obliged to abscond, sent for him to fill up that part. People would come to be married, and we must have someone to do it, or they would think themselves very ill used.

Q.: How came Mr. [John] Grierson tobe thought of?

PHILIPS: Because a little before he married his own son there.

Q.: Do you ever take down where they come from?

PHILIPS: Always; that is put down in the minute book.

Q.: Then you married them, let them come from what parish they would.

PHILIPS: We did, either in England or Scotland. We married one couple that came from Dumfries, and another from Dunbar in Scotland.

Q.: How long has Mr. WILKINSON'S salary been stopped by the lords of the treasury?

PHILIPS: About two years before I came, as I heard.

Q.: Did Mr. [John] Grierson know the reason of Mr. WILKINSON'S not being able to do the duty himself?

PHILIPS: I believe not.

Q.: Who applied to him for this license?

PHILIPS: I did myself.

Q.: Did you ever take an oath concerning persons under age?

PHILIPS: Yes.

Q.: Do you fill up the license without an affidavit?

PHILIPS: When he is absent I fill them up.

Q.: Who takes the affidavit when WILKINSON is absent?

PHILIPS: The minister that marries them.

Q.: Did you ever know an instance where WILKINSON or [John] GRIERSON took an affidavit?

PHILIPS: There have been some, but how many I can't say.

Q.: Did you ever know [John] Grierson or WILKINSON proceed against any of the 900 women that came big with child, for fornication?

PHILIPS: No, never.

Q.: Do you know whether [John] GRIERSON did officiate any-where else before?

PHILIPS: I can't tell; but have heard he married people at May-Fair chapel.

Here the license was read for the marriage of VERNON &  POITIER.

Council: Was you by when this was signed & filled up?

PHILIPS: I was.

Council: Have you often banns published for people that do not live in the precinct?

PHILIPS: We often have.

Council: Do you ever read the rubrick in the common prayer-book, before the order of matrimony?

PHILIPS: I can't say.

GUILTY: "To be transported for 14 years."

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1756

37: Eli Gonzalez Alias John Symmonds Alias Spanish Jack

After a varied Criminal Career he was finally executed at Maidstone, 18th of April, 1756, for stealing a Silver Tankard

GONZALEZ was descended of reputable parents residing at Alicante, in Spain, who were exceedingly careful of his education, intending him for Holy Orders; but all their hopes in him were disappointed, for he absconded from school and entered on board a man-of-war. Having remained some years in this station, he engaged on board a ship-of-war belonging to England, and sailed up the Levant.

After staying some time at Alexandria, Smyrna and other places, the ship put in to Gibraltar, and was ordered to be laid up; in consequence of which he entered on board a Dutch vessel. He served in several English privateers during the war, and when peace was restored joined one of the gangs of smugglers that infested the coasts of Kent and Sussex.

His connections among the English induced him to change his name to John Symmonds, by which appellation we shall hereafter distinguish him. Having acquired a sum of money, he repaired to London and formed an acquaintance with a number of people, of both sexes, of the most wicked and abandoned character. Having spent his money in scenes of riot and intoxication, he obtained credit for divers small sums from different people, whom he amused by assuring them that he was entitled to prize-money, on the receipt of which he would pay them.

His creditors becoming importunate for their money, he formed the resolution of going again to sea; but, not being able to enter into such advantageous engagements as he expected, he became acquainted with an infamous gang of robbers, and joined in their iniquitous practices. They committed a variety of robberies in the fields near Stepney. As Symmonds was passing along Ragfair he was seized by a person whom he, in conjunction with other villains, had robbed the preceding evening. This event occasioned him to reflect on his dangerous situation; and, judging that if he continued his illegal courses he could not long escape detection, he determined to give information against his accomplices.

He communicated his design to M'Daniel, and accompanied him and other thief-takers one evening to a house where they were drinking, when Mandevile, Holmes and Newton were taken into custody, but two others of the gang escaped through a window. Mandevile, Holmes and Newton were convicted on the evidence of Symmonds, and executed, in October, 1751, at Tyburn.

For the apprehension of the three malefactors abovementioned the thief-takers received a reward of four hundred and twenty pounds, of which they allowed the evidence only ten pounds; and by various contrivances they kept him in custody till he had expended all but thirty shillings of that sum. They imagined that they might obtain further emolument through his means, and therefore endeavoured to keep him in a state of poverty, that he might be the more readily induced to return to his former practices, expecting that he would betray his new accomplices into the fate suffered by Mandevile, Holmes and Newton.

Symmonds had for some time lived on terms of great intimacy with Anthony and Emanuel de Rosa, the murderers of Mr Fargues. Having engaged to go on the highway with Dissent and Branch (executed for the murder of Mr Brown), they called at his lodgings; but the girl with whom he cohabited dissuaded him from accompanying them. Upon seeing the watch and other property stolen from Mr Brown, he regretted his yielding to the persuasions of the girl, and upbraided her as the cause of his losing a share of so valuable a booty.

The many robberies he had committed in London and its adjacencies having rendered him so notorious that he thought himself in great danger of being apprehended, he determined to go into the country. Having travelled to Rochester, he formed an acquaintance with a fellow named Smith, who was publicly known to live by felonious practices.

Symmonds and Smith went to a public-house in Rochester, and while they were drinking some punch found an opportunity of concealing a silver tankard, which they carried off unperceived. On the following day they were apprehended, and committed to Maidstone Jail— Symmonds to be tried for stealing the tankard, and Smith to appear as evidence for the Crown.

While Symmonds was under sentence of death he acknowledged that till he was convinced the term of his life was nearly expired he had not reflected on the most important consequences that would result from his iniquitous proceedings, and that if he had escaped conviction he should have returned to his usual practices. He appeared to repent of his former wickedness with unfeigned sincerity, and expressed hopes of forgiveness through the merits of his Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

From the prison to the place of execution he was seriously employed in prayer, and when under the gallows he warned the people to guard against following such courses as had produced his destruction. After some time spent in devout prayer with a reverend divine, the executioner put in force the sentence of the law.

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38: Charles Frederick Wysenthall

Transported in the year 1756, for subornation of perjury.

THIS WAS a foreigner, and a very bad character. He was a Dresden lace-maker, took female apprentices to his business, and a most unworthy master he proved himself; constantly corrupting their morals, and violating their persons.

He was tried at the Old Bailey, on the 4th of May, 1756, charged with subornation of perjury. Inasmuch as the receiver of stolen goods is by the law considered criminal as the thief, so the suborner of perjury is equally guilty of the destructive crime, as the man who himself takes a false oath.

The offence of Wysenthall was marked with every aggravation. Two of his apprentices, whom he had debauched, he influenced to swear a rape against an innocent man, whom they had never known even by sight. As this offence, if fully proved, affects life, this villain deserved a halter; but he was only sentenced to a year's imprisonment in Newgate, and at the expiration thereof, to be transported for life to the plantations in America.

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39: Lieutenant John Lander

Executed on Pennenden Heath, in Kent, 16th of August, 1756, for

Murder

JOHN LANDER was a lieutenant in the garrison of Chatham, and, having just received a month's pay, agreed with another officer, wild and unthinking as himself, to set off to London. For this purpose they hired a post-chaise, and ordered the post-boy to drive at full speed, or they would run him through the body. The first stage the boy, thus intimidated, whipped the poor horses until he broke their wind, which proved infinite sport to the inhuman fellows whom they dragged after them.

At Dartford they changed horses, and no sooner were they clear of the town than they repeated the word of command to the fresh boy, who accordingly urged the poor horses to their speed. At the foot of Shooter's Hill he slackened his pace, when they shouted to him to drive the same pace. On his answering the horses could not gallop up the hill, they jumped out of the chaise, and one of the degraded officers knocked the poor boy down, when Lander, drawing his sword, ran him through the body with such force that it actually pinioned him to the ground.

This ungovernable and base transaction of course impeded their journey. Instead of revelling in London they were sent to Rochester Jail, and brought to trial, when Lander was found guilty of wilful murder. He was executed on the 16th of August, 1756.

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40: William Cannicott

Executed at Tyburn, 20th of September, 1756, for the Murder of his

Wife

WILLIAM CANNICOTT was about forty years of age, and had been a livery-servant from a youth, though his parents, who were substantial people, would fain have had him learn a trade.

When he was about twenty years old he married Dorothy Tamlyn, a woman nearly forty years of age, with whom he had lived as fellow-servant; and soon after he set her up in a little haberdasher's shop in Boswell Court. This shop she kept nearly ten years, when Cannicott, being then servant to the late Admiral Matthews, took a house for her in East Street and furnished it to be let out in lodgings.

They lived peaceably, if not happily, together until, without his knowledge, she sold two suits of his best clothes, though she had no reasonable pretence or provocation, for he constantly gave her all his money, and she received, without any account, the profits that arose from the house. Cannicott was naturally passionate, and coming in haste one day to put on a suit of these clothes, upon a particular occasion, he was so exasperatdd to find they had been sold by his wife that he swore he would never come home to her any more. He took a lodging in a distant part of the town instead of going home to his wife, though he still continued to give her his money.

In this new neighbourhood he was of course considered as a single man; and indeed he was soon after hired to a gentleman in Cavendish Square who declared that he would not hire a married man. Among Cannicott's fellow-servants there was a young woman who waited upon his master's daughter, to whom he found a secret pleasure in recommending himself by many little acts of kindness, with which he saw she was pleased. He loved her not only for her person but for her mind, which was continually being improved by the free conversation of her amiable lady.

As love is always vigilant and suspicious, he discovered that his master had a design upon her virtue, and that, at the same time, she was also addressed by a young man who would have married her, and whom he thought she would consent to marry, if he did not profit by the influence he had over her by soliciting her for himself. In this situation he determined to gain her if it was possible, let the consequence be what it would. From this time his courtship commenced, and the girl, sincerely believing he had no other connection, consented to have him. When this was agreed he resolved to leave his place, because the girl would not consent to conceal her marriage from her lady, nor would her lady part with her upon that account, though his master would, notwithstanding, think it a sufficient reason to part with him. In pursuance of this scheme he hired himself to the Earl of Darnley, and on the 3rd of June, 1754, he married his new wife at Marylebone Chapel.

He went into Lord Darnley's place the same day, and his wife continued in hers a twelvemonth after they were married, and might have continued there longer if her master had not pursued his design with more importunity than before, notwithstanding the declaration of her marriage, which, upon that account, as well as others, she had determined to make as soon as it should have taken place. As these solicitations made her very uneasy, she complained of them to her husband, and he advised her to give warning. She immediately followed his counsel, but stayed five months longer to oblige her lady, who was very desirous she should go with her to Bath. When they came back, and her master found she was determined to go, and that another maid had been engaged in her stead, he was so enraged at his disappointment that he would scarcely suffer her to stay long enough in the house to put her clothes together. When she had come away Cannicott hired a lodging for her as near him as he could, that he might spend every leisure minute in her company; and he perceived, with unspeakable pleasure, an excessive fondness in her which increased his own.

One Hobson, a coachman in Lord Darnley's family, knew Cannicott when he lived in another place, and knew also his first wife. It happened that the wife of this Hobson had become acquainted with some person in the house where Cannicott had taken a lodging for his second wife, and thus discovered the secret.

His second wife, however, she did not know where to find, for she had removed into the country when Cannicott went out of town with his lord, and had not yet returned; but word was immediately sent to his wife, and she took every opportunity to haunt and reproach her husband with his new connection. This made him extremely wretched, not only because it was irksome in itself, but because it kept him in continual dread and solicitude lest they should find out his favourite and interrupt her peace as they had interrupted his.

As his fears increased, so did his caution: he took another lodging for his young wife, whom he called Nanny, at a considerable distance, and required her never to call, on any pretence, where she had lodged before. With this request she cheerfully complied, without knowing or inquiring why it was made; but her old landlady, once meeting her by chance, dogged her home, and immediately acquainted Hobson and his wife where she lodged, who with great expedition sent Mrs Cannicott to acquaint her with her situation. Here was an end at once to all the stolen felicity. Nanny, at the next interview, reproached him; but she reproached him with such tenderness as showed less anger than love. She was overwhelmed with grief, and as often as she could find words she entreated that he would never attempt to see her more, but leave her to struggle alone with her misfortunes, and endeavour to get into another place. He could not consent to leave her, but promised to procure her a place. This indeed he attempted, but without success.

She had twice removed her lodging, but was still followed by Mrs Cannicott, who acquainted the neighbourhood with her story. Nanny, therefore, would not suffer Cannicott to visit her in her lodgings, where it was known she could not be his lawful wife; and though he persuaded her sometimes to meet him early in the morning, yet, as it was chiefly in the street, that afforded him no pleasure.

Hobson and his wife in the meantime fomented the difference between Cannicott and his first wife, telling her that he had received his wages, and urging her to solicit him for more money. This she did, with threats of prosecution if he refused, saying that she could and would hang him for having two wives.

As he believed this to be in her power, he restrained his aversion, for fear she should execute it, and therefore appointed to meet her on Thursday evening at the Red Lion, in Berkeley Square, to take a little walk. Being obliged to put up at a public-house near Tottenham Court, by a sudden storm of thunder and rain, she asked him for money, which he refused to give her, when she had recourse first to expostulation, then reproach, and then threatening, which threw him into a dreadful rage, in the midst of which he broke away from her and she followed him. As they were going downstairs he saw a cord hanging over the banisters, upon which he conceived a design to use it as an instrument to murder her, and therefore snatched it up and put it into his pocket.

When they came out of the house they went towards home. Bidding her go on, he prepared the cord for the murder. Having tied a noose in one end and passed the other end through it, he walked apace after her and, coming behind her, threw it over her head and drew it tight. She immediately seized it with her hands, and struggled so hard that the cord broke, and he feared she would overpower him. He then thought of his scissors, and, drawing them from the sheath, he thrust them many times into her throat and body, upon which her grasp relaxed, and she soon expired.

He was soon afterwards arrested and examined by the justices, and though many circumstances appeared against him, yet the first day he confessed nothing; but the next day, finding that they had found out his second wife, and confined her upon suspicion that she had been accessory to the fact, he immediately accused himself, that she might be discharged; and, having fully disclosed the whole affair, he pleaded guilty at his trial, and died with great penitence and resignation, being executed at Tyburn, on the 20th of September, 1756.

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41: John Berry, Stephen M'daniel, James Egan, James Salmon And ― Blee

A new Species of Murderers, who conspired against the Lives of many Innocent Men

OUR readers might imagine that we have already related every species of murder, and it will hardly be credited, that so diabolical a conspiracy could be engendered in the mind of man, as that of enticing innocent youths to commit a robbery, and then apprehending them, for the sake of the reward, thus making a very trade of human blood. This infernal plot was however long successfully carried on, and many an innocent man fell a victim to the pretended violated laws of the country.

The head, or captain, as they dignified him, was Berry; a runner, or as commonly denominated a 'Thief-taker', who lived at the bottom of what was then called George-yard, at the bottom of Hatton-Garden, and Blee was his servant.

M'Daniel had kept a public-house in Holborn; Egan was a shoemaker, in Drury-lane; and Salmon a leather-breechesmaker, in Drury-lane.

These villains, horrid to relate, conspired together, in accusing innocent people of crimes which took away life, for the reward offered. Various were the diabolical plans they laid for this purpose.

At one time, they enticed two victims to join them in committing a highway robbery upon one of their own gang; a third was to purchase the stolen goods; and the other was to apprehend the intended victims, permitting his accomplice, who had been concerned in the robbery, to escape, and then to join the party robbed and the receiver in the prosecution. But if, through the information of the other two, the thief-taker, who proposed and assisted in the robbery, was apprehended, then, in order to preserve him, the prosecution was not supported.

These villains exhibited an accusation of robbery against two young men, named Newman and March. Upon their trial, they related the manner in which they had been seduced; but the evidence of the thief-takers was so strong, that they were convicted and suffered death.

A poor man, named Tyler, was met by one of the gang, who said he would make him a present of a horse, for which he had no further occasion. The unfortunate man joyfully received the horse from his apparently generous benefactor; by whom be was advised to take the beast to an inn in Smithfield, there to be taken care of till he should determine in what manner to dispose of him. Before he could reach Smithfield, he was seized by Egan, who took him before the sitting alderman; and it being sworn that he had stolen the horse, he was committed to Newgate, and soon afterwards hanged. In the year 1753, they charged an innocent man, named Woodland, with felony; and he was committed, and sentenced to suffer death: but he was so fortunate as to receive a pardon, on condition of transportation. The villains, however, claimed, and actually received, the reward, in consequence of having prosecuted him to conviction.

Joshua Kidden, whom we shall mention hereafter, was the next who fell a sacrifice to their diabolical artifices. It would be tedious to recount the particulars relating to the many people who suffered death through the false evidence of these atrocious villains; and especially as the several cases bear much similarity to each other. We shall now proceed to a narrative of the fact of which they were convicted.

The money obtained by the conviction of Kidden being nearly expended, they employed themselves in concerting new schemes of villany for recruiting their finances. It was determined to employ a man named Blee, a fellow of abandoned principles, who had for some time acted as an assistant to Berry, in attending in the fields about Islington till he could decoy two idle boys to consent to join him in a robbery.

They all held a meeting in an arbour belonging to a public-house, the sign of Sir John Oldcastle, in the neighbourhood of Islington, where they appointed the time for committing the robbery, and that it should be near Deptford, on account of the inhabitants of Greenwich having advertised twenty pounds for the apprehending any highwayman or footpad, in addition to the reward allowed by parliament. Their wicked plan being settled, they separated; for, lest they should be suspected of holding an improper correspondence, they were particularly careful not to be seen together, where there was a probability of their persons being known.

The time for holding the assizes being arrived, Mr Cox, having a warrant for apprehending Berry, Salmon, M'Daniel, and Egan, went to Maidstone, having Blee in custody. Mr Cox waited till the conclusion of the trial, but had no sooner heard the foreman of the jury pronounce the prisoners guilty, then he caused the four iniquitous accomplices to be taken into custody. They obstinately persisted in declaring themselves innocent; and even when confronted with Blee, denied having the least knowledge of him: but, on the following day, they severally requested to be admitted evidences for the crown; in this none of them were indulged, the evidence of Blee being deemed sufficient for their conviction.

They were removed to London, in order for trial, as being accessories before the fact. The jury were not able to determine whether the prisoners came within the description of the statutes fourth and fifth of Philip and Mary, or third and fourth of William and Mary, and therefore referred the case to the decision of the twelve judges.

The special verdict being brought to a hearing before the judges in the hall of Serjeant's inn, counsel was heard on both sides, and it was unanimously determined that the offences charged against the prisoners did not come within the meaning of the statutes above-mentioned: but orders were given for the indicting them for a conspiracy.

An indictment being found against them, they were again put to the bar at the Old Bailey, and the evidences exhibited against them on their former trial being recapitulated, the jury pronounced them guilty, and they were sentenced to be punished in the following manner: Berry and M'Daniel to stand on the pillory, once at the end of Hatton Garden, in Holborn, and once at the end of King Street in Cheapside; Salmon and Egan to stand once in the middle of West Smithfield, and the second time at the end of Fetter-lane, in Fleet Street; and all to be imprisoned in Newgate for the space of seven years; and upon the expiration of that time not to be discharged without finding sureties to be bound in the penalties of a thousand pounds each for their good behaviour for the seven following years.

March the 5th, 1756, M'Daniel and Berry were set on the pillory at the end of Hatton Garden, and were so severely treated by the populace that their lives were supposed to be in danger.

Egan and Salmon were taken to Smithfield on Monday the eighth of the same month, amidst a surprising concourse of people, who no sooner saw the offenders exposed on the pillory, then they pelted them with stones, brick-bats, potatoes, dead dogs and cats, and other things. The constables now interposed; but being soon overpowered, the offenders were left wholly to the mercy of an enraged mob. The blows they received occasioned their heads to swell to an enormous size; and they were nearly strangled by people hanging to the skirts of their clothes. They had been on the pillory about half an hour, when a stone striking Egan on the head, he immediately expired.

This man's fate, however illegally he met his death, will cause but little sorrow; yet, living under wholesome laws, we would not see even such a wretch as Egan punished but by the sentence of a court.

The sheriffs, fearing that should the survivors be again exposed to the vengeance of an enraged people they would share the fate of their companion in iniquity, the remainder of the sentence of pillory was on that account remitted; but the length of their sentence of imprisonment, added to the great amount of the sureties for their good behaviour after the expiration thereof, might have been considered tantamount to imprisonment for life; a fate well suited to such mischievous, hard-hearted, and unrelenting villains.

They, however, soon died in Newgate, thus ridding the world of the principal part of this terrific gang.

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42: Joshua Kidden

A Victim of the horrid Conspirators, whose crimes and punishments are described above

WE have already given the names of some of the devoted victims of these conspirators; but as they were chiefly selected from the very lowest part of society, the particulars of their unhappy cases are lost in obscurity.

The subject of this melancholy history, was in a superior rank of life to his innocent fellow-sufferers; and, like them, it will be found had taken no part in the pretended robbery of which he was accused.

The father of Kidden, was a reputable watch-maker in London, and having given his son a classical education, bound him apprentice to an apothecary; but being fond of idleness, he was soon discontented with culling simples and pounding roots. His indulgent parents, thinking that the watery element might better suit his lazy turn of mind, accordingly procured him a situation as a petty-officer in the royal navy; in which he remained during six years.

Having now returned to his paternal home, his father, fondly hoping that he had settled his mind to a sea-faring life, hired masters to instruct him in the theoretical parts of navigation, and every other branch of that art; but he neglected his opportunity, and hung about his father, a useless and expensive burden; however, we find no propensity in him to dishonesty.

At length, somewhat arousing from his apathy, he made an essay to earn his own bread, and for that purpose ranged him self among the porters, at the end of Fleet-market; for he had neglected to acquire any trade or business.

Going one evening, after the toil of a hard day's work, to regale himself with the London labourer's most wholesome beverage, porter, he was unfortunately marked by the villain Blee, one of the gang last mentioned, who conceived him a fit object upon whom to exercise his hellish design.

Kidden, who had uncertain employ, told Blee that be was in want of work; and the latter engaging to procure some for him, got him lodgings in an alley in Chick-lane, where he continued from Friday till the following Monday, when be was told that there was a job at Tottenham to remove some effects of a gentleman, which would otherwise be seized for rent.

At the time appointed, Kidden and Blee went to Tottenham; and having waited at a public-house till the approach of night, Blee went out, with a pretence of speaking to the gentleman whose goods were to be removed; but, on his return, said that the business could not be transacted that night.

They now quitted the public-house, and proceeded towards London, after Blee had given Kidden eighteen-pence, as a compensation for the loss of his day's work. On the London side of Tottenham they observed a chaise, and a woman sitting on the side of the road near it. Ridden asked her if she was going to London; she replied in the affirmative; but he walked forwards, paying no attention to what she said, till he heard Blee call him back, demanding to know why be walked so fast. Kidden turning back, observed that Blee was robbing the woman; on which be declined a nearer approach, disdaining to have any concern in such a transaction: but Blee, running up to him, said, 'I have got the money': and would have prevailed on him to take half a crown; but this he declined.

Blee then desired Kidden not to leave him; and the latter staying two or three minutes, a thief-taker, named M'Daniel, rushed from a hedge, and seizing Kidden, told him that he was his prisoner.

The woman thus pretendedly robbed was one Mary Jones; and all the parties going before a magistrate, it was positively sworn that Kidden was the robber, and that he took twenty-five shillings from the woman; on which he was committed to Newgate.

Mary Jones, the woman supposed to have been robbed, lodged in Broker's-alley, Drury-lane; and the friends and relations of Ridden, assured in their own minds of his innocence, went thither to inquire after her character, which they found to be so totally abandoned, that they had no doubt but that the whole was a pre-concerted plot for his destruction.

When the trial came on, Mary Jones, and two thief-takers swore positively to the unhappy lad, who was capitally convicted, and sentenced to die; and a report was industriously circulated that he had committed several robberies as a footpad; but this was only the effort of villany, to depreciate the character of an innocent man, in order to receive the reward for his conviction, which was actually paid.

After sentence of death was passed, Ridden made a constant, uniform, and solemn avowal of his innocence. He told how the thief-takers had imposed on him; and his tale was universally credited, when it was too late to save him from the fatal consequences of their villainous devices.

Repeated applications were made that mercy might be extended to the unhappy convict; but these were in vain. The warrant for his execution arrived, and he resigned himself to his fate in the most becoming manner, lamenting the present disgrace that his relations would undergo but entertaining no doubt that the decrees of Providence would soon give ample testimony of his innocence.

He resigned his innocent life to the executioner, after pathetically addressing the multitude, and declaring again his innocence, in the year 1756, greatly lamented.

From a comparison of the circumstances of the case of Ridden, and other miserable youths whom this destructive gang, under pretence of being thief-takers, for the ends of justice, had given evidence against, we fear there is too much reason to believe that many more than those we have mentioned, fell victims to their crimes.

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43: Christopher Woodland

Another Victim of the horrid gang of Thief-takers

THE CASES OF the wretched men who fell victims to the horrid plots of the thief-takers already mentioned, shew how many arts had been practised in seeking the innocent blood of their fellow-creatures.

The fate of Woodland, however, is deserving of much less pity than that of Kidden; the former consented to join in a burglary, which, though a trap laid for him, it proved that he was a man, ready to join any hardened gang of robbers.

They thus practised upon Woodland. Berry, the head of the gang, hired a single room of one Mr Eveness, on Saffron-hill, ostensibly for James Egan, another of the gang. They put into this room some mean articles of furniture, and thus made the place suited to their purpose. Then Berry, M'Daniel, Egan, and Mary Jones, who had now become associated with them, ordered Blee to procure a victim, who might join some of them in robbing this room.

Blee, ever the drudge of the gang, pitched upon a half-witted fellow, the immediate subject of the present enquiry.

Egan, who had been a shoemaker, took possession of the room, and hammered upon his lapstone; not to mend soles, but to make souls arise from the bodies of his victims. Blee intoxicated Woodland, and then proposed what he called a plan to ensure the road to wealth. The sot, delighted with the offer, readily joined him in breaking into the shoe-maker's room, where he was assured a large booty might be obtained.

Woodland committed the burglary, and was followed by Blee. He seized some bundles of clothes, placed there for the purpose, and was advised by his deceitful companion, to offer them for sale to Mary Jones. The gang rushed into her apartment, seized Woodland, but permitted Blee to escape. They took him before a justice of the peace, swore to the burglary, and consequently he was committed to Newgate.

As he did not appear to be an old offender, no other offence being laid to his charge, the capital part of the indictment, the burglary, was not pressed; and he was found guilty alone of stealing.

This disappointed the gang of their reward, as he was sentenced to transportation only, and was sent to America.

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1757

44: Admiral Byng

Shot to death on board the Monarque, at Spithead, for Misbehaviour before the French Fleet in the Mediterranean

THIS unfortunate victim to popular clamour, and political intrigue, was the second son of George Byng, a distinguished naval commander, in the reign of George the second, who, in reward for his brilliant services, was elevated to the peerage in 1721, by the titles of Baron Byng, and Viscount Torrington. John Byng, the subject of this memoir, was brought up to his father's profession from his earliest youth, and up to the time of his embarking in the expedition to Minorca, which covered his character with disgrace, and consigned him to an ignominious death, was generally esteemed as one of the best officers in the navy.

During the latter years of George the Second's reign, England was involved in a war with France, and the weak and impotent administration who then directed the royal councils, evinced their utter incapacity for the important duties which devolved upon them, by their inability to check the alarming encroachments of the French. In addition to great losses and disasters inflicted upon our American colonies, the enemy had made great havock upon our commerce in the Mediterranean and other parts. The city of London presented a petition and remonstrance to the king, in which the ministry was very roughly handled, and the example of the metropolis was extensively followed by many other portions of the empire, but the ministers still remained in office.

In this agitated state of affairs, Admiral Byng was appointed to the command of a fleet consisting of ten ships, with which force he was to sail immediately to Gibraltar, where he was to land a reinforcement for the garrison, and then to pursue the French fleet, which it was supposed had been destined for North America. At Gibraltar the Admiral learnt that the French fleet, consisting of thirteen ships of the line, and a great number of transports, with 15,000 troops on board, had sailed from Toulon, and made a descent on Minorca, and were in possession of the whole of the island, except the fortress and castle of St. Philip, into which the commandant, General Blakeney, had retired with a very small force, and remained closely besieged by the French troops under the command of the Duke de Richelieu.

In communicating to the Lords of the Admiralty this intelligence, Admiral Byng took occasion to make some very severe remarks, not only on the wretched condition of the ships under his command, but also on the neglected state of the magazines and store-houses at Gibraltar, and the utter want of wharfs and docks in which he might repair and refit the fleet. To this he added, that the engineers and artillery men, then in Gibraltar, who had been at Minorca, were decidedly of opinion that no effectual assistance could be rendered to the British forces then defending the fortress of St. Philip, and in this opinion he expressed his concurrence.

This impolitic and ill-timed communication, no doubt had considerable influence on the spirit in which the transactions, wherein his fate was subsequently involved, were conducted. The first part of his letter was a palpable impeachment of the ministry, under whose orders he was acting; and the second seemed framed for the sole purpose of preparing them for the disasters which so quickly followed.

Having refitted, and taken on board a reinforcement from the garrison, he sailed from Gibraltar, on the 8th of May, 1756, and was joined off Minorca by the Phoenix. On approaching land, the British flag was seen still flying on the castle of St. Philip, on which, however, a tremendous bombardment was kept up from several batteries over which the French flag waved. Admiral Byng attempted to open a communication with the shore, but before this could be effected, the French fleet, consisting of thirteen large ships of war and four small vessels, appeared in sight, it being then about six o'clock in the evening.

During the night the fleets separated, but about two the next day, they again came into contact, and the line of battle was formed on both sides. Rear-Admiral West attacked the enemy with great courage and impetuosity, broke through their line, and disabled the ships opposed to him. Admiral Byng, however, who had confused the rear-admiral by contradictory orders, most cautiously kept out of the engagement, and when urged by his captain to bear down upon the enemy and carry on the engagement, very coolly declined doing so, except with the whole line of ships. The French admiral, though possessed of greater force, but already somewhat worsted, seemed equally disinclined to carry on the battle, took advantage of Admiral Byng's indecision, and edged off. The English gave chase, but were outsailed by the French, and on the following morning the enemy's fleet was quite out of sight.

After this unsatisfactory engagement, which had commenced with such advantages on our part, the admiral called a council of war, in which it was agreed to abandon Minorca to its fate, and to return with the fleet to Gibraltar. The French redoubled their exertions against the fortress of St. Philip, and after several unsuccessful attempts, in which they were repulsed with great loss, by the brave but scanty troops under the command of General Blakeney, ultimately succeeded in carrying the outworks by storm. The general finding himself cut off from all hope of relief from the fleet, the fortress surrounded by batteries of the most destructive power, and the whole island in the undisputed possession of the enemy, was at length compelled to surrender, and the Duke de Richelieu, in consideration of the bravery of the defence, concluded an honourable capitulalion, in which it was agreed that the garrison should march out with the honours of war, and be conveyed to Gibraltar in French vessels.

Admiral Byng's letter announcing the engagement and its issue, excited the strongest possible disappointment and indignation. It was not made public till some days after its arrival; but when published, every expression tending in any way to cast blame on the ministers was carefully expunged. Their object was accomplished to the full; the public mind took fire, and the rage and clamour against the admiral was unbounded. This feeling was artfully fomented by hired emissaries, who were sent into all classes of society and places of amusement to denounce the offender, and mobs were actually hired to hang and burn him in effigy.

Sir Edward Hawke was sent out to supersede the unfortunate admiral, who was brought home under arrest, and on his arrival committed a close prisoner to an apartment in Greenwich Hospital. On his own part, he was actuated by a consciousness of having done his duty, and anxious for an opportunity of justifying himself before a Court Martial.

On the meeting of Parliament Admiral Boscawen informed the House that the King and the Board of Admiralty being dissatisfied with the conduct of Admiral Byng, in a late action with the French fleet in the Mediterranean, he was in custody in order to take his trial. This communication was deemed to be necessary as a mark of respect to the House of Commons, of which Admiral Byng was a member, and to account for the absence of that officer from his duties in the House.

The 28th December being fixed for the trial, the Court martial assembled on board the St. George, at Portsmouth. admiral Byng was escorted from Greenwich by a strong party of the Horse Guards, and throughout the whole line of the road was violently insulted by the people of every town and village through which the cavalcade passed.

The sitting of the court continued for several days, and after a laborious investigation of the evidence, determined that during the engagement with the French fleet, Admiral Byng did not do his utmost to take, seize, and destroy the ships and vessels of the French king, nor to assist such of His Majesty's as were engaged in so doing; and that he did not exert his utmost power for the relief of the castle of St. Philip. All which being in breach of the 12th article of the Laws for the Government of His Majesty's Navy, and the said laws prescribing death for such dereliction of duty, the court adjudged the said Admiral Byng to be shot to death, at such time, and on board such ship, as the Lords of the Admiralty should direct. But inasmuch as he had shown neither disaffection nor want of personal courage, the court unanimously and earnestly recommended him to mercy.

During the trial he behaved with a cheerful composure, which only resulted from a consciousness of innocence. So strong indeed was his confidence of receiving full and honourable acquittal, that after he had finished his defence be ordered his carriage to be in readiness to convey him to London.

When he became acquainted with the fatal decision of the court, he expressed the strongest feelings of surprise and indignation, but he showed nothing like fear or confusion. Many members of the court overcome by grief and trepidation, actually shed tears; but the victim of their judgment heard his doom without the alteration of a single feature, and making a low obeisance to the court retired.

Strong efforts were used to save the unhappy individual from his impending fate. The Lords of the Admiralty forwarded to the King the recommendation of the Court Martial to mercy, accompanied by one from themselves, in which they urged strong doubts of the legality of the sentence which had been passed. A petition was also presented by Lord Torrington, and other relations and friends of the unhappy convict also used their best exertions in his behalf. So strong and so numerous were the appeals for mercy, that hopes were entertained of its prevailing; but infamous arts were used to whet the savage appetite of the multitude for blood, and the cruel faction ultimately succeeded.

The cry of vengeance was loud throughout the land; sullen clouds of suspicion and malevolence interposing, to obstruct the genial influence of the most enviable prerogative that apper tains to the throne. The Sovereign was given to understand that the execution of Admiral Byng was absolutely necessary to appease the fury of the people. His Majesty, in consequence of the representation made by the Lords of the Admiralty, referred the sentence to the consideration of the Twelve Judges, who returned a unanimous opinion that the sentence was legal. This report being transmitted from the privy-council to the Admiralty, their lordships issued a warrant for executing the sentence of death on the twenty-eighth day of February. Admiral Forbes, one of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, how ever, refused to sign the warrant, on account of his conscientious scruples of its illegality.

The unfortunate Admiral being thus abandoned to the stroke of justice, prepared himself for death with resignation and tranquillity. He maintained a surprising cheerfulness to the last; nor did he, from his condemnation to his execution, exhibit the least sign of impatience or apprehension. During that interval he had remained on board the Monarque, under a strong guard. On the day fixed for his execution, the boats belonging to the squadron at Spithead being manned and armed, containing their captains and officers, with a detachment of marines, attended this solemnity in the harbour, which was also crowded with an infinite number of other boats and vessels filled with spectators. About noon, the Admiral having taken leave of a clergyman, and two friends who accompanied him, walked out of the great cabin to the quarter-deck, where two files of marines were ready to execute the sentence. He advanced with a firm deliberate step, a composed and resolute countenance, and resolved to suffer with his face uncovered, until his friends, representing that his looks would possibly intimidate the soldiers, and prevent their taking aim properly, he submitted to their request, threw his hat on the deck, kneeled on a cushion, tied one white handkerchief over his eyes, and dropped the other as a signal for his executioners, who fired a volley so decisive, that five balls passed through his body, and he droppcd down dead in an instant. The time in which this tragedy was acted, from his walking out of the cabin to his being deposited in the coffin, did not exceed three minutes.

Thus fell, to the astonishment of all Europe, Admiral John Byng; who, whatever his errors and indiscretions might have been, was at least rashly condemned, meanly given up, and cruelly sacrificed to vile political intrigues.

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45: Edward Morgan

Executed and hung in Chains at Glamorgan, 6th of April, 1757, for murdering a Family and burning down their House

THE circumstances which came out on the trial of Edward Morgan, at the assizes of Glamorgan, were these. According to annual custom he had been invited by Mr Rees Morgan, of Lanvabon, his cousin, to spend the Christmas holidays. He had partaken of the first day's festivity, and retired to bed along with a young man, apprentice to Mr Rees Morgan. No sooner had he laid his head upon the pillow, to use his own expression, than the devil whispered to him to get up and murder the whole family, and he determined to obey.

He first made an attempt on the apprentice, his bedfellow,

but he struggled so far as to effect his escape and hide himself. The murderer then provided himself with a knife, which he sharpened on a stone as deliberately as the butcher uses his steel.

Thus prepared, he softly crept to the bedchamber of his host and hostess, and cut their throats in their sleep; then he proceeded to the bed of their beautiful daughter, with whom the monster had but an hour before been sporting and playing, and with equal expedition, and by the same means, robbed her of life.

Not, however, satisfied with causing this inundation of  lood, he seized a firebrand and proceeded to the barn and outhouses, setting fire to them all; and to complete the sum of his crime he fired the dwelling-house, after plundering it of some articles.

The Gloucester Journal of the year 1757 describes the property consumed by fire on this melancholy occasion to have been "the dwelling-house, a barn full of corn, a beast-house with twelve head of cattle in it; and the farmer, his wife and daughter were either murdered or perished in the flames."

It was at first conjectured that the unfortunate people had perished in the conflagration. Their murdered bodies, it is too true, were consumed to ashes; but the manner of their death was proved partly by what the concealed apprentice overheard, but chiefly from the murderer's own confession. Morgan was executed at Glamorgan, on the 6th of April, 1757.

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46: John Young

Convicted of Crimping, or Kidnapping, young Men for the Service of the East India Company, 27th of April, 1757

TO the disgrace of a free country this man-stealing system had long been carried on, and generally with impunity, in London. Among the numerous descriptions of villains who prowled the streets and environs of the metropolis, watching an opportunity to plunder, were a number of ruffians with cockades in their hats, calling themselves recruiting officers, watching country and unguarded youths, whom they decoyed into public-houses, which they had in all quarters of the town; there they plied them with drink, and raised their hopes to enthusiasm, by the description of the vast riches of the East, until they got them sworn in, as it was called, after which nothing more was seldom heard of the wretched dupe. They were hurried on board a ship, confined in a filthy hold, on scanty provisions, and sent to some unfriendly clime, which generally soon put an end to their miseries.

John Young was one of these mock captains. He trepanned Henry Soppet, an honest sailor, while intoxicated, and confined him in a spunging or lock-up house, in Chancery Lane, with a design to send him to the East Indies. When sober, Jack, however, made such an uproar, that the captain was fain to let go his supposed prize. It did not rest here, for the tar instantly steered to the Lord Mayor and tendered his complaint, in consequence of which the man-stealer was apprehended, and brought to trial for the offence, at the sessions at Guildhall, on the 27th of April, 1757, and found guilty.

The crimp, or man-stealer, Young, pleaded guilty, and endeavoured to cozen the Court, by a mock puritanical whine of contrition, into mercy; but he soon found that he could not trick the City magistrates, who ordered him to be imprisoned in Newgate for twelve months, and at the expiration of that time to give security for his good behaviour for two years more, himself with one hundred pounds and two sureties in fifty pounds each.

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47: William Adams

A Custom-House Officer in London, executed at Tyburn on 18th of May, 1757, for Forgery

WILLIAM ADAMS was in a position of public trust. The department in which he served the public was the examining of certificates of over-entries on the duties on wines. This gave him an opportunity, with the greatest security, of committing the crime for which he suffered, and it is possible he might long have continued the practice had not an accidental omission of a date led to the discovery.

It was usual for merchants landing their wines to pay the duty; but if upon trial they appeared to be so damaged as not to be saleable, upon a proper application, and giving up the wines for the King's use, they were furnished with such certificates as entitled them to the repayment of the duty.

It was a certificate of this kind which Adams forged; and though such certificates are usually signed by six different persons, who are severally checks upon each other, yet he had counterfeited the names and signatures of all these, and actually received the drawback on ten tuns of damaged wines, amounting to two hundred and fifty-two pounds, for the use of Phineas Coats, in whose name the certificate was forged. But it being immediately discovered that a figure in the date was wanting, and he offering to supply it himself, a suspicion arose, and an inquiry was occasioned; upon which it was found that not one of the clerks whose signatures appeared knew anything of the matter.

Adams was apprehended, committed, and brought to trial at the Old Bailey for this forgery. He had little to urge in his defence further than that it had been a practice to receive such certificates as cash; that he had received this particular certificate as such; and that if it was forged he knew nothing of the forgery. This had no weight against the evidence which appeared against him, in the opinion of the jury, who, without hesitation, pronounced him guilty. He was executed on the same gallows with three other men.

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48: Richard Hughes

Executed at Tyburn, May 18, 1757, for forgery.

THIS man for some years carried on business in an extensive way, as a tailor and draper, in Arundel-street, Strand, London; therein had acquired a capital, which he invested in a brewery, but it appears that this speculation, extending beyond the tailor's yard, did not succeed equal to the clipping of cloth. Hughes had been intrusted by his uncle, the acting executor under his father's will, with a power of attorney, to receive considerable sums of money, due to the estate of the deceased; and while he stuck to his shop-board, he performed the trust reposed in him with punctuality which acquired him: much credit among his country relations.

The brewery, a concern with which he was totally unacquainted, soon brought him into difficulties; and to surmount which, he fixed his thoughts upon certain South-sea stock, possessed by this uncle, and found no peace of mind until he converted it to his own use. To this end, he boldly went to the South-sea House, and asked the proper clerk for a bank warrant of attorney, to sell stock. This is always kept at the office, and it was then necessary that the power of transfer should be witnessed by the minister, church-wardens, or overseers of the poor of the parish, in which the owner lives.

All these formalities, Hughes himself soon counterfeited, and in due time presented the instrument at the South-sea House; and received upwards of five hundred pounds.

Had this ungrateful wretch suffered his iniquity to rest here, it might have remained undiscovered until he could have replaced the stock, which it may reasonably be presumed he meant to do; but the evil genius that goads us on to the commission of crimes, ever leads us to a precipice from which the victim is annihilated. So with Hughes, who in attempting to cover the robbery, exposed himself to detection. No sooner had he received the money, than he determined to pay a visit to the man whom he had injured.

The uncle received his nephew with much cordiality; until the latter, lulled into security, and now deserted by his tempter, among other ways of ingratiating himself farther into the old man's favours, told him that, he had "brought his interest on the South-sea stock." The old gentleman did not appear to take much notice of this at the time, probably supposing he might have empowered him for that purpose; but upon returning, he could find no authority vested in his nephew for that, purpose; yet he determined not to sift the matter while the young man remained his guest.

No sooner had Hughes departed for London, than the uncle uncle communicated his suspicion to the minister of the parish, who disclaimed all knowledge of witnessing any instrument which could warrant a transfer of stock.

Application was then made to the South-sea House, when the forgery was evident. The minister's Christian-name was mistaken, and no such persons as the other pretended witnesses could be found.

This was the sum of the evidence given on his trial at the Old Bailey; and on which he was consequently convicted and executed.

The prosecution was instituted by the Board of rectors of the South-sea Company.

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1758

49: William Page

A Gentleman of the Road who drove in a Phaeton and Pair, and after many Adventures was executed for Highway Robbery on 6th of April, 1758

WILLIAM PAGE was the son of a respectable farmer at Hampton, and being a lad of promising parts he was sent to London to be educated, under the care of his cousin, a haberdasher. His early life, by the superstitious believers of old sayings, would be adduced as proof positive of the truth of the old adage that "a man who is born to be hanged will never be drowned"; and, although we cannot put much faith generally in such notions, we cannot help in this instance pointing out some peculiarities in the adventures of our hero which might have been considered by him as a sufficient indication of his fate.

The early chronicler of his life says that, during the hard frost in the winter of 1739, Page was sliding with other boys on the canal in St James's Park, when the ice broke under him and he sank; and, the ice immediately closing over him, he would have perished, but just at this juncture the ice again broke with another boy near him, and Page arose precisely at the vacancy made by the latter, and was saved, although his companion was drowned. The second instance of the intervention of his good fortune occurred in the summer following this singular escape. Page was then trying to swim with corks in the Thames, when they slipped from under his arms and he sank; but a waterman got him up, and he soon recovered. On the third occasion he was going up the river on a party of pleasure, about five years after-wards, with several other young fellows, when the boat overset with them in Chelsea Reach, and every one in the boat was drowned except Page. But his fourth and last escape from a watery grave was even more miraculous than any of those which preceded it. About eighteen months after that which is last related he was on a voyage to Scotland. The ship in which he sailed foundered in Yarmouth Roads, and most of the people on board perished; but another vessel, observing their distress, sent out a long-boat, by the help of which Page and a few others saved their lives.

To return, however, to the ordinary events of his life. It appeared that, his cousin having given him employment in his shop, his vanity prevented him from bestowing that attention on his business to which it was entitled; and his extravagance being checked by his relation, who stopped his pocket-money in order to curb his refined notions, he had recourse to plunder to supply his necessities. Money being repeatedly missed from the till, and all attempts to discover the thief among the servants having failed, suspicion at length rested on our hero; and, his guilt having been distinctly proved, he was dismissed from his situation forthwith. An effort which he made to conciliate his relation after this proved ineffectual; and his father, who had learned the nature of his irregularities, having refused to render him any assistance, he at length journeyed to York, and there joined a company of strolling players. His exertions in his new capacity were not unsuccessful; but at length, attempting to play Cato while in a state of intoxication, his character in the play and his condition of person were found to agree so badly that he was compelled to be carried from the stage, and was dismissed from his engagement.

He afterwards went to Scarborough, where his necessities compelled him to accept a situation as livery-servant with a gentleman; but, his master having been robbed on his way to town, he formed a notion that highway robbery was an easy and profitable mode of living, and determined that so soon as he should have the means of starting in the profession he would become a "gentleman of the road." Quitting his master at the end of twelve months he became acquainted with a woman of abandoned character, in conjunction with whom he took lodgings near Charing Cross, and he then commenced as highwayman.

His first expedition was on th Kentish Road, and meeting the Canterbury stage, near Shooter's Hill, he robbed the passengers of watches and money to the amount of about thirty pounds; and then, riding through a great part of Kent to take an observation of the cross-roads, he returned to London. He now took lodgings near Grosvenor Square, and, frequenting billiard-tables, won a little money, which, added to his former stock, prevented his having recourse to the highway again for a considerable time. But at length he met with a gambler who was more expert than himself and stripped him of all his money. He then again sought the road as a means of subsistence. His exertions were for some time fruitless, but at length meeting with a handsome booty he was emboldened by his success, and, taking luxurious lodgings, soon gained the friendship of some young men of fashion. His next object was to improve his mind and person; and, having gained some knowledge, by dint of impudence and through a pleasing exterior he got introduced into decent society.

By this time he had drawn, from his own observation and for his private use, a most curious map of the roads twenty miles round London, and, driving in a phaeton and pair, was not suspected for a highwayman.

In his excursions for robbery he used to dress in a laced or embroidered frock, and wear his hair tied behind; but when at a distance from London he would turn into some unfrequented place and, having disguised himself in other clothes, with a grizzled or black wig, and saddled one of his horses, he would ride to the main road and commit a robbery. This done, he would hasten back to the carriage, resume his former dress, and drive to town again.

He had once an escape of a very remarkable kind. Having robbed a gentleman near Putney, some persons came up at the juncture and pursued him so closely that he was obliged to cross the Thames for his security. In the interim some haymakers, crossing the field where Page's carriage was left, found and carried off his gay apparel; and the persons who had pursued him, meeting them, charged them with being accomplices in the robbery. A report of this affair being soon spread, Page heard of it, and, throwing his clothes into a well, he went back almost naked, claimed the carriage as his own, and declared that the men had stripped him and thrown him into a ditch. All the parties now went before a justice of the Peace; and the maker of the carriage appearing, and declaring that it was the property of Mr Page, the poor haymakers were committed for trial; but obtained their liberty after the next assizes, as Page did not appear to prosecute.

After this he made no further use of the phaeton as a disguise for his robberies; but it served him occasionally on parties of pleasure, which he sometimes took with a girl whom he had then in keeping.

Page was passionately fond of play, and his practice this way was attended with various turns of fortune, as must be the case with all gamblers. One night he went to the masquerade with only ten guineas, and won above five hundred pounds; and this money was no sooner in his possession, than a lady, most magnificently dressed, made some advances to him, on which he put the most favourible construction.

After some conversation she told him that her mother was a widow, who would not admit of his visits; but that possibly he might prevail on her attendant, whose husband was a reputable tradesman, to give them admission to his house.

Page, who had repeatedly heard the other address her by the title of 'My lady,' became very importunate with the good woman to grant this favour. At length all parties agreed; the servants were called; Page handed the lady and her attendant into a coach, on which was the coronet of a viscountess: two footmen with flambeaux got behind the carriage, and the coachman was ordered to drive home; but, when the carriage came into Pall Mall, fresh orders were given to proceed towards Temple Bar.

The fine lady engaged Page's attention to such a degree, that be paid no regard whither they went. At length the carriage stopped in an obscure street, at a house which looked like a shop, and the parties went upstairs, but not before the lady had whispered one of the footmen (loud enough for Page to hear her) to acquaint her grace, in the morning, that she did not return lest she should disturb her, and therefore slept at Mrs. Price's.

The good woman of the house apologized for the meanness of her accommodations; but Page said that all apologies were needless; and the attendant retiring, he paid the most earnest addresses to the presumed lady, who at length, after a degree of affectation, that, if he had not been blinded by his own vanity, he might have readily perceived, she consented to sleep with him.

As it was late (or rather early) before they came from the masquerade, and much time had been lost in the courtship, it was four o'clock in the afternoon before they arose, and even night before a coach was called for their departure; though the lady pretended that her mother, the duchess, would be extremely uneasy on account of her absence.

With great difficulty Page prevailed on the lady to admit of his attendance on her part of the way home; during which he promised every thing that a lover could promise; and she answered him as he could have wished.

The coach stopping in Covent Garden, the lady went into a chair: and our hero offering to pay the chairman, he said that he was already paid, a circumstance that convinced Page of the disinterested disposition of this new acquaintance.

Repairing now to his lodgings, he reflected with pleasure on the happy prospects before him; but, feeling for his pocket-book, he discovered that it was lost, and with it the greatest part of his treasure.

He now began to suspect that the lady of fashion was an impostor; and when she failed to meet him on the following day, agreeably to an appointment that she had made, he saw that he had been robbed of five hundred pounds, without a probability of recovering it.

He now advertised a reward to the hackney-coach man who took them up, and made several other endeavours to find her out; but they all proved equally fruitless.

Thus stripped of his ill-acquired property, he came to a resolution to make the women pay for what a woman had stolen; and, taking the road to Bath, he robbed every carriage in which was a woman. If men were in the coach, he said he had no demands on them; but had a draft for five hundred pounds on the ladies.

Finding that the women were possessed of little cash, he began to make his demands on the gentlemen, of whom be soon collected about one hundred and fifty pounds, which he carried to the masquerade, and lost it all at the gaming-table; and was no sooner stripped of his money than he determined to engage in an intrigue.

Leaving the gaming-room, he danced with a lady, and then attended her to supper, during which he said some tender things, which he presumed might tend to promote an immediate assignation; but he soon found that the lady had no other view than that of marriage, which was far from being disagreeable to him as he was then situated.

An appointment being agreed on for the following day, he waited on the lady at her house, and found that she was a widow of considerable fortune, and well descended. As he had the art of procuring himself to be well spoken of to her, she entertained no doubt of his honour. He escorted her to public places; and the expense of these attendances was defrayed by his usual resource, the highway.

After one of his expeditions on the road he was followed to the inn where he put up his horse, and, being taken into custody, was tried at Maidstone, but acquitted because the party could not swear to his identity. This circumstance, however, put an end to his acquaintance with the lady above mentioned.

The road and the gaming-table were his only means of support, and he found a fitting companion in his proceedings in the person of an old schoolfellow named Darwell, in conjunction with whom, in the course of three years, he committed upwards of three hundred robberies. At length, however, their iniquitous proceedings caused an active search to be made for them; and Darwell, being apprehended, "peached" upon his companion, and disclosed the places where it was most likely that he would be found.

The consequence was that Page was apprehended at the Golden Lion, near Hyde Park, when three loaded pistols were found on him, with powder, balls, a wig to disguise himself, and the correct map of the roads round London which we have already mentioned.

He was sent to Newgate, and an advertisement was inserted in the papers requesting such persons as had been robbed to attend his re-examination; but he denied all that was alleged against him, and as he was always disguised when he committed any robbery no person present could identify his person.

He was tried at length on suspicion of robbing Mr Webb in Belfourd Lane, but acquitted for want of evidence; and after this he was tried at Hertford, but again acquitted for a like reason.

From Hertford he was removed to Maidstone jail, and being tried at Rochester, for robbing Captain Farrington on Blackheath, he was capitally convicted, and received sentence of death. He suffered at Maidstone on the 6th of April, 1758.

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50: James White and Walter White

Brothers who were executed at Kennington Common, 19th of April, 1758, for Robbery with Violence

THESE brothers were natives of Surrey, and had resided in the neighbourhood of Guildford and Godalming. They were long accounted lazy, sottish fellows, seldom seen at labour, yet ever sneaking about, and tippling in public-houses. Their supply of money to support these low and idle debaucheries had been long suspected, yet, though many petty larcenies had been committed in the neighbourhood, no charge had been brought forward against them.

At length, however, justice, though slow, yet sure, overtook them. They were apprehended on suspicion of committing a robbery and burglary in the house of Mr Robert Vincent, a farmer of Crawley, in the said county, in consequence of information being given against them by an accomplice, who in fact seduced them into the robbery― a depredation of a magnitude which they had not before attempted.

Being arraigned at the Lent Assizes held at Kingston, in the year 1758, it appeared in evidence on their trial that the prisoners beat Mr Vincent inhumanly, and threatened to burn him alive if he did not discover where his money was hidden. They then robbed him of four pounds eighteen shillings in silver, one Portugal piece, value thirty-six shillings, two guineas and a half, and various other articles. They were found guilty on the clearest evidence. At the place of execution they acknowledged the justice of their sentence.

While these unhappy men were yet struggling for life, an infant, of about nine months old, was put into the hands of the executioner, who nine times passed the hands of each of the dying men over its face. The child had a wen on its cheek, and the ignorant, superstitious mother conceived it could be cured by dead men's hands!

The elder of these unfortunate brothers was twenty-three and the other had but just turned twenty-one years of age.

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1759

50: Mary Edmondson

Strongly protesting her Innocence, she was executed on Kennington Common, 2nd of April, 1759, for the Murder of her Aunt

THIS unhappy girl was the daughter of a farmer near Leeds, in Yorkshire, and was sent to reside with her aunt, Mrs Walker, of Rotherhithe, who was a widow lady. With this aunt she lived two years, comporting herself in the most decent manner, and regularly attending the duties of religion.

A lady, named Toucher, having spent the evening with Mrs Walker, Mary Edmondson lighted her across the street on her way home, and soon after her return a woman who cried oysters through the street observed that the door was open and heard the girl cry out "Help! Murder! They have killed my aunt!"

Edmondson now ran of the house of Mrs Odell, wringing her hands and bewailing the misfortune, and, the neighbours being by this time alarmed, some gentlemen went from a public-house, where they had spent the evening, determined to inquire into the affair. They found Mrs Walker, with her throat cut, lying on her right side, and her head near a table, which was covered with linen. One of the gentlemen, named Holloway, said: "This is very strange; I know not what to make of it: let us examine the girl."

Her account of the matter was that four men had entered at the back door, one of whom put his arms round her aunt's neck, and another, who was a tall man, dressed in black, swore that he would kill her if she spoke a single word.

Mr Holloway, observing that the girl's arm was cut, asked her how it had happened; to which she replied that one of the men, in attempting to get out, had jammed it with the door. But Holloway, judging from all appearances that no men had been in the house, said he did not believe her, but supposed she was the murderer of her aunt.

On this charge she fell into a fit and, being removed to a neighbour's house, was bled by a surgeon, and continued there till the following day, when the coroner's inquest sat on the body, and brought in a verdict of wilful murder; whereupon she was committed to prison, on the coroner's warrant.

Mrs Walker's executors, anxious to discover the truth, caused the house to be diligently searched, and found that a variety of things, which Mary Edmondson had said were stolen, were not missing; nor could they discover that anything was lost. Mrs Walker's watch and some other articles which she said had been carried off by the murderers were found under the floor of the necessary-house.

Being committed to the New Jail, Southwark, she remained there till the next assizes for Surrey, when she was tried at Kingston, and convicted on evidence which, though acknowledged to be circumstantial, was such as, in the general opinion, admitted little doubt of her guilt.

She made a defence indeed; but there was not enough of probability in it to have any weight.

Being condemned on Saturday, to be executed on the Monday following, she was lodged in the prison at Kingston, whence she wrote to her parents, most solemnly avowing her innocence, She likewise begged that the minister of the parish would preach a sermon on the occasion of her death. She asserted her innocence on the Sunday, when she was visited by a clergyman and several other people; yet was her behaviour devout, and apparently sincere.

Being taken out of prison on the Monday morning, she got into a post-chaise with the keeper, and, arriving at the Peacock, in Kennington Lane, about nine o'clock, there drank a glass of wine; and then, being put into a cart, was conveyed to the place of execution, where she behaved devoutly, and made the following address to the surrounding multitude:--

"It is now too late to trifle either with God or man. I solemnly declare that I am innocent of the crime laid to my charge. I am very easy in my mind, as I suffer with as much pleasure as if I was going to sleep. I freely forgive my prosecutors, and earnestly beg your prayers for my departing soul."

After execution her body was conveyed to St Thomas's Hospital, Southwark, and there dissected, agreeably to the laws respecting murderers.

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51: Doctor Florence Hensey

Convicted of High Treason, and sentenced to Death on the 12th of June, 1758; respited, and then reprieved, by. King George the Second; but who received a free Pardon from King George the Third.

IN the Court of King's Bench, during the reign of King Charles the First, a gentleman, named Arthur Chuhoggen, was attainted of high treason, viz. for saying in Spain, "I would kill the king of England if I could come at him;" which was testified by the oaths of two gentlemen, beside others that justified it, from the several relations of other men. For further probability of his malicious intent, the officers that apprehended him at his lodgings in Drury-lane, London, deposed upon oath, that when they told, him he was the king's prisoner, he bit his thumb, saying, "I care not this much for your king."

The attorney-general observed, that in Spain, the biting of the thumb is a token of scorn and disdain, in the highest degree; and will bear an action of disgrace in Spain, as spitting in one's face will in England. After Mr. Chuhoggen was condemned, the judges sent the sheriff to him, to know of him, whether he could alledge any other colourable intent of his coming over; but he gave no satisfaction on that point. He was hanged, drawn, and quartered, on the 27th of November, 1617, and he then wished that he might never enter the kingdom Heaven; if ever he had uttered the words for which he was condemned.

THE ABOVE is an extract from a curious manuscript letter from Mr. Justinian Pagitt, then a. lawyer of' Lincoln's Inn, to Dr. Twysden,, chancellor of the. diocese of Lichfield and Coventry. It will present the reader with a specimen of king-craft, in the reign of the Monarch  who lost his head!

Such was the definition of treason formerly; and punishment inflicted on a man who would now have been looked upon as a madman, for no one in his senses, for any earthly purpose, could utter such incoherencies.

In comparing the cases of Chuhoggen and Hensey, we are much surprised at the extension of royal mercy to the one; as. at the barbarous punishment of the other.

Martin Nowland, as we have already shewn, was executed for attempting to inlist Englishmen for the service of France; and Thomas Hemmings suffered death for doing the same for the king of Prussia; yet Hensey, whose crime was ten-fold greater, was pardoned.

De la Motte, the particulars of whose case we shall hereafter give, was "hanged, drawn, and quartered," for the same kind of offence which Hensey committed; and in still more recent times, numbers have suffered death for similar treason; and yet we have to observe, without finding any especial reason for it, that Doctor Hensey was pardoned. If granted from political motives, it must have been in fear of Spain; an unworthy impulse of the ministers of a far greater and more powerful nation.

Dr. Hensey was a native of the county of Kildare in Ireland, brought up a Roman Catholic, and taught the rudiments of grammar by a priest of that persuasion. Being sent to St. Omer's to study philosophy, he continued there till the degree of master of arts was conferred on him, and then proceeded to Leyden, where he studied physic. From Leyden he went through Germany and Switzerland into Italy, acquiring the knowledge of the respective languages during his travels.

Embarking at Genoa, he sailed to Lisbon, and, crossing the kingdom of Portugal, went to Spain, and thence to France, endeavouring in his tour to make himself master of the Portuguese and Spanish languages. Having reached Paris, he practised physic in that city five years; but being unsuccessful, he repaired to London.

His success in England was not superior to that in France. His patients were few, and those of the lower rank of people. From his quitting the university of Leyden, he had corresponded with a brother collegian, who, having settled in France, procured a place in the office of the secretary of state at Paris.

When Dr. Hensey heard of his friend's promotion, he wrote him a letter of congratulation, in which he made a civil offer of executing any of his commands in London.

This happening at the commencement of a war between Great Britain and France, Hensey's friend informed him, that he might be very serviceable by transmitting early intelligence of our warlike preparations. This hint being approved by the Doctor, the next post brought him instructions how to act, with an appointment of near twenty-five pounds per month.

The substance of these instructions were "to send complete lists of all our men of war, both in and out of commission; their condition, situation, and number of men on board each; when they sailed, under what commanders, from what ports, and their destination; an account of the actual number of our troops, what regiments were complete, and where quartered or garrisoned."

Dr. Hensey sent such accounts as he could procure to a gentleman at Cologne, who sent them to another at Berne in Switzerland, whence they were transmitted to Paris. Hensey's salary, ample as it was, proved unequal to the expectations he had formed; but he proceeded, in the hopes of an increase of it.

His first attempt to acquire intelligence was by getting into company with the clerks of the public offices, but not succeeding in this, he frequented the coffee-houses used by the members of parliament: and his physical appearance taking off all suspicion of his being a spy, he frequently learned such particulars as he thought worth sending to his employers.

[Note: Though this may seem an extraordinary method of procuring secret intelligence, it is no more than what is practised daily by the writers of the newspapers.]

He never entered into political discussion if he could avoid it, and when he did, always spoke on the government side of the question, professing enmity to the French; so that, though a Catholic, he was long unsuspected.

His letters from Paris were sent by the way of Switzerland, whence they were transmitted to the post-office in London, and directed to him at a coffee-house in the Strand, by a fictitious name. A suspicion arose that these letters and their answers, which appeared to contain only a few lines of compliment, (as might be seen through the covers,) were in fact a disguise for something of greater importance; and this suspicion increasing by their frequency, the secretary of the post-office at length opened some of those from Hensey, in one of which, dated from Twickenham, he read, between the lines written with ink, another epistle written with lemon-juice, advising the French to land on the English coast.

The letters were read by being held to the fire, and the utmost diligence was used to discover the writer, and learn his real name; for which purpose a person was placed at the coffee-house to which they were directed, who followed him to his lodgings in Arundel-street, after he had received one of them.

On the following Sunday, Hensey, on his return from the Spanish ambassador's chapel in Soho-square, was seized by two of the King's messengers, and after repeated examination before the secretary of state, was committed to Newgate for high-treason. The grand jury of Middlesex found a true bill against him in Easter term, 1758; but the trial was removed, by writ of certiorari, into the Court of King's bench; here he pleaded not guilty.

A copy of his indictment was granted, and counsel directed by the court to plead for him. On his trial, which took place before Lord Mansfield, in Westminster-Hall, the gentlemen of the post-office swore to the finding a number of letters in his bureau, and his handwriting was proved by some apothecaries who had made up his prescriptions.

The doctor's counsel pleaded a defect in the indictment, because the letters were intercepted at the Post-office, which was in London; whereas the offence, if any, was committed in Middlesex; the grand jury of which county could have no right to find a bill for an offence committed in London.

The counsel for the crown replied, that though the letters had been intercepted at the Post-office, the offence on which the indictment was founded had been committed at Twickenham, as appeared by the date of the letter. They further urged, that the solicitor of the treasury might have laid the indictment in the city of London; but he preferred fixing it in the county, because the letter from Twickenham was of the most dangerous tendency; and the other letters were to be considered only as collateral evidence against the prisoner.

Dr. Hensey's counsel now objected, that the writing a treasonable letter was not an overt act of high-treason; except this letter was published: in answer to which it was insisted, that the delivery of it at the Post-office was an actual publication of it. The doctor's counsel farther said, that he had not corresponded with the enemies of the King; for we were not at war with the Dutch, and the letters were directed to people in Holland.

The evidences having proved, that the letter dated at Twickenham contained an invitation to the French to invade this kingdom, that was considered as an overt act of high-treason; on which the plea of the prisoner was overruled, and the evidence was summed up by Lord Mansfield.

Dr. Hensey had hitherto supported himself with courage; but, during the absence, of the jury, which was about three quarters of an hour, he trembled excessively, and gave every proof of the greatest agitation of mind. On their return, he had scarcely strength to hold up his hand at the bar. A verdict of guilty being pronounced, he was brought up to receive sentence on the Wednesday following, after which he begged a fortnight to make proper preparation for his death; but the court generously granted him a month.

A respite was sent for him early on the morning on which he was to have been executed, and afterwards, a reprieve during the King's pleasure. After this he continued above three years in Newgate, and then embarked for France, on obtaining a free pardon..

At the time Hensey was apprehended, his brother was secretary and chaplain to the Spanish ambassador at the Hague. To this brother he wrote an account of his misfortunes, in consequence of which the Spanish ambassador at London was applied to by the gentleman in similar office at the Hague; and such representations were made to the English ministry, that the reprieve above-mentioned followed; though King George the Second could not be prevailed on to grant him a free pardon: but soon after the accession of George the Third, this pardon was granted, and the prisoner discharged, on giving the usual security for his good behaviour.

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52: Joseph Halsey

Ship's mate, hanged for beating two of his men to death

JOSEPH HALSEY was born of respectable parents in New England, North America, who gave him an education fit for a navigator. He was, when he committed the murder in question, mate of the ship Amazon, commanded by Captain Gallop. This vessel sailed from Jamaica for London the latter end of June or the beginning of July, having on board Captain Gallop; Halsey, the mate; four men, John Father, Daniel Davidson, John Edwards, and Robert Green; and two boys, Thomas Symmes and William Mitchell.

Mitchell was about sixteen years of age, and Symmes seems to have been older. About a week after the Amazon left Jamaica the captain was taken ill, and confined to his cabin: the command, therefore, devolved upon Halsey.

About the same time, also, the vessel sprung a leak, so that her hands wore obliged to pump to keep her clear. Halsey, as soon as he took the command of the ship, began to treat the men with great brutality, abusing and beating them without cause or mercy. Complaint was frequently made to the captain, and he was repeatedly alarmed in his cabin by the cry of murder: but he was not able to afford the sufferers redress; only he said to Halsey, 'Halsey, we have but few men, and, if you murder them, who will take care of the ship?' The captain's remonstrance, however, produced no effect, and soon after it became necessary to pump.

Edwards and Davidson were taken ill: this afforded Halsey's cruelty a new subject of gratification; be compelled the sick to work as long as those that were well; and, perceiving that they were feeble, and not able to clear the same quantity of water in the same time, he compelled them to continue pumping double the time that was allotted to the rest: the men, indeed, compassionated the poor sufferers, and voluntarily offered to pump for them, or assist them while they were pumping; but this Halsey would not suffer.

The captain, in the mean time, hearing the poor fellows were sick, sent them out some fresh provision from his table, which Halsey would not suffer them to partake of: neither did his diabolical barbarity stop here; for he not only beat them without mercy, sometimes with a board, sometimes with a mopstick, and sometimes with a rope, but, when their watch was over, he prohibited them the refreshment of shelter and sleep, and insisted upon poor Davidson's standing upon deck all night in the rain, at a time when be could scarcely support himself on his legs, and had a right to have been in his hammock.

As the Amazon was in a fleet, and under convoy, it was often proposed to Halsey to send the two poor sick wretches on board a man of war, that the surgeon might take them under his care, and that two effective men might be sent on board in their stead; but this Halsey refused, though he knew, if he made the request, it would have been granted. When he was further urged, he said he had no clothes fit to go on board the man of war in; upon which both Captain Gallop and Captain Ball, captain of another vessel in the fleet, who happened to be on board the Amazon, offered to lend him some clothes; but he absolutely refused to accept them, for which it is impossible to assign any other reason than that be would not give up the pleasure ho took in tormenting the men, for it was manifestly his interest to have rather effectual men than sick on board, especially considering the condition of his vessel.

After that be persisted in treating the sick men in the same manner, with this additional aggravation, that, though he allowed every other person in the ship three quarts of water a day, he allowed them only one quart, though their sickness increased the intolerable thirst, which, in that climate, requires more than the largest of these allowances to quench.

Halsey, that he might indulge himself in contemplating the misery he produced, always caused the two sick men to be upon deck whenever he was upon deck himself, whether it was or was not their watch, and used frequently to make Davidson stand with a mop held out in his hands, as a soldier holds out his musket, for many successive hours, without intermission or refreshment.

To this astonishing barbarity poor Edwards first fell a martyr; he died, and was thrown overboard.

About the same time Davidson, considering his fellow-sufferer as having escaped the misery to which he was still condemned, resolved to follow him, and, accordingly, silently let himself down by a rope from the stern into the sea, in hopes that he should be drowned, and lose both his misery and his life together; but it happened that Halsey saw him as he rose to the surface of the water; and such was the inveteracy of his malice, that he seized a rope and leaped overboard to bring him back, declaring that he should 'not escape him so,' and that be would have the pleasure of tormenting him a little longer. When the poor wretch was brought on board he was, to appearance, dead: the good captain, however, ordered him to be rolled, that the water might be discharged; and, when he came to himself, directed that he should be dry clothed. When he was stripped, in order to fulfil these humane directions, his body appeared to be bruised almost from head to foot.

Halsey, however, did not relent; he continued tormenting him by blows, insults, labour, and thirst: when he was so weak that he could not stand Halsey forcibly drew him up by his hands, and, tying him to the shrouds, first beat him, and then left him in that condition for more than an hour: when he was untied he fell down. The man that came up the next watch found him dying under the boat on the hare deck; about four hours after he was seen lying on a sail; and in the morning he was found dead.

The captain dying at sea, and Halsey being obliged to ask the assistance of a man of war, which before he had refused, obtained two men in the room of Edwards and Davidson, and brought the ship home.

He continued to beat the rest of the crew during the remainder of the voyage, notwithstanding the murders he had already committed; but when he came into port, a complaint being made, he was taken into custody; and the facts here reduced to a narrative having been proved, he was condemned, and suffered at Execution Dock, March the 14th, 1759, without any circumstance of pain or infamy that would not have been then inflicted on a petty thief who had pilfered a silk handkerchief from a passenger in the street.

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53: John Stevenson

Convicted of the Manslaughter of Francis Elcock, an Attorney-at-Law, who had issued a Writ against him

JOHN STEVENSON was a cheese-factor at Bickerton, and, becoming insolvent, fortified himself in his house, and admitted nobody within the doors for fear of an arrest.

A writ was issued out against him by Elcock, at the suit of one Atkins, for eighteen pounds, eight shillings and tenpence; a warrant was made out upon the writ by one Baxter, who, by verbal appointment, acted for the under-sheriff. This warrant was delivered sealed to Elcock, or his agent, directed to one John Evans, a bailiff, and a blank left in it for the names of any other person by whom the attorney should think fit to have it executed, such being the custom of the place. After the warrant had been thus sealed and delivered, Elcock inserted the names of John James and John Jones, who were deemed bailiffs-extraordinary for this particular arrest; and as they had not given bond to the sheriff, Elcock undertook, by an endorsement on the warrant, to indemnify the sheriff from any injury he might suffer by the act of John James and John Jones, whose names he had inserted in the warrant, and to whom he had committed the execution of it.

John James found means to get into Stevenson's house by stratagem, and arrested him upon this warrant, but Stevenson rescued himself by snapping a pistol three times at James, which happily missed fire, and James escaped from the house and left his prisoner behind him.

When Elcock learned that Stevenson had been arrested, and rescued himself, he immediately sent for arms and a crow to break open the door, and retake Stevenson by force.

Several persons soon after assembled armed, and with James and Jones, the bailiffs, beset the house. James had put an iron crow under one door of the house and made an attempt to force it off the hinges; but, failing, he left Elcock at that door with the crow lying under it, directing him to watch that Stevenson did not escape, and went himself to another door. When James was gone, Elcock took up the crow, and, while he was making another effort with it to force the door, Stevenson discharged a grun through the door at him, which gave him a mortal wound, of which he died in about ten hours.

The facts were all incontestably proved, and that Stevenson knew the persons who were about to force his door were assistants to the bailiffs from whom he had rescued himself; but it was insisted by the counsel for the prisoner―

First, that the warrant was not good, because it was issued by a person who had no legal delegation of authority from the sheriff to grant it, verbal appointment being insufficient. To this it was replied, on behalf of the Crown, that it had been the custom immemorial for clerks to attend at the office of sheriffs and make out warrants upon writs directed to them, particularly at the two counters in London, and at the Middlesex office in Furnival's Inn.

Secondly, it was insisted for the prisoner that the insertion of the names of the bailiffs by whom the warrant was to be executed, after the warrant was scaled, made it an illegal warrant; and Lord Hale was quoted, who says: "If a sheriff's bailiff come to execute a process, but has not a legal authority, as if the name of the bailiff, etc., be interlined or inserted after the sealing thereof, if such bailiff be killed it is but manslaughter."

To this it was replied that this opinion of Lord Hale being omitted by Serjeant Hawkins, it might be presumed that he doubted it; that if a person gave a bond sealed and executed to another, with a blank for the sum, and directed him to insert two hundred pounds in it, and he to whom the bond was given filled it up, the bond was good, which was supposed to contradict Lord Hale's opinion concerning a warrant.

After further points had been argued it was resolved by the Court to direct the jury to bring in a special verdict, which was accordingly done.

On the 6th of May, 1759, the case of Stevenson was argued before the Hon. Mr Justice Noel, Chief Justice of Chester, and Thomas White, Esq., the other justice, who gave their opinion that the prisoner's crime, found by the special verdict, could amount at most to manslaughter only. Whereupon he was burned in the hand, and discharged from the capital part of the indictment.

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54: Eugene Aram

A Self-Educated Man, with remarkable Linguistic Attainments, who was executed at York on 6th of August, 1759, for a Murder discovered Fourteen Years after its Commission.

EUGENE ARAM was born in a village called Netherdale, in Yorkshire, in the year 1704, of an ancient family, one of his ancestors having served the office of High Sheriff for that county in the reign of Edward III. The vicissitudes of fortune had, however, reduced them, as we find the father of Eugene a poor but honest man, by profession a gardener, in which humble walk in life he was, nevertheless, greatly respected.

The sweat of his brow alone, we must conclude, was insufficient both to rear and educate his offspring. From the high erudition of the unfortunate subject under consideration, he may be truly called a prodigy. He was self-taught. In the infancy of Aram his parents removed to another village, called Shelton, near Newby, in the said county; and when about six years of age, his father, who had laid by a small sum from his weekly labour, made a purchase of a little cottage in Bondgate, near Ripon.

When he was about thirteen or fourteen years of age he went to his father in Newby, and attended him in the family there till the death of Sir Edward Blackett. It was in the house of this gentleman, to whom his father was gardener, that his propensity for literature first appeared. He was indeed always of a solitary disposition, and uncommonly fond of retirement and books; and here he enjoyed all the advantages of leisure and privacy. He applied himself at first chiefly to mathematical studies, in which he attained considerable proficiency.

At about sixteen years of age he was sent to London, to the house of Mr Christopher Blackett, whom he served for some time in the capacity of book-keeper. After continuing here a year or more he was taken with the smallpox, and suffered severely under that distemper. He afterwards returned into Yorkshire, in consequence of an invitation from his father, and there continued to prosecute his studies, but found in polite literature much greater charms than in mathematics; which occasioned him now to apply himself chiefly to poetry, history and antiquities. After this he was invited to Netherdale, where he was employed in a school. He then married. But this marriage proved an unhappy connection; for to the misconduct of his wife he afterwards attributed the misfortunes that befell him. In the meanwhile, having perceived his deficiency in the learned languages, he applied himself to the grammatical study of the Latin and Greek tongues; after which he read, with great avidity and diligence, all the Latin classics, historians and poets. He then went through the Greek Testament; and lastly, ventured upon Hesiod, Homer, Theocritus, Herodotus and Thucydides, together with all the Greek tragedians.

In 1734 William Norton, Esq., a gentleman who had a friendship for him, invited him to Knaresborough. Here he acquired a knowledge of Hebrew, and read the Pentateuch in that language. In 1744 he returned to London, and served the Rev. Mr Plainblanc as usher in Latin and writing, in Piccadilly; and, with this gentleman's assistance, acquired a knowledge of the French language. He was afterwards employed as an usher and tutor in several different parts of England, during which time he became acquainted with heraldry and botany. He also ventured upon Chaldee and Arabic, the former of which he found easy, from its near connection with the Hebrew.

He then investigated the Celtic, as far as possible, in all its dialects; and having begun to form collections, and make comparisons between the Celtic, the English, the Latin, the Greek and the Hebrew, and found a great affinity between them, he resolved to proceed through all these languages, and to form a comparative lexicon. But, amid these learned labours and inquiries, it appears that Aram committed a crime which could not naturally have been expected from a man of so studious a turn, as the inducement that led him to it was merely gain of wealth, of which the scholar is seldom covetous. On the 8th of February, 1745, he, in conjunction with a man named Richard Houseman, murdered one Daniel Clarke, a shoemaker at Knaresborough.

This unfortunate man, having married a woman of good family, ostentatiously circulated a report that his wife was entitled to a considerable fortune, which he should soon receive. Thereupon Aram and Richard Houseman, conceiving hopes of making advantage of this circumstance, persuaded Clarke to make an ostentatious show of his own riches, to induce his wife's relations to give him that fortune of which he had boasted. There was sagacity, if not honesty, in this advice, for the world in general are more free to assist persons in affluence than those in distress.

Clarke was easily induced to comply with a hint so agreeable to his own desires; on which he borrowed, and bought on credit, a large quantity of silver plate, with jewels, watches, rings, etc. He told the persons of whom he purchased that a merchant in London had sent him an order to buy such plate for exportation; and no doubt was entertained of his credit till his sudden disappearance in February, 1745, when it was imagined that he had gone abroad, or at least to London, to dispose of his ill-acquired property.

When Clarke got possession of these goods, Aram and Houseman determined to murder him, in order to share the booty; and on the night of the 8th of February, 1745, they persuaded Clarke to walk with them in the fields, in order to consult with them on the proper method to dispose of the effects.

On this plan they walked into a field, at a small distance from the town, well known by the name of St Robert's Cave. When they came into this field, Aram and Clarke went over a hedge towards the cave, and, when they had got within six or seven yards of it, Houseman (by the light of the moon) saw Aram strike Clarke several times, and at length beheld him fall, but never saw him afterwards. This was the state of the affair, if Houseman's testimony on the trial might be credited.

The murderers, going home, shared Clarke's ill-gotten treasure, the half of which Houseman concealed in his garden for a twelvemonth, and then took it to Scotland, where he sold it. In the meantime Aram carried his share to London, where he sold it to a Jew, and then engaged himself as an usher at an academy in Piccadilly, where, in the intervals of his duty in attending on the scholars, he made himself master of the French language, and acquired some knowledge of the Arabic and other Eastern languages.

After this he was usher at other schools in different parts of the kingdom, but as he did not correspond with his friends in Yorkshire it was presumed that he was dead.

Thus had nearly fourteen years passed on without the smallest clue being found to account for the sudden exit of Clarke.

In the year 1758 a labourer was employed to dig for stone to supply a lime-kiln, at a place called Thistle Hill, near Knaresborough, and, having dug about two feet deep, he found the bones of a human body, and the bones being still joined to each other by the ligatures of the joints, the body appeared to have been buried double. This accident immediately became the subject of general curiosity and inquiry. Some hints had been formerly thrown out by Aram's wife that Clarke was murdered, and it was well remembered that his disappearance was very sudden.

This occasioned Aram's wife to be sent for, as was also the coroner, and an inquisition was entered into, it being believed that the skeleton found was that of Daniel Clarke. Mrs Aram declared that she believed Clarke had been murdered by her husband and Richard Houseman. The latter, when he was brought before the coroner, appeared to be in great confusion, trembling, changing colour and faltering in his speech during the examination. The coroner desired him to take up one of the bones, probably to observe what further effect that might produce; and Houseman, accordingly taking up one of the bones, said "This is no more Dan Clarke's bone than it is mine."

These words were pronounced in such a manner as convinced those present that they proceeded not from Houseman's supposition that Clarke was alive but from his certain knowledge where his bones really lay, Accordingly, after some evasions, he said that Clarke was murdered by Eugene Aram, and that the body was buried in St Robert's Cave, near Knaresborough. He added further, that Clarke's head lay to the right, in the turn at the entrance of the cave; and a skeleton was accordingly found there exactly in the posture he described. In consequence of this confession search was made for Aram, and at length he was discovered in the situation of usher to an academy at Lynn, in Norfolk. He was brought from thence to York Castle; and on the 13th of August, 1759, was brought to trial at the county assizes. He was found guilty on the testimony of Richard Houseman, who being arraigned, and acquitted, became an evidence against Aram; and whose testimony was corroborated by Mrs Aram, and strong circumstantial evidence. The plunder which Aram was supposed to have derived from the murder was estimated at not more than one hundred and sixty pounds.

Aram's defence was both ingenious and able, and would not have disgraced any of the best lawyers of the day. He thus addressed the Court:

"My Lord, I know not whether it is of right or through some indulgence of your Lordship that I am allowed the liberty at this bar, and at this time, to attempt a defence, incapable and uninstructed as I am to speak; since, while I see so many eyes upon me, so numerous and awful a concourse fixed with attention and filled with I know not what expectancy, I labour not with guilt, my Lord, but with perplexity; for, having never seen a court but this, being wholly unacquainted with law, the customs of the Bar, and all judiciary proceedings, I fear I shall be so little capable of speaking with propriety in this place that it exceeds my hope if I shall be able to speak at all.

"I have heard, my Lord, the indictment read, wherein I find myself charged with the highest crime, with an enormity I am altogether incapable of— a fact, to the commission of which there goes far more insensibility of heart, more profligacy of morals, than ever fell to my lot; and nothing possibly could have admitted a presumption of this nature but a depravity not inferior to that imputed to me. However, as I stand indicted at your Lordship's bar, and have heard what is called evidence adduced in support of such a charge, I very humbly solicit your Lordship's patience, and beg the hearing of this respectable audience, while I, single and unskilful, destitute of friends and unassisted by counsel, say something, perhaps like argument, in my defence. I shall consume but little of your Lordship's time. What I have to say will be short; and this brevity, probably, will be the best part of it. However it is offered with all possible regard and the greatest submission to your Lordship's consideration and that of this honourable Court.

"First, my Lord, the whole tenor of my conduct in life contradicts every particular of the indictment: yet had I never said this, did not my present circumstances extort it from me, and seem to make it necessary? Permit me here, my Lord, to call upon malignity itself, so long and cruelly busied in this prosecution, to charge upon me any immorality of which prejudice was not the author. No, my Lord, I concerted no schemes of fraud, projected no violence, injured no man's person or property. My days were honestly laborious, my nights intensely studious; and I humbly conceive my notice of this, especially at this time, will not be thought impertinent or unseasonable, but at least deserving of some attention; because, my Lord, that any person, after a temperate use of life, a series of thinking and acting regularly,and without one single deviation from sobriety, should plunge into the very depth of profligacy precipitately and at once, is altogether improbable and unprecedented, absolutely inconsistent with the course of things. Mankind is never corrupted at once. Villainy is always progressive, and declines from right step by step, till every regard of probity is lost, and every sense of all moral obligation totally perishes.

"'Again, my Lord, a suspicion of this kind, which nothing but malevolence could entertain and ignorance propagate, is violently opposed by my very situation at that time with respect to health; for, but a little space before, I had been confined to my bed, and suffered under a very long and severe disorder, and was not able, for half-a-year together, so much as to walk. The distemper left me indeed, yet slowly, and in part, but so macerated, so enfeebled, that I was reduced to crutches; and so far from being well about the time I am charged with this fact, I have never to this day perfectly recovered. Could then a person in this condition take anything into his head so unlikely, so extravagant?— I, past the vigour of my age, feeble and valetudinary, with no inducement to engage, no ability to accomplish, no weapon wherewith to perpetrate such a deed, without interest, without power, without motive, without means. Besides, it must needs occur to everyone that an action of this atrocious nature is never heard of but when its springs are laid open. It appears that it was to support some indolence or supply some luxury; to satisfy some avarice or oblige some malice; to prevent some real or some imaginary want: yet I lay not under the influence of these. Surely, my Lord, I may, consistently with both truth and modesty, affirm thus much; and none who have any veracity and knew me will ever question this.

"In the second place, the disappearance of Clarke is suggested as an argument of his being dead; but the uncertainty of such an inference from that, and the fallibility of all conclusions of such a sort from such a circumstance, are too obvious and too notorious to require instances; yet superseding many, permit me to produce a very recent one, and that afforded by this Castle.

"In June, 1757, William Thompson, for all the vigilance of this place, in open daylight and double-ironed, made his escape, and, notwithstanding an immediate inquiry set on foot, the strictest search, and all advertisement, was never heard of since. If, then, Thompson got off unseen, through all these difficulties, how very easy it was for Clarke, when none of them opposed him! But what would be thought of a prosecution commenced against anyone seen last with Thompson?

"Permit me next, my Lord, to observe a little upon the bones which have been discovered. It is said (which perhaps is saying very far) that these are the skeleton of a man. It is possible, indeed, it may be; but is there any certain known criterion which incontestably distinguishes the sex in human bones? Let it be considered, my Lord, whether the ascertaining of this point ought not to precede any attempt to identify them.

"The place of their depositum, too, claims much more attention than is commonly bestowed upon it; for, of all places in the world, none could have mentioned any one wherein there was greater certainty of finding human bones than a hermitage, except he should point out a churchyard; hermitages, in time past, being not only places of religious retirement, but of burial too: and it has scarce or never been heard of, but that every cell now known contains or contained these relics of humanity, some mutilated and some entire. I do not inform, but give me leave to remind your Lordship that here sat solitary Sanctity, and here the hermit or the anchoress hoped that repose for their bones when dead they here enjoyed when living.

"All the while, my Lord, I am sensible this is known to your Lordship, and many in this court, better than to me; but it seems necessary to my case that others, who have not at all perhaps adverted to things of this nature, and may have concern in my trial, should be made acquainted with it. Suffer me then, my Lord, to produce a few of many evidences that these cells were used as repositories of the dead, and to enumerate a few in which human bones have been found, as it happened in this question; lest to some that accident might seem extraordinary, and consequently occasion prejudice.

"1. The bones, as was supposed, of the Saxon saint, Dubritius, were discovered buried in his cell at Guy's Cliff, near Warwick; as appears from the authority of Sir William Dugdale.

"2. The bones thought to be those of the anchoress Rosia were but lately discovered in a cell at Royston, entire, fair and undecayed, though they must have lain interred for several centuries; as is proved by Dr Stukely.

"3. But my own country— nay, almost this neighbourhood— supplies another instance; for in January, 1747, were found, by Mr Stovin, accompanied by a reverend gentleman, the bones, in part, of some recluse, in the cell at Lindholm, near Hatfield. They were believed to be those of William of Lindholm, a hermit, who had long made this cave his habitation.

"4. In February, 1744, part of Woburn Abbey being pulled down, a large portion of a corpse appeared, even with the flesh on, and which bore cutting with a knife; though it is certain this had lain above two hundred years, and how much longer is doubtful, for this abbey was founded in 1145, and dissolved in 1538 or 1539.

"What would have been said, what believed, if this had been an accident to the bones in question?

"Further, my Lord, it is not yet out of living memory that at a little distance from Knaresborough, in a field, part of the manor of the worthy and patriot baronet who does that borough the honour to represent it in Parliament, were found, in digging for gravel, not one human skeleton only, but five or six, deposited side by side, with each an urn placed at its head, as your Lordship knows was usual in ancient interments.

"About the same time, and in another field, almost close to this borough, was discovered also, in searching for gravel, another human skeleton; but the piety of the same worthy gentleman ordered both pits to be filled up again, commendably unwilling to disturb the dead.

"Is the invention of these bones forgotten, then, or industriously concealed, that the discovery of those in question may appear the more singular and extraordinary, whereas, in fact, there is nothing extraordinary in it. My Lord, almost every place conceals such remains. In fields, in hills, in highway sides, in commons, lie frequent and unsuspected bones; and our present allotments for rest for the departed are but of some centuries.

"Another particular seems not to claim a little of your Lordship's notice, and that of the gentlemen of the jury; which is, that perhaps no example occurs of more than one skeleton being found in one cell: and in the cell in question was found but one; agreeable, in this, to the peculiarity of every other known cell in Britain. Not the invention of one skeleton, but of two, would have appeared suspicious and uncommon. But it seems another skeleton has been discovered by some labourer, which was full as confidently averred to be Clarke's as this. My Lord, must some of the living, if it promotes some interest, be made answerable for all the bones that earth has concealed and chance exposed? And might not a place where bones lay be mentioned by a person by chance as well as found by a labourer by chance? Or is it more criminal accidentally to name where bones lie than accidentally to find where they lie?

"Here, too, is a human skull produced, which is fractured; but was this the cause, or was it the consequence, of death? was it owing to violence, or was it the effect of natural decay? If it was violence, was that violence before or after death? My Lord, in May, 1732, the remains of William, Lord Archbishop of this province, were taken up, by permission, in this cathedral, and the bones of the skull were found broken; yet certainly he died by no violence offered to him alive that could occasion that fracture there.

"Let it be considered, my Lord, that, upon the dissolution of religious houses and the commencement of the Reformation, the ravages of those times affected both the living and the dead. In search after imaginary treasures, coffins were broken up, graves and vaults dug open, monuments ransacked and shrines demolished; and it ceased about the beginning of the reign of Queen Elizabeth. I entreat your Lordship, suffer not the violence, the depredations and the iniquities of those times to be imputed to this.

"Moreover, what gentleman here is ignorant that Knaresborough had a castle, which, though now a ruin, was once considerable both for its strength and garrison. All know it was vigorously besieged by the arms of the Parliament; at which siege, in sallies, conflicts, flights, pursuits, many fell in all the places round it, and, where they fell, were buried, for every place, my Lord, is burial-earth in war; and many, questionless, of these rest yet unknown, whose bones futurity shall discover.

"I hope, with all imaginable submission, that what has been said will not be thought impertinent to this indictment, and that it will be far from the wisdom, the learning and the integrity of this place to impute to the living what zeal in its fury may have done— what nature may have taken off, and piety interred— or what war alone may have destroyed, alone deposited.

"As to the circumstances that have been raked together, I have nothing to observe but that all circumstances whatever are precarious, and have been but too frequently found lamentably fallible; even the strongest have failed. They may rise to the utmost degree of probability, yet they are but probability still. Why need I name to your Lordship the two Harrisons recorded by Dr Howel, who both suffered upon circumstances because of the sudden disappearance of their lodger, who was in credit, had contracted debts, borrowed money, and went off unseen, and returned a great many years after their execution? Why name the intricate affair of Jacques de Moulin, under King Charles II., related by a gentleman who was counsel for the Crown? And why the unhappy Coleman, who suffered innocently, though convicted upon positive evidence, and whose children perished for want, because the world uncharitably believed the father guilty? Why mention the perjury of Smith, incautiously admitted King's evidence, who, to screen himself, equally accused Faircloth and Loveday of the murder of Dun; the first of whom, in 1749, was executed at Winchester; and Loveday was about to suffer at Reading, had not Smith been proved perjured, to the satisfaction of the Court, by the Governor of Gosport Hospital?

"Now, my Lord, having endeavoured to show that the whole of this process is altogether repugnant to every part of my life; that it is inconsistent with my condition of health about that time; that no rational inference can be drawn that a person is dead who suddenly disappears; that hermitages are the constant depositories of the bones of a recluse; that the proofs of this are well authenticated; that the revolutions in religion or the fortunes of war have mangled or buried the dead— the conclusion remains, perhaps, no less reasonable than impatiently wished for. I, at last, after a year's confinement, equal to either fortune, put myself upon the justice, the candour and the humanity of your Lordship; and upon yours, my countrymen, gentlemen of the jury."

The delivery of this address created a very considerable impression in court; but the learned judge having calmly and with great perspicuity summed up the evidence which had been produced, and having observed upon the prisoner's defence, which he declared to be one of the most ingenious pieces of reasoning that had ever fallen under his notice, the jury, with little hesitation, returned a verdict of guilty. Sentence of death was then passed upon the prisoner, who received the intimation of his fate with becoming resignation. After his conviction he confessed the justice of his sentence to two clergymen who were directed to attend him - - a sufficient proof of the fruitlessness of the efforts to prove him innocent which the morbid sentimentality of late writers has induced them to attempt. Upon an inquiry being made of him as to his reason for committing the crime, he declared that he had reason to suspect Clarke of having had unlawful intercourse with his wife; and that at the time of his committing the murder he had thought that he was acting rightly, but that he had since thought that his crime could not be justified or excused.

In the hopes of avoiding the ignominious death which he was doomed to suffer, on the night before his execution he attempted to commit suicide by cutting his arm in two places with a razor, which he had concealed for that purpose. This attempt was not discovered until the morning, when the jailer came to lead him forth to the place of execution, and he was then found almost expiring from loss of blood. A surgeon was immediately sent for, who found that he had wounded himself severely on the left arm, above the elbow and near the wrist, but he had missed the artery, and his life was prolonged only in order that it might be taken away on the scaffold. When he was placed on the drop he was perfectly sensible, but was too weak to be able to join in devotion with the clergyman who attended him.

He was executed at York, on the 16th of August, 1759, and his body was afterwards hung in chains in Knaresborough Forest.

The following papers were afterwards found in his handwriting on the table in his cell. The first contained reasons for his attempt upon his life, and was as follows:

"What am I better than my fathers? To die is natural and necessary. Perfectly sensible of this, I fear no more to die than I did to be born. But the manner of it is something which should, in my opinion, be decent and manly. I think I have regarded both these points. Certainly no man has a better right to dispose of a man's life than himself; and he, not others, should determine how. As for any indignities offered to my body, or silly reflections on my faith and morals, they are, as they always were, things indifferent to me. I think, though contrary to the common way of thinking, I wrong no man by this, and hope it is not offensive to that eternal Being that formed me and the world: and as by this I injure no man, no man can be reasonably offended. I solicitously recommend myself to that eternal and almighty Being, the God of Nature, if I have done amiss. But perhaps I have not; and I hope this thing will never be imputed to me. Though I am now stained by malevolence and suffer by prejudice, I hope to rise fair and unblemished. My life was not polluted, my morals irreproachable, and my opinions orthodox. I slept sound till three o'clock, awoke, and then wrote these lines:

Come, pleasing rest! eternal slumbers, fall!

Seal mine, that once must seal the eyes of all.

Calm and composed my soul her journey takes;

No guilt that troubles, and no heart that aches.

Adieu, thou sun! all bright, like her, arise!

Adieu, fair friends, and all that's good and wise!

The second was in the form of a letter, addressed to a former companion, and was in the following terms:--

MY DEAR FRIEND,-- Before this reaches you I shall be no more a living man in this world, though at present in perfect bodily health; but who can describe the horrors of mind which I suffer at this instant? Guilt— the guilt of blood shed without any provocation, without any cause but that of filthy lucre— pierces my conscience with wounds that give the most poignant pains! 'Tis true the consciousness of my horrid guilt has given me frequent interruptions in the midst of my business or pleasures, but yet I have found means to stifle its clamours, and contrived a momentary remedy for the disturbance it gave me by applying to the bottle or the bowl, or diversions, or company, or business; sometimes one and sometimes the other, as opportunity offered. But now all these and all other amusements are at an end, and I am left forlorn, helpless and destitute of every comfort; for I have nothing now in view but the certain destruction both of my soul and body. My conscience will now no longer suffer itself to be hoodwinked or browbeat; it has now got the mastery: it is my accuser, judge and executioner, and the sentence it pronounceth against me is more dreadful than that I heard from the Bench, which only condemned my body to the pains of death, which are soon over. But Conscience tells me plainly that she will summon me before another tribunal, where I shall have neither power nor means to stifle the evidence she will there bring against me; and that the sentence which will then be denounced will not only be irreversible, but will condemn my soul to torments that will know no end.

Oh! had I but hearkened to the advice which dear-bought experience has enabled me to give, I should not now have been plunged into that dreadful gulf of despair which I find it impossible to extricate myself from; and therefore my soul is filled with horror inconceivable. I see both God and man my enemies, and in a few hours shall be exposed a public spectacle for the world to gaze at.

Can you conceive any condition more horrible than mine? Oh, no, it cannot be! I am determined, therefore, to put a short end to trouble I am no longer able to bear, and prevent the executioner by doing his business with my own hand, and shall by this means at least prevent the shame and disgrace of a public exposure, and leave the care of my soul in the hands of eternal mercy. Wishing you all health, happiness and prosperity, I am, to the last moment of my life, yours, with the sincerest regard,

EUGENE ARAM.

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55: John Ayliffe, Esq.

Commissary of Musters in the War Office. Executed at Tyburn, 7th of November, 1759, for Forgery

THE father of John Ayliffe lived several years as an upper servant with Gerrard Smith, Esq., a gentleman of large fortune near Tockenham, in Wiltshire. After young Ayliffe had been instructed in the first rudiments of learning he was sent to the celebrated academy at Harrow-on-the Hill, where he became very proficient in Latin and Greek.

On his quitting the academy he acted in the capacity of usher to a boarding school at Lineham, in Wiltshire, where, unknown to her parents, he married the daughter of a clergyman, who had a fortune of five hundred pounds. On receipt of this money he became so extravagant that he spent the whole in the course of two years, when, being in circumstances of distress, a widow lady, named Horner, took him into her service as house steward.

In a short time he was appointed land steward to another lady, who recommended him as a man of abilities to the Honourable Mr Fox (afterwards Lord Holland), who gave him the place of one of the commissaries of musters in the War Office; by which he acquired the right of adding the title of "Esquire" to his name.

The profits of Ayliffe's new office were so considerable that he was induced to purchase an elegant house in Dorsetshire, which he furnished in a style far too expensive for his rank of life. In other instances he gave proofs of a strange extravagance of disposition, for he ran into debt to a number of people, though his income was sufficient to have satisfied the wishes of any reasonable man.

At length, when his creditors became urgent, he had recourse, for a present supply, to some irregular and very dangerous practices; amongst others, he forged a presentation to the valuable rectory of Brinkworth, in Wiltshire, which he sold to a young clergyman for a considerable sum. This living being in Mr Fox's gift, he forged his handwriting and that of two subscribing witnesses, with admirable dexterity; but, soon after Ayliffe's affairs became desperate, a discovery was made of this infamous fraud. The effect was that the clergyman took to his bed, and literally died in consequence of that oppression of spirits which is commonly called a broken heart; for the purchase of the presentation had ruined his circumstances. After his death the following short note was found in his drawer, directed to John Ayliffe SATAN, ESQ.:--

SIR,

I am surprised you can write to me, after you have robbed and most barbarously murdered me.

O. Brinkworth.

Ayliffe, being arrested for debts to the amount of eleven hundred pounds, took refuge in the Fleet Prison. Mr Fox being upon a visit to his brother, Lord Ilchester, Mr Calcraft called at Holland House, according to his usual custom, to inquire, before he wrote to his patron, whether there were any letters for him, or any other business to inform him of. One day, as he called, he found Fanning (whom Mr Fox had now made his steward) in conversation with a man who had the appearance of a farmer.

Just as Mr Calcraft entered he heard Fanning say: "I'm sure 'tis not my master's hand; but here comes a gentleman who can inform you better than I can."

Saying this, he delivered into Mr Calcraft's hand a lease. When Mr Calcraft had looked over it he declared that the signature was not Mr Fox's.

"Nor," continued he, "can there be such a lease really existing, for the late Mrs Horner discharged Ayliffe from her service upon account of his having married a person whom she did not approve of. And it is not to be supposed she would grant him a lease for the life of himself, his son, and that very wife for the imprudent choice of whom she had dismissed him."

The farmer no sooner heard this than he exclaimed: "Then I am undone; the villain has robbed me of what I had saved for my daughter's portion." Upon a further investigation of the affair, Mr Calcraft found that the lease given to the farmer had been forged, purposely to raise money upon.

Mr Fox had made this Ayliffe a riding commissary. The income arising from this employment was alone more than sufficient to support such a family as his; but he had, in addition to it, adopted the profession of buying estates. As he was supposed to be a good judge of the value of land, Mr Calcraft had empowered him to purchase estates for him in Dorsetshire; and Ayliffe had already received the sum of eleven thousand pounds from him for that purpose, else, in all probability, he would have continued his depredations for some time longer.

Mr Calcraft no sooner discovered, by this accident, what Ayliffe had been doing, than he set out in pursuit of him. He found him at Salisbury, where, under pretext of the forgery, he had him taken, by proper persons, into custody. This had the desired effect. In the first emotions of his terror he refunded the whole of the eleven thousand pounds. Mr Calcraft had him then immediately secured by Justice Fielding's men, who had come in pursuit of him, in consequence of an application from the farmer. They clapped a pair of handcuffs on him and brought him to town, when he was committed. An express was sent to Mr Fox, who still continued at Lord Ilchester's, to inform him of the transaction; and the first knowledge that that gentleman had of it was after Ayliffe stood committed for trial.

Mr Fox was unjustly censured upon this occasion, as indeed he was upon many others, where his commissaries had all the emoluments and he all the odium. The unhappy man, solicitous for his life, wrote to Mr Fox, who was then in town, and greatly shocked at the affair. In his letter he requested that gentleman's forgiveness, and, acknowledging himself the most unworthy of men, promised, if he would but save him from his merited sentence, his whole life should be employed in endeavouring to deserve the mercy, and to atone for the enormities he had been guilty of. But in the very same hour he wrote to Mr Pitt, who was then Minister, to inform him that, if he would rescue him from his approaching fate, he would discover such iniquitous practices of his late employer as should fully repay the saving him. Mr Pitt, with a liberality of sentiment which does honour to his memory, sent the wretch's letter immediately to Mr Fox. That gentleman received it as he was preparing to go to court on purpose to solicit the prisoner's pardon; but this discovery of his baseness now rendered it impossible, as such an application would have carried with it a declaration of his being in the villain's power, and that he was apprehensive of his putting his threats into execution. No intercession was of course made for him, and he suffered the due reward of his crime.

Ayliffe seems to have been much unprepared for death, possibly flattering himself with the hopes of a pardon. He was in the utmost agonies during the greater part of the night previous to his execution, but slept about two hours. towards the approach of morning. His agitation of mind, brought on a fever, producing an intolerable thirst, which he endeavoured to allay by drinking large and repeated draughts of water. After execution his body was put into a hearse and conveyed into Hertfordshire, for interment agreeable to his own request.

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56: William Andrew Horne, Esq.

Executed at Nottingham, 11th of December, 1759, in the Seventy-fifth Year of his Age, for Murder, concealed Twenty-five Years

WILLIAM ANDREW HORNE'S father was an accomplished scholar. In vain he endeavoured to impart knowledge to his son, who attended alone to his pleasures. Instead of sending him where he would have been taught some manners, the too-indulgent parent permitted him to take his own course; allowed him horses and hounds, on which so many have galloped to destruction; and, in fine, he became a bumpkin squire.

He seduced several girls, two of whom were servants to his mother, and one was the daughter of a farmer, which latter died in consequence of her grief. By one woman he had two natural daughters, one of whom lived to the age of fifteen years, and the other was living in 1759, and might have been reputably married, but that the avaricious father refused to give her a shilling as a fortune.

He had likewise criminal connection with his own sister; which leads us to speak of the crime for which he suffered. This sister being delivered of a boy, in February, 1724, Horne told his brother Charles, three days afterwards, and at ten o'clock at night, that he must take a ride with him. He then put the new-born infant in a bag and, mounting their horses, they rode to Annesley, in Nottinghamshire, at the distance of five computed miles, carrying the child alternately. On their arrival near the village William dismounted, and inquired if the child was living, and being answered in the affirmative he took it, and told his brother to wait till he came back. On his return, Charles demanded to know how he had disposed of the infant; to which he said that he had placed it behind a haystack, and covered it with hay. On the following morning the child was found dead, through severity of the weather.

In a short time after the transaction a quarrel happened between the brothers, in consequence of which Charles communicated the affair to his father, who enjoined him to the strictest secrecy; which was observed till the death of the old gentleman, who departed this life, aged one hundred and two years, in the year 1747.

William having always behaved with great severity to his brother Charles, and the latter (soon after the death of the father) having some business to transact with Mr Cooke, an attorney at Derby, told him of the long-concealed affair, and asked his advice. The lawyer told him to go to a Justice of the Peace and make a full discovery of the whole transaction.

Thereupon Charles went to a magistrate and acquainted him with what had happened; but he hesitated to take cognisance of it― said it might hang half the family, and, as it had happened so many years ago, advised that it might remain a secret.

In consequence thereof no further notice was taken of it till the year 1754, when Charles Horne, being seized with a violent fit of illness, called in the assistance of one Mr White, of Ripley, and, presuming that he should live but a short time, said he could not die in peace without disclosing his mind. When Mr White had heard the tale he declined giving any advice, saying it was not proper for him to interfere in the affair.

Charles recovered his health in a surprising manner; and Mr White, who saw him again a few days after, expressing his astonishment at so speedy a recovery, the other said he had been better ever since he had disclosed his mind to him.

A considerable time after this, William Horne had a quarrel with a Mr Roe, at a public-house, concerning the right of killing game; when Roe called Horne an "incestuous old dog." Thereupon Horne prosecuted him in the Ecclesiastical Court at Lichfield, where Roe was cast, and obliged to pay all expenses. This circumstance inflamed Roe with revenge, and, having learned that Charles Horne had mentioned something of his brother having caused his natural child to be starved to death, he made such inquiry of Charles as determined him how to act.

Thereupon he went to a magistrate in Derbyshire and obtained a warrant, but took Charles's word for his appearance on the following day. William, hearing that such warrant was granted, and being apprehensive that his brother might be admitted evidence, sent for him and told him that he would be his friend if he would deny all that he had said. This the other refused; but told him that if he would give him five pounds he would go immediately to Liverpool, and quit the kingdom: but William's excessive avarice prevented his complying with this moderate request.

Charles being examined by some magistrates in Derbyshire, they declined interfering in the business. On which a Justice of the Peace in Nottinghamshire was applied to, who issued a warrant for taking William Andrew Horne, Esq., into custody; and this warrant was backed by Sir John Every, a magistrate of Derbyshire.

A constable from Annesley went with Mr Roe and some other assistants to Mr Horne's house. They now diligently searched the house, but could not find the party they wanted, and would probably have desisted, but that Roe insisted on making another search, during which they observed a large old chest, and Mrs Horne, on being asked what it contained, said it was full of sheets and table linen. Roe declared he would look into it, and was on the point of breaking it open when Mrs Horne unlocked it, and her husband suddenly started up, saying: "It is a sad thing to hang me; for my brother Charles is as bad as myself, and he cannot hang me without hanging himself."

Thereupon he was taken into custody, and, being carried before two Justices of the Peace in Nottinghamshire, they committed him to take his trial at the following assizes.

He had not been long in confinement when he applied to the Court of King's Bench for a writ of habeas corpus, which being granted, he was brought to London, and his counsel argued that he ought to be admitted to bail; but the judges were of a different opinion, and he was remanded to the jail of Nottingham.

On the 10th of August, 1759, he was brought to trial before Lord Chief Baron Parker, and, after a hearing of about nine hours, the jury found him guilty, and sentence of death was passed. On the day appointed for his execution he had just completed his seventy-fourth year.

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57: The Reverend Mr Wheatley

Sentenced to do Public Penance for Adultery

IN THE PRESENT day, adultery, is degenerated into a kind of fashionable and expensive vice among the rich of all the polished nations of Europe; while the poor labourer, surrounded by the children born in wedlock, and yet crying for bread, only heaves a sigh at such enormities.

A vice indulged in by the example of the great must spread like contagion, and every thoughtless young man become infected. When the great, though bound by the marriage vow, live in open and voluptuous adultery, lesser men will have their concubines too; and thus wives are deserted, and left either to pine under neglect, or, roused by their wrongs, desperately to seek retaliation.

The number of kept women in and about the metropolis we have already calculated. Most of them are maintained in affluence; and, having no kind of regard either for the person or the property of their dupe, they launch into every kind of extravagance and dissipation.

Corruption of morals in the people, though the progress be slow, will surely prove the downfall of their nation. When the hardy warriors of ancient Rome quitted "the trade of arms," and, for the martial step, substituted "Love's majesty to strut before a wanton ambling nymph," then commenced that degeneracy which in time overwhelmed their mighty empire, and left them an effeminate race, contemptible to those very nations they had formerly conquered.

About the year 1759 the crime of adultery was proved, with aggravated circumstances, against a profligate fellow, under the mask of Puritanism, of the name of Wheatley. This man was a Methodist preacher, who was styled Reverend, and a schoolmaster at Norwich.

He was brought to trial for adultery committed with several of his neighbours' wives, all professing Methodism, at the Ecclesiastical Court of the Bishop of Norwich.

Sufficient proof having been adduced, the judge declared the said Wheatley to be a lewd, debauched, incontinent, and adulterous man; and that he had committed the crimes adultery, fornication, and incontinence, to the great scandal of good men, and pernicious to the example of others. He was then sentenced to do public penance in a linen cloth, in the parish church, with a paper pinned to his breast, denoting his crime; and condemned to pay the costs of the suit.

Formerly adulterers were exposed to public odium and derision, in white sheets, in the parish church. The story in the Spectator, of the adulteress riding on a black ram, is founded on fact:

"At East Bourne and West Bourne, in the county of Berks, if a customary tenant die, the widow shall have what the law calls her free bench in all copyhold land, dum sola et casta fuerit; that is, while she lives single and chaste; but, if she commit incontinency, she forfeits her estate: yet, if she will come into court, riding backward upon a black ram, with his tail in her hand, and say the following words, the steward is bound by the custom to re-admit her to her free bench:

"Here I am,

Riding upon a black ram,

Like a whore as I am;

And for my crincum crancum

Have lost my bincum bancum,

And for my tail's game

Have done this worldly shame;

Therefore I pray you, Mr Steward,

Let me have my land again."

There is a like custom in the manor of Torre, in Devonshire, and other parts of the west.

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1760

58: Mungo Campbell

A Gentleman, who was convicted of killing the Earl of Eglinton, and to avoid an Ignominious Death hanged himself, 28th of February, 1760

THE unhappy subject of this narrative was protected by an uncle, who gave him a learned education; but this generous friend died when the youth was about eighteen years of age, leaving him sixty pounds, and earnestly recommending him to the care of his other relations. The young man was a finished scholar, yet seemed averse to making the choice of any of the learned professions. His attachment appeared to be to the military life, in which line many  of his ancestors had most gloriously distinguished themselves.

Mr Campbell entered as a cadet in the royal regiment of Scots Greys, then commanded by his relation, General Campbell, and served during two campaigns at his own expense, in the fond hope of military preferment.

After the battle of Dettingen, at which he assisted, he had an opportunity of being appointed quartermaster if he could have raised one hundred pounds, but this place was bestowed on another person while Campbell was making fruitless application for the money.

Thus disappointed of what he thought a reasonable expectation, he quitted the army and went into Scotland, where he arrived at the juncture when the rebels had quitted Edinburgh, in 1745, Lord Loudoun having then the command of loyal Highlanders, who exerted so much bravery in the suppression of the Rebellion; and Mr Campbell, having the honour to be related to his lordship, went and fought under him with a bravery that did equal credit to his loyalty and courage.

Not long after the decisive battle of Culloden, Lord Loudoun procured his kinsman to be appointed an officer of the excise; and prevailed on the commissioners to station him in the shire of Ayr, that he might have the happiness of residing near his friends and relations.

In the discharge of his new duty Mr Campbell behaved with strict integrity to the Crown, yet with so much civility as to conciliate the affections of all those with whom he had any transactions. He married when he was somewhat advanced in life; and so unexceptionable was his whole conduct that all the nobility and gentry in the neighbourhood (the Earl of Eglinton excepted) gave him permission to kill game on their estates. However, he was very moderate in the use of this indulgence, seldom shooting but with a view to gratify a friend with a present; hardly ever for his own emolument.

Mr Campbell had a singular attachment to fishing; and, a river in Lord Eglinton's estate affording the finest fish in that country, he would willingly have angled there, but his lordship being as strict with regard to his fish as his game, Campbell, unwilling to offend him, gave away his fishing-tackle, which was excellent in its kind. He was likewise in possession of a fine pointer, which he sold; but would not part with his gun, which produced him the greatest pleasure of his life.

Campbell, being in search of smugglers, and having his gun with him, was crossing part of Lord Eglinton's estate when a hare started up, and he shot her. His lordship hearing the report of the gun, and being informed that Campbell had fired it, sent a servant to command him to come to the seat. Campbell obeyed the disagreeable summons, but was treated very cavalierly by his lordship, who even descended to call him by names of contempt. The other apologised for his conduct, which he said arose from the sudden starting of the hare, and declared that he had no design of giving offence. This might have been a sufficient apology to any other man than Lord Eglinton.

A man named Bartleymore was among the servants of Lord Eglinton, and was a favourite of his lordship, and this man dealt largely in contraband goods. Mr Campbell, passing along the seashore, met Bartleymore with a cart containing eighty gallons of rum, which he seized as contraband; and the rum was condemned, but the cart was restored, being the property of Lord Eglinton.

In this affair it will appear evident that Mr Campbell did not exceed his duty; but Bartleymore was so incensed against him that he contrived many tales to his disadvantage, and at length engaged his lordship's passions so far that he conceived a more unfavourable opinion of Campbell than he had hitherto done.

About ten in the morning of the 24th of October, 1769, Campbell took his gun and went out with another officer with a view to detecting smugglers. Mr Campbell took with him a licence for shooting, which had been given him by Dr Hunter, though he had no particular design of killing any game, but intended to shoot a woodcock if he should see one.

They crossed a small part of Lord Eglinton's estate, in order to reach the seashore, where they intended to walk. When they arrived at this spot it was near noon, and Lord Eglinton came up in his coach, attended by Mr Wilson, a carpenter, and followed by four servants on horseback. On approaching the coast his lordship met Bartleymore who told him there were some poachers at a distance, and that Campbell was among them. Lord Eglinton quitted his coach and, mounting a led horse, rode to the spot, where he saw Campbell and the other officer, whose name was Brown. His lordship said: "Mr Campbell, I did not expect to have found you so soon again on my grounds, after your promise when you shot the hare." He then demanded Campbell's gun, which the latter declared he would not part with.

Lord Eglinton now rode towards him, while Campbell retreated, with his gun presented, desiring him to keep at a distance.

Still, however, his lordship advanced, smiling, and said: "Are you going to shoot me?"

Campbell replied: "I will, if you do not keep off." Hereupon Lord Eglinton called to his servants to bring him a gun, which one of them took from the coach, and delivered to another to carry to their master.

In the interim Lord Eglinton, leading his horse, approached Mr Campbell and demanded his gun, but the latter would not deliver it. The peer then quitted his horse's bridle and continued advancing, while Campbell still retired, though in an irregular direction, and pointed his gun towards his pursuer.

At length Lord Eglinton came so near him that Campbell said: "I beg your pardon, my lord, but I will not deliver my gun to any man living; therefore keep off, or I will certainly shoot you." At this instant Bartleymore, advancing, begged Campbell to deliver his gun to Lord Eglinton; but the latter answered he would not, for he "had a right to carry a gun."

His lordship did not dispute his general right, but said that he could not have any to carry it on his estate without his permission. Campbell again begged pardon, and still continued retreating, but with his gun in his hand, and preparing to fire in his own defence. While he was thus walking backwards his heel struck against a stone and he fell, when he was about the distance of three yards from the pursuer. Lord Eglinton observed him fall on his back, and stepped forward, as if he would have passed by Campbell's feet. The latter, observing this, reared himself on his elbow, and lodged the contents of his piece in the left side of his lordship's body.

A contest now ensued, during which Bartleymore repeatedly struck Campbell. Being observed by Lord Eglinton, he called out: "Do not use him ill." Campbell, being secured, was conducted to the wounded man, then lying on the ground, who said: "Mr Campbell, I would not have shot you." But Campbell made no answer. His hands were tied behind him, and he was conducted to the town of Saltcoats, the place of his former station as an exciseman.

Lord Eglinton dying, after languishing ten hours, Mr Campbell was, on the following day, committed to the prison of Ayr, and the next month removed to Edinburgh, in preparation for his trial before the High Court of Justiciary. The trial commenced on the 27th of February, 1770, and the jury having found Mr Campbell guilty he was sentenced to die.

On his return to prison he was visited by several of his friends, among whom he behaved with apparently decent cheerfulness; and, retiring to his apartment, he begged the favour of a visit from them on the following day. But in the morning he was found dead, hanging to the end of a form which he had set upright, with a silk handkerchief round his neck.

The following lines were found upon the floor, close to the body:--

"Farewell, vain world, I've had enough of thee,

And now am careless what thou say'st of me,

Thy smiles I court not, nor thy frowns I fear,

My cares are past, my heart lies easy here,

What faults they find in me take care to shun,

And look at home, enough is to be done."

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59: Robert Tilling

Executed at Tyburn, 28th of April, 1760 for robbing his Master

MR LLOYD was an eminent merchant, and lived in Devonshire Square, Bishopsgate Street, London. He kept his carriage, and hired Tilling as his coachman.

On the 19th of February, 1760, at four o'clock in the morning, Mr Lloyd was disturbed from sleep by a noise in his house; and he presently saw a man at his bedside, with a lantern and a pistol in his hands. He presented the latter to Mr Lloyd's head, and demanded the keys of his escritoire, threatening him with instant death if he refused. Having received them, he told the owner that, in case of his calling out, or even moving, he had left a guard who would dispatch him. This was the confederate villain, the coachman, who kept himself in the background, that his master should not know him.

This singular robber then went downstairs and opened the money drawer, which contained a considerable sum. With this he returned to Mr Lloyd and said: "You see, sir, I have only taken the money out of your escritoire; your plate, watch, or anything else I have not meddled with; and as to the little cash in your pocket, I scorn to meddle with it." The thieves then made their escape.

Suspicious circumstances being against Tilling, he was apprehended, and brought before the Lord Mayor, who committed him for a second examination.

Upon being again brought up, he confessed to his lordship the robbery above described; and further, that he had robbed Mr Hayward and two other gentlemen, but denied a mail robbery, of which he was also suspected.

He was brought to trial at the next sessions at the Old Bailey, convicted, and received sentence of death.

__________________

60: Laurence, Earl Ferrers

Executed at Tyburn, 5th of May, 1760, for the Murder of his Steward, after a Trial before his Peers

LAURENCE, EARL FERRERS, was descended of an ancient and noble family. The royal blood of the Plantagenets flowed in his veins, and the Earl gained his title in the following manner. The second baronet of the family, Sir Henry Shirley, married a daughter of the celebrated Earl of Essex, who was beheaded in the reign of Queen Elizabeth; and his son, Sir Robert Shirley, died in the Tower, where he was confined during the Protectorate, for his attachment to the cause of the Stuarts.

Upon the Restoration, the second son of Sir Robert succeeded to the title and estates, and Charles, anxious to cement the bonds which attached his friends to him, summoned him to the Upper House of Parliament by the title of Lord Ferrers of Chartley, as the descendant of one of the co-heiresses of the Earl of Essex; the title, which had existed since the reign of Edward III., having been in abeyance since the death of that unfortunate nobleman.

In the year 1711, Robert, Lord Ferrers, was created, by Queen Anne, Viscount Tamworth and Earl Ferrers; and it appears that although the estates of the family were very great, they were vastly diminished by the provisions which the Earl thought proper to make for his numerous progeny, consisting of fifteen sons and twelve daughters, born to him by his two wives. At the death of the first Earl his title descended to his second son; but he dying without issue it went in succession to the ninth son, who was childless, and the tenth son, who was the father of the Earl, Laurence, the subject of the present sketch.

This nobleman was married in the year 1752 to the youngest daughter of Sir William Meredith; but although his general conduct, when sober, was not such as to be remarkable, yet his faculties were so much impaired by drink that, when under the influence of intoxication, he acted with all the wildness and brutality of a madman.

On this occasion it may not he improper to observe on that extravagance which is too frequently the consequence of inebriation. If a man did but consider how he reduces himself even below the level of a brute by drunkenness, surely he would never be guilty of such a low, such a pitiful vice!

At Derby races in the year 1756, Lord Ferrers ran his mare against Captain M--'s horse for L.50, and was the winner. When the race was ended, he spent the evening with some gentlemen, and in the course of conversation the captain (who had heard that his lordship's mare was with foal) proposed, in a jocose manner, to run his horse against her at the expiration of seven months. Lord Ferrers was so affronted by this circumstance, which he conceived to have arisen from a preconcerted plan to insult him, that he quitted Derby at three o'clock in the morning, and went immediately to his seat at Stanton-Harold in Leicestershire.

He rang his bell as soon as he awaked; and a servant attending, he asked, if he knew how Capt. M came to be informed that his mare was with foal. The servant declared that he was ignorant of the matter, but the groom might have told it; and, the groom being called, he denied having given any information respecting the matter.

Previous to the affront presumed to have been given on the preceding evening, lord Ferrers had invited the captain and the rest of the company to dine with him as on that day; but they all refused their attendance, though he sent a servant to remind them that they had promised to come. Lord Ferrers was so enraged at this disappointment, that he kicked and horse-whipped his servants, and threw at them such articles as lay within his reach.

The following will afford a specimen of the brutality of lord Ferrers's behaviour. Some oysters had been sent from London, which not proving good, his lordship directed one of the servants to swear that the carrier had changed them; but the servant declining to take such an oath, the earl flew on him in a rage, stabbed him in the breast with a knife, cut his head with a candlestick and kicked him on the groin with such severity, that he was incapable of a retention of urine for several years afterwards.

Lord Ferrers's brother and his wife paying a visit to him and his countess at Stanton-Harold, some dispute arose between the parties; and lady Ferrers being absent from the room, the earl ran up stairs with a large clasp-knife in his hand, and asked a servant whom he met, where his lady was. The man said, 'in her own room;' and being directed to follow him thither, lord Ferrers ordered him to load a brace of pistols with bullets. This order was complied with: but the servant, apprehensive of mischief, declined priming the pistols, which lord Ferrers discovering, swore at him, asked him for powder, and primed them himself. He then threatened that if he did not immediately go and shoot his brother the captain, he would blow his brains out. The servant hesitating, his lordship pulled the trigger of one of the pistols; but it missed fire. Hereupon the countess dropped on her knees, and begged him to appease his passions; but in return he swore at her, and threatened her destruction if she opposed him. The servant now escaped from the room, and reported what had passed to his lordship's brother, who immediately called his wife from her bed, and they left the house, though it was then two o'clock in the morning.

For a time his wife perceived nothing which induced her to repent the step she had taken in being united to him, but he subsequently behaved to her with such unwarrantable cruelty that she was compelled to quit his protection, and, rejoining her father's family, to apply to Parliament for redress. An Act was in consequence passed, allowing her a separate maintenance, to be raised out of her husband's estate; and, trustees being appointed, the unfortunate Mr Johnson, who fell a sacrifice to the ungovernable passion of Lord Ferrers— having been bred up in the family from his youth, and being distinguished for the regular manner in which he kept his accounts, and his fidelity as a steward— was proposed as receiver of the rents for her use. He at first declined the office; but subsequently, at the desire of the Earl himself, consented to act, and continued in this employment for a considerable time.

His lordship at this time lived at Stanton, a seat about two miles from Ashby-de-la-Zouch, in Leicestershire; and his family consisted of Mrs Clifford, a lady who lived with him, and her four natural daughters, besides five men-servants, exclusive of an old man and a boy, and three maids.

Mr Johnson lived at the house belonging to the farm, which he held under his lordship, called the Lount, about half-a-mile distant from Stanton. It appears that it was his custom to visit his noble master occasionally, to settle the accounts which were placed under his care; but his lordship gradually conceived a dislike for him, grounded upon the prejudice raised in his mind on account of his being the receiver of the Countess's portion, and charged him with having combined with the trustees to prevent his receiving a coal contract. From this time he spoke of him in opprobrious terms, and said he had conspired with his enemies to injure him, and that he was a villain; and with these sentiments he gave him warning to quit an advantageous farm which he held under his lordship. Finding, however, that the trustees under the Act of separation had already granted him a lease of it, it having been promised to him by the Earl or his relations, he was disappointed, and probably from that time he meditated a more cruel revenge.

On Sunday, the 13th of January, 1760, Earl Ferrers went to the Lount, and, after some discourse with Mr Johnson, ordered him to come to him at Stanton on the Friday following, the 18th, at three o'clock in the afternoon. His lordship's usual dinner-hour was two o'clock; and soon after that meal was disposed of, on the Friday, he went to Mrs Clifford, who was in the still-house, and desired her to take the children for a walk. She accordingly prepared herself and her daughters, and, with the permission of the Earl, went to her father's, at a short distance, being directed to return at half-past five. The men-servants were next dispatched on errands by their master, who was thus left in the house with the three females only. In a short time afterwards Mr Johnson came, according to his appointment, and was admitted by one of the maid-servants, named Elizabeth Burgeland. He proceeded at once to his lordship's apartment, but was desired to wait in the still-house; and then, after the expiration of about ten minutes, the Earl, calling him into his own room, went in with him and locked the door. Being thus together, the Earl required him first to settle an account, and then, charging him with the villainy which he attributed to him, ordered him to kneel down. The unfortunate man went down on one knee; upon which the Earl, in a tone of voice loud enough to be heard by the maid-servants without, cried: "Down on your other knee! Declare that you have acted against Lord Ferrers. Your time is come— you must die." Then suddenly drawing a pistol from his pocket, which was loaded, he presented it and immediately fired. The ball entered the body of the unfortunate man, but he rose up, and entreated that no further violence might be done him; and the female servants at that time coming to the door, being alarmed by the report, his lordship quitted the room. A messenger was immediately dispatched for Mr Kirkland, a surgeon, who lived at Ashby-de-la-Zouch; and Johnson being put to bed, his lordship went to him and asked him how he felt. He answered that he was dying, and desired that his family might be sent for. Miss Johnson soon after arrived, and Lord Ferrers immediately followed her into the room where her father Jay. He then pulled down the clothes and applied a pledget, dipped in arquebusade water, to the wound, and soon after left him.

From this time it appears that his lordship applied himself to his favourite amusement— drinking— until he became exceedingly violent (for at the time of the commission of the murder he is reported to have been sober), and on the arrival of Mr Kirkland he told him that he had shot Johnson, but believed he was more frightened than hurt; that he had intended to shoot him dead, for that he was a villain, and deserved to die; "but," said he, "now that I have spared his life, I desire you would do what you can for  him." His lordship at the same time desired that he would not suffer himself to be seized, and declared that if anyone should attempt it he would shoot him.

Mr Kirkland told him that he should not be seized, and directly went to the wounded man. He found the ball had lodged in the body; at which his lordship expressed great surprise, declaring that he had tried that pistol a few days before and that it then carried a ball through a deal board nearly an inch and a half thick. Mr Kirkland then went downstairs to prepare some dressings, and my lord soon after left the room. From this time, in proportion as the liquor which he continued to drink took effect, his passions became more tumultuous, and the transient fit of compassion, mixed with fear for himself, which had excited him, gave way to starts of rage and the predominance of malice. He went up into the room where Johnson was dying and pulled him by the wig, calling him a villain, and threatening to shoot him through the head; and the last time he went to him he was with great difficulty prevented from tearing the clothes off the bed, that he might strike him.

A proposal was made to him in the evening by Mrs Clifford that Mr Johnson should be removed to his own house; but he replied: "He shall not be removed; I will keep him here, to plague the villain." He afterwards spoke to Miss Johnson about her father, and told her that if he died he would take care of her and of the family, provided they did not prosecute.

When his lordship went to bed, which was between eleven and twelve, he told Mr Kirkland that he knew he could, if he would, set the affair in such a light as to prevent his being seized, desiring that he might see him before he went away in the morning, and declaring that he would rise at any hour.

Mr Kirkland, however, was very solicitous to get Mr Johnson removed, and, as soon as the Earl had gone, he set about carrying his object into effect. He in consequence went to Lount and, having fitted up an easy-chair with poles, by way of a sedan, and procured a guard, returned at about two o'clock and carried Mr Johnson to his house, where he expired at about nine o'clock on the following morning.

The neighbours now began to take measures to secure the murderer, and a few of them, having armed themselves, set out for Stanton; and as they entered the yard they saw his lordship, partly undressed, going towards the stable, as if to take out a horse. One of them, named Springthorpe, then advancing towards his lordship with a pistol in his hand, required him to surrender; but the latter putting his hand towards his pocket, his assailant, imagining that he was feeling for some weapon of offence, stopped short, and allowed him to escape into the house. A great concourse of people by this time had come to the spot, and they cried out loudly that the Earl should come forth. Two hours elapsed, however, before anything was seen of him, and then he came to the garret window and called out: "How is Johnson?" He was answered that he was dead. But he said it was a lie, and desired that the people should disperse— and then he gave orders that they should be let in and furnished with victuals and drink, and finally he went away from the window, swearing that no man should take him.

The mob still remained on the spot, and in about two hours the Earl was descried by a collier, named Curtis, walking on the bowling-green, armed with a blunderbuss, a brace of pistols and a dagger. Curtis, however, so far from being intimidated by his bold appearance, walked up to him; and his lordship, struck with the resolution he displayed, immediately surrendered himself, and gave up his arms, but directly afterwards declared that he had killed the villain, and gloried in the act. He was instantly conveyed in custody to a public-house at Ashby, kept by a man named Kinsey; and a coroner's jury having brought in a verdict of wilful murder against him, he was on the following Monday committed to the custody of the keeper of the jail at Leicester.

Being entitled, however, by his rank to be tried before his peers, he was, about a fortnight afterwards, conveyed to London, in his landau, drawn by six horses, under a strong guard; and, being carried before the House of Lords, he was committed to the custody of the Black Rod, and ordered to the Tower, where he arrived at about six o'clock on the evening of the 14th of February. He is reported to have behaved, during the whole journey and at his commitment, with great calmness and propriety. He was confined in the Round Tower, near the drawbridge: two wardens were constantly in the room with him, and one at the door; two sentinels were posted at the bottom of the stairs, and one upon the drawbridge, with their bayonets fixed; and from this time the gates were ordered to be shut an hour sooner than usual.

During his confinement he was moderate both in eating and drinking: his breakfast was a half-pint basin of tea, with a small spoonful of brandy in it, and a muffin; with his dinner he generally drank a pint of wine and a pint of water, and another pint of each with his supper. In general his behaviour was decent and quiet, except that he would sometimes suddenly start, tear open his waistcoat, and use other gestures, which showed that his mind was disturbed.

Mrs Clifford and the four young ladies, who had come up with him from Leicestershire, took a lodging in Tower Street, and for some time a servant was continually passing with letters between them; but afterwards this correspondence was permitted only once a day.

Mrs Clifford came three times to the Tower to see him, but was not admitted; but his children were suffered to be with him some time.

On the 16th of April, having been a prisoner in the Tower two months and two days, he was brought to his trial, which continued till the 18th, before the House of Lords, assembled for that purpose, Lord Henley, Keeper of the Great Seal, having been created Lord High Steward upon the occasion.

The murder was easily proved to have been committed; and his lordship then proceeded to enter upon his defence. He called several witnesses, the object of whose testimony was to show that the Earl was not of sound mind, but none of them proved such an insanity as made him not accountable for his conduct. His lordship managed his defence himself in such a manner as showed an uncommon understanding: he mentioned the fact of his being reduced to the necessity of attempting to prove himself a lunatic, that he might not be deemed a murderer, with the most delicate and affecting sensibility; and, when he found that his plea could not avail him, he confessed that he made it only to gratify his friends; that he was always averse to it himself; and that it had prevented what he had proposed, and what perhaps might have taken off the malignity at least of the accusation.

The Peers having in the usual form delivered their verdict, of guilty, his lordship received sentence to be hanged on Monday, the 21st of April, and then to be anatomised; but, in consideration of his rank, the execution of this sentence was respited till Monday, the 5th of May.

During this interval he made a will, by which he left one thousand, three hundred pounds to Mr Johnson's children, one thousand pounds to each of his four natural daughters, and sixty pounds a year to Mrs Clifford for her life; but this disposition of his property, being made after his conviction, was not valid, although it was said that the same, or nearly the same, provision was afterwards made for the parties named.

In the meantime a scaffold was erected under the gallows at Tyburn, and part of it, about a yard square, was raised about eighteen inches above the rest of the floor, with a contrivance to sink down upon a signal given, in accordance with the plan then invariably adopted; the whole being covered with black baize.

On the morning of the 5th of May, at about nine o'clock, his lordship's body was demanded of the keeper of the Tower, by the sheriffs of London and Middlesex, and his lordship, being informed of it, sent a message to the sheriffs, requesting that he might be permitted to be conveyed to the scaffold in his own landau, in preference to the mourning-coach which was provided for him. This being granted, his landau, drawn by six horses, immediately drew up, and he entered it, accompanied by Mr Humphries, the Chaplain of the Tower, who had been admitted to him that morning for the first time. On the carriage reaching the outer gate, the Earl was delivered up to the sheriffs, and Mr Sheriff Vaillant entered the vehicle with him, expressing his concern at having so melancholy a duty to perform; but his lordship said he "was much obliged to him, and took it kindly that he accompanied him."

The Earl was attired in a white suit, richly embroidered with silver; and when he put it on he said: "This is the suit in which I was married, and in which I will die." The procession, being now formed, moved forward slowly, the landau being preceded by a considerable body of Horse Grenadiers, and by a carriage containing Mr Sheriff Errington, and his under-sheriff, Mr Jackson, and being followed by the carriage of Mr Sheriff Vaillant, containing Mr Nichols, his under-sheriff, a mourning-coach-and-six, containing some of his lordship's friends, a hearse-and-six for the conveyance of his body to Surgeons' Hall after execution, and another body of military. The pace at which they proceeded, in consequence of the density of the mob, was so slow that his lordship was two hours and three-quarters in his landau, but during that time he appeared perfectly easy and composed, though he often expressed his anxiety to have the whole affair over, saying that the apparatus of death and the passing through such crowds were worse than death itself, and that he supposed so large a mob had been collected because the people had never seen a lord hanged before. He told the sheriff that he had written to the King to beg that he might suffer where his ancestor, the Earl of Essex, had been executed, and that he had had greater hopes of obtaining that favour as he had the honour of quartering part of the same arms, and of being allied to his Majesty; but that he had refused, and he thought it hard that he must die at the place appointed for the execution of common felons.

When his lordship had arrived at that part of Holborn which is near Drury Lane he said he was "thirsty, and should be glad of a glass of wine-and-water;" upon which the sheriffs, remonstrating with him, said that a stop for that purpose would necessarily draw a greater crowd about him, which might possibly disturb and incommode him, yet, if his lordship still desired it, it should be done. He most readily answered: "That's true --I say no more— let us by no means stop."

When the landau advanced to the place of execution his lordship alighted from it, and ascended the scaffold with the same composure and fortitude of mind he had exhibited from the time he left the Tower. Soon after he had mounted the scaffold, Mr Humphries asked his lordship if he chose to say prayers, which he declined; but upon his asking him if he did not choose to join with him in the Lord's Prayer he readily answered he would, for he always thought it a very fine prayer. Upon which they knelt down together upon two cushions covered with black baize, and his lordship, with an audible voice, very devoutly repeated the Lord's Prayer, and afterwards, with great energy, ejaculated "Oh, God, forgive me all my errors— pardon all my sins!"

His lordship, then rising, took his leave of the sheriff and the chaplain; and, after thanking them for their many civilities, presented his watch to Mr Sheriff Vaillant, of which he desired his acceptance, and requested that his body might be buried at Breden or Stanton, in Leicestershire.

The executioner now proceeded to do his duty, to which his lordship, with great resignation, submitted. His neck-cloth being taken off, and a white cap, which he had brought in his pocket, being put upon his head, his arms secured by a black sash, and the  cord put round his neck, he advanced by three steps to the elevated part of the scaffold, and, standing under the cross-beam which went over it, which was also covered with black baize, he asked the executioner: "Am I right?" Then the cap was drawn over his face, and, upon a signal given by the sheriff (for his lordship, upon being before asked, declined to give one himself), that part upon which he stood instantly sank down from beneath his feet, and he was launched into eternity, the 5th of May, 1760.

The accustomed time of one hour being past, the coffin was raised up, with the greatest decency, to receive the body; and, being deposited in the hearse, was conveyed by the sheriffs, with the same procession, to Surgeons' Hall, to undergo the remainder of the sentence. A large incision was then made from the neck to the bottom of the breast, and another across the throat; the lower part of the belly was laid open and the bowels taken away. It was afterwards publicly exposed to view in a room up one pair of stairs at the Hall; and on the evening of Thursday, the 8th of May, it was delivered to his friends for interment.

The following verse is said to have been found in his apartment:--

"In doubt I lived, in doubt I die,

Yet stand prepared the vast abyss to try,

and, undismay'd, expect eternity."

The case of lord Ferrers demands our serious attention. He was born to great hopes and high expectations, and was confessedly a man of superior abilities; but the unhappy indulgence of his passions led to his ruin. Hence, then, the due government of the passions ought to be learnt; for what is the man, who permits their unbounded gratification, but something lower than a brute?

Lord Ferrers appears to have been uninfluenced by the mild doctrines of Christianity. If these had held their proper weight on his mind, it would have been impossible that he could have acted as he did: but when Religion fails to produce its natural, its genuine effects, the man ceases to appear as such, and becomes an object of compassion, if not of contempt!

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61: Francis David Stirn

Convicted of Murder, but poisoned himseff in Newgate, 12th of September, 1760, after a Hunger Strike

FRANCIS DAVID STIRN was by birth a German. A man of erudition, he was born in the principality of Hesse-Cassel, about the year 1735. His father was a minister, and his brother a metropolitan minister at Hersfeld.

Francis was sent to a public grammar school in Hesse-Cassel, where be made considerable progress, and was then removed to a college at Bremen.

He was later taken home by his brother, who soon after placed him at the University of Hintelin, belonging to Hesse, where he pursued his studies from the year 1756 till the middle of the year 1758. During this time he improved his knowledge in the Latin and Greek classics to an uncommon degree; he also acquired very considerable skill in Hebrew, and became greatly proficient in both vocal and instrumental music, dancing, fencing and other polite accomplishments.

About this time, the French having made an irruption into Hesse, and impoverished the inhabitants by raising exorbitant contributions, his brother was no longer able to support him, and therefore sent him to England, with very strong recommendations, to a friend, who received him kindly, and promised to procure him an appointment that should be agreeable to his friends; but as no opportunity immediately presented itself, he offered himself as an assistant to Mr Crawford, who kept a school in Cross Street, Hatton Garden, and was received, upon the recommendation of the Rev. Mr Planta, who had himself lived with Mr Crawford in that station, and left him upon his having obtained a place in the Museum. It was also proposed that he should assist the German minister at the Chapel in the Savoy, where he preached several probationary discourses; but as he made use of notes he was not approved by his auditors.

While he lived with Mr Crawford he became acquainted with Mr Matthews, a surgeon in the neighbourhood, who advertised the cure of fistulas, and other disorders of the like kind, and who made him a proposal to come and live with him, offering him an apartment ready furnished, and his board, upon condition that he should teach Mrs Matthews and her daughter music, and Matthews himself the classics. Stirn accepted Matthews's proposal, and took possession of his apartment at his house. A very little time, however, was sufficient to show that they could not long continue together.

Stirn's pride and his situation in life concurred to render him so jealous of indignity, and so ingenious in discovering oblique reproach and insult in the behaviour of those about him, that, finding one evening, after he came home, some pieces of bread in the dining-room, which had been left there by a child of the family, he immediately took it into his head that they were left there as reproachful emblems of his poverty, which obliged him to subsist on the fragments of charity. This thought set him on fire in a moment, and he ran furiously upstairs and, knocking loudly and suddenly at Mr Matthews's chamber door, called out: "Mr Matthews!" He was answered by Mrs Matthews, who was in bed, that Mr Matthews was not there. But he still clamorously insisted on the door being opened, so that Mrs Matthews was obliged to rise, and, having put on her clothes, she came out and asked him what he wanted and what he meant by such behaviour. He answered that he wanted Mr Matthews, and that he knew he was in the room. It happened that at this instant Mr Matthews knocked at the street door, and this put an end to the dispute with his wife. The moment Mr Matthews entered the house, Stirn, in a furious manner, charged him with an intention to affront him by the crusts.

Mr Matthews assured him that he meant no such thing, and that the bread was carried thither by the child. Mrs Matthews also confirmed it, and Stirn was at length pacified. He seems to have been conscious of the strange impropriety of his conduct as soon as he had time for reflection; for the next morning he went to Mr Crawford and expressed a most grateful sense of Mr and Mrs Matthews's patience and kindness in suffering, and passing over his fantastic behaviour.

It is, however, probable that from this time they began to live together upon very ill terms. Matthews soon after gave him warning to quit his house, and Stirn refused to go. Eventually he went to the Pewter Platter, in Cross Street, Hatton Garden, where Matthews and other persons in the neighbourhood frequently met to spend the evening. Stirn, after some time, applying mself to Mr Matthews, said: "Sir, you have accused me of theft and adultery."

Matthews denied the charge, and after some mutual reproaches called him a dirty fellow, and said he ought to be sent into his own lousy country. Stirn, after this, took two or three turns about the room, and then, drawing out two pistols, discharged one of them at Matthews's breast, who gave a sudden start and then, falling forward, died instantly, without a groan. Stirn, almost at the same moment, discharged the other at himself; but, by some accident, the ball missed him, without doing any other damage. As soon as the smoke was dissipated, and the company had recovered from their first astonishment and confusion, Stirn was seen standing, as it were, torpid with amazement and horror. As soon as he saw the attention of all that were in the room turned upon him he seemed to recollect himself, and made towards the door; but a person in the room, named Warford, seized him, and after some struggle pulled him to the ground. Another man, named Lowther, immediately went up to him, and Stirn cried out: "Shoot me! shoot me! shoot me! for I shall be hanged." Somebody then saying, "Matthews is dead," Stirn replied, "I am not sorry, but I am sorry that I did not shoot myself."

After his commitment he obstinately refused all kinds of food, with the view of starving himself, that he might avoid the infamy of a public death by the hands of the executioner. He persisted in this abstinence till the Friday following, the 22nd of August, being just a week, drinking only a dish or two of coffee and a little wine. This conduct he endeavoured to justify, by saying that his life was forfeited by the law of both God and man, and that it was not lawful even for the Government to pardon him; "and what does it signify," says he, "by whose hands this forfeit is paid?" The ordinary indeed told him, in answer to this argument, that his life was not in his own power, and that as he did not, and could not, give it to himself, so neither had he a right to take it away. He was, however, urged to eat, for he was told that he would incur more infamy by suicide than by hanging, as his body would be dragged like that of a brute to a hole dug to receive it in a cross- road, and a stake would be afterwards driven through it, which would remain as a monument of disgrace.

During his trial, which lasted about four hours, he was often ready to faint; he was therefore indulged with a seat, and several refreshments. When sentence was passed upon him he quite fainted away, but being recovered by the application of spirits he requested the Court that he might be permitted to go to the place of execution in the coach with the clergyman; upon which the Court told him that was in the sheriff's breast, but that such a favour, if granted, would be contrary to the intention of the law which had lately been made to distinguish murders by exemplary punishment. Upon that he made a profound reverence to the Court, and was taken back to prison.

About six o'clock, the same evening, he was visited by the ordinary, who found in the press-yard a German, who said he was a minister, whom Stirn had desired might attend him. The ordinary therefore took him up to Stirn's chamber, he having been removed from the cells by the assistance of some friends. They found him lying on his bed; and as he expressed great uneasiness at the presence of the ordinary and a prisoner who had been set over him as a guard, they withdrew and left him alone with his countryman.

Soon after this an alarm was given that Stirn was extremely ill, and was supposed to have taken poison. He was immediately visited by the sheriff and Mr Akerman, the keeper of the prison, who found him in a state of stupefaction, but not yet convulsed. A surgeon was procured, and several methods were tried to discharge his stomach of the poison, but without effect; he was then let blood, which apparently rendered him worse.

About nine o'clock he was pale and speechless; his jaw had fallen, and his eyes were fixed; and about five minutes before eleven he expired.

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62: Patrick M'Carty

Executed at the bottom of Bow Street, Covent Garden, Westminster, 24th of October, 1760, for Murder

HAD this malefactor's execution been deferred but one single day, he might, in all probability, have survived many years, as the day after, early in the morning, King George II died, and the succeeding monarch, in order that all might with joy hail his accession, according to ancient custom granted a general amnesty and pardon to criminals.

A Marshalsea writ having been issued against M'Carty, an officer of that court, of the name of William Talbot, was employed to execute the warrant granted thereon. He met the defendant near Drury Lane, and told him that he had a warrant against him, to which M'Carty asked: "At whose suit?" Being informed, he requested the officer to step with him into the King's Head public-house, at the corner of Prince's Street. They had not been many minutes in the house when, without any harsh words having passed between them, M'Carty suddenly drew from his pocket a large knife, stabbed the officer to the heart, and then ran off. He was, however, pursued, and taken by a soldier in Vere Street, Clare Market, and carried before Sir John Fielding, who committed him to Newgate.

At the next sessions he was convicted of this wanton murder, and executed at the time and place above mentioned.

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1761

63: Theodore Gardelle

An Artist, who was executed in the Haymarket, 4th of April, 1761, for murdering a Woman

This was a murder which also considerably engaged the public mind. Though in the commission of the act itself, there may be some extenuation afforded to the unhappy man; yet the means he took to conceal it, are attended with circumstances horrible to relate. We have to lament that the woman might not have met her death at his hands, had she allotted some discretion to the limits of her tongue— a weapon, we may call it, often goading a man to a frenzy of the mind, ending in horror.

Theodore Gardelle was a foreigner, a man of education and talents in his profession— the fine art of painting. That he was not a man of a bad disposition, or given to irregularities, appears from Mrs. King's receiving him back as an inmate, after he had once quitted her lodgings.

He was born at Geneva, a city which is famed for giving birth to great men, in both the arts and sciences. He chose the miniature style of painting, and having acquired its first rudiments, went to Paris, where he made great proficiency in the art. He then returned to his native place, and practised his profession for some years, with credit and emolument; but, being unhappy in his domestic concerns, he repaired to London, and took lodgings at Mrs. King's, in Leicester-fields, in the year 1760.

Some time afterwards, for the benefit of purer air, he removed to Knightsbridge, but finding that place too far from his business, he returned to his former residence, where he was pursuing his business until the fatal cause arose, which brought him to an ignominious death.

The particulars of this shocking transaction, we have collected, partly from evidence adduced on his trial, and partly from the repentant confession of the malefactor.

On Thursday the 19th of February, 1761, in the morning, the maid got up about seven o'clock and opened the fore parlour windows. There is a fore parlour and a back parlour; both have a door into the passage from the street-door, and there is also a door that goes out of one into the other: the back parlour was Mrs. King's bed-chamber, and the door which entered it from the passage was secured on the inside by a drop-bolt, and could not be opened on the outside when locked, though the drop-bolt was not down, because on the outside there was no key-hole. The door into the fore parlour was also secured on the inside by Mrs. King when she went to bed, and the door of the fore parlour into the passage was left open; when the maid had entered the fore parlour by this door, and opened the windows, she went to the passage door of the back parlour where Mrs. King was in bed, and knocked, in order to get the key of the street-door, which Mrs. King took at night into her room. Mrs. King drew up the bolt, and the maid went in; she took the key of the street-door which she saw lie upon the table by a looking-glass; and her mistress then shut the passage door and dropped the bolt, and ordered the maid to open the door that communicated with the fore parlour, which she did, and went out; she then kindled the fire in the fore parlour that it might be ready when her mistress arose, and about eight o'clock went up into Gardelle's room, where she found him in a red and green night-gown at work. He gave her two letters, a snuff-box, and a guinea, and desired her to deliver the letters, one of which was directed to one Mozier in the Haymarket, and the other to a person who kept a snuff-shop at the next door, and to bring him from thence a pennyworth of snuff.

The girl took the messages, and went again to her mistress, telling her what Gardelle had desired her to do, to which her mistress replied, "Nanny, you can't go, for here is nobody to answer at the street-door;" the girl being willing to oblige Gardelle, or being for some reason desirous to go out, answered, "that Mr. Gardelle would come down and sit in the parlour till she came back." She then went again to Gardelle, and told him what objection her mistress had made, and what she had said to remove it. Gardelle then said he would come down, as she had proposed, and he did come down accordingly.

The girl immediately went on his errand, and left him in the parlour, shutting the street-door after her, and taking the key to let herself in when she came back.

Immediately after the girl was gone out, Mrs. King hearing the tread of somebody in the parlour, called out, "Who is there?" and at the same time opened her chamber door. Gardelle was at a table, very near the door, having just then taken up a book that lay upon it, which happened to be a French grammar; he had some time before drawn Mr. King's picture, which she wanted to have made very handsome, and had teased him so much about it, that the effect was just contrary. It happened unfortunately that the first thing she said to him, when she saw it was he whom she had heard walking about in the room, was something reproachful about this picture: Gardelle was provoked at the insult; and as he spoke English very imperfectly, he, for want of a less improper expression, told her, with some warmth, "That she was an impertinent woman."

This threw her into a transport of rage, and she gave him a violent blow with her fist on the breast, so violent, that he says he could not have thought such a blow could have been given by a woman; as soon as the blow was struck, she drew a little back, and at the same instant, he says, he laid his hand on her shoulder and pushed her from him, rather in contempt than anger, or with a design to hurt her; but her foot happening to catch in the floor-cloth, she fell backwards, and her head came with great force against the corner of the bedstead; the blood immediately gushed from her mouth, not in a continued stream, but as if by different strokes of a pump; he instantly ran to her and stooped to raise her, expressing his concern at the accident; but she pushed him away, and threatened, though in a feeble and interrupted voice, to punish him for what he had done; he was, he says, terrified exceedingly at the thought of being condemned for a criminal act upon her accusation, and again attempted to assist her by raising her up, as the blood still gushed from her mouth in great quantities; but she still exerted all her strength to keep him off, and still cried out, mixing threats with her screams; he then seized an ivory comb with a sharp taper point continued from the back, for adjusting the curls of her hair, which lay upon her toilet, and threatened her in his turn to prevent her crying out; but she still continued to cry out, though with a voice still fainter and fainter, he struck her with this instrument, probably in the throat, upon which the blood flowed from her mouth in yet greater quantities, and her voice was quite stopped: he then drew the bed-clothes over her, to prevent her blood from spreading on the floor, and to hide her from his sight; he stood, he says, some time motionless by her, and then fell down by her side in a swoon. When he came to himself, he perceived the maid was come in; he therefore went out of the room without examining the body to see if the unhappy wretch was quite dead, and his confusion was then so great, that he staggered against the wainscot, and hit his head, so as to raise a bump over his eye.

As no person was in the house but the murdered and the murderer while the fact was committed, nothing can be known about it but from Gardelle's own account; the circumstances related above, contain the sense of what he related both in his defence, and in the account which he drew up in French to leave behind him, taken together as far as they are consistent; for there are in both several inconsistencies and absurdities, which give reason to suspect they are not true.

But however that be, all was quiet when the maid returned, which, she says, was in a quarter of an hour. She went first into the parlour where Gardelle had promised to wait till she came back, and saw nobody. She had paid three shillings and ninepence out of the guinea at the snuff-shop, where she delivered one of the letters; to the other she had no answer; and she laid the change and the snuff-box with the snuff she had fetched in it upon the table; then she went up into Gardelle's room and found nobody, and by turns she went into every room in the house, except her mistress's chamber, whither she never went, but when called, and found nobody.

She then made some water boil in the kitchen, made a bit of toast, and sat down to breakfast. In a short time she heard somebody walk over head in the parlour, or passage, and go up stairs, but did not go to see who it was. When she had breakfasted she went and stirred up the fire in the parlour against her mistress got up, and perceived that the snuff and change had been taken from the table; she then went up stairs again to Gardelle's room, to clean and set it to rights as she used to do, and it was now between ten and eleven o'clock. Soon after, Gardelle came down from the garret into his bed-chamber, which somewhat surprised her, as he could have no business that she knew of in the garret.

When she first saw him, which was about an hour afterwards, she says, he looked confounded, and blushed exceedingly, and she perceived the bump over his eye, which had a black patch upon it as big as a shilling; he had also changed his dress, and had written another letter with which he sent her into Great Suffolk Street, and ordered her to wait for an answer; she went directly, and when she returned, which was in a quarter of an hour, she found him sitting in the parlour, and told him the gentleman would be there in the evening. He then told her that a gentleman had been in the room with her mistress, and that she was gone out with him in a hackney coach. It appears, by this, that Gardelle knew the maid was acquainted with his mistress's character.

The maid, however, though she might have believed this story at another time, could not believe it now; she was not absent above a quarter of an hour; she had left her mistress in bed, and the time would not have permitted her receiving a gentleman there, her being dressed, a coach being procured, and her having gone out in it; besides, when she came back, she knew Gardelle was in her chamber. This gave her some suspicion, but it was of nothing worse than that Gardelle and her mistress had been in bed together. She went, however, and looked at the door of the chamber, which opened into the parlour, and which she had opened by her mistress's order, and found it again locked. About one o'clock another lodger, Mr. Wright's servant, Thomas Pelsey, came and told the maid at the door that the beds must be got ready, because his master intended to come hither in the evening, but did not go in. The maid still wondered that her mistress did not rise; and supposed that, knowing she came in from her errand while Gardelle was yet in her chamber, she was ashamed to see her. Gardelle, in the mean time, was often up and down stairs; and about three o'clock he sent her with a letter to one Broshet, at the Eagle and Pearl in Suffolk Street. As he knew that it would be extremely difficult to conceal the murder, if the maid continued in the house, he determined that he would, if possible, discharge her: but as the girl could not write, and as he was not sufficiently acquainted with our language to draw a proper receipt, he requested Mr. Broshet, in this letter, to write a receipt for him, and get the maid to sign it, directing her to deliver it to him when he paid her; he did not, however, acquaint her with his design.

When Mr. Broshet had read the letter, he asked her if she knew that Mr. Gardelle was to discharge her; she said no. Why, says he, Mrs. King is gone out, and has given Mr. Gardelle orders to discharge you; for she is to bring a woman home with her: at this the girl was surprised, and smiled, telling Broshet, that she knew her mistress was at home. The girl was now confirmed in her first thought, that her mistress was ashamed to see her again; and thus she accounted for the manner of her dismissal. She returned between three and four to Gardelle, whom she found sitting in the parlour with a gentleman whose name she did not know: she continued in the house till between six and seven o'clock in the evening, and then Gardelle paid her six shillings for a fortnight and two days wages, and gave her five or six shillings over, upon which she delivered him the receipt that Broshet had written, took her box and went away.

As she was going out, Mr. Wright's servant came again to the door, and she told him that she was discharged and going away; that her mistress had been all day in her bed-room, without either victuals or drink, and that if he stayed a little after she was gone, be might see her come out: the man, however, could not stay, and Gardelle about seven o'clock was thus left alone in the house.

The first thing he did was to go into the chamber to the body, which upon examination, he found quite dead; he therefore took off the blankets and sheets with which he had covered it, stripped off the shift, and laid the body quite naked upon the bed; before this, he said, his linen was not stained; but it was much stained by his removing the body. He then took the two blankets, the sheets, the coverlet, and one of the curtains, and put them into the water-tub in the back wash-house, to soak, they being all much stained with blood; her shift he carried upstairs, and putting it in a bag, concealed it under his bed; his own shirt, now bloody, he pulled off, and locked it up in a drawer of his bureau.

When all this was done, he went and sat down in the parlour, and soon after, it being about nine o'clock, Mr. Wright's servant came in without his master, who had changed his mind, and was gone to a gentleman's house in Castle Street. He went up into his room, the garret, and sat there till about seven o'clock: then he came down, and finding Gardelle still in the parlour, he asked if Mrs. King was come home, and who must sit up for her? Gardelle said she was not come home, but that he would sit up for her.

In the morning, Friday, when Pelsey came down stairs, he again asked if Mrs. King was come home, and Gardelle told him that she had been at home, but was gone again. He then asked how he came by the hurt on his eye; and be said he got it by cutting some wood to light the fire in the morning. Pelsey then went about his master's business, and at night was again let in by Gardelle, who, upon being asked, said he would sit up for Mrs. King that night also.

In the morning, Saturday, Pelsey enquired again after Mrs. King; and Gardelle, though he had professed to sit up for her but the night before, now told him she was gone to Bath or Bristol; yet, strange as it may seem, no suspicions of murder appear yet to have been conceived.

On Saturday, Mozier, an acquaintance of Gardelle's, who had been also intimate with Mrs. King, and had spent the evening with her the Wednesday before the murder, came by appointment about two or three o'clock, having promised to go with her that evening to the opera. He was let in by Gardelle, who told him that Mrs. King was gone to Bath or Bristol, as he had told Pelsey. This man, and another of Gardelle's acquaintance, observing him to be chagrined and dispirited, seem to have imagined that Mrs. King's absence was the cause of it, and that if they could get him another girl they should cure him: they therefore were kind enough to procure for him on this occasion; and having picked up a prostitute in the Hay-market, they brought her that very Saturday to Gardelle at Mrs. King's. The worthy, whose name is not known, told her Mrs. King was gone into the country, and had discharged her servant. Gardelle made an apology for the confusion in which the house appeared, and Mozier or Muzard, as he is sometimes called, asked her if she would take care of the house: she readily consented; and Gardelle acquiescing, they left her with him. He asked her what her business was; she said she worked plain-work; he then told her he had some shirts to mend, and that he would satisfy her for her trouble.

All this while the body continued as he had left it on Thursday night, nor had he once been into the room since that time. But this night the woman and Pelsey being in bed, he first conceived a design of concealing or destroying the dead body by parts, and went down to put it in execution; but the woman, whose name is Sarah Walker, getting out of bed and following him, he returned up stairs, and went to bed with her. In the morning, Sunday, he arose between seven and eight, and left Walker in bed, saying, it was too soon for her to rise; she fell asleep, and slept till ten; it is probable that in the mean time be was employed on the body, for when she came down between ten and eleven, he was but beginning to light the parlour-fire. He had spoke to her the night before to get him a chair-woman, and he was in so much confusion he did not ask her to stay to breakfast; she went out therefore and hired one Pritchard as a chair-woman, at one shilling a day, victuals and drink: in the afternoon she brought Pritchard to the house, and found with Gardelle two or three men and two women; Gardelle went up with her and stayed by her while she made his bed, then the company all went out together.

The chair-woman kept house, and about ten o'clock they returned and supped in Gardelle's room. She was then dismissed for the night, and ordered to come the next morning at eight. The next morning, Monday, the chair-woman was ordered to tell Pelsey the footman, that Walker was a relation of Mrs. King's, who was come to be in the house till Mrs. King returned; but Pelsey knew that she and Gardelle had but one bed, for when he came down on Monday morning, Gardelle's chamber-door stood open, and looking in, he saw some of her clothes. On Monday night he again enquired after Mrs. King, and Gardelle told him she was at Bath or Bristol, he knew not where; he differed at times in his account of her, yet no suspicion of murder was yet entertained. On Tuesday morning, Pelsey, who was going up to his master's room, smelt an offensive smell, and asked Gardelle, who was shoving up the sash of the window on the staircase, what it was; Gardelle replied, somebody had put a bone in the fire: the truth, however, was, that while Walker was employed in mending and making some linen in the parlour, he had been burning some of Mrs. King's bones in the garret. At night, Pelsey renewed his enquiries after Mrs. King, and Gardelle answered with a seeming impatience, "Me know not of Mrs. King; she give me a great deal of trouble, but me shall hear of her Wednesday or Thursday;" yet he still talked of sitting up for her, and all this while nobody seems to have suspected a murder.

On Tuesday night he told Mrs. Walker he would sit up till Mrs. King came home, though he had before told her she was out of town, and desired her to go to bed, to which she consented; as soon as she was in bed, he renewed his horrid employment of cutting the body to pieces, and disposing of it in different places; the bowels be threw down the necessary, and the flesh of the body and limbs cut to pieces, he scattered about the cock-loft, where he supposed they would dry and perish without putrefaction: about two o'clock in the morning, however, he was interrupted, for Walker having waked, and not finding him, she went down stairs, and found him standing upon the stairs; he then, at her solicitation, went up with her to bed.

Wednesday passed like the preceding days, and on Thursday he told his female companion, that he expected Mrs. King home in the evening, and therefore desired that she would provide herself a lodging; giving her, at the same time, two of Mrs. King's shifts, and being thus dismissed she went away.

Pritchard, the chair-woman, still continued in her office. The water having failed in the cistern on the Tuesday, she had  recourse to that in the water-tub in the back kitchen; upon pulling out the spiggot a little water run out, but as there appeared to be more in, she got upon a ledge, and putting her hand in she felt something soft; she then fetched a poker, and pressing down the contents of the tub, she got water in a pall. This circumstance she told Pelsey, and they agreed the first opportunity to see what the things in the water-tub were; yet so languid was their curiosity, and so careless were they of the event, that it was Thursday before this tub was examined: they found in it the blankets, sheets, and coverlet that Gardelle had put in it to soak: after spreading, shaking, and looking at them, they put them again into the tub; and the next morning when Pelsey came down, he saw the curtain hanging on the banisters of the kitchen-stairs; upon looking down, he saw Gardelle just come out at the wash-house door, where the tub stood. When Pritchard the chair-woman came, he asked her if she had been taking any of the clothes out of the tub, and she said no, she then went and looked in the tub, and found the sheets had been wrung out. Upon this the first step was taken towards enquiring after the unhappy woman, who had now laid dead more than a week in the house. Pelsey found out the maid whom Gardelle had dismissed, and asked her if she had put any bed-clothes into the water; she said, no, and seemed frightened; Pelsey was then also alarmed and told his master.

These particulars also came to the knowledge of Mr. Barron, an apothecary in the neighbourhood, who went the same day to Mrs. King's house, and enquired of Gardelle where she was. He trembled, and told him, with great confusion, that she was gone to Bath. The next day, therefore, Saturday, he carried the maid before Mr. Fielding, the justice, to make her deposition, and obtained a warrant to take Gardelle into custody.

When the warrant was obtained, Mr. Barron, with the constable, and some others, went to the house, where they found Gardelle, and charged him with the murder; he denied it, but soon after dropped down in a swoon. When he recovered, they demanded the key of Mrs. King's chamber; but he said she had got it with her in the country; the constable therefore got in at the window, and opened the door that communicated with the parlour, and they all went in. They found upon the bed a pair of blankets wet, and a pair of sheets that appeared not to have been lain in; and the curtain also which Pelsey and the chair-woman had seen first in the water-tub, and then on the banisters, was found put up in its place wet. Upon taking off the clothes, the bed appeared bloody, the blankets also were bloody, and marks of blood appeared in other places; having taken his keys, they went up into his room, where they found the bloody shift and shirt.

The prisoner, with all these tokens of his guilt, was then carried before Fielding, and though he stiffly denied the fact, was committed. On the Monday, a carpenter and bricklayer were sent to search the house for the body, and Mr. Barron went with them. In the necessary they found what he calls the contents of the bowels of a human body, but what were certainly the bowels themselves; and in the cock-loft they found one of the breasts, some other muscular parts, and some bones. They perceived also that there had been a fire in the garret, and some fragments of bones, half consumed, were found in the chimney, so large as to be known to be human. On the Thursday before, he had carried an oval chip-box to one Perronneau, a painter in enamel, who had employed him in copying, and pretending it contained colours of great value, desired him to keep it, saying he was uneasy to leave it at Mrs. King's while she was absent at Bath.

Perronneau, when he heard Gardelle was taken up, opened the box, and found in it a gold watch and chain, a pair of bracelets, and a pair of ear-rings, which were known to be Mrs. King's. To this force of evidence Gardelle at length gave way, and confessed the fact, but signed no confession. He was sent to New Prison, where he attempted to destroy himself by swallowing some opium, which he had kept several days by him as a remedy for the tooth-ach. He took at one dose 40 grains, which was so far from answering his purpose, that it did not procure him sleep; though he declared he had not slept once since the commission of the fact, nor did he sleep for more than a fort night after this time. When he found the opium did not produce the effect he desired, he swallowed half-pence to the number of twelve; but neither did these bring on any fatal symptom, whatever pain or disorders they might cause; which is remarkable, because verdigrese, the solution of copper, is a very powerful and active poison, and the contents of the stomach would act as a dissolvent upon them.

On the 2d of March he was brought to Newgate, and diligently watched, to prevent any further attempts upon his life. He shewed strong marks of penitence and contrition, and be haved with great humility, openness, and courtesy to those who visited him.

On Thursday, the 2d of April, he was tried at the Old Bailey; and in his defence, he insisted only that he had no malice to the deceased, and that her death was the consequence of a fall. He was convicted, and sentenced to be executed on Saturday the 4th. The account which he wrote in prison, and which is mentioned in this narrative, is dated the 28th of March, though he did not communicate it till after his trial. The night after his condemnation his behaviour was extravagant and outrageous; yet the next morning he was composed and quiet, and said he had slept three or four hours in the night. When he was asked why he did not make his escape, he answered, that he feared some innocent person might then suffer in his stead. He declared he had no design to rob Mrs. King, but that he removed some of the things merely to give credit to the story of her journey to Bath; he declared too, that he never had any sentiments of love or jealousy with respect to Mrs. King; though it is evident, his friends, who prescribed for his lowness of spirits, supposed that he had.

He affirmed, that he regarded the woman they brought him with horror, but that he did not dare to refuse her, lest it should produce new suspicions with respect to the cause of his uneasiness. It is, however, certain, that he felt the ill effects of her company in more ways than one to his last hour.

He was executed amidst the shouts and hisses of an indignant populace, in the Haymarket, near Panton Street, to which he was led by Mrs. King's house, where the cart made a stop, and at which he just gave a look. His body was hanged in chains upon Hounslow-heath.

One reflection, upon reading this dreadful narrative, will probably rise in the mind of the attentive reader; the advantages of virtue with respect to our social connections, and the interest that others take in what befalls us. It does not appear that, during all the time Mrs. King was missing, she was enquired after by one relation or friend; the murder was discovered by strangers, almost without solicitude or enquiry; the murderer was secured by strangers, and by strangers the prosecution against him was carried on.

But who is there of honest reputation, however poor, that could be missing a day, without becoming the subject of many interesting enquiries, without exciting solicitude and fears, that would have no rest till the truth was discovered, and the crime punished?

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64: Thomas Andrews

Convicted of an unnatural crime

THIS miserable wretch, who had formerly lived in good credit, kept a public house at Pye Corner, near Smithfield, known by the sign of the Fortune of War, where he had as much business as enabled him to support his family in some degree of credit.

John Finnimore, a servant out of place, who had been acquainted with Andrews when he (Finnimore) lived with Mrs. Mead, in Red Lion Court, behind Saint Sepulchre's church, called on Andrews, to inquire if he could help him to a service. Andrews's wife being now out of town, he told Finnimore that he was welcome to sleep at his house; hut the other declined it for that night, as Mrs. Mead had given him permission to lodge at hers.

On the following day Finnimore went to Andrews's with an acquaintance; and, after they had drank together, Finnmore hinted that Mrs. Mead had not offered him a lodging for the second night; on which Andrews told him that, as his wife was still out of town, he was welcome to a share of his bed. Here upon Finnimore went  away with his acquaintance, and returned about nine o'clock in the evening.

There were at that time a considerable number of people in the house; and when they were gone, which was not till near one o'clock in the morning, Andrews locked the doors, and he and Finnimore went to bed together.

What passed, or was presumed to pass, till daylight, it is impossible to relate with any kind of regard to the laws of decency.

In the morning Andrews opened the door, and Finnimore, going out without exchanging a word with him, went to his acquaintance, whom he found at the George, in Leather Lane, looking after some horses, which he drove, being coachman to a gentleman who put up his cattle at that place.

The coachman asked Finnimore to carry a letter to Clapham; but he said he could not go, and assigned such reasons as accounted for his incapacity.

Hereupon the coachman advised Finnimore to have Andrews taken into custody; and on the following day a warrant was procured for this purpose; but, when the constable went to take Andrews into custody, he charged him likewise with Finnimore, on which the constable took charge of them both.

The constable conducted them to the Mansion-house; but the lord mayor being absent, they were conveyed to the houses of two aldermen, neither of whom happening to be at home, Finnimore was lodged for that night in Bridewell, and Andrews in the Compter.

On the following day they were carried before Sir Robert Ladbroke, the sitting alderman at Guildhall, when Finnimore made such a charge against Andrews that he was committed to Newgate.

At the ensuing sessions Andrews was brought to his trial at the Old Bailey, when Finnimore gave such a clear account of the horrid transaction that the jury did not hesitate to find the prisoner guilty, and he received sentence of death.

Notwithstanding this conviction on evidence the most complete that the nature of such a case would allow, a conviction that left no doubt of Andrews's guilt in the mind of the public, yet such interest was made that he was indulged with a reprieve, and afterwards obtained a full pardon.

Andrews was discharged from Newgate in the month of July, 1761.

What sort of interest it was that procured a pardon for this man, it may be improper, because it could hardly be decent, to say. It is a subject that the delicate pen scarcely knows how to touch: but pardoned he was, to the astonishment of nine persons in ten who knew any thing of the case.

The writer of this narrative was well acquainted with two of the gentlemen that were of the jury that convicted Andrews; and he has been repeatedly assured by them that the strength of the evidence against him was such that no kind of doubt could remain of him guilt. Let the rest he buried, as it ought to be in obscurity; and we believe our readers will thank us that this obnoxious story is one of the shortest in our collection.

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65: Thomas Daniels

Condemned for the supposed Murder of his wife but subsequently pardoned, 1761

'O Death

Where art thou?― Death! thou dread of guilt

Thou wish of innocence! affliction's friend

Tired Nature calls thee: come, in mercy, come,

And lay me pillow'd in eternal rest.'

THIS is an extraordinary hard case, and we think that every reader must agree in opinion that the accused, so far from being guilty of murder, had long submitted to the very worst kind of usage with which a woman can possibly treat a husband.

The whole proof adduced against him was circumstantial; and we hope no jury sitting upon the life of their fellow-creature will again convict a man on such evidence.

That they erred in their judgment, or, at all events, that the Privy Council of the realm differed from them in opinion, is evident, from the unfortunate man immediately receiving the king's pardon.

But, that every one may form a judgment on the case, we shall simply narrate the circumstances drawn from the different publications of the day, including his own confession.

Thomas Daniels was a journeyman carpenter, and about the year 1757, at which time he worked with his father, he became acquainted with Sarah Carridine, a very pretty girl, who was servant at a public house; this girl he was very desirous to marry, but his father and mother would not consent, because she had lived in an alehouse. After consulting with the girl, and the girl's mother, it was agreed they should live together without being married. The mother, therefore, took a lodging for them, to which Daniels removed. His father, however, soon found out what he had done, upon which a quarrel ensued, and he determined to work with his father no longer.

As he was going about seeking employment else where, he met with some of his acquaintance, who had entered on board the Britannia privateer, and they persuaded him to enter also.

When he went home, and told Carridine what he had done, she fell into violent fits of crying, and was, with great difficulty, pacified, by his telling her that the cruise was but for six months, that he hoped he should make his fortune, and that he would marry her when he came back, advising her, in the mean time, to go to service.

In this situation she was naturally exposed to great danger. It is probable that her grief was mixed with resentment; that she considered herself as slighted and deserted; and that she doubted whether he would return again, and, if he did, whether he, who could so soon forsake her, would make good his engagement at the same time, having been already debauched, she was not restrained by the powerful motives from which women resist solicitations to the first fault, and she was under every possible temptation to form another connexion that was likely to be more certain and durable.

Under all these disadvantages she was seduced by one John Jones, a founder, a wretch who had been the intimate acquaintance of Daniels, and professed great friendship for him. This fellow promised to marry her if Daniels did not return; that, if he did, he would continue his kindness to her; and that, if he should die himself, he would leave her all his goods, and all his interest in the capital of a box-club, to which he belonged.

Not long after this connexion between Carridine and Jones, Daniels came home, having been absent about eight months. As soon as he came to London he went to Mr. Archer's, who kept the White Bear, at the corner of Barbican, in Aldersgate Street, whom  he called his master, and sent for his father and mother, with whom he spent an agreeable evening. He then inquired of Mrs. Archer after Carridine; and she referred him to Jones. Jones took him over the water to an alehonse near the Bridge-foot, where he saw her. At this time she lived with her mother, and Daniels took a lodging in the same house with Jones, who, pretending great friendship for them both, urged Daniels to marry, going every night with him to spend the evening with the girl, and offering to give her away.

Daniels, without suspicion of so perfidious and base a conduct, fell into the snare, and fixed upon a day; but, as our laws have laid a tax upon marriage, which other states have encouraged by pecuniary or honorary advantages, Daniels could not be married, because he had not money enough to pay the fees. He would have borrowed a guinea of his master, but his master refused; upon which Jones urged him to raise it by pawning his watch: to this Daniels consented, the watch was pawned for him by Jones himself, and Daniels and Carridine were married.

Daniels, at first, lived in ready-furnished lodgings, till his wife's mother persuaded him to live with her in Catherine-wheel Alley, Whitechapel. While they lived here Daniels frequently found his wife abroad when he came home from work, and when she did come home she was generally in liquor. The mother excused both her absence and her condition by saying she had been to see some young women in Spitalfields, and that a very little matter got into her head. It was not long, however, before Daniels found that she kept company with Jones; and having once followed them to an alehouse, when the mother pretended she was gone to see the young women in Spitalfields, he went to them, and, after some words, sent his wife home. She was then drunk, and, when he went home to her, a violent quarrel ensued, during which the wife and the mother both fell upon him; and the wife afterwards ran out of the house, and was absent all night.

Next day, however, Daniels was persuaded to make it up; and soon after put her into a little shop in the Minories, to sell pork and greens, and other articles. She promised to mind her business, and never go into Jones's company more.

On the next Lord Mayor's Day Daniels attended his master to the hall of his company, and, his master having given him a bottle of wine, he went into the kitchen, and got some bread and meat. He would not, however, touch either the wine or the victuals there, but brought both home, pleasing himself with the thought of enjoying them quietly with his wife. When he came home his wife was out, and soon after he found her and Jones together upon the stairs, Jones having taken the opportunity of Daniels's absence to supply his place, not suspecting that he would leave the good cheer of the hall, and come home so early.

This caused a great quarrel, and Daniels would suffer his wife to keep shop no longer; he also removed from her mother's, and, having got a few goods of his own, took a room in the Little Minories. Here they lived somewhat more quiet for a little while; but, the wife falling again into irregularities, Daniels entered a second time on board the Britannia privateer, as carpenter's mate, and, without acquainting any body with what he had done, went down to the ship at Greenhithe; but in a few days, to his great surprise, he was visited on board by his wife, in company with Jones: they staid on board all night, and, she lamenting and behaving like a mad woman, he was at length persuaded to return home with her.

Soon after he took a house, the corner of Hare Court, Aldersgate Street, and put his wife once more into a shop; but she soon returned to her old ways, kept company with Jones and several other people, and at length ran away and left him.

Notwithstanding this conduct he was persuaded to receive her again, though she acknowledged her criminal intimacy with Jones, upon her promise of amendment; yet she not only contracted other intimacies of an infamous kind, but, when Daniels came home to his meals, she would be abroad, with the key of their room in her pocket, so that he was obliged to eat at an alehouse.

Notwithstanding all this Daniels seems to have had a strong attachment to her, and to have done every thing in his power to please her, that she might make his home agreeable, and was solicitous to the last to unite his pleasure with hers, in which he was constantly disappointed. The following instance, among many others, is a remarkable representation of his conduct and her character.

One Sunday, with a view to entertain her, he took her down to Ilford, that they might spend the day agreeably together: they dined at the White Horse there, and after dinner she drank freely. When the reckoning came to be paid she flew into a rage with the landlord, and, upon Daniels endeavouring to moderate matters, she turned all her resentment upon him, and carried it to such a degree, that she declared she would not go home with him, but would go with the first person that asked her, or even with the next man that went by. This threat, extravagant as it was, she made good; for a person, dressed like an officer, stopping in a chaise at the door, she asked him to let her ride home with him: he consented, and away they went.

Daniels, though he had offered his wife a place in the stage, now walked home by himself; and, having sat up for his wife till it was very late, he at length gave her over, and went to bed. About two in the morning he was roused by a violent knocking at his door, where he found his wife so drunk that she could not stand, attended by her mother; and he quietly let her in, with the mother, whose assistance was absolutely necessary to put her to bed.

The account of what happened immediately before the accident that put an end to her life, and of that accident itself, is added in his own words, the truth of which he has attested upon oath, before a magistrate, since his pardon:--

'The night before this melancholy accident happened, I came home, to be sure, not entirely sober where, not finding my wife, I went directly to her mother's, where I found her very drunk. It being night, her mother said it was not proper to take her home in that condition, and therefore advised me to lie there that night, while she and her girl would go and sleep at my lodging. We did so.

'In the morning, after my wife's mother came back, we all breakfasted together at her lodgings. After breakfast I went to Mr. Clarke, timber-merchant, in St. Mary Axe, to solicit for some India Company's work; from whence I went to the Mansion House alehouse, and drank a pint of beer. I then intended to go to work at Mr. Perry's, in Noble Street; but, it being near dinner-time, I stopped at the Bell, opposite his house, for another pint of beer, where, meeting some acquaintance eating beef-steaks, I dined with them. As I was eating, in came my wife and her mother: she at first abused me for being at the alehouse, but they afterwards, with great seeming good humour, drank with me, and, as they wanted money, I gave my wife two shillings, and lent her mother a six-and-ninepenny piece, which I had just received in change for half a guinea, from the master of the public house. As the day was now far spent, and as I was pleased with the prospect of working for the East India Company, I thought it not worth while to begin a day's work so late: I therefore went to Smithfield, to see how the horse- market went; from thence I went to Warwick Lane, to see for a young man whom I had promised to get to work for the Company also. I took him to Mr. Clarke, in St. Mary Axe, and afterward went with him to two or three places more; the last place was the Nag's Head, in Houndsditch and about half an hour after nine o'clock went home.

'When I came there I went in at the back door, which is under the gateway, and which used to be only on a single latch for the conveniency of my lodgers. I went up to my room-door: but, finding it fast, came downstairs again.

'There was then some disturbance over the way, in Aldersgate Street, which I walked over to see the meaning of, imagining my wife might chance to be engaged in it. Not finding her in the crowd, I returned, and went upstairs again: while I was on the stairs I heard my wife cough, by which I knew she was at home. Finding my door still fast, I knocked and called again; still she would not answer: I then said "Sally, I know you are at home, and I desire you will open the door; if you will not I will burst it open." Nobody yet answering, I set my shoulder against the door, and forced it open; upon this she jumped out of bed. I immediately began to undress me, by slipping off my coat and waistcoat, saying, at the same time, "Sally, what makes you use me so? you follow me wherever I go, to abuse me, and then lock me out of my lodging; I never served you so." On this she flew upon me, called me a scoundrel dog, said she supposed I had been with some of my whores, and, so saying, tore my shirt down from the bosom: on this I pushed her down; she then ran to the chimney-corner, and snatched up several things, which I successively wrested from her, and in the scuffle a table and a screen fell down. At length she struck me several blows with a hand-brush; and, while I was, struggling to get it from her, she cried out several times "Indeed, indeed, I will do so no more." When I got the brush from her, which I did with some difficulty, I gave her a blow with it, and then concluded she would be easy. She sat down on the floor, by the cupboard door, tearing her shift from her back, which had been rent in the skirmish: I sat down on the opposite side of the bed, with my back towards her, preparing to go into it; and, seeing her fling the remnants of her shift about in so mad a manner, I said "Sally, you are a silly girl; why don't you be easy?" On that she suddenly rose up, and with something gave me a blow on the head, which struck me down: I fell on the bedstead with my head against the folding doors of it. I imagined she was then afraid she had killed me, for I heard her cry, two or three times, "O save me, save me!" how she went out of the window it is impossible for we to say, in the condition she left me in; but, from her cries, I supposed her gone that way; and in my consternation, when I arose, I ran down one pair of stairs, where, not knowing how to behave, I went up again, and sat me down on the bed from whence I rose. In this position Mr. Clarke, the constable, and the numbers who followed him, found me. He said "Daniels, you have stabbed your wife, and flung her out at the window." I replied "No, Mr. Clarke, I have not; she threw herself out."

'Mr. Clarke took a candle, and examined all the room in search of blood, but found none; and luckily it was for me that neither of our noses happened to bleed in the fray, though mine was subject to do so on any trifling occasion.

'He then went to the window, where he found a piece of a saucer, and asked me what it was. I told him I did not know, but recollected afterwards that it was what I fed my squirrel in; though I knew not how it came broke; it was whole that day.

'From thence I was taken to the Compter; and the public arc already acquainted with the proceedings on my trial, when I was condemned for the supposed fact, September the 21st, 1761.

'I am informed that the next morning they found a pair of small pliers, bloody, in the window, which were then considered as a proof of my guilt. These pliers were what I have mended my squirrel's chain with whenever he broke loose, which was sometimes the case. How they should be bloody, as God is my Saviour, I cannot answer; but, as no wound was perceived on the body, they were not produced as evidence against me. however, when my wife was brought up from the street, it is said she was blooded, and that the basin was put in the window where these pliers were found. It is therefore possible that, in such confusion, a drop or two might accidentally be spilled upon them, more especially when we consider the tumult of a morning's exhibition of a dead body, for penny gratuities, by the unprincipled mother of it.'

The following judicious remarks are added by the person who assisted Daniels in publishing his case, and they seem to confirm the man's declaration of his innocence beyond the possibility of doubt.

The window of Daniels's room has two casements folding against each other, with garden-pots before them. One of these casements only used to be opened, the other being in general kept shut. These casements were each about sixteen or seventeen inches wide, and the window was about a yard and a quarter high. When this accident happened one casement was open, the other shut, as usual; consequently the opening then through the window was about sixteen or seventeen inches wide, and a yard and a quarter high. Through this space a man was to thrust a woman, nearly as strong as himself! If such a thing had been attempted, the following consequences must be incontestably allowed to ensue:

1. The woman would resist the attempt.

2. When persons struggle to avoid imminent danger, and are driven to despair, they are capable of a surprising degree of exertion, beyond their ordinary abilities.

3. This woman would therefore have continued in so narrow a gap a very considerable while before she could have been forced through, and would all that time have uttered cries, entreaties, and exclamations, too expressive of her situation to have been mistaken by the neighbours and spectators.

4. Her resistance would have overturned the before-mentioned garden-pots, and would have shattered the glass of the casement that was shut and even forced open, or broke, the casement itself, which obstructed her passage.

5. In breaking the glass of the window her skin must have been greatly scratched and torn, and her limbs, naked as she was, have been otherwise greatly maimed and bruised.

6. The man who undertook to force her out must have borne some very conspicuous marks of his attempt.

The two first of these propositions will be universally granted.

The third is contradicted by all the evidence on the trial, who unanimously agree that the moment the woman was seen she came through the window, and was only then heard to use such expressions, which Daniels accounts for better than any one else.

In reply to the fourth― the pots were not discomposed nor the window broken, except one pane; and it does not appear that even that pane might not have been broken before.

In answer to the fifth― the body, by the evidence of the surgeon, did not appear to have received any other damage than the natural consequences of so great a fall.

As to the last― the man was not seen at the window at all; and, as to any wounds or bruises sustained by him, the constable, when asked whether he saw the blow on his head, which he affirmed to be given him by his wife, declared he did not. But he was not asked whether he looked for it; a question, it may be presumed, he would have answered in the negative.

In such a situation, it is to be concluded, the poor fellow was little heard, and less regarded, concerning whatever he might allege in his own behalf.

A man may be stunned by a blow that might not perhaps exhibit any remarkable appearance; and, had it been seen, his account of it would have weighed but little.

It is not even probable, had he knocked this woman on the head first, that he could have sent the body through the window so completely as, either by fright or design, she accomplished it herself. But that she came there living is past all doubt.

To conclude:― the evidence against this unfortunate man was only presumptive at most, and, upon clear scrutiny, is really productive of nothing; so that, as he was discharged by royal authority, so has he also a just claim to an acquittal in the minds of all judicious and candid people.

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66: Peter Pattison

Executed at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 5th of October, 1761, for being concerned in a Riot at Hexham

THE King having, by proclamation, ordered the militia of England to be embodied, and the deputy-lieutenants for the county of Northumberland having advertised that on the 9th of March, 1761, they should meet at the town of Hexham, to ballot for militiamen, a most dreadful riot ensued.

A vast body of colliers, called pitmen, from Newcastle, rose, and, in a tumultuous manner, proceeded to Hexham, There they set up a loud cry of "No Militia Laws!" and attacked a detachment of the North York Militia, with clubs, stones, and such other weapons as they could collect.

This enraged the soldiers to such a pitch that they fired upon the mob for the space of ten minutes, and forty-two were killed and forty-eight wounded. Of the militia, an ensign and two privates were killed, and several wounded.

Above a score of the ringleaders of this dangerous insurrection were secured, but we find accounts of the execution of only one of them, Peter Pattison.

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67: John Perrott

A Bankrupt, who refused to make Full Disclosures of his Effects, and was executed in Smithfield, 11th of November, 1761

JOHN PERROTT was born at Newport Pagnell, in Buckinghamshire, about sixty miles north of London, in the year 1723, being about thirty-eight years of age at his death. His father died when he was seven years old, and his mother about two years afterwards, leaving him a fortune of about fifteen hundred pounds. After the death of his parents he was, by the direction of a guardian, placed in the Foundation School of Gilsborough, in Northamptonshire, where he continued five years. He was then, being about fifteen years old, put apprentice to his half-brother at Hampstead, in Hertfordshire, where he served out his time.

In the year 1747 he came up to London, and began to trade for himself in foreign white lace, but kept no shop. In the beginning of the year 1749 he took a house, and opened a warehouse in Blowbladder Street. About the year 1752 he removed from Blowbladder Street to Ludgate Hill, where he opened a linendraper's shop, and dealt in various other articles, styling himself "merchant." From the time of his opening this shop till the year 1759 he returned annually about two thousand pounds, and was remarkably punctual in his payments.

Having thus established his reputation, and finding that no credit which he should ask would be refused him, he formed a scheme of abusing this confidence, which he began to put into execution by contracting for goods, of different sorts, to the value of thirty thousand pounds, the greater part of which, amounting to the value of twenty-five thousand pounds, he actually got into his possession. In pursuance of his project it was necessary to convert these goods into ready money as soon as possible; he therefore employed one Henry Thompson (who had for three or four years acted as his agent, or broker) to sell them for ready money. Thompson, at this time, kept a little house in Monkwell Street, near Wood Street, whither the goods were sent in the dusk of the evening, and whither he invited some of the principal traders to look at them, as goods consigned to him from the places where they were manufactured. Perrott always set a price upon them, which Thompson showed to his chapmen, who usually fixed another price at which they would buy; at this price Thompson was always ordered to sell, though it was frequently fifteen or twenty per cent. below prime cost.

When he had thus converted the goods he obtained upon credit into money, and before the time when he was to pay for them arrived, he summoned his creditors together, who accordingly met, on the 17th of January, 1760, at the Half Moon tavern, in Cheapside, where he acquainted them that he was unable to pay the whole of what he owed, referring himself entirely to their pleasure, and promising to acquiesce in all such measures as they should propose, to pursue their own benefit and security.

This conduct and these professions had so plausible an appearance that Perrott's creditors conceived a favourable opinion of him, notwithstanding the loss they were likely to suffer. It was however determined that a commission of bankruptcy should be sued out against him, and Perrott having agreed to cause himself to be denied the next day to a person whom his creditors were to send to demand money, as the common and most ready foundation of commissions of bankruptcy, such a commission was issued against him on the 19th of January, the second day after meeting, and Perrott, being found and declared a bankrupt, surrendered himself as such.

The 26th of the same month, the 4th of February and the 4th of March were appointed for his appearance before the Commissioners, to make a full disclosure of his estate and effects.

But two of Perrott's creditors found, upon an inspection of his accounts and affairs, such a deficiency and confusion as gave them just reason to suspect his integrity. He was accordingly summoned before the Commissioners on the 26th of February, and then, being hard pressed, he acknowledged that he had bought goods, since the year 1758, to the amount of twenty thousand pounds, and sold them himself, or by Thompson, for ready money, at fifteen or twenty per cent. under prime cost; and that, about five years before, he hired a house in Hide Street, near Bloomsbury Square, at thirty pounds per annum rent, and furnished it at the expense of about a hundred and thirty pounds; that it was for a lady, and that he lived in it for about a year and a half and then quitted it, and sold the furniture. And he swore also that he had not since that time any other house or lodging, or paid for the lodging of any other person.

An examination which produced such proof of the bankrupt's misconduct greatly increased the suspicions of his creditors that more knavery was intended; and it appeared that, though he had kept regular books from 1752 to 1757, yet at the end of that time they were in some confusion, and afterwards in total disorder. Neither were any traces to be discovered of accounts between him and Thompson, notwithstanding the very large transactions between them: which was another reasonable cause to suspect fraudulent designs.

On the 19th of April, 1760, Perrott appeared before the Commissioners, and exhibited, upon oath, an account of his effects, which, after giving him credit for all the money he had paid, and making him debtor for all the goods he had sold, from his first entering into trade to his bankruptcy, left a deficiency of no less than thirteen thousand, five hundred and thirteen pounds. He was therefore required to declare upon oath what had become of that sum, to which he replied that had he lost two thousand pounds on goods which he had sold in the last year; and one thousand pounds and upwards by mournings; and that for nine or ten years, he was sorry to say, he had been extremely extravagant, and spent large sums of money.

As Perrott, during this examination, had also sworn that he never gamed, and as the vast sum unaccounted for came into his hands only in the last year, it appeared scarcely possible that it should, in that one year, be dissipated by any species of extravagance; if not dissipated, it was concealed and Perrott therefore was the same night committed to Newgate, for "not having given satisfactory answers on his examination."

In Newgate he was constantly visited by Mrs Ferne, a friend, who was always elegantly dressed, and who came in a chariot or post-chaise, attended by a servant in livery or a maid- servant, or both. They used frequently to dress a chop themselves, and Perrott condescended to clean his own knives; yet his folly and improvidence were so great that at this very time he indulged himself and madam with green peas at five shillings a quart.

After he had continued in Newgate six weeks he gave notice to the Commissioners that he would give a more satisfactory account of the deficiency in his estate, and being therefore brought before them on the 5th of June, 1760, he gave in, upon oath, the following account:--

Fitting up my warehouse in Blowbladder Street, and furnishing the same: £100

Rent and boy's wages during my stay there: £100

Travelling expenses during the same: £100

My own diet during that time: £125

Clothes, hats, wigs and other wearing necessaries: £200

Fitting up my house on Ludgate Hill: £100

Furnishing the sameL £200

Housekeeping, during my stay there, with rent, taxes, and servants' wages: £2,700

Clothes, hats, wigs, shoes and other wearing apparel during my stay there: £720

Travelling expenses during my stay on Ludgate Hill: £360

Horses, and keeping them, saddles, bridles and Farrier's bill, during my residence on Ludgate Hill and Blowbladder Street: £575

Tavern expenses, coffee-house expenses, and places of diversion during the above time: £920.

Expenses attending the connection I had with the fair sex: £5,500

Paid Mr Thompson for selling goods by commission: £300

Forgave him a debt in consideration of his trouble and time in getting bills accepted, etc.: £30

Lost by goods and mourning: £3,000

Total: £15,030

To this account he added the most solemn asseveration upon oath that he had not concealed any part of his estate and effects whatsoever.

With this account the Commissioners were equally dissatisfied, so they sent him back to Newgate; and some time after he petitioned the Lord Keeper to be discharged. But his Lordship, upon hearing the last deposition which Perrott thought fit to annex to his petition read, thought it so infamous that he would not order any attendance upon it.

As the creditors had now no doubt of the concealment of a great part of Perrott's estate, a reward of forty per cent. was offered by advertisements, often repeated, for the discovery of any part of such estate. It happened that Mr Hewit, one of Perrott's assignees, walking one morning upon the terrace in Lincoln's Inn Gardens, observed a woman leaning over the wall, who had something so disconsolate and forlorn in her appearance that he could not resist his curiosity to speak to her. Upon inquiring what was the cause of her present apparent distress, she told him that she had been turned out of her service by one Mrs Ferne, and knew not where to go. The name of Ferne immediately rendered his curiosity interested in a high degree, and he sent her to Mr Cobb, who was clerk under Perrott's commission, to get her examined.

The examination of this woman, whose name was Mary Harris, was taken before Justice Fielding, on the 23rd of June, 1761, and, in consequence of this information, Ferne's apartments, which were very expensively furnished, were searched, by virtue of Fielding's warrant, and, at the same time, Perrott's room in Newgate, by virtue of a warrant from the Commissioners.

In Ferne's possession were found the halves of four bank-notes, amounting in all to one hundred and eighty-five pounds, and the corresponding halves were found at the bottom of Perrott's trunk, hidden, sewed up very carefully in a piece of rag, together with the signed moiety of another bank-note for one thousand pounds.

Upon this discovery, Ferne was carried before the justice, and examined concerning the bank-notes, when she insisted they were her own property, and received from gentlemen, as a gratuity, for favours; but these very notes were, by the indefatigable diligence of those concerned, traced back into money paid to Thompson for goods which he sold on Perrott's account.

After some subsequent examinations of Mrs Ferne, and of one Martin Matthias, and one Pye Donkin, who acted as attorneys for Perrott— which examinations all tended to prove that Perrott had deposited notes to a great value in Ferne's hands, and to expose the shameless perjury of Ferne— all proceedings were suspended till the trial in September, 1761, when, it being proved that the notes found in the possession of Ferne and Perrott were the produce of Perrott's estate, he was convicted, and received sentence of death.

From the time of his having been charged with a capital offence he was put into irons; yet he seemed healthy and cheerful. He was often urged to make a full disclosure of his effects, but obstinately refused, saying he was to die: that was atonement sufficient for the wrongs he had committed.

He was, in consequence of his own request, visited the day  before his death by his assignees, to whom, however, he refused to answer particular questions relating to his estate, giving as a reason that he had received the Sacrament. This reason for answering no questions seems to prove that he had secretly determined not to disclose his estate by answering truly; because, in this case, he avoided the crime of falsehood by being silent, though otherwise his answer would have coincided with every part of Christian duty, and his having received the Sacrament would rather have been a reason for his answering them than not.

On the morning of his execution he confessed the justice of his sentence. He expressed great solicitude about what should become of his body, desiring it might be buried in the church of the place where he was born. To this he added another request, which was much more rational: he desired that the time might be enlarged in the chapel and shortened at the place of execution. He was in chapel therefore from eight to three-quarters after nine; the next half-hour was employed in knocking off his irons; about ten minutes more were spent in taking leave of his fellow-convict, one Lee, who was condemned for forgery; and about a quarter after ten he appeared, pale and trembling, at the door of the press-yard, and was immediately put into the cart. He was executed in Smithfield.

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68: Robert Greenstreet

Executed at Tyburn, 14th of December, 1761, for the Murder of his Master, from whom he demanded an Increase of Wages

THIS man served his apprenticeship with a Mr Souch, a fishhook-maker, in Crooked Lane, London, by whom he had been so kindly treated that after the expiration of his time he continued to work with him as a journeyman.

Greenstreet seems to have been of a discontented mind, for he was often urging an increase of wages, more than that humble trade would allow. One day, having again introduced the subject to his old and kind master, now bending under the weight of many years, it led to a dispute, in which the young villain felled the poor old man to the ground, and there inhumanly repeated his blows. While thus prostrate the master faintly exclaimed: "Bob, you are a rogue to use me thus"; upon which the villain took a knife from his pocket and, deliberately opening it, stabbed him in several parts of his body, at every word calling out: "D-n your old soul!" This bloody work was carried on before the youth who had succeeded Greenstreet as apprentice, and who, in endeavouring to save his master, received a stab through his hand. The murderer was secured, and a surgeon sent for, who found the old man speechless, senseless, and bleeding to death. In a few minutes he expired.

On his trial at the Old Bailey, Greenstreet pleaded guilty, and received sentence of death. He was executed along with Daniel Looney, for shooting Captain Shanks. The body of Greenstreet was given to the surgeons for dissection, and when brought into the Hall for that purpose the eyes opened, though the body was dead.

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69: John M'Naughton, Esq.

Who was twice executed in Ireland, 15th of December, 1761, for the Murder of Miss Knox, whom he pretended to marry

JOHN M'NAUGHTON, ESQ., was the son of a merchant at Derry, whose father had been an alderman of Dublin. To an outward form which was perfectly engaging he added the most genteel demeanour, so as to promise the very reverse of what was the real disposition of his soul, which was subject to every blast of passion. He was educated in Trinity College, Dublin. When of age he entered into a landed estate of six hundred pounds a year, in the county of Tyrone, which was left him by Dr M'Naughton, his uncle.

The first vice he fell into was gaming, by which he very soon did great injury to his fortune; and though he continued (as most novices do who play with sharpers) in a constant run of ill-luck, and was soon obliged to mortgage, yet his losses made no visible alteration in his temper. His pride kept him within due bounds there. All was placid with the polite M'Naughton, and he lost his money to the very last with that graceful composure that became the man who had a plentiful fortune to support it. But strong as his passion this way might be, it was not strong enough to secure him against the attacks of love, and falling a victim to the charms of a young lady he very speedily married her.

His very agreeable person and soft polite address assured his success with the ladies; but, as his character was generally known, the young lady's friends took all possible care to secure her effects, and the lover was too eager to gratify his passion, and too rash in his temper, to trouble himself about the disposition of fortune.

The unavoidable expenses of a wife and servants in Dublin (as he pursued his old course of gaming) soon increased his difficulties. A sheriff's writ was taken out against Mr M'Naughton for some large debt; and as he suspected the danger he kept himself as secure at home as possible, by which means the bailiffs could get no admittance. The creditor, or some other persons concerned, hearing this, had influence enough with the High Sheriff to prevail on him to go to Mr M'Naughton's house and take him prisoner.

As the sheriff went in a chair, and appeared like a gentleman, the servants admitted him, and showed him into a parlour, where their master was alone. The sheriff then told him he was his prisoner. On this M'Naughton flew into a rage, and, calling out for pistols, he frightened his poor listening wife to such a degree that (being near her time) she fell in labour, and died in childbed.

The High Sheriff was greatly blamed for this seeming officious behaviour; but this dreadful consequence threw Mr M'Naughton into such distraction that he made several attempts upon his life, and was obliged to be attended and watched for some months after. On his return from the country, after eighteen months' absence, he appeared greatly altered— like a wretch worn out with grief— so very susceptible was that frail man of the excess of every passion. But this fatal accident, which nearly cost him his life, was attended with one good consequence: it immediately cut off all expense; and that long retirement into the country was of some service to his troubled fortunes, and gave him an opportunity, on his return to Dublin, to appear there like himself, in some degree of splendour. There he renewed his old and, no doubt, contracted new friendships, and kept most faithfully to his favourite vice, gaming, which he pursued with great spirit.

Some few years before this, when Mr. M'Naughton had both character and interest in the world, he was appointed collector for the county of Coleraine; but the public money soon became a dangerous commodity in the hands of a gamester; and when there began to be a large balance against him, he not only lost that profitable employment, but was obliged to get one of his wife's relations to be security for him, and it is said that gentle man remained some time after in trouble on his account. The loss of that employment was the first mark of public discredit that befel this unhappy man.

About the period of his reviving from his troubles, he made his addresses secretly to Miss Knox, daughter of Richard Knox, Esq., of Prohen, in the county of Derry, a gentleman possessed of an estate of about fifteen hundred pounds per annum; and as by the marriage settlement five thousand pounds had been settled on the younger children, Miss Knox, having only one brother and no sister, was entitled to the whole of five thousand pounds, even though she disobliged her parents by marriage. We must add to this bait the beauty, sweetness of temper and other accomplishments of the young lady, which were remarkable. She was then about fifteen.

Mr M'Naughton, who was an intimate friend of her father, and a constant visitor, soon obtained a promise from the young lady to marry him if he could get her father's consent. But Mr Knox not only absolutely refused his consent, and gave his reasons for it, but showed his resentment by forbidding him his house.

Mr M'Naughton then begged Mr Knox would permit him to visit as formerly (as he said it would look strange to the world to be forbidden to visit a family all the neighbours knew he had been so intimate with), and solemnly promised, upon his honour, never more to think of or mention this affair; and added, that as he had not spoken of it to the young lady, Mr Knox need never do it, and so the affair would drop of itself. Thus were the father's eyes and ears once more scaled up by this artful man, who continued his addresses to the daughter, and told her Mr Knox had promised him his consent; but desired, however, that no further mention might be made of the affair for a year or two, till some material business was decided, which he would acquaint him with. Thus he deceived the young lady, who now more freely gave way to his passion, and again promised she would marry him as soon as that consent was obtained. Thus he remained some time, constantly watching his opportunity to complete his design.

One day, being in company with Miss Knox and a young gentleman (a very boy) in a retired room in the house, he pressed her to marry him, protesting he never could be happy till he was sure of her; and, with an air of sprightly raillery, pulling out a Prayer Book, he began to read the marriage service, and insisted on the young lady's making the responses, which she did, but to every one she always added, "provided my father consents."

A short time after this, Miss Knox going to a friend's house on a week's visit, Mr M'Naughton, being also an intimate there, soon followed her. Here he fixed his scene for action; here he claimed her, and, calling her his wife, insisted on consummation, which the young lady absolutely refused. She left the house, and went directly and informed her uncle of the whole affair. On this, Mr Knox wrote a letter to M'Naughton, telling him what a base, dishonourable villain he was, and bade him avoid his sight for ever. Upon the receipt of this letter M'Naughton advertised his marriage in the public newspapers, cautioning every other man not to marry his lawful wife. This was answered by a very spirited and proper advertisement from the father, with an affidavit of the whole affair from the daughter annexed.

Mr Knox then brought an action against him in the Prerogative Court to set aside this pretended marriage, which was found to be only a contract; for the breach of which the party can only be sued at common law, and condemned to pay costs and damages, Besides, it is probable that the young lady being under age rendered this contract void in itself. At this time Mr M'Naughton had absconded from his debts, and therefore could not appeal to the Court of Delegates, where the former decree was confirmed. In consequence of this decree, Judge Scott issued his warrant to apprehend him. When M'Naughton heard this, he wrote a most impudent, threatening letter to the judge, and, it is said, lay in wait to have him murdered, when he was last at the assizes there, but missed him, by the judge's taking another road. Upon this the judge applied to the Lord Chief Justice, who issued out another writ against him, that drove him to England.

Mr M'Naughton returned to Ireland in the summer of 1761, and by constantly hovering round Mr Knox's house obliged the family to be on their guard, and the young lady to live like a recluse. However, about the middle of the summer, she ventured to a place called Swaddling Bar, to drink the mineral waters there for her health , thither this unhappy man followed her, and was seen sometimes in a beggar's habit, sometimes in a sailor's. Thus disguised he was detected, and then swore in the presence of several that he would murder the whole family if he did not get possession of his wife; and yet so infatuated were they as to suffer him to get away once more to England, where he was supposed to be by Mr Knox at the time this fatal event happened. He remained in London till the month of October, and gamed, cheated, and borrowed money from all his acquaintances, and imposed on many by forged letters and false tokens from their friends.

It sounds something severe to speak thus harshly of a gentleman, particularly one under misfortune. But this truth must be observed. A man of worth and honour, brought to distress by unforeseen accidents, may, and often does maintain his integrity and good name, under a series of misfortunes; whereas the man, reduced to poverty and distress by gaming, or any other extravagant vice, too often descends to mean actions; and he who commits a mean action is in great danger of committing a base one.

About the 1st of November he was seen skulking in the country of Ireland, and two nights prior to the murder was known to sleep with three of his accomplices at the house of one Mr --, a hearth-money collector. The morning of the 10th, the day the fact was committed, they all came with a sackful of fire-arms to a little cabin on the roadside, where Mr Knox was to pass in his coach-and-six. From this cabin M'Naughton detached one of them to go to an old woman who lived at some distance on the roadside, under pretence of buying some yarn of her, but really to wait the coming up of Mr Knox's coach, and inquire whose it was. When it appeared in sight he asked that question, and was answered that it was Mr Knox, who, with his family, was going to Dublin. He then made her point to show him how they sat, which she did: Mr Knox, his wife, his daughter and maid-servant.

As soon as he had got this information he ran off to inform M'Naughton that the coach was coming, and to make ready; that he had looked into the coach, and that Mr Knox was attended by only one servant and a faithful fellow, a smith, who lived near him, and was foster-father to Miss Knox. The character of foster-father is not much known or regarded in England, but in Ireland of no small notice. This man's wife was wet nurse, and suckled Miss Knox, from whence those poor people generally contract a faithful affection. The foster-father was one whom M'Naughton could never bribe, though most of the of her servants had suffered themselves to be tampered with, and, when discovered, had been discharged.

As soon as the coach came near the cabin, two of the accomplices, armed with guns, presented them at the postilion and coachman, which stopped the coach, while M'Naughton fired at the smith with a blunderbuss. pon this the faithful smith, who luckily escaped the shot, presented his piece, which, unfortunately, missed fire, and gave M'Naughton and one of his comrades an opportunity to fire at the poor fellow, and both wounded him. Immediately upon this two shots were fired at the coach, one by M'Naughton himself, and another by one of his assistants; and finding that the passengers had drawn up the windows he ran round and fired into the coach obliquely, with a gun loaded with five balls, all which entered the body of the unhappy Miss Knox. The maid now let down the window, and screamed out her mistress was murdered. On hearing this, the only livery servant that attended the coach, properly armed, came from behind a turf-stack, where he had hid himself, and firing at M'Naughton, wounded him in the back; and about the same time Mr. Knox fired one pistol, which was the last of eight shots fired on this strange and dreadful occasion. Miss Knox was carried into the cabin, where she expired in about three hours.

The murderer and his accomplices fled; but the country was soon raised in pursuit of them, and, amongst others, some of Sir James Caldwell's Light Horse, who were directed to search the house and offices of one Wenslow, a farmer, not far distant from the scene of action. But though some of the family knew he was concealed there they pretended ignorance; so that M'Naughton might have escaped, had not the corporal, after they had searched every place, as they imagined, without success, and were going away, bethought himself of the following stratagem. Seeing a labourer digging potatoes in a piece of ground behind the stables, he said to his comrades in the fellow's hearing: "It is a great pity we cannot find this murderer; it would be a good thing for the discoverer; he would certainly get three hundred pounds."

Upon which the fellow pointed to a hay-loft. The corporal immediately ran up the ladder and forced open the door; upon which M'Naughton fired at him and missed him. By the flash of the pistol the corporal was directed where to fire his piece, which, happily, wounding him, he ran in and, seizing him, dragged him out, when they instantly tied him on a car, and conducted him to Lifford jail. Here he remained in the closest confinement, entirely deserted by all his friends and acquaintances, as appeared on the day of his trial, which commencedon the 8th of December, 1761, when he was arraigned, with an accomplice, called Dunlap, before Baron Mountney, Mr Justice Scott and Counsellor Smith, who went down upon a special commission to try them.

'Naughton was brought into court on a bier, rolled in a blanket, with a greasy woollen night-cap, the shirt in which he was taken being all bloody and dirty, and a long beard, which made a dreadful appearance. In that horrid condition he made a long speech, pointedly and sensibly, and complained in the most pathetic manner of the hard usage he had met with since his confinement. He said, 'they had treated him like a man under sentence, and not like a man that was to be tried. He declared he never intended to kill his dear wife (at saying which he wept); that he only designed to take her away; that he would make such things appear upon his trial, as should surprise them all.' But, alas! when his trial came on, all this great expectation which he had raised in the mind of every one, came to nothing.

The trial lasted five days. The first day, the 8th, was spent in pleadings to put off the trial, and the reply of the counsel for the crown.

During these debates, M'Naughton often spoke with most amazing spirit and judgment, and much more like an eminent lawyer than any of his counsel; and the result of that day was, that he should prepare his affidavit, which the court would take into consideration. Accordingly, on the 9th, he was brought into court again, and his affidavit read, in which he swore, that some material witnesses for him were not to be had, particularly one Owens, who he said was present all the time; but the judges, after long debates, were of opinion, that nothing sufficient was offered to put off the trial; however, to shew their indulgence, they would give him that day, and part of the next, to see if he could strengthen his affidavit by that of others. But when the new affidavit was produced on the 10th, it was unanimously and peremptorily resolved by the court, that he had not shewn sufficient cause to postpone his trial, and accordingly they gave him notice to prepare for it on the 11th, at eight o'clock in the morning.

The judges came on the bench at nine o'clock, and sat there till eleven at night, without stirring out of court. During the whole time of the trial, M'Naughton took his notes as regularly as any of the lawyers, and cross-examined all the witnesses, with the greatest accuracy. He was observed to behave with uncommon resolution.

His chief defence was founded on a letter he produced, as wrote to him by Miss Knox, in which she desired him to intercept her on the road to Dublin, and take her away; but this letter was proved a forgery of his own, which after condemnation he confessed.

He took great pains to exculpate himself from the last design to murder any one, much less his dear wife (as he always called her); he declared solemnly, that his intent was only to take her out of the coach, and carry her off; but as he received the first wound, from the first shot that was fired, the anguish of that wound, and the prospect of his ill success in his design, so distracted him, that being wholly involved in confusion and despair, he fired, he knew not at what, or whom, and had the misfortune to kill the only person in the world that was dear to him; that he gave the court that trouble, and laboured thus, not to save his own life (for death was now his choice), but to clear his character from such horrid guilt, as designedly to murder his better half, for whom alone be wished to live.

These were his solenm declarations, but the direct contrary was proved in court by several witnesses, whom be crossexamined with great spirit, and seemed to insinuate, were brought there to destroy him. And as the jury could only form their opinion on the testimony of the witnesses before them, who were examined on their oaths with the utmost care and solemnity, they brought him in 'Guilty'.

He heard their verdict without theleast concern, telling them, 'They had acquitted themselves with justice to their country'; and when Mr. Baron Mountney pronounced the sentence upon him and his accomplice Dunlap, who was found guilty with him, though he did it in so pathetic a manner, as very visibly affected every one, M'Naughton appeared with the same indifference as at the beginning of the trial, and only begged the court would have compassion on poor Dunlap. He said, 'he was his tenant; that he possessed a very profitable lease, which was near expiring; that he had promised him a renewal, if he would assist him in recovering his wife; that he had forced his consent to accompany him in that action. He therefore begged of the court to represent Dunlap as a proper object of mercy. For his own life, he said, it was not worth asking for; and, were he to choose, death should be his choice, since Miss Knox, his better half, was dead.'

But when the unhappy man's plan for seizing the young lady, and carrying her off, is properly considered, what a scheme of madness does it appear; and how surprising it is that he should get any wretches so blindly infatuated as to aid and assist him in so wild and dangerous an undertaking! Was not the sack full of fire- arms that were carried to the cabin (and perhaps all loaded there!) enough to alarm them that murder might ensue? Do not most families, who travel with an equipage and servants, go armed? and might not this be particularly expected of a family that had particular fears?

When the two armed parties met in open day, on such a desperate business, what but murder could be the consequence? and after the loss of two or three lives, suppose the assaulters had been conquerors, where must they have carried their prize? Would not the country have been raised? Would not they have been pursued? Besides, was not the young lady going to Dublin? A city that unhappy man was too well acquainted with. He knew it is situated near the sea; that a well-concerted plan laid there for carrying off the lady going home in a sedan chair from some visit, by bribing the chairmen, and having a boat ready on the quays, might, with some degree of probability, have been executed.

But without all doubt, he made all his accomplices and assistants believe, that his design was only to take the young lady away, whom he declared to be his wife; but the contrary appeared on the trial. There it was sworn by one of the evidences, Mr. Ash, that this unhappy wretch had vowed long ago, to murder Mr. Knox and his whole family; and this fact evidently appeared, that he had not made the least provision for carrying her off that day, nor once demanded her at the coach side.

Agreeable to the sentence, Mr. M'Naughton, with his accomplice Dunlap, were executed on Tuesday the 15th of December, 1761, near Strabane, in the county of Tyrone. M'Naughton walked to the place of execution, but being weak of his wounds, was supported between two men. He was dressed in a white flannel waistcoat trimmed with black buttons and holes, a diaper night cap tied with a black ribbon, white stockings, mourning buckles, and a crape tied on his arm. He desired the executioner to be speedy, and when the fellow pointed to the ladder he mounted with great spirit. The moment he was tied up he jumped from it with such vehemence that the rope snapped, and he fell to the ground, but without dislocating his neck, or doing himself much injury. When they had raised him on his legs again he soon recovered his senses. The executioner then borrowed the rope from Dunlap and fixed it round M'Naughton's neck; he went up the ladder a second time and, tying  the rope himself to the gallows, jumped from it again with the same force, and appeared dead in a minute.

Thus died the once universally admired M'Naughton in the thirty-eighth year of his age, deserted by all who knew him, in poverty and ignominy.

M'Naughton not liking, he said, either the principles or doctrine of the clergyman who first went to prepare him for death, because it seems he made things too terrible to him, Mr. Burgoyne succeeded. As no carpenter could be found to make the gallows, the sheriff looked out for a tree proper for the purpose, and the execution must have been performed on it, had not the uncle of the young lady, and some other gentle men, made the gallows and put it up. The sheriff was even obliged to take a party of soldiers and force a smith to take off his bolts; otherwise he must have been obliged, contrary to law, to execute him with his bolts on. The spectators, who saw him drop, when the rope broke, looked upon it as some contrivance for his escape, which they favoured all they could by running away from the place, and leaving it open. The populace would not probably have been so well disposed towards him, had they known of his horrid designs of murder; but they had been persuaded that he only meant to get possession of his wife.

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1762

70: Captain James Lowry

Executed at Execution Dock, March 25, 1762, for murdering one of his Crew

THIS cruel man was born in Scotland, and after receiving a good school education, was, at his own earnest request, bound apprentice to a master of a vessel, to whom he served the time faithfully; and from his good conduct, soon himself became master of a ship.

He had just returned from Jamaica, with the charge of a West-Indian trader, when about the middle of the month of June, 1751, appeared in the daily papers, a remarkable advertisement, with ten signatures thereto, offering a reward of ten guineas for apprehending James Lowry, late master of the Molly, a merchant- ship, lately arrived from Jamaica, who was charged by ten of his crew, with the cruel murder of Kenith Hossack, foremast-man, in his passage home, on the 24th of December last, by ordering his two wrists to be tied to the main-shrouds, and then whipping him till he expired.

To this captain Lowry replied, by charging his crew with depriving him of his command of the said ship, on the 29th of the said month, and carrying her into Lisbon, where the British consul re-instated him in his command, and he sent the ten subscribing men home prisoners; and that he was ready to surrender when a court should be appointed for his trial, which nothing prevented him from doing immediately, but the thoughts of lying in gaol under the detestable name of an inhuman man.

The crew rejoined in another advertisement, that Lowry did not only murder the said Hossack, as appears by the affidavits of the ten subscribers, and sworn before John Russel, Esq., the British consul, at Lisbon, to be by him transmitted to the lords of the Admiralty, but in the said passage, did use Peter Bright and John Grace so cruelly that they died; and still continuing his barbarity, to every man in the ship, broke the jaw-bone and one of the fingers of William Dwight, and fractured the scull of William Wham.

They admitted that they (the subscribers) had been sent from Lisbon to England, by the said British consul; but this was done in consequence of a pretended charge of piracy sworn against them by Lowry, as the only means he had to screen himself from justice; for the sake of which, and to deter other masters of ships from exercising the like barbarities at sea, they repeated their reward, which they deposited in proper hands for apprehending the murderer.

These advertisements naturally excited public curiosity, and Lowry was apprehended and brought to trial at the Admiralty sessions at the Old Bailey, on the 18th of February, 1752, for the wilful murder of Kenith Hossack.

James Gatherah, mate of the vessel, deposed, that they left Jamaica on the 28th of October, 1750, having on board fourteen hands; that, on the 24th of December, he came on deck between four and five in the afternoon, and saw the deceased tied up, one arm to the haulyards, and the other to the main shrouds, when the prisoner was beating him with a rope, about an inch and a half in thickness. This deponent returning again in half an hour, the deceased begged to be let down on a call of nature; the captain being now below, Gatherah obtained his permission to release him for the present, but was to tie him up again; but when let down, he was unable to stand; which being made known to Lowry, he said, 'D―n the rascal, he shams Abraham;' and ordered him again to be tied up. This was done; but he was not made so fast as before, which the captain observing, ordered his arms to be extended to the full stretch, and taking the rope, beat him on the back, breast, head, shoulders, face, and temples, for about half an hour, occasionally walking about to take breath.

About six o'clock he hung back his head, and appeared motionless; on which Lowry ordered him to be cut down, and said to Gatherah, 'I am afraid Kenny is dead.' Gatherah replied, 'I am sorry for it, but hope not.' Gatherah then felt his pulse; but finding no motion there, or at his heart, said, 'I am afraid he is dead, indeed;' on which the captain gave the deceased a slap on the face, and exclaimed, 'D―n him, he is only shamming Abraham now.'

On this the deceased was wrapped up in a sail, and carried to the steerage, where Lowry whetted a penknife, and Gatherah attempted to bleed him, but without effect.

Gatherah deposed further, that the deceased had been ill of a fever, but was then recovering, and though not well enough to go aloft, was able to do many parts of his duty.

Gatherah likewise deposed to the tyranny and cruelty of the captain to the whole ship's company, except one James Stuart; and gave several instances of his inhumanity, particularly that of his beating them with a stick which he called 'the royal oak's foremast.'

It was asked of Gatherah, why Lowry was not confined till the 29th of December, as the murder took place on the 24th? to which he answered, that the ship's crew had been uneasy, and proposed to confine the captain; but that he (Gatherah) represented the leaky condition of the ship, which made it necessary that two pumps should be kept going, night and day; and the ship's crew were so sickly, that not a hand could be conveniently spared; that he believed the captain would be warned by what he had done, and treat the rest of the crew better, during the remainder of the voyage; that Lowry could not escape while on the voyage, and that, on their arrival in England, he might be charged with the murder before any magistrate.

The seamen were satisfied by these arguments; but Lowry continuing his severities, it was determined to deprive him of his command, and confine him to the cabin. At length the ship became so leaky, that they did not expect to live from night till morning; and the men quitted the pumps, and took a solemn farewell of each other: but Gatherah advised them to renew their endeavours to save the vessel, and to steer for the port of Lisbon.

This advice was followed; and having arrived off the rock of Lisbon, they hoisted a signal for a pilot, and one coming off in a fishing-boat, found that they had no product, on which he declined conducting them into port; but by this pilot the captain sent a letter to the British consul, informing him that the crew had mutinied: on which the consul came on board, put ten of the seamen under arrest, and sent them to England.

The account given by Gatherah to the consul corresponded with that he had given in evidence at the Old Bailey. During the voyage, the crew of Lowry's ship worked their passage; and, on their arrival in England, though they were committed to the keeper of the Marshalsea prison, yet they had liberty to go out when they pleased; and considered themselves only as evidences against Lowry.

The rest of the crew, who were examined on the trial, gave testimony corresponding with that of Gatherah; and declared that the deceased was sober and honest. Some questions were asked, if they thought Lowry's ill treatment was the occasion of Hossack's death. They replied there was no doubt of it; 'that it would have killed him had he been in good health and strength, or the stoutest man living; and that be generally beat them with a thick oak stick, which he exultingly called, his royal oak's foremast.'

It may be proper to mention that Lowry, having taken men on board to work his ship to England, arrived soon after his accusers; but they having given previous information to the Lords of the Admiralty, a reward was offered for apprehending him: he remained some time concealed; but at length he was discovered by a thief-taker, who took him into custody, and received ten guineas from the marshal of the Admiralty.

The prisoner in his defence said, that his crew were a drunken set of fellows, that they altered the ship's course and were mutinous, that the deceased had stolen a bottle of rum and drank it, whereby he became intoxicated, that he tied him up to the rails to sober him, and that he flourished a rope three times round, and gave him a few strokes which could not hurt him, that he fell through drunkenness, and he did all he could to recover him.

After the evidence was recapitulated by the judge, the jury retired for about half an hour, and then delivered their verdict, that the prisoner was guilty; on which he received sentence of death, and orders were given for his being hung in chains.

After conviction, Lowry behaved with great apparent courage and resolution, till a smith came to take measure of him for his chains; when he fainted away, and fell on his bed, and was measured while insensible. On his recovery, he said that it was the disgrace of a public exposure that had affected him, and not the fear of death.

On the 25th of March, at half past nine in the morning, the unfortunate convict was brought out of Newgate, to undergo the sentence of the law; on seeing the cart which was to convey him to the gallows, be became pale but soon recovered a degree of serenity of countenance. He had on a scarlet cloak over a morning gown, and a brown wig, of the colour of his eyebrows. His eyes were very bright and piercing, his features regular and agreeable, and by no means evinced the cruelty of his disposition. He was, in stature, about five feet seven inches, very well proportioned, and about forty years of age. His behaviour was quite composed and undaunted. Before the cart was carried a silver oar of a very antique form.

The dreadful procession had not moved many yards, before the populace began to express their indignation at the culprit. Some sailors cried out, Where is your royal oak's foremast?' others vociferated, 'He is shamming Abraham;' and with such tauntings and revilings was he drawn to Execution Dock; near which a number of sailors being collected, they poured execrations on his devoted head.

He was then taken out of the cart, and placed upon a scaffold under the gallows, where he put on a white cap. He prayed very devoutly with the ordinary of Newgate, about a quarter of an hour; then giving the executioner his money and watch, the platform fell. After hanging twenty minutes, the body was cut down, put into a boat, and carried to Blackwall, and there hung in chains, on the bank of the Thames.

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71: John Plackett

Executed on the City Road, London, 28th of July, 1762, for robbing a Danish Gentleman, whom he treated with great Barbarity

ALL the robberies which we have been able to trace to this man were committed within the circle of a mile of Islington, the place of his birth. He was transported for a burglary near Clerkenwell, which adjoins to Islington― which is in fact a part of that village― and he was executed near the spot where he robbed and so cruelly treated a stranger.

John Plackett was the son of industrious people, living at Islington, who placed him at a charity school, whence he was apprenticed to Mr Pullen, wheelwright, of St John's Street.

He absconded from his master before four years of his apprenticeship were expired, and entered on board a man-of-war. His character as a sailor was unexceptionable; but when the ship was paid off he contracted an acquaintance with a number of dissolute people, and, having soon spent his wages in scenes of riot and dissipation, he commenced as a footpad.

Having subsisted some time by the commission of robberies on the highway, he broke into a house near Hockley-in-the-Hole and stole a quantity of kitchen furniture, for which offence he was tried at the Old Bailey, and sentenced to seven years' transportation. Soon after the expiration of the term of his exile Plackett returned to England, and committed several robberies between Islington and London.

On the 10th of June Plackett was drinking with some sailors during the greater part of the day, at a public-house in Wapping, and about twelve at night he left them, with an intention of committing robbery.

The same night Mr Fayne, a Norway merchant, was returning from the Danish coffee-house, in Wellclose Square, where he had spent the evening with some friends, to his lodgings in Shadwell, when, losing his way, he inquired of a hackney-coachman the road to Shadwell; but, as he spoke very indifferent English, the man could not understand him, and he presently applied for the same purpose to another hackney-coachman; at which instant Plackett came up and made signs for Mr Fayne to follow him, saying he was going to Limehouse.

They walked together through many streets, and obscure lanes and passages, till they came into the fields, when Mr Fayne observed that they could not be in the right road; but the other pretended not to understand him. They proceeded to the fields near Islington, when Mr Fayne became greatly alarmed, and expressed much uneasiness, for which, indeed, he had sufficient cause, for his treacherous companion, going behind him, struck him a violent blow on the back of his head, which occasioned him to fall to the ground.

The unfortunate gentleman lay for some time in a state of total insensibility; but upon recovering the use of his faculties he found himself entirely naked, and perceived Plackett standing near him, with his clothes and his pocket-book in his hands. In a few minutes Plackett made off with his booty, which, exclusive of his clothes, did not amount to much more than a guinea and a half.

Information of the affair was given before Mr Justice Welch, who advertised a reward for apprehending the offender; and in a few days Plackett was taken at his lodgings in Gray's Inn Lane. The shirt that Mr Fayne wore when he was robbed was found in Plackctt's room; and the person was traced to whom he had sold the clothes.

At the next sessions at the Old Bailey, Plackett was sentenced to be hanged, and his body to be hung it chains.

The place appointed for his execution was near the City Road, and when he arrived there he pointed to the spot where he had robbed Mr Fayne, saying his soul was struck with horror when he reflected upon his cruelty to that gentleman. After hanging the usual time the body was cut down and conveyed to Finchley Common, where it was put into irons and hung on a gibbet.

The spot where he suffered was called, for many years afterwards, "Plackett's Common."

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72: Peter Annet

Convicted and pilloried for Blaspheming, in Michaelmas Term, 1762

PETER ANNET, a deist, upwards of seventy years of age, was indicted in the Court of King's Bench, at Westminster, in 1762, for being the author of divers blasphemous remarks on the five books of Moses.

The charge being fully proved, he was sentenced to be imprisoned one month in Newgate, and within that time to stand twice in and upon the pillory, once at Charing Cross and once at the Royal Exchange; to pay a fine to the King of six shillings and eightpence; then to be sent to Bridewell and kept to hard labour one year, and at the expiration thereof to find securities for his good behaviour during the remainder of his life, himself in one hundred pounds, and the sureties in fifty pounds each.

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73: James Farr, William Sparry and William Biddle

Executed at Tyburn, 10th November, 1762 for forging a Will

AT the sessions of the Old Bailey held on the 22nd of October, 1762,the above prisoners were indicted for forging, and publishing as true, a certain paper instrument, in writing, purporting to be the last will and testament of Jeffery Henville, late of Charles Street, St James's, tailor, with intent to defraud Anne Ferte, housekeeper to the said Henville, and to whom he had bequeathed his personal estate.

Farr was a relation of the deceased, and a tallow-chandler in the Strand. Sparry was a disgraceful attorney, residing at Greenwich, and son-in-law to Henville; while Biddle was the landlord of the Ship and Anchor tavern, without Temple Bar.

The deceased, Henville, had bequeathed his real estate to the son of Sparry, and it appears the father coveted a share of the testator's personal property, to obtain which he contrived a spurious will in favour of himself and Farr. Biddle was to be rewarded for the iniquitous part he took in the transaction, which was to witness the forged instrument.

The forgery was fully proved upon them, and they accordingly received sentence of death. On the 10th of November they were conveyed to Tyburn, in order for execution.

They all behaved penitently and with resolution, but decent resignation. Farr fixed the knot of the halter under his left ear, and then exclaimed: "I have but a few moments to stay in this world. I have found it a wicked world— a very wicked world indeed!" The other two malefactors declined to address the populace, and they were immediately launched into eternity.

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1763

74: Daniel Blake

Executed for the Murder of John Murcott, Butler to Lord Dacre, 28th of February, 1763

BLAKE was the son of a butcher at Bunwell, in Norfolk, who brought the youth up to his own business. When he was about twenty years old he became dissatisfied with his trade and travelled to London, with an intention of hiring himself as a gentleman's servant; and he had been but a short time in the metropolis when he was engaged in the service of Lord Dacre.

Having contracted an acquaintance with some women of abandoned character, Blake resolved to support the expenses subsequent thereon by robbing his fellow-servants. He had been in the service of Lord Dacre about ten weeks when he determined to carry his iniquitous plan into execution; and going into the room of Mr Murcott, his lordship's butler, he repeatedly struck him with great violence on the head with a poker, and then, taking a knife from his pocket, cut his throat almost from ear to ear.

After the barbarous murder of Mr Murcott, Blake took twenty guineas from the breeches pocket of the deceased and then returned to his bed. He rose about seven and went about his usual business and in about an hour he was desired to call Mr Murcott; on which he said he had already called him two or three times, but had not been able to make him answer.

Lord Dacre's bell ringing about nine, the porter went into the chamber of the deceased and repeatedly called him. He then approached the bed and shook Mr Murcott, and, finding him still silent and motionless, exclaimed: "God bless me, I believe he is dead!" He then turned down the bedclothes, which the murderer had thrown over Mr Murcott's face, and, perceiving them bloody, he quitted the room in great terror and communicated his discovery to the housekeeper and Lady Dacre's waiting-maid, who, going into the room, turned the clothes a little farther down and observed a knife, which they supposed to have fallen from the hand of the deceased, and on attempting to move the body the head inclined backwards and gave the wound a most shocking appearance.

Upon the rest of the servants being informed of Mr Murcott's unhappy death, Blake shed tears in great abundance, wrung his hands, and appeared to be affected in so extravagant a degree that he was urged to moderate his affliction, lest the nobleman and his lady should be alarmed. Mr Murcott's death being communicated to Lord Dacre, he sent for Marsden, clerk to Sir John Fielding, and kept him in the house three days, with the view of discovering the perpetrator of the horrid fact. During the time that Blake had been in the service of Lord Dacre he was known to have been in very indigent circumstances, but on the day after the murder he was observed to discharge several small debts; and hence arose a suspicion of his guilt.

All the servants in the family being strictly examined, in the presence of Lord Dacre, the porter declared that he firmly believed that the knife found in the bed belonged to Blake. Being taken into custody, and conducted to Sir John Fielding's, he voluntarily acknowledged himself guilty of the horrid fact, and was committed to Newgate, in order for trial. At the ensuing sessions at the Old Bailey he was put on his trial; and, his own confession being corroborated by very strong circumstantial evidence, he was found guilty, and sentenced to be executed.

While he was in Newgate he proved that he had but very imperfect ideas of his duty towards the Almighty, and confessed that he had not read a chapter in the Bible, or attended to any other religious book, since leaving school. While he was under sentence of death his behaviour was decent and penitential, and the day before his execution he said his mind was perfectly calm.

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75: William Harrow

The Flying Highwayman, executed at Hertford, 28th of March, 1763

THIS malefactor may be said to have galloped to his fate over the beaten road. He commenced his career in idleness, the parent vice; then he became dexterous at throwing at cocks and cock-fighting. These cruel and infamous acquirements led to robberies, adultery, and every other deadly sin. Such is the general course of highwaymen, and their goal— the gallows.

He had likewise a propensity to poaching. The gamekeeper of a gentleman near Hatfield having detected him in a fact of this kind, Harrow threatened his destruction; the consequence of which was that he was lodged in Hertford Jail; but before the time of holding the Quarter Sessions he broke out, and made his escape. Thereupon a reward of fifty pounds was offered for taking him into custody. Made desperate by this circumstance, he took to robbing on the highway, and the depredations he made were very numerous. He obtained the name of the "Flying Highwayman," by his horse's leaping the several turnpikes, so that he constantly escaped detection. His career in villainy was, however, happily but short. He laid a scheme for committing a burglary and robbery, for which he and two of his associates forfeited their lives. In company with Thomas Jones, a noted travelling rat-catcher, William Bosford, and another desperate villain, he went to the house of an old farmer, named Thomas Glasscock, who had, by a very extraordinary degree of parsimony, accumulated a very considerable sum, of which these abandoned men determined to rob him, under the pretence of being peace officers who had come to apprehend some deserters. The old gentleman refused them admittance; on which they forced their way through the window and, binding Mr Glasscock and his housekeeper, searched the house, and found a tea-chest which contained three hundred pounds, which they seized and departed.

Having divided the booty, they separated; and Harrow, taking a girl with him as a companion, travelled into Gloucestershire, and put up at an ale-house in a small village, and, assuming the character of a sailor who had brought home prize-money to a considerable amount, he continued there for two months without any suspicion arising. At length a quarrel happened between some of the customers of the house and Harrow, when a scuffle ensued, and, a pistol in one of Harrow's pockets going off, a suspicion arose that he was a highwayman, on which he was carried before a magistrate for examination.

Nothing like proof arising to incriminate him, he was dismissed; but thinking it not prudent to remain any longer he set out with his girl, but did not tell anyone the road that he intended to travel. Very near to the time that he departed, one of the magistrates of Gloucestershire received a letter from Sir John Fielding, requesting that he would order a search for one William Harrow, who stood charged with having committed a variety of robberies in the neighbourhood of St Albans. Thereupon the magistrates sent some persons in pursuit of him, and, having taken him into custody, he was conducted to prison at Gloucester. By a writ of habeas corpus he was removed to Hertford, where he lay till the assizes, when he was indicted for robbing Mr Glasscock, and being convicted on the clearest evidence was sentenced to die.

A number of clergymen visited him after conviction, and laboured to convince him of the necessity of making an immediate preparation for eternity. He was likewise visited by his mother, who burst into tears at the sight of her wretched son.

On the night before his execution he sawed off his irons, with an intent to make his escape, but he had not quite time enough to effect his purpose. When the jailer came in the morning, he said he would have saved the hangman his trouble if he had not come so soon, and threw at him the irons, which he had by this time got from his legs. Before he was put in the cart a sermon was preached on the occasion of his fatal exit.

Immense numbers of people attended at the place of execution, to see the last of a man who had made himself dreaded through the country by the enormity of his conduct.

Harrow, Jones, and Bosford, were executed at Hertford, March the 28th, 1773, along with John Wright, for a highway robbery on the Buntingfield road.

The unfortunate Mr. Glasscock seems to have been a devoted prey to robbers. On the 7th of September, 1764, he was attacked in his own fields by a daring villain, at noon-time of day, who obliged him to go to his house, and deliver his money. On entering, the robber shut the door, knocked the old man down, and carried off everything valuable that was left by Harrow and his gang, with which he escaped.

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76: Ann Beddingfield and Richard Ringe

The Woman burned for the Murder of her Husband, and the Man hanged for being her Accomplice, near Ipswich, 8th of April, 1763

JOHN BEDDINGFIELD, the husband of the murderess, was the son of respectable parents, at Sternfield, in Suffolk, and having married when he was about twenty-four years of age, the young couple were placed in a good farm, which was carefully attended by Beddingfield, who bore the character of a man of industry and integrity. They had two children.

Richard Ringe, a youth of nineteen, was engaged in the service of Mr Beddingfield; nor had he been long in the house before his mistress became so enamoured of him that her husband was the object of her contempt. Her behaviour to Ringe was such that he could not long doubt of her favourable inclinations; nor had he virtue to resist the temptation.

At length Mrs Beddingfield, having formed the horrid design of destroying her husband, communicated her intention to Ringe, who hesitated on the dreadful proposal, nor did he consent till she had promised that he should share her fortune as the reward of the deed.

Mrs Beddingfield, blinded by her passion, was now so much off her guard as to say very indiscreet things to her servants, which led them to presume she had determined on the most deliberate wickedness; of which the following is given as one instance. As she was dressing herself one morning she said to her maid-servant: "Help me to put on my ear-rings; but I shall not wear them much longer, for I shall have new black ones. It will not be long before somebody in the house dies, and I believe it will be your master."

Extravagant as this declaration was, the behaviour of Ringe was not at all more prudent. He purchased some poison, and told one of the servant-maids that he would be her constant friend if she would mix it with some rum-and-milk that her master drank in the morning. But the girl declined having any concern in so horrid a transaction; nor did she take any notice of the proposal that had been made till after the commission of the murder.

Mr Beddingfield happening to be indisposed, it was recommended to him to take a vomit, and the water which the servant-maid brought him to drink proving to be too hot, Ringe was directed to bring some cold water to mix with it, and he took this opportunity of putting arsenic into the water; but Beddingfield, observing a white sediment in the basin, would not drink, though no suspicion of the liquor being poisoned had occurred to him.

Henceforward the intentional murderers resolved not to think of having recourse to poison, but devised another scheme of dispatching the unfortunate object of their vengeance. Mr Beddingfield having been selling some cattle to another farmer, they drank a sociable glass together, but not to such a degree as to occasion intoxication. When Mr Beddingfield came home he found that his wife was in bed with one of the maid-servants, on which he desired her to come to his chamber; but this she refused, and mutual recriminations passed between them. It had been determined by Ringe to commit the murder on that night, while his master was asleep; whereupon, when he knew he was in bed, he quitted his own room, passed through that in which his mistress slept, and went to the bedchamber of his master. Ringe, observing that Mr Beddingfield was asleep, threw a cord round his neck to strangle him; but, being hurt by the weight of Ringe lying across him, he struggled, so that they both fell off the bed together. However, the horrid deed of murder was soon perpetrated.

Mrs Beddingfield, being asleep in the next room, was awakened by the noise, and in her fright awakened the servant. At this instant Ringe entered the room and said: "I have done for him."

To which the wife answered: "Then I am easy."

The girl was greatly alarmed, and cried out: "Master!"— supposing Mr Beddingfield was present, for there was no light in the room; but Mrs Beddingfield commanded her to be silent.

Ringe asked the mistress if any one was acquainted with what had passed besides her and the maid; on which the girl asked, "How came you here, Richard?"

The villain, terrified by his guilt, replied, "I was forced to it." He now went to his own room, and laid down; and the mistress and maid getting up, the latter was charged not to utter a syllable of what had passed.

Mrs Beddingfield now directed the girl to call Ringe, who seemed offended at being disturbed; but, when he had struck a light, his mistress told him to go into his master's room, for she was afraid that he was indisposed. Ringe obeyed; but, on his return, said, with an air of surprize, that his master was dead.

By this time another maid-servant was got up, and the girls, going to their master's room, found the deceased lying on his face, and observed that part of his shirt-collar was torn off, and that his neck was black and swelled.

A messenger was instantly dispatched to Mr Beddingfield's parents, who proposed to send for a surgeon; but the wife insisted that it was unnecessary to send for a doctor, as her husband was already dead. On the following day the coroner's jury took an inquisition into the cause of his death; but so superficial was the inquiry that it lasted only a few minutes, and their determination was that he died a natural death.

The guilty commerce between the murderers now became still more evident than before; but so fickle was Mrs Beddingfield's disposition that in a few weeks she began to despise the man whom she had excited to the murder of her husband. The servant-maid now resolved to discover the fact, but postponed the doing so till she had received the wages for her quarter's service. When her mistress had paid her, she went to her parents and discovered all she knew of the matter; on which a warrant was issued for apprehending the murderers. They had an item of what was going forward, and therefore attempted to bribe the girl's mother to secrecy; but she rejected their offers; on which Mrs Beddingfield made her escape, but was apprehended at the end of two days. Ringe, however, seemed to disdain to consult his own safety, but remained in the house; and, after he was committed to prison, he confessed that he had deemed himself a dead man from the time of his perpetrating the murder.

At the Lent Assizes in 1763 the prisoners were brought to trial, when the surgeon and coroner were examined as to what fell within their knowledge. The former confessed that he saw marks of violence on the body; and being asked how he could depose  before the coroner that Mr Beddingfield had died a natural death, he replied that he "did not think much about it." A strange, and almost unaccountable declaration!

The preceding part of this narrative will lead the reader to judge of the rest of the evidence that was given on the trial; and the prisoners, having nothing to allege in extenuation of their crime, were capitally convicted and sentenced to death.

After conviction, as well as before, Ringe freely confessed his guilt; but expressed the utmost anxiety at the thought of being dissected. Mrs Beddingfield refused to make any confession till the day before her death.

They were placed on one sledge on the morning of their execution, and conveyed to a place near Ipswich, called Rushmore, where Ringe made a pathetic address to the surrounding multitude, advising young people to be warned, by his fate, to avoid the delusions of wicked women, and to consider chastity as a virtue.

After the fervent exercise of devotion he was turned off, while the body of Mrs Beddingfield, who had been first strangled at a stake, was burning to ashes, agreeable to the practice respecting women who are convicted of the murder of their husbands.

These malefactors suffered at Rushmore on the 8th of April, 1763.

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77: John Rice

A City Stockbroker, executed at Tyburn, 4th of May, 1763, for Forgery

THOUGH extravagance brought this man to an untimely end, and though the amount of the forgery for which he suffered was immense, few criminals have excited more pity.

The fatal consequences of living beyond our income, are so strongly marked in the life of Mr. Rice, that it must surely serve as a caution to every one. Until the discovery of this forgery, his character was unimpeached; and his name was good to any reasonable amount.

He was the son of Mr. Rice, of Spital-square, a considerable stock-broker, whose behaviour had rendered him esteemed by all who knew him, and the profits of whose profession enabled him to support his family in a style of great gentility.

Unhappily for himself, he lived in too gay a manner, having a country house at Finchley, an elegant town house in John Street, near Gray's Inn, and keeping a coach, chaise, chariot, and several livery-servants: yet still it is probable that he might have supported his credit, but that, flushed with success, he wished to grow still richer than he was, which led him on to that species of gaming called speculating in the stocks, by which he suffered so greatly at different times that he was said to be a loser to the amount of sixty thousand pounds.

In the vain hope of recovering his circumstances he was tempted to the commission of forgery. Among others of his clients was Mrs Ann Pierce, a Yorkshire lady, who had a very considerable property in South Sea stock; and, in her name, Rice was rash enough to forge letters of attorney, by which he received upwards of nineteen thousand, nine hundred pounds.

Mrs Pierce having occasion to come to town soon after these transactions, Rice, hearing of the intended journey, thought it necessary to consult his safety in flight. Thereupon he took a post- chaise for Dover, and embarked in the packet-boat for Calais, where he soon landed.

Thence he travelled to Cambrai, a city in French Flanders, and the seat of an archbishop, which he had been taught to consider as a privileged place, where he could remain unmolested. It appears, however, that this was not the case, for the Archbishop of Cambrai, though a Prince of the Empire, was subject to the Parliament of Tournai, and had therefore no power to protect a criminal fugitive.

Whether Mrs Rice knew of her husband's design previous to his departure, or by letter from him, is uncertain, but she determined to follow him, and taking a post-chaise reached Harwich, where she embarked in the packet for Holland, designing to travel thence to Cambrai, But the wind proving contrary, the vessel was obliged to put back to Harwich, whence Mrs Rice returned to London, proposing to re-embark on a future occasion.

It is probable that Mrs Rice now apprehended herself in security; but she had no sooner arrived in London than she was taken into custody, and, being carried before the Lord Mayor, bank-notes to the amount of four thousand, seven hundred pounds were found sewn up in her stays.

On her examination she acknowledged whither her husband had retired; and the crime with which he was charged being thought to affect public credit, our Ministry dispatched a messenger to the English ambassador at Paris, desiring he would use his interest with the people in power in France to have the culprit delivered up to the justice of the laws of his native country.

This requisition was instantly complied with; and orders being sent to Cambrai to secure Mr Rice, notice was transmitted to London that he was in custody; on which one of the clerks of the bank and another of the South Sea House went over with one of the King's Messengers, to bring the unhappy man to England.

On their arrival at the prison of Cambrai they found the presumed culprit in a state of great dejection. They were proceeding to handcuff him, but he fell on his knees and, in tears, implored that they would dispense with this disgraceful circumstance. They generously complied; and Rice was placed in one post-chaise, with the Messenger, the gentlemen preceding them in another.

Having embarked for Dover, they landed, and proceeded immediately towards London. The newspapers having mentioned what had happened respecting Mr Rice, the public curiosity was so much excited that crowds of people attended at every place where they stopped to take a view of the unfortunate prisoner.

On his arrival in London he was carried before the Lord Mayor, who, remarking the utmost candour, even to generosity, in his answers to the questions that were proposed to him, committed him to the Poultry Compter instead of sending him to Newgate, presuming that his situation might be rendered less disagreeable in the former prison than in the latter.

On his way from the compter to the Old Bailey he fainted several times, and when brought to the bar he sank down, without any signs of life; and it was a considerable time before he could be recovered. He was brought to the inner bar, and being languid, pale and trembling was indulged with a chair; but even then it was not without assistance that he was kept up while arraigned. He forged four letters of attorney, but was tried on only one, empowering, him to sell five thousand pounds, and for fraudulently selling five hundred pounds, part of that sum, to Thomas Brooksbank, His general appearance and extreme distress touched all present on the awful occasion with compassion.

The praticulars of his trial consist chiefly of official proof of the forgery; in short, the unhappy man had himself acknowledged the forgery before the lord-mayor. When he heard the fatal verdict pronounced, he looked up to lord Mansfield, who presided, with a countenance which bespoke the bitterness of his heart, and with eyes overflowing with tears, implored the intercession of the court with his majesty to spare his life. In answer to this lord Mansfield advised him not to flatter himself with hope of that mercy which there was no probability of being extended to. him. His lordship farther said,

"Considering your crime, and its consequences, in a nation where there is so much paper credit, I must indeed tell you, I think myself bound in duty and conscience to acquaint his majesty that you are no object of his mercy." His lordship farther observed, "that all public companies should take warning, by the present instance, carefully to examine all letters of attorney, for the more effectual prevention of fraud."

After conviction as well as before, Mr. Rice gave every sign of the most sincere contrition. While under sentence of death, he made the most serious preparation for the important change that awaited him. He expected the warrant for his execution some days before it arrived, and when it came the fatal news was concealed from him till his wife, who was then present, had retired.

It is recorded, to the credit of Mr. Rice, that before he quitted the kingdom, he sent for his tradesmen's bills, and discharged all those that were delivered.

Mr. Rice's friends petitioned that he might be allowed a coach to the place of execution; but this favour was denied, and he was placed in a cart, and attended by a faithful friend, who was too generous to leave him till the last fatal moment.

After conviction, as well as before, Mr Rice gave every sign of the most sincere contrition. At Tyburn, the place of execution, he attended alone to prayers, where he expressed himself with ardour and fervency, suffering the pains of death with a placid hope of a happy immortality; and, perhaps, no mn ever expiated his crimes at the fatal tree, more universally lamented.

The mother of Mr Rice was living at the time his misfortunes commenced; and her friends, anxious to alleviate her distress, told her that her son was taken ill at Cambrai. They then added that his life was despaired of, and at length said that he was dead. The old lady lived at Stoke Newington; and when, on the day after execution, the criers of dying speeches made their perambulations, the inhabitants of Newington, with a generosity that will ever do them honour, gave the poor people money not to cry the speeches near the house.

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78: Paul Lewis

An Officer of the Royal Navy, who became a Highwayman, and was executed at Tyburn, 4th of May, 1763

PAUL LEWIS was born at Hurstmonceaux, in Sussex, and was the son of a worthy clergyman, who put him to a grammar school at a very early age. He had an ambition to become a fine gentleman. In his spirited attempts to attain that character he ran into debt with his tailor, to the amount of about one hundred and fifty pounds, which obliged him to run away and go to sea.

There he had for some time behaved so well that he was made first a cadet, then a midshipman, and finally, a lieutenant in the Royal Navy.

He was at the taking of Senegal, the burning of the ships in Cancale Bay, the reduction of Cherbourg, the battle of St Cas, the siege of Guadeloupe, and the engagement under Sir Edward Hawke, in all which services he behaved with courage and activity.

He had vices, however, not common to bravery, and very different from the irregular sallies of a high-spirited and strong passion. Paul was not only wicked but base, not only a robber but a scoundrel; of which he gave proofs while on board the fleet, particularly by collecting three guineas apiece from many of his brother officers, to lay in stores for a West India voyage, and then running away with the collection from the ship and commencing as highwayman.

Having thus begun his iniquitous course of life, he went to a public-house in Southwark, stayed a great part of the day, and supped; and then, going to an inn, hired a horse, rode out between Newington Butts and Vauxhall, and stopped a gentleman and his son in a post-chaise and robbed them, returning to the public-house in Southwark. Being apprehended for this offence, he was brought to trial at Kingston, when, the people of the public-house swearing that he had not been absent from noon till midnight more than half- an-hour, he was acquitted.

After this he committed a variety of robberies. An accomplice and he having robbed a gentleman and lady in a post- chaise, near Paddington, the robbers rode some miles together and then agreed to part, to commit their depredations separately. Not long had they parted when Lewis stopped a gentleman, named Brown, and demanded his money. Mr Brown resisted the highwayman with such determined resolution that Lewis fired at him, but, happily, without effect.

At this juncture Mr Brown's horse took fright and threw him; but being little injured he soon recovered, and saw Lewis in the custody of Mr Pope, a constable, who had got him down and was kneeling on his breast— a circumstance that arose from the following accident. Mr Pope, riding on the same road, met a gentleman and lady who told him they had been robbed by two highwaymen, and desired him to be cautious; but this induced him to ride on the faster, and he arrived at the critical spot a short time after the robbery was committed, and seized Lewis.

Pope desired Mr Brown to ride after the other highwayman who had been on the road, but at this instant Lewis rose and, presenting a pistol, swore he would shoot Pope. The latter, however, was in no degree intimidated, but, knocking the pistol out of his hand, threw him down and secured him. The highwayman was conveyed to New Prison, where, having lain one night, he was taken before a magistrate, who committed him to Newgate. At an ensuing sessions at the Old Bailey he was brought to trial, and received sentence of death.

Such was the baseness and unfeeling profligacy of this wretch that when his almost heart-broken father visited him for the last time, in Newgate, and put twelve guineas into his hands, to defray his expenses, he slipped one of the pieces of gold into the  cuff of his sleeve, by a dexterous sleight, and then opening his hand showed the venerable and reverend old man that there were but eleven, upon which he took from his pocket another and gave it him, to make up the number he intended.

Arrived at Tyburn, he looked round him with a face of inexpressible anguish, and then addressed himself to the multitude in the following terms— "This dreadful sight will not, I believe, invite any of you to come here, by following my example; but rather to be warned by me. I am but twenty-three years of age, a clergyman's son, bred up among gentlemen— this wounds me the deeper; for to whom much is given, of them more is required."

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79: Hannah Dagoe

Sentenced to Death for robbing a Poor Woman. She struggled violently with the Executioner on the Scaffold, 4th Of May, 1763

WE have adduced many instances of the hardness of heart, and contempt of the commandments of God, in men who have undergone the last sentence of the law; but we are of opinion that in this female will be found a more relentless heart, in her last moments, than any criminal whom we have yet recorded.

Hannah Dagoe was born in Ireland, and was of that numerous class of women who ply at Covent Garden Market as basket-women, to the excusion of poor Englishwomen. In the pursuit of her vocation she became acquainted with a poor and industrious woman of the name of Eleanor Hussey, who lived by herself in a small apartment, in which was some creditable household furniture, the remains of the worldly goods of her deceased husband. Seizing an opportunity, when the owner was from home, this daring woman broke into Hussey's room and stripped it of every article which it contained.

For this burglary and robbery she was brought to trial at the Old Bailey, found guilty, and sentenced to death.

She was a strong, masculine woman, the terror of her fellow-prisoners, and actually stabbed one of the men who had given evidence against her; but the wound happened not to prove dangerous.

On the road to Tyburn she showed little concern at her miserable state, and paid no attention to the exhortations of the Romish priest who attended her. When the cart, in which she was bound, was drawn under the gallows, she got her hands and arms loose, seized the executioner, struggled with him, and gave him so violent a blow on the breast that she nearly knocked him down. She dared him to hang her; and in order to revenge herself upon him, and cheat him of his dues, she took off her hat, cloak and other parts of her dress, and disposed of them among the crowd. After much resistance he got the rope about her neck, which she had no sooner found accomplished than, pulling out a hand kerchief, she bound it round her head and over her face, and threw herself out of the cart, before the signal was given, with such violence that she broke her neck and died instantly.

This extraordinary and unprecedented scene occurred on the 4th of May, 1763.

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1764

80: Thomas Watkins

Executed in the Market-Place of Windsor, 7th of March, 1764, for Murder

THIS hardened villain was nearly sixty years of age when he committed, with aggravated cruelty, the foul crime for which he most justly underwent the sentence of the law.

Two maiden ladies of fortune, of the name of Hammersley, resided near Windsor. On the night of the 4th of February some ruffians broke into their house with such caution that they took the ladies' pockets from under their pillows while the owners were asleep. A maid-servant, who it was supposed had been alarmed, was murdered by them before they quitted the house.

The struggles of the poor woman awoke the ladies. They called, but getting no answer they got up, and procured a light, and, to their horror, found the dead body of their faithful servant, with a handkerchief crammed into her mouth, a cord tightly twisted round her neck, and her head forced between her legs, and tied to the foot of the bedstead.

A reward of fifty pounds being offered for the apprehension and conviction of the murderer, Thomas Watkins, by trade a gardener, was taken up on suspicion, and committed to Reading Jail.

His trial occupied eight hours, during which the hardened wretch behaved with great resolution, asked the witness many questions, and asserted his innocence in the strongest terms. Though no absolute proof could be adduced of his having committed the murder, a great number of concurring circumstances rendered his guilt clear to the jury, who, with little deliberation, found him guilty, and he received sentence of death.

He was carried in a post-chaise from Reading to Windsor, where the murder was committed, accompanied by the executioner, the under-sheriff and his javelin-men. His body was afterwards hung in chains.

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81: William Corbett

An American, executed at Tyburn, 4th of April, 1764, for the Murder of his Landlord and his Family

THIS man of blood was born in Portsmouth, in New Hampshire, and bred a shipwright. His mother dying when he was very young, he ran away to Connecticut, in New England, where he entered on board a sloop, and made two or three voyages; but not living so well as he expected on board the ship, he deserted. When he came to Boston he contracted himself with a gentleman who dealt in lumber, which he sent in vessels to the West Indies; and Corbett made several voyages in his service, but was so addicted to drinking and theft that he received frequent correction for those vices.

At length he sailed to Newfoundland with one Captain Warton, and as he was a good ship-carpenter he might have been happy in his situation, but his irregularities obliged the Captain to dismiss him. Then he procured employment in repairing fishing-boats and other craft; but, spending his earnings in great extravagance, he involved himself in debt, which obliged him to embark on board a ship for Barbados, to avoid prison.

Then he sailed to several parts of North America, and at length settled at Halifax, in Nova Scotia; after which he sailed to England, and associated with the worst of company in Wapping and Rotherhithe, which tended still further to debauch a mind already much depraved.

A few weeks before Corbett committed the crime for which he suffered he took lodgings at the house of Mr Knight, a publican at Rotherhithe. He had not been long in the family, which consisted only of the man, his wife and the maid-servant, before he resolved on the murder of them all; but the maid-servant escaped his fury.

At the Surrey Assizes in 1764 William Corbett was indicted for the murder of Henry Knight and Anne, his wife, by cutting their throats; and was again indicted, on the coroner's inquest, for the said murder; and a third time, for robbing the house. He was found guilty on his own confession and a variety of collateral evidence.

After having committed the murder he rifled the house of money, and even put on some of Mr Knight's linen and other clothes. He then went to Billingsgate, where he was apprehended. After conviction he acknowledged that he endeavoured to set fire to Mr Knight's house.

On the day of execution he was conveyed to Kennington Common, where he again acknowledged his guilt, and, having spent about a quarter of an hour in devotion, underwent the sentence of the law, and was hung in chains on the road between Rotherhithe and Deptford.

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82: Major Colin Campbell

Cashiered for the murder of Captain M'Kaarg, 1764

COLIN CAMPBELL was major-commandant of the hundredth regiment of foot when that corps was quartered in the island of Jersey, from whence it embarked for Marttinique. Among the officers in this regiment was Captain M'Kaarg, who had so far embezzled the money he received to pay his company, that the men were starving in the streets of St. Hillary, in Jersey, and was himself so greatly involved in debt, that he took methods to elude the payment of what he owed so unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, that the secretary at war acquainted Major Campbell, by letter, that, if he did not find means to satisfy his creditors, he should be obliged to lay his case before his majesty.

Upon receipt of this letter the major, with the advice of the commander-in-chief at Jersey, who had before sent to inform him that M'Kaarg's men were begging in the streets, took the payment of his company out of his hands.

This necessary step of his commander M'Kaarg, in his mind, resented, but he apparently lived with him upon amicable terms; and, when the troops were embarking at Jersey, his necessities became so pressing, that he could not proceed on his voyage without pecuniary assistance, which in vain he endeavoured to obtain from the paymaster and several other officers. He then applied to Major Campbell; and through him alone he was enabled to head his company on board the transports, without which he must have staid behind.

Generous actions we every day see ill requited in civil society. Do a good turn, and, unless you follow it up by acceding to extravagant demands, you will too often he treated with ingratitude. Resentment follows, and the donor is often impelled to violence upon the ingrate.

M'Kaarg aspersed the character of his benefactor; and the major resorted to unjustifiable resentment. He, however, first sent the following letter to the man  whom he was assured had treated him with dishonour and ingratitude:--

'Sir,

'I am this moment informed that on some occasions you have taken liberties with my character unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. I desire an immediate and explicit answer, per bearer; and am, till then,

'Your humble servant,

'C. CAMPBELL.'

To this letter he received the following answer--

'Sir,

'I have just now received yours, and have taken no liberties with your character but what I am able to answer for.

'Your's, &c.

'J. M'KAARG'

The moment the major received this answer he went, with a bayonet by his side, and a drawn sword in his hand, to Captain M'Kaarg's tent; and his rashness was the cause of his disgrace. Hence let officers learn to moderate their passions, and to seek lawful reparation for injuries.

At the court-martial held on Major Campbell it was proved that, thus armed, he assailed the tent of Captain M'Kaarg, which he entered, and said to him, 'You have aspersed my character― turn out.' The captain replied that 'he had no small sword.' Then the major ordered him to turn out as he was: a struggling then ensued, and they came out of the tent. Again they struggled, and both fell to the ground; in which M'Kaarg was run through the body. When both were down Major Campbell said, 'Beg your life, or you are a dead man;' to which the captain replied I do beg my life:' and then he exclaimed 'I am a dead man!'― The major then got up, and ordered a surgeon to be sent for; but the wound proved mortal, and the captain soon expired.

This was the substance of the charge against Major Campbell. In his defence he attempted to prove that Captain M'Kaarg was armed, which the Court gave no credit to, pronouncing the following curious sentence:―

"The Court, on due consideration of the whole matter before them, are of opinion that Major Colin Campbell is guilty of the crime laid to his charge; but there not being a majority of voices sufficient to punish with death as required by the articles of war, the Court doth adjudge the said major-commandant Colin Campbell to be cashiered for the same; and it is the further opinion of the Court he is incapable of serving his majesty in any military employment whatever."

We have called this a curious sentence, because, if there was not a majority of the Court sufficient to punish with death, how could there be a majority sufficient to find him guilty of a crime by which he became liable to suffer death? The law requires, in capital cases, that three-fourths of the members of a court-martial must agree in opinion to find the party guilty. This Court declares that it did find him guilty, but could not punish him equal to his offence. If three-fourths had found him guilty, they would surely have been sufficient to punish adequately to the guilt found; but, as three-fourths did not find him capitally guilty, the Court could not be competent to inflict any kind of punishment. On the contrary, upon the very face of their opinion and sentence, however guilty, in fact, ha might have been, he was entitled to an acquittal in point of law.

Major Campbell taking offence at the conduct, during this trial, of General Monkton, under whom the island of Martinique had been captured, brought the following charge against that gallant general, before a court-martial at the horse Guards, on the 14th of April, 1764:--

'For many wrongs and deliberate acts of oppression towards the said Cohn Campbell, when under his command, in the island of Martinique, in the year 1762, particularly by several acts of affront and indignity, both in the person of the said Colin Campbell, and the corps then under his command; and also, whilst a trial was pending on a charge exhibited against the said Colin Campbell before a general court martial, by discouraging his friends, intimidating his witnesses, and depriving him of the lawful means of defence, as well as by suppressing the proceedings of the said general court-martial from the Earl of Albemarle, lieutenant-general of his majesty's forces, under a pretence of the said proceedings having been transmitted to Great Britain, when, in truth, they were still in his own custody; and, furthermore, by a cruel confinement of the said Colin Campbell, who was then ill, in a noisome unhealthy prison, even though it was at that time known to the said Major-general Monkton that the sentence against the said Colin Campbell was not capital.'

The opinion of the Court on the trial of this victorious general was pronounced by the president in these words: 'The Court is of opinion that the charge and complaint of Colin Campbell, Esq. against Major-general Robert Monkton is altogether unsupported by evidence, and, in some points, extremely contradicted by the complainant's own witnesses, and doth hereby most honourably acquit the said Major-general Robert Monkton of the same, and every part thereof; and the Court is further of opinion that the said charge and complaint is groundless, malicious, and scandalous, in the highest degree; and tending not only to injure the said major-general's character, but to hurt the service in general, as it must greatly affect every officer, who may have the honour of commanding a body of his majesty's troops, when he reflects that his character and reputation are liable to he thus publicly attacked by a person who has been dismissed his majesty's service with ignominy.'

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1765

83: John Wesket and John Cooper

The Former was executed at Tyburn, 9th of January, 1765, for robbing his Master, the Earl of Harrington; and the Latter transported for Fourteen Years for receiving Stolen Goods

JOHN WESKET had been for many years a gentleman's servant, and had pilfered from several of his employers. In company with one Bradley he robbed the house of a gentleman in Hatton Garden, and also the chambers of Mr Montague, a Master in Chancery.

Wesket was engaged as a porter to Lord Harrington in the year 1762, but continued his acquaintance with Bradley, and was likewise intimate with Cooper, who kept a chandler's shop in Little Turnstile, at whose house Bradley lodged; and both these men visited Wesket at his new place.

Wesket having formed a plan for robbing his noble master imparted his design to the other two. He and Bradley agreed to commit the robbery on the following Saturday night, when Lord and Lady Harrington were going to the opera, which would give Wesket an opportunity of concealing his accomplice in the house. Wesket secreted Bradley in his chamber, and told him to remain there till about midnight, when he would come to him.

Lord Harrington and his lady came from the opera about twelve at night, and less than two hours afterwards, when all the family were quiet, Wesket went to his accomplice and took him into the kitchen, where an impression from Bradley's dirty shoes was made on the dresser, and they then made a similar impression in the area, first leaving the kitchen window open, as an intimation that the robber had gone off that way.

They now went into the study, where they lighted a candle; and Wesket having forced open the bureau, by means of a gimlet and chisel, they took out notes, jewels and money, to the amount of two thousand pounds, all which Wesket assigned to the care of Bradley, bidding him carry the booty to Cooper, and then let him out at the street door and went to bed.

When Lord Harrington went into his study he discovered the depredation that had been made on his property, whereupon a strict search was made through the house, to find which way the thief had escaped; and then it was that the impression of Bradley's shoes was noticed on the dresser and in the area. But, as it was observed that no footsteps appeared except in the kitchen and area, it was presumed that some person within the house had committed the robbery.

The chisel, gimlet and tinder-box were found by the steward, who interrogated Wesket respecting the robbery. Some suspicion arising that he had a concern in it, Lord Harrington sent for a magistrate, who questioned all the servants in the strictest manner; and Wesket, in whose pocket ten guineas were found, was turned away, on the presumption of his guilt, as nothing arose that could justify the magistrate in committing him to prison.

He was no sooner dismissed than he went into one of the boxes at Covent Garden Theatre, when Bradley, happening to see him from the gallery, waited for him at the playhouse door, after the entertainment was over. Wesket having informed his companion of what had passed since the robbery, Bradley told him what booty had been obtained, and desired him to come to Cooper's and inspect it.

They accordingly met on the following day, when Bradley, representing the danger of trying to put off the notes in London, proposed to attempt doing it at Chester Fair. This being agreed to, Bradley went to the fair, where he purchased a quantity of linen, for which he paid the notes to the Irish dealers, and received the balance in cash. The Earl of Harrington having kept the number of one of the notes of which he had been robbed, it was carried to the bank, where the payment of it was stopped, and it was traced through the hands of many persons to those of Mr Smith, a Liverpool merchant, who said he took it of Mr Breath, a linen factor, at Newry, in Ireland. Mr Breath being written to, his answer was that he received it of a person at Chester Fair, who said his name was Walker, and was dressed like a gentleman, but had nothing in his behaviour that could warrant his assuming that title.

On this Lord Harrington's steward went to Chester to endeavour to learn where the supposed Walker had lodged during the fair; which he found to have been at the house of a shoemaker named Rippington. He learned further that Walker had set out for London in a post-chaise, and on his arrival in the metropolis had written a letter desiring that a pocket-book, which he had left behind him, might be sent to the St Clement's Coffee-House, in the Strand.

The steward received this letter, and brought it to London nd delivered it to Sir John Fielding, when it was discovered to be Bradley's writing. Thereupon the active magistrate above mentioned caused several persons to attend at the coffee-house; but no discovery arose from this diligence.

Bradley's person was immediately described in handbills, which were circulated through the kingdom, and a reward was offered for taking him. At this juncture a hackney-coachman declared in a public-house that in his hayloft was a large chest belonging to one Bradley, and that Cooper had delivered the chest to his care; but he knew not its contents. On this Cooper was sent for to Sir John Fielding's; and, strong suspicions of the guilt both of him and Wesket arising, they were committed to Newgate for trial.

In a few days Bradley was found, dressed in seaman's apparel, at a public-house in Wapping, and, being conducted to Bow Street, he made such a declaration respecting the robbery that Sir John Fielding thought proper to admit him an evidence against the other parties.

At the next sessions at the Old Bailey, Wesket and Cooper were brought to trial, when the former was capitally convicted for the burglary, and sentenced to die; and Cooper was sentenced to be transported for fourteen years, as the receiver of stolen effects.

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84: Barney Carrol and William King

Convicted under the Coventry Act for cutting and maiming, and executed at Tyburn, 31st of July, 1765

BY an Act of Parliament passed in the 22nd and 23rd of King Charles II. it was enacted that: "If any person, on purpose, and by malice aforethought, and by lying in wait, shall unlawfully cut or disable the tongue, put out an eye, slit the nose, cut off a nose or lip, or cut off or disable any limb or member of any subject, with intention in so doing to maim or disfigure him; the person so offending, his counsellors, aiders, abettors (knowing of, and privy to, the offence), shall be guilty of felony, without benefit of clergy."

This Act was called the Coventry Act, because it was made on Sir John Coventry's being assaulted in the street and having his nose slit.

Carrol and King had both been soldiers, and as such behaved unexceptionably, particularly at the siege of Havana, where Carrol was distinguished by his bravery; but on their return to England they determined to commence as robbers, and this on a plan attended with the most infernal cruelty.

They procured two boys, named Byfield and Matthews, who were to pick pockets, and if they were seized the men were to procure their release by cutting the parties who held them across their faces with a knife.

Carrol having sharpened his weapon of destruction, they all went out together on the night of the 17th of June, 1765, and, continuing their route from Covent Garden to the Strand, saw a gentleman, named Kirby, near Somerset House, who was walking very slow, on account of the heat of the weather, which made them think him a proper object of attack.

On this Carrol directed Byfield to pick the gentleman's pocket. Byfield had got his hand in the pocket, when Mr Kirby seized him and threatened to carry him before a magistrate, but only to terrify him from such practices for the future.

On this the other three villains followed Mr Kirby so closely that he suspected their connection; but he still held the boy, to frighten him the more, though he observed Carrol sometimes before and sometimes behind him. At length the villain came so near that the boy cried out, "Keep off; the gentleman will let me go!" when Carrol replied, "Damn him, but I will cut him!"

Mr Kirby now felt great pain, but had no idea that he had been wounded by any sharp instrument, apprehending that his pain proceeded only from a common blow. At length he found a defect in his sight, and presumed that dust had been thrown in his eyes; but on putting his hand to his face he found that it streamed with blood.

Going to the Crown and Anchor tavern, in the Strand, Mr Ingram, a surgeon of eminence, almost immediately attended him; but, though the utmost expedition was used in calling in the assistance of that gentleman, Mr Kirby had lost nearly two quarts of blood in the short interval. On examination it appeared that the wound had been given in a transverse direction, from the right eye to the left temple; that two large vessels were divided by it; that there was a cut across the nose, which left the bone visible; and that the eyeballs must have been divided by the slightest deviation from the stroke.

The abominable assassins were very soon apprehended, found guilty, and hanged, amid the execrations of an offended multitude.

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85: Patrick Ogilvie and Catharine Nairn

Convicted of Murder. Ogilvie hanged 13th November, 1765, but Nairn escaped from custody.

As the case of these malefactors made a great noise in the world at and after the commission of the crime, we shall be the more careful to give all the particulars of it.

At East Miln, in the county of Forfar, in Scotland, lived Mr. Thomas Ogilvie, a man of moderate fortune, whose life was of the domestic kind, with his mother, till he was about forty years of age, when he married Catharine, the beautiful daughter of Sir Thomas Nairn, of Dunsinan, on the 31st of January, 1765, the young lady being then about twenty-one years of age.

(It may be proper to observe that in Scotland women are sometimes called by their maiden names after marriage. Hence this unhappy woman is called Nairn instead of Ogilvie.)

Patrick Ogilvie, the brother of Thomas, having served as a lieutenant in the East Indies, returned to Scotland soon after the celebration of the nuptials, and went to congratulate his brother on the occasion.

From this visit arose all that scene of distress which gives rise to the following narrative; for Patrick having beheld his sister with eyes of unwarrantable love, they were seen within three weeks after the wedding, by the servants, walking in the fields with too great familiarity, and kissing each other with all the fondness of enraptured lovers.

Soon afterwards Anne Clarke, a kinswoman of Mr. Ogilvie, paying a visit in the family, remarked a great intimacy between the lovers, who frequently went to bed together without the precaution of shutting the chamber-door. Mrs. Clarke remarked on the scandalous impropriety of the lady's conduct; but, so far from blushing at it, she boasted of her love for her brother-in-law, with whom she said she would abscond, or otherwise give a dose to her husband, whom she detested.

Mr. Ogilvie the elder was of so pacific a disposition, that, though the criminal conversation became every day more conspicuous, he contented himself with representing to his brother how much he dishonoured the family by so sinful a practice; but he did not even forbid him the house.

At length he paid the lieutenant a sum of money bequeathed him by his father; and then Patrick departed, to take the diversions of the country: but he still corresponded with his sister-in-law; and they left letters for each other under a stone, and even occasionally met together in the fields.

When this was known, the injured husband, so far from resenting the conduct of his brother, wrote to him, expressing his inclination to bequeath him both his wife and the principal part of his estate, saying he would consult his own peace of mind in retirement: he even entreated him to return, adding 'My wife cannot be happy without you.'

Mrs. Nairn had, in the mean time, written to Patrick Ogilvie to send her some poison; and accordingly he sent her some white arsenic, under the name of salts,for her use.

Mrs. Clarke, above mentioned, no sooner heard that the packet was arrived, than she cautioned Mr. Ogilvie not to drink any thing given him by his wife, unless she first partook of it: but this precaution proved fruitless; for the unhappy man being ill one morning, his wife conveyed a quantity of the arsenic into a basin of tea which the maid-servant was carrying to him; and then the base woman waited at his bed-side while he drank it.

The most excruciating pains in his bowels, accompanied with a violent retching, was the consequence of this draught, and at nine at night Mr. Ogilvie expired in the greatest agony, after a marriage of little more than four months, during which he scarcely enjoyed one happy day.

His brother now gave directions respecting the funeral; but, in the mean time, Mrs. Clarke wrote to a younger brother of the deceased, who was then a student at Edinburgh, intimating her suspicions that Mr. Ogilvie had been poisoned. Hereupon the young gentleman set out for East Miln, being determined to inquire into the real state of the case. He took with him the under-sheriff of the county, and two surgeons. The under-sheriff recommended opening the body of the deceased; but, as he had been dead six days, and as it was now the middle of June, and the weather intensely hot, this was opposed by the surgeons, lest some noisome effluvia should arise from the body.

The presumed murderers were now taken into custody, and committed to the prison of Forfar, whence they were removed to Edinburgh, to take their trials in the High Court of Justiciary. Mrs. Clarke had concealed herself from the time that the murder was committed; but on the 3d of August, 1765, she went to Edinburgh, and surrendered her self to the lord-advocate, as the trials of the offenders were to commence on the Monday following. Here upon his lordship committed her, and two women-servants of the deceased, to the Castle, that there might be no obstruction to the course of public justice.

The prisoners being brought into court on the appointed day, a copy of their indictments, with a list of the jury and witnesses, was respectively delivered to them; and then the Court was adjourned to the 12th of the same month, at eight in the morning.

In the interim the counsel for the prisoners petitioned the Court that Anne Clarke might be removed from her usual place of confinement with the servant-maids, lest she should prevail on them to perjure themselves, to the prejudice of the prisoners.

The Court granted the prayer of this petition; and Mrs. Clarke was removed into another room: but Lord George Beauclerk, the then commander-in-chief of the forces in North Britain, caused her to be conveyed to her former place of confinement, on an information that the room in which the governor of the castle had placed her was not secure enough to prevent her escape.

Complaint of this procedure being made by the counsel for the prisoner, Lord George insisted that it was his duty to prevent the escape of the evidence, notwithstanding any order of Court.

The trial was at length proceeded upon on Monday, the 12th of August, and continued without inter mission till three o'clock on the Wednesday morning, when the jury retired, and at four in the afternoon of that day gave their verdict that the prisoners were both guilty.

The lord-advocate now demanded that judgment should be passed on them; but this was opposed by their counsel, who urged that there were several informalities in the trial, which would destroy the force of the verdict, as they were incompatible with the principles of the laws of Scotland.

On this a debate ensued, which continued near five hours, when the Lord Justice Clerk declared that, unless a special plea was stated in arrest of judgment, he would pronounce sentence against the prisoners.

Hereupon it was agreed that, on the following day, at eleven o'clock, the arguments in writing should be delivered into court; and, when that was done, a farther argument of six hours ensued thereon.

The counsel for the prisoners, having at length no other plea left to urge, hinted that Mrs. Nairn was with child, but did not pretend to say how far she might be advanced in her pregnancy.

On this sentence of death was passed against Patrick Ogilvie, to be executed on the 25th of September, in the Grass Market, Edinburgh; and Mrs. Nairn being remanded to prison, orders were given for a jury of matrons to be summoned on the following day, to inquire into her real situation.

The Court being once more assembled, the matrons were sworn, and retired; and, on their return, declared that they could not determine whether she was pregnant or not. On this the judgment against her was suspended till November; and the matrons were directed to visit her frequently in the interval.

The utmost interest of the relations of the convicts was now exerted to prevent the disgrace of a public execution, by procuring a reprieve for Mr. Ogilvie, who constantly asserted his innocence respecting the death of his brother.

Such diligence was used in this matter, that Counsellor M'Carty was heard in h is behalf before the king in council, where he contended for a right of appealing from the decision of the Court of Justiciary to the House of Lords.

The lord-advocate of Scotland, in reply hereto, insisted that the determination of the Court of Justiciary must be final, as it was a criminal court, in which the prisoner had been tried and convicted by a jury of his countrymen. He referred to the 19th article of the Act of Union, by which the Court of Justiciary was established.

The matter having been maturely considered, Mr. Ogilvie was left to suffer the sentence of the law.

The day before his death he was attended by two clergymen, and several of his friends, to whom he made a solemn avowal of his innocence of the facts alleged against him, and thought that his brother, who had undertaken the prosecution, had behaved in a manner undeservedly rigorous; yet he declared that he should die in perfect charity with all mankind.

At the place of execution he made an address to the populace, still asserting his innocence; and, as soon as he had concluded his devotions, he was turned off, amidst an immense concourse of people. No sooner was he turned off, than, the rope slipping, he dropped to the ground; but, being immediately tied up again, he said aloud, ' I adhere to my former confession, and die an innocent man.' This being said, he was executed, and his body delivered to a surgeon for dissection.

This unhappy man suffered in the Grass Market at Edinburgh on the 13th of November, 1765.

Mrs. Nairn having remained in custody till November, it then appeared that she was pregnant, on which she was respited till the time when she should be brought to bed, which was in the month of January, 1766.

After she had been delivered a month an order was issued for her execution; but, a short time before this event would have taken place, she escaped from the prison at nine at night, in the uniform of an officer; and an old footman, who had lived in her father's family, being waiting for her with a post-chaise, they set oft together.

Mrs. Nairn was not missed till near noon on the following day; and persons were sent express to reapprehend her; but she had arrived in London before them.

She now engaged the master of a Dutch fishing-smack to convey her to Holland for fifty guineas; but the wind blew with such violence that he was obliged to land her on the Kentish shore, whence she travelled to Dover, attended by her faithful servant. They immediately got on board the packet-boat bound for Calais; and no authentic accounts respecting her have transpired since that period.

Such were the different fates of two people, who, as far as we can judge of the affair, appear to have been involved in the same crime. The one dies, avowing his perfect innocence; the other escapes the immediate stroke of justice, which was suspended over her by the most slender thread.

Mysterious are the ways of Providence, and, in the language of Scripture, 'past finding out;' but it is for mortals humbly to submit to all its dispensations.

One pertinent remark will naturally arise on this occasion, viz, the absurdity of disproportionate marriages. Mr. Thomas Ogilvie was nearly twice the age of his wife, and had therefore much the less chance of happiness with her.

The bond of marriage will be frequently found to be a rope of sand where fortune is made the sole consideration on either side, and where unity of mind, and a tolerable equality in aged are not consulted.

We make this remark for the sake of those parents who may be tempted to compel their children to unequal marriages on the idea that riches alone can bestow that happiness which must generally, if not always, depend on consent of mind.

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86: Peter M'kinlie, George Gidley, Andrew Zekerman, and Richard St. Quintin

Executed for Piracy and Murder, December 19th, 1765

BEFORE we enter upon the bloody deeds of these inhuman monsters, we shall present our readers with an account of the cruel fortune of Captain Glass, who had fought against the enemies of his country; and, after undergoing from them a long series of cruel treatment, at length fell a victim to the abominable cruelty of the pirates above named.

This unfortunate man was the son of the Reverend Mr. John Glass, a minister of the Church of Scotland, who in several publications zealously opposed the practice of religion according to particular forms. The adherents to his religious opinions obtained the appellation of Glassites; and his doctrines being first propagated in England by Mr. Sandeman, his son-in-law, those who adopted them were called Sandemanians. At a very early period young Mr. Glass afforded strong proof of an acute and penetrating understanding, greatly beyond what could be reasonably expected at his tender years. After the fine genius of this promising youth had received some cultivation at a respectable grammar-school, he was removed to the University, where he attained to a great proficiency in the sciences. Having taken up the degree of Master of Arts, he applied himself to the study of physic and surgery, in which he made a rapid progress. He afterwards engaged as a surgeon on board a trading vessel bound to the coast of Guinea; and in that capacity made several voyages to America. His superior qualifications gained him a distinguished place in the esteem of several capital merchants, who intrusted to him the command of a vessel in the Guinea trade; and his conduct proved highly to the advantage of his owners, and equally honourable to himself.

When the war against France was declared, Captain Glass, upon the minute review of his affairs, found himself in possession of a very considerable sum; a great part of which he determined to venture on board a privateer. He caused a vessel to be fitted out with all possible expedition, and took the command on himself. A mutiny happened among the sailors when they had been on board about three days; and news of this disagreeable circumstance being communicated to the captain, he hastened to the vessel, and, going upon deck, dared to single combat any man who should presume to dispute his authority; but his challenge was declined! and, by coolly representing the dangerous consequences that might result from such unjustiflable proceedings, exhorting them to an exact observance of necesssary discipline, and assuring them that his utmost endeav ours should be exerted to procure them satisfaction in every particular, the harmony and good understanding of his crew were restored; and in a short time after the vessel proceeded on her voyage.

In about ten days they made a prize of a ship, richly laden, belonging to France, which they carried into a port in the West Indies. They soon after engaged two ships of war, but, after an obstinate contest, were compel led to submit to the superior power of the enemy. The captain, however, did not strike his flag till he had received a dangerous wound on the shoulder, and the greatest part of his men were slain. He was put into one of the French prisons, where he experienced very severe treatment.

An exchange of prisoners taking place, Captain Glass was no sooner restored to freedom than he resolved to make a reserve of two thousand pounds, and to venture the remainder of his fortune on board a privateer. He had sailed in his second vessel but a short time when he was again conquered by the enemy, and conveyed to a French prison. Captain Glass, on his return to England, was esteemed one of the most expert, judicious, and intrepid seamen in the British navy. The war being concluded, he conceived a design of sailing in search of discoveries; and, in pursuance of this plan, he purchased a vessel adapted to his purpose; and, having carefully made every necessary preparation for the prosecution of his design, directed his course towards the coast of Africa.

Between the river Senegal and Cape de Verde he discovered a commodious harbour, from which circumstance he entertained the reasonable expectation that very great commercial advantages would be derived. The captain now returned to England, and communicated his discovery to government, who granted him an exclusive trade to the harbour for the space of twenty years. That he might be enabled to pursue his project with the greater advantage, he engaged in partnership with two or three gentlemen of fortune; and a vessel, furnished with all necessary articles, being prepared, he sailed for the harbour, where he arrived without meeting with any occurrences worthy of recording. He sent one of his men on shore, with orders for offering proposals for a commercial intercourse with the natives; but the messenger had no sooner landed than he was cruelly murdered by the barbarians. The captain now suggested a plan for informing the king of the country that, by opening a trade, his subjects would derive great advantages. The king affected the utmost willingness to comply with his proposals; but, under the appearance of friendship, endeavored to effect his destruction. Having failed in other treacherous schemes, he sent poisoned provisions to Captain Glass, who prudently made experiments upon them, and by that means preserved his life. Being in great distress for the necessaries of life, Captain Glass and three of his men ventured to sea in an open boat, intending to direct their course towards the Canaries, for the purpose of purchasing provisions. The natives, being apprized of their departure, attempted to plunder the ship; but they were effectually repulsed by the remaining part of the crew.

The men who continued in the vessel being extremely distressed, judging that it would be dangerous to remain longer in the harbour, and despairing of their captain's re turn so early as was expected, they sailed for England, where they arrived, after encountering a variety of dangers, difficulties, and distresses.

Captain Glass arrived at one of the Canary Islands, and presented a petition to the governor, supplicating permission to purchase provisions; but the inhuman Spaniard caused him to be apprehended as a spy, and ordered him to be confined in a noisome dungeon, where he was allowed no other sustenance than bread and water; and, to aggravate his distress, the barbarous tyrant denied him the use of pen, ink, and paper. In this unhappy situation the captain remained upwards of six months. At length he climbed up to the iron bars that were across the space for admitting light to the dungeon, and perceived an English vessel in the harbour. The sight of a vessel belonging to his native country inspired him with hopes of regaining his liberty; but his despair was re newed upon considering the apparent impossibility of making his miserable fate known to those who would be inclined to afford him relief. At length he adopted the following experiment:-- by means of a piece of charcoal he wrote his name, and some words intimating his distress, upon a biscuit, which he fortunately dropped from the grate of the dungeon at the moment when an English sailor was passing beneath. The man, observing the captain's name upon the biscuit, carried it to his commander, who immediately made application to the governor for the relief of his countryman. In consequence of this humane intercession, the cruel and tyrannical Spaniard subjected the petitioner to severity of treatment equal to that sustained by Captain Glass. A ship that soon afterwards sailed for England conveyed news to our ministry of the arbitrary and barbarous conduct of the governor; and, speedy application being made to the King of Spain, he issued an order for the release of the two captains. About the time that Captain Glass recovered his freedom, his wife and daughter, a young lady about twelve years old, remarkable for her beauty and fine accomplishments, arrived at the Canaries, on board a ship from London; and their first interview with him afforded a scene truly affecting. Captain Glass now embarked, with his wife and daughter, on board a ship bound to London, under the command of Captain Cockeran.

While the ship lay at the Canaries, a plot was concerted between Peter M'Kinlie, the boatswain, a native of Ireland; George Gidley, the cook, born in the west of Yorkshire; Richard St. Quintin, a native of the same country; and Andrew Zekerman, a Dutchman― for murdering all the other persons on hoard, and seizing the treasure, which, including what Captain Glass had shipped in behalf of him self and his partners, amounted to a hundred thousand pounds in dollars. The villains made three attempts on different nights to carry their horrid plan into execution, but were prevented through the circumspection of their commander. The conspirators were appointed to the night-watch on the 13th of November, when the ship had reached the British Channel; and, about midnight, the captain going upon the quarter deck to see that all things were disposed in proper order, he, upon his return, was seized by the boatswain, who held him while Gidley struck him with an iron bar, and fractured his skull, after which they threw him into the sea. Two of the seamen, who were not concerned in the conspiracy, hearing the captain's groans, came upon deck, and were immediately murdered and thrown overboard.

Captain Glass, being alarmed, went up the gangway, and judging that a mutiny had happened, returned to fetch his sword. M'Kinlie, guessing his design, followed him down the steps leading to the cabin, and waited in the dark till the captain returned with a drawn sword in his hand, when, getting unperceived behind him, he seized both his arms, and then called to his accomplices to murder him. Captain Glass, being a very powerful man, had nearly disengaged himself from the ruffian, when Zekerman came up, whom the captain wounded in the arm; but before he could recover his sword he was overpowered, the other villains soon joining their associates. The unhappy man was no sooner disarmed than he was many times run through the body; after which he was thrown overboard.

Mrs. Glass and her daughter now came on deck, and, falling on their knees, supplicated for mercy; but they found the villains utterly destitute of the tender feelings of humanity; and Zekerman telling them to prepare for death, they embraced each other in a most affectionate manner, and were then forced from each other's arms and thrown into the sea. Having put all the crew to death, excepting a boy who had attended Captain Glass, and another boy who was an apprentice on board the ship, the murderers steered towards the Irish coast, and on the 3rd of December found them selves within ten leagues of the harbour of Ross. They hoisted out the long-boat, and put into it dollars to the amount of two tons; and, after knocking out the windows of the ballast ports, rowed towards shore, leaving the two boys to sink with the vessel. Captain Glass's boy could not swim, and he therefore soon drowned; but the other lad swam to the boat, when Zekerman struck him a violent blow on the breast, which occasioned him immediately to sink.

Having thus massacred eight innocent persons, the villains proceeded to the mouth of the river Ross; but, thinking it would be dangerous to go up the river with so much riches, they buried two hundred and fifty bags of dollars in the sand, and conveyed as much treasure as they could possibly bear about their persons to a village called Fishertown, where they stopped for refreshment; and, during their regale, an Irishman privately robbed them of a bag containing twelve hundred dollars. On the following day they went to Ross, and there sold twelve hundred dollars. Having purchased each a pair of pistols, and hired horses for themselves and two guides, they rode to Dublin, and took up their residence at the Black Bull, in Thomas Street.

The wreck of the ship was driven on shore on the day of their leaving Ross; and the manner in which the villains had lived at Fishertown and Ross, their general behaviour, and other circumstances, being understood as grounds for suspicion of their being pirates, an express was dispatched by two gentlemen to the lords of the regency at Dublin, exhibiting the several causes of suspicion, and giving a particular description of the supposed delinquents. On board the wreck was found a sampler worked by Miss Glass, from which it appeared that a part of the work was done on her birthday, which afterwards proved to be the day preceding on which the murders were perpetrated; and this sampler proved a principal means of leading to a discovery of the guilt of these abominable villains.

The gentlemen who were commissioned to attend the lords of the regency had no sooner communicated their business than the lord-mayor and sheriffs were sent for; and proper instructions being given them, they on the same night caused M'Kinlie and Zekerman to be taken into custody. The prisoners were separately examined, and they both confessed the particulars of their guilt, and that their accomeplices had that morning hired a post-chaise for Cork, where they meant to embark on a vessel bound for England. Gidley and St. Quintin were the next day taken into custody at an inn on the road to Cork; and they followed the example of their accomplices, in acknowledging themselves guilty. The sheriff of Ross took possession of the effects found in the wreck, and the bags of dollars that the villains had buried in the sand, and deposited the whole in the treasury of Dublin, for the benefit of the proprietors.

The prisoners being brought to trial, they confessed them selves guilty of the charges alleged in the indictment, and they were condemned, and suffered death, December the 19th, 1765, after which their bodies were hung in chains in the neighbourhood of Dublin.

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1766

87: William Whittle

Excited by religious zeal he murdered his wife and children and was executed April 5th, 1766

THE shocking crimes of this monster in human shape show the danger to be apprehended from religious enthusiasm.

The blood that has been shed, under the pretext of religion, in and since the Crusades, or, as they were de nominated, the holy wars, is greater than the torrents shed by tyrants fighting for each other's empire.

William Whittle was a poor ignorant wretch, worked up to a state of frenzy by the abominable doctrine of some ignorant popish priest; for this wretched man was a Roman Catholic, and murdered his wife and his two children!

On being interrogated, after conviction, and while under sentence of death, as to his motive for committing such horrid deeds, he replied that his priest often told him he should be damned for marrying a heretic. But why murder your innocent children? To this he answered, 'The mother had carried them to the church of the heretics: so they would have been damned if he had not killed them; but now they were in purgatory, and would go to heaven in time.'

This wicked sinner, exulting in his fell deed, was executed on Lancaster Moor, April the 5th, 1768, and his body hung in chains.

Soon after execution, the Rev. Mr. Oliver, who held it a duty to attend the last moments of the wretched man, under the hope of working in him contrition, and a renunciation of tenets too dangerous to be implanted in weak minds, received the following threatening letter, evidently the composition of one of the same persuasion as the malefactor:―

Sir,

I make bold to acquaint you, that your house, and every clergyman's that's in this town (Lancaster), or any black son of a b―h like you― for you are nothing but heretics and damned souls― if William Whittle, that worthy man, hangs up ten days, you may fully expect to be blown to damnation.'

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88: John Crouch and Wife

Convicted for offering to sell, on the Royal Exchange, a Young Girl, 12th of May, 1766

ON the 15th of January, 1766, an elderly man and woman were observed on the Royal Exchange, London, with a fine young girl, apparently fourteen years of age, but thinly and shabbily clothed, and consequently shivering with cold in that inclement season of the year. It was first conceived that they were asking charity, as the man had addressed two or three gentlemen, from whom he received a contemptuous denial. At length he accosted an honest captain of a ship, who instantly made known the base proposal which had been made to him, which was to purchase the unfortunate and innocent girl.

The parties were immediately taken into custody by the beadles of the Exchange, and carried before the sitting magistrate at Guildhall, who committed the man and woman to prison, as vagrants, and ordered the girl to be taken care of in the London Workhouse. On their examination they persisted that the girl was their own child; but it appeared so unnatural that parents in Britain should offer for sale their offspring that an inquiry into the transaction was set on foot.

At the general sessions of the peace, held at Guildhall aforesaid, on the 12th of May following, this unnatural man and woman were brought to the bar. It appeared that the man was named John Crouch, and that his residence was at Bodmin, in Cornwall. The woman was his wife, and the unfortunate girl his niece; and having heard "that young maidens were very scarce in London, and that they sold for a good price," he took her out of the poorhouse there and, accompanied by his wife, had set off, and travelled on foot from Bodmin to London, two hundred and thirty- two miles, in order to mend their fortune by her sale.

The jury found the man guilty on an indictment presented against him for an offence far short of his crime; but considering the woman under his influence acquitted her. The husband was sentenced to six months' imprisonment in Newgate, and to pay a fine of one shilling.

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89: The Countess of Bristol, otherwise the Duchess of Kingston

Whose Trial for Bigamy, at Westminster Hall, was attended by the Queen and other Members of the Royal Family

FEW women have attracted so large a portion of public attention as the Countess of Bristol, otherwise the Duchess of Kingston. She was the daughter of Colonel Chudleigh, the descendant of an ancient family in the county of Devon; but her father dying while she was yet young, her mother was left possessed only of a small estate with which to bring her up, and to fit her for that grade of society in which from her birth she was entitled to move. Being possessed, however, of excellent qualities, she improved the connection which she had among persons of fashion, with a view to the future success in life of her daughter. The latter meanwhile, as she advanced in years, improved in beauty; and upon her attaining the age of eighteen was distinguished as well for the loveliness of her person as for the wit and brilliancy of her conversation. Her education had not been neglected; and, despite the small fortune possessed by her mother, no opportunity was lost by which her mind might be improved, and a means was about this time afforded for the display of her accomplishments.

The father of George III. held his Court at Leicester House; and Mr Pulteney, who then blazed as a meteor on the Opposition benches in the House of Commons, was honoured with the particular regard of his Royal Highness. Miss Chudleigh had been introduced to Mr Pulteney; and he had admired her for the beauties of her mind and of her person, and, his sympathies being excited on her behalf, he obtained for her, at the age of eighteen, the appointment of maid-of-honour to the Princess of Wales. His efforts, however, did not stop at thus elevating her to a situation of the highest honour, but he also endeavoured to improve the cultivation of her understanding by instruction; and to him Miss Chudleigh read, and with him, when separated by distance, she corresponded.

The station to which Miss Chudleigh had been advanced, combined with her numerous personal attractions, produced her many admirers— some with titles, and others in the expectation of them. Among the former was the Duke of Hamilton, whom Miss Gunning had afterwards the good fortune to obtain for a consort. The Duke was passionately attached to Miss Chudleigh, and pressed his suit with such ardour as to obtain a solemn engagement on her part that, on his return from a tour, for which he was preparing, she would become his wife. There were reasons why this event should not immediately take place; but that the engagement would be fulfilled at the specified time was considered by both parties as a moral certainty. A mutual pledge was given and accepted; the Duke commenced his proposed tour, and the parting condition was, that he should write by every opportunity, and that Miss Chudleigh of course should answer his epistles. Thus the arrangement of Fortune seemed to have united a pair who possibly might have experienced much happiness, for between the Duke and Miss Chudleigh there was a strong similarity of disposition, but Fate had not destined them for each other.

Miss Chudleigh had an aunt, whose name was Hanmer: at her house  the Hon. Mr Hervey, son of the Earl of Bristol, and a captain in the Royal Navy, was a visitor. To this gentleman Mrs Hanmer became so exceedingly partial that she favoured views which he entertained towards her niece, and engaged her efforts to effect, if possible, a matrimonial connection. There were two difficulties, which would have been insurmountable had they not been opposed by the fertile genius of a female— Miss Chudleigh disliked Captain Hervey, and she was betrothed to the Duke of Hamilton.

No exertions which could possibly be made were spared to render this latter alliance nugatory; and the wits of this woman were exerted to the utmost to favour the object which she had in view. The letters of his Grace were intercepted by Mrs Hanmer; and his supposed silence giving offence to her niece, she worked so successfully on her pride as to induce her to abandon all thoughts of her lover, whose passion she had cherished with delight. A conduct the reverse of that imputed to the Duke was observed by Captain Hervey: he was all that assiduity could dictate or attention perform. He had daily access to Miss Chudleigh, and each interview was artfully improved by the aunt to the promotion of her own views. The letters of his Grace of Hamilton, which regularly arrived, were as regularly suppressed; until, piqued beyond endurance, Miss Chudleigh was prevailed on to accept the hand of Captain Hervey, and by a private marriage to ensure the participation of his future honours and fortune. The ceremony was performed in a private chapel adjoining the country mansion of Mr Merrill, at Lainston, near Winchester, in Hampshire.

The hour at which she became united with Captain Hervey proved to her the origin of every subsequent unhappiness. The connubial rites were attended with unhappy consequences; and from the night following the day on which the marriage was solemnised Miss Chudleigh resolved never to have any further connection with her husband. To prevail on him not to claim her as his wife required all the art of which she was mistress; and the best dissuasive was the loss of her situation as maid-of-honour should the marriage become publicly known. The circumstances of Captain Hervey were not in a flourishing condition, and were ill calculated to enable him to ride with a high hand over his wife; and the fear of the loss of the emoluments of her office operated most powerfully with him to induce him to obey the injunctions which she imposed upon him in this respect. Her marriage being unknown to mere outward observers, Miss Chudleigh, or Mrs Hervey— a maid in appearance, a wife in disguise— was placed in a most enviable condition. Her Royal mistress smiled upon her; the friendship of many was at her call; the admiration of none could be withheld from her: but amidst all her conquests and all her fancied happiness she wanted that peace of mind which was so necessary to support her against the conflicts which arose in her own breast. Her husband, quieted for a time, grew obstreperous as he saw the jewel admired by all, which was, he felt, entitled only to his love; and feeling that he possessed the right to her entire consideration resolved to assert his power. In the meantime every art which she possessed had been put into operation to soothe him to continued silence; but her further endeavours being unsuccessful she was compelled to grant his request, and to attend an interview which he appointed at his own house, and to which he enforced obedience by threatening an instant and full disclosure in case of her non-compliance. The meeting was strictly private, all persons being sent from the house with the exception of a black servant; and on Mrs Hervey's entrance to the apartment in which her husband was seated his first care was to prevent all intrusion by locking the door. This meeting, like all others between her and her husband, was unfortunate in its effects: the fruit of it was the birth of a boy, whose existence it will be readily supposed she had much difficulty in concealing. Her removal to Brompton for a change of air became requisite during the term of her confinernent, and she returned to Leicester House perfectly recovered from her indisposition; but the infant soon sinking in the arms of death, left only the tale of its existence to be related.

In the meantime the sum of her unhappiness had been completed by the return of the Duke of Hamilton. His Grace had no sooner arrived in England than he hastened to pay his adoration at the feet of his idol, and to learn the cause of her silence when his letters had been regularly dispatched to her. An interview which took place soon set the character of Mrs Hanmer in its true light; but while Miss Chudleigh was convinced of the imposition which had been practised upon her, she was unable to accept the proffered hand of her illustrious suitor, or to explain the reason for her apparently ungracious rejection of his addresses. The Duke, flighty as he was in other respects, in his love for Miss Chudleigh had at least been sincere; and this strange conduct on the part of his betrothed, followed as it was by a request on her part that he would not again intrude his visits upon her, raised emotions in his mind which can hardly be described. The rejection of his Grace was followed by that of several other persons of distinction; and the mother of Miss Chudleigh, who was quite unaware of her private marriage with Captain Hervey, could not conceal her regret and anger at the supposed folly of her daughter.

It was impossible that these circumstances could long remain concealed from the society in which Miss Chudleigh moved; and, in order to relieve herself from the embarrassments by which she was surrounded, she determined to travel on the Continent. Germany was the place selected by her for her travels; and she, in turn, visited the chief cities of its principalities.

Possessed as she was of introductions of the highest class, she was gratified by obtaining the acquaintance of many crowned heads. Frederick of Prussia conversed and corresponded with her. In the Electress of Saxony she found a friend whose affection for her continued to the latest period of life.

On her return from the Continent Miss Chudleigh ran over the career of pleasure, enlivened the Court circles, and each year became more ingratiated with the mistress whom she served. She was the leader of fashion, played whist with Lord Chesterfield, and revelled with Lady Harrington and Miss Ashe. She was a constant visitant at all public places, and in 1742 appeared at a masked ball in the character of Iphigenia.

Captain Hervey, like a perturbed spirit, was, however, eternally crossing the path trodden by his wife. If in the rooms at Bath, he was sure to be there. At a rout, ridotto or ball, this destroyer of her peace embittered every pleasure, and even menaced her with an intimation that he would disclose the marriage to the Princess.

Miss Chudleigh, now persuaded of the folly and danger of any longer concealment from her Royal mistress, determined that the design which her husband had formed from a malicious feeling should be carried out by herself from a principle of rectitude; and she, in consequence, communicated to the Princess the whole of the circumstances attending her unhappy union. Her Royal mistress pitied her, and continued her patronage up to the hour of her death.

At length a stratagem was either suggested or it occurred to Miss Chudleigh at once to deprive Captain Hervey of the power to claim her as his wife. The clergyman who had married them was dead. The register-book was in careless hands. A handsome compliment was paid for the inspection; and, while the person in whose custody it was listened to an amusing story, Miss Chudleigh tore out the register. Thus imagining the business accomplished she for a time bade defiance to her husband, whose taste for the softer sex having subsided from some unaccountable cause, afforded Miss Chudleigh a cessation of inquietude.

A change in the circumstances of the Captain, however, effected an alteration in the feelings of his wife. His father having died, he succeeded to the title of the Earl of Bristol, and his accession to nobility was not unaccompanied by an increase of fortune. Miss Chudleigh saw that by assuming the title of Countess of Bristol she would probably command increased respect, and would obtain greater power; and with a degree of unparalleled blindness she went to the house of Mr Merrill, the clergyman in whose chapel she had been married, to restore those proofs of her union which she had previously taken such pains to destroy. Her ostensible reason was a jaunt out of town; her real design was to procure, if possible, the insertion of her marriage with Captain Hervey in the book which she had formerly mutilated. With this view she dealt out promises with a liberal hand. The officiating clerk, who was a person of various avocations, was to be promoted to the extent of his wishes. The book was managed by the lady to her content, and she returned to London, secretly exulting in the excellence and success of her machination.

While this was going on, however, her better fate influenced in her favour the heart of a man who was the exemplar of amiability— this was the Duke of Kingston; but, remarried as it were by her own stratagem, the participation of ducal honours became legally impossible. The chains of wedlock now became galling in the extreme. Every advice was taken, every means tried, by which her liberation might be obtained; but all the efforts which were made proved useless, and it was found to be necessary to acquiesce in that which could not be opposed successfully or pass unnoticed. The Duke's passion, meanwhile, became more ardent and sincere; and, finding the apparent impossibility of a marriage taking place, he for a series of years cohabited with Miss Chudleigh, although with such external observances of decorum that their intimacy was neither generally remarked nor known.

The disagreeable nature of these proceedings on their part was, however, felt by both parties, and efforts were again made by means of which a marriage might be solemnised. The Earl of Bristol was sounded; but upon his learning the design with which a divorce was sought he declared that he would never consent to it, for that his Countess's vanity should not be flattered by

her being raised to the rank of a duchess. The negotiations were thus for a time stopped; but afterwards, there being a lady with whom he conceived that he could make an advantageous match, he listened to the suggestions which were made to him with more complacency, and at length declared that he was ready to adopt any proceedings which should have for their effect the annihilation of the ties by which he was bound to Miss Chudleigh. The civilians were consulted, a jactitation suit was instituted; but the evidence by which the marriage could have been proved was kept back, and the Earl of Bristol failing, as it was intended he should fail, in substantiating the marriage, a decree was made, declaring the claim to be null and unsupported. Legal opinion now only remained to be taken as to the effect of this decree, and the lawyers of the Ecclesiastical Courts, highly tenacious of the rights and jurisdiction of their own judges, declared their opinion to be that the sentence could not be disturbed by the interference of any extrinsic power. In the conviction, therefore, of the most perfect safety, the marriage of the Duke of Kingston with Miss Chudleigh was publicly solemnised. The wedding favours were worn by persons of the highest distinction in the kingdom; and during the lifetime of his Grace no attempt was made to dispute the legality of the proceedings. For a few years the Duchess figured in the world of gaiety without apprehension or control. She was raised to the pinnacle of her fortune, and she enjoyed that which her later life had been directed to accomplish— the parade of title— but without that honour which integrity of character can alone secure. She was checked in her career of pleasure, however, by the death of the Duke. The fortune which his Grace possessed, it appears, was not entailed, and it was at his option, therefore, to bequeath it to the Duchess or to the heirs of his family, as seemed best to his inclination. His will, excluding from every benefit an elder, and preferring a younger, nephew as the heir in tail, gave rise to the prosecution of the Duchess, which ended in the beggary of her prosecutor and her own exile. The demise of the Duke of Kingston was neither sudden nor unexpected. Being attacked with a paralytic affection, he lingered but a short time, which was employed by the Duchess in journeying his Grace from town to town, under the false idea of prolonging his life by change of air and situation. At last, when real danger seemed to threaten, even in the opinion of the Duchess, she dispatched one of her swiftest-footed messengers to her solicitor, Mr Field, of the Temple, requiring his immediate attendance. He obeyed the summons, and, arriving at the house, the Duchess asked him to procure the Duke to execute, and be himself a subscribing witness to, a will made without his knowledge, and more to the taste of the Duchess than that which had been executed. The difference between these two wills was this: the Duke had bequeathed the income of his estates to his relict during her life expressly under the condition of her continuing in a state of widowhood. Perfectly satisfied, however, as the Duchess seemed with whatever was the inclination of her dearest lord, she could not resist the opportunity of carrying her secret wishes into effect. She did not relish the temple of Hymen being shut against her. Mr Field, however, positively refused either to tender the will or to be in any manner concerned in endeavouring to procure its execution; and with this refusal he quitted the house. Soon after the frustration of this attempt the Duke of Kingston expired.

No sooner were the funeral rites performed than the Duchess adjusted her affairs and embarked for the Continent, proposing Rome for her temporary residence. Ganganelli at that time filled the papal chair. He treated her with the utmost civility— gave her, as a sovereign prince, many privileges— and she was lodged in the palace of one of the cardinals. Her vanity being thus gratified, her Grace, in return, treated the Romans with a public spectacle. She had built an elegant pleasure yacht; a gentleman who had served in the navy was the commander. Under her orders he sailed for Italy; and the vessel, at considerable trouble and expense, was conveyed up the Tiber. The sight of an English yacht in this river was one of so unusual a character that it attracted crowds of admirers; but, while all seemed happiness and pleasure where the barque rested quietly on the waters of the river, proceedings were being concocted in London which would effectually put a stop to any momentary sensations of bliss which the Duchess might entertain.

Mrs Craddock, who, in the capacity of a domestic, had witnessed the marriage which had been solemnised between her Grace and the Earl of Bristol, found herself so reduced in circumstances that she was compelled to apply to Mr Field for assistance. The request was rejected; and, not withstanding her assurance that she was perfectly well aware of all the circumstances attending the Duchess's marriage, and that she should not hesitate to disclose all she knew in a quarter where she would be liberally paid— namely, to the disappointed relations of the Duke of Kingston— she was set at defiance. Thus refused, starvation stared her in the face; and, stung by the ingratitude of the Duchess's solicitor, she immediately set about the work of ruin which she contemplated. The Duke of Kingston had borne a marked dislike to one of his nephews, Mr Evelyn Meadows, one of the sons of his sister, Lady Frances Pierpoint. This gentleman, being excluded from the presumptive heirship, joyfully received the intelligence that a method of revenging himself against the Duchess was presented to him. He saw Mrs Craddock; learned from her the particulars of the statement which she would be able to make upon oath; and, being perfectly satisfied of its truth, he preferred a bill of indictment against the Duchess of Kingston for bigamy, which was duly returned a true bill. Notice was immediately given to Mr Field of the proceedings, and advices were forthwith sent to the Duchess to appear and plead to the indictment, to prevent a judgment of outlawry.

The Duchess's immediate return to England being thus required, she set about making the necessary preparations for her journey; and, as money was one of the commodities requisite to enable her to commence her homeward march, she proceeded to the house of Mr Jenkins, the banker in Rome, in whose hands she had placed security for the advance of all such sums as she might require. The opposition of her enemies, however, had already commenced; they had adopted a line of policy exactly suited to the lady with whom they had to deal. Mr Jenkins was out, and could not be found. She apprised him, by letter, of her intended journey, and her consequent want of money; but still he avoided seeing her. Suspecting the trick, her Grace was not to be trifled with, and, finding all her efforts fail, she took a pair of pistols in her pocket and, driving to Mr Jenkins's house, once again demanded to be admitted. The customary answer, that Mr Jenkins was out, was given; but the Duchess declared that she was determined to wait until she saw him, even if it should not be until a day, month or year had elapsed; and she took her seat on the steps of the door, which she kept open with the muzzle of one of her pistols, apparently determined to remain there. She knew that business would compel his return, if he were not already indoors; and at length Mr Jenkins, finding further opposition useless, appeared. The nature of her business was soon explained. The conversation was not of the mildest kind. Money was demanded, not asked. A little prevarication ensued, but the production of a pistol served as the most powerful mode of reasoning, and, the necessary sum being instantly obtained, the Duchess quitted Rome.

Her journey was retarded before she reached the Alps; a violent fever seemed to seize on her vitals: but she recovered, to the astonishment of her attendants. An abscess then formed in her side, which rendering it impossible for her to endure the motion of the carriage, a kind of litter was provided, in which she slowly travelled. In this situation nature was relieved by the breaking of the abscess; and, after a painfully tedious journey, the duchess reached Calais. At that place she made a pause; and there it was that her apprehension got the better of her reason. In idea she was fettered and incarcerated in the worst cell of the worst prison in London. She was totally ignorant of the bailable nature of her offence, and therefore expected the utmost that can be imagined. Colonel West, a brother of the late Lord Delaware, whom the duchess had known in England, became her principal associate; but he was not lawyer enough to satisfy her doubts. By the means of former connections, and through a benevolence in his own nature, the Earl of Mansfield had a private meeting with the duchess and the venerable peer conducted himself in a manner which did honour to his heart and character.

Her spirits being soothed by the interview, the duchess embarked for Dover, landed, drove post to Kingston-house, and found friends displaying both zeal and alacrity in her cause. The first measure taken was to have the duchess bailed. This was done before Lord Mansfield; the Duke of Newcastle, Lord Mountstuart, Mr Glover, and other characters of rank attending. The prosecution and consequent trial of the duchess becoming objects of magnitude, the public curiosity and expectation were proportion ably excited. The duchess had through life distinguished herself as a most eccentric character. Her turn of mind was original, and many of her actions were without a parallel. Even when she moved in the sphere of amusement, it was in a style peculiarly her own. If others invited admiration by a partial display of their charms at a masquerade, she at once threw off the veil, and set censure at defiance. Thus, at midnight assemblies, where Bacchus revelled, and the altars of Venus were encircled by the votaries of love, the duchess, then Miss Chudleigh, appeared almost in the unadorned simplicity of primitive nature. The dilemma, therefore, into which she was thrown by the pending prosecution, was, to such a character, of the most perplexing kind.

She had already in a manner invited the disgrace, and she now neglected the means of preventing it. Mrs Cradock, the only existing evidence against her, again personally solicited a maintenance for the remaining years of her life: and voluntarily offered, in case a stipend should be settled on her, to retire to her native village, and never more intrude. The offer was rejected by the duchess, who would only consent to allow her twenty pounds a year, on condition of her sequestering herself in some place near the Peak of Derbyshire. This the duchess considered as a most liberal offer; and she expressed her astonishment that it should be rejected.

Under the assurances of her lawyers, the duchess was as quiet as that troublesome monitor, her own heart, would permit her to be; and reconciled in some measure to the encounter with which she was about to meet, her repose was most painfully disturbed by an adversary, who appeared in a new and most unexpected quarter. This was the celebrated Foote, the actor, who, having mixed in the first circles of fashion, was perfectly acquainted with the leading transactions of the duchess's life, and had resolved to turn his knowledge to his own advantage. As, in the opinion of Mandeville, private vices are public benefits, so Foote deemed the crimes and vices of individuals lawful game for his wit. On this principle he proceeded with the Duchess of Kingston; and he wrote a piece, founded on her life, called "The Trip to Calais." The scenes were humorous: the character of the duchess admirably drawn; and the effect of the performance of the farce on the stage would have been that which was most congenial to the tastes of the scandal-mongers of the day— namely, to make the duchess ashamed of herself. The real object of Mr. Foote, however, was one of a nature more likely to prove advantageous to himself— it was to obtain money to secure the suppression of the piece; and with this view he contrived to have it communicated to her grace that the Haymarket Theatre would open with an entertainment in which she was taken off to the life.

Alarmed at this, she sent for Foote, who attended with the piece in his pocket; but having been desired to read it, he had not gone far before the character of Lady Kitty Crocodile being introduced, the duchess could no longer control her anger, and rising in a violent rage, she exclaimed, "Why, this is scandalous; what a wretch you have made me." Mr. Foote assured her that the character was not intended to"caricature her;"— even in his serious moments being unable to control his desire to pun— for he left her to infer that it was a true picture; and the duchess, having taken a few turns about the room, became more composed, and requested that the piece might be left for her perusal, engaging that it should be returned by the ensuing evening. The actor readily complied, and retired; but the lady being left to consider her own portrait, was so displeased with the likeness, that she determined, if possible, to prevent its exposure on the stage. The artist had no objection to sell his work, and she was inclined to become the purchaser; but on the former being questioned as to the sum which he should expect for suppressing the piece, he proportioned his expectations to what he deemed the duchess's power of gratifying them, and demanded two thousand guineas, besides a sum to be paid as compensation for the loss of the scenes, which had been painted for the farce, and which were not applicable to any other purpose.

The magnitude of the demand, as well it might, staggered the duchess; and having intimated her extreme astonishment at so exorbitant a proposition, she expressed a wish that the sum might be fixed at one within the bounds of moderation and reason. The actor was positive; concluding, that as his was the only article in the market, he might name his own price: but the result was, that by demanding too much, he lost all. A cheque for fourteen hundred pounds was offered; the amount was increased to sixteen hundred pounds, and a draft on Messrs. Drummond's was actually signed; but the obstinacy of the actor was so great, that he refused to abate one guinea from his original demand.

The circumstance might at any other time have passed among the indifferent events of the day, and as wholly undeserving of the public notice; but those long connected with the duchess, and in habits of intimacy, felt the attack made on her as directed by a ruffian hand, at a moment when she was least able to make resistance. His grace the Duke of Newcastle was consulted. The chamberlain of the household (the Earl of Hertford) was apprised of the circumstance; and his prohibitory interference was earnestly solicited. He sent for the manuscript copy of "The Trip to Calais," perused, and censured it.

But besides these and other powerful aids, the duchess called in professional advice. The sages of the robe were consulted, and their opinions were that the piece was a malicious libel; and that, should it be represented, a shorthand writer ought to be employed to attend on the night of representation, to minute each offensive passage, as the groundwork of a prosecution. This advice was followed, and Foote was intimidated. He denied having made a demand of two thousand guineas; but the Rev Mr Foster contradicted him in an affidavit. Thus defeated in point of fact, Foote found himself baffled also in point of design. The chamberlain would not permit the piece to be represented.

Foote now had recourse to another expedient. He caused it to be intimated "that it was in his power to publish if not to perform; but were his expenses reimbursed (and the sum which her grace had formerly offered would do the business), he would desist." This being communicated to the duchess, she in this, as in too many cases, asked the opinion of her friends, with a secret determination to follow her own. Foote, finding that she began to yield, pressed his desire incessantly; and she had actually provided bills to the amount of one thousand six hundred pounds, which she would have given him but for the Rev Mr Jackson, who, being asked his opinion of the demand, returned this answer:

"Instead of complying with it, your grace should obtain complete evidence of the menace and demand, and then consult your counsel whether a prosecution will not lie for endeavouring to extort money by threats. Your grace must remember the attack on the first Duke of Marlborough by a stranger, who had formed a design either on his purse or his interest, and endeavoured to menace him into a compliance."

This answer struck the Earl of Peterborough and Mr Foster very forcibly, as in perfect coincidence with their own opinions; and Mr Jackson was then solicited to wait on Mr Foote; Mr Foster, the chaplain of the duchess, professing himself to be too far advanced in years to enter into the field of literary combat. Mr Jackson consented to be the champion on the following condition: that the duchess would give her honour never to retract her determination, nor to let Foote extort from her a single guinea. Her grace subscribing to this condition, Mr Jackson waited on Mr Foote at his house in Suffolk-street, and intimated to him the resolution to which the duchess had come.

The actor, however, still wished to have matters compromised; and to this end he addressed a letter to the duchess, which began with stating "that a member of the privy council and a friend of her grace (by whom he meant the Duke of Newcastle) had conversed with him on the subject of the dispute between them; and that, for himself, he was ready to have every thing adjusted." This letter afforded the duchess a triumph. Every line contained a  concession; and, contrary to the advice of her friends, she insisted upon the publication of the whole correspondence.

This circumstance for a time served to turn the current of attention into a new channel. But while the public notice was withdrawn from her grace, she felt too heavily the necessity which existed to adopt some course to enable her either to evade or meet the impending danger. Her line of procedure was soon determined upon— she affected an earnest desire to have the trial, if possible, accelerated, while in secret she took every means in her power to evade the measures which her opponents had taken against her, Her conduct in other respects appears to have been strangely inconsistent.

An opportunity presented itself which remained only to be embraced to secure her object. It became the subject of a discussion in the House of Lords whether the trial of her grace should not be conducted in Westminster Hall; and the expense which would necessarily be incurred by the country was by many urged as being a burden which ought not to rest upon the public purse. Lord Mansfield, privately desiring to save the duchess from the disgrace and ignominy of a public trial, strove to avail himself of this objection in her favour; and so great had become the differences of opinion entertained upon the subject, that the withdrawal of the prosecution altogether would have been a matter which would have been considered desirable rather than improper. Here then was the critical moment at which the duchess might have determined her future fate. A hint was privately conveyed to her that the sum of ten thousand pounds would satisfy every expectation, and put an end to the prosecution; and doubts being expressed of the sincerity of the proposal; the offer was made in distinct terms. The duchess was entreated by her friends to accept the proposition which was made, and so at once to relieve herself and them from all fear of the consequences which might result to her; but through a fatal mistaken confidence either in the legal construction of her case, or in her own machinations, she refused to accede to the offers which were held out.

Resting assured of her acquittal, she resisted every attempt at dissuasion from her purpose of going to trial; and she assumed an air of indifference about the business which but ill accorded with the doubtful nature of her position. She talked of the absolute necessity of setting out for Rome; affected to have some material business to settle with the Pope; and, in consequence, took every means and urged every argument in her power to procure the speedy termination of the proceedings— as if the regular course of justice had not been swift enough to overtake her. In the midst of her confidence, however, she did not abandon her manoeuvring; but at the very moment when she was petitioning for a speedy trial, she was engaged in a scheme to get rid of the principal witness against her.

Mrs Cradock, to whom before she had refused a trifling remuneration, might now have demanded thousands as the price of her evidence. A negotiation was carried on through the medium of a relation of hers, who was a letter-carrier, which had for its object her removal from England; and an interview was arranged to take place between her and the duchess, at which the latter was to appear disguised, and was to reveal herself only after some conversation, the object of which was that terms might be proposed; but her Grace was duped: for having changed her clothes to those of a man, she waited at the am pointed hour and place without seeing either Mrs Cradock or the person who had promised to effect the meeting; and she afterwards learned that every particular of this business had been communicated to the prosecutors, who instructed the letter-carrier to pretend an acquiescence in the scheme.

Thus baffled in a project which had a plausible appearance of success, the only method left was the best possible arrangement of matters preparatory to the trial.

About nine o'clock in the morning of Monday the 15th of April, 1776, the peeresses, foreign ambassadors, &c. concluded the ceremony of assuming their respective places in Westminster hall: and at half past ten her majesty, accompanied by the prince of Wales, the bishop of Osnaburgh, two other young princes, and the princess royal, and attended by lord and lady Holdernesse, lord Hinchinbroke, and others of the nobility, entered the hall from the duke of Newcastle's house in New Palace Yard, and took her seat in the centre of his grace's gallery.

The procession came into the hall in the following order at a quarter past eleven: the eldest sons of peers, preceded by the domestics of the lord high steward, masters in chancery, king's serjeants and judges, barons, bishops, viscounts, earls, marquesses and dukes; the serjeant at arms, the lord high steward with black rod on his right, and garter on his left; the lord president, and the lord privy seal. The barons proceeded to their seats next the bar, the junior barons taking the left hand seat next the bar, and the other barons following in that order till the seats were filled in the front of the court. The archbishops and bishops occupied the side benches on the right, and the dukes the benches extending from the throne to the  table.

The persons who composed the court having taken their seats with the usual formalities, the lord high steward directed the clerk of the crown to read the certiorari, the return thereof, the caption of the indictment, the indictment itself, and other official papers; which being done, the serjeant at arms made proclamation for the usher of the black rod to place the prisoner at the bar.

The duchess then came forward, attended by Mrs Egerton, Mrs Barrington, and Miss Chudleigh, three of the ladies of her bedchamber, and her chaplain, physician, and apothecary; and as she approached the bar she made three reverences, and then dropped on her knees, when the lord high steward said, 'Madam, you may rise.' Having risen, she curtsied to the lord high steward and the house of peers; and her compliments were returned.

Proclamation being made for silence, the lord high steward mentioned to the prisoner the fatal consequences attending the crime of which she stood indicted, signifying that, however alarming and awful her present circumstances, she might derive great consolation from considering that she was to be tried by the most liberal, candid, and august assembly in the universe.

The duchess then read a paper, setting forth that she was guiltless of the offence alledged against her, and that the agitation of her mind arose, not from the consciousness of guilt, but from the painful circumstance of being called before so awful a tribunal on a criminal accusation; begging, therefore, that if she was deficient in the observance of any ceremonial points, her failure might not he understood as proceeding from wilful disrespect, but be attributed to the unfortunate peculiarity of her situation. It was added in the paper that she had travelled from Rome in so dangerous a state of health, that it was necessary for her to be conveyed in a litter; and that she was perfectly satisfied that she should have a fair trial, since the determination respecting her cause, on which materially depended her honor and fortune, would proceed from the most unprejudiced and august assembly in the world.

The lord high steward desired the lady to give attention while she was arraigned on an indictment for bigamy. Proclamation for silence being made, the duchess (who had been permitted to sit) arose, and read a paper, representing to the court that she was advised by her counsel to plead the sentence of the ecclesiastical court in the year 1769, as a bar to her being tried on the present indictment. The lord high steward informed her that she must plead to the indictment; in consequence of which she was arraigned; and, being asked by the clerk of the crown whether she was guilty of the felony with which she stood charged, she answered with great firmness, 'Not guilty, my lords.' The clerk of the crown then asking her how she would be tried, she said, 'by God and her peers;' on which the clerk said, 'God send your ladyship a good deliverance.'

The serjeant at arms made proclamation for all persons who had evidence to produce against the prisoner to appear. The lord high steward requested, that, as his seat was so distant from the bar, he might be allowed, for the convenience of hearing, to go to the table; to which the court readily acquiesced.

Mr Dunning, in a concise speech, opened the pleadings in support of the prosecution. He was followed by Mr Thurloe, the attorney general, who learnedly animadverted on the plea advanced by the prisoner, and said that, being counsel for the prosecution, it became his duty to declare his opinion on the case in question, which was, that he could not discover any reasonable foundation for the plea urged by the prisoner; and he desired that, if there were reasons sufficient to support it, they might be produced by the counsel on the opposite side.

Lord Mansfield moved, that a proper officer from Doctors Commons might read the sentence of the ecclesiastical court. Hereupon the attorney general said that it would be necessary for all the allegations, replications, &c. on which the sentence was founded, to he read; and the clerk of the crown read the allegations, and was proceeding with the replications, when Lord Mansfield observed, that it would not be necessary to read the latter papers, since the counsel, in the course of their pleadings, would introduce the material arguments therein contained.

Mr Wallace rose to reply to the attorney general, and in an eloquent strain of forcible argument endeavoured to prove the determination of the ecclesiastical court to be conclusive. Mr Wallace was followed by Mr Mansfield, who displayed great ingenuity and learning in support of the same doctrine.

Doctor Calvert, a civilian, spoke nearly for the space of two hours, and produced many precedents to prove the sentence of the consistory court to be definitive and irrevocable. The same ground of argument was pursued by Doctor Wynne, anothercivilian, who also quoted several cases in point in behalf of the Duchess; and on the conclusion of this gentleman's speech the court was adjourned on the motion of Lord Gower.

The business of the second day was opened by the lord high steward, who desired the counsel for her Grace to reply to the arguments advanced on the preceding day against evidence being admitted in support of the prosecution.

The attorney general entered upon a minute examination of the pleadings on the other side, and endeavoured to confute the arguments of the counsel and civilians, and to prove that the cases they had quoted were ill-applied, and undeserving authority. This gentleman spoke about an hour and twenty minutes.

The solicitor general then arose, and delivered a learned and elaborate speech, wherein he was extremely severe on the consistory court, saying he could not allow authority to that doctrine which puts the decisions of that court above the cognizance of the temporal ones. He said, that if the sentences of the ecclesiastical court were to be deemed conclusive, persons addicted to indulge a disposition to variety might each, by the exercise of industry and ingenious collusion, gratify his passions with seventy-five wives before attaining his thirtieth year. His witty and humorous allusions frequently provoked a general laugh at the expence of Doctors Commons; and he concluded with giving it as his opinion that the supreme court of legislature was invested with an indisputable power of reversing the decisions of the consistory courts. Mr Dunning spoke next, strongly supporting the arguments of the solicitor general, and producing several authorities from the law-books in justification of his opinion, that the plea could not be admitted as a bar against calling evidence to prove the criminality of the prisoner.

Doctor Harris, a civilian, rose in behalf of the prosecution; and, taking an extensive view of the pleadings of the Doctors Calvert and Wynne, exerted his utmost power to prove them nugatory.

Lord Talbot then addressed the court, observing, that as the matter in agitation was of the utmost importance both to the noble prisoner, and the right honourable court in general, the pleadings on both sides could not be weighed with too minute an attention; and lest the memory should be encumbered (candidly acknowledging that he had already heard more than he believed his mind would retain) he moved for the court to adjourn to the chamber of parliament. Hereupon the lord high steward came from the table to the throne, and requested to be informed whether it was the pleasure of the house to adjourn; and the question being put, it passed in the affirmative.

On Friday, the 19th of April, Mr Wallace was called upon by the lord high steward to reply in behalf of the prisoner. Lord Ravensworth then begged he might propose question to the counsel at the bar. His lordship's question was, 'Is the sentence of the ecclesiastical court in this case final and conclusive, or is it not?' Upon this Lord Mansfield said, 'If the noble lord means— Is there any precedent for reversing the sentence of the ecclesiastical court? the answer must certainly be in the negative. As to any other meaning, the question is in debate among the counsel at the bar, and has been so these three days.'

Mr Wallace then largely expatiated in support of his former cases, and pleaded powerfully in refutation of the arguments advanced by the counsel on the opposite side, producing many other cases in point, and urging that they were incontrvertble. the next speaker was Doctor Calvert, who pleaded very ably in support of the power of the ecclesiastical court he concluded with insisting that the sentence of the consistory court was indisputably a legal plea in bar of evidence being produced against the prisoner.

It being intimated that the counsel for the Duchess had concluded their replies, a motion was made by Lord Gower for adjourning to the parliament chamber, and for allowing her Grace permission to retire to her apartment till the peers should return into court; upon which the lord high steward adjourned the court about half past three o'clock.

The peers having taken their seats in the parliament chamber, Lord Camden proposed the following questions to the judges:— 'Whether it was their opinion that the court had power to call evidence in support of the prosecution? or whether they deemed the sentence of the ecclesiastical court conclusive and irrevocable? and whether the prosecutor could or could not proceed in this court against the prisoner for obtaining the decision of the consistory court by collusion and fraud?' The opinion of the judges was, 'That in either case the prosecutor was authorised to enter into evidence in support of the indictment on which the prisoner stood arraigned.'

In consequence of the above determination, the house, after having withdrawn for about half an hour, returned into court; and the lord high steward informed the attorney general, that he was directed by their lordships to order him to proceed with the trial.

Mr Attorney then explained the nature of the evidence he meant to produce, and recapitulated a great number of facts and circumstances from the year 1742, previous to the supposed marriage of her Grace with Mr Hervey, to the time of her marriage with the late Duke of Kingston.

The solicitor general rose to examine the witnesses, and Anne Craddock being called to the bar, the Duke of Richmond observed that it would he proper for her to stand a a greater distance from the prisoner, and, after some debate on this head, Mr Quarme, deputy usher of the black rod, was placed between them. One of the clerks of the house put the questions from the counsel, and delivered the answers of the witness with an audible voice.

The evidence of Anne Craddock was to the following purpose:— I have known her Grace the Duchess of Kingston ever since the year 1742; at which time she came on a visit to Mr Merrill's, at Launceston in Hampshire, during the Winchester races. At that time I lived in the family of Mrs Hanmer, Miss Chudleigh's aunt, who was then on a visit at Mr Merrill's, where Mr Hervey and Miss Chudleigh first met, and soon conceived a mutual attachment towards each other. They were privately married one evening about eleven o'clock in Launceston church, in the presence of Mr Mountney, Mrs Hanmer, the Reverend Mr Ames, the rector, who performed the ceremony, and myself. I was ordered out of the church, to entice Mr Merrill's servants out of the way. I saw the bride and bridegroom put to bed together; and Mrs Hanmer obliged them to rise again: they went to bed together the night following. In a few days Mr Hervey was under the necessity of going to Portsmouth, in order to embark on board Sir John Danvers's fleet, in which he was a lieutenant; and being ordered to call him at five o'clock in the morning, I went into the bed chamber at the appointed hour, and found him and his lady sleeping in bed together, and was unwilling to disturb them, thinking the delay of an hour or two would not be of any consequence. My husband, to whom I was not married till after the time I have mentioned, accompanied Mr Hervey in the capacity of his servant. When Mr Hervey returned from the Mediterranean, his lady and he lived together. I then thought her in a state of pregnancy. Some months after, Mr Hervey went again to sea, and during his absence, I was informed that the lady was brought to bed. She herself told me she had a little boy at nurse, and that his features greatly resembled those of Mr Hervey.

The Duke of Grafton asked the witness, whether she had seen the child? and she answered in the negative. His Grace also asked, whether, as the ceremony was performed at night, there were any lights in the church? In reply to which she said, Mr Mountney had a wax light fixed to the crown of his hat. In reply to questions proposed by Lord Hillsborough, the witness acknowledged that she had received a letter from Mr Fossard, of Piccadilly, containing a promise of a sinecure place, on condition of her appearing to give evidence against the lady at the bar, and expressing that if she thought proper she might shew the letter to Mr Hervey.

On Saturday the 20th of April Anne Craddock was further examined. The Lords Derby, Hillsborough, Buckinghamshire, and others, questioning her whether she had not been promised a reward by the prosecutor on condition of her giving evidence to convict the prisoner; her answers were evasive, but she was at length brought to acknowledge that pecuniary offers had been made to induce her to give evidence in support of the prosecution.

Mrs Sophia Pettiplace, sister to Lord Howe, was next examined; but her evidence was of no consequence. She lived with her Grace at the time when her supposed marriage took place with Mr Hervey, but was not present at the ceremony; and she only believed that the Duchess had mentioned the circumstance to her.

Caesar Hawkins, Esquire, deposed, that he had been acquainted with the Duchess several years, he believed not less than thirty. He had heard of a marriage between Mr Hervey and the lady at the bar, which circumstance was afterwards mentioned to him by both parties, previous to Mr Hervey's last going to sea. By the desire of her Grace he was in the room when the issue of the marriage was born, and once saw the child. He was sent for by Mr Hervey soon after his return from sea, and desired by him to wait upon the lady, with proposals for procuring a divorce, which he accordingly did; when her Grace declared herself absolutely determined against listening to such terms; and he knew that many messages passed on the subject. Her Grace some time after informed him, at his own house, that she had instituted a jactitation suit against Mr Hervey in Doctors Commons. On another visit she appeared very grave, and desiring him to retire into another apartment, said she was exceedingly unhappy in consequence of an oath, which she had long dreaded, having been tendered to her at Doctors Commons to disavow her marriage, which she would not do for ten thousand worlds. Upon another visit, a short time after, she informed him, that a sentence had passed in her favour at Doctors Commons, which would be irrevocable, unless Mr Hervey pursued certain measures within a limited time, which she did not apprehend he would do. Hereupon he enquired how she got over the oath; and her reply was, that the circumstance of her marriage was so blended with falsities that she could easily reconcile the matter to her conscience; since the ceremony was a business of so scrambling and shabby a nature, that she could as safely swear she was not, as that she was married.

Judith Philips being called, swore, that she was the widow of the Reverend Mr Ames; that she remembered when her late husband performed the marriage ceremony between Mr Hervey and the prisoner; that she was not present, but derived her information from her husband; that some time after the marriage the lady desired her to prevail upon her husband to grant a certificate, which she said she believed her husband would not refuse; that Mr Merrill, who accompanied the lady, advised her to consult his attorney from Worcester; that in compliance with the attorney's advice a register-book was purchased, and the marriage inserted therein, with some late burials in the parish. The book was here produced, and the witness swore to the writing of her late husband.

The writing of the reverend Mr Ames was proved by the reverend Mr Inchin, and the reverend Mr Dennis; and the entry of a caveat to the duke's will was proved by a clerk from Doctor's Commons. The book in which the marriage of the duke of Kingston with the lady at the bar was registered on the 8th of March, 1769, was produced by the reverend Mr Trebeck of St Margaret's, Westminster; and the reverend Mr Samuel Harpur, of the Museum, swore, that he performed the marriage ceremony between the parties on the day mentioned in the book produced by Mr Trebeck.

Monday the 22d of April, after the attorney-general had declared the evidence in behalf of the prosecution to be concluded, the lord high steward called upon the prisoner for her defence, which she read; and the following are the most material arguments it contained to invalidate the evidence adduced by the proseeutor:— she appealed to the Searcher of all hearts, that she never considered herself as legally married to Mr Hervey; she said that she con sidered herself as a single woman, and as such was addressed by the late duke of Kingston; that, influenced by a legitimate attachment to his grace, she instituted a suit in the ecclesiastical court, where her supposed marriage with Mr Hervey was declared null and void; but, anxious for every conscientious as well as legal sanction, she submitted an authentic state of her case to the archbishop of Canterbury, who, in the most decisive and unreserved manner, declared that she was at liberty to marry, and afterwards granted, and delivered to doctor Collier, a special licence for her marriage with the late duke of Kingston. She said that, on her marriage, she experienced every mark of gracious esteem from their majesties, and her late royal mistress, the princess dowager of Wales, and was publicly recognized as duchess of Kingston. Under such respectable sanctions and virtuous motives for the conduct she pursued, strengthened by a decision that had been esteemed conclusive and irrevocable for the space of seven centuries, if their lordships should deem her guilty, on any rigid principle of law, she hoped, nay, she was conscious, they would attribute her failure as proceeding from a mistaken judgment and erroneous advice, and not censure her for intentional guilt.

She bestowed the highest encomiums on the deceased duke, and solemnly assured the court, that she had in no one instance abused her ascendency over him; and that, so far from endeavouring to engross his possessions, she had declared herself amply provided for by that fortune for life which he was  extremely anxious to bequeath in perpetuity. As to the neglect of the duke's eldest nephew, she said it was entirely the consequence of his disrespectful behaviour to her; and she was not dissatisfied at a preference to another nephew, whose respect and attention to her had been such as the duke judged to be her due, in consequence of her advancement to the honour of being the wife of his uncle.

The lord high steward desired Mr Wallace to proceed with the evidence. The advocate stated the nature of the evidence he meant to produce to prove that Anne Craddock had asserted to different people that she had no recollection of the marriage between Mr Hervey and the lady at the bar; and that she placed a reliance on a promise of having a provision made for her in consequence of the evidence she was to give on the present trial; and, to invalidate the depositions of Judith Phillips, he ordered the clerk to read a letter, wherein she supplicated her grace to exert her influence to prevent her husband's discharge from the duke's service, and observed, that Mrs Phillips had, on the preceding day, swore, that her husband was not dismissed, but voluntarily quitted his station in the household of his grace.

Mr Wallace called Mr Berkley, Lord Bristol's attorney, who said his lordship told him he was desirous of obtaining a divorce, and directed him to Anne Craddock, sayng she was the only person then living who was present at his marriage; and that, a short time previous to the commencement of the jactitation suit, he waited upon Anne Craddock, who informed him that her memory was bad and that she could remember nothing perfectly in relation to the marriage, which must have been a long time before.

Anne Pritchard deposed that about three months had elapsed since being informed by Mrs Craddock that she expected to be provided for soon after the trial, and of being enabled to procure a place in the custom-house for one of her relations.

The lord high steward addressed himself to the court; saying, that their lordships had heard the evidence on both sides, and that the importance and solemnity of the occasion required that they should severally pronounce their opinions in the absence of the prisoner, observing that the junior baron was to speak first— their lordships declared the prisoner to be guilty.

Proclamation was then made that the Usher of the Black Rod should replace the prisoner at the bar; and, immediately on her appearing, the Lord High Steward informed her that the Lords had maturely considered the evidence adduced against her, as well as the testimony of the witnesses who had been called on her behalf, and that they had pronounced her guilty of the felony for which she was indicted. He then inquired whether she had anything to say why judgment should not be pronounced against her.

The Duchess immediately handed in a paper containing the words, "I plead the privilege of the peerage," which were read by the clerk at the table. The Lord High Steward then informed her Grace that the Lords had considered the plea, and agreed to allow it, adding: "Madam, you will be discharged on paying the usual fees."

The Duchess during the trial appeared to be perfectly collected, but on sentence being pronounced she fainted, and was carried out of court.

This solemnity was concluded on the 22nd of April, 1776. But the prosecutors still had a plan in embryo to confine the person of the Countess of Bristol― for to this rank she was now again reduced― to the kingdom, and to deprive her of her personal property; and a writ of ne exeat regno was actually in the course of preparation, but private notice being conveyed to her of this circumstance she was advised immediately to quit the country. In order to conceal her flight she caused her carriage to be driven publicly through the streets, and invited a large party to dine at her house; but, without waiting to apologise to her guests, she drove to Dover in a post-chaise, and there entering a boat with Mr Harvey, the captain of her yacht, she accompanied him to Calais.

Circumstances of which she had been advised, and which had occurred during the period of her absence from Rome, rendered her immediate presence in that city necessary, and proceeding thither, without loss of time, she found that a Spanish friar, whom she had left in charge of her palace and furniture, had found means to convert her property into money, and after having seduced a young English girl, who had also been left in the palace, had absconded. Having now obtained the whole of her plate from the public bank where she had deposited it, she returned to Calais, which she adopted as the best place at which she could fix her residence, in consequence of the expeditious communication which existed between that town and London, by means of which she might be afforded the earliest intelligence of the proceedings of her opponents.

Their business was now to set aside, if possible, the will of the Duke of Kingston. There was no probability of the success of the attempt, but there was sufficient doubt upon the subject in the mind of the Countess to keep all her apprehensions alive. The will of his Grace of Kingston, however, received every confirmation which the Courts of Justice could give, and the object of the Countess now was to dissipate rather than expend the income of his estates.

A house which she had purchased at Calais was not sufficient for her purpose; a mansion at Montmartre, near Paris, was fixed on, and the purchase of it was negotiated in as short a time as the Countess could desire. This house being in a ruinous condition a lawsuit was brought by her. Going to St Petersburg, she turned brandy-distiller, but returned to Paris before the lawsuit was settled. The possession of such a place, however, was not sufficient for the Countess, and she proceeded to make a second purchase of a house, built upon a scale of infinite grandeur.

The brother of the existing French king was the owner of a domain suited in every respect for the residence of a person of such nobility, and the Countess determined to become its mistress. It was called the territory of St Assise, and was situated at a pleasant distance from Paris, abounding in game of all descriptions, and rich in all the luxuriant embellishments of nature. The mansion was of a size which rendered it fit for the occupation of a king: it contained three hundred beds. The value of such an estate was too considerable to be expected in one payment; she therefore agreed to discharge the whole of the sum demanded, which was fifty-five thousand pounds, by instalments. The purchase on the part of the Countess was a good one. It afforded not only game, but rabbits in plenty; and, finding them of superior quality and flavour, her ladyship, during the first week of her possession, had as many killed and sold as brought her three hundred guineas. At St Petersburg she had been a distiller of brandy; and now at Paris she turned rabbit-merchant.

Such was her situation when one day, while she was at dinner, her servants received the intelligence that judgment respecting the house near Paris had been awarded against her, the sudden communication of the news produced an agitation of her whole frame. She flew into a violent passion, and burst an internal blood vessel. She walked a little about her room, and afterwards said: "I will lie down on the couch; I can sleep, and after that I shall be entirely recovered." She seated herself on the couch, a female having hold of each hand. In this situation she soon appeared to have fallen into a sound sleep, until the women felt her hands colder than ordinary, and she was found to have expired. She died on the 26th of August, 1796.

Continued in Volume 3

Table of Contents

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