We had been putting to rights an old surgery that it might be turned
into a dwelling-house. A complete set of drawers, with names of drugs
and medical condiments printed thereon, had been torn from the wall;
vast heaps of bones, used formerly for scientific purposes, had been
taken from a large mouldy cupboard, and had thereafter received
Christian burial in a corner of our garden. All had been done that was
possible to sweeten and purify the ancient place, when we discovered
on a certain shelf several dusty and stained volumes, which looked to
our eyes interesting and curious. One of the volumes, entitled _Health
and Longevity_, was secured at once by my young children, and some
extraordinary woodcuts of venerable individuals, more or less hideous,
were cut therefrom, the volume itself being then thrown aside: Some
notes regarding these ancient beings may not be uninteresting.
The first, whose portrait lies before me as I write, is named ‘Isobel
Walker, who lived in the parish of Daviot, Aberdeenshire, and died
2d November 1774, aged one hundred and twelve years.’ The period of
her birth was established beyond doubt by the records of the parish
of Rayne, in Garioch, where she was born. Nothing remarkable is known
regarding her mode of life, excepting that she is said to have had
‘a placid temper, and to have been in that medium state in regard to
leanness and corpulence which is favourable to long life.’ She is
represented on the plate as a plump-faced, cheerful woman, with no
perceptible neck, and with an intelligent expression of countenance.
The next individual whose somewhat stolid countenance lies before me in
one of the quaint wood-engravings, is called ‘Peter Garden, who lived
also in Aberdeenshire, in the parish of Auchterless, and who died on
the 12th January 1775, aged one hundred and thirty-one years.’ He was
above the average height, led a temperate and frugal life; was employed
in agricultural pursuits to the last, and preserved his looks so well
that he appeared to be a fresher and younger man than his son, who was
far advanced in life.’ There have, the record goes on to say, ‘been
several older people in Scotland than either Isobel Walker or Peter
Garden, but unfortunately no picture or engraving of them can now be
found.’ Among these was John Taylor, a miner at the Leadhills, who
worked at that employment till he was one hundred and twelve! He did
not marry till he was sixty, after which there were nine children born
to him. ‘He saw to the last without spectacles, had excellent teeth,
and enjoyed his existence till 1770, when he yielded to fate, at the
age of one hundred and thirty-two.’
The fourth venerable and antique person mentioned is ‘Catharine,
Countess of Desmond, who died at the age of one hundred and forty
years, in the reign of King James I. She was a daughter of the
Fitzgeralds of Dromana in the county of Waterford, and in the reign
of Edward IV., married James, fourteenth Earl of Desmond.’ She was
in England in that reign, and danced at court with Richard, Duke of
Gloucester. It appears that she retained her full vigour to an advanced
period of life; and the ruin of the House of Desmond obliged her to
take a journey from Bristol to London, to solicit relief from the
court, when she was nearly one hundred and forty. She twice or thrice
renewed her teeth, and is represented with a heavy and voluminous
head-dress, and a most stern and masculine cast of features.
So much for Scotland and Ireland. Our fifth wood-cut, much defaced
and time-worn, is a portraiture of ‘Thomas Parr, son of John Parr of
Winnington, in the parish of Alderbury in Shropshire, who was born in
1483, in the reign of Edward IV., and resided in the Strand, London,
in 1635; consequently was one hundred and fifty-two years and some odd
months. He lived in the reigns of ten kings and queens, and was buried
in Westminster Abbey.’ When he was about one hundred and fifty-two
years of age, he was brought up to London by Thomas, Earl of Arundel,
and carried to court. The king said to him: ‘You have lived longer than
other men. What have you done more than other men?’ He replied: ‘I did
penance when I was a hundred years old.’ His great rules for longevity
are well known: ‘Keep your head cool by temperance; your feet warm by
exercise; rise early; go soon to bed; and if you are inclined to get
fat, keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.’ Or in other words: ‘Be
moderate both in your sleep and diet.’
Henry Jenkins is the next person on our list. His birthplace is
unknown; ‘but there is satisfactory evidence of his great longevity.’
At the age of between ten and twelve he was sent to Northallerton with
a horse-load of arrows, ‘previous to the battle of _Flowden_, which was
fought on the 9th of September 1513; and as he died on the 8th December
1670, he must have then been one hundred and sixty-nine years of age.’
He had been often sworn in Chancery and in other courts to above one
hundred and forty years’ memory; and there is a record preserved in
the King’s Remembrancer’s office in the Exchequer, by which it appears
‘that Henry Jenkins of Ellerton-upon-Swale, labourer, aged one hundred
and fifty-seven, was produced and deposed as a witness.’ Little is
known of his mode of living except that towards the close of his life
he ‘swam rivers.’ His diet is said to have been ‘coarse and sour.’ He
is represented with a long white beard, a shovel-hat, and a pensive
expression of face—not unpleasing.
Our next plate represents two very disagreeable-looking Hungarian
specimens of humanity, named ‘Sarah Roffin or Rovin, and John Rovin,
man and wife.’ They are depicted as enjoying the sweets of domestic
life. John Rovin is entering the hovel in which they live, with a
long staff in his hand, a bundle of some kind on his back. Sarah
is aged one hundred and sixty-four; her husband is one hundred and
seventy-two! In these circumstances, the expression of utter disgust
and weariness to be seen on both faces is scarcely to be wondered at.
They had at the time their likenesses were taken ‘lived together one
hundred and forty-seven years, and were both born at Stadova in the
directory Casanseber in Temeswaer Banat; their children, two sons
and two daughters, being then alive. The youngest son is one hundred
and sixteen years of age, and he has two great-grandsons, the one in
the twenty-seventh, the other in the thirty-fifth year of his age.’ A
description of the picture from which this engraving is taken has been
given in the following terms: ‘The dress of John Rovin consists of a
white frock reaching almost to the knees, and confined round the waist
by a girdle made of rushes, in which is hung a knife. He is standing
supported by a stick; his knees are rather bent; in his left hand are
some heads of Indian corn, which he is presenting to his wife. His hair
and beard are a light gray; his eyes are quick, clear, and penetrating;
and though his whole aspect proclaims his life to have been a long one,
there are no such traces of old age in him as appear in his wife. _She_
stoops very much, is wrinkled, old, and yellow, and in her whole aspect
is displayed extreme old age in its most revolting form. Near her feet
and on the ground is seated a large handsome tortoise-shell cat, which
also appears very old.’
The last of this extraordinary batch of aged people is called Petratsch
Zortan or Czartan, aged one hundred and eighty-five; and like the
preceding pair, is Hungarian. In a Dutch dictionary entitled _Het
algemeen Historich Woonderbok_, there is an account given of this
ancient personage, of which the following is a translation: ‘Czartan
was born in 1537 at Kosfrock, a village four miles from Temeswaer, in
Hungary, where he had lived one hundred and eighty years. When the
Turks took Temeswaer from the Christians, he kept his father’s cattle.
A few days before his death he walked with the help of his stick to
the post-house of Kosfrock, to ask alms of the travellers. He had but
little eyesight; his hair and beard were of a greenish-white colour; he
had few teeth remaining. His son was ninety-seven years of age—by his
third wife. Being a Greek, the old man was a strict observer of fasts,
and never used any food but milk and cakes, called by the Hungarians
“Kollatschen,” together with a good glass of brandy. He had descendants
in the fifth generation, with whom he sometimes played, carrying them
in his arms. He died in 1724. Count Wallis had a portrait taken of this
old man, when he fell in with him previous to his death. The Dutch
envoy then at Vienna transmitted this account to the States-general.’