_Angelica Kauffman._
The person of this lady, by all accounts, was highly interesting, and
her manners and accomplishments were peculiarly attractive. It is said
that Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was thoroughly acquainted with human
nature, and never likely to be deceived in his estimate of individuals,
was so much attached to her that he solicited her hand. It appeared,
however, that she refused him as she was attached to the late Sir
Nathaniel Holland, then Mr. Dance, an eminent painter, whose portrait
of Garrick in the character of Richard the Third is the best and most
spirited representation of that unrivalled actor that ever appeared,
though all the most distinguished artists of the time employed
themselves on the same admirable subject. The correspondence that had
taken place between Mrs. Kauffman and Mr. Dance became known, and was
thought to be of a very interesting description, insomuch that his
Majesty George the Third, who generally heard of anything worthy of
attention, requested Mr. Dance would permit him to peruse the letters
that had passed between them during their courtship. What put a period
to an intercourse which, being founded upon mutual attachment, held
forth so favourable a prospect of mutual happiness, has never been
developed, and is only matter of conjecture. Mrs. Kauffman, after
the termination of this promising courtship, went abroad, and was
unfortunately deluded into a marriage with a common footman, in Germany,
who had assumed a title and appeared to be a person of high rank and
affluence. Mrs. Kauffman, it is said, by the intervention of friends
had recourse to legal authorities, was enabled to separate from the
impostor, but did not return to this country, and died a few years
after, having never recovered her spirits after the shock of so
degrading an alliance. It is not a little surprising that a lady so
intelligent and accomplished should have been the victim of such a
deception.
_Highwaymen.--Jemmy Maclaine._
Mr. Donaldson told me that once having betted twenty pounds on a horse
at Newmarket, he won, but at the end of the race could not find the
person who had lost. Returning to London the next day, his post-chaise
was stopped by a highwayman, whom he immediately recognised as the loser
of the day before. He addressed the highwayman as follows: "Sir, I will
give you all I have about me if you will pay me the twenty pounds which
I won of you yesterday at Newmarket." The man instantly spurred his
horse, and was off in a moment. It is somewhat strange that, soon after
Mr. Donaldson landed in Jamaica, he saw the same man in a coffee-house.
He approached him, and in a whisper reminded him of his loss at
Newmarket; the man rushed out of the room, and, according to report
went to the Blue Mountains, and was never heard of again.
Mr. Donaldson was in real danger from another highwayman, who was
celebrated in his day, and known as a fashionable man by the name
of Maclaine. This man came from Ireland, and made a splendid figure
for some time, but as his means of support were not known, he was
generally considered as a doubtful character. He was by all accounts
a tall, showy, good-looking man, and a frequent visitor at Button's
Coffee-house, founded, as is well known, by Addison, in favour of an old
servant of the Warwick family, but never visited by him, when driven
from his home by the ill-humour of his wife; he then resorted to Will's,
on the opposite side of the same street, that he might not be reminded
of domestic anxieties. Button's was on the south side of Russell-street,
Covent-garden; and Will's in the same street, at the corner of
Bow-street. Button's became a private house, and Mrs. Inchbald lodged
there. Mr. Donaldson, observing that Maclaine paid particular attention
to the bar-maid, the daughter of the landlord, gave a hint to the father
of Maclaine's dubious character. The father cautioned his daughter
against the addresses of Maclaine, and imprudently told her by whose
advice he put her on her guard; she as imprudently told Maclaine. The
next time Donaldson visited the coffee-room, and was sitting in one of
the boxes, Maclaine entered, and in a loud tone said, "Mr. Donaldson,
I wish to _spake_ to you in a private room." Mr. Donaldson being
unarmed, and naturally afraid of being alone with such a man, said in
answer, that as nothing could pass between them that he did not wish the
whole world to know, he begged leave to decline the invitation. "Very
well," said Maclaine, as he left the room, "we shall _mate_ again."
A day or two after, as Mr. Donaldson was walking near Richmond in the
evening, he saw Maclaine on horseback, who on perceiving him spurred
the animal and was rapidly approaching him; fortunately, at that moment
a gentleman's carriage appeared in view, when Maclaine immediately
turned his horse towards the carriage, and Donaldson hurried into the
protection of Richmond as fast as possible. But for the appearance of
the carriage, which presented better prey, it is probable that Maclaine
would have shot Mr. Donaldson immediately. Maclaine a short time after
committed a highway robbery, was tried, found guilty, and hanged at
Tyburn.
_Extraordinary Story._
What the religious principles of Mr. Donaldson were, I never knew,
but I am sure he had too manly a mind to give way to superstition.
The following circumstance, however, he told me as a fact in which he
placed full confidence, on account of the character of the gentleman
who related it. The latter was a particular friend of his, and a member
of Parliament. In order to attend the House of Commons, he had taken
apartments in St. Anne's Churchyard, Westminster. On the evening when
he took possession, he was struck with something that appeared to him
mysterious in the manner of the maid-servant, who looked like a man
disguised; and he felt a very unpleasant emotion. This feeling was
strengthened by a similar deportment in the mistress of the house, who
soon after entered his room, and asked him if he wanted anything before
he retired to rest: disliking her manner, he soon dismissed her, and went
to bed, but the disagreeable impression made on his mind by the maid
and mistress, kept him long awake; at length, however, he fell asleep.
During his sleep he dreamed that the corpse of a gentleman, who had
been murdered, was deposited in the cellar of the house. This dream
co-operating with the unfavourable, or rather repulsive countenances and
demeanour of the two women, precluded all hopes of renewed sleep, and
it being the summer season, he arose about five o'clock in the morning,
took his hat, and resolved to quit a house of such alarm and terror.
To his surprise, as he was leaving it, he met the mistress in the
entry, dressed, as if she had never gone to bed. She seemed to be
much agitated, and inquired his reason for wishing to go out so early
in the morning. He hesitated a moment with increased alarm, and then
told her that he expected a friend, who was to arrive by a stage in
Bishopsgate-street, and that he was going to meet him. He was suffered
to go out of the house, and when revived by the open air, he felt, as
he afterwards declared, as if relieved from impending destruction. He
stated that in a few hours after, he returned with a friend to whom
he had told his dream, and the impression made on him by the maid and
the mistress; he, however, only laughed at him for his superstitious
terrors, but on entering the house, they found that it was deserted, and
calling in a gentleman who was accidentally passing, they all descended
to the cellar, and actually found a corpse in the state which the
gentleman's dream had represented.
_Drawing an Inference._
Dr. Monsey, with two or three old members of the university, in the
course of an evening walk, differed about a proper definition of man.
While they were severally offering their notions on the subject,
they came to a wall where an itinerant artist had drawn various
representations of animals, ships, &c. After complimenting him on
his skill, one of the gentlemen asked him if he could _draw an
inference_. "No," said the artist, "I never saw one." Logic then gave
way to jocularity, and a man coming by with a fine team of horses, they
stopped him, spoke highly of the condition of his horses, particularly
admiring the first. "That horse, carter," said another of the gentlemen,
"seems to be a very strong one, I suppose he could draw a butt," The man
assented. "Do you think he could _draw an inference?"_--"Why," said
the man, "he can draw anything _in reason_." "There," said Monsey,
"what becomes of your definition, when you met a man that could _not
draw an inference_ and a _horse that could?_"
_Disposal of the body for Dissection._
Dr. Monsey had the utmost contempt for funeral ceremonies, and exacted
a promise from his daughter, that she would not interfere with the
arrangement which he had made with Mr. Thompson Forster, the surgeon,
for the disposal of his body, conceiving that whenever it was dissected
by that gentleman, something might occur for the illustration and
advancement of anatomy. "What can it signify to me," said he, "whether
my carcass is cut up by the knife of a surgeon, or the tooth of a worm?"
He had a large box in his chambers at Chelsea, full of air-holes, for
the purpose of carrying his body to Mr. Forster, in case he should be
in a trance when supposed to be dead. It was provided with poles, like
a sedan-chair.
_Voltaire._
Mentioning Voltaire, I may as well relate in this place a circumstance
communicated to me by Monsey, upon what he deemed good authority, that
Voltaire being invited to dine with a lady of quality while he was in
London, to meet some persons of distinction, waited upon the lady an
hour or two earlier than the time appointed. The lady apologized for the
necessity of leaving him, as she had visits to pay, but begged he would
amuse himself with the books in the room, promising to return very soon.
After the party broke up, having occasion to refer to her escrutoire,
she evidently found that it had been opened in her absence, and though
nothing had been taken away, her papers were obviously not in the same
order as when she left them. She inquired anxiously who had been in the
room, and was assured nobody but Voltaire, who had remained there till
she returned home. As Voltaire was destitute of all religious principles
it is not wonderful that he was equally devoid of all moral delicacy.
A severe account of his conduct towards the great King of Prussia, while
he was at the court of that monarch, is given in "The Reverie," a work
before referred to.
Voltaire once dined in company with Pope, Lord Bolingkroke, and several
of the most distinguished characters in London, and said it was "the
proudest day he had ever enjoyed."
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