for Mr. Pleydell's; coming up to the door, he put his hand behind him,
and pinched one of the children, which set it a roaring; this gave the
alarm to the dogs, so that between their barking and the child's crying,
the whole family was sufficiently disturbed. Out came the maid, crying,
Carry away the children, old woman, they disturb the ladies. God bless
their ladyships, I am the poor unfortunate grandmother to these poor
helpless infants, whose dear mother and all they had was burnt at the
dreadful fire at Kirton, and hope the good ladies, for God's sake, will
bestow something on the poor famishing starving infants. This moving
story was accompanied with tears; upon which, the maid ran in to acquaint
the ladies with this melancholy tale, while the good grandmother kept
pinching one or other of the children, that they might play their parts
to greater perfection; the maid soon returned with a half crown from the
ladies, and some good broth, which he went into the court-yard to eat,
(understanding the gentlemen were not in the house,) and got one of the
under-servants, whom he met, to give some to the children on his back.
He had not long been there, before the gentlemen all came in together,
who accosted him with, Where did you come from, my good old woman? From
Kirton, please your honours, where the poor unfortunate mother of these
helpless babes was burnt to death by the flames, and all they had
consumed.
D---n you, said one of the gentlemen, (who is well known by the name of
Worthy Sir, and was particularly acquainted with Mr. Carew,) there has
been more money collected for Kirton than ever Kirton was worth; however,
he gave this good old grandmother a shilling, the other gentlemen
likewise relieved her, commiserating her age, and her burden of so many
helpless infants; not one of them discovering our hero in the old woman,
who received their alms very thankfully, and pretended to go away.
But the gentlemen were not got into the house before their ears were
saluted with a "tantivy, tantivy," and halloo to the dogs, upon which
they turned about, supposing it to be some brother sportsman, but seeing
nobody, Worthy Sir swore the old woman they had relieved was Carew; a
servant therefore was dispatched to bring her back; and she was brought
into the parlour among the gentlemen, where, being examined, she
confessed herself to be the famous Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew, which made
the gentlemen very merry, and they were now all employed in untying the
children from his back, and observing the features and dress of this
grandmother, which afforded them sufficient entertainment. They
afterwards rewarded our hero for the mirth he procured them.
In the same manner he raised a contribution of Mr. Jones, of Ashton near
Bristol, twice in one day, who had maintained, with a gentleman of his
acquaintance, that he could not be so deceived. In the morning, with a
sooty face, leather apron, a dejected countenance, and a woollen cap, he
was generously relieved as an unfortunate blacksmith, whose all had been
consumed by fire: in the afternoon he exchanged his logs for crutches;
his countenance was now pale and sickly, his gestures very expressive of
pain, his complaints lamentable, a poor unfortunate tinner, disabled from
maintaining himself, a wife, and seven children, by the damps and
hardships he had suffered in the mines; and so well did he paint his
distress, that the disabled tinner was now as generously relieved as the
unfortunate blacksmith had been in the morning.
Being now near the city of Bath, where he had not long before made so
great a figure with his new married bride, he was resolved to visit it in
a very different shape and character; he therefore tied up one of his
legs behind him, and supplied its place with a wooden one, and putting on
a false beard, assumed the character of a poor old cripple. In this
disguise he had an opportunity of entertaining himself with the different
receptions he met with from every order of men now, from what he had done
before in his fine rich clothes. The rich, who before saluted him with
their hats and compliments, now spurned him out of their way; the
gamesters overlooked him, thinking he was no fish for their net; the
chairmen, instead of Please your honour, d---d him; and the pumpers, who
attentively marked his nod before, now denied him a glass of water. Many
of the clergy, those disciples of humility, looked upon him with a
supercilious brow; the ladies too, who had before strove who should be
his partner at the balls, could not bear the sight of so shocking a
creature: thus despised is poverty and rags, though sometimes the veil of
real merit; and thus caressed and flattered is finery, though perhaps a
covering for shame, poverty of soul, and abandoned profligacy. One
character alone vouchsafed to look upon this contemptible object; the
good man looked upon him with an eye melting into tenderness and soft
compassion, while at the same time the hand which was stretched out to
relieve him, showed the heart felt all the pangs which it supposed him to
feel. But, notwithstanding the almost general contempt, he raised very
considerable contributions; for, as some tossed him money out of pride,
others to get rid of his importunity, and a few, as above, out of a good
heart, it amounted to no small sum by the end of the season.
It is almost unnecessary to inform the reader, that these successful
stratagems gained him high applause and honour in the company of the
gipseys: he soon became the favourite of their king, who was very old and
decrepid, and had always some honourable mark of distinction assigned him
at their public assemblies. These honours and applauses were so many
fresh spurs to his ingenuity and industry; so certain it is, that
wherever those qualities are honoured, and publicly rewarded, though but
by an oaken garland, there industry will outwork itself, and ingenuity
will exceed the common bounds of art. Our hero, therefore, was
continually planning new stratagems, and soon executed a very bold one on
his grace the Duke of Bolton. Coming to his seat near Basingstoke, in
Hampshire, he dressed himself in a sailor's ragged habit, and knocking at
the gate, desired of the porter, with a composed and assured countenance,
admittance to the duke, or at least that the porter would give his grace
a paper which he held in his hand; but, as he did not apply in a proper
manner to this great officer, (who we think may not improperly be styled
the turnkey of the gate) as he did not show him that passport which can
open every gate, pass by the surliest porter, and get admittance even to
kings, neither himself nor paper could gain any entrance. However, he
was not disheartened with this, but waiting near the gate for some time,
he at last saw a servant come out, whom he followed, and, telling him
that he was a very unfortunate man, desired he would be so kind as to
introduce him where he might speak to his grace. As this servant had no
interest in locking up his master, for that belonged to the porter only,
he very readily complied with his request, as soon as the porter was off
his stand; which he accordingly did, introducing him into a hall, where
the duke was to pass through soon. He had not been long there before the
duke came in, upon which he clapped his knee to the ground, and very
graciously offered a paper to his hand for acceptance, which was a
petition, setting forth that the unfortunate petitioner, Bampfylde Moore
Carew, was supercargo of a large vessel that was cast away coming from
Sweden, in which were his whole effects, and none of which he had been
able to save. The duke seeing the name of Bampfylde Moore Carew, and
knowing those names to belong to families of the greatest worth and note
in the west of England, inquired of what family he was, and how he became
entitled to those honourable names? He replied, they were those of his
godfathers, the Honourable Hugh Bampfylde, and the Honourable Major
Moore. The duke then asked him several questions about his friends and
relations, all of which he answers very fully; and the duke expressing
some surprise that he should apply for relief in his misfortunes to any
but his own family, who were so well able to assist him, he replied, he
had disobliged them by some follies in his youth, and had not seen them
for some years, but was now returning to them. Many more questions did
the duke, and a lady who was present, ask him; all of which he answered
to their satisfaction.
As this was not a great while after his becoming a member of the
community of the gipseys, the duke had never heard that any of the noble
family of the Carews was become one of those people; and was very glad to
have it in his power to oblige any of that family; he therefore treated
him with respect, and called a servant to conduct him into an inner room,
where the duke's barber waited on him to shave him. Presently after came
in a footman, who brought in a good suit of trimmed clothes, a fine
Holland shirt, and all the other parts of dress suitable to these. As
soon as he had finished dressing, he was introduced to the duke again,
who complimented him on his genteel appearance, and not without reason,
as few did more honour to dress. He was now desired to sit down by the
duke, with whom were many other persons of quality, who were all greatly
taken with his person and behaviour, and very much condoled his
misfortunes; so that a collection was soon made for him to the amount of
ten guineas. The duke, being engaged to go out in the afternoon, desired
him to stay there that night, and gave orders that he should be
handsomely entertained, leaving his gentleman to keep him company; but
Mr. Carew, probably not liking his company so well as the duke's, took an
opportunity, soon after the duke was gone, to set out unobserved towards
Basingstoke, where he immediately went into a house which he knew was
frequented by some of his community. The master of the house, who saw
him entering the door, cried out, Here's his Grace the Duke of Bolton
coming in! upon which there was no small hurry amongst the company. As
soon as he entered, he ordered the liquor to flow very plentifully at his
private cost; his brethren discovering who he was, were greatly amazed at
the appearance he made, so different from the usual custom of their
order; but when he had informed them fully of the bold stratagem he had
executed, the whole place resounded with applause, and every one
acknowledged he was the most worthy of succeeding their present good old
and respected king.
As our hero's thoughts were bent on making still greater advantage of his
stratagem, he did not stay long with his brethren, but went to a
reputable inn, where he lodged, and set out the next morning for
Salisbury; here he presented his petition to the mayor, bishop, and other
gentlemen of great note and fortune, (applying to none but such who were
so,) and acquainted them with the favours he had received from his grace
the Duke of Bolton. The gentlemen, having such ocular demonstration of
the duke's great liberality, treated him with great complaisance and
respect, and relieved him very generously, not presuming to offer any
small alms to one whom the Duke of Bolton had thought so worthy of his
notice. In the same manner, and with the same success, he visited Lord
Arundel, Sir Edward Bouverie, and many other gentlemen in the counties of
Wilts, Dorset, and Somerset. Coming into Devonshire, his native country,
he visited all his friends and most intimate acquaintance in that part,
and was relieved by them, not one of them discovering this unfortunate
supercargo to be Mr. Bampfylde Moore Carew. Being one morning near the
seat of his friend Sir William Courtney, he was resolved to pay him three
visits that day: he went therefore to a house frequented by his order,
and there pulled off his fine clothes, and put on a parcel of rags; in
this dress he moved towards Sir William's: there, with a piteous moan, a
dismal countenance, and a deplorable tale, he got half-a-crown of that
gentleman, as a man who had met with misfortunes at sea; at noon he put
on a leather apron, a coat which seemed scorched by the fire, with a
dejected countenance applied again, and was relieved as an unfortunate
shoemaker, who had been burned out of his house, and all he had; in the
afternoon he went again in his trimmed clothes, and desiring admittance
to Sir William, with a modest grace and submissive eloquence he repeated
his misfortunes as the supercargo of a vessel which had been cast away,
and his whole effects lost, at the same time mentioning the kindness he
had received from his grace the Duke of Bolton. Sir William, seeing his
genteel appearance and behaviour, treated him with that respect which the
truly great will always pay to those who supplicate their assistance, and
generously relieved him, presenting him with a guinea at his departure.
There happened to be at that time a great number of the neighbouring
gentlemen and clergy at dinner with Sir William, not one of whom
discovered who this supercargo was, except the Reverend Mr. Richards, who
did not make it known till he was gone; upon which Sir William dispatched
a servant after him, to desire him to come back. When he entered the
room again, Sir William and the rest of the company were very merry with
him, and he was desired to sit down and give them an account by what
stratagem he had got all his finery, and what success he had with it,
which he did; after which he asked Sir William if he had not bestowed
half-a-crown that morning on a beggar, and at noon relieved a poor
unfortunate shoemaker. I remember, replied Sir William, that I bestowed
such alms on a poor ragged wretch. Well, said Mr. Carew, that ragged
wretch was no other than the supercargo now before you. Sir William
scarcely crediting this, Mr. Carew withdrew, and putting on the same
rags, came again with the same piteous moan, dismal countenance, and
deplorable tale, as he had done in the morning, which fully convinced Sir
William that he was the same man, and occasioned much diversion in the
company; he was however introduced again, and seated among them in his
rags; Sir William being one of the few who pay a greater regard to the
man than the dress, can discern and support merit under rags, and despise
poverty of soul and worthlessness in embroidery; but, notwithstanding the
success of this stratagem, our hero always looked upon it as one of the
most unfortunate in his whole life; for, after he had been at Sir
William's, as above-mentioned, coming to Stoke Gabriel, near Totness, on
a Sunday, and having done that which discovered the nakedness of Noah, he
went to the Reverend Mr. Osburn, the minister of the parish, and
requested the thanksgivings of the church for the wonderful preservation
of himself, and the whole ship's crew, in the imminent danger of a
violent tempest of thunder and lightning, which destroyed the vessel they
were aboard of. Though Mr. Osburn knew him very well, yet he had no
suspicion of its being him in disguise, therefore readily granted his
request; and not only so, but recommending him to his parishioners, a
handsome collection was made for him by the congregation, which he had
generosity enough to distribute among the poor of the parish, reserving
but a small part to himself. Though this was bringing good out of evil,
he still speaks of it (after above thirty years lapse since the
commission) with the greatest regret and compunction of mind; for he is
sensible, that though he can deceive man, he cannot deceive God, whose
eyes penetrate into every place, and mark all our actions, and who is a
Being too awful to be jested with.
It was about this time the good old king of the mendicants, named Clause
Patch, well known in the city of London, and most parts of England,
finished a life of true glory, being spent in promoting the welfare of
his people. A little before his death, finding the decays of nature
increase every day, and his final dissolution approach, he called
together all his children, to the number of eighteen, and summoned as
many of his subjects as were within a convenient distance, being willing
that the last spark of his life should go out in the service of his
people; this summons was obeyed with heavy hearts by his loving subjects,
and, at the day and place appointed, a great number assembled together.
The venerable old king was brought in a high chair, and placed in the
midst of them, his children standing next to him, and his subjects behind
them. Reader, if thou hast ever seen that famous picture of Seneca
bleeding to death in the bath, with his friends and disciples standing
round him, then mayest thou form some idea of this assembly: such was the
lively grief, such the profound veneration, such the solemn attention
that appeared in every countenance; but we can give thee no adequate idea
of the inward joy which the good old king felt at his seeing such
unfeigned marks of love in his subjects, which he considered as so many
testimonies of his own virtues; for, certain it is that, when kings are
fathers of their people, their subjects will have for them more than the
filial love or veneration of sons. The mind of man cannot conceive any
thing so august, as that of a king beloved by his subjects. Could kings
but taste this pleasure at their first mounting the throne, instead of
drinking of the intoxicating cup of power, we should see them considering
their subjects as children, and themselves the fathers, to nourish,
instruct, and provide for them as a flock, and themselves the shepherds
to bring them to pleasant pastures, refreshing streams, and secure folds;
for some time the king of the mendicants sat contemplating these emotions
of his subjects, then bending forward, thus addressed them:--
"Children and friends, or rather may I call you all my children, as I
regard you all with a parental love, I have taken you from your daily
employments, that you may all eat and drink with me before I die. I am
not courtier enough yet, however, to make my favours an honest loss to my
friends; but, before you depart, the book shall be examined, and every
one of you shall receive from my privy purse, the same sum that you made
by your business this day of the last week. Let not this honest act of
generosity displease my heirs; it is the last waste I shall make of their
stores: the rest of what I die possessed of is theirs by right, but my
counsel, though directed to them only, shall be of public good to all.
The good success, my dear children, with which it has pleased heaven to
bless my industry in this our calling, has given me the power of
bestowing one hundred pounds on each of you, a small, but improvable
fortune, and of most use, as it is a proof that every one of you may gain
as much as the whole, if your own idleness or vice prevent it not;--mark
by what means! Our community, like people of other professions, live
upon the necessities, the passions, or the weaknesses of their
fellow-creatures. The two great passions of the human breast are vanity
and pity; both these have great power in men's actions, but the first the
greater far; and he who can attract these the most successfully, will
gain the largest fortune.
"There was a time when rules for doing this were of more worth to me than
gold; but now I am grown old, my strength and senses fail me, and I am
past being an object of compassion. A real scene of affliction moves few
hearts to pity: dissembled wretchedness is what most reaches the human
mind, and I am past dissembling. Take therefore among you, the maxims I
have laid down for my own guide, and use them with as much success as I
have done.
"Be not less friends because you are brothers, or of the same profession:
the lawyers herd together in their inns, the doctors in their college,
the mercers on Ludgate-hill, and the old clothes-men in Monmouth-street:
what one has not among these another has; and among you the heart of him
who is not moved by one lamentable object, will probably be so by
another; and that charity which was half awakened by the first, will
relieve a second, or a third. Remember this, and always people a whole
street with objects skilled in scenes of different distress, placed at
proper distances: the tale that moves not one heart, may surprise the
next,--the obdurate passer-by of the first must be made of no human
matter if he feels no part of the distress that twenty different tales
have heaped together; and be assured, that where it is touched with a
kindred misfortune, it will bestow.
"Remember, that where one gives out of pity to you, fifty give out of
kindness to themselves, to rid them of your troublesome application; and
for one that gives out of real compassion, five hundred do it out of
ostentation. On these principles, trouble people most who are most busy,
and ask relief where many see it given, and you'll succeed in your
attempt. Remember that the streets were made for people to walk, and not
to converse in: keep up their ancient use; and whenever you see two or
three gathered together, be you amongst them, and let them not hear the
sound of their own voices till they have bought off the noise of yours.
When self-love is thus satisfied, remember social virtue is the next
duty, and tell your next friend where he may go and obtain the same
relief, by the same means.
"Trouble not yourselves about the nobility: prosperity has made them vain
and insensible: they cannot pity what they cannot feel.
"The talkers in the street are to be tolerated on different conditions,
and at different prices; if they are tradesmen, their conversation will
soon end, and may be well paid for by a halfpenny: if an inferior clings
to the skirt of a superior, he will give twopence rather than be pulled
off; and when you are happy enough to meet a lover and his mistress,
never part with them under sixpence, for you may be sure they will never
part from one another.
"So much regards communities of men; but when you hunt single, the great
game of all is to be played. However much you ramble in the day, be sure
to have some street near your home, where your chief residence is, and
all your idle time is spent, for the night. Here learn the history of
every family, and whatever has been the latest calamity; of that provide
a brother or a sister that may pretend the same. If the master of one
house has lost a son, let your eldest brother attack his compassion on
that tender side, and tell him he has lost the sweetest, hopefullest, and
dutifullest child, that was his only comfort: what would the answer be,
but, aye, poor fellow! I know how to pity thee in that; and a shilling be
in as much haste to fly out of his pocket as the first tear from his eye.
"Is the master of a second house sick? waylay his wife from morning till
night, and tell her you will pray, morning, noon, and night for his
recovery. If he dies, grief is the reigning passion for the first
fortnight, let him have been what he would: grief leads naturally to
compassion, so let your sister thrust a pillow under her coats, tell her
she is a poor disconsolate widow, left with seven small children, and
that she lost the best husband in the world; and you may share
considerable gains.
"Whatever people seem to want, give it them largely in your address to
them: call the beau Sweet Gentleman, bless even his coat or perriwig, and
tell him they are happy ladies where he is going. If you meet with a
schoolboy-captain, such as our streets are full of, call him Noble
General; and if the miser can be any way got to strip himself of a
farthing, it will be by the name of Charitable Sir.