From Greenwich, aged fifty, admitted 20th April 1820. This little
fellow, whose height is not quite five feet, had been formerly a
sheriff’s-officer; and, like other artists, probably owed his mental
malady to his ardent pursuits in the exercise of his profession. He
was always cheerful, alert, and loquacious, and boasted incessantly of
his stratagems, exploits, and intrepidity in his important occupation.
All impediments to his captures that bolts, bars, gates, doors, or the
cautions of the debtor could interpose, vanished before his shrewdness,
courage, activity and address. He made innumerable captions which no
other officer was to be found willing or daring enough to undertake: no
danger to his own life could damp his zeal, or defeat his enterprize.
He totally disregarded the menaces of death and destruction in all
their forms: guns, pistols, swords, daggers, knives, razors, or
bludgeons were trifles to him. “I wanted no assistance; I watched my
opportunity,” said he, “and entered the house alone, by the back-door,
or the area, or a window, and, desiring the debtor to surrender, I
seized him as a spider would seize a fly, brought him off, lodged
him in the spunging-house, and was then ready, able, and willing for
another job.”
Never did the keenest sportsman evince more apparent delight in
recounting his adventures, and detailing his success in pursuing and
seizing his game, whom he styled the “shy cocks,” and the numberless
stratagems he contrived to lure them to his toils.
But his skill was by no means confined to this profession: his genius
took a much wider range; and amongst other projects, he chiefly
attended to the manufacture of shoe-blacking, which he brought to such
perfection as far to surpass all the efforts of Day and Martin, Turner,
Warren, Healey, and the whole tribe of his japaning competitors. He
talked like an inspired amateur of the inestimable qualities of his
liquid jet, tint, gloss, adapted to all climates, water-proof, a
specific preserver of leather against cock-chafers, black-beetles, and
white ants, and would not soil the most delicate fingers or nicest
silk-stocking. This was well known to all who tried it; and it was the
envy and malice of his rivals that brought him here: but he would soon
get out, ruin them all to a man, and make his own fortune.
In this notion he seemed quite happy; was always cheerful, sang,
smoaked, and recounted his exploits with much seeming triumph.
This poor fellow was discharged cured about the latter end of 1820.