_Norfolk, Oct. 19, 1825._
_To Mrs. -------- on my Birth-day._
My Betsy lo! the year’s gone round,
We see this day once more,
November’s leaves bespread the ground,
And I am forty-four.
I look me back to boyhood’s days,
When I was wont to pore
O’er grammar, ’neath a master’s gaze,
Nor thought of forty-four.
The mathematics I began,
Twice two I said was four,
What more know I, tho’ time has ran,
And made me forty-four.
Of French and crabbed Latin too
I laid in little store,
Yet both are pleasing to my view,
Now I am forty-four.
Thus time makes pleasant in his round
What once to us was sore,
This truth full often have I found,
Ere I was forty-four.
One nymph to crown our nuptial bliss,
See dancing on the floor,
May all our days be blest as this
On which I am forty-four.
Tho’ small my girl, our share, our wealth,
On wolf, we bar the door;
If Providence but sends me health,
I’m blest at forty-four.
For thee, my love, long life I ask,
That blessing sent of yore,
When men like _boys_ conn’d o’er a task
At ten times forty-four.
[Illustration: ~The Aerial, or The Great Unknown,~
AT VAUXHALL.]
“The earth hath bubbles as the water has,
And this is of them.”
This personage has obtained himself to be sketched and lithographed. It
is a true portraiture of his dress and form, but not of his face. By way
of denoting his pretension to “deathless notoriety,” it has these few
expressive words beneath it; namely,--“Without equal in nature or art,
this or in any other age or globe.” Afterwards follows this intimation,
“Published as the act directs, by Mr. Leeming, London, October, 1825.”
In vain did he solicit the printsellers to sell the prints for five
shillings each. Although he had coupled it with written intimation that
he is “the Ærial invaluable,” and that after his decease will be
inscribed on his tomb, “If this was not a _gentleman_, he would not have
been buried in christian burial,” yet the publishers were impenetrable
to his “assurance,” and therefore before and after, and on Guy Fawkes’
day, a man was employed to walk the streets with a board bearing a
couple of the impressions pasted thereon, the said man bearing also
unpasted ones, “to all who choose to buy them” at one shilling each.
The first public intimation of this “phenomenon,” is in the _Times_ of
Saturday, July 2, 1825:--“An individual in a splendid dress of Spanish
costume has excited much attention at Vauxhall gardens. Having walked or
rather skipped round the promenade, with a great air of consequence,
saluting the company as he passed along, he at length mingled amongst
the audience in the front of the orchestra, and distributed a number of
cards, on each of which was written, ‘The Ærial challenges the whole
world to find a man that can in any way compete with him as such.’ After
having served about three or four hundred of these challenges, he darted
off like lightning, taking the whole circuit of the gardens in his
career, and made his exit through the grand entrance into the road where
a carriage was in waiting for him, into which he sprang, and was driven
off.”
Postponing a few particulars of this visitation of Vauxhall by “_The
Ærial_” for a minute or two, we proceed to state that he declares
himself “an Adonis;” that to glad the eyes of artists with a view of his
uncommon person, he condescended to leave the good town of Manchester by
the common stage coach, and that assuming the disguise of common dress,
like Apollo in “Midas” after expulsion from the celestials, he arrived
in London on the day of June. Dull as he found this metropolis to
personal merit, yet, to his “Agreeable Surprise,” there were some who
said in the language of _Lingo_:--
“Such beauties in view I
Can never praise too high.”
Sculptors and painters of eminence to whom he proffered disclosure of
his elegant person were honoured by visits from him. He represents some
interviews to this effect. Sir Thomas Lawrence, the president of the
royal academy, gazed upon him, and inquired what “he considered the
essential principle of man?” the Ærial immediately answered “the thigh.”
Sir Thomas insensible to the mundane charms before him, observed that he
thought the beauties of the mind should be preferred to those of the
body, and therefore suggested the propriety of his cultivating mental
beauty. This was an indignity, for it was opposed to the theory
maintained by the Ærial, that mental beauty results from personal
beauty. Mr. Haydon was not quite so shocking; he admitted to, and to the
cost of the Ærial, as will hereafter appear, that he had “a beautiful
leg.” His oral developement of his sylph-like perfections to Mr.
Chantry, induced that gentleman to decline prolongation of the
interview, and to say he should at once call himself Ærial, and from
that moment he did. Mr. Behnes told him that he was “no conjuror,” and
that every body laughed at him. The Ærial was not to be so subdued, nor
by such means humbled. He deemed them to be the sayings of envy. His
organ of self-esteem attained a new swell, and in harmonious strength he
rose like Antæus from the dust, a giant refreshed.
He conceives that he is the most beautiful person in the world, and
hence besides calling himself “the Ærial,” the “New Discovery,” and “the
Great Unknown,” he adds “the Paragon of Perfection,” “the Phœnix,” “the
God of Beauty,” and “the Grand Arcana of Nature.” Some one intimated
that arcan_um_ would be correct; he said, he did not choose to _hum_,
and he was “not to be _hummed_.” It was hinted that he might assume the
name of Apollo; he turned from the speaker with contempt--“Apollo is
nothing compared with me; there is no figure to compete with me in any
respect, except the Achilles in the park, which may be somewhat like me
in the under part of the foot upon the ground, but upon that it is
impossible to determine with accuracy, unless the figure flew from the
pedestal.”
He relates, that he visited Dr. Thornton, who lectures at the
Marlborough rooms, in Great Marlborough-street, on “craniology, botany,
chemistry, astronomy, vision, hearing, the circulation of the blood,
digestion, and the beneficial effects produced by the different gases in
the cure of diseases.” He inquired of this gentleman whether he thought
“an exhibition of something never before seen under the sun, and which,
when seen, people would fall down and worship, would be likely to
_take_?” The doctor inquired what the “something” was; the Ærial
answered by inquiring which of all the exhibitions was likely to be the
most successful; the doctor answered, “the panorama of London in the
Regent’s-park when it opens.” “But what do you think an infinitely more
attractive exhibition will produce.” “It is impossible to say--perhaps
20,000_l._ a year; but what is yours?”--“You shall see--but not
now--to-morrow.” On the morrow the Ærial came with a small bundle; and
having obtained permission to retire therewith, alone to a room,
promised to return in a few minutes, and cheer the sight of the doctor
and his family with a more astonishing production of nature than the
doctor or all mankind born before him had seen, or after ages could see.
During his absence, the doctor’s household were on tiptoe expectation
till the long-looked-at door opened, when the Ærial entered in a
close-fitting dress, and walking to the middle of the room, threw out
his chest and left arm, and projecting his right arm behind, cried,
“Behold!”
Determined on an immediate public exhibition, the Ærial conceived the
idea of a new joint stock company, “capital one million;” for which
“good and valuable consideration,” he proposed to put himself at the
disposition of the company “so soon as the subscription was filled up.”
To certain observations of the chancellor against the “new companies,”
the Ærial attributed a general indifference to personal overtures that
he made to several individuals, with a view to arrangements for bringing
him “into the market.” He resolved to speculate on his own account; the
first thing to be obtained was a “grand room;” but the proprietor of the
“Egyptian-hall” was deaf to the voice of the charmer, and every room in
London was denied to him, except on degrading conditions which people
“without souls” are accustomed to require on such applications. Could he
have obtained _one_ friend to have gone shares with him, the _summum
bonum_ might have been obtained. If only _one_ monied man would have
advanced with capital, the Ærial would have advanced in person. It was
to have been an exhibition by candlelight, for candlelight he said was
indispensable to produce “extreme height,” and render him in common eyes
“a giant.” This effect of exhibition by candlelight would be, he said, a
“new discovery;” and therefore he added to himself the title of the “New
Discovery.” He is five feet one inch and a quarter high. Some one
unthinkingly conversing in his presence, stated him to be five feet one
inch and a _half_; the Ærial corrected the inaccuracy with severity. “A
_quarter_, sir,” he said; “five feet one and a _quarter_, sir; mine is
the _perfect_ height; a _quarter_ of an inch more would be higher, a
_quarter_ of an inch less would be lower than the standard of
perfection!”
Acquiring experience from disappointment, and deeming that the wonder of
his person might be as insupportable as “excess of light,” the Ærial
purposed to let himself in upon the public by degrees. At his chambers
in Thavies-inn, he procured the attendance of a person to mould that
limb, which Mr. Haydon, from inability to duly appreciate the rest of
his body, had denominated “a beautiful leg.” The operation was so
tedious, that the mould was not completed till eleven o’clock in the
evening. It was then carried away for the purpose of being cast, but the
Ærial suspected “all was not right,” and “convinced,” he says, “that the
artist was sitting up to surreptitiously take a thousand casts from it,
in the course of the night, and sell them all over the country,” he
jumped into a hackney, between one and two in the morning, and caused
the coachman to drive him “as fast as the horses could go,” to the
artist’s house. The coachman, then he, the door-knocker seized, and
there both kept “lowd rub a dub tabering, with frapping rip rap.” The
drowsy servant roused from slumber, “creeping like snail, unwillingly”
opened the street door; the Ærial called out “where’s my leg! I’m come
for my leg!” and, seizing “the candle,” rushed to the workroom, which to
his astonishment was in darkness till illumined by his presence, and
the light he bore in his hand. On seeing the mould of his leg in the
basket just as it had been brought, he seized and bore it off to his own
home, and after this achievement slept in peace. In the morning he
carried it himself to another place, and having had a cast taken from it
in his own presence, conveyed both away, and meditated how “all might
see, and having seen, admire.” Finally, he deposited the cast with Mr.
Cottrell, at his “last and boot-tree manufactory,” No. 125, (near
Leather-lane,) Holborn, upon a promise that it should be exhibited in
the shop window without note or comment: “it will speak for itself,” he
said. He frequently made kind inquiries as to this portional
representation of himself, till he was informed, that “two hundred
pounds had been bid for it:” this was not enough. On a subsequent
interview, he was acquainted that “another person said he was willing to
give three hundred for it.” This undervaluation was decisive. “Such
people” he said, “shall not have a part of my person: give me my leg;
plenty now will desire an entire cast of me: I will submit to it for the
sake of the world for a thousand pounds; no less: here is my address,
let any one who desires it come to me.” He once more resumed the actual
possession of the cast, but no one came, and he pondered in vain to
account for the motives of “the world.” At length, by accident, he let
the cast fall and broke it; this he entirely destroyed. He next sought
how to dispose of the mould without disgrace to it, or to himself.
Sudden and quick in purpose, he resolved to bury it in the ocean. The
mail carried him to Dover, and from on board a steam-vessel, when midway
between England and France, he let it down to the bed of the sea, as to
the bed of honour, and “left it alone in its glory.”
After this funeral excursion, which had extended to Calais, he was, on
Monday, the 29th of August, at the public office, Marlborough-street.
The newspapers state the circumstance to this effect:--“A young man,
smart and flippant withal, was introduced to Mr. Conant, the presiding
magistrate. Whether the individual thought with Burke, that ‘mystery was
an attribute of the sublime,’ we know not--but this we know, he at first
attempted to hide his merits under the humble appellative of Joseph
Thompson; but subsequently owned a lawful right to the name of Joseph
Leeming;--whether to an immoderate love of the grape, or malt, was to be
attributed the inclination of Joseph Leeming matters not, a serious
charge of drunkenness, and its almost certain offspring, a riotous
comportment in his majesty’s highway, was made against him. When it was
demanded what part of the metropolis was dignified by the sojourn of
Joseph, he replied, No. 20, Newman-street, where he had tarried about a
week. Indeed, Joseph, by his own avowal, is of the swallow nature--one
of those roving sons of fortune who fillip the world aside, and cock
their hat at fate. With this disposition he seldom remains more than a
week anywhere,--perhaps he thinks with Virgil, that ‘in no fixed place
the happy souls reside,’ and therefore puts his happiness in quick
migration. He had come direct from Calais. ‘And pray, sir,’ said the
magistrate, ‘what was your business at Calais?’--‘My _business_?’
retorted Joseph Leeming, ‘_business_, indeed!’--‘Well, sir,’ replied the
magistrate, making due acknowledgment for having imagined that Joseph
Leeming could have any business, ‘what was your _pleasure_?’ but our
hero was not to be catechised in this manner, yet feeling that his
dependence on his powers were gradually relaxing, he sent for an artist
to astonish the world by a publication of that fame which the modesty of
Joseph Leeming kept concealed. The messenger said the artist was not at
home, but he learned from a man at the house, that Joseph Leeming was,
what no one could have discovered, namely, a conjuror; and then came the
grand discovery which we have now to relate. England is now the museum
of the world; she has balloons, fighting-dogs, fighting-men, giantesses,
and griping churchmen. Mr. Leeming, with a laudable spirit to improve
the number of these curiosities, and to distend the jaws of public
wonderment somewhat wider, had hit upon a plan by which he might fly
through the air and wage an equal battle with rooks and magpies. He had
purposed, by the aid of a pair of patent wings, (to be had only of the
inventor,) to fly from one of the Dover cliffs down into the town of
Calais, or, upon extraordinary occasions, to light upon Paris gates,
thereby saving a world of trouble resulting from passports and
gendarmerie. However, nothing is more uncertain than the resolve of
genius, Mr. Leeming had lately examined the cliffs of Dover, and
whether, as he surveyed the shores of France from chalky England, he
thought a trip to the ‘land of the Gaul’ was too venturous for a goose
we know not; but the feat was relinquished, and the good people of Dover
and Calais were denied the pleasure of beholding an ærial race between
Mr. Leeming and a sea-gull for the point of destination. After this
introduction of Mr. Leeming, in his national greatness, to Mr. Conant,
his worship recurred to the original subject, and asked Mr. Leeming if
he had his ‘wings’ about him. Mr. Leeming said it was a question he
should not answer. ‘Because if you have,’ said Mr. Conant, ‘you may fly
out of the office as soon as you please, after you have paid five
shillings for being drunk.’ Mr. Leeming paid the five shillings; and so
much had the adventure awakened curiosity to the suggested voyage, that
the spectators could not divest themselves of the hope of seeing Mr.
Leeming fly from the step of the office-door to a neighbouring
chimney-pot; in this, however, they were deceived, as he preferred
walking out.”
Whether Mr. Leeming proposed “to fly” from Dover cliffs or not is of
little consequence, but a person at Dover who meditated and perhaps
achieved the experiment, deemed it inexpedient to be considered the
Ærial of Marlborough-street, and by public announcement, disclaimed the
identity. His appearance at that police office was after his return from
Calais. He was on his way home to Newman-street, in “tipsy dance,” when
in the imperative mood, he inquired his way of a watchman, who,
preferring the _suaviter in modo_, lodged him in the house appointed for
the reception of many who indulge too freely in “life in London.” The
constable inquired “who are you?” “If you cannot perceive I am a great
man with a mere look,” said the Ærial, “I shall not tell you: I will
have you all punished.” The result as we have seen, was the proceedings
before Mr. Conant.
For the visit to Vauxhall mentioned in _The Times_, he made due
preparation. His dress was a close jacket of blue and silver; theatrical
“trunks,” or short breeches, reaching to within two or three inches
above the knee; white silk stockings of twenty shillings the pair; blue
kid shoes; a double frill or ruff, edged with lace round the neck; and
wristbands trimmed with lace. His entrance into the gardens without a
hat, surprised and astonished the waiters, who ran across to each other
inquiring “who is he?” They imagined him a distinguished foreigner, but
as he walked the gardens unrecognised their curiosity ceased. During the
performances he was little noticed, for being uncovered, the company
presumed he was some performer awaiting his turn to exhibit; but when
the amusements had ceased, one or two visiters begged to know whom they
had the honour of addressing. He answered, “you’ll find out by and bye.”
Inquiries becoming troublesome, and a crowd of gazers pressing on, he
suddenly broke through, and sustained the character of Ærial, by a
“light fantastic toe” sort of flight, from one part of the ground to
another, till having arrived at the saloon and rotunda escape was
impossible. From a private pocket he handed the printed card copied in
_The Times_ paragraph, with another inscribed, “THE NEW DISCOVERY
_challenges the whole World, and artists individually, to find a man, or
even design, that can in any way, in form or shape, be compared to
him_.” The distribution of three or four hundred of these challenges
were, in general, satisfactory answers; and when he intimated an
inclination to walk, a passage was made, through which he passed with
the most dignified deportment he could assume, while the company
followed huzzaing. A gentleman required a ring for him; it was instantly
complied with, and the Ærial put himself into various positions, with
the intent of displaying his transcendant form in the attitudes of
ancient statues; that which seemed to give the most lively satisfaction
to himself and his increasing audience was the gladiator, wherein he is
represented by the engraving to this article. He maintained it with
painful perseverance and patient endurance, while the perspiration
poured down his face, and the spectators shrieked with laughter and
amazement. This achievement was the height of his ambition; at its
conclusion he withdrew to a couch, whereon he duly reclined in a studied
attitude, to the admiration of thousands, who, tempted by the “Wonderful
Discovery,” flocked in from the supper rooms to gaze. Loud cries and
shouts of “encore,” roused him from temporary repose; but it was not to
indulge the anxious desire, for he walked apparently undisturbed by the
distinction he had obtained, and entering a box called for “wine,
mighty wine.” Draughts of this were succeeded by potations of
rack-punch, while loud calls upon him were unanswered; allegations
derogatory to his dignity were noticed by looks of indignation and
contempt; “he spoke not, he moved not,” till increased throng and uproar
raised his indignation, when a person withdrew him from the gardens, put
on his cloak, and the Ærial retired delighted with his reception.
Perusing the papers on the morrow, and not finding accounts respecting
his Vauxhall adventure, he found an advertisement of a song dedicated to
the duke of York, printed in blue and white. “They are my colours,” said
the Ærial, “they are the colours of an ærial,--the duke is an ærial.”
Elated by this conception, he bought another new pair of silk stockings,
and accomplished another visit to Vauxhall the same evening, where being
immediately recognised by some who had seen him the evening before, he
was soon surrounded. On this occasion he adventured a challenge, with an
offer of 500_l._ to any one who would match himself against him for
beauty. Being pushed and pursued he sprung on the supper-table of a
company, to the loss or great damage of his second pair of silks, and
went home on foot by daylight, amidst the grins of unappreciating people
passing to their labour.
On the night of the juvenile fete, as the duke of Cambridge was to be
present with his son, the Ærial once more visited Vauxhall. Unhappily,
the duke and the young prince were the attracting objects.
Deserted in his utmost need,
By those his former fancies fed,
the Ærial retired to a box, and, through the medium of the waiters,
consoled himself from their beaufets so effectually, that before supper
time he was better qualified to represent an attendant in a bacchanal
procession, than the celestial character he assumed. Imagining that
certain smiles indicated a deadly jealousy of his superhuman structure,
and dreading assassination from the hands of the envious, he manifested
his feelings in an undaunted manner, and was overpowered in a scuffle.
Being unable to walk from excess of devotion to the rosy deity, he was
deposited in one of the cloak rooms, and left to repose: on awaking and
sallying forth into the gardens he was astonished to find the place
deserted; and, for lamp-light, the glare of the sun. His cloak and
purse were not to be found; remonstrance and entreaty were alike vain;
he was assured he should have both when they were recoverable, but not
then, and he found it convenient to accept the best substitute the place
afforded. To be content, where discontent avails not, is a philosophical
rudiment, and therefore he philosophically submitted to be assisted by
the waiters into a moth-eaten, mouldy, ragged watchman’s scarlet frieze
cloak, with “R. G. V. H.,” denoting “Royal Gardens, Vauxhall,” worked in
large worsted letters on the back; and in this attire he wandered, “not
unseen,” to his dormitory at a few miles distance. The particular
compliments he received by the way are not relatable. After a few hours’
rest, he made personal application at Vauxhall for his cloak and purse,
and both were returned to him, accompanied by an assurance from them
that he must not appear there again. Undaunted by so unexpected a return
for the patronage he had vouchsafed towards the gardens, and conceiving
that the proprietors ought not to sustain the injury his absence would
inflict on them, he laid out another pound in a fourth pair of hose, and
again, “in silk attire,” covered by a cloak, presented himself at the
door, but he had scarcely advanced from paying his entrance-money when
constables hurried him out, and he was not allowed to re-enter. This was
the last appearance of the Ærial at Vauxhall.
Conceiving that the managers of the theatres would gladly avail
themselves of his attractive powers, he habited himself as before
described, and announced himself at their doors as “The Ærial;” but they
were “not at home,” nor were they “at home” to his subsequent calls.
Such gross inattention to their interests was inconceivable; for it
seems he coveted no other remuneration than “to walk across the stage
and back again, and receive the plaudits of the audience.” He affirms
that he appeared on the boards of the Manchester theatre, and that the
people hooted because he would not deign to remain long enough for the
gratification of their extreme curiosity. Though convinced that no one
ever appeared to such advantage as he does, in the dress wherein he has
already appeared in public, yet he walks _en deshabille_ on ordinary
occasions, lest he should suffer violence from the fathers, brothers,
and lovers of the British ladies, who, according to his own
affirmation, are ready to throw themselves at his feet upon the least
encouragement. He says he is determined to ally himself to her alone, if
she can be found, who knows herself to be a Venus as he knows himself to
be an Adonis. He is of opinion that he is “winning each heart and
delighting each eye;” and he calls himself “the immortal Mr. L----.” It
was suggested to him as possible, that as no income resulted from his
outgoings, his property might be expended. His answer was to this
effect:--“When I am at the last extremity I can marry any lady I please
with thirty thousand pounds.” If he should find himself mistaken in his
conceptions before matters have proceeded so far, those to whom his
flights have rendered him a public character will soon forget his
extraordinary assumptions, and he will find a common station more
conducive to his personal quiet. He is unknown to the writer of this
article, who, nevertheless, is so well informed respecting him as to be
persuaded that when Mr. L.’s feverish excitement is over, his talents
merely require diligent cultivation in a different direction to ensure
this. A man is in less danger who thinks too meanly, than he who thinks
too highly of himself. It is easier to be comfortable in a lower sphere,
than to reach an elevated one and live happy in it.
* * * * *
_Letter from the Ærial._
When this sheet was going to press a letter was received; which, being
properly authenticated, is here subjoined, with the words in italics as
marked in the original.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,
_November_ 16, 1825.
I conceive that nothing but my “death,” or at least “the beautiful leg,”
will atone to the world for my _little_ indiscretions. If you expect me
to appeal to the public, I answer, that I have been without father and
mother eleven years nearly, though now only twenty-five years old, and
measuring five feet two inches and a half, and in the hands of
guardians, though not wanting money, _four of whom_ it took to put me in
the watchhouse, and I answer that I would rather be hanged if “the most
liberal nation of the earth” wishes it.
You have observed that the company _shrieked_ with laughter and
amazement. Now I say _I_ was the only _one_ who _shrieked_ with
laughter, as I should at another hoax on the public. You might have
spared me the trouble of answering you, if you had not introduced a most
immutable picture of my conduct. You have represented me as the
individual courting excessive censure or praise; but I must here be
puppy enough to talk of general opinion, and say, that notwithstanding
the pretended _christian burial_ of me by the newspapers, it still
appears by each and every of them that in the end the magistrate had no
just cause to hate me. Besides acquiring experience from disappointment,
and Mr. Chantry who sent for _me_, I had a _dream_ which clearly
_convinced_ me I should not part with the cast.