July 7.

St. Palladius,A. D.450.St. Julian, Anchorite, 4th Cent.St. Sexburgh, 7th Cent.St. Goar,A. D.575.St. Moninna,A. D.518.

Garden Hawks’-eyes.Crepis barbara.Dedicated toSt. Julian.

St. Pantænus, 3d Cent.St. Willibald, Bp. 8th Cent.St. Hedda,A. D.705.St. Edelburga.St. Felix, Bp. of Nantes,A. D.584.St. BenedictXI. Pope,A. D.1304.

1816. Richard Brinsley Sheridan, the poet, dramatist, orator, and statesman, died. He was the third son of Mr. Thomas Sheridan, celebrated as an actor, eminent as a lecturer on elocution, and entitled to the gratitude of the public for his judicious and indefatigable exertions to improve the system of education in this country. His father, the rev. Dr. Thomas Sheridan, was a distinguished divine, the ablest school-master of his time, and the intimate friend of the dean of St. Patrick. Mr. Thomas Sheridan died at Margate, on the 14th of August, 1788. Mrs. Frances Sheridan, the mother of Richard Brinsley, was the author of “Sidney Biddulph,” a novel, which has the merit of combining the purest morality with the most powerful interest. She also wrote “Nourjahad,” an oriental tale, and the comedies of the “Discovery,” the “Dupe,” and “A Trip to Bath.” She died at Blois, in France, the 17th of September, 1766.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan was born in Dorset-street, Dublin, in the month of October, 1751. He was placed, in his seventh year, under the tuition of Mr. Samuel Whyte, of Dublin, the friend of their father. He was placed at Harrow school, after the christmas of 1762. His literary advancement at this seminary appears to have been at first retarded; and it was reserved for the late Dr. Parr, who was at that time one of the sub-preceptors, to discover and call into activity the faculties of young Sheridan’s mind. His memory was found to be uncommonly retentive, and his judgment correct; so that when his mind was quickened by competition, his genius gradually expanded. But to be admired seemed his only object, and when that end was attained, he relaxed in his application, and sunk into his former indolence. His last year at Harrow was spent more in reflecting on the acquirements he had made, and the eventful scenes of a busy life, which were opening to his view, than in enlarging the circle of his classical and literary attainments. His father deemed it unnecessary to send him to the university; and he was, a short time after his departure from Harrow, entered as a student of the Middle Temple.

Mr. Sheridan, when about twenty, was peculiarly fond of the society of men of taste and learning, and soon gave proofsthat he was inferior to none of his companions in wit and argument. At this age he had recourse to his literary talents for pecuniary supplies, and directed his attention to the drama; but disgusted with some sketches of comic character which he drew, he actually destroyed them, and in a moment of despair renounced every hope of excellence as a dramatic writer. His views with respect to the cultivation and exertion of his genius in literary pursuits, or to the study of the profession to which he had been destined by his father, were all lost in a passion that mastered his reason. He at once saw and loved Miss Linley, a lady no less admirable for the elegant accomplishments of her sex and the affecting simplicity of her conversation, than for the charms of her person and the fascinating powers of her voice. She was the principal performer in the oratorios at Drury-lane theatre. The strains which she poured forth were the happiest combinations of nature and art; but nature predominated over art. Her accents were so melodious and captivating, and their passage to the heart so sudden and irresistable, that “list’ning Envy would have dropped her snakes, and stern-ey’d Fury’s self have melted” at the sounds.

Her father, Mr. Linley, the late ingenious composer, was not at first propitious to Mr. Sheridan’s passion, and he had many rivals to overcome in his attempts to gain the lady’s affections. His perseverance, however, increased with the difficulties that presented themselves, and his courage and resolution were displayed in vindicating Miss Linley’s reputation from a calumnious report, which had been basely thrown out against it.

Mr. Mathews, a gentleman then well known in the fashionable circles at Bath, had caused a paragraph to be inserted in a public paper at that place, and had set out for London. He was closely pursued by Mr. Sheridan. They met and fought a duel with swords at a tavern in Henrietta-street, Covent-garden, the house at the north-west corner, opposite Bedford-court. Mr. Sheridan’s second on the occasion was his brother, Charles Francis, a late secretary at war in Ireland. Great courage and skill were displayed on both sides; but Mr. Sheridan having succeeded in disarming his adversary, compelled him to sign a formal retraction of the paragraph which had been published. The conqueror instantly returned to Bath; and thinking that, as the insult had been publicly given, the apology should have equal notoriety, he caused it to be published in the same paper. Mr. Mathews soon heard of this circumstance, and, irritated at his defeat, as well as the use which his antagonist had made of his apology, repaired to Bath, and called upon Mr. Sheridan for satisfaction. The parties met on Kingsdown. The victory was desperately contested, and, after a discharge of pistols, they fought with swords. They were both wounded, and closing with each other fell on the ground, where the fight was continued until they were separated. They received several cuts and contusions in this arduous struggle for life and honour, and a part of his opponent’s weapon was left in Mr. Sheridan’s ear. Miss Linley rewarded Mr. Sheridan for the dangers he had braved in her defence, by accompanying him on a matrimonial excursion to the continent. The ceremony was again performed on their return to England, with the consent of her parents; from the period of her marriage, Mrs. Sheridan never appeared as a public performer.

Mr. Sheridan, when encumbered with the cares of a family, felt the necessity of immediate exertion to provide for the pressing calls inseparable from a domestic establishment, which, if not splendid, was marked with all the appearance of genteel life.

On finishing his play of the “Rivals,” he presented it to the manager of Covent-garden theatre, and it was represented on the 17th of January, 1775. In consequence of some slight disapprobation, it was laid aside for a time, after the first night’s performance. Mr. Sheridan having made some judicious alterations, both in the progress of the plot and in the language, it was shortly after brought forward again, and received in the most favourable manner. His next production was the farce of “St. Patrick’s Day, or The Scheming Lieutenant.” This was followed by the comic opera of the “Duenna,” a composition in every respect superior to the general class of English operas then in fashion. It surpassed even the “Beggar’s Opera” in attraction and popularity, and was performed seventy-five nights during the season, while Gay’s singular production ran only sixty-five.

Mr. Garrick having resolved to retire from the management of Drury-lanetheatre, his share of the patent was sold to Mr. Sheridan, who, in 1776, paid 30,000l.for it. He immediately brought out the “Trip to Scarborough,” altered from Vanburgh’s comedy of the “Relapse.” It was performed on the 24th of February, 1777. His next production was the comedy of the “School for Scandal,” which raised his fame to undisputed preeminence over contemporary dramatic writers, and conferred, in the opinion of foreignliterati, a lustre on the British comedy which it did not previously possess. It was first performed on the 8th of May, 1777.

Early in the following season, he produced the musical piece of “The Camp.” His “Critic,” written upon the model of the duke of Buckingham’s “Rehearsal,” came out on the 30th of October, 1787.

On the death of Mr. Garrick, in 1779, Mr. Sheridan wrote the monody to the memory of Mr. Garrick, recited at Drury-lane theatre by Mrs. Yates.

Notwithstanding the profits which he derived from his pieces, and the share he had in the theatre, which was very considerable, as he had obtained Mr. Lacy’s interest in the patent, a property equally valuable with that of Mr. Garrick, and of course worth, on the lowest calculation, 30,000l., his pecuniary embarrassments had considerably increased. His domestic establishment was not only very expensive, but conducted without any kind of economy. The persuasions of Mr. Fox, whose friendship he had carefully cultivated, operated, with a firm conviction of his own abilities, in determining him to obtain a seat in the house of commons, and a general election taking place in 1780, Mr. Sheridan was returned for Stafford; and though he contented himself at the commencement of the session with giving a silent vote against the minister, he was indefatigable without doors in seconding the views of the whigs under Mr. Fox, against the measures of the ministry. He had a considerable share in the “Englishman,” a paper opposed to the administration of lord North; and when the Rockingham party came into power, in 1782, his exertions were rewarded with the appointment of under secretary to Mr. Fox, then secretary of state for the foreign department.

The death of the marquis of Rockingham, and the unexpected elevation of the earl of Shelburne to the important office of first lord of the treasury, completely defeated the views of himself and friends and the ever-memorable coalition having been formed between Mr. Fox and lord North, Mr. Sheridan was once more called upon to commence literary hostilities against the new administration. The periodical work of the “Jesuit” soon appeared, and several very distinguished members of the party contributed to that production.

At length the coalition having gained a decisive victory over the new administration, formed by the Shelburne party, Mr. Sheridan was once more brought into place, in April, 1783, as secretary of the treasury. Under Mr. Pitt, an entire change took place in men and measures, and on the trial of anex officioinformation against the “Jesuit,” Mr. Wilkie, who had the courage to conceal the names of the gentlemen by whom he had been employed, was sentenced to an imprisonment of twelve months.

Mr. Sheridan’s speech in defence of Mr. Fox’s celebrated East-India Bill was so masterly, as to induce the public opinion to select him from the second class of parliamentary speakers. He was viewed as a formidable opponent by Mr. Pitt, and looked up to with admiration, as a principal leader of the opposition.

He was rapidly approaching to perfection as an orator, when the impeachment of Mr. Hastings supplied him with an opportunity of displaying powers which were then unrivalled. He was one of the managers of the prosecution, and his speech delivered in the house of commons, in April, 1787, on the eighth article as stated in the order laid down by Mr. Burke, relative to “money corruptly and illegally taken,” was allowed to equal the most argumentative and impassioned orations that had ever been addressed to the judgment and feelings of the British parliament. He fixed the uninterrupted attention of the house for upwards of five hours, confirmed the minds of those who wavered, and produced co-operation from a quarter which it was supposed would have been hostile to any further proceeding. In the long examination of Mr. Middleton, he gave decided proofs of a strong and discriminating mind; but when, in June, 1788, he summed up the evidence on the charge, respecting the confinement and imprisonment of the princesses of Oude, and the seizure of their treasures, his superiority over hiscolleagues was established by universal consent. To form a just opinion of this memorable oration, which occupied the attention of the court and excited the admiration of the public for several hours, it would be necessary to have heard Mr. Sheridan himself. It is difficult to select any part of it as the subject of peculiar encomium. The address with which he arranged his materials; the art and force with which he anticipated objections; the unexampled ingenuity with which he commented on the evidence, and the natural boldness of his imagery, are equally entitled to panegyric. He combined the three kinds of eloquence. He was clear and unadorned—diffuse and pathetic—animated and vehement. There was nothing superfluous—no affected turn—no glittering point—no false sublimity. Compassion and indignation were alternately excited, and the wonderful effects related of the eloquence of Greece and Rome were almost revived.

During the indisposition of his late majesty, Mr. Sheridan took a leading part in the attempts which were made to declare the prince of Wales regent, without such restrictions as parliament should think fit to impose. He contended, that the immediate nomination of the heir-apparent ought to take place, as a matter of constitutional right.

He was ever the zealous supporter of parliamentary reform, and the uniform friend of the liberty of the press and of religious toleration; but he rose superior to the selfish drudgery of a mere partizan, and his conduct, during the crisis of the naval mutiny, received the thanks of the minister.

Mrs. Sheridan died in June, 1792, and he had a son by that lady, Mr. Thomas Sheridan, who inherited much of his father’s talents, but fell a victim to indulgence. In 1795, Mr. Sheridan married his second wife, Miss Ogle, youngest daughter of the rev. Dr. Newton Ogle, dean of Winchester. The issue of this second marriage was also a son.

His conduct as manager and principal proprietor of the first theatre in the kingdom, and his punctuality in the discharge of the duties contracted by him in that situation, have rarely been the subject of praise; but in the legal discussion of the claims of the proprietors of Drury-lane theatre, in the court of chancery, so far from any imputation being thrown out against his conduct, it was generally commended; and the chancellor himself (lord Eldon) spoke in the handsomest terms of Mr. Sheridan’sintegrity, though certainly he thought hisprudencewas, in some instances, liable to be questioned.

On the formation of the Fox and Grenville administration, after the death of Mr. Pitt, Mr. Sheridan was appointed treasurer of the navy, and returned member for Westminster, after a strong opposition on the part of Mr. Paul. But in the latter years of his life he had not sat in parliament; where, during the period after his last return, he attended irregularly, and spoke seldom. One of the wittiest of his closing efforts in the house, was a speech, in answer to Mr. Yorke, respecting a discussion on the “Nightly Watch,” which had arisen out of the murder of the families of Marr and Williamson, at Wapping.

Mr. Sheridan was one of that circle denominated the prince’s friends. So long as his mind remained unaffected by the pressure of personal distress and embarrassment, and whilst he could contribute to the hilarity of the table by his wit, as he had formerly contributed to forward the interests of the prince by his earnest and unremitted endeavours, he appears to have been a welcome visitor at Carlton-house—but this was all. Nor the brilliancy of genius, nor the master of talent, nor time, nor intellect employed and exhausted in the service of the prince, obtained for this great man the means of a peaceful existence, on his cession from public life. In June, 1816, his constitution was completely broken up, and his speedy dissolution seemed inevitable.

He died at noon, on Sunday, the 7th of July, 1816. For several weeks prior to his death he lay under arrest, and it was only by the firmness and humanity of the two eminent physicians who attended him, Dr. Baillie and Dr. Bain, that an obdurate attorney was prevented from executing a threat to remove him from his house to a death-bed in gaol. He enjoyed, however, to the last moment, the sweetest consolation that the heart can feel in the affectionate tenderness, sympathy, and attention of his amiable wife and son. Mrs. Sheridan, though herself labouring under severe illness watched over him with the most anxious solicitude through the whole of that protracted suffering, which has parted them for ever.

To these particulars of this extraordinaryindividual, which are extracted from a memoir of him that appeared inThe Timesnewspaper, must be added a passage or two from a celebrated “Estimate of his Character and Talents” in the same journal.

“Mr. Sheridan in his happiest days never effected any thing by steady application. He was capable of intense, but not of regular study. When public duty or private difficulty urged him, he endured the burden as if asleep under its pressure. At length, when the pain could be no longer borne, he roused himself with one mighty effort, and burst like a lion through the toils. There are reasons for believing that his constitutional indolence began its operation upon his habits at an early age. His very first dramatic scenes were written by snatches, with considerable intervals between them. Convivial pleasures had lively charms for one whose wit was the soul of the table; and the sparkling glass—the medium of social intercourse—had no small share of his affection. These were joys to be indulged without effort: as such they were too well calculated to absorb the time of Mr. Sheridan, and sooner or later to make large encroachments on his character. His attendance in parliament became every year more languid—thevis inertiæmore incurable—the plunges by which his genius had now and then extricated him in former times less frequent and more feeble. We never witnessed a contrast much more melancholy than between the brilliant and commanding talent displayed by Mr. Sheridan throughout the first regency discussions, and the low scale of nerve, activity, and capacity, to which he seemed reduced when that subject was more recently agitated in parliament. But indolence and intemperance must banish reflection, if not corrected by it; since no man could support the torture of perpetual self-reproach. Aggravated, we fear, by some such causes, the naturally careless temper of Mr. Sheridan became ruinous to all his better hopes and prospects. Without a direct appetite for spending money, he thought not of checking its expenditure. The economy of time was as much disregarded as that of money. All the arrangements, punctualities, and minor obligations of life were forgotten, and the household of Mr. Sheridan was always in a state of nature. His domestic feelings were originally kind, and his manners gentle: but the same bad habits seduced him from the house of commons, and from home; and equally injured him as an agent of the public good, and as a dispenser of private happiness. It is painful, it is mortifying, but it is our sacred duty, to pursue this history to the end. Pecuniary embarrassments often lead men to shifts and expedients—these exhausted, to others of a less doubtful colour. Blunted sensibility—renewed excesses—loss of cast in society—follow each other in melancholy succession, until solitude and darkness close the scene.

“It has been made a reproach by some persons, in lamenting Mr. Sheridan’s cruel destiny, that ‘his friends’ had not done more for him. We freely and conscientiously declare it as our opinion, that had Mr. Sheridan enjoyed ten receiverships of Cornwall instead of one, he would not have died in affluence. He never would have attained to comfort or independence in his fortune. A vain man may become rich, because his vanity may thirst for only a single mode of gratification; an ambitious man, abon vivant, a sportsman, may severally control their expenses; but a man who is inveterately thoughtless of consequences, and callous to reproof—who knows not when he squanders money, because he feels not those obligations which constitute or direct its uses—such a man it is impossible to rescue from destruction. We go further—we profess not to conjecture to what individuals the above reproach of forgotten friendships has been applied. If against persons of illustrious rank, there never was a more unfounded accusation. Mr. Sheridan, throughout his whole life, stood as high as he ought to have done in the quarters alluded to. He received the most substantial proofs of kind and anxious attachment from these personages; and it is to his credit that he was not insensible to their regard. If the mistaken advocates of Mr. Sheridan were so much his enemies as to wish he had been raised to some elevated office, are they not aware that even one month’s active attendance out of twelve he was at times utterly incapable of giving? But what friends are blamed for neglecting Mr. Sheridan? Whatfriendshipsdid he ever form? We more than doubt whether he could fairly claim the rights of friendship with any leader of the whig administration. We know that he has publicly asserted Mr. Fox to be his friend, andthat he has dwelt with much eloquence on the sweets and enjoyments of that connection; but it has never been our fortune to find out that Mr. Fox had, on any public or private occasion, bound himself by reciprocal pledges. Evidence against the admission of such ties on his part may be drawn from the well-known anecdotes of what occurred within a few days of that statesman’s death. The fact is, that a life of conviviality and intemperance seldom favours the cultivation of those better tastes and affections which are necessary to the existence of intimate friendship. That Mr. Sheridan had as many admirers as acquaintances, there is no room to doubt; but they admired only his astonishing powers; there never was a second opinion or feeling as to the unfortunate use which he made of them.

“Never were such gifts as those which Providence showered upon Mr. Sheridan so abused—never were talents so miserably perverted. The term ‘greatness’ has been most ridiculously, and, in a moral sense, most perniciously applied to the character of one who, to speak charitably of him, was the weakest of men. Had he employed his matchless endowments with but ordinary judgment, nothing in England, hardly any thing in Europe, could have eclipsed his name, or obstructed his progress.”

May they who read, and he who writes, reflect, and profit by reflection, on

The talents lost—the moments runTo waste—the sins of act, of thought,Ten thousand deeds of folly done,And countless virtues cherish’d not.Bowring.

The talents lost—the moments runTo waste—the sins of act, of thought,Ten thousand deeds of folly done,And countless virtues cherish’d not.

Bowring.

Nasturtium.Tropocolum majus.Dedicated toSt. Felix.

To the Summer Zephyr.Zephyr, stay thy vagrant flight,And tell me where you’re going.—Is it to sip off the dew-drop brightThat hangs on the breast of the lily whiteIn yonder pasture growing;Or to revel ’mid roses and mignionette sweet;Or wing’st thou away some fair lady to meet?—If so, then, hie thee away, bland boy;Thou canst not engage in a sweeter employ.“From kissing the blue of yon bright summer sky,To the vine-cover’d cottage, delighted, I fly,Where Lucy the gay is shining;To sport in the beams of her lovely eye,While her temples with roses she’s twining.Then do not detain me; I sigh to be there,To fan her young bosom—to play ’mid her hair!”

To the Summer Zephyr.

Zephyr, stay thy vagrant flight,And tell me where you’re going.—Is it to sip off the dew-drop brightThat hangs on the breast of the lily whiteIn yonder pasture growing;Or to revel ’mid roses and mignionette sweet;Or wing’st thou away some fair lady to meet?—If so, then, hie thee away, bland boy;Thou canst not engage in a sweeter employ.“From kissing the blue of yon bright summer sky,To the vine-cover’d cottage, delighted, I fly,Where Lucy the gay is shining;To sport in the beams of her lovely eye,While her temples with roses she’s twining.Then do not detain me; I sigh to be there,To fan her young bosom—to play ’mid her hair!”

“From kissing the blue of yon bright summer sky,To the vine-cover’d cottage, delighted, I fly,Where Lucy the gay is shining;To sport in the beams of her lovely eye,While her temples with roses she’s twining.Then do not detain me; I sigh to be there,To fan her young bosom—to play ’mid her hair!”

St. Elizabeth, Queen of Portugal,A. D.1336.St. Procopius,A. D.303.Sts. Kilian,Colman, andTotnam,A. D.688.St. Withburge, 10th Cent.B. Theobald, 13th Cent.St. Grimbald,A. D.903.

Every one must have been struck by the great number of new churches erected within the suburbs of the metropolis, and the novel forms of their steeples; yet few have been aware of the difficulties encountered by architects in their endeavours to accommodate large congregations in edifices for public worship. Sir Christopher Wren experienced the inconvenience when the fifty churches were erected in queen Anne’s time. He says, “The Romanists, indeed, may build large churches; it is enough if they hear the murmur of the mass, and see the elevation of the host, but ours are to be fitted for auditories. I can hardly think it practicable to make a single room so capacious with pews and galleries, as to hold above two thousand persons, and both to heardistinctly, and see the preacher. I endeavoured to effect this, in building the parish church of St. James’s, Westminster, which I presume is the most capacious, with these qualifications, that hath yet been built; and yet, at a solemn time, when the church was much crowded, I could not discern from a gallery that two thousand were present. A moderate voice may be heard fifty feet distant before the preacher, thirty feet on each side, and twenty behind the pulpit; and not this, unless the pronunciation be distinct and equal, without losing the voice at the last word of the sentence, which is commonly emphatical, and, if obscured, spoils the whole sense. A French is heard further than an English preacher, because he raises his voice, and does not sink his last words. I mention this as an insufferable fault in the pronunciation of some of our otherwise excellent preachers; which schoolmasters might correct in the young, as a vicious pronunciation, and not as the Roman orator spoke; for the principal verb is in Latin usually the last word; and if that be lost, what becomes of the sentence?”

Evening Primrose.Oenothera biennis.Dedicated toSt. Elizabeth.

St. Ephremof Edessa,A. D.378.The Martyrs of Gorcum,A. D.1572.St. Everildis.

In hot weather walk slowly, and as much as possible in the shade.

When fatigued recline on a sofa, and avoid all drafts.

Eat sparingly of meat, and indeed of every thing.

Especially shun unripe fruits, and be moderate with cherries.

Strawberries may be safely indulged in; with a little cream and bread they make a delightful supper, an hour or two before retiring to rest.

If the frame be weakened by excessive heat, a table spoonfull of the best brandy, thrown into a tumbler of spring water, becomes a cooling restorative; otherwise spirits should not be touched.

Spring water, with a toast in it, is the best drink.

Marsh Sowthistle.Sonchus palustris.Dedicated toSt. Everildis.

Captain Starkey.Died, July 9, 1822.

Reader! see the famous CaptainStarkey, in his own coat wrapt in;Mark his mark’d nose, and mark his eye,His lengthen’d chin, his forehead high,His little stick, his humble hat,The modest tie of his cravat;Mark how easy sit his hose,Mark the shoes that hold his toes;So he look’d when Ranson sketch’d himWhile alive—but Death has fetch’d him.*

Auto-biography is agreeable in the writing, and sometimes profitable in the publication, to persons whose names would otherwise die and be buried with them. Of this numerous class was captain Starkey, who to his “immortal memory” wrote and published his own “Memoirs.”[208]

The preface to a fine uncut copy of captain Starkey’s very rare “Memoirs,”penes me, commences thus:—“The writers of biographical accounts havealwaysprepared articles, which at once, when held forth to the public,were highly entertaining, useful, and satisfactory.” This particular representation, so directly opposed to general experience, is decisively original. Its expression bespeaks an independence of character, rendered further conspicuous by an amiable humility. “I am afraid,” says the captain, “I shall fall infinitely short in commanding your attention; none, onthisside of time, are perfect, and it is in the nature of things impossible it should be otherwise.” He trusts, “if truth has any force,” that “patience and candour” will hear him out. Of captain Starkey then—it may be said, that “he knew the truth, and knowing dared maintain it.”

The captain declares, he was born of honest and poor parents, natives of Newcastle upon Tyne, at the Lying-in Hospital, Brownlow-street, Long-acre, London, on the 19th of December, 1757. “My infantile years,” he observes, “were attended with much indisposition.” The nature of his “indisposition” does not appear; but it is reasonable to presume, that as the “infantile years” of all of “living born,” at that time, were passed in “much indisposition,” the captain suffered no more than fell to him in the common lot. It was then the practice to afflict a child as soon as it breathed the air, by forcing spoonfulls of “unctuousities” down its throat, “oil of sweet almonds and syrup of blue violets.” A strong cotton swathe of about six inches in width, and from ten to twenty feet in length, was tightly rolled round the body, beginning under the arm pits and ending at the hips, so as to stiffly encase the entire trunk. After the child was dressed, if its constraint would allow it to suck, it was suckled; but whether suckled or not, the effect of the swathing was soon visible; its eyes rolled in agony, it was pronounced convulsed, and a dose of “Dalby’s Carminative” was administered as “the finest thing in the world for convulsions.” With “pap” made of bread and water, and milk loaded with brown sugar, it was fed from a “pap-boat,” an earthen vessel in the form of a butter-boat. If “these contents” were not quickly “received in full,” the infant was declared “not very well,” but if by crying, kicking of the legs, stiffening of the back, and eructation from the stomach, it resisted further overloading, then it was affirmed that it was “troubled with wind,” and was drenched with “Daffy’s Elixir,” as “the finest thing in the world for wind.” As soon as the “wind” had “a little broken off, poor thing!” it was suckled again, and fed again; being so suckled and fed, and fed and suckled, it was wonderful if it could sleep soundly, and therefore, after it was undressed at night, it had a dose of “Godfrey’s Cordial,” as “the finest thing in the world for composing to rest.” If it was not “composed” out of the world before morning, it awoke to undergo the manifold process of being again over-swathed, over-fed, “Dalby’d, Daffy’d, and Godfrey’d” for that day; and so, day by day, it was put in bonds, “carminativ’d, elixir’d, and cordial’d,” till in a few weeks or months it died, or escaped, as by miracle, to be weaned and made to walk. It was not to be put on its legs “too soon,” and therefore, while the work of repletion was going on, it was not to feel that it had legs, but was kept in arms, or rather kept lolling on the arm, till ten or twelve months old. By this means its body, being unduly distended, was too heavy to be sustained by its weak and comparatively diminutive sized limbs; and then a “go-cart” was provided. The go-cart was a sort of circular frame-work, running upon wheels, with a door to open for admission of the child; wherein, being bolted, and the upper part being only so large as to admit its body from below the arms, the child rested by the arm pits, and kicking its legs on the floor, set the machine rolling on its wheels. This being the customary mode of “bringing children up” at the time of captain Starkey’s birth, and until about the year 1790, few were without a general disorder and weakness of the frame, called “the rickets.” These afflicted ones were sometimes hump-backed, and usually bow-shinned, or knock-kneed, for life, though to remedy the latter defects in some degree, the legs were fastened by straps to jointed irons. From the whole length portrait at the head of this article, which is copied from an etching by Mr. Thomas Ranson, prefixed to captain Starkey’s “Memoirs,” it is reasonably to be conjectured that the captain in his childhood had been ricketty and had worn irons. Mr. Ranson has draped the figure in along coat. Had this been done to conceal the inward inclination of the captain’s knees, it would have been creditable to Mr. Ranson’s delicacy; for there is a sentiment connected with the meeting of the knees, in the owner’s mind, which he who knows human nature and has human feelings, knows how to respect; and no one either as a man or an artist is better acquainted with the “humanities” than Mr. Ranson. But that gentleman drew the captain from the life, and the captain’s coat is from the coat he actually wore when he stood for his picture. There is a remarkable dereliction of the nose from the eyebrows. It was a practice with the race of nurses who existed when the captain’s nose came into the world, to pinch up that feature of our infant ancestors from an hour old, till “the month was up.” This was from a persuasion that nature, on that part of the face, required to be assisted. A few only of these ancient females remain, and it does not accord with the experience of one of the most experienced among them, that they everdepressedthat sensible feature; she is fully of opinion, that for the protrusion at the end of the captain’s, he was indebted to his nurse “during the month;” and she says that, “it’s this, that makes him look so sensible.”

According to captain Starkey’s narrative, when “learning to walk alone,” he unfortunately fell, “and so hurt his left arm, that it turned to a white swelling as large as a child’s head.” The captain says, “my poor parents immediately applied to two gentlemen of the faculty, at the west end of the town, named Bloomfield and Hawkins, physicians and surgeons to his then reigning majesty, king George the Second, of these kingdoms, who declared that,they could not do any more than cut it off; unto whichmy tender parentswould not consent.” A French surgeon restored to him the use of his arm, and gave him advice “not to employ it in any arduous employment.” “I,therefore,” says the captain, “as my mother kept a preparatory school, waslearnedby her to read and spell.” At seven years old he was “put to a master to learn to write, cipher, and the classics.” After this, desiring to be acquainted with other languages, he was sent to another master, and “improved,” to the pleasure of himself and friends, but was “not so successful” as he could wish; for which he says, “I am, as I ought to be, thankful to divine providence.” With him he stayed, improving and not succeeding till he was fourteen, “at which age,” says the captain, “I was bound apprentice to Mr. William Bird, an eminent writer and teacher of languages and mathematics, in Fetter-lane, Holborn.” After his apprenticeship the captain, in the year 1780, went with his father, during an election, to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, his parents’ native town. Returning to London, he, in 1784, went electioneering again to Newcastle, having left a small school in London to the care of a substitute, who managed to reduce twenty-five scholars to ten, “although he was paid a weekly allowance.” Being “filled with trouble by the loss,” he was assisted to a school in Sunderland; “but,” the captain remarks, “as the greatest success did not attend me inthat, I had the happiness and honour of receiving a better employment in the aforesaid town of Sunderland, from that ever to be remembered gentleman, William Gooch, esq., comptroller of the customs, who died in the year 1791, and did not die unmindful ofme: for he left me in his will the sum of 10l., with which, had I been prudent enough, and left his employ immediately after his interment, I might have done well; but foolishly relying on the continuance of my place, continued doing the duties for nine months without receiving any remuneration; and at last was obliged to leave, it not being the pleasure of the then collector, C. Hill, esq., that I shouldcontinue any longer in office.” Great as the sensation must have been at Sunderland on this important change “in office,” the fact is entirely omitted in the journals of the period, and might at this time have been wholly forgotten if the captain had not been his own chronicler. On his forced “retirement” he returned to Newcastle, willing to take “office” there, but there being no opening he resolved once more to try his fortune in London. For that purpose he crossed the Tyne-bridge, with two shillings in his pocket, and arriving at Chester-le-street, obtained a subscription of two guineas, by which, “with helps and hopes,” and “walking some stages,” and getting “casts by coaches,” he arrived in the metropolis, where he obtained a recommendation back, to the then mayor of Newcastle. Thither he again repaired, and presented his letter to the mayor, whopromised him a place in the Freemen’s Hospital, and gave it him on the first vacancy. “In which situation,” says captain Starkey, “I have now been twenty-six years enjoying the invaluable blessing of health and good friends.” So ends his “Memoir written by himself.”

To what end captain Starkey wrote his history, or how he came by his rank, he does not say; but in the “Local Records, or Historical Register of Remarkable Events in Durham, Northumberland, Newcastle, and Berwick,” a volume compiled and published by Mr.John Sykes, of Newcastle, there is a notice which throws some light on the matter. “Mr. Starkey, who was uncommonly polite, had a peculiarly smooth method of obtaining theloanof a halfpenny, for which he was always ready to give his promissory note, which his creditors held as curiosities.” Halfpenny debentures were tedious instruments for small “loans,” and Starkey may have compiled his “Memoirs,” without affixing a price, for the purpose of saying, “what you please,” and thereby raising “supplies” by sixpence and a shilling at a time. It is to be observed to his credit, that had he made his book more entertaining, it would have had far less claim upon an honest reader. It is the adventureless history of a man who did no harm in the world, and thought he had a right to live, because he was a living being. Mr. Ranson’sportraitrepresents him as he was. His stick, instead of a staff of support, appears symbolical of the assistance he required towards existence. He holds his hat behind, as if to intimate that his head is not entitled to be covered in “a gentleman’spresence.” He seems to have been a poor powerless creature, sensible of incompetency to do; anxious not to suffer; and with just enough of worldly cunning, to derive to himself a little of the superabundance enjoyed by men, who obtain for greater cunning the name of cleverness.

I like you, and your book, ingenuous Hone!In whose capacious, all-embracing leavesThe very marrow of tradition’s shown;And all that history—much that fiction—weaves.By every sort of taste your work is graced.Vast stores of modern anecdote we find,With good old story quaintly interlaced—The theme as various as the reader’s mind.Rome’s lie-fraught legends you so truly paint—Yet kindly—that the half-turn’d CatholicScarcely forbears to smile at his own saint,And cannot curse the candid Heretic.Rags, relics, witches, ghosts, fiends, crowd your page;Our father’s mummeries we well-pleased behold;And, proudly conscious of a purer age,Forgive some fopperies in the times of old.Verse-honouring Phœbus, Father of brightDays,Must needs bestow on you both good and many,Who, building trophies to his children’s praise,Run their rich Zodiac through, not missing any.Dan Phœbus loves your book—trust me, friend Hone—The title only errs, he bids me say:For while such art—wit—reading—there are shown,He swears, ’tis not a work ofevery day.C. Lamb

I like you, and your book, ingenuous Hone!In whose capacious, all-embracing leavesThe very marrow of tradition’s shown;And all that history—much that fiction—weaves.

By every sort of taste your work is graced.Vast stores of modern anecdote we find,With good old story quaintly interlaced—The theme as various as the reader’s mind.

Rome’s lie-fraught legends you so truly paint—Yet kindly—that the half-turn’d CatholicScarcely forbears to smile at his own saint,And cannot curse the candid Heretic.

Rags, relics, witches, ghosts, fiends, crowd your page;Our father’s mummeries we well-pleased behold;And, proudly conscious of a purer age,Forgive some fopperies in the times of old.

Verse-honouring Phœbus, Father of brightDays,Must needs bestow on you both good and many,Who, building trophies to his children’s praise,Run their rich Zodiac through, not missing any.

Dan Phœbus loves your book—trust me, friend Hone—The title only errs, he bids me say:For while such art—wit—reading—there are shown,He swears, ’tis not a work ofevery day.

C. Lamb

In feeling, like a stricken deer, I’ve beenSelf-put out from the herd, friend Lamb; for IImagined all the sympathies betweenMankind and me had ceased, till your full cryOf kindness reach’d and roused me, as I lay“Musing—on divers things foreknown:” it bidMe know, in you, a friend; with a fine gaySincerity, before all men it chid,Or rather, by not chiding, seem’d to chideMe, for long absence from you; re-invitedMe, with a herald’s trump, and so defiedMe to remain immured; and it requitedMe, for others’ harsh misdeeming—which I trust isNow, or will be, known by them, to be injustice.Iam“ingenuous:” it is all I canPretend to; it is all I wish to be;Yet, through obliquity of sight in man,From constant gaze on tortuosity,Few people understand me: still, I amWarmly affection’d to each human being;Loving the right, for right’s sake; and, friend Lamb,Trying to see things as they are; hence, seeingSome“good in ev’ry thing” however bad,Evil in many things that look most fair,And pondering on all: this may be mad-ness, but it is my method; and I dareDeductions from a strange diversityOf things, not taught within a University.No schools of science open’d to my youth;No learned halls, no academic bowers;No one had I to point my way to truth,Instruct my ign’rance, or direct my powers:Yet I, though all unlearned, p’rhaps may aidThe march of knowledge in our “purer age,”And, without seeming, may perchance persuadeThe young to think,—to virtue some engage:So have I hoped, and with this end in view,My littleEvery-Day BookI design’d;Praise of the work, and of its author too,From you, friend Lamb, is more than good and kind:To such high meed I did not dare aspireAs public honour, from the hand ofAllworthy Elia.As to the message from your friend above:—Do me the favour to present my bestRespects to old “Dan Phœbus,” for the “love”He bears theEvery-Day Book: for the rest,That is, the handsome mode he has selectedOf making me fine compliments by you, ’tisSo flatt’ring to me, and so much respectedBy me, that, if you please, and it should suit hisHighness, I must rely upon you, forObtaining his command, to introduce meTo him yourself, when quite convenient; orI trust, at any rate, you’ll not refuse meA line, to signify, that I’m the person knownTo him, through you, friend Lamb, asYour FriendWilliam Hone

Iam“ingenuous:” it is all I canPretend to; it is all I wish to be;Yet, through obliquity of sight in man,From constant gaze on tortuosity,Few people understand me: still, I amWarmly affection’d to each human being;Loving the right, for right’s sake; and, friend Lamb,Trying to see things as they are; hence, seeingSome“good in ev’ry thing” however bad,Evil in many things that look most fair,And pondering on all: this may be mad-ness, but it is my method; and I dareDeductions from a strange diversityOf things, not taught within a University.

No schools of science open’d to my youth;No learned halls, no academic bowers;No one had I to point my way to truth,Instruct my ign’rance, or direct my powers:Yet I, though all unlearned, p’rhaps may aidThe march of knowledge in our “purer age,”And, without seeming, may perchance persuadeThe young to think,—to virtue some engage:So have I hoped, and with this end in view,My littleEvery-Day BookI design’d;Praise of the work, and of its author too,From you, friend Lamb, is more than good and kind:To such high meed I did not dare aspireAs public honour, from the hand ofAllworthy Elia.

As to the message from your friend above:—Do me the favour to present my bestRespects to old “Dan Phœbus,” for the “love”He bears theEvery-Day Book: for the rest,That is, the handsome mode he has selectedOf making me fine compliments by you, ’tisSo flatt’ring to me, and so much respectedBy me, that, if you please, and it should suit hisHighness, I must rely upon you, forObtaining his command, to introduce meTo him yourself, when quite convenient; orI trust, at any rate, you’ll not refuse meA line, to signify, that I’m the person knownTo him, through you, friend Lamb, as

Your Friend

William Hone

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