Chapter XXI: Appendix: N° 1. See p. 23 (1)

The following letter, printed in _The Public Advertiser_ soon after the first edition of the present work made its appearance, may possibly contain some authentic particulars of the early life of the famous Monsieur _St. André_. Mr. _Woodfall's_ ingenious correspondent does not, however, dispose me to retract a syllable of what is advanced in the text; for he fails throughout in his attempts to exculpate our hero from any one of the charges alledged against him. On the contrary, he confirms, with additions, a considerable part of them, and strives only to evade or overwhelm the rest by studied amplifications of the little good which industrious partiality could pick out of its favourite character. I shall now subjoin his epistle, with a few unconnected remarks appended to it. A rambling performance must apologize for a desultory refutation.

"SIR,

"The entertaining author of the last biography of the admirable _Hogarth_, in the excess of commendation of a particular risible subject for his pencil, has written too disadvantageously of the late Mr. _St. André_. One who knew him intimately (but was never under the smallest obligation to him) for the last twenty years of his life, and has learned the tradition of his earlier conduct seemingly better than the editor of the article in question, takes the liberty to give a more favourable idea of him, and without intending to enter into a controversy with this agreeable Collector of Anecdotes, to vindicate this _notorious man_, who must be allowed to have been such; but it is to be hoped in the milder sense Lord _Clarendon_ often or always uses the epithet. The making a subject of Mr. _St. André_ is therefore merely accidental. The writer expects to derive no praise from exhibiting that person as the Hero of a page. He thinks it is only doing justice (for the Dead deserve justice as well as the Living) when he draws his pen against some very injurious insinuations, thrown out with more inadvertence and at a venture than in malice, against the memory of an acquaintance and of a foreigner (to whom perhaps more mercy is due than to a native), who is more roughly handled than he appears to deserve.

"Mr. _Nathaniel St. André_ came over, or rather was brought over, very early from _Switzerland_, his native country, in the train of a _Mendez_, or _Salvadore_, or some _Jewish_ family. Next to his countryman _Heidegger_, he became the most considerable person that has been imported from thence. He probably arrived in _England_ in no better than a menial station. Possibly his family was not originally obscure, for he has been heard to declare, that he had a rightful claim to a title, but it was not worth while to take it up so late in life. He had undoubtedly all the qualifications of a _Swiss_. He talked _French_ in all its provincial dialects, and superintended the press, if the information is to be depended upon, and perhaps taught it, as his sister did at _Chelsea_ boarding-school. He was early initiated in music, for he played upon some musical instrument as soon as he was old enough to handle one, to entertain his benefactors. He had the good fortune to be placed by them with a surgeon of eminence, and became very skilful in his profession. His duty and gratitude to his father, whom he maintained when he was no longer able to maintain himself, was exemplary and deserving of high commendation. Let this charity cover a multitude of his sins! His great thirst for anatomical knowledge (for which he became afterwards so famous as to have books dedicated to him on that subject), and his unwearied application, soon made him so compleat an anatomist, that he undertook to read public lectures (and he was the first in _London_ who read any), which gave general satisfaction. The most ingenious and considerable men in the kingdom became his pupils. Dr. _Hunter_, now at the head of his profession, speaks highly of his predecessor, and considers him (if the information is genuine) as the wonder of his time. He continued his love of anatomy to the last, and left noble preparations behind him, which he was continually improving. The time of his introduction into Mr. _Molyneux's_ family is not known to the writer of this account. Whether anatomy, surgery, knowledge, or music, or his performance on the _Viol de Gambo_, on which he was the greatest master, got him the intimacy with Mr. _Molyneux_, is not easy to determine. Certain it is, that he attended his friend in his last illness, who died of a dangerous disorder (but not under his hands), which Mr. _Molyneux_ is said to have pronounced, from the first, would be fatal. Scandal, and Mr. _Pope's_ satirical half-line, talked afterwards of 'The Poisoning Wife.' She, perhaps, was in too great a hurry, as the report ran, in marrying when she did, according to the practised delicacy of her sex, and her very high quality. The unlucky business in which one _Howard_, a surgeon at _Guildford_, involved him, who was the projector, or accessary of the impudent imposture of _Mary Tofts_, alias the Rabbit-woman of _Godalmin_, occasioned him to become the talk and ridicule of the whole kingdom. The report made by _St. André_, and others, induced many inconsiderately to take it for a reality. The public horror was so great, that the rent of rabbit-warrens sunk to nothing; and nobody, till the delusion was over, presumed to eat a rabbit. The credulous _Whiston_ believed the story (for to some people every thing is credible that comes from a credible witness), and wrote a pamphlet, to prove this _monstrous conception_ to be the exact completion of an old prophecy in _Esdras_. The part _St. André_ acted in this affair ruined his interest at Court, where he had before been so great a favourite with King _George_ I. that he presented him with a sword which he wore himself. Now, on his return out of the country, he met with a personal affront, and never went to Court again. But he continued anatomist to the Royal Houshold to his dying day, though he never took the salary. He probably was imposed upon in this matter. And has it not been the lot of men, in intellectual accomplishments vastly above his, such as _Boyle_, for instance, a man infinitely his superior, to be over-reached and misled? He took up the pen on the occasion (and it was not the first time, for he wrote some years before a bantering pamphlet on Dr. _Mead_), which could at best but demonstrate his sincerity, but exposed the weakness of his judgement, on that case. It had been insinuated he adopted this scheme, to ruin some persons of his own profession. If he had a mind to make an experiment upon the national belief, and to tamper with their willingness to swallow any absurdity (which a certain nobleman [Duke of _Montagu_] ventured to do, in the affair of a man who undertook to jump into a quart bottle), he was deservedly punished with contempt. _Swift_ (according to _Whiston_), and perhaps _Arbuthnot_, exercised their pens upon him. The cheat was soon discovered, and rabbits began to make their appearance again at table as usual. But they were not at his own table, nor made a dish, in any form of cookery, at that of his friends. Perhaps they imagined that the name or sight of that animal might be as offensive to him, as the mention of _Formosa_ is said to have been to _Psalmanazar_. It is told, that, on his asking for some parsly of a market-woman of _Southampton_, and demanding why she had not more to sell, she, in a banter, assured him, 'That his rabbits had eat it up.' The fortune he acquired by marrying into a noble family (though it set all the lady's relations against him, and occasioned her being dismissed from her attendance on Queen _Caroline_) was a sufficient compensation for the laughter or censure of the publick. His high spirit and confidence in himself made him superior to all clamor. So that people did but talk about him, he seldom seemed to care what they talked against him. And yet he had the fortitude to bring an action for defamation in _Westminster-Hall_ against a certain doctor in divinity, and got the better of his adversary. He was not supposed, in the judgement of the wiser and more candid part of mankind, to have contributed, by any chirurgical administration, to the death of his friend Mr. _Molyneux_, nor to have set up the imposture at _Godalmin_. Though he was disgraced at Court, he was not abandoned by all his noble friends. The great Lord _Peterborough_, who was his patron and patient long before he went to _Lisbon_, entertained a very high opinion of him to the last. His capacity in all kinds, the reception he gave to his table and his garden, with his liberality to the infirm and distressed, made him visited by persons of the highest quality, and by all strangers and foreigners. He did not continue to enjoy the great fortune his marriage is supposed to have brought him, to the end of his life, for a great part went from him on the death of Lady _Betty_. He by no means left so much property behind him as to have it said, he died rich. His profession as a surgeon, in a reasonable terms of years, would probably have put more money into his pocket than fell in the golden shower so inauspiciously into his lap, and have given him plenty, without envy or blame. He was turned of ninety-six when he died; and though subject to the gout, of which he used to get the better by blisters upon his knees, and by rigid abstinence, yet, when he took to his bed (where he said he should not lie long), and permitted a physician to be called in to him, he cannot be said to have died of any disease. In one sum of generosity, he gave the celebrated _Geminiani_ three hundred pounds, to help him to discharge his incumbrances, and to end his days in comfort. The strength and agility of his body were great, and are well known. He was famous for his skill in fencing, in riding the great horse, and for running and jumping, in his younger days. He, at one time, was able to play the game at chess with the best masters. After a slight instruction at _Slaughter's_ coffee-house, he did not rest till, in the course of two nights sitting up, he was able to vanquish his instructor. He was so earnest in acquiring knowledge, that he whimsically, as he told the story, cut off his eye-lashes, that he might not sleep till he arrived at what he wanted. His face was muscular and fierce. One of his eyes, to external appearance, seemed to be a mass of obscurity (as he expressed it of _Handel's_, when he became stark-blind), at least it had not the uncommon vivacity of the other. His language was full of energy, but loaded with foreign idioms. His conversation was seasoned sufficiently with satire and irony, which he was not afraid to display, though he ought never to have forgot that he was once a proper subject for it. He built; he planted; he had almost 'from the Cedar of _Lebanon_ to the hyssop that groweth upon the wall,' in his hot-house, green-house, and garden. If he was not deep in every art and science (for even his long life was not sufficient for universal attainment), he cannot be reckoned to have been ignorant of any thing. He was admired for his knowledge in architecture, in gardening, and in botany, by those who should have been above flattery. But praise, from whatever quarter it comes, is of an intoxicating nature. Those who found out that he loved praise, took care he should have enough of it. He kept a list of the wretched and the indigent, whom he constantly maintained; and their names might be written alphabetically. The poor of _Southampton_ know they have lost their best friend. Call it, reader, ostentation or vanity, if you will; but till you know it did not proceed from his goodness of heart, this tributary pen considers his giving away his money to relieve the necessitous, as a spark of the spirit of the Man of _Ross_ or the Man of _Bath_. He was all his life too much addicted to amours, and sometimes with the lower part of the sex. His conversation, which he was always able to make entertaining and instructive, was too often tinctured with _double entendre_ (a vice that increases with age), but hardly ever with prophaneness. He may be thought to have copied _Hermippus_, and to have considered women as the prolongers of life. How far he was made a dupe by any of them at last, is not necessary for relation. He died, as he lived, without fear; for to his standers-by he gave no sign of a ruffled mind, or a disturbed conscience, in his last moments.

"If the preceding memoir of _St. André_ had not been composed entirely from memory (a faculty which, like the sieve of the _Danaids_, is apt to lose as much as it receives), and had not been conveyed to the press with so much precipitancy, the writer, by a second recollection, might have made supplementary anecdotes less necessary. Whilst _St. André_ was basking in the sun-shine of public favour in _Northumberland-Court_, near _Charing-Cross_, under pretence of being wanted in his profession at some house in the neighbourhood, he was hurried through so many passages, and up and down so many stair-cases, that he did not know where he was, nor what the untoward scene was to end in, till the horrid conclusion presented itself, of which he published an extraordinary account in _The Gazette_ of _Feb._ 23, 1724-5, no less than of his being poisoned, and of his more extraordinary recovery. Such uncommon men must be visited through life with uncommon incidents. The bowl of poison must have been for ever present to his imagination. _Socrates_ himself could not expect more certain destruction from the noxious draught he was forced to take down, than seemed inevitable to _St. André_. Nay, a double death seems to have threatened him. Probably it was not any public or private virtue for which _Socrates_ was famous, and which occasioned him to suffer, that endangered our hero's life. His constitution was so good, that he got the better of the internal potion. The truth and circumstances of the story could only be known to himself, who authenticated it upon oath. His narrative partakes of the marvellous; and the reader of _July_, 1781, is left in total ignorance of the actor, and the provocation to such a barbarous termination. His case was reported, and he was attended, by the ablest of the faculty: and the Privy Council issued a reward of two hundred pounds towards a discovery. A note in the second supplemental volume of _Swift_ informed the writer of this sketch, a day or two ago (who takes to himself the reproof of _Prior_, 'Authors, before they write, should read!'), that _St. André_ was convinced he had been imposed upon respecting the woman of _Godalmin_, and that he apologised handsomely to the public in an advertisement, dated _Dec._ 8, 1726.--'He's half absolv'd, who has confest.'--In the autumn, before the heat of the town-talk on this affair was over, he was sent for to attend Mr. _Pope_, who, on his return home from _Dawley_ in Lord _Bolingbroke's_ coach and six, was overturned in a river, and lost the use of two fingers of his left-hand (happy for the lovers of poetry they were not the servants of the right one!), and gave him assurance, that none of the broken glass was likely to be fatal to him. It is highly improbable, that _Pope_ and _Bolingbroke_ would have suffered _St. André_ to have come near them, if he had been branded as a cheat and an impostor. He died in _March_, 1776, having survived all his contemporary enemies, and, which is the consequence of living long, most of his ancient friends. Such men do not arise every day for our censure or our applause; to gratify the pen or the pencil of character or caricature. He may be considered, as _Voltaire_ pronounces of _Charles_ the Twelfth, an extraordinary, rather than a great man, and fitter to be admired than imitated.

"IMPARTIAL."

In the first place, I avow that the epithet _notorious_ was not meant to be employed in the milder sense of Lord _Clarendon_. Had I undertaken to compile the life of a man eminent for virtue, I should have been happy to have borrowed the softer application of the aforesaid term from our noble historian. But having engaged to delineate a mere impostor's character, there is greater propriety in adopting the disputed word with that constant signification affixed to it by the biographers of _Bet Canning_, or _Fanny_ the Phantom of _Cock Lane_.--I shall absolve myself no farther from the charge of "malice," than by observing that there are always people who think _somewhat much too rough has been said of Chartres_.

The dead, declares our apologist, deserve justice as well as their survivors. This is an uncontested truth; nor will the precept be violated by me. I may observe however, with impunity, that the interests of the living, for whose sake a line of separation between good and bad characters is drawn, should be consulted, rather than the memories of the flagitious, who can no longer be affected by human praise or censure, should be spared.

Our apologist next assures us, that perhaps more tenderness is due to a foreigner than to a native. The boasted _amor patriæ_ is not very conspicuous in this remark, which indeed was dropped, to as little purpose, by a learned counsel on the trial of the _French Spy_ who was lately executed.

"Next to his countryman _Heidegger_," adds our apologist, "Mr. _St. André_ became the most _considerable_ person that has been imported from _Switzerland_." To judge of the comparative value of the latter, we must estimate the merits of the former. _Heidegger_ is known to us only by the uncommon ugliness of his visage, and his adroitness in conducting Operas and Masquerades. If _St. André_ is to be regarded as a person still _less considerable_ than _Heidegger_, can his consequence be rated very high?

That _St. André_ arrived here in a menial station, is not improbable. The servility of his youth afforded a natural introduction to the insolence of his riper years. He was indeed (if I am not mis-informed) of the same family with the fencing and dancing-master whom _Dryden_ has immortalized in _MacFlecknoe_;

"_St. André's_ feet ne'er kept more equal time;"[1]

and was intended for the same professions; a circumstance often hinted at by his opponents during the Rabbit controversy. Having been thus early instructed in the management of the foil and kitt, no marvel that he so often prated about the art of defence, or that "his gratitude to his benefactors" broke out in the language of a minuet or a rigadoon.

That he became famous enough in his profession to have anatomical works occasionally dedicated to him, will easily obtain credit among our apologist's readers; for many of them must have seen a book on surgery inscribed to Dr. _Rock_, a political poem addressed to _Buckhorse_, and a treatise on religion sheltering itself under the patronage of the late Lord _Baltimore. St. André_, however, was not the earliest reader of anatomical lectures in _London. Bussiere_, the surgeon who attended _Guiscard_ (the assassin of _Harley_), was our hero's predecessor in this office, and I am told even he was not the first who offered public instructions to the students at our hospitals. Dr. _Hunter_, who has been applied to for intelligence on this occasion, declares that he never described _St. André_ as "the wonder of his time," but as a man who had passed through no regular course of study, and was competent only in the article of injections, a task as happily suited to minute abilities as to those of a larger grasp.

_Æmilium circà ludum faber imus et ungues
Exprimet, et molles imitabitur ære capillos_.

The art of pushing fluids through the vessels was at that period a secret most scrupulously kept by the few who were in possession of it, so that a great show might be made at the expence of little real knowledge. I am also informed, that _St. André_, like the workman described by _Horace_, had no general comprehension of any subject, but was unable to have put two propositions together:--that he neither extended the bounds of the chirurgical art by discoveries, nor performed any extraordinary cures; and, boasting somewhere that he had detected vessels in the cuticle or scarf-skin, a foreigner of eminence in the same profession offered (through the medium of a printed book) to lay him a wager of it, a challenge which he prudently declined. I am also told, that when solicited to exhibit his preparations, he always declared the majority of them to have been destroyed in a fire. What remain, I am instructed to add, deserve little or no commendation. Thus, on enquiry, sinks our "enthusiast in anatomy" down to a frigid dabbler in the science; while his "noble preparations, which he was continually improving," dwindle into minutiæ of scarce any value.

Though the dreadful crime, which is indistinctly mentioned in the text of the foregoing pamphlet, has been alluded to with less reserve by the apologist of _St. André_, it shall be explained no further on the present occasion. Many are the common avenues to death; and why should we point out with minuteness such as we hope will never be explored again? Till I perused the defence so often referred to, I had not even suspected that the "poisoning wife"[2] bore the least allusion to any particular circumstance on the records of criminal gallantry; nor, without stronger proofs than are furnished by this expression (perhaps a random one), shall I be willing to allot the smallest share of blame to the Lady, such alone excepted as must unavoidably arise from her over-hasty marriage, which was solemnized at _Hesson_ near _Hounslow_ in _Middlesex_, on the 27th of _May_, 1730. This act, however, as well as her derogation from rank, being mere offences against human customs, are cognizable only upon earth.--By "the wiser and more candid part of mankind," who suspected no harm throughout _St. André's_ conduct in this affair, I suppose our apologist means any set of people who had imbibed prejudices similar to his own, and thought and spoke about his hero with equal partiality and tenderness. But the Memoir on which these remarks are founded, proves at least that what _J. N._ had hinted concerning the death of Mr. _Molyneux_,[3] was of no recent invention. So far from it indeed, that _St. André_ was openly taxed with having been the sole cause of it, in a public news-paper (I think one of the Gazetteers), by the Rev. Dr. _Madden_, the celebrated _Irish_ patriot, who subscribed his name to his advertisement. It is related (I know not how truly) that on this account our hero prosecuted and "got the better of his adversary," whose accusation was unsupported by such proofs as the strictness of law requires. How many culprits, about whose guilt neither judge nor jury entertains the smallest scruple, escape with equal triumph through a similar defect of evidence! I may add, that so serious a charge would never have been lightly made by a divine of Dr. _Madden's_ rank and character.

All that is said on the subject of family honours to which _St. André_ was entitled, his gratitude to his father, what he gave to the celebrated _Geminiani_ "in one sum of generosity," must be admitted with caution, for truth was by no means the characteristic of our hero's narrations.[4] These circumstances therefore may be regarded as gasconades of his own. The author of the defence pretends not to have received any part of his information from _St. André's_ countrymen or contemporaries; but, on the contrary, confesses that both his early friends and enemies had long been dead.

The affair of the Rabbit-breeder has no need of further illustration. Several ballads, pamphlets, prints, &c. on the subject, bear abundant testimony to _St. André's_ merits throughout that business, as well as to the final opinion entertained of him by his contemporaries, after _Cheselden_, by order of Queen _Caroline_, had assisted in discovering the deceit. Her Majesty was urged to this step by finding the plausibility of our hero had imposed on the King, and that some of the pregnant ladies about her own person began to express their fears of bringing into the world an unnatural progeny.--If Mr. _Boyle_ was occasionally misled, his errors were soon absorbed in the blaze of his moral and literary excellence. _St. André's_ blunder, alas! had no such happy means of redemption. His credulity indeed was not confined to this single transaction. The following is a well-attested story--Two gentlemen at _Southampton_, who felt an inclination to banter him, broke a nutshell asunder, filled the cavity with a large swan-shot, and closed up the whole with glue so nicely that no marks of separation could be detected. This curiosity, as they were walking with _St. André_, one of them pretended to pick up, admiring it as a nut uncommonly heavy as well as beautiful. Our hero swallowed the bait, dissected the subject, discovered the lead, but not the imposition, and then proceeded to account philosophically for so strange a phænomenon. The merry wags could scarce restrain their laughter, and soon quitted his company to enjoy the success of a stratagem they had so adroitly practised on his ignorance and gullibility.

Were there any colour for supposing he had patronized the fraud relative to _Mary Tofts_, with design to ruin others of his profession (an insinuation to his discredit, which the foregoing pamphlet had not furnished), it was but just that he should fall by his own malevolence and treachery. From the imputation of a scheme resembling that contrived by the Duke of _Montagu_, his want of equal wit will sufficiently absolve him.

That rabbits never were permitted to appear at any table where he dined, is a strong mark of the adulation paid to him by his entertainers. I hope, for similar reasons, had he been seized with his last illness in _London_ (that his organs of hearing might escape an equal shock), his attendants would not have called any physician named _Warren_ to his bed-side, summoned an attorney from _Coney Court_ Grays Inn to have made his will, or sent for the Rev. Mr. _Bunny_ to pray by him. The banishment of rabbits, however, from a neighbourhood that affords them in the highest perfection, was a circumstance that might as justly have been complained of, as _Pythagoras's_ prohibition of beans, had it been published in _Leicestershire_. I heartily wish that the circumstantial author of the preceding epistle, to relieve any doubts by which futurity may be perplexed, had informed us whether _St. André_ was an eater of toasted cheese, or not; and if it was never asked for by its common title of a Welch _Rabbit_ within his hearing.

That he wrote any thing, unless by proxy, or with much assistance, may reasonably be doubted; for the pamphlets that pass under his name are divested of those foreign idioms that marked his conversation. Indeed, if I may believe some specimens of his private correspondence, he was unacquainted with the very orthography of our language. The insolence of this shallow _Switzer's_ attempt to banter _Mead_, we may imagine, was treated with contempt, as the work described has not been handed down to us; and few tracts are permitted to be scarce for any other reason than because they are worthless.

It is next remarked by our apologist, that _St. André's_ "confidence, &c. made him superior to all clamour; and so that people did but talk about him, he did not seem to care what they talked against him." This is no more, in other language, than to declare that his impudence and vanity were well proportioned to each other, and that a bad character was to him as welcome as a good one. He did not, it seems, join in the Poet's prayer,

Grant me an honest fame, or grant me none!

but was of opinion, as his apologist likewise admits, that wealth was an ample counterbalance to the loss of reputation.--That he might evade accusation (as I have already observed) in one particular instance, and therefore recover damages, is no proof of his innocence, that his general conduct would admit of defence, or that much of the manifold censure passed upon him had no foundation.

How Lord _Peterborough_ happened to become his patron, &c. may be accounted for without any great degree of credit to either party. His lordship (as Lord _Orrery_ observes) "in his private life and conduct differed from most men;" and, having often capricious disputes with the court, was sure to favour those who, like _St. André_, had been dismissed from its service. Our hero's musical talents, indeed, if they were such as they have been represented, might procure him access to his lordship and many other noble adepts in the sublime and useful science of harmony. The lovers of a tune urge no severe enquiries concerning the heart of a fidler. If he be a mercenary, while he teaches female pupils, he is watched; and, if he performs in concerts, he is paid. If above pecuniary gratifications, he is rewarded with hyperbolical compliments. Articulate for inarticulate sounds is ample retribution.

His defender adds, that he was visited by _all_ strangers and foreigners. It will be supposed then that his house was never free from company. May we not rather think, that if he was at any time sought after by these peregrine worthies, &c. it was because the keepers of inns and mistresses of boarding-houses had been instructed to disseminate attractive tales of his "capacity in all kinds," his curiosities and good dinners? Besides, all foreigners who have arrived in _England_ have not travelled to _Southampton_, and consequently could not have seen _St. André_, who for upwards of the last twenty years of his life had resided only there. It is nearer the truth to say, that not a single _Frenchman_, &c. in fifty thousand, ever heard of his name.

That "his profession as a surgeon, in a reasonable term of years, would probably have put more money in his pocket" than he gained by his union with Lady _Betty Molyneux_ (i. e. £30,000. a sum that elevated him into a state little short of madness), I cannot believe. The blast his reputation had received respecting the business at _Godalming_, being seconded by his expulsion from court, he must have felt his business on the decline. Indeed, I am told that he staid long enough in town to try the experiment. Marriage therefore might have been his _dernier resort_.

The exaggerations of this impostor's generosity and accomplishments, which are next brought forward by his panegyrist with no small degree of pomp, are such as we may suppose himself would have furnished, had he undertaken, like the Chevalier _Taylor_, to compile his own memoirs. The majority of circumstances collected for the purpose of proving him to have been

_Grammaticus, rhetor, geometres, pictor, aliptes,
Augur, schænobates, medicus, magus,_

could only have been derived from those very flattering testimonials to his merits which he was always ready to exhibit on the slightest encouragement. Those who were content to admit so partial an estimate of his abilities, &c. found it necessary to express their belief that he could have beaten _Hercules_ at quoits, played a better fiddle than _Apollo_, out-witted _Mercury_, disarmed the _God of War_, and forged such chemic thunders, that, compared with the produce of our hero's laboratory, the bolts of _Jove_ were no louder than a pot-gun. So far was he from being deficient in commendation of his own talents, that he thought his very furniture might claim a proportionable extravagance of praise. He was possessed of some foreign tapestry which he was proud on all occasions to display. But the eulogiums of others, lavish as they might be, fell considerably short of his own, so that the spectator retired with disgust from an object which the excessive vanity of its owner would not permit to be enjoyed without the most frequent and nauseous intrusions of self-congratulation.

As to the history of his eye-lashes, which he sacrificed to vigilance, and his sudden proficiency in the very difficult game of chess (provided his instructor, whom he afterwards vanquished, was a skilful one) _credat Judæus Apella_.--That his language did not want energy, may more easily be allowed, for force is the characteristic of vulgar phraseology. Conceits, expressed with much vigour, are current among sailors; and such nervous denunciations of revenge may occasionally be heard at _Billingsgate_, as might emulate the ravings of _Dryden's Maximin_. No man will be hardy enough to assert that the figure, manners, and language, of _St. André_, were those of a gentleman.

If one of his eyes was a "mass of obscurity" (notwithstanding the other, like that of Lady _Pentweazle's_ Great Aunt, might be a piercer), perhaps he ought to have been sparing of his satire on the personal disadvantages of his acquaintance. Yet, the last time my informant saw him was at the Theatre at _Southampton_, where, sitting near a gentleman and lady not remarkable for handsome faces, he had the modesty to express a doubt (and in a voice sufficiently audible) which of the two would furnish the most comic mask.

Mr. _St. André's_ apologist observes, that "he cannot be reckoned to have been ignorant of any thing." But the contrary may justly be suspected, and for no inconclusive reason. I aver, that on whatever subject he was haranguing, the moment he discovered any of the company present understood it as well as himself, he became silent, never choosing to descant on art or science but before people whom he supposed to be utter strangers to all their principles. For this reason, he would have entertained Sir _Joshua Reynolds_ with remarks on the genera and cultivation of plants, and talked to _Linnæus_ about the outline and colouring of pictures.

That he died poor (for such was really the case), should excite no astonishment. His fortune, like his good qualities, was chiefly in supposition. Much of his wealth he had expended on buildings, which he never long inhabited, and afterwards sold to disadvantage. His first essays in architecture were made at _Chepstow_ on the _Severn_, an estate purchased by Lady _Betty Molyneux_ immediately after the death of her husband. In short, our hero was a fugitive inhabitant of several counties, and never settled till he reached _Southampton_; for in no other place did he meet with that proportion of flattery which was needful to his happiness, if not to his existence.--About a mile from hence he erected the whimsical baby-house dignified by him with the title of _Belle-Vue_, a receptacle every way inconvenient for the purposes of a family. Being once asked if this was not a very singular mansion,--"Singular!" (replied he) "by G--I hope it is, or I would pull it down immediately. I would have you to know, Sir, that it is constructed on the true principles of anatomy." The attempt to apply anatomical principles to the arrangement of passages, doors, and windows, is too glaring an absurdity to need animadversion, or to render it necessary for me to deny in form, that he could ever be "admired for his knowledge in architecture," except by such as knew not wherein its excellencies consisted.--He had, however, another dwelling within the walls of the town already mentioned. Here he pretended that his upper apartments were crowded with rarities, which he only wanted space to exhibit. But, alas! after his decease, Mr. _Christie's_ auction-room bore abundant witness to the frivolity of his collections. What became of his boasted library of books, which he always said was packed up in boxes, I am yet to learn. Perhaps it existed only in his description.[5]

"Those who found out he loved praise (says his apologist) took care he should have enough of it." I discover little cause for disputing this assertion, and shall only observe on it, that adulation is a commodity which weak old men, reputed rich, and without ostensible heirs, are seldom in danger of wanting, though they may not enjoy so much of it as fell to _St. André's_ share.

His disbursements to the poor might be proportioned to the real state of his fortune; but yet they were conducted with excess of ostentation. He may be said to have given shillings away with more parade than many other men would have shown in the distribution of as many guineas.--What honour his apologist means to confer on him by saying that "the names of those whom he maintained might be written alphabetically," is to me a secret, because names of every kind may be arranged according to the series of the letters.--Suspected characters, however, often strive to redeem themselves by affectation of liberality. Few are more generous than opulent wantons toward their decline of life, who thus attempt to recover that respect which they are conscious of having forfeited by the misdeeds of their youth. The benefactions of such people may in truth be considered as expiatory sacrifices for past offences, having no foundation in a natural propensity to relieve the indigent, or indulge the heart in the noblest luxury, that of doing good.

_St. André_ was accused in _J. N.'s_ pamphlet of having frequently larded his pleasantry with obscene expressions. This is a truth which his defender makes not the slightest effort to deny; but adds, that his conversation was _hardly ever_ tinctured with prophaneness. We hence at least may infer that our hero's humour had _sometimes_ this imperfection, which indeed might have escaped notice, but for the zeal of his apologist.--As I am on this subject, I cannot forbear to mention a particular in Mr. _St. André's_ behaviour, which hitherto has been overlooked. When at any time he received a reproof from women of sense, fashion, and character, whose ears he had insulted with his ribaldry, his confidence in a moment forsook him, nor had he a word to offer in extenuation of his offence. My informant has more than once beheld, with secret satisfaction, how effectually the frown of steady virtue could awe this "mighty impudent" into silence. Notwithstanding what has been already said concerning that indifference to censure which appeared in him towards the end of his life, I am mis-informed, if at an earlier period he was able to brave the ridicule of the place where he had been once employed and caressed. When the imputations consequent on his marriage, &c. had rendered him still less an object of respect, he retired with his bride, and amused himself at a distance from _London_ with additions to his house, and improvements in his garden; nor did he appear in public again till what was known and suspected of him had ceased to be the object of general enquiry and animadversion.

It is difficult for a profligate man of an amorous constitution to grow old with decency. _J. N.'s_ pamphlet had taxed _St. André_ with lasciviousness unbecoming his years. This is silently admitted by his apologist, who adds, that the intrigues of his hero were "sometimes with the lower part of the sex." He gives us reason also to suppose that our antiquated enamorato was a dupe to females in the very last stage of a life so unusually protracted. Is _St. André's_ memory much honoured by such revelations? Do not circumstances like these increase that stock of "injurious insinuations" which our apologist professes to diminish?

Our panegyrist, more than once in the course of his letter, has expressed himself in favourable terms of _St. André's_ colloquial talents. Now, as the memory of my entertaining opponent in respect to circumstances is remarkably tenacious, 'tis pity he has preserved no splendid ebullition of his hero's wit, no sample of that satire and irony that seasoned his conversation, or of that wisdom which so often rendered it instructive. I flatter myself, that if any specimens of these distinct excellencies could have been recollected, they would certainly have been arranged and recorded.

That _St. André_ expired without signs of terror, is but a doubtful proof of his innocence. Being, at best, a free-thinker, he might regard death as annihilation, might have been insensible to its immediate approaches, or have encountered it with a constitutional firmness that was rather the gift of nature than the result of conscience undisturbed. He who is become indifferent to the value of reputation, will not easily be inclined to suppose that a want of the virtues on which it is founded will be punished in a future state.

* * * * *

The whole narrative, published by _St. André_ in 1723, was considered by his contemporaries as an ostentatious falsehood, invented only to render him an object of attention and commiseration. It should be remembered, that his depositions were all delivered on oath; and yet, being replete with facts totally improbable (for his apologist allows "they partake of the marvellous"), obtained no credit from the world; a sufficient proof of the estimation in which his moral character was held by the people who were best acquainted with it, though at that period (for the rabbit affair had not yet decided on his reputation) he possessed sufficient interest as court-surgeon to engage the privy-council in his cause. They readily enough consented to offer a sum which they might have been sure would never be demanded. All the poison he was ever supposed to have suffered from, was such as is commonly administered in a more tempting vehicle than a glass of strong liquor:

"'Twas that which taints the sweetest joys,
And in the shape of Love destroys."

The bare mention of _Socrates_ in company with such a pretended victim as _St. André_, cannot fail to make the reader smile.

But "He's half absolv'd who has confess'd," continues his advocate, speaking of the recantation _St. André_ made by public advertisement. Yet, what did he confess? Why, what all the world concurred to believe, that he had been grossly imposed on; or perhaps that, out of two evils choosing the least, he allowed himself to be a fool, that he might escape the imputation of having proved a knave. His absolution therefore was not obtained on the most creditable terms. He adds, however, on this emergency, a fresh proof of his disposition to deceive. "I think myself obliged (says he) _in strict regard to truth_, to acquaint the public that I intend, _in a short time_, to publish a full account of the discovery, with some considerations on the extraordinary circumstances of this case, which misled me in my apprehensions thereof; and which, as I hope they will, in some measure, excuse the mistakes made by myself and others who have visited the woman concerned therein, will also be acceptable to the world, in separating the innocent from those who have been guilty actors in the fraud." This work was never published, though _St. André_ survived his promise by the long term of fifty years. So much for the faith thus solemnly pledged by an impostor to the public.

After the accident had befallen Mr. _Pope_, on his return from _Dawley_ in Lord _Bolingbroke's_ coach, _St. André_ was called in, because he happened to be the surgeon nearest at hand. No man chooses to be scrupulous in the moment of danger. It might be urged that our hero had little to boast on the occasion, because his patient never recovered the use of his wounded fingers. But this calamity is not strictly chargeable on _St. André's_ want of skill; for I have been assured, that though he stopped the effusion of blood, the completion of the cure was entrusted solely to another artist. The RABBITEER, having received his fee, was not admitted a second time into the Poet's company.

To conclude, I differ as much with our ingenious apologist at the close of his Epistle as throughout the foregoing parts of it, being of opinion that his hero no more deserves to be _admired_ than to be _copied_. There is always hazard lest _wonder_ should generate _imitation_; and the world would not be much obliged to any circumstance that produced a second being fabricated on the model of _St. André_.

[1] See also _Dryden's Limberham, or the Kind Keeper_. Act III.

[2] The words of _Pope_ are "the poisoning _dame_." See Epilogue to his Satires, Dial. II. v. 22.

[3] Whilst the above page was preparing for the second edition of this work, the following particulars of this gentleman's family appeared in the public prints: "Mr. _Molyneux_, who was equally the friend of liberty and literature, was founder of a society in _Ireland_, in imitation of the Royal (as was his nephew, the Rev. Dr. _Madden_, of the _Dublin_ Society). His genius was celebrated by _Locke_, and other sages of those days; and his patriotism was rewarded with the successive representation of the City and University of _Dublin_, with other posts of great trust, from the Revolution to his death. He married the daughter of Sir _William Domville_, attorney-general of _Ireland_ in the reign of _Charles_ the Second, and niece of Sir _Thomas Leake_, of _Cannons_ in _Middlesex_, by whom he had an only son, _Samuel Molyneux_, Esq; secretary to his late Majesty when Prince of _Wales_, a lord of the Admiralty, and member of parliament both in _Great-Britain_ and _Ireland_, who resembled his illustrious father in his pursuits of philosophical knowledge, which he many years, until engaged in political business, prosecuted with great application at his seat at _Kew_, now his Majesty's, and presented a telescope of his own construction to the King of _Portugal_; his _perhaps fatal_ acquaintance with and patronage of _St. André_ will make his name long remembered. Leaving no issue by his wife, who married _St. André_, and lived many years, the estate of Mr. _Molyneux_ fell at her death to his cousin-german and her god-son, the right honourable Sir _Capel Molyneux_, member at present of the _Irish_ parliament, and a privy-counsellor, only surviving son of Mr. _Molyneux_ father's next brother, Sir _Thomas Molyneux_, bart. whom, through regard for his nephew, his late Majesty created the first _Irish_ baronet upon his accession to the throne."

[4] The following story was told by _St. André_ to an eminent bookseller, from whom I received it:

"Once when I was in _Paris_," says our hero, "I went to a sale of Missals, most of them bound in crimson velvet. Among these, and in the same binding, I discovered a fine impression of the Duke of _Orleans's_ celebrated publication of _Les Amours Pastorales de Daphnis et de Chloe_, &c. which I purchased for a mere trifle. On taking off the velvet, I found the cover underneath was ornamented with as many jewels as I sold afterwards for five hundred pounds."----Who can believe a circumstance so utterly improbable?

[5] I am assured, on unquestionable authority, that Mr. _St. André_ had a valuable library in the classes of Natural History and Medicine. A catalogue of it, drawn up by Mr. _B. White_, is now in the possession of Mr. _St. André's_ executor, by whom it is reserved for the benefit of minors.

N° II. [See p. 137.]

The kindness of a friend has enabled me to lay before the reader some extracts from the scarce pamphlet mentioned in p. 137. The following is the exact title of it: "A Letter from a Parishioner of _St. Clement Danes_, to the Right Reverend Father in God _Edmund_, Lord Bishop of _London_, occasioned by his Lordship's causing the Picture over the Altar to be taken down. With some Observations on the Use and Abuse of Church Paintings in General, and of that Picture in particular.

"_Exodus_, Chap. xxxii. Ver. 20. And he took the Calf which they had made, and burnt it in the Fire, and ground it to powder, and strawed it upon the Water, and made the Children of _Israel_ drink of it.

"_London_, printed and sold by _J. Roberts_, in _Warwick-Lane; A. Dod_, without _Temple-Bar-_, and _E. Nut_, at the _Royal-Exchange_. 1725. Price 6_d._"

After some introductory compliments to Bishop _Gibson_, the Letter-writer thus proceeds: "Of all the abuses your Lordship has redressed, none more timely, none more acceptable to all true Protestants, than your last injunction to remove that ridiculous, superstitious piece of Popish foppery from over our communion-table; this has gained you the applause and good will of all honest men, who were scandalized to see that holy place defiled with so vile and impertinent a representation.

"To what end or purpose was it put there, but to affront our most gracious Sovereign, by placing at our very altar the known resemblance of a person, who is the wife of his utter enemy, and pensioner to the Whore of _Babylon_?

"When I say the known resemblance, I speak not only according to my own knowledge; but appeal to all mankind who have seen the Princess _Sobieski_, or any picture or resemblance of her, if the picture of that angel in the white garment and blue mantle, which is there supposed to be beating time to the musick, is not directly a great likeness of that princess. This I insist on, and will stand and fall by my assertion, provided they do not play any tricks with the picture, or alter it for contradiction sake now it is down.

"Whether it was done by chance, or on purpose, I shall not determine; but be it which it will, it has given great offence, and your Lordship has acted the part of a wise and good prelate to order its removal.

"For surely, such a picture is far unfit for so sacred a place; a place too solemn for such levities, too awful to be made the receptacle of such trumpery: nay, admit it were not the resemblance of such a person, can any thing be more absurd, than such a picture in such a place!

"But if it be the picture of that person, what can be more sacrilegious, more impudently sacrilegious, than to have our sanctuary defiled by those who make a mock of us and our holy religion? I mean, our inveterate enemies the Papists, who would scruple to prophane no place, so they might show their implacable hatred to our God, and our King.

"To our God, by making his holy altar the scene of their ribaldry, to be approached with wantonness and curiosity, by the sons of _Belial_, who come there to decypher the dumb libel, and sneer at the pictured lampoon, which tacitly mocks the church, and openly affronts the State.

"To our King, by placing the resemblance of an avowed enemy to him and his religion, at the very altar, to stand in view of a whole congregation; a thing, in my opinion, much more audacious, than the setting up her statue in the public streets.

"No wonder our church has been thronged with spectators, to the great hindrance of divine worship, and annoyance of the parishioners, when those crouds of irreverend persons, which were ever pouring in, came not there to join in prayer with the rest of the congregation, but to worship their Popish saint, and hug themselves with the conceit of being alone in the secret.

"But at last the watch-word was blown, and the true intent of their coming discovered. Then was it high time to complain to your Lordship, when disturbances became so frequent, and the peace of the church was so manifestly broken: that you, like another _Moses_, commanded the tinctured abomination to be taken down, and no doubt but your Lordship will call them to account who set it up.

"When your Lordship shall examine, who is the painter, and of what principle? how long he had been from the Court of _Rome_, before he painted that picture? and whether he brought no picture, or resemblance, of the Princess _Sobieski_ over with him? you will not repent of what you have done. But when you shall farther enquire after the person who employed him; whether he be a Protestant? or, if he call himself so, whether his children were not sent abroad to Popish seminaries for education?

"When your Lordship, I say, shall examine into these particulars, I doubt not of the inferences so wise a man will draw from such convincing circumstances.

"And as your Lordship has begun to redress one abuse, I persuade myself you will not stop here, but enquire likewise, by what authority it was put there. This may, perhaps, open another scene to your Lordship's view, and give you an opportunity, not only to ease the parish of a very heavy burden it now groans under, but prevent its being run to unnecessary and unwarranted expences for the future, by every _Jac-----_ in an office.