Chapter IV: Part II (1)

George happened one time to be in company with a bishop, and so they fell to dispute anent education, and he blanked the bishop remarkably, and the bishop himself owned he was worsted.--Then one of the company addressed himself to him in these words: thou, Scot, said he, should not have left thy country. For what? says he, because thou has carried all the wisdom that is in it thither with thee. No, no, says he, the shepherds in Scotland will dispute with any bishop in London, and exceed them very far in education. The bishops then took this as an affront, and several noblemen affirmed it to be as the Scot had said: bets were laid on each side, and three of the bishops were chosen, and sent away to Scotland to dispute it with the shepherds, accompanied with several others, who were to bear witness of what they should hear pass between them. Now, George knowing which way they went, immediately took another road and was in Scotland before them. He then made an acquaintance with a shepherd on the border whose pasture lay on the wayside where the bishops were to pass: and there he mounted himself in shepherd’s dress: and when he saw the bishops appear, he conveyed his flock to the roadside, and fell a chanting at a Latin ballad. When the bishops came up to George, one of them asked him in French what o’clock it was? To which he answered in Hebrew, it is directly about the time of the day it was yesterday at this time. Another asked him, in Greek, what countryman he was? To which he answered in Flemish, if ye knew that, you would be as wise as myself. A third asked him, in Dutch, where was you educated? To which he answered, in Earse, herding my sheep between this and Lochaber. This they desired him to explain into English, which he immediately did. Now, said they one to another, we need not proceed any farther. What, says George, are you butchers? I’ll sell you a few sheep. To this they made no answer, but went away shamefully, and said, they believed the Scots had been through all the nations in the world for their education, or the devil had taught them. Now, when George had ended this dispute with the bishops, he stripped off his shepherd’s dress, and up through England he goes, with all the haste imaginable, so that he arrived at the place from whence they set out, three days before the judges, and went every day asking if they were come, so that he might not be suspected. As soon as they arrived, all that were concerned in the dispute, and many more, came crowding in, to hear what news from the Scottish shepherds, and to know what was done. No sooner had the three gentlemen declared what had past between the bishops and the shepherds, whom they found on the Scots border, but the old bishop made answer, and think you, said he, that a shepherd could answer these questions? It has been none else but the devil; for the Scots ministers themselves could not do it; they are but ignorant of such matters, a parcel of beardless boys. Then George thought it was time to take speech in hand. Well, my lord bishop, says George, you call them a parcel of ignorant beardless boys. You have a great long beard yourself, my lord bishop, and if grace were measured by beards, you bishops and the goats would have it all, and that will be quite averse to Scripture. What, says the bishop, are you a Scot? Yes, says George, I am a Scot. Well, says the bishop, and what is the difference between a Scot and a sot? Nothing at present, says George, but the breadth of the table, there being a table betwixt the bishop and George. So the bishop went off in a high passion, while the whole multitude were like to split their jaws with laughter.

2. About this time there was an act of parliament for the benefit of murderers, that any person, who committed murder, if they forfeited five hundred marks, which went under the name of Kinboot, because, so much of this went to the murdered person’s nearest relations, as the price of blood, the murderer got a remit. Now George knowing this to be contrary to Moses’ laws, was very much grieved to see so many pardons sealed by the king’s hand for murder, almost one every week; it being so usual for the king to subscribe them, that he would not read them, nor enquire what they were; for which cause, George writes a writ to the crown, and sent it to the king to be subscribed, which he actually did, and never looked what it was, returned it to George. No sooner had he received it, but he goes to the king and told him it was not time for him to be sitting there, whereat, the king greatly amazed, started up; then George in great haste, sets himself down in the king’s chair, forthwith declaring himself king, saying, you who was king must be my fool, for I am now the wisest man. The king at this was greatly offended, until George shewed him his seal and superscription. But from that day forth the king knew what he subscribed.

3. The next pardon that came to be sealed by the king, was a gentleman who had killed two men before, and had got pardons for them by money. This being the third, the king was very silent in looking over the petition: George standing by, asked the king what he was going to seal now? To which he answered, it is a remit for a man who has killed three men at sundry times, I gave him two remits before. O! says George; he has killed but one man. And who killed the other two says the king. You did, says George, for if you had given him justice when he had killed the first, he had killed no more. When the king heard these words he threw down the pen, and declared that such an act to save a murderer, should be null ever after by him.

4. One day, George having no money, he goes away and gets a pick and a spade, and then falls a digging at a corner of the king’s palace; which the king perceiving from his window, calls what he was wanting there? Are you going to undermine my house, and make it fall? No, my sovereign, says George, but it is verily reported that there is plenty of money about this house, and where can it be? says George, I cannot find it, for it is not within the house to do me service, then surely it must be below it. O George! says the king, that is a crave after the new fashion, what money you want I’ll order for you. Then, my sovereign, says George, I’ll dig no more.

5. One time George being in the country, he came to an inn, where he alighted to refresh himself and his horse. The innkeeper charged him double price for every thing he called for.--George never grumbled at this, but gave him all demands, and away he goes on his journey. At the inn where he quartered the following night he was used after the same manner, if not worse. Having little farther to go, he returned next day, and came that night to the inn where he refreshed himself the day before. So, when he alighted, the boy asked him what he would give his horse? What you will, said he. When he had gone to his room, the waiter enquired what he would have to drink? What you will, says he. The master of the inn came into his room before supper, and enquired what he would have for supper? What you will landlord, says he. After supper, and a hearty bowl to put all over, he went to bed. On the morrow, he rose very early, and called for the boy to make ready his horse in all haste, for he was designed to mount and go directly. Soon after, he went into the stable where the boy was, calling for his horse, when he mounted with all the speed he could, and gave the boy a piece of money, saying, here my boy, this is for taking care of my horse; I have paid for all I have ordered in the house, and off he goes. About mid-day he alighted again at an inn to refresh himself and his horse, and there he chanced to be in company with his other landlord where he was the night before, and charged him with the double reckoning: so he addressed himself to him in the following manner.--Sir, says he, I do believe I was in your house yesternight; O yes Sir, says he, I mind of you pretty well. And where was you last night? Last night, says George, I was in one of the finest inns, and the civilest landlord I ever had in my life: they brought all things that I stood in need of unto me, without calling for them; and when I came off this morning, they charged me nothing, and I paid nothing but sixpence to the boy for dressing my horse.--Blood and wounds! said the old fellow, then I’ll go there this night. Ay, says George, do; and mind this, when they ask you what you will have for yourself and your horse, answer nothing but What you will, Sir. George smiling within himself, to think how he had got the one extortioner to take amends of the other. So this innkeeper set off on his journey, and rode so late that night that he might reach the cheap inn, that most of the people were gone to bed before he arrived. As soon as he dismounted from his horse, the boy enquired at him, What shall I give your horse, master? To which he answered, What you will, boy. The boy hearing this, runs away, (leaving him and his horse to stand at the door,) up stairs to his master’s room, crying, master, master, What-you-will is come again:--O the rogue, cries he, where is he?--I’ll cane him--I’ll what you will him by and by. Then to him he runs with his cane, licks, and kicks him until he was scarce able to mount his horse, and would give him no entertainment there, which caused him to ride the whole of a cold winter night, after he had got his bones all beat and bruised. So the one pursued the other as a murderer; and his defence was, that he was a cheat and a scorner of his house, until the truth was found out.

6. About this time, the French king sent, and demanded from the king of England, three men of different qualities. The first was to be a mighty strong man; the second a very wise man; and the third, a very great fool; so that he might have none in all France to match them. So, accordingly, there were two men chosen; the one a strong man, and the other a very wise man, but George was to act as the fool; nevertheless he was the teacher of the other two. On their way to France George asked the strong man, what will you answer the French king, when he asks if you be a strong man? Why, says he, I’ll say I am. Then, says George, he’ll possibly get a stronger man than you, who will kill you, and affront your country: what shall I say then, said the strong man?--Why, says George, tell him you are strong enough untried. Then said he to the wise man, and what will you say to the king when he asks if you are a wise man? Why, I’ll tell him I am, and answer him all the questions I know:--Very well, says George, but what if he asks you what you do not know? then you’ll affront your country, and be looked upon as a greater fool than me: well, and what shall I answer then? said the wise man. Why, says George, tell him he is only a wise man that can take care of himself: and I shall come in after you, and take care of you altogether. As soon as they arrived at the king of France’s palace, the king sent for them, to try them. The strong man was first called for, and in he went; then the king asked him if he was a strong man? to which he answered, O king! I am strong enough untried. Very well, said the king. After him the wise man was called; and the king asked him if he was a wise man? to which he answered, he is only a wise man that can take care of himself. Very well, says the king. On which, George pushed up the door, and in he went with loud laughter, and p---- directly in his Majesty’s face, which blinded both his eyes, and put the whole court in amaze. Now, now, said his Majesty, it is true enough what the wise man says, for if I had taken care of myself, I need not have been p---- upon by the English fool. O ho, says George, fools always strive to make fools of others, but wise men make fools of themselves. By this, his Majesty seemed to think he was made the greatest fool, and charged them to go home, for he wanted no more of England’s strength, wisdom, or folly.

7. One night, a Highland drover chanced to have a drinking-bout with an English captain of a ship, and at last they came to be very hearty over their cups, so that they called in their servants to have a share of their liquor. The drover’s servant looked like a wild man, going without breeches, stockings, or shoes, not so much as a bonnet on his head, with a long peeled rung in his hand. The captain asked the drover, how long it was since he catched him? He answered, it is about two years since I hauled him out of the sea with a net, and afterwards ran into the mountains, where I catched him with a pack of hounds. The captain believed it was so, but says he, I have a servant the best swimmer in the world. O but, says the drover, my servant will swim him to death. No, he will not, says the captain, I’ll lay two hundred crowns on it. Then says the drover, I’ll hold it one to one, and staked directly, the day being appointed when trial was to be made. Now the drover, when he came to himself, thinking on what a bargain he had made, did not know what to do, knowing very well that his servant could swim none. He hearing of George being in town, who was always a good friend to Scotsmen, he went unto him and told him the whole story, and that he would be entirely broke, and durst never return home to his own country, for he was sure to lose it. Then George called the drover and his man aside, and instructed them how to behave, so that they should be safe and gain too. So accordingly they met at the place appointed. The captain’s man stript directly and threw himself into the sea, taking a turn until the Highlandman was ready, for the drover took some time to put his servant in order. After he was stripped, his master took his plaid, and rolled a kebbuck of cheese, a big loaf, and a bottle of gin in it, and this he bound on his shoulders, giving him directions to tell his wife and children that he was well, and to be sure he returned with an answer against that day se’nnight. As he went into the sea, he looked back to his master, and called out to him for his claymore. And what waits he for now? says the captain’s servant. He wants his sword, says his master. His sword, says the fellow: What is he to do with a sword? Why, says his master, if he meets a whale or a monstrous beast, it is to defend his life: I know he will have to fight his way through the north seas, ere he get to Lochaber. Then cried the captain’s servant, I’ll swim none with him, if he take his sword. Ay, but says his master, you shall, or lose the wager; take you another sword with you. No, says the fellow I never did swim with a sword, nor any man else, that ever I saw or heard of, I know not but that wild man will kill me in the deep water; I would not for the whole world, venture myself with him and a sword. The captain seeing his servant afraid to venture, or if he did, he would never see him again alive; therefore he desired an agreement with the drover, who at first seemed unwilling, but the captain putting it in his will, the drover quit him for half the sum. This he came to through George’s advice.

8. George was met one day by three bishops, who paid him the following compliments; says the first, good-morrow, father Abraham; says the second, good-morrow, father Isaac; says the third, good-morrow father Jacob. To which he replied, I am neither father Abraham, father Isaac, nor father Jacob; but I am Saul, the Son of Kish, sent out to seek my father’s asses, and, lo! I have found three of them. Which answer fully convinced the bishops that they had mistaken their man.

9. A poor Scotchman dined one day at a public house in London upon eggs and not having money to pay, got credit till he should return. The man being lucky in trade, acquired vast riches; and after some years happening to pass that way, called at the house where he was owing the dinner of eggs. Having called for the innkeeper, he asked him what he had to pay for the dinner of eggs he got from him such a time? The landlord seeing him now rich, gave him a bill of several pounds; telling him, as his reason for so extravagant a charge, that these eggs had they been hatched, would have been chickens; and these laying more eggs, would have been more chickens: and so on multiplying the eggs and their product, till such time as their value amounted to the sum charged. The man refusing to comply with this demand, was charged before a judge. He then made his case known to George, his countryman, who promised to appear in the hour of cause, which he accordingly did, all in a sweat, with a great basket of boiled pease, which appearance surprised the judge, who asked him what he meant by these boiled pease? says George I am going to sow them. When will they grow? said the judge. They will grow, said George, when sodden eggs grow chickens. Which answer convinced the judge of the extravagance of the innkeeper’s demand, and the Scotsman was acquitted for twopence halfpenny.

George, one day easing himself at the corner of a hedge, was espied by an English squire who began to mock him asking him why he did not keckle like the hens? But George, whose wit was always ready, told him he was afraid to keckle, lest he would come and snatch up the egg, which rebuff made the squire walk off as mute as a fish.

George was professor of the College of St Andrews, and slipt out one day in his gown and slippers, and went on his travels through Italy, and several other foreign countries and after seven years, returned with the same dress he went off in; and entering the college, took possession of his seat there; but the professor in his room quarreling him for so doing. Ay, says George, it is a very odd thing that a man cannot take a walk out in his slippers, but another will take up his seat. And so set the other professor about his business.

Two drunken fellows one day fell a beating one another on the streets of London, which caused a great crowd of people to throng together to see what it was. A tailor being at work up in a garret, about three or four stories high, and he hearing the noise in the street, looking over the window, but could not well see them; he began to stretch himself, making a long neck, until he fell down out of the window, and alighted on an old man who was walking on the street; the poor tailor was more afraid than hurt, but the man he fell on died directly. His son caused the tailor to be apprehended, and tried for the murder of his father; the jury could not bring it in wilful murder, neither could they altogether free the tailor; the jury gave it over to the judges, and the judges to the king. The king asked George’s advice in this hard matter. Why, says George, I will give you my opinion in a minute; you must cause the tailor to stand in the street, where the old gentleman was when he was killed by the tailor, and then let the old gentleman’s son the tailor’s adversary, get up to the window from whence the tailor fell, and jump down, and so kill the tailor as he did his father. The tailor’s adversary hearing this sentence past, he would not venture to jump over the window, and so the tailor got clear off.

George went into the mint one day, when they were melting gold. One of them asked George, if he would have his hat full of gold? George readily accorded, but it burnt the bottom out of his hat, as they knew it would, and for the bout foiled George. However, George, to be up with them, bought a fine large hat, and caused a plate of copper to be put betwixt the hat and the linen; and returning next day they jestingly asked him, if he would have another hat full of gold? He said he would: They gave it red hot, and George now laughed at them in his turn; telling them, that his new hat was a good one, and stood fire better than the old one, and so carried it off honestly, and being afterwards prosecuted for to return it, he excused himself, telling the judge, that he took nothing but was given him, and therefore he was honourably acquitted, and the other heartily laughed at.

George being now far advanced in years, and being weary of the great fatigue and folly of the court fashions, a short time before his death, he had a great desire to visit his native country, and the place of his nativity. Therefore he petitioned the king for permission to do so which was granted. So he set out for Scotland, and went to the parish of Buchanan, in Dumbartonshire, where he visited all his relations and friends.--But George staying longer from court than the time allowed, the king sent him several messages to return, to which he returned no answer. At last the king sent him a letter threatening, that if he did not appear before him in the space of twenty days he would send his Lyon Heralds for him; to which George returned the following answer.

My honour’d Liege, and sovereign King,
Of your boasting great I dread nothing:
On your feud or favour I’ll fairly venture;
Or that day I’ll be where few kings enter.

And also gave him many good admonitions and directions concerning the government of his kingdom and the well being of his soul; which drew tears from the king’s eyes when he read it.

WILL SCOTT

A celebrated attendant upon the Sheriff, well known for his activity in the execution of his orders, as well as for taking a bit comfortable guzzel when finances would afford it, was one Sabbath day snugly seated in the pew behind the Bailies at church. Will had not been there long till he was soon lull’d into sweet slumbers, and fancied himself seated along with his companions over a good Imperial Half-mutchkin, and in a short time the reckoning came a-paying, when some of the party insisted it was already paid; however, Will happened not to be of that opinion, and true to his integrity, bawled out with all his might in the midst of the sermon, “No, no, by my faith it’s no pay’t, we have had just a’e half-mutchkin, an’ twa bottles o’ ale and there’s no a fardin o’t pay’t.”

GRAVE-DIGGER OF SORN.

The Grave-digger of Sorn, Ayrshire, was as selfish and as mean a sinner as ever handled mattock, or carried mortcloth. He was a very quarrelsome and discontented old man, with a voice like the whistle of the wind thro’ a key-hole. On a bleak Sunday afternoon in the country, an acquaintance from a neighbouring parish accosted him one day, and asked how the world was moving with him, “Oh, very puirly, sir, very puirly indeed,” was the answer, “the yard has done naething ava for us this summer, if ye like to believe me, I havna buried a levin’ soul this sax weeks.”

THE END.

A BRIEF RELATION

OF THE

ADVENTURES

OF

BAMFYLDE MOORE CAREW,

WHO WAS FOR MORE THAN FORTY YEARS

KING OF THE BEGGARS.

GLASGOW:
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

ADVENTURES

OF

BAMFYLDE MOORE CAREW.

Mr. Bamfylde Moore Carew was the son of a clergyman near Tiverton, in Devonshire, and born in 1693. He was tall and majestic, his limbs strong and well proportioned, his features regular, and his countenance open and ingenious, bearing the resemblance of a good-natured mind. At twelve years old he was put to Tiverton school, where he soon got a considerable knowledge of the Latin and Greek tongues, so as to be fitted for the University, that in due time he might be fitted for the church, for which his father designed him; but here a new exercise engaged his attention, namely, that of hunting, in which he soon made a prodigious progress. The Tiverton scholars had command of a fine cry of hounds, which gave Carew a frequent opportunity of exercising his beloved employment, and getting acquainted with John Martin, Thomas Coleman, and John Escott, young gentlemen of the best rank and fortune. One day a farmer came to the school and complained of a deer, with a collar round his neck, that he had seen running through his grounds, and had done him much damage, desiring them to hunt it down and kill it. They, wishing for no better sport, on the next day put the old farmer’s request into execution, in doing of which they did much damage to the neighbouring grounds, whose owners, together with Colonel Nutcombe, to whom the deer belonged, came and complained to the schoolmaster of the injuries they had suffered by his scholars: they were very severely reprimanded, and hard threatened for the same. The resentment of the present reproof, and the fear of future chastisement, made them abscond from the school; and going into a brick alehouse, about half a mile from Tiverton, there they accidentally fell in company with some gypsies, who were then feasting and carousing. This company consisted of seventeen, who were met on purpose for festivity and jollity; which, by plenty of meat, fowl, flowing cups of beer, cider, &c., they seemed to enjoy to their hearts’ content. In short, the freedom, mirth, and pleasure that appeared among them, invited our youngsters to enlist into their company; which on communicating to the gypsies, they would not believe them, as thinking they jested; but on tarrying with them all night, and continuing in the same mind next morning, they at length thought them serious, and encouraged them; and, after going through the requisite ceremonials, and administering to them the proper oath, they admitted them into their number.

The reader will no doubt wonder to hear of the ceremonials and oaths among gypsies and beggars, but that will cease on being informed, that these people are subject to a form of government and laws peculiar to themselves, and pay due obedience to one who is styled their king; to which honour Carew in a short time arrived, after having by many acts proved himself worthy of it. The substance of them is this:--strong love and mutual regard for each member in particular, and the whole community in general; which being taught them in their infancy, grows up with them, prevents oppression, frauds, and overreaching one another, which is common among other people, and tends to the very worst of evils. This happiness and temper of mind so wrought on Carew, as to occasion the strongest attachment to them for forty years, refusing very large offers that had been made to him to quit their society.

Being thus initiated into the ancient society of gypsies, who take their name from Egypt, a place well known to abound in learning, and the inhabitants of which country travel about from place to place to communicate knowledge to mankind.--Carew did not long continue in it before he was consulted in important matters; particularly Madam Musgrove, of Monkton, near Taunton, hearing of his fame, sent for him to consult him in an affair of difficulty. When he was come, she informed him, that she suspected a large quantity of money was buried somewhere about her house, and if he would acquaint her with the particular place, she would handsomely reward him. Carew consulted the secrets of his art on this occasion, and, after a long study, he informed the lady, that under a laurel tree in the garden lay the treasure she sought for; but that she must not seek it till such a day and hour. The lady rewarded him with twenty guineas; but, whether Carew mistook his calculation, or the lady mistook her lucky hour, we cannot tell; but truth obliges us to say, the lady having dug below the root of the laurel tree, she could not find the treasure.

When he was further initiated, he was consulted in important matters and met with better success; generally giving satisfaction by his wise and sagacious answers. In the mean time his parents sorrowed after him, as one that was no more, having advertised him in all the public papers, and sent messengers after him to almost every part of the kingdom; till about a year and a half afterwards, when Carew, hearing of their grief, and being struck with tenderness thereat, repaired to his father’s house. He was so disguised they did not know him, but when they did their joy was beyond expressing, tenderly embracing him, bedewing his cheeks with tears and kisses; and all his friends and neighbours shewed every demonstration of joy at his return. His parents did every thing to render home agreeable to him; but the uncommon pleasure he had enjoyed in the community he had left, their simplicity, freedom, sincerity, mirth, and frequent change of habitation, and the secret presages of the honour he has since arrived at, sickened and palled all other diversions, and at last prevailed over his filial duty; for one day without taking leave of his friends or parents, he went back to them again, where he was heartily welcomed, both to his own and their satisfaction, they being glad to regain one who was likely to become so useful a member of their community.

_Carew’s first adventure in his new profession._

Carew being again initiated among them, at the first general assembly of the gypsies, took the oaths of allegiance to their sovereign, by whom he was soon sent out on a cruise against their enemies. Carew now set his wits to work how to succeed: so equipping himself with an old pair of trowsers, a piece of a jacket, just enough to cover his nakedness, stockings full of holes, and an old cap, he forgot both friends and family, and became nothing more or less than an unfortunate shipwrecked seaman. In this, his first excursion, he gained much credit, artfully imitating passes and certificates that were necessary for him to travel unmolested. After a month’s travel he happened to meet with his old school-fellow Coleman, who had once left the gypsies’ society, but for the same reason as himself, returned to them again. Great was their joy at meeting, and they agreed to travel some time together; so entering Exeter, they in one day raised a contribution of several pounds.

Having obtained all he could from this stratagem, he then became a plain, honest farmer, whose grounds had been overflowed, and cattle drowned; his dejected countenance and mournful tale, together with a wife and seven helpless infants being partakers of his misfortunes, gained him both pity and profit.

Having obtained a considerable booty by these two stratagems, he returned to his companions, where he was received with great applause; and, as a mark of their respect, seated him next the king. He soon became a great man in the profession, and confined not himself from doing good to others, when it did not infringe upon the community of which he was a member.

His next stratagem was to become a mad-man; so stripping himself quite naked, he threw a blanket over him, and then he was, “Poor mad Tom, whom the foul fiend has led through fire and through flame! through fire and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set ratsbane for his porridge, and made him proud at heart to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inch bridges; to curse his own shadow for a traitor; who eats the swimming-frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water-newt; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, swallows the old rat and ditch dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool;

And mice and rats, and such like gear,
Have been Tom’s food for seven long year.

O do de, do de, do de! bless thee! from whirlwind, star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes--There I could have him now--and there!--and there!--and here again!--and there!--Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind--Tom’s a cold!--who gives any thing to poor Tom?”

In this character, with such-like expressions, he entered the houses of both small and great, claiming kindred to them, and committing all kinds of frantic actions, such as beating himself, offering to eat coals of fire, running against the wall, and tearing to pieces whatever garments were given to him to cover his nakedness; by which means he raised considerable contributions.

He never was more happy than when he was engaged in some adventure; therefore he was always very diligent to enquire when any accident happened, especially fire, to which he would immediately repair, and, getting information of the causes, names, trades, and circumstances of the unhappy sufferers, he would assume one of them, and burning some part of his clothes, by way of demonstration, run to some place distant, pass for one of them, gain credit, and get much profit. Under this character he had once the boldness to address a justice, who was the terror and professed enemy to all the gypsies, yet he so well managed the affair, that in a long examination he made him believe he was an honest miller, whose house, mill and substance had been consumed by fire, occasioned by the negligence of the apprentice; and accordingly, got a bountiful sum for his relief, the justice not in the least suspecting a defraud.

He had such wonderful facility in every character he assumed, that he even deceived those who thought themselves so well acquainted with him, that it was impossible for him to impose on them.

Coming one day to ‘Squire Portman’s house at Blandford, in the character of a rat-catcher, with a hair cap on his head, a buff girdle about his waist, a little box by his side, and a tame rat in his hand, he goes boldly up to the house, where he had been well known before, and meeting the ’squire, Parson Bryant, and one Mr. Pleydell, of Milbourn, and some other gentlemen, he asked them if they had any rats to kill. “Do you understand the business well?” says the ’squire. “Yes, an please your honour,” replied Carew, “I have been a rat-catcher for many years, and have been employed in his Majesty’s yards and ships.” “Well,” says the ’squire, “go in and get some victuals, and after dinner we will try your abilities.” He was accordingly called into the parlour, where were a large company of gentlemen and ladies. “Well, honest rat-catcher,” says the squire, “can you lay any scheme to kill the rats without hurting my dogs?” “Yes, yes,” cries Carew, “I can lay it where even the rats cannot climb to reach it.”--“What countryman are you?”--“A Devonshireman, an please your honour.” “What is your name?” Here our hero began to perceive that he was discovered, by the smilings and whisperings of several gentlemen, and he very composedly answered,--“My name is Bamfylde Moore Carew.” This occasioned much mirth, and Mr. Pleydell expressed extraordinary pleasure. He had often wished to see him, but never had.--“Yes you have,” replied Carew, “and given me a suit of clothes. Do you not remember meeting a poor wretch one day at your stable door, with a stocking round his head, an old mantle over his shoulders, without shirt, stockings, or scarce any shoes, who told you he was a poor unfortunate man, cast away upon the coast, with sixteen more of the crew, who were all drowned; you, believing this story, generously relieved me with a guinea and a good suit of clothes.” “I well remember it,” said Mr. Pleydell, “but, on this discovery, it is impossible to deceive me so again, come in whatever shape you will.” The company blamed him for thus boasting, and secretly prevailed upon Carew to put his art in practice to convince him of the fallacy thereof: to which he agreed, and in a few days after appointing the company present to be at Mr. Pleydell’s house, he put the following scheme into execution.

He shaved himself closely, and clothed himself in an old woman’s apparel, with a high-crowned hat, and a large dowdy under his chin; then taking three children from among his fraternity, he tied two on his back and one under his arm. Thus accoutred, he comes to Mr. Pleydell’s door, and pinching one of the brats, set it a roaring; this gave the alarm to the dogs, who came out with open mouths, so that the whole company was soon alarmed. Out came the maid, saying, “Carry away the children, good woman, they disturb the ladies.” “God bless their ladyships,” said Carew, “I am the poor unfortunate grandmother of these helpless infants, whose mother and all they had were burnt at the dreadful fire at Kirkton, and hope the good ladies, for Heaven’s sake, will bestow something on the poor famishing, starving infants.” In goes the maid with this affecting story to the ladies, while Carew keeps pinching the children to make them cry, and the maid soon returned with half-a-crown and some good broth, which he thankfully received, and went into the court-yard to sit down to sup them, as perceiving the gentlemen were not at home. He had not long been there before they came, when one of them accosted him thus: “Where do you come from, old woman?” “From Kirkton, please your honours,” said he, “where the poor unhappy mother of these helpless infants was burnt in the flames, and all she had consumed.” “There has been more money collected for Kirkton than ever Kirkton was worth,” said the gentleman. However, they gave the supposed old grandmother a shilling, commiserating the hard case of her and her poor helpless infants, which he thankfully received, pretending to go away; but the gentlemen were hardly got into the house, before their ears were suddenly saluted with a “tantivy, tantivy,” and a “halloo” to the dogs; on which they turned about, supposing it to be some other sportsmen; but seeing nobody, they imagined it to be Carew, in the disguise of the old Kirkton grandmother; so bidding the servants fetch him back, he was brought into the parlour among them all, and confessed himself to be the famous Mr. Bamfylde Moore Carew, to the astonishment and mirth of them all; who well rewarded him for the diversion he had afforded them.

In like manner he raised a contribution twice in one day of Mr. Jones, near Bristol. In the morning, with a sooty face, leather apron, a dejected countenance, and a woollen cap, he was generously relieved as an unfortunate blacksmith, whose all had been consumed by fire. In the afternoon he exchanged his legs for crutches, and, with a dejected countenance, pale face, and every sign of pain, he became a disabled tinner, incapable of maintaining a wife and seven small children, by the damps and hardships he had suffered in the mines; and so well acted his part, that the tinner got as well relieved in the afternoon as the blacksmith in the morning.

These successful stratagems gained him high applause and honour in the community of gypsies. He soon became the favourite of their king, who was very old and decrepid, and had always some honourable mark of distinction assigned him at their assemblies.

Being one morning near the seat of his good friend Sir William Courtney, he was resolved to pay him three visits that day. He therefore puts on a parcel of rags, and goes to him with a piteous, mean, dismal countenance, and deplorable tale, and got half-a-crown from him, telling him he had met with great misfortunes at sea. At noon he puts on a leather apron scorched with fire, and with a dejected countenance goes to him again, and was relieved as an unfortunate shoemaker, who had been burnt out of his house and all he had. In the afternoon he goes again in trimmed clothes, and desiring admittance to Sir William, with a modest grace and submissive eloquence, he repeats his misfortunes, as the supercargo of a vessel which had been cast away, and his whole effects lost.

Sir William, seeing his genteel appearance and behaviour, treated him with respect, and gave him a guinea at his departure. There were several gentlemen at dinner with Sir William at that time, none of whom had any knowledge of him except the Rev. Mr. Richards, who did not discover him till he was gone; upon which a servant was despatched to desire him to come back, which he did; and when he entered the room they were very merry with him and requested him to give an account how he got his fine clothes, and of his stratagems, with the success of them. He asked Sir William if he had not given half-a-crown in the morning to a beggar, and about noon relieved a poor unfortunate shoemaker. “I did,” said Sir William. “Behold him before you,” said Carew, “in this fine embroidered coat, as a broken merchant.” The company would not believe him; so, to convince them, he re-assumed those characters again, to their no small mirth and satisfaction.

_Carew made King of the Beggars._

On the death of the king of the gypsies, named Clause Patch, our hero was a candidate to succeed him, and exhibited to the electors a long list of bold and ingenious stratagems which he had executed, and made so graceful and majestic an appearance in his person, that he had a considerable majority of voices, though there were ten candidates for the same honour; on which he was declared duly elected, and hailed by the whole assembly--King of the Gypsies. The public register of their acts being immediately committed to his care, and homage done him by all the assembly, the whole concluded by rejoicings.

Though Mr. Carew was now privileged, by the dignity of his office, from going on any cruise, and was provided with every thing necessary, by the joint contribution of the community, yet he did not give himself up to indolence. Our hero, though a king, was as active in his stratagems as ever, and ready to encounter any difficulty which seemed to promise success.

Mr. Carew being in the town of South Molton, in Devonshire, and having been ill-used by an officer there, called the bellman, resolved on the following stratagem, by way of revenge. It was at that time reported that a gentleman of the town, lately buried, walked nightly in the church-yard; and as the bellman was obliged by his nightly duty to go through it just at the very hour of one, Mr. Carew repaired thither a little before the time, and stripping in his shirt, lay down upon the gentleman’s grave. Soon after, hearing the bellman approach, he raised himself up with a solemn slowness, which the bellman beholding, by the glimmerings of the moon through a dark cloud, was terribly frightened, so took to his heels and ran away. In his fright he looked behind him, and seeing the ghost following him, dropped his bell and ran the faster; which Carew seized on as a trophy, and forbore any further pursuit. The bellman did not stop till he reached home, where he obstinately affirmed he had seen the gentleman’s ghost, who had taken away the bell, which greatly alarmed the whole town.

Coming to the seat of ’Squire Rhodes, in Devonshire, and knowing he had lately married a Dorsetshire lady, he thought proper to become a Dorsetshire man of Lyme, the place of the lady’s nativity; and meeting the ’squire and his bride, he gave them to understand that he was lost in a vessel belonging to Lyme, Captain Courtney commander. The ’squire and his lady gave him half-a-crown each, for country sake, and entertained him at their house.

Our hero exercising his profession at Milbury, where the ’squire’s father lived, and to whom the son was come on a visit, Mr. Carew made application to him, and knocking at the door, on its being opened, saw the young ’squire sitting alone, whom Mr. Rhodes interrupted by saying he was twice in one day imposed on by that rogue Carew, of whose gang you may likely be: besides, I do not live here, but am a stranger. In the mean time comes the old ’squire, with a bottle of wine in his hand, giving Carew a wink to let him understand he knew him, and then very gravely enquired into the circumstances of his misfortunes, and also of the affairs and inhabitants of Dartmouth, from whence he pretended to have sailed several times, of all which he gave a full and particular account: whereupon the old ’squire gave him half-a-crown, and the young one the same; on which Carew and the old man burst into laughter, and discovered the whole affair, at which ’Squire Rhodes was a little chagrined at being imposed on a third time; but on recollecting the expertness of the performer, was well satisfied, and they spent the remainder of the day in mirth and jollity.

At Bristol he dressed himself like a poor mechanic, and then going out into the streets, acted the religious madman, talking in a raving manner about Messrs. Whitfield and Wesley, as though he was disordered in his mind by their preaching; calling in a furious manner, every step, upon the Virgin Mary, Pontius Pilate, and Mary Magdalene, and acting every part of a man religiously mad. Sometimes walking with his eyes fixed upon the ground, and then on a sudden he would break out in some passionate expressions about religion. This behaviour greatly excited the curiosity and compassion of the people; some of them talked to him, but he answered every thing they said in a wild and incoherent manner; and as compassion is generally the forerunner of charity, he was relieved by most of them.

Next morning he appeared in a morning gown, still acting the madman, and addressed himself to all the posts of the street, as if they were saints, lifting up his hands and eyes to heaven, in a fervent but distracted manner, and making use of so many extravagant gestures, that he astonished the whole city. Going through Castle Street, he met the Rev. Mr. B----e, whom he accosted with his arms thrown round him, and insisted, in a raving manner, he should tell him who was the father of the morning star; which frightened the parson so much, that he took to his heels and ran for it, Carew running after him, till the parson was obliged to take shelter in a house.

Having well recruited his pocket by this stratagem, he left Bristol next day, and travelled towards Bath, acting the madman all the way till he came to Bath: as soon as he came there, he enquired for Dr. Coney’s, and being directed to his house, found two brother mendicants at the door. After they had waited some time, the servant brought out each of them a halfpenny, for which his brother mendicants were very thankful. But Carew gave his halfpenny to one of them; then knocking at the door, and the maid coming out again, “Tell your master” says he, “I am not a halfpenny man, but that my name is Bamfylde Moore Carew, king of the mendicants;” which being told, the doctor came out with one of his daughters, and gave him sixpence and a mug of drink, for which he returned them thanks.

Mr. Carew happening to be in the city of Wells on a Sunday, was told the bishop was to preach that morning: on which he slipped on a black waistcoat and morning gown, and ran out to meet the bishop as he was walking in procession, and addressed himself to him as a poor unhappy man, whose misfortunes had turned his brains; which the bishop hearing gave him half-a-crown.

It was in Newcastle-upon-Tyne that he became enamoured with the daughter of Mr. G----y, an eminent apothecary and surgeon there. This young lady had charms sufficient to captivate the heart of any man susceptible of love; and they made so deep an impression upon him, that they wholly effaced every object which before had created any desire in him, and never permitted any other to raise them afterwards; for, wonderful to tell! we have, after about thirty years’ enjoyment, seen him lament her occasional absence almost with tears, and talk of her with all the fondness of one who has been in love with her but three days. Our hero tried all love’s persuasions with his fair one in an honourable way; and as his person was very engaging, and his appearance genteel, he did not find her greatly averse to his proposals. As he was aware that his being of the community of gypsies might prejudice her against him, without examination he passed with her for the mate of a collier’s vessel, in which he was supported by Captain L----n, in whose vessel they set sail; and the very winds being willing to favour these happy lovers, they had an exceedingly quick passage to Dartmouth, where they landed. In a few days they set out for Bath, where they lawfully solemnized their nuptials with great gaiety and splendour; and nobody at that time could conjecture who they were, which was the cause of much speculation and false surmises.

Some time after this, he took his passage at Folkstone, in Kent, for Boulogne, in France, where he arrived safe, and proceeded to Paris, and other noted cities of that kingdom. His habit was now tolerably good, his countenance grave, his behaviour sober and decent--pretending to be a Roman Catholic, who had left England, his native country, out of an ardent zeal for spending his days in the bosom of the Catholic church. This story readily gained belief: his zeal was universally applauded, and handsome contributions made for him. But, at the time he was so zealous a Roman Catholic, with a little change of habit, he used to address those English he heard of in any place, as a protestant, and shipwrecked seaman; and had the good fortune to meet with an English physician at Paris, to whom he told this deplorable tale, who not only relieved him very handsomely, but recommended him to that noble pattern of unexhausted benevolence, Mrs. Horner, who was then on her travels, from whom he received ten guineas, and from some other company with her five more.