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WHO WAS FOR MORE THAN FORTY YEARS
KING OF THE BEGGARS.
Chapter I.
Carew's Boyhood. And how he
became a Gipsy.
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 its
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 ale-house, about half a mile from Tiverton, there
they accidentally fell in company with some gipsies, 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, etc., 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 gipsies, 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 gipsies 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 over-reaching 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 gipsies,
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 handsomly 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 calculations
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 meantime 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 showed every demonstration of joy at his return.
His parents did everything 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.
Chapter II.
Carew's First Adventure in his New Profession.
Carew being again initiated among them, at the first
general assembly of the gipsies, 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 trousers,
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 gipsies'
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 madman; so stripping
himself quite naked, he threw a blanket over him and then
he was, "Poor mad Tom, whom the foul fiend had 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 anything 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
inquire 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 gipsies, 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 waste, 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 I have been employed in
his majesty's yards and ships." "Well," says the squire,
"go in and get some vituals, 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
Devonshire man, 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 the 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 and 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 astonishmet 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 gipsies. 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.
Chapter III.
Carew made King of the Beggars.
On the death of the king of the gipsies, 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 Gipsies. 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
everything 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 churchyard;
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 meantime 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 inquired
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 everything 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. Bone, whom he accosted with his arms thrown around
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 inquired 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. Glady, 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 gipsies
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 Lawn, 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.
It was about this time he became acquainted with the
Hon. Sir William Weem, in the following manner:—Being
at Watchett, in Somersetshire, near the seat of that
gentleman, he resolved to pay him a visit. Putting on,
therefore, a jacket and a pair of trousers, he made the best
of his way to Sir William's seat, and luckily met Sir William,
Lord Bolingbroke, and several other gentlemen and clergy,
with some commanders of vessels, walking in the park.
Carew approached Sir William with a great deal of seeming
fearfulness and respect, and with much modesty acquainted
him he was a Silverton man, that he was the son of one of
his tenants named Moore—had been to Newfoundland, and
in his passage homeward, the vessel was run down by a
French ship in a fog, and only he and two more were
saved; but being put on board an Irish vessel, were carried
into Ireland, and from thence landed at Watchett. Sir
William hearing this, asked him a great many questions
concerning the inhabitants of Silverton, who were most of
them his own tenants, and of the principal gentlemen in the
neighbourhood; all whom Carew was well acquainted with
and therefore gave satisfactory answers. Sir William at
last asked him if he knew Bickley, and if he knew the
parson thereof. Carew replied that he knew him very well,
and so indeed he might as it was no other than his own
father. Sir William then inquired what family he had, and
whether he had not a son named Bamfylde, and what became
of him. "Your honour," replied he, "means the beggar
and dog-stealer—I don't know what has become of him, but
it is a wonder if he is not hanged by this time." "No, I
hope not," replied Sir William, "I should be glad, for his
family's sake, to see him at my house." Having satisfactorily
answered many other questions, Sir William generously
relieved him with a guinea, and Lord Bolingbroke followed
his example; the other gentlemen and clergy contributed
according to their different ranks. Sir William then ordered
him to go to his house and tell the butler to entertain him,
which he accordingly did, and set himself down with great
comfort.
Having heard that young Lord Clifford, his first cousin
(who had just returned from his travels abroad), was at his
seat at Callington, about four miles from Bridgewater, he
resolved to pay him a visit. In his way thither resided
parson Carson, who, being one whom nature had made up in
a hurry without a heart, Mr. Carew had never been able to
obtain anything off him, even under the most moving
appearance of distress, but a small cup of drink. Stopping
now in his way, he found the parson was gone to Lord
Clifford's; but, being saluted at the door by a fine black
spaniel, with almost as much crustiness as he would have
been had his master been at home, he thought himself under
no stronger obligation of observing the strict laws of honour,
than the parson did of hospitality; and therefore soon
charmed the crossness of the spaniel and made him follow
him to Bridgewater.
Having secured the spaniel and passed the night merrily
at Bridgewater, he set out the next morning for Lord
Clifford's, and in his way called upon the parson again,
who very crustily told him he had lost his dog, and
supposed some of his gang had stolen him; to which Mr.
Carew very calmly replied, "What was he to his dog, or
what was his dog to him? if he would make him drink it
was well, for he was very dry." At last, with the use of
much rhetoric, he got a cup of small drink; then, taking
leave of him, he went to the Red Lion, in the same parish,
where he stayed some time. In the meantime, down ran the
parson to my Lord Clifford's, to acquaint him that Mr. Carew
was in the parish and to advise him to take care of his dogs;
so that Mr. Carew, coming down immediately after, found a
servant with one dog in his arms, and another with another,
here one stood whistling and another calling, and both my
lord and his brother were running about to seek after their
favourites.
Mr. Carew asked my lord what was the meaning of this
hurry, and if his dogs were cripples, because he saw several
carried in the servants' arms, adding, he hoped his lordship
did not imagine he was come to steal any of them. Upon
which his lordship told him, that parson Carson had advised
him to be careful, as he had lost his spaniel but the day
before. "It may be so," replied he, "the parson knows but
little of me, or the laws of our community, if he is ignorant
that with us ingratitude is unknown, and the property of
our friends always sacred." His lordship, hearing this, entertained
him very handsomely, and both himself and his
brother made him a present.
On his return home, he reflected how idly he had spent
the prime of life; and recovering from a severe illness, he
came to a resolution of resigning the Egyptian sceptre. The
assembly, finding him determined, reluctantly acquiesced,
and he departed amidst the applause and sighs of his
subjects.
Our adventurer, finding the air of the town not rightly to
agree with him, and the death of some of his relations rendering
his circumstances quite easy, he retired to the western
parts, to a neat purchase he had made, and there he ended his
days, beloved and esteemed by all; leaving his daughter (his
wife dying some time before him) a genteel fortune, who was
married to a neighbouring young gentleman.
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