I defer every thing concerning them for the present. A little beyond Dunglass we perceived a steam-boat had run a-shore; our pilot immediately made up to it, and we found it had stopped in consequence of something having broken in the engine, without any hurt. The goods and passengers were taken into our vessel, and the paddles being put in motion, we reached Glasgow about two o'clock, p. m.



No. 11.-CHARLOTTE CHARKE.* THE elder Cibber had a daughter, named Charlotte, who also took to the stage; ber subsequent life was one continued series of misfortune, afflictions, and distress, which she sometimes contrived a little to alleviate by the productions of her pen. About the year 1755, she had worked up a novel for the press, which the writer, (Mr. White) accompanied his friend the bookseller to hear read: she was at this time a widow, having been married to one Charke, a musician, long since dead. Her habitation was a wretched thatched hovel, situated on the way to Islington, in the purlieus of Clerkenwell bridewell, not very distant from the New-river head, where at that time it was usual for the scavengers to leave the cleansings of the streets, and the nightmen to deposit the contents of the privies of the metropolis. The night preceding, a heavy rain had fallen, which rendered this extraordinary seat of the muses almost inaccessible, so that in our approach we got our white stockings inveloped with mud up to the very calves, which furnished an appearance much in the present fashionable style of half-boots. We knocked at the door (not attempting to pull the latch-string) which was opened by a tall, meagre, ragged figure, with a blue apron, indicating, what else we might have doubted, the feminine gender. A perfect model for the copper-captain's tattered landlady; that deplorable ex. * If I remember right, for I have not the book at hand to refer to, there is a life of this unfortunate woman in Floyd's Biography.--ED.


hibition of the fair sex, in the comedy of Rule a Wife. She, with a torpid voice and hungry smile, desired us to walk in. The first object that presented itself was a dresser, clean, it must be confessed, and furnished with three or four coarse delft-plates, two brown platters, and underneath an earthen pipkin, and a black pitcher, with a snip out of it. To the right we perceived and bowed to the mistress of the mansion, sitting under the mantle-piece, by a fire, merely sufficient to put us in mind of starving. On one hoh sate a monkey, which by way of welcome chattered at our going in; on the other a tabby cat, of melancholy aspect and at our author's feet, on the flounce of her dingy petticoat, reclined a dog, almost a skeleton! he raised his shagged head and eagerly staring with his bleared eyes, saluted, us with a snarl. “Have done, Fidele! these are friends." The tone of her voice was not harsh; it had something in it humbled and disconsolate; a' mingled effort of authority and pleasure. Poor soul! few were her visitors of that description-no wonder the creature barked! A magpie perched on the top round of her chair, not an uncomely ornament! and on her lap was placed a mutilated pair of bellows; the pipe was gone, an advantage in their present office; they served as a succedaneum for a writing desk, on which lay displayed her hopes and treasure, the manuscript of her novel. Her ink-stand was a broken tea-cup, the pen worn to a stump; she had but one! A rough deal board with three hobbling supporters was brought for our convenience, on which, without further ceremony, we contrived' to sit down, and entered upon business. The work was read, remarks made, and alterations agreed to, and thirty guineas demanded for the copy. The squalid hand-maiden, who had been an attentive listener, stretched forward her tawny length of neck with an eye of anxious expectation! The bookseller offered five! Our authoress did not appear hurt: disappointments had rendered her mind callous; however, some altercation ensued. This was the writer's first initiation into the mysteries of bibliopolism and the state of authorcraft. He, seeing both sides pertinacious, at length interposed, and at his instance the wary haberdasher of literature doubled his first proposal, with this

saving proviso, that his friend present would pay a moiety, and run one half of the risk; which was agreed to. Thus matters were accommodated, seemingly to the satisfaction of all parties; the lady's original stipulation of fifty copies for herself being previously acceded to. Such is the story of the once-admired daughter of Colley Cibber, poet laureate and patentee of Drury-lane, who was born in affiuence and educated with tenderness, her servants in livery and a splendid equipage at her command, with swarms of time-serving sycophants officiously buzzing in her train; yet, unmindful of her advantages, and improvident in her pursuits, she finished the career of her miserable existence on a dunghill!

INDEPENDENCE OF MIND.. ANNE HURST was born at Witley, in Surry: there she lived the whole period of a long life, and there she died. As soon as she was thought able to work, she went to service: there before she was twenty, shé married John Strudwick, who, like her own father, was a daylabourer. With this husband she lived a prolific, hardworking, contented wife, somewhat more than fifty years. He worked more than threescore years on one farm, and his wages, summer and winter, were regularly a shilling a day. He never asked more, nor was he ever offered less. They had between them seven children; and lived to see six daughters married, and three of them the mothers of sixteen children, all of whom were brought up, or are bringing up, to be day. labourers. Strudwick continued to work till within

• It is to be hoped that no reader will be fastidious enough to think that this simple narrative occupies a space which might have been better filled. “ Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,

The short and simple annals of the poor." From causes which we shall not here discuss, the po have, unfortunately, long been losing that honest Independence of spirit, which has so beneficial an effect on their character, and it is, therefore, now become As much an act of policy as it is of duty, to hold up to praise and imitation those by whom it has been preserved.-- ED.

e of spirit, it is, theaty, to bom

seven weeks of the day of his death; and at the age of fourscore, in 1787, he closed, in peace, a not inglorious life; for to the day of his earth, he never received a farthing in the way of parochial aid. His wife survived him about seven years ; and though bent with age and infirmities, and little able to work, except as a weeder in a gentleman's garden, she also was too proud either to ask or receive any relief from the parish. For six or seven of the last years of her life, she received twenty shillings a year, from the person who favoured me with this account, which he drew up from her own mouth. With all her virtue and all her merit, she yet was not much liked in her neighbourbood : people in affluence thought her haughty, and the paupers of the parish, seeing, as they could not help seeing, that her life was a reproach to theirs, aggravated all her little failings. Yet the worst thing they had to say of her, was, that she was proud; which they said was manifested by the manner in which she buried her husband. Resolute, as she owned she was, to have the funeral, and every thing that related to it, what she called decent, nothing could persuade her from having handles to his coffin, and a plate on it mentioning his age. She was also charged with having behaved herself crossly and peevishly towards one of her sons in-law, who was a mason, and went regularly every Saturday evening to the ale-house, as he said, just to drink a pot of beer. James Strudwick, in all his life, as she often told this ungracious son-in-law, never spent five shillings in any idleness ; luckily, (as she was sure to add) he bad it not to spend. A more serious charge against her was, that, living to a great age, and but little able to work, she grew to be seriously afraid, that at last she might become chargeable to the parish (the heaviest, in her estimation, of all human calamities) and that thus alarmed, she did suffer herself more than once, during the exacerbations of a fit of distempered despondency, peevishly, (and perhaps petulantly) to exclaim, that God Almighty, by suffering her to remain so long upon earth, seemed actually to have forgotten her. Such are the simple annals of dame Strudwick; and her historian, partial to his subject, closes it with lamenting, that such village memoirs have not been often sought for and recorded.

JOHN WESSEL. SEXTUS the Fourth, having a great esteem for this learned German, sent for him, and said, “Son, ask of us what you will: nothing shall be refused to you that becomes our character to bestow, and your condition to receive.” “ Most holy father,” replied he, “I shall Qever be troublesome to your holiness; you know I never sought after great things; the only favour that I have to beg is, that you will permit me to take out of your Vatican library a Greek and a Hebrew Bible.” 66 You shall have them,” said Sextus; “ but what a simple man you are! Why do you not ask for a bishopric?” “Because, holy father, I do not want one," replied Wessel.

TERMING. IN former days, the natives in some parts of Wales were much addicted to terming; i. e. brewing a barrel of ale at some favourite ale-house, and staying there till it was all drunk out. They never went to bed, even should the term last a week; they either slept in their chairs, or on the floor, as it happened; then awoke, and resumed their jollity. At length, when the barrel was exhausted, they reeled away, and the hero of this bacchanalian rout always carried the spiggot in triumph. Coursing was very frequently the occasion of these terms; each gentleman brought his greyhound, and often made matches, more for the glory of producing the best dog, than for the value of the bet.

BENEVOLENCE. WHEN Mr. Wilcocks * left his estate at Barton, he resided for some time at Kettering, in Northamptonshire. There, as usual, his levee of the poor and the maimed, the halt and the blind, was pretty much crowded. Mr. G , the person with whom he lodged, had often the curiosity to observe the distribution of his bounty. To one man, in particular, he saw him

* Mr. Wilcocks, who had all the benevolence of Howard, was the author of “ Roman Conversations.” He died, on the 23d of December, 1791, at the age of sixty-nine. His father was Bishop of Gloucester.---ED.

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