Another extraordinary character was Henry Wolby, Esq.—He was a native of Lincolnshire, and inherited a clear estate of more than 1000l. a year. He was regularly bred at the university, studied for some time in one of the inns of court, and in the course of his travels had spent several years abroad. On his return, this very accomplished gentleman settled on his paternal estate, lived with great hospitality, matched to his liking, and had a beautiful and virtuous daughter, who was married, with his entire approbation, to a Sir Christopher Hilliard, in Yorkshire.
He had now lived to the age of forty, respected by the rich, prayed for by the poor, honoured and beloved by all; when, one day, a youngster, with whom he had some difference in opinion, meeting him in the field, snapped a pistol at him, which happily flashed in the pan. Thinking that this was done only to frighten him, he coolly disarmed the ruffian, and, putting the weapon carelessly in his pocket, thoughtfully returned home; but, after examination, the discovery of bullets in the pistol had such an effect on his mind, that he instantly conceived an extraordinary resolution of retiring entirely from the world, in which he persisted to the end of his life. He took a very fair house in the lower end of Grub-street, near Cripplegate, London, and contracting a numerous retinue into a small family, having the house prepared for his purpose, he selected three chambers for himself; the one for his diet, the other for his lodging, the other for his study. As they were one within another,—while his diet was set on the table by an old maid, he retired into his lodging room; and when his bed was making, into his study; still doing so till all was clear. Out of these chambers, from the time of his entry into them, he never issued, till he was carried thence, 44 years after, on men’s shoulders; neither, in all that time, did his son-in-law, daughter, or grand-child, brother, sister, or kinsman, young or old, rich or poor, of what degree or condition soever, look upon his face, save the ancient maid, whose name was Elizabeth. She only made his fire, prepared his bed, provided his diet, and dressed his chambers. She saw him but seldom, never but in cases of extraordinary necessity, and died not six days before him.
In all the time of his retirement, he never tasted fish or flesh; his chief food was oatmeal gruel; now and then, in summer, he had a salad of some choice cool herbs; and for dainties, when he would feast himself upon a high day, he would eat the yoke of a hen’s egg, but no part of the white; what bread he did eat, he cut out of the middle of the loaf, but the crust he never tasted; his constant drink was four-shilling beer, and no other, for he never tasted wine or strong drink. Now and then, when his stomach served, he would eat some kind of sackers, and he sometimes drank red cow’s milk, which was fetched hot from the cow. Nevertheless, he kept a bountiful table for his servant, and sufficient entertainment for any stranger or tenant, who had occasion of business at his house. Every book that was printed was bought for him, and conveyed to him; but such as related to controversy he always laid aside, and never read.
In Christmas holidays, at Easter, and other festivals, he was provided with all dishes in season, served into his own chamber, with stores of wine, which his maid brought in. Then, after thanks to God for his good benefits, he would pin a clean napkin before him, and putting on a pair of clean holland sleeves, which reached to his elbows, cutting up dish after dish in order, he would send one to a poor neighbour, the next to another, whether it were brawn, beef, capon, goose, &c. till he had left the whole table empty; when, giving thanks again, he laid by his linen, and caused the dishes to be taken away: and this he would do, at dinner and supper, upon these days, without tasting of any thing whatsoever. When any clamoured impudently at his gate, they were not, therefore, immediately relieved; but when, from his private chamber, he espied any sick, weak, or lame, he would presently send after them, to comfort, cherish, and strengthen them, and not a trifle to serve them for the present, but so much as would relieve them many days after. He would moreover inquire which of his neighbours were industrious in their callings, and who had great charge of children; and withal, if their labour and industry could not sufficiently supply their families: to such he would liberally send, and relieve them according to their necessities.
He died at his house in Grub-street, after an anchoretical confinement of forty-four years, October 29, 1636, aged 84. At his death, his hair and beard was so overgrown, that he appeared rather like a hermit of the wilderness, than the inhabitant of one of the first cities in the world.
A very singular character was John Henley, M. A. commonly called Orator Henley. He was born at Melton-Mowbray, Leicestershire, in 1691. His father, the Rev. Simon Henley, and his maternal grandfather, John Dowel, M. A. were both vicars of that parish. Having passed his exercises at Cambridge, and obtained the degree of B. A. he returned to his native place, where he was desired by the trustees to take the direction of the school, which he soon raised to a flourishing condition. Here he began his Universal Grammar; finished ten languages, with dissertations prefixed; and wrote his poem on Esther, which was well received. He was ordained a deacon by Dr. Wake, then Bishop of Lincoln; and having taken his degree of M. A. was admitted to priest’s orders by Dr. Gibson. After preaching many occasional sermons, he went to London, recommended by above thirty letters from the most considerable men in the country, both of the clergy and laity. He there published Translations of Pliny’s Epistles, of several works of Abbé Vertot, of Montfaucon’s Italian Travels, in folio, and many original lucubrations. His most generous patron was the Earl of Macclesfield, who gave him a benefice in the country, the value of which, to a resident, would have been above £80 a year; he had likewise a lecture in the city; sermons about town; was more numerously followed, and raised more for the poor children, than any other preacher, except the celebrated George Whitfield. But when he pressed his promise from a great man, of being fixed in town, it was negatived. He then gave up his benefice and lecture, believing the public would be a more hospitable protector of learning and science, than some of the higher ranks in his own order. He preached on Sundays on theological matters, and on Wednesdays upon all other sciences. He declaimed several years against the greatest persons, and occasionally, says Warburton, did Pope that honour. That great poet, however, retaliated in the following satirical lines:
“Imbrown’d with native bronze, lo, Henley stands,
Tuning his voice, and balancing his hands.
How fluent nonsense trickles from his tongue!
How sweet the periods, neither said nor sung!
Still break the benches, Henley, with thy strain,
While Kennet, Hare, and Gibson, preach in vain,
O great restorer of the good old age,
Preacher at once, and zany, of thy age!”
Instead of tickets, this extraordinary person struck medals, which he dispersed among his subscribers: A star rising to the meridian, with this motto, “Ad Summa;” and below, “Inveniam viam, aut faciam.” “Each auditor paid us.” He was author of a weekly paper, called “The Hyp Doctor,” for which he had £100 a year. In his advertisements and lectures, he often introduced satirical and humorous remarks on the public transactions of the times. He once collected an audience of a great number of shoemakers, by announcing that he could teach them a speedy mode of operation in their business; which proved only to be, the making of shoes from ready-made boots. He died on the 14th of October, 1756, in his 65th year.
The next character we introduce is Simon Browne, with his Curious Dedication to Queen Caroline.
Simon Browne was a most extraordinary dissenting minister, and began to preach before he was twenty, at Portsmouth, but afterwards became the pastor at Old Jewry. In 1723, he lost his wife and son, which so affected him, that he quitted his office, and would not even attend public worship, alleging, “that he had fallen under the displeasure of God, who had caused his rational soul to perish, and left him only an animal life, common with brutes; that though he might appear rational to others, he knew no more what he said than a parrot; that it was in vain for him to pray;” and as such, he no longer accounted himself a moral agent. Yet he frequently amused himself with translating the ancient Latin and Greek poets. At the same time, he wrote two very able works in defence of Christianity against Woolston and Tindal. He dedicated one of these works to the Queen, but the Dedication was suppressed by his friends. Being a curiosity of its kind, we shall annex it.