“Old Parr was born 1483; lived at home until 1500, aged 17, when he went out to service. 1518, aged 35, returned home from his master. 1522, aged 39, spent four years on the remainder of his father’s lease. 1543, aged 60, ended the first lease he renewed of Mr. Lewis Porter. 1563, aged 80, married Jane, daughter of John Taylor, a maiden; by whom he had a son and a daughter, who both died very young. 1564, aged 81, ended the second lease which he renewed of Mr. John Porter. 1585, aged 102, ended the third lease he had renewed of Mr. Hugh Porter. 1588, aged 105, did penance in Alderbury church, for having a criminal connection with Katherine Milton, by which she proved with child. 1595, aged 112, he buried his wife Jane, after they had lived 32 years together. 1605, aged 122, having lived ten years a widower, he married Jane, widow of Anthony Adda, daughter of John Lloyd, of Gilsells, in Montgomeryshire, who survived him. 1635, aged 152 and 9 months, he died, after they had lived together 30 years, and after 50 years’ possession of his last lease.”—Length of years are of no use, unless they be spent in the practice of virtue.
The next character is a noted impostor, under the assumed name of George Psalmanazar. He was a very extraordinary genius, born in France, and educated in a Jesuit’s college; upon leaving which, he fell into a mean, rambling way of life. At Liege, he entered into the Dutch service, and afterwards into that of Cologne. Having stolen the habit and staff of a pilgrim out of a church, he begged through several countries, in elegant Latin, and, accosting only gentlemen and clergymen, received liberal supplies, which he spent as freely. In Germany, he passed for a native of Formosa, a convert to Christianity, and a sufferer for it. At Rotterdam he lived upon raw flesh, roots, and vegetables. At Sluys he fell in with Brigadier Lauder, a Scots colonel, who introduced him to the chaplain; who, to recommend himself to the bishop of London, took him over to that city. The bishop patronised him with credulous humanity, and a large circle of his great friends considered him as a prodigy. He published a History of Formosa, and, what was most extraordinary, invented a character and language for that island, and translated the Church Catechism in to it, which was examined by learned critics, and approved. Some of the learned, however, doubted him, particularly Drs. Halley, Mead, and Woodward. He was allowed the use of the Oxford Library, and employed in compiling The Universal History. Some errors in his history first led him to be suspected as an impostor. He died in 1753; and in his last will confessed the imposture.
The next subject is a celebrated Quack Doctor, named John Case. He was a native of Lyme Regis, in Dorsetshire, was a noted empyric and astrologer, and looked upon as the successor of the famous Lilly, whose magical utensils he possessed. He is said to have got more by this distich over his door, than Dryden, by all his poetry:
“Within this place
Lives Doctor Case.”
And he was, doubtless, well paid for composing that which he affixed to his pill boxes:
“Here’s fourteen pills for thirteen pence,
Enough in any man’s own conscience.”
There is a story told of him and Dr. Radcliff: being together at a tavern, Radcliff said, “Here, brother Case; I drink to all the fools your patients.”—“Thank ye,” quoth Case; “let me have all the fools, and you are welcome to the rest.” He wrote a nonsensical rhapsody, called the Angelical Guide, shewing men and women their lot and chance in this elementary life.
Our next character is famous for prematurity of genius, and named John Lewis Candiac. He was born at Candiac, in the diocese of Nismes, in France, in 1719. In the cradle he distinguished his letters; at thirteen months he knew them perfectly; at three years of age he read Latin, either printed or in manuscript; at four, he translated from that tongue; at six, he read Greek and Hebrew, was master of the principles of arithmetic, history, geography, heraldry, and the science of medals; and had read the best authors on almost every branch of literature. He died of a complication of disorders, at Paris, in 1726.
The next character deserves to be recorded as one that was eminently useful in his day and generation. John Smeaton, born near Leeds, in 1724, was an eminent civil engineer. The strength of his understanding, and the originality of his genius, appeared at an early age: his playthings were not the playthings of children, but the tools which men employ: and he appeared to have greater entertainment in seeing the men in the neighbourhood work, and in asking them questions, than in any thing else. One day he was seen (to the distress of his friends) on the top of his father’s barn, fixing up something like a windmill: another time he attended some men fixing a pump, at a neighbouring village, and observing them cut off a piece of bored pipe, he was so lucky as to procure it, and he actually made with it a working pump that raised water. This happened while he was in petticoats, and most likely before he had attained his sixth year.
While we admire the ingenuity of the next character, we must lament that his conduct was licentious. It is the well-known George Morland, an ingenious, dissipated, and unfortunate painter. As he had no other education than what was connected with the pencil and pallet, he shunned the society of the well-informed and well-bred; and his pictures accordingly are taken, for the most part, from low life, and from the most humble, if not the most shocking, situations in which mankind consort. The following anecdote will give a sufficient view of Morland’s character, upon which it would give us pain to dwell at greater length. “He was found (says his biographer) at one time in a lodging in Somer’s-Town, in the following extraordinary circumstances: his infant child, that had been dead nearly three weeks, lay in its coffin in one corner of the room; an ass and foal stood munching barley straw out of the cradle; a sow and pigs were solacing themselves in the recess of an old cupboard; and himself whistling over a beautiful picture that he was finishing at his easel, with a bottle of gin hung upon the side, and a live mouse sitting (or if you please, kicking) for its portrait.” His constitution, exhausted by dissipation, rapidly gave way, and he died before he had reached his fortieth year.