He once robbed a gentleman on Newmarket heath of a large quantity of silver, tied up in a bag. When Whitney had got the money, the gentleman remonstrated with him, saying, “that he should be put to the greatest inconvenience, if he were obliged to proceed on his journey without money.” Upon this, Whitney opened the mouth of the bag, and told him to take what would pay his expenses. The gentleman took out as much as his two hands would hold, to which Whitney made no objection, only remarking, with a smile, “I thought you would have had more conscience, sir.”
Whitney pursued his career of crime, but justice followed in his track. He was finally betrayed by one of his companions in iniquity, and being tried in London, received sentence of death. In the presence of a vast crowd, he acknowledged his guilt, and, at the early age of thirty-four years, was launched into eternity.
HENRY WOLBY.
This individual inherited a large estate, was bred at the university, and spent several years abroad in travelling. On his return, he married a lady of great beauty, and became in the course of time a man of great respectability, honored by the rich, blessed by the poor and respected by all.
When he was about forty years old, he had a dispute with his brother. He met him one day in the fields, and the latter snapped a pistol at him, which happily flashed in the pan. Thinking this was only done to frighten him, Wolby disarmed the ruffian, put the pistol in his pocket, and thoughtfully returned home.
On examining the weapon, he found that it was loaded with bullets. This had such an extraordinary effect upon his mind that he instantly determined to retire from the world, in which resolution he persisted to the end of his life.
He took a house in Grub street, London, and selected three rooms for himself, one for eating, one for lodging, and the third for study. He had no attendant but an old maid; and while his diet was set on the table by her, he retired into his lodging room, and into his study while his bed was making. Out of these chambers, from the time of his entry into them, he never issued, till he was carried thence, forty-four 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 above six days before him.
“In all the time of his retirement, he never tasted fish or flesh. His chief food was oatmeal gruel, but now and then in summer he had a sallad of choice cool herbs; and for dainties, when he would feast himself upon a high day, he would eat the yelk 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 water. Now and then, when his stomach served, he did eat some kind of sackers, and now and then drank red cow’s milk, which his maid, Elizabeth, fetched him out of the fields warm from the cow. Nevertheless, he kept a bountiful table for his servants, 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 had great cheer provided, with all dishes in season, served into his own chamber, with store 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 his elbows, cutting up dish after dish, in order; he would send one to one poor neighbor, the next to another, whether it were brawn, beef, capon, goose, &c., till he had left the table quite empty, when giving thanks again, he laid by his linen, and caused the cloth to be taken away; and this he would do, at dinner and supper, upon these days, without tasting of anything whatsoever.