THE LIFE OF RICHARD NASH, Eſq

HISTORY owes its excellence more to the writer's manner than the materials of which it is compoſed. The intrigues of courts, or the devaſtation of armies are re⯑garded by the remote ſpectator with as little attention as the ſquabbles of a village, or the fate of a malefactor, that fall under his own obſervation. The great and the little, as they have the ſame ſenſes, and [2] the ſame affections, generally preſent the ſame picture to the hand of the draughtſ⯑man; and whether the heroe or the clown be the ſubject of the memoir, it is only man that appears with all his native mi⯑nuteneſs about him, for nothing very great was ever yet formed from the little ma⯑terials of humanity.

Thus none can properly be ſaid to write hiſtory, but he who underſtands the hu⯑man heart, and its whole train of affec⯑tions and follies. Thoſe affections and follies are properly the materials he has to work upon. The relations of great events may ſurprize indeed; they may be cal⯑culated to inſtruct thoſe very few, who govern the million beneath, but the ge⯑nerality of mankind find the moſt real improvement from relations which are levelled to the general ſurface of life; which tell, not how men learned to con⯑quer, but how they endeavoured to live; not how they gained the ſhout of the admiring croud, but how they acquired [3] the eſteem of their friends and acquaint⯑ance.

Every man's own life would perhaps furniſh the moſt pleaſing materials for hiſtory, if he only had candour enough to be ſincere, and ſkill enough to ſelect ſuch parts as once making him more prudent, might ſerve to render his readers more cautious. There are few who do not prefer a page of Montaigne or Colley Cibber, who candidly tells us what they thought of the world, and the world thought of them, to the more ſtately memoirs and tranſ⯑actions of Europe, where we ſee Kings pretending to immortality, that are now almoſt forgotten, and ſtateſmen planning frivolous negociations, that ſcarce outlive the ſigning.

It were to be wiſhed that miniſters and Kings were left to write their own hiſto⯑ries; they are truly uſeful to few but them⯑ſelves; but for men who are contented with more humble ſtations, I fancy ſuch truths only are ſerviceable as may conduct [4] them ſafely through life. That know⯑ledge which we can turn to our real benefit ſhould be moſt eagerly purſued. Treaſures which we cannot uſe but little encreaſe the happineſs or even the pride of the poſſeſſor.

I profeſs to write the hiſtory of a man placed in the middle ranks of life; of one, whoſe vices and virtues were open to the eye of the moſt undiſcerning ſpectator, who was placed in public view without power to repreſs cenſure, or command adulation, who had too much merit not to become remarkable, yet too much folly to arrive at greatneſs. I attempt the character of one, who was juſt ſuch a man as probably you or I may be, but with this difference, that he never performed an action which the world did not know, or ever formed a wiſh which he did not take pains to divulge. In ſhort I have choſen to write the life of the noted Mr. Naſh, as it will be the delineation of a mind without diſguiſe, of a man ever aſſiduous without induſtry, and pleaſing [5] to his ſuperiors without any ſuperiority of genius or underſtanding.

Yet if there be any who think the ſub⯑ject of too little importance to command attention, and had rather gaze at the ac⯑tions of the great, than be directed in guiding their own, I have one undeniable claim to their attention. Mr. Naſh was himſelf a King. In this particular, per⯑haps no Biographer has been ſo happy as I. They who are for a delineation of men and manners may find ſome ſatisfac⯑tion that way, and thoſe who delight in adventures of Kings and Queens, may perhaps find their hopes ſatisfied in ano⯑ther.

It is a matter of very little importance who were the parents, or what was the edu⯑cation of a man who owed ſo little of his advancement to either. He ſeldom boaſted of family or learning, and his father's name and circumſtances were ſo little known, that Doctor Cheyne uſed frequently to affirm that Naſh had no father. The [6] Dutcheſs of Marlborough one day rallying him in public company upon the obſcu⯑rity of his birth, compared him to Gil-Blas, who was aſhamed of his father: No, Madam, replied Naſh, I ſeldom mention my father in company, not becauſe I have any reaſon to be aſhamed of him; but becauſe he has ſome reaſon to be aſhamed of me.

However, though ſuch anecdotes be immaterial, to go on in the uſual courſe of hiſtory, it may be proper to obſerve that Richard Naſh Eſq; the ſubject of this memoir, was born in the town of Swan-ſea, in Glamorganſhire, on the 18th of October, in the year 1674. His father was a gentleman, whoſe principal income aroſe from a partnerſhip in a glaſs-houſe; his mother was niece to Colonel Poyer, who was killed by Oliver Cromwell, for defending Pembroke caſtle againſt the re⯑bels. He was educated under Mr. Mad⯑docks at Carmarthan ſchool, and from thence ſent to Jeſus college, in Oxford, in order to prepare him for the ſtudy [7] of the law. His father had ſtrained his little income to give his ſon ſuch an education, but from the boy's natural vivacity, he hoped a recompence from his future preferment. In college, how⯑ever, he ſoon ſhewed that though much might be expected from his genius, no⯑thing could be hoped from his induſtry. A mind ſtrongly turned to pleaſure, al⯑ways is firſt ſeen at the univerſity, there the youth firſt finds himſelf freed from the reſtraint of tutors, and being treated by his friends in ſome meaſure as a man, aſſumes the paſſions and deſires of riper age, and diſcovers in the boy, what are likely to be the affections of his matu⯑rity.

The firſt method Mr. Naſh took to diſ⯑tinguiſh himſelf at college was not by ap⯑plication to ſtudy, but by his aſſiduity in intrigue. In the neighbourhood of every univerſity there are girls who with ſome beauty, ſome coquettry, and little fortune, lie upon the watch for every raw amorous youth, more inclined to make love than [8] to ſtudy. Our Heroe was quickly caught, and went through all the mazes and ad⯑ventures of a college intrigue, before he was ſeventeen; he offered marriage, the offer was accepted, but the whole affair com⯑ing to the knowledge of his tutors, his happineſs, or perhaps his future miſery, was prevented, and he was ſent home from college, with neceſſary advice to him, and proper inſtructions to his father.

When a man knows his power over the fair ſex, he generally commences their admirer for the reſt of life. That tri⯑umph which he obtains over one, only makes him the ſlave of another, and thus he proceeds conquering and conquered, to the cloſing of the ſcene. The army ſeemed the moſt likely profeſſion in which to diſplay this inclination for gallantry; he therefore purchaſed a pair of colours, commenced a profeſſed admirer of the ſex, and dreſſed to the very edge of his finances. But the life of a ſoldier is more pleaſing to the ſpectator at a diſtance than to the perſon who makes the experiment. [9] Mr. Naſh ſoon found that a red coat alone would never ſucceed, that the company of the fair ſex is not to be procured without expence, and that his ſcanty commiſſion could never procure him the proper re⯑imburſements. He found too that the profeſſion of arms required attendance and duty, and often encroached upon thoſe hours he could have wiſhed to dedicate to ſofter purpoſes. In ſhort, he ſoon be⯑came diſguſted with the life of a ſoldier, quitted the army, entered his name as a ſtudent in the temple books, and here went to the very ſummit of ſecond-rate luxury. Though very poor he was very fine; he ſpread the little gold he had, in the moſt oſtentatious manner, and though the gild⯑ing was but thin, he laid it on as far as it would go. They who know the town, cannot be unacquainted with ſuch a cha⯑racter as I deſcribe; one, who though he may have dined in private upon a banquet ſerved cold from a cook's ſhop, ſhall dreſs at ſix for the ſide box; one of thoſe, whoſe wants are only known to their laundreſs, and tradeſmen, and their fine [10] cloaths to half the nobility; who ſpend more in chair hire, than houſekeeping; and prefer a bow from a Lord, to a din⯑ner from a Commoner.

In this manner Mr. Naſh ſpent ſome years about town, till at laſt his genteel appearance, his conſtant civility, and ſtill more, his aſſiduity, gained him the ac⯑quaintance of ſeveral perſons qualified to lead the faſhion both by birth and fortune. To gain the friendſhip of the young no⯑bility little more is requiſite than much ſubmiſſion and very fine cloaths; dreſs has a mechanical influence upon the mind, and we naturally are awed into reſpect and eſteem at the elegance of thoſe, whom even our reaſon would teach us to contemn. He ſeemed early ſenſible of human weak⯑neſs in this reſpect, he brought a perſon genteely dreſſed to every aſſembly, he always made one of thoſe who are called very good company, and aſſurance gave him an air of elegance and eaſe.

[11]When King William was upon the throne, Mr. Naſh was a member of the Middle Temple. It had been long cuſtomary for the Inns of court to entertain our Monarchs upon their acceſſion to the crown, or ſome ſuch remarkable occaſion, with a revel and pageant. In the earlier periods of our hiſtory, Poets were the conductors of theſe entertainments; plays were exhibited, and complimentary verſes were then written; but by degrees the pageant alone was con⯑tinued, Sir John Davis being the laſt poet that wrote verſes upon ſuch an occaſion in the reign of James I.

This ceremony which has been at length totally diſcontinued, was laſt exhibited in honour of King William, and Mr. Naſh was choſen to conduct the whole with proper decorum. He was then but a very young man, but we ſee at how early an age he was thought proper to guide the amuſements of his country, and be the Arbiter Elegantiarum of his time; we ſee how early he gave proofs of that ſpirit of regularity, for which he afterwards became [12] famous, and ſhewed an attention to thoſe little circumſtances, of which tho' the ob⯑ſervance be trifling, the neglect has often interrupted men of the greateſt abilities in the progreſs of their fortunes.

In conducting this entertainment, Naſh had an opportunity of exhibiting all his abilities, and King William was ſo well ſatisfied with his performance, that he made him an offer of knighthood. This, however, he thought proper to refuſe, which in a perſon of his diſpoſition ſeems ſtrange. Pleaſe your Majeſty, replied he, when the offer was made him, if you intend to make me a Knight, I wiſh it may be one of your poor Knights of Windſor, and then I ſhall have a fortune, at leaſt able to ſupport my title. Yet we do not find, that the King took the hint of encreaſing his fortune, perhaps he could not, he had at that time numbers to oblige, and he never cared to give money without important ſervices.

[13]But though Naſh acquired no riches by his late office, yet he gained many friends, or what is more eaſily obtained, many acquaintance, who often anſwer the end as well. In the populous city where he reſided, to be known was almoſt ſynoni⯑mous with being in the road to fortune. How many little Things do we ſee, with⯑out merit, or without friends, puſh them⯑ſelves forward into public notice, and by ſelf-advertizing, attract the attention of the day. The wiſe deſpiſe them, but the public are not all wiſe. Thus they ſucceed, riſe upon the wing of folly, or of faſhion, and by their ſucceſs give a new ſanction to effrontery.

But beſide his aſſurance, Mr. Naſh had in reality ſome merit and ſome virtues. He was, if not a brilliant, at leaſt an eaſy companion. He never forgot good man⯑ners, even in the higheſt warmth of fa⯑miliarity, and as I hinted before, never went in a dirty ſhirt to diſgrace the table of his patron or his friend. Theſe qua⯑lifications might make the furniture of his [14] head; but for his heart, that ſeemed an aſſemblage of the virtues which diſplay an honeſt benevolent mind; with the vices which ſpring from too much good nature. He had pity for every creature's diſtreſs, but wanted prudence in the application of his benefits. He had generoſity for the wretched in the higheſt degree, at a time when his creditors complained of his juſ⯑tice. He often ſpoke falſhoods, but never had any of his harmleſs tales tinctured with malice.

An inſtance of his humanity is told us in the Spectator, though his name is not mentioned. When he was to give in his accompts to the maſters of the tem⯑ple, among other articles, he charged For making one man happy 10l. Being queſtioned about the meaning of ſo ſtrange an item, he frankly declared, that hap⯑pening to over-hear a poor man declare to his wife and a large family of children, that 10l. would make him happy, he could not avoid trying the experiment. He added, that if they did not chuſe to [15] acquieſce in his charge, he was ready to refund the money. The maſters ſtruck with ſuch an uncommon inſtance of good nature, publicly thanked him for his be⯑nevolence, and deſired that the ſum might be doubled as a proof of their ſatisfaction.

Another inſtance of his unaccountable generoſity, and I ſhall proceed. In ſome tranſactions with one of his friends, Mr. Naſh was brought in debtor twenty pounds. His friend frequently aſked for the money, and was as often denied. He found at laſt, that aſſiduity was likely to have no effect, and therefore contrived an ho⯑nourable method of getting back his mo⯑ney without diſſolving the friendſhip that ſubſiſted between them. One day, re⯑turning from Naſh's chamber with the uſual aſſurance of being paid to morrow, he went to one of their mutual acquaint⯑ance, and related the frequent diſappoint⯑ments he had received, and the little hopes he had of being ever paid. ‘"My deſign, continues he, is that you ſhould go, and try to borrow twenty pounds from Naſh, [16] and bring me the money. I am apt to think, he will lend to you, tho' he will not pay me. Perhaps we may extort from his generoſity, what I have failed to receive from his juſtice."’ His friend obeys, and going to Mr. Naſh, aſſured him, that, unleſs relieved by his friendſhip, he ſhould certainly be undone; he wanted to borrow twenty pounds; and had tried all his acquaintance without ſucceſs. Mr. Naſh, who had but ſome minutes before, refuſed to pay a juſt debt, was in raptures at thus giving an inſtance of his friendſhip, and inſtantly lent what was required. Im⯑mediately upon the receipt, the pretended borrower goes to the real creditor, and gives him the money, who met Mr. Naſh the day after: our heroe upon ſeeing him, immediately began his uſual excuſes, that the billiard room had ſtript him, that he was never ſo damnably out of caſh, but that in a few days—My dear Sir, be under no uneaſineſs, replied the other, I would not interrupt your tranquillity for the world, you lent twenty pounds yeſter⯑day to our friend of the back ſtairs, and [17] he lent it to me, give him your receipt, and you ſhall have mine. ‘"perdition ſeize [...]e, cried Naſh, thou haſt been too many for me. You demanded a debt, he aſked a favour; to pay thee, would not encreaſe our friendſhip, but to lend him, was procuring a new friend, by conferring a new obligation.’

Whether men at the time I am now talking of, had more wit than at preſent, I will not take upon me to determine; but certain it is, they took more pains to ſhew what they had. In that age, a fel⯑low of high humour would drink no wine, but what was ſtrained through his miſ⯑treſſes ſmock. He would eat a pair of her ſhoes toſſed up in a fricaſee. He would ſwallow tallow-candles inſtead of toaſted cheeſe, and even run naked about town, as it was then ſaid, to divert the ladies. In ſhort, that was the age of ſuch kind of wit as is the moſt diſtant of all others from wiſdom.

[18]Mr. Naſh, as he ſometimes played tricks with others, upon certain occa⯑ſions, received very ſevere retaliations. Be⯑ing at York, and having loſt all his mo⯑ney; ſome of his companions agreed to equip him with fifty guineas, upon this proviſo, that he would ſtand at the great door of the Minſter, in a blanket, as the people were coming out of church. To this propoſal he readily agreed, but the Dean paſſing by unfortunately knew him. What, cried the Divine, Mr. Naſh in maſquerade? Only a Yorkſhire penance, Mr. Dean, for keeping bad company, ſays Naſh, pointing to his companions.

Some time after this, he won a wager of ſtill greater conſequence, by riding naked through a village upon a cow. This was then thought an harmleſs frolic, at preſent it would be looked upon with deteſtation.

He was once invited by ſome gen⯑tlemen of the navy, on board a man of war, that had ſailing orders for the medi⯑terranean. [19] This was ſoon after the affair of the revels, and being ignorant of any deſign againſt him, he took his bottle with freedom. But he ſoon found, to uſe the expreſſion then in faſhion, that he was abſolutely bitten. The ſhip ſailed away before he was aware of his ſituation, and he was obliged to make the voyage in the company where he had ſpent the night.

Many lives are often paſſed without a ſingle adventure, and I do not know of any in the life of our hero, that can be called ſuch, except what we are now re⯑lating. During this voyage, he was in an engagement, in which his particular friend was killed by his ſide, and he himſelf wounded in the leg. For the anecdote of his being wounded, we are ſolely to truſt to his own veracity; but moſt of his acquaintance were not much inclined to believe him, when he boaſted on thoſe occaſions. Telling one day of the wound he had received for his country, in one of the public rooms at Bath, (Wiltſhire's [20] if I don't forget) a lady of diſtinction, that ſat by, ſaid it was all falſe. I proteſt, Madam, replied he, it is true, and if I cannot be believed, your Ladyſhip may, if you pleaſe, receive farther information and feel the ball in my leg.

Mr. Naſh was now fairly for life en⯑tered into a new courſe of gaiety and diſſi⯑pation, and ſteady in nothing but in pur⯑ſuit of variety. He was thirty years old, without fortune, or uſeful talents to ac⯑quire one. He had hitherto only led a life of expedients, he thanked chance alone for his ſupport, and having been long precariouſly ſupported, he became, at length, totally a ſtranger to prudence, or precaution. Not to diſguiſe any part of his character, he was now, by profeſſion, a gameſter, and went on from day to day, feeling the viciſſitudes of rapture and an⯑guiſh, in proportion to the fluctuations of fortune.

At this time, London was the only the⯑atre in England, for pleaſure, or intrigue. [21] A ſpirit of gaming, had been introduced in the licentious age of Charles II. and had by this time thriven ſurprizingly. Yet all its devaſtations were confined to London alone. To this great mart of every folly, ſharpers from every country daily arrived, for the winter, but were obliged to leave the kingdom at the approach of ſummer, in order to open a new cam⯑paign at Aix, Spaw, or the Hague. Bath, Tunbridge, Scarborough, and other places of the ſame kind here, were then fre⯑quented only by ſuch as really went for relief; the pleaſures they afforded were merely rural, the company ſplenetic, ruſ⯑tic, and vulgar. In this ſituation of things, people of faſhion had no agreeable ſum⯑mer retreat from the town, and uſually ſpent that ſeaſon amidſt a ſolitude of coun⯑try ſquires, parſons wives, and viſiting te⯑nants, or farmers; they wanted ſome place where they might have each others com⯑pany, and win each others money, as they had done during the winter in town.

[22]To a perſon, who does not thus calmly trace things to their ſource, nothing will appear more ſtrange, than how the healthy could ever conſent to follow the ſick to thoſe places of ſpleen, and live with thoſe, whoſe diſorders are ever apt to excite a gloom in the ſpectator. The truth is, the gaming table was properly the ſalutary font, to which ſuch numbers flocked. Gaming will ever be the pleaſure of the rich, while men continue to be men, while they fancy more happineſs in being poſſeſſed of what they want, than they experience pleaſure in the fruition of what they have. The wealthy only ſtake thoſe riches, which give no real content, for an expectation of riches, in which they hope for ſatisfaction. By this calculation, they cannot loſe happineſs, as they begin with none; and they hope to gain it, by being poſſeſſed of ſomething they have not had already.

Probably upon this principle; and by the arrival of Queen Anne there for her health, About the year 1703, the city of [23] Bath became in ſome meaſure frequented by people of diſtinction. The company was numerous enough to form a country dance upon the bowling green; they were amuſed with a fiddle and hautboy, and diverted with the romantic walks round the city. They uſually ſauntered in fine wea⯑ther in the grove, between two rows of ſycamore trees. Several learned Phyſici⯑ans, Doctor Jordan, and others had even then praiſed the ſalubrity of the wells, and the amuſements were put under the direction of a maſter of the ceremonies.

Captain Webſter was the predeceſſor of Mr. Naſh: This I take to be the ſame gentleman, whom Mr. Lucas deſcribes in his hiſtory of the lives of the gameſters, by which it appears, that Bath, even be⯑fore the arrival of Mr. Naſh, was found a proper retreat for men of that profeſ⯑ſion. This gentleman, in the year 1704, carried the balls to the town hall, each man paying half a guinea each ball.

[24]Still however, the amuſements of this place were neither elegant, nor conducted with delicacy. General ſociety among people of rank or fortune was by no means eſtabliſhed. The nobility ſtill pre⯑ſerved a tincture of Gothic haughtineſs, and refuſed to keep company with the gentry at any of the public entertainments of the place. Smoaking in the rooms was per⯑mitted; gentlemen and ladies appeared in a diſreſpectful manner at public en⯑tertainments in aprons and boots. With an eagerneſs common to thoſe, whoſe pleaſures come but ſeldom, they generally continued them too long, and thus they were rendered diſguſting by too free an enjoyment. If the company liked each other they danced till morning, if any perſon loſt at cards, he inſiſted on conti⯑nuing the game till luck ſhould turn. The lodgings for viſitants were paltry, though expenſive, the dining rooms and other chambers were floored with boards coloured brown with foot and ſmall beer, to hide the dirt; the walls were covered with unpainted wainſcot, the furniture [25] correſponded with the meanneſs of the architecture; a few oak chairs, a ſmall looking glaſs, with a fender and tongs, compoſed the magnificence of theſe tem⯑porary habitations. The city was in itſelf mean and contemptible, no elegant build⯑ings, no open ſtreets, nor uniform ſquares. The Pump-houſe was without any di⯑rector; the chairmen permitted no gen⯑tlemen or ladies to walk home by night without inſulting them; and to add to all this, one of the greateſt Phy⯑ſicians of his age conceived a deſign of ruining the city, by writing againſt the efficacy of the waters. It was from a reſentment of ſome affronts he had re⯑ceived there, that he took this reſolution; and accordingly publiſhed a pamphlet, by which he ſaid, he would caſt a toad into the ſpring.

In this ſituation of things it was, that Mr. Naſh firſt came into that city, and hearing the threat of this Phyſician, he humorouſly aſſured the people that if they would give him leave, he would [26] charm away the poiſon of the Doctor's toad, as they uſually charmed the venom of the Tarantula, by muſic. He therefore was immediately empowered to ſet up the force of a band of muſic, againſt the poiſon of the Doctor's reptile; the company very ſenſibly encreaſed, Naſh triumphed, and the ſovereignty of the city was de⯑creed to him by every rank of people.

We are now to behold this gentleman as arrived at a new dignity for which na⯑ture ſeemed to have formed him; we are to ſee him directing pleaſures, which none had better learned to ſhare; placed over rebellious and refractory ſubjects that were to be ruled only by the force of his addreſs, and governing ſuch as had been long ac⯑cuſtomed to govern others. We ſee a kingdom begining with him, and ſending off Tunbridge as one of its colonies.

But to talk more ſimply, when we talk at beſt of trifles. None could poſſibly conceive a perſon more fit to fill this em⯑ployment than Naſh: He had ſome wit, [27] as I have ſaid once or twice before; but it was of that ſort which is rather happy than permanent. Once a week he might ſay a good thing, this the little ones about him took care to divulge; or if they hap⯑pened to forget the joke, he uſually re⯑membered to repeat it himſelf: In a long intercourſe with the world he had ac⯑quired an impenetrable aſſurance; and the freedom with which he was received by the Great, furniſhed him with vicacity which could be commanded at any time, and which ſome miſtook for wit. His former intercourſe among people of faſhion in town, had let him into moſt of the characters of the nobility; and he was ac⯑quainted with many of their private in⯑trigues. He underſtood rank and prece⯑dence, with the utmoſt exactneſs, was fond of ſhew and finery himſelf, and generally ſet a pattern of it to others. Theſe were his favourite talents, and he was the fa⯑vourite of ſuch as had no other.

But to balance theſe which ſome may conſider as foibles, he was charitable him⯑ſelf, [28] and generally ſhamed his betters in⯑to a ſimilitude of ſentiment, if they were not naturally ſo before. He was fond of adviſing thoſe young men, who, by youth and too much money, are taught to look upon extravagance as a virtue. He was an enemy to rudeneſs in others, though in the latter part of his life he did not much ſeem to encourage a diſlike of it by his own example. None talked with more humanity of the foibles of others, when abſent, than he, nor kept thoſe ſecrets with which he was entruſted more inviolably. But above all (if mora⯑liſts will allow it among the number of his virtues) tho' he gamed high, he always play⯑ed very fairly. Theſe were his qualifications. Some of the nobility regarded him as an inoffenſive, uſeful companion, the ſize of whoſe underſtanding was, in general, level with their own; but their little imitators admired him as a perſon of fine ſenſe, and great good breeding. Thus people became fond of ranking him in the number of their acquaintance, told over his jeſts, and Beau [29] Naſh at length became the faſhionable companion.

His firſt care when made maſter of the ceremonies, or king of Bath, as it is called, was to promote a muſic ſubſcription, of one guinea each, for a band which was to conſiſt of ſix performers, who were to receive a guinea a week each for their trouble. He allowed alſo two guineas a week for lighting and ſweeping the rooms, for which he accounted to the ſubſcribers by receipt.

The Pump-houſe was immediately put under the care of an officer, by the name of the Pumper; for which he paid the corporation an annual rent. A row of new houſes was begun on the ſouth ſide of the gravel walks, before which a hand⯑ſome pavement was then made for the company to walk on. Not leſs than ſeven⯑teen or eighteen hundred pounds was raiſed this year, and in the beginning of 1706, by ſubſcription, and laid out in repairing the roads near the city. The [30] ſtreets began to be better paved, cleaned and lighted, the licenſes of the Chair⯑men were repreſſed, and by an act of par⯑liament procured on this occaſion, the in⯑valids, who came to drink or bathe, were exempted from all manner of toll, as often as they ſhould go out of the city for recreation.

The houſes and ſtreets now began to improve, and ornaments were laviſhed upon them even to profuſion. But in the midſt of this ſplendor the company ſtill were obliged to aſſemble in a booth to drink tea and chocolate, or to game. Mr. Naſh undertook to remedy this incon⯑venience. By his direction, one Thomas Harriſon erected a handſome Aſſembly-houſe for theſe purpoſes. A better band of muſic was alſo procured, and the for⯑mer ſubſcription of one guinea, was raiſed to two. Harriſon had three guineas a week for the room and candles, and the muſic two guineas a man. The money Mr. Naſh received and accounted for with the utmoſt exactneſs and punctuality. [31] To this houſe were alſo added gardens for people of rank and faſhion to walk in; and the beauty of the ſuburbs continued to encreaſe, notwithſtanding the oppoſition that was made by the corporation, who at that time, looked upon every uſeful improvement particularly without the walls, as dangerous to the inhabitants within.

His dominion was now extenſive and ſecure, and he determined to ſupport it with the ſtricteſt attention. But in order to proceed in every thing like a king, he was reſolved to give his ſubjects a law, and the following rules were accordingly put up in the Pump-room.

Theſe laws were written by Mr. Naſh himſelf, and by the manner in which they are drawn up, he undoubtedly de⯑ſigned them for wit. The reader, how⯑ever, [34] it is feared, will think them dull. Poor Naſh was not born a writer; for whatever humour he might have in con⯑verſation, he uſed to call a pen his tor⯑pedo, whenever he graſped it, it numb⯑ed all his faculties.

But were we to give laws to a nurſery, we ſhould make them childiſh laws; his ſtatutes, tho' ſtupid, were addreſſed to fine gentlemen and ladies, and were pro⯑bably received with ſympathetic approba⯑tion. It is certain, they were in general religiouſly obſerved by his ſubjects, and executed by him with impartiality, nei⯑ther rank nor fortune ſhielded the refractory from his reſentment.

The balls by his directions were to be⯑gin at ſix, and to end at eleven. Nor would he ſuffer them to continue a moment longer, leſt invalids might commit irregu⯑larities, to counteract the benefit of the waters. Every thing was to be perform⯑ed in proper order. Each ball was to open with a minuet, danced by two per⯑ſons [35] of the higheſt diſtinction preſent. When the minuet concluded, the lady was to return to her ſeat, and Mr. Naſh was to bring the gentleman a new partner. This ceremony was to be obſerved by every ſucceeding couple, every gentleman being obliged to dance with two ladies till the minuets were over, which generally continued two hours. At eight the coun⯑try dances were to begin, ladies of quality, according to their rank, ſtanding up firſt. About nine o' clock a ſhort interval was allowed for reſt, and for the gentlemen to help their partners to tea. That over, the company were to purſue their amuſe⯑ments till the clock ſtruck eleven. Then the maſter of the ceremonies entering the ball-room, ordered the muſic to deſiſt by lifting up his finger. The dances diſcon⯑tinued, and ſome time allowed for be⯑coming cool, the ladies were handed to their chairs.

Even the royal family themſelves had not influence enough to make him deviate from any of theſe rules. The princeſs [36] Amelia once applying to him for one dance more, after he had given the ſignal to withdraw, he aſſured her royal highneſs, that the eſtabliſhed rules of Bath reſembled the laws of Lycurgus, which would admit of no alteration, without an utter ſubver⯑ſion of all his authority.

He was not leſs ſtrict with regard to the dreſſes, in which ladies and gentlemen were to appear. He had the ſtrongeſt aver⯑ſion to a white apron, and abſolutely ex⯑cluded all who ventured to appear at the aſſembly dreſſed in that manner. I have known him on a ball night ſtrip even the dutcheſs of Q—, and throw her apron at one of the hinder benches among the ladies women; obſerving, that none but Abigails appeared in white aprons. This from another would be inſult, in him it was conſidered as a juſt reprimand; and the good-natured dutcheſs acquieſced in his cenſure.

But he found more difficulty in attack⯑ing the gentlemens irregularities; and for [37] ſome time ſtrove, but in vain, to prohibit the uſe of ſwords. Diſputes ariſing from love or play, were ſometimes attended with fatal effects. To uſe his own expreſ⯑ſion, he was reſolved to hinder people from doing, what they had no mind to, but for ſome time without effect. However, there happened about that time, a duel between two gameſters, whoſe names were Taylor and Clarke, which helped to pro⯑mote his peaceable intentions. They fought by torch-light in the grove; Tay⯑lor was run through the body, but lived ſeven years after, at which time his wound breaking out afreſh, it cauſed his death. Clarke from that time pretended to be a Quaker, but the orthodox brethren never cordially received him among their num⯑ber; and he died at London, about eigh⯑teen years after, in poverty and contrition. From that time it was thought neceſſary to forbid the wearing of ſwords at Bath, as they often tore the ladies cloaths, and fright⯑ed them, by ſometimes appearing upon tri⯑fling occaſions. Whenever therefore Naſh heard of a challenge given, or accepted, he [38] inſtantly had both parties arreſted. The gentlemen's boots alſo made a very deſperate ſtand againſt him, the country 'ſquires were by no means ſubmiſſive to his uſurpations; and probably his authority alone would never have carried him thro', had he not re⯑inforced it with ridicule. He wrote a ſong upon the occaſion, which, for the honour of his poetical talents, the world ſhall ſee.

The keenneſs, ſeverity and particularly the good rhymes of this little morçeau, [39] which was at that time highly reliſhed by many of the nobility at Bath, gained him a temporary triumph. But to puſh his victories, he got up a puppet ſhew, in which punch came in booted and ſpurred, in the character of a country 'ſquire. He was introduced as courting his miſtreſs, and having obtained her conſent to comply with his wiſhes, upon going to bed, he is deſired to pull off his boots. My boots, replies punch, why, madam, you may as well bid me pull off my legs. I never go without boots, I never ride, I never dance without them; and this piece of politeneſs is quite the thing at Bath. We always dance at our town in boots, and the ladies often move mi⯑nuets in riding-hoods. Thus he goes on, till his miſtreſs, grown impatient, kicks him off the ſtage.

From that time few ventured to appear at the aſſemblies in Bath in a riding-dreſs; and whenever any gentleman, thro' igno⯑rance, or haſte, appeared in the rooms in boots, Naſh would make up to him, and [40] bowing in an arch manner, would tell him, that he had forgot his horſe. Thus he was at laſt completely victorious.

He began therefore to reign without a rival, and like other kings had his miſ⯑treſſes, flatterers, enemies and calumniators; the amuſements of the place however wore a very different aſpect from what they did formerly. Regularity repreſſed pride, and that leſſened, people of fortune became fit for ſociety. Let the moroſe and grave cenſure an attention to forms and ceremo⯑nies, and rail at thoſe, whoſe only buſineſs it is to regulate them; but tho' ceremony is very different from politeneſs, no coun⯑try was ever yet polite, that was not firſt ceremonious. The natural gradation of breeding begins in ſavage diſguſt, pro⯑ceeds to indifference, improves into atten⯑tion, by degrees refines into ceremonious obſervance, and the trouble of being cere⯑monious at length produces politeneſs, [41] elegance and eaſe. There is therefore ſome merit in mending ſociety, even in one of the inferior ſteps of this gradation; and no man was more happy in this reſpect than Mr. Naſh. In every nation there are enough who have no other buſineſs or care but that of buying pleaſure; and he taught them, who bid at ſuch an auction, the art of procuring what they ſought without diminiſhing the pleaſure of others.

The city of Bath, by ſuch aſſiduity, ſoon became the theatre of ſummer amuſe⯑ments for all people of faſhion; and the manner of ſpending the day there muſt amuſe any, but ſuch as diſeaſe or ſpleen had made uneaſy to themſelves. The follow⯑ing is a faint picture of the pleaſures that ſcene affords. Upon a ſtranger's arrival at Bath he is welcomed by a peal of the Abbey bells, and in the next place, by the voice and muſic of the city waits. For theſe civilities the ringers have gene⯑rally a preſent made them of half a guinea, and the waits of half a crown, or more, in proportion to the perſon's fortune, genero⯑ſity [42] or oſtentation. Theſe cuſtoms, tho' diſagreeable, are however genarally liked, or they would not continue. The greateſt incommodity attending them is the diſtur⯑bance the bells muſt give the ſick. But the pleaſure of knowing the name of every family that comes to town recom⯑pences the inconvenience. Invalids are fond of news, and upon the firſt ſound of the bells, every body ſends out to en⯑quire for whom they ring.

After the family is thus welcomed to Bath, it is the cuſtom for the maſter of it to go to the public places, and ſubſcribe two gui⯑neas at the aſſembly-houſes towards the balls and muſic in the pump-houſe, for which he is entitled to three tickets every ball night. His next ſubſcription is a crown, half a guinea, or a guinea, according to his rank and quality, for the liberty of walking in the private walks be⯑longing to Simpſon's aſſembly-houſe; a crown or half a guinea is alſo given to the bookſellers, for which the gentleman is to have what books he pleaſes to read at his [43] lodgings. And at the coffee-houſe another ſubſcription is taken for pen, ink and paper, for ſuch letters as the ſubſcriber ſhall write at it during his ſtay. The ladies too may ſubſcribe to the bookſellers, and to an houſe by the pump-room, for the advan⯑tage of reading the news, and for enjoying each other's converſation.

Things being thus adjuſted, the amuſe⯑ments of the day are generally begun by bathing, which is no unpleaſing method of paſſing away an hour, or ſo.

The baths are five in number. On the ſouth-weſt ſide of the abbey church is the King's Bath; which is an oblong ſquare, the walls are full of niches, and at every corner are ſteps to deſcend into it: this bath is ſaid to contain 427 tons and 50 gallons of water; and on its riſing out of the ground over the ſprings, it is ſome⯑times too hot to be endured by thoſe who bathe therein. Adjoining to the King's Bath there is another, called the Queen's Bath; this is of more temperate warmth, as borrowing its water from the other.

[44]In the ſouth-weſt part of the city are three other baths, viz. The Hot Bath, which is not much inferior in heat to the King's Bath, and contains 53 tons 2 hogſheads, and 11 gallons of water. The Croſs Bath, which contains 52 tons 3 hogſheads, and 11 gallons; and the Leper's Bath, which is not ſo much frequented as the reſt.

The King's Bath (according to the beſt obſervations) will fill in about nine hours and a half; the Hot Bath in about eleven hours and a half; and the Croſs Bath in about the ſame time.

The hours for bathing are commonly be⯑tween ſix and nine in the morning; and the Baths are every morning ſupplied with freſh water; for when the people have done bathing, the ſluices in each Bath are pulled up, and the water is carried off by drains into the river Avon.

In the morning the lady is brought in a cloſe chair, dreſſed in her bathing cloaths, to the Bath; and, being in the water, [45] the woman who attends, preſents her with a little floating diſh like a baſon; into which the lady puts an handkerchief, a ſnuff-box, and a noſegay. She then traverſes the Bath; if a novice with a guide, if otherwiſe by herſelf; and hav⯑ing amuſed herſelf thus while ſhe thinks proper, calls for her chair, and returns to her lodgings.

The amuſement of bathing is immedi⯑ately ſucceeded by a general aſſembly of people at the pump-houſe, ſome for plea⯑ſure, and ſome to drink the hot waters. Three glaſſes, at three different times, is the uſual portion for every drinker; and the intervals between every glaſs are enli⯑vened by the harmony of a ſmall band of muſic, as well as by the converſation of the gay, the witty, or the forward.

From the pump-houſe the ladies, from time to time, withdraw to a female coffee-houſe, and from thence return to their lodgings to breakfaſt. The gentlemen withdraw to their coffee-houſes, [46] to read the papers, or converſe on the news of the day, with a freedom and eaſe not to be found in the metropolis.

People of faſhion make public break⯑faſts at the aſſembly-houſes, to which they invite their acquaintances, and they ſometimes order private concerts; or when ſo diſpoſed, attend lectures upon the arts and ſciences, which are frequently taught there in a pretty ſuperficial man⯑ner, ſo as not to teize the underſtanding, while they afford the imagination ſome amuſement. The private concerts are performed in the ball-rooms, the tickets a crown each.

Concert breakfaſts at the aſſembly-houſe, ſometimes make alſo a part of the morning's amuſement here, the expen⯑ces of which are defrayed by a ſubſcripti⯑on among the men. Perſons of rank and fortune who can perform are admit⯑ted into the orcheſtra, and find a pleaſure in joining with the performers.

[47]Thus we have the tedious morning fairly over. When noon approaches, and church (if any pleaſe to go there) is done, ſome of the company appear upon the parade, and other public walks, where they continue to chat and amuſe each other, 'till they have formed parties for the play, cards, or dancing for the eve⯑ning. Another part of the company divert themſelves with reading in the bookſellers ſhops, or are generally ſeen taking the air and exerciſe, ſome on horſeback, ſome in coaches. Some walk in the meadows round the town, winding along the ſide of the river Avon, and the neighbouring canal; while others are ſeen ſcaling ſome of thoſe ro⯑mantic precipices that over-hang the city.

When the hour of dinner draws nigh, and the company is returned from their different recreations, the proviſions are generally ſerved with the utmoſt elegance and plenty. Their mutton, butter, fiſh, and fowl, are all allowed to be excellent, and their cookery ſtill exceeds their meat.

[48]After dinner is over, and evening pray⯑ers ended, the company meet a ſecond time at the pump-houſe. From this they retire to the walks, and from thence go to drink tea at the aſſembly-houſes, and the reſt of the evenings are concluded either with balls, plays or viſits. A theatre was erected in the year 1705 by ſubſcription, by people of the higheſt rank, who per⯑mitted their arms to be engraven on the inſide of the houſe, as a public teſtimony of their liberality towards it. Every tueſday and friday evening is concluded with a public ball, the contributions to which are ſo numerous, that the price of each ticket is trifling. Thus Bath yields a continued rotation of diverſions, and peo⯑ple of all ways of thinking, even from the libertine to the methodiſt, have it in their power to complete the day with employ⯑ments ſuited to their inclinations.

In this manner every amuſement ſoon improved under Mr. Naſh's adminiſtra⯑tion. [49] The magiſtrates of the city found, that he was neceſſary and uſeful, and took every opportunity of paying the ſame re⯑ſpect to his fictitious royalty, that is gene⯑rally extorted by real power. The ſame ſatisfaction a young lady finds upon be⯑ing ſingled out at her firſt appearance; or an applauded poet, on the ſucceſs of his firſt tragedy, influenced him. All admir⯑ed him as an extraordinary character; and ſome who knew no better, as a very fine gentleman; he was perfectly happy in their little applauſe, and affected at length ſomething particular in his dreſs, behavi⯑our and converſation.

His equipage was ſumptuous, and he uſually travelled to Tunbridge, in a poſt chariot and ſix greys, with out-riders, foot⯑men, French horns, and every other appen⯑dage of expenſive parade. He always wore a white hat, and, to apologize for this ſingularity, ſaid, he did it purely to ſecure it from being ſtolen; his dreſs was tawdry, tho' not perfectly genteel; he might be conſidered as a beau of ſeveral generations, [50] and in his appearance he, in ſome meaſure, mixed the faſhions of the laſt age with thoſe of the preſent. He perfectly under⯑ſtood elegant expence, and generally paſſed his time in the very beſt company, if perſons of the firſt diſtinction deſerve that title.

But I hear the reader now demand, what finances were to ſupport all this finery, or where the treaſures, that gave him ſuch frequent opportunities of diſplaying his benevolence, or his vanity? To anſwer this, we muſt now enter upon another part of his character, his talents as a gameſter; for by gaming alone at that period, of which I ſpeak, he kept up ſo very genteel an appearance. When he firſt figured at Bath, there were few laws againſt this de⯑ſtructive amuſement. The gaming-table was the conſtant reſource of deſpair and indigence, and the frequent ruin of opulent fortunes. Wherever people of faſhion came, needy adventurers were gene⯑rally found in waiting. With ſuch Bath ſwarmed, and among this claſs Mr. Naſh [51] was certainly to be numbered in the be⯑ginning, only with this difference, that he wanted the corrupt heart, too common⯑ly attending a life of expedients; for he was generous, humane and honourable, even tho' by profeſſion a gameſter.

A thouſand inſtances might be given of his integrity, even in this infamous pro⯑feſſion; where his generoſity often im⯑pelled him to act in contradiction to his intereſt. Wherever he found a novice in the hands of a ſharper, he generally fore⯑warned him of the danger; whenever he found any inclined to play, yet ignorant of the game, he would offer his ſer⯑vices, and play for them. I remember an inſtance to this effect, tho' too nearly concerned in the affair to publiſh the gentleman's name of whom it is re⯑lated. In the year 1725, there came to Bath a giddy youth, who had juſt reſigned his fellowſhip at Oxford. He brought his whole fortune with him there, it was but a trifle, however he was reſolved to venture it all. Good fortune ſeemed kind⯑er [52] than could be expected. Without the ſmalleſt ſkill in play, he won a ſum ſuffi⯑cient to make any unambitious man happy. His deſire of gain encreaſing with his gains, in the October following he was at all, and added four thouſand pounds to his former capital. Mr. Naſh one night, after loſing a conſiderable ſum to this un⯑deſerving ſon of fortune, invited him to ſupper. Sir, cried this honeſt, tho' vete⯑ran gameſter, perhaps you may ima⯑gine I have invited you, in order to have my revenge at home; but, ſir! I ſcorn ſo inhoſpitable an action. I deſired the fa⯑vour of your company to give you ſome advice, which you will pardon me, Sir, you ſeem to ſtand in need of. You are now high in ſpirits, and drawn away by a torrent of ſucceſs. But there will come a time, when you will repent having left the calm of a college life for the turbulent profeſſion of a gameſter. Ill runs, will come, as ſure as day and night ſucceed each other. Be therefore adviſed, remain content with your preſent gains; for be perſuaded, that had you the bank of England, with [53] your preſent ignorance of gaming, it would vaniſh like a fairy dream. You are a ſtranger to me, but to convince you of the part I take in your welfare, I'll give you fifty guineas, to forfeit twenty, every time you loſe two hundred at one ſitting. The young gentleman refuſed his offer, and was at laſt undone!

The late duke of B. being chagrined at loſing a conſiderable ſum, preſſed Mr. Naſh to tie him up for the future from play⯑ing deep. Accordingly, the beau gave his grace an hundred guineas to forfeit ten thouſand, whenever he loſt a ſum to the ſame amount at play, in one ſitting. The duke loved play to diſtraction, and ſoon after at hazard loſt eight thouſand guineas, and was going to throw for three thouſand more; when Naſh, catching hold of the dice⯑box, entreated his Grace to reflect upon the penalty if he loſt; the Duke for that time deſiſted; but ſo ſtrong was the furor of play upon him, that ſoon after, loſing a conſiderable ſum at New-market, he was contented to pay the penalty.

[54]When the late earl of T—d was a youth, he was paſſionately fond of play, and never better pleaſed than with having Mr. Naſh for his antagoniſt. Naſh ſaw with concern his lordſhip's foible, and undertook to cure him, tho' by a very diſ⯑agreeable remedy. Conſcious of his own ſuperior ſkill, he determined to en⯑gage him in ſingle play for a very con⯑ſiderable ſum. His lordſhip, in propor⯑tion as he loſt his game, loſt his temper too; and as he approached the gulph, ſeemed ſtill more eager for ruin. He loſt his eſtate; ſome writings were put into the winner's poſſeſſion; his very equipage was depoſited as a laſt ſtake, and he loſt that alſo. But, when our generous game⯑ſter had found his lordſhip ſufficiently puniſhed for his temerity, he returned all; only ſtipulating, that he ſhould be paid five thouſand pound whenever he ſhould think proper to make the demand. However, he never made any ſuch demand during his lordſhip's life; but ſome time after his de⯑ceaſe, Mr. Naſh's affairs, being in the [55] wane, he demanded the money of his lordſhip's heirs, who honourably paid it without any heſitation.

But whatever ſkill Naſh might have acquired by long practice in play, he was never formed by nature for a ſucceſsful gameſter. He was conſtitutionally paſſion⯑ate and generous. To acquire a perfection in that art, a man muſt be naturally phleg⯑matic, reſerved and cool; every paſſion muſt learn to obey controul; but he fre⯑quently was unable to reſtrain the violence of his, and was often betrayed by this means into unbecoming rudeneſs, or childiſh impertinence; was ſometimes a minion of fortune, and as often depreſt by adverſity. While others made conſider⯑able fortunes at the gaming-table, he was ever in the power of chance; nor did even the intimacy with which he was received by the great, place him in a ſtate of inde⯑pendance.

The conſiderable inconveniencies that were found to reſult from a permiſſion of [56] gaming, at length attracted the attention of the legiſlature, and in the twelfth year of his late majeſty, the moſt prevalent games at that time were declared fraudu⯑lent and unlawful. Every age has had its peculiar modes of gaming. The games of Gleek, Primero, In and In, and ſeveral others now exploded, employed our ſharping anceſtors; to theſe ſucceeded the Ace of hearts, Pharaoh, Baſſet, and Hazard, all games of chance like the former. But tho' in theſe the chances ſeemed equal to the novice; in general thoſe who kept the bank were conſiderable winners. The act therefore, paſſed upon this occaſion, declared all ſuch games and lotteries illicit, and directed, that all who ſhould ſet up ſuch games, ſhould forfeit two hundred pounds, to be levied by diſtreſs on the offender's goods; one third to go to the informer, the reſi⯑due to the poor.

The act further declared, that every perſon who played in any place, ex⯑cept in the royal palace where his majeſty [57] reſided, ſhould forfeit fifty pounds, and ſhould be condemned to pay treble coſts in caſe of an appeal.

This law was ſcarcely made, before it was eluded by the invention of divers fraudulent and deceitful games; and a particular game, called Paſſage, was daily practiſed, and contributed to the ruin of thouſands. To prevent this, the enſuing year it was enacted, that this and every other game invented, or to be invented with one die, or more, or any other inſtrument of the ſame nature, with numbers thereon, ſhould be ſubject to a ſimilar penalty; and at the ſame time, the perſons playing with ſuch inſtru⯑ments ſhould be puniſhed as above.

This amendment of the law ſoon gave birth to new evaſions; the game of Rolly Polly, Marlborough's Battles, but particu⯑larly the E O, were ſet up; and ſtrange to obſerve! ſeveral of thoſe very noblemen, who had given their voices to ſuppreſs gaming, were the moſt ready to encourage [58] it. This game was at firſt ſet up at Tunbridge. It was invented by one C—k, and carried on between him and one Mr. A—e, proprietor of the aſſembly-room at that place; and was reckoned extremely profitable to the bank, as it gained two and an half per cent. on all that was loſt or won.

As all gaming was ſuppreſſed but this, Mr. Naſh was now utterly deſtitute of any reſource that he could expect from his ſu⯑perior ſkill, and long experience in the art. The money to be gained in private gaming is at beſt but trifling, and the opportunity precarious. The minds of the generality of mankind ſhrink with their circumſtances; and Naſh, upon the immediate proſpect of poverty, was now mean enough (I will call it no worſe) to enter into a baſe confederacy with thoſe low creatures to evade the law, and to ſhare the plunder. The occaſion was as follows. The profits of the table were, as I obſerved, divided between C—k the inventor, and A—e the room-keeper. [59] The firſt year's profits were extraordinary, and A—e the room-keeper now began to wiſh himſelf ſole proprietor. The com⯑binations of the worthleſs are ever of ſhort duration. The next year therefore A—e turned C—k out of his room, and ſet up the game for himſelf. The gentlemen and ladies who frequented the wells, unmind⯑ful of the immenſe profit gained by theſe reptiles, ſtill continued to game as before; and A—e was triumphing in the ſucceſs of his politics, when he was informed, that C—k and his friends hired the crier to cry the game down. The conſequences of this would have been fatal to A—e's intereſt, for by this means frauds might have been diſcovered, which would deter even the moſt ardent lovers of play. Immediately, therefore, while the crier was yet upon the walks, he applied to Mr. Naſh to ſtop theſe proceedings, and at the ſame time offered him a fourth ſhare of the bank, which Mr. Naſh was mean enough to ac⯑cept. This is the greateſt blot in his life, and this it is hoped will find pardon.

[60]The day after, the inventor offered an half of the bank; but this Mr. Naſh thought proper to refuſe, being pre-en⯑gaded to A—e. Upon which, being diſ⯑appointed, he applied to one Mr. J—e, and under his protection another table was ſet up, and the company ſeemed to be divided equally between them. I cannot reflect, without ſurprize, at the wiſdom of the gentlemen and ladies, to ſuffer themſelves to be thus parcelled out between a pack of ſharpers, and permit themſelves to be defrauded, without even the ſhew of oppoſition. The company thus divided, Mr. Naſh once more availed himſelf of their parties, and prevailed upon them to unite their banks, and to divide the gains into three ſhares, of which he reſerved one to himſelf.

Naſh had hitherto enjoyed a fluctuating fortune; and had he taken the advantage of the preſent opportunity, he might have been for the future not only above want, but even in circumſtances of opulence. Had he cautiouſly employed himſelf in [61] computing the benefits of the table, and ex⯑acting his ſtipulated ſhare, he might have ſoon grown rich; but he entirely left the management of it to the people of the rooms; he took them (as he ſays in one of his memorials upon this occaſion) to be ho⯑neſt, and never enquired what was won or loſt; and, it is probable, they were ſeldom aſſiduous in informing him. I find a ſecret pleaſure in thus diſplaying the inſecurity of friendſhips among the baſe. They pre⯑tended to pay him regularly at firſt, but he ſoon diſcovered, as he ſays, that at Tun⯑bridge he had ſuffered to the amount of two thouſand guineas.

In the mean time, as the E O table thus ſucceeded at Tunbridge, Mr. Naſh was reſolved to introduce it at Bath, and previouſly aſked the opinion of ſeveral law⯑yers, who declared it no way illegal. In conſequence of this, he wrote to Mrs. A—, who kept one of the great rooms at Bath, acquainting her with the profits attend⯑ing ſuch a ſcheme, and propoſing to have a fourth ſhare with her, and Mr. W—, the pro⯑prietor of the other room, for his authority, [62] and protection. To this Mr. W— and ſhe returned him for anſwer, that they would grant him a fifth ſhare; which he conſented to accept. Accordingly he made a journey to London, and beſpoke two tables, one for each room, at the rate of fifteen pounds each table.

The tables were no ſooner ſet up at Bath, than they were frequented with a greater concourſe of gameſters than thoſe at Tunbridge. Men of that infamous pro⯑feſſion, from every part of the kingdom, and even other parts of Europe, flocked here to feed on the ruins of each other's for⯑tune. This afforded another opportunity for Mr. Naſh to become rich; but, as at Tunbridge, he thought the people here alſo would take care of him, and therefore he employed none to look after his intereſt. The firſt year they paid him what he thought juſt; the next, the woman of the room dying, her ſon paid him, and ſhewed his books. Sometime after the people of the rooms offered him one hundred pounds a year each for his ſhare; which he refuſed; [63] every ſucceeding year they continued to pay him leſs and leſs; 'till at length he found, as he pretends, that he had thus loſt not leſs than twenty thouſand pounds.

Thus they proceeded, deceiving the public and each other, 'till the legiſlature thought proper to ſuppreſs theſe ſeminaries of vice. It was enacted, that after the 24th of June, 1745, none ſhould be per⯑mitted to keep an houſe, room or place, for playing, upon pain of ſuch forfeitures, as were declared in former acts inſtituted for that purpoſe.

The legiſlature likewiſe amended a law, made in the reign of queen Anne, for recover⯑ing money loſt at play, on the oath of the winner. By this act no perſon was rendered incapable of being a witneſs; and every perſon preſent at a gaming-table might be ſummoned by the magiſtrate, who took cognizance of the affair. No privilege of parliament was allowed, to thoſe con⯑victed of having gaming-tables in their [64] houſes. Thoſe who loſt ten pounds at one time, were liable to be indicted within ſix months after the offence was committed; and being convicted, were to be fined five times the value of the ſum won or loſt, for the uſe of the poor. Any offender be⯑fore conviction, diſcovering another, ſo as to be convicted, was to be diſcharged from the penalties incurred by his own offences.

By this wiſe and juſt act, all Naſh's fu⯑ture hopes of ſucceeding by the tables were blown up. He had now only the juſtice and generoſity of his confederates to truſt to; but that he ſoon found to be a vain expectation; for, if we can depend on his own memorials, what at one time they confeſſed, they would at another deny; and tho' upon ſome occaſions they ſeemed at variance with each other, yet when they were to oppoſe him, whom they conſidered as a common enemy, they generally united with confidence and ſuc⯑ceſs. He now therefore had nothing but a law-ſuit to confide in for redreſs; and this is ever the laſt expedient to retrieve a [65] deſperate fortune, He accordingly threw his ſuit into Chancery, and by this means the public became acquainted with what he had long endeavoured to conceal. They now found that he was himſelf concern⯑ed in the gaming-tables, of which he only ſeemed the conductor; and that he had ſhared part of the ſpoil, tho' he com⯑plained of having been defrauded of a juſt ſhare.

The ſucceſs of his ſuit was what might have been naturally expected; he had but at beſt a bad cauſe, and as the oaths of the defendants were alone ſufficient to caſt him in Chancery, it was not ſurpri⯑zing that he was nonſuited. But the con⯑ſequence of this affair was much more fa⯑tal than he had imagined, it leſſened him in the eſteem of the public, it drew ſeveral enemies againſt him, and in ſome meaſure diminiſhed the authority of any defence he could make. From that time (about the year 1745) I find this poor, good-natured, but miſguided man involved in continual diſputes, every day calumniated with ſome [66] new ſlander, and continually endeavour⯑ing to obviate its effects.

Upon theſe occaſions his uſual method was, by printed bills handed about among his acquaintance, to inform the public of his moſt private tranſactions with ſome of thoſe creatures, with whom he had former⯑ly aſſociated; but theſe apologies ſerved rather to blacken his antagoniſts, than to vindicate him. They were in general ex⯑tremely ill written, confuſed, obſcure, and ſometimes unintelligible. By theſe however it appeard, that W— was ori⯑ginally obliged to him for the reſort of company to his room; that lady H—, who had all the company before W—'s room was built, offered Mr. Naſh an hundred pound for his protection; which he refuſed, having previouſly promiſed to ſupport Mrs. W—. It appears by theſe apologies, that the perſons concerned in the rooms made large fortunes, while he ſtill continued in priſtine indigence; and that his nephew, for whom he had at firſt [67] ſecured one of the rooms, was left in as great diſtreſs as he.

His enemies were not upon this occaſion contented with aſperſing him, as a confe⯑derate with ſharpers, they even aſſerted, that he ſpent, and embezzled the ſubſcrip⯑tions of gentlemen and ladies, which were given for uſeful or charitable purpoſes. But to ſuch aſperſions he anſwered, by declaring, to uſe his own expreſſion, be⯑fore God and man, that he never divert⯑ed one ſhilling of the ſaid ſubſcriptions to his own uſe; nor was he ever thought to have done it, till new enemies ſtarted up againſt him. Perhaps the reader may be curious to ſee one of theſe memorials, written by himſelf; and I will indulge his curioſity, merely to ſhew a ſpecimen of the ſtile and manner of a man, whoſe whole life was paſt in a round of gaiety and converſation, whoſe jeſts were a thou⯑ſand times repeated, and whoſe company was courted by every ſon and daughter of faſhion. The following is particularly levelled againſt thoſe, who, in the latter [68] part of his life, took every opportunity to traduce his character.

This carries little the air of a bagatelle, it rather ſeems a ſermon in miniature, ſo different are ſome men in the cloſet, and in converſation. The following I have taken at random from an heap of other memorials, all tending to ſet his combina⯑tion with the afore-mentioned partners in a proper light.

This gentleman's ſimplicity, in truſting perſons whom he had no previous reaſons to place confidence in, ſeems to be one of thoſe lights into his character, which, while they impeach his underſtanding, do honour to his benevolence. The low and timid are ever ſuſpicious; but a heart im⯑preſſed [72] with honourable ſentiments, ex⯑pects from others ſympathetic ſincerity.

But now that we have viewed his con⯑duct as a gameſter, and ſeen him on that ſide of his character, which is by far the moſt unfavourable, ſeen him declining from his former favour and eſteem, the juſt conſequence of his quitting, tho' but ever ſo little, the paths of honour; let me turn to thoſe brighter parts of his life and character, which gained the affec⯑tion of his friends, the eſteem of the cor⯑poration which he aſſiſted, and may poſſibly attract the attention of poſterity. By his ſucceſſes we ſhall find, that figuring in life, proceeds leſs from the poſſeſſion of great talents, than from the proper application of moderate ones. Some great minds are only fitted to put forth their powers in the ſtorm; and the occaſion is often wanting during a whole life for a great exertion: but trifling opportuni⯑ties of ſhining, are almoſt every hour offered to the little ſedulous mind; and a perſon thus employed, is not only more [73] pleaſing, but more uſeful in a ſtate of tran⯑quil ſociety.

Tho' gaming firſt introduced him into polite company, this alone could hardly have carried him forward, without the aſſiſtance of a genteel addreſs, much viva⯑city, ſome humour, and ſome wit. But once admitted into the circle of the Beau Monde, he then laid claim to all the pri⯑vileges by which it is diſtinguiſhed. A⯑mong others, in the early part of his life, he entered himſelf profeſſedly into the ſer⯑vice of the fair ſex; he ſet up for a man of gallantry and intrigue; and if we can credit the boaſts of his old age, he often ſucceeded. In fact, the buſineſs of love ſomewhat reſembles the buſineſs of phyſic; no matter for qualifications, he that makes vigorous pretenſions to either is ſureſt of ſucceſs. Nature had by no means formed Mr. Naſh for a Beau Garçon; his perſon was clumſey, too large and aukward, and his features harſh, ſtrong, and peculiarly irregular; yet even, with thoſe diſadvan⯑tages, he made love, became an univer⯑ſal [74] admirer of the ſex, and was univerſally admired. He was poſſeſſed, at leaſt, of ſome requiſites of a lover. He had aſſidui⯑ty, flattery, fine cloaths, and as much wit as the ladies he addreſſed. Wit, flattery, and fine cloaths, he uſed to ſay, were enough to debauch a nunnery. But my fair readers of the preſent day are exempt from this ſcandal; and it is no matter now, what he ſaid of their grandmothers.

As Neſtor was a man of three ages, ſo Naſh ſometimes humorouſly called him⯑ſelf a beau of three generations. He had ſeen flaxen bobs ſucceeded by majors, which in their turn gave way to negli⯑gents, which were at laſt totally routed by bags and ramilees. The manner in which gentlemen managed their amours, in theſe different ages of faſhion, were not more different than their perriwigs. The lover in the reign of king Charles was ſolemn, majeſtic and formal. He viſit⯑ed his miſtreſs in ſtate. Languiſhed for the favour, kneeled when he toaſted his [75] goddeſs, walked with ſolemnity, per⯑formed the moſt trifling things with de⯑corum, and even took ſnuff with a flouriſh. The beau of the latter part of queen Ann's reign was diſguſted with ſo much forma⯑lity, he was pert, ſmart and lively; his billet-doux were written in a quite differ⯑ent ſtile from that of his antiquated prede⯑ceſſor; he was ever laughing at his own ridiculous ſituation; till at laſt, he per⯑ſuaded the lady to become as ridiculous as himſelf. The beau of the third age, in which Mr. Naſh died, was ſtill more extra⯑ordinary than either; his whole ſecret in intrigue conſiſted in perfect indifference. The only way to make love now, I have heard Mr. Naſh ſay, was to take no man⯑ner of notice of the lady, which method was found the ſureſt way to ſecure her affections.

However theſe things be, this gentle⯑man's ſucceſſes in amour were in reality very much confined in the ſecond and third age of intrigue; his character was too public for a lady to conſign her repu⯑tation [76] to his keeping. But in the begin⯑ning of life it is ſaid, he knew the ſecret hiſtory of the times, and contributed himſelf to ſwell the page of ſcandal. Were I upon the preſent occaſion to hold the pen of a noveliſt, I could recount ſome amours, in which he was ſucceſsful. I could fill a volume with little anecdotes, which contain neither pleaſure nor inſtruc⯑tion; with hiſtories of profeſſing lovers, and poor believing girls deceived by ſuch profeſſions. But ſuch adventures are eaſily written, and as eaſily atchieved. The plan even of fictitious novel is quite exhauſted; but truth, which I have fol⯑lowed here, and ever deſign to follow, preſents in the affair of love ſcarce any variety. The manner in which one re⯑putation is loſt, exactly reſembles that by which another is taken away. The gentleman begins at timid diſtance, grows more bold, becomes rude, till the lady is married or undone; ſuch is the ſubſtance of every modern novel; nor will I gratify the pruriency of folly, [77] at the expence of every other pleaſure my narration may afford.

Mr. Naſh did not long continue an uni⯑verſal gallant; but in the earlier years of his reign, entirely gave up his endeavours to deceive the ſex, in order to become the honeſt protector of their innocence, the guardian of their reputation, and a friend to their virtue.

This was a character he bore for many years, and ſupported it with integrity, aſſiduity and ſucceſs. It was his conſtant practice to do every thing in his power to prevent the fatal conſequences of raſh and inconſiderate love; and there are many perſons now alive, who owe their preſent happineſs to his having interrupted the progreſs of an amour, that threatened to become unhappy, or even criminal, by privately making their guardians or pa⯑rents acquainted with what he could diſ⯑cover

[78]I ſhall beg leave to give ſome inſtances of Mr. Naſh's good-nature on theſe oc⯑caſions, as I have had the accounts from himſelf. At the concluſion of the treaty of peace at Utrecht, colonel M— was one of the thoughtleſs, agreeable, gay creatures, that drew the attention of the company at Bath. He danced and talk⯑ed with great vivacity; and when he gamed among the ladies, he ſhewed, that his attention was employed rather upon their hearts than their fortunes. His own fortune however was a trifle, when compared to the elegance of his expence; and his imprudence at laſt was ſo great, that it obliged him to ſell an annuity, ari⯑ſing from his commiſſion, to keep up his ſplendor a little longer.

However thoughtleſs he might be, he had the happineſs of gaining the affections of Miſs L—, whoſe father deſigned her a very large fortune. This lady was courted by a nobleman of diſtinction, but ſhe refuſed his addreſſes, reſolved upon [79] gratifying rather her inclinations than her avarice. The intrigue went on ſucceſs⯑fully between her and the colonel, and they both would certainly have been mar⯑ried, and been undone, had not Mr. Naſh apprized her father of their intentions. The old gentleman recalled his daughter from Bath, and offered Mr. Naſh a very conſiderable preſent, for the care he had taken, which he refuſed.

In the mean time colonel M— had an intimation how his intrigue came to be diſcovered; and by taxing Mr. Naſh, ſound that his ſuſpicions were not without foundation. A challenge was the imme⯑diate conſequence, which the king of Bath, conſcious of having only done his duty, thought proper to decline. As none are permitted to wear ſwords at Bath, the colonel found no opportunity of gratify⯑ing his reſentment, and waited with im⯑patience to find Mr. Naſh in town, to re⯑quire proper ſatisfaction.

[80]During this interval, however, he found his creditors become too importunate for him to remain longer at Bath; and his finances and credit being quite exhauſted, he took the deſperate reſolution of going over to the Dutch army in Flanders, where he enliſted himſelf a volunteer. Here he underwent all the fatigues of a private cen⯑tinel, with the additional miſery of receiv⯑ing no pay, and his friends in England gave out, that he was ſhot at the battle of —

In the mean time the nobleman preſſed his paſſion with ardour, but during the progreſs of his amour, the young lady's father died, and left her heireſs to a for⯑tune of fifteen hundred a year. She thought herſelf now diſengaged from her former paſſion. An abſence of two years had in ſome meaſure abated her love for the colonel; and the aſſiduity, the merit, and real regard of the gentleman who ſtill continued to ſolicit her, were almoſt too powerful for her conſtancy. Mr. Naſh, [81] in the mean time, took every opportunity of enquiring after colonel M—, and found, that he had for ſome time been returned to England, but changed his name, in order to avoid the fury of his creditors; and that he was entered into a company of ſtrolling players, who were at that time exhibiting at Peterborough.

He now therefore thought he owed the colonel, in juſtice, an opportunity of pro⯑moting his fortune, as he had once de⯑prived him of an occaſion of ſatisfying his love. Our Beau therefore invited the lady to be of a party to Peterborough, and offered his own equipage, which was then one of the moſt elegant in England, to conduct her there. The propoſal being accepted, the lady, the nobleman, and Mr. Naſh, arrived in town juſt as the players were going to begin.

Colonel M—, who uſed every means of remaining incognito, and who was too proud to make his diſtreſſes known to any of his former acquaintance, was now de⯑graded [82] into the character of Tom in the Conſcious Lovers. Miſs L— was placed in the foremoſt row of the ſpectators, her lord on one ſide, and the impatient Naſh on the other; when the unhappy youth appeared in that deſpicable ſituation upon the ſtage. The moment he came on, his former miſtreſs ſtruck his view, but his amazement was encreaſed, when he ſaw her fainting away in the arms of thoſe who ſate behind her. He was incapable of proceeding, and ſcarce knowing what he did, he flew and caught her in his arms.

Colonel, cried Naſh, when they were in ſome meaſure recovered, you once thought me your enemy, becauſe I endea⯑voured to prevent you both from ruining each other, you were then wrong, and you have long had my forgiveneſs. If you love well enough now for matrimony, you fairly have my conſent, and d—n him, ſay I, that attempts to part you. Their nuptials were ſolemnized ſoon after, and affluence added a zeſt to all their fu⯑ture enjoyments. Mr. Naſh had the [83] thanks of each, and he afterwards ſpent ſeveral agreeable days in that ſociety, which he had contributed to render happy.

I ſhall beg the reader's patience, while I give another inſtance, in which he in⯑effectually offered his aſſiſtance and advice. This ſtory is not from himſelf; but told us partly by Mr. Wood, the architect of Bath, as it fell particularly within his own knowledge; and partly from another memoir, to which he refers.

Miſs Sylvia S— was deſcended from one of the beſt families in the kingdom, and was left a large fortune upon her Siſter's deceaſe. She had early in life been intro⯑duced into the beſt company, and con⯑tracted a paſſion for elegance and expence. It is uſual to make the heroine of a ſtory very witty, and very beautiful, and ſuch circumſtances are ſo ſurely expected, that they are ſcarce attended to. But what⯑ever the fineſt poet could conceive of wit, or the moſt celebrated painter imagine of beauty, were excelled in the perfections [84] of this young lady. Her ſuperiority in both was allowed by all, who either heard, or had ſeen her. She was natu⯑rally gay, generous to a fault, good-na⯑tured to the higheſt degree, affable in converſation, and ſome of her letters, and other writings, as well in verſe as proſe, would have ſhone amongſt thoſe of the moſt celebrated wits of this, or any other age, had they been publiſhed.

But theſe great qualifications were mark⯑ed by another, which leſſened the value of them all. She was imprudent! But let it not be imagined, that her reputation or honour ſuffered by her imprudence; I only mean, ſhe had no knowledge of the uſe of money, ſhe relieved diſtreſs, by putting herſelf into the circumſtances of the object whoſe wants ſhe ſupplied.

She was arrived at the age of nineteen, when the croud of her lovers, and the continual repetition of new flattery, had taught her to think ſhe could never be forſaken, and never poor. Young ladies [85] are apt to expect a certainty of ſucceſs, from a number of lovers; and yet I have ſeldom ſeen a girl courted by an hundred lovers, that found an huſband in any. Before the choice is fixed, ſhe has either loſt her reputation, or her good ſenſe; and the loſs of either is ſufficient to con⯑ſign her to perpetual virginity.

Among the number of this young lady's lovers was the celebrated S—, who, at that time, went by the name of the good-natured man. This gentleman, with talents that might have done honour to humanity, ſuffered himſelf to fall at length into the loweſt ſtate of debaſement. He followed the dictates of every neweſt paſſion, his love, his pity, his genero⯑ſity, and even his friendſhips were all in exceſs; he was unable to make head a⯑gainſt any of his ſenſations or deſires, but they were in general worthy wiſhes and deſires; for he was conſtitutionally virtu⯑ous. This gentleman, who at laſt died in a goal, was at that time this lady's en⯑vied favourite.

[86]It is probable that he, thoughtleſs crea⯑ture, had no other proſpect from this amour, but that of paſſing the preſent mo⯑ments agreeably. He only courted diſſipa⯑tion, but the lady's thoughts were fixed on happineſs. At length, however, his debts amounting to a conſiderable ſum, he was arreſted, and thrown into priſon. He en⯑deavoured at firſt to conceal his ſituation from his beautiful miſtreſs; but ſhe ſoon came to a knowledge of his diſtreſs, and took a fatal reſolution of freeing him from confinement by diſcharging all the demands of his creditors.

Mr. Naſh was at that time in London, and repreſented to the thoughtleſs young lady, that ſuch a meaſure would effectual⯑ly ruin both; that ſo warm a concern for the intereſts of Mr. S—, would in the firſt place quite impair her fortune, in the eyes of our ſex; and what was worſe, leſſen her reputation in thoſe of her own. He added, that thus bringing Mr. S— from priſon, would be only a temporary [87] relief; that a mind ſo generous as his, would become bankrupt under the load of gratitude; and inſtead of improving in friendſhip or affection, he would only ſtudy to avoid a creditor he could never repay; that tho' ſmall favours produce good-will, great ones deſtroy friendſhip. Theſe admonitions however were diſre⯑garded, and ſhe too late found the pru⯑dence and truth of her adviſer. In ſhort, her fortune was by this means exhauſted, and, with all her attractions, ſhe found her acquaintance began to diſeſteem her, in proportion as ſhe became poor.

In this ſituation ſhe accepted Mr. Naſh's invitation of returning to Bath; he promiſ⯑ed to introduce her to the beſt company there, and he was aſſured that her merit would do the reſt; upon her very firſt appearance, ladies of the higheſt diſtinction courted her friendſhip and eſteem; but a ſettled melancholy had taken poſſeſſion of her mind, and no amuſements that they could propoſe were ſufficient to divert it. Yet ſtill, as if from habit, ſhe followed the [88] crowd in its levities, and frequented thoſe places, where all perſons endeavour to forget themſelves in the buſtle of ceremo⯑ny and ſhew.

Her beauty, her ſimplicity, and her un⯑guarded ſituation, ſoon drew the attention of a deſigning wretch, who at that time kept one of the rooms at Bath, and who thought, that this lady's merit, properly managed, might turn to good account. This woman's name was dame Lindſey, a creature who, though vicious, was in ap⯑pearance ſanctified; and though deſigning, had ſome wit and humour. She began by the humbleſt aſſiduity to ingratiate herſelf with miſs S—; ſhewed, that ſhe could be amuſing as a companion, and by frequent offers of money, proved, that ſhe could be uſeful as a friend. Thus by degrees ſhe gained an entire aſcendant over this poor, thoughtleſs, deſerted girl; and in leſs than one year, namely about 1727, Miſs S, with⯑out ever tranſgreſſing the laws of virtue, had entirely loſt her reputation. When⯑ever a perſon was wanting to make up a [89] party for play at dame Lindſey's, Sylvia, as ſhe was then familiarly called, was ſent for, and was obliged to ſuffer all thoſe ſlights, which the rich but too often let fall upon their inferiors in point of for⯑tune.

In moſt, even the greateſt minds, the heart at laſt becomes level with the mean⯑neſs of its condition; but in this charm⯑ing girl, it ſtruggled hard with adverſity, and yielded to every encroachment of contempt with ſullen reluctance.

But tho' in the courſe of three years ſhe was in the very eye of public inſpection, yet, Mr. Wood the architect, avers, that he could never, by the ſtricteſt obſerva⯑tions, perceive her to be tainted with any other vice, than that of ſuffering herſelf to be decoyed to the gaming-table, and at her own hazard, playing for the amuſe⯑ment and advantage of others. Her friend Mr. Naſh, therefore, thought proper to induce her to break off all connections with dame Lindſey, and to rent part of Mr. [90] Wood's houſe, in Queen ſquare, where ſhe behaved with the utmoſt complaiſance, regularity and virtue.

In this ſituation her deteſtation of life ſtill continued; ſhe found, that time would infallibly deprive her of part of her attrac⯑tions, and that continual ſolicitude would impair the reſt. With theſe reflections ſhe would frequently entertain herſelf, and an old faithful maid in the vales of Bath, when ever the weather would permit them to walk out. She would even ſometimes ſtart queſtions in company, with ſeeming unconcern, in order to know what act of ſuicide was eaſieſt, and which was at⯑tended with the ſmalleſt pain. When tired with exerciſe, ſhe generally retired to medi⯑tation, and ſhe became habituated to early hours of ſleep and reſt. But when the wea⯑ther prevented her uſual exerciſe, and her ſleep was thus more difficult, ſhe made it a rule to riſe from her bed, and walk about her chamber, till ſhe began to find an in⯑clination for repoſe.

[91]This cuſtom made it neceſſary for her to order a burning candle to be kept all night in her room. And the maid uſu⯑ally, when ſhe withdrew, locked the chamber door, and puſhing the key under it beyond reach, her miſtreſs by that conſtant method lay undiſturbed till ſeven o' clock in the morning, then ſhe aroſe, unlocked the door, and rang the bell, as a ſignal for the maid to return.

This ſtate of ſeeming piety, regularity, and prudence continued for ſome time, till the gay, celebrated toaſted miſs Silvia was ſunk into an houſekeeper to the gentleman at whoſe houſe ſhe lived. She was unable to keep company for want of the elegancies of dreſs, that are the uſual paſſport among the polite, and ſhe was too haughty to ſeem to want them. The faſhionable, the amu⯑ſing, and the polite in ſociety now ſeldom viſited her, and from being once the object of every eye, ſhe was now deſerted by all, and preyed upon by the bitter reflections of her own imprudence.

[92]Mr. Wood, and part of his family, were gone to London. Miſs Silvia was left with the reſt as a governeſs at Bath. She ſome⯑times ſaw Mr. Naſh, and acknowledged the friendſhip of his admonitions, tho' ſhe refuſed to accept any other marks of his generoſity than that of advice. Upon the cloſe of the day, in which Mr. Wood was expected to return from London, ſhe ex⯑preſſed ſome uneaſineſs at the diſappoint⯑ment of not ſeeing him; took particular care to ſettle the affairs of his family, and then as uſual ſate down to meditation. She now caſt a retroſpect over her paſt miſconduct, and her approaching miſery; ſhe ſaw, that even affluence gave her no real happineſs, and from indigence ſhe thought nothing could be hoped but linger⯑ing calamity. She at length conceived the fatal reſolution of leaving a life, in which ſhe could ſee no corner for comfort, and terminating a ſcene of imprudence in ſui⯑cide.

Thus reſolved, ſhe ſate down at her di⯑ning-room window, and with cool intre⯑pidity, [93] wrote the following elegant lines on one of the panes of the window.

She then went into company with the moſt chearful ſerenity; talked of in⯑different ſubjects till ſupper, which ſhe ordered to be got ready in a little library belonging to the family. There ſhe ſpent the remaining hours, preceding bed-time, in dandling two of Mr. Wood's children on her knees. In retiring from thence to her chamber ſhe went into the nurſery, to take her leave of another child, as it lay ſleeping in the cradle. Struck with the innocence of the little babe's looks, and the conſciouſneſs of her meditated guilt, ſhe could not avoid burſting into tears, and hugging it in her arms; ſhe then bid her old ſervant a good night, for the firſt [94] time ſhe had ever done ſo, and went to bed as uſual.

It is probable ſhe ſoon quitted her bed, and was ſeized with an alternation of paſ⯑ſions, before ſhe yielded to the impulſe of deſpair. She dreſſed herſelf in clean lin⯑nen, and white garments of every kind, like a bride-maid. Her gown was pinned over her breaſt, juſt as a nurſe pins the ſwaddling cloaths of an infant. A pink ſilk girdle was the inſtrument with which ſhe reſolved to terminate her miſery, and this was lengthened by another made of gold thread. The end of the for⯑mer was tied with a nooſe, and the lat⯑ter with three knots, at a ſmall diſtance from one another.

Thus prepared, ſhe ſate down again, and read; for ſhe left the book open at that place, in the ſtory of Olympia, in the Orlando Furioſo of Arioſto, where, by the perfidy and ingratitude of her boſom friend, ſhe was ruined, and left to the mercy of an unpitying world. This tragical event [95] gave her freſh ſpirits to go through her fatal purpoſe; ſo ſtanding upon a ſtool, and flinging the girdle, which was tied round her neck, over a cloſet-door that opened into her chamber, ſhe remained ſuſpended. Her weight however broke the girdle, and the poor deſpairer fell upon the floor with ſuch violence, that her fall awakened a workman that lay in the houſe about half an hour after two o'clock.

Recovering herſelf, ſhe began to walk about the room, as her uſual cuſtom was when ſhe wanted ſleep; and the workman imagining it to be only ſome ordinary ac⯑cident, again went to ſleep. She once more, therefore, had recourſe to a ſtrong⯑er girdle made of ſilver thread, and this kept her ſuſpended till ſhe died.

Her old maid continued in the morning to wait as uſual for the ringing of the bell, and protracted her patience, hour after hour, till two o' clock in the after⯑noon; when the workmen at length en⯑tering [96] the room through the window, found their unfortunate miſtreſs ſtill hang⯑ing, and quite cold. The coroner's jury being impanelled, brought in their verdict lunacy; and her corpſe was next night decently buried in her father's grave, at the charge of a female companion, with whom ſhe had for many years an inſepara⯑ble intimacy.

Thus ended a female wit, a toaſt, and a gameſter; loved, admired, and forſaken. Formed for the delight of ſociety, fallen by imprudence into an object of pity. Hun⯑dreds in high life lamented her fate, and wiſhed, when too late, to redreſs her in⯑juries. They who once had helped to im⯑pair her fortune, now regretted that they had aſſiſted in ſo mean a purſuit. The little effects ſhe had left behind were bought up with the greateſt avidity, by thoſe who deſired to preſerve ſome token of a companion, that once had given them ſuch delight. The remembrance of every vir⯑tue ſhe was poſſeſſed of was now improv⯑ed by pity. Her former follies were few, [97] but the laſt ſwelled them to a large amount. And ſhe remains the ſtrongeſt inſtance to poſterity, that want of prudence alone, almoſt cancels every other virtue.

In all this unfortunate lady's affairs Mr. Naſh took a peculiar concern, he directed her when they played, adviſed her when ſhe deviated from the rules of caution, and performed the laſt offices of friendſhip after her deceaſe, by raiſing the auction of her little effects.

But he was not only the aſſiſtant and the friend of the fair ſex, but alſo their defen⯑der. He ſecured their perſons from inſult, and their reputations from ſcandal. No⯑thing offended him more, than a young fellow's pretending to receive favours from ladies he probably never ſaw; nothing pleaſed him ſo much, as ſeeing ſuch a piece of deliberate miſchief puniſhed. Mr. Naſh and one of his friends, being newly ar⯑rived at Tunbridge from Bath, were one day on the walks, and ſeeing a young fel⯑low of fortune, with whom they had ſome [98] ſlight acquaintance, joined him. After the uſual chat and news of the day was over, Mr. Naſh aſked him, how long he had been at the wells, and what company was there? The other replied, he had been at Tunbridge a month; but as for company, he could find as good at a Tyburn ball. Not a ſoul was to be ſeen, except a parcel of gameſters and whores, who would grant the laſt favour, for a ſingle ſtake at the Pharaoh bank. ‘"Look you there, con⯑tinued he, that Goddeſs of midnight, ſo fine, at t'other end of the walks, by Jove, ſhe was mine this morning for half a guinea. And ſhe there, who brings up the rear with powdered hair and dirty ruffles, ſhe's pretty enough, but cheap, perfectly cheap; why, my boys, to my own knowledge, you may have her for a crown, and a diſh of chocolate into the bargain. Laſt Wedneſday night we were happy."’ Hold there, ſir, cried the gen⯑tleman; as for your having the firſt lady, it is poſſible it may be true, and I intend to aſk her about it, for ſhe is my ſiſter; but as to your lying with the other laſt [99] Wedneſday, I am ſure you are a lying raſ⯑cal—ſhe is my wife, and we came here but laſt night. The Buck vainly aſked pardon; the gentleman was going to give him proper chaſtiſement; when Mr. Naſh interpoſed in his behalf, and obtained his pardon, upon condition that he quitted Tunbridge immediately.

But Mr. Naſh not only took care, during his adminiſtration, to protect the ladies from the inſults of our ſex, but to guard them from the ſlanders of each other. He, in the firſt place, prevented any animoſi⯑ties that might ariſe from place and prece⯑dence, by being previouſly acquainted with the rank and quality of almoſt every family in the Britiſh dominions. He en⯑deavoured to render ſcandal odious, by marking it as the reſult of envy and folly united. Not even Solon could have enac⯑ted a wiſer law in ſuch a ſociety as Bath. The gay, the heedleſs, and the idle, which moſtly compoſe the groupe of water-drink⯑ers, ſeldom are at the pains of talking upon univerſal topics, which require com⯑prehenſive [100] thought, or abſtract reaſoning. The adventures of the little circle of their own acquaintance, or of ſome names of quality and faſhion, make up their whole converſation. But it is too likely, that when we mention thoſe, we wiſh to de⯑preſs them, in order to render ourſelves more conſpicuous; ſcandal muſt therefore have fixed her throne at Bath, preferable to any other part of the kingdom. How⯑ever, tho' theſe endeavours could not to⯑tally ſuppreſs this cuſtom among the fair, yet they gained him the friendſhip of ſeve⯑ral ladies of diſtinction, who had ſmarted pretty ſeverely under the laſh of cenſure. Among this number was the old ducheſs of Marlborough, who conceived a particu⯑lar friendſhip for him, and which conti⯑nued during her life. She frequently conſulted him in ſeveral concerns of a pri⯑vate nature. Her letting leaſes, building bridges, or forming canals, were often carried on under his guidance; but ſhe ad⯑viſed with him particularly in purchaſing liveries for the footmen; a buſineſs to which ſhe thought his genius beſt a⯑dapted. [101] As any thing relative to her may pleaſe the curioſity of ſuch as de⯑light in the anecdotes and letters of the great, however dull and inſipid, I ſhall beg leave to preſent them with one or two of her letters, collected at a venture from ſeveral others to the ſame purpoſe.

Mr. Harvey may conclude to take any prices that were given you in the paper. But as I know that we have been ſcan⯑dalouſly cheated, if he finds that any thing can be let better than it has been let, I do not doubt but he will do it.

[104]The ducheſs of Marlborough ſeems to not a much better writer than Mr. Naſh; but ſhe was worth many hundred thouſands pounds, and that might conſole her. It may give ſplenetic philoſophy, how⯑ever, ſome ſcope for meditation, when it conſiders, what a parcel of ſtupid trifles the world is ready to admire.

Whatever might have been Mr. Naſh's other excellencies, there was one in which few exceeded him; I mean his extenſive humanity. None felt pity more ſtrongly, and none made greater efforts to relieve diſtreſs. If I were to name any reigning and faſhionable virtue in the preſent age, I th [...] [...] ſhould be charity. The numberleſs benefactions privately given, the various public ſolicitations for charity, and the ſuc⯑ceſs they meet with, ſerve to prove, that tho' we may fall ſhort of our anceſtors in other reſpects, yet in this inſtance we greatly excel them. I know not whether it may not be ſpreading the influence of Mr. Naſh too widely to ſay, that he was [105] one of the principal cauſes of introducing this noble emulation among the rich; but certain it is, no private man ever re⯑lieved the diſtreſſes of ſo many as he.

Before gaming was ſuppreſſed, and in the meridian of his life and for⯑tune, his benefactions were generally found to equal his other expences. The money he got without pain, he gave away without reluctance; and whenever unable to relieve a wretch, who ſued for aſſiſtance, he has been often ſeen to ſhed tears. A gentleman of broken fortune, one day ſtanding behind his chair, as he was play⯑ing a game of picquet for two hundred pounds, and obſerving with what indiffer⯑ence he won the money, could not avoid whiſpering theſe words to another who ſtood by; ‘"heavens! how happy would all that money make me!"’ Naſh, over⯑hearing him, clapp'd the money into his hand; and cried, go and be happy.

[106]About ſix and thirty years ago, a cler⯑gyman brought his family to Bath for the benefit of the waters. His wife laboured under a lingering diſorder, which it was thought nothing but the Hot Wells could remove. The expences of living there ſoon leſſened the poor man's finances; his cloaths were ſold, piece by piece, to pro⯑vide a temporary relief for his little family; and his appearance was at laſt ſo ſhabby, that, from the number of holes in his coat and ſtockings, Naſh gave him the name of doctor Cullender. Our beau, it ſeems, was rude enough to make a jeſt of poverty, tho' he had ſenſibility enough to relieve it. The poor clergyman combated his diſtreſſes with fortitude; and, inſtead of attempting to ſolicit relief, endeavour⯑ed to conceal them. Upon a living of thirty pounds a year he endeavoured to maintain his wife and ſix children; but all his reſources at laſt failed him, and nothing but famine was ſeen in the wretched family. The poor man's cir⯑cumſtances were at laſt communicated to [107] Naſh; who, with his uſual chearfulneſs, undertook to relieve him. On a ſunday evening, at a public tea-drinking at Har⯑riſon's, he went about to collect a ſubſcrip⯑tion, and began it himſelf, by giving five guineas. By this means two hundred guineas were collected in leſs than two hours, and the poor family raiſed from the loweſt deſpondence into affluence and felicity. A bounty ſo unexpected, had a better influence even upon the woman's conſtitution, than all that either the phy⯑ſicians or the waters of Bath could produce, and ſhe recovered. But his good offices did not reſt here. He prevailed upon a no⯑bleman of his acquaintance, to preſent the Doctor with a living of an hundred and ſixty pounds a year, which made that hap⯑pineſs, he had before produced, in ſome meaſure permanent.

In the ſevere winter, which happened in the year 1739 his charity was great, uſeful, and extenſive. He frequently, at that ſeaſon of calamity, entered the houſes of the poor, whom he thought too proud to beg, and generouſly relieved [108] them. The colliers were at this time pe⯑culiarly diſtreſſed; and in order to excite compaſſion, a number of them yoak⯑ed themſelves to a waggon loaded with coals, and drew it into Bath, and preſent⯑ed it to Mr. Naſh. Their ſcheme had the proper effect. Mr. Naſh procured them a ſubſcription, and gave ten guineas to⯑wards it himſelf. The weavers alſo ſhared his bounty at that ſeaſon. They came begging in a body into Bath, and he pro⯑vided a plentiful dinner for their entertain⯑ment, and gave each a week's ſubſiſtence at going away.

There are few public charities to which he was not a ſubſcriber, and many he prin⯑cipally contributed to ſupport. Among others, Mr. Anneſly, that ſtrange exam⯑ple of the mutability of fortune, and the inefficacy of our Laws, ſhared his intereſt and bounty. I have now before me a well written letter, addreſſed to Mr. Naſh, in order to obtain his intereſt for that un⯑happy gentleman; it comes from Mr. [...] a quaker, who was Mr. An⯑neſly's [109] father's agent. This gentleman warmly eſpouſed the young adventurer's intereſt, and, I am told, fell with him.

[111]Mr. Naſh punctually kept his word with this gentleman; he began the ſubſcrip⯑tion himſelf with the utmoſt liberality, and procured ſuch a liſt of encouragers, as at once did honour to Mr. Anneſly's cauſe, and their own generoſity. What a pity it was, that this money, which was given for the relief of indigence only, went to feed a ſet of reptiles, who batten upon our weakneſs, miſeries and vice.

It may not be known to the generality of my readers, that the laſt act of the co⯑medy, called Eſop, which was added to the French plot of Bourſault, by Mr. Van⯑burgh, was taken from a ſtory told of Mr. Naſh upon a ſimilar occaſion. He had in the early part of life made pro⯑poſals of marriage to miſs V—, of D—; his affluence at that time, and the favour which he was in with the nobility, readi⯑ly induced the young lady's father to fa⯑vour his addreſſes. However, upon open⯑ing the affair to herſelf, ſhe candidly told him, her affections were placed upon ano⯑ther, [112] and that ſhe could not poſſibly com⯑ply. Tho' this anſwer ſatisfied Mr. Naſh, it was by no means ſufficient to appeaſe the father; and he peremptorily inſiſted upon her obedience. Things were carri⯑ed to the laſt extremity; when Mr. Naſh undertook to ſettle the affair; and deſiring his favoured rival to be ſent for, with his own hand preſented his miſtreſs to him, together with a fortune equal to what her father intended to give her. Such an un⯑common inſtance of generoſity had an in⯑ſtant effect upon the ſevere parent; he con⯑ſidered ſuch diſintereſtedneſs as a juſt re⯑proach to his own mercenary diſpoſition, and took his daughter once more into fa⯑vour. I wiſh, for the dignity of hiſtory, that the ſequel could be concealed, but the young lady ran away with her foot⯑man, before half a year was expired; and her huſband died of grief.

In general, the benefactions of a gene⯑rous man are but ill beſtowed. His heart ſeldom gives him leave to examine the real diſtreſs of the object which ſues for pity; [113] his good-nature takes the alarm too ſoon, and he beſtows his fortune on only appa⯑rent wretchedneſs. The man naturally frugal, on the other hand, ſeldom relieves, but when he does, his reaſon, and not his ſenſations, generally find out the object. Every inſtance of his bounty is therefore permanent, and bears witneſs to his bene⯑volence.

Of all the immenſe ſums which Naſh laviſhed upon real or apparent wretched⯑neſs, the effects, after a few years, ſeem⯑ed to diſappear. His money was gene⯑rally given to ſupport immediate want, or to relieve improvident indolence, and there⯑fore it vaniſhed in an hour. Perhaps to⯑wards the cloſe of life, were he to look round on the thouſands he had reliev⯑ed, he would find but few made hap⯑py, or fixed by his bounty in a ſtate of thriving induſtry; it was enough for him, that he gave to thoſe that wanted; he never conſidered, that charity to ſome might impoveriſh himſelf without relieving them; he ſeldom conſidered the merit or the in⯑duſtry [114] of the petitioner; or he rather fancied, that miſery was an excuſe for in⯑dolence and guilt. It was an uſual ſaying of his, when he went to beg for any per⯑ſon in diſtreſs, that they who could ſtoop to the meanneſs of ſolicitation, muſt certain⯑ly want the favour for which they peti⯑tioned.

In this manner therefore he gave away immenſe ſums of his own, and ſtill greater, which he procured from others. His way was, when any perſon was propoſed to him as an object of charity, to go round with his hat firſt among the nobility, ac⯑cording to their rank, and ſo on, till he left ſcarce a ſingle perſon unſolicited. They who go thus about to beg for others, gene⯑rally find a pleaſure in the taſk. They con⯑ſider, in ſome meaſure, every benefaction they procure, as given by themſelves, and have at once the pleaſure of being liberal, without the ſelf reproach of being profuſe.

But of all the inſtances of Mr. Naſh's bounty, none does him more real honour, [115] than the pains he took in eſtabliſhing an hoſpital at Bath, in which benefaction, however, Doctor Oliver had a great ſhare. This was one of thoſe well guided charities, dictated by reaſon, and ſupported by pru⯑dence. By this inſtitution the diſeaſed poor might recover health, when incapa⯑ble of receiving it in any other part of the kingdom. As the diſorders of the poor, who could expect to find relief at Bath, were moſtly chronical, the expence of maintaining them there was found more than their pariſhes thought proper to afford. They therefore choſe to ſupport them in a continual ſtate of infirmity, by a ſmall allowance at home, rather than be at the charge of an expenſive cure. An hoſpital therefore at Bath it was thought would be an aſſylum, and a place of relief to thoſe diſa⯑bled creatures, and would, at the ſame time, give the phyſician more thorough inſight into the efficacy of the waters, from the regularity, with which ſuch patients would be obliged to take them. Theſe induce⯑ments therefore influenced Doctor Oliver, and Mr. Naſh, to promote a ſubſcription [116] towards ſuch a benefaction. The deſign was ſet on foot ſo early as the year 1711, but not completed till the year 1742. This delay, which ſeems ſurprizing, was in fact owing to the want of a proper fund for carrying the work into execution. What I ſaid above, of charity being the characteriſtic virtue of the preſent age, will be more fully evinced, by comparing the old and new ſubſcriptions for this hoſ⯑pital. Theſe will ſhew the difference be⯑tween ancient and modern benevolence. When I run my eye over the liſt of thoſe who ſubſcribed in the year 1723, I find the ſubſcription in general ſeldom riſe above a guinea each perſon; ſo that, at that time, with all their efforts, they were una⯑ble to raiſe four hundred pounds; but in a⯑bout twenty years after, each particular ſub⯑ſcription was greatly encreaſed, ten, twen⯑ty, thirty pounds, being the moſt ordina⯑ry ſums then ſubſcribed, and they ſoon raiſed above two thouſand pounds for the purpoſe.

[117]Thus chiefly by the means of Doctor Oliver and Mr. Naſh, but not without the aſſiſtance of the good Mr. Allen, who gave them the ſtone for building and other benefactions, this hoſpital was erect⯑ed, and it is at preſent fitted up for the re⯑ception of one hundred and ten patients, the caſes moſtly paralytic or leprous. The following conditions are obſerved previous to admittance.

I am unwilling to leave this ſubject of his benevolence, becauſe it is a virtue in his character, which muſt ſtand almoſt ſin⯑gle againſt an hundred follies; and it de⯑ſerves the more to be inſiſted on, becauſe it was large enough to outweigh them all. A man may be an hypocrite ſafely in every other inſtance, but in charity; there are few who will buy the character of benevo⯑lence at the rate for which it muſt be ac⯑quired. In ſhort, the ſums he gave away were immenſe; and in old age, when at laſt grown too poor to give relief, he gave, as the poet has it, all he had, a tear; when incapable of relieving the agonies of the wretched, he attempted to relieve his own by a flood of ſorrow.

From the hoſpital erected for the benefit of the poor, it is an eaſy tranſition to the [120] monuments erected by him in honour of the great. Upon the recovery of the Prince of Orange, by drinking the Bath waters, Mr. Naſh cauſed a ſmall obeliſk, thirty feet high, to be erected in a grove near the Abbey church, ſince called Orange Grove. This Prince's arms adorn the weſt ſide of the body of the pedeſtal. The in⯑ſcription is on the oppoſite ſide, in the following words:

In Engliſh thus.

[121]I find it a general cuſtom, at all Baths and Spaws, to erect monuments of this kind to the memory of every Prince, who has received benefit from the waters. Aix, Spau, and Piſa, abound with inſcriptions of this nature, apparently doing honour to the Prince, but in reality celebrating the efficacy of their ſprings. It is wrong, therefore, to call ſuch monuments inſtances of gratitude, tho' they may wear that ap⯑pearance.

In the year 1738, the Prince of Wales came to Bath, who preſented Mr. Naſh with a large gold enamelled ſnuff-box; and upon his departure, Naſh, as king of Bath, erected an obeliſk in honour of this Prince, as he had before done for the Prince of Orange. This handſome memorial in ho⯑nour of that good-natured Prince is erected in Queen ſquare. It is encloſed with a ſtone baluſtrade, and in the middle of every ſide there are large iron gates. In the cen⯑ter is the obeliſk, ſeventy feet high, and terminating in a point. The expences of this were eighty pounds; and Mr. Naſh [122] was determined, that the inſcription ſhould anſwer the magnificence of the pile. With this view he wrote to Mr. Pope, at London, requeſting an inſcription. I ſhould have been glad to have given Mr. Naſh's letter upon this occaſion; the reader, however, muſt be ſatisfied with Pope's reply; which is as follows.

What Mr. Naſh's anſwer to this billet was, I cannot take upon me to aſcertain, but it was probably a perſeverance in his former requeſt. The following is the copy of Mr. Pope's reply to his ſecond letter.

Such a letter as this was what might naturally be expected from Mr. Pope. Not⯑withſtanding the ſeeming modeſty towards the concluſion, the vanity of an applaud⯑ed writer burſts through every line of it. The difficulty of concealing his hand from the clerks at the Poſt-office, and the ſo⯑licitude to have his name concealed, were marks of the conſciouſneſs of his own im⯑portance. It is probable, his hand was not ſo very well known, nor his letters ſo eagerly opened by the clerks of the Office, as he ſeems always to think. But in all [125] his letters, as well as thoſe of Swift, there runs a ſtrain of pride, as if the world talked of nothing but themſeves. Alaſs, ſays he, in one of them, the day after I am dead, the ſun will ſhine as bright as the day before, and the world will be as merry as uſual! Very ſtrange, that nei⯑ther an eclipſe nor an earthquake ſhould follow the loſs of a Poet!

The inſcription referred to in this letter, was the ſame which was afterwards en⯑graved on the obeliſk; and is as follows.

I dare venture to ſay, there was ſcarce a common-council-man in the corporation of [126] Bath, but could have done this as well. No⯑thing can be more frigid; though the ſubject was worthy of the utmoſt exer⯑tions of Genius.

About this period every ſeaſon brought ſome new acceſſion of honour to Mr. Naſh; and the corporation now univerſally found, that he was abſolutely neceſſary for promot⯑ing the welfare of the city; ſo that this year ſeems to have been the meridian of his glory. About this time he arrived at ſuch a pitch of authority, that I really believe Alex⯑ander was not greater at Perſepolis. The countenance he received from the Prince of Orange, the favour he was in with the Prince of Wales, and the careſſes of the nobility, all conſpired to lift him to the utmoſt pitch of vanity. The exultation of a little mind, upon being admitted to the familiarity of the Great is inexpreſſible. The Prince of Orange had made him a a preſent of a very fine ſnuff-box. Upon this ſome of the nobility thought it would be proper to give ſnuff-boxes too; [127] they were quickly imitated by the mid⯑dling gentry, and it ſoon became the faſhion to give Mr. Naſh ſnuff-boxes.

To add to his honours, the corporation of Bath placed a full length ſtatue of him, in the pump-room, between the buſts of Newton and Pope. It was upon this occa⯑ſion that the Earl of Cheſterfield wrote that ſevere, but witty epigram; the laſt lines, of which were ſo deſervedly admired, and ran thus;

The example of the corporation was followed by all his acquaintance, of infe⯑rior rank: He was treated in every reſpect like a great man; he had his levee, his flatterers, his buffoons, his good-natured creatures, and even his dedicators. A trifling ill ſupported vanity was his foible, and while he received the homage of the [128] vulgar, and enjoyed the familiarity of the great, he felt no pain for the unpromi⯑ſing view of poverty that lay before him; he enjoyed the world as it went, and drew upon content for the deficiencies of fortune. If a cringing wretch called him his Honour, he was pleaſed; internally conſcious, that he had the juſteſt pretenſions to the title. If a beggar called him my Lord, he was happy, and generally ſent the flatterer off happy too. I have known him, in London, wait a whole day at a window in the Smyrna coffee-houſe, in order to receive a bow from the Prince, or the Dutcheſs of Marlborough, as they paſſed by where he was ſtanding; and he would then look round upon the company for admiration and reſpect.

But perhaps the reader deſires to know, who could be low enough to flatter a man, who himſelf lived in ſome meaſure by de⯑pendance. Hundreds are ready upon thoſe occaſions. The very needy are almoſt ever flatterers. A man in wretched circum⯑ſtances forgets his own value, and feels no [129] pain in giving up ſuperiority to every clai⯑mant. The very vain are ever flatterers; as they find it neceſſary to make uſe of all their arts, to keep company with ſuch as are ſuperior to themſelves. But particu⯑larly the prodigal are prone to adulation, in order to open new ſupplies for their ex⯑travagance. The poor, the vain, and the extravagant, are chiefly addicted to this vice; and ſuch hung upon his good nature. When theſe three characters are found united in one perſon, the compoſition ge⯑nerally becomes a great man's favourite. It was not difficult to collect ſuch a groupe in a city, that was the center of pleaſure. Naſh had them of all ſizes, from the half pay captain in laced cloaths, to the humble boot-catcher at the Bear.

I have before me a bundle of letters, all addreſſed from a pack of flattering reptiles, to his Honour; and even ſome printed dedications, in the ſame ſervile ſtrain. In theſe his Honour is compliment⯑ed as the great encourager of the polite arts, as a gentleman of the moſt accompliſhed [130] taſte, of the moſt extenſive learning, and in ſhort of every thing in the world. But perhaps it will be thought wrong in me, to unveil the bluſhing muſe, to brand learning with the meanneſs of its profeſ⯑ſors, or to expoſe ſcholars in a ſtate of con⯑tempt.—For the honour of letters, the dedications to Mr. Naſh are not written by ſcholars or poets, but by people of a dif⯑ferent ſtamp.

Among this number was the highwayman, who was taken after attempting to rob and murder Doctor Handcock. He was called Poulter, alias Baxter, and publiſhed a book, expoſing the tricks of gamblers, thieves and pick-pockets. This he intend⯑ed to have dedicated to Mr. Naſh, but the generous patron, tho' no man loved praiſe more, was too modeſt to have it printed. However, he took care to preſerve the ma⯑nuſcript, among the reſt of his papers. The book was entitled, The diſcoveries of John Poulter, alias Baxter, who was appre⯑hended for robbing Doctor Handcock, of Sa⯑liſbury, on Clarken Down near Bath; and [131] who has ſince been admitted king's evidence, and diſcovered a moſt numerous gang of villains. Being a full account of all the robberies he committed, and the ſurprizing tricks and frauds he has practiſed for the ſpace of five years laſt paſt, in different parts of England, particularly in the Weſt. Written wholly by himſelf. The dedication intended to be prefixed is as follows, and will give a ſpe⯑cimen of the ſtile of an highwayman and a gambler.

Flattery from ſuch a wretch as this, one would think but little pleaſing; how⯑ever, certain it is, that Naſh was pleaſed [133] with it, he loved to be called your Honour, and Honourable; and the highwayman more than once experienced his generoſity.

But ſince I have mentioned this fel⯑low's book, I cannot repreſs an impulſe to give an extract from it, however fo⯑reign from my ſubject. I take the follow⯑ing picture to be a perfectly humorous deſcription of artful knavery affecting ig⯑norance on one hand, and ruſtic ſimpli⯑city pretending to great wiſdom and ſa⯑gacity on the other. It is an account of the manner in which countrymen are de⯑ceived by gamblers, at a game called Pricking in the Belt, or the Old Nob. This is a leathern ſtrop, folded up double, and then laid upon a table; if the perſon who plays with a bodkin pricks into the loop of the belt he wins; if otherwiſe, he loſes. However, by ſlipping one end of the ſtrop, the ſharper can win at pleaſure.

‘"THERE are generally four perſons concerned in this fraud, one to perſonate a Sailor, called a Legg Cull, ano⯑ther [134] called the Capper, who always keeps with the Sailor; and two pickers up, or Money-Droppers, to bring in Flats or Bub⯑bles. The firſt thing they do at a fair, is to look for a room clear of company, which the Sailor and Capper immediately take, while the Money-Droppers go out to look for a Flat. If they ſee a country⯑man, whoſe looks they like, one drops a ſhilling, or half a crown, juſt before him, and picking it up again, looks the man in the face, and ſays, I have found a piece of money, friend, did you ſee me pick it up? The man ſays, yes: Then ſays the ſharp⯑er, if you had found it, I would have had half, ſo I will do as I would be done unto; come honeſt friend, we will not part with dry lips. Then taking him into the room where the other two are, he cries, By your leave gentlemen, I hope we don't diſturb the company. No, cries the Sailor; no brothers; Will you drink a glaſs of brandy, I don't like your weak liquors; and then begins a diſcourſe, by aſking the Capper how far it is to London; who re⯑plies, I dont know; perhaps the gentle⯑man [135] there can tell you, directing his diſ⯑courſe to the Flat; perhaps the Flat will anſwer, a hundred miles; the Sailor cries, I can ride that in a day, ay, in four or five hours; for, ſays he, my horſe will run twenty nots an hour for twenty-four hours together: Capper, or the Sailor's ſuppoſed companion, ſays, I believe Farmer you have not got ſuch a horſe as the Sailor has; the Farmer cries No, and laughs; and then the Sailor ſays, I muſt go and get half a pint of brandy, for I am griped, and ſo leaves them. The Capper, affecting a look of wiſdom in his abſence obſerves, that it is an old ſaying, and a true one, that Sai⯑lors get their money like horſes, and ſpend it like aſſes; as for that there Sailor I never ſaw him till now, buying a horſe of my man; he tells me he has been at Sea, and has got about four hundred pounds prize-money, but I belive he will ſquander it all away, for he was gaming juſt now with a ſharping fellow, and loſt forty ſhil⯑lings, at a ſtrange game of pricking in a ſtring. Did either of you ever ſee it, gen⯑tlemen? continued the Capper; if you [136] two are willing, I will aſk him to ſhew it, for we may as well win ſome of his money as any body elſe: The Flat and the Drop⯑per cry, Do. Then in comes the Sailor, ſtaggering as if drunk, and cries, What cheer, brothers? I have juſt ſeen a pret⯑ty girl in the fair, and went in to drink with her, we made a bargain, and I gave her a ſix and thirty ſhilling piece, but an old b—h her mother came and called her away, but I hope ſhe will come back to me preſently; then the Capper laughs, and ſays, Have you got your money of her a⯑gain? The Sailor ſays, No; but ſhe will come to me I'm ſure; then they all laugh. This is done to deceive the Flat: then ſays the Capper, What have you done with the ſtick and the ſtring, Sailor? he anſwers, What, that which I bought of the boys; I have got it here, but will not ſell it, and then he pulls out the Old Nobb, ſaying, What do you think I gave for it? I gave but ſix-pence, and as much brandy as the two boys could drink; it is made out of a monkey's hide, as the boys told me, and they told me, there is a game to be [137] played at it, which no body can do twice together; I will go down aboard ſhip, and play with my Captain, and I do not fear but I ſhall win his ſhip and cargo: then they all laugh, and the Sailor makes up the Old Nobb, and the Capper lays a ſhilling, and pricks himſelf and wins; the Sailor cries, You are a dab, I will not lay with you, but if you will call a ſtranger, I will lay again; why if you think me a dab, as you call it, I will get this ſtrange gen⯑tleman, or this (pointing to the Flat) Done, cries the Sailor, but you ſhall not tell him; then he makes up the Nob, and Capper lays a ſhilling, Flat pricks, be⯑ing permitted to go ſix-pence; to which he agreeing, wins; and Capper ſays to the Flat, Can you change me half a crown? This is done to find the depth of his poc⯑ket; if they ſee a good deal of gold, Flat muſt win three or four times; if no gold, but twice. Sometimes, if the Flat has no money, the Sailor cries, I have more mo⯑ney than any man in the fair, and pulls out his purſe of gold, and ſaith, Not one of you can beg, borrow or ſteal half this [138] ſum in an hour for a guinea. Capper cries, I have laid out all mine; Farmer, Can you? I'll go your halves, if you think you can do it. The Sailor ſaith, you muſt not bring any body with you; then the Dropper goes with the Flat, and ſaith, you muſt not tell your friend it is for a wager; if you do, he will not lend it you. Flat goes and borrows it, and brings it to the Sailor, ſhews it him, and wins the wa⯑ger; then the Sailor pinches the Nob again, and the Capper whiſpers to the Flat, to prick out purpoſely this time, ſaying, it will make the Sailor more eager to lay on; we may as well win his money as not, for he will ſpend it upon whores: Flat, with all the wiſdom in the world, loſes on purpoſe; upon which the Sailor ſwears, pulls out all his money, throws it about the room, and cries, I know no man can win for ever, and then lays a guinea, but wi [...]l not let him prick, but throws down five guineas; and the Capper urging the Flat, and going his halves, the Sailor ſaith, my cabbin, boy will lay as much as that, I'll lay no leſs than twenty gui⯑neas; [139] the Capper cries, lay Farmer and take up forty; which, being certain of winning, he inſtantly complies with, and loſes the whole. When he has loſt, in order to adviſe him, the Dropper takes him by the arm, and hauls him out of doors; and the reckoning being in the mean time paid within, the Capper and Sailor follow after, and run another way. When they are out of ſight, the Dropper faith to the Flat, go you back, and play with the Sailor for a ſhilling, whilſt I go and borrow mo⯑ney; but when the Flat goes to the houſe, he finds them gone, and then he knows that he is bit, but not till he has dearly paid for it."’

By this fellow's diſcoveries Mr. Naſh was enabled to ſerve many of the nobility and gentry of his acquaintance; he receiv⯑ed a liſt of all thoſe houſes of ill fame which harboured or aſſiſted rogues, and took care to furniſh travellers with proper precautions to avoid them. It was odd enough to ſee a gameſter thus employed, in detecting the frauds of gamblers.

[140]Among the Dedications, there is one from a Profeſſor of Cookery, which is more adulatory than the preceding. It is prefixed to a work, entituled, The com⯑plete preſerver, or a new method of preſerv⯑ing fruits, flowers, and other vegetables, either with or without ſugar, vinegar or ſpirits, &c,

[142]A muſician in his dedication ſtill exceeds the other two in adulation. However, tho' the matter may be ſome impeachment on his ſincerity, the manner in which it is written reflects no diſgrace upon his un⯑derſtanding.

I fancy I have almoſt fatigued the reader, and I am almoſt fatigued myſelf, with the efforts of thoſe elegant panegyriſts; however, I can't finiſh this run of quota⯑tion, [144] without giving a ſpecimen of poetry, addreſſed to him upon a certain occaſion; and all I ſhall ſay in its defence is, that thoſe, who are pleaſed with the proſe de⯑dications, will not diſlike the preſent at⯑tempt in poetry.

Such addreſſes as theſe were daily offer⯑ed to our titular King. When in the me⯑ridian of power, ſcarce a morning paſſed, that did not encreaſe the number of his humble admirers, and enlarge the ſphere of his vanity.

The man who is conſtantly ſerved up with adulation, muſt be a firſt-rate philoſopher, if he can liſten without contracting new affectations. The opinion we form of ourſelves, is generally meaſured by what we hear from others; and when they conſpire to deceive, we too readily concur in the de⯑luſion. Among the number of much ap⯑plauded men in the circle of our own friends, we can recollect but few that have heads quite ſtrong enough to bear a loud acclamation of public praiſe in their favour; [146] among the whole liſt, we ſhall ſcarce find one, that has not thus been made, on ſome ſide of his character, a coxcomb.

When the beſt head turns and grows giddy with praiſe, is it to be wondered that poor Naſh, ſhould be driven by it al⯑moſt into a phrenzy of affectation? To⯑wards the cloſe of life he became affected. He chiefly laboured to be thought a ſayer of good things; and by frequent attempts was now and then ſucceſsful, for he ever lay upon the lurch.

There never perhaps was a more ſilly paſſion, than this deſire of having a man's jeſts recorded. For this purpoſe, it is ne⯑ceſſary to keep ignorant or ill-bred com⯑pany, who are only fond of repeating ſuch ſtories; in the next place, a perſon muſt tell his own jokes, in order to make them more univerſal; but what is worſt of all, ſcarce a joke of this kind ſucceeds, but at the expence of a man's good nature; and he who exchanges the character of being thought agreeable, for that of being [147] thought witty, makes but a very bad bar⯑gain.

The ſucceſs Naſh ſometimes met with led him on, when late in life, to miſtake his true character. He was really agreeable, but he choſe to be thought a wit. He therefore indulged his inclination, and never mattered how rude he was, provi⯑ded he was thought comical. He thus got the applauſe he ſought for, but too often found enemies, where he leaſt expec⯑ted to find them. Of all the jeſts record⯑ed of him, I ſcarce find one that is not marked with petulance; he ſaid whatever came uppermoſt, and in the number of his remarks it might naturally be expected that ſome were worth repeating; he threw of⯑ten, and ſometimes had a lucky caſt.

In a life of almoſt ninety years, ſpent in the very point of public view, it is not ſtrange, that five or ſix ſprightly things of his have been collected, particularly as he took every opportunity of repeating them himſelf. His uſual way, when he thought [148] he ſaid any thing clever, was to ſtrengthen it with an oath, and to make up its want of ſentiment by aſſeveration and grimace. For many years he thus entertained the company at the coffee-houſe with old ſtories, in which he always made himſelf the prin⯑cipal character. Strangers liked this well enough; but they who were uſed to his converſation found it inſupportable. One ſtory brought on another, and each came in the ſame order that it had the day pre⯑ceding. But this cuſtom may be rather aſcribed to the peculiarity of age, than a peculiarity of character; it ſeldom happens, that old men allure, at leaſt by novelty; age that ſhrivels the body contracts the underſtanding; inſtead of exploring new regions, they reſt ſatisfied in the old, and walk round the circle of their former diſcoveries. His manner of telling a ſtory, however, was not diſpleaſing, but few of thoſe he told are worth tranſcribing. In⯑deed it is the manner, which places the the whole difference between the wit of the vulgar, and of thoſe who aſſume the name of the polite; one, has in general as much [149] good ſenſe as the other; a ſtory tranſcri⯑bed from the one, will be as entertaining as that copied from the other; but in con⯑verſation, the manner will give charms even to ſtupidity. The following is the ſtory which he moſt frequently told, and pretty much in theſe words. Suppoſe the company to be talking of a German war, or Elizabeth Canning, he would begin thus. ‘"I'll tell you ſomething to that purpoſe, that I fancy will make you laugh. A covetous old parſon, as rich as the De⯑vil, ſcraped a freſh acquaintance with me ſeveral years ago at Bath. I knew him when he and I were ſtudents at Oxford, where we both ſtudied damnationly hard, but that's neither here nor there. Well. Very well. I entertained him at my houſe in John's Court. (No, my houſe in John's Court was not built then) but I entertained him with all that the city could afford; the rooms, the muſic, and every thing in the world. Upon his leav⯑ing Bath, he preſſed me very hard to re⯑turn the viſit; and deſired me to let him [150] have the pleaſure of ſeeing me at his houſe in Devonſhire. About ſix months after, I happened to be in that neigh⯑bourhood, and was reſolved to ſee my old friend, from whom I expected a very warm reception. Well: I knocks at his door, when an old queer crea⯑ture of a maid, came to the door, and denied him. I ſuſpected, how⯑ever, that he was at home; and going into the parlour, what ſhould I ſee, but the Parſon's legs up the chim⯑ney, where he had thruſt himſelf to a⯑void entertaining me. This was very well. My dear, ſays I to the maid, it is very cold, extreme cold indeed, and I am afraid I have got a touch of my ague, light me the fire, if you pleaſe. La, ſir, ſays the maid, who was a modeſt creature to be ſure, the chimney ſmokes monſtrouſly; you could not bear the room for three minutes together. By the greateſt good luck there was a bun⯑dle of ſtraw in the hearth, and I called for a candle. The candle came. Well, [151] good woman, ſays I, ſince you won't light me a fire, I'll light one for myſelf, and in a moment the ſtraw was all in a blaze. This quickly unkennelled the old fox; there he ſtood in an old ruſty night gown, bleſſing himſelf, and looking like—a—hem—egad."’

He uſed to tell ſurprizing ſtories of his activity when young. ‘"Here I ſtand, gentlemen, that could once leap forty two feet upon level ground, at three ſtanding jumps, backward or forward. One, two, three, dart like an arrow out of a bow. But I am old now. I remember I once leaped for three hundred guineas with Count Klopſtock, the great leaper, leaping-maſter to the Prince of Paſſau; you muſt all have heard of him. Firſt he began with the running jump, and a moſt dam⯑nable bounce it was, that's certain: Every body concluded that he had the match hollow; when only taking off my hat, ſtripping off neither coat, ſhoes, [152] nor ſtockings, mind me, I fetches a run, and went beyond him one foot, three inches and three quarters meaſured, upon my ſoul, by Captain Pately's own ſtand⯑ard."’

But in this torrent of inſipidity, there ſometimes were found very ſevere ſatire, ſtrokes of true wit, and lines of humour, cum fluerent lutulentus, &c. He rallied very ſucceſsfully, for he never felt another's joke; and drove home his own without pity. With his ſuperiors he was familiar and blunt, the inferiority of his ſtation ſecured him from their reſentment; but the ſame bluntneſs which they laughed at, was by his equals regarded as inſolence. Something like a familiar boot-catcher at an inn, a gentleman would bear that joke from him, for which a brother boot-catcher would knock him down.

Among other ſtories of Naſh's telling, I remember one, which I the more chear⯑fully repeat, as it tends to correct a piece of impertinence that reigns in almoſt [153] every country aſſembly. The principal inhabitants of a market-town, at a great diſtance from the capital, in order to en⯑courage that harmony which ought to ſubſiſt in ſociety, and to promote a mu⯑tual intercourſe between the ſexes, ſo de⯑ſirable to both, and ſo neceſſary for all, had eſtabliſhed a monthly aſſembly in the Town Hall, which was conducted with ſuch decency, decorum and politeneſs, that it drew the attention of the gentlemen and ladies in the neighbourhood; and a noble⯑man and his family continually honour⯑ed them with their preſence. This natu⯑rally drew others, and in time the room was crouded with, what the world calls, good company, and the aſſembly proſper⯑ed, till ſome of the new admitted ladies took it into their heads, that the tradeſ⯑mens daughters were unworthy of their notice, and therefore refus'd to join hands with them in the dance. This was com⯑plained of by the town ladies, and that complaint was reſented by the country gentlemen, who, more pert than wiſe, publickly advertiſed, that they would not [154] dance with tradeſmens daughters. This the moſt eminent tradeſmen conſidered as an inſult on themſelves, and being men of worth, and able to live independently, they in return advertiſed that they would give no credit out of their town, and deſired all others to diſcharge their accounts. A general uneaſineſs enſued; ſome writs were actually iſſued out, and much diſtreſs would have happened, had not my Lord, who ſided with no party, kindly interfe⯑red and compoſed the difference. The aſſembly however was ruined, and the families I am told are not friends yet, tho' this affair happened thirty years ago.

Nothing debaſes human nature ſo much as pride.—This Naſh knew, and endeavour⯑ed to ſtifle every emotion of it at Bath. When he obſerved any ladies ſo extremely delicate and proud of a pedigree, as to only touch the back of an inferior's hand in the dance, he always called to order, and deſired them to leave the room, or behave with common decency; and when any Ladies and Gentlemen drew off, after [155] they had gone down a dance, without ſtanding up till the dance was finiſhed, he made up to them, and after aſking whe⯑ther they had done dancing, told them, they ſhould dance no more unleſs they ſtood up for the reſt; and on theſe occa⯑ſions he always was as good as his word.

Naſh, tho' no great wit, had the art of ſometimes ſaying rude things with decen⯑cy, and rendering them pleaſing by an uncommon turn.—But moſt of the good things attributed to him, which have found their way into the jeſt books, are no better than puns; the ſmarteſt things I have ſeen are againſt him. One day in the grove, he joined ſome ladies, and aſking one of them, who was crooked, whence ſhe came? She replied, ſtrait from London. Confound me, madam, ſaid he, then you muſt have been damnably warpt by the way.

She ſoon, however, had ample revenge. Sitting the following evening in one of the rooms, he once more joined her company, [156] and with a ſneer and a bow, aſked her, if ſhe knew her Catechiſm, and could tell the name of Tobit's dog? His name, Sir, was Naſh, replied the lady, and an impu⯑dent dog be was. This ſtory is told in a celebrated romance; I only repeat it here to have an opportunity of obſerving, that it actually happened.

Queen Anne once aſked him, why he would not accept of knighthood? To which he replied, leſt Sir William Read, the mountebank, who had been juſt knighted, ſhould call him brother.

An houſe in Bath was ſaid to be haunted by the Devil, and a great noiſe was made about it, when Naſh going to the Miniſter of St. Michael's, intreated him to drive the Devil out of Bath for ever, if it were only to oblige the ladies.

Naſh uſed ſometimes to viſit the great Doctor Clarke. The Doctor was one day converſing with Locke, and two or three more of his learned and intimate compa⯑nions, [157] with that freedom, gaiety and chear⯑fulneſs, which is ever the reſult of inno⯑cence. In the midſt of their mirth and laughter, the Doctor, looking from the window, ſaw Naſh's chariot ſtop at the door. Boys, boys, cried the philoſopher, to his friends, let us now be wiſe, for here is a fool coming.

Naſh was one day complaining in the following manner to the Earl of Cheſterfield of his bad luck at play. Would you think it, my Lord, that damned bitch fortune, no later than laſt night, tricked me out of 500. Is it not ſurprizing, continued he, that my luck ſhould never turn, that I ſhould thus eternally be mauled? I don't wonder at your loſing money Naſh, ſays his lordſhip, but all the world is ſurprized where you get it to loſe.

Doctor Cheney once, when Naſh was ill, drew up a preſcription for him, which was ſent in accordingly. The next day the Doctor coming to ſee his patient, found him up and well; upon which he aſked, [158] if he had followed his preſcription? Fol⯑lowed your preſcription, cried Naſh, No.—Egad, if I had, I ſhould have broke my neck, for I flung it out of the two pair of ſtairs window.

It would have been well, had he confined himſelf to ſuch ſallies; but as he grew old he grew inſolent, and ſeemed, in ſome mea⯑ſure, inſenſible of the pain his attempts to be a wit gave others. Upon aſking a lady to dance a minuet; if ſhe refuſed, he would often demand, if ſhe had got bandy legs. He would attempt to ridicule natural de⯑fects; he forgot the deference due to birth and quality, and miſtook the manner of ſettling rank and precedence upon many occaſions. He now ſeemed no longer faſhionable among the preſent race of gentry, he grew peeviſh and fretful, and they who only ſaw the remnant of a man, ſeverely returned that laughter upon him, which he had once laviſhed upon others.

[159]Poor Naſh was no longer the gay, thoughtleſs, idly induſtrious creature he once was; he now forgot how to ſupply new modes of entertainment, and became too rigid, to wind with eaſe through the vi⯑ciſſitudes of faſhion. The evening of his life began to grow cloudy. His for⯑tune was gone, and nothing but poverty lay in proſpect. To embitter his hopes, he found himſelf abandoned by the great, whom he had long endeavoured to ſerve; and was obliged to fly to thoſe of humbler ſtations for protection, whom he once af⯑fected to deſpiſe. He now began to want that charity, which he had never refuſed to any; and to find, that a life of diſſipa⯑tion and gaiety, is ever terminated by mi⯑ſery and regret.

Even his place of maſter of the cere⯑monies (if I can truſt the papers he has left behind him) was ſought after. I would willingly be tender of any living reputati⯑on; but theſe papers accuſe Mr. Quin of endeavouring to ſupplant him. He has [160] even left us a letter, which he ſuppoſed was written by that gentleman, ſoliciting a Lord for his intereſt upon the occaſion. As I chuſe to give Mr. Quin an opportu⯑nity of diſproving this, I will inſert the letter, and, to ſhew the improbability of its being his, with all its faults, both of ſtyle and ſpelling. I am the leſs apt to believe it written by Mr. Quin, as a gentle⯑man, who has mended Shakeſpear's plays ſo often, would ſurely be capable of ſome⯑thing more correct than the following. It was ſent, as it ſhould ſeem, from Mr. Quin to a nobleman, but left open for the peruſal of an intermediate friend. It was this friend who ſent a copy of it to Mr. Naſh, who cauſed it to be inſtantly print⯑ed, and left among his other papers.

[164]Here Naſh, if I may be permitted the uſe of a polite and faſhionable phraſe, was humm'd; but he experienced ſuch rubs as theſe, and a thouſand other mortifications every day. He found po⯑verty now denied him the indulgence not only of his favourite follies, but of his favourite virtues. The poor now ſolicited him in vain; he was him⯑ſelf a more pitiable object than they. The child of the public ſeldom has a friend, and he who once exerciſed his wit at the expence of others, muſt naturally have ene⯑mies. Exaſperated at laſt to the higheſt degree, an unaccountable whim ſtruck him; poor Naſh was reſolved to become an au⯑thor; he, who in the vigour of manhood, was incapable of the taſk, now at the im⯑potent age of eighty-ſix, was determined to write his own hiſtory! from the many ſpecimens already given of his ſtyle, the reader will not much regret that the hiſto⯑rian was interrupted in his deſign. Yet as Montaigne obſerves, as the adventures [165] of an infant, if an infant could inform us of them, would be pleaſing; ſo the life of a Beau, if a beau could write, would certainly ſerve to regale curioſity.

Whether he really intended to put this deſign in execution, or did it only to alarm the nobility, I will not take upon me to determine; but certain it is, that his friends went about collecting ſubſcriptions for the work, and he received ſeveral en⯑couragements from ſuch as were willing to be politely charitable. It was thought by many, that this hiſtory would reveal the intrigues of a whole age; that he had numberleſs ſecrets to diſcloſe; but they ne⯑ver conſidered, that perſons of public cha⯑racter, like him, were the moſt unlikely in the world to be made partakers of thoſe ſecrets which people deſired the public ſhould not know. In fact, he had few ſe⯑crets to diſcover, and thoſe he had, are now buried with him in the grave.

[166]He was now paſt the power of giving or receiving pleaſure, for he was poor, old and peeviſh; yet ſtill he was incapable of turning from his former manner of life to purſue happineſs. The old man endea⯑voured to practiſe the follies of the boy, he ſpurred on his jaded paſſions after every trifle of the day; tottering with age he would be ever an unwelcome gueſt in the aſſemblies of the youthful and gay; and he ſeemed willing to find loſt appetite among thoſe ſcenes where he was once young.

An old man thus ſtriving after pleaſure is indeed an object of pity; but a man at once old and poor, running on in this pur⯑ſuit, might excite aſtoniſhment. To ſee a Being both by fortune and conſtituti⯑on rendered incapable of enjoyment, ſtill haunting thoſe pleaſures he was no longer to ſhare in; to ſee one of almoſt ninety ſet⯑tling the faſhion of a lady's cap, or aſſign⯑ing her place in a country dance; to ſee him unmindful of his own reverend [167] figure, or the reſpect he ſhould have for himſelf, toaſting demireps, or attempting to entertain the lewd and idle; a ſight like this might well ſerve as a ſatire on huma⯑nity; might ſhew that man is the only prepoſterous creature alive, who purſues the ſhadow of pleaſure without temptation.

But he was not permitted to run on thus without ſevere and repeated reproof. The clergy ſent him frequent calls to reforma⯑tion; but the aſperity of their advice in general abated its intended effects; they threatened him with fire and brimſtone, for what he had long been taught to con⯑ſider as foibles, and not vices; ſo like a deſperated debtor, he did not care to ſettle an account, that, upon the firſt inſpection, he found himſelf utterly unable to pay. Thus begins one of his monitors.

Such repeated admonitions as theſe ſerved to ſting, without reforming him; they made him moroſe, but not pious. The doſe was too ſtrong for the patient to bear. He ſhould have been met with ſmiles, and allured into reformation, if indeed he was [172] criminal. But in the name of piety, what was there criminal in his conduct; he had long been taught to conſider his trifling profeſſion as a very ſerious and important buſineſs. He went through his office with great gravity, ſolemnity, and care; why then denounce peculiar torments againſt a poor harmleſs creature, who did a thouſand good things, and whoſe greateſt vice was vanity. He deſerved ridicule, indeed, and he found it, but ſcarce a ſingle action of his life, except one, deſerves the aſperity of reproach.

Thus we ſee a variety of cauſes concurred to embitter his departing life. The weakneſs and infirmities of exhauſted nature, the ad⯑monitions of the grave, who aggravated his follies into vices; the ingratitude of his dependants, who formerly flattered his for⯑tunes; but particularly the contempt of the great, who quite forgot him in his wants; all theſe hung upon his ſpirits and ſoured his temper, and the poor man of pleaſure might have terminated his life very tragically, had not the corporation of [173] Bath charitably reſolved to grant him ten guineas the firſt Monday of every month. This bounty ſerved to keep him from ac⯑tual neceſſity, tho' far too trifling, to enable him to ſupport the character of a gentle⯑man. Habit, and not nature, makes al⯑moſt all our wants; and he who had been accuſtomed in the early parts of life to af⯑fluence and prodigality, when reduced to an hundred and twenty-ſix pounds a year, muſt pine in actual indigence.

In this variety of uneaſineſs his health began to fail. He had received from na⯑ture a robuſt and happy conſtitution, that was ſcarce even to be impaired by intem⯑perance. He even pretended, among his friends, that he never followed a ſingle pre⯑ſcription in his life; however, in this he was one day detected on the parade; for boaſting there of his contempt and utter difuſe of medicine, unluckily the water of two bliſters, which Dr. Oliver had pre⯑ſcribed, and which he then had upon each leg, ouzed through his ſtockings, and be⯑trayed him. His averſion to phyſic, how⯑ever, [174] was frequently a topic of raillery be⯑tween him and Doctor Cheney, who was a man of ſome wit and breeding. When Cheney recommended his vegetable diet, Naſh would ſwear, that his deſign was to ſend half the world grazing like Ne⯑buchadnezzar. Ay, Cheney would reply, Nebuchadnezzar was never ſuch an infidel as thou art. It was but laſt week, gentle⯑men, that I attended this fellow in a fit of ſickneſs; there I found him rolling up his eyes to heaven, and crying for mercy; he would then ſwallow my drugs like breaſt-milk, yet you now hear him, how the old dog blaſphemes the faculty. What Cheney ſaid in jeſt was true, he feared the approaches of death more than the genera⯑lity of mankind, and was generally very de⯑vout while it threatened him. Tho' he was ſomewhat the libertine in action, none believed or trembled more than he; for a mind neither ſchooled by philoſophy, nor encouraged by conſcious innocence, is ever timid at the appearance of dan⯑ger.

[175]For ſome time before his deceaſe nature gave warning of his approaching diſſolu⯑tion. The worn machine had run itſelf down to an utter impoſſibility of repair; he ſaw, that he muſt die, and ſhuddered at the thought. His virtues were not of the great, but the amiable kind; ſo that for⯑titude was not among the number. Anxi⯑ous, timid, his thoughts ſtill hanging on a receding world, he deſired to enjoy a little longer that life, the miſeries of which he had experienced ſo long. The poor unſucceſsful gameſter huſbanded the waſt⯑ing moments, with an encreaſed deſire to-continue the game, and to the laſt eagerly wiſhed for one yet more happy throw. He died at his houſe in St. John's court, Bath, on the 3d of February, 1761, aged eighty-ſeven years, three months, and ſome days^*

[176]His death was ſincerely regretted by the city, to which he had been ſo long, and ſo great a benefactor. The day after he died, the Mayor of Bath called the corporation together, where they granted fifty pounds towards burying their Sovereign with pro⯑per reſpect. After the corpſe had lain four days, it was conveyed to the abbey church in that city, with a ſolemnity ſomewhat pe⯑culiar to his character. About five the pro⯑ceſſion moved from his houſe; the charity girls two and two preceded, next the boys of the charity ſchool ſinging a ſolemn oc⯑caſional hymn^*. Next marched the city [177] muſic, and his own band ſounding at pro⯑per intervals a dirge. Three clergymen immediately preceded the coffin, which was adorned with ſable plumes, and the pall ſupported by the ſix ſenior Aldermen. The maſters of the aſſembly-rooms fol⯑lowed as chief mourners; the beadles of that hoſpital, which he had contribu⯑ted ſo largely to endow, went next, and laſt of all, the poor patients themſelves, [178] the lame, the emaciated, and the feeble, followed their old benefactor to his grave, ſhedding unfeigned tears, and lamenting themſelves in him.

The crowd was ſo great, that not only the ſtreets were filled, but, as one of the journals in a Rant expreſſes it, ‘"even the tops of the houſes were covered with ſpectators, each thought the occaſion af⯑fected themſelves moſt; as when a real King dies, they aſked each other, where ſhall we find ſuch another; ſorrow ſate up⯑on every face, and even children liſped that their Sovereign was no more. The awfulneſs of the ſolemnity made the deepeſt impreſſion on the minds of the diſtreſſed inhabitants. The peaſant diſ⯑continued his toil, the ox reſted from the plough, all nature ſeemed to ſym⯑pathize with their loſs, and the muffled bells rung a peal of Bob Major."’

Our deepeſt ſolemnities have ſomething truly ridiculous in them: there is ſome⯑what ludicrous in the folly of hiſtorians, who thus declaim upon the death of [179] Kings and Princes, as if there was any thing diſmal, or any thing unuſual in it. ‘"For my part, ſays Poggi the Florentine, I can no more grieve for another's death than I could for my own. I have ever regarded death as a very trifling affair; nor can black ſtaves, long cloaks, or mourning coaches, in the leaſt influence my ſpirits. Let us live here as long, and as merrily as we can, and when we muſt die, why let us die merrily too, but die ſo as to be happy."’

The few things he was poſſeſſed of were left to his relations. A ſmall li⯑brary of well choſen books, ſome trinkets and pictures, were his only inheritance. Among the latter were a gold box, given by the late Counteſs of Burlington, with Lady Euſton's picture in the lid. An agate etui, with a diamond on the top, by the Princeſs Dowager of Wales, and ſome other things of no great value. The rings, watches, and pictures, which he former⯑ly received from others, would have come to a conſiderable amount; but theſe his ne⯑ceſſities had obliged him to diſpoſe of: Some [180] family pictures, however, remained, which were ſold by advertiſement, for five gui⯑neas each, after Mr. Naſh's deceaſe.

It was natural to expect, that the death of a perſon ſo long in the eye of the pub⯑lic, muſt have produced a deſire in ſeveral to delineate his character, or deplore his loſs. He was ſcarce dead, when the pub⯑lic papers were filled with elegies, groans and characters; and before he was buried, there were epitaphs ready made to inſcribe on his ſtone. I remember one of thoſe character writers, and a very grave one too, after obſerving, alaſs! that Richard Naſh, Eſq was no more, went on to aſſure us, that he was ſagacious, debonair, and comode; and concluded with gravely de⯑claring, that impotent poſterity would in vain fumble to produce his fellow. Another, e⯑qually ſorrowful, gave us to know, that he was indeed a man; an aſſertion, which I fancy none will be ſo hardy as to contra⯑dict. But the merrieſt of all the lamen⯑tations made upon this occaſion was, that where he is called, A conſtellation of the heavenly ſphere.

[181]One thing, however, is common almoſt with each of them, and that is, that Venus, Cupid, and the Graces, are commanded to weep; and that Bath ſhall never find ſuch another.

But tho' he was ſatirized with the praiſes of thoſe, yet there were ſome of real abilities, who undertook to do juſtice to his character, to praiſe him for his virtues, and acknowledge his faults. I need ſcarcely mention, that Doctor Oliver, and Doctor King are of this number. They had honoured him with their friendſhip while living, and undertook to honour his me⯑mory when dead. As the reader may chuſe to compare their efforts upon the ſame ſub⯑ject, I have ſubjoined them, and perhaps many will find in either enough, upon ſo unimportant a ſubject as Mr. Naſh's life, to ſatisfy curioſity. The firſt publiſhed. was that by Doctor Oliver, written with much good ſenſe, and ſtill more good na⯑ture. But the reader will conſider that he, has aſſumed in his motto the character of [182] a panegyriſt, and ſpares his friend's faults, tho' he was too candid entirely to paſs them over in ſilence.

The reader ſees in what alluring colours Mr. Naſh's character is drawn; but he muſt conſider, that an intimate friend held the pencil; the Doctor profeſſes to ſay nothing of the dead, but what was good; and ſuch a maxim, tho' it ſerves his de⯑parted [188] friend, is but badly calculated to improve the living. Dr. King in his Epi⯑taph, however, is ſtill more indulgent, he produces him as an example to kings, and prefers his laws, even to thoſe of Solon, or Lycurgus.

[193]The following tranſlation of this Epi⯑taph, will give the Engliſh reader an idea of its contents, tho' not of its elegance.

[198]Whatever might have been juſtly ob⯑ſerved of Mr. Naſh's ſuperiority as a go⯑vernor, at leaſt it may be ſaid, that few contemporary kings have met with ſuch able panegyriſts. The former enumerates all his good qualities with tenderneſs; and the latter enforces them with impetuoſity. They both ſeem to have loved him, and honourably paid his remains the laſt debt of friendſhip. But a cool biographer, un⯑biaſſed by reſentment or regard, will pro⯑bably find nothing in the man either truly great, or ſtrongly vicious. His virtues were all amiable, and more adapted to procure friends than admirers, they were more ca⯑pable of raiſing love than eſteem. He was naturally endued with good ſenſe; but by having been long accuſtomed to purſue tri⯑fles, his mind ſhrunk to the ſize of the little objects on which it was employed. His generoſity was boundleſs, becauſe his tenderneſs and his vanity were in equal pro⯑portion; the one impelling him to relieve miſery, and the other to make his bene⯑factions known. In all his actions, how⯑ever [199] virtuous, he was guided by ſenſation, and not by reaſon; ſo that the uppermoſt paſſion was ever ſure to prevail. His be⯑ing conſtantly in company had made him an eaſy tho' not a polite companion. He choſe to be thought rather an odd fellow, than a well-bred man; perhaps that mix⯑ture of reſpect and ridicule, with which his mock royalty was treated, firſt inſpired him with this reſolution. The founda⯑tions of his empire were laid in vicious compliance, the continuance of his reign was ſupported by a virtuous impartiality. In the beginning of his authority, he in reality obeyed thoſe whom he pretended to govern; towards the end, he attempted to extort a real obedience from his ſub⯑jects, and ſupported his right by preſcrip⯑tion. Like a monarch Tacitus talks of; they complied with him at firſt becauſe they loved, they obeyed at laſt becauſe they feared him. He often led the rich into new follies, in order to promote the happineſs of the poor, and ſerved the one at the expence of the other. Whatever his vices were, they were of uſe to ſociety; [200] and this neither Petronius, nor Apicius, nor Tigellius, nor any other profeſſed vo⯑luptuary, could ſay. To ſet him up, as ſome do, for a pattern of imitation, is wrong, ſince all his virtues received a tinc⯑ture from the neighbouring folly; to de⯑nounce peculiar judgments againſt him, is equally unjuſt, as his faults raiſe rather our mirth than our deteſtation. He was fitted for the ſtation in which fortune placed him. It required no great abilities to fill it, and few of great abilities, but would have diſdained the employment. He led a life of vanity, and long miſtook it for happineſs. Unfortunately he was taught at laſt to know, that a man of pleaſure leads the moſt unpleaſant life in the world.

The author of this letter appears to have been very angry, and not without reaſon; for if I am rightly informed, his only ſon was ruined at Bath, and by ſharpers. [230] But why is Naſh to be blamed for this? It muſt be acknowledged, that he al⯑ways took pains to prevent the ruin of the youth of both ſexes, and had ſo guarded againſt duelling, that he would not permit a ſword to be worn in Bath.

As the heart of a man is better known by his private than public actions, let us take a view of Naſh in domeſtick life; among his ſervants and dependants where no gloſs was required to colour his ſenti⯑ments and diſpoſition, nor any maſk ne⯑ceſſary to conceal his foibles. Here we ſhall find him the ſame open-hearted, ge⯑nerous, good-natured man we have already deſcribed; one who was ever fond of pro⯑moting the intereſts of his friends, his ſer⯑vants and dependants, and making them happy. In his own houſe no man per⯑haps was more regular, chearful, and be⯑neficent than Mr. Naſh. His table was always free to thoſe who ſought his friend⯑ſhip, or wanted a dinner; and after grace was ſaid, he uſually accoſted the company in the following extraordinary manner, to [231] take off all reſtraint and ceremony. ‘"Come, gentlemen, eat and welcome, ſpare, and the Devil choak you."’ I mention this circumſtance for no other reaſon but be⯑cauſe it is well known, and is conſiſtent with the ſingularity of his character and behaviour.

As Mr. Naſh's thoughts were entirely em⯑ployed in the affairs of his government, he was ſeldom at home but at the time of eating or of reſt. His table was well ſerv⯑ed, but his entertainment conſiſted princi⯑pally of plain diſhes. Boiled chicken and roaſt mutton were his favourite meats, and he was ſo fond of the ſmall ſort of pota⯑toes, that he called them Engliſh pine⯑apples, and generally eat them as others do fruit, after dinner. In drinking he was altogether as regular and abſtemious. Both in this and in eating, he ſeemed to conſult nature, and obey only her dictates. Good ſmall beer, with or without a glaſs of wine in it, and ſometimes wine and water, was his drink at meals, and after dinner he generally drank one glaſs of wine. He [232] ſeemed fond of hot ſuppers, uſually ſupped about nine or ten o'clock, upon roaſt breaſt of mutton and his potatoes, and ſoon af⯑ter ſupper went to bed; which induced Dr. Cheney to tell him jeſtingly, that he be⯑haved like other brutes, and lay down as ſoon as he had filled his belly. Very true, replied Naſh, and this preſcription I had from my neighbour's Cow, who is a better phyſician than you, and a ſuperior judge of plants, notwith⯑ſtanding you have written ſo learnedly on the ve⯑getable diet.

Naſh generally aroſe early in the morn⯑ing, being ſeldom in bed after five: and to avoid diſturbing the family, and depriving his ſervants of their reſt, he had the fire laid after he was in bed, and in the morn⯑ing lighted it himſelf, and ſat down to read ſome of his few, but well choſen books. After reading ſome time, he uſually went to the pump-room and drank the wa⯑ters; then took a walk on the parade, and went to the coffee-houſe to breakfaſt; af⯑ter which, till two o'clock (his uſual time of dinner) his hours were ſpent in arbi⯑trating [233] differences amongſt his neighbours, or the company reſorting to the wells; di⯑recting the diverſions of the day, in viſit⯑ing the new comers, or receiving friends at his own houſe, of which there were a great concourſe till within ſix or eight years before his death.

His generoſity and charity in private life, tho' not ſo conſpicuous, was as great as that in publick, and indeed far more con⯑ſiderable than his little income would ad⯑mit of. He could not ſtifle the natural impulſe which he had to do good, but frequently borrowed money to relieve the diſtreſſed; and when he knew not con⯑veniently where to borrow, he has been often obſerved to ſhed tears, as he paſſed through the wretched ſupplicants who at⯑tended his gate.

This ſenſibility, this power of feeling the misfortunes of the miſerable, and his addreſs and earneſtneſs in relieving their wants, exalts the character of Mr. Naſh, and draws an impenetrable veil over his [234] foibles. His ſingularities are forgotten when we behold his virtues, and he who laughed at the whimſical character and be⯑haviour of this Monarch of Bath, now laments that he is no more.