Part 56

There is no nation fonder of their king than the English; which is a proof that monarchy suits the genius of the people: there is no nation more jealous of his power, which proves that liberty is a favourite maxim. Though the laws have complimented him with much, yet he well knows, a prerogative upon the stretch, is a prerogative in a dangerous state.

The more a people value their prince, the more willing are they to contend in his favour.

The people of England revered the memory of their beloved Saxon kings, and doubly lamented their fall, with that of their liberties.

They taxed themselves into beggary, to raise the amasing sum of 100,000l. to release Richard the First, unjustly taken captive by Leopold.

They protected Henry the Fifth from death, at Agincourt, and received that death themselves.

They covered the extreme weakness of Henry the Sixth, who never said a good thing, or did a bad one, with the mantle of royalty; when a character like his, without a crown, would have been hunted through life: they gave him the title of good king Henry, which would well have suited, had the word king been omitted; they sought him a place in the kalendar of saints, and made him perform the miracles of an angel when dead, who could never perform the works of a man, when living.

The people shewed their attachment to Henry the Eighth, by submitting to the faggot and the block, at his command; and with their last breath, praying for their butcher.

Affection for Charles the First, induced four of his friends to offer their own heads, to save his.--The wrath, and the tears of the people, succeeded his melancholy exit.

When James the Second eloped from the throne, and was casually picked up at Feversham, by his injured subjects, they remembered he was their king.

The church and Queen Anne, like a joyous co-partnership, were toasted together. The barrel was willingly emptied to honour the queen, and the toaster lamented he could honour her no more.

The nation displayed their love to Charles the Second, by latticing the forests. His climbing the oak at Boscobel, has been the destruction of more timber than would have filled the harbour of Portsmouth; the tree which flourished in the field, was brought to die in the street. Birmingham, for ninety years, honoured him with her vengeance against the woods; and she is, at this day, surrounded with mutilated oaks, which stand as martyrs to royalty.

It is singular, that the oak, which assisted the devotion of the Britons, composed habitations for the people, and furniture for those habitations; that, while standing, was an ornament to the country that bore it; and afterwards guarded the land which nursed it, should be the cause of continual riots, in the reign of George the First. We could not readily accede to a line of strangers, in preference to our ancient race of kings, though loudly charged with oppression.

Clubs and tumults supported the spirit of contention till 1745, when, as our last act of animosity, we crowned an ass with turnips, in derision of one of the worthiest families that ever eat them.

Power, in the hand of ignorance, is an edge-tool of the most dangerous kind. The scarcity of provisions, in 1766, excited the murmurs of the poor. They began to breathe vengeance against the farmer, miller, and baker, for doing what they do themselves, procure the greatest price for their property.

On the market day, a common labourer, like Massenello of Naples, formed the resolution to lead a mob.

He therefore erected his standard, which was a mop inverted, assembled the crowd, and roared out the old note, "Redress of Grievances." The colliers, with all their dark retinue, were to bring destruction from Wednesbury. Amazement seised the town! the people of fortune trembled: John Wyrley, an able magistrate, for the first time frightened in office, with quivering lips, and a pale aspect, swore in about eighty constables, to oppose the rising storm, armed each of them with a staff of authority, warm from the turning-lathe, and applied to the War-office for a military force.

The lime-powdered monarch began to fabricate his own laws, direct the price of every article, which was punctually obeyed.

Port, or power, soon overcome a weak head; the more copious the draught, the more quick intoxication: he entered many of the shops, and was every where treated with the utmost reverence; took whatever goods he pleased, and distributed them among his followers; till one of the inhabitants, provoked beyond measure at his insolence, gave him a hearty kick on the posteriors, when the hero and his consequence, like that of Wat Tyler, fell together.--Thus ended a reign of seven hours; the sovereign was committed to prison, as sovereigns ought, in the abuse of power, and harmony was restored without blood.

THE CONJURERS.

No head is a vacuum. Some, like a paltry cottage, are ill accommodated, dark, and circumscribed; others are capacious as Westminster-Hall. Though none are immense, yet they are capable of immense furniture. The more room is taken up by knowledge, the less remains for credulity. The more a man is acquainted with things, the more willing to give up the ghost. Every town and village, within my knowledge, has been pestered with spirits; which appear in horrid forms to the imagination in the winter night--but the spirits which haunt Birmingham, are those of industry and luxury.

If we examine the whole parish, we cannot produce one old witch; but we have plenty of young, who exercise a powerful influence over us. Should the ladies accuse the harsh epithet, they will please to consider, I allow them, what of all things they most wish for, power, therefore the balance is in my favor.

If we pass through the planitary worlds, we shall be able to muster up two conjurers, who endeavoured to shine with the stars. The first, John Walton, who was so busy in calling the nativity of others, he forgot his own.

Conscious of an application to himself, for the discovery of stolen goods, he employed his people to steal them. And though, for many years confined to his bed by infirmity, he could conjure away the property of others, and, for a reward, reconjure it again.

The prevalence of this evil, induced the legislature, in 1725, to make the reception of stolen goods capital. The first sacrifice to this law was the noted Jonathan Wild.

The officers of justice, in 1732, pulled Walton out of his bed, in an obscure cottage, one furlong from the town, now Brickhill-Lane, carried him to prison, and from thence to the gallows--they had better have carried him to the workhouse, and his followers to the anvil.

To him succeeded Francis Kimberley, the only reasoning animal, who resided at No. 60, in Dale-End, from his early youth to extreme age.--An hermit in a crowd! The windows of his house were strangers to light! The shutters forgot to open; the chimney to smoak. His cellar, though amply furnished, never knew moisture.

He spent threescore years in filling six rooms with such trumpery as is just too good to be thrown away, and too bad to be kept. His life was as inoffensive as long. Instead of stealing the goods which other people use, he purchased what he could not use himself. He was not anxious what kind of property entered his house; if there was bulk he was satisfied.

His dark house, and his dark figure corresponded with each other. The apartments, choaked up with lumber, scarcely admitted his body, though of the skeleton order. Perhaps leanness is an appendage to the science, for I never knew a corpulent conjurer.