where the pistol was, and just as I had cocked it, my design was to have shot that person which does not live far from Newgate-market; but he must thank the other person, who had me by the other arm, for, clapping his hand upon mine, and taking the pistol from me, he said, 'What are you at?" "

Our hero, who always professes the utmost abhorrence of murder, thus describes a little intention of this kind, for which, however, the reader must charitably listen to his penitent petition for pardon.

"The next day, after I had committed this robbery, it was blown all over Newgate market, by one Whitaker, well known by the title of the Boxing Drover, at a coffee-house there kept by a butcher, who addressed him in the following manner :-What do you think master, Daddy Everett, they say, yesterday committed a robbery on the highway, and the whole town rings on't. He had not been five minutes gone away to spread news, (and ill news spreads fast enough in conscience) but I came into the coffee-house myself. The master and I were old cronies. Egad (says, he), Jack, I am heartily glad to see you, and wish a flying report, that Whitaker is very busy in spreading over the neighbourhood, may not prove of very ill consequence to you. So he told me the charge that was fathered upon me.-I own I was damnably nettled, and swore (God forgive me) a good round hand, and vowed to be revenged on Whitaker, for an officious fool, for endeavouring to blast the character of one who had never offended him. "This was not only the result of a hasty passion, but I was resolutely bent upon the execution.

"Whereupon, the next evening, between four and five, I charged a brace of pistols with powder and ball, and marched up to Islington, to examine all his haunts, being well acquainted with all his private set-holes and places of resort. I heard of him at several ale-houses, but, (as I then thought) unfortunately missed of him, which now I am glad of, since I have not now the sin of murder to answer for, which I then had in my heart; for which wicked intention, I beg God and his pardon, and hope to find forgiveness from them both."

Similar to this, is his nonchalance respecting his wivesbut, more than his falsehood in love, the dreadful crime of wilful perjuration affects his conscience. The familiarity with which he slips out the word dead-warrant, will strike the reader; who will recollect, that he was, at the moment of writing this airy narrative, under immediate expectation of execution.

"A day or two before the dead-warrant came down, I happened to see in the press-yard, William W-1, (the son of an unfortunate woman) as I sat in the tap-house with one of my wives, drinking, (God forgive me, I had two or three) his mother being one, as I told you before; and this which I lived last with, I was married to at the Fleet,

and one more which keeps a public-house in Drury-lane, whom I think is very unkind, for she never came to see me all the time of my confinement. But to return to the aforegoing person; I was resolved to be revenged on him if possible, for I could not forget how he came to the tavern with a case-knife to kill me, and likewise the ill usage to his mother. I happened at that time to have a pen-knife in my pocket, and with a resolution to have done his business (which God forgive me), but was prevented by my wife, who stood between him and me, and am glad now to my soul, that I did not commit what I did design, which was murder.

"There is one thing, however, which lies heavier on my conscience than falsehood in love, and that is, wilful perjuration.

"I had some time since entertained an implacable hatred against one Picket, a cooper, and to satiate my revenge, though the poor man I believe was entirely innocent of the fact laid to his charge, I swore it upon him, and appeared an evidence against him at the Old Bailey; for which flagrant crime, I hope, if he is living, he will forgive me, and God too, for my thirsting after innocent blood; and if dead, I sincerely rejoice that he did not fall a sacrifice to my unjust resentments."

The act, however, which most injures the author in our estimation, is his faithlessness to his fellow-man, who, it will be recollected, first introduced him into the mysteries of the profession.

"I should, in my foregoing account, inform you what became of my fellow-man, Richard Bird; the last robbery that he and I committed together, was on two gentlemen as they were going to Chelmsford. Some small time after that I was taken up, and what to do, I did not know; at last, I thought I had better hang twenty than be squeezed myself; for I knew I deserved it: So at last (with some reluctancy) I impeaches my fellow-man, Richard Bird, and accordingly he was taken and committed to gaol, and afterwards carried down to Chelmsford, and I was carried there as a witness against him; but in going down I did my endeavour to make my escape, but was prevented by one William W-1, the foregoing person, who went about three months ago to stab me with a case-knife, which I related before. I was brought safe to Chelmsford gaol, where I appeared as an evidence against my fellow-man, Richard Bird, a butcher: he was capitally convicted, and suffered accordingly; for which wicked act, I have often reflected on myself, for being an evidence. All my wicked actions, which I have been guilty of to mankind, I heartily ask pardon for, and I hope they will be such good Christians as to forgive me. I acknowledge myself to be a very wicked liver for years past.'

Everett followed his seducer to the gallows, and suffered most deservedly for the multitude of his crimes. In closing these extracts from this singular publication, we cannot but regret the perversion of this man's talents from the course of

honesty and respectability; and at the same time remark, the utter inefficiency, and worse than uselessness, of the punishment which was inflicted on him. Nothing can be more evident, than that the uncertainty of any punishment at all, led him on from crime to crime, and that the degree of it was lost in the chance of entire escape. The horror of death was always driven from his thoughts by the bustle of his occupation, and the restless nature of his life; and when the fatal sentence was passed upon him, he bore up against it with a fortitude, which showed he was worthy of preservation. His execution stopped a stream, whose channel should only have been diverted. A close confinement, and a constant occupation, would have soon restored him to a proper sense of his sins against society, and rendered him perhaps, at last, a useful member of some other community; while an imprisonment for life is as likely to create as striking an impression on the multitude, as an example in the infliction of death, while it certainly cannot do so much harm.

ART. V.-Memoirs of the Life of John Radcliffe, M. D. interspersed with several Original Letters, &c. 1715.

The celebrated founder of the Radcliffe Library at Oxford was one of the most successful physicians of his age, and, at the same time, exceedingly remarkable for the originality of his character. He was distinguished in his profession for the sagacity with which he traced the causes of disease, and for the soundness of judgement which dictated his remedies, rather than for his science and his learning. At Oxford he was more an observer of men than a reader of books, and there laid the foundation of that character, which he ever after maintained. After practising for some time at Oxford, where his fame was spread by some remarkable cures, he removed to London, where he soon became known for his dexterity in his profession, the bluntness of his wit, and the social qualities of his heart. Dr. Radcliffe appears to have been a man who lived, if any man ever did so, entirely after his own humour, and in the completest disregard of the opinions of the world. His original feelings were of too good and too generous a nature to make this freedom dangerous, and the only consequence was, an innocent but wayward life, and a free utterance of his thoughts in the plainest language which occurred to him. His vast success in his practice poured in upon him immense

wealth, and gave ample opportunity for his humoursome generosity to display itself. After a life spent in benevolent exertions in behalf of his fellow-creature, and a fortune expended in charitable donations, he left very large estates, with which he endowed, after the lapse of certain interests, his venerable Alma mater. The little book which records the chief transactions of his life, is scarce, and is of so interesting and amusing a character, that we shall be doing a service to our readers by making a selection of some of the more remarkable anecdotes, which it contains in great abundance, of this remarkable personage.

John Radcliffe was born at Wakefield, in Yorkshire, of respectable parents, who sent him to Oxford at the age of fifteen years, in 1665. After taking his bachelor of arts' degree in 1667, he proceeded to that of master of arts in 1672. Of the manner in which he spent his time at the university, his biographer observes:

"It is to be confessed, indeed, that he had but a slender opinion of logical altercations, which, by the help of a parcel of abstruse terms, and very formal though immaterial distinctions, had, at this time, obtained much credit amongst his contemporaries, who were wont to make light of him on this account, upon several occasions. But his proficiency in more polite, as well as more advantageous literature, soon made it appear that his acquirements were preferable to theirs ; and that whilst they were bewildering themselves in the dark intricacies of modes, figures, and accidents, he, to the admiration of all that knew his propensity to cheerful conversation, grew daily more and more conspicuous for the bright advances that were made by him towards the most important discoveries.

"The business he was intent upon, was no less than the preser vation of mankind; and this he did not endeavour to make himself master of, by any useless application to the rubbish of antiquity, in old musty volumes, that required ages to be thoroughly perused; but by a careful examination of the most valuable treatises that saw the light from modern hands. His books, while he was a student in physic, (for so we must term him till he became a practitioner) were very few, but well chosen: so few, indeed, as to make Dr. Bathurst, the head of Trinity College, (who, notwithstanding his seniority in the university, kept him company for his conversation) stand in a surprise, and ask, Where was his study? Upon which, pointing to a few vials, a skeleton, and an herbal, he received for answer, Sir, this is Radcliffe's Library."

In 1675, Mr. Radcliffe took a degree in physic, and commenced practice. The novelty, however, of his treatment, soon created him enemies in the university among the old practitioners, some of whom continued so through the greater part of his life. All kinds of insinuations were thrown out against

the guess-work, as it was called, of his cures; and all deplored, that his friends had not made him a better scholar. His replies seem to have been confined to a few nicknames, and a silent determination to go on curing his patients. His fame was soon spread far and wide; and having acquired considerable wealth in Oxford, he removed, in 1684, to London, where he had not been a year before he received more than twenty guineas per day.

"His conversation, at this time, was held in as good repute as his advice; and what with his pleasantry of discourse, and readiness of wit in making replies to any sort of questions, he was a diverting companion to the last degree, insomuch, that he was very often sent for, and presented with fees for pretended ailments, when the real design of both sexes, that were equally delighted with him, was to reap advantage by his way of talk. Not but he was often out of humour at being dealt with after that manner, and would frequently give biting replies to such as were pressing with him for his prescriptions upon trifling occasions."

Dr. Radcliffe was a strong Tory, and nothing was wanting but to make him a Roman Catholic, to render him agreeable in the eyes of the Court.

"In 1688, some time before the Bishops were sent to the Tower, and matters were carrying on towards the introduction of Popery, by no less violent methods, Father Saunders, one of the Court chaplains, and another Dominican, had it in command from the King, to use what solicitations should be thought needful, to bring him over to their communion, with the rest of the converts they were then making, Accordingly they were very pressing with him to save his poor soul, as they termed it, by embracing a religion, without which he was to expect no less than eternal damnation in the world to come. The Doctor heard what they had to say for some time, and then told them, 'That he held himself obliged to his Majesty for his charitable dispositions to him, in sending them to him, on so good an account as the saving his soul, which he would endeavour to show his acknowledgement of, by his duty and loyalty; but if the King would be graciously pleased to let him jog on in the ways he had been bred up in, during this life, he would run the risk of incurring the penalties they threatened him with, in that which was to come.' As for the instances they gave him, by way of example, of a temporal and a spiritual lord's defection from the established church, he alleged, that it was more the business of a bishop and a statesman, to make curious researches into matters of Revelation, than of a physician; and besought his Majesty, out of his grace and favour to all his loving subjects, to let him continue in the religion of the latter, which would neither endanger his government in church nor state.' However, solicitations were not wanting from another quarter, and Mr. Walker, whom I just mentioned, had orders from above, to write to him, which he did several