The life of William Hutton

He who writes the History of his Family brings himself into a premunire. He must either be unfaithful, or divulge the errors of his dearest friends. As all have defects, he must accuse them, by laying those defects open; or himself, by concealing them. True judgment lies in endeavouring to steer clear of both.

The memoirs of a private family bear but little weight in the scale of history. Few anecdotes offer. An author ought to be blessed with a double portion of genius to be entertaining. He may be said to write upon nothing: like the Israelites, to make bricks without straw. And when his work is finished, like that of the brick-maker, it may be burnt.

The writer of a private history, like a man in a mist, sees but few objects, and the reader wanders over a dry desert without relief. Such a work is seldom read out of the family; nay, I am inclined to think it is seldom read in it. Hidden from the light, it sleeps in silence; often in the strong box, with the title-deeds of the family.

The principal transactions of the heroes of the Hutton race, may be comprised in a tombstone history. They were born, they lived, and they died. But though the characters were placed in still life, some of them were very singular.

When a man has written a book and lost it, I know nothing more difficult than to write it again. Dr. Priestley assured me he never could. The past efforts of the mind are almost as hard to be recalled as the past hour.

In 1779 I wrote the History of the Family of Hutton, which slept very quietly upon my shelf for twelve years. But in 1791, when the rioters chose to amuse themselves with the destruction of every kind of property, land excepted, which I had spent threescore years in collecting, the History of my Family fell in the general ruin. I was more affected at the loss of this history than it merited; and, for seven years, endeavoured to prevail upon myself to begin another, but was never able to succeed, though solicited by friends.

Sometimes the most important incidents in a man's life spring out of trifles. "Do you "court Miss Simpson?" said Mrs. Adams to her friend. "Not I: I shall never have anything to say to her." "Nay, you may do "worse." From this simple word he began the lover, which ended in the husband. A week ago, May 1, 1798, a letter dated 1779, from one relation to another, accidentally fell into my hands, in which it was said, "That "Mr. Hutton had written the history of the "family, and that it was a good one." This trifling remark raised up that resolution which had lain dormant for seven years.

Authors tell us, "that all families are equally "ancient, as being descended from Adam." However, none can pass current without proof impressions in their favour; and, I am apprehensive, many counterfeits are offered in circulation.

If I cannot penetrate into the dark ages of antiquity, yet my family, like every other of long standing in England, no doubt carries the blood of the Britons, the Romans, Saxons, Panes, and Normans.

Most families have an attachment to a favourite name, which descends with the heirs of the house. Thus the family of Gresley retain that of Nigel, Ferrers that of Sewell, and Blount that of Walter; all prior to the conquest. Ours never forsakes those of Thomas and Catherine. These names, though in a plain style, have existed for ages, and it would be deemed a family transgression to infringe upon them. There were, in 1786, but six males, and four of them were Thomas; three females, and two of them were Catherine; so that the present generation may always be said to represent the last.

If they have not had an estate entailed upon them, they have had a name.

Again, some families have had their propensities and dislikes to a profession, or an amusement. A family, I well know, has pleaded at the bar during four generations, without advancing or sinking a step. Another has filled a pulpit, and to as little purpose. In a third, the sporting-bag and the gun have been handed down from one generation to another.

Something like the reverse has been the case of my family. My grandfather's grandfather made hats, but none of his descendants ever touched one, except to wear it. His son, my great grandfather, was a shearman, and the last who handled the shears. He afterwards kept a public-house, but none of his descendants cared to sell ale. His son, my grandfather, was famous for dressing flax, catching fish, keeping pigs, and writing down sermons. He was the last of the family that had any of these propensities. My father was a wool-comber, but with him the family bid an eternal farewell to the fleece. He placed his three sons (two brothers and myself) to a stocking-maker; they forsook the trade, and perhaps are the last that will ever have occasion to forsake it.

The characteristics of the family were honesty and supineness. The last was fatally verified in my grandfather, who refused to travel from Derby to Northallerton to possess an estate, although his household was upon the verge of want.

My ancestors have been steady in religion, for they were Dissenters from the first establishment of that sect under Bishop Hooper. They have been as steady in their love of peace, and of pudding; remarkable for memory; not much given to receive, keep, or pay money; often sensible, always modest. The males inactive, the females distinguished for capacity. All these important points will be proved upon them as I relate their history. They are outlines of the few pictures I shall draw.

That branch from which I am descended was resident at Northallerton, but at what time they settled there is uncertain, and whether originally of Yorkshire or Cumberland equally uncertain; but, I believe, they were all from one stock. The first of whom we have any certain knowledge was

A Hatter of eminence at Northallerton, who lived in repute, and employed many workmen. With him sunk the elevation of the family.

The son of the first Thomas, and, I have reason to think, not the eldest, was my father's grandfather, born at Northallerton in 1616, and bred a shearman.

The civil wars breaking out in 1642, between Charles the First and his Parliament, he entered into the service of the latter, under the Earl of Manchester, as a private trooper, and served afterwards under Sir Thomas Fairfax and Oliver Cromwell. From these famous Generals he learned the art of Victory, was at several engagements, as Marstonmoor, Naseby, Worcester, &c., and was one of the detachment sent in pursuit of the unfortunate Charles the Second, when secreted in the oak at Boscobel. I have heard my father say, the troops nearly guessed where the King was, but did not choose to search.

In 1647, the regiment in which Thomas served, marching over St. Mary's bridge at Derby, in their way to Nottingham, he observed a girl of fifteen a few yards below the bridge, lading water into her pail, while standing upon the batting-lag (beating-log), upon which the dyer stands to beat his cloth. Some soldiery jokes ensued, when our trooper dismounted, and cast a large stone with design to splash her; but not being versed in directing a stone so well as a bullet, he missed the water, and broke her head.

Alarmed at this unexpected result of his rude attack, he hastened towards the front of the regiment to avoid the consequence. Thus the man who had boldly faced an enemy in the field, fled with fear from a harmless female. Offered injuries disarm. She instantly, with cries and tears, left her pail and went home, for her residence was only at the bridge foot, where her mother was frightened to see a stream of blood.

The unknown consequences of this adventure hung upon the trooper's mind. He left the regiment in 1658, after a service of sixteen years, when, "the world being all before him "where to chuse," he fixed upon Derby, followed his occupation, courted a young woman, and in 1659 married her. In the course of their conversations he proved to be the very man who had cast the stone, and she the girl with the broken head. Her name was Catherine Smith [1]. She was sixteen years younger than her husband.

Their residence was about the middle of Bridge-gate, where they kept ale and harmony about thirty years. During that period they produced ten children. He died in 1691, at the age of seventy-five. A well-made man, about five feet nine.

Three pieces of antiquity belonging to this warrior fell into my possession, which I preserved as relics. A brass spoon of a singular construction, ill suited to the shape of the mouth, graced with the image of a Saint at the top. This he carried in his pocket for his own use during his military peregrinations.--His broad-sword, drawn for liberty, his companion and guard during sixteen years' service. These were both taken from me at the Riots.--The third was a fragment of a mug that had been daily used for fourscore years, which the Rioters did not think worth taking, because it was empty.

My Grandfather, the eldest son of the second Thomas, born in 1659. He never resided out of St. Alkmund's parish, nor one hundred yards from the Church. Neither did he ever travel more than twelve miles from home, and that but once; or more than thirty yards to procure a wife.

While an infant in arms, a neighbour's female child, three or four years older than himself, was very fond of him, frequently nursed him, and taught him to walk. Their parents observing this tenderness between the two infants, said to each other, "Who knows but these two "may one day make a match?" which really happened twenty-two years after. Thus it may be fairly said, he was beloved by one female from the day of his birth to that of his death. Her name was Elinor Jennings. She was born in St. Alkmund's church-yard, where, seventy years after, she was interred. Her father was a baptist preacher one day in the week, and a shoemaker the other six. I knew her in 1726. She died in October the ensuing year.

Thomas, the present subject of my pen, was bred a flax-dresser, which occupation he followed through life. He was a man remarkably quiet, easy, and inoffensive, totally unfit for business, or the protection of his property, though very small; not adapted to combat the rough passions of man, but formed for a milder world, a kind of cypher in the creation.

He married about the age of twenty-four Elinor Jennings, as above related, and resided in one of those small houses in Bridge-gate, which front St. Alkmund's church on the North, and which you leave close on the left as you cross Bridge-gate from the Church-yard, entering the foot road to Darley. I think those dwellings each consist only of a room on the ground-floor, and a chamber over it. Here was as much love as the house could contain, which was excellent furniture; and here my father was born.

With all Thomas's simplicity, he was fond of indulging in his little pleasures. The fishing-rod was his dear delight. Not a fish swam in the Derwent but he knew it; nor had it a recess or a hole but he knew where to find it.

Their various sorts of food were as familiar to him as his own, and he had rather want food himself than be unprovided with theirs. Three or four days a week he attended with his rod to the detriment of his family. Not satisfied with the time given by the Sun, he followed up his favourite amusement by the light of the Moon, and often found his way home with an empty stomach after midnight.

Fond of pigs, he could not bear to see the sty empty. I have heard my father say, that the frequent pressure of the pail upon his own head, in bringing food for the swine, damped his growth two inches.

The consequence of this bristly predilection was, sometimes a loss of money, and always of time.

Strongly biassed by religion, he made a practice of taking down the sermon in short hand. At his death he had accumulated a sack full, so that he might be said to have collected the religion of an age into a hempen focus.

In or about 1701, a person came to Derby to bring him to Northallerton, to take possession of an estate, then of £40 a-year, now, perhaps, worth £200, to which he was become heir at law. He thanked the messenger for his kindness, entertained him, and told him, "He would not travel so far for an estate of much greater value; neither did he care who possessed it." I mentioned this anecdote to a friend some years back, and observed, I would have gone to America for an estate of that value. He replied, he would have gone to the devil.

When a man can take up a fortune at one grasp, it is something easier than sweating out a life to raise one. My Grandfather's neglect of the Yorkshire estate was not his sole oversight. A person of the name of' Hutton, about a second cousin, had spent 40 years as coachman in the Curzon family, and saved about a thousand pounds. Thomas, though his nearest relation, and urged by his friends, who made no doubt of his having all, refused the acquaintance of this man. The consequence was--he had nothing.

This quiet being, this milk-and-water character, who was extremely respected as having never been concerned in a quarrel, done an ill thing, or said an ill-natured one, died of a decline three weeks before Christmas, in 1708, at the age of forty-nine. He was about five feet three inches.

Of the remaining nine children, who were contemporary with the present Thomas (my Grandfather) and descended from the last, I can give but little account; some of them, I apprehend, died in infancy. The eldest was Elizabeth, afterwards married to one Gilbert, a blacksmith. She was said to have enjoyed the honour of supplying Derby with oat-cakes during threescore years. She survived the other nine. I personally knew her; a little old woman, as cross in her temper as ill-nature could make her. She died in 1734, at the age of seventy-three, without a mourner.

was another, of whom I am obliged to be silent.

another. This man purchased the house East of St. Mary's bridge, now the site of the China works, for £35, but being master of only £28, he mortgaged the premises to Mr. Crompton, a banker, for the other seven. Becoming old, poor, and inheriting the indolence of the Hutton family, he suffered the trifling interest to remain unpaid, till the mortgagee seized the premises. The freehold, in 1743, became the property of my father, who assigned over his interest to Mr. Crompton for a guinea. Thus it appears that my family were as little able to keep as to acquire property.

was the youngest of the ten children. She married a Boltbee, whom I knew. He died in 1728. They left a daughter, who died in 1743 unmarried.

Thus we have wandered through the third generation, consisting of something like this, 0000000000, ten cyphers. No issue survives except from the eldest, my Grandfather, the third Thomas, so that we are again reduced to a single head.

The children of the third Thomas (my Grandfather) were six. The two first died in very early life, of whom nothing can be said, except that they slept before their time; nor is it of much consequence whether a man sleeps at one, or one hundred. When the candle is out, no matter how long it has burnt. The other children were, Thomas, William (my father), George, and Catherine, of whom in order.

The eldest of the surviving children, was born in 1687. He was one of the finest characters I ever heard of; and, in point of temper, filial duty, amiable manners, prudent conduct, industry, and religion, he stands at the head of the Hutton family. His genius was singular, in executing whatever he undertook; his handwriting surpassed that of most masters, his mechanical knowledge was wonderful.

Arriving at man's estate, he paid his addresses to a girl of the name of Catherine Magson, but the affair terminated in addresses. Afterwards the next brother William (my father) courted her, but their love ended as the last. These weighty concerns being finished, the flame of love kindled in the breast of George, the youngest brother, but it expired like the two former. I knew this woman twenty-five years after, in 1743, and was not surprized that they desisted, but that they ever made the attempt. I thought her one of the most large and masculine of her sex. I concluded she rather courted them than they her. I saw her handle a sword with the graces of a dragoon. How this could tally with domestic happiness is doubtful. What may we expect when a woman steps out of her sex? I thought this Amazonian female better adapted to kill with her hand than her eye.

Thomas, from the age of twenty, when he lost his father, supported a poor mother and a young sister by his hand labour. Fr6m the, same source he paid all his father's debts.

He died of a mortification in the bowels, in 1717, at the age of twenty-nine. He was about five feet ten inches.

The second son of the third Thomas, born July 95, 1691. His name would have been James, after his uncle, but party-spirit running high at the revolution between the contending sovereigns, James and William, and his father being a partizan of William, he called hint after that monarch, which introduced the name into the family.

During his minority, he swept the school for his education, and was farther employed in procuring food for his father's hogs, play for himself,; and apples by every means he could devise. One of these was as follows. His father's landlord not having room to deposit, his crop of apples from the adjoining orchard, requested the tenant to let them lie till wanted in his garret, which was guarded by a trap door. No cunning exceeds that of a child when interest prevails. William procured a long stick, which terminated in a hook, and, rising one stair higher than his own height, raised the door with his head, and drew as many apples every day as he chose to eat. He soon looked pale, lost his appetite, and seemed approaching a consumption, but the heap of apples was found in a real one. Many bushels were missing, and his father gave him the most severe of all his corrections.

He was bound apprentice to Moses Orme, a woolcomber, Jan. 1, 1709, three weeks after the death of his father, and at the age of seventeen and a half; consequently his servitude could not expire till he arrived at the mature age of twenty-four and a half, which further indicates the supineness of the Hutton temper.

During his servitude, he acquired thirty pounds over-work, which supported him in a creditable style of dress, and enabled him to purchase a watch, rare in those early days. In the interval between the expiration of his servitude and his marriage, which was two years, he dressed gaily, took care of his person, played at bowls, carried the finest head of hair in Derby, and at the same time carried within a considerable share of pride; and nothing is more laudable than pride, guided by reason: it keeps a man out of many a mischief. The girls thought him a handsome man.

Unfortunately, in this interval, a cold settling in his right eye, he was directed to one Finney, an eye-doctor, who, undertook to cure him, with the blessing of God, and whenever he applied a nostrum, put up a prayer for its success. But auxiliary powers were needless; for, by his own applications, he drew the very eye-ball out of his head, and it hung upon the cheek by the two ligaments, like the egg of a bird upon a string. I heard him say, that through excruciating pain, he had not one hour's sleep during three weeks. The eye was again deposited in its socket, and moved with the other, but was for ever deprived of sight, and continued to increase in size during life.

Feb. 8, 1718, he married Anne the daughter of Mathew Ward, Grocer, of Mountsorrel, by whom he had nine children, who will compose our fifth generation. Whether my parents married from love or custom is uncertain, for I never saw any endearments pass between them. My mother was approaching the middle size, had very dark hair, was a brown beauty, with eyes perfectly black.

Soon after marriage, my father became a master in the little way, as every man must who begins with nothing. But his family rapidly increasing, and he having no economy or talents for trade, he failed in six years for a few trifling debts, amounting in the whole to about fifty pounds, most of which his effects discharged.

And now poverty stared him in the face. Employment, as well as prudence, was wanting, to which was added the dead weight of five small children. This happened in the year 1725.

Every future view of prosperity was now closed; and the mind, sinking under misfortunes, became incapable of exertion. His occupation taught him to drink, which be learned with willingness, while his family wanted bread. Memory could point out many a dreadful situation in which we were placed during the eight ensuing years. My poor mother more than once, one infant on her knee, and a few more banging about her, have all fasted a whole day; and when food arrived, she has suffered them, with a tear, to take her share. Time produced nothing but tatters and children.

On Christmas-day 1728, a knife was wanted for dinner; and as my father was never in the habit of buying, except ale, he sent my sister from King's Street to the Morlege to borrow one. She did not succeed; but on her return she found one, which proved exactly the thing wanted; and I well remember there was great joy over a trifle. Success supplied the want of value.

My mother was an exceedingly prudent woman, but prudence itself can never make the marriage state happy, except practised by both parties. She was praised and respected by, all who knew her. My father and she lived together fifteen years, when she died of her ninth child, March 9, 1733, at the age of 41.

And now the restraints of a wife ceasing, and the children being too young to influence, my father seemed to relinquish the cares of a parent. At her death he was left with five children, Catherine, aged fourteen years, residing with her aunts at Swithland, Thomas ten, William (myself) nine, Anne two, and Samuel, five weeks, which last was put out to a wet nurse.

My father was peculiarly circumstanced in a love affair. While a bachelor, about the year 1716, he had paid his addresses to a young woman who favoured his suit. It happened that she married another man, and he another woman, both less beloved. She buried her husband, and be his wife, and in 1735 they became lovers again; but this, like the first attempt, miscarried, and each married another a second time. He assured me in 1747, that "he loved her better than any woman he ever "saw." In 1753 I first saw her, and became acquainted with her; she appeared to be a person of good sense. By this time she had had three husbands, and he three wives. I asked her if she had loved my father, and why the match did not take effect? She assured me he had her whole heart; but gave me to understand that her father's consent, in the first instance, had been wanting.

My mother being gone, and my father's talents no way adapted to housekeeping, he immediately sold up, spent the money, and, with his three remaining children, took lodgings with Mary Sore, a widow, who also held the freehold of three young sons and one daughter; and now his three forlorn children suffered all those evils which naturally flow from the neglect of a parent. Though my brother and I laboured daily, we experienced the want of bread, of apparel, and seemed little beings whom nobody owned. But the poor child Anne fared much worse. Unable to use her feet, she lay neglected upon the floor, or fixed in a chair during the day, till I returned from the silk-mill in the evening, when she rejoiced to see me; for the little remaining time was devoted to her amusement. But, alas! it was of little avail, for in five months she died through neglect. My father loved her, and wept sorely at her death, as I weep now at the remembrance; but, overwhelmed with poverty, he lost all command over his conduct.

Mary Sore, I thought, rather rejoiced at the death of my poor little sister; perhaps for two reasons, to divert my father, but chiefly, because one obstacle was removed which might retard a future union.

With Mary Sore, who was a fine figure, tolerably handsome, and intolerably ignorant, completely vulgar, and completely filthy, he continued ten years. It may fairly be supposed that a man and woman thus situated would become lovers. He faintly courted her, she strenuously courted him, and, which is a common case, the more she advanced the more he retreated. However, matters, I believe, would have terminated in a matrimonial issue, had not half a dozen children stood in the way. Love, if not founded upon the purest principles, will, like your coat, wear to rags. This was the case before us.

We might reasonably suppose, a man of forty-three, who had lost an eye, and was encumbered with four or five children, would stand upon the lowest terms of favour with the fair sex. But the very reverse was the fact. During the ten years of his being a widower he courted several women, both maids and widows, and governed them all, yet all loved him.

Mary Sore was extremely jealous of these women, often dreamed on the subject, and sent for the old damsels of the neighbourhood, skilled in dreams, to interpret them. Coffee-grounds were most earnestly wished for, but they were out of the reach of the pocket. However, a rusty pack of cards was procured, which was the grand urim and thummin. These, by cutting, shuffling, and placing in various directions, were to solve every question in love. They were to tell what he would say to Mary, and if out, whether he was gone to one of her rivals, and what would be the result. Though the sorceress, for a pipe of tobacco, chose to prophesy favourably, yet the queen of hearts and the king of spades were often in malign aspect.

My father was informed in the beginning of 1743, that Benjamin Gudger, a person he had well known forty years, was taken ill, and could not recover. His wife entering a public house one morning where my father was drinking, he behaved to her with uncommon civility, pressed her to stay, and he would treat her with a glass of whatever she should chuse. She was surprized at this singular attention, which followed former cold civility. He understood it, and so did she, six months after, when the husband was dead, and he offered her another.

He married her at Michaelmas that year, and she paid him good interest for staying ten, for she was a most excellent woman. I am sorry I cannot bestow the same epithet upon him. He observed at her funeral, "She might have "human infirmities, but she had not one fault." We may reasonably conclude, if a wife has no faults, a husband ought to behave as if she had none. Two amiable wives are more than one man has a right to expect, especially if he ventures upon widows, the remains of whose first love are not extinguished. They lived together five years, and he lost her in November 1748, after giving her many a bitter pill.

Losing his second wife, he continued a widower four years; when, in 1750, he ventured upon a third wife, another widow; but, alas! his authority began to fail; diseases began to approach, particularly the stone, attended with a paralytic affection, which entirely broke up his constitution. And now the tables were turned; for, instead of that attention which he experienced from his two former wives, this treated him with great unkindness; and, as he could not make resistance, he often felt the weight of her hand. This ought to be a lesson against marrying in advanced life, for love is not apt to take root after forty, especially in a second venture. After a miserable life, pressed down by affliction, he departed Dec. 13, 1758, at the age of sixty-seven. Five feet seven, corpulent, weighing about sixteen stone.

The powers of his mind were strong. His memory was tenacious, and his head well stored with knowledge. His judgment was frequently sought after in critical cases. I remember at Christmas 1738 being in his company, when a dispute arose concerning a point of law. He decided the question, and, as I thought, fairly; but was contradicted, which always hurt him. He remarked, "From a gentleman the decision would have passed, but not from a poor wool-comber." It afterwards appeared he was right.

He was fond of reading, but never purchased a book. He supported his literary existence by borrowing, and often forgot to return. He spoke as correctly as if trained to letters. Had he been born in affluence, he might have figured in the world, but penury damps every rising idea.

He was by far the most eloquent speaker I ever heard in low life, and nearly the best in any life. His manner was decisive, his words were well adapted to the subject, and flowed with ease. Perhaps this was a loss to his family; for his company was coveted by all who knew him. But with all these accomplishments he had no idea of business or economy. Severity to children was one of his maxims, which I have since found erroneous; for reason opens in a child at a very early period, and he is easier drawn than driven. But, with all my father's errors, I cannot forbear revering his memory.

He was of an even tempers Not addicted to laughter himself, yet could, when he pleased, make others laugh. He said many smart things, and knew how to set the company upon the tip-toe of mirth.

Like his ancestors he was an advocate for religion, and he attended public worship when liquor suffered him to take care of his person. He read, and taught his children to read, religious books; and made many resolutions against intemperance, which were dispersed by a pot of ale.

I went from Nottingham, March 6, 1742, to see a contested election between Pole and Duncannon, and, looking into my father's pocket-book, I found this resolution written a month before; "O Lord, by thy assistance, I will not enter a public house on this side Easter." This proves how heavy his conduct hung upon his mind. This resolution, like many others, was forgotten. He was intoxicated during the whole of my stay, which was from Saturday morning till Sunday night. When in liquor he was good-natured. His children knew his weak side, and omitted to ask a favour till the barrel worked.

I have now a shorter life to write, but a most amiable character to draw. Of the three brothers, the eldest and the youngest were among the best of the human race, the middle one excelled in mental powers. The two former might be held up to guide the passenger in the right way, and the last to avoid the wrong.

George was born March 11, 1695. I never heard that he entered upon any employment till put apprentice to a stocking-maker.

During his apprenticeship, the rebellion in 1715 broke out, when he entered as a dragoon in the service of the Crown, under General Carpenter. The regiment was at the battle of Preston; but he, with the rest of the recruits, was left to guard the baggage.

The rebellion being quelled, he, with many others, was discharged, without having been long enough in the service to assume the uniform. This flimsy contest being over, he returned to his master during the remainder of his time, which was two years, and attended so closely to business that he earned near ten pounds over-work. At his out-come, the master, sensible of his merit, declared "he would walk one hundred miles for a servant as valuable."

This worthy and industrious son and brother then entered upon house-keeping; and, as his eldest brother was dead, maintained his sister till she married in 1726, and his mother till her death in 1727.

Although he had no pretensions to a handsome person, I am apprized of three amours which he had upon his hands while a bachelor. The first was with a country girl, of very plain manners. Those who are adepts in courtship are well acquainted with the little arts of winning; as, the pleasing smile, the meaning look, the gentle tap, the soft squeeze of the hand, the endearing word, the embrace, and the harmless kiss. She, however, would suffer none of these; but ordered him to keep his distance, "for she could hear him if he stood two yards off." The prohibitions of the fair are sometimes disregarded. George forgot to keep them, and made his approaches beyond the line, but met reproof in the following dialect: "Luc yo now, conna yo ston there and I ston here, I con hear wot yo han to se." George, disliking the distance, dropt the pursuit.

A person of the name of Abraham Taylor, whom I well knew, had observed George's conduct, and wished him to marry his daughter, but did not know how to open the affair, for they were no farther acquainted than a bow, as attending the same place of worship. He watched an opportunity of opening a conversation, accompanied with a smile, and, in the course of chat, told George he was going three miles into the country, and should be glad of his company. The offer was accepted. While on the road, words seemed to labour in Taylor's breast, from which he knew not how to deliver them. This being observed by my uncle, "You seem, sir, to have something to say to me." This broke the ice, and concluded with offering his daughter and a fortune many times larger than his own. A courtship opened, which soon closed, when Mr. Taylor quarreled with my uncle, and was near striking him for ill-treating his daughter. But George modestly told him, "if he did strike, he would not return the blow, that he had no disrespect to the girl, or any of the family, but that he thought the first requisite in a married state was love, and, as he could not fix his affections upon her, he had too much regard for her to be the author of her misery."

The third (exclusive of Catherine Magson mentioned in the life of Thomas) was Miss Betsey. Whether she was handsome I cannot say. At the age of forty-five I knew her well, but the time to decide the question was past. She had many lovers besides my uncle, and, like a miser, was still grasping at more. She was a wholesale trader in human beings. Vanity prompted her to form a muster-roll of her lovers. Vanity then did a worse thing, for it tempted her to shew the list. The circumstance reached the ears of her parents, who demanded a sight of the roll. It was found to contain exactly twenty names. Her parents shewed great displeasure, ordered her to quit this vile recruiting trade, and instantly fix upon, the man she preferred to the others for a husband. She named George Hutton. My uncle was then given to understand that he might marry Miss Betsey; but, by this time, the list had been handed about, and my uncle, who had heard of it, was afraid of being one of twenty, though the first. He thought, if she retained twenty, men while single, one might not satisfy her when married; he, therefore, declined the blessing.

Being unfortunately reduced to nineteen lovers, Miss Betsey was now required to name the next upon the roll. She fixed upon John Hall. He gloried in disappointing eighteen anxious expectants, and eagerly seized the prize. The little loves that wait upon marriage flew around the happy pair; but it was soon found they were birds of passage, for they flew away. She often struck fire, and he quickly caught the flame. Each passed through life with a clog at the heels, and both ended their days in the workhouse.

In 1728, George Hutton married Elizabeth, the daughter of Thomas Spiby, of Nottingham, who brought him neither money nor children. This union induced him to quit Derby, and reside there. Notwithstanding the female taxes upon his industry, of a mother and sister, he had acquired, by the year 1732, nearly £100.

One Tortoishell, an intimate acquaintance, entered into the hosiery line in London, and having purchased goods of George and others of his friends to a large amount, he decamped with the whole, and defrauded them all. I believe my uncle got nothing in return but two useless journeys to London. Thus, at one blow, went his little capital, which had cost him many years in accumulating, and he was left totally unable to satisfy his creditors.

Honest in principle, and not accustomed to be dunned, he laboured night and day at the most unproductive of trades till he had paid all their demands. Fourteen years after, he remarked to me, while on his death-bed, that Tortoishell had left him fourscore pounds worse than nothing, but that he had paid it, and acquired fourscore since.

I served seven years as an apprentice to this worthy man, whose person I loved, and whose memory I revere, notwithstanding he once beat me to that degree, and with an unmerciful broom-stick of white hazle, that I thought he would have fractured my bones and dislocated my joints, and for a trifling error, scarcely deserving a reprimand; but he was influenced by passion, and possessed of power, and I was obliged to submit. I shall relate this more at large in my own life. Notwithstanding this circumstance, I never knew a better husband, son, brother, or master.

There has been something peculiarly melancholy in the latter days of the existence of the members of the Hutton family. The little good fortune experienced through life, if any, has vanished, their remaining moments have been embittered, and they have departed in wretchedness, want, and distress. Their weekly earnings being small, and consumed as soon as earned, nothing has remained for sickness, age, or accident. Deprived of the benefits of their own labour, they have been dependant on the scanty succour of others. My Grandfather, the third Thomas, sustained a long decline, and, as the maintenance of his wife and children chiefly arose from the labour of his hands, distress and dependance followed. His son, my father, during the last six years of his life, groaned under the palsy, the stone, severe poverty, and the greater severity of a cruel wife. His brother, my uncle George, the present subject, was a man of a cheerful temper, who, in his passage through the world, did all that prudence could suggest, to keep things together, and secure independence. Two years prior to his death, disorders began to rise, and Nature to sink. He had five apprentices, meant to assist in family support. During the first six months two became out of their time, whom, he could not replace; and a few weeks after, the other three ran, away without cause, and never, returned, but to harass him. I could enumerate other instances.

My uncle George died Sept. 19, 1746, owing to the breaking of a blood-vessel, by straining to vomit, in a fit of the gravel, at the age of fifty-one, and thus escaped the poverty which began to stare him in the face. He was about five feet seven inches, of a thin habit, and dark complexion.

The only daughter and youngest child of the third Thomas, was born in 1699, in the same house as her brother George, at the, bottom of St. Helen's walk. She was supported by her br6ther, as observed above, till mature age, when she was employed at the silk-mill.

She possessed a large share of sense and beauty; and her brother still maintaining her, gave her an advantage beyond her equals; for while other girls divided their daily earnings between their back and their stomach, she laid all hers upon the former. This made her fortune; for as the best in every sphere holds a pre-eminence, she was singled out by a master of the works, Samuel Fletcher, who married her in 1726, and retired to his estate at Standbach, in the county of Hereford. Here she enjoyed affluence and happiness. She died of an asthma in 1768, at the age of sixty-nine, leaving two sons and two daughters. Her Son now enjoys the estate.

Her person was of the larger size, brown and ruddy, with dark eyes; her gait and manner were majestic, her judgment just, and her sense masculine. She spoke with fluency, and much to the purpose. Yet with all these qualifications she was tinctured with a most unaccountable species of paltry pride. Thus one scabbed sheep spoils the flock. She was so ashamed of her mean origin, that it was kept a profound secret from the world, and particularly from the neighbourhood where she resided. Nay, her children knew no more of her life before marriage, than the children born in Egypt. The more she endeavoured to conceal it, the more the neighbours tried to make the discovery. This proved a continual worm upon the mind. As poverty is no crime, she ought not to have been impressed with shame. Her smile would have disappointed malignant reflection. She secretly prohibited a visit from her relations, except they could appear in a creditable style, and even then they were enjoined silence. My father, in the momentary effusions of love, mentioned a visit. "She wished he would come well dressed, and on horseback, because all her husband's relations were genteel." My brother visited her on foot: his reception did not strike him with joy. She understood I kept a horse. "Why did not William come?" Had I visited her in my own carriage, I must have been received with open arms.

Thus we have drawn our line through four descents. As Thomas, the eldest son in this generation, died a bachelor, and as George, the youngest, never had issue, we are again reduced to one stem, William (my father), which shews we are not a prolific race, and that we can barely keep the name alive.

William, by his first wife Anne, had nine children: Catherine, Anne, who died young, Thomas, William (myself), Matthew, George, a second Anne, and John, who all four died in infancy, and Samuel. Of the four surviving children, in order.

The daughter of William, born Dec. 11, 1718, was early bred by her mother to industry, and in infancy acquired a character for sense and conduct. At ten she left her mother, whom she ardently loved, but saw no more, to reside with two cross aunts at Swithland near Mountsorrel, who carried on the tripartite calling of mercer, grocer, and village milliner.

Being handsome, Catherine was, at twelve, singled out by William Perkins, a neighbour, and a taylor, a personable figure with a slender capacity, of astonishing industry and complete economy, who for thirteen years adhered as closely to her as to himself.

At twenty she chose to enter into service, and lived with a Dissenting minister at Reresby in Leicestershire, about five years, when he died. In this servitude she gave the utmost satisfaction, for she was never bidden twice to do the same thing. As the family declined house-keeping, they recommended her to the service of Mr. Ambrose Rudsdall, another Dissenting minister, at Gainsborough.

During the interval between quitting one service and entering upon the other, William Perkins had the address to gain her consent to a private marriage, which she granted upon three express conditions: that he should resign the office of clerk of Swithland Church; that she would reside wherever he pleased except at Swithland; and, as she had promised to serve at Gainsborough, she would not break her word, but would serve one year. All which were readily granted on his side, and the marriage on hers, in August 1743.

She resided two years in this service, when her mistress died; the master quitted the place William took a house in Mountsorrel, and they resided together three months.

In January 1746 she came to Nottingham to see her friends. My uncle George, among other remarks, hoped she was happily married. She replied in a tone of dissonance, and shook the head, though I cannot, after fifty-two years, give the expression. And now opened a sorrowful scene; disagreement followed disagreement for more than three months, without any alledgment of consequence on either side; but it was easy to see the heart was wanting.

Her friends promoted a reconciliation, in which I took the lead; and William Perkins purchased a house in Mountsorrel, where they were to be happy during life. Still matters returned to their former untoward state. An unwillingness for the house began to appear on his part. The title was defective. He would reside no where but at Swithland, Where she would not. The separation continued, without plan, without design. She never quitted Nottingham, nor did they ever after live one day together. This disagreement upon nothing, astonished the friends of both.

Her aversion seemed to increase. He approached her with a small degree of fear, and I have seen her turn sick at the sight. From 1746 to 1750 she resided in Barward-lane, laboured hard at the spinning-wheel, and my brother Thomas and I resided with her as lodgers. All thoughts of a union were given up.

In March 1755 I paid her a visit at Nottingham, after an absence of five years. One evening when she and I were left alone, the unfortunate marriage was brought up. I could not forbear expressing my surprize that two prudent people, who could agree with every one else, could not agree with each other. She told me she never had an affection for any man; that she had thought so little upon the subject of love, that she scarcely deemed it necessary in marriage, and could not conceive how she was persuaded to give her hand. That the cause of disagreement between her and William Perkins (for she could not call him husbands as she conceived they were not lawfully married) lay within her own breast, and never was or should be revealed to any one. That she had written down her sentiments, and at her death a writing would be found, specifying the reasons of her conduct.

She lived thirty-three years after this declaration, followed in retired life the drapery business, and acquired a fortune of more than £1500, although she passed a life of bodily affliction, which proved expensive;

She died Feb. 26, 1786, at the age of sixty-seven, much lamented, when the writing alluded to thirty-three years before was found, containing nearly these words: "I never could consider William Perkins as my husband; by any law divine or human; for the design of marriage is to increase and multiply; therefore I cannot be deemed his wife, because I never knew him as a husband.

Thus the fatal secret was disclosed, which modesty had concealed forty-three years.

Her person was tail and slender, her complexion fair, her hair light. In youth she was, very handsome. Her conduct in domestic life was a perfect pattern of prudence, her temper even, her manner commanding. Her judgment, in difficult cases, was solicited by all who knew her. She was fond of retirement, and of reading, had a most retentive memory, was punctual in her dealings, extensive in her charities, to which she appropriated the daily sum of sixpence, exclusive of charities of the larger kind, such as £20 towards erecting a Meeting-house, &c. I apprehend she left the world without an enemy, except it was those who, in the line of business, had cheated her.

The following is her character, drawn by my daughter Catherine Hutton:

My aunt had a spirit of dominion which drew every human being round her into its vortex. Born with talents to command an empire, she governed every creature that approached her. But as this spirit of domination was directed by a judgment that was always right, and accompanied by a benevolence that was always sincere, she was more beloved than feared.

After she had determined not to live with her husband, she was left without friends, except her two brothers, something younger than herself. To these one would naturally imagine she would have looked for protection and assistance. No. She took a house, maintained herself by spinning, lodged her brothers, and though both are the most sensible men ever found in that station, and my father one of the most sensible ever found in any, she prescribed to them their way of life, regulated their expences, dictated what they should pay to her, and governed them like children.

When my father found the stocking-frame too narrow for his talents, she was the only one of his friends who encouraged him to quit it, and settle as a bookseller in Birmingham; every one else threatened him with ruin. Her comprehensive mind took in his capacity and frugality, and the probability of his success. But she not only encouraged him by her advice, she assisted him with money to purchase his stock, and defray necessary expences; and without her having possessed any other means of accumulating money than servitude and spinning, he left Nottingham fifteen pounds in her debt. She also lent him a uniform set of the Spectator, Tatler, and Guardian, which Mr. Rudsdall, her former master, had made her a present of, like the monsters in the shop of Shakespeare's apothecary, to make up a show; but, like the guineas in the pocket of the Vicar of Wakefield's daughters, with strict, orders never to part with them. In this, however, he ventured to disobey her, and was severely chidden for it.

After my father had left her, May 24, 1750, my uncle still continued to lodge with her, and she took an illness in consequence of removing to a damp house, as extraordinary as the subject of it. The circumstances cannot now be remembered, but I think I recollect her saying she had no evacuations for six weeks. She kept her bed nearly a year, during which time she subsisted upon her former earnings. She was attended by Dr. Davison, the first physician in Nottingham, who at last said to her, "Madam, I confess I do not understand your case, and I can do nothing for you."

She then procured Owen's Dictionary, read night and day in bed, sent at times my uncle, and a woman who attended her, and who both obeyed her orders with the greatest punctuality for different remedies, which she thought might suit her complaints. At length she cured herself, to the great astonishment of her physician, who occasionally visited her as a friend. In the course of her illness there was one night on which she thought she felt death approaching, and believed she should not live till morning. She directed her brother where to find her money, and delivered it to him, bidding him keep it; and, in case his brother Samuel should ever return from the army, share it with him. It was ten pounds, all in silver. He kept it about five weeks, when she was recovering, and he returned it.

The first time she went out was in a sedan chair, and she could not bear the light of day, but was obliged to draw the curtains. This illness happened in 1756. On her recovery she laid by spinning, and commenced draper and haberdasher; kept no shop, but sold her goods in a private manner at her own house to those who knew her; and at a covered stall in the market on a Saturday to all corners. Here her ascendancy again shewed itself. She got a set of customers, chiefly of the poorer sort, to whom she dictated what they wanted, how much they wanted, and by what instalments she would be paid. And in this latter part of the convention, such was the love they bore her, and such the awe in which they stood of her, they seldom failed. To chance customers there was something of dignity in her manner, and, if they gave unnecessary trouble, of haughtiness.

In 1758, my father, established in business, thought he could do better for his brother than his own slow motions, though counteracted by industry and frugality, could do at the stocking-frame; and he sent for him to Birmingham. It was now that my aunt fitted out her, eldest brother for his launching into the world, as she had before done her second. She furnished him with necessaries, and made him out a bill which came to three guineas. "Brother," said she, "this is what you owe me. If you are ever able to pay me, I expect you will; if not, I forgive you." She then made him a present of half a crown, and bade him farewell. It is needless to say he paid her, as my Father had done before. This circumstance my uncle told me to-day, June 10, 1798, while the tears ran down his cheeks, and his voice was interrupted by his emotion.

Her youngest brother, Samuel, alone now remained to be provided for. He who had relished a soldier's life while a bachelor, grew weary of it when encumbered with a wife and two children. In 1763 she bought his discharge, bore his expences out of Scotland, supported his family, and set him up in his trade of whip-making. Thus did this extraordinary woman throw the golden ball into the lap of each of her three brothers; but the youngest had neither the spirit and activity of my father, nor the patient endurance of labour of my uncle, nor the frugality of either. He was a tax upon her bounty as long as she lived.

During the last twenty years of her life my aunt lived alone. She would not be troubled with a servant, and no friend, or even customer, dared to call at certain hours. Indeed her habit of body, since her illness, would not always allow of interruption. One of her nieces, Samuel's daughter, was let in at a regular hour to do the daily work of the house, and go on errands, and dismissed when these were over.

My aunt was naturally devout, and for the first fifty years of her life, was a rigid Calvinist, believing that religion alone right, though not condemning those who went wrong. She then became a zealous Sandemanian, a sect who form themselves on the example of the Apostles, without considering that the brotherly love and common right of property, which were necessary in an infant church, would be absurd in an extensive one. How far my aunt conformed to these principles I know not. She was above deceit. No doubt the brethren were satisfied with what she distributed, and what she withheld. I am sure that her own conscience would be her sole director, and I know that her sense and fortune made her one of the chief pillars of this little church. (Thus far my daughter, Catherine Hutton.)

The eldest son of William, was born June 20, 1722, and, during infancy, and his Father's misfortune in trade, was taken under the protection of his uncle George, who behaved to him with the greatest tenderness.

He was put to school, but had no need of being taught his book, for he seemed, by a kind of instinct, to learn without. By the time he was seven, he was master of the Jewish history, as recorded by Moses and the succeeding rulers of the Jewish empire. He then began the Latin tongue; but, alas, fortune was unfavourable to letters, for at eight he was obliged to forsake every pursuit for bread, and was forced to attend the Silk-mill as an apprentice for seven years, from five in the morning till seven at night. Thus a rising genius was cramped, and every prospect of future life clouded.

I well remember, at this early period he was singularly well acquainted with the History of England, had imbibed a set of political opinions, and frequently, in conversation with the masters of the mill, with the utmost modesty in some cases, he set them right, and in others, set them fast. He bore the character of a boy of peace and knowledge, but never had the art of putting himself forward. During eight years attendance upon that place, remarkable for ignorance and vulgarity, I do not recollect what he ever had the least difference with any one.

In 1738, he quitted the mill, and was bound apprentice to his uncle George Hutton, a stocking-maker at Nottingham. These seven years he served with the same steadiness and peace as he had done the former seven at the mill. Slow in action, constant at his work or his book, but clumsy at his play, which he never courted, and in which he never shone, his life was a scene of clock-work, and, like the clock, he had but one pace.

His servitude being expired on his birth-day, June 20, 1745, at the age of twenty-three, for he was sixteen before he was placed out as an apprentice, another instance of family neglect, he commenced journeyman, and lived upon the frame, or rather starved, during thirteen years. From the steady stroke he kept up, of rising, working, eating, resting, this long interval does not afford me one incident to record. How difficult then is the historian's task, to write upon nothing!

In 1758, I invited him to reside with me at Birmingham, in quality of an assistant. He has now, July 1, 1798, his birth-day, been my faithful servant forty years, my staunch friend seventy-one, and my worthy brother seventy-five. Out of the above seventy-five we have resided together sixty-seven.

Life in him is slow in all her motions. I do not recollect that he was ever in a hurry, or performed one quick action. In 1772, at the age of fifty, an age when the generality of men decline matrimony, he entered into it. But though his actions differed from those of the world, they rarely differed from prudence. After the moderate courtship of twice seven years, he married Martha Parkes of Wordsley, in the county of Stafford, who perfectly answered his wish. By her he had two sons, George, who died in infancy; the other, Thomas, who is extremely handsome and extremely idle, will be reserved for the sixth generation.

This amiable but most uncommon character, my brother, has much the size and temper of his Grandfather. Like him, I believe he would, not have ventured to Northallerton for the same estate. He never thought riches contributed to happiness; therefore, though an economist, he never wished for them, but often weighed his own portion of content against the affluence, of others, and found his scale preponderate.

Man's life is said to be chequered. His has beep as even as a fine-spun thread; an extended age without novelty. The history of a day is the history of his life. It may be said of him,

He work'd and ate, he read and slept, unknown to sorrow,
Will work and eat, will read and sleep, just so to-morrow.

No man perhaps, ever lived 76 years in a narrower circle. Inoffensive as an infant, he never said, or did harm, except by mistake. He is a man of thought, and possessed of a most astonishing memory. Every incident, date, and character of moment, in the History of England, during the last seven hundred years, he retains without trouble to himself.

One of the singular traits of his character proceeded from his own mouth. He remarked, while standing at the fire with my son, and Samuel Hutton, a child of eleven, Grandson to my brother Samuel, that he had lived 76 years, and had never been asked for money! neither had any man, probably in his station, accumulated a Library equal to his! This consisted of about 200 volumes [2].

The second son of William, born Sept. 30, 1723. As my life differs materially from the lives of my ancestors,--as rising to greater elevation, conducting a Court of Requests during nineteen years, and being an Author, have brought me upon the public stage,--the insertion of my History, in its proper place, would, by its length, have broken the line of descent.

Born Feb. 2, 1733. That day at noon, Friday, my mother said to me, "Perhaps you will have a little brother by the time you return from the mill at night." This happened accordingly. I was so pleased with the sight of the little red-faced dear, that I declared "he should never want money while I had any;" but I have since seen reason to repent the promise. My mother died the day five weeks after her delivery, of a cold caught by rinsing clothes in cold water during her lying-in.

As she saw her end approaching, she cast a melancholy eye upon her two babes in arms, Anne and Samuel, and wished, with a sigh, they might go before her, for they would be neglected if left. Her remark, without the aid of prophecy, was ratified, for Anne was carried to the grave five months after, through bad, or rather no nursing; and Samuel, the subject of my pen, who has now lived 65 years, has seen many sorrows. The parent's favourite is usually the youngest, but the reverse was his lot.

My Father had no violent love for any of his children, but the, least of all for the last, although deprived of the tenderness of a mother, which ought to have excited compassion. I have reason to believe he never gave him a kiss during his whole life, and I have the same inducement to believe he never gave me one, till I was 23 years of age, nor should I have been favoured with that, though the favourite son, had he been sober, but we all know liquor inspires the man.

Samuel was sent to nurse with Joseph and Sarah Knowles, at Mackworth, and was treated with all the tenderness humanity could wish during three years, for eighteen pence a week.

My Father courted Mary Sore, a selfish widow with whom we lodged, and as he thought eighteen pence too much, she, the better to secure his affections, offered to board him for a shilling. Bargains between lovers are smoothly contracted, and my brother Thomas and I were sent to Mackworth, to bring Samuel back. Nothing could surpass the bitterness of soul in the afflicted nurse, at parting with him. She saw the result, offered to abate her price rather than part with the child; but tears are vain when profit steps in. We brought him from a state of perfect happiness to complete misery. His Father treated him with severity; the widow, with the worst of food that could be bought or begged, with lodging beneath that of a dog, and with punishment whenever she pleased. His father's hand was in her power. This scene continued seven years. If ever love subsists between a parent and child, the parent must begin first, then the building rises from its proper foundation.

In 1743, at the age of ten, he was placed as an apprentice to his uncle George Hutton at Nottingham. Thus through the indolence of my father, in not procuring proper trades, all his three sons were brought up in one house to that starving business, weaving of stockings.

It soon appeared that this dull occupation was very unsuitable to the active spirit of the child. He followed it three years, during which period he ran away about ten times, and in 1746 for the last.

The conduct of many fathers and masters in training up children is very censurable. The child's temper is seldom attended to, and the rough hand is employed to force, instead of the smooth tongue to guide: hence we take ten times more trouble to ruin than would save. When a teacher draws, he treads upon sure ground, but when he drives, nineteen wrong ways are taken for one right. Nay, as every human being wishes to be master of his own actions, the best mode of education is to guide without seeming to guide.

Samuel did not return till 1751. During these five years his adventures and hardships were innumerable and astonishing, such as would well become a circulating library, but they are too voluminous for admission here. He appeared an animal cut off from the only world in which he was made to exist.

At the above date he was bound apprentice to a collar and whip maker, at the advanced age of eighteen, but it was now too late to begin a new life, and correct those wandering thoughts which had strayed for seven years. And as the master was as great a rover as himself, they both went into the army, the man first in the 12th regiment of foot, and the master into a regiment of dragoons. They met in Germany in the war of 1756, under Prince Ferdinand. The master lost his life.

At the battle of---------the grenadiers were marching three deep up a hill, Samuel in the rear rank. The front man, directly before him, was shot dead. The centre man, marching to the spot, took up the dead man's knapsack, and, at that instant was shot himself. Samuel, in three seconds, arrived at the same spot, and expected the same fate.

During Samuel's stay upon the Continent, he married the widow of a soldier who had fallen in battle. By her Samuel had two -sons and two daughters, who will compose part of our sixth generation. After marching in the regiment twelve years as a grenadier, and part of that time as a petty officer, he quitted the service in 1763.

Family consultations were now held relative to his future mode of life. Whip-making was adopted, and followed in a desultory style during some years; but it appeared the soldier had spoiled the tradesman, for now he found no way but that of retreating. When commercial talents have long lain dormant, it is difficult to revive them, and more difficult to create what never existed. I cannot forbear considering that man's case as most unhappy, who is able to labour, unwilling, yet must subsist by labour [3].

We have now drawn the line through five descents of the Hutton family. These generations were continued by a single stem. Only one in an age left descendants. But now the family divides itself into three branches, as all the three sons have issue.

The first of this generation is Thomas, the son of Thomas, my elder brother, an only son, a spoiled child, master of his parents before he ought to hare been master of himself. From his birth to the age of seven he did as he listed, from thence to fourteen as he pleased, and from fourteen to twenty-one there has been no health in him [4].

I perceive this work, contrary to expectation, will be extended to a considerable length. But of all its parts I am now entering upon the most difficult, the delineation of my children. Faithfulness ought to be the guide of the historian, but prejudice will be suspected. I confess my children are my treasure, my happiness. I have ardently wished I might not be separated from them. I have hitherto had my wish. The world would only exhibit a barren desert without them. That I may not split upon the rock I see before me, I shall, as far as I am able, confine myself to facts.

Came into the world before her time, and. perhaps was the smallest human being ever seen. She was so very diminutive, that even a pregnancy in her mother was scarcely discernible. Curiosity led me, when a month old, to shut her up for a moment in the small drawer of a bureau, with all her habiliments: nay, I should have put her in my pocket and shut the lid over her, but through fear of her sustaining some injury. Though she afterwards grew to a proper size, yet she always carried a delicate frame.

This dear little animal had been two days in the world before I took the least notice of her. So intent upon the mother whom I knew and loved, I disregarded the daughter who was a stranger.

It soon appeared that what she wanted in body was given in vivacity. Her spirit was so animated, that the body seemed to be no clog. An astonishing capacity opened, which might be said to take in knowledge without instruction. One instance among many was, that she never was taught to read. She went to a writing-school at nine, where her fame had gone before her; for when she first stood up with the History of England in her hand, Mr. Baker the master said, "Now let us hear a Bishop read."

In temper she is most amiable. Her wish is to do good to all, and she gratifies that wish as much as lies in her power. Her domestic economy is equal to her other qualities. Her filial love was exemplified in attentively watching over a declining mother during seventeen years, the last five of which she was her constant nurse. Whatever lies within the bounds of female reach, she ventures to undertake, and whatever she undertakes is well done.

I cannot refrain from inserting in this place a copy of her Dedication of "The Miser Married," a Novel published by her in 1813. Though its insertion here will have the appearance of Paternal Vanity, I give it as a proof of Filial Affection.

My beloved and respected Father,

To you, from whom I inherit the Faculties which have enabled me to compose a Book, to whose Industry I am indebted for the means of leisure, and by whose Kindness I am permitted to enjoy it, do I dedicate that Book, as I have dedicated my life.

Of your Talents, which have broken through the Fetters of ignorance, I will say nothing. They are before the World, and the World has judged favourably of them. Of your Conduct, I may be allowed to say that its tenor is Independence for yourself, and unlimited Indulgence to all around you. I trust mine has proved that I am not insensible of the Blessing.

To you it is unnecessary, but in this place it is proper, to add that

I am,

Your most grateful

And affectionate Daughter,

Catherine Hutton.

A dreadful tumour in the right breast of his mother, during pregnancy, which threatened to become a cancer, broke at his birth, and denying that nourishment necessary for the child, he dwindled, became rickety, and his life seemed in danger.

My affections were engrossed by the dear little Catherine, who played about me like a puppet. It was some time before I could take my boy into favour. The first emotion of the heart was pity, and this was soon followed by all the endearments of a father. No care was wanting to set him on his feet. As soon as this can be done a child becomes a better nurse to himself than all the world can be to him. We find him always in action, which soon straightens his legs, reduces his bulky wrists, gives him strength, sets him a growing, and forms the man.

Bathing, sliding, schooling, romping, attended with health, carried him to the age of eleven, when his employments were reduced to business and play. He was soon master of figures, and kept his father's accompt-books, till they, and the trade, in 1793, became his own.

Rising towards manhood, my son was first a reader of books, and then a purchaser. His library is now such as few men in his station ever possessed. It contains the best editions of all the best English authors, in the best bindings possible. His collection of prints is no less remarkable, and his book-cases are of a piece with what they inclose. Thus, of a family fond of books, Thomas surpasses all. None of his predecessors have had either the spirit, the taste, or the means, to accomplish what he has done. No day passes without reading, but the necessary duties are not infringed upon by the book.

He married, September the 5th, 1793, Mary Reynolds, of Shiffnall, in the county of Salop, by whom he has no issue.

We are told that a candle ought not to be hidden under a bushel. My son has not attended to this precept. Excellent in principle, sound in understanding, rapid in execution, he is calculated to make a shining character. His internal powers are well adapted to please, if they were not forbidden.

I think the supineness of the Hutton family has not descended to my children. The children of Samuel, my youngest brother.

Samuel, as before observed; married in Germany a widow, whose husband had fallen in battle. She had no children. Samuel was pleased with the prospect of not being encumbered with a military family himself; but our well-laid schemes are often frustrated. His wife quickly brought him recruits, ill adapted to a soldier's life. The eldest,

Was born in camp at Earph in Germany. He was upon the verge of falling, by the fate of war, soon after he was born. While on his mother's knee, by the fire in the tent, a cannon ball flew so near the child, as to carry him several yards by its force.

Thomas was brought up a cabinet-maker in Nottingham, which occupation he now pursues. He is full of vivacity, humour, and, what is better, good sense, good nature, and humanity. While he passes through life, he enjoys it. He supports the characters of a kind son, husband, and father, is respected by all who know him, and carries that rotundity of figure which betokens a plentiful table; and a mind at ease. His talent at cutting and uniting timber may be seen in the magnificent book-cases of his fabrication in my son's library.

Catherine, the eldest daughter of Samuel, was born at Edinburgh. She is a sensible woman, and a prudent wife.

Anne, the second daughter of Samuel, was born at Nottingham. She is open and undesigning.

These three children, Thomas, Catherine, and Anne, had each a legacy left by their aunt Perkins in 1786. Each married a few months after her death, and in eleven years they have jointly produced about twenty-two children.

Thus we have gone through the sixth generation, consisting of three males all named Thomas, and three females, two of them Catherine.

Consisting solely of the descendants of the children of Samuel, my youngest brother.

Though the present generation is numerous, its history will be short. I must give up anecdote and character, for, as infants, they produce neither. I must leave their various histories to be recorded by my successor to the pen, and shall only notice

Who, at the age of eleven, came from Nottingham to Birmingham, with the view of being trained to my son's business, and inheriting our fortune. He appears, at this day, April the 10th, 1799, to be worthy of both. His behaviour, as a child, is excellent, and seems to promise an amiable and wealthy man.

If I pretend to write from memory, how can I pretend to write things which happened near the time of my birth? Yet this must be granted me. Till the child can walk, he is allowed the hand of another. Whether I tell of myself, or another tells for me, truth shall never quit the page.

I was born September 30, 1723, which will bear the name of the last day in summer, on Wednesday, at a quarter before five in the evening, at the bottom of Full Street, in Derby; upon premises on the Banks of the Derwent, now occupied by Mr. Upton, an Attorney,

There were no prognostications prior to my birth, except that my father, the day before, was chosen Constable. But a circumstance occurred which, I believe, never did before or after--the purchase of a Cheshire cheese, price half a guinea; so large, as to merit a wheel barrow to convey it. Perhaps this was the last whole cheese ever bought during my stay. A good painter may seem to give many insignificant strokes, which, to the observer, amount to nothing; but, taken in the aggregate, they may form a complete picture and a just likeness. As I must have been very little at this time, the Reader will excuse me if I talk of little things; though my mother observed, "I was the largest child she ever had, but so very ordinary (a softer word for ugly), she was afraid she should never love me." But whatever were her parental affections then, I had no cause to complain during the nine remaining years of her life.

At an early period I had given me, while sitting on my mother's knee, a large hollow brass drop, such as were the furniture of our old-fashioned chest of drawers, to amuse me while she was engaged in conversation. The discourse ended; the drop was missing! After diligent search, to no purpose, it was concluded that I must have swallowed it, for it had been observed at my mouth. Consternation ensued! The discharge was attended to, for one day, when all their fears subsided; the brazen bolus had found its way, without doing-injury. This incident I do not remember, but have heard my mother repeat it.

Memory now comes in to aid the pen: for this year I recollect many incidents; one, playing upon the verge of the Derwent, with older children, where, I am surprized, they suffered a child of two years old to remain. Another, playing with my uncle's whip, who had just come from Mountsorrel to see us, and, to close the farce, putting it in the fire, and burning the lash. A third was a dangerous adventure. We infants were playing at the fire, which was large; and, though the least of the flock, I was not the least active. My sister had given me a piece of cap paper, plaited in the form of a fan; in lighting which, I set fire to my petticoats, frock, and bib. My cries brought my mother from the next room, who put an end to the tragi-comedy. My mother afterwards took me with her on a visit to Mountsorrel. While the waggon was crossing the Trent in a barge, a pleasure boat in view, with the people in it, seemed gradually to sink under water, and rise up alternately. This shews how very delusive is the sight of an infant of two years old. The weather was serene, the water clear, and, though deep, the pebbles at the bottom were visible.

Every class of the animal world associates with its like. An old couple, Moses Simpson and his wife, who lived at the next door, took great notice of me, but I shunned them with horror; had they been young, I should probably have sought them, but I was fully persuaded they would kill me. I stood at the top of a flight of stairs, and this woman at the bottom, coaxing me to come to her. She might as well have intreated the moon. I instantly tumbled to the bottom. She took me in her arms, endeavoured to pacify me, dandled me on the knee, and I was surprized that I escaped with life.

A few weeks after I saw my mother in the pangs of labour of my brother George; the midwife and assistants about her. I being the only male in the room, was ordered out. A woman carried me. I afterwards saw the child asleep; my mother took me by the hand and led me away, lest I should awake him.

At Mountsorrel I had an uncle who was a Grocer, and a bachelor; also a grand-mother who kept his house; and at Swithland, two miles distant, three crabbed aunts, all single, who resided together as Grocers, Milliners, Mercers, and School-mistresses. My family being distressed I was sent over, and I resided alternately with my uncle and my aunts fifteen months. Here I was put into breeches, at the age of four: here I was an interloper, and treated with much ill-nature. Nothing is more common than for people, particularly young women, to be fond of children. I can recollect numberless instances of insult, but not one civil thing they ever said. "You are an ugly lad: you are like your father. Your brother is a pretty lad: he is like his mother" (she was their sister). I was unable to return an answer. They might have considered that this, and other evils, were out of my power to remove.

It is curious to observe the ideas of infants. One of my aunts taking me from Mountsorrel to Swithland, entered a house at the skirts of the town, where I saw several men rather noisy, and could not conceive they were of the family. I observed also the shelves abound with crockery-ware, and could not imagine the use. The woman of the house took us into a back room, where she and my aunt seemed very, familiar.

We passed on without resting; and my aunt, during this little journey, fell down, perhaps, twenty times, and generally at a stile; often lay a minute or two, and bade me look if any person was coming. I answered, "No," but the answer was needless; for I was scarcely able to look over a blade of grass. No damage ensued, except my being terrified.

Many years elapsed before I could unravel this mystery, which was no more than my aunt entering a public house. The crocks were the drinking cups; and in the private room, she got so completely drunk, she could neither stand nor walk.

In the corner of my aunt's garden stood a hive of bees. I one day watched them, with great attention, at their own door, and thought their proceedings curious; when, like a child with a plaything, which he first admires and then destroys, I gave them a blow with my hat, and ran away. A party was instantly detached in pursuit of me, which being swifter of wing than I of foot, settled in my neck. I roared as well as ran. My timorous aunts durst not touch them, but sent for a neighbour, while I continued in agonies. After committing great depredations the enemy was reduced: I was put under cure, but never forgot who was the aggressor.

Standing at the bob by the fire, at supper, with the spoon in my left hand, my uncle asked me, "Which was my right?" Without knowing, I instantly stretched out the right, "This:" Though meant as a reproof, which I did not comprehend, yet for many years, when it was necessary to know which was the right or left hand, imagination placed me at the hob, which instantly informed me.

Another incident that occurred was the adventures of a frog. An humble member of the croaking society happening to hop out, to take the evening air, approached the door where our three heroines stood, and I near them. They darted in, terribly frightened, shut the door, and handed a broom through the window, with orders for me to kill the frog. I was pleased that I could be useful. But while fumbling with the broom, which I was not much used to handle, the condemned animal escaped; I lost a little credit and got more blame, as having left an enemy in ambush.

My eldest aunt, an ingenious, prudent, ill-tempered woman, was taken sick, and I saw her breathe her last, without having the least knowledge of that momentous event.

My mother, unknown to me, came to Mountsorrel to fetch me home. The maid took me out of bed naked, except my shirt, and, having her left hand employed, could only spare the right, with which she dangled me down stairs by the arm, as a man does a new-purchased goose, her knee thumping. against my back every step. I was exceedingly ashamed to appear before my mother, then a stranger in that indecent state.

My uncle, the next day, carried her behind him on horseback, and me before, upon a pillow, to meet the Derby waggon at Loughborough. My father, who had not seen me for fifteen months, received me with only two words, and those marked with indifference, "So, Bill."

Being four years and a half old, and dressed in my best suit, a cocked hat, and walking-stick, my sister took me by the hand to Gilbert Bridge's, for the evening's milk, which was, in future, to be my errand. One of his buxom daughters, in a gay mood, snatched off my hat, and laughed at me, as one who wins. I gave her a blow with the knob end of my stick; she returned the hat in a more serious tone, with, "The young rogue has hurt me," and from thence gave me the name of Smiler.

I now went to school to Mr. Thomas Meat, of harsh memory, who often took occasion to beat my head against the wall, holding it by the hair, but never could beat any learning into it; I hated all books but those of pictures.

Now a brother John was born, but soon left us, by which he escaped that distress which. awaited me.

My father worked from home; and when my mother was out, the care of the family, two brothers and myself, devolved upon me, though not the eldest. My mother ordered me, when breakfast was ready, "to pour out each his portion of milk-porridge, and take my father his, before I eat mine." I served a mess to each, rejoiced at the excellent measure, and fell to.

During the pleasure of eating, I recollected I had forgotten my father. Astonishment seized me; I proposed that each of us should contribute to make good the deficiency. My eldest brother refused. I, therefore, took a little from the youngest, and all my own, to cure the evil. My father, at noon, remarked, Bill had rather pinched him. Thus I began housekeeping early, but began with a blunder.

My father had borrowed two Newspapers. I was sent to return them. I lost both. The price of each was only three halfpence, but I was as much harassed as if I had committed a crime of magnitude.

Consultations were held about firing me some employment, for the benefit of the family. Winding quills for the weaver, was mentioned, but died away. Stripping tobacco for the grocer, in which I was to earn fourpence a week, was proposed; but it was at last concluded that I was too young for any employment.

This Summer my sister Ann was born; and, as I was considered the most active of the children, the nursing was committed to me. I wished to see her in leading strings, like other children; but, being too poor to buy, I procured a packthread string, which I placed under her arms, but the dear little thing informed me, by her cries, that I hurt her.

Now we lost my dear brother George, a lovely child, three years and a half old. It had been my office to take him by the hand, to play. My father expressed great sorrow.

My days of play were now drawing to an end. The Silk-mill was proposed. One of the clerks remarked to the person who took me there, that the offer was needless, I was too young. However, the offer was made; and, as hands were wanted, in the infant state of this work, I was accepted. It was found upon trial, that nature had not given me length sufficient to reach the engine, for, out of three hundred persons employed in the mill, I was by far the least and the youngest.

It is happy for man that invention supplies the place of want. The superintendents wisely thought, if they could lengthen one end it would affect both. A pair of high pattens were therefore fabricated, and tied fast about my feet, to make them steady companions. They were clumsy companions, which I dragged about one year, and with pleasure delivered up.

I had now to rise at five every morning during seven years; submit to the cane whenever convenient to the master; be the constant companion of the most rude and vulgar of the human race, never taught by nature, nor ever wishing to be taught. A lad, let his mind be in what state it would, must be as impudent as they, or be hunted down. I could not consider this place in any other light than that of a complete bear-garden.

March the eleventh, was born, quite unknown to me, at Aston upon Trent, six miles east of Derby, a female child, who, twenty-four years after, was to become my wife; be my faithful and dear companion, and love me better than herself. I was to possess this inestimable treasure forty years, then to lose it and mourn its loss every future day of my life.

There does not exist in man a thankfulness proportionate to the long enjoyment of a valuable favour; but there does exist a regret at the loss equal to its magnitude.

I became a favourite of two of the clerks, and many of the children, owing, perhaps, to my being the least infant among infants.

We were the only family of Dissenters connected with the Silk-mill. One of the clerks wished to make me a convert to the established church, and threw out the lure of a halfpenny every Sunday I should attend divine service there. This purchased me; and my father, who was a moderate man, winked at the purchase. This proves an assertion of Sir Robert Walpole, "That every man has his price." None could be much lower than mine.

One Sunday I was discovered in a remote pew, playing at push-pin. My patron, the next morning, had too much good nature to punish me, or withhold his favour, but he applied a more effectual remedy. He played at push-pin under my own eye, and with a tolerable share of grimace; which brought the laugh of the whole room upon me.

Entering the gates of the mill, at noon, a strong wind blew off my hat, which rolled before me into the Derwent. I could have gone swifter than the hat, but knew I should acquire a velocity that would have run me into the river, which, being deep, I had lost my life. In distress, I travelled by its side, the whole length of the building, but it continued just out of my reach. I mourned its loss the whole afternoon, as well as dreaded the consequence.

My master informed the chiefs Governor, who ordered him to take me to a hatter, and purchase another. I was asked whether I would have a plain band, or one with a silver tassel? What child refuses finery? I chose the latter, and became the envy of the mill.

Christmas holidays were attended with snow, followed by a sharp frost. A thaw came on, in the afternoon of the 27th, but in the night the ground was again caught by a frost, which glazed the streets. I did not awake, the next morning, till daylight seemed to appear.

I rose in tears, for fear of punishment, and went to my father's bed-side, to ask what was o'clock? "He believed six?" I darted out in agonies, and, from the bottom of Full-street, to the top of Silkwill-lane, not 200 yards, I fell nine times! Observing no lights in the mill, I knew it was an early hour, and that the reflection of the snow had deceived me. Returning, it struck two. As I now went with care, I fell but twice.

Remarkably fond of fruit, but unable to purchase it, my mother was obliged to conceal her stock, for fear of depredation. She had bought a quantity of apples, and hid them, as she thought, out of the reach of my ken; but few eyes are more watchful than those of a longing child. Opening her store for use, when a few days had elapsed, she was astonished to find they had all vanished except two small ones! Her good nature, however, excused and concealed the fault, which my father's remembrance of a similar fault of his own would not have induced him to pardon, had he been apprized of it.

Going to the execution of Hewett and Rosamond (see the History of Derby), I could not get over the steps at the brook, and the crowd was more inclined to push me in than help me. My father accidentally came, handed me over, and moralized upon the melancholy subject.

I assisted in the rejoicings at the Silk-mill, owing to Government granting Sir Thomas Lombe £14,000 in consideration of their not renewing his patent.

In pouring some bobbins out of one box into another, the cogs of an engine caught the box in my band. The works in all the five rooms began to thunder, crack, and break to pieces; a universal cry of "Stop mills" ensued; all the violent powers of nature operated within me. With the strength of a madman I wrenched the box from the wheel; but, alas, the mischief was done. I durst not shew my face, nor retreat to dinner till every soul was gone. Pity in distress was not found within those walls.

It is uncommon for depression to continue upon an infant mind. In my way home I saw a man intoxicated, playing a variety of most foolish tricks, highly diverting to the company. Had my spirits been but moderately affected, I should have laughed most heartily; but they were too far sunk. Sorrow operated against rejoicing.

I saw the wonderful feats performed by Cadman, in flying from the top of All-saints steeple to the bottom of St. Michael's (see the History of Derby).

During the Christmas holidays, my mother sent me for some tobacco. In the joyous airs of childhood, I tossed up the halfpenny till I lost it beyond redemption. Returning, my mother upbraided me, when I imprudently replied, with a careless air, "You should not have sent me." That word proved my bane; she informed my father, who gave me the most severe thrashing I ever received from him. He broke his walking-stick, the fragments of which, after the battle was over, I began to splice together with a string for my own use.

The year began to increase, and my calamities with it. My mother brought forth a son, Samuel: during her lying-in, being hurt at seeing the nurse unhandy, she would do the work herself, and rincing clothes in cold-water brought her to the grave five weeks after her delivery, at-the age of forty-one. I returned from the mill at noon, on Friday, March the ninth; when Nanny Ease, my mother's friend, accosted me with, "Your mother is gone." I burst into tears. "Don't cry, you will go yourself soon." This remark did not add to my comfort. My father said, "You have lost an excellent mother, and I a wife."

A few days after her death, as I have related in my history of the family, he declined housekeeping, sold up, and spent the money, took lodgings for himself and three children, with a widow, who had four of her own.

My mother gone, my father at the ale-house, and I among strangers, my life was forlorn. I was almost without a home, nearly without clothes, and experienced a scanty cupboard. At one time, I fasted from breakfast one day, till noon the next, and even then, dined upon only flour and water boiled into an hasty pudding. I was also afflicted with the chin-cough and with biles.

In August I saw, upon Sinfin-moor, a horse-race for the first time.

Though my father was neither young, being forty-two, nor handsome, having lost an eye, nor sober, for he spent all he could get in liquor, nor clean, for his trade was oily, nor without shackles, for he had five children, yet women of various descriptions courted his smiles, and were much inclined to pull caps for him.

On my birthday at night my father treated us with a quart of twopenny beer; and observed, that the life of man was divided into seven stages of ten years each, and that I had now completed the first.

This year kindled a violent election flame, which burnt vehemently in the county of Derby. Drinking, fighting, cursing, injuring, animosity, and murder, were the result; nor is it a wonder that ten thousand evils should arise, when the process of any plan of moment is radically bad. The contending parties were, Sir Nathaniel Curzon, father to the present Lord Scarsdale; John Harper, son to the then baronet, and grand-father to the present, on one side; and Lord Charles Cavendish on the other. Cavendish and Curzon were the successful candidates.

In October, my sister, whom we had not seen for five years, paid us a visit from Swithland. She was drawing towards fifteen, and appeared a tall, handsome, straight girl. I was struck with the singularity of her departure. She was to attend the Leicester waggon at five in the morning; my father called her to his bedside, gave her a kiss, and two shillings towards her journey, wished her well, never stirred a foot to conduct her, but, suffered her to go alone, though the morning was dark.

The rage for flying had continued two years in full force; I caught that rage, but not being able to procure a rope, I and my companions laid hold of a scaffold-pole in the absence of the workmen, who were erecting a house in Amen corner, south of All-saints. We placed one end in the churchyard, and the other in the chamber-window, and flew over the wall. We soon made the pole as bright as a looking-glass, but reduced our raiment to rags. To this day I never pass the place without a glance at the window.

A few young men, adepts in the art of flying, procured the consent of sir Nathaniel Curzon, to perform at Keddleston for the amusement of the family. They fastened one end of the rope to the top of the hall, the other in the park; but the unlucky performer, instead of flying over the river, fell in, blasted his character, and instead of regaling upon beef and ale, the whole bevy sneaked off privately. This gave a check to the art; but when the man, boy, wheelbarrow, and ass flew down, the tragedy put an end to the art of flying. See my history of Derby.

This summer was so dry that the water would scarcely turn the wheels; which, giving us children leisure, was very agreeable.

I visited Bredsall-moor, as all the country did, a warren, and on fire for many weeks. I frequently went to Mackworth, to see my little brother, who, being prudently attended, became a charming boy.

The colony of Georgia, in its infant state, invited many emigrants under General Oglethorpe. They produced Organzine silk, and sent it to England. It was good, but of a bad colour. The General, Sir Thomas Lombe, and the Trustees, waited upon Queen Caroline with a specimen, who ordered a gown and petticoat; the silk was sent to Derby, and I was one employed in the manufactory. Thus an insignificant animal, nearly naked himself, assisted in cloathing a queen.

I was now turned twelve. Life began to open. My situation at the mill was very unfavourable. Richard Porter, my master, had made a wound in my back with his cane. It grew worse. In a succeeding punishment, the point of his cane struck the wound, which brought it into such a state, that a mortification was apprehended. My father was advised to bathe me in Keddleston water. A cure was effected, and I yet carry the scar.

An agreeable old woman, of the name of Gell, from Wirksworth, came to lodge where we did. She had been a school-mistress. She made many entertaining remarks, and promised us lads we should be the better for her coming; nor did she disappoint us.

My uncle and aunt Fletcher paid a visit, from Herefordshire, to my uncle at Nottingham; and, on Friday in Whitsun week, my father, brother, and I, met them there, and returned on Monday.

Nothing could equal the pleasure of this journey. I brought home such a description as could not be expected from my age. Every auditor looked up to me, and I took the lead in conversation. This was the only time I saw my aunt. I thought her handsome, proud, and sensible. "Billy," said she, "it is not good manners to sit in the house with your hat on." I felt the reproof, and never forgot it.

I was now in the last year of my servitude at the Silk-mill, and was advancing towards fourteen. It, therefore, became requisite to point out some mode of future life. My father had often declared, that none of his sons should ever be brought up to the wool-combing business, his own; or to the stocking-frame, his brother's. As I knew his dilatory temper, I was afraid, when the time came, I should have a trade to seek. I chose that of a Gardener. This he encouraged. Time still advanced, but nothing was done. A Stocking-maker in Derby solicited to have me. My father replied, "I have refused my own brother."

Nicholas Richardson, an old honest Scotsman, intimate with both father and uncle, took me aside in August, and used all his rhetoric to induce me to serve my uncle. He, however, was serving him. At the same time my father assured me, "Gardening was a slavish trade;" that is, he had no inclination to stir. I was induced to consent to the proposal of Nicholas.

I cut, with a pen-knife, upon one of the top rails of the seventh mill above, W. H. 1737, which I saw in 1790, fifty-three years after. [5]

Christmas arrived when I must quit that place, for which I had a sovereign contempt: which many hundreds had quitted during my stay, but not one with regret: a place most curious and pleasing to the eye, but which gave me a seven years' heart-ache. No friendships are formed there, but such as the parties are willing to break. The attendants are children of nature, corrupted by art. What they learn in the Mill, they ought to unlearn out.

I now quitted my occupation, my father, brothers, friends, connexions, and place of nativity, for every thing new at Nottingham, where a scene opens for thirteen years. I found a generous friendly uncle, a mean sneaking aunt: he seriously religious; she as serious a hypocrite: two apprentices; one a rogue, the other a greater.

I had just finished one seven years' servitude, and was entering upon another. In the former I was welcome to the food I ate, provided I could get it; but now that it was more plentiful, I was to be grudged every meal I tasted. My aunt kept a constant eye upon the food and the feeder. This curb galled my mouth to that degree, that to this day I do not eat at another's table without fear. The impressions received in early life are astonishing.

This loving couple agreed admirably well. The-reason was plain: he submitted.

I was too young to have any concern in the terms of servitude, and my father too poor to lend assistance. A burden was therefore laid upon me, which I afterwards found intolerable: that my over-work, without knowing whether I should get any, must find me clothes.

My task was to earn five shillings and tenpence a week. The first week I could reach this sum I was to be gratified with sixpence; but ever after, should I fall short, or go beyond it, the loss or profit was to be my own. I found it was the general practice of apprentices to be under the mark.

Things went on smiling, as all new concerns will, till Whitsuntide; when my uncle took me to Derby to see my friends. A week prior to this I had arrived at my task, got the sixpence, and puffed away like a young winner. My brother, who was then sixteen, had not found a trade, nor had there been any attempts to find one for him. He must either be a despicable stockinger, or nothing. He followed us; and now my uncle had got two of the three sons.

He who stretches his utmost powers to accomplish a point in one week, will probably fall short the next. This was my case. Instead of earning apparel with over-work, I ran in arrears. At Christmas we took another trip to Derby, but my uncle had not the good fortune to pick up another lad.

I now got into what was called the fine frame, and my weekly task was six shillings and nine-pence. Clothes came as sluggishly as food. I was arriving at that age when the two sexes begin to look at each other, consequently wish to please; and a powerful mode to win is that of dress. This is a passport to the heart, a key to unlock the passions, and guide them in our favour. My resources were cut off; my sun was eclipsed. Youth is the time to dress; the time in which it is not only excusable, but laudable. I envied every new coat: I had the wish to earn one, but not the power.

Perhaps there is not a human being but sooner or later feels, in some degree, the passion of love. I was struck with a girl, watched her wherever I could, and peeped through the chink of the window-shutter at night. She lay near my heart eleven years; but I never spoke to her in my whole life, nor was she ever apprized of my passion.

My uncle and his friends being religious men, and the doctrine of the Trinity, which had employed the public tongue and the pen for seven years, not being determined, I was witness to many disputes upon this dark point. Scripture, the source of argument, seemed to support both sides; for each drew his artillery from thence; consequently the dispute might be carried on ad infinitum, and both find themselves where they set out, only with this difference, that controversy disjoints society, and produces a shyness among friends. I could easily perceive the contenders were willing to send each other to the Devil. Besides, if a man wins, he gains nothing by winning, as dispute forms no part of Christian practice. It may, in some measure, disguise truth; for, if I endeavour to persuade a man into my opinion, either in religion or politics, it tends to confirm him in his own. He instantly makes a side against me; nay, it even confirms him in what he only doubted before. The utmost length allowable is to state reasons.

The lesser rogue of an apprentice ran away, and was heard of no more; and the greater was sold, and ruined his master.

Was ushered in with the hard frost. Two or three frosts have since occurred, which the world has thought as cold, or nearly; but I remember them well, and can assure the reader there has been nothing like it for severity. That frost was not followed by a thaw, but continued till the spring gradually wore it away. We are not, however, to suppose the whole of the time intensely cold; the greater part resembled other frosts.

On New-year's day fell a moderate snow, perhaps three inches in depth; and no more fell, during the winter. Some of this I saw in March. Many persons remarked that their breath was frozen on the sheet. Mine was not; for I lay wholly covered all night, which I never could do before or since. At the beginning of the frost, which was the severest part, I wore a thin waistcoat, without a lining, and no coat.

The inclement season was not the sole wonder of the day. My uncle and his wife had a violent quarrel; the only one in my time. I understood that she had struck him, which provoked him beyond bounds. He made an attempt to punish her. I stepped in by way of prevention, and, with gentle soothing, effected a peace. He afterwards seemed pleased, and she, in plain terms, acknowledged the kindness. He was mild as a lamb, but, when once irritated, observed no bounds.

My uncle thought it necessary to keep up the succession of apprentices; and, as two were gone, a boy from Draycott, ten miles distant, was recommended. My uncle brought him on Saturday night; but, by Monday morning, the boy's mother could not rest, believing he was either kidnapped or murdered; and sent the father, with positive orders, to bring him back, alive or dead, if above ground. The father entered the house, with sounds like the roarings of a Bull; and, in the Derbyshire dialect, cried, "Where's th' lad? I mun tak him bak! I've lond ith' feeld wo'th fifty paund, I've thutty paund by ma, an I dunna owe th' wo'ld a shilling!"

My uncle looked disappointed; thought the fellow a fool; and gave up the lad with a promise of his return, after having shewn the booby to his mother. The promise was never fulfilled.

Another apprentice, Roper, was brought from Derby. He proved surly and overbearing; ran away himself and taught me. He returned again; then went into the army, and so good bye.

The frost; followed by an untoward summer, brought on a rise of provisions. It was considered by the mistress as almost a sin to eat. I should have been an acceptable servant, could I have subsisted without eating.

What the mind is bent upon obtaining, the hand seldom fails in accomplishing. I detested the frame, as totally unsuitable to my, temper; therefore, I produced no more profit than necessity demanded. I made shift, however, with a little over-work, and a little credit, to raise a genteel suit of clothes, fully adequate to the sphere in which I moved. The girls eyed me with some attention; nay, I eyed myself as much as any of them.

My sister came, whom I had not seen for seven years; handsome, keen, and sensible. Her manner commanded respect.

Thus matters went on prosperously. I was rising into notice: a foundation was laid for a brighter day, when an unhappy quarrel between my uncle and me, upon a mere trifle, caused me to run away, blasted my views, sunk me in the dust, and placed me in a degraded point of view, from which I did not recover for five years. This I have faithfully related in The History of a Week, (a quarto manuscript in my son's library), written from memory thirty-eight years after the event, which I shall literally transcribe.

The week of the races is an idle one among Stockingers at Nottingham. It was so with me. Five days had passed, and I had done little more than the work of four.

My uncle, who always judged from the present moment, supposed I should never return to industry. He was angry at my neglect, and observed, on Saturday morning, that if I did not perform my task that day, he would thrash me at night. Idleness, which had hovered over me five days, did not choose to leave me the sixth. Night came. I wanted one hour's work. I hoped my former conduct would atone for the present. But he had passed his word, and a man does not wish to break it. "You have not done the task I ordered!" I was silent. "Was it in your power to have done it?" Still silent. He repeated again, "Could you have done it?" As I ever detested lying, I could not think of covering myself, even from a rising storm, by so mean a subterfuge; for we both knew I had done near twice as much. I therefore answered in a low meek voice, "I could." This fatal word, innocent in itself, and founded upon truth, proved my destruction. "Then," says he, "I'll make you." He immediately brought a birch-broom handle, of white-hazel, and holding it by the small end, repeated his blows till I thought he would have broken me to pieces. The windows were open, the evening calm, the sky serene, and every thing mild but my uncle and me. The sound of the roar, and the stick, penetrated the air to a great distance.

The neighbourhood turned out to inquire the cause; when, after some investigation, it was said to be, "Only Hutton thrashing one of his lads." Whether the crime was adequate to the punishment, I leave to the reader to determine. He afterwards told my father that he should not have quarreled with me, but for that word. But let me ask, what word could I have substituted in its room, unless I had meant to equivocate?

I was drawing towards eighteen, held some rank among my acquaintance, made a small figure in dress, and was taken notice of by the fair sex: therefore, though I was greatly hurt in body, I was much more hurt in mind. Pride takes a very early root in the heart, and never leaves us but with life. How should I face those whom I had often laughed at, and whipped with the rod of satire?

The next day, July 12, 1741, I went to Meeting in the morning as usual. My uncle seemed sorry for what had passed, and inclined to make matters up. At noon he sent me for some fruit, and asked me to partake. I thanked him with a sullen no. My wounds were too deep to be healed with cherries.

Standing by the palisades of the house, in a gloomy posture, a female acquaintance passed by, and turning, with a pointed, sneer, said, "You were licked last night." The remark stung me to the quick. I had rather she had broken my head.

My fellow apprentice, Roper, was bigger and older than I, though he came two years after me. This opake body of ill-nature centered between my uncle and myself, and eclipsed that affection which gave pleasure to both. He staid with us three years. The two years of my servitude, before he came, were spent in great friendship with my uncle; and after he left, the same friendship returned, and continued for life.

This lad had often solicited me to run away with him; but I considered that my leaving my uncle would be a loss to him, for which I should be very sorry; and that, if I told Roper my design, he would insist upon going with me, which would double that loss. I could not bear the thought: therefore resolved to go alone, for which Roper afterwards blamed me.

I put on my hat, as if going to Meeting, but privately slipped up stairs till the family were gone. The whole house was now open to my inspection. Upon examining a glass in the beaufet, I found ten shillings. I took two, and left eight.

After packing up my small stock of moveables, I was at a loss how to get out of the house. There was but one door, which was locked, and my uncle had the key. I contrived, therefore, to get my chattels upon a wall, eight feet high, in a small back yard; climb up myself, drop them on the other side, and jump down after them.

While this was transacting, an acquaintance passed by. I imparted my design to him, because it was impossible to hide it, and enjoined him secrecy. He seemed to rejoice at my scheme, or rather at my fall; for if I commit an error and he does not, he is the best of the two.

Figure to yourself a lad of seventeen, not elegantly dressed, nearly five feet high, rather Dutch built, with a long narrow bag of brown leather, that would hold about a bushel, in which was neatly packed up a new suit of clothes; also, a white linen bag, which would hold about half as much, containing a sixpenny loaf of coarse blencorn bread, a bit of butter, wrapped in the leaves of an old copy-book; a new bible, value three shillings; one shirt; a pair of stockings; a sun-dial; my best wig, carefully folded and, laid at top, that, by lying in the hollow of the bag, it might not be crushed. The ends of the two bags being tied together, I slung them over my left shoulder, rather in the style of a cock-fighter. My best hat, not being properly calculated for a bag, I hung to the button of my coat. I had only two shillings in my pocket; a spacious world before me, and no plan, of operations.

I cast back many a melancholy look, while every step set me at a greater distance; and took, what I thought, an everlasting farewell of Nottingham.

I carried neither a light heart, nor a light load; nay, there was nothing light about me but the sun in the heavens, and the money in my pocket. I considered myself an out-cast, an exuberance in the creation, a being now fitted to no purpose. At ten, I arrived at Derby. The inhabitants were gone to bed, as if retreating from my society.

I took a view of my father's house, where, I supposed, all were at rest; but before I was aware, I perceived the door open, and heard his foot not three yards from me. I retreated with precipitation. How ill calculated are we to judge of events! I was running from the last hand that could have saved me!

Adjoining the town is a field called Abbeybarns, the scene of my childish amusements, Here I took up my abode upon the cold grass, in a damp place, after a day's fatigue, with the sky over my head, and the bags by my side. I need not say I was a boy; this rash action proves it. The place was full of cattle. The full breath of the cows half asleep, the jingling of the chains at the horses' feet, and a mind agitated, were ill calculated for rest.

I rose at four, July 13, starved, sore, and stiff; deposited my bags under the fourth tree, covering them with leaves, while I waited upon Warburgh's bridge for my brother Samuel, who I knew would go to the Silk-mills before five. I told him that I had differed with my uncle, had left him, and intended to go to Ireland; that he must remember me to my father, whom I should probably see no more. I had all the discourse to myself, for my brother did not utter one word.

I arrived at Burton the same morning, having travelled twenty-eight miles, and spent nothing. I was an economist from my cradle, and the character never forsook me. To this I in some measure owe my present situation.

I ever had an inclination to examine fresh places. Leaving my bags at a public-house, I took a view of the town, and, breaking into my first shilling, I spent one penny as a recompence for the care of them.

Arriving the same evening within the precincts of Lichfield, I approached a barn, where I intended to lodge; but, finding the door shut, I opened my parcels in the fields, dressed, hid my bags near a hedge, and took, a view of the city for about two hours, though very sore-footed.

Returning to the spot about nine, I undressed, bagged up my things in decent order, and prepared for rest; but alas! I had a bed to seek. About a stone's cast from the place stood another barn, which, perhaps, might furnish me with a lodging. I thought it needless to take the bags while I examined the place, as my stay would be very short.

The second barn yielding no relief I returned in about ten minutes. But what was my surprise when I perceived the bags were gone! Terror seized me. I roared after the rascal, but might as well have been silent, for thieves seldom come at a call. Running, raving, and lamenting about the fields and roads, employed some time. I was too much, immersed in distress to find relief in tears. They refused to flow. I described the bags, and told the affair to all I met. I found pity, or seeming pity, from all, but redress from none. I saw my hearers dwindle with the twilight; and, by eleven o'clock, found myself in the open street, left to tell my mournful tale to the silent night.

It is not easy to place a human being in a more distressed situation. My finances were nothing; a stranger to the world, and the world to me; no employ, nor likely to procure any; no food to eat, or place to rest: all the little property I had upon earth taken from me: nay, even hope, that last and constant friend of the unfortunate, forsook me. I was in a more wretched condition than he who has nothing to lose. An eye may roll over these lines when the hand that writes them shall be still. May that eye move without a tear! I sought repose in the street, upon a butcher's block.

July 14, I inquired, early in the morning, after my property, but to as little purpose as the night before. Among others, I accosted a gentleman in a wrought night-cap, plaid gown, and morrocco slippers. I told him my distress, and begged he would point out some mode of employ, that might enable me to exist. He was touched with compassion. I found it was easy to penetrate his heart, but not his pocket.

"It is market-day at Walsal," said he, "yonder people are going there; your attendance upon them may be successful." I instantly put his advice in practice, and found myself in the company of a man and his servant with a waggon load of carrots; and, also, of an old fellow and his grandson with a horse-load of cherries. We continued together to the end of the journey; but I cannot say that either pity or success were of our party.

As my feet were not used to travel, they became extremely blistered; I, therefore, rubbed them with a little beef-fat begged of a Walsal butcher, and found instant relief.

Upon application to a man who sold stockings in the market, I could learn that there were no frames in Walsal, but many in Birmingham; that he would recommend me to an acquaintance; and, if I should not succeed, there was Worcester, a little to the right, had some frames; and Coventry, a little to the left, would bring me into the stocking country.

Addison says, "There is not a Woman in England; that every one of the British fair has a right to the appellation of Lady." I wondered, in my way from Walsal to Birmingham to see so many blacksmiths' shops; in many of them one, and sometimes two Ladies at work; all with smutty faces, thundering at the anvil. Struck with the novelty, I asked if the ladies in this country shod horses? but was answered, "They are nailers."

Upon Handsworth heath, I had a view of Birmingham. St. Philip's Church appeared first, uncrowded with houses (for there were none to the North, New Hall excepted), untarnished with smoke, and illuminated with a Western sun. It appeared in all the pride of modern architecture. I was charmed with its beauty, and thought it then, as I do now, the credit of the place.

I had never seen more than five towns; Nottingham, Derby, Burton, Lichfield, and Walsal. The last three I had not known more than two days. The out-skirts of these, and, I supposed, of others, were composed of wretched dwellings, visibly stamped with dirt and poverty. But the buildings in the exterior of Birmingham rose in a style of elegance. Thatch, so plentiful in other places, was not to be met with in this. It did not occur to my thoughts, that nine years after I should become a resident here, and thirty-nine years after should write its history!

I was surprized at the place, but more at the people. They possessed a vivacity I had never beheld. I had been among dreamers, but now I saw men awake. Their very step along the street shewed alacrity. Every man seemed to know what he was about. The town was large, and full of inhabitants, and these inhabitants full of industry. The faces of other men seemed tinctured with an idle gloom; but here with a pleasing alertness. Their appearance was strongly marked with the modes of civil life.

How far commerce influences the habits of men is worthy the pen of the philosopher. The weather was extremely fine, which gave a lustre to the whole; the people seemed happy; and I the only animal out of use.

There appeared to be three stocking-makers in Birmingham. Evans, the old Quaker, yet in being, was the principal. I asked him, with great humility, for employ? "You are an apprentice." "Sir, I am not, but am come with the recommendation of your friend, Mr. Such-a-one, of Walsal." "Go about your business, I tell you, you are a run-away 'prentice." I retreated, sincerely wishing I had business to go about.

I waited upon Holmes, in Dale-end; at that moment a customer entering, he gave me a penny to get rid of me.

The third was Francis Grace, at the Gateway, entering New-street. This man was a native of Derby, and knew my family. Fourteen years after, he bestowed upon me a valuable wife, his niece; and sixteen years after, he died, leaving me in possession of his premises and fortune, paying some legacies.

I made the same request to Mr. Grace that I had done to others, and with the same effect. He asked after his brother at Derby. I answered readily, as if I knew. One lie often produces a second. He examined me closely; and, though a man of no shining talents, quickly set me fast. I was obliged to tell three or four lies to patch up a lame tale, which I plainly saw would hardly pass.

I appeared a trembling stranger in that house, o