THE LIFE OF JOHN METCALF.

JOHN METCALF was born at Knaresborough, on the 15th of August, 1717. When four years old, he was put to school by his parents, who were working people, and continued at school two years: He was then seized with the small-pox, which rendered him totally blind, though all possible means were used to preserve his sight.

About six months after recovering from the small-pox, he was able to go from his father’s house to the end of the street, and return, without a guide; which gave him much spirit and satisfaction.—In the space of three years he was able to find his way to any part of the town of Knaresborough; and had begun to associate with boys of his own age, going with them to seek birds’ nests, and for his share of the eggs and young birds he was to climb the trees, whilst his comrades waited at the bottom, to direct him to the nests, and to receive what he should throw down; and from this he was soon able to climb any tree he was able to grasp. He would now ramble into the lanes and fields alone, to the distance of two or three miles, and return. His father keeping horses, he learned to ride, and in time became an able horseman, a gallop being his favourite pace. His parents having other children, at the age of thirteen had John taught music, at which he proved very expert; though he had conceived more taste for the cry of a hound or a harrier, than the sound of any instrument.

A gentleman at Knaresborough, of the name of Woodburn, was master of a pack of hounds:—This gentleman encouraged Metcalf very much, by taking him to hunt with him, and was always very desirous of his company. Metcalf kept a couple of very good hounds of his own.

Mr. Woodburn’s hounds being seldom kennelled, Metcalf used to take several of them out secretly along with his own, about ten or eleven o’clock at night, (the hares being then feeding); but one of the young hounds happening to worry a couple of lambs, it caused him to discontinue that practise.

When about fourteen years old, his activity of limbs, and the good success with which his exploits were usually attended, consoled him so greatly for the deprivation of sight, that he was lead to imagine it was in his power to undertake any thing, without danger: the following adventure, however, caused him to alter his opinion of its value.

There happened to be a plumb-tree a little way from Knaresborough, where there had been a house formerly.—One Sunday, Metcalf and his companions (who were skilled in matters of this sort) would go there, to get some of the fruit; in these cases, Metcalf was always appointed to ascend, for the purpose of shaking the trees. He was accordingly sent up to his post; but in the height of the business, his companions gathering below were suddenly alarmed by the appearance of the owner of the tree, and prepared to quit the ground with all expedition:—Metcalf thus left to himself, soon understood how matters were going, though the wind was high, which prevented him from hearing distinctly; and being inclined to follow his comrades, in making his retreat he fell headlong into a gravel-pit belonging to Sir Harry Singsby, and cut a large gash in his face, without, however, receiving any other injury than a stun which for some time hindered his breathing, and kept him motionless on the ground.—His father being rather severe, Metcalf was afraid to go home, lest his wound should lead to a discovery of the prank he had been engaged in.

Soon after this, (though not easily dismayed) he and some other boys were completely alarmed:—The church-porch at Knaresborough being the usual place of their meeting, they one night between eleven and twelve o’clock assembled there; Metcalf being generally the chief projector of their plans: They determined to rob an orchard; which having done, they returned to the church-porch to divide their booty. Before their return, a circumstance had happened to which they were strangers, but to the discovery of which the following little incident led, though not immediately: There being a large ring to the church-door, which turned for the purpose of lifting the latch, one of the party took hold of it, and, by of bravado, gave a loud rap; calling out, “A tankard of ale here!” A voice from within answered, very loudly, “You are at the wrong house.” This so stupified the whole covey, that none of them could move for some time. At length, Metcalf said, “Did you not hear something speak in the church?” Upon this, they all took to their heels, and ran till they got out of the church-yard, Metcalf running as fast as any of them. They now held a consultation on the subject of their fright, all equally wondering at the voice, and none able to account satisfactorily for it—One supposed that it might have been some brother wag, who had put his mouth to the key-hole of the North door; but to this it was objected, that the reply was too distinct and too ready to have come in that way. At length, however, their spirits being a little raised, they ventured again down the flagged pavement into the church-yard; but when they came opposite to the church, they perceived a light, so great as inclined them to believe that the church was on fire. They now re-entered the church-porch, and were nearly determined to call the parson; when somebody within lifting the latch and making a great noise, they again dispersed, terrified and speechless. One of the party, (whose name was Clemishaw) a son of the sexton, ran home, and in a desperate fright got into bed with his mother; all the rest, at the same time, making the best of their way.

The cause of this panic was as follows:—An old lady, wife of Dr. Talbot, (who had for many years enjoyed the living of Spofforth) dying, and her relations, who lived at a great distance, being desirous to arrive before her interment, ordered the body to be kept; this being too long the case, and the neighbours perceiving a disagreeable smell, a request was sent to the Rev. Mr. Collins, who ordered the sexton to be called up to dig the grave in the church immediately: the sexton had lighted a great number of candles: so much for the supposition of the church being on fire; and the grave-digger was the person whose voice had so terrified the apple-merchants, when they knocked. Such, however, was the impression, that pranks of this nature were not repeated.

About the year 1731, Metcalf being then fourteen years of age, a number of men and boys made a practice of swimming in the river Nidd, where there are many deeps convenient for that purpose.—Metcalf resolving to learn that art, joined the party, and became so very expert, that his companions did not chuse to come near him in the water, it being his custom to seize them, send them to the bottom, and swim over them by way of diversion.

About this time, a soldier and another man were drowned in the above deeps: the former, it was supposed, was taken with the cramp; the latter could not swim. Metcalf was sent for to get up the bodies, and at the fourth time of diving succeeded in bringing up that of the soldier, which, when raised to the surface, other swimmers carried on shore; but life had quite left it. The other body could not then be found.

There are very frequent floods in the river Nidd; and it is a remarkable fact, that in the deep places, there are eddies, or some other causes of attraction, which will draw to the bottom any substance, however light, which comes within their sphere of action. Large pieces of timber were often seen to be carried down by the floods; these, on coming over the deep places, were stopped for the space of a moment, and then sunk. Upon these occasions, Metcalf would go down and with the greatest ease fix ropes to the wood, which was drawn up by some persons purposely stationed on the banks.

In the year 1732, one John Barker kept an inn at the West end of the High Bridge, Knaresborough. This man was a manufacturer of linen cloth, and used to bleach his own yarn. At one time, having brought two packs of yarn to the river to wash, he thought he observed a number of wool-packs rolling towards him; but on a nearer view it proved to be a swelling of the current, occasioned by a sudden and very violent rain in the neighbourhood. He had not time to remove his yarn, so that it was swept away, and carried through the arches of the bridge, which stands on a rock. A little below there is a piece of still water, supposed to be about twenty-one feet in depth: as soon as the yarn got to this, it sunk, except a little which caught the skirts of the rock in going down. Metcalf being intimate with Barker, and calling at his house a few days after the accident, found him lamenting his lost. Metcalf told him that he hoped to recover his yarn for him, but Barker smiled at the supposed absurdity of the proposal: finding, however, that his friend was resolved on a trial, he consented. Metcalf then ordered some long cart-ropes to be procured, and fixing a hook at one end, and leaving the other to be held by some persons on the High Bridge, he descended, and hooking as much of the yarn as he could at one time, he gave orders for drawing up. In this way the whole was recovered, with very little damage.

Some time after this, Metcalf happened to be at Scriven, at the house of one Green, an innkeeper.—Two persons then present had a dispute concerning some sheep which one of them had put into the penfold. The owner of the sheep, (one Robert Scaif, a Knaresborough man, and a friend of Metcalf’s) appeared to be ill treated by the other party, who wished to take an unfair advantage. Metcalf perceiving that they were not likely to agree about the damages, bade them good night, saying he was going to Knaresborough, but it being about the dead time of night, he was firmly resolved to do a little friendly business before he should get home. The penfold being walled round, he climbed over, and getting hold of the sheep one by one, he fairly tossed them over the wall: the difficulty of the service increased as the number got less, not being so ready to catch;—he was not, however, thereby deterred, but fully completed the exploit.

On the return of day, the penfold door being found fast locked, great was the surprise on finding it untenanted, and various the conjectures as to the rogue or rogues who had liberated the sheep; but Metcalf past unsuspected, and enjoyed the joke in silence.

He continued to practice on the violin, until he became able to play country dances. At Knaresborough, during the winter season, there was an assembly every fortnight, at which he always attended, and went besides to many other places where there was public dancing; yet, though much employed in this way, he still retained his fondness for hunting, and likewise began to keep game cocks. Whenever he went to a cock-pit, it was his custom to place himself on the lowest seat, and always close to some friend who was a good judge, and who, by certain motions, enabled him to bet, hedge, &c. If at any time he heard of a better game cock than his own, he was sure to get him by some means or other, though at a hundred miles distance.

A little way from home he had a cock-walk, and at the next house there chanced to be another. The owner of the cock at the latter house supposing that Metcalf’s and his would meet, armed his own cock with a steel spur; which greatly displeasing Metcalf, he formed a plan of revenge; and getting one of his comrades to assist, they procured a quantity of cabbage-leaves, and fastening them together with skewers, they fixed them against the outside of the windows, that the family might not perceive the return of day-light; and that they should also be prisoners, their associates in roguery walled up the door with stones, and mud-mortar, which they were assisted in making by the convenience of a pump which stood near. They then brought water, in tubs, and continued pouring it in great quantities over the new wall, (which did not reach quite up to the top of the door-frame) until the house was flooded to a great depth. This done, they made the best of their way home.

In the morning, the people of the house finding their situation, and being at no loss to suppose who had been the projector, and in all probability the leading performer, of the business, were no sooner set at liberty, than they went to a Justice, and got a warrant for Metcalf; but not being able to prove the fact, he was, of course, dismissed.

His fame now began to spread; and when any arch trick was done, inquiry was sure to be made where Metcalf had been at the time.

At Bilton, two miles from Knaresborough, there was a rookery, and the boys had made many attempts to take the young ones; but the owner wishing to preserve them, they were prevented. Metcalf determining to make a trial, sent one of his comrades in the day-time as a spy to reconnoitre the position of the nests; and having been informed by him as to this, they set out in the dead of night, and brought away seven dozen and a half, excepting the heads, which they left under the trees. The owner of the rooks finding the heads, sent the bellman round, offering a reward of two guineas for discovering the offenders: the secret, however, was kept until long afterwards.

A man at Knaresborough having married a woman who had lived at a farm-house about a mile distant, brought his wife to his own home; and some articles being left in the deserted house, he sent a son he had by a former marriage to bring them away.—Metcalf being about the same age as this boy, chose to accompany him. When they got to the place, the boy missed the key, which he had lost from his pocket by the way; and being afraid to return without his errand, he consulted Metcalf about what was to be done. Metcalf was for entering the house at all events; and not being able to procure a ladder, got a pole, which reached to the thatch, and having borrowed a rope and a stick, he climbed up the pole, and then ascending by the roof to the chimney, he placed the stick across, and fastening the rope to it, attempted to descend, but finding the flew too narrow, he threw off his cloaths, and laying them on the ridge of the house, made a second attempt, and succeeded: he then opened the door for his companion. While they were in the house, there was a heavy thunder-shower, to which Metcalf’s cloathes were exposed, being left upon the house-top: he attempted to get up again, to fetch them; but the pole by which he had ascended was now so wet, that he could not climb by it; he was therefore obliged to wait until it dried, when ascending again, he recovered his cloathes. This was considered by all who heard of it as a very extraordinary performance by one in his situation, as well as a great act of friendship to his companion.

In the year 1732 Metcalf was invited to Harrogate, to succeed, as fidler, a poor old man who had played there for 70 years, and who, being borne down by the weight of 100 years, began to play too slow for country dancing. Metcalf was well received by the nobility and gentry, who employed no other fidler, except a boy whom he hired as an assistant, when they began to build a long-room at the Queen’s Head.

Being once, with his assistant, at Ripon assembly, they resolved to call the next day at Newby Hall, the seat of ’Squire Blacket; having got acquainted with that worthy family by their frequent visits to Harrogate. There they stayed, regaling themselves, till near night, when they set out for home. In the way, they had to cross the river Ure by a ford, or go round by Boroughbridge or Ripon, which latter Metcalf was not inclined to do. They were told that the ford would be found impassable, much rain having fallen. Metcalf, however, was determined to try; but on coming to the water-side, he found his companion was much in liquor, and began to doubt of his getting over: as for himself, he had no fear, being a good swimmer.—So it was agreed that Metcalf should strip, and (leaving his cloathes to the care of his friend) lead his horse over, and thereby prove whether or not it was safe for his comrade to follow. By this means they got over, but not before it was dark. He then began to dress himself, but his waistcoat (in which were the three joints of his hautboy) was missing, as also his silver shoe-buckles, and seventeen shillings which fell from his pocket. This was an unpleasant accident, but there being no present remedy, they made the best of their way to Copgrove, where they rested. Metcalf listened diligently to the clock, and after some hours, supposing the waters to have abated, (which was the case,) he returned, and found his seventeen shillings on the bank, and a buckle on each side of the water. The waistcoat and hautboy he could never recover, although he carefully drew the deeps with a gardener’s iron rake, which he had procured for that purpose at Newby Hall.

Metcalf now bought a horse, and often ran him for small plates. He still continued to be a cocker—often hunted—and sometimes went a coursing; in the evenings he attended to play at the assemblies: finding, from these various pursuits, pretty sufficient employment. Being greatly encouraged by the gentlemen, he began to think himself of that class, excepting that his rents failed to come in half-yearly from his tenants.

About this time there was a long-room built at the Green-Dragon at Harrogate. More music being then wanted, he engaged one Midgeley (one of the Leeds waits) and his son, as assistants. Midgeley, sen. being a good performer, was taken into partnership gratis; but the son, and Metcalf’s former assistant, paid five pounds each premium. This was done with the approbation of all the innkeepers, who wished to keep Metcalf at the head of the band.

In the year 1735, Francis Barlow, Esq. of Middlethorp, near York, who kept a pack of beagles, was at Harrogate, and liking Metcalf, gave him an invitation to spend the winter at Middlethorp, desiring him to bring his horse: the invitation was gladly accepted, and he went out with Mr. Barlow’s hounds twice a week, highly gratified in the enjoyment of his favourite sport. While at Middlethorp, he was invited by Mr. Hebdin, an eminent musician, of York, to come to his house, and play, offering him, gratis, any service or instruction in his power: this kind offer Metcalf readily accepted, and went to practice music on those days when there was no hunting.

He had now completed a visit of six months to the worthy ’Squire of Middlethorpe;—and the hunting season being almost over, he proposed to his patron to take a farewell hunt in the forenoon, intending to proceed to Knaresborough in the evening.—He accordingly set out with the hounds in the morning; returned with the ’Squire at noon; got himself and his horse well fed and watered, and then proceeded to York, to take leave of Mr. Hebdin, previous to his going home. He had learned to walk and ride very readily through most of the streets of York; and as he was riding past the George Inn, in Coneystreet, Standish, the landlord, stopped him, calling out “What haste?” Metcalf told him he was for Knaresborough that night—The landlord replied, that there was a gentleman in the house who wanted a guide to Harrogate; adding, “I know you can do that as well as any one.”—“So I can,” said he, “but you must not let him know that I am blind, for perhaps he will be afraid to trust me.”—“I shall manage that,” replied Standish; so going in, he informed the gentleman that he had procured him a safe guide. Pleased at this, the gentleman requested that Metcalf would come in and take a bottle: this (for an obvious reason) the landlord objected to on the part of Metcalf, but recommended some wine at the door; during the drinking of which, the stranger got ready, and they set off, Metcalf taking the lead. As they were turning Ousegate corner, a voice halloed out “’Squire Barlow’s Blind Huntsman!” but the gentleman not knowing the meaning of this, they rode briskly up Micklegate, through the Bar, turned the corner to Holgate, and through Poppleton Field on to Hessay Moor, and so proceeded forward, going over Skip-Bridge. (At this time the turnpike was not made between York and Harrogate.)

On the North-West end of Kirk-Hammerton Moor, the road to Knaresborough joined the main road which leads to Boroughbridge by a sudden turn to the left; but Metcalf cleared that without any difficulty. When they came to Allerton-Mauleverer, the stranger asked whose large house that was on the right; and was immediately informed by Metcalf. A little farther on, the road is crossed by the one from Wetherby to Boroughbridge, and proceeds along by the high brick wall of Allerton Park. There was a road leading out of the Park, opposite to the gate upon the Knaresborough road, which Metcalf was afraid of missing; but the wind being from the East, and he perceiving a blast coming through the Park-gate, he readily turned his horse to the opposite gate which leads to Knaresborough. Reaching out his hand to open it, he felt the heel, as it is called; and, backing his horse, exclaimed “Confound thee! thou always goes to the gate heel, instead of the head.” The gentleman observed to him that his horse seemed aukward, and that his own mare was good at coming up to a gate; whereupon Metcalf permitted him to perform this office. Darkness (which had now come on) being no obstruction to him, he briskly led the way, resolved that his companion should not again see his face till they got to Harrogate. As they were going through Knaresborough, the gentleman proposed a glass of wine, which Metcalf refused, alledging that the horses were hot, and that being near their journey’s end, it was not worth while to stop:—On then they went; and presently some one cried out “That’s Blind Jack!”—This assertion, however, was contradicted by another person who could not clearly identify him; and by this means the stranger was kept in the dark as effectually as his guide. They then proceeded over the High Bridge, and up the Forest Lane, and then entering the Forest, they had to pass along a narrow causeway which reached about one-third of the way to Harrogate. When they had gone a little way upon the Forest, the gentleman saw a light, and asked what place it was. There were some rocks upon the Forest called Hookston Craggs, and near to these the ground was low and swampy in some places, close by which lays the Leeds road;—about this part were frequently seen at night, vapours, commonly called Will-o’-the-wisp. Metcalf took it for granted that his companion had seen one of these, but for good reasons declined asking him whereabout the light was; and to divert his attention from this object, asked him, “Do you not see two lights; one to the right, the other to the left?” “No,” replied the gentleman; “I seen but one light, that there on the right.”—“Well then, Sir,” said Metcalf, “that is Harrogate.” There were then many tracks, but Metcalf made choice of that nearest the fence: by the side of this path, which is very near Harrogate, some larches were planted; and stepping-stones laid for the convenience of foot-passengers: Metcalf got upon this stony path, and the gentleman’s horse following, got one of his hind feet jammed between two of the stones: when his horse was freed, he asked “Is there no other road?” “Yes,” replied Metcalf, “there is another, but it is a mile about:” knowing at the same time that there was a dirty cart-way just at hand, but to which upon some account he preferred this rugged path.

Arrived at their journey’s end, they stopped at the house now called the Granby, but found that the ostler was gone to bed.—Metcalf being very well acquainted with the place, led both the horses into the stable, and the ostler soon after appearing, he delivered them to his care, and went into the house to inquire after his fellow-traveller, whom he found comfortably seated over a tankard of negus, in which he pledged his guide; but when Metcalf attempted to take the tankard, he reached out his hand wide of the mark: however, he soon found it, and drank; and going out again, left to the landlord the opportunity of explaining to his companion what he was not yet sensible of.—“I think, landlord,” said the gentleman, “my guide must have drank a great deal of spirits since we came here.”—“Why, my good Sir, do you think so?”—“Well, I judge so from the appearance of his eyes.”—“Eyes! bless you, Sir,” rejoined the landlord, “do not you know that he is BLIND?”—“What do you mean by that?”—“I mean, Sir, that he cannot see.”—“Blind! Gracious God!!”—“Yes, Sir; as blind as a stone, by Heaven!”—“Well, landlord,” said the gentleman, “this is too much: call him in.” Metcalf enters. “My friend, are you really blind?”—“Yes, Sir; I lost my sight when six years old.”—“Had I known that, I would not have ventured with you for an hundred pounds.”—“And I, Sir,” said Metcalf, “would not have lost my way for a thousand.” This conversation ended, they sat down, and drank plentifully. Metcalf had with him a case containing a new fiddle which he had just received from London, and the gentleman observing it, desired him to play: the guide gave him as much satisfaction in this way, as he had before done in the character of a conductor; and the services of the evening were rewarded by a present of two guineas, besides a plentiful entertainment the next day, at the cost of this gentleman, who looked upon the adventure with Metcalf as the most extraordinary incident he had ever met with.

1736. The Harrogate season now commencing, Metcalf, of course, resumed his occupation; and, being of a jocular and comic turn, was so well received at all the inns, that he obtained free quarters for himself and horse.

The Green Dragon at that place was then kept by a Mr. Body, who had two nephews with him; and when the hunting season drew near its close, these with some other young men expressed a great desire for a day’s sport; and knowing that Mr. Woodburn, the master of the Knaresborough pack of hounds, had often lent them to Metcalf for the same purpose, they doubted not of the success of his application: being, however, unprovided with hunters, they were obliged to defer the day for near a fortnight before they could be accommodated.

On the evening before the appointed day, Metcalf went, flushed with hope, to Mr. Woodburn, requesting him to lend the pack for the next day. This was a favour out of his power to grant, having engaged to meet ’Squire Trapps, with the hounds, next morning, upon Scotton Moor, for the purpose of entering some young fox-hounds.—Chagrined at this, Metcalf debated with himself whether the disappointment should fall to Mr. Woodburn’s friends, or his own: determining that it should not be the lot of the latter, he arose the next morning before day-break, and crossed the High Bridge near which he had the advantage of the joint echos of the Old Castle and Belmont Wood. He had brought with him an extraordinary good hound of his own, and taking him by the ears, made him give mouth very loudly, himself giving some halloos at the same time. This device had so good an effect, that in a few minutes he had nine couple about him, as the hounds were kept by various people about the shambles, &c. and were suffered to lay unkennelled. Mounting his horse, away he rode with the dogs to Harrogate, where he met his friends, ready mounted, and in high spirits. Some of them proposed going to Bilton Wood; but this was opposed by Metcalf, who preferred the Moor; in fact, he was apprehensive of being followed by Mr. Woodburn, and wished to be further from Knaresborough upon that account.

Pursuant to his advice, they drew the Moor, at the distance of five miles, where they started a hare, killed her after a fine chace, and immediately put up another:—just at this moment came up Mr. Woodburn, foaming with anger, swearing most terribly, and threatening to send Metcalf to the devil, or at least to the house of correction; and, his passion rising to the utmost, rode up with an intention to horsewhip him, which Metcalf prevented, by galloping out of his reach.—Mr. Woodburn then endeavoured to call off the hounds; but Metcalf, knowing the fleetness of his own horse, ventured within speaking, though not within whipping, distance of him, and begged that he would permit the dogs to finish the chace, alledging that it would spoil them to take them off; and that he was sure they would (as they actually did) kill in a very short time. Metcalf soon found that Mr. Woodburn’s anger had begun to abate; and going nearer to him, pleaded in excuse a misunderstanding of his plan, which he said he thought had been fixed for the day after. The apology succeeded with this good-natured gentleman, who, giving the hare to Metcalf, desired he would accompany him to Scotton Moor, whither, though late, he would go, rather than wholly disappoint Mr. Trapps. The reader, by this time, knows enough of Metcalf to believe he was not averse to this proposal; so leaving the hares with his comrades, and engaging to be with them in the evening, he joined his old associate. The day being advanced, Metcalf objected to the circuitous way of Harrogate Bridge, proposing to cross the river Nidd at Holm Bottom; and Mr. Woodburn not being acquainted with the ford, he again undertook the office of guide, and leading the way, they soon arrived at Scotton Moor, where Mr. Trapps and his company had waited for them two hours. Mr. Woodburn explained the cause of the delay, and, being now able to participate in the joke, the affair ended very agreeably.

Metcalf stayed with this company until three in the afternoon, and then set off for Harrogate, crossing the river. He had not tasted food that day; but when he got to his friends, he found them preparing the brace of hares, with many other good things, for supper; and after spending many jovial hours, he played country-dances till day-light.

When the Harrogate season was over, it was Metcalf’s constant custom to visit at the inns, always spending the evening at one or other of them. At the Royal Oak (now the Granby) in particular, scenes of mirth were often going forward; and at these he greatly attracted the notice of one of the landlord’s daughters.

In the summer he used often to run his horse for the petty plates or prizes given at the feasts in the neighbourhood; and on all these occasions, when in her power, she was sure to attend, with her female friends. By frequent intercourse, the lady and Metcalf became very intimate; and this intimacy produced mutual regard and confidence. Her mother being a high-spirited woman, had brought up her daughters, as she hoped at least, with notions ill suited to the condition of Metcalf; so that in order to disguise the state of their hearts from her parents, the lovers agreed on a set of names and phrases, intelligible to each other, though not so to them. He used to call himself Mary, or Tibby, (at once changing the sex, and speaking as if of a third person); and she, Harry, or Dickey, or some such name. Whenever he sought to intimate to her his intention of visiting her, he would say, “You must tell Richard that Mary will be here on such a day.” Her mother would perhaps ask, “Who is that?” To which she would reply, that it was a young woman who was to meet her brother there.—But if the day appointed by Metcalf was not convenient, she would say, that “Richard had called, and had left word that Mary should call again at such a time;” meaning the time she wished Metcalf to come.—And as she commonly fastened the doors, when she expected him she always left a door or a window open.

One night, in particular, Metcalf having, in consequence of an appointment, arrived there about midnight, and got in by a window that had been designedly left open; in his way to the young woman’s room, he met the old one in the middle of the stair-case! Both parties were much surprised; and the mistress asking angrily “Who’s there?” “What do you want?” he knowing that she always went to bed early, replied “I came in late last night, sat down in a chair by the fire-side, and fell fast asleep.” She then called loudly to her daughter, “Why did you not shew Jack to bed?” “I was not to sit up all night for him;” replied the lass. He then pursued his way up stairs, and the girl conducted him to a bed-room.

In summer he would often play at bowls, making the following conditions with his antagonist, viz. to receive the odds of a bowl extra for the deficiency of an eye.—By these terms he had three for the other’s one. He took care to place a friend and confidant at the jack, and another about mid-way; and those, keeping up a constant discourse with him, enabled him, by their voices, to judge of the distance. The degree of bias he could always ascertain by feeling; and, odd as it may seem, was very frequently the winner.

Cards, too, began to engage his attention; all of which he could soon distinguish, unassisted; and many were the persons of rank who, from curiosity, played with him, he generally winning the majority of the games.

But the achievements already enumerated were far from bounding either his ambition or capacity: He now aspired to the acquaintance of jockies of a higher class than he had hitherto known, and to this end frequented the races at York and many other places; when he always found the better kind of persons inclined to lend him their skill in making his bets, &c. impressed, as they no doubt were, with sympathy for his situation, and surprize at his odd propensity.

He commonly rode to the race-ground amongst the crowd; and kept in memory both the winning and losing horses.

Being much in the habit of visiting York in the winter time, a whim would often take him to call for his horse at bed-time, and set out for Knaresborough, regardless of the badness of the roads and weather, and of all remonstrance from his friends; yet the hand of Providence always conducted him in safety.—It was quite common for him to go from Skipton, over the Forest Moor, to Knaresborough, alone; but if he had company, and it was night, he was, of course, the foremost.

About the year 1738, Metcalf having increased his stud, and being aware of the docility of that noble animal, the horse, so tutored his own, that whenever he called them by their respective names, they would immediately answer him by neighing. This was chiefly accomplished by some discipline at the time of feeding. He could, however, without the help of those responses, select his own horses out of any number.

Having matched one of his horses, to run three miles, for a wager of some note, and the parties agreeing to ride each his own, they set up posts at certain distances, on the Forest, including a circle of one mile; having, of course, three rounds to go. Great odds were laid against Metcalf, upon the supposition of his inability to keep the course. But what did his ingenuity suggest in this dilemma: or, rather, what did it anticipate? He procured four dinner-bells from the different inns, with what others he could borrow; and placing a man, with a bell, at each post, he was enabled, by the ringing, to turn; and fully availing himself of the superior fleetness of his horse, came in winner, amidst the plaudits and exultations of the multitude, except only those who had betted against him.

A gentleman of the name of Skelton then came up, and proposed to Metcalf a small wager, that he could not gallop a horse of his fifty yards, and stop him within two hundred. This horse was notorious as a run-away, and had baffled the efforts of the best and strongest riders to hold him. Metcalf agreed to the wager, upon condition that he might choose his ground; but Skelton objected to there being either hedge or wall in the distance. Metcalf, every ready at any thing that was likely to produce a joke, agreed; the stakes were deposited; and knowing that there was a large bog near the Old Spa at Harrogate, he mounted at about the distance of an hundred and fifty yards from it. Having observed the wind, and placed a person who was to sing a song, for the guidance of sound, he set off, at full gallop, for the bog, and soon fixed the horse saddle-skirt deep in the mire. He then floundered through the dirt as well as he was able, till he gained a firm footing; when he demanded his wager, which was allotted him by the general suffrage. It was with the greatest difficulty, however, that the horse could be extricated.——That Metcalf was so well acquainted with this spot, was owing to his having, about three weeks before, relieved a stranger who had got fast in it in the night, and whose cries had attracted him.

It was now no unusual thing with him to buy horses, with a view to sell them again. Happening to meet with a man who had left the place of huntsman to a pack of subscription hounds kept by Sir John Kaye, ’Squire Hawkesworth, and others, and who had a horse to sell, Metcalf inquired his price, at the same time requesting permission to ride him a little way. Having trotted the horse a mile or two, he returned, telling the owner that the eyes of his nag would soon fail. The man, however, stood firm to his demand of twenty-five guineas for the horse, alledging that he was beautifully moulded, only six years old, and his action good. Metcalf then took the man into the stable, and desired him to lay his hand upon the eyes of the horse, to feel their uncommon heat; asking him, at the same time, how he could, in conscience, demand so great a price for a horse that was going blind. This treaty ended with Metcalf’s purchasing the horse, bridle, and saddle, for fourteen pounds.

A few days after, as he was riding on his new purchase, he ran against a sign-post, upon the Common, near the Toy-Shop, and nearly threw it down. Not discouraged by this, he set off for Ripon, to play at an assembly; and passing by a place at Harrogate called the World’s-End, he overtook a man going the Ripon road.—With him Metcalf laid a wager of six-pennyworth of liquor, that he would get first to an alehouse at some small distance. The ground being rough, Metcalf’s horse soon fell, and lay for a while on the thigh of his master, when, making an effort to rise, he cut Metcalf’s face with one of his fore shoes. The Rev. Mr. Richardson coming up at this moment, and expressing his concern for the accident, Metcalf told him that nothing had hurt him but the cowardice of his horse, who had struck him whilst he was down. His instrument, however, suffered so materially, that he was obliged to borrow one to perform on for the night, at Ripon, to which place he got without further accident. The assembly over, he set off to return to Harrogate, and arrived there about three in the morning.

He now thought it was time to dispose of his fine horse, whose eyes began to discharge much. After applying the usual remedies of allum blown into the eyes, roweling in different parts, &c. he found him in marketable condition; and knowing that there would soon be a great shew of horses without Micklegate-Bar, at York, he resolved to take the chance of that mart; and setting out the night before, put up at the Swan, in Micklegate. The next morning, when the shew began, Metcalf’s nag attracted the notice of one Carter, a very extensive dealer, who asking the price, was told twenty-two guineas. Carter then inquired if he was sound, and received for answer, “I have never known him lame; but I shall trot him on this pavement, and if there be any ailment of that kind, it will soon appear, with my weight.” The dealer bade him sixteen guineas, and a little after, seventeen; which Metcalf, for well-known reasons, was glad to receive.

Having sold his horse, he set off on foot for Harrogate; but before he had got to Holgate (about a mile on his way) he was overtaken by a Knaresborough man, on horseback, who proposed, for two shillings-worth of punch, to let him ride in turn, dividing the distances equally. Metcalf thought the man was unreasonable in his demand, but agreed to it at length; and giving his companion one tankard, he, by consent, got the first ride, with instructions to the following effect, viz. That he should ride on till he got a little beyond Poppleton-Field, where he would see a gate on his right hand, to which he should fasten the horse, and leaving him for the owner, proceed. Metcalf not seeing the gate, as described, rode on to Knaresborough, which was seventeen miles from the place where he had left his fellow-traveller. He then left the horse at the owner’s house, saying that the master having got into a return-chaise, had desired him to ride the horse home.—— The owner was greatly enraged at being left to walk so long a way; but, on Metcalf’s pleading that he never saw the gate, he found it his interest to join in the laugh.

Being now in the prime of life, and possessing a peculiar archness of disposition, with an unceasing flow of spirits, and a contempt of danger, seldom if ever equalled by one in his circumstances, it will not be wondered at that levities, such as are before recited, should have employed a considerable portion of his time. The sequel, however, will, in due course, shew, that he was capable of embarking in, and bringing to perfection, several schemes, of public as well as private utility; and this promise to the reader, it is hoped, will insure his patience, while he is made the companion of the author in a few more of his frolicsome adventures.

In the year 1738 Metcalf attained the age of twenty-one years, and the height of six feet one inch and an half, and was remarkably robust withal.

At that time there lived at Knaresborough one John Bake, a man of a ferocious temper and athletic figure. He was considered in the neighbourhood as a champion, or rather bully; and thus qualified, was often employed specially, to serve writs or warrants, in cases where desperate resistance was expected. Metcalf going one evening, with a friend, to a public house, they there met this Bake; and a short time after, Metcalf’s and Bake sat down to cards. The latter took some money off the table, to which he was not entitled; and the former remonstrating on the injustice of Bake, received from him a violent blow. Metcalf interposing with words only at first, was treated in the same manner; when instantly entering into combat with this ruffian, he bestowed upon him such discipline as soon extorted a cry for mercy.

To the fame which Metcalf had acquired by various means, was now added that of a boxer, though he was far from being ambitious of celebrity in that way. Some little time after, Metcalf was called up at midnight by this very Bake, who, knowing by experience the prowess and powers of his late antagonist, had presumed to make a bet of five guineas, that Metcalf would beat a fellow whose company he had just left.—But Metcalf gave him to understand, that, although he had store of thumps for those who should treat him with insolence, he was no prize-fighter; and having no quarrel with the man in question, he (Bake) might fight or forfeit as he liked best.

Being desirous of getting a little fish, he once, unassisted, drew a net of eighty yards length, in the deepest part of the river Wharfe, for three hours together. At one time he held the lines in his mouth, being obliged to swim.

The following wager he laid, and won: He engaged with a man at the Queen’s Head at Harrogate, to go to Knaresborough Cross, and return, in less time than the other would gather one hundred and twenty stones, laid at regular distances of a yard each, and, taking one stone at a time, put them all into a basket placed at one end of the line.

Meeting with some company, amongst whom there was one of a boastful turn, Metcalf proposed to go against him from Harrogate to Knaresborough Cross, provided he would take the way which Metcalf should choose. To this the other agreed, believing that he could easily keep pace with Metcalf till he should arrive within sight of the Cross, and that he could then push forward, and beat him. But when they got within half a mile of the town, Metcalf quitted the road which leads over the High Bridge, and, knowing that his antagonist could not swim, made for a deep part of the river above Bridge, and divesting himself of his upper drapery, swam across; at the same time calling out jeeringly to his adversary, “that he hoped for the pleasure of his company up to the Cross.” The other, not liking to commit himself to the water, gave up the wager.

About this time, Dr. Chambers, of Ripon, had a well-made horse, which he used to hunt; but finding that latterly he became a great stumbler, he exchanged him with a dealer, who took him to Harrogate, and meeting with Metcalf, told him he had an excellent hunter to sell at a low price.—Metcalf desired to try how the horse leaped, and the owner agreeing, he mounted him, and found that he could go over any wall or fence, the height of himself when saddled. A bargain was soon struck; and this happening at the Queen’s Head, several gentlemen who were witnesses of the horse’s performance invited Metcalf to accompany them, two days after, to Belmont Wood, where a pack of hounds were to throw off.

These hounds were the joint property of Francis Trapps, Esq; and his brother, of Nidd, near Ripley. A pack superior to this was not to be found in the kingdom; nor were the owners themselves ever excelled in their attention to their dogs and hunters.

The wished-for day arriving, Metcalf attended the gentlemen, and the hounds were not long in finding. The fox took away to Plumpton Rocks, but finding all secure there he made for Stockeld Wood, and found matters in the same slate as at Plumpton.—He had then run about six miles. He came back, and crossed the river Nidd near the Old Abbey, and went on the East side of Knaresborough, to a place called Coney-Garths (where there were earths) near Scriven. Metcalf’s horse carried him nobly; pulling hard, and requiring proportionate resistance. The wind being high, Metcalf lost his hat, but would not stop to recover it; and coming to Thistle-Hill, near Knaresborough, he resolved to cross the river at the Abbey-Mill, having often before gone, on foot, over the dam-stones. When he got to the dam, he attended to the noise of the fall, as a guide, and ranging his horse in a line with the stones, dashed forward for some part of the way; but the stones being slippery with a kind of moss, his horse stumbled, but recovered this and a second blunder: the third time, however, floundering completely, away went horse and rider into the dam. Metcalf had presence of mind to disengage his feet from the stirrups, during the descent; but both the horse and himself were immersed over head in water. He then quitted his seat, and made for the opposite side, the horse following him. Having secured his nag, he laid himself down on his back, and held up his heels to let the water run out of his boots; which done, he quickly re-mounted, and went up a narrow lane which leads to the road between Knaresborough and Wetherby; then through some lanes on the North-East side of Knaresborough; and crossing the Boroughbridge road, he got to the Coney-Garths, where he found that the whipper-in only had arrived before him.

Here the fox had earthed, as was expected; and the other horsemen (who had gone over the Low Bridge, and through the town) after some time came up.—They were much surprised at finding Metcalf there, and attributed the soaked condition of himself and horse to profuse sweating; nor were they undeceived till (giving up the fox) they got to Scriven, where, upon an explanation of the affair, they laughed heartily.

In the circle of Metcalf’s acquaintance at Knaresborough were two young men, whose sister lived with them in the capacity of housekeeper; and she being of a jocular turn, would often, on Metcalf’s calling at the house, propose such whimsical schemes to him, as gave him reason to believe that to laugh and be merry was the chief business of her life. However, she one evening apprised him of her intention to pay him a visit in the night, and desired him to leave his door unlocked. A knowledge of the woman’s mirthful propensity made him at first consider this as a joke; but, on the other hand, he thought it possible that a real assignation was intended; and being too gallant to disappoint a lady, he told her he would obey her orders. Too sure for the future peace of Metcalf, the lady was punctual to her appointment; coming at the dead time of night to his mother’s house, unawed at passing by the church, whose sanction was wanting. It would be impertinent to detain the reader on the subject of the meeting: suffice it to say, that Metcalf too had unfortunately left his scruples at another house. In a few months after, this tender creature accosted him in the usual way—“I am ruined!—undone—lost for ever, if you do not make an honest woman of me!—” &c. &c.

Whatever compunction Metcalf might have felt in a case of confiding innocence, pleading for the only compensation in his power, he did not think his conscience very deeply interested in the present: besides, his heart was strongly attached to his first truly respectable and worthy mistress.—His business, therefore, was to pacify a troublesome client, which he did in the best manner he was able. The adventure with this dulcinea had happened previous to the above-mentioned hunt; but when Metcalf accompanied the gentlemen from the Coney-Garths to the village of Scriven, he there heard, on the authority of the landlord of the inn, that a woman had gone that day to filiate a child to him. He endeavoured to be merry on the occasion, alledging, that it could not be so, as he had not seen the woman for several years. This produced a laugh among the company; but with Metcalf it soon took a more serious turn. On his return to Harrogate he employed his fellow-fidler to procure a meeting between him and his favourite, Dorothy Benson, which was effected with some difficulty; and he took this occasion to inform her of his disgrace, judging it better to be before-hand with her, in a matter which could not be long concealed.—“Ah! John,” replied she, “thou hast got into a sad scrape: but I intreat thee, do not think of marrying her.” Having quieted the fears of his favourite on that score, he desired his assistant to go with him to Knaresborough, to sound the coast; but before they had got half way, his companion exclaimed, “Here is the Town-Officer coming!” Metcalf proposed walking smartly on, without noticing him; but when they got near, the Officer, who was a Quaker, called out, “Stop, I want to speak with thee.” He then explained his errand, and pressed Metcalf much to marry the woman; to which he replied, that he had no thoughts of marriage, and desired to know whether for thirty or forty pounds in money the matter might be made up. “Yea, friend,” said Jonathan, “perhaps I can settle the affair for thee on those terms.” On this, Metcalf observed to him, that he must go to Harrogate, his money being there. The Quaker agreeing, they went together to a public-house, where Metcalf called for a tankard of punch, drank part of it, and seeming very chearful, said, “I must go and collect my money: as it is in various hands, perhaps it will be an hour or more before I can return; so drink your punch, and call for more.” This pretext succeeding, he left Jonathan to regale himself at his own suit; and choosing the most private way to a thick wood, he there secreted himself all day. After some hours waiting, the man of the broad brim lost all patience, and set out in quest of his profane ward; when meeting a gentleman, he thus accosted him: “Friend! have thee, perchance, seen a blind fidler?” The gentleman replied, “I thought that a person of thy cloth had not wanted a fidler.” “I tell thee I want one at this time,” quoth the Quaker; who, after some other fruitless inquiries, went home.

At night, Metcalf ventured to break cover; and judging it unsafe to remain in the neighbourhood of the hounds, he gave his assistant directions to put his little affairs in order—then mounting his horse, he took the road for Scarborough.

As he was walking one day on the sands, with a friend, he resolved to take a swim in the sea, his companion agreeing to give him an halloo when he should think he had gone far enough outward; but the other, not making a sufficient allowance for the noise of the sea, suffered him to go out of hearing before he shouted, and Metcalf continued swimming until he got out of the sight of his friend, who now suspected he should see him no more. At length he began to reflect, that, should he proceed on to Holland, he had nothing in his pocket to make him welcome;—so turning, and removing his hair from his ears, he thought he heard the breakers beating against the pier which defends the Spa: finding, by the noise, that he was at a great distance, he increased his efforts, and happening to be right, he landed in safety, and relieved his friend from a very painful situation.

Having an aunt at Whitby, near the Allum-works, he went there, left his horse, and got on board an allum ship bound for London.

In London he met with a North-country man who played on the small pipes, and who frequented the houses of many gentlemen in town. By his intelligence Metcalf found out several who were in the habit of visiting Harrogate; and amongst others, Colonel Liddell, who resided in King-street, Covent-Garden, and who gave him a general invitation to his house. The Colonel was a Member of Parliament for Berwick-upon-Tweed, and lived at Ravensworth-Castle, near Newcastle-upon-Tyne; and on his return from London into the North, which generally happened in the month of May, he stopped three weeks at Harrogate, for a number of years successively.

When the winter was over, Metcalf thought he must take a look out of London. Accordingly he set out through Kensington, Hammersmith, Colnbrook, Maidenhead, and Reading, in Berkshire; and returned by Windsor, and Hampton-Court, to London, in the beginning of May. In his absence, Colonel Liddell had sent to his lodgings, to let him know that he was going to Harrogate, and that, if agreeable to him, he might go down either behind his coach or on the top. Metcalf, on his return, waited upon the Colonel, and thanked him, but declined his kind offer, observing, that he could, with great ease, walk as far in a day as he would choose to travel. The next day, at noon, the Colonel, and his suite, consisting of sixteen servants on horseback, set off, Metcalf starting about an hour before them. They were to go by way of Bugden, and he made his way to Barnet. A little way from Barnet the Bugden and St. Albans roads part, and he had taken the latter: however, he made good the destined stage for sleeping, which was Welling, and arrived a little before the Colonel, who was surprized at his performance. Metcalf set off again the next morning before his friends, and coming to Biggleswade, found the road was crossed with water, there being no bridge at that time. He made a circuitous cast, but found no other way, except a foot-path which he was dubious of trusting. A person coming up, asked, “What road are you for?”—He answered, “For Bugden.” “You have had some liquor this morning, I suppose,” said the stranger.—“Yes,” replied Metcalf; although he had tasted none that day. The stranger then bid him follow, and he would bring him into the highway. Soon after they came to some sluices, with planks laid across, and Metcalf followed by the sound of his guide’s feet; then to a gate, on the side of the turnpike, which being locked, he was told to climb over. Metcalf was struck with the kind attention of his conductor, and taking twopence from his pocket, said, “Here, good fellow, take that, and get thee a pint of beer;” but the other declined it, saying he was welcome. Metcalf, however, pressing the reward upon him, was asked, “Can you see very well?” “Not remarkably well,” he replied. “My friend,” said the stranger, “I do not mean to tythe you:—I am Rector of this parish; and so God bless you, and I wish you a good journey.” Metcalf set forward with the parson’s benediction, and stopped every night with the Colonel: On coming to Wetherby, he arrived at the inn before him, as usual, and told the landlord of his approach, who asked him by what means he had become acquainted with that, and was informed by him how he had preceded the Colonel the whole week, this being Saturday, and they had left town on Monday noon. The Colonel arriving, ordered Metcalf into his room, and proposed halting till Monday; but Metcalf replied, “With your leave, Sir, I shall go to Harrogate to-night, and meet you there on Monday.” In truth, he was anxious to know the worst respecting the woman who had been the cause of his journey; and was much pleased to find matters in a better train than he expected, for being in a comfortable way, and not inclined to be farther troublesome. Many friends visited him on Sunday, and the next day the Colonel arrived. But of all his friends, the dearest was at the Royal Oak: with her he had an affectionate meeting, after an absence of seven months. During this interval a young man had been paying his addresses to her; and knowing that Metcalf was acquainted with the family, he solicited him to use what interest he had in his behalf: this, when made known to the lady by the man of her heart, afforded them both great entertainment.

Metcalf became now in great request as a performer at Ripon assembly, which was resorted to by many families of distinction, such as those of Sir Walter Blacket of Newby, Sir John Wray, Sir R. Graham, ’Squire Rhodes, ’Squire Aislaby of Studley, and many others. When he played alone, it was usual with him, after the assembly, to set off for Harrogate or Knaresborough; but when he had an assistant, he remained all night at Ripon to keep him company, his partner being afraid to ride in the dark.

Finding himself worth fifteen pounds, (a larger sum than he ever before had to spare) he made his favourite Miss Benson his treasurer; but as he had not yet begun to speculate in the purchase of land, and a main of cocks being made in the neighbourhood, he became a party, and drawing his cash from the hands of his fair banker, he lost two-thirds of his whole fortune.—The remaining five pounds he laid on a horse which was to run at York a few days after; and though he had the good fortune to win the last wager, his general imprudence in this way produced a little shyness from his sweetheart.

His competitor (not suspecting the intimacy between Metcalf and the young lady) pushed his suit briskly; and after a short time, banns were published in the churches of Knaresborough and Kirby-Overblow.—Metcalf was much surprised, having long thought himself secure of her affection. He now began to believe that she had laid more stress on his late follies than he had been aware of, and the remembrance of them gave him exquisite pain, for he loved her tenderly, and was restrained from proposing marriage to her only by the doubts he had of being able to support her in the manner she had been accustomed to. On the other hand, his pride made him disdain to shew that he was hurt, or to take any measures to prevent the match. The publication of banns being complete, the wedding-day was appointed.—The supposed bridegroom had provided an entertainment at his house for upwards of two hundred people; and going with a few friends to Harrogate on the Sunday, proposed the following day for the nuptials, which were to be solemnized at Knaresborough, intending to return to Harrogate to breakfast, where a bride-cake was ready, with a hamper of wine, which latter was to have been carried to Kirby, for the use of the guests he had invited.

On the Sunday, Metcalf riding pretty smartly past the Royal Oak, towards the Queen’s Head, was loudly accosted in these words—“One wants to speak with you.” He turned immediately to the stables of the Oak, and, to his joyful surprise, found there his favourite, who had sent her mother’s maid to call him. “Well, lass,” said he, “thou’s going to have a merry day to-morrow; am I to be the fidler?”—“Thou never shalt fiddle at my wedding,” replied she. “What’s the matter? What have I done?” said Metcalf.—“Matters may not end,” said she, “as some folks wish they should.” “What!” said he, “hadst thou rather have me? Canst thou bear starving?”—“Yes,” said she, “with thee I can!” “Give me thy hand, then, lass,—skin for skin, it’s all done!”

The girl who had called him being present, he told her, that as she and his horse were the only witnesses to what had passed, he would kill the first who should divulge it.—The immediate concern was to fix on some plan, as Miss Benson was apprehensive of being missed by her friends.—Jack, ever prompt at an expedient, desired that she would that night place a lighted candle in one of the windows of the old house, as soon as the coast was clear, and herself ready to set off, which will doubtless appear to the reader a very extraordinary signal to a blind man; but he had conceived measures for carrying the projected elopement into effect by the assistance of a third person. This being approved of, she went into the house, and in a short time was followed by Metcalf, who was warmly received by the supposed bridegroom and company. The tankard went briskly round with “Success to the intended couple;” in which toast, it may be readily believed, Metcalf joined them most cordially.

Having stayed till it was near dark, he thought it time for putting business into a proper train. Going then to a public house known by the name of the World’s End, he inquired for the ostler, whom he knew to be a steady fellow; and after obtaining from this man a promise either to serve him in an affair of moment in which he was engaged, or keep the secret, he related the particulars of his assignation, and the intended elopement; to forward which, he desired him to let them have his master’s mare, which he knew would carry double.—This agreed on, he requested the further service of meeting him at the Raffle Shop (now the Library) at ten o’clock: a whistle was to be given by the first who got there, as a signal. They met pretty punctually; and Metcalf asked him if he saw a star, meaning the light before mentioned: he said, he did not; but in less than half an hour the star was in the place appointed. They then left the horses at a little distance from the house, not choosing to venture into the court-yard, it being paved. On the door being opened by the lady, he asked her if the was ready; to which she replied in the affirmative.—He advised her, however, to pack up a gown or two, as she probably might not see her mother again for some time. The ostler having recommended the lady’s pillion to Metcalf, in preference to that of his mistress, he asked her for it:—“O dear!” said she, “it is in the other house; but we must have it.” She then went to the window and called up her sister, who let her in. The pillion and cloth were in the room where the supposed bridegroom slept; and on his seeing her enter, she said, “I’ll take this and brush it, that it may be ready in the morning.” “That’s well thought on, my dear,” said he. She then came down, and all three went to the horses. Metcalf mounted her behind his friend, then got upon his own horse, and away they went. At that time it was not a matter of so much difficulty to get married as it is at present; and they, with only the trouble of riding twelve miles, and at a small expence, were united.

Metcalf left his bride, on his return, at a friend’s house within five miles of Harrogate, but did not dismount, being in haste to return the mare he had borrowed with French leave. A few minutes after their return, Mr. Body, the landlord, called for his mare, to go to Knaresborough, and fortunately she was ready for him.

Metcalf now went to the Queen’s Head, to perform the usual service of playing during the breakfast half hour. His overnight’s excursion made him rather thoughtful, having got a bird, but no cage for it. While he was musing on this subject, an acquaintance, who made one of the intended bridegroom’s company the evening before, came up, and asked him to take a glass with him. Metcalf quickly guessed what his business was, but adjourned with him to a private room, seemingly unconcerned. “Metcalf,” said he “a strange thing has happened since you were with us last night, concerning Dolly Benson, who was to have been married this morning to Anthony Dickinson.—You are suspected of knowing something about the former; and I shall briefly state to you the consternation which her disappearance has occasioned, and the reasons why suspicion falls upon you. This morning, early, the bridegroom went to Knaresborough, and informed the Rev. Mr. Collins that he and his intended wife were coming that forenoon to be married. In his absence Mrs. Benson and her other daughter began to prepare for breakfast; and observing that Dolly lay very long in bed, her mother desired that she might be called; but her usual bedfellow declaring that she had not slept with her, she was ordered to seek her in some of the other rooms. This was done, but in vain. They then took it for granted that she had taken a ride with Mr. Dickinson; but he returning, could give no account of her. All her friends began now to be very seriously alarmed; and, amongst other fearful conjectures, supposed that she might have fallen into the well, in attempting to draw water for breakfast; and actually got some iron creepers, and searched the well. Her brother then took horse, and rode to Burton-Leonard, to a young man who had slightly paid his addresses to her, and, informing him of the distress of the family, begged he would give information, if in his power. The young man immediately asked him if he had seen Blind Jack; he answered, that you were at the Oak last night, but did not in the least suspect you.—The other, however, persisted in the opinion that you were most likely to know where the girl was, and gave the following incident as a reason: Being, not long since, at a dance, where Miss Benson made one, he observed her wiping a profuse perspiration from your face, with an handkerchief; and this act was accompanied by a look so tender, as left no doubt in his mind of her being strongly attached to you.”

This narrative (a part of which was no news to Metcalf) was scarcely finished, when young Benson appeared; and Metcalf put an end to all inquiry, by declaring the truth: and thinking it his duty to conciliate, if possible, those whom he had offended, he employed the softest phrases he was master of on the occasion. He begged pardon, through their son, of Mr. and Mrs. Benson, whom he did not presume to call father and mother, and wished them to believe that the warmth of his passion for their daughter, with the despair of obtaining their consent, had led him to the measures he had taken; and that he would make them the best amends in his power, by the affectionate conduct he should observe to his wife.

The son, in part pacified, left Metcalf, and reported this declaration to his parents: but they were just as well pleased at it, as they would have been at the sight of their building in flames; and, in the height of passion, declared they would put him to death, if they met with him.

The poor forlorn Dickinson then departed, accompanied by one of Mr. Benson’s sons. When they got near his home, they heard two sets of bells, viz. those of Folifoot and Kirby Overblow, ringing, in expectation of the arrival of the bride and groom; but the sound was more like that of a knell to Dickinson, who fell from his horse through anguish, but was relieved by the attention of his friend. The company were surprised at not seeing the bride; but matters were soon explained, and they were desired to partake of the fare provided for them.

Metcalf not being able, at once, to procure a Palace for his Queen, took a small house at Knaresborough. It now became matter of wonder that she should have preferred a blind man to Dickinson, she being as handsome a woman as any in the country. A lady having asked her why she had refused so many good offers for Blind Jack; she answered, “Because I could not be happy without him:” And being more particularly questioned, she replied, “His actions are so singular, and his spirit so manly and enterprising, that I could not help liking him.” Metcalf being interrogated, on his part, how he had contrived to obtain the lady, replied, That many women were like liquor-merchants, who purchase spirits above proof, knowing that they can lower them at home; and this, he thought, would account why many a rake got a wife, while your plodding sons of phlegm were doomed to celibacy.

He now went to Harrogate, as usual, with the exception of one house. Meeting with a butcher there one day, and drinking pretty freely, a wager was proposed to Metcalf, that he durst not visit his mother-in-law. He took the wager, mounted his horse, and riding up to the kitchen-door, called for a pint of wine. There being then only women in the house, they all ran up stairs in a fright. He then rode into the kitchen, through the house, and out at the hall door, no one molesting him. As there were many evidences to this act of heroism, he returned, and demanding the stakes, received them without opposition.

The Harrogate season being on the decline, he retired to Knaresborough, where he purchased an old house, intending to build on its scite the next summer. Assisted by another stout man, he began to get stones up from the river; and being much used to the water, took great delight in this sort of work. Meeting with some workmen, he told them the intended dimensions of his house, and they named a price, by the rood, for building it: but Metcalf, calculating from his own head, found that their estimate would not do; so letting them the job by lump agreement, they completed it at about half the sum which they would have got by the rood.

He now went to the Oak, to demand his wife’s cloaths, but was refused: on a second application, however, he succeeded. His wife having brought him a boy, and some genteel people being the sponsors, they employed their good offices to heal the breach between the families, and were so fortunate as to succeed. On the birth of a daughter (the second child) Mrs. Benson herself was godmother, and presented Metcalf with fifty guineas.

He continued to play at Harrogate in the season; and set up a four-wheel chaise, and a one-horse chair, for public accommodation, there having been nothing of the kind there before.—He kept those vehicles two summers, when the innkeepers beginning to run chaises, he gave them up; as he also did racing, and hunting; but still wanting employment, he bought horses, and went to the coast for fish, which he took to Leeds and Manchester; and so indefatigable was he, that he would frequently walk for two nights and a day, with little or no rest.

Going from Knaresborough to Leeds in a snow-storm, and crossing a brook, the ice gave way under one of his horses, and he was under the necessity of unloading to get him out; but the horse as soon as free ran back to Knaresborough, leaving him with two panniers of fish, and three other loaded horses, which, together with the badness of the night, greatly perplexed him:—After much difficulty, however, he divided the weight amongst the others, and pursuing his journey, arrived at Leeds by break of day.

Once passing through Halifax, he stopped at an inn called the Broad Stone. The landlord’s son and some others who frequented Harrogate seeing Metcalf come in, and having often heard of his exploits, signified a wish to play at cards with him: he agreed, and accordingly they sent for a pack, which he desired to examine a little. The man of the house being his friend, he could depend upon his honour in preventing deception. They began, and Metcalf beat four of them in turn; playing for liquor only. Not satisfied with this, some of the company proposed playing for money; when engaging at shilling whist, Metcalf won fifteen shillings. The party who lost then proposed to play double or quit, but Metcalf declined playing for more than shilling points; till at last yielding to much importunity, he got engaged for guineas, and, favoured by fortune, won ten, the whole sum late in the possession of the loser, who took up the cards, and going out, soon returned with eight guineas more: Metcalf’s friend examined the cards, to see that they were not marked; and finding all fair, they went on again, until those eight pieces followed the other ten. They then drank freely at Metcalf’s cost, he being in good circumstances to treat. About ten at night he took his leave, saying he must be at Knaresborough in the morning, having sent his horses before. On his way he crossed the river Wharfe about a mile below Poole: the water being high, his horse swam, but he got safe home; and this ended his pursuits as a fishmonger, the profits being small, and his fatigue very considerable.

From the period of his discontinuing the business of fishmonger, Metcalf continued in the practice of attending Harrogate, as a player on the violin in the Long-room, until the commencement of the Rebellion in 1745.

The events of that period having been so numerously and so minutely detailed, that any one the least conversant in the history of this country cannot be unacquainted with the origin, progress, and termination of the civil commotions which agitated it,—it would appear unnecessary to obtrude the narration of them here, further than may seem needful to introduce the part in which Metcalf bore a personal share. The circumstance of his commencing soldier, was at that time, and will still by the reader, be looked upon as a very extraordinary proceeding of one in his situation.

The alarm which took place, in consequence of that event, was general; and loyalty to the reigning Sovereign, and Government, with measures for resistance to the Rebel Party, shone no where more conspicuous than in the County of York.

Amongst the many instances which mark this, none were more striking than the signally gallant conduct of the late William Thornton, Esq; of Thornville.

The opinion of that gentleman, as delivered at the General County Meeting held at the Castle of York, was, that the four thousand men, (for the raising, cloathing, and maintaining of which ninety thousand pounds had been subscribed) should be embodied in companies with the regulars, and march with the King’s forces to any part where their services might be required.—This mode of proceeding, however, not meeting the opinion of the majority of the gentlemen present, he determined to raise a company at his own expence.

In consequence of that resolution, Mr. Thornton went to Knaresborough about the first of October, 1745; and Metcalf having for several years been in the practice of visiting that gentleman’s mansion, (particularly at the festive season of Christmas, where, with his violin and hautboy, he assisted to entertain the family) Mr. Thornton was well acquainted with his extraordinary disposition, and, imagining that he might be of service to him in his present undertaking, sent for our blind hero to his inn, treated him liberally with punch, and, informing him “that the French were coming to join the Scotch rebels, the consequence of which would be, that if not vigourously opposed, they would violate all our wives, daughters, and sisters,” asked him if he had spirit to join the company about to be raised. Metcalf instantly giving an affirmative answer, was asked whether he knew of any spirited fellows who were likely to make good soldiers; and having satisfied his patron on this head also, he was appointed an assistant to a serjeant already procured, with orders to begin recruiting the next day. This service went on with rapid success: several carpenters, smiths, and other artificers were engaged, to all of whom Metcalf promised great military advancement, or, in default of that, places of vast profit under Government, as soon as the matter was over, which he called only a bustle; thus following the example of other decoy ducks, by promising very unlikely things.

Such was their success, that in two days only they enlisted one hundred and forty men, out of whom the Captain drafted sixty-four, (the number of privates he wanted) and sent immediately to Leeds for cloth of a good quality for their cloathing. The coats were blue, trimmed and faced with buff; and buff waistcoats. The taylors he had employed refusing to work on a Sunday, he rebuked their fanatical scruples in these words: “You rascals! if your houses were on fire, would you not be glad to extinguish the flames on a Sunday?” which had the desired effect. Arms being procured from the Tower, the men were constantly and regularly drilled. Such of them as had relations in the public line, would frequently bring their companions to drink, for the benefit of the respective houses; and Metcalf never failed to attend one or other of those parties, his fiddle and hautboy contributing to make the time pass agreeably: and the worthy Captain was liberal in his allowance of money for such festive purposes, insomuch that had he wanted five hundred men, he could easily have obtained them. Soon after he brought them to Thornville, where he ordered every other day a fat ox to be killed for their entertainment, and gave them beer seven years old, expressing a great pleasure at its being reserved for so good a purpose.

He now began to sound the company as to their attachment to the cause and to himself. “My lads,” said he, “you are going to form a part of a ring-fence to the finest estate in the world! The King’s army is on its march to the Northward; and I have the pleasing confidence that all of you are willing to join them.”—They replied, as if one soul had animated them, “We will follow you to the world’s end!”

All matters being adjusted, the company was drawn up, and amongst them Blind Jack made no small figure, being near six feet two inches high, and, like his companions, dressed in blue and buff, with a large gold-laced hat: So well pleased was the Captain with his appearance, that he said he would give an hundred guineas for only one eye to stick in the head of his dark champion.

Jack now played a march of the Captain’s choosing, and off they moved for Boroughbridge. Capt. Thornton having a discretionary route, took his march over the moors, in expectation of meeting some of the straggling parties of the rebel army; and quartered at several villages in his way, where he was kindly received, and visited by the heads of the genteelest families in the neighbourhood, who generally spent the evenings with him. Metcalf being always at the Captain’s quarters, played on the violin, accompanied by a good voice, “Britons! strike home,” and other loyal and popular airs, much to the satisfaction of the visitors, who frequently offered him money, but this he always refused, knowing that his acceptance of it would displease his commander.

Arriving at Newcastle, they joined the army under the command of General Wade, by whose order they were united with Pulteney’s regiment, which, having suffered much in some late actions abroad, was thought the weakest. Captain Thornton gave orders for tents for his men, and a marquee for himself, for which he paid the upholsterer eighty guineas. He pitched them on Newcastle Moor, and gave a pair of blankets to each tent. Jack observed to his Captain, “Sir, I live next door to you: but it is a custom, on coming to a new house, to have it warmed.” The Captain knowing his meaning, said, “How much will do?”—Jack answered, “Three shillings a tent;” which the Captain generously gave, and said, “As you join Pulteney’s regiment, they will smell your breath;” so he gave them ten guineas, being one to each company. On the night of their entertainment, the snow fell six inches.

After stopping here for about a week, the General received intelligence of the motions of the rebels, and gave orders to march by break of day for Hexham, in three columns, wishing to intercept them upon the West road, as their route seemed to be for England that way. The tents were instantly struck; but the Swiss troops having the van, and not being willing to move at so early an hour, it was half past ten before they left the ground, and the snow by that time was become extremely deep in several places: it also proved a very severe day for hail and frost. They were often three or four hours in marching a mile, the pioneers having to lower the hills, and fill up several ditches, to make a passage for the artillery and baggage.

About ten at night they arrived at Ovington, the place marked out for them, with straw to rest on; but the ground was frozen so hard, that but few of the tent-pins would enter it, and in those few tents which were pitched, the men lay one upon another, greatly fatigued with their march, it having been fifteen hours from the time of their striking the tents, till their arrival at this place, although the distance is only seven miles.

At eleven o’clock at night Captain Thornton left the camp, and went to Hexham, to visit his relation. Sir Edward Blacket, and with a view of getting provisions and necessaries for his men: he was only nine hours absent, as, although it was Sunday morning, the march was to be continued. It having been customary to burn the straw, to warm the men before they set off, orders were here given to preserve it, in case it might be wanted on their return. However, Captain Thornton and the Lieutenant being absent, and the Ensign having died at Newcastle, Metcalf took it upon him to say, “My lads, get the straw together, to burn; our Captain will pay for more, if we should want it:” which being done, he took, out his fiddle, notwithstanding the day, and played to the men whilst they danced round the fire; which made the rest of the army observe them, though they did not follow their example. The Captain and Lieutenant arriving in the midst of the business, expressed much pleasure and satisfaction in seeing the men thus recreate themselves.

That day they reached Hexham, where they halted. On Monday night, about ten o’clock, the army was put in motion by a false alarm. Here General Wade resolved to return; and immediately began the march for York, by way of Piersebridge, Catterick, and Boroughbridge; and continuing his route Southward, encamped his men on Clifford Moor, where they halted a few days, and then moved to a ground between Ferrybridge and Knottingley. The rebels had now penetrated Southward as far as Derby; but the General having heard that they had received a check from the Duke of Cumberland, sent General Oglethorpe with a thousand horse towards Manchester, either to harrass the enemy in their retreat, or to join the Duke’s forces; and returned himself with the remainder, by Wakefield, Outwood, and Leeds, to Newcastle.

In the mean time the Duke came up with the rebels at Clifton, on the borders of Westmoreland, of which Lord George Murray, with the rear guard, had taken possession, whilst another party had fortified themselves behind three hedges and a ditch.

The Duke coming upon the open moor after sun-set, gave orders for three hundred dragoons to dismount, and advance to the brink of the ditch; when the rebels fired upon them from behind the hedges, which they returned, and fell a few paces back: the rebels mistaking this for flight, rushed over the ditch, but meeting a warmer reception than they expected, were glad to retreat, and continued their route to Penrith.

The Duke’s army was not able to follow, owing to the badness of the roads, and the fatigue of a tedious march; but the next morning he pursued them to Penrith; and from thence to Carlisle, where they left part of their army.

His Royal Highness thought it advisable to reduce this place, and accordingly sent for heavy artillery from Whitehaven, which arriving on the 25th of December, the garrison surrendered on the 30th, and his Royal Highness returned to London. General Wade continued his march for the North, dismissing all the foreigners from his army; and General Hawley on coming from London to take the command, was joined by some regiments which had been withdrawn from Flanders. They marched to Edinburgh; from thence to Falkirk, and pitched their tents on the North-East side of the town, on the 16th of January.

The Highland army being at Torwood, about mid-way between Falkirk and Stirling, and distant from the English camp only about three miles, they could easily discover each other’s camp-lights. The English army lay all night on their arms, in expectation of being attacked; but the van and picquet guards came in on the morning of the 17th, having observed no motions in the rebel camp which shewed any signs of an attack, although they were as near them as safety would permit. Soon after, the enemy were observed to move some of their colours from Torwood, towards Stirling, which made the English suppose that they were retreating; but this motion was a feint to deceive them. However, upon this appearance, the soldiers were ordered to pile their arms, and take some refreshment; and although Lord Kilmarnock was in the rebel army, General Hawley went to breakfast with Lady Kilmarnock, at Callendar House. The enemy, in the mean time, stole a march down a valley Northward, unperceived; but just before the army discovered them, they were seen by a person who ran into the camp, exclaiming, “Gentlemen! what are you about? the Highlanders will be upon you:” on which some of the officers said, “Seize that rascal, he is spreading a false alarm.”—“Will you, then, believe your own eyes?” replied the man; when instantly the truth of his assertion became apparent, by their advancing to the highest ground upon Falkirk moor, the wind blowing strongly in the faces of the English, with a severe rain. At this moment several had left the field as well as the General; but the drums beat to arms, which caused those who were absent to repair instantly to the camp, and the lines were immediately formed.

Captain Thornton’s company was embodied with the matrosses, who were thought too weak; and this was a great disappointment to him, whose intention was to be in the front, whenever an engagement should take place. Metcalf played before them to the field; but the flag cannon sinking in a bog, Captain Thornton exclaimed, “D—n this accident; we shall see no sport to-day:” and leaving his troop to assist the matrosses in bringing up the cannon to their station, he rode up opposite to the horse which were going to engage. The regiments of Hamilton and Gardner were put in the front; and the Highlanders, after firing their pieces, threw them down, and discharged their pistols in the horses’ faces, which caused them to retreat, much confused: and on the Duke of Perth exclaiming aloud, “Although the horse have given way, yet the work is not accomplished,” the enemy pursued with their broad swords, cutting down the men as they fled; and the horses did great mischief, by breaking through their own foot, the men crying out at the same time, “Dear brethren, we shall all be massacred this day!” On their passing the artillery, the Captain of the matrosses seeing their perilous situation, gave orders for all the train horses to be cut from the cannon. General Huske at this time came up with three regiments, and engaged the left wing of the Highlanders, ordering the rear and centre to keep firing, and the front to reserve. The rebels, as was their custom, after the discharge of their pieces, flung them away, and advanced with their broad swords close up to the first line; when the front instantly fired, and being so near, did more than double execution; which caused them to retreat, leaving a great number dead upon the spot.

The General observing a vast body of the rebels on the right, drew up his men nearer Falkirk, and gave orders to keep the town until morning: however, on examining the powder, they had the mortification to find that the heavy rains had damaged it to such a degree, that but few pieces could be fired; and the village being open on all sides, was a circumstance so favourable to the enemy, as induced that General to form the resolution of quitting the town with all expedition, and march to Linlithgow, where there was more shelter under the walls, in case of an attack.—This measure was fully justified by the event; for the enemy pursued so closely, that many were taken by surprise, as, in consequence of the order to keep the town all night, several had gone into the houses to put off their wet cloathes; and those who were apprised of the retreat had no sooner left the place, than the rebels took possession, and made a great many prisoners, amongst whom were twenty of Captain Thornton’s men, with the Lieutenant and Ensign.

Mr. Crofts, the Lieutenant, having eighty guineas in his pocket, begged to make Lord George Murray his treasurer; which office his Lordship accepted, and had afterwards the generosity to return him SIX!

Captain Thornton, also, was in one of the houses, for the purpose before-mentioned, but had not time sufficient to effect his escape; and being alarmed by the bagpipes at the door, he retreated up stairs: in a few minutes several of the rebels rushed up, in search of the fugitives; when one of them came to the very room door behind which he had taken refuge, and overlooking him, said, “There are none of the rascals here.” The woman of the house having seen the Captain go up stairs, went to him soon after, and opening a closet door, entreated him to enter, which he did.—She then brought a dresser, and placed dishes, &c. upon it, which prevented all appearance of a door in that place; and fortunately there was no bed in the room. About ten minutes after he had been fixed in his new quarters, a great number of people, consisting chiefly of Highland officers, amongst whom was Secretary Murray, took possession of the apartment, which being large, they proposed making use of for business during their stay.