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THOMAS HOLCROFT;

OR

THE UPS AND DOWNS' OF LIFE.

BORN in London, on the 10th of December, 1745, the subject of our present memoir, Thomas Holcroft, was, like the gifted Gifford, of humble origin.

His father belonged to that numerous class who never persevere in any single thing they undertake. He began life as a small greengrocer at the city end of the metropolis, and to that calling he united selling oysters and fish. He afterwards became a shoe-maker, or, rather, a cobbler; and, finally, renouncing vegetables, fish, and shoe-making, this thriftless parent of one of the most persevering men that biography can hold up for our admiration andexample, took to that invariable resource of idleness -horse-dealing. Horses then became the elder Holcroft's passion and hobby. He carried his love for equitation, however, a little too far, when he arrayed his little boy, at four years of age, in a pair of pantaloons; and, while mounting him on a high horse, began a course of instruction in riding, that resulted, happily, in no more serious accident to the

tiny rider, than an occasional tumble off, and fall on to the soft straw of the stable yard. Fortunately for his little son, the elder Holcroft was a man who was always making experiments, yet but seldom carrying them fully out. His wife objected to the poor child's learning to mount on horseback, at an age when he scarcely knew how to walk; in short, the riding lessons were given up, and the juvenile Thomas permitted to reassume the proper garb of infancy.

Again-Holcroft Senior hears his little boy singing in infantine gladness, as he sits playing at soldiers on his nursery floor; positively convinced that his son is a great musical genius, and a prodigy, he summons a violin performer, and charges him to instruct his son in the use of that difficult instrument.

This absurdity succeeded no better than the riding lessons had done; and by the time he was seven years of age, the child could neither play a note, nor guide a horse. However, though Tom may have reflected but little credit on his father's system of education, there is no doubt but that other accomplishments would have been taught him, had not a series of reverses driven the whole family from London about this time, and turned the elder Holcroft's attention to different objects.

They went into the country, and finally settled in Berkshire; a movement which influenced Tommy's destiny, as he was now sent to a day-school. The little cockney was finely laughed at by all the country lads, his school-fellows, for his ignorance, as he knew nothing at all, and could not even spell the simplest words, nor put two and two together, nor write a pot-hook.

His memory was so good, that anything he ever heard once repeated, he was able immediately to commit to memory; and, by aid of this gift (which was natural to him), he soon learnt how to read, and made all progress imaginable at school, for which his master praised him to his parents.

His foolish father, moderate in nothing, immediately made a kind of show-child of him; and, to cultivate this extraordinary memory, set him a daily task, expecting him to learn eleven chapters of the Bible, every day, off by heart.

For any ordinary capacity, such a strain upon the memory would have been impossible at six years of age; but Holcroft's memory was indeed uncommon, and he astonished every one by the rapidity with which he learnt his lessons.

One day, a farmer in the vicinity noticed him reading the Bible. My boy,' said he, if you will show me that you really can read, I will give you a penny.' Holcroft selected the tenth chapter of Nehemiah, and read it out both fluently and correctly. He got his penny; and the farmer, patting him on the head, told him he was a very uncommon lad.

It would be hard to say,' writes Holcroft, whether his praise or his gift was the most flattering to me.'

Once more his parents returned to London, where the elder Holcroft again settled as a shoe-maker.

They were very poor; and his mother went about as a pedlar, selling needles and cottons, in London and the vicinity; Thomas often accompanying her on such expeditions.

After a time, the elder Holcroft grew tired of being a shoe-maker, and joined his wife as a pedlar, buying a donkey, and vending his wares from place to place. As ill luck would have it, the donkey fell ill. They did not sell their cottons and pins as rapidly as they expected; money went out, and none came in; they were nearly starving, and forced to beg from house to house.

It was their habit, at this time, to send out Tommy in one direction to solicit charity, whilst they themselves started in another, making a rendezvous in some retired part of the town, where they had pitched their tent, with their donkey and wares, in vagabond fashion.

One day, Tommy, then about seven years of age, set off upon one of these errands, to a village they had rested near one evening in Berkshire. Drawing largely on his imagination, he depicted in vivid colours, imaginary circumstances about his family and their sorrows, and related his tale from house to house. This extraordinary child's fictitious history drew tears from his credulous dupes; and he rejoined his parents with his pockets full of money and good things, and related his adventures to them, shewing his profits. In spite of the instability of his character, the elder Holcroft was a man of principle, who entertained a horror of falsehood.

He was shocked to find how great a risk his little boy had run of becoming a confirmed story-teller; and determined that with this episode his begging career should cease. Soon after this, things looked up a little; the donkey recovered, and the small profits they had accumulated by peddling, enabled them once more to go back to London, where they

again settled; Tommy taking a place as a stable-boy at Newmarket.

Here he ran the guantlet of all the miseries common to his situation, and the three years that he passed at Newmarket were years of suffering to one, whose mind revolted, with natural refinement, from the gross jests and disgusting conversation of his companions of the stable-yard.

He was subjected, too, to all their practical jokes. He writes as follows: 'I do not recollect one half of the tricks that are played off upon new comers; but that with which they begin, if I do not mistake, is to persuade their victim that the first thing necessary for a well-trained stable-boy, is to borrow as many vests as he can, and in the morning, after he has dressed and fed his horse, to put them all on, take a race of two or three miles, return home, strip himself stark naked, and immediately be covered up in a warm dunghill, which is the method, they assure him, the grooms take when they sweat themselves down to ride a race. Should the poor fellow follow these directions, they conclude the joke with pails full of cold water, which stand ready for the purpose of cooling off. Another of their diversions used to be that of hunting the owl. To hunt the owl is to persuade a booby that there is an owl found at roost in a corner of the barn; that a ladder must be placed against a hole, through which, when the persons shall be pleased to hoot and hunt him, as they call it, he must necessarily fly, as the door is shut and every other outlet closed; that the boy selected to catch the owl must mount the ladder on the outside, and the purblind creature will fly directly,