To which he appends this note: "Some of the brightest eyes were at this time in tears for one M'Lean, condemned for robbery on the highway." Walpole, in his next letter, dated Sept. 1, writes: "My friend M'Lean is still the fashion; have not I reason to call him my friend? He He says, if the pistol had shot me, he had another for himself. Can I do less than say I will be hanged if he is?" Next, on Sept. 20: "M'Lean is condemned, and will hang. I am honourably mentioned in a Grub Street ballad for not having contributed to his sentence. There are as many prints and pamphlets about him as about the earthquake." M'Lean was hung at Tyburn; shortly after Walpole writes, Oct. 18: "Robbing is the only thing that goes on with any vivacity, though my friend M'Lean is hanged. The first Sunday after his condemnation, three thousand people went to see him; he fainted away twice with the heat of his cell. You can't conceive the ridiculous rage there is of going to Newgate; and the prints that are produced of the malefactors, and the memoirs of their lives and deaths, set forth with as much parade as-as-Marshal Turenne's we have no generals worth making a parallel.” Mr. John Taylor, long connected with the Sun newspaper, describes M'Lean as a tall, showy, good-looking man, and a frequent visitor at Button's coffee-house, on the west side of Russell Street, Covent Garden.* A Mr. Donaldson told Taylor that, observing M'Lean paid particular attention to the barmaid of the coffeehouse, the daughter of the landlord, gave a hint to the * Button's subsequently became a private house, and Mrs. Inchbald lodged there. father of M'Lean's dubious character. The father cau tioned his daughter against the highwayman's addresses, and imprudently told her by whose advice he put her on her guard; she as imprudently told McLean. The next time Donaldson visited the coffee-room, and was sitting in one of the boxes, M'Lean entered, and in a loud tone said," Mr. Donaldson, I wish to spake to you in a private room." Mr. D. being unarmed, and naturally afraid of being alone with such a man, said, in answer, that as nothing could pass between them that he did not wish the whole world to know, he begged leave to decline the invitation. "Very well," said M'Lean, as he left the room, "we shall meet again." A day or two after, as Mr. Donaldson was walking near Richmond, in the evening, he saw M'Lean on horseback; but, fortunately, at that moment, a gentleman's carriage appeared in view, when M'Lean immediately turned his horse towards the carriage, and Donaldson hurried into the protection of Richmond as fast as he could. But for the appearance of the carriage, which presented better prey, it is probable that M'Lean would have shot Mr. Donaldson immediately. METROPOLITAN HIGHWAYMEN. THE highwayman was, in thieves' slang, called the Toby-man, who, issuing forth from the purlieus of Chick Lane, or Hatton Wall, in the guise of a wellmounted cavalier, armed with pistols and couteau de chasse, gallantly spurring his flashy bit of blood up Holborn Hill, on his route to Hounslow, with his halfcast military style and degagé air, would give the town, To which he appends this note: "Some of the brightest eyes were at this time in tears for one M'Lean, condemned for robbery on the highway." Walpole, in his next letter, dated Sept. 1, writes: "My friend M'Lean is still the fashion; have not I reason to call him my friend? He says, if the pistol had shot me, he had another for himself. Can I do less than say I will be hanged if he is?" Next, on Sept. 20: "M'Lean is condemned, and will hang. I am honourably mentioned in a Grub Street ballad for not having contributed to his sentence. There are as many prints and pamphlets about him as about the earthquake." M'Lean was hung at Tyburn; shortly after Walpole writes, Oct. 18: "Robbing is the only thing that goes on with any vivacity, though my friend M'Lean is hanged. The first Sunday after his condemnation, three thousand people went to see him; he fainted away twice with the heat of his cell. You can't conceive the ridiculous rage there is of going to Newgate; and the prints that are produced of the malefactors, and the memoirs of their lives and deaths, set forth with as much parade as-as-Marshal Turenne's -we have no generals worth making a parallel." Mr. John Taylor, long connected with the Sun newspaper, describes M'Lean as a tall, showy, good-looking man, and a frequent visitor at Button's coffee-house, on the west side of Russell Street, Covent Garden.* A Mr. Donaldson told Taylor that, observing M'Lean paid particular attention to the barmaid of the coffeehouse, the daughter of the landlord, gave a hint to the * Button's subsequently became a private house, and Mrs. Inchbald lodged there. The father cau father of M'Lean's dubious character. tioned his daughter against the highwayman's addresses, and imprudently told her by whose advice he put her on her guard; she as imprudently told M'Lean. The next time Donaldson visited the coffee-room, and was sitting in one of the boxes, M'Lean entered, and in a loud tone said," Mr. Donaldson, I wish to spake to you in a private room." Mr. D. being unarmed, and naturally afraid of being alone with such a man, said, in answer, that as nothing could pass between them that he did not wish the whole world to know, he begged leave to decline the invitation. Very well," said M'Lean, as he shall meet again." A day or two after, as Mr. Donaldson was walking near Richmond, in the evening, he saw M'Lean on horseback; but, fortunately, at that moment, a gentleman's carriage appeared in view, when M'Lean immediately turned his horse towards the carriage, and Donaldson hurried into the protection of Richmond as fast as he could. But for the appearance of the carriage, which presented better prey, it is probable that M'Lean would have shot Mr. Donaldson immediately. left the room, 66 66 we METROPOLITAN HIGHWAYMEN. THE highwayman was, in thieves' slang, called the Toby-man, who, issuing forth from the purlieus of Chick Lane, or Hatton Wall, in the guise of a wellmounted cavalier, armed with pistols and couteau de chasse, gallantly spurring his flashy bit of blood up Holborn Hill, on his route to Hounslow, with his halfcast military style and degagé air, would give the town, * and especially the female portion of it, assurance of an accomplished and amiable cut-throat; and who, for a time, took the air in this ostensible way with as much impunity as nonchalance. He knew his term, and could reckon when he would be wanted, for there were watching him those who understood the crimemarket better than to put him up before he was worth his price. Blood-money was the tenure of his prolonged career: he had his day, and made the most of it; and if, through a vista of dashing exploits, not ungraced by the smiles of the fair, perhaps including some passages of gallantry and tenderness at Ranelagh, and other resorts of fashion, he caught ever and anon uncomfortable glimpses of the gibbet, still he got inured to the anticipation, and he had in reserve the final glory of 'dying game." And, when his time was up, it still was something to be escorted to Newgate with as much state as a nobleman committed for high treason; and at his trial to recognise from the dock many a member of the Clubs, and fair frequenters of the assemblies with whom he had gambled or gallanted during the time which he carried it with a high hand, in spite of something stronger than a slight suspicion. At length, ripe and sentenced, covered with profession and honours, his last ride up Holborn resembled, indeed, a triumph rather than aught disgraceful, or of a penitential character. The knight of roads, apparelled in his best and gayest, and wearing with jaunty gallantry the favours and farewell tokens of more than one languishing and 66 The division of the reward allowed for the capture of a noted criminal was frequently arranged at a "Blood-feast." In Hogarth's "Industry and Idleness," one of the scenes is a place significantly distinguished as "The Blood Bowl House," Chick Lane. |