LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 117 



" About one half-mile from Wakefield's Mammoth prison, on the 

 Halifax road, nearly opposite to a pretty Grecian summer-house, 

 apparently neglected, resides Mr Joseph Crowther, the successful 

 bone-setter. He has passed the prime of life ; being now in his 

 seventy-seventh year. But, unfortunately, he has no son to succeed 

 him. I might fill volumes with the recital of cases which he has 

 brought to a happy conclusion. Two in particular, dreadful and 

 hopeless to all appearance, have placed his wonderful abilities in so 

 positive a light before my eyes, that I consider him at the head of 

 his profession as bone-setter, and as rectifier of the most alarming 

 dislocations, which are perpetually occurring to man in his laborious 

 journey through this disastrous 'vale of tears.' 



"Thus much for accidents by 'flood and field.' Warned by 

 experience, I shall prefer in future to mount into trees without the 

 aid of ladders ; and should I again have to grope my midnight way 

 along the edge of an unprotected pier, I will bear in mind, at every 

 step, the dismal dip at Dover. Barring these two sudden and nearly 

 fatal accidents, I have had most excellent health ; and whilst engaged 

 in my late annual trips to the continent, in company with my sisters, 

 nothing has intervened to damp the usual flow of spirits. 



" In Belgium, fine opportunities have occurred of seeing many rare 

 summer birds of passage. At the ancient castellated villa of Vis- 

 count de Croezer now, alas ! no more I could go and hear the 

 'tuneful nightingale charm the forest with its tale,' and see the 

 golden orioles at their nests, close to the villa's moat ; a treat 

 denied us here in England, by plundering boys and wanton gun-men, 

 ever on the look-out to steal the eggs and take the lives of these 

 amusing choristers. I had known the viscount ever since the year 

 1796. He was of mild and polished manners, and his loss will be 

 sorely felt by the citizens of Bruges in particular, near to which 

 ancient city stands his finely ornamented and venerable chateau. 



" But time gets on apace. An inspection of this silvery head of 

 mine, which has now seen nearly seventy-five long years, gives 

 hints, that henceforth I shall not have many more adventures, either 

 bright or dark, of sufficient import to merit a reader's notice. Kind 

 reader, a few words more, and then fare-thee-well. Some sixty 

 years ago my father put into my hand a little iron cannon-ball; 



