THE

LIFE

OF

That Wonderful and Extraordinarily

HEAVY MAN,

DANIEL LAMBERT,

FROM

HIS BIRTH TO THE MOMENT OF
HIS DISSOLUTION;

Daniel Lambert was born on the 13 of March, 1770, in the Parish of St. Margaret, at Leicester. From the extraordinary bulk to which he attained, the reader may be naturally disposed to inquire, whether or no his parents were persons of remarkable dimensions. This was not the case; nor were any of his family inclined to corpulence, excepting an uncle and aunt on the father’s side, who were both very heavy. The former died during the infancy of Lambert, in[Pg 6] the capacity of gamekeeper to the Earl of Stamford, to whose predecessor his father had been huntsman in early life. The family of Lambert, senior, consisted besides Daniel, of another son, who died young, and two daughters, who are still living, and both women of the common size.

The habits of the subject of this memoir were not, in any respect, different from those of other young persons till the age of fourteen. Even at that early period he was strongly attached to the sports of the field. This, however, was only the natural effect of a very obvious cause, aided probably by an innate propensity to those diversions.—We have already mentioned the profession of his father and uncle, and have yet to observe, that his maternal grandfather was a great cock-fighter. Born and bred among horses, dogs, and cocks, and all the other appendages of sporting, in the pursuits of which he was encouraged even in his childhood, it cannot be a matter of wonder that he should be passionately fond of all those exercises and amusements, which are comprehended[Pg 7] under the denomination of field sports.

Brought up under the eye of his parents till the age of fourteen, young Lambert was then placed with Benjamin Patrick, in the manufactory of Taylor & Co. at Birmingham, to learn the business of a die-sinker and engraver. This establishment, then one of the most flourishing in that opulent town, was afterwards destroyed in the riots of 1791, by which the celebrated Dr. Priestly was so considerable a sufferer.

Owing to the fluctuations to which all those manufactures that administer to the luxuries of the community are liable, from the caprices of fashion, the wares connected with the profession which had been chosen for young Lambert ceased to be in request. Buckles were all at once proscribed, and a total revolution took place at the same period in the public taste with respect to buttons; the consequence was, that a numerous class of artisans were thrown out of employment, and obliged to seek a subsistence in a different occupation. Among these was[Pg 8] Lambert, who had then served only four years of his apprenticeship.

Leaving Birmingham, he returned to Leicester to his father, who held the situation of keeper of the prison of that town. Soon afterwards, at the age of nineteen, he began to imagine that he should be a heavy man, but had not previously any indications that could lead him to suppose he should attain the excessive corpulence for which he was afterwards distinguished. He always possessed extraordinary muscular power, and at the time we are speaking of, could lift great weights, and carry five hundred pounds with ease. Had his habits been such as to bring his strength into action, he would doubtless have been an uncommonly powerful man.

That he was not deficient in physical strength or courage, is demonstrated by the following adventure, in which he was about this period engaged:—

Standing one day in his father’s house at Leicester, his attention was attracted by a company of Savoyards with their dancing[Pg 9] bears and dogs, surrounded by an immense concourse of spectators. While they were exhibiting, a dog which had formerly been accustomed to travel with a similar company of these grotesque performers, and now belonged to the county gaoler, hearing the sound, flew furiously upon a very large bear whose overbearing force and weight soon crushed him to the ground. “Give her tooth,” said the Savoyards, irritated at the interruption of their exhibition, and making preparations to take off the muzzle of the bear. Lambert, being acquainted with the master of the dog, and knowing that, in this case, the animal would be exposed to certain destruction, went out and addressed the people with the intention of pacifying them, and prevailing upon them to suffer the dog to be taken away. Deaf to all his remonstrances, one of the Savoyards still persisting in pulling off the muzzle, the dog being all this time underneath, and in the grasp of the bear. Enraged at the fellow’s obstinacy, he protested he would kill the bear if it lay in his power, and snatching from the[Pg 10] man’s hand the paddle or pole with which they manage these animals, at the moment when the muzzle was removed, he struck the bear with all his force, fully intending to despatch her if possible. Bruin was for a moment completely stunned with the blow, and the dog seized that opportunity of disengaging himself from her clutches. Enraged at this fresh attack, she turned towards her new antagonist, who kept repeating his strokes, but without being able to hit her head, which she protected from his blows with all the dexterity of the most accomplished pugilist. During these successive attacks, the dog, faithful to his friend who had so opportunely stepped to his aid, continued to exhibit the most astonishing proofs of undaunted intrepidity, till he was at length caught up by one of the by-standers. The weather was frosty, and the pavement was slightly glazed from the trundling of a mop. Here, while thus busily engaged in belabouring his formidable foe, Lambert fell, but arose again with the utmost agility. Bruin was now close to him; he had a full view of her tremendous[Pg 11] teeth, and felt the heat from her breath. The danger became pressing, and as his shaggy foe was too near to admit of his using the weapon, he struck her with his left hand such a violent blow on the skull, as brought her to the ground; on which she declined the contest, and “yelling fled.” During the fray, a smaller bear had been standing upright against a wall, with a cocked hat on his head; in consequence of the retreat of his companion, this ludicrous figure now appeared full in front of the victorious champion, who brandished in his hand the up-lifted pole. The beast, as if aware of his danger, and expecting to be attacked in his turn, instantly took off his hat, and apparently in token of submission, tumbled heels over head at the feet of the conqueror. Meanwhile the populace, terrified at the approach of ursa major began to retire in a backward direction, still keeping the unsuccessful combatant in view, till they tumbled one after another over some loads of coal that happened to lie in the way. The scene now became truly ludicrous: forty people were[Pg 12] down at a time; and as though each person thought himself already in the gripe of the irritated animal, vociferated Murder! with all their might. The Savoyards who were after all, the greatest sufferers by this tragicomic representation, applied to the mayor, and demanded redress. The magistrate inquired where the fray happened, and was informed that it took place in Blue-Boar-Lane, in the parish of St. Nicholas—the inhabitants of which have for many years been distinguished by the appellation of Nick’s Ruffs. “Oh!” said he, “the people of that parish do just as they please; they are out of my jurisdiction;” and gravely dismissed the disappointed complainants. It was two years before this company of itinerant performers again ventured to make their appearance in Blue-Boar-Lane. On this occasion, one who happened to be rather before the rest, perceiving Lambert sitting at his door, gave notice to the others, who, dreading a repetition of the treatment they had before experienced, instantly retreated by the way they had come.

[Pg 13]

It was not very long after the above adventure, that Lambert experienced an escape from a danger much more alarming, and from the consequence of which no human exertions could possibly have preserved him. He was one of the numerous inhabitants of Leicester, whom the memorable conflagration at the house of a well known bookseller, now resident in the metropolis, attracted to the spot. It was dark, the fire was then raging with the utmost fury, and Lambert passed along under a wall, which, from the falling of the others to which it had once been joined, now stood completely detached. When he had reached the extremity, an acquaintance whom he accidentally found there, congratulated him on his narrow escape, at the same time pointing to the wall. Lambert, totally unconscious of the risk to which he had been exposed, and now standing in a line with the wall, observed with horror that it rocked to and fro like corn in the breeze, and not many moments elapsed ere it fell with a tremendous crash.

His father having resigned the office of[Pg 14] keeper of the prison, Daniel succeeded to the situation. It was within a year after this appointment that his bulk received the greatest and most rapid increase. This he attributed to the confinement and sedentary life to which he was now obliged to submit, which produced an effect so much the more striking, as, from his attachment to sporting, he had previously been in the habit of taking a great deal of exercise. Though he never possessed any extraordinary agility he was still able to kick to the height of seven feet, standing on one leg.

About the year 1793, when Lambert weighed 448lbs, he had occasion to visit Woolwich, in company with the keeper of the county jaol of Leicester. As the tide did not serve to bring them up again to London, he walked from Woolwich to the metropolis, with much less apparent fatigue than several middle sized men who were of the party.

The inhabitants of Leicester are remarkable for their expertness in swimming, an art which they are encouraged to practise by their vicinity to the river Soar. From the age[Pg 15] of eight years Lambert was an excellent swimmer, and such was his celebrity, that about ten years ago, all the young people in his native town, who were learning to swim, resorted to him for instruction. His power of floating, owing to his uncommon bulk, was so great that he could swim with two men of ordinary size upon his back. He has been heard to relate that, on these occasions, when any of his young pupils manifested any timidity, he would convey them to the opposite bank of the river from that on which they layed their clothes, and there leave them to find their way back as well as they could. By this means, they soon acquired that courage which is so indispensably necessary to the attainment of excellence in the art of swimming.

Lambert’s father died about five years after his son’s appointment to be keeper of the prison, which office he held till 1805. In this situation he manifested a disposition fraught with benevolence; whatever severity he might be under the necessity of exercising towards the unhappy objects committed to[Pg 16] his care during their confinement, he never forebore to make the greatest exertions to assist them at the time of their trials. Few left the prison without testifying their gratitude, and tears often spoke the sincerity of the feeling they expressed. His removal from the office, was in consequence of a wish on the part of the magistrates to employ the prisoners in the manufactory of the town. As a proof of the approbation which his conduct had merited, they settled upon him an annuity of 50l. for life, without any solicitation whatever; and what was still more gratifying to his feelings, this grant was accompanied with a declaration, that it was a mark of their esteem, and of the universal satisfaction which he had given in the discharge of the duties of his office.

Such were the feelings of Lambert, that no longer than four years ago, he abhorred the very idea of exhibiting himself. Though he lived exceedingly retired at Leicester, the fame of his uncommon corpulence had spread over the adjacent country to such a degree, that he frequently found himself not[Pg 17] a little incommoded by the curiosity of the people, which it was impossible to repress, and which they were constantly devising the means of gratifying, in despite of his reluctance.

Finding, at length, that he must either submit to be a close prisoner in his own house, or endure all the inconveniences without receiving the profits of an exhibition, Lambert wisely strove to overcome his repugnance, and determined to visit the metropolis for that purpose. As it was impossible to procure a carriage large enough to admit him, he had a vehicle constructed expressly to carry him to London, where he arrived for the twenty-second time, in the spring of 1806, and fixed his residence in Piccadilly.

His apartments there had more the air of a place of fashionable resort, than of an exhibition; and as long as the town continued full, he was visited by a great deal of the best company. The dread he felt on coming to London, least he should be exposed to indignity and insult from the curiosity of some[Pg 18] of his visiters, was soon removed by the politeness and attention which he almost universally experienced. There was not a gentleman in town from his own country but went to see him, not merely gazing at him as a spectacle, but treating him in the most friendly and soothing manner; which, he declared, was too deeply impressed upon his mind ever to be forgotten.

The spirit of politeness which always prevailed in the presence of Lambert, was such as was, perhaps, never observed on a similar occasion.

Many of his visiters seemed incapable of gratifying their curiosity to its full extent, and called again and again to behold what an immense magnitude the human figure is capable of attaining; one man, a banker in the city, jocosely observed, that he had fairly had a pound’s worth.

Lambert had the pleasure of receiving persons of almost every description and nation. He was one day visited by a party of fourteen, eight women and six men, who[Pg 19] expressed their joy at not being too late, as it was near the time of closing the door for the day. They assured him they had come from Guernsey, on purpose to convince themselves of the existence of such a prodigy as he had been described to be by one of their neighbours who had seen him; adding, that they had not one single friend or acquaintance in London, so that they had no other motive whatever for their voyage. A striking illustration of the power of curiosity over the human mind.

Great numbers of foreigners were gratified with the contemplation of a spectacle, unequalled perhaps in any other country. Among these, a Frenchman, accompanied by a Jew, seemed extremely desirous, from motives best known to himself, of persuading Lambert to make an excursion to the continent insinuating that, under his guidance and management, he could not fail of success. “Vy you no go to France?” said he, “I am sure Buonaparte vill make your fortune.” Lambert, who had too much good sense to[Pg 20] be the dupe of a designing monsieur, declined accepting the invitation.

Among the many visiters of Lambert, the celebrated Polish dwarf, count Borulawski, was not the least interesting. The count, having made a fortune by exhibiting his person, has retired to Durham to enjoy the fruit of his economy. Though now in his seventy-fourth year, he still possesses all the gracefulness and vivacity by which he was formerly characterized. Lambert, during his apprenticeship at Birmingham, went several times to see Borulawski, and such was the strength of the count’s memory, that he had scarcely fixed his eyes upon him in Piccadilly before he recollected his face. After reflecting a moment, he exclaimed that he had seen the same face twenty years ago, in Birmingham, but it was not surely the same body. This unexpected meeting of the largest and smallest man, seemed to realize the fabled history of the inhabitants of Lilliput and Brobdinag, particularly when Lambert rose for the purpose of affording the diminutive count a full view of his prodigious[Pg 21] dimensions. In the course of conversation, Lambert asked what quantity of cloth the count required for a coat, and how many he thought his would make him.—“Not many,” answered Borulawski. “I take goot large piece cloth myself—almost tree quarters of a yard.” At this rate, one of Lambert’s sleeves would be abundantly sufficient for the purpose. The count felt one of Lambert’s legs: “Ah,” he exclaimed, “pure flesh and blood. I feel de warm. No deception! I am pleased: for I did hear it was deception.” Lambert asked if his lady was alive, on which he replied, “No, she is dead, and (putting his finger significantly to his nose) I am not very sorry, for when I affronted her, she put me on the mantle-shelf for punishment.”

The many characters that introduced themselves to Lambert’s observation in the metropolis, furnished him with a great number of anecdotes, which a retentive memory enabled him to relate with good effect.

One day the room being rather crowded with company, a young man in the front, almost[Pg 22] close to Lambert, made incessant use of one of those indispensable appendages of a modern beau, called a quizzing-glass. The conversation turned on the changes of the weather, and in what manner Lambert felt himself affected by them—“What do you dislike most?” asked the beau. “To be bored with a quizzing-glass,” was the reply.

A person asking him in a very rude way the cost of one of his coats, he returned him no answer. The man repeated the question, with the observation that he thought he had a right to demand any information, having contributed his shilling, which would help to pay for Lambert’s coat as well as the rest. “Sir,” rejoined Lambert, “if I knew what part of my next coat your shilling would pay for, I can assure you I would cut out the piece.”

On another occasion a woman was particularly solicitous to have the same question resolved. “Indeed, madam,” answered Lambert, “I cannot pretend to charge my memory with the price, but I can put you[Pg 23] into a method of obtaining the information you want. If you think proper to make me a present of a new coat, you will then know exactly what it costs.”

A person who had the appearance of a decent man, one day took the liberty of asking several impertinent questions. Lambert looked him sternly in the face, but without making any reply. A woman now entered the room, and Lambert entered into conversation with her, on which the same person observed that he was more polite to ladies than to gentlemen. “I can assure you, Sir,” answered Lambert, “that I consider it my duty to treat with equal politeness all those whose behaviour convinces me that they are gentlemen.” “I suppose,” rejoined the querist, “you mean to infer that I am no gentleman.” “That I certainly did,” was the reply. Not yet abashed by this reproof, he soon afterwards ventured to ask another question of a similar nature with the preceding. Irritated at these repeated violations of decency, which bespoke a deficiency of good sense as well as good manners,[Pg 24] Lambert fixed his eyes full upon the stranger “You came into this room, Sir, by the door, but”——“You mean to say,” observed the other, looking at the window, “that I may possibly make my exit by some other way.” “Begone this moment,” thundered Lambert, “or I’ll throw you into Piccadilly.” No second injunction was necessary to rid him of this obnoxious guest.

After a residence of about five months in the metropolis, where we believe his success was fully adequate to his most sanguine expectations, he returned in September, 1806, to his native town.

From that period to his death, he continued to travel, gratifying the curiosity of his countrymen; and again visited London in March, 1807. On Tuesday evening, June 20th, 1809, he arrived, from Huntingdon, at the house of Mr. Berridge, at the Waggon and Horses Inn, in St. Martin’s, Stamford, where preparations were made for his receiving company the next day, and during the then ensuing races; but before 9 o’clock on the following morning, the 21st, (fatal 21st![Pg 25] Alexandria, Trafalgar, and Old England still remember thee!) he had paid the debt of nature, without any previous sickness to indicate the approach of his dissolution.

Lambert’s height was five feet eleven inches; three yards four inches round the body; one yard and one inch round the leg; his weight, a few days before his death, was found by the Caledonian balance to be 739lbs. His coffin measured 6 feet 4 inches long, 4 feet 4 inches wide, 2 feet 4 inches deep, and contained 112 superficial feet of elm. It was built upon two axletrees and four clog wheels, and upon these his remains were, at about half past eight o’clock on Friday morning, the 23rd, drawn to the new burial ground, in St. Martin’s, Stamford. His grave was dug with a gradual sloping for many yards, and upwards of 20 men were employed for nearly half an hour (after having dragged the corpse to the mouth of the grave) in getting this enormous mass of putridity into its “narrow cell.” Notwithstanding the early hour at which he was buried, a great concourse of people, “youth[Pg 26] and hoar age,” were assembled, numbers of whom had been in expectation of seeing him alive, in propria persona, but were now obliged to content themselves with the mere sight of his coffin, which, to a contemplative mind, would create reflections on the mutability of all sublunary things.

“The grave has eloquence, its lectures teach,
In silence, louder than divines can preach.”

We shall now proceed to state what we have been able to collect relative to the habits, manners, and propensities of this extraordinary man.

It is not improbable that incessant exercise in the open air, in the early part of his life laid the foundation of an uncommonly healthy constitution. Lambert scarcely knew what it was to be ailing or indisposed. His temperance, no doubt, contributed towards this uninterrupted flow of health. His food differed in no respect from that of other people; he ate with moderation, and of one dish at a time. He never drank any other beverage than water; and though at one period of his[Pg 27] life he seldom spent an evening at home, but with convivial parties, he never could be prevailed on to join his companions in their libations. One of the qualifications that strongly tend to promote harmony and conviviality, was possessed in an eminent degree by Lambert—He had a fine, powerful, and melodious voice. It was a strong tenor, unlike that of a fat man, light, and unembarrassed, and the articulation perfectly clear.

He never felt any pain in his progress towards his extraordinary bulk, but increased gradually and imperceptibly. Before he was bulky he never knew what it was to be out of wind. It was evident to all those who were acquainted with him, that he had no oppression upon his lungs, from fat or any other cause: and Dr. Heaviside expressed his opinion, that his life was as good (or comfortable) as that of any other healthy man.

Lambert slept less than the generality of mankind, being never more than eight hours in bed. He never was inclined to drowsiness, either after dinner or in any other part of the day: and such was the vivacity of his[Pg 28] disposition; that he was always the last person to retire to rest, which he seldom did before one o’clock. He slept without having his head raised more than is usual with other men, and always with the window open. His respiration was so perfectly free and unobstructed, that he never snored; and what is not a little extraordinary, he could awake within five minutes of any time he pleased. All the secretions were carried on in him with the same facility as in any other person.

We have already adverted to Lambert’s fondness for hunting, coursing, racing, fishing, and cocking. He was likewise well known in his neighbourhood as a great otter-hunter. Till within these seven years, he was extremely active in all the sports of the field, and though he was prevented by his corpulence from partaking in them, he still bred cocks, setters, and pointers, which he brought to as great perfection as any other sporting character of his day, and perhaps greater. At the time when terriers were the vogue, he possessed no less than thirty of them at once. The high estimation in[Pg 29] which animals of his breeding were held by sporting amateurs, was fully evinced in the sale of the dogs which he took with him to London, and which were disposed of at Tattersal’s, at the following prices;—Peg, a black setter bitch, 41gs: Punch, a setter dog, 26gs; Brush, ditto, 17gs; Bob, ditto, 20gs; Bounce, ditto, 22gs; Sam, ditto, 26gs; Bell, ditto, 32gs; Charlotte, a pointer bitch, 26gs; Lucy, ditto, 12gs. Total, 218 guineas.—Mr. Mellish was the purchaser of the seven setters, and lord Kinnaird of the two pointers.

If Lambert had a greater attachment to one kind of sport than another, it was to racing. He was fond of riding himself before his weight prevented him from enjoying that exercise; and it was his opinion, founded on experience, that the more blood, and the better a horse was bred, the better it carried him.

During his residence in London, Lambert found himself in no wise affected by the change of air, unless we ought to attribute to that cause an occasional, momentary, trifling depression of spirits in a morning,[Pg 30] much as he felt on his recovery from inflammatory attacks, which are the only kind of indisposition he ever remembered to have experienced.

The extraordinary share of health he enjoyed, was not the result of any unusual exertion on his part, as he has in many instances accustomed himself to the total neglect of those means by which men in general endeavour to preserve that inestimable blessing. As a proof of this, the following fact was related from his own lips:—Before his increasing size prevented his partaking in the sports of the field, he never could be prevailed upon, when he returned home at night from these excursions, to change any part of his clothes, however wet they might be; and he put them on again next morning, though they were, perhaps, so thoroughly soaked, as to leave behind them their mark on the floor: notwithstanding this, he never knew what it was to take cold. On one of these occasions, he was engaged with a party of young men in a boat, in drawing a pond: knowing that a principal part of this diversion[Pg 31] always consists in sousing each other as much as possible, Lambert, before he entered the boat, walked in his clothes up to his chin into the water. He remained the whole of the day in this condition, which to any other man must have proved intolerably irksome. At night, on retiring to bed, he stripped off his shirt and all, and the next morning, putting on his clothes, wet as they were, he resumed the diversion with the rest of his companions. Nor was this all; for, lying down in the bottom of the boat, he took a comfortable nap for a couple of hours, and though the weather was rather severe, he experienced no kind of inconvenience from what might be justly considered as extreme indiscretion.

It would, perhaps, have been an interesting speculation to have tried how far a certain regimen might have tended to reduce Lambert’s excessive bulk, which, however healthy he might have been, could not but be productive of some inconvenience, besides depriving him of enjoyments to which he was passionately attached. The[Pg 32] annals of medicine furnish a very remarkable instance of this sort, and though the person bore no resemblance except in bulk to Lambert, yet the analogy is sufficiently striking to induce a belief that the adoption of a similar method would have been attended with similar effects. The case to which we allude is that of Thomas Wood, a miller, of Billericay, in Essex, which is related in the second volume of Medical Transactions, by Sir George Baker. Wood, after passing the preceding part of his life in eating and drinking without weight or measure, found himself in the year 1764, and in the 45th year of his age, overwhelmed with a complication of painful and terrible disorders. In the catalogue were comprehended frequent sickness of the stomach, pain in the bowels, headach, and vertigo; he had almost a constant thirst, a great lowness of spirits, fits of the gravel, violent rheumatism, and frequent attacks of the gout, also two epileptic fits. To this copious list of diseases were added, a formidable sense of suffocation, particularly after meals, and an extreme corpulence[Pg 33] of person. On reading the life of Cornaro, recommended to his perusal by Powley, a worthy clergyman in his neighborhood, he immediately formed a resolution to follow the salutary precepts inculcated and exemplified in that performance. He prudently, however, did not make a sudden change in his manner of living; but finding the good effects of his new regimen, after proper gradations both with respect to the quantity and quality of his meat and drink, he finally left off the use of all fermented liquors on the 4th of January, 1765, when he commenced water-drinker. He did not even long indulge himself in this innocent beverage; for on the 25th of Oct. following, having found himself easier and better on having accidentally dined that day without drinking, he finally took his leave of that and every other kind of drink, and not having tasted a single drop of any liquor whatsoever, excepting only what he had occasionally taken in the form of medicine, and two glasses and a half of water drank on the 9th of May, 1766, from that date till August 22d,[Pg 34] 1771, the day on which Sir George Baker drew up the account.

With respect to solid nutriment, sometime in the year 1767, was the last time of his eating any kind of animal food. In its room he substituted a single dish, of which he made only two meals in the twenty-four hours; one at four or five in the morning, and the other at noon. This consisted of pudding, (of which he eat a pound and a half,) made of three pints of skimmed milk, poured boiling hot on a pound of sea-biscuit over night, to which two eggs were added next morning, and the whole boiled in a cloth about an hour. Finding this diet too nutritious, and having grown fat during the use of it, he threw out the eggs and milk, and formed a new edition of pudding, consisting only of a pound of coarse flour and a pint of water, boiled together. He was at first much delighted with this new receipt, and lived upon it three months; but finding it not easily digestible, he finally formed a mess, which ever afterwards constituted the whole of his nourishment, composed of a pound of the[Pg 35] best flour, boiled to a proper stiffness with a pint and a half of skimmed milk, without any other addition.

Such was the regimen of diet, as agreeable to his palate as his former food used to be, by means of which, with a considerable share of exercise, Wood got rid of the incumbrance of 140 or 150 pounds of distempered flesh and fat; and, to use his own expression, “was metamorphosed from a monster to a person of moderate size; from the condition of an unhealthy decrepid old man to perfect health, and to the vigor and activity of youth:” his spirits lively, his sleep undisturbed, and his strength of muscles so far improved that he could carry a quarter of a ton weight, which he in vain attempted to perform when he was about the age of thirty, and in perfect health.

We leave to medical men to decide what would have been the probable result of a like procedure with respect to Lambert, but for our own part, we cannot forbear thinking that, with his healthy constitution and less advanced age, its consequences would have been infinitely more striking and beneficial.

[Pg 36]

In order to show how far Lambert surpasses all other men who have hitherto been distinguished for bulk and corpulence, we shall subjoin a brief account of some who have been particularly remarked on this score.

John Love, in the early part of his life, was placed with one Ryland, an engraver, on whose death he returned to his relations in the county of Dorset. At this time he was extremely thin, and at length, became so meager, that his friends were apprehensive of his falling into a consumption. By the advice of physicians, he was provided with every kind of nutritious food, which led him into such habits of ease and indulgence, that he resigned himself entirely to the pleasures of the table. Having commenced business as a bookseller, at Weymouth, he gave full scope to his propensity for good living, and soon grew as remarkably heavy and corpulent, as he was before light and slender. His bulk, probably from the extraordinary contrast in his appearance, excited the astonishment of every spectator, though his weight did not exceed 364lbs. At length, suffocated[Pg 37] by fat, he paid the debt of nature, in the forty-first year of his age, and was buried at Weymouth, in October, 1793.

Palmer, who kept the Golden-Lion Inn, at Brompton, in Kent, was a man of uncommon corpulence, and during Lambert’s residence in London, he was induced to visit the metropolis for the purpose of seeing him. Palmer weighed 350lbs. and though it is said that five ordinary men might have been buttoned in his waistcoat, he appeared of diminutive size when placed beside Lambert. He did not survive his journey more than three weeks; and at his funeral it was found necessary to take out the windows of the tap-room, to make a passage for the coffin out of the house, from which it was conveyed to the place of interment in a wagon, as no hearse could be procured sufficiently capacious to admit it.

But the man who approached the nearest to the dimensions of Lambert, was Edward Bright, a grocer, of Malden, in Essex.—Many of Bright’s ancestors were remarkably fat; and he himself was so large and[Pg 38] lusty when a boy, that at the age of twelve years and a half, he weighed 144lbs. He increased as he grew up, so that, before he was twenty he weighed 336lbs. The last time he was weighed, which was about thirteen months before his death, his weight, deducting that of his clothes, was 584lbs. It was manifest to himself and to every one about him, that he continued to grow larger after this period, and if we take the same proportion by which he had increased for many years upon an average, namely 28 pounds a year, and allow an addition of only four pounds for the last year, on account of the little exercise he took, while he eat and drank as before, this will bring him to 616lbs. at the time of his death; which, in the opinion of many intelligent people who knew him well, was accounted a very fair and moderate computation.

Bright was 5 feet 9 inches and a half in height; his body round the chest, just under the arms, measured 5 feet 6 inches, and round the belly 6 feet 11 inches. His arm in the middle was 2 feet 2 inches about, and his[Pg 39] leg 2 feet 8 inches. He was always strong and active, took much exercise from his childhood till the last two or three years of his life, when he became too unwieldy. He possessed great strength of muscles, could walk very well and nimbly, and could not only ride on horseback, but would sometimes gallop, even after he had attained the weight of between 4 and 5 hundred pounds. He used to go to London, a distance of forty miles, till the journey proved too fatiguing, and he relinquished the practice some years before he died. By this time he had grown to such a size as to excite the notice and wonder of all as he passed along the streets. In the last year or two, he could walk but a short distance, being soon tired and out of breath; travelling abroad but little, and that in a chaise.

Bright had always a good appetite, and when a youth, was rather remarkable in that particular. Though he continued to eat heartily and with a good relish after he grew up, yet he did not take a greater quantity of food than many other men who are said to[Pg 40] have good stomachs. As to his drink, though he did not take any liquor to an intoxicating degree, yet, upon the whole, he perhaps drank more than prudence would have dictated to a man of his excessively corpulent disposition. When a very young man, he was uncommonly fond of ale and strong beer, but for many years, his chief liquor was small beer, of which he usually drank a gallon a day. With respect to other liquors, he was extremely moderate, when alone, sometimes drinking half a pint of wine, or a little punch after dinner, and seldom exceeding this quantity; but when he was in company, he did not confine himself to so small an allowance.

For the greater part of his life, Bright enjoyed a very good state of health. During the last three years, however, he was seized, more than once, with an inflammation in his leg, attended with a fever, and such a disposition to mortification, as to make it necessary to scarify the part. By this expedient, and by the aid of fomentation and bleeding, he was always soon relieved. Whenever he was bled, he was always accustomed[Pg 41] to have two pounds taken away at a time, and he was not more sensible of the loss of such a quantity than an ordinary man is of twelve or fourteen ounces.

Bright married at the age of twenty-two; he lived in the conjugal state upwards of seven years, in which time he had five children. An amiable mind inhabited his overgrown body. He was of a cheerful temper, a kind husband, a tender father, a good master, a friendly neighbour, and an honest man; so that it cannot be surprising if he was universally beloved and respected.

His last illness, which lasted about a fortnight, was a miliary-fever. It began with strong inflammatory symptoms, a very troublesome cough, difficulty of breathing, and the eruption was extremely violent. For some days, he was thought to be relieved in the other symptoms by the eruption; but it cannot be matter of wonder that his constitution was not able to withstand a disease which proves fatal to many who appear much more fit to grapple with it. He died on the[Pg 42] 10th of November, 1750, in the thirtieth year of his age.

His body began to putrify very soon after death, notwithstanding the coolness of the weather, and the very next day became extremely offensive. The coffin was three feet six inches broad at the shoulders, and upwards of three feet in depth. A way was cut through the wall and stair-case to let it down into the shop. It was drawn to church on a low-wheeled carriage, by ten or twelve men, and was let down into the grave by an engine fixed up in the church for that purpose, amidst a vast concourse of spectators, not only from the town, but from the country for several miles round. After his death, a wager was laid, that five men, twenty-one years of age, could be buttoned in his waistcoat. It was decided on the 1st of December, 1750, at the Black Bull, at Malden, when not only five men, as proposed, but seven men were enclosed in it, without breaking a stitch, or straining a button.

Instances of a sudden and rapid increase[Pg 43] in bulk, not less extraordinary than that of Lambert, have likewise been observed in children and even infants. In the year 1780, a phenomenon of this kind was publickly exhibited in London, in the person of Thomas Aills Everitt, born in February, 1779. The child’s father conducted a paper-mill by the side of Enfield Marsh, and was about thirty-six years of age; the mother about forty-two, of a healthy habit; but neither of the parents were remarkable for size or stature. Thomas was their fifth child; the eldest of three living, in 1780, was twelve years old, and rather small of his age; but the paternal grandfather was a size larger than ordinary. They had another son of uncommon proportion, who died in January, 1774, at the age of fifteen months. Thomas was not remarkably large when born, but began when six weeks old, to grow apace, and attained a most extraordinary size.

The child was soon afterwards conveyed to the house of a relation in Great Turnstile, Holborn; but the confined situation had such[Pg 44] an effect on his health, that it was found necessary to carry him back to his native air. His extraordinary size tempted his parents to remove him again to the metropolis, and to exhibit him to the public. His dimensions, as stated in the handbills distributed at the place of exhibition, and under a print of Everitt and her son, published in January, 1780, were taken when he was eleven months old. His height was then three feet three inches; his girth round the breast, two feet six inches; the loins three feet one inch; the thigh, one foot ten inches; the leg, one foot two inches; the arm, eleven inches and a half; the wrist nine inches. He was well proportioned all over, and subsisted entirely on the breast. His countenance was comely, but rather more expressive than is usual at his age, and was exceedingly pleasing, from his being uncommonly good tempered. He had very fine hair, pure skin, free from any blemish, was extremely lively, and had a bright clear eye. His head was rather smaller in proportion than his other parts.[Pg 45] From these circumstances, Sherwin ventured to prognosticate, that he was as likely to arrive at maturity, accidental diseases excepted, as any child he ever saw. This opinion might, undoubtedly, have been well founded, notwithstanding the child’s death, which took place about the middle of 1780, before he had attained the age of eighteen months.

But to return to Lambert:—He could not fail to be to every spectator an object of wonder and surprise; but to the man of science, and especially to the medical practitioner, his peculiarities must have been uncommonly interesting. It was impossible to behold his excessive corpulence, without being astonished that he was not long before suffocated by such an accumulation of substance. The perfect and uninterrupted flow of health which he enjoyed in his progress to his vast dimensions is likewise a remarkable trait in the history of Lambert.

While these, and other points of singularity, afford abundant room for speculation to[Pg 46] the philosopher, the moralist will delight to investigate the qualities of that mind which animated such a prodigious body. Shrewd and intelligent, Lambert had improved his natural talents by reading and observation. In company, he was lively and agreeable; the general information he possessed, and the numerous anecdotes treasured up in a memory uncommonly retentive, rendered his society extremely pleasant and instructive. His readiness at repartee, his superiority in characteristic description, and the humorous sallies in which he often indulged, gave life, vivacity, and interest, to his conversation. With respect to humanity, temperance, and liberality of sentiment, Lambert may be held up as a model worthy of general imitation.

FINIS.