1817.08.07 – Of Old Age and Death

    1817.08.07 – Of Old Age and Death
    May 4, 2022 TeSplendente

    This was originally posted on the first iteration of the ELU website on 2020.10.22 it, having been come across again, is being re-posted and expanded on 2022.05.04 and 2022.05.20:

    “We Spend Our Days as a Tale that is told.”

    1817.08.07, Thurs: During the third-quarter moon of the August harvest Anne is reading Goldsmith’s History of the Earth, a volume she hopes to return to again in the future. There is a notation, (SH:7/ML/E/1/0030) pp. 56 lines 16-19:

    read from / page 131 to 219 volume 2 Goldsmith’s History of the Earth – Chapter 10 ‘Of old age and death’ taken from Buffon, / excellent – Independent of religious comforts, the physical reasons why we should not fear / death are striking and admirable – this chapter ought to be read by everybody

    On this request the Chapter is being placed here (below) to enjoy. (The full book is 8 Volumes of 812 pages of which Anne read 88 on this day alongside the regular routine of maths, Homeric comparisons, letter reading and writing – a fine day.)

    1817.07.27, Sun: This passage in Goldsmith so impresses that Anne is compelled to re-visit the original Literary entry, Sun. 27th July, 1817 (SH:7/ML/E/1/0028), a day when Anne was “quicker … than I ever remembered to have been before,” and when a History of the Earth was begun:

    HCL [Halifax Circulating Library] / 58/100 / Read Thursday 9 September 1817. § / Good – / An History of the Earth, and animated nature: By
    Oliver Goldsmith. In 8 volumes. Lond. Printed for / J. Nourse, in the Strand, Bookseller to his Majesty. 1774.” / 8 Vols. 8vo. Vol. 1. Pp. 401. Vol 2. Pp. 398, & some pp. wanting / vol. 3. Pp. 402, & some wanting. Vol. 4 pp. 358. Vol. 5 pp.400. / vol. 6. Pp. 406. Vol.7 pp. 368. Vol8. Pp. 199 and an Index to the whole / of pp. 332.

    And to add the following annotation with a §:

    “§ ^Vid.^ Thursday 7 August 1817 Chapter 10 Volume 2 Goldsmith’s history of the Earth – particularly interesting”

    Note: Within this period of Anne’s life there are the foreshadowing of significant deaths including Uncle Joseph Lister (1750-1817) who has been progressively ill throughout the year. The sentence prior to the former on Goldsmith, 1817.08.07, Thurs, relays the concern for Uncle Joseph that has been felt by all members of the direct family, currently in proximity to Shibden Hall, on a near daily basis (Aunt Anne Lister, Uncle James Lister, Father Jeremy Lister):

    “found my uncle [Uncle Joseph Lister] more swelled – / and altogether worse than I ever remember to have seen him -“

    Before years end both Anne’s Uncle Joseph Lister and mother Rebecca (Battle) Lister (1770-1817) will die, as well as close family friends such as Dr Charles Best and Tib’s sister Emily ‘Mim’ Norcliffe (1799-1817).

    1818.01.12, Mon: Death is an event to which Georgians were intimately acquainted, as Charlotte Norcliffe (1788-1844) writes in a letter to Mrs Milne when announcing the death of poor Mim, dated 1817.12.08, Mon. This recounted by Nantz (Sarah Anne Belcombe 1785-1847) in a letter received by Anne Monday, 12 January, 1818 (SH:7/ML/E/1/0072):

    ‘Death truly spares neither young nor old.’

    Anne had already lost two Aunt’s: Martha Lister (1763-1809) and Phoebe Lister (17xx-1809); and four Brothers: John Lister (abt. 1789-abt. 1789), Samuel Lister (1793-1813), John Lister (1795-1810), and Jeremy Lister (1801-1802). The result of these deaths steered Anne’s entire future. Death was an event that could leave life in a precarious state, some times removing fortunes, and at times offering them over.

    1818.01.24, Sat: In Journal E/1, Anne makes twenty-nine mentions of deaths (seventy including anecdotal remembrances from previous years and historical mentions) [1], in the nearly ten months between 1817.03.01, Fri and 1818.01.25, Sun, closing in the second to last entry with a reflection on Psalm 90:12 (SH:7/ML/E/1/0077):

    “So many sudden deaths are very awful – God grant they may be a useful lesson to us all, and ‘so teach us to number / our days that we may turn our hearts unto wisdom.'”

    This day, a day when the moon shone so brightly that Anne mistook it for the sun:

    “at a 1/4 to one last night or rather this morning that awaking, I mistook the hour, got up, went down stairs, and lighted my candle to light my fire,  ^before I discovered my mistake.^”

    “(I have had it lighted ^early^ in a morning; (the 1st / thing when I get up) and kept in till dinner time, instead of being lighted at night – ever since the / first night or 2 after I returned from York) -“

    Which date was the winter solstice, Sunday, 21 December 1817, or thereabouts.

    [1] In the Index specifically, there are 20 mentions for 24 deaths with 16 or 17 others under the auspices of chronology, historical and treatment.

    That which you ought to read and which is particularly interesting,
    (Get comfortable, it’s long):


    Of Old Age and Death.*

    * This chapter is taken from Mr. Buffon, except where it is marked by inverted commas.

    Every thing in nature has its improvement and decay. The human form is no sooner arrived at its state of perfection than it begins to decline. The alteration is, at first, insensible; and, often, several years are elapsed before we find ourselves grown old. The news of this disagreeable change, too generally comes from without, and we learn from others that we grow old, before we are willing to believe the report.

    When the body has come to its full height, and is extended into its just dimensions; it then also begins to receive an additional bulk, which rather loads than assists it. This is formed from fat: which generally, at the age of thirty-five, or forty, covers all the muscles, and interrupts their activity. Every action is then performed with greater labour, and the increase of size only serves as a forerunner of decay.

    The bones also become every day more solid. In the embryo they are as soft almost as the muscles of the flesh; but, by degrees, they harden, and acquire their natural vigour; but still, however, the circulation is carried on through them; and, how hard soever the bones may seem, yet the blood holds its current through them as through all other parts of the body. Of this we may be convinced, by an experiment, which was first accidentally discovered, by our ingenious countryman, Mr. Belcher. Perceiving, at a friend’s house, that the bones of hogs, which were fed upon madder, were red, he tried it upon various animals, by mixing this root with their usual food; and he found that it tinctured the bones in all: an evident demonstration that the juices of the body had a circulation through the bones. He fed some animals alternately upon madder and their common food, for some time, and he found their bones tinctured with alternate layers, in conformity to their manner of living. From all this, he naturally concluded, that the blood circulated through the bones as it does through every other part of the body; and that, how solid soever they seemed, yet, like the softest parts, they were furnished, through all their substance, with their proper canals. Nevertheless, these canals are of very different capacities, during the different stages of life. In infancy they are capacious; and the blood flows almost as freely through the bones as through any other part of the body ; in manhood their size is greatly diminished ; the vessels are almost imperceptible; and the circulation through them is proportionally slow. But, in the decline of life, the blood, which flows through the bones, no longer contributing to their growth, must necessarily serve to increase their hardness. The channels that every where run through the human frame, may be compared to those pipes that we everywhere see crusted on the inside, by the water, for a long continuance, running through them. Both every day grow less and less, by the small rigid particles which are deposited within them. Thus, as the vessels are by degrees diminished, the juices also, which were necessary for the circulation through them, are diminished in proportion; till, at length, in old age, those “props of the human frame are not only more solid, but more brittle.

    The cartilages, or gristles, which may be considered as bones beginning to be formed, grow also more rigid. The juices circulating through them, for there is a circulation through all parts of the body, every day contributes to render them harder; so that these substances, which in youth are elastic and pliant, in age become hard and bony. As these cartilages are generally placed near the joints, the motion of the joints also must, of consequence, become more difficult. Thus, in old age, every action of the body is performed with labour; and the cartilages, formerly so supple, will now sooner break than bend.

    “ As the cartilages acquire hardness, and unfit the joints for motion, so also that mucous liquor, which is always separated between the joints, and which serves, like oil to a hinge, to give them an easy and ready play, is now grown more scanty. It becomes thicker, and more clammy, more unfit for answering the purposes of motion; and from thence, in old age, every joint is not only stiff’, but awkward. At every motion, this clammy liquor is heard to crack; and it is not without the greatest effort of the muscles that its resistance is overcome. 1 have seen an old person, who never moved a single joint that did not thus give notice of the violence done to it.”

    The membranes that cover the bones, the joints, and the rest of the body, become, as we grow old, more dense and more dry. These which surround the bones, soon cease to be ductile. The fibres, of which the muscles or flesh is composed, become every day more rigid; and, while to the touch the body seems, as we advance iu years, to grow softer, it is, in reality, increasing in hardness. It is the skin, and not the flesh, that we feel upon such occasions. The fat, and the flabbiness of that, seems to give an appearance of softness, which the flesh itself is very far from having. There are few can doubt this after trying the difference between the flesh of young and old animals. The first is soft and tender, the last is hard and dry.

    The skin is the only part of the body that age does not contribute to harden. That stretches to every degree of tension; and we have horrid instances of its pliancy, in many disorders incident to humanity. In youth, therefore, while the body is vigorous and increasing, it still gives way to its growth. But, although it thus adapts itself to our increase, it does not in the same manner conform to our decay. The skin, which in youth was filled, and glossy, when the body begins to decline, has not elasticity enough to shrink entirely with its diminution. It hangs, therefore, in I wrinkles, which no art can remove. The wrinkles of the body, in general, proceed from this cause. But those of the face seem to proceed from another; namely, from the many varieties of positions into which it is put by the speech, the food, or the passions. Every grimace, and every passion, wrinkles up the visasre into different forms. These are visible enouoh in young- persons ; but w hat at first was accidental, or transitory, becomes unalterably fixed in the visage as it grows older. “ lienee we may conclude, that a freedom from passions not only adds to the happiness of the mind, but preserves the beauty of the face ; and the person that has not felt their influence, is less strongly marked by the decays of nature.”

    Hence, therefore, as we advance in age, the bones, the cartilages, the membranes, the flesh, the skin, and every fibre of the body, become more solid, more brittle, and more dry. Every part shrinks, every motion becomes more slow: the circulation of the fluids is performed with less freedom; perspiration diminishes; the secretions alter; the digestion becomes slow and laborious; and the juices no longer serving to convey their accustomed nourishment, those parts may be said to live no longer when the circulation ceases. Thus the body dies by little and little: all its functions are diminished by degrees; life is driven from one part of the frame to another; universal rigidity prevails, and death at last seizes upon the little that is left.

    As the hones, the cartilages, the muscles, and all the parts of the body, are softer in women than in men, these parts must, in consequence, require a longer time to come to that hardness which hastens death. Women, therefore, ought to be a longer time in growing old than men; and this is actually the case. If we consult the tables which have been drawn up respecting human life, we shall find, that after a certain age they are more long-lived than men, all other circumstances the same. A woman of sixty has a better chance than a man of the same age to live till eighty. Upon the whole we may infer, that such persons as have been slow in coming up to maturity, will also be slow in growing old; and this holds as well with regard to other animals as to man.

    The whole duration of the life of either vegetables, or animals, may be, in some measure, determined from their manner of coming to maturity. The tree, or the animal, which takes but a short time to increase to its utmost pitch, perishes much sooner than such as are less premature. In both, the increase upwards is first accomplished; and not till they have acquired their greatest degree of height do they begin to spread in bulk. Man grows in stature till about the age of seventeen; but his body is not completely developed ill about thirty. Dogs, on the other hand, are at their utmost size in a year, and become as bulky as they usually are in another. However, man, who is so long in stow in continues to live for fourscore or a hundred years; but the dog seldom above twelve or thirteen. In general, also, it may be said that large animals live longer than little ones, as they usually take a larger time to grow. But in all animals one thing is equally certain, that they carry the cause of their own decay about them; and that their deaths are necessary and inevitable. The prospects which some visionaries have formed of perpetuating life by remedies, have been often enough proved false by their own example. Such unaccountable schemes would, therefore, have died with them, had not the love of life always augmented our credulity.

    To lengthen out the period of life for some years by management. Temperance in diet is often found conductive to this end. The famous Cornaro, who lived to above a hundred years, although his constitution was naturally feeble, is a strong instance of the benefit of an abstemious life. Moderation in the passions also may contribute to extend the term of our existence. “ Fontenelle, the celebrated writer, was naturally of a very weak and delicate habit of body. He was affected by the smallest irregularities; and had frequently suffered severe fits of illness from the slightest causes. But the remarkable equality of his temper, and his seeming want of passion, lengthened out his life to above a hundred. It was remarkable of him, that nothing could vex or make him uneasy; every occurrence seemed equally pleasing: and no event, however unfortunate, seemed to come unexpected.” However, the term of life can be prolonged but for a very little time by any art we can use. We are told of men who have lived beyond the ordinary duration of human existence; such as Parr, who lived to a hundred and forty-four; and Jenkins to a hundred and sixty-five; yet these men used no peculiar arts to prolong life ; on the contrary, it appears that these, as well as some others, remarkable for their longevity, were peasants, accustomed to the greatest fatigues, who had no settled rules of diet, but who often indulged in accidental excesses. Indeed, if we consider that the European, the Negro, the Chinese, and the American, the civilized man and the savage, the rich and the poor, the inhabitant of the city, and of the country, though all so different in other respects, are yet entirely similar in the period allotted them for living ; if we consider that neither the difference of race, of climate, of nourishment, of convenience, or of soil, makes any difference in the term of life; if we consider that those men who live upon raw- fresh, or dried fishes, upon sago, or rice, upon cassava, or upon roots, nevertheless live as long as those who are fed upon bread and meat, we shall readily be brought to acknowledge, that the duration of life depends neither upon habit, customs, or the quantity of food ; we shall confess, that nothing can change the laws of that mechanism which regulates the number of our years, and which can chiefly be affected only by long fasting, or great excess.

    It there be any difference in the different periods of man’s existence, it ought principally to be ascribed to the quality of the air. It has been observed, that, in elevated situations there have been found more old people than in those that were low. The mountains of Scotland, Wales, Auvergne, and Switzerland, have furnished more instances of extreme old age than the plains of Holland, Flanders, Germany, or Poland. But, in general, the duration of life is nearly the same in most countries. Man, if not cut off by accidental diseases, is often found to live to ninety or a hundred years. Our ancestors did not live beyond that date; and, since the times of David, this term has undergone little alteration. 1[footnote]
    If we be asked how in the beginning men lived so much longer than at present, and by what means their lives were extended to nine hundred and thirty, or even nine hundred and sixty years, it may be answered, that the productions of the earth, upon which they fed, might be of a different nature at that time, from what they are at present. “ It may be answered, that the term was abridged by Divine command, in order to keep the earth from being over-stocked with human inhabitants; since, if every person were now to live and generate for nine hundred years, mankind would be increased to such a degree, that there would be no room for subsistence; so that the plan of Providence would be altered ; which is seen not to produce life, without providing a proper supply.”

    But, to whatever extent life may be prolonged, or however some may have delayed the effects of age, death is the certain goal to which all are hastening. All the causes of decay which have been mentioned, contribute to bring on this dreaded dissolution. However nature approaches to this awful period, by slow and imperceptible degrees; life is consumed day after day: and some one of our faculties, or vital principles, is every hour dying before the rest ; so that death is only the last shade in the picture: and it is probable, that man suffers a greater change in going from youth to age, than from age into the grave. When we first begin to live, our lives may scarcely be said to be our own; as the child grows, life increases in the same proportion; and is at its height in the prime of manhood. But as soon as the body begins to decrease, life decreases also; for, as the human frame diminishes, and its juices circulate in smaller quantity, life diminishes and circulates with less vigour; so that as we begin to live by degrees, we begin to die in the same manner.

    Why then should we fear death, if our lives have been such as not to make eternity dreadful? Why should we fear that moment which is prepared by a thousand other moments of the same kind? the first pangs of sickness being probably greater than the last struggles of departure. Death, in most persons, is as calmly endured as the disorder that brings it on. If we inquire from those whose business it is to attend the sick and the dying, we shall find that, except in a very few acute cases, where the patient dies in agonies, the greatest number die quietly, and seemingly without pain: and even the agonies of the former, rather terrify the spectators, than torment the patient ; for how many have we not seen who have been accidentally relieved from this extremity, and yet bad no memory of what they then endured ? In fact, they had ceased to live, during that time when they ceased to have sensation; and their pains were only those of which they had an idea.

    The greatest number of mankind die, therefore, without sensation; and of those few that still preserve their faculties entire to the last moment, there is scarcely one of them that does not also preserve the hopes of still out-living’ the disorder. Nature, for the happiness of man, has rendered this sentiment stronger than his reason. A person dying of an incurable disorder, which he must know to be so, by frequent examples of bis case; which he perceives to be so, by the inquietude of all around him, by the tears of his friends, and the departure or the face of the physician, is, nevertheless, still in hopes of getting over it. His interest is so great that he only attends to bis own representations; the judgment of others is considered as a hasty conclusion; and while death every moment makes new inroads upon his constitution, and destroys life in some part, hope still seems to escape the universal ruin, and is the last that submits to the blow.

    Cast your eyes upon a sick man, who has a hundred times told you that he felt himself dying’, that he was convinced he could not recover, and that he was ready to expire; examine what passes ou his visage, when through zeal or indiscretion, any one comes to tell him that his end is at hand. You will see him change one who is told an unexpected piece of new’s. He now appears not to have thoroughly believed what he had been telling you himself; he doubted much; and his fears were greater than his hopes : but he still had some feeble expectations of living, and would not have seen the approaches of death, unless he had been alarmed by the mistaken assiduity of his attendants.

    Death, therefore, is not that terrible thing which we suppose it to be. It is a spectre which frights us at a distance, but which disappears when we come to approach it more closely. Our ideas of its terrors are conceived in prejudice, and dressed up by fancy; we regard it not only as the greatest misfortune, but as also an evil accompanied with the most excruciating tortures: we have even increased our apprehensions, by reasoning in the extent of our sufferings. It must be dreadful, say some, since it is sufficient to separate the soul from the body; it must be long, since our sufferings are proportioned to the succession of our ideas ; and these being painful, must succeed each other with extreme rapidity. In this manner has false philosophy laboured to augment the miseries of our nature; and to aggravate that period, which Nature has kindly covered with insensibility. Neither the mind, nor the body, can suffer these calamities; the mind is, at that time, mostly without ideas; and the body too much enfeebled fo be capable of perceiving its pair.. A very acute pain produces either death, or fainting, which is a state similar to death: the body can suffer but to a certain degree; if the torture becomes excessive, it destroys itself ; and the mind ceases to perceive, when the body can no longer endure.

    In this manner, excessive pain admits of no reflection; and wherever there are any signs of it, we may be sure that the sufferings of the patient are no greater than what we ourselves may have remembered to endure.
    But in the article of death, we have many instances in which the dying person has shewn that very reflection which pre-supposes an absence of the greatest pain; and, consequently, that pang which ends life, cannot even be so great as those which have preceded. Thus, when Charles XII. was shot at the siege of Frederickshall, he was seen to clap his hand on the hilt of his sword; and although the blow was great enough to terminate one of the boldest and bravest lives in the world, yet it was not painful enough to destroy reflection. He perceived himself attacked; he reflected that he ought to defend himself, and his body obeyed the impulse of his mind, even in the last extremity. Thus it is the prejudice of persons in health, and not the body in pain, that makes us suffer from the approach of death : we have, all our lives, contracted a habit of making out excessive pleasures and pains ; and nothing but repeated experience shews us, how seldom the one can be suffered, or the other enjoyed to the utmost.
    If there be any thing necessary to confirm what we have said, concerning the gradual cessation of life, or the insensible approaches of our end, nothing can more effectually prove it, than the uncertainty of the signs of death. If we consult what Winslow or Bruhier have said upon this subject, we shall be convinced, that between life and death, the shade is so very indistinguishable, that even all the powers of art can scarcely determine where the one ends, and the other begins. The colour of the visage, the warmth of the body, the suppleness of the joints, are but uncertain signs of life still subsisting ; while, on the contrary, the paleness of the complexion, the coldness of the body, the stiffness of the extremities, the cessation of all motion, and the total insensibility of the parts, are but uncertain marks of death beefun. In the same manner also, with regard to the pulse, and the breathing, these motions are often so kept under, that it is impossible to perceive them. By approaching a looking-glass to the mouth of the person supposed to be dead, people often expect to find whether he breathes or not. But this is a very uncertain experiment: the glass is frequently sullied by the vapour of the dead man’s body ; and often the person is still alive, although the glass is no way tarnished. In the same manner, neither burning, nor scarifying- , neither noises in (he ears, nor pungent spirits applied to the nostrils, give certain signs of the discontinuance of life ; and there are many instances of persons w ho have endured them all, and afterwards recovered, without any external assistance, to the astonishment of the spectators. How careful, therefore, should we be, before we commit those who are dearest to us to the grave, to be well assured of their departure? Experience, justice, humanity, all persuade us not to hasten the funerals of our friends, but to keep their bodies unburied, until we have certain signs of their real decease.

    1 [Foot Notes]
    The most extraordinary instance of longevity in Great Britain was exhibited in tire person of Henry Jenkins. He was a native of Yorkshire, lived to the amazing age of 169 years, and died on tire 8th day of December 1670.
    Next to Jenkins, we have the famous Thomas l’arr, who was a native of Shropshire, and died on the lbth ‘day of November 1635, at the age of 15*.
    Francis Consist, a native of Yorkshire, aged 150, died in January 1768.
    Margaret Forster, aged 136, and her daughter, aged 101, were natives of t Cumberland, and both alive in the year 1771.
    William Evans, aged 145, lived in Carnarvon, and still existed in the year 1782.
    Dumiter Radaloy, aged 140, lived in Hannenstead, and died on the 16th day of January 1782.
    James Bowels, aged 152, lived in Kilingworth, and died on the 15th day of August 1656.
    The Countess of Desmond, in Ireland, saw her 140th year.
    Mr. Ecleston, a native of Ireland, lived to the age of 143, and died in the year 1691.
    John Mount, a native of Scotland, saw his 136lh year, and died on the 27th day of February 1776.
    William Ellis, of Liverpool, died on the 16th day of August 1780, at the age of 130.
    Colonel Thomas Winsloe, a native of Ireland, aged 146, died on the 22nd day of August 1766.
    John Taylor was born in Carrygill, in the county of Cumberland. He was bred a miner. His father died when John was only four years of age. Poverty obliged him to be set early to work. During two years lie dressed lead ore for two-pence a day. The next three or four years he assisted the miners in removing the ore and rubbish to the bank, for which he received four-pence a day. At this period there happened a great solar eclipse, which w as distinguished in Scotland by the appellation ,of Mirk Monday. This event, which he always repeated with the same circumstances, is the chief era from which John’s age has been computed. After labouring many years both in this and the neighbouring kingdom, he died, near Lcadhills in Scotland, in the month of May 1770, at thegrcat age of 133

    ** Snullie’s Philosophy of Natural History,Yol. i. p. 507.

    Deaths recounted in E/J/1, in order of mention:

    1. Historical: Nadir Kouli, the celebrated Persian usurper, d. 1747 [Vid. 1817.04.09, Wed]
    2. Mr. Cotton, Mrs. Harriet (Cotton) Belcombe’s father and Henry Stephen Belcombe’s father-in-law, d. ~ 1817 [Vid. 1817.04.26, Sat]
    3. Mrs. Greenwood’s friend, Liverpool, d. 1817 [Vid. 1817.05.07, Wed]
    4. Mrs. Parker of Browsham, Lord Ribblesdale’s sister, d. 1817 [Vid. 1817.05.14, Wed]
    5. Mr. Lawrence, Mr. Samuel Knight’s father-in-law, d. 1817 [Vid. 1817.05.17, Sat]
    6. Jane Bolton’s Child, d. 1817 [Vid. 1817.06.11, Wed]
    7. Mrs. Hotham, wife of Alderman Hotham, York and Mr. Empson’s Aunt, d. 1817 [Vid. 1817.07.07, Mon]
    8. 5 men by fire damp in a coal pit near Bierley, d. ~ 1817.07 [Vid. 1817.07.23, Wed]
    9. A boy of 12, by a kick from Mr. Sunderland’s horse, d. 1817.07.22, Tues [Vid. 1817.07.23, Wed]
    10. Sam Lees, d. 1817 [Vid. 1817.07.23, Wed]
    11. Dr. Charles Best, d. 1817.08.04, Mon [Vid. 1817.08.23, Sat]
    12. Historical: Fletcher Christian, 1st/Chief Mate, Head of the Mutineers of the Bounty Captain Blight, d. 1782 (Vid. 1817.09.28, Sun]
    13. Mr. Mellish, d. ~ 1817.05 [Vid. 1817.11.06, Thurs]
    14. Infant Baby Inman, d. 1817.11.06, Thurs [Vid. 1817.11.07, Fri]
    15. Uncle Joseph Lister, d. 1817.11.08, Sat [Vid. 1817.11.08, Sat]
    16. Princess Charlotte of Wales [Vid. 1817.11.08, Sat]
    17. Still-born Child of Princess Charlotte of Wales, d. 1817.11.06, Thurs [Vid. 1817.11.08, Sat]
    18. Anecdote: Oswald Fawcett, Aunt Mary (Fawcett) Lister’s brother, Frimley [Vid. 1817.11.08, Sat]
    19. Rebecca (Battle) Lister, Anne Lister’s Mother, d. ~ 1817.11.13, Thurs [Vid. Index ~ 1817.11.13, Thurs]
    20. Mr. Dales Mother, Mr. Battle’s sister, b. 1730 d. 1817 [Vid. 1817.11.27, Thurs]
    21. Mr. Radclyffe, Smith House, d. ~ 1817.12.18, Thurs [Vid. 1817.12.18, Thurs]
    22. Mr. Coulthurst, Vicar, Market Weighton, d. 1817.12.18, Thurs [Vid. 1817.12.21, Sun]
    23. Emily ‘Mim’ Norcliffe, Isabella Norcliffe’s sister and dear friend of many, d. 1817.12.21, Sun [Vid. 1817.12.27, Sat]
    24. Mr. John Greenwood, d. 1817.12.27, Sat [Vid. 1817.12.29, Mon]
    25. Lady Vavasour, York, d. 1818.01.02/08, Fri [Vid. 1818.01.12, Mon]
    26. Mr. Rhodes, d. ~ 1818.01.21, Wed [Vide 1818.01.21, Wed]
    27. Anecdote: 14 or 15 African slaves [Vid. 1818.01.22, Thurs]
    28. Anecdote: 25 castrated slave traders [Vid. 1818.01.22, Thurs]
    29. Miss Charlotte Lucretia Francina Radclyffe, Asylum, York, d. ~ 1818.01 [Vid. 1818.01.25, Sun]

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