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A BOOK FOR A RAINY DAY




[Illustration: JOHN THOMAS SMITH

AUTHOR OF “NOLLEKENS AND HIS TIMES,” “A BOOK FOR A RAINY DAY,” ETC.]




                                 A BOOK
                             FOR A RAINY DAY

                         OR RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
                      EVENTS OF THE YEARS 1766-1833

                                   BY
                            JOHN THOMAS SMITH

                 EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
                                   BY
                             WILFRED WHITTEN

               WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM CONTEMPORARY PRINTS

                              METHUEN & CO.
                          36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
                                 LONDON

               _This Edition was first Published in 1905_




AUTHOR’S PREFACE


The highly flattering manner in which my work, entitled _Nollekens and
his Times_, was generally received, induced me to collect numerous
scattered biographical papers, which I have considerably augmented with a
variety of subjects, arranged chronologically, according to the years of
my life.

Some may object to my vanity, in expecting the reader of the following
pages to be pleased with so heterogeneous a dish. It is, I own, what
ought to be called a salmagundi, or it may be likened to various suits
of clothes, made up of remnants of all colours. One promise I can make,
that as my pieces are mostly of new cloth, they will last the longer. Dr.
Johnson has said:

“All knowledge is of itself of some value. There is nothing so minute or
inconsiderable, that I would not rather know, than not.”

Lord Orrery, in a letter to Dr. Birch, dated November, 1741, makes the
following observation:

“I look upon anecdotes as debts due to the public, which every man, when
he has that kind of cash by him, ought to pay.”

                                                             J. T. SMITH.




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


    JOHN THOMAS SMITH                                  _Frontispiece_
          From an Engraving by WILLIAM SKELTON of
              the Drawing by JOHN JACKSON, R.A.

    NANCY DAWSON                                     _Facing page_ 10
          From a Contemporary Print.

    ROYAL ACADEMICIANS REFLECTING ON THE TRUE LINE OF
        BEAUTY AT THE LIFE ACADEMY, SOMERSET HOUSE.     ”      ”   14
          From a Drawing by ROBERT CRUIKSHANK.

    THE DELIGHTS OF ISLINGTON                           ”      ”   17
          From the Engraving by CHARLES BRETHERTON
              of the Caricature by HENRY WILLIAM
              BUNBURY.

    “SING TANTARARA--VAUXHALL! VAUXHALL!”               ”      ”   24
          From the Drawing by ROWLANDSON (_Microcosm
              of London_).

    GEORGE WHITEFIELD                                   ”      ”   32
          From a Painting by NATHANIEL HONE, mezzotinted
              by GRENWOODE.

    JOHN RANN                                           ”      ”   38
          From a Contemporary Print.

    LONDON BEGGARS: JOHN MACNALLY                       ”      ”   45
          From an Etching by JOHN THOMAS SMITH.

    LONDON BEGGARS: A SILVER-HAIRED MAN                 ”      ”   52
          From an Etching by JOHN THOMAS SMITH.

    LONDON MATCH BOYS                                   ”      ”   58
          From an Etching by JOHN THOMAS SMITH.

    IMAGES                                              ”      ”   63
          From an Etching by JOHN THOMAS SMITH.

    THE ROYAL COCKPIT                                   ”      ”   68
          From a Drawing by PUGIN and ROWLANDSON.

    DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON                                  ”      ”   78
          From the Drawing by THOMAS TROTTER, done
              from life, and engraved by PRISCOTT.

    “PERDITA” ROBINSON                                  ”      ”   83
          Transcriber’s Note: this picture was omitted
              from the original book’s list of
              illustrations, and has here been added.

    MRS. SIDDONS                                        ”      ”   85
          From the Portrait by JOHN KEYSE SHERWIN,
              engraved by the painter.

    BENJAMIN WEST, P.R.A.                               ”      ”   91
          From the Painting by GILBERT STUART in the
              National Portrait Gallery.

    CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE                               ”      ”  105
          From the Drawing by DANCE, engraved by
              RIDLEY.

    COVENT GARDEN                                       ”      ”  108
          From the Print, “Morning,” by HOGARTH.

    UMBRELLAS TO MEND                                   ”      ”  115
          From an Etching by JOHN THOMAS SMITH.

    CHRISTIE’S AUCTION ROOM                             ”      ”  120
          From the Drawing by PUGIN and ROWLANDSON
              (_Microcosm of London_).

    AN OLD LONDON WATCH-HOUSE                           ”      ”  126
          From the Drawing by PUGIN and ROWLANDSON
              (_Microcosm of London_).

    SIR HARRY DINSDALE AND SIR JEFFERY DUNSTAN          ”      ”  129
          From Contemporary Prints.

    ELIZABETH CANNING’S IMPOSTURE                       ”      ”  135
          From a Contemporary Print.

    RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN                           ”      ”  147
          From the Painting by JOHN RUSSELL, R.A.,
              in the National Portrait Gallery.

    J. W. M. TURNER, R.A.                               ”      ”  152
          From a Water-Colour Drawing by JOHN
              THOMAS SMITH in the British Museum
              Print Room.

    GEORGE MORLAND                                      ”      ”  157
          From a Drawing by ROWLANDSON.

    THE REV. ROWLAND HILL                               ”      ”  161
          From a Drawing by THOMAS CLARK, engraved
              by WILLIAM BOND.

    JAMES BARRY, R.A.                                   ”      ”  168
          From the Portrait painted by himself, in the
              National Portrait Gallery.

    THE OLD HOUSE OF COMMONS                            ”      ”  173
          From the Drawing by PUGIN and ROWLANDSON
              (_Microcosm of London_).

    NEWGATE CHAPEL ON THE EVE OF SEVERAL EXECUTIONS     ”      ”  178
          From the Drawing by PUGIN and ROWLANDSON
              (_Microcosm of London_).

    THOMAS AUGUSTINE ARNE                               ”      ”  181
          From a Caricature (based upon a Drawing by
              BARTOLOZZI) in the National Portrait
              Gallery.

    LADY HAMILTON                                       ”      ”  184
          After a Painting by ROMNEY.

    GIOVANNI BATTISTA BELZONI                           ”      ”  188
          From the Painting by WILLIAM BROCKEDON
              in the National Portrait Gallery.

    BARTHOLOMEW FAIR                                    ”      ”  193
          From the Drawing by PUGIN and ROWLANDSON
              (_Microcosm of London_).

    CHARLES TOWNLEY                                     ”      ”  198
          From a Painting by JOHANN ZOFFANY, R.A.,
              engraved by WORTHINGTON.

    JAMES NORTHCOTE, R.A.                               ”      ”  205
          From a Drawing by JAMES LONSDALE.

    WILLIAM HUNTINGTON, “S.S.”                          ”      ”  212
          From the Painting by DOMENICO PELLEGRINI
              in the National Portrait Gallery.

    MRS. JORDAN IN THE CHARACTER OF THE COUNTRY GIRL    ”      ”  222
          From the Painting by ROMNEY, engraved by
              JOHN OGBOURNE.

    HENRY CONSTANTINE JENNINGS (OR NOEL)                ”      ”  233
          From a Contemporary Print.

    DAVID GARRICK AND HIS WIFE                          ”      ”  243
          From the Painting by HOGARTH, engraved by
              H. BOURNE.

    DR. OLIVER GOLDSMITH                                ”      ”  257
          From the Drawing by HENRY WILLIAM BUNBURY,
              engraved by BRETHERTON.

    THE WIG IN ENGLAND: A MACARONI READY FOR
        THE PANTHEON                                    ”      ”  265
          From a Contemporary Print.

    MATS TO SELL                                        ”      ”  281
          From an Etching by JOHN THOMAS SMITH.

    CHARLES DIBDEN                                      ”      ”  292
          From the Painting by THOMAS PHILLIPS, R.A.,
              in the National Portrait Gallery.

    A PARTY ON THE RIVER                                ”      ”  298
          From a Drawing by ROBERT CRUIKSHANK.

    SIR EDMUND BERRY GODFREY                            ”      ”  303
          From an Engraving by P. VANDREBANE.

    JOHN FLAXMAN, R.A., MODELLING THE BUST OF HAYLEY    ”      ”  309
          From the Painting by ROMNEY in the National
              Portrait Gallery.

    THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH, R.A.                           ”      ”  317
          From the Painting by himself in the Royal
              Academy.




THIS EDITION


The first two editions of _A Book for a Rainy Day_ appeared in 1845,
twelve years after John Thomas Smith’s death, and a third appeared in
1861. As these editions do not contain half a dozen notes other than
Smith’s own, this may claim to be the first annotated edition. It is also
the first in which numerous original misprints have been (as I hope)
corrected.

The lapse of seventy years has made many notes necessary. I have
endeavoured to write these in the spirit of the book, making them
something more than brief categorical answers to questions suggested
by Smith’s journal. His own notes were interesting after-thoughts, and
for this reason, and to avoid confusion, the great majority are now
incorporated in his text. Where any are retained as footnotes, Smith’s
authorship is indicated. If my additions to the book seem profuse, I can
only plead that the _Rainy Day_ offers to the annotator that abundance of
material which has long pleased and bewildered its “Grangerisers.” And
our climate has not improved.

I wish to acknowledge the use I have made of the _Dictionary of
National Biography_, _Notes and Queries_, Mr. Wheatley’s _London Past
and Present_, Mr. George Clinch’s _Bloomsbury and St. Giles’s_, and
his _Marylebone and St. Pancras_, Mr. Warwick Wroth’s _London Pleasure
Gardens of the Eighteenth Century_, Mr. Percy Fitzgerald’s _Life of
Garrick_, Mr. Austin Dobson’s _Hogarth_, Mr. Laurence Binyon’s _Catalogue
of Drawings by British Artists in the Print Department_, the _Gentleman’s
Magazine_, the works of Cunningham and Redgrave, and such autobiographies
as those of Henry Angelo, Thomas Dibdin, John Taylor, W. H. Pyne, Sir
Nathaniel Wraxhall, B. R. Haydon, Madam D’Arblay, Dr. Trusler, and
Letitia Hawkins. It is remarkable how John Thomas Smith’s own books
supplement each other. His _Nollekens and his Times_ is an inexhaustible
budget of facts, and its usefulness has been increased by the index
provided in Mr. Gosse’s edition of 1895.

It should be remembered that the year-dates which Smith uses as chapter
headings do not represent the times at which the respective chapters were
written. I judge that Smith was engaged on the _Rainy Day_ only in the
last three years of his life. His chronology is rather happy-go-lucky.
For example, it must not be supposed that Dr. Burgess, of Mortimer
Street, wore his cocked hat and deep ruffles in 1816, or that in that
year Alderman Boydell might have been seen putting his head under the
pump in Ironmonger Lane. These men died some years earlier. In accordance
with the text of the third edition, Smith’s curious mention of the death
of Dr. Johnson will be found under the year 1803.

                                                                    W. W.

_June 1905._




JOHN THOMAS SMITH


John Thomas, or “Rainy Day,” Smith was born in a London hackney coach, on
the evening of the 23rd of June 1766. His mother had spent the evening
at the house of her brother, Mr. Edward Tarr, a convivial glass-grinder
of Earl Street, Seven Dials, and the coach was conveying her back with
necessary haste to her home at No. 7 Great Portland Street. Sixty-seven
years later, the man who had entered thus hurriedly into the world left
it with almost equal unexpectedness in his house, No. 22 University
Street, after holding for seventeen years the post of Keeper of the
Prints at the British Museum.

As a writer John Thomas Smith takes no high rank; but he is a delightful
gossip, full of his two subjects: London and Art. We know him when he
exclaims to a visitor in the Print Room, “What I tell you is the fact,
and sit down, and I’ll tell ye the whole story.” Smith’s narrative manner
is always that: “Sit down, and I’ll tell ye the whole story.” Such
historians are often found in life, mighty recollectors before the Lord,
who talk books which no one can inspire them to write. And it is well
that when Smith did write he took small pains to be fine or literary.
Writing as a man, and not as the scribes, he produced in his _Nollekens
and his Times_ one of the most entertaining harum-scarum biographies ever
seen, and in his _Book for a Rainy Day, or Recollections of the Events of
the Years 1766-1833_, a budget of memories which has perhaps been less
read and more quoted than any book of its kind.

Smith’s valuable quality is his interest in the life he lived and saw
lived. He was zealous to record those trivial facts of to-day which
become piquant to-morrow, a habit that reveals itself in the way he
mentions his birth as happening “whilst Maddox was balancing a straw at
the Little Theatre in the Haymarket, and Marylebone Gardens re-echoed the
melodious notes of Tommy Lowe.” In a friend’s album he wrote--

“I can boast of seven events, some of which great men would be proud of:

“I received a kiss when a boy from the beautiful Mrs. Robinson;

“Was patted on the head by Dr. Johnson;

“Have frequently held Sir Joshua Reynolds’s spectacles;

“Partook of a pint of porter with an elephant;

“Saved Lady Hamilton from falling when the melancholy news arrived of
Lord Nelson’s death;

“Three times conversed with King George the Third;

“And was shut up in a room with Mr. Kean’s lion.”

These events are more curious than fateful, and, indeed, Smith’s career
is little more than a record of plates etched and books published. He is
entertaining because he was out and about in London for sixty years, and
looked upon anecdotes as “debts due to the public.”

Almost as soon as Mrs. Smith’s hackney coach had brought her to No. 7
Great Portland Street--a house whose site is now covered, as I reckon,
by No. 38--Dr. William Hunter, brother of the great John Hunter,
arrived from Jermyn Street, and performed his duties with the skill
of a Physician-Extraordinary to the Queen. The attendance of such a
man proves the material comfort of the Smith family. Nathaniel Smith,
the flustered father, was principal assistant to Joseph Nollekens, the
sculptor, and he had worked for Joseph Wilton and the great Roubiliac.
For Wilton he carved three of the nine masks, representing Ocean and
eight British rivers, now seen on the Strand front of Somerset House. He
had taken to wife a Miss Tarr, a Quakeress. Their boy’s christening was
dictated by family history. He was named John after his grandfather, a
Shropshire clothier, whose bust, modelled by Nathaniel Smith, was the
first publicly exhibited by the Associated Artists at Spring Gardens; and
Thomas after his great-uncle, Admiral Thomas Smith, who had earned in
Portsmouth Harbour (more cheaply, perhaps, than Smith would have allowed)
the name of “Tom of Ten Thousand.”

Smith early went into training to be a gossiping topographer. Old
Nollekens, already a Royal Academician, and the most sought-after
sculptor of portrait busts (“Well, sir, I think my friend Joe Nollekens
can chop out a head with any of them,” was Dr. Johnson’s tribute to
his genius), often took his assistant’s little son for a ramble round
the streets. One day he led Thomas to the Oxford Road to see Jack Rann
go by on the cart to Tyburn, where he was to be hanged for robbing Dr.
William Bell of his watch and eighteenpence. The boy remembered all
his life the criminal’s pea-green coat, his nankin small-clothes, and
the immense nosegay that had been presented to him at St. Sepulchre’s
steps. In another walk, Mr. Nollekens showed him the ruins of the Duke of
Monmouth’s house in Soho Square. In a Sunday morning ramble they watched
the boys bathing in Marylebone Basin, on the site of Portland Place. And,
again, they stood at the top of Rathbone Place, while Nollekens recalled
the mill from which Windmill Street was named, and the halfpenny hatch
which had admitted people to the miller’s grounds.

In the sculptor’s studio, at No. 9 Mortimer Street, where at the age of
twelve he began to help his father, Smith met sundry great people. One
day, Mr. Charles Townley, the collector of the Townley marbles, noticed
him, and “pouched” him half a guinea to purchase paper and chalk. Dr.
Johnson, who was sitting for his bust, once looked at the boy’s drawings,
and, laying his hand heavily on his head, croaked, “Very well, very
well.” On a February day in 1779, that wag Johnny Taylor, who was to
be Smith’s life-long friend, put his head in at the studio door and
shouted the news that Garrick’s funeral had just left Adelphi Terrace for
Westminster Abbey. Away flew Smith to see the procession, and to record
it, in his old age, in the _Rainy Day_.

As a youth, Smith wished to learn engraving under Bartolozzi, but the
great Italian declined a pupil, and it was through the influence of Dr.
Hinchliffe, Bishop of Peterborough, one of his father’s patrons, that he
entered the studio of John Keyse Sherwin, the engraver. Here he received
his kiss from the beautiful “Perdita” Robinson; and when Mrs. Siddons
sat to Sherwin for her portrait as the Grecian Daughter, he raised and
lowered the window curtains to obtain the effect of light desired by his
master.

Three years later Smith launched out as young drawing-master,
pencil-portrait draughtsman, and topographical engraver. He found
a patron in Mr. Richard Wyatt, of Milton Place, Egham. Through this
gentleman he obtained commissions as a topographical artist from
influential collectors like the Duke of Roxburgh, Lord Leicester, and
Horace Walpole. Moreover, Sir Joshua Reynolds and Benjamin West sometimes
engaged him to bid for them at print auctions. At this time he was a
frequent visitor to the drawing-room of Mrs. Mathew, in Rathbone Place,
where Flaxman was often found, and where William Blake read aloud his
early poems.

The small artist, and particularly the topographical artist, had his
chance in the second half of the eighteenth century. The productions
of Wilson, Reynolds, Romney, and Gainsborough had stirred up the arts
of engraving, which allied themselves closely to literature and life.
It was the age of portly topographies and county histories, with their
ceremonious array of plates; of itinerant portrait and view painting;
and of night-sales of books and prints at which sociable collectors sat
under eccentric auctioneers, and at which noblemen were as commonly seen
as they were at boxing and trotting matches fifty years later. Shops
abounded for the sale of new prints, and auctions were frequent for the
distribution of old. Human types were produced of which we know little
to-day. Smith has drawn some of them with easy and natural touches in
his chapter on the print-buyers who attended Langford’s and Hutchins’
sale rooms, in Covent Garden, in 1783. There he was in his element. Not
much passed in the art world in the fifty years following that date that
Smith did not know.

When twenty-two, he married. The girl of his choice was Anne Maria
Pickett, who belonged to a respectable family at Streatham, and who,
after forty-five years of married life, was left his widow. They had
one son and two daughters. The son died at the Cape in the same year as
his father, 1833. One daughter was married to Mr. Smith, a sculptor,
and the other to Mr. Paul Fischer, a miniature painter. Soon after
his marriage he was invited by Sir James Winter Lake to take up his
residence at Edmonton, where he taught drawing to their daughter, and
doubtless had other pupils. When he applied (unsuccessfully) for the
post of drawing-master to Christ’s Hospital, Sir James and Lady Lake’s
testimonial made a point of the fact that he had never touched up their
daughter’s work, “a practice too often followed by drawing-masters
in general.” At this period Smith practised as an itinerant portrait
painter, a branch of art which then had its vogue, and was to number
William Hazlitt among its professors. At Edmonton it was that he
“_profiled, three-quartered, full-faced_, and _buttoned up_ the retired
embroidered weavers, their crummy wives and tight-laced daughters.” At
Edmonton, too, he watched the reception of his first book, the
_Antiquities of London and its Environs_. Smith’s career for the next
thirty years may be conveniently sketched in a list of his residences
and the work he accomplished in each.

In 1797 he was at No. 40 Frith Street, Soho, a house which still
exists, with its ground floor converted into a French wine shop. There
he published his _Remarks on Rural Scenery_, consisting of etching
of cottage and village scenes in the neighbourhood of London, with a
preliminary essay on drawing.

In 1800 he was living with his father at 18 May’s Buildings, or the
“Rembrandt Head,” as it was styled, in St. Martin’s Lane. In this
year the discovery of curious paintings during the alterations to St.
Stephen’s Chapel for the enlargement of the House of Commons, attracted
Smith’s attention, and, after making careful copies of these relics, he
projected his _Antiquities of Westminster_.

In February 1806, Smith published an etching of the scene on the Thames
when Nelson’s remains were brought from Greenwich to Whitehall. He tells
us that on showing it to Lady Hamilton she swooned in his arms. The plate
is inscribed: “Published February 15, 1806, by John Thomas Smith, at No.
36 Newman Street.” This house remains unaltered.

In 1807 he issued his _Antiquities of Westminster_, his address appearing
in the imprint as 31 Castle Street East, Oxford Street.

In 1810, May’s Buildings reappears in the imprint of his _Antient
Topography of London_, but it may be that this address was not
residential. The site of this house is merged in Messrs. Harrison’s
printing works.

In 1815-17, Smith lived at No. 4 Chandos Street, Covent Garden, whence he
issued his _Vagabondiana, or Anecdotes of Mendicant Wanderers through the
Streets of London_.

In 1816 he succeeded William Alexander as Keeper of the Prints, and it
is probable that he soon afterwards took up his residence at No. 22
University Street.[1] He was living here in 1828, when he published,
through Henry Colburn, of New Burlington Street, “_Nollekens and his
Times_: comprehending a Life of that celebrated Sculptor; and Memoirs
of Several Contemporary Artists, from the time of Roubiliac, Hogarth,
and Reynolds, to that of Fuseli, Flaxman, and Blake.” This, his most
ambitious work, must be noticed more particularly because of its
bearing on Smith’s life and character. Mr. Gosse, who has edited it,
with the addition of a graceful essay on Georgian Sculpture, describes
it as “perhaps the most candid biography ever published in the English
language.” In its pages Smith exposes the domestic privacies and miserly
habits of the sculptor and his wife. There are pages of sordid gossip
which a dismissed charwoman might probably have found unacceptable to her
cronies and supporters. Yet the book cannot be described as venomous. It
is cheerily and unscrupulously candid, and this even in the matter of
the author’s own disappointment. Nollekens, he assures us, had again and
again given him reason to believe that he would be handsomely remembered
in his will. “That you may depend upon, Tom,” were his words. It is easy
to see that Smith may have come to expect this as the bright event of
his later years. His Museum appointment had lifted him out of drudgery,
and the promised legacy may have presented itself to him as the final
deliverance from care. Nollekens had been kind to him as a boy, and
had remained his friend through life. He was a widower, childless, and
enormously rich. No artist had known better how to make art profitable.
His purchases of antiques in Rome had been most prudent; so, also, his
investments. As a sculptor of portrait busts he stood alone, and in his
long working life he had “chopped out” the heads of many hundreds of
wealthy and illustrious persons. When he died in April 1823, no one was
surprised that his estate was declared to be of the value of £300,000.
But very little of it went to “Tom,” who, to his intense chagrin,
received a bare hundred pounds as one of the three executors.

Five years later, Smith brought out his hit-back biography. Its general
veracity cannot be doubted. It is a veracity sharpened, not deflected, by
malice. But it is clear that Smith found other satisfactions in writing
the book than that of exposing the weaknesses of his old friend. He
enjoyed the long and minute chronicle of life in Mortimer Street and in
the studios and galleries he had frequented. Nollekens comes and goes in
a world of gossip about London, art, and people. True, at any moment a
mischievous gust may blow aside the veils to show us Mrs. Nollekens, in
second-hand finery, beating down the price of a new broom or a chicken
with cunning affability, or the sculptor pocketing nutmegs at the Royal
Academy dinners to be added to the Mortimer Street larder. If you protest
against these and worse freedoms, you are grateful for the hundred little
touches of locality and custom that accompany them. The daily life of the
eighteenth century is before you: the parlour, the street, the print shop.

Of Smith’s reign in the Print Room not much can be gathered. He was
much liked and respected by those who consulted him in his department.
We are told that he was kind to young artists of promise, and gently
candid to those of no promise. His recollections and anecdotes were the
delight of his visitors, one of whom has left us a racy specimen of his
flow of humour and gossip. I refer to the following passage of Boswellian
reminiscence, appended to the second and third edition, of the RAINY DAY.

    “His two old friends, Mr. Packer, who had been a partner in
    Combe’s brewery, and Colonel Phillips, who had accompanied
    Captain Cooke in one of his voyages round the world, were
    constant attendants in the Print Room, and contributed towards
    the general amusement. Of the former of these gentlemen, who
    died in 1828, at the advanced age of ninety, Mr. Smith used
    to tell a remarkable story, which we are rather surprised not
    to find recorded in his Reminiscences. It was our fortune to
    be the first to communicate to Mr. Smith the fact of his old
    friend’s decease, and that he had bequeathed to him a legacy
    of £100. ‘Ah, Sir!’ he said, in a very solemn manner, after a
    long pause, ‘poor fellow, he pined to death on account of a
    rash promise of marriage he had made.’ We humbly ventured to
    express our doubts, having seen him not long before looking
    not only very un-Romeo like, but very hale and hearty; and
    besides, we begged to suggest that other reasons might be given
    for the decease of a respectable gentleman of ninety. ‘No,
    Sir,’ said Mr. Smith; ‘what I tell you is the fact, and _sit
    ye down, and I’ll tell ye the whole story_. Many years ago,
    when Mr. Packer was a young man employed in the brew-house in
    which he afterwards became a partner, he courted, and promised
    marriage to, a worthy young woman in his own sphere of life.
    But, as his circumstances improved, he raised his ideas, and,
    not to make a long story of it, married another woman with a
    good deal of money. The injured fair one was indignant, but,
    as she had no written promise to show, was, after some violent
    scenes, obliged to put up with a verbal assurance that she
    should be the next Mrs. Packer. After a few years the first
    Mrs. P. died, and she then claimed the fulfilment of his
    promise, but was again deceived in the same way, and obliged
    to put up with a similar pledge. A _second_ time he became a
    widower, and a _third_ time he deceived his unfortunate _first_
    love, who, indignant and furious beyond measure, threatened all
    sorts of violent proceedings. To pacify her, Mr. P. gave her
    a written promise that, if a widower, he would marry her when
    he attained the age of one hundred years! Now he had lost his
    last wife some time since, and every time he came to see me at
    the Museum, he fretted and fumed because he should be obliged
    to marry that awful woman at last. This could not go on long,
    and, as you tell me, he has just dropped off. If it hadn’t been
    for this, he would have lived as long as Old Parr. And now,’
    finished Mr. Smith, with the utmost solemnity, ‘let this be a
    warning to you. Don’t make rash promises to women; but if you
    will do so, _don’t make them in writing_.’”

Had John Thomas Smith been granted the scriptural span of life, he might
have read the _Pickwick Papers_. But the implacable call came in March
1833, and he left various enterprises unfinished. He had collected the
materials for a gossipping history of Covent Garden; these have never
been edited. The well-known _Antiquarian Rambles in the Streets of
London_, published in 1846, originated in Smith’s notes, but four-fifths
of the book was certainly written by its editor, Dr. Charles Mackay.

The book from which Smith has his sobriquet was published in 1845. _A
Book for a Rainy Day_ places its author in that line of London’s watchful
lovers which began with John Stow and has not ended with Sir Walter
Besant. Now, when London’s streets are changing as they have not changed
since the Great Fire, he lies in that bare field of the dead behind the
Bayswater Road, where, on the grave of a greater writer, you read the
words, “Alas! poor Yorick.”

                                                                    W. W.




A BOOK FOR A RAINY DAY


The Reader is requested to keep in mind that those events which I relate
of myself when “mewling in my nurse’s arms,” and until my fourth year,
were communicated to me by my parents, and that my statements from that
period are mostly from my own memory;--Miranda proved to Prospero that
she recollected an event in her fourth year.


1766.

My father informed me, that in the evening of the 23rd of June 1766,
which must have been much about the time when Marylebone Gardens echoed
the melodious notes of Tommy Lowe,[2] and whilst there was _The Devil
to Pay_ at Richmond with Mr. and Mrs. Love,[3] my mother, on returning
from a visit to her brother, Mr. Edward Tarr,[4] became so seriously
indisposed, that she most strenuously requested him to allow her to
return home in a hackney coach, whilst he went to Jermyn Street for Dr.
Hunter.[5] Upon that gentleman’s arrival at my father’s door, No. 7, in
Great Portland Street,[6] Marylebone, he assisted the nurse in conveying
my mother and myself to her chamber. Although I dare not presume to
suppose that the vehicle in which I was born had been the equipage of
the great John Duke of Marlborough, or Sarah his Duchess, at all events
I probably may be correct in the conjecture that the hack was in some
degree similar to those introduced by Kip, in his Plates for Strype’s
edition of Stowe.[7]

Hackney chairs were then so numerous, that their stands extended round
Covent Garden, and often down the adjacent streets;[8] these vehicles
frequently enabled physicians to approach their patients in a warm state.
The forms of those to which I allude are also given in Kip’s prints above
mentioned; and who knows but that they, in their turn, have conveyed
Voltaire from the theatre to his lodging in Maiden Lane?[9]

That sedans were of ancient use I make no doubt, as I find one introduced
in Sir George Staunton’s Embassy to China.[10] Pliny has stated that
his uncle was much accustomed to be carried abroad in a chair.[11]
My parents, after a fireside debate, agreed that I should have two
Christian names: John, after my grandfather, a Shropshire clothier, whose
bust, modelled by my father, was one of the first publicly exhibited by
the Associated Artists in 1763, before the establishment of the Royal
Academy;[12] and Thomas, to the honour of our family, in remembrance of
my great-uncle, Admiral Smith, better known under the appellation of “Tom
of Ten Thousand,”[13] of whom I have a spirited half-length portrait,
painted by the celebrated Richard Wilson, the landscape painter, previous
to his visiting Rome, when he resided in the apartments on the north
side of Covent Garden, which had been occupied first by Sir Peter Lely,
and afterwards by Sir Godfrey Kneller.[14] From this picture there is an
excellent engraving in mezzotinto, by Faber.

I have heard my mother relate, that when at Greenwich this year for the
benefit of her health, an aged pie and cheesecake woman lived there, who
was accompanied through the town by a goose, who regularly stopped at her
customer’s door, and commenced a loud cackling; but that whenever the
words “Not to-day” were uttered, off it waddled to the next house, and so
on till the business of the day was ended. My mother also remarked, that
when ladies walked out, they carried nosegays in their hands, and wore
three immense lace ruffle cuffs on each elbow.[15]

In the month of March, this year, died Mary Mogg, at Oakingham, the woman
who gave rise to Gay’s celebrated ballad of “Molly Mogg.”[16]

In all ages there has been a fashion in amusements, as well as in dress:
grottoes, which were numerous round London, appear by the advertisements
to have been places of great resort, but above all Finch’s, in St.
George’s Fields, was the favourite. The following is a copy of one of the
musical announcements:--

    “6th of May, 1766.

    “MR. HOUGHTON AND MR. MITCHELL’S NIGHT.

    “AT FINCH’S GROTTO Garden, This Day, will be performed a
    Concert of VOCAL and INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC. SINGING as usual.

    “N.B. For that Night only, the Band will be enlarged.
    Tickets to be had at the Bar of the Gardens. Admittance One
    Shilling.”[17]


1767.

Being frequently thrown into my cradle by the servant, as a cross little
brat, the care of my tender mother induced her to purchase one of Mr.
Burchell’s anodyne necklaces, so strongly recommended by two eminent
physicians, Dr. Tanner, the inventor, and Dr. Chamberlen, to whom he had
communicated the prescription; and it was agreed by most of my mother’s
gossiping friends, that the effluvia arising from it when warm acted in
so friendly a manner, that my fevered gums were considerably relieved.[18]

Go-carts, the old appendages of our nurseries, continuing in use, I was
occasionally placed in one; and as its advantages have been noticed in
my work entitled _Nollekens and his Times_, I shall now only refer the
reader for its form to Number 186 of “Rembrandt’s Etchings;”[19] that
being similar, as my father informed me, to those used in London in my
infantine days.[20]

The cradle having of late years been in a great degree superseded by what
is called a cot,[21] and its shape not being remarkable, I shall for a
moment beg leave to deal in a foreign market, in order to gratify the
indefatigable organ of inquisitiveness of some of my readers, who may
wish to know in what sort of cradle Stratford’s sweet Willy slumbered.
Possibly it might in some respects have accorded with the representation
of one in a small plate by Israel Von Meckenen,[22] and this conjecture
is not improbable, as that plate was engraved about the sixteenth
century; and it is well known that in most articles of furniture, as
well as dress, we had long borrowed from our continental neighbours,
whether good, bad, or indifferent. It gives me great pleasure to observe
that, owing to the vast improvements made by our draughtsmen for English
upholsterers, in every article of domestic decorative furniture, England
has now little occasion to borrow from other nations.

[Illustration: NANCY DAWSON

    “See how she comes to give surprise
    With joy and pleasure in her eyes.”

_Old Song, “Nancy Dawson”_]

Nancy Dawson, the famous hornpipe dancer, died this year, May 27th, at
Hampstead; she was buried behind the Foundling Hospital, in the ground
belonging to St. George the Martyr, where there is a tombstone to her
memory, simply stating, “Here lies Nancy Dawson.” Every verse of a song
in praise of her, declares the poet to be dying for Nancy Dawson; and
its tune, which many of my readers must recollect, is, in my opinion,
as lively as that of “Sir Roger de Coverley.” I have been informed that
Nancy, when a girl, set up the skittles at a tavern in High Street,
Marylebone.[23] Sir William Musgrave, in his _Adversaria_ (No. 5719), in
the British Museum, says that “Nancy Dawson was the wife of a publican
near Kelso, on the borders of Scotland.”[24]


1768.

At the age when most children place things on their heads and cry “Hot
pies!” I displayed a black pudding upon mine, which my mother, careful
soul, had provided for its protection in case I should fall. This is
another article mentioned in _Nollekens and his Times_; and having there
stated that Rubens, in a picture at Blenheim, had painted one on the head
of a son of his, walking with his wife Elenor,[25] and as the mothers of
future days may wish to know its shape, I beg to inform them that there
is an engraving of it by MacArdell. But as the receipt for a pet pudding
would be of little use to the maker were one ingredient omitted, it would
be equally difficult to produce a similar black pudding to mine, were I
not to state that it was made of a long narrow piece of black silk or
satin, padded with wadding, and then formed to the head according to the
taste of the parent, or similar to that of little Rubens.[26]

In this year the Royal Academy was founded, consisting of members who
had agreed to withdraw themselves from various clubs, not only in order
to be more select as to talent, but perfectly correct as to gentlemanly
conduct. It would have been a valuable acquisition to the History of
the Fine Arts in England, had Mr. Howard favoured us with the Rise and
Progress of the Royal Academy.[27]

Perhaps no one could have been more talked of than Mr. Wilkes,
particularly on May 10th, when a riot took place on account of his
imprisonment.[28] His popularity was carried to so great an extent, that
his friends in all classes displayed some article on which his effigy was
portrayed, such as salad or punch bowls, ale or milk jugs, plate, dishes,
and even heads of canes. The squib engravings of him, published from the
commencement of his notoriety to his silent state when Chamberlain of
London, would extend to several volumes. Hogarth’s portrait of him, which
by the collectors was considered a caricature, my father recommended as
the best likeness.

The following memoranda respecting Henry Fuseli, R.A., are extracted from
the Mitchell Manuscripts in the British Museum. The letter is from Mr.
Murdock, of Hampstead, to a friend at Berlin, dated Hampstead, 12th June
1764:--

“I like Fuseli very much; he comes out to see us at times, and is just
now gone from this with your letter to A. Ramsay, and another from me. He
is of himself disposed to all possible economy; but to be decently lodged
and fed, in a decent family, cannot be for less than three shillings a
day, which he pays. He might, according to Miller’s wish, live a little
cheaper; but then he must have been lodged in some garret, where nobody
could have found their way, and must have been thrown into ale-houses
and eating-houses, with company every way unsuitable, or, indeed,
insupportable to a stranger of any taste; especially as the common people
are of late brutalised.

“Some time hence, I hope, he may do something for himself; his talent at
grouping figures, and his faculty of execution, being really surprising.”

In the same volume, in a letter dated Hampstead, 12th Jan. 1768, the same
writer says to the same friend--

“Fuseli goes to Italy next spring, by the advice of Reynolds (our
Apelles), who has a high opinion of his genius, and sees what is wanting
to make him a first-rate.”[29]

[Illustration: R.A.’S REFLECTING ON THE TRUE LINE OF BEAUTY AT THE LIFE
ACADEMY, SOMERSET HOUSE.]

In another, dated Hampstead, 13th December 1768: “Fuseli is still here;
but proposes to set out for Italy as soon as his friends can secure to
him fifty pounds yearly, for a few years. Dr. Armstrong,[30] who admires
his genius, has taxed himself at ten pounds, and has taken us in for as
much more; and indeed it were shameful that such talents should be sunk
for want of a little pecuniary aid.”

The ladies this year wore half a flat hat as an eye-shade.


1769.

Lord North, in a letter addressed to Sir Eardley Wilmot from Downing
Street, bearing date this year, April 1st, says--

    “My friend Colonel Luttrell having informed me that many
    persons depending upon the Court of Common Pleas are
    freeholders of Middlesex, etc., not having the honour of being
    acquainted with you himself, desires me to apply to you for
    your interest with your friends in his behalf. It is manifest
    how much it is for the honour of Parliament, and the quiet
    of this country in future times, that Mr. Wilkes should have
    an antagonist at the next Brentford election; and that his
    antagonist should meet with a respectable support. The state of
    the country has been examined, and there is the greatest reason
    to believe that the Colonel will have a very considerable show
    of legal votes, nay, even a majority, if his friends are not
    deterred from appearing at the poll. It is the game of Mr.
    Wilkes and his friends to increase those alarms, but they
    cannot frighten the _candidate_ from his purpose; and I am very
    confident that the voters will run no risk. I hope, therefore,
    you will excuse this application. There is nothing, I imagine,
    that every true friend of this country must wish more than to
    see Mr. Wilkes disappointed in his projects; and nothing, I am
    convinced, will defeat them more effectually, than to fill up
    the vacant seat for Middlesex, especially if it can be done for
    a fair majority of legal votes.

    “I am, Sir, with the greatest truth and respect, your most
    faithful, humble servant,

                                                             “NORTH.”

The Judge, in his answer, dated on the following day, observed, “It would
be highly improper for me to interfere in any shape in that election.”
(See the Wilmot Letters, in the British Museum.)[31]

This year ladies continued to walk with fans in their hands.


1770.

Most of the citizens who had saved money were very fond of retiring
to some country-house, at a short distance from the Metropolis, and
more particularly to Islington, that being a selected and favourite
spot. Charles Bretherton, Jun., made an etching, from a drawing by
Mr. Bunbury,[32] of a Londoner, of the above description, whose
waistcoat-pockets were large enough to convey a couple of fowls from a
City feast home to his family. The print is entitled, “The Delights of
Islington,” and bears the following inscription at the top:--

    WHEREAS my new Pagoda has been clandestinely carried off, and a
    new pair of Dolphins taken from the top of the Gazebo, by some
    Bloodthirsty Villains; and whereas a great deal timber has been
    cut down and carried away from the Old Grove, that was planted
    last Spring, and Pluto and Proserpine thrown into my Basin:
    from henceforth, Steel Traps and spring guns will be constantly
    set for the better extirpation of such a nest of villains,

                                                By me, JEREMIAH SAGO.

[Illustration: “THE DELIGHTS OF ISLINGTON”]

On a garden notice-board, in another print, also after Bunbury, published
at the same time, is inscribed,

    THE NEW PARADISE.

    No Gentlemen or Ladies to be admitted with nails in their
    shoes.[33]

For the information of the collectors of Bunbury’s prints, I beg to
state that there is in Mrs. Banks’s collection of visiting cards, etc.,
in the British Museum, a small etching said to have been his very first
attempt when at Westminster School. It represents a fellow riding a hog,
brandishing a birch-broom by way of a baster, with another at a short
distance, hallooing.

As Mr. Walpole is silent as to Jonathan Richardson’s place of interment,
the biographical collector will find the following inscription in the
burial-ground behind the Foundling Hospital, belonging to the parish of
St. George the Martyr:--

    Elizabeth Richardson,
    Died 24th Dec. 1767,
    Aged 74 years.
    Jonathan Richardson,
    Died 10th June, 1771,
    Aged 77; both of this parish.[34]


1771.

The gaiety during the merry month of May was to me most delightful; my
feet, though I knew nothing of the positions, kept pace with those of the
blooming milkmaids, who danced round their garlands of massive plate,
hired from the silversmiths to the amount of several hundreds of pounds,
for the purpose of placing round an obelisk, covered with silk fixed upon
a chairman’s horse. The most showy flowers of the season were arranged
so as to fill up the openings between the dishes, plates, butter-boats,
cream-jugs, and tankards. This obelisk was carried by two chairmen in
gold-laced hats, six or more handsome milkmaids in pink and blue gowns,
drawn through the pocket-holes, for they had one on either side: yellow
or scarlet petticoats, neatly quilted, high-heeled shoes, mob-caps, with
lappets of lace resting on their shoulders; nosegays in their bosoms,
and flat Woffington hats, covered with ribbons of every colour. But what
crowned the whole of the display was a magnificent silver tea-urn which
surmounted the obelisk, the stand of which was profusely decorated with
scarlet tulips. A smart, slender fellow of a fiddler, commonly wearing
a sky-blue coat, with his hat profusely covered with ribbons, attended;
and the master of the group was accompanied by a constable, to protect
the plate from too close a pressure of the crowd, when the maids danced
before the doors of his customers.[35]

One of the subjects selected by Mr. Jonathan Tyers, for the artists who
decorated the boxes for supper-parties in Vauxhall Gardens,[36] was that
of Milkmaids on May-day. In that picture (which, with the rest painted
by Hayman and his pupils, has lately disappeared) the garland of plate
was carried by a man on his head; and the milkmaids, who danced to the
music of a wooden-legged fiddler, were extremely elegant. They had
ruffled cuffs, and their gowns were not drawn through their pocket-holes
as in my time; their hats were flat, and not unlike that worn by Peg
Woffington, but bore a nearer shape to those now in use by some of the
fish-women at Billingsgate. In Captain M. Laroon’s _Cries of London_,
published by Tempest, there is a female entitled “A Merry Milkmaid.”[37]
She is dancing with a small garland of plate upon her head; and from her
dress I conclude that the Captain either made his drawing in the latter
part of King William III.’s reign, or at the commencement of that of
Queen Anne.


1772.

My dear mother’s declining state of health urged my father to consult Dr.
Armstrong,[38] who recommended her to rise early and take milk at the
cowhouse. I was her companion then; and I well remember that, after we
had passed Portland Chapel, there were fields all the way on either side.
The highway was irregular, with here and there a bank of separation;
and that when we had crossed the New Road, there was a turnstile (called
in an early plan, which I have seen since, “The White House”), at the
entrance of a meadow leading to a little old public-house, the sign of
the “Queen’s Head and Artichoke”: it was much weather-beaten, though
perhaps once a tolerably good portrait of Queen Elizabeth. The house was
reported to have been kept by one of Her Majesty’s gardeners.[39]

A little beyond a nest of small houses contiguous, was another turnstile
opening also into fields, over which we walked to the Jew’s Harp House,
Tavern and Tea Gardens.[40] It consisted of a large upper room, ascended
by an outside staircase, for the accommodation of the company on ball
nights; and in this room large parties dined. At the south front of
these premises was a large semicircular enclosure with boxes for tea and
ale drinkers, guarded by deal-board soldiers between every box, painted
in proper colours. In the centre of this opening were tables and seats
placed for the smokers. On the eastern side of the house there was a
trapball-ground; the western side served for a tennis-hall; there were
also public and private skittle-grounds. Behind this tavern were several
small tenements, with a pretty good portion of ground to each. On the
south of the tea-gardens a number of summer-houses and gardens, fitted up
in the truest Cockney taste; for on many of these castellated edifices
wooden cannons were placed; and at the entrance of each domain, of about
the twentieth part of an acre, the old inscription of “Steel-traps and
spring-guns _all over_ these grounds,” with an “N.B. Dogs trespassing
will be shot.”

In these rural retreats the tenant was usually seen on Sunday evening
in a bright scarlet waistcoat, ruffled shirt, and silver shoe-buckles,
comfortably taking his tea with his family, honouring a Seven-Dial friend
with a nod on his peregrination to the famed Wells of Kilburn. Willan’s
farm,[41] the extent of my mother’s walk, stood at about a quarter of a
mile south; and I remember that the room in which she sat to take the
milk was called “Queen Elizabeth’s Kitchen,” and that there was some
stained glass in the windows.

On our return we crossed the New Road; and, after passing the back of
Marylebone Gardens,[42] entered London immediately behind the elegant
mansions on the north side of Cavendish Square. This Square was enclosed
by a dwarf brick wall, surmounted by heavy wooden railing. Harley Fields
had for years been resorted to by thousands of people, to hear the
celebrated Mr. George Whitefield, whose wish, like that of Wesley, when
preaching on execution days at Kennington Common, was to catch the ears
of the idlers. I should have noticed Kendall’s farm,[43] which in 1746
belonged to a farmer of the name of Bilson, a pretty large one, where I
have seen eight or ten immense hay-ricks all on a row; it stood on the
site of the commencement of the present Osnaburg Street, nearly opposite
the “Green Man,” originally called the “Farthing Pie House.”[44]

[Illustration: “SING _TANTARARA_--VAUXHALL! VAUXHALL!”]

To the honour of our climate, which is often abused, perhaps no country
can produce instances of longevity equal to those of England of this
year, viz.:--at 100, 2; 101, 5; 102, 6; 103, 3; 105, 4; 106, 3; 107, 4;
108, 5; 109, 4; 110, 2; 111, 2; 112, 3; 114, 1; 118, 1; 125, Rice, a
cooper in Southwark; 133, Mrs. Keithe, at Newnham, in Gloucestershire;
138, the widow Chun, at Ophurst, near Lichfield.[45]


1773.

The “Mother Red-cap,” at Kentish Town, was a house of no small terror
to travellers in former times. This house was lately taken down, and
another inn built on its site; however, the old sign of “Mother Red-cap”
is preserved on the new building. It has been stated that Mother Red-cap
was the “Mother Damnable” of Kentish Town in early days; and that it was
at her house the notorious “Moll Cut-purse,” the highway-woman of the
time of Oliver Cromwell, dismounted and frequently lodged.[46]

As few persons possess so retentive a memory as myself, I make no doubt
that many will be pleased with my recollections of the state of Tottenham
Court Road at this time. I shall commence at St. Giles’s churchyard, in
the northern wall of which there was a gateway of red and brown brick.
Over this gate, under its pediment, was a carved composition of the Last
Judgment, not borrowed from Michael Angelo, but from the workings of
the brain of some ship-carver.[47] This was and is still admired by the
generality of ignorant observers, as much as Mr. Charles Smith[48] the
sculptor’s “Love among the Roses” is by the well-informed; and, perhaps,
a more correct assertion was never made than that by the late worthy Rev.
James Bean,[49] when speaking of an itinerant musician, “that bad music
was as agreeable to a bad ear as that of Corelli or Pergolesi was to
persons who understood the science.”

At this gate stood for many years an eccentric but inoffensive old man
called “Simon,” some account of whom will be found in a future page.
Nearly on the site of the new gate, in which this _basso relievo_ has
been most conspicuously placed, stood a very small old house towards
Denmark Street, tottering for several years whenever a heavy carriage
rolled through the street, to the great terror of those who were at the
time passing by.

I must not forget to observe that I recollect the building of most of the
houses at the north end of New Compton Street (Dean Street and Compton
Street, Soho, were named in compliment to Bishop Compton, Dean of St.
Paul’s, who held the living of St. Anne), and I also remember a row of
six small almshouses, surrounded by a dwarf brick wall, standing in the
middle of High Street.[50]

On the left-hand of High Street, passing on to Tottenham Court Road,
there were four handsomely finished brick houses, with grotesque masks
on the key-stones above the first-floor windows, probably erected in
the reign of Queen Anne. These houses have lately been rebuilt without
the masks; fortunately my reader may be gratified with a sight of such
ornaments in Queen Square, Westminster.[51] There is a set of engravings
of masks, of a small quarto size, considered as the designs of Michael
Angelo; and in the sale of Mr. Moser, the first keeper of the Royal
Academy, which took place at Hutchinson’s in 1783, were several plaster
casts, considered to be taken from models by him. The next object of
notoriety is a large circular boundary stone, let into the pavement in
the middle of the highway, exactly where Oxford Street and Tottenham
Court Road meet in a right angle. When the charity boys of St. Giles’s
parish walk the boundaries, those who have deserved flogging are whipped
at this stone, in order that, as they grow up, they may remember the
place, and be competent to give evidence should any dispute arise with
the adjoining parishes. Near this stone stood St. Giles’s Pound.[52]
Two old houses stood near this spot on the eastern side of the street,
where the entrance gates of Meux’s brewery have been erected: between the
second-floor windows of one of them the following inscription was cut in
stone: “Opposite this house stood St. Giles’s Pound.” This spot has been
rendered popular by a song, attributed to the pen of a Mr. Thompson, an
actor of the Drury Lane Company:

    “On Newgate steps Jack Chance was found,
    Bred up near St. Giles’s Pound.”[53]

The ground behind the north-west end of Russell Street was occupied by a
farm occupied by two old maiden sisters of the name of Capper. They wore
riding-habits, and men’s hats; one rode an old grey mare, and it was her
spiteful delight to ride with a large pair of shears after boys who were
flying their kites, purposely to cut their strings; the other sister’s
business was to seize the clothes of the lads who trespassed on their
premises to bathe.[54]

From Capper’s farm were several straggling houses; but the principal part
of the ground to the “King’s Head,” at the end of the road, was unbuilt
upon. The “Old King’s Head” forms a side object in Hogarth’s beautiful
and celebrated picture of the “March to Finchley,” which may be seen with
other fine specimens of art in the Foundling Hospital, for the charitable
donation of one shilling.

I shall now recommence on the left-hand side of the road, noticing that
on the front of the first house, No. 1, in Oxford Street, near the
second-floor windows, is the following inscription cut in stone: OXFORD
STREET, 1725. In Aggas’s plan of London, engraved in the beginning of the
reign of Queen Elizabeth, the commencement of this street is designated
“The Waye to Uxbridge”; farther on in the same plan the highway is called
“Oxford Road.” Hanway Street, better known by the vulgar people under
the name of HANOVER YARD, was at this time the resort of the highest
fashion for mercery and other articles of dress. The public-house, the
sign of the “Blue Posts,” at the corner of Hanway Street, in Tottenham
Court Road, was once kept by a man of the name of Sturges, deep in the
knowledge of chess, upon which game he published a little work, as is
acknowledged on his tombstone in St. James’s burial-ground, Hampstead
Road.[55] From the “Blue Posts” the houses were irregularly built to a
large space called Gresse’s Gardens, thence to Windmill Street, strongly
recommended by physicians for the salubrity of the air. The premises
occupied by the French charity children were held by the founders of the
Middlesex Hospital, which were established in 1755, where the patients
remained until the present building was erected in Charles Street.
Colvill Court, parallel with Windmill Street northward, was built in
1766; and Goodge Street,[56] farther on, was, I conjecture, erected
much about the same time. Mr. Whitefield’s chapel was built in 1754,
upon the site of an immense pond, called THE LITTLE SEA. This pond, so
called, is inserted in Pine and Tinney’s plan of London, published in
1742, and also in the large one issued by the same persons in 1746.[57]
Beyond the chapel[58] the four dwellings, then called “Paradise Row,”
almost terminated the houses on that side. A turnstile opened into
Crab-tree Fields.[59] They extended to the “Adam and Eve” public-house,
the original appearance of which Hogarth has also introduced into his
picture of the “March to Finchley.” It was at this house that the famous
pugilistic skill of Broughton and Slack was publicly exhibited, upon an
uncovered stage, in a yard open to the North Road.[60]

[Illustration: GEORGE WHITEFIELD

“Fain would I die preaching.”]

The rare and beautiful etching of the before-mentioned picture by Hogarth
was the production of Luke Sullivan,[61] a native of Ireland, but how
he acquired his knowledge of art I have not been able to learn; most
probably he was of Dame Nature’s school, where pupils can be taught
gratis the whole twenty-four hours of every day as long as the world
lasts. Sullivan’s talents were not confined to the art of engraving;
he was, in my humble opinion, the most extraordinary of all miniature
painters. I have three or four of his productions, one of which was so
particularly fine, that I could almost say I have it on my retina at
this moment. It was the portrait of a most lovely woman as to features,
flesh, and blood. She was dressed in a pale green silk gown, lapelled
with straw- satin; and in order to keep up a sweetness of tone,
the artist had placed primroses in her stomacher; the sky was of a warm
green, which blended harmoniously with the carnations of her complexion;
her hair was jet, and her necklace of pearls.

Lord Orford, whose early attachment to the sleepy-eyed beauties of King
Charles II.’s Court, and those with the lascivious leer of that of Louis
XIV., as may be inferred by their numerous portraits in the cabinets at
Strawberry Hill, would no doubt have preferred his favourites, Cooper
and Petitot--names eternally, and many times unjustly, extolled by the
admirers of their works to the injury of our artists, whose talents
equal, if not surpass, those of every country put together, in, I think
I may say, every branch of the fine arts. Upon this too general opinion
of the pre-eminence of Petitot, I have now and then had a battle with Mr.
Paul Fischer, the miniature painter, who certainly has produced some most
highly finished and excellent likenesses of the Royal Family and several
persons of fashion, particularly of King George IV. and Sir Wathen
Waller, Bart.[62]

Notwithstanding Tottenham Court Road was so infested by the lowest order,
who kept what they called a Gooseberry Fair,[63] it was famous at certain
times of the year, particularly in summer, for its booths of regular
theatrical performers, who deserted the empty benches of Drury Lane
Theatre, under the mismanagement of Mr. Fleetwood,[64] and condescended
to admit the audience at sixpence each. Mr. Yates, and several other
eminent performers, had their names painted on their booths.

The whole of the ground north from Capper’s farm, at the back of the
British Museum, so often mentioned as being frequented by duellists, was
in irregular patches, many fields with turnstiles. The pipes of the New
River Company were propped up in several parts to the height of six and
eight feet, so that persons walked under them to gather watercresses,
which grew in great abundance and perfection, or to visit the “Brothers’
Steps,” well known to the Londoners. Of these steps there are many
traditionary stories; the one generally believed is, that two brothers
were in love with a lady, who would not declare a preference for either,
but coolly sat upon a bank to witness the termination of a duel, which
proved fatal to both. The bank, it is said, on which she sat, and the
footmarks of the brothers when pacing the ground, never produced grass
again. The fact is that these steps were so often trodden that it was
impossible for the grass to grow. I have frequently passed over them;
they were in a field on the site of Mr. Martin’s chapel, or very nearly
so, and not on the spot as communicated to Miss Porter, who has written
an entertaining novel on the subject.[65]

Aubrey, in his _Miscellanies_, states: “The last summer, on the day of
St. John Baptist (1694), I accidentally was walking in the pasture behind
Montague House; it was twelve o’clock. I saw there about two or three and
twenty young women, most of them well habited, on their knees very busie,
as if they had been weeding. I could not presently learn what the matter
was; at last a young man told me that they were looking for a coal under
the root of a plantain to put under their heads that night, and they
should dream who would be their husbands. It was to be found that day and
hour.”[66]

[Illustration: JOHN RANN

“Sixteen String Jack.”]


1774.

I well remember when, in my eighth year, my father’s playfellow, Mr.
Joseph Nollekens, leading me by the hand to the end of John Street, to
see the notorious terror of the king’s highways, John Rann, commonly
called Sixteen-string Jack, on his way to execution at Tyburn, for
robbing Dr. Bell, Chaplain to the Princess Amelia, in Gunnesbury Lane.
The Doctor died a Prebendary of Westminster. It was pretty generally
reported that the sixteen strings worn by this freebooter at his
knees were in allusion to the number of times he had been acquitted.
Fortunately for the Boswell illustrators, there is an etched portrait
of him; for, be it known, thief as he was, he had the honour of being
recorded by Dr. Johnson.[67] Rann was a smart fellow, a great favourite
with a certain description of _ladies_, and had been coachman to Lord
Sandwich, when his Lordship resided in the south-east corner-house of
Bedford Row. The malefactor’s coat was a bright pea-green; he had an
immense nosegay, which he had received from the hand of one of the frail
sisterhood, whose practice it was in those days to present flowers to
their favourites from the steps of St. Sepulchre’s church, as the
last token of what they called their attachment to the condemned,[68]
whose worldly accounts were generally brought to a close at Tyburn, in
consequence of their associating with abandoned characters. On our return
home, Mr. Nollekens, stooping close to my ear, assured me that, had his
father-in-law, Mr. Justice Welch, been high constable, we could have
walked all the way to Tyburn by the side of the cart.[69]

At this time houses in High Street, Marylebone, particularly on the
western side, continued to be inhabited by families who kept their
coaches, and who considered themselves as living in the country, and
perhaps their family affairs were as well known as they could have been
had they resided at Kilburn.[70] In Marylebone, great and wealthy people
of former days could hardly stir an inch without being noticed; indeed,
so lately as the year 1728, the _Daily Journal_ assured the public that
“many persons arrived in London from their country-houses in Marylebone”;
and the same publication, dated October 15th, conveys the following
intelligence:--

“The Right Hon. Sir Robert Walpole comes to town this day from Chelsea.”

The following lines were inserted by the late Sir William Musgrave, in
his _Adversaria_ (No. 5721):--

    “Sir Robert Walpole in great haste
      Cryed, ‘Where’s my fellow gone?’
    It was answered by a man of taste,
      ‘Your fellow, Sir, there’s none.’”

One Sunday morning my mother allowed me, before we entered the little
church[71] in High Street, Marylebone, to stand to see the young
gentlemen of Mr. Fountayne’s boarding-school cross the road, while the
bell was chiming for sacred duties. I remember well a summer’s sun shone
with full refulgence at the time, and my youthful eyes were dazzled with
the various colours of the dresses of the youths, who walked two and
two, some in pea-green, others sky-blue, and several in the brightest
scarlet; many of them wore gold-laced hats, while the flowing locks of
others, at that time allowed to remain uncut at schools, fell over
their shoulders. To the best of my recollection, the scholars amounted
to about one hundred. As the pleasurable and often idle scenes of my
schoolboy days are pictured upon my retina whenever Crouch End, or the
name of my venerable master, Norton,[72] are mentioned, and as others may
feel similar delight with respect to the places at which they received
their early education, I shall endeavour to gratify a few of my readers
by a description of the house and playground of Mr. Fountayne’s academy.
For this purpose it may not be irrelevant to notice something of the
antiquity of that once splendid mansion, in which so many persons have
passed their early and innocent hours.

Topographers who mention Marylebone Park inform us that foreign
ambassadors were in the time of Queen Elizabeth and James I. amused there
by hunting, and that the oldest parts of this school were the remains of
the palace in which they were entertained. The earliest topographical
representation which I am enabled to instance, is a drawing made by
Joslin, dated 1700, formerly in the possession of his Grace the Duke
of Buckingham, of which I published an etching. It comprehends the
field-gate and palace, its surrounding walls and adjacent buildings in
Marylebone to the south-west, including a large mansion, which in all
probability had been Oxford House, the grand receptacle of the Harleian
Library. Fortune, I am sorry to say, has not favoured me with the power
of continuing the declining history of the palace to the period at which
it became an academy, nor can I discover the time in which Monsieur de
la Place first occupied it.[73] A daughter of De la Place married the
Rev. Mr. Fountayne,[74] whose name the school retained until its final
demolition in 1791, at which period I remember seeing the large stone
balls taken from the brick piers of the gates.

Of this house, when a school, I recollect a miserably executed plate
by Roberts, probably for some magazine; there is also a quarto plate
displaying a knowledge in perspective, engraved by G. T. Parkyns, from
a drawing by J. C. Barrow;[75] but the most interesting, and I must
consider the most correct, are four drawings made by Michael Angelo
Rooker,[76] formerly in my possession, but now in the illustrated copy
of Pennant’s _London_ in the British Museum.[77] These have enabled me
to insert the following description of a few parts of the mansion.
The first drawing is a view of the principal and original front of the
palace, or manor-house, with other buildings open to the playground;
it was immediately within the wall on the east side of the road, then
standing upon the site of the present Devonshire Mews. This house
consisted of an immense body and two wings, a projecting porch in
the front, and an enormously deep dormer roof, supported by numerous
cantilevers, in the centre of which there was, within a very bold
pediment, a shield surmounted by foliage with labels below it. The second
drawing exhibits the back, or garden front, which consisted of a flat
face with a bay window at each end, glazed in quarries;[78] the wall of
the back front terminated with five gables. In the midst of some shrubs
stands a tall, lusty gentleman dressed in black, with a white Busby-wig
and a three-cornered hat, possibly intended for the figure of the Rev.
Mr. Fountayne, as he is directing the gardener to distribute some plants.
The third drawing, which is taken from the hall, exhibits the grand
staircase, the first flight of which consisted of sixteen steps; the
hand-rails were supported with richly carved perforated foliage, from its
style, probably of the period of Inigo Jones. The fourth drawing consists
of the decorations of the staircase, which was tessellated. This mansion
was wholly of brick, and surmounted by a large turret containing the
clock and bell. Mr. Fountayne was noticed by Handel as well as Clarke,
the celebrated Greek scholar.[79] These gentlemen frequently indulged
in musical parties, which were attended by persons of rank and worth, as
well as fashion and folly.

[Illustration: LONDON BEGGARS

ETCHED BY J. T. SMITH

John Mac Nally … “well known about Parliament Street, and the Surrey foot
of Westminster Bridge.”]

Mrs. Fountayne was a vain, dashing woman, extremely fond of appearing
at Court, for which purpose, as was generally known, she borrowed Lady
Harrington’s jewels.[80] Indeed, her passion for display was carried
to such an extreme, that she kept her carriage, and that without the
knowledge of her husband, by the following artful manœuvre. As the
scholars were mostly sons of persons of title and large fortunes, she
professed to have many favourites, _who had behaved so well_ that she
was often tempted to take them to the play, which so pleased the parents
that they liberally reimbursed her in the coach and theatrical expenses,
though she actually obtained orders upon those occasions from her friend
Mrs. Yates, by which contrivance she was enabled to keep the vehicle in
which they were conveyed to the theatres; Mrs. Yates,[81] however, was
amply repaid for her orders by the number of tickets which Mrs. Fountayne
prevailed on the parents of the scholars to take at her benefits.[82]

Previous to a consultation of physicians respecting the doubtful case of
a young gentleman boarder, one of Mr. Fountayne’s daughters overheard
something like the following dialogue by placing herself behind the
window hangings:--_Doctor_: “You look better.”--“Yes, sir; I now eat
suppers, and wear a double flannel jacket.” At this time the lady behind
the curtains tittered. “Hark! what noise is that?” interrogated an old
member of Warwick Lane’s far-famed college.[83] “Oh,” said another of the
faculty, “it’s only the sneezing of a cat.” After this, instead of saying
a word about magnesia, Gaskin’s powder, or oil of sweet almonds, they
resumed their conversation upon their indulgences, and finally ended with
some severe philippic upon Lord North’s administration. This occupied a
considerable portion of their time before the house-apothecary (who had
called them in) was questioned as to what he had given the patient. His
draught being perfectly consistent with the college pharmacopœia, they
all agreed that he could not do better than repeat it as often as he
thought proper; and thus the important consultation ended.

In the hall of this house was a parrot, so aged that its few remaining
feathers were for years confined to its wrinkled skin by a flannel
jacket, which in very cold weather received an additional broadcloth
covering of the brightest scarlet, so that Poll, like the Lord Mayor,
had her scarlet days. Poll, who had been long accustomed to hear her
mistress’s general invitation to strangers who called to inquire after
the boarders, relieved her of that ceremony by uttering, as soon as they
entered, “Do pray walk into the parlour and take a glass of wine!” but
this she finally did with so little discrimination, that when a servant
came with a letter or a card for her mistress, or a fellow with a summons
from the Court of Conscience, he was greeted by the bird with equal
liberality and politeness.

In this year the houses of the north end of Newman Street commanded
a view of the fields over hillocks of ground now occupied by Norfolk
Street,[84] and the north and east outer sides of Middlesex Hospital
garden-wall were entirely exposed. From the east end of Union Street,
where Locatelli the sculptor subsequently had his studio,[85] the ground
was very deep; and much about that spot, more to the east, stood a
cottage with a garden before it, with its front to the south. This was
kept by John Smith, one of Mr. Wilton the sculptor’s oldest labourers;
immediately behind this cottage was a rope-walk, which extended north to
a considerable distance under the shade of two magnificent rows of elms.
Here I have often seen Richard Wilson the landscape painter and Baretti
walk.[86] At the right-hand side of this rope-walk there was a pathway
on a bank, commencing from the site of the foundation of the present
workhouse, belonging to St. Paul’s, Covent Garden. This house was then
planned out, and finished in the ensuing year, according to the date on
its western front.

The bank extended northwards to the “Farthing Pie House,” now the sign
of the “Green Man,” and was kept by a person of the name of Price, a
famous player on the salt-box.[87] Of this highly respectable publican
there is an excellent mezzotinto engraving by Jones, after a picture by
Lawranson. It commanded views of the old “Queen’s Head and Artichoke,”
the old “Jew’s-Harp House,” and the distant hills of Highgate, Hampstead,
Primrose, and Harrow. I was then in my eighth year, and frequently played
at trap-ball between the above-mentioned sombre elms.

The south and east ends of Queen Anne[88] and Marylebone Streets were
then unbuilt, and the space consisted of fields to the west corner of
Tottenham Court Road; thence to the extreme of High Street, Marylebone
Gardens, Marylebone Bason, and another pond called Cockney-ladle.[89]

I recollect the building of the north side of Marylebone Street, the
whole of that portion of Portland Street north of Portland Chapel, the
site of Cockney-ladle, Duke Street, Portland Place, and the greatest part
of Harley Street, Wimpole Street, and Portland Place, and Devonshire
Place when Marylebone Bason was the terror of many a mother.[90] Of
this Bason Chatelain executed a spirited etching, of a quarto size,
which is now considered by the topographical collectors a great rarity.
The carriage and principal entrance to Marylebone Gardens was in High
Street; the back entrance was from the fields, beyond which, north,
was a narrow, winding passage, with garden-palings on either side,
leading into High Street. In this passage were numerous openings into
small gardens, divided for the recreation of various cockney florists,
their wives, children, and Sunday smoking visitors. These were called
the “French Gardens,” in consequence of having been cultivated by
refugees who fled their country after the Edict of Nantes.[91] I well
remember my grandmother taking me through this passage to Marylebone
Gardens, to see the fireworks, and thinking them prodigiously grand.
As the following notices of Marylebone Gardens have given me no small
pleasure in collecting, and as they afford more information of that once
fashionable place of recreation than has hitherto been brought together,
or perhaps known to any other individual, I without hesitation offer my
gleanings[92] to the reader, chronologically arranged, commencing with
Pepys’s visit in

1668.--“When we abroad to Marrowbone, and there walked in the garden; the
first time I ever was there, and a pretty place it is.”[93]

1691.--Long’s bowling-green at the “Rose,” at Marylebone, half a mile
distant from London, is mentioned in the _London Gazette_, January 11.[94]

1718.--“This is to give notice to all persons of quality, ladies
and gentlemen, that there having been illuminations in Marybone
bowling-greens on his Majesty’s birthday every year since his happy
accession to the throne; the same is (for this time) put off till Monday
next, and will be performed, with a _consort_ of musick, in the middle
green, by reason there is a Ball in the gardens at Kensington with
illuminations, and at Richmond also.” (See the _Daily Courant_, Thursday,
May 29.)

1738-9.--Mr. Gough enlarged the gardens, built an orchestra, and issued
silver tickets at 12s. for the season, each ticket to admit two persons.
From every one without a ticket 6d. was demanded for the evening; but
afterwards, as the season advanced, the admission was 1s. for a lady and
gentleman. The gardens were open from six till ten.

1740.--An organ, built by Bridge, was added to the band, admittance 6d.
each; but afterwards, when the new room was erected, the admission was
increased to 1s.

1741. May 23.--A grand martial composition of music was performed by Mr.
Lampe, in honour of Admiral Vernon, for taking Carthagena.

[Illustration: LONDON BEGGARS

ETCHED BY J. T. SMITH

“A silver haired man of the name of Lilly.”]

1742.--The proprietor of the Mulberry Garden, Clerkenwell, indulged in
the following remarks upon five places of similar amusement:--

“_Ruckhoult_ has found one day and night’s alfresco in the week to be
inconvenient.[95]

“_Ranelagh House_, supported by a giant, whose legs will scarcely support
him.[96]

“_Mary le Bon Gardens_ down on their marrow-bones.

“_New Wells_ at low water.[97]

“_At Cuper’s_ the fire almost out.”[98] (See the _Daily Post_, July 28.)

1743.--The holders of Marybone Garden tickets let them out at reduced
prices for the evening. Ranelagh tickets were also advertised to be had
at Old Slaughter’s Coffee-house at 1s. 3d. each, admitting two persons.
Vauxhall tickets were likewise to be had at the same place at 1s. each,
admitting two persons. (See the _Daily Advertiser_ for April 23.)

1744.--Miss Scott was a singer, Mr. Knerler played the violin, and Mr.
Ferrand an instrument called the Pariton.[99]

1746.--Robberies were now so frequent and the thieves so desperate, that
the proprietor of the gardens was obliged to have a guard of soldiers to
protect the company to and from London. The best plan of the gardens has
been given in Plate I. of Rocque’s Plan of London, published in 1746.

1747.--Miss Falkner, singer;[100] Henry Rose, first violin; and Mr.
Philpot, organist.--Admittance to the garden, 6d.; to the concert, 2s.

1748.--Miss Falkner, singer. No persons to be admitted to the balls
unless in full dress.

1749.--It appears by the advertisements that dress-balls and concerts
were the only amusements of this year.

1750.--Miss Falkner, Mr. Lowe, and Master Phillips, were the singers.

1751.--John Trusler was sole proprietor of the Gardens.[101] Singers,
Miss Falkner, Master Phillips, and Master Arne. On the 30th of August
there was a ball; and as the road had been repaired, coaches drove up
to the door--a ten-and-sixpenny ticket admitted two persons. The doors
opened at nine o’clock.

1752.--Miss Falkner and Mr. Wilder singers.

1753.--The _Public Advertiser_ of May 25, June 20, September 10 and
24, states that the gardens were much more extensive by taking in the
bowling-green, and considerably improved by several additional walks;
that lights had been erected in the coach-way from Oxford Road, and also
on the footpath from Cavendish Square to the entrance to the gardens;
and that the fireworks were splendid beyond conception. A large sun
was exhibited at the top of a picture, a cascade, and shower of fire,
and grand _air-balloons_ (perhaps these were the first air-balloons in
England) were also most magnificently displayed; and likewise that _red_
fire was introduced. This is the earliest instance of _Red_ fire I have
been able to meet with. Mrs. Chambers and Master Moore were singers.

1756.--Two rooms were opened for dinner-parties. Trusler, the proprietor
of the gardens, was a cook.

1757.--Mr. Thomas Glanville, Mr. Kear, Mr. Reinhold, and Mr. Champneys
were singers.

1758.--The Gardens opened on May the 16th; the singers were, Signora
Saratina, Miss Glanvil, and Mr. Kear. No persons were admitted to the
ball-rooms without five-shilling tickets, which admitted a gentleman and
two ladies; and only twenty-six tickets were delivered for each night.
Mr. Trusler’s son produced the first burletta that was performed in the
Gardens; it was entitled “LA SERVA PADRONA,” for which he only received
the profits of the printed books.[102]

1759.--The Gardens were opened for breakfasting; and Miss Trusler made
the cakes. Mr. Reinhold and Mr. Gaudrey were the singers.

1760.--The Gardens, greatly improved, opened on Monday, May 26th, with
the usual musical entertainments. The Gardens were opened also every
Sunday evening after five o’clock, where genteel company were admitted to
walk gratis, and were accommodated with coffee, tea, cakes, etc.

The following announcement appears in the _Daily Advertiser_ of May 6th,
this year:--

“Mr. Trusler’s daughter begs leave to inform the Nobility and Gentry,
that she intends to make Fruit-Tarts during the fruit Season; and
hopes to give equal satisfaction as with the rich Cakes, and Almond
Cheesecakes. The Fruit will always be fresh gathered, having great
quantities in the Garden; and none but Loaf Sugar used, and the finest
Epping Butter. Tarts of a Twelvepenny size will be made every day from
One to Three o’clock; and those who want them of larger sizes to fill a
Dish, are desired to speak for them, and send their dish or the size of
it, and the Cake shall be made to fit.

“The Almond Cheesecakes will be always hot at one o’clock as usual; and
the rich Seed and Plum-cakes sent to any part of the town, at 2s. 6d.
each. Coffee, Tea, and Chocolate, at any time of the day; and fine Epping
Butter may also be had.”[103]

1761.--An excellent half-sheet engraving, after a drawing made by J.
Donowell, published this year, represents Marybone Gardens, probably in
their fullest splendour. The centre of this view exhibits the longest
walk, with regular rows of young trees on either side, the stems of
which received the irons for the lamps at about the height of seven
feet from the ground. On either side this walk were latticed alcoves:
on the right hand of the walk, according to this view, stood the
bow-fronted orchestra with balustrades, supported by columns. The roof
was extended considerably over the erection, to keep the musicians and
singers free from rain. On the left hand of the walk was a room, possibly
for balls and suppers. The figures in this view are so well drawn and
characteristic of the time, that I am tempted to recommend the particular
attention of my reader to it.

The Gardens were opened gratis this year, and the organ was played while
the company took their tea.

1762.--The Gardens were in fine order this year, and visited by the
Cherokee Kings--admittance sixpence.[104] Mr. Trusler took care to keep
out improper company; Miss Trusler continued to make the cakes.

1763.--The Gardens were taken by the famous Tommy Lowe,[105] who engaged
Mrs. Vincent, Mrs. Lampe, Jun., Miss Mays, Miss Hyat, Miss Catley, and
Mr. Squibb, as singers.

August 12th, Mr. Storace had a benefit;[106] the singers were, Brother
Lowe, Miss Catley, Miss Smit, and Miss Plenius. Music. Mr. Samuel Arnold.
A large room was cleared in the great house for the brethren to dress in.

Miss Catley’s night was on the 16th of August. Tickets were sold at Miss
Catley’s, facing the Gardens.[107]

1764.--The Gardens opened on the 9th May; singers, Mr. Lowe, Mrs.
Vincent, Mrs. Lampe, Jun., Miss Moyse, Miss Hyat, and Mr. Squibb. Mr.
Trusler left the Gardens this year, and went to reside in Boyle Street,
where his daughter continued to make her cakes, etc.

Mr. Lowe returned public thanks to the nobility and gentry for
patronising the Gardens.

[Illustration: LONDON STREET MERCHANTS: MATCH BOYS

ETCHED BY J. T. SMITH]

This year a stop was put to tea-drinking in the Gardens on Sunday
evenings.

Mr. Lowe offered a reward of ten guineas for the apprehension of any
highwayman found on the road to the Gardens.[108]

1765.--This year, Mrs. Collett, Miss Davis, and Mrs. Taylor were the
singers.

1766.--£1, 11s. 6d. was the subscription for two persons for the season.
The doors opened on the 1st of May, at six o’clock, and the Gardens
closed on the 4th of October, for the season. The principal singers
were, Tommy Lowe, Taylor, Raworth, Vincent, and Miss Davis. I have an
engraving of a Subscription Ticket, inscribed “No. 222, Marybone, admit
two, 1766.” As this ticket is adorned by two palm-branches, surmounted
with two French-horns, and has also a music book, I conclude it must
have been used on a concert night. This year an exhibition of bees took
place in the Gardens, and the public were again accommodated with tea at
eightpence per head.

1767.--Mrs. Gibbons was a singer there this season.

1768.--Lowe gave up the Gardens, declaring his loss in the concern to
have been considerable.[109]

Mr. Phillips, a singer, in the announcement of his benefit this season,
states that tickets were to be had at his house, the “Ring and Pearl,”
St. Martin’s Court; and also at Young Slaughter’s Coffee-house, in St.
Martin’s Lane. The following are the titles of a few of the Marybone
Garden songs of this year:--

    Young Colin.
    Dolly’s Petition.
    The Invitation.
    The Rose.
    The Moth.
    Polly.
    A Hunting Song.
    Jockey--a favourite Scotch song.
    Freedom is a real Treasure.
    Jenny charming, but a Woman.
    Oh, how vain is every Blessing.
    Damon and Phillis.

The composers of the above songs were Heron and James Hook (father of
Theodore Hook); the singers, Reynoldson, Taylor, and Miss Froud. During
the time I was collecting the titles of these and other songs, I noticed
an immense number which were dedicated to Chloe. Of this I took the
titles of no fewer than thirty-five published between the years 1724 and
1740. Why to Chloe? I have no Stephen Weston now to apply to.[110] Dibdin
tells us, when praising the good ship _Nancy_, that Nancy was his wife,
and that being the fact, accounts for the number of songs he has left us
of his “Charming Nan.”[111]

[1769.--In this year, omitted by Smith, the Gardens were taken over
by Dr. Samuel Arnold, the musician. The years 1769-73 were their best
period.]

1770.--On June 18th, there was a concert of vocal and instrumental
music. First violin, and a concerto, by Mr. Barthelemon; concerto organ,
Mr. Hook. The fireworks were under the direction of Signor Rossi. The
principal singers this season were, Mr. Reinhold, Mr. Bannister,[112]
Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. Barthelemon, and Master Cheney. The music by Signor
Pergolesi,[113] with alterations and additional songs by Mr. Arnold. In
July, an awning was erected in the garden for the better accommodation of
the visitors; and books of the performance were sold at the bar, price
sixpence.

1771.--Mr. Bannister, Mrs. Thompson, Miss Catley, and the highly
respected Mrs. John Bannister (then Miss Harper) were the singers of this
year.

1772.--This season the singers were, Mr. Bannister, Mr. Reinhold, Mrs.
Calvert, Mrs. Forbes, Mrs. Cartwright, and Mrs. Thompson. Music by Signor
Giardani,[114] Mr. Hook, and Mr. Arnold.

For the convenience of the visitors, coaches were allowed to stand in the
field before the back entrance. Mr. Arnold was indicted at Bow Street for
the fireworks.[115] Torré, the fire-worker, divided the receipts at the
door with the proprietor.

1773.--Proposals were issued for a subscription evening to be held every
Thursday during the summer, for which tickets were delivered to admit two
persons. The Gardens were opened for general admission three evenings in
the week only. On Thursday, May 27th, _Acis and Galatea_ was performed,
in which Mr. Bannister, Mr. Reinhold, Mr. Phillips, and Miss Wilde were
singers. Signor Torré, the fire-worker, was assisted by Monsieur Caillot
of Ranelagh Gardens.

On Friday, September 15th, Dr. Arne conducted his celebrated catches and
glees. On the 16th of September, Mr. Clitherow was the fire-worker, for
the benefit of the waiters, who parted with their unsold tickets at the
doors of the Gardens for whatever they could get. Mr. Winston was in
possession of an impression of an admission ticket for this season.

[Illustration: LONDON STREET MERCHANTS: IMAGES

ETCHED BY J. T. SMITH]

1774.--The Gardens opened on May 20th. The principal singers were, Mr.
Dubellamy, Miss Wewitzer (sister of the dramatic performer), and Miss
Trelawny. The Gardens were opened this year on Sunday evenings for
walking recreation, admittance sixpence. The receipts of one evening were
at the Town-gate £10, 7s. 6d., at the Field-gate £11, 7s.[116] This year
Signor Torré, one of the fire-workers of the Gardens, had a benefit; the
admission was 3s. 6d.[117] Signor Caillot was then also a fire-worker in
the Gardens; and I find by two shop-bills, in Miss Banks’s collection in
the British Museum, that Benjamin Clitherow and Samuel Clanfield had also
been employed as fire-workers.

Doctor Kenrick delivered his lectures on Shakspeare in these Gardens this
year.[118]

1775.--After frequent inquiries, and a close examination of the
newspapers of this year, I could not find any advertisement like those
of preceding times with singing and fireworks. The Gardens are thus
mentioned during the first part of the season, in the _Morning Chronicle_
and _London Advertiser_ of Monday, May 29th:--

                          “AT MARYBONE GARDENS,

             To-morrow, the 30th instant, will be presented

                        THE MODERN MAGIC LANTERN,

    “In three Parts, being an attempt at a sketch of the Times
    in a variety of Caricatures, accompanied with a whimsical and
    satirical Dissertation on each Character.

                     By R. BADDELEY, Comedian.[119]

                             “BILL OF FARE.

                                EXORDIUM.

    PART THE FIRST.

    A Sergeant at Law.
    Andrew Marvel, Lady Fribble.
    A bilking Courtesan.
    A Modern Widow.
    A Modern Patriot.
    A Duelling Apothecary, and
    A Foreign Quack.

    PART THE SECOND.

    A Man of Consequence.
    A Hackney Parson.
    A Macaroni Parson.
    A Hair-dresser.
    A Robin Hood Orator.
    Lady Tit for Tat.
    An Italian Tooth-drawer
    High Life in St. Giles’s.
    A Jockey, and
    A Jew’s Catechism.

    And Part the Third will consist of a short Magic Sketch called

    “PUNCH’S ELECTION.

    “Admittance 2s. 6d. each, Coffee or Tea included. The doors
    to be opened at seven, and the Exordium to be spoken at eight
    o’clock.

                                              “Vivant Rex et Regina.”

At the foot of Mr. Baddeley’s subsequent bills the Gardens are announced
to be still open on a Sunday evening for company to walk in. Some of
the papers of this year declare, under Mr. Baddeley’s advertisements,
that “no person going into the Gardens with subscription tickets will be
entitled to tea or coffee.”

The next advertisement was on Tuesday, June 20th.

                           “MARYBONE GARDENS.

                     This Evening will be delivered

                          A LECTURE ON MIMICRY,

                      BY GEORGE SAVILLE CARY.[120]

                       In which will be introduced

    “A Dialogue between Small Cole and Fiddle-stick; Billy Bustle,
    Jerry Dowlas, and Patent; with the characters of Jerry Sneak
    in Richard the Third, Shylock in Macbeth, Juno in her Cups,
    Momus in his Mugs, and the Warwickshire Lads. To conclude with
    a dialogue between Billy Buckram and Aristophanes, in which
    Nick Nightingal, or the Whistler of the Woods, will make his
    appearance, as he was lately shown at the Theatre Royal, in the
    character of a Crow.

    “Admittance 2s. 6d., coffee or tea included.

    “The Lecture will be repeated To-morrow, Thursday, and
    Saturday.”

                               “June 21st.

                            MARYBONE GARDENS.

                     This Evening will be delivered

                          A LECTURE ON MIMICRY,

                                   by

                          GEORGE SAVILLE CARY.

    “After a new Poetical Exordium, a variety of THEATRICAL
    DELINEATIONS will be introduced.

    “Mr. Fiddle-stick, Mr. Small Coal, Mrs. Artichoke, Mrs.
    H--l--y; Bustle the Bookseller; Mr. Patent, Mr. G----k; Jerry
    Sneak, Richard III., Mr. W----; another Richard, Mr. S--th;
    Shylock, in Macbeth, M--n--.

    “‘What, alas! shall Orpheus do?’ Sig. M--ll--o; ‘Juno in her
    Cups,’ Miss C--t--y; ‘The Early Horn,’ Mr. M. D---- B----y;
    ‘This is, Sir, a Jubilee,’ Mr. B--n--r; ‘Where, Which, and
    Wherefore,’ Sig. L--at--ni; ‘Within my Breast,’ Mr. V.; ‘Sweet
    Willy O,’ Mrs. B--d--y; ‘The Mulberry Tree,’ M--k--r; ‘Ye
    Warwickshire Lads,’ Mr. V. and Mr. D.

    Scene in Harlequin’s Invasion, Mr. D----d, Mr. P----ns, and Mr.
    B--n--by.

    Othello, Mr. B----y; Nurse, Mrs. P----t; Cymbeline, Mr.
    H----st; Iachimo, Mr. P----r; Mr. Posthumous, Mr. R----h;
    Pantomime, Mr. F----t and Mr. W----n.[121]

    The Doors to be opened at Seven o’clock, and to begin at Eight.

    “Admittance 2s. 6d. each, coffee or tea included.

    “The Lecture will be repeated to-morrow and Saturday next.”

                               “June 23rd.

                            MARYBONE GARDENS.

          “By Virtue of a Licence from the Board of Ordnance, a

                        MOST MAGNIFICENT FIREWORK

                  will be exhibited on Tuesday next at

                            MARYBONE GARDENS,

                  In honour of His Majesty’s Birthday.

        “Further particulars will be advertised on Monday next.”

“Indeed, Sir!” is the general exclamation of a passenger in a stage
coach, whenever any one observes that he had seen Garrick perform; at
least, such an observation has fallen from many of my fellow-travellers,
when I have asserted that I had had the pleasure of seeing that great
actor. On the 25th of November, 1775, my father first took me to a play,
and it was with one of Mr. Garrick’s orders, when he performed in _The
Alchemist_.[122]

1776.--Marylebone Gardens opened this year on the 11th of May, by
authority. The “Forge of Vulcan” was represented.[123] On the 16th of the
same month the Fantoccini was introduced; on June 3rd Breslaw exhibited
his sleight of hand, and also his company of singers, upon which occasion
handbills were publicly distributed. Admittance 2s.[124] On the 25th Mrs.
Stuart had a ball, and Signor Rebecca (well known for his productions at
the Pantheon) painted some of the transparencies.[125]

Subscription tickets to the Gardens were issued at £1, 11s. 6d. to admit
two persons every evening of performance. The Gardens were opened on
Sunday evenings, with tea, coffee, and Ranelagh rolls. Caillot was the
fire-worker this season.

[Illustration: THE ROYAL COCKPIT, WESTMINSTER]

This, as well as the preceding year, was particularly famous for the
breed of Canary birds, consisting of Junks, Mealies, Turncrowns, and the
Swallow-throats. They were all “fine in feather and full in song,” and
could sing in the highest perfection many delightful strains, such as the
nightingale’s, titlark’s, and woodlark’s, by candle-light as well as day.
The breeders lived in Norwich, Colchester, Ipswich, etc. The sellers in
London were principally publicans, and those most in vogue kept the signs
of the “Queen’s Arms,” Newgate Street; the “Green Dragon,” Narrow Wall,
Lambeth; the “Crown and Horse-shoe,” Holborn; the “Wheatsheaf,” Fleet
Market; the “Marquis of Granby,” Fleet Market; the “Old George,” Little
Drury Lane; and the “Black Swan,” Brown’s Lane, Spitalfields.[126]

It appears by the various advertisements from the numerous owners of
cockpits, that the cruel sport of cock-fighting afforded high amusement
this year to the unfeeling part of London’s inhabitants. Of the number of
cockpits half a dozen will be quite enough to be recorded on this page.

1. The “Royal Cockpit,” in the Birdcage Walk, St. James’s Park. This
Royal Cockpit afforded Hogarth characters for one of his worst of
subjects, though best of plates.

2. In Bainbridge Street, St. Giles’s.

3. Near Gray’s Inn Lane.

4. In Pickled-Egg Walk.

5. At the New Vauxhall Gardens, in St. George’s in the East.

6. That at the “White Horse,” Old Gravel Lane, near Hughes’s late
riding-school, at the foot of Blackfriars Bridge.[127]

Disputes having frequently occurred as to the characters in which Garrick
last appeared, by persons not sufficiently in possession of documents
at hand to enable them to decide their controversies, I am induced to
conclude that such disputants will be pleased to see a statement of the
nights of his acting, the titles of the plays in which he performed, and
the names of the characters which he represented, as well as those of the
principal actresses who performed with him during the last year of his
appearance on the stage. The original play-bills of the time, collected
by the late Dr. Burney, now in the British Museum, have enabled me to
give this information in the following chronological order:--

    Nights of   Title of Play.           Names of
    Acting.                             Characters.

    Jan.  18. The Alchemist.         Abel Drugger, Mr. Garrick.
                                      (Doll Common, by Mrs.
                                      Hopkins.)

          20. The Discovery          Sir Anthony Branville.
                                       (Lady Flutter, by Mrs.
                                       Abington.)

          22. Ditto.                 Ditto.

          24. Ditto.                 Ditto.

          26. Ditto.                 Ditto.

          29. Ditto.                 Ditto.

          30. The Provoked Wife      Sir John Brute. (Lady
                                       Brute, by Miss Younge.)

          31. Ditto.                 Ditto.

    Feb.   3. Zara                   Lusignan. (Zara, by Miss
                                       Younge.)

           5. The Provoked Wife      Sir John Brute. (Lady
                                       Brute, by Miss Younge.)

           7. The Discovery          Sir Anthony Branville.
                                       (Lady Flutter, by Mrs.
                                       Abington.)

           9. Every Man in his       Kitely. (Mrs. Kitely, Mrs.
                Humour.                Greville.)

          12. Much Ado about         Benedict. (Beatrice, by Mrs.
                Nothing.               Abington.)

          14. Rule a Wife and        Leon. (Estifania, by Mrs.
                have a Wife.           Abington.)

    March  6. Zara                   Lusignan. (Zara, by Miss
                                     Younge.)

           7. Zara                   Lusignan. (Zara, by Miss
                                       Younge.)

    April 11. The Alchemist.         Abel Drugger. (Doll Common,
                                       by Mrs. Hopkins.)

          16. Much Ado about         Benedict. (Beatrice, by Mrs.
                Nothing.               Abington.)

          25. Every Man in his       Kitely. (Mrs. Kitely, by Mrs.
                Humour.                Greville.)

          27. Hamlet                 Hamlet. (Ophelia, by Mrs.
                                       Smith.)

          30. The Provoked           Sir John Brute. (Lady
                Wife.                  Brute, Miss Younge.)

    May    2. Rule a Wife and        Leon. (Estifania, Mrs. Abington)
                have a Wife.

           7. The Stratagem.         Archer. (Mrs. Sullen, Mrs.
                                       Abington.)

           9. Much Ado about         Benedict. (Beatrice, by Mrs.
                Nothing.               Abington.)

          13. King Lear              King Lear. (Cordelia, Miss
                                       Younge.)

          16. The Wonder             Don Felix. (Violante, by
                                       Mrs. Yates.)

          21. King Lear              King Lear. (Cordelia, by
                                       Miss Younge.)

          23. The Suspicious         Ranger. (Mrs. Strickland,
                Husband.               Mrs. Siddons; Clarinda,
                                       Mrs. Abington.)

          27. King Richard the       King Richard. (Lady Anne
                Third.                 (first time), Mrs. Siddons.)

          30. Hamlet                 Hamlet. (Ophelia, by Mrs.
                                       Smith.)

          31. The Suspicious         Ranger. (Mrs. Strickland,
                Husband.               Mrs. Siddons; Clarinda,
                                       Mrs. Abington.)

    June   1. Ditto.                 Ditto.

           3. King Richard the       King Richard. (Lady Anne,
                Third.                 by Mrs. Siddons.)

           5. King Richard the       King Richard. (Lady Anne,
                Third.                 by Mrs. Siddons.) By
                                       command of their Majesties.

           8. King Lear              King Lear. (Cordelia, Mrs.
                                       Younge.)

          10. The Wonder             Don Felix. (Violante, by
                                       Mrs. Yates.)[128]

Notwithstanding it has been said that Mr. Garrick spoke slightingly of
Mrs. Siddons’s talents, the above list incontrovertibly proves that
he considered her powers sufficiently great to appear in principal
characters with him no fewer than _six_ nights of the last _nine_ in
which he performed.

I shall now subjoin a similar list of Mrs. Siddons’s nights of
performance at Drury Lane Theatre, during the last year of Mr. Garrick’s
acting.[129]

    Jan. 13, 15, 17.  Epicœne, or The Silent Woman (as a Collegiate Lady).

    Feb. 1, 2, 3.     The Blackamoor Washed White.

    Between Feb. 15
      and April 18
      (22 nights).    The Runaway (as Miss Morley).

    May 23.           The Suspicious Husband (as Mrs. Strickland).

        24.           The Runaway (as Miss Morley).

        27.           King Richard the Third (as Lady Anne).

        31.           The Suspicious Husband (as Mrs. Strickland).

    June 1.

         3.           King Richard the Third (as Lady Anne).

         5.                     Ditto.         Ditto.

                          By command of their Majesties.

Of six plays of which there were no bills in the Burney collection, I was
enabled to add instances of the performance of Mrs. Siddons on those
nights from a portion of that truly rare and valuable library purchased
by Government of the late Dr. Burney’s son for the British Museum.

Ladies this year wore goloshes, four distinct falls of lace from the
hat to the shoulders, and rolled curls on either side of the neck: they
continued to carry fans.[130]


1777.

I remember well that in an autumn evening of this year, during the time
my father lived in Norton Street,[131] going with him and his pupils on
a sketching party to what is now called Pancras Old Church; and that
Whitefield’s Chapel in Tottenham Court Road, Montague House, Bedford
House, and Baltimore House,[132] were then uninterruptedly seen from the
churchyard, which was at that time so rural that it was only enclosed
by a low and very old hand-railing, in some parts entirely covered with
docks and nettles. I recollect also that the houses on the north side
of Ormond Street commanded views of Islington, Highgate, and Hampstead,
including in the middle distance Copenhagen-house, Mother Red-cap’s, the
Adam and Eve, the Farthing Pie House, the Queen’s Head and Artichoke, and
the Jew’s Harp House.[133]

Early in this year Spiridione Roma,[134] who had cleaned the pictures
of the Judges then hanging in Guildhall, published a prospectus for
Bartolozzi’s print from the portrait of Mary Queen of Scots in Drapers’
Hall, said to have been painted by Zucchero.[135]


1778.

At this period I began to think there was something in a
prognostication announced to my dear mother by an old _star-gazer_ and
_tea-grouter_,[136] that, through life, I should be favoured by persons
of high rank; for, in this year, Charles Townley, Esq. (the collector
of the valuable marbles which now bear his name in the British Museum),
first noticed me when drawing in Mr. Nollekens’ studio, and pouched
me half a guinea to purchase paper and chalk.[137] This kindness was
followed up by Dr. Samuel Johnson, who was then sitting for his bust. The
Doctor, after looking at my drawing, then at the bust I was copying, put
his hand heavily upon my head, pronouncing “Very well, very well.” Here
I frequently saw him, and recollect his figure and dress with tolerable
correctness. He was tall, and must have been, when young, a powerful man:
he stooped, with his head inclined to the right shoulder: heavy brows,
sleepy eyes, nose very narrow between the eye-brows, but broad at the
bottom; lips enormously thick; chin, wide and double. He wore a stock
and wristbands; his wig was what is called a “_Busby_,” but often wanted
powder. His hat, a three-cornered one; coats, one a dark mulberry, the
other brown, inclining to the colour of Scotch snuff, large brass or gilt
buttons; black waistcoat and small-clothes--sometimes the latter were
corduroy; black stockings, large easy shoes, with buckles; his gait was
wide and awkwardly sprawling; latterly he used a _hooked_ walking-stick,
in consequence of his having saved the life of a young man as he was
crossing from Queenhithe to Bankside.

One of the Doctor’s sticks of this shape brought me into a scrape. It
was given to me by the late William Tunnard, Esq., of Bankside;[138] he
received it from his friend Mr. Perkins;[139] it was one of many that the
Doctor kept at Thrale’s. This stick I promised to my worthy and liberal
friend the Rev. James Beresford, of Kibworth, Market Harborough;[140]
but, alas! when I went to “stick-corner” somebody had walked it off.
However, if this page should meet the eye of its present possessor, I
hope, even should the “Bannister” I now rest upon be deemed useless by
Time’s sandy-glass, his conscience may order the Johnsonian relic to
be delivered to the above-named gentleman, whose property I declare it
unquestionably to be. My present strong stick, named “_Bannister_,”
was given to me when afflicted with the gout, by a fellow-sufferer,
universally known under the friendly appellation of “_Honest Jack_.”

I once saw him follow a sturdy thief, who had stolen his handkerchief in
Grosvenor Square, seize him by the collar with both hands, and shake him
violently, after which he quickly let him loose; and then, with his open
hand, gave him so powerful a smack on the face, that sent him off the
pavement staggering.

[Illustration: DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON

“Pockets which might have almost held the two volumes of his folio
dictionary.”]

Ladies appeared for the first time in riding-habits of men’s cloth, only
descending to the feet; they also walked with whips like short canes,
with a thong at the end. The elderly ladies continued to wear goloshes.
Fans were in general use.

For the honour of female genius, be it here recorded, that, in the
_Ladies’ Pocket-book_, published this year, an engraved group of nine
whole-length female figures was published, viz. Miss Carter, Mrs.
Barbauld, Angelica Kauffman, Mrs. Sheridan, Mrs. Lenox, Mrs. Montague,
Miss More, Mrs. Macaulay, and Mrs. Griffith, each lady in the character
of a Muse. Four Pocket-books appeared this year, entitled _Ladies’
Pocket-book_, _Ladies’ own Memorandum Book_, _Ladies’ Annual Journal_,
and _Ladies’ Complete Pocket-book_.[141]


1779.

On Monday, February 1st, Taylor, the facetious pupil of Frank Hayman, and
the old friend of Jonathan Tyers, lifted Nollekens’ studio door-latch,
put in his head, and announced, “For the information of some of the sons
of Phidias, I beg to observe, that David Garrick is now on his way to
pay his respects to Poet’s Corner. I left him just as he was quitting
the boards of the Adelphi.”[142] I am now employing the exact words he
made use of, though certainly the levity was misapplied on so solemn an
occasion.

I begged of my father, who then carved for Mr. Nollekens, to allow me
to go to Charing Cross to see the funeral pass, which he did with some
reluctance. I was there in a few minutes, followed him to the Abbey,
heard the service, and saw him buried.[143]

Mr. Garrick died on the 20th of January, in the back room of the first
floor, in his house in the Adelphi. The ceiling of the drawing-room
was painted by Zucchi: the subject, Venus attired by the Graces. The
chimneypiece in this room is said to have cost £800.[144]

On a night when Mr. Garrick was acting the part of Lear, one of the
soldiers who stood on the stage blubbered like a child. Mr. Garrick, who
was as fond of a compliment as most men, when the play was over, sent
for the man to his room, and gave him half a crown. It was the custom
formerly for two soldiers to stand on the stage during the time of
performance, one at either end of the proscenium.

This year the Grotto Garden, Rosamond Row, near the London Spa, was kept
by Jackson, a man famous for grottoes and fireworks. He had made great
additions to it, viz. a new Mounted Fountain, etc. The admittance was
sixpence.[145]

[Illustration: “PERDITA” ROBINSON

“She imprinted a kiss on my cheek, and said, ‘There, you little rogue.’”

_J. T. Smith_]


1781.

Although I could model and carve a little, I longed to be an engraver,
and wished much to be placed under Bartolozzi, who then lived in Bentinck
Street, Berwick Street.[146] My father took me to him, with a letter
of introduction from Mr. Wilton, the sculptor. Mr. Bartolozzi, after
looking at my imitations of several of Rembrandt and Ostade’s etchings,
declared that he should have been glad some years previous to take such a
youth, but that, in consequence of ill-treatment from some of his pupils,
he had made up his mind to take no more. The Bishop of Peterborough
(Dr. Hinchliffe),[147] one of my father’s patrons, then prevailed on
Sherwin to let me in at half-price; and under his roof I remained for
nearly three years. Here I saw all the beautiful women of the day; and,
being considered a lively lad, I was noticed by several of them. Here I
received a kiss from the beautiful Mrs. Robinson.

This impression was made upon me nearly as I can recollect in the
following way:--It fell to my turn that morning, as a pupil, to attend
the visitors, and Mrs. Robinson came into the room singing. She asked to
see a drawing which Mr. Sherwin had made of her, which he had placed in
an upper room. When I assured her that Mr. Sherwin was not at home, “Do
try to find the drawing of me, and I will reward you, my little fellow,”
said she. I, who had seen Rosetta, in _Love in a Village_, the preceding
evening, hummed to myself, as I went upstairs, “With a kiss, a kiss, and
I’ll reward you with a kiss.”

I had no sooner entered the room with the drawing in my hand, than she
imprinted a kiss on my cheek, and said, “There, you little rogue.” I
remember that Mrs. Darby, her mother, accompanied her, and had brought
a miniature, painted by Cosway, set in diamonds, presented by a high
personage, of whom Mrs. Robinson spoke with the highest respect to
the hour of her dissolution.[148] The colour of her carriage was a
light blue, and upon the centre of each panel a basket of flowers was
so artfully painted, that as she drove along it was mistaken for a
coronet.[149]


1782.

Early in the month of December, this year, Sherwin painted, engraved,
and published a glorious portrait of Mrs. Siddons, in the character of
the Grecian Daughter. That lady sat in the front room of his house, St.
James’s Street. I obeyed Mr. Sherwin’s orders in raising and lowering the
centre window-curtains, the shutters of the extreme ones being closed for
the adjustment of that fine light and shade upon her face which he has so
beautifully displayed in the print. This print, in consequence of a purse
having been presented to Mrs. Siddons by her admirers in the profession
of the Law, was dedicated to “The Gentlemen of the Bar.”[150]

[Illustration: MRS. SIDDONS

“A glorious portrait.”]

By the liberality of my amiable friend, William Henderson, Esq.,[151] I
am in possession of a cast taken by Lochee, the modeller, from the face
of this wonderful actress, which I intend leaving to that invaluable
gallery of theatrical portraits, so extensively formed by that favourite
offspring of Nature, Charles Mathews,[152] Esq., at Kentish Town; but
should that collection ever be dispersed, which I most heartily trust it
never will be, then I desire that it may go to the Green-room of Drury
Lane Theatre. To this bequest I subscribe my name,

Witnesses to this my declaration,

    John Thomas Smith.
    John Bannister.
    -- Harley.[153]


1783.

One of the numerous subjects which I drew this year for Mr. Crowle,[154]
was the old brick gateway entrance to St. Giles’s churchyard, then
standing opposite to Mr. Remnent’s timber-yard, in which drawing I
introduced the figure of old Simon, a very remarkable beggar, who,
together with his dog, generally took their station against one of the
gate-piers. This man, who wore several hats, at the same time suffered
his beard to grow, which was of a dirty yellow-white. Upon his fingers
were numerous brass rings. He had several waistcoats, and as many
coats, increasing in size, so that he was enabled by the extent of the
uppermost garment to cover the greater part of the bundles, containing
rags of various colours; and distinct parcels with which he was girded
about, consisting of books, canisters containing bread, cheese, and
other articles of food; matches, a tinder-box, and meat for his dog;
cuttings of curious events from old newspapers; scraps from Fox’s _Book
of Martyrs_, and three or four dog’s-eared and greasy thumbed numbers of
the _Gentleman’s Magazine_.

From these and such like productions he gained a great part of the
information with which he sometimes entertained those persons who stopped
to look at him.

When I knew him,--for he was one of my pensioners,--he and his dog
lodged under a staircase in an old shattered building called “Rats’
Castle,” in Dyot Street, mentioned in _Nollekens and his Times_ as that
artist’s rendezvous to discover models for his Venuses. Dyot Street has
disappeared, and George Street is built on its site.[155] His walks
extended to the entrances only of the adjacent streets, whither he either
went to make a purchase at the baker’s or the cook’s shops. Rowlandson
drew and etched him several times; in one instance Simon had a female
placed before him, which the artist called “Simon and Iphigenia.” There
is a large whole-length print of him, published by John Seago, with the
following inscription:--

SIMON EDY, born at Woodford, near Thrapston, Northamptonshire, in 1709:
died May 18, 1783.[156]

Respecting his last dog, for he had possessed several, which wicked boys
had beguiled from him, or the skinners of those animals had snatched up,
the following anecdote is interesting:--A Smithfield drover, whose dog’s
left eye had been much injured by a bullock, solicited Simon to take him
under his care till he got well. The mendicant cheerfully consented, and
forthwith, with a piece of string, confined him to his arm; and when, by
being more quiet, he had regained his health sufficiently to resume his
services to his master, old Simon, with the most affectionate reluctance,
gave him up, and was obliged to content himself with the pleasure of
patting his sides on a market-day, when he followed his master’s drove
to the slaughter-house in Union Street. These tender and stolen caresses
from the hand which had bathed his wound, Rover would regularly stop to
receive at St. Giles’s porch, and then hastily run to get up with the
bullocks. Poor Simon, after missing the dog as well as his master for
some weeks, was one morning most agreeably surprised to see the faithful
animal crouch behind his feet, and with an uplifted and sorrowful eye,
for he had entirely lost the blemished one, implore his protection by
licking his beard, as a successor to his departed and lamented keeper.
Rover followed Simon, according to Dr. Gardner’s idea, to “his last and
best bedroom”;[157] or, according to Funeral Weever,[158] his “bed of
ease.” Shortly before Simon’s death, I related to Mrs. Nollekens several
instances of Rover’s attachment. “I think, Sir,” observed that lady, “you
once told me that he had been a shepherd’s dog from Harrow-on-the-Hill.
I don’t like a shepherd’s dog: it has no tail,[159] and its coat is
as rough as the bristles of a cocoanut. No, Sir, my little French
dog is my pet.” However, fortunately for poor Simon, the Hon. Daines
Barrington[160] was present when Dr. Johnson’s Pekuah[161] made this
silly remark, for he never after passed the kind-hearted mendicant
without giving him sixpence. There was an elegy printed for poor Simon,
with a woodcut portrait of him.

[Illustration: BENJAMIN WEST, P.R.A.

“Sir, I was once a Quaker, and have never left their principles.”]

Ugly and deficient in sight and tail as Rover certainly was, it is also
as equally unquestionable that Simon never had occasion to carry him to
Fox Court, St. James’s Street, for the recovery of his health, under
the direction of Dr. Norman,[162] the canine physician, so strenuously
recommended upon all occasions by George Keate, the poet,[163] and
far-famed connoisseur. No, poor Rover was kept in health by being
allowed to range the streets from six till nine, the hours in which the
nightly stealers of the canine race, and the dexterous of all dentists,
were on their way to Austin’s, at Islington,[164] to dispose of their
cruel depredations upon many a true friend to the indigent blind, “to
whom the blackbird sings as sweetly as to the fairest lady in the land.”


1784.

Mr. West, to whom I had sat for the head of St. John in his picture of
the Last Supper, for the altar of St. George’s Chapel, Windsor,[165]
frequently engaged me to bid for him at auctions, an honour also
occasionally conferred on me for similar services by Sir Joshua Reynolds.
It was during one of these commissions in this year, that the late
Richard Wyatt, Esq., of Milton Place, Egham, Surrey, noticed me; he was
then starting as a collector of pictures, prints, and drawings.[166] That
gentleman kindly invited me to his house, and not only introduced me to
his amiable family, but to his most intimate neighbours. He allowed me
the use of a horse, to enable me more readily to visit the beauties of
Windsor Park and Forest, the scenery of which so attracted and delighted
me, that during one month’s stay I made nearly one hundred studies. The
two Sandbys were visitors to my patron; and to Thomas, then Deputy Ranger
of Windsor Great Park, a situation given to him by his Royal Highness
William, Duke of Cumberland (Thomas Sandby had been engineer draughtsman
to his Royal Highness at the battle of Culloden), I am indebted for
my knowledge of lineal perspective. The Misses Wyatt were delightful
persons, and much noticed at the Egham Balls, for one or two of which
occasions I had the pleasure of painting butterflies on a muslin dress,
and also imitating the “Sir Walter Raleigh,” the “Pride of Culloden,” and
other curious and rare carnations, on tiffany, for their bouquets, which
were then scented and much worn.

I was here introduced to Viscount Maynard, to whom Mr. Wyatt had been
guardian. His Lordship married the celebrated Nancy Parsons,[167] and
was a most spirited draughtsman of a horse. Among other gentlemen, I
was also introduced to the late Sir Richard Colt Hoare, Bart.,[168]
and the late Rev. George Huddesford,[169] of Oxford, Kett’s satirist,
and the witty author of poems entitled _Salmagundi_, dedicated to Mr.
Wyatt. Several of these I have often heard him most humorously sing,
particularly those of “the renowned History and rare Achievements of John
Wilkes.” The chorus ran thus:--

    “John Wilkes he was for Middlesex,
      They chose him knight of the shire;
    And he made a fool of Alderman Bull,
      And call’d Parson Horne a liar.”

“The Barber’s Nuptials,” which may be seen in the _Elegant Extracts_, and
almost every other collection of fugitive poetry, was also written by
him.[170]

Mr. Huddesford had studied under Sir Joshua Reynolds, and had copied many
of the President’s pictures with tolerable ability, with an intention
of pursuing the arts, but his master-talent was more conspicuously
displayed in compositions of fruit, in which his representations of ripe
and melting peaches, and the rich transparent grape, were inimitable.
The late Sir George Beaumont, Bart., with whom Mr. Huddesford had been
extremely intimate, was in possession of a remarkably fine specimen by
him, which the worthy baronet frequently allowed to be copied.

Huddesford, after the death of Warton, chalked on the walls of the
College--

    “The glorious sun of Trinity is set,
    And nothing left but farthing-candle Kett.”[171]

He published _The Elements of General Knowledge_, which were called, at
Oxford “The Elements of General Ignorance”; and his last work, _Emily_,
procured him the name of Emily Kett. His supposed resemblance to a horse
was the occasion of much academical waggery:--his letter-box was often
filled with oats; and when he wished to have his portrait taken, he was
sent to the famous Stubbs,[172] the horse painter, who, on receiving him,
and expecting to hear whether his commission was to be for a filly or a
colt, was much surprised to find Kett pompously announce that he expected
the likeness to be in full canonicals.

Samuel Woodforde (afterwards a Royal Academician)[173] was employed by
Mr. Wyatt, in consequence of an introduction by Sir Richard Colt Hoare,
Bart., to paint trees and landscapes on the panels of his drawing-room,
mostly from scenes in Windsor Park and Forest. Mr. Wyatt was one of
Opie’s early friends. He painted for that gentleman several of the
Burrell and Hoare family; indeed, he was instrumental in bringing that
artist out of his humble and modest lodging in Orange Court, Leicester
Fields,[174] to his house in Queen Street, next door to that for many
years occupied by that comic and most exemplary child of Nature, the
late Miss Pope,[175] whose inimitable acting as Miss Allscrip, in _The
Heiress_, not only delighted the public, but was deservedly complimented
by its author, General Burgoyne, who at one time lived in Hertford
Street, May Fair, in the house that had been inhabited by Lord Sandwich,
and subsequently by R. B. Sheridan and Mr. Dent.[176]

This year, Mr. Flaxman, who then lived in Wardour Street, introduced me
to one of his early patrons, the Rev. Henry Mathew, of Percy Chapel,
Charlotte Street, which was built for him;[177] he was also afternoon
preacher at St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields. At that gentleman’s house, in
Rathbone Place, I became acquainted with Mrs. Mathew and her son, the
late John Hunter’s favourite pupil. With that gentleman, in his youthful
days, I had many an innocent frolic. I was obliged to him in several
instances, and can safely say no one could excel him as an amiable
friend, a dutiful son, or excellent husband. At Mrs. Mathew’s most
agreeable conversaziones I first met the late William Blake,[178] the
artist, to whom she and Mr. Flaxman had been truly kind. There I have
often heard him read and sing several of his poems. He was listened to by
the company with profound silence, and allowed by most of the visitors
to possess original and extraordinary merit. A time will come when the
numerous, though now very rare, works of Blake (in consequence of his
taking very few impressions from the plates before they were rubbed out
to enable him to use them for other subjects) will be sought after with
the most intense avidity.[179] He was considered by Stothard and Flaxman
(and will be by those of congenial minds, if we can reasonably expect
such again) with the highest admiration. These artists allowed him their
most unqualified praise, and were ever anxious to recommend him and
his productions to the patrons of the Arts; but alas! they were not so
sufficiently appreciated as to enable Blake, as every one could wish,
to provide an independence for his surviving partner Kate, who adored
his memory. The late Sir Thomas Lawrence has been heard to declare that
England would be for ever immortalized by the productions of Sir Joshua
Reynolds, Flaxman, and Stothard.

Mrs. Mathew was not only a great encourager of musical composers,
particularly the Italians, but truly kind to young artists. She
patronized Oram, Loutherbourg’s assistant: he was the son of _Old_ Oram,
of the Board of Works, an artist whose topographical pictures possess
considerable merit, and whose name is usually introduced in picture
catalogues under the appellation of “_Old_ Oram.”[180]

Mr. Flaxman, in return for the favours he had received from the Mathew
family, decorated the back parlour of their house, which was their
library, with models (I think they were in putty and sand) of figures in
niches, in the Gothic manner; and Oram painted the window in imitation of
stained glass; the bookcases, tables, and chairs were also ornamented to
accord with the appearance of those of antiquity.

Rathbone Place, at this time, entirely consisted of private houses, and
its inhabitants were all of high respectability. I have heard Mrs.
Mathew say that the three rebel lords, Lovat, Kilmarnock, and Balmerino,
had at different times resided in it; and that she had also been informed
that the floor of her parlours, which is now some steps above the street,
was even with the floor of the recess under the front pediment of St.
Paul’s Cathedral.


1785.

Many a summer’s evening, when I have been enjoying Runnymede, and its
far surrounding variegated meadows, from the wooden seat of Cooper’s
Hill (upon which were engraven numerous initials of lovers, and the
dates of their eternal vows), little did I think that in my future
days it would be in my power to state that I had made drawings of most
of the parish churches as well as family mansions which were then in
view, for the topographical collections of the Duke of Roxborough, Lord
Leicester, the Hon. Horace Walpole, Mr. Bull, Mr. Storer, Dr. Lort,
Mr. Haughton James, Mr. Crowle, and Sir James Winter Lake, Bart.[181]
Several of these, which have since been distributed, I now and then
meet with in the portfolios of more modern illustrators, and they bring
to my recollection some truly pleasing periods. It was in the old house
at Ankerwycke that I was introduced by Lady Lake to Lady Shouldham.
It was at Old Windsor that I dined with Mrs. Vassal, and at Staines
Bridge with the beautiful Miss Towry, since Lady Ellenborough. It was
at Chertsey I was first introduced to Mr. Douglas, Colonel St. Paul,
and those truly kind-hearted characters, Mr. Fox and Mrs. Chamberlain
Clark. At Staines I was benefited by the skill of Dr. Pope;--at
Harrow made known to Dr. Drury;--at Southgate to Alderman Curtis;--at
Trent Park to Mr. Wigston;--at Forty Hill, Enfield, to the antiquary
Gough;--at Bull’s Cross to the facetious Captain Horsley, brother to the
Bishop of Rochester, and the Boddams;--at the “Firs,” Edmonton, to my
ever-to-be-revered friend the late Sir James Winter Lake, Bart.;--at Weir
Hall to the benevolent and highly esteemed Mr. Robert Jones, Mr. Webster
and his friendly son;--at Bruce Castle to Mr. Townsend;--at Tottenham
to Mr. John Snell, and to Mr. Samuel Salt. This gentleman informed me
that he was one of the four who buried Sterne.[182] Of the friendly
inhabitants of these houses, and many others to whom I had the pleasure
of being known, within the extensive view from Cooper’s Hill, very few
are now living.

During the Races on Runnymede, I have often seen their late Majesties
George the Third and Queen Charlotte driving about in an open
four-wheeled chaise, enjoying the pleasures of the course on equal
terms with the visitors. I remember to have been spoken to three times
by his Majesty; once on a very foggy morning at a stile near Clewer,
when I stepped back to give a gentleman, who had nearly approached it
in the adjoining field, the preference of coming over first; but upon
his saying, “Come over, come over,” I knew the voice to be the King’s,
consequently I took off my hat, and obeyed. His Majesty observed in his
quick manner, when getting over, “A thick fog, thick fog.” Another time,
when I was drawing an old oak in Windsor Park, the King and Queen drove
very near me in their chaise, and one of his Majesty’s horses shied at my
paper; upon which the King called out to me, “Shut your book, sir, shut
your book!”

The last time I was noticed by the King, I must say his Majesty appeared
to be a little startled, as well he might. It was under the following
circumstances. Wishing to make a drawing of one of the original stalls
in St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, before they were finally taken down,
a shilling prevailed upon one of the workmen to lock me in during his
dinner-hour. However, it so happened that his Majesty, who frequently
let himself into the Chapel at that time to look at the progress of the
works, did not perceive me, as I stood in a corner, but on his return
from the altar, he asked, “Who are you, sir? Oh! you startled my horse in
the park the other day. What are you about?” I then held up my drawing;
and his Majesty, who must have noticed my embarrassment, did me the
honour to say, “Very correct; I believe you are at Mr. Wyatt’s,--a very
good man;--I have a high regard for him and all his family.”

During the time I was studying the scenery of Windsor Park, Mr. Thomas
Sandby, who was busily engaged in placing the numerous stones to form
the representation of rocks and caverns at the head of the Virginia
Water, in Windsor Park, frequently dug for stones in Bagshot Heath.
Fortunately he discovered one of an immense size, which he thought would
afford him a massive breadth in his composition, but it was so large he
was under the necessity of breaking it with gunpowder; however, fortune
favoured his design by blowing it into two nearly equal parts, so that
he was enabled to join them on their destined spot to great advantage as
to general effect. This was Mr. Thomas Sandby’s second attempt at the
water-head;[183] he had in the first instance failed by using only sand
and clay, for which failure that worthy man was not only nicknamed “Tommy
Sandbank,” but roughly scourged by the throng of Huddesford, who composed
a song upon the occasion, from which I have selected the following
verses:--

    1.

    When Tom was employ’d to construct the Pond Head,
    As he ponder’d the task, to himself thus he said:
    “Since a head I must make, what’s a head but a noddle?
    So I think I had best take my own for a model.”
                                        Derry down, etc.

    2.

    Then his work our projector began out of hand,
    The outside he constructed with rubbish and sand;
    But brains on this head had been quite thrown away,
    Those he kept for himself, so he lined it with clay.

    5.

    But the water at length, to his utter dismay,
    A bankruptcy made, and his head ran away;--
    ’Twas a thick head for certain; but, had it been thicker,
    No head can endure that is always in liquor.

    12.

    Hence, by way of a Moral, the fallacy’s shown
    Of the maxim that two heads are better than one;--
    For none e’er was so scurvily dealt with before,
    By the head that he made and the head that he wore.
                                        Derry down, etc.

[Illustration: FRANCIS GROSE

“A chiel’s amang ye takin’ notes.”]

For many years the back parlour of the “Feathers”[184] public-house
(a sign complimentary to its neighbour, Frederick, Prince of Wales,
who inhabited Leicester House), which stood on the side of Leicester
Fields, had been frequented by artists, and several well-known amateurs.
Among the former were Stuart,[185] the Athenian traveller; Scott,[186]
the marine painter; old Oram, of the Board of Works;[187] Luke
Sullivan,[188] the miniature painter, who engraved that inimitable print
from Hogarth’s picture of the “March to Finchley,” now in the Foundling
Hospital; Captain Grose,[189] the author of _Antiquities of England_,
_History of Armour_,[190] etc.; Mr. Hearne,[191] the elegant and correct
draughtsman of many of England’s Antiquities (so beautifully engraved
by his amiable friend Byrne), Nathaniel Smith, my father, etc. The
amateurs were Henderson, the actor; Mr. Morris, a silversmith; Mr. John
Ireland, then a watchmaker in Maiden Lane, and since editor of Boydell’s
edition of Dr. Trusler’s work, _Hogarth Moralized_; and Mr. Baker,
of St. Paul’s Churchyard, whose collection of Bartolozzi’s works was
unequalled.[192] When this house, the sign of the “Feathers,” was taken
down to make way for Dibdin’s Theatre, called the “Sans Souci,” several
of its frequenters adjourned to the “Coach and Horses” public-house in
Castle Street, Leicester Fields; but in consequence of their not proving
customers sufficiently expensive for that establishment, the landlord one
evening venturing to light them out with a farthing candle, they betook
themselves to Gerard Street, and thence to the “Blue Posts” in Dean
Street, where the club dwindled into two or three members, viz. Edridge,
the portrait draughtsman; Alexander, of the British Museum; and Edmunds,
the upholsterer, who had been undertaker to the greater part of the
club.[193]

Mr. Baker, the gentleman before mentioned, being a single man, and
sometimes keeping rather late hours, was now and then accompanied by a
friend half way home, by way of a walk. It was on one of these nights,
that, just as he and I were approaching Temple Bar, about one o’clock,
a most unaccountable appearance claimed our attention,--it was no
less an object than an elephant, whose keepers were coaxing it to pass
through the gateway. He had been accompanied by several persons from the
Tower Wharf with tall poles, but was principally guided by two men with
ropes, each walking on either side of the street, to keep him as much
as possible in the middle on his way to the menagerie, Exeter Change;
to which destination, after passing St. Clement’s Church, he steadily
trudged on with strict obedience to the commands of his keepers. I had
the honour afterwards of partaking of a pot of Barclay’s Entire with this
same elephant, which high mark of his condescension was bestowed when
I accompanied my friend the late Sir James Winter Lake, Bart., to view
the rare animals in Exeter Change--that gentleman being assured by the
elephant’s keeper that if he would offer the beast a shilling, he would
see the noble animal nod his head and drink a pot of porter. The elephant
no sooner had taken the shilling, which he did in the mildest manner from
the palm of Sir James’s hand, than he gave it to the keeper, and eagerly
watched his return with the beer. The elephant then, after placing his
proboscis to the top of the tankard, drew up nearly the whole of the then
good beverage. The keeper observed, “You will hardly believe, gentlemen,
but the little he has left is quite warm;” upon this we were tempted to
taste it, and it really was so. This animal was afterwards disposed of
for the sum of one thousand guineas.[194]

[Illustration: COVENT GARDEN THROUGH HOGARTH’S EYES

“The first square inhabited by the great.”

_J. T. Smith_]


1786.

Possibly the present frequenters of print sales may receive some little
entertainment from a description of a few of the most singular of those
who constantly attended the auctions during my boyish days. The elder
Langford, of Covent Garden, introduced by Foote as Mr. Puff, in his farce
of _The Minor_,[195] I well remember; yet by reason of my being obliged
to attend more regularly the subsequent evening sales at Paterson’s
and Hutchins’s--next-door-neighbour auctioneers, on the north side of
King Street, Covent Garden,[196] I am better enabled to speak to the
peculiarities of their visitors than those of Mr. Langford.

It was in 1783, during the sales of the extensive collection of Mr.
Moser, the first keeper of the Royal Academy,[197] and Mr. Millan,
bookseller at Charing Cross,[198] that I noticed the following remarkable
characters. I shall, however, first endeavour to describe the person of
Paterson, a man much respected by all who really knew him; but perhaps
by none with more sincerity than Doctor Johnson, who had honoured him
by standing godfather to his son Samuel, and whom he continued to
notice as he grew up with the most affectionate regard, as appears in
the letters which the doctor wrote in his favour to his friends Sir
Joshua Reynolds and Mr. Humphrey, printed by Boswell.[199] Mr. Paterson
was in height about five feet eight inches, and stooped a little in
the shoulders. When I first knew him, he was a spare man, and wore a
powdered clubwig, similar to that worn by Tom Davies, the bookseller and
biographer of Garrick, of whom there is an engraved portrait. Paterson
was really a walking library, and of manners precisely coinciding with
the old school. I remember that by a slight impediment in his speech,
he always pronounced the letter R as a V; for instance, Dart’s _History
of Canterbe_v_y_, and a dromedary, he pronounced a d_wa_mmeda_v_y;
notwithstanding this defect, he publicly lectured on the beauties of
Shakspeare.

Mr. Gough,[200] the Editor of Camden’s _Britannia_, was the constant
frequenter of his book-sales. This antiquary was about the same height
as the auctioneer, but in a wig very different, as he wore, when I knew
him, a short shining curled one. His coat was of “formal cut,” but he
had no round belly; and his waistcoat and smallclothes were from the same
piece. He was mostly in boots, and carried a swish-whip when he walked.
His temper I know was not good, and he seldom forgave those persons who
dared to bid stoutly against him for a lot at an auction: his eyes, which
were small and of the winky-pinky sort, fully announced the fretful
being. As for his judgment in works of art, if he had any it availed him
little, being as much satisfied with the dry and monotonous manner of Old
Basire,[201] as our late President West was with the beautiful style of
Woollett and Hall.

Dr. Lort,[202] the constant correspondent of Old Cole,[203] was a man
of his own stamp, broad and bony, in height nearly six feet, of manners
equally morose, and in every respect just as forbidding. His wig was a
large _Busby_, and usually of a brown appearance, for want of a dust of
powder. He was chaplain to the Duke of Devonshire; and as he wore thick
worsted stockings, and walked anyhow through the mud, considered himself
in no way obliged to give the street-sweepers a farthing. He had some
wit, however, but it was often displayed in a cowardly manner, being
mostly directed towards his little opponent, Doctor Gossett,[204] who
was unfortunately much afflicted by deformity, and of a temper easily
roused by too frequent a repetition of threepenny biddings at Paterson’s.
Paterson sold his books singly, and took threepence at a bidding.

Hutchins was about five feet nine inches, but in appearance much shorter
by reason of his corpulency. His high forehead, when compared with a
perpendicular, was at an angle of forty-five. He was what Spurzheim
would call a _simple_ honest man: his wife was of the same build, but
most powerfully possessed the organ of inquisitiveness, which induced
her to be a constant occupant of a pretty large and easy chair, by the
side of the fire in the auction-room, in order that she might see how
business was going on. Mr. and Mrs. Hutchins appeared so affectionately
mutual in all their public conclusions, that Caleb Whitefoord, the witty
wine-merchant, one of the print-sale visitors, attempted to flourish off
the following observation as one of his invention: “You see,” said he to
Captain Baillie, “Cocker is not always correct; _one_ and _one_ do not in
this instance make _two_.”[205]

Caleb Whitefoord[206] was what is usually called a slight-built man,
and much addicted when in conversation to shrug up his shoulders. He had
a thin face, with little eyes; his deportment was gentlemanly, though
perhaps sometimes too high for his situation in life. His dress, upon
which he bestowed great attention, was in some instances singular,
particularly in his hat and wig, which were remarkable as being solitary
specimens of the Garrick School. He considered himself _a first-rate_
judge of pictures, always preferring those by the _old masters_, but
which he endeavoured to improve by touching up; and when in this
conceited employment, I have frequently seen him fall back in his chair,
and turn his head from one shoulder to the other, with as much admiration
of what he had done, as Hogarth’s sign-painter of the Barley-mow in his
inimitable print of Beer Street.

[Illustration: LONDON STREET MERCHANTS: UMBRELLAS TO MEND

ETCHED BY J. T. SMITH]

Captain William Baillie[207] was also an amateur in art; he suffered
from an asthma, which often stood his friend by allowing a lengthened fit
of coughing to stop a sentence whenever he found himself in want of words
to complete it. When not engaged in his duties as a commissioner of the
Stamp Office, he for years amused himself in what he called _etching_;
but in what Rembrandt, as well as every true artist, would call
scratching. He could not draw, nor had he an eye for effect. To prove
this assertion, I will “_end him at a blow_,” by bringing to my informed
reader’s recollection the captain’s execrable plate, which he considered
to be an improvement upon Rembrandt’s “Three Trees.” Mr. West classed
him amongst the conceited men.--“Sir,” said the venerable President,
“when I requested him to show me a fine impression of Rembrandt’s Hundred
Guilder print, he placed one of his own _restored_ impressions before
me, with as much confidence as my little friend Edwards[208] attempts to
teach Perspective in the Royal Academy.” Captain Baillie commonly wore a
camlet coat, and walked so slowly and with such measured steps, that he
appeared like a man heavily laden with jack-boots and Munchausen spurs;
and whenever he entered an auction-room, he generally permitted his cough
to announce his arrival.

Mr. Baker,[209] an opulent dealer in lace, was nightly to be found
bidding for the choicest impressions, which he seldom allowed any
antagonist, however powerful, to carry away. He was well-proportioned,
and though sometimes singular in his manner, and too negligent in his
dress, was a most honourable man.

Mr. Woodhouse, of Tokenhouse Yard, was also a bidder for fine things;
he did not possess so much of the milk of human kindness as Mr. Baker;
indeed, his manners were at times a little repulsive, although he had
been many years principal cashier in Sir George Prescott’s banking-house.
He was an extensive collector of Cipriani’s drawings.[210]

Mr. Musgrave,[211] of Norfolk Street, frequently attended auctions of
prints, but particularly those of pictures; he was an accomplished
gentleman in his address, and most feelingly benevolent in his actions.
His figure was short, his features pleasing, and he seldom went abroad
without a rose in his button-hole. When I state that no man could have
had fewer enemies, I think even the descendants of “Vinegar Tom”[212]
will never haunt my bedside.

There was another truly polite and kind-hearted attendant at Hutchins’s
sales, Mr. Pitt, of Westminster. The manners of this gentleman were
precise, and he wore a large five-story white wig.

The next collector at this period was Mr. Wodhull,[213] the translator of
Euripides. He was very thin, with a long nose and thick lips; of manners
perfectly gentlemanly. The great singularity of his appearance arose,
perhaps, from his closing his coat from the first button, immediately
under his chin, to the last, nearly extending to the bottom of his
deep-flap waistcoat-pockets. He seldom spoke, nor would he exceed one
sixpence beyond the sum which he had put down in his catalogue, to give
for the articles he intended to bid for; and though he frequently went
away without purchasing a single lot, or even speaking to any one during
the whole evening, he always took off his hat, and bowed low to the
company before he left the auction-room.

Mr. Rawle, an accoutrement-maker, then living in the Strand, was a
visitor: he was the friend of Captain Grose, and the executor of
Thomas Worlidge,[214] the etcher. In his early days he had collected
many curious and valuable articles. His cabinets contained numerous
interesting portraits in miniature of Elizabethan characters. He was
a professed Commonwealth man, and possessed many of the Protector’s,
or, according to some writers, the usurper’s letters. He also prided
himself upon having the leathern doublet, sword, and hat in which
Oliver dissolved the Parliament, and showed a helmet that he could
incontrovertibly prove had belonged to him. He likewise frequently
expatiated for a considerable time upon a magnificent wig, which he said
had been worn by that Merry Monarch, King Charles the Second.[215] This
singular character never would allow more than a halfpenny-worth of
vegetables to be put upon his table, though they were ever so cheap; and
when they were above his price, he went without.[216]

Another singular character of the name of Beauvais, who at one time had
flourished at Tunbridge Wells as a miniature-painter,[217] attended the
evening auctions. This man, who was short and rather lumpy in stature,
indeed nearly as wide as he was high, was a native of France, and through
sheer idleness became so filthily dirty in his person and dress, that
few of the company would sit by him. Yet I have seen him in a black suit
with his sword and bag, in the evening of the day on which he had been
at Court, where for years he was a constant attendant. This “Sack of
Sand,” as Suett the actor generally called him, sat at the lower end of
the table; and as he very seldom made purchases, few persons ventured to
converse with him. He frequently much annoyed Hutchins by the loudest of
all snoring; and now and then Doctor Wolcot would ask him a question,
in order to indulge in a laugh at his mode of uttering an answer, which
Peter Pindar declared to be more like the gobbling of a turkey-cock than
anything human. He lived in a two-pair-of-stairs back room in St. James’s
Market; and, after his death, Hutchins sold his furniture. I recollect
his spinet, music-stool, and a few dog’s-eared sheets of lessons sold for
three-and-sixpence.

Mr. Matthew Mitchell,[218] the banker, frequently joined these parties,
and seldom went away without a purchase of prints under his arm. He was
extremely well-proportioned, and walked in what I have often heard the
ladies of the _old school_ style a portly manner. He was remarkable
for a width of chin, which was full as large as Titus Oates’s, and a
set of large white teeth. His features altogether, however, bespoke a
good-natured and liberal man. This gentleman was very kind to me when
I was a boy, and I never hear his name mentioned but with unspeakable
pleasure.

[Illustration: CHRISTIE’S AS “RAINY DAY” SMITH KNEW IT]

Mr. Mitchell had a most serious antipathy to a kitten. He could sit in
a room without experiencing the least emotion from a cat; but directly
he perceived a kitten, his flesh shook on his bones, like a snail in
vinegar. I once relieved him from one of these paroxysms, by taking a
kitten out of the room; on my return he thanked me, and declared his
feelings to be insupportable upon such an occasion. Long subsequently I
asked him whether he could in any way account for this agitation. He said
he could not, adding that he experienced no such sensations upon seeing
a full-grown cat; but that a kitten, after he had looked at it for a
minute or two, in his imagination grew to the size of an overpowering
elephant.

At this period Hogarth’s prints were in such high request, that whenever
anything remarkable appeared, it was stoutly contested: for Mr. Packer,
of Combe’s Brewhouse, was one of the most enterprising of the Hogarth
collectors. This gentleman, though his manners sometimes appeared blunt,
was highly respected by all who really knew him: it was at this time he
became my friend.[219]

He was tall, of good proportion, and well-favoured. He had his
peculiarities in dress, particularly as to his hat, which was an
undoubted original. Mr. Packer’s opponents in Hogarth prints were two
persons, one of the name of Vincent, a tall, half-starved-looking man,
who walked with a high gilt chased-headed cane (he had been a chaser of
milk-pots, watch-cases, and heads of canes, and he always walked with
this cane as a show-article), and the other of the name of Powell, better
known under the appellation of “_Old black wig_.”

Henderson, the player,[220] who was also a collector of Hogarth’s works,
seldom made his appearance on these boards--John Ireland being his
deputy-manager.[221]

I must not omit to mention another singular but most honourable
character, of the name of Heywood, nicknamed “Old Iron Wig.” His dress
was precise, and manner of walking rather stiff. He was an extensive
purchaser of every kind of article in art, particularly Rowlandson’s
drawings; for this purpose he employed the merry and friendly Mr.
Seguier,[222] the picture-dealer, a schoolfellow of my father’s, to bid
for him.

I shall now close this list by observing that my early friend and
fellow-pupil, Rowlandson, who has frequently made drawings of Hutchins
and his print-auctions, has produced a most spirited etching, in which
not only many of the above-described characters are introduced, but also
most of the printsellers of the day. There is another, though it must
be owned very indifferent, plate, containing what the publisher called
“Portraits of Printsellers,” from a monotonous drawing by the late
Silvester Harding, whose manner of delineation made persons appear to
be all of one family, particularly his sleepy-eyed and gaudily-
drawings of ladies.


1787.

At this time my mimic powers induced Delpini the clown,[223] who had
often been amused with several of my imitations of public characters,
to mention me to Mr. John Palmer,[224] who, after listening to my
specimens, promised me an engagement at the Royalty Theatre, which was
then erecting; but as that gentleman was too sanguine, and failed in
procuring a licence, I, as well as many other strutting heroes, was
disappointed.

After this my friends advised me to resume the arts; and, with the usual
confidence of an unskilful beginner, I at once presumed to style myself
“drawing-master.” However, my slender abilities, or rather industry,
were noticed by my kind patrons, who soon recommended me to pupils, and
by that pursuit I was enabled, with some increase of talent, to support
myself for several years. It is rather extraordinary that mimicry with
me was not confined to the voice, for I could in many instances throw
my features into a resemblance of the person whose voice I imitated.
Indeed, so ridiculous were several of these gesticulations, that I
remember diverting one of my companions by endeavouring to look like the
various lion-headed knockers as we passed through a long street. Skilful,
however, as I was declared to be in some of my attempts, I could not in
any way manage the dolphin knockers in Dean Street, Fetter Lane. Their
ancient and fish-like appearance was certainly many fathoms beyond my
depth; and as much by reason of my being destitute of gills, and the nose
of that finny tribe, extending nearly in width to its tremendous mouth, I
was obliged to give up the attempt.

When first I saw these knockers, which were all of solid brass, seventeen
of the doors of the four-and-twenty houses in Dean Street were adorned
with them, and the good housewives’ care was to keep them as bright as
the chimney-sweeper’s ladle on May-day. As my mind from my earliest
remembrance was of an inquisitive nature, my curiosity urged me to learn
why this street, above all others, was thus adorned; and my inquiry was,
as I then thought, at once answered satisfactorily.

This ground and the houses upon it belong to the Fishmongers’ Company,
was the answer returned by one of the oldest inhabitants; and the
heraldic reader will recollect that the arms of that worshipful and
ancient body are dolphins. Not being satisfied with this assertion,
however, I went to Fishmongers’ Hall, and was there assured that the
Company never had any property in Dean Street, Fetter Lane. On the 17th
of May, 1829, I visited this street in order to see how many of my
brazen-faced acquaintances exposed themselves, and I found that Dean
Street was nearly as deficient in its dolphin knockers as a churchyard is
of its earliest tombstones, for out of seventeen only three remained.[225]

In the commencement of this year I took lodgings in Gerrard Street, and
acquiesced in the regulations of my landlady; one of the principal of
which was, that I never was to expect to be let in after twelve o’clock,
unless the servant was apprised of my staying out later, and then she
was to be permitted to sit up for me. Being in my twenty-first year, of
a lively disposition, and moreover fond of theatrical representations,
I did not at all times “remember twelve”; for although Mrs. Siddons
sounded it so emphatically upon my ear, I could never quit the theatre
till half an hour after. My finances at this period being sometimes too
slender to afford an additional lodging for the night, and not often
venturing to expose myself to insult, or the artful and designing, by
perambulating the city, unless the moon invited me, I fortunately hit
upon the following expedient, which not only sheltered me from rain,
but afforded me a seat by the fireside. I either used to go to the
watch-house of St. Paul, Covent Garden, or that of St. Anne, Soho; so,
having made myself free of both by agreeing with the watch-house keeper
to stand the expense of two pots of porter upon every nocturnal visit, I
was enabled to see what is called “life and human nature.”

[Illustration: A LONDON WATCH HOUSE]

One of the curious scenes witnessed upon a more recent occasion afforded
me no small amusement. Sir Harry Dinsdale, usually called Dimsdale, a
short, feeble little man, was brought in to St. Anne’s watch-house,
charged by two colossal guardians of the night with conduct most unruly.
“What have you, Sir Harry, to say to all this?” asked the Dogberry of
St. Anne. The knight, who had been roughly handled, commenced like a
true orator, in a low tone of voice, “May it please ye, my magistrate,
I am not drunk; it is _languor_. A parcel of the bloods of the Garden
have treated me cruelly, because I would not treat them. This day, Sir,
I was sent for by Mr. Sheridan to make my speech upon the table at the
Shakspeare Tavern, in _Common_ Garden; he wrote the speech for me, and
always gives me half a guinea, when he sends for me to the tavern. You
see I didn’t go in my Royal robes; I only put ’um on when I stand to be
member.” Constable--“Well, but Sir Harry, why are you brought here?” One
of the watchmen then observed, “That though Sir Harry was but a little
_shambling_ fellow, he was so _upstroppolus_ and kicked him about at such
a rate, that it was as much as he and his comrade could do to bring him
along.” As there was no one to support the charge, Sir Harry was advised
to go home, which, however, he swore he would not do at midnight without
an escort. “Do you know,” said he, “there’s a parcel of _raps_ now on the
outside waiting for me.”

The constable of the night gave orders for him to be protected to the
public-house opposite the west end of St. Giles’s Church, where he then
lodged. Sir Harry hearing a noise in the street, muttered, “I shall catch
it; I know I shall.” “See the conquering hero comes” (_cries without_).
“Ay, they always use that tune when I gain my election at Garrett.”

Although many of my readers may recollect Sir Harry Dinsdale, yet it
may be well for the information of others to state who and what he was.
Before I commence his history, however, I should observe that the death
of Sir Jeffery Dunstan, a dealer in old wigs, who had been for many years
returned member for Garrett, first gave popularity to Harry Dinsdale,
who, from the moment he stood as candidate, received mock knighthood,
and was ever after known under the appellation of “Sir Harry.”[226]
There are several portraits of this singular little object, by some
called “Honeyjuice,” as well as of his more whimsical predecessor, Sir
Jeffery Dunstan, better known as “Old Wigs.” Sir Harry exercised the
itinerant trade of a muffinman in the afternoon; he had a little bell,
which he held to his ear, smiling ironically at its tingling. His cry
was “Muffins! muffins! ladies come buy _me_! pretty, handsome, blooming,
smiling maids.” Flaxman the sculptor, and Mrs. Mathew, of blue-stocking
memory, equipped him as a hardware man, and as such I made two etchings
of him.

[Illustration: SIR HARRY DINSDALE

MAYOR OF GARRAT AND EMPEROR ANTI-NAPOLEON]

[Illustration: SIR JEFFERY DUNSTAN

“His first appearance on any stage.”]

Many a time when I had no inclination to go to bed at the dawn of day,
I have looked down from my window to see whether the author of the
_Sublime and Beautiful_ had left his drawing-room, where I had seen that
great orator during many a night after he had left the House of Commons,
seated at a table covered with papers, attended by an amanuensis who
sat opposite to him.[227] Major Money, who had nearly been lost at sea
with his balloon, at that time lodged in the same house. Of the Major’s
perilous situation at sea, the elder Reinagle made a spirited picture,
of which there is an engraving.[228]

In this year I had the honour for the first time of exhibiting at the
Royal Academy. My production was a portrait of the venerable beech-tree
which stood within memory at a short distance from Sand-pit Gate, in
Windsor Forest, and which tree has been so admirably painted by West.
This picture, which measures five feet in height and seven in length, was
sold by auction at Mr. West’s house, in May 23rd, 1829. My drawing, as
well as many of my studies made from that delightful display of forest
scenery, was highly finished in black chalk; it was purchased by the late
Earl of Warwick, who was not only an admirable draughtsman himself, but
kind to young artists. By that nobleman I was introduced to the Hon. F.
Charles Greville [the Earl’s brother and a Vice-President of the Royal
Society], whose taste for the Fine Arts is too well known to need any
eulogium from me.[229] This gentleman gave Cipriani above one hundred
guineas for an elaborate drawing of the famous Barberini vase, brought
to England by Sir William Hamilton.[230] Several learned writers have
given their conjectures as to the subject so beautifully sculptured on
this vase; but I understand that nothing has been adduced as yet that
sufficiently elucidates it. This vase is deposited in the British Museum.

This grey and silver beech was the loftiest in the forest, and
particularly beautiful when the sun shone upon its ancient limbs; his
capacious and hollow trunk, with a small additional hut, afforded
accommodation for a woodman, his wife, four children, a sow and a
numerous litter of pigs. This happy family retreat, which had frequently
been noticed by King George III., was at last unavoidably obliged,
from the symptoms it exhibited of falling, to submit to the woodman’s
axe--that woodman whose family had weathered many a storm, and had been
screened from the scorching sunbeams under its majestic branches, several
of which, by reason of its “bald and high antiquity,” had not issued
foliage for many a summer. The King, however, who never suffered the
humblest of his subjects whose industry he had noticed, to sigh under
calamity, ordered a snug, neat brick cottage to be built for the honest
occupant and his dependents, which was erected in the same forest, and at
as short a distance as possible from the former residence.

One curious and interesting discovery resulted from the demolition of
this venerable tree. The woodman, who had allowed the smoke from his
peat-piled fire to pass through one of the hollow limbs of the tree for
several years without sweeping it, had, by accumulated incrustations,
produced a mass of the finest brown colour, resembling the present
appearance of that used by Rembrandt, so much coveted by the English
artists. The discovery was made by Mr. Paul Sandby, who was fortunately
passing at the time the timber was on the ground, who immediately secured
a tolerable quantity to enable him to prove that the smoke from forest
fuel, united with the heated branch of a hollow and aged beech, produced
the finest bistre: his son, the present Mr. Sandby, gave me a lump of it,
which I presented to the late Sir George Beaumont.[231] Having mentioned
this bistre to several Roman artists, they informed me that a strong
decoction of the sap of the ilex, or evergreen oak, produces a colour
nearly similar; and of this I have had satisfactory proof. These, and
suchlike bistres, would be much safer for the artist to use than that
called sepia, which is made from the ink of the cuttle-fish, which, being
a marine production, ever retains its saline and pernicious qualities,
as may be seen in several of the numerous drawings made by Guercino,
where the colour has left a blot, which has completely eaten through the
paper. However, after all the trials of our experimentalists to match the
present tint of Rembrandt’s drawings, and however pleasingly ingenious
their discoveries have been, still I am inclined to believe that much, if
not the whole, of the effect of old drawings is owing to that produced
by time; and in this idea I am borne out by a small drawing which the
ever-to-be-revered Flaxman made with a pen in common writing-ink: he drew
it when I was a lad, and it is now a deep rich brown. May we not also
fairly conclude, from the brown tint of most of our old manuscripts,
that time has thus operated upon the ink? if so, the question is, what
will the future colour of that which we now use in imitation, consisting
of many ingredients, be, after fifty-five years, the elapsed time since
I received my drawing from the kind hand of Flaxman? It is a curious
fact, however, that the ink used by the ancient Egyptians on nearly two
hundred specimens of the written inscriptions on papyrus collected by Mr.
Salt,[232] now in the British Museum, are as jet a black as Cozens’s[233]
blotting-ink, or Day and Martin’s far-famed blacking.


1788.

Although not considered an Adonis by the ladies, yet most of those to
whom I had the pleasure to be known, noticed me as a favourite, and by
some my appearance in company was cordially greeted. “Friend Thomas,”
asked one, “pray what play didst thou see last night?” With this
appellation I was frequently addressed, in consequence of my mother
having been a member of the Society of Friends. “_Love’s Labour Lost_,”
being my answer to the pre-engaged fair one, uttered perhaps with a
smile, she was induced to rejoin, “If you had not hitherto been so blind
a son of Venus, you would not have lost my smiles.” After this rebuke,
my pursuit became brisker, and I at last fixed my heart upon my first
wife.[234] Upon becoming a Benedict, I partly recovered the use of my
senses, gave up my clubs, dissolved many connections, and in order to
be faithful to my pledge, “to love and to cherish,” I applied myself
steadily to my etching-table, and commenced a series of quarto plates,
to illustrate Mr. Pennant’s truly interesting account of our great city
(entitled _Some Account of London_), which I dedicated to my patron, Sir
James Winter Lake, Bart.

Sir James was a governor of the Hudson’s Bay Company,--a situation, it is
well known, he filled with credit to himself as well as the satisfaction
of every one connected with that highly-respected body. Sir James most
kindly invited me to take a house near him at Edmonton, where I had the
honour, for the space of seven years, of enjoying the steady friendship
of himself and family. Lady Lake, who then retained much of her youthful
beauty, by her elegance of language and extreme affability charmed every
one. To clever people of every description she was kind, and benevolent
to the poor.

The Lake family consisted of Sir James, his lady, their sons, James,
Willoughby, Atwill, and Andrew,--their daughters, Mary, Charlotte, and
Anne.[235] Their residence, which had long been their family mansion,
was distant about a mile from the Angel Inn, and was called “The Firs,”
in consequence of the approach to the house being planted on either side
with double rows of that tree.

[Illustration: ELIZABETH CANNING

“For my own part, I am not at all brought to believe her story.”

_Horace Walpole_]


1789.

This year proved more lucrative to me than any preceding, for at this
time I professed portrait painting both in oils and crayons; but, alas!
after using a profusion of carmine, and placing many an eye straight
that was misdirected, before another season came, my exertions were
mildewed by a decline of orders, owing not only to the salubrity of the
air of Edmonton, but to the regularity of those who had sat to me, for
they would neither die nor quit their mansions, but kept themselves snug
within their King-William iron gates and red-brick-crested piers, so that
there was no accommodation for new-comers; nor would the red land-owners
allow one inch of ground to the Tooley Street Camomile Cottage
builders.[236] However, I experienced enough to convince me that, had I
diverged along the cross-roads towards the Bald-faced Stag, the highway
to the original Tulip-tree at Waltham Abbey, or the green lanes to
Hornsey Wood House, I might have considerably increased my income; but
this would have been impossible without a conveyance. Nevertheless, as
it was, the reader will hardly believe that my marches of fame were far
more extensive than those of Major Sturgeon;[237] his were confined to
marches and counter-marches, from Ealing to Acton, and from Acton to
Ealing, next-door neighbours: now, my doves took a circuitous flight from
Tottenham to “Kicking Jenny” at Southgate; then to Enfield, ay, even to
its very Wash, rendered notorious by Mary Squires and Bet Canning;[238]
thence over Walton’s famed river Lea: thence up to Chingford’s
ivy-mantled tower; down again, crossing the Lea with the lowing herd, to
Tottenham High Cross, finishing where they put up on the embattlements of
the once noble Castle of Bruce.

It was in the centre of the above vicinities, at “Edmonton so gay,”
the rendezvous of Shakspeare’s merry devil,[239] that _I profiled,
three-quartered, full-faced_, and _buttoned up_ the retired
embroidered weavers, their crummy wives, and tightly-laced daughters.
Ay, those were the days! my friends of the loom, as Tom King declared in
the prologue to _Bon Ton_, when Mother Fussock could ride in a one-horse
chaise, warm from Spitalfields, on a Sunday![240]


1790.

Many a rural walk have I and my beloved enjoyed, accompanied by our
uninvited, playful, tailed butterfly-hunter, through the lonely
honeysuckled lanes to the “Widow Colley’s,” whose nut-brown, mantling
home-brewed could have stood the test with that of Skelton’s far-famed
Elyn--the ale-wife of England, upon whose October skill Henry VIII.’s
Poet Laureate sang.[241] Sometimes our strolls were extended to old
Matthew Cook’s Ferry, by the side of the Lea, so named after him, and
well known to many a Waltonian student. Matthew generally contrived to
keep sixteen cats, all of the finest breed, and, as cats go, of the
best of tempers, all of whom he had taught distinct tricks; but it was
his custom morning and evening to make them regularly, one after the
other, leap over his hands joined as high as his arms could reach: and
this attention to his cats, which occupied nearly the whole of his
time, afforded him as much pleasure as Hartry, the cupper in May’s
Buildings,[242] and his assistant could receive in phlebotomizing, in
former days, above one hundred customers on a Sunday morning, that being
the only leisure time the industrious mechanic could spare for the
operation.

Melancholy as Cook’s Ferry is during the winter, it is still more so
in the time of an inundation, when it is almost insupportable; and
had not Matty enjoyed the society of his cats, who certainly kept the
house tolerably free from rats and mice, at the accustomed time of a
high flood he must have been truly wretched. In this year, during one
of these visitations, in order to gratify my indefatigable curiosity,
I visited him over the meadows, partly in a cart and partly in a boat,
conducted by his baker and Tom Fogin, his barber. We found him standing
in a washing-tub, dangling a bit of scrag of mutton before the best fire
existing circumstances could produce, in a room on the ground floor,
knee-deep in water, whilst he ever and anon raised his voice to his cats
in the room above, where he had huddled them for safety.

The baker, after delivering his bread in at the window, and I, after
fastening our skiff to the shutter-hook, waited the return of Fogin, who
had launched himself into a tub to shave Matthew, who had perched himself
on the coroneted top of a tall Queen Anne’s chair, and drawn his feet as
much under him as possible, and then, with the palms of his hands flat
upon his knees to keep the balance true, was prepared to suck in Fogin’s
tales in the tub during his shave. Tom retailed all the scandal he had
been able to collect during the preceding week from the surrounding
villages; how Dolly _alias_ Matthew Booth, a half-witted fellow, was
stoutly caned by old John Adams, the astronomical schoolmaster, for
calling him “a moon-hauler,”--how Mr. Wigston trespassed on Miss
Thoxley’s waste,--of the sisters Tatham being called the “wax dolls”
of Edmonton, whose chemises Bet Nun had declared only measured sixteen
inches in diameter,--of old Fuller, the banker, riding to Ponder’s End
with a stone in his mouth to keep it moist, in order to save the expense
of drink,--upon Farmer Bellows’s and old Le Grew’s psalm-singing,--of
Alderman Curtis and his Southgate grapery, and of his neighbour, a divine
gentlem--_man_, I had very nearly called him, who had horsewhipped his
wife.


1791.

I remember on a midsummer morn of this year making one of a party of
pleasure, consisting of the worthy baronet Sir James Lake, the elder John
Adams,[243] schoolmaster of Edmonton, Samuel Ireland,[244] author of the
_Thames_, _Medway_, etc. We started from my cottage at Edmonton, and took
the road north. The first house we noticed was an old brick mansion at
the extreme end of the town, erected at about the time of King Charles
I., opposite butcher Wright’s. This dilapidated fabric was let out in
tenements, and the happiest of its inmates was a gay old woman who lived
in one of its numerous attics. She gained her bread by spinning, and as
we ascended she was singing the old song of “Little boy blue, come blow
me your horn” to a neighbour’s child, left to her care for the day.
“Well, Mary,” quoth the a-b-c-darian, “you are always gay; what is your
opinion of the lads and lasses of the present time, compared with those
of your youthful days?” “I’ faith,” answered Mary, “they are pretty much
the same.” She was then considerably beyond her eightieth year. We then
proceeded to Ponder’s End, where I conducted my fellow-travellers to a
field on the left, behind the Goat public-house, to see “King Ringle’s
Well,” but why so called even Mr. Gough has declared he was unable to
discover.[245]

The next place we visited consisted of extensive moated premises, called
“Durance,” on the right of the public road. This house, as tradition
reported, had been the residence of Judge Jeffreys; and here it is said
that he exercised some severities upon the Protestants.[246]

We then returned through Green Street; and at a cottage we discovered
an Elizabethan door, profusely studded with flat-headed nails. This
piece of antiquity Samuel Ireland stopped to make a drawing of, which
circumstance I beg the reader will keep in mind, as it will be mentioned
hereafter. We then, after descanting upon the beauties of Waltham Cross,
proposed to visit the father of the Tulip-trees, an engraving of which
appeared in Farmer’s _History of Waltham Abbey_.[247] We looked in vain
for a portion of King Harold’s tomb. There were remains of it in Strutt’s
early days: he made a drawing of them. Our next visit was to a small
ancient elliptic bridge in a field a little beyond the pin-manufactory;
this bridge has ever been held as a great curiosity, and one of high
antiquity. As we returned through Cheshunt, we rummaged over a basket of
old books placed at the door of the barber’s shop, where Sir James Lake
bought an excellent copy of Brooke’s _Camden’s Errors_ for sixpence,
and also an imperfect copy of Burton’s _Anatomy of Melancholy_, for the
sake of a remarkably fine impression of a portrait of its author on
the title-page. After dining at the Red Lion, we visited another old
moated mansion, the property of Dr. Mayo, said to have been originally
a house belonging to Cardinal Wolsey, or in which he had at one time
resided.[248] After crossing a drawbridge, and passing through the iron
gates, the gardener ushered us into a spacious hall, and showed us a
curiously constructed chair, in which he said the Cardinal’s porter
usually sat. Of this singular chair above mentioned I made a drawing, and
had the honour to furnish the late Marquis of Lansdowne with a copy, to
enable his Lordship to have a set made from it. In an adjoining room was
a bedstead and furniture, considered to be that in which the Cardinal
had slept; it was of a drab- cloth, profusely worked over with
large flowers in variously  silks. We were then conducted to an
immense room filled with old portraits. I recollect noticing one in very
excellent preservation of Sir Hugh Myddelton, with an inscription on the
background totally differing from the one by Cornelius Janssen, engraved
by Vertue.[249] Thus ended this pleasant excursion.


1792.

That Vandyke did not possess that liberal patron in King Charles I.
which his biographers have hitherto stated, is unquestionably a fact,
which can be proved by a long bill which I have lately seen (by the
friendly indulgence of Mr. Lemon[250] and his son), in the State Paper
Office, docketed by the King’s own hand. For instance, the picture of his
Majesty dressed for the chase (which I conjecture to be the one engraved
by Strange),[251] for which Vandyke had charged £200, the King, after
erasing that sum, inserted £100; and down in proportion, nay, in some
instances they suffered a further reduction. Of several of the works
charged in the bill, which his Majesty marked as intended presents to his
friends, I recollect one of two that were to be given to Lord Holland was
reduced to the sum of £60. Other pictures in the bill the King marked
with a cross, which is explained at the back by Endymion Porter, that as
those were to be paid for by the Queen, the King had left them for her
Majesty to reduce at pleasure.

That a daughter of Vandyke was allowed a pension for sums owing by
King Charles I. to her father, is also true, as there is a petition
in consequence of its being discontinued still preserved in the State
Paper Office, in which that lady declares herself to be plunged into the
greatest distress, adding that she had been cheated by the purchaser of
her late father’s estate, who never paid for it.[252]

It would be the height of vanity in me to offer anything beyond what the
author of _The Sublime and Beautiful_ has said of Sir Joshua Reynolds,
who died this year at his house in Leicester Square.[253] As Mr. Burke’s
character of this most powerful of painters may not be in the possession
of all my readers, I shall here reprint it.[254]

    “The illness of Sir Joshua Reynolds was long, but borne with
    a mild and cheerful fortitude, without the least mixture of
    anything irritable or querulous, agreeably to the placid and
    even tenor of his whole life.

    “He had, from the beginning of his malady, a distinct view
    of his dissolution; and he contemplated it with that entire
    composure which nothing but the innocence, integrity, and
    usefulness of his life, and unaffected submission to the will
    of Providence, could bestow. In this situation he had every
    consolation from family tenderness, which his own kindness to
    his family had indeed well deserved.

    “Sir Joshua Reynolds was, on very many accounts, one of the
    most memorable men of his time. He was the first Englishman
    who added the praise of the elegant arts to the other glories
    of his country. In taste, in grace, in facility, in happy
    invention, and in the richness and harmony of colouring, he was
    equal to the great masters of the renowned ages. In portrait he
    was beyond them; for he communicated to that description of the
    art, in which English artists are the most engaged, a variety,
    a fancy, and a dignity derived from the higher branches, which
    even those who professed them in a superior manner did not
    always preserve, when they delineated individual nature. His
    portraits remind the spectator of the invention of history and
    the amenity of landscape. In painting portraits, he appeared
    not to be raised upon that platform, but to descend to it from
    a higher sphere. His paintings illustrate his lessons; and his
    lessons seem to be derived from his paintings. He possessed the
    theory as perfectly as the practice of his art. To be such a
    painter, he was a profound and penetrating philosopher.

    “In full happiness of foreign and domestic fame, admired by
    the expert in art, and by the learned in science, courted by
    the great, caressed by sovereign powers, and celebrated by
    distinguished poets, his native humility, modesty, and candour
    never forsook him, even on surprise or provocation, nor was the
    least degree of arrogance or assumption visible to the most
    scrutinising eye, in any part of his conduct or discourse.

    “His talents of every kind, powerful from nature, and not
    meanly cultivated by letters--his social virtues in all the
    relations and in all the habitudes of life--rendered him the
    centre of a very great and unparalleled variety of agreeable
    societies, which will be dissipated by his death. He had too
    much merit not to excite some jealousy, too much innocence to
    provoke any enmity. The loss of no man of his time can be felt
    with more sincere, general, and unmixed sorrow. ‘Hail! and
    farewell!’”

The following letter was addressed to me by my worthy friend Colonel
Phillips:[255]--

    “DEAR SIR,--If it was not for having you older than your
    friends would wish you, I should be glad you had been of the
    party, where I heard an argument between Dr. Johnson and Sir
    Joshua Reynolds, on the wonderful power of the human eye. Dr.
    Johnson made a quotation which I do not remember. ‘Sir,’ said
    Sir Joshua, in reply, ‘that divine effect is produced by the
    parts appertaining to the eye, and not from its globe, as is
    generally supposed; the skull must be justly proportioned.’

    “_Mrs. Cholmondeley._[256]--‘My dear Sir Joshua, was there
    nothing in the magic of Garrick’s eye? its comicality. The Duke
    of Richmond, the Duke of Dorset, and young Sheridan[257] have
    superb eyes; but I don’t know what effect they would have on
    the stage.’

    “_Sir Joshua._--‘Little or none, Madam; the great beauty
    of the Duke of Richmond’s eye proceeded from its fine and
    uncommon colour, dark blue, which would be totally lost on the
    stage, the light being constantly either too high or too low.
    Garrick’s eye, unaccompanied by the action of his mouth, would
    not fascinate. When you are near a person, a pretty woman for
    instance, and have a good light, the contraction and expansion
    of the pupilla, which bids defiance to our art, is delightful;
    it is more perceptible in fine grey and light blue eyes, than
    in any other colour. We, however, cannot deny the majestic look
    of the Belvedere Apollo, though unassisted by iris, pupil,
    eye-lashes, or colour.’

    “_Dr. Johnson._--‘Sir, a tiger’s eye, and, I am told, a
    snake’s, will intimidate birds, so that they will drop from
    trees for its prey, without using their wings.’

    “After Dr. Johnson had quaffed about twenty-four cups of tea,
    he gave a blow of considerable length from his mouth, drew his
    breath, and said, ‘Sir, I believe you are right, it is but
    rational to suppose so: I wish that rogue Burke was here.’

    “I am sorry, my dear Sir, that my memory is not better, so as
    to give you verbatim what passed. I feel like a person giving
    evidence in a court, trammelled by the apprehension of saying
    too much, or, as a late friend of mine said, ‘remembering a
    great many circumstances that never happened;’ and I only write
    this to show my readiness to comply with any request you could
    possibly make of your obliged friend,

                                                       “M. PHILLIPS.”

    “If you ask how it comes, the faithful Bossy was not present;
    Bossy was not always producible after dinner.”

[Illustration: RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

“Tell Lady Besborough that my eyes will look up to the coffin-lid as
brightly as ever.”]

“_Wednesday, 27th March._

ROYAL BUN HOUSE, CHELSEA,

GOOD FRIDAY.

_No Cross Buns._

“Mrs. Hand respectfully informs her friends, and the public, that in
consequence of the great concourse of people which assembled before her
house at a very early hour, on the morning of Good Friday; by which her
neighbours (with whom she has always lived in friendship and repute) have
been much alarmed and annoyed; it having also been intimated, that to
encourage or countenance a tumultuous assembly at this particular period,
might be attended with consequences more serious than have hitherto been
apprehended; desirous, therefore, of testifying her regard and obedience
to those laws by which she is happily protected, she is determined,
though much to her loss, not to sell _Cross Buns_ on that day, to any
person whatever;--but Chelsea Buns as usual.

“Mrs. Hand would be wanting in gratitude to a generous public, who, for
more than fifty years past, have so warmly patronised and encouraged
her shop, to omit so favourable an opportunity of offering her sincere
acknowledgments for their kind favours; at the same time, to assure them
she will, to the utmost of her power, endeavour to merit a continuance of
them.”[258]


1794.

The origin of wooden tessellated floors having been a subject of
much inquiry among many of my friends, I here insert a copy of an
advertisement introduced in a catalogue of books, published 1676, under
the licence of Roger L’Estrange.[259]

“There is now in the press, and almost finished, that excellent piece
of architecture,[260] written by Andrea Palladio, translated out of
Italian, with an Appendix, touching Doors and Windows, by Pierre le Muet,
Architect to the French King: translated out of French, by G. R.; also
Rules and Demonstrations, with several designs for the framing any manner
of Roofs, either above pitch, or under pitch, whether square or bevel;
never published before; with designs of Floors of Variety of small pieces
of Wood, lately made in the Palace of the Queen-Mother, at Somerset
House--a curiosity never practised in England.

“The third Edition, corrected and enlarged, with the new model of the
Cathedral of St. Paul’s as it is now building.”

The floors of the oldest parts of the British Museum,[261] retained
specimens of this tessellated work, until they were removed on the
construction of the new building.


1795.

Having often heard my father expatiate upon the extraordinary talents
of Keyse,[262] the proprietor of Bermondsey Spa, as a painter, I went
one July evening to Hungerford, and engaged “Copper Holmes”[263] to
scull me to “Pepper Alley Stairs”; from thence I proceeded to the
gardens. This I was the more anxious to accomplish, as that once famed
place of recreation was most rapidly on the decline. I entered under a
semicircular awning next to the proprietor’s house, which I well remember
was a large wooden-fronted building, consisting of long square divisions,
in imitation of scantlings of stone. My surprise was great, for no one
appeared, but three idle waiters, and they were clumped for the want of
a call. The space before the orchestra, which was about a quarter the
size of that of Vauxhall, was in the centre, totally destitute of trees,
the few that these gardens could then boast of being those planted close
to the fronts of the surrounding boxes of accommodation, as a screen to
prevent the public from overlooking the gardens.

My attention was attracted by a board with a ruffled hand, within a
sky-blue painted sleeve, pointing to the staircase which led “To the
Gallery of Paintings.” In this room I at first considered myself as the
only spectator; and as the evening sun shone brilliantly, the refraction
of the lights gave me a splendid and uninterrupted view of the numerous
pictures with which it was closely hung, each of which had just claims
to my attention, as I found myself frequently walking backwards to enjoy
their deceptive effects. When I had gone round the gallery, which by
the bye was oblong, and in size similar to that of the Academician, J.
M. W. Turner, in Queen Anne Street, I voluntarily recommenced my view,
but, in stepping back to study the picture of the Green-stall, “I ask
your pardon,” said I, for I had trodden upon some one’s toes; “Sir, it
is granted,” replied a little thick-set man, with a round face, arch
look, closely curled wig, surmounted by a small three-cornered hat,
put very knowingly on one side, not unlike Hogarth’s head in his print
of the Gates of Calais. “You are an artist, I presume; I noticed you
from the end of the gallery when you first stepped back to look at my
best picture. I painted all the objects in this room from nature and
still life.” “Your Greengrocer’s Shop,” said I, “is inimitable; the
drops of water on that Savoy appear as if they had just fallen from the
element. Van Huysum could not have pencilled them with greater delicacy.”
“What do you think,” said he, “of my Butcher’s Shop?” “Your pluck is
bleeding fresh, and your sweetbread is in a clean plate.” “How do you
like my bull’s eye?” “Why it would be a most excellent one for Adams or
Dollond[264] to lecture upon. Your knuckle of veal is the finest I ever
saw.” “It’s young meat,” replied he; “any one who is a judge of meat can
tell that from the blueness of its bone.” “What a beautiful white you
have used on the fat of that South Down leg! or is it Bagshot?”[265]

“Yes,” said he, “my solitary visitor, it is Bagshot; and as for my white,
that is the best Nottingham, which you or any artist can procure at Stone
and Puncheon’s, in Bishopsgate Street Within. Sir Joshua Reynolds,”
continued Mr. Keyse, “paid me two visits. On the second, he asked me
what white I had used; and when I told him, he observed, ‘It is very
extraordinary, Sir, how it keeps so bright; I use the same.’ ‘Not at all,
Sir,’ I rejoined: ‘the doors of this gallery are open day and night; and
the admission of fresh air, together with the great expansion of light
from the sashes above, will never suffer the white to turn yellow. Have
you not observed, Sir Joshua, how white the posts and rails on the public
roads are, though they have not been repainted for years?--that arises
from constant air and bleaching.’

[Illustration: J. M. W. TURNER, R.A.

FROM A WATER-COLOUR SKETCH BY J. T. SMITH]

“Come,” said Mr. Keyse, putting his hand upon my shoulder, “the bell
rings, not for prayers, nor for dinner, but for the song.” As soon as
we had reached the orchestra, the singer curtsied to us, for we were
the only persons in the gardens. “This is sad work,” said he, “but the
woman must sing according to our contract.” I recollect that the singer
was handsome, most dashingly dressed, immensely plumed, and villainously
rouged; she smiled as she sang, but it was not the bewitching smile of
Mrs. Wrighten,[266] then applauded by thousands at Vauxhall Gardens.
As soon as the Spa lady had ended her song, Keyse, after joining me
in applause, apologised for doing so, by observing that, as he never
suffered his servants to applaud, and as the people in the road (whose
ears were close to the cracks in the paling to hear the song), would make
a bad report if they had not heard more than the clapping of one pair of
hands, he had in this instance expressed his reluctant feelings.

As the lady retired from the front of the orchestra, she, to keep herself
in practice, curtsied to me with as much respect as she would had Colonel
Topham been the patron of a gala night.[267] “This is too bad,” again
observed Keyse; “and I am sure you cannot expect fireworks!” However,
he politely asked me to partake of a bottle of Lisbon, which upon my
refusing, he pressed me to accept of a catalogue of his pictures.

Blewitt[268] (who at that time lived in Bermondsey Square), the scholar
of Jonathan Battishill,[269] was the composer for the Spa establishment.
The following verse is the first of his most admired composition,--“In
lonely cot by Humber’s side.”

My old and worthy friend _Joseph_ Caulfield,[270] Blewitt’s favourite
pupil, of whom he learned thorough bass, related to me the following
anecdote of a musical composer, as told him by his master:--“When I
was going upstairs,” said Blewitt, “to the attics, where one of my
instructors lived (for I had many), I hesitated on the second-floor
landing-place, upon hearing my master and his wife at high words. ‘Get
you gone!’ said the lofty paper-ruffled composer, ‘retire to your
apartments!’ This command of her lord she did not immediately obey;
however, in a short time after, I heard the clattering of plates against
the wall, and upon entering the room, I discovered that the lady had
retired, but not before she had covered the whitewashed wall profusely
with the unbroiled sprats.”

“I was at a musical party,” continued my friend Joseph, “at Lord
Sandwich’s,[271] in Hertford Street, Mayfair, when, among other
specimens of the best masters, I heard Battishill’s beautiful composition
of

    “Amidst the myrtles as I walk,
    Love and myself thus entered talk,
    ‘Tell me,’ said I, in deep distress,
    ‘Where I may find my Shepherdess.’”[272]

Upon expressing my pleasure at hearing the above performed in so superior
a style, his Lordship told me he had written a sequel, which he thus
repeated:--

    “Love said to me, ‘Thou faithful swain,
    Thy search in myrtle groves is vain;
    Examine well thy noblest part,
    Thou’lt find her seated in thy heart.’”

It appears that in poetry, as well as in painting and prints, and also
in dwellings, decorations, and dress, there has ever been a fashion for
a time. Battishill was the composer of that justly celebrated glee,
commencing with “Underneath this _myrtle_ shade.” Myrtles, after having
had a great run, were succeeded by Cupid’s darts; and that little rogue
Love played _old gooseberry_ with the hearts of Chloes and Colins, Robins
and Robinets; then the ever-blooming lasses of Patterdale and Richmond
Hill attracted our giddy notice. These were succeeded by “Bacchus in
green ivy bound,” giving “Joy and pleasure all around.” After that,
moonlight meetings were preferred, and “Buy a broom, ladies,” was
continually dinning our ears “through and through.”


1796.

In the summer of this year, the late John Wigston, Esq., then of
Millfield House, Edmonton, having repeatedly expressed a wish to see the
famous George Morland before he commenced a collection of his pictures,
I having been known to that child of nature in my boyish days, offered
to introduce them to each other.[273] Morland then resided in Charlotte
Street, Fitzroy Square, in the house formerly inhabited by Sir Thomas
Apreece. He received us in the drawing-room, which was filled with
easels, canvases, stretching-frames, gallipots of colour, and oil-stones;
a stool, chair, and a three-legged table were the only articles of
furniture of which this once splendid apartment could then boast. Mr.
Wigston, his generous-hearted visitor, immediately bespoke a picture, for
which he gave him a draft for forty pounds, that sum being exactly the
money he then wanted; but this gentleman had, like most of that artist’s
employers, to ply him close for his picture.

[Illustration: GEORGE MORLAND

“There! go back and tell the pawnbroker to advance me five guineas more
upon it.”]

As Mrs. Wigston had a great desire to see Morland, he was invited to
take a day’s sport with the hounds, which the artist accepted, with a
full assurance of punctuality. However, as usual with that eccentric
man, he only arrived time enough for dinner, accompanied by eight of
those persons denominated _his friends_. Mrs. Wigston, an elegant and
most accomplished lady, was in consequence deprived of a sight of this
far-famed genius. I was deputed by my honoured friend Mr. Wigston to
take Mrs. Wigston’s abdicated chair, and carved for this pretty set,
consisting of persons unaccustomed to sit at such a table. Our worthy
host soon discovered their strong propensity for spirituous liquors,
three of them even during dinner, instead of taking wine, of which there
were many sorts on the table, calling for a glass of brandy. After
hearing several jokes and humorous songs from some of the party, George
Morland declared he must go, having an engagement with Mrs. Laye, and
other friends, at “Otter’s Pool.”[274]

When Morland and his party entered the stable-yard, the following
altercation took place between Mr. Wigston and his groom.

_Mr. Wigston._--“Bring out these gentlemen’s horses.”

_Groom._--“Horses, horses! they’ll find ’um at the ‘Two Jolly Brewers.’
Horses, indeed!”

_Mr. Wigston._--“And why, Sir, were they sent there?”

_Groom._--“Why, I would not suffer such cattle to come near your stud;
for I never saw such a set-out in my life!”

The party accordingly betook themselves to the “Brewers”; but upon our
return to the honest though rough diamond of a groom, he observed that it
was past two o’clock, and that the dog ought to have been let loose two
hours ago!


1797.

Although my mother continued till the time of her death in the habit
of the Society of Friends, and my father followed most of the popular
Methodists, I, from my earliest days of reflection, gave a preference
to the Established Church of England. Notwithstanding this, my
inquisitiveness now and then induced me to hear celebrated preachers of
every sect. I remember one Sunday morning in this year, after intending
to enter some church on my way to dine with my great-aunt on Camberwell
Green, my ears were most agreeably greeted with the swelling pipes of
the Surrey Chapel organ.[275] Why, thinks I to myself, should not I
hear Rowland Hill? Surely it must be now full twenty years since I saw
him in Moorfields, at my last visit to the Tabernacle. In I accordingly
went; and though a smile with me was always deemed highly indecorous
during divine worship, yet the truth must out; I could not help sometimes
laughing--as heartily, though not so loudly, I hope, as all of us when
led into the enjoyment of Momus’s strongest fits by the inimitable
Mathews.

No sooner was the sermon over and the blessing bestowed, than Rowland
electrified his hearers by vociferating, “Door-keepers, shut the doors!”
Slam went one door; bounce went another; bang went a third; at last,
all being anxiously silent as the most importantly unexpected scenes of
Sir Walter Scott could make them, the pastor, with a slow and dulcet
emphasis, thus addressed his congregation:--“My dearly beloved, I speak
it to my shame, that this sermon was to have been a charity sermon,
and if you will only look down into the green pew at those--let me
see--three and three are six, and one makes seven, young men with red
morocco prayer-books in their hands, poor souls! they were backsliders,
for they went on the Serpentine River, and other far distant waters,
on a Sabbath; they were, however, as you see, all saved from a watery
grave. I need not tell ye that my exertions were to have been for the
benefit of that benevolent institution the Humane Society.--_What!_ I
see some of ye already up to be gone; fie! fie! fie!--never heed your
dinners; don’t be Calibans, nor mind your pockets. I know that some of
ye are now attending to the devil’s whispers. I say, listen to me! take
my advice, give shillings instead of sixpences; and those who intended
to give shillings, display half-crowns, in order not only to thwart the
foul fiend’s mischievousness, but to get your pastor out of this scrape;
and if you do, I trust Satan will never put his foot within this circle
again. Hark ye! I have hit upon it; ye shall leave us directly. The Bank
Directors, you must know, have called in the dollars; now, if any of you
happen to be encumbered with a stale dollar or two, jingle the Spanish in
our dishes; we’ll take them, they’ll pass current here. Stay, my friends,
a moment more. I am to dine with the Humane Society on Tuesday next, and
it would shock me beyond expression to see the strings of the Surrey
Chapel lay dangle down its sides like the tags upon Lady Huntingdon’s
servants’ shoulders. Now, mind what I say, upon this occasion I wish for
a bumper as strenuously as Master Hugh Peters did, when he recommended
his congregation in Broadway Chapel to take a second glass.” It is
recorded that when he found the sand of his hour-glass had descended, he
turned it, saying, “Come, I know you to be jolly dogs, we’ll take t’other
glass.”[276] I understand that Rowland Hill is not made up of veneer, but
of solid well-seasoned stuff, with a heart of oak, and ever willing to
exercise kindness to his fellow-creatures, upon the system of my friend
Charles Lamb.[277]

[Illustration: ROWLAND HILL

“His ideas come red hot from the heart.”

_Sheridan_]

In May this year I applied to my worthy friend, Mr. John Constable, now a
Royal Academician, for any particulars which he might be able to procure
respecting Gainsborough, he being also a Suffolk man; and I had the
pleasure of receiving the following letter:--

                                     “EAST BERGHOLT, _7th May, 1797_.

    “_Dear Friend Smith_,--If you remember, in my last I promised
    to write again soon, and tell you what I could about
    Gainsborough. I hope you will not think me negligent when I
    inform you that I have not been able to learn anything of
    consequence respecting him: I can assure you it is not for the
    want of asking that I have not been successful, for indeed I
    have talked with those who knew him. I believe in Ipswich
    they did not know his value till they lost him. He belonged to
    something of a musical club in that town, and painted some of
    their portraits in a picture of a choir; it is said to be very
    curious.

    “I heard it was in Colchester; I shall endeavour to see it
    before I come to town, which will be soon. He was generally
    the butt of the company, and his wig was to them a fund of
    amusement, as it was often snatched from his head and thrown
    about the room, etc.; but enough of this. I shall now give you
    a few lines verbatim, which my friend Dr. Hamilton, of Ipswich,
    was so good as to send me; though it amounts to nothing, I am
    obliged to him for taking the commission.

    “‘I have not been neglectful of the inquiries respecting
    Gainsborough, but have learned nothing worth your notice.
    There is no vale or grove distinguished by his name in this
    neighbourhood. There is a place up the river-side where he
    often sat to sketch, on account of the beauty of the landscape,
    its extensiveness, and richness in variety, both in the fore
    and back grounds. It comprehended Bramford and other distant
    villages on one side; and on the other side of the river
    extended towards Nacton, etc. Friston alehouse must have been
    near, for it seems he has introduced the Boot signpost in many
    of his best pictures. Smart and Frost[278] (two drawing-masters
    in Ipswich) often go there now to take views; whether they be
    inspired from pressing the same sod with any of this great
    painter’s genius, you are a better judge than I am. Farewell.’

    “This, my dear friend, is the little all I have yet gained,
    but though I have been unsuccessful, it does not follow that I
    should relinquish my inquiries. If you want to know the exact
    time of his birth, I will take a ride over to Sudbury, and look
    into the register.[279] There is an exceeding fine picture of
    his painting at Mr. Kilderby’s, in Ipswich.

    “Since I last wrote to you I have made another attempt at
    etching; have succeeded a little better, but yet fall very
    short. I shall send you an impression soon.

    “I doubt there is nothing in my last parcel of cottages worth
    your notice; am obliged to you for the little sketch after
    Hobbima. I understand the present exhibition is a very good
    one; I understand Sir G. Beaumont excels. My friend Gubbins
    informs me that you have finished Lady Plomer’s Palace,[280]
    and that you have made a sketch from the fire in the Minories;
    surely it must have put our friend C----h to the rout.[281]
    Thine sincerely,

                                                    “JOHN CONSTABLE.”

Mrs. Pope, the actress, died this year in Half Moon Street, Piccadilly,
and was buried in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey.[282]

Being anxious to add something more to the memory of this amiable
character, I applied to her surviving husband; when that gentleman very
obligingly favoured me with the following copy of a record, which he made
soon after her death:--

“The best of women and the best of wives drew her last breath at
half-past two o’clock on Wednesday morning, the 15th of March, 1797.

“Her illness lasted about seven weeks; her complaint palsy, beginning in
her head, and depriving her of the use of her left hand. Her death was an
awful lesson; her loss irreparable.”[283]

In the room with the bow-window on the first-floor of the same house, Mr.
Pope[284] produced some excellent portraits in crayons, of persons of the
first fashion, many of them little inferior in every respect to those of
the celebrated Francis Cotes;[285] the inimitable whole-length portrait
of Grattan, of which there is an engraving, will be a lasting and mutual
record of the artist and patriot. The following letter, given to me by my
late worthy friend Dr. Mathew, was written by Mrs. Pope, to her friend
Mrs. Mathew, of Rathbone Place:--

                                               “DUBLIN, _July 6th_.

    “I flatter myself that my ever loved and most highly esteemed
    friends will be pleased to receive the assurance of my health,
    and to know that I am in the possession of as much comfort as
    _my_ mind is capable to receive out of England. Thank God, all
    things as yet go on well, and the exertions of business do not
    seem to do that injury to my health which I had great reason
    to fear. We have acted six nights, _Jane Shore_ first, a _very
    great_ house, _well received_, and Pope’s speech to _Gloster_
    twice repeated, which I think proves in a great degree the
    loyalty of the people.

    “_Gloster’s_ speech, thus:--

        “‘What if some patriot for the public good
        Should vary from your scheme,--new mould the State?

        “‘_Hastings._--Curse on the innovating hand that ’tempts it!
        Remember him, the villain, righteous Heaven,
        In thy great day of vengeance: blast the traitor
        And his pernicious counsels; who for wealth,
        For power, the pride of greatness, or revenge,
        Would plunge his native land in civil wars.’

    “It is impossible to describe the effect this speech had on
    the audience. I think you would have been gratified to have
    heard it; it is the first time a speech in a tragedy was ever
    repeated. Perhaps it proves the loyalty of this city. I hear
    there are sad doings in the country parts of Ireland; I trust
    we shall meet with nothing of it: we stay in Dublin all this
    month, then go to Cork. Our second characters were _Mr._ and
    _Mrs. Beverley_, highly esteemed and greatly spoken of; third,
    _Belvidera_ and _Jaffier_--with good success. Their last new
    play, _How to grow Rich_, twice; and yesterday _Elizabeth_
    and _Essex_, which, by the way, Pope acted well. Next week
    _Columbus_. I count the nights, though now I trust I shall be
    able to go through them all. So much for myself.

    “And now, my friends, let me beg that you will favour me with
    a little account of yourselves. I ardently wish to hear that
    you are all well and happy, in the full possession of that
    _true felicity_, which your goodness of heart so justly merits.
    God bless you both! Mr. Pope unites with me in respectful
    remembrance to the Baron, and affectionate esteem to the whole
    family, particularly in respect and affection to Mrs. and Miss
    Mathew. Adieu: I don’t like to leave off, and yet I hardly
    think you can read what I have already written.

    “Ever your most affectionate

                                                         “E. POPE.”


1798.

This year, in consequence of the death of Mr. Green,[286] who had been
drawing-master to Christ’s Hospital, I stood candidate for the situation;
and, though I was unsuccessful, my testimonials being so flattering, I
cannot withstand the temptation of printing them, whatever may be said by
my enemies, who may not be able to produce anything half so honourable.

                                                   “May 10th, 1798.

    “We whose names are subscribed, having seen specimens of
    drawings by John Thomas Smith, are of opinion that he is
    qualified for the office of drawing-master in the school of
    Christ’s Hospital.

    I not only think him qualified as an artist, but greatly to be
    respected as a man.

                                         BENJAMIN WEST, PREST. R.A.

    Being not personally acquainted with Mr. J. T. Smith, I have
    examined his performances, and I think him well qualified for
    the above office.

                                                 J. F. RIGAUD, R.A.

    I have known him from a child, and think him an honest man and
    well _qualified_ for the office.

                                             JOSEPH NOLLEKENS, R.A.

    I have long been acquainted with Mr. J. T. Smith’s merits as a
    good artist and a worthy man.

                                                JOHN FLAXMAN, Jun.,
                                          Sculptor, Associate R.A.;
                                      R.A. of Florence and Carrara.

    We subscribe to the above opinion.--

                                            W. BEECHEY, R.A. elect.
                                            W. HAMILTON, R.A.
                                            THOMAS STOTHARD, R.A.
                                            JOHN RUSSELL, R.A.
                                            J. BACON, R.A.
                                            T. BANKS, R.A.
                                            JAMES BARRY, R.A.,
                                              Professor of Painting.
                                            JOHN OPIE, R.A.
                                            R. COSWAY, R.A.
                                            JAMES NORTHCOTE, R.A.
                                            JOS. FARINGTON, R.A.
                                            RICHARD WESTALL, R.A.
                                            HENRY FUSELI, R.A.
                                            H. COPLEY, R.A.

    I have long known Mr. Smith as an artist and respectable man,
    and believe him to be perfectly capable of filling the office
    he solicits with honour.

                                                    P. REINAGLE, A.

    We subscribe to the above opinion.

                                           FRANCIS BARTOLOZZI, R.A.
                                           RICHARD COLLINS.
                                           CALEB WHITEFOORD.

    We have known Mr. Smith for upwards of fourteen years, and we
    have found him an able drawing-master to our daughter, whose
    drawings he has never touched upon; a practice too often
    followed by drawing-masters in general: and we believe him to
    be a truly valuable member of society, as a husband, father,
    and good man.

                                                 JAMES WINTER LAKE.
                                                 JESSY LAKE.

    We can never subscribe our names with greater satisfaction,
    than in signifying the very high opinion we have of Mr. Smith,
    both as to his talents and character.

                                                       JAMES LAKE.
                                                       ATWILL LAKE.

    I fully subscribe to the above opinion,

                                       RICHARD WYATT, Milton Place.

    I believe Mr. Smith to be a very deserving man, and well
    qualified for the situation he is ambitious of obtaining.

                                               JOHN CHARLES CROWLE.

    Thomas Allen has a great respect for Mr. Smith, both as a man
    and an artist.

                                       JOSEPH WILLIAMSON, A.M.,
                                  Vicar of St. Dunstan in the West.

    I am personally acquainted with Mr. J. T. Smith, and esteem him
    one of the best of men.

                                            JOHN BOYDELL, Alderman.

    I am happy to bear testimony to the character of Mr. Smith as a
    man, and to find him so highly respected as an artist.

                                                        T. THOMSON.

    I have long known Mr. Smith to be an ingenious artist, an able
    instructor, and a benevolent and honest man.

                                                       JOHN CRANCH.

    I have known Mr. Smith many years, and believe him very capable
    of filling the office of drawing-master to Christ’s Hospital
    with credit to himself and advantage to the charity.

                                                      HENRY HOWARD.

        J. SWAINSON.
        T. WHITTINGHAM.
        J. NIXON, Basinghall Street.
        HENRY SMITH, Drapers’ Hall.
        ALEX. LEAN SMYTH, the Hudson’s Bay Company.
        ARTHUR BALL, }
        JOHN BROOME, } Hudson’s Bay House
        GEORGE WHITEHEAD, Cateaton Street.

    Providence, which placed me next door to Mr. J. T. Smith for
    several years, made me intimately acquainted with a faithful
    husband, an affectionate father, and an honest man.

                                               CHARLES GOWER, M.D.”

[Illustration: JAMES BARRY, R.A.

“I reflect with horror upon such a fellow as I am, and with such a kind
of art, with house-rent to pay and employers to look for.”]


1799.

On the 4th of August this year, died at his mansion in Rutland Square,
Dublin, the Right Hon. James, Earl of Charlemont,[287] who was born 18th
of August, 1728. This gentleman was truly a nobleman, for he was one of
the greatest patrons of the fine arts this country could boast of. He was
the great friend of Hogarth; bought many of his pictures, particularly
that most elegant performance so justly celebrated under the title of
“The Lady’s Last Stake,” so admirably engraven by Mr. Cheesman.[288] The
following is a copy of an original letter given to me by a late worthy
friend; it is addressed to the late Sir Lawrence Parsons, Bart.,[289] and
written by Lord Charlemont within eight months of his Lordship’s death.

                                        “DUBLIN, _12th Jan., 1799_.

    “MY DEAR SIR LAWRENCE,--As nothing has ever affected me
    with more painful astonishment than the shameful apathy and
    consequent silence of the country at the present desperate
    crisis of our fate as a nation, so have I experienced few more
    real pleasures than in having found, by the public papers,
    that a meeting of your county, at least, has been called; a
    pleasure which, though principally derived from my ardent
    zeal for the public service, is still further increased by
    my friendship for you, as I am too well acquainted with your
    sentiments to doubt for a moment that such call has been in the
    highest degree satisfactory and flattering to your feelings.
    Neither can I entertain the slightest apprehension that the
    result of any meeting of Irishmen will be other than the firm
    and spirited condemnation of a measure, replete with every
    disgrace and danger in their country. Never, indeed, were my
    beloved countrymen so forcibly called upon as at the present
    emergency, maturely to form their opinions and to speak aloud
    the dictates of their hearts. Their ancestors call upon them
    from their graves to preserve those national rights which they
    have transmitted to them. Their children from their cradles,
    with mute but prevailing eloquence, beseech them to protect
    and to defend their birthrights; and, with a more awful voice,
    their country calls upon them not by their silence to betray
    her dearest interests, or by their supineness to leave _her_
    enslaved whom they found free! Thus invoked, is it possible
    that Irishmen should remain silent?

    “But surely I need dwell no longer upon a subject with which
    you are so much better acquainted; and, indeed, the state of
    my health, and particularly of my eyes, is such as to render
    it impossible for me to write more.--I must therefore, however
    unwillingly, conclude by assuring you that I am, and ever
    shall be, my dearest Parsons, your most faithful and truly
    affectionate

                                                      “CHARLEMONT.”

In this year, James Barry, the painter of those mighty pictures on the
walls of the great room of the Society of Arts, received a severe blow
by having his name erased from those of the Royal Academicians by King
George III., who believed what had been represented respecting the
Professor’s conduct in the Royal Academy.[290]

                                “BUCKINGHAM STREET, FITZROY SQUARE.

    “DEAR SIR,--Permit me to thank you for the satisfaction of
    having seen that curious monument of English antiquity, St.
    Stephen’s Chapel, Westminster, when the ancient architecture
    and painting were discovered by the removal of the modern
    wainscot, which formed the interior of the House of Commons.

    “Notwithstanding this branch of antiquity has never been
    my particular pursuit, I am highly gratified to see such
    materials in the general history of art rescued from oblivion
    by publication, for which, Sir, we are indebted to your zeal
    and industry, as some of the interesting pictures were effaced
    soon after their discovery, by ignorant curiosity; in addition
    to the careless and ruinous manner in which the discovery
    itself was made, of which circumstances I complained to several
    persons on the spot, particularly to the Rev. Mr. Brand,[291]
    Secretary to the Antiquarian Society.

    “As the best testimony I can give to the fidelity and ability
    of your publication, give me leave to subscribe my name for
    a copy of the work, and to offer such assistance as I can
    give, in general observations on the arts of design, when St.
    Stephen’s Chapel was in its splendour.

    “I remain, dear Sir, with great regard, your much obliged

                                                    “JOHN FLAXMAN.”

The admission of one hundred additional members into the House of
Commons, arising from the union with Ireland, obliged Mr. Wyatt to cut
away the side-walls of the room internally, in order to make recesses for
two extra benches.[292]

[Illustration: THE OLD HOUSE OF COMMONS]


1801.

In the autumn of this year I passed a most agreeable day with the Hon.
Hussey Delaval,[293] at his house near Parliament Stairs.[294] This
learned and communicative gentleman, among whose works that on Colours is
generally considered the most interesting, was as friendly to me, as the
jealousy of that well-known odd compound of nature, my antagonist, John
Carter,[295] who was of our party, would allow; for with that artist’s
opinions as to Gothic architecture, Mr. Delaval so entirely coincided,
that he employed him to provide the ornamental decorations of his house,
which were mostly in putty mixed with sand, and in some instances
cast from the decorations of several Gothic structures, particularly
Westminster Abbey. This house was originally fire-proof, the floors being
of stone or composition, and the window-sashes of cast iron, but since
the death of Mr. Delaval, wood has been substituted for the sashes and
other parts.

The apartments are ten in number, besides small offices. The lower rooms
consist of two halls: in the north wall of the first are three pretty
Gothic recesses for seats, for servants or persons in waiting; the second
hall is filled with Gothic figures placed upon brackets under canopies.
The chimney-piece and other parts of the dining-parlour looking over the
Thames, are decorated in a similar manner; the kitchen is on the same
floor towards the north. The staircase leading to the first-floor is a
truly tasteful little specimen, not equalled by anything at Strawberry
Hill, which, by reason of Mr. Bentley’s[296] fancy mouldings interfering
so often with parts which are really chaste, must be considered a
_mule_ building. The drawing-room and library also look over the water.
On the same floor are two bed-chambers towards the west; above which
are two attics, with a door opening upon the embattled leads over the
drawing-room. Upon these leads we took our wine--attended by female
servants only, as Mr. Delaval never would allow a man-servant to enter
the house, but with messages--and here enjoyed the glowing, Cuyp-like
effect of the sun upon west-country barges laden either with blocks of
stone or fresh-cut timber, objects ever picturesque on the water. Mr.
Delaval was so pleased with this scenery, and the pencil of my friend G.
Arnald, Associate of the Royal Academy, that he bespoke two pictures of
him, Views up and down the River, the figures in which, by the order of
Mr. Delaval, were painted by his friend G. F. Joseph, A.R.A. They were
exhibited at Somerset House.[297]


1802.

How often do we find peculiar attachments and propensities in the minds
of persons of reported good understanding. Within my time, many men have
indulged most ridiculously in their eccentricities. I have known one who
had made a pretty large fortune in business, get up at four o’clock in
the morning and walk the streets to pick up horseshoes which had been
slipped in the course of the night, with no other motive than to see how
many he could accumulate in a year. I also remember a rich soap-boiler
who never missed an opportunity of pocketing nails, pieces of iron hoops,
and bits of leather, in his daily walks; and these he would spread upon a
large walnut-tree three-flapped dining-table, with a similar view to that
of the above-mentioned gentleman. This wealthy citizen would often put on
a red woollen cap, in shape like those worn by slaughter-house men, and
a waggoner’s frock, in order to stoke his own furnace; after which, he
would dress, get into his coach, and, attended by tall servants in bright
blue liveries, drive to his villa, where his hungry friends were waiting
his arrival.

The allusion to these peculiarities, which certainly are harmless, will
serve by way of prelude to a more extraordinary one. The late Duke of
Roxburgh,[298] whose wonderful library will ever be spoken of with the
highest delight by bibliomaniacs, had an attachment to the portraits
of malefactors as closely as Rowland Hill to his petted toad. I made
many drawings of such characters for his Grace during their trials or
confinement; that which I made this year, was of Governor Wall, whose
trial produced much discussion.[299] Having been deprived of admission
at the Old Bailey on the day of his trial, I went to the Duke, and he
immediately wrote to a nobleman high in power, for an order to admit me
to see the unfortunate criminal in the condemned cell, which application
was firmly, and, in my humble opinion, very properly, refused. I walked
home, where I found Isaac Solomon waiting to show me some of his improved
black-lead pencils. Isaac, upon hearing me relate to my family the
disappointment I had experienced, assured me that he could procure me
a sight of the Governor, if I would only accompany him in the evening
to Hatton Garden, and smoke a pipe with Dr. Forde, the Ordinary of
Newgate,[300] with whom he said he was particularly intimate. Away we
trudged; and, upon entering the club-room of a public-house, we found the
said Doctor most pompously seated in a superb masonic chair, under a
stately crimson canopy placed between the windows. The room was clouded
with smoke, whiffed to the ceiling, which gave me a better idea of what I
had heard of the Black Hole of Calcutta than any place I had seen. There
were present at least a hundred associates of every denomination; of
this number, my Jew, being a favoured man, was admitted to a whispering
audience with the Doctor, which soon produced my introduction to him.

“Man’s life is all a mist, and in the dark our fortunes meet us.”
Standing beneath a masonic lustre, the Doctor immediately recognised me
as a friend of John Ireland, but more particularly of his older crony,
Atkinson Bush; he requested me to take a pipe, to me a most detestable
preliminary. He then whispered, “Meet me at the felon’s door at the break
of day.” There I punctually applied, but, notwithstanding the order of
the Doctor, I found it absolutely necessary, to protect myself from an
increasing mob, to show the turnkey half-a-crown, who soon closed his
hand and let me in. I was then introduced to a most diabolical-looking
little wretch, denominated “the Yeoman of the Halter,” Jack Ketch’s head
man. The Doctor soon arrived in his canonicals, and with his head as
stiffly erect as a sheriff’s coachman when he is going to Court, with an
enormous nosegay under his chin, gravely uttered, “Come this way, Mr.
Smith.”

As we crossed the Press-yard a cock crew; and the solitary clanking of
a restless chain was dreadfully horrible. The prisoners had not risen.
Upon our entering a stone-cold room, a most sickly stench of green twigs,
with which an old round-shouldered, goggle-eyed man was endeavouring to
kindle a fire, annoyed me almost as much as the canaster fumigation of
the Doctor’s Hatton Garden friends.

[Illustration: NEWGATE CHAPEL ON THE EVE OF SEVERAL EXECUTIONS]

The prisoner entered. He was death’s counterfeit, tall, shrivelled, and
pale; and his soul shot so piercingly through the port-holes of his head
that the first glance of him nearly petrified me. I said in my heart,
putting my pencil in my pocket, God forbid that I should disturb thy last
moments! His hands were clasped, and he was truly penitent. After the
Yeoman had requested him to stand up, “he pinioned him,” as the Newgate
phrase is, and tied the cord with so little feeling, that the Governor,
who had not given the wretch the accustomed fee, observed, “You have
tied me very tight;” upon which Dr. Forde ordered him to slacken the
cord, which he did, but not without muttering. “Thank you, Sir,” said the
Governor to the Doctor, “it is of little moment.” He then observed to the
attendant, who had brought in an immense iron shovelful of coals to throw
on the fire, “Ay, in one hour that will be a blazing fire;” then, turning
to the Doctor, questioned him: “Do tell me, Sir: I am informed I shall
go down with great force; is it so?” After the construction and action
of the machine had been explained, the Doctor questioned the Governor as
to what kind of men he had at Goree. “Sir,” he answered, “they sent me
the very riffraff.” The poor soul then joined the Doctor in prayer; and
never did I witness more contrition at any condemned sermon than he then
evinced.

The sheriff arrived, attended by his officers, to receive the prisoner
from the keeper. A new hat was then partly flattened on his head; for,
owing to its being too small in the crown, it stood many inches too high
behind. As we were crossing the Press-yard, the dreadful execrations
of some of the felons so shook his frame, that he observed, “the clock
had struck;” and, quickening his pace, he soon arrived at the room
where the sheriff was to give a receipt for his body, according to the
usual custom. Owing, however, to some informality in the wording of
this receipt, he was not brought out so soon as the multitude expected;
and it was this delay which occasioned a partial exultation from those
who betted as to a reprieve, and not from any pleasure in seeing him
executed. For the honour of England, I may say we are not so revengeful
as some of our Continental neighbours have been; as Mrs. Cosway[301]
assured me that she was in the room with David, then esteemed the first
painter in Paris, at the time that he and Robespierre were in power; and
that when the Reporter, from the guillotine, came in to announce eighty
as the number of persons executed that morning, David, in the greatest
possible rage, exclaimed, “No more!”

[Illustration: DR. ARNE

HE COMPOSED “RULE BRITANNIA”]

After the execution, as soon as I was permitted to leave the prison, I
found the Yeoman selling the rope with which the malefactor had been
suspended, at a shilling an inch; and no sooner had I entered Newgate
Street, than a lath of a fellow, past threescore years and ten, who had
just arrived from the purlieus of Black Boy Alley,[302] woe-begone as
_Romeo’s_ apothecary, exclaimed,--“Here’s the identical rope at sixpence
an inch.” A group of tatterdemalions soon collected round him, most
vehemently expressing their eagerness to possess bits of the cord. It
was pretty obvious, however, that the real business of this agent was
to induce the Epping butter-men to squeeze in with their canvas bags,
which contained their morning receipts in Newgate market.[303] A little
further on, at the north-east corner of Warwick Lane, stood “Rosy Emma,”
exuberant in talk, and hissing-hot from Pie Corner,[304] where she had
taken her morning dose of gin and bitters; and as she had not waited to
make her toilet, was consequently a lump of heat.

    “Now, my readers, I have been told,
    Love wounds by heat, and Death by cold;
    Of size she would a barrow fill,
    But more inclining to sit still.”

Possibly she might have been a descendant of Orator Henley, and I make
no doubt at one time passionately admired by her Henry. I can safely
declare, however, that her cheeks were purple, her nose of poppy-red or
cochineal.

    “The lady was pretty well in case,
    But then she’d humour in her face;
    Her skin was so bepimpled o’er,
    There was not room for any more.”

Her eyes reminded me of Sheridan’s remark on those of Dr. Arne, “Like
two oysters on an oval plate of stewed beet-root.”[305] I regretted
most exceedingly, while she was cutting her rope and twisting her
mouth, that most of her once-famed ivories had absconded; but it gave me
inexpressible delight to see that her lips were not at all chapped. If
Emma’s lips had been ever so deeply cracked, she could not have benefited
by my friend “Social Day” Coxe’s[306] Conservatoria, as it was not then
sold.

Emma in her tender blossom, I understand, assisted her mother in selling
rice-milk and furmety to the early frequenters of Honey Lane market; and
in the days of her full bloom, new-milk whey in White Conduit Fields,
and at the Elephant and Castle. She must have been, as to her outward
charms, during her highest flattery, little inferior to the beautiful
Emma Lyon;[307] but in her last stage, perhaps not altogether unlike
the heroine so voluptuously portrayed by my late highly talented
friend, the Rev. George Huddesford, in his poem entitled “The Barber’s
Nuptials.”[308] Rosy Emma, for so she was still called, was the reputed
spouse of the Yeoman of the Halter, and the cord she was selling as the
identical noose was for her own benefit. This was, according to the
delightful writer, Charles Lamb,

    “For honest ends, a most dishonest seeming.”[309]

[Illustration: LADY HAMILTON AS A BACCHANTE

    “Romney! expert infallibly to trace …
    The mind’s impression too on every face.”

                                     _Cowper_]

Now, as fame and beauty ever carry influence, Emma’s sale was rapid;
had she been as lamentable as a Lincolnshire goose after plucking-time,
“Misery’s Darling,” or like Alecto when at the entrance of Pandemonium,
she would have had a sorry sale.[310] This money-trapping trick, steady
John, the waiter at the Chapter Coffee-house, assured me was invariably
put in practice whenever superior persons or notorious culprits had been
executed. Then to breakfast, but with little or no appetite; however,
after selecting one of Isaac Solomon’s H.B.’s, I made a whole-length
portrait of the late Governor by recollection, which Dr. Buchan, the
flying physician of the “Chapter”[311] frequenters, and several of the
Pater-Noster vendors of his _Domestic Medicine_, considered a likeness;
at all events, it was admitted into the portfolio of the Duke, with the
following acknowledgment written on the back: “Drawn by memory.”


1803.

About this time, in order to see human nature off her guard, I agreed
with a good-tempered friend of mine, one of Richard Wilson’s scholars, to
perambulate Bartholomew Fair, which we did in the evening, after taking
pretty good care to leave our watches at home. Our first visit was to a
show of wild beasts, where, upon paying an additional penny, we saw the
menagerie-feeder place his head within a lion’s mouth.

Our attention was then arrested by an immense baboon, called _General
Jacko_, who was distributing his signatures as fast as he could dip his
pen in the ink, to those who enabled him to fill his enormous craw with
plums, raisins, and figs. The next object which attracted our notice was
a magnificent man, standing, as we were told, six feet six inches and a
half, independent of the heels of his shoes. The gorgeous splendour of
his Oriental dress was rendered more conspicuous by an immense plume of
white feathers, which were like the noddings of an undertaker’s horse,
increased in their wavy and graceful motion by the movements of the
wearer’s head.

As this extraordinary man was to perform some wonderful feats of
strength, we joined the motley throng of spectators at the charge of
“only threepence each,” that being vociferated by Flockton’s[312]
successor as the price of the evening admittance.

After he had gone through his various exhibitions of holding great
weights at arm’s-length, etc., the all-bespangled master of the show
stepped forward, and stated to the audience that if any four or five
of the present company would give, by way of encouraging the “Young
Hercules,” _alias_ the “Patagonian Samson,” sixpence apiece, he would
carry them all together round the booth, in the form of a pyramid.

With this proposition my companion and myself closed; and after two
other persons had advanced, the fine fellow threw off his velvet cap
surmounted by its princely crest, stripped himself of his other gewgaws,
and walked most majestically, in a flesh- elastic dress, to the
centre of the amphitheatre, when four chairs were placed round him, by
which my friend and I ascended, and, after throwing our legs across his
lusty shoulders, were further requested to embrace each other, which we
no sooner did, cheek-by-jowl, than a tall skeleton of a man, instead
of standing upon a small wooden ledge fastened to Samson’s girdle, in
an instant leaped on his back, with the agility of a boy who pitches
himself upon a post too high to clear, and threw a leg over each of
our shoulders; as for the other chap (for we could only muster four),
the Patagonian took him up in his arms. Then, after _Mr. Merryman_ had
removed the chairs, as he had not his full complement, Samson performed
his task with an ease of step most stately, without either the beat of a
drum, or the waving of a flag.

I have often thought that if George Cruikshank, or my older friend
Rowlandson, had been present at this scene of a pyramid burlesqued, their
playful pencils would have been in running motion, and I should have been
considerably out-distanced had I then offered the following additional
description of our clustered appearance. Picture to yourself, reader,
two cheesemonger, ruddy-looking men, like my friend and myself, as the
sidesmen of Hercules, and the tall, vegetable-eating scarecrow kind of
fellow, who made but one leap to grasp us like the bird-killing spider,
and then our fourth loving associate, the heavy dumpling in front, whose
chaps, I will answer for it, relished many an inch thick steak from the
once far-famed Honey Lane market,[313] all supported with the greatest
ease by this envied and caressed _Pride_ of the _Fair_, to whose powers
the frequenters of Sadler’s Wells also bore many a testimony.

In the year 1804, Antonio Benedictus Van Assen engraved a whole-length
portrait of this Patagonian Samson, at the foot of which his name was
thus announced, “_Giovanni Baptista Belzoni_.” This animated production
was executed at the expense of the friendly Mr. James Parry, the justly
celebrated gem and seal engraver, of Wells Street, Oxford Street.

[Illustration: GIOVANNI BAPTISTA BELZONI

“Belzoni _is_ a grand traveller, and his English is very prettily broken.”

_Lord Byron_]

After the close of Bartholomew Fair, this Patagonian was seen at that
of Edmonton, exhibiting in a field behind the Bell Inn, immortalised by
Cowper in his “Johnny Gilpin;” and I have been assured that, so late as
1810, at Edinburgh, he was, during his exhibition in Valentine and Orson,
soundly hissed for not handling his friend the bear, at the time of her
death, in an affectionate manner. Several years rolled on, and he was
nearly forgotten in England, until the year 1820, and then many people
recognised in the Egyptian traveller Belzoni the person who had figured
away at fairs, as I have stated. The following anecdotes, in private
circulation, of this extraordinary man may not be considered wholly
uninteresting.

He was a native of Padua, and educated in order to become a profound
monk; but, during the frenzy of war, being noticed by the French army, in
consequence of his commanding figure, to be admirably well calculated for
a fugleman, prudently avoided seizure for so deadly a service, by getting
together what few things time would permit him, and so left Rome. I
should have stated to the reader that, upon his arrival in London in the
year 1803, he walked into Smithfield during Bartholomew Fair time, where
he was seen by the master of a show, who, it is said, thus questioned his
_Merry Andrew_:--“Do you see that tall-looking fellow in the midst of
the crowd? he is looking about him over the heads of the people as if he
walked upon stilts; go and see if he’s worth our money, and ask him if
he wants a job.” Away scrambled Mr. _Merryman_ down the monkey’s post,
and, “as quick as lightning,” conducted the stranger to his master, who,
being satisfied of his personal attractions, immediately engaged, plumed,
painted, and put him up.

The reader will readily conceive that a man like Belzoni, seriously
educated for the duties of the Church, and accustomed to associate
with people of good manners, could with no little reluctance endure
the vulgar society his pecuniary circumstances alone compelled him to
associate with. However, after the expiration of nine years, in the
course of which time he had married and saved money, he and his wife
were enabled to visit Portugal, Spain, and Malta, from which place they
embarked for Egypt. Fortunately for Belzoni, the wife he had chosen
more than equally shared his numerous dangers, by spiritedly joining
in all his enterprises, which some of my readers will recollect are
most delightfully described by herself in what she styles “A Trifling
Account,” printed at the end of her husband’s _Travels in Egypt, Nubia_,
etc.[314]

As most of my readers have perused this work, I shall only state that,
shortly after the arrival of Belzoni and his wife in England, my friend
Dr. Richardson,[315] the traveller, who had been kind to them in every
possible way when in Egypt, introduced me to them when they lodged in
Downing Street, Westminster. Here I not only had great pleasure in seeing
my steady supporter again, but enjoyed most pleasantly the conversation
I had with his enterprising partner, whose sensible and intrepid cast of
features well accorded with her artless, unsophisticated, and interesting
“Trifling Account,” to which I have alluded.

In 1784, when Sir Ashton Lever petitioned the House of Commons for a
lottery for his museum, Mr. Thomas Waring made the following declaration
before the Committee to whom the petition was referred:--“That he had
been manager of Sir Ashton’s collection ever since it had been brought to
London in the year 1775; that it had occupied twelve years in forming;
and that there were upwards of twenty-six thousand articles. That the
money received for admission amounted, from February 1775 to February
1784, to about £13,000, out of which £660 had been paid for house-rent
and taxes.” Sir Ashton Lever proposed that his whole museum should
go together, and that there should be 40,000 tickets at one guinea
each.[316]

[Illustration: BARTHOLOMEW FAIR]

Few people would believe that so lately as this year, the Duke of Dorset,
Lord Winchilsea, Lord Talbot, Colonel Tarleton, Mr. Howe, Mr. Damer, Hon.
Mr. Lennox, and the Rev. Mr. Williams played at cricket in an open field
near White Conduit House.[317] Who could have conjectured that Du Val’s
Lane, branching from Holloway, within memory so notoriously infested with
highwaymen that few people would venture to peep into it even in mid-day,
should, in 1831, be lighted with gas?[318]

In 1784, Nathaniel Hillier’s[319] collection of prints was sold by
Christie: they were well selected as to impression, but much deteriorated
in value by Mr. Hillier’s attachment to strong coffee, with which he had
stained them. It has been acknowledged by one of the family that, what
with the expense of staining, mounting, and ruling, his collection only
brought them one-fifth of the cost of the prints in the first instance.

Dr. Samuel Johnson also died this year [1784]; during the time the
surgeon was engaged in opening his body, Sir John Hawkins, Knight, was in
the adjoining room seeing to the weighing of the Doctor’s tea-pot, in the
presence of a silversmith, whom Sir John, as an executor, had called upon
to purchase it.[320]


1805.

    “Mr. Townley presents his compliments to Mr. West, and requests
    that, when he sees Mr. Lock[321] at his house, he will be so
    good as to deliver to him the packet sent herewith, containing
    two prints from Homer’s head,--Mr. T. not knowing where Mr.
    Lock lives in town. The drawing representing the ‘Triumphs
    of Bacchus’ by Rubens,[322] in the eighth night’s sale at
    Greenwood’s, differing much from the bas-relief in the Borghese
    Villa, from which Caracci is supposed to have composed his
    picture of that subject in the Farnese Gallery,[323] Mr. T. has
    no intention to bid for it.

    “PARK ST., WESTMINSTER, _21st Feb. 1787_.”

       *       *       *       *       *

    “MY DEAR SIR,--I return you many thanks for your kind
    information respecting the sale of the marbles at the late Lord
    Mendip’s house at Twickenham.[324] Had I been there and in
    spirits, the fine Oriental alabaster vase would not have been
    sold so cheap, and would probably have come to Park Street.
    I should also have probably purchased the medallion of an
    elderly man over a chimney-piece. I shall be glad to find out
    who bought it, and at what price. I should also have liked the
    ancient fountain. Pray, what was it sold for, and who bought it?

    “I mean to take a farewell look at the _robaccia_ at Wilton, to
    verify my former notes on that collection.

    “I flatter myself that many bad symptoms of my long disorder
    begin to abate, though it still, I feel, has strong hold upon
    me. I shall remain here about a fortnight longer, then return
    to Park Street.

    “If you will give me the pleasure of a line from you, you may
    direct to me, No. 36, Milsom Street, Bath. I am, sir, ever most
    faithfully yours, etc.

                                                       “C. TOWNLEY.

    “BATH, 36, MILSOM STREET, _11th June 1802_.”


1806.

In the month of June this year, the late Atkinson Bush,[325] then of
Great Ormond Street, brought to my house Mr. Parton, vestry-clerk of
St. Giles’s-in-the-Fields, with a view to obtain such particulars of
that parish as I was acquainted with, he being then busily engaged in
collecting materials for its history. In the course of conversation, I
was astonished to find that it was his intention to have a plan of the
parish engraved for his work, purporting to have been taken between the
years twelve and thirteen hundred, a period more than two centuries
and a half earlier than Aggas’s plan of London, and from which I could
not help observing that in my opinion he had most glaringly borrowed.
When he assured me he had not, my request was then to know his authority
for producing such a plan, but for that question he was not provided
with an answer, nor did he appear to be willing to be probed by further
interrogatories. To my great astonishment, when Mr. Parton’s book made
its appearance, I not only found this plan professing to be between the
years twelve and thirteen hundred so minutely made out, with every man’s
possession in the parish most distinctly attributed, but every plot of
garden so neatly delineated, with the greatest variety of parterres,
walks with cut borders, as if the gardener of William III. or Queen Anne
had then been living. As Mr. Parton omitted to give any authority for the
introduction of so wonderfully early a piece of ichnography, I applied
to several leading men in the parish of St. Giles, but could gain no
intelligence whatever respecting it: so much for this plan of St. Giles’s
parish, as produced by Mr. Parton.[326]

[Illustration: “The Townley Marbles.”]


1807.

On the 7th of November of this year, aged 65, died at Rome the celebrated
Angelica Kauffmann, who was appointed a member of the Royal Academy by
King George III. at its foundation.[327] That she was a great favourite
with the admirers of art may be inferred by the numerous engravings from
her productions by Bartolozzi and the late William Wynn Ryland.[328]
Her pictures are always tasteful, and often well composed, clearly and
harmoniously , and extremely finished with a most delicate but
spirited pencil. Indeed, her talents were so approved by her brother
Academicians, that those gentlemen allotted her compartments of the
ceiling in their council-chamber at Somerset Place for decoration, in
which most honourable and pleasing task she so well acquitted herself,
that her performances are the admiration of every visitor, but more
particularly those who possess the organ of colour. She etched numerous
subjects; the best impressions are those before the plates were
aqua-tinted.

When I was a boy, my father frequently took me to Golden Square to see
her pictures, where she and her father had for many years resided in the
centre house on the south side. There are several portraits of her, but
none so well-looking as that painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, of which
there is an engraving by Bartolozzi.

Angelica Kauffmann was a great coquette, and pretended to be in love
with several gentlemen at the same time.[329] Once she professed to be
enamoured of Nathaniel Dance;[330] to the next visitor she would divulge
the great secret that she was dying for Sir Joshua Reynolds. However, she
was at last rightly served for her duplicity by marrying a very handsome
fellow personating Count de Horn. With this alliance she was so pleased,
that she made her happy conquest known to her Majesty Queen Charlotte,
who was much astonished that the Count should have been so long in
England without coming to Court. However, the real Count’s arrival was
some time afterwards announced at Dover; and Angelica Kauffmann’s husband
turned out to be no other than his _valet de chambre_. He was prevailed
upon subsequently to accept a separate maintenance.[331] After this man’s
death she married Zucchi, and settled in Rome. During her residence
there, she was solicited by the artists in general, but more particularly
by the English, to join them in an application to this country for
permission to bring their property to England duty free; and as I possess
the original letter which that lady wrote to Lord Camelford[332] upon the
subject, I cannot refrain from inserting it.

    “MY LORD,--I do not know, if by having lived several years
    in England, and having the honour to be a R.A., I may be
    sufficiently entitled to join with the artists of Great Britain
    in their request, or better to say, in returning thanks to your
    Lordship for patronising them in a point so very essential,
    which is to assist them in obtaining the free importation of
    their own studies, models, or designs, collected for their
    improvement during their own stay abroad.

    “The heavy duty set upon articles of that nature causes that
    the artist, whose circumstances do not permit him to pay
    perhaps a considerable sum, must either be deprived of what
    he keeps most valuable, or buy his own works at the public
    sale at the Custom House. This I have myself experienced on my
    coming to England,--and I mention it here, in consequence of
    the opinion of some of my friends, who think that my assertion,
    added to what other artists may have reported to that purpose,
    may be of some use to obtain their object.

    “I heard from Dr. Bates,[333] and Mr. Reveley,[334] the
    architect, how very much your Lordship is inclined to support
    the earnest supplication drawn up by some of the artists, which
    proves your Lordship to be a protector of the fine arts, and
    of those who profess them. Consequently I have some reason to
    hope that I may not be judged too impertinent for addressing
    these lines to you. I have the honour to be, with the greatest
    respect, my Lord, your Lordship’s most obliged humble servant,

                                               “ANGELICA KAUFFMANN.

    “TRINITÀ DE’ MONTI, _the 26th Dec. 1787_.”

This year, my laborious work, entitled _Antiquities of Westminster_, was
delivered to its numerous and patient subscribers.[335] The following
congratulatory letter is one of the many with which I have been honoured
by its extensive and steady friends:--

                                        “LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL CLOSE,
                                         _Thursday, 2nd July 1807_.

    “Mr. White[336] presents his best respects to Mr. Smith.
    His precious little box, from some unaccountable delay in
    Cambridge, did not arrive till yesterday evening, accompanied
    by a letter, which receives this early acknowledgment. Though
    Mr. White has not had leisure to inspect critically the
    literary portion of Mr. Smith’s elegant and splendid volume,
    yet his whole time since it came has been occupied in studying
    and admiring its numerous, accurate, and highly finished
    engravings, which alone give it a superiority to any book of
    art’s illustration which Mr. White can at present recollect.
    Mr. Smith’s offer of a few loose prints is peculiarly kind and
    acceptable; and Mr. White so far avails himself of it.

    “Mr. White cannot refrain expressing his concern and
    astonishment, that Mr. Smith should have experienced so
    bitter a recession from friendly promises and assistance,
    as Mr. H. obliged him to feel; at the same time, the candid
    and unequivocal statement which Mr. Smith has made, must
    exonerate him from the world’s reproof, and account for the
    long protraction of the work. Mr. White cannot but indulge
    the hope, that so noble an addition to our architectural
    antiquities, so admirable an elucidation of every _precedent_
    history of London, will most amply remunerate the pocket,
    though no success can recompense that anxiety of mind which
    Mr. Smith has undergone. The beautiful Cathedral of Lichfield
    has been recently ornamented with some very fine ancient
    painted windows, from the dissolved convent near Lille. If Mr.
    Smith would publish them in colours, Mr. White thinks that
    the subscription would fill rapidly; and if Mr. Smith would
    but come down and look at them, Mr. White would be happy in
    extending every accommodation, and rendering every assistance
    to him. When the windows are known, the plan will be certainly
    adopted by other artists of inferior competency.”


1808.

On the first of November this year, George Dance, the Royal Academician,
signed the dedication page of his first volume of portraits of eminent
men drawn in pencil, with parts touched lightly with colour from life,
and engraved by William Daniell, A.R.A., now a Royal Academician (he died
1837), consisting of thirty-six in number. The second volume, which also
contained thirty-six in number, was published in 1814.[337]

Fuseli, when viewing several of these portraits, was heard by one of Mr.
Dance’s sitters to make the following observations upon the likenesses.
Of Benjamin West he said, “His eye is like a vessel in the South Sea,--I
can just spy it through the telescope;” of that of Joseph Wilton the
sculptor, he observed, “How simple are the thinking parts of this man’s
head, and how sumptuous the manducatory;” of that of James Barry he made
the following declaration, “This fellow looks like the door of his own
house;” of that of Northcote he exclaimed, “By _Cot_, he is looking sharp
for a rat;” and of that of Sir William Chambers, he observed, drawling
out his words, “What a _grate_, heavy, _humpty-dumpty_, this leaden
fellow is.”[338]

[Illustration: JAMES NORTHCOTE, R.A.

“By _Cot_, he is looking out sharp for a rat.”

_Fuseli_]

In this sort of wit Fuseli had a formidable force of gunnery, and his
shot seldom missed its destination; however, it cannot shatter the above
work, as most of the portraits are of worthies too well known even to
need it necessary to engrave their names under them.

The greater portion of these likenesses are highly valuable to the
illustrators of Boswell’s _Life of Johnson_, and, indeed, most of the
modern biographical publications.


1809.

I cannot more pleasantly close this year than by inserting a copy of one
of John Bannister’s bills for his BUDGET;[339] and as the original is
now an extreme rarity, I conclude that some of those “_gude folks_” who
witnessed the delightful humour displayed by that gifted son of Thespis,
may possibly be better enabled to recollect how much they giggled
twenty-three years ago.

    “Oh the days when I was young!”

The type of the long lines in the original bill, which is of a small
folio size, being too small to be read without spectacles, I have
necessarily, in some instances, been obliged to increase the number of
lines in the following copy.

                        “THEATRE, IPSWICH.

                  POSITIVELY FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY.

                  Patronised by their Majesties,
      Before whom Mr. Bannister had the honour of performing,
                  At the Queen’s House, Frogmore.

            The Public are most respectfully informed,
             On Wednesday, the 29th of November, 1809,
                        Will be presented,

                  A MISCELLANEOUS DIVERTISEMENT,
     With considerable vocal and rhetorical variations, called

                        BANNISTER’S BUDGET;
                  OR, AN ACTOR’S WAYS AND MEANS!

                           Consisting of
                   Recitations and Comic Songs;
                 Which will be sung and spoken by
       MR. BANNISTER, of the late Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.

    “The above Divertisement is entirely new; the prose and verse
    which compose it having been written _expressly_ for the
    occasion of MR. BANNISTER’S TOUR, by Messrs. Colman, Reynolds,
    Cherry, T. Dibdin, C. Dibdin, Jun., and others.

    The whole of the Entertainment has been arranged and revised by
    MR. COLMAN.

    The songs (which Mr. Reeve, Jun., will accompany on the
    pianoforte,) are principally composed by Mr. Reeve.

    PROSPECTUS OF THE DIVERTISEMENT.

    “Part I.--Exordium.--Mr. Bannister’s Interview with
    Garrick.--Garrick’s Manner attempted by Mr. Bannister in a
    Shaving Dialogue.--Mr. Doublelungs in the Clay-pit.--Macklin’s
    advice to his Pupils.--The Ship’s Chaplain, and Jack Haulyard,
    the Boatswain; or, Two Ways of Telling a Story.--Sam
    Stern.--The Melodramaniac, or Value of Vocal Talent.--Mr. and
    Mrs. O’Blunder, or, Irish Suicide!

    “Part II.--Superannuated Sexton.--Original Anecdotes of
    a late well-known eccentric Character.--Trial at the Old
    Bailey.--Cross-Examination.--Counsellor Garble.--Barrister
    Snip-snap.--Serjeant Splitbrain.--Address to the Jury.--Simon
    Soaker, and Deputy Dragon.

    “Part III.--Club of Queer Fellows!--President Hosier.--Speech
    from the Chair.--Mr. Hesitate.--Mr. Sawney Mac Snip.--Musical
    Poulterer.--Duet between a Game Cock and a Dorking Hen.--Mr.
    Molasses.--Mr. Mimé.--Monotony exemplified.--Mr. Kill-joy, the
    Whistling Orator.--Susan and Strephon.--Budget closed.

    Rotation of Comic Songs to be introduced on this particular
    occasion.

    “IN PART I.

    Vocal Medley.
    Captain Wattle and Miss Roe (by particular desire).
    Tom Tuck’s Ghost.
    Song in Praise of Ugliness!
    The Debating Society.

    “IN PART II.

    The Deserter; or, Death or Matrimony.
    Miss Wrinkle and Mr. Grizzle,
    and
    The Tortoiseshell Tom Cat.

    “IN PART III.

    THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO; OR,
    FINE FLEECY HOSIERY.
    The Marrow-fat Family.
    Jollity Burlesqued, and
    Beggars and Ballad-singers.

    The doors to be opened at six o’clock, and to begin precisely
    at seven. Boxes, Upper Circle, 4s.; Lower Circle, 3s.; Pit,
    2s., Gallery, 1s.

    N.B. Care has been taken to have the Theatre well aired.”


1810.

My reader will find by the following copy of a paper written by the
Rev. Stephen Weston, B.D.,[340] and read at the Society of Antiquaries’
meeting, 25th January 1810, that the term Swan-_hopping_ is to be
considered a popular error.

“It appears in the Swan-rolls, exhibited by the Right Honourable Sir
Joseph Banks, that the King’s were doubly marked, and had what was
called two nicks, or notches. The term, in process of time, not being
understood, a double animal was invented, unknown to the Egyptians
and Greeks, with the name of the Swan with Two Necks. But this is
not the only ludicrous mistake that has arisen out of the subject,
since Swan-upping, or the taking up of Swans, performed annually by
the Swan companies, with the Lord Mayor of London at their head,
for the purpose of marking them, has been changed by an unlucky
aspirate into Swan-hopping, which is not to the purpose, and perfectly
unintelligible.”[341]


1811.

In the summer of this year, the Earl of Pembroke allowed me to copy a
picture at Wilton, painted by the celebrated architect, Inigo Jones.
It is a view of Covent Garden in its original state, when there was a
tree in the middle. The skill with which he has treated the effect is
admirable.

There is also, in that superb mansion, a companion picture of Lincoln’s
Inn Fields by the same artist.


1812.

The political career of John Horne Tooke, Esq., is well known, and the
fame of his celebrated work, entitled the _Diversions of Purley_, will be
spoken of as long as paper lasts.

In the year 1811 a most flagrant depredation was committed in his house
at Wimbledon by a collector of taxes, who daringly carried away a silver
tea and sugar caddy, the value of which amounted, in weight of silver,
to at least twenty times more than the sum demanded, for a tax which
Mr. Tooke declared he never would pay. This gave rise to the following
letter:--

    “TO MESSRS. CROFT AND DILKE.

    “GENTLEMEN,--I beg it as a favour of you, that you will go in
    my name to Mr. Judkin, attorney, in Clifford’s Inn, and desire
    him to go with you both to the Under Sheriff’s Office, in New
    Inn, Wych Street.

    “I have had a distress served upon me for taxes, at Wimbledon,
    in the county of Surrey.

    “By the recommendation of Mr. Stuart, of Putney, I desire Mr.
    Judkin to act as my attorney in replevying the goods; and I
    desire Mr. Croft and Mr. Dilke to sign the security-bond for me
    that I will try the question.

    “Pray show this memorandum to Mr. Judkin.

                                                 “JOHN HORNE TOOKE.

    “WIMBLEDON, _May 17th, 1811_.”

As Mr. Croft and Mr. Dilke were proceeding on the Putney Road, they met
the tax-collector with the tea-caddy under his arm, on his way back
with the greatest possible haste to return it, with an apology to Mr.
Tooke,--that being the advice of a friend. The two gentlemen returned
with him, and witnessed Mr. Tooke’s kindness when the man declared he had
a large family.[342]

On the 18th of March this year (1812), Mr. Tooke died, at his house at
Wimbledon. He was put into a strong elm shell. The coffin was made from
the heart of a solid oak, cut down for the purpose. It measured six feet
one inch in length; in breadth at the shoulders, two feet two inches; the
depth at the head, two feet six inches; and the depth at the feet, two
feet four inches. This enormous depth of coffin was absolutely necessary,
in consequence of the contraction of his body. His remains were conveyed
in a hearse and six, to Ealing, in Middlesex, attended by three mourning
coaches with four horses to each. It was Mr. Tooke’s wish to have been
buried in his own ground; but to this the executors very properly made an
objection.[343]


1813.

At the sale of the effects of the Rev. William Huntington (vulgarly
called the “Coal-heaver”), which commenced on the 22nd of September, and
continued for three following days, at his late residence, Hermes Hill,
Pentonville, one of his steady followers purchased a barrel of ale,
which had been brewed for Christmas, because he would have something to
remember him by.[344]

[Illustration: WILLIAM HUNTINGTON (S.S.)

“I cannot get D.D. for want of cash, therefore I am compelled to fly to
S.S., by which I mean Sinner Saved.”]


1814.

Mr. John Nixon, of Basinghall Street, gave me the following information
respecting the Beefsteak Club. Mr. Nixon, as Secretary, had possession
of the original book. Lambert’s Club was first held in Covent Garden
Theatre, in the upper room, called the “Thunder and Lightning;” then in
one even with the two-shilling gallery; next in an apartment even with
the boxes; and afterwards in a lower room, where they remained until the
fire. After that time, Mr. Harris insisted upon it, as the playhouse was
a new building, that the Club should not be held there. They then went to
the Bedford Coffee-house next door. Upon the ceiling of the dining-room
they placed Lambert’s original gridiron, which had been saved from the
fire. They had a kitchen, a cook, and a wine-cellar, etc., entirely
independent of the Bedford Coffee-house. When the Lyceum, in the Strand,
was rebuilt, Mr. Arnold fitted up a room for the Beefsteak Club, where it
remained until the late fire.

The society held at Robins’s room was called the “Ad Libitum” Society, of
which Mr. Nixon had the books; but it was a totally different society,
quite unconnected with the Beefsteak Club.[345]


1815.

One of the biographers of Mrs. Abington, the first actress who played
the part of Lady Teazle in the _School for Scandal_, and so justly
celebrated in characters of ladies in high life, states that she died on
the 1st of March 1815, in her 84th year. Another informs us that she
died on the 4th; but neither of the writers say where she died, or where
she was buried; on inquiry, I found that she died at Pall Mall.[346] Of
all the theatrical ungovernable ladies under Mr. Garrick’s management,
Mrs. Abington, with her capriciousness, inconsistency, injustice, and
unkindness, perplexed him the most. She was not unlike the miller’s
mare, for ever looking for a white stone to shy at. And though no one
has charged her with malignant mischief, she was never more delighted
than when in a state of hostility, often arising from most trivial
circumstances, discovered in mazes of her own ingenious construction.[347]

Mrs. Abington, in order to keep up her card-parties, of which she was
very fond, and which were attended by many ladies of the highest rank,
absented herself from her abode to live _incog._ For this purpose
she generally took a small lodging in one of the passages leading
from Stafford Row, Pimlico,[348] where plants are so placed at the
windows as nearly to shut out the light, at all events, to render the
apartments impervious to the inquisitive eye of such characters as
Liston represented in _Paul Pry_. Now and then she would take the small
house at the end of Mount Street, and there live with her servant in the
kitchen, till it was time to reappear; and then some of her friends would
compliment her on the effects of her summer’s excursion.

                                            “ADELPHI, _November 9_.

    “Mr. Garrick’s compliments to Mrs. Abington, and has sent her
    on the other side a little alteration (if she approves it, not
    else) of the epilogue, where there seems to be a patch: it
    should, he believes, run thus:--

                      “Such a persecution!
        ’Tis the great blemish of the constitution!
        No human laws should Nature’s rights abridge,
        Freedom of speech, our dearest privilege;
        Ours is the wiser sex, though deemed the weaker,
        I’ll put the Question, if you’ll cheer me, _Speaker_.

                “Suppose me now bewig’d, etc.[349]

    “Mrs. A. is at full liberty to adopt this alteration or not.
    Had not our house overflowed last night in a quarter of an
    hour, from the opening of Covent Garden had suffered much. As
    it was, there was great room in the pit and gallery at the end
    of the third act.

    “Much joy I sincerely wish you at your success in Lady Bab. May
    it continue till we both are tired, you with playing the part,
    and I with seeing it.

    “MRS. ABINGTON, 62, PALL MALL.”

       *       *       *       *       *

    TO RICHARD COSWAY, ESQ., R.A.

    “I have found another letter, which you will see is part
    of the history I took the liberty of troubling you with. I
    cannot express how much I am obliged to you for your goodness
    and friendly confidence in telling me what you had heard of
    this trumpery matter, as it has given me an opportunity of
    convincing you, in some little degree, that _my conduct_ stands
    in no need of protection, nor can at any time subject me to
    fears from threatful insinuations of necessitous adventurers. I
    am, Sir, your very much obliged and humble servant,

                                                     “F. ABINGTON.”

       *       *       *       *       *

    TO RICHARD COSWAY, ESQ., R.A.

    “Mrs. Abington will feel herself most extremely mortified
    indeed if she has not some hope given her that Mr. and Mrs.
    Cosway will do her the very great honour of coming to her
    benefit this evening.

    “She has been able to secure a small balcony in the very midst
    of persons of the first rank in this country, which she set
    down in the name of Mrs. Cosway, till she hears further; it
    holds two in front, and has three rows holding two upon each,
    so that Mr. Cosway may accommodate four other persons after
    being comfortably seated with Mrs. Cosway.

    “_February 10th._ Nine o’clock.”

       *       *       *       *       *

                                          “ADELPHI, _December 8th_.

    “DEAR MADAM,--I altered the beginning of your epilogue, merely
    for your ease and credit. I leave it wholly to your own
    feelings to decide what to speak or what to reject. I find the
    epilogue is liked, and therefore I would make it as tolerable
    as possible for you. I assure you, upon my word, that if
    you please yourself, you will please me. In my hurry I find,
    looking over the lines this afternoon, that I have made a false
    chime. I have made _directed_ and _corrected_ to chime, which
    will not do: suppose them thus,

        “Does not he know, poor soul, to be _detected_
        Is what you hate, and more to be corrected.--

    or thus:--

        “Does not he know, in faults to be _detected_
        Is what you hate, and more to be _corrected_.[350]

    “I most sincerely wish you joy of your friend’s success. The
    comedy will be in great vogue.

    “I am, Madam, your very humble Servant,

                                                      “D. GARRICK.”

    Bad pen, and gouty fingers,
    Poor Anacreon, thou growest old![351]

       *       *       *       *       *

                                  “PALL MALL, _November 4th, 1794_.

    “Mrs. Abington begs leave to present her compliments to Mr.
    Webster, and to assure him that she feels perfectly ashamed
    of the trouble which she has repeatedly given him, and is now
    about to give him; but, indeed, she has so much dependence upon
    the goodness of his heart, as well as of his understanding,
    that she flatters herself he will forgive her committing
    herself to him, upon matters which require more sense as well
    as more management than falls to the share of the generality
    of her acquaintance. The enclosed letter will explain to Mr.
    Webster the nature of Mrs. Abington’s present difficulty, as he
    will see she is in danger of losing the fine picture which has
    been for near six years in the hands of Mr. Sherwin, for the
    purpose of making a print from it. There is not one moment to
    be lost, if Mr. Webster will have the goodness to undertake the
    business; and she begs of him not to mention the matter further.

    “The picture is the property of Mrs. Abington, and given by Sir
    Joshua Reynolds to Mr. Sherwin at his own particular request,
    that Sir Joshua would favour him so far as to let him have the
    preference of the many artists who, at the time the picture was
    painted, applied for it to engrave a plate from it.

    “Mrs. Abington begs leave to present her kindest love and
    regards to Mrs. Webster, and flatters herself that the whole
    family are perfectly well.

    “She has this moment heard that all the armaments will now end
    in peace.

    “To JOHN WEBSTER, ESQ., Duke Street, Westminster.”

As Sherwin’s plate from this beautiful picture was published by the late
Mr. John Thane,[352] on February 1st, 1791, and as Mrs. Abington’s letter
to Mr. Webster is dated November 4th, 1794, it appears that the engraver
retained it nearly four years after the plate was finished; so that,
according to Mrs. Abington’s date, it must have been upwards of two years
in hand.

My old friend, Mr. Thomas Thane, son of the publisher, who is now in
possession of the plate, kindly gave me impressions of it in three
states. The first is a great rarity: a proof before any letters, and the
reduction of the plate. The second is after the sides of the plate had
been reduced, with the names of the painter, engraver, and publisher,
perfectly engraved, and the name of Roxalana slightly etched. The third
and last state is, after the etched name Roxalana has been taken out and
engraved higher in the plate, to make room for some lines of poetry.

At page 70 of the Wilmot Letters in the British Museum is the following
letter, addressed by the Hon. Horace Walpole to Mrs. Abington the
actress:--

                                         “PARIS, _September, 1771_.

    “If I had known, Madam, of your being at Paris, before I
    heard it from Colonel Blaquière,[353] I should certainly have
    prevented your flattering invitation, and have offered you any
    services that could depend on my acquaintance here. It is plain
    I am old, and live with very old folks.”[354]

Further on the same writer observes:--

    “I have not that fault at least of a veteran, the thinking
    nothing equalled to what they admired in their youth. I do
    impartial justice to your merit, and fairly allow it not only
    equal to that of any actress I have seen, but believe the
    present age will not be in the wrong, if they hereafter prefer
    it to those they may live to see. Your allowing me to wait on
    you in London, Madam, will make me some amends for the loss
    I have had here; and I shall take an early opportunity of
    assuring you how much I am, Madam, your most obliged humble
    servant,

                                                  “HORACE WALPOLE.”

       *       *       *       *       *

    “MADAM,--You may certainly always command me and my house. My
    common custom is to give a ticket for only four persons at a
    time; but it would be very insolent in me, when all laws are
    set at nought, to pretend to prescribe rules. At such times
    there is a shadow of authority in setting the laws aside by
    the legislature itself; and though I have no army to supply
    their place, I declare Mrs. Abington may march through all my
    dominions at the head of _as large_ a troop as she pleases;--I
    do not say, as she can muster and command, for then I am sure
    my house would not hold them. The day, too, is at her own
    choice; and the master is her very obedient humble servant,

                                                     “HOR. WALPOLE.

    “STRAWBERRY HILL, _June 11, 1780_.”

       *       *       *       *       *

    MRS. ABINGTON TO MRS. JORDAN.

                             “NO. 19, ETON STREET, GROSVENOR PLACE,

                                              “_January 6th, 1807_.

    “I beg leave, dear Madam, to make my grateful acknowledgments
    for the favour of your kind remembrance. Your ticket with
    those of dear Miss Betsworth, and the Miss Jordans, was sent to
    my present habitation on New Year’s day.

    “I have not slept in London since I came from the Wealds of
    Kent, where I passed my summer upon a visit to Sir Walter and
    Lady Jane James, and their lovely family.[355] It is near a
    grand scene of Gothic magnificence, called Bayham Abbey, a seat
    of Lord Camden’s, the brother of Lady Jane. In their peaceful
    retreat and accomplished society, I have very much recovered
    my health and spirits, and hope to have the happiness of
    seeing you soon, as I am now looking for something to inhabit
    in London. In the meantime, if you, dear Madam, or the Miss
    Jordans, will do me the honour of calling at my present abode,
    which are two rooms, where I keep my clothes and trumpery, I
    shall be much flattered; and beg you to accept the compliments
    of the season, and a sincere wish that you may see many,
    many returns, with every happiness you are so well entitled
    to expect. Adieu, my dearest Madam. Be pleased to make my
    compliments to the ladies, and believe me your most obliged,
    etc.,

                                                “F. ABINGTON.”[356]

[Illustration: MRS. JORDAN

“The very sound of the little familiar word _bud_ from her lips … was a
whole concentrated world of the power of loving.”--_Leigh Hunt_]


1816.

As a playful relaxation from my former more serious applications,
I commenced my work of the most remarkable London Beggars, with
biographical sketches of each character.[357] By this publication I
gained more money than by all my antiquarian labours united. Her late
Majesty, Queen Charlotte, and the Princess Elizabeth, much encouraged
their publicity; but I must acknowledge that my greatest success was
owing to the warm and friendly exertions of the late Charles Cowper,[358]
Esq., of the Albany, a gentleman whose memory must be dear to every one
who had the pleasure of knowing him.

Much about this time, the Print Room of the British Museum was closed, in
consequence of the death of the highly talented Mr. William Alexander,
when several friends exerted their interest to procure me the situation
of Keeper, an appointment which, I hope, I have held with no small
benefit to that National Institution, and with credit to myself. The
interest required to obtain this appointment may be conceived, when the
number of candidates is considered. The following letter was written
by his Grace the late Archbishop of Canterbury to one of his Grace’s
relations:--

                                    “ADDINGTON, _Sept. 16th, 1816_.

    “MY DEAR MADAM,--With such interest as Mr. J. T. Smith
    possesses, I am astonished he should think it worth while to
    waste his strength in pursuit of such a trifling office as that
    which is now vacant in the Museum.

    “It is impossible to resist the testimony which your Ladyship,
    and many others, have borne to his merits and qualifications.
    He certainly shall have my vote; and I have reason to believe
    he will have the votes of the other two principal Trustees, to
    whom the appointment belongs.

                                                 “C. CANTUAR.”[359]


1817.

Perhaps the only gala day now which gladdens the heart of the loyal
spectator, is the one afforded by Thomas Doggett, comedian, on the 1st
of August, to commemorate the accession of the House of Brunswick. This
scene is sure to be picturesque and cheerful, should the glorious sun,
“that gems the sea, and every land that blooms,” reflect the pendent
streamers of its variegated show, in the quivering eddies of Father
Thames’s silver tide. At what time Mr. Thomas Doggett was born, I am
ignorant. All I have been able to glean of him is, that Castle Street,
Dublin, has been stated as the place of his birth; and that he had the
honour of being the founder of our water games. Colley Cibber, speaking
of him, says, “As an actor he was a great observer of Nature; and as a
singer he had no competitor.” He was the author of the _Country Wake_,
a comedy, and was a patentee of Drury Lane Theatre until 1712; and my
friend, Mr. Thomas Gilliland,[360] in his work entitled _The Dramatic
Mirror_, states his death to have taken place on the 22nd of September
1721.

In 1715, the year after George I. came to the throne, Doggett, to quicken
the industry and raise a laudable emulation in our young men of the
Thames, whereby they not only may acquire a knowledge of the river, but
a skill in managing the oar with dexterity, gave an orange-
coat and silver badge, on which was sculptured the Hanoverian Horse,
to the successful candidate of six young watermen just out of their
apprenticeship, to be rowed for on the 1st of August, when the current
was strongest against them, starting from the “Old Swan,” London Bridge,
to the “Swan” at Chelsea. On the 1st of August 1722, the year after
Doggett’s death, pursuant to the tenor of his will, the prize was first
rowed for, and has been given annually ever since.[361]

    “They gripe their oars; and every panting breast
    Is raised by turns with hope, by turns with fear deprest.”

This gratifying sight I have often witnessed; and the
never-to-be-forgotten Charles Dibdin considered it so pleasing a subject,
that in 1774 he brought out at the Haymarket Theatre a ballad opera,
entitled _The Waterman, or the First of August_. In this piece, Tom Tug,
the hero, is in love with a gardener’s daughter, before whom he sings,

    “And did you not hear of a jolly young waterman,
      Who at Blackfriars’ Bridge used for to ply;
    And he feathered his oars with such skill and dexterity,
      Winning each heart, and delighting each eye,” etc.

Poor Tug, who considered himself slighted for another lover, whom the
girl of his heart appeared to prefer, after declaring that he would go
on board a man-of-war to cast away his care, sings a song, of which the
following is the first verse:--

    “Then farewell, my trim-built wherry,
      Oars and coat and badge farewell!
    Never more at Chelsea ferry
      Shall your Thomas take a spell,” etc.

However, Tom rowed for Doggett’s Coat and Badge, which he had an eye
upon, in order to obtain the girl, if possible, by his prowess. She was
seated at the Swan, and admired the successful candidate before she
discovered him to be her suitor Thomas, then

    “Blushed an answer to his wooing tale.”

The part of Tom Tug was originally performed by Charles Bannister,
and esteemed so great a favourite, that Mr. Garrick selected the
entertainment of _The Waterman_, to follow the comedy of _The Wonder_, on
the evening of his last performance on the stage.[362] Had the author of
_The Waterman_, when composing that little entertainment, suspected that
the Plague’s blood-red bills of

    “LORD, HAVE MERCY UPON US,”

had been fixed upon this house, the Swan, his Muse most likely would have
whispered, “You must not sadden these scenes.” Pepys, in his _Diary_,
made the following entry:--

“_April 9th, 1666._--Thinking to have been merry at Chelsey, but being
come almost to the house, by coach, near the water-side, a house alone, I
think the Swan, a gentleman walking by called to us to tell us that the
house was shut up of the sickness.”


1818.

It is scarcely possible for any person, possessing the smallest share
of common observation, to pass through ten streets in London, without
noticing what is generally denominated a character, either in dress,
walk, pursuits, or propensities. As even my enemies are willing to give
me credit for a most respectful attention to the ladies, I hope they will
not in this instance impeach my gallantry, because I place the fair sex
at the head of my table of remarks, as to the eccentricity of some of
their dresses. Miss Banks,[363] the sister of Sir Joseph, was looked
after by the eye of astonishment wherever she went, and in whatever
situation she appeared. Her dress was that of the _Old School_; her
Barcelona quilted petticoat had a hole on either side for the convenience
of rummaging two immense pockets, stuffed with books of all sizes. This
petticoat was covered with a deep stomachered gown, sometimes drawn
through the pocket-holes, similar to those of many of the ladies of
Bunbury’s time, which he has introduced in his prints. In this dress I
have frequently seen her walk, followed by a six-foot servant with a cane
almost as tall as himself.

Miss Banks, for so that lady was called for many years, was frequently
heard to relate the following curious anecdote of herself. After making
repeated inquiries of the wall-vendors of halfpenny ballads for a
particular one which she wanted, she was informed by the claret-faced
woman, who strung up her stock by Middlesex Hospital-gates, that if she
went to a printer in Long Lane, Smithfield, probably he might supply
her Ladyship with what her Ladyship wanted. Away trudged Miss Banks
through Smithfield, “_all on a market-day_”; but before she entered Mr.
Thompson’s shop, she desired her man to wait for her at the corner, by
the plumb-pudding stall. “Yes, we have it,” was the printer’s answer
to the interrogative. He then gave Miss Banks what is called a book,
consisting of many songs. Upon her expressing her surprise when the man
returned her eightpence from her shilling, and the great quantity of
songs he had given her, when she only wanted one,--“What, then!” observed
the man, “are you not one of our chanters? I beg your pardon.”

It has been stated that this lady and Lady Banks, out of compliment to
Sir Joseph, who had been deeply engaged in the production of wool, had
their riding-habits made of his produce, in which dresses those ladies
at one period upon all occasions appeared. Indeed, so delighted was
Miss Banks with this _overall_-covering, that she actually gave the
habit-maker orders for three at a time,--and they were called _Hightum_,
_Tightum_, and _Scrub_. The first was her best, the second her second
best, and the third her every-day one.

I have been informed that once, when Miss Banks and her sister-in-law
visited a friend with whom they were to stay several days, on the evening
of their arrival they sat down to dinner in their riding-habits. Their
friend had a large party after dinner to meet them, and they entered the
drawing-room in their riding-habits. On the following morning they again
appeared in their riding-habits; and so on, to the astonishment of every
one, till the conclusion of their visit.

Being in possession of an immense number of tradesmen’s tokens
current at this time, I left them in Soho Square, with a note begging
Miss Banks’s acceptance of any she might want. After a few hours, her
footman’s knock at my door announced the arrival of Miss Banks, who
entered the parlour holding up the front of her riding-habit with both
hands, the contents of which she delivered upon the table, at the same
time observing “that she considered herself extremely obliged to me for
my politeness, but that, extraordinary as it might appear, out of so many
hundred there was not one that she wanted.”

Although Miss Banks displayed great attention to many persons, there were
others to whom she was wanting in civility. I have heard that a great
genius, who had arrived a quarter of an hour before the time specified
upon the card for dinner, was shown into the drawing-room, where Miss
Banks was putting away what are sometimes called _rattle-traps_.[364]
When the visitor observed, “It is a fine day, Ma’am,” she replied, “I
know nothing at all about it; you must speak to my brother upon that
subject when you are at dinner.” Notwithstanding the very singular
appearance of Miss Banks, she was in the prime of life, a fashionable
whip, and drove four-in-hand.

Mrs. Carter,[365] the translator of Epictetus, was also singular in her
dress. Her upper walking-garment, in the latter part of her life, which
was cut short, was more like a bed-gown than anything else. The last time
I met this benevolent lady was in 1801, at Mrs. Dards’s exhibition,[366]
an immense collection of artificial flowers made entirely by herself with
fish-bones, the incessant labour of many years. I remember, in the course
of conversation, Mrs. Dards observed, “No one can imagine the trouble I
had in collecting the bones for that bunch of lilies of the valley; each
cup consists of the bones which contain the brains of the turbot; and
from the difficulty of matching the sizes, I never should have completed
my task had it not been for the kindness of the proprietors of the
London, Free-Masons’, and Crown and Anchor Taverns, who desired their
waiters to save all the fish-bones for me.”

[Illustration: HENRY CONSTANTINE JENNINGS (OR NOEL)

“… barring his eccentricities.”]

This ingenious person distributed a card embellished with flowers and
insects, upon which was engraven the following advertisement:--

    NO. 1, SUFFOLK STREET, COCKSPUR STREET.

    “MRS. DARDS begs leave to inform her friends in particular, and
    the public in general, that after a labour of thirty years, she
    has for their inspection and amusement opened an exhibition
    of shell-work, consisting of a great variety of beautiful
    objects equal to nature, which are minutely described in the
    catalogue. Likewise is enabled to gratify them

    “_With bones, scales, and eyes, from the prawn to the porpoise,_
    _Fruit, flies, birds, and flowers, oh, strange metamorphose!_”

    “Open from ten to six in the summer,--from ten to four in the
    winter.

    “ADMITTANCE 1s. CATALOGUE 6d.”

Mr. Jennings,[367] latterly known as Constantine Noel, barring his
eccentricities, was an accomplished gentleman, a traveller of infinite
taste, and one of the most liberal and entertaining companions
imaginable. Mr. Noel’s figure was short, thin, and much bent by age;
and he was very singular in his dress. The crown of his hat fitted his
head as close as a _pitch-plaster_; his coat was short, of common cloth,
and, like Mr. Wodhull’s, regularly buttoned up from his waist to his
chin. His stockings were not striped blue and white, like those of Sir
Thomas Stepney,[368] but of _pepper-and-salt_ mixture, and of worsted. He
stepped astride in consequence of the bowness of his legs, and generally
attracted notice by striking his walking-stick hard on the stones with
his right arm fully extended, while his left hung swinging low before
him. He wore thick-sole shoes, with small buckles, and seldom showed
linen beyond the depths of his stock.

My father, who knew him well, used to relate the annexed anecdote. Mr.
Noel one day, when at the corner of Rathbone Place, close to Wright’s,
the intelligent grocer, finding himself rather fatigued, called
repeatedly to the first coachman, who, after laughing at him for some
time, increased the insult by observing, “A coach, indeed! a coach! who’s
to pay for it?”

“You rascal,” exclaimed Mr. Noel, clenching his stick in the position of
chastisement, “why don’t you come when I call, Sir; I’ll make an example
of you, I will.”

The coachman continued laughing, till a gentleman accosted Mr. Jennings
thus:--“My worthy friend, what is all this about?”

The coachman was immediately curbed; and when Mr. Noel’s friend had
parted with him, by shaking his hand in the coach, the coachman, touching
the front of his hat, wished to know of his _honour_ “_Where to?_”

“I’ll give you a pretty dance,” replied Mr. Noel; “drive me to h----, you
rascal; to Whitechapel, and from thence to Hyde Park Corner. I’ll take
care it shall be long enough before you get any dinner, you rascal, I
will.” Then, with a nod and a smile to the assembled crowd, he declared,
to their no small amusement, “I’ll punish him.”

Dr. Burges, of Mortimer Street, whose singular figure has been etched by
Gillray, under which he wrote, “From Warwick Lane,” was one of the last
men who wore a cocked-hat and deep ruffles. What rendered his appearance
more remarkable, he walked on tiptoe.[369]

It was the regular custom of Mr. Alderman Boydell, who was a very early
riser, at five o’clock, to go immediately to the pump in Ironmonger Lane.
There, after placing his wig upon the ball at the top of it, he used to
sluice his head with its water. This well-known and highly respected
character,[370] who has done more for the British artists than all the
print-publishers put together, was also one of the last men who wore the
three-cornered hat commonly called “Egham, Staines, and Windsor.”

I recollect another character, a bricklayer, of the name of Pride, of
Vine Street, Piccadilly, who wore the three-cornered hat commonly called
“The Cumberland Cock.”[371]


1822.

In October this year the venerable Mrs. Garrick departed this life, when
seated in her armchair in the front drawing-room of her house in the
Adelphi. She had ordered her maid-servants to place two or three gowns
upon chairs, to determine in which she would appear at Drury Lane Theatre
that evening, it being a private view of Mr. Elliston’s improvements
for the season. Perhaps no lady in public and private life held a more
unexceptionable character. She was visited by persons of the first
rank; even our late Queen Charlotte, who had honoured her with a visit
at Hampton, found her peeling onions for pickling. The gracious Queen
commanded a knife to be brought, saying, “I will peel some onions too.”
The late King George IV. and King William IV., as well as other branches
of the Royal Family, frequently honoured her with visits.

In the course of conversation with Mrs. Garrick (to whom I had been
introduced by the late Dr. Burney), that lady expressed a wish to see
the collection of Mr. Garrick’s portraits, which the Doctor had most
industriously collected. After the honourable trustees had purchased
the Doctor’s library, which contained ten folio volumes of theatrical
portraits, I reminded Mrs. Garrick of her wish, in consequence of which I
received the following letter:--

    “Mr. Beltz[372] presents his compliments to Mr. Smith, and is
    desired by his respected friend Mrs. Garrick to acquaint him,
    in answer to the favour of his letter of the 12th inst., that
    she proposes (unless she should hear from Mr. Smith that it
    will be inconvenient to him) to do herself the pleasure of
    calling on him at the British Museum on Tuesday next, between
    twelve and one, for the purpose of inspecting the prints of Mr.
    Garrick, to which Mr. Smith refers.

    “HERALDS’ COLLEGE, _Aug. 18th, 1821_.”

On the appointed morning Mrs. Garrick arrived, accompanied by Mr. Beltz.
She was delighted with the portraits of Mr. Garrick, many of which were
totally unknown to her. Her observations on some of them were extremely
interesting, particularly that by Dance, as Richard III.[373] Of that
painter she stated, that Mr. Garrick, who had been the artist’s best
friend and benefactor, behaved in the most dirty manner in return; for
in the course of his painting the picture Mr. Garrick had agreed to give
him two hundred guineas for it. One day at Mr. Garrick’s dining-table,
where Dance had always been a welcome guest, he observed that Sir Watkin
Williams Wynn,[374] who had seen the picture, spontaneously offered
him three hundred guineas for it. “Did you tell him it was for me?”
questioned Mr. Garrick. “No, I did not.” “Then you mean to let him have
it?” Garrick rejoined. “Yes, I believe I shall,” replied the painter.
“However,” observed Mrs. Garrick, “my husband was very good; he bought me
a most handsome looking-glass, which cost him more than the agreed price
of the picture; and that was put up in the place where Dance’s picture
was to have hung.” Mrs. Garrick being about to quit her seat, said she
should be glad to see me at Hampton. “Madam,” said I, “you are very good;
but you would oblige me exceedingly by honouring me with your signature
on this day.” “What do you ask me for? I have not taken a pen in my hand
for many months. Stay, let me compose myself; don’t hurry me, and I will
see what I can do. Would you like it written with my spectacles on, or
without?” Preferring the latter, she wrote “E. M. Garrick,” but not
without some exertion.

“I suppose now, Sir, you wish to know my age. I was born at Vienna,
the 29th of February, 1724, though my coachman insists upon it that I
am above a hundred. I was married at the parish of St. Giles at eight
o’clock in the morning, and immediately afterwards in the chapel of the
Portuguese Ambassador, in South Audley Street.”

A day or two after Mrs. Garrick’s death, I went to the Adelphi, to know
if a day had been fixed for the funeral. “No,” replied George Harris, one
of Mrs. Garrick’s confidential servants; “but I will let you know when it
is to take place. Would you like to see her? she is in her coffin.” “Yes,
I should.” Upon entering the back room on the first-floor, in which Mr.
Garrick died, I found the deceased’s two female servants standing by her
remains. I made a drawing of her, and intended to have etched it. “Pray,
do tell me,” looking at one of the maids, “why is the coffin covered
with sheets?” “They are their wedding sheets, in which both Mr. and Mrs.
Garrick wished to have died.” I was informed that one of these attentive
women had incurred her mistress’s displeasure by kindly pouring out a cup
of tea, and handing it to her in her chair. “Put it down, you hussey;
do you think I cannot help myself?” She took it herself, and a short
time after she had put it to her lips, died. This lady continued her
practice of swearing now and then, particularly when any one attempted to
impose upon her. A stonemason brought in his bill with an overcharge of
sixpence more than the sum agreed upon; on which occasion he endeavoured
to appease her rage by thus addressing her:--“My dear Madam, do
consider”--“My dear Madam! What do you mean, you d---- fellow? Get out of
the house immediately. My dear madam, indeed!!”

On the following day I received the promised letter, by the post.

    “SIR,--The funeral is fixed to leave the Adelphi Terrace soon
    after ten o’clock to-morrow morning. Mrs. Garrick’s carriage,
    the Dowager Lady Amherst’s, Dr. Maton’s, and Mr. Carr’s[375]
    are the only carriages that will join the funeral. Your
    obedient servant,

                                                    “GEORGE HARRIS,

    “Servant to Mrs. Garrick.”

On the day of the funeral, Miss Macauley,[376] the authoress, wishing to
see this venerable lady interred, placed herself under my protection; but
when we arrived at the Abbey, we were refused admittance by a person who
observed, “If it be your wish to see the waxwork, you must come when the
funeral’s over, and you will then be admitted into Poets’ Corner, by a
man who is stationed at the door to receive your money.”

“Curse the waxwork!” said I; “this lady and I came to see Mrs. Garrick’s
remains placed in the grave.”--“Ah, well, you can’t come in; the Dean
won’t allow it.” As soon as the ceremony was over, we were admitted for
sixpence at the Poets’ Corner, and there we saw the earth that surrounded
the grave, and no more, as we refused to pay the demands of the showmen
of the Abbey. Surely this mode of admission to see the venerable
structure, and the monuments put up there at a most liberal expense by
the country, as memorials of departed worth, is an abominable disgrace to
the English Government.[377]

Being disappointed in a sight of the burial, I applied to my friend, the
Rev. Thomas Rackett, one of Mrs. Garrick’s executors, for a list of those
persons who attended the funeral.

    IN THE FIRST COACH.

    Christopher Philip Garrick, and Nathan Egerton Garrick,
    great-nephews of David Garrick; the Rev. Thomas Rackett, and
    George Frederick Beltz, Esq., Lancaster Herald, Executors of
    Mrs. Garrick’s will.

    IN THE SECOND COACH.

    Thomas Carr, Esq., Mrs. Garrick’s solicitor; and Mrs. Carr.

    IN THE THIRD COACH.

    Mr. James Deane, Agent to Mr. Carr, frequently employed by
    Mrs. Garrick; Mr. Freeman, of Spring Gardens, Mrs. Garrick’s
    apothecary.

                                               THOMAS RACKETT.[378]

    _December 4th, 1827._

[Illustration: THE GARRICKS

    “The <DW2>s that join to cry you down
    Would give their ears to get her.”

_Edward Moore on Garrick’s Marriage_]

As Mr. Garrick was married by his friend, the celebrated Dr.
Francklin,[379] who at that time had a chapel in Great Queen Street, I
was anxious to ascertain whether the ceremony took place there or at
the parish church. I therefore applied to my friend, the Rev. Charles
M’Carthy, who favoured me with the following certificate:--

    June 22, 1749. David Garrick, of St. Paul, Covent Garden; and
    Eva Maria Violetti, of St. James’s, Westminster.

                                  T. FRANKLIN.
                                  C. M’CARTHY, Curate and Reg.[380]


1823.

In 1822, to the disgrace of the Antwerp picture collectors,
notwithstanding their professed zeal for the protection of high works
of art, they allowed the most precious gem, their boasted corner-stone,
to be carried away from their city. However, to the great honour of Mr.
Smith, the picture-dealer, it was secured for England.

This corner-stone, which had been coveted by most of the amateurs in
the world, was no less a treasure than the picture known under the
appellation of the “Chapeau de Paille,”[381] by Rubens, which had been
in the Lunden’s, and then the Steir’s family, from the time it was sold
after the painter’s death, to the 29th of July, 1822, the day on which it
was brought to auction for the benefit of the last possessor’s family.

When the auctioneer ordered the doors of the case in which it was kept to
be thrown open, every person took off his hat, and greeted the picture
with loud and repeated cheerings. After the company had, for some time,
gratified their eyes, the doors were locked and biddings commenced, the
company remaining uncovered till the bidders were silent. It was then
knocked down for the sum of thirty-two thousand seven hundred florins, to
a foreigner displaying an orange ribbon, hired by the real purchaser, Mr.
Smith, who suspected that if an Englishman had offered to bid, he would
have brought down a direful opposition. When it was discovered that it
was to be conveyed to England, the Antwerpers not only shed tears, but
followed it to Mr. Smith’s place of residence, expressing the strongest
desire to take their farewell look. Mr. Smith, not willing to risk its
safety, gave a seaman five guineas to convey it on shipboard by night,
and saw it safely landed on British ground.

Upon its arrival in London, King George IV. commanded a sight of it;
and on the morning of Tuesday, September 3rd, Mr. Smith had it conveyed
from his house in Marlborough Street, to Carlton Palace, where it was
placed in the King’s dressing-room, the King keeping the key of the
case, that only private friends might see it. After the expiration of a
fortnight, the picture was returned; and in the month of March, 1823, it
was publicly exhibited at Stanley’s rooms. The Right Hon. Sir Robert Peel
became its liberal purchaser and protector. This picture is painted on
oak, and has been joined at the lower part across the hands, and there is
every reason for believing that Rubens painted it in the frame, as the
ground was unpainted upon, within the width of the rabbit.

The popular report respecting this picture is, that it was the portrait
of Elizabeth Lunden, a young woman to whom Rubens was particularly
partial, who died of the small-pox, to the great grief of the painter.

In this year I find the following letter in my album:--

    “MY DEAR SIR,--Your desire to know the place of my nativity,
    the profession for which I was intended, my first appearance
    on the stage, and in town. This both honours and gratifies me,
    inasmuch as your request places my name with men of genius and
    education, the persons of all others I am most ambitious to be
    found with.

    “The city of Bristol gave me birth, in 1778.[382] I was
    brought up an artist, which profession I quitted for studies
    more congenial to my feelings. Immortal Shakspeare wrought
    the change, and his great contemporaries added fuel to flame.
    Notwithstanding this mighty stimulus, in the year 1798 I made
    my first attempt, in the part of young Hob, in _Hob in the
    Well_,[383] in a town in Radnorshire, the theatre a barn in the
    environs; the receipts seven shillings; my share sevenpence. I
    removed from this luxury to the Stafford Company, thence to the
    York Theatre, where I succeeded my friend Mathews, and in which
    situation I remained seven years.

    “October 12th, 1809, I made my début in London, in the Theatre
    Royal, Lyceum, with the Drury Lane Company. The devouring
    element had destroyed that magnificent pile Old Drury, which
    caused the professors to employ that place of refuge. The
    pieces I selected for the terrific ordeal, were _The Soldier’s
    Daughter_ and _Fortune’s Frolic_;[384] the characters, Timothy
    Quaint and Robin Roughhead. The public were infinitely more
    kind than my negative merits deserved; and with gratitude I
    acknowledge, that up to the present period, their bounty very
    far exceeds the humble ability of their devoted servant, and
    your true friend,

                                               “EDWARD KNIGHT.[385]

    “THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE,

    “GARDEN COTTAGE, COVENT GARDEN, GROUND CHAMBERS,

    “_Nov. 15th, 1823_.”


1824.

The following notice is written in my album this year, by Major
Cartwright:--

“John Cartwright, born at Marnham, near Tuxford, in the county of
Nottingham, on the 17th of September, 1740, old style, corresponding with
the 28th, new style. In the year 1758 he entered the naval service, under
the command of Lord Howe; was promoted to a lieutenancy in September,
1762, and continued on active service until the spring of 1771. Then
retiring to recruit his health, he remained at Marnham till invited by
his old Commander-in-chief, in the year 1775 or 1776; but not approving
of the war with America, he declined accepting the proffered commission.
About the same time he became Major of the regiment of Nottinghamshire
Militia, then for the first time raised in that county, in which he
served seventeen years.

“When George III. arrived at the year of the Jubilee, a naval promotion
of twenty Lieutenants to the rank of Commanders, and the name of J. C.
standing the twentieth on the list, he was commissioned as a Commander
accordingly.

“In the year 1802 he published _The Trident_, a work in quarto, having
for its object to promote that elevation of character which can
alone preserve the vital spirit of a navy, as well as to furnish an
inexhaustible patronage of the arts.

    “JOHN CARTWRIGHT, residing in Burton Crescent, _26th Jan., 1824_.”

The Major died on the 23rd of September this year, at his house in Burton
Crescent, at the venerable age of eighty-four.[386]


1825.

An author, in whose real character I was for many years deceived,
frequently importuned me to caricature literary females. But this
malicious advice, being repugnant to my feelings, I never could listen
to, nor is it my intention even to make public a memory-sketch now in my
possession of the adviser, when he was stooping over and pretending to
kiss the putrid corpse of him a portion of whose vast property he is in
possession of, and, I was going to say, happily enjoys.[387] Profoundly
learned as the person above alluded to considers himself to be, the
reader will, after perusing the following lines, written purposely for my
album, be convinced that jealousy towards the fair sex must be that man’s
master-passion.

IMPROMPTU LINES BY MISS BENGER, ON THE PAUCITY OF INFORMATION RESPECTING
THE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF SHAKSPEARE.

    Lives there, redeemed from dull oblivion’s waste,
    One cherished line that _Shakspeare’s_ hand has traced?
    Vain search! though glory crowns the poet’s bust,
    His story sleeps with his unconscious dust.
    Born--wedded--buried! Such the common lot,
    And such was his. What more? almost a blot!
    Even on his laurelled head with doubt we gaze;
    And _fancy_ best his lineaments portrays.
    Thus like an Indian deity enshrined,
    In mystery is his image; whilst the mind
    To us bequeathed, belongs to all mankind.
    Yet here he lived; his manly high career
    Of strange vicissitude, was measured here.
    Not his the envied privilege to hail
    The Eternal City! or in Tempe’s vale
    Breathe inspiration with luxurious sighs,
    And dream of Heaven beneath unclouded skies.
    His sphere was bounded, and we almost trace
    His daily haunts, where he was wont to chase
    Unwelcome cares, or visions fair recall;
    His breath still lingers on the cloistral wall,
    With gloom congenial to his spirit fraught;
    And thou, O Thames, his lonely sighs hast caught.
    When one, the rhyming Charon of his day,
    Who tugged the oar, yet conned a merry lay,
    Full oft unconscious of the freight he bore,
    Transferred the musing bard from shore to shore.
    Too careless _Taylor!_ hadst thou well divined
    The marvellous man to thy frail skiff consigned,
    Thou shouldst have craved one tributary line,
    To blend his glorious destiny with thine!
    Nor vain the prayer!--who generous homage pays
    To genius, wins the second meed of praise.[388]

The much-famed Cup, carved from Shakspeare’s Mulberry-tree, lined with,
and standing on a base of silver, with a cover surmounted by a branch
of mulberry leaves and fruit, also of silver-gilt, which was presented
to Mr. Garrick on the occasion of the Jubilee at Stratford-upon-Avon,
was sold by Mr. Christie on May the 5th, 1825,[389] who addressed the
assembly nearly in the following words, for the recollection of which I
am obliged to the memory of my worthy friend, Henry Smedley, Esq.:[390]--

    “Though this is neither the age nor the country in which relics
    are made the objects of devotion, yet that which I am now to
    submit to you must recall to your recollection the Stratford
    Jubilee, when the pilgrims to the shrine of Avon were actuated
    by a zeal as fervent as could have been exhibited either at
    Loretto or Compostella. Let me then entreat a liberal bidding,
    when I invoke you by the united names of Shakspeare and of
    Garrick. I perceive that this little Cup is now submitted to
    eyes well accustomed to appreciate the most exquisite treasures
    of ancient arts; and that the rough and natural bark of the
    mulberry-tree is regarded with as much veneration as the
    choicest carving of Cellini or Fiamingo.”

After one hundred guineas had been bid, Mr. Christie added, “I was
wishing that I had some of Falstaff’s sack here, with which I might fill
the Cup, and pledge this company, so as to invigorate their biddings;
but I think I may say now that at least there is no want of spirit among
them.”


1826.

The term _busby_, now sometimes used when a large bushy wig is spoken of,
most probably originated from the wig denominated a buzz, frizzled and
bushy. At all events, we are not satisfied that the term busby could have
arisen, as many persons believe, from Dr. Busby, Master of Westminster
School, as all his portraits either represent him with a close cap, or
with a cap and hat.[391]

During a most minute investigation of a regular series of English
portraits, which I was led into by a friend, in order, if possible, to
clear up this point, I was induced to look for the origin of wigs in
England, and their various sorts and successions, by commencing at the
time of William the Conqueror. In this search I was not able to find any
representation of wigs earlier than those worn by King Charles II.[392]
upon his Restoration, in proof of which I refer the reader to Faithorne’s
numerous portraits of that monarch, and he will find that that sort of
wig continued to be worn, with very little deviation, by succeeding kings
till George II.’s time, with whom it ended. The Merry Monarch, it has
been stated, followed the fashion of wearing a wig from Louis XIV.,[393]
with whom that custom commenced with the kings of France. The Duke of
Burgundy wore a wig.

King George III. commenced his reign with wearing his own hair dressed
and powdered in the style of Woollett’s beautiful engraving of his
Majesty,[394] after a picture painted by Ramsey. King George III. wore a
wig, in the latter part of his reign, made from one of those worn by Mr.
Duvall, one of the masons of the Board of Works, with which shape his
Majesty was much pleased.

The line in Pope,

    “Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone,”

alludes to the wig carved on the monument of Sir Cloudesley Shovel in
Westminster Abbey.[395]

This sort of wig, which received the appellation of “A Brown George,”
was also worn by several persons of rank, particularly the late Earl of
Cremorne.[396] Townsend, a Bow-street officer, condescendingly noticed
by the King, thought proper to wear a wig of this kind, in which he
appeared at the morning service in Westminster Abbey.

It is worthy of observation, that in the reign of King Charles II. the
Lord Mayors of London followed his Majesty’s example, by wearing wigs
precisely of the same make, and equal to those worn by the Royal Family,
the highest courtiers, and persons of the first eminence in official
capacities. Nay indeed, Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey, a wood and coal-monger,
wore wigs of this shape, perhaps because he was a Justice of the Peace
within the King’s Court. The same kind of wig, equally deep, but with
curls rather looser and more tastefully flowing, was also worn by the
following high literary characters in the reigns of Charles II., James
II., William III., and Queen Anne:--Waller, Dryden, Addison, Steele,
Congreve, Vanbrugh, Butler, Rowe, Prior, Wycherley, etc.[397] Of these,
perhaps the two last-mentioned were the most foppish in their wigs,
particularly Wycherley, from whom the sets of large and beautifully
engraven combs of the finest tortoise-shell are named. With these combs
(which were carried in cases in their pockets) the wearers of wigs
adjusted their curls, ruffled and entangled by the wind. These combs are
held as curiosities by many of our old families. The last I saw was in
the possession of the friendly Dr. Meyrick, author of _The History of
Armour_. I have somewhere read that Wycherley, who was esteemed one of
the handsomest men of his day, was frequently seen standing in the pit
of the theatre combing and adjusting the curls of his wig, whilst in
lolling conversation with the first ladies of fashion in the boxes.[398]
Most of Sir Godfrey Kneller’s portraits were painted in this flowing wig,
particularly that celebrated series entitled Queen Anne’s Admirals.[399]
These pictures were lately moved by command of King George IV. from
Hampton Court Palace to the Nautical Gallery in Greenwich Hospital, where
they are placed to the highest advantage among numerous other portraits
of England’s naval victors.

The actors at this time wore immense wigs, particularly Bullock,
Penkethman, etc.; Cibber’s was in moderation. It must here be observed,
that I now allude to their private wigs; their state wigs were, as
they are now, purposely caricatured to please the galleries.[400] I
believe that the first wig worn by an English divine was that of John
Wallis,[401] engraved by Burghers, and published at Oxford in the year
1699; it was profusely curled, but not so deep over the shoulders as
those of statesmen.

There were many singular, and, indeed, learned characters whose wigs
were peculiarly shaped, such, for instance, as that of Bubb Doddington,
Lord Chesterfield, and the Duke of Newcastle. MacArdell’s print of Lord
Anson, after a picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds, was, I have every reason
to think, the first of the shape erroneously called the Busby. This sort,
Dr. Samuel Johnson, Armstrong, Hunter, the Rev. George Whitfield, Lord
Monboddo, etc., wore in their latter years.

[Illustration: DR. OLIVER GOLDSMITH

“The fellow took me for a tailor.”]

The earliest engraved portraits of Dr. Johnson exhibit a wig with
five rows of curls, commonly called “a story wig.”[402] Among the old
dandies of this description of wig we may class Mr. Saunders Welch, Mr.
Nollekens’ father-in-law--he had nine storeys. So was that worn by Mr.
Nathaniel Hillier,[403] an extensive print-collector, as is represented
in an engraved portrait of that gentleman. Dr. Goldsmith’s wig was small
and remarkably slovenly, as may be seen by Bretherton’s etching. Sir
Joshua’s portrait of him is without a wig. Mr. Garrick’s wigs (I mean
his private ones) were three in number,--the first is engraved by Wood,
published in the year 1745; the second is by Sherwin, engraved for Tom
Davies; the last is from a private plate by Mrs. Solly, after a drawing
by Dance. I will leave off here with the wig, and give a few instances
of the tails. These perhaps originated with the Chinese, but the first
specimen of a tail, which I have hitherto been able to procure, to
which a date can be given, is in Sherwin’s print of Frederick, King of
Prussia.[404]


1827.

The Londoners, but more particularly the inhabitants of Westminster, who
had been for years accustomed to recreate within the chequered shade of
Millbank’s willows, have been by degrees deprived of that pleasure, as
there are now very few trees remaining, and those so scanty of foliage,
by being nearly stript of their bark, that the public are no longer
induced to tread their once sweetly variegated banks.[405]

Here, on many a summer’s evening, Gainsborough, accompanied by his
friend Collins, amused himself by sketching docks and nettles, which
afforded the Wynants and Cuyp-like effects to the foregrounds of his
rich and glowing landscapes. Collins resided in Tothill Fields, and was
the modeller of rustic subjects for tablets of chimneypieces in vogue
about seventy years back. Most of them were taken from Æsop’s Fables, and
are here and there to be met with in houses that have been suffered to
remain in their original state. I recollect one, that of the “Bear and
Bee-hives,” in the back drawing-room of the house formerly the mansion of
the Duke of Ancaster on the western side of Lincoln’s Inn Fields.[406]

Millbank, which originally extended with its pollarded willows from
Belgrave House[407] to the White Lead Mills at the corner of the lane
leading to “Jenny’s Whim,” afforded similar subjects to those selected by
four of the old rural painters; for instance, the boat-builders’ sheds on
the bank, with their men at work on the shore, might have been chosen by
Everdingen;[408] the wooden steps from the bank, the floating timber, and
old men in their boats, with the Vauxhall and Battersea windmills, by Van
Goyen;[409] the various colours of the tiles of the cart-sheds, entwined
by the autumnal tinged vines, backed with the most prolific orchards,
with the women gathering the garden produce for the ensuing day’s market,
would have pleased Ruysdael;[410] and the basket-maker’s overhanging
smoking hut, with a woman in her white cap and sunburnt petticoat,
dipping her pail for water, might have been represented by the pencil of
Dekker.[411] It was within one of the Neat House Gardens[412] near this
bank that Garnerin’s kitten descended from the balloon which ascended
from Vauxhall Gardens in the year 1802.[413] This descent is thus handed
down in a song attributed to George Colman the younger, entitled

    PUSS IN A PARACHUTE.

    Poor puss in a grand parachute
      Was sent to sail down through the air,
    Plump’d into a garden of fruit,
      And played up old gooseberry there.
    The gardener, transpiring with fear,
      Stared just like a hundred stuck hogs;
    And swore, though the sky was quite clear,
      ’Twas beginning to rain cats and dogs.

    Mounseer, who don’t value his life,
      In the Thames would have just dipped his vings,
    If it vasn’t for vetting his vife,
      For vimen are timbersome things:
    So at Hampstead he landed her dry;
      And after this dangerous sarvice,
    He took a French leave of the sky,
      And vent back to Vauxhall in a Jarvis.


1828.

Most willingly would I have resigned all the pleasures I ever enjoyed,
save that of my wedding-day, to have joined the throng of enthusiastics
in art, who assembled at Nuremberg this year, to do homage to the memory
of that morning star in art, Albert Dürer. Of the many descriptions
of the proceedings upon that glorious occasion, none gave me higher
delight than that of Mr. L. Schutze,[414] of Carlsruhe, an artist of
very considerable abilities, who, upon my requesting him to favour me
with an account, goodnaturedly complied with my wishes, but with all the
diffidence of one who had not long written in the English language.

    “At the festival which took place in Nuremberg, 1828, on
    the 6th and 7th of April, the month on which Albert Dürer
    died three hundred years before, some pupils of Cornelius in
    Munich, intended to paint some transparent sceneries, the
    most interesting ones, taken from his life, and to exhibit
    them at the Festival. For this purpose they gave notice to
    the magistrates and to the artists that they would arrive on
    the 28th of March. The magistrates and artists were quite
    satisfied with this offer, and resolved to welcome them some
    miles from Nuremberg. Two gentlemen of consideration offered
    their coaches, with four horses, and the most part of the
    artists took post-coaches, all with four horses. One gentleman,
    Mr. Campe,[415] a very clever man, and member of the Artists’
    Society, who led the procession, which consisted of eight
    coaches with about thirty artists, took a barrel with wine
    in his coach, and also a very old and interesting pitcher,
    which was presented to A. Dürer by one of his particular
    friends. About eight miles from Nuremberg, in Reichersdorf,
    we stopped at the inn, intending to wait for the artists from
    Munich. Mr. Campe ordered a good breakfast, and put up his
    barrel and golden pitcher. Scarcely was all prepared, and the
    breakfast ready, when we saw the artists arrive (we called them
    ‘Cornelians,’ after the name of their master[416]), with a flag
    and green branches in their caps, and merry singing. A loud
    _vivat_ was the first expression of welcome; they were quite
    astonished to find there so great a company. We now invited
    them to come in, and to take refreshments after their fatigues.
    The first proceeding was now to fill the pitcher with wine,
    and to drink their health. There were about thirty-six artists
    from Munich. After having made some speeches, having taken the
    breakfast, and emptied the barrel, we, all quite refreshed and
    pleased, took place in our chair-waggons, into which we invited
    also the Cornelians, and rode back to Nuremberg.

    “At the old castle we all descended from our waggons, and saw
    the old building, which is so very interesting in the history
    of Germany. Then we went down to the house of Albert Dürer,
    where all the strangers who arrived entered their names in a
    book. Several gentlemen of consideration had offered to give
    lodging to some of the strange artists, which was accepted with
    great pleasure by them. Many others of them had free lodging
    in the inns. The magistrates paid all their necessaries during
    their stay. Every day artists and strangers arrived, and the
    house of Albert Dürer was the place of meeting. The Cornelians
    began to paint their transparencies: they had drawn the
    sketches for them already in Munich. There were seven pictures;
    they represented, firstly, Albert Dürer coming in receiving
    instructions from Wohlgemuth; secondly, his marriage ceremony;
    thirdly, the Banquet in Utrecht; fourthly, the Goddess of Art
    crowns Albert Dürer and Raphael; fifthly, Dürer on board ship;
    sixthly, the death of Dürer’s mother; seventhly, Dürer’s death.
    We artists in Nuremberg painted Dürer’s figure, and several
    allegories and writings, about sixty feet high altogether,
    also transparencies, which we intended to exhibit on the road,
    opposite his house.

    “Cornelius and many of the first artists from Munich, and from
    other parts of Germany, arrived, and Dürer’s house was always
    crowded: certainly a very interesting time to make acquaintance
    with artists from several parts of the continent, and also to
    see again old friends. The 6th of April, in the morning at six
    o’clock, we went altogether to the grave of Albert Dürer. It
    was very bad weather, all the night, much snow was falling, and
    a very disagreeable wind blew. When we arrived at the grave,
    and the musicians, who were with us, began to play, and we
    began to sing, the sun at once appeared and looked friendly
    down upon us. We sang three songs with accompaniments of
    instruments; and then a speech was made, after which we went
    home. Scarcely were we arrived there, when it again began to
    snow, and it was very disagreeable all the day.

    “After noon, at half past six o’clock, an Oratorium composed
    by Schneider,[417] took place in the Town-house. Mr. Schneider
    came himself from Dessau, two hundred and fifty miles from
    Nuremberg, to direct it. In the Town-house may still be seen
    a triumphal procession, painted on the wall by Albert Dürer.
    On one side the musicians were placed, and opposite to them
    the seven transparencies were exhibited; they were beautifully
    finished and pleased everybody.

    “After the oratorium a splendid supper took place, where
    all the artists took part, and also several gentlemen of
    consideration. Mr. Campe distributed to those present some
    printed poems and books, containing interesting tales or
    descriptions of clever men, contemporaries of Albert Dürer.
    Then there were music and dancing.

    “On the 7th, at nine in the morning, there was a meeting
    in the Town-house; all the artists were dressed in black,
    and had flat hats and swords, except the strangers. The
    magistrates distributed medals with Dürer’s portrait. At half
    past eleven o’clock the procession began:--the magistrates,
    the two burgomasters, the clergymen, many officers, and
    all the artists, about three hundred persons together. The
    military with music made a line in the streets through which
    the procession passed. The King was expected, but did not
    come. In the Milk-market (now called Albert Dürer’s Place)
    the procession commenced; some speeches were made, then the
    foundation-stone of a monument to Albert Dürer was laid, and
    trumpets and cymbals resounded. Then all was finished, and all
    went home. At two o’clock a brilliant dinner took place in the
    Court of Bavaria, accompanied by music; and several poems and
    songs were distributed, and the poor were not forgotten,--a
    rich collection being made for them. In the theatre, the
    play called _Albert Dürer_ was performed; and then our great
    transparency was illuminated, and on the house where Albert
    Dürer was born, and likewise where he had lived during the
    latter part of his life, several inscriptions were illuminated.
    A procession with flambeaux and fireworks ended the
    festival-day. Some of the richest inhabitants arranged dinners
    and suppers, and other rejoicings, to honour the artists. The
    magistrates ordered also a very brilliant supper on the last
    evening, before the artists parted, and bade them farewell.

                                                      “L. SCHUTZE.”

[Illustration: THE WIG IN ENGLAND

A MACARONI READY FOR THE PANTHEON]

For the following dates I am indebted to Albert Dürer’s Diary, contained
in the _Foreign Quarterly Review_ for January 1833, a work replete with
most interesting information. Albert Dürer was born in 1471; his father
taught him the goldsmith’s craft. In 1486 he was bound for three years
to Michael Wohlgemuth, an engraver on wood. He was married to Agnes, an
_un-lamb-like_ daughter of Hans Frey. He died on the 6th of April, 1528,
of a decline. His wife, an avaricious shrew, “_gnawed him to his very
heart,--he was dried up to a faggot_.”[418] Little did Albert Dürer
think, particularly from the period of his unhappy marriage to the hour
of his dissolution, when he was only fifty-seven years of age, that such
honours would be paid to his memory.

The following letter is perhaps worth insertion here:--

                                            “QUEEN STREET, MAYFAIR,

                                                  “_Dec. 22, 1828_.

    “MY DEAR SIR,--Shortly after my return from Rome, in 1798,
    I espied a bust in Rosso Antico, lying under a counter at a
    broker’s shop, in Great Portland Street. I recognised its
    antiquity; it was _a Faun_, large as life, in the best style
    of art. I bought it for the trifling sum of £1. I had it in
    my study many months. During this period, I often assisted
    Nollekens in the architectural department of his monuments,
    receiving no thanks; but an invitation one day, as we talked
    Italian together. On accidentally mentioning my antique Faun,
    he came to see it, and was so struck with its beauty, that he
    would never rest till he got it out of my hands. He succeeded,
    by offering me some models of his own, and ten pounds. Wishing
    to oblige him, I let him have the bust, and he sent me two
    miserable models not much higher than my thumb, of a Bacchus
    and Ariadne, since broken to pieces.

    “This bust was in the collection at his sale, and it was
    knocked down by Christie to the Duke of Newcastle for a hundred
    and sixty pounds.

    “With great respect, ever yours truly,

                                   “CHARLES HEATHCOTE TATHAM.”[419]

The following letter is curious:--

    “In the winter of 1815, making a tour of the Netherlands, I
    was in Bruges when the well-known statue, or rather group, of
    the ‘Virgin and Child,’ by Michael Angelo Buonarotti, which
    had been carried from the church of Notre Dame to Paris, was
    restored, in a packing-case, to that church. On this occasion
    a procession of the priests and officers of the church, and
    of some of the municipal officers, took place; and a Mass was
    celebrated. About a month afterwards, I was again in Bruges,
    and saw this fine work of art replaced in its former situation,
    on the altar of one of the small chapels. It is, indeed, a
    wonderful work.

    “I was about the same period in Antwerp, and was present
    when the pictures which had been taken to Paris, arrived in
    carriages, and were escorted into the city by an English
    regiment, then in garrison there (either the 15th or 25th of
    infantry), preceded by the band of that regiment playing ‘God
    save the King,’ and accompanied by the members of the Academy
    of Antwerp, and the magistracy of the city. I own I felt all
    the pride of an Englishman at seeing these works of art, which
    British valour had regained, thus restored to the places from
    whence they had been pillaged.

                                              “STEPHEN PORTER.[420]

    “TEMPLE, _Feb. 5, 1828_.”

In July, I went to Hungerford Stairs to gain what information I could
respecting “Copper Holmes.” A waterman, whose face declared he had seen a
few liberal days, accosted me with the usual question, “Oars, sculler?”
I shook my head; but, upon a nearer approach, asked him the following
question, “How long has Copper been dead?” “There sits his widow at that
window mending her stockings,” said he; “we’ll go and put it to her.”

On approaching her the waterman said, “This gentleman wants to know how
long Copper has been dead?” “How do you do?” said I, “your husband has
often in my early days rowed me to Pepper Alley.” “He died,” said the
woman (who retained enough in her care-worn features to induce me to
believe she had been pretty), sticking her needle on her cap, “he died,
poor fellow, on the 3rd of October, 1821, and a better man never trod
shoe-leather. He was downright and honest, and what he said he would do,
he did. I had been his wife two-and-twenty years; but he married me after
he left the _Ark_. His first wife lived in the _Ark_ with her children.”
“What vessel had the _Ark_ been?” “She had been a Westcountryman, and
it cost him altogether (with her fittings-up with sheets of copper)
one hundred and fifty pounds, and that gave him the name of ‘_Copper
Holmes_.’ His Christian name was Thomas. Ay, Sir, his lawsuit with the
City crippled him:[421] but I will say this for him, his Majesty had not
a better subject than poor Copper.” While she uttered this declaration,
both her eyes, which were seriously directed to her nose, were moistened
with the tears of affectionate memory, which induced me to turn to my
new acquaintance the waterman, and ask where he was buried? “In the
Waterman’s churchyard, Sir, under the pump-pavement on the south side of
St. Martin’s church.[422] Lord bless you! don’t you know the Waterman’s
burying-ground? I could take you to the spot where fifty of us have been
buried.” “What was his age?” “Sixty-six when he died.”

After parting with the widow, I requested the master of the ceremonies
to allow his man to ferry me over to the King’s Head Stairs, Lambeth
Marsh. “He shall,” said Charles Price; “and I’ll go with you, too.” The
waggish, though youthful countenance of the lad employed to bring in our
boat, revived the pleasure Mathews had afforded me in his description of
Joe Hatch,[423] and induced me to inquire after the waterman whose look,
voice, and manner he had borrowed for that inimitable representation.
“George Heath, you mean, Sir,” answered the boy; “Of Strand Lane,”
observed Price; “Heath is his real name. Lord bless ye, he’s a
good-hearted fellow! Why, I have often known him put his hand in his
pocket and relieve a fellow-creature in distress.”

This mention of Hatch induced me to question Price as to the Halfpenny
Hatch,[424] where Astley had first rode,[425] before he took the ground
at the foot of Westminster Bridge, on which the present Amphitheatre
stands. Before Price could answer, as we had made the shore, “You
will find the Halfpenny Hatch (for it still remains, though in a very
ramshackled state) at the back of St. John’s Church, Waterloo Road, at
the end of Neptune Place,” I was told upon my landing by a little chubby,
shining, red-faced woman, in what was formerly called a _mob-cap_.
Thither I went, and to my great surprise found the Halfpenny Hatch in
a dell, by reason of the earth being raised for the pavement of the
adjacent streets.[426] Field was the name of the person who occupied
the house; and, only a few years ago, money was received for the
accommodation of the public who chose to go through the hatch. It was
built subsequent to the year 1771, by Curtis, the famous botanist,[427]
whose name it still retains; but the original Hatch-house, Mrs. Field
informed me, was still standing at the back of the present one.

The ground belonging to the Halfpenny Hatch was freehold, of about seven
acres, and sold by the Curtis family to Messrs. Basing, Atkins, and
Field, for the sum of £3500. They disposed of it in about six months
afterwards to Mr. Roupell, the present owner, for the sum of £8000.[428]
Being determined to take a sketch of the remains of this vine-mantled
Halfpenny Hatch, I took water at Strand Lane Stairs[429] on the following
evening, where I found George Heath busily engaged in his boat. Upon
seeing a poor chimney-sweeper who descended the steps with me, he stood
up and cried out, “I tell you what, Sir Cloudesley Shovel, although you
are a miller, depend upon it, I’ll dust your jacket for the injury you
have done my vessel.” A ferryman observed, “His wife was gone to take
a walk up Highgate Hill.” “A strainer,” observed George Heath. During
the time occupied in sketching, William Field, who lives in the Hatch,
pointed out part of the gate which had received a bullet, supposed
to have been aimed by some scoundrel at the elder Mr. Curtis, who
providentially escaped, though the ball, which came from a considerable
distance, passed only a few inches above his head.


1829.

On the 25th of July, 1829, being on my way to the great Sanctuary, my
pleasure was inconceivable upon observing that the intended repairs of
Whitehall Chapel had commenced. The scaffolding was erected before its
street-front, and the masons had begun their restorations at the south
corner, strictly according with the fast decaying original.[430] “Well,”
said I to my respected friend, Mr. Henry Smedley, whose house I had
entered just as the chimes of the venerable Abbey and St. Margaret’s
had agreed to complete their quarters for nine, “I am delighted to
find that Inigo’s beautiful front of Whitehall is in so fair a way of
recovery.”[431]

Bonington’s drawings, held at a respectful distance from the
_butter-dish_, were the next topic of conversation.[432] “I agree with
you,” observed my friend, “they are invaluable; even his slightest
pencil-touches are treasures. I have shown you the studies from the
figures which surround Lord Norris’s monument in the Abbey; have they not
all the spirit of Vandyke?[433] Ay, that drawing of the old buildings
seems to be your favourite; what a snug effect, and how sweetly it is
!--there never was a sale of modern art so well attended.”

After taking boat at the Horse Ferry for Vauxhall,--for the reader must
be informed that Mr. Smedley and myself had an engagement to pass the day
with Mr. William Esdaile, on Clapham Common,[434]--I asked the waterman
some questions as to “Copper Holmes.” He could not speak correctly as
to the time of his death, but said that he had been much reduced by the
lawsuit he had with the City about his barge. “Yes, that I know,” said I;
“and it certainly was a nuisance on the banks of the Thames, and also an
encroachment upon the City’s rights and privileges.”

On arriving at Mr. Esdaile’s gate, Mr. Smedley remarked that this was
one of the few commons near London which had not been enclosed.[435] The
house had one of those plain fronts which indicated little, but upon
ascending the steps I was struck with a similar sensation to those of
the previous season, when first I entered this hospitable mansion. If I
were to suffer myself to utter anything like an ungrateful remark, it
would be that the visitor, immediately he enters the hall, is presented
with too much at once, for he knows not which to admire first, the choice
display of pictures which decorate the hall, or the equally artful and
delightful manner in which the park-like grounds so luxuriantly burst
upon his sight. Mr. Esdaile entered the library during our admiration of
its taste of design and truly pleasing effect.

The walls are painted with a subdued red, a colour considered by most
artists best calculated to relieve pictures, particularly those with
broad gold frames. The first picture which attracted our notice was the
upper one of two upon the easel nearest the window. The subject is a
Virgin and Child, attributed to Albert Dürer, though I must own the style
is so elegantly sweet, with so little of the German manner, that I should
have considered it the work of a high Italian master. The upper one of
the two pictures on the correspondent easel near the bookcase, is from
the exquisite pencil of Adrian Ostade; it was the property of Monsieur de
Calonne,[436] at whose auction Mr. Esdaile purchased it when he became a
collector of pictures.

It would be highly presumptuous in me to attempt to describe the pictures
from so cursory a view. Suffice it to say, they are chiefly of the first
class; and I cannot charge the possessor with an indifferent specimen.
Wilson and Gainsborough were honoured with two of the best places in
this room, which commands a most beautiful view of the grounds. In
passing to the best staircase, our eyes were attracted by the works of
Rubens, Ruysdael, Salvator Rosa, etc. I was highly gratified with the
standing of the colours of one of the rich landscapes from the easel
of my old and worthy friend, George Arnald, A.R.A. This picture was
originally purchased by my revered patron, Richard Wyatt, of Milton
Place, Egham, at whose sale Mr. Esdaile bought it. Two sumptuously rich
and large dishes of Oriental china, with their stands, occupy the corners
of the staircase, which leads to several chambers; the walls of the
left-hand one of which are adorned with drawings, framed and glazed, by
Cipriani and Bartolozzi; but more particularly with several architectural
ruins by Clerisseau, in his finest manner. On the north side of this room
stands a magnificent japan glazed case, which contains specimens of the
Raphael ware and Oriental porcelain, with two richly adorned alcoves,
with figures of Gibbon the historian, and his niece, manufactured at
Dresden.

In Mr. Esdaile’s bedroom are other specimens of curious porcelain, of
egg-shell plates, cups and covers of the dragon with five claws, and two
exquisite black and mother-o’-pearl flower-pots, from the collection
of the Duchess-Dowager of Portland. On the top of a curiously wrought
cabinet, in the drawing-room below stairs, stand three dark rich blue
vases of Sèvres, and two vases of deep blue, embossed with gold leaves,
from the Chelsea manufactory. These articles, with a curious figure of
Harlequin set in precious stones, the body of which is formed of an
immense pearl, were purchased by Mr. Esdaile at the sale of her late
gracious Majesty Queen Charlotte. The lower parts of the japan case in
the upper room are filled with drawings; so are two other cases which
stand on the western side of the room, made purposely for their reception.

The first drawings of our repast this day (for it would take twenty to
see the whole) were those by the inimitable hand of Rembrandt, many of
which were remarkably fine, one particularly so, of a man seated on a
stile near some trees, which appear to have been miserably affected by
a recent storm. This drawing is slight, and similar in manner to the
artist’s etching, called by some collectors the “Mustard Print.” One of
the drawings with landscapes on both sides is remarkably curious, as
they are drawn with what is called “the Metallic Pen”; it is certainly
the first specimen of the kind I have seen. The Ostade drawings were
our next treat, two of which the artist etched; one is the long print
of a merry-making on the outside of an alehouse, penned and washed; the
other is of the backgammon-players, completely finished in water-colours.
At this time the servant announced nooning; after which Mr. Smedley
requested to see Hogarth’s prints, in order to report to Mr. Standly[437]
the rarities in Mr. Esdaile’s collection. In this, however, we were
disappointed, as it did not contain any which that gentleman did not
possess.

On our return to Mr. Esdaile’s room, we were indulged with several of
Hogarth’s drawings. A volume containing numerous drawings by Wilson was
then placed on the table. “Bless me,” said I, “here is the portrait of
my great-uncle, Tom of Ten Thousand.”[438] This is the identical drawing
thus described by Edwards:--“It may, however, be asserted, that he drew
a head equal to any of the portrait-painters of his time. A specimen of
which may be seen by a drawing, now in the possession of J. Richards,
Esq., R.A.,[439] which is the portrait of Admiral Smith, and which was
drawn before Wilson went abroad. It is executed in black and white chalk,
as large as life, upon brown French paper, and is treated in a bold,
masterly manner; but this is not a work which can authorise the critic to
consider him as superior to the other portrait-painters of his day.”[440]

This drawing was made by Wilson, before he commenced the picture which
I am now in possession of, so well engraved in mezzotinto by Faber. Of
these inestimable drawings, which are mostly in black chalk, stumped,
perhaps the most interesting are those for Celadon and Amelia, and the
Niobe. Valuable and truly epic as these specimens certainly are, I must
say, for my own part, I should give the preference to the book containing
those by Gainsborough, of rustic scenery. I had seen many of them before,
in the possession of the artist, Colonel Hamilton, Mr. Nassau, and
Mr. Lambert. Two that were possessed by the latter, are stamped with
Gainsborough’s initials in gold.

Dr. Richardson,[441] Mr. Esdaile’s son-in-law, having arrived, and dinner
being announced, we gave up these fascinating sources of pleasure, for
that which would enable us to enjoy them another day.

The Doctor, with his accustomed elegance of manners, delighted us during
our repast with some most interesting observations made during his
travels; after which, Flora invited us to the garden, where Mr. Esdaile
had, with his usual liberality, allowed her to display some of her most
rare as well as picturesque sweets. On our return from the enchanting
circuit of the grounds, our general conversation was on the pleasures we
had received; and, indeed, so delighted were we with the entertainment of
the day, that we talked of little else till our arrival at Westminster
Bridge.

[Illustration: LONDON STREET MERCHANTS: DOOR-MATS

ETCHED BY J. T. SMITH]

Beautiful and truly valuable as Mr. Esdaile’s drawings unquestionably
are, it would not only be considered an impeachment upon my judgment, but
a conviction of the deepest injustice towards that wonderful collection
so classically formed by Sir Thomas Lawrence, were I not unequivocally to
state, that this latter is by far the most choice, as well as extensive,
of any I have yet seen or heard of, and perhaps it may be stated with
equal truth, ever formed. What catalogue can boast so formidably of
Michael Angelo, Raphael, Claude, Rubens, and Rembrandt?[442] Surely
none; for I have seen those of Sir Peter Lely, the Duke of Argyle, and
Hudson,[443] at the last of whose sales the immortal Sir Joshua employed
me as one of his bidders, his pupil Mr. Score[444] was another. It would
be assuming too much, to attempt a description of the individual and high
importance of the productions of all the four above-mentioned masters,
possessed by the liberal President.

As prospective pleasures are seldom realised, a truth many of my readers
must acknowledge, and being determined never to colour a picture at once,
but to await the natural course of events,[445] I on the 3rd of August
started with my wife for Hampton Court, not only to see the present state
of that palace, but to notice the sort of porcelain remaining there,
without fixing upon any further plan for the completion of the day’s
amusement.

King William III., who took every opportunity of rendering these
apartments as pleasing to him as those he had left in the house in the
Wood, introduced nothing by way of porcelain, beyond that of delf, and on
that ware, in many instances, his Majesty had W. R., surmounted by the
crown of England, painted on the fronts. Of the various specimens of this
clumsy blue and white delf, displayed in the numerous rooms of this once
magnificent palace, the pride of Wolsey and splendour of Henry VIII., the
eight large pots for the reception of King William III.’s orange-trees,
now standing in her Majesty’s gallery, certainly have claims to future
protection. As for the old and ragged bed-furniture, it is so disgraceful
to a palace, that, antiquary as I in some degree consider myself, I
most heartily wish it in Petticoat Lane. In passing through the rooms,
I missed the fine whole-length picture of Admiral Nottingham,[446] and
also the thirty-four portraits of the Admirals. The guide informed me
that they were presented by our present King, William IV., to the Painted
Hall at Greenwich. “A noble gift,” said I, “but where can they put them
up?” In order to take some refreshment, we entered the parlour of the
“Canteen,” that being the sign of the suttling-house of the Palace.
During our stay, Legat’s[447] fine engraving from Northcote’s forcibly
effective picture of the “Death of the Princes in the Tower,” which
honoured the room, caught the attention of one of two other visitors to
the Palace. “Bless me,” said he, “are those brutes going to smother those
sweet babes? Why, they are as beautiful as the Lichfield children.”[448]
The observation was not made to me, and as the subject has been too often
mentioned, I shall forbear saying more about it.

As my wife and I were strolling on, in order to secure places for
our return to London in the evening, I ventured to pull the bell at
Garrick’s Villa, and asked for permission to see the temple in which
Roubiliac’s figure of Shakspeare had originally been placed.[449]
Mr. Carr, the present proprietor of the estate, received us with the
greatest politeness. Upon expressing a hope that my love for the fine
arts would plead my apology for the intrusion, he assured me it would
afford him no small pleasure to walk with us to the lawn. “Do sit down,
for a tremendous storm appears to be coming on; we must wait a little.”
His lady, of most elegant manners, at this moment entered the room and
cordially joined in her husband’s wishes to gratify our curiosity,
observing that, if we pleased, she would show us the house. This offer
was made in so delightful a manner, that we were truly sensible of the
indulgence.

Upon returning to a small room which we had passed through from the hall,
“Ah! ah!” said I, “you are curious in porcelain, I see,--the crackle.
What fine Dresden! I declare here is a figure of Kitty Clive, as the
_Fine Lady_ in Lethe, from the Chelsea manufactory.”[450] There is an
engraving of this by Moseley, with the landscape background etched by
Gainsborough. This figure of Mrs. Clive, which was something less than
a foot in height, was perfectly white, and one of a set of celebrated
characters, viz., John Wilkes; David Garrick, in _Richard the Third_;
Quin, in _Falstaff_; Woodward, in the _Fine Gentleman_; the Duke of
Cumberland, etc. Most of these were characteristically , and are
now and then to be met with.[451]

“How you enjoy these things!” observed Mrs. Carr. “This is the
drawing-room; the decorated paper is just as it was in Mr. Garrick’s
time; indeed, we have had nothing altered in the house. I never enter
this room without regretting the enormous expense we were obliged to
incur, in taking down a great portion of the roof, owing to a very
great neglect in the repairs of the house during Mrs. Garrick’s time.
Fortunately it was discovered just as we took possession of the premises,
or the consequences might have been fatal.” “Your grounds are beautiful,”
observed my wife. “Yes,” said Mrs. Carr, “and several of the trees
were planted by Mrs. Garrick; that mulberry-tree was a sucker from
Shakspeare’s tree at Stratford; that tulip-tree was one of her planting,
and so was the cedar. Now you shall see our best bed-room.” The end of
this room which contains the bed is divided from the larger portion by a
curtain suspended across the ceiling, which gives it the appearance of
a distinct drawing-room, for the comfort of a visitor, if indisposed.
“We will now go to Mr. and Mrs. Garrick’s bed-room.” Notwithstanding the
lowness of the ceiling, the room still carries an air of great comfort.
Here we were again gratified with a display of some choice specimens of
Oriental porcelain.

We then descended to the dining-room, in which were portraits of the
Tracy family. On one side of the chimneypiece hangs a half-length picture
of Mrs. Garrick, holding a mask in her right hand. This was painted by
Zoffany,[452] before her marriage, who was one of her admirers; over the
sideboard hangs a portrait of Tom Davies, the author of the _Life of
Garrick_, who had been his steadfast friend.[453] We then returned to the
bow-room, in which we were first received; from thence we entered the
library, and were then shown Mr. Garrick’s dressing-table. On our return
to the bow-room, I asked Mr. Carr in what part of the house Hogarth’s
Election pictures had hung. “In this,” said he; “one on either side of
the fireplace.”[454]

The rain still continuing, our amiable shelterers insisted on our
staying dinner, as it was impossible to see the Temple in such a
storm. We accepted this hospitable invitation; and in the course of
conversation Mrs. Carr assured us that we were not only seated upon the
sofa frequently occupied by Dr. Johnson, but also the identical cover.
“Now, Mrs. Smith, I will show you my Garrick jewels, which Mr. Carr, in
consequence of a disappointment I received, by their not being left to me
by will, according to Mrs. Garrick’s repeated promises, most liberally
purchased for me at the price fixed upon them by Messrs. Rundell and
Bridge; for I must inform you that the intimacy of my family with
Mrs. Garrick was of thirty years’ standing, and that lady and I were
inseparable.” The first treasure produced was a miniature of Mr. Garrick,
set in brilliants; the second, a rich bracelet of pearls, containing the
hair of Mr. and Mrs. Garrick. Mrs. Carr politely presented my wife and
myself with impressions of a profile of Mr. Garrick, contemplating the
features of Shakspeare.

After dinner was announced, and in the course of taking our wine, I
thanked our worthy hosts for their hospitality. “This house,” said Mr.
Carr, “was ever famous for it. Dr. Johnson has frequently knocked up Mr.
and Mrs. Garrick at a very late hour, and would never go to bed without
a supper.”[455] I asked his opinion as to the truth of the anecdote
related by Lee Lewis concerning Mrs. Garrick’s marriage. “There certainly
is,” he replied, “a mystery as to who her father was.” Mrs. Carr observed
that, after Mrs. Garrick had read Lewis’s assertions, she, with her usual
vivacity, exclaimed, “He is a great liar; Lord Burlington was not my
father, but I am of noble birth.”

“Is it true,” I asked, “that Lord Burlington gave Mr. Garrick £10,000 to
marry her?”

“No, nor did Mrs. Garrick ever receive a sum of money from Lord
Burlington: she had only the interest of £6000, and that she was paid by
the late Duke of Devonshire.”[456]

The rain now subsided; and as we passed through the passage cut under
the road, Mrs. Carr stopped where Mrs. Garrick had frequently stood,
while she related the following anecdote. ‘_Capability Brown_,’[457]
was consulted as to the communication of these grounds with those by
the water. Mr. Garrick had an idea of having a bridge to pass over the
road, similar to the one at Pain’s Hill;[458] but this was objected to
by _Capability Brown_, who proposed to have a tunnel cut. Mr. Garrick at
first did not like that idea; but Dr. Johnson observed, “David! David!
what can’t be over-done may be under-done.”[459]

As we entered the Temple, instead of seeing a vacant recess, we were
agreeably surprised to find that the present owner had occupied it by a
cast of Roubiliac’s statue of Shakspeare, most carefully taken by Mr.
Garrard,[460] similar to the one with which he furnished the late Mr.
Whitbread for the hall of Drury Lane Theatre. On our return to the villa,
we were shown a small statue of Mr. Garrick, in the character of Roscius;
but by whom it was modelled I was not able to learn. The following
inscription was placed under the plinth:--“This figure of Garrick was
given to Mr. Garrard, A.R.A., by his widow, and is now respectfully
presented to Mrs. Carr, to be placed in Garrick’s Villa, July 14, 1825.”

In the bow-room, in which we again were seated, is a portrait of Mr.
Hanbury Williams, and also two drawings of Mr. and Mrs. Garrick, by
Dance, of which there are lithographic engravings by Mrs. Solly, the
daughter of the Rev. Mr. Racket, with impressions of which that lady
honoured me for my wife’s illustrated copy of the _Life of Dr. Johnson_.
Mrs. Solly also favoured me with a sight of a pair of elegant garnet
bracelets, which had been left to her by Mrs. Garrick. The bell,
Nollekens’s old friend, announced the arrival of the stage, and we took
our departure.

On the following morning, taking advantage of the Museum vacation allowed
to officers of that establishment, and feeling an inquisitive inclination
to know in what way the portraits of the admirals had been disposed of
in Greenwich Hospital, I went thither, where I found a display of great
taste in the distribution of the pictures which adorn the Painted Hall of
that national and glorious institution. Many of my readers will recollect
that in second editions of works errors are usually corrected. Such, I
understand, has been the case in the hanging of the pictures in this
splendid gallery; for, in the first instance, numerous small and also
indifferent subjects were hung at the top of the room, and the spectator
was told that this arrangement was merely to produce uniformity, until
a period arrived when larger and better productions could occupy their
places. The liberality of King William IV., who gave no fewer than
fifty-five pictures, in addition to the very valuable presents made by
the Governors of the British Institution, enabled Mr. Seguier, keeper of
the royal collection, to display his best taste in the re-arrangement.

All the small pictures have been taken away, and a most judicious display
of whole-length portraits, the size of life, occupy their spaces. Modern
artists must not only be pleased with the truly liberal manner in which
their works are here exhibited, but will rejoice in having an opportunity
of retouching and improving their pictures, from the manner in which the
light falls upon them--an advantage always embraced in large edifices
by the old masters, but perhaps more particularly by Rubens, who, it is
well known, worked upon his performances after they had been elevated to
their respective destinations. I must own, without a wish to cast the
least reflection upon the works of other modern artists displayed in
this gallery, that the noble picture of the Battle of Trafalgar, painted
by Arnald, the Associate of the Royal Academy, at the expense of the
Governors of the British Institution, at present arrests most powerfully
the attention.

As I was admiring the dignity of the Hampton Court admirals, who
never appeared to such advantage, a well-known voice whispered over
my shoulder, “You are not aware, perhaps, that Vandevelde painted the
sea-distances in those pictures?” “No,” answered I; “that is a very
interesting fact;” adding that “I could not believe Kneller to have
been the painter of all the heads.” Mr. Seguier rejoined, “Dahl, in my
opinion, painted some of them.”[461] In the course of conversation
he gave me no small pleasure by observing that he had read my work of
_Nollekens and his Times_.--“I can answer as to the truth of nine-tenths
of what you have asserted,” said he, “having known the parties well.”

Upon leaving this interesting gallery, a pleasing thought struck me, that
if a volume of naval history, commencing with the early ballads in the
Pepysian Library, and ending with the delightful compositions of Dibdin,
were printed, and given to every collier’s apprentice as a reward for his
good behaviour, it might create in him that spirit of emulation which,
when drafted from his vessel, would induce him to defend the long-famed
wooden walls of Old England most undauntedly. Humble as the versification
of these our old ballads may justly be considered, yet I have frequently
seen the tear of gratitude follow the melody of Incledon while singing
the song of “Admiral Benbow.”[462]

[Illustration: CHARLES DIBDIN

“He found a voice for the British sailor.”

_Tom Taylor_]

“What, upon the old trot, Master?” observed a funny-mover,[463] as I
descended the rotten old stairs of Hungerford Market. “Will you make
one with us? I know you don’t mind where you steer.” We had hardly made
Chelsea Reach, when one of our crew noticed a foundered freshman, who
had most ingeniously piloted himself into a cluster of osiers, in order
to adjust his cravat, as a lady in our boat was to meet him that evening
in Vauxhall Gardens. Our steersman, who was fond of a bit of fun, thus
assailed him, “I say, Maty, why you’re water-logged there; you put me
in mind of the Methodist parson who ran adrift last Saturday nearly
in the same place: he made a pretty good thing of it.” “Ay,” observed
a dry old fresh-water passenger in our boat, “I saw the fellow; and
when the Battersea gardeners[464] quizzed him, he attempted to stand
up like a poplar; but the wind operating upon his head, it hung like a
bulrush. However, when he was seated, instead of advising them to make
ready for simpling-time, or bespattering them with low language, he
exercised his pulpit volubility in favour of vegetables, declaring that
for years he had lived upon them, and insisted that every young person
of every climate should eat nothing else, strengthening this opinion
with the following quotation from Jeremy Taylor, who declared that ‘a
dish of lettuce and a clear fountain would cool all his heats.’ After
this he most strenuously advised them to ask more money for their pecked
fruit than they had been accustomed to receive, observing, that they
should keep Shakspeare’s caution in mind, ‘Beware all fruit but what
the birds have pecked.’[465] At the close of his address, a descendant
of old Mother Bagley, called ‘The King of Spades,’ proposed to his men
not only to join him in all their coppers, but to fresh-water the poor
fellow’s boat, for which he thanked them, and declared that he was almost
ready to float in his own perspiration; but that he, like Sterne’s[466]
‘Starling,’ could not get out. The Mortlake boys soon gave him three
cheers, and away he scuttled like an eel towards Limehouse Hole, sticking
as close to his boat as a toad to the head of a carp.”

At this the lady simpered. “Bless your heart, fair one,” observed the
narrator, addressing the lady who was destined for Vauxhall Gardens, “you
never saw such a skeleton as this vegetable-eater. As for his complexion,
it was for all the world like--what shall I say?”

“Perhaps a Queen Anne’s guinea,” observed our waterman, “that they used
to let into the bottom of punch-ladles”--many of which were frequently to
be seen in the pawnbrokers’ windows in Wapping.

“As for his voice during his preaching,” rejoined our entertaining
companion, “no lamb’s could be more innocent.”

As we were tacking about, the wind standing fair to drop the lady at
Vauxhall-stairs, our old weathergage, the waterman, who reminded me
of Copper Holmes, thus addressed a lopped Chelsea Pensioner:--“I say,
old Granby,[467] people say that he who loves fighting is much more
the sexton’s friend than his own.” “Ay, Master Smelter,” answered the
corporal, “we are all alive here, and, like the Greenwich boys, willing
to fight again; Old England for ever!”

I then requested the waterman to put me on shore, in order to visit
Chelsea College, purposely to see what had been done with my friend
Ward’s allegorical picture of the Triumph of the Duke of Wellington. The
Right Hon. Noblemen and Gentlemen, Governors of the British Institution,
wishing to perpetuate the memory of the noble victory on the plains
of Waterloo, they, with their accustomed liberality to the fine arts,
commissioned James Ward, Esq., R.A., to paint an allegorical picture
worthy a place in the Hall of that glorious establishment, Chelsea
Hospital. Having heard that Mr. Ward’s picture had been hung up, I went
thither, but, to my utter astonishment, found it not only suspended
without a frame (just as a showman in a fair would put out his large
canvas to display “the true and lively portraiture” of a giant, the
Pig-faced Lady, or the Fire-eater), but with its lower part projecting
over a gallery, just like the lid of a kitchen salt-box; so that the
upper and greater half, being on an inclined plane, had copiously
received the dust, and doubtless, if it be allowed to accumulate,
the Duke’s scarlet coat will undergo a brick-dust change, and his
cream- horses become the dirtiest of all the drabs.

If this picture be considered worth preserving, why expose it so
shamefully to injury by suffering it to hang as it does? If, on the
contrary, why not at once consign it to the waters of oblivion, by
casting it into Chelsea Reach? Mr. Ward’s superior talents have been in
numerous instances acknowledged by some of the best judges.

Descending Villiers Street on one of my peregrination mornings, a
tremendous storm obliged me to request shelter of Mrs. Scott, the wife
of the present keeper of York Terrace, and successor of Hugh Hewson,
a man who declared himself to be the genuine character famed by Dr.
Smollett in _The Adventures of Roderick Random_, under the appellation of
Hugh Strap.[468] Here I met with a young man whose father had attended
Hewson’s funeral, who informed me that Hugh had been frequently known
to amuse the ambulators of that walk by recapitulating the enterprising
events which had taken place during his travels with the Doctor. Hugh,
who had for years followed the trade of a hairdresser, was buried in St.
Martin’s-in-the-Fields, and his funeral was attended by three generations.

On my way towards Hungerford Stairs, my organ of inquisitiveness was
arrested by two carvings in stone, of a wheatsheaf and sickles, let into
either side of the north-end houses in the alley leading to the “The
Swan.” A waterman informed me that the south portion of Hungerford Market
was originally allotted for the sale of corn, but I have since learned
that that device is the crest of the Hungerford family. “Pray now,” said
I to my oracle, “do enumerate the signs of Swans remaining on the banks
of the Thames, between London and Battersea Bridges.” “Why, let me see,
Master, there’s the Old Swan at London Bridge, that’s one;--there’s
the Swan in Arundel Street, two;--then ours here, three;--the Swan at
Lambeth, that’s down, though;--well then, the Old Swan at Chelsea, but
that has long been turned into a brewhouse, though that was where our
people rowed to formerly, as mentioned in Doggett’s Will; now they row
to the sign of the New Swan beyond the Physic Garden; we’ll say that’s
four;--then there’s the two Swan signs at Battersea, six.”[469]

Next evening, away I trudged to take water with George Heath (Mathews’s
Joe Hatch) at Strand Lane. “I find the Swan to be your usual sign up the
river,” said I.

“Why, yes,” replied George; “I don’t know what a coach, or a waggon and
horses, or the high-mettled racer have to do with our river. Bells now,
bells, we might have bells, because the Thames is so famous for bells.”
Bless me, thought I, how delighted would my old friend Nollekens have
been, had he heard this remark!

[Illustration: A PLEASURE PARTY ON THE THAMES]

“You like bells, then, Master Heath?”

“Oh yes! I was a famous ringer in my youth, at St. Mary Overies. They are
beautiful bells; but of all the bells give me Fulham; oh, they are so
soft, so sweet![470] St. Margaret’s are fine bells; so are St. Martin’s;
but after all, Fulham for my money, I say. I forget where you said I was
to take you to, Master?”

“Row me to Hungerford,” said I.

Here I alighted, and then went round to Wood’s coal-wharf, at the foot
of Northumberland Street,[471] where the said Mr. Wood dwells in the
very house in which Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey resided, who was strangled
in Somerset House.[472] Sir Edmund Berry was a woodmonger, and became
the court justice. In this appointment he was so active, that during the
time of the Great Plague, 1665, which continued to rage in 1666, upon the
refusal of his men to enter a pest-house, to bring out a culprit who had
furnished a thousand shops with at least a thousand winding-sheets stolen
from the dead, he ventured in alone, and brought the wretch to justice.
In Evelyn’s interesting work on medals, the reader will find that four
were struck, commemorative of Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey’s death; and in
addition to the elaborately engraved portraits noticed by Granger, he
will also find an original picture of him in the waiting-room adjoining
the vestry of St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, where he was interred, and his
funeral sermon preached by Dr. Lloyd.[473]

In a little work published in 1658, entitled _The Two Grand Ingrossers of
Coals, viz. the Woodmonger and the Chandler_,[474] the reader will find
the subtle practices of the coal-vendors shortly after that article was
in pretty general use.

It is curious to observe how fond Horace Walpole, and indeed all his
followers, have been of attributing the earliest encouragement of the
fine arts in England to King Charles I. That is not the fact; nor is
that Monarch entitled, munificent as he was, to that degree of praise
which biographers have thought proper to attribute to him as a liberal
patron; and this I shall immediately prove. King Henry VIII. was the
first English Sovereign who encouraged painting, in consequence of
Erasmus introducing Hans Holbein to Sir Thomas More, who showed his
Majesty specimens of that artist’s rare productions. Upon this the king
most liberally invited him to Whitehall, where he gave him extensive
employment, not only in decorating the panels and walls of that palace
with portraits of the Tudors, as large as life, but with easel pictures
of the various branches of his family and courtiers, to be placed over
doors and other spaces of the state chambers.

Holbein may be recorded as the earliest painter of portraits in
miniature, which were mostly circular, and all those which I have
seen were relieved by blue backgrounds. He was also the designer and
draughtsman of numerous subjects for the use of the court jewellers, as
may be seen in a most curious volume preserved in the print-room of the
British Museum, many of which are beautifully . Holbein must
have been a most indefatigable artist, for he was not only employed
to paint that fine picture of King Henry granting the charter to the
Barber-Surgeons,[475] now to be seen in Barbers’ Hall, Monkwell
Street,[476] that in Bridewell of King Edward VI. granting the charter to
the citizens of London,[477] but numerous portraits for the Howards, and
other noble families; indeed, the quantity of engravings from the burin
of Hollar and other artists, from Holbein’s works, prove that painter to
have been just as extensively employed as Vandyke.

[Illustration: SIR EDMUND BERRY GODFREY

“He was esteemed the best Justice of Peace in England.”

_Burnet_]

King Charles I., it is stated, became possessed of numerous portraits
drawn by Holbein, of several personages of the crown and court of King
Henry VIII., from characters high in office, to _Mother Jack_,[478],
considered to have been the nickname of Mrs. Jackson, the nurse of Prince
Edward. These interesting drawings, it is said, the King parted with for
a picture; but how they again became the property of the Crown, I am
uninformed. However, true it is that they were discovered in Kensington
Palace, and taken from their frames and bound in two volumes. During Mr.
Dalton’s[479] librarianship he etched many of them in his coarse and
hurried manner. Since then Mr. Chamberlaine,[480] his successor, employed
Mr. Metz[481] to engrave one or two as specimens of an intended work,
but Mr. Bartolozzi’s manner being considered more likely to sell, that
artist was engaged to produce the present plates, which certainly are
far from being facsimiles of Holbein’s drawings, which I have seen. Many
of this master’s invaluable pictures are engraved and published in the
work entitled _Portraits of Illustrious Personages of Great Britain_;
accompanied by the biographical lucubrations of Edmund Lodge, Esq.[482]

The liberality of the brothers Paul and Thomas Sandby, Royal
Academicians, will be remembered by every person who had the pleasure of
being acquainted with them; but more particularly by those who benefited
by their disinterested communications and cheering encouragement in
their art. For my own part, I shall ever consider myself indebted to
them for a knowledge of lineal perspective. By their indefatigable
industry, the architecture of many of the ancient seats of our nobility
and gentry will be perpetuated; and I may say, but for the very accurate
and elaborate drawings taken by Paul from Old Somerset House gardens,
exhibiting views up and down the river, much of the Thames scenery must
have been lost.[483] The view up the river exhibits the landing-stairs
of Cuper’s Gardens, and that part of the old palace of Whitehall then
inhabited by the Duchess of Portland, upon the site of which the houses
of that patron of the arts, Lord Farnborough,[484] and other noblemen and
gentlemen, have recently been erected. The one down the river displays
an uninterrupted view of the buildings on either side to London Bridge,
upon which the houses are seen, by reason of Blackfriars Bridge not then
being erected. These drawings are in water-colours, and are preserved
in the thirteenth volume of Pennant’s interesting account of London,
magnificently illustrated, and bequeathed to the print-room of the
British Museum by the late John Charles Crowle, Esq.[485]

Should my reader’s boat ever stop at York Watergate,[486] let me request
him to look up at the three upper balconied windows of that mass of
building on the south-west corner of Buckingham Street. Those, and the
two adjoining Westminster, give light to chambers occupied by that
truly epic historical painter, and most excellent man, Etty, the Royal
Academician, who has fitted up the balconied room with engravings after
pictures of the three great masters, Raphael, Nicholas Poussin, and
Rubens.

The other two windows illumine his painting-room, in which his mind and
colours resplendently shine, even in the face of one of the grandest
scenes in Nature, our river Thames and city edifices, with a most
luxuriant and extensive face of a distant country, the beauties of which
he most liberally delights in showing to his friends from the leads of
his apartments, which, in my opinion, exhibit the finest point of view of
all others for a panorama. The rooms immediately below Mr. Etty’s[487]
are occupied by Mr. Lloyd, a gentleman whose general knowledge in the
graphic art, I and many more look up to with the profoundest respect. The
chambers beneath Mr. Lloyd’s are inhabited by Mr. Stanfield,[488] the
landscape-painter, whose clear representations of Nature’s tones have
raised the scenic decorations of Drury Lane Theatre to that pinnacle
of excellence never until his time attained, notwithstanding the
productions of Lambert, Richards, nay, even Loutherbourg. Mr. Stanfield’s
easel pictures adorn the cabinets of some of our first collectors, and
are, like those of Callcott, Constable, Turner, Collins, and Arnald,
much admired by the now numerous publishers of little works, who
unquestionably produce specimens of the powers of England’s engravers,
which immeasurably out-distance the efforts of all other countries.

However, although I am willing to pass the highest encomiums on the
landscape-engraver for his Liliputian labours, I am much afraid, in the
course of time, we shall have productions smaller still; and that the
diminutive size of a watch-paper, measuring precisely in diameter _one
inch, two-eighths, and one-sixteenth_, will be the noblest extent of
their labours. To men of their talent (and there are several among these
pigmy burinists), I will venture, now I am upon the silver streams of
noble Father Thames, to lead their attention to Woollett’s Fishery, but
more particularly to West’s La Hogue, and then let them ask themselves
this question: Would it not redound more to our glory to be master of
equal excellence in the grand style in which those works are produced,
than to contribute too long to the illustrations of scrapbooks only?
Yes, gentlemen, I think you would say so. Let me endeavour, then, to
arrest your gravers from this blinding of the public, by reducing
your works to so deplorable a nicety, that by-and-by you will find
yourselves totally blind. Why not, as talent is not wanting, prove to
the collectors that England has more Woolletts than one? It is true
there are several at present engaged in engraving plates from the fine
old pictures in the National Gallery, who have my cordial good wishes
for their success; yet I trust that, after that task is at an end,
they will, with a considerable augmentation to their numbers, pay a
becoming respect so justly due to modern painters of their own country,
whose works in historical subjects, as well as portraits and landscape,
extinguish unquestionably those of foreign powers; and I may say, with
equal truth, equal most of those of the old schools. Such a publication,
however successful their present one may be, I can answer for it would
be patronised by the noblemen and gentlemen of England with redoubled
liberality, and in such tasks the engravers will have the opportunity
of producing finer things by the more powerful, and indeed inestimable
advantage of having their progressive proofs touched upon by the painters
themselves.

“Pull away, my hearty” (for I was again in a boat).--“To Westminster,
Master?”--“Ay, to Westminster.”

Being now in view of the extensive yards which for ages have been
occupied by stone and marble merchants, “Ay,” said I, “if these wharfs
could speak, they, no doubt, like the Fly, would boast of their noble
works. Was it not from our blocks that Roubiliac carved his figures of
Newton, the pride of Cambridge, and that of Eloquence, in Westminster
Abbey; Bacon’s figure of Mars, now in Lord Yarborough’s possession;
Rossi’s Celadon and Amelia, and Flaxman’s mighty figure of Satan, in
the Earl of Egremont’s gallery at Petworth; as well as three-fourths of
Nollekens’s numerous busts, which, according to whisperings, have only
been equalled by Chantrey? And then, has not our Carrara been conveyed to
the studios of Westmacott and Baily?[489]”

[Illustration: JOHN FLAXMAN R.A.

“This little man cuts us all out in sculpture.”

_Bankes_]

After the truly interesting information the print-collectors have
received from the pen of Mr. Ottley,[490] a gentleman better qualified
than any I know to speak on works of art, more particularly those of
the ancient schools of Italy, it would be the highest audacity in me to
offer my own observations, however conversant my friends are pleased
to consider me on those subjects. All I shall therefore now add to Mr.
Ottley’s valuable stock of knowledge are the following circumstances,
which occurred respecting that beautiful impression in sulphur, taken
from a pax, engraved by Tomaso Finiguerra, before the said impression was
so liberally purchased by the Duke of Buckingham, who has most cheerfully
afforded it an asylum at Stowe. It has been for many years in the
Print-Room of the British Museum.[491]

Mr. Stewart favoured me, at my earnest request, with the following
statement of the fortunate manner in which he secured this unique and
inestimable production as a treasure for England.

“The sulphur cast, from the celebrated pax of ’Maso Finiguerra, came
into my hands in the following manner:--The Cavalier Seratti, in whose
valuable collection it originally existed, was captured in going from
Cagliari to Leghorn, and carried to Tunis, where he resided, I believe,
for one or two years; but, dying in captivity, the Dey of Tunis took
possession of the whole of his property. Such part of it as was not of
any intrinsic value was sold to a party of Jews, who brought it over to
Malta with a view of sending it to Great Britain for sale. This took
place about the commencement of 1804. The property coming from Barbary
was of course placed in the lazaretto. While there the plague broke out
in the island, and it was a full year before the property was liberated.
The Jews by this time had become apprehensive, owing to the numerous
obstacles they had encountered in the realisation of their projects; and
my friend the Abbate Bellanti, librarian to the Government Library, with
a view to retain the collection in his native island, induced a Maltese
merchant to make the Jews such an offer for the whole of the Seratti
collection as they at last accepted. The merchant, however, retracted;
and the abbot, after having made himself responsible for the bargain
towards the Jews, found himself in an unpleasant predicament. In this
dilemma he applied to me, and I readily engaged to fulfil the agreement
which the merchant had forfeited. The sulphur in question formed the
object of a separate bargain. I paid the value of £15 for it. I was very
unfortunate in the transmission of my collection to England, two ships
having been cast away in the Channel in November, 1815, both with a
considerable portion of my property on board. I was more successful with
the third portion, which arrived in 1816; in this was the sulphur cast.
I never would have parted with it but for the above accident, whereby at
that time I was much straitened in my circumstances.

“The sulphur I sold to Mr. Colnaghi for £150, which I thought a low price
at the time for such an interesting and unique curiosity, indispensable
for illustrating and fixing the date of the invention of the art of
engraving (as it is now called). This sulphur, with the print preserved
at Paris, and the pax of Finiguerra himself, preserved at Florence,
together with the entry in the journal of the Goldsmiths’ Company, also
preserved at Florence, showing the date of the completion of the pax
to be 1452, form altogether an irrefragable chain of proof which must
satisfy the most sceptical. By a memorandum in Seratti’s own handwriting,
which is amongst my papers (but having been sent from Bombay to
Liverpool, I have not yet got), it appears that he purchased the sulphur
from a painter, who bought it with a heap of other trinkets at the stall
of a petty dealer in Florence: and on acquiring it Seratti compared
it with the pax itself, and ascertained it to be the genuine work of
Finiguerra.

“I may add a few observations of my own, not altogether irrelevant to the
subject.

“The silver vessel, or pax, generally enclosed some relic, and was
kissed by the congregation or other individuals in token of devotion;
and the Count Seratti mentions that the one of which this sulphur is in
part a facsimile, is very much worn by this repeated act of devoutness.
The word pax appears to be a corruption of pyxis, a box; and we have in
Shakspeare _a pyx of little value_. The engraving was usually filled up
with a metallic mixture of a dark composition, which, being fused by
the action of fire, became incorporated with the vessel itself. This
process was called Niello, or Anniello, Niellare, or Anniellare; hence
our _anneal_, the term probably derived from _nigellum_, or perhaps
even from Mêl, the Indian term for _black_, and applied to indigo, by
which name that dye was originally known in Europe, and it was probably
used in the composition before alluded to. The term _anniello_, and the
purpose to which these pyxes were applied, is further illustrative of a
passage in Shakspeare, which I believe has hitherto puzzled commentators.
It is this:--Hamlet accuses his uncle of having dispatched his father
‘unhousel’d, unanointed, _unanneal’d_;’ it alludes to the custom in
Catholic countries of offering relics preserved in their pyxes to be
kissed after extreme unction.

“I shall be happy to communicate any further particulars respecting this
interesting vestige of art which may be required of me, in as far as I am
able.

                                                       “J. STEWART.

“_2nd May, 1829._”


1830.

The glowing evening of the 16th of July added lustre to the enchanting
grounds of William Atkinson, Esq. of Grove End, Paddington;[492] and
perhaps, if I were to assert that few spots, if any, excel in the variety
of its tasteful walks and unexpected recesses, I should not outstep the
verge of truth.

The villa was designed by Mr. Atkinson, with his usual attention
to domestic comfort; the grounds were peculiarly manured under his
direction, and the rarest trees and choicest plants he could procure from
all the known parts of the globe were planted by his own hand, and that
too in the course of the last twelve years. On the knolls the antiquary
will find sculpture from Carthage; and in the silent trickling dells the
mineralogist specimens of the varieties of English stone, imbedded in
the most picturesque strata. The delightful surprise of the spectator is
beyond belief, particularly on turning back to view his trodden path,
when that sun which fired the mind of Claude sparkles among the gently
waving branches from climes he may never visit. Upon my observing to
Mrs. Atkinson that in this meandering retreat my mind would be instantly
soothed, that lady then recalled to my recollection Allan Ramsay’s
_Gentle Shepherd_, by repeating the following lines:

    “How wholesome is’t to breathe the vernal air,
    And all the sweets it bears, when void of care.”[493]

Here the Waltonian, too, will find a seat, and view the canal--

    “Kissing with eddies soft the bordering grass.”

My thanks are here offered to my friend Mr. West,[494] late of Drury Lane
Theatre, now a professor of music, for the kind loan of an imperfect
copy (which he met with at a stall) of a work of rarity, of which I have
not been able to hear of another copy. It is not mentioned by Watt, and,
what is more remarkable, the Rev. Hartwell Horne,[495] of the British
Museum, never heard of it. It is a small quarto, bearing the following
title:--

    “THE POST ANGEL, OR, UNIVERSAL ENTERTAINMENT.

    “London: printed, and to be sold by A. Baldwin, near the Oxford
    Arms, in Warwick Lane, 1702, where is to be had the first and
    second volume, or any single month, from January, 1701, to this
    time; price of each, one shilling.”[496]

Page 191 of the third volume affords the admirers of wax effigies the
following information:--

    “TO THE EDITOR.

    “SIR,--You having promised to give an account of the
    curiosities of art, as well as the wonders of nature, I thought
    it would oblige the public to acquaint you that the effigies
    of his late Majesty, King William III., of glorious memory, is
    curiously done to the life in wax, dressed in coronation robe,
    with so majestic a mien that nothing seems wanting but life
    and motion, as persons of great honour upon the strictest view
    have with surprise declared. Likewise the effigies of several
    persons of quality, with a fine banquet, and other curiosities
    in every room, passing to and from the King’s apartment, are
    all to be seen at Mrs. Goldsmith’s, in Green Court, in the Old
    Jury, London.”

From the following flummery bespattered on this wax-worker by the editor
of the _Post Angel_, I may, with the greatest probability, conclude that
his substance was just as vulnerable as that of many of the hirelings who
feed themselves by puffing what they denominate “the fine arts,” and that
he had no objection to a dozen of port, _had it been ever so crusted_.

“The Observator” states that “the ingenuity of man hath found out
several ways to imitate Nature, and represent natural bodies to the eye
by sculpture, picture, carving, waxwork, etc.; and though some of the
ancients were famed for this art, as Zeuxis and Apelles, yet our last
ages have outstripped them, and made considerable improvements, as may
be easily discernible to those who are skilled in antiquities, and have
observed the _rude_ and _coarse_ pieces of the ancients. Those that
question the truth of this, need but step to that famous artist, Mrs.
Goldsmith, in the Old Jewry, whose _workmanship_ is so absolute (_in
the effigies which she has made of his late Majesty_), as it admits of
no correction. She also made the late Queen, the Duke of Gloucester, to
the general satisfaction of a great number of the nobility and gentry.
I am not for the Hungarian’s wooden coat of mail, the work of fifteen
years; nor Myrmeride’s coach with four horses, so little that you might
hide them under a fly’s wing: these are but a laborious loss of time, an
ingenious profusion of one of the best talents we are entrusted with; but
_this effigy of his late Majesty_ has taken up but a small part of Mrs.
Goldsmith’s time, and yet it is made with so much art, that nothing seems
wanting but life and motion. I own,” continues this time-server, “’tis
little wonder to see a picture have motion; but Mrs. Goldsmith is such a
person (as all will own that see this effigy which she has made of King
William), that she has almost found the secret to make even dead bodies
alive.”

[Illustration: THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH, R.A.

“We are all going to heaven, and Van Dyck is of the company.”

_His dying words_]


1832.

“You are never idle,” observed my _old_, OLD, very OLD friend John
Taylor,[497] as he entered my parlour on the 3rd of November, in his
ninety-third year: “bless me, how like that is to your father! Well,
Howard is a very clever fellow! Pray now, do tell me, did your father
know Churchill? My friend Jonathan Tyers introduced me to him in
Vauxhall Gardens much about the time Hogarth represented him as a bear
with a pot of porter.[498] I think, to the best of my recollection,
the print was brought out in 1763. Mr. Tyers asked Mr. Churchill what
he thought of it. ‘Oh!’ said he, ‘it is a silly thing, Sir. I should
have thought Hogarth had known better.’” I then requested Mr. Taylor
to describe Mr. Churchill’s dress for Vauxhall Gardens. “Oh! not as a
clergyman, not in black, as he appeared in the pit of the theatre. Let me
see: his coat was blue, edged with a narrow gold lace; a buff waistcoat;
but I won’t be certain whether that was laced or not--I rather think it
was not. He had black silk small-clothes, white silk stockings, small
silver shoe-buckles, and a gold-laced three-cornered hat.”

“Did you know Gainsborough, Sir?” “Oh! I remember him; he was an odd man
at times. I recollect my master Hayman coming home after he had been to
an exhibition, and saying what an extraordinary picture Gainsborough
had painted of the Blue Boy; it is as fine as Vandyke.”[499] “Who was
the Blue Boy, Sir?” “Why, he was an ironmonger, but why so called I
don’t know. He lived at the corner of Greek and King Streets, Soho; an
immensely rich man.” “Did you know Mrs. Abington?” “Oh yes; she was a
most delightful actress of women of fashion, though she made herself
very ridiculous by attempting the part of _Scrub_.[500] Mr. Hoole, when
he heard she was to play the character that evening, sent for a chair
and went to see her; but he said it was so truly ridiculous, that he was
quite disgusted. Ay, I see you have got Nollekens’s bust of Dr. Johnson.
I made two drawings of him when I was at Oxford: one was for Sir Robert
Chambers,[501] who married the pretty Miss Wilton, that went to India;
who had the other, I can’t immediately say. I remember the Doctor asked
me what countryman I was.--‘A Londoner, Sir, a Londoner.’ ‘And where
born?’ ‘In the parish of Ethelburga, in Bishopsgate Within.’ It is a very
small church; but my father and mother[502] were buried there, though I
suppose, by this time, there’s nothing of them left. My friend Jonathan
Tyers took milk and water for upwards of twenty years at his meals,
though he very well knew what a good glass of wine was, as well as any
man in England. Ay, and a fine haunch of venison, too. Many and many a
time I have dined with him in the gardens, when I was making the drawing
for Boydell, of Hayman’s picture of the Admirals. Mr. Tyers gave very
excellent dinners, I must say.”

The truly skilful manner in which Mr. John Seguier has proceeded with the
pictures painted by Rubens, which adorn the ceiling of Whitehall Chapel,
will, I hope, prove a lasting record of his success in picture-cleaning.
When first I ascended the scaffold, my astonishment was beyond conception
at the enormous size of the objects. The children are more than nine
feet, and the full-grown figures from twenty to twenty-five in height.
The pictures were in a most filthy and husky state. However, it afforded
me infinite delight to hear Mr. Seguier declare, that he firmly believed
he should be able to remove Cipriani’s washy colouring completely; and
that he expected to find that of Rubens in its pristine state. Upon my
seeing these pictures on the floor, after they had been cleaned,[503]
I found his predictions verified, and can now, by the judicious
nourishment afforded to the canvas, announce their effect to be truly
glorious. Every precaution has been taken, under the able direction of
Sir Benjamin Clarke Stevenson, to render the roof impervious to the most
inveterate weather, so that posterity, in all probability, may long enjoy
the beauties of these masterpieces of art.

                               “UPPER GOWER STREET, BEDFORD SQUARE,
                                              _16th November 1832_.

    “MY DEAR SIR,--As I am desirous to make your valuable
    collection of letters from bygone professional characters
    complete, gratify me by accepting the accompanying original
    communication from Mrs. Abington to Mrs. Jordan.[504] It will
    call to your remembrance the period when that skilful and
    excellent man, John Bannister, delighted the town by _his_
    performances; whose retirement from public life in June, 1815
    (after thirty-seven years of hard and honest service), opened
    the doors of Old Drury to a young aspirant for histrionic
    honours in the person of your humble servant.

    “I need not here enumerate _all_ the advantages derived from a
    constant association with such an artist as John Bannister. An
    uninterrupted friendly intercourse of many years manifested the
    sincerity in which he penned the following note to me a short
    time after my appearance at Drury Lane Theatre:--

                                “‘65 GOWER STREET, _Dec. 30, 1815_.

        “‘MY DEAR SIR,--I have been confined to my room more than
        three weeks with the gout; but I am now recovering, though
        slowly. Early next week, will you favour me with a visit
        in Gower Street? It will please me to give you all the
        information and gratification in my power, and to converse
        with you personally about theatrical matters.

        “‘You are my successor, and I beg leave to say that I do
        not know any person more calculated to tread in my shoes. I
        sincerely hope you may never have occasion for the _gouty
        ones_! I remain, my dear Sir, yours sincerely,

                                            “‘JOHN BANNISTER.’[505]

        “‘TO J. P. HARLEY, ESQ., Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.’

    “And now, my dear Sir, with every sincere hope for your
    continued health and happiness, believe that I am very truly
    yours,

                                                “J. P. HARLEY.[506]

    “TO JOHN THOMAS SMITH, British Museum.”


1833.

Mrs. Piozzi, in her anecdotes of Dr. Johnson, speaking of Porridge
Island, says it “is a mean street in London, filled with cook-shops, for
the convenience of the poorer inhabitants; the real name of it I know
not, but suspect that it is generally known by to have been originally a
term of derision.”

Porridge Island consisted of a nest of old rat-deserted houses, lately
forming narrow alleys south of Chandos Street, and east of St. Martin’s
church, which were originally occupied by numerous cooks for the
accommodation of the workmen engaged in erecting the said church.[507]




FOOTNOTES


[1] Two other residences of Smith’s, less definitely associated
with his books or etchings, are recorded. The first is No. 8 Popham
Terrace, near the Barley Mow Tavern, in Frog Lane, Islington. His
sojourn here is mentioned, without dates, by Lewis in his _History
of Islington_ (1842). Frog Lane is now Popham Road, of which Popham
Terrace appears to have been part. In 1809, Smith was living at No.
4 The Polygon, Somers Town.

[2] Thomas Lowe had taken Marylebone Gardens in 1763, at a rent
of £170. Fresh from his triumphs as a tenor at Vauxhall, he made
concerts the principal entertainment. In 1768 he compounded with
his creditors.

[3] This theatre at Richmond was built two years before Smith’s
birth, and was opened in May 1765, by Mr. Love, who spoke a
prologue by Garrick. Love was the stage name of James Dance, who,
as a son of George Dance, R.A., the City Architect, adopted it that
he might not “disgrace his family,” a proceeding on which Genest
comments: “Shall we never have done with this miserable cant?
Foote, with much humour, makes Papillion say, in _The Lyar_: ‘As to
Player, whatever might happen to me, I was determined not to bring
a disgrace upon my family; and so I resolved to turn footman.’”
_The Devil to Pay_, by Charles Coffey, was adapted from a play by
Jevon called _The Devil of a Wife_, first produced at Drury Lane in
1731, when Love played “Jobson” and Mrs. Love “Nell.”

[4] “A convivial glass-grinder, then residing at No. 6, in Earl
Street, Seven Dials, and who had, for upwards of fifty years,
worn a green velvet cap,” is Smith’s note on his uncle. In his
_Nollekens_ he says: “In the British Museum there is a brass medal
of Vittore Pisano, a painter of Verona, executed by himself … his
cap, which is an upright one with many folds, reminded me of that
sort usually worn, when I was a boy, by the old glass-grinders of
the Seven Dials.”

[5] Dr. William Hunter (1718-83) was elder brother of the
celebrated Dr. John Hunter, to whom in 1768 he gave up his house
in Jermyn Street, taking possession of the one he had built for
himself in Windmill Street. In 1764 he had been appointed Physician
Extraordinary to the Queen. He became a foundation member of the
Royal Academy, as Professor of Anatomy. It is related that half an
hour before his death he exclaimed: “Had I a pen, and were I able
to write, I would describe how easy and pleasant a thing it is to
die.”

[6] Now rebuilt as No. 38.

[7] Strype’s edition of Stow, 1720, contains many such plates. John
Kip, the engraver, was born in Amsterdam. He died at Westminster in
1722.

[8] In the miscellaneous pages of his _Nollekens_, Smith reports
Elizabeth Carter, of “Epictetus” fame, as saying to a Covent
Garden fruiterer, named Twigg (jocularly known as the “Twig of the
Garden”): “I recollect, Sir, when Mr. Garrick acted, hackney chairs
were then so numerous that they stood all round the Piazzas, down
Southampton Street, and extended more than half-way along Maiden
Lane, so much were they in requisition at that time.”

[9] Voltaire first came to London in May 1726, after his
confinement in the Bastille, landing at Greenwich on a cloudless
night. His first impressions of London are quoted by Mr. Archibald
Ballantyne in his interesting _Voltaire’s Visit to England_. After
being the guest of Bolingbroke, Voltaire returned to Paris in a
state of indecision, but, again crossing the Channel, he settled
at Wandsworth, where he found a friend and host in Sir Everard
Falkener. He met Pope, and improved his English by attending the
theatres. Chetwood says: “I furnished him every evening with the
play of the night (at Drury Lane), which he took with him into the
orchestra (his accustomed seat): in four or five months he not only
conversed in elegant English, but wrote it with exact propriety.”
Voltaire became a well-known figure in London, and wrote his
_Henriade_ in his London lodging at the sign of the “White Peruke,”
Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, next door to the Bedford Head.

[10] _Notes of Proceedings and Occurrences during the British
Embassy to Pekin_, 1816. Geo. Thos. Staunton, 1824. Printed for
Private Circulation.

[11] Pliny the Younger, in writing to his friend, Baebius Macer,
on the habits and life of his uncle, C. Plinius Secundus (Pliny
the elder), says: “A shorthand writer constantly attended him, …
who, in the winter, wore a particular sort of warm gloves, that
the sharpness of the weather might not occasion any interruption
to my uncle’s studies; and for the same reason, when in Rome, he
was always carried in a chair. I recollect his once taking me to
task for walking. ‘You need not,’ he said, ‘lose these hours.’ For
he thought every hour gone that was not given to study” (_Letters
of Pliny the Younger_, bk. iii. letter 5, p. 82. Bohn’s Classical
Library).

[12] The Catalogue of this exhibition is entitled: “A Catalogue
of the Paintings, Sculptures, Architecture, Models, Drawings,
Engravings, etc., now exhibiting under the Patronage of the Society
for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce, at their
Great Room in the Strand, London.” It credits Mr. Nathaniel Smith,
St. Martin’s Lane, with the following:--

210. A bust as large as life.

211. A figure of Time, imitating a bronze.

[13] Smith’s naval ancestor won his sobriquet, “Tom of Ten
Thousand,” very easily. He had compelled the French corvette
_Gironde_ to salute the British colours in Plymouth Sound, for
which, on complaint, he was dismissed the navy for exceeding his
instructions, but was shortly reinstated. The public believed
that he had fired into the _Gironde_ to compel its respect to our
flag, and on this exaggerated report gave him the name “Tom of Ten
Thousand.” Smith, who rose to high rank, but won no great personal
distinction, presided over the court-martial which condemned
Admiral Byng in 1757.

It may be added that the name “Tom of Ten Thousand” has been borne
by several men, notably by Thomas Thynne of Longleat, who was so
called on account of his wealth. He was murdered in Pall Mall in
February 1682, by three assassins hired by Count Königsmark. The
murder is realistically portrayed on his tomb in the south aisle
of Westminster Abbey. Another “Tom of Ten Thousand” was Thomas
Hudson, a native of Leeds, who lost a large fortune in the South
Sea Scheme, and, becoming insane, wandered the streets of London
for years, leaning on a crutch.

[14] These coincidences of residence seem to be overstated by
Smith. It must have been after, not before, his visit to Italy,
which he made in his 36th year, that Wilson took apartments in the
Piazza on the north side of Covent Garden. He lived above the rooms
of Cock, the auctioneer, who was followed by Langford, and later
still by George Robins. Sir Peter Lely had lived in the same house
from 1662 until his death in 1680, and here his collections were
sold in 1667. Smith seems to be wrong about Kneller. This painter’s
house had been on the east side of the Square, known as the Little
Piazza. Its garden, stretching back to Bow Street, was the scene of
the famous quarrel between Kneller and Dr. Ratcliffe. A tenant who
did precede Wilson was Hogarth, who, though he did not reside at
Cock’s, had exhibited here his “Mariage à la Mode” gratis, with a
view to its sale.

Wilson had a model made of a portion of the Piazza, which he used
as a receptacle for his implements. The rustic work of the piers
was provided with drawers, and the openings of the arches held
pencils and oil bottles. An unbending devotion to his Italian
manner of painting (he so Italianised a view of Kew Gardens that
George the Third failed to recognise it) and a rough temper brought
this fine painter to humbler dwellings in Charlotte Street, Great
Queen Street, and Foley Place; finally, to a room in Tottenham
Street. His fortunes were mended at the last by his appointment
as Librarian to the Royal Academy, and his succession to a small
estate in Wales on the death of his brother.

[15] See a plate in the _Lady’s Magazine_ of 1870, in which Miss
Catley wears such elbow ruffles in the character of Rosetta in
_Love in a Village_.

[16] The death of Molly Mogg was thus announced in the _Gentleman’s
Magazine_: “Mrs. Mary Mogg, at Oakingham: she was the person on
whom Gay wrote the song of ‘Molly Mogg.’” This song was first
printed in _Mist’s Weekly Journal_ of August 27, 1726, with a note
stating that “it was writ by two or three men of wit (who have
diverted the public both in prose and verse), upon the occasion of
their lying at a certain inn at Ockingham, where the daughter of
the house was remarkably pretty, and whose name is Molly Mogg.”
These “men of wit” were supposed to have been Pope, Swift, and Gay,
and it was believed that they had together concocted the song, but
the weight of evidence is in favour of Gay’s sole authorship. There
is, however, enough doubt to warrant one in holding to the pleasant
tradition that the three poets, over their cups at the Rose Inn,
made the song which began (original version):--

    “Says my Uncle, I pray you discover
    What has been the cause of your woes,
    That you pine and you whine like a lover?
    I’ve seen Molly Mog of the Rose.

    Oh, Nephew! your grief is but folly,
    In town you may find better prog;
    Half a crown there will get you a Molly,
    A Molly much better than Mog.

    …

    The school boys delight in a play-day,
    The schoolmaster’s joy is to flog;
    The milk-maid’s delight is in May day,
    But mine is in sweet Molly Mog.”

[17] Finch’s Grotto Garden stood on the site now occupied by the
headquarters of the Metropolitan Fire Brigade. It was opened--six
years before John Thomas Smith was born--on the strength of a
spring in the grounds which a Dr. Townshend was willing to declare
medicinal. Concerts and fireworks were given with fair success, and
here “Tommy” Lowe accepted engagements after his failure in the
management of Marylebone Gardens. The tavern was burnt down in May
1795, and was replaced by another called the “Goldsmith’s Arms,”
afterwards styled the “Old Grotto New Reviv’d.” This tavern bore
the inscription--

    “Here Herbs did grow
      And flowers sweet,
    But now ’tis call’d
      Saint George’s Street.”

All that is known about Finch’s Grotto is told by Mr. Warwick
Wroth in his admirable _London Pleasure Gardens of the Eighteenth
Century_.

[18] This famous aid to the teething of children was invented about
the year 1717, when there appeared a _Philosophical Essay upon the
Celebrated Anodyne Necklace_, dedicated to Dr. Paul Chamberlen
(who died in this year), and the Royal Society. This tract, quoted
by Mr. J. Eliot Hodgkin in _Notes and Queries_ of Feb. 16, 1884,
argues the advantages of the necklace as follows:--

“For since the difficult _Cutting of Children’s Teeth_ proceeds
from the hard and strict Closure of their _Gums_; If you get Them
but once separated and opened, the _Teeth_ will of themselves
Naturally come Forth; Now the Smooth Alcalious Atoms of the
_Necklace_, by their insinuating figure and shape, do so make
way for their Protrusion by gently _softening_ and _opening_ the
hard swelled _Gums_, that the TEETH will of themselves without
any difficulty or pain CUT and come out, as has been sufficiently
proved.”

Mr. Hodgkin describes the necklace as “of beads artificially
prepared, small, like barley-corns,” costing five shillings. An
early depôt was Garraway’s at the Royal Exchange Gate. In Smith’s
day they were sold in Long Acre by Mr. Burchell at the sign of the
Anodyne Necklace, and the price was still “5s. single,” with “an
allowance by the dozen to sell again.” Burchell advertised: “After
the Wearing of which about their Neck but One night, Children have
immediately cut their TEETH with Safety, who but just before were
on the Brink of the Grave.”

[19] According to Daulby’s numbering.

[20] For some curious erudition on go-carts see Smith’s _Life of
Nollekens_, where he says (1829 ed. i. 221): “When I was a boy,
the go-cart was common in every toy-shop in London; but it was to
be found in the greatest abundance in the once far-famed turners’
shop in Spinning-wheel Alley, Moorfields: a narrow passage leading
from those fields to the spot upon which the original Bethlehem
Hospital stood in Bishopsgate Street. In 1825-26, however, both
Spinning-wheel Alley and Old Bethlehem were considerably altered
and widened, and subsequently named Liverpool Street.”

[21] Hone says: “The late King George IV. and his brothers and
sisters, all the royal family of George III., were rocked. The
rocker was a female officer of the household, with a salary”
(_Every Day Book_). Rocker cradles are to-day made in Ireland by
villagers, and sold from door to door.

[22] Two artists, father and son, bore the name of Israel von
Meckenen. They flourished in the fifteenth and early sixteenth
centuries, and appear to have collaborated on some 250 prints. The
British Museum has a fine set of their engravings.

[23] The stone inscribed “Here lies Nancy Dawson” no longer exists.
M. Dorsay Ansell, the obliging keeper of the burial-grounds (now
laid out as one recreation-ground) of St. George the Martyr and
St. George’s, Bloomsbury, is frequently applied to for information
as to its existence. Eighteen years ago, when these grounds were
formed, careful search was made for interesting stones, and the
gravestone of Zachary Macaulay, among others, was discovered by Mr.
Ansell. That of Nancy Dawson was never found, but it may be buried
out of sight.

Nancy Dawson is stated to have died at Haverstock Hill, May 27,
1767. Her portrait in oils still hangs in the Garrick Club, and the
print-sellers are familiar with her figure in theatrical costume.
She is believed to have been born about 1730, to have been the
daughter of a Clare Market porter, and to have lived in poverty in
St. Giles’s or in a Drury Lane cellar. The rather ill-supported
narratives of her career speak, as does Smith, of her waiting on
the skittle-players at a Marylebone tavern, which Mr. George Clinch
thinks (_Marylebone and St. Pancras_) may have been the old “Rose
of Normandy” in High Street.

Nancy Dawson’s fortune was made in 1759 in the Beggars’ Opera. The
man who danced the hornpipe among the thieves happened to have
fallen ill, and his place was taken by Nancy, who was then a rising
young actress. From that moment her success was secure. Her real
monument is the song beginning--

    “Of all the girls in our town,
    The black, the fair, the red, the brown,
    That dance and prance it up and down,
    There’s none like Nancy Dawson!

    Her easy mien, her shape so neat,
    She foots, she trips, she looks so sweet,
    Her ev’ry motion’s so complete,
    I die for Nancy Dawson!”

[24] Musgrave’s note continues: “Whom she deserted upon his
discovering that she had an intrigue with the exciseman of that
district.”

[25] Rubens’s beautiful second wife, Helena Fourment, who was only
sixteen when he married her. She is the subject of not a few of his
pictures.

[26] Nollekens, the sculptor, highly approved of puddings for
children, and would say, “Ay, now, what’s your name?” “Mrs.
Rapworth, sir.” “Well, Mrs. Rapworth, you have done right; I wore a
pudding when I was a little boy, and all my mother’s children wore
puddings.”

[27] The parent of the Royal Academy, as an exhibiting body, was
the Foundling Hospital in Guilford Street. A number of painters,
including Hogarth, Reynolds, Richard Wilson, and Gainsborough,
agreed to present pictures to Captain Coram’s charity. These
were shown with such success, that the possibility of holding
remunerative exhibitions was perceived, and in 1760 a free
exhibition was opened in the rooms of the Society of Arts. In
following years exhibitions were held in Spring Gardens. In 1765
the “Incorporated Society of Artists of Great Britain” obtained
its charter; but disputes arose, and three years later twenty or
more painters successfully petitioned George III. to establish the
“Royal Academy of Arts in London.” So many of the original members
of the Royal Academy are mentioned by Smith, that it will be useful
to insert their names. They were all nominated by George III.:

    Sir Joshua Reynolds.
    Benjamin West.
    Thomas Sandby.
    Francis Cotes.
    John Baker.
    Mason Chamberlin.
    John Gwynn.
    Thomas Gainsborough.
    J. Baptist Cipriani.
    Jeremiah Meyer.
    Francis Milner Newton.
    Paul Sandby.
    Francesco Bartolozzi.
    Charles Catton.
    Nathaniel Hone.
    William Tyler.
    Nathaniel Dance.
    Richard Wilson.
    G. Michael Moser.
    Samuel Wale.
    Peter Toms.
    Angelica Kauffman.
    Richard Yeo.
    Mary Moser.
    William Chambers.
    Joseph Wilton.
    George Barret.
    Edward Penny.
    Agostino Carlini.
    Francis Hayman.
    Dominic Serres.
    John Richards.
    Francesco Zuccarelli.
    George Dance.
    William Hoare.
    Johan Zoffany.

A year and a day after the foundation of the Royal Academy, it
was resolved: “There shall be a new order, or rank of members, to
be called Associates of the Royal Academy.” Of the first twenty
Associates, the following are mentioned in the _Rainy Day_: Richard
Cosway, John Bacon, James Wyatt, Joseph Nollekens, James Barry (all
of whom were afterwards R.A.’s); and Antonio Zucchi, Michael Angelo
Rooker, and Biagio Rebecca.

The first Royal Academy exhibition was opened to the public in
Pall Mall “immediately east of where the United Service Club now
stands” (Wheatley) on the 26th of April, 1769. Two years later,
the King assigned rooms in Somerset House to the Academy, but his
offer was not utilised until the new Somerset House was ready, in
1780. Here the annual exhibitions were held for fifty-eight years.
The Academicians then migrated to the eastern half of the National
Gallery building in Trafalgar Square. In 1869 the removal to
Burlington House was made. The history of the rise and progress of
the Royal Academy, which Smith wished might have been undertaken by
its secretary, Henry Howard, R.A., has been written very fully by
William Sandby, and again recently by the late J. E. Hodgson, R.A.,
and Mr. F. A. Eaton in collaboration.

[28] In this riot in St. George’s Fields, five or six people were
killed by the Guards, and about fifteen wounded.

[29] Henry Fuseli (1741-1825) had come to London in 1763. On
presenting himself before Sir Joshua Reynolds, the following
dialogue occurred: “How long have you studied in Italy?” “I
never studied in Italy--I studied in Zurich--I am a native of
Switzerland--do you think I should study in Italy? and, above
all, is it worth while?” “Young man, were I the author of these
drawings, and were I offered ten thousand a year _not_ to practise
as an artist, I would reject the proposal with contempt.”

[30] Dr. John Armstrong, whose poem, “The Art of Preserving
Health,” was long famous, is now best remembered as the author of
a few stanzas in Thomson’s _Castle of Indolence_ describing the
morbid effects of indolence. Haydon writes of Fuseli: “He swore
roundly, a habit which he told me he contracted from Dr. Armstrong.”

[31] Sir John Eardley-Wilmot, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas,
decided several cases arising out of Wilkes’s libels: his reply to
Lord North’s extraordinary letter was the only one he could make.
In spite of Wilkes’s easy victory at the poll, the House of Commons
declared that Colonel Luttrell ought to have been elected, and his
name was substituted for Wilkes’s in the return, a proceeding which
inflamed the situation.

[32] Henry William Bunbury stands apart from his
fellow-caricaturists as a wealthy amateur. He was the second son
of the Rev. Sir William Bunbury, Bart., of Great Barton, Suffolk,
and married Catherine Horneck, the “Little Comedy” of Goldsmith.
Bretherton was an engraver and printseller in Bond Street. He
engraved nearly all Bunbury’s drawings, and it was said that he
alone could do so with good effect.

[33] For almost a century the exodus of the London citizens to the
outlying country was considered fair game for satire. Bunbury’s
caricature of 1772 only records the humours which Robert Lloyd
had touched in “The Cit’s Country Box,” printed in No. 135 of the
_Connoisseur_.

    “The trav’ler with amazement sees
    A temple, Gothic or Chinese,
    With many a bell and tawdry rag on,
    And crested with a sprawling dragon.
    A wooden arch is bent astride
    A ditch of water four feet wide;
    With angles, curves, and zigzag lines,
    From Halfpenny’s exact designs.
    In front a level lawn is seen,
    Without a shrub upon the green;
    Where taste would want its first great law,
    But for the skulking sly Ha-Ha;
    By whose miraculous assistance
    You gain a prospect two fields distance.
    And now from Hyde Park Corner come
    The gods of Athens and of Rome:
    Here squabby Cupids take their places,
    With Venus and the clumsy graces;
    Apollo there, with aim so clever,
    Stretches his leaden bow for ever.”

Even Cowper saw little but absurdity in the demand for villas and
“summer-houses.”

    “Suburban villas, highway-side retreats,
    That dread th’ encroachment of our growing streets,
    Tight boxes neatly sash’d, and in a blaze
    With all a July sun’s collected rays,
    Delight the citizen, who, gasping there,
    Breathes clouds of dust, and calls it country air.”

Horace Smith, Lord Byron, and Thomas Hood all touched more or less
satirically on this subject.

[34] There is a confusion here. Walpole in his _Anecdotes
of Painting_ deals only with Jonathan Richardson the elder
(1665-1745), portrait painter and critic; Smith refers to his son
(1694-1771). The two were greatly attached to each other. There
was a story that they sketched each other’s faces every day. Old
Richardson, who wrote a treatise on _Paradise Lost_, was able to
study the classics only through his son, on whom he doted. Hogarth
made a caricature, which he suppressed, of the father using his son
as a telescope to read the writers of Greece and Rome. W. H. Pyne
says of Old Richardson in _Wine and Walnuts_: “He seldom rambled
city-ways, though sometimes he stepped in at the ‘Rainbow,’ where
he counted a few worthies, or looked in at Dick’s and gave them
a note or two. He would not put his foot on the threshold of the
‘Devil,’ however, for he thought the sign profane. Fielding would
run a furlong to escape him; he called him Doctor Fidget.”

[35] The milkmaids’ chief haunt was Islington, whence hundreds
of them carried the milk into London every morning. In his print
“Evening,” the scene of which is laid outside the “Middleton
Head,” Hogarth has an Islington milkmaid milking a cow, and in
his “Enraged Musicians,” a milkmaid with her cry of _Milk Belouw_
contributes to the town noises. The “garlands of massive plate”
which the milkmaids carried round on May Day were borrowed
of pawnbrokers on security. One pawnbroker, says Hone, was
particularly resorted to. He let his plate at so much per hour,
under bond from housekeepers for its safe return. In this way one
set of milkmaids would hire the garland from ten o’clock till one,
and another from one till six, and so on during the first three
days of May. These customs had all but passed away when Smith
wrote his _Rainy Day_, but long after the milkmaids had ceased
to celebrate the London May Day the chimney-sweepers brought out
their Jacks-in-the-green, specimens of which have been seen in
the streets in the last twenty years. In 1825, Hone speaks of the
dances round the “garland” as a “lately disused custom.”

[36] The boxes and pavilions at Vauxhall were decorated with
paintings at the suggestion of Hogarth, who permitted his “Four
Times of the Day” to be copied by Francis Hayman. He also presented
Tyers with a picture from his own hand, “Henry VIII. and Anne
Boleyn,” receiving in acknowledgment a gold ticket inscribed
“In perpetuam Beneficii memoriam,” and giving admission to “a
coachfull” of people. The Vauxhall paintings chiefly represented
sports and sentimental scenes. Among Hayman’s works were, “The Game
of Quadrille,” “Children Playing at Shuttlecock,” “Leap Frog,”
“Falstaff’s Cowardice Detected,” etc. In November 1841, twenty-four
of these pictures, all in a dirty condition, were sold in the
Gardens at prices varying from 30s. to £10.

[37] Marcellus Lauron, or Laroon (1653-1702), was born at the
Hague, and came to London, where he painted draperies for Sir
Godfrey Kneller and executed his “Cryes of London,” engraved by
Tempest. His son, Captain Marcellus Lauron, or Laroon, was soldier,
artist, and actor, and a friend of Hogarth.

[38] Probably Dr. George Armstrong, brother of Dr. John Armstrong,
author of the poem, “The Art of Preserving Health.”

[39] In Smith’s boyhood the “Queen’s Head and Artichoke” was a
rural tavern and tea-garden in Marylebone Park, quarter of a
mile north of the New Road, now Marylebone Road. The Marylebone
Gardens were in decline, and their place was taken by three smaller
resorts, the “Queen’s Head and Artichoke,” the “Jew’s Harp,” and
the “Yorkshire Stingo.” The two first-named places were connected
by a zigzag path known as Love Lane. In his _Nollekens_ Smith has
this choice morsel: “Mrs. Nollekens made it a rule to allow one
servant--as they kept two--to go out on the alternate Sunday; for
it was Mrs. Nollekens’ opinion that if they were never permitted
to visit the ‘Jew’s Harp,’ ‘Queen’s Head and Artichoke,’ or Chalk
Farm, they never would wash _theirselves_.” The site of the
“Artichoke” was covered by Decimus Burton’s Colosseum.

[40] The “Jew’s Harp,” dubiously explained as a corruption of
_jeu trompe_, _i.e._ toy-trumpet, stood near the lower portion of
the Broad Walk in Regent’s Park. Its arbours and tea-garden were
long an attraction to the London youth. Here Arthur Onslow, when
Speaker, was accustomed to sit in an evening smoking his pipe, and
sharing in the tavern talk. The landlord’s discovery that his guest
was the Speaker of the House of Commons cost him his customer,
for when Onslow found himself received at the “Jew’s Harp” with
ceremony, he discontinued his visits.

[41] This farm in the possession of Thomas Willan was taken by
order of the Treasury for the formation of Regent’s Park in 1794.
It contained about 288 acres.

[42] Marylebone Gardens had their main entrance in High Street,
Marylebone, and extended eastward to Harley Street.

[43] Richard Kendall’s farm, comprising about 133 acres, was
absorbed in Regent’s Park.

[44] The “Green Man” (rebuilt) stands east of Portland Road,
Metropolitan Railway Station, on the site of the “Farthing Pie
House,” at which scraps of mutton put into a crust were sold for a
farthing. The rural state of this neighbourhood, and the regrets
which the spread of London awakened, are set forth in Dr. Ducarel’s
speech in the chapter, “Nothing to Eat,” in Ephraim Hardcastle’s
(William Henry Pyne’s) delightful _Wine and Walnuts_:--

“‘Verily I cannot get this mighty street out of my head,’ said
the Doctor. ‘And then there is the new park--what do you call it?
Mary-le-bone--no, the Regent’s Park: it seems to be an elegant,
well-planned place, methinks, and will have a fine effect, no
doubt, with its villas and what not, when the shrubs and trees have
shot up a little. But I shall not live to see it, and I care not;
for I remember those fields in their natural, rural garb, covered
with herds of kine, when you might stretch across from old Willan’s
farm there, a-top of Portland Street, right away without impediment
to Saint John’s Wood, where I have gathered blackberries when a
boy--which pretty place, I am sorry to see, these brick-and-mortar
gentry have trenched upon. Why, Ephraim, you metropolitans will
have half a day’s journey, if you proceed at this rate, ere you
can get a mouthful of fresh air. Where the houses are to find
inhabitants, and, when inhabited, where so many mouths are to find
meat, must be found out by those who come after.’”

[45] Smith seems to have understated the facts. James Easton, the
author of a curious work, entitled “_Human Longevity_, recording
the name, age, place of residence, and year of the decease of 1712
persons, who attained a century and upwards, from A.D. 66 to 1799,
etc.” (Salisbury, 1799), enumerates sixty-one cases in this year as
against Smith’s forty-eight. He gives the following particulars of
the three cases named by Smith:--

“Mrs. Keithe--133, of Newnham, Gloucestershire. She, lived
moderately, and retained her senses till within fourteen days of
her death. She left three daughters, the eldest aged one hundred
and eleven; the second one hundred and ten; the youngest one
hundred and nine. Also seven great, and great great grandchildren.

“Mr. Rice--115, of Southwark, cooper.

“Mrs. Chun--138, near Litchfield, Staffordshire; resided in the
same house one hundred and three years. By frequent exercise, and
temperate living, she attained so great longevity. She left one son
and two daughters, the youngest upwards of one hundred years.”

[46] According to one story, Mother Damnable was Jinney, the
daughter of a Kentish Town brick-maker, named Jacob Bingham. After
living with a marauder named Gipsy George, who was hanged for
sheep-stealing, Jinney passed from the protection of one criminal
to another, until she was left a lonesome and embittered woman. She
lived in her own cottage, built on waste land by her father, and
abused everyone.

    “’Tis Mother Damnable! that monstrous thing,
    Unmatch’d by Macbeth’s wayward women’s ring.
    For cursing, scolding, fuming, flinging fire
    I’ the face of madam, lord, knight, gent, cit, squire.”

The story went that on the night of her death hundreds of persons
saw the Devil enter her house. On the site rose the inn which bore
her portrait as its sign. Smith’s mention of the terror with which
it was regarded may have reference to its loneliness and gruesome
traditions. In his own day the inn was a pleasant resort. “Then the
old Mother Red Cap was the evening resort of worn-out Londoners,
and many a happy evening was spent in the green fields round about
the old wayside houses by the children of poorer classes. At that
time the Dairy, at the junction of the Hampstead and Kentish Town
roads, was not the fashionable building it is now, but with forms
for the pedestrians to rest on, they served out milk fresh from the
cow to all who came” (John Palmer, _St. Pancras_). This dairy, so
long a landmark to North Londoners, has just disappeared in favour
of a “Tube” railway station.

[47] This curious work may still be seen in Little Denmark Street,
where its forty or fifty writhing figures, incrusted with grime,
look at a little distance like some ordinary floral design. The
original “Resurrection Gate” was erected about the year 1687, in
accordance with an order of the vestry. The bill of expenses is
extant, and its terms were contributed by Dr. Rimbault to _Notes
and Queries_ of June 23, 1864, showing the cost to have been £185,
14s. 6d., of which £27 was paid for the carving to an artist named
Love. In 1900, the present Tuscan gate in Little Denmark Street was
erected with the old carving inserted.

[48] Probably Charles Harriot Smith, the architect, who was at
first a stone-carver. He died in 1864.

[49] The Reverend James Bean was Vicar of Olney, Buckinghamshire,
and assistant librarian at the British Museum. He died in 1826, and
was buried in St. George’s, Bloomsbury, burial-ground.

[50] Strype says these almshouses bore the inscription, “St.
Giles’s Almshouse, anno domini 1656.” They were removed in 1782.

[51] Originally Queen Anne’s Square and now Queen Anne’s Gate.

[52] The Pound stood, as Smith indicates, in the broad space where
St. Giles High Street, Tottenham Court Road, and Oxford Street met;
it was removed in 1765.

[53] This song, entitled “Just the Thing,” is valuable as a
portrait of the eighteenth-century “hooligan,” ancestor of Mr.
Clarence Rook’s nineteenth century “Alf” in _Hooligan Nights_:--

    “On Newgate steps Jack Chance was found,
    And bred up near St. Giles’s Pound,
    My story is true, deny it who can,
    By saucy, leering Billingsgate Nan.
    Her bosom glowed with heartfelt joy
    When first she held the lovely boy.
    Then home the prize she straight did bring,
    And they all allow’d he was just the thing.

    At twelve years old, I have been told,
    The youth was sturdy, stout, and bold;
    He learn’d to curse, to swear, and fight,
    And everything but read and write.

    But when he came to man’s estate,
    His mind it ran on something great,
    A-thieving then he scorn’d to tramp;
    So hir’d a pad and went on the scamp.
    At clubs he all Flash Soup did sing.
    And they all allow’d he was just the thing.

    His manual exercise gone through,
    Of Bridewell, Pump, and Horse Pond too,
    His back had often felt the smart
    Of Tyburn strings at the tail of a cart.
    He stood the patter, but that’s no matter,
    He gammon’d the Twelve, and work’d on the water,
    Then a pardon he got from his gracious King,
    And swaggering Jack was just the thing.

    Like a captain bold, well arm’d for war.
    With bludgeon stout, or iron bar,
    At heading a mob, he never did fail,
    At burning a mass-house, or gutting a jail;
    But a victim he fell to his country’s laws,
    And died at last in religion’s cause.
    NO POPERY! made the blade to swing,
    And when tuck’d up he was just the thing.”

[54] Mr. George Clinch, in his _Marylebone and St. Pancras_,
says that there is some reason to think that a portion at least
of Capper’s farm still remains. A large furniture establishment
at Nos. 195-198, Tottenham Court Road, exhibits on a wall in the
rear two tablets marking the boundary of St. Pancras and St.
Giles-in-the-Fields, and bearing eighteenth-century dates. An old
lease of the property, Mr. Clinch adds, contains a clause binding
the tenant to keep stabling for forty head of cattle, and it is
known that the premises were once used as a large livery stable.

[55] Hanway Street now boasts only one milliner, but has several
art and curiosity shops of the kind Smith loved. The “Blue Posts”
(rebuilt) is still at the corner of Hanway Street. Mr. Joshua
Sturges’ book, published in 1800, was on draughts, not chess. It
was entitled _Guide to the Game of Draughts_, and was dedicated by
permission to the Prince of Wales. It has an engraved frontispiece,
“Figure of the Draught Table.”

Sturges was probably not buried, as Smith states, in the Hampstead
Road, but in St. Pancras cemetery (see _Notes and Queries_, Series
II. x. 64). Lovers of draughts may be glad to have a copy of his
epitaph. It ran thus: “SACRED TO THE MEMORY of MR. JOSHUA STURGES.
Many years a RESPECTABLE LICENSED VICTUALLER in this Parish; who
departed this Life the 12th of August, 1813. Aged 55 years. He
was esteemed for the many excellent Qualities he possessed, and
his desire to improve the Minds, as also to benefit the Trade of
his Brother Victuallers. His Genius was also eminently displayed
to create innocent and rational amusement to Mankind, in the
Production of his Treatise on the difficult game of Draughts,
which Treatise received the Approbation of his Prince, and many
other Distinguished Characters. In private Life he was mild and
unassuming; in his public capacity neither the love of Interest or
domestic ease, could separate this faithful Friend from the Society
of which he was a Member, in the performance of Duties which his
Mind deemed Paramount to all others. His example was worthy of
Imitation in this World. May his Virtues be rewarded in the next.
Peace to his Soul, and respected be his Memory.”

[56] Goodge Street (named after a Marylebone property owner) still
retains some of its original houses, but no house whose ground
floor has not been converted into a shop. Windmill Street, on
the other hand, is a quaint little street of artificers in wood
and metal, instrument makers, etc., many of its houses remaining
in their first state, with forecourts. The rural traditions of
this street are supported at No. 40 by a vine, bearing bunches
of unripened grapes in August 1903. Colvill Court is now called
Colvill Place, but it is essentially a court. The name Gresse’s
Gardens (after the father of Alexander Gresse the water-colour
painter) survives in Gresse Street, a queer little dusty, dusky
byway, easy to enter from Rathbone Place, but difficult to quit at
its southern end by Tudor Place. Here His Majesty’s mail vans are
stabled.

[57] This pond is plainly marked also in Rocque’s map of 1745.
Considering its interesting name, it has obtained singularly little
mention by topographers.

[58] Whitefield built his chapel--in 1756, not 1754--on land
leased for seventy-one years from General Fitzroy. He opened it on
November 7th of the same year, preaching a sermon from the text,
“Other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus
Christ.” A house for the minister and twelve almshouses were added,
and the chapel enlarged. Whitefield proposed to be buried in its
vaults, and told to his congregation, “Messrs. John and Charles
Wesley shall also be buried there. We will all lie together.”
All three were buried elsewhere, but Mrs. Whitefield was buried
here: her remains and those of all other persons, except Augustus
Toplady, were removed to Chingford cemetery when the present
building was begun. A remarkable monument was that to John Bacon,
R.A., the sculptor, with its impressive inscription: “What I was as
an artist seemed to me of some importance while I lived, but what
I really was, as a believer in Jesus Christ, is the only thing of
importance to me now.” After a serious fire in 1857, the original
brick building was altered out of knowledge, and was finally
demolished in 1889. For some years an iron chapel and an appeal for
subscriptions occupied the ground. In 1892 the present ornately
fronted chapel, inscribed “Whitefield Memorial,” was built. In
1903, the present minister, the Reverend C. Silvester Horne,
received “recognition” as the thirteenth minister in succession to
Whitefield.

[59] More correctly, Crab and Walnut Tree Field.

[60] Smith makes a slip in locating the historic fight between
Broughton and Slack in April 1750, at the “Adam and Eve” tavern.
It took place in Broughton’s own Amphitheatre near Adam and Eve
Court in the Oxford Road. Smith correctly states the position
of this Amphitheatre in his _Antient Topography of London_
(1810): “Broughton’s Amphitheatre is still standing; it is at the
south-west corner of Castle Street, Wells Street; the lower part
is a coal shed, the upper a stage for timber.” Its site is now
occupied by No. 62 Castle Street East, close to Adam and Eve Court.

Here it was that the founder of the modern prize-ring, whose
“Broughton rules” were observed everywhere until 1838, met disaster
in his fight with the plucky Norwich butcher. The result was his
retirement from the ring, and the loss by his backer, the Duke of
Cumberland, of a bet of £10,000. In his later years, Broughton
lived in Walcot Place, Lambeth, where he died, aged 85. He was
buried in Lambeth Church. A monument to him in the West Walk of
the Cloisters of Westminster Abbey describes him as “Yeoman of the
Guard”; and it is stated in the _Dictionary of National Biography_
that a place among the Yeomen was obtained for him by the Duke of
Cumberland. In his _Historical Memorials of Westminster Abbey_,
Dean Stanley says: “After his name on the gravestone is a space,
which was to have been filled up with the words ‘Champion of
England.’ The Dean objected, and the blank remains.” But the blank
does not remain. It was filled in 1832 with the names of Roger
Monk, another Yeoman of the Guard, and his wife. It is worthy
of note, too, that the _earliest_ name on the tablet is that of
Broughton’s wife, Elizabeth, who was actually buried here.

[61] See note p. 105.

[62] Fischer had the further distinction of being married to a
daughter of J. T. S., whose other daughter married a Mr. Smith, a
sculptor.

[63] Gooseberry Fair followed the suppressed Tottenham Fair. Both
were held in and about the Adam and Eve Tavern. Richard Yates and
Ned Shuter appeared together at various London fairs.

[64] Charles Fleetwood threw Drury Lane into confusion both behind
and before the scenes, by his unpunctual payment of salaries, and
by attempting to introduce pantomimes against the wishes of the
old play-goers. This led to noisy scenes in 1744, in one of which
Horace Walpole stigmatised Fleetwood as “an impudent rascal” from
his box, and was embarrassed by the enthusiastic approval of the
audience.

[65] The exact site of the famous Footsteps is not easily
determined. Dr. Rimbault (_Notes and Queries_, February 2, 1850)
says that it was reputed to be “at the extreme termination of
the north-east end of Upper Montague Street.” It is placed a
little farther west by Robert Hill, the water-colour painter, who
stated in a letter, quoted by Mr. Wheatley in his _London_: “I
well remember the Brothers’ Footsteps. They were near a bank that
divided two of the fields between Montague House and the New Road,
and their situation must have been, if my recollection serves me,
what is now Torrington Square.” Smith says the Footsteps were “on
the site of Mr. Martin’s chapel, or nearly so.” Mr. John Martin,
the Baptist minister, had the chapel in Keppel Street. It still
exists. This brings the Footsteps a few yards south, but Smith’s
indefiniteness must be taken into account. That these markings
were visible as late as 1800 is proved by the following entry in
the Commonplace Book of Joseph Moser: “June 16th, 1800. Went into
the fields at the back of Montague House, and there saw, for the
last time, the Forty Footsteps: the building materials are there
to cover them from the sight of man.” The feeling with which these
curious marks were regarded by educated people may be judged by
a letter quoted in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ of December 1804,
in which the writer expresses his conviction that “the Almighty
has ordered it as a standing monument of his great displeasure of
the horrid sin of duelling,” an opinion in which the poet Southey
concurred. In 1828, Miss Jane Porter published her novel, _The
Field of the Forty Footsteps_.

[66] Nearly a hundred years later, a similar superstition survived
in London, and is thus noted by Brand in his _Popular Antiquities_:
“In the _Morning Post_, Monday, May 2nd, 1791, it was mentioned
‘that yesterday, being the first of May, according to annual and
superstitious custom, a number of persons went into the fields and
bathed their faces with the dew on the grass, under the idea that
it would render them beautiful.’”

[67] The occasion was a dinner at Tom Davies’s in 1762. “BOSWELL:
Does not Gray’s poetry, sir, tower above the common mark? JOHNSON:
Yes, sir; but we must attend to the difference between what men
in general cannot do if they would, and what every man may do if
he would. Sixteen-string Jack towered above the common mark.”
Dr. William Bell, whom Rann robbed, was Rector of Christ Church,
London, 1780-99, and treasurer of St. Paul’s Cathedral.

[68] Probably a mistake. These nosegays were given to condemned
criminals on their way to Tyburn by the St. Sepulchre authorities.
Rann was one of the last to receive the gift.

[69] Saunders Welch, the father of Mrs. Nollekens, was educated
in Aylesbury workhouse, and for many years was a grocer in Museum
Street, then Queen Street. He succeeded Fielding as a Justice of
the Peace for Westminster. Smith says in his _Nollekens_ that he
met many people who recollected seeing him as High Constable of
Westminster, “dressed in black, with a large, nine-storey George
the Second’s wig highly powdered, with long flowing curls over his
shoulder, a high three-cornered hat, and his black baton tipped
with silver at either end, riding on a white horse to Tyburn with
the malefactors.” A long and warm friendship existed between
Saunders Welch and Dr. Johnson. “Johnson, who had an eager and
unceasing curiosity to know human life in all its variety, told me
that he attended Mr. Welch in his office for a whole winter, to
hear the examinations of the culprits” (Boswell).

[70] To-day, High Street, Marylebone, is perhaps the most
perfect High Street left in London. Neither from its north end
in Marylebone Road nor from Oxford Street does it receive heavy
traffic; its shops exist for the fine streets and squares around
it, and it offers them the best of most things, from a tender
chicken to a county history.

[71] “In the year 1741, the old church in which Hogarth has
introduced his “Rake at the Altar with the Old Maid” was taken
down, and the present one built on its site; so that the writers
who have stated that the scene took place in the present edifice
must acknowledge their error, if they will take the trouble to
refer to Hogarth’s fifth plate of the Rake’s Progress, where they
will find its publication to have taken place June 25, 1735.”--S.

[72] Probably Christopher Norton, of the St. Martin’s Lane Academy.

[73] Tradition reports that from Elizabeth it came to the Forsyths,
and thence to the Duke of Portland. In his _Marylebone and St.
Pancras_, Mr. Clinch writes: “In the year 1703 a large school was
established here by Mr. De la Place. That gentleman’s daughter
married the Rev. John Fountayne, Rector of North Sidmouth, in
Wiltshire, and the latter succeeded Mr. De la Place in the school.
The school is said to have obtained a considerable reputation among
the nobility and gentry, whose sons there received an educational
training previously to their removal to the universities.”

[74] “Mr. Fountayne had one son, afterwards Dean of York, and
three daughters, viz. Mrs. Hargrave, Mrs. Jones, and Mrs. Metz.
Mrs. Hargrave was lately living; she was the wife of Counsellor
Hargrave, and was esteemed a great beauty. Another daughter
of Monsieur De la Place married the Rev. Mr. Dyer, brother to
the author of _Grongar Hill_, to whose nephew, the late Mr.
Dyer, the printseller, I am obliged for some parts of the above
information.”--S.

[75] Reproduced in Mr. Clinch’s _Marylebone and St. Pancras_ (1890).

[76] Michael Angelo Rooker (1743-1801), the water-colour painter
and engraver. “His works are drawn with conscientious accuracy,
and show a sweet pencil” (Redgrave). He died March 3, 1801, in
Dean Street, Soho, and was buried in the ground belonging to St.
Martin-in-the-Fields, in the Kentish Town Road. Examples of his
work are hung at South Kensington.

[77] The wonderful extra-illustrated copy presented to the Museum
by John Charles Crowle, and valued at £5000.

[78] That is to say tiled.

[79] The Rev. John Fountayne was more than “noticed” by Handel;
the two men were intimate. A grandson of Fountayne wrote in 1832:
“One evening as my grandfather and Handel were walking together
and alone, a new piece was struck up by the band. ‘Come, Mr.
Fountayne,’ said Handel, ‘let us sit down and listen to this
piece--I want to know your opinion of it.’ Down they sat, and
after some time the old parson, turning to his companion, said,
‘It is not worth listening to--it’s very poor stuff.’ ‘You are
right, Mr. F.,’ said Handel, ‘it is very poor stuff--I thought so
myself when I had finished it.’ The old gentleman, being taken
by surprise, was beginning to apologise; but Handel assured him
there was no necessity; that the music was really bad, having
been composed hastily, and his time for the production limited;
and that the opinion given was as correct as it was honest”
(Hone’s _Year Book_). “Clarke” was doubtless Dr. Adam Clarke, the
Wesleyan, who died in Bayswater in 1832, and was well known for his
bibliographical and theological works.

[80] Lady Harrington might well lend her jewels, since she often
borrowed. Horace Walpole tells how, at the Coronation of George
III., she appeared “covered with all the diamonds she could borrow,
hire, or seize, with the air of Roxana, the finest figure at a
distance.”

[81] The great actress. She played Violante to Garrick’s Don Felix
in the actor’s last appearance.

[82] In his _Memoirs_, the Rev. John Trusler, who was educated
at Dr. Fountayne’s school, does not spare Mrs. Fountayne’s
tuft-hunting tendencies. In one instance she was covered with
ridicule through the action of a Soho pastry-cook named Jenkins,
who, wishing his son to enter the school, arranged that he should
do so under the name of the Prince De Chimmay. When Mrs. Fountayne
discovered that his father made tarts a mile from the school door,
“she had the laugh so much against her, that she could not show her
face for months.”

[83] The Royal College of Physicians, then housed in Warwick Lane.

[84] Norfolk Street was the northern continuation of Newman Street;
it is now merged in Cleveland Street.

[85] John Baptist Locatelli, a native of Verona, had his studio in
Union Street, Tottenham Court Road, from 1776. He was befriended
by Horace Walpole, with whom he quarrelled bitterly over a group
representing Theseus offering assistance to Hercules. Walpole
refused to take this work, although he had already paid the
sculptor £350 on account, and was probably justified, since
Nollekens said the group looked “like the dry skins of two
brickmakers stuffed with clotted flocks from an old mattress.”
Locatelli worked also for the brothers Adam, and he superintended
the carving of the basso-relievos put up by Nollekens on the
outside of the Sessions House, Clerkenwell Green. In 1796 he left
England for Milan, where Buonaparte employed him and granted him a
pension. (See Smith’s _Life of Nollekens_, 1829, pp. 119-123, and
Thornbury’s _British Artists_, vol. ii. pp. 9-16).

[86] Wilson, upon whom a note has been given under the year 1766,
lived at No. 36 Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, within a few
minutes’ walk of this group of elms. He was accustomed of a fine
evening, says Redgrave, to throw open his window and invite his
friends to enjoy with him the glowing sunset behind the Hampstead
and Highgate hills. Fitzroy Square was not begun until 1790-94.
To-day the miles between Charlotte Street and these northern
heights are filled by streets. Nevertheless, Hampstead church
can still be seen from Charlotte Street, piercing the northern
distance, and, but for the slight deflection of Rathbone Place,
it would be visible from Oxford Street. John Constable afterwards
lived in the same street. The elms under which Wilson and Baretti
walked must have had their roots in the ground on which the east
side of Cleveland Street is built.

[87] It is difficult to form an idea of this instrument. It was
beaten with a rolling-pin, and appears to have been used as a drum
in such a way (according to the manner in which it was struck)
as to produce something like notes. This is indicated in Bonnell
Thornton’s burlesque, _Ode to St. Cecilia’s Day_, in which occur
the well-known lines which amused Dr. Johnson:--

    “In strains more exalted the salt-box shall join,
    And clattering and battering and clapping combine;
    With a rap and a tap while the hollow side sounds.
    Up and down leaps the flap, and with rattling rebounds.”

The character of the neighbourhood round the “Farthing Pie House”
(Portland Road Station) in Smith’s boyhood, may be judged by
Smith’s statement in his _Vagabondiana_, that “when the sites of
Portland Place, Devonshire Street, etc., were fields, the famous
Tommy Lowe, then a singer at Mary-le-bone Gardens, raised a
subscription, to enable an unfortunate man to run a small chariot,
drawn by four muzzled mastiffs, from a pond near Portland Chapel,
called Cockney Ladle, which supplied Mary-le-bone Bason with water,
to the ‘Farthing Pie House’ … in order to accommodate children with
a ride for a halfpenny.”

[88] By Queen Anne Street Smith means the street which has borne
the successive names of Little Queen Anne Street, Queen Anne Street
East, Foley Place, and (now) Langham Street. The present Queen Anne
Street is on the _west_ side of Portland Place; it was originally
Great Queen Anne Street, then Queen Anne Street West. A curious
interest attaches to these streets, neither of which runs, as it
seems destined to do, into Portland Place. Thus:--

[Illustration]

Their failure to run directly into Portland Place (see dotted
lines) is a relic of Foley House which occupied the site of the
Langham Hotel, and interposed its gardens where these streets would
have joined. It was afterwards intended to build a Queen Anne
Square at the foot of Great Portland Street, but this project fell
through.

[89] There were many ponds in the fields on which the streets
of St. Pancras and Marylebone are built. In an early view of
Whitefield’s Tabernacle, a pond is delineated on a spot now
covered, as nearly as may be judged, by Torrington Square. Farther
west, on the site of Duke Street, Portland Place, was the Cockney
Ladle, in which small boys bathed at the risk of having their
clothes seized by the parish beadles. Close by this--on the site
of the backs of the east side of Harley Street--was the Marylebone
Basin, a dangerously deep water. Many drownings occurred in ponds
of which no trace or memory remains. Thus, the _St. James’s
Chronicle_ of August 8, 1769, says: “Two young chairmen [_i.e._
carriers of sedan chairs] were unfortunately drowned on Friday
Evening last, in a Pond behind the North-Side of Portman-Square.
They had been beating a Carpet in the Square, and being thereby
warm and dirty agreed to bathe in the above Pond, not being aware
of its great Depth. The Man who first went in could swim, and while
he was swimming his Companion went in, but being presently out of
his Depth he sunk. The Swimmer immediately made to the Place to
save his Companion; but he, coming up again under the Swimmer,
laid fast hold of him, and they both sunk down together and were
drowned.”

[90] “On Friday last, Mr. Carlile, a Quaker of about 17 years of
age, had the misfortune to fall into Marylebone-Bason, and was
drowned” (_Daily Advertiser_, June 18, 1744).

[91] And from their contiguity to a French Protestant chapel,
founded in 1756.

[92] The difficulty of writing recent history is exemplified by
Smith in his account of Marylebone Gardens, which is far excelled
by Mr. Warwick Wroth’s chapter on Marylebone Gardens in his _London
Pleasure Gardens of the Eighteenth Century_ (1896). Fully to
annotate Smith’s chronology of these gardens would require many
pages, and the result would be unsatisfactory. I shall therefore
deal with only the more prominent names he mentions.

[93] May 7, 1668.

[94] M. Wroth says: “In 1691 the place was known as Long’s Bowling
Green at the Rose, and for several years (_circ._ 1679-1736)
persons of quality might have been seen bowling there during the
summer-time.

    ‘At the Groom Porters battered bullies play;
    Some Dukes at Marybone bowl time away.’”

These lines, often erroneously attributed to Lady Mary Wortley
Montague, occur in Pope’s _The Basset-table, an Eclogue_.

[95] Rockhoult, or Rockholt House, was at Leyton, in Essex, and was
“for a short period an auxiliary place of amusement for the Summer
to the established Theatres” (_Gentleman’s Magazine_, July 1814).
It was opened about 1742, and was apparently regarded as “the place
to spend a happy day.” A ballad to “Delia” exclaimed--

    “Delia, in whose form we trace
    All that can a virgin grace,
    Hark where pleasure, blithe as May,
    Bids us to Rockholt haste away.”

[96] “The principal shareholder and manager of Ranelagh at this
date was Sir Thomas Robinson, Bart., M.P., whose gigantic form was
for many years familiar to frequenters of the Rotunda; a writer of
1774 calls him its Maypole, and Garland of Delights. Robinson lived
at Prospect Place, adjoining the gardens.”

[97] The New Wells belonged to the Islington group of pleasure
gardens, and stood on ground now occupied by Lower Rosomon Street,
Clerkenwell. It flourished 1737-50, and numbered a collection of
rattlesnakes among its attractions.

[98] Cuper’s Gardens, a great resort. The Feathers Tavern at the
end of Waterloo Bridge is the successor of the tavern originally in
the gardens, the site of which is traversed by the Waterloo Road.
They were closed in 1759, after which Dr. Johnson, passing them in
a coach with Langton, Beauclerk, and Lady Sydney Beauclerk (mother
of his friend), jokingly proposed, to Lady Sydney’s horror, that
they should lease them: “She had no notion of a joke, sir; she had
come late into life, and had a mighty unpliable understanding.”

[99] Advertised as “the Pariton, an instrument never played in
publick before.”

[100] Mary Ann Falkner was a niece of George Falkner, the Dublin
printer, whom Foote caricatured on the stage. She appeared at
Marylebone from 1747 to about 1752, giving such songs as “Amoret
and Phyllis,” “The Happy Couple,” and “The Faithful Lover.” Much
sought after, she remained faithful to her husband, a linen draper
named Donaldson, until his conduct threw her under the protection
of the second Earl of Halifax.

[101] M. Wroth says, on good evidence, that Trusler became
proprietor only in 1756.

[102] The career of young John Trusler, afterwards the Rev. Dr.
Trusler, is interesting. Without a collegiate training, he took
Holy Orders, and officiated as a curate in London. His eye for
business revealed to him the possibilities of sermon-mongering, and
he was soon making a respectable income by supplying clergymen all
over the country with sermons in script characters. His operations
became something of a scandal, and Cowper scourged him in “The
Task”--

    “He grinds divinity of other days
    Down into modern use, transforms old print
    To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes
    Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.
    Are there who purchase of the doctor’s ware?
    Oh, name it not in Gath! It cannot be
    That grave and learned clerks should need such aid.
    He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll,
    Assuming thus a rank unknown before--
    Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the Church!”

Trusler also issued the morning and evening services so printed and
punctuated as to indicate to incompetent readers how they should be
delivered. Cowper writes--

    “He teaches those to read, whom schools dismiss’d,
    And colleges, untaught; sells accent, tone,
    And emphasis in score, and gives to prayer
    The _adagio_ and _andante_ it demands.”

Prospering at this business, Trusler set up a publishing
establishment in Wardour Street, from which he issued manuals
of all kinds, including his most respectable work, _Hogarth
Moralised_, in which Mrs. Hogarth became a partner and collaborator.
At the age of 85 he died in his villa at Englefield Green, Middlesex.

[103] Miss Trusler’s seed and plum cakes were famous. In a judgment
on Mrs. Cornelys for keeping an objectionable house, Sir John
Fielding sagely remarked that her Soho assemblies were unnecessary,
having regard to the many attractions elsewhere, such as “Ranelagh
with its music and fireworks, and Marylebone Gardens, with music,
wine, and plum-cake.”

[104] The arrival of three Cherokee Indian chiefs in the spring of
1762 roused the liveliest interest in London. These braves came
over in token of friendship after the ratification of a treaty
of peace at Charlestown, South Carolina. They were well-made
men, six feet in height, and were dressed, says the _Gentleman’s
Magazine_ (May 1762), “in their own country habit with only a
shirt, trousers, and mantle round them; their faces are painted of
a copper colour, and their heads adorned with shells, feathers,
ear-rings, and other trifling ornaments. They neither of them
can speak to be understood, and very unfortunately lost their
interpreter in their passage. A house is taken for them in Suffolk
Street, and cloaths have been given them in the English fashion.”
Among the thousands of Londoners who went to see the “Cherokee
Kings” was Oliver Goldsmith.

[105] By an indenture dated August 30, 1763. This document, which
Smith’s namesake Thomas Smith quoted in his _History of the Parish
of Marylebone_, shows that the Gardens were attached to the Rose
Tavern, and that they contained walks, statuary, boxes, benches,
and musical appliances and books. Lowe’s lease was for fourteen
years at the annual rent of £170.

[106] Not the well-known Stephen Storace (who was born only in this
year), but his father, a Neapolitan, described by George Hogarth
as “a good performer on the double bass in the band of the Opera
House.”

[107] Nan Catley won hearts by her breezy manner and air of
camaraderie. Hers “was the singing of unequalled animal spirits;
it was Mrs. Jordan’s comedy carried into music.… She was bold,
volatile, audacious” (Boaden: _Life of Mrs. Siddons_).

[108] Long before this, Dick Turpin had appeared in the Garden
itself, and had surprised Mrs. Fountayne, the wife of the
Marylebone schoolmaster, with a kiss. He impudently remarked, “Be
not alarmed, madam; you can now boast that you have been kissed by
Dick Turpin. Good-morning!”

[109] Lowe was now glad to obtain singing engagements at Sadler’s
Wells and other tea-gardens. His career from riches to poverty is
illustrated in the story, told by John Taylor in his _Records of
My Life_, that, soon after becoming master of Marylebone Gardens,
he was seen riding thither in his chariot with a large iron trunk
behind it, which he explained he had purchased “to place the
profits of the Gardens in.” Taylor adds that he had last seen Lowe
in a lane near Aldersgate Street, coming out of a butcher’s shop,
with some meat in a checked handkerchief.

[110] An editorial note in the third edition of the _Rainy Day_
suggests that this name was made popular by Prior’s “Chloe.” This
seems probable, for Prior gave all the vogue of an ideal to this
woman, who, in real life, was the wife of a coachman in Long Acre,
and was described by Johnson as “a despicable drab of the lowest
species.”

[111] See note on Weston, p. 208.

[112] Charles Bannister, the vocalist and actor, father of the more
famous John Bannister.

[113] Signor Giovanni Battista Pergolesi, born near Ancona in the
first decade of the eighteenth century, composed numerous operas
and oratorios. Of the former his _La Serva Padrona_ was revived in
London as late as 1873.

[114] Felix Giardini, a Piedmontese musician, came to England
in 1750, and met with encouragement. He died in Russia in
1793. After hearing him play at Bath, Gainsborough bought his
viol-di-gamba, but was soon disgusted to find that the music
remained with the Italian. Horace Walpole was not enthusiastic
about Giardini as a composer, and advised Mason to employ Handel
to set his _Sappho_. “Your Act is classical Athenian; shall it be
subdi-di-di-vi-vi-vi-ded into modern Italian?”

[115] Dr. Arnold’s appearance at Bow Street was in respect of a
rocket-stick which had descended in the sacrosanct garden of Mrs.
Fountayne.

[116] “To James Winston, Esq. [secretary to the Garrick Club,
and several times mentioned in the diary of John Payne Collier],
I am obliged for the above notices; indeed, to that gentleman’s
disinterested indulgence I am also indebted for many other curious
particulars introduced in this work, selected from his most
extensive and valuable library of English Theatrical Biography,
both in manuscript and in print, a collection formed by himself
during the last thirty years.”--S.

[117] “Torré was a printseller in partnership with the late Mr.
Thane, and lived in Market Lane, Haymarket.”--S.

[118] Dr. William Kenrick, the rampageous critic and playwright.
His comedy _The Duellist_ is his best-remembered work. In July
1774 he began a course of lectures in the “Theatre for Burlettas”
at Marylebone Gardens, which he termed “a School of Shakespeare,”
an entertainment which he also gave at the Devil Tavern in Fleet
Street. Kenrick attacked Dr. Johnson’s Shakespeare. On Goldsmith
saying that he had never heard of Kenrick’s writings, the doctor
replied: “Sir, he is one of the many who have made themselves
public, without making themselves known.”

It is curious that Smith omits to mention Dr. Johnson’s rampageous
visit to the Gardens to see Torré’s fireworks, with his friend
George Steevens, the Shakesperian commentator. It may have taken
place in this year, 1774.

[119] Robert Baddeley began his connection with the stage as cook
to Foote. He was the original Moses in the _School for Scandal_.
It was he who bequeathed £100 to provide the cake and wine which
actors and journalists still consume on Twelfth Night. He is stated
by Dr. Doran to have been the last actor to wear the royal livery
of scarlet, which, as “His Majesty’s Servants,” the Drury Lane
players were entitled to assume.

[120] A posthumous son of Henry Carey, author of “Sally in our
Alley.” “Saville Carey I have heard sometimes touch Nan Catley’s
manner feebly in the famous triumph of her hilarity, ‘Push about
the Jorum’” (Boaden: _Life of Mrs. Siddons_). His worthless
daughter, Nance Carey, bore to one Kean, a tailor, or a builder,
a child whom she neglected and abandoned. This boy became Edmund
Kean, the great actor (Doran’s _Their Majestys’ Servants_, vol. ii.
pp. 523-26).

[121] These initials thinly disguise such well-known entertainers
as Garrick, Bannister, Mrs. Baddeley, and the singers Mr. Darley,
Mr. Vernon, and Nan Catley, all of whom were imitated by the
versatile Carey.

[122] As Abel Drugger, one of his finest parts.

[123] The “Forge of Vulcan” was Signor Torré’s masterpiece; in it
appeared Venus and Cupid in dialogue, in more or less relevant
circumstances of flame and lava.

[124] Fantoccino, the Italian puppet-entertainment, was introduced
to France by an Italian named Marion (hence “marionettes”), and
then into England. The great London Fantoi show of the eighteenth
century was Flockton’s.

Breslaw, the conjurer, began his London appearances in 1772, in
Cockspur Street. In 1774 he gave his entertainment on alternate
days here and at the “King’s Arms” opposite the Royal Exchange.
It is told of him while performing at Canterbury, he promised the
Mayor that if the duration of his licence were extended he would
give one night’s receipts to the poor. The Mayor agreed, and the
conjurer had a full house. Hearing nothing further of the money,
the Mayor called on Breslaw to inquire. The following dialogue
ensued.

“Mr. Mayor, I have distributed the money myself.”

“Pray, sir, to whom?”

“To my own company, than whom none can be poorer.”

“This is a trick!”

“Sir, we live by tricks.”

[125] Baggio Rebecca, decorative painter, died in 1808. Of his
election as Associate of the Royal Academy in 1771, Leslie says:
“Academic advancement was rapid in those days. Every man who
displayed the least ability was certain of election.” Rebecca had
a small share in decorating the Royal Academy lecture-room at
Somerset House.

[126] Most of these localities have ceased to be the resort of
bird-fanciers. To-day the chief London quarters for song-birds are
St. Giles’s, Leadenhall Market, and, above all, Sclater Street in
Spitalfields, known as “Club Row.”

[127] The sights in this famous cockpit are recorded by Hogarth in
his print of 1759, and by Rowlandson in Ackermann’s _Microcosm of
London_ (1808).

Bainbridge Street survives as a narrow lane behind New Oxford
Street, leading from Dyott Street to the back of Meux’s brewery.

At the beginning of the eighteenth century the cockpit behind
Gray’s Inn (its exact locality is not easily discovered), enjoyed
“the only vogue” (Hatton). Mr. William B. Boulton (_The Amusements
of Old London_, 1901) quotes a description of it by Von Uffenbach,
a German traveller, who says it was specially built for the sport.

Pickled-Egg Walk, afterwards Crawford’s Passage (now Crawford
Passage, Ray Street, Clerkenwell), was named after the proprietor
of the Pickled-Egg Tavern, who brought from the West of England
a recipe for pickled eggs and supplied this novel cate to his
customers. Pink mentions a tradition that Charles II. once paused
here in a suburban journey and ate a pickled egg. The mains fought
at the cockpit here were regularly advertised in the newspapers.

Charles Hughes and Charles Dibdin, the song-writer, opened the
“Royal Circus and Equestrian Philharmonic Academy” in 1782.

Cock-fighting was made illegal in 1849, but a statement in _Cocking
and its Votaries_ (1895), by S. A. T. (for private circulation),
makes it quite manifest that “not a few wealthy men in England
still follow up this sport, stealthily but with much zeal--a fact
that is as discreditable to the guardians of the law as it is to
themselves.” I quote Mr. J. Charles Cox in his admirable edition of
Strutt’s _Sports and Pastimes_ (1903).

[128] Behind this formal entry lies the most affecting farewell
scene ever enacted on a London stage. The doors of Drury Lane
Theatre were opened at “half after five” on that evening of June
10, 1776, and the profits of the performance were announced to be
given to the Theatrical Fund. It was but the last of a series of
farewell nights in which Garrick had played his great parts for the
last time to densely crowded houses. As Mr. Percy Fitzgerald says:
“Other actors retire in one night, Garrick’s departure filled a
whole season and only culminated on this last night.” “Last night,”
he wrote, “I played Abel Drugger for the last time. I thought the
audience were cracked, and they almost turned my brain.”

On June 5, King George and his Queen attended to see Garrick’s last
“Richard.” Distinguished people were turned nightly from the doors,
and many became almost frantic to think that they must see Garrick
now or never again. Hannah More wrote: “I pity those who have not
seen him. Posterity will never be able to form the slightest idea
of his perfections.… I have seen him within three weeks take leave
of Benedick, Sir John Brute, Kitely, Abel Drugger, Archer, and
Leon.”

On the last night, of all, Garrick played Don Felix in Mrs.
Centilivre’s comedy, which he chose, perhaps, as a foil to the
tragedy of his farewell. In his Life of the actor Mr. Fitzgerald
thus describes the supreme moment: “He retired slowly--up--up
the stage, his eyes fixed on them with a lingering longing. Then
stopped. The shouts of applause from that brilliant amphitheatre
were broken by sobs and tears. To his ears were borne from many
quarters the word ‘Farewell! Farewell!’ Mrs. Garrick was in her
box, in an agony of hysterical tears. The wonderful eyes, still
brilliant, were turned wistfully again and again to that sea of
sympathetic faces, one of the most brilliant audiences perhaps
that ever sat in Drury Lane; and at last, with an effort, he tore
himself from their view.”

[129] Garrick’s last season at Drury Lane was Mrs. Siddons’ first.
She was but twenty-one years of age, and made no striking success,
though “her type was enlarged in the bill” (Boadley).

[130] A single short fall of lace from the hat has been far from
unfashionable in recent years. Fans were carried later than 1776. A
print of two ladies in outdoor costume in the _Gallery of Fashion_,
published in May 1796, is reproduced by Fairholt, who remarks:
“Both ladies carry the then indispensable article--a fan.” Indeed,
the fashion-plates of the eighteenth century disclose hardly any
period in which fans were not carried out of doors.

[131] Norton Street is now Bolsover Street, running south from near
Portland Road Station, parallel east of Great Portland Street. In
the eighteenth century it had considerable pretensions. From it
Sir William Chambers’s funeral proceeded to the Abbey in March
1796. Wilson, Turner, and Wilkie all painted here. It is now a dull
macadamised street in whose houses upholstering, steel-cutting,
etc., are carried on.

[132] Smith erroneously notes that “this house, subsequently
inhabited by the Duchess of Bolton, Sir John Nicholl, Sir Vicary
Gibbs, and by Sir Charles Flower, Bart., has been recently pulled
down, and several houses built upon the site.” The premises remain
to this day, but they form several houses. As early as 1776
Northouck noted that Baltimore House was “either built without a
plan, or else has had very whimsical owners; for the door has been
shifted to different parts of the house, being now carried into the
stable-yard.”

[133] The map engraved for Northouck’s _History of London in 1772_
shows that Smith was justified in these statements. The unexpected
break in the houses which still occurs on the south side of
Guilford Street is a relic of the desire to leave this square open
to Highgate. This intention was defeated when the north side of
Guilford Street was built. Thenceforward the north-westward growth
of London was rapid, and by 1845 rurality had been pushed up to
Chalk Farm by advancing brick and mortar.

[134] This Italian painter exhibited portraits and water colours
at the Royal Academy from 1774 to 1778. He painted the principal
ceiling at the old East India House.

[135] This painting is said to represent Mary, and her son James
(afterwards James I. of England) as a boy four years of age. Doubts
have been thrown on its history. (See _Gentleman’s Magazine_, vols.
xlviii. and xlix.)

[136] A fortune-teller by tea-leaves, the leaves being “grouted” or
turned over in the cup.

[137] At this time Charles Towneley (1737-1805) was living at No.
7 Park Street (now, with Queen Anne’s Square, named Queen Anne’s
Gate), where he entertained, among others, Sir Joshua Reynolds,
Nollekens, and Johann Zoffany. The Townley collection of Greek
and Roman statues, altars, urns, busts, etc., now in the British
Museum, was freely shown to the public in Park Street.

[138] It was from Mr. Tunnard’s house, on Bankside, that Smith
etched the river procession which brought Nelson’s body to
Whitehall, mentioned in Smith’s note, p. 182.

[139] The manager, and afterwards part proprietor, of Thrale’s
brewery. He hung a fine mezzotint portrait of Johnson in the
counting-house, and when Mrs. Thrale, in Johnson’s presence, asked
him why he had done so, he replied, “Because, madam, I wish to have
one wise man there.” “Sir,” said Johnson, “I thank you. It is a
very handsome compliment, and I believe you speak sincerely.”

[140] The Rev. James Beresford became Rector of Kibworth Beauchamp,
Lincoln, in 1812. He died in 1840.

[141] Elizabeth Carter, of “Epictetus” fame, the friend of Dr.
Johnson. See note, p. 231.

Anna Letitia Barbauld, the well-known miscellaneous writer, whose
poem “Life! I know not what thou art” is her one imperishable
composition.

Angelica Kauffman, the painter (1741-1807). See Smith’s account of
her under the year 1807.

Mrs. Sheridan was the beautiful, clever, and faithful wife of
Richard Brinsley Sheridan, whom she assisted in the management of
Drury Lane Theatre.

Charlotte Lenox, born in New York, 1720, was the author of _The
Life of Harriot Stuart_, in which she portrayed her own youth.
She found interest in high quarters, and was given apartments in
Somerset House, which, however, she lost when that building was
demolished. Dr. Johnson insisted on his friends sitting up all
night at the Devil Tavern to celebrate Mrs. Lenox’s “first literary
child” (_Harriot Stuart_), an immense apple pie being part of the
entertainment. In the morning the waiters were so sleepy that the
party had to wait two hours for their reckoning.

Mrs. Montague, the original “blue stocking,” had little womanly
taste, but her mind was well stored and active; she lived in an
atmosphere of English and foreign talent, and her assemblies at
Montague House, in Portman Square, are historical. Dr. Johnson was
severe on her _Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakespeare_,
remarking: “Reynolds is fond of her book, and I wonder at it; for
neither I nor Beauclerk nor Mrs. Thrale could get through it.”

Hannah More had appeared in the London literary firmament in 1774;
her tragedy _Percy_ had just been given by Garrick, and her star
was in brightest ascension.

Such was the fame of Mrs. Catherine Macaulay, author of a forgotten
_History of England_, that Dr. Wilson, Rector of St. Stephen’s,
Walbrook, erected a statue to her in the chancel of that church
during her lifetime. It was very properly removed by his successor.

Mrs. Elizabeth Griffith wrote several plays which Garrick presented
with success. _The Letters of Henry and Frances_, which she wrote
in collaboration with her husband, a dramatist, were popular.

[142] At No. 5 (now No. 4) Adelphi Terrace, Garrick lived between
1772 and 1779. He died at about 8 a.m. The house is distinguished
by a commemorative tablet, as also (recently and more artistically)
is his previous residence in Southampton Street, Strand.

[143] Boswell says: “Garrick’s funeral was talked of as
extravagantly expensive, but Dr. Johnson, from his dislike to
exaggeration, would not allow that it was distinguished by an
extraordinary pomp. ‘Were there not six horses to each coach?’
said Mrs. Burney. JOHNSON: ‘Madam, there were no more six horses
than six phœnixes.’” On this Croker notes: “There certainly were,
and Johnson himself went in one of the coach and six.” Richard
Cumberland saw Johnson standing beside the grave, at the foot of
Shakespeare’s statue, bathed in tears. Horace Walpole wrote to the
Countess of Ossory, February 1, 1779: “Yes, madam, I do think the
pomp of Garrick’s funeral perfectly ridiculous,” and he gave his
reasons with epigrammatic force. Others were of the same opinion;
and John Henderson, the actor, wrote “a rather bitter impromptu
on Mr. Garrick’s Funeral,” in which Garrick is represented as
directing the pageant.

    “‘Call all my carpenters--bid George attend.
    And ransack Monmouth Street from end to end;
    Buy all the black, defraud the starving moth.
    Or let him, if he will, defile the cloth:
    Bring moth and all--we have no time to lose--
    If there’s not black enough, then buy the blues.’
    …
    Thus far he spoke, in an imperial tone,
    And quite forgot the funeral was his own.”

[144] Antonio Zucchi, A.R.A., who became Angelica Kauffmann’s
second husband, was employed by the brothers Adam, the architects
of the Adelphi. The cost of the mantelpiece is given by Mr.
Wheatley as £300, the probable figure. Mrs. Garrick died in the
same house in 1822.

[145] The “English Grotto,” as it was called, was one of the
Islington group of tea-gardens. Its proprietor, Jackson, pleased
his public by an ingenious water-mill, an “enchanted fountain,” and
a display of gold and silver fish. A pleasingly rustic view in the
Crace collection is reproduced by Mr. Wroth in _London Pleasure
Gardens of the Eighteenth Century_.

[146] Francesco Bartolozzi, R.A., was an original member of the
Royal Academy, and he engraved its diploma. His rapid rise, and
his appointment to be engraver to the King at £300 a year, were
disturbing to Sir Robert Strange, who treated him with misplaced
contempt. “Let Strange beat that if he can,” exclaimed Bartolozzi,
on executing his “Clytia.” Unfortunately he was improvident, and
his studio became a manufactory of facile chalk studies, to many of
which he put only the finishing touches. After a brilliant career
in England, he went to Lisbon, where he was knighted, and died
there in 1815, in his 88th year.

[147] John Hinchliffe (1731-94), the son of a livery-stable
keeper in Swallow Street, was born in Westminster, and educated
at Westminster School. He was consecrated Bishop of Peterborough,
Dec. 17, 1769. He bought some of Smith’s youthful imitations of
Rembrandt and Ostade. A note on Sherwin will be found under 1782.

[148] In 1781, Mary Robinson (1758-1800), known as “Perdita,”
had ceased to be the mistress of the Prince of Wales, afterwards
George IV., whose bond for £20,000, never paid, was exchanged for
the pension of £500 a year awarded her by Fox in 1783. She was
portrayed by Reynolds twice, and by Romney, Gainsborough, Hoppner,
Zoffany, and twice by Cosway.

The original name of Mrs. Robinson’s family had been M’Dermott,
which had been changed by an ancestor to Darby. Mrs. Darby had
brought up her daughter under difficult circumstances. Obliged
to earn her own living during her husband’s absence in America,
she started a ladies’ boarding school in Little Chelsea, in which
the future “Perdita” (as we learn from her autobiography) taught
English literature to the daughters of the well-to-do citizens, and
read to them “sacred and moral lessons on saints’ days and Sunday
evenings.” The “high personage” referred to in this paragraph is of
course the Prince, in whom Richard Cosway, the courtly miniaturist,
found a lavish patron.

[149] Anticipating, on a higher scale, Dickens’s servant-girl
bride, who, on stepping into a hackney-coach after the ceremony,
“threw a red shawl, which she had, no doubt, brought on purpose,
negligently over the number on the door, evidently to delude
pedestrians into the belief that the hackney-coach was a private
carriage” (_Sketches by Boz_).

[150] Smith’s first master, John Keyse Sherwin, had been a pupil of
Bartolozzi. In his studio in St. James’s Street, he was patronised
by the Duchesses of Devonshire and Rutland, Lady Jersey, and other
ladies of rank, many of whom were eager to figure in his drawing
of “The Finding of Moses,” in which the Princess Royal appeared as
Pharaoh’s daughter. He was a wonderfully skilful portrait artist:
“I have often seen him,” says Smith, “begin at the toe, draw
upwards, and complete it at the top of the head in a most correct
and masterly manner. He had also an extraordinary command over the
use of both his hands.” He was an irregular worker, however, and
debt and dissipation helped to kill him at the age of 39.

The sitting given to Sherwin by Mrs. Siddons took place soon after
her re-appearance at Drury Lane Theatre, the beginning of her real
fame, October 10, 1782. After opening with Isabella in Garrick’s
version of _The Fatal Marriage_, she played Euphrasia in _The
Grecian Daughter_.

[151] William Henderson, a collector, lived at No. 33 Charlotte
Street, Fitzroy Square, where he was the neighbour of Constable.

[152] Mathews’ collection, the formation of which had been the
passion of his later years, was not dispersed. It consisted almost
entirely of portraits, and on these he is said to have laid out
about £5000. For their accommodation the younger Mathews built a
special gallery for his father at Ivy Cottage, Kentish Town, from
a design by Pugin. In gratifying his tastes, Mathews found that
he had sacrificed his privacy to sight-seers; the rural cottage
in which he had sought peace became a show-place. The collection
ultimately passed to the Garrick Club.

[153] Apparently Smith refers to his will, as it then existed; but,
as a matter of fact, he left no will. On his death, letters of
administration were granted to his widow, the value of his estate
being only £100. The second of the two witnesses was doubtless John
Pritt Harley. See note, p. 321.

[154] John Charles Crowle of Fryston Hall, Wakefield, lawyer
and antiquary, was a member of the Dilettanti Society, and its
Secretary, 1774-78. He was a noted joker and boon companion, and
left a tangible proof of his interest in art and antiquity in the
illustrated and interleaved copy of Pennant’s _History of London_
which he bequeathed to the British Museum. He died in 1811.

[155] Rats’ Castle is described by Smith in his _Nollekens_ as “a
shattered house then standing on the east side of Dyot Street, and
so called from the rat-catchers and canine snackers who inhabited
it, and where they cleaned the skins of those unfortunate stray
dogs who had suffered death the preceding night.” Nollekens
obtained models for his Venuses from Mrs. Lobb, an elderly lady in
a green calash, at the Fan Tavern in Dyot Street. This street was
named after Richard Dyot, a parishioner of St. Giles-in-the-Fields.
“The name was changed to George Street in consequence of a filthy
song which attained wide popularity, but the original name was
restored in 1877” (Wheatley).

[156] This inscription appears to be incorrect. An editorial
note to the 1845 (second) edition of the _Rainy Day_ points out
that this well-known beggar died April 25, 1788, and that the
_Gentleman’s Magazine_ recorded his death thus: “In Bridewell,
where he was confined a second time as a vagrant, the man known by
the name of Old Simon, who for many years has gone about this city
covered with rags, clouted shoes, three old hats upon his head,
and his fingers full of brass rings. On the following day, the
Coroner’s Inquest sat on his body, and brought in their verdict,
‘Died by the visitation of God.’”

[157] Dr. John Gardner, a well-known character, erected his tomb in
the churchyard of St. Leonard’s, Shoreditch, some years before his
death, and inscribed it:

    DR. JOHN GARDNER’S LAST AND BEST BEDROOM,

but finding that he was assumed to be already dead, and that his
practice as a worm-doctor in Norton Folgate was declining, he
interpolated the word “intended” thus:

    DR. JOHN GARDNER’S INTENDED LAST AND BEST BEDROOM.

A correspondent of _Notes and Queries_, Aug. 25, 1860, wrote: “I
remember him well; a stout, burly man with a flaxen wig: he rode
daily into London on a large roan- horse.” It was said
that he was buried in an erect position by his own wish. Gardner’s
tombstone is still carefully preserved, and is a curiosity of
the Hackney Road, whence the inscription can be read through the
churchyard railings. It now runs:

    1807

    Dr. John Gardner’s
    Last and best Bedroom
    Who departed this life the 8th
    Of April, 1835, in his 84th year.
    Also are here Interred two of His
    Sons and Two of His Granddaughters.

[158] “Funeral Weever”: John Weever (1576-1632), poet and
antiquary; author of _Ancient Funeral Monuments_, 1631.

[159] “I know not whether Mrs. Nollekens was of Lord Monboddo’s
opinion, that men originally had tails; but I could have informed
her that it has been asserted that the species of monkeys that
have no tails are more inclined to show tricks than those that
have.”--(Smith.)

[160] The antiquary, and correspondent of White of Selborne. He
joined this year (1783) the club founded by Johnson at the Essex
Head in Essex Street, Strand.

[161] Mrs. Nollekens was Mary, second daughter of Mr. Saunders
Welch, the police magistrate. Her flightiness and parsimony are
Smith’s endless sport in his Life of her husband, and he was
willing to believe that her character resembled that of Pekuah, the
favourite attendant of the princess, in _Rasselas_. Miss Hawkins
says in her _Anecdotes_, that Johnson drew Pekuah from Mary Welch,
and that she had this from Anne Welch. In any case, the Doctor
found “Pekuah’s” vivacity agreeable. Smith relates: “I have heard
Mr. Nollekens say that the Doctor, when joked with about her,
observed, ‘Yes, I think Mary would have been mine, if little Joe
had not stepped in.’”

[162] “The name of Norman was so extensively known, that I consider
it hardly possible for many of my readers to be ignorant of his
fame; indeed, so much was he in requisition, that persons residing
out of Town would frequently order the carriage for no other
purpose than to consult Dr. Norman as to the state of Biddy’s
health, just as people of rank now consult Partington or Thompson
as to the irregularities of their children’s teeth” (Smith:
_Nollekens_).

[163] George Keate was a man of miscellaneous talent. His
best-known literary works are his serio-comic poem “The Distressed
Poet” (1787), and his “Account of the Pelew Islands from the
Journal of Captain Henry Wilson.” He enjoyed the friendship of
Voltaire at Geneva, and was careful that the world should know it.
In her _Early Diary_, Miss Burney gives a good portrait of Keate
as she met him “at the house of six old maids, all sisters, and
all above sixty.” She found him a “sluggish” conversationalist who
aimed continually at making himself the subject of discussion,
“while he listened with the greatest nonchalance, reclining his
person upon the back of his chair and kicking his foot now over,
and now under, a gold-headed cane.”

[164] This dealer probably bought dog-skins. “The dexterous of all
dentists” may be explained by the following passage in Smith’s
_Vagabondiana_ (1817): “It is scarcely to be believed that some few
years ago a woman of the name of Smith regularly went over London
early in the morning, to strike out the teeth of dead dogs that had
been stolen and killed for the sake of their skins. These teeth she
sold to bookbinders, carvers, and gilders, as burnishing tools.”

[165] The Last Supper was one of many religious subjects which
the Quaker artist painted for his uncritical patron, George III.
It was a transparent painting, and was let into the east window,
which was structurally altered for its accommodation; but it was
long ago removed, and the window restored. It is a commonplace
that West’s powers lagged far behind his ambition. “Twenty years
after his death,” says Mr. E. T. Cook, “some of his pictures, for
which he had been paid 3000 guineas, were knocked down at a public
sale for £10; and such of his pictures as had been presented to
the National Gallery have now been removed to the provinces.”
West’s work for George III. is represented by seventeen paintings
in the Queen Anne’s Drawing-Room at Hampton Court. These include
“Hannibal Swearing never to make Peace with Rome,” “The Death of
Epaminondas,” “The Death of General Wolfe” (a picture of some
value), “The Final Departure of Regulus from Rome,” etc.

[166] Richard Wyatt of Egham was a well-known amateur, and the
patron of John Opie. He married Priscilla, daughter of John Edgell
of Milton Place, and had three sons and four daughters.

[167] Anne, or Nancy, Parsons is supposed to have been the daughter
of a Bond Street tailor. She lived under the protection of a Mr.
Horton, a West India merchant, with whom she went to Jamaica. On
her return she lodged in Brewer Street, and, after living with
Duke of Dorset and others, became the mistress of the Duke of
Grafton. Junius bitterly says: “The name of Miss Parsons would
hardly have been known if the first Lord of the Treasury had not
led her in triumph through the Opera House, even in the presence of
the Queen. When we see a man act in this manner, we may admit the
shameless depravity of his heart, but what are we to think of his
understanding?” Ultimately Nancy Parsons married Charles, second
Viscount Maynard.

[168] Sir Richard Colt Hoare, second baronet (1758-1838), began
life in the family bank, but, being made independent of business,
he married a daughter of William Henry, Lord Lyttelton, and devoted
himself to travel, study, and his art collections. He completed
histories of ancient and modern Wiltshire, and smaller works, and
was an excellent example of the wealthy antiquary.

[169] George Huddesford (1749-1809) was an artist in early life,
studying under Reynolds; in middle life he took to scribbling,
and showed a turn for satire. A collected edition of his works
appeared in 1801, entitled: “The Poems of George Huddesford, M.A.,
late Fellow of New College, Oxford. Now first collected, including
Salmagundi, Topsy-Turvy, Bubble and Squeak, and Crambe Repetita,
with corrections and original additions.”

[170] These verses begin--

    “In Liquorpond-street, as is well known to many,
    An Artist resided who shaved for a penny.
    Cut hair for three-halfpence, for three pence he bled,
    And would draw, for a groat, every tooth in your head.

    What annoy’d other folks never spoil’d his repose,
    ’Twas the same thing to him whether stocks fell or rose;
    For blast and for mildew he car’d not a pin,
    His crops never fail’d, for they grew on the chin.”

[171] Henry Kett (1761-1825) was a frequent subject of caricatures.
The learned Thomas Warton’s comment on his “Juvenile Poems” was--

    “Our Kett not a poet!
      Why, how can you say so?
    For if he’s no Ovid
      I’m sure he’s a Naso.”

From his long face he was known as “Horse” Kett, and, enjoying the
joke, he would say that he was going to “trot down the ‘High.’”

[172] George Stubbs, A.R.A., the great horse-painter of the
eighteenth century. He painted sixteen race-horses, including
Eclipse, for the _Turf Review_. His physical strength was such
that he was said to have carried a dead horse up three flights
of stairs to his dissecting attic. His “Fall of Phaeton” was
popular, and showed him capable of great things. Many of Stubbs’s
finest pictures are now in the possession of the King, the Duke of
Westminster, Lord Rosebery, and Sir Walter Gilbey, who has produced
an important work on his life and art. Stubbs lived for forty years
at 24 Somerset Street, Portman Square.

[173] Woodforde was a dull but correct painter of historical
subjects. He died at Ferrara.

[174] In Horwood’s map of London, of 1799, Orange Court is seen
behind the King’s Mews.

[175] Miss Pope lived in Great Queen Street for forty years.
Among her friends she was known as Mrs. Candour, from her playing
that character, and from her habit of taking the part of any
person spoken against in company. “I never heard her speak ill of
any human being.… I have sometimes been even exasperated by her
benevolence,” says James Smith, who writes delightfully about her
in his Memoirs. Churchill sang her praises--

    “See lively Pope advance in jig and trip,
    Corinna, Cherry, Honeycombe, and Snip.”

The actress did not die in Great Queen Street, but at 17 Michael’s
Place, Brompton, July 30, 1818.

[176] General John Burgoyne (1722-92) took part in the War of
Independence, and surrendered with 5000 men at Saratoga on October
15, 1777. After a term as Commander-in-Chief in Ireland, he gave
rein to his literary tastes, and wrote, among other plays, his
delightful comedy, _The Heiress_. He died at No. 10 Hertford
Street, August 4, 1792.

[177] It stood in Charlotte Street, looking east along Windmill
Street. Robert Montgomery, of “Satan” memory, became minister of
this chapel in 1843.

[178] Mrs. Mathew, wife of the Rev. Henry Mathew, of Percy Chapel,
was famous for her assemblies at her house, No. 27 Rathbone Place,
and her encouragement of artists. Here were seen Mrs. Barbauld,
Mrs. Chapone, Mrs. Carter, the translator of Epictetus, and Mrs.
Edward Montagu. Mrs. Mathew “was so extremely zealous in promoting
the celebrity of Blake, that, upon hearing him read some of
his early efforts in poetry, she thought so well of them as to
request the Rev. Henry Mathew, her husband, to join Mr. Flaxman
in his truly kind effort in defraying the expense of printing
them” (Smith: _Nollekens_). Mr. Mathew consented, and wrote the
“advertisement” for the volume, which was entitled _Poetical
Sketches, by W. B._, and bore the date 1783. Not a few of the old
houses in Rathbone Place remain, with their ground floors turned
into shops. In these or similar houses lived Nathaniel Hone, R.A.,
who died here in 1784; Ozias Humphry, R.A., at No. 29; E. H.
Bailey, the sculptor; and Peter de Wint.

[179] Smith’s prediction was strikingly borne out at the sale of
the Earl of Crewe’s collection of the productions of Blake, held
at Sotheby’s rooms March 30, 1903. The _Illustrations of the Book
of Job_, containing twenty-two engravings, twenty-one original
designs in colours, and a portrait of Blake by himself, was keenly
contested. Bidding began at £1500, and ended at £5600, at which
price the _Job_ passed to Mr. Quaritch. Blake’s original inventions
for Milton’s “L’Allegro” and “Il Penseroso” brought £1960, and all
the remaining sixteen lots fetched high prices.

[180] Edward Oram, son of Old Oram, assisted Philip James De
Loutherbourg, R.A., in the management of the Drury Lane scenery and
stage effects. “Old” William Oram, “of the Board of Works,” was
Surveyor to that body. He was much employed in panel decoration.

[181] John Ker, third Duke of Roxburgh, the book collector.--Sir
John Fleming Leicester, first Baron de Tabley (1762-1827), was
a patron of artists, and a good draughtsman. The public were
freely admitted to his collection of British pictures at his
house at 24 Hill Street, Berkeley Square.--Mr. Richard Bull was a
well-known figure at the print sales and a subscriber to Smith’s
publications.--Anthony Morris Storer, an ardent collector and
“Graingeriser,” extra-illustrated Grainger’s _Biographical History
of England_, and left the work to Eton College. A rather candid
sketch of Storer is drawn by Rev. J. Richardson in his entertaining
_Recollections of the Last Half Century_.--A note on Dr. Lort
will be found elsewhere.--Mr. Haughton James, F.R.S., was born in
Jamaica; he became a member of the Dilettanti Society in 1763.--Mr.
Charles John Crowle and Sir James Winter Lake, Bart., so frequently
mentioned by Smith, are the subjects of other notes.

[182] In this list of Smith’s patrons the following are of
interest:--The “beautiful Miss Towry” was Anne, daughter of Captain
George Phillips Towry, R.N., commissioner of victualling, who
became the wife of Lord Ellenborough, afterwards Lord Chief Justice
of England, Oct. 17, 1782. Her beauty was so great that passers-by
would linger to watch her watering the flowers on the balcony of
their house in Bloomsbury Square. Lady Ellenborough bore thirteen
children, and, surviving her husband many years, died in Stratford
Place, Oxford Street, Aug. 16, 1843, aged 74. Her portrait was
painted by Reynolds.

Mr. Douglas was James Douglas, author of _Nenia Britannica, a
Sepulchral History of Great Britain_. As a youth he helped Sir
Ashton Lever to stuff birds for his museum. His abilities in
painting were considerable, and we owe to him a full-length
portrait of Captain Grose. His _Travelling Anecdotes_ is an
interesting book.

By “Mr. Chamberlain Clark” Smith means Mr. Richard Clark, but he
antedates his title of City Chamberlain, to which post he was
appointed only in 1798; he held it until 1831, and was Lord Mayor
in 1784.

Dr. Joseph Drury was Headmaster of Harrow for twenty years,
1785-1805. He will always be remembered as Lord Byron’s headmaster.

John Wigston figures in Smith’s notes under the year 1796 as a
patron of Morland.

Information concerning Captain Horsley and the Boddams will be
found in Robinson’s _History of Enfield_.

Mr. Henry Hare Townsend was the owner of Bruce Castle, which he
sold in 1792; it was afterwards occupied by Rowland Hill, who
brought hither his school, disciplined on the “Hazlewood” system,
before he became a public man and the founder of penny postage.

The Mr. Samuel Salt, whose name comes last in Smith’s list of
his patrons, is no other than Charles Lamb’s Samuel Salt of
the Inner Temple. “July 27. At his chambers in Crown Office
Row, Inner Temple, Samuel Salt, Esq., one of the benchers of
that hon. society, and a governor of the South Sea Company”
(_Gentleman’s Magazine_, July 1792).--Lawrence Sterne, at whose
burial he assisted, was laid in the St. George’s (Hanover Square)
burial-ground, facing Hyde Park, March 22, 1788. Sterne’s grave is
well kept.

[183] The formation of Virginia Water was carried out at the
instance of the Duke of Cumberland, as Ranger of Windsor Forest.
Thomas Sandby, his Deputy Ranger, lived in the Lower Lodge,
where he was soon joined by his brother Paul, the eminent
water-colourist. The construction of the Virginia Water occupied
him for several years, but it was completed long before the birth
of Smith. The works were entirely destroyed by a storm in September
1768, and Smith witnessed in this year, 1785, only the finishing
touches to the then reconstructing lake.

[184] In 1796, the Feathers Tavern, on the east side of the square,
made way for Charles Dibdin’s “Sans Souci” theatre, in which he
gave a single-handed entertainment. Here he produced his song, “My
Name d’ye see’s Tom Tough.”

[185] The wealthy and talented “Athenian” Stuart (1713-88) had his
sobriquet from his journey to Athens, and his account of Greek
architecture embodied in _The Antiquities of Athens Measured and
Delineated_, compiled by himself and his fellow-traveller, Nicholas
Revett, and completed by Newton and Reveley. Hogarth satirised
Stuart’s first volume (1762) in his print, “The Five Order of
Perriwigs as they were worn at the Late Coronation, measured
Architectonically.”

[186] Samuel Scott, whose paintings, “Old London Bridge,” “Old
Westminster Bridge,” and a “View of Westminster,” are in the
National Gallery, was one of Hogarth’s companions in the famous
“Tour,” described in Gostling’s verses.

    “Sam Scott and Hogarth, for their share,
    The prospects of the sea and land did.”

Scott’s portrait by Hudson is in the National Gallery.

[187] See note, p. 98.

[188] Luke Sullivan engraved several of Hogarth’s works, and among
them his “Paul before Felix” (now in Lincoln’s Inn), to which he
sat as model for the angel. He was a handsome, dissipated Irishman,
and lodged at the “White Bear” in Piccadilly. His etching of the
“March to Finchley” is superb. Ireland says that Hogarth had
difficulty in keeping him at work on this plate. Sullivan was
destroyed by his habits, and died prematurely.

[189] Francis Grose (1731-91), the famous antiquary, humorist, and
spendthrift, who is immortalised by Burns--

    “A chield’s amang you takin’ notes,
        And, faith, he’ll prent it.”

[190] Valuable as this book certainly was for a number of years, it
is now superseded by the elaborate work produced by Dr. Meyrick [_A
Critical Inquiry into Ancient Armour_, by Sir Samuel Rush Meyrick,
1824], an inestimable and complete treasure to the historian, the
artist, and the stage.--S.

[191] Thomas Hearne (1744-1817) belonged to that group of artists
whose tinted topographical drawings initiated water-colour. He
died in Macclesfield Street, Soho, April 13, 1817, and was buried
in Bushey churchyard by Dr. Monro, Turner’s “good doctor” of the
Adelphi, who used to set Turner and Girtin to make drawings for him
in the Adelphi at the price of “half a crown apiece and a supper.”

[192] See note on Mr. Baker, p. 115.

[193] Henry Edridge, A.R.A. (1769-1821), was born in Paddington,
established himself as a portrait painter in Dufour’s Place,
Golden Square, in 1789, and died in Margaret Street, Cavendish
Square. He was the friend and pupil of Thomas Hearne, and, like
him, was buried in Bushey churchyard by the benevolent Dr. Monro.
The British Museum Print Room has pencil portraits by Edridge, and
three of his sketch-books.--William Alexander (1761-1816) preceded
Smith as Keeper of the Prints and Drawings in the British Museum.
He was a skilful water-colourist, and the Print Room has his
original sketches for the illustrations in the officially published
_Ancient Terra-cottas_ and _Ancient Marbles_, dealing with the
Museum collections.--Edmunds was an upholsterer in Compton Street,
Soho.

[194] The elephant was Chunee, the “Jumbo” of the Georgian era.
Smith writes of his arrival under 1785, but it was not until 1809
that he and Mr. Baker could have seen Chunee coming from the
docks. This famous elephant stood eleven feet in height, and was
the attraction at Mr. Cross’s menagerie until March 1826, when his
death was ordered. Chunee’s carcass was valued at £1000. Lord Byron
must have seen Chunee when he “saw the tigers sup” in 1813, and
Thomas Hood’s lament on his death is well known. Exeter Change,
which stood at the Strand end of Burleigh Street, did not long
survive its elephant: in April 1829 it was sold out of existence by
George Robins.

[195] Abraham Langford (1711-74), the most fashionable auctioneer
of his day, had his rooms in the Piazza, Covent Garden. He was
buried in St. Pancras churchyard, and identical laudatory verses
were cut on both sides of his tombstone--

    “His spring was such as should have been,
    Adroit and gay, unvexed by Care or Spleen,
    His Summer’s manhood, open, fresh, and fair,
    His Virtue strict, his manners debonair,” etc.

Foote satirised Langford in _The Minor_ as Smirke (not Puff) the
auctioneer, who raises a Guido from “forty-five” to “sixty-three
ten” by declaring that “it only wants a touch from the torch of
Prometheus to start from the canvas.”

[196] Samuel Paterson (1728-1802), originally a stay-maker, became
a bookseller, and about 1753 opened auction rooms in what remained
of Essex House, which stood much on the site of Devereux Court,
Essex Street. He afterwards removed to Covent Garden. He would
have succeeded better in business had he been less fond of reading
the books he sold. He was the first auctioneer who sold books in
lots.--Hassell Hutchins, the auctioneer of King Street, Covent
Garden, died in 1795.

[197] It was George Michael Moser (1704-83) who made the historic
interruption: “Stay, stay, Toctor Shonson is going to say
something.” Born at Schaffhausen, he rose from cabinet-making (in
Soho) and the chasing of watch-cases and cane heads, to be the
First Keeper of the Royal Academy. Sir Joshua Reynolds pronounced
him the first gold-chaser in the kingdom. He enamelled trinkets for
watches with so much skill as to set a fashion, and it was said
that George II. once ordered him a hat full of money for some of
his works. Moser lived in Craven Buildings, which have lately been
demolished to make way for Aldwych and Kingsway. He died, however,
in his official keeper’s residence at Somerset House.

[198] John Millan had a bookshop at Charing Cross for more than
fifty years. Richard Gough, the antiquary, frequented Millan’s
shop, which he describes as “encrusted with Literature and
Curiosities like so many stalactitical exudations.” Behind sat “the
deity of the place, at the head of a Whist party.”

[199] Johnson’s letter to Sir Joshua Reynolds on behalf of young
Paterson was dated June 2, 1783; his three letters to Ozias
Humphrey, April 5, April 10, and May 31, 1784. He asks Humphrey to
allow the boy to frequent his studio and see him paint. The Doctor
had chosen good teachers for the youth. “Humphrey’s miniatures,
before those of any other, remind us of the excellences and
graces of Reynolds” (Redgrave: _A Century of Painters_, i. 421).
Humphrey had himself been greatly encouraged in his youth by
Reynolds, who said to him: “Born in my country, and your mother a
lace-maker!--why, Vandyck’s mother was a maker of lace,” and he
lent him some of his pictures to copy.

[200] Richard Gough (1735-1809), the antiquary whose _British
Topography_, _Sepulchral Monuments_, translation of Camden’s
_Britannia_, and other works, are in every great library. The
_Britannia_ occupied him seven years, and his investigations led
him all over the country. It is said that during the seven years in
which he was translating it he remained so accessible to his family
at Enfield, that no member of it was aware of his undertaking. He
was esteemed by Horace Walpole, who, however, often made a jest of
his antiquary mind. Thus: “Gough, speaking of some Cross that has
been renowned, says ‘there is now _an unmeaning market-house_ in
its place.’ Saving his reverence and our prejudices, I doubt there
is a good deal more _meaning_ in a market-house than in a cross”
(Letter to Rev. W. Cole, Nov. 24, 1780).

[201] There were four Basires in direct succession. Smith refers to
the second in the line, James Basire (1730-1802), the illustrator
of _Vetusta Monumenta_. He compares him unfavourably with William
Woollett (1735-85) and John Hall (1739-97), but it is not clear
that West despised Basire, who, indeed, engraved his _Pylades and
Orestes_.

[202] Dr. Lort was Librarian, not Chaplain, to the Duke of
Devonshire. He moved in the Johnson set. For nineteen years he
held the Rectory of St. Matthew’s, Friday Street, in which church
(now demolished) there was a tablet to his memory. He died at 6
Savile Row, Nov. 5, 1790, after a carriage accident at Colchester.
A water-colour portrait of him, by Sylvester Harding, is in the
British Museum Print Room. In her diary Madam D’Arblay gives an
entertaining picture of Dr. Lort as he appeared in the Thrale
circle at Streatham, where on one occasion he talked against
Dr. Johnson to his face without, it seems, any tragic results.
“His manners,” she says, “are somewhat blunt and odd, and he is
altogether out of the common road, without having chosen a better
path.”

[203] Old Cole, _i.e._ William Cole (1714-1782), was pronounced
by Horace Walpole an “oracle in any antique difficulties.” The
two travelled France together. Cole, who for many years was
in Holy Orders, had filled forty folio volumes with notes on
Cambridgeshire, concerning which he wrote to Walpole: “They are
my only delight--they are my wife and children.” He earned such
nicknames as Old Cole, Cole of Milton (where he lived), and
Cardinal Cole (from his leanings to Romanism). Cole’s “wife and
children” are now in the British Museum MSS. Department.

[204] The Rev. Dr. Isaac Gossett was proud of his long series of
priced catalogues. Every bookseller knew his fad for milk-white
vellum. So keen a bibliophile was Gossett, that an illness which
kept him from the sale of the Pinelli collection vanished when he
was given permission to inspect one of the volumes of the first
Complutensian Polyglot Bible of Cardinal Ximenes, on vellum, and in
the original binding. Dr. Gossett died in Newman Street, December
16, 1812, and was buried in Old Marylebone cemetery.

[205] Edward Cocker (1631-7?), writing master and arithmetician, is
referred to in the phrase “according to Cocker.” The _Dictionary of
National Biography_ gives 1675 as the date of his death, but Mr.
Wheatley (_London Past and Present_) quotes the Register of Burials
at St. George the Martyr’s, Southwark: “Mr. Edward Cocker, Writing
Mr. Aug. 26, 1676.”

[206] The wine and wit of Caleb Whitefoord (1734-1810) were both
good. Smith reports Mrs. Nollekens as saying: “My dear Mrs.
Pardice, you may safely take a glass of it, for it is the last
of twelve which Mr. Caleb Whitefoord sent us as a present; and
everybody who talks about wine should know his house has ever been
famous for claret.” Smith, who often acidulates his ink, suggests
that Whitefoord’s little presents and constant attendance on the
Nollekens’ household showed the covetous collector rather than the
kindly man. Burke, who thought meanly of Whitefoord’s services as
secretary of the Commission for concluding peace with America,
described him as a “diseur de bons mots.” Goldsmith mourns his
wasted abilities in his “Retaliation”--

    “Here Whitefoord reclines, deny it who can;
    Tho’ he merrily lived, he is now a grave man.
    What pity, alas! that so lib’ral a mind
    Should so long be to Newspaper Essays confin’d!
    …
    Whose talents to fit any station were fit,
    Yet happy if Woodfall confessed him a wit.”

Whitefoord’s Cross Readings of the newspapers--a form of humour
that has been revived somewhat recently--delighted the town in
1766; Goldsmith envied him the idea, and Johnson praised his
pseudonym--“Papyrius Cursor.” The following are specimens of these
Cross Readings:--

    “Yesterday Dr. Pretyman preached at St. James’s--
    And performed it with ease in less than sixteen minutes”

    “Several changes are talked of at Court--
    Consisting of 9050 triple bob-majors.”

    “Sunday night many noble families were alarmed--
    By the constable of the watch, who apprehended them at cards.”

The wealthy wine-merchant and art lover lived to be the patron in
David Wilkie’s painting, “The Letter of Introduction.” He died in
Argyll Street, and was buried in the churchyard of St. Mary’s,
Paddington, where lie Nollekens, Mrs. Siddons, Haydon, and many
others of note.

[207] Captain William Baillie’s copies of Rembrandt’s etchings
are still bought--by the simple--in the print-shops. The captain
quitted the 18th Light Dragoons in 1761, and joined the Covent
Garden Colony of artists. He knew everybody. Henry Angelo heard him
say that for more than half a century he had passed his mornings
in going from one apartment to another over the Piazza. His works,
which have now little value, were issued by Boydell in 1792, and
re-issued in 1803. One of his exploits, mentioned by Redgrave,
was to purchase for £70 Cuyp’s fine “View of Dort” and convert it
into two separate pictures called “Morning” and “Evening,” which
were afterwards piously purchased for £2200 and reunited. Captain
Baillie died Dec. 22, 1810, aged eighty-seven, at Lisson Green,
Paddington. He was for many years a commissioner of Stamp Duties.

[208] Edwards’ _Anecdotes of Painters_ is a useful little
supplement to Walpole’s larger work. He was buried in old St.
Pancras churchyard, now a recreation ground, where his name,
however, does not appear on the memorial erected by the Baroness
Burdett-Coutts to those whose graves were obliterated. His portrait
in chalk is in the Print Room.

[209] Mr. George Baker, the lace-man, died in St. Paul’s Churchyard
in 1811. He compiled “A Catalogue of Books, Poems, Tracts, and
small detached Pieces, printed at the Press at Strawberry Hill,
belonging to the late Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford,” 4to. Twenty
copies only were printed, and were distributed in May 1811. Mr.
Baker made a lifelong hobby of print-collecting, and his Hogarths,
Woolletts, and Bartolozzis were scarcely surpassed.

[210] Woodhouse’s pictures and drawings were sold in 1801; the
catalogues are in the British Museum.

[211] Joseph Musgrave, Esq., was a subscriber to Smith’s
_Antiquities of Westminster_.

[212] “The most _acid_ of all Manningtree’s evil and jealous-minded
spirits, originally held in the service of that famous
witch-finder-general, Matthew Hopkins” (Smith).--Hopkins, after
bringing old women to execution as witches, was himself “swum”
and hanged in 1647 for witchcraft. “Vinegar Tom” was one of the
“imps” which a one-legged beggar woman named Elizabeth Clarke was
persuaded by Hopkins to declare was under her control. Hopkins had
originally been a lawyer at Manningtree.

[213] Samuel Wodhull, who lived wealthily in Berkeley Square, is
best remembered for his translation of Euripides (1774-82), the
first complete rendering of the Greek tragedian in English. He was
buried at Thenford, his native place, in Northamptonshire.

[214] Thomas Worlidge (1700-66), a skilful etcher after Rembrandt,
and illustrator of a book on antique gems, was nicknamed
“Scritch-Scratch.” He is said to have had thirty-three children
by his three marriages. He lived in the famous house in Great
Queen Street (now divided and numbered 55-56) in which Reynolds
had been the pupil of Thomas Hudson, and which now bears a tablet
proclaiming it one of the homes of Sheridan.

[215] After Rawle’s death, his effects were sold at Hutchins’,
Covent Garden, where this Charles the Second wig was bought by
Suett, the actor, who, says Smith, “to prove to the company that it
would suit him better than his harum-scarum opponent, put it upon
his head, and, thus dignified, went on with his biddings, which
were sometimes sarcastically serious, and at others ludicrously
comic. The company, however, though so highly amused, thought it
ungenerous to prolong the biddings, and therefore one and all
declared that it ought to be knocked down to him before he took
it off his head. Upon this Suett immediately attempted to take it
off, but the ivory hammer, with the ruffled hand of the auctioneer,
after being once flourished over his head, gave it in favour of
the eccentric comedian.” Suett appeared in this wig in Fielding’s
_Tom Thumb_, and we are told that “sick men laughed themselves well
to see him peeping out of the black forest of hair.” Finally this
wonderful wig was lost in the fire which destroyed the theatre
at Birmingham. Mrs. Booth, the mother of the actress, was met by
Suett, and all he said was: “Mrs. Booth, my wig’s gone.”

[216] Rawle died November 8, 1789 (_Gentleman’s Magazine_, 1789).

[217] From the _Public Advertiser_, July 12, 1774: “Miniature
Painting.--Mr. Beauvais, well known at Tunbridge Wells to several
of the nobility and gentry for taking a striking likeness, either
in water colours or India ink. Miniature pictures copied by him
from large pictures, to any size, and pictures repaired if damaged.
He also teaches, by a peculiar method, Persons of the least
capacity to take a Likeness in India Ink, or with a black lead
pencil, in a short time. To be spoke with at Mr. Bryan’s, the ‘Blue
Ball,’ St. Martin’s Street, Leicester Fields, from eleven to one
o’clock.”

[218] “A most facetious, fat gentleman,” is Henry Angelo’s
description of Mr. Mitchell, the wealthy partner in the bank
of Hodsol & Company, and the unstinting patron of Rowlandson.
Mitchell lived in Beaufort Buildings, in the Strand, which two
years ago were demolished for the extension of the Savoy Hotel.
Here the worthy banker loved to gather round him such choice
spirits as Thomas Rowlandson, John Nixon, and Thomas Wolcot (Peter
Pindar). “Well do I remember,” says Henry Angelo, “sitting in
this comfortable apartment, listening to the stories of my old
friend Peter Pindar, whose wit seemed not to kindle until after
midnight, at the period of about his fifth or sixth glass of
brandy and water. Rowlandson, too, having nearly accomplished his
twelfth glass of punch, and replenishing his pipe with choice
Oronooko, would chime in. The tales of these two gossips, told in
one of those nights, each delectable to hear, would make a modern
Boccaccio.”

[219] William Packer of Great Baddow, and of Charlotte Street,
Bloomsbury, was many years in the brewery of Combe, Delafield, &
Company in Castle Street, Long Acre. This brewery was the nucleus
of Watney, Combe, Reid, & Co.’s present establishment.

[220] John Henderson (1747-85) was known as the “Bath Roscius”
from his success at Bath under John Palmer. After a great career
at Drury Lane, he died at his house in Buckingham Street, Adelphi,
November 25, 1785, it was said from a poison accidentally given to
him by his wife. In addition to his Hogarths, he collected books
relating to the drama. His library was described by the auctioneer
who dispersed it as “the completest assemblage of English dramatic
authors that has ever been exhibited for sale in this country.” It
contained many books of crimes and marvels.

[221] John Ireland (died 1808) must not be confounded with the
Shakespearian impostor. He was brought up to watchmaking in Maiden
Lane. With Henderson he frequented the Feathers Tavern in Leicester
Fields, and he wrote the actor’s biography. He is best known by his
_Illustrations to Hogarth_, published by Boydell, and containing
his portrait by Mortimer as frontispiece to the third volume.

[222] The employee is better remembered than the employer. William
Seguier (1771-1843), topographical landscape-painter and picture
restorer, was appointed Keeper of the Royal Pictures by George IV.
He was also the first director of the National Gallery. Haydon
pays him this tribute: “June 19, 1811. Seguier called, on whose
judgment Wilkie and I so much rely. If Seguier coincides with us we
are satisfied, and often we are convinced we are wrong if Seguier
disagrees.”

[223] Carlo Antonio Delpini, the best clown of his day, played at
Drury Lane and Covent Garden. He devised many stage mechanisms for
pantomimes. In 1783 he arranged a masquerade at the Pantheon in
celebration of the coming of age of the Prince of Wales, from whom
in his old age he received a gift of £200. Delpini, we are told,
had a presentiment that he should not die till the year “eight,”
which was realised, for he died in the year 1828, at the age of
88. He was born in the parish of St. Martin, at Rome, and drew his
last breath in the parish of St. Martin, London (to be precise, in
Lancaster Court, Strand).

[224] John Palmer (1742-98), the original Joseph Surface, was
known off the stage as Jack Plausible. Once, in patching up a
quarrel with Sheridan, he said: “If you could see my heart, Mr.
Sheridan,” and was answered, “Why, Jack, you forget I wrote it.”
The Royalty Theatre, at which Smith hoped to be employed by him,
was the ill-starred house in Well Street, in St. George’s in the
East. The opposition of the great theatres caused its degeneration
to a house for pantomimes and concerts. Palmer fell into debt and
into Surrey Gaol. Nevertheless he appeared at Drury Lane as late as
1798. He is described by Charles Lamb as “a gentleman with a slight
infusion of the footman,” for which reason “Jack in Dick Amlet was
insuperable.” Palmer died on the stage. His last uttered words,
spoken in _The Stranger_, are said to have been: “There is another
and a better world,” but this has been disputed: it is contended
that the words really uttered by him as he fell were those in the
fourth act: “I left them at a small town hard by.”

[225] Just forty years after Smith’s visit, in 1869, a
correspondent of _Notes and Queries_ had the curiosity to make a
similar journey of discovery. He found only one of the dolphin
knockers remaining, that on the door of No. 6. In June 1903 I found
that this had gone the way of all men and knockers, but I am told
it was there up to the early nineties. The neighbourhood can still
show a few door-knockers of ancient types. There are old lion’s
head-and-ring knockers in Gunpowder Alley and Hind Court. At No. 3
Red Lion Court is a good knocker, into which is introduced a bat
with outstretched wings. The old knocker of No. 9 Bell’s Buildings,
Salisbury Square, is adorned with the figure of a naked boy playing
on a pipe. There is a fine example of a dolphin knocker at 25 Queen
Anne’s Gate.

[226] The Garrat mock elections have often been described. Garrat
was a rural spot between Wandsworth and Tooting. A committee
organised to protect the village common from encroachments
developed into a roaring municipal farce which was repeated after
every General Election. The publicans of the southern villages
willingly subscribed to the carnival, and reaped handsome profits;
while Foote spread the fame and vogue of the elections by his farce
_The Mayor of Garrat_. A mock knighthood was given, as a matter of
course, to each mayor on his election. The first recorded mayor
was Sir John Harper, a retailer of brick-dust, and the next, the
most famous of all, Sir Jeffery Dunstan, a humorous vagabond whose
ostensible trade was in old wigs. He was constantly portrayed, or
used as the basis of caricature. In one print he is seen standing
on a stool, asking “How far is it from the first of August to
Westminster Bridge?” “Sir Jeffery” used his tongue with great
freedom, and the authorities were so destitute of humour as to
arrest him and obtain his imprisonment. The next Mayor of Garrat
was Sir Harry Dinsdale. He was born in Shug Lane, Haymarket, in
1758, and appears to have haunted the Soho neighbourhood, for he
married a woman out of St. Anne’s workhouse. He died in 1811.

[227] It must have been from his house No. 37, on the north
side of Gerrard Street, now a restaurant, but retaining its old
appearance and marked by a commemorative tablet, that Burke went to
Westminster Hall on May 10, 1787, to impeach Warren Hastings. Of
Burke’s life in Gerrard Street we have no nearer glimpse than that
given by Smith.

[228] General John Money (1752-1817) was one of the earliest of
English aeronauts. It was in an ascent from Norwich, July 22, 1785,
that he was carried out to sea, where he “remained for seven hours
struggling with his fate” before he was rescued.--Philip Reinagle,
R.A. (1749-1833), was an animal, landscape, and dead game painter.
Examples of his landscape work are at South Kensington.

[229] The Charles Greville here referred to was an early patron of
Lawrence at Oxford, when the artist was a mere boy; also of Romney,
whose portrait of Wortley Montague, the eccentric pseudo-Turk, he
both bought and copied.

[230] Sir William Hamilton (1730-1803), who married Emma Hart,
Nelson’s Lady Hamilton, was a keen archæologist, and made a
magnificent collection of Greek vases, which he sold to the British
Museum. He purchased the Barberini, or “Portland,” vase from Byres,
the architect, and sold it for 1800 guineas to the Duchess of
Portland, in the sale of whose property it was bought by the family
in 1829 for £1029. On February 7, 1745, after its acquisition by
the British Museum (Montagu House), it was wantonly broken in
pieces by a visitor named William Lloyd, who was sentenced to a
fine or imprisonment. The fine was paid anonymously.

[231] Smith’s little present to Sir George Beaumont is the more
interesting to us, because of that painter’s well-known love of
brown, and his dictum that “there ought to be at least one brown
tree in every landscape.” Beaumont’s name is inseparably associated
with the National Gallery, and also with Wordsworth’s noble poem on
his picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, containing the lines--

    “Ah! then if mine had been the painter’s hand
    To express what then I saw; and add the gleam,
    The light that never was on sea or land,
    The consecration, and the Poet’s dream,--

    I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile,
    Amid a world how different from this!
    Beside a sea that could not cease to smile;
    On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss.”

[232] Henry Salt, the great traveller and British consul-general in
Egypt. He sold antiquities to the British Museum, and had dealings,
resulting in a quarrel, with Belzoni.

[233] Smith evidently refers to the plan affected by Alexander
(not the greater John Rosher) Cozens, of throwing a blot, and then
working it into a landscape composition.

[234] Smith expresses himself rather oddly here, for he married
only once, his wife being Anne Maria Prickett, who, after a union
of forty-five years, was left his widow.

[235] Sir James Winter Lake, Bart., a man of wealth and culture,
compiled “Bibliotheca Lakeana” (a catalogue of his library) in
1808, and “British Portraits and Historical Prints, collected by J.
W. L.” in the same year. His extra-illustrated _Granger’s History_
extended to forty large folio volumes.

Lady Lake is mentioned in one of the many amusing dialogues
recorded by Smith in his _Life of Nollekens_. Panton Betew, the
silversmith of Old Compton Street, Soho, talking to Nollekens of
their common memories, says: “Ay, I know there were many very
clever things produced there (at Bow); what very curious heads
for canes they made at that manufactory! I think Crowther was the
proprietor’s name; he had a very beautiful daughter, who is married
to Sir James Lake. Nat. Hone painted a portrait of her, in the
character of Diana, and it was one of his best pictures.”

[236] Smith’s general meaning is plain, but I cannot with
confidence explain the reference to Tooley Street. It may
be no more than a slightly contemptuous way of referring to
villa-building tradesmen (nobodies, like the three Tooley Street
tailors) who at that time were building their Camomile Cottages in
the country.

[237] The part of Major Sturgeon, J.P., “the fishmonger from
Brentford,” was played by Foote in his own comedy, _The Mayor of
Garratt_ (1763). Sturgeon brags: “We had some desperate duty, Sir
Jacob … such marchings and counter-marchings from Brentford to
Ealing, from Ealing to Acton, from Acton to Uxbridge. Why, there
was our last expedition to Hounslow; that day’s work carried off
Major Molassas.”… Zoffany painted Foote in this character.

[238] Elizabeth Canning (1734-73), a domestic servant in
Aldermanbury, startled London in 1753 by the circumstantial
story she told of her capture in Moorfields, and her subsequent
imprisonment and ill-treatment at Enfield by “Mother Wells” and
a gipsy woman, Mary Squires. After Squires had been condemned
to death, and Wells had been burned in the hand, the case was
revised, with the result that Squires was pardoned and her accuser
transported for perjury. The affair, which had originally come
before Henry Fielding, the novelist, at Bow Street, aroused an
incredible amount of feeling in London.

[239] _The Merry Devil of Edmonton_ was for long carelessly
attributed to Shakespeare. Mr. Sidney Lee, in his _Shakespeare’s
Life and Work_, says: “It is a delightful comedy … but no sign of
Shakespeare’s workmanship is apparent.”

[240] Thomas King (1730-1805) was a clever comedian. His stage
career in London lasted fifty-four years. In November 1789 he
played the part of Sir John Trotley in Garrick’s _Bon Ton, or
High Life above Stairs_. “His acting,” says Charles Lamb, “left
a taste on the palate sharp and sweet as a quince; with an old,
hard, rough, withered face, like a john-apple, puckered up into
a thousand wrinkles; with shrewd hints and tart replies.” The
prologue of _Bon Ton_ has these lines:--

    “Ah! I loves life, and all the joys it yields--
    Says Madam Fussock, warm from Spital-fields.
    Bone Tone’s the space ’twixt Saturday and Monday,
    And riding in a one-horse chair o’ Sunday!
    ’Tis drinking tea on summer afternoons
    At Bagnigge-Wells, with China and gilt spoons!
    ’Tis laying by our stuffs, red cloaks, and pattens,
    To dance _Cow-tillions_, all in silks and sattins!”

[241] Skelton says of Eleanor Rumming--

    “She breweth noppy ale,
    And maketh thereof fast sale
    To travellers, to tinkers.
    To sweaters, to swinkers,
    And all good ale-drinkers.”

The woman kept an alehouse at Leatherhead, which, it is thought,
Skelton may have visited when staying with his royal master at
Nonsuch Palace. It has been claimed, however, on interesting
evidence, that her alehouse was “Two-pot House,” between Cambridge
and Hardwicke. (See _Gentleman’s Magazine_, Nov. 1794, and
_Chambers’ Book of Days_ under June 21.)

[242] This passage in St. Martin’s Lane was built by a Mr. May,
who lived in a house of his own design in St. Martin’s Lane. Here
Smith himself lived at his father’s house, the Rembrandt Head, No.
18, for some years; the house is now absorbed in Messrs. Harrison’s
printing establishment. I have found no trace of Hartry, the
valiant cupper, but only of a dentist of that name, who may have
been his son.

[243] John Adams, teacher of mathematics, published _The
Mathematician’s Companion_ (1796). “The following use was made
of Hogarth’s plates of the Idle and Industrious Apprentices, by
the late John Adams, of Edmonton, schoolmaster. The prints were
framed and hung up in the schoolroom, and Adams, once a month,
after reading a lecture upon their vicious and virtuous examples,
rewarded those boys who had conducted themselves well, and caned
those who had behaved ill” (Smith: _Nollekens_).

[244] Samuel Ireland was father of William Henry Ireland, who
forged Shakespearean MSS. and put forward the spurious play
_Vortigern_. In his well-known _Graphic Illustrations of Hogarth_
he proves himself rather “a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles than
a contributor of serviceable information” (Austin Dobson: _William
Hogarth_: enlarged ed. 1898). This work must not be confused with
John Ireland’s _Hogarth Illustrated_.

[245] Perhaps it was an ordnance map mistake. “On the south side
of Nag’s Head Lane, near Ponder’s End, is a deep well, probably
the brick conduit noted in Ogilby’s roads 1698, and known by the
name of Tim Ringer’s Well (King’s Ring Well, 2076 in the ordnance
map), which was formerly considered infallible as a remedy for
inflammation of the eyes” (Hodson and Ford: _History of Enfield_,
1873).

[246] Durance, or Durants, was visited by James I. when it was the
home of Sir Henry Wroth, to whom Ben Jonson wrote his lines--

    “How blessed art thou, canst love the country, Wroth
    …
    And though so near the City and the Court,
    Art ta’en with neither’s vice or sport.”

Wroth’s executors sold the manor to Sir Thomas Stringer, who
married a daughter of Judge Jeffreys.

[247] “But above all, I must not forget the Tulip Tree, the largest
and biggest that ever was seen; there being but one more in Great
Britain (as I am informed), and that at the Lord Peterborough’s.
It blows with innumerable flowers in the months of June and July”
(John Farmer: _History of Waltham Abbey_).

[248] Known as Cheshunt House or the Great House. When Smith
visited it in 1791, it had been much modernised. There is no
evidence, says Thorne (_Environs of London_), that the o’er great
Cardinal ever lived there. Ten years after Smith’s visit, the Rev.
Charles Mayo pulled down the larger part of the building in order
to repair the remainder. After his time it remained desolate and
neglected.

[249] Cornelius Janssen (1590-1665) is best remembered for his
portrait of Milton as a boy, engraved in the first volume of
Professor Masson’s Life of the poet. His original portrait of Sir
Hugh Myddelton, now in the committee room of the Goldsmiths’ Hall,
represents the great engineer with his left hand resting on a conch
from which a stream of water gushes; over this are inscribed the
words: “Fontes Fondinæ.” This portrait was presented to the Company
by Lady Myddelton.

[250] Robert Lemon, the archivist. He discovered Milton’s “De
Doctrina Christiania,” and gave assistance to Sir Walter Scott.

[251] Sir Robert Strange was engraver to Prince Charles. His
distinguished career was chequered by his political sympathies,
and by his bitter criticism of the Royal Academy, in consequence,
partly, of its exclusion of engravers. Knighted by George III.
(after he had engraved West’s apotheosis of the three royal
children), he died in his last London home in Great Queen Street,
July 5, 1792. See note, p. 82.

[252] The bill of which Smith gives particulars is quoted in
full by William Hookham Carpenter in his _Pictorial Notices of
Sir Anthony Van Dyck_ (1844). “It is more than probable that the
account had been submitted to the supervision of Bishop Juxon, who,
by the influence of Archbishop Laud, was appointed to the office of
Lord Treasurer in 1635, which he held till 1641; and Anthony Wood
tells us ‘he kept the King’s purse when necessities were deepest,
and clamours were loudest.’” Vandyke had from Charles, in addition
to payments against pictures, an annuity of £200 a year and houses
at Blackfriars and Eltham.

[253] On February 23. After lying in state in the Royal Academy,
the remains of Sir Joshua Reynolds were interred, on Saturday,
March 3, in the crypt of St. Paul’s Cathedral, near the
resting-place of Sir Christopher Wren. The pall was borne by ten
peers, and the Archbishop of York took part in the service.

[254] Burke’s tribute had appeared in the _Annual Register_.

[255] Lieut.-Colonel Molesworth Phillips, whose career links Dr.
Johnson to Charles Lamb, was the companion of Captain Cook on his
last voyage. His marriage in 1782 to Susannah Elizabeth, daughter
of Dr. Charles Burney, and sister of Fanny Burney, brought him
into the Johnson set. He escorted Miss Burney to Westminster Hall
to hear Warren Hastings on his defence. Lamb, recalling his old
whist-playing friends in his “Letter of Elia to Robert Southey,”
names him as “the high-minded associate of Cook, the veteran
Colonel, with his lusty heart still sending cartels of defiance to
old Time.” He died in 1832.

[256] Mrs. Cholmondeley, who appears several times in Boswell’s
_Life_, was a younger sister of Peg Woffington, and the wife of the
Hon. and Rev. George Cholmondeley.

[257] “Sheridan had very fine eyes, and he was very vain of them.
He said to Rogers on his deathbed, ‘Tell Lady Besborough that my
eyes will look up to the coffin-lid as brightly as ever.’”

[258] The Old Bun House at Chelsea flourished for nearly a century
and a half, and yielded a livelihood to four generations of the
same family. In its best days it was the resort of royalty and
rank. Queen Charlotte presented Mrs. Hand with a silver mug,
containing five guineas. The shop had a pleasant arcaded front,
and, besides buns, offered its customers the sight of a number
of curiosities. As many as fifty thousand people would assemble
here on Good Friday mornings, and it is clear that Mrs. Hand had
reason to issue her curious notice. The site of the Bun House and
its garden is on the north side of the Pimlico Road, between Union
Street and Westbourne Street. The name of Bunhouse Place, at the
back, commemorates the establishment, which disappeared in 1839.

The danger of a mob assembling outside a London bun-shop on Good
Friday morning has passed away. Mr. Henry Attwell sadly observed,
in _Notes and Queries_, April 28, 1900, that “the last Good Friday
of the nineteenth century” found the hot-cross bun degenerated
from a spiced bun (“the spice recalling to the few who cared about
its religious suggestiveness the embalming of our Lord”) into a
vulgarised currant bun marked with deep indentures for convenience
of division, instead of the old slight cross in which there was a
touch of mystery.

[259] Roger L’Estrange, the pamphleteer and miscellaneous writer
(1616-1704), was deprived of his office of surveyor and licenser of
the press in 1688.

[260] _The First Book of Architecture_, first published in English
in 1668.

[261] Then Montagu House. “I apprehend,” says Smith, in his
_Antient Topography of London_, “that the custom of inlaying, or
tesselating, wooden floors commenced in England in the reign of
King Charles the First, and ended in that of Queen Anne. I have
secured patterns of four such floors: two belonging to the reign
of Charles the First, and two to that of Charles the Second. No. 1
is from that part of Whitehall lately inhabited by the Duchess of
Portland. No. 2 is from Somerset House. Nos. 3 and 4 are from the
present old gallery and waiting-room in the Marquis of Stafford’s
house in Cleveland Row.”

[262] One of the first exhibitors before the establishment of the
Royal Academy (S.). Keyse opened Bermondsey Spa in 1770, and in
1780 obtained a music licence. His greatest bid for public favour
was a farewell representation of the Siege of Gibraltar. The
present Spa Road crosses the site of the gardens, which were closed
about 1805.

[263] See note, p. 269.

[264] George Adams (died 1773) and his son George (died 1796) were
mathematical instrument makers to George III. A book by the father
on Terrestrial Globes was supplied with a dedication to the King
by Dr. Johnson.--Peter Dollond (1730-1820) was second in the line
of opticians. He was succeeded by his nephew, George Huggins, who
assumed the name of Dollond.

[265] A critic wrote:

              “Keyse’s mutton
    Show’d how the painter had a strife
    With nature, to outdo the life.”

Keyse’s realism had been anticipated by such painters as Jordaens
and Snyder, whose butcher’s meat remains painfully juicy in the
galleries of Brussels and Antwerp.

[266] “Mrs. Wrighten had a vivacious manner and a bewitching smile,
and her ‘Hunting Song’ was popular” (Wroth: _London Pleasure
Gardens_).

[267] Captain Edward Topham (1751-1820), after a brilliant
regimental career in the Horse Guards, gave himself up to fashion
and drama. He produced several plays, and in 1787 founded the
_World_, a scurrilous daily paper, which brought him into the law
courts. In Rowlandson’s well-known _Vauxhall_, the foremost figure
in the crowd is an elderly beau, standing bolt upright, and defying
through his glass the stare of a gaudy female of mature years who
has found another cavalier. This is Captain, afterwards Major,
Topham. He wrote the life of Elwes, the miser.

[268] Jonas Blewitt, who died in 1805, lived at Bermondsey,
near the Spa Gardens, for which he wrote many songs. He wrote a
_Treatise on the Organ_, and must not be confused with his son, the
better-known Jonathan Blewitt, the musical director of the Surrey
Theatre.

[269] Jonathan Battishill (1738-1801), composer, organist of Christ
Church, Newgate Street, and St. Clement’s, Eastcheap, first became
known by his music to the song “Kate of Aberdeen.” His anthems were
sung in St. Paul’s Cathedral, and he set many of Charles Wesley’s
hymns to music.

[270] Smith underlines _Joseph_ to distinguish him from his
better-known brother, James Caulfield, who was the author and
printseller, and the publisher of much “Remarkable Persons”
literature. Joseph Caulfield was a musical engraver, and a capable
teacher of the pianoforte. He lived in Camden Town.

[271] John Montagu, fourth Earl of Sandwich (1718-92), “was the
soul of the Catch Club, and one of the Directors of the Concert of
Ancient Music, but he had not the least real ear for music, and
was equally insensible of harmony and melody” (Charles Butler’s
_Reminiscences_). It was his treachery to Wilkes that gave
Lord Sandwich his popular nickname, Jemmy Twitcher, taken from
Macheath’s words in the _Beggar’s Opera_: “That Jemmy Twitcher
should peach me, I own surprised me.”

[272] About the year 1770 Battishill wrote this glee in a
competition for a gold medal offered by the Noblemen’s Catch Club.

[273] Smith had been Morland’s fellow-student at the Royal Academy,
and they had frequently walked home together. Among his innumerable
addresses, Morland had several in the Fitzroy Square region.

[274] Otter’s Pool was a country house at Aldenham, Herts,
afterwards for many years the seat of Sir James Shaw Willes, the
judge of common pleas.

[275] Surrey Chapel is now occupied by a large machinery firm.
Rowland Hill used to say, in allusion to its octagonal form, that
he liked a round building because there were no corners for the
devil to hide in. Here he won the devotion of his congregation and
the esteem of the many distinguished people who came to hear him.
Sheridan said: “I go to hear Rowland Hill because his ideas come
red-hot from the heart.” Dean Milner said to him, “Mr. Hill! Mr.
Hill! I felt to-day ’tis this slap-dash preaching, say what they
will, that does all the good.” He died at his house in Blackfriars
Road, April 11, 1833, aged 88, and was buried in a vault under his
pulpit.

[276] This fanatical advocate of Charles the First’s execution (at
St. Margaret’s, Westminster) was one of the regicides executed in
1660.

[277] Smith is nowhere mentioned by Lamb, and other evidence of
their acquaintance is wanting.

[278] George Frost (1754-1821) is remembered as the intimate friend
of Constable. Smart was John Smart (1740-1811), the miniature
painter. He died in London.

    “His genius lov’d his Country’s native views;
    Its taper spires, green lawns, or sheltered farms;
    He touch’d each scene with Nature’s genuine hues,
    And gave the _Suffolk_ landscape all its charms.”

[279] Smith had evidently asked Constable to ascertain for him the
exact date of Gainsborough’s birth. This is still uncertain: it
took place in Sepulchre Street, Sudbury, at the end of April or
beginning of May 1727. He was baptized on 14th May of that year in
the Independent meeting-house in Sudbury.

[280] James Gubbins was a subscriber to Smith’s _Remarks on Rural
Scenery_ (1797), a volume of etchings of cottage and rural scenes
around London. One of its drawings represents a squatter’s shanty
in Epping Forest, bowered in trees, and is entitled “Lady Plomer’s
Palace on the summit of Hawke’s Hill Wood, Epping Forest.”

[281] The Minories drawing referred to by Constable was Smith’s
etching in his _Antient Topography_ of the north and east walls of
the Convent of St. Clare, the remains of which were destroyed by
fire on March 23, 1797. Only a year before, Mr. John Cranch (the
C----h of Constable’s letter) had presented Smith with a sketch of
the convent. Constable, therefore, refers to the swift supersession
of Cranch’s sketch by Smith’s drawing after the fire.

[282] Elizabeth Pope died on 15th March of this year, aged 52.
The funeral to the Abbey was met everywhere by great crowds.
Her abilities had not been dimmed by those of Garrick, Mrs.
Siddons, and Miss Farren, and her private life was blameless. The
resemblance she bore to Lady Sarah Lennox was such that George
III., seeing her act late in her career, exclaimed to his queen,
“She is like Lady Sarah still.” There is a fine story of her
parting with Garrick. On June 8, 1776, his last appearance but one,
when he was playing Lear to her Cordelia, Garrick said to her with
a sigh: “Ah, Bess! this is the last time of my being your father;
you must now look out for someone else to adopt you.” “Then,
sir,” she exclaimed, dropping on her knees, “give me a father’s
blessing.” Garrick, deeply touched, raised her, and said, “God
bless you!”

[283] Nevertheless Pope married two more wives. His most lasting
affections appear to have been set on table delicacies. Once, when
Kean asked him to act with him at Dublin, and take a benefit there,
he declined, saying: “I must be at Plymouth at the time; it is
exactly the season for mullet.” He maintained that there was but
one crime: peppering a beef-steak.

[284] Pope had begun life as a crayon portrait painter in his
birthplace, Cork. A highly finished water-colour portrait of Henry
Grattan, from his hand, is in the British Museum Print Room.

[285] Francis Cotes, born in Cork Street, 1725, was a foundation
member of the Royal Academy, and famous for his crayon portraits.
He built himself a house in Cavendish Square (No. 32), in which
Romney afterwards lived for twenty-one years, followed by Sir
Martin A. Shee. It was demolished in 1904. The British Museum has
four portrait subjects by Cotes in crayon. He is poorly represented
in the National Gallery by a small portrait of Mrs. Brocas.

[286] Benjamin Green, born at Halesowen, became a drawing-master
at Christ’s Hospital, and member of the Incorporated Society of
Artists. He published many topographical plates, and engraved the
illustrations in Morant’s _History and Antiquities of the County of
Essex_ (1768). His drawings of Canonbury Tower and Highbury Barn
are in the British Museum Print Room. He died about 1800.

[287] The Right Honourable James Caulfield, first Earl of
Charlemont (1728-99), distinguished himself in Ireland politically;
in London he mixed with the Reynolds and Johnson set and was a
member of the Dilettanti Club. In the college at St. Andrews, which
Johnson and Boswell playfully imagined might be staffed by members
of the Literary Club, Lord Charlemont was assigned the chair of
modern history, and it was on Lord Charlemont that Boswell, Burke,
Sir Joshua Reynolds, and others laid the task of bringing Dr.
Johnson’s conversational powers into play by asking him whether a
ludicrous statement in the newspapers that he was taking dancing
lessons from Vestris was true.

[288] Thomas Cheesman, who had been pupil to Bartolozzi, engraved
“The Lady’s Last Stake, or Picquet, or Virtue in Danger,” after
Hogarth. He lived, successively, at 40 Oxford Street, 71 Newman
Street, and 28 Francis Street. His portrait, by Bartolozzi, is in
the National Portrait Gallery.

[289] Sir Lawrence Parsons (1758-1841), afterwards Earl of Rosse.
Like Lord Charlemont, he was opposed to the Union, and twelve
days after the date of this letter he moved in the Irish House of
Commons an address to the Crown to expunge a paragraph in favour of
the Union. This was carried by a majority of five votes.

[290] Had James Barry possessed no more than a tithe of the suavity
of Reynolds or West, his career would have been more fortunate. In
vain Burke, his best friend, pointed out that his business was to
paint, not to dispute. He used his chair of painting at the Royal
Academy to vilify the members to the students. In 1799 the climax
arrived, and the Academicians resolved on his expulsion. The King
consented, and the following entry appears in the records: “I
have struck out the adjoining name, in consequence of the opinion
entered in the minutes of the Council, and of the General Meeting,
which I fully approve. April 23, 1779.--G. R.” No work of Barry’s
is in the National Gallery, but he has an enduring memorial in
his six great paintings in the hall of the Society of Arts, John
Street. Here he finally lay in state among his works--as Haydon
said, “a pall worthy of the corpse.”

[291] John Brand (1744-1806), the excellent historian of
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and author of the _Popular Antiquities_. He
came to London in 1784, to fill the rectory of St. Mary-at-Hill. In
the same year he was appointed Resident Secretary of the Society of
Antiquaries, but he continued to discharge his duties in the City,
and died there, suddenly, in his rectory. He was buried in the
chancel of his church.

[292] The publication Flaxman indicates, and to which he wishes
to subscribe, is Smith’s important “Antiquities of Westminster,
the old Palace, St. Stephen’s Chapel (now the House of Commons).…
Containing two hundred and forty-six engravings of topographical
subjects, of which one hundred and twenty-two no longer remain.”

The reduction of the thickness of the side walls of St. Stephen’s
Chapel from three feet to one foot gave additional four feet to
the width of the chamber. So soon as the wainscotting was removed,
it was seen that the walls were adorned with beautiful paintings
of scriptural and historical subjects. The discovery excited great
interest, both on account of the antiquity of the paintings, which
were found to date from Edward III., and the fact that they were
painted in oils and were consequently among the earliest specimens
of that class of painting. Smith obtained permission to copy them.
He began work each morning, as soon as it was light, and was
followed so closely by the workmen that they sometimes demolished
in the afternoon the painting he had copied in the morning. This
task occupied him for six weeks. These valuable drawings are
engraved and  in the _Antiquities of Westminster_.

[293] Edward Hussey Delaval (1729-1814) of Seaton-Delaval,
Northumberland, the chemist, has a claim on the remembrance of
Londoners. In 1769 he and Benjamin Franklin were commissioned to
report to the Royal Society on the best means of protecting St.
Paul’s from lightning. Parliament Stairs, where his house stood,
was at the west end of the present Houses of Parliament, giving
access to the river from Abingdon Street. Delaval, who traced his
descent from the Conqueror’s standard-bearer at Hastings, died
here, aged 85.

[294] Parliament Stairs were open several months in the summer for
the accommodation of those gentlemen of Westminster School, who
practise the manly and healthy exercise of rowing; the key was held
by Mr. Tyrwhitt, whose servants regularly opened and closed the
gates night and morning.--S.

[295] John Carter, F.R.S. (1748-1817), is airily described by
Michael Bryan as “a harmless and inoffensive drudge.” He was
employed by the Society of Antiquaries, and by Horace Walpole and
others. His chief work, _The Ancient Architecture of England_,
occupied him many years. Carter was enthusiastically musical, but
the two operas on which he ventured are forgotten.

[296] Richard Bentley, only son of Dr. Bentley, the Master of
Trinity. He designed beautiful illustrations for Walpole’s
_edition-de-luxe_ of six of Gray’s poems, including the _Elegy_,
and gave much assistance in the architectural treatment of
Strawberry Hill. Walpole was under no delusion about their joint
experiments in Gothic. “Neither Mr. Bentley nor my workmen had
_studied_ the science,” he wrote to Thomas Barrett (June 5, 1788);
“my house therefore is but a sketch for beginners.”

[297] George Arnald (1763-1841) is represented in the National
Gallery by one pleasing landscape, hung in Room XX., “On the Ouse,
Yorkshire.” Some of his London subjects are reproduced by Smith in
his _Westminster_. His “View of the Palace and Abbey,” painted in
1803, just excludes Delaval’s house on the left.--George Francis
Joseph, A.R.A. (1764-1846), was a well-known portrait painter in
his day. He is represented in the National Gallery by portraits of
Spencer, Perceval, and Sir Stamford Raffles, and in the British
Museum Print Room by a water-colour portrait of Charles Lamb,
engravings from which appear in many editions of Lamb’s works.

[298] John Ker, third Duke of Roxburgh (1740-1804), one of the
greatest of book-collectors, lived at No. 11 St. James’s Square.
Smith’s epithet “the late” appertains to the time at which he wrote
this passage.

[299] The case of Colonel Joseph Wall was remarkable for the
culprit’s twenty years’ evasion of justice. His crime was the
murder of a soldier while he was Lieutenant-Governor of Goree,
in Senegambia, in 1782. The command of the fort at Goree was an
inferior appointment, usually given to some claimant who stood
in no great favour with the War Minister, and the troops of the
garrison were commonly regiments in disgrace. Wall exercised
his authority with great cruelty, and in 1782 punished Benjamin
Armstrong, a sergeant, with a wilful severity which resulted in his
death. Aware of the nature of his action, Wall fled to France. He
then came to England, and was tried by court-martial for cruelty;
but the proceedings hung fire, and he went to reside at Bath. He
was re-arrested in 1784, but escaped to the Continent. Finally, in
1797, he wrote to the Home Secretary, offering to stand his trial
for murder. He was tried, and sentenced to death, and, though the
likelihood of a reprieve seemed great, was hanged outside Newgate,
January 28, 1802.

[300] The _Gentleman’s Magazine_ records that Dr. Forde, the
Ordinary of Newgate, was “a very worthy man, and was much and
deservedly esteemed by the City magistrates, who, on his retirement
from office, settled on him an annuity which provided for the
comforts of his latter days.” Dr. Forde no doubt satisfied the City
authorities, but the Parliamentary Committee which investigated the
state of the prison in 1814 reported: “Beyond his attendance in
chapel, and on those who are sentenced to death, Dr. Forde feels
but few duties to be attached to his office. He knows nothing
of the state of morals in the prison; he never sees any of the
prisoners in private; … he never knows that any have been sick
till he gets a warning to attend their funeral; and does not go to
the infirmary, for it is not in his instructions.” Dr. Forde was
succeeded by the Rev. Mr. Cotton, who first officiated August 8,
1814.

[301] Maria Cosway, wife of Richard Cosway, the miniaturist.

[302] Black Boy Alley was notorious in the eighteenth century, and
at one time was infested by a gang who drowned their victims in the
Fleet River. No fewer than twenty-one were executed at once, after
which the humour of the neighbourhood called the place Jack Ketch’s
Common. In 1802, and earlier, Black Boy Alley was the scene of a
weekly display of badger-baiting.

[303] In the eighteenth century, Epping sent butter and sausages to
the London market, but the industry declined long ago.

[304] Pie Corner was at the Smithfield end of Giltspur Street,
a short distance north from the Old Bailey. “A very fine dirty
place,” is D’Urfey’s description of this spot, where the Great Fire
of London ended. It was long famous for its greasy cook-shops.

[305] In his _Nollekens_ Smith puts the same jibe into the mouth of
John Hamilton Mortimer, the painter. “Mortimer made Dr. Arne, who
had a very red face with staring eyes, furiously angry by telling
him that his eyes looked ‘like two oysters just opened for sauce
put upon an oval side-dish of beet-root.’”

[306] Peter Coxe, an auctioneer, and the author of a poem in
four cantos called “The Social Day,” published in 1823. He wrote
also “The Exposé, or Napoleon Buonaparte unmasked in a Condensed
Statement of his Career and Atrocities” (1809). His emollient
has escaped my search. Coxe was one of a long line of well-known
men who lived in the middle one of the three houses into which
Schomberg House, Pall Mall, was divided. He died in 1844.

[307] This generous woman, better known under the lawful title
of Lady Hamilton, when I showed her my etching of the funeral
procession of her husband’s friend, the immortal Nelson, fainted
and fell into my arms; and, believe me, reader, her mouth was equal
to any production of Greek sculpture I have yet seen (S.).--Smith’s
etching was entitled, “An Accurate View (drawn and etched by J. T.
Smith, Engraver of the _Antiquities of London and Westminster_)
from the house of W. Tunnard, Esq., on the Bankside, adjoining the
Scite of Shakespeare’s Theatre, on Wednesday the 8th January 1806,
when the remains of the great Admiral Lord Nelson were brought from
Greenwich to Whitehall.”

[308]

    “The Fair One, whose charms did the Barber enthral,
    At the end of Fleet Market of fish kept a stall:
    As red as her cheek no boil’d lobster was seen,
    Not an eel that she sold was as soft as her skin.”

    THE BARBER’S NUPTIALS.

[309] From _The Wife’s Trial_, Lamb’s dramatic version of Crabbe’s
_Confidant_. See Mr. Lucas’s _Works of Charles and Mary Lamb_, vol.
v. p. 257.

[310] All previous relic-selling at Newgate was, however, eclipsed
by the sale held in the partly demolished prison on Wednesday, 4th
February 1903. The following account appeared in the _City Press_
of 7th February:--

“In its way, probably, the sale which Messrs. Douglas Young & Co.
conducted in the middle of the week, within the gloomy precincts
of crime-stricken Newgate, was the most unique and memorable of
its kind ever held. Crowds of the curious and speculative were
naturally attracted to the fortress prison site.

“Interest more particularly hovered around the old toll bell, with
its famous loyal inscription, and solid ton of metal. The hour was
late when the lot (No. 188 in the catalogue) was reached, but that
circumstance did not in any way detract from the briskness of the
bidding. Starting at £30, the offers rapidly mounted; and, finally,
the prized souvenir of many a tragic decade passed into the hands
of Mr. Richardson (acting as agent for Madame Tussaud’s) for the
exact sum of £100. The old flagstaff, whence the black flag was
hoisted immediately after an execution had taken place, fell to
the enterprise of Mr. Fox, a Cape gentleman, who, for 11½ guineas,
has ensured that in future the Union Jack shall flutter in South
African breezes from its fateful masthead.

“The famous oak and iron-cased half-latticed door associated with
memories of Mrs. Elizabeth Fry, of philanthropic fame, went for
£20; while Sir George Chubb secured for £30, amidst some cheering,
the wonderful old massive oak and iron-bound half-latticed main
entrance door that was fixed up when the prison was rebuilt after
the Great Fire of 1666. A warder’s key-cupboard, fitted with shelf
and iron hooks--identical with the one referred to in _Barnaby
Rudge_--extracted £12, 10s. from the pockets of the bidder; while
the appointments of the condemned cells, both male and female,
realised fairly good prices--the former in particular.

“The chapel pulpit, at £8, 10s., was a distinctly disappointing
figure; while it cannot be said that £5, 15s. was an extravagant
sum to pay for the complete equipment of the execution shed. The
taste for criminology, in the shape of the plaster casts of the
heads of nine victims of the gallows, worked out at five guineas.

“Some of the liveliest bidding of the day took place over the
numerous lots of copper washing bowls, in which the inmates of
Newgate testified that cleanliness was next to godliness. The
lowest price realised was £2, 12s. 6d. for a set of three bowls;
while sets of four realised, on several occasions, as much as £5.
Altogether it was a sale in which monotony and curiosity singularly
intermingled, and, withal, one ever to be remembered by those who
happened to be present.”

[311] The flying physician of the Chapter Coffee House was Dr.
William Buchan, who, in the last half of the eighteenth century,
was regularly consulted at this coffee-house in St. Paul’s Alley
by ailing bookmen. His advice frequently took this form: “Now,
let me prescribe for you. Here, John, bring a glass of punch for
Mr.----, unless he likes brandy and water better. Take that, sir,
and I’ll warrant you’ll soon be well. You’re a peg too low, you
want stimulus, and if one glass won’t do, call for a second.” His
place was in a box in the north-east corner of the room, known as
the “Wittenagemot,” where he not only prescribed, but acted as an
arbiter of debate. James Montgomery, in his _Memoirs_, describes
him as “of venerable aspect, neat in his dress, his hair tied
behind with a large ribbon, and a gold-headed cane in his hand,
quite realising my idea of an Esculapian dignitary.”

Buchan was, indeed, a physician of repute, and his _Domestic
Medicine, or the Family Physician_, was not only the first English
work of its kind, but ran into nineteen large editions. It was said
that the publishers gave him £700 down for it, and reaped £700 a
year. In Russia and in America and the West Indies the book was
welcomed. The Empress Catherine sent the author a gold medallion
and a complimentary letter.

To members of the Society of Friends the career of this genial
doctor is of some interest, inasmuch as at one time he was
physician to the Yorkshire branch of the Foundling Hospital at
Ackworth, an unfortunate institution which in 1779 was taken over
by this Society, to become the flourishing and historic school of
to-day. Buchan lived many years with his son at No. 6 Percy Street,
Rathbone Place, and died there February 25, 1806, aged seventy-six.
He was buried in the west cloister of Westminster Abbey, near Dr.
Richard Jebb, and Wollett, the engraver.

[312] Flockton was for nearly half a century a showman at St.
Bartholomew’s and Sturbridge Fairs. These lines appeared on some of
his bills:--

    “To raise the soul by means of wood and wire,
    To Screw the fancy up a few pegs higher;
    In miniature to show the world at large,
    As folks conceive a ship who’ve seen a barge,
    This is the scope of all our actors’ play,
    Who hope their _wooden_ aims will not be thrown away!”

He died at Camberwell, April 12, 1794, leaving £5000, most of which
he bequeathed to his company. An engraving of his show bears the
almost Yankee inscription, “The Only Booth in the Fair;” and on the
balustrade of the stairs to its entrance is inscribed the curiously
modern injunction, “Tumble up! tumble up!”

[313] Honey Lane Market, famous in the eighteenth century for
its provisions, keeps its name close to Cheapside. In 1835, the
pillared and belfried market-house gave place to the City of London
School, since removed to the Thames Embankment. The “Market” is
still an odd oasis of domestic shopping in the City’s larger
operations.

[314] This was Belzoni’s “Narrative of the Operations and Recent
Discoveries within the Pyramids, Temples, Tombs, and Excavations,
in Egypt and Nubia;--and of a--Journey to the Coast of the Red Sea,
in search of--the Ancient Berenice;--and another to--the Oasis
of Jupiter Ammon. By G. Belzoni. London:--John Murray, Albemarle
Street.--1820.” At the end of the book comes “Mrs. Belzoni’s
Trifling Account--of the--Women of Egypt, Nubia, and Syria.”

That Belzoni, turned author, retained the physical strength of
his showman days, is shown in a story told by Dr. Smiles in his
_Memoirs of John Murray_. “Like many other men of Herculean power,
he was not eager to exhibit his strength, but on one occasion he
gave proof of it. Mr. Murray had asked him to accompany him to
the Coronation of George IV. They had tickets of admittance to
Westminster Hall, but on arriving there they found that the sudden
advent of Queen Caroline, attended by a mob claiming admission
to the Abbey, had alarmed the authorities, and who had caused
all doors to be shut. That by which they should have entered was
held close and guarded by several stalwart janitors. Belzoni
thereupon advanced to the door, and, in spite of the efforts of
these guardians, including Tom Crib and others of the pugilistic
corps who had been engaged as constables, opened it with ease, and
admitted himself and Mr. Murray.”

[315] Dr. Robert Richardson (1779-1847) went to Egypt and Palestine
with the Earl of Belmore in 1816, and published his _Travels_ in
1822. Lady Blessington lent the book to Byron, who said: “The
author is just the sort of man I should like to have with me
for Greece--clever both as a man and a physician.” Richardson
afterwards settled in Rathbone Place. He died in Gordon Street,
Gordon Square, Nov. 5, 1847.

[316] The creator of the Leverian Museum was the eldest son of
Sir Darcey Lever, of Alkrington, near Manchester. As a young man
he had delighted in horses and birds. His treasures had grown in
interest and numbers, until he was persuaded to turn a private
hobby into a public speculation. He hired Leicester House in 1771,
and for thirteen years maintained and increased it, at a cost of
£50,000, against which he could set only £13,000 in receipts. In
1784 he was authorised to issue 36,000 guinea tickets, of which
one was to entitle the holder to the entire museum. A proposal
for the purchase of the museum by the nation, which Dr. Johnson
favoured, came to nothing. Only 8000 tickets had been sold when
the drawing took place. The one prize, the museum, was drawn by a
Mr. Parkinson, who thus acquired for a guinea the largest general
collection in Europe, including the curiosities collected by
Captain Cook in his South Sea voyages.

Sir Ashton Lever died suddenly in 1788, at Manchester. Meanwhile
Mr. Parkinson had built the Rotunda in Albion Place, at the
south end of Blackfriars Bridge, for the display of the “Museum
Leverianum.” The scheme failed, and in 1806 the museum was sold by
auction at King & Lochee’s rooms in King Street, Covent Garden,
the sale lasting sixty-five days. The catalogue filled 410
octavo pages, and there were 7879 lots. The deserted “Rotunda”
at Blackfriars deteriorated until it was known to Tom Taylor as
“something very much like a penny gaff.” Taylor, by the way, tells
us that Sir Ashton Lever conceived the idea of sending a ship-load
of potatoes to the defenders of Gibraltar, and this was done.

[317] By “this year” Smith means 1784. His note is little more
than a copy of the following newspaper paragraph of May 29, 1784,
quoted by Lewis in his _History of Islington_: “Thursday a grand
cricket-match was played in the White Conduit Fields. Among the
players were the Duke of Dorset, Lord Winchilsea, Lord Talbot,
Colonel Tarleton, Mr. Howe, Mr. Damer, Hon. Mr. Lennox, and the
Rev. Mr. Williams. A pavilion was erected for refreshments, and a
number of ladies attended.”

John Frederick Sackville, third Duke of Dorset (1745-99), was a
member of the Hambledon Club, and of the committee which drew up
the original laws of the M.C.C. He employed several of the best
cricketers of his day, and presented Sevenoaks with a cricket
ground. As our Ambassador to France he arranged for a British
cricket eleven to play in Paris, but the Revolution disturbances
prevented the match.

The Earl of Winchilsea (1752-1826) was also a member of the
Hambledon. He introduced four wickets, two inches higher than the
standard. “The game is then rendered shorter by easier bowling
out,” said the _Hampshire Chronicle_, but the Earl’s plan is still
a dream and a controversy.

The Hon. Mr. Lennox is referred to in a newspaper of the period as
“nephew to his grace of Richmond,” and he and Lord Winchilsea are
described as the chief performers at White Conduit House.

Colonel Sir Banastre Tarleton went through the War of Independence
with distinction, and lived with “Perdita” (Mary Robinson) for some
years, receiving from her much devotion. He represented Liverpool
in Parliament for twenty-two years, and attained the rank of
General.

The White Conduit Club, of which these gentlemen were members,
has a high importance in the history of cricket, for out of it
sprang, in 1787, the Marylebone Cricket Club. “The M.C.C. Club,”
says Mr. Andrew Lang in a sketch of cricket history, “may be said
to have sprung from the ashes of the White Conduit Club, dissolved
in 1787. One Thomas Lord, by the aid of some members of the older
association, made a ground in the space which is now Dorset Square.
This was the first ‘Lord’s’.” Two removals brought the ground to
its present location in St. John’s Wood, where the first recorded
match was played, June 22, 1814.

[318] Du Val’s Lane is now represented by Hornsey Road. It seems
to have been originally “Devil’s Lane,” but to have been popularly
re-named from Claude Duval (1643-70), the highwayman, who, like
Dick Turpin, favoured this district. Born at Domfront in Normandy,
Du Val came to England in the train of the Duke of Richmond,
and took to the road. He was famous for his gallantries to his
victims. He was captured on January 17, 1669 or 1670, in the
Hole-in-the-Wall Tavern, Chandos Street, and although intercession
was made for him by ladies of rank, he was hanged at Tyburn within
four days. The exhibition of his body at the Tangier Tavern, St.
Giles’s, drew such crowds that it had to be stopped. It is hard to
believe that Du Val was accorded a grave in the centre aisle of
Covent Garden Church, and that his epitaph began--

    Here lies Du Vall: Reader, if male thou art,
    Look to thy purse; if female, to thy heart;

but it is so stated in the _Memoirs of Monsieur Du Val_, 1670. His
funeral, we read, “was attended with many flambeaux, and a numerous
train of mourners, whereof most were of the beautiful sex.”

[319] Nathaniel Hillier, of Pancras Lane, merchant, died March 1,
1783, aged 76 (_Gentleman’s Magazine_).

[320] This tea-pot passed into the possession of that eccentric
virtuoso, Henry Constantine Noel, of whom Smith gives an account
under 1818. Noel had the following extraordinary inscription
engraved on it:--

“We are told by Lucian, that the earthen lamp, which had
administered to the lucubrations of Epictetus, was at his death
purchased for the enormous sum of three thousand drachmas: why,
then, may not imagination equally amplify the value of this
unadorned vessel, long employed for the infusion of that favourite
herb, whose enlivening virtues are said to have so often protracted
the elegant and edifying lucubrations of Samuel Johnson; the
zealous advocate of that innocent beverage, against its declared
enemy, Jonas Hanway. It was weighed out for sale under the
inspection of Sir John Hawkins, at the very minute when they were
in the next room closing the incision through which Mr. Cruickshank
had explored the ruinated machinery of its dead master’s thorax; so
Bray the silversmith, conveyed there in Sir John’s carriage, thus
hastily to buy the plate, informed its present possessor, Henry
Constantine Noel, by whom it was, for its celebrated services,
on the 1st of November 1788, rescued from the undiscriminating
obliterations of the furnace.”

[321] In this letter, Charles Townley, the collector of the Townley
marbles, probably refers to William Lock (1732-1810), the wealthy
connoisseur, and a friend of Madame d’Arblay. He lived at Norbury
Park, where he was hospitable to Madame de Staël. He was described
as the “arbiter, advocate, and common friend of all lovers of art.”

[322] The “Triumph of Bacchus” was one of eight great pictures
which Rubens painted for the palace at Madrid.

[323] Annibale Caracci was employed by Cardinal Farnese to decorate
the famous gallery that bears his name. He produced a masterly
series of frescoes.

[324] Welbore Ellis, first Baron Mendip, was the third owner of
Pope’s Villa at Twickenham, after the poet.

[325] “1811, Feb. 3.--In Great Ormond Street, Atkinson Bush, Esq.,
in the 76th year of his age” (_European Magazine_, February 1811).

[326] Parton’s book, _Some Account of the Hospital and Parish of
St. Giles’ in the Fields, Middlesex_ (1822), by “the late” Mr.
John Parton, gives the plan in question, but does not touch on the
matter of its authenticity. It is clear, however, that his plans
and maps are largely conjectural.

[327] A distinction she shared with Miss Mary Moser. These are
the only women who have been members of the Royal Academy, but it
cannot be said that their talent was very exceptional. Peter Pindar
irreverently said that Mary Moser was made an R.A. for “a sublime
Picture of a Plate of Gooseberries.”

[328] The annals of British art do not contain a more tragic story
than that of “the late” William Wynn Ryland. A man of great talent,
he was engraver to George III., and an exhibitor at the Royal
Academy; but it was his fate to be hanged at Tyburn for forging a
bond of several thousand pounds. How he presented this document in
person at the India House, is narrated by Henry Angelo as a proof
of his extraordinary self-command.

“The cashier, on receiving the document, examined it carefully, and
referred to the ledger; then, comparing the date, observed, ‘Here
is a mistake, Sir; the bond, as entered, does not become due until
to-morrow.’

“Ryland, begging permission to look at the book, on its being
handed to him, observed: ‘So I perceive--there must be an error
in your entry of one day;’ and offered to leave the bond, not
betraying the least disappointment or surprise. The mistake
appearing to the cashier to be obviously an error in his office,
the bond was paid to Ryland, who departed with the money. The next
day the true bond was presented, when the forgery was discovered,
of course; and, within a few hours after, the fraud was made
public, and steps were taken for the recovery of the perpetrator.

“This document, lately in the possession of a gentleman now
deceased, I have often seen. It is, perhaps, the most extraordinary
piece of deceptive art, in the shape of imitation, that was ever
produced.”

A reprieve for Ryland was sought on the ground of his extraordinary
abilities, but, as was usual in cases of forgery, without success.
George III. is said to have replied: “No; a man with such ample
means of providing for his wants could not reasonably plead
necessity as an excuse for his crime.” But the artist’s petition
for a respite was both granted and renewed. He explained that he
desired no extension of life except as the means of completing
his last engraving, and so adding to his wife’s stock of plates.
The subject was Queen Eleanor sucking the poison from the arm of
her husband, Edward I., from a painting by Angelica Kauffmann. He
laboured hard on this work, and when he received the first proof
from his printer, said, “Mr. Haddril, I thank you; my task is now
accomplished.” He was hanged within a week, and his was the last
execution at Tyburn. Henry Angelo says that, like Dr. Dodd, Ryland
was allowed to proceed to Tyburn in a mourning coach.

The story of William Blake’s prophecy of Ryland’s end is well
known. His father had intended to apprentice him to Ryland, but was
frustrated by the unaccountable attitude of the boy, who, after
they had called on the engraver at his studio, said, “Father, I do
not like the man’s face; it looks as if he will live to be hanged.”
Twelve years later came the fulfilment. Col. W. F. Prideaux
recently mentioned in _Notes and Queries_ that he possesses a
curious collection concerning Ryland’s case which was formed by the
Rev. H. Cotton, the ordinary of Newgate. It includes the original
handbill offering a reward for Ryland’s apprehension, and a drawing
of the engraver’s mother by John Thomas Smith.

[329] In the _Dictionary of National Biography_, Miss E. T. Bradley
sums up the impressions Angelica Kauffmann made: “Goldsmith
wrote some lines to her; Garrick, whom she painted, was much
fascinated by her, and Fuseli paid addresses to her. Her most
serious flirtation, however, was with Sir Joshua Reynolds, whose
acquaintance she made directly she arrived in London. He painted
her portrait twice. She frequently visited his studio, and painted
a weak and uncharacteristic portrait of the painter, which
Bartolozzi engraved. Nathaniel Dance, whom she had met in Italy, is
also said to have been hopelessly in love with her.”

[330] Sir Nathaniel Dance-Holland, first baronet (1734-1811), met
Angelica Kauffmann in Italy, and was said to have been hopelessly
in love with her. He was an original member of the Royal Academy,
but resigned his diploma in 1790 on his marriage to Mrs. Drummer,
known facetiously as “The Yorkshire Fortune,” from her possession
of £18,000 a year. He assumed the additional name of Holland, and
sat in Parliament for Grinstead. In his time he was a capable but
stiff portrait painter, and painted full-length portraits of George
III. and his Queen.

[331] A deed of separation was obtained from Pope Pius VI. After
the “Count’s” death, Angelica Kauffmann married in London, July
14, 1781, Antonio Pietro Zucchi, a Venetian painter who had long
lived in England, and had been employed by Adam, the architect. He
decorated Garrick’s house in the Adelphi. He died in 1795.

[332] Thomas Pitt, first Baron Camelford, was a prominent
politician and an opponent of Lord North. At Twickenham, where he
settled in 1762, he and Horace Walpole exchanged ideas on Gothic
architecture.

[333] Probably the well-known Dr. Bates, M.D., of Missenden, Bucks.

[334] Willey Reveley, architect, and editor of vol. iii. of
Stuart’s _Antiquities of Athens_.

[335] Smith’s task had been protracted by his tiresome quarrel
with his collaborator, John Sidney Hawkins. They pamphletted and
“vindicated” to their hearts’ content, but the dispute is not worth
unravelling.

[336] Henry White, then Sacrist of Lichfield Cathedral.

[337] George Dance, who died in 1825, was the architect of the
recently demolished Newgate Prison, also of St. Luke’s Hospital
and the Guildhall entrance façade. He was the last survivor of the
foundation members of the Royal Academy, and was buried in St.
Paul’s Cathedral. William Daniell, R.A., was well known for his
Indian and Oriental illustrations. He painted a panorama of Madras,
and another of “The City of Lucknow and the mode of Taming Wild
Elephants.” His painting, “A View of the Long Walk, Windsor,” is in
the royal collection.

[338] Fuseli’s quaint violences of speech were many, and gained
in effect from his Swiss accent. He swore roundly, a habit which
Haydon says he caught from his friend Dr. Armstrong, the poet. He
said a subject should interest, astonish, or move; if it did none
of these, it was worth “noding by Gode.” A visitor to his imposing,
but unsuccessful, Milton Gallery of forty paintings, said to him,
“Pray, sir, what is that picture?” “It is the bridging of Chaos;
the subject from Milton.” “No wonder,” said the inquirer, “I did
not know it, for I never read Milton, but I will.” “I advise you
not, sir, for you will find it a d----d tough job.” He said, on
looking at Northcote’s painting of the angel meeting Balaam and
his ass: “Northcote, you are an angel at an ass, but an ass at an
angel.” Once, at the table of Mr. Coutts, the banker, Mrs. Coutts,
dressed like Morgiana, came dancing in, presenting her dagger at
every breast. As she confronted Nollekens, Fuseli called out,
“Strike--strike--there’s no fear; Nolly was never known to bleed.”
He recommended a sculptor to find some newer emblem of eternity
than a serpent with a tail in its mouth. The _something newer_
(says Cunningham) startled a man whose imagination was none of the
brightest, and he said, “How shall I find something new?” “Oh,
nothing so easy,” said Fuseli; “I’ll help you to it. When I went
away to Rome I left two fat men cutting fat bacon in St. Martin’s
Lane; in ten years’ time I returned, and found the two fat men
cutting fat bacon still; twenty years more have passed, and there
the two fat fellows cut the fat flitches the same as ever. Carve
them--if they do not look like an image of eternity, I wot not what
does.”

[339] In the last ten years of his stage career Bannister travelled
with his “Budget” of songs, anecdotes, and imitations, through
England, Scotland, and Ireland.

[340] The Rev. Stephen Weston, F.R.S. (1747-1830), a well-known
antiquary and classical scholar, held the Devonshire livings of
Mainhead and Little Hempston, Devon, but left that county after
the death of his wife. He engaged in some spirited attempts to
translate Gray’s _Elegy_ into Greek, and published his _Elegia
Grayiana, Græce_, in 1794. He was fond of the French capital,
and published _The Praise of Paris_ in 1803. An old friend of
Nollekens, he was present at the funeral so airily described by
Smith in his life of the sculptor.

[341] Swan _upping_ (or marking) is still carried out yearly on the
Thames by the representatives of the Crown and by the Dyers’ and
Vintners’ Companies, who have the privilege of keeping swans on the
river. Formerly the state barges of the City went up to Staines,
and ceremonies were performed. Even to-day the expedition of the
swan-markers is picturesque; the skiffs bear the flags of the
several authorities, the markers wear flannels and distinguishing
jerseys, and the overseers don special tunics and peaked caps. The
birds are caught by means of long hooked poles.

[342] Tooke did not, therefore, “try the question” of his silver
caddy; but had it not been returned he would have done so in his
character of the inimitable litigant. “A court of law,” says
Hazlitt, in his masterly portrait of Tooke in _The Spirit of
the Age_, “was the place where Mr. Tooke made the best figure
in public. He might assuredly be said to be ‘native and endued
unto that element.’ He had here to stand merely on the defensive:
not to advance himself, but to block up the way: not to impress
others, but to be himself impenetrable. All he wanted was _negative
success_; and to this no one was better qualified to aspire. Cross
purposes, _moot-points_, pleas, demurrers, flaws in the indictment,
double meanings, cases, inconsequentialities, these were the
playthings, the darlings of Mr. Tooke’s mind; and with these he
baffled the Judge, dumbfounded the Counsel, and outwitted the Jury.
The report of his trial before Lord Kenyon is a masterpiece of
acuteness, dexterity, modest assurance, and legal effect. It is
much like his examination before the Commissioners of the Income
Tax--nothing could be got out of him in either case!”

[343] He had, indeed, prepared a tomb for himself in his garden
at Wimbledon, and the funeral invitations, as first sent out,
contemplated his burial here. He was buried in a family vault at
Ealing, to which the following inscription was added: “JOHN HORNE
TOOKE, late of Wimbledon, Author of the _Diversions of Purley_: was
born June 1736, and died March 18, 1812, contented and happy.”

[344] The Rev. William Huntington obtained influence over
multitudes by a grotesque piety and a compelling pulpit manner. He
appended the initials S.S. to his name, signifying “Sinner Saved.”
His true name was Hunt, and he himself tells how he added two
syllables to it as a disguise after being called upon to support
an illegitimate child. The son of a Kentish day labourer, he had
been errand boy, gardener, cobbler, and coal-heaver. At last he
turned wholly preacher, and in that character came up to London
from Thames Ditton, “bringing two large carts, with furniture and
other necessaries, besides a post-chaise well filled with children
and cats,” as he relates. He became minister of Margaret Street
Chapel, where he urged the power of prayer, telling his hearers
that whenever he wanted a thing--a horse, a pair of breeches, or a
pound of tea--he prayed for it and it came. In 1788 his admirers
built him a chapel in the Gray’s Inn Road at a cost of £9000. He
called it Providence Chapel, and was shrewd enough to obtain the
personal freehold. He carried pulpit brusqueness to the extreme.
“Wake that snoring sinner!” and “Silence that noisy numskull!”
were his frequent observations. By his marriage with the widow of
Sir James Sanderson, who had been Lord Mayor of London, he gained
wealth, and in 1811 he became the tenant of Dr. Valangin’s mansion
on Hermes Hill, Pentonville. This eminent Swiss physician had named
his estate Hermes Hill in honour of Hermes Trismegithus, the fabled
discoverer of chemistry. Huntington’s health failed him, and he
exchanged the air of Pentonville for Tunbridge Wells, where he
died July 1, 1813. Smith’s story of the disciple who purchased a
barrel of beer at the sale of Huntington’s effects is apparently
true. Extravagant prices were paid for less perishable souvenirs.
An arm-chair worth fifty shillings fetched sixty guineas, and an
ordinary pair of spectacles seven guineas. The Pentonville mansion
has long disappeared, but Hermes Street dingily perpetuates its
curious history.

[345] Smith’s Beef Steak friend, John Nixon, was an Irish factor,
who, with his brother Richard, lived over his warehouses in
Basinghall Street. He was wealthy and convivial, a bachelor, a good
business man, an admirable host, an amateur actor, and a comic
artist. His drawing of “The Jolly Undertakers” regaling themselves
at the Falcon Tavern, near Clapham Junction, is well known; the
landlord’s name was Robert Death, and the undertakers are seen
regaling themselves “at Death’s door.” Nixon’s original picture
long remained at the Falcon (now rebuilt), and was considered a
fixture.

The history of the Sublime Society of Beef Steaks was mournfully
recalled two years ago by the closing and subsequent sale of its
last home, the Lyceum Theatre. John Rich, the patentee of Covent
Garden Theatre, is usually named as its founder, but the germ of
the Society (its members loathed the name of Club) lay in the
creature needs of his scene painter, George Lambert, of whom
Edwards relates in his _Anecdotes of Painting_--

“As it frequently happened that he was too much hurried to leave
his engagements for his regular dinner, he contented himself with
a beefsteak broiled upon the fire in the painting-room. In this
hasty meal he was sometimes joined by his visitors, who were
pleased to participate in the humble repast of the artist. The
savour of the dish and the conviviality of the accidental meeting
inspired the party with a resolution to establish a club, which was
accordingly done under the title of the ‘Beefsteak Club’; and the
party assembled in the painting-room. The members were afterwards
accommodated with a room in the playhouse, where the meetings were
held for many years.”

Among the earlier members were Hogarth, Theophilus Cibber, George
IV., when Prince of Wales, the Earl of Sandwich, George Colman,
Wilkes. Charles Morris, the Laureate of the Beefsteaks, was
admitted in 1785, and remained a member till his death in 1838,
after being for more than fifty years the life and soul of the
Society. “Die when you will, Charles, you’ll die in your youth,”
were Curran’s words, and Morris died young at ninety-three. His
“Sweet shady side of Pall Mall” is the best London song of its kind.

The Society dined and wined itself into the nineteenth century
without a thought of change, but when Covent Garden Theatre was
burnt down in 1808, the Beefsteakers, who had taken shelter at the
Bedford Coffee House, went to the Lyceum Theatre at the invitation
of Samuel James Arnold. There, for sixty years, they met in a
banquet room behind the stage. In 1867 the number of members had
fallen to eighteen, and in that year the famous coterie closed its
doors and sent its Lares and Penates to Christie’s, that mart of
abandoned playthings. “Brother” Walter Arnold’s _Life and Death of
the Sublime Society of Beef Steaks_ (1871) is a singularly complete
and interesting memorial of the “jolly old Steakers of England.”

The “Ad Libitum” Society, of which Nixon was also a member, and
which was quite distinct from the Beefsteaks, held its meetings
successively at the Shakespeare Tavern, the Piazza Coffee House,
Robins’s Rooms, and the Bedford Coffee House. Thomas Dibdin gives a
list of its members in his _Reminiscences_.

[346] Mrs. Abington died on the 4th.

[347] Garrick’s troubles with this actress were such that he wrote
to her in reply to one of her complaints: “Let me be permitted to
say, that I never yet saw Mrs. Abington theatrically happy for a
week together.” During his later managership Garrick had ceaseless
struggles with his actresses, by which he was greatly wearied. “The
lively ‘Pivy’ Clive, the stately Mrs. Barry, Pope, the established
Hoyden of the theatre, Miss Younge, Mrs. Yates, Mrs. Abington, all
tried the effect of a modified revolt” (Percy Fitzgerald: _Life of
Garrick_).

[348] Stafford Row was near Stafford Gate, St. James’s Park. Mrs.
Yates died here in 1787, and Mrs. Radcliffe, the author of the
_Mysteries of Udolpho_, in 1823.

[349] These lines occur in the epilogue to General Burgoyne’s
comedy, _The Maid of the Oaks_, written by him expressly for Mrs.
Abington, who performed the part of Lady Bab Lardoon in the season
1773-74. Garrick wrote the epilogue in question to be spoken by
Mrs. Abington.

[350] These lines do not belong to _The Maid of the Oaks_, the
subject of Garrick’s letter of 9th November. I have not been able
to trace them.

[351] See Wilmot’s Letters, British Museum.--S.

[352] John Thane (1748-1818) was a well-known printseller in Soho,
and the editor of _British Autography: a Collection of Facsimiles
of the Handwriting of Royal and Illustrious Personages, with their
Authentic Portraits_ (1793).

[353] John Blaquière (1732-1812) sat in both Irish and United
Kingdom Parliaments. At this time (1771) he was Secretary of
Legation in Paris.

[354] This letter is the earliest from Walpole to Mrs. Abington
in Peter Cunningham’s collection, where it bears the more precise
date, September 1, 1771. At that time Walpole had no private
acquaintance with Mrs. Abington. Eight years later, Mrs. Abington
is still seeking his acquaintance, for he writes in April 1779 to
excuse himself from an invitation she had sent him. But on May 22,
1779, Walpole says at the end of a letter to the Honourable H. S.
Conway: “I am going to sup with Mrs. Abington, and hope Mrs. Clive
will not hear of it.” No doubt he did so, and it was after this
stage in their acquaintance that he wrote the letter of June 11,
1780 (see opposite page).

[355] Sir Walter James James, first Baronet (1759-1829), married
Jane, sister of John Jeffreys, second Earl, and first Marquis,
Camden.

[356] At this time Mrs. Jordan was absent from the stage, in
obedience to her lover, the Duke of Clarence, afterwards William
IV. By him she had ten children. She had also four children by Sir
Richard Ford, and a daughter by her Cork manager, Richard Daly.
But, says Leigh Hunt, she “made even Methodists love her.” In 1811
the Duke of Clarence made an arrangement by which she received
£4400 a year for the maintenance of herself and all her children,
on condition that if she returned to the stage the Duke’s daughters
and £1500 a year were to revert to him. All these daughters married
well. Mrs. Jordan died embarrassed and unhappy at St. Cloud, a good
deal of mystery shrouding her end. Tate Wilkinson tells how she
finally exchanged her maiden name of Bland for Jordan. “You have
crossed the water, my dear,” he said to her once, “so I’ll call you
Jordan.” “And by the memory of Sam! if she didn’t take my joke in
earnest, and call herself Mrs. Jordan ever since.”

[357] In a letter dated January 24, 1816, in my possession, which
was evidently intended to be sent as a circular to some of his
stauncher patrons, Smith states that he had found the previous
year very “unprofitable to the Arts,” and that owing to the great
number of families who left England for France “last season”
(_i.e._ after Waterloo), his income had been small. He has applied
himself closely to his etching table, and is now able to lay before
his correspondent the first three numbers of a small work at a
remarkably cheap rate. This was his _Vagabondiana, or Anecdotes of
Mendicant Wanderers through the Streets of London, with Portraits
of the Most Remarkable drawn from Life_. The increase of beggars
in London had engaged serious attention, and legislation was in
the air. The Society for the Suppression of Mendicity was founded
in 1818. Smith’s work is the artistic forerunner of Charles Lamb’s
_Complaint of the Decay of Beggars in the Metropolis_, written
in 1822, when “the all-sweeping besom of sectarian reform” had
done its work. The Herculean legless beggar whose portrait Lamb
draws with so much gusto, appears in Smith’s gallery of etchings.
But whereas Mr. E. V. Lucas identifies him as Samuel Horsey, I
venture to think he was the beggar named John MacNally. Smith’s
figure of Horsey hardly suggests a Hercules, nor does another
portrait of him from Kirby’s “Wonderful and Scientific Museum.” I
suggest that the beggar of whom Lamb wrote, in 1822, “He seemed
earth-born, an Antæus, and to suck in fresh vigour from the soil
which he neighboured; he was a grand fragment; as good as an Elgin
marble; the nature, which should have recruited his left leg and
thighs, was not lost, but only retired into his upper parts, and
he was half a Hercules,” was identical with the beggar whom John
Thomas Smith describes as an “extraordinary torso”: “His head,
shoulders, and chest, which are exactly those of Hercules, would
prove valuable models for the artist.” This Hercules is John
MacNally. Were there two London legless beggars who could suggest
to two minds such images of antique magnificence of physique? It is
possible, but unlikely.

[358] First cousin, once removed, of the poet.

[359] Charles Manners-Sutton, Archbishop of Canterbury 1805-28.

[360] Thomas Gilliland, whose _Dramatic Mirror_ is still consulted,
was not too popular with the actors and actresses whose lives he
compiled. He was practically warned off the Green-room of Drury
Lane Theatre by Charles Mathews, the elder.

[361] Smith is mistaken as to the date of the first race. This
was rowed on August 1, 1716. A portrait of a waterman in his
boat, still preserved in the Watermen’s Hall, St. Mary’s Hill, is
supposed to represent the first wearer of the coat and badge, a
white horse being painted on the back-board of the boat. It is said
that John Broughton, afterwards the prize-fighter, and the founder
of boxing, was this winner. Under Doggett’s will, only one prize,
the coat and badge, was given, but additional prizes have been
added under the will of Sir William Jolliff, in 1820, and by the
Fishmongers’ Company. These prizes are generous. Even the last of
the six young watermen to reach the winning-post is sure of £2; the
other unsuccessful candidates receive sums from £3 to £6 each. The
winner of the race is £10 in pocket, his name is added to the long
roll of previous winners, and he wears Doggett’s coat (made to fit
him) among the coated élite of Watermen’s Hall.

A clever and genial man, Doggett was known everywhere by his
immense wig, on the top of which, not without the aid of pins,
rested a small cocked hat. He carried a rapier, and took snuff
incessantly. Only two portraits of him are known: one represents
him dancing the Cheshire Round with the motto, “Ne sutor
ultra crepidam,” and the Garrick Club has a portrait, but its
authenticity is questioned.

[362] _The Waterman_ was, indeed, announced as the after-piece to
_The Wonder_, but Garrick had no part in it, and his great farewell
scene rendered its performance impossible alike to actors and
audience.

[363] Sarah Sophia Banks (1744-1818) was a virtuoso, and collector
of natural history specimens. She kept house for her brother, Sir
Joseph Banks, at 32 Soho Square, at the corner of Frith Street.
Here Sir Joseph, who is mentioned by Smith elsewhere, gave his
Sunday evening conversaziones, at which Cavendish and Wollaston
were the prominent guests. Sir Henry Holland describes these
evenings in his _Recollections_. Gifford of the _Quarterly_
remarked to Moore, that the Banks’ mansion was to science what
Holland House was to literature. Horace Walpole poked incessant fun
at Sir Joseph’s curiosity about remote Atlantic islands, and Peter
Pindar scribbled verses like this:--

    “To give a breakfast in Soho,
    Sir Joseph’s bitterest foe
      Must certainly allow him peerless merit:
    Where on a wagtail and tom-tit
    He shines, and sometimes on a nit:
      Displaying powers few gentlemen inherit.”

The house was afterwards the home of the Linnæan Society, and is
now the Hospital for Diseases of the Heart.

[364] Knick-knacks.

[365] Elizabeth Carter (1717-1806), of “Epictetus” fame, was the
daughter of a Kent parson. She enjoyed the friendship of Dr.
Johnson, to whom she was introduced by Cave. Mrs. Carter wrote
Nos. 44 and 100 of the _Rambler_, essays which Johnson esteemed
highly. Her resolution in acquiring a knowledge of Greek and Latin
was extraordinary: she placed a bell at the head of her bed, and
arranged that the sexton, who rose between four and five o’clock,
should ring it by means of a cord which descended into the garden
below. Her translation of Epictetus appeared in 1758; it was
published by subscription at one guinea, and she made £1000 by it.
Her attainments brought her many distinguished friends, and it
was thought that Dr. Secker, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury,
wished to marry her. Mrs. Carter was one of the little company
who dined with Johnson at Mrs. Garrick’s house, May 3, 1783, when
Hannah More, looking at Johnson, “was struck with the mild radiance
of the setting sun.”

[366] Mrs. Dards’ exhibition was at No. 1 Suffolk Street, Cockspur
Street. The British Museum has one of her catalogues, dated 1800.

[367] This singular character, whose real name was Henry
Constantine Jennings (1731-1819), died within the Rules of the
King’s Bench, after spending one fortune on works of art and
losing another on the turf. About 1778 he brought to England
the antique sculpture known as Alcibiades’ Dog (now at Duncombe
Park, Yorkshire), whence he had his nickname, “Dog Jennings.” His
purchase of this work for a thousand guineas was the subject of one
of Dr. Johnson’s conversations, recorded by Boswell. Jennings lived
in the most easterly of the five houses into which Lindsey House,
Chelsea, was divided in 1760. In Smith’s _Nollekens_ he appears as
a little man in a brown coat walking in Marylebone Fields, where
Nollekens was for giving him twopence, mistaking him for a pauper.

Jennings was twice married, and at one time laid claim to a lapsed
peerage. At Chelsea, where he maintained his house and grounds in
a state of luxurious neglect, it was his custom twice a day to
exercise himself with a ponderous lead-tipped broadsword: then (to
use his own words), “mount my chaise horse, composed of leather and
inflated with wind like a pair of bellows, on which I take exactly
one thousand gallops.” Among his treasures was a statue of Venus,
which he prized so highly, that for the first six months after
acquiring it he had it placed during dinner at the head of his
table, with two footmen in laced liveries in attendance on it--a
situation that to-day would be worthy of Mr. Anstey’s humour.

[368] Sir Thomas Stepney, ninth and last baronet of Prendergast,
Pembroke, died September 12, 1825, aged 65. He was long a member
of White’s Club, and wore blue and white striped stockings, a
peculiarity he shared with Nollekens, the sculptor. A worthier
distinction was his descent from Sir Anthony Vandyke. Sir John
Stepney, the third baronet, had married the daughter and heiress of
the painter.

[369] Of John Burges, M.D. (1745-1807), there is a manuscript
memoir in the library of the Royal College of Physicians. He made
a fine collection of the _materia medica_, which ultimately passed
to the college, where it is still preserved. Gillray’s legend “From
Warwick Lane” refers, of course, to the earlier location of the
college in the city.

[370] At the Royal Academy dinner of 1789 the health of Alderman
Boydell as “the Commercial Mæcenas of England” was proposed by
Edmund Burke. It was in this year that the Alderman began to
exhibit in Pall Mall the works which he had commissioned for his
Shakespeare Gallery. Next year he became Lord Mayor. Unfortunately,
he miscalculated his financial powers, and the outbreak of the
French Revolution entailed on him such loss of foreign custom
that his death in 1804 was clouded by misfortune. He had employed
nearly all the best artists and engravers of his day, and had spent
£350,000 in his business. His Shakespeare Gallery, consisting of
170 pictures, was disposed of by lottery; the winner being Tassie,
the gem-modeller, who sold them at Christie’s for £6157.

[371] First fashionable in 1745, and named after William, Duke of
Cumberland. Smith might have seen it in his boyhood. It was smartly
cocked in front.

[372] George Frederick Beltz (1777-1841), Lancaster Herald, and
author of _Memorials of the Order of the Garter_, was one of
Mrs. Garrick’s executors, and wrote the memoir of her in the
_Gentleman’s Magazine_ of November 1822.

[373] “Mr. Dance, in this picture of Garrick, has been guilty of an
egregious anachronism. He has actually given Richard the Third the
_star_ of the Order of the Garter, when he ought to have known that
it was not introduced before the reign of King Charles I.” (Smith:
_Nollekens_).

[374] Sir Watkin Williams Wynn, fifth baronet (1772-1840), a
generous patron of artists. His town house in St. James’s Square
had fine pictures. He died after a fall from his horse in the
hunting-field.

[375] The Dowager Lady Amherst would appear to be Elizabeth,
daughter and co-heir of Lieutenant-General Honourable George Cary,
who married, 1767, Jeffrey, first Lord Amherst, Field-Marshal, who
died in 1797, aged 80. Lady Amherst died in 1830.--William George
Maton, M.D., dated his fortune from the day when he was approached
by an equerry at Weymouth as a person who might be able to name a
plant (_arundo epigejos_) which one of the royal princesses had
found. He was thus brought into the presence of Queen Charlotte,
and later became her physician extraordinary. Maton died on March
30, 1835, and was buried at St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields. There is a
tablet to him in Salisbury Cathedral.--Mr. Carr was Mrs. Garrick’s
solicitor, and was to be the next occupant of the famous Garrick
Villa at Hampton.

[376] Elizabeth Wright Macauley, novelist, actress, and preacher of
the gospel, died at York, March 1837, aged 52, in rather straitened
circumstances. Her London home was at 52 Clarendon Square, St.
Pancras. She published, in 1812, _Effusions of Fancy_, a collection
of poems consisting of the “Birth of Friendship,” the “Birth of
Affection,” and the “Birth of Sensibility.” In the last year of
her life she had travelled the country lecturing on “Domestic
Philosophy,” and giving recitations.

[377] At an earlier time the Abbey had been free to sight-seers,
but a wanton injury to the figure of George Washington in Major
André’s monument had led to the imposition of admission fees.
Not long after Smith’s encounter, Charles Lamb wrote his protest
against these fees, of which he says: “In no part of our beloved
Abbey now can a person find entrance (out of service time) under
the sum of _two shillings_.” Lamb’s complaint may have been rather
overstrained by reason of its incorporation in his bitter letter to
Southey in the _London Magazine_ for October 1823.

Free admission was given to the larger part of the Abbey under Dean
Ireland. Authorised guides were first appointed in 1826, and the
nave and transepts were opened, and the fees lowered in 1841 at the
suggestion of Lord John Thynne (Dean Stanley: _Historical Memorials
of Westminster Abbey_).

[378] The Rev. Thomas Rackett (1757-1841), Rector of Spetisbury
with Charlton-Marshall, Dorset. He was a musician, a naturalist, an
antiquary, and a friend of Garrick. He had been guided as a youth
by Dr. John Hunter. His daughter Dorothea married Mr. S. Solly of
Heathside, near Poole. She is mentioned on p. 290.

[379] Dr. Francklin was probably the “Thomas Franklin” who signed
the round-robin to Dr. Johnson asking him to re-write Goldsmith’s
epitaph in English. Here the absence of the _c_ from the name
causes Croker to doubt the identity, and Dr. Birkbeck Hill to
reject it. It is curious that Smith, with Garrick’s marriage
certificate before him, makes the name agree with the questioned
signature in the memorial to Johnson. Francklin knew Johnson and
dedicated to him a translation of Lucian. “BOSWELL. I think Dr.
Franklin’s definition of _Man_ a good one--A tool-making animal.
JOHNSON. But many a man never made a tool; and suppose a man
without arms, he could not make a tool.” Francklin founded the
_Centinel_, a paper of the _Tatler_ variety, and published many
translations. He was the first Chaplain to the Royal Academy, and
composed a song, “The Patrons,” that was sung at the inaugural
dinner.

[380] This certificate does not answer Smith’s inquiry: the place
of the marriage. As a matter of fact, Dr. Francklin’s chapel, where
the ceremony was performed, was not in Great Queen Street, but in
Queen Street, near Russell Street, now Museum Street. The Charity
School opposite the side entrance of Mudie’s Library marks the site
of the chapel in which the knot was tied between David Garrick and
Eva Maria Violetti. The facts are given correctly by a writer in
_Notes and Queries_ (March 31, 1877), who puts in the following
documents:--

“On the 22nd June, 1749, Garrick was married to Eva Maria Violetti
by M. Francklin, at his chapel near Russell Street, Bloomsbury; and
afterwards, according to the rites of the Roman Catholic Church, by
the Rev. M. Blyth, at the chapel of the Portuguese Embassy in South
Audley Street” (Garrick’s _Correspondence_, 1831).

“Yesterday was married, by the Rev. Mr. Francklin, at his chapel,
Russell Street, Bloomsbury, David Garrick, Esq., to Eva Maria
Violetti” (_General Advertiser_, June 23, 1749).

[381] No picture in the National Gallery is better known and
admired than Rubens’s “Chapeau de Paille.” It is a portrait of
Mdlle. Lunden, with whom Rubens was in love. He is said to have
painted her portrait without her knowledge while she sat in her
garden, and to have obtained her acceptance of the picture. On her
untimely death Rubens begged back this portrait, which her family
had christened “Le Chapeau de Paille,” promising a replica in
exchange. This is the National Gallery picture. In it, instead of a
straw hat (chapeau de paille), Rubens has introduced a beaver hat
(chapeau de poil), but the original name is still in vogue, though
the name “Chapeau de Poil” appears on the frame of the picture in
Room xii. of the National Gallery. In 1822 the picture passed from
the Lunden family to M. Van Niewenhuysen for 89,000 florins, and
from him it was acquired, through Smith the printseller, by the
British Government.

[382] Edward Knight, known as LITTLE KNIGHT, is universally stated
to have been born in Birmingham in 1774; “Bristol” and “1778” are
probably misprints.

[383] _Flora, or Hob in the Well_, a farce by Cibber, adapted from
Thomas Doggett’s _Country Wake_.

[384] _The Soldier’s Daughter_ is a comedy by Cherry, Timothy
Quaint being a minor character.--_Fortune’s Frolic_ is a farce by
Allingham. Robin Roughhead, a labourer, succeeds to the title and
wealth; then he marries his humble sweetheart, Dolly, and makes the
best of landlords.

[385] Of Knight as an actor we read: “There was an odd quickness,
and a certain droll play about every muscle of his face, that fully
prepared the audience for the jest that was to follow. His Sim, in
_Wild Oats_, may be termed the most chaste and natural performance
on the stage.” It was remarked of Knight, however, that he was too
fond of laughter and tears, “squeezing his eyelids, and fidgetting
and pelting about, till he got the necessary moisture.”

[386] A bronze statue in the garden of Burton Crescent shows
Cartwright as a small, excessively bald man, seated with what might
be a blue-book in his hand. A luxuriant fig tree was threatening
to engulf him in its foliage in September 1905. The inscription
states that he was “The First Consistent and Persevering Advocate
of Universal Suffrage, Equal Representation, Vote by Ballot, and
Annual Parliaments.” For every evil, even for cold weather or bad
plays, he prescribed “Annual Parliaments and Universal Suffrage.”
The Reverend J. Richardson, in his _Recollections_, says that for
many years the Lords of the Admiralty gave Cartwright half-pay,
without suspecting that the “John Cartwright” on their books
was their arch-critic, “Major” Cartwright, whose commission in
the Nottinghamshire Militia had put this handle to his name and
disguised his identity.

[387] It may be hoped that, had Smith lived to prepare his BOOK FOR
A RAINY DAY for the press, he would have expunged these embittered
references to the wealth of Nollekens and legateeship of Francis
Douce.

[388] Elizabeth Ogilvy Benger (1778-1827) was an amiable woman and
a popular writer of history and biography. She was a friend of the
Lambs, Mrs. Barbauld, Mrs. Aikin, Campbell, and others. Among her
works are _Memoirs of Mary Queen of Scots and Anne Boleyn_, and a
poem on the slave-trade.

[389] From Mr. W. Roberts’ “_Memorials of Christie’s_, it appears
that the original cup from Shakespeare’s mulberry tree, which was
presented to David Garrick by the Mayor and Corporation, at the
time of the Jubilee at Stratford, realised 121 guineas on April
30, 1825.” Smith mis-states the date. On May 30, 1903, a figure of
Shakespeare carved from the tree was sold at Sotheby’s for £13, 5s.

[390] See note, p. 273.

[391] This derivation has been questioned by others. The _New
English Dictionary_ leaves the point doubtful, but quotes the
_Globe_ of July 24, 1882: “The ‘Busby,’ so often used colloquially
when a large bushy wig is meant, most probably took its origin …
not from Dr. Busby, the famous headmaster of Westminster School,
but from the wig denominated a ‘Buzz,’ from being frizzled and
bushy.” May it not be that the word sprang from “buzz,” in
association with the name of the famous headmaster?--the one
originating and the other confirming its use.

[392] Nevertheless periwigs were known in England considerably
earlier. Fairholt mentions one that was ordered “for Sexton, the
king’s fool,” in the reign of Henry VIII. In Hall’s _Satires_
(1598) a courtier is made to lose his periwig while trying to bow
on a windy day. Other instances are quoted by Fairholt in _Costume
in England_.

[393] The Duke of Wellington once entertained a dinner-table with
an account of Louis XIV.’s wig. His remarks were thus reported, at
first hand, in _Notes and Queries_ of Nov. 25, 1871, by Mr. Herbert
Randolph:--

“I was in the year 1834 or 1835 dining in company with the Duke
of Wellington at Betshanger in Kent, then the seat of Frederick
Morice, Esq., now of Sir Walter James. It was about the time when
the Bishop of London (Dr. Blomfield) had first appeared in the
House of Lords without his wig, and a smart controversy arising
out of the fact was going on. Opposite to the Duke at table hung
a portrait of an admiral of Queen Anne’s time, an ancestor of
Mr. Morice, and the finely painted ‘Ramillies wig’ upon his head
caught the Duke’s attention. He took occasion from this to give, in
his terse and decided manner, a complete history of wigs, having
evidently mastered the subject in reference to the question of the
day. He concluded, to the point, by saying: ‘Louis the Fourteenth
had a hump, and no man, not even his valet, ever saw him without
his wig. It hung down his back, like the judges’ wigs, to hide
the hump. But the Dauphin, who hadn’t a hump, couldn’t bear the
heat, so he cut it round close to the poll; and the episcopal wig
that you are all making such a fuss about is the wig of the most
profligate days of the French court.’”

[394] It was Woollett’s pleasing custom to celebrate the completion
of a plate by firing a cannon from the roof of his house, No. 36
Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square. On this occasion he doubtless
used an extra charge of powder.

[395] No allusion to Sir Cloudesley Shovel was intended by Pope.
The line occurs in the _Moral Essays_, Epistle iii.--

    “When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend
    The wretch, who living saved a candle’s end;
    Shouldering God’s altar a vile image stands,
    Belies his features, nay extends his hands;
    That live-long wig which Gorgon’s self might own,
    Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.”

Pope’s own note to the last line reads: “Ridicule the wretched
taste of carving large periwigs on bustos, of which there
are several vile examples among the tombs of Westminster and
elsewhere.” Pope’s real victim, Hopkins, was “Vulture” Hopkins, who
died in his house in Broad Street in 1732, leaving a fortune of
£300,000 with peculiar conditions attached. Several thousand pounds
were expended on his funeral.

[396] Thomas Dawson, Viscount--not Earl--of Cremorne, died 1813.

[397] The full-dress wigs of English judges are the nearest
survival of the great Queen Anne wigs familiar in the portraits of
these men. They are made of white horse hair, elaborately treated.

[398] Combing the wig in the theatre and the drawing-room was a
habit, like twirling the moustache. Dryden pictures the wits rising
as one man in the pit of the theatre and beginning to comb their
wigs while they stared at a new masked beauty. “It became the mark
of a young man of _ton_ to be seen combing his periwig in the Mall,
or at the theatre” (Fairholt: _Costume in England_). Hats were not
worn on perukes that cost forty or fifty pounds. In Wycherley’s
_Love in a Wood_ (1672) we read: “A lodging is as unnecessary a
thing to a widow that has a coach, as a hat to a man that has a
good peruke.”

[399] It is said that, as a rule, Lely’s male portraits of the
Charles II. period can be distinguished at once from Kneller’s
portraits of the Court of William III., by observing that in the
former the ends of the wig descend on the chest, in the latter they
fall behind the shoulders.

[400] The distinction is particularly important in the case of
Cibber, whose wig in the part of Sir Fopling Flutter was so
admired that he regularly had it brought in a sedan-chair to the
footlights, where he publicly donned it with great applause.
Cibber’s modest private wig can be studied in Roubiliac’s 
bust in the National Portrait Gallery.

[401] John Wallis, D.D. (1616-1703), a distinguished mathematician
as well as theologian.

[402] Several particulars of Johnson’s wigs are given by Boswell.
The improvements he made in his dress through the influence of Mrs.
Thrale included “a Paris-made wig of handsome construction.” “In
general,” says Croker, “his wigs were very shabby, and their fore
parts were burned away by the near approach of the candle, which
his short-sightedness rendered necessary in reading. At Streatham
Mrs. Thrale’s butler always kept a better wig in his own hands,
with which he met Johnson at the parlour door, when the bell
had called him down to dinner; and this ludicrous ceremony was
performed every day.”

[403] “Mr. Hillier, I believe, was of the same family as the late
Nathaniel Hillier of Stoke, near Guildford, one of whose daughters
married Colonel Onslow. He was a most extensive collector of
engravings, and his cabinets contained numerous rarities, but he
spoiled all his prints by staining them with coffee, to produce,
as he thought, a mellow tint, but by which process he not only
deprived most of them of their pristine brilliancy, but rendered
their sale considerably less productive” (Smith). The trick of
staining prints with coffee was once fairly common among collectors.

[404] Probably the pendent bobs or “dildos” on the “campaign” wig
introduced in the reign of Charles II. were the origin of the
pigtail. The “Ramillies” wig, named after the battle of 1706, had a
long plaited tail, and immediately became the fashion. By 1731 the
pigtail wig had reached its height of popularity and absurdity.

    “But pray, what’s that much like a whip,
    Which with the air does wav’ring skip
    From side to side, and hip to hip?”

asks a country visitor in _The Metamorphosis of the Town_, and is
answered--

    “Sir, do not look so fierce and big,
    It is a modish pigtail wig.”

[405] Horwood’s map of London (1799) shows the river walk from
Abingdon Street almost to Chelsea Bridge between willows, along
the water-edge, and nursery gardens. A good idea of Millbank as it
was at this period may be obtained from the Earl of Albemarle’s
_Fifty Years of my Life_ (vol. i. cap. vi.), where we see the boys
of Westminster School roaming these spaces, hiring guns from Mother
Hubbard, and obtaining dogs and badgers from their obliging friend,
William Heberfield, “Slender Billy,” who was mercilessly hanged in
1812 for passing forged notes. See a curious account of Palmer’s
village in Charles Manby Smith’s _Curiosities of London Life_
(1853). Smith has an etching of the Willow Walk in his _Remarks on
Rural Scenery_ (1797).

[406] William Collins, a modeller of mantelpieces and friezes, was
an intimate friend of Nathaniel Smith (J. T. S.’s father), and is
described by Smith, in his _Antient Topography of London_, as a
fascinating modeller in clay and wax, and carver in wood. He took
many of his subjects from Æsop’s Fables, and was much employed by
Sir Henry Cheere, the statuary, who then had workshops near the
south-east corner of Henry the Seventh’s Chapel. Roubillac worked
here when he first came to England. Collins died in Tothill Fields,
May 31, 1793. His mantelpiece in Ancaster House remains.

[407] Belgrave House stood at the west end of Millbank Row, the
continuation of Abingdon Street. The Millbank of Gainsborough’s
days extended from this point southward and westward (as it rounded
the obtuse promontory) as far as the White Lead Mills, whence
Turpentine Lane led north to the Jenny’s Whim Tavern and bridge.
This picturesque wooden bridge spanned a reservoir of the Chelsea
water-works.

[408] Albert van Everdingen (1621-1725), a Dutch painter of
landscapes and sea-pieces.

[409] Jan van Goyen (1596-1656) was born at Leyden. His favourite
subjects were river banks with peasants. Three of his pictures are
in the National Gallery.

[410] Jacob van Ruysdael (1628-82), the greatest of Dutch landscape
painters.

[411] Cornelius Gerritz Dekker (died 1678) painted at Haarlem; one
of his landscapes is in the National Gallery.

[412] The Neat House Gardens added much to the pleasantness of the
river walk at Millbank. They were held by gardeners who grew fruit
and vegetables here for the London markets. About 1831 the soil
taken to form St. Katherine’s Docks was brought up the river and
laid upon them; after which Lupus Street and many other Pimlico
streets were built on their site. It is a pity that no local
name-relic exists of gardens which Massinger knew as a place for
musk-melons (_City Madam_, Act iii. sc. 1), which Pepys visited
with his wife, and which “would have pleased Ruysdael.”

[413] On August 3, 1802, Garnerin, or Garnerini, ascended in a
balloon from Vauxhall Gardens with his wife and Mr. Glasford. A
cat, which they dropped in a parachute, fell safely in a garden at
Hampstead, and the balloon itself, after passing over the Green
Park, Paddington, etc., descended in a paddock at Lord Rosslyn’s,
at the top of Hampstead Hill. Mrs. Garnerin afterwards lost her
life through ascending from Paris with fireworks.

[414] I conjecture that this is a misprint, and that Smith’s
correspondent was St. Schültze, an artist and writer of ability, of
whom Eckermann, in his _Conversations with Goethe_, writes, May 15,
1826: “I talked with Goethe to-day about St. Schültze, of whom he
spoke very kindly. ‘When I was ill a few weeks since,’ said he, ‘I
read his _Heitere Stunden_’ (Cheerful Hours) ‘with great pleasure.’
If Schültze had lived in England, he would have made an epoch; for,
with his gift of observing and depicting, nothing was wanting but
the sight of life on a large scale.”

[415] Friederich Campe compiled for the occasion a little book
called _Reliquien von Albrecht Dürer_.

[416] Peter von Cornelius. Born at Düsseldorf in 1783, he achieved
his great reputation at Munich, where he directed the Academy and
embellished many public buildings. He died so late as 1867.

[417] Johann Gottlieb Schneider (1789-1864), of Dresden, one of the
first organists of his day.

[418] After Dürer’s death from a decline, his close friend,
Porkheimer, wrote to Johann Tscherte, of Vienna: “Nothing grieves
me deeper than that he should have died so painful a death, which,
under God’s providence, I can ascribe to nobody but his huswife,
who gnawed into his very heart, and so tormented him, that he
departed hence the sooner; for he was dried up to a <DW19>, and
might nowhere seek a jovial humour, or go to his friends.… She and
her sister are not queans; they are, I doubt not, in the number of
honest, devout, and altogether God-fearing women; but a man might
better have a quean, who was otherwise kindly, than such a gnawing,
suspicious, quarrelsome, good woman, with whom he can have no peace
or quiet, neither by day nor by night.”

[419] The architect, and author of a fine work on _Ancient and
Ornamental Architecture at Rome and in Italy_, the materials for
which he collected in the tour he mentions to Smith. He married
the daughter of Smith’s acquaintance, Williams, a well-known
button-maker in St. Martin’s Lane. William Blake found in him a
good friend, and was worshipped by his son, Frederick Tatham,
who said that a stroll with Blake was “as if he were walking
with the Prophet Isaiah.” Late in life Charles Tatham fell into
money difficulties, but obtained the post of warden of Greenwich
Hospital, where he died in 1842.

[420] Stephen Porter of the Middle Temple, and of Trinity College,
Cambridge, translated from the German a play called _Lovers’ Vows_,
by Augustus von Kotzebue, 1798.

[421] Copper Holmes had constructed a floating home out of a West
Country vessel, which cost him £150. He appears to have had his
name “Copper” from the metal he acquired with this hulk. His ark
was considered a nuisance, and the City authorities brought an
action to compel him to remove it. He died in 1821.

[422] “The flat pavement on the southern side of the church, facing
the “Golden Cross,” is called “the Watermen’s Burying-ground,”
from the number of old Thames watermen who were brought thither to
their last long rest from Hungerford, York, and Whitehall Stairs”
(Walford: _Old and New London_).

[423] The reference is to an impersonation of Joe Hatch,
the waterman, which Charles Mathews included in one of the
single-handed “At Home” entertainments which he started in 1818.
“One of the best occasional delineations of character, is that of
Joe Hatch, a waterman, who is also termed the Thames Chancellor and
Boat Barrister, a fellow (we presume a real portrait, though we
have not the good fortune to know the original) who lays down the
law of his craft, promotes and allays quarrels, and gratifies his
fare with a ‘long, tough yarn’ of his own adventures” (_Memoirs of
Charles Mathews_).

[424] “Curtis’s Halfpenny Hatch was a passage across St. George’s
Fields from Narrow Wall, opposite Somerset House. It was a
halfpenny toll-way through extensive nursery grounds” (_Wine and
Walnuts_). It is now commemorated in the name Hatch Row, Roupell
Street, Lambeth, and I have found that Palmer Street is still
called, locally, “up the Hatch,” though, of course, nothing in
the shape of a Hatch has existed within living memory. “Hatches,”
or gates, at which halfpennies were levied, were common on the
outskirts of London. Nollekens told Smith that he remembered one in
Charlotte Street, kept by a miller, and another between the Oxford
Road (Oxford Street) and Grosvenor Square.

[425] Philip Astley, the great equestrian, was inspired by the
feats of Johnson and others at the Three Hats Tavern, Islington,
to give his exhibitions in an open field near the Waterloo Road.
The price of admission was sixpence. Astley started with only
one horse, given him by General Elliott, in whose regiment he
had served. A clown named Porter supplied the comic relief. In
1770 he moved to the foot of Westminster Bridge, where his famous
Amphitheatre took shape. He is said rarely to have given more
than five pounds for a horse, troubling “little for shape, make,
or colour; temper was the only consideration.” His circus was
repeatedly burnt down, but it became one of the recognised sights
of London. On September 12, 1783, Horace Walpole writes: “I could
find nothing at all to do, and so went to Astley’s, which indeed
was much beyond my expectation. I do not wonder any longer that
Darius was chosen king by the instructions he gave to his horse;
nor that Caligula made his a consul.”

After Astley’s death in 1814, his manager, the great Ducrow, became
the head of the circus business. The Ducrow family monument is a
striking object in Kensal Green cemetery, where also is seen the
monument of the Cooke family, whose head, Thomas Cooke, owned a
circus in Astley’s time, and took it to Mauchline in 1784, where it
was visited by Burns. The writer of an interesting article on the
Cookes in the _Tatler_ of July 29, 1903, says: “The aristocrats of
the sawdust, they have been entertaining for at least 120 years,
and to-day wherever there is a circus there is a Cooke.”

[426] This “dell” is still apparent in Salutation Court, in which
is Hatch Row.

[427] William Curtis (1746-99) had this botanical garden in Lambeth
Marsh, and there collected some of the material for his _Flora
Londinensis_. Later, he opened his large establishment at Brompton.
In 1782, he rendered a curious service to the suburbs by writing
_A Short History of the Brown-Tail Moth_, to allay “the alarm
which had been excited in the country round the Metropolis by an
extraordinary abundance of the caterpillars of this moth, and which
was so great, that the parish officers … attended in form to see
them burnt by bushels at a time” (Nichol’s _Literary Anecdotes_).
Curtis was buried in Battersea parish church.

[428] Richard Palmer Roupell, a wealthy lead-smelter in Gravel
Lane, Southwark, owned much property in Southwark, Lambeth, and
elsewhere. He lived at Aspen House, Brixton. There is a Roupell
Road at Streatham and a Roupell Street in Lambeth. The name
of Curtis, the botanist, deserves, but has not found, similar
perpetuation in the neighbourhood.

[429] Strand Lane Stairs was the river outlet of Strand Lane, a
narrow street which ran down from the Strand east of Somerset
House. As Mr. Wheatley points out, it was originally the channel
of the rivulet which crossed the Strand under Strand Bridge. The
landing-place is now lost under the Embankment, but the upper
portion of the lane still exists, and leads to the famous Roman
Bath, which every Londoner intends to, but does not, visit.

[430] This restoration of the Chapel (the Banqueting House) was
carried out by Sir John Soane, 1829-30.

[431] Henry Smedley, of Westminster, gave up the profession of the
law for the study of the arts. He died in his house in the Broad
Sanctuary, March 14, 1832.

[432] Richard Parkes Bonnington had not been dead a year when this
talk was proceeding. His success had outrun his strength, and a
most promising career was closed by consumption, September 23,
1828. He lies in St. James’s Church in Pentonville. Bonnington’s
work is much appreciated in France. In the Louvre, where he studied
as a boy, there are one or two fine examples of his work. The
National Gallery has his “Venice: the Pillars of Piazzetta.” That
the British Museum Print-Room has a fine collection of his sketches
is largely due to the fact that he died during a visit to England,
and that his drawings went to Christie’s, where they fetched £1200.

[433] This elaborate and beautiful work stands in the centre
of St. Andrew’s Chapel. Beneath a canopy supported on columns
lie the effigies of Lord and Lady Norris, and round them kneel
their six soldier sons, four of whom died on the field. In his
_Antient Topography_ Smith tells how Roubiliac admired this
stately cenotaph. “When my father had occasion to go to his master
(Roubiliac) during the time he was putting up Sir Peter Warren’s
monument in the Abbey, he was generally found standing by the
monument of Norris, or by that of Vere. On one of these attendances
he was observed with his arms folded before the north-west corner
figure of one of the six knights (the sons) who support the
cenotaph of Lord Norris, and appeared as if rivetted to the spot.
My father, who had thrice delivered his message, without being once
noticed, was at last smartly pinched on the elbow by Roubiliac, who
at the same time said, but in a soft and smothered tone of voice,
‘Hush! Hush! He’ll _speak_ presently.’”

[434] William Esdaile (1758-1837) was a partner in the banking
house of Esdaile, Hammet, & Co., 21 Lombard Street. He took up
print-collecting and bought lavishly. Falling into ill health, he
spent the last five years of his life in poring over his prints,
and died in his Clapham house, October 2, 1837. The disposal of his
remarkable collection at Christie’s occupied sixteen days, and was
attended by buyers from the Continent.

[435] The Clapham visited by Smith was that of Lord Macaulay’s
young manhood and of Ruskin’s boyhood, and was rural and open
beyond the belief of the present generation. In his recently
published _Life and Letters of Sir George Grove_, Mr. Charles L.
Graves says: “All the way from Wandsworth Road to Clapham Junction
the neighbourhood was a favourite resort for solid City people, the
wealthiest living on Clapham Common. But Clapham was thoroughly
rural and not even semi-suburban in the ‘twenties’ and ‘thirties.’
Mr. Edmund Grove distinctly recollects seeing a man in the stocks
at Clapham, then a most picturesque village with a watch-house for
the ‘Charlies,’ and old inns with timbered fronts and spacious
courtyards.”

[436] Charles Alexandre de Calonne succeeded Necker as
comptroller-general of finance in 1783. He was unable to reduce
French finance to order, and in 1787 found it advisable to retire
to England. In Sir Nathaniel Wraxhall’s _Memoirs_ I find the
following:--

“The tester of Calonne’s bed having fallen upon him during the
night, together with a portion of the ceiling of the room, he
narrowly escaped suffocation. All Paris, when the fact became
known, exclaimed, ‘Juste ciel!’ The tester of a bed is denominated
in French ‘le ciel du lit.’… With him may be said to have commenced
the emigration (to England) which soon became so general.”

[437] Henry Peter Standly, of St. Neot’s, an active magistrate,
possessed an unrivalled collection of Hogarth’s prints and
drawings, which was dispersed at Christie’s in 1845. He purchased
drawings of landscapes from Smith.

[438] See note, p. 4.

[439] John Inigo Richards, R.A., was one of the original members
of the Royal Academy, and its secretary from 1788. He was for many
years principal scene-painter at Covent Garden. He died in his
Academy apartments, Dec. 18, 1810.

[440] Edwards’s _Anecdotes of Painters_.--S.

[441] Probably Dr. Robert Richardson, M.D., who had been travelling
physician to Lord Mountjoy. He died in Gordon Street, Bloomsbury,
November 5, 1847.

[442] Enthusiasm for art and carelessness of money went to the
forming of Sir Thomas Lawrence’s unrivalled collection. Cunningham
says: “Of every eminent artist he had such specimens as no other
person possessed; not huddled into heaps, or scattered like the
leaves of the Sibyl, but arranged in fine large portfolios properly
labelled and enshrined.”

[443] Smith could not have seen the whole of Sir Peter Lely’s
collection of prints and drawings. These were sold by auction in
1687, the sale lasting more than a month.--Thomas Hudson (1701-79)
painted the portraits of members of the Dilettanti Society, and,
being wealthy, collected many fine prints and drawings.--Archibald
Campbell, third Duke, formed a very fine library.

[444] This name is given as Serre in the three old editions of the
_Rainy Day_--a very misleading erratum. William Score was born in
Devonshire about 1778. He became a pupil of Joshua Reynolds, and
regularly exhibited portraits at the Royal Academy.

[445] “Sir Joshua Reynolds commenced two of his finest historical
pictures without settling in what way the compositions were to be
completed, or, indeed, without even thinking of their subjects.
The head of Count Ugolino at Knowle, and the Infant Christ in
Macklin’s picture, were painted on the canvases long before the
artist considered subjects or combinations” (S.).--This historical
painting, says Northcote, existed simply as a head of the Count
until Burke and Goldsmith praised it, whereupon Sir Joshua had his
canvas enlarged in order that he might add the other figures. When
finished, the picture was bought by the Duke of Dorset for 400
guineas. It is not Reynolds at his best, and Charles Lamb, who saw
it at the Reynolds exhibition held in 1813 in Pall Mall, criticised
it rather severely.

[446] Charles Howard, Earl of Nottingham, Lord High Admiral at
the defeat of the Armada, best known to history as Lord Howard
of Effingham. The portrait Smith missed was painted by Frederigo
Zucchero, whose (attributed) portraits of Queen Elizabeth,
Leicester, Raleigh, and James I. are in the National Portrait
Gallery. His Howard is now in the Painted Hall at Greenwich. The
portraits of the Admirals were presented to Greenwich Hospital
by George IV. (not William IV.) in 1823. William IV. added five
naval pictures in 1835. As will be seen on a later page, Smith’s
curiosity about the hanging of these pictures led him to visit
Greenwich next day.

[447] Francis Legat, a Scotch engraver, came to London about 1780,
and lived at 22 Charles Street, Westminster. Here he engraved “Mary
Queen of Scots resigning her Crown” after Hamilton in 1786, and
later Northcote’s painting. He died in 1809.

[448] Chantrey’s group, “The Sleeping Children,” in Lichfield
Cathedral.

[449] This statue is now in the British Museum.

[450] The Chelsea porcelain manufacture was founded about 1745,
and was at the height of its fame from 1750 to 1764 under Mr.
Sprimont. The works finally closed in 1784. The Chelsea potters
went forthwith to Derby, where they founded the Chelsea-Derby
pottery. Remains of the old Chelsea furnaces, in which Dr. Johnson
was allowed to test his compositions, are still to be seen in the
cellars of the Prince of Wales Tavern, at the corner of Justice
Walk and Lawrence Street, Chelsea.

[451] The case of Chelsea china in the British Museum contains
similar figures of the Earl of Chatham, George III., a Thames
waterman wearing Doggett’s Coat and Badge, etc.

[452] Johan Zoffany, R.A., born at Frankfort about 1735, painted
portraits of Garrick, one of the best representing the actor as
Abel Drugger.

[453] Thomas Davies, the actor and bookseller, more famous as the
introducer to Dr. Johnson of Boswell. Johnson wrote the first
sentence of his _Memoirs of David Garrick_.

[454] These pictures were the “Canvass,” the “Poll,” the
“Chairing,” and the “Election Feast.” They are said to have been
painted by Hogarth for about forty-five guineas apiece. At the sale
of Garrick’s pictures at Christie’s in June 1823 they were bought
by Sir John Soane, and are in the Soane Museum.

[455] In 1829 the surprising period of seventy-three years had
elapsed since Garrick became the tenant of his famous villa. He had
enlarged and improved the house, planted many trees in the grounds,
and erected on his lawn a “Grecian Temple” to receive the statue of
Shakespeare by Roubiliac which now stands in the entrance hall of
the British Museum. Here also stood his famous Shakespeare chair,
designed by Hogarth: it is now in the possession of the Baroness
Burdett-Coutts. At Hampton Garrick received his friends with great
hospitality, and occasionally gave _fêtes champêtres_ with the
accompaniments of fireworks and illuminations. Horace Walpole,
finding himself a fellow-visitor with the Duke of Grafton, Lord and
Lady Rochford, the Spanish Minister, and other great people, wrote
to Bentley: “This is being _sur un assez bon ton_ for a player.”
Garrick gave treats to the children of Hampton in his grounds.
After his death, Hampton House and the house in Adelphi Terrace
were occupied for forty-three years by Mrs. Garrick. She preserved
the Hampton furniture exactly as her husband left it.

[456] The mystery of Mrs. Garrick’s origin has never been cleared
up. Some authorities say that she was the daughter of a respectable
Vienna citizen named John Veigel. According to the story told
by Charles Lee Lewis (see his _Memoirs_, 1805), and denied by
Mrs. Garrick, she was the fruit of a liaison which the Earl of
Burlington formed with a young lady of family on the Continent.
At the time of her birth the Earl was back in England, whence he
remitted funds for his daughter’s support. The money is said to
have been dishonestly retained by the person in whose charge she
was placed, and the child herself to have been forced to earn a
living as a dancer. The Earl, hearing of this, arranged that she
should come to England and dance for a higher salary. Later he
took her into his house as companion and teacher to his legitimate
daughter. Then Garrick appeared on the scene, and the benevolent
Earl said to him: “Do you think you could satisfactorily receive
her from my hands with a portion of ten thousand pounds?--and here
let me inform you that she is my daughter.”

The above story is told by Lee Lewis on the authority of “an aged
domestic who lived at the time it happened at Burlington House,
Piccadilly.” Apparently the same gossiping lady is referred to in
the following note in Mr. Percy Fitzgerald’s _Life of Garrick_: “A
curious little story comes to me, told originally by a housekeeper
in the Burlington family, and, though based on such a loose
foundation, may be worth repeating. On this authority, the story
ran that Lord Burlington, coming to see her, was struck by a
picture, and, on inquiry, found she was actually the daughter of a
lady whom he had known abroad. The result was the discovery that
the Violette was actually his daughter. The authority of the old
housekeeper seems below the dignity of biography, but her testimony
comes to us very circumstantially.”

The story of Violette’s relationship to the Earl of Burlington
was supported by the covert kindness which she received from that
nobleman. But it has to be remembered that she was the “rage” of
the whole town, “the finest and most admired dancer in the world,”
according to Walpole, and that Lady Burlington, not less than her
lord, was so fond of her, that she would accompany her to the
theatre, and wait in the wings with a pelisse to throw over her
when she came off the stage. Mr. Fitzgerald’s conclusion on the
whole matter is that “her father was someone of rank at Vienna,
possibly one of the Starenberg family, from whom it is said she
brought letters of introduction to England.”

[457] Lancelot Brown (1715-83) is generally considered the founder
of modern “natural” as distinct from “formal” landscape-gardening.
He laid out Kew, the grounds of Blenheim, and parts of St. James’s
Park and Kensington Gardens. His conversational abilities, extolled
by Hannah More, contributed to his fame. John Taylor relates that
he once assisted the gouty Lord Chatham into his carriage. “Now,
sir, go and adorn your country,” said the grateful statesman. To
which Brown aptly replied: “Go you, my lord, and save it.”

[458] Pain’s Hill, at Cobham, Surrey, was considered a triumph of
landscape gardening by Horace Walpole and other connoisseurs. Its
owner, the Hon. Charles Hamilton, not content with artificial ruins
and temples disposed after the pictures of Poussin and Claude,
added a hermitage and engaged a hermit at £700 a year. But as the
hermit had all the hardship, and Hamilton all the sentiment, the
arrangement broke down.

[459] Mr. Carr’s mention of Johnson’s frequent visits recalls the
answer he made to Garrick when asked how he liked the spot: “Ah,
David! it is the leaving of such places that makes a death-bed
terrible.” Some interesting matter relating to the Garricks at
Hampton will be found in Mr. Henry Ripley’s _History and Topography
of Hampton-on-Thames_. The existence of the villa has recently been
threatened by the westward extension of London’s electric tramways,
but, happily, the danger of its removal has been averted.

[460] George Garrard, A.R.A. (1760-1826), animal painter and
sculptor, led a successful movement to obtain copyright protection
for works of plastic art. He died at Queen’s Buildings, Brompton.

[461] Michael Dahl (1656-1743) was born in Stockholm. He settled in
London, and became the rival of Kneller. “If he excelled, it was
only in the mediocrity by which he was surrounded” (Redgrave). He
was buried in St. James’s Church, Piccadilly.

[462] “I have not heard that song better performed since Mr.
Incledon sung it. He was a great singer, sir, and I may say, in
the words of our immortal Shakespeare, that, take him for all
in all, we shall not look upon his like again.” In these words
Hoskins of the _Cave of Harmony_ complimented Colonel Newcome on
his rendering of “Wapping Old Stairs.” Incledon began life in the
navy, where he sang himself into the good graces of his Admiral.
Coming to London in 1783, he became a public singer; but it was not
until 1790 that his success was established by his performance in
_The Poor Soldier_ at Covent Garden. In his later years he relied
mainly on the provinces, in which he travelled under the style of
“The Wandering Melodist.” Though exquisite in song he was clumsy
in appearance. Leslie, the painter, describes him as having “the
face and figure of a low sailor,” yet with these “the most manly
and at the same time the most agreeable voice I ever heard.”
Another good authority records that his voice “was of extraordinary
power, both in the natural and the falsetto. The former, from A to
G, a compass of about fourteen notes, was full and open, neither
partaking of the reed nor the string, and sent forth without the
smallest artifice; and such was its ductility, that when he sang
_pianissimo_, it retained its original ductility. His falsetto,
which he could use from D to E or F, or about ten notes, was rich,
sweet, and brilliant.”

[463] Funny-movers attended to the boats. A funny was a narrow,
clinker-built pleasure boat for a pair of sculls. “A most
melancholy accident happened one evening this week in the river off
Fulham. A young couple, on the point of marriage, took a sail in a
funny, which unfortunately upset, and the two lovers were drowned”
(_Annual Register_, 1808).

[464] The Battersea market-gardeners were famous. A rhyme of 1802
says--

    “Gardeners in shoals from Battersea shall run,
    To raise their kindlier hot-beds in the sun.”

The first asparagus raised in England is said to have come from
Battersea; and such was the extent of the market-gardens, that
large numbers of Welshwomen tramped thither every spring for
employment in the summer months.

[465] Not Shakespeare.

[466] In _A Sentimental Journey_. See “The Passport,” “The
Captive,” and “The Starling.”

[467] “Old Granby” was doubtless intended as a jesting compliment
to the pensioner, in allusion to the bluff Lord Manners, Marquess
of Granby, renowned for his toughness and gallantry.

[468] Hugh Hewson died in 1809, and it appears from a newspaper
of that year, quoted by Robert Chambers (_Favourite Authors_:
Smollett), that he was proud of being the prototype of Strap. “His
shop was hung round with Latin quotations, and he would frequently
point out to his acquaintance the several scenes in _Roderick
Random_ pertaining to himself, which had their foundation, not
in the Doctor’s inventive fancy, but in truth and reality. The
Doctor’s meeting him at a barber’s shop at Newcastle-upon-Tyne,
and the subsequent mistake at the inn; their arrival together in
London, and the assistance they experienced from Strap’s friend,
were all of that description.”

But there are four Straps in the field. Faulkner, in his _Chelsea_,
finds the “real” Strap in one William Lewis, a book-binder, who
died in 1785. Smollett, he says, induced Lewis to set up business
in Chelsea, and procured him customers. “I resided seven years in
the same house with his widow, and had frequent opportunities of
hearing a confirmation of the anecdotes of her husband, as related
by the celebrated novelist.”

Another claimant was one Duncan Niven, a Glasgow wig-maker,
referred to in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ as “the person, it
is said, from whom Dr. Smollett took his character of Strap in
_Roderick Random_.”

Lastly, one Hutchinson, a Dunbar barber, had some pretensions to be
Strap.

[469] Of these taverns the most famous are the Old Swans at London
Bridge and Chelsea. The former stood for centuries beside Swan
Stairs (now represented by the Old Swan Pier), and was well known
to all passengers on the river who elected to avoid the dangerous
“shooting” of London Bridge. On July 30, 1763, Dr. Johnson and
Boswell landed for this reason at the Old Swan on their way down to
Greenwich, re-embarking at Billingsgate.

The name of the Old Swan of Chelsea, an inn known to Pepys, is
perpetuated in Old Swan House, a modern residence built from the
designs of Mr. Norman Shaw. The “New Swan,” which, however, was
really a second “Old Swan,” has also disappeared, but, according
to Mr. R. Blunt’s excellent _Historical Handbook to Chelsea_, its
quaint garden, entered by steps from the river, under the long
signboard, is within the memory of many residents.

[470] “The bells of this church were recast by Ruddle, and tuned
by Mr. Harrison, the inventor of the Timekeeper; they are esteemed
equal to any peal of bells in this Kingdom, and have nearly the
same sound as those of Magdalen College, Oxford” (Faulkner:
_Historical Account of Fulham_, 1813).

[471] In _Magna Britannia_ it is not only stated that this street
was originally called Hartshorn Lane, but that Ben Jonson once
lived in it (S.). The belief that Ben Jonson lived here as a boy
rests on the statement of Fuller, who, in his _Worthies_, says:
“Though I cannot with all my industrious inquiry find him in his
cradle, I can fetch him from his long coats. When a little child
he lived in Hartshorn Lane, near Charing Cross, where his mother
married a bricklayer for her second husband.”

[472] The circumstances of this crime have remained an unsolved
mystery. Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey was found in a ditch near
Primrose Hill on the evening of October 17, five days after his
disappearance from his house in Green Lane, Strand, and five weeks
after hearing Titus Oates swear to the existence of a Popish plot.
Smith’s statement that he was murdered in Somerset House rests on
the utterly corrupt and contradictory testimony of Miles Prance,
the Roman Catholic silversmith. His evidence, however, sent three
men to the gallows, who protested their innocence to the last.
The whole subject is re-examined by Mr. Andrew Lang in _Longman’s
Magazine_ of August 1903.

Four different medals were struck to commemorate and characterise
the murder. In one of these Godfrey is represented walking with a
sword through his body, while on the reverse St. Denis is shown
carrying his head in his hand, with the inscription--

    “Godfrey walks uphill after he is dead;
    Dennis walks downhill carrying his head.”

The design of another medal illustrates Prance’s statement that
Godfrey’s body was first moved from Somerset House in a sedan
chair, and then on a horse to Primrose Hill.

The burial of the murdered Justice in St. Martin’s Church was
attended by more than a thousand people of distinction, and his
portrait was placed in the vestry-room, where it hangs to this day.

[473] William Lloyd (1627-1717), successively Bishop of St.
Asaph, Lichfield-and-Coventry, and Worcester, was Vicar of St.
Martin’s-in-the-Fields 1677-80.

[474] “The two grand Ingrossers of Coles: viz. The Woodmonger, and
the Chandler. In a dialogue, expressing their unjust and cruell
raising the price of Coales, when, and how they please, to the
generall oppression of the Poore. Penn’d on Purpose to lay open
their subtile practices, and for the reliefe of many thousands of
poore people, in, and about the Cities of London, and Westminster.
By a Well-willer to the prosperity of this famous Common-wealth.
London, Printed for John Harrison at the Holy-Lamb at the East end
of S. Pauls, 1653.”

[475] It has been demonstrated by Mr. Sidney Young in his learned
work, _The Annals of the Barber Surgeons_ (1890), that this
painting cannot represent the granting of the Charter by Henry
VIII. This event occurred in 1512, when the King was but twenty-one
years of age; Holbein makes him a man of fifty. Mr. Young believes
Holbein’s subject to be the Union of the Barbers Company with the
Guild of Surgeons, accomplished by Act of Parliament in 1540.

[476] Of this picture, which narrowly escaped the Fire of London,
Pepys thus speaks in his Memoirs:--August 28, 1688. “And at noon
comes by appointment Harris to dine with me: and after dinner he
and I to Chyrurgeons’-hall, where they are building it new,--very
fine; and there to see their theatre, which stood all the fire, and
(which was our business) their great picture of Holbein’s, thinking
to have bought it, by the help of Mr. Pierce, for a little money: I
did think to give £200 for it, it being said to be worth £1000; but
it is so spoiled that I have no mind to it, and is not a pleasant,
though a good picture.”--S.

[477] This painting represents Edward VI. presenting the Royal
Charter of Endowment to the Lord Mayor in 1552; it cannot,
therefore, be by Holbein, who died in 1543. Walpole attributes the
painting to Holbein, but says the picture was not completed by him.
He states that Holbein introduced his own head into one corner.
Wornum thinks that there is not a trace of this master’s hand in
the picture.

[478] Her portrait has not been identified with certainty. An old
Windsor catalogue, however, contains her name.

[479] Richard Dalton was keeper of pictures and antiquary to George
III., and one of the artists who presented to George III. the
petition for the foundation of the Royal Academy. In 1774, Dalton
published about ten etchings from Holbein’s drawings. Perhaps his
greatest service to British art was his bringing Bartolozzi to
England.

[480] John Chamberlaine (1745-1812), antiquary, succeeded Dalton
in 1791, and published “_Imitations of Original Drawings_, by
Hans Holbein, in the Collection of His Majesty, for the Portraits
of Illustrious Persons at the Court of Henry VIII.” He died at
Paddington Green.

[481] Conrad Martin Metz (1755-1827) studied engraving in London
under Bartolozzi; he engraved and imitated many drawings by the old
masters.

[482] Edmund Lodge (1756-1839), Clarenceux Herald in 1838. His
book, known briefly as _Lodge’s Portraits_, was originally issued
in forty folio parts.

[483] Of Sandby’s “View of Westminster from the garden of old
Somerset House” there is an engraving by Rawle in Smith’s
_Westminster Antiquities_.

[484] Charles Long, Baron Farnborough (1761-1838), was Secretary
of State for Ireland, and held other important posts. Thomas Moore
calls him “the most determined placeman in England” (Memoirs, iv.
28). His advice was sought on the decoration of the royal palaces
and on London street improvements. He gave many fine pictures to
the National Gallery.

[485] These views may still be seen in Crowle’s “Pennant,” in the
Print Room. The first represents London from Somerset House about
1795, and the second Somerset House from the east showing the
Lambeth site of Westminster Bridge, etc. In addition, there are in
the Crace collection two London views by Thomas Sandby, and seven
by Paul. See note on Crowle, p. 86.

[486] In Smith’s day the river washed the base of the Water Gate,
covering at high tide the gardens in which the London County
Council’s band now plays in summer in London now possesses an
approximation to an out-of-door Parisian café. Samuel Scott’s “View
of Westminster from the Thames,” National Gallery, Room xix., shows
the old state of things.

[487] Etty removed to Buckingham Street in the summer of 1824, from
Stangate Walk, Lambeth. At first he took the “lower floor,” but,
says Gilchrist, “the top floor was the watch-tower for which our
artist sighed,” and he soon obtained it. Here, “having above him,”
as he said, “none but the Angels, and the Catholics who had gone
before him,” he lived for twenty-three years, finding an excellent
housekeeper in his niece. The house stands unaltered, presenting
five storeys to the river just behind the Water Gate. Etty’s last
years (he died in 1849) were given to his birth-place, York, where
his tomb is an object of interest in the grounds of St. Mary’s
Abbey.

[488] Clarkson Stanfield (1793-1867), the marine and landscape
painter, was scene-painter at three London theatres, including
Drury Lane. “Incomparably the noblest master of cloud-form of all
our artists,” was Ruskin’s praise of this artist; “the soul of
frankness, generosity, and simplicity,” was Dickens’s praise of the
man.

[489] Roubiliac’s statue of Newton, made for Trinity College, was
pronounced by Chantrey “the noblest, I think, of all our English
statues.” Similarly Roubiliac’s figure of Eloquence was considered
by Canova “one of the noblest statues he had seen in England”: it
occurs in the monument to John, Duke of Argyll and Greenwich, in
Poets’ Corner.

John Bacon, R.A. (1740-99), established his reputation by his
figure of Mars, which won him the good word of West, the patronage
of the Archbishop of York, and his election as A.R.A. See note on
p. 33.

John Charles Felix Rossi, R.A. (1762-1839), was born at Nottingham.
He executed statues of Lord Cornwallis, Lord Heathfield, and
others in St. Paul’s Cathedral, and decorated Buckingham Palace.
His “Celadon and Amelia” was executed in Rome. His is the colossal
figure of Britannia in Liverpool Exchange. He was buried in St.
James’s churchyard, Hampstead Road.

Flaxman’s “Michael vanquishing Satan” was commissioned by Lord
Egremont, and is now at Petworth.

Of busts, alone, Nollekens executed at least two hundred.

Chantrey’s genius was fully acknowledged by Nollekens, who would
say when asked to model a bust: “Go to Chantrey; he’s the man for
a bust! he’ll make a good bust for you! I always recommend him”
(Smith: _Nollekens_).

Londoners see Sir Richard Westmacott’s statues every day without
knowing it. His is the Achilles statue to Wellington in Hyde Park,
the Duke of York on the York Column, and the statue of Fox in
Bloomsbury Square. His statues in St. Paul’s and the Abbey are
numerous; the Abbey has his beautiful monument to Mrs. Warren, a
mother and child.

Edward Hodges Baily, R.A. (1788-1867), studied under Flaxman.
The bas-relief on the Marble Arch is his, several statues in St.
Paul’s, and the figure of Nelson in Trafalgar Square.

[490] William Young Ottley (1771-1836), author of _The Origin and
Early History of Engraving_. His knowledge of painting is described
as “astonishing” by Samuel Rogers. On Smith’s death Ottley became
Keeper of the Prints.

[491] Maso Finiguerra, a skilful Florentine goldsmith, engraved
in 1452 a silver plate to be used as a pax in the church of San
Giovanni, and in order to judge of the effect of his design,
the lines of which he intended to fill with enamel, he poured
some liquid sulphur upon the plate. He then succeeded in taking
impressions of the design on paper. These impressions were once
thought to be the earliest known engravings. It is now proved that
they were not, and that Finiguerra may have had direct instruction
from an early German engraver.

[492] The site of Mr. Atkinson’s villa and grounds is indicated by
Grove End Road, west of Lord’s Cricket Ground.

[493] Smith misquotes Ramsay, who wrote--

    “How halesome ’tis to snuff the cawler air,
    And all the sweets it bears, when void of care.”

_Gentle Shepherd_, 1st ed., Act i. Sc. i. 5, 6.

[494] William West, actor and composer, lived to a great age, and
was known as the “Father of the Stage.” Some of his songs, such as
“When Love was fresh from her Cradle Bed,” were popular. He died in
1888.

[495] The Rev. Thomas Hartwell Horne, Rector of St. Edmund the
King and St. Nicholas Acon, was a valuable servant of the British
Museum, to which he came as cataloguer in 1824. He died at his
house in Bloomsbury Square, January 27, 1862. Watt was Robert Watt,
the bibliographer, compiler of _Bibliotheca Britannica_, etc.; he
died in 1819.

[496] The Post Angel, of which the British Museum has a copy,
was one of the enterprises of John Dunton. His rigmarole preface
sets forth that “by Post-Angels I mean all the invisible Host of
the Middle Region, that are employed about us either as Friends
or Enemies”; his design is “to shew how we should enquire after
News, not as Athenians but as Christians, or (in other words) a
Divine Employment of every Remarkable Occurrence.” Features of this
periodical were “The Lives and Deaths of the most Eminent Persons
that Died in that Month,” and recurrent pious reflections under the
head of “The Spiritual Observator.”

[497] John Taylor, who was Smith’s life-long friend and the most
genial and patriarchal of artists, died at his house in Cirencester
Place, November 21, 1838, in his ninety-ninth year. Smith mentions
under the year 1779, that he had been the pupil of Frank Hayman,
after which he took up the drawing of portraits in pencil, for
which he received seven-and-sixpence to a guinea each. It is said
that, in Oxford alone, in six or eight years, Taylor drew, or
painted, more than three thousand heads. Finding this employment
poorly paid, he took the advice of his fellow-artist “Jack” Gresse
and set up as drawing-master, investing his savings in annuities
which were to expire in 1840. He died just in time to escape want.
See the early reference to Taylor, p. 80.

[498] This caricature was brought out on September 7, 1762, and
was entitled “The Bruiser, C. Churchill (once the Reverend!)
in the Character of a Russian Hercules, regaling himself after
having kill’d the Monster CARICATURA that so sorely galled his
virtuous friend, the Heaven-born Wilkes.” Mr. Austin Dobson says:
“Churchill, who had been ordained a priest and abandoned that
calling, appears as a bear, grasping a club, which is inscribed
‘Lye 1, Lye 2,’ etc., and regaling himself with a quart pot of
‘British Burgundy.’”

[499] Hayman died in 1776, so that this statement has a bearing
on the vexed question of the date of the “Blue Boy,” which some
writers put as late as 1779. Sir Walter Armstrong is convinced
that 1770 is the correct date. If so, Gainsborough could not have
painted the picture, as he is said to have done, to confute a
passage in Sir Joshua Reynolds’s eighth Discourse, which was not
delivered until December 1778. The Blue Boy was Master Jonathan
Buttall, the ironmonger’s son. The subject, history, and ownership
of this famous picture have been the subjects of a controversy
second only, in lengthy inconclusiveness, to that on the Letters of
Junius. In all probability the original picture is the one in the
possession of the Duke of Westminster.

[500] When advanced in life, and unfitted for sprightly parts,
Mrs. Abington determined to appear as Scrub, the man-of-all-work
to Lady Bountiful in Farquhar’s comedy, _The Beaux’ Stratagem_.
“I was present,” says John Taylor, in his _Records of My Life_,
“and remember nothing in her performance that might not have been
expected from an actor of much inferior abilities. As a proof, too,
that, like many of her profession, she thought herself capable of
characters not within the scope of her powers, I once saw her play
Ophelia to Mr. Garrick’s Hamlet; and, to use a simile of my old
friend Dr. Monsey, she appeared _like a mackerel on a gravel walk_.”

[501] Hitherto, in the RAINY DAY, _William_ Chambers has appeared,
another misleading slip. Sir Robert was the Indian judge, and is
referred to by Johnson in a letter to Boswell, dated March 5, 1774:
“Chambers is married, or almost married, to Miss Wilton, a girl
of sixteen, exquisitely beautiful, whom he has, with his lawyer’s
tongue, persuaded to take her chance with him in the East.” Miss
Wilton was the daughter of Joseph Wilton, R.A., the sculptor.

[502] Mr. Taylor’s father was not only highly respected, but for
many years held a principal situation in the Custom House (S.).

[503] They were cleaned and “restored” by John Francis Rigaud, R.A.

[504] Doubtless the letter from Mrs. Abington to Mrs. Jordan,
printed under the year 1815.

[505] John Bannister (Honest Jack) left the stage on the night of
June 1, 1815, when he played in Kenney’s comedy _The World_, and
_The Children in the Wood_. “Your whole conscience stirred with
Bannister’s performance of Walter in the _Children in the Wood_,”
says Lamb; and Haydon, who in 1826 met Bannister by accident in
Chenies Street, Bedford Square, writes: “He held out his hand just
as he used to do on the stage, with the same frank native truth.
As he spoke, the tones of his favourite ‘Walter’ pierced my heart.
It was extraordinary, the effect. ‘Bannister,’ said I, ‘your voice
recalls my early days.’--‘Ah,’ said he, ‘I had some touches, had I
not?’”

[506] John Pritt Harley (1786-1858) distinguished himself as
singer and actor. He appeared at Drury Lane in 1815, the year of
Bannister’s retirement, and succeeded to many of that comedian’s
parts. He was known as Fat Jack--from his thinness. “I have an
exposition of sleep upon me,” were his last words, spoken on the
stage of the Princess’s Theatre on August 20, 1858. He had hardly
made his exit when he was seized with paralysis, and he died at
14 Upper Gower Street two days later. Harley was an excellent
Shakespearean clown, and an ardent collector of walking-sticks.

[507] Porridge Island and another rookery called The Bermudas
disappeared about 1829. These were cant names.




GENERAL INDEX


    Academy, Royal, its origin and foundation members, 12.

    Ackworth School, 185.

    Adelphi Terrace, No. 5, 80, 239-240.

    “Ad Libitum” Society, 213.

    Admirals’ portraits at Greenwich, 282.

    Aeronaut, an early English, 129.

    Amphitheatre, Broughton’s, 33.

    Anodyne necklaces, 8.

    Auctioneers, famous London, 108-110.


    Balloon ascent from Vauxhall, 260.

    Baltimore House, 75.

    Bankside, a house on, 78.

    Banqueting House, restoration of Rubens’s ceiling, 319-320.

    Barber-Surgeons’ Hall, 301.

    Battersea market gardeners, 293.

    Beaufort Buildings, festive nights in, 120.

    Bedroom, Dr. John Gardner’s last best, 89.

    Beech-tree at Windsor demolished, 131.

    Beech-tree, drawn by J. T. Smith, 129.

    Beefsteaks, Sublime Society of, 213-214.

    Beggars, famous London, 87, 88, 89, 223.

    Belgrave House, 259.

    Bells, Thames-side church, 298-299.

    Bermondsey Spa, 150-152.

    Bird-fanciers, their London quarters, 69.

    Bistre from a burnt tree, 131.

    Black Boy Alley, 180.

    Bloomsbury Square, Lady Ellenborough in, 100.

    Blotting, the art of, 132.

    Blue Boy, Gainsborough’s, 317.

    Bolsover Street, painters in, 75.

    Bookseller, a Strand, 109.

    Bow, cane-heads made at, 134.

    Brentford, election at, 15.

    Bridewell, picture by Holbein in, 302.

    Brown tree, Sir George Beaumont’s craze for a, 131.

    Buckingham Street, Etty’s rooms in, 305.

    ---- Stanfield, R.A., in, 306.

    “Budget,” John Bannister’s, 206-207.

    Bun House at Chelsea, 147.

    Busby wig, 251.


    Cake, the Baddeley, 64.

    Capper’s Farm, Great Russell Street, 30.

    Caterpillars, plague of, 272.

    Centenarians, 25.

    “Chapeau de Paille” of Rubens, 243-245.

    Chapter Coffee House, 184.

    Charles II. eats a pickled egg, 70.

    Cheesecakes, etc., at Marylebone Gardens, 57.

    Chelsea Hospital, 295.

    Chelsea porcelain, 284.

    Cherokee Kings at Marylebone, 57.

    “Chloe,” Prior’s, 60.

    Chunee, the elephant, 107.

    Circus, Astley’s, 270-271.

    “Cit’s Country Box,” 17.

    City of London _v._ Copper Holmes, 269.

    Clapham, old, 275.

    Coals, price of, 300.

    “Cocker, according to,” 113.

    Cock-fighting yesterday and to-day, 70.

    Cockney Ladle, 48, 49.

    Cockpits in London, 69-70.

    Coffee used to stain prints, 256.

    Collectors described, 110-122.

    Colvill Court, 32.

    Combing of wigs, 255.

    Conjurer, Breslaw the, 68.

    Connoisseurs at the “Feathers,” etc., 104-106.

    Cooper’s Hill, 99.

    Covent Garden, its hackney chairs, 3.

    ---- artists residing there, 5.

    ---- painting of, by Inigo Jones, 209.

    Crab-tree Fields, 33.

    Cradles, 9.

    Cricket in White Conduit Fields, 192-193.

    Cross Readings, Caleb Whitefoord’s, 113.

    “Cumberland Cock” hat, 236.

    Cup carved from Shakespeare’s mulberry, 250.

    Cuyp, adventure of a, 114.


    Dards’ Exhibition, 232.

    Denmark Street, St. Giles’s, 27.

    Devonshire Mews, 43.

    Dew, Londoners bathing their faces in, 38.

    Dickens anticipated, 84.

    Dog, Alcibiades’, 233.

    Dog, a London beggar’s, 88, 89.

    Dog-doctor, famous London, 90.

    Doggett’s Coat and Badge, 225-227.

    Dogs, teeth of dead, 91.

    Door-knockers in Fetter Lane, 124-125.

    Draughts player, a famous, 31.

    Drownings in Portman Square, 49.

    Drury Lane Theatre, mismanagement of, 36.

    Dublin, Mrs. Pope and her husband at, 164-166.

    Du Val’s Lane, 193.

    Dyot Street, 87.


    Edmonton, exclusiveness of, 134.

    ---- rambles near, 134.

    ---- George Morland at, 157.

    Elephant at Exeter Change, 107.

    Elms near Fitzroy Square, 47.

    Elocution, Dr. Trusler’s short cut to, 55.

    Engraving, Smith’s views on, 307.

    Epitaph on Sturges, a draughts-player, 31.

    Epitaph, a remarkable Shoreditch, 89.

    Epping butter, 56, 181.

    Etchings by Baillie, 115.

    Eternity, Fuseli’s image of, 205.

    Execution of Governor Wall, 179-180.

    Exeter Change elephant, 106-108.

    Eye, power of the human, 146-147.


    Fall of lace, worn by ladies, 75.

    Fans, carried out of doors, 75.

    Fantoccino, 67.

    Farthing Pie House, 24, 47.

    Feathers Tavern in Leicester Fields, 104.

    Feathers Tavern at Waterloo Bridge, 53.

    Fetter Lane, Dolphin door knocker in, 125.

    Field of the Forty Footsteps, 36, 37.

    Finch’s Grotto, 7.

    Fitzroy Square, 47.

    Forgery by W. Wynn Ryland, 198.

    “French Gardens,” 50.

    Funeral, Garrick’s extravagant, 81.

    ---- Henderson’s skit on, 81.

    Funny, a Thames pleasure boat, 293.


    Garlands, carried by milkmaids, 20.

    Garrat elections, 127.

    Garrick’s villa at Hampton, 283-290.

    George IV., his rocker cradle, 9.

    Gerrard Street, Edmund Burke in, 128.

    Go-carts, 8.

    Goloshes, 75, 79.

    Goodge Street, 32.

    Goose, at Greenwich, 6.

    Gooseberry Fair, 35.

    Grangerised “Pennant,” 86.

    Great Queen Street, No. 55-56, 117.

    Green Man Tavern, 47.

    Greenwich Hospital, pictures at, 290-291.

    Gresse’s Gardens, 32.

    Grosvenor Square, Dr. Johnson shakes a thief in, 78.

    Grotto Garden, 82.

    Guilford Street, gap in, 76.


    Halfpenny Hatch, 270.

    Hanway Street, 31.

    Harley Fields, 24.

    Hartshorn Lane, 299.

    Hat called “Egham, Staines, and Windsor,” 236.

    ---- “Cumberland Cock,” 236.

    Hermes Hill, 241.

    Highgate, view of, from Bloomsbury, 76.

    High Street, a typical, 39.

    Honey Lane Market, 188.

    Hooligan, an eighteenth-century, 29.

    Horse, Stubbs, R.A., carries a dead, 95.

    Horses at Garrick’s funeral, 81.

    Hot Cross Buns, 148-149.

    Hungerford Stairs, 297.


    Ireland, the Union with, 169.

    Islington, rural delights of, 17.

    ---- seen from Bloomsbury, 76.


    Jack-in-the-green, 20.

    “Jenny’s Whim,” 259.

    Jew’s Harp House, 22-23.

    “Jolly Undertakers, The,” 213.


    Kendall’s Farm at Regent’s Park, 24.

    Kentish Town, dairy near, 26.

    ---- Charles Mathews at, 85.

    Kitten in a parachute, 259-260.


    _Ladies’ Pocket Book_, 79.

    Langham Hotel, 49.

    “Last Supper,” Benjamin West’s, 91.

    Leverian Museum, 191.

    Leyton, Rockhoult House at, 52.

    “Little Sea,” the, 32.

    London, its rural openness in 1777, 75.

    Londoners’ superstitions, 37, 38.

    Long’s Bowling Green, 51.

    Lottery to dispose of Leverian Museum, 191.


    Marionettes, 68.

    Marylebone, Academy at, 41-46.

    Marylebone Basin, Quaker youth drowned in, 50.

    Marylebone Gardens, 51-68.

    Marylebone Park, 41.

    Marylebone, Old, 39-50.

    Masks over doors, 28.

    May Day, customs on, 19.

    Mayors of Garrat, 127.

    Medals commemorating murder of Sir E. B. Godfrey, 299.

    Middlesex Hospital, 32.

    Millbank, old, 258-259.

    “Milkmaid, A Merry,” 21.

    “Moses, The Finding of,” fashionable version, 85.

    Mother Red-cap Tavern, 25, 26.


    Nelson, his remains brought to Whitehall, 182.

    Newgate, Smith’s visit to, 178-183.

    ---- auction at, 183-184.

    Newman Street, view from, 46.

    New Wells, the, 52.

    Norris monument in Westminster Abbey, 274.

    Norton Street, 75.

    Nuremberg, Dürer festival at, 261-265.


    Onions, peeled by Queen Charlotte, 236.

    Otter’s Pool, 157.

    Oxford Street, old tablet, 31.


    Paddington, a villa at, 312-313.

    Pain’s Hill at Cobham, 289.

    “Papyrius Cursor,” 113.

    Parachute descent, a famous, 259-260.

    Pariton, a musical instrument, 53.

    Parliament Stairs, 173.

    Pax by Tomaso Finiguerra, 309-312.

    Percy Chapel, Charlotte Street, 96.

    Phlebotomist, a busy, 137.

    Pickled Egg Walk, 70.

    Pie Corner, 181.

    Pimlico, formation of, 260.

    Pipes, New River water, 36.

    Poets’ Corner, 240-242.

    Ponds in old Marylebone, 49.

    Porridge Island, 322.

    Portland Place, 48, 49.

    Portland Vase, the, 130.

    Portman Square, chairmen drowned at, 49.

    Portraits, collected by Charles Mathews, 85.

    Portraiture made easy, 119.

    _Post Angel_, a curious journal, 314.

    Printsellers, portrayed by Rowlandson, 122.

    Prize fight, a famous, 33.

    Puddings, worn by children, 11.

    ---- praised by Nollekens, 12.

    Pump in Ironmonger Lane, 235.


    Queen Anne Street, 48.

    “Queen’s Head and Artichoke,” 22.


    Rathbone Place, gatherings at, 96.

    Rats’ Castle, 87.

    Rattlesnakes at Islington, 52.

    Regent’s Park, farms near, 24.

    Rembrandt’s Three Trees “improved,” 115.

    “Resurrection Gate,” 27.

    Rockhoult House, 52.

    Rose Tavern at Marylebone, 51, 58.

    Royal Academy, 12, 13, 68.

    ---- two women admitted, 198.

    Runnymede, 99, 101.


    St. Bartholomew’s Fair, Belzoni at, 186-187.

    St. Clare, Convent of, 162.

    St. George’s Chapel, George III. in, 102.

    St. George’s Fields, riot in, 13.

    St. Giles in the Fields, 28, 29, 197.

    St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, watermen’s burial ground at, 269.

    St. Paul’s, protection of, from lightning, 173.

    St. Sepulchre’s Church, old custom at, 38, 39.

    St. Stephen’s Chapel, discoveries in, 171-173.

    Salt-box, what was it? 48.

    Scrub, Mrs. Abington as, 318.

    Sculptors enumerated by Smith, 308.

    Sermon by Rowland Hill, 159-160.

    Sermon-monger, Dr. Trusler as a, 55.

    _Serva Padrona, La_, 61.

    Sessions House, Clerkenwell, 47.

    Shakespeare Gallery, Boydell’s, 235.

    Shakespeare, Dr. Kenrick’s lectures on, 63.

    ---- Miss Benger’s lines on, 249.

    ---- his mulberry tree, 250.

    Showman, Flockton the, 186.

    Simon, a London beggar, 87.

    Slack, his fight with Broughton, 33, 34.

    Society of Arts, wall paintings at, 171.

    Soho, watch-house in, 126.

    Soho Square, Sir Joseph Banks in, 229.

    Songs and glees, 155.

    Spinning-wheel Alley, 9.

    Statues, notable London, 308.

    Strand Lane Stairs, scene at, 272-273.

    Stratford Jubilee, 250.

    Surrey Chapel, 158.

    Swan signs on the Thames, 297.

    Swan-upping, 208.


    Tea-leaves, fortune-telling by, 77.

    Tea-pot, Dr. Johnson’s, 194.

    Teething of children, 8.

    Temple Bar, elephant passes through, 107.

    Tessellated floors, 149.

    Thames, Sandby’s views of, 304.

    Thrale’s Brewery, 78.

    Toplady, buried, 33.

    Topographical collections, 99.

    Tottenham Court Road district, 26 et seq.

    Trusler (Miss), her fruit-tarts and cheesecakes, 56.


    Ugolino, Sir Joshua Reynolds’s, 281.


    Vauxhall Gardens, pictures at, 20.

    Venus waited on by footmen, 233.

    Viol-di-gamba, Gainsborough and the, 61.

    Virginia Water, formation of, 102-104.


    Walnut Tree Field, 33.

    _Waterman, The_, 227-228.

    Waterman’s Hall, portrait in, 226.

    Watermen, Thames, 268-270.

    Watermen’s Burial Ground, 269.

    Westminster Abbey, prize-fighter’s monument in, 34.

    ---- admission to, 241.

    Whips carried by ladies, 79.

    Whitefield’s Tabernacle, 32, 33.

    Whitehall Chapel, repairs of, 273.

    Wigs in England, 251-257.

    Willan’s Farm at Regent’s Park, 23.

    Wimbledon, Horne Tooke at, 209-211.

    Windmill Street, 32.

    Women as Royal Academicians, 198.




INDEX OF PERSONS


    Abington (Mrs.), 214-212, 308.

    Adams (George), 151.

    Adams ( John), 139.

    Amherst (Lady), 240.

    Angelo (Michael), 27-28.

    Armstrong (Dr. George), 21.

    Armstrong (Dr. John), 15.

    Arnald, A.R.A., 175, 277.

    Arne (Dr.), 181.

    Arnold (Dr. S.), 62.

    Arnold (S. J.), 213.

    Astley, 270-271.

    Atkinson, 312.


    Bacon, R.A., 13, 33, 308.

    Baddeley, 64.

    Baillie (Captain), 114.

    Baily, R.A., 309.

    Baker, R.A., 12.

    Baker, 115.

    Banks (Sir Joseph), 229.

    Banks (Mrs.), 229-231.

    Bannister (Charles), 61.

    Bannister (John), 206-207, 320.

    Barbauld (Mrs.), 79.

    Baretti, 47.

    Barrett, R.A., 12.

    Barrington (Hon. Daines), 89.

    Barrow, 42.

    Barry, R.A., 13, 170, 171.

    Bartolozzi, R.A., 12, 82.

    Basire, 111.

    Bates (Dr.), 202.

    Battishill, 154, 155.

    Bean (Rev.), 27.

    Beaumont (Sir G.), 94, 131.

    Beauvais, 119.

    Bell (Dr.), 38.

    Beltz, 237.

    Belzoni, 187-190.

    Benger, 249-250.

    Bentley, 174.

    Beresford, 78.

    Bingham, 26.

    Blake (William), 97, 199.

    Blaquière, 220.

    Blewitt, 153.

    Bonnington, 273.

    Boswell, 147.

    Boydell, 235.

    Brand, 172.

    Breslaw, 68.

    Bretherton, 16, 17.

    Broughton, 33, 34, 226.

    Brown (“Capability”), 288.

    Buchan (Dr.), 184-185.

    Bull, 99.

    Bunbury, 17.

    Burchell, 8.

    Burges (Dr.), 235.

    Burgoyne (General), 96, 216.

    Burke (Edmund), 128, 144.

    Burlington (Lord), 287.

    Burney (Miss), 22.

    Burton, 22.

    Busby (Dr.), 251.

    Bush, 196.

    Buttall, 318.

    Byron (Lord), 18, 108.


    Caillot, 63, 68.

    Calonne, 276.

    Camelford (Lord), 201.

    Campe, 262.

    Canning (Elizabeth), 135.

    Capper, 30.

    Caracci, 195.

    Carey, 65.

    Carlile, 50.

    Carlini, 13.

    Carr, 283.

    Carr, 240.

    Carter (Elizabeth), 3, 79, 231.

    Carter (John), 173.

    Cartwright (Major), 247-248.

    Catley, 6, 58.

    Catton, R.A., 12.

    Caulfield, 154.

    Chamberlaine, 303.

    Chamberlen, 8.

    Chamberlin, R.A., 12.

    Chambers, R.A., 12, 75.

    Chambers (Sir Robert), 318.

    Chantrey, R.A., 283, 308.

    Charlemont (Earl of), 168-170.

    Charles II., 70.

    Cheesman, 169.

    Chetwood, 3.

    Cholmondeley (Mrs.), 146.

    Christie, 250-251.

    Chun, 25.

    Churchill, 316-317.

    Cibber, 255.

    Cipriani, R.A., 12, 129, 319.

    Clarence (Duke of), 222.

    Clark, 101.

    Clarke (Dr. Adam), 44.

    Cocker, 113.

    Coffey, 2.

    Cole, 111.

    Collins, 258.

    Constable, R.A., 47, 160-162.

    Cooke, 271.

    Coram, 12.

    Cornelius, 262.

    Cosway, R.A., 13, 217.

    Cosway (Maria), 180.

    Cotes, R.A., 12, 164.

    Cowper (Charles), 224.

    Cowper (William), 18, 55.

    Coxe (“Social Day”), 182.

    Cozens, 132.

    Cranch, 162.

    Cremorne (Lord), 253.

    Crowle, 43, 86, 304.

    Cumberland (Duke of), 34.

    Curtis, 271.


    Dahl, 292.

    Dalton, 303.

    Dance (James), 1.

    Dance, R.A. (George), 1, 204.

    Dance, R.A. (Nathaniel), 12, 237.

    Daniell, R.A., 204.

    Darby, 83.

    Dards, 232.

    David, 180.

    Davies (Tom), 110, 285.

    Dawson (Nancy), 10.

    Dekker, 259.

    De la Place, 41, 42.

    Delaval, 173-175.

    Delpini, 123.

    De Wint, 97.

    Dibdin, 70, 104, 292.

    Dinsdale, 126.

    Doggett, 225-227.

    Dollond, 152.

    Dorset (Duke of), 192.

    Douglas, 100.

    Drury (Dr.), 101.

    Ducarel, 24.

    Ducrow, 271.

    Dunstan, 127-128.

    Dunton, 314.

    Duvall, 253.

    Dürer, Albrecht, 261-265.

    Du Val, 193.

    Dyer, 42.

    Dyot, 87.


    Easton, 25.

    Edmunds, 106.

    Edridge, A.R.A., 106.

    Edwards, A.R.A., 115.

    Edy, 87.

    Elizabeth (Queen), 22.

    Ellenborough (Lord), 100.

    Esdaile, 273-274, 277.

    Etty, R.A., 305.

    Everdingen, 259.


    Faber, 5.

    Falkner, 53.

    Farnborough (Lord), 304.

    Fielding (Sir John), 56.

    Finch’s Grotto, 7.

    Finiguerra, 309.

    Fischer, 35.

    Fitzroy, 33.

    Flaxman, R.A., 96, 98, 128, 172, 308.

    Fleetwood, 36.

    Flockton, 68, 186.

    Foote, 1, 108, 135.

    Forde (Dr.), 177.

    Fountayne, 40, 42, 43.

    Fountayne (Mrs.), 44, 45, 59.

    Fourment, 11.

    Francklin, 242-243.

    Frost, 161.

    Fuseli, R.A., 14, 204-205.


    Gainsborough, R.A., 12, 160, 258, 317.

    Gardner, 89.

    Garnerin, 259-260.

    Garrard, R.A., 289.

    Garrick--
      Seen by Smith, 87.
      Farewell of the stage, 70-74, 228.
      Death and burial, 80-81.
      His eyes, 146.
      And Mrs. Pope, 163.
      And Mrs. Abington, 215-216.
      Presented with a cup, 250-251.
      His wigs, 257.
      His villa, 284-290.

    Garrick (Mrs.), 236-243, 285-288.

    Gay, 6.

    George III., 5, 101-102, 130, 247, 253.

    George IV., 9, 35, 245, 282.

    Giardini, 61.

    Gilliland, 225.

    Godfrey (Sir E. Berry), 254, 299.

    Goldsmith (Dr.), 17, 57, 257.

    Goodge, 32.

    Gossett (Dr.), 112.

    Gough, 109-110, 140.

    Goyen, 259.

    Granby (Marquis of), 295.

    Green, 166.

    Gresse, 32.

    Greville, 129.

    Griffith, 80.

    Grose (Captain), 105.

    Gubbins, 162.

    Gwynn, R.A., 12.


    Hamilton (Sir W.), 127.

    Hamilton (Lady), 129, 182.

    Hand, 147.

    Handel, 43.

    Hargrave, 42.

    Harley, 86, 320-321.

    Harrington (Lady), 44.

    Harris, 213.

    Hart (Emma), 129.

    Hartry, 137.

    Hawkins (Sir John), 194.

    Hayman, 13, 20, 317.

    Hearne, 105.

    Heath, 270, 298.

    Heberfield, 258.

    Henderson (John), 81, 121.

    Henderson (William), 85.

    Henry VIII., 301.

    Hewson, 296.

    Heywood, 122.

    Hill (Rowland), 101.

    Hill (Rev. Rowland), 158-159.

    Hillier, 194, 256.

    Hinchliffe (Dr.), 82.

    Hoare, R.A., 13.

    Hoare (Sir R. C.), 93.

    Hogarth--
      In Covent Garden, 5.
      And Vauxhall Gardens, 20.
      March to Finchley, 30, 33.
      His engraver, Sullivan, 34.
      Rake’s Progress, 40.
      The “Five Orders of Perriwigs,” 104.
      Vogue of his prints, 121.
      Caricature of Churchill, 317.

    Hogarth (Mrs.), 56.

    Holbein, 301-302.

    Holmes (“Copper”), 150, 268-269.

    Hone, R.A., 12, 97, 134.

    Hone (W.), 9, 20.

    Hopkins, 116.

    Hopkins (“Vulture”), 253.

    Horne (Rev. H.), 314.

    Horneck, 17.

    Howard, R.A., 12.

    Howard of Effingham, 282.

    Huddesford, 93, 103, 183.

    Hudson (Tom of Ten Thousand), 5.

    Hudson (Thomas), 280-281.

    Hughes, 70.

    Humphry, R.A., 97, 109.

    Hunter (Dr. William), 2.

    Huntington (Rev. W.), 211-212.

    Hutchins, 108.

    Hutchinson (“Strap”?), 297.


    Incledon, 292-293.

    Ireland (Dean), 241.

    Ireland (Samuel), 139.


    Jackson, 82.

    James I., 76.

    James, 99.

    James (Sir W. J.), 222.

    Janssen, 142.

    Jeffreys (Judge), 140.

    Jennings (or Noel), 233-235.

    Johnson (Dr. Samuel)--
      His mention of John Rann, 38.
      Joke about Cuper’s Gardens, 53.
      Visits to Marylebone Gardens, 63.
      Described by Smith, 77.
      Seizes a thief, 78.
      Discusses Garrick’s funeral, 81.
      His original for Pekuah, 90.
      Befriends Paterson, 109.
      Discusses the human eye, 146-147.
      His death, 194.
      With Garrick at Hampton, 289.

    Jones (Inigo), 209.

    Jonson, 299.

    Jordan (Mrs.), 221-223.

    Joslin, 41.

    Junius, 93.


    Kauffman, R.A., 12, 79, 197, 200.

    Kean, 65.

    Keate, 90.

    Keithe, 25.

    Kendall, 24.

    Kenrick, 63.

    Kett, 94.

    Keyse, 150, 152.

    King, 136.

    Kip, 2, 3.

    Kneller, 5, 21, 291.

    Knight, 245-246.

    Königsmark, 5.


    Lake (Sir J. W.), 107, 134.

    Lamb (Charles), 160, 223, 241.

    Lambert, 213.

    Langford, 108.

    Lauron, 21.

    Lawrence, R.A., 98, 280.

    Legat, 283.

    Leicester (Sir F.), 99.

    Lely (Sir Peter), 5, 255, 280.

    Lemon, 142-143.

    Lennox, 193.

    Lenox (Lady Sarah), 163.

    Lenox (Charlotte), 79.

    L’Estrange, 149.

    Lever (Sir Ashton), 100, 191.

    Lewis (“Strap”?), 296.

    Lloyd, 17.

    Lloyd (Bishop), 300.

    Locatelli, 46.

    Lochee, 85.

    Lock, 195.

    Lodge, 303.

    Lort (Dr.), 99, 111.

    Love (James), 1.

    Love (artist), 27.

    Lowe, 1, 7, 48, 59.


    MacArdell, 11.

    Macaulay (Catherine), 80.

    Macauley, 240.

    MacNally, 223.

    Manners-Sutton (Archbishop), 225.

    Marion, 67.

    Marlborough (Duke of), 2.

    Martin, 37.

    Mary Queen of Scots, 76.

    Mathew (Rev. H.), 96.

    Mathew (Mrs.), 128.

    Mathews (Charles), 85.

    Maton (Dr.), 240.

    Maynard (Viscount), 92.

    Mayo (Dr.), 141.

    Meckenen, 9.

    Mendip (Lord), 195.

    Metz, 303.

    Meyer, R.A., 12.

    Meyrick (Dr.), 105, 254.

    Millan, 109.

    Mitchell, 119.

    Mogg, 6.

    Money (Major), 128.

    Monk, 34.

    Monro (Dr.), 105.

    Montagu (Mrs.), 79.

    Montagu (Lady M. W.), 51.

    Montgomery (“Satan”), 96.

    More (Hannah), 80.

    More (Sir T.), 301.

    Morland, 156.

    Moser, R.A., 12, 28, 37, 109.

    Moser, R.A. (Miss), 12, 197.

    “Mother Damnable,” 26.

    Muet, 149.

    Musgrave (Sir W.), 10, 40.

    Musgrave, 116.

    Myddelton (Sir Hugh), 142.


    Nelson (Admiral Lord), 182.

    Newton, R.A., 12.

    Niven (“Strap”?), 297.

    Nixon, 212.

    Noel (or Jennings), 194.

    Nollekens, R.A., 12, 38.

    Nollekens (Mrs.), 22, 39, 89, 113.


    Onslow (Speaker), 22.

    Oram, 98, 104.

    Orford (Lord), 35.

    Ottley, 309.


    Packer, 121.

    Palmer, 123.

    Parkyns, 42.

    Parsons (Sir L.), 169.

    Parsons (Nancy), 92.

    Parton, 196.

    Paterson, 108, 110.

    Peel (Sir R.), 245.

    Penny, R.A., 13.

    Pepys, 228, 302.

    Pergolesi, 61.

    Peters, 160.

    Petitot, 35.

    Phillips (Lieut.-Col.), 145.

    Piozzi, 322.

    Pliny, 3.

    Pope (actor), 163-164.

    Pope (Alexander), 253.

    Pope (Mrs.), 163.

    Pope (Miss), 95.

    Porter, 268.

    Porter (Miss), 48.

    Prickett (Mrs. J. T. Smith), 133.

    Prior, 60.

    Pyne, 19, 24.


    Rackett, 241-242.

    Ramsay, 313.

    Rann, 38.

    Ratcliffe (Dr.), 5.

    Rawle, 117.

    Rebecca, R.A., 13, 68.

    Reinagle, 129.

    Rembrandt, 9, 115, 278.

    Reynolds (Sir Joshua), 12, 14, 97, 144, 146, 152, 219, 281.

    Rice, 25.

    Rich, 213.

    Richards, R.A., 13, 279.

    Richardson (Dr.), 190, 279.

    Richardson (Jonathan), 18, 19.

    Rigaud, R.A., 319.

    Robins, 5.

    Robinson (“Perdita”), 83.

    Robinson (Sir T.), 52.

    Roma, 76.

    Rooker, 13, 42.

    Rossi, R.A., 308.

    Roubiliac, 274, 308.

    Roupell, 272.

    Rowlandson, 87.

    Roxburgh (Duke of), 99, 176.

    Rubens, 11, 12, 195, 244, 319.

    Rumming, 137.

    Ruysdael, 259.

    Ryland, 198.


    Salt (Henry), 132.

    Salt (Samuel), 101.

    Sandby, R.A. (Paul), 12, 131, 303.

    Sandby, R.A. (Thomas), 12, 92, 102-103, 303.

    Sandwich (Lord), 96, 104.

    Schneider, 264.

    Schültze, 261.

    Score, 281.

    Scott (Samuel), 104.

    Seago, 87.

    Seguier, 122, 319.

    Serres, R.A., 13.

    Shakespeare, 9.

    Sheridan, R.B., 123, 146, 158.

    Sheridan (Mrs.), 79.

    Sherwin, 83, 84.

    Shovel (Sir Cloudesley), 253.

    Shuter, 35.

    Siddons, 74, 84.

    Slack, 33, 34.

    Smart, 161.

    Smedley, 250, 273-274.

    Smith (Admiral), 4, 278-279.

    Smith (Charles), 27.

    Smith (Nathaniel), 4.

    SMITH (JOHN THOMAS)--
      Birth, 2.
      His stick “Bannister,” 78.
      Runs to Garrick’s funeral, 80.
      Kissed by “Perdita,” 83.
      His will, 86.
      Sits for head of St. John, 91.
      Meets George III., 101-102.
      Visits Chunee the elephant, 107.
      Thinks of being an actor, 123.
      Marries, 132.
      Illustrates Pennant, 133.
      Lives at Edmonton, 133.
      Applies for mastership, 166-168.
      Publishes _Antiquities of Westminster_, 202.
      Keeper of the Prints, 224.
      Publishes _Vagabondiana_, 223.

    Smollett, 296.

    Solly (Mrs.), 242, 290.

    Southey, 37.

    Sprimont, 284.

    Squires, 135.

    Standly, 278.

    Stanfield, R.A., 306.

    Staunton, 3.

    Steevens, 63.

    Stepney (Sir T.), 234.

    Stewart, 309-312.

    Storace, 58.

    Storer, 99.

    Strange (Sir R.), 82, 142.

    Stuart (“Athenian”), 104.

    Stubbs, R.A., 95.

    Sturges, 31.

    Suett, 118.

    Sullivan, 34, 105.


    Tanner, 8.

    Tarleton (Sir B.), 193.

    Tarr, 2.

    Tatham, 267.

    Taylor, 80, 316-319.

    Thane, 219.

    Thompson, 29.

    Thrale, 78.

    Thynne (Thomas), 5.

    Thynne (Lord John), 241.

    Toms, R.A., 12.

    Tooke, 209-211.

    Topham (Colonel), 153.

    Toplady, 33.

    Torré, 63.

    Townley, 77, 195-196.

    Townsend, 101.

    Townshend, 253-254.

    Towry, 100.

    Trusler (Rev. J.), 45, 55.

    Trusler (Miss), 56.

    Tunnard, 78.

    Turner, R.A., 151.

    Turpin, 59.

    Twigg, 3.

    Tyers, 20, 316, 319.

    Tyler, R.A., 12.


    Vandyke, 142.

    Veigel (Mrs. Garrick), 287.

    Voltaire, 3.


    Wale, R.A., 12.

    Wall (Governor), 176-180.

    Walks (Dr.), 255.

    Walpole (Horace), 18, 36, 61, 111, 220-221.

    Walpole (Sir R.), 94.

    Warton, 94.

    Watt, 314.

    Weever, 89.

    Welch, 39.

    Wellington (Duke of), 252.

    Wells (“Mother”), 135.

    Wesley, 33.

    West, 313.

    West, P.R.A. (Benjamin), 12, 91, 129, 195.

    Westmacott, R.A., 308.

    Weston, 208.

    White, 202.

    Whitefield, 24, 32, 33.

    Whitefield (Mrs.), 33.

    Whitefoord, 113.

    Wigston, 156, 157.

    Wilkes, 13, 15-16, 75, 93.

    Willan, 23.

    Willes (Sir J. S.), 157.

    William III., 281-282, 315.

    William IV., 291.

    Wilmot, 15, 16.

    Wilson, R.A., 5, 12, 47, 75.

    Wilton, R.A., 12, 318.

    Wilton (Miss), 318.

    Winchilsea (Earl of), 192.

    Winston, 62.

    Woffington, 21.

    Wolcot (Dr.), 119-120.

    Wolsey (Cardinal), 141.

    Woodforde, 95.

    Woodhouse, 116.

    Woodhull, 117.

    Woollett, 253, 307.

    Worlidge, 117.

    Wrighten, 153.

    Wroth (Sir H.), 140.

    Wyatt, 92.

    Wyatt, R.A., 13, 172.

    Wynn (Sir W. W.), 238.


    Yates, 35.

    Yates (Mrs.), 44.

    Yeo, R.A., 12.


    Zoffany, R.A., 13, 285.

    Zuccarelli, R.A., 13.

    Zucchero, 76, 282.

    Zucchi, A.R.A., 13, 81, 200.

_Printed by MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED, Edinburgh_





End of Project Gutenberg's A Book for a Rainy Day, by John Thomas Smith

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