Chapter VI: Part THE SECOND (4)

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]

“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]

“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-coloured 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.”

“… 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._

“The fops 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.