Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

The rock on which too often a governor has made shipwreck of his administration has been the selection of individuals or families on whom he bestowed his exclusive confidence. The jealousy and envy which this preference excited in others did not constitute the only or even the greatest part of the evil. The selected few were desirous of making themselves of importance, and inducing him to value their support as essential to the success of his government. With this view they attributed to others unfriendly feelings towards the governor which they never entertained, and endeavoured to persuade him that they themselves were the only persons on whom he could rely. Their professions betrayed him into the great error of too soon and too freely making them acquainted with the views and designs of his government. Lord Metcalfe was too wise and too just to have any favourites; towards all, he acted with a frankness, sincerity, and kindness which made all equally his friends. Lord Metcalfe united with singular equanimity of temper, an extraordinary degree of self-possession. He never was betrayed into an intimation of his opinions or intentions, if prudence required that they should not be known. The time when, and the extent to which such intimation should be given, were always the result of his previous deliberate judgment. But this reserve was accompanied with so much kindness and gentleness of manner, that it silenced any disappointment or mortification in not attaining that insight into his views which was sought. A short intercourse with Lord Metcalfe could not fail to satisfy the mind that any attempt to elicit from him opinions which he did not desire to impart, would be wholly fruitless.

Another evil, no less injurious to the government than to the colony, was the hasty and imperfect estimate which governors formed of the motives and conduct of colonial legislatures. It had then been too frequent to represent those bodies as influenced by a hostile feeling, where no such feeling existed, and to exaggerate their difficulties in administering their government. Lord Metcalfe's administration was characterised by the candour with which he appreciated, the fidelity with which in his communications to her Majesty's government he represented, and the uncompromising honesty and firmness with which he vindicated the motives and acts of the Jamaica legislature, and repelled the prejudices, the misrepresentations, and calumnies by which it had been assailed. He brought to his administration, and never failed to evince, a constitutional respect for the institutions of the colony, and the strictest impartiality in maintaining the just rights of all classes of the community. Her Majesty's government continued to him that unlimited confidence he so well deserved, and left him to carry out his wise and beneficent principles of government. To cheer him in his noble undertaking, to bestow on the Assembly the most gratifying reward for their conduct, and to give them the highest assurance of the confidence of the government, the royal speech on the prorogation of Parliament contained her Majesty's gracious approbation of the disposition and proceedings of the legislature.

So sound were the principles on which he administered the government--so firm and lasting was the confidence reposed in him by the assembly, that during his administration there was not the slightest interruption of the most perfect harmony between him and the different branches of the legislature. He had the satisfaction of witnessing a most beneficent change in the manner, the care, and spirit in which the acts of the colonial legislature were examined, objections to them treated, and amendments required, by the government. The acts were not, as before, at once disallowed; but the proposed amendments were made the subjects of recommendation by communications to the legislature from the governor. The Assembly felt this change, and met it in a corresponding spirit, which readily disposed them to adopt the recommendations of the government.

Having fully and effectually accomplished the noble and Christian purpose with which he undertook the arduous duties of the government, he resigned it in June 1842. The state in which he left Jamaica, contrasted with that in which he found the colony on the commencement of his administration, was his rich reward. He came to Jamaica at a time when her legislation was suspended, mutual feelings of distrust and jealousy disturbing not only the relation between the governor and the legislature, but all the social relations in the colony; when laws were required for the altered state of society, and when the tranquillity and existence of the colony were placed in the greatest jeopardy. When he resigned the government, there had been effected a perfect reconciliation of the colony and the mother country; order and harmony, and good feeling amongst all classes had been restored; legislation had been resumed, laws had been passed adapted to the change which had taken place in the social relations of the inhabitants; and the cordial and active co-operation of the legislature had been afforded, notwithstanding the financial difficulties of the colony, in extending at a great cost the means of religious and moral instruction, and in making the most valuable improvements in the judicial system. He quitted the shores of Jamaica beloved, respected, and revered, with a gratitude and real attachment which few public men ever experienced. The inhabitants of Jamaica raised to him a monument which might mark their grateful homage to his memory. But there is engraven on the hearts of the public of Jamaica another memorial, in the affectionate gratitude and esteem with which they will feel the enduring blessings of his government, and recall his Christian charity, ever largely exercised in alleviating individual distress; his kindness and condescension in private life; and his munificent support of all their religious and charitable institutions, and of every undertaking which could promote the prosperity and happiness of the colony.

On Lord Metcalfe's arrival in England, a numerous meeting of the Jamaica proprietors and merchants was held, and an address presented to him, in which they offered him the tribute of their warmest and sincerest gratitude for the benefits which he had conferred on the colony "by the eminent talents, the wise, and just, and liberal principles which made his administration of the government a blessing to the colony, and had secured him the affection of all classes of the inhabitants, as well as the high approbation of his sovereign."

His answer to that address was a beautiful illustration of the unaffected modesty, of the kindness and benevolence of his disposition, and of the principles which influenced his administration. "Charged by her Majesty's government with a mission of peace and reconciliation, I was received in Jamaica with open arms. The duties which I had to perform were obvious; my first proceedings were naturally watched with anxiety; but as they indicated good-will and a fair spirit, I obtained hearty support and co-operation. My task in acting along with the spirit which animated the colony was easy. Internal differences were adjusted--either by being left to the natural progress of affairs, during which the respective parties were enabled to apprehend their real interests; or by mild endeavours to promote harmony, and discourage dissension. The loyalty, the good sense, and good feeling of the colony did every thing."

The beneficial effects of his administration did not cease on his resignation. The principles on which he had conducted it, were such, that an adherence to them could not fail to secure similar effects in every succeeding government. It was his great object to cultivate such mutual confidence and good feeling between her Majesty's government and the legislature, and all classes of the colony, as would influence and be apparent in the views and measures of the government, and as would secure the cordial co-operation of the legislature in adopting them. In promoting that object, he was ever anxious to supply the government with those means, which his local information and experience could alone furnish, of fully understanding and justly appreciating the views and measures of the Assembly. He was sensibly alive to whatever might impair the confidence of the government in that body. It was his desire to convey the most faithful representations himself, and to correct any misrepresentations conveyed by others. In a word, it was his constant object to keep the government fully and faithfully informed of all which would enable it to render justice to the colony. Until Lord Metcalfe's administration, her Majesty's government never understood, and never rightly appreciated, the motives and conduct of the legislature of Jamaica, and never did they know the confidence which might be bestowed on that legislature, and the all-powerful influence which, by means of that confidence, could be exercised on its legislation. The foundation for the most successful, because the most beneficial, government was thus permanently laid by Lord Metcalfe.

Lord Elgin succeeded Lord Metcalfe as the governor of Jamaica. He had the wisdom to follow the example of his predecessor, and adopt his principles of government, and pursue the path which he had opened. His administration was uninterrupted by any misunderstanding between the executive government and the Assembly. It merited and received the approbation of his sovereign, and the gratitude of the colony.

More than six years have elapsed since Lord Metcalfe entered on the government of Jamaica. During that space of time, in the former history of the colony, there were frequent dissolutions or prorogations caused by some dispute between the government and the Assembly, or between the different branches of the legislature. Since the appointment of Lord Metcalfe, no misunderstanding has arisen, but perfect harmony has prevailed amongst them. The principles of Lord Metcalfe, which established the relations between the government of the parent state and the various branches of the legislature of Jamaica, and between all classes of society there, in perfect confidence and good feeling, and entirely excluded distrust and suspicion, were so strongly recommended by the enduring success of his administration, that it is not possible to anticipate that they will ever be forgotten or abandoned. There can be no difficulties which may not be surmounted, and confidence can never be supplanted by distrust: there can be no governor of Jamaica whose administration will not have merited and received the approbation of his sovereign, and the gratitude of the colony, so long as he religiously follows the example, and adheres to the principles of Lord Metcalfe. By such an adherence to these principles, Jamaica will retain, not the remembrance alone of the wisdom, the justice, the benevolence of his administration, and the blessings it conferred, but she will enjoy, in every succeeding generation, the same administration, for although directed by another hand, it will be characterised by the sane wisdom, the same justice and beneficence, and confer on her the same blessings.

But as the beneficent effects of his government are not limited in their duration to the time, so neither are they confined to the colony, in which it was administered. The same experience of its success, and the same considerations no less of interest than of duty, recommend and secure the adoption of its principles in the administration of the government of every other colony, as well as of Jamaica. Such was the impression with which the other British colonies regarded his administration in Jamaica. They considered that the same principles on which the government of Jamaica had been administered, would be adopted in the administration of their governments. Shortly after Lord Metcalfe's return from Jamaica, a numerous and influential body, interested in the other colonies, presented him with an address, expressing "the sentiments of gratitude and admiration with which they appreciated the ability, the impartiality, and the success of his administration of the government of Jamaica. They gratefully acknowledged his undeviating adherence to those just and liberal principles by which alone the relations between the parent state and the colonies can be maintained with the feelings essential to their mutual honour and welfare; and they expressed their conviction, that, as his administration must be the unerring guide for that of every other colony, so its benefits will extend to the whole colonial empire of Great Britain." Thus, by his administration of the government of one colony, during only the short space of two years, he laid the foundation for that permanent union of this and all the other colonies with the parent state, which would secure the welfare and happiness of the millions by whom they are inhabited, and add to the strength, the power, and splendour of the British empire.

Such is a faint record of only two years of the distinguished public life of this great and good man. How few statesmen have ever furnished materials for such a record? What greater good can be desired for our country, than that the example of Lord Metcalfe, and his administration of Jamaica, may ever be "the guide-post and land-mark" in her councils for the government of all her colonies, and may ever exercise a predominant influence in the relations between them and the parent state?

ANNALS AND ANTIQUITIES OF LONDON.

_An Antiquarian Ramble in the Streets of London; with Anecdotes
of their more celebrated Residents._ By J. T. SMITH, late Keeper
of the Prints and Drawings in the British Museum, Author of
_Nollekins and his Times_, &c.

What is London? Walk into Lombard Street, and ask the Merchant; he will tell you at once--the Docks and the Custom-House, Lloyd's and the Bank, the Exchange, Royal or Stock. Drive your cab to the Carlton, and learn that it is Pall-mall and the Clubs, St James's and the Parks, Almack's and the Opera. Carry your question and your fee together to legal chambers, and be told that it is Westminster and Chancery Lane, Lincoln's Inn and the Temple. All that remains of mankind, that is not to be numbered in these several categories, will tell you it is a huge agglomeration of houses and shops, churches and theatres, markets and monuments, gas-pipes and paving-stones. Believe none--Yes, believe them all! We make our London, as we make our World, out of what attracts and interests ourselves. Few are they who behold in this vast metropolis a many-paged volume, abounding in instruction, offering to historian and philosopher, poet and antiquary, a luxuriant harvest and never-failing theme. We consider London, with reference to what it is and may become, not to what it has been. The present and the future occupy us to the exclusion of the past. We perambulate the great arteries of the Monster City, from Tyburn to Cornhill, from Whitechapel to the Wellington statue, and our minds receive no impression, save what is directly conveyed through our eyes; we pass, unheeding, a thousand places and objects rich in memories of bygone days, of strange and stirring events--great men long since deceased, and customs now long obsolete. We care not to dive into the narrow lanes and filthy alleys, where, in former centuries, sons of Genius and the Muses dwelt and starved; we seek not the dingy old taverns where the wit of our ancestors sparkled; upon the spot where a hero fell or a martyr perished, we pause not to gaze and to recall the memories of departed virtue and greatness. We are a matter-of-fact generation, too busy in money-getting to speculate upon the past. So crowded has the world become, that there is scarce standing-room; and even the lingering ghosts of olden times are elbowed and jostled aside. It is the triumph of the tangible and positive over the shadowy and poetical.

Things which men will not seek, they often thankfully accept when brought to them in an attractive form and without trouble. Upon this calculation has the book before us been written. It is an attempt to convey, in amusing narrative, the history, ancient, mediæval, and modern, of the streets and houses of London. For such a work, which necessarily partakes largely of the nature of a compilation, it is obvious that industry is more essential than talent--extensive reading than a brilliant pen. Both of industry and reading Mr Smith makes a respectable display, and therefore we shall not cavil at any minor deficiencies. His subject would have been better treated in a lighter and more detached form; and, in this respect, he might have taken a hint from an existing French work of a similar nature, relating to Paris. But his materials are too sterling and interesting to be spoiled by any slight mistake in the handling. He has accumulated a large mass of information, quotation, and extract; and although few persons may read his book continuously from beginning to end, very many, we are sure, will dip with pleasure and interest into its pages.

West and East would have been no inappropriate title for Mr Smith's twin volumes. In the first, he keeps on the Court side of Temple Bar; the second he devotes to the City. As may be supposed, the former is the more sprightly and piquant chronicle; but the latter does not yield to it in striking records and interesting historical facts. Let us accompany the antiquarian on his first ramble, from Hyde Park Corner to Charing Cross, starting from Apsley House, of which, although scarcely included in the design of his work, as announced on the title-page, he gives, as of various other modern buildings, a concise account.

How few individuals of the human tide that daily flows and ebbs along Piccadilly are aware, that within a century that aristocratic quarter was a most disreputable outlet from London. The ground now covered with ranges of palaces, the snug and select district of May Fair, dear to opulent dowagers and luxurious _célibataires_, was occupied, but a short hundred years since, by a few detached dwellings in extensive gardens, and by a far larger number of low taverns. Some of these, as the White Horse and Half Moon, have given their names to the streets to which their bowling-greens and skittle-alleys tardily gave way. The Sunday excursions of the lower orders were then more circumscribed than at present; and these Piccadilly publics were much resorted to on the Sabbath, in the manner of a country excursion; for Piccadilly was then the country. "Among the advertisements of sales by auction in the original edition of the _Spectator_, in folio, published in 1711, the mansion of Streater, jun., is advertised as _his country house_, being near Bolton Row, in Piccadilly; his town residence was in Gerrard Street, Soho." The taverns nearest to Hyde Park were chiefly patronised by the soldiers, particularly, we are informed, on review days, when they sat in rows upon wooden benches, placed in the street for their accommodation, combing, soaping, and powdering each other's hair. The bad character of the neighbourhood, and perhaps, also, the nuisance of May Fair, which lasted for fifteen days, and was not abolished till 1708, prevented the ground from increasing in value; and accordingly we find that Mr Shepherd, after whom Shepherd's Market was named, offered for sale, as late as the year 1750, his freehold mansion in Curzon Street, and its adjacent gardens, for five hundred pounds. At that price it was subsequently sold. Houses there were, however, in the then despised neighbourhood of Piccadilly, of high value; but it arose from their intrinsic magnificence, which counterbalanced the disadvantages of situation. Evelyn mentions having visited Lord John Berkeley at his stately new house, which was said to have cost thirty thousand pounds, and had a cedar staircase. He greatly commends the gardens, and says that he advised the planting of certain holly-hedges on the terrace. Stratton Street was built on the Berkeley estate, and so named in compliment to the Stratton line of that family. At what is now the south end of Albemarle Street, stood Clarendon House, built, as Bishop Burnet tells us, on a piece of ground granted to Lord Clarendon by Charles II. The Earl wished to have a plain ordinary house, but those he employed preferred erecting a palace, whose total cost amounted to fifty thousand pounds.

"During the war," says the Bishop, "and in the plague year, he had about three hundred men at work, which he thought would have been an acceptable thing, when so many men were kept at work, and so much money, as was duly paid, circulated about. But it had a contrary effect: it raised a great outcry against him." The sale of Dunkirk to the French for four hundred thousand pounds, had taken place only three years before, and was still fresh in men's minds. The odium of this transaction fell chiefly on Lord Clarendon, who was accused of pocketing a share of its profits; and the people gave the name of Dunkirk House to his new mansion. Others called it Holland House, thereby insinuating that it was built with bribes received from the Dutch, with whom this country then waged a disastrous war. In spite of popular outcry, however, the house was completed in 1667, the year of Clarendon's disgrace and banishment. Fifteen years later, after his death, his heir sold the place to the Duke of Albemarle for twenty-five thousand pounds, just half what it cost; and the Duke parted with it for ten thousand more. Finally, it was pulled down to make room for Albemarle and Stafford Streets; of which latter, as appears from old plans of London, the centre of Clarendon House occupied the entire site.

Piccadilly was formerly the headquarters of the makers of leaden figures. The first yard for this worthless description of statues was founded by John Van Nost, one of the numerous train of Dutchmen who followed William III. to England. His establishment soon had imitators and rivals; and, in 1740, there were four of these figure-yards in Piccadilly, all driving a flourishing trade in their leaden lumber. The statues were as large as life, and often painted. "They consisted of Punch, Harlequin, Columbine, and other pantomimical characters; mowers whetting their scythes, haymakers resting on their rakes, gamekeepers in the act of shooting, and _Roman_ soldiers with _firelocks_; but, above all, that of a kneeling African with a sundial upon his head, found the most extensive sale." Copies from the antique were also there, and had many admirers; but the unsuitableness of the heavy and pliable material was soon discovered, and, after a brief existence, the figure-yards died a natural death.

On the etymology of the word Piccadilly, Mr Smith expends much erudite research, without, as it appears to us, arriving at a very definite or satisfactory conclusion. A pickadill is defined by Blount, in his _Glossography_, as "the round hem of a garment, or other thing; also a kinde of stiff collar, made in fashion of a band." Hence Mr Smith infers, that the famous ordinary near St James's, which first bore the name of Piccadilly, may have received it because at that time it was the outmost or skirt-house of the suburb. The derivation is ingenious, but rather far-fetched. Another notion is, that a certain Higgin, a tailor, who built the house, had acquired his money by the manufacture of pickadills, then in great vogue. The orthography of the name has varied considerably. Evelyn mentions in his memoirs, that, as one of the commissioners for reforming the buildings and streets of London, he ordered the paving of the road from St James's North, "which was a quagmire," and likewise of the Haymarket about "Pigudello." In the same year, however, 1662, it is found inscribed in tradesmen's tokens as Pickadilla; and this appears to be the most ancient mode of spelling it. In _Gerard's Herbal_, published in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, (1596,) the author, talking of the "small wild buglosse," says that this little flower "growes upon the drie ditch bankes about Pickadilla."

Where Bennet and Arlington Streets now stand, was formerly the celebrated mulberry gardens, referred to by Malone as a favourite haunt of Dryden, who loved to eat tarts there with his mistress, Anne Reeve. To the polite ears of the nineteenth century, the very name of a public garden is a sound of horror; and to see the cream of _the ton_ taking their evening lounge at Cremorne, or the "Royal Property," and battening upon mulberry tarts and sweetened wine, would excite as much astonishment as if we read in the _Moniteur_ that the Duchess of Orleans had led a _galop_ at Musard's masquerade. In the easy-going days of the second Charles, things were very different, and a fashionable company was wont to collect at the Mulberry Garden, to sit in its pleasant arbours, and feast upon cheesecakes and syllabubs. The ladies frequently went in masks, which was a great mode at that time, and one often adopted by the court dames to escape detection in the intrigues and mad pranks they so liberally permitted themselves. "In _The Humorous Lovers_, a comedy written by the Duke of Newcastle,[4] and published in 1677, the third scene of Act I. is in the Mulberry Garden. Baldman observes to Courtly, ''Tis a delicate plump wench; now, a blessing on the hearts of them that were the contrivers of this garden; this wilderness is the prettiest convenient place to woo a widow, Courtly.'" One can hardly fancy a wilderness in the heart of St James's, except of houses; but the one mentioned in the above passage had ceased to exist at the time the play appeared, at least as a place of public resort. Five years previously, the King had granted to Henry Earl of Arlington, "that whole piece or parcel of ground called the Mulberry Gardens, together with eight houses, with their appurtenances thereon," at a rent of twenty shillings per annum. Goring House, in which Mr Secretary Bennet, afterwards Earl of Arlington, resided, was probably one of these eight houses. Two years subsequently to the grant, it was burnt down, and the earl removed to Arlington House, which stood on the site of Buckingham Palace. Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, bought the former, pulled it down in 1703, and erected a new mansion, which was sold to the crown by his son, and allotted, in 1775, as a residence for the Queen, instead of Somerset House.

[4] It was by the Duchess of Newcastle, according to Pepys, that
this play was written. In his Diary he says, under date of the
11th April 1667:--"To Whitehall, thinking there to have seen the
Duchess of Newcastle coming this night to court to make a visit to
the Queen. The whole story of this lady is a romance, and all she
does is romantic. Her footmen in velvet coats, and herself in an
antique dress, as they say; and was the other day at her own play,
_The Humorous Lovers_, the most ridiculous thing that ever was
wrote, but yet she and her lord mightily pleased with it; and she
at the end made her respects to the players from her box, and did
give them thanks." This was the eccentric dame who kept a maid of
honour sitting up all night, to write down any bright idea or happy
inspiration by which she might be visited.

We are glad to learn from Mr Smith, that there is a plan on foot for the removal of the confined, dirty, and unwholesome district between Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey, now one of the vilest parts of the metropolis, the favourite abode of thieves, beggars, pawnbrokers, and gin-sellers. The streets adjacent to the palace have at no time been of the most spacious or respectable description, although Pimlico is vastly improved from what it was in the days of Ben Jonson, who uses the name to express all that was lowest and most disreputable. In his play of _The Alchymist_, he says, "Gallants, men and women, and of all sorts, tag-rag and bob-tail, have been seen to flock here in threaves, these ten weeks, as to a second Hoxton or Pimlico." And again, "besides other gallants, oysterwomen, sailors' wives, tobacco-men--another Pimlico." _Apropos_ of the gin-palaces which have replaced the old-fashioned public-houses that abounded some twenty years ago in Westminster, Mr Smith makes a digression on the subject of drunkenness, and quotes some curious particulars from an old treatise, called _The London and Country Brewer_. "Our drunkenness, as a national vice," says the writer, "takes its date from the restoration of Charles the Second, or a few years later." It may be questioned whether drunkenness was not pretty well established as an English vice long before the period here referred to. We have the authority of various writers, however, for its having greatly increased about the time of the Stuarts' restoration. "A spirit of extravagant joy," says Burnet, in his _History of his own Times_, "spread over the nation. All ended in entertainments and drunkenness, which overrun the three kingdoms to such a degree, that it very much corrupted all their morals. Under the colour of drinking the King's health, there were great disorders, and much riot every where." This was no unnatural reaction after the stern austerity of the Protectorate. "As to the materials, (of drunkenness,") continues _The Brewer_, "beer and ale were considerable articles; they went a great way in the work at first, but were far from being sufficient; and then strong waters came into play. The occasion was this: In the Dutch wars it had been observed that the captains of the Hollanders' men-of-war, when they were about to engage with our ships, usually set a hogshead of brandy abroach afore the mast, and bid the men drink _sustick_, that they might fight _lustick_; and our poor seamen felt the force of the brandy to their cost. We were not long behind them; but suddenly after the war we began to abound in strong-water shops." Even the chandlers and the barber-surgeons kept stores of spirituous compounds, for the most part of exceeding bad quality, but sweetened and spiced, and temptingly displayed in rows of glass bottles, under Latin names of imposing sound. Aniseed-water was the favourite dram; until the French, finding out the newly-acquired taste of their old enemies, deluged the English markets with brandy, which was recommended by the physicians, and soon acquired universal popularity. It was sold about the streets in small measures, at a halfpenny and a penny each; and the consumption was prodigious, until a war broke out with France, when the supply of course stopped, and the poor were compelled to return to their _aqua vitæ_ and _aqua mirabilis_, or, better than either, to the ale-glass. When speaking of the royal cockpit at Whitehall, Mr Smith tells us of "Admiral M'Bride, a brave sailor of the old school, who constantly kept game-cocks on board his ship, and on the morning of an action, endeavoured, and that successfully, to animate his men by the spectacle of a cock-fight between decks." This, if not a very humane expedient, according to modern notions, was at any rate an improvement upon Dutch courage, with which British seamen of the present day would scorn to fortify themselves.

St James's Park, originally a swamp, was first inclosed by Harry the Eighth, but little was done towards its improvement and embellishment until after the Restoration. It was within its precincts, that in July 1626 Lord Conway assembled the numerous and troublesome French retinue of Queen Henrietta Maria, and communicated to them the king's pleasure that they should immediately quit the country. The legion of hungry foreigners, including several priests and a boy bishop, scarcely of age, had hoped long to fatten upon English soil, and they received their dismissal with furious outcry and loud remonstrance. Their royal mistress also was greatly incensed, and broke several panes of glass with her fists, in no very queenly style. But Charles for once was resolute; the Frenchmen had, to use his own expressions, so dallied with his patience, and so highly affronted him, that he could no longer endure it. They found, however, all sorts of pretexts to delay their departure, claiming wages and perquisites which were not due, and alleging that they had debts in London, and could not go away till these were discharged. L'Estrange, in his Life of Charles I., and D'Israeli in his _Commentaries_, gives many curious particulars of the proceedings of this troop of bloodsuckers. Under pretence of perquisites, they pillaged the queen's wardrobe and jewel-case, not leaving her even a change of linen. The king accorded them a reasonable delay for their preparations, but at last he lost all patience, as will be seen by the following characteristic letter to the Duke of Buckingham, dated from Oaking, the 7th of August 1626:

"STEENIE,--I have received your letter by Dic Greame, (Sir
Richard Graham.) This is my answer: I command you to send all
the French away to-morrow out of the towne, if you can by fair
means, (but stike not long in disputing,) otherways force them
away, dryving them away lyke so manie wilde beastes, until ye
have shipped them, and so the devil goe with them. Let me heare
no answer, but of the performance of my command. So I rest your
faithful, constant, loving friend, C. R."

Thereupon the debts of the obnoxious French were paid, their claims, both just and unjust, satisfied, presents given to some of them, and they set out for Dover, nearly forty coaches full. "As Madame St George, whose vivacity is always described as extremely French, was stepping into the boat, one of the mob could not resist the satisfaction of flinging a stone at her French cap. An English courtier, who was conducting her, instantly quitted his charge, ran the fellow through the body, and quietly returned to the boat. The man died on the spot, but no further notice appears to have been taken of the inconsiderate gallantry of the English courtier."

The Stuarts were commonly plagued with the foreign attendants of their wives. When Charles the Second's spouse, Catherine of Braganza, arrived in England, she was escorted by a train of Portuguese ladies, who highly disgusted the king and his court, less, however, by their Papistry and greediness, than by their surpassing ugliness and obstinate adherence to the fashions of their country. "Six frights," says Anthony Hamilton in his memoirs of Count Grammont, "who called themselves maids of honour, and a duenna, another monster, who took the title of governess to these extraordinary beauties. Among the men were Francisco de Melo, and one Tauravedez, who called himself Don Pedro Francisco Correo de Silva, extremely handsome, but a greater fool than all the Portuguese put together; he was more vain of his names than his person; but the Duke of Buckingham, a still greater fool than he, though more addicted to raillery, gave him the name of Peter of the Wood. He was so enraged at this, that, after many fruitless complaints and ineffectual menaces, poor Pedro de Silva was obliged to leave England; while the happy duke kept possession of a Portuguese nymph more hideous than the queen's maids of honour, whom he had taken from him, as well as two of his names. Besides these, there were six chaplains, four bakers, a Jew perfumer, and a certain officer, probably without an office, who called himself her highness's barber." Evelyn also tells us, that "the queen arrived with a train of Portuguese ladies in their monstrous fardingals or guard-infantas, their complexions olivader, and sufficiently unagreeable;" and Lord Clarendon talks of "a numerous family of men and women, that were sent from Portugal"--the women "old and ugly and proud, incapable of any conversation with persons of quality and a liberal education; and they desired, and indeed had conspired so far to possess the queen herself, that she should neither learn the English language, nor use their habit, nor depart from the manners and fashions of her own country in any particulars." Although the Infanta herself was by no means ill-looking, her charms did not come up to those of the flattered portrait which her mother, the old Queen of Portugal, had sent to Charles; and it is possible that the selection of plain women for her retinue had been intentional, that their ugliness might serve as a foil to her moderate amount of beauty. After a short time, however, the majority of these uncomely Lusitanians were sent back to their native country.

To return to Mr Smith and St James's Park. After his Restoration, Charles the Second, who, as worthy Thomas Blount says in his Boscobel, had been hunted to and fro like a "partridge upon the mountains," became very _casanier_, decidedly stay-at-home, in his habits, and cared little to absent himself from London and its vicinity. He had had buffeting and wandering enough in his youth, and, on ascending the throne of his unfortunate father, he thought of little besides making himself comfortable in his capital, careless of expense, which, even in his greatest need, he seems never to have calculated. He planted the avenues of the park, made a canal and an aviary for rare birds, which gave the name to Bird-Cage Walk. Amongst other freaks, and to provide for a witty Frenchman who amused him, he erected Duck Island into a government. Charles de St Denis, seigneur of St Evremond, who had been banished from France for a satire on Cardinal Mazarine, was the first and, it is believed, the last governor. He drew the salary attached to the appointment, which was certainly a more lucrative than honourable one for a man of his talents and reputation. According to Evelyn, Charles stored the park with "numerous flocks of fowle. There were also deer of several countries--white, spotted like leopards; antelopes, as elk, red deer, roebucks, staggs, Guinea grates, Arabian sheep," &c. In the Mall, also made by him, Charles played at ball and took his daily walk. "Here," says Colley Cibber, "Charles was often seen amid crowds of spectators, feeding his ducks and playing with his dogs, affable even with the meanest of his subjects." Mr Smith regrets the diminished affability and less accessible mood of sovereigns of the nineteenth century, although he admits that the populace of France and England are at the present day too rude for it to be advisable that kings and queens should walk amongst them with the easy familiarity of the second Charles. Of that there can be very little doubt. Even Charles, whose dislike of ceremony and restraint, and love of gossip and new faces, were cause, at least as much as any desire for popularity, that he thus mingled with the mob, occasionally experienced the disagreeables of his undignified manner of life. Aubrey the credulous, Mr Smith tells us, relates in his Miscellanies the following anecdote of an incident that occurred in the Park. "Avise Evans had a fungous nose, and said that it was revealed to him that the king's hand would cure him: and at the first coming of King Charles II. into St James's Park, he kissed the king's hand, and rubbed his nose with it, which disturbed the king, but cured him." It was whilst walking on the Mall that the pretended Popish plot of Oates and Bedloe was announced to Charles. "On the 12th of August 1678," says Hume, "one Kirby, a chemist, accosted the king as he was walking in the Park. 'Sir,' said he, 'keep within the company; your enemies have a design upon your life, and you may be shot in this very walk.' Being asked the reason of these strange speeches, he said that two men, called Grove and Pickering, had engaged to shoot the king, and Sir George Wakeman, the queen's physician, to poison him." Charles, unlike his grandfather, the timid James, was little apprehensive of assassination, and, when sauntering in the Park, preferred the society of two or three intimates to the attendance of a retinue. On one occasion, however, as a biographer has recorded, an impudent barber startled him from his usual happy _insouciance_. Accustomed to chat familiarly with his good-humoured master, the chin-scraper ventured to observe, whilst operating upon that of the king, that he considered no officer of the court had a more important trust than himself. "Why so, friend?" inquired the king. "Why," replied the barber, "I could cut your majesty's throat whenever I chose." Charles started up in consternation, swore that the very thought was treason, and the indiscreet man of razors was deprived of his delicate charge.

In the _Daily Post_ for October 31st, 1728, is an order of the Board of Green Cloth for clearing St James's Park of the shoe-cleaners and other vagrants, and sending them to the House of Correction. This reminds us of what has often excited our surprise, the absence from the streets of London of an humble but very useful class of professionals, who abound in many continental towns, in all French ones of any size. Abundant ingenuity is displayed in London in the discovery and invention of strange and out-of-the-way employments. Men convert themselves into "animated sandwiches" by back and breastplates of board, encase themselves in gigantic bottles to set forth the merits of some famed specific or potent elixir, or walk about with advertisements printed on their coats, peripatetic fly-sheets, extolling the comfort and economy of halfpenny steamers, and of omnibuses at a penny a mile. Some sweep crossings, others hold horses; but none of the vast number of needy _industrials_ who strain their wits to devise new means of obtaining their daily ration and nightly shelter, have as yet taken pattern by the French _décrotteur_ and German _stiefel-wichser_, and provided themselves for stock in trade with a three-legged stool, a brace of brushes, and a bottle of blacking. No one has been at Paris without finding the great convenience of the _ateliers de décrottage_ which abound in the passages and in the more frequented of the streets, where, for three or four _sous_, the lounger who has had boots and trousers bemired by rapid cab or lumbering _diligence_, is brushed and polished with unparalleled rapidity and dexterity. But a very moderate capital is required for the establishment of these temples of cleanliness, and we recommend the subject to the consideration of decayed railway "stags."

"Duke Street Chapel, with a flight of steps leading to the Park, formed originally a wing of the mansion of the notorious Judge Jeffries. The house was built by him, and James the Second, as a mark of especial favour, allowed him to make an entry to the Park by the steps alluded to. The son of Jeffries inhabited it for a short time." It was this son and successor of the infamous Jeffries, who, with a party of rakes and debauchees, mohocks as they were at that time called, insulted the remains of the poet Dryden, and the grief of his widow. They happened to pass through Gerrard Street, Soho, when Dryden's remains were about to be conveyed from his house, No. 43, in that street, to Westminster Abbey. Although it was in the daytime, Jeffries was drunk; he swore that Dryden should not be buried in so shabby a manner, (eighteen mourning coaches waited to form the procession,) and that he would see due honour done to his remains. After frightening Lady Elizabeth, who was ill in bed, into a fainting fit, these aristocratic ruffians stopped the funeral, and sent the body to an undertaker in Cheapside. The bishop waited several hours in Westminster Abbey, and at last went away. When Jeffries became sober, he had forgotten all about the matter, and refused to have any thing to do with the interment. The corpse lay unburied for three weeks. At last the benevolent Dr Garth had it taken to the College of Physicians, got up a subscription for the expenses of the funeral, and followed the body to Westminster Abbey. The poet's son challenged Jeffries, but Jeffries showed the white feather, and, to avoid personal chastisement, kept carefully out of the way for three years, when Charles Dryden was drowned near Windsor.

Mr Smith is most indulgent to the blunders and blockheadism of our modern architects and monument-makers, far too much so, indeed, when he speaks approvingly of Trafalgar Square and its handsome fountains, and without positive disapprobation of the vile collection of clumsy buildings and ill-executed ornament defacing that site. There has been a deal of ink spilt upon this subject, and we have no intention of adding to the quantity, especially as there is no chance that any flow of fluid, however unlimited, shall blot out the square and its absurdities. But we defy any Englishman, with the smallest pretensions to taste, to pass Charing Cross without feelings of shame and disgust at the mismanagement and ignorance there manifest. Such an accumulation of clumsiness was surely never before witnessed. The wretched National Gallery with its absurd dome, crushed beneath the tall and symmetrical proportions of St Martin's portico, overtopped even by the private dwelling-houses in its vicinity; the dirty, ill-devised, and worse-executed fountains, with their would-be-gracefully curved basins, the steps and parapets, which give the whole place the appearance of an exaggerated child's toy. Well may foreigners shrug their shoulders, and smile at the public buildings of the great capital of Britain. A fatality attends all our efforts in that way. In regard to architecture and ornament, we pay more and are worse served than any body else. So habituated are we to failure in this respect, that when a public building is completed, scaffolding removed, and a fair view obtained, we wonder and exult if it is found free from glaring defects, and in no way particularly obnoxious to censure. As to its proving a thing to be proud of, to be gazed at and admired, and to be spoken of out of England, or even in England, after the fuss and ceremony of its inauguration is over, we never dream of such a thing. The negative merit of having avoided the ridiculous and the grotesque, is subject for satisfaction, almost for pride. Assuredly we love not to exalt other countries at the expense of our own, to draw invidious comparisons between things English and things foreign. But the difference between public buildings of modern erection in London and in Paris is so immense, that it can escape no one. Take, for instance, the Paris _Bourse_ and the London Exchange. The former, it has been objected, is out of character; a Greek temple is no fitting rendezvous for the sons of commerce; a less classic fane were more appropriate for the discussion of exchanges, for sales of cotton and muscovado. The objection, according to us, is flimsy and absurd, and must have originated with some Vandalic and prejudiced booby, with whom consistency was a monomania. Nevertheless we will, for argument's sake, admit its validity. Is that a reason that the traders and capitalists of London should meet in a building which, for heaviness and exaggerated solidity, rivals a South American Inquisition? Do the Barings and the Rothschilds anticipate an attack upon their strong boxes, and intend to stand a siege within the massive walls of the Royal Exchange? Assuredly the narrow doorways may easily be defended; for a time, at least, the ponderous walls will mock the cannonade. The curse of heaviness is upon our architects. There is total want of grace, and lightness, and airiness in all their works. Behold our new Senate House! Do its florid beauties and overdone decorations, unsparingly as they have been lavished, and convenient as they will doubtless be found as receptacles for bird's nests, contrast favourably with the elegant and dignified simplicity of the Chamber of Deputies? The two, it will be said, cannot be assimilated: the vast difference of size precludes a comparison. We reply, that the buildings are for the same purpose; but were they not, proportion at least should be observed. The Parliament House is far too low for its length. Want of elevation is the common fault, both in the ideas and in the productions of our architects.

Are we more successful in statues than in buildings? Mr Smith has some sensible remarks on this score. Speaking of the equestrian statue of George III. in Cockspur Street, he says, that "critics object to the cocked hat and tie-wig in the royal figure; but, some ages hence, these abused parts will be the most valuable in the whole statue. It may very reasonably be asked, why an English gentleman should be represented in the dress of a Roman tribune? Let the man appear, even in a statue, in his habit as he lived; and whatever _we_ may say, posterity will be grateful to us. We should like to know exactly the ordinary walking-dress of Cæsar or Brutus, and how they wore their hair; and we should not complain if they had cocked hats or periwigs, if we knew them to be exact copies of nature." It is certain that modern physiognomy rarely harmonises with ancient costume. What is to be said of the aspect of the "first gentleman of Europe," wrapped in his horsecloth, and astride on his bare-backed steed, in the aforesaid Square of Trafalgar? Assuredly nothing in commendation. There are portraits of Napoleon in classic drapery, and, even with his classically correct countenance, he looks a very ordinary, under-sized Roman. But, in his grey _capote_ and small cocked hat, the characteristic is preserved, and we at once think of, and wonder at, the hero of Austerlitz and Marengo.

Leicester Square, as Mr Smith justly observes, has more the appearance of the _Grande Place_ of some continental city than of a London square. The headquarters and chief rendezvous of aliens, especially of Frenchmen, it bears numerous and unmistakeable marks of its foreign occupancy. French hotels and restaurants replace taverns and chop-houses. French names are seen above shops; promises of French, German, and Spanish conversation, are read in the windows; and grimy-visaged, hirsute individuals, in plaited pantaloons and garments of eccentric cut, saunter, cigar in mouth, over the shabby pavement. It is curious to remark the different tone and station taken by English in Paris and French in London. In the former capital, nothing is too good for the intruding islanders. In the best and most expensive season, they throng thither, and strut about like lords of the soil, perfectly at home, and careless of the opinions of the people amongst whom they have condescended to come. The best houses are for their use; the most expensive shops are favoured with their custom; and if occasionally tormented by a troublesome consciousness of paying dearly for their importance, they easily console themselves by a malediction on the French _voleurs_, who thus take advantage of their long purses and open hands. How different is it with the Frenchman in London! He comes over, for the most part, at the dullest time of the year, in the autumn, when the town is foggy, and dreary, and empty; when the Parks are deserted, shutters shut, the theatres dull, and exhibitions closed. He has certain vague apprehensions of the tremendous expense entailed by a visit to the English capital. To avoid this, he makes a toil of a pleasure; wearies himself with economical calculations; and creeps into some inferior hotel or dull lodging-house, tempted by low prices and foreign announcements. We find French deputies abiding in Cranbourn Street, and counts contenting themselves with a garret at Pagliano's. Thence they perambulate westwards; and ignorant, or not choosing to remember, that London is out of town, and that they have selected the very worst possible season to visit it, they greatly marvel at the paucity of equipages, at the abundance of omnibuses and hack-cabs, and the scarcity of sunbeams; and return home to inform their friends that London is a _ville monstre_, with spacious streets, small houses, few amusements; very great, but very gloomy; and where the nearest approach to sunshine resembles the twinkling of a rushlight through a plate of blue earthenware.

"The foreign appearance of Leicester Square is not of recent growth. It seems to have been the favourite resort of strangers and exiles ever since the place was built. Maitland, who wrote more than a hundred years ago, describing the parish of St Anne's, in which it is situate, says--'The fields in these parts being but lately converted into buildings, I have not discovered any thing of great antiquity in this parish. Many parts of it so greatly abound with French, that it is an easy matter for a stranger to imagine himself in France.'"