Chapter III

The Romantic Story of the White Milliner, otherwise the Beautiful Frances Jennings, Duchess of Tyrconnel--Her Youthful Escapade--Her Connection with the New Exchange the subject of a Play by Douglas Jerrold--Its Failure and the Author's Disappointment--"Nan" Clarges, afterwards Duchess of Albemarle, sells Wash-balls in the New Exchange--Her Burial in Westminster Abbey--Sir William Read, the Quack, cures "Wry Necks" in Durham Yard--Demolition of the New Exchange--A Noted Book-shop--Ambassadors reside Here.

THE romantic story of the White Widow, or the White Milliner, otherwise Frances Jennings, Duchess of Tyrconnel, wife of Richard Talbot, Lord Deputy of Ireland in the reign of James II., plays a large part in the history of the Adelphi. In the Revolution of 1688 the duchess sold small articles of haberdashery for a few days in the New Exchange. According to Horace Walpole, "She wore a white dress wrapping her whole person, and a white mask, which she never removed, and excited much interest and curiosity." Her case becoming known, "she was provided for." The association of Richard Talbot's widow with the Adelphi is very curious. This lady, Frances Jennings, was sister to the celebrated Duchess of Marlborough. By her first husband, George, Count Hamilton, a member of the Abercorn family, and a _maréchal de camp_ in the French service, she had three daughters: Elizabeth, afterwards the wife of Viscount Ross; Frances, wife of Viscount Dillon; and Mary, wife of Viscount Kingsland. On the death of Count Hamilton, she married Colonel Richard Talbot, Baron of Talbot's Town, Viscount of Baltinglass, and Earl of Tyrconnel. On March 20, 1688, James II. created him Marquess and Duke of Tyrconnel. On his death, in 1691, his widow was left with two daughters, one of whom became Princess of Vintimiglia.[18] Walpole states that the duchess, on her arrival in England in 1688, was reduced to absolute want, and, being unable to procure safe access to her family, she adopted the disguise of the White Milliner as a temporary means of livelihood. Be this as it may, the duchess must have had money in her widowhood, for shortly after the death of her husband, and despite the penal laws against the Roman Catholics, she established a convent for Poor Clares in King Street, Dublin, and in this city, at the ripe old age of ninety-two, she died, according to Horace Walpole, "in consequence of falling out of bed upon the floor on a winter's night. Being too feeble to rise or call for aid, she was found in the morning so numbed by the cold that she lived only a few hours." She was buried in St Patrick's Cathedral on March 9, 1730. Walpole describes her as "Of very low stature, extremely thin, and without the least trace of in her features of ever having been a beauty."

Whatever she may have been in her old age, she was pretty and graceful in her youth when at the court of Charles II. Count de Grammont states that she was proof against all the wiles of the Merry Monarch, yet her spirits were such that on one occasion she attired herself as an orange-wench in order to have her fortune told in the neighbourhood of St James's.

While the beauty and unusual propriety of the new-comer were still attracting the attention of the Court, the giddy girl was indiscreet enough to embark in a wild frolic, which very nearly had the effect of ruining her hitherto stainless reputation. The adventure in question, which has been chronicled by more than one contemporary writer, is thus recorded by Pepys: "What mad freaks," he says, "the Mayds of Honour at Court have! That Mrs Jennings, one of the Dutchesse's maids, the other day dressed herself like an orange wench, and went up and down and cried oranges; till, falling down, or by some accident, her fine shoes were discovered, and she put to a great deal of shame." The particulars of the adventure are so interesting that they may be related in these pages.

"Lord Rochester, at this time in disgrace at Court, happened to be consoling himself for the King's displeasure by performing, in an obscure corner of the city, the character of a German empiric and fortune-teller. The success of his celebrated frolic is well known. His fame, which at first had been merely local, had gradually spread itself abroad till at last it reached the ears of the Court. Rochester was of course equally as well acquainted with the scandal of the day as with the persons and characters of those who figured in the licentious Court of his royal master. Accordingly, having recognised one or two of the female attendants of the maids of honour, who had eagerly flocked to consult him, he sent them back so amazed by his superhuman powers as to excite the curiosity of their mistresses. The result fully answered Rochester's expectations. Under the protection of the then fashionable mask, there was more than one giddy maid of honour who made up her mind to dive into the secrets of futurity by means of the German mountebank. Who, indeed, could gravely blame them, when even the Queen herself had set the example of risking her reputation, by indulging in similar masquerading frolics?

"Among those whose curiosity was thus excited were Miss Jennings and Miss Price, the latter, a young lady of indifferent reputation, who had formerly been a maid of honour to the Duchess of York. Miss Jennings, young and indiscreet, believing that as long as she preserved her virtue it mattered little how she obtained amusement, easily enlisted her friend in her mad schemes. Accordingly, having provided themselves with the dresses of orange-girls (a garb usually worn by the least reputable members of society), they issued from St James's Palace, and, crossing the park on foot, entered a hackney-coach at Whitehall.

"They had nearly reached the theatre, where they knew the Duchess to be in person, when Miss Price had the imprudence to propose their joining the real orange-girls and selling their fruit in the face of the Court. As they entered the theatre, they encountered 'the handsome Sydney,' who was just alighting from his carriage. Miss Price offered him her basket; but the dandy, either lost in the contemplation of his own charms, or of those of his mistress, the Duchess of York, took no notice of the masqueraders. Their next adventure was with Killegrew, to whom Miss Jennings timidly held out her basket, while the other, in the cant language of the place, requested him to buy 'her fine oranges.' The challenge was met by the libertine in the kind of manner that might have been expected. He even gave proof of his admiration of Miss Jennings by so rude an homage as to bring the blush to her cheek and the fire to her eye. Leaving Killegrew to enjoy a hearty laugh at the preposterous notion of the existence of a virtuous orange-girl, Miss Price hastily dragged away her friend, whom terror and indignation had rendered nearly powerless.

"Their fright, however, was insufficient to prevent their pursuing the original frolic of the evening. Having entered another hackney-coach, they were on the point of alighting within a few doors of the fortune-teller's, when, to their consternation, they encountered a far more dangerous person than Killegrew. This was no other than the immoral and licentious Brouncker, who, having been dining with a merchant in the neighbourhood, was on his way homewards, when the novelty of seeing two orange-girls in a hackney-coach attracted his attention. Perceiving themselves to be objects of curiosity to so dangerous a libertine, they desired their coachman to drive on, and to put them down in another part of the street. Brouncker, however, stealthily followed them; nor was his astonishment diminished, when he perceived that the shoes and stockings, that covered the pretty feet and ankles which alighted from the vehicle, were of a quality strangely at variance with the rest of the costume. Having contrived to obtain a glimpse of their faces, which they vainly endeavoured to conceal from him, he at once recognised the beautiful maid of honour, on whose motives for disguise he naturally put the worst possible construction. Believing that an assignation on the part of the chaste Miss Jennings was at the bottom of the frolic, and delighted with the tale of scandal with which he had it in his power to amuse the Court, he continued to tease the frightened girls for a short time, without betraying that he had recognised them, and then laughingly wished them good-night.

"Unfortunately the disagreeable adventures of the night were not yet at an end. During the time that the two maids of honour had been enduring the impertinences and libertine proposals of Brouncker, a crowd of blackguard boys, not contented with collecting round their coach, had made a violent attack on their orange baskets. The coachman had taken the part of his fare; and, in consequence of his gallantly resisting the attempts of the depredators, a fight had ensued and the street was in an uproar. The fruit, of course, was only too gladly relinquished to the mob, from whom, notwithstanding, the presumed orange-girls received a volley of abuse and ridicule. Finally, though with some difficulty, they contrived to re-enter their coach, and at last arrived, completely frightened and dispirited, at St James's."[20]

_I.S. Stover._

GARRICK'S HOUSE, 5 ADELPHI TERRACE.]

It was to the Duchess of Tyrconnel, as she then was, that James II. had to relate the melancholy story of his defeat at the battle of the Boyne: "Soon after sunset, James, escorted by two hundred cavalry, rode into the Castle [Dublin]. At the threshold he was met by the wife of Tyrconnel, once the gay and beautiful Fanny Jennings, the loveliest coquette in the brilliant Whitehall of the Restoration. To her the vanquished King had to relate the ruin of her fortunes and of his own."[21] Jesse regards the connection of the Duchess of Tyrconnel with the New Exchange as "apocryphal." But we have the authority of Walpole and Pennant for the anecdote, and I see no reason to doubt its accuracy.

The romance of the White Milliner of the Adelphi afforded Douglas Jerrold material for a two-act comedy, which Madame Vestris produced at Covent Garden on February 9, 1841. The author of _Black-eyed Susan_ was apparently suffering from some slight at the hands of the critics, for he takes them to task soundly in his Preface to _The White Milliner_, as his play was called. Having related the incident which gave rise to the piece, he goes on to say: "In our day, the dramatist who keeps aloof from a small faction--which almost avowedly adopts for its motto the dogma of Molière,--

'Nul n'aura de l'esprit, Hors nous et nos amis,'--

may look for the most unrelenting opposition from two or three stalwart critics, or, rather, literary vassals. Fortunately, however, the despicable partisanship of these people is now too well known to be hurtful. Whether they chronicle their injustice in bold falsehood, or with an affectation of candour, examine a drama to find in it nothing but what is contemptible, the disinterested motive is equally manifest. However, the abuse of these folks, like certain poisons long exposed to light, does not destroy--it only nauseates."

The cast of _The White Milliner_ was remarkably strong. It contained, in addition to Madame Vestris, who played the heroine, Albina, Charles Mathews, James Vining, Robert Keeley, and William Farren. The opening scene is the "Exterior of England's Burse." The last scene of the first act is laid in the interior of the New Exchange. A crowd of milliners, with Doddles, the Beadle of the Burse, in the centre, fill the stage:

"_Doddles._ Silence! Silence!

_Betty._ Hear the Beadle!

_1st Milliner._ Attention for Doddles!

_2nd Milliner._ Does it concern us all?

_Doddles._ All: maids, wives, widows, and young women. Silence!

_Betty._ Now, then; we're still as mice.

_Doddles._ Yes--when the cat's dead. Silence! and no winking.

_Betty._ La! Make haste.

_Doddles._ Manners, Betty Furbelow, manners! When I was in the army----

_Betty._ We've heard all about that.

_Doddles._ Before sleeping in wet blankets, I gloriously lost my voice in the defence of my country----

_Betty._ I'm sure your country ought to be much obliged to you. But the rules! the rules!

_Milliners._ The rules!

_Doddles._ Silence! Attention! Rear rank, take close order. Stand off! Baggages, do you call smothering a man taking close order? Hear the rules!

_Milliners._ Silence! the rules!

_Doddles._ 'Rules for the better regulation of England's Burse. Whereas'----

_Betty._ Oh, skip that!

_Doddles._ Skip it!

_Betty._ Yes. I hate everything with a whereas. Come to the rules.

_Doddles._ Well, the 'whereas' is long, and--the fortune of war--I've lost my voice. But it means that these new rules are not only for the morals of the Burse, but, above all, for the better transaction of business.

_Betty._ Now for it! Attention, ladies, this is business.

_Doddles_ (_reads_). 'Rule the first. Any milliner who shall deal in smuggled goods shall forfeit her stall for ever.'

_Milliners._ Shame! Shame!

_Betty._ Are the articles specified? No! Ladies, here's oppression of the fair sex: for mayn't the most innocent of us smuggle a little, and never know it? And then to forfeit, and for ever!

_Doddles._ Not only eternally, but for ever. 'Rule second. No milliner shall talk'----

_Milliners._ Ha! ha! ha!

_Doddles._ 'Or laugh'----

_Milliners._ Ha! ha! ha!

_Doddles._ 'Talk or laugh, under pain of--of'----

_Betty._ Opening her mouth.

_Doddles._ Silence! Talk or laugh, under--under--my breath!--'under'--somebody read it--somebody--(_Albina comes down the Burse._)

_Betty._ Here comes our white friend, she'll read it. Here--(_giving Albina paper_)--read--read: they're new rules made to keep us in order. To put down smuggling and--ha! ha!--talking and laughing, and--ha! ha!--for all I know, all our other little privileges. Read, for Doddles, having lost his voice, they made him beadle. Here: read rule third, for the second's nonsense.

_Albina_ (_reads_). 'Rule third. No milliner shall be allowed to whisper to her customers, or titter, or blush.'

_Betty._ That's a hit at you, Sally Sly.

_1st Milliner._ What do you mean, ma'am? I whisper--I titter--I blush! I scorn you, ma'am!

_Doddles._ Silence!

_Albina_ (_reads_). 'And whereas, divers sober people, purchasers of gloves, have complained of certain pinching of the fingers by certain persons, it is ordered that such unseemly practice be discontinued.'

_Betty._ And very proper too. I don't sell gloves.

_Albina._ 'Rule fourth. All strong waters, or other intoxicating cordials'----

_Betty._ Attention, ladies! This may be important.

_Albina._ 'Are rigorously prohibited.'

_Betty._ You see, Miss Bitters, I warned you what 'twould come to.

_2nd Milliner._ I! I! I defy you, ma'am! What do you mean?

_Betty._ My meaning's plain, ma'am: that everybody's to suffer for one person, ma'am.

_2nd Milliner._ Do you insinuate? Mr Doddles, does she dare----

_Betty._ I insinuate nothing; but this I _will_ say: bottles are not so dear that people should use tea-cups.

_Doddles._ Silence! A very proper rule: not that I see any harm in folks having comforts, but then they ought to be corked. Silence!

_Albina._ Rule fifth. 'Henceforth no milliner shall presume to--to--to'----

_Doddles_ (_reads_). 'Wear a mask.'

_2nd Milliner._ A very excellent and moral regulation Now we shall see who's who.

_1st Milliner._ If some people never wore anything else, their faces wouldn't be the losers.

_Betty._ A mask, ma'am, may be good at a pinch--at a pinch, ma'am; but as I've said, ma'am, I don't sell gloves, ma'am.

_1st Milliner._ Why, you scandalising, wicked----

_Doddles._ Silence! Silence!

_3rd Milliner._ Company! Company! To your stalls, ladies. (_All the Milliners station themselves at their stalls. Albina retires among them._)

_Visitors come down the Burse from c. Enter Lord and Lady Ortolan, she masked._

_Lord O._ My dear Lady Ortolan, you know I have the worst taste. I am a very Vandal--a Hottentot. I know no more about gowns and petticoats than an ancient Briton.

_Lady O._ Oh, my lord, I will not have you libel your capacity; for, certainly, no one has studied the subject with greater perseverance. I _must_ have your judgment on a satin.

_Lord O._ (_aside_). She has dragged me here. I had as lieve made a journey on a hurdle. One comfort is, I don't see my enigma in white.

_Lady O._ (_aside_). She is not here: yet I'll not stir till I confront them.

_Doddles_ (_bringing down Albina_). Here 'tis; rule fifth: no masks. So you must conform: therefore, uncover your face and----

_Lady O._ She's here!

_Lord O._ Confusion!

_Doddles._ Rule the fifth, which forbids masks, and--and----

_Lady O._ Nay, poor girl, I'll answer for't she has good reason for her mystery. Eh, my liege lord? a modest, excellent, worthy maid, no doubt?

_Lord O._ (_aside_). When women _do_ praise women, what kind creatures!

_Albina_ (_aside_). Surely there stands my tormentor. Her liege lord! So, so, now for my revenge.

_Lady O._ Come, we would see your merchandise. His lordship has forced me here to buy a dress.

_Albina._ And his lordship is such a judge of satin.

_Lady O._ Indeed?

_Albina._ Oh, yes, and so good to his mother.

_Lord O._ (_aside_). Would I were hanged, now, in a skein of silk!

_Albina._ Twenty gowns for his honoured parent.

_Lord O._ Nay, the girl mistakes me for some other customer. She--she----

_Lady O._ This insult, my lord, passes endurance. (_Unmasking herself_) Tell me, woman----

_Albina_ (_aside_). Heavens! Olivia! You, _you_ his wife!

_Lady O._ You see Lady Ortolan.

_Albina._ Happy chance; I have much, indeed, to tell you--much to reveal.

_Lord O._ (_aside_). Was ever poor married rogue in such a plight?"

In commenting on the failure of _The White Milliner_, Jerrold's son, Blanchard Jerrold, wrote that the "author was bitterly disappointed that its pointed and tender dialogue, and its brisk action, failed to achieve success; more,--as may be gathered from his own words,--that personal enmity, carried dishonestly into public criticism, sought to put it aside as a thing in all respects worthless." It was not long, however, before _Mrs Caudle's Curtain Lectures_ gave Jerrold a foremost place as a wit and removed him far beyond the petty spite which had helped towards the failure of _The White Milliner_.

Another personage of greater note, although of lower birth, than the Duchess of Tyrconnel, connected with the history of the New Exchange, is "Nan" Clarges, subsequently Duchess of Albemarle. This remarkable woman was the daughter of John Clarges, a blacksmith and farrier, who lived in Drury Lane, at the Strand end, a spot now obliterated. Her mother was one of five women-barbers of notorious disrepute. A contemporary ballad has the refrain:

"Did you ever hear the like,
Or ever hear the fame,
Of five women barbers
Who lived in Drury Lane?"

In the _Lives and Adventures of Whitney, John Cottington_ alias _Mul-Sack, and Thomas Waters_ (1753), there is a reference to these women: "They were five noted amazons in Drury Lane, who were called women-shavers, and whose actions were then talked of much about town; till being apprehended for a riot, and one or two of them severely punished, the rest fled to Barbadoes." Such an origin was not very promising; but Anne Clarges, when she was married to General Monk, upheld her position despite her personal disadvantages, for she was ill-favoured in appearance and by no means cleanly in her habits.

Anne Clarges was married, in 1632, to one Thomas Ratford, son to a farrier who resided in the Royal Mews at Bloomsbury. She had a daughter, who was born in 1634, and died four years later. She had been instructed in the trade of a milliner, and this led to her taking up her abode, after her marriage, at the Three Spanish Gipsies, in the New Exchange. Here she sold wash-balls, powder, gloves, and similar articles, and gave lessons to girls in plain needlework. In 1647, being then sempstress to Colonel Monk, she was in the habit of carrying his linen to him. This was the beginning of her intimacy with the famous soldier. Her parents died in 1648, and, in the following year, she quarrelled with her husband, who apparently left her. At any rate, from that date nothing more was heard of him. When Monk was a prisoner in the Tower--1644-1646--Anne Ratford became his mistress, and had a child of which he was the father--hence, no doubt, the reason of her separation from her husband.

In an action for trespass, tried in the Court of King's Bench, on November 15, 1700, William Sherwin being the plaintiff and Sir William Clarges, Bart., being the chief defendant, it was proved that Anne Clarges, or Ratford, was, in 1652, married in the Church of St George, Southwark, to General George Monk, and further, that in the course of the following year she was delivered of a son (afterwards the second Duke of Ablemarle), who was suckled by one Honour Mills, a vendor of apples, herbs, and oysters. The point of issue was the right and title to the manor of Sutton in Yorkshire, and other lands--the plaintiff claiming them as heir-at-law and representative to Thomas Monk, elder brother to the first duke of Albemarle, and the defendant as devisee under the will of Christopher, the second duke. The only material point to be decided was, whether Ratford was actually deceased at the period of the marriage of his supposed widow with Monk. On the side of the plaintiff it was sworn by one witness that he had seen Ratford alive about the month of July, 1660, as many as eight years after the second marriage. Another witness affirmed that he had seen him as late as the year 1665, and a second time after the Duke and Duchess of Albemarle were both dead; and thirdly, a woman swore that she had seen him on the very day that his wife (then called Duchess of Albemarle) was placed in her coffin. On the part of the defendant, and in opposition to this evidence, were alleged the material facts that during the lives of the Duke of Albemarle and his son the matter had never been questioned, and, moreover, that the defendant had already thrice obtained verdicts in his favour in the Court of King's Bench. Some other presumptive evidence was adduced, but of less weight. In summing up, the Lord Chief-Justice told the Jury: "If you are certain that Duke Christopher was born while Thomas Ratford was living, you must find for the plaintiff. If you believe he was born after Ratford was dead, or that nothing appears what became of him after Duke George married his wife, you must find for the defendant." The verdict was in favour of the latter.[22]

According to contemporary evidence, the Duchess of Albemarle was a low, foul-mouthed creature, of exceedingly coarse habits. "Monk," says Lord Clarendon in his _History_, "was cursed, after a long familiarity, to marry a woman of the lowest extraction, the least wit, and less beauty. She was a woman _nihil muliebris præter corpus gerens_," one who had nothing feminine but her form. In the opinion of Bishop Burnet, she was a "ravenous, mean, and contemptible creature, who thought of nothing but getting and spending." Pepys could not endure her. On March 8, 1661, he met her in "high company," and put her down as "even a plain, homely dowdy." On December 9, 1665, Pepys and "my Lord Brouncker" dined with the Duke of Albemarle. "At table the duchess, a very ill-looked woman, complaining of her lord's going to sea the next year, said these cursed words: 'If my Lord had been a coward he had gone to sea no more: it may be then he might have been excused, and made an embassador' (meaning my Lord Sandwich). This made me mad, and I believed she perceived my countenance change, and blushed herself very much. I was in hopes others had not minded it, but my Lord Brouncker, after we were come away, took notice of the words to me with displeasure." In the following year, on November 4, he alludes to the duke as "a drunken sot," who "drinks with nobody but Troutbecke, whom nobody else will keep company with. Of whom he told me this story; that once the Duke of Albemarle in his drink, taking notice as of a wonder that Nan Hide should ever come to be Duchess of York: 'Nay,' says Troutbecke, 'ne'er wonder at that; for if you will give me another bottle of wine, I will tell you as great, if not greater, a miracle.' And what was that, but that our dirty Besse (meaning his duchesse) should come to be Duchesse of Albemarle?" Monk, it was said, was more in fear of his wife than of an army, and it was reported that she did not hesitate to thrash him at times, but the latter statement is probably an exaggeration. There is no doubt about her loyalty to the Royalist cause; she exerted great influence over Monk, and urged him immensely in his efforts in bringing about the Restoration. In his _Curiosities of Literature_, D'Israeli cites a passage from a manuscript of Sir Thomas Browne which throws a strange light on Monk's conduct in regard to the Restoration and the part played in it by the blacksmith's daughter: "Monk gave fair promises to the Rump; but at last agreed with the French ambassador to take the government on himself; by whom he had promise from Mazarin of assistance from France. This bargain was struck late at night; but not so secretly but that Monk's wife, who had posted herself conveniently behind the hangings, finding what was resolved upon, sent her brother Clarges away immediately with notice of it to Sir A. She had promised to watch her husband, and inform Sir A. how matters stood. Sir A. caused the Council of State, whereof he was a member, to be summoned, and charged Monk that he was playing false. The General insisted that he was true to his principles, and firm to what he had promised, and that he was ready to give them all satisfaction. Sir A. told him if he were sincere he would remove all scruples, and would instantly take away their commissions from such and such men in the army, and appoint others, and that before he left the room. Monk consented: a great part of the commissions of his officers were changed; and Sir Edward Harley, a member of the Council, and then present, was made Governor of Dunkirk, in the room of Sir William Lockhart: the army ceased to be at Monk's devotion: the ambassador was recalled, and broke his heart."

Another authority, Dr Price, one of Monk's chaplains, speaking on the same subject, says: "His wife had in some degree prepared him to appear, when the first opportunity should be offered. For her custom was (when the General's and her own work and the day were ended) to come into the dining-room in her _treason-gown_, as I called it, I telling him that when she had that gown on he should allow her to say anything. And, indeed, her tongue was her own then, and she would not spare it; insomuch that I, who still chose to give my attendance at those hours, have often shut the dining-room doors, and charged the servants to stand without till they were called in." The same writer also relates a remarkable dream, in which the Duchess of Albemarle foresaw the return of royalty to England. "She saw," says Dr Price, "a great crown of gold on the top of a dunghill, which a numerous company of brave men encompassed, but for a great while none would break the ring. At last there came a tall black man up to the dunghill, took up the crown, and put it upon his head. Upon the relating of this, she asked what manner of man the King was. I told her, that when I was an Eton scholar, I saw at Windsor, sometimes, the Prince of Wales, at the head of a company of boys; that himself was a very lovely black boy, and that I heard that, since, he was grown very tall." Fantastic as this dream story may appear, it is "not impossible," says Jesse, "that England owes the restoration of royalty to this and other similarly trifling circumstances connected with the influence which Anne Clarges exercised over the mind of her uxorious lord. Nothing, indeed, appears more natural, than that an ignorant and uneducated woman should have attached an undue degree of importance to an idle dream. The duchess, moreover, is known to have been a zealous adherent of the House of Stuart; and lastly, it is certain that she exerted all her influence to induce him to restore Charles the Second to the throne."

The Duke of Albemarle died on January 3, 1670, in his sixty-second year. His body, after it had lain in state at Somerset House for several weeks, was interred, with great pomp and ceremony, in Westminster Abbey, on the north side of Henry the Seventh's chapel. His wife survived him only a few days, and was buried by his side. Their only surviving son--Christopher, who was born in 1653--succeeded to his father's titles and enormous wealth. He died in Jamaica, where he was Governor, in 1688, without issue.

But to return to the New Exchange. In Gay's _Trivia; or the Art of Walking the Streets of London_ (1716), there is an allusion to it:--

"The sempstress speeds to 'Change with red-tipt nose; The Belgian stove beneath her footstool glows; In half-whipt muslin needles useless lie, And shuttle-cocks across the counter fly."[23]

The place was on its downward path at this time. Quack doctors and other charlatans flourished, and the most degraded of women frequented its walks. If one may judge from contemporary advertisements, "Sir William Read, Her Majesty's oculist in Durham Yard in the Strand," did a large trade in the years 1709 and 1710. Thanks to his "long practice and great experience, he has lately found out a medicine that clarifies the eyes from suffusions and cures cataracts." He also professed to "cure hair lips and wry necks, tho' never so deformed." Lady Read took in hand the female customers. Their establishment was in "New Exchange Row, near Durham Yard." This William Read was originally a tailor. He became an itinerant quack, and, in 1705, was knighted for "curing" blind sailors and soldiers without charge. Thanks to his appointment as oculist to Queen Anne, he acquired a fortune. This empiric died in 1715. By 1737, the New Exchange had become so disreputable that it was taken down, and a number of dwelling-houses and shops--the site of which is indicated by the existing buildings between George Court and Durham House Street--facing the Strand, were erected.

Before leaving this part of the neighbourhood, it should be observed that at Durham Rents, which was at the back of Durham House, there was a book-shop early in the sixteenth century, as we see by the following announcement:--"The Myrroure of Owre Lady, Fynyshed and Imprynted in the Suburbes of the Famous Citye of London, without Temple Barre, by me Richard Fawkes, dwellynge in Durresme Rents, or else in Powles Church Yard, at the Synge of the A.B.C., 1530." On December 9, 1614, Thomas Wilson, traveller, author, and statesman, granted a lease to James Bovy, Serjeant of the Cellar, of "the Sill House, in the Strand, near Durham House." And, on October 1, 1618, there was recorded an indenture of sale from "Sir Thomas Wilson, of Hertford, now residing in St Martin-in-the-Fields, London, of a dwelling-house, garden, etc., in St Martin's-in-the-Fields, between Durham House, Britain's Burse, York House, and the River, to Wm. Roo, of London, for £374." Wilson, who was knighted in this year, was employed in obtaining admissions, that were sufficient to condemn him, from Sir Walter Raleigh, then a prisoner in the Tower. Twenty-eight days after the date of the indenture of sale of Wilson's property, near Durham House, Raleigh was executed. A year later, Sir Thomas Wilson, in a letter to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, writes from "my house in Duresme Yard," and sends a list of ambassadors and other people residing there. Wilson, who was a man of considerable learning, and a traveller, translated from the Spanish the _Diana_ of George de Montemayor (the Portugese poet and romance writer, 1520-1562), the source to which Shakespeare went for several of the incidents in _The Two Gentlemen of Verona_. He entered the service of Robert Cecil in 1605. He was the keeper of the records at Whitehall from 1606 to the year of his death, 1629. He is the Wilson referred as "ye keeper of ye burse," quoted in the rules for the New Exchange in the preceding chapter.

The overcrowding of the New Exchange was a source of much annoyance to the inhabitants of Durham Yard, who made formal complaint of their grievances. As a result, an Order in Council, dated May 4, 1638, was made by the Inner Star Chamber, as follows:--"The Lords being made acquainted that, over the New Exchange, called Britain's Burse, there are divers families inhabiting as inmates, and that adjoining the wall of the Court of Durham House, there are sheds employed as eating rooms and for other uses, to the great annoyance of the inhabitants, and danger of infection. It was ordered that the Lord Privy Seal and Lord Newburgh, Chancellor of the Duchy, should call before them the inhabitants of the said places, and take order for their removal, and if they find any of the said persons obstinate should certify their names."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 18: "Richard, or Dick Talbot, as he was familiarly called, was descended from an ancient family of English extraction, who had early settled in Ireland. He commenced life as a profligate and ended it as a bigot. Clarendon informs us that he was the person selected to assassinate Cromwell, and that he willingly undertook to execute the deed; at another time, we find him cruelly and impudently insisting on his intimacy with Anne Hyde, in order to prevent her union with the Duke of York. In person he was far above the common stature, and was extremely graceful and well-made. He possessed considerable knowledge of the world, and had early been introduced into the best society. To his friends he is said to have been generous and obliging, and it was much to his credit, that at the Revolution no offers could induce him to desert the King's interests. His conduct in Ireland at that period is a matter of history. He strenuously espoused the cause of James; but, as his capacity was inferior to his zeal, and as he had more personal courage than military genius, his services were of little avail. 'From the time of the battle of the Boyne,' says the Duke of Berwick, 'he sunk prodigiously, and became as irresolute in his mind as unwieldy in his person.' He died at Limerick, 5th August, 1691. Andrew Marvell says, in his _Advice to a Painter_[19]:--

'Next, Talbot must by his great master stand, Laden with folly, flesh, and ill-got land; He's of a size indeed to fill a porch, But ne'er can make a pillar of the church. His sword is all his argument, not his book; Although no scholar, he can act the cook, And will cut throats again, if he be paid; In the Irish shambles he first learnt the trade.'" ]

[Footnote 19: _The Court of England under the Stuarts_, Jesse, ed. 1855, vol. iii., p. 237.]

[Footnote 20: Jesse, vol. iii., pp. 233-236.]

[Footnote 21: Macaulay's _History of England_, ed. 1863, vol. v., p. 272.]

[Footnote 22: Jesse, vol. iii., p. 46.]

[Footnote 23: Book II., verse 337.]