I. Sporle. It is published by T. E. Purday, 50, St. Paul's
Church Yard.
“A sad theme to a merry tune! But had not May another holiday maker? when the compassionate Mrs. Montague walked forth from her hall and bower to greet with a smile of welcome her grotesque visitor, the poor little sweep.”
Thy hand, Eugenio, for those gentle words! Elia would have taken thee to his heart. Be the turf that lies lightly on his breast as verdant as the bank whereon we sit. On a cold, dark, wintry morning, he had too often been disturbed out of a peaceful slumber by his shrill, mournful cry; and contrasting his own warm bed of down with the hard pallet from which the sooty little chorister had been driven at that untimely hour, he vented his generous indignation; and when a heart so tender as Elia's could feel indignation, bitter must have been the provocation and the crime! But the sweep, with his brilliant white teeth, and Sunday washed face, is for the most part a cheerful, healthy-looking being. Not so the squalid, decrepit factory lad, broken-spirited, overworked, and half-starved! The little sweep, in process of time, may become a master “chum-mie,” and have (without being obliged to sweep it,) a chimney of his own: but the factory lad sees no prospect of ever emerging from his heart-sickening toil and hopeless dependance; he feels the curse of Cain press heavily upon him. The little sweep has his merry May-day, with its jigs, rough music, gingling money-box, gilt-paper cocked-hat, and gay patchwork paraphernalia. All days are alike to the factory lad,—“E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to him.” His rest will be the Sabbath of the tomb!
Nothing is better calculated to brace the nerves and diffuse a healthful glow over body and mind than outdoor recreations. What is ennui? Fogs, and over-feeding, content grown plethoric, the lethargy of superabundance, the want of some rational pursuit, and the indisposition to seek one. What its cure?
“'Tis health, 'tis air, 'tis exercise—
Fling but a stone, the giant dies!”
The money-grub, pent up in a close city, eating the bread of carefulness, and with the fear of the shop always before his eyes, is not industrious. He is the droning, horse-in-a-mill creature of habit,—like a certain old lady of our acquaintance, who every morning was the first up in the house, and good-for-nothing afterwards. A century ago the advantages of early rising to the citizen were far more numerous than at present. A brisk walk of ten minutes brought him into the fields from almost any part of the town; and after luxuriating three or four miles amidst clover, sorrel, buttercups, aye, and corn to boot! the fresh breeze of morn, the fragrance of the flowers, and the pleasant prospect, would inspire happy thoughts: and, as nothing better sharpens the appetite than these delightful companions, what was wanting but a substantial breakfast to prepare him for the business of the day? For this certain frugal houses of entertainment were established in the rural outskirts of the Metropolis, *
Spencer's original Breakfasting-Hut, between Sir Hugh
Middleton's Head and St. John Street Road, by the New River
side, fronting Sadler's Wells, may be had every morning,
except Sundays, fine tea, sugar, bread, butter, and milk, at
four-penee per head; coffee at threepence a dish. And in the
afternoon, tea, sugar and milk, at threepence per head, with
good attendance. Coaches may come up to the farthest gar-
den-door next to the bridge in St. John Street Road, near
Sadler's Wells back gate.—Note. Ladies, &c. are desired to
take notice that there is another person set up in
opposition to me, the next door, which is a brick-house, and
faces the little gate by the Sir Hugh Middleton's, and
therefore mistaken for mine; but mine is the little boarded
place by the river side, and my backdoor faces the same as
usual; for
I am not dead, I am not gone,
Nor liquors do I sell;
But, as at first, I still go on,
Ladies, to use you well.
No passage to my hut I have,
The river runs before;
Therefore your care I humbly crave,
Pray don't mistake my door.
“Yours to serve,
Daily Advertiser, May 6, 1745. “S. Spencer.”
where every morning, “except Sundays, fine tea, sugar, bread, butter, and milk,” might be had at fourpence per head, and coffee “at three halfpence a dish.'” And as a walk in summer was an excellent recruit to the spirits after reasonable toil, the friendly hand that lifted the latch in the morning repeated the kind office at evening tide, and spread before him those refreshing elements that “cheer, but not inebriate;” with the harmless addition of music and dancing. Ale, wine, and punch, were subsequently included in the bill of fare, and dramatic representations. But of latter years the town has walked into the country, and the citizen can just espy at a considerable distance a patch of flowery turf, and a green hill, when his leisure and strength are exhausted, and it is time to turn homeward.
The north side of London was famous for suburban houses of entertainment. Midway down Gray's Inn Lane stands Town's End Lane (so called in the old maps), or Elm Street, which takes its name from some elms that once grew there. To the right is Mount Pleasant, and on its summit is planted a little hostelrie, which commanded a delightful prospect of fields, that are now annihilated; their site and our sight being profaned by the House of Correction and the Treadmill! Farther on, to the right, is Warner Street, which the lover of old English ballad poetry and music will never pass without a sigh; for there, while the town were applauding his dramatic drolleries,—and his beautiful songs charmed alike the humble and the refined,—their author, Henry Carey, in a fit of melancholy destroyed himself. *
Close by stood the old Bath House, which was built over a Cold Spring by one Walter Baynes, in 1697. * The house is razed to the ground, but the spring remains. A few paces forward is the Lord Cobham's Head, ** transmogrified into a modern temple for tippling; its shady gravel walks, handsome grove of trees, and green bowling alleys, are long since destroyed. Its opposite neighbour was (for not a vestige of the ancient building remains) the Sir John Oldcastle, *** where the wayfarer was invited to regale upon moderate terms.
Gwynn. In Baynes's Row, close by, lived for many years the
celebrated clown Joe Grimaldi.
** “Sir,—Coming to my lodging in Islington, I called at the
Lord Cobham's Head, in Cold Bath Fields, to drink some of
their beer, which I had often heard to be the finest,
strongest, and most pleasant in London, where I found a very
handsome house, good accommodation, and pleasantly situated.
I afterwards walked in the garden, where I was greatly
surprised to find a very handsome grove of trees, with
gravel walks, and finely illuminated, to please the company
that should honour them with drinking a tankard of beer,
which is threepence. There will be good attendance, and
music of all sorts, both vocal and instrumental, and will
begin this day, being the 10th of August.
“I am yours,
“Tom Freeman.”
Daily Advertiser, 9th August 1742.
*** “Sir,—A few days ago, invited by the serenity of the
evening, I made a little excursion into the fields.
Returning home, being in a gay humour, I stopt at a booth
near Sir John Oldcastle's, to hear the rhetoric of Mr.
Andrew. He used so much eloquence to persuade his auditors
to walk in, that I (with many others) went to see his
entertainment; and I never was more agreeably amused than
with the performances of the three Bath Morris Dancers. They
showed so many astonishing feats of strength and activity,
so many amazing transformations, that it is impossible for
the most lively imagination to form an adequate idea
thereof. As the Fairs are coming on, I presume these
admirable artists will be engaged to entertain the town; and
I assure your readers they can't spend an hour more
agreeably than in seeing the performances of these wonderful
men.
“I am, &c.
Daily Advertiser, 27th July 1743.
See a rare print, entituled “A new and exact prospect of
the North side of the City of London, taken from the Upper
Pond near Islington. Printed and sold by Thomas Bake-well,
Print and Map-seller, over against Birching Lane, Corn-hill,
August 5, 1730.”
Show-booths were erected in this immediate neighbourhood for Merry-Andrews and mor-ris-dancers. Onward was the Ducking Pond; * (“Because I dwell at Hogsden,” says Master Stephen, in Every Man in his Humour, “I shall keep company with none but the archers of Finsbury or the citizens that come a ducking to Islington Ponds;”) and, proceeding in almost a straight line towards “Old Iseldon,” were the London Spa, originally built in 1206; Phillips's New Wells; *
Original
Phillips's New Wells, near the London Spa, Clerkenwell, 20th
August 1743.
“This evening, and during the Summer Season, will be
performed several new exercises of Rope-dancing, Tumbling,
Vaulting, Equilibres, Ladder-dancing, and Balancing, by Ma—
dame Kerman, Sampson Rogetzi, Monsieur German, and Monsieur
Dominique; with a new Grand Dance, called Apollo and Daphne,
by Mr. Phillips, Mrs. Lebrune, and others; singing by Mrs.
Phillips and Mrs. Jackson; likewise the extraordinary
performance of Herr Von Eeekenberg, who imitates the lark,
thrush, blackbird, goldfinch, canary-bird, flageolet, and
German flute; a Sailor's Dance by Mr. Phillips; and Monsieur
Dominique flies through a hogshead, and forces both heads
out. To which will be added The Harlot's Progress. Harlequin
by Mr. Phillips; Miss Kitty by Mrs. Phillips. Also, an exact
representation of the late glorious victory gained over the
French by the English at the battle of Dettingen, with the
taking of the White Household Standard by the Scots Greys,
and blowing up the bridge, and destroying and drowning most
part of the French army. To begin every evening at five
o'clock. Every one will be admitted for a pint of wine, as
usual.”
Mahommed Caratha, the Grand Turk, performed here his
“Surprising Equilibres on the Slack Rope.”
In after years, the imitations of Herr Von Eeekenberg were
emulated by James Boswell. (Bozzy!)
“A great many years ago, when Dr. Blair and I (Boswell) were
sitting together in the pit of Drury Lane Playhouse, in a
wild freak of youthful extravagance, I entertained the
audience prodigiously by imitating the lowings of a cow. The
universal cry of the galleries was, 'Encore the cow!' In the
pride of my heart I attempted imitations of some other
animals, but with very inferior effect. My revered friend,
anxious for my fame, with an air of the utmost gravity and
earnestness, addressed me thus, My dear sir, I would confine
myself to the cow!'”
the New Red Lion Cockpit; * the Mulberry Gardens; **
Clerkenwell, this present Monday, being the 12th July 1731,
will be seen the Royal Sport of Cock-fighting, for two
guineas a-battle. To-morrow begins the match for four
guineas a-battle, and twenty guineas the old battle, and
continues all the week, beginning at four o'clock.”
** “Mulberry Gardens, Clerkenwell.—The gloomy clouds that
obscured the season, it is to be hoped, are vanished, and
nature once more shines with a benign and cheerful
influence. Come, then, ye honest sons of trade and industry,
after the fatigues of a well-spent day, and taste of our
rural pleasures! Ye sons of care, here throw aside your
burden! Ye jolly Bacchanalians, here regale, and toast your
rosy god beneath the verdant branches! Ye gentle lovers,
here, to soft sounds of harmony, breathe out your sighs,
till the cruel fair one listens to the voice of love! Ye who
delight in feats of war, and are anxious for our heroes
abroad, in mimic fires here see their ardour displayed!
“Note.—The proprietor being informed that it is a general
complaint against others who offer the like entertainments,
that if the gentle zephyrs blow ever so little, the company
are in danger of having their viands fanned away, through
the thinness of their consistence, promises that his shall
be of such a solidity as to resist, the air!”—Daily
Advertiser, July 8, 1745.
The latter part of this picturesque and poetical
advertisement is a sly hit at what, par excellence, are
called, “Vauxhall slices.”
the Shakspeare's Head Tavern and Jubilee Gardens; * the New Tunbridge Wells, **
Head, near the New Wells, Clerkenwell,', with refreshments
of all sorts, and music; “the harpsichord being placed in so
judicious a situation, that the whole company cannot fail of
equally receiving the benefit.” In 1770, Mr. Tonas exhibited
“a great and pleasing variety of performances, in a
commodious apartment,” up one pair.
** These once beautiful tea-gardens (we remember them as
such) were formerly in high repute. In 1733, their Royal
Highnesses the Princesses Amelia and Caroline frequented
them in the summer time, for the purpose of drinking the
waters. They have furnished a subject for pamphlets, poems,
plays, songs, and medical treatises, by Ned Ward, George
Col-man the elder, Bickham, Dr. Hugh Smith, &c. Nothing now
remains of them but the original chalybeate spring, which is
still preserved in an obscure nook, amidst a poverty-
stricken and squalid rookery of misery and vice.
a fashionable morning lounge of the nobility and gentry during the early part of the eighteenth century; the Sir Hugh Middleton's Head; the Farthing Pie House; * and Sadler's Music House and “Sweet Wells.” ** A little to the left were Merlin's Cave,
a century ago. Their fragrance caught the sharp set citizen
by the nose, and led him in by that prominent member to
feast on their savoury fare. One solitary Farthing Pie House
(the Green Man) still stands near Portland Road, on the way
to Paddington.
** Originally a chalybeate spring, then a music-house, and
afterwards a “theatre-royal!” Cheesecakes, pipes, wine, and
punch, were formerly part of the entertainment.
“If at Sadler's sweet Wells the wine should be thick,
The cheesecakes be sour, or Miss Wilkinson sick,
If the fume of the pipe should prove pow'rful in June,
Or the tumblers be lame, or the bells out of tune,
We hope you will call at our warehouse at Drury,—We've a
curious assortment of goods, I assure you.” Foote's Prologue
to All in the Wrong, 1761.
Its rural vicinity made it a great favourite with the play-
going and punch-drinking citizens. See Hogarth's print of
“Evening.”
“A New Song on Sadler's Wells, set by Mr. Brett, 1740.
'At eve, when Sylvan's shady scene
Is clad with spreading branches green,
And varied sweets all round display'd,
To grace the pleasant flow'ry meads,
For those who're willing joys to taste,
Where pleasures flow and blessings last,
And God of Health with transport dwells,
Must all repair to Sadler's Wells.
The pleasant streams of Middleton
In gentle murmurs glide along,
In which the sporting fishes play,
To close each weary summer's day;
And music's charm, in lulling sounds,
With mirth and harmony abounds;
While nymphs and swains, with beaus and belles,
All praise the joys of Sadler's Wells.'”
Bagnigge Wells, * the English Grotto (which stood near the New River Water-works in the fields), and, farther in advance, White Conduit House. **
tradition of her visiting the “Old Bath House” more than
probable. F or. upwards of a century it has been a noted
place of entertainment.'Tis now almost a ruin! Pass we to
its brighter days, as sung in the “Sunday Ramble,” 1778:—
“Salubrious waters, tea, and wine,
Here you may have, and also dine;
But as ye through the gardens rove,
Beware, fond youths, the darts of love!”
** So called after an ancient conduit that once stood hard
by. Goldsmith, in the “Citizen of the World,” celebrates the
“hot rolls and butter' of White Conduit House. Thither
himself and a few friends would repair to tea, after having
dined at Highbury Barn. A supper at the Grecian, or Temple
Exchange Coffeehouses, closed the “Shoemaker's Holiday” of
this exquisite English Classic,—this gentle and benignant
spirit!
Passing by the Old Red Lion, bearing the date of 1415, and since brightened up with some regard to the taste of ancient times; and the Angel,—now a fallen one!—a huge structure, the architecture of which is anything but angelic, having risen on its ruins, we enter Islington, described by Goldsmith as “a pretty and neat town.” In ancient times it was not unknown to fame.
“What village can boast like fair Islington town
Such time-honour'd worthies, such ancient renown?
Here jolly Queen Bess, after flirting with Leicester,
'Undumpish'd'' herself with Dick Tarleton her jester.
Here gallant gay Essex, and burly Lord Burleigh,
Sat late at their revels, and came to them early;
Here honest Sir John took his ease at his inn—
Bardolph's proboscis, and Jack's double chin!
Here Finsbury archers disported and quaff'd,
Here Raleigh the brave took his pipe and his draught;
Here the Knight of St. John pledged the Highbury Monk,
Till both to their pallets reel'd piously drunk.” *
In “The Walks of Islington and Hogsdon, with the Humours of Wood Street Compter,” a comedy, by Thomas Jordan, 1641, the scene is laid at the Saracen's Head, Islington; and the prologue celebrates its “bottle-beer, cream, and (gooseberry) fools and the “Merry Milkmaid of Islington,
or the Rambling Gallant defeated,” a comedy, 1680, is another proof of its popularity. Poor Robin, in his almanac, 1676, says,
“At Islington
A Fair they hold,
Where cakes and ale
Are to be sold.
At Highgate and
At Holloway
The like is kept
Here every day.
At Totnam Court
And Kentish Town,
And all those places
Up and down.”
Drunken Barnaby notices some of its inns. Sir William d'Avenant, describing the amusements of the citizens during the long vacation, makes a “husband gray” ask,
“Where's Dame? (quoth he.) Quoth son of shop
She's gone her cake in milk to sop—
Ho! Ho!—to Islington—enough!”
Bonnel Thornton, in “The Connoisseur,” speaks of the citizens smoking their pipes and drinking their ale at Islington; and Sir William Wealthy exclaims to his money-getting brother, “What, old boy, times are changed since the date of thy indentures, when the sleek crop-eared 'prentice used to dangle after his mistress, with the great Bible under his arm, to St. Bride's on a Sunday, bring home the text, repeat the divisions of the discourse, dine at twelve, and regale upon a gaudy day with buns and beer at Islington or Mile-end.” *
Among its many by-gone houses of entertainment, the Three Hats has a double claim upon our notice. It was the arena where those celebrated masters, Johnson, ** Price, Sampson, *** and Coningham exhibited their feats of horsemanship, and the scene of Mr. Mawworm's early back-slidings. “I used to go,” (says that regenerated ranter to old Lady Lambert,) “every Sunday evening to the Three Hats at Islington; it's a public house; mayhap your Ladyship may know it.
** Johnson exhibited in 1758, and Price, at about the same
time,—Coningham in 1772. Price amassed upwards of fourteen
thousand pounds by his engagements at home and abroad.
*** “Horsemanship, April 29, 1767.
Mr. Sampson will begin his famous feats of horsemanship next
Monday, at a commodious place built for that purpose in a
field adjoining the Three Hats at Islington, where he
intends to continue his performance during the summer
season. The doors to be opened at four, and Mr. Sampson will
mount at five. Admittance, one shilling each. A proper band
of music is engaged for the entertainment of those ladies
and gentlemen who are pleased to honour him with their
company.”
I was a great lover of skittles, too; but now I can't bear them.” At Dobney's Jubilee Gardens (now entirely covered with mean hovels), Daniel Wildman * performed equestrian exercises; and, that no lack of entertainment might be found in this once merry village, “a new booth, near Islington Turnpike,” for tricks and mummery, was erected in September 1767; “an insignificant erection, calculated totally for the lowest classes, inferior artisans, superb apprentices, and journeymen.”
Fields,
1772. “Daniel Wildman rides, standing upright, one foot on
the saddle, and the other on the horse's neck, with a
curious mask of bees on his face. He also rides, standing
upright on the saddle, with the bridle in his mouth, and, by
firing a pistol, makes one part of the bees march over a
table, and the other part swarm in the air, and return to
their proper places again.”
** Animadvertor's letter to the Printer of the Daily
Advertiser, 21st September 1767.
*** August 22nd, 1770, Mr. Craven stated in an
advertisement, that he had “established rules for the
strictest maintenance of order” at the Pantheon. How far
this was true, the following letter “To the Printer of the
St. James's Chronicle” will show:—
“Sir,—Happening to dine last Sunday with a friend in the
city, after coming from church, the weather being very
inviting, we took a walk as far as Islington. In our return
home towards Cold Bath Fields, we stepped in to view the
Pantheon there; but such a scene of disorder, riot, and
confusion, presented itself to me on my entrance, that I was
just turning on my heel in order to quit it, when my friend
observing that we might as well have something for our money
(for the doorkeeper obliged each of us to deposit a tester
before he granted us admittance), I acquiesced in his
proposal, and became one of the giddy multitude. I soon,
however, repented of my choice; for, besides having our
sides almost squeezed together, we were in danger every
minute of being scalded by the boiling water which the
officious Mercuries were circulating with the utmost
expedition through their respective districts. We therefore
began to look out for some place to sit down in, which with
the greatest difficulty we at length procured, and producing
our tickets, were served with twelve-penny worth of punch.
Being seated towards the front of one of the galleries, I
had now a better opportunity of viewing this dissipated
scene. The male part of the company seemed to consist
chiefly of city apprentices and the lower class of
tradesmen. The ladies, who constituted by far the greater
part of the assembly, seemed most of them to be pupils of
the Cyprian goddess, and I was sometimes accosted with,
'Pray, sir, will you treat me with a dish of tea?' Of all
the tea-houses in the environs of London, the most
exceptionable that I have had occasion to be in is the
Pantheon.
“I am sir, your constant reader,
“Speculator.”
“Chiswick, May 5, 1772.”
near Islington,” * was opened in 1770 for the sale of tea, coffee, wine, punch, &c., a “tester” being the price of admission to the promenade and galleries. It was eventually turned to a very different use, and converted into a lay chapel by the late Countess of Huntingdon.
Dalby Terrace, Islington) was famous for duck-hunting, bull-
baiting, and other low sports. “On Wednesday last, two women
fought for a new shift valued at half-a-guinea, in the Spaw-
Fields near Islington. The battle was won by a woman called
Bruising Peg, who beat her antagonist in a terrible
manner.”—22nd June 1768.
But by far the most interesting ancient hostelrie that has submitted to the demolishing mania for improvement is the Old Queen's Head, formerly situate in the Lower Street, Islington. This stately edifice was one of the most perfect specimens of ancient domestic architecture in England. Under its venerable roof Sir Walter Raleigh, it is said, “puffed his pipe;” and might not Jack Falstaff have taken his ease there, when he journeyed to string a bow with the Finsbury archers? For many years it was a pleasant retreat for retired citizens, who quaffed their nut-brown beneath its primitive porch, and indulged in reminiscences of the olden time. Thither would little Quick, King George the Third's favourite actor, resort to drink cold punch, and “babble” of his theatrical contemporaries. Plays * were formerly acted there.
George the Second, is presumed to be unique:—
G. II. R.
By a Company of Comedians, at the Queen's Head, in the Lower
Street, Islington,
This present evening will be acted a Tragedy, called the
Fair Penitent.
Sciolto, Mr. Malone.—Horatio, Mr. Johnson.
Altamont, Mr. Jones.—Lothario, Mr. Dunn.
Rosano, Mr. Harris.—Calista, Mrs. Harman.
Lavinia, Mrs. Malone.—Lucilla, Miss Platt.
To which will be added, a Farce called The Lying Valet.
Prices—Pit, 2s.; Gallery, Is. To begin at 7 o'clock.”
On Monday, October 19, 1829, it was razed to the ground, to make room for a misshapen mass of modern masonry. The oak parlour has been preserved from the wreck, and is well worth a visit from the antiquary. Canonbury Tavern and Highbury Barn still maintain their festive honours. Farther a-field are the Sluice, or Eel-pie House; Copenhagen House; Hornsey-wood House, formerly the hunting seat of Queen Elizabeth; Chalk Farm; Jack Straw's Castle; the Spaniards, &c. as yet undefiled by pitiful prettinesses of bricks and mortar, and affording a delightful opportunity of enjoying pure air and pastime. The canonised Bishop of Lichfield and Mademoiselle St. Agnes have each their wells. What perambulator of the suburbs but knows St. Chad, in Gray's Inn Lane, and St. Agnes le Clair, * at Hoxton? Paneras **
company with a clean glass, washed with the water of Agnes
le Clare.
** “At Edward Martin's, at the Hornes at Pancrass, is that
excellent water, highly approved of by the most eminent phy-
sitians, and found by long experience to be a powerful
antidote against rising of the vapours, also against the
stone and gravel. It likewise cleanses the body, purifies
and sweetens the blood, and is a general and sovereign help
to nature. I shall open on Whitson-Monday, the 24th of May
1697; and there will be likewise dancing every Tuesday and
Thursday all the summer season at the place aforesaid. The
poor may drink the waters gratis.” Then follow sixteen lines
of rhyme in praise of “this noble water,” and inviting
ladies and gentlemen to drink of it. Of this rare hand-bill
no other copy is known.
“And although this place (Paneras) be as it were forsaken of
all, and true men seldome frequent the same but upon de-vyne
occasions, yet is it visyted and usually haunted of roages,
vagabondes, harlettes and theeves, who assemble not ther to
pray, but to wayte for praye, and manie fall into their
hands clothed, that are glad when they are escaped naked.
Walke not ther too late.”—Speculi Britannio Pars, by John
Norden, MS. 1594.
and Hampstead Wells, renowned for their salubrious waters, are dried up. Though the two latter were professed marts for aqua pura, liquids more exhilarating were provided for those who relished stronger stimulants. We may therefore fairly assume that John Bull anciently travelled northward ho! when he rambled abroad for recreation.
As population increased, houses of entertainment multiplied to meet the demand. South, east, and west they rose at convenient distances, within the reach of a short stage, and a long pair of legs. Apollo Gardens, St. George's Fields; Bohemia's Head; Turnham Green; Cuper's Gardens, Lambeth; China Hall, Rotherhithe; Dog and Duck, St. George's Fields; Cherry Gardens Bowling-green, Rotherhithe; Cumberland Gardens, Vaux-hall; Spa Gardens, Bermondsey; Finch's Grotto Garden's, St. George's Fields; Smith's Tea Gardens, Vauxhall; Kendal House, Isleworth; New Wells, Goodman's Fields; Marble Hall, Vaux-hall; Staton's Tea-House, opposite Mary-le-bone Gardens; the Queen's Head and Artichoke, Mary-le-bone Fields; Ruckholt House, in Essex, of which facetious Jemmy Worsdale was the Apollo; Old Chelsea Bun-house; Queen Elizabeth's Cheesecake House, in Hyde Park; the Star and Garter Tavern, * and Don Saltero's coffeehouse, **
display his uncommon abilities with watches, letters, rings,
swords, cards, and enchanted clock, which absolutely tells
the thoughts of any person in the company. The astonishing
Little Man, only four inches high, pays his respects to the
company, and vanishes in a flash of fire. Mr. Lowe commands
nine lighted candles to fly from the table to the top of the
ceiling! Added, a grand entertainment, with musick and
dancing, &c. &c.”
** The great attraction of Don Saltero's Coffeehouse was its
collection of rarities, a catalogue of which was published
as a guide to the visitors. It comprehends almost every
description of curiosity, natural and artificial. “Tigers'
tusks; the Pope's candle; the skeleton of a Guinea-pig; a
fly-cap monkey; a piece of the true Cross; the Four
Evangelists' heads cut on a cherry-stone; the King of
Morocco's tobacco-pipe;
Mary Queen of Scot's pincushion; Queen Elizabeth's prayer-
book; a pair of Nun's stockings; Job's ears, which grew on a
tree; a frog in a tobacco stopper,” and five hundred more
odd relies! The Don had a rival, as appears by “A Catalogue
of the Rarities to be seen at Adams's, at the Royal Swan, in
Kingsland Road, leading from Shoreditch Church, 1756.” Mr.
Adams exhibited, for the entertainment of the curious, “Miss
Jenny Cameron's shoes; Adam's eldest daughter's hat; the
heart of the famous Bess Adams, that was hanged at Tyburn
with Lawyer Carr, January 18, 1736-7; Sir Walter Raleigh's
tobacco-pipe; Vicar of Bray's clogs; engine to shell green
pease with; teeth that grew in a fish's belly; Black Jack's
ribs; the very comb that Abraham combed his son Isaac and
Jacob's head with; Wat Tyler's spurs; rope that cured
Captain Lowry of the head-ach, ear-ach, tooth-ach and belly-
ach; Adam's key of the fore and back door of the Garden of
Eden, &e. &e.” These are only a few out of five hundred
others equally marvellous. Is this strange catalogue a quiz
on Don Saltero?
Chelsea; Mary-le-bone and Ranelagh Gardens; *
with a public breakfast. At Ranelagh House (Gentleman's
Magazine for 1767) on the 12th of May, were performed the
much-admired catches and glees, selected from the curious
collection of the Catch Club; being the first of the kind
publickly exhibited in this or any other kingdom. The
entertainment consisted of the favourite catches and glees,
composed by the most eminent masters of the last and present
age, by a considerable number of the best vocal and
instrumental performers. The choral and instrumental parts
were added, to give the catches and glees their proper
effect in so large an amphitheatre; being composed for that
purpose by Dr. Arne. The Masquerades at Ranelagh are
represented in Fielding's “Amelia” as dangerous to morals,
and the “Connoisseur” satirises their Eve-like beauties with
caustic humour.
and the illuminated saloons and groves of Vauxhall. * These, and many others, bear testimony to the growing spirit of national jollity during a considerable part of the eighteenth century. How few now remain, “the sad historians of the pensive tale,” of their bygone merriments!
known to almost every one of my readers; and happy is it for
me that it is so, since to give an adequate idea of it would
exceed my power of description. To delineate the particular
beauties of these gardens would indeed require as much
pains, and as much paper too, as to rehearse all the good
actions of their master; whose life proves the truth of an
observation which I have read in some other writer, that a
truly elegant taste is generally accompanied with an
excellency of heart; or in other words, that true virtue is
indeed nothing else but true taste.” Amelia, b. ix. c. ix.
CHAPTER III.
The Genius of Mirth never hit upon a happier subject than the humours of Cockneyland. “Man made the town and a pretty sample it is of the maker! Behind or before the counter, at home and abroad, the man of business or the beau, the Cockney is the same whimsical original, baffling imitation, and keeping description in full cry. See him sally forth on a fine Sunday to inhale his weekly mouthful of fresh air, * the world all before him, where to choose occupying his meditations, till he finds himself elevated on High-gate Hill or Hampstead Heath. From those magnificent summits he beholds in panorama, woods, valleys, lofty trees, and stately turrets, not forgetting that glorious cupola dedicated to the metropolitan saint, which points out the locality where, six days out of the seven, his orisons are paid to a deity not contemplated by the apostle.
fashionable parades of the citizens in the days of Elizabeth
and James I.
He lays himself out for enjoyment, and seeks good entertainment for man and (if mounted, or in his cruelty-van) for horse. Having taken possession of a window that commands the best prospect, the waiter is summoned, the larder called over, the ceremony of lunch commenced, and, with that habitual foresight which marks his character, the all-important meal that is to follow, duly catered for. The interval for rural adventure arrives; he takes a stroll; the modest heath-bell and the violet turn up their dark blue eyes to him; and he finds blackberries enough (as Falstaff's men did linen!) on every hedge. Dinner served up, and to his mind, he warms and waxes cosey, jokes with the waiter, talks anything, and to anybody,
Drinks a glass
To his favourite lass!”
pleased with himself, and willing to please. If his phraseology provoke a laugh, he puts it to the account of his smart sayings, and is loudest in the chorus; for when the ball of ridicule is flying about, he ups with his racket and strikes it off to his neighbour.
He is the worst mortal in the world to be put out of his way. The slightest inconvenience, the most trifling departure from his wonted habits, he magnifies into a serious evil. His well-stocked larder and cheerful fireside are ever present to his view: beef and pudding have taken fast hold of him; and, in default of these, his spirits flag; he is hipped and melancholy. Foreign travel exhibits him in his natural light; his peculiarities break forth with whimsical effect, which, though not always the most amiable, are nevertheless entertaining. He longs to see the world; and having with due ceremony arranged his wardrobe, put money in his purse, and procured his passport to strange lands, he sets forward, buttoned up in his native consequence, to the capital of the grand monarque, to rattle dice, and drink champagne. His expectations are not the most reasonable. Without considering the different manners and customs of foreign parts, he bends to nobody, yet takes it as an affront if everybody bend not to him! His baggage is subjected to rigorous search. The infernal parlez-vous!—nothing like this ever happens in old England! His passport is inspected, and his person identified. The inquisitors!—to take the length and breadth of a man, his complexion and calling! The barriers are closed, and he must bivouac in the Diligence the live-long night. Monstrous tyranny! Every rogue enjoys free ingress and egress in a land of liberty! He calls for the bill of fare, the “carte,” and in his selection puts the cart before the horse! Of course there is a horrible conspiracy to poison him! The wines, too, are sophisticated. The champagne is gooseberry; the Burgundy, Pontac; and the vin ordinaire neither better nor worse than a dose of “Braithwait's Intermediate.” The houses are dirty and dark; the streets muddy and gay; the madames and mademoiselles pretty well, I thank'e; and the Mounseers a pack of chattering mountebanks, stuck over with little bits of red ribbon, and blinded with snuff and whiskers! Even the air is too thin: he misses his London smoke! And but one drunken dog has he encountered (and he was his countryman!) to bring to fond remembrance the land we live in! * What wonder, then, if he sigh for luxurious bachelorship in a Brighton boarding-house? Beds made, dinner provided, the cook scolded by proxy, and all the agreeable etceteras incidental to good living set before him, without the annoyance of idle servants, and the trouble of ordering, leaving him to the delightful abandonment of every care, save that of feasting and pleasure-taking!