Pale, stretch'd against th' inhospitable doors;
While gathering gossips taunt the flesh less corse,
And thank their gods _that they were never w--res!_
~346~~the severe animadversion of his worship, the beak, who lamented
that such fine talent should be thus immorally applied: with this brief
lecture, and a caution for the future, we were allowed to escape; while
almost all the rest, male and female, were marched off to an adjoining
watch-house, to abide the public examination and fiat of the morrow.
Of all the party, old Crony was the most sensibly affected by the late
rencontre; twenty bottles of soda-water could not have produced a more
important change. His conversation and appearance had, in an instant,
recovered their wonted steadiness; and before we were half across the
market, Crony was moralizing upon the dangers of the scene from which we
had so recently and fortunately escaped. But hearts young and buoyant as
ours, when lighted up by the fire of enterprise, and provoked to action
by potent charges of the grape, were not to be dashed by one repulse,
or compelled to beat a retreat at the first brush with a reconnoitring
party; we had sallied forth in pursuit of a spree, and frolic we were
determined upon,
"While misty night, with silent pace,
Steals gradual o'er the wanton chase."
There is something very romantic in prowling the streets of the
metropolis at midnight, in quest of adventure; at least, so my
companions insisted, and I had embarked too deeply in the night's
debauch to moralize upon its consequences. How many a sober-looking face
demure when morning dawns would blush to meet the accusing spirit of the
night, dressed out in all the fantasies of whim and eccentricity with
which the rosy god of midnight revelry clothes his laughter-loving
bacchanals--
"While sleep attendant at her drowsy fane,
Parent of ease, envelopes all your train!"
The lamentations of old Crony brought to mind the ~347~~complaints
of honest Jack Falstaff against his associates. "There is no truth in
villanous man!" said our monitor. "I remember when a gentleman might
have reeled round the environs of Covent Garden, in and out of every
establishment, from the Bedford to Mother Butlers, without having his
pleasures broken in upon by the irruptions of Bow-street mohawks, or his
person endangered by any association he chose to mix with; but we are
returning to the times of the _Roundheads_ and the _Puritans; cant,_
vile hypocritical _cant_, has bitten the ear of authority, and the great
officers of the state are infected with the Jesuitical mania.
'Man is a ship that sails with adverse winds,
And has no haven till he land at death.
Then, when he thinks his hands fast grasp the bank,
Conies a rude billow betwixt him and safety,
And beats him back into the deep again.'"
"I subscribe to none of their fooleries," said I; "for I am of the true
orthodox--love my king, my girl, my friend, and my bottle: a truce with
all their raven croakings; they would overload mortality, and press our
shoulders with too great a weight of dismal miseries. But come, my boys,
we who have free souls, let us to the banquet, while yet Sol's fiery
charioteer lies sleeping at his eastern palace in the lap of Thetis--let
us chant carols of mirth to old Jove or bully Mars; and, like chaste
votaries, perform our orgies at the shrine of Venus, ere yet Aurora
tears aside the curtain that conceals our revels." In this way we
rallied our cameleon-selves, until we again found shelter from the dews
of night in Carpenter's coffee-house; a small, but well-conducted place,
standing at the east end of the market, which opens between two and
three o'clock in the morning, for the accommodation of those who are
hourly arriving with waggon loads of vegetable commodities. Here, over
a bottle of mulled port, Crony gave us the history of ~348~~what Covent
Garden used to be, when the eminent, the eccentric, and the notorious in
every walk of life, were to be found nightly indulging their festivities
within its famous precincts. "Covent Garden," said Crony, once so
celebrated for its clubs of wits and convents of fine women, is grown as
dull as _modern Athens_, and its ladies of pleasure almost as vulgar as
Scotch landladies; formerly, the first beauties of the time assembled
every evening under the Piazzas, and promenaded for hours to the
soft notes of the dulcet lute, and the silver tongues of amorous and
persuasive beaus; then the gay scene partook of the splendour of a
Venetian carnival, and such beauties as the Kitten, Peggy Yates, Sally
Hall the brunette, Betsy Careless, and the lively Mrs. Stewart, graced
the merry throng, with a hundred more, equally famed, whose names are
enrolled in the cabinet of Love's votaries. Then there was a celebrated
house in Charles-street, called the _field of blood_, where the droll
fellows of the time used nightly to resort, and throw down whole
regiments of _black_ artillery; and then at Tom or Moll King's, a
coffee-house so called, which stood in the centre of Covent Garden
market, at midnight might be found the bucks, bloods, demireps,
and choice spirits of London, associated with the most elegant and
fascinating Cyprians, congregated with every species of human kind that
intemperance, idleness, necessity, or curiosity could assemble together.
There you might see Tom King enter as rough as a Bridewell whipper,
roaring down the long room and rousing all the sleepers, thrusting them
and all who had empty glasses out of his house, setting everything to
rights,--when in would roll three or four jolly fellows, claret-cosey,
and in three minutes put it all into uproar again; playing all sorts
of mad pranks, until the guests in the long room were at battle-royal
together; for in those days pugilistic encounters were equally common
as with the present ~349~~times, owing to the celebrity of Broughton and
his amphitheatre, where the science of boxing was publicly taught. Then
was the Spiller's Head in Clare-market, in great vogue for the nightly
assemblage of the wits; there might be seen Hogarth, and Betterton
the actor, and Dr. Garth, and Charles Churchill, the first of English
satirists, and the arch politician, Wilkes, and the gay Duke of Wharton,
and witty Morley, the author of Joe Miller, and Walker, the celebrated
Macheath, and the well-known Bab Selby, the oyster-woman, and Fig, the
boxer, and old Corins, the clerical attorney.--All "hail, fellow,
well met."{6} And a friend of mine has in his possession a most
extraordinary picture of Hogarth's, on this subject, which has never yet
been engraved from. It is called St. James's Day, or the first day
of oysters, and represents the interior of the Spiller's Head in
Clare-market, as it then appeared. The principal figures are the gay
and dissolute Duke of Wharton, for whom the well-known Bab Selby, the
oyster-wench, is opening oysters; Spiller is standing at her back,
patting her shoulder; the figure sitting smoking by the side of the duke
is a portrait of Morley, the author of Joe Miller; and the man standing
behind is a portrait of the well-known attendant on the duke's drunken
frolics, Fig, the brother of Fig, the boxer: the person drinking at the
bar is Corins, called the parson-attorney, from his habit of dressing
in clerical attire; the two persons sitting at the table represent
portraits of the celebrated Dr. Garth, and Betterton, the actor; the
figures, also, of Walker, the celebrated Macheath, and Lavinia
Fenton, the highly-reputed Polly, afterwards Duchess of Bolton, may be
recognised in the back-ground.
The circumstances of this picture having escaped the notice of the
biographer of Hogarth is by no means singular. Mr. Halls, one of the
magistrates at Bow-street, has, among other choice specimens by Hogarth,
the lost picture of the Harlot's Progress; the subject telling her
fortune by the tea-grounds in her cup, admirably characteristic of the
artist and his story. In my own collection I have the original picture
of the Fish-Women of Calais, with a view of the market-place, painted
on the spot, and as little known as the others to which I have alluded.
There are, no doubt, many other equally clever performances of Hogarth's
prolific pencil which are not generally known to the public, or have not
yet been engraved. ~350~~in the same neighbourhood, in Russel-court, at
the old Cheshire Cheese, the inimitable but dissolute Tom Brown wrote
many of his cleverest essays. Then too commenced the midnight revelries
and notoriety of the Cider Cellar, in Maiden-lane, when Sim Sloper, Bob
Washington, Jemmy Tas well, Totty Wright, and Harry Hatzell, led the way
for a whole regiment more of frolic-making beings who, like Falstaff,
were not only, witty themselves, but the cause of keeping it alive in
others: to these succeeded Porson the Grecian, Captain Thompson, Tom
Hewerdine, Sir John Moore, Mr. Edwin, Mr. Woodfall, Mr. Brownlow,
Captain Morris, and a host of other highly-gifted men, the first lyrical
and political writers of the day,--who frequented the Cider Cellar after
the meetings of the _Anacreontic, beefsteak_, and _humbug_ clubs then
held in the neighbourhood, to taste the parting bowl and swear eternal
friendship. In later times, Her Majesty the Queen of Bohemia{7} raised
her standard in Tavistock-row, Covent Garden, where she held a midnight
court for the wits; superintended by the renowned daughter of Hibernia,
and maid of honour to her majesty, the facetious Mother Butler--the
ever-constant supporter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, esquire, and a
leading feature in all the memorable Westminster elections of the last
fifty years. How many jovial nights have I passed and jolly fellows
have I met in the snug _sanctum sanctorum!_ a little _crib_, as the
_fishmongers_ would call it, with an entrance through the bar, and into
which none were ever permitted to enter without a formal introduction
and the gracious permission of the hostess. Among those who were thus
specially privileged, and had the honour of the _entre_, were
the reporters for the morning papers, the leading members of the
_eccentrics_, the actors and musicians of the two Theatres Royal, merry
members of both Houses of
7 The sign of the house.
~351~~Parliament, and mad wags of every country who had any established
claim to the kindred feelings of genius. Such were the frequenters
of the Finish. Here, poor Tom Sheridan, with a comic gravity that set
discretion at defiance, would let fly some of his brilliant drolleries
at the _improvisatore_, Theodore Hook; who, lacking nothing of his
opponent's wit, would quickly return his tire with the sharp encounter
of a satiric epigram or a brace of puns, planted with the most happy
effect upon the weak side of his adversary's merriment. There too
might be seen the wayward and the talented George Cook, gentlemanly
in conduct, and full of anecdote when sober, but ever captious and
uproarious in his cups. Then might be heard a strange encounter of
expressions between the queen of Covent Garden and the voluptuary, Lord
Barrymore,{8} seconded by his brother, the pious Augustus. In one corner
might be seen poor Dermody, the poet, shivering with wretchedness,
and Mother Butler pleading his cause with a generous feeling that does
honour to her heart, collecting for him a temporary supply which, alas!
his imprudence generally dissipated with the morrow. Here, George Sutton
Manners,{9} and Peter Finnerty,{10} and James Brownly,{11} inspired by
frequent potations of the real
8 Designated Cripplegate and Newgate.
9 The relative of the present Archbishop of Canterbury, and
then editor of the Satirist magazine.
10 Peter Finnerty was a reporter on the Chronicle. The his-
tory of Finnerty's political persecutions in his own country
(Ireland), and afterwards in this, are interwoven with our
history. The firmness and honesty of his mind had endeared
him to a very large circle of patriot friends. He was
eloquent, but impetuous, his ideas appearing to flow too
fast for delivery. With all the natural warmth of his
country, he had a heart of sterling gold. Finnerty died
in 1822, very shortly after his friend Perry.
11 James Brownly, formerly a reporter on the Times; of
whom Sheridan said, hearing him speak, that his situation
ought to have been in the body of the House of Commons,
instead of the gallery. Brownly possessed very rare
natural talents, was originally an upholsterer in Catherine-
street, Strand, and by dint of application acquired a very
correct knowledge of the tine arts: he was particularly
skilled in architecture and heraldry. In addition to
his extraordinary powers as an orator, he was a most elegant
critic, and a very amiable man. He died in 1822, much
regretted by all who knew him.
~352~~Rocrea whiskey, would hold forth in powerful contention, until
mine hostess of the _Finish_{12} would put an end to the debate; and the
irritation it would sometimes engender, by disencumbering herself of
a few of her Milesian monosyllables. Then would bounce into the room,
Felix M'Carthy, the very cream of comicalities, and the warm-hearted
James Hay ne, and Frank Phippen, and Michael Nugent, and the eloquent
David Power, and memory Middleton, and father Proby, just to sip an
emulsion after the close of their labours in reporting a long debate in
the House of Commons. Here, too, I remember to have seen for the first
time in my life, the wayward Byron, with the light of genius beaming
in his noble countenance, and an eye brilliant and expressive as the
evening star; the rich juice of the Tuscan grape had diffused an unusual
glow over his features, and inspired him with a playful animation, that
but rarely illumined the misanthropic gloominess of his too sensitive
mind. An histrionic star alike distinguished for talent and eccentricity
accompanied him--the gallant, gay Lothario, Kean. But I should consume
the remnant of the night to retrace more of the fading recollections of
the _Finish_. That it was a scene where prudence did not always preside,
is true; but there was a rich union of talent and character always to be
found within its circle, that
12 Mother Butler, the queen of Covent-garden, for many years
kept the celebrated Finish, where, if shut out of your
lodging, you might take shelter till morning, very often in
the very best of company. The house has, since she left it,
been shut up through the suspension of its licence. Mother
Butler was a witty, generous-hearted, and very extraordinary
woman. She is, I believe, still living, and in good
circumstances.
~353~~prevented any very violent outrage upon propriety or decorum.
In the present day, there is nothing like it--the Phoenix,{13}
Offley's,{14} the Coal-hole,{15} and what yet remains of the dismembered
Eccentrics,{16} bears no comparison to the ripe drolleries and
13 A society established at the Wrekin tavern in Broad-
court, in imitation of the celebrated club at Brazennose
College, Oxford, and of whom I purpose to take some notice
hereafter.
14 The Burton ale rooms; frequented by baby bucks, black-
legs and half-pay officers.
15 A tavern in Fountain-court, Strand, kept by the poet
Rhodes; celebrated for the Saturday ordinary.
16 In the room, where of old the Eccentrics {*} met; When
mortals were Brilliants, and fond of a whet, And _Hecate_
environ'd all London in jet. Where Adolphus, and
Shorri',{**} and famed Charley Fox, With a hundred good
whigs led by Alderman Cox, Put their names in the books, and
their cash in the box; Where perpetual Whittle,{***}
facetiously grand, On the president's throne each night took
his stand, With his three-curly wig, and his hammer in hand:
Then Brownly, with eloquence florid and clear, Pour'd a
torrent of metaphor into the ear, With well-rounded periods,
and satire severe. Here too Peter Finnerty, Erin's own
child, Impetuous, frolicsome, witty, and wild, With many a
tale has our reason beguiled: Then wit was triumphant, and
night after night Was the morn usher'd in with a flood of
delight.
* The Eccentrics, a club principally composed of persons
connected with the press or the drama, originally
established at the Swan, in Chandos-street, Covent-garden,
under the name of the Brilliants, and afterwards removed to
the Sutherland Arms, in May's-buildings, St. Martin's-lane;
--here, for many years, it continued the resort of some of
the first wits of the time; the chair was seldom taken till
the theatres were over, and rarely vacated till between four
and five in the morning.
** Sheridan, Charles Fox, Adolphus, and many of the most
eminent men now at the bar, were members or occasional
frequenters.
*** James Whittle, Esq., of Fleet-street, (or, as he was
more generally denominated, the facetious Jemmy Whittle, of
the respectable firm of Laurie and Whittle, booksellers and
publishers) was for some years perpetual president of the
society, and by his quaint manners, and good-humoured
sociality, added much to the felicity of the scene--he is
but recently dead.
~354~~pleasant witticisms which sparkled forth in endless variety among
the choice spirits who frequented the _sanctum sanctorum_ of the _old
Finish_. "There is yet, however, one more place worthy of notice," said
Crony; "not for any amusement we shall derive from its frequenters, but,
simply, that it is the most notorious place in London." Thither it
was agreed we should adjourn; for Crony's description of _Madame and
Messieurs_ the _Conducteurs_ was quite sufficient to produce excitement
in the young and ardent minds by which he was then surrounded. I shall
not pollute this work by a repetition of the circumstances connected
with this place, as detailed by old Crony, lest humanity should start
back with horror and disgust at the bare mention, and charity endeavour
to throw discredit on the true, but black recital. The specious pretence
of selling shell-fish and oysters is a mere trap for the inexperienced,
as every description of expensive wines, liqueurs, coffee, and costly
suppers are in more general request, and the wanton extravagance
exhibited within its vortex is enough to strike the uninitiated and the
moralist with the most appalling sentiments of horror and dismay. Yet
within this _saloon (see plate)_ did we enter, at four o'clock in the
morning, to view the depravity of human nature, and watch the operation
of licentiousness upon the young and thoughtless.
[Illustration: page354]
A Newgate turnkey would, no doubt, recognize many old acquaintances; in
the special hope of which, Bob Transit has faithfully delineated some
of the most conspicuous characters, as they appeared on that occasion,
lending their hearty assistance in the general scene of maddening
uproar. It was past five o'clock in the morning ere we quitted this den
of dreadful depravity, heartily tired out by the night's adventures,
yet solacing ourselves with the reflection that we had seen much and
suffered little either in respect to our purses or our persons.
VISIT TO WESTMINSTER HALL.
_Worthies thereof--Legal Sketches of the Long Robe--The
Maiden Brief--An awkward Recognition--Visit to Banco Regis--
Surrey Collegians giving a Lift to a Limb of the Late,
"Thus far shalt thou go and no farther"--Park Rangers--Visit
to the Life Academy--R--A--ys of Genius reflecting on the
true line of Beauty--Arrival of Bernard Black-mantle in
London--Reads his Play and Farce in the Green Rooms of the
two Theatres Royal, Drury Lane and Covent Garden--Sketches
of Theatrical Character--The City Ball at the Mansion House--
The Squeeze--Civic Characters--Return to Alma Mater--The
Wind-up--Term ends_.
~355~~A note from Dick Gradus invited Echo and myself to hear his
opening speech in Westminster Hall. "I have received my _maiden brief_"
writes the young counsel, "and shall be happy if you will be present at
my first attempt, when, like a true _amicus curio_, the presence of an
old school-fellow will inspire confidence, and point out what may strike
him as defective in my style." "We will all go," said Transit; "Echo
will be amused by the oratory of the bar, and I shall employ my pencil
to advantage in taking notes, not of _short hand_, but of _long heads_,
and still _longer faces_." The confusion created by the building of
the new courts at Westminster has literally choked up, for a time, that
noble specimen of Gothic architecture--the ancient hall; the King's
Bench sittings are therefore temporarily held in the Sessions House,
a small, but ~356~~rather compact octangular building, on the right of
Parliament-street. Hither we hasted, at nine o'clock in the morning,
to take a view of the court, judges, and counsel, and congratulate
our friend Gradus on his _entree_. It has been said, that the only
profession in this country where talents can insure success, is the
law. If by this is meant talents of a popular kind, the power of giving
effect to comprehensive views of justice and the bonds of society, a
command of language, and a faculty of bringing to bear upon one point
all the resources of intellect and knowledge, they are mistaken; they
speak from former experience, and not from present observation: they
are thinking of the days of a Mingay or an Erskine, not of those of a
Marryat or a Scarlett; of the time when juries were wrought upon by
the united influence of zeal and talent, not when they are governed by
_precedents and practice_; when men were allowed to feel a little, as
well as think a great deal; when the now common phrase of possessing the
_ear of the court_ was not understood, and the tactician and the bully
were unknown to the bar. It is asserted, that one-fifth of the causes
that come before our courts are decided upon mere matters of form,
without the slightest reference to their merits. Every student for the
bar must now place himself under some special pleader, and go through
all the complicated drudgery of the office of one of these underlings,
before he can hope to fill a higher walk; general principles, and
enlarged notions of law and justice, are smothered in laborious and
absurd technicalities; the enervated mind becomes shackled, until the
natural vigour of the intellect is so reduced, as to make its bondage
cease to seem burdensome. Dick, with a confidence in his own powers, has
avoided this degrading preparation; it is only two months since he was
first called to the bar, and with a knowledge of his father's influence
and property added to his own talents, he hopes to make a ~357~~stand
in court, previous to his being transplanted to the Commons House of
Parliament.