is most desirous of an introduction is the Pump-room; not that he
anticipates restoration to health from drinking the waters, or imagines
the virtues of immortality are to be found by immersion in the baths;
but if he be a person of any condition, he is naturally anxious to _show
off_ make his bow to the gay throng, and, at the same time, elucidate
the exact condition of Bath Society. If, however, he is a mere plebeian
in search of novelty, coupling pleasure with business, or an invalid
sent here by his doctors to end his days, he is still anxious, while
life remains, to see and be seen; to observe whom he can recognise
among the great folks he has known in the metropolis, or perchance, meet
consolation from some suffering fellow citizen, who, like himself, has
been conveyed to Bath to save his family the misery of seeing him expire
beneath his own roof. "What an admirable variety of character does this
scene present," said Transit, who, on our first ~313~~entrance, was much
struck with the magnificence of the rooms, and still more delighted with
the immense display of eccentricities which presented themselves.
"I must introduce you, old fellow," said Eglantine, "to a few of
the oddities who figure here. The strange-looking personage in the
right-hand corner is usually called Dick Solus, from his almost
invariably appearing abroad by himself, or dangling after the steps
of some fair Thespian, to the single of whom he is a very constant
tormentor. Mrs. Egan of the theatre, 'who knows what's what,' has
christened him Mr. Dillytouch; while the heroes of the sock and
buskin as invariably describe him by the appellation of Shake, from an
unpleasant action he has both in walking and sitting. The sour-visaged
gentleman at this moment in conversation with him is the renowned Peter
Paul Pallet, esq., otherwise the Reverend Mr. M-----------. Behind them
appears a celebrated dentist and his son, who has attained the rank of
M.D., both well known here by the titles of the Grand Duke of Tusk-aney
and Count Punn-tusk-y, a pair of worthies always on the lookout for
business, and hence very constant attendants at the promenade in the
Pump-room. The old gentleman in the chintz morning-gown hobbling along
on crutches, from the gout, is a retired vinegar merchant, the father of
a Chancery M.P., of whom the Bath wags say, 'that when in business, he
must always have carried a sample of his best vinegar in his face.'"
At this moment old Blackstrap advanced, and requested permission to
introduce to our notice Jack Physick, an honest lawyer, and, as he said,
one of the cleverest fellows and best companions in Bath. Jack had the
good fortune to marry one of the prettiest and most attractive actresses
that ever appeared upon the Bath stage, Miss Jamieson, upon which
occasion, the wags circulated many pleasant _jeux d'esprits_ on
the union of "love, law, and physic." The arrival of a very pompous
gentleman, who appeared to ~314~~excite general observation, gave
my friend Eglantine an opportunity of relating an anecdote of the
eccentric, who figures in Pultney-street under the cognomen of the Bath
bashaw. "There," said Horace, "you may see him every morning decorated
in his flannel _robe de chambre_ and green velvet cap, seated outside in
his balcony, smoking an immensely large German pipe, and sending forth
clouds of fragrant perfume, which are pleasantly wafted right or left as
the wind blows along the breakfast tables of his adjoining neighbours.
This eccentric was originally a foundling discovered on the steps of
a door in Rath, and named by the parochial officers, Parish: by great
perseverance and good fortune he became a Hambro' merchant, and in
process of time realized a handsome property, which, much to his honour
and credit, he retired to spend a portion of among the inhabitants of
this city, thus paying a debt of gratitude to those who had protected
him in infancy when he was abandoned by his unnatural parents. The
little fellow yonder with a military air, and no want of self-conceit,
is a field-officer of the Bath volunteers, Adjutant Captain O'Donnel, a
descendant from the mighty King Bryan Baroch, and, as we say at Eton,
no _small beer man_, I assure you." "Who is that gigantic fellow just
entering the rooms'?" said Heartly. "That is Long Heavisides," replied
Eglantine, "whom Handsome Jack and two or three more of the Bath wits
have christened, in derision, Mr. Light-sides, a right pleasant fellow,
quite equal in intellect and good-humour to the altitude of his person,
which, I am told, measures full six feet six." "Gentlemen," said the
facetious Blackstrap, "here comes an old lady who has paid dearly for
a bit of the Brown, lately the relict of the late Admiral M'Dougal, and
now fresh at seventy the blooming wife of a young spark who has
just attained the years of discretion, at least, as far as regards
~315~~pecuniary affairs; for before leading the old lady into church,
she very handsomely settled three thousand per annum upon her Adonis, as
some little compensation to his feelings, for the rude jests and jeers
he was doomed to bear with from his boon companions." "Eyes right,
lads," said Eglantine; "the tall stout gentleman in a blue surtout and
white trowsers is General B---------."
"Pshaw! never mind his name," said Heartly; "what are his
peculiarities?" "Why--imprimis, he has a lovely young female commander
in chief by his side--is a great reader with a very little memory. A
very good story is told of him, that I fear might be applied with equal
justice to many other great readers; namely, that some wags having at
different times altered the title-page, and pasted together various
leaves of a popular Scotch novel, they thus successfully imposed upon
the General the task of reading the same matter three times over--by
this means creating in his mind an impression, not very far from
the truth, that all the works of the Great Unknown bore a very close
similitude to each other; an opinion which the General is said to
maintain very strenuously unto this hour. Of all the characters in the
busy scene of life which can excite a pleasurable sensation in the
close observer of men and manners, is your gay ancient, whether male
or female; the sprightly Evergreens of society, whose buoyant spirits
outlive the fiery course of youth, while their playful leafage buds
forth in advanced life with all the freshness, fragrance, and vigour
of the more youthful plants. Such," said Eglantine, "is the old
beau yonder, my friend Curtis, who is here quaintly denominated the
Everlasting.
[Illustration: page315]
The jolly Bacchanalian, who accompanies him in his morning's lounge, is
Charles Davis, a right jolly fellow, universally respected, although, it
must be admitted, he is a _party_ man, since in a ~316~~show of hands,
Charles must always, unfortunately, be on one side." A promenade up and
down the room, and a visit to the goddess Hygeia, for such, I suppose,
the ancient matron who dispenses the healing draught must be designated,
gave us an opportunity of observing the fresh arrivals, among whom we
had the pleasure to meet with an old naval officer, known to Heartly, a
victim to the gout, wheeled about in a chair, expecting, to use his own
sea phrase, to go to pieces every minute, but yet full of spirits as an
admiral's grog bottle, as fond of a good joke as a fresh-caught reefer,
and as entertaining as the surgeon's mate, or the chaplain of the fleet.
"I say, Master Heavtly," said the captain, "the frigate yonder with the
brown breast works, and she with the pink facings, look something like
privateers. My forelights, Master Heartly, but if I had the use of my
under works, I should be for firing a little grape shot across their
quarters to see if I could not bring them into action!" "And I will
answer for it, they would not show any objection to lie alongside of
you, captain," said Eglantine, "while you had got a shot left in your
locker. Mere Cyprian traders, captain, from the Gulf of Venus, engaged
in gudgeon bawling, or on the lookout for flat fish. The little craft,
with the black top, is called the Throgmorton; and the one alongside the
Ormsby of Berkeley is the Pretty Lacy, a prime frigate, and quite new
in the service. If you have a mind to sail up the Straits of Cytherea,
captain, I can answer for it we shall fall in with a whole fleet of
these light vessels, the two Sisters; the Emery's; the yawl, Thomson;
that lively little cutter, Jackson; the transports, King and Hill; the
lugger, Lewis; and the country ship, the Lady Grosvenor, all well found,
and ready for service, and only waiting to be well manned. A good story
is just now afloat about the Lacy, who, being recently taken up for
private trade by Commodore Bowen, was ~317~~discovered to be sailing
under false colours. It appears, that during the commander's absence a
dashing enemy, the captain of the Hussar, a man of war, had entered
the cabin privately, and having satisfied himself of the state of the
vessel, took an opportunity to overhaul the ship's stores, when drinking
rather freely of some choice love~age, a cordial kept expressly for the
commodore's own use, he was unexpectedly surprised by the return of
the old commander on board; and in making his escape through the cabin
window into a boat he had in waiting, unfortunately left his time-piece
and topmast behind. This circumstance is said to have put the commodore
out of conceit with his little frigate, who has since been paid off',
and is now chartered for general purposes." At this little episode of a
well-known Bath story, the captain laughed heartily, and Transit was so
much amused thereat, that on coming in contact with the commodore and
the captain in our perambulations, he furnished the accompanying sketch
of that very ludicrous scene, under the head of
The Bath beau and frail belle,
Or Mr. B------and Miss L-----.
An excellent band of music, which continues to play from one to half
past three o'clock every day during the season, greatly increases the
attraction to the rooms, and also adds much to the cheerfulness and
gaiety of the scene. We had now nearly exhausted our materials for
observation; and having, to use Transit's phrase, booked every thing
worthy of note, taken each of us a glass of the Bath water, although I
confess not swallowing it without some qualmish apprehensions from the
recollection of the four lines in Anstey's Bath Guide.
"They say it is right that for every glass,
A tune you should take that the water may pass;
So while little Tabby was washing her rump,
The ladies kept drinking it out of the pump."
~318~~A very pleasant piece of satire, but somewhat, as I understand,
at the expense of truth, since the well from which the water in the pump
room is obtained is many feet below the one that supplies the baths;
situation certainly assists the view of the satirist. I ought not
to pass over here the story told us by our old friend Blackstrap,
respecting the first discovery of these waters by Bladud, the son of Lud
Hudibras, king of Britain; a fabulous tale, which, for the benefit of
the city all true Bathonians are taught to lisp with their horn book,
and believe with their creed, as genuine orthodox; and on which subject
my friend Horace furnished the following impromptu.
Oh, Lud! oh, Lud! that hogs and mud{1}
Should rival sage M.D.'s;
And hot water, in this quarter,
Cure each foul disease.
"Throw physic to the dogs, I'll have none on't,'" said Horace: "if hot
water can effect such wonders, why, a plague on all the doctors! Let a
man be content to distil his medicine fresh from his own teakettle, or
make his washing copper serve the double purpose for domestic uses and a
medicated bath.
'But what is surprising, no mortal e'er view'd
Any one of the physical gentlemen stew'd.
From the day that King Bladud first found out these bogs,
And thought them so good for himself and his hogs,
Not one of the faculty ever has tried
These excellent waters to cure his own hide;
Though many a skilful and learned physician,
With candour, good sense, and profound erudition,
Obliges the world with the fruits of his brain,
Their nature and hidden effects to explain.'
1 See the fabulous account alluded to in Warner's History of
Bath, where Bladud is represented to have discovered the
properties of the warm springs at Beechen Wood Swainswick,
by observing the hogs to wallow in the mud that was
impregnated therewith, and thus to have derived the
knowledge of a cure for 'tis leprous affection.
~319~~But _allons_, lads," said Horace, "we are here to follow the
fashion, and indulge in all the eccentricities of the place; to note
the follies of the time, and depict the chief actors, without making
any personal sacrifice to correct the evil. Our satire will do more to
remove old prejudices when it appears in print, aided by Bob Transit's
pencil, than all our reasonings upon the spot can hope to effect,
although we followed Mr. M'Culloch's economy, and lectured upon decency
from break of day to setting sun. In quitting the pump-room we must not,
however, omit to notice the statue of Beau Nash, before which Transit
appears, in _propria personae_, sketching off the marble memento,
without condescending to notice the busts of Pope and Newton, which fill
situations on each side; a circumstance which in other times produced
the following epigram from the pen of the witty earl of Chesterfield.
"The statue plac'd the busts between
Adds satire to the strength;
Wisdom and Wit are little seen,
But Folly at full length."
Such is the attachment of man to the recollections of any thing
associated with pleasure, that it is questionable if the memory of old
Joe Miller is not held in higher estimation by the moderns than that of
Father Luther, the reformer; and while the numerous amusing anecdotes
in circulation tend to keep alive the fame of Nash, it is not surprising
that the merry pay court to his statue, being in his own dominions,
before they bow at the classic shrine of Pope, or bend in awful
admiration beneath the bust of the greatest of philosophers.
"'Twas said of old, deny it now who can,
The only laughing animal is man."
And we are about to present the reader with a right merry scene, one,
too, if he has any fun in his composition, or loves a good joke, must
warm the cockles ~320~~of his heart. Who would ever have thought, in
these moralizing times, when the puritans are raising conventicles in
every town and village, and the cant of vice societies has spread itself
over the land, that in one of our most celebrated places of fashionable
resort, there should be found baths where the young and the old, the
beauteous female and the gay spark, are all indiscriminately permitted
to enjoy the luxurious pleasure together. That such is the case in
Bath no one who has recently participated in the pleasures of immersion
will dispute, and in order to perpetuate that gratification, Bob
Transit has here faithfully delineated the scene which occurred upon our
entering the King's Bath, through the opening from the Queen's, where,
to our great amusement and delight, we found ourselves surrounded by
many a sportive nymph, whose beauteous form was partially hidden by
the loose flannel gown, it is true; but now and then the action of the
water, produced by the continued movements of a number of persons all
bathing at the same time, discovered charms, the which to have caught
a glimpse of in any other situation might have proved of dangerous
consequences to the fair possessors. The baths, it must be admitted, are
delightful, both from their great extent and their peculiar properties,
as, on entering from the Queen's Bath you may enjoy the water at from 90
to 96 degrees, or requiring more heat have only to walk forward, through
the archway, to obtain a temperature of 116. The first appearance of old
Blackstrap's visage floating along the surface of the water, like the
grog-blossomed trunk of the ancient Bardolph, bound up in a Welsh wig,
was truly ludicrous, and produced such an unexpected burst of laughter
from my merry companions, that I feared some of the fair Naiads would
have fainted in the waters from fright, and then Heaven help them,
for decency would have prevented our rushing to their assistance. The
notices to prevent gentlemen ~321~~from swimming in the baths are, in my
opinion, so many inducements or suggestions for every young visitor
to attempt it. Among our mad wags, Horace Eglantine was more than
once remonstrated with by the old bathing women for indulging in this
pleasure, to the great alarm of the ladies, who, crowding together in
one corner with their aged attendants, appeared to be in a high state of
apprehension lest the loose flannel covering that guards frail mortality
upon these occasions should be drawn aside, and discover nature in
all her pristine purity--an accident that had very nearly happened to
myself, when, in endeavouring to turn round quickly, I found the water
had disencumbered my frame of the yellow bathing robe, which floated on
the surface behind me.
[Illustration: page321]
One circumstance which made our party more conspicuous, was, the
rejection of the Welsh wigs, which not all the entreaties of the
attendant could induce any of the wags to wear. The young ladies
disfigure themselves by wearing the black bonnets of the bathing women;
but spite of this masquerading in the water, their lovely countenances
and soul-subduing eyes, create sensations that will be more easily
conceived than prudently described. A certain facetious writer, who has
published his "Walks through Bath," alluding to this practice, speaks
of it as having been prohibited in the fifteenth century. How long such
prohibition, if it ever took place, continued, it is not for me to know;
but if the Bath peripatetic historian had made it his business to have
seen what he has described, he would have found, that the practice of
bathing males and females together in _puris naturalibus_ was still
continued in high perfection, in spite of the puritans, the Vice
Society, or the prohibition of Bishop Beckyngton.{2}
2 It appears, that about the middle of the fifteenth century
it was the custom for males and females to bathe together,
in puris naturalibus, which was at length prohibited by
Bishop Beckyngton, who ordered, by way of distinction, the
wearing of breeches and petticoats; this indecency was
suppressed, after considerable difficulty, at the end of the
sixteenth century, (quere, what indecency does our author of
the "Walks through Bath" mean? the incumbrance of the
breeches and petticoats, we must imagine). It also seems,
that about 1700 it was the fashion for both sexes to bathe
together indiscriminately, and the ladies used to decorate
their heads with all the advantages of dress, as a mode of
attracting attention and heightening their charms. The
husband of a lady in one of the baths, in company with Beau
Nash, was so much enraptured with the appearance of his
wife, that he very im-prudently observed, "she looked like
an angel, and he wished to be with her." Nash immediately
seized him by the collar, and threw him into the bath; this
circumstance produced a duel, and Nash was wounded in his
right arm: it however had the good effect of establishing
the reputation of Nash, who shortly after became master of
the ceremonies.
~322~~
"You cannot conceive what a number of ladies
Were wash'd in the water the same as our maid is:
How the ladies did giggle and set up their clacks
All the while an old woman was rubbing their backs;
Oh! 'twas pretty to see them all put on their flannels,
And then take the water, like so many spaniels;
And though all the while it grew hotter and hotter,
They swam just as if they were hunting an otter.
'Twas a glorious sight to behold the fair sex
All wading with gentlemen up to their necks,
And view them so prettily tumble and sprawl
In a great smoking kettle as big as our hall;
And to-day many persons of rank and condition
Were boil'd, by command of an able physician."
From the baths we migrated to the grand promenade of fashion, Milsom
Street, not forgetting to take a survey of the old Abbey Church, which,
as a monument of architectural grandeur without, and of dread monition
within, is a building worthy the attention of the antiquarian and the
philosopher; while perpetuating the remembrance of many a cherished name
to worth, to science, and to virtue dear, the artist and the amateur may
derive much gratification from examining the many excellent ~323~~pieces
of sculpture with which the Abbey abounds. But for us, gay in
disposition, and scarcely allowing ourselves time for reflection, such
a scene had few charms, unless, indeed, the English Spy could have
separated himself from the buoyant spirits with which he was attended,
and then, wrapt in the gloom of the surrounding scene, and given up
to serious contemplation, the emblems of mortality which decorate the
gothic pile might have conjured up in his mind's eye the forms of many a
departed spirit, of the blest shades of long-lost parents and of social
friends, of those who, living, lent a lustre to the arts, of witty
madcaps frost-bitten by the sable tyrant Death, nipped in the very bud
of youth, while yet the sparkling jest was ripe upon the merry lip, and
the ruddy glow of health upon the cheek gave earnest of a lengthened
life------But, soft! methinks I hear my reader exclaim, "How now,
madcap, moralizing Mr. Spy? art thou, too, bitten by the desire to
philosophize, thou, 'the very Spy o' the time,' the merry buoyant rogue
who has laughed all serious scenes to scorn, and riding over hill, and
dale, and verdant plain upon thy fiery courser, fleet as the winds,
collecting the cream of comicalities, and, beshrew thee, witling,
plucking the brightest flowers that bloom in the road of pleasure to
give thy merry garland's perfume, and deck thy page withal, art thou
growing serious? Then is doomsday near; and poor, deserted, care-worn
man left unprotected to the tempest's rage!" Not so, good reader, we are
still the same merry, thoughtless, laughing, buoyant sprite that thou
hast known us for the last two years; but the archer cannot always keep
his bow upon the stretching point; so there are scenes, and times, and
fancies produced by recollective circumstances and objects, which create
strange conceits even in the light-hearted bosom of the English Spy.
Such was the train of reflections which rushed in ~324~~voluntarily upon
my mind as I noted down the passing events of the day, a practice usual
with me when, retiring from the busy hum of men, I seek the retirement
of my chamber to commit my thoughts to paper. I had recently passed
through the depository where rest the remains of a tender mother--had
sought the spot, unnoticed by my light-hearted companions, and having
bedewed with tears of gratitude her humble grave, gave vent to my
feelings, by the following tribute to a parent's worth.
MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.
Beneath yon ivy-mantled wall,
In a lone corner, where the earth
Presents a rising green mound, all
Of her who lov'd and gave me birth
Lies buried deep. No trophied stone,
Or graven verse denotes the spot:
Her worth her epitaph alone,
The green-sward grave her humble lot.
How silent sleep the virtuous dead!
For them few sculptured honours rise,
No marble tablet here to spread
A fame--their every act implies.
No mockery here, nor herald's shield,
To glitter o'er a bed of clay;
But snow-drops and fresh violets yield
A tribute to worth pass'd away.
Tread lightly, ye who love or know
En life's young road a parent's worth,
Who yet are strangers to the woe
Of losing those who gave you birth,
~325~~
Who cherish'd, fondled, fed, and taught
From infancy to manhood's pride,
Directing every opening thought,
Teaching how Reason's power should guide.
Ye rich and bold, ye grave and gay,
Ye mightiest of the sons of men,
Wealth, honours, fame shall sink away,
And all be equalized again;
Save what the sculptor may pourtray,
And any tyrant, fool, or knave
Who has the wealth, may in that way
His name from dull oblivion save;
That is, he may perpetuate
His worthlessness, his frauds, and crimes;
No matter what his tomb relate,
His character lives with the times.
Shade of my parent! couldst thou hear
The voice of him, thine only child,
Implore thy loss with filial tear,
And deck thy grave with sonnets wild,
'Twould all thy troubles past repay,
Thy anxious cares, thy hopes and fears,
To find as time stole life away,
Thy mem'ry brighten'd with his years.
Yes, sacred shade! while mem'ry guides
This ever wild eccentric brain,
While reason holds or virtue chides,
Still will I pour the filial strain.
"What," said my old friend Horace Eglantine, after reading this tribute
to parental worth, "Bernard Blackmantle moralizing; our Spy turned
~326~~monody-maker, writing epitaphs, and elegies, and odes to spirits
that have no corporal substance, when there are so many living subjects
yet left for his merrier muse to dwell upon? Come, old fellow, shake off
this lethargy of the mind, this vision of past miseries, and prepare for
present merriments.
'The streets begin to fill, the motley throng
To see and to be seen, now trip along;
Some lounge in the bazaars, while others meet
To take a turn or two in Milsom-street;
Some eight or ten round Mirvan's shop remain,
To stare at those who gladly stare again.'
In short, my dear fellow, we are all waiting your company to join the
swells in Milsom-street; where, I have no doubt, you will find many a
star of fashion, whose eccentricities you will think justly entitles him
to a niche in your gallery of living characters.
'Lords of the creation, who, half awake,
Adorn themselves their daily lounge to take;
Each lordly man his taper waist displays,
Combs his sweet locks, and laces on his stays,
Ties on his starch'd cravat with nicest care,
And then steps forth to petrify the fair.'