attractions of Vauxhall for the young lady of the period. It is a
tender picture she draws, with the wherry in which she made her
journey, "so light and slender that we looked like so many fairies
sailing in a nutshell." There was a rude awakening at the
landing-place, where the rough and ready hangers-on of the place
rushed into the water to drag the boat ashore; but that momentary
disturbance was forgotten when Miss Lydia entered the resort.
"Imagine to yourself, my dear Letty," she wrote, "a spacious garden,
part laid out in delightful walks, bounded with high hedges and
trees, and paved with gravel; part exhibiting a wonderful assemblage
of the most picturesque and striking objects, pavilions, lodges,
groves, grottos, lawns, temples, and cascades; porticos, colonnades,
and rotundas; adorned with pillars, statues, and paintings; the
whole illuminated with an infinite number of lamps, disposed in
different figures of suns, stars, and constellations; the place
crowded with the gayest company, ranging through those blissful
shades, or supping in different lodges, on cold collations,
enlivened with mirth, freedom, and good humour." Lydia has a word,
too, for the musical charms of the place, and seems pleased to have
heard a celebrated vocalist despite the fact that her singing made
her head ache through excess of pleasure. All this was enhanced, no
doubt, by the presence of that Mr. Barton, the country gentleman of
good fortune, who was so "particular" in his attentions,
Perhaps the best proof of the place Vauxhall occupied in popular
esteem is afforded by the number of occasions on which the garden
was chosen as the scene of a national event. This was notably the
case in 1813, when a pretentious festival took place in the grounds
in celebration of the victory achieved at Vittoria by the Allies
under Wellington. An elaborate scheme of decoration, both interior
and exterior, was a striking feature of the occasion, while to
accommodate the numerous dinner guests a large temporary saloon
became necessary. This was constructed among the trees, the trunks
of which were adorned with the flags of the Allies and other
trophies. The Duke of York presided over the banquet, and the
company included, in addition to Wellington, most of the royal and
other notables of the day. Dinner, whereat the inevitable ham
appeared but probably not so finely cut, lasted from five to nearly
nine o'clock, at which hour the ladies and general guests of the
evening began to arrive. Vauxhall outdid itself in illuminations
that night. And the extra attractions included a transparency of the
King, a mammoth picture of Wellington, a supply of rockets that rose
to a "superior height," and innumerable bands, some of which
discoursed music from the forest part of the garden, presenting some
idea of "soldiers in a campaign regaling and reposing themselves
under the shade." In fact, the whole occasion was so unusual that
the electrified reporter of the Annual Register was at his wit's end
to know what to praise most. For a moment he was overpowered by the
exalted rank of the leading personages, and then fascinated by the
charms and costumes of the ladies, only to find fresh subjects for
further adjectives in the fineness of the weather, the blaze of
lights that seemed to create an artificial day, and the unity of
sentiment and disposition that pervaded all alike.
At this date, of course, the Tyers of Fielding's eulogy had been
dead some years. He was succeeded by his two sons, one of whom, Tom,
was a favourite with Dr. Johnson. At the Vittoria fete the resort
was still controlled by the Tyers family, but it passed out of their
possession in 1821, and had many owners before the end came in 1859.
Another Amelia, however, was to visit Vauxhall before its gates were
closed for the last time,--the Amelia beloved of all readers of
"Vanity Fair." Naturally, she does not go alone. Thackeray had too
much affection for that gentle creature to make her face such an
ordeal. No, there was the careless, high-spirited George Osborne,
and the ever-faithful Dobbin, and the slow-witted Jos Sedley, and
the scheming Rebecca Sharp. That Vauxhall episode was to play a
pregnant part in the destiny of Becky. Such an auspicious occasion
would surely lead to a proposal from the nearly-captured Jos. For a
time it seemed as though such might be the case. Becky and her
corpulent knight lost themselves in one of those famous Dark Walks,
and the situation began to develop in tenderness and sentiment. Jos
was so elated that he told Becky his favourite Indian stories for
the sixth time, giving an opening for the lady's "Horn I should like
to see India!" But at that critical moment the bell rang for the
fireworks, and at the same time tolled the knell of Becky's chances
of becoming Mrs. Jos Sedley. For the fireworks somehow created a
thirst, and the bowl of rack punch for which Jos called, and which
he was left to consume, as the young ladies did not drink it and
Osborne did not like it, speedily worked its disastrous effects. In
short, as we all know, Jos made a fool of himself, and when he came
to himself the following morning and saw himself as Osborne wished
he should, all his tender passion for Becky evaporated once and for
all.
Perhaps these visitors to Vauxhall who never had an existence are
more real to us to-day than all the countless thousands of men and
women who really trod its gravel walks. But the real and the unreal
alike are of the past, a memory for the fancy to play with as is
that of Vauxhall itself.
CHAPTER II.
RANELAGH.
During the latter half of the eighteenth century Vauxhall had a
serious rival in Ranelagh. No doubt the success of the former was
the cause of the latter. It may have been, too, that as the gardens
at Vauxhall became more and more a popular resort without
distinction of class, the need was felt of a rendezvous which should
be a little more select.
No doubt exists as to how Ranelagh came by its name. Toward the end
of the seventeenth century the Earl of Ranelagh built himself a
house at Chelsea, and surrounded it with gardens which were
voted the best in England for their size. This peer, who was
Paymaster-General of the Forces, seems to have taken keen pleasure
in house-planning and the laying out of grounds. Among the
manuscripts of the Marquis of Ormonde are many letters written by
him to the bearer of that title in the early eighteenth century,
which show that he assumed the oversight of building operations at
Ormonde's London house at that time. The minute attention he gave to
all kinds of detail's proves that he had gained experience by the
building of his own house not many years before.
But Ranelagh house and gardens had a short history as the residence
and pleasance of a nobleman. The earl died in 1712, and in 1730 it
became necessary to secure an act of Parliament to vest his property
at Chelsea in trustees. Three years later a sale took place, and the
house and larger portion of the grounds were purchased by persons
named Swift and Timbrell. It was at this stage the project of
establishing a rival to Vauxhall first took shape. The idea seems to
have originated with James Lacy, that patriotic patentee of Drury
Lane theatre who raised a band of two hundred men at the time of the
Jacobite Rebellion of 1745. He it was, also, who afterwards became a
partner with David Garrick. But, however successful he was to prove
as an organizer of volunteers, Lacy was not to shine as the founder
of a rival to Vauxhall. For some unexplained reason he abandoned his
share in the Ranelagh project, and eventually the matter was taken
in hand by Sir Thomas Robinson, who soon secured sufficient
financial support to carry the plan to a successful issue. Sir
Thomas provided a considerable share of the capital of sixteen
thousand pounds himself, and took a leading part in the management
of Ranelagh till his death in 1777. His gigantic figure and cheery
manners earned for him the titles of Ranelagh's Maypole and Gardand
of Delights.
As the gardens were already laid out in a handsome manner, the chief
matter requiring attention was the planning and erection of a
suitable main building. Hence the erection of the famous Rotunda,
the architectural credit of which is given to one William Jones. But
that honour is disputed. It is claimed that no less a person than
Henry VIII was responsible for the idea on which the Rotunda was
based. That king, according to one historian, caused a great
banqueting-house to be erected, eight hundred feet in compass,
after the manner of a theatre. "And in the midst of the same
banqueting-house," continued the historian, "was set up a great
pillar of timber, made of eight great masts, bound together with
iron bands for to hold them together: for it was a hundred and
thirty-four feet in length, and cost six pounds thirteen shillings
and fourpence to set it upright. The banqueting-house was covered
over with canvas, fastened with ropes and iron as fast as might be
devised; and within the said house was painted the heavens, with
stars, sun, moon, and clouds, with divers other things made above
men's heads. And above the high pillar of timber that stood upright
in the midst, was made stages of timber for organs and other
instruments to stand upon, and men to play on them." Such, it is
asserted, was the model the architect of the Rotunda at Ranelagh had
in view.
And really there appears to be good ground for laying this charge of
constructive plagiarism against the memory of William Jones. It is
true the building was on a scale somewhat smaller than that erected
at the order of Henry VIII, for its circumference was limited to
four hundred and fifty feet, while its greatest diameter was but one
hundred and eighty-five feet. But the planning of the interior of the
Rotunda bore a suspicious likeness to the royal banqueting-house.
The central portion of the building was a square erection consisting
of pillars and arches, and seems to have been a direct copy of those
eight great masts. Nor did the parallel end there. In the Rotunda at
Ranelagh as in the king's banqueting-house, this central
construction was designed as the place for the musicians. And even
the ceiling was something of a copy, for that of the Rotunda was
divided into panels, in each of which was painted a celestial figure
on a sky-blue ground.
On the general idea of the banqueting-house, however, Mr. Jones made
a number of improvements. The entrances to the Rotunda were four in
number, corresponding with the points of the compass, each
consisting of a portico designed after the manner of a triumphal
arch. The interior of the building presented, save for its central
erection, the aspect of a modern opera-house. Around the entire wall
was a circle of boxes, divided by wainscoting, and each decorated
with a "droll painting" and hung with a candle-lamp. Above these was
another tier of boxes, similarly fitted, each of them, fifty-two in
number, having accommodation for seven or eight persons. Higher up
was a circle of sixty windows. Although the building itself was
constructed of wood, it could boast of a plaster floor, which was
covered with matting. Scattered over that floor were numerous tables
covered with red baize whereon refreshments were served. Such was
the general arrangement of the Rotunda, but one alteration had
speedily to be made. It was quickly discovered that the central
erection was ill adapted for the use of the orchestra, and
consequently it was transformed into four fireplaces, which were
desirable locations in the cold months of the year.
Perhaps no surprise need be felt that Ranelagh was not ready when it
was opened. What public resort ever has been? The consequence was
that there were at least two opening ceremonies. The first took the
form of a public breakfast on April 5th, 1742, and was followed by
other early repasts of a like nature. One of these, seventeen days
later, provided Horace Walpole with the subject of the first of his
many descriptions of the place. "I have been breakfasting this
morning at Ranelagh Gardens;" he wrote, "they have built an immense
amphitheatre, with balconies full of little ale houses; it is in
rivalry to Vauxhall, and costs above twelve thousand pounds. The
building is not finished, but they get great sums by people going to
see it and breakfasting in the house: there were yesterday no less
than three hundred and eighty persons, at eighteen pence a piece."
About a month later another inaugural ceremony took place, which
Walpole duly reported. "Two nights ago Ranelagh Gardens were opened
at Chelsea; the prince, princess, duke, much nobility, and much mob
besides were there. There is a vast amphitheatre, finely gilt,
painted, and illuminated; into which everybody that loves eating,
drinking, staring, or crowding is admitted for twelve pence. The
building and disposition of the gardens cost sixteen thousand
pounds. Twice a week there are to be ridottos at guinea tickets, for
which you are to have a supper and music. I was there last night,
but did not feel the joy of it. Vauxhall is a little better, for the
garden is pleasanter, and one goes by water." In time, however,
Walpole was converted to the superior attractions of the new resort.
Two years later he confessed that he went every night to Ranelagh,
that it had totally beaten Vauxhall, and that it had the patronage
of everybody who was anybody. Lord Chesterfield bad fallen so much
in love with the place that he had ordered all his letters to be
directed thither.
[Illustration: VENETIAN MASQUERADE AT RANELAGH, 1749.]
Many red-letter days are set down in the history of Ranelagh during
the sixty years of its existence, but its historians are agreed that
the most famous of the entertainments given there was the Venetian
Masquerade in honour of the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle on April 26th,
1749. For the most spirited narrative of that festival, recourse
must--be had to the letters of Walpole. Peace was proclaimed on the
25th, and the next day, Walpole wrote, "was what was called a
Jubilee Masquerade in the Venetian manner, at Ranelagh; it had
nothing Venetian in it, but was by far the best understood and
prettiest spectacle I ever saw; nothing in a fairy tale even
surpassed it. One of the proprietors, who is a German, and belongs
to the Court, had got my Lady Yarmouth to persuade the King to order
it. It began at three o'clock, and about five people of fashion
began to go. When you entered you found the whole garden filled with
masks and spread with tents, which remained all night very
commodely. In one quarter was a Maypole dressed with garlands and
people dancing round it to a tabor and pipes and rustic music, all
masqued, as were all the various bands of music that were dispersed
in different parts of the garden; some like huntsmen with French
horns, some like peasants, and a troop of harlequins and
scaramouches in the little open temple on the mount. On the Canal
was a sort of gondola adorned with flags and streamers, and filled
with music, rowing about. All round the outside of the amphitheatre
were shops filled with Dresden china, Japan, etc., and all the
shopkeepers in mask. The amphitheatre was illuminated, and in the
middle was a circular bower, composed of all kinds of firs in tubs,
from twenty to thirty feet high; under them orange trees with small
lamps in each orange, and below them all sorts of the finest
auriculas in pots; and festoons of natural flowers hanging from tree
to tree. Between the arches, too, were firs, and smaller ones in the
balconies above. There were booths for tea and wine, gaming tables
and dancing, and about two thousand persons. In short it pleased me
more than anything I ever saw."
But there was another side to all this. Vauxhall evidently looked on
with envious eyes, and those who were interested in the welfare of
that resort managed to engineer opposition to the Venetian fete in
the form of satirical prints and letterpress. Perhaps they did more.
At any rate it is a significant fact that shortly afterwards the
justices of Middlesex were somehow put in motion, and made such
representations to the authorities at Ranelagh that they were
obliged to give an undertaking not to indulge in any more public
masques. This, however, did not prevent the subscription carnival in
celebration of a royal birthday in May, 1750, when there was "much
good company but more bad company," the members of which were
"dressed or undress'd" as they thought fit.
Ranelagh was evidently an acquired taste. It has been seen that
Walpole did not take to the place at first, but afterwards became
one of its most enthusiastic admirers. And there was a famous friend
of Walpole who passed through the same experience. This was the poet
Gray, who, three years after the resort was opened declared that he
had no intention of following the crowd to Ranelagh.
"I have never been at Ranelagh Gardens since they were opened," is
his confession to a friend. "They do not succeed: people see it
once, or twice, and so they go to Vauxhall."
"Well, but is it not a very great design, very new, finely lighted?"
"Well, yes, aye, very fine truly, so they yawn and go to Vauxhall,
and then it's too hot, and then it's too cold, and here's a wind and
there's a damp."
Perhaps it is something of a surprise to find the author of the
"Elegy" interested in public gardens at all, but given such an
interest it would have been thought that Ranelagh was more to his
taste than Vauxhall. And so it proved in the end. Like his Eton
friend Walpole, he became a convert and so hearty an admirer of the
Chelsea resort that he spent many evenings there in the August of
1746.
Other notable visitors to Ranelagh included Goldsmith and Sir Joshua
Reynolds, and Dr. Johnson and Tobias Smollett. It seems more than
likely that Ranelagh with the first couple figured largely in that
round of pleasures which kept them from the meetings of The Club to
'the disgust of Beauclerk, but Goldsmith might have justified his
visits on the plea that he was gathering "local colour" for that
letter by Belinda which he introduced into the "Citizen of the
World." No doubt he saw many a colonel there answering to that ft
irresistible fellow "who made such an impression on Belinda's
heart." So well-dressed, so neat, so sprightly, and plays about one
so agreeably, that I vow he has as much spirits as the Marquis of
Monkeyman's Italian greyhound. I first saw him at Ranelagh: he
shines there: he is nothing without Ranelagh, and Ranelagh nothing
without him. "Perhaps Sir Joshua would have excused his idling at
Ranelagh on the ground of looking for models, or the hints it
afforded for future pictures."
With Dr. Johnson it was different. Ranelagh was to him a "place of
innocent recreation" and nothing more. The "_COUP d'ceil_ was
the finest thing he had ever seen," Boswell reports, and then makes
his own comparison between that place and the Pantheon. "The truth
is, Ranelagh is of a more beautiful form; more of it, or rather,
indeed, the whole Rotunda, appears at once, and it is better
lighted. However, as Johnson observed, we saw the Pantheon in time
of mourning, when there was a dull uniformity; whereas we had seen
Ranelagh, when the view was enlivened with a gay profusion of
colours." No small part of Johnson's pleasure during his visits to
Ranelagh was derived from uncomplimentary reflections on the mental
conditions of its frequenters. Boswell had been talking one day in
the vein of his hero's poem on the "Vanity of Human Wishes," and
commented on the persistence with which things were done upon the
supposition of happiness, as witness the splendid places of public
amusement, crowded with company.
"Alas, Sir," said Johnson in a kind of appendix to his poem, "these
are all only struggles for happiness. When I first entered Ranelagh,
it gave an expansion and gay sensation, to my mind, such as I never
experienced any where else. But, as Xerxes wept when he viewed his
immense army, and considered that not one of that great multitude
would be alive a hundred years afterwards, so it went to my heart to
consider that there was not one in all that brilliant circle, that
was not afraid to go home and think; but that the thoughts of each
individual there would be distressing when alone."
Smollett, like Goldsmith, made good use of his visits to Ranelagh.
With the enterprise of the observant novelist, he turned his
experiences into "copy." And with that ubiquity of vision which is
the privilege of the master of fiction he was able to see the place
from two points of view. To Matt. Bramble, that devotee of solitude
and mountains, the Chelsea resort was one of the worst inflictions
of London.
"What are the amusements of Ranelagh?" he asked. "One half of the
company are following one another's tails, in an eternal circle;
like so many blind asses in an olive-mill, where they can neither
discourse, distinguish, nor be distinguished; while the other half
are drinking hot water, under the denomination of tea, till nine or
ten o'clock at night, to keep them awake for the rest of the
evening. As for the orchestra, the vocal music especially, it is
well for the performers that they cannot be heard distinctly." But
Smollett does not leave Ranelagh at that. Lydia also visited the
place and was enraptured with everything. To her it looked like an
enchanted palace "of a genio, adorned with the most exquisite
performances of painting, carving, and gilding, enlighted with a
thousand golden lamps, that emulate the noon-day sun; crowded with
the great, the rich, the gay, the happy, and the fair; glittering
with cloth of gold and silver, lace, embroidery, and precious
stones. While these exulting sons and daughters of felicity tread
this round of pleasure, or regale in different parties, and separate
lodges, with fine imperial tea and other delicious refreshments,
their ears are entertained with the most ravishing music, both
instrumental and vocal." If the management of Ranelagh had been on
the lookout for a press agent, they would doubtless have preferred
Smollett in his Lydia mood.
Only occasionally was the even tenor of Ranelagh amusement disturbed
by an untoward event. One such occasion was due to that notorious
Dr. John Hill who figures so largely in Isaac Disraeli's "Calamities
and Quarrels of Authors." Few men have tried more ways of getting a
living than he. As a youth he was apprenticed to an apothecary, but
in early manhood he turned to botany and travelled all over England
in search of rare plants which he intended drying by a special
process and publishing by subscription. When that scheme failed, he
took to the stage, and shortly after wrote the words of an opera
which was sent to Rich and rejected. This was the beginning of
authorship with Hill, whose pen, however, brought more quarrels on
his head than guineas into his pockets. And it was his authorship
which connected him with the history of Ranelagh. One of Hill's
ventures was to provide the town with a daily paper called The
Inspector, in the pages of which he made free with the character of
an Irish gentleman named Brown. Usually the men Hill attacked were
writers, who flayed him with their pens whenever they thought there
was occasion. Hence the conclusive epigram with which Garrick
rewarded an attack on himself:
"For physic and farces, his equal there _scarce_ is,
His farces are physic, his physic a farce is."
[Illustration: THE ASSAULT ON DR. JOHN HILL AND RANELAGH.]
But Mr. Brown was a man of action, not words. So he sought out his
assailant at Ranelagh on the night of May eth, 1752, and caned him
in the Rotunda in the presence of a large company. Here was
excitement indeed for Ranelagh, and the affair was the talk of the
town for many a day afterwards. Of course Hill did not retort in
kind; on the contrary he showed himself to be an abject coward and
took his thrashing without any bodily protest. That he made loud
vocal protest seems likely enough. Hence the point of the pictorial
satire which was quickly on sale at the London print-shops. This
drawing depicted Hill being seized by the ear by the irate Mr.
Brown, who is represented as exclaiming, "Draw your sword, libeller,
if you have the spirit, of a mouse."
The only reply of Hill was, "What? against an illiterate fellow that
can't spell? I prefer a drubbing. Oh, Mr. P----, get me the
constable, for here's a gentleman going to murder me!"
Mr. P----, who is seen hastening from behind a pillar of the
Rotunda, replies: "Yes, sir, yes. Pray young gentleman don't hurt
him, for he never has any meaning in what he writes."
Hill took to his bed, raised an action against Mr. Brown for
assault, and proclaimed from the housetops that there was a
conspiracy to murder him. This brought forth a second print, showing
Hill in bed and attended by doctors, one of whom, in reply to the
patient's plea that he had no money, responds, "Sell your sword, it
is only an encumbrance."
Another lively episode disturbed the peace of Ranelagh on the night
of May 11th, 1764. Several years previously some daring spirits
among the wealthier classes had started a movement for the abolition
of vails, otherwise "tips," to servants, and the leaders of that
movement were subjected to all kinds of annoyance from the class
concerned. On the night in question the resentment of coachmen,
footmen and other servants developed into a serious riot at
Ranelagh, special attention being paid to those members of the
nobility and gentry who would not suffer their employees to take
vails from their guests. "They, began," says a chronicle of the
time, "by hissing their masters, they then broke all the lamps and
outside windows with stones; and afterwards putting out their
flambeaux, pelted the company, in a most audacious manner, with
brickbats, etc., whereby several were greatly hurt." This attack was
not received in the submissive spirit of Dr. Hill; the assaulted
gentry drew their swords to beat back the rioters and severely
wounded not a few. They probably enjoyed the diversion from the
ordinary pleasures of Ranelagh.
How gladly the frequenters of the gardens welcomed the slightest
departure from the normal proceedings of the place may be inferred
from the importance which was attached to an incident which took
place soon after 1770. Public mourning was in order for some one,
and of course the regular patrons of Ranelagh expressed their
obedience to the court edict by appropriate attire. One evening,
however, it was observed that there were two gentlemen in the
gardens dressed in coloured clothes. It was obvious they were
strangers to the place and unknown to each other. Their
inappropriate costume quickly attracted attention, and became the
subject of general conversation, and, such a dearth was there of
excitement, Lord Spencer Hamilton aroused feverish interest by
laying a wager that before the night was out he would have the two
strangers walking arm in arm. The wager taken, he set to work in an
adroit manner. Watching one of the strangers until he sat down, he
immediately placed himself by his side, and entered into
conversation. A few minutes later Lord Spencer left his new friend
in search of the other stranger, to whom he addressed some civil
remark, and accompanied on a stroll round the gardens. Coming back
eventually to the seat on which the first stranger was still
resting, Lord Spencer had no difficulty in persuading his second new
acquaintance to take a seat also, The conversation of the trio
naturally became general, and a little later Lord Spencer suggested
a promenade. On starting off he offered his arm to the first
stranger, who paid the same compliment to stranger number two, with
the result that Lord Spencer was able to direct the little
procession to the vicinity of his friends, and so demonstrate that
the wager was won. So simple an incident furnished Ranelagh with
great amusement for an entire evening!
What the management provided by way of entertainment has been
partially hinted at. Music appears to have been the chief stand-by
from the first and was provided at breakfast time as well as at
night. Many notable players and singers appeared in the Rotunda,
including Mozart, who, as a boy of eight, played some of his own
compositions on the harpsichord and organ, and Dibdin, the famous
ballad singer. Fireworks were a later attraction, as also was the
exhibition named Mount Etna, which called for a special building.
Occasional variety was provided by regattas and shooting-matches,
and balloon-ascents, and displays of diving.
No doubt Ranelagh was at its best and gayest when the scene of a
masquerade. But unfortunately those entertainments had their
sinister side. Fielding impeaches them in "Amelia" by their results,
and the novelist was not alone in his criticism. The Connoisseur
devoted a paper to the evils of those gatherings, deriding them as
foreign innovations, and recalling the example of the lady who had
proposed to attend one in the undress garb of Iphigenia. "What the
above-mentioned lady had the hardiness to attempt alone," the writer
continued, "will (I am assured) be set on foot by our persons of
fashion, as soon as the hot days come in. Ranelagh is the place
pitched upon for their meeting; where it is proposed to have a
masquerade _al fresco,_ and the whole company are to display
all their charms in _puris naturalibus._ The pantheon of the
heathen gods, Ovid's Metamorphoses, and Titian's prints, will supply
them with sufficient variety of undressed characters." A cynic might
harbour the suspicion that this critic was in the pay of Vauxhall.
Even he, however, did not utter the worst about the amusements of
Ranelagh. The truth was known to all but confessed by few. The
outspoken Matt. Bramble in the indictment cited above gave emphatic
utterance to the fact that the chief recreation at Ranelagh was
worse than none at all. "One may be easily tired" of the place, was
the verdict of a noble lord in 1746; "it is always the same." And to
the same effect is the conclusion reached by a French visitor, who
was delighted for five minutes, and then oppressed with satiety and
indifference. When the visitor had made the promenade of the
Rotunda, there was practically nothing for him to do save make it
again. Hence the mill-round of monotony so aptly expressed by the
Suffolk village poet, Robert Bloomfield, who was lured to Ranelagh
one night shortly before its doors were finally closed.
"To Kanelagh, once in my life,
By good-natur'd force I was driven;
The nations had ceas'd their long strife,
And Peace beam'd her radiance from Heaven.
What wonders were there to be found,
That a clown might enjoy or disdain?
First, we trac'd the gay ring all around;
Aye--_and then we went_ round _it_ again.
"A thousand feet rustled on mats,
A carpet that once had been green,
Men bow'd with their outlandish hats,
With corners so fearfully keen!
Fair maids, who, at home in their haste,
Had left all their clothes but a train,
Swept the floor clean, as slowly they pac'd,
Then.--walked round and swept it again.
"The music was truly enchanting,
Right glad was I when I came near it;
But in fashion I found I was wanting--
'Twas the fashion to walk, and not hear it.
A fine youth, as beauty beset him,
Look'd smilingly round on the train,
'The King's nephew,' they cried, as they met him.
Then-we _went_ round and met _him_ again.
"Huge paintings of heroes and peace
Seem'd to smile at the sound of the fiddle,
Proud to fill up each tall shining space,
Round the lantern that stood in the middle.
And George's head too; Heaven screen him;
May he finish in peace his long reign:
And what did we when we had seen him?
Why-went round and _saw him again_."
That poem ought to have killed Ranelagh had the resort 'not been
near its demise at the time it was written. But there was to be one
final flare-up ere the end came. On a June night in 1803 the Rotunda
was the scene of its last ball. The occasion was the Installation of
the Knights of the Bath, and produced, on the authority of the
Annual Register, "one of the most splendid entertainments ever given
in this country." The cost was estimated at seven thousand pounds,
which may well have been the case when the guests ate cherries at a
guinea a pound and peas at fourteen shillings a quart. That fête was
practically the last of Ranelagh; about a month later the music
ceased and the lamps were extinguished for ever. And the "struggles
for happiness" of sixty years were ended.
CHAPTER III.
OTHER FAVOURITE RESORTS.
Prior to the eighteenth century the Londoner was ill provided with
outdoor pleasure resorts. It is true he had the Paris Garden at
Bankside, which Donald Lupton declared might be better termed "a
foul den than a fair garden. It's a pity," he added, "so good a
piece of ground is no better employed;" but, apart from two or three
places of that character, his _al fresco_ amusements were
exceedingly limited. It should not be forgotten, however, that the
ale-houses of those days frequently had a plot of land attached to
them, wherein a game of bowls might be enjoyed.
But the object-lesson of Vauxhall changed all that. From the date
when that resort passed into the energetic management of Jonathan
Tyers, smaller pleasure gardens sprang into existence all over
London. By the middle of the eighteenth century they had grown so
numerous that it would be a serious undertaking to attempt an
exhaustive catalogue. As, however, they had so many features in
common, and passed through such kindred stages of development, the
purpose of this survey will be sufficiently served by a brief
history of four or five typical examples.
How general was the impression that Vauxhall had served as a model
in most instances may be seen from the remark of a historian of 1761
to the effect that the Marylebone Garden was to be "considered as a
kind of humble imitation of Vauxhall." Had Pepys' Diary been in
print at that date, and known to the proprietor, he would have been
justified in resenting the comparison. For, as a matter of fact, the
diarist, under the date of May 7th, 1668, had actually set down this
record: "Then we abroad to Marrowbone, and there walked in the
garden, the first time I ever was there, and a pretty place it is."
At a first glance this entry might be regarded as disposing of the
charge of imitation on the part of Marylebone Gardens. Such,
however, is not strictly the case. It is true there were gardens
here at the middle of the seventeenth century, but they were part of
the grounds of the old manor-house, and practically answered to
those tavern bowling-alleys to which reference has been made. The
principal of these was attached to the tavern known as the Rose,
which was a favourite haunt of the Duke of Buckingham, and the scene
of his end-of-the-season dinner at which he always gave the toast:
"May as many of us as remain unhanged next spring meet here again."
What needs to be specially noted in connection with the history of
this resort is, that it was not until 1737--five years after the
opening of Vauxhall under Tyers--that the owner of Marylebone
Gardens, Daniel Gough, sufficiently put the place in order to
warrant a charge for admission. In the following year the place was
formally advertised as a resort for evening amusement, that
announcement marking a definite competition with Vauxhall. The
buildings at this time comprised a spacious garden-orchestra fitted
with an organ, and what was called the Great Room, an apartment
specially adapted for balls and suppers.
Many singers, some famous and other notorious, entertained the
patrons of Marylebone Gardens. From 1747 to 1752 the principal
female vocalist was Mary Ann Falkner, who, after a respectable
marriage, became the subject of an arrangement on the part of her
idle husband whereby she passed under the protection of the Earl of
Halifax. She bore two children to that peer, and so maintained her
power over him that for her sake he broke off an engagement with a
wealthy lady. Another songstress, fair and frail, was the celebrated
Nan Catley, the daughter of a coachman, whose beauty of face and
voice and freedom of manners quickly made her notorious. She had
already been the subject of an exciting law suit when she appeared
at Marylebone at the age of eighteen. Miss Catley had been engaged
by Thomas Lowe, the favourite tenor, who in 1763 became the lessee
of the gardens, and opened his season with a "Musical Address to the
Town," sung by himself, Miss Catley and Miss Smith. The address
apologized for the lack of some of the attractions of Vauxhall and
Ranelagh, but added--
"Yet nature some blessings has scattered around;
And means to improve may hereafter be found."
Presuming that Lowe kept his promise, that did not prevent failure
overtaking him as a caterer of public amusement. He lacked
enterprise as a manager, and a wet summer in 1767 resulted in
financial catastrophe.
More serious musical efforts than ballad concerts were attempted at
Marylebone from time to time. That this had been the case even
before Dr. Samuel Arnold became proprietor of the gardens is
illustrated by an anecdote of Dr. Fountayne and Handel, who often
frequented the place. Being there together on one occasion the great
composer asked his friend's opinion of a new composition being
played by the band. After listening a few minutes, Dr. Fountayne
proposed that they resume their walk, for, said he, "it's not worth
listening to--it's very poor stuff." "You are right, Mr. Fountayne,"
Handel replied, "it is very poor stuff. I thought so myself when I
had finished it."
Fireworks were not added to the attractions until 1751, and even
then the displays were only occasional features for some years. In
1772, however, that part of the entertainment was deputed to the
well-known Torré, whose unique fireworks were the talk of London. He
had one set piece called the Forge of Vulcan, which was so popular
that its repetition was frequently demanded. According to George
Steevens, it was the fame of Torré's fireworks which impelled Dr.
Johnson to visit the gardens one night in his company. "The evening
had proved showery," wrote Steevens in his account of the outing,
"and soon after the few people present were assembled, public notice
was given that the conductors of the wheels, suns, stars, etc., were
so thoroughly water-soaked that it was impossible any part of the
exhibition should be made. 'That's a mere excuse,' says the Doctor,
'to save their crackers for a more profitable company. Let us both
hold up our sticks, and threaten to break these coloured lamps that
surround the orchestra, and we shall soon have our wishes gratified.
The core of the fireworks cannot be injured; let the different
pieces be touched in their respective centres, and they will do
their offices as well as ever.' Some young men who overheard him
immediately began the violence he had recommended, and an attempt
was speedily made to fire some of the wheels which appeared to have
received the smallest damage; but to little purpose were they
lighted, for most of them completely failed."
[Illustration: MARYLEBONE GARDENS.]
Apparently that was not the only occasion when the management failed
to keep faith with the public. In July, 1774, the newspaper severely
criticised the proprietors for having charged an admission fee of
five shillings to a Fête Champètre, which consisted of nothing more
than a few tawdry festoons and extra lamps, and another mentor of an
earlier date had dismissed the whole place as "nothing more than two
or three gravel roads, and a few shapeless trees." Altogether,
popular as Torre's fireworks were when they went off, it is not
improbable that they had a considerable share in terminating the
existence of the gardens. Houses were increasing fast in the
neighbourhood, and the dwellers in those houses objected to being
bombarded with rockets. At any rate, six years after the renowned
Torré began his pyrotechnics, the site of the gardens fell into the
hands of builders and the seeker of out-door amusement had to find
his enjoyment elsewhere.
Perhaps some of the frequenters of Marylebone Gardens transferred
their patronage to the White Conduit House, situated two or three
miles to the north-east. Here again is an example of a pleasure
resort developing partially from an ale-house, for the legend is
that the White Conduit House was at first a small tavern, the
finishing touches to which were given, to the accompaniment of much
hard drinking, on the day Charles I lost his head.
[Illustration: WHITE CONDUIT HOUSE.]
Unusual as is the name of this resort, it is largely
self-explanatory. There was a water-conduit in an adjacent field,
which was faced with white stone, and hence the name. The house
itself, however, had its own grounds, which were attractively laid
out when the whole property was reconstructed somewhere about 1745.
At that time a Long Room was erected, and the gardens provided with
a fish-pond and numerous arbours. The popularity of the place seems
to date from the proprietorship of Robert Bartholomew, who acquired
the property in 1754, and to have continued unabated till nearly the
end of the century. Mr. Bartholomew did not overlook any of his
attractions in the announcement he made on taking possession; "For
the better accommodation of ladies and gentlemen," so the
advertisement ran, "I have completed a long walk, with a handsome
circular fish-pond, a number of shady pleasant arbours, inclosed
with a fence seven feet high to prevent being the least incommoded
from people in the fields; hot loaves and butter every day, milk
directly from the cows, coffee, tea, and all manner of liquors in
the greatest perfection; also a handsome long room, from whence is
the most copious prospects and airy situation of any now in vogue. I
humbly hope the continuance of my friends' favours, as I make it my
chief study to have the best accommodations, and am, ladies and
gentlemen, your obliged humble servant, Robert Bartholomew. Note. My
cows eat no grains, neither any adulteration in milk or cream." It
is obvious that Mr. Bartholomew's enthusiasm made him reckless of
grammar, and that some of his ladies and gentlemen might have
objected to have their butter hot; but it is equally plain that here
was a man who knew his business.
And he did not fail of adequate reward. Six years after the
publication of that seductive announcement the resort had become so
popular, especially as the objective of a Sunday outing, that its
praises were sung in poetry in so reputable a periodical as the
Gentleman's Magazine. The verses describe the joy of the London
'Prentice on the return of Sunday, and give a spirited picture of
the scene at the gardens.
"His meal meridian o'er,
With switch in hand, he to White Conduit House
Hies merry-hearted. Human beings here
In couples multitudinous assemble,
Forming the drollest groups that ever trod
Fair Islingtonian plains. Male after male,
Dog after dog succeeding--husbands, wives,
Fathers and mothers, brothers, sisters, friends,
And pretty little boys and girls. Around,
Across, along, the gardens' shrubby maze,
They walk, they sit, they stand. What crowds press on,
Eager to mount the stairs, eager to catch
First vacant bench or chair in long room plac'd.
Here prig with prig holds conference polite,
And indiscriminate the gaudy beau
And sloven mix. Here he, who all the week
Took bearded mortals by the nose, or sat
Weaving dead hairs, and whistling wretched strain,
And eke the sturdy youth, whose trade it is
Stout oxen to contund, with gold-bound hat
And silken stocking strut. The red arm'd belle
Here shows her tasty gown, proud to be thought
The butterfly of fashion: and forsooth
Her haughty mistress deigns for once to tread
The same unhallow'd floor.--`Tis hurry all
And rattling cups and saucers. Waiter here,
And waiter there, and waiter here and there,
At once is call'd--Joe--Joe--Joe--Joe--Joe--
Joe on the right--and Joe upon the left,
For ev'ry vocal pipe re-echoes Joe.
Alas, poor Joe! Like Francis in the play
He stands confounded, anxious how to please
The many-headed throng. But shou'd I paint
The language, humours, custom of the place,
Together with all curts'ys, lowly bows,
And compliments extern, 'twould swell my page
Beyond its limits due. Suffice it then
For my prophetic muse to say, 'So long
As fashion rides upon the wings of time,
While tea and cream, and butter'd rolls can please,
While rival beaux and jealous belles exist,
So long, White Conduit House, shall be thy fame.'"
More distinguished members of the community than the London
'prentice and the "red arm'd belle" frequented the gardens now and
then. About 1762 the place was a favourite resort with Oliver
Goldsmith, and was the scene of a typical episode in his life. While
strolling in the gardens one afternoon he met the three daughters of
a tradesman to whom he was under obligation, and of course must
needs invite them to take tea as his guests. But when the time of
reckoning came he found, characteristically enough, that his pocket
was empty. Happily some friends were near to rescue him from his
difficulty, but the crucial moment of the incident was to be
perpetuated in all its ludicrous humour by an artist of a later
generation, who, in the painting entitled "An Awkward Position,"
depicted the poet at the moment when he discovered his pockets were
empty.
Later in its history the White Conduit House became known as the
"Minor Vauxhall" and was the scene of balloon ascents, fireworks,
and evening concerts. Gradually, however, it fell on evil days, and
in 1849 it passed permanently into the history of old London.
No one traversing that sordid thoroughfare known as King's Cross
Road in the London of to-day could imagine that that highway was the
locality in the mid-eighteenth century of one of the most popular
resorts of the English capital. Such, however, was the case. At that
time the highway was known as Bagnigge Wells Road, and at its
northern extremity was situated the resort known as Bagnigge Wells.
The early history of the place is somewhat obscure. Tradition has it
that the original house was a summer residence of Nell Gwynne, where
she frequently entertained her royal lover. It has also been stated
that there was a place of public entertainment here as early as
1738.
Whatever truth there may be in both those assertions, there is no
gainsaying the fact that the prosperity of Bagnigge Wells dates from
a discovery made by a Mr. Hughes, the tenant of the house, in 1757.
This Mr. Hughes took a pride in his garden, and was consequently
much distressed to find that the more he used his watering-can, the
less his flowers thrived. At this juncture a Dr. Bevis appeared on
the scene, to whom the curious circumstance was mentioned. On
tasting the water from the garden well he was surprised to find its
"flavour so near that of the best chalybeates," and at once informed
Mr. Hughes that it might be made of great benefit both to the public
and himself. The next day a huge bottle of the water was delivered
at Dr. Bevis's house, and analysis confirmed his first impression.
Before he could proceed further in the matter, Dr. Bevis fell ill,
and by the time he had recovered notable doings had been
accomplished at Bagnigge Wells.
For Mr. Hughes was not wholly absorbed in the cultivation of
flowers. Visions of wealth residing in that well evidently captured
his imagination, and he at once set to work fitting up his gardens
as a kind of spa, where the public could drink for his financial
benefit. A second well was sunk and found to yield another variety
of mineral water, and the two waters were connected with a double
pump over which a circular edifice named the Temple was constructed.
Other attractions were added as their necessity became apparent.
They included a spacious banqueting hall known as the Long Room,
provided with an organ, and the laying out of the gardens in
approved style. No doubt the curative qualities of the waters
speedily became a secondary consideration with the patrons of the
place, but that probably troubled Mr. Hughes not at all so long as
those patrons came in sufficient numbers.
That they did come in crowds is demonstrated by the literature which
sprang up around the gardens, and by many other evidences. On its
medicinal side the place was celebrated by one poet in these
strains:
"Ye gouty old souls and rheumatics crawl on,
Here taste these blest springs, and your tortures are gone;
Ye wretches asthmatick, who pant for your breath,
Come drink your relief, and think not of death.
Obey the glad summons, to Bagnigge repair,
Drink deep of its waters, and forget all your care.
"The distemper'd shall drink and forget all his pain,
When his blood flows more briskly through every vein;
The headache shall vanish, the heartache shall cease,
And your lives be enjoyed in more pleasure and peace
Obey then the summons, to Bagnigge repair,
And drink an oblivion to pain and to care."
Twenty years later the muse of Bagnigge Wells was pitched in a
different key. The character of the frequenters had changed for the
worse. Instead of "gouty old souls," and "rheumatics," and
"asthmaticks," the most noted Cyprians of the day had made the place
their rendezvous. So the poet sings of
"Thy arbours, Bagnigge, and the gay alcove,
Where the frail nymphs in am'rous dalliance rove."
[Illustration: BAGNIGGE WELLS.]
Concurrently with this change the gentlemen of the road began to
favour the gardens with their presence, chief among their number
being that notorious highwayman John Rann, otherwise known as
Sixteen-String Jack from his habit of wearing a bunch of eight
ribbons on each knee. But he came to Bagnigge once too often, for,
after insisting on paying unwelcome attentions to a lady in the
ball-room, he was seized by some members of the company and thrown
out of a window into the Fleet river below.
Notwithstanding this deterioration, the proprietor of the place in
1779 in announcing the opening for the season still dwelt upon the
invaluable properties of the waters, not forgetting to add that
"ladies and gentlemen may depend on having the best of Tea, Coffee,
etc., with hot loaves, every morning and evening." But nothing could
ward off the pending catastrophe. "Bagnigge Wells," wrote the
historian of its decline, "sported its fountains, with little wooden
cupids spouting water day and night, but it fearfully realized the
_facilis descensus Averni_. The gardens were curtailed of their
fair proportions, and this once famous resort sank down to a
threepenny concert-room." It struggled on in that lowly guise, for a
number of years, but the end came in 1841, and now even the name of
the road in which it existed is wiped off the map of London.
More fortunate in that respect was the Bermondsey Spa, the name of
which is perpetuated to this day in the Spa Road of that malodorous
neighbourhood. This resort, which, like Bagnigge Wells, owed its
creation to the discovery of a chalybeate spring, is bound up with
the life-story of a somewhat remarkable man, Thomas Keyse by name.
Born in 1722, he became a self-taught artist of such skill that
several of his still-life paintings were deemed worthy of exhibition
at the Royal Academy. He was also awarded a premium of thirty
guineas by the Society of Arts for a new method of fixing crayon
drawings.
But thirty guineas and the glory of being an exhibitor at the Royal
Academy were hardly adequate for subsistence, and hence, somewhere
about 1765, Keyse turned to the less distinguished but more
profitable occupation of tavern-keeper. Having purchased the
Waterman's Arms at Bermondsey, with some adjoining waste land, he
transformed the place into a tea-garden. Shortly afterwards a
chalybeate spring was discovered in the grounds, an event which
obliterated the name of the Waterman's Arms in favour of the
Bermondsey Spa Gardens. The ground was duly laid out in pleasant
walks, with the usual accompaniments of leafy arbours and other
quiet nooks for tea-parties. The next step was to secure a music
license, fit up an orchestra, adorn the trees with coloured lamps,
organize occasional displays of fireworks, and challenge comparison
with Vauxhall if only on a small scale. One of the attractions
reserved for special occasion was a scenic representation of the
Siege of Gibraltar, in which fireworks, transparencies, and bomb
shells played a prominent part. Keyse himself was responsible for
the device by which the idea was carried out, and the performance
was so realistic that it was declared to give "a very strong idea of
the real Siege."
Hearty as were the plaudits bestowed upon the Siege of Gibraltar,
there is not much risk in hazarding the opinion that Keyse took more
pride in the picture-gallery of his own paintings than in any other
feature of his establishment. The canvases included representations
of all kinds of still life, and, thanks to the recording pen of J.
T. Smith, that enthusiastic lover of old London, it is still
possible to make the round of the gallery in the company of the
artist-proprietor. Mr. Smith visited the gardens when public
patronage had declined to a low ebb, so that he had the gallery all
to himself, as he imagined. "Stepping back to study the picture of
the 'Greenstall,' 'I ask your pardon,' said I, for I had trodden on
some one's toes. 'Sir, it is granted,' replied a little, thick-set
man with a round face, arch looks, and close-curled wig, surmounted
by a small three-cornered hat put very knowingly on one side, not
unlike Hogarth's head in his print of the 'Gates of Calais.' 'You
are an artist, I presume; I noticed you from the end of the gallery,
when you first stepped back to look at my best picture. I painted
all the objects in this room from nature and still life.' 'Your
Green-grocer's Shop,' said I, 'is inimitable; the drops of water on
that savoy appear as if they had just fallen from the element. Van
Huysun could not have pencilled them with greater delicacy.' 'What
do you think,' said he, 'of my Butcher's Shop?' 'Your pluck is
bleeding fresh, and your sweetbread is in a clean plate.' 'How do
you like my bull's eye?' 'Why, it would be a most excellent one for
Adams or Dolland to lecture upon. Your knuckle of veal is the finest
I ever saw.' 'It's young meat,' replied he; 'any one who is a judge
of meat can tell that from the blueness of its bone.' 'What a
beautiful white you have used on the fat of that Southdown leg! or
is it Bagshot?' 'Yes,' said he, 'my solitary visitor, it is Bagshot:
and as for my white, that is the best Nottingham, which you or any
artist can procure at Stone and Puncheon's, Bishopsgate Street
Within.' 'Sir Joshua Reynolds,' continued Mr. Keyse, 'paid me two
visits. On the second, he asked me what white I had used; and when I
told him, he observed, "It's very extraordinary, sir, that it keeps
so bright. I use the same." "Not at all, sir," I rejoined: "the
doors of this gallery are open day and night; and the admission of
fresh air, together with the great expansion of light from the
sashes above, will never suffer the white to turn yellow."'"
And then the enthusiastic artist and his solitary patron walked out
to the orchestra in the gardens, sole auditors of the singer who had
to sing by contract whether few or many were present. It is a
pathetic record, portending the final closing of Bermondsey Spa but
a few years later.
On the return journey to Southwark, the Southwark of Chaucer's
Tabard, the pilgrim among these memories of the past may tread the
ground where Finch's Grotto Gardens once re-echoed to laughter and
song. They were established in 1760 by one Thomas Finch, who was of
the fraternity of Thomas Keyse, even though he was but a Herald
Painter. Falling heir to a house and pleasant garden, encircled with
lofty trees and umbrageous with evergreens and shrubs, he decided to
convert the place into a resort for public amusement. The adornments
consisted of a grotto, built over a mineral spring, and a fountain,
and an orchestra, and an Octagon Room for balls and refuge from wet
evenings. The vocalists included Sophia Snow, afterwards as Mrs.
Baddeley to become notorious for her beauty and frailty, and Thomas
Lowe, the one-time favourite of Vauxhall, whose financial failure at
Marylebone made him thankful to accept an engagement at this more
lowly resort. But Finch's Grotto Gardens were not destined to a long
life. Perhaps they were too near Vauxhall to succeed; perhaps the
policy, of engaging had-been favourites was as little likely to
bring prosperity in the eighteenth as in the twentieth century.
Whatever the cause, the fact is on record that after a career of
less than twenty years the gardens ceased to exist.
[Illustration: FINCH'S GROTTO, SOUTHWARK.]
As has been seen in an earlier chapter, the great prototype of the
pleasure gardens of old London, Vauxhall, outlived all its
competitors for half a century. But upon even that favourite resort
the changing manners of a new time had fatal effect. As knowledge
grew and taste became more diversified, it became less and less easy
to cater for the amusement of the many. To the student of old-time
manners, however, the history of the out-door resorts of old London
is full of instruction and suggestion, if only for the light it
throws on these "struggles for happiness" which help to distinguish
man from the brute creation.
THE END.
INDEX
"A Cup of Coffee, or Coffee in its Colours,"
Adam and Eve Tavern
Adam., the brothers
Addison, Joseph
Adelphi hotel
Aix-la-Chapelle, Peace of
Alice's coffee-house
Alfred Club
Almack, William
Almack's
"Amelia"
Anderson, Mrs.
Anderton's Hotel
Angel Inn, Fleet Street
Angel Inn, Islington
Anne, Queen
Annual register
Anstey's "Pleaders' Guide"
Apollo room at the Devil tavern
Archer, Mrs. Mary
Argyll, Duke of
Aristophanes
Armstrong, Dr. John
Arnold, Dr. Samuel
Arthur's Club
Arthur, Mr.
Athenseum Club
Bacon, Anthony
Baddeley, Mrs.
Bagnigge Wells
Bailley, Christian
Bailley, Henry
Barrington, Hon. Daines
Barrington, Sir Jonas
Bartholomew Fair
Bartholomew, Robert
Bate, Henry
Bath, Installation of the Knights of
Batson's coffee-house
Bear inn
Beauclerk, Lady Sydney
Beauclerk, Topham
Beaufort, Duchess of
Beaumont, Francis
Becket, Thomas à,
Bedford coffee-house
Bedford, Duke of
Bedford Head tavern
Beeswing Club, The
Beef Steak Club
Bell tavern
Belle Sauvage inn
Bermondsey Spa Gardens
Bevis, Dr.
Bickerstaff, Sir Isaac
Bishopsgate Street Within, inns of
Bishopsgate Street Without, inns of
Blackmore, Sir Richard
Bloomfield, Robert
Blount, Sir Henry
Blue Boar inn
Blue Posts tavern
Blue-Stocking Club
Boar's Head inn, Eastcheap
Boar's Head inn, Southwark
Boehm, Mr.
Boileau's _Lutrin_
Bolinbroke, Viscount
Boodle's Club
Bordeaux, merchants of
Boswell, James
Bowen, William
Bowman, Mrs.
Bramble, Matt
British coffee-house
British Institution
Broghill, Lord
Brontë, Anne
Brontë, Charlotte
Brooks's Club
Brown, Tom
Buchan, Dr.
Buckingham, Duke of
Bull and Gate inn
Bull Head tavern
Bull inn
Burke, Edmund
Burney, Dr.
Burney, Fanny
Burton's, Thomas, "Parliamentary Diary"
Button's coffee-house
Buttony, Daniel
Byron, Lord
Byron, Lord, the poet
Cade, Jack
"Calamities and Quarrels of Authors"
Calf's Head Club
Campbell, Lord
Campbell, Thomas
Cannon coffee-house
Canterbury
Canterbury Tales
Cambridge carriers
Carlisle, Lord
Carlyle, Thomas
Cat, Christopher
Catley, Nan
Chamier, Anthony
Chapter coffee-house
Charnock, Robert
Charing Cross, coffee-houses of
Charing Cross, inns of
Charles I
Charles II
Charles V
Chatelaine's
Chatterton, Thomas
Chaucer, Geoffrey
Chaworth, William
Cheapside Cross
Cheshire Cheese
Chesterfield, Lord
Child's coffee-house
Chinaman, Goldsmith's, at Vauxhall
Christ's Hospital
Churchill, Lady Mary
Cibber, Colley
Cicero
Cider Cellars,
"Citizen of the World,"
Claypole, Elizabeth,
Club, definition of,
Clubs of old London,
Club, The,
Clutterback, James,
Cock tavern, Fleet Street,
Cock tavern, Leadenhall Street,
Cock tavern, Suffolk Street,
Cocoa-Tree Club,
Coffee,
"Coffee House, The Character of,"
Coffee-houses in London,
first to be opened,
subject of a play,
pamphlets for and against,
petition,
against,
proclamationl
suppressing,
influenced by locality,
"Coffee. Women's Petition against,"
"Coffee House Vindicated,"
Coleridge, S. T.,
Colin. Farmer,
Collier's, Jeremy, "Short View,"
Congers,
Connoisseur, The,
Cony, Nathaniel,
"Country Mouse and the City Mouse,"
Covent Garden, coffee-houses of,
Covent Garden, taverns of,
Coverley, Sir Roger de,
Cowley, Abraham,
Cowper, William,
Craven Head Inn,
Crown and Anchor,
Cromwell, Oliver,
Cruikshank, George,
Cumberland, Duke of,
Cumberland, Richard,
Cupels Gardens,
Curran, Jolin Philpot,
Cuthbert, Captain,
Dagger tavern,
"Dark Walks" of Vauxhall.
Davidson, Jobs,
Davies, Thomais,
"Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,"
Defoe, Daniel,
De Moivre. Abraham,
Devil tavern,
Devonshire, Duke of,
Dibdin, Charles,
Dickens, Charles,
Dick's coffee-house,
Dolly's chop-house,
Don Saltero's coffee-house,
Dorset, Duke of,
Dorset. Earl of.
Douglas, Bishop,
Dover House Club,
Drinkwater, Thomas,
Drummond, William,
Drury Lane, inns of,
Dryden, John,
Dudley, Lord,
D'Urfey, Thomas,
Dutton, John,
Edward VI,
Edwards; Mrs.,
Egan, Pierce,
Elephant and Castle tavern,
Elephant tavern
Elizabeth, Queen
England, John
E O tables
Essex, Lord
Essex Street Club
Ethrage, Sir George
Evans, Widow
Evelyn, John
Falcon tavern
Falkner, Mary Ann
Falstaff, Sir John
Farr, James
Faslolfe, Sir John
Fantom, Captain
Feather's tavern
Fielding, Henry
Finch's Grotto Gardens
Finch, Thomas
Fireworks at Vauxhall
at Ranelagh
at Marylebone
at Bermondsey Spa Gardens
Fitzgerald, Edward
"Fitzgerald, Fighting,"
Fleece tavern
Fleet Street, taverns of
Ford, Parson
Foote, Samuel
Fortune Theatre
Fountain tavern
Fountayne, Dr.
Fox, Charles James
Franklin, Beniamin
Froude, James Anthony
Fuller, Isaac
Fuller, Thomas
Garrawav's coffee-house
Garraway, Thomas
Garrick, David
Garth, Sir Samuel
Gaskell, Mrs.
Gay, John
Gentleman's Magazine
George I
George II
George III
George's coffee-house
George inn
Gibbon, Edward
Gibbons, Grinling
Gibraltar, Siege of
Gifford's, William, Life of Ben Jenson
Gillray, James
Golden Cross tavern
Golden Eagle tavern
Goldsmith, Oliver
Goose and Gridiron
Gordon, George
Goueh, Daniel
Grant, Andrew
Gray, Thomas
Grecian coffee-house
Green, J. R.
Green Ribbon Club
Gregorie, Robert
Gresham, Sir Thomas
Grimes, Jack
Guardian, The
Guildhall Museum
Gwynne, Nell
Hackman, James
Hal, Prince
Hales, John
Hales, Robert
Halifax, Earl of
Hall, Jacob
Halley Professor
Hamilton, Lord Spencer
Hand and Shears tavern
Handel, George Frederick
Hanover Club
Harley, Edward, Earl of Oxford
Harper, Bishop
Harrington, James
Harvard, John
Haslam, Dr
Hawkins, Sir John
Henry II
Henry III
Henry IV
Henry V
Henry VI
Henry VIII
Herrick, Robert
Hill, Aaron
Hill, Dr. John
Hobson, Thomas
Hogarth, William
Holborn, inns of
Holland, Lord
Horden, Hildebrand
Horn tavern
Horseshoe tavern
Horseshoe tavern, Covent Garden
Howard, Lord
Howard, Major-General
Howard, Sir John
Howell. James. "Familiar Letters" of
Hughes, Mr
Hummums tavern
Humphries, Miss
"Humphry Clinker"
Hunt's, Leigh, "The Town"
Hyde, Abbot of
Hyde, Lady
Inspector, The
Irving, Washington
Jacobites
Ja-mes I
James III
Jay, Cyrus
Jerusalem coffee-house
Jessop's
Jonathan's coffee-house
John's coffee-house
Johnson, Dr. Samuel
Jones, Sir William
Jones, William
Jonson, Ben
Keate, Roger
Keats, John
Kenrick, William
Kensington, South, Museum
Keyse Thomas
Killigrew, Harry
King's coffee-house
King, Thomas
King's Head tavern, Penchurch Street
King's Head tavern, Fleet Street
King John's Palace
Kingston, Lord
King Street, Westminster, taverns of
Kit-Cat Club
Kit-Cat portraits
Knapp, Mrs.
Lacy, James
Laguerre, Louis
Lamb, Charles
Lambe, John
Lambert, George
Langton, Bennet
Lee, Sidney
Leg tavern
Leslie, Charles Robert
Lill, William
Lincolnshire, Fens of
Lion's Head at Button's coffee-house
"Lives of the English Poets"
Lloyd, Charles
Lloyd's coffee-house
Lloyd, Edward
Lloyd, Sir Philip
Locket's
Locket, Adam
Locket, Mrs.
Lockier, Francis
London Bridge
London coffee-house
London, Fire of
London, Plague of
London tavern
Long's tavern
Lonsdale, Earl of
Loughborough, Lady
Loughborough, Lord
Louis XVI
Lowe, Thomas
Lowell, J. R.
Lowther, Sir James
Lunsford, Colonel
Lupton, Donald
Lyttelton, Lord
Macaulay, Lord
"Mac Fleoknoe"
Macklin, Charles
Mackreth, Robert
Maiden Lane taverns
Malone, Edmund
Man, Alexander
Man's coffee-house
Manchester, Lady
Marlborough, Duchess of
Marvell, Andrew
Marylebone Gardens
Maxwell, Dr.
Medici, Mary de
Melford, Lydia
Mermaid tavern, Cheapside
Mermaid tavern, Cornhill
"Mermaid Tavern, Lines on,"
Miles's coffee-house
Mitre tavern, Cheapside
Mitre tavern, Fenchurch Street
Mitre tavern, Fleet Street
Monmouth, Duke of
Montagu, Captain
Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley
Montagu, Mrs.
More, Hannah
Morris, Captain
Mounsey, Dr.
Mozart, W. A.
Nag's Head tavern, Cheapside
Nag's Head tavern, Drury Lane
Nando's coffee-house
Nash, Beau
Newport, Young
New Spring Gardens
Newton, Sir Isaac
Norfolk, Duke of
North, Dudley
North, Lord
Northumberland, Duke of
Nottinghamshire Club
Oates, Titus
Observer, The
"Oceana"
October Club
Oldisworth, William
Orford, Lord
Ormonde, Marquis of
Oxford, Earl of
Pall Mall taverns
Pantheon, The
"Paradise Lost,"
Paris Garden
Paterson, James
Pellett, Dr.
Pembroke, Earl of
Pepys, Mrs.
Pepys, Samuel
Percy, Dr.
Petres, Lord
Philips, Ambrose
Phillips, Sir Richard
"Pickmick Papers,"
Pierce, Mrs.
Pie-Powder Court
Pindar, Sir Paul
Pindar, Sir Paul, tavern
Pindar, Peter
Pitt, Colonel
Pitt's Head tavern
Pitt, William
Poins
Pontack's
Pope, Alexander
Pope's Head tavern
Porson, Richard
Portland, Duke of
Preston, Robert
Price, Dr. Richard
Priestly, Dr.
"Prince Alfred,"
Prior, Matthew
Prior, Samuel
Queen's Arms tavern
Queensbury, Duchess of
Quickly, Dame
Quin, James
Rainbow tavern
Raleigh, Sir Walter
Ranelagh
Rotunda at,
f&e at,
amusements of,
riot at,
poem on,
closing of
Ranelagh, Earl of
Rann, John
Raw&son, 'Dan
Rawlinson, Mrs.
Rawthmell's coffee-house
Ray, Martha
Red Lion inn
"Retaliation"
Reynolds, Sir Joshua
Rich, John
Richard II
Richardson, Samuel
Richmond, Duke of
Ridley, Bishop
Robinson, Sir Thomas
Rochester, Lord
Rock, Richard
Rogers, Samuel
Rosee, Pasqua
Rose tavern
Rossetti, Dante Gabriel
Rota Club
Rousseau, J. J.
Rowlandson, Thomas
Rummer tavern
St. Albans, Duchess of
St. Alban's tavern
St. James's coffee-house
St. James's Palace
St. Paul's churchyard
St. Paul's coffee-house
Salter, James
Salutation tavern
Sam's coffee-house
Sanchy, Mr.
Sandwich, Earl of
Saqui, Mme.
Saracen's Head tavern, Snow Hill
"Sarrasin's Head," Westminster
Savage, Richard
Scott; Peter
Scott, Sir Walter
Sedley, Sir Charles
Sedley, Jos.
Selden, John
Selwyn, George
Shadwell, Thomas
Shakespeare, William
Sharp, Rebecca
Sheffield, Lord
Shepherd, George
Sheridan, R. B.
Ship and Turtle tavern
Slaughter's coffee-house
Slaughter, Thomas
Sloane, Sir Hans
Smith, Adam
Smith, Captain John
Smith, J. T.
Smollett, Tobias
Smyrna coffee-house
Snow, Sophia
Somerset coffee-house
Southey, Robert
South Sea Bubble
Southwark
map of
meaning of name
inns of
Tabard inn
Bear inn
fair of
Boar's Head inn
George inn
White Hart inn
Spectator, The
Spenser, Edmund
Spotted Dog inn
Staple inn
Star and Garter tavern
Steele, Sir Richard
Steevens, George
Stella, Journal to
Stevens, George Alexander
Stewart, Admiral Keith
Stewart, General William
Stillingfleet, Benjamin
Stony, Captain
Stow, John
Strand, Inns and taverns of
Strype, John
Stuart, Frances
Suckling, Sir John
Suffolk Street taverns
Swan inn
Swift, Jonathan
Tabard inn
Tarleton, Richard
Tassoni's Secchia Rapita
Tatler, The
Tearsheet, Doll
Temple Bar
Tennyson, Alfred, Lord
Thackeray, W. M.
Thatched House tavern
Thomson, James
Three as sign of London taverns
Three Cranes' Lane
Three Cranes in the Vintry
Three Nuns tavern
Three Tuns tavern
Thurlow, Lord Chancellor
Tibbs, Mr. and Mrs.
Tickell Thomas
Till, William
Tom's coffee-house, Birchin Lane
Tom's coff ke-house, Covent Garden
"Tom Jones"
Tonson, Jacob
Tooke, Home
Torre
Totenhall Court
Turk's Head coffee-house
Turner, J. M. W.
Tyers, Jonathan
Tyers, Tom
"Vanity Fair"
Vauxhall,
plan of;
Rotunda at;
attractions of;
supper party at;
closing of
Vernon, Admiral
Vittoria, victory of
Voltaire
Wales, Prince of (George IV)
Walker's "The Original"
Walpole, Horace
Walton's, Isaac, "Complete Angler"
Ward, Ned
Warren Sir William
Warwick, Countess of
Washington, George
Washington, Purser
Waterman's Arms tavern
"Webb, Young"
Weller, Sam
Wellington, Duke of
Welteie's Club
West, Captain Thomas
Westminster taverns and coffee-houses
"Wet Paper Club"
Wheatley, Henry B.
White's Chocolate-house
White Conduit House
White Hart inn
White Hart inn, Bishopsgate Street Within
White Horse Cellar
"White, Mary, or the Murder at the Old Tabard"
Wildman's coffee-house
"Wilkes and Liberty"
Wilkes, John
William III
William, King, statue of,
Wilson, "Long-Bow"
Will's coffee-house, Belle Sauvage yard
Will's coffee-house, Covent Garden
"Will Waterproofs Lyrical Monologue"
Windmill tavern
Wittengamot Club
Wolcot, John, "Peter Pindar"
Wren, Sir Christopher
Wright, Thomas
Wyatt, Sir Thomas
Yarmouth, Lady
York, Duke of
Young, Edward
End of Project Gutenberg's Inns and Taverns of Old London, by Henry C. Shelley