hear," asks Nimrod, "of a man setting fire to his own shirt to frighten
away the hiccup? Such, however, was done, and in this manner:--'Oh,
this horrid hiccup!' said Mytton, as he stood undressed on the floor,
apparently in the act of getting into bed; 'but I'll frighten it away;'
so seizing a candle, he applied it to the tail of his shirt, and it
being a cotton one, he was instantly enveloped in flames." His life was
only saved by the active exertions of two persons who chanced to be in
the room.
Mytton married, secondly, Miss Giffard, of Chillington, a match of
such misery to the lady, that it ended in a separation. The crisis of
the spendthrift's fate was now impending. All the effects at Halston
were advertised for sale; and very shortly after Mr. Mytton fled to
the Continent to escape from his creditors. "On the 15th of November,
1831," says Nimrod, "during my residence in the town of Calais, I
was surprised by a violent knocking at my door, and so unlike what I
had ever heard before in that quiet town, that being at hand, I was
induced to open the door myself, when, to my no little astonishment,
there stood John Mytton. 'In the name of Heaven,' said I, 'what has
brought you to France?' 'Why,' he replied, '_just what brought yourself
to France_'--parodying the old song--'three couple of bailiffs were
hard at my brush.' But what did I see before me--the active, vigorous,
well-shapen John Mytton, whom I had left some years back in Shropshire?
Oh, no; compared with him, 'twas the reed shaken by the wind; there
stood before me a round-shouldered, decrepit, tottering, _old-young_
man, if I may be allowed such a term, and so bloated by drink! But
there was a worse sight than this--there was a mind as well as a body
in ruins; the one had partaken of the injury done to the other; and
it was at once apparent that the whole was a wreck. In fact, he was a
melancholy spectacle of fallen man."
It appeared that Mytton had been arrested for a paltry debt and thrown
into prison. "I once more," writes Nimrod, "was pained by seeing my
friend looking through the bars of a French prison-window. Here he was
suffered to remain for fourteen days; on the thirteenth day, I thought
it my duty to inform his mother of his situation, and in four days from
the date of my letter she was in Calais. After a time Mytton returned
to England, but only to a prison and a grave. The representative of
one of the most ancient families of his country, at one time M.P. for
Shrewsbury and High Sheriff for Shropshire and Merioneth, the inheritor
of Halston and Mowddwy and almost countless acres, the most popular
sportsman of England, died within the walls of the King's Bench Prison,
at the age of thirty-eight, deserted and neglected by all, save a few
faithful friends and a devoted mother, who stood by his death-bed to
the last."
The announcement of the sad event produced a profound impression in
Shropshire: the people within many miles were deeply affected; the
degradation of Mytton's later years, the faults and follies of his
wretched life, were all forgotten; the generosity, the tenderness of
heart, the manly tastes of poor John Mytton, his sporting popularity,
and his very mad follies, were recalled with affectionate sympathy. His
funeral will long be remembered--three thousand persons attended it,
and a detachment of the North Shropshire Cavalry (of which regiment
the deceased was Major) escorted his remains to the vault in the
chapel of Halston; several private carriages followed, and about one
hundred of the tenantry, tradesmen, and friends on horseback closed the
procession. The body was placed in the family vault, surrounded by the
coffins of twelve of his relatives.
The story of John Mytton is appalling. A family far more ancient
and apparently as vigorous as the grand old oaks that once were the
pride of Halston, was destroyed, after centuries of honourable and
historic eminence, by the mad follies of one man in the brief space
of eighteen years! The magnificent Lordship of Dinas Mowddwy, with it
32,000 acres--originally an appanage of the dynasty of Powis--inherited
through twelve generations from a coheiress of the Royal Lineage of
Powys Wenwynwyn, had been bartered, it is alleged, in adjustment of a
balance on turf and gambling transactions.[7]
[7] Abridged from Sir Bernard Burke's very interesting _Vicissitudes of
Families_. Second Series. 1860.
What a sad conclusion to the history of a very distinguished race,
memorable in the days of the Plantagenets, and renowned in the great
Civil War, is the following record, taken from _The Times_, 2nd April,
1834:--"On Monday, an inquest was held in the King's Bench Prison,
on the body of John Mytton, Esq., who died there on the preceding
Saturday. The deceased inherited considerable estates in the counties
of Salop and Merioneth, for both which he served the office of High
Sheriff, and some time represented the borough of Shrewsbury in
Parliament. His munificence and eccentric gaieties obtained him great
notoriety in the sporting and gay circles, both in England and on the
Continent. Two medical attendants stated that the immediate cause of
his death was disease of the brain (_delirium tremens_), brought on
by the excessive use of spirituous liquours. The deceased was in his
thirty-eighth year. Verdict--'Natural Death.'"
[Illustration: Noble Aide-de-Camp. Lord Petersham.]
Lord Petersham.
This eccentric nobleman, who was the eldest son of Charles, third Earl
of Harrington, was a leader of fashion some thirty years since; he was
tall and handsome; according to Captain Gronow, Lord Petersham very
much resembled the pictures of Henry IV. of France, and frequently
wore a dress not unlike that of the celebrated monarch. He was a great
patron of tailors, and a particular kind of greatcoat was called after
him a "Petersham." When young, he used to cut out his own clothes; he
made his own blacking, which, he said, would eventually supersede every
other. He was also a connoisseur in snuff, and one of his rooms was
fitted up with shelves and beautiful jars for various kinds of snuff,
with the names in gold. Here were also implements for moistening and
mixing snuffs, and Lord Petersham's mixture is to this day a popular
snuff. He possessed also a fine collection of snuff-boxes, and it was
said, a box for every day in the year. Captain Gronow saw him using
a beautiful Sèvres box, which, on being admired, he said was "a nice
summer box, but would not do for winter wear." He was equally choice
of his teas, and in the same room with the snuffs, upon shelves, were
placed tea-canisters, containing Congou, Pekoe, Souchong, Gunpowder,
Russian, and other fine kinds. Indeed, his father's mansion, Harrington
House, was long famous for its tea-drinking; the Earl and Countess and
family, and their visitors, were received upon these occasions in the
long gallery, and here the family of George III. enjoyed many a cup of
tea. It is told that when General Lincoln Stanhope returned from India
after several years' absence, his father welcomed him with "Hallo,
Linky, my dear boy! delighted to see you. _Have a cup of tea!_"
Lord Petersham's equipages were unique; the carriages and horses were
brown; the harness had furniture of antique design; and the servants
wore long brown coats reaching to their heels, and glazed hats with
large cockades. Lord Petersham was a liberal patron of the opera and
the theatres; and two years after he had succeeded his father in the
earldom (of Harrington), he married the beautiful Maria Foote, of
Covent Garden Theatre.
The King and Queen of the Sandwich Islands.
In the year 1824, their "savage Majesties" of the Sandwich Islands
visited England. They were seen by Miss Berry, who, in her entertaining
journal, has thus graphically described their visit:--
"At half-past ten o'clock, I went with the Prince and Princess
Lowenstein, their son, and my sister, to Mr. Canning's, the Secretary
of State, who received for the first time the King and Queen of the
Sandwich Islands. They arrived in the midst of a numerous assembly,
all of the best society, and all _en grande toilette_ for a large
assembly given at Northumberland House. Mr. Canning entered, giving
his hand to a large black woman more than six feet high, and broad in
proportion, muffled up in a striped gauze dress with short sleeves,
leaving uncovered enormous black arms, half covered again with white
gloves; an enormous gauze turban upon her head; black hair, not
curled, but very short; a small bag in her hand, and I do not know
what upon her neck, where there was no gauze. It was with difficulty
that the Minister and his company could preserve a proper gravity for
the occasion. The Queen was followed by a lady in waiting as tall as
herself, and with a gayer and more intelligent countenance. Then came
the King, accompanied by three of his subjects, all dressed, like him,
in European costume; and a fourth, whose office I did not know, but
he wore over his ordinary coat a scarlet and yellow feather cloak,
and a helmet covered with the same material on his head. The King was
shorter than his four courtiers, but they all looked very strong, and,
except the King, all taller than the majority of those who surrounded
them. The two ladies were seated before the fire in the gallery for
some time. Mrs. Canning was presented first to them, and then the Duke
and Duchess of Gloucester and the Prince Leopold. The Queen took the
Duchess of Gloucester by the arm and shook it. One should have pitied
them for the way in which all eyes were turned upon them, and for all
the observations they occasioned; but it seemed to me that their minds
are not sufficiently opened, and that they are not civilized enough
either to notice or to suffer from it. From the gallery, Mr. Canning,
still holding the Queen's hand, conducted them through the apartment
and under the verandah of the garden, where the band of the Guards
regiment, in their full uniform, was playing military airs. Her savage
Majesty appeared much more occupied by the red-plumed hats of the
musicians than by the music. She ought to have been pleased to see that
the officer's helmet of her Court surpassed them as to colour. From
there they were conducted into the dining-room, where there was a fine
collation. The two ladies were seated alone at a table placed across
the room, and ate some cake and drank wine. They appeared awkward in
all their movements, and particularly embarrassed in their walk; there
was nothing of the free step of the savage, being probably embarrassed
by the folds of the European dress."
The King and Queen and their suite were wantonly charged with gluttony
and drunkenness by persons who ought to have known better. "It is
true," observes Lord Byron, in his _Voyage to the Sandwich Islands_,
"that, unaccustomed to our habits, they little regarded regular hours
for meals, and that they liked to eat frequently, though not to excess.
Their greatest luxury was oysters, of which they were particularly
fond; and one day, some of the chiefs having been out to walk, and
seeing a grey mullet, instantly seized it and carried it home, to
the great delight of the whole party; who, on recognizing the native
fish of their own seas, could scarcely believe that it had not swum
hither on purpose for them, or been persuaded to wait till it was
cooked before they ate it." The best proof of their moderation is,
however, that the charge at Osborne's Hotel, in the Adelphi, during
their residence there, amounted to no greater an average than seventeen
shillings a head per day for their table: as they ate little or no
butcher's meat, but lived chiefly on fish, poultry, and fruit, by no
means the cheapest articles in London, their gluttony could not have
been great. So far from their always preferring the strongest liquors,
their favourite beverage was some cider, with which they had been
presented by Mr. Canning.
The popular comic song of _The King of the Cannibal Islands_ was
written _à propos_ to the above royal visit.
Sir Edward Dering's Luckless Courtship.
Sir Edward Dering, the founder of the Surrenden library, and a
distinguished member of Parliament in the troublous times of Charles
I., was born in the Tower of London in 1598, his father having been
deputy-lieutenant of that fortress. He studied at Magdalen College,
Cambridge, and was knighted by James I. in 1618. Sir Edward was
thrice married. The story of an unsuccessful courtship, after his
second widowhood, is as good as a play, and indeed more amusing than
many dramas of the period based upon a similar subject. The object
of this enterprise was a city dame, the widow of a well-connected
mercer, Richard Bennett by name. The widow Bennett, by the custom of
London and the will of her husband, was possessed of two-thirds of the
deceased's property, besides all her jewels and chains of pearl and
gold, her diamond and other rings, her husband's coach and the four
grey coach-mares and geldings, with all things thereunto belonging.
In addition to these substantial recommendations, she seems to have
had some personal charms of her own, and no other encumbrance than
one little boy. In those days it was not necessary to advertise for
a husband, and Mistress Bennett could not lack suitors. Three of
the most conspicuous were named Finch, Crow, and Raven, much to the
amusement of London society in those days. The first was Sir Heneage
Finch, Recorder of London, who had been Speaker of the House of Commons
in 1626, and owned a handsome house at Kensington, since converted into
a Royal Palace. The next was Sir Sackville Crow, who was Treasurer
of the Navy, of which office he was subsequently deprived, owing to
an unfortunate deficit of which he was unable to give a satisfactory
account. The third was one Raven, a physician. This fatuous individual,
not having found much success in the way of ordinary courtship, could
think of no better expedient to gain his ends than to present himself
in the widow's bedchamber after she had retired to rest, when, having
woke the lady, he proceeded to press his suit. The widow screamed
thieves and murder, the servants rushed in, and the doctor was secured
and handed over to the parish constable. On the next day he was brought
before Mr. Recorder, who found the proceeding to be "flat burglary,"
and committed his unlucky rival to gaol. When brought up for trial
he pleaded guilty to the "burglary," but under advice of the judge
withdrew the plea, and was ultimately found guilty of "ill-demeanour,"
and was condemned to fine and imprisonment.
It was on the morning after Dr. Raven's mad freak that Sir Edward
Dering presented himself as a suitor. How he commenced this important
enterprise, and how he sped, we learn from a minute journal which he
kept of his proceedings, and which he did not afterwards think it
necessary to burn. Here are a few entries. Thus begins the journal:--
Nov. 20. Edmund, King. I adventured, was denied. Sent up a letter,
which was returned, after she had read it.
This repulse rendered it necessary to resort to crooked means. Servants
are corruptible, and so we find--
Nov. 21. I inveigled G. Newman with 20_s._
Nov. 24. I did re-engage him, 20_s._ I did also oil the cash-keeper,
20_s._
Nov. 26. I gave Edmund Aspull [the cash-keeper] another 20_s._ I was
there, but denied sight.
Unpromising this, but Sir Edward does not lose courage.
Nov. 27. I sent a second letter, _which was kept_.
There is hope, then, but we must not relax. Same day.
I set Sir John Skeffington upon Matthew Cradock.
Matthew Cradock is a cousin of the widow, and her trusty adviser. Same
day.
The cash-keeper supped with me.
Nov. 28. I went to Mr. Cradock, but found him cold.
Sir John Skeffington could not have exerted himself much.
Nov. 29. I was at the Old Jewry Church and saw her, both forenoon and
afternoon.
Dec. 1. I sent a third letter, which was likewise kept.
The widow had a troublesome affair on her hands. It appears that one
Steward, under the abominable system of wardships which then prevailed,
had obtained a grant from the crown of the wardship of Mrs. Bennett's
little boy, then four years old. The widow was in treaty with Steward
to buy from him the wardship of her own child, which the rogue refused
to release for 1,500_l._, offered him in hard cash. Between this
affair, and Dr. Raven and other suitors, the widow had enough to think
of. Steward had also made matrimonial proposals, which Mrs. Bennett
deemed it not prudent to cut short at once, while the bargaining for
the wardship was going on. On the 5th December Sir Edward communicates
with one Loe, an influential person with the widow. Loe answers, "that
Steward was so testy that she durst not give admittance unto any, until
he and she were fully concluded for the wardship--that she had a good
opinion of me--that he (Loe) heard nobly of me--that he would inform
me when Steward was off--that he was engaged for another--that I need
not refrain from going to the church where she was, unless I thought
it to disparage myself." Acting on this advice, Sir Edward goes to St.
Olave's next Sunday, and on coming out of church George Newman whispers
in his ear, "Good news! Good news!" After dinner George calls on Sir
Edward, who had taken a lodging in the sight of the widow's house, and
tells him that she "liked well his carriage, and that if his land were
not settled on his eldest son there was good hope." The bearer of such
news certainly merits oiling, so, Sir Edward says, "I gave him twenty
shillings." That evening Sir Edward supped with his rival, Sir Heneage
Finch, who gave him to understand that he himself despaired of his own
suit, and was ready to vacate the field, and even promised to assist
the worthy knight.
The plot now thickens. Sir Edward, on New Year's Day, in a fit of
injured dignity, demanded back those letters that had "been kept;"
they were promptly returned; he afterwards repented him of this rash
proceeding; Izaak Walton, angler, biographer, and man-milliner, was
enlisted in the cause, and laboured strenuously, like an honest man and
an angler, therein; and the widow, Sir Edward, and the enthusiastic
Izaak, all had wonderful dreams, which came to nothing. On the 9th of
January Sir Edward notes, "George Newman says she hath two suits of
silver plate, one in the country and the other here, and that she hath
beds of 100_l._ the bed!" Such a prize deserves striving for, and an
attack is commenced in a new quarter. George Newman, with Susan, the
widow's nursemaid, and her little child, going into Finsbury Fields
to walk, are met by Taylor, Sir Edward's landlord. Taylor inveigles
the child to come with him; George Newman and Susan follow, not
unwillingly. Sir Edward says, "I entertained the child with cake, and
gave him an amber box, and to them, wine. Susan professed that she and
all the house prayed for me, and told me the child called me 'father.'
I gave her 5_s._, and entreated her to desire her mistress not to be
offended at this, which I was so glad of. She said she thought she
would not." The widow's cousin Cradock arrives in town. "Izaak Walton,"
says Sir Edward, "undertook him at his first coming, and did his part
well. Cradock said he would do his best, if I would be ruled by him,"
&c. Other suitors now intervene, and occasion much anxiety. They, too,
have their canvassers and agents, and the widow's residence becomes a
perfect focus of intrigue. The Dean of Canterbury, Dr. Isaac Bargrave,
Sir Edward's relative, is brought to bear, and he procures Dr. Featley,
a celebrated city divine, to call on the widow and use his influence.
The affair begins to assume public importance. The grave Sir Henry
Wotton, coming from Eton to pay his respects to his Majesty, meets Sir
Edward in the Privy Chamber, and, with a knowing look, wishes him "a
full sail," &c. Alas! all this labour and bribery was destined to come
to nothing. The comedy ended by the widow, who all along had kept her
own counsel, marrying the smooth-tongued Sir Heneage Finch, who had sat
quietly in the background, probably knowing his position to be assured.
Sir Edward was more successful in a subsequent matrimonial enterprise.
He found an excellent and amiable wife, and must, we should think, have
often laughed over his adventures with the widow.[8]
[8] This very amusing _précis_ is slightly abridged from the _Athenæum_
journal.
Gretna-Green Marriages.
In the summer of 1753, a young lady at Ranelagh Gardens, Chelsea,
became acquainted with a handsome young gentleman. They danced together
on another day; they met at the same place, and again danced. He
was a handsome young fellow, and the lady was beautiful and wealthy,
as well as high-born. She was sister to the two leading statesmen of
England--Mr. Pelham, the Prime Minister; and the Duke of Newcastle,
who had been Secretary of State. Her lover was a notorious highwayman,
Jack Freeland by name, with many other aliases. He, professing to be a
gentleman of fortune, proposed marriage, to which she assented. From
reasons suggested about family objections on both sides, they agreed to
repair to the Fleet prison to be wedded. At the foot of Fleet Street,
matrimonial visitors in that day entered the region of touters, who
accosted couples with such addresses as "Married, sir?" "Wish to be
married, ma'am?" And by rival touters who asserted, "His parson be no
good--only a cove what mends shoes; get married with mine: mine is
a regular hordained parson." Perhaps a third assertion, that "Them
fellows' parsons be no good; get married respectable; show you in no
time to a real Oxford and Cambridge professor." Following these persons
up narrow passages on Ludgate Hill, the couples were married for such
fees as private bargain regulated in dingy up-stairs rooms of taverns:
or going into the Fleet Prison, were united there by clerical prisoners
who found the place too lucrative and pleasant as a lodging to make
them anxious about paying their debts to get out. Those prisoners, like
some other of the "Fleet parsons"--indeed it was from the prison that
the term "Fleet marriages" arose--had also their touters stationed in
the adjoining streets to bring them customers. Miss Pelham and her
gallant highwayman were conducted to a Fleet parson. But a gentleman
happened to observe them who knew both. To save the lady he caused the
robber-bridegroom to be arrested, and carried the tidings to the Prime
Minister, her brother. The case led to much discussion. In the heat
of offended dignity, the Pelhams caused Lord Chancellor Hardwicke to
introduce a Bill for the better regulation and solemnizing of marriage.
It passed hastily through both houses of Parliament, and became law.
Except in the case of Jews and Quakers, it required all parties to be
married by a regularly ordained clergyman of the Church, and only after
a due proclamation of banns.