By command of their Majesties.
Of six plays of which there were no bills in the Burney collection, I was
enabled to add instances of the performance of Mrs. Siddons on those
nights from a portion of that truly rare and valuable library purchased
by Government of the late Dr. Burney’s son for the British Museum.
Ladies this year wore goloshes, four distinct falls of lace from the
hat to the shoulders, and rolled curls on either side of the neck: they
continued to carry fans.[130]
1777.
I remember well that in an autumn evening of this year, during the time
my father lived in Norton Street,[131] going with him and his pupils on
a sketching party to what is now called Pancras Old Church; and that
Whitefield’s Chapel in Tottenham Court Road, Montague House, Bedford
House, and Baltimore House,[132] were then uninterruptedly seen from the
churchyard, which was at that time so rural that it was only enclosed
by a low and very old hand-railing, in some parts entirely covered with
docks and nettles. I recollect also that the houses on the north side
of Ormond Street commanded views of Islington, Highgate, and Hampstead,
including in the middle distance Copenhagen-house, Mother Red-cap’s, the
Adam and Eve, the Farthing Pie House, the Queen’s Head and Artichoke, and
the Jew’s Harp House.[133]
Early in this year Spiridione Roma,[134] who had cleaned the pictures
of the Judges then hanging in Guildhall, published a prospectus for
Bartolozzi’s print from the portrait of Mary Queen of Scots in Drapers’
Hall, said to have been painted by Zucchero.[135]
1778.
At this period I began to think there was something in a
prognostication announced to my dear mother by an old _star-gazer_ and
_tea-grouter_,[136] that, through life, I should be favoured by persons
of high rank; for, in this year, Charles Townley, Esq. (the collector
of the valuable marbles which now bear his name in the British Museum),
first noticed me when drawing in Mr. Nollekens’ studio, and pouched
me half a guinea to purchase paper and chalk.[137] This kindness was
followed up by Dr. Samuel Johnson, who was then sitting for his bust. The
Doctor, after looking at my drawing, then at the bust I was copying, put
his hand heavily upon my head, pronouncing “Very well, very well.” Here
I frequently saw him, and recollect his figure and dress with tolerable
correctness. He was tall, and must have been, when young, a powerful man:
he stooped, with his head inclined to the right shoulder: heavy brows,
sleepy eyes, nose very narrow between the eye-brows, but broad at the
bottom; lips enormously thick; chin, wide and double. He wore a stock
and wristbands; his wig was what is called a “_Busby_,” but often wanted
powder. His hat, a three-cornered one; coats, one a dark mulberry, the
other brown, inclining to the colour of Scotch snuff, large brass or gilt
buttons; black waistcoat and small-clothes--sometimes the latter were
corduroy; black stockings, large easy shoes, with buckles; his gait was
wide and awkwardly sprawling; latterly he used a _hooked_ walking-stick,
in consequence of his having saved the life of a young man as he was
crossing from Queenhithe to Bankside.
One of the Doctor’s sticks of this shape brought me into a scrape. It
was given to me by the late William Tunnard, Esq., of Bankside;[138] he
received it from his friend Mr. Perkins;[139] it was one of many that the
Doctor kept at Thrale’s. This stick I promised to my worthy and liberal
friend the Rev. James Beresford, of Kibworth, Market Harborough;[140]
but, alas! when I went to “stick-corner” somebody had walked it off.
However, if this page should meet the eye of its present possessor, I
hope, even should the “Bannister” I now rest upon be deemed useless by
Time’s sandy-glass, his conscience may order the Johnsonian relic to
be delivered to the above-named gentleman, whose property I declare it
unquestionably to be. My present strong stick, named “_Bannister_,”
was given to me when afflicted with the gout, by a fellow-sufferer,
universally known under the friendly appellation of “_Honest Jack_.”
I once saw him follow a sturdy thief, who had stolen his handkerchief in
Grosvenor Square, seize him by the collar with both hands, and shake him
violently, after which he quickly let him loose; and then, with his open
hand, gave him so powerful a smack on the face, that sent him off the
pavement staggering.
[Illustration: DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON
“Pockets which might have almost held the two volumes of his folio
dictionary.”]
Ladies appeared for the first time in riding-habits of men’s cloth, only
descending to the feet; they also walked with whips like short canes,
with a thong at the end. The elderly ladies continued to wear goloshes.
Fans were in general use.
For the honour of female genius, be it here recorded, that, in the
_Ladies’ Pocket-book_, published this year, an engraved group of nine
whole-length female figures was published, viz. Miss Carter, Mrs.
Barbauld, Angelica Kauffman, Mrs. Sheridan, Mrs. Lenox, Mrs. Montague,
Miss More, Mrs. Macaulay, and Mrs. Griffith, each lady in the character
of a Muse. Four Pocket-books appeared this year, entitled _Ladies’
Pocket-book_, _Ladies’ own Memorandum Book_, _Ladies’ Annual Journal_,
and _Ladies’ Complete Pocket-book_.[141]
1779.
On Monday, February 1st, Taylor, the facetious pupil of Frank Hayman, and
the old friend of Jonathan Tyers, lifted Nollekens’ studio door-latch,
put in his head, and announced, “For the information of some of the sons
of Phidias, I beg to observe, that David Garrick is now on his way to
pay his respects to Poet’s Corner. I left him just as he was quitting
the boards of the Adelphi.”[142] I am now employing the exact words he
made use of, though certainly the levity was misapplied on so solemn an
occasion.
I begged of my father, who then carved for Mr. Nollekens, to allow me
to go to Charing Cross to see the funeral pass, which he did with some
reluctance. I was there in a few minutes, followed him to the Abbey,
heard the service, and saw him buried.[143]
Mr. Garrick died on the 20th of January, in the back room of the first
floor, in his house in the Adelphi. The ceiling of the drawing-room
was painted by Zucchi: the subject, Venus attired by the Graces. The
chimneypiece in this room is said to have cost £800.[144]
On a night when Mr. Garrick was acting the part of Lear, one of the
soldiers who stood on the stage blubbered like a child. Mr. Garrick, who
was as fond of a compliment as most men, when the play was over, sent
for the man to his room, and gave him half a crown. It was the custom
formerly for two soldiers to stand on the stage during the time of
performance, one at either end of the proscenium.
This year the Grotto Garden, Rosamond Row, near the London Spa, was kept
by Jackson, a man famous for grottoes and fireworks. He had made great
additions to it, viz. a new Mounted Fountain, etc. The admittance was
sixpence.[145]
[Illustration: “PERDITA” ROBINSON
“She imprinted a kiss on my cheek, and said, ‘There, you little rogue.’”
_J. T. Smith_]
1781.
Although I could model and carve a little, I longed to be an engraver,
and wished much to be placed under Bartolozzi, who then lived in Bentinck
Street, Berwick Street.[146] My father took me to him, with a letter
of introduction from Mr. Wilton, the sculptor. Mr. Bartolozzi, after
looking at my imitations of several of Rembrandt and Ostade’s etchings,
declared that he should have been glad some years previous to take such a
youth, but that, in consequence of ill-treatment from some of his pupils,
he had made up his mind to take no more. The Bishop of Peterborough
(Dr. Hinchliffe),[147] one of my father’s patrons, then prevailed on
Sherwin to let me in at half-price; and under his roof I remained for
nearly three years. Here I saw all the beautiful women of the day; and,
being considered a lively lad, I was noticed by several of them. Here I
received a kiss from the beautiful Mrs. Robinson.
This impression was made upon me nearly as I can recollect in the
following way:--It fell to my turn that morning, as a pupil, to attend
the visitors, and Mrs. Robinson came into the room singing. She asked to
see a drawing which Mr. Sherwin had made of her, which he had placed in
an upper room. When I assured her that Mr. Sherwin was not at home, “Do
try to find the drawing of me, and I will reward you, my little fellow,”
said she. I, who had seen Rosetta, in _Love in a Village_, the preceding
evening, hummed to myself, as I went upstairs, “With a kiss, a kiss, and
I’ll reward you with a kiss.”
I had no sooner entered the room with the drawing in my hand, than she
imprinted a kiss on my cheek, and said, “There, you little rogue.” I
remember that Mrs. Darby, her mother, accompanied her, and had brought
a miniature, painted by Cosway, set in diamonds, presented by a high
personage, of whom Mrs. Robinson spoke with the highest respect to
the hour of her dissolution.[148] The colour of her carriage was a
light blue, and upon the centre of each panel a basket of flowers was
so artfully painted, that as she drove along it was mistaken for a
coronet.[149]
1782.
Early in the month of December, this year, Sherwin painted, engraved,
and published a glorious portrait of Mrs. Siddons, in the character of
the Grecian Daughter. That lady sat in the front room of his house, St.
James’s Street. I obeyed Mr. Sherwin’s orders in raising and lowering the
centre window-curtains, the shutters of the extreme ones being closed for
the adjustment of that fine light and shade upon her face which he has so
beautifully displayed in the print. This print, in consequence of a purse
having been presented to Mrs. Siddons by her admirers in the profession
of the Law, was dedicated to “The Gentlemen of the Bar.”[150]
[Illustration: MRS. SIDDONS
“A glorious portrait.”]
By the liberality of my amiable friend, William Henderson, Esq.,[151] I
am in possession of a cast taken by Lochee, the modeller, from the face
of this wonderful actress, which I intend leaving to that invaluable
gallery of theatrical portraits, so extensively formed by that favourite
offspring of Nature, Charles Mathews,[152] Esq., at Kentish Town; but
should that collection ever be dispersed, which I most heartily trust it
never will be, then I desire that it may go to the Green-room of Drury
Lane Theatre. To this bequest I subscribe my name,
Witnesses to this my declaration,
John Thomas Smith.
John Bannister.
-- Harley.[153]
1783.
One of the numerous subjects which I drew this year for Mr. Crowle,[154]
was the old brick gateway entrance to St. Giles’s churchyard, then
standing opposite to Mr. Remnent’s timber-yard, in which drawing I
introduced the figure of old Simon, a very remarkable beggar, who,
together with his dog, generally took their station against one of the
gate-piers. This man, who wore several hats, at the same time suffered
his beard to grow, which was of a dirty yellow-white. Upon his fingers
were numerous brass rings. He had several waistcoats, and as many
coats, increasing in size, so that he was enabled by the extent of the
uppermost garment to cover the greater part of the bundles, containing
rags of various colours; and distinct parcels with which he was girded
about, consisting of books, canisters containing bread, cheese, and
other articles of food; matches, a tinder-box, and meat for his dog;
cuttings of curious events from old newspapers; scraps from Fox’s _Book
of Martyrs_, and three or four dog’s-eared and greasy thumbed numbers of
the _Gentleman’s Magazine_.
From these and such like productions he gained a great part of the
information with which he sometimes entertained those persons who stopped
to look at him.
When I knew him,--for he was one of my pensioners,--he and his dog
lodged under a staircase in an old shattered building called “Rats’
Castle,” in Dyot Street, mentioned in _Nollekens and his Times_ as that
artist’s rendezvous to discover models for his Venuses. Dyot Street has
disappeared, and George Street is built on its site.[155] His walks
extended to the entrances only of the adjacent streets, whither he either
went to make a purchase at the baker’s or the cook’s shops. Rowlandson
drew and etched him several times; in one instance Simon had a female
placed before him, which the artist called “Simon and Iphigenia.” There
is a large whole-length print of him, published by John Seago, with the
following inscription:--
SIMON EDY, born at Woodford, near Thrapston, Northamptonshire, in 1709:
died May 18, 1783.[156]
Respecting his last dog, for he had possessed several, which wicked boys
had beguiled from him, or the skinners of those animals had snatched up,
the following anecdote is interesting:--A Smithfield drover, whose dog’s
left eye had been much injured by a bullock, solicited Simon to take him
under his care till he got well. The mendicant cheerfully consented, and
forthwith, with a piece of string, confined him to his arm; and when, by
being more quiet, he had regained his health sufficiently to resume his
services to his master, old Simon, with the most affectionate reluctance,
gave him up, and was obliged to content himself with the pleasure of
patting his sides on a market-day, when he followed his master’s drove
to the slaughter-house in Union Street. These tender and stolen caresses
from the hand which had bathed his wound, Rover would regularly stop to
receive at St. Giles’s porch, and then hastily run to get up with the
bullocks. Poor Simon, after missing the dog as well as his master for
some weeks, was one morning most agreeably surprised to see the faithful
animal crouch behind his feet, and with an uplifted and sorrowful eye,
for he had entirely lost the blemished one, implore his protection by
licking his beard, as a successor to his departed and lamented keeper.
Rover followed Simon, according to Dr. Gardner’s idea, to “his last and
best bedroom”;[157] or, according to Funeral Weever,[158] his “bed of
ease.” Shortly before Simon’s death, I related to Mrs. Nollekens several
instances of Rover’s attachment. “I think, Sir,” observed that lady, “you
once told me that he had been a shepherd’s dog from Harrow-on-the-Hill.
I don’t like a shepherd’s dog: it has no tail,[159] and its coat is
as rough as the bristles of a cocoanut. No, Sir, my little French
dog is my pet.” However, fortunately for poor Simon, the Hon. Daines
Barrington[160] was present when Dr. Johnson’s Pekuah[161] made this
silly remark, for he never after passed the kind-hearted mendicant
without giving him sixpence. There was an elegy printed for poor Simon,
with a woodcut portrait of him.
[Illustration: BENJAMIN WEST, P.R.A.
“Sir, I was once a Quaker, and have never left their principles.”]
Ugly and deficient in sight and tail as Rover certainly was, it is also
as equally unquestionable that Simon never had occasion to carry him to
Fox Court, St. James’s Street, for the recovery of his health, under
the direction of Dr. Norman,[162] the canine physician, so strenuously
recommended upon all occasions by George Keate, the poet,[163] and
far-famed connoisseur. No, poor Rover was kept in health by being
allowed to range the streets from six till nine, the hours in which the
nightly stealers of the canine race, and the dexterous of all dentists,
were on their way to Austin’s, at Islington,[164] to dispose of their
cruel depredations upon many a true friend to the indigent blind, “to
whom the blackbird sings as sweetly as to the fairest lady in the land.”
1784.
Mr. West, to whom I had sat for the head of St. John in his picture of
the Last Supper, for the altar of St. George’s Chapel, Windsor,[165]
frequently engaged me to bid for him at auctions, an honour also
occasionally conferred on me for similar services by Sir Joshua Reynolds.
It was during one of these commissions in this year, that the late
Richard Wyatt, Esq., of Milton Place, Egham, Surrey, noticed me; he was
then starting as a collector of pictures, prints, and drawings.[166] That
gentleman kindly invited me to his house, and not only introduced me to
his amiable family, but to his most intimate neighbours. He allowed me
the use of a horse, to enable me more readily to visit the beauties of
Windsor Park and Forest, the scenery of which so attracted and delighted
me, that during one month’s stay I made nearly one hundred studies. The
two Sandbys were visitors to my patron; and to Thomas, then Deputy Ranger
of Windsor Great Park, a situation given to him by his Royal Highness
William, Duke of Cumberland (Thomas Sandby had been engineer draughtsman
to his Royal Highness at the battle of Culloden), I am indebted for
my knowledge of lineal perspective. The Misses Wyatt were delightful
persons, and much noticed at the Egham Balls, for one or two of which
occasions I had the pleasure of painting butterflies on a muslin dress,
and also imitating the “Sir Walter Raleigh,” the “Pride of Culloden,” and
other curious and rare carnations, on tiffany, for their bouquets, which
were then scented and much worn.
I was here introduced to Viscount Maynard, to whom Mr. Wyatt had been
guardian. His Lordship married the celebrated Nancy Parsons,[167] and
was a most spirited draughtsman of a horse. Among other gentlemen, I
was also introduced to the late Sir Richard Colt Hoare, Bart.,[168]
and the late Rev. George Huddesford,[169] of Oxford, Kett’s satirist,
and the witty author of poems entitled _Salmagundi_, dedicated to Mr.
Wyatt. Several of these I have often heard him most humorously sing,
particularly those of “the renowned History and rare Achievements of John
Wilkes.” The chorus ran thus:--
“John Wilkes he was for Middlesex,
They chose him knight of the shire;
And he made a fool of Alderman Bull,
And call’d Parson Horne a liar.”
“The Barber’s Nuptials,” which may be seen in the _Elegant Extracts_, and
almost every other collection of fugitive poetry, was also written by
him.[170]
Mr. Huddesford had studied under Sir Joshua Reynolds, and had copied many
of the President’s pictures with tolerable ability, with an intention
of pursuing the arts, but his master-talent was more conspicuously
displayed in compositions of fruit, in which his representations of ripe
and melting peaches, and the rich transparent grape, were inimitable.
The late Sir George Beaumont, Bart., with whom Mr. Huddesford had been
extremely intimate, was in possession of a remarkably fine specimen by
him, which the worthy baronet frequently allowed to be copied.
Huddesford, after the death of Warton, chalked on the walls of the
College--
“The glorious sun of Trinity is set,
And nothing left but farthing-candle Kett.”[171]
He published _The Elements of General Knowledge_, which were called, at
Oxford “The Elements of General Ignorance”; and his last work, _Emily_,
procured him the name of Emily Kett. His supposed resemblance to a horse
was the occasion of much academical waggery:--his letter-box was often
filled with oats; and when he wished to have his portrait taken, he was
sent to the famous Stubbs,[172] the horse painter, who, on receiving him,
and expecting to hear whether his commission was to be for a filly or a
colt, was much surprised to find Kett pompously announce that he expected
the likeness to be in full canonicals.
Samuel Woodforde (afterwards a Royal Academician)[173] was employed by
Mr. Wyatt, in consequence of an introduction by Sir Richard Colt Hoare,
Bart., to paint trees and landscapes on the panels of his drawing-room,
mostly from scenes in Windsor Park and Forest. Mr. Wyatt was one of
Opie’s early friends. He painted for that gentleman several of the
Burrell and Hoare family; indeed, he was instrumental in bringing that
artist out of his humble and modest lodging in Orange Court, Leicester
Fields,[174] to his house in Queen Street, next door to that for many
years occupied by that comic and most exemplary child of Nature, the
late Miss Pope,[175] whose inimitable acting as Miss Allscrip, in _The
Heiress_, not only delighted the public, but was deservedly complimented
by its author, General Burgoyne, who at one time lived in Hertford
Street, May Fair, in the house that had been inhabited by Lord Sandwich,
and subsequently by R. B. Sheridan and Mr. Dent.[176]
This year, Mr. Flaxman, who then lived in Wardour Street, introduced me
to one of his early patrons, the Rev. Henry Mathew, of Percy Chapel,
Charlotte Street, which was built for him;[177] he was also afternoon
preacher at St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields. At that gentleman’s house, in
Rathbone Place, I became acquainted with Mrs. Mathew and her son, the
late John Hunter’s favourite pupil. With that gentleman, in his youthful
days, I had many an innocent frolic. I was obliged to him in several
instances, and can safely say no one could excel him as an amiable
friend, a dutiful son, or excellent husband. At Mrs. Mathew’s most
agreeable conversaziones I first met the late William Blake,[178] the
artist, to whom she and Mr. Flaxman had been truly kind. There I have
often heard him read and sing several of his poems. He was listened to by
the company with profound silence, and allowed by most of the visitors
to possess original and extraordinary merit. A time will come when the
numerous, though now very rare, works of Blake (in consequence of his
taking very few impressions from the plates before they were rubbed out
to enable him to use them for other subjects) will be sought after with
the most intense avidity.[179] He was considered by Stothard and Flaxman
(and will be by those of congenial minds, if we can reasonably expect
such again) with the highest admiration. These artists allowed him their
most unqualified praise, and were ever anxious to recommend him and
his productions to the patrons of the Arts; but alas! they were not so
sufficiently appreciated as to enable Blake, as every one could wish,
to provide an independence for his surviving partner Kate, who adored
his memory. The late Sir Thomas Lawrence has been heard to declare that
England would be for ever immortalized by the productions of Sir Joshua
Reynolds, Flaxman, and Stothard.
Mrs. Mathew was not only a great encourager of musical composers,
particularly the Italians, but truly kind to young artists. She
patronized Oram, Loutherbourg’s assistant: he was the son of _Old_ Oram,
of the Board of Works, an artist whose topographical pictures possess
considerable merit, and whose name is usually introduced in picture
catalogues under the appellation of “_Old_ Oram.”[180]
Mr. Flaxman, in return for the favours he had received from the Mathew
family, decorated the back parlour of their house, which was their
library, with models (I think they were in putty and sand) of figures in
niches, in the Gothic manner; and Oram painted the window in imitation of
stained glass; the bookcases, tables, and chairs were also ornamented to
accord with the appearance of those of antiquity.
Rathbone Place, at this time, entirely consisted of private houses, and
its inhabitants were all of high respectability. I have heard Mrs.
Mathew say that the three rebel lords, Lovat, Kilmarnock, and Balmerino,
had at different times resided in it; and that she had also been informed
that the floor of her parlours, which is now some steps above the street,
was even with the floor of the recess under the front pediment of St.
Paul’s Cathedral.
1785.
Many a summer’s evening, when I have been enjoying Runnymede, and its
far surrounding variegated meadows, from the wooden seat of Cooper’s
Hill (upon which were engraven numerous initials of lovers, and the
dates of their eternal vows), little did I think that in my future
days it would be in my power to state that I had made drawings of most
of the parish churches as well as family mansions which were then in
view, for the topographical collections of the Duke of Roxborough, Lord
Leicester, the Hon. Horace Walpole, Mr. Bull, Mr. Storer, Dr. Lort,
Mr. Haughton James, Mr. Crowle, and Sir James Winter Lake, Bart.[181]
Several of these, which have since been distributed, I now and then
meet with in the portfolios of more modern illustrators, and they bring
to my recollection some truly pleasing periods. It was in the old house
at Ankerwycke that I was introduced by Lady Lake to Lady Shouldham.
It was at Old Windsor that I dined with Mrs. Vassal, and at Staines
Bridge with the beautiful Miss Towry, since Lady Ellenborough. It was
at Chertsey I was first introduced to Mr. Douglas, Colonel St. Paul,
and those truly kind-hearted characters, Mr. Fox and Mrs. Chamberlain
Clark. At Staines I was benefited by the skill of Dr. Pope;--at
Harrow made known to Dr. Drury;--at Southgate to Alderman Curtis;--at
Trent Park to Mr. Wigston;--at Forty Hill, Enfield, to the antiquary
Gough;--at Bull’s Cross to the facetious Captain Horsley, brother to the
Bishop of Rochester, and the Boddams;--at the “Firs,” Edmonton, to my
ever-to-be-revered friend the late Sir James Winter Lake, Bart.;--at Weir
Hall to the benevolent and highly esteemed Mr. Robert Jones, Mr. Webster
and his friendly son;--at Bruce Castle to Mr. Townsend;--at Tottenham
to Mr. John Snell, and to Mr. Samuel Salt. This gentleman informed me
that he was one of the four who buried Sterne.[182] Of the friendly
inhabitants of these houses, and many others to whom I had the pleasure
of being known, within the extensive view from Cooper’s Hill, very few
are now living.
During the Races on Runnymede, I have often seen their late Majesties
George the Third and Queen Charlotte driving about in an open
four-wheeled chaise, enjoying the pleasures of the course on equal
terms with the visitors. I remember to have been spoken to three times
by his Majesty; once on a very foggy morning at a stile near Clewer,
when I stepped back to give a gentleman, who had nearly approached it
in the adjoining field, the preference of coming over first; but upon
his saying, “Come over, come over,” I knew the voice to be the King’s,
consequently I took off my hat, and obeyed. His Majesty observed in his
quick manner, when getting over, “A thick fog, thick fog.” Another time,
when I was drawing an old oak in Windsor Park, the King and Queen drove
very near me in their chaise, and one of his Majesty’s horses shied at my
paper; upon which the King called out to me, “Shut your book, sir, shut
your book!”
The last time I was noticed by the King, I must say his Majesty appeared
to be a little startled, as well he might. It was under the following
circumstances. Wishing to make a drawing of one of the original stalls
in St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, before they were finally taken down,
a shilling prevailed upon one of the workmen to lock me in during his
dinner-hour. However, it so happened that his Majesty, who frequently
let himself into the Chapel at that time to look at the progress of the
works, did not perceive me, as I stood in a corner, but on his return
from the altar, he asked, “Who are you, sir? Oh! you startled my horse in
the park the other day. What are you about?” I then held up my drawing;
and his Majesty, who must have noticed my embarrassment, did me the
honour to say, “Very correct; I believe you are at Mr. Wyatt’s,--a very
good man;--I have a high regard for him and all his family.”
During the time I was studying the scenery of Windsor Park, Mr. Thomas
Sandby, who was busily engaged in placing the numerous stones to form
the representation of rocks and caverns at the head of the Virginia
Water, in Windsor Park, frequently dug for stones in Bagshot Heath.
Fortunately he discovered one of an immense size, which he thought would
afford him a massive breadth in his composition, but it was so large he
was under the necessity of breaking it with gunpowder; however, fortune
favoured his design by blowing it into two nearly equal parts, so that
he was enabled to join them on their destined spot to great advantage as
to general effect. This was Mr. Thomas Sandby’s second attempt at the
water-head;[183] he had in the first instance failed by using only sand
and clay, for which failure that worthy man was not only nicknamed “Tommy
Sandbank,” but roughly scourged by the throng of Huddesford, who composed
a song upon the occasion, from which I have selected the following
verses:--
1.
When Tom was employ’d to construct the Pond Head,
As he ponder’d the task, to himself thus he said:
“Since a head I must make, what’s a head but a noddle?
So I think I had best take my own for a model.”
Derry down, etc.
2.
Then his work our projector began out of hand,
The outside he constructed with rubbish and sand;
But brains on this head had been quite thrown away,
Those he kept for himself, so he lined it with clay.
5.
But the water at length, to his utter dismay,
A bankruptcy made, and his head ran away;--
’Twas a thick head for certain; but, had it been thicker,
No head can endure that is always in liquor.
12.
Hence, by way of a Moral, the fallacy’s shown
Of the maxim that two heads are better than one;--
For none e’er was so scurvily dealt with before,
By the head that he made and the head that he wore.
Derry down, etc.
[Illustration: FRANCIS GROSE
“A chiel’s amang ye takin’ notes.”]
For many years the back parlour of the “Feathers”[184] public-house
(a sign complimentary to its neighbour, Frederick, Prince of Wales,
who inhabited Leicester House), which stood on the side of Leicester
Fields, had been frequented by artists, and several well-known amateurs.
Among the former were Stuart,[185] the Athenian traveller; Scott,[186]
the marine painter; old Oram, of the Board of Works;[187] Luke
Sullivan,[188] the miniature painter, who engraved that inimitable print
from Hogarth’s picture of the “March to Finchley,” now in the Foundling
Hospital; Captain Grose,[189] the author of _Antiquities of England_,
_History of Armour_,[190] etc.; Mr. Hearne,[191] the elegant and correct
draughtsman of many of England’s Antiquities (so beautifully engraved
by his amiable friend Byrne), Nathaniel Smith, my father, etc. The
amateurs were Henderson, the actor; Mr. Morris, a silversmith; Mr. John
Ireland, then a watchmaker in Maiden Lane, and since editor of Boydell’s
edition of Dr. Trusler’s work, _Hogarth Moralized_; and Mr. Baker,
of St. Paul’s Churchyard, whose collection of Bartolozzi’s works was
unequalled.[192] When this house, the sign of the “Feathers,” was taken
down to make way for Dibdin’s Theatre, called the “Sans Souci,” several
of its frequenters adjourned to the “Coach and Horses” public-house in
Castle Street, Leicester Fields; but in consequence of their not proving
customers sufficiently expensive for that establishment, the landlord one
evening venturing to light them out with a farthing candle, they betook
themselves to Gerard Street, and thence to the “Blue Posts” in Dean
Street, where the club dwindled into two or three members, viz. Edridge,
the portrait draughtsman; Alexander, of the British Museum; and Edmunds,
the upholsterer, who had been undertaker to the greater part of the
club.[193]
Mr. Baker, the gentleman before mentioned, being a single man, and
sometimes keeping rather late hours, was now and then accompanied by a
friend half way home, by way of a walk. It was on one of these nights,
that, just as he and I were approaching Temple Bar, about one o’clock,
a most unaccountable appearance claimed our attention,--it was no
less an object than an elephant, whose keepers were coaxing it to pass
through the gateway. He had been accompanied by several persons from the
Tower Wharf with tall poles, but was principally guided by two men with
ropes, each walking on either side of the street, to keep him as much
as possible in the middle on his way to the menagerie, Exeter Change;
to which destination, after passing St. Clement’s Church, he steadily
trudged on with strict obedience to the commands of his keepers. I had
the honour afterwards of partaking of a pot of Barclay’s Entire with this
same elephant, which high mark of his condescension was bestowed when
I accompanied my friend the late Sir James Winter Lake, Bart., to view
the rare animals in Exeter Change--that gentleman being assured by the
elephant’s keeper that if he would offer the beast a shilling, he would
see the noble animal nod his head and drink a pot of porter. The elephant
no sooner had taken the shilling, which he did in the mildest manner from
the palm of Sir James’s hand, than he gave it to the keeper, and eagerly
watched his return with the beer. The elephant then, after placing his
proboscis to the top of the tankard, drew up nearly the whole of the then
good beverage. The keeper observed, “You will hardly believe, gentlemen,
but the little he has left is quite warm;” upon this we were tempted to
taste it, and it really was so. This animal was afterwards disposed of
for the sum of one thousand guineas.[194]
[Illustration: COVENT GARDEN THROUGH HOGARTH’S EYES
“The first square inhabited by the great.”
_J. T. Smith_]
1786.
Possibly the present frequenters of print sales may receive some little
entertainment from a description of a few of the most singular of those
who constantly attended the auctions during my boyish days. The elder
Langford, of Covent Garden, introduced by Foote as Mr. Puff, in his farce
of _The Minor_,[195] I well remember; yet by reason of my being obliged
to attend more regularly the subsequent evening sales at Paterson’s
and Hutchins’s--next-door-neighbour auctioneers, on the north side of
King Street, Covent Garden,[196] I am better enabled to speak to the
peculiarities of their visitors than those of Mr. Langford.
It was in 1783, during the sales of the extensive collection of Mr.
Moser, the first keeper of the Royal Academy,[197] and Mr. Millan,
bookseller at Charing Cross,[198] that I noticed the following remarkable
characters. I shall, however, first endeavour to describe the person of
Paterson, a man much respected by all who really knew him; but perhaps
by none with more sincerity than Doctor Johnson, who had honoured him
by standing godfather to his son Samuel, and whom he continued to
notice as he grew up with the most affectionate regard, as appears in
the letters which the doctor wrote in his favour to his friends Sir
Joshua Reynolds and Mr. Humphrey, printed by Boswell.[199] Mr. Paterson
was in height about five feet eight inches, and stooped a little in
the shoulders. When I first knew him, he was a spare man, and wore a
powdered clubwig, similar to that worn by Tom Davies, the bookseller and
biographer of Garrick, of whom there is an engraved portrait. Paterson
was really a walking library, and of manners precisely coinciding with
the old school. I remember that by a slight impediment in his speech,
he always pronounced the letter R as a V; for instance, Dart’s _History
of Canterbe_v_y_, and a dromedary, he pronounced a d_wa_mmeda_v_y;
notwithstanding this defect, he publicly lectured on the beauties of
Shakspeare.
Mr. Gough,[200] the Editor of Camden’s _Britannia_, was the constant
frequenter of his book-sales. This antiquary was about the same height
as the auctioneer, but in a wig very different, as he wore, when I knew
him, a short shining curled one. His coat was of “formal cut,” but he
had no round belly; and his waistcoat and smallclothes were from the same
piece. He was mostly in boots, and carried a swish-whip when he walked.
His temper I know was not good, and he seldom forgave those persons who
dared to bid stoutly against him for a lot at an auction: his eyes, which
were small and of the winky-pinky sort, fully announced the fretful
being. As for his judgment in works of art, if he had any it availed him
little, being as much satisfied with the dry and monotonous manner of Old
Basire,[201] as our late President West was with the beautiful style of
Woollett and Hall.
Dr. Lort,[202] the constant correspondent of Old Cole,[203] was a man
of his own stamp, broad and bony, in height nearly six feet, of manners
equally morose, and in every respect just as forbidding. His wig was a
large _Busby_, and usually of a brown appearance, for want of a dust of
powder. He was chaplain to the Duke of Devonshire; and as he wore thick
worsted stockings, and walked anyhow through the mud, considered himself
in no way obliged to give the street-sweepers a farthing. He had some
wit, however, but it was often displayed in a cowardly manner, being
mostly directed towards his little opponent, Doctor Gossett,[204] who
was unfortunately much afflicted by deformity, and of a temper easily
roused by too frequent a repetition of threepenny biddings at Paterson’s.
Paterson sold his books singly, and took threepence at a bidding.
Hutchins was about five feet nine inches, but in appearance much shorter
by reason of his corpulency. His high forehead, when compared with a
perpendicular, was at an angle of forty-five. He was what Spurzheim
would call a _simple_ honest man: his wife was of the same build, but
most powerfully possessed the organ of inquisitiveness, which induced
her to be a constant occupant of a pretty large and easy chair, by the
side of the fire in the auction-room, in order that she might see how
business was going on. Mr. and Mrs. Hutchins appeared so affectionately
mutual in all their public conclusions, that Caleb Whitefoord, the witty
wine-merchant, one of the print-sale visitors, attempted to flourish off
the following observation as one of his invention: “You see,” said he to
Captain Baillie, “Cocker is not always correct; _one_ and _one_ do not in
this instance make _two_.”[205]
Caleb Whitefoord[206] was what is usually called a slight-built man,
and much addicted when in conversation to shrug up his shoulders. He had
a thin face, with little eyes; his deportment was gentlemanly, though
perhaps sometimes too high for his situation in life. His dress, upon
which he bestowed great attention, was in some instances singular,
particularly in his hat and wig, which were remarkable as being solitary
specimens of the Garrick School. He considered himself _a first-rate_
judge of pictures, always preferring those by the _old masters_, but
which he endeavoured to improve by touching up; and when in this
conceited employment, I have frequently seen him fall back in his chair,
and turn his head from one shoulder to the other, with as much admiration
of what he had done, as Hogarth’s sign-painter of the Barley-mow in his
inimitable print of Beer Street.
[Illustration: LONDON STREET MERCHANTS: UMBRELLAS TO MEND