_No Cross Buns._
“Mrs. Hand respectfully informs her friends, and the public, that in
consequence of the great concourse of people which assembled before her
house at a very early hour, on the morning of Good Friday; by which her
neighbours (with whom she has always lived in friendship and repute) have
been much alarmed and annoyed; it having also been intimated, that to
encourage or countenance a tumultuous assembly at this particular period,
might be attended with consequences more serious than have hitherto been
apprehended; desirous, therefore, of testifying her regard and obedience
to those laws by which she is happily protected, she is determined,
though much to her loss, not to sell _Cross Buns_ on that day, to any
person whatever;--but Chelsea Buns as usual.
“Mrs. Hand would be wanting in gratitude to a generous public, who, for
more than fifty years past, have so warmly patronised and encouraged
her shop, to omit so favourable an opportunity of offering her sincere
acknowledgments for their kind favours; at the same time, to assure them
she will, to the utmost of her power, endeavour to merit a continuance of
them.”[258]
1794.
The origin of wooden tessellated floors having been a subject of
much inquiry among many of my friends, I here insert a copy of an
advertisement introduced in a catalogue of books, published 1676, under
the licence of Roger L’Estrange.[259]
“There is now in the press, and almost finished, that excellent piece
of architecture,[260] written by Andrea Palladio, translated out of
Italian, with an Appendix, touching Doors and Windows, by Pierre le Muet,
Architect to the French King: translated out of French, by G. R.; also
Rules and Demonstrations, with several designs for the framing any manner
of Roofs, either above pitch, or under pitch, whether square or bevel;
never published before; with designs of Floors of Variety of small pieces
of Wood, lately made in the Palace of the Queen-Mother, at Somerset
House--a curiosity never practised in England.
“The third Edition, corrected and enlarged, with the new model of the
Cathedral of St. Paul’s as it is now building.”
The floors of the oldest parts of the British Museum,[261] retained
specimens of this tessellated work, until they were removed on the
construction of the new building.
1795.
Having often heard my father expatiate upon the extraordinary talents
of Keyse,[262] the proprietor of Bermondsey Spa, as a painter, I went
one July evening to Hungerford, and engaged “Copper Holmes”[263] to
scull me to “Pepper Alley Stairs”; from thence I proceeded to the
gardens. This I was the more anxious to accomplish, as that once famed
place of recreation was most rapidly on the decline. I entered under a
semicircular awning next to the proprietor’s house, which I well remember
was a large wooden-fronted building, consisting of long square divisions,
in imitation of scantlings of stone. My surprise was great, for no one
appeared, but three idle waiters, and they were clumped for the want of
a call. The space before the orchestra, which was about a quarter the
size of that of Vauxhall, was in the centre, totally destitute of trees,
the few that these gardens could then boast of being those planted close
to the fronts of the surrounding boxes of accommodation, as a screen to
prevent the public from overlooking the gardens.
My attention was attracted by a board with a ruffled hand, within a
sky-blue painted sleeve, pointing to the staircase which led “To the
Gallery of Paintings.” In this room I at first considered myself as the
only spectator; and as the evening sun shone brilliantly, the refraction
of the lights gave me a splendid and uninterrupted view of the numerous
pictures with which it was closely hung, each of which had just claims
to my attention, as I found myself frequently walking backwards to enjoy
their deceptive effects. When I had gone round the gallery, which by
the bye was oblong, and in size similar to that of the Academician, J.
M. W. Turner, in Queen Anne Street, I voluntarily recommenced my view,
but, in stepping back to study the picture of the Green-stall, “I ask
your pardon,” said I, for I had trodden upon some one’s toes; “Sir, it
is granted,” replied a little thick-set man, with a round face, arch
look, closely 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 Greengrocer’s Shop,” said I, “is inimitable; the
drops of water on that Savoy appear as if they had just fallen from the
element. Van Huysum 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
Dollond[264] 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 South Down leg! or is it Bagshot?”[265]
“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, in 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 is very
extraordinary, Sir, how 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. Have
you not observed, Sir Joshua, how white the posts and rails on the public
roads are, though they have not been repainted for years?--that arises
from constant air and bleaching.’
[Illustration: J. M. W. TURNER, R.A.