“NO. 19, ETON STREET, GROSVENOR PLACE,
“_January 6th, 1807_.
“I beg leave, dear Madam, to make my grateful acknowledgments
for the favour of your kind remembrance. Your ticket with
those of dear Miss Betsworth, and the Miss Jordans, was sent to
my present habitation on New Year’s day.
“I have not slept in London since I came from the Wealds of
Kent, where I passed my summer upon a visit to Sir Walter and
Lady Jane James, and their lovely family.[355] It is near a
grand scene of Gothic magnificence, called Bayham Abbey, a seat
of Lord Camden’s, the brother of Lady Jane. In their peaceful
retreat and accomplished society, I have very much recovered
my health and spirits, and hope to have the happiness of
seeing you soon, as I am now looking for something to inhabit
in London. In the meantime, if you, dear Madam, or the Miss
Jordans, will do me the honour of calling at my present abode,
which are two rooms, where I keep my clothes and trumpery, I
shall be much flattered; and beg you to accept the compliments
of the season, and a sincere wish that you may see many,
many returns, with every happiness you are so well entitled
to expect. Adieu, my dearest Madam. Be pleased to make my
compliments to the ladies, and believe me your most obliged,
etc.,
“F. ABINGTON.”[356]
[Illustration: MRS. JORDAN
“The very sound of the little familiar word _bud_ from her lips … was a
whole concentrated world of the power of loving.”--_Leigh Hunt_]
1816.
As a playful relaxation from my former more serious applications,
I commenced my work of the most remarkable London Beggars, with
biographical sketches of each character.[357] By this publication I
gained more money than by all my antiquarian labours united. Her late
Majesty, Queen Charlotte, and the Princess Elizabeth, much encouraged
their publicity; but I must acknowledge that my greatest success was
owing to the warm and friendly exertions of the late Charles Cowper,[358]
Esq., of the Albany, a gentleman whose memory must be dear to every one
who had the pleasure of knowing him.
Much about this time, the Print Room of the British Museum was closed, in
consequence of the death of the highly talented Mr. William Alexander,
when several friends exerted their interest to procure me the situation
of Keeper, an appointment which, I hope, I have held with no small
benefit to that National Institution, and with credit to myself. The
interest required to obtain this appointment may be conceived, when the
number of candidates is considered. The following letter was written
by his Grace the late Archbishop of Canterbury to one of his Grace’s
relations:--
“ADDINGTON, _Sept. 16th, 1816_.
“MY DEAR MADAM,--With such interest as Mr. J. T. Smith
possesses, I am astonished he should think it worth while to
waste his strength in pursuit of such a trifling office as that
which is now vacant in the Museum.
“It is impossible to resist the testimony which your Ladyship,
and many others, have borne to his merits and qualifications.
He certainly shall have my vote; and I have reason to believe
he will have the votes of the other two principal Trustees, to
whom the appointment belongs.
“C. CANTUAR.”[359]
1817.
Perhaps the only gala day now which gladdens the heart of the loyal
spectator, is the one afforded by Thomas Doggett, comedian, on the 1st
of August, to commemorate the accession of the House of Brunswick. This
scene is sure to be picturesque and cheerful, should the glorious sun,
“that gems the sea, and every land that blooms,” reflect the pendent
streamers of its variegated show, in the quivering eddies of Father
Thames’s silver tide. At what time Mr. Thomas Doggett was born, I am
ignorant. All I have been able to glean of him is, that Castle Street,
Dublin, has been stated as the place of his birth; and that he had the
honour of being the founder of our water games. Colley Cibber, speaking
of him, says, “As an actor he was a great observer of Nature; and as a
singer he had no competitor.” He was the author of the _Country Wake_,
a comedy, and was a patentee of Drury Lane Theatre until 1712; and my
friend, Mr. Thomas Gilliland,[360] in his work entitled _The Dramatic
Mirror_, states his death to have taken place on the 22nd of September
1721.
In 1715, the year after George I. came to the throne, Doggett, to quicken
the industry and raise a laudable emulation in our young men of the
Thames, whereby they not only may acquire a knowledge of the river, but
a skill in managing the oar with dexterity, gave an orange-coloured
coat and silver badge, on which was sculptured the Hanoverian Horse,
to the successful candidate of six young watermen just out of their
apprenticeship, to be rowed for on the 1st of August, when the current
was strongest against them, starting from the “Old Swan,” London Bridge,
to the “Swan” at Chelsea. On the 1st of August 1722, the year after
Doggett’s death, pursuant to the tenor of his will, the prize was first
rowed for, and has been given annually ever since.[361]
“They gripe their oars; and every panting breast
Is raised by turns with hope, by turns with fear deprest.”
This gratifying sight I have often witnessed; and the
never-to-be-forgotten Charles Dibdin considered it so pleasing a subject,
that in 1774 he brought out at the Haymarket Theatre a ballad opera,
entitled _The Waterman, or the First of August_. In this piece, Tom Tug,
the hero, is in love with a gardener’s daughter, before whom he sings,
“And did you not hear of a jolly young waterman,
Who at Blackfriars’ Bridge used for to ply;
And he feathered his oars with such skill and dexterity,
Winning each heart, and delighting each eye,” etc.
Poor Tug, who considered himself slighted for another lover, whom the
girl of his heart appeared to prefer, after declaring that he would go
on board a man-of-war to cast away his care, sings a song, of which the
following is the first verse:--
“Then farewell, my trim-built wherry,
Oars and coat and badge farewell!
Never more at Chelsea ferry
Shall your Thomas take a spell,” etc.
However, Tom rowed for Doggett’s Coat and Badge, which he had an eye
upon, in order to obtain the girl, if possible, by his prowess. She was
seated at the Swan, and admired the successful candidate before she
discovered him to be her suitor Thomas, then
“Blushed an answer to his wooing tale.”
The part of Tom Tug was originally performed by Charles Bannister,
and esteemed so great a favourite, that Mr. Garrick selected the
entertainment of _The Waterman_, to follow the comedy of _The Wonder_, on
the evening of his last performance on the stage.[362] Had the author of
_The Waterman_, when composing that little entertainment, suspected that
the Plague’s blood-red bills of
“LORD, HAVE MERCY UPON US,”
had been fixed upon this house, the Swan, his Muse most likely would have
whispered, “You must not sadden these scenes.” Pepys, in his _Diary_,
made the following entry:--
“_April 9th, 1666._--Thinking to have been merry at Chelsey, but being
come almost to the house, by coach, near the water-side, a house alone, I
think the Swan, a gentleman walking by called to us to tell us that the
house was shut up of the sickness.”
1818.
It is scarcely possible for any person, possessing the smallest share
of common observation, to pass through ten streets in London, without
noticing what is generally denominated a character, either in dress,
walk, pursuits, or propensities. As even my enemies are willing to give
me credit for a most respectful attention to the ladies, I hope they will
not in this instance impeach my gallantry, because I place the fair sex
at the head of my table of remarks, as to the eccentricity of some of
their dresses. Miss Banks,[363] the sister of Sir Joseph, was looked
after by the eye of astonishment wherever she went, and in whatever
situation she appeared. Her dress was that of the _Old School_; her
Barcelona quilted petticoat had a hole on either side for the convenience
of rummaging two immense pockets, stuffed with books of all sizes. This
petticoat was covered with a deep stomachered gown, sometimes drawn
through the pocket-holes, similar to those of many of the ladies of
Bunbury’s time, which he has introduced in his prints. In this dress I
have frequently seen her walk, followed by a six-foot servant with a cane
almost as tall as himself.
Miss Banks, for so that lady was called for many years, was frequently
heard to relate the following curious anecdote of herself. After making
repeated inquiries of the wall-vendors of halfpenny ballads for a
particular one which she wanted, she was informed by the claret-faced
woman, who strung up her stock by Middlesex Hospital-gates, that if she
went to a printer in Long Lane, Smithfield, probably he might supply
her Ladyship with what her Ladyship wanted. Away trudged Miss Banks
through Smithfield, “_all on a market-day_”; but before she entered Mr.
Thompson’s shop, she desired her man to wait for her at the corner, by
the plumb-pudding stall. “Yes, we have it,” was the printer’s answer
to the interrogative. He then gave Miss Banks what is called a book,
consisting of many songs. Upon her expressing her surprise when the man
returned her eightpence from her shilling, and the great quantity of
songs he had given her, when she only wanted one,--“What, then!” observed
the man, “are you not one of our chanters? I beg your pardon.”
It has been stated that this lady and Lady Banks, out of compliment to
Sir Joseph, who had been deeply engaged in the production of wool, had
their riding-habits made of his produce, in which dresses those ladies
at one period upon all occasions appeared. Indeed, so delighted was
Miss Banks with this _overall_-covering, that she actually gave the
habit-maker orders for three at a time,--and they were called _Hightum_,
_Tightum_, and _Scrub_. The first was her best, the second her second
best, and the third her every-day one.
I have been informed that once, when Miss Banks and her sister-in-law
visited a friend with whom they were to stay several days, on the evening
of their arrival they sat down to dinner in their riding-habits. Their
friend had a large party after dinner to meet them, and they entered the
drawing-room in their riding-habits. On the following morning they again
appeared in their riding-habits; and so on, to the astonishment of every
one, till the conclusion of their visit.
Being in possession of an immense number of tradesmen’s tokens
current at this time, I left them in Soho Square, with a note begging
Miss Banks’s acceptance of any she might want. After a few hours, her
footman’s knock at my door announced the arrival of Miss Banks, who
entered the parlour holding up the front of her riding-habit with both
hands, the contents of which she delivered upon the table, at the same
time observing “that she considered herself extremely obliged to me for
my politeness, but that, extraordinary as it might appear, out of so many
hundred there was not one that she wanted.”
Although Miss Banks displayed great attention to many persons, there were
others to whom she was wanting in civility. I have heard that a great
genius, who had arrived a quarter of an hour before the time specified
upon the card for dinner, was shown into the drawing-room, where Miss
Banks was putting away what are sometimes called _rattle-traps_.[364]
When the visitor observed, “It is a fine day, Ma’am,” she replied, “I
know nothing at all about it; you must speak to my brother upon that
subject when you are at dinner.” Notwithstanding the very singular
appearance of Miss Banks, she was in the prime of life, a fashionable
whip, and drove four-in-hand.
Mrs. Carter,[365] the translator of Epictetus, was also singular in her
dress. Her upper walking-garment, in the latter part of her life, which
was cut short, was more like a bed-gown than anything else. The last time
I met this benevolent lady was in 1801, at Mrs. Dards’s exhibition,[366]
an immense collection of artificial flowers made entirely by herself with
fish-bones, the incessant labour of many years. I remember, in the course
of conversation, Mrs. Dards observed, “No one can imagine the trouble I
had in collecting the bones for that bunch of lilies of the valley; each
cup consists of the bones which contain the brains of the turbot; and
from the difficulty of matching the sizes, I never should have completed
my task had it not been for the kindness of the proprietors of the
London, Free-Masons’, and Crown and Anchor Taverns, who desired their
waiters to save all the fish-bones for me.”
[Illustration: HENRY CONSTANTINE JENNINGS (OR NOEL)
“… barring his eccentricities.”]
This ingenious person distributed a card embellished with flowers and
insects, upon which was engraven the following advertisement:--