“MRS. DARDS begs leave to inform her friends in particular, and
the public in general, that after a labour of thirty years, she
has for their inspection and amusement opened an exhibition
of shell-work, consisting of a great variety of beautiful
objects equal to nature, which are minutely described in the
catalogue. Likewise is enabled to gratify them
“_With bones, scales, and eyes, from the prawn to the porpoise,_
_Fruit, flies, birds, and flowers, oh, strange metamorphose!_”
“Open from ten to six in the summer,--from ten to four in the
winter.
“ADMITTANCE 1s. CATALOGUE 6d.”
Mr. Jennings,[367] latterly known as Constantine Noel, barring his
eccentricities, was an accomplished gentleman, a traveller of infinite
taste, and one of the most liberal and entertaining companions
imaginable. Mr. Noel’s figure was short, thin, and much bent by age;
and he was very singular in his dress. The crown of his hat fitted his
head as close as a _pitch-plaster_; his coat was short, of common cloth,
and, like Mr. Wodhull’s, regularly buttoned up from his waist to his
chin. His stockings were not striped blue and white, like those of Sir
Thomas Stepney,[368] but of _pepper-and-salt_ mixture, and of worsted. He
stepped astride in consequence of the bowness of his legs, and generally
attracted notice by striking his walking-stick hard on the stones with
his right arm fully extended, while his left hung swinging low before
him. He wore thick-sole shoes, with small buckles, and seldom showed
linen beyond the depths of his stock.
My father, who knew him well, used to relate the annexed anecdote. Mr.
Noel one day, when at the corner of Rathbone Place, close to Wright’s,
the intelligent grocer, finding himself rather fatigued, called
repeatedly to the first coachman, who, after laughing at him for some
time, increased the insult by observing, “A coach, indeed! a coach! who’s
to pay for it?”
“You rascal,” exclaimed Mr. Noel, clenching his stick in the position of
chastisement, “why don’t you come when I call, Sir; I’ll make an example
of you, I will.”
The coachman continued laughing, till a gentleman accosted Mr. Jennings
thus:--“My worthy friend, what is all this about?”
The coachman was immediately curbed; and when Mr. Noel’s friend had
parted with him, by shaking his hand in the coach, the coachman, touching
the front of his hat, wished to know of his _honour_ “_Where to?_”
“I’ll give you a pretty dance,” replied Mr. Noel; “drive me to h----, you
rascal; to Whitechapel, and from thence to Hyde Park Corner. I’ll take
care it shall be long enough before you get any dinner, you rascal, I
will.” Then, with a nod and a smile to the assembled crowd, he declared,
to their no small amusement, “I’ll punish him.”
Dr. Burges, of Mortimer Street, whose singular figure has been etched by
Gillray, under which he wrote, “From Warwick Lane,” was one of the last
men who wore a cocked-hat and deep ruffles. What rendered his appearance
more remarkable, he walked on tiptoe.[369]
It was the regular custom of Mr. Alderman Boydell, who was a very early
riser, at five o’clock, to go immediately to the pump in Ironmonger Lane.
There, after placing his wig upon the ball at the top of it, he used to
sluice his head with its water. This well-known and highly respected
character,[370] who has done more for the British artists than all the
print-publishers put together, was also one of the last men who wore the
three-cornered hat commonly called “Egham, Staines, and Windsor.”
I recollect another character, a bricklayer, of the name of Pride, of
Vine Street, Piccadilly, who wore the three-cornered hat commonly called
“The Cumberland Cock.”[371]
1822.
In October this year the venerable Mrs. Garrick departed this life, when
seated in her armchair in the front drawing-room of her house in the
Adelphi. She had ordered her maid-servants to place two or three gowns
upon chairs, to determine in which she would appear at Drury Lane Theatre
that evening, it being a private view of Mr. Elliston’s improvements
for the season. Perhaps no lady in public and private life held a more
unexceptionable character. She was visited by persons of the first
rank; even our late Queen Charlotte, who had honoured her with a visit
at Hampton, found her peeling onions for pickling. The gracious Queen
commanded a knife to be brought, saying, “I will peel some onions too.”
The late King George IV. and King William IV., as well as other branches
of the Royal Family, frequently honoured her with visits.
In the course of conversation with Mrs. Garrick (to whom I had been
introduced by the late Dr. Burney), that lady expressed a wish to see
the collection of Mr. Garrick’s portraits, which the Doctor had most
industriously collected. After the honourable trustees had purchased
the Doctor’s library, which contained ten folio volumes of theatrical
portraits, I reminded Mrs. Garrick of her wish, in consequence of which I
received the following letter:--
“Mr. Beltz[372] presents his compliments to Mr. Smith, and is
desired by his respected friend Mrs. Garrick to acquaint him,
in answer to the favour of his letter of the 12th inst., that
she proposes (unless she should hear from Mr. Smith that it
will be inconvenient to him) to do herself the pleasure of
calling on him at the British Museum on Tuesday next, between
twelve and one, for the purpose of inspecting the prints of Mr.
Garrick, to which Mr. Smith refers.
“HERALDS’ COLLEGE, _Aug. 18th, 1821_.”
On the appointed morning Mrs. Garrick arrived, accompanied by Mr. Beltz.
She was delighted with the portraits of Mr. Garrick, many of which were
totally unknown to her. Her observations on some of them were extremely
interesting, particularly that by Dance, as Richard III.[373] Of that
painter she stated, that Mr. Garrick, who had been the artist’s best
friend and benefactor, behaved in the most dirty manner in return; for
in the course of his painting the picture Mr. Garrick had agreed to give
him two hundred guineas for it. One day at Mr. Garrick’s dining-table,
where Dance had always been a welcome guest, he observed that Sir Watkin
Williams Wynn,[374] who had seen the picture, spontaneously offered
him three hundred guineas for it. “Did you tell him it was for me?”
questioned Mr. Garrick. “No, I did not.” “Then you mean to let him have
it?” Garrick rejoined. “Yes, I believe I shall,” replied the painter.
“However,” observed Mrs. Garrick, “my husband was very good; he bought me
a most handsome looking-glass, which cost him more than the agreed price
of the picture; and that was put up in the place where Dance’s picture
was to have hung.” Mrs. Garrick being about to quit her seat, said she
should be glad to see me at Hampton. “Madam,” said I, “you are very good;
but you would oblige me exceedingly by honouring me with your signature
on this day.” “What do you ask me for? I have not taken a pen in my hand
for many months. Stay, let me compose myself; don’t hurry me, and I will
see what I can do. Would you like it written with my spectacles on, or
without?” Preferring the latter, she wrote “E. M. Garrick,” but not
without some exertion.
“I suppose now, Sir, you wish to know my age. I was born at Vienna,
the 29th of February, 1724, though my coachman insists upon it that I
am above a hundred. I was married at the parish of St. Giles at eight
o’clock in the morning, and immediately afterwards in the chapel of the
Portuguese Ambassador, in South Audley Street.”
A day or two after Mrs. Garrick’s death, I went to the Adelphi, to know
if a day had been fixed for the funeral. “No,” replied George Harris, one
of Mrs. Garrick’s confidential servants; “but I will let you know when it
is to take place. Would you like to see her? she is in her coffin.” “Yes,
I should.” Upon entering the back room on the first-floor, in which Mr.
Garrick died, I found the deceased’s two female servants standing by her
remains. I made a drawing of her, and intended to have etched it. “Pray,
do tell me,” looking at one of the maids, “why is the coffin covered
with sheets?” “They are their wedding sheets, in which both Mr. and Mrs.
Garrick wished to have died.” I was informed that one of these attentive
women had incurred her mistress’s displeasure by kindly pouring out a cup
of tea, and handing it to her in her chair. “Put it down, you hussey;
do you think I cannot help myself?” She took it herself, and a short
time after she had put it to her lips, died. This lady continued her
practice of swearing now and then, particularly when any one attempted to
impose upon her. A stonemason brought in his bill with an overcharge of
sixpence more than the sum agreed upon; on which occasion he endeavoured
to appease her rage by thus addressing her:--“My dear Madam, do
consider”--“My dear Madam! What do you mean, you d---- fellow? Get out of
the house immediately. My dear madam, indeed!!”
On the following day I received the promised letter, by the post.
“SIR,--The funeral is fixed to leave the Adelphi Terrace soon
after ten o’clock to-morrow morning. Mrs. Garrick’s carriage,
the Dowager Lady Amherst’s, Dr. Maton’s, and Mr. Carr’s[375]
are the only carriages that will join the funeral. Your
obedient servant,
“GEORGE HARRIS,
“Servant to Mrs. Garrick.”
On the day of the funeral, Miss Macauley,[376] the authoress, wishing to
see this venerable lady interred, placed herself under my protection; but
when we arrived at the Abbey, we were refused admittance by a person who
observed, “If it be your wish to see the waxwork, you must come when the
funeral’s over, and you will then be admitted into Poets’ Corner, by a
man who is stationed at the door to receive your money.”
“Curse the waxwork!” said I; “this lady and I came to see Mrs. Garrick’s
remains placed in the grave.”--“Ah, well, you can’t come in; the Dean
won’t allow it.” As soon as the ceremony was over, we were admitted for
sixpence at the Poets’ Corner, and there we saw the earth that surrounded
the grave, and no more, as we refused to pay the demands of the showmen
of the Abbey. Surely this mode of admission to see the venerable
structure, and the monuments put up there at a most liberal expense by
the country, as memorials of departed worth, is an abominable disgrace to
the English Government.[377]
Being disappointed in a sight of the burial, I applied to my friend, the
Rev. Thomas Rackett, one of Mrs. Garrick’s executors, for a list of those
persons who attended the funeral.