“Kissing with eddies soft the bordering grass.”
My thanks are here offered to my friend Mr. West,[494] late of Drury Lane
Theatre, now a professor of music, for the kind loan of an imperfect
copy (which he met with at a stall) of a work of rarity, of which I have
not been able to hear of another copy. It is not mentioned by Watt, and,
what is more remarkable, the Rev. Hartwell Horne,[495] of the British
Museum, never heard of it. It is a small quarto, bearing the following
title:--
“THE POST ANGEL, OR, UNIVERSAL ENTERTAINMENT.
“London: printed, and to be sold by A. Baldwin, near the Oxford
Arms, in Warwick Lane, 1702, where is to be had the first and
second volume, or any single month, from January, 1701, to this
time; price of each, one shilling.”[496]
Page 191 of the third volume affords the admirers of wax effigies the
following information:--
“TO THE EDITOR.
“SIR,--You having promised to give an account of the
curiosities of art, as well as the wonders of nature, I thought
it would oblige the public to acquaint you that the effigies
of his late Majesty, King William III., of glorious memory, is
curiously done to the life in wax, dressed in coronation robe,
with so majestic a mien that nothing seems wanting but life
and motion, as persons of great honour upon the strictest view
have with surprise declared. Likewise the effigies of several
persons of quality, with a fine banquet, and other curiosities
in every room, passing to and from the King’s apartment, are
all to be seen at Mrs. Goldsmith’s, in Green Court, in the Old
Jury, London.”
From the following flummery bespattered on this wax-worker by the editor
of the _Post Angel_, I may, with the greatest probability, conclude that
his substance was just as vulnerable as that of many of the hirelings who
feed themselves by puffing what they denominate “the fine arts,” and that
he had no objection to a dozen of port, _had it been ever so crusted_.
“The Observator” states that “the ingenuity of man hath found out
several ways to imitate Nature, and represent natural bodies to the eye
by sculpture, picture, carving, waxwork, etc.; and though some of the
ancients were famed for this art, as Zeuxis and Apelles, yet our last
ages have outstripped them, and made considerable improvements, as may
be easily discernible to those who are skilled in antiquities, and have
observed the _rude_ and _coarse_ pieces of the ancients. Those that
question the truth of this, need but step to that famous artist, Mrs.
Goldsmith, in the Old Jewry, whose _workmanship_ is so absolute (_in
the effigies which she has made of his late Majesty_), as it admits of
no correction. She also made the late Queen, the Duke of Gloucester, to
the general satisfaction of a great number of the nobility and gentry.
I am not for the Hungarian’s wooden coat of mail, the work of fifteen
years; nor Myrmeride’s coach with four horses, so little that you might
hide them under a fly’s wing: these are but a laborious loss of time, an
ingenious profusion of one of the best talents we are entrusted with; but
_this effigy of his late Majesty_ has taken up but a small part of Mrs.
Goldsmith’s time, and yet it is made with so much art, that nothing seems
wanting but life and motion. I own,” continues this time-server, “’tis
little wonder to see a picture have motion; but Mrs. Goldsmith is such a
person (as all will own that see this effigy which she has made of King
William), that she has almost found the secret to make even dead bodies
alive.”
[Illustration: THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH, R.A.
“We are all going to heaven, and Van Dyck is of the company.”
_His dying words_]
1832.
“You are never idle,” observed my _old_, OLD, very OLD friend John
Taylor,[497] as he entered my parlour on the 3rd of November, in his
ninety-third year: “bless me, how like that is to your father! Well,
Howard is a very clever fellow! Pray now, do tell me, did your father
know Churchill? My friend Jonathan Tyers introduced me to him in
Vauxhall Gardens much about the time Hogarth represented him as a bear
with a pot of porter.[498] I think, to the best of my recollection,
the print was brought out in 1763. Mr. Tyers asked Mr. Churchill what
he thought of it. ‘Oh!’ said he, ‘it is a silly thing, Sir. I should
have thought Hogarth had known better.’” I then requested Mr. Taylor
to describe Mr. Churchill’s dress for Vauxhall Gardens. “Oh! not as a
clergyman, not in black, as he appeared in the pit of the theatre. Let me
see: his coat was blue, edged with a narrow gold lace; a buff waistcoat;
but I won’t be certain whether that was laced or not--I rather think it
was not. He had black silk small-clothes, white silk stockings, small
silver shoe-buckles, and a gold-laced three-cornered hat.”
“Did you know Gainsborough, Sir?” “Oh! I remember him; he was an odd man
at times. I recollect my master Hayman coming home after he had been to
an exhibition, and saying what an extraordinary picture Gainsborough
had painted of the Blue Boy; it is as fine as Vandyke.”[499] “Who was
the Blue Boy, Sir?” “Why, he was an ironmonger, but why so called I
don’t know. He lived at the corner of Greek and King Streets, Soho; an
immensely rich man.” “Did you know Mrs. Abington?” “Oh yes; she was a
most delightful actress of women of fashion, though she made herself
very ridiculous by attempting the part of _Scrub_.[500] Mr. Hoole, when
he heard she was to play the character that evening, sent for a chair
and went to see her; but he said it was so truly ridiculous, that he was
quite disgusted. Ay, I see you have got Nollekens’s bust of Dr. Johnson.
I made two drawings of him when I was at Oxford: one was for Sir Robert
Chambers,[501] who married the pretty Miss Wilton, that went to India;
who had the other, I can’t immediately say. I remember the Doctor asked
me what countryman I was.--‘A Londoner, Sir, a Londoner.’ ‘And where
born?’ ‘In the parish of Ethelburga, in Bishopsgate Within.’ It is a very
small church; but my father and mother[502] were buried there, though I
suppose, by this time, there’s nothing of them left. My friend Jonathan
Tyers took milk and water for upwards of twenty years at his meals,
though he very well knew what a good glass of wine was, as well as any
man in England. Ay, and a fine haunch of venison, too. Many and many a
time I have dined with him in the gardens, when I was making the drawing
for Boydell, of Hayman’s picture of the Admirals. Mr. Tyers gave very
excellent dinners, I must say.”
The truly skilful manner in which Mr. John Seguier has proceeded with the
pictures painted by Rubens, which adorn the ceiling of Whitehall Chapel,
will, I hope, prove a lasting record of his success in picture-cleaning.
When first I ascended the scaffold, my astonishment was beyond conception
at the enormous size of the objects. The children are more than nine
feet, and the full-grown figures from twenty to twenty-five in height.
The pictures were in a most filthy and husky state. However, it afforded
me infinite delight to hear Mr. Seguier declare, that he firmly believed
he should be able to remove Cipriani’s washy colouring completely; and
that he expected to find that of Rubens in its pristine state. Upon my
seeing these pictures on the floor, after they had been cleaned,[503]
I found his predictions verified, and can now, by the judicious
nourishment afforded to the canvas, announce their effect to be truly
glorious. Every precaution has been taken, under the able direction of
Sir Benjamin Clarke Stevenson, to render the roof impervious to the most
inveterate weather, so that posterity, in all probability, may long enjoy
the beauties of these masterpieces of art.
“UPPER GOWER STREET, BEDFORD SQUARE,
_16th November 1832_.
“MY DEAR SIR,--As I am desirous to make your valuable
collection of letters from bygone professional characters
complete, gratify me by accepting the accompanying original
communication from Mrs. Abington to Mrs. Jordan.[504] It will
call to your remembrance the period when that skilful and
excellent man, John Bannister, delighted the town by _his_
performances; whose retirement from public life in June, 1815
(after thirty-seven years of hard and honest service), opened
the doors of Old Drury to a young aspirant for histrionic
honours in the person of your humble servant.
“I need not here enumerate _all_ the advantages derived from a
constant association with such an artist as John Bannister. An
uninterrupted friendly intercourse of many years manifested the
sincerity in which he penned the following note to me a short
time after my appearance at Drury Lane Theatre:--
“‘65 GOWER STREET, _Dec. 30, 1815_.
“‘MY DEAR SIR,--I have been confined to my room more than
three weeks with the gout; but I am now recovering, though
slowly. Early next week, will you favour me with a visit
in Gower Street? It will please me to give you all the
information and gratification in my power, and to converse
with you personally about theatrical matters.
“‘You are my successor, and I beg leave to say that I do
not know any person more calculated to tread in my shoes. I
sincerely hope you may never have occasion for the _gouty
ones_! I remain, my dear Sir, yours sincerely,
“‘JOHN BANNISTER.’[505]
“‘TO J. P. HARLEY, ESQ., Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.’
“And now, my dear Sir, with every sincere hope for your
continued health and happiness, believe that I am very truly
yours,
“J. P. HARLEY.[506]
“TO JOHN THOMAS SMITH, British Museum.”
1833.
Mrs. Piozzi, in her anecdotes of Dr. Johnson, speaking of Porridge
Island, says it “is a mean street in London, filled with cook-shops, for
the convenience of the poorer inhabitants; the real name of it I know
not, but suspect that it is generally known by to have been originally a
term of derision.”
Porridge Island consisted of a nest of old rat-deserted houses, lately
forming narrow alleys south of Chandos Street, and east of St. Martin’s
church, which were originally occupied by numerous cooks for the
accommodation of the workmen engaged in erecting the said church.[507]