He who undertakes to be the chronicler of Liverpool society at the
commencement, and in the early years, of the present century, must not
forget to mention the old and respectable families of Gildart and
Golightly. And who is this easy, good-tempered soul, whom the mind’s eye
now brings before us? It is Mr. William Rigg, profanely called “Billy
Rigg” by his familiars. And who comes next? Henry Clay, frank, jovial,
light-hearted fellow, once Mayor of Liverpool, and a generous and
hospitable chief magistrate he made. And there goes that veritable
ancient, Arthur Onslow, collector of customs, with a name which testifies
that family interest was as strong in those days as it is in these. And
now, if we go on ’Change, surely this is an original whom we see before
us. His name is Brown, but among the gentlemen “on the flags” he is
better known as “Muckle John.” A shrewd, sagacious man of business is
he, as ever lived; and many were the stories which used to be told of his
sayings and doings and somewhat sharp practice in his money transactions.
“Mr. So-and-so will be my security to you,” said some gentleman one day
to him. “Aye, mon, but who will be the security for the security?” was
his retort. In after life we became acquainted with the celebrated
“Jemmy Woods,” the Gloucester banker, and it always struck us that he
strongly resembled “Muckle John” in many features of his character,
especially in _crescit amor nummi quantum ipsa pecunia crescit_. The
cash book seemed to be father and mother, wife and child, comfort and
consolation, joy and glory of both of them. But we had reached Great
Nelson-street North before we turned back again into the town. A little
further on, in Everton, lived Mr. Thomas Hinde, second to none here in
his day. The representatives of his family are now to be found at
Lancaster. At Everton, likewise, resided Mr. Shaw, the father of Mr.
Thomas Shaw; also one of the Earle family; another brother lived then,
and long afterwards, at Spekelands. At St. Domingo was the mansion of
Mr. Sparling. The country-houses beyond that were “few and far between.”
Close to the old London-road, about two miles from Liverpool, lived Mr.
Falkner, the Major of the Liverpool Light Horse. A mile or two further
out was Oak-hill, the seat of Mr. Joseph Leigh, one of the most pushing
and rich of our enterprising merchants, and as fine, handsome looking a
fellow as you may meet with in a ten days’ journey. The march of
intellect did not advance per railway in those times; and Mr. Leigh,
although marvellously at home in arithmetic, compound addition, the rule
of three, multiplication and so forth, had not much studied history,
poetics, and the other graces, and, as by many they were then thought,
exotics of education. Consequently endless were the stories told of his
blunders and mistakes in the literary line when he crept up in life, and
thought it necessary to come out as a Mæcenas. For instance, it was said
that, in ordering his library, he directed that so many feet of books
should be placed in it, and that, when asked if he would have them bound
in Russia, he answered promptly, “No, in England, to be sure!” On one
occasion, a waggish bookseller asserted that he called at his shop and
told him that, as Shakespeare was considered to be such a first-rate
writer, he must send him immediately any more works which he might
publish; while on another, after surveying shelf after shelf covered with
books having Tom. for Vol. inscribed upon their backs, he exclaimed, in
the highest degree of admiration, “Upon my word, that Tom must have been
a monstrous clever fellow.” We, of course, receive such accounts _cum
grano salis_, or to speak in more mercantile phrase, with a little
discount, not as absolutely fabulous, but as somewhat highly coloured.
Moreover, we have no doubt that, in addition to his own blunders, Mr.
Leigh was made to bear all “the tales of our grandfathers” in previous
circulation. He subsequently removed to Belmont, a splendid place in
Cheshire, when the proud squires of that proud county took up the ball,
and coined and circulated all sorts of odd tales about him. In their
visits, one with another, they passed from house to house for a week at
least, and brought with them an immense retinue of horses and servants.
And it was a standing joke for years among them, that, when first Mr.
Leigh settled in that part of the country, he told some of them who
called upon him that he should be happy to see them at tea occasionally.
But as we have also heard this story told against the first Mr. France,
of Bostock Hall, who also passed from Liverpool into Cheshire, it may not
have been originally levelled against Mr. Leigh. Another laugh, however,
against him was, that some village wag, who probably had not been valued
at his own price by some of the new inmates of Belmont, inscribed over
the lodge gates, where they were found one morning, the following
doggerel:—
“In this house there is no beer,
In this park there are no deer.
And why? Joe Leigh lives here.”
We must, however, recollect that the Cheshire squires had then, and
probably have yet, a strong aversion to Liverpool and all its works.
Looking at their mortgages,—for in those days a Cheshire squire without
mortgages would have been a _rara avis_ indeed,—they had a sort of
prophetic feeling that the merchant princes of Liverpool were destined to
eat them up, like another Canaan; in other words, to buy the acres of all
the wiseacres in the county, and so exterminate the original squirearchy.
_Hinc illæ lachrymæ_. Hence, when they lost the game, they took their
revenge in bad jokes which kill nobody, and, indeed, are very harmless
affairs, if, as the French proverb has it, _Il rit bien qui rit le
dernier_, he has the best of the laugh who has the last of it. Mr. Leigh
had a brother, a very quiet and respectable man. He lived in Duke-street
at one time, and afterwards at Roby Hall.
But, in speaking of Everton just now, we forgot to mention William
Harper, one of the wealthiest men of his day, a blunt, downright sort of
person, a member of the old corporation, and mayor in his turn. He also
had made an encroachment on the pride, and trod on the toes, of the
Cheshire squires, by buying an estate at Davenham, near Northwich. He
had three daughters, co-heiresses, whom, when at school, he never forgot
to toast at his own table as “The lasses of Ashbourn.” Some people
thought this a good joke, and it was even alluded to in some of the
election squibs of the day. But we always admired the old man for it,
and looked upon it as an excellent trait in his character. One of them
married Mr. Hoskins, or, as he afterwards became, Mr. Hoskins Harper.
Another was Mrs. Formby. The third was united to Dr. Brandreth, or, as
he was called in his father’s lifetime, Dr. Joseph Brandreth, who, in the
second generation, has so well maintained the medical distinction
achieved by the first.
But to return from this digression; not far from Oak-hill was Highfield,
now the seat of that prince of good fellows, Thomas Littledale, Esq., the
chief magistrate of Liverpool, but then belonging to, and the residence
of, the Parke family. A fine, glorious, jovial old man do we recollect
Mr. Parke. He had three sons, whom we remember; Mr. Thomas Parke, Major
Parke, and a third, of world-wide fame and celebrity, Baron Parke, of
whom “the gude old town” cannot be too proud, as first and foremost among
the legal ornaments of the judicial bench.
Not far from Highfield was Ashfield House, the mansion of John Clarke, a
brother of the Recorder, and himself a member of the Town Council, and
once Mayor of Liverpool. He was a peculiarly good-looking little man,
always well-dressed, rode a good horse, and drove a neat carriage.
Further on we arrived at Broad Green, belonging to the Staniforth family.
Mr. Ashton, whose sons and descendants still reside in the neighbourhood,
lived at Wootton, honoured and respected by all the circle of his friends
and acquaintance. At Childwall was the noble mansion of the Gascoignes,
which has now passed into the hands of the Marquis of Salisbury, who
married the only daughter and heiress of the last possessor, Bamber
Gascoigne, who was at one time, as his ancestors had been before him, the
member for Liverpool. His retired habits, however, and his literary
tastes, interfered with his bringing any very great portion of activity
to his duties, and on one occasion, having thereby been brought into
collision with some of the merchant-princes amongst his constituents,
they renounced their allegiance to him, but still, not altogether
repudiating the family name, they selected as his successor his younger
brother, the famous General Gascoigne, who, however, was a very inferior
person to Bamber. But we shall come to him presently. At Childwall
likewise resided Thomas Clarke, whose two brothers we have already
mentioned; a man whose good-nature, generosity, and nobleness of soul
have seldom been equalled, never surpassed. Mr. Clarke had also a
splendid place, Peplow Hall, in Shropshire, now, we rather think,
belonging to Lord Hill.