the pre-Reformation times; when a great family was wont to build and own
its private chapel in the parish church; using it for worship during
life, for burial in death, and deeding or bequeathing it, as they did any
other real estate. When Sir Thomas Lawrence became Lord of the Manor, he
partly bought, and partly built, this chapel; and now, although it forms
the entire east end of the north aisle, it has not been modernized like
the rest of the church, but retains its high-backed pews and other
ancient peculiarities unchanged since the church was repaired in 1667;
for it is still private property, belonging to the family to whom it has
descended from the Lawrences, and to them goes the income derived from
its pews.
Before going out through the main door we stop to look at the wooden rack
to which the old books are chained, and underneath, at the little
mahogany shelf, for convenience in reading them: these bring back to us
the monkish days. Here is the Bible, kept since that time when it was so
costly a volume; here the Prayer-book, the Church Homilies, Foxe’s
Martyrology: this latter then nearly as sacred as the Scriptures. In the
porch now stands the bell which hung for nearly two hundred years in the
tower, given to the church by “the Honourable William Ashburnham,
Esquire, Cofferer to His Majesty’s Household, 1679;” so its lettering
tells us.
Going, one foggy night of that winter, perhaps from that Ashburnham House
of which we have seen the site, he lost his way, slipped, and fell into
the river; and would have been lost, good swimmer though he was, unable
to see the shore, but that he heard this church clock strike nine, and so
guided, swam safely toward it. He gave to the church, just then being
rebuilt with Lady Cheyne’s funds, this bell, with a sum sufficient to
have it rung for five minutes every night at nine. So was done for many
years—the ringer receiving “a penny each night and a penny for his
candle”—until about half a century ago the fund vanished, somehow,
somewhere; and this bell has never been rung since!
Outside, the tiny graveyard is crowded with slabs and monuments, many of
them ugly, some curious, a few fine: from the stately stone tomb of Sir
Hans Sloane and his wife—a marble urn entwisted with Æsculapian serpents,
under a marble canopy—to the simple slab, worn with wind and weather, of
Dr. Chamberlayne and his family; of whom the daughter, Anne, more famous
than any of the others, “long declining wedlock, and aspiring above her
sex and age, fought under her brother with arms and manly attire, in a
fire-ship against the French, on the 30th June, 1690: a maiden heroine!”
This “Casta Virago” was then but twenty-three, and did not grow in
courage with her years; for she soon after consented to marry one John
Spraggs, and then died! Here and there, amid unknown graves, we may find
those of Magdalen Herbert; Mrs. Fletcher, wife of the Bishop of London,
mother of the Fletcher of the famous firm “Beaumont and Fletcher”;
Shadwell, the poet-laureate; Woodfall, the publisher of “Junius”; Sir
John Fielding, the blind magistrate of Bow Street, half-brother of the
novelist.
Amid these English names is written the name of an historic Frenchman;
and his historic grave is hid somewhere in a corner of this churchyard,
past finding out. {160} The church record reads: “Burial—A.D. 1740, May
18, Brigadier John Cavallier”; and this dry detail of the interment of
“only an old officer, who had always behaved very bravely,” is all that
is told there of Jean Antoine Cavallier, the Camissard, the leader of the
French Huguenots in their long, fierce fight against the cruel and
lawless enforcement of Louis XIV.’s Revocation of the Edict of Nantes;
refusing to be apostatized, expatriated, or exterminated. They became
the Covenanters of France, and Cavallier—a baker’s apprentice, with a
genuine genius for war, the soul of the strife, elected their leader
before he was twenty—was their Black Douglas: one even more furious and
more ferocious. After fire and slaughter and pillage for two years;
affronting the daylight, blazing up the night; amazing the whole world
and horrifying their enemies; banded like bandits in the hills of Le Puy,
singly like guerillas along the range of the Cevennes; praying,
prophesying, slaying:—they were in the end circled about by the Grand
Monarque’s soldiery under Villars, shut out from Dutch and English aid,
from escape by sea, forced to capitulate. Cavallier was let go to
Jersey, was appointed Lieutenant-Governor of the island, and finally
closed his stormy career peacefully in London. Here he lies, in an
unknown grave, in this alien soil; and the Cévenols, up in their hills,
still talk of him and of his war two hundred years ago, to-day as if it
were yesterday.
* * * * *
As we stand here, the broad embankment, with its dainty gardens,
stretches between us and the river; spanned just above by old Battersea
Bridge, the only wooden bridge left to the Thames, since that of Putney
has gone. For centuries there had been a ferry just here, granted by
James I. to some of his “dear relations” for £40. In 1771 this bridge
was built for foot-passengers only, was enlarged later, and is soon to be
pulled down; its rude and reverend timbers are already propped up here
and there. Stand midway on it with me, while the ceaseless stream of men
flows by, caring nothing for that at which you and I are looking.
On our right, along the southern shore, stretches Battersea Park, fringed
with its great masses of cool foliage; where not long ago were marshes
and meadows, and the barren, bleak, Battersea Fields. In those fields
was fought the famous duel in 1829, between the Duke of Wellington and
Lord Winchelsea. And long before that, in the reeds along that shore was
hid Colonel Blood, intending to shoot Charles II. while bathing, as was
the King’s custom, “in the Thames over against Chelsey; but his arm was
checked by an awe of Majesty.” So, at least, Blood had the impudence to
narrate, when on his trial for his audacious and almost successful
attempt to steal the royal regalia from the Tower in May, 1671. Whether
the King was touched by the narrative, or whether, as has been hinted,
his impecunious Majesty was implicated in the plot to rob the crown; it
is certain that he pardoned the daring adventurer, and gave him a yearly
pension of £500.
[Picture: Old Battersea Church, where Blake was married, showing the
window from which Turner sketched]
Beyond the Bridge, back of us, rises the square, squat tower of St.
Mary’s, Battersea, builded in the worst churchwarden style; and otherwise
only notable for that therein was married Blake the madman; that there
Turner loved to sit at the vestry window and sketch; and that there lie
the remains and stand the magnificent monument of St. John Bolingbroke,
and of his second wife, niece of Madame de Maintenon: both their epitaphs
written by him. Not far from the church, on the river bank next to the
mill, still stands one wing of the great seventy-roomed Bolingbroke
House; in which St. John was born, to which he returned from his stormy
exile, there to pass his remaining days in study, and there to die.
Through its many old-time chambers with the famous “sprawling Verrio’s”
ceiling paintings, I will lead you into the historic cedar-room, on the
river front—Bolingbroke’s favourite retreat, whose four walls, panelled
with cedar from floor to ceiling, are still as redolent as when
Pope—Bolingbroke’s guest—began in it his “Essay on Man,” inspired thereto
by his host; whose wit, scholarship, philosophy had, during his exile,
inspired also Voltaire and made him own his master. Here in this room
were wont to meet Bolingbroke and Pope, Chesterfield and Swift—that
brilliant quartette who hated, plotted against, and attacked Walpole.
His house—Sir Robert’s—forms part of the great mass of Chelsea Hospital,
dim in the distance before us; between, stretches the old Dutch front of
Cheyne Walk, near at hand resolving itself into most ancient houses, with
quaint windows in their sloping roofs; their red tiles and
chocolate-brown bricks showing dark behind the green of the old
lime-trees. The setting sun lingers lovingly on the square church tower,
venerable with the mellow tints of time; and presently the moon comes up,
washing out all these tints, except that of the white wall-tablets; and
from out the grey mass shines the clock-face, even now striking nine, as
it did for the “Hon. William,” just then soused in the river, more than
two hundred years ago. Farther beyond the bridge are two buildings,
which also bring the old and the new close together; the “World’s End
Tavern,” at the end of the passage of that name, famous three centuries
ago as a rendezvous for improper pleasure parties, and introduced in
Congreve’s “Love for Love,” in that connection. Just west of the sedate
little “public,” “The Aquatic Stores,” are two tiny houses set back from
the embankment; stone steps lead down to their minute front gardens;
vines clamber up the front of the westernmost house to an iron balcony on
its roof. That balcony was put there for his own convenience by Joseph
Mallord William Turner, the painter; in that house, No. 119, Cheyne Walk,
he lived for many years, and in that front room he died, on the 18th
December, 1851. To that upper window, no longer able to paint, too
feeble to walk, he was wheeled every morning during his last days that he
might lose no light of the winter sun on his beloved Thames. In
Battersea Church you may sit in the little vestry window wherein he was
wont to sketch. The story of his escape from his grand and gloomy
mansion in Queen Anne Street, is well known; he never returned to it, but
made his home here with the burly Mrs. Booth. After long hunting, his
aged housekeeper, in company with another decrepid dame, found him in
hiding, only the day before his death. The barber’s son of Maiden Lane
lies in the great cathedral of St. Paul’s, and the evil that he did is
buried with him—his eccentricity, his madness if you will—but he lives
for all time, as the greatest landscape painter England has known.
[Picture: The Western End of Cheyne Walk]
The long summer afternoon is waning, and the western sky, flaming with
fading fires, floods broad Chelsea Reach with waves of dusky gold. The
evening mist rises slowly, as yet hiding nothing, but transforming even
commonplace objects in a weird unwonted way. Those pretentious blocks of
new mansions loom almost lordly now; that distant railway bridge is only
a ghost of graceful glimmering arches; money-making factory chimneys and
commercial wharves pretend to picturesque possibilities; clumpish barges,
sprawling on the mud, are no longer ugly; and a broad-bottomed coasting
schooner, unloading stone at a dock, is just what we would choose to see
there. And here at the end of this bridge is a fragment of “real old
Chelsea,” left intact for our delectation—a cluster of drooping trees on
the bank, an unaccountable boat-house, stone steps leading down to the
bit of beach, whereon are skiffs drawn up, and cordage lying about, and
sail-wrapped spars. Out on the placid Reach there is but little
movement; the river steamboats are anchored in a dark mass near the
shore, and the last belated one edges up to its mooring beside them for
the night; a burly barge drifts slowly by under its dusky brown sails, or
a “dumb-barge” floats with the tide, its crew of one man busied with his
long sculls and his not-dumb blasphemy; a puffing tug with a red light in
its nose drags tortuously a long line of tarpaulin-covered canal boats.
As each of these moving objects breaks the burnished waves into bits of
golden gloom, the whole still surface of the stream becomes alive for us
with a fairy flotilla, born of the brain, yet real enough to our vision.
There float ancient barges, six and eight-oared, gorgeous with gilding or
severely simple; those of brilliant noblemen, of the City guilds, of
Royalty itself. We seem to see Henry VIII. rowing up, on a visit to
More; Elizabeth coming to call on Lord Charles Howard of Effingham, him
who scattered the “Spanyard’s Invinsable Navye” for her; the first
Charles, impatient to dote on his “dear Steenie.” Even the commonest of
these curious craft is freighted, for our fancy, with a nameless cargo,
not on its bills of lading. So do we gaze across the river of Time that
flows between us and the group of famous men and historic women, moving
in the twilight of the past on Chelsea’s shore. And we ask, with Marcus
Piso, friend of the younger Cicero: “Is it by some mutual instinct, or
through some delusion, that when we see the very spots where famous men
have lived, we are far more touched than when we hear of the things that
they have done, or read something that they have written? It is thus
that I am affected at this moment.”
[Picture: Turner’s last dwelling-place]
Here walks Sir Thomas More with his wife and daughters; here George
Herbert muses “with a far look in his immortal eyes;” here come Donne and
Isaac Walton to visit his mother, Magdalen Herbert. Swift strolls here,
alone as he likes best; he has been looking at the hay-makers, just
inshore above, in the hot summer day, and is about to bathe in the
river—the “more than Oriental scrupulosity” of his bodily care
contrasting so keenly with his fondness for moral filth. Here come his
friend Atterbury, the learned theologian, from his great garden in Church
Lane; and Dr. Arbuthnott, Queen Anne’s famous physician; and another
noted doctor, Sir John Shadwell, father of the poet laureate. Locke
leaves the summer-house in the Earl of Shaftesbury’s garden, just above
where now is St. George’s Workhouse: he has just begun his great essay,
while living here as tutor for the son. Pym, Charles’ enemy, who lives
on the waterside, stops to look at learned Sir Joseph Banks, who, after a
stormy voyage around the world with Captain Cook, now tranquilly sits
fishing here; Samuel Johnson strides buoyantly by to his china-making or
plods pensively back, downcast with his failure; Hans Sloane walks
arm-in-arm with his friend Sir Isaac Newton, who has come out here from
his house in Leicester Square; behind them saunter Addison and Dick
Steele, and a more queerly-consorted couple, Benjamin Franklin and Thomas
Carlyle. St. Evremonde goes with one strangely resembling him
superficially—Leigh Hunt, who lived at the present No. 10, Upper Cheyne
Row; and who, “with his delicate, worn, but keenly intellectual face, his
large luminous eyes, his thick shock of wiry grey hair, and little cape
of faded black silk over his shoulders, looks like an old French abbé.”
Shelley is near them, having come a long way from his lodgings in Hans
Place; where he has for a neighbour a certain Joseph Balsamo, calling
himself the Count Cagliostro, living in Sloane Street. The Dandy D’Orsay
cautiously threads his way, for he is in hiding from his creditors.
Turner passes, gazing on his river; and Maclise, who lives here on the
bank and dies here too, painting the Thames. Dante Gabriel Rossetti and
his near neighbour George Eliot go by; and, last of all, Henry Kingsley
with the boy Joe Burton, whom he loves, and whom we love, too.
The puffing tug shrieks, and puts to flight these vagrant fancies of an
American, sentimentalizing in Chelsea; and so ends his stroll, his
returning footsteps echoing the words of Goethe, and reminding him that,
after all, “You find in Rome only what you take there.”
[Picture: Battersea bridge and Church from Turner’s house]
THE END.
INDEX.
ABBEY, Westminster, 33, 152
“Absalom and Achitophel,” 50
Addison, Joseph, 23, 63, 65, 66, 80, 94, 122, 178
Albert Suspension Bridge, 131
“Alcyon,” 63
Alma, Battle of the, 73
Almshouses, Lady Dacre’s, 155
Anne, Queen, 105, 119, 177
Apsley House, 13
Aquatic Shores, 169
Arbuthnot, Dr., 177
Armada, 53, 174
Armida, 91
Aschyly, Katherine, 116
Ashburnham, Hon. Wm., 158, 166
„ House, 63, 158
Ashe, Miss, 79
Aspasia, 93
Astell, Mary, 93
Atterbury, 177
Aubrey, John, 38
Augustine, 47
Australia, 147, 148
* * * * *
BADAJOS, 73
Balaclava, 73
Balsamo, Joseph, 178
Banks, Sir Joseph, 177
Barbican, 78
Barley, Mrs., 130
Bartholomew Close, 122
Basle, 48
Bastille, 93
Battersea Bridge, 31, 57, 161, 165
,, Church, 165, 169
,, Fields, 33, 162
„ Park, 76, 162
Beaufort, Duke of, 52
,, House, 52, 58
„ Stairs, 20
,, Street, 37, 57
Beaumont, Francis, 93
„ and Fletcher, 159
Becke, Mrs. Betty, 81
“Beggar’s Opera,” The, 85
Belgravia, 20
Bishop’s Stairs, 20
“Black House,” The, 129
Blackfriars Bridge, 125
Blacklands, 17, 96
Blake, 165
Blenheim, 83
Blessington, Lady, 14
Blood, Colonel, 162
Bloody Bridge, 23
Bloomfield, Robert, 80
Bloomsbury, 120, 121
Blunt, Rev. Gerald, 148
Boleyn, Anne, 42, 116
Bolingbroke House, 165
,, St. John, 84, 85, 165, 166
Booth, Mrs., 170
Botanic Gardens, 101, 119
Bow Street, 160
Bowack, 37, 53
Braganza, Catherine of, 111
Bramah, 58
Bray, Edmund, Knight, 152
Bristol, Earl of, 51
Britons, 33
Brown, Ford Madox, 109
Browne, Lady, 116
Brunel, 58
Brussels, 47
Buckingham, 1st Duke of, 50
,, 2nd „ 50, 51, 98
,, Palace, 23
Bucklersbury, 34
Bulwer, Lady, 32
Bun House, The, 97
Burleigh, Lord, 32, 50
Burlington, Earl of, 52
Burney, Dr., 80
„ Fanny, 80
Burton, Emma, 149, 151
,, “Jim,” 150, 151, 152, 156
„ “Joe,” 151, 178
Butterfly Alley, 28
Byron, Lord, 31
* * * * *
CADOGAN, Doctor, 63
,, Earl of, 119, 146
„ Place, 96
Cæsar, 33
Cagliostro, Count, 178
Camden House, 57
Camera Square, 28
Camissards, The, 160
Canterbury, 45
Carberry, Earl of, 98
Carlyle, Thomas, 137, 141, 178
Caroline, Queen, 84, 119
Carolina, North, 61
Catherine of Braganza, 111
Cavallier, Jean Antoine, 160, 161
Cavendish, Sir Wm., 130
Cecil, Lord Robert, 50
Cedars of Lebanon, 101
Cevennes, 161
Cévenols, 161
Chamberlayne, Anne, 159
Chamberlayne, Doctor, 159
Chancery Lane, 134
Charles I., 50, 134, 174, 177
„ II., 23, 64, 70, 75, 81, 86, 88, 91, 93, 111, 112, 142, 162
Charlotte, Queen, 97
Charterhouse, The, 46
Chatsworth, 131
Chaucer, Geoffrey, 93
Chelsea, “direct connection with London,” 13; “Village of Palaces,” 17;
“A quiet country village,” 18; ancient aspect, 19–23; causes of its early
settlement, 20; earliest history, 33; etymology of name, 33; present
appearance, 24–31; mentioned, 13, 14, 17, 18, 20, 23, 24, 27, 28, 31–34,
42, 46, 57, 61, 63, 67, 70, 80, 81, 85, 89, 102, 113, 119, 120, 122, 125,
126, 129, 130, 131, 141, 142, 146, 148, 149, 153, 154, 173, 174, 179
Chelsea Barracks, 28, 96
„ Bun House, 97
„ China Factory, 132
,, Church, Old, 24, 44, 53, 113, 134, 151
„ „ St. Luke’s, 145, 146
„ Farm, 62
„ Hermit of, 138
,, Historian of, 89, 142, 150
„ Hospital, 23, 28, 67, 81, 82, 95, 166
,, Little, 53, 57
,, Manor House, 106, 113, 116, 118, 119, 138
„ Pensioner, 89
„ “Physick Garden,” 101
„ Reach, 31, 170, 173
,, Rectory, 145
„ Suspension Bridge, 76
Chelsey, 19, 33, 34, 44, 50, 51, 69, 105, 155, 162
„ Colledge, 70, 81
„ Viscount, 120
Cheltenham Terrace, 95
Cherbury, Lord Herbert of, 134
Chesterfield, Lord, 78, 166
Cheyne, Lady Jane, 118, 155, 158
„ Lord, 96, 101, 118
„ Row, Great, 20, 137
„ ,, Little, 141
,, ,, Upper, 178
„ Walk, 28, 32, 57, 106, 114, 120, 126, 129, 132, 133, 137, 141, 166, 169
Chillianwallah, Battle of, 76
China Factory, 132
Chiswick, 52
Christchurch Street, 89
Chudleigh, Miss, 79
Church Lane, 20, 151, 177
Church, Old Chelsea, 24, 44, 53, 113, 134, 151
„ Place, 149
,, Street, 32, 150, 151
Cicero, 49, 174
“Citizen of the World,” 80
Coldstream Guards, 74
Colet, Dean, 41
College, King James’s, 69, 77
„ Fields, 76
Colorado, 146
Commonwealth, The, 50
Condé, 93
Congreve, William, 94, 95, 169
“Connoisseur,” The, 80
Cook, Captain, 178
Covenanters, 160
Craufield, Earl of Middlesex, 50
Cremorne, Lady, 62
„ Gardens, 62, 63, 81
„ Viscount, 62
Cressy, 34
Cromwell, Richard, 122
„ Thomas, 150
Cross, Mrs. John Walter, 106
Cubitt, 20
Cuckfield, 148
Cummings, Polly, 126
Cunningham, Peter, 67
* * * * *
DACRE, Lady, 49, 50, 154
Dacre’s, Lady, Almshouses, 155
Danvers House, 133, 134
,, Sir John, 134
,, Street, 133
Davies, Rev. R. H., 160
Dawson, Thomas, 62
Dead March, The, 74
De Foe, Daniel, 121
Devonshire, Duke of, 52, 130, 131
Dickens, Charles, 109
Dissolution, The, 68
Doggett, 105
Don Quixote, 141
Don Saltero, 121
Donne, Dr. John, 134, 177
D’Orsay, 178
Douglas, Black, The, 161
Drury Lane Theatre, 78
Druse, Mr., 115
Dryden, John, 50, 93
Duck Island, 93
Dutch War, 27, 70
Duke of York’s School, 95
“Duke’s Head,” The, 89
Dunbar, Battle of, 68
* * * * *
EARL’S Court, 141
Eddystone Lighthouse, 118
Edge Hill, 70
Edict of Nantes, 27, 91, 160
Edward the Confessor, 33
,, VII., 117
Eliot, George, 32, 106, 178
Elizabeth, Princess, 115, 116, 117
,, Queen, 32, 63, 129, 145, 150, 155, 174
Elizabeth’s, Queen, Guard, 130
,, Place, 149
Embankment, The, 17, 28, 86, 98, 109, 134, 161
Erasmus, 37, 40, 41, 44, 48, 153
Esmond, Harry, Colonel, 24, 65
“Essay on Man,” The, 166
Essex, Earl of, 149, 150
“Evelina,” 80
Evelyn, John, 51, 67, 70, 101, 111, 118
Eversleigh, 148
Evremond, St., 86, 92, 93, 122, 178
* * * * *
FAIRFAX, General, 50
Faulkner, 89, 142, 150
“Ferdinand Count Fathom,” 138
Fetter Lane, 58
Fielding, Henry, 80
„ Sir John, 159
Fire Fields, 23
Fletcher, Mrs., 159
,, John, 159
Flimnap, 85
Flood Street, 88, 106, 113
“Folly,” The, 62
Fox, Sir Stephen, 67
Foxe’s “Martyrology,” 158
Franklin, Benjamin, 122, 125, 178
French Gardeners, 27
Fry, Elizabeth, 90
Fulham, 32, 63, 66
Fuller’s “Worthies,” 45
Furnivall’s Inn, 46
* * * * *
GALLOWAY, Count, 91
Garrick, David, 78, 141
Gay, John, 19, 85, 142
Geflitfullic, 33
“Geoffrey Hamlyn,” 147
George I., 83, 105, 119
„ II., 83, 84
,, III., 97
„ IV., 86
George and Garter, The, 51
Gibbons, Grinling, 75
Giggs, Margery, 41
Glebe Place, 145
Gloucester, 68
Godfrey, 91
Godolphin, Sydney, 92
Goethe, 179
Goldsmith, Oliver, 79
“Gorbudic,” 49
Gore House, 14
Gorges, Sir Arthur, 63
Gothic House, 106
Gough House, 17, 98
„ Sir John, 98
Grand Monarque, The, 161
Granville, Lord, 61
Great Cheyne Row, 20, 137
Green Arbour Court, 79
Grey, Lady Jane, 118
Grocyn, 41
Guilds, City, 174
Gwynne, Nell, 32, 63, 67, 68, 87
“Gwynne, Nell,” The, 66
* * * * *
HALL, Mrs. S. C., 32
Hallam, Henry, 92
Halle, 58
Hamilton, Duchess of, 88
„ Sir William, 138
Hampstead, 95
Hampton Court, 23, 24, 111
Hanover, 84, 105
Hans Place, 31, 32, 96, 119, 178
„ Town, 96
Hardwick, Elizabeth, 130
„ House, 131
Hastings, Lady Elizabeth, 95
Hedderly, J., the photographer, 27
Henry VIII., 38, 42, 49, 112, 117, 138, 141, 174
„ „ Palace, 112
Herbert, George, 134, 174
„ Lord of Cherbury, 134
,, Magdalen, 134, 159, 178
Herkomer, Hubert, 74
Hermit of Chelsea, 138
Herrnhuters, The, 61
Hervey, Lord, 85
Heywood, Ellis, 38
Hill, John, 68
“Hillyars and Burtons,” 149, 156
Hoadley, Bishop, 131
Hogarth, 131
Holbein, 38, 44, 47, 48
Holborn Viaduct Station, 79
Holland, 58, 96
,, House, 14, 57, 130, 133
„ Lord, 133
House of Commons, 47, 48
Howard of Effingham, Lord, 174
Huguenots, The, 160
Hume’s “History of England,” 141
“Humphrey Clinker,” 141
Hundred of Ossulston, The, 33
Hunt, Leigh, 79, 178
Hunter, John, 141
* * * * *
INDIA House, 14, 125
Infirmary, The, 67, 70, 82, 85
Inkerman, 73
Invalides, The, 67
Islington, 14
* * * * *
“JACOB FAITHFUL,” 102
Jacobites, The, 130
Jacobs, Mrs. Mary, 125
Jamaica, 119
James I., 50, 162
Jersey, 161
Jewish Burial Ground, 52
Jew’s Road, 97
Jones, Inigo, 52, 57
Johnson, Samuel, 79, 101, 132, 141, 177
“Junius,” 159
Justice Walk, 132
Justina, Maria, 57
* * * * *
KENSAL Green, 109
Kensington, 14, 17, 37, 84, 105, 133, 141
,, House, 57
King’s Bench, 47
„ College, 146
,, Road, 20, 23, 24, 28, 37, 53, 57, 63, 95, 115
King James’s College, 69, 77
Kingsley, Charles, 145, 146, 148
,, George, 145, 146
,, Henry, 145–150, 156, 178
,, Rev. Charles, 146
Knightsbridge, 13
Knipp, Mrs., 105
Knyff, L., 37
* * * * *
LACY, 78
Lamb, Charles, 14, 125
„ Lady Caroline, 31
Landon, Letitia E., 31
Lawrence family, 113, 141, 149, 156
„ Sir Thomas, 157
„ Manor House, 113, 141
„ Chapel, 156, 157
,, Street, 132, 141
Lawson, Cecil, 109
“Lay of the Last Minstrel,” 142
Le Puy, 161
Leicester, Earl of, 155
,, Square, 178
Lely, Sir Peter, 111
Linacre, 41
Lincoln’s Inn, 46
Lindsey, Earl of, 58
„ House, 17, 57, 58
Little Britain, 122
„ Cheyne Row, 141
Locke, John, 177
London, 13, 14, 19, 24, 31, 47, 53, 61, 69, 74, 90, 97, 101, 106, 122,
134, 138, 146, 152, 159, 161
London Bridge, 44, 105
Louis XIV., 67, 160
“Love for Love,” 169
Lover’s Walk, 53
Lucknow, 73
Lysons, Samuel, 92
* * * * *
MACAULAY, T. B., 18, 70
Maclise, Daniel, 106, 178
“Magpie and Stump,” 126, 130
Maiden Lane, 170
Maintenon, Madame de, 165
Mancini, Hortensia, 90
Manor House, 106, 113, 116, 118, 119, 138
„ Lawrence, 113, 141
,, Street, 113, 121
Marryat, 102
Martyrology, 158
Marvell, Andrew, 112
Mary Queen of Scots, 49
Mazarin, Cardinal, 90, 93
,, Duchess of, 86, 91, 94
Melford, Jerry, 141
Mercians, The, 33
Millbank, 87
Millman’s Row, 145
,, Street, 53, 145
Milton, John, 78
_Mirror_, _New York_, The, 14
“Mirror of Literature,” 98
Mitford, Mary Russell, 32
Monk, General, 74