THE POULTRY.
The Early Home of the London Poulterers--Its Mysterious
Desertion--Noteworthy Sites in the Poultry--The Birthplace of Tom
Hood, Senior--A Pretty Quarrel at the Rose Tavern--A Costly
Sign-board--The Three Cranes--The Home of the
Dillys--Johnsoniana--St. Mildred's Church, Poultry--Quaint
Epitaphs--The Poultry Compter--Attack on Dr. Lamb, the
Conjurer--Dekker, the Dramatist--Ned Ward's Description of the
Compter--Granville Sharp and the Slave Trade--Important Decision in
favour of the Slave--Boyse--Dunton.
The busy street extending between Cheapside and Cornhill is described by
Stow (Queen Elizabeth) as the special quarter, almost up to his time, of
the London poulterers, who sent their fowls and feathered game to be
prepared in Scalding Alley (anciently called Scalding House, or Scalding
Wike). The pluckers and scorchers of the feathered fowl occupied the
shops between the Stocks' Market (now the Mansion House) and the Great
Conduit. Just before Stow's time the poulterers seem to have taken wing
in a unanimous covey, and settled down, for reasons now unknown to us,
and not very material to any one, in Gracious (Gracechurch) Street, and
the end of St. Nicholas flesh shambles (now Newgate Market). Poultry was
not worth its weight in silver then.
The chief points of interest in the street (past and present) are the
Compter Prison, Grocers' Hall, Old Jewry, and several shops with
memorable associations. Lubbock's Banking House, for instance, is leased
of the Goldsmiths' Company, being part of Sir Martin Bowes' bequest to
the Company in Elizabeth's time. Sir Martin Bowes we have already
mentioned in our chapter on the Goldsmiths' Company.
The name of one of our greatest English wits is indissolubly connected
with the neighbourhood of the Poultry. It falls like a cracker, with
merry bang and sparkle, among the graver histories with which this great
street is associated. Tom Hood was the son of a Scotch bookseller in the
Poultry. The firm was "Vernor and Hood." "Mr. Hood," says Mrs. Broderip,
"was one of the 'Associated Booksellers,' who selected valuable old
books for reprinting, with great success. Messrs. Vernor and Hood, when
they moved to 31, Poultry, took into partnership Mr. C. Sharpe. The firm
of Messrs. Vernor and Hood published 'The Beauties of England and
Wales,' 'The Mirror,' Bloomfield's poems, and those of Henry Kirke
White." At this house in the Poultry, as far as we can trace, in the
year 1799, was born his second son, Thomas. After the sudden death of
the father, the widow and her children were left rather slenderly
provided for. "My father, the only remaining son, preferred the drudgery
of an engraver's desk to encroaching upon the small family store. He was
articled to his uncle, Mr. Sands, and subsequently was transferred to
one of the Le Keux. He was a most devoted and excellent son to his
mother, and the last days of her widowhood and decline were soothed by
his tender care and affection. An opening that offered more congenial
employment presented itself at last, when he was about the age of
twenty-one. By the death of Mr. John Scott, the editor of the 'London
Magazine,' who was killed in a duel, that periodical passed into other
hands, and became the property of my father's friends, Messrs. Taylor
and Hessey. The new proprietors soon sent for him, and he became a sort
of sub-editor to the magazine." Of this period of his life he says
himself:--
"Time was when I sat upon a lofty stool,
At lofty desk, and with a clerkly pen,
Began each morning, at the stroke of ten,
To write to Bell and Co.'s commercial school,
In Warneford Court, a shady nook and cool,
The favourite retreat of merchant men.
Yet would my quill turn vagrant, even then,
And take stray dips in the Castalian pool;
Now double entry--now a flowery trope--
Mingling poetic honey with trade wax;
Blogg Brothers--Milton--Grote and Prescott--Pope,
Bristles and Hogg--Glynn, Mills, and Halifax--
Rogers and Towgood--hemp--the Bard of Hope--
Barilla--Byron--tallow--Burns and flax."
The "King's Head" Tavern (No. 25) was kept at the Restoration by William
King, a staunch cavalier. It is said that the landlord's wife happened
to be on the point of labour on the day of the king's entry into London.
She was extremely anxious to see the returning monarch, and the king,
being told of her inclination, drew up at the door of the tavern in his
good-natured way, and saluted her.
The King's Head Tavern, which stood at the western extremity of the
Stocks' Market, was not at first known by the sign of the "King's Head,"
but the "Rose." Machin, in his diary, Jan. 5, 1560, thus mentions
it:--"A gentleman arrested for debt: Master Cobham, with divers
gentlemen and serving men, took him from the officers, and carried him
to the Rose Tavern, where so great a fray, both the sheriffs were fain
to come, and from the Rose Tavern took all the gentlemen and their
servants, and carried them to the Compter." The house was distinguished
by the device of a large, well-painted rose, erected over a doorway,
which was the only indication in the street of such an establishment.
Ned Ward, that coarse observer, in the "London Spy," 1709, describes the
"Rose," anciently the "Rose and Crown," as famous for good wine. "There
was no parting," he says, "without a glass; so we went into the Rose
Tavern in the Poultry, where the wine, according to its merit, had
justly gained a reputation; and there, in a snug room, warmed with brush
and faggot, over a quart of good claret, we laughed over our night's
adventure. The tavern door was flanked by two columns twisted with vines
carved in wood, which supported a small square gallery over the portico,
surrounded by handsome iron-work. On the front of this gallery was
erected the sign. It consisted of a central compartment containing the
Rose, behind which the artist had introduced a tall silver cup, called
"a standing bowl," with drinking glasses. Beneath the painting was this
inscription:--
"This is
THE ROSE TAVERN,
Kept by
WILLIAM KING,
Citizen and Vintner.
This Taverne's like its sign--a lustie Rose,
A sight of joy that sweetness doth enclose;
The daintie Flow're well pictur'd here is seene,
But for its rarest sweets--come, searche within!"
About the time that King altered his sign we find the authorities of St.
Peter-upon-Cornhill determining "That the King's Arms, in painted glass,
should be refreshed, and forthwith be set up (in one of their church
windows) by the churchwarden at the parish charges; with whatsoever he
giveth to the glazier as a gratuity."
The sign appears to have been a costly work, since there was the
fragment of a leaf of an old account-book found when the ruins of the
house were cleared after the Great Fire, on which were written these
entries:--"Pd. to Hoggestreete, the Duche paynter, for ye picture of a
Rose, wth a Standing-bowle and glasses, for a signe, xx _li._, besides
diners and drinkings; also for a large table of walnut-tree, for a
frame, and for iron-worke and hanging the picture, v _li._" The artist
who is referred to in this memorandum could be no other than Samuel Van
Hoogstraten, a painter of the middle of the seventeenth century, whose
works in England are very rare. He was one of the many excellent artists
of the period, who, as Walpole contemptuously says, "painted still life,
oranges and lemons, plate, damask curtains, cloth of gold, and that
medley of familiar objects that strike the ignorant vulgar." At a
subsequent date the landlord wrote under the sign--
"Gallants, rejoice! This flow're is now full-blowne!
'Tis a Rose-Noble better'd by a crowne;
All you who love the emblem and the signe,
Enter, and prove our loyaltie and wine."
The tavern was rebuilt after the Great Fire, and flourished many years.
It was long a depot in the metropolis for turtle; and in the quadrangle
of the tavern might be seen scores of turtle, large and lively, in huge
tanks of water; or laid upward on the stone floor, ready for their
destination. The tavern was also noted for large dinners of the City
Companies and other public bodies. The house was refitted in 1852, but
has since been pulled down. (Timbs.)
Another noted Poultry Tavern was the "Three Cranes," destroyed in the
Great Fire, but rebuilt and noticed in 1698, in one of the many paper
controversies of that day. A fulminating pamphlet, entitled "Ecclesia et
Factio: a Dialogue between Bow Church Steeple and the Exchange
Grasshopper," elicited "An Answer to the Dragon and Grasshopper; in a
Dialogue between an Old Monkey and a Young Weasel, at the Three Cranes
Tavern, in the Poultry."
No. 22 was the house of Johnson's friends, Edward and Charles Dilly, the
booksellers. Here, in the year 1773, Boswell and Johnson dined with the
Dillys, Goldsmith, Langton, and the Rev. Mr. Toplady. The conversation
was of excellent quality, and Boswell devotes many pages to it. They
discussed the emigration and nidification of birds, on which subjects
Goldsmith seems to have been deeply interested; the bread-fruit of
Otaheite, which Johnson, who had never tasted it, considered surpassed
by a slice of the loaf before him; toleration, and the early martyrs. On
this last subject, Dr. Mayo, "the literary anvil," as he was called,
because he bore Johnson's hardest blows without flinching, held out
boldly for unlimited toleration; Johnson for Baxter's principle of only
"tolerating all things that are tolerable," which is no toleration at
all. Goldsmith, unable to get a word in, and overpowered by the voice of
the great Polyphemus, grew at last vexed, and said petulantly to
Johnson, who he thought had interrupted poor Toplady, "Sir, the
gentleman has heard you patiently for an hour; pray allow us now to hear
him." Johnson replied, sternly, "Sir, I was not interrupting the
gentleman; I was only giving him a signal proof of my attention. Sir,
you are impertinent."
Johnson, Boswell, and Langton presently adjourned to the club, where
they found Burke, Garrick, and Goldsmith, the latter still brooding over
his sharp reprimand at Dilly's. Johnson, magnanimous as a lion, at once
said aside to Boswell, "I'll make Goldsmith forgive me." Then calling to
the poet, in a loud voice he said, "Dr. Goldsmith, something passed
to-day where you and I dined; I ask your pardon."
Goldsmith, touched with this, replied, "It must be much from you, sir,
that I take ill"--became himself, "and rattled away as usual." Would
Goldy have rattled away so had he known what Johnson, Boswell, and
Langton had said about him as they walked up Cheapside? Langton had
observed that the poet was not like Addison, who, content with his fame
as a writer, did not attempt a share in conversation; to which Boswell
added, that Goldsmith had a great deal of gold in his cabinet, but, not
content with that, was always pulling out his purse. "Yes, sir," struck
in Johnson, "and that is often an empty purse."
In 1776 we find Boswell skilfully decoying his great idol to dinner at
the Dillys to meet the notorious "Jack Wilkes." To Boswell's horror,
when he went to fetch Johnson, he found him covered with dust, and
buffeting some books, having forgotten all about the dinner party. A
little coaxing, however, soon won him over; Johnson roared out, "Frank,
a clean shirt!" and was soon packed into a hackney coach. On discovering
"a certain gentleman in lace," and he Wilkes the demagogue, Johnson was
at first somewhat disconcerted, but soon recovered himself, and behaved
like a man of the world. Wilkes quickly won the great man.
They soon set to work discussing Foote's wit, and Johnson confessed
that, though resolved not to be pleased, he had once at a dinner-party
been obliged to lay down his knife and fork, throw himself back in his
chair, and fairly laugh it out--"The dog was so comical, sir: he was
irresistible." Wilkes and Johnson then fell to bantering the Scotch;
Burke complimented Boswell on his successful stroke of diplomacy in
bringing Johnson and Wilkes together.
Mr. Wilkes placed himself next to Dr. Johnson, and behaved to him with
so much attention and politeness, that he gained upon him insensibly. No
man ate more heartily than Johnson, or loved better what was nice and
delicate. Mr. Wilkes was very assiduous in helping him to some fine
veal. "Pray give me leave, sir--it is better there--a little of the
brown--some fat, sir--a little of the stuffing--some gravy--let me have
the pleasure of giving you some butter--allow me to recommend a squeeze
of this orange; or the lemon, perhaps, may have more zest." "Sir--sir, I
am obliged to you, sir," cried Johnson, bowing, and turning his head to
him with a look for some time of "surly virtue," but, in a short while,
of complacency.
But the most memorable evening recorded at Dilly's was April 15, 1778,
when Johnson and Boswell dined there, and met Miss Seward, the Lichfield
poetess, and Mrs. Knowles, a clever Quaker lady, who for once overcame
the giant of Bolt Court in argument. Before dinner Johnson took up a
book, and read it ravenously. "He knows how to read it better," said
Mrs. Knowles to Boswell, "than any one. He gets at the substance of a
book directly. He tears out the heart of it." At dinner Johnson told
Dilly that, if he wrote a book on cookery, it should be based on
philosophical principles. "Women," he said, contemptuously, "can spin,
but they cannot make a good book of cookery."
They then fell to talking of a ghost that had appeared at Newcastle, and
had recommended some person to apply to an attorney. Johnson thought the
Wesleys had not taken pains enough in collecting evidence, at which Miss
Seward smiled. This vexed the superstitious sage of Fleet Street, and he
said, with solemn vehemence, "Yes, ma'am, this is a question which,
after five thousand years, is yet undecided; a question, whether in
theology or philosophy, one of the most important that can come before
the human understanding."
Johnson, who during the evening had been very thunderous at intervals,
breaking out against the Americans, describing them as "rascals,
robbers, and pirates," and declaring he would destroy them all--as
Boswell says, "He roared out a tremendous volley which one might fancy
could be heard across the Atlantic," &c.--grew very angry at Mrs.
Knowles for noticing his unkindness to Miss Jane Barry, a recent convert
to Quakerism.
"We remained," says Boswell, writing with awe, like a man who has
survived an earthquake, "together till it was very late. Notwithstanding
occasional explosions of violence, we were all delighted upon the whole
with Johnson. I compared him at the time to a warm West Indian climate,
where you have a bright sun, quick vegetation, luxurious foliage,
luscious fruits, but where the same heat sometimes produces thunder,
lightning, and earthquakes in a terrible degree."
St. Mildred's Church, Poultry, is a rectory situate at the corner of
Scalding Alley. John de Asswell was collated thereto in the year 1325.
To this church anciently belonged the chapel of Corpus Christi and St.
Mary, at the end of Conyhoop Lane, or Grocers' Alley, in the Poultry.
The patronage of this church was in the prior and canons of St. Mary
Overie's in Southwark till their suppression. This church was consumed
in the Great Fire, anno 1666, and then rebuilt, the parish of St. Mary
Cole being thereunto annexed. Among the monumental inscriptions in this
church, Maitland gives the following on the well-known Thomas Tusser, of
Elizabeth's reign, who wrote a quaint poem on a farmer's life and
duties:--
"Here Thomas Tusser, clad in earth, doth lie,
That some time made the points of husbandrie.
By him then learne thou maist, here learne we must,
When all is done we sleep and turn to dust.
And yet through Christ to heaven we hope to goe,
Who reads his bookes shall find his faith was so.
Among the curious epitaphs in St. Mildred's, Stow mentions the
following, which is worth quoting here:--
"HERE LIES BURIED THOMAS YKEN, SKINNER.
"In Hodnet and London
God blessed my life,
Till forty and sixe yeeres,
With children and wife;
And God will raise me
Up to life againe,
Therefore have I thought
My death no paine."
[Illustration: JOHN WILKES. (_From an Authentic Portrait._)]
A fair monument of Queen Elizabeth had on the sides the following verses
inscribed:--
"If prayers or tears
Of subjects had prevailed,
To save a princesse
Through the world esteemed;
Then Atropos
In cutting here had fail'd,
And had not cut her thread,
But been redeem'd;
But pale-faced Death;
And cruel churlish Fate,
To prince and people
Brings the latest date.
Yet spight of Death and Fate,
Fame will display
Her gracious virtues
Through the world for aye,
Spain's Rod, Rome's Ruine,
Netherlands' Reliefe;
Heaven's gem, earth's joy,
World's wonder, Nature's chief.
Britaine's blessing, England's splendour,
Religion's Nurse, the Faith's Defender."
The Poultry Compter, on the site of the present Grocers' Alley, was one
of the old sheriff's prisons pulled down in 1817, replaced soon after by
a chapel. Stow mentions the prison as four houses west from the parish
of St. Mildred, and describes it as having been "there kept and
continued time out of mind, for I have not read the original hereof."
"It was the only prison," says Mr. Peter Cunningham, "with a ward set
apart for Jews (probably from its vicinity to Old Jewry), and it was the
only prison in London left unattacked by Lord George Gordon's blue
cockaded rioters in 1780." This may have arisen from secret
instructions of Lord George, who had sympathies for the Jews, and
eventually became one himself. Middleton, 1607 (James I.), speaks ill of
it in his play of the _Phoenix_, for prisons at that time were places of
cruelty and extortion, and schools of villainy. The great playwright
makes his "first officer" say, "We have been scholars, I can tell
you--we could not have been knaves so soon else; for as in that notable
city called London, stand two most famous universities, Poultry and Wood
St., where some are of twenty years standing, and have took all their
degrees, from the master's side, down to the mistress's side, so in like
manner," &c.
[Illustration: THE POULTRY COMPTER. (_From an Old Print._)]
It was at this prison, in the reign of Charles I., that Dr. Lamb, the
conjurer, died, after being nearly torn to pieces by the mob. He was a
creature of the Duke of Buckingham, and had been accused of bewitching
Lord Windsor. On the 18th of June Lamb was insulted in the City by a few
boys, who soon after being increased by the acceding multitude, they
surrounded him with bitter invectives, which obliged him to seek refuge
in a tavern in the Old Jewry; but the tumult continuing to increase, the
vintner, for his own safety, judged it proper to turn him out of the
house, whereupon the mob renewed their exclamations against him, with
the appellations of "wizard," "conjuror," and "devil." But at last,
perceiving the approach of a guard, sent by the Lord Mayor to his
rescue, they fell upon and beat the doctor in such a cruel and barbarous
manner, that he was by the said guard taken up for dead, and carried to
the Compter, where he soon after expired. "But the author of a treatise,
entitled 'The Forfeiture of the City Charters,'" says Maitland, "gives a
different account of this affair, and, fixing the scene of this tragedy
on the 14th of July, writes, that as the doctor passed through
Cheapside, he was attacked as above mentioned, which forced him to seek
a retreat down Wood Street, and that he was there screened from the fury
of the mob in a house, till they had broken all the windows, and forced
the door; and then, no help coming to the relief of the doctor, the
housekeeper was obliged to deliver him up to save the spoiling of his
goods.
"When the rabble had got him into their hands, some took him by the
legs, and others by the arms, and so dragging him along the streets,
cried, 'Lamb, Lamb, the conjuror, the conjuror!' every one kicking and
striking him that were nearest.
"Whilst this tumult lasted, and the City was in an uproar, the news of
what had passed came to the king's ear, who immediately ordered his
guards to make ready, and, taking some of the chief nobility, he came in
person to appease the tumult. In St. Paul's Churchyard he met the
inhuman villains dragging the doctor along; and after the knight-marshal
had proclaimed silence, who was but ill obeyed, the king, like a good
prince, mildly exhorted and persuaded them to keep his peace, and
deliver up the doctor to be tried according to law; and that if his
offence, which they charged him with, should appear, he should be
punished accordingly; commanding them to disperse and depart every man
to his own home. But the insolent varlets answered, _that they had
judged him already_; and thereupon pulled him limb from limb; or, at
least, so dislocated his joints, that he instantly died."
This took place just before the Duke of Buckingham's assassination by
Felton, in 1628. The king, very much enraged at the treatment of Lamb,
and the non-discovery of the real offenders, extorted a fine of L6,000
from the abashed City.
Dekker, the dramatist, was thrown into this prison. This poet of the
great Elizabethan race was one of Ben Jonson's great rivals. He thus
rails at Shakespeare's special friend, who had made "a supplication to
be a poor journeyman player, and hadst been still so, but that thou
couldst not set _a good face_ upon it. Thou hast forgot how thou
ambled'st in leather-pilch, by a play-waggon in the highway; and took'st
mad Jeronimo's part, to get service among the mimics," &c.
Dekker thus delineates Ben:--"That same Horace has the most ungodly
face, by my fan; it looks for all the world like a rotten russet apple,
when 'tis bruised. It's better than a spoonful of cinnamon water next my
heart, for me to hear him speak; he sounds it so i' th' nose, and talks
and rants like the poor fellows under Ludgate--to see his face make
faces, when he reads his songs and sonnets."
Again, we have Ben's face compared with that of his favourite,
Horace's--"You staring Leviathan! Look on the sweet visage of Horace;
look, parboil'd face, look--has he not his face punchtfull of
eylet-holes, like the cover of a warming-pan?"
Ben Jonson's manner in a playhouse is thus sketched by Dekker:--"Not to
hang himself, even if he thought any man could write plays as well as
himself; not to bombast out a new play with the old linings of jests
stolen from the Temple's revels; not to sit in a gallery where your
comedies have entered their actions, and there make vile and bad faces
at every line, to make men have an eye to you, and to make players
afraid; not to venture on the stage when your play is ended, and
exchange courtesies and compliments with gallants, to make all the house
rise and cry--'That's Horace! That's he that pens and purges humours!'"
But, notwithstanding all his bitterness, Dekker could speak generously
of the old poet; for he thus sums up Ben Jonson's merits in the
following lines:--
"Good Horace! No! My cheeks do blush for thine,
As often as thou speakest so; where one true
And nobly virtuous spirit for thy best part
Loves thee, I wish one, ten; even from my heart!
I make account, I put up as deep share
In any good man's love, which thy worth earns,
As thou thyself; we envy not to see
Thy friends with bays to crown thy poesy.
No, here the gall lies;--we, that know what stuff
Thy very heart is made of, know the stalk
On which thy learning grows, and can give life
To thy one dying baseness; yet must we
Dance anticks on your paper.
But were thy warp'd soul put in a new mould,
I'd wear thee as a jewel set in gold."
Charles Lamb, speaking of Dekker's share in Massinger's _Virgin Martyr_,
highly eulogises the impecunious poet. "This play," says Lamb, "has some
beauties of so very high an order, that with all my respect for
Massinger, I do not think he had poetical enthusiasm capable of rising
up to them. His associate, Dekker, who wrote _Old Fortunatus_, had
poetry enough for anything. The very impurities which obtrude themselves
among the sweet pictures of this play, like Satan among the sons of
Heaven, have a strength of contrast, a raciness, and a glow in them,
which are beyond Massinger. They are to the religion of the rest what
Caliban is to Miranda."
Ned Ward, in his coarse but clever "London Spy," gives us a most
distasteful picture of the Compter in 1698-1700. "When we first
entered," says Ward, "this apartment, under the title of the King's
Ward, the mixture of scents that arose from _mundungus_, tobacco, foul
feet, dirty shirts, stinking breaths, and uncleanly carcases, poisoned
our nostrils far worse than a Southwark ditch, a tanner's yard, or a
tallow-chandler's melting-room. The ill-looking vermin, with long, rusty
beards, swaddled up in rags, and their heads--some covered with
thrum-caps, and others thrust into the tops of old stockings. Some
quitted their play they were before engaged in, and came hovering round
us, like so many cannibals, with such devouring countenances, as if a
man had been but a morsel with 'em, all crying out, 'Garnish, garnish,'
as a rabble in an insurrection crying, 'Liberty, liberty!' We were
forced to submit to the doctrine of non-resistance, and comply with
their demands, which extended to the sum of two shillings each."
The Poultry Compter has a special historical interest, from the fact of
its being connected with the early struggles of our philanthropists
against the slave-trade. It was here that several of the slaves released
by Granville Sharp's noble exertions were confined. This excellent man,
and true aggressive Christian, was grandson of an Archbishop of York,
and son of a learned Northumberland rector. Though brought up to the
bar, he never practised, and resigned a place in the Ordnance Office
because he could not conscientiously approve of the American War. He
lived a bachelor life in the Temple, doing good continually. Sharp
opposed the impressment of sailors and the system of duelling;
encouraged the distribution of the Bible, and advocated parliamentary
reform. But it was as an enemy to slavery, and the first practical
opposer of its injustice and its cruelties, that Granville Sharp earned
a foremost place in the great bede-roll of our English philanthropists.
Mr. Sharp's first interference in behalf of persecuted slaves was in
1765.
In the year 1765, says Clarkson, in his work on slavery, a Mr. David
Lisle had brought over from Barbadoes Jonathan Strong, an African slave,
as his servant. He used the latter in a barbarous manner at his
lodgings, in Wapping, but particularly by beating him over the head with
a pistol, which occasioned his head to swell. When the swelling went
down a disorder fell into his eyes, which threatened the loss of them.
To this a fever and ague succeeded; and he was affected with a lameness
in both his legs.
Jonathan Strong having been brought into this deplorable condition, and
being therefore wholly useless, was left by his master to go whither he
pleased. He applied, accordingly, to Mr. William Sharp, the surgeon, for
his advice, as to one who gave up a portion of his time to the healing
of the diseases of the poor. It was here that Mr. Granville Sharp, the
brother of the former, saw him. Suffice it to say that in process of
time he was cured. During this time Mr. Granville Sharp, pitying his
hard case, supplied him with money, and afterwards got him a situation
in the family of Mr. Brown, an apothecary, to carry out medicines.
In this new situation, when Strong had become healthy and robust in his
appearance, his master happened to see him. The latter immediately
formed the design of possessing him again. Accordingly, when he had
found out his residence, he procured John Ross, keeper of the Poultry
Compter, and William Miller, an officer under the Lord Mayor, to kidnap
him. This was done by sending for him to a public-house in Fenchurch
Street, and then seizing him. By these he was conveyed, without any
warrant, to the Poultry Compter, where he was sold by his master to John
Kerr for L30. Mr. Sharp, immediately upon this, waited upon Sir Robert
Kite, the then Lord Mayor, and entreated him to send for Strong and to
hear his case. A day was accordingly appointed, Mr. Sharp attended, also
William M'Bean, a notary public, and David Laird, captain of the ship
_Thames_, which was to have conveyed Strong to Jamaica, in behalf of the
purchaser, John Kerr. A long conversation ensued, in which the opinion
of York and Talbot was quoted. Mr. Sharp made his observations. Certain
lawyers who were present seemed to be staggered at the case, but
inclined rather to re-commit the prisoner. The Lord Mayor, however,
discharged Strong, as he had been taken up without a warrant.
As soon as this determination was made known, the parties began to move
off. Captain Laird, however, who kept close to Strong, laid hold of him
before he had quitted the room, and said aloud, "Then now I seize him as
my slave." Upon this Mr. Sharp put his hand upon Laird's shoulder, and
pronounced these words, "I charge you, in the name of the king, with an
assault upon the person of Jonathan Strong, and all these are my
witnesses." Laird was greatly intimidated by this charge, made in the
presence of the Lord Mayor and others, and fearing a prosecution, let
his prisoner go, leaving him to be conveyed away by Mr. Sharp.
But the great turning case was that of James Somerset, in 1772. James
Somerset, an African slave, had been brought to England by his master,
Charles Stewart, in November, 1769. Somerset, in process of time, left
him. Stewart took an opportunity of seizing him, and had him conveyed on
board the _Ann and Mary_, Captain Knowles, to be carried out of the
kingdom and sold as a slave in Jamaica. The question raised was,
"Whether a slave, by coming into England, became free?"
In order that time might be given for ascertaining the law fully on this
head, the case was argued at three different sittings--first, in
January, 1772; secondly, in February, 1772; and thirdly, in May, 1772.
And that no decision otherwise than what the law warranted might be
given, the opinion of the judges was taken upon the pleadings. The great
and glorious issue of the trial was, "That as soon as ever any slave set
his foot upon English territory he became free."
Thus ended the great case of Somerset, which, having been determined
after so deliberate an investigation of the law, can never be reversed
while the British Constitution remains. The eloquence displayed in it by
those who were engaged on the side of liberty was perhaps never exceeded
on any occasion; and the names of the counsellors, Davy, Glynn,
Hargrave, Mansfield, and Alleyne, ought always to be remembered with
gratitude by the friends of this great cause.
It was after this verdict that Cowper wrote the following beautiful
lines:--
"Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs
Imbibe our air, that moment they are free;
They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud
And jealous of the blessing. Spread on, then,
And let it circulate through every vein
Of all your empire, that where Britain's power
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too."
It was in this Compter that Boyse, a true type of the Grub Street poet
of Dr. Johnson's time, spent many of the latter days of his life. In the
year 1740 Boyse was reduced to the lowest state of poverty, having no
clothes left in which he could appear abroad; and what bare subsistence
he procured was by writing occasional poems for the magazines. Of the
disposition of his apparel Mr. Nichols received from Dr. Johnson, who
knew him well, the following account. He used to pawn what he had of
this sort, and it was no sooner redeemed by his friends, than pawned
again. On one occasion Dr. Johnson collected a sum of money[8] for this
purpose, and in two days the clothes were pawned again. In this state
Boyse remained in bed with no other covering than a blanket with two
holes, through which he passed his arms when he sat up to write. The
author of his life in Cibber adds, that when his distresses were so
pressing as to induce him to dispose of his shirt, he used to cut some
white paper in slips, which he tied round his wrists, and in the same
manner supplied his neck. In this plight he frequently appeared abroad,
while his other apparel was scarcely sufficient for the purposes of
decency.
In the month of May, 1749, Boyse died in obscure lodgings near Shoe
Lane. An old acquaintance of his endeavoured to collect money to defray
the expenses of his funeral, so that the scandal of being buried by the
parish might be avoided. But his endeavours were in vain, for the
persons he had selected had been so often troubled with applications
during the life of this unhappy man, that they refused to contribute
anything towards his funeral.
Of Boyse's best poems "The Deity" contains some vigorous lines, of which
the following are a favourable specimen:--
"Transcendent pow'r! sole arbiter of fate!
How great thy glory! and thy bliss how great,
To view from thy exalted throne above
(Eternal source of light, and life, and love!)
Unnumbered creatures draw their smiling birth,
To bless the heav'ns or beautify the earth;
While systems roll, obedient to thy view,
And worlds rejoice--which Newton never knew!
* * * * *
Below, thro' different forms does matter range,
And life subsists from elemental change,
Liquids condensing shapes terrestrial wear,
Earth mounts in fire, and fire dissolves in air;
While we, inquiring phantoms of a day,
Inconstant as the shadows we survey!
With them along Time's rapid current pass,
And haste to mingle with the parent mass;
But thou, Eternal Lord of life divine!
In youth immortal shalt for ever shine!
No change shall darken thy exalted name,
From everlasting ages still the same!"
Dunton, the eccentric bookseller of William III.'s reign, resided in the
Poultry in the year 1688. "The humour of rambling," he says in his
autobiography, "was now pretty well off with me, and my thoughts began
to fix rather upon business. The shop I took, with the sign of the Black
Raven, stood opposite to the Poultry Counter, where I traded ten years,
as all other men must expect, with a variety of successes and
disappointments. My shop was opened just upon the Revolution, and, as I
remember, the same day the Prince of Orange came to London."
FOOTNOTES:
[8] "The sum," said Johnson, "was collected by sixpences, at a time when
to me sixpence was a serious consideration."