MORE WANDERINGS
IN LONDON
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MORE WANDERINGS
IN LONDON
E. V. LUCAS
By E. V. LUCAS
More Wanderings in London
Cloud and Silver
The Vermilion Box
The Hausfrau Rampant
Landmarks
Listener's Lure
Mr. Ingleside
Over Uemerton's
Ix)iterer's Harvest
One Day and Another
Fireside and Sunshine
Character and Comedy
Old Lamps for New
The Hambledon Men
The Open Road
The Friendly Town
Her Infinite Variety —
Good Company —
The Gentlest Art
The Second Post
A Little of Everything
Harvest Home
Variety Lane
The Best of Lamb
The Life of Charles Lamb
A Swan and Her Friends
A Wanderer in Venice
A Wanderer in Paris
A Wanderer in London
A Wanderer in Holland
A Wanderer in Florence
Highways and Byways in Sussex
Anne's Terrible Good Nature
The Slowcoach
and
The Pocket Edition of the Works of
Charles Lamb: I. Miscellaneous Prose;
II. Elia; iii. Children's Books; iv.
Poems and Plays; v. and vi. Letters.
ST. MARTIN S-IN-THE-FIELDS, TRAFALGAR SQUARE
MORE
WANDERINGS
IN LONDON
BY
E. V. LUCAS
"You may depend upon it, all lives lived out of London
are mistakes: more or less grievous — but mistakes."
Sydney Smith
WITH SIXTEEN DRAWINGS IN COLOUR BT
H. M. LIVENS
AND SEVENTEEN OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
Copyright, 1916,
By George H. Doran Company
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PREFACE
THIS book is a companion to A Wanderer in
London, published in 1906, and supplements
it. New editions, bringing that work to date, will,
I hope, continue to appear.
More Wanderings in London contains certain
matter of interest omitted from the earlier book, such
as descriptions of some minor museums, or touched
there too lightly, and extends the range to Hampton
Court. It also gives complete lists of the open-air
statues of London and of those houses that are
marked with tablets.
Mr. Livens would have made, among other pic-
tures not here, a drawing of the new Admiralty
Arch, had not this been forbidden, during war time,
by the authorities.
The end papers are a portion of an ingenious
poster designed by Mr. MacDonald Gill for the
Metropolitan District Railway Company, by whose
courtesy it is used here.
I offer no apology for the digressive character of
the pages that follow. London was made for digres-
sion.
April, 1916 E- ^' L.
(vl
CONTENTS
CBAPTEB PAGE
I. Bow Church and Sir Christopher Wren i
II. The City's Pictures .... 28
III. A Medley of Churches . . • "• 53
IV. The Royal Mint and New Scotland
Yard 68
V. The Statues of London : I. The City to .
Charing Cross 80
VI. The Statues of London : II. Trafalgar
Square and the Mall to Kensington 92
VII. Holland House and Sydney Smith . 105
VIII. The Statues of London : III. Waterloo
Place and Leicester Square . .126
IX. John Hunter's Museum . . . 133
X. The Statues of London : IV. Westmin
STER AND THE EMBANKMENT
XL The Oval
XII. The London Museum
XIII. The Circus
XIV. The Statues of London : V. Miscel
laneous
[vii]
139
149
163
174
185
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAQB
X\\ Sermons in Stones ..... 196
X\'I. The Adelphi and James Barry . . 202
XVII. The Society of Arts' Tablets . .218
X\TII. The County Council's Tablets . 229
XIX. GouGH Square and St. Clement Danes 250
XX. Hampton Court 267
XXI. Lord's . . . . . . .281
XXII. The Zoo 294
XXIII. A Group of Londoners .... 303
[viii]
PICTURES IN COLOUR
BY H. M. LIVENS
St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, Trafalgar Square
Frontispiece
St. Dunstan's-in-the-West, Fleet Street .
St. Magnus the Martyr, from London Bridge
The Temple Church, from Johnson's Buildings
A Mansion in Park Lane, from Hyde Park
Kensington Palace, from the Green
Holland House, from Holland Walk
The Horse Guards, from St. James's Park
A Typical London Demolition Scene
The Westminster Guildhall
EusTON Station, Main Entrance .
Berkeley Square, East Side .
Dickens' House, Devonshire Terrace .
The Inner Temple Hall, from the Corner of
Crown Office Row, Where, at No. 2,
Charles Lamb Was Born .... 246
Hampton Court, the Great Gateway . . 268
Richmond Bridge 278
[ix]
FAQB
20
42
62
82
100
122
130
144
166
186
206
224
OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS
PAaB
The Dead Cavalier. W. S. Burton (Guildhall) . lo
George Herbert at Bemerton. W. Dyce (Guild-
hall) 28
Thomas Tomkins. Sir Joshua Reynolds (Guild-
hall) 48
Study of a Lion. J. M. Swan (Guildhall) . . 74
Study of a Tiger. J. M. Swan (Guildhall) . . 74
Jesus is Condemned to Death (The Stations of the
Cross, I). Eric Gill (Westminster Cathedral) . 88
William Hunter Lecturing on Anatomy. Zof-
fany (Royal College of Physicians) . .110
The Sisters. Hoppner (The Tennant Gallery).
From a photograph by the Medici Society . 136
A Cricket Match at Chertsey. George Morland
(Surrey County Cricket Club Pavilion) . . 156
Miss Ridge. Reynolds (The Tennant Gallery).
From a photograph by the Medici Society . 176
Relief (Christ Blessing Children). J. Flaxman
(University College) ...... 192
Reproduced from the original in the Flaxman
Gallery, University College, London, by per-
mission of the University College Committee.
[Xi]
OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS
PAoa
Soliciting \'otes (from "The Election"). W. Ho-
garth (Soane Museum) ..... 212
The Rake's Progress (Arrested for Debt). W. Ho-
garth (Soane Museum) ..... 236
Andrea Odoni. Lotto (Hampton Court). From a
photograph by W. A. Mansell & Co. . . 254
Princess Mary as Diana. Sir Peter Lely (Hamp-
ton Court). From a photograph by W. A.
Mansell & Co 270
The Holy Family with S. James. Correggio
(Hampton Court). From a photograph by
W. A. Mansell & Co 290
A Shepherd with a Pipe. Attributed to Glorgione
(Hampton Court). From a photograph by
W. A. Mansell & Co 316
[xH]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
MORE WANDERINGS IN
LONDON
CHAPTER I
BOW CHURCH AND SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
St. Mary-le-Bow — An ancient crypt — The great Bell and
the Dragon — Cockneys — London's lovely spires — Bridge
viewpoints — The true white stone — Christopher Wren —
Dr. Busby — An apocryphal poem — A voracious experi-
mentalist — The Fire of London — Samuel Pepys as eye-
witness — The Monument — The Moment and the Man —
Wren's energy — His fifty-two London churches — A great
life.
I BEGAN my earlier wanderings in London at
No. 1 London, or Apsley House. Bow Church,
in Cheapside, is another good starting-point, since
one is no true Cockney unless bom within sound of
its bells. It has a further claim as a place of de-
parture in that its crypt is among the earliest Lon-
don buildings. Let us then begin these new wan-
derings here.
Bow Church, or, to give its true name, St. Mary-
le-Bow, is the glory of Cheapside. although prob-
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
ably a plebiscite of children would award that hon-
our to Mr. Bennett's giants. The second part of
its name comes from the arches or bows on which
the first church was built, still in perfect preserva-
tion in the crypt; and the Court of Arches, our
highest ecclesiastical tribunal, which in early days
held its sittings here, derives its style from the
same circumstance.
This crypt, which is of perpetual interest to anti-
quaries, offers the opportunity of shedding ten cen-
turies in as many moments. One has but to leave
the bustle of Cheapside, with its motor horns and
modernity, and descend a few steps, and one is not
only in perfect stillness but surrounded by massive
masonry of immense age, eked out here and there
by Roman tiles. Only half of the crypt is shown;
the other half, sealed up, contains hundreds of cof-
fins. On a shelf is a headstone of Wren's brought
from All Hallows — very like Mr. Chesterton.
Bow Church itself is just a spacious square room.
Its special attractions are the crypt; the famous
bell whose firm attitude of ignorance is so familiar
to all children who have ever played that most thrill-
ing of games "Oranges and Lemons" (" *I do not
know,' says the great bell of Bow"); and the gold
dragon on the top of the spire which to any one in
Cheapside caring to look up tells where the wind is.
Londoners once never looked up, but the activities
[2]
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
of Count Zeppelin have given our necks a new lis-
someness, and, at any rate after dark, we now look
up with great frequency.
According to the picture postcard which the Bow
verger induced me to purchase, this dragon is two
hundred and twenty-one feet, six inches, above the
pavement. Furthermore, it is eight feet, ten inches,
long, and the crosses under its wings represent the
crest of the City. The great bell of Bow, according
to a similar source of information which cost me an-
other penny, weighs fifty-three hundred-weights and
twenty-two pounds. It is not the bell that Whit-
tington heard, — some say on Highgate Hill and
others in Bunhill Fields, — but a successor. The
Great Fire destroyed the ancient peal, but a new
one of twelve now rings out merrily enough on
practice nights. The postcard, turning from weights,
enlarges upon the origin of the word "Cockney," in
the following, to me unconvincing, terms: "People
bom within the sound of Bow Bells are termed
'Cockneys,' — a term said to arise from a misshapen
egg called by some country-folk a 'cock's egg,' and
applied by them to townsfolk as being poorly de-
veloped and misshapen. Another story is that a
London boy hearing on a visit to the country a
horse's neigh, asked what the noise was, and was
told ; he then heard a cock crowing and said : 'That's
a cock's neigh, then.' Thus the term was applied to
[3]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
one who knew little of country life." Philology
must do better than that. My dictionary derives it
from tlie Latin word coquina^ a butcher, or coquino,
to cook, and gives as second definition "an effemi-
nate, ignorant and despicable citizen" — of, I sup-
pose, any town.
It is upon the burned church's bows or arches,
in the crypt, that Sir Christopher Wren based the
present building, after the Fire of London; and
when all the fortunate conjunctions of history come
to be enumerated, surely the one which provided
that that great man should have been here, all ready
with his plans, before the ashes were cold, must rank
among the first. For without Wren what would
the City be*? Leaving St. Paul's aside, the City is
indebted to Wren for more than fifty churches, each
with some peculiar charm. The sequence is exact:
first the Plague; then the Fire, which cleansed the
germ-ridden rookeries and made London healthy
again; and then Sir Christopher Wren, who built
the City anew. He built much besides the churches,
but the churches are his peculiar glory and greatest
monument.
To know his churches intimately one must visit
them; but to get in a moment some idea of what
he did to make London beautiful as a whole, one
must ascend this Bow Church spire, or the dome of
St. Paul's, or the Monument, or, better still — for
[4]
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
each of these eminences was designed by Wren him-
self, and therefore they are too much in the piece,
so to speak — better still, stand on one of the western
Thames bridges on a fine clear afternoon when the
sun is at one's back. All London's bridges are ex-
cellent places from which to see London's spires;
but Hungerford Bridge is perhaps the best, and
Waterloo Bridge next, as they are central and the
river towards the City has a curve. In this survey
St. Paul's always dominates; but there are other
spires that give the eye an equal or greater pleasure.
From both these bridges, St. Bride's, with its gal-
leries springing to heaven, is very notable, and also
the octagonal open-work tower of St. Dunstan's-in-
the-West; whereas from London Bridge it is the
soaring solidity of St. Magnus the Martyr and the
delicate flying spire of St. Dunstan's-in-the-East
that most delight. All are Wren's save St. Dun-
stan's-in-the-West, which is only of the last century.
Standing thus, with all the fair prospect spread
out, one realises the purpose and glory of Wren.
Like the beneficent forester who plants for poster-
ity, so did Wren build for us, or, if you like, plant
for us, these gleaming spires being his lovely trees.
One realises also that the only true building ma-
terial for London is, as Wren knew, white stone —
that stone which the hands of time and grime and
weather so lovingly stroke. From Waterloo Bridge
[5]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
one sees many white buildinpis old and new, and all
are beautiful. A kindly light can indeed transform
the most prosaic business blocks into very fortresses
of old romance. There are nests of offices at the
foot of Norfolk Street and Arundel Street, with a
roll desk, a safe, and a tall hat in every room, which
yet by virtue of this white stone can seem to be
enchanted castles.
Only of white stone should any London house be
made. Wren knew this, and Gibbs, who built the
noble church of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, knew this,
and Street of the Law Courts (as the extinguishers
on his little fascinating turrets so prove to-day)
knew this ; and their lead should have been followed.
But we have allowed red brick to bedevil our city.
Not only red brick, but painted stucco, and glased
white brick which can never take the soot. If one
wants to see the mistake of red brick crystallised,
look at the Tower from the Tower Bridge and no-
tice the error of the brick residence in the middle
of it. But the Tower is not built of the true stone
for London. The true stone is to be found in
Wren's churches.
The contrast may be observed also in Gower
Street, University College all serene and seemly
in white stone being now confronted by a discord-
ant interloping University College Hospital in red
brick; at Westminster, where that new Somerset
[6]
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
House, the London County Council's palace, is
adjacent to St. Thomas's Hospital, that kindergar-
ten toy city, and opposite New Scotland Yard,
which is all deplorable red and yellow. There are,
of course, red brick buildings in London which are
beautiful and appropriate — notably St. James's Pal-
ace and Holland House and Kensington Palace and
Gray's Inn. These, however, are notable excep-
tions, and all are in the neighbourhood of trees. A
good example of the red house which is hopelessly
wrong is the Prudential office in Holborn.
Something of Christopher Wren, as the father of
our London, must be said here.
Christopher Wren was born at East Knoyle, near
Tisbury, Wiltshire, on October 2o, 1632, a son of
the rector of that village, also named Christopher,
The elder Christopher's father had been a London
mercer; his brother, the architect's uncle, was Bishop
in turn of Hereford, Norwich and Ely. The rector
of East Knoyle had married Mary Cox of Fonthill
Abbey (afterwards made famous by William Beck-
ford, Lord Mayor of London), but she died when
young Christopher was only a very small child. His
elder sister Susan, however, cared for him until,
when he was eleven, she married William Holden,
the divine and mathematician, a fortunate choice of
husband from the point of view of posterity, for
Holden instructed the boy in his mystery, and with-
[7]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
out mathematics an architect cannot be supreme.
Holden, I may say here, lived to be a Prebendary
and Canon of his brother-in-law's cathedral, St.
Paul's; and he was buried there in 1698. So sym-
metrical can life be when it likes.
Christopher went to Westminster School, under
the famous Dr. Busby, but whether he had any
great share of that disciplinarian's birch, I do not
know. Probably not, for he was a weak, undersized
boy, and there is evidence that he was uniformly
"good." His scholastic career was indeed remark-
able, and before he was eighteen he was employed
by two learned men to assist them: by Dr. Scar-
burgh, to help in the preparation of some lectures
on anatomy, and by William Oughtred, to translate
into Latin a treatise on geometrical dialling. This
shows that the boy had wasted very little time either
at school or at home. At Wadham College, Oxford,^
he continued his researches; was elected a fellow of
All Souls, that coveted honour; and in 1657, when
only twenty-five, became Professor of Astronomy
at Gresham College, London, and moved into rooms
there which became a haunt of those men of science
who subsequently organised themselves into the
Royal Society.
So far not a word of architecture! Wren may
have given it a thought, but his early years, it is
seen, were devoted to other branches of learning;
[8]
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
and in these he was second only to his great con-
temporary Sir Isaac Newton. Indeed, his contribu-
tions to geometry alone were very remarkable, and
it is probable that several inventions which, through
his carelessness over such matters, passed into other
hands, and for which other brains have the credit,
were his. The famous lines in Biography for Be-
ginners —
"Sir Christopher Wren
Went to dine with some men:
He said 'If anyone calls,
Say I'm designing St. Paul's' " —
seem to be based on inaccurate knowledge of his
character, for he was anything but convivial — he
had no time.
The founding of the Royal Society in 1660 gave
him an opening for his manifold intellectual and
experimental activities, and he read there a number
of suggestive papers on scientific subjects which
prove him to have been as extraordinary almost as
a scientific pioneer as an architect, and remind one
by their variety and vigour of the great voracious
many-sided geniuses of the Renaissance, such as Da
Vinci, Michael Angelo and Brunelleschi. A good
idea of Wren's versatility may be obtained from
a eulogy of him by Bishop Sprat in 1667. After
describing a number of experiments, all of them
[9]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
leading to valuable results, the Bishop continues:
"He has invented many ways to make astronomical
observations more accurate and easy . . . has made
two telescopes to open with a joint like a sector,
by which distances can be taken to half minutes
. . . devices to telescopes for taking small distances
and diameters to seconds, apertures to take in more
or less light the better to fit glass to crepusculine
observations; has added much to the theory of
dioptrics, and to the manufacture of good glasses
and of other forms than spherical ; has exactly meas-
ured and delineated the spheres of the humours of
the eye whose proportions were only guessed at
before; he discovered a natural and easy theory of
refraction, showing not only the common properties
of glasses but the proportions by which the individ-
ual rays cut the axis upon which the proportion of
eyeglasses and apertures are demonstrably discov-
ered; has essayed to make a true selenography by
measure — the world having had nothing yet but
pictures; has stated the moon's libration as far as
his observations could carry him . . . has carefully
pursued magnetical experiments. Among the prob-
lems of navigation, demonstrated how a force upon
an oblique plane would cause the motion of the
plane against the first mover. He explained the
geometrical mechanics of rowing, and the necessary
elements for laying down the geometry of sailing,
[lo]
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SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
swimming, rowing, flying and the fabricks of ships.
He invented a very curious and speedy way of etch-
ing, and has started several things towards the emen-
dation of waterworks ; was the first inventor of draw-
ing pictures by microscopical glasses; amongst other
things the keeping the motion of watches equal, in
order for longitudes and astronomical uses. He
was the first author of the noble anatomical experi-
ment of injecting liquors into the veins of animals,
now vulgarly known, but long since exhibited to
meetings at Oxford. Hence arose many new experi-
ments, and chiefly that of transfusing blood. ... I
know very well that some of them he did only start
and design, and that they have been since carried to
perfection by the industry of others; yet it is rea-
sonable that the original invention should be ascribed
to the true author rather than the finishers. Nor do
I fear that this will be thought too much which I
have said concerning him; for there is a peculiar rev-
erence due to so much excellence covered with so
much modesty, and it is not flattery but honesty to
give him his just praise who is so far from usurping
the fame of other men that he endeavours with all
care to conceal his own."
It is not precisely known when Wren first con-
sidered architecture seriously. But his father had
gifts in that way; and a man who had taken all
knowledge for his province and could draw with
MORK WANDERINGS TN LONDON
such accuracy must have meditated often on the
])roblems of building. In 1661 Wren had been ap-
pointed to assist Sir John Denham (also and better
known as the poet of "Cooper's Hill") as surveyor-
general to His Majesty's Works; but it was not
until his uncle, Bishop Wren, resolving to present
Pembroke College, Cambridge, with a chapel, asked
his nephew to contrive the matter, that he appears
to have taken to designing. That chapel was begun
in 1663. Wren also designed the Sheldonian The-
atre at Oxford a little later; and these are his first
works.
We now reach a critical date both in the career
of Wren and in the history of London: Sunday,
September 2, 1666. For it was then, in the bake-
house of one Farryner in Pudding Lane, in the small
hours of the morning, that a fire began which, spread-
ing and raging in a strong wind for six days, laid
waste 436 acres of the City, demolishing in its ter-
rible progress 89 churches, the City gates, the Guild-
hall, hospitals, schools, libraries, 13,200 dwelling-
houses and 430 streets. London, of course, was in
those days largely built of wood, and the streets
were very narrow and often overhanging; but even
then it is difficult to realise a destruction on so gi-
gantic a scale. At last, on September 7 or 8, 1666,
it burnt itself out. Pie Corner at Smithfield and the
Temple Church representing its western boundaries.
[12]
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
It had its caprices en roiite^ for though Bow Church
could not survive it, at the corner of Friday Street
and Cheapside, close by, a house is still standing
which was there during the conflagration and took no
harm.
This fire led to the full expression of the genius
of Wren.
The destruction which it brought about is so re-
markable — was so notably the end of an architectural
era — that I feel justified in going to the incomparable
gossip of that period for pages more vivid than any
that I could compose. Of the Great Plague, which
preceded the Fire, Defoe, although he was not an
eyewitness, is the historian. Of the Great Fire,
Pepys gives us the best first-hand impressions. To
Pepys Diary let us therefore turn.
Pepys thought so little of it when it began that
after noting the glare in the sky he went back to bed.
But then the realisation came. ''Sept. ind. — So
down, with my heart full of trouble, to the Lieuten-
ant of the Tower, who tells me that it begun this
-fc>^
morning in the King's baker's house in Pudding-
lane, and that it hath burned down St. Magnus's
Church and most part of Fish Street already. So I
down to the water-side, and there got a boat, and
through bridge, and there saw a lamentable fire.
Everybody endeavouring to remove their goods, and
flinging into the river, or bringing them into lighters
[■3]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
that lay off; poor people staying in their houses as
long as till the very fire touched them, and then run-
ning into boats, or clambering from one pair of
stairs, by the waterside, to another. And, among
other things, the poor pigeons, I perceive, were loth
to leave their houses, but hovered about the windows
and balconys, till they burned their wings, and fell
down. Having staid, and in an hour's time seen the
fire rage every way; and nobody, to my sight, en-
deavouring to quench it, but to remove their goods,
and leave all to the fire; and, having seen it get as
far as the Steeleyard, and the wind mighty high, and
driving it into the City; and everything, after so long
a drought, proving combustible, even the very stones
of churches; and, among other things, the poor
steeple [St. Lawrence Poultney] by which pretty
Mrs. lives, and whereof my old schoolfellow
Elborough is parson, taken fire in the very top, and
there burned till it fell down; I to White Hall,
with a gentleman with me, who desired to go off
from the Tower, to see the fire, in my boat; and
there up to the King's closet in the Chapel, where
people come about me, and I did give them an ac-
count dismayed them all, and word was carried in to
the King.
"So I was called for, and did tell the King and
Duke of York what I saw; and that, unless his
Majesty did command houses to be pulled down,
[14]
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
nothing could stop the fire. They seemed much
troubled, and the King commanded me to go to my
Lord Mayor from him, and command him to spare
no houses, but to pull down before the fire in every
way. The Duke of York bid me tell him, that if he
would have any more soldiers, he shall; and so did
my Lord Arlington afterwards, as a great secret.
Here meeting with Captain Cocke, I in his coach,
which he lent me, and Creed with me to Paul's; and
there walked along Watling Street, as well as I
could, every creature coming away loaden with goods
to save, and, here and there, sick people carried
away in beds. Extraordinary good goods carried
in carts and on backs.
"At last met my Lord Mayor in Canning Street
like a man spent, with a handkerchief about his
neck. To the King's message, he cried, like a faint-
ing woman, 'Lord, what can I do? I am spent:
people will not obey me. I have been pulling down
houses; but the fire overtakes us faster than we can
do it.' That he needed no more soldiers; and thatj
for himself, he must go and refresh himself, having
been up all night. So he left me, and I him, and
walked home; seeing people all almost distracted,
and no manner of means used to quench the fire.
The houses, too, so very thick thereabouts, and full
of matter for burning, as pitch and tar, in Thames
[15]
xMOKE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Street; and warehouses of oyle, and wines, and
brandy, and other things. . . .
*'While at dinner, Mrs. Betelier come to enquire
after Mr. Woolfe and Staines, who, it seems, are
related to them, whose houses in Fish Street are all
burned, and they in a sad condition. She would
not stay in the fright. Soon as I dined, I and Moone
away, and walked through the City, the streets full
of nothing but people; and horses and carts loaden
with goods, ready to run over one another, and re-
moving goods from one burned house to another.
They now removing out of Canning Street, which
received goods in the morning, into Lumbard Street,
and further: and, among others, I now saw my little
goldsmith Stokes, receiving some friend's goods,
whose house itself was burned the day after.
"We parted at Paul's; he home, and I to Paul's
Wharf, where I had appointed a boat to attend me,
and took in Mr. Carcasse and his brother, whom I
met in the street, and carried them below and above
bridge too. And again to see the fire, which was
now got further, both below and above, and no
likelihood of stopping it. Met with the King and
Duke of York in their barge, and with them to
Queenhidie, and there called Sir Richard Browne
to them. Their order was only to pull down houses
apace, and so below bridge at the water-side; but
[16]
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
[of] this little was or could be done, the fire com-
ing upon them so fast. . . .
"Having seen as much as I could now, I aw^ay to
White Hall by appointment, and there walked to
St. James's Park; and there met my wife, and
Creed, and Wood, and his wife and walked to my
boat; and there upon the water again, and to the
fire up and down, it still encreasing, and the wind
great. So near the fire as we could for smoke; and
all over the Thames, with one's faces in the wind,
you were almost burned with a shower of fire-drops.
This is very true; so as houses were burned by
these drops and flakes of fire, three or four, nay,
five or six houses one from another.
"When we could endure no more upon the water,
we to a little alehouse on the Bankside, over against
the Three Cranes, and there staid till it was dark
almost, and saw the fire grow ; and, as it grew darker,
appeared more and more; and in corners and upon
steeples, and between churches and houses, as far as
we could see up the hill of the City, in a most horrid,
malicious, bloody flame, not like the fine flame of an
ordinary fire. Barbary and her husband away before
us. We staid till, it being darkish, we saw the fire
as only one entire arch of fire from this to the other
side of the bridge, and in a bow up the hill for an
arch of above a mile long: it made me weep to see
it. The churches, houses, and all on fire, and flaming
[17]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
at once; and a horrid noise the flames made, and
the cracking of houses at their mine. . . .
"Sept. ^th. — Up by break of day, to get away
the remainder of my things; which I did by a lighter
at the Irongate; and my hands so full, that it was
the afternoon before we could get them all away.
Sir W. Pen and I to the Tower Street, and there
met the fire burning, three or four doors beyond Mr.
Howell's, whose goods, poor man, his trayes, and
dishes, shovells, etc., were flung all along Tower
Street in the kennels, and people working therewith
from one end to the other ; the fire coming on in that
narrow street, on both sides, with infinite fury. Sir
W. Batten not knowing how to remove his wine, did
dig a pit in the garden, and laid it in there; and L
took the opportunity of laying all the papers of
my office that I could not otherwise dispose of. And
in the evening Sir W. Pen and I did dig another, and
put our wine in it; and I my parmazan cheese, as
well as my wine and some other things. . . .
"This night, Mrs. Turner, who, poor woman, was
removing her goods all this day, good goods, into
the garden, and knows not how to dispose of them,
and her husband supped with my wife and me at
night, in the office, upon a shoulder of mutton from
the cook's without any napkin, or any thing, in a
sad manner, but were merry. Only now and then,
walking into the garden, saw how horribly the sky
[18]
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
looks, all on a fire in the night, was enough to put
us out of our wits; and, indeed, it was extremely
dreadful, for it looks just as if it was at us, and the
whole heaven on fire. I after supper walked in the
dark down to Tower Street, and there saw it all on
fire, at the Trinity House on that side, and the
Dolphin Tavern on this side, which was very near
us; and the fire with extraordinary vehemence.
Now begins the practice of blowing up of houses in
Tower Street, those next the Tower, which at first
did frighten people more than any thing; but it
stopped the fire where it was done, it bringing down
the houses to the ground in the same places they
stood, and then it was easy to quench what little
fire was in it, though it kindled nothing almost. . . .
''S>ept. ^th. — Going to the fire, I find, by the
blowing up of houses, and the great help given by
the workmen out of the King's yards, sent up by
Sir W. Pen, there is a good stop given to it, as well
at Marke Lane End as ours; it having only burned
the dyall of Barking Church, and part of the porch,
and was there quenched. I up to the top of Bark-
ing steef)le, and there saw the saddest sight of deso-
lation that I ever saw; every where great fires, oyle-
cellars, and brimstone, and other things burning.
I became afraid to stay there long, and therefore
down again as fast as I could, the fire being spread
as far as I could see it; and to Sir W. Pen's, and
[19]
xMORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
there eat a piece of cold meat, having eaten nothing
since Sunday, but the remains of Sunday's din-
ner. . . .
''Sept. 6lh. — A sad sight to see how the river
looks; no houses nor church near it, to the Temple,
where it stopped. . . . Strange it is to see Cloth-
workers' Hall on fire these three days and nights in
one body of fiame, it being the cellar full of oyle.
"SepL jtk. — Up by five o'clock; and, blessed be
God I find all well; and by water to Pane's Wharfe.
Walked thence, and saw all the towne burned, and a
miserable sight of Paul's church, with all the roofs
fallen, and the body of the quire fallen into St.
Fayth's; Paul's school also, Ludgate, and Fleet
Street. My father's house, and the church, and a
good part of the Temple the like. . . ."
I might here interpolate the remark that when a
few years after the Fire it was decided to com-
memorate it by the Monument, near Pudding Lane,
on Fish Street Hill, it was Wren who designed that
column. His original idea was to place a phoenix
on the top. This he abandoned as being costly, not
easily understood at such a height, and dangerous,
owing to the wings in a gale. Then he thought he
would like to set a figure of Charles II there, fifteen
feet high; but the Merry Monarch declined the
honour, and the present ball of flames was therefore
decided upon. The King, however, is represented,
[20]
ST. DUNSTAN S-IN-THE-WEST, FLEET STREET
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
for he may be seen in bas-relief on the western side
of the pediment, dressed as a Roman. His great
thoyghtfulness for the unhappy burned-out citizens
after the Fire, and his careful provisions for the
safety of the new London, are recorded in the in-
scription on the south side.
So much for the demolition. Now for the re-
building. The Fire was out on September 8th.
On September I2th Wren laid before the King a
plan for a new London. The plan was not adopted:
it was too splendid; but Wren was appointed "sur-
veyor-general and principal architect for rebuilding
the city, its cathedral and its churches and other
public structures." So far as the Cathedral and
churches were concerned, all the salary that he asked
was £300 a year. Wren's first consideration was
St. Paul's, which he decided must be new in every
particular. Concurrently with this mighty scheme he
was able, such his industry and the lucid order of
his mind, to think also of London's myriad other
necessities. Of churches alone he built fifty-two,
and although there is a family likeness between many
of them, no two are similar; which, considering
that they were designed contemporaneously and at
some haste, is a remarkable achievement. His best
among these lesser fanes are thought to be St.
Stephen's, Wal brook, behind the Mansion House,
with a bookshop now clinging to its walls, and Bow
[21]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Church in Cheapside. At St. Stephen's, let me re-
mark, an organ recital is often given in the luncheon
hour, and the admirer of Wren can thus, in what has
been called his minor masterpiece, agreeably medi-
tate upon the great man's gifts.
Knowing nothing about ecclesiastical architecture
myself, I borrow from the Dictionary of National
Biography the admirable summary of Wren's city
churc'h work. Having described Bow Church and
St. Stephen's, the writer, Mr. F. C. Penrose, con-
tinues: "Of the next period, St. Bride's is the most
remarkable church. Internally a fine perspective is
formed on each side by the arches of the nave, and
externally its steeple is a beautiful and well-known
object. In some repairs which it required in 1764,
in order to facilitate the operation the height was re-
duced by eight feet. The next period, 1680 to 1685,
includes some very good churches. All Hallows,
Thames Street, now destroyed, had a stately in-
ternal arcade, and possessed what St. Peter's, Corn-
hill, still retains, a very handsome carved oak screen.
St. James's, Garlickhithe, had both a well-planned
interior and a picturesque steeple, not improved by
the cement having been stripped off the walls of the
tower. The stone steeple of St. Mary Magdalene,
recently taken down, though very simple, was one of
Wren's most graceful campaniles. The elegant lead-
covered spire of St. Martin's, Ludgate Hill, forms an
[22]
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
admirable foreground object to the views of St.
Paul's from the west. The front of this church is
an example of quiet, well-proportioned treatment
where no projection was allowable. The spire of
St. Augustin's in Watling Street, though less elegant
than St. Martin's, has something of the same value,
contrasting with the dome of St. Paul's as seen from
the east. St. James's, Westminster, may be cited as
the most successful example of a church in which
galleries form a fundamental part. Its congrega-
tional capacity is remarkable, and the framing of
the roof is a marvellous piece of economic and scien-
tific construction.
"In the next period, St. Mary Abchurch, exter-
nally very plain, is full of merit within, especially
the cupola and its pendentives and other details of
the interior, including some excellent carvings by
Gibbons. St. Andrew's, Holborn, exhibits a very
fine interior, partaking to a considerable extent of
the character of St. James's, Westminster. Of the
churches built between 1690 and 1695, St. Michael
Royal deserves mention for its beautiful campanile
and for the carvings by Gibbons in the interior.
The tower of St. Mary Somerset is still left stand-
ing, after the demolition of the church, on the north
side of Thames Street, and forms, with its crown of
j)innacles, an extremely picturesque object. The
fine steeple of St. Vedast, near the General Post
[23]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Office, is of this period. Its design is the most
original of all Wren's campaniles. It owes nothing
to sculpture or any ornate architectural treatment;
but such is the skilful modulation of the masses and
the contrasts of lig^ht and shade, combined with the
expression of strength, that it requires no assistance
from ornament to add to its beauty and importance.
This fine object has the advantage of being well
seen. The steeple of St. Dunstan's-in-the-East
dates from 1700. It is built in the Gothic style,
and in a form which follows the precedent of St.
Giles's, Edinburgh, and St. Nicholas's, Newcastle-
upon-Tyne. At this period of Wren's professional
life, as evidenced by this work and the church of
St. Mary Aldermary, built in 1711, as well as in his
repairs of Westminster Abbey, he shows an appre-
ciation of Gothic architecture which he evidently
did not entertain so strongly in his earlier days. In
the work at St. Dunstan's there is much true feeling
for the style in which he was working. That the
spire was constructed in a highly scientific manner
does not need to be stated.
"In the fine steeple of St. Magnus, built in 1705,
he returned to his more recent style and produced
one of his finest examples. Lastly, the old tower of
St. Michael's, Cornhill, which had been left standing
when he rebuilt the church fifty years earlier, was
taken down in 1722 and reconstructed in bold and
[24]
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
very effective Gothic from his designs. In all the
above-mentioned beautiful campaniles, and indeed
in Wren's works in general, surface ornament forms
but a very subordinate part of their success; this
is derived chiefly from the true elements of archi-
tecture, balance of light and shade, evident strength
and security of construction, accurate proportions of
the parts, and the expression of the object of the
structure. He shows also great reserve and does not
fritter expense away."
Besides St. Paul's and the fifty churches. Wren
built the new Temple Bar, the Monument, and
various city halls, hospitals, and so forth. He also
found time to build the library at Trinity College,
Cambridge, and the Chapel at Queen's College,
Oxford, while he was continually repairing and
enlarging older edifices. No life can ever have been
fuller. He found time also to enter Parliament, sit-
ting first for Plympton and then Windsor in 1685-
1688-9, and again for Weymouth in 1701 and
after. He found time also to marry twice, once in
1669 and again in 1676. He had four children, one
of whom died in infancy. Of the others, Christo-
pher (1675-1747) wrote his life and also a work on
numismatics; William lived until 1738, and Jane
died, when only twenty-six, before her father. She
was buried in St. Paul's crypt. Wren lived partly
at Hampton Court, where he did much fine work
[25]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
for William and Mary, and partly in St. James's
Street, and it was in his London house that he died
on February 25, 1723, aged ninety. He was buried
in St. Paul's.
I am personally no great lover of Wren's work,
near by. But for his lavish hand in giving London
' all these exquisite minarets I cannot sufficiently
admire and praise him. In 1881 a little book was
published, entitled The Towers and Steeples designed
by Sir Christopher Wren, by Mr. Andrew T. Taylor,
and this shows in a nutshell what he did for London
as a distant prospect, and what London has lost.
How many of Wren's towers and spires and steeples
now soar lightly over the roofs of the City, I have
not estimated; but nine at any rate have been
sacrificed to the great god utilitarianism: St.
Antholin's and St. John Evangelist's, both in Wat-
ling Street, All Hallows the Great in Thames Street,
All Hallows in Broad Street, St. Benet's in Grace-
church Street, St. Benedict's and St. Christopher's
in Threadneedle Street, St. Dionis Backchurch in
Fenchurch Street, St. Michael's in Crooked Lane,
another St. Michael's in Oueenhithe, and St. Mil-
dred's in the Poultry. All are gone; and none were
re-erected elsewhere, as was Wren's Temple Bar in
Theobald's Park, and as they might so fittingly
have been when a suburb needed a new church. St.
Antholin's was a particularly beautiful spire —
[26]
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
Wren's only example of a spire pure and simple : 154
feet high, "it could," says Mr. Taylor, "very well
have been allowed to remain, and indeed did remain
for a short time after the church was pulled down;
but the increased price which was thereby obtainable
for the site finally outweighing less mercenary con-
siderations, it shared the fate of the church." That
was as recently as 1875.
Personally I shall always think of the spire of
St. Dunstan's-in-the-East with most affection.
Wren had a great belief in the stability of this
delicate structure. Somebody once hurried to tell
him that a hurricane had injured all his steeples.
"Not St. Dunstan's," he replied confidently.
[27]
CHAPTER II
THE city's pictures
The Guildhall Gallery — The Gassiot bequest — Modern pic-
tures — William S. Burton and Pre-Raphaelism — A sin-
cere life — William Dyce and Pre-Raphaelism — George
Herbert at Bemerton — Henry VI's monologue — Earlier
English pictures — Hazlitt — Reynolds's last portrait —
Thomas Tomkins — The Fleet River — Lord Camden's
reward for virtue — Old Drury Lane — Alderman Boydell
— Old London — Samuel Richardson — Lord Nelson — J.
M. Swan, R.A. — Lamb and Edward Burney — Various
small pictures — Sir John Gilbert — Mr. Albert Goodwin
— The Royal Exchange — Turtle soup.
THE Guildhall has the only picture gallery
which the City can boast; and it might be
better. Indeed, one hardly dares to think what it
would be like had not a certain Mr. Charles Gassiot,
who died in 1902, bequeathed his collection to it;
for the Civic Fathers make few independent claims
either to connoisseurship or patronage of art, and
most of the Guildhall exhibits have been gifts, either
in single canvases or, as in the case of Mr. Gassiot,
battalions.
[28]
-I
c
< ;c
:;^»,<v^^aifc..^c
/
■:^^
THE CITY'S PICTURES
The pictures are hung in four rooms, three of
which are small and one large. As the official
catalogue takes no account of these divisions at all,
and as there is no natural sequence of numbers, the
pursuit of any particular artist is an arduous task.
Let mc say then that the more important modern
pictures are in the great entrance gallery, which we
will call Room I; the older British pictures are in
the room (II) leading from the double staircase;
the smaller pictures are in the room (III) leading
from the single staircase; and the Sir John Gilberts'
are in the little room (IV) beyond that. It will
save much trouble if we take the best pictures as
they come in each room, beginning always with the
left wall. The catalogue (1910) is, by the way, not
up to date, for it includes many pictures that have
been removed and takes no notice of some recent
acquisitions, as, for example, a landscape by Mr.
Adrian Stokes and an interior by Mrs. Adrian
Stokes, both very charming and both in Room III.
Entering the large gallery and passing first along
the left-hand wall, the first picture to hold the eye,
and one of the best in the collection, is No. 634, by
Mr. Arnesby Brown — a typical work of this fine
pleinariste, who paints always in the large manner
and adores light. Then a melancholy bereavement
scene by Frank Holl, and then a pair of Millais'
child subjects, one on each side of a feat of skill
[29]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
more civic than artistic — a representation of the
Guildhall as it appeared when what were left of the
City of London Imperial Volunteers, or "Lord
Mayor's Own," returned from the Boer War in 1902
and were thanked by their owner. It is the mission
of such pictures to record events; they rarely afford
aesthetic pleasure. The Millais' are commonplace
works far inferior to the original sketches for them,
but they have much of the prettiness of what might
be called his saponaceous period.
An almost painfully placid Leader landscape,
making one feel very like a visitor to an ancient
Royal Academy, comes next — the churchyard at
Bettws-y-coed, as different as could be from the treat-
ment often accorded it by an earlier artist-worshipper
there, David Cox; then a fine example of that
greatly-beloved Irish painter, the late Walter Os-
borne, presented by a number of his friends; and
then, in the comer, the best H. S. Tuke I have ever
seen, with such sunlight in it as to make one warm
and serene even in a London January.
On the end wall are earlier works — by William
Collins, father of Wilkie Collins who made our
fathers' flesh creep, Patrick Nasmyth and Constable,
all bequeathed by Mr. Gassiot. The Nasmyths are
admirable examples, irresistibly suggesting the de-
scription of him as the English Hobbema. The
Constable wants light, but has greatness and vigour.
[30]
THE CITY'S PICTURES
The Collins' are pretty domestic things, particularly
No. 648, "The Kitten Deceived."
The first picture of note on the east wall is a
work of that shy and little-known Pre-Raphaelite,
William S. Burton: "The Dead Cavalier," of which
I give a reproduction in this volume. The picture
is painted with minutest pains, as much care being
given to the tortoiseshell butterfly which has settled
on the broken rapier as to the central figure. The
result is a moving dramatic scene, although it is very
open to strictures by those critics who favour broad
synthesis rather than detail and hold that the pre-
sentation of what the eye can see in a moment is the
end for which the artist should strive. One cannot,
however, look long at any Pre-Raphaelite work with-
out paying a tribute to deep sincerity and patient
labour; and "The Dead Cavalier" has also some-
thing else, for there is light in it. It chanced that
Mr. Burton died at a great age — over ninety — while
I was engaged on these notes, early in 1916, and I
take the opportunity of quoting a passage or so from
the interesting autobiographical fragment which he
sent to Mr. Spielmann a few days before his death,
and whidh Mr. Spielmann printed in The Times.
They illustrate his serious, retiring disposition and
the high standard which he set himself, and also tell
us something of a little-known man.
The notes, says Mr. Spielmann, begin when Bur-
[31]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
ton, Rossetti, Millais, Holman Hunt, Arthur Hughes
(whom Burton declared to be the most spiritual and
exquisite of all our painters) were fellow-students
at the Royal Academy. Before that he had been at
King's College School, where the elder Rossetti
taught Italian and where drawing was taught by
John Sell Cotman, whose "dignified, large and wor-
thy nature," as he says, "influenced him and satisfied
his early longing for a noble conception of art and
nature. Attendance at the School of Design under
Dyce and at the British Museum further broadened
his vision."
"Pre-Raffaelism," as he always called it. Burton
defines thus: "The fundamental idea of Pre-Raf-
faelism is, roughly speaking, truth to Nature. To be
consistent, we should add — truth to Life. Pre-Raf-
faelism has come — and gone. It is already so far in
the distance as to be somewhat mythical, subject to
late, unknowing suggestions and remakings. It is to
me, nothing but the usual revolt of the young on
entering into this wonderful world — this brilliant
diamond of so many flashing facets — this world of
worlds. It succeeds for a time, so long as it has any
force of truth in it, and then it is followed, either
by another flash from another facet, or — extinction.
It is nothing but the usual breezy excitement of the
youthful new-comer, with the new-comer's new eyes,
fresh clear mind, and independent thought, who
[32]
THE CITY'S PICTURES
finds the old world tired, weary, inactive, and very
much in need of a rousing shake. So the new-comer
sets about reforming the old world until, grown old,
he is himself reformed."
Reviewing the state of art in 1916, Burton was
very pessimistic: "And this is where we are now,
so far as art is concerned : in gloomy darkness. The
mad, maniacal dancing of the Post-Impressionist,
the amazing Cubist, and incomprehensible Futurist,
adding to the sadness of the darkness. And this is
the end of Pre-Raffaelism ! In the dreadful Post-
Impressionist exhibition there was a large canvas
representing four hideous misshapen creatures danc-
ing uncouthly over a mound. And I interpret the
dance as one of Post-Impressionism, Cubism, Futur-
ism, and senseless, unfeeling Ignorant Brutality over
the grave of murdered Art, with all its Beauty,
Grace, Love, Tenderness, Imagination, Poetry and
Friendliness — all swept away in Art-Attila destruc-
tion. But Art never dies — she will arise in all her
noble Beauty and Charm, and some future S
will look back and recall the sad, strange time."
Here is the final farewell and testimony of the
old painter: "I have written on and on and on.
Please take it as the unburdening of one who is and
has been shut up for many years without any social
or artistic intercourse. I have not a friend to speak
to and I know no artist to speak or write to. So
[33]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
I have to talk to myself mainly. . . . And now
I leave the world with little enough done of all I
wished, planned, designed and intended. . . . Here
I consider myself a failure; but in the other and
higher life, one step nearer to God, I hope to do
much one way or another — no stifling, choking com-
mercialism there. The Ideal awaits us; we need not
long for it — God ever good and loving has provided
it. And noble, true, really spiritual religious pic-
tures here would prepare us for it, besides making
our lives more creditable and happier. . . . Selfish-
ness, that is the Evil Spirit — Selfishness, that is the
enemy — Selfishness, that is the black cloud that hides
God from man. And that is the greatest and most
awful tragedy that could happen to him."
"A noble spirit and a holy mind," says Mr. Spiel-
mann, "a man whose retiring nature and modest re-
finement deprived him of the recognition he fancied
he had wholly missed. No honester artist ever
breathed."
After Henry Holliday's "Burgesses of Calais,"
we come to two works by the master under whom
Burton studied — William Dyce, R.A. (1806-1864).
The larger of these, "George Herbert at Bemerton,"
I reproduce in this volume. The picture illustrates
a conversation between Piscator and Venator in The
Compleat Angler. Says Piscator, — who, we know,
loved George Herbert fervently, for did he not write
[34]
THE CITY'S PICTURES
his life also? — "Come, let me tell you what holy Mr.
Herbert says of such days as these :
'Sweet day, so calm, so cool, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dews shall weep thy fall to-night,
For thou must die.' "
To this Venator replies: "I thank you, good master,
for the sweet close of your discourse with Mr. Her-
bert's verses, who I have heard loved angling, and I
do the rather believe it, because he had a spirit suit-
able to anglers, and to those primitive Christians
that you love, and have so much commended."
Dyce gives us Mr. Herbert under the trees in the
little Wiltshire village on an evening of perfect
peace, and in the distance is the spire of the cathedral
where the saintly old man was buried.
The next picture. No. 661, is a small work repre-
senting "Henry VI during the Battle of Towton,'*
1461, the moment chosen being when, having lost
his crown, the King retired to meditate, and thus led
to one of the most beautiful passages in Shakespeare
and one peculiarly a favourite of Hazlitt (whose
portrait we shall find in the next room) :
"This battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light.
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
[35]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind ;
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind :
Sometimes the flood prevails, and then the wind;
Now one the better, then another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror nor conquered :
So is the equal pose of this fell war.
Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory !
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead! if God's good will were so;
For what is in this world but grief and woe ?
O God ! methinks it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain ;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now.
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run,
How many make the hour full complete;
How many hours bring about the day;
How many days will finish up the year;
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times:
So many hours must I tend my flock;
So many hours must I take my rest;
So many hours must I contemplate ;
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young ;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean;
[36]
THE CITY'S PICTURES
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:
So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,
" Pass'd over to the end they were created.
Would bring white hairs unto a qriet grave."
William Dyce, who was born in 1806, in Aber-
deen, was the Father of Pre-Raphaelism. While
studying in Rome in 1828 he painted a "Madonna
and Child" in that manner which made a great im-
pression on the art colony there. Returning to Scot-
land, he took up portrait painting for some years;
but in 1840 became head of the School of Design at
the Royal Academy and thereafter concerned himself
very seriously with the art education of others and
with the production of minutely executed works
such as those that are here. Coming to the notice
of the Prince Consort, Dyce was commissioned to
prepare various frescoes in London and elsewhere.
Some are in the House of Lords; and a series illus-
trating the life of Christ are in All Saints, Margaret
Street. Other of his paintings, which were always
marked by learning and thoroughness and have a
strong and somewhat precise individuality, may be
seen at the Tate Gallery. Few English artists have
been more variously intellectually distinguished than
Dyce, who was also a musician and composer, no
mean ecclesiologist, and a copious pamphleteer. The
Victorian florin was minted from his design. He
died a full R.A. in 1864.
[37]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
We next come to another commemorative picture
— by A. C. Gow, R.A. — in which we see Queen
Victoria at St. Paul's on the occasion of the Diamond
Jubilee. The profits on the sale of the engraving
of this work enabled the Corporation to acquire the
large Shakespearean Maclise in the next room: pos-
sibly not the best use to which the money could have
been put. The remaining pictures to note in this
room are two William Miillers, of which No. 703 is
the better; a fair Linnell, No. 700; and Mr. La
Thangue's evening sun effect, entitled "Mowing
Bracken."
Room II, which opens from the upper gallery,
contains portraits civic and military. The first on
the wall to the left is a fine example of Sir Thomas
Lawrence: Richard Clark, the Lord Mayor of
1784-5, whose speeches, the catalogue tells us, were
remarkable for their "classic elegance and allusions."
Next is a good David Roberts, the church of S.S.
Giovanni e Paolo at Venice; and by it an interior
of the Guildhall on what was one of its most august
moments — the banquet to the Prince Regent, the
Czar of Russia, and the King of Prussia (whom in
those days England found very useful), in 1814.
The galleries, draped in red, were, on this great
occasion, packed with the fair. High up is a portrait
of Hazlitt, with a sulky, uncompromising mouth.
The catalogue does the famous critic and essayist
[38]
THE CITY'S PICTURES
less than justice; for it gives no indication as to the
special character of his genius and refers to his Reply
to Malthus as his Reply to Walters. Of E. F.
Green, the author of the portrait, I can find nothing :
Bryan's Dictionary of Painters ignores him.
Next we find the great Maclise version of the
Banquet Scene in Macbeth; and on the other side a
pretty Lady Mayoress (not in the catalogue) and a
very charming and unusual David Roberts: "Edin-
burgh from the Calton Hill," a golden landscape,
exquisitely painted.
On the next wall is the gem of the whole collec-
tion. Sir Joshua's portrait of Thomas Tomkins.
Thomas Tomkins was a calligrapher in the days
when calligraphy was an honoured profession; and
the Corporation employed him to write and embel-
lish those addresses to distinguished guests in the
presentation of which a great part of civic life is
spent. In this picture Tomkins is more like an aristo-
crat than a professional penman, but he has cor-
roborative specimens of his work about him. The
portrait was his own commission, a gift to the Cham-
berlain's Office in 1790, the Chamberlain at that
time being his friend John Wilkes; and it was our
English Old Master's last work. Only fifty pounds
was the price, and how the millionaires would jostle
each other at Christie's to get it to-day I I repro-
duce this notable picture.
[39]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Two more examples of David Roberts are on the
same wall, both more typical than the Edinburgh
prospect but not so enchanting. No. 252 represents
the interior of St. Stephen's in Vienna, and No. 253
the exterior of Antwerp Cathedral. The Samuel
Scott (No. 46) should really be entitled "The
Thames at Blackfriars," for the opening of the Fleet
River is a mere detail. Notice the bridge more or
less where the underground railway and De Keyser's
Hotel now are. The Fleet, which is perhaps Lon-
don's most famous lost river, has not been seen since
1765. Rising on Hampstead Heath, it flowed down
to the Thames at Blackfriars, by way of Kentish
Town, Camden Town, St. Pancras, where it passed
under Battle Bridge close to King's Cross terminus;
thence through Clerkenwell to Holborn Bridge,
where the Holborn Viaduct now spans a vastly wider
space; and so down Farringdon Street to the parent
stream. Between Holborn Bridge and the Thames
it was crossed by three bridges. The Fleet had to
work for its living, so much so that it came to be
known as Turnmill Brook, and it was big enough
for barges to pass up it, at any rate as far as Hol-
born Bridge. It was also useful as a carrier of
refuse, and indeed so abused this privilege that it be-
came a nuisance and a reproach, particularly at low
tide. In Charles IPs reign the Fleet was properly
overhauled and embanked as far as Holborn, and
[40]
THE CITY'S PICTURES
real wharves were constructed; but the enterprise
was not justified. Within sixty years the Farring-
don Street portion of it was covered over and Fleet
Market established on the site; and thirty years or so
later the remaining portion, between Ludgate Circus
and the Thames, disappeared also from view. But a
Fleet still trickles underneath. Fleet Market, which
was a kind of Burlington Arcade for food, lasted
from 1737 to 1829, when Farringdon Street was
born. The Fleet prison was on the eastern side of it.
On the next wall we find a Lord Mayoral water
pageant, now for some reason or other obsolete. The
last was in 1857, yet there is still the river, and there
are still Lord Mayors, and motor launches are easily
obtained. Perhaps it is feared that the result might
be so picturesque as to be unsettling. The scene
represented is dated November 9, 1789. Each City
Company then had its own barge, gaily decorated,
just as, in Venice, the various societies still have
theirs.
Another Reynolds is on this wall — a large portrait,
in the grand manner, of Lord Camden, with a tap-
estry table-cloth: all very sumptuous. It was this
judge who gave the verdict in John Wilkes' favour
against the Government as prosecutors, and the pres-
ent picture was one of the rewards of his honesty. So
many other guerdons were also thrust upon him
that Justitia must have felt herself to be normally
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
in a very poor way in England. Here also is a
copy of the famous Reynolds portrait of Lord
Heathfield in the National Gallery.
On the last wall is an interesting painting by
Abraham Pether of the burning of Drury Lane The-
atre on February 24, 1809 — the disastrous conflagra-
tion that led a year or two later to the composition
of Rejected Addresses. The title says that the scene
was viewed from Chelsea Bridge, but the topography
of the picture is confusing. Abraham Pether (1756-
1812) was known as "Moonlight Pether," from his
addiction to landscapes with a lunar light. Here
he contrasts moon and fire. He left a son, Sebastian,
who followed so closely in his father's footsteps that
Bryan considers this picture to be his.
We come now to another Scotch historical scene,
this time one of the series commissioned by Alder-
man Boydell and left by him to the City — the mur-
der of King James of Scotland, in 1437, painted by
Opie. John Boydell (1719-1804) was a print-seller
who had an enormous influence on English art and
practically brought about the English school of en-
graving. Beginning with French prints after Hor-
ace Vernet, he commissioned Woollett to engrave
Richard Wilson's "Niobe" (now in the National
Gallery), and made £2000 by it. He then passed
on to other Wilsons, to Reynolds, and to Benjamin
West, whose "Death of General Wolfe," engraved
[42]
>" MAGNl> IIIK MAKTVK, IKoM I.ONIKIN HKIllflE
THE CITY'S PICTURES
also by Woollett, brought in £15,000 profit. In
1790 Boydell became Lord Mayor. At this time he
was beginning a new scheme, nothing less than a
great series of prints illustrating Shakespeare; and
here he had to find painters as well, Reynolds, Opie,
Barry, Northcote, Fuseli, Romney, Stothard, West
— all the best men were employed, up to thirty-three
in number, together with two sculptors; and a hun-
dred and seventy works were executed. But mean-
while, the French Revolution interfering with Boy-
dell's foreign trade, he came upon bad times. In
despair he applied to Parliament for leave to dis-
pose of his effects by lottery, a suggestion which
to-day would no doubt bring the Nonconformist
conscience down like an avalanche, but was then
agreed to; and the result of the iniquity was a sum
which enabled him to free himself from liabilities.
He died in 1804.
The group entitled "The Apotheosis of Shake-
speare," by Banks, which Boydell had commissioned,
was reserved by the British Institution, who bought
his Shakespeare gallery, as a memorial to the public-
spirited old print-seller; but something prevented
the completion of the plan: the pictures were dis-
tributed, the group of statuary is at Stratford-on-
Avon, and Boydell is forgotten.
The next picture, which has a blend of crudeness
and ability, represents the Mansion House about
[43]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
1750 and is, to me, a very attractive thing. It has
antiquarian value too. Note that in 1750 dogs were
allowed to take a share in drawing small carts, as
they still do on the Continent but no longer here.
Above this old London view is a portrait of that
worthy printer of genius, Samuel Richardson, who
astonished and delighted his friends by creating
Clarissa Harlowe and Pamela at a time of life when
most printers have forgotten all about the secrets of
the human heart and are tired of the very sight of
the written word.
The last picture on this wall is a portrait of Lord
Nelson by Beechey, making him far too big a man.
The heroic Admiral also has a florid monument in
the great hall of the Guildhall. To the Corporation
he gave the sword of Blanquet, commander of the
defeated French fleet at the Battle of the Nile, "as
a remembrance that Britannia still rules the waves,
which that she may for ever do so is the fervent
prayer of Horatio Nelson."
Room II also has two cases. One contains ex-
amples of the admirable etchings of London made
from time to time by Mr. Joseph Pennell. The
other case contains, on one side, fourteen drawings
by the late J. M. Swan, R.A. When this great
artist died, in 1910, a committee was formed to
purchase specimens of his work for presentation to
various galleries all over the United Kingdom, and
[44]
THE CITY'S PICTURES
the Guildhall was not forgotten. It is probably no
exaggeration to say that lions and tigers and the
greater felidse generally were never so lovingly
studied, or transferred to paper with more fidelity
and mastery, in every mood, than by Swan. I re-
produce two of the drawings in this book.
One thing in the other half of this case I was very
much pleased to see„ You remember how in Lamb's
essay on "Valentine's Day" he writes of E. B.
the artist? Let me quote the passage, not only be-
cause it is appropriate, but because it is so charm-
ing. "All Valentines are not foolish; and I shall
not easily forget thine, my kind friend (if I may
have leave to call you so) E. B. . E. B. lived
opposite a young maiden whom he had often seen,
unseen, from his parlour window in C e Street.
She was all joyousness and innocence, and just of
an age to enjoy receiving a Valentine, and just of a
temper to bear the disappointment of missing one
with good humour. E. B. is an artist of no common
powers; in the fancy parts of designing, perhaps
inferior to none; his name is known at the bottom
of many a well-executed vignette in the way of his
j)rofession, but no further; for E. B. is modest, and
the world meets nobody half way. E. B. meditated
how he could re{)ay this young maiden for many a
favour which she had done him unknown; for when
a kindly face greets us, though but passing by, and
[45]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
never knows us again, nor we it, we should feel it
as an obligation: and E. B. did. This good artist
set himself at work to please the damsel. It was
just before Valentine's day three years since. He
wrought, unseen and unsuspected, a wondrous work.
We need not say it was on the finest gilt paper with
borders — full, not of common hearts and heartless
allegory, but all the prettiest stories of love from
Ovid, and older poets than Ovid (for E. B. is a
scholar). There was Pyramus and Thisbe, and be
sure Dido was not forgot, nor Hero and Leander,
and swans more than sang in Cayster, with mottoes
and fanciful devices, such as beseemed — a work, in
short, of magic. Iris dipt the woof.
"This on Valentine's eve he commended to the
all-swallowing indiscriminate orifice (O ignoble
trust!) of the common post; but the humble medium
did its duty, and from his watchful stand the next
morning he saw the cheerful messenger knock, and
by-and-by the precious charge delivered. He saw,
unseen, the happy girl unfold the Valentine, dance
about, clap her hands, as one after one the pretty
emblems unfolded themselves. She danced about,
not with light love, or foolish expectations, for she
had no lover; or, if she had, none she knew that
could have created those bright images which de-
lighted her. It was more like some fairy present; a
God-send, as our familiarly pious ancestors termed
[46]
THE CITY'S PICTURES
a benefit received where the benefactor was unknown.
It would do her no harm. It would do her good
for ever after. It is good to love the unknown. I
only give this as a specimen of E. B. and his modest
way of doing a concealed kindness."
Now E. B. was Edward Francis Burney (1760-
1848), an illustrator and the cousin of Fanny Bur-
ney, and in the glass case in Room II are several
examples of his work, and one, No. 499, "Youth
crowned with Roses," which shows just how per-
fectly fitted he was to design a valentine.
In the little passage between Rooms II and III
are a few interesting pictures, largely from the Gas-
siot collection. Here, on the left wall, are interest-
ing examples of that fine colourist John Philip : par-
ticularly No. 714, and an English landscape sketch
by him, No. 716; a good Constable sketch. No. 651 ;
three typical village school scenes by Thomas Web-
ster; and a view of London Bridge under frost in
1795-6 by Daniel Turner, whom we shall see again
in strength at the London Museum. Bryan calls him
David Turner, but knows practically nothing of him.
Lastly on this wall notice No. 728, a tender Mauve-
ish little landscape by Mr. Spenlove-Spenlove. On
the opposite wall are two Frithian works by Tissot,
the French painter best known by his Biblical illus-
trations. They tell their story. Between the two
Tissots is another somewhat Frithian work by a
[47]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
contemporary of Frith, the ill-fated Augustus Egg,
Dickens's friend.
Entering Room III, we find on the left another
J. M. Swan, this time a lioness painted in oil (No.
895), a noble thing. No. 845 has sweetness and
delicacy. No. 638 will remind some visitors of what
they once esteemed, a form of art that does not wear
well. Here also are two of Faed's simple Scotch
domesticities.
On the other side of the door is a fine Brangwyn,
rich and riotous — too rich and riotous, I should
guess, to be a true representation of even the gayest
Lord Mayor's Show on the sunniest November 9th
ever known. Still, artists will be artists, and the
wish is father to the thought. Here also is another
William Collins (No. 644) and a very typical
Leader (No. 334).
On the next wall are nice pictures by Mr. and
Mrs. Adrian Stokes and a slashing flower piece by
Fantin-Latour, which is, however, poor in composi-
tion (No. 881). On the next wall we find the same
artist at his more distinguished, in No. 882 : "White
Roses." Here also are more echoes from old Acad-
emies — in the Frederick Goodall, the T. S. Cooper
and the G. D. Leslie : three fallen idols, I fear. No.
287 is an interesting little London scene: "Interior
of the Debtors' Prison, Whitecross Street." Rather
should it be called the courtyard of the prison.
[48]
THOMAS TOMKINS
AFTER THE PICTURE BY SIR JOSHLA REVNOLIS IN THE GUILDHALL
THE CITY'S PICTURES
Ladies and gentlemen in financial straits are seen
walking about and conversing, exactly as in Dickens.
Imprisonment for debt being abolished, the building
was closed in 1870. It has since been pulled down.
On the last wall are two little Landseers: No. 691,
representing Lord Alexander Russell as a boy taking
his first leap on his pony "Emerald," and the other
(No. 690) illustrating the fable of "The Travelled-
Monkey." Here also is an excellent example of the
art of Sir J. Seymour Lucas, and here is another
Brangwyn, which is not, however, the equal of
No. 861.
The little room dedicated to the virile energy of
Sir John Gilbert is a monument to his variety. Born
in 1817, he wasted a certain amount of time as an
estate agent's clerk in Walbrook, close to the Man-
sion House, and was then permitted to make draw-
ing, which he had always practised, his profession.
For many years he was the most prolific draughtsman
in England, and the most vigorous, his chef d'ceuvre
being, I suppose, his edition of Staunton's Shake-
speare, which had over eight hundred woodcuts. For
a while he was connected with Punchy but the editor
brought about his retirement by the remark that he
did not want a Rubens. Finding on The Illustrated
London News more congenial work, he was its strong
man for years. He was knighted in 1872 as Presi-
dent of the Old Water Colour Society. After 1885
[49]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
he sold nothing, but reserved all his work to be be-
queathed to various galleries; and we here see the
Guildhall's share. For the most part it is the his-
torical side of his art that is represented, but what
could be more delicate than Nos. 544 and 547, both
drawings of unhappy Belgium*?
As a contrast to Sir John Gilbert's breezy power
and abundance, we have in this room a little collec-
tion of the delicate whispering art of Mr. Albert
Goodwin, who paints nature only when she is at her
shyest and most pensive, and whose special gift it is
to transform England into fairyland.
The Guildhall is the City's only picture gallery;
but the historical cartoons in the Royal Exchange
are well worth seeing. The Royal Exchange has a
somewhat forbidding appearance to the ordinary
wanderer in London, who, finding himself within the
mysteries of that unknown world the City, is fearful
of entering buildings obviously sacred to commerce.
But, at any rate when not the arena of speculators,
the Royal Exchange is open to all, the greater part
of it being a courtyard and place of meeting and of
transit, with an arcade all around where office boys
eat their dinners. Shabby cocked-hatted beadles
guard the doors, but, except possibly in business
hours, they bar no one's way.
For many years it has been an honoured privilege
with private citizens or City companies to give a
[50]
THE CITY'S PICTURES
decorative fresco for the Royal Exchange walls, all
of course celebrating some event in London's or Eng-
land's history. Among these works may be seen one,
by Mr. Brangwyn, allegorising Modern Commerce;
one, by Mr. Gow, representing Nelson descending
the steps of the harbour to join the "Victory"; a
third, of William II building the Tower, by which
is meant surveying that task from the back of a
horse; Alfred the Great repairing the walls of Lon-
don in the same vicarious way; John sealing Magna
Charta; Elizabeth at Gresham College; Charles I
at the Guildhall demanding the City's members; and
so forth.
This Royal Exchange, which is the third, dates
only from 1844, when Queen Victoria opened it in
person, nearly three years after her Royal Consort
had laid the first stone. The first Royal Exchange,
founded by Sir Thomas Gresham, had been opened
by Queen Elizabeth some three centuries before.
The Great Fire accounted for it almost exactly a
hundred years after its foundation stone had been
laid in 1566, but failed to injure old Gresham's
statue. The second Royal Exchange also fell a vic-
tim to fire, in 1838, and again Sir Thomas came out
unscathed. His charmed effigy graces the present
building, and will not, I hope, again be put to any
salamandrine test.
In the Guildhall museum is a collection of Roman
[51]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
remains found by the builders when excavating for
the Royal Exchange of this day.
To many persons the Royal Exchange is known
principally as the building near which is Birch's
fiimous soup and sandwich house in Cornhill. An
evil hour must, I suppose, strike, when it will be
decreed that the resolute archaism of this admirable
lunching place must give way to a more modern
spaciousness ; but may that be long distant ! In the
room upstairs the best turtle soup in the world is
dispensed, the ritual ordaining that with it you
drink Madeira and afterwards, during the season,
you eat an oyster patty. That it is the best turtle
soup needs no further fortifying statement when I
add that it is the house of Birch which provides
the City of London's feasts.
The original Birch was one Lucas Birch (an un-
pleasant collocation of words to me), whose son
and successor, Samuel Birch (1757-1841), not only
was an admirable pastrycook but was also a public-
spirited man, Sheriff and Lord Mayor, and a suc-
cessful dramatist. It was Birch who, at first un-
supported on the Common Council, urged the es-
tablishment of volunteer regiments at the outbreak
of the French Revolution, and eventually carrying
his point, was the first Lieutenant-Colonel of the 1st
Regiment of the Loyal London Volunteers.
[52]
CHAPTER III
.A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES
New taxi-driver and old cabby — The Corporation at wor-
ship — Grinling Gibbons — St. Lawrence, Jewry — St.
Magnus the Martyr — The odour of sanctity — Old Lon-
don Bridge — St. Giles's, Cripplegate — St. Giles's-in-the-
Fields — A nest of singing birds — St. James's, Piccadilly
— St. Etheldreda's — Hatton Garden — The Westminster
Cathedral — The Scotch chapel — Mr. Gill's "Stations of
the Cross" — Mr. J. F. Bentley — Lincoln's Inn Chapel —
St. Alban's, Holborn, and a modern Saint — Treasurers'
windows — The Temple Church — A Great Man.
IN this chapter I have brought together some notes,
not wholly at random, upon a variety of London
churches, old and new, which seem to me typical.
These churches being situated both east and west,
any one proposing to visit them in the order in
which they occur in these pages will be doing a cab
driver a very good turn. And why not*? The new
cab driver, as an accessory of machinery, may be, it
is true, a far less sociable being than that old cab
driver the ally of the horse, yet he is a good fellow
too. For a certain gruff rigidity one must blame
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the cranks he has to pull, the wheel he has to turn,
and, above all, the meter which registers his fare.
His happy-go-lucky predecessor ("Drive you to
Highgate*?" said a hansom-cabby to me once, late
one night in Shaftesbury Avenue, "Why, I'd drive
you to America if you liked") — his happy-go-lucky
predecessor, having no automatic tally, was in con-
stant need of those gifts which discern the humane
potentialities of a passenger and of those arts, either
of ingratiation or menace, which can extract an extra
sixpence. The new driver, the chauffeur, has no
hopes. If he gets something added, he has, in one
of the worst possible of worlds, received no more than
his due; if he fails to be given it, it is just his usual
luck, and the sooner he moves on to find another fare
the better. That is the difference between the an-
cient Jehu and the modern Shover; but beneath the
taxi-driver's saturnine apathy beats, it is possible,
the usual heart.
Having seen the Corporation's pictures, let us see
where the City Fathers worship. The church is close
by: St. Lawrence, Jewry; and here, in a great pew
with a civic throne in it, the Lord Mayor and his
sheriffs sit in state, just under a window representing
the Judgment of Solomon, while the rest of the Cor-
poration, each carrying a bouquet, sit behind them.
This happens every Michaelmas day, and after their
preacher h^s discharged hi§ homily at them, the gor-
[54J
A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES
geous company retire to decide the question who shall
be Lord Mayor next year.
One cannot imagine a more comfortable temple,
for it is Wren at his (may I say*?) most cosy — the
proportions being very attractive, and the coloured
windows gay, and the atmosphere domestic rather
than ecclesiastic.
Many of Wren's churches, from St. Paul's down-
wards, are monuments also to the genius of his friend
Grinling Gibbons, the wood carver, and St. Law-
rence, Jewry, stands by no means low on the list.
This busy craftsman of fine taste was only in part
English, being born at Rotterdam, in 1648, of, I
believe, a Dutch mother. His father, however, was
good Yorkshire. It is not known when the youthful
Grinling came to London, but he was at Deptford in
1671, for it was there that Evelyn the diarist found
him making a wonderful wooden version of Tinto-
retto's "Crucifixion," and not only took Sir Christo-
pher Wren and Pepys to see it, but had the touT de
force shown to His Majesty Charles II, who would
have bought it had not the Queen, to whose bed-
room it was carried, been luke-warm on the matter.
Later, however, the King bought a similar version of
Tintoretto's "Stoning of St. Stephen" and Gibbons's
career was established. From this time he never, as
we say, looked back, but at once started to decorate
St. Paul's, the stalls there being his. He also worked
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
at the Royal palaces, and no nobleman's place was
complete without its Grinling Gibbons panelling,
cornice or other device.
Gibbons remained a Londoner to the end, living
in Bond Street, where he died in 1720, and he was
buried in St. Paul's, Covent Garden. As a man he
was described by Evelyn as "very civil, sober, and
discreet in his discourse," which, as we shall learn at
the Adelphi, not all artists have been. For his fine
free way with wood, England, and especially Lon-
don, owes him much.
The particular glory of St. Lawrence, Jewry, is
the Grinling Gibbons woodwork (but, on the
strength of an engraving of Kneller's portrait of him,
in the vestry, he is here shorn of the final "g," and
known as Grinlin). His pulpit stairs have three
delicate balusters to each step and a railing of the
richest and hardest mahogany I ever saw. "True
Spanish mahogany," says the venerable sexton; "not
Honduras." His two doors at the entrance end of
the church are exceedingly fine, the wood being box
beneath its dark stain. Each is surmounted by an
angel.
The pews of St. Lawrence, Jewry, are select
enough; but at St. Magnus the Martyr, whither we
may now repair, just by the Monument, they are
still higher and more private. Each is, in fact, an
Englishman's castle; and within their walls the
[56]
A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES
eternal verities may either be pondered in profound
and secure seclusion, or, if it should so chance, safely
shelved in sleep. No city church has darker wood,
a deeper reserve, a broader aisle, or a richer bouquet
of the odour of sanctity, in which kid gloves play
so prominent a part, than this St. Magnus. How
many Anglican temples one has, after a long conti-
nental habit of church-haunting, to enter before the
shock — or not perhaps so much shock as a nasal
frustration — caused by the absence of incense ceases,
I cannot say; but I have not myself yet reached the
necessary number.
St. Magnus the Martyr has the poor tinted glass
that too often satisfies a City congregation, but which
perhaps suits the Palladian window scheme better
than rich pictorial subjects. It also has a famous
organ — the first in England to use the Venetian swell
— on which recitals are given in the luncheon hour
once a week or oftener. The church is typically
Wren's, and how fine the spire is, Mr. Livens's pic-
ture shows.
To me one of the most interesting things about
St. Magnus the Martyr is the fact that old London
Bridge sprang away from the north bank of the
river close to it, and the arches under the church
tower were opened up in order to take the pavement
of the bridge-approach through them and thus widen
the road. They serve now merely as an outer lobby
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
to the church; but in those earlier days before
our new and utterly prosaic London Bridge,
which is some 180 to 200 feet farther west,
was built, how they must have echoed to con-
stant footfalls!
When last at St. Lawrence, Jewry, I walked to
St. Giles's, Cripplegate, by way of Aldermanbury
and Fore Street, just diverting a few steps in London
Wall to see the remains of the old Roman rampart
in the garden opposite St. Al phage. St. Giles's,
Cripplegate, is famous as the burial-place of Milton,
whose statue stands outside, and to whose memory
a bust is to be seen within. It is not, of course, the
St. Giles's which serves as the antithesis of the well-
nourished aristocratic St. James's. That St. Giles's
— or St. Giles's-in-the-Fields, which is its full mis-
nomer — is just off the Charing Cross Road, and is, I
always think, the coldest and most forbidding fane
in London, all lonely among its tombs, in a squalid
district with the backs of dingy houses around it.
But desolate though it be, this St. Giles's stands in
very sacred ground too, and, as it chances, very
poetical ground.
No Milton is here ; but here is a friend of Milton's,
one of the sweetest and most distinguished of the
minor English choir. Do you remember the lines on
the death of Charles I, who was beheaded not so very
far away*? — one needs merely to walk down the
[58]
A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES
Charing Cross Road, across Trafalgar Square and a
little way along Whitehall, to see the actual spot:
"He nothing common did or mean
Upon that memorable scene,
But with his keener eye
The axe's edge did try;
Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
To vindicate his helpless right,
But bowed his comely head
Down, as upon a bed."
And you know those lines on a garden, with the
exquisite stanzas:
"Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,
Withdraws into its happiness :
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates, transcending these.
Far other worlds, and other seas.
Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade.
Here at the fountain's sliding foot.
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,
Casting the body's vest aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide:
There, like a bird, it sits and sings.
Then whets and combs its silver wings,
And, till prepared for longer flight.
Waves in its plumes the various light."
[59]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Well, the author of those poems, Andrew Marvell,
was buried here.
We are only at the beginning of St. Giles's Golden
Treasury. That sturdy Elizabethan translator of
Homer, George Chapman, is among its dead. Noth-
ing would naturally be much farther from one's
thoughts, as one wanders here, than Keats's famous
sonnet; yet it is only too pertinent.
And you remember that beautiful and impressive
lyric which has these lines in it?
"The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things ;
There is no armour against fate ;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Scepter and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. . . .
The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds ;
Upon Death's purple altar now.
See, where the victor-victim bleeds:
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb.
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust."
Well, it was in a cold tomb here, in 1666, that
James Shirley was laid.
[60]
A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES
And you know that poet (the elder brother of
holy Mr. Herbert of Bemerton, whom we saw medi-
tating in his garden, in Dyce's picture at the Guild-
hall) one of whose poems made use of the metre and
some of the grave music of In Memoriam two cen-
turies before In Memoriam was written — Lord Her-
bert of Cherbury. It was he who, in the argument
as to whether love endured beyond the tomb, thus
nobly answered in the affirmative :
"Nor here on earth then, or above,
Our good affection can impair.
For where God doth admit the fair
Think you that He excludeth love?
These eyes again then eyes shall see,
And hands again these hands enfold,
And all chaste pleasures can be told
Shall with us everlasting be."
Well, Lord Herbert of Cherbury was buried here
too.
Having seen St. Giles's, now so forlorn for all its
sacred dust, let us ste St. James's, which is one of
the most successful of London's red brick buildings,
in it serene retirement in a quiet bay off Piccadilly.
Here again we find Wren and Cribbons in {partner-
ship, for Wren built the church and Ciibbons carved
the font and the foliage over the altar. Wren was
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
very proud of the interior, which he planned to hold
two thousand persons and yet to have neither second
walls nor buttresses. He also dispensed with a
lantern, which, now that the windows are full of
coloured glass, would be a great boon, for the church
is very dark.
St. James's may be in the centre of fashion and
tone, but it has nothing quite of the quality of George
Chapman, James Shirley and Andrew Marvell. But
Walton's associate, cheerful Master Cotton, lies here;
and Tom D'Urfey, the very free humorist whose
"Pills" which "purged" Jacobean and Augustan
"Melancholy" might now get him or his publishers
into the police courts; and Gillray the cartoonist;
while Old Q., the disreputable, who, in life, scan-
dalized our ancestors at the other end of Piccadilly,
now reposes in a vault beneath the communion table,
at this end.
To say, as a writer in The Times does, that St.
Etheldreda's, in Ely Place, is a Sainte Chapelle, is
to give a wrong impression; but it is a very grace-
ful building with a beautiful east window through
which London's light permeates very sweetly. Be-
low is a crypt chapel, which, on the last afternoon
that I was there, was thronged by a company of little
boys with whom two or three acolytes were doing
their best, but whose native unruliness would have
taxed the patience even of St. Anthony himself.
[62]
THK TEMI'l-K CIM1« II, IKOM JoHNSON'S BUILDINGS
A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES
St. Etheldreda's is all that remains of the ancient
palace of the bishops of Ely, afterwards converted
by Sir Christopher Hatton, the favourite of Queen
Elizabeth, into a mansion for himself. Hence Hat-
ton Garden. The bishops again came into residence
here in the reign of Charles I, one of them being Sir
Christopher Wren's uncle, Matthew Wren, who died
here. In 1775 the property was cut up for building
purposes.
So much for the smallest Roman Catholic church
in London; now for the largest. How many times
a London Re-revisited and London Re-re-revisited
must be written before the Westminster Cathedral
is completed, and all that vast area of brick- work
covered with marble, who shall say? But the day
is yet far distant. Gradually and patiently, and
with beautiful thoroughness, the labour is always
proceeding, and already the Lady Chapel's lower
mosaics are finished, and much of the choir has been
made sumptuous, and the tombs of Cardinal Man-
ning and Cardinal Vaughan have lovely settings.
Above all, the chapel of St. Andrew and the Scotch
Saints is perfected, like a jewel in a rosary. In a
foreign city this distinguished little sanctuary would
be the resort of every traveller, but few Londoners
know anything about it or expect English artists and
artificers to toil to such ends. The aluminum grille
alone is a joy; and the little mosaic landscapes of
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Scottish and Continental strongholds of the Faith,
Amalii and Constantinople (so ever-present in this
cathedral), St. Andrew's and Milan, must fascinate
every eye. The chapel is a monument to Scotland's
fidelity, and around the cool walls runs a screed in
honour of her warriors and martyrs for the Cross.
Coolness is perhaps the dominant note — an almost
inhuman frigidity of design and execution.
Only a few of the "Stations of the Cross" from
the chisel of Mr. Eric Gill are in position as I write
(April, 1916). The archaic simplicity and severity
of these reliefs are not to every taste; but no one
can deny the sculptor's sincerity, and in a church an
ounce of sincerity outweighs pounds of more facile,
gifts. To my eyes Number V, in which "Simon of
Cyrene helps Jesus to carry the Cross," is movingly
beautiful, but I select for reproduction the first, in
which Jesus is condemned to death. Note the easy
grace of the boy kneeling to Pilate with the fatal
ewer.
Mr. Anning Bell's mosaic tympanum over the
great doors is now complete and may be seen from
the street. I could wish the background had not
been white, but London's fogs and grime will see to
that.
Only the very young are likely to live long enough
to see this cathedral finished; its architect, John
Francis Bentley, died when it was only a shell. He
[64]
A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES
received the commission in 1894, when he was fifty-
five, Cardinal Vaughan, who now lies here, having
selected him and fixed certain conditions, chief of
which were that speed was important, that expense
should be kept down, and that the nave should be
vast and give an uninterrupted view of the high
altar. The preference for Byzantine style being ex-
pressed, Bentley visited various Italian cities, in-
cluding, of course, Ravenna, but was unable, owing
to the plague there, to get to Constantinople itself.
The foundation stone was laid in 1895, and in 1898
Bentley had a paralytic stroke and gradually sank.
While on the theme of chapels to saints let me
mention St. Alban's, Holborn, famous as the fifty
years' scene of the ministrations of the late Arthur
Henry Stanton (1839-1912), known to his adoring
parishioners and in Heaven as "Father" or "Dad."
St. Alban's, Holborn, is not too easy to find, but one
should make the endeavour; for it was here that this
life-long rebel and comforter said his good things
and performed his good deeds, and a shrine in his
honour, now in course of completion there, is per-
haps the ornatest memorial in London, if not in
England. It would not, I fancy, wholly please the
Saint himself, but since it is the product of much
human love — the commodity which he most valued
— he would accept it smilingly.
Father Stanton was, I suppose, the most Romanist
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
priest not in the Church of Rome, and as such was
a thorn in the side of his own Church. But such was
the sincerity of him, and the power of him, and
beautiful helpfulness of him, that in spite of various
storms consequent upon his Confessional and his
Mariolatry, he remained in orders, and even lived
to be offered a stall in St. Paul's. "If we love
Christ, we should love His mother," he would say.
Once being told that it was not "wise" to use incense
and processional lights, he instantly replied, with
his exquisite disarming wit, that only two sets of
people were called "wise" in the Gospels — the Wise
Men from the East, who offered incense, and the
Wise Virgins, who carried processional lights!
It is as a friend of the poor — as a disseminator of
joy in mean streets — in short, as "Father" Stanton
— that he lived and will live. Few pastors can have
had such influence. Of the many humorous stories
of his experiences in this parish, which he told with
wonderful effect and immense enjoyment, this is a
good example: — One of his Sunday boys called at
the clergy house on a certain occasion when Father
Stanton had given word that he was too tired to see
any more that day. "The housekeeper told the
boy," said Father Stanton, "that I was tired, and
could not see him, and I heard him say, 'That's a
nice message to send a boy in the parish. You tell
him I want; to see him spiritual.' So, of course, I
[66]
A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES
put on my biretta and came downstairs. When I
got down the stairs the boy said: 'Father, that's a
nice message to send to a pore boy in the parish — to
go away because you are tired. I want to see you
private. I don't want to see you out in this 'all,
where everybody can 'ear our business. Mayn't we
talk somewhere quiet*?' So I said, 'Come into the
dining-room,' and took him there, prepared for fear-
ful revelations and spiritual difficulties, naturally!
And then he said, 'Father, you ain't got such a thing
as a pair of trousers, 'ave yer*?' So I said, 'Yes, old
chap, I have; and I have got them on I' "
If we are to speak of a London Sainte Chapelle, it
seems to me that the Temple church is the real claim-
ant to that honour — not that it has any of the slen-
der grace of that exquisite stone and glass casket, but
there is something in the clean strong beauty of the
Temple pillars and vaulting of grey polished marble
that always reminds me of the lovely Paris sanc-
tuary. And it has the impressive dignity of its
bronze Knight Templars too, nine of them lying
in their well-earned perpetual repose on the circular
floor. There are no Templars in Sainte Chapelle.
The round and unique portion of the Temple
church was built in 1185. The choir was added in
1240. Both have been restored, and are now almost
too spick and span for such age to be credible. In
some ways, London has no more beautiful building.
[67]
CHAPTER TV
THE ROYAL MINT AND NEW SCOTLAND YARD
Minting and good looks — Human machinery — Money-mak-
ing — An Italian philosopher — "Aladdin" and "The Tin-
der Box" — Ingots and furnaces — The master thief — Law
versus lawlessness — Morbid relics — Criminal investiga-
tion — The deadly finger-prints — The detective's powder
— The burglar and the bottle — The importance of gloves
— London street names — Colonel Panton — Hugh Audley.
A VISIT to the Royal Mint is interesting if only
to see the Royal Minters, who are a fine set of
men with a greater proportion of handsome heads
among them than in any other assembly that I re-
member. Why the transmutation of metal into little
discs, the love of which is said to be the root of all
evil, should tend to good looks, I have no notion;
but there it is. Can it be because these men have to
do with money only when it is fresh and clean, be-
fore it has set to work*?
Not so long since I was led through the Royal
Mint by the Deputy Master himself, who did what
was possible, above the din of minting, to instruct
[68]
THE ROYAL MINT
me in its mysteries; but I recollect little save two
crystal facts. One was that the men had not only
fine heads, and for the most part fine hair and
moustaches, but a fine frank bearing; and the other,
that there are machines in this place which are
practically human. The linotype had hitherto
seemed to me, who have seen little in this way, the
most drastically capable of all metal intelligences;
but I don't know that it is really in advance of the
gently reasonable creatures here that turn out hun-
dreds of threepenny pieces a minute, and are equally
willing to turn out shillings, half-crowns and
sovereigns; while there is a strange sprawling mon-
ster also here whose life is spent in counting pennies
into bags, and who can safely be left to do this with
perfect accuracy all day long; which is more than
any accountant, however chartered, could be.
Some things I suppose the hand of man will always
[perform best, and indeed to my great surprise I
learned of one only the other day when I was pass-
ing through that astonishing home of industry and
thoroughness, Guinness's Brewery in Dublin, and
coming to a vast hall of coopers, who were sawing,
planing and hammering, was told that, so far at
any rate as this great Irish firm is concerned, manual
labour on barrels is considered to be more satisfac-
tory than machinery, although machinery exists for
the purpose. I confess to being very glad to hear it.
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
But how the Royal Mint managed to supply Eng-
land with sufficient coins before machinery came in,
I cannot imagine. There are astonishing contrasts
in the machines, too; for while one of them will
brutally and noisily bite thick strips of bronze as
though they were biscuits, another in almost com-
plete silence is weighing coins with the utmost deli-
cacy, some score to the minute, and discarding into
separate compartments any that are the faintest
trifle too light or too heavy, and not a soul near it
to interfere.
A visit to the Royal Mint is so like a dip into
the Arabian Nights that any one may be pardoned
for bringing away only hazy impressions. For, to
begin with, there is the strange incredible purpose
of the place — to make money. Every one wants to
make money; every one, that is, except the Italian
waiter whom I met a little while since, — as it
chanced, also in Dublin, — and who, when I asked
him if he would not like to be rich, replied, "No, I
don't want." "Why?' I inquired. "Because," he
said, "I die if I get too much money." With the
exception of this philosopher, all of us want to
make money; and here, at top speed and with a
superb carelessness, money is being made — actually
made — in vast sums, for ever. We are in the very
presence of the miracle. You not only see it being
made, but hear it — a terrific uproar, the discord that
[70]
THE ROYAL MINT
is such music to Mammon's ear. You see the whole
thing exactly as in the stories, not only the Eastern
"Aladdin," but the European "Tinder Box," where
the soldier passed from the room filled with coppers
to the room filled with silver, and from the room
filled with silver to the room filled with gold. The
only thing that you do not see at the Mint is the
room filled with paper notes; but that is no loss.
Who wants paper? Metal is the stuff.
So far as my memory serves me, we entered first
a room packed with ingots. Have you ever seen
an ingot? There is something in the very word
that brings romance about you. Ingots and doub-
loons and pieces of eight. Well, here are ingots:
great lumps of silver and bronze, piled on trestles
to be wheeled into the furnace room. And then
the furnace room, with its glowing fires and its
cauldrons of boiling metal and its handsome, brawny
fire-worshippers. Here everything is hot and liable
to splutter, and the men must protect not only their
eyes but their hands, so that every one has vast
gloves. To anybody thinking of taking up minting
as a home pastime I would say that the first thing
to do with metal from which coins are to be made is
to turn it into bars. These bars begin at, say, two
feet six long and barely one inch thick, and a series
of machines then take them into their maws and so
deal with them that by the time they are finished
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
with they are some yards long and of the thickness
of whatever coin they propose to be. It is then that
they are fed into the machine which stamps out the
discs corresponding to the circumference of the de-
sired coins; and then these discs are gently but firmly
crushed between the two dies appertaining to those
coins. Nothing could be simpler — now. Yet only
by immense thought and engineering in the past
has this simplicity come about. But I suppose that
in a century's time minting will be simpler still.
I read in Wheatley and Cunningham's London
Past and Present^ which no student of the City can
neglect, that in 1798 a bold fellow named Turnbull
entered the Mint with a loaded pistol and came
out with 2804 guineas. It would puzzle him to do
it now. Even with a letter from the Deputy Mas-
ter in one's hand, one is scrutinised with painfully
minute suspicion by the policeman at the lodge.
Having seen where money is made honourably,
and with a speed and efficiency that fill the mind
with confidence as to England's solvency, I was per-
mitted to visit another Government institution, a
large part of whose activities is concerned in track-
ing down and securing those ingenious persons who
make it dishonestly — I mean New Scotland Yard. I
have said that at the Mint every one is handsome.
At Scotland Yard every one is big and robust and
very courteous; while the atmosphere of the place
[72]
THE ROYAL MINT
is discretion absolute. I have always thought the
police the best of men, but one must go to Scotland
Yard for the very flower of their physical amplitude
and ingratiating gravity.
Nor, as one passes along the countless corridors,
each filled with offices where the machinery of law
versus breakers of the law is at work, does one get
the suggestion that there is any conscious feeling of
virtue within, as against vice outside. The attitude
is dispassionate. It comes to this, that there are in
the world certain persons who, from this motive or
that, like to commit felonies and burglaries, even
murder; they are there^ outside. There are also
other persons, less numerous or less romantic, whose
business is to catch them; they are here', inside.
Ethics need not come into it at all. The general
impression gathered in New Scotland Yard is one
of bland humaneness and sympathetic understand-
ing, based on something horribly like iron.
The Black Museum, which I principally wished
to visit, is no longer to be seen. The need for more
space has led to its, I hope only temporary, dis-
mantlement. Only a few cases in a dark passage
remain to indicate its sco[)c, but these are filled with
sinister human interest. One of them is wholly de-
voted to those bank-notes which you or I would
confidingly accept and innocently pass on, but which
to the expert eye reveal such damning discrepancies.
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For the perfect forgery apparently does not exist;
always there is some oversight. In the other cases
are historic weapons by whose agency this or that
famous murder was committed. But, as I say, for
the time being, the Black Museum does not exist,
nor, very properly, is writing about it encouraged.
Moreover, one can see such relics, although not in
such quantity, elsewhere.
That which one cannot see elsewhere is the finger-
print department, where the system of identification
of criminals by the agency of these tell-tale marks,
which was brought to perfection by the present Chief
of the Police, Sir Edward Henry, is carried on.
Here are wonders indeed; and here I was privileged
to receive a thousand answers to as many questions;
and what is more delightful than that? Of the
theory of finger-prints I knew vaguely a little. I
knew that Sir Francis Galton had investigated the
subject with his usual thoroughness and patience,
and had come to the conclusion that there are not
two sets of finger-prints alike in the world. On this
assumption (which, never having been contraverted,
may be called a fact) the great finger-print depart-
ment here, with its hundreds of thousands of records,
— which are added to every day, — was reared.
What I did not know was the means by which, within
two or three minutes, the officials, after receiving a
new set of finger-prints, — for every convicted crim-
[74]
STUDY OF A LION
blUDY OF A TIGER
AFTER THE DRAWINGS BV J. M. SWAN IN THE GUILDHALL
THE ROYAL MINT
inal is compelled to make his mark in this way, —
can ascertain whether or not their possessor has been
convicted before. For of course names would be of
no service : old criminals are always changing those.
The system of classification which makes this rapid-
ity possible was explained to me.
Another thing that I did not know, even after a
fairly assiduous career as a reader of detective stories,
from Gaboriau to Mr. Chesterton, — that is to say,
from realism to fantasy, — is that the traces left even
by the most casual touch of the fingers can persist so
long. I was, for example, shown a cash box which a
criminal had handled a full year before the record
of the impression of his touch on it was taken, and
it was still incontrovertible evidence.
The finger-print serves two purposes. It estab-
lishes the previous record of an old offender, and
it helps to bring home the crime to suspected men
who are guilty. The difference between the two sets
of prints is that the old offender has to make his at
the police station, in ink, as a matter of routine;
whereas the suspected man, who often does not know
that he is suspected, makes his unconsciously, usually
on a letter handed to him by the detective and then
taken back again and quickly powdered. I myself
saw how effective this was, for while talking to the
Chief of the department I lightly touched a piece
of paper and then watched the surface of it being
[75]
MOKE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
powdered and brushed until there the damning rec-
ord stood out, plain to the eye, with every papillar)'
ridge testifying against me.
Wise thieves of course wear gloves; but there
seems to be an almost inevitable loophole in every
scheme of precaution that the lawless take. One
burglar, for example, who, carefully gloved, had
completed his raid, packed up the swag and got
securely away, made one little slip; and in criminal
investigation it is the little slips that tell. The
detectives arrived and powdered everything that
was likely to have been touched, but there were no
results. They were in despair until a wine-glass
was found that had had champagne in it; but here
again there was no clue: the burglar had worn his
gloves to drink. When, however, they at last found
the bottle and powdered that, finger-marks came out,
for he had been forced to remove his gloves to draw
the cork. By these marks was he captured. I have
seen the bottle. To would-be thieves or murderers
I say, therefore, never leave off your gloves.
I came away impressed not only by the complete-
ness of the net that surrounds every criminal who
has once been caught, but conscious also of what
an enormously amusing and exciting enterprise it
would be to pit one's wits against those of this
massive building.
And what, may very naturally be asked, have the
[76]
THE ROYAL MINT
London police to do with Scotland? Why Scotland
Yard? Well, there is a reason for its name, as for
those of most other London streets and squares and
courts. The Scotland Yard which this present
headquarters succeeded — between Whitehall and
Northumberland Avenue — had been the favourite
lodging of the Kings of Scotland and their ambas-
sadors.
While on this subject, I may say that inquiry
into these names usually yields interesting results.
Thus, Panton Street, off the Haymarket, owes its
name to the famous Stuart gambler and gallant,
Thomas Panton, a Colonel in Charles IPs army, and
an "absolute artist" at every game "either upon
the square or foul." One night's hazard bring-
ing him in a sufficient fortune to provide £1500 a
year, he retired from the tables, married a wife,
bought land in Herefordshire and that part of Lon-
don on which Panton Street stands, and, when in
1685 he died, his bones were laid in the Abbey.
Cheyne Walk takes its name from Viscount
Cheyne, Lord of the Manor of Chelsea in the seven-
teenth centur)\
Charges Street was called after Sir Walter Clarges,
nephew of General Monk.
King's Cross was so called because a statue of
George IV was erected there in 1836. After serving
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
as a butt for the wits for nine years, it was taken
down and broken up.
All the Half-Moon Streets are so called because
of a Half-Moon tavern in them. The various Hart
Streets probably derive from a similar circumstance.
The various Duke Streets may be traced to the ducal
owners of their neighbourhood. Thus Duke Street,
Buckingham Street, Strand, was named from the il-
lustrious George Villiers, or "Steenie," who was
stabbed at Portsmouth — as all readers of Twenty
Years After know. Duke Street, Portland Square,
was named after Williajn, Duke of Portland.
The various King Streets derive of course from
kings — but from different ones; and the various
George Streets from different Georges too: I, II,
III and IV. Our own George may perhaps give his
name also to a street, but only with his full style —
George V.
The Gray of Gray's Inn was Lord Gray, in the
fifteenth century. Staple Inn was named from the
fact that the merchants of the Staple had their
hostel there.
Lincoln's Inn was built on land belonging to the
Earls of Lincoln.
Stratton Street takes its name from John Berkeley,
afterwards Baron Berkeley of Stratton, the hero of
Stratton Fight, in 1660, on the Royalist side.
The Audley Streets are named after the owner of
[78]
THE ROYAL MINT
the property on which they stand, Hugh Audley,
the Stuart money-lender, who, possessing in 1605
£200, died in 1662 worth £400,000, a sum which
represented then far more than it does now. And
this in spite of a loss of £100,000 through the civil
wars I Audley was a man of implacable shrewdness
who, in the interests of his profession, made a great
outward show of piety ; keeping on his table, among
all the horrid machinery of cent per cent, a book of
devotion ostentatiously displayed. A guide to
worldly success was subsequently compiled, with
him as its hero.
I mention only these name derivations, more or
less at random, just to illustrate the richness of the
subject. One of the million and one books to be
written on London would certainly trace to their
source as many street names as possible. But some
would present great difficulties. How would one
expect at this late day to penetrate to the original
inwardness of Paradise Street and Nightingale
Square and The Vale and Tranquil Passage"?
[79]
CHAPTER V
THE STATUES OF LONDON
I. THE CITY TO CHARING CROSS
London and Paris — Sir Hugh Myddelton — The Royal Ex-
change — The City's highest ground — A new position for
Queen Anne — Elizabeth Fry — The Smithfield Martyrs —
Christ's Hospital — Early City worthies — Two mysteri-
out obelisks — Cheap Oueen Bess — The Griffin and Tem-
ple Bar — A white elephant — Charing Cross and Queen
Eleanor — King Charles on horseback — An astute brazier
— Le Sceur.
LONDON has been accused of taking her me-
morial, or marmoreal, duties, at any rate by
comparison with Paris, too lightly; and after a visit
to the public statues which exist by the thousand in
the French capital, one realises the truth of the
criticism. A list of great Englishmen who have,
at any rate, no open-air monument in London
would be more surprising than a list of those who
are thus remembered; but apart altogether from the
fact that the English mind does not tend much to
this kind of celebration and that the French mind
[80]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
does, there is a further reason for our poverty of
statues and the Paris profusion, in the circumstance
that the open air of London and the open air of
Paris are so very different. One makes for darkness
and the other for light. Hence a marble statue in
London soon becomes a dreary and dingy thing,
whereas in Paris it continues to dazzle.
In this and some following chapters I have at-
tempted a complete list of the open-air statues and
memorials that London has erected, at any rate in
the more accessible parts. There may be some omis-
sions, but not many. Lender cover, of course, the
memorials are countless : in the Abbey, in St. Paul's,
in the National Portrait Gallery, in the Guildhall,
and in churches everywhere. But of these I say
nothing here. My list is for the pious pilgrim in
the streets. It is based upon notes contributed to
the East London Advertiser in 1903-4, and to Notes
and Queries in 1908, by Mr. John T. Page, who
kindly permits me to make use of them.
Mr. Page begins with the Martyrs' Memorial at
Stratford, in honour of the Protestants burned in
the reign of Oucen Mary. But I think that our
most easterly statue may be that of John Wesley
(1703-1791) in the City Road, erected on the
centenary of his death by the "Children of Method-
ism," in front of the City Road Chapel ; while this
is a convenient place to mention the statue of Sir
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Hugh Myddelton (1565-1613) on Islington Green,
close to the reservoir to which he guided the waters
of the New River, which the City of London still ex-
clusively drinks, in 1613. Sir Hugh was a Welsh-
man of great tenacity of purpose, persevering indeed
with his role of Aquarius, in the face of opposition,
until he had ruined himself. He then called in the
assistance of James I, whose idea of help was to take
half the New River shares, thirty-six in number,
while the other half were sold to "adventurers."
All that Sir Hugh got from it was an annuity of
£100, to be paid also to his heirs. Latterly an
adventurer's share was worth six figures.
By the Royal Exchange are three statues. At
the S.E. corner is Sir Rowland Hill (1795-1879),
who founded uniform penny postage; at the N.E.
corner is George Peabody (1795-1869), the Ameri-
can philanthropist and erector of industrial dwell-
ings; and in front is the Duke of Wellington, this
being the City's memorial of the great man.
King William Street has a statue of the monarch,
William IV, who gave it his name.
In Bread Street, Cheapside, where Milton was
born, is a bust of Milton.
At the west end of Cheapside is a statue of Sir
Robert Peel (1788-1850), statesman, looking, in
profile, very like Charles Lamb.
In Panyer Alley, which is the first narrow passage
[82]
A MANSION IN PARK LANE, FROM HYDE I'ARK
THE STATUES OF LONDON
between Paternoster Row and Newgate Street, is a
quaint piece of sculpture preserved under glass, with
a quainter inscription. The figure is of a naked
boy seated on a basket or pannier. Hence Panyer
Alley. He has a bunch of grapes in his hand. The
inscription runs thus:
"When ye have sought the city round
Yet still is this the highest ground.
August the 27 1628."
Whether the statement is true, I cannot say. Messrs.
Wheatley and Cunningham (who give the date as
August 26th) make no comment. Mr. Page believes
the highest point to be about Leadenhall Market.
In Postmen's Park, at St. Botolph's, Aldersgate,
is a statue of a grave bearded man in a long robe,
beneath the words "The utmost for the highest."
This is George Frederick Watts, the artist, who in-
augurated the Roll of Honour that is preserved here.
In St. Mary's churchyard, Aldermanbury, is a
memorial to John Heminge and Henry Condell,
friends of Shakespeare, who brought out the first
collective edition of his works. A bust of the poet
surmounts it.^
^ Other recent Shakespearean memorials are the tablet to
Burbage at Shoreditch and the reclining figure of Shake-
speare himself, in alabaster, in Southwark Cathedral, be-
hind which the verger holds with much triumph a lighted
taper, thus irradiating the poet with a gentle lambency.
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Another adjacent literary memorial is the statue
of Milton in front of St. Giles's, Cripplegate, in Fore
Street, the poet having been buried in this church.
Opposite St. Paul's, which is, of course, a very
treasure house of marble effigies and memorials, is a
statue of Queen Anne. This was originally erected
in 1712, but was so much at the mercy of any urchin
with a defacing tendency (and all have it) that the
first figure had to be removed and the present one
set up in 1886. Queen Victoria is said to have been
humorously annoyed when the exchange was made.
"You'll be doing that to me some day," she re-
marked. The earlier statue was rescued from the
rubbish heap by the late Augustus Hare, author of
Walks in London^ and moved to his grounds at Hast-
ings, where probably it still is.
The statue of Elizabeth Fry being indoors, it does
not rightly come into this list; but as it is new, I
mention it. It stands, larger than life, in the up-
stairs hall of the new Old Bailey, which is built on
the site of Newgate, the scene of her ministrations
to the prisoners — the representation chosen by the
sculptor being that of Gibson's well-known portrait,
in which the philanthropic Quakeress (who could
also be something of a dictator) is seen placid and
beneficent in her grey silk and bonnet. A bas-relief
illustrating her work in the prison is on each side of
the pediment.
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THE STATUES OF LONDON
At Smithfield, in an arch of St. Bartholomew's
Hospital, is a memorial to the Martyrs burned in
the great square there, in 1555, 1556 and 1557, and
particularly to John Rogers, John Bradford and
John Philpot; and I might have noted above that
not only is Milton buried in St. Giles's, Cripplegate,
but John Foxe too, who wrote the martyrs' golden
book. But the real memorial of the Smithheld
Martyrs is in the church associated with them in
St. John Street, not very distant, where all the sixty-
six "Servants of God" are commemorated within,
and many of them by statues and medallions on the
outside walls. There are also bas-relief representa-
tions of the terrible scenes. In fact, this church,
which is quite modern, might be called an edition of
Foxe in stone. To gain it one merely has to cross
the Smithfield market through one of the avenues of
carcases, in which flesh is almost less noticeable than
the forests of steel hooks, and so into John Street.
Memories of Edward FitzGerald may all unexpect-
edly arise as one proceeds into Clerkenwell, for more
than one street is named after Woodbridge, and
there is a Sekforde Street too. Clerkenwell is now a
city of small Early Victorian houses and the strong-
hold of watchmakers and carpenters. Once it was
fashionable, and the garden of Northampton Square,
close to the Martyrs' church, was the garden of
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Northampton House, the London mansion of the
Compton family.
In Newgate Street, behind St. Bartholomew's
Hospital, are new buildings belonging partly to the
Hospital and partly to the Post Office, on an historic
site where a statue or so might very reasonably have
been placed. But not even a graven word did any
one think it worth while to inscribe, saying that here,
until very recently, stood Christ's Hospital, the Blue
Coat School, among whose scholars were Samuel
Taylor Coleridge and Charles Lamb.
Four London worthies are to be seen on the build-
ings at the corners of the bridge which carries Hol-
born over Farringdon Street. These are Henry
Fitz Aylwin (1189-1212), London's first Mayor;
Sir Thomas Gresham (1519-1579), who founded
the Royal Exchange; Sir William Walworth (d.
1385), who killed Watt Tyler at Smithfield in 1381 ;
and our friend Sir Hugh Myddelton. The four com-
monplace statues on the Viaduct itself represent Art,
Science, Agriculture and Commerce.
At Holborn Circus is an equestrian statue of Al-
bert the Good, the Prince Consort. The bas-reliefs
illustrate typical scenes in the life of the Prince. In
one he lays the foundation stone of the present Royal
Exchange; in the other the Great Exhibition of 1851,
of which he was the parent, is celebrated.
Now, turning down St. Andrew's Street to Lud-
[86]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
gate Circus, we find there two obelisks on which it is
probable that not one out of every thousand of the
ceaseless throng crossing here all day long could pass
an examination. That on the southern island com-
memorates the notorious John Wilkes, who was
Lord Mayor of London in 1775, and the other,
Alderman Robert Waithman, M.P., a notable City
Father, whose great shawl shop was close by.
Outside St. Dunstan's-in- the- West, in Fleet Street,
is a statue of Good Oueen Bess, removed from a
niche on Lud Gate when, in 1829, old St. Dunstan's
was pulled down and the two figures on the clock
carried to St. Dunstan's House, Regent Park, where
the blind soldiers now are. This statue of the Virgin
Queen being then put up to auction fetched £16. 10s.,
and was presented to the new church. Such are the
vicissitudes of monarchs in exile I Other royal
statues known to have occupied London sites have
been less fortunate. Thus, there was once a statue
of Charles II in Soho Square. The last heard of it
was that it had been moved to the grounds of the
late Frederick Goodall, the R.A,, at Harrow Weald.
A statue of the Duke of Cumberland in Cavendish
Square was taken down to be repaired in 1868 and
never heard of again. The statue of George IV
at King's Cross was, as I have said in the preceding
chapter, brokrn u[) after nine years.
The Griffin in the centre of the road by the Law
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Courts marks the site of Temple Bar, which may
now be seen, in its re-erected condition, in Theobald's
Park. On the sides of the memorial are life-size
statues of Oueen Victoria and of Kin<i Edward VII
when Prince of Wales. There are also medallion
portraits of Prince Albert Victor and of Sir F. Trus-
cott, the Lord Mayor in the year 1880, in which the
memorial was erected, who got there only by the
skin of his teeth, as the ceremony occurred on No-
vember the 8th. The bas-reliefs represent the first
Temple Bar, built of wood and destroyed in 1669;
the last Temple Bar, designed by Sir Christopher
Wren, finished in 1662-3 and removed in 1879;
Queen Victoria's first visit to the City, through this
gateway, in 1837; and the procession to St. Paul's
on the Day of Thanksgiving for the Prince of
Wales's recovery in 1872. How many Londoners
have ever examined these bronze pictures'?
At the back of St. Clement Danes Church is a
statue of Dr. Johnson looking down Fleet Street;
but it is insignificant, and unworthy as a memorial.
In front of the same church is a statue of William
Ewart Gladstone, with some charming attendant
figures.
If this record is to be complete, I shall mention
here the ill-fated Opera House in Kingsway, on
whose fagade the features of the American impre-
sario, Oscar Hammerstein, who came and saw and
[88]
THE FIRST OF THE STATIONS OF THE CROSS
BY ERIC OILL IN WEMMINSTER CATHEDRAL
THE STATUES OF LONDON
was conquered, are carved in stone. This fine build-
ing has been in turn opera-house, theatre, music hall,
picture palace, the scene of public meetings, and the
arena of a prize fight, and it is now a music hall
again. One thing is very certain, and that is that
London cannot afford two homes of grand opera.
It does not even support one in the way in which
Paris does.
On the wall of Drury Lane Theatre is a bust of
Sir Augustus Harris (1852-1896), for many years
the lessee and manager of the theatre. In the lobby
is a bust of that incomparable droll Dan Leno
(1860-1904).
Outside Charing Cross Station is a copy of the
cross which marked one of the resting-places of the
body of Queen Eleanor, wife of Edward I, on its
way to the Abbey. The original cross was built in
1291-94 of stone from Caen and marble from Corfe.
Pulled down in 1647, the materials were used for
paving Whitehall. A model at the London Museum
shows how the cross looked in its isolation, before
the days of ceaseless traffic and railways, some dis-
tance from its present site, at the head of Whitehall.
Proclamations were then read before it. There were
twelve Eleanor crosses in all, of which only three
remain. The most perfect is at Geddington in
Northamptonshire; another is at Northampton; the
third, and the nearest to London, is Waltham Cross.
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Any one visiting Temple Bar in Theobald's Park
should see that cross too. Queen Eleanor, who died
at Handley in Nottinghamshire, was brought to
Westminster Abbey by way of Lincoln, Grantham,
Stamford, Geddington, Northampton, Stony Strat-
ford, Wobum, Dunstable, St. Albans, Waltham,
Cheapside and Charing. The body resting at each
of these places, each had a memorial. The new
Charing Cross is only a conjectural replica of the
old, for the data were not sufficient to make it exact.
As a reconstruction of English thirteenth-century art,
it is considered to be admirable. Each of the eight
statues represent the Queen: in four as Queen, in
four as an active Christian woman.
The fine equestrian statue of Charles I facing
Whitehall — the work of a Frenchman named Her-
bert Le Soeur, a pupil of Giovanni di Bologna — has
not lacked vicissitudes. Cast in brass in 1623, it
was erected soon after, in the King's lifetime. But
Parliament, having completed his execution, deemed
itself the fitting owner of his statue and put it up
for sale. It was bought by a brazier named John
Rivet, who was told that as it had been sold merely
as bronze, he must forthwith destroy it. This he
promised to do; but, being a crafty fellow, his first
action was to bury it safely in the earth, and his
second to display a mass of broken bronze, which he
declared represented the scrapped effigy. From this
[90]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
material he made a vast number of knife handles, as
souvenirs, not only for good Royalists, but also for
triumphant Parliamentarians, and thereby amassed
a fortune. At the glorious Restoration Mr. Rivet,
as soon as he considered it safe and Charles II soundly
established, bent his energies to the task of exhuma-
tion, and in' 1678 the statue was again set up where
it now is, on a site determined by Sir Christopher
Wren, and upon a new pedestal designed by Grinling
Gibbons. A small but resolute band of Legitimists
now lay a wreath at the foot of this statue every
January 30th — for that is the day on which Charles
I was beheaded.
A story is told of Le Soeur to the effect that he
was so confident of the perfection of the statue that
he defied any one to name a single omission. Upon
a critic pointing out that the saddle had no girth,
he shot himself. Since a similar story has been told
of the sculptor of the statue of George III in Cock-
spur Street, we need not believe this. The present
sword is a new one, the other being stolen during
Queen Victoria's Coronation procession, when one of
the stands for spectators was built round the statue.
Subsequently it found its way to a museum, where
its origin was catalogued with unblushing candour.
[91]
CHAPTER VI
THE STATUES OF LONDON
II. TRAFALGAR SQUARE AND THE MALL TO KENSINGTON
The Nelson Column — The one lion — The four reliefs — •
General Gordon — George IV on horseback — Boer War
memorials — Wellington on "Copenhagen" — Lord Byron
— The Poets' Fountain — The dogs' cemetery — Friends of
women — Edward Jenner — "Peter Pan" — Queen Victoria
— The Albert Memorial — The Great Exhibition — A lit-
tle boy lost — Kensington statues.
THE Nelson Column was erected in 1840-43,
and the statue, which is of stone and is eigh-
teen feet high, was placed in position on November
3-4, 1843. The sculptor was E. H. Bailey, R.A.
The capital on which the statue stands is of bronze
made from cannon recovered from the "Royal
George" of which Cowper sang. The granite for the
column and base came from Foggin Tor on the coast
of Devon, the stone for the figure from Craigleith on
the Buccleugh estate. A few days before the figure
was set up, fourteen persons ate a dinner of rump
steak on the summit.
[92]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
The lions — or rather one lion multiplied four
times — are the work of Landseer, and were added in
1868. The great bronze pictures at the base repre-
sent scenes in Nelson's life. That facing the Na-
tional Gallery has for its subject the Battle of the
Nile, and Nelson is seen, after being wounded in the
head, nobly refusing any preferential aid from the
surgeon. "No, I will take my turn with my brave
fellows," said he. On the west side, facing Pall
Mall, is the Battle of St. Vincent, where we see
Nelson receiving the sword of the defeated Spanish
admiral. On the east side, facing the Strand, is the
Bombardment of Copenhagen, when Nelson seals a
dispatch, and in the distance the city burns. On the
south, facing Whitehall, is the last sad scene of all
— the Death of Nelson. Beneath are the famous
words, "England expects every man will do his
duty." Could there have been a more fitting back-
ground for the recruiting meetings which were held
here daily during the War"?
The statues in the square are of Sir Henry Have-
lock, the great Indian Mutiny hero (1795-1857),
erected largely by cheerful contributions from sol-
diers; Sir Charles James Napier (1782-1853), the
conqueror of Scinde; and General Gordon (1833-
1885). The panels on the base of the statue of Gen-
eral Gordon, which is remarkable for its realistic ease
of posture, so different from the ordinary stiffness
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
of our bronze or marble figures, represent, on the east.
Charity and Justice, and on the west, Fortitude and
Faith.
Here also, quite out of place among such great
men, is George IV, on horseback, without stirrups.
This statue was intended for the Marble Arch, which
at that time stood in front of Buckingham Palace,
and was not, as now, a gate leading to nowhere.
The King himself ordered the statue and paid one-
third of the cost ; but he did not live to see it finished.
The corresponding pedestal, at the north-west comer
of the square, is still vacant. I make no suggestion
as to a suitable occupant.
On the north side of the square are a series of
standard measurements, from the land-chain of loo
feet down to inches. I have never seen any one
making any use of them, but I suppose that some do.
From Trafalgar Square we may take any of the
roads and find statues in all of them. Let us go
first along the new and imposing Mall, through the
great gateway, known as the Admiralty Arch, which
was erected as part of the memorial to Queen Vic-
toria and King Edward. A little way along, on the
left, we come to the group "erected by the officers
and men of the Royal Marines in memory of their
comrades who were killed in action or died of wounds
or disease, 1899-1900," in the Boer War. A little
[94]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
farther is the recent statue of Captain Cook (1728-
1779), the great navigator and explorer.
Behind this, at the left, at the back of the Ad-
miralty, is the statue of James II which used to be
in WTiitehall and in profile is so like Sir Johnston
Forbes-Robertson. Next, in the Mall proper, op-
posite the Carlton steps, is a group "erected by offi-
cers and men of the Royal Artillery in memory of
their honoured dead in South Africa, 1899-1902."
At the end of the Mall, opposite Buckingham
Palace, is the memorial to Queen Victoria by Sir
Thomas Brock with its attendant figures. The group
representing motherhood, facing the Palace, is very
sweet and natural, and I like the giant blacksmith
who may be said to guard it. On the surrounding
gateway pillars are symbols of the Colonies.
Passing up Constitution Hill to Hyde Park, we
come first to the new quadriga on the top of the arch
at the west end of the Green Park. Here Peace,
without any reins, drives her triumphal car. In the
centre of the roadway opposite Hyde Park Corner is
a statue of the Duke of Wellington, not the one orig-
inally made for this locality, which, after dominating
the old Green Park arch, was moved to Aldershot,
but a smaller one. The statue commemorates not
only the Great Duke but his horse "Copenhagen."
The attendant soldiers are a 42nd Highlander, an
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Irish Dragoon, a Welsh Fusilier and a British Grena-
dier. Khaki has thrown them all out of date.
Just inside Hyde Park, at the comer, is the
Achilles statue, a memorial to the Iron Duke from
the women of England, cast from cannon taken at
Salamanca, Vittoria, Toulouse and Waterloo. The
figure is not Achilles, but it will always be called so.
In Hamilton Gardens, to the right, is a statue of
Lord Byron, who lived much in this neighbourhood.
Trelawny, that sturdy old berserk, who had been
intimate with Byron, went to see the statue and was
disgusted with it. "It does not," he wrote, "in the
remotest degree resemble Byron in face or figure."
We find more and better poets close by, in Park
Lane, where there is a Poets' Fountain, with statues
upon it of Shakespeare, Chaucer and Milton, and
figures representing Tragedy, Comedy and History.
A figure of Fame surmounts the whole. (I might
mention here that Chaucer has a memorial to him-
self in the Old Kent Road.)
At the head of Park Lane is that forlorn Marble
Arch which, as I have said, was not only originally
intended as a gateway to Buckingham Palace but was
meant to be completed by an equestrian statue.
Turning to the left along the Bayswater Road,
or remaining in the Park and taking the inner road-
way parallel to that, we come in time to Kensington
Gardens; but before entering them let us peep into
[96]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
a quaint little enclosure behind the lodge with the
pretty window curtains at Victoria Gate, for this is
a curious place — no less than the burial-place of hun-
dreds of London's pet dogs. In A Wanderer in Paris
I describe the dogs' cemetery at St. Ouen. The Bays-
water Road cemetery is very different, for whereas
the French tombs are often very costly and nearly
always flamboyant, these are all to a minute pattern
and of the simplest; but the same affection underlies
both. When everything that can be urged against
dog worship has been said of such a spectacle as these
rows of marble graves with their tender inscriptions,
and all the sarcasms have been levelled at the cir-
cumstance, in a city not unfamiliar with poverty and
hunger, that they are often supplied with fresh flow-
ers, something rather beautiful remains. And one
cannot but reflect that these epitaphs at any rate are
sincere. No Spoon River Anthologist, even with a
microscope, could find cynical discrepancies; one does
not go to the expense of a memorial to a dog unless
one means it.
From the names on the headstones and the size of
the tiny plots, one gathers that the lap dog, or toy
dog, is the prevailing type, and that the love re-
corded is that rather of woman than man. This,
however, is natural, for London is no place for the
larger and more enterprising species. Five minutes
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under the trees in Kensington Gardens will, indeed,
show what kind of little creatures lie here, for it is
there that they frolic in life. To-day the companion
is usually a Pekinese; yesterday it was a pug.
One stone has the single word "Scrapie," which
is more vivid than much writing. I seem to see
Scrapie as either an Aberdeen or a West Highlander,
living up to his name as only those iniquitous Scots
can do. "Kaiser" and "Schneider" also give away
their breed; but for the most part the names tell
nothing.
I note a few of the inscriptions. "My Ruby
Heart: seven years we were such friends." "Zeno, a
faithful and devoted companion for thirteen years;
Clytie, a sweet and affectionate companion for six-
teen years." "In sorrowing memory of our sweet
little Jack, most loving and most fondly loved."
"Here lie two faithful creatures, Snap and Peter.
*We are only sleeping. Master.' " "My Ba-Ba.
Never forgotten, never replaced." "Joe Follett.
Surely he was not a dog only: he was human."
"Charlie and Bobs were lovely and pleasant in their
lives, and in their death were not divided." "To
the dear memory of Buffer.
'Hearts growing older,
Love never colder,
Never forgotten shalt thou be.' "
[98]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
"To our gentle, lovely little Blenheim, Jane. She
brought the sunshine into our lives; but she took it
away with her."
An odd commentary on life, these testimonies.
Often, one feels, there must have been a lack of trust
in human fidelity to have provoked such grief. The
more some of these bereaved owners had seen of
men . . .
On leaving, I was informed by the lodge-keeper
that this little plot being now congested, he has an
annexe in Huntingdonshire, where over four hundred
graves already have been filled. What a country for
the ghost of a terrier — Huntingdonshire! And this
reminds me that among the Bayswater Road tombs
is one at least of a cat — one cat among so many.
Overlooking the ornamental water at the head of
the Serpentine, in Kensington Gardens, is a statue
of Edward Jenner (1749-1823), the first vaccinator.
There was much uncertainty about the site for this
memorial. For a while it was in Trafalgar Square;
then it was moved and hidden away pending a de-
cision, which caused Shirley Brooks to write in
Punchy in the person of the dead investigator:
"England, ingratitude still blots
The escutcheon of the brave and free;
I saved you many million spots,
And now you grudge one spot to me."
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
On the other side of this ornamental water, in the
very place where it ought to be, where nursemaids
and their charges are always to be found, is "Peter
Pan," Sir George Frampton's charming fantasy in
bronze and stone from Sir James Barrie's book The
Little White Bird^ an idyll of the Gardens. This is
one of the prettiest statues in London, or anywhere.
Note the little woodland creatures. While on the
theme of fanciful sculpture, let me mention the naked
imps riding sea horses on the top of the west fagade
of Somerset House. They are perfectly charming.
Taking the diagonal walk which lies between the
spires of the church at Lancaster Gate and St. Mary
Abbott's at Kensington, we see on our left the obelisk
in memory of John Hanning Speke (1827-1864),
the African explorer, and farther down the same
cross-path George Frederick Watts's equestrian
group called "Physical Energy."
Opposite the east side of Kensington Palace is
a seated statue of Queen Victoria, by the Duchess
of Argyll (Princess Louise), with this inscription:
"Victoria R. (1887). Here, in front of the Palace
where she was born and where she resided until her
Ascension, her loyal Kensington subjects erected this
statue, the work of her daughter, to commemorate
fifty years of her reign."
Opposite the south front of the Palace is the
[100]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
statue of William III, presented to King Edward VII
and the British nation by the Kaiser.
By the way, Kensington Palace now has, on the
other side of the catenary hedge, a charming sunk
formal garden with a rectangular pond in the midst
and three most desirable old lead cisterns in that.
But the most fascinating London garden is the new
rock and water garden at Staple Inn, which is ab-
solutely in the midst of offices. It speaks well for
London's resources that this wholly gracious pleas-
aunce should have been made during the War. For
this pretty oasis the Society of Actuaries is to be
thanked.
Kensington Gardens also contain the very ornate
Albert Memorial, the work of the great ecclesiastical
architect Sir George Gilbert Scott ( i8l 1-1878), who
was knighted for it. Many sculptors and artists
participated in the work. The Memorial was placed
where it is, very carefully, in order to mark the site
of the Crystal Palace, the great building of the 1851
Exhibition, for the success of which the Prince Con-
sort toiled so enthusiastically. The whole conception
of the memorial was based upon the desire to com-
memorate all the activities for which that Exhibition
and its august promoter stood. Thus Painting,
Sculpture, Architecture, Poetry and Music are sym-
bolized, as well as the four quarters of the globe,
Agriculture, Commerce, Engineering and Manufac-
[101]
MORE WANDERING3 IN LONDON
tures. This was perhaps to try Art rather high, as
the Americans say; but the Prince was eminently
practical and direct, and his memorial fittingly per-
petuates those qualities. The figure itself — which
used to awe and fascinate the children of Kensing-
ton, and possibly their nurses, by being wholly of
gold, but has lately been scoured to modest bronze —
is by the sculptor John Henry Foley (1818-1874).
Other of Foley's London statues are John Stuart
Mill on the Embankment and Sidney Herbert in
Waterloo Place.
The Great Exhibition was almost entirely the
Prince Consort's project, and he wore himself out in
his work upon it, for it produced insomnia, from
which he never recovered. As it happened, it was a
triumph.
It is always too late to describe dead Exhibitions,
but there is a passage' in one of the letters of that
great Londoner, Charles Dickens, which I should
like to quote. Writing on July 11, 1851, he says:
"I find I am 'used up' by the Exhibition. I don't
say 'there is nothing in it' — there's too much. I've
only been twice; so many things bewildered me. I
have a natural horror of sights, and effusion of so
many sights in one has not decreased it. I am not
sure that I have seen anything but the fountain and
perhaps the Amazon. It is a dreadful thing to be
obliged to be false, but when any one says, 'Have
[102]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
you seen V I say, 'Yes,' because if I don't, I
know he'll explain it, and I can't bear that.
" took all the school one day. The school
was composed of a hundred 'infants,' who got among
the horses' legs in crossing to the main entrance from
the Kensington Gate, and came reeling out from be-
tween the wheels of coaches undisturbed in mind.
They were clinging to horses, I am told, all over the
Park. When they were collected and added up by
the frantic monitors, they were all right. They were
then regaled with cake, etc., and went tottering and
staring all over the place; the greater part wetting
their forefingers and drawing a wavy pattern on
every accessible object. One infant strayed. He
was not missed. Ninety and nine were taken home,
supposed to be the whole collection, but this particu-
lar infant went to Hammersmith. He was found by
the police at night, going round and round the turn-
pike, which he still supposed to be a part of the Ex-
hibition. He had the same opinion of the police,
also of Hammersmith Workhouse, where he passed
the night. When his mother came for him in the
morning, he asked when it would be over? It was a
great F2xhibition, he said, but he thought it long."
In Kensington High Street (we are now moving
westwards) is a memorial to Queen Victoria, with a
portrait medallion on a column of granite. Ken-
sington Town Hall has busts of Charles Keene
[103]
MOKE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
(1823-1891), the Fundi artist, who lived in the
Hammersmith Road, and Leigh Hunt ( 1784-1859),
who lived for a while in Edwardes Square, and wrote
a history of Kensington under the title Tlte Old
Court Suburb.
Opposite Holland House, close to the road, is a
statue of Lord Holland (1773-1840), the nephew of
Fox, and friend of countless men of eminence. The
statue has a peculiar interest in being the joint work
of G. F. Watts, whose home was close by, at Little
Holland House, and Sir J. E. Boehm.
[104]
CHAPTER VII
HOLLAND HOUSE AND SYDNEY SMITH
Cope's Castle — The first Earl of Holland — Vicissitudes of
a great house — Addison — The first Lord Holland —
Charles James Fox — The third Lord Holland — Macau-
lay's eulogy — Great talk — Lord Ilchester — Lady Holland
— Hospitality and tyranny — Samuel Rogers — Lord Mel-
bourne — Sheridan — Sydney Smith — Happy wit and
sunny sagacity.
HAVING seen this statue of the third Lord Hol-
land, who, with his Lady, dispensed what was,
I suppose, the most famous hospitality in England in
the nineteenth century — and perhaps in any century
— let us pause a while and consider the unique scene
of those breakfasts, lunches, dinners and, above all,
conversations. For Holland House is not only re-
markable historically but has a second claim to at-
tention in being the nearest country mansion to Lon-
don. Caen Wood is, I suppose, the next.
When we now say Holland House the words con-
note its great social period, the Holland House of
the Whig leaders and the wits: of Sheridan, Rogers,
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Sydney Smith, Luttrell, Macaulay and Moore.
That is the HoUand House which we see as we peer
through the iron gates of Holland Walk, where Mr.
Livens finds his picture, for it is little altered; but
Holland House has a longer story than that. Built
in 1607 by Sir Walter Cope, a Stuart courtier, and
known as Cope's Castle, it was visited by James I
in 1612, when Prince Henry lay dying. The King,
it is recorded, found it very cold and slept badly.
Cope's daughter married Henry Rich, son of the Earl
of Warwick, who became Baron Kensington and
Earl of Holland, and as a reward for being a good
Royalist lost his head in 1649. At the London
Museum we shall see the shirt of the man who be-
headed him. Under this owner the house was en-
larged and made magnificent.
The Earl's execution complete, the Parliamentary
generals Fairfax and Lambert occupied Holland
House in turn, but it was then restored to Earl Hol-
land's widow, who let it to various tenants.
Literature comes in with Addison, who, marrying
the widow of the Earl of Holland and Warwick,
moved here in 1716, but is thought to have enjoyed
neither matrimony nor the splendour of his wife's
palace, for there is a story that he would creep away
for simplicity and comfort to a neighbouring coffee
house. At Holland House, in 1719, the great essay-
ist breathed his last, after sending for his dissolute
[106]
HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH
stepson and bidding him see how a Christian could
die. After the death of this scapegrace Holland
House was again let to one or several tenants at a
time, until it was sold to Henry Fox, the politician
and paymaster-general, who was made first Baron,
Holland in 1763.
Fox may not have been a scrupulous or very ad-
mirable man, and his career was anything but spot-
less; but his title to fame is secure in having become
the father of Charles James Fox, by his wife Lady
Caroline Georgina, daughter of the Duke of Rich-
mond, who was a grandson of Charles IL I mention
the pedigree because it is interesting to keep in mind
when one thinks of the great Whig statesman. The
accident that Holland House was under repair pre-
vented Charles James Fox from being born here, on
January 24, 1749: the event occurred at a house in
Conduit Street; but Holland House was his early
home, and it was there that his fondly indulgent
father paved the way to disaster by acceding to his
every boyish caprice.
Alluring as the theme is, this is not the place for
a memoir of the most engaging figure in English
politics. Sufficient for us that in Holland House is
preserved a scene of his youth, to visit which makes
Sir George Trevelyan's biography of the statesman
even more fascinating than before.
The first Lord Holland was succeeded in 1774 by
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his eldest son, Stephen Fox, Charles James's brother
and fellow-gambler, who, however, died almost im-
mediately, to be succeeded by his only son, Henry
Richard Fox, third Lord Holland (1773-1840), who
was then only one year old. The child was brought
up by his uncle Charles and his grandfather the Earl
of Ossory, partly here and partly in the country.
Into Lord Holland's political career and foreign
travels there is no need now to enter. He is interest-
ing to us chiefly as a host; but I might say that he
was consistently a Whig, like his uncle, and exercised
more influence at the meetings of his party here than
at Westminster. He held many offices, and acquitted
himself adequately rather than brilliantly in all.
His own view of his career was modestly summed up
in four lines found on his dressing-table after his
death :
"Nephew of Fox and friend of Grey,
Enough my meed of fame
If those who deigned to observe me say
I injured neither name."
It is ridiculous for a writer at this date to attempt
to reconstruct Lord Holland when from the glowing
lucid pen of one who knew him and was a constant
guest at Holland House there is such an admirable
eulogy. I refer to Lord Macaulay, who some years
later was also to make his home on the same Ken-
[108]
HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH
sington hillside, at Holly Lodge. Macaulay writes
thus in his Essays: "We have hitherto touched
almost exclusively on those parts of Lord Holland's
character which were open to the observation of mil-
lions. How shall we express the feelings with which
his memor}^ is cherished by those who were honoured
with his friendship? Or in what language shall we
speak of that house, once celebrated for its rare at-
tractions to the furthest ends of the civilized world,
and now silent and desolate as the grave? To that
house, a hundred and twenty years ago, a poet ad-
dressed those tender and graceful lines, which have
now acquired a new meaning not less sad than that
which they originally bore.
'Thou hill, whose brow the antique structures grace,
Reared by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race,
Why, once so loved, whene'er thy bower appears,
O'er my dim eyeballs glance the sudden tears?
How sweet where once thy prospects fresh and fair,
Thy sloping walks and unpolluted air!
How sweet the glooms beneath thine aged trees,
Thy noon-tide shadow and thine evening breeze !
His image thy forsaken bowers restore ;
Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more,
No more the summer in thy glooms allayed,
Thine evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade.*
"Yet a few years, and the shades and structures
may follow their illustrious masters. The wonderful
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city which, ancient and gigantic as it is, still con-
tinues to grow as fast as a young town of logwood
by a water-privilege in Michigan, may soon displace
those turrets and gardens which are associated with
so much that is interesting and noble, with the courtly
magnificence of Rich, with the loves of Ormond,
with the counsels of Cromwell, with the death of
Addison. The time is coming when, perhaps, a few
old men, the last survivors of our generation, will in
vain seek, amidst new streets, and squares, and rail-
way stations, for the site of that dwelling which was
in their youth the favourite resort of wits and beau-
ties, of painters and poets, of scholars, philosophers,
and statesmen. They will then remember, with
strange tenderness, many objects once familiar to
them, the avenue and the terrace, the busts and the
paintings, the carving, the grotesque gilding, and the
enigmatical mottoes,
"With peculiar fondness they will recall that ven-
erable chamber, in which all the antique gravity of a
college library was so singularly blended with all that
female grace and wit could devise to embellish a
drawing-room. They will recollect, not unmoved,
those shelves loaded with the varied learning of many
lands and many ages, and those portraits in which
were preserved the features of the best and wisest
Englishmen of tv/o generations. They will recollect
how many men who have guided the politics of
[no]
V,
_ I-
H '-:
1 —
>• c
■1
3 >
: 2
HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH
Europe, who have moved great assemblies of reason
and eloquence, who have put life into bronze and
canvas, or who have left to posterity things so writ-
ten as it shall not willingly let them die, were there
mixed with all that was loveliest and gayest in the
society of the most splendid of capitals. They will
remember the peculiar character which belonged to
that circle, in which every talent and accomplish-
ment, every art and science, had its place. They will
remember how the last debate was discussed in one
comer, and the last comedy of Scribe in another;
while Wilkie gazed with modest admiration on Sir
Joshua's Baretti; while Mackintosh turned over
Thomas Aquinas to verify a quotation; while Talley-
rand related his conversations with Barras at the
Luxembourg, or his ride with Lannes over the field
of Austerlitz.
"They will remember, above all, the grace, and
the kindness, far more admirable than grace, with
which the princely hospitality of that ancient man-
sion was dispensed. They will remember the vener-
able and benignant countenance and the cordial voice
of him who bade them welcome. They will remem-
ber that temper which years of pain, of sickness, of
lameness, of confinement, seemed only to make
sweeter and sweeter, and that frank politeness, which
at once relieved all the embarrassment of the young-
est and most timid writer or artist, who found him-
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self for the first time among Ambassadors and Earls.
They will remember that constant flow of conver-
sation, so natural, so animated, so various, so rich
with observation and anecdote; that wit which never
gave a wound; that exquisite mimicry which en-
nobled, instead of degrading; that goodness of heart
which appeared in every look and accent, and gave
additional value to every talent and acquirement.
They will remember, too, that he whose name they
hold in reverence was not less distinguished by the
inflexible uprightness of his political conduct than
by his loving disposition and his winning manners.
They will remember that, in the last lines which he
traced, he expressed his joy that he had done nothing
unworthy of the friend of Fox and Grey; and they
will have reason to feel similar joy, if, in looking
back on many troubled years, they cannot accuse
themselves of having done anything unworthy of
men who were distinguished by the friendship of
Lord Holland."
One quotes the above passage with particular
pleasure because the evil day foreshadowed by the
writer is fortunately not in sight. The present owner
of Holland House, Lord Ilchester, who is so happy
as to possess that lovely tropical garden at Abbots-
bury, near Weymouth, and the great swannery under
the Chesil Beach, where myriad white wings dazzle
the eye, sees to that,
[112]
HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH
The famous Elizabeth Vassall Fox, Lady Hol-
land, was a daughter of Richard Vassall of Jamaica
and was born in 1770. She became the wife of Sir
Godfrey Webster of Battle Abbey when she was
only sixteen. Eleven years later, in 1797, Sir God-
frey obtained a divorce. Lord Holland being the co-
respondent, and three days later Lady Webster be-
came Lady Holland and began her splendid reign
at Holland House, which had just been restored. It
was this initial faux pas which to such a large extent
determined the sex of the Holland House guests.
Few women were to be found there.
Lord Holland was kindly and thoughtful: sim-
patico, as the Italians say. Lady Holland was ar-
rogan and blunt, even at times rude; but she was
generous and warm-hearted too, and she had the
faculty of exciting her guests to be at their best, and
there was a fascination about her which even those
to whom she had been almost brutal could not forget.
She could snub Macaulay and order Sydney Smith
to ring the bell. ("And shall I then sweep the
room?" he replied, as he rose to obey her.) Lord
Melbourne, after having his place at dinner changed
more than once, and always for the worse (a favour-
ite foible of hers), left the room with the words,
"I'll be damned if I'll dine with you at all." But
every one came back.
Samuel Rogers said excellent things of both host
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and hostess. "Lord Holland," he once remarked —
and it is a compliment that cannot often be paid,
at any rate to gifted men — "Lord Holland always
comes to breakfast like a man on whom some sudden
good fortune has just fallen." Lord Holland, who
returned the poet's regard, inscribed the following
couplet on the summer-house in the garden:
"Here Rogers sat, and here for ever dwell
With me those 'Pleasures' which he sang so well"
— the Pleasures being, of course, those of Memory.
Of Lady Holland the old poet had not such a good
opinion; and again the feeling was reciprocal. She
once cut him short by the remark that since his poetry
was bad enough, he might be more sparing of his
prose; while to her, when once she complained that
she was at a loss how to employ her time, he sug-
gested that she might take up something novel — try
to do a little good. Every one, however, like Lord
Melbourne, forgave and came back, for Holland
House was unique; and to have the entree and not
use it was to forgo too much.
In which room, one wonders, standing here, did
Sheridan sleep? — always taking a bottle of wine and
a book to bed with him: as Lady Holland told
Moore, "the former alone intended for use." A
servant had to be on duty outside the door all night
[114]
HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SiMITH
to see that he did not set light to the bed curtains.
In the morning, Moore tells us, he breakfasted in bed
and had a little rum or brandy in his tea or coffee;
made his appearance between one and two; and then,
pretending important business, he used to set out for
town, but regularly stopped for a dram at the Adam
and Eve public-house, an inn opposite the grounds,
where he ran up a long score which Lord Holland
had to pay.
Of all its frequenters in these latter days I am
personally most drawn to that wise, witty and very
good man, Sydney Smith, who not only was a valued
friend of both Lord and Lady Holland but some
kind of connexion by marriage, his brother Bobus's
wife being Lord Holland's aunt. Sydney Smith and
Lady Holland also had their differences, but he
understood her thoroughly, and some of his best
letters were written to her, from 1807 to the end.
She survived him only a few months. From the
letters to Lady Holland I take a few characteristic
passages :
"My lot is now fixed and my heritage fixed, —
most probably. But you may choose to make me
a bishop, and if you do, I think I shall never do you
discredit; for I believe it is out of the power of lawn
and velvet, and the crisp hair of dead men fashioned
into a wig, to make me a dishonest man ; but if you
[>i5]
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do not, I am perfectly content, and shall be ever
grateful to the last hour of my life to you and to
Lord Holland."
"We have admitted a Mr. Baring, importer and
writer, into the King of Clubs, upon the express
condition that he lends £50 to any member of the
Club when applied to. I proposed the amendment
to his introduction, which was agreed to without a
dissenting voice."
"My life for the summer is thus disposed of: — I
walk up and down my garden, and dine at home,
till August; then come my large brother and my
little sister; then I go to Manchester, to stay with
Philosopher Philips, in September; Horner and Mur-
ray come to see me in October, then I shall go and
see the Earl Grey ; then walk up and down my gar-
den till March."
"I hear you laugh at me for being happy in the
country, and upon this I have a few words to say.
In the first place, whether one lives or dies, I hold,
and have always held, to be of infinitely less moment
than is generally supposed; but if life is to be then
it is common sense to amuse yourself with the best
you can find where you happen to be placed. I am
not leading precisely the life I should choose, but
[116]
HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH
that which (all things considered, as well as I could
consider them) appeared to me to be the most eligi-
ble. I am resolved, therefore, to like it, and to
reconcile myself to it; which is more manly than to
feign myself above it, and to send up complaints by
the post, of being thrown away, and being desolate,
and such like trash. I am prepared, therefore, either
way. If the chances of life ever enable me to emerge,
I will show you that I have not been wholly occupied
by small and sordid pursuits. If (as the greater
probability is) I am come to the end of my career, I
give myself quietly up to horticulture, etc. In short,
if it be my lot to crawl, I will crawl contentedly;
if to fly, I will fly with alacrity; but, as long as I can
possibly avoid it, I will never be unhappy. If, with
a pleasant wife, three children, a good house and
farm, many books, and many friends, who wish me
well, I cannot be happy^ I am a very silly, foolish
fellow, and what becomes of me is of very little con-
sequence."
"I shall be extremely happy to see , and will
leave a note for him at the tavern where the mail
stops, to say so. Nothing can exceed the dulness of
this place; but he has been accustomed to live alone
with his grandmother, which, though a highly moral
life, is not an amusing one. Tlu re arc two Scotch
ladies staying here, with whom he will get ac-
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quainted, and to whom he may safely make love
the ensuing winter: for love, though a very acute
disorder in Andalucia, puts on a very chronic shape
in these northern latitudes; for, first, the lover must
prove 7netaplieezically that he ought to succeed; and
then, in the fifth or sixth year of courtship (or rather
of argument), if the summer is tolerably warm, and
oatmeal plenty, the fair one is won."
"I have been long intending to write you a letter
of congratulation. There is more happiness in a
multitude of children than safety in a multitude of
counsellors; and I, if I were a rich man, I should
like to have twenty children."
"I am sure it is better for Lord Holland and you
to be at Holland House, because you both hate exer-
cise (as every person of sense does), and you must
be put in situations where it can be easily and pleas-
antly taken."
"How very odd, dear Lady Holland, to ask me to
dine with you on Sunday, the 9th, when I am com-
ing to stay with you from the 5th to the I2th I It is
like giving a gentleman an assignation for Wednes-
day, when you are going to marry him on the preced-
ing Sunday, — an attempt to combine the stimulus
of gallantry with the security of connubial relations.
[118]
HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH
I do not propose to be guilty of the slightest infidelity
to you while I am at Holland House, except you dine
in town; and then it will not be infidelity, but spir-
ited recrimination."
Since I have taken the motto for this book from
Sydney Smith, let me enrich these pages by giving
a little more of his smiling wisdom here. For this
purpose I quote some of the less known of his happy
thoughts, from an assemblage brought together at
the end of the memoir of him which his daughter
(another Lady Holland, as it chanced: the wife of
Sir Henry Holland, the physician) wrote. His wit,
as some one said, was always fresh, always had the
dew on it; and here are some of his home-circle jew-
els, for he was sunny and amusing also domestically,
as not all brilliant people are:
"I think breakfasts so pleasant because no one is
conceited before one o'clock."
"Never teach false morality. How exquisitely
absurd to tell girls that beauty is of no value, dress
of no use I Beauty is of value; her whole prospects
and happiness in life may often depend upon a new
gown or a becoming bonnet, and if she has five grains
of common sense she will find this out. The great
thing is to teach her their just value, and that there
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must be something better under the bonnet than a
pretty face for real happiness. But never sacrifice
truth."
"Children are excellent physiognomists, and soon
discover their real friends. Luttrell calls them all
lunatics; and so, in fact, they are. What is child-
hood but a series of happy delusions'?"
"When I hear the rustics yawn audibly at my
sermons, it reminds me of that observation of Lord
Ellenborough's, who, on seeing Lord gape dur-
ing his own long and dull speech, said, 'Well, I must
own there is some taste in that, but is not Lord
rather encroaching on our privileges'?' "
"We are told, 'Let not the sun go down on your
wrath.' This of course is best; but, as it generally
does, I would add, Never act or write till it has done
so. This rule has saved me from many an act of
folly. It is wonderful what a different view we take
of the same event four-and-twenty hours after it
has happened."
"Once, when talking with Lord on the sub-
ject of Bible names, I could not remember the name
of one of Job's daughters. 'Kezia,' said he immedi-
ately. Surprised, I congratulated him upon being
[120]
HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH
so well read in Bible lore. 'Oh I' said he, 'my three
greyhounds are named after Job's daughters.' "
"It is like a Frenchman's explanation; they never
give you credit for knowing the commonest facts.
C'est toujours, 'Commengons au deluge.' My heart
sinks when a Frenchman begins, 'Mon ami, je vais
vous expliquer tout cela.' A fellow-traveller once
explained to me how to cut a sandwich, all the way
from Amiens to Paris."
"True, it is most painful not to meet the kindness
and affection you feel you have deserved and have
a right to expect from others; but it is a mistake to
complain of it, for it is of no use; you cannot extort
friendship with a cocked pistol."
On some one of his guests lamenting they had
left something behind: "Ahf" he said, "that would
not have happened if you had had a screaming gate."
"A screaming gate*? what do you mean, Mr. Smith?"
"Yes, everybody should have a screaming gate. We
all arrived once at a friend's house just before dinner,
hot, tired and dusty, — a large party assembled, —
and found all the keys of our trunks had been left
behind; since then I have established a screaming
gate. We never set out on our journey now without
stopping at a gate about ten minutes' distance from
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the house, to consider what we have left behind : the
result has been excellent."
" 'Did you ever hear my definition of marriage?
It is, that it resembles a pair of shears, so joined
that they cannot be separated; often moving in op-
posite directions, yet always punishing any one who
comes between them.' "
" 'I see you will not believe it, but I was once
very shy.' 'Were you indeed, Mr. Smith? how did
you cure yourself?' 'Why, it was not very long
before I made two very useful discoveries : first, that
all mankind were not solely employed in observing
me (a belief that all young people have) ; and next,
that shamming was of no use; that the world was
very clear-sighted, and soon estimated a man at his
just value. This cured me, and I determined to be
natural, and let the world find me out.' "
" 'Oh yes I we both talk a great deal, but I don't
believe Macaulay ever did hear my voice,' he ex-
claimed, laughing. 'Sometimes, when I have told
a good story, I have thought to myself. Poor Macau-
lay I he will be very sorry some day to have missed
hearing that.' "
"Oh, those sisters were all so beautiful, that Paris
could not have decided between them, but would
have cut his apple in slices."
[122]
HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH
"All gentlemen and ladies eat too much. I made
a calculation, and found I must have consumed some
waggon-loads too much in the course of my life.
Lock up the mouth and you have gained the victory."
"I remember entering a room with glass all round
it, at the French Embassy, and saw myself reflected
on every side. I took it for a meeting of the clergy,
and was delighted, of course."
"There is the same difference between their
tongues as between the hour and the minute hand;
one goes ten times as fast, and the other signifies ten
times as much."
"I think no house is well fitted up in the country
without people of all ages. There should be an
old man or woman to pet; a parrot, a child, a mon-
key: — something, as the French say, to love and to
despise. I have just bought a parrot, to keep my
servants in good humour."
"If you want to mijke much of a small income,
always ask yourself these two questions: — first, do
I really want it? secondly, can I do without it?
These two questions, answered honestly, will double
your fortune. I have always inculcated it in my
family."
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"Lady is a remarkably clever, agreeable
woman, but Nature had made one trifling omission
— a heart; I do like a little heart, I must confess."
**It is Bacon, I think, who says so beautifully,
'He that robs in darkness breaks God's lock.' How
fine that is I"
"People complain of their servants: I never had
a bad one; but then I study their comforts, that is
one recipe for securing good servants."
"I destroy, on principle, all letters to me, but I
have no secrets myself. I should not care if almost
every word I have written were published at Charing
Cross. I live with open windows."
On returning to the drawing-room, he usually
asked for a little music. "If I were to begin life
again, I would devote much time to music. All
musical people seem to me happy; it is the most
engrossing pursuit; almost the only innocent and
unpunished passion."
"Never give way to melancholy: nothing en-
croaches more; I fight against it vigorously. One
great remedy is to Take short views of life. Are
you happy now? Are you likely to remain so till
[124]
HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH
this evening? or next week? or next month? or next
year? Then why destroy present happiness by a
distant misery, which may never come at all, or you
may never live to see it? for every substantial grief
has twenty shadows, and most of them shadows of
your own making."
"No man, I fear, can effect great benefits for his
country without some sacrifice of the minor virtues."
" 'I wish sometimes that I were a Scotchman, to
have people care about me so much,' "
" 'The Americans, I see, call me a Minor Canon.
They are abusing me dreadfully to-day. They call
me Xantippe; they might at least have known my
sex; and they say I am eighty-four. I don't know
how it is,' said he, laughing, 'but everybody who
behaves ill to me is sure to come to mischief before
the year's out. I am not angry with them; I only
say, I pity you, you are sure to suffer.' "
" 'Do you not like the country?' 'I like London
a great deal better; the study of men and women,
better than trees and grass.' "
[1251
CHAPTER VIII
THE STATUES OF LONDON
III. WATERLOO PLACE AND LEICESTER SQUARE
The College of Physicians — Famous doctors — William
Hunter — Captain Scott — The York Column — Soldiers of
the Mutiny — The Crimea Memorial — Florence Nightin-
gale — Sidney Herbert — Leicester Square — Baron Grant
— Sir Henry Irving.
AT the north-west corner of Trafalgar Square,
in Pall Mall East, is the Royal College of
Physicians, with three statues on its imposing portico.
These are Thomas Linacre (i46o?-l524), the phy-
sician and grammarian, who founded the College in
1518; Thomas Sydenham (1624-1689), one of its
brightest ornaments; and William Harvey (1578-
1657), familiar also in stone to visitors to Folke-
stone, where he was born, who holds in his hand a
human heart to indicate his interest in the circulation
of the blood.
Within this grave and dignified building aie por-
traits of famous doctors, many of them by eminent
[126]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
hands. Thus, Hogarth's Dr. Fothergill is here.
Here also is Pope's Dr. Arbuthnot by Mr. Jervas, to
both of whom, physician and painter, the poet ad-
dressed an epistle. Harvey is here again; and here
are five generations of the Monro family, including
the Dr. John Monro, the patron of Turner and Var-
ley, whom we shall meet in the Adelphi ; while more
modern healers are Sir Richard Quain, by Millais,
and Sir Andrew Clark, who kept Mr. Gladstone in
good health.
The picture which I have chosen for reproduction
is Zoffany's representation of William Hunter lec-
turing on anatomy in the Royal Academy, with Sir
Joshua among his audience, holding the famous ear-
trumpet. Reynolds also painted him, but the two
portraits at the College of Physicians are both by
Zoffany. William Hunter (1718-1783) was the
elder brother of the more famous John, whom we
meet in Chapter IX, and, like him, was a great
anatomist and collector. John Hunter left his
museum to the College of Surgeons; William left
his to the University of Glasgow.
Farther along Pall Mall East we come to the
little equestrian statue of George III in his tiny wig,
such a contrast to his mammoth son and horse in
the square we have just left.
Waterloo Place provides us with many memorials.
Turning to the left from Pall Mall, we come first to
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the very recent statue of Captain Scott ( 1868-1912),
the gallant and ill-fated Antarctic explorer, erected
b}- ofMcers of the Fleet and executed by Lady Scott.
On the pediment are these words from the last entry
in his diary: "Had we lived, I should have had a
tale to tell of the hardihood and endurance and
courage of my company which would have stirred
the heart of every Englishman. These rough notes
and our dead bodies must tell the tale."
We come next to Colin Campbell, Lord Clyde
(1792-1863), the Field-Marshal, who fought both in
the Crimea and the Indian Mutiny.
Next is John Laird Mair Lawrence, first Lord
Lawrence (181 1-1879), Ruler of the Punjab during
the Mutiny, and later Viceroy. He is here asking
the question, "Will you be governed by the sword
or the pen'?"
Then, at the end of Waterloo Place, at the head
of the steps, is the York Column. This fine memorial
to a Prince who did little to deserve it was erected
by public, if not voluntar}^ subscription; for since
the Duke of York, who was George Ill's second son,
was Commander-in-Chief of the British Army, it
was thought a tactful thing to stop every man's pay
for one day in order to provide the funds. As a poet
in The Satirist said, at the time of its completion :
"Small reason have the Royal Family
Their kinsman's new position to deplore:
[128]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
He now stands higher in the public eye
. Than he was ever known to stand before!"
The Statue, of bronze, is fourteen feet high. Stairs
lead to the gallery, but no one now ascends them.
In 1850 a French musician flung himself over the
railing and was killed.
On the other side of the square are statues of Sir
John Fox Burgoyne ( 1782-1871 ), the great engineer
commander in the Peninsula, in France and in the
Crimea; and Sir John Franklin (1786-1847), the
Arctic explorer, who, like Scott, perished amid the
snows. On the panels are the names of his crews,
and a bronze relief depicts his burial in the ice.
In the middle of the square is an equestrian statue
of Sir Robert Cornelis Napier (1810-1890), Lord
Napier of Magdala, one of the heroes of the Indian
Mutiny.
On the other side of Pall Mall, also in Waterloo
Place, is the memorial to the three regiments of
Guards who fell in the Crimea, with some actual
Russian guns stacked upon it. Referring to the
wording of tliis memorial, Puticlt had, in 1861, a
vigorous attack. After proving that the Guards
lost altogether only 449 men by ordinary warfare,
the remaining 1713 having died of disease, it sug-
gested that instead of Alnia, Inkerman and Scbasto-
I)oI, should be inscribed Fever, Dysentery and CIiol-
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era. John Bright, passing the memorial, once
pointed to the word Crimea, remarking that the last
letter should be transposed to be the first.
Before the Crimea memorial now stands the statue
of Florence Nightingale ( 1820-1910), "The Lady of
the Lamp," only lately erected, at the end of her long
and beautiful life. Beside her is Sidney Herbert,
Lord Herbert of Lea, whose statue has been moved
here from the front of the old War Office. It could
not be more fittingly placed, for as War Minister
during the Crimea he was Miss Nightingale's close
friend and associate. His administration of the War
Office, during more than one period of control there,
was thoughtful, humane and finely imaginative.
Had he not died early, at only fifty-one, he might
have attained a very high eminence in the country.
Gladstone once remarked, in a letter to Lord Hough-
ton, "I wish some one of the thousand who in prose
justly celebrate Miss Nightingale would say a single
word for the man of 'routine' who devised and pro-
jected her going [to Russia] — Sidney Herbert."
Well, the proximity of the two statues now says this
word.
In St. James's Square, close by, prancing in sil-
houette before all wayfarers along Charles Street,
is an equestrian statue of William III.
The statue of Shakespeare in Leicester Square, to
which we may now turn, is connected with a strange
[130]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
character, Baron Grant, the prince of company-pro-
moters. This astute person was the discoverer of
those most susceptible and gullible of investors, the
parson and the widow. Others have since exploited
them, but Grant was the illustrious pioneer. In a
few years he extracted as much as £4,000,000 from
the public at large, his greatest coup being the Emma
Silver Mine in 1871, which was to pay £800,000 a
year on a capital of a million and was fully sub-
scribed at a premium at £20 a share. Grant was paid
£100,000 for his trouble, and the shareholders re-
ceived one shilling each. It was with part of the
Emma promotion money that Grant acquired Lei-
cester Fields, a deserted and unsavoury area. This
he converted into a trim garden, and in 1874 P^^"
sented it to London, with Shakespeare in the middle
— replacing there a battered statue of George II —
and, at the corners, busts of former residents there
or thereabouts — Sir Joshua Reynolds, William Up-
garth. Sir Isaac Newton, and John Hunter, the sur-
geon. Meanwhile, in spite of the failure of various
rosy schemes, Grant, such was the effrontery or per-
suasiveness of the man (he was born in Dublin),
continued to take a high position in public affairs,
sat twice for Kidderminster, entertained lavishly,
and owned a newspaper. The Echo^ which as far
back as 1H74 he brought out every morning at a
halfpenny.
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
It was shortly after the gift of Leicester Square
that the tide of fortune ebbed from his doorstep.
Lawsuits began, bankruptcy proceedings followed.
His pictures were sold, his palace at Kensington was
depleted, and he retired into seclusion, dying at Bog-
nor in Sussex a forgotten man, in 1899. Such was
the splendid Grant, whose real name was Gottheimer,
and who acquired his Barony from the King of Italy.
A few steps from Leicester Square, down Green
Street, is the fine statue of Sir Henry Irving (1838-
1905) under the wall of the National Portrait
Gallery.
A few steps beyond that, on an island between
the Gallery and Chandos Street, the memorial to
Nurse Edith Cavell, who was shot by the Germans
in Brussels, will stand.
[132]
<<
CHAPTER IX
JOHN hunter's museum
That Great Hunter" — Skulls from everywhere — A
crowded life — Uncompromising dogmatism — The resur-
rection men — Charles Byrne, the Irish giant — Jonathan
Wild — The Sicilian dwarf — The human form in detail.
WE have seen John Hunter's bust; we have seen
the picture of his brother William lecturing
to the Royal Academicians; we have been very near
his home.
In Lincoln's Inn Fields, on the southern side, or
that opposite the Soane Museum, is that amazing
Golgotha, the Museum of the College of Surgeons,
which Hunter founded. As I entered, the sun was
shining, and children were playing in the gardens.
A few steps, and in the midst of life I was in death.
On all sides were skulls and skeletons: skeletons by
the hundred, skulls by the thousand. Skulls from
every quarter of the glove in grinning rows. Skulls
with all rlicir teeth, skulls with half their teeth,
skulls with no teeth. Skulls English and skulls
Polynesian. What a railway terminus and a Babel
will this be when the Last Trump blows I
[133]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Immediately on entering the room one is con-
fronted by another bust of the genius of the place,
''that great Hunter," the father of modern surgery
and, I suppose, the greatest surgeon of all time. Be-
side the bust is his death mask, and for once the two
have resemblances. You see instantly the strength
and purpose of the man ; for it is the face of one who
could hew his way to the top and would never be
satisfied with hearsay. John Hunter's museum,
formed by him patiently and with enthusiasm, in his
own house and its dependencies, between 1763 and
1793» is the nucleus of the present collection, and
that recurring problem which assails us when we
contemplate the careers of great men: How could
they find time to do it all^ is here clamorous. For
Hunter, an uneducated Scotch boy, not only rose to
be the mightiest surgeon in history, but he wrote an
immense number of monographs on various branches
of research, all based on personal experiment; he
gave countless lectures ; he performed operations and
carried out the duties of a member of the hospital
staff; and he did not really begin the constructive
part of his life until his return from soldiering in
Portugal thirty years before his death.
Much of the secret is genius; the rest, as usual, is
method, for he rose as early as five to begin dissect-
ing, and at midnight was often still at work. At
nine he breakfasted; he received patients till twelve;
[134]
JOHN HUNTER'S MUSEUM
he visited patients till four; he dined at four; he
slept an hour after dinner; and for the rest of the
day he wrote, dictated, or made experiments. Some-
where or other he found odd minutes in which to
carry on disputes; to be a husband and father; to
crack a few very broad jokes and to damn the Radi-
cals. "All rascals who are dissatisfied with their
country ought to leave it," he would say. But what
his views would have been with regard to that be-
wildering creature the conscientious objector of our
own day, who has no disinclination to participate in
the benefits ensured to his country by an army and
navy, while refusing to join either, I dare not imag-
ine; but immensely vigorous, I am sure. He died in
1793, through excitement brought on by loss of
temper at a debate at St. George's Hospital, his
heart having long been affected. He lies in West-
minster Abbey.
Hunter was born in 1728, and it illustrates the
youth of surgery as a serious art, and the remarkable
genius of this great investigator, practitioner and
theorist, to recollect that it was not until 1745, when
he was seventeen years old, that the surgeons and
barbers, till then allied, parted company. Ever
since then the surgeons have been rising in the social
scale and the barbers descending. No barber is ever
knighted; few surgeons of eminence escape the
honour.
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For the most part, the skeletons and skulls that
throng here are those of unknown persons; and for
the English ones at any rate Hunter was chiefly
indebted to die resurrection men, without whose
services the surgeons and medical scholars of his day
would have had difficulty in pursuing their dissec-
tions. But now and then he bought a body during
the lifetime of its owner. Thus, the huge frame of
Charles Byrne, the Irish giant, in the case to the left
as one enters, was acquired in this manner. Byrne,
like most giants, was short-lived, two-and-twenty
years representing his earthly span. But his end was
not their usual natural decline due to the failure of
the organs to sustain so mighty a carcass — he was
eight feet four inches high — but was brought about
by potations immoderate even for him, and by grief
at the loss of notes for £700, the proceeds, I imagine,
of exhibiting himself either at fairs or on the stage.
He was, for example, the sensation of London in
1782, at the Haymarket, where a pantomime was
written round his many inches. Byrne's remains
cost Hunter more than he had paid for anything in
his collection, and even then he had to fight for his
property, for Byrne, after agreeing to the bargain,
made a will directing that his body was to be put
on a ship and sunk at sea. Hunter, however, who
was a difficult man to beat, bribed the undertaker,
removed the body from the hearse, transferred it to
[136]
THE SISTKRS fTMK DArf.HTF.RS OF SIR T. KRANKLAND)
AFTER THE PICTURE BV llorTNKR IN THE TENNANT CALI.EKY
JOHN HUNTER'S MUSEUM
his own carriage, and bore it triumphantly to his
house at Earl's Court and an acid bath.
The most interesting thing about Jonathan Wild's
skeleton, which stands next to Byrne's, is not so
much that it is his, as that it is the skeleton of a
man who was hanged. The body and head were
long separated, but they are likely now to remain
united for many years. The hanging of the famous
thief, fence and informer was on August 24, 1725,
at Tyburn. All Byrne's teeth are in his head; none
of Wild's remain. Near Byrne, completing a
strangely ill-assorted trio, is the skeleton of a little
lady nine years of age and nineteen inches in height,
the Sicilian dwarf, Carolina Grachami. Of such is
the variety of human nature ! But an even greater
variety awaits one before the tour of the galleries
is complete, in an assemblage of monstrous births,
among which is the most perfect hobgoblin that even
the combined pencils of Fuseli and Blake could have
devised.
It is a terrible place, this museum — downstairs,
bones of every animal, from man to megatherium;
upstairs, jars by the million, or so it seems, each con-
taining a human organ in spirits for the eager eye
of the medical student to examine and remember.
Once I could not have remained here without a feel-
ing of sickness; but now that death has become al-
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most the rule, and our best and bravest are three a
penny, it all seemed natural. I came away conscious,
it is true, that there was not a spund inch in my
body ; but that I have since forgotten.
[138]
CHAPTER X
THE STATUES OF LONDON
IV. WESTMINSTER AND THE EMBANKMENT
Four Prime Ministers — Queen Anne — Oliver Cromwell —
Baron Marochetti — Boadicea — London's architects —
Honour where honour is due — The Houses of Parlia-
ment — The National Gallery — The Record Office — The
Westminster Guildhall — The Embankment Valhalla —
Cleopatra's Needle — An eventful voyage.
STARTING from Trafalgar Square and passing
down Whitehall, we find, in the middle of the
road, an equestrian statue of the late Duke of Cam-
bridge (1819-1904), whom many persons will ever
remember, in his military capacity, as the Field-
Marshal who once hoisted an umbrella at a review.
At the corner of Horse Guards' Avenue is a statue
of the late Duke of Devonshire ( 1833-1908), better
known in politics as the Marquis of Hartington. A
little farther down on the left is a new statue of
Lord Clive (1725-1774), the great Indian Admin-
istrator.
In Parliament Square, in the centre garden, are
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statues to Sir Robert Peel (1788-1850), whom we
also saw in Cheapside, Lord Palmerston (1784-
1865), Lord Derby (1779-1869), with reliefs on the
pedestal of various oratorical or diplomatic triumphs,
and Lord Beaconsfield (1804-1881) — all Prime
Ministers and all very splendid either in robes or
frock coats. George Canning (1770-1827) is in the
garden between the Square and the Westminster
Guildhall. The memorial at the corner of Great
George Street, close by, marks the abolition of the
British Slave Trade in 1807 and the further abolish-
ing of slavery in the British Dominions in 1834.
If we were to go down Great George Street and
come to Queen Anne's Gate, we should find, on the
left, outside No. 13, a statue of the royal lady who
gives this fascinating street of noble doorways its
name, in a richly brocaded dress. Of this attractive
work of art little is known, but Francis Bond is
generally thought to be the sculptor. In the days
when Westminster was a separate and superstitious
city it was believed that on the anniversary of her
death Queen Anne walked three times up and down
the street. Personally I would, in spite of this
haunting, as soon live in Queen Anne's Gate as any-
where in the more central parts of London. But
Smith Square and North Street have begun to run
it close as an abode of peace and preciosity.
I may mention here that the corner house, on
[140]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
the opposite side to Queen Anne, is that to which,
before the War, Lord Glenconner invited persons
who were interested in good pictures of the great
days of the British school. That he will resume
this pleasant hospitable custom when the world is
itself again I most cordially hope. Two or three of
the gems of the Tennant Gallery, as it was called,
are reproduced in this book.
The memorial in Broad Sanctuary commemorates
Lord Raglan and other old Westminster scholars
who fell in the Crimean War. The statue of Crom-
well, outside Westminster Hall, with the British
lion at his feet, is by Hamo Thornycroft, and was the
gift of Lord Rosebery, a Government plan for erect-
ing one having failed. The House of Lords did not
wish the Protector to be allowed so near the sacred
precincts, but its opinion was disregarded.
Cromwell has his back to Westminster Hall, where
Charles I was tried and sentenced. Before him is
the Abbey, where he was first buried and then shame-
fully exhumed so that his bones might hang in chains
at Tyburn.
Farther on, by the House of Lords, is a gigantic
equestrian statue of Richard Coeur de Lion, with
bronze reliefs of his death-bed and one of his vic-
tories. The sculj)t()r was Baron Carh) Marochetti
( 1805-1867), an Iralian, or rather Pictlmontese, who
fled to England in the revolution of 1848, was taken
[■4']
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up by the Prince Consort, and became an R.A. The
Coeur de Lion statue, in plaster, was a prominent
attraction of the Great Exhibition of 1.851, and it
was cast in bronze by pubHc subscription.
In the garden under the Victoria Tower is Rodin's
famous bronze group of the Burghers of Calais.
This powerful and pathetic work illustrates very
vividly a story in the career of Edward III. During
that king's war with France, and after he had won
Crecy, he laid siege, in 1347, to Calais, and made
his blockade so thorough that after some weeks the
French army retreated and the garrison surrendered.
On August 3rd a deputation — the burghers of Calais
— came from the town with bare heads, carrying
the key of the citadel, and gave themselves up to the
King in person. His intention had been to destroy
the populace, but at the entreaty of his queen,
Philippa of Hainault, their lives were spared. Their
valuables, however, he confiscated.
If from Westminster we seek the Embankment
we shall find at the corner of Westminster Bridge
the great Boadicea in her chariot, by Thomas
Thornycroft. Beside her are two retainers, and,
without reins, she urges on her fiery steeds against
the Roman invaders. The wheels have the famous
scythes.
On the facade of New Scotland Yard is a bust of
Norman Shaw (1831-1912), the architect who
[142]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
turned this building from an opera house into the
headquarters of the Police. This bust distinguishes
Shaw as one of the very few architects of whom
London, which exists by virtue of them, takes any
notice. There is no bust of Bentley in the West-
minster Cathedral, although he died while working
upon it; nor is there any bust of George Edmund
Street (1824-1881) at the Law Courts, his minute
labours on which are said to have hastened his end,
and for which with his own hand he made no fewer
than three thousand drawings. There is no outdoor
statue of Wren, nor of Inigo Jones, nor of Gibbs,
who built St. Martin's-in-the-Fields.
This reluctance to give honour where honour is
due is really rather ignoble. Who knows the name
of the architect of these beautiful Houses of Parlia-
ment close by? How to find out except by a work
of reference not too easily obtained? The architect
of the Houses of Parliament was Sir Charles Barry
(1795-1860), and the jewels of oratory never had
a richer casket. But the Reform Club in Pall Mall
is, by some, considered to be Barry's masterpiece,
none the less. The architect of the National Gal-
lery was William WiJkins (1778-1839), who had
previously built University College in Gower Street,
which has a family resemblance to it. The portico
came from Carlton House, the home of the Prince
Regent, and the original idea was that steps should
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lead right down to the level of the fountains in Tra-
falgar Square. But the roadway in front of the Gal-
lery being deemed a necessity, this fine effect had to
be sacrificed. The building was subsequently modi-
fied by Edward Middleton Barry, son of Sir Charles.
Who was the architect of what, to me, is one of
the most stately and beautiful of London's buildings,
which, were it anywhere but hemmed in by Chancery
Lane and Fetter Lane, would be famous among
visitors — the Record Office? Sir James Pennethorne
(1801-1871), whose design provided for a better
site, with one of those vistas which London so
grudges. Who was the architect of what is, to me,
the best of the many new buildings of London
erected in these last ten years — the Westminster
Guildhall, which is adjacent to us as we stand here
fighting for justice*? None has to my eyes such
charm as this civic stronghold, of which Mr. Livens
has made a drawing. As a whole and in detail it
is a most satisfying work of art. Here the answer
is simpler, for by a curious chance the name of the
architect has found its way to the tablet of municipal
magnates beside the south door — Mr. J. G. Gibson.
The reliefs and statues are the work of Mr. Henry
C. Fehr. Note the quaint figures who sprawl over
every lower window, trying to peep in.
For a long while to come it can hardly be our
civil benefactors that will receive public honours.
[144]
Jammt
aaoKmoM
A TVri( AI. t.OMKiN- lilMdl ITION SCENE
THE STATUES OF LONDON
The military must come first. But I hope that a
day may dawn when the builders of London are
properly recognized.
In the Victoria Embankment Gardens, which are
between the Houses of Parliament and Charing
Cross Bridge, are three statues. The first is of Wil-
liam Tyndale, the translator of the New Testament
into English from the Greek. He was strangled to
death and then burned, at Brussels, in 1536. The
printing press in this work of art, which is by Boehm,
was copied from one in the Plantin Museum at Ant-
werp. The second statue here is that of Sir Bartle
Frere (1815-1884), the South African and Indian
Administrator; and the third is that of Sir James
Outram (1805-1863), who was called the Bayard
of the British Army and ought really to be in Water-
loo Place with other heroes of the Indian Mutiny.
Opposite the Outram statue, on a pier beside the
Charing Cross Bridge, on the river side, is a medal-
lion of Sir Joseph Bazalgette (1819-1891), engineer
of the London main drainage system and of the
Embankment. On the corresponding pier on the
other side of the Bridge is a memorial to Sir William
Schwenck Gilbert (1836-191 1 ), author of the Savoy
oj)eras and the Bal? Ballads. Charming figures of
Comedy and 7'ragedy attend, and the inscription
says, "His foe was folly and his weapon wit." Sir
George Fram])ton was the sculptor.
[■4f]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
In the gardens between the Charing Cross under-
ground station and Waterloo Bridge are to be found
a statue of Robert Burns the poet, seated rapt; a
statue of Sir Wilfrid Lawson, the temperance advo-
cate (1829-1906); and one of Robert Raikes
( 1 735" 1811), the founder of Sunday Schools. Here
are busts of Sir Arthur Sullivan (1842-1900), the
composer of the Savoy operas, attended by a weeping
woman; and Henry Fawcett ( 1833-1884), the blind
statesman. Another memorial of Henry Fawcett,
a statue, is in Vauxhall Park, near his old home, now
demolished.
On a pier to the west of Waterloo Bridge, oppo-
site Savoy Street, is a medallion of Sir Walter Be-
sant (1836-1901), the novelist and London topog-
rapher. And somewhere hereabouts is a memorial
to William Thomas Stead (1849-1912) the jour-
nalist, who went down with the "Titanic," but I
have not seen it. Just past Somerset House is a
statue of Isambard K. Brunei (1806-1859) the
engineer, son of the designer of the Thames Tunnel
and himself the constructor of the Clifton Suspen-
sion Bridge.
In the gardens between the Temple Station and
the foot of Essex Street are a seated statue of John
Stuart Mill (1806-1873) the philosopher, and a
standing statue of William Edward Forster (1818-
1886), the Irish Secretary. On the railings of the
[146]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
Temple Gardens is a tablet bearing a medallion
portrait of Queen Victoria, marking the western
boundary of the city. At the end of the Embank-
ment, by Blackfriars Bridge, is a statue of Queen
Victoria.
Finally, there is Cleopatra's Needle, which never
thought, we may be sure, to find a resting-place be-
side the Thames. Its original home was at Heliopo-
lis, where Thothmes III set it up about 1500 B.C.
With Cleopatra it had nothing to do. From Heli-
opolis the monolith was taken to Alexandria, still
in the b.c. period, and there again set up, outside a
heathen temple. British soldiers found it lying in
the sand in the Egyptian Campaign a century and
more ago, and Mehemet Ali presented it to us, just
as he presented a similar obelisk in the Place de la
Concorde to the French; but although great efforts
were made by the troops under Sir David Baird,
when they had nothing else to do, to move it to the
vessel prepared for it, they could not manage it.
Little more was done to claim the gift until forty
years ago, when a public-spirited enthusiast arose
in the person of William James Erasmus Wilson
( 1809-1884), the famous surgeon and skin-specialist,
who offered to pay the cost of bringing it to Eng-
land — a matter of some £1 5',ooo. Tlie business was
not simple, and the means adopted was to rivet an
ironclad around the Needle where it lay, and then
[■47]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
drag it to the water and tow it to London. A vessel
called the "Olga" acted as tug, and the voyage be-
gan on September 21, 1877. In the Bay of Biscay,
the usual weather prevailing, the Needle had to be
cut adrift, but not until six lives were lost. It
would be safe to offer a prize of any magnitude to
that person who could name these six heroes. Let
me give them: William Askew, James Gardiner,
Joseph Benbow, Michael Burns, William Donald
and William Paton. I know them because they are
writ in brass on the river facade of the Needle's
pediment.
Not only v/ere these men drowned, but the Needle
was lost too. Some while later, however, the strange
craft was sighted and secured, and on January 16,
1878, another start was made, and on January 28
the Thames was safely entered and the Needle
docked. Eight months afterwards it was in its
present position, and not long afterwards a worthy
City Father was delivering an oration upon it, in
which he delighted his hearers first by referring to
the great Queen always as Cleopatrick, and next by
deriving "monolith" from two Greek words, namely
mono^ a stone, and — and — Uth.
The two attendant sphinxes, which are male, are
of course modern.
[148]
CHAPTER XI
THE OVAL
The Surrey side — The Oval and Lord's : a contrast — The
last match of the year — Lord Harris's cherries — Surrey's
beginnings — A parson poet — Lumpy to the rescue — The
Montpelier Club — Mr. William Denison — The first Sur-
rey Club match — Two scores — The cement banks —
Weather lore — Famous cricketers.
THESE are sad days in which to write of
cricket. For cricket was the first English pas-
time to be hit by the Kaiser's arrogance and ambi-
tion; and Surrey was, if I am not mistaken, the first
county in that fateful August of 1914 to abandon
its further matches and cease to think of play. But
no book on London can neglect the 0\ al ; and a good
time is coming; and every one who loves cricket
loves also cricket's past. So let us, in spite of War
and that melancholy and ever-increasing death-roil
of stalwart batsmen and bowlers whom we have
rejoiced so recently to see in their prowess, and shall
never see again — let us linger a little in the famous
Kcnnington ground where Surrey plays the great
[«49]
MOKE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
game, and die loyal Surrey crowd flinches neither
from sun nor wind as it watches and applauds.
To thousands of Londoners who live north of the
river the only transpontine resort is the Oval. I am
of this number. How rarely we cross the river,
except in trains on our way to the coast or to the
southern counties, it is absurd to think. But to the
Oval, in one of the great County Council dread-
nought trams, which start from the Embankment
(where we now are), or in the friendly taxi after
lunch, or by that convenient Tube which disgorges
its eager passengers only a few yards from the chief
gates, how often do we hasten !
The difference between an Oval crowd and a
Lord's crowd is immense. Being nearer the fashion-
able areas, and having the Eton and Harrow match
and the Oxford and Cambridge match, those
favoured opportunities for the modiste. Lord's has
not only a cricket public but a butterfly public.
And this means not only awnings and comfort but a
more careful standard of male attire too. The Oval
crowd is far liker a football crowd. It is almost
wholly composed of men, and men who must earn
their living, and their keenness is not only far more
articulate than any at Lord's, but greater too. In-
deed it must be so, or they would not stand for
hours, as they can in August, on the surrounding ce-
ment banks, with no shade whatever, or welcome in
[150]
THE OVAL
the new season on an Easter Monday, as I have seen
them, in a breeze direct from the North Pole; and
how some of them can see at all is a mystery, for
the Oval is far larger than Lord's, there being a
possibility (I have often seen) of making 5, all run,
in at least two parts of the ground. But, as I say,
the Oval crowd is not to be dissuaded, either by
weather or by discomfort, and the packed roof of
the neighbouring inn, between the overpowering
gasometers and the Pavilion, gives the scene just
that old-fashioned touch that is so agreeable. Some-
thing of the kind one has noticed in old prints of
prize fights in the days of Cribb, or of Newmarket
Heath before all the modem mechanical devices
came in and S.P. were still meaningless initials.
The pavilion is different too; which is only
natural, for the pavilion at Lord's is the Houses of
Parliament of cricket, whereas the pavilion at the
Oval is merely the pavilion of a county ground.
But hardly less interesting are its pictures and rec-
ords; and one of the pictures, a fascinating early
match i)ainted by George Morland, I am glad to
be able to reproduce in this book.
One reason which endears the Oval to me is that
the season dies harder there than elsewhere. That
last big match of the year, when the September
hazes have begun, between the champion county
and the rest of England, is always played on the
[■51]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Surrey ground, and I always try to be present. I
have too the pleasantest recollections of Gentlemen
V. Players matches at the Oval, because Lord Harris
always sends a huge basket of Kentish Whitehearts
to cheer this event, and these, through a fortunate
acquaintance with two or three famous hands who
have of late been participators, I have had the fe-
licity of tasting. There are notoriously no cherries
like them.
Kennington Oval existed long before it was a
cricket ground, and Surrey existed as a cricket county
long before that. Surrey indeed took to cricket as
early as any county, except, I suppose, Hampshire,
where the Hambledon Club was. One of the first
matches recorded in Lillywhite's Scores and Biog-
raphies (the best of all books) is between Surrey
and Kent on the Laleham-Burway ground at Chert-
sey in 1773. The match was so memorable that
the Vicar of Sundridge, the Rev. J. Duncombe, cele-
brated it in ballad in the manner of Chevy Chase.
No other literature of the game gives a better idea
of the fun and want of scientific precision about the
game in those early days. To a large extent the
interest seems to have centred in wagers on the re-
sult, between the Earl of Tankerville, who played
for Surrey, and Sir Horace Mann, who played for
Kent. Surrey won. Says the reverend poet:
[152]
THE OVAL
"Of near three hundred notches made
By Surrey, eight were byes ;
The rest were balls which, boldly struck,
Re-echoed to the skies."
At the end of his poem the Vicar reverted to type
and worked in a moral:
"God save the King, and bless the land
With plenty and increase ;
And grant henceforth that idle games
In harvest-time may cease."
Surrey seems to have been beaten in the return
match, this time at Sevenoaks; but Lilly white does
not give it. Later in the year they met yet again,
at Canterbury, and Surrey again won. On the first
and third occasions, at any rate, Surrey had the
famous Lumpy to help them ; and a poem composed
on the third conflict said roundly that
"Surrey did the victory gain
By Lumpy, fortune, art and rain."
After this the next mention of Surrey by Lilly-
white is on July 20, 1774, when, with the assistance
of the borrowed Minshull, they played the Ilaniblc-
don Clul) and lost — this borrowing of one or two
men, to equalise the sides, being very common in
['53]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
those days. In the next recorded match, Surrey,
against the Hambledon Club, again at Chertsey,
on July 6, 7 and 8, 1775, had the services of Miller
as well as Minshull, Surrey won. On the 13th
of July a return began, at Hambledon, which Ham-
bledon won by 296 runs. J. Small was the hero;
for in the second innings he carried his bat for 136.
■ — So much for the beginnings of Surrey cricket.
The present ground dates from 1845, when, in
March, the first turf of the ground that we now
know was laid. Before that it had been for long an
open space, partly held and partly market garden.
The Montpelier Club, the principal South Lon-
don Cricket Club, which had played its matches on
the Bee-Hive Ground, in Walworth, being turned
out by the builders, decided in 1844 to move to the
Oval. Early in 1845 a meeting was called to con-
sider the future, over which Mr. William Ward,
whom we meet in the Lord's chapter, presided.
Among those present was the great Felix. Another
of the company was William Denison, who wrote
an informing book entitled Sketches of the Players.
At this meeting it was decided that the Montpelier
Club should disappear and a Surrey Club be formed.
Later in the year a second meeting was held at the
Horns Tavern, which is still a famous house, pre-
ceded by a dinner. On this occasion the late Lord
Bessborough, who is known in cricket annals as the
[154]
THE OVAL
Hon. Frederick Ponsonby, took the chair; and the
merging of the Montpelier Club into the Surrey Club
was practically settled, seventy members of the old
club enrolling themselves in the new.
For a while the Surrey Club did not prosper,
owing to various difficulties with the lessees of the
ground, but in 1857 a smoother course was secured
and thenceforward all went well. The first real
pavilion was built in 1858, and in that year Surrey,
with Sussex to help, beat England twice. One of
the players, William Caffyn, is still living as I
write (April, 1916). Of more recent history it is
unnecessary to speak.
A word or two of William Denison, the first
secretary of the Surrey Club, whose Sketches of the
Players appeared in 1846. A cricket enthusiast of
the deepest dye, he was described by Lord Bess-
borough, in a letter to Bishop Montgomery, whose
History of Kennington has some most attractive
chapters on cricket and Surrey cricket, as "the best
bowler in the Montpelier Club, the first man who
had the pluck to bowl round arm slows in good
matches." Denison was otherwise a Times reporter
on law and parliament, and a cricket journalist, and
so busy a man could hardly do justice to the require-
ments of a new club in not too prosperous circum-
stances. From the dedication of his book to the
Noblemen and Gentlemen of the M.C.C. one gathers
Uss'\
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
that he had his feuds. He writes : "It has, I hear,
been asked, how it comes to pass that I should have
presumed to arrogate to myself, as the parties have
termed it, the privilege of suggesting alterations in
the rules by which the game is regulated, thus as-
suming a knowledge of their working superior to
the majority of those who have for many years taken
an active part in its practice; and therefore I shall,
I trust, be pardoned, if I state the position I have
held in cricket since 1813. In that year it was
solicited that I (at the period a lad) should be per-
mitted, in the absence of a good player, to play
in a match at Richmond between the 'Counties of
Middlesex and Surrey.' The permission of the
Reverend Gentleman under whose tutelage I then
was, having been accorded, I made my appearance,
then, as now, a slow bowler, in the 'Surrey Eleven.'
From that day to the present I have devoted the
largest portion of my unoccupied time to cricket,
and from the year 1816 there has been no season in
which I have not witnessed nearly every match of
importance, nor in which I have not been a playing
member of four and frequently of nine clubs, and
even at the present moment I remain an active par-
ticipator in five. The consequence then was, that
being attached to the game, and compelled, by the
state of my health, to resort to strong out-of-door
exercise, I have probably witnessed, played in, and
[156]
THE OVAL
contributed to, in a pecuniary sense, a greater num-
ber of matches than any one who is now to be found
in the cricket ranks. The result has been, that there
is no class of match, high or low, in which I have
not constantly been engaged. Moreover, it has
been a portion of my public duty to contribute
articles on cricket, and to attend and write notices
of matches for the Press, since 1820."
As an afterthought to the dedication comes this
amusing P.S. — "In answer to a remark which I
overheard at Lord's last summer, 'that Mr. Denison
could not know much about the game, because he
obtained so few runs,' I beg to suggest that the dis-
location of an elbow, met with at cricket, and an
impaired vision, arising not merely from surgical
operations, for I have had eleven on one eye, but an
average of bed of not quite four hours per night, for
twenty-six years, are somewhat calculated to spoil a
man's sight for hitting. Some years back, and for
many years, there were few gentlemen whose batting
or bowling average stood better."
Although the turf had been so recently laid —
about four acres in the middle — the Oval was played
on in 1845. The first recorded match is that be-
tween the Montixlicr Club and Clapton on July 17.
It was unfinished. The second Oval match recorded
by Lilly white, between the Montjielier Club and
[>57]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Lingfield, on July 28, 1845, was a draw. A match
with a more modern sound is that on August 21 and
22, 1845, Gentlemen of Surrey v. Players of Surrey,
which was also a draw. On September 24, 1845,
a Surrey Eleven played Middlesex. The first Surrey
Club match was on May 25 and 26, 1846, at the
Oval, against the M.C.C. The M.C.C. won. I
give this score, as it is of historic interest:
AT KENNINGTON OVAL, IN SURREY
May 25 and 26, 1846
MARYLEBONE
First Innings
A. K. George, Esq., c Strahan, b
Brockwell o
A. Haygarth, Esq., b Martingell 4
W. Hillyer, c and b Brockwell . 12
R. Kynaston, Esq., b Martingell . o
W. Lillyvvhite, b Martingell . . 5
W. Nicholson, Esq., b Martingell 4
F. L. Currie, Esq., b Martingell . 13
W. B. Trevelyan, Esq., c Strahan,
b Brockwell 11
L. H. Bayley, Esq., not out . . 2
E. Banbury, Esq., b Martingell . 4
W. Franks, Esq., absent . . . o
B 2, w o, n I 3
Second Innings
I b w, b Lewis
b Martingell .
c Baker, b Lewis
b Martingell .
run out .
not out .
c Denison, b Lewis
b Martingell
b Lewis
b Brockwell
b Brockwell
B 4, w I, n 2
12
o
o
6
6
2
4
13
o
o
7
Total
[158]
58
Total
63
THE OVAL
SURREY CLUB
First Innings Second Innings
J. Spencely, Esq., i b w, b Hillyer 5 c Nicholson, b Lilly-
white 3
T. C. Lewis, Esq., st Nicholson,
b Hillyer 4 b Hillyer . . . . o
W. Baker, Esq., b Hillyer . . o c George, b Lillywhite 11
N. Felix, Esq., c and b Hillyer . 9 b Hillyer .... 6
C. Coitson, Esq., not out ... 9 b Hillyer .... i
W. Martingell, c Currie, b Hillyer i st Nicholson, b Hillyer i
G. Brockwell, b Hillyer ... 5 b Hillyer . . . . o
C. H. Hoare, Esq., b Lillywhite . i c Lillywhite, b Hillyer 5
C. Meymott, Esq., c and b Hillyer o not out 4
VV. Strahan, Esq., b Lillywhite . o b Lillywhite . . . o
W. Denison, Esq., c Nicholson, b
Lillywhite 2 c Currie, b Hillyer . i
Bi, wo 1B4, wo.... 4
Total . 37 Total . 36
M.C.C. winning by 48 runs.
It may here be mentioned that Mr. Lewis played in this
and several other matches about this time under the name
of Courtney, Mr. Meymott also under that of Maries, and
Mr. Banbury under the name of Edmonds.
Umpires — J. Bayley and W. Caldecourt.
The A. Haygarth, Esq., was the editor of Lilly-
white's Scores and Biographies.
The Oval, belonging as it dors to the Duchy of
Cornwall, and therefore to rhc Prince of Wales,
such servants of the Crown as soldiers, sailors and
[■59]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
postmen are admitted free. In 1851 a very serious
attempt was made to get the ground for building
purposes, but it was resisted mainly through the
action of the Prince Consort, who was administering
the estate for his son. This fact should be em-
blasoned on the Albert Memorial.
I have mentioned the raised cement banks that
surround the Oval and give a view to all. They
were made by the contractors who undertook the
draining, or rather hiding within pipes, of the river
Effra, which, until 1880, ran by the side of the
Oval into the Thames at Lambeth. When it was
removed from sight the excavated earth was piled
all round the ground and cemented over. The
Chelsea football ground, whither the King and a
vast number of his loyal subjects, including myself,
journeyed a few winters ago to see an American
baseball match, obtained its high banks in a similar
way, for they are made of the earth excavated for
the London Tube railways.
The first County match at the Oval which Lilly-
white gives is on June 25 and 26, 1846. Here we
meet more great names:
AT KENNINGTON OVAL, IN SURREY
June 25 and 26, 1846
KENT
First Innings Second Innings
A. Mynn, Esq., i b w, b Day . 8 b Martingell . . . o
[160]
THE OVAL
C. G. Whittaker, Esq., b Martin-
gell o c Martingell, b Day 5
T. Adams, c Bayley, b Martingell 38 c and b Martingell . 8
F. Pilch, b Day 4 c Heath, b Day . . 3
W. Dorrinton, b Martingell . . i c Heath, b Day . . o
W. Hillyer, b Day 5 c Martingell, b Day 3
E. Hinkly, i b w, b Martingell . 6 not out 8
W. Carter, b Day o c Day, b Martingell . o
E. Banks, Esq., not out . . . 13 c Hea^h, b Day . . 24
L. Hollingworth, Esq., b Day . 3 c Bayley, b Martingell o
W. Banks, Esq., c Martingell, b
Day o b Day o
B 4, w o, n I (Martingell i) 5 B 3, w 2 (Day 2), n o 5
Total . 83 Total . 56
SURREY
First Innings Second Innings
G. Brockwell, run out .... 7 not out ....
A. M. Hoare, Esq., c Hinkly, b
Mynn 59
T. Sewell, c Carter, b Mynn . . 3
N. Felix, Esq., c Adams, b Mynn o
W. Martingell, c W. Banks, b
Hinkly 7
J. Heath, hit w. b Hillyer . . .15
R. Groom, run out 2 not out ....
D. Day, b Hillyer 19
E. Garland, Esq., b Mynn . . o
C. H. Hoare, Esq., not out . . . o
J. Bayley, b Mynn 6
B 13, w 6 (Mynn 4, Pilch 2) 19 B i, w o .
Total . 137 Total
Surrey won by ten wickets.
[.6i]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
One little piece of special Oval lore I can impart.
Near Vauxhall Bridge Station there is a church, and
this church has an open space, or unglazed window,
in its spire. If the light through this window, as
seen from the Pavilion, is clear, there will be no
rain; but if one can only just see through it, rain
is likely.
Every one has his favourite county ground mem-
ories. Among the later ones of mine, at the Oval,
is that innings of deadly resistance and care by Mr.
Fry which saved England from Australia in the last
test match rubber. Another is a hit by Mr. V. F.
S. Crawford on to the roof of the pavilion. And
I can see again Richardson sending down one of
his terrific bailers, and Hobbs's effortless boundaries,
where the bat became a shining blade, and Hay-
ward's gentle strokes for one as he grew older and
found running less to his taste. But the most in-
spired cricketer of the Oval in our time was George
Lohmann.
[162]
CHAPTER XII
THE LONDON MUSEUM
Stafford House — A Zeppelin bomb — The conserving soil —
Old wines — Sir William Pickering — A Tudor plutocrat
— Cromwell relics — Brandon the headsman — Old cos-
tumes — Victorian jewels — A royal parasol — Signboards
— Old London in cardboard — Two Thomsons — A vis-
ionary's London.
WHEN A Wanderer in London was published,
in 1906, there was no London Museum.
Shortly afterwards a collection of relics was brought
together in Kensington Palace, and these have now
been permanently arranged at Stafford House, given
to the nation for that purpose by Sir William Lever.
Stafford House, one of the private palaces be-
tween the Green Park and St. James's, was built for
the Duke of York, son of George III, the not too
illustrious Prince to whom English ffunkeyism
erected the colunm at the foot of Waterloo Place.
At his death, before the house was ready, the Duke of
Sutherland bought it, and here were hung the fa-
mous Stafford House pictures, now distributed. As
['63]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
a home for London curiosities the building is admir-
able but not very elastic; already it seems to be
fully stocked. By a nice stroke of irony the first
thing that one sees in the fine hall at the foot of the
imposing staircase, up and down which so many
notable men and beautiful women have passed, is a
Zeppelin bomb aimed at the destruction of the very
city whose history is here celebrated.
The course of the pilgrimage through the Museum
is prescribed by the regulations, and one must follow
it. We are first in the city prehistoric, what time
mastodons were its principal inhabitants; and in-
stantly we realise how flexible a term London is, for
the mammoth's bone, which is one of the most ex-
citing relics here, comes from as far afield as Ilford.
Then we pass to the ages of stone and bronze and
are assisted towards the realisation of those early
eras by Mr. Forestier's drawings, wherein Londoners
in skins and Londoners in woad are seen earning
their livelihood more picturesquely, if not with less
determination, than Londoners in black coats and
tall hats at the present day. One thing is certain,
and that is that modern London is built on ancient
London, and ancient London was built on a London
still older; for it is the soil that has yielded all the
treasures. Mother Earth is the best archieologist.
From foundations at Copthall Court, for example,
the home to-day of stockbrokers, comes a bronze
[164]
THE LONDON MUSEUM
shield; from the Old Bailey a rhinoceros's tooth;
from Lombard Street a Roman wine jar. A little
statuette of Hercules hails from Grocers' Hall Court,
nor was it mislaid there by a modern collector, but
was brought thither from his home in Italy by one
of our conquerors under Julius Ccesar — possibly in
the capacity of what our modern soldiers call a
mascot. — Such relics as these make the long history
of London very vivid.
The assemblage of articles gathered at Stafford
House is so diverse that every visitor must find
something of interest as one leaps backwards and
forwards among the centuries. And interest can be
capricious too. A case of wine labels in the wonder-
ful silver room, for example, by reason of the un-
familiarity of the vintages may remain in the mem-
ory longer than many more intrinsically worthy
matters. Among these are Red Nice, Bucella,
Mischianza, Calcavella, Sercial and Gooseberry.
All, so far as London is concerned, are obsolete, with
the exception of the last, and that, although one
may still drink it, at fabulous prices, now goes under
an alias. In another case is some Venetian glass
which may cause one to wonder what its connexion
with the Mother of Cities can be, until one reads
that similar articles were used by London citizens
in the sixteenth and seventeenth century: a pretty
illustration of how wide a net the director. Sir Guy
[165]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Laking, casts. I remember hereabouts too a pedlar's
pack, which turns out to be very like a portable cup-
board and must have been a burden not much less
cumbersome than Christian's. Often too must it
have held copies of Bunyan's allegory.
From St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, that very charm-
ing little ancient church, come certain effigies of his-
torical interest which must be greatly surprised to
find themselves in this West End mansion. One is
that from the sumptuous tomb of Sir William Pick-
ering (1516-1575), the courtier and diplomatist
under Henry VIII, Edward VI and Mary, who, after
some questionable intrigues abroad, was spoken of as
a possible and even probable consort of Good Queen
Bess herself. Another effigy is of a gallant citizen
and haberdasher who, becoming a captain, trained
men to resist the Armada in 1588; and a third is
from the tomb of Sir John Spencer, Lord Mayor of
London, who gave great feasts at Crosby Hall, that
fine Elizabethan palace removed in 1909-10 from
Bishopsgate Street to Cheyne Row, Chelsea. Spencer
was a man of great commercial shrewdness and
strength of will, who had he lived to-day would be a
financial magnate and own thirty cars and very likely
a newspaper. As it was, he left a fortune of nearly a
million. Early in his career he narrowly escaped
capture in the Thames by a Dunkirk pirate whose
plan was to hold him for ransom for £50,000. Later
£166]
TIIK WESTMINSTER GUILDHALL
THE LONDON MUSEUM
he was thrown into prison, on the ground of ill-
treating his daughter, at the instance of Lord Comp-
ton (afterwards Earl of Northampton), who wished
to marry that lady but could not get her father's
consent. This ruse failing, the ardent peer con-
trived to smuggle the' object of his desire from her
father's house in a bread basket, and marry her;
but the marriage portion was withheld. The result
was that when Sir John at length died and his daugh-
ter became his heiress, Lord Compton, in excess of
joy under realisation, went out of his mind.
In Cromwellian relics the Museum is rich. Here
are his gun; his death mask, revealing a vast face
with the famous wart over the right eye; a bronze
bust of him with the wart carefully eliminated; a
marble bust with the wart in situ; his Bible and his
watch. Close by is a shirt worn by Richard Brandon,
who beheaded Charles L
That this Brandon, who had succeeded his father
as public executioner, really performed the office is
now accepted, but for a while one Hewlett was
thought guilty, and in 1660, when the pendulum
had swung back, he was even condemned to death for
the offence. Brandon executed not only the King,
but earlier Laud and Strafford. He received for
beheading Charles thirty pounds, all paid in half-
crowns wifhin half an hour of the deed. He
also was given an orange stick full of cloves
[■67]
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and a handkerchief from His Majesty's pocket.
In justice to Brandon, it must be said that he
came to the task very unwillingly: in fact, he had to
be fetched by force; and he was so much the victim
of remorse that he died in the same year, not, how-
ever, until he had dispatched the Earl of Holland
(the first owner of Holland House), the Duke of
Hamilton, and Lord Capel, with the same axe.
After passing cases of Chelsea porcelain. Bow por-
celain and Battersea enamel (why does not London
any more make charming things like this'?), we
reach the pictures, not all of which are strictly
Londonian but are mostly of great interest. In the
middle of the room is a Georgian dolls' house so mi-
nutely solicitous as to the requirements of its occu-
pants as to supply a punch bowl and glasses.
For most visitors the most popular room is the
large gallery in which the late E. A. Abbey's collec-
tion of costumes and those brought together by Sir
Seymour Lucas are to be seen and copied and cov-
eted. They range from Stuart days to Victorian,
and a little Dolly Varden bonnet is by no means the
least desirable thing among them. The Georgian
dinner party in the glass apartment at the end would
be the better if heads had been supplied to the revel-
lers. Could not a few pounds be set aside for a wax
modeller? In another case is a collection of Vic-
torian jewellery presented by that generous friend
[168]
THE LONDON MUSEUM
of the Museum, Mr. J. G. Jolcey (but for whose
munificence it would be almost as poor as the Guild-
hall Gallery without Mr. Gassiot), which again
causes one to marvel at the wave of execrable taste
that overwhelmed this country in the middle of the
last century. Have the reasons for it ever been
rightly explained? These jewels are an object les-
son indeed. Who was to blame? Who suddenly
decided that the slender elegance of Chippendale and
Heppel white was bad form, and that jewels were
of no account unless surrounded by gold ramparts
burnished like Tottenham Court Road bedsteads?
Was it all the fault of Albert the Good?
From ordinary costume we pass to royal costume,
— since Buckingham Palace is in London, — on the
way noticing one or two famous histrionic robes,
such as Wolsey's as worn by Phelps, and a case of
dolls dressed by Queen Victoria as a child. Some of
the royal garments are so recent as almost to give
one a shock, one in particular uncannily suggesting
its late wearer. In the cases are various royal relics,
including the Duke of Kent's medicine chest, and
a sumptuous umbrella, or more probably sunshade,
in blue and gold, belonging to George IV. Some
painter of fantastic imagination — say Mr. Pryde —
should give us the First Gentleman of Europe con-
serving his com[)lexion beneath this gorgeous canopy.
The basement is of sterner stuff. Here arc prison
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cells with models of felons and their original pathetic
or scornful writings on the wall ; here is a dreadful
door from Newgate; here are broadsides upon mur-
derers, last confessions and Catnach ballads. A han-
som cab makes one feel old ; a high bicycle makes one
feel prehistoric. A row of Highlanders from tobac-
conists' shops recall a past that might still be a
present, for why should they be obsolete? A few,
however, are still to be found in their true place,
and there is one in a tobacconist's in Kingsway that
I often glance at. Hereabouts too are a number of
signs from ancient places of business ; and that sign-
boards need never have gone out is now being very
agreeably demonstrated by a firm of lamp-makers
in Hanover Street, whose good taste ought to re-set
the fashion. The Duke of Wellington's post-chaise
is also on this alluring basement floor, and here is
a Roman gallery from the bottom of the Thames,
still in fair preservation. An old inn parlour has
furthermore been reconstructed, to revivify our an-
cestors' tavern joys; but here again the art of Tus-
saud might well have been invited, for the roysterer
who is to drink, and the serving-girl who waits upon
him, equally lack a head.
Finally, I must mention the bow window with
small panes, till lately the front of a toy shop in
Holborn, which has been brought bodily here. This
is one of the most genuine London exhibits and by
[170]
THE LONDON MUSEUM
no means the least interesting. Incidentally it shows
that there has been no real advance whatever in toy-
making; rather the reverse. In the old days the de-
visers of toys were rightly intent upon detail; their
excellent idea, based on sound principles of juvenile
psychology, was that a child wanted real things but
wanted them in miniature.
The most popular part of the basement is the nar-
row passage on each side of which are models of old
London, made with the skill that seems to belong
naturally to all exponents of this pleasant hobby.
The subjects include Bankside with its Shakespear-
ean theatres and a frost fair on the ice of the Thames.
Why does the Thames freeze no more? Why is
everything amusing a thing of the past*? Another
and very fascinating model is that of Old London
Bridge. Others are the Fire of London with old
St. Paul's in flames and a realistic effect of smoke;
Cheapside in 1580, showing a cross at the corner of
Wood Street, where later Poor Susan was to recon-
struct her native countryside; the Fleet River, that
mysterious stream of which, in spite alike of models,
pictures and maps, it is so diflicult to get a definite
idea; the Royal Exchange in 1600; Charing Cross
in 1620, with a pillory in view; and old St. Paul's,
that fine cruciform church whose beauty was, I al-
ways feel, so much greater than its substitute's.
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Another model, but this time built up and not
of cardboard, represents a fair in St. James's Park
on August 3, 1814, to celebrate the glorious peace.
Something of this kind must happen again. . . .
Coming away from Stafford House one has the
feeling that London could do with more museums,
each specializing in its own branch. Stafford House
touches a myriad subjects so lightly; it exhausts
none. Moreover, one finds eleswhere so many things
that should be here, and one finds here so many
things that might with advantage to the student
be elsewhere. There are, to give an example, three
or four pictures at the Guildhall that ought to be
at Stafford House — a Daniel Turner, clearly one of
a series of which Stafford House has several, and a
painting of the burning of Drury Lane Theatre in
1809. And then, what does a bust of James Thom-
son, the poet, in a London museum? He was no
conspicuous Londoner, and his best-known poem is
of the country. A bust of that later James Thomson
who wrote "The City of Dreadful Night" would be
fitting enough. And there is that later poet still,
and, in spite of calamity, far happier and greater —
Francis Thompson, whom fate transformed to a
Londoner and who could write thus wonderfully and
ecstatically of his second home, which had not been
too kind to him:
[172]
THE LONDON MUSEUM
"The angels keep their ancient places ; —
Turn but a stone and start a wing !
'Tis ye, 'tis your estranged faces,
That miss the many-splendoured thing.
But (when so sad thou canst not sadder)
Cry ; — and upon thy so sore loss
Shall shine the traffic of Jacob's ladder
Pitched between Heaven and Charing Cross.
Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter,
Cry, — clinging Heaven by the hems ;
And lo, Christ walking on the water
Not of Genesareth, but Thames."
A bust of the poet who wrote those lines would be
more fiti
Seasons.
more fitting here than that of the author of The
[173]
CHAPTER XIII
THE CIRCUS
Modern taste in amusement — Feats of strength and skill —
A good time coming — The great London circuses —
"The Flemish Hercules" — An infant phenomenon — An-
drew Ducrow's career — The Henglers — A florid tomb —
Kensal Green — The illustrious dead — An immortal
counsel — Philip Astley — "The Spanish Horse" — A war
worker — The Prince's recognition — A great trainer — A
water pageant.
LONDON has to-day no circus, and the recent
fashion for revue has cut off from the variety
theatres nearly every acrobat, juggler and "strong
man." A few trick-cyclists remain, but for the most
part singers, chorus-girls and low comedians hold the
stage and seem likely to hold it. A reaction may set
in, but it is hardly in sight; and the standard of
criticism on the part of the public, never high, — hiss-
ing, for example, has been voted bad form for years,
— has sunk during the War to zero or below it, so
that anything has of late been tolerated and even
applauded.
[174]
THE CIRCUS
This is a pity, for the spectacle of highly-trained
muscle and eye was always interesting and it made
for public health; which is more than can be said
of certain present-day popular forms of entertain-
ment. With the circus it would naturally come
back, and I for one deplore the absence of the magic
ring, and indeed marvel at it in a city so vast as
ours, with so many tastes to please and so many
children to amuse. For whatever may be the thrill
which the theatre can impart to a child, it is as
nothing campared with the excitement of being in a
circus.
Since what man has done man will do, and what
man has enjoyed man will enjoy, one may look con-
fidently to the day when a permanent circus will
again be established in London, as well patronised
as any of the old ones, from the days of Astley and
Ducrow to Hengler, or as Sanger's travelling shows
still are in the more fortunate provinces. If Paris
can maintain two circuses why should not London
support one?
The line of descent among the great London
circus-proprietors is very direct. Philip Astley
(1742-1814) was the first, and he was succeeded by
one of his best performers, Andrew Ducrow (1793-
1842), while Frederick Charles Hengler (1820-
1887), who built the last London circus to hold out,
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was the son of a tight-rope dancer to whom Ducrow
taught his glorious business.
To the great Astley we will turn later, by way of
crescendo, even though he is earliest in point of
time. Ducrow, born in Southwark, was the son
of a Belgian "strong man," who could lift with his
teeth a table on which four or five of his children
were seated ; while lying on his back it was nothing
to him to support on his hands and feet a platform
bearing eighteen Grenadiers. Is it any wonder that
Astley, engaging the father for his circus, billed
him as "The Flemish Hercules'"? At three years
of age young Ducrow began to be a Hercules too,
and then, in the fine thorough versatile way of circus
performers, proceeded to master all the other
branches of the profession — acrobatics, vaulting, rid-
ing, tight-rope walking, contortionism, and possibly
even humour, although the clown of the family was
his brother John — so that when only seven he was fit
to perform before the King, George III.
At the age of fifteen the boy Ducrow was taking
£10 a week from Astley as chief horseman and
tight-rope dancer, and five years later he became
his own manager, at the Royal Circus, Blackfriars
Road, where the Surrey Theatre now stands. After
a successful tour in Belgium and France, he settled
down in London as the joint-proprietor of Astley's
ampitheatre, and in his maturer years he was so
[176]
HISS RIDGI=:
AFTKR THE PlfTURK BY SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS IN THE TENNANT OAI.LERV
THE CIRCUS
popular with William IV that he fitted up a private
circus ring for him in the Dome at Brighton. In
1841 his Ampitheatre was destroyed by that great
enemy of circuses, fire, and he never rallied from the
blow, dying in 1842, and being followed to Kensal
Green by half London.
Among Ducrow's assistants was a tight-rope
dancer named Henry Hengler, who had three sons
to whom he passed on the mysteries of the circus
craft. All of these developed circuses in various
parts of England, Scotland and Ireland, and in
1871 Frederick Charles, the most energetic of them,
built a circus in Avgylt Street, which remained open
until quite recent times. The Palladium Music Hall
now stands on the site.
Reverting for a moment to Ducrow, before we
turn to his great predecessor, discoverer and em-
ployer, Philip Astley, I might say that for a long
time his mausoleum was one of the sights of Kensal
Green cemetery. Designed under his own supervi-
sion, the structure is pseudo-Egyptian in form with
guardian sphinxes. An owl broods over all, and a
riot of broken columns and fallen capitols symbolizes
mortality. The epitaph says that Ducrow's death
"deprived the arts and sciences of an eminent pro-
fessor and liberal {)atron." And so it did.
Ducrow being one of tlie earliest of the notable
men to be laid here, his tomb remained for long a
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spectacle; but it is now overshadowed. Many are
the imposing habitations of the dead; but there is
nothing here, amid all this exuberance of stone, that
so impresses the eye and the imagination as those
plain, massive, majestic sarcophagi of the Roths-
childs in the Jewish cemetery at Willesden.
After the order and legibility of Pere-la-Chaise,
Kensal Green is rather a shock. It is a forlorn
necropolis indeed, and nothing is done to assist the
pious pilgrim. The gate-keeper, it is true, lends
a numbered chart, but never have I been at the
capricious mercy of so incompetent a document.
Better perhaps to wander idly among the tombs-
and trust to chance for the trend of one's Harveyan
meditations. My own peregrinations in this way
brought me to the graves of John Smeaton, the
engineer; C. R. Leslie, the painter; William Mul-
ready, lying beneath a recumbent effigy of himself,
more like a bishop than an artist; John Cam Hob-
house, Byron's friend; John St. John Long, the
notorious patent-medicine-man, who invented a rem-
edy to cure consumption, but refusing to take it him-
self when threatened by that complaint, died at the
early age of thirty-six; George Cruikshank, the
satirical draughtsman ; George Birkbeck, the founder
of mechanics' institutes; Richard Valpy, the famous
schoolmaster, and members of his family, all of
whom were bent upon getting the classics into the
[•78]
THE CIRCUS
British schoolboy; the Princess Sophia, fifth daugh-
ter and fourteenth child of George III (1777-1848) ;
her brother, the Duke of Sussex (1773-1843), who
preferred to be buried here rather than at Windsor
with the rest of the Royal Family; Jean Francois
Gravelet Blondin, the tight-rope walker; and Allan
Gibson Steel, who bowled better than any amateur
of his day. — Such was my harvest.
What, however, I should also have seen had there
been a lucid map, was the grave of Thomas Hood,
the grave of Thackeray, and the grave of Anthony
Trollope. But I could not find them.
Ducrow, as we have seen, was a man of parts, and
Hengler had enterprise; but the great Astley was
more than that — he was a character and the author
of one of the immortal English sayings. After a
recent visit to the House of Commons, I have come
again to the conclusion that few of the sententiae
of the world have more virtue than this, his growled
command to his stage manager, "Cut the cackle and
come to the 'osses." There is hardly a moment of
the day when this rule of life could not profitably
be remembered. Every child should work it on a
sampler and read it on his mug; copy-books should
prefer it to the usual run of more arguable maxims;
patriotic plutocrats should pay for its insertion at
the top of The Times^ personal column; and wher-
ever there is an empty space on hoarding or wall, in
[179]
MOKE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
omnibuses or tubes, it should be emblazoned in let-
ters of gold. In all French railway carriages during
the War the passengers were warned to be silent
and suspicious, for the ears of the enemy were every-
where; so that ''Taisez-vous! mefiez-vous T' became
a catch-phrase in that country where catch-phrases
have ever prospered. Astley's deathless sentence
should be equally popular here, for never was the
recognition of its importance more necessary. "Cut
the cackle and come to the 'osses."
To Newcastle-under-Lyme belongs the honour of
Philip Astley's birth, in 1742, his father being a
cabinet-maker there. At the age, however, of seven-
teen (which would horrify some of our head-masters,
however much it pleased others) the boy turned his
back on chisel and plane and enlisted in General
Elliott's Light Horse, became remarkable as a rough-
rider and breaker-in, and so distinguished himself at
the battles of Ensdorf and Friedberg that his general
presented him with a favourite charger. With this
noble companion, known as "The Spanish Horse,"
Astley toured England, to exhibit the tricks that he
had taught him, which comprised unsaddling him-
self, washing his feet, removing a boiling kettle from
a flaming fire, and impersonating a waiter at a
tavern.
Never had a man a better friend. "The Spanish
Horse" (to anticipate a little) remained in Astley's
[180]
THE CIRCUS
service for forty-two years, and, on passing to Ast-
ley's successor at the Royal Ampitheatre, was care-
fully tended, two quarten loaves a day being pro-
vided for a toothless mouth that could no longer
manage corn; and when death at last came, his
hide (in order to perpetuate his memory) was tanned
and made into a thunder drum for the prompt side
of the theatre. I wonder if it exists still. Why is
there no museum of such old theatrical relics'?
From touring, Astley turned to circus and theatre
management in London. His first circus was at the
Lambeth end of Westminster Bridge, which grew
from humble unroofed beginnings into the Royal
Grove Ampitheatre. With various ups and downs
of fortune, he continued in this business to the end,
both in London and Paris (where he established the
cirque known afterwards as Franconi's), though on
the breaking out of the French Revolution he again
joined the Army, under the Duke of York, and not
only fought but was invaluable as a horse-transport
officer. He behaved also in a way that marks him
out especially as a forerunner of present-day meth-
ods, for he was thoughtful as to supplies of clothing
and other comforts to the troops. In the words of
one who knew him : "When he left this country he
took with him a very large strong chest, with bits of
broad-cloth, thread, needles, leather, bristles, wax,
irl fact everything useful in camp in that way;
[.8i]
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besides five hundred flannel jackets, and at the
corner of each of them was sewed in a shilling, that
in case they [the soldiers] should be in want of
money for refreshment they would know where they
might find a 'friend in need.' Previous to its being
got together, like a good tactician he called his com-
pany to the theatre and asked them what they would
yield as contents for the chest*? The ladies instantly
offered their services in making the jackets, which
was received very good-naturedly."
After this campaign he came back to a new Royal
Ampitheatre, on the site of the Lyceum Theatre, in
time to dress in the Windsor uniform and sit his
horse at the door of his establishment when the King
and Duke of York rode by in triumphant proces-
sion. The Duke and Mr. Astley saluting each other,
"the King was pleased to say to his son, 'Who is
that, Frederick'?' to which His Royal Highness im-
mediately replied, 'Mr. Astley, Sir, one of our good
friends, a veteran, one that fought in the German
War.' Upon this the King turned towards Mr. Ast-
ley and made a most courteous assent to him." The
incident, the chronicler continues, was "a theme of
exultation to Mr. Astley, and it was constant in his
remembrance for a long while."
Astley's houses of entertainment were famous not
only for horses but for the gigantic spectacles which
he devised and elaborated. Among his inventions
[182]
THE CIRCUS
I rather fancy that "real water" has to be included.
In his circuses he reigned supreme, a vain and
choleric martinet, who was, however, beloved by his
employees. In all his adversity — and through fire
alone he had more than his share — he remained
steadfastly honest. His name throughout England
became s}Tionymous with whatever was most daring
and exciting in horesmanship. Not only the best
showman, but the best horse-tamer of his time, he
never gave more than five pounds for a horse, nor
did he care what colour, shape or make it was:
temper was his only consideration. But when he
had done with the horse fifty pounds probably could
not buy it.
A contemporary account of the great man by one
of his company, from which I have already quoted,
calls him "very facetious and liberal." It adds that
"he was obstinate at times and would not give up
his opinion to any one, but very forgiving the mo-
ment after." He was inclined (like so many auto-
crats) to be a little deaf now and then. Riding was
naturally — since he was a circus genius — not his only
accomplishment. "One day, for a considerable
wager, he floated on liis back in the Thames, from
Westminster Bridge to Blackfriars, with a flag erect
in each hand." Brave times I Theatrical managers
never do these sporting things nowadays.
Philip Astley died in Paris in 1814, and was
[1S3]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
buried in Pere-la-Chaise. His son, "Young Astley,"
who had long assisted and then succeeded him, lived
only for seven years after, and Pere-la-Chaise guards
his dust too.
The great Astley built altogether nineteen amphi-
theatres; and what the old fellow's ghost can think
when he visits London now and finds not a single
circus for all her millions, who shall say*? 'Twixt
revue and revue no room for a charger to put even
his nose in ! Could his reflection be other than that
in cutting the 'osses to come to the cackle we have
not changed for the better*?
[184]
CHAPTER XIV
THE STATUES OF LONDON
V. MISCELLANEOUS
William Pitt — The University of London — Sages in stone
— A ducal agriculturist — Charles James Fox — Captain
Coram and the Foundlings — King George and Saint
George — Pinnacled figures — Reminders of Athens — The
Father of Reform — Mrs. Siddons — Paddington Church
and its dead — St. Mary-le-Bone and its dead — Hogarth
relics — A noble sportsman — From racing to politics —
Sir Thomas Clayton — Chelsea memorials — Thomas Guy,
miser and philanthropist.
IN previous chapters I have shown how far the
statues of London can be visited on any definite
plan. There are many others, but they are scattered.
I now enumerate all or most of these, but in no
particular order.
In Piccadilly Circus is Alfred Gilbert's memorial
fountain to Lord Shaftesbury, the philanthropist,
with its charming Cupid on the top.
In Golden Square is a statue of George II dressed
as a Roman.
In Hanover Square is a statue of William Pitt by
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Chantrey. Although Pitt died in 1806, it was not
until 1831 that this statue was erected. A party
opposed to the policy and achievements of that great
man even then tried to pull it down. This has been
called the best statue in London. It is certainly fine,
but I personally should bracket with it for excellence
the Gordon in Trafalgar Square, the Henry Irving
in Charing Cross Road, and the Beaconsfield in Par-
liament Square.
Such incidental busts as those, for example, upon
the fagades of the National Portrait Gallery and
the Royal Institute of Painters in Water Colours I
have disregarded; but the full-length statues at the
London University come perhaps within our scheme.
They also cover a wide field of human learning and
achievement. On the fagade of this building, in
Burlington Gardens, are, on the top, beginning at
the left, Galileo, La Place and Goethe. Then, in the
middle, Galen, Cicero, Aristotle, Plato, Archimedes
and Justinian. Then, on the right, David Hume,
John Hunter and Sir Humphry Davy; but all are so
high that they have no significance as portraits.
In the middle, on a lower level, are Sir Isaac
Newton, Jeremy Bentham (whom we are to meet
later under very peculiar circumstances), Milton and
Harvey. In lower niches to the left and right of the
facade are Cuvier, Liebnitz, Linnaeus, Locke, Bacon
and Adam Smith.
[186]
1
THE STATUES OF LONDON
In Russell Square is a statue of one of the great
family which owns the property hereabouts — Fran-
cis, the fifth Duke of Bedford (1765-1802). This
Duke, who never married, succeeded in 1771, and
took to politics as a Whig and Foxite. He was the
"Noble Lord" to whom Burke wrote the open letter
in defence of his pension, which the Duke had op-
posed, and in which the scorn levelled at the House
of Russell for its participation in royal grants was
blistering. "Everything of him and about him,"
said Burke, "is from the throne." It was this Duke
who demolished Bedford House in Bloomsbury,
which Inigo Jones had built, in order that Russell
Square and Bedford Square might come into being.
His tastes were in agriculture, and he spent huge
sums at Woburn in the improvement of stock and
the encouragement of husbandry. Hence the sym-
bolism of this statue, which sets one of his hands on
a plough and in the other places ears of corn. The
attendant children represent the four seasons, and
there are bas-reliefs in honour of rural occupations.
In Bloomsbury Square, almost within hailing dis-
tance, is the Duke's political leader, Charles James
Fox, erected in 1816. The great Whig is seated, and
his right hand holds Magna Charta. He is dressed
like a Roman senator.
Opposite the Foundling Hospital, at the ciul of
Lamb's Conduit, is a statue of Captain Thomas
[187]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Coram (1668-1751), the sturdy philanthropist who,
after some year§ spent in building ships and in
sailing ships and in studying emigration and the
American plantations, walking one day in the city
of London was struck by the number of infants ex-
posed in the streets in a dying condition. There-
upon he decided that something must be done for
them, and, after seventeen years' agitation, he in-
terested sufficient persons to obtain a charter for a
Foundling Hospital. The first refuge for these un-
desired castaways was in Hatton Garden; then, in
1742, the present building was begun. Later in life
the Captain, coming upon difficulties, was the re-
cipient of charity, which he accepted without any
loss of his fine independence, saying that since he
had never wasted his money in self-indulgence he
was not ashamed to be poor.
In South Square, Gray's Inn, is a statue of
Bacon.
On the summit of the tower of St. George's
Church, in Hart Street, is a statue of George I.
By what freak of folly it was possible to set a
Hanoverian where a saint should be, no one can
understand; but leave having been obtained, a
brewer M.P. named William Hucks hastened to
provide the money, and the King went up.
The architect of St. George's Church, a pupil and
assistant of Wren, named Nicholas Hawksmoor
[■88]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
(1661-1736), succeeded Gibbs as the superintendent
of the fifty new churches which were commissioned
at the close of Anne's reign, and he designed five or
six himself. St. Mary Woolnoth is considered his
best, while St. George's is certainly his most striking.
The steeple was intended to reproduce Pliny's de-
scription of the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, where
King Mausolus was buried.
Another church in this neighbourhood I might
mention here as having also an ancient origin —
St. Pancras in the Euston Road, the exterior of
which is an adaptation of the Ionic Temple of the
Erectheion or the Acropolis at Athens, while the
tower is modelled from the Temple of the Winds,
also in Athens. The building with the caryatides,
at the side, is borrowed from the Pandroseion at
Athens. Thus do the faiths ancient and modern
touch hands.
In Euston Square is a statue of Robert Stephenson
("1803-1859), the engineer. In the station itself, of
whose impressive portico Mr. Livens has made a
picture, is the greater Stephenson, George, the father
of the steam horse, and therefore destroyer of the
Tantivy Trot, for which I find it hard to forgive him.
At the south end of High Street, Camden Town, on
the site of the turnpike gate, is a statue of Richard
Cobden ('1804-1865), the Free Trader. The princi-
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pal subscriber to the fund for this memorial was
Napoleon III.
In Burton Crescent, Somers Town, is a statue of
Major John Cartwright (1740-1824), who died in
the contiguous house. Cartwright, who, after being
in the Navy, became a Major in the Militia, was
an energetic, far-sighted man in advance of his
time. He urged upon the country better home de-
fence and a stronger Navy, and was called the Father
of Reform from his activities to improve the political
representation of the people. He was privately a
friend of man too: on four occasions saving lives
from drowning, at the risk of his own.
In Park Crescent, Portland Place, is a statue of
the Duke of Kent, the father of Oueen Victoria.
In the centre of Paddington Green is a seated
statue not of Pretty Polly Perkins but of Mrs. Sid-
dons (1755-1831), whose grave is in the vast ceme-
tery behind the church. Most of the graves have
been removed, as is the case also in the great God's
Acre off the Bayswater Road; but that of the fa-
mous actress remains. This church, one of the many
St. Marys that London owns, is a quaint little build-
ing, enisled amid traffic. Dating only from 1791,
it has many tablets to eminent persons, not a few
of them artists. Old NoUekens, the sculptor and
miser, lies here; William Collins, the painter of
the pretty scenes of rural life which we saw at the
[190]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
Guildhall ; B. R. Haydon, the luckless, whose ambi-
tion so far transcended his powers; Schiavonetti,
the engraver; and Michael Bryan, who was the
painters' and engravers' biographer. Curran was
buried here in 1817, but his remains were carried
to Dublin in 1840. Hogarth was married in the
church which preceded the present one.
We find another Hogarthian relic at the finer
white stone church of St. Mary Le Bone in the
Marylebone Road, close to Dickens's Devonshire
Terrace house; for on one of the gallery pews are
the remains of an inscription which is to be read also
in the fifth scene of "The Rake's Progress," where
the Rake marries the wealthy old maid. In those
days, early in the eighteenth century, this church
was sufl^iciently far from London to be a kind of
convenient Gretna Green. The present building is
anew one, dating from 1741, and in its burial-ground
were many artists also laid: Allan Ramsay, the
portrait painter; Francis Wheatley, who designed
the famous "London Cries," which now, in their en-
graved form, fetch such vast sums at Christie's;
George Stubbs, who studied and painted horses as
none since have done; and here Sheridan was mar-
ried to the lovely Maria Linley; here Lord Byron
was baptised.
I might mention that St. Mary Le Bone is not, as
some have thought, a corruption of La Bonne, but
[■9']
MOKE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
it has reference to the Bourne, the stream also called
the T)^bourn, which once flowed here.
In Cavendish Square is a statue of Lord George
Bentinck (1802-1848), son of the fourth Duke of
Portland, on whose estate the square is situated.
Lord William George Frederick Cavendish Bentinck,
to give him his full name, was also nephew, by mar-
riage, of Canning. He was proficient at all sports,
but the passion of his life was racing. The Derby
never fell to him, but his mare Crucifix in 1840 won
the Oaks, the Thousand Guineas and the Two Thou-
sand Guineas. It nearly broke his heart when a
colt out of Crucifix, under other colours, won the
Blue Ribbon. Lord George not only raced, but
worked zealously to reform the race-course, and un-
doubtedly did much towards that improbable end.
He once fought a duel with Squire Osbaldeston,
whom we meet in the chapter on Lord's, over a bet.
Lord George, firing first and missing, remarked, "It's
now 2 to 1 in your favour." "The bet's off," said
the Squire, and discharged his pistol into the air.
In 1845 Lord George, suddenly becoming serious,
took to politics against Free Trade. To the end of
his short life he remained a vigorous Protectionist.
Disraeli wrote his biography.
At the head of Regent Street is a statue of Quintin
Hogg (1845-1903), who founded the adjacent Poly-
technic.
[192]
CHRIST BLESSING CHILDREN
AFTKR THE BELIEF BV I. FLAX.MAN AT I NIVKRSITV COLLEGE
THE STATUES OF LONDON
At Knightsbridge is an equestrian statue of Hugh
Henry, Lord Strathnairn (1801-1885), one of the
heroes of the Indian Mutiny.
Outside the Brompton Oratory is a statue of
Cardinal Newman (1801-1890).
Opposite the Westminster City Schools in Palace
Street is the statue of Sir Sydney Hedley Waterlow
(1822-1906), who was chairman of the Board of
Governors. Another statue of Sir Sydney is in
Waterlow Park, Highgate, which he presented to
London.
At St. Thomas's Hospital are statues of Edward
VI and of Sir Robert Clayton (1629-1707), a city
merchant and Lord Mayor, who helped to rebuild
the Hospital and left it a handsome legacy. He
was also a patron of Christ's Hospital.
At the London Hospital is a statue of Queen
Alexandra.
Outside the Tate Gallery at Millbank is a statue
of the painter Sir John Everett Millais, P.R.A.
In the garden of the Brixton Library is a bronze
bust of Sir Henry Tate (1819-1899), who presented
the Tate Gallery to the nation.
On the Chelsea Embankment there are three
memorials. One is a statue of Thomas Carlyle
(1795-1881) near his house in Cheyne Row; while
on the house itself. No. 24, is a medallion of him.
One commemorates the officers and nun of the 6th
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Dragoon Guards who fell in South Africa; and the
third is a drinking fountain in honour of Dante Ga-
briel Rossetti (1828-1882), the artist and poet, who
lived in the opposite house for many years. In the
Chelsea Physic Gardens is a statue of Sir Hans
Sloane (1660-1753).
At Guy's Hospital, in the courtyard in Lant
Street, is a statue of Thomas Guy (1644-1724), the
founder. It is a common error to think of Guy as
a physician; on the contrary, he was a bookseller.
He made his fortune chiefly by the sale of the
Bible, and increased it with more shrewdness than
that book might have sanctioned. Notoriously
niggardly, he is said to have cancelled his design
of marrying his servant girl because, after he had
given her directions as to the repair of the pavement
before his shop, "she thoughtlessly desired the
paviors to extend their operations beyond the stone
he had marked." Terrified of what might happen
with such a spendthrift as a helpmeet, he prudently
remained single, or wedded only to his wealth.
Fortunately, however, Guy was philanthropically
bent. For many years he maintained some alms-
houses at Tamworth, where his childhood was spent,
and in 1701 he gave the place a Town Hall; while
he was also kind in a private capacity to many de-
serv'ing persons. In 1704 he began to be interested
in St. Thomas's Hospital, which in those days was
[194]
THE STATUES OF LONDON
not opposite the Houses of Parliament but at South-
wark, and it was the realisation of how many more
sick people existed in the neighbourhood than could
be relieved by this institution that led him to found
a separate but adjacent one. The sale of his South
Sea stock at an enormous profit provided the funds,
and in 1721 he began his operations and Guy's Hos-
pital gradually arose. His fortune, at his death,
turned out to be immense, sufficient not only to en-
dow this Hospital with £200,000, but also to assist
other charities, to leave ninety cousins about a thou-
sand pounds apiece, and to make numerous persons
not related to him happy, at any rate momentarily.
Finally, let me note there is a statue of Col. Sam-
uel Bourne Bevington (1832-1907), first Mayor of
Bermondsey, almost opposite St. Olave's School, one
of the most charming of London's modern red brick
buildings, at the south end of the Tower Bridge.
No doubt I have omitted some memorials, and
of course others are always in course of erection.
In new editions of this book these will be added.
[195]
CHAPTER XV
SERMONS IN STONES
The Geological Museum — A house of few visitors — When
England was a zoo — The romance of geology — Treas-
ures beneath the foot — Matlock spar — A Jurassic thrill
— Serpentine workers — The lovely Cuillin Hills — Nug-
gets and jewels — The solar system.
HOW many times I have walked along Jermyn
Street and passed the portals of the Geologi-
cal Museum, I cannot say. Thousands, for certain.
And now, for the first time, I have entered them, not
because I am geologically bent, and not (which is,
I am told, one of the chief uses of the building) to
meet a lady in a quiet spot; but solely from a sense
of duty to readers of this book. In, as I say, I
went, and in a few minutes I knew more about the
stratifications of Great Britain than I had ever
thought possible, and, wandering without method
and unembarrassed by even a little knowledge of the
science to which this temple is dedicated, I was
wholly entertained.
But what a curious place I I was the only visitor.
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SERMONS IN STONES
There were no assignators; no gay or morose de-
ceivers; no ladies in thick veils fittingly discovering
here that in place of a heart the man had (like
all men) a stone; nothing but dejected attendants,
two or three workmen, and a brace of portly mem-
bers of the constabulary force. A confirmed pessi-
mist had taken away my stick lest I should do dam-
age with it, but I was conscious that the eyes of the
law were none the less on me all the time. As inno-
cent as a war baby, I yet felt a guilty rash creeping
over me. So it is to be alone in a geological museum
in spy-time and look unlike a geologist.
No museum, I hold, can be uninteresting, and the
Geological Museum is more interesting than many.
The galleries of the spacious light top room are
fascinating, for they contain fossils from English
soil by the aid of which one can repopulate our island
with strange creatures no longer in existence. As
an example I will mention the remains of a hippo-
{)otamus found at Barrington, Cambridge; and not
a member of a travelling menagerie, either, but a
genuine denizen of the neighbourhood aeons ago, be-
fore trunks had fallen from horses' noses. Near by,
from Kentish ground, is a prehistoric Briton's skull
so flat as to make it certain that Mr. Hall Caine is
at any rate of a later formation. Geologists, you see,
have more fun than we others. All that we do is
to walk about upon the surface of the earth, on
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
roads and paths and meadows. But they dig or chip,
compelling the clay and the rock to tell them secrets
and reveal the past. They are the resurrection-men
of genius; and busts of them are to be seen in Jermyn
Street by the score: venerable and gifted men with
beards and impressive names. They do not look as
if their lives were one long romance and thrill ; but so
it was, none the less, any moment being capable of
yielding a treasure. In the old fable, whenever An-
tffius, the son of the earth, fell, and thus touched his
mother, he gained strength; so that in a wrestling
match his antagonist, perceiving this, held him high
until he was exhausted. I think of these geologists
as each an Antceus. Could one of them ever bring
himself to aviated Surely not.
One of the first thoughts to strike the visitor con-
cerns the unexpected riches of our own country. One
has naturally come to suppose that anything in a
museum that is beautiful or gloriously coloured must
come from a foreign land. That is the general rule.
But here are delicate quartzes and prismatic stones,
transparent or opaque, all in their own way mys-
teriously beautiful, whether purple fluorites or agates
or stalbites, and all English: all found in our own
unromantic country. Ordinarily, it is understood,
beauty and romance begin at Calais, Boulogne or
Dieppe, but here it is proved that the visitor to Mat-
lock, for instance, if he only knew it, always has
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SERMONS IN STONES
his feet just above exquisite treasure. Matlock seems
to be builded upon subterranean loveliness. This
museum, indeed, makes England a new place. Five
or six summers ago I was cruising about Poole Har-
bour, bathing in Studland Bay, rambling about Corfe
Castle, and never thinking of what was below. But
a model of the Isle of Purbeck, here in Jermyn
Street, shows me that all the time there were beneath
me not merely peat and moss and macadam, but
tertiary rocks, or upper cretaceous rocks, or lower
cretaceous rocks, or even Jurassic rocks. Exciting
thought! Never before have I associated my own
life with anything Jurassic.
Again, not very long ago, I was looking into the
windows of serpentine workers all about the Land's
End and the Lizard, and wondering how they got
their living, and if one was any better than another,
and why they all so punctiliously made exactly the
same things; and here, in Jermyn Street, I found a
case filled with specimens of all the serpentines there
are, except the one in Hyde Park. In another case
are samples of the stones and sand and gravel and
pebbles to be found under St. Paul's, that threatened
fane, and not far away is the head of a stone
prophet from the edifice itself, all weather-worn into
furrows of thoughtfulness and despair, placed here
to instruct the student as to the detrimental effects
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
of London's soot and wind and rain upon ecclesi-
astical sculpture.
In another place I found a delightful patchwork
of rainbow tints, which anywhere else would repre-
sent the more picturesque internal regions of the
human frame to illustrate a medical treatise, but is
here the Island of Skye, with all its varied forma-
tions beyond mistake; and the beautiful Cuillin
Hills, which I saw not so long ago from one of
David MacBrayne's steamers, on my way to Harris,
are here all kinds of hues, according to their stratifica-
tion. Hitherto I have thought of Skye as a fairy
island, with a hotel in it where a most admirable
whisky is to be obtained and a very needful night's
rest; but henceforward I shall see it also as a mar-
vellous assemblage of rocks and soils.
What else do I remember? I remember a model
of the Welcome nugget from Ballarat, valued with
intense precision at £8376. 10s. lod,, and who would
have thought there could be ten pennyworth of gold?
I remember dazzling jewels in cases N and O: here
frostily ticketed, and destined, I suppose, unless they
should be looted, never to repose on warm bosoms
or to grace slender fingers or depend from pretty
ears; and I remember a series of little glass cases,
placed apparently capriciously, but really with most
thoughtful precision, here and there by the railings
of the top gallery, to illustrate the bewildering and
[200]
SERMONS IN STONES
indeed ungraspable immensity of the solar system.
By means of pins' heads of varying sizes, to the scale
of one foot to a million miles (nothing more diffi-
cult to realize than that!) and a gilt globe the size
of a football at the far end of the room, the visitor
is playfully put in possession of a fit of cosmic diz-
ziness, and reminded more forcibly than usual that
this planet on which we fret our little lives away
for seventy years or so is not precisely all.
[201]
CHAPTER XVI
THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY
The Society of Arts — An Irish painter — Mural allegories —
"The Death of Wolfe" — Dr. Burney and the Thames —
Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Montagu — A scene in the Ely-
sian Fields — International immortals — Hanway's im-
pulse — Barry at work — Barry at play — A firebrand at
the Academy — Dr. Monro and his artists — Garrick's
house — Boswell at his happiest — Dr. Johnson at his best
— The Adelphi to-day.
THE most imposing of the original Adelphi
houses that still remain is that of the Society
of Arts in John Street; and into this we will wander,
for here are Barry's mural decorations which once
were the wonder of London. The Society, I should
say, was founded in 1754 to encourage the Arts,
Manufactures and Commerce of Great Britain. At
first its offices were in Crane Court; and then later,
after two or three removals, it came, in 1774, to this
house, built by the brothers Adam.
James Barry was born in Cork in 1741. He was
discovered and brought from Ireland by Edmund
Burke, who introduced him to Reynolds. Both these
[202]
THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY
great men did what they could for him ; but being of
unruly disposition, always trailing his coat and spoil-
ing for a fight, Barry was a difficult man to help.
On returning from Rome, whither his two friends
sent him to study, he painted with great vigour and
uttered his opinions with greater; and it was by
sheer force of determination and belief in himself
(for after a while men who are persistent enough
can be taken at their own valuation) that he induced
the Society of Arts to permit him to cover the walls
of this, their new building in the Adelphi with a
series of paintings in the manner of the Vatican.
The task occupied six years ; all London went to see
it, and Barry, had he wished it and behaved accord-
ingly, could have done anything. But he was born
angular, and remained so.
The six pictures, which may be seen at this day
by the courtesy of the Society, were (in the painter's
own words, for he himself wrote an explanation and
eulogy of them) designed to illustrate the truth that
"the attainment of happiness, individual as well as
public, depends on the development, proper cultiva-
tion and perfection of the human faculties physical
and moral." How did Barry perform this task"? He
began with a representation of Orpheus with his
lute reclaiming mankind from savagery. Orpheus,
I may say, is nude. Barry was indeed so partial to
the nude that, as a satire on Benjamin West's famous
[203]
MOKE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
picture of the "Death of Wolfe," where every one
is ahnost fashionably arrayed, he sent to the Acad-
emy a "Death of Wolfe" in which nobody had any-
thing on at all.
The second picture shows us a Grecian harvest-
home, in which we discern the processes of agri-
culture, or husbandry, the escond stage in civilisation.
The third picture is larger: "The Victors of
Olympus." Here we see both brawn and brain in
the highest, for not only do athletes receive their
prizes, but Pericles, painted by Barry to resemble
the great Chatham, is a prominent figure, while the
musician who accompanies the children as they chant
one of the odes of Pindar, is Pindar himself. The
figure at the base of the statue of Hercules is Mr.
Barry.
Then comes the Thames picture, which, whatever
the intention, is only comic. In the car, which
Father Thames is driving or steering along himself,
or at any rate upon the surface of his own river, are
Drake, Raleigh, Cabot, and the circumnavigating
Captain Cook, who was just in time to be included
among them. The four figures represent the four
continents. Actually in the water, among nereids
and tritons appropriate enough to that element, is an
elderly gentleman in the ordinary clothes of an eld-
erly gentleman in London in the seventeen seventies:
none other than the musician Dr. Burney. "The
[204]
THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY
sportive appearance" of some of the nymphs is ex-
plained by Barry to be due, not to the presence of
Dr. Burney among them, but to the artist's wish to
give variety to the picture and "to show that an
extensive commerce is sometimes found subversive of
the foundations of virtue." Without this assistance
no spectator might have thought so. The odd tower
on the rock is explained by Barry to be "a naval
pillar, mausoleum, observatory, and lighthouse, all
of which are comprehended in the same structure."
This "by a flight of imagination, no less classically
happy than singularly original" (I am still quoting
the artist's words) "the tritons or sea gods them-
selves appear to have erected as a compliment to
the first naval power." How necessary it is to be
provided with a key when inspecting allegories, these
pictures abundantly prove.
Allegory, however, has a breathing space in the
next picture, which represents the Society of Arts in
Barry's day and some of the recipients of their
awards. The President is Lord Romney. Near him
is that model of the virtues, the Prince of Wales,
afterwards George IV. The founder, Mr. Shipley,
holds a manuscript; the secretary, Mr. More, holds
a {)rn. In the centre is one of Dr. Johnson's blue-
stockings, Mrs. Montagu, and the Doctor himself
(who sat for this portrait but has left us nothing
very illuminating about Barry) "seems to be," in the
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
artist's phrase, "pointing out the example of Mrs.
Montagu" to the attention of the Duchess of Rut-
hmd and the Duchess of Devonshire. The picture
within the picture is not by Benjamin West or Sir
Joshua or any of those other fellows, but is Barry's
own "Fall of Lucifer," a work which, had he ob-
tained his way, he would have contributed to the
decoration of St. Paul's Cathedral.
The next, another large picture, is a contrast with
the preceding one. In that the Society made its
earthly awards; in this the immortals are honoured
in the Elysian Fields. I quote an analysis of this
scene by Sir Henry Trueman Wood, a late secretary
to the Society: "The first group on the left consists
of Roger Bacon, Archimedes, Descartes, and Thales;
behind them stands Sir Francis Bacon, Copernicus,
Galileo, and Sir Isaac Newton; near. these is Colum-
bus with a chart of his voyage; and close to him
Epaminondas with his shield, Socrates, Cato the
younger, the elder Brutus, and Sir Thomas More.
Behind Brutus is William Molyneux, holding his
book of the Case of Ireland; near Columbus are Lord
Shaftesbury, John Locke, Zeno, Aristotle and
Plato; and in the opening between this group and
the next are Dr. William Harvey, the discoverer of
the circulation of the blood, and Robert Boyle. King
Alfred is leaning on the shoulder of William Penn,
who is showing his code of laws to Lycurgus; stand-
[206]
THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY
ing round them are Minos, Trajan, Antoninus, Peter
the Great of Russia, Edward the Black Prince,
Henry the Fourth of France, and Andrea Doria of
Genoa. Then come patrons of genius, Lorenzo de
Medici, Louis the Fourteenth, Alexander the Great,
Charles the First, Colbert, Leo the Tenth, Francis
the First, the Earl of Arundel, and the illustrious
Monk Cassiodorus; behind the archangel are Pascal
and Bishop Butler, behind whom again is Bossuet,
his hand resting on the shoulder of Origen. Behind
Francis the First and Lord Arundel are Hugo Gro-
tius. Father Paul and Pope Adrian."
"Near the centre" (here the description from the
Society's "Transactions" is followed), "towards the
top of the picture, sits Homer; on his right hand
Milton, next to him Shakespeare, Spenser, Chaucer,
and Sappho; behind her sits AIcjeus, who is talking
with Ossian; near him are Menander, Moliere, Con-
greve, Bruma, Confucius, Mango Caj^ac, etc. Next
Homer, on the other side, is the Archbishop of
Cambray, with Virgil leaning on his shoulder; and
near them Tasso, Ariosto, and Dante. Behind
Dante, Petrarch, Laura, Giovanni, and Boccaccio.
In the second range of figures, over Edward the
Bhuk Princ(; and Peter the Great, are Swift, Eras-
mus, and Cervantes; near them l\)pe, Dryden, Addi-
son, and Richardson. B(hind Diyilcn anti Pope are
Sterne, Gray, Goldsmith, Thomson, and Fielding;
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MOKE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
and near Richardson, Inigo Jones, Sir Christopher
Wren and \'andyke. Next Vandyke is Rubens,
with his hand on the shoulder of Le Seur; behind him
is Le Brun; next are Giulio Romano, Domenichino,
and Annibale Carrachi, who are in conversation with
Phidias, behind whom is Giles Hussey. Nicolas
Poussin and the Sicyonian maid are near them, with
Callimachus and Pamphilus; near Apelles is Cor-
reggio; behind Raphael stand Michael Angelo and
Leonardo da Vinci ; and behind them Ghiberti, Don-
atello, Massachio, Brunalleschi, Albert Diirer,
Giotto, Cimabue, and Hogarth. In the other corner
of the picture the artist has represented Tartarus,
where, among cataracts of fire and clouds of smoke,
two large hands are seen ; one of them holding a fire-
fork, the other pulling down a number of figures
bound together by serpents, representing War, Glut-
tony, Extravagance, Detraction, Parsimony, and
Ambition ; and floating down the fiery gulph are
Tyranny, Hypocrisy, and Cruelty, with their proper
attributes."
It will be agreed that Barry spared no pains to
be thorough.
The pictures being finished in 1784, the public
was invited, and Barry became a lion. The Society
generously gave him, in addition to his money, a
bonus of £200 and the proceeds of the exhibition,
which we know were not inconsiderable. Jonas
[208]
THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY
Hanway, for example, who introduced the umbrella
into England, was so pleased with the pictures that
he made up his sixpence or shilling entrance fee to a
guinea. Barry was also allowed to etch the series,
and his work in that way may be seen on ithe
Society's staircase. It is rather harsh and suggests
indifferent Blake, but it brought him in a certain
additional revenue. The Society's housekeeper told
Haydon, himself not the most amenable of men and
painters, that Barry's violence while on his task was
dreadful, his oaths horrid, and his temper like in-
sanity. He sometimes arrived with his etching tools
at five in the morning and remained till eleven at
night. But when, she said, he was coaxed and in a
good humour his conversation was sublime. There
is also, to the credit side of Barry's account, a most
agreeable description by Allan Cunningham of the
painter as host in his lodging, and Burke as guest.
" 'Sir,' said Barry, 'you know I live alone; but if
you will come and help me to eat a steak, I shall
have it tender and hot from the most classic market
in London — that of Oxford.' The day and the hour
came, and Burke, arriving at No. 36 Castle Street,
found Barry ready to receive him. The fire was
burning brightly, the steak was put on to broil, and
Barry, having spread a clean clotli on the table, put
a pair of tongs in the hands of Burke, saying, 'Be
useful, my dear friend, and look to the steak till I
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fetch the porter.' Burke did as he was desired; the
]iainter soon returned with the porter in his hand,
exclaiming, 'What a misfortune I the wind carried
away the fine foaming top as I crossed Titchfield-
street.' They sat down together; the steak was ten-
der, and done to a moment. The artist was full of
anecdote, and Burke often declared that he never
spent a happier evening in his life."
Barry, while still at work on his Society of Arts
series, was appointed Professor of Painting at the
Royal Academy ; but he did not distinguish himself
in that post, except as a critic of his fellow-painters,
not excluding Sir Joshua, the President, himself. In
fact, Barry was the kind of man who is always right,
while others, and particularly those in his own pro-
fession, were always wrong: a type not yet extinct.
His eccentricities were endless, even to placing on the
table whenever he dined out a sum of money (never
exceeding two shillings) to pay what he considered
to be the price of the meal, so that he might thus
flatter himself that he had retained his independence.
Things came to such a pass in his growing hostility
to other artists that when his lodgings were broken
into and £400 were stolen, Barry posted a notice on
his door stating that the theft was committed by the
remaining thirty-nine R.A.s. His venom becoming
unbearable, he was expelled from the Academy in
1799.
[210]
THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY
The unhappy man lived for only seven years more,
unkempt and solitar}% brooding on his wrongs,
consumed with bitterness at the thought of success-
ful rivals, and projecting various grandiose schemes
of painting which never came to anything. He is
described by Sir Martin Archer Shee as "a little
ordinary man, not in the most graceful deshabille,
a dirty shirt, without any cravat, his neck open, and
a tolerable length of beard ; his stockings, not of the
purest white in the world, hanging about his heels."
As he grew older he retired farther and farther from
human society. The Society of Arts remained his
friend, not only calling a meeting at which £1000
was subscribed for him, but providing a place for
his poor body to lie in state in after his miserable
death. He was buried in St. Paul's.
At the foot of the stairs of the Society of Arts is
the statue of a florid Meredithian figure named Dr.
Joshua Ware, of whom I should like to know more.
The most beautiful house in the Adelphi is Alli-
ance House in Adam Street, looking down John
Street. The most famous house, now transformed
into the Little Theatre, is that built for Mr. Coutts
at the back of his bank in the Strand. Robert Street
was arranged to lie as it does in order that Mr.
Coutts, standing at his southern windows, might
have a view over the river to the heights of Syden-
ham.
[2.1]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
The Adelphi has had many illustrious inhabitants
and frequenters; but what to my mind is the most
interestingly haunted of its houses is unmarked by
a tablet. This is No. 8 Adelphi Terrace, where Dr.
Thomas Monro (1759-1833), that admirable physi-
cian, acted as host and patron to the more promising
of the young water-colour artists of his day, and
particularly the youthful Turner, the youthful Gir-
tin (who, alas! did not live long enough to be more
than youthful), and the ill-fated John Robert Coz-
ens, that great water-colour pioneer. Hither also
came Cotman, Peter de Wint and Varley, all wel-
comed by the Doctor and helped by him.
' One Adelphi memory I feel cannot possibly be
excluded from this book, since it involves several of
the best of Londoners, makes No. 5 Adelphi Terrace
a more vital spot, records one of the happiest days
in Boswell's life, and shows Dr. Johnson at his best.
No book on London can have too much about John-
son in it.
The day was Friday, April 20, 1781. Garrick
was no more; but Mrs. Garrick still lived in the
house where he had died two years earlier. Says
Boswell: "On Friday, April 20, I spent with him
one of the happiest days that I remember to have
enjoyed in the whole course of my life. Mrs. Gar-
rick, whose grief for the loss of her husband was,
I believe, as sincere as wounded affection and ad-
[212]
K
r
n
V,
1
(/I
o
r
2
r,
<
o
H
THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY
miration could produce, had this day, for the first
time since his death, a select party of his friends to
dine with her. The company was, Miss Hannah
More, who lived with her, and whom she called her
Chaplain; Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Elizabeth Carter,
Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Burney, Dr. Johnson, and
myself.
"We found ourselves very elegantly entertained
at her house in the Adelphi, where I have passed
many a pleasing hour with him 'who gladdened life.'
She looked well, talked of her husband with com-
placency, and while she cast her eyes on his por-
trait, which hung over the chimney-piece, said, that
'death was now the most agreeable object to her.'
The very semblance of David Garrick was cheering.
Mr. Beauclerk, with happy propriety, inscribed un-
der that fine portrait of him, which by Lady Diana's
kindness is now the property of my friend Mr. Lang-
ton, the following passage from his beloved Shake-
speare :
"... A merrier man.
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal.
His eye begets occasion for his wit ;
For every object that the one doth catch
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest;
Which his f;iir tongue (Conceit's expositor)
Delivers in such :ij>t and gracious words,
[213]
MORK WANDERINGS IN LONDON
I
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravished ;
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.'
We were all in fine spirits; and I whispered to Mrs.
Boscawen, 'I believe this is as much as can be made
of life.'
"In addition to a splendid entertainment, we were
regaled with Lichfield ale, which had a peculiar ap-
propriate value. Sir Joshua, and Dr. Burney, and
I, drank cordially of it to Dr. Johnson's health; and
though he would not join us, he as cordially an-
swered, 'Gentlemen, I wish you all as well as you
do me,'
"The general effect of this day dwells upon my
mind in fond remembrance, but I do not find much
conversation recorded. What I have preserved shall
be faithfully given. One of the company mentioned
Mr. Thomas Hollis, the strenuous Whig, who used
to send over Europe presents of democratical books,
with their boards stamped with daggers and caps of
liberty. Mrs. Carter said, 'He was a bad man : he
used to talk uncharitably.' Johnson. 'Pohl poh!
Madam; who is the worse for being talked of un-
charitably? Besides, he was a dull poor creature as
ever lived: and I believe he would not have done
harm to a man whom he knew to be of very opposite
principles to his own. I remember once at the
Society of Arts, when an advertisement was to be
[214]
THE ALE..PHI AND JAMES BARRY
drawn up, he pointed me out as the man who could
do it best. This, you will observe, was kindness to
me. I however slipt away and escaped it.' Mrs.
Carter having said of the same person, 'I doubt he
was an Atheist.' Johnson. 'I don't know that.
He might perhaps have become one, if he had had
time to ripen, (smiling). He might have exuberated
into an Atheist.'
"Sir Joshua Reynolds praised Mudge's Sermons.
Johnson. 'Mudge's Sermons are good, but not
practical. He grasps more sense than he can hold;
he takes more corn than he can make into meal;
he opens a wide prospect, but it is so distant, it is
indistinct. I love Blair's Sermons. Though the dog
is a Scotchman, and a Presbyterian, and every thing
he should not be, I was the first to praise them. Such
was my candour' (smiling). Mrs. Boscawen.
'Such his great merit, to get the better of your preju-
dices.' Johnson. 'Why, Madam, let us compound
the matter; let us ascribe it to my candour, and his
merit.'
"In the evening we had a large company in the
drawing-room; several ladies, the Bishop of Killaloe,
Dr. Percy, Mr. Chamberlayne of the Treasury, etc.
etc. Somebody said, the life of a mere literary man
could not be very entertaining. Johnson. 'But it
certainly may. This is a remark which has been
made, and repeated, without justice; why should the
[215]
MOKE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
life of a literary man be less entertaining than the
life of any other man? Are there not as interesting
varieties in such a life? As a literary life it may
be very entertaining.' Boswi-ll. 'But it must be
better surely, when it is diversified with a little
active variety — such as his having gone to Jamaica:
— or — his having gone to the Hebrides.' Johnson
was not displeased at this.
"Talking of a very respectable author, he told us
a curious circumstance in his life which was, that
he had married a printer's devil. Reynolds. 'A
Printer's devil, Sir I Why, I thought a printer's
devil was a creature with a black face and in rags.'
Johnson. 'Yes, Sir. But I suppose he had her face
washed and put clean clothes on her. (Then look-
ing very serious and very earnest). And she did not
disgrace him; — the woman had a bottom of good
sense.' The word bottom thus introduced, was so
ludicrous when contrasted with his gravity, that
most of us could not forbear tittering and laughing;
though I recollect that the Bishop of Killaloe kept
his countenance with perfect steadiness, while Miss
Hannah More slyly hid her face behind a lady's
back who sat on the same settee with her. His
pride could not bear that any expression of his should
excite ridicule, when he did not intend it; he there-
fore resolved to assume and exercise despotick power,
glanced sternly around, and called out in a strong
[216]
THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY
tone, 'Where's the merriment?' Then collecting
himself, and looking awful, to make us feel how
he could impose restraint, and as it were searching
his mind for a still more ludicrous word, he slowly
pronounced, T say the woman was fundamentally
sensible;' as if he had said, hear this now, and laugh
if you dare. We all sat composed as at a funeral.
"He and I walked away together; we stopped a
little while by the rails of the Adelphi, looking on
the Thames, and I said to him with some emotion,
that I was now thinking of two friends we had lost,
who once lived in the buildings behind us, Beauclerk
and Garrick. 'Ay, Sir, (said he tenderly,) and two
such friends as cannot be supplied.' "
The Adelphi is still a favourite abode of men of
letters, for it is central yet retired, and the broth-
ers Adam planned rooms of peculiar comfort. At
this moment were a Zeppelin to destroy this secluded
district and all its inhabitants, the world would be
poorer at any rate by the loss of its most fanciful
and freakishly humorous playwright and of its most
iconoclastic and provocative playwright. There are
others too; but I name no names.
[217]
CHAPTER XVII
THE SOCIETY OF ARTS' TABLETS
The houses of the illustrious — Byron's various London
dwellings — Madame d'Arblay and Sir Walter — The
Flaxman Gallery — Jeremy Bentham — A strange will —
Every man his own statue — Life in death — A Univer-
sity College reception — Hogarth's house at Chiswick —
Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
SINCE it was the Society of Arts which in 1866
began the laudable practice of setting up me-
morial tablets on London houses famous as the homes
of eminent persons, let us now see to what extent the
work has been carried out.
Taking the Society's tablets in alphabetical order,
we come first to that of Joanna Baillie ( 1762-1851 )
the playwright, at Bolton House, Windmill Hill,
Hampstead. Joanna is no longer read, I fear. In-
deed, I should be surprised to find that any of her
writings are in print.
Next, at 36 Castle Street, where he had his de-
plorable lodgings, is a tablet to the Society's own
painter, James Barry, of whom I have said enough.
[218]
TH^^ SOCIETY OF ARTS' TABLETS
50 Wimpole Street, where Elizabeth Barrett
Browning (1806-1861) once lived, and where
Browning courted her. From here she ran away to
be married.
19 Warwick Crescent, Paddington, the later home
of Robert Browning (1812-1889) after his wife's
death. The canal reminded him of Venice.
37 Gerrard Street, Soho, where Edmund Burke
( 1729-1797) lived. This house is now a restaurant.
16 Holies Street, Oxford Street, where Lord By-
ron (1788-1824) was born. The house being pulled
down in 1889, the occupiers of the business premises
now occupying its site, Messrs. Lewis & Sons, erected
the bronze relief that now marks the place. Another
memorial to Byron, also erected privately, is to be
seen at No. 8 St. James's Street, over Pope Roach's,
the chemist. In that memorial his romantic bust is
seen, and beneath are the words "The Pilgrim of
Eternity." He was at this address at odd times from
1808 to 1814, for when in London he preferred to
move about in a very pilgrim-like way and was often
at hotels — Gordon's and Dorant's in Albemarle
Street, for example, — rather than in rooms. Among
his other lodgings was No. 2 The Albany. After
his marriage he took 13 Piccadilly Terrace, later 139
Piccadilly, where, by courtesy of its present owner,
the poets now meet to read their works in public.
Two houses that are still practically as they were
[219]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
when Byron used to visit them are Mr. Murray's,
at 50A Albemarle Street, and 22 St. James's Place,
where Rogers lived.
37 Conduit Street, a home of George Canning
(1770-1827) the statesman and satirist.
263 Hampstead Road, the home of George Cruik-
shank (1792-1878) the illustrator.
1 1 Bolton Street, Piccadilly, where Fanny Burney,
afterwards Madame d'Arblay (1752-1840), dwelt
on settling down in London as a widow in 1818. It
was here that Sir Walter Scott, with Rogers, visited
the famous old lady and, to his great pleasure, was
told by her that she wished to meet but two persons,
himself and Canning.
Furnival's Inn, since pulled down, the first home
of Charles Dickens (1812-1870) after his marriage.
Here he wrote part of Pickwick, but nothing remains
to mark the real spot. A little later I shall have
more to say about Dickens's London homes.
43 Gerrard Street, Soho, where John Dryden
(1631-1700) lived. It is now rebuilt. The street
has become a stronghold of the Cinema industry,
and the poet's house is a film producer's offices.
2 Blandford Street, Portman Square, where
Michael Faraday (1791-1867), the great chemical
investigator, was apprenticed to a bookseller.
7 Burlington Street, Fitzroy Square, the home of
John Flaxman (1755-1826) the sculptor. Of Flax-
[220]
TKK SOCIETY OF ARTS' TABLETS
man little is heard to-day; but no one can visit the
Flaxman collection at University College without
an enrichment of vision. There are, in the upper
corridors of that building, let into the wall, a large
number of Flaxman's casts, many of them of great
beauty, and all marked by his fine qualities of sin-
cerity. I reproduce one in this volume. There are
also a number of his drawings.
While we are at University College let me say
that here is to be found the oddest thing in London.
We have seen, on the fagade of the London Uni-
versity, in Burlington Gardens, a statue of Jeremy
Bcntham, the jurist and philosopher; well, we may
see here Bentham himself. But first a word as to
that curious creature of pure intellect.
Jeremy Bentham, who was born in Houndsditch
in 1748, the son of an attorney and the great-
grandson of a pawnbroker, began to study Latin
at four, read Rapin's History of England while
still unbreeched, and at five was known as "The
Philosopher." At seven he went to Westminster,
and at twelve to Oxford. At sixteen he took his
degree and began to read for the Bar; at nineteen he
left Oxford, which he had found chiefly the home
of "insincerity and mendacity," and began his career
as a social inquirer. The rest of his long life, spent
chiefly in London and lasting until 1832, was occu-
pied almost exclusively in ponderings for the good
[221]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
of the State. His works are numerous, and in the
strong room of University College are notes for yet
myriad more, and all of them have this altruistic pur-
pose. Perhaps the best is The Introduction of Prin-
ciples of Morals to Legislation^ an avowed attempt
to secure the greatest happiness of the greatest num-
ber of the community.
Bentham's home was in Queen's Square, Blooms-
bury, which is still one of the quietest of London's
backwaters, having no thoroughfare into Guildford
Street. Here he dwelt in a house which he called
The Hermitage, reading, meditating, discussing,
and dictating to his "disciples." A description of
him in very old age runs thus: "His apparel hung
loosely about him, and consisted chiefly of a grey
coat, light breeches, and white woollen stockings,
hanging loosely about his legs; whilst his vener-
able locks, which floated over the collar and down
his back, were surmounted by a straw hat of most
grotesque and indescribable shape, communicating
to his appearance a strong contrast to the quietude
and sobriety of his general aspect. He wended
round the walks of his garden at a pace somewhat
faster than a walk but not so quick as a trot." He
never married, but there was one lady whom he
approached, with a measure of romance, more than
once.
During his last illness Bentham asked his physi-
[222]
THE SOCIETY OF ARTS' TABLETS
cian, Southwood Smith, if there was any hope.
"No," said the doctor. "Very well," said the old
man, "then minimize pain." He died on June 6,
1832.
I should not in this book be writing about Ben-
tham at all but for the curious circumstance that,
although eighty-four years have passed since that
day, the old man still can be visited in the flesh; still
receives guests.
Let me give that statement the amplification which
it demands. One of Bentham's by-ways of specu-
lation led to the question of the preservation of the
human frame after dissolution, so that posterity
might know what kind of men had toiled for it. The
ordinary means for imparting such knowledge, the
art of the sculptor and the painter, seeming to him
inadequate, he therefore in all gravity outlined a*
scheme for securing what he called an "auto-icon."
The head of the deceased was to be so treated that
it retained its conformation; the body was to be re-
duced to a skeleton; the skeleton was then to be
articulated and attired in characteristic clothes and
the head replaced upon it. Bentham, whose ideal, we
must always remember, was the greatest happiness of
the greatest number, even went so far as to suggest
that "a country gentleman," filled with that ad-
miration for his ancestors which should animate all
ood citizens of the state, might set up the auto-icons
[223]
g'
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
of his family alternately between the trees in the
avenue leading to his dwelling. "Copal varnish," he
added, "would protect the face from the effect of
rain, and caoutchouc the habiliments." To what
extent the squires of England adopted this cheerful
idea may be guessed ; but had they done so the adver-
tisements of manor houses in Country Life^ for ex-
ample, would be far more entertaining even than
they are.
Bentham, however, being a consistent man, was
careful himself to practise what he preached. He
made a will (one draft of which I have read) in-
structing his executors to deal with his body in this
way. It was to be dressed in his ordinary clothes
and placed in his favourite chair, m a case or box,
and the attitude was to illustrate him in the act of
thought between two sentences of a treatise. Then,
on certain occasions when his disciples met to discuss
his philosophy, their revered master was to be borne
from his box and set at the head of the table in the
midst of them, so that they might be cheered by the
stimulus of his presence.
Everything that Bentham required was done,
except that the last genial suggestion was not carried
out. In the Anatomical Museum at University Col-
lege you may see, if you can obtain the right au-
thority, a large cupboard, which, when unlocked, dis-
closes the sage. The swiftest way to describe the
[224]
n
DJCKENS lIOfSK, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE
(ST. MA HV- LP. BONK IN THK DrSTANfK)
D
THE SOCIETY OF ARTS' TABLETS
figure is to say that it r'^sembles the well-known ad-
vertisement of Quaker Oats. There he sits in his
favourite chair, although not precisely as the will
directed, for he is engaged not in writing, but has
his gloves on and his trusty stick in one hand. In
another particular also there is a change, but that is
due to the ravages of time, for his head, instead of
being on his shoulders, is now under a glass shade
between his feet, a new wax head, modelled after
Pickersgill's portrait, taking its place beneath the
astonishing hat. The features of the real head have
somewhat fallen away, but the long straggling grey
locks remain, and with its grey-glass eyes it would'
be sufficiently terrifying, to any but a Benthamite
of strong nerve, if suddenly encountered. Between
the conformation of the original physiognomy and
the waxen one there seems to me to be great diver-
gences; but whether they destroy the theory of the
auto-icon or support it, it is too late to say.
And so we resume our list of the Society of Arts'
tablets.
7 Craven Street, Strand, where Benjamin Frank-
lin (1706-1790), the American diplomatist and
philosopher, lodged for some years on one of his mis-
sions to Europe.
Schomberg House, Pall Mall, where Thomas
Gainsborough (1727-1788) the painter lived. This
house was transformed info the War Office, and then
[225]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
was pulled down to make room for the Automobile
Club; so that its present association with Gains-
borough is remote indeed. Not only did Gains-
borough reside here, but it was in this building that
Lady Hamilton, as the loveliest of girls, assisted the
quack doctor Graham in his Temple of Hygieia.
4 Adelphi Terrace, W.C, where David Garrick
(1717-1779) lived and entertained and died. The
house was No. 5 in Garrick's day.
7 Bentinck Street, W., where Edward Gibbon
(1737-1794), the historian of Rome, lived for some
years and began his great work.
25 Brook Street, one of the lodgings of George
Frederick Handel (1685-1759) the composer.
Bertram House, Hampstead, the home of Sir
Rowland Hill (1795-1879), who introduced penny
postage.
30 Leicester Square, the home of William Ho-
garth (1697-1764), now the Tenison School. Ho-
garth's other home was at Chiswick, in a house, still
preserved, of which I write in another chapter.
17 Gough Square, Fleet Street, the home of Dr.
Johnson (1709-1784) from 1748 to 1758. This
house, where the Dictionary was compiled, is now
promised to the nation. The house in Bolt Court,
in which he died, no longer exists. I describe the
Gough Square house in a later chapter.
[226]
THE SOCIETY OF ARTS' TABLETS
Lawn Bank, John Street, Hampstead, where
John Keats (1795-1821) lived.
Bunhill Row, the later home of John Milton
(1608-1674), where Paradise Lost and his other
great poems were written and where he died. The
house is no longer standing.
3a King Street, St. James's, where that King in
exile. Napoleon III (1808-1873), lodged.
147 New Bond Street, one of the lodgings of Lord
Nelson (1758-1805).
35 St. Martin's Street, a home of Sir Isaac New-
ton (1642-1727). Madame d'Arblay (then Fanny
Burney) wrote some of Evelina in the same house.
It is now demolished.
15 Buckingham Street, Strand, the English lodg-
ing of Peter the Great ( 1672-1725). This house no
longer exists.
47 Leicester Square, the home of Sir Joshua
Reynolds (1723-1792). This is now largely merged
in the auction rooms of Messrs. Puttick & Simpson.
54 Hunter Street, Brunswick Square, where John
Ruskin (1819-1900) was born.
14 Savile Row, W., where Richard Brinsley
Sheridan (1751-1816), author of The School for
Scandal^ died. It was to this house that his friend
the Prince Regent should have sent the help for
which the improvident dramatist appealed; but, as
Moore's scathing lines tell us, he did not. The body
[227]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
had to be removed secretly to another place for fear
the creditors might snatch it and hold it to ransom.
17 Upper Baker Street, where Mrs. Siddons
(1755-1831) the great actress lived. The house has
been pulled down and rebuilt.
Kensington Palace Green, the last home of Thack-
eray (1811-1863), built by himself with money
which he earned chiefly as editor of The Cornhill
Magazine. It has recently been much altered. Mr.
Livens' drawing of Kensington Palace depicts a
view which Thackeray had from his windows.
24 Old Square, Lincoln's Inn, the rooms of John
Thurloe (1616-1668), Secretary of State.
Belmont, Rosslyn Hill, Hampstead, the home of
Sir Harry Vane (1613-1662), another Secretary of
State, who was executed on Tower Hill.
5 Arlington Street, W., the residence of Sir Robert
Walpole (1676-1745), Prime Minister.
That completes the Society of Arts' tablets —
erected at the rate of one a year.
[228]
CHAPTER XVIII
THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS
Charles Dickens's London homes — i Devonshire Terrace —
The Philosophic Mr. Topping — Advice to Macready —
The perils of London — Bogus tomes — A Dickens mu-
seum — Disraeli and London — Kensington Gardens — A
comparison of cities — Charles Lamb's birthplace — Hein-
rich Heine in London — Unpopular tablets.
IN 1901 the Society of Arts handed over its task
to the London County Council, and since that
date a great number of new tablets have been erected.
I append a full list to date (1916), in the order in
which they were set up.
Holly Lodge, Campden Hill, where Lord Mac-
aulay (1800-1859) died.
No. 48 Doughty Street, a residence of Charles
Dickens (1812-1870).
In addition to this one, tablets were placed on
three other of the residences of Dickens: Furnival's
Inn, as we have seen; 13 Johnson Street, N.W. ;
and 1 Devonshire Terrace, of which Mr. Livens has
made a drawing. At 48 Doughty Street Dickens
[229]
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
wrote OVivcr Tivist and Nicholas Nicklcby. He
moved to Devonshire Terrace in 1839 ^^'^ remained
there until 1851. At Devonshire Terrace he wrote
The Old Curiosity Shop^ Barnaby Rudge^ Martin
Chuzzlewit, Dombey and Son, David Copperfield
and some of the Christmas Books. A characteristic
description of it is given by Dickens in a letter to
Professor Felton on his return from America: "I
date this from London, where I have come, as a
good profligate, graceless bachelor, for a day or two;
leaving my wife and babbies at the seaside. . . .
Heavens ! if you were but here at this minute I A
piece of salmon and a steak are cooking in the
kitchen; it's a very wet day, and I have had a fire
lighted; the wine sparkles on a side-table; the room
looks the more snug from being the only z^;2dis-
mantled one in the house; plates are warming for
Forster and Maclise, whose knock I am momentarily
expecting; that groom I told you of, who never
comes into the house, except when we are all out of
town, is walking about in his shirt-sleeves without
the smallest consciousness of impropriety; a great
mound of proofs are waiting to be read aloud, after
dinner. With what a shout I would clap you down
into the easiest chair, my genial Felton, if you could
but appear, and order you a pair of slippers in-
stantly !
"Since I have written this, the aforesaid groom —
[230]
THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS
a very small man (as the fashion is), with fiery red
hair (as the fashion is not) — has looked very hard at
me and fluttered about me at the same time, like a
giant butterfly. After a pause, he says in a Sam
Wellerish kind of way: 'I vent to the club this
mornin', sir. There vorn't no letters, sir.' 'Very
good, Topping.' 'How's missis, sir*?' 'Pretty well.
Topping.' 'Glad to hear it, sir. My missis ain't
wery well, sir.' 'No*?' 'No, sir; she's a goin', sir,
to have an hincrease wery soon, and it makes her
rather nervous, sir; and ven a young voman gets
at all down at sich a time, sir, she goes down wery
deep, sir.' To this sentiment I replied affirmatively,
and then he adds, as he stirs the fire (as if he were
thinking out loud) : 'Wot a mystery it is! Wot a
go is natur' I' With which scrap of philosophy, he
gradually gets nearer to the door, and so fades out
of the room."
It was from the same house that in 1851 Dickens
wrote to Macready, the actor, who had then retired
to the country, telling him of the joys and dangers of
London. "Ah! you country gentlemen, who live at
home at ease, how little do you think of us among
the London fleas! But they tell me you are coming
in for Dorsetshire. You must be very careful, when
you come to town to attend to your parliamentary
duties, never to ask your way of pcojilc in the streets.
They will misdirect you for what the vulgar call 'a
[231]
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lark,' meaning, in this connection, a jest at your
expense. Always go into some respectable shop or
apply to a policeman. You will know him by his
being dressed in blue, with very dull silver buttons,
and by the top of his hat being made of sticking-
plaster. You may perhaps see in some odd place
an intelligent-looking man, with a curious little
w^ooden table before him and three thimbles on it.
He will want you to bet, but don't do it. He really
desires to cheat you. And don't buy at auctions
where the best plated-goods are being knocked down
for next to nothing. These, too, are delusions. If
you wish to go to the play, to see real good acting
(though a little more subdued than perfect tragedy
should be), I would recommend you to see at
the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Anybody will
show it to you. It is near the Strand, and you may
know it by seeing no company whatever at any of
the doors.
"Cab fares are eighteen pence a mile. A mile
London measure is half a Dorsetshire mile, recollect.
Porter is twopence per pint; what is called Stout
is fourpence. The Zoological Gardens are in the
Regent's Park, and the price of admission is one
shilling. Of the streets, I would recommend you to
see Regent Street and the Quadrant, Bond Street,
Piccadilly, Oxford Street, and Cheapside. I think
these will please you after a time, though the tumult
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and bustle will at first bewilder you. If I can serve
you in any way, pray command me. And with my
best regards to your happy family, so remote from
this Babel."
On leaving Devonshire Terrace in 1851 Dickens
moved to Tavistock House, which still stands but
has no tablet. It was for the library here that he
made his list of dummy books, among which were:
Toots's Universal Letter-Writer. 2 vols.
Jonah's Account of the Whale.
Kant's Ancient Humbugs. 10 vols.
The Gunpowder Magazine. 4 vols.
Steele. By the Author of "Ion."
Lady Godiva on the Horse.
Hansard's Guide to Refreshing Sleep. As many
volumes as possible.
Dickens's first letter from Tavistock House was to
the binder of these jests. In this house he wrote
Bleak House, Hard Times, Little Dorrit, and the
Tale of Two Cities; but it must be remembered that
he was a restless man, often moving about, while his
occupation of Gad's Hill coincided with part of the
Tavistock House period.
Dickens left Tavistock House in i860 and never
again had a London residence. Other transitory
abodes of the great novelist in London were 9 Osna-
burgh Terrace, in 1844; Chester Phice, Regent's
Park, in 1847; and, later, 3 Hanover Terrace, 57
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Gloucester Place, 5 Hyde Park Place, and 26 Well-
ington Street, over the office of All the Year Round.
It is to be hoped that if ever their existence is
threatened, either 1 Devonshire Terrace or Tavistock
House will be secured for the nation, as Johnson's
and Carlyle's houses have been. London at present
has no Dickens museum beyond the Dyce and Foster
room at South Kensington. There is an odd little
collection of rather indifferent relics in his birth-
place at Portsmouth; but of course he should be
rightly honoured in London too.
No. 4 Whitehall Gardens, where Sir Robert Peel
(1788-1850) the Prime Minister died.
No. 56 Devonshire Street, the residence of Sir
John Herschel (1792-1871) the astronomer.
No. 67 Wimpole Street, a residence of Henry
Hallam (1777-1859) the historian and father of
Arthur Hallam, Tennyson's friend.
No. 22 Theobald's Road, the birthplace of Ben-
jamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield (1804-1881).
The place of Disraeli's death is also marked: No.
19 Curzon Street; and here we might pause for a
moment because, among epicures of London, Disraeli
stands high, and it is interesting to collect a few
of his dicta on the city in which this dazzling
Oriental rose to power.
This is from Tancred: "It seems to the writer
of this history that the inhabitants of London are
[234]
THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS
scarcely sufficiently sensible of the beauty of its en-
virons. On every side the most charming retreats
open to them, nor is there a metropolis in the world
surrounded by so many rural villages, picturesque
parks, and elegant casinos. With the exception of
Constantinople, there is no city in the world that
can for a moment enter into competition with it.
For himself, though in his time something of a
rambler, he is not ashamed in this respect to confess
to a legitimate Cockney taste; and for his part he
does not know where life can flow on more pleasantly
than in sight of Kensington Gardens, viewing the^
silver Thames winding by the bowers of Rosebank,
or inhaling from its terraces the refined air of
graceful Richmond.
"In exactly ten minutes it is in the power of every
man to free himself from all the tumult of the
world: the pangs of love, the throbs of ambition,
the wear and tear of play, the recriminating boudoir,
the conspiring club, the rattling hell; and find him-
self in a sublime sylvan solitude superior to the
cedars of Lebanus, and inferior only in extent to
the chestnut forests of Anatolia. It is Kensington
Gardens that is almost the only place that has
realized his idea of the forests of Spenser and
Ariosto. What a pity, that instead of a princess
in distress we meet only a nursery-maid I But here
is the fitting and convenient locality to brood over
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our thoughts; to project the great and to achieve
the happy. It is here that we should get our speeches
by heart, invent our impromptus; muse over the
caprices of our mistresses, destroy a cabinet, and
save a nation."
This also is from Tancred: "What is most strik-
ing in London is its vastness. It is the illimitable
feeling that gives it a special character. London is
not grand. It possesses only one of the qualifica-
tions of a great city, size; but it wants the equally
important one, beauty. It is the union of these two
qualities that produced the grand cities, the Romes,
the Baby Ions, the hundred portals of the Pharaohs;
multitudes and magnificence; the millions influenced
by art. Grand cities are unknown since the beautiful
has ceased to be the principle of invention. Paris,
of modern capitals, has aspired to this character;
but if Paris be a beautiful city, it certainly is not a
grand one; its population is too limited, and, from
the nature of their dwellings, they cover a compara-
tively small space. Constantinople is picturesque;
nature has furnished a sublime site, but it has little
architectural splendour, and you reach the environs
with a fatal facility. London overpowers us with
its vastness.
"Though London is vast, it is very monotonous.
All those new districts that have sprung up within
the last half-century, the creatures of our commercial
[236]
THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS
and colonial wealth, it is impossible to conceive any-
thing more tame, more insipid, more uniform. Pan-
cras is like Marylebone, Marylebone is like Pad-
dington ; all the streets resemble each other, you must
read the names of the squares before you venture to
knock at a door. This amount of building capital
ought to have produced a great city. What an op-
portunity for Architecture suddenly summoned to
furnish habitations for a population equal to that of
the city of Bruxelles, and a population, too, of great
wealth I Marylebone alone ought to have produced
a revolution in our domestic architecture. It did
nothing. It was built by Act of Parliament. Par-
liament prescibed even a facade. It is Parliament
to whom we are indebted for your Gloucester Places,
and Baker Streets, and Harley Streets, and Wimpole
Streets, and all those flat, dull, spiritless streets, re-
sembling each other like a large family of plain chil-
dren, with Portman Place and Portman Square for
their respectable parents. The influence of our Par-
liamentary government upon the fine arts is a subject
worth pursuing. The power that produced Baker
Street as a model for street architecture in its cele-
brated Building Act, is the power that j^revented
Whitehall from being completed, and which sold to
foreigners all the })icturcs which the King of Eng-
land had collected to civilise his people."
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No. 14 York Place, Portman Square, a residence
of William Pitt (1759-1806).
No. 12 Clarges Street, a residence of Edmund
Kean (1787-1833), the great tragic actor.
No. 48 Welbeck Street, a residence of Thomas
Young (1773-1829), the physician.
No. 14 Hertford Street, Park Lane, a residence
of Edward Jenner (1749-1823), the discoverer of
vaccination.
Holly Lodge, Wimbledon Park Road, a residence
of "George Eliot" the novelist, Marian Evans
(1819-1880).
No. 34 Gloucester Square, where Robert Stephen-
son, the engineer (1803-1859), died.
No. 10 Upper Cheyne Row, a residence of Leigh
Hunt (1784-1859).
No. 12 Savile Row, where George Grote (1794-
1871 ), the historian of Greece, died.
No. 16 Young Street, Kensington, a residence
of W. M. Thackeray (1811-1863). It was then
No. 13. Thackeray was here from 1847-1853, and
here wrote Vanity Fair, Pendennis, Esmond and
part of The Newcotnes, in fact his best works.
No. 56 Great Queen Street, a residence of Boswell
(1740-1795). Demolished by the Freemasons.
No. 6 Frith Street, where William Hazlitt (1778-
1830) died.
[238]
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No. 27 Upper Baker Street, where Mrs. Siddons
died. A supplementary tablet.
No. 71 Berners Street, a residence of S. T. Cole-
ridge (1772-1834). Now demolished.
No. 23 Suffolk Street, Pall Mall, where Richard
Cobden (1804-1865), the statesman, died.
No. no Gower Street, a residence of Charles
Darwin (1809-1882).
No. 18 Stamford Street, where John Rennie
(1761-1821), the Scotch engineer, died.
No. no Hallam Street, where Dante Gabriel
Rossetti (1828-1882), the poet and painter, was
born.
No. 76 Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, where
John Constable (1776-1837), the painter, died.
No. 14 Doughty Street, a residence of Sydney
Smith (1771-1845).
No. 31 Baker Street, the birthplace of Edward
Bulwer-Lytton, Lord Lytton (1806-1873), the
novelist.
No. 1 1 1 Brcomwood Road, Clapham, which
stands on the site of Broom wood House, a residence
of William Wilberforce (1759-1833), the emanci-
pator.
No. 144 Kensington High Street, a residence of
Sir David Wilkie (1785-1841), the Scotch painter.
No. 22 St. James's Place, where Samuel Rogers
(1763-1855), tlic banker poet, lived and died.
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No. 33 Ampton Street, a residence of Thomas
Carlyle (1795-1881).
No. 1 Orme Square, a residence of Sir Rowland
Hill.
No. 54 Great Marlborough Street, a residence of
Mrs. Siddons.
No. 28 Bennett Street, Stamford Street, where
John Leech (1817-1864), the great Punch artist,
was born.
No. 21 Queen Square, a residence of F. D. Mau-
rice (1805-1872), the theologian.
No. 88 Mile End Road, a residence of Captain
Cook (1728-1779).
No. 64 Duncan Terrace, a residence of Charles
Lamb (1775-1834). This is the house known as
Colebrooke Cottage, whither Lamb moved in 1823,
remaining until 1827. He had other London homes,
but this is the only one that is marked. Any one
wishing to trace him through London must begin at
2 Crown Office Row in the Temple, which still
stands but has probably been refaced. According
to a little post-card map of the Temple's historic
sites, sold in the Temple, he lived at Lamb House
too, but this is an error. The houses at Enfield
and Edmonton in which Lamb lived are much as
they were. So is Colebrooke Cottage.
No. 4 Carlton Gardens, a residence of Lord
Palmerston (1784-1865).
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THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS
No. 31 Golden Square, a residence of John Hunter
(1728-1793), the great anatomist.
No. 28 Broad Street, Golden Square, where Wil-
liam Blake (1757-1827) was born.
No. 39 Rodney Street, a residence of James Mill
(1773-1836), and the birthplace of John Stuart
Mill (1806-1873), both philosophers.
No. 18 Kensington Square, a residence of J. S.
Mill.
No. 70 Knightsbridge, a residence of Charles
Reade (1814-1884), the novelist.
No. 23 Great Ormond Street, a residence of John
Howard (1726-1790), the philanthropist.
No. 73 Harley Street, a residence of Sir Charles
Lyell (1797-1875) the geologist, and W. E. Glad-
stone (1809-1898).
Holly Bush Hill, Hampstead, a residence of
George Romney (1734-1802), the painter.
No. 87 Jermyn Street, a residence of Sir Isaac
Newton. Rebuilt.
No. 34 Arlington Road, where Charles Dibdin
(1745-1814), the song writer, died.
No. 17 Ehn Tree Road, a residence of Thomas
Hood (1799-1845), the poet.
No. 14 Buckingham Street, wIutc lived Samuel
Pepys (1633-1703), Robert Harley (Earl of Ox-
ford) (1661-1724), William Etty (1787-1849),
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the painter, and Clarkson Stanfield (1793-1867),
also a painter.
No. 4 Beaumont Street, a residence of John Rich-
ard Green (1837-1883), author of A Short History
of the English People.
Pitt House, Hampstead, a residence of William
Pitt, Earl of Chatham (1708-1778).
No. 1 Moreton Gardens, a residence of Madame
Goldschmidt (Jenny Lind) (1820-1887).
No. 28 Heme Hill, a residence of John Ruskin.
No. 12 Hanover Square, a residence of Mary Som-
erville (1780-1872), a scientific writer.
Macartney House, Blackheath, a residence of
General Wolfe (1727-1759).
No. 61 Greek Street, a residence of Thomas De
Quincey (1785-1859), the "English Opium Eater."
St. Philip's Vicarage, Newark Street, a residence
of John Richard Green.
No. 16 Serjeants' Inn, a residence of J. T. Delane
(1817-1879), Editor of The Times.
No. 4 Marlborough Place, a residence of T. H.
Huxley (1825-1895), the great biologist.
No. 10 St. James's Square, a residence of three
Prime Ministers: William Pitt, Earl of Chatham;
Edward Geoffrey Stanley, Earl of Derby (1779-
1869) ; and W. E. Gladstone.
The Grove, Hampstead, a residence of Sir George
Gilbert Scott (1811-1878), the architect.
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THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS
No. 32 Soho Square, a residence of Sir Joseph
Banks (1743-1820), the botanist.
No. 37 Chesham Place, a residence of Lord John
Russell (1792-1878), the statesman.
No. 5 Great Stanhope Street, a residence of Lord
Fitzroy James Henry Somerset, first Baron Raglan
(1788-1855), the field-marshal.
No. 22 Hereford Square, a residence of George
Borrow .( 1803-1881 ), the author of Lavengro.
No. 17 Red Lion Square, a residence of Dante
Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882), William Morris
(1834-1896), and Sir Edward Bume-Jones (1833-
1898).
No. 28 Newman Street, W., a residence of
Thomas Stothard (1755-1834), the book illustrator.
No. 8 Canonbury Square, a residence of Samuel
Phelps (1804-1878), the actor.
No. 88 Paradise Street, S.E., a residence of T. H.
Huxley.
No. 12 Seymour Street, W., a residence of M. W.
Balfe ( 1808-1870), the composer of The BoJiemian
Girl.
No. 32 Craven Street, a residence of Heinrich
Heine (1797-1856), the German poet and critic.
Heine came to London in April 1827, and left in
August of the same year, his chief object being to
study our parliamentary system. He stayed first at
the Tavistock Hotel, Covcnt Garden, and then
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moved to Craven Street. Heine did not like London
or Londoners, but his verdict was not wholly un-
favourable, and his visit produced some admirable
literature, notably the episode of the mountebanks in
Florentme Nights.
Heine entered the city by the Thames, and here is
a passage from his description of the end of the voy-
age: "While the steamboat, and our conversation
with it, advanced up the river, the sun had gone
down, and its last beams lighted the Hospital of
Greenwich, an imposing edifice like a palace, which
consists of two wings, between which there is an
empty space, which allows one to see a hill green
with trees and crowned with a handsome tower. The
crowd of ships went on continually increasing on the
stream, and I wondered at the dexterity with which
the great vessels made way for each other. One
greets thus many a friendly face which one has never
seen and never will see again. We passed so close
by each other, that we might have shaken hands for
welcome and departure at the same time."
Of London's streets and houses Heine wrote thus :
"I had made up my mind not to be astonished at
the vastness of London — of which I had heard so
much. But it was the same with me as it was with
the poor schoolboy who had made up his mind not
to feel the flogging which he was to have received.
The explanation of his affair was that he had ex-
[244]
THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS
pected to receive the ordinary blows with an
ordinary cane on his back, as usual, and, instead of
that, he received extraordinary blows on an extraor-
dinary place, with a number of extraordinary little
twigs. I expected big palaces and saw nothing but
little houses. But it was their uniformity and their
incalculable number which imposed upon me so
forcibly."
Heine wrote with some admiration of Brougham
and Cobbett, but for the Duke of Wellington he
had nothing but scorn. He thought him a small
man, and could not forgive him for defeating his
darling Napoleon. The most amusing incident In
this brief London sojourn was connected with the
Duke, for to save his life from an irascible barber
the poet had to affect an esteem for the great soldier.
Let me tell the story in his own (translated) words.
"My barber in London was a radical named Mr.
White, a poor small man, in a coat so threadbare
that it had a white glow upon it. He was so thin
that his front face seemed like a profile, and the
sighs of his breast were visible before they reached
his lips. He used to sigh especially over the mis-
fortunes of Old England, and the impossibility of
her ever paying her national debt. 'Alas!' I heard
him perpetually sighing, 'what need had the English
peo{)Ie to trouble themselves about who ruled in
France and what the French did in their land? but
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the high nobility and the Hifjh Church feared the
principles of the French Revolution, and to put down
these principles must John Bull spend his blood and
his money and incur a mass of debts. The end of the
war has been obtained; the Revolution has been put
down; the wings of the French eagle have been
clipped. The high nobility and the High Church
can now feel secure that not an eagle can fly over the
Channel, and the high nobility and the High Church
should at least pay the debts made for their interest,
and not for that of the poor people. Alas I the poor
people 1'
"Always Mr. White when he came to the 'poor
people' sighed deeper and complained anew that
bread and porter were so dear, that the poor people
must die of hunger to feed sleek lords, packs of
hounds, and priests, and that there was only one
help for it. At these words he used to sharpen his
razor, and while he drew it backwards and forwards
over his razor-strop, he murmured savagely and
slowly, 'Lords, dogs, priests.'
"But it was against the Duke of Wellington that
his radical anger seethed the most vehemently. He
properly spat poison and gall as soon as he began to
speak of him ; and when he lathered me at such times
he did so in a foaming frenzy. Once I was verily in
fear, as he was shaving me close to the neck, while he
passionately abused Wellington and muttered con-
[246]
TMK INNER TEMI'l-K IIAI.L, FROM TIIK (OKNEK Ol- ( KOWN OMK K ROW,
WHERE, AT NO. 2, CHARLES LAMB WAS BORN
THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS
tinually between whiles: 'If I had him now under
the razor, I would spare him the trouble of cutting
his throat, like his colleague and countryman Lon-
donderry, who has cut his at North Cray in the
county of Kent. Curse him I'
"I felt then how the hand of the man trembled
and, out of fear that he might, in his passion, fancy
that I was the Duke of Wellington, I sought to tone
down his passion and to sooth him gently. So I
appealed to his national pride, and represented to
him that Wellington had added to the fame of
Englishmen; that he was but an innocent instru-
ment in the hands of third parties; that he ate
beef-steaks; and that in fine — heaven knows what
I tried to say in favour of Wellington when the razor
was at my throat."
No. 28 Finchley Road, where Thomas Hood
(1799-1845), the poet, died.
No. 36 Onslow Square, a residence of W. M.
Thackeray.
No. 9 Arlington Street, a residence of Charles
James Fox (1749-1806).
No. 20 Soho Square, a residence of Speaker
Onslow (1691-1768).
No. 93 Cheyne Walk, where Mrs. Gaskell (1810-
1865), the novelist, was born.
Nos. 59 and 60 Lincoln's Inn Fields, a residence
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
of Hon. Spencer Perceval (1762-1812), the states-
man.
Carlisle Place, a residence of Cardinal Manning
(1808-1892).
No. 39 Montagu Square, a residence of Anthony
Trollope (1815-1882).
No. 225 Hampstead Road, a residence of Alfred,
Lord Tennyson (1809-1892).
No. 75 Great Dover Street, a residence of C. H.
Spurgeon (1834-1892).
No. 4 Adelphi Terrace, a residence of Robert
Adam (1728-1792) and James Adam (d. 1794),
who built the Adelphi.
No. 36 Craven Street, Strand, a residence of
Benjamin Franklin. Supplementary tablet.
No. 25 Highbury Place, N., a residence of Joseph
Chamberlain (1836-1914).
No. 12 Park Crescent, a residence of Lord Lister
(1827-1912), the physician and great experimenter
with aniEsthetios.
Of the privately erected tablets I can give no
list; but there are not a few. One, for example,
may be seen on Florence Nightingale's house, 10
South Street. Nor can I state how many efforts
to commemorate houses have been frustrated. Some
householders do not care to have their residences^
marked in this way. The objection is perhaps
natural, for a tablet must involve a certain amount
[248]
THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS
of notice, while it often leads — such is hero-worship
— to strangers asking to be allowed to enter the.
historic portals and even the rooms.
No house in London bears a Shakespeare tablet.
But let me say here that Miss Mabel E. Wotton
has just pointed out, in her admirable contribution
to a vast volume of homage to the Poet, on the
Tercentenary of his death, that the Lord Raglan
in Aldersgate, which has been continuously an inn
longer than any other hostelry in the metropolis,
was, as the Mermaid, often visited by Shakespeare
and his friends, and may safely be visited by the
pious pilgrim as a genuine haunt of the Swan. The
cellars are as they were in his day.
[249]
CHAPTER XIX
GOUGH SQUARE AND ST. CLEMENT DANES
Mr. Cecil Harmsworth's gift — The houses of great men —
Johnson in Gough Square — The Dictionary attic — John-
son's bereavement — Gough Square visitors — An evening's
conversation — St. Clement Danes — Pretty glass — The
Doctor's window — The Doctor's pew — Conversations
after church — The universal authority — Hogarth's house
— The stolen gravestone — The mulberry tree — Old Chis-
wick.
DR. JOHNSON moved to 17 Gough Square
from Holborn in 1748, when he was thirty-
nine, carrying with him the materials for his Dic-
tionary and his staff of helpers. There he remained
for ten years; and his house, now almost exactly as
it was then, has been preserved for the nation by
the liberality and public spirit of Mr. Cecil Harms-
worth. Those people — and they are not a few —
who dislike to visit such homes of great men as have
been set apart as museums and memorials should
make a point of looking over Gough Square before
they express their final opinion on this subject; for
[250]
GOUGH SQUARE
Johnson's house differs vastly from some of the oth-
ers. Personally I should like to see not only more
statues but more of these residences. I should like,
as I have said elsewhere in this book, to see one of
Dickens's London houses filled with Dickens lore
and relics. I should like to see Lamb's cottage at
Islington, which is still very much as it was, pre-
served for pilgrims. But I never felt so strongly
on the question as I did in Johnson's house, when I
observed with what taste and care the work of res-
toration and refurnishing has been done. Ordinarily
there is too much in such places. Here there is very
little; one can move about.
To a certain extent this distinguished frugality
of trappings is, I suppose, an error, for I will wager
that one could not thus move about in Johnson's
day; and I will wager too that there was never,
between 1748 and 1758, a vase of daffodils on the
table, such as I saw on my visit. The Great Lexi-
cographer and daffodils do not seem quite to go
together. But although a modern openness and
light have come in, the spirit has not been disturbed;
one is conscious that in this very house one of the
noblest and bravest of Englishmen once lived and
worked and suffered; and the few pictures on the
walls being wholly of himself and his friends, one
can re-people the rooms too. So thorough hns Mr.
Harmsworth been, that in order that every inch of
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MORE WANDEUTNGS IN LONDON
the house snould be accessible to Johnsonians (who
are allowed to give tea-parties here) the caretaker, a
most informative and loyal lady, has been provided,
close by, with one of the prettiest little new homes
in London. Here, in this quiet creek off the rushing
river of Fleet Street, she dwells with the great ghosts.
Interest in the Gough Square sanctuary will, for
most visitors, centre in the Dictionary attic — a room
under the roof extending right across the house.
Boswell, who unfortunately for us did not know it
— in 1 748 he was only eight years old — has nothing
at first hand to tell of this historic apartment or of
the house at all. But he touches upon it. In this
room, he says, which was "fitted up like a country
house," Johnson gave his copyists their task. "The
words, partly taken from other dictionaries, and
partly supplied by himself, having been first written
down with spaces left between them, he delivered in
writing their etymologies, definitions, and various
significations. The authorities were copied from
the books themselves, in which he had marked the
passages with a black-lead pencil, the traces of which
could easily be effaced. It is remarkable that he was
so attentive in the choice of the passages in which
words were authorised, that one may read page after
page of his dictionary with improvement and pleas-
ure. The necessary expense of preparing a work of
such magnitude for the press must have been a con-
[252]
GOUGH SQUARE
siderable deduction from the price stipulated to be
paid for the copyright. I understand that nothing
was allowed by the booksellers on that account; and
I remember his telling me, that a large portion of
it having, by mistake, been written upon both sides
of the paper, so as to be inconvenient for the com-
positor, it cost him twenty pounds to have it tran-
scribed upon one side only."
A copy of the first edition of the Dictionary,
1755, in two folio volumes, lies on the table; and
it is well worth while in this room again to read its
noble preface. In Dr. Johnson's time the attic had
four windows, one of which has been bricked up.
The heavy balustrade of the stairs is as it was, save
for invisible steel supports, and one can hear, with
the inward ear, the great man creaking up.
In this house Johnson also wrote and edited The
Rambler and began The Idler. Here he wrote
The Vanity of Human Wishes and the tragedy of
Irene. It was here too that, on March 17, 1752, his
wife died, and in one of these rooms he wrote the
pathetic note to his friend Dr. Taylor the next day.
"Dear Sir, — Let me have your company and instruction.
Do not live away from me. My distress is great.
"Pray desire Mrs. Taylor to inform me what mourning
I should buy for my mother and Miss Porter, and bring a
note in writing with you.
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"Remember me in your prayers, for vain is the help of
man. — I am, dear Sir, &c., Sam. Johnson."
"March 18, 1752."
According to a note given to Boswell by Francis
Barber, Johnson's servant, his master's affliction was
great. As a second companion the Doctor had the
blind Mrs. Williams. Barber's account describing
his early widowerhood runs thus: "He was busy with
the Dictionary. Mr. Shiels and some others of the
gentlemen who had formerly written for him, used
to come about him. He had then little for himself,
but frequently sent money to Mr. Shiels when in
distress. The friends who visited him at that time
were chiefly Dr. Bathurst, and Mr. Diamond, an
apothecary in Cork-street, Burlington-gardens, with
whom he and Mrs. Williams generally dined every
Sunday. There was a talk of his going to Iceland
with him, which would probably have happened,
had he lived. There was also Mr. Cave, Dr. Hawkes-
worth, Mr. Ryland, merchant on Tower-hill, Mrs.
Masters, the poetess, who lived with Mr. Cave, Mrs.
Carter, and sometimes Mrs. Macaulay; also, Mrs.
Gardiner, wife of a tallow-chandler on Snow-hill,
not in the learned way, but a worthy good woman;
Mr. (now Sir Joshua) Reynolds; Mr. Miller, Mr.
Dodsley, Mr, Bouquet, Mr. Payne, of Paternoster
Row, booksellers; Mr. Strahan, the printer; the
Earl of Orrery, Lord Southwell, Mr. Garrick."
[254]
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GOUGH SQUARE
The only record of a conversation in Gough Square
which Boswell gives was sent to him by Dr. Burney,
whom we last saw floating in the stream in Barry's
cartoon. It is written in the third person thus:
"Soon after this (1758) Mr. Burney, during a visit
to the capital, had an interview with him in Gough-
square, where he dined and drank tea with him, and
was introduced to the acquaintance of Mrs. Williams.
After dinner, Mr. Johnson proposed to Mr. Burney
to go up with him into his garret, which being
accepted, he there found about five or six Greek
folios, a deal writing desk, and a chair and a half.
Johnson giving to his guest the entire seat, tottered
himself on one with only three legs and one arm.
Here he gave Mr. Burney Mrs. Williams's history,
and shewed him some volumes of his Shakespeare
already printed, to prove that he was in earnest.
Upon Mr. Bumey's opening the first volume, at the
Merchant of Venice, he observed to him, that he
seemed to be more severe on Warburton than Theo-
bald. 'O poor Tib. I (said Johnson) he was ready
knocked down to my hands; Warburton stands be-
tween me and him.' 'But Sir, (said Mr. Burney,)
you'll have Warburton upon your bones, won't you?'
'No, Sir; he'll not come out: he'll only growl in his
den.' 'But you think, Sir, that Warburton is a
superior critick to Theobald?' — 'O, Sir, he'd make
two-and-fifty Theobalds, cut into slices! The worst
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
of Warbiirton is, that he has a rage for saying some-
thing, when there's nothing to be said.' — Mr. Burney
then asked him whether he had seen the letter which
Warburton had written in answer to a pamphlet ad-
dressed 'To the most impudent Man alive.' He an-
swered in the negative. Mr. Burney told him it
was supposed to be written by Mallet. The con-
troversy now raged between the friends of Pope
and Bolingbroke; and Warburton and Mallet were
the leaders of the several parties. Mr. Burney asked
him then if he had seen Warburton's book against
Bolingbroke's Philosophy? 'No, Sir, I have never
read Bolingbroke's impiety, and therefore am not
interested about its confutation.' "
After Gough Square where, it is possible, Johnson
was not a whole householder but a lodger, the church
of St. Clement Danes, in the Strand, must be visited,
for one also gets very near the great man there.
The word "Danes" in the name of this church
means, says Stow, that Harold the Danish king and
other Danes were buried in the original church, which
was removed in 1680. It is only the body of the
present building that is Wren's. The upper stages of
the tower and the steeple were added by James Gibbs
(1682-1754), Wren's most considerable successor.
Gibbs built also St. Mary's-le-Strand, the neigh-
bouring island church; but that is a poor structure.
Gibbs's masterpiece is St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, at
[256]
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the comer of Trafalgar Square, of which Mr. Livens
has made a picture. To my eye St. Martin's is one
of the finest of London churches, and it is of the
true white stone, now exquisitely tempered by time.
Gibbs was a Scotchman and a Roman Catholic, who
studied architecture in Italy. His life was placid
and uneventful, and I can find nothing very interest-
ing to record about him.
In St. Clement Danes Dr. Johnson worshipped,
but how often he went there I have not ascertained,
for the only occasions mentioned by Bos well are
Good Fridays. Still, here are the pew where he sal;
and the pillar he leaned against; and after the house
in Gough Square this is the most intimate John-
sonian haunt still extant, for the Cheshire Cheese
seat, so dear to Americans, is probably an imposture.
St. Clement Danes was comely in Johnson's day;
it is now far more comely, for a recent vicar had
peculiar gifts for the extraction of votive windows
from his flock. In fact only two lights remain plain ;
the rest have very pretty — perhaps the prettiest in
London — stained-glass pictures: chiefly scenes in the
Life of Christ, from the gentle hand of Mr. T. F.
Curtis. Look, for example, at the Good Shepherd:
were ever such lambs for nestling playfulness? —
almost like puppies. And the little assemblage of
children in the first window on the north wall is
wholly delightful. These transparent pictures, for
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
that is what they really arc, make the church a very
cheerful place, and the stars sprinkled on its ceiling
help too.
Dr. Johnson not only has a brass tablet marking
his pew, but — and I venture to state very confidently
that he can never have anticipated such a memorial
— a window too. In the window, also by Mr. Curtis,
we see him with five of his friends. It is, I fear,
rather a comic group, for Mr. Curtis is not so expert
with sapience as with innocence. The Doctor him-
self, who is described beneath as "Philosopher, Lexi-
cographer and Moralist," naturally dominates it,
and about his head flit angels. In his hand is the
Dictionary. Beside him, on his right, is that eminent
blue-stocking, Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, resting a hand
on her own editions of Plato and Epictetus. Beside
her is Edmund Burke, holding his eloquent Vindi-
cation, while on the floor beside him is a volume
entitled Hints on the Drama. On the other side of
the Doctor are Garrick, with the MS. of a tragedy,
probably Irene, Boswell, and Dr. Goldsmith, whose
Vicar of Wakefield is on the floor beside him. A
dog is in the midst.
Descending from the window to the historic pew
one is shocked to find it so close to the pulpit —
shocked, I mean, at the thought of the poor preacher's
discomfort to have so uncompromising a critic im-
mediately above his head. And if Johnson was a
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little late, his entry must have been very impressive,
for the pew is a long way from the entrance. The
brass tablet in the pew corroborates all that the win-
dow says about the Doctor, but adds "Poet" too.
A word or two from Boswell must be quoted or
we shall not really visualise the great man. "On
Friday, April 2, being Good Friday, I visited him
in the morning as usual; and finding that we in-
sensibly fell into a train of ridicule upon the foibles
of one of our friends, a very worthy man, I by way
of a check, quoted some good admonition from
'The Government of the Tongue,' that very pious
book. It happened also remarkably enough, that
the subject of the sermon preached to us to-day by
Dr. Burrows, the rector of St. Clement Danes, was
the certainty that at the last day we must give an
account of 'the deeds done in the body ;' and amongst
various acts of culpability he mentioned evil-speak-
ing. As we were moving slowly along in the crowd
from Church, Johnson jogged my elbow and said,
'Did you attend to the sermon^' — 'Yes, Sir (said I,)
it was very applicable to us.' He, however, stood
upon the defensive. 'Why, Sir, the sense of ridicule
is given us, and may be lawfully used. The author
of "The Government of the Tongue" would have
us treat all men alike.'"
But a better record of Johnsonian post-sermon
blandness is that recorded by Boswell on Good Fri-
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
day 1783. Says the little man, for whose hero-wor-
shipping we can never be sufficiently grateful : "On
April 18, (being Good-Friday,) I found him at
breakfast, in his usual manner upon that day, drink-
ing tea without milk, and eating a cross bun to pre-
vent faintness; we went to St. Clement's Church, as
formerl)^ When we came home from Church, he
placed himself on one of the stone-seats at his gar-
den-door, and I took the other, and thus in the open
air, and in a placid frame of mind, he talked away
very easily. Johnson. 'Were I a country gentle-
man, I should not be very hospitable, I should not
have crowds in my house.' Boswell. 'Sir Alex-
ander Dick tells me, that he remembers having a
thousand people in a year to dine at his house, that
is, reckoning each person as one, each time that he
dined there.' Johnson. 'That, Sir, is about three a
day.' Boswell. 'How your statement lessens the
idea.' Johnson. 'That, Sir, is the good of count-
ing. It brings every thing to a certainty, which be-
fore floated in the mind indefinitely.' Boswell.
'But Omne ignotum pro magnifico est: one is sorry to
have this diminished.' Johnson. 'Sir, you should
not allow yourself to be delighted with error.' Bos-
well. 'Three a day seem but few.' Johnson.
'Nay, Sir, he who entertains three a day, does very
liberally. And if there is a large family the poor
entertain those three, for they eat what the poor
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would get: there must be superfluous meat; it must
be given to the poor or thrown out.'
"Bos WELL. 'I observe in London, that the poor
go about and gather bones, which I understand are
manufactured.' Johnson. 'Yes, Sir; they boil
them, and extract a grease from them for greasing
wheels and other purposes. Of the best pieces they
make a mock ivory, which is used for hafts to knives,
and various other things; the coarser pieces they burn,
and pound, and sell the ashes.' Boswell. 'For
what purpose. Sir?' Johnson. 'Why, Sir, for
making a furnace for the chemists for melting iron.
A paste made of burnt bones will stand a stronger
heat than any thing else. Consider, Sir; if you are to
melt iron, you cannot line your pot with brass, be-
cause it is softer than iron, and would melt sooner;
nor with iron, for though malleable iron is harder
than cast iron, yet it would not do; but a paste of
burnt-bones will not melt.' Boswell. *Do you
know. Sir, I have discovered a manufacture to a
great extent, of what you only piddle at, — scraping
and drying the peel of oranges. At a place in New-
gate-street, there is a prodigious quantity prepared,
which they sell to the distillers.' Johnson. 'Sir,
I believe they make a higher thing out of them than
a spirit; they make what is called orange-butter, the
oil of the orange inspissated, which they mix perhaps
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
with common pomatum, and make it fragrant. The
oil does not fly off in the drying.'
"BoswELL. 'I wish to have a good walled gar-
den.' Johnson. 'I don't think it would be worth
the expence to you. We compute, in England, a
park-wall at a thousand pounds a mile; now a garden
wall must cost at least as much. You intend your
trees should grow higher than a deer will leap.
Now let us see; — for a hundred pounds you could
only have fourty-four square yards, which is very
little; for two hundred pounds, you may have eighty-
four square yards, which is very well. But when
will you get the value of two hundred pounds of
walls, in fruit, in your climate? No, Sir, such con-
tention with Nature is not worth while. I would
plant an orchard, and have plenty of such fruit as
ripen well in your country. My friend. Dr. Madden,
of Ireland, said, that, "in an orchard there should
be enough to eat, enough to lay up, enough to be
stolen, and enough to rot upon the ground." Cher-
ries are an early fruit, you may have them ; and you
may have the early apples and pears.' Boswell.
'We cannot have nonpareils.' Johnson. 'Sir, you
can no more have nonpareils, than you can have
grapes.' Boswell. 'We have them. Sir; but they
are very bad.' Johnson. 'Nay, Sir, never try to
have a thing, merely to shew that you cannot have it.
From ground that would let for forty shillings you
[262]
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may have a large orchard; and you see it costs you
only forty shillings. Nay, you may graze the ground,
when the trees are grown up; you cannot, while
they are young.' Bos well. 'Is not a good garden
a very common thing in England, Sir?' Johnson.
'Not so common, Sir, as you imagine. In Lincoln-
shire there is hardly an orchard; in Staffordshire
very little fruit.' Boswell. 'Has Langton no
orchard*?' Johnson. 'No, Sir.' Boswell. 'How
so. Sir*?' Johnson. 'Why, Sir, from the general
negligence of the county. He has it not, because
nobody else has it.' Boswell. 'A hot-house is a
certain thing; I may have that.' Johnson. 'A
hot-house is pretty certain; but you must first build
it, then you must keep fires in it, and you must
have a gardener to take care of it.' Boswell. 'But
if I have a gardener at any rate?' — Johnson.
'Why, yes.' Boswell. 'I'd have it near my house;
there is no need to have it in the orchard.' John-
son. 'Yes, I'd have it near my house. — I would
plant a great many currants; the fruit is good, and
they make a pretty sweetmeat.'
"I record," Boswell adds, "this minute detail,
which some may think trifling, in order to shew
clearly how this great man, whose mind could grasp
such large and extensive subjects, as he has shewn
in his literary labours, was yet well-informed in the
common affairs of life, and loved to illustrate them."
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Having seen Dr. Johnson's house and church, I
made a pilgrimage to Chiswick to see the house and
church of a great contemporary — William Hogarth.
There is no very easy way to reach Hogarth's house,
but the ideal adventure would comprise the river
Thames. One should rightly take a boat to Chis-
wick and land at the end of the Mall. Since, how-
ever, such things no longer are done — for the modern
Londoner, far from using his river, rarely even looks
at it — I may as well describe my own itinerary.
Having gained Chiswick High Road, I turned down
Duke's Avenue (by a Roman Catholic church).
This, which is really an avenue of some age and
dignity, once led to the mansion of the Duke of
Devonshire. Turning to the left of the gates, one
comes, in Hogarth Lane, to Hogarth's house, now
maintained for the public by the Middlesex County
Council, through the munificence of Colonel Ship-
way. All else immediately around is changed, but
the artist's home is much as it was: a comfortable
Georgian house, once absolutely in the country, with
the dining-room and two upper rooms containing
engravings of the famous pictures and a few portraits
and other relics. The garden remains too, a very
pleasant flowery retreat, with the historic mulberry
tree still bearing fruit every summer. The pamphlet
which the curator offers for sale remarks thus: "A
little touch of pathos stays us ere we leave the
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GOUGH SQUARE
garden. In one corner stood against the wall a
rough and shapeless stone inscribed:
'Alas poor Dick!
1760.
Aged eleven.'
Beneath the writing were two cross bones of birds
and over these a death's head and a heart. The
carving was done by Hogarth himself and placed
there in loving memory of a favourite bullfinch
which was buried beneath." But unhappily this
nost interesting relic has gone. A thief came recently
in the night and bore the stone away.
After Johnson's house, Hogarth's is a disappoint-
ment, for no such taste has been at work, and most of
the rooms are occupied by the caretaker and family.
Much might be done with it, on Mr. Harmsworth's
lines, and perhaps much will be done. Even as it is,
however, one can feel very near the rugged satirist,
who loved to take his ease here after a strenuous
period in the Leicester Square studio. One can see
him both beneath his mulberry tree with his dog
"Trum{)" and also in the charming bay window in
the upstairs room, which faces west — meditating on
the foibles and follies of mankind. Coming away, I
chanced on a perfect Hogarthian scene — an elderly
woman, probably an avenging grandmother, pursu-
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
ing, as fast as her ancient legs would permit, a deter-
mined ruffian of some five summers, very dirty, very
impudent and only half clad, down the squalid row
opposite; while half a dozen equally grubby children
rejoiced in the unequal chase.
As I have said, immediately around Hogarth's
house the conditions are modern; but all about the
adjacent parish church of Chiswick there are houses
and cottages that Hogarth knew. This is indeed a
perfect oasis of old riverside London — Burlington
Lane, Page's Yard, and Church Walk. In the
churchyard, where every tombstone leans crazily,
is the great painter's grave, with Garrick's verses
upon it; and here too lie his wife and his mother-
in-law. Lady Thornhill.
Passing on to Chiswick Mall, we find some of the
most attractive houses in London, veritable sun
traps, with the river and Chiswick Eyot before them ;
and it is a pleasant walk from here, and now and
then by devious inland windings, to Hammersmith
Mall and Bridge — not least interesting of the spa-
cious Georgian houses which we pass being Kelmscott
House, where William Morris spun his poetic tap-
estries and dreamed new paradises.
[266]
CHAPTER XX
HAMPTON COURT
London's pictures — Red brick — A royal residence — A giant
— Grinling Gibbons — Kneller's beauties — Mytens —
Giorgione — Venetian colour — A great portrait — The
Queen of Bohemia — Tintoretto — The Lely beauties —
Old cloclcs — Queen Elizabeth and the goddesses — Sir
JeflFery Hudson — Correggio — Henry VHI — The Man-
tegna frescoes — Wolsey's rooms — The Great Hall.
AMATEURS of art who think that London's
riches in painting are comprised in the National
Gallery, the Tate Gallery, the Wallace Collection,
the South Kensington Museum (all of which are
described in A Wanderer in London) and in the
Guildhall, make a great mistake; for a journey of a
few miles will bring them, either by road or rail (or,
on a warm day, by river), to Hampton Court, where
there is a collection of Old Masters of very high
quality, including a few priceless works, housed un-
der conditions of extraordinary interest and attrac-
tiveness.
For its pictures alone should Hamjiton Court be
[^67]
iMOUE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
visited. But it has at least three other holds on the
imagination — its historical associations, ranging in-
timately from Henry VIII and Cardinal Wolsey to
Queen Anne, by way of Charles I, Cromwell, and
William and Mary, all of whom lived here; its
architecture, which is adorable ; and its gardens, with
the famous vine, with the famous yews, with the
famous herbaceous border, and a most intricate Maze
thrown in.
In an earlier chapter I said something in praise of
the white stone of London. Those remarks applied
only to London proper — the city of streets. At
Hampton Court is one of the most satisfying build-
ings in the world, and it is all of red brick, and one
would not have it otherwise.
Hampton Court was begun by Cardinal Wolsey
and presented by him to his royal and, as it turned
out, treacherous master Henry VIII, who added to
it. Edward VI was born here; here Jane Seymour
died her natural death; here Charles I lived volun-
tarily, and was later imprisoned among the pictures
which he collected. George II was the last resident
monarch. It is now chiefly a show-place, but it is
also in part a glorified almshouse, for by possessing
certain qualifications, such as relationship to eminent
public servants, one may be allotted shelter here for
the rest of one's natural life — no mean privilege.
The very names of the apartments are romantic
[268]
HAiMPTON COURT
enough — Oueen's Guard Chamber, Oueen's Presence
Chamber, Great Watching Chamber, Henry VIIFs
Great Hall, the Haunted Gallery, Queen Anne's
Bedroom, Cardinal Wolsey's Rooms. It is like
Harrison Ainsworth in real life.
The pictures, which are numerous and some ex-
ceedingly fine, begin in the King's Guard Chamber,
at the head of the staircase. The King in question
was William III, and this part of the Palace was
designed for him by Sir Christopher Wren and
painted murally by Verrio, whose work does not
appeal to me except on the grounds of the industry
and discomfort that contributed to it.
The King's Guard Chamber is notable also for the
myriad weapons with which it is decorated.
Here few pictures are outstanding, but the story
of Cupid and Psyche by Giordano is told with fine
spirit and colour, and we are helped to a reconstruc-
tion of the ancient Palace by examining the life-
size portrait of "Queen Elizabeth's Giant Porter,"
fight feet, six inches tall; although there is a possi-
bility that this enormous person really lived in a
later reign, under James I, and was not a porter
at all.
From tlic windows Queen Mary's Bower — an ave-
nue, or rather tunnel, of wych elms — is seen.
In the next room, William Ill's Presence Cham-
ber, we find carvings by Crrinling (iilibons, and a
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
series of the Beauties of the Court of William and
Mary, painted by Kneller. In a later room we shall
find their predecessors under Charles II, by Lely,
three-quarter length and less decorous. The Kneller
ladies are so much less interesting and charming and
are hung so high that I think we may postpone our
studies in feminine allurement until Lely's are
reached. Other pictures in this room more easily
examined include some delightful Cupids by Cara-
vaggio, belonging to a series of panels from a cassone ;
cassone panels by Schiavone, the most romantic of
Giorgione's followers; a dashing portrait of Peter
Oliver, the miniature painter under James I and
Charles I, by Vandyck's derivative, Adriaan Hanne-
man; and a very beautiful portrait of Daniel My-
tens, the painter, by himself. Mytens, who was born
at The Hague, was a favourite of James I and
Charles I, both of whom preferred foreign to English
talent.
Farther on we come to an interesting group — the
great Duke of Buckingham, with his wife, son,
daughter, brothers and sister. A so-called Luini
(No. 61) brings a touch of tenderness into this room
and a hint of Leonardo. The portrait group of
Jacob de Bray's family, where his wife masquerades
as Cleopatra dissolving a pearl, but does not convince
us of that queen's beauty, is a fine work.
The Second Presence Chamber, which also has
[270]
PKINCKSS \I\RV AS IJIANA
AFTER TIIK I'lrTI.RE HV MR PETER LELV Al HAMPTON COURT
HAMPTON COURT
Grinling Gibbons carvings, has many works by the
Bassanos in it. A fine Bronzino, "A Lady in a
Green Dress," is close to the entrance door. Leandro
Bassano's "Portrait of a Sculptor," on the same wall,
has charm and dignity. A nude Venus by Cariani
(No. 88) is notable for its drawing, and "Diana and
Nymphs surprised by Actaeon" (No. 89), by Boni-
fazio dei Pitati, for its colour. The Venetian family
group by Pordenone, near the farther door, is rich
and quaint. Charles I bought this picture from the
Duke of Mantua, and for a while, after the fatal
1649, Cromwell owned it.
In the King's Audience Chamber is a striking little
Titian, "Lucretia," and next it the most lovely pic-
ture in the whole collection, "A Shepherd with a
Pipe," which, whether or not Giorgione painted it, is
a joy. Enough for us, who are not experts, that it
exists; but Mr. Berenson, who is hard to satisfy,
gives Giorgione the credit. I reproduce the picture
in this book. A noble Tintoretto portrait (No. 114)
also distinguishes this room, and a superb Palma
Vecchio (No. 1 16) must be looked for and rejoiced
in. Near it is a curious portrait of Isabella d'Este
by Lorenzo Costa, which seems o\it of place among
so much that is Venetian, l)ut is very attractive. A
Paris Bordone, "Venus, Mars and Cupid," has a
splendid richness; and by the fircphice is a little
anonymous portrait (No. i^pj that holds the eye by
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
reason of its simple sweetness and fine drawing.
Cariani's "Shepherd's Offering" (No. 140) has an
enchanting verdancy; and the "Concert" (No. 149)
attributed to Morto da Feltre, but, like the Cariani,
strongly influenced by the rare and exquisite art of
Giorgione, remains in the memory as a very soothing
and charming thing. On the same wall is one of
the great portraits of this or any gallery — Lorenzo
Lotto's treatment of the Venetian amateur, Andrea
degli Odoni.
Before we leave this room, in which one should
spend far more time than I have perhaps suggested,
let me remind you of one of the perfect lyrics in
the English language :
"You meaner Beauties of the Night,
That poorly satisfie our eyes,
More by your number than your light:
You Common people of the skies,
What are you when the Sun shall rise ?
You curious Chanters of the wood,
That warble forth Dame Nature's lays,
Thinking your Voices understood
By your weak accents ; what's your praise
When Philomel her voice shall raise?
You Violets that first appear,
By your pure purple mantles known
Like the proud Virgins of the year,
[272]
HAMPTON COURT
As if the Spring were all your own ;
What are you when the Rose is blown ?
So when my Mistress shall be seen
In Form and Beauty of her mind,
By Virtue first, then Choice, a Queen,
Tell me if she were not designed
Th' Eclipse and Glory of her kind?"
The author of those lovely lines was Sir Henry
Wotton, and the subject of them was Elizabeth
Queen of Bohemia, and the portrait over the fireplace
is of that lady, painted by Gerard Honthorst. This
picture, which belonged to Wotton, was left by him
to Charles II, the Queen's nephew.
In the King's Drawing-Room one instantly notices
the large Tintoretto, "The Nine Muses" — a magnif-
icent work which dwarfs ever}^thing else. This is
called the finest Tintoretto in England, and certainly
his mastery and brio were never more evident; but
personally I would not exchange it for "The Origin
of the Milky Way" at the National Gallery. Other
notable pictures here are the younger Palma's "Ex-
pulsion of Heresy" (No. 163), full of Venetian dig-
nity and richness; the great Bassano's "Adoration
of the Shepherds"; a fine rich Schiavone, on a larger
scale than ordinarily (No. 179); and the su[)erb
"Knight of Malta" (No. 197), also by Tintoretto.
We now come to William Ill's State Bedroom
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(with George IPs bed in it), on the walls of which
are the famous Beauties of Charles IPs Court by Sir
Peter Lely. Of these frail but powerful creatures,
but for whom Debrett would tell so different a tale,
I think that my choice would be — no, I cannot
choose. But I think that, as paintings go, the Count-
ess de Grammont is the finest, although the Princess
Mary, who is, however, in a different class, is the
most charming. After the Countess de Grammont I
should put the Duchess of Cleveland and the Count-
ess of Falmouth. The Princess Mary, as Diana, of
which I give a reproduction in this book, has inno-
cence in it; which cannot be said of the others.
The ceiling is also elaborately painted; but one
needs to lie on the Royal bed to appreciate that, and
such a manoeuvre is forbidden.
Other things to note in the room are the carvings;
the ancient mirrors, in blue and plain glass, which
have given back so many Royal reflections ; two more
of the many quaint barometers in which the Palace
is rich; and the clock in the corner, which has been
going for two centuries. This clock helps to illus-
trate the extraordinary state of preservation which
Hampton Court everywhere presents. Although so
largely of Tudor origin, it is still all spick and span.
That great astronomical clock, for example, in the
large courtyard, which is so fascinating a piece of
mechanism, dates from 1542 and was made for
[274]
HAMPTON COURT
Henry VIII. The whole place is like a vast work-
ing toy.
In the small Dressing-Room, adjoining, are little
pictures, of which the group of the three children of
Christian II of Denmark, by Mabuse (No. 248), is
one of the most charming. The allegorical portrait
of Queen Elizabeth is interesting, and should have
been flattering enough even for her, for it represents
the three goddesses, Juno, Minerva and Venus, aghast
at her beauty, splendour and power. Her royal
father, painted probably by Joost van Cleef, is
also here, very much as we see him when he appears
on the stage. His great contemporary, Francis I of
France, figures here in more than one picture, par-
ticularly in No. 286, where his long crafty nose is
almost too real. Among other notable works in the
room are the s}^mphony in green and brown by Ma-
buse, called Eleanor of Austria, and the very fine
Holbein, "Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene."
Mr. Ernest Law, in his pleasant and most instruc-
tive Guide to Hampton Court, draws attention to the
fact that the next room, the King's Writing Closet,
has a private staircase to the garden and that the
mirror is arranged to give a view of all the rooms on
the south side. The principal picture here is the
fantastic but very attractive portrait of Lady
Arabelhi Stuarf, liy (rhceracrts, in a lovely brocade
gown. Here also are a portrait of Queen Eli'/abeth
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with a fan, and of Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey,
with a curiously modern face, a distinguished work.
In Queen Mary's Closet is the famous picture of
Sir Jeffery Hudson (1619-1682) the dwarf, by
Daniel My tens. This very capable little person,
who was never really knighted, was the son of a
butcher at Oakham, in Rutlandshire, and when nine
years of age was presented by his father to the
Duchess of Buckingham. The boy was then only
eighteen inches tall, but was perfectly made: a real
Lilliputian. When entertaining Charles I and his
queen, the Duchess popped Jeffery into a pie, as
though he were the five-and-twentieth blackbird, and
the Queen was so enchanted by the little creature
that he was passed on to her and became a Court
favourite. He was more than this, too, for he had
an excellent intelligence and was given a captaincy
of horse during the Civil Wars. Accompanying the
Queen to Paris, after the debacle, he was engaged in
a duel. His adversary humorously and contemp-
tuously brought a squirt to the encounter, but Jeffery
having provided himself with a pistol shot him dead.
Later he was captured by Turkish pirates and sold as
a slave, and in this dire condition he began to grow,
reaching the astonishing proportions of three feet,
six inches. Returning at last to England, he settled
in the country on a pension, but was arrested for
suspected complicity in the popish plot of 1679
[276]
HAMPTON COURT
and imprisoned. Soon afterwards he died. The
Ashmolean Museum at Oxford preserves some of
his minute clothing. A portrait of Sir Jeffery's
first patron, the Duke of Buckingham, for whom
his father prepared bulls for baiting, is also in
this room,.
In the Queen's Gallery are a series of tapestries
illustrating the history of Alexander the Great.
In Queen Anne's State Bedchamber, where her
bed stands, with an enormously high canopy of
crimson and yellow Genoa velvet, the ceiling is not
by Verrio or Laguerre, but by Hogarth's father-in-
law, Sir James Thornhill. Here we find Italian
painters once more — a Francia (No. 394), mild and
saccharine as ever, but with a fine quality of lucidity;
a well-drawn St. Sebastian (No. 423), attributed to
Francia or a follower; Isabelle d'Este (No. 427),
perhaps by Parmigianino; and two softly beautiful
Correggios, "St. Catherine reading" and a "Holy
Family," both full of quiet beauty and the painter's
indescribable charm. I give a reproduction of the
"Holy Family."
From Queen Anne's Drawing-Room one should
look from the windows, for the yew walks with their
ancient sombre trees all branch from a point opposite
this apartment, while the ornamental water fills the
vista directly in front. Here are no pictures, but
flashy mural paintings by the tiresome flamboyant
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Verrio. Dean Swift once attended a royal levee in
this room.
In Queen Anne's Chamber we recede in history
and find Tudors and early Stuarts once more. A fa-
mous family group of Henry VIII is here: depicting
the King; his queen of the moment, Catherine Parr,
on his left; by her side Princess Elizabeth, afterwards
to become Good Queen Bess; and on Henry's other
side Prince Edward, later to be Edward VI, and
Princess Mary, afterwards "Bloody Mary." Behind
Mary is "Jane the Fool," and behind Elizabeth
Will Somers, the Court jester. Here also are two
synchronous pictures representing the Field of the
Cloth of Gold, with Henry VIII and Francis I as
the protagonists.
Of late the Prince of Wales's apartments have
been closed and their very miscellaneous pictures
transferred to the Public Dining-Room. Few of
these are of particular note, but among them is the
magnificent Adam and Eve of Mabuse; an interest-
ing group, Henry, Prince of Wales, and Robert
Devereux, Earl of Essex, hunting; a grotesque repre-
sentation of Hell, as the Dutch artist Hieronimus
Bosch conceived it; a very fine Peter Breughel, a
snow scene, called "Sacking a Village" (No. 582),
full of rich decorative hues; and an agreeable Pieter
de Hooch (No. 587).
We pass now through a series of small rooms,
[278]
a \
a
o
Pi t:
/ i u ^
HAMPTON COURT
with no light whatever, to the King's Gallery, where
the priceless Raphael cartoons used to be preserved.
But first we should look at the room itself, which
shows Wren at his best as a designer of an apart-
ment, and is also notable for Grinling Gibbons's
woodwork. The cartoons being now at South Ken-
sington, their places have been taken by the tapestries
made from them.
We now come, in the Communication Gallery, to
the greatest treasure that Hampton Court possesses
— the series of frescoes by the great Andrea Man-
tegna, representing the Triumph of Julius Cssar.
Damaged as these are by time and travel, for they
were painted on linen for the Duke of Mantua as
long ago as 1485-1492, these nine pictures (which
really are one picture cut into nine) are still most
beautiful and exciting. While impairing their out-
line, age has but softened their hues into the most
tender tones. The reds and yellows are particularly
lovely. Not the least surprising thing about this
wonderful Thames-side palace is that it should con-
tain these examples of a Master who possessed in
some ways the most interesting personality of any
painter, and the most fascinating intellect, but for
whose rare work at its greatest one must otherwise
travel to Padua and his own Mantua. Yet here he
is, serene and masterful, only a few yards from
Tagg's Island and Hurst Park race-course I
[279]
MOKE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
— So much for Hampton Court's pictures.
We now enter the little suite of rooms which
belonged to Cardinal Wolsey, the one known as his
Closet, which had a private stairway in the corner,
having a very fine ceiling and many of its original
diamond panes. The fresco represents the Passion.
Recrossing the courtyard diagonally, we come to
the staircase leading to the Great Hall built by
Henry VIII for state banquets, receptions, and those
masquerades in which he delighted and in which he
could become so dangerous. Shakespeare is known
to have acted here — a sufficiently thrilling thought.
The stained glass is all modern, but that says noth-
ing against it, for some of the colours are very
charming, notably the greens and purples; while the
Coburg and Garter blue, as it is called, at the end,
is most brilliant. The Great Hall is famous also
for its tapestries, which tell with minuteness and
fidelity the story of Abraham, and are explained by
a worthy and very aristocratic old gentleman, who
has as much pride in them as though he himself were
Bernard van Orley, their designer, or the chief of
the Brussels weavers who made them.
[280]
CHAPTER XXI
lord's
A centenary — The beginning of Lord's — The first matches
— The Earl of Winchilsea — Lord's I, Lord's II, and
Lord's III — Mr. William Ward — Sir Spencer Pon-
sonby-Fane — Cricket nonagenarians — Early days —
Praise of famous men — Nyren to "W. G."
SINCE A Wanderer in London was written, the
famous cricket ground in St. John's Wood has
celebrated its centenary, for it was first played upon
in 1814. The event was fittingly celebrated by an
official history not only of the ground but of the
iSI.C.C., or Marylebone Cricket Club, by Lord Har-
ris, who used to captain Kent and cut balls to the
boundary like bullets, and Mr. F. S. Ashley-Cooper,
who knows cricket records as the late Henri Fabre
knew insects. Mr. P. F. Warner, the Middlesex
captain, who is said to be intimately acquainted with
every daisy at Lord's, might have joined them; but
he did not.
The first match played on tlie j^resent Lord's
ground, according to Lillywhite's Scores and Biogra-
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phies, was on June 22, 1814. The sides were the"
M.C.C. V. Hertfordshire (with Mr. Bentley). The
M.C.C., for whom those early giants, Lord Frederick
Beauclerk, Mr. Budd, Mr. (or "Squire") Osbaldes-
ton, and Mr. William Ward, were playing, won.
The second recorded match on the present ground
was of a kind now unhappily extinct: single wicket.
It was on July 4, 1814, and the sides were the four
Hampshire men, E. Carter, Thumwood, John Ben-
nett and T. C. Howard, against the three M.C.C.
amateurs I have named above, with the Hon. E.
Blyth (of Kent) added. The gentlemen won hand-
somely — and so the ground's glorious career began.
Its history is this. In the latter half of the
eighteenth century, when cricket began to make its
way, London had but one cricket club of any stand-
ing, the White Conduit Club, called sometimes the
Star and Garter, which numbered among its mem-
bers many jovial spirits who were as ready for a
practical joke as for the game, but none the less
helped to revise the laws of cricket in 1755 and
1774. Among the members was the eighth Earl of
Winchilsea, a very keen hand, who retained in his
service a capable all-round Yorkshireman, named
Thomas Lord, to be useful in many ways, and not the
least in bowling to gentlemen. One day in the
seventeen-eighties the Earl of Winchilsea suggested
to Lord that there would be plenty of support forth-
[282]
LORD'S
coming if he would make a ground in a more central
position than the WTiite Conduit, and keep it more
select, so that the genial amateurs of cricket might
be sure of being able to get a knock (as we say now,
and as was practically all that batting meant then)
whenever they liked.
Lord expressed himself as willing, provided he
could be guaranteed against loss; and the Earl and
his friend Charles Lennox, afterwards fourth Duke
of Richmond, promising to see him through, set to
work, and the ground was ready in May 1787, the
club which was formed to play there and support it
being called, after the parish in which the ground
was situated, the Marylebone Cricket Club. Such
was the light-hearted inception of what has grown to
be the vast and highly organised institution which
all men know and respect as the M.C.C.
Lord's first ground occupied a site of which Dorset
Square is at present a part. That was from 1787
until 1810. Having notice to quit, he acquired
a new ground at the top of Lisson Grove, where the
Great Central Railway now is; but, the Regent's
Canal being planned to run right through it, he had
again to move, and this time he settled in St. John's
Wood and remained there. The story which always
used to be told was that Lord each time carried his
turf with him; but that cannot be true if, as the
centenary history states, the second ground was
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
being played on for two years — 1808-1810 — before
the first was given up. It was, as I have said, in
1814 that the present Lord's ground was ready.
Thomas Lord remained in control of the ground
until 1825, when, his lease being up, that enemy
which is always threatening the prosperity of any
open space in a big city began to draw nearer — I
mean, of course, the builder — and very drastic steps
were necessary. To his assistance came Mr. William
Ward, perhaps the greatest benefactor that cricket
ever had, and one to whom, were London's statue-
raising zeal thorough, there would long since have
been a monument, for he practically, as we have
already seen, was the father of the Oval too. This
most fortunate blend of the sportsman, the financier
and the patriot was born in 1787 and educated at
Winchester. He grew to be six feet one inch,
weighed fourteen stone and played with a 4-lb, bat.
In 1820 he made 278 in an innings; which long
remained the second highest score. He bowled slow
underhand, kept himself on too long, and fielded at
point. He played cricket almost to the end of his
life, chiefly for the M.C.C. and Hampshire, and was
one of those to take a reasonable view when round-
arm came in. Mr. Ward being also a Director of
the Bank of England and M.P. for the City of
London, it was natural that when Lord saw difficul-
ties threaten he should turn to him.
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LORD'S
The result was that Mr. Ward bought the lease,
which in 1835 he transferred to James Henry Dark
of honourable memory, who held it until 1864, when
the Club became the owners of the ground. Dark,
however, continued his active participation in man-
agement for several years and is hardly less the hero
of its history than Thomas Lord himself.
Not the least valuable portion of the volume —
indeed, it might well be considered the most valuable
since it embodies the personal recollections of a great
cricket enthusiast and patron, whose unclouded mem-
ory could go back for four-score years — is the late
Sir Spencer Ponsonby-Fane's introduction. Sir Spen-
cer, who died in 1915, is another example of the
happy longevity that can be the lot of followers of
the greatest of games; for he lived to be ninety
and thus comes within easy distance of his old friend
Mr. Jenner-Fust, who lived to be ninety-nine, and
William Beldham, who was ninety-six; while his
friend Mr. Budd reached ninety. Sir Spencer first
knew Lord's in the eighteen-thirties at the beginning
of the Dark regime. He thus describes it: "In the
then Pavilion, a small one-roomed building, sur-
rounded with a few laurels and shrubs, and capable
of holding forty or fifty members, I can see Mr.
Aislabie, the Secretary of the Club, a big fat man
over twenty stone in weight, fussing about with a
red book in which he was entering subscriptions for
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some desired match of which the funds of the Club
could not afford the expense. And here sat Lord
Frederick Beauclerk, then the Autocrat of the Club
and of Cricket in general, laying down the law and
organising the games. On these he always had a
bet of a sovereign, and he himself managed them
while sitting alongside the scorers at the top of the
ground, whence he issued his orders to the players.
He himself had then given up playing.
"Round the ground there were more of these
small benches without backs, and a pot-boy walked
round with a supply of Beer and Porter for the
public, who had no other means of refreshing them-
selves. Excepting these benches there were no seats
for spectators. At the south-west corner of the
ground there were large stacks of willow-blocks to
be seasoned and made into bats in the workshop
adjoining. On the upper north-east corner was a
large sheep-pen. In the centre of the ground,
opposite the Pavilion, was a square patch of grass
which was kept constantly rolled and taken care of.
No scythe was allowed to touch it, and mowing
machines were not then invented. The rest of the
ground was ridge and furrow — not very easy for
fielding on, nor made any easier by the number of,
old pitches which abounded, for on non-match days
the public could have a pitch for a shilling, a sum
which included the use of stumps, bat and ball, the
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LORD'S
last-named selected from half a dozen or so from
the capacious breeches pockets of 'Steevie' slatter,
Mr. Dark's factotum, which never seemed to be
empty.
"The grass, as I have said, was never mowed. It
was usually kept down by a flock of sheep, which
was penned up on match days, and on Saturdays
four or five hundred sheep were driven on to the
ground on their way to the Monday Smithfield Mar-
ket. It was marvellous to see how they cleared the
herbage. From the pitch itself, selected by Mr.
Dark, half a dozen boys picked out the rough stalks
of the grass. The wickets were sometimes difficult —
in a dry north-east wind, for instance; but when they
were in good order it was a joy to play on them, they
were so full of life and spirit. The creases were cut
with a knife, and, though more destructive to the
ground, were more accurate than those marked subse-
quently with white paint!"
"Let us now praise famous men," is the real motto
of any cricket history. And what a procession of
heroes Lord's can remember I The Earl of Winchil-
sea, the father of the M.C.C. ; the Earl of Tanker-
vilie, who employed Nyren's Lumjiy (and, as we
have seen, Surrey's borrowed bulwark) as his gar-
dener and Bedstcr as his butler; the Duke of Dorset,
who kej)t Miller, Minshull, and Bowra, all worthies
of Nyren's deathless page, in his service, handy for
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the game; Sir Horace Mann, who retained the broth-
ers Ring; the Rev. Lord Frederick Beauclerk, D.D,,
who seems, in spite of his passion for cricket and
fine aptitude at it, to have done as a "backer" his
best or worst in the impossible task of ruining its
character; Mr. Budd, "who always wanted to win
the game off a single ball," and "did so like to make
the ring fall back farther and farther as he warmed
to his play" ; Mr. Ward himself, who used the same
bat for fifty years, and as he grew older is said, while
standing nominally at point, to have treated the
striker with too much respect — and who can blame
him*? George Anderson, who, when he could not
sleep, went downstairs for his bat and took it back
to bed with him; Mr, Benjamin Aislabie, who com-
posed comic rhymes on his contemporaries and was
never refused a subscription to a match; "Squire"
Osbaldeston, who bowled so fast that he required
two long-stops; Will Caldecourt, who hit six 6's in
an over; Mr. Kingscote, who drove Lilly white out
of the ground into Hanover Crescent; William Lilly-
white himself, who to his Captain's reproaches for
not catching someone off his own bowling — the
"Nonpareil" being very chary of injuring his hand
— replied definitely, "Look here, sir, when I've
bowled the ball I've done with her, and I leaves her
to my field" (pronouncing bowled to rhyme with
fouled) ; Mr. C. G. Taylor, a wag as well as a
[288]
LORD'S
cricketer, who backed himself to learn the piano and
sing, in six weeks, and walk down King's Parade in
a pair of trousers of his own make, and won; Old
Clarke, the slow bowler, who forewarned the field
of any impending "haccident"; the great Alfred
Mynn, the Kentish colossus, perhaps the finest figure in
the whole history of the game, who, when there was
a question of increasing the number of balls in the
over said, "Myself, I should like a hundred"; Mr.
Buchanan, who was right fast for eighteen years and
then changed to slow left and did wonders with it;
Mr. Cobden, who took the last three Oxford wickets
with consecutive balls and won the university match
by two runs; Mr. Booth, who in 1865 hit a ball over
the Pavilion and having " 'ands like a 'ip-bath"
made a catch which none who saw have ever for-
gotten; and, finally, "W. G." himself, who made his
first appearance at Lord's in 1864 when sixteen, and
scored 50, and in 1899 was elected a life member
of the Club.
These are matured heroes. Then there are also
great Public School figures, such as Lord Byron,
cricketer and cricket epigrammatist; John Harding
of Eton, who named his bat after Mrs. Keate;
Charles Wordsworth, afterwards the bishop, who
gave Henry Manning, afterwards the cardinal, a
bat and received a poetical reply containing these
lines:
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"And if there's anything on earth can mend
My wretched play, it is that piece of wood;"
Picky Powell, an Eton hanger on, who dared to say
to a Harrow pugilist, "All the good I see in 'Arrow
is that you can see Eton from it"; and Lord D ,
who could not stand the anxiety of a close finish,
but hired a cabman to drive him two miles from
Lord's and then back, and on learning that Eton
had won, drove all the way down Portland Place
and Regent Street cheering at the top of his voice.
Such are some of the great deeds and great char-
acters that Lord's has known.
And, even as I write, the greatest figure in modern
cricket has passed away — W. G. Grace. He leaves
a void that can never be filled again. The game
will recover and there will again be great cricketers;
but there can never be another so immeasurably the
greatest — never another not only to play cricket as
Grace did, but to be cricket as Grace was.
Cricket and W. G. were indeed one. Popular
superstition and the reporters had it that he was a
physician, and it is true that, when a wicket-keeper
smashed his thumb or a bumping ball flew into a
batsman's face, first aid would be administered in
the grateful shade of the "Doctor's" beard; but it
was impossible really to think seriously of his
medical activities, or indeed of any of his activities
[290]
THF-: IIDI.Y I- AMII.Y UITII ST. J A NIKS
AITKR TIIF MfTI KK HV COKKEGCIO AT HAMPTON COURT
LORD'S
off the field. Between September and May one
thought of him as hibernating in a cave, returning
to life with renewed vigour with the opening of the
season, his beard a little more imposing, his propor-
tions a little more gigantic; so that each year the
bat in his hand, as he walked to the wicket with
that curious rolling tumbling gait, seemed a more
trifling implement.
With the mind's vision one sees him in many
postures. At the wicket: waiting, striking and
running; and again bowling, in his large round ac-
tion, coming in from the leg, with a man on the leg
boundary a little finer than square, to catch the
youngsters who lunged at the widish ball (his
"bread-and-butter trick," W. G. called it). One
sees him thus and thus, and even retiring to the
pavilion, either triumphantly — with not, of course,
a sufficient but an adequate score to his credit — or
with head bent pondering how it was he let that
happen and forewarning himself against it next
time. But to these reminiscent eyes the most fa-
miliar and characteristic attitude of all is W. G.
among his men at the fall of a wicket, when they
would cluster round to discuss the event and, no
matter how tall they were, W. G.'s beard and shoul-
ders would top the lot. Brave days for ever gone I
Of late years, since his retirement, the Old Man,
as he was best known among his fellow-amateurs,
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was an occasional figure at Lord's. More than a
figure, a landmark, for he grew vaster steadily, more
massive, more monumental. What must it have
been like to have that Atlas back and those shoul-
ders in front of one in the theatre I At the big
matches he would be seen on one of the lower seats
of the pavilion with a friend on either side, watch-
ing and commenting. But the part of oracle sat
very lightly upon him; he was ever a man of action
rather than of words; shrewd and sagacious enough,
but without rhetoric. That his mind worked with
Ulysses-like acuteness every other captain had rea-
son to know ; his tactics were superb. But he donned
and doffed them with his flannels. In ordinary life
he was content to be an ordinary man.
Although sixty-seven, he did not exactly look old;
he merely looked older than he had been, or than
any such performer should be permitted to be.
There should be a dispensation for such masters, by
which W. G. with his bat, and John Roberts with
his cue, and Cinquevalli with his juggling imple-
ments, would be rendered immune from Anno Dom-
ini. Almost to the end he kept himself fit, either
with local matches, where latterly he gave away
more runs in the field than he hit up, not being able
to "get down" to the ball, or with golf or beagling.
But the great beard grew steadily more grizzled and
the ponderous footfall more weighty. Indeed,
[292]
LORD'S
towards the last he might almost have been a work
by Mestrovics, so colossal and cosmic were his lines.
Peace to his ashes I We shall never look upon his
like again. The days of Grace are ended.
[293]
CHAPTER XXII
THE ZOO
The new spirit — The Mappin Terraces — Bears and goats —
New friends — The enchanting Bush baby — The obscene
echidna — Pheasants of every hue — Dandies and dowdies
— Spring in Regent's Park — The insect house — A black
jaguar — The little birds — "Beware of pickpockets" —
Years of disappointment — A pickpocket at last !
GREAT and laudable activity has marked recent
years at the Zoo, in every department, but to
the returning visitor who has been absent since, say,
1910, the outstanding innovation would be the Map-
pin Terraces. These are a series of raised platforms,
at the west end of the Gardens, rising to mountain-
ous peaks on which goats perch themselves against
the evening sky. At the foot is a pool for flamingoes,
and between these extremities are enclosures where
comic and grotesque bears seem to spend their whole
lives in an erect posture. Intersecting paths give a
view of these animals such as has not previously been
enjoyed, while the conditions must be more pleasing
to the inmates than heretofore. The benefactor of
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THE ZOO
the Gardens who made possible this scheme, which is
adapted from the Hagenbeck Zoo at Hamburg, was
the late Mr. Frederick Mappin, with whose knives
so many of us cut our food.
No book can keep pace with the Zoo. Indeed,
since this chapter was begun the mandril has died —
that terrifying post-impressionist ape in a cage by
the Inner Circle entrance. The new pair of beavers
have also thrown all their predecessors' shyness to
the winds and are as willing to be looked at as ac-
tresses; my young ourang-outang friends Annie and
Jerry no more are to be fondled beneath the ape
house; and the sea lion enclosure has lost its King
Penguin.
Every time I go to the Zoo I find new creatures.
It was not, for example, until on a quite recent visit
that I made the acquaintance in real life of the Bush
baby, although South African novelists had paved
the way for the meeting. There is a Bush baby in
a house by the Primrose Hill entrance: a tiny
pathetic silver-grey mousey creature, with very round
timid eyes, the colour of light dinner ale or uncut
amber, and tiny hands with little tufts on each finger-
tip, and folding ears, and the most surprising way
of effortless jumping from the floor of its cage to the
top of its tree, where it crouches and thinks sadly of
Africa.
I can recommend the Maholi Galago, which is its
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full-dress name, very highly as an ingratiating and
melancholy foreigner; but there are two obscene
monsters in the box beneath which I hope I shall
never see again, one of which was hauled out and
lectured upon by the keeper before I could escape.
A more revolting jumble of animals than the Black-
spined Porcupine, or Echidna, of Dutch New
Guinea, I never dreamed of. It is part bird, part
quadruped, and wholly uncouth and uncanny. To
find one in one's bed would mean lifelong maniacy.
Such things are drawn in the old game of "Birds,
beasts, and fishes" ; such things get into books by Mr.
Wells and Sir A. Conan Doyle. To find one alive,
or at any rate moving, at the Zoo, is a shock. What
the keeper said I cannot recall, for I was receding all
the time, but one reiterated fact has stuck in my
mind : "With the temperature of a reptile," he said
again and again. Well, let those that want to take
such temperatures, take them. For me, the adjacent
pheasantry.
I had never thought intently about pheasants be-
fore. I knew them as huge birds which provoke
heart seizures in spring by suddenly rising from one's
very feet with a terrible explosion. I knew them, or
rather I had heard of them, as feeding so glutton-
ously on mangolds as to ruin farmers. I knew them
as being practically tame and confiding domestic
poultry until September 30, on the next day turning
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THE ZOO
into wild fowl which any gunner is proud to hit. I
knew them as providing excellent autumnal food
(boiled, with chestnuts, for choice) so long as one
does not bite on a pellet. I knew them also as being
of a handsome burnished brown hue with tails like
comets. What I did not know was that most other
countries have pheasants too, and that the bird,
though true to type in the main, differs amazingly
with each country, and that China easily wins in this
department, the Chinese pheasants being more glor-
ious and brilliant than any other. There is indeed
one Celestial fowl which, were it let loose in the City,
would lure the whole population into pursuit, so
auriferous is it; the Gold pheasant, in short; and,
strangely enough, this bird, who woos with very odd
manoeuvres, has the dowdiest wives of all. No
pheasant allows his ladies to dress more than de-
cently; that is understood. But the Gold pheasant
of China keeps their dress allowance down to prac-
tically nothing at all. The best-dressed wives are
those of the Siamese Fireback, who show to advan-
tage, as the fashion papers say, in a stylishly-cut
tailor-made costume. I do not say that the Gold
pheasant is the king of the j)heasantry, but he is the
most gorgeous. My own taste is simpler. T like best
the Peacock j)heasant of British Burniah, with its
purple s[)ots on a soft grey background. Among
others arc Reeves' pheasant, post-impressionist in
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design, in yellows and black; and the rich horned
Tragopan ; and the Himalayan Monaul, whose many
hues change with every movement; and the Java
jungle fowl, through whose blue and crimson comb
the light burns; and the Prince of Wales pheasant
of North Afghanistan, which is the sublimation of
our own English variety. But all are wonderful,
each in a different way, and in the spring, when the
thought of eggs is predominant, they are at their best
— at least, the happy gentlemen are. Let all who
visit the Zoo in the spring therefore — and spring
comes up as gaily and graciously in Regent Park as
anywhere in the world — remember the pheasantry.
Better than most picture galleries is this terrace of
aviaries.
Another part of the Gardens, new since I wrote A
Wanderer in London, is the Insect House, where the
birth of butterflies and moths may be witnessed while
you wait. A huge privet hawk moth was painfully
crawling out of its chrysalis just as I reached the
railings, and a vast mass of quivering larvae which a
day or so before I had watched in fascinated disgust
had now become millions of blue-bottle flies. But
the most curious things were the bird-eating spiders
of Trinidad. To me they were wholly unfamiliar;
but a small boy of about ten was fluently ticking off
their accomplishments to his sisters and nurse. To
babes and sucklings how many things are revealed I
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THE ZOO
What else did I see on my last visit (and I go very
frequently) that particularly delighted me? Well,
I saw a Savannah deer from Iquique, with the sweet-
est, gentlest countenance. I saw a black jaguar (but
perhaps all jaguars are black), through whose glossy
coat the ghosts of spots were now and then visible;
and nothing more forlorn or tragic than the expres-
sion in its yellow eyes did I ever watch. Truly ter-
rible this — to know that there is nothing in store for
it for ever but to possess the soul which of course it
does not possess (those trifles being reserved for the
crowds on the other side of its bars) in patience and
courage in this solitary confinement. Until the end!
And in the melancholy of this superb creature I read
the whole indictment of Zoological Gardens all the
world over. The otter in his pool, the monkeys in
their sociable cages, the sea lions in their rocky haunt,
the busy humorous elephants bearing their constant
human loads, the bears in the Mappin terraces, with
visits from punctual friends, the parrots in their
large aviary and the small birds in their little one —
these are not necessarily to be much pitied. But that
jaguar in his narrow cell and, not so far away, those
eagles accustomed to soar out of sight but now cooped
and cabined — they excite only compassion and the
question, Is it worth while keeping them as a show?
I mentioned the small birds just now, and that
reminds me that on visiting their abode my eyes were '
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amazed by the Toucans and fascinated by the Yel-
low-winged Sugar Birds. Of the Toucan, with its
incredible beak and lavish colouring, one might say,
as the American rustic said on his first sight of the
giraffe in the travelling menagerie, "Hell! I don't
believe it I" but the little Sugar Birds are like the
gayest of thoughts, and might have been Maeter-
linck's exemplars. Such dark blue and such light
blue never were elsewhere in this wonderful world,
into which the Regent's Park Gardens offer such
fascinating and bewildering glimpses.
And then, just before coming away I had the
greatest triumph of all my career as a F.Z.S. I saw
a pickpocket. You know how at every turn in the
Gardens a notice warns you to beware of these dan-
gerous fauna? But never had I been robbed or wit-
nessed any hue and cry. The words "Beware of
Pickpockets" I had indeed come to look upon as the
"Wolf! Wolf!" of the fable. Even in the lions'
house at feeding time when, tradition has it, the
pupils of Fagin are at their very best, I had never
detected a practitioner. Yet now, at last, I had the
satisfaction of watching one actually at work there —
as flagrantly as that historic but unnamed performer
who abstracted a snuffbox from a courtier under the
eyes of Charles II, and by his roguish shamelessness
made the Merry Monarch an accomplice.
The day was so hot that for a while I did a thing
[300]
THE ZOO
I have never done before: I sat on a chair in the
path up and down which the elephants slowly parade
as they bear their loads of excited children and self-
conscious adults; and it was there that I found the
pickpocket, or, if you like, it was there that he found
me. For I was one of his victims.
I had always thought of pickpockets as little chaps
capable of slipping away even between men's legs in
a crowd; but this fellow was big. I had thought,
too, of pickpockets as carrying on their nefarious pro-
fession with a certain secrecy and furtiveness; but
the Zoo pickpocket, possibly from sheer cynicism, or
from sheer advantage of size, making most of the
officials look insignificant and weakly, was at few
or no pains to cover his depredations. Nor did he,
as I supposed was the custom of his kind, devote him-
self to watches, pocket-books and handkerchiefs, but
took whatever he could, and if a bag chanced to have
something in it and he could not extract the contents
quickly enough, he took the bag as well. He was
indeed brazen; but scatheless too.
My own loss was trifling — merely a newspaper,
which I would have given him had he asked for it.
But before I knew anything it was snatched from
my hands by this voracious thief. To say that I was
astonished would be to state the case with absurd
mildness; I was electrified. But when T looked
round for the help whici\ an}' man is entitled to ex-
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pect, judge of my horror when I found that not only-
all the spectators who had witnessed the outrage,
but also the only keepers within sight, were laughing.
And I can swear that the pickpocket was laughing
too, for there was an odd light in his wicked little
yellow eye as he opened his mouth, lifted his trunk
with my poor journal firmly held in it, and deposited
the paper in that pink cavern his mouth. For my
first Zoo pickpocket was the biggest of the elephants,
who is both old enough and large enough to know
better.
[302]
CHAPTER XXIII
A GROUP OF LONDONERS
The true Londoner — S. F. and his water colours — The print
shops — J. O. L. and his drawings — The passionate Lon-
doner — A. C. P. and his variousness — An editor of Lon-
don — A. E. B. the talker — A few bookmen — Bertram
Dobell the bookseller and more — Samuel Drewett.
LONDONERS are both bom and made. I know
examples of both varieties and I find that those
that are made are the most appreciative and those
that are born the most thorough.
The true Londoner, born or made, has a devotion
to centrality; a feeling that everything that is not
London is not London, "All time," said the atheist
Julius Vanini, who, in spite of his recantation, was
burned at the stake, "is lost that is not spent in
love." The Londoner feels tliat too, as Sydney
Smith states, in the motto on my title-page, — with
the substitution (a distinction with very little differ-
ence) of London for love; and he may feel it in any
spot in tlic world to which iron circumstance or a
treacherous caprice of his own has carried him. That
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is what I mean by Londoner, and the exiles arc
often, like Stanley Ortheris, more eloquent in praise
of the city of their desire than ever they will be
when in her midst again. Absence can but make
their hearts grow fonder, as not always it does in
other and grosser love, in spite of the proverbialist.
In the pages that follow I attempt outline por-
traits of Londoners whom I have known, all save
two under disguised initials. Those two being no
longer living I give them their names — Bertram Do-
bell the bookseller and Samuel Drewett who, before
settling in Paris, where he died, sold prints in
Northumberland Avenue. The others are either in
London at this moment or will soon, I hope — S. F.,
for example, is now a soldier — be here again.
If a certain family similarity is perceptible in
them all, in that each has something of the collector
spirit, it is because I am myself that way disposed,
and like attracts like. But it is of the essence of
the true Londoner, whether he consciously amasses
or not, to be noticing; and the collector who does
not notice will have barren cabinets.
Looking at S. F. so fresh and ruddy, almost bu-
colic of visage, with a little pucker of perplexity
ever in his brow, you would say this man must have
wandered into the city by chance; for how can he
be a Londoner*? He is perhaps an enthusiastic gar-
dener with a nice hand for the seccateur (you would
[304]
A GROUP OF LONDONERS
sayj, or, not surprising if he breeds spaniels. But
really you would be wrong, for S. F. has but one
passion and that is old water-colour drawings, and
only in London can such a passion be gratified. Not
that it can ever be gratified at all, of course, for the
passion of the collector learned its only cry from the
daughters of the horse leech; yet each fresh morsel
confers its own delight, even though it increases the
void. What S. F. ought to have been doing before
he took to khaki I could never ascertain: where the
desk that should claim most of his wakeful hours;
where the clerks and typists whose efforts bring him
his pelf; but no one knows better than I in what
agreeable way he neglects his duty and misapplies
his time and disperses his riches; for I have helped
him in the sweet pursuit.
Not a picture-dealer great or small, not a sale-
room, is unacquainted with his mien. He is inde-
fatigable. He will turn over twenty portfolios of
engravings and prints in the hope of one drawing;
for engravings interest him not, except as having
been preceded by paint. Thus, he buys Keepsakes
and Gems and Landscape Annuals wherever he sees
them, always trusting some day to come upon tlie
original of the steel plates. He is utterly ignorant
of the R.A.s and A.H.A.s of tlie moment, but it
would pu7//le you to put a (juestion about Turner
and Girtin, the Cozens', David Cox or the Varleys
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
Paul Sandby or Samuel Prout, Bonington or Dayes,
that he could not answer. These are, however, the
greater names. Ask him also of the lesser known:
Hugh O'Neil or John Collett, William Payne (who
discovered Payne's Grey), or John Glover (who
tamed birds while he sketched), and he will tell you
of them, and, what is more, show you examples of
their work and explain why it is not any better than
it ought to be. He is true to water as a Rechabite.
Oil touches him not. You may lead him in vain
through the National Gallery: he will be breaking
for the basement all the time to glance once again
at the Turner sketches; while it is at South Ken-
sington that he is most truly at home, studying
Francia (from whom the glorious Bonington had his
early lessons), wondering why William Callow was
never properly recognized, and deploring the fading
of the Peter de Wints.
For the water-colour enthusiast, London has not
too many hunting-grounds; but it is necessary very
frequently to visit such as there are if one is to be
blessed. And the bookseller must not be forgotten,
for at any moment an extra-illustrated volume may
come in — a topographical work as a rule — and this
may yield great treasure. For such quarry there is
a shop in the Brompton Row, between Sloane Street
and Harrods' that is important. This fascinating
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A GROUP OF LONDONERS
establishment may almost be said to be an annexe
of S. F.'s suburban mansion.
Odd how different men can be : J. O. L., who is
the keenest Londoner in existence — to whom London
is a passion — also collects pictorial art, but for him
colour has no attraction whatever. Pen and pencil
drawings, etchings and engravings, are his joy: but
always and only of landscape — this green England
of ours, in its austere moods for the most part, and
in the fewest possible lines; although — for we are
all, thank God, inconsistent — his eyes can wonder-
fully soften and indeed almost dim before Girtin's
"White House at Chelsea," that perfect first dis-
covery, before Whistler or even Turner, of the
beauty and magic of the London Thames. But
there are wider differences than this between S. F.
and J. O. L., not the least being that S. F. is a man
of leisure, and would be a man of leisure no matter
how much he had to do or how little to live upon;
whereas J. O. L. has never had any leisure in his life,
and never will have. He is one who carries his
work with him ; his head is full of it, and he is always
in a rush. Even had Heaven showered upon him
riches, I doubt if he would have contrived to evade
as many honorary obligations as those which now
overpower him of necessity. None the less, in his
rapid synthetic way, he manages to know as much
of the life of London of the present day as most of
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
us, even to Its comic singers, wliile of the London of
the past he knows almost more than any.
For London is his theme, almost his life. His
shelves, even floors, groan beneath the weight of
London literature, London journalism, London port-
folios. His walls are covered with London prints,
among which those other notes of landscape in firm
and vivid line shine like flowers. Perhaps, to have
such a passion, such white heat of admiration, it is
necessary to be a provincial, and come to the allur-
ing Mecca with all one's adolescent homage and
young enthusiasms fresh and thrilling. So did he, at
any rate, some thirty and more years ago, and fell a
slave and is a slave still — with the added power of
recommending the bonds to others.
A. C. P. is also a London collector, but he may be
called a collector of life. He is not much less in-
terested in water-colours than S. F., but he adds oils
to them; nor much less fascinated by the ancient city
than J. O. L. ; but to these tastes he adds an actuality
that they lack. With sympathies for everything old
he is yet intensely of the present. He has been
called the busiest man in London, but he also man-
ages to see more of it than most idle Londoners. He
is an excellent example of the Londoner with eyes.
As he walks he notes, and the consequence is that he
is a fund of inspiration to those who do not observe
and want to be told things. He knows most of the
[308]
A GROUP OF LONDONERS
obvious things and some of the recondite things, but
has all a Londoner's strange lacunse. Some one once
said to him, "There is only one thing more remark-
able than the things you do know and that is the
things you don't know" ; but none the less he is rarely
stumped utterly. He treasures not only the sights
of London, but its phrases. He can tell you not only
what is the latest slang but when it came in, and
often who brought it. He rejoices in a good idiom,
and quite recently stopped me to enjoy with him a
description he had overheard of a little London ser-
vant girl who, one tristful Wednesday night, was
said to be "looking both ways for Sunday" — surely
a very happy hitting off of the mid-week feeling. On
another occasion, as we stood together sipping re-
freshment, I asked him why a "John Collins" was
so called — a question I had put in vain to many
friends — and in an instant he told me of the old
London waiter, and quoted the lines:
"My name is John Collins, head waiter at Ummer's,
Corner of Conduit Street, Hanover Square ;
My chief occupation is filling of hrimmers
To solace young gentlemen laden with care."
Not many Americans, to whom a '".Tohn Collins"
is more of a reality than with us, know that. But
if any American in London wants his national bev-
erages, A. C. P. is the man that he should ask; for
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
he knows the bars of London hardly less intimately
than her picture-galleries and houses of entertain-
ment; and while he can tell you not only where you
may see a Claude Monet, and what time to reach
Covent Garden to enjoy the most exquisite moment
of the Russian ballet, he can tell you also where
the best dry Martini is mixed.
Had London an editor, such as I think would be
greatly to her advantage, A. C. P. could fill the
void. For one thing, he would set up direction posts
at such spots as Piccadilly Circus and Charing Cross,
indicating the bus routes and corresponding numbers,
for the convenience of the wayfarer. Persons who
have been in Munich will remember the clarity with
which such information is imparted. Too much
order may impair a city's quality, but London has
no order at all except such as one can extract from
the nearest policeman. And apropos of policemen, I
may say that A. C. P. knows several of them per-
sonally, and more than one officer of the Criminal
Investigation Department. His foible indeed, wher-
ever he goes, is preferential treatment.
Perhaps as good a definition of the complete Lon-
doner as could be given is to say of him that he knows
omnibuses by their numbers. I am sure that A. C.
P. does not, but he can tell most cabmen a quicker
way than they themselves would choose, and he
knows also the best second-hand book shops for most
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A GROUP OF LONDONERS
varieties of literature. It was he who first drew my
attention to the pretty relief of St. Martin giving
his cloak to the beggar, that is on all the lamp-posts
in the parish of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields.
A. C. P., however, although he will answer ques-
tions and interject comments, does not talk. My
London talker is A. E. B. A. E. B. carries on the
Johnson tradition: he sits in taverns and discourses
on everything that crops up. He has no sense of
time and no power of repletion : hence he sits on
and on, and empties whatever is placed before him,
and embroiders all subjects under the sun, until
some one mentions the hour, when he remembers a
variety of engagements, all of which are broken,
and thinks it best perhaps to return home. Only
with the assistance of cabs can he keep any appoint-
ment, and knowing this, and having at bottom a
genuine if pathetic desire to be businesslike, he clings
to a cabman as a drowning man to a spar, and cannot
bear to let him go. Cabmen, therefore, who have the
good fortune to catch his eye, live in affluence by
sheer waiting for him at so much an hour outside
houses.
He corncs fully armed to every tojiic: cifhcr he
has really meditated upon it, or surli is his marvel-
lous power of ini[)rovisation — and 1 incline to this
theory — that lie can frame his inventions of the in-
stant as tliough they were the result of sleepless
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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
nights. His peculiar gift is to generalize from the
particular. Being for the most part so engrossed in
his own fancies, he sees little as he passes through
the streets with moving lips as in a dream. Hence,
when he does see a thing, it becomes a portent and
fills his imagination. A. C. P., who sees everything,
listening to him would be smiling in his beard all
the while; but others he can take in, and does, to
their immense satisfaction, for he has every rhetori-
cal charm.
When it comes to London bookworms, memory
reels, for I know so many. There is B. P., who,
with no time for the search, quietly and stealthily
conveys to his home every evening a new treasure,
found none knows where; and, with no intellectual
shop-window at all, sitting silent a whole evening
unless challenged, has ever, hidden away on a men-
tal shelf, some curious fact on every topic started,
and, on actual shelves, copies of most of the rare
books (and many unique ones, with autographs and
marginalia of the great dead in them) of which men,
on such occasions, talk. There is P. R., a pillar of
learning and industry, who writes more reviews and
reads more publishers' manuscripts than any ordi-
nary five men, and yet has time to search Charing
Cross Road systematically from end to end every
week, see every new play, entertain and be enter-
tained, and maintain a correspondence with his
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A GROUP OF LONDONERS
friends so copious as to compare favourably with the
letters of the good days before railways and a fever-
ish daily press had arrived to impair the art.
But my special bookworm shall be one who not
only bought books, and read them and sold them,
but even went on to write them as well — yes, and
poetry too — the late Bertram Dobell of the Charing
Cross Road. Bertram Dobell was the true stamp.
;No "remainders" in his shop, and no visible order.
Dust everywhere; books everywhere: on the floor
in heaps, in the cellar in heaps, and yet some mys-
terious secret law must have obtained there, for if
you wanted a book, and he had it, it would emerge.
B. D. himself, however, was not much to be seen
in latter days: he left the market to assistants, and
largely to his sons, who still carry on the business
with distinction, and sat in a little room at the back,
so full of books that the mere process of entering it
and leaving it must have been a daily problem to
one of his bulk; and there he pored over new dis-
coveries or talked good book talk with such of his
visitors as were thin enough or determined enough
to reach and occupy the other chair. Once you were
there he pushed an opening or two in the rampart
of volumes before him, and through these chinks you
conversed like Pyramus and Thisbe.
Such glimj)ses of Bertram Dobell as you could
thus catch showed him to be in the seventies, with a
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large fine thinking head, fringed with longish grey-
hair, and a pointed grey beard. His face was fur-
rowed, and liis eyes suggested that reading and
thought had always been put before sleep. Rem-
brandt should have painted him in this dark cell.
Not that Bertram Dobell had ever been eremitical.
Among his poems are stanzas of a genial and ruddy
cast not only on ladies that he had loved but on
dancing girls that he had seen (giving those tired
eyes an unaccustomed balm), while among his bio-
graphical prefaces — for he knew and edited poets of
revolt — are sympathetic passages indicating that he
too had felt the heat of the fray.
It was a charming characteristic of Bertram Dobell
that he had always something new to show you —
usually an Elizabethan or Jacobean MS., but as
often as not a well-known book annotated by a not
less well-known reader — even Coleridge himself.
Discoveries — to you and me so epoch-making — were
the warp and woof of his life. By an indefinable
law, the rarities gravitated to his already over-con-
gested treasure-house. Once he hunted them: lat-
terly they hunted him. As the years before him di-
minished, the tasks set by his editorial ambition in-
creased, and he grudged every minute spent away
from his desk. The bookseller gradually and stead-
ily transmuted to author. To us, to-day, this is
nothing; but how the wits at Will's Coffee House
[314]
A GROUP OF LONDONERS
would have played with the idea, in those days when
most of the jokes were at booksellers' expense !
London has many second-hand booksellers, but
none like Bertram Dobell, He alone was author
and poet too. He alone had read everything he
sold and knew some of it better than the pundits.'
To his enthusiasm (for I doubt if he ever made a
penny by his books) we owe additions to our knowl-
edge of Shelley and Lamb; but, most of all, to his
critical insight is the world indebted for the poems
and meditations of that rapt ecstatic soul Thomas
Traherne,
Samuel Drewett, like J. O. L., was a Londoner
made; he came hither not from Northumberland, like
J. O. L., but from Bedfordshire, and he brought with
him just that little bundle of impulsive idealism and
generosity which he carried all his life and which
the ills and misfortunes, and, most of all, the disap-
pointments and frustrations that beset his path,
could do little to diminish. This he brought to Lon-
don, and this he took from it when he moved to a
sister capital abroad: no more; for he was of that
small and select band, surely very precious to the
angels, whose efforts go towards h('lj)ing others,
rather than themselves, to affluence and success.
London is not over kind. London likes to see this
man miss his train and that slip on orange [xel ; this
wcak-wittcd woman mocked by boys, and that dandy
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
receive a mud spot full on his collar. But S. D. was
essentially sympathetic and pitiful. He loathed all
such calamities, and had he his way no train should
start until every sign of a hurrying passenger was
absent, and omnibuses should carry real mud-guards,
and all pavements should be cleared by authority of
peel; while in his presence boys mocked a woman
at their peril. For with him to feel was to act. I
almost wrote, to think was to act; but I doubt if he
thought at all, in the ordinary sense of the word.
He arrived at conclusions by a mixed process of in-
dignation, or joy, and instinct. I remember being
with him one windy day on London Bridge when
we came upon a little knot of people surrounding a
flower-girl whose hat had blown into the river. She
stood in the midst, the picture of woe and despair,
while the crowd either gaped in amusement or ex-
pressed empty regrets, most of them remarking on the
impossibility of ever getting it back again: "Not
from the Thames, you won't; not on a day like this;"
and so forth, with endless iteration. S. D.'s method
was different. His own hat was off in a moment and
a shilling (he had too few of them all his short life)
in it. "Now, then, gentlemen, let's get the poor girl
another hat," and such was his magnetic, persuasive
way that he had coaxed a sum of six shillings from
those reluctant pockets in half as many minutes, and
[31 6]
A SHEPHERD Willi A PIPE
APTEK THE PICTUHB ATTKIBUTED TO GIORCIONE AT HAMPTON COURT
A GROUP OF LONDONERS
the girl went on her way with her tears changed to
smiles.
He was perhaps a really typical Londoner only in
one respect — he could tell you instantly all the
errors that wanted adjustment. His eye for incapaci-
ties was that of an eagle; and he usually pointed out
the defect to the right person. No man can have
sent for the manager so often; but where he differed
from all other men who have that amusing and bar-
ren habit, was in the circumstance that no matter in
what a tornado of blame the interview began, the
censor and the censured were always as David and
Jonathan at the end of it. But his principal and
most devoted adherents were employees in lower
grades — waiters and commissionaires, messenger boys
and policemen, railway guards and bus conductors.
These adored him. Not for any money that he could
give them, for he had no margin for tips, but for
that rarer and more flattering and memorable form of
tip, a good understanding, a basis of intercourse. A
joke he had for all and something special for all too
— pointing out a paragraph he had been reading in
the paper; recounting a personal experience in the
hearer's walk of life; making an accusation of des-
perate licentiousness (always unction to these good
fellows) ; offering a cigarette from his own case. But
never money. Me had an instinct that money was
only for those whose attachment he did not want and
MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON
was not worth having. Even had he been rich I
doubt if he would have given money to those whom
he really liked — so fastidious and sensitive was he.
His special line was pictures, of which he knew a
great deal ; and together we saw many. As he grew
older and misfortune drew closer, he had to abandon
his connexion with art and take to literature. He
took a little to cynicism too, and although the radi-
ance of his generosity nothing could dim, his words
became tinged with bitterness. "My boy," he said
to me one day, not long before he moved abroad
for ever, — "my boy, remember these lines:
'It's a very good world to live in.
To lend or to spend or to give in,
But to beg or to borrow or get a man's own
It's the very worst world that ever was known.'
Get these lines into your head and then you'll never
be surprised or shocked when you are left high and
dry."
Well, he is dead now, and more and more I find
myself thinking of him and desiring his company,
which was the best in the world. My first of every-
thing that was most valuable I seem to have had
from him: he gave me my first water-colour paint-
ings, a little sea-scape by a painter named Heery, and
a romantic sketch by John Varley; he gave me my
[318]
A GROUP OF LONDONERS
first engraving, a benefit ticket by Cipriani and Bar-
tolozzi; he gave me my first grown-up book, The
Autocrat of the Breakfast Table; and all when I was
not yet in the teens, or only just there, when gifts
need imagination and count. . . . Above all, he first
showed me London.
[319]
INDEX
INDEX
Adam Brothers, the, 202, 248.
Addison, Joseph, 106.
Adelphi, the, 202-217.
Aislabie, Benjamin, 285, 288.
Albert, Prince, 51, 142, 160;
Memorial, the, 101-2.
Alexandra, Queen, 193.
Anderson, George, 288.
Anne, Queen, 84, 140, 277-8.
Arches, Court of, 2.
Arts, Society of, 202-211, 214,
218-228.
Ashley-Cooper, F. S., 281.
Astley, Philip, 175-84.
Atheists, Johnson on, 215.
Audley, Hugh, 79.
Auto-icons, 223.
B
Bailiie, Joanna, 218.
Balft, M. \V., 243.
Banks, Sir Joseph, 243.
Barry, Sir Charles, 143; E. M.,
144; James, 202-n, 218.
Bassano, L., 273.
Bazalgctte, Sir Joseph, 145.
Beaconsficid, Lord, 140, 234.
Beauclcrk, Lord P'rcdcrick, 282,
6, 8.
Bedford, fifth Duke of, 187.
Bell, Anning, 64.
Bentham, Jeremy, 186, 221-224.
Bentinck, Lord George, 192.
Besant, Sir Walter, 146.
Bessborough, Lord, 155.
Bevington, Col. S. B., 195.
Birch, Samuel, 52.
Birkbeck, George, 178.
Blair's Sermons, Johnson on,
215.
Blake, William, 241.
Blondin, J. F. G., 179.
Boadicea, 142.
Boer War, the, 30, 94.
Bohemia, Queen of, 273.
Booth, Mr., 289.
Bordone, Paris, 271.
Borrow, George, 243.
Bosch, Hieronimus, 278.
Boswell, James, and his happy
day, 212-217; and Good Fri-
day, 259-263.
Bow, great Bell of, 3.
Boydell, John, 42.
Brandon, Richard, 107.
Breughel, Peter, 278.
Bright, John, 130.
Hronzino, 271.
Browning, E. B., 219; Robert,
219.
Brunei, L K., 146.
[323J
INDEX
Buchanan, Mr., 289.
Buckingham, Duchess of, 276;
Duke of, 270, 277.
Budd, Mr., 282, 285, 288.
Burgoyne, Sir J. F., 129.
Burke, Edmund, 187, 209, 219.
Burne-Jones, Sir E., 243.
Burney, Dr., 204, 214, 255; E.
B., 45-47; Fanny, 220, 227.
Burns, Robert, 146.
Burton, William S., 31-34.
Byrne, Charles, 136.
Byron, Lord, 96, 191, 220, 289.
Calais, Burghers of, 142.
Caidecourt, Will, 288.
Cambridge, the Duke of, 139.
Camden, Lord, 41.
Canning, George, 140, 220.
Caravaggio, 270.
Cariani, 271.
Carlyle, Thomas, 193, 240.
Cartwright, Major, 190.
Chamberlain, Joseph, 248.
Chapman, George, 60.
Charles I, his execution, 58, 90,
167-168, 268, 270, 271, 276.
Charles II, 14, 20, 35, 107, 270,
273-274.
Chaucer, 96.
Chiswick, 264-266.
Christ's Hospital, 86.
Churches — Bow Church, 1-4;
Martyrs' Church, the, 85; St.
Andrew's Chapel, 63 ; St.
Andrew's, Holborn, 23 ; St.
Bride's, 522; St. Clement
Danes, 256, 257; St. Dun-
stan's-in-the-East, 24, 27;
St. Dunstan's-in-the-West, 5;
St. Etheldreda's, 62; St.
George's, Bioomsbury, 188;
St. Giles's, Cripplegate, 58;
St. Giles-in-the-Fields, 58-61 ;
St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, 166;
St. James's, Piccadilly, 22,
58; St. Lawrence, Jewry, 54-
56; St. Magnus the Martyr,
5, 24, 56-57; St. Martin's-in-
the-Fields, 6, 256; St. Mar-
tin's, Ludgate Hill, 22; St.
Mary Abchurch, 23 ; St.
Mary's, Paddington, 190; St.
Mary Somerset, 23 ; St. Mary
Le Bone, 191 ; St. Mary-le-
Bow, 1-4; St. Mary's-le-
Strand, 256; St. Michael's,
Cornhill, 24; St. Michael
Royal, 23; St. Pancras, 189;
St. Stephen's, Walbrook, 21 ;
St. Vedast, 23 ; The West-
minster Cathedral, 33-35.
Circus, the, 174-184.
Clarke, Old, 289.
Clayton, Sir Robert, 193.
Cleef, Joost van, 275.
Cleopatra's Needle, 147.
Cleveland, Duchess of, 274.
Clive, Lord, 139.
Clyde, Lord, 128.
Cobden, Richard, 239.
Cockney, the word, 3.
Coleridge, S. T., 239.
Collins, William, 30.
Compton, Lord, 167.
Constable, John, 239.
[324]
INDEX
Cook, Captain, 95, 240.
Cope, Sir Walter, 106.
Coram, Captain, 187.
Corporation Picture Gallery,
28-50.
Correggio, 277.
County Council, London, 229-
249.
Coutts the banker, 211.
Cozens, J. R., 212.
Cricket in London, 149-162,
245-255, 281-293.
Crinoea Memorial, 129.
Criminal detectives, 72-77.
Cromwell, 141, 167, 271.
Cruikshank, George, 178, 220.
Curtis, T. F., 257, 258.
D
d'Arblay, Madame, 220, 227.
Dark, James Henry, 285.
Darwin, Charles, 239.
Delane, J. T., 242.
Dcnison, William, 155-157.
Dc Quincey, Thomas, 242.
Derby, Earl of, 140, 242.
Devonshire, the Duke of, 139.
Dibdin, Charles, 241.
Dickens, Charles, on the Great
Exhibition, 102-103 1 ^^'s Lon-
don homes, 229, 233-234; his
man Topping, 230; his ad-
vice to Macrcady, 231; his
dummy books, 233; museum
wanted, 234.
Disraeli, Benjamin, 140, 234.
Df)bp!I, Bertram, 272-274.
Dogs' Cemetery, the, 97-99.
Dorset, the Duke of, 287.
Drewett, Samuel, 315-319.
Drury Lane Theatre, 42.
Dry den, John, 220.
Ducrow, Andrew, 175, 176-177.
Duncombe, Rev. J., 152.
Dyce, William, 34-37.
E
Edward III, 142.
Edward VI, 142, 268, 278.
Edward VII, 88.
Eleanor crosses, 89.
Elizabeth, Queen, 87, 242, 275,
278.
Ely Place, 62.
Eton and Harrow, 289.
Etty, William, 241.
Evans, Marian, 238.
Exhibition, the Great, 101-103.
Falmouth, Countess of, 274.
Faraday, Michael, 220.
Fawcett, Henry, 146.
Fehr, Henry C, 144.
Finger-prints, 74-76.
Fire of London, 3, 4, 12, 21, 171.
Fit/. Aylwin, Henry, 86.
Flaxman, John, 220.
Fleet River, the, 40, 171.
Foley, John Henry, 102.
Forsfi-r, W. K., 146.
Foundling Hospital, the, 187.
Fox, Charles James, 107, 187,
247; Henry, first Lord Hol-
land, 107; Stephen, 108.
INDEX
Francia, 277.
Fran(:ois I, 275.
Franklin, Benjamin, 225, 248;
Sir John, 129.
Frere, Sir Bartle, 145.
Frescoes at Hampton Court,
279.
Fry, Elizabeth, 84.
Gainsborough, Thomas, 225.
Garrick, David, 212, 226; Mrs.,
212.
Gaskell, Mrs., 247.
Gassiot, Charles, 28.
Geological Museum, the, 196-
201.
George I, 188.
George II, i^Si 268, 274.
George III, 128, 182.
George IV, 94, 169.
"George Eliot," 238.
Gheeraerts, 275.
Gibbon, Edward, 226.
Gibbons, Grinling, 55-56, 61, 91,
269.
Gibbs, James, 6, 256.
Gibson, J. G., 144.
Gilbert, Sir John, 49 ; Sir W.
S., 145.
Gill, Eric, 64; Macdonald, v.
Giordano, 269.
Giorgione, 271, 272.
Girtin, Thomas, 212.
Gladstone, W. E., 88, 241, 242.
Glenconner, Lord, 141.
Goodwin, Albert, 50.
Gordon, General, 93.
Grace, W. G., 289, 290-293.
Grachami, Carolina, 137.
Grammont, Countess de, 274.
Grant, Baron, 131-132.
Graves of famous men, 178-
179.
Green, J. R., 242.
Gresham, Sir Thomas, 51, 86.
Griffin, the, 87.
Guildhall, the, 28-50.
Guy, Thomas, 194.
Guy's Hospital, 195.
H
Hallam, Henry, 234.
Hambledon Club, the, 152.
Hamilton, Lady, 226.
Hammerstein, Oscar, 88.
Hampton Court, 267-280.
Handel, G. F., 226.
Hanneman, A., 270.
Hansom drivers, 53-54.
Hanway, Jonas, 209.
Harding, John, 289.
Harley, Robert, 241.
Harmsworth, Cecil, 250.
Harris, Lord, his cherries, 152;
his history of Lord's, 281; Sir
Augustus, 89.
Harvey, William, 126, 127.
Hatton, Sir Christopher, 63.
Havelock, Sir Henry, 93.
Hawksmoor, Nicholas, 188.
Haygarth, A., 158, 159.
Hazlitt, William, 38, 238.
Heine, Heinrich, in London,
243-247.
Hengler, F. C, 175, 177.
[3^6]
INDEX
Henry VI, 35.
Henry VHI, 268, 275, 278.
Herbert of Cherbury, 61 ;
George, 34; Sidney, 130.
Herschel, Sir John, 234.
Hill, Sir Rowland, 82, 226, 240.
Hobhouse, J. C, 178.
Hogarth, William, 127, 191,
226, 264-266.
Hogg, Quintin, 192.
Holbein, 275.
Holland, Lady, 105-106, 113-
125; the first Lord, 106; the
third Lord, 104, 108-112.
Holland House, 105-107.
Hollis, Thomas, Johnson on,
214.
Honthorst, G., 273.
Hood, Thomas, 179, 241, 247.
Howard, John, 241.
Hudson, Sir Jeffery, 276.
Hunt, Leigh, 104, 238.
Hunter, John, 131, 133-136, 241;
William, 127.
Huxley, T. H., 242, 243.
Ilchester, Lord, 112.
Irving, Sir Henry, 132.
James I, 106.
James II, 91.
Jenncr, Edward, 99, 238.
Johnson, Dr., his statue, 88; at
Mrs. GarricL's, 212-217; his
house, 226, 250-256; on Theo-
bald, 255; on Bolingbroke,
256; on Warburton, 256; as
a churchgoer, 256; his me-
morial window, 258 ; on ridi-
cule, 259; on various things,
259-263.
Joicey, J. G., 169.
K
Kean, Edmund, 238.
Keats, John, 227.
Kensal Green Cemetery, 178-
179.
Kensington Palace, 99-101.
Kent, Duke of, 196.
Kingscote, Mr., 288.
Kneller, Sir G., 270.
Lamb, Charles, 45-47, 240.
Landseer's lion, 93.
Law Courts, the, 143.
Law, Ernest, 275.
Lawrence, Lord, 128.
Lawson, Sir Wilfrid, 146.
Leech, John, 240.
Lely, Sir Peter, 270, 274.
Leno, Dan, 84.
Leslie, C. R., 178.
Le Sceur, Herbert, 90.
Lever, Sir William, 63.
Lillywhite, William, 158, 159,
288.
Lilly white's Scores and Biog-
raphies, 152, 153, 159, 281.
Liiiacrc, Thomas, 126.
Liiid, Jenny, 242.
[327]
INDEX
Lister, Lord, 248.
London Bridge, Old, 57, 171;
County Council, 229-249; Mu-
seum, the, 163-173; its Fire,
4, 12-21; its white stone, 6;
its street names, 77-79; its
statues, 80-91, 126-132, 139-
148, 185-195; its cricket-
grounds, 149-162, 281-293;
its want of a circus, 174-178;
Dickens' counsels on, 231-233;
in Disraeli's writings, 234-
237; Heine on, 244-245; Uni-
versity, 186.
Long, J. St. John, 178.
Lord Mayor's water pageant,
41.
Lord, Thomas, 282-284.
Lord's Cricket Ground, 150,
282-293.
Lotto, Lorenzo, 272.
Luini, B., 270.
Lumpy, 153.
Lyell, Sir Charles, 241.
Lytton, Lord, 239.
M
Mabuse, 275, 278.
Macaulay, Lord, 108-112, 115,
229.
Maholi Galago, the, 295.
Mann, Sir Horace, 152, 288.
Manning, Cardinal, 248, 289.
Mantegna, Andrea, 279.
Mappin, Frederick, 295.
Marble Arch, the, 94, 96.
Marochetti, Baron, 141.
Martyrs' Memorial, 81.
Marvell, Andrew, 62.
Mary, Princess, 274.
Mary, Queen, 278.
Marylebone Cricket Club, 281-
293.
Maurice, F. D., 240.
Melbourne, Lord, 113.
Mill, James, 241; John Stuart,
146, 241.
Millais, Sir J. E,, 29, 32, 193.
Milton, John, 58, 82, 96, 227.
Mint, the Royal, 68-72.
Monro, Dr. Thomas, 212.
Montgomery, Bishop, 155.
Montpelier Club, the, 154.
Monument, the, 20.
More, Hannah, 213.
Morris, William, 243, 266.
Mudge's Sermons, Johnson on,
215.
Mulready, W., 178.
Museums: The College of Sur-
geons, 133-137; the Geologi-
cal, 196-201 ; the London,
163-173.
Myddelton, Sir Hugh, 82, 86.
Mynn, Alfred, i6o, 289.
Mytens, Daniel, 270, 276.
N
Names of streets, 77-79.
Napier of Magdala, Lord, 129;
Charles James, 93.
Napoleon HI, 227.
Nasmyth, Patrick, 30.
National Gallery, the, 143.
Nelson, Lord, 44, 227; Column,
the, 92-93.
[328]
INDEX
Newman, Cardinal, 193.
New Scotland Yard, T2.-T], 142.
Newton, Sir Isaac, 131, 241.
Nightingale, Florence, 130, 248.
Onslow, the Speaker, 247.
Osbaldeston, George, 192, 282,
288.
Outrara, Sir James, 145.
Oval, the, 149-162.
Pictures in the City, 28-50.
Pitt, W. (Earl of Chatham),
242; William, 185, 238.
Poets' Fountain, 96.
Ponsonby-Fane, Sir Spencer,
285.
Pordenone, 271.
Powell, Picky, 290.
"Pre-Raffaelism," 31-34, 37.
"Q," Old, 62.
Page, John T., his notes on
statues, 81.
Palma, 271 ; the younger, 273.
Palmerston, Lord, 140, 240.
Panton, Thomas, 77.
Panyer Alley, 82.
Parmigianino, 277.
Peabody, George, 82.
Peel, Sir Robert, 82, 140, 234.
Pennethorne, Sir James, 144.
Penrose, F. C, quoted, 22-25.
Pepys, Samuel, 13-20.
Perceval, Spencer, 247.
Peter the Great, 227.
"Peter Pan" statue, 100.
Pethcr, Abraham, 42.
Pheasants at the Zoo, 296-298.
Phelps, Samuel, 243.
Physicians, Royal College of,
126-127.
Pickering, Sir William, 166-
167.
Pickpocket, an adventure with
a, 301-302.
R
Raglan, Lord, 141, 243.
Raikes, Robert, 146.
Reade, Charles, 241.
Record Office, the, 144.
Rennie, John, 239.
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 39, 41,
43. 127, 131, 210, 213, 215,
227.
Richard I, 141.
Richardson, Samuel, 44.
River, churches seen from, 5 ;
Pageant, 41.
Roberts, David, 38, 39.
Rodin, Auguste, 142.
Rogers, Samuel, 113, 220, 239.
Romney, George, 241.
Rossetfi, D. G., 194, 239-243.
Rothscliiid tombs, the, 178.
Koyal Academy, the, 127, 210;
Exchange, the, 50, 171; Mint,
the, 68-72.
Kuskin, John, 227, 242.
Russell, Lord John, 243.
INDEX
Sanctity, odour of, 57.
Schiavone, 270, 273.
Scores and Biographies, 152,
281.
Scott, Captain, 128; Sir Gil-
bert, 101, 242; Sir Walter,
220.
Shakespeare, Williann, 83, 96,
130, 249.
Shaftesbury, Lord, 185.
Shaw, Norman, 143.
Shee, Sir M. A., 211.
Sheridan, R. B., 114, 191, 227.
Shipway, Colonel, 264.
Shirley, James, 60.
Siddons, Mrs., 190, 228, 239,
240.
Sloane, Sir Hans, 194.
Smeaton, John, 178.
Smith, Sydney, 113, 115-125,
239.
Smithfield, 85.
Society of Arts, the, 202-211,
218-228.
Somers, Will, 278.
Somerville, Mary, 242.
Sophia, Princess, 179.
"Spanish Horse," the, 180.
Speke, J. H., 100.
Spencer, Sir John, 166.
Spielmann, M. H., 31.
Spurgeon, C. H., 248.
Stafford House, 163.
Stanfield, Ciarkson, 242.
Staple Inn Garden, loi.
Statues of London, 80-91, 126-
132, 139-148, 185-195-
Stead, W. T., 146.
Steel, A. G., 179.
Stephenson, George, 189; Rob-
ert, 189, 238.
Stothard, Thomas, 243.
Strathnairn, Lord, 193.
Street names, 77-79.
Street, G. E., 143.
Stubbs, George, 191.
Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 146.
Surgeons, the College of, 133,
Surrey cricket, 149-162.
Sussex, Duke of, 119.
Swan, J. M., 44, 48.
Swift, Dean, 277.
Sydenham, Thomas, 126.
Tablets forbidden, 248.
Tankerville, the Earl of, 152,
287.
Tapestry at Hampton Court,
280.
Tate, Sir Henry, 193.
Taxi-drivers, 53-54.
Taylor, A. T., 26; C. G., 288.
Temple, the, 240.
Temple Bar, 88.
Tennant Gallery, the, 141.
Tennyson, Lord, 248.
Thackeray, W. M., 179, 228,
238, 247.
Thompson, Francis, 172.
Thomson, James (the first),
172; (the second), 172.
Thornhill, Sir James, 277.
Thurloe, John, 228.
Tintoretto, 271, 273.
[330]
INDEX
Titian, 271.
Tomkins, Thomas, 39.
Trelawney, E. J., 96.
Trollope, Anthony, 179-248.
Turner, J. W. M., 212.
Turtle soup, 52.
Tyndale, William, 145.
u
University College, 222.
Valpy, Richard, 178.
Vane, Sir Harry, 228.
Verrio, 269.
Victoria, Queen, 51, 84, 94, 100,
103, 147, 169.
W
Waithman, Robert, 87.
Walpole, Sir Robert, 228.
Walworth, Sir William, 86.
Ward, William, 154, 282, 284-
285, 288.
Ware, Dr. Joshua, 211.
Warner, P. F., 281.
Waterlow, Sir Sydney H.,
193-
Watts, G. F., 83, 100, 104.
Wellington, Duke of, 82, 96,
245-247.
Wesley, John, 81.
West, Benjamin, 206.
Westminster Guildhall, the,
144.
Wheatley, Francis, 191.
Whittington, Dick, 3.
Wilberforce, William, 239.
Wild, Jonathan, 137.
Wilkes, John, 39, 41, 87.
Wilkie, Sir David, 239.
William III, loi, 130, 269, 273.
William IV, 82.
Wilson, Sir Erasmus, 147.
Winchilsea, Earl of, 282.
Wolfe, General, 242.
Wolsey, Cardinal, 244, 269,
280.
Wordsworth, Charles, 289.
Wotton, Mabel E., 249; Sir
Henry, 272-273.
Wren, Sir Christopher, 2, 4-13,
21-27, 55, 57. 91, 143. 234,
243.
York, Duke of, 128, 182.
Young, Thomas, 238.
Zoological Gardens, 294-302.
[33 J ]
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