Social Hours with Celebrities SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES BEING THE THIRD AND FOURTH \OLU.MES OP ''GOSSIP OF THE CENTURY'' BY THE LATE MRS. W. PITT BYRNE AUTHOR OF "flemish INTERIORS," " DE OHINIBLS KEGVS," ETC., ETC, Edited by Her Sister MISS R. H. BUSK AUTHOR OF " 1-ATRaSaS," " FOLKLORE OF ROME," ETC. WITH SIXTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. II. LONDON WARD & DOWNEY Lhnitcii 12 YORK HUILDINC;S, ADKLPIH, W.C. 1898 CONTENTS. >J^^ CHAP. XII, Dr. Kitchinee .... XIII. Charles Waterton, the Wanderer XrV. Some Social Adventurers XV. The ^Iaking op Brighton XVI. The ]\Iaking op Tunbridge Wells Index PAGES 1 to 31 32—116 117—152 163—220 221—279 281—292 ILLUSTRATIONS. Brighton from the Chain Pier Walton Hall .... Walton Hall (showing Water Gate) Climbing the Ball of St. Peter's The " John Bull " Tree Squire Watertou Chabert, " The Fire- King " Risk Allah .... The Pavilion, Brighton Mrs. Fitzherbert George IV. after Wyon Rev. H. M. Wagner . J:imes Smith .... ^Martha Gunn .... Princesse de Lamballe Sir Stephen Lushington Silhouette portrait of the Author, as a child Tunbridge Wells in 1828 . Bill-head of the best Mercer's Shop in 1820 I'AQE Frontispiece to U :.9 72 83 125 138 163 173 174 189 191 212 229 230 231 267 276 to J'aci to l'a< SOCIAL HOURS WITH CHL1:BRITIES CHAPTER Xn. DISTINGUISHED PRIVATE FIJIENOS. DR. KITCHIXER. My earliest celebrated Friend — His winning Ways with little Children — His name a Household Word — His personal Appearance — Had an Eye j)ut out at Eton — ^lode of Dress — Gastronomy and Astronomy — Unaffected modesty — Studious Habits — M.D. of Glasgow — "The Cook's Oracle" — Its Success — More than a Cookery Book — Refined social Rules — Con- temporary Reviews — "The Housekeei)er's Oracle" — His own Table — Originality of his Invitation-forms — "Better never than late" — -How He received His Guests — His Views on Oysters — On Coffee — His last Dinner— ''The Banquet" — Unsigned Codicil— His Will — His Tomb — Tomb and Epitaph of Joe Miller — Kitchiner's Ideas of Domestic Economy — How He trained Servants — Regularity of His Life — Views about Sleep — Versatility — At Home on every Subject — Study of Optics — Optical Instruments — Astronomical Pursuits — Kitchiner as a Musician — As a Composei' — And Collector — Sir George Grove's Testimony — His Study of "God save the King" — Shakespeare's Songs — '-The Art of prolonging Life " — " The Traveller's Oracle " — Skill at Chess and Whist — " Young Kitchiner " — His Advantages — His Marriage — Tragic End. " Le potage doit otre combine de manicre ;i donner une idee juste du festin, a pen prcs comme I'ouverture d'un opera comique doit annoncer le sujet de I'ouvi'age. Quant au dessert, il sera nocessairement assaisonnc de chansons si la cornemtise est pleine." — Grimod de la REYXlfeRE. The earliest celebrated friend I can claim for my own was Dr. Kitchiner. I could not have been more than four years old at the time when his handsome person and genial indul- gence became endeared to me. In spite of the vast and varied stores of knowledge with which his brain must have been crannned, he had the freest and gentlest manners with little children: instead of looking on him ^vith dread as aii;«/«\<'f ' o , little cliil'ir dry scientist, his advent at our house was always hailed with delight. To my father, who shared his scholarly tastes and VOL. II. A SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBEITIES admired bis character, he was always welcome, and we children, who knew of none of these things, ran to meet him for the sake of the genuine interest which witliont any condescension he took in everything that concerned them. It is to be wondered at, that the life of this extraordinary- man has never been written at greater length than in the brief columns of biographical collections or magazine articles. There can be few now living who know as much of Dr. Kitchiner as myself ; and if I feel justified in trying to supplement the brief and tantalizing records before men- tioned (which by their suggestiveness only whet the appetite for more ample details) it is not only because (in my earliest years it is true) I knew the Doctor personally, but because my father having been an intimate friend of His name a hig^ his name became a household word with our family, household .. . _ . c i -r\ ? t word. and the distinct image 1 retain or the Doctor s personality is clustered round with numerous oft-repeated traditions of liis sayings, doings and general peculiarities. His individuality fixed on my mind at an impressionable age, and under what I may term impressive circumstances, Personal is bcforc me to this hour : I can yet see his tall spare aurmanners. figurc with, proportionately speaking, rather small head, high forehead, and hair already thinned and turning to grey (though at the time indicated he could have been scarcely five and forty) ; his eyes, of greyish blue, with their mild but intelligent expression, and the blue-tinted spectacles in slight gold frames he always wore. He had lost the sight of one eye at Eton when only thirteen, during a o'ame which it is strangle to think should have been allowed. It consisted in throwing at each other's faces tightly twisted. paper darts terminating in a pin, and one of these cleverly — much too cleverly — aimed, struck young Kitchiner in the pupil of his left eye and blinded him for life. His features and also his figure and carriage were graceful, not to say GASTRONOMY AND ASTRONOMY 3 aristocratic, and his face remained singularly handsome notwithstanding tliis untoward accident ; there was an irresistible fascination in his voice and kiok, wliile his manner was such as at once to win, whether men, women, or children ; as for the latter, his presence among them created a frantic enthusiasm. His delight was to seat himself at the |)iano, and taking a child on each knee, to sing to us tiie old nursery songs he had set to music, for he was a born nnisical genius and gave much of his leisure to composition. When he penetrated into our nursery it was with his pockets filled with barley-sugar " kisses " — Do such exist still, I wonder? — folded in little papers of all colours, and after inviting us to dive for them, he would imprison our small hands, and then turn and chase us round the room in a game of romps, which he seemed to enjoy as much as ourselves. His dress I remember well ; thougii somewhat out of date, he wore it with elegance, and as it was of good material and well fitting, it seemed in accord with his gentlemanly bearing ; knee- breeches and black silk stockings, cut steel buckles at the knee-bands, and the same on low-cut shoes, and frilled shirts. This was still the evening wear of many elderly men, especially physicians, so his costume can hardly be reckoned among tjie Doctor's peculiarities. If you ask the first person you meet, " Have you ever lieard of Dr. Kitchiner?" The answer will be, "Who has not?'' But at the same time there are but few who know of more than one of his numerous attainments, and that one but the study of cookery/ He used to tell my father indeed, that his works on gastronomy brought him in more emolument , . . . • - • 1 Ga-trouoinv than his researches m astronom}^, yet liis attainments in tne„n.i latter science Avere unrivalled by any an;ateur of his day, and "" '""°'"-^' b}' few professionals, and this also was but one of the many ' Thus Percy Fitzgerald, "Life of George IV.." vol. ii. p. -203. says, " Tliis generation also iucliulecl such strange men as Dr. Parr. Porson, and Dr. Kitchener {■■ vice of constitu- tion, he would develop an altogether abnormal appetite for food, and with all his medical skill could never dis- cover the cause of this singular irregularity, nor yet its reniedv. 12 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES Coffee formed the epilogue of the Doctor's dinners, and was always roasted immediately before it was ground, and ground immediately before it was made. The making was very simple, and it does not seem to have occurred to him to leave any direction for it beyond the employment of a " German alembic." His last Tbe last of the social o-atherino-s round his eleo-ant and diuiier. ° ° ^ hospitable board was on Tuesday, February 20th, 1827. The dinner was as usual at five sharp, and my father was one of the guests. Braham, the great tenor, was another. On the following Monday Dr. Kitchiner dined at the Brahams', then living in Baker Street ; it was the last time he ever dined anywhere. Feeling out of spirits — a most unusual condition for him — he had ordered his carriage at half- past eight; the evening, however, passed so pleasantly that he remained till eleven ; but on his way home he was seized with palpitation of the heart, to which he was subject. On arriving at home, he ran upstairs rather quickly and threw himself on tbe sofa, but never spoke again. Medical aid was called in, but proved of no avail, for he died as he lay, in his evening dress, after the interval of an hour. [I have before me the invitation to that last dinner, dated " 18th February, — 27," couched in his usual jocular terms. It says, " Will you do me the favor {sic) to dine at ' The Cook's Shop ' on Tuesday next, at 5 precisely. A very temperate ' Banquet,' ^ for at 7 w^e go up-stairs to some 1 This was in allusion to my fathers work " The Banquet,"' which he greatly admired as a j oeni written in the honour and praise of cookery as a fine art. I quote a few lines from the second edition, 1820 : — Athens, the jaatroness of other arts, ' Did not despise the trade of making tarts ; When her sublime artificers she bred, She saw^ distinctly that they must be fed. Descend, Calliope, from QCta haste ! And sing (delightful task) the man of taste. Through vineyard, farmyard, orchard, garden, trace Through cellars, pantrys, and at table place. Bid jovial guests attend his welcome call. And busy footsteps echo through his hall ; WELCO:\IE CRITICIS:\I • uiLisickers.' " ]t goes on Aviili a message to my mother concerning some specimen pencils both for drawing and writing (to bo kept quite distinct from each other), which "tiie Prince of Pencil ^lakers" ^ had produced for him. There is a very gracefully turned letter from him, dated a few weeks earlier. He and my fathei- had been wont to submit their works to each other before sending them to the press. This is how he accepts ni}- father's emendations on this occasion : "After living half a century I have at length done what I can hardly remember having done before, got into debt almost beyond hope of redemption : for I know not how I shall be able to sufficiently acknowledge the kind- ness you have done me in finding /VnJ^ with my work, which I assure you is ten times more gratifying to me than all the praise I have had lavished on my productions. As Tout Tlirijiii says, he who praises may pJvaxe, but he who mends your \\ov\l profits you. ..." Tn another letter in the same month, however, he had complained of his health being extremely bad, and that he was in the ntmost " distress on account of the sad conduct of my son at Cambridge which beats down all my philosophy. ..." Xext in the bundle comes the undertaker's letter arranging for my father's carriage to follow the cortege, and fixing the funeral for the 6th March.— R. H. B.] The unsigned codicil mentioned as having been found in his pocket after his death, considerably modified the dis- positions of his will made a year previously, leaving every- thing (with the exception of liberal bequests to his executors and servants) to his only son, who, however, was illegitimate. Hilarity with dimpled choek preside, And Youth and Healtli sit Moinninjj; by his side. No sullen-eyed Misanthn)i)y be there, No sour Incjuietude. no pallid Care; But Friendshij) draw the chairs more closely round. And Pleasure's front with rosy wreath be bound. The hanil of lieautv crown the sparkling cup. That modern wits, like ancient gods, may sup. ' From other notes it appears that this was Langdon. 14 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBRITIES He bad no cliilclren by liis wife, from whom he had long been separated, through no fault of his. Indeed he was acknowledged on all sides to have been a most amiable and estimable man, and never was known to make an unkind remark upon anyone. Dr. Kitchiuer's will is in no way " eccentric," as stated in one of the obituary notices of the time. It was executed on the 19th May, 1826, and was proved on the 19th March, 1827. The property, which was large, devolving as I have stated above (after legacies to his servants and executors), to his " natural and reputed son William Browne Kitchiner," and he therein desired to be buried "in his family vault in the burying-ground adjoining the workhouse of St. Clement Danes." I remember well his tomb; the little graveyard lay be- tween Portugal and Carey Streets, and whenever I was near there with my father I have seen him turn in and visit his old friend's grave. Alas ! with the graves that have been cleared away to make room for a monumental edifice and garden, viz. King's College Hospital, the monument erected to the memory of Dr. Ivitchiner has disappeared ! — Data sunt ipsis cpioque fata sepulcres. I asked what had become of those venerable stones, and no one could tell me ! I wrote to the Hospital chaplain, who informed me that they were probably among such of them as had been preserved in the vaults beneath the hospital ; ^ not a word left to record the existence and the virtues of him of whom, 1 'When searching for Dr. Kitchiner's tomb, the hall porter of King's College Hospital, to whom I addressed myself, informed me that the only tombstone he knew of that had been rescued when the churchyard was dug up in 1837, for the foundations of the new building, was that of Joe Miller ! As Dr. Kitohiner was buried in 181^7, his remains reposed there only one short decade. As long before as I8l(i, it appears that the dilapidated condition of the headstone which marked the place of old Joe"s interment, attracted the attention of one of the church- wardens, to wit, tine Jarvis Buck, who thereupon caused a new stone to be placed there, with the inscription transferred thereon. When in 18:37 the grave- stones had to be removed, Joe Miller's bones were dug up and buried in some cemetery of which I could not ascertain the locale, and his " new " tombstone was fixed in the wall of the spacious vestibule of the hospital : there seems to have been a good deal of unscrupulosity about the smuggling away of the human OBLITERATED GRAVES lo nevertheless, a contemporary biographer wrote : ^ . . . "This amiable and useful man possessed the inestimable virtue of never speaking ill of anyone : on the contrary, he was a great lover of conciliation, and to man}- was a valuable adviser and friend. In manners he was quiet, and even appeared timid, for he never recognized his own superiority, lie had three grand hobbieri, cookery, nuisic, and optics, and whenever he enlarged upon these he was bright, cheerful, and eloquent." I have never forgotten Dr. Kitchiner ; but, alas ! wliat has become of the guests who gathered round his hospitable board, feasted at his choice banquets and enjoyed his brilliant conversation ? If any yet live, they cannot but retain vivid recollections of this charming man. Dr. Kitchiner's memory ouo-ht to be rescued from oblivion, Practic;ii •^ '-' .... views of if only on account of the reasonableness of his principles of lU-m.-sti.- ocoiio'.in. iL'iuains and tlieir memorial stones, Joe Miller's being tlie only exception. On the stone which the man showed me, I read the following qnaint inscription : — Sacreu To THE Memory of HONEST JOE MILLER, >Vho was a tender husband, a true friend, a facetious companion, and an excellent comedian. He departed tins life on August loth, 173S, aged oli years. If Innnour, wit, and honesty could save The hum'rous, witty, honest from tlie grave. The grave had not so soon this tenant found. AVliom hi>nesty, and wit, and humour crowned, ("ould but esteem and love preserve our breath, And guard us longer froui tlie stroke of iK-ath. The stroke of Death on him had later fell. AVhom all mankind esteemed and loved so well. From respect ti) social worth, worthful qualities ami Histrionic excellence, consimnnated hy Poetic talent in humble life. The above inscription. Which time had nearly obliterated. Has been preserved And transferred to this stone by order of Jarvis liuck, Churchwartleu, A.n. iSKi. ' J'ifle, The GentlemwiMai/izuv, May, \>^-27. 16 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES domestic econom}^, and never did they more greatly need to be invoked than at the present day when the world seems to be turned upside downwards. It is absolutely refreshing to go through the pages of bis " Housekeeper's Oracle," and to picture to oneself the happier state of society of his day, which admitted of an establishment being moulded into the shape he succeeded in givina-tobis own. It is true he had materials of a different kind to work with, and it would be interesting to know how he would have dealt with those which a later " civilization " has rendered so perverse and unmanageable — how he would have met the difficulties which have been bristling up ever since the woeful mistakes of ill-understood education have made such havoc of the social relations of classes. [If Dr. Kitchiner was strict in the regulation of his house- hold, he set the consistent example of obeying his own laws, and also knew how to be considerate and indulgent. One of his first directions in his essay on will-making is, " Servants who have long served us dihgently — the summer of whose life we have reaped the advantage of — we are bound in equity to make provision for during the winter of their age. Those to whose faithful and careful supervision of our affairs we are in great measure indebted for our own independence, and those relaxations from business without which we should not have lived one half our days, are not such persons entitled to participate in the blessings of such independence '? &c. " One of his minor but most useful rules was that a servant (or indeed any one) on entering a room should leave the door as he found it ; open, shut, or ajar — a rule so simple that it must recommend itself to any one, yet how rare to find it spontaneously observed, and what exasperation the contrary but ordinary proceeding continually engenders. A method he found supremely efficacious in training a young servant, was when he had by carelessness or indiffer-^ ence hvice neglected anything he had specially inculcated (on the first occasion he only repeated the original observa- HIS SKKVAXT-THAIXINd 17 tion with an indulgent smile), then to rino^ liim up just as he had sat down coniforttibly to a meal (and his servants' meals were very comfortable), and repeat the injunction more sternly. As he never under any other circumstance, at whatever inconvenience to himself, disturbed a servant while feeding, this proceeding became a special reproach, which greatly sharpened the attention, Noisy footsteps, or fuss}-^ misplacing of articles to give an appearance of having " done " a room, were strictly banished from his regime. Xor, as he never unreasonably asked one servant to do work of another's department, could he admit such an answer as '* Tt ain't my place " to do anything he required. — R. H. B.] This Avas practically exemplified one day in a rather droll way. The cook having come up one morning to say that butter was wanted, as it was raining heavily he desired the coach- man, who was waiting for orders, to go and fetch a pound . This functionary had at that time not been long enough in the Doctor's service to understand his character, accordingly he muttered some reply to the effect that " fetching butter was not a coachman's woi'k." "Ay," answered his master quietly; "you are quite right, put to the horses and bring the carriage round." As this icas clearl}' within that limited scope, the man was compelled, however sulkily, to compl3\ " Now," said he turning to the cook, " get in, and John will drive you to fetch the butter." This practical lesson was not lost on any member of the household, and no similar difficulty ever occurred again. His own occupations and habits were, like those of his house- iiold, subject to systematic arrangement. The day was divided into studied hygienic intervals by repasts which were tolerably numerous. As he attached great importance to the regular periodicity of meals in order to ensure absolute punctuality, he ordered that each in its turn should l)e put on VOL. H. B 18 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBEITIES the table during the striking of the clock, breakfast at half- past eight, while the half hour was chiming, lunch during the stroke of mid-day ; dinner with equal exactitude at five, and supper at nine. He also attached great importance to a sufficiency of sleep, which he considered should be taken early, or certainly never later than eleven, on the principle that one hour before mid- night was worth two after ; he admitted, however, that some constitutions required less sleep than others, but advised persons to be very sure that they did not really need more than they allowed themselves. His own practice was to sleep eight hours, but during the day it must be remembered he was always occupied, and passed much of his time in study and in scientific researches. El-. Kitchi- I liave already spoken of the versatility of Dr. Kitchiner's mer's versa- . ^ x ./ tiJity. genius, and I must now proceed to mention some of the many directions into which it ran. It would seem that from child- hood he was marked by originalit}^, for at Eton, notwithstand- ing that he was a great favourite both in the schools and in the playing-fields, he was dubbed with the sobriquet of "Quiz-fish." It is not easy to categorize such a character unless we place him in the small class of all-round men. He seemed to be at home in every department of knowledge, at once a classical scholar, a mathematician, a scientist, a linguist, a musician and composer, a humorist, a gastronomist, and with all this a man of fortune and a man of the world. During his course of medical instruction, what seemed to have interested him most in the structure of the human frame was the mechanism of the eye, so that anatomy led him to optics, as chemistry and hygiene led him to cookery. Perhaps the terrible loss of his eye also interested him in the matter, ?)Uc?"^^^^ and among other practical works on the subject, he brought out " The Economy of the Eyes. Part I. Precepts for the Improvement and Preservation of Sight. Plain Eules to enable Ail to Judge When and What Spectacles and Opera HIS STUDY OF OPTICS 19 Glasses will Suit them. Part II. Experiments witli 51 Telescopes." The study of optical instruments led him to the use of them, and great part of his leisure was devoted to astro- nomical investigations.^ His telescopes were all made under his own direction, and he introduced many improvements which were readily welcomed and adopted by the profession. His "Dumpy," which came into my father's possession at his death, was one of the earliest reflecting telescopes ever made. My father purchased most of his other scientific instru- ments. His fine electrifying-raachine with all its elaborate paraphernalia : his microscope, his|,air-pump, and many optical appliances were a source of enjoyment and instruction to us throughout our youth. His first work on optics was published anonymousl}^ in 1815. This book created a great sensation among the pro- fessionals of the day, and intense curiosity was excited as to the author of so remarkable a performance. It was followed by a paper contributed, also anonymously, to the " Philo- sophical Magazine," on achromatic glasses. This paper aroused a determination to discover the author, and from that time his reputation as a man of science became established. As to music, it was born in him ; he was equally at home on Of music, any instrument. Sir George Grove has done justice in his Dictionary of Music alike to his practical gifts and his theoretical knowledge. He is there recorded as composer of the Operettas " Love among the Roses" and " The Master- key," also as author of the shrewd and thoughtful " Observa- tions on Vocal Music." He is better known as tlie persevering collector of " British Sea Songs," and of the " Local and National Songs of England," chiefly taken from MSS. and early printed copies, many of which he had among the curiosities of his own library. He set many songs and ballads [' He published, I believe, the drst chart of the surface of the moon and of Mars, drawn by himself from his own observations. — R. H. B.] 20 SOCIAL H0UK8 WITH CELEBEITIES to music, some lyrics by my father among* others, and a pathetic ballad of his called " The Beggar Boy." He took great interest in the history of " God Save the King," and sought out, preserved and jDubHshed every version and variation of it that he could discover/ He also ' The Marquise de Crequy in her " Souvenirs " relates how when a young girl she was taken to visit St. Cyr in the time of Madame de Maintenon. " Une de- nies impressions les phis ineft'aeahles," she writes, " est celle de toutes ces belles; voix de jeunes fiUes qui partirent avec un eclat imprevu pour moi, lorsque le Roi parut dans sa tribune, et qui chanterent a I'unisson une sorte de motet, ou plutot de canti(]ue national et glorieux, dont les paroles etaient de Madame de Brinon et la musique du fameux Lully. En voici les paroles que je me suis procm-ees longtemps apres : " Grand Dieu, sauvez le Roi ! Grand Dieu, vengez le Roi ! Vive le Roi ! Qu'a jamais glorieux, Louis victorieux Voye ses ennemis Tou jours soumis ! Grand Dieu, sauvez le Roi ! Grand Dieu, vengez le Roi ! Vive le Roi ! " If j'ou feel any curiosity in the matter,'' she continues, '' you could, with very little troulile, obtain the nuisic, seeing that a German by name Handel pounced upon it during a visit to Paris and laid it at the feet of King George of Hanover . . . for a con-si-de-ra-tion, and that Messieurs les Anglais at once adopted it, pro- ducing it coolly as their ' National Anthem.' '' The editor of Madame de Crequy's memoirs remarks that this lady is not the only patriot who has claimed for France the origin of this hjann and poured out indignation on the German : two English journals have also animadverted upon the alleged piracy. The Sarc tlic Klufj are of French origin. "When the ' Very-Christian King ' entered the chapel the whole choir of th young and noble ladies sang each time the following words to a very tine melody Lully's: - (4rand Dieu, Sauvez le Roy I itc, as above. A tradition at St. Cyr asserted that the composer Handel during his visit to the Superi(M'ess of that Royal House asked and obtained permission to copy music and words of this Gallican invocation, and that he subseciuently oflered it to King- George I. as of his own composition." [The llarmoiiicon ii. H2K has on this subject : — " Dr. Burney says that ' God Save the King ' was written for James II. while the Prince of Orange was hovering on the coa.st, that it remained unnoticed during succeeding reigns, and that when in 177'") it was arranged for Covent Garden, and by Dr. Arne for Drury Lane, the author was declared to be unknown. Fiu'ther that Geoi'ge III. himself showed it "GOD SAVK TllK KlNli" 21 took pains to establish tlie most correct and impressive phrasing of the current version. He especially enforced the making a short syllable thus — of the penultimate word in the line, God save the Kinof, which produced such a thrilling effect the first time it was so sung by Catahmi. Dr. Kitchiner was in possession of a curious anthem, dated 1415, Avhich at his death somehow passed into the hands of Mrs. Clarke, from whom, [ understand, Sir George Grove endeavoured m vain to obtain a copy.^ He also collected and published all the songs in Shakespeare's Plays set to music ; as also " the Xational Sons^s of Enaland." [Another very interesting work, entitled, after the lengthy fashion of the day, " The Art of invigorating and prolonging Life by Food, clothes, air, exercise, wine, sleep, &c., &c.," em- bodies an epitome of much of his wide reading and experience. Like his previously named Vv'orks it is imbued by sound common sense, and mau}^ of his recommendations have passed into accepted laws of hygiene. The kind and thoughtful character of the man comes out in his injunctions to beware of making any noises which may disturb the repose of next- Neighbours' door neighbours and fellow-lodgers. "All People are not aware, that such is the effect of Echo and Vibration tliat a Sound which is hardly audible in the house where it is made may be extremely sonorous in the adjoining one, and that any noise of stirring the fire, or moving any furniture on an un-carpeted floor, sometimes sounds louder in the next house than in the room where it is made." " I have dwelt on this subject because T have frequently heard nervous Invalids complain of being grievously disturbed in this manner by next-door Neighbours whom they declared to be most amiable people — who would not offend a worm in- to Dr. Burney in a book, with King .Taiiies's name brought into the line." If this is so it may be inferred that James IT. took it to Paris with him, and tliat the original pirac\' was on the PVeneh side. — R. 11. B.] ^ See "• Gossip «.f the Century,"' ii. 1*7-''^, n. 22 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES tentioiiall}^ . . . Piano-Fortes should' never be placed against party-Avalls. In stirring the Fire never touch the back or sides of the Grate . . . the ticking of a clock placed on the Chimney-piece is heard, if the party- wall is thin, in the next house. . . . There is plenty of time for the performance of all offensively noisy operations between Ten in the Morning and Ten at Night, during which the industrious Housewife may indulge her Arms in the full swing, and while she polishes her black-leaded grate the Tat-Too her brush strikes up against its sides may be performed without distressing the irritable ears of her Nervous Neighbours, to whom Undisturbed Re^jose is the w.ost Vital Nourishment.''' He touches upon other early morning disturbances, and then offers the following pertinent remarks: — " The Author's feelings are tremblingly alive on this subject. Finis coronat ojyus ; however soundly one may have slept during the night — if the finishing morning Nap is inter- rupted from continuing to its natural termination — his whole System is shook by it, ^2?^/ all tliat Sleep has before done for him is undone in an instant ; he gets up distracted and languid, and the only part of his head that is of any use to him is the Hole between his Nose and Chin." With much more, which it would be well indeed if all neighbours and servants would lay to heart. At the end he supplies an appetizing list of viands and wines (and if many of them are well-known to us now, it is probably to his introduction that we owe the enjoyment of them), " to give a notion of the variety, &c., of the Parisian Kitchen in 1820."— R. H. B.] Actuated b}?" his irresistible propensity to scrutinize and bring forward, with a view to practical utility, everything^ that could add to the comfort and well-being of his fellow- men, we need not be surprised that Dr. Kitchiner took up the subject of travelling as a matter on which his experience and common sense could be brought to bear with advantage. " The Travel. These views he embodied in "The Traveller's Oracle.'^ k'l- 8 Oracle. Wherever its recommendations hnve necessarily become T1LVVELLIN(; -NOTES 23 obsolete, tliey are still entertaining as a contemporary picture of one phase of social life which reads like a fossilized revelation of a remote age, and is yet a state which has only passed away within the recollection of a generation. For those who retain any memory, personal or traditional, of the incidents of the Road as he describes it, its pages are charming in re- calling the dear old cosy associations of journeys performed in the style they record ; and to those younger readers, for whom coach and carriage travelling has passed into tlie realms of history, the}'" are picturesque and romantic. To all it is instructive to compare the routine of the past with that of actual w^orkaday life. At the same time a vast amount of his genial and rational advice is as pregnant with usefulness at the present day as at his own date. For instance, the hints putting travellers on their guard against damp beds and already-used sheets,^ and man}' similar warnings, are as useful at the present time as in his own. Excellent also was the advice never to travel without note-book, pen and ink, for nothing is more true than that " notes made in pencil easily become illegible." Those who are in the habit of making subsequent use of their travelling notes will appreciate the wisdom of the counsel to " Commit at once to paper whatever you hear, see, and read that is rem.arkable, together with your impressions on observing it." [' I bewail travelling" with the idea that evervthiiiij: was so "improved" now. that such matters diying a small room next to mine, and was to be succeeded by another on the night after her departiuv. 1 went in as the maids were making the bed, and seeing they were putting on the same sheets, and not ventiuing to tind any fault, I cpiietly obscrvi-d, - Mrs. is not going ti> sleep here to-night, it is anotlit-r friend wlio will be here." The girls looked at me without catching the drift of my observation at Hr.st : then, one sharpt'r than the other, seeing it. retorted, '• We didn't know as any one o' yourn was "oing to sleep 'ere to-iiight." " I thought that as you weie putting on tlie same sheets you expected the same person." was my re])ly. whicli confounded the sharp girl; but the other came to her relief with the stumper.- Well, at this time of year wc only "spects to make up the beds for gentleuu'n." H. H. H.] 24 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES "Do this on the spot," says " The Traveller's Oracle," "if possible at the moment it first strikes ; at all events, do not delay it beyond the very first opportunity." *' An intro- duction to eminent authors," he again observes, " may often be obtained from booksellers who publish their works." Amono- the various modes of locomotion that have been adopted, the Doctor tells a humorous story of Asclepiades, who made his " grand tour " on the back of a cow and lived all the while on her milk. " If a travellino- carriag^e be preferred," he says, '' it should be so ingeniously contrived as to be rendered a magazine of comforts." He recommends those who travel in any kind of carriage occasionally to change their position, also their place in the carriage, in order *' to prevent those evils attendant on continued riding when the jolting is always in one direction." As a matter of hygiene he strongly deprecates night travelling on all accounts, and even recommends arriving as early as possible in the evening, that the traveller may secure good rooms and good provisions. The paraphernalia of a traveller in the first or even the second decade of the century appears to have been such as might reasonably have had a deterrent effect on his intentions. AVhen we find an iron walking-stick, so made as to appear to be of wood, recommended, and are told its grasp is to be secured by a hook at one end, and its utility promoted by a concealed spike, five inches long, at the other, we begin to wonder what we are expected to encounter that will render so formidable a weapon necessary. This " stick " the Doctor suggests may be made to contain a barometer for measuring heights, and it may also be provided with a mariner's com- pass in the head, if we replace the hook by a knob. A hunting watch with a "second" hand, especially if a stop-watch, is also useful for the measurement of heights : but the advice on the subject of watches is too minute for quotation. A portable case of instruments, a sketch and note book. TEAYELLING SEVENTY YEARS AGO 25 paper, ink, pins, needles, thread, buttons, a ruby or Rhodium ]->en, or Lewis's fountain-pen, a folding foot-rule, a thermo- meter which may hold in a toothpick-case, a one-foot dichromatic telescope which may be inserted in a walking- stick — the said stick to be divided into feet and inches, so as to serve for a measure — an "invisible opera-glass" (invented by the Doctor himself), a night lamp placed in a small lantern, which may be made dark, and carry on its top a tin half-pint cup, a tinder-box or instantaneous-light box. If spectacles are needed, take two pairs in strong silver frames, and an eye-glass in a silver ring slung round the neck, all pebbles. A traveller's knife containing a large and small blade, a saw, liook for taking a stone out of a horse's shoe, turnscrew, j;unpicker, tweezers, and a corkscrew long and large enough to be useful {maij be had at Exeter Change). Goloshes and parabones ; for the table, your own knife and fork and spoon will be no small comfort. " A Welsh wig " is a cheap and comfortable travelling-cap. An umbrella, the stick of which may contain a sword, and a great-coat buttoning down below the knees, and another for cold weather, a cloth Dreadnought lined with fur. " If circumstances compel you to ride outside a coach, put on two shirts and two pairs of stockings, turn up the collar of your great-coat and tie a handkerchief round it, and have plenty of dry straw to set j^our feet on." " Shoes are better than boots for long journeys, and warmer if you wear gaiters, or if you draw over them a pair of the fishermen's worsted Woodmull hose." As for medicine chests, the Doctor utterly despises them, and considers the traveller will rarely require any drugs beyond salts, rhubarb, sal-volatile, peppermint lozenges and bi-carbonate of soda, sticking-plaster and a lancet, the latter to avoid being inoculated with the disease of the last person who was blooded with that of any country practitioner. A six oz. silver pocket bottle to hold three glasses of wine, also take biscuits and portable soup. 26 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES " Provide a good store of sixpences ; they are handy Httle fellows, and will sometimes do the work of shillings : for the same reason take some shillings and half-crowns, and crowns, Avhich are the deputies of half-sovereigns, as the latter will occasionally serve as substitutes for sovereigns : but re- member, the Oracle is not advising the traveller to avail himself of any of these substitutes on any occasion where desert demands more. Pay others as you would like to be paid yourself." This precept is very characteristic of the Doctor's just and generous disposition. In another page of the same book he says : " Be liberal ; the advantages of a reputation for generosity which is soon acquired, and. the many petty annoyances avoided, by the annual disbursement of five pounds worth of shillings and half-crowns Avill produce him five times as much satisfaction as he can obtain by spending that sum in any other way — it does not depend so much upon a man's general expense as it does upon his giving handsomely whenever it is proper to give at all — he who gives two shillings is called mean, while he who gives half-a- crown is considered generous ; so that the difference between these two opposite characters depends upon sixpence. " Those who travel for pleasure must not disquiet their minds with the cares of too great economy, or instead of pleasure they will find nothing but vexation. To travel agreeably one must spend freely ; it is the way to be respected by everybody, and to gain admittance everywhere. Since 'tis but once in your life you undertake such a thing, 'tis not worth while to look to a few pounds. " A traveller stopped at a widow's gate, She kept an inn and he wanted to bait ; But the widow she slighted her guest ; For when natui-e was making an iigly face She certainly moulded that traveller's face As a sample for all the rest. A liag full of gold on the table he laid With a wondrous effect on the widow and maid. And they quickly gi-ow marvellous civil, "YOUNG KITCIIIXER" 27 The money immediately iiltered the case, They were charmed witli his hump, and his snout and his face, Though he still niig-ht have friyhtened the Devil. "Affect not, however, tlic character of a magnificent fool, whose greatness is manifest merely in the superior fault of squandering profusel3\" "The Traveller's Oracle" also displays the Doctor's knowledo-e of horseflesh. AFinute instructions ai-e given for choosing and managing horses ; for building the carriage and keeping it in order ; also for all that concerns the correct ordering of the stables at home; how to get useful service out of the coachman, carriage and horses without overworking them. Serious and practical as are these pages of instruction, a vein of humour pervades them, which draws the reader on, and makes him go on nowadays perusing them rather for entertainment than actual use. Besides the literary occupation of producing these various works Dr. Kitchiner was known also as an admirable master <^''f*s a°d in the social arts of both chess and whist. In the first edition of Hood's " AYhims and Oddities," which contains a ])oem by the Doctor entitled "A Recipe for Civilization," is a very droll and suggestive illustra- tion representing him as the " Homo Genus." He is standing over a stove tossing musical notes in a frying- pan.^ " Young Kitchiner," as his son was called, was at the '' ^'T.°" .. . , Kitchiner.' time of his father's death an unusually handsome and eleorant young man of one and twenty, just leaving Cambridge. His presence was most prepossessing, his dress bespeaking a ])erfect gentleman, without affectation or dandyism. AVith his father's considerable fortune he inherited his and his grandfather's taste and genius for music; the mantle of the Doctor's winning manners also descended upon him. His ^ [Many otlicr intiTcstini:- notes of the (|iialitit-s ami ]ial)its of |)|-. Kitchiner may lie foniitl in "(iossiii of tlie ( 'eiitiirv." vol. i, !•] . Is7. A'i\ 4")-") ; vol. ii. i'7. l'!)4, 4i'S. K. H. I'.. 28 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBRITIES training was, however, the one weak spot in the Doctor's life's work. It is true that he gave him evevy advantage, in spite of liis being illegitimate, sent him to Eton, and took him about on visits, but he exaggerated the strictness of those days of strictness in education, and failed to attach him to those principles which he himself so punctually exercised. Sir John Soane had been one of Kitchiner's great friends, and when in 1824 the deadly feud between father and son had reached a deplorable condition Sir John tried his utmost to bring about a reconciliation. With great difficulty he induced the offended father to consent to take his son back into favour, on the simple condition that he would promise to enter any business or profession of his own choice, and remain at it steadily for two years. But the eloquence tliat prevailed with the father was power- less with the son, who could not be brought to listen to these very rational terms. His habits were the exact reverse of the Doctor's own practice of economy and order. Disappointment led Kitchiner to indite a codicil greatly modifying his will, by which he had left his son everything he possessed, after legacies paid to his servants. While he hesitated to sign it, death came. Soon after his death the son was bewitched into marrying a superlatively beautiful woman, whose birth, like his own, was spoken of with mystery. It would be impossible to imagine a more strikingly handsome couple. Or — a more prodigal menage. Young Kitchiner received in princely style, and so far from checking the extravagance of his wife, he himself pursued the most reckless course, till there was little left of a capital which had originally brought him in about GOOO/. a year. Over other details of this disastrous marriage and the tragic end of the magnificent youth who had started in life with such exceptional advantages it is best to draw a veil. [When he was beginning to be hard up, not very long HIS I'.KIKF CAKKKl; 29 after Dr. Kitcliiner's death, he had recourse to the reproduc- tion of his father's works in order to raise money, and in the preface to the " Art of prolonging Life " he speaks of him with G^reat ofood feelinq; : — " Above ten Thousand Copies have already been sold," he says, " and it was a source of much gratification to my late lamented father — 'that a Work to which he had dedicated so much pains should have met with such encouragement. His ultimate and indeed only wish was to render the knowledge he possessed subservient to the Comfort and the Happi- ness of all. ... I have executed the task which by the melancholy loss of so sincere a friend, so dear a parent circumstances suddenl}' forced upon me, and have only to lament that He, Nurse of my Childhood, Guardian of my Youth, Whose Yoice was Kiiuluess, uiid whose IVecejits Truth, did not live to send forth the present Edition in a more perfect state than his affectionate and respectful Son." I have several letters, b}' which it would appear that he also attempted anthorship on his own account, for in them lie applies to my father to look over his efforts and advise upon them. One of them says :"...! have to beg a favour of great consequence to n^e. You must know that I am (minibi/e diciii) an Author, and wish moreover to profit by 3'our remarks. If you will take so much troul)le on yourself as to read the production of a young man only twenty-three years old, you will really confer a very lasting obligation. I am the more induced to make so bold a request, knowing that you was the reader and improver of many MSS. of my poor father. If you find \ am too stupid, throw the work aside, and I will only ask you to keep it till I return from the Continent. I intend visiting Switzerland, Rome, Naples, Venice, &c., &c., &c., and take Paris on my way home. I shall be absent about eio:hteen months. . . ." A little later 50 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBKITIES he ■writes that lie has put off his journey, and is coming to take my father's criticisms "on my prosy pages" in person. There is no indication, however, of the title or subject of the work, and apparently he did not live to publish it. I cannot conclude this chapter better than by adopt- ing for it the very "Farewell to the Reader" which Dr. Kitchiner/places at the end of his " Cook's Oracle." A piece of valedictory advice worth many thousand doctors' fees': — AVe now have made in one design . The Vtile and Dulce join ; And taught both poor and men of wealth To reconcile their tastes to health ; Restrain each forward Appetite, Thus dine with prudence and delight. If careful all our rules they follow They'll masticate before they swallow. 'Tis thus Hygeia guides our pen To warn the greedy sons of men To moderate their drink and meat And " eat to live, not live to eat." For a rash Palate oft bestows Arthi'itic lessons on the Toes !— The Stomach, void of wind and bile Shall praise our monitory style, And as he cannot speak, enlist Our aid as his ren/r{-loquist. The Head now clear from pain and vapour Shall order out his ink and paper ; And dictate praises on these rules To govern gormandizing fools. The Legs, now fearless of the gout, As ready messengers, turn out To spread our volume far and near. Active in gratitude sincere. While thus the Body, strong and sound, Our constant advocate is found. And pointing to receipts delicious Exclaims: — " Who reads our new Apicious If he has brains, may keej) them cool (If a sound stomach and no fool) May keep it so, unclogged by food Siid indigestion's sickly brood. Hunger howe'er oppressive ease, The I'alate e'en capricious please." KITCHIXKUS ''FAREWELL TO THE READER" 31 And if with care lie reads our Btiok In theory hefome a Cook, Learn the deliirlits pood rules pn3cure us. AVlieii appetite by Jteason awed, (Zeno alike and Lpicurus) ] Measures combined with health aj)[)laud. He who is Stomach's master, he The noblest p]mpire then may boast, So feasting, wheresoeer he be, Tliat man alone shall "'rule the Roast.'' R. H. B.] CHAPTER XIII. DISTINGUISHED PKIVA.TE FRIENDS. CHARLES WATERTON, THE WANDERER. Walton Hall — My Visit — Reception by tlie Squire and His Sisters — His. Sympathy — Cordiality — Hospitality — Conversation — Erudition — Fa- vourite Authors — Sterne — His Private Character — His Style — TJgo Foscolo's Translation — His Tomb — The Squire's Recitations from Him — Byron's Religion — The Approach to Walton Hall — The Lake — The Exterior — Elevation — My Apartment — The rest of the Interior — Walton Hall Customs— The Still Life on the Stah'case — Taxidermj' — The Squire's. Sanctum — Its Unique Appearance and Contents — The Work done Therein — His Bed — The German Maid and the " irraulcopf — He makes Dead Birds appear to Live — The Martin Luther Group — The " Non- descript" — Cause of the Squire's retired Mode of Life — Vow of Conte di Scarampi — The Squh-e's Asceticism — The Cat " Whittle" — His- Originality and Eccentricities — Historical Notes of the Waterton Family and Estate — Reformation Persecution — Cromwell's Bullet — Penal Laws — Anecdote — Ancient Glasses — Waterton's early Devotion to Natural History — Starts on His Wandeinngs — Adventurousness — Mode of choosing a Wife — Its Success — Early termination of a happy Marriage — Its Consequences — His " Wanderings " from a Literary Point of View — Experience gained on His Trtivels brought to bear on Walton Hall — How He Stocked His Park and Lake — How He Entertained His Feathered Visitors — Dissipation of Vulgar Errors — The Starlings — The Rookery — The Heronry — The Owls — Recipi'ocal good Understanding — The Peacocks — Buxl Cortege at His Funeral — Daily Strolls with the Squire — Congenial Topics of Talk — His Sorrows — His Cheerfulness — His Humour — lioyish Freak — Laborious Occupations — Amusing Instances- of Mistaken Identity — And Incognito — The Squire's Dinner — Afternoon. Row on the Lake — Family Burial-Place — Twelve Apostles' Island — Judas Groaning — Lightning Story — Entertainment of Tourists — Liberal Sentiments — St. Joseph's Acre — The " Flukes " — The Strawberries — Blessing the Fields — Indoors at Walton — Genial Conversation — Facetiae — Poi-trait-taking — Queen Maiy or Queen Elizabeth ? — The Future State of Animals — Anonymous Admirer — Her Verses — His Rejoinder — "Whittle " and the Organ — The Other Cats — Sangrado — The Mar Legend — A Quakers Singing Argument — Parting from Walton — The Squire's Valedictory Invitation — Subsequent Intercourse — Manner of His Death — Sejudture — Bird-mourners — Epitaph — Idiosyncrnsies — Letters — Hand- writing — Scientific Feat with Rattlesnakes — The Ourali Poison — Experi- ment on an Italian Donkey — Consequences — The Ant-bear — Visit to 31 Y VISIT TO SQl'IKH WATERTON 30 British ^luseum — Visit to His Publishers — Edmniul "Waterton — Contrast in Tastes to His Father — Except as to Religious and Family Traditions — His Collection of Rings at South Kensington — His Marriages — Early Death. I revisit Walton — Change of Hands — Xew Servants — New ^Manners — The Trees Tenantless — The Grave Deserted — The Traditions Forgotten — Mr. Hailstone's Intermediate Provisions Neglected — Depart in a Storm of Thunder and Hail. It was on a bright afternoon of ^lay, 1861, that I arrived on a visit at Walton HaU. I had heard much — who has not ? — of the wonders of the unique Park, the not less unique and storied mansion and museum, and of its no less unique than venerable owner, the " fine old English gentleman," indeed " one of the olden time," for there u'as little of the nineteenth century about him. Yes, I had lieard much of Squire AYaterton's originality and of the singular surroundings amid which it pleased him to dwell ; of the severity of his own mode of life co-existent Avith generous indulgence for others ; of his unconventional habits and occupations ; of his rare acquaintance with natural history and matchless skill as a taxidermist ; of his scliolarly proficiency in classic and patristic lore, as in philology ; of his frank and cheerful hospitality. But though prepared for many idiosyncrasies, I still daily found fresh matter for wonder and admiration, and for becoming more and more deeply interested in the man and his manners, the whole time I stayed at Walton Hall. Auvone who had witnessed the aftectionate cordialitv of ,^1^,^'-'^ t'> my reception, as the friend who introduced me and I reached the portico, where Mr. AVaterton and his two sisters-in-law, who lived with him, came out to meet us, would have thought we had been bosom-friends for years : not at all so was it, however. Until that moment we had never "seen each other's face, nor touched each other's haiul " — entire strano-ers, till the " one touch of Nature," which a heart like that of the Squire knew how to recognize, all at once made us " kin " ! If T briefly allude to the circumstances which found me so unexpectedly the Squire's guest, it is because VOL. II, c 34 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBRITIES the incident illustrates more effectually than pages of description, a fundamental and lovable phase of his noble character. An intimate and valued friend of his and also of my own, had come to stay with me on the occasion of a family bereavement, similar to that which had so suddenly and completely changed the tenour of his own life and made a recluse of him. The Squire having heard through her of my trouble, immediately proposed that by way of change of scene and of ideas I should go to stay with one who could so profoundly enter into my state of mind, promising at the same time that I should enjoy perfect freedom to pass my time how I liked. He would take no denial, and his insistence was of such a benevolent and hearty nature, that it was impossible to resist it. I was compelled to meet it in the spirit of frankness and cordiality with which it was proffered, and of which the sequel proved the genuineness, ordiaiityof Noue surelv ever understood so well as the Squire and his le Squire and ^ "^ ... .is sisters, sistcrs-in-law how to welcome their visitors and tactfully make them feel at home. My charmed experience has made me think better of human nature ever since, and during all the five or six dearly-remembered weeks spent at Walton Hall not a day j)assed that did not bring out some new, interesting, and admirable trait in the fine old man's most original, cultivated, and refined character. His conversa- tion, like his books, was full of information and also full of humour, and his frequent allusions in both to the soundest authors of all times and nationalities testified to his extensive His rciKiiiig. reading. A love of the classics was as much a part of Charles Waterton's nature as it was of old Dr. Parr's, and, like him, he infused that love into those with whom he con- versed. Quotations from his favourite authors, whom I soon Favourite found wcre headed by Horace, Cervantes, Dante, Moliere, authors. */ ' 3 7 7 Shakespeare, Sterne, and Byron, seemed to fall into his talk,, his pages, and his correspondence as if their thoughts had taken root in his mind, but he would have regarded it as a HIS liEADlXG 35 sacrilege to ileal with th-m out of their pages and represent their ideas in his own words ; though familiar with Greek and Latin authors, and recognized as a correct and elegant Latinist, he never aired his knowledge of the dead languages nnless in the company of those whom he knew understood them, and shared his own admiration for them. Every morning he read a chapter in the Greek Testament, refreshed his memory with the perusal of some Greek or Latin author, and treated himself to a few pages of Spanish, generally Cervantes ; he delighted in Sancho's proverbs, which he archly quoted now and again when he wanted to clinch an argument or illustrate a narration, when the occasion added its a-proims to their drollery. Often one of Martial's graceful epigrams would come to the fore, and in his character of a country gentleman he showed his high and practical appreciation of the Georgics. Li all this he fortuitously adopted precisely my father's practice— except that with him a dip into favourite passages in Homer followed the Greek Testament— so that it made me feel as if I were beginning life over again in my own home. To a certain extent he shared my own admiration for that remarkable work " Gil Bias," and agreed with me in believ- ing that it could not but have had a Spanish origin. But " Don Quixote " was the book of his heart : he admired the elegance of the style, the point of the story, the true-to- iifeness of the characters ; the pathetic simplicity and noble devotedness of the Don ; the touching trustfulness, genuine honesty tempered by shrewdness of the esquire. As for Sterne, he loved to take the feeling he displays in Lawnm-e his writings for argent comptant, and revelled in his stories as if they had flowed from his heart, and not merely from his pen. For what does not Horace AValpole say about the hypocrisy of this sentimental gentleman, who, having means, knew his mother to be starving without helping her, while movincr his readers to tears over the carcase of an ass. 36 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES In Richard Cumberland's Memoirs (1807) I find a similar appreciation of liim. ". . . As for ' Tristram Shandy,' whose man}'- plagiarisms are now detected, his want of delicacy is unpardonable, and his tricks have too much of frivolity and buffoonery in them to pass upon the reader ; but his real merit lies not only in his general conceptions of cliaracter, but in the address with which he marks them out by those minute, yet striking, touches of his pencil that make his descriptions pictures, and his pictures life : in the pathetic he excels, as his history of Lefevre witnesses, but he seems to have mistaken his powers, and capriciously to have misapplied his genius." Yet. even during his life-time Sterne found practical admirers. Some Freemasons (one of them being " Mr. Salt of Tottenham," whom Cyrus Redding tells us he met after Sterne's death) were most desirous to admit him into their fraternity, and were so taken with him that, although he died before this reception could be accomplished, they recorded on his grave ^ that they wished [} The following is a reply wliich I had occasion to send to Notes cmd Queries, 21st February, 11^91, its diligent contributor, Mr. Pickford, having applied to inquire into the state of Sterne's grave at that time ; other writers also furnished many items of interesting information : — " I am happy to be able to inform Mr. Pickford that the peaceful graveyard where the author of the most exquisite bit of poetical prose in all English literature rests, has not been ' improved away.' Its close proximity to Hyde Park depi'ives those who might otherwise promote the job of uglifying it into a playground of any plea that it could possibly be wanted for such a purpose. " The old St. George's burying-ground is endeared to me by association with the most intimate moral lessons of my earliest childhood, as I can remember that shortly before it was closed against further burials our nurse used sometimes t(i vary the monotony of the afternoon walk to Kensingtt)n Gardens by diverging int«j this more countrified enclosure while there was a burial going on, sometimes of more than common interest. Though the ordinary Protestant ritual of that date may not have been very attractive, one came across realities of solemn import which stirred one's sympathies and affections, and occasionally there was a soldier's burial with inuttled drums and firing over the grave, which could not fail to produce a lasting impression. " On one occasion I wel] remember a scene that took place there well worthy to have been recorded in a chapter of the ' Sentimental Journey ' itself. The body of a youth was being committed to the earth, and his sweetheart (whose sobs broke through the black silk liood in which it was then tlie custom for mourners at ' walking funerals ' to enshroud themselves) lost all control over her anguish at the moment when the coffin was lowered into its grave. It would seemhe had died somewhat suddenly since their last meeting, as the next was to have been on the day succeeding tliis painful ceremony. The whole place resounded with her shrieks of ' He said he'd come to-morrow! He said he'd come to-morrow ! ' a hundred times repeated as she sprang into his grave and locked her arms round STERNE'S GKAVK 37 to consider him as belonging to tlieir corps and had him buried at tlieir expense. [But siirelj it is as permissible to be moved ])y a writer's portrayal of sentiments he does not put in action, as in an actress's representation of virtues which are the opposite of her own course of life. It Avould not be easy to find a book liis coffin. Her friends only ultimately succeeded in drapfjinfr lier away, after she was (juite exhausted, b}- the delusive promise, ' Yes, yes, so he will ; come home and wait for him.' "It was the first time I had been in presence of a real sorrow, and the fust time I had ever heard a falsehood deliberately uttered — two imjiressions which nothing can efface. Many hundred times since that I have passed the enclosure where this occurred. The scene has never failed to rise up in my mind, and only a few months aijo I was moved to go in and look for the grave where it occurred. But though the exact spot seemed ever present with me 1 could not discover any headstone that lent itself to the embodiment of the little romance I had witnessed. Probably the circumstances of the parties concerned did not afford a lasting memorial. '• On the same occasion I took a survej^ of Sterne's headstone. Though not splendid, it is in very fair order, and the (medic)cre) inscrijition (piite legible. I may add that if the description of the graveyard quoted by Mr. Pickford was justified at its date of 18ti4, things have been remedied since. There was not more rubbish thrown from neighbouring houses tlian happens in ever}' London garden. It was a wet season, and the grass may have been a little rank, but not exactly ' weeds rioting in impurity.' There were no ' yawning graves.' and the headstones did not ' stagger over dirt and neglect.' In place of the ' dead cats ' there were two very handsome friendly live ones, who with extreme urbanity insisted on accompanying lis round our circuit of the whole place. The general condition, if a little forlorn, seemed much more picturesque and nnich more appropriate than the ra//o//'/n'.s shrubs, the Haunting flowers, the cast iron lounges, and blatant bands, with which other London burying-grounils are at the present day infested. — R. H. Bi sk. " P.S. — After all, Mr. Pickfords apprehensions were prophetic. Although for thirty years or nioi'e this ' liome of rest' has lain unnoticed and undistmlied. exactly at this very moment the situation has changed. The above reply was written on January lUth, and less than a month later I suddenly observed a report in the Timrs that a faculty had been obtained to build a chuivh on this old graveyard ! No doubt, however, the attention which has been timely called to bterne's tomb will serve to save it from destruction." In the end this church was never built, but a barn-like Iniilding has been erected where the mortuary chapel stood. By a coincidence which I cannot account for, I had called the graveyard a '• hllitcr mater fjia'cscant .'" remains aK»ne uncovered by it. — R. H. B. 38 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES in any language which displays in simpler and at the same time more effective and exquisite language the secret springs of the best motives of humanity, than does the " Sentimental Journey." The only book perhaps that excels it in this respect is Ugo Foscolo's Italian translation of the same ! The unique example of a translation improving on an original. It is a remarkable fact that if the two are placed side by side and read alternately, it is the English original that reads like a translation ; no doubt the Italian language lends itself better than our own to the expression of such fine-drawn sentiments. — R. H. B.] The Squire's The Squire's memory w^as a subject of constant astonish- fromSterue. mcut to me. Hc would ofteu quote Uncle Toby and would recite whole chapters of the " Sentimental Journey " with real dramatic effect. " The Franciscan Monk," " Maria," and *' The Starling" were among his favourites, but most of all *' The Dead Ass," which recommended itself to his fancy for a reason which I will relate later on.^ With these he scarcely ever failed to bring tears to the eyes of his listeners. Among the letters I had from him I have one subsequently alluding to Sterne as follows : — " Latel}', being in a reflective mood, I was thinking over the conversations we used to have on the subject of Yorick's works, and I sat down to try if I could not put his inimitable story of the ' Dead Ass ' in a more favourable light than that in wdiicli it has been hitherto received. I hardly know if I have succeeded, but Eliza,^ who looked over these notes, said it would be most unfair not to let you see them ; I assure you, however, it is only with much hesitation that I forward the paper. I sometimes think I could write a volume on the moving stories which Sterne has left us, and which appear not to be duly appreciated by the readers of to-day : yet it seems to me such a writer should live." The paper alluded to, explaining the apparent pseudo- sentimentalism of Sterne on the " Dead Ass,'' is somewhat too ' I/ifra, 11. 91). - One of his sistei's-in-law. BYRON'S RELIGION -^9 on. long for insertion, but any of my readers who would care to apply to me for a copy shall have one.^ The defence made l:.y the Squire is founded on his own observations during a two years' residence in Andalusia of the affection which subsists there between tlie master and his ass, and what he has written is probably in reply to Horace Walpole's severe criticism on the inconsistency of Sterne's character. Byron was another favourite author with the Squire. He B^w used to say with obvious truth that he was imbued with more profoundly religious convictions than many pious peoDle who cast stones at him. jMacaulay, too, was a favourite author. He greatly appreciated the gifts and versatility of his neighl)Our, Lord Houghton, and was fond of the society of the two Gaskell families at Thome's Hall and Lupset respectively, though there was no vestige of co- religionism between himself and any of these, except, indeed, thel)road-mindedness with which superior men can see what is good in the systems of those from whom they denomina- tionally differ. To return, however, to the narrative of my first visit. Even the journey down to AYalton was thoughtfully planned for us by our host. On arrival at Wakefield his carriage stood awaiting us ; I have spoken of our reception on the terrace. In the exterior of the building I found a severe-looking tJ'-pp;-''^ square-built stone mansion constructed over arches on a Haii. rocky foundation entirely surrounded by water, the lake covering from thirty to forty acres. One side, facing south, overlooks the Park, the undulating ground of which is bounded by woods. There is much fine old timber on the land; it contains a fine heronry; and pheasants, always left unmolested once they found sanctuary within the Squire's precincts, were glad to accept the hospitality of his forests. The entrance-front of AValton Hall is remarkable for its r>I think it worth while to preserve this record of a very intercstiiis bit of writin<-, but I have not found the original among my sisters papers.— K H. li.J 40 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES very picturesque old water-gate, in which to this day remains embedded one of Cromwell's bullets, traditionally asserted to have been sent there by Cromwell's own hand. The house is approached by a drawbridge across which foot passengers only can pass ; and the smooth-mown lawn and paths leading* up to the house are adorned with shrubs and trees, the severity of the style which pervades the whole place forbidding WALTON HALL. the introduction of flower borders. Flowers, however, brightened the interior of the dwelling — especially the chapel — in profusion. My quarters. Being showu upstairs to the quarters destined for my occupation, T found myself in a lofty and spacious room, furnished in that antiquated style which offers a pictiiresque- ness all its own. Its last occupant, I may remark, had been Cardinal Wiseman, who had paid more than one visit to ^Yalton Hall, and, being altogether a congenial spirit. UY ROO]\I AT WALTON HALL 41 (.'iitei-tained the greatest friendsliip for the Squire. The bedstead was one of those ancient lour-posters, examples of which still survive at Holyrood, at Chenonceaux, and in the old Palazd of Italy. Its dimensions were such that a biblical patriarch might perfectly well have slept in it w^ith his/or^'- fathers ; the crimson of the satin quilt was mellowed by time, and the fringed and brocaded draperies were festooned with an art, the gl-ace of which is unknown to the modern upholsterer. A large square, bordered carpet covered the middle of the floor, and all round appeared the old black oak WALTON HALL. {J'lf'ir s/ioirillf/ M'tltir (itttc.) bo'^i'ds shining like a mirror. In the antiquated fireplace intiriorar- blazed a brilliant fire, the glow of which, diffusing itself over wnUcTiiaiK the whole room, imparted to it a roseate tint and a winning cheerfulness in keeping with the generous welcome from my host's lips, but seemed an almost superfluous luxury on a sunny May afternoon. Under ordinary circumstances it would have been natural to feel confused at being the object of so much attention from strangers, but though it penetrated me to a profound degree, the Squire's kindness was bestowed with such tender subtlety, that so far from being in any way oppressive, it only drew the recipient more closely to him. I must mention among Walton Hall customs that of burning 42 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES fires all the year tlirougli, and the Squire was so used to tliis that he thought no room looked bright and homehke, however warm the weather, if the " cold gfrate orrinned unconscious of a fire." Whenever he came to stay at my house, which was generally in July, I used to make a point of having fires lighted in all the rooms. The only difference he made between summer and winter was that in hot weather all the doors and windows were left open day and night. Even the house-door at Walton Hall was never closed, nor were shutters used, perhaps because the house was sufficiently isolated by the lake in the midst of which it stood, perhaps also because the Squire was so much beloved and venerated that no one would have allowed a hair of his head to be touched, yet there were in the house valuables enough in plate, jewellery, curios, &c., to have tempted the " armed burglar," against whom there was no muscular protection but that of the infirm old Squire himself and the two men-servants who slept in the house ; gardeners and stable-men lived out of hearing. The rooms were lofty and spacious, and a choice collection of paintings by old masters, chiefly acquired in Italy and Holland by the Squire on his travels, covered much of the wall space. A wide portico, supported by a colonnade, adorned the facade and gave entrance to a noble vestibule from which Still life on opened several larg^e rooms, but the staircase was the most the staircase. . . o ' nnposmg, and had become the most striking feature in the interior structure, for on its spacious bay-landings were museumed the fine and world-famed natural-history collection, every specimen of which was imported, collected, prepared, and stuffed by the Squire's own hands and under his own method and collected each in its special habitat by himself. These delighted the visitor at every turn ; now it might be a bison, and now a butterfly;^ now a jackal, and now a [' Amour; the butterflies were some so delicately preserved that their phos- phorescent quality was still observable by ni,i,dit. — R. H. B.] THE SQUIRE AS A TAXIDER^riST 43 jackdaw; but each wearing the exact semblance it had borne in Hfe. The ingeijiiity and simplicity of his system has been Tar.iJonny. matter for admiration from all those interested in the dilRcult and previously ill-understood art. A\'itli his usual l)readth of mind, far from concealing his secret, the Squire used his utmost endeavours to promulgate his new method, and was always ready to instruct any who came to him with inquiries, desiring it might be generally adopted as the only assured means of either preserving or (in duly skilled hands) giving a lifelike form to any defunct specimen. Tlie mechanical and chemical detail he often succeeded in imparting to willing learners, but in the modelling the Squire always remained facile princeps, even among the most apt and in- telligent of his would-be pupils. From his thorough and intimate knowledge of the customs of the animals he had so long and perse veringly studied, his practised and acute eye could seize and hold the peculiarities and also the diversities whetlier of form or attitude oF each creature, so as to be able to impart to the specimens he manipulated, not merely a correct outline, but a vivified and natural pose. More than this, there was so much art in his handling that a sense of humour and of poetry added grace to all his groups. Moreover, his process conferred perpetual youth on them, fur and feathers being alike effectually guaranteed from the invasion of moth or the ravages of the atmosphere.' The Squire's so-called bedroom where this process was '^''^ Squire's ^ . ... siiuctuui. carried out was the most curious and original department of his dwelling, Avhere everything was oi-iginal and curious. One day during my stay at Walton he invited me to penetrate its arcana, to which he assured me I was one of the few strangers ever admitted. *' But then," he added, gracefully, ' It is to be refjretted tliat thosLHTet of this adiniruble system of taxideiiny was not known in Petiaroli's time, for his pet cat. wliom lie went bo far as to call liis second Laura, lias been stuHed with very diflereiit results, as those can tell who have, like myself, noted its deploral)le condition, behind its ijlass frame over tlio ssessed neither a washstand nor a toilet-table, not even so nnich as a carpet; in fact, it had no appurtenance whatever to j,'ive it the smallest rij^ht to the title of a bedroom, especially the bedroom n,' I repliml, ' T am astonished ; your air-stuffing is superb. Your imitations of nature, without tho intervention of visible means, are marvellous. Had I not seen and handled your specimens I never should have believed it possible for any human boin'^ to fill a skin with nothing but air, and yet give to it the form and contour of a living animal. And not only so, but even the similitude of life itself.' " ' So, friend, that's the way you compliment me, and yet you have only seen little more than one-half of my .skill. Just look here.' Palling out one of the drawoi's of the cupboard, he extracted from it a bvuidle of clean white bones, and with tho triumphant air of a contpioror, tossed them down on tho bare v/oodon floor at my feet^where they fell with a loud clatter — at the s;ime time exclaiming, 'Now, sir, behold! hero you have tho perfect skeleton of tho baboon hanging there. And please to tell me what one among your L )ndon taxidermists furnishes you with a perfect preserved skin and a perfect skeleton from tho same animal "P Wlien your stuft'ors preserve tho skins they ruin tho skeletons, and when they l)re-ierve tho skeletons they destroy the skins. So hero you .see tho vast superiority of my method, which enables you to preserve, at one and tho same time, skin and skeleton. And that, too, no matti-r whether it bo of bird or beast.' He soon proved this to m J by turning again to his treasure-drawer and pulling forth from it a magnilicently plum igecl large-sized barn-(h)or cock, and saying ' Catch I ' pitchetl it across the ro >iu into my hanils, which I held out ready to rocoivo it, when ploi) into them camj the cock, as light as a feather, and well it might, for it, too, consisted of mere skin and feathers, filled witli air like a bladder. "A finer specimen of a large, well-plumagod barn-door fowl I never saw. Its splendid tail-feathers were as fresh-looking and as gracefully curved as any live VOL. 11. D 60 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBKITIES The"Nonde- TJie " Xoiidescript " supplied anotlier of the Squire's numerous quips. It was an impossible creature made up of lialf a dozen varieties, the head being that of one of the monkey tribe, and selected for its singularly human form and expression, aided by the clever helping hand of this incomparable taxidermist ; it was most amusing to note the cock's could Le. Its l)nght red comb stood erect, as if in the excitement of life. And, from its not yet having been mounted upon a stand, its very legs, feet and claws stood out in as independent-looking symmetry as if they had been still attached to a living body. " Being apparently now fully satisfied with the bewildering efiect his taxidermic talents had upon me, he replaced bird and bones in the drawer, and handing me a chair, while he helped himself to the only remaining empty one, we drew near the table, and he proceeded to initiate me in the mysteries of his art, which I soon found consists in two main peculiarities : Firstly, the rendering the skin of the animal as hard as iron, and, secondly, the moulding it into the form of the living creature to which it belonged. The first part of the procedure being purely mechanical, any man, woman or child can readily accomplish. The second, alas ! recjuires not only the operator to possess an intimate knowledge of the animal's attitude and habits, but also an active brain, and clever fingers, along with plenty of time and patience. " In order to make the skin — whether it be covered with fur or feather, scurf or scale — hard, all that is required is to steep it in a spirituous solution of corrosive sublimate for from three to nine hours, according to its thickness. The strength of the solution Waterton gave was a teaspoonful of powdered corrosive sublimate to a wine bottle full of spirits of wine ; but I afterwards ascertained for myself that the be.st proportions to employ are six grains to the ounce of spirit. " On removing the skin from the solution and drying it for a short time in front of a good fire it begins to stift'en, and so rapidly does it harden that it is advisable to rouohly mould it into the shape of the animal to which it belonged during the drying process. Indeed, not luitil the general contours of the bird, fish or quadruped are maintained by tlie partially dried skin is it to be left to itself. No sooner, however, is tlie desired sliape foinid to be retained bj^ the skin, and it has acquired a similitude to the animal to which it belonged, than it may be attached to a couple of pieces of string, and hung up to become thoroughly dry and liard. This it will readily do within a couple of days. " Now commence the difficulties of Waterton's taxidermic process — the moulding of the hardened skin into the exact form of the living animal. This is accom- plished by the combined action of the fingers and a set of tools similar in shape to those employed in the modelling of clay. Each part of the skin is operated upon separately, and the porti(Ui inteiuled to be acted upon has first to be moistened with a sponge soaked in tepid water until it becomes soft and pliable. While in this condition the skin can be coaxed, by means of alternate outward and inward pressure, into the required shape. Each portion of the liody having been thus gone over separately a perfectly formed life-like figure is at length obtained, and all that remains to be done is to sew up the opening in the skin, through whicli the bones and fiesh had been in the first instance extracted. Waterton advised me always to begin with the head, as it is the most difficult part of the animal to model. For, as he said, when once the head has been satisfactorily done, one cheerfully turns one's attention to the less interesting, as well as less difiicult portions of the body. Alas! I know from painful experience^ that although the process looks easy on paper, it is very difHcidt to successfully practise— at least I nuist confess that I never (mce succeeded in producing an animal one-half so life-like as the Squire's." — R. H. B.] ORIGIN OF TIIK Si^UIRE'S ASCETICISM 51 reticence he observed on this subject and the dexterous fencing witli Avliich he contrived to avoid implicatincf liinisolf in an admission, even when closel}' questioned about it. The various heterogeneous portions which formed tliis aljsiiid whole were put together witli so niucli skill, and adapted with so much ingenuity, that the acumen of the most expe- rienced naturalists was baffled Avhen examining the mysterious ])roduction. One reader of Mr. AVaterton's book, to which it forms the frontispiece, took it for a portrait of the author, and remarked that he'd heard he was a strange chap, but hadn't thought he was so bad as that. The bedroom and suite allotted to the Squire's onl}^ son, Eamund Edmund, was in absohite contrast to his own, but of this I apartment! shall take occasion to speak later. ^ On the death of his wife he had been bent on leaving the world for a monastery. But from this he was dissuaded by his confessor, who urged that he owed himself to the infant who was left to him. Ultimately therefore he gave up his personal wish and adopted a com- promise to the effect that he woukl continue to live in the world in order to watch over his son and carry on his educa- tion, but that he would follow a severe monastic rule, though in the most unobtrusive and unostentatious way. If allusion was ever made to the rigidity of his habits he would simply say he had acquired them on liis rough travels in wastes and wilds where forced to dispense with the luxuries of civilized life. Though his daily life was governed by these severe rules, never did they interfere with his social duties and responsibilities ; he was always at his post, wliatever it was — whether of landowner, landloi'd, lord of Walton Hall, family man, or host ; he was towards all concerned everything a man could be in each capacity."^ » /n/ra, pp. 107, llo, If).-,. - Somethinij akin to this instiiiico i>f .sLlf-conunaiul wo tiinl in tlie lifi' of the Conto di Scaranipi. a man of wx-altli and jiosition ivsidiiii,' at Turin. Con.stant. Nuijok'on's lontidential .stu\vard,(k-,soril>t.'s him at tht- time 1k> was ahoiit thirty as of a iinu connnandinc prusuncc ; a splondid lior.seman and fond of phiyin;; at livos. a •rami! at whieli ho oxcellod anil often .s'-iarod witli Prince Hori,'hese : but even at these times ho never uttered a word. AVhen a youn«,'er man he liad— through an indiscreet remark— been the cause of a duel in whicli one of his most attached 52 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES Asceticism. The privatioDS lie imposed on himself were very hard, but unflinchingly carried out. I believe he wore a cilice, and as I have said above he never slept in a bed. He rose at five every morning at all times of the year and passed two hours in his chapel, which was within the house. Already in early youth he had forsworn the use of fermented liquors of all kinds and hardened himself to other abstemious habits. His household moved like clockwork, and was regulated by a venerable old clock, very curious aud antique in its work- manship, which had belonged to Sir Thomas More, from whom he was collaterally descended.^ "Whittle." At eight o'clock the breakfast-bell was rung, and on entering the spacious breakfast-room the Squire was always to be found before the fire toasting his own slice of bread, although he kept a regular establishment including butler and footman. His breakfast consisted besides this dry toast of a basin of hot water in which he allowed himself one spoonful of tea, a minute quantity of sugar and no milk. For others, the table was loaded with well served, well cooked Yorkshire fare, and a handsome cat of good old English breed, but of colossal size, named Whittiiigton, or at least " Whittle," always sat beside him or on his knees and lapped cream and sugar out of a china bowl. friends fell, and such was his horror of this issue that he made an expiatory vow that however many years his life might be prolonged he would never speak again, and having thus condemned himself to perpetual silence he maintained his resolu- tion with the utmost rigour. His valet, who had served him many years, had never heard the sound of his voice. Each morning he wrote down his orders for the day, and at Dufour's, where he took his meals, the waiter who served him was accus- tomed to lay before him the carte diijour, on which he indicated the dishes that were to be served up to him. The Conte was not a man with whom anyone could take a libei'ty, and strange as his vow may have seemed, the tirnniess with which he adhered to it commanded universal respect ; he had many admirers among the sex. [Tom Moore in his Diary records that Lord Lansdown told him that the Duke of Marlborough liaving at one time been ordered to avoid all excitement remained for three years without si)eaking. What made him break silence at last was that he heard Madame de Stai-l proposed coming to Blenheim, at which he exclaimed, " Take me away I "— R. H. B.J [' Dr. Harley says it was a capital timekeei)er, but had no minute hand. On his i-emarking this the S(piire said that when it was made .'>()0 years ago minute hands w^vi;. not wanted. Peo2)le had not then to rush to catch express trains. Minute hands were brought into use by high-pressure engines and high-pressure living.— R. H. li.] WATERTOX ANCESTOKS 53 The Squire's habits were very orif^inal, and pages might be Originality, filled with racy anecdotes of his eccentricities ; his marriage was altogether unlike auythino- that might bo expected to occur ill real life, and I will record the mode of it later ou. I have spoken of the fabric and contents of Walton Hall ; T must add a line or two concerning the interesting history of the old mansion and its owners. The pages of Doomsday Dook testify that the "Waterton family is one of the oldest in Ti'e Waterton " . . . tinnily. the kmgdom, and one bit of justifiable pride lurked in the Squire's heart in the boast that from time immemorial his ancestors had in unbroken succession maintained their allegiance to the Church in spite of all the changes around them and in defiance of all persecutions, dire or petty. Their crest — a bear — was given by Richard Coeur-de-Lion to the Crusader, Sir Richard AVaterton, to commemorate his valour at the battle of Ascalon in 1191. Thomas AVaterton fought with not less distinction at Agincourt in 1415, and another Waterton stood by the King; at Marston Moor. The oricrinal seat of the family was at Deeping- Waterton in Lincolnshire,^ but they removed their residence some centuries ago to their Yorkshire property at Walton, the present massive and imposing dwelling-house being but a portion of the original building, which must have been of noble dimensions. The domain had been regularly fortified, and the lake, moat and castle enabled it to resist successfulh^ a two or three days' siege of the Roundheads; the famous bullet remaining in the water-tower is said to have been fired b}^ Cromwell himself in token of his biffied fury at his cMiforced retreat. It is to be regretted that all the fortifications but this remnant of the tower were taken down by the Squire's grandfather. Possibly, his fortune diminished by the oppressive penal laws, he found himself no longer able to keep them in repair ; but those who care to acquaint themselves with the interesting old AVaterton traditions should read them in the spirited and humorous ' See infra, p. 1 11. 54 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES " Autobiography of Charles "VYatertoii," and those who do read either that or any others of his works will be charmed with the attractiveness of his style ; drawn on irresistibly from page to jDage, they will find, even in reading them to themselves, a cogent impulse often to smile, sometimes to laugh aloud at the originality of the conceits which succeed each other in his pages with all the easy grace of exhaustless spontaneity. I envy those who have yet to ]3eruse them for the first time. Against subsequent persecutions endured by Catholics in England previous to their emancipation, the Squire would often inveigh with a humorous bitterness, and he has written on the subject in his Autobiography in the same strain, for he had too loyal a mind not to feel the disappointment of being debarred from serving his country according to the ancestral traditions of his family. Anecdote of There was a story the Squire used to tell of his mother, the Squire's ., /^it i • -i i mother. who (at the pcriod when Catholics were subjected to the most humiliating indignities) was one day driving out with four horses ; at the first turnpike she reached she was peremptorily refused a passage through the gate by the toll- keeper, who informed her she was defying the law of the land. Catholics not being allowed to drive four horses. The spirited lady remained seated in her carriage by the roadside while, by her orders, her servants unliarnessed the horses and took them back to Walton, returning with four bullocks, with which she continued her drive to Leeds. Ancient glass Somc fcw rcHcs of f ormcr times were occasionally found in at Walton. , "^ clearing the bed of the lake, though I never heard of anything of intrinsic value. There were notably some keys which, in spite of damage from rust, were reckoned by Edmund exceed- ingly valuable for the remnants of their original forms. More curious still were some antiquated glass flagons and drinking- cups, many nearly entire, others in fragments, but all opalized and rendered beautifully iridescent by their long dwelling in THE SQUIRE'S EARLY YEARS 55 the mud. AVlien I saw them they formed in tlie house a little museum of their own.' [Charles Waterton, the scion of this notable race, was comparatively early left to himself- He was sent, in accord- ance with his position and futm'e, to Stonyhurst, the best substitute for a University for all the best Catholic youth of the time. Here he received the most finished education which the penal laws permitted to Catholics. Always studious, well disciplined, and the favourite of masters and scholars, it must be admitted that he often played truant. But whenever Wateiton's he got into disgrace, it was always through the irresistible, fiatuiai"^^' inborn propensity to study nature. The College had the ^"^'"''^" advantage of his observations, in the training of domestic animals and pets, and in the eradication of the obnoxious creatures cruelly classed as "vermin"; but the woods and hedges fulfilled for him literally what the ironj^of folk-speech calls in French the ccole hiiissonniere. In this minor sphere he began the scientific watch and study of the habits of animal life. Whenever he was missed it was perfectly well known that he was in some woodland haunt following up some little- known bird, reptile, or insect into its innermost retreat, vigilantly watching its every movement, noting its habits, and laying the foundation for future stores of information. In advanced years it was a pleasure to him to go back to these scenes of his daring youth where he had so many times *' snatched a fearful J03'," and talk over these vagaries with the Principal, who at that time viewed his innocent mis- demeanours witli a more lenient eye. — R. H. B.] No sooner was he emancipated from the restraints of school and college supervision than the scheme which had been the day-dream of his boyhood suggested itself with all its present feasibilities; regardless of fatigue, })rivation and peril, he [' I believe no satisfuctoi y way of accomitiiif; for tlicir pottinjj; tti the bottom of the laki' was ever arrived at. I liopo wo shall lind them liiiiired in tlie very important illustrated work, "Old Kni,dish CJlasses; an acooinit of :,'las.s drinkini;- vessels in England from early times to the end of the eij^hteentli eentury," now ])assinji thioiij^di the press of Mi-. Kd. Arnold. Bedford Street and New York, from the erudite pen of Mr. Albert Hartshorne, F.S.A. -H. H. B.J 56 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES resolved to abandon the ease and luxury of liome-life, thougH surrounded by opportunities and circumstances such as fall to the lot of few young men, and to gratify his passion for roving starts on bis and exploring in any land, however distant and uncivilized, to which his own uncontrolled will might lead him ; the wilder the more attractive. He has often told me that no delight in life ever came up to that he experienced when he first felt the bird-like power to soar unrestrained wliithersoever he would. So entirely did this pleasure in freedom and in the imjwSvu possess him, that he resolved to make no fixed plau, but to take his first direction fortuitously, and pursue its ramifications solely as circumstances should suggest. And of course it was a real plunge into the world of Nature : he could not go equipped on such an expedition with the thousand and one appliances which make up the impedimenta of the travelling youth of our day ; but he had in great measure to rely on his own resources. It was a bold scheme, but he was at an age and of a temperament to despise danger and know no fear. His travels thus became real " wanderings." In the first instance he directed his steps to Spain, the wildest and most unconventional of civilized countries. Its romance created attractions, and his acquaintance with the language smoothed many difficulties. The adventures of Don Quixote and of Gril Bias fired him with emulation. Perhaps there was no happier lad in all the world than Charles Waterton, with his youth, his position, his wealth, his intelligence, his activity and his complete freedom, starting to visit the lands of his dreams. Tra.velling: adventures in that lono; unconventionalized country have now pretty well come to an end, though I may cite my own experience of Spanish travel in 18G6 to show that it then still afforded some of those unforeseen irregulari- ties and discrepancies from the hackneyed routine of daily life, which though sometimes (as Seneca discovered) durum yati meminisse chilcc est. HIS FIKST WANDERINGS 57 When, therefore, yonnSpain, then went back to Soutli America, and wonderful were the journeys he took and the perils he encountered. At last came the year 1829, Cl.lMltlNc; Till-: BALI, OK ST. I'ETErt S. and with it tlie eighteenth year of his infant fiam-i-e, whom he now retnrned to claim. Their intimacy had been main- [' Mj' nephew, Mr. S. N. Vansittait. lias tmiu'd t«> aceoniit liis iiitiiiiato know- ledge of Rome, by seizing some of the singular eH'ects which e.scapo the ordinary visitor. The (luaint '• bits " which an artistic study of that world "which the clouds may claim ''-tlie roof of St. Peter's — has long sjiecially fascinated him, and (|uite lately (August L'l.st, 1S!»7) he gave, in the finiji/iic, u narration of its wonders in detail, rei>lete with curious illustrations of some of his favourite points that had never ])een attempteliotographs (in which he is seen making the jierilous ascent of the ball), some idea may l)e gained of the dangers of the greater feat a.scribud in the text to Charles Waterton, who could only have attained the ji/irafD/i/n-rrr in its giddy height, by clinging to the wire rope that secures it to the ball, a sutticiently alarming situation so many hundred feet from the ground. To appreciate the achievement, the above cut should only be looked at beside a complete representation of the exterior of St. Peter's. The round black excrescences it tiiul tliis legend, vnriiuits <»f whii-li meet the fulklorist at (liti'ereiit points of his reseaielies, loealized, by the personal tradition of an actually existini; family. — R. H. 13, j 90 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBEITIES that it is the crux of the punster to be told a stale joke or asked a riddle to which the answer is foreknown to everyone ; so a cloud oi gene spread over the table at this naivete. In an instant Canon B restored the general hilarity by readily replying, in his jovial way, " Well, my dear, I can at all events guess what it ought to be — the fowls defile the o^t^side of the house and the servants defile the mside." — R. H. B.] A frequent visitor within the old walls also was a Mr. Greenwood (I think), who, however, went so constantly by the name of " Jemmy Shaw " that I really forget his real patronymic. This new nomenclature he owed to the fun and spirit with which he used to tell a humorous and original story ; I, at all events, had never heard it before. It was founded on a supposed dispute between two mechanics — a Quaker and a High Churchman — a propos of music in divine worship, the former, of course, maintaining the excellence of the plainer form. " I tell thee, friend," argued the Quaker, '"' they have a way of singing not only their hymns and their creeds, but their very litanies, and what can be more absurd, not to say vain and disrespectful, than to address the deity in music : is it not altosrether affected and unnatural r " " I fail to see it," replied the other ; " inasmuch as music is richer and more elaborate than ordinary sj^eech, so much the more do we thereby honour the Being we address." " Friend, to my mind, we mock God when instead of humbly expressing our supplications in the tone and language of a petitioner who is trembling all the time lest he should not obtain the favour he craves, we put it into song, and losing all meaning of the words we employ, twist them this way and that, repeating them in cadences and fugues, and as it were mocking the ear whose attention we should be trying to engage. Now let ns suppose thee had broken thee saw and wanted to borrow mine, pray is it thus thee would propitiate my favour ? " "JEMMY SHAW, WILL THEE LEND ME THY SAW?" 91 (Here Mr. G. would start off in a high key and execute a most complicated and jolly sort of ]ierformance) : — " Good-day, Jemmy Sliiiw ! I have broke, 1 have broken my saw, Will thee helj) me throujih. Jemmy Shaw, Will thee lend, will thee lend me thy saw, Jemmy Shaw ! ShaAV, Shaw, Shaw, Shaw, Shaw, Shaw, Lend, lend, lend, lend, lend, lend, lend, Will thee lend, will thee lend me thy saw, Jemmy Shaw ! Shaw, Shaw, Shaw, Shaw, Shaw, Shaw, Le . . nd, le . . nd, le . . nd, le . . nd — Yes lend, lend, lend me thy saw. Saw, saw, saw, saw. saw, sa"\v, saw, Thy saw, yes thy saw, yes thy saw, Jemmy Shaw ! " and so on for a quarter of an hour. " Now what would thee have me to do all the time thee were making these vocal antics? I confess, friend, as I know thee to be too good a fellow to affront me willingly, I should take thee to be stark staring mad, and in charit}^ should have thee shut up as a lunatic. Certainly would I not trust thee with a saw." The old Squire, who, of course, did not take the Quaker view, was always highly amused with this storj^ and would encourage Mr. G. to tell it again and again for the amusement of his friends. [Though this arr/itmcutnm ad aLsiirdum cleverly shows up the abuse of the floriated st^de in ritual music, the use of prayers and praises emphasized by vocal repetition is but the cultivated form of the style unsophisticated children and persevering beggars adopt because they derive it b\' natural selection from their intense earnestness. We all know how both will go on persisting with repetition first of whole sentences, then of mere words, finally of mere single letters, e.g. " do — 00 — 00 — 00 ! " till they get what they want. This with reference chiefly to vocalization of prayers. In Chapel's " History of Music " are some curious pages on 92 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBRITIES the origin of tlie same thing as apphed to Praise. He says " the practice o£ carolling or singing without words, like birds, to the Gods was copied by the Greeks, who seem to have carolled on four vowels, from the Egyptians, who had but four. . . , It has been supposed that the Name Jehovah, which in Hebrew consists of four letters, originated in this manner of praise." — R. H. B.] The parting But my visit to Walton, however enjoyable and however Hall. protracted, had to come to an end at last, as many matters were calling me home. If my arrival at AYalton Hall left a profound impression on my heart, neither shall I ever forget the leave-taking. The Squire was old, his sisters were not young, and the circum- stances irresistibly recalled the subtle remark of De Quincey, " In every separation there is an image of death." As we all stood together beneath the wide portico, the dear old Squire, turning to me, took both my hands in his, and with tears in his eyes, such as were not long finding their way to mine, said : — • " I not only hope that you will very often come to us again, but if ever anyone having one drop of your blood in his veins should pass my gates without turning in and in your name claiming my hospitality I shall take it as an indication that you have not believed in my welcome." These were not mere words ; whilst I was at Walton a cousin of mine (holding a responsible position in the Post Office) being at Wakefield on business came over to see me. The Squire received him as an old friend, and, finding he could spare a few days, insisted on his passing them at Walton Hall. I am glad to be able to add that this guest was able afterwards to render the occupants a little service by obtain- ing a grant of a letter-box at Sandal, which greatly facilitated the transmission of their correspondence. A little incident in connection with this visit marks the Squire's shrewdness of observation, " I consider that gentleman's face a perfect THE PARTING FKOM WALTON HALL 93 one," be said to me one day, "it is so rare to find one that will bear JooHng at all rounclJ'^ Happily it was long before tlie gloomy forebodings of our parting were realized. I often afterwards had the satisfaction of receiving the whole Walton Hall party at my house on their annual visits to and from Aix-la-Chapelle ; the Squire in fact paid me the compliment of assuring me that mine was the only friend's house at which he ever slept in London. Nevertheless for the moment the pain was keen, I may say, for us all. In most cases it is true that " Les lannes dii depart sont pour eeiix qui restent,'' but in this instance I think we were all equally moved. It is impossible not often still to recall this most delightful visit to Walton Hall, resulting in a "friend- ship delicate as dear," and altogether unforeseen, but which lasted as long as the dear old Squire lived. As Yigneiil Marville has said : — " L'amitie n* est-elle pas la mellleure chose qui soit an monde? inais cc'tte honne chose ne s^ improvise pas . . . ne f^'' impose point. . . . Tine sympathie nait ; puis, elle f/randit, elle se developpe et devient alors une a'ffectio)i durable : ilfaut mSriter ramitie." Alas ! the " durable " itself is not enduring. All that is over now, and it has resolved itself into those home-striking Hues of Longfellow's (stolen albeit, and turned into verse, from the prose of J. J. Beecher, the friend and faithful adviser of Byron) : — " As ships that pass in the night and speak eacli other iu passing, Only a signal given and a distant voice in the darkness : So, on the ocean of Life we speak and pass one another, Only a voice and a sound ! Then darkness again — and a silence ! " I have always felt it impossible to repay to the friend who brought me acquainted with the dear old Squire the debt of profound gratitude for so invaluable a boon ; we are, however, still mutually devoted friends. It seems sad — yet characteristic — that Charles Waterton's long and adventurous life should have been terminated by an 94 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES accident. The fact was that he had, in his youth, known so many hairbreadth scapes that he had acquired the dangerous habit of recognizing no peril, and as he grew old he was too apt to forget those precautions which the infirmities of age render imperative. It was from a fall into the canal which crossed his park that arose the complications which in a very short time terminated his honoured days. The dear old man, affectionately known throughout the Riding as " Squire Waterton," was deeply and honestly mourned, and not by his friends, neighbours, and dependents only, but also by the feathered i'riends he had protected, as I have narrated above.' After he was laid to rest in the spot I have described,^ a large white stone cross was erected over the grave bearing the epitaph, dictated by himself : — Orate Pro anima Caroli Watevtou Cujus fessa Juxta hanc crucein Sepeliuutnr ossa B. 12 Jun., 1782, " ob. 27 Maie, 1865. Prav for the Soul of Charles Waterton, born June 12, 1782, died May 27, 18G5, A\hose weary bones are buried near this Cross. Letter- Among otlicr old-world customs to which he steadfastly adhered he entirely repudiated the use of envelopes. A sheet of paper folded and addressed, he very rationally argued, endorses itself and carries every necessary record of its identity and date with it ; naturally he always closed his letters with wax and a seal bearing the family arms. I possess many of his letters ; all are written on quarto sheets ' Page 68, stqn-a. [- It was consecrated previous to the funeral by the Bishop of Beverley. — R. H. B.] writinsr, THE SQUIRE'S EPISTOLARY STYLE 95 of paper. From among tins interesting and valued collection I select a few cliaracteristic of the naturalist, the scholar, and the man/ The following is a testimony of his affection for the religion he professed and the steadfastness with which he considered himself bound to maintain the faith Avhich he used to say with pride his family had adhered to without any regard to the persecution of the Reformation : — "Walton Hall, Jan. 11th, 18(34. ..." Last Monday we had a beautiful procession to the antiquated ruin on the island. The Bishop and ten priests attended in canonicals, whilst a grand crucifix in stone of one ton weight was planted on the summit. " For three long centuries no crucifix had ever been erected in pleasure-grounds, since England's melancholy fall from her long-cherished creed of nine hundred years' duration. " Three generations of one family were present at the ceremony, as you will see, when I have the honour of sending you a printed account in Latin by our good and learned Bishop of Beverley. " Would that I could persuade you to come and see what has been done in honour of Catholicity." ''Walton Hall, Dec. 4th, 1864. "... Many thanks for your very welcome present and letter. AYould that I had been with you in your last tour, as I think I might have been of some service to 3'ou. " Spain is a noble country ; and where modern science and supposed improvements are not to be found I am convinced that her ifjnorance and tortoise-like m.ovements are real l^lessings. Pardon me if I should be disagreeing with you on that point ; I believe, however, if a correct view were taken, there is more fraud, infidelity, corruption and crime [' I in;iy add, his handwriting, though small, was singularly regular. Hrni, and legible, as might be expected from the tramiuillity and determination <>f his eharacter.— R. H. B.] 96 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES to be found in Yorkshire alone than in the whole of Spain. But, as says Sancho Panza, ' de mis vlnas vengo, y no me entremeto in cosas agenas. Cadet uno jjor su misnio y Dios para todos.^ " All here join in sincerest regards. " Ever most truly yours, " Charles Watebton." "Walton Hall, July 14th, 1861. "... Pray accept the warmest thanks from a grateful pen for the genuine hospitality and innumerable kindnesses to my sister during her stay under your roof. When you favour us again with your company I shall have a fair opportunity of expressing to you how deeply I consider myself your debtor ; Eliza's tongue and mine will then, only, be able to present our feelings in a proper point of view. "What a clever fellow du Chaillu has been to have enlisted in his favour the powerful approbation of our learned doctors in zoology. But whoever shall read my letters on his gorilla in the Gardener s Chronicle will, I trust, conclude that those gentlemen ought to have examined "well the dangerous locality before they took the leap. " Believe me, dear , " Ever gratefully and sincerely yours, " Charles Waterton." The dispute here alluded to, and which we may call a gorilla-war^ixre between the two naturalists, arose out of state- ments made by du Chaillu in his volume entitled " Equatorial Africa " on the subject of this animal — statements which Waterton stoutly disputed. His opposition, indeed, had the effect of entirely dispelling misapprehensions to which du Chaillu's exaggerations had given rise, and the general discussion of the subject he provoked cleared the scientific atmosphere of many clouds of error. HANDLING RATTLESNAKES 97 A very remarkable scientific feat, performed by tlie Squire ^J;;';f^^;^'^"^«- some time before my visit, must not be omitted in this little record. Some rattlesnakes bad been brought over by, I think, the keeper of a menagerie, and had arrived at Leeds, where they were to be exhibited ; but as they lay coiled up in cotton- wool, and no one dared disturb them, the Squire was com- municated with, and was asked how they could be removed from then- packing-case and transferred to the cage which was to be their future home. The Squire saw at once the difficulty and peril of the trans- action, and well knew there was no one there who could safely carry it through ; he therefore actually undertook to manage it himself, notwithstanding the advice of medical and other friends to have nothing to do with the perilous business. The Squire was not of a temperament to be dissuaded by apprehension of danger from anything he had resolved to do ; and besides, he intended to improve the occasion by trying to learn by experiment which was the deadlier poison, the ourali or that. Firmness and obstinacy have severally been desci'ibed, the first as a strong uhU, the second as a strong ivon't. We will suppose it was by virtue of the former ^ (and not by vice of the latter) that the Squire adhered to his intention. A day was therefore appointed, and the promised performance was regarded as so astonishing and also so interesting, that several scientific men from Leeds and its vicinitv assembled to witness it. A medical man volunteered ft/ the ghastly offer of his serviced " in case any accident should happen " (!) but the Squire shook his head, and intimated that medical skill would be of very little avail in the event of an attack by one of thesj deadly creatures. ' Tliu history of the cayiuau advonttiro tills somo of the most exciting pages in the " Autobiography of Charles Waterton," and the incident nnist reckon among the many narrow escapes which we read of throughout the " Wanderhigs," Indeed, the "perils" encountereil by the Scpiire were more mmierous than those alluded to by St. Paul, and the wonder is that he survived to relate them. This story, wliich excites a breathless interest, should be read in the writer's own words. VOL. 11. G 98 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES The Squire rode over from Walton early on the day named, and the box containing the strange cargo was handed over to him, as also the case into which the creatures, about thirty in number, were to be moved. If he seemed reckless in courting danger, he was far too rational not to surround himself with every precaution his experience suggested. He allowed only a certain number of persons to be present, and placed them where they were to stand, stipulating that no one should move or speak, and he then went to work amid the breathless excitement of his observers. The process was necessarily slow and deliberate, and his first precaution was to get behind the patient on whom he was first to operate, and also to avoid disturbing the rest. "I felt perfectly safe," he said to me when describing the incident, " as long as the creatures could not see me ; had I gone to work in a sudden or violent way, or had I stood in front, the matter would very soon have been settled." Much time was occupied in slowly and gently arranging the creatures in such a way as to be able to deal with one at a time, and this was managed by cautiously enveloping the rest in the sheets of wool in which they had been packed. When at last the active stage was reached, the beating of hearts became audible ; the Squire alone was calm, as after a brief pause he steadily and slowly lowered his hand with the thumb and first finger open and ready to grip the destined snake ; time seemed to move on leaden wings, but after an interval the eager spectators saw with intense relief the hand emerge securely holding a splendid snake firmly by the back of the neck, which it did not release till safely caged. The task was successfully accom- plished, but a profound impression was produced on all present, and in the midst of it one of the spectators felt himself obliged to slip away, as he declared he could not stand by to behold so frightful an experiment continued • while the countenances of those who remained sufficiently betrayed their alarms. TJIK DEAD ASS" 99 How the Squire mana.G^ed to preserve his perfect snii.ir.fmid and the necessary steadiness of hand till bis undertakin,ierre, a little village some seven or eight miles from Dieppe. It is there in the beautiful old Chateau Dampierre that some time ago Mr. Waterton settled and made his home, on the sale of Deeping- Waterton Hall to the present Marcpiis of Exeter. His remains were conveyed on Wednesday from Paris, accomi)anied \>y the cure, and for the two next days they rested in the little parish church of Dampierre, which Mr. Waterton had recently reopened after it had been closed for some years previously. Amongst those present at the 110 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES Process of Tliougli the eutire collection was therefore, perhaps, to\hrnatioD'! scarcelj to have been obtained, there is no doubt that if appreciative application had only been made to him, the Squire would have taken delight in preparing for the British Museum at no cost at all specimens priceless in their perfection, such as can never be obtained again, though too retiring and sensitive to volunteer an oft'er of the kind. That the idea rankled in his mind is certain, because he had not long been intimate with my sister when he sent to her house a laro-e wired cas^e filled with marvellouslv beautiful birds, the retired life on his remote estate possibly having kept him out of a similar opportunity before. The following letter, which accompanied it, betrays what was in his mind : — " Walton Hall, June, 1862. ... ''I have taken the liberty of addressing to your house a case of birds, and I wish no one but your good self or Edmund to have possession of the key. ... I should like you to show them to any of your friends, English or foreign, who might care to examine them." Then follow directions for opening the cage to exhibit the birds, dwelling on the importance of not allowing spectators to finger them, as by touching the feathers roughly a web might get displaced, *' and no one but myself could rectify the mischief." " Our great professors," he goes on to say, " and those of other countries can produce nothing at all comparable to the specimens this box contains, and I would fain hope that in examining my productions they will see, be convinced, and acknowledge that their own cabinets are ssidly in the back- ground so far as the preparation of objects in natural history is concerned." . . . He had seen the work of other men, and he was well acquainted with his own and "he knew that it was good." funeral were his brother. Mr. Thomas More Waterton ; his sisters, Mrs. Siitcliffe and Mrs. Harrison ; his hrothers-in-law, Mr. Rock and Mr. Harrison ; also Mr. J. Roche, Mr. W. E. Ednionstone Montgomerie, his cousin ; the Rev. Reginald Fowler of Guildford, and numerous other friends. R.I.P." HIS MAKKIAGES ill He was conscious, tlierefore, that the words he used were no boast of vanity, but the simple statement of a fact. The cage and its contents were seen by many persons, fanciers and others, but though immensely admired, no sucli applica- tion as 1 have supposed he desired was ever made to him, and the opportunity was lost for ever. — R. H. B.] Edmund married first one of the twin daufi^hters of ^^^"i""^^'^ *" , wives. Sir John Ennis (the other becoming the wife of The O'Donoghue). By her he had six children, to the eldest of whom I stood sponsor. After her death he niarried Miss Mercer, heiress of John Mercer, J. P., of Alston Hall, Lancashire, and had two children, to the elder of whom I again was asked to be sponsor. lie died very unexpectedly, about five years after his second marriage. Circumstances had necessitated — with all his good qualities Edmund was anything but a man of business — the sale of Walton Hall, and he had taken up his residence on another old family property — Deeping- Waterton, Lincolnshire. Li the autumn of 1891 I found myself in Yorkshire, and I^'^*^^'^\t*?, "^ Till Waltou Hall. while shrinking from the distressing changes I had to be prepared to find, I could not resist the self -torturing impulse to revisit the scenes of the happy days spent at Walton Hall. The estate — passed into other hands — was shoru not only of its ancestral glories, but of all its traditional idiosyncrasies, and had become so utterly desecrated as to have fallen into the hands of, we were told, a parcemi soap-boiler. Poor old Squire ! Though humility in person, he had never felt called upon to divest himself of an honourable pride in his forbears — the pride of well-preserved chivalrous and religious antecedents. Now, all connection with these was ignored. His " sacred clay " sold with the sod — bought and owned with the estate — like a slave on a slave-owner's estate — by an uncultivated and uii appreciative successor. Alas, that such things should be ! Life is indeed made up of terrible and startling paradoxes. Siutt laclirymce rerum I 112 SOCL\L HOUES WITH CELEBEITIES I cannot describe the feelings with which I approached the dwelHug where I had erst been so warmly welcomed, so tenderly parted with, and often so earnestly entreated to return. I knew it must be altogether different now, when I was almost the sole survivor of all who had at that time gathered there, but I was scarcely prepared for the actual denouement, T had addressed a polite note to the occupiers of the moment, briefly telling my reasons for troubling them with the request to be allowed to invade the — to me — endeared precincts for a few moments, the last opportunity I was ever likely to have of revisiting them. Walton is to many besides myself a time-honoured sj^ot, interesting to the whole country, and especially to the county. From the Sandal station there is a neceptiou r prettv Walk of about half an hour to reach the Hall. On the contrast to^"' the first. way wc passcd now and then stray countrj— folk, whom I made a point of addressing, to learn whether the memory of Charles Waterton still lingered round the spot, and it was gratifying to find in every instance that, notwithstanding the lapse of years, he was still held in affectionate and revered remem- brance and spoken of with honest regret. Reaching tbe gate, I made my well-known way through the drive, to the bridge, across which foot-passengers only can pass, and noted the trim order in which the paths and lawns, evergreens and shrubs round the house were kept ; at the same time I was disappointed to observe that ruthless and ignorant hands had been at work clearing away relics eminently interesting to those who knew their history, and probably no one then at the Hall was in that number. Arrived at the iJevron^ I recognized the grotesque, antique brass knockers on the solid old doors, wont to be always open, but now closed ; all was solemnly still ; I therefore emplo^^ed one of them to rouse a servant : after some minutes, a rough lad in a shabby page's livery presented himself, and having asked ray name, disappeared with my card. I was not sorr}^ to be left to my meditations on that suggestive spot. Naturally I looked ronnd me with sad YAIN SEARCH FOR THE OLD LAND.AIARKS 113 interest. The old carved oak panelling of former days still lined the walls half-way from the ground, but above the dado the decoration had beeu changed ; a thick square Turkey carpet covered the middle of the floor, the furnitui-e was antiquated in form, and may have been that of yore, and on the raised hearth, logs, as in the old days, were blazing across the dogs. I stood on the very flags where the " AVanderer," while taking his affectionate leave, had tendered me the freedom of the whole place for me and mine. I had almost conjured him np before me, and the echo of the well-remem- bered words, the clieery yet pathetic tone of his voice was ring- ing in my ear, when brusqnely one of the doors was opened, and a flippant, off-hand, but not altogether disrespectful, young man-servant made his appearance. Thei'e was nothing of the venerable family butler about him, but he was very well for the mushroom flunkey of a nouveau riche. He advanced, twisting a square of pasteboard between his fingers, which I subsequently perceived to be my card ! Mrs. Soap-boiler was evidently indifferent to the Squire's friends, and did not care to hear about him, or to relate to interested ears what she might have gleaned concerning his memory on the spot. She had not even enough manners to ask me into the house, and probably had not appreciation enough to understand that I had desired to revisit some of the rooms. " It appears," said the man, *' that you desire to look over this place." " I should indeed," I replied, '*' if not inconvenient." Nodding compliance, he proceeded to lead the way, pro- bably much better known to me than to himself. Crossing the laAvn, he pointed out to me the tower, the ivy-covered water-gate, the stairs down into the lake, and Cromwell's bullet, which he told me, with an inane laugh, had lately The search , -IT , , . . . ? ' , -^ for the old been picked out by some counter-skipper visiting the place, laudmurks. but had been " put back again all right " ! And he appeared to think he knew all about the place his master's money had lawfully purchased. I made no observation to all this, but VOL. n. H 114 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES could not help asking what had become of the various objects, each with its history, which I saw were no longer there. "That ngly old stump!" said he; "oh, that's been removed, and a jolly good riddance too ! " " How," said I, " about that venerable old elm at the edge of the front lawn F" "What!" he answered, "that rotten, split up old tree, quite a disfigurement to the place ? That, ' 'we ' cut down when we first come." " Nothing, my friend," I replied, " that has a liistory, and especially so interesting a history as most of the details of this spot, can be considered a disfigurement. Yet I miss from their places many of v/hat I may call landmarks in the old Squire's life, and those places will know whether him or them no more." As he asked for the history of the elm- tree,^ I related it to him, and it seemed at once to wake him up to the fact that there might after all be something curious in the recollections of Walton Hail- As we walked on across the broad park and arrived at a The echo. spot whcrc there was an echo, I loudly clapped my hands, and great was the astonishment of my cicerone, whether at the fourfold repetition of the sound, or at my knowledge of its existence. The park showed signs of neglect, timber had been injudiciously cut down, the grass was long and rank in places, and the soil was rough with mole-hills ; the roads^ too, were in very bad order. When we approached the The grave. cousecrated little nook where reposes all that now remains of the active, energetic frame of him who erst animated this place, its utter solitude and abandonment was chilling in the extreme, and its neglected appearance was sadly sugges- tive of the fact that of the, dear old man's kith and kin none were near to honour his memory. The cross indeed remained standing, but the lettering of his epitaph^ was so thickly overgrown with moss that it ^ Svpm, p. 78-9. - Stq)ra, p. 94. NO BIRDS TO (UIKET US 115 irds to us. could scarcely be decipbered by any one not previously acquainted with the words, and so could never tell the visitor irhose ''w^eary bones" lie near that cross. To stand under any circumstances beside the grave of those wo love, face to face with all Ave have lost in losing them, cannot but have a depressing effect ; in this case it was doubly so; I could not walk through those vast but now silent woods without mentally contrasting their stillness with the bright vitality and ceaseless sounds they offered of yore, when voices innumerable (but each one of which the Squire ^^^^'^' could recognize) seemed to vie with each other in welcoming the presence of him who, now sleeping there, no longer administers to the needs and pleasures of the creatures he taught to come at his bidding, and to animate his domain with their joyous cries and songs. The man was too stolid and indifferent to afford any satisfactory information as to what had been their fate ; under what circumstances they died out ; or became dispersed, or were shot like the vulgar herd ; all which it could have been surpassingly interesting to know. It is true, indeed, that two or three tenancies had succeeded each other since the Squire's time. His son, Edmund Waterton, had at first taken up his residence there, but unforeseen circumstances had rendered it impossible for him to continue to occupy so large a place, in the style which would alone have corresponded with his views of a country gentleman's life, and he soon abandoned it ; but even during his stay there, an entirely new order of ideas had prevaded ; he had not inherited his father's tastes, and his wife had no proclivities wdiich would have induced her to take up the cause of the guests with which the Squire had peopled his woods and forests, his park and lake. AVhen Mr. Hailstone, who followed, took possession of Mr. Hailstone, the place, it is true he became devoted to it, relinquishing it only with his life, he cherished with an affection which could only have arisen from a strong congeniality of tastes and pursuits, every relic he could trace of the 116 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES old Squire, restoring — as far as he could — all that had suffered from ueglect since his death, and maintaining to the best of his ability all the old traditions, even that of hospitality, for which Walton Hall had enjoyed such an honoured reputation in the good old days. But admirably well-intentioned as his intervention was, it could not be traditional, and moreover, alas, it could not be lasting. At his lamented death everything fell into a worse state of misappreciation than before, and worse still was to follow. I can only add that I came away from Walton with a very uncanny impression of the mind of the present owner, who seemed to me to be in every sense lamentably out of place there. While we were in the wood, wdiich is at some distance from the house, and still further from the high road, some loud peals of thunder accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning plainly foretold that a heavy storm was imminent, and surel}^ enough, when we were just in the middle of the park (the ground of which was very sodden with recent heavy rains) and clear Loaveiuii awav froui anv kind of shelter, a torrent of rain fell thickly thunderstorm. . and violently, driven by sudden gusts of wind, so that umbrellas became virtually useless ; by the time we neared the house we were pretty well drenched ; yet — though I was accompanied by a little granddaughter — " like master, like man " — neither did our guide offer us so much as the shelter of a shed, nor did it occur to any of the family, who he had said zvere at home, to ask us in to dry our clothes. Traps and horses, no doubt, there were in the stables, but we were allowed to take the sloppy road to the station under the pelting rain, without so much as an offer to have us con- veyed thither. The dear old Squire little thought when he so affec- tionately pressed me to pay Walton another visit, that this was the sort of reception in store ! CHAPTER XIV. SO.MH SOCIAL ADVKXTURERS. Tlie Comte cle Saint-Germain— Mystery surrounding His Birtli--Soeial Successes— Taken up by the King— Conjectures as to His Origin — His Extraordinary Parts— Fantastic Statements — Madame de Crc-qny's Sus- picions — Amusing Aciount of Her Discomfiting Him — Madame d'Urfe takes Him up^Age did not tell on Him. Chabort the Fii-o-khig— Tlie " Human Salaniander "— Preteiuls to the Super- natural — His :\Iarvellous Feats — Fire has no Power over Him— Poison does not Harm Him — Scientific Experiments — Discreditetl by the Faculty — The Public begin to I)eride--He discreetly Disapjiears. Charles Cochrane— His ]\iinstrelsy— Otters Himself for Westminster — Schemes for Relieving the Unemployed— Baths and Wash-houses — Muddles His Attairs. " J)r. Berrington" — Wants to Build a Clerical College — " Old Strange '—His Ruined Mansion— His Pathetic Story— "The Birds never Sing now ■'— The Curate Scares Him — " Dr. Berrington's " Ministrations Fail Him — " Dr. Berrington " Tried and Sentenced. Risk Allah— His Handsome Person— Fascinating Manners— Religious Ter- giversation — Discomfited by Baily's Eve— Proposes Leap-frog at a Carden-])arty— " The Cedars of Lebancm " — Comes to Grief over a Diati-nosis — Recognized by a Former ^Master as His Groom— Gets a Widow to :Marry Hini — Takes Her a Sea-voyage— She makes Her AVill fii-st — Risk Allah's apparent Abnegation — liurial at Sea staves off Pnat-mortem — iiisk Allah devotes Himself to His Wife's Adopted Son— The Youth suddenly Shot — Risk Allah Tried— And Acquitted at Brussels— Sues the Bnllij Tel^;;raph— And gets nearly lOOOZ. Damages — Practices in the Hospital at Scutai'i. The Due de Roussillon — Insinuating Maimers— Airs. Staveley's Little Plot; catches Him—" Zi: F.VMii.iK Tree " — Tracked by ]\Ir. Edward Walford. De Tourville— Charms Honest Men — His Infant Son Rescued by My Friend — His Conviction in Austria — Premature Release. Albert Grant — His Palace destined never to be Inhabited — New-Gate— Westlaiid Miirston— Colonel F What was His Name?— Sir Thomas and Lady Hardy— Lord Borthwick— Colonel F 's Personal Advantages — Gonversational I'ower — His ^lerry Stories of Parsons. " Eveiy singular character is entitled to the consideration of posterity." — Sn.^rTESIiL-RV •' CH-VRAiTElUSTICS." By way of introduction to my littlo chapter concerning social 118 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES adventurers wlio have crossed my path, I may be excused for printing here some notes I once collected concerning a character of this class, so weird that it took a great liold on my youthful fancy. Indeed, we might search long before we The Comte found a character more singular than that of the Comte de St. de Saint- . . , Germain, Gcrmaiu, ouc of the most striking figures of the eighteenth century, whose appearance in Paris, surrounded with a halo of impenetrable mystery, excited the greatest curiosity and con- jecture in French society. It is difficult to fix the date of his birth, because he employed every means in his power to main- tain the secret of this occurrence, endeavouring to lead every- one to understand that he had lived from time immemorial, and relating with the utmost indifference and unconcern, interviews and conversations he spoke as if he had actually had with historical individuals of all ages and all nation- alities. The fertility of his imagination seemed inexhaustible, and aided by persistent determination, extensive reading, a marvellous memory, and consummate ajjJomb, together with fascinating manners and prodigious wealth, he contrived to win a prestige which obtained his ready admission into society and enabled him to command the wondering and credulous attention not only of the upper ranks, but even of the Court. Above all, he amused the King, who, taking pleasure in his society, would often remain for hours talking with him and listening to the tales of his wonderful experiences and adventures, which he knew how to make very entertaining. Those who held official positions about His Majesty's person not unnaturally took umbrage at the amount of royal favour shown to this mysterious and not Succeeds with altogether unequivocal foreigner, and Barou Gleichen says the King, i ta i /-n • i t i • if i ' that the Due de Uhoiseul expressed mmselt very warmly on the subject one day in his hearing. "How is it," he said, "that we allow the King to find himself continually alone with this fellow, about whom and whose business society is puzzling its brains, when His Majesty cannot be suffered to drive out unless surrounded TllK ,MVSTKi:iOUS COUNT 119 by an armed and mounted escort, as if tlie streets \vere full of assassins r " However, the Duke being asked one day whether it was possible the Government conld be really ignorant of the identity and antecedents of a man wlio had taken np his abode in the capital on a footing of magnificence unequalled by the representatives of the noblest and most distinguislied families, replied, " Undoubtedly we do know who he is, and we know, too, that he is playing upon the credulity of the town and the Court." *' AYho and what is he, then?" asked the Bailli de Solar, who was present. The answer, it would seem, was not so clear and satisfac- tory as to put an end to the suggestions and suppositions which continued to hover round the Count's name, though the Duke asserted that St. Germain was the son of a Portu- pojijecture as jjuese Jew. For the majority he remained the mysterious being for which he had posed, existing under supernatural conditions, and tacitly implying his profession of preter- natural gifts, knowledge, and powers ; no wonder, therefore, that conjecture was rife as to whence sprang this extra- ordinary fellow who burst meteor-like on French society only after he had attained a comparatively advanced period of life. The whispered queries as to his origin and antecedents, birth, age, social position, occupation, capabilities, &c., find- ing no answer, suspicion set to work, and suppositions of the most ingenious kind v\^ere set afloat, though none seemed to be accepted as satisfactory. Whether it was the Count's wealth or his nose that favoured the supposition, the majority of these rumours attributed to him an Israelitish descent. According to some he was an Alsatian Jew named "Wolff; to others, Raton do, a tax-collector of Aix ; but to others again, a Spanish Jesuit named Aymer. All these con- jectures seem to have been equally vague and foundationless. It was asserted that he had accpiired his enormous fortune i\s nothing more romantic than a successful Dutch merchant. 120 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES " Old Baron Stock," says Gleichen, " whom I met in Florence, told me that he had heard St. Germain had already visited Paris during the Regency (1715-23), and that he then bore this nomenclature." Notwithstanding this statement the generation flourishing in France in 1750 seems to have known nothing about this- adventurer, for he certainly took them by surprise, all that the most subtle inquirers could make out being, that he had travelled extensively, had resided in India, Russia, Holland,. England, Venice, Portugal and Spain, speaking many- languages, and all with the facility of a native, and that the titles he had assumed were various, Marquis de Montferrat,. Comte de Bellamye, Marquis de Belmar, being among them ; though he presented himself as Comte de St. Germain. His manners were perfect, not to say fascinating, his faco His extraoidi- haiidsome, liis fio-ure eleo^ant, and his presence imposing ; and narv parts. ? o o ^ i j. <_> ^ as for his wealth, it was said that short of his having dis- covered the philosopher's stone, its amount was inexplicable. His general knowledge was unusually varied and profound,, and it was believed he possessed the secret of an elixir of life which insured immortality. In fact, he implied that he- had already lived for many centuries, and so simple and in appearance truthful was the tone with which he distributed these astounding statements, and so full of incident the narrations, that it seemed to exclude any possible doubt of his veracity, and the faith of those who listened to him was fairly staggered. Although he risked his credibility by giving the amplest details of the personal incidents and adventures he related, it seems to have been but rarely that he was caught tripping His fantastic or coutradictiug himself, or making compromising ad- missions. Even when questioned by the most astute, his- presence of mind and ready wdt generally carried Jiim through the ordeal. His powers of memory were extraordinary, so that by- industrious reading he had well furnished his mind with statements. A FANTASTIC EXISTENCE 121 minute details of the lives, characters and circumstances of all who had made a mark on the worhl's history. No wonder many ears — and eyes too — opened wide when he wove into conversation anecdotes of alleged conversations with persons of all denominations, all countries, and all dates;' throwing in, for instance, quite casually some apposite observation made to him by Moses or Confucius, Alexander the Great, Plato, Solomon, or sometimes even our Lord; and continuing his talk utterly regardless of any exclamation he might excite and indifferent as to whether he was believed, just as any one might be who was enunciating some mar- vellous truth beyond his hearers' powers of apprehension. Madame de Crequy seems to have entertained a strong Madame de . ... . . .. Crequy not prelimmary prejudice agamst him ; possibly she was irritated caught by by the marked favour with which he was received at Court, and which she considered he owed to the good offices of Madame de Pompadour, yet the account she gives of her first interview with him, rejoicing in the opportunity of " takino; him down," is amusingr. This entertaining (ivande Dame begins by telling us some- thing of the Marquise d'Urfe, at whose house she first met the mysterious stranger, whom she had predetermined to expose. Madame d'Urfe was celebrated for her constant intercourse with Cagliostro, Casanova, and other alchemists of her time, all willing enough to enter into her passion for discovering the philosopher's stone and the elixir of life. With one she made ducks and drakes of 100,000 crowns, with Cagliostro she frittered away from 400,000 to 500,000 livres in expectation that she would, according to his promise, _' We have all met the same thing on a smaller scale in the vanniteiirs -who give you as personal experiences adventures and reparties which you afterwards learn, or perhaps know already, to be as old as the hills. And yet the clever local colouring in which they know how to envelop their marvellous stories, gives a charm which makes them enliven the hoiu-. And for those who have lived nnich, and have accpiired various kinds of knowledge, it is really not ditticult to fall into the hahit (at all events during moments of lively intercourse) of confusing the recollection of a thing read or heard of and a thing lived. 1'he only ditt'erence in the case of the C. de St. (\. was that he did it so s^-stematically aiid on such a magnilicent scale. Such a man nuist have been delightfully entertaining in the midst of this prosaic world. — R. H. B.j 122 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES succeed in evoking the spirits of Paracelsus and Mo'itomut, who alone could reveal the final arcana of the great under- taking. As for Casanova, he robbed her by the ingenious expedient of never asking her for money, but only for precious stones to form his '' constellations." The MM. du Chatel, who were to be her heirs, did not view this delicate mode of procedure in the same light as the lady, and had the Italian adventurer driven out of France. Yet Madame d'Urfe was universally recognized as 2i femme d' esprit} [Madame de Orequy tells us that she went in company with Madame de Brionne to call on Madame d'Urfe, and that it was the custom of this fantastic lad}", when in her laboratory, to have her visitors shown in without being announced. " It was in July, but the hostess was sitting on one side of a big fire, and on the other side sat a man dressed comme au temps du Roi Guillemot, his head was wrapped in a big hood trimmed with braid, and he neither raised it nor rose himself when we ladies entered the room, wdiich seemed to astonish beyond measure Madame de Brionne, -S'^ prince sse and so scrupulously courteous herself." The conversation almost immediately happened to fall by coincidence upon forbears of Madame de Crequy, and the hooded gentleman let drop the remark, d^une voix forte et brusque. ' Hah ! I knew the old Cardinal de Crequy. I saw a good deal of him duriuQ- the first Session of the Council of Trent. He was always saying the most foolish things — at that time he was Bishop of Rennes.' " I guessed at once that our interlocutor could be no other than M. de Saint-Germain, whose mendacious rodomontade, and the fantastic stories told of it, had always irritated me. So I turned to him with a candid and na'if air, and said, * Monsieur doubtless meant to say, Bishop of Nantes ? ' * Not at all, madame,' he replied, ' I mean what I say — Bishop of Rennes, Rennes in Brittany. I know very well what I am talking about.' ' At all events,' I retorted, in a pro- [} " Femme d'esprit s"il eii fiit jumais," writes Madame de Crequy. — R. H. B.] EXPOSED P>Y MADAM K DH CRfiQUY 123 yoking little tono combining levit}', imprudence, and daring, * At all events, I am sure 3'ou don't know who you are talking /o / ' ' Madame ! ' he exclaimed in a voice of thunder, glaring at mo furiously. ' pray don't be vexed,' I replied, quietly. ' Only, as you know so mau}^ things, just kindly tell us what my name is.' Upon this the Comte launched out into a long and grandiloquent description, which might have been interpreted in various ways, but Madame d'Urfe, anxious to appease her friend, declared — looking at liim with tender admiration — 'that he had discovered with marvellous acumen that the lady's name was Victoire.' ' It would have been much more satisfactory,' said I, dryly, ' if Monsieur had said that I am]\[adamede Crequy. Cardinal de Crequy,' I continued, ' was never Bishop of Kennes. ... As to the epithet of "old Cardinal," it suits hhn still less, for he was not more than forty-tive when he died of the plague. And if he said a few foolish things at the time of the first session of the Council of Trent, we must not be too hard on him, for at that date he was not more than five or six years old ! ' * You want to insult me ! ' thundered the Count. ' jS"ot in the least,' I replied. ' I am simply answering your state- ment.' . . . Poor Madame d'Urfe was in a state of con- sternation bordering on the ridiculous, and she afterwards entreated me to give no currenc}^ to this incident." . . . IMadame de Crequy goes on to narrate one or two similarly absurd incidents planned to mystificr re mi/stijicateur. — R. H. B.] Fortunately for the Comte de St. Germain's schemes there were numbers of people at the (^ourt and in good society who were less clear-sighted than Madame de Crequy and less well versed in dates and incidents concerning the former generations of their family, and these people, falling a prey to his assumptions, were always circulating marvellous stories to account for his origin. The most wdiimsical of these was the one which makes him out the illicit son of the second wife of Charles IT. of Spain by a banker of Madrid. 124 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBKITIES This was probably based on his habit, when he ever spoke of his early years at all, which was not often, of always throwing in allusions to its being surrounded by splendour : the houses he had inhabited were palatial, crowds of guards and attendants waited round his path, he played among balustraded terraces, avenues, fountains, and statues. There is plenty of testimony that he contrived to puzzle all who r^f.*^ ^'1°'^'^ came across him as to his real ao-e. Eameau asserted that tell on him. ^ he had met him in 1710, when he appeared about fifty, and in 1759 that was still the age everyone gave him. A secretary of the Danish Legation who knew him in Holland in 1735, and again in Paris five and twenty or thirty years later, declared that he looked no older. In Schleswig, where he died quite at the end of the century, he preserved to the last the same appearance. AVitli all his exceptional ad- vantages, he could anyhow have attained an exceptional position, but it evidently tickled his imagination to live out the adventure of posing for a supernatural being, or, at all events, a living;- enia^ma. Doubtless it amused him huor-ely ^ O O Oft/ to throw out his astounding assertions and watch the effect they produced on various classes of mind, and he revelled in puzzling his contemporaries and offering himself as a phoenix to posterity. It would not be altogether fair to class among adventurers without some qualifying remarks, a clever Frenchman, by Chabert, the name Chabert, sometimes called " The Fire-king-," also " The human sala- n oi 5 t mauder. humau Salamander, ' who came to London and mystified the town about the year 182G. His extraordinary feats were performed by the adaptation of considerable scientific knowledge. Had he presented him- self to tlie society of natural philosophers as a man of practical science, he might have been welcomed with all the honour due to the perseverance with which he had pursued his special branch of study. But perhaps he was afraid of professional jealousj'-, and hence preferred (at the risk of THE HUMAN SAI.AMAXDKK 125 being treated as a charlatan) to display tlie powers lie had attained before the general public and reap his guerdon in a harvest of entrance fees rather than in empty renown. He was a httle before my time, so that I never saw his per- formances, but heard a good deal of them in family tradition, and can remember being puzzled at the ardour with wliicli his pretensions were discussed, denied, and discredited. Instead of making the most of his actual merit in having His preten- studied so assiduously, he presented himself as invested with supernatural power, or at all events, with powers purely t'HABEKT, "Till-: l-l ia>KlN(!. personal to himself, which he declared made him indestruc- tible — impervious to any attack of fire or poison. It was at AVhite Conduit Gardens that he first introduced himself to the British ])ublic, on the evening of June 7th, 1 S2G. The ordinary course of his diversions was to begin by swallowing a liberal allowance of phosphorus — visitors were iiis feats, requested to come provided with poisons, and those who stepped on the platform and supplied him were supposed to be chance comers. This delectable draught would be varied, or followed by prussic acid, arsenic, oxalic acid, and boiling 12G SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBEITIES oil. The final course of tins weird supper was molten lead, which he put into his mouth with his unprotected hand. All this was only a little bv-play while the oven in which he had undertaken to take a hot air bath was being heated. This oven was of considerable size, and was prepared for his use after the manner common at the time, of heating baking- ovens, viz. by burning faggots in it and sweeping out the ashes. Chabert had his oven, however, heated " seven times hotter " than the ordinary baker. Such a burning fiery furnace had not been seen since the days of King Nebuchadnezzar. When its temperature had reached 220 degrees Fahrenheit, Chabert would walk in with the utmost nonchalance, and that there mio'ht be no doubt as to the actual heat he took in with liim a rump steak and a leg of lamb. He was then shut in for ten minutes, keeping up a conversation all the time with those outside by means of a tube passed through the oven door. At the expiration of this period he announced that the steak was ready, and then brought it out with him to be tested while he took a cup of tea. The testing and tasting gave unde- niable satisfaction, and the steak was soon completely devoured. He would then say he thought he had better go in again and look after the leg of lamb. Having closed the door, he informed the spectators that the lamb was cooking nicely and would soon be dished up. In a short time he re- appeared with it, sliced it up and passed it round. It was always declared to be cult a 'point, and eaten up with relish. Nevertheless upon himself no smell of fire had passed. The third part of the entertainment consisted in taking up haudfuls of metal filings mixed with sulphur. Having poured what he said was nitric acid on them, they ignited, yet he continued to hold them coolly, regardless of the fury with which the mixture frizzled. He would next take up a red hot shovel and pass it over his hair, which re- mained unsinged. Then he pelted his face with it and passed his tongue over it with similar impunity. A spectator would INCREDIBLE ENDURANCE 127 then be summoned to drop hot sealing wax on his hand and impress it with his seal. All the time he remained unskrink- inLj,- and passive. Sometimes this sealing business was done on his tongue, for he constantly declared himself fireproof all over. That Chaberfcwas a trickster soon came to be the universal belief. But the faculty, in their desire to show that there was nothing supernatural or preternatural about him, as in trying to outwit them he had implied, proved him to be at all events a scientific trickster. Every work that could be brought to bear was ransacked, every previous chemical experience resorted to. Experi- ments made by earlier scientists, notably Dr. Fordyce, Sir Charles Blagden, F.R.S. (in 177-4), and others, and their refutations of theories antecedent to those they had arrived at, were raked up and brought forward, and thence concluded that Chabert was acquainted with their investigations, two results of which were that the human body is capable of enduring generally, still more in special cases, a far higher degree of heat than is popularly supposed, and that by train- ing persons naturally adapted that way the degree can be raised to an incredible extent. Sir Charles Blagden indeed P'sc^-edited P by the hiculty. had left on record the story of an expernnent in which he himself had taken part in order to ascertain what amount of heat can be borne without endangering life. There were present, he said, Hon. Capt. Phipps, Sir Joseph Banks, Dr. Fordyce and Dr. Solander, who were very mmute and careful in their observations [a small portion of the MS. giving the beginning of this experiment appears to be lost. — R. H. B.] . . . they went in and out, remaining ten, fifteen, and twenty minutes at a time. They found that the heated atmosphere underwent frequent changes of temperature as one or more of them entered, withdrew, or returned. Sir J. Banks and Dr. Solander each testified that the presence of his body alone sufficed to produce a rai)id fall of tempera- ture. 128 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBEITIES The upshot of their experiment was that the five gentle- men named bore together a heat of 198 degrees; that Dr. Solander went into the hot chamber when the thermometer stood at 210 degrees, Sir J. Banks at 211 degrees. Further Mobs. Tillet showed that some girls, used to attend an oven, had once under his supervision borne for ten minutes a heat of 280 degrees.^ But if Chabert was to a great extent indebted to science, I fear he was in some measure aided by the use of confederacy also. I know at all events of one occasion when he had been inviting spectators to come upon the platform and obho;e him with poisons to devour, a relative of my own Avent forward and offered him a j^hial of prussic acid. Chabert did not actually lose countenance, but drew back and pleaded that having already that evening taken so much of that particular jjoison he would prefer to have it varied with some other. My relative replied he was sorry he could not oblige him, as he did not carry a chemist's shop about him, but he was sure the company would be just as pleased to see him take the poison, with which he had come provided on jjurpose. Chabert, driven 'Ho the foot of the wall," simply bowed his best French bow, and still declining it, got out of the predi- cament by saying blandly, *' Aftere you, sare, is manners ! " his self-possession and suavity being calculated to give the appearance of putting the annoyed Englishman in the wrong. Seeing, however, that the mirth with which this episode was received had a good deal of the derisive in it, he sought to propitiate the audience by another feat, and accordingly called forth a miserable-looking dog, who was probably kept there ready for such occasions, and poured (or seemed to pour) the contents of the bottle into his mouth, imme- diately after, dashing in an alleged counter-poison which he had handy. It must be confessed that this was so 1 The " Gentleman's Magazine" Supplement to vol. xcvi., part 1, p. 601, and the '• Literary Chronicle " contain further details concerning both Chabert and his critics. A SPANISH MINSTREL 129 skilfully managed, by whatever means, that the dog gave no signs of being any the worse for the operation. Gradually in one way and another public admiration began discreetly dis- J J i ^ appears. to wane. Chabert had the wit to withdraw before the clamour which wa^ rising against his pretensions took any serious form. As the scrutiny with which he was watched grew to be more close and persistent, he wisely betook liimself to his native land, and was heard of no more in London. It must have been somewhere about the year 1840 that ^.'"^l""'^^ there was brought to our house a somewhat eccentric gentle- man, by name Charles Cochrane — I believe, an irregular son of the Honourable Basil Cochrane, at that time deceased. He must have been somewhat of the "Viscount Hinton" type, for some years before he had started the life of an ambulant singer, accompanying himself on the guitar, on which it must be said he was proficient, travelling over a good deal of ground, and earning his living, such as it must have been, by his minstrelsy. This nomad existence was perhaps the outcome of his half-Spanish nature and the Gitano blood which his tell-tale features and complexion at once betrayed as mingled with the sangre azul of Britain : his figure was lithe, supple, and not inelegant, and there was no evidence that training or education had done anything to develop such English attri- butes as he might have inherited on the paternal side. I met him once at a fancy-ball costumed as a Spanish Gitano and wearing a small guitar slung by a scarlet ribbon across his shoulders, a disguise which became him well. He used to boast that he had thus traversed Spain as well as the British Isles, collecting contributions for the Spanish refugees, in whom he professed himself profoundly concerned, and the chivalrous character of the proceeding, though almost too romantic to be favourably regarded by our matter-of-fact countrymen, still claimed for him a certain niterest. He published two editions of his adventures, entitled " Wander- VOL. II. I 130 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES ings of a Spanish Minstrel " — the first was somewhat severely criticized ; the second manifested the employment of the pruning-knife in expurgations necessary to make it accept- able to English readers, and has long been out of print. Mr. Cochrane's means must have been in some way re- inforced before the year 1847, as he then stood as Liberal candidate for Westminster at the general election ; he obtained a considerable number of votes, and was beaten by but a small majority„ He next went in for philanthropy, and, whatever his motive, busied himself zealously in organiz- ing a system of relief for the "unemployed," a term which had not at that time the dubious signification it has since acquired ; he published an appeal to the cliaritable .for the establishment of soup-kitchens, but his schemes unfortunately were too impulsively and imrefiectingly planned to become practical, though probably the obloquy to which they exposed him from vestries and parish officers was the result of red- tapism, and also of the mysterious objections those worthies generally raise to any kind of interference which menaces their autocracy. Schemes for jj^ dcfcuce of Mr. Cochrauo's bravely-sustained projects, r^liGvinsT triG unemployed, wc must admit that subsequent investigations have fully demonstrated how much those close boroughs needed investi- gating and breaking up. Disgusted ^nth his failures in London, Mr. Cochrane directed his bene violence to the amelioration of the condition of the Paris poor, and was consoled and encouraged at finding that his efforts to this end were approved and even seconded by the Emperor Louis Napoleon. He was, however, too restless to carry through effectually an}^ plan he may have started, and probably attempted too much when he tried to impart a serious tone to the Paris Sunday. Having taken up this dominical reform, and imagining it would be more easy as well as more useful to bring it about in London, he started Sunday lectures at a church then recently built at Lambeth, and to make these discourses more DR. BERKINGTON " 131 attractive, supplemented them with an hebdomadal breakfast in the schooh-oom to two or three hundred poor, regardless of sex or age, presiding himself, and making them welcome to a liberal meal. It is to be feared that many came to what they regarded as the more sensible and acceptable portion of the day's proceedings, contriving to shirk the spiritual privileges; but this did not discourage him, and he carried on the several ministrations till his last ilhiess, which carried him off in a very few days, to the regret of his numerous proteges. He must liave been well under fifty at the time of his death, and left man}'' admirers and approvers. It was in 1856. I saw it lately stated in print that during forty years from the time he first started public baths and wash-houses in the parish of St. James's, Westminster, no less than six and three- quarter millions had taken advantage of the accommodation. Unfortunately he was no man of business. But though it was published to his reproach that he left his affairs hopelessly muddled, there is no evidence but that he was in the main actuated by philanthropic feelings, and credit should be allowed not only for the good he did, but also for the more he had tried to effect. [Asocial adventurer who for a time attained considerable "i^*;;^^'^""?- . . . ton. success was a certain Dr. Berrington. There was an artistic finish about his imposture which entirely raised him above the level of vulgarity. Had circumstances given him a chance on the stage he might have taken place as an accomplished actor. I feel an interest in the poor man, because I was innocently the cause of his discomfiture in the instance in which he came across us. I was too small at the time to remember, all these years after, exactly what his project was, but he came to my father with a scheme for utilizing at great advantage an exterior fringe of his estate near Tunbridge Wells for some clerical college ; what ho would personally have gained out of the transaction therefore I cannot tell, but I remember 132 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES "Old Strauge." His ruined mansion. that he completely got on the wrong side of my father, though a man of very considerable acumen. His idea had the seeming of so much importance that after much corre- spondence he was invited down to talk the matter over on the spot. Nature had gifted him with the making of an agree- able and moreover a dignified presence, which he had turned to good account, not only by the style of dress he adopted, but by the suavity, not to say unctuousness, of his manners and the correctness of his diction. He came habited in a costume which betokened something like prelatial rank, and which besides being becoming conveyed the impression that he was a person to be treated with deference. He even went the length of offering to read the family prayers, an offer which my father, however, would not accept from a stranger. But in conversation and social usages he carried himself perfectly in accordance with the part he was playing, and the negotiation went on rapidly on a satisfactory footing. It happened that we had for a near neighbour an old gentleman named Strange, whom I might characterize as strange, but that he perhaps deserves rather to be called remarkable. At one time fairly well off, he had, at the date I can begin to remember, become the victim of misfortune and roguery. He still inhabited his once handsome mansion, in which he used to boast no one had ever died (called, I think, Northumberland House), standing a little off the London road in ten acres of ground, the last bit of property remain- ing to him. The house was literally falling to pieces (he would sometimes beg me to go upstairs and see if the view was all right as of old, till I could not choose but comply, and as I did so, I remember the stones used to crumble under my feet) ; the land was all but unproductive, notliing was gained from it but a few pounds for horses or donkeys taken to graze. He had been looked after by an old woman and her boys out of pure charity, till my father provided better, though as there was hardly an article of furniture left in the house, or a bit of timber on the land or of " THE BIRDS NEVER SING NOW ! " 133 paling round it, it is possible they may have felt justified in paying- themselves in kind for what they supplied him, and his wants were very few and simple. By extraordinary fatality all his relations were dead or had emigrated,^ and it did not seem that there was any one left who so much as knew of his existence. Altogether he was a very interesting old man ; though nearly childish, he was fond of being talked and listened to, a,ud even of being asked after he had dined with us to sing- in feeble, tremulous tones the old English songs of his younger days, for he had been a considerable musical amateur, and there were valuable instruments rotting in the basement of the house. A most pathetic incident of his deafness it was, when Pathetic he nsed to assure me, as if it were a kind of tradition which ""''"^" "* it behoved him to transmit, that when he was young even birds used to sing ; and then be would always shake his head and add in a tone of ineffable sadness, " They never sing now." He liked to talk, or rather to narrate how he had lost his children and his money, but his language was always inoffensive, he never inveighed against any one. He had also a sweet fancy that he held commune with his favourite daughter EHza, when he sat by her harp and a string broke — as long as tliere was a string left in it to break. He thought the sound of the breaking string was her message of love to him from happier spheres. But if he entertained childish fancies he was not altogether without practical ideas. In "the JYew Church," as the church of this district of Tunbridge Wells was long called, a regular '* three-decker " jDulpit in the centre of the nave blocked up the Communion table. "Old Strange" found it very irritating to his weakened sight and hearing to ' Follow coverod ollowina2ners he thus tried to ingratiate himself, was ]\lrs. Staveley (the survivor of the two Misses Weston frerpiently mentioned in Crabb Robinson's diary), a shrewd woman of the world, though amiable, and 144 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES popular among her many friends. She at once discovered a flaw, though she could not immediately indicate where; she therefore invited me one evening to meet the " Due," and it was agcreed she should, in the course of a conversation we had planned, ask him how nearly he was related to the Royal family of France, the title of Due de Roussillon being one among those which belong to the Bourbons. I watched the man's face as my friend put tJie question to him in the most polite and natural way, and he must have been a most consummate actor, for he neither blanched nor winced, nor did he for a single instant appear disconcerted as he replied with the blandest of smiles, — "I see, madame, you are interested in genealogies, and it is indeed to me a singular and most agreable snrprise to find a Eno-lish ladie so o-ood informed of our, to her, foreim noblesse. You are quite right, madame, as to ze distinction of my titel, and I shall have ze honour of bring you my family-tree wiz which I shall be able to show you how I am related to zose illustrious personages of whose blood I am." The ^' Due'' very shortly after took his leave. As soon as he was gone we looked at each other — " A\^hat do you say to that ? " asked she. " I will tell you after he has made his promised call," I replied. It is perhaps needless to add that this inconvenient inquiry sufficed to sift the impostor away ; but he continued to frequent other respectable houses, and to push his way in society generally, not omitting the tradesmen whom he swindled. Under specious pretexts and as claiming the hospitality due to a foreigner, he obtained admission to clubs, institutions, and associations, and contrived even to get a sufficient recommendation to the authorities of the British Museum reading-room, to obtain a students' ticket. It was here that he was caught one day by Mr. Edward Walford, who bravely attacked him, told him the only title to which he had any right was that of Chevalier DE TOURVILLE 145 d'indusfrie, and in the presence of those occnpied there drove him from the room ; he next wrote to the authorities of the British Museum and got the impostor's ticket cancelled. It was to the energy with which ^Ir. Walford pursued the imposture that the soi-disant Due was similarly exposed to the heads of various associations into which he had got admitted, and that London society owed the final expulsion of this drawing-room adventurer. What became of him subsequently I never heard ; probably he changed his name and appearance and played his old games in new localities.^ De Tourville's iniquities — or at all events the history of the i)e Tourviiie. traofic ends of liis various wives and mothers-in-law — has lonof been public property, and it would be superfluous to repro- duce it as a matter of personal recollection, but it may be worth while to narrate that by the consummate art with which he played the part he had assumed he continued to hoodwink many others besides those on whom his villainies were perpetrated. Two at least were friends of my own. One was an old Indian General, a man of the world, and also a man of fortune having an only daughter, and on him the miscreant made so favourable an impression that even after a period of familiar intercourse, during which they dined at each other's houses, the General never for an instant suspected he was other than what he seemed, and when his atrocities were nearly established he was still determined not to believe that a man presenting himself in so gentlemanly a way, giving evidences of so cultivated a mind and proving so extremel}' . amiable and agreeable, could possibly deserve the remotest suspicion of being a murderer. Another friend of mine who at first entertained an equally favourable opinion of this individual was one day dining at his house when it was suddenly announced that one of the bedrooms was on fire. My friend noted — though not being [' " Full many ii lopue is born to cheat unseen, And die unhanjied f<>r want i>f proper care." From the " Elegy on Covent Garden." — R. H. B.] VOL. II. K 146 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBEITIES able at the time to account for it lie tried to persuade himself he was mistaken — that De Tourville appeared much more vexed at the announcement, than at the fact, of the fire ; also that he showed little alertness in exerting himself to put it His son out. The guest's first impulse was to rush to the bed where burning by my he kucw Do Tourvillc's cliild slcpt and must at that hour be "^° ■ tenanting it. Strange to say, he found himself impeded by the father, who tried to assure him the fire was in a different direction. He persevered, however, and was barely in time to save the boy and carry him downstairs, as the fire was actually blazing^ beneath his little bed ! . . . De Tourville's subsequent career — his various criminal trials, his conviction at last in Austria, his inadequate sentence, its premature remission, and the necessity that consequently arose for the son whom my friend had rescued in infancy to live in hiding from his unnatural father, are all matters of public notoriety. Albert Grant. I cannot say I ever " met " or was introduced to Albert Grant, though I suppose most people must have seen him and noticed his typical appearance. His modes of proceeding served to render him rather notorious than remarkable, and the comic and " society " papers dealt with him pretty freely. AVhen he succeeded in attaining the title of " Baron" the following lampoon went the round of financial circles : — " Kings can give titles, honour, e'en naonai'clis can't ; And title without honour is a bai-ren grant." It is perhaps now forgotten, though so recent, that the Baron reared a huge tenement — what the French call a haraque— in the Kensington quarter with the intention of making it his private residence. [The place thereof knoweth it no more, and the seven acres surrounding it are now covered with a whole " Republic of Flats." — E. H. B.] doonied never It stood in an entourage of pleasure-grounds as dispropor- inhabited. tionate as itself, all laid out in true tea-garden fashion UNlNllAlilTABLK TALACES 147 matcliinsf the (hvellinrr and its decorations in disreo^ard for the first principles of taste. Everything" about it was rich, coarse and vulgar, and the interior arrangements full of incongruities. Tlie baths were all withm the bedrooms ; the bedrooms and living rooms scattered about and interspersed in a comfortless, desultory sort of way. As for the basement it was lab^a^inthine, a horde of burglars or even banditti or a gang of coiners might have hid in its mazes without interfering with ordinary household arrangements ; and l)arring the presence of such interlopers the intricacy and abundance of its ramifying corridors presented a terrible temptation to modern domes- tics to carry on any kind of intrigue under their master's roof. Wlien the Baron's affairs got confused and it was found that he could no longer aspire to occup}^ so voluminous a palace, it was put up for sale and offered to various ritiUioii- jiaires^ at the purchase price of 300,000/. (with the intimation that a quarter of a million would possibly not be refused). JS^o such offer came, and ultimately it had to be pulled down till not one bit of stucco was left upon another. One element of costliness in the structure had been a con- trivance on a competitive scheme for making the grounds private ; as various as futile were the proposed designs sent in by architects and landscape gardeners. At last a colossal [' Among these was a relative of mine who asked me to accom^iany him in inspecting the editice, and I can endorse every word tliat is said about it in the text. It was absohitely vahieless as a gentleman's residence. It was more like a beehive or an ant-hill than a house ; the structine of some unfamiliar species of creature — a vast agglomeration of rooms tlirown together without purpose and without sequence, sniza arsto n'c mi/oma as we say in Italy — and it is no wonder it recommunded itself to no one possessing the means to i)urchase it, as adaptable to any useful purpose. Like the twenty tliousand ruined carcass-houses c^" modern Rome" doomed from the foundation never to be inliabited. I am informed that its one redeeming feature, the big staircase, now makes itself both ornamental autl useful at the Tussaud waxworks in Marvlebone Road — R. H. B.] • Of which Zola writes : — " Quelle le^on nmcre lorsque Rome, aitjourd'hui na'iitie, ^e toit detihijti'jri'e par cettc Inide ceinture de f/ra tides carcasses ora(jeuses et rides, inacherees pour la plupart, dont les dtkomhres deja semen t les rues plei/ie.s d herbes. . ," And on which a writer in the Revue des Deux-Mondes for September 1st, 1897, pours out still more bitter laments. 148 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES trellis was decided on, on which, were to be trained such creepers as could be persuaded to grow from the exhausted soil. Most of this disappeared with the building. New-gate. At the time that the owner of this "Folly" had it under contemplation to occupy it he was, Mr. Charles Manning told me, much perplexed as to the nomenclature under which it was to impose its magnificence on society. Various names suggested by officious friends failed to reach the Baron's ideal, till at last one to whom he confided his annoyance that every adjunct of " Gate," on which he had set his fancy — Prince's Gate, Queen s Gate, Emi)erov8 Gate — had all been already appropriated, bethought him of consoling him with the suggestion, " Then why not call it New-gate ! " Westland Marston. Colouel F . The biographical notices which appeared in some of the papers on the death of Westland Marston (not that he was by any means a social adventurer) during the unhealthy winter of 1889-90 recalled to me my introduction to that dramatic writer in his private room at the Olympic Theatre one night when that house was in some mysterious way in the hands of a company of gentlemen. How the company was organized, under what conditions it held the property, by which or how many of them it was managed, how long their tenure lasted, and how, whether, and when it came to grief I have no recollection, and am not sure I ever heard. It was at Sir Thomas Duffus Hardy's that I was introduced to Colonel F and his daughter (a pretty and elegant girl who soon after married and went out to India), but her father it was who was in some way concerned with the Olympic, and invited me and a friend to go with him and his daughter to a private box to witness a performance in which I remember Ada Cavendish and Mr. Rignold appeared. Between the acts, the Colonel took us into the coulisses and thence into a rather snug, well-lighted room where Westland Marston (even then an elderly man) sat apparently quite at home in dressing-gown and slippers among littery and SEKMON ANECDOTES 149 literary surroundings dans le feu de la composition; I think he told us it was a tragedy he was writing, and apparently would have read his MS. to us on the slightest provocation ; as, however, nobody encouraged the notion, he contented himself with a very slight sketch of the plot, and no doubt revealed, the name of his production, but the whole has long since passed from my memory. Several of Westland Marston's pieces saw the light — the foot-light, I mean ; but they took no hold on the public, and the poor fellow, whose work was probably very superior to most of the vulgar trash which the public, instructed by interested critics, so readily swallows and approves, never rose to the level of a successful writer ; and no doubt he, as well as his works, will soon pass awa}" into complete oblivion. It is not, however, with Mr. AYestland Marston that I am concerned just now, but v»'ith Colonel F himself, who was a very remarkable man, and at that time I saw him often, whether at Sir Thomas and Lady Hardy's weekly evening receptions, or at my own house, and also at his, though for some years past I have quite lost sight of him. He was frequently to be met in the company of Lord Borthwick, also of H.S.H. the Prince of Leiningen. He had the peculiar gift some men seem to possess by nature of drawing people to him by a special fascination of manner and conversation : he enjoyed, it is true, a rare felicity in his unusual familiarity with a vast range of subjects which enabled him to suit his conversation to all kinds of com- pany, and he could manage without any pei'ceptible effort to talk freely, not to say technically, on all. Colonel F had all personal advantages — a tall and elegant figure, walking, dancing, moving and holding himself with every indication of military drill, Avhile his face was distinctly handsome. Eyes, hair, and also complexion were dark, and I must add that occasionally the expression of his counte- nance — and it was very expressive — was dark too. Sometimes it carried in it a dash of Mephistophelism, cynicism, some- 150 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES times a wild flash would appear in his eyes, and even in the playfulness of his character there was now and then a lurid light ; still, notwithstanding all this, there are few men I have met who could, or perhaps would, make themselves half as entertaining and agreeable. Eis stories of [One element of liis social stock-in-trade was an exhaust- parsons. . . . . less store of good stories which be knew how to brnig m appropriately and to tell witli dramatic skill. One of these was of a parson who had one or two stock-sermons of which he was proud in proportion to the care with which he had elaborated them, and which he always brought out when he had a friend staying with him above the sphere of his village congregation. One day feeling mortified that a visitor had not passed any encomium on his oratorical effort, he ventured to say as they sat at lunch, " Well, what did you think of my sermon ? " " Oh," replied his chum, who had been rather bored by the repetition, " I always did like that sermon." I don't know why, but many of his stories ran on country parsons. Another was of one who was warned by his guest that he used words too difficult for the village mind. " Ob, my dear fellow," he replied, " that is just a matter to which I pay the greatest attention. I am certain I never use a word that my people could have any difficulty about ; besides, they are not so benighted as you townsfolk fancy." As his guest still looked incredulous, he added, *' Tell me, now, any Vv^ord I used that you think difficult, and I will call one of them up and I know he will tell its mean- ing." " Suppose you ask them then what they know about * felicity,' which you used more than once." " All right," rejoined the parson, •' I'm sure they understand that," and then with an insinuating smile he called up an old country- man, who, proud of his " Sunday's black," had lingered behind the others. " Now, Hodge," said the parson, " I want you to tell my friend here if you know what ' felicity ' means, as I used that word in my sermon just now." The old man's WHAT IS FELICITY 151 face lighted up witli a beam of intelligence most disconcerting to the parson's friend as he answered with conviction, " Lor bless yer, sur, T knows what 'flicitj' be, shure enow." *' There, I told you so ! " cried the triumphant parson. " Stop a minute, my good man," said the friend, " perhaps you wouldn't in that case mind telling me what it means, as I am not so sure I understand it." A cloud came over Hodge's face at this ; he lifted his new hat and scratched his head. *' Well, yer see, sur," he said at last, " it's like this, I I'ltou's well enow what it is, but I shouldn't like to saij exactly what it is." " Yes, but I should like to know." " But 1 shouldn't like to have to tell yer," and then there followed a lot of clever fencing on both sides, till the friend being a barrister, used to cross-examine, drove the yokel into a corner, and at last, splitting with the guffaw he had long with difficulty restrained, he cried, " Well, then, sur, if yer must have it out, flicity's some'at of the innerds of a pig-" Another was of a parson who had taken the " duty" of a friend, and proceeding to give out the parish notices accord- ing to the fashion of the day before the sermon, and making sure of finding the book placed ready for him on a little shelf below the desk as in his churcli at home, started off with, "' I publish the banns of marriage between — " but there was no shelf and no book, and to hide his confusion while he fumbled for it, he reiterated the announcement, " I publish the banns of marriage between — " but of course could get no further; then the clerk perceiving what was the matter, ])ut up his head and informed him in a loud whisper — " It's between the cushion and the desk," sounding like the completion of the pronouncement. — E,. H. B.] Tliat his real name was F I always had my doubts, for I was specially struck with the hasty manner in which he repudiated the idea of being related to a family of the name, with which I had long been acquainted, or with any other family of his name ; as if to set any question on that 152 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBEITIES subject at rest once for all. I forget now the detail of this gentleman's many eccentricities, but one of them consisted in paying calls at most unearthly hours, and whether from habit or absence of mind expecting his visitors to think it quite natural that they should sit up with him till two or three o'clock in the morning. --^Co v> CH APTK R XV. TUE MAKING OF BRIGHTON. Bi'ighton before the Advent of the Prince Regent — The Buckingliam Papers on the Pa\'iHon — Dr. Russell calls Attention to Brighton Bathing — A French Privateer — Brighton's Visitors in 1782 — " Skaiting on the Skii'ts of the Sea" — Landing of French fjmiyrcs — The Prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert's Attention to TJiem — Brighton's Hospitality — Hardships of the Crossing — Tooniing -with Fashion, Taste, and Spirit — Hotel Accom- modation — Improvements and Vices — Change of Name — Origin of the Prince's Liking for Brighton — Lays Foundation of the Pavilion — Super\ases the Building — Life at the Pavilion — Pranks played there — Patronizes Music and Balls — Anecdote of the Discipline of the Army — Practical Jokes — On the Duke of Norfolk — On Admiral Nagle — Repartie to Sydney Smith about Cardinal Dubois — Wilberforce yields His Scruples and goes to the Pa\-ilion — His racy Description of the Building — His detiuition of the Prince Regent — Princess Charlotte at the Pavilion — Mrs. Fitzherbert — The Wooing of Her — Her Estimable Character — Geoi^e's Appreciation of Her His Redeeming Trait — Lord Stom-ton's Testimony to the Marriage — Other Circumstances Pro%-ing It — Fox's Denial — Her Indignation, how Expressed — Reconciliation -svith the Piince — Appreciation of the Public — Royal Marriage — Her Conduct after this — Public Reconciliation — Eight Happiest Years — Was there any Issue ?— The Sealed Packet— AVhy Withl.eld from the Public V— Lady Jersey — Lady Hertford — How the Prince's Intimacy with the Latter Originated— Lady Horatia Seymour — Her Daughtei'"s Cratitude — Her Monument to Mrs. Fitzherbert with Tlu-ee Wedding Rings on the effigy — Flunkeyism of Brightonians — Cobbett's Description of the Pavilion — The King's Taste improves — His Taste in Music — Geoi^e the Third's — ^lichael Kelly at the Pavilion — Traits of the King's Good Feeling — Presentation to the Vicarage of Brighton — Duke of Wellington's Intervention - Rev. H. M. Wagner — Anecdote of Dr. Goodall — Increases Brighton Places of Worship from Two to Twenty- two— Dr. Michell and I )i'. Johnson — '-The New Chuirh " — Barry its Architect — ^Ir. Wagner's -'^Ian-Cook" — His Hospitality — His Guests — Urbanity — Power of Conversation — His Straightforward Determination — Occasional Unpopularity in Consequence — Atiecdote of the ^lilitary at His Church — Promotes Schools and Philanthi-opic Institutions — Anecdote of a Blind i'ro/<'j/t'(; — Builds the Vicarage — His Energy — Early Rising — "A Positive Calamity" — His Preaching — Jeremiah in the Mire— His Views — His Interest in St. Paul's — Canon Gresley as Curate — Young Ladies Outwit Him — The Vicar and William IV. — Brighthelmestone 154 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES ami Blatchington — Sfc. Nicholas restored — MoiTument to Wellington — Canning's Epigram on Wni. Douglas — Eev. Arthur Wagner — His Church-building — Anecdote of His Determination — St. Martin's — Its Carvings — Anecdote of Death of the Second Duke of AYellington. Amusing Incident of Sir Robert Peel — George IVth's Powers of Mimicry — Two Men in George IV. — The Palmy Days of Coaching — Ballooning predicted — The Number of the Coaches — Theii* Speed — Emulation caused by the Regent's Driving — Cut through Gatton Park — Rapid Riding of Royalties — Charles III. of Spain — Cardinal York — Early Recollections of Posting to Brighton — Incidents of the Journey— Lord Erskine's Defence of Animals — His Verses — -Recollections of Cuckfield — Playing at Ghosts — FeJLv Culpa — Trim and Gallant Aspect of the Brighton Coaches — Accidents — Various Town Vehicles — Vinai(jrettes — Conf or tables — The Brighton Railway. My first Dip in the Sea — Brighton Bathing- women — " The famed Martha Gunn '*' — Tom Smoaker — Fanny Blarney's Bathing- woman — Ludicrous Incident at a Military Parade — Phoebe Hessell — Her devotedness to Her Lover leads Her to turn Soldier — Italian Parallel — Her Second Marriage less Successful — But Honoured and cared for in Her Old Age — Buried in St. Nicholas' Churchyard — Tomb of Captain Tettersell also there — Phoebe Hessell helps Justice — Sad Fate of Young Rooke — His Mother's constant Watching — Tragic Death — Madame Vestris* Nurse — Her Idea of the Feelings of Lobsters. AmonCx the important social improvements in England due to the Prince Regent was the " making of Brighton,'* "which," says the Marquis of Buckingham, " was quite as much a creation of the Regent as that part of London which bears his name." Brighton Bcforc he elected to make it one of his residential homes before the . . i i i • i r* i • advent of the it was a miserable little nshmg village; it was his enter- EegeiL prise and determination that started the impulse to build it up into a town, " transforming its huts into palaces, its dirty thoroughfares into imposing terraces and squares." One might almost think he had scanned its possibilities, and had an intuitive perception of its future importance and of the proximity to the metropolis within which it was one day to be brought. The hizarrerte of his own residence has *been accounted for in various ways ; it has been stated that having, about the time he discovered Brighton, received an Oriental present, among which were a quantity of Chinese pictures, prints, and curios generally, and being at a loss where to stow them, he improvised a Chinese room in the DR. RUSSELL DISCOVERS BRIGHTON 155 house as it tlieji stood ; tlie idea pleased him, and Httle by Httlc tlie unmeaning and tasteless ideal grew in the Prince's mind, and was realized under the auspices of Nash. In the " Buckino-ham Papers" wo find the style described J^^XLu''^^^' as '^open to animadversion" ; "but," adds the writer, " as i*M3ers"on ,,,/,-, . .1 • , 1 . . I '»e Pavilion. an experiment (there is nothing to show it was an experi- ment) " it is quite as creditable as those extraordinary attempts at Gothic which Horace AValpole started at Straw- berry Hill." After a few more courtl})- palliations of the Brighton monstrosity, the paragraph concludes : " . . . nor was the Pavilion without pretensions to the picturesque, whether interiorly or exteriorly." There is no lack of descriptions of Brighton before the Prince fixed his residence there, and all afrree as to its absolute insignificance and its being inhabited strictly by only fishermen and sailors. It was Dr. Kussell ^ who primarily ^\: i'»sseii * . , 1 .^ calls attention called attention to the purity of the atmosphere, the mildness to Brighton of the climate, and the convenience of the distance from the capital, and when to this he added strong arguments in favour of sea-bathing, pleasure-seekers and idlers resorted thither, as well as invalids and families ; but these were content to put up with such accommodation as they could obtain, finding a certain refreshment and amusement in the change of habits and life thus imposed on them. A few houses and shops were necessarily built, and as these suc- ceeded more were added, and the market was enlarged ; but all went on very slowly till the Prince, after repeating his visits with greater frequency, decided on establishing a palace there. The necessity for hotels and assembly-rooms was then [' Parry calls hini the original founder (George IV. the second founder) of "tlie unexampled prosi)erity of lirii;hton " by his" fortunate and philanthropic advocacy of tlie grand practice of sia-hathing " ; adding, "To his honour the following distich was composed, which ought to have lieen engraved in 'enduring brass" in the most conspicuous situation in the ti)wn : — " Clara per omne revuni, Russelli fama manebit, Diun retinet vires unda marina suas. Bright through all ages RusselTs fame sliall tower "Whilst the sea-wave retains its healing power." R. H. H.] Hotel accom- modation. 156 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES soon felt, the earliest of the former, which were simply inns, being " King Charles's Head " and the " Old Ship." ^ That named after King Charles was the very house where that monarch took refuge, and Mr. Shergold, its subsequent proprietor, appropriated a large room to pubhc purposes ; the other assembly-rooms, which were opened on alternate nights, had attached to them a coffee-house kept by one Hicks. " The place in which the company promenade in the evening," says an old account of the place, "is a large field near the sea called the Stean, which is kept in proper order for that purpose, and whereon are several shops with piazzas ^ and benches therein erected, and a building for music to perform in when the weather permits." In a letter from Eev. W. Clarke, dated July 22nd, 1736, quoted in " Nichols's Literary Anecdotes," we find a quaint description of the Brighthelmstone of those days, at which place he says he and his wife were sunning themselves on the beach. ..." The place," he writes, " is really pleasant ; I have seen nothing in its way that outdoes it ; such a tract of sea, such regions of corn, and such an extent of green carpet that gives your eye the command of it all. But the mischief of it is, we have little conversation beyond the clamor nauticus, which forms a sort of treble to the plashing of the waves against the cliifs. My morning's business is bathing in the sea and buying fish ; the evening's, riding out for air, viewing the remains of old Saxon camps, and counting the ships in the roads and the boats that are trawling. [' A little later than these came " The Castle Tavern," favoured by Royalty, and it is a little startling sometimes to come across such entries in old Brighton records as " The Duke of Clarence gave a ball at ' The Castle.'" I find mention in 1807 that the " Old Ship " had 100 beds, which were all filled for six weeks together, and great rivalry was kejit up between the two inns for a long time. — R. H. B.] [- This curious misapplication of the word " piazza," to denote a colonnade, was common at the date of this (juotatioii, and is not quite exploded now. I had occasion to call attention to the misnomer once in "Notes and Queries," 7. ii. 65 (quoting also the fact of hearing Americans use it convertibly with verandah), and I was shortly after told (p. 13()) by another contributor that it was so used in the &j)ectatvi; as if the Spectator could make wrong right. — R. H. B.] BRIGHTON'S INFANCY 157 Sometimes we give our imagination leave to expatiate, and flincy you are coming down, and that we may all dine one day at Dieppe . . . but though we build these castles in the air, our dwelling may be described as underground. " It would seem as if the architect^^ take the measure of the inhabitants, and lose not an inch between a hnman head and the ceiling, and then drop a step or two below the surface, the second story is finished— something under twelve feet. I suppose this is a necessary precaution against storms that a man should not be blown out of his bed . . . but if the lodgings are low, they are cheap ; we have two parlours, two bedchambers, pantry, &c., for 5s. per week ... and then the coast is safe, the cannons are encased in rust and moss, the ships moored, no enemy to apprehend." However, by August the writer had had enough of it, the weather changed, and he " truly pitied everybody who could not fly from it." In his next letter to this chum, an antiquary whoui he congratulates on being '' safe back in his museum at "White Fryars," he reproaches him with being too reticent about his visit to Tunbridge Wells. " I was in hopes of having your thoughts about the place and the amusements, how you liked the place, and how you spent your evenings ; but you are so divided between Law and Learning that you do not say one word either of the ladies or the waters." It is curious to note in how short a space of time the character of the place was changed. All the signs of advancing "Civilization" rapidly appeared. Pepys, the physician° of the " Quality," and other doctors established themselves; shops started into being and activity, and a theatre also appeared, and flourished. [Parry records one or two remarkable events in the early Frcnch^^ life of Brighton Avhich are worth preserving. August 12th, 1782, was a day of great excitement. A French privateer of 158 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES sixteen or eighteen guns and 130 men ventured to take a collier within sight of the shore. They seem only to have wanted the collier, and sent its men back to shore in their small boat and sailed away with their prize. But Brighton was a match for them, and a cutter which was fortunately near was signalled to pursue them, which was speedily done, the collier re-taken and the Frenchmen brought to shore. Brighton's The samc year the visits of many titled persons are visitors. recorded. " We are all alive anxiously waiting the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland, four houses having been taken for them. The Steine is to be lighted. We are very full; no lodgings to be had for love or money. Lord and Lady Stowel, the Duke and Duchess of Manchester, Lord and Lady Parker, Lady Dartrey, Lady Trafford and daughter. Lord and Lady JNTolken (?) are here. The bells were set a ringing for the arrival of Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam, who came in last nisfht." On December 22nd, 1788, a Lewes paper stated that " at Brighthelmstone at neap-tide the sand was covered with a most beautiful sheet of ice. . . . Had there been any skaters they would surely have embraced the opportunity of exhibiting in a scene so pleasing and novel as skaiting on the skirts of the ocean." Landing of In 1792 lic mcutious the arrival of French emigres, a thing that had been going on vigorously and then beginning to lessen, "partly because the majority of the clergy are already come over, and also because at Dieppe they have put a stop to our packets receiving them, they themselves fitting out their own vessels for the purpose. The subscription for the relief of the priests filled very fast . . . relieving their present necessities and providing them the means of pushing their way up to the capital." A few days later, however, he mentions that a Dieppe packet brought five persons of distinction, including the Archbishop of Aix; the others concealed their names and had hired the whole packet on their own account. But on the same day another packet emKjrcs FKENCH EMIGRES RECEIVED AT BRIGHTON 159 brought twenty-six emigi'aiits. Also " there came over in an open boat, Count Bridges (.v/e), who was of the household of the King of France, and was in confinement with him, but found means to escape ; after which he was concealed till an opportunity offered to convey him to this place, for which he paid a large sum." A little later he has " the Marquise de Beaule (sic) arrived iu an open boat, for which she paid 200 guineas at Dieppe. AVhat adds to the distressing situation of this lady, she was under the necessity of appearing in the dress of a sailor, and as such to assist the men on board during the whole passage ; not only to disguise herself, but in order to bring with her, undiscovered, a favourite female whom it is confidently said she conveyed on board in a trunk in which holes had been bored to give air. The Marchioness was received on landing by His Highness the Prince of AVales, with Mrs. Fitzherbert and Miss Isabella Pigot. The Prince with his usual affability €SCorted the fair fugitive to Earl Clermont's, where tea was provided for him and twenty of his friends." Later on, " The Prince, with that humanity and gallantry that so invariably distinguish him, has paid every attention to this amiable stranger. She this day rode out with Mrs. Fitzherbert." Other ladies are mentioned as arriving in open boats ; one remained for fourteen hours concealed by the captain under a coil of cable. Later again, the emigres were said to be flocking in as fast as they could get away, tilled with apprehension for those they left behind, " the time limited by the Assembly for their departure being expired." But in October thirty-seven nuns were lauded by the packet Friiice of Wales, all " habited as nuns — a convent has been prepared for them in Belgium. They had plenty of money, but had been two days at sea ; the packet lay some time off Brighton, but the roughness of the sea prevented landing. It Avas no sooner known that they were to laud in or near Shoreham, than almost every carriage in Brighton repaired thither to assist in conveying them to Brighton, 160 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES where every accommodation and every attention was sliown thein." In August, 1796, lie has: "Mr. Wade's benefit ball netted him a clear £500 — a convincing proof that we are teeming with fashion, taste, and spirit." Reviews and sham-fights too appear to have been held on a large scale. — R. H. B.] Brighton cannot be said to have improved morally by its almost too sudden change from an unsophisticated little fishing village to a royally-patronized and fashionable watering-place. The heads of the inhabitants were turned by the presence of the Court and the " Quality," and these new circumstances, perhaps naturally, suggested to shop- keepers, landlords, and liotel-owners to take every possible advantage of the good fortune to which they had acceded.^ As this policy savoured of imposition and aggressiveness, it necessarily created a feeling of mistrust and resistance on the part of the visitors. In fact, the place became so notorious for extortion, that in 17S1 a facetious traveller, affecting to see in the weather-cock that surmounted the steeple of St. Nicolas, a gilded shark, notified his opinion of the inhabitants in the following lines : — " Say, why on Brighton's Church we see A golden shark displayed, But that 'twas aptly meant to be An emblem of its trade ? Nor could the thing so well be told In any other way ; The town's a shark that lives on gold. The company's its prey." Change of g^i^ j^ ^r^g yyi^gn the Priucc of Wales, after revisiting in 1782 the spot at which much of his childhood had been spent, testified his attachment to it by declaring his intention of making it a royal residence, that Brighthelmstone assumed, [' Parry reprints the following newspaper paragraph at a date of ten years earlier: — "'Provisions are risen; nuitton and veal are 4.|f/. per lb. Beef and lamb, 5d. Fresh butter, Hd. Plenty of niackarel at 2d." What could they have cost- before, if this was a " rise " ! — R. H. B.] THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND 161 together with its abbreviated name, Brighton/ a new character, and thenceforth assured of its permanent import- ance, the inhabitants no longer felt the necessity of asserting themselves by petty extortions and a grasping policy. A better understanding began to prevail, and the spirit of plunder gave place to a pleusanter and far more successful mode of courting the rich and noble, who necessarily followed in the wake of Koyalty. As a boy the Prince had been taken repeatedly to Brighton, Origin of the his health appearing to require sea-air and sea-bathing, and Jo^bSS in 178l\ when a youth of twenty, he had gone thither to visit his uncle, the Duke of Cumberland,- out of perverse contradiction to the wishes of his royal father and mother, who greatly objected to their son's frequenting his society! The Duke was occupying a comparatively small house— there were at that time no large houses in Brighton— close down to the beach called Grove Lodge, the property of Mr. Wyndham. He had also Russell House for the occupation of Mrs. Luttrel. There were no other houses near it, and the next year when the Prince again came he took one some distance off, but still the nearest to it, that of Mr. Kemp, a mere cottage; it was near the turnpike road, from which it was separated by some stunted trees. Still he was so fond of the place and his physicians were so strongly of opinion that his health required sea-bathing, that he was glad of any excuse to be there, and readily waived the want of proper accommodation. When prevented from remaining he often fA VT''!'' "" Y'\f'^\ ^'."V" ""^ Biigliton who romeiubors letters comin- addressed B^^it t .H.'^ttT ' '■ ^^''^^ 'Vr'"wT*\'"''' """^" L'^'^-s-l!) It is true she is idnety-W But though tlie name .,f lir.j,^hthuhuestune cM.ntiiiued so Ion- in use, an extract lias ^s frfr ' HH rr ^'^ ^^r'" ''";?'' -f J.n-.1".>. in which it's curesponde th-if'lwi'^riV ^"^^ '''^"''! Y^^^' P'" '""^ testimony in Xotrs and Queries (8 x. 32.",), li 4 d rh!T'''"^ , '" *''' "'' "^ '•'^, '^i^^''^'"" I^'i^'l^thelmeston as Lite a is soV;! liJ'-R H. R] 1^"^^^^""" ^^'"^'^^ ^^ L"-^ "^^--^ -1'-- the name - Tliere Jong survived a tradition that this Prince when lie appeared in liis lumtnig costume wore liis hat tied on with a coloured cotton haiulkeSief VOL. ir. j^ 162 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES spent a day in driving over and returning, occupying ten hours in the double journey; having always been a lover of horses and an adept with the reins. Soon the fancy for making Brighton one of his resi- dences took possession of his mind, and he determined to have a marine palace. Gorgeous in his tastes, reckless in his expenditure, and determined in his caprices, he first sent for Holland, the architect of Carlton House, and obtained from him a draft plan for the future Pavilion. This not being approved, another was proposed to H.R.H., and this in its turn not reaching the Prince's ideal, was succeeded by a host of others. Thus there were " master's failures " in plenty, but at last a ground plan was mapped out and an elevation by Nash approved, having been drawn entirely to please the Prince's caprice, and under his con- tinual direction. Commences Tlus, iiGW scaside palacc was at first called " the Marine the ravilioii, ^ Pavilion," though erected, strange to say, on a spot from which there was no possibility of discerning the sea. After- wards "the Pavilion" />»r et sM?2|)?e sufficed for its nomen- clature. It was ready for occupation in 1785, having cost a fabulous sum, and truly its decoration, fads, and fittings were of the most extravagant description. The gorgeousness of the Prince's ideas absolutely startled his contemporaries, and the newspapers of the day seem to have been at a loss to find terms in which to describe the magnificence of the interior arrangements.^ All was lauded, and loyalty was deemed to forbid criticism. In fact loyalty paid so well locally that all the Prince's peccadilloes were winked at by the inhabitants. [' Parry winds up a fulsome panegyric of the Pavilion by one bit of less inflated argument quite prophetic in its tenour : " In general aspect it is rather Indian than Chinese . . . the King of England is almost King of India, and therefore may we not say without fanciful exaggeration that an Eastern palace placed on the shores of that element by the ancient and continual sovereignty of which England wields such a powerful sceptre, presents an idea to the mind full, interesting, and effective. ' India mittit ebiu', molles sua thura Sabsei . . . tibi serviet ultima Thule ; Te (\ne sibi generum Tethys emat omnibus undis.' " — P. H. B.] WAS THERE A CHAPEL AT THE PAVILION 163 The unbridled license the future monarch allowed himself m this sybaritical palace was, however, the cause of grave scandal throughout the country. It is perhaps better to make no more than a shadowy allusion to the character of the company harboured beneath the Pavilion domes. Riot and V'"'"'?^*^® unrestrained festivity were the order of the day ; and it may ^'""^" be added, also of the night. [In an unfinished paragraph omitted here, my sister observes that under these circumstances it was rather a lion. THE PAVILION, FROM THE STEYNE, BRIGHTON homage to religion that no chapel was included under the Pavilion roof, l)ut 1 think there must have been one, as there is a tradition of the Regent having left off attending it in consequence of his imagining that a preacher fixed his eyes on him while descanting on the text, "Thou art the man." Though this is probably only hen irorato, it could hardly have gained currency at all if there had been no chapel. There certainly was one later on, because when the Pavilion was bought by the town, and the space it occupied was wanted ^or a ball-room, the vicar and other good people were 164 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES greatly scandalized at so profane a destination of a quondam sacred locality, and he had as much of the construction as it was possible to move transferred to a site given by his sister, Miss Wagner, which became, and remains to the present day, St. George's Chapel. — R. H. B.] The early education — or rather want of education — of this Prince should be taken into account when considering these manifestations of his weakness and folly : he was kept under tutelao'e — such tutelaore as it was ^ — till lonsf after he should have be^en put among surroundings calculated to form and influence his character ; and seeing how woefully he was allowed to mix with grooms, with the fancy, and with adv^enturers of all sorts, we ought perhaps to be surprised that he was no worse. His taste at the time the Pavilion monstrosity was being buih and decorated must have been extremely crude. It bore DO trace of grace, eleo^ance, or refinement, and all that could be said of it was that it was loud and gorgeous, gilding and gaudy colours abounded throughout, and reminded one of a paij.san endimonche : no hue was thought too glaring, and as for harmony of tints, that does not seem to have enten d into the head of either himself or the executants of his bizarre conceptions, and his satisfaction on its completion was measured rather by the huge sum.s it cost than by any beauty of effect. If the inaterial fabric and its fittinors were tasteless and graceless, the pranks permitted within were still more open to condemnation. Prauks played ^1"},^ I'onghuess aud vulgarity of the practical jokes played not only on one another, but on the Prince himself by those he allowed and even encouraged to indulge in such familiari- ties, represent Court life at the Pavilion as conducted in the worst possible taste. Schoolboys of the present day in a third- rate school would hardly venture to take such liberties with an usher as these noblemen and so-called " gentlemen '* The Duke of Montagu had the chame of H.R.H. PRANKS AND PRACTICAL JOKES AT THE PAVILION 1G5 permitted themselves with the heir-apparent to the throne of Great Britain. It was not without sufficient reason that Lord Barrymore, his two foohsh brothers and their unrefined sister (wliora the Prince had alwa^-s about liini) were nicknamed Hellgate, Neicgate, Cripplegate and Biliingsgate, the notorious Jack Hanger acquiring the sobriquet of Knight of the Blach Diamond. The story of the stupid farce played oif" on the Prince, by introducing into his darkened bedroom a donkey on whose head had been fixed a pair of horns, and the result of the escapade, is one of the Pavihon episodes probably too well known to need repeating iu detail. Still more scandalous, however, because it took place outside the precincts of the Royal residence, was the coffin adventure in which H.R..H. most imprudently allowed himself to be mixed up. A little later, it is true, his latent sense of dignity prevailed sufficiently to make him put on the curb. And on one occasion when his resentment had been roused, he at last gave his minions to understand that his acts constituted no precedent for theirs. A very spicy volume might be written by anyone disposed to hunt up the history of the Pavilion during the occupation of its founder; how the doings witliin those bizarre walls were regarded by the nation in general may be guessed from the fact that even persons whose own character was not remarkable for purity, took exception to the uses to whicli it was put. There is an anecdote of Lord Thurlow (who it is well known was not easily shocked) refusing to hold any communication with Ills Ilo^^al Highness, and tlie Prince accompanied by some of his boon coinpaiiions — among whom were Lord Barrymore and Sir John Ladd — meeting him one day walking on the Steyne, said to liim, " AVhy, Thurlow, how is it you have not been to see me ? You must name a day to come and dine with me." Lord Thurlow cast a contemptuous glance on the Prince's companions, and said, " I cannot do so until your Royal 166 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES Patronizes music and balls. Highness keeps better company." For it was a habit with the Prince to walk about the Steyne surrounded, by a crowd of fashionable folk, all in the highest spirits, and if H.R.H. could not be seen by the public who thronged the rails, it could alway be pretty well guessed whereabouts he was by the strong odour of otto of roses with which he was profusely perfumed. He also delighted in frequenting public amuse- ments, attending all concerts, for he was fond of music, and a great patron of musicians, and making a practice of appearing at the theatre every Saturday and the Castle Inn balls every Monday. These balls, as a rule, were fashionably and numerously attended, not only by subscribers, but by any who presented themselves with a subscriber's introduction and an extra entrance fee. It so happened one night that only a dozen persons appeared, but the Prince was there. On looking round he remarked on the emptiness of the rooms, and then said, " We are not numerous, but we will supply numbers by merriment." So lie invited each lady in turn to dance v/ith him, and the few who wei^e there, congratulated themselves on the chance they had had. The card-parties, balls, tea-parties and Sunday promenades w^ere certainly varied by less frivolous amusements, and military displays and reviews occasionally occupied the atten- tion of the Prince. An incident related as having happened in October, 1803, is interesting as showing the degree of discipline in which the troops were maintained, ttirdisdyne There had been a concert at the Pavilion which w^as not of the army. Qvcr till oue iu the morning, when the Prince, beckoning to him Colonel Leigh, asked him in how short a time his regiment of dragoons could be got under arms and ready to face an enemy, should any emergency occur to require their services in the middle of the night. The Colonel replied by the practical proposal that he should ride at once to the barracks (situated fibout a mile and a half north of the town) and immediately return to give H.R.H. an account of the conduct of his troops. This idea EFFICIENT DISCIPLINE OF BRITISH TROOPS TESTED 167 delighted the Prince. The Colonel's horse was accordingly brought to the door, and be at once set off. On reaching the vanoruard at the entrance of the barracks, the Colonel commanded a black trumpeter to sound to arms. The man raised tlie trumpet to his lips, but the surprise of such a command, which he probably took seriously,' so completely overpowered him, that his breath failed him, and he was nnable to comply. Meantime, an English trumpeter who happened to overhear the order from his bed, through an open window, came forward, and without aw^aiting a second command, put the bugle to his mouth, fifave the sio-nal, and in an instant the men from all sides were in motion. The greater part had been in bed some hours, but the entire regiment were properly accoutered and on their horses, together with the flying artillery in readiness to depart, in sufficient time to have reached Brighton within fifteen minutes of this bugle-call. It would have been well if the Prince had confined his Practicui 1 • 1 /• 1 jokes. amusements to such experiences as these ; unfortunately frivolity was an essential element in his character, and the childish practical jokes to which L have alluded continued to amuse him long after the age at Avhich such pastimes cease to be excusable. His treatment of the premier Duke of England, when in response to a Royal invitation he should have been under the protection of his host, was so glaring a breach of hospitality and good manners that it is difficult to understand how the last, nmch more the " First, Gentleman in Europe," could perpetrate it. ' In the eailicr part of this same year, viz. on the 26th February, a panic had seized on a considerable number of Brii<^ Stourton to his stcp-brothor, Hon. Chas. Langdale, and published by him in ISjO. VOL. n. M 178 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES j^assionate regrets and self-accusations for his condnct, whicli she always met by saying, " We must look to the present and the future, not the past." The fatal year 1794 broke for a time all intercourse be- tween the two by the public marriage with the Princess of Brunswick, which, as a marriage of convenance and statecraft, was a less poignant stab than the intimacy which preceded it with the Countess of Jersey. From the moment this liaison became notorious she refused to receive him till he gave it up. On the royal marriage she was minded to retire into obscurity, but her best friends insisted that it was for her own honour that she should continue to live in society and to entertain, in which course she found herself approved by the heau riionde ; all the Royal Dukes came to her parties, and the King and Queen, as always, acted with the greatest tenderness and affection. It was not long after that the Prince again laid siege to her and sent every friend to incline her to receive him again. Before following her inclinations she resolved to lay her most puzzling case before the Pope, whose answer of course was, and could not but be, that she was bound to her husband, whatever he might do, as nothing but death could dissolve matrimony. Pending this reply, she had withdrawn to a remote retreat, forbidding the Prince to follow her, and declaring that if it was unfavourable to her she would thenceforth live out of England. When the answer came she refused all overtures to receive the Prince clandestinely, and on the contrary gave a grand banquet at her own house, at which he publicly attended. She told Lord Stourton that the next eight years were the happiest of her life ; she used to say they were extremely poor, but as merry as crickets. But as Lady Jersc}^ had interrupted their happiness before. Lady Hertford interloped on it now, and in a manner which originated in Mrs. Fitzherbert's goodness of heart. Her friend Lady Horatia Seymour had entrusted to her care HER POliTEAIT ROUND G. IV.'S NECK WHEN DYING 179 when sent in search of health to the south, where she found death, her youngest child, Maria Georgiana. After her death Protestant relatives sought to take the child from her. But not only she herself, but the Prince also, had grown warmly attached to it, and friendship also made her devoted to her trust. In order to promote her rights she induced the Prince to interfere in their behalf, by negotiating with the Hertford family, and it was out of the intimacy thus set up that arose the fatal influence of Lady Hertford over her husband which finally won him away from her. He was no longer the chivalrous and courageous defender of her honour. The vicious and unprincipled part of his nature had grossly developed itself, and in spite of all her fortitude and dignity, and the support of her royal and noble friends, she had many mortifications to endure. It is difficult to decide whether it is more to his honour or his disgrace, that after all he wore her miniature round his neck in his last hours, and had it buried with him there.' If he still clung to the thought of her it showed that his intermediate aberrations with other women were matters of mere selfish indulgence. Yet it may be hoped that the thought of the one modest woman who had loved him with disinterested constancy afforded him one purifyino- ray in the supreme hour. The custody of Lady Horatia's orphan daughter had finally been assigned to her by a Committee of the House of Lords, another proof," if any were wanted, of the blameless- ness of her connection with the Prince. ' This fact receives continuation. I linil, in tlie Jonrnal of Mary Frampton, who under date 1S4"> says, Mrs. Dauier tokl lier that anionjjf some jewels ordered to he given her on the death of Georj^^e IV. was liis miniature with a diamond hufore it in place of glass; and that the Duke of Wellin-^ton told her that having,' officially to watch beside the l)ody of the king, his curiosity was excited by seeing a jewel njund his neck, and he found that it was the miniature of Mrs. Fitzherl)LTt (/lazed with a diamond, the counterpart of the one that jiassed to Mrs. Darner. - For another, it is reported by Mr. Langdale that. " on the occasion of her trial, (^ueen Cari>line having made u solemn denial of any criminal conduct, said afterwards that she ou^dit to have made one exception— namely consentinn- to marry a married man." And for another, that besides the yeneral friendlines's of both Wilham IV. and prim Queen Adelaide, the former authorized her to wear *' widow s weeds " on George's death. Again, she wrote from Paris, where she was staying in 183;J : " The D. of Orleans came to see me the moment I arrived 180 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES I suppose at the present day no one entertains any doubt as to tlie marriage, but in her time the dilemma existed that the open declaration of it might at any time call up threaten- ings of pains and penalties on the King himself on account of her religion, while if the fact were suppressed she stood under a stio^ma which no solicitation of her lover had induced her really to incur. The danger of the former contingency was frequently cropping up, and presented so much terror to her who had always loved peace, that she had even been led (particularly under Mr. Percival's administra- tion) to destroy some of the proofs of it. It was accordingly agreed that the most important remaining documents should be sealed up in a packet and deposited at Coutts' under the joint trusteeship of Lord Stourton and Lord Albemarle, The momentous commotion which might have ensued on any suspicion that there was any issue of the marriage made the question a much more important one than it appears now. That there was no such offspring has never been proved ; Mrs. Fitzherbert herself refused to testify that there was none. Lord Stourton (while treating the story with contempt, nevertheless) put forward the fact that he had been applied to by a person " claiming to be the issue of this connection," as one of the grounds for applying to have the packet examined when he thought the time had come for it. But neither then nor since has such an application been acceded to, though a writer in the Quarterly Review said half a century ago, " Now that the existence of the packet has been revealed, it cannot in these inquisitive times be much longer withheld ; it does not seem that any serious mischief could now result from telling the truth, whatever it- may be." Lady Horatia Seymour's daughter, who subsequently married the Hon. Lionel Dawson Damer, left a substantial record of her esteem and gratitude for Mrs. Fitzherbert by with a thousand kind niessaoes from the King and Queen, desiring me to go and see them, which I have done, and they have given me a general invitation to go there any evening I hke." HER ]\[ONUMENT AT BRIGHTON 181 setting up a monument to lier in the old Catholic Cliiircli in Brighton, where she died in 18:>7, in which she calls her more fluni inoihcr, and surmounted it with an effigy bearing three rings on the " wedding-finger." ^— R. H. B.] It may be addtd that that heroine of society, the Countess of Aklborough, remarkable . . . well ... in many ways, was often the hfe and soul of Mrs. Fitzherbert's entertainments. She may also be regarded as for very many years a Brighton habituec. Her juvenile style of dress, her thoughtlessly *' fast " manners, and her general eccentricities did more harm to herself than to any one else, for she was a well- meaning old soul ; but my personal recollection of her as still gay and lively at a very advanced age, resolves itself into a melancholy caricature. Throuofhout his reio^n Brighton continued more or less Fip^eyism of ^ ° ° BnghtonianB. powerfully to attract the Kmg, and large was the amount of both time and money he spent there : so important did his presence become to the interests of the place that the attach- ment of the inhabitants ended by degenerating into servility and flunkeyism, and their local papers, especially the Fashion' able Intelligencer, made themselves absolutely ridiculous by their news and their observations about the King, and the fulsome language in which they expressed themselves. The lir'ujhtoii Jlfvald of January 27th, 1S21, speaking of the further outlay on the Pavilion when George IV. came to the throne, is obliged to have recourse to the pages of the Arabian NigJits to convey to its readers even a faint idea of the "superb effect" obtained in the Dome, the Banqueting Hall, the Library, the Ball-room. There was talk — but only talk — of the addition of a Chapel for the Royal household. One of the Brighton Guides of the day, after describing the Steyne, says that " the Mansions which bound it have a genteel and imjjrcssii'e appearance " ! At this time and long after, it was the custom at Brighton ' The two inan-iamjs pievious to tliat with Georije TV. were (1) to Ed. Weld, of Lulwortli Castle, in 177-"), and (:.') to Thomas Fitzherbert, of Swinnerton, Statl'oidshire, in 177S. Her father was Walter Sinythe, of Brambridge, Hunts, second son of Sir John Smjtlie, Hart., of Eske, Durham. 182 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBKITIES for the military band to strike up every evening at nine o'clock, God save the King. In tbis same year of 1821 also it was proposed to erect on a conspicuous spot a large bronze statue of the royal patron ; and in an incredibly short time 3000Z. was subscribed by the townspeople, the work being entrusted to Chantrey. A few years after, this testimony to the loyalty of Brighton was placed on its pedestal in front of the palace within the railings of the Old Steyne. Cobbett, who was no friend to royalty in general or to George IV. in particular — in his Cobbett'sde- language " the Big Monarch" — calls the Brighton Pavilion theVaviiion. a Kremlin, and states that it was a subject of laughter all over the country. "It stands," he says, "in the gorge of the valley amongst tlie old houses of the town; the grounds (about a couple or three acres) are surrounded by a wall neither lofty nor good- looking ; above this rise some trees bad in selection, stunted in growth and dirty with smoke. As to the ' Palace,' as the Brighton papers call it, the apartments are all on the ground floor ; and when you see the thing from a distance you think you see a parcel of cradle-spits of various dimensions sticking up out of the mouths of so many enormous decanters. Take a square box with sides 3 ft. 6 long and 1 ft. 6 high. Take a large Norfolk turnip, cut off the green leaves, leaving the stalks 9 in. long ; tie these round with a string 3 in. from the top, and put the turnip on the middle of the top of the box. Then take four turnips half the size, treat them similarly and put them on the corners of the box. Then take a considerable number of bulbs of narcissus, crown imperial, hyacinth, tulip, crocus, let the leaves of each have sprouted to about an inch, and put all these promiscu- ously among the turnips, then stand off and look at your work ; it is the elevation of this ' Kremlin.' Only you must cut some church-looking windows in the sides of the box. *' As to what you are to ^iit inside, that subject is far above my cut. Brighton is naturally a place of resort for expectants. COBBETT ON THE PAVILION 183 and a shifty, ugl3'-looking swarm is, of course, assembled here." Towards the town itself lie entertained more friendly feelings, and describes it thus : — " The houses are excellent built, chiefly with a blue or purple brick, and bow-windows appear to be the general taste." As his taste grew more mature there are indications The King'* , „ ^_-. • 11 11 tiiste im- that beorge iV. occasionally regretted the extravagant proves, architectural singularities he had called into being as Prince Regent. One season, when not occupying his house on Brunswick Terrace, my father let it to the Duke of Gloucester. The King naturally visited him there frequently. He used to walk up and down the billiard-room, greatly admiring it, and V constantly regretted that he had not seen it at a time when he was planning some fresh decorations in the Pavilion. The room in question had cost my father much thought, for it had been necessary to sacrifice one of the walk to the requirements of a hot-air stove of peculiar construction, consisting of a large furnace in the servants' hall communi- cating with a hot-air chamber through which a fresh current of air was continually passing, to be distributed by pipes into the staircase and the various rooms, so that the house was always kept at summer heat and there were no fires needed in the rooms. The placing of these pipes had occasioned a series of arches in tlie billiard-room, which might have been a deformity, but my father sent over to Paris for two artists he had previously employed in the decoration of his house in Great Cumberland Place, and they painted the whole in landscape, cleverly bringing in these arches to form a bridge and a cavern, for which they thus had all the appearance of having l)een originally so designed. The aerial perspective of the landscape gave a sense of vastness to the apartment, which he said contrasted very favourably with the feeling of contraction engendered by the loud and heavy colouring with which tlie walls of the hot Pavilion room were overloaded. music. 184 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES His taste ia Love of music — wliicli liG had really studied with effect — was one of the redeeming influences of George IVth's life.^ His band at the Pavilion, which played every day during dinner from a programme generally selected by himself — most often a selection dictated by refinement — consisted entirely of soloists. A Miss Chinnery, celebrated at the time for proficiency on the piano, was generally asked to play after dinner, and acquitted herself with such perfection that, with the exception of those who were jealous of her superior talent, and tried to make mischief about her, she was universally admired. Crosdil, the 'cellist, was another special favourite, and Viotti, with his violin, was another of the King's delights. These ' George III., whatever it may have pleased Thackeray to say of his general imbecihty, was no mean musician, and knew more about orchestration than many distinguished amateurs. He was consulted, and to good purpose, on the arrange- ment of the Handel commemoration which took place in Westminster Abbey at the beginning of June, 1787. The conductors were the two Cramers, Joah Bates, Drs. Arnold and Dupuis ; the band consisted of several hundred performers, and the choruses, amounting to as many voices, were collected from all parts of England. The King, Queen, and all the Royal Family sat opposite the orchestra : the body of the Abbey, the galleries, and every corner was crowd-ed with beauty, rank, and fashion. Such was the rage to procure seats that, in order to be in good time, the ladies submitted to have their hair dressed overnight. The singers were Mesdames Mara, Storace, Abrams, Poole, MM. Rubinelli, Harrison, Bartleman, Sale, Parry, Norris, Kelly, and they unanimously exerted their great talents to admiration. No place could be more appropriate to give effect to the divine strains of Handel than the spacious Abbey. His Majesty's partiality for Handel's music was universally recognized, but it was not equally well known how excellent and accurate a judge he was of its merits. The tine chorus of " Lift up your heads, O ye gates," was always given in full chorus, as intended by Handel. The King, however, suggested that the first part of this passage should be made a semi-clw)rus, sung only by the principal singers, but that when it came to the sequel, " He is the King of Glory,'' he commanded that the whole orchestra, with the full chorus, should burst out with a tremendous forte. The eliect was awful and sublime. A strange coincidence happened on one of the mornings during the performance of the grand selection, when the sky had been and was still gloomy and lowei'ing. The grand chorus from Haydn's Creation — " Let there be light " — resjionded to by " And there was light" — had just burst ujjon the audience with that marvellous crash of instruments in the resoiuiding key of (', when, at that verj' moment, the sun showed itself with extraordinary suddenness and brilliancy, illuminating every part of the magnificent interior. M same period, and one of the pupils lie had had under his cai-e at Brighton was the Iron Duke himself. Mr. Michell had borne a conspicuous share in the development of Brighton also. His figure in the picturesque garb of the ^f'-- -Micheii period, cassock and three-cornered hat, and prodigiously tall lou.^'"^"^'"' cane/ was long a traditional object of interest on tlie Steyne. He was stdl more distinguished for his elegant latinity, and EEV. H. M. WAGNER. enjoyed the friendship of many noted worthies. Stories are yet afloat of tlie amusing squabbles he would get up (apparently merely for the fun of the thing) wftli Dr. Johnson, when he accompanied the Thrales in" tlieir visits to Regency Square, e.g. such pin-pricks as pretendinu- to derive imncahe from 77ai//ca/co9, or confounding phlebitis^xilh flea-bite, &c., which Johnson would argue against seriously, and bluster. There is a tradition of their carrying a dispute of this sort to such an extent one day that one of them took up the tongs and the other the poker, each enforcino- V ' i^""" w-1"'' x""''^' M,'^"''^ kn..bl)utl one presented to liini ])v Ins old friend Sir Eardley Wilmot, is still in possession of his great-grandson, Mr. Henry Wagner 190 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES his argument by banging the fender, till they collected a crowd round the windows. One of Mr. Micliell's sons was known as a singularly accomplished classical scholar ; and another, James Charles, who resided in East Street till his death in 1841, was described as a " literary peripatetic " of local as well as of general and professional ^ information. I have said there were two churches at the beginning of Mr. Wagner's tenure. In strict truth there was only " the Old Church " (St. Nicholas) available. It was not till four «'TiieNew years later that St. Peter's (Ions- after called "the New Church.' *^ . Church ") was ready for consecration, and the new Vicar devoted much hard work ^ to bring this about. His family provided the coloured windows ; and if these are not in more correct taste, it is the fault of the epoch and not of their generosity. St. Peter's was one of the earliest productions of the Grothic revival. It is curious that, faulty as it is, it made Barry's reputation ! It serves, however, for a standing monument Barry its ^q ^^q f^^^^ of Barry's utter incapacity to have conceived unaided the design of such an edifice as the Westminster Palace of Parliament, which bears on so many of its parts the unmistakable impress of Pugin's genius. Mr. Wagner appointed as the first incumbent of St. Peter's a clergyman for whom he had great regard, Mr. Cooke, who held it from 1828 to within a year of his death in 1874.'^ They were inseparable friends, and wherever Mr. Wagner Mr. Wagner's '^yeiit hc always took Mr. Cooke with him, giving rise to the "man-cook." n n • i i • 7^ moi that he never travelled without his maii-coo/c. Though he did not literally go in for the costly extravagance of a man-cook, he was of a most hospitable nature and a His guests, charming host ; all the notabilities of his day would be • He was a lawyer. - It cost 20,()()()/., a voiy considerable outlay on clmidi-huilding for its day. ^ When he resigned St. Peter's was constituted tlie Paiish Church of Brighton ; and to the regret of many St. Nicholas dethroned from its ancient post of distinc- tion. CELEBRITIES AT MR. WAGNER'S TABLE 101 gatliered round his board. " Hajji Baba," as James Morier came to be called, contributed his anecdotes of adventure at the Persian Court ; James and Horace Smith (whose sister still remains among the "oldest inhabitants") their lively wit ; and among others, Masquerrier the artist, one of Hoppner's most distinguished pupils, the intimate friend of Henry Crabb Robinson, and described by him as " a pleasant fellow full of French vivacity." Later on there was Louis Napoleon, who declared there that his choicest realization of what "liberty" meant came to him when cantering over the Sussex Downs. But though hospitality is a noble Christian virtue, promoter of brotherly kindness and harmony, it was but one among many in ]\lr. Wagner's character. I only 192 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES remember liim as an old man when I was a very young girl, but the kindliness of his interest in everything concerning His urbanity, the yonng, and the courtly qualit}?- of his talk bore with it a charm which lingers on the memory. I have nlvvays wondered that his Life has never been written. It would be enormously diverting if recorded by any one nearly enough his contemporary to appre- ciate and store up his inexhaustible fund of mots and anecdotes. Frequently entertained through a period of several years on terms of intimacy at the Vicarage, many of tion.*^*^"^^^^^' tbese things, though I recall that they amused me at the time, were a little " too previous " to fasten on my memory. For instance, I remember one of his stories concerned some nobleman who had enjoyed an unenviable reputation for asininity. It had been suggested to the King to confer on him an Order of the Thistle which had become vacant. " Give the Thistle to • ! " exclaimed the King — " why, he'd eat it." TSTo one could help enjoying a laugh at the mot., but the name altogether escaped me. If genial and jocose in familiar converse, however, the Vicar had a good deal of the bellicose in his temperament. mined ch^arac- Griftcd with extraordinary energy and activity, when he had *^'"- made up his mind a thing ought to be done, there was no one alive who could stand up against him with any effect. Thus in spite of all his great devotion to the promotion of works of benevolence in the town, there were not wanting occasions when he became temporarily unpopular by reason of his indomitable determination to do the right and refuse to do the wrong, at all costs. Tall, spare and authoritative, he always knew how to command a hearing. I have seen it recorded that on occasion of some Brighton election (and Brio-hton elections have always had a tendency towards the ^^^^^,'^^"^"^"^-" riotous !) there was a great commotion among the populace because he had been exerting himself against Sir George Pechell. The police had been formed into line to secure him a safe way of escape from the howling mob ; but he scorned HIS PLUCK AND DETEE:\riXATION 193 such adventitious assistance, and struck out instead riglit througli the midst of tlie rioters, carrying his head high with a fearlessness which utterly confounded his would-be assailants. I repeat the story because it is so exactly like him, but I have not had the opportunity of verifying the detail. The incident may have happened at some other election. The following is another anecdote which I have heard told of his pluck. In the early days when the troops The Military garrisoned at Brighton attended service at St. Peter's, the Cbmck '''' north gallery being assigned to them, the levity of some of the young officers became a cause of scandal. One day when the Vicar was reading prayers, their audible whisperings became an actual disturbance of the solemnity of the office. The Vicar, at the end of his patience, stopped short with a look of rebuke and raised his hand in waruino-. This produced a transient lull, but soon after conversation went on again merrily in the gallery ; ^ another glance of rebuke produced but another transient lull. At the conclusion of the prayers, all surpliced as he was, the Vicar marched down the length of the church, mounted tlie gallery stairs, and seated himself immediately behind the offenders, who then had the decency to maintain an awed silence during the sermon. It is amusing to speculate what the Vicar's dauntless spirit wotdd have led him to do next, supposino- quiet had not been obtained ! The incident was not to end there, however. When the Vicar left the vestry door to go home, he found the soldiers all drawn up as if barring his passage, and a demand was formally made by the Colonel on behalf of his officers, who considered themselves insulted by the Vicar's action, that lie should offer an apology, adding ' Once wlion Dr. Youiio- (he of the - Ni-lit Th..uglits •'), heino- Court Chaplain, was preaching, the Knij;-, who kept up a runninrr tire in Gennaii talk with the other occupants of the royal pew, at last spoke so loud that liis voice out-topped tliat of the preacher, who felt so discouraged and niortitied at the aliiont thus put upon his cause and himself, that he burst into tears and left the pulpit. At all events the Kuith, 1884, with the zeal and single-purposedness which always distinguished him. His work led him past the railway station, where an excited crowd was just then gathering. Far too earnest in pursuit of the work in hand to run after a crowd, Arthur Wagner passed on his way. The crowd was gathering because his godfather, the second Duke of AVellington, at that moment overcome by a crisis of heart disease, lay dying in a room in the station. — R. H. B.] The Kino: was at Briofhton when the news reached him of o"^7''.'^^^ JiOrd Liverpool's death. He was immediately seized with ^'«*^'- nervous agitation, and in the middle of the night sent a valet to call to him Peel, who was staying at the Pavilion, request- ing he would come immediately without waiting to dress. 202 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBRITIES He accordingly went as lie v/as in bis night costume, and the King desired him to sit down beside the bed. Peel had an unconscious habit whenever he was speaking of working his arms about, till at last His Majesty, who was terribly annoyed by it, said, mimicking his movements, " Mr. Peel, it is useless to wave your arms about ; the question iio^v is, who is to be my Prime Minister ? " George ivtL's Gcorffc IVtli's powcrs of mimicrv have often been powers or " J^ «^ mimicry. dcscribcd ; they were indeed very remarkable, and quite equal in skill to that of any professional performer. The amusement was one in which he delighted, especially among kindred spirits such as Lord Erskine and others who vied with him in feats of the same sort. The Duke of Wellington told Raikes a curious story, showing His Majesty's readiness to exhibit his proficiency even under serious circumstances. " When the King sent for me in 1828," says his Grace, "to form a new cabinet, he was really seriously ill, though he would never allow it ; I found him in bed dressed in a greasy silk jacket and a turban night-cap, one as unseemly as the other : notwithstanding his coquetry about dress in public, he was extremely slovenly and dirty in private. The first words he said to me were : — " Arthur, the ministry is defunct ! " He then began to describe the tone and gesture of each minister in turn, as they took leave of him in tendering their resignations. This was accompanied by the most ludicrous mimici}^ of the voice and manner of each, so strikingly copied that it was impossible to refrain from fits of laughter." The King spared no one when it pleased him to produce a scene of this kind, and " Arthur " underwent the process the same as the rest; on these occasions His Majesty's delight was the greater, as none but a keen observer of character would have discerned the peculiarities he was so successful in hitting off". One day taking it into his royal head to mimic his brother of Clarence, he said to the chaplain at a semi-public dinner : COACHING DAYS 203 coach- " Come, (1 it, do say grace and let's begin." On state occasions it was another matter, and the King seemed not to know how to oveilook the smallest breach of etiquette. There were two distinct men in George TV., and this would T'"'" '"'-'° !» seem to have been recognized by his contemporaries. In ''°'°'' private life he was very fond of gossip, and encouraged about him those (especially) ladies who lie knew were sure to brin^ to his Avhist-table a budget of scandalous stories; but, for tliis, he had (too often for his royal dignity) to show himself on the Steyne in company of which he could certainly not be proud; but on all state occasions he grew to be a relentless stickler for all that was decorous and dignified — every inch a king. The palmy days of coaching are intimately coniiected with The i aimy George IVth's influence, both before and after he came toinT"^'""' the throne. Evidences abound that about the 3'ear 1821 there were numerous coaches running between Brighton and London, "during the season, between forty and fifty a day," we are told. This is certainly a larger number than J can myself remember between 1835 and 1846.^ The road was kept in splendid order, and some of these vehicles obtained a high reputation for the rapidity with which they travelled. Even in 1820 their speed enabled them to do the distance in six hours either way, and " mer- cantile persons " whose flimilies were spending the season at Brighton made it their practice to go down on Saturday and return to town on Monday, just as now with railway facilities. Evans, the writer of " An Excursion to Brighton," pub- hshed m 1821, though of course he had no glimmering of the introduction of steam, yet looked forward to the time " when balloons will accomplish the distance in two hours." [Scientific expectation of the practical utility of balloons for travelling was naturally higher at this date than now; for _ [' Parry oniiiirnis this, and a.lds tliero were live or six offices (for bookin- places in iMenij : also tlireo new " connnotlious vans on springs."— R. H. B.J 204 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES numerous failures liave discredited the venture, and the iutroduction of steam locomotives has to a great extent superseded the necessity for it. Some one having observed before a distinguished cjnic, "What is the use of attempting to make balloons go ? " he replied — showing his faith in their future — " You may as well say, ' What is the use of a new-born baby ? "— E. H. B.] Evans goes on to quote a report that Sadler, the aeronaut, once attained the rate of 100 miles an hour, adding, " so there is a possibility that our Gracious Monarch, taken up in an jetherial (sic) vehicle at Carlton House, may alight at his beloved Pavilion at Brighton in the space of half an hour." The competition was keen between the various coaches, and feats are recorded where the distance was accomplished in much less than the six hours. The King, who was a first-rate whip, set the example of striving after speed, whicli excited tlie emulation of the coaches, though, of course, none of them could expect to attain the same. On July 25th, 1784, the Prince rode down to Brighton and back in one day, doing the down journey in four hours and a half, and taking nearly an additional hour for the return ; the whole, therefore, within ten hours. On August 21st of the same year he drove down from Carlton House, reaching the Pavilion in four and a half hours, driving three horses harnessed " unicorn " fashion. Among other devices to expedite the journey he had the lightest of phaetons built for it, and sometimes would have a postilion ride the leading horse. His best idea was the ingenious one of having a short Through ^^^^ made through Gattou Park, by means of which little Gatton Park. Qvcr thrcc and a half hours would, by strenuous efforts, suffice for the journey ; and it proved a " royal road " in every sense, for no one employed it but the Prince, and at his death it was closed once for all. [This is not quite correct, for I remember driving up to London from Brighton in the year 1853 or 1854. As my father had so often entertained ANECDOTES OF EAPID DRIVING 205 lis about this royal " cut," which, of course, the stage coaches could not use, the coachman was instructed to drive us that way, and I have no recollection of the shghtest diflficulty being made at letting the carriage pass through it. — R. H. B.] It seems to have been a speciality with Royal personages J^f'iJ'.'^.^u;;^ late in the last and early in this century, to travel with abnormal rapidity. Charles III. of Spain was remarkable for this. No speed seemed sufficient for him. The Dauphin (father of Louis XVI.) was also remarkable for this taste, and was scarcely exceeded by George lY. In Miss Hawkins' diary, we read that His Majesty's escort was in continual peril from the reckless pace at which the King insisted on moving. " The horses frequently fell and necessarily occasioned a stoppage of the cortege. The King Avould then inquire what had happened, and being informed that a horse was down, would coolly reply, ' Is that all?'" His Queen was equally singular in this respect. " In Windsor," says this writer, " the people would shudder as the Royal family dashed past, but everyone was elated at the sight of them, and all cried, ' God bless them.' The Sovereign of Great Britain," she continues, " has only to show himself to be adored." [I have heard the tradition in Rome that Cardinal York (who ought to have been Henry IX.) shared this taste. He was Bishop of Frascati, one of the six Sulmrbicariau sees, the holder of which is always a Cardinal, and was also Arciprete (or Dean) of St. Peter's (the office lately held by Cardinal Howard). When in residence at Frascati, it was only when the bell of St. Peter's began to toll for Vespers that he started to preside at the office there, the coachman being trained . to drive up at the sacristy door exactly in time for His Royal Eminence to head the procession. It is true that as every- thing at St. Peter's is on a large scale, the bell for Vespers tolls for a whole hour, and that he had six horses to his carriage, also a hattidmda to clear the way for them; from 206 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES door to cloor the distance must be over thirteen miles.^ — E. H. B.] Recollections J havo many happy recollections of postina; down to of posting to . J L i J r o Brighton. Brighton with my parents. The carriage was well stored with refreshments, giving the journey a sort of picnic character and every way, especially in fine weather, a delightful change from the ordinary schoolroom routine — though I am afraid I must own that an occasional recitation-lesson, by way of improving the time, somewhat tempered the joys of the journey. I find the stages thus noted in my father's pocket-book : — • Croyden 9^^ miles Red-Hill 11^ Crawley 9 Cuckfield 9 Brighton 13 51i There was a tree I particularly remember which kept our attention amused to look out for, as it was said to mark the boundary of Surrey and Sussex, and we really believed we could distinctly discern a difference in the sound of the wheels at the moment of passing from one county into another. Near Crawley there used to be, perhaps still is, a fine elm- tree beside the coach-road. A door had been made in its trunk, and it was said that a dozen men could stand within it ; not far from this was Buchan Hill, the property of Lord LordErskincs Erskiuc, who made himself a o^reat favourite in the neiofhbour- uuuiaiiity. ° o [} A friend in Rome reckoning the distance very accurately makes it 13'8;> P^nglish miles. Zola, who only romances with great history-making facts and is always accm\ate as a Dutch picture witli trivial details, makes his Conte Prada allow his "Victoria" and pair of prancing horses two hours to perform the journey comfortably. In August last it was run by two foot-ruiniers. One is reported to have done it in one hour and forty minutes, which seems incredible, the other taking an hour and five minutes longer ; of course the Pta. S. Giovanni was the starting-place in this case. Cardinal York's drive was 2| miles longer. By a coincidence which perhaps deserves noticing, the name of the English engineer who assisted in building tlie Pia-Latina line under Pius IX.'s ausfjices in 1856, of which Frascati was the first station, was York. — R. H. B.] ANECDOTES OF THE BRIGHTON ROAD 207 hood with rich and poor. He was specially admired for his hinnane consideration for animals ; he not only took their defence on all occasions, but though he abjured all intention of wishing to be considered a poet, he produced a poetical effusion entitled Tlie Farmer's Vision, its object being to inspire the rising generation with kindly feelings for the lower orders of creation. These verses were printed, but as they were never published it may be worth while to give a sample of them here. They were inscribed to his eldest granddaughter Frances, Avhom he calls " the fair poetess of 8t. Leonard's Forest." The occasion of the j^oeni was a complaint from his bailiff of the rookery belonging to Sir Mark Wood, his neighbour ; but Lord Erskine afterwards became satisfied of the utility of these birds. Into these lines the writer has introduced an allusion to the famous rookery of the Duchess of York at Oatlands Park, on which he compliments her Grace. "At Oatlands, Avlicre the buoyant air Vast clouds of rooks can scarcely bear, What verdure paints returning Spi-in^ I "What crops suri-ounding harvests In-ing ! Yet swarms on every tree ai-e found, Nor hear the fowler's dreaded sound : And when the Kite's resistless blow Dashes their scattered nests below, Alarmed they quit the distant field To seek the Park's indulgent shield. Where, close in the o'ershadowing wood, They build new cradles for their brood, Secure their fair Protkctress, nigh. Whose bosom swells with sympathy. Nor glows a heavenly breast in vain, God builds her royal house again ; And bids Fred'i-ika smiling see Restored — givat Frederic's monarchy : See Gallia's ruthless vulture die, Whilst the Black Eagle mounts the sky ! — But scenes like this how rare to find, As rare as York's delightful mind. To man whoever pleads the cause Of Nature's universal laws, !Must prove them made alone for him. To other views hU sight is dim. 208 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBEITIES The boxinteons author of the whole Inspired us with one living soul. Each sentient being, great and small, Eternal justice reigns through all. And selfish man the secret known Must guard their rights to save His own. Thus Rooks of course must have their fill, Or else farewell to Buchan-Hill ! " Our last stage was Cuckfield, which we necessarily reached, according to the time of year, in the gloaming or in the dark ; here we have done over forty miles of our fifty-two mile journey ; I remember it in the autumn evenings with the rich glow of sunset about it, the old church showing its dark silhouette on the reddening sky supported by the outlines of the old grammar school and the picturesque ivy-clad vicarage ; tired and sleepy from the fatigue of travelling so many con- secutive hours and walking up the hills, it was good news to us little ones to hear that the fresh horses now being put to the carriage would finish the journey and carry us into Brighton. I remember it too at a later season of the year, when the snow w^iicli had long been falling had made the roads so heavy by the time we reached Cuckfield that the "boys'* and horses had to be reinforced by another pair, as the landlord declared that no foiu' horses could drag a heavy travelling carriage through the encumbered roads, and even with this assistance we should be nearly twice the time that distance took under ordinary circumstances. Of Cuckfield I remember another incident, viz. that the road passed at no great distance a wood in which my father used to tell me had " forty years ago" been gibbetted two highwaymen, tried and convicted of having robbed the mail- coach, and that after their mouldered skeletons had been blown down piecemeal and removed, he had seen (and heard the clanking of) the iron chains in which they had been suspended. Of the last of these criminals he used to tell a story (probably another version of the legend known as Marij Phiyingat the Mttid of the Imi). It was to the effect that a couple cf ghosts. . , , silly practical jokers travelling on that road had halted to GALLANT ASPECT OF THE COACHES 209 sup at the inn. One of these, addressing the barmaid as she brought in a foaming jug of ale, asked her how much she would take to carry a basin of hot soup to the skeleton on the gibbet. The girl, probably suspecting his intention, replied she would do it for half a golden guinea. Finally it was agreed she should have a crown piece paid in advance. "While she was heating the soup, one of these silly fellows slipped out, gained the spot, and concealed himself behind the gallows-tree. Presently the young woman appeared, and as she presented the basin to the object hanging there, a sepulchral voice responded, " ^Tis too hot. '' Nothing daunted, the girl threw the scalding liquid over the trickster, and exclaiming, " Then blow it, you fool ! " scampered away. Another incident of the road which kept us on the voiueu. trust myself to the arms of a weather-l)eathen bathing- woman who stood beside the steps of the machine, a dark blue, baggy, amphibious animal, up to her middle in the sea, and representing an object new and also terrifying but for the bland smile and coaxing words with which she seemed to consider that a child's alarm ought at once to have been allayed. I don't suppose anyone ever forgets the sensation of the first dip : the sudden cold immersion, the smarting eyes, the salt water filling ears, nose, and mouth, 212 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBEITIES and the blinding result of wet hair covering and sticking to the face. As the victim regains breath and thinks it is all over, he is about to forgive the indignity offered to his help- lessness, when his first gasp is pitilessly arrested, and with the relentless mockery of " pretty little dear, pop him in again," he finds himself treacherously submitted to a second plunge. I remember my nurse's efforts to reconcile me to this stupidly and needlessh' cruel operation by the contem- plation of a ])icture-book she bought as we went home, 7^ MARTHA, WIDOW OF STEPHEN GUNN, WHO AVAS PARTICULARLY DISTINGUISHED AS A BATHER IN BRIGHTON NEARLY SEVENTY YEARS. DIED 2nd MAY, 1815. AGED 88 YEARS. " The fiuued ilaitha Gunu." showing that to similar treatment had been subjected the little Prince of Wales when he was of the same as^e. As near as I can remember, the stanza beneath this inspiring picture ran thus : — To Brighton came he, Came George the Thh'd's son ; To be dipped in the sea By the famed Martha Gunn. Martha Gunn, it would appear, fared none the worse for her amphibious habits, for she survived many years an THE FAMED MARTHA GUNN" 213 annuitant of the Prince and Prince Regent, who always evinced a great regard for lior, and kept her portrait hung in his bedroom at the pahice. He often received a visit from the old lady, who was quite a character, and had taken upon herself to create a nomenclature for Mrs. Fitzherl)ort, whom she styled "Mrs. Prince." A companion portrait to that of Martha Gunn in the Prince Regent's bedroom was that of Tom Smoaker, the contemporary bathing or machine Tom smoaker. man whose business it was to be about the beach to harness and unharness the horse which he bestrode when the changing tide required these moving cahines to be wdieeled into and out of the sea. Smoaker had also to be on the alert in case of any possible emergency, perhaps suhrnQv- gency would be a more appropriate term. There is a well founded tradition that this same Smoaker's prudence and determination one day stood the youno- Prince in good stead, when having reached the mischievous period through which all boys, not excepting princes, have to pass, it pleased his little Royal Highness one fine day to show off his swimming capabilities, and he recklessly swam not only beyond his depth, but, as old Smoaker judged, beyond his strength. The old man therefore hallooed to him to re- turn; but, instead of obeying the summons, the self-willed young gentleman put on more steam, and made a fresh strike-out ; Smoaker, however, was not to be trifled with, so, showing he was in earnest, he simply went for H.R.H., and having soon overtaken him, without more ado seized hold of him by the ear and brought him to shore. The royal youth, enraged at the humihation, swore a good marine oath, '• shivering Smoaker's timbers," &c., but got no further, for his captor at once silenced him with a correspondino- exclamation, which he followed up with, " Do you think Pm agoing to let myself get hanged for letting the King's heir drown hisself just to please a youngster like you?" AVhcn the little Prince had recovered from the effects of 214 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES the affront he had incurred, he made it up with Smoaker, and they soon became very good friends ; the Prince thence- forward treating him with kindness and consideration. Another celebrated bathing-woman of this period was Mrs. Cobby, who had what no doubt the conceited Authoress of " Evelina " considered the extraordinary lionoiir of bathing her when she visited Brighton in company with the Thrales in Fanuy Bur- -[ ^7^9 rpj^^ ^^^ Under which she has handed this event ney s bathing- woman, down to posterity in her diary is November 20th. By this record it appears Miss Fanny Burney had been spending some little time at Brighton, and, desirous of securing one last dip before she left, made a previous arrangement with Mrs. Cobby for six o'clock on the morning of her departure, when it appears the important incident took place " by moonlight." This gossipy diarist expresses herself with satisfaction as to the town, which (such as it then was) had become quite a fashionable watering-place since 1 771, and every subsequent year had seen additions and improvements such as could not fail to attract company. Fanny Burney's visit took place at an opportune moment, " a militia regi- ment being quartered there to add to its liveliness,"' and she describes the task of the Duke of Richmond, their Colonel, as a rather embarrassing one, for the men were somewhat loutish, and on this occasion those under command of Captain Fuller were so distracted by the presence of the ladies on the parade-ground — how could it be otherwise w^hen " the authoress of ' Evelina ' " was one of them P — that he seemed to have lost all control over them. The cause of their ill- timed merriment was the fantastic shapes into which the draperies of the party were blown, while their hats were altogether carried away by the high wind, they pursuing their headgear with most undignified precipitancy. The men, it appears, were more than half intoxicated, and were laughing so immoderately that they could hardly stand straight, and seemed utterly deaf to the word of command. I'lItEJJE IIESSELL 215 The manifestation, in the presence of London strangers, of neglected discipHne vexed the Captain, who after excusing them to the ladies on the plea that they had just received their arrears of pay, walked up to a big fellow who stood fore- most and shook him violently by the shoulders, exclaiming : " What are you laughing at, sirrah ? I'd like to know. Are you making game of the ladies, forsooth r " but the uncheck- able mirth of the men, and the ridiculous cause of it, was too much for the Captain's own gravity, and he had to break off liis reprimand in order ^to indulge in a hearty laugh himself. Tt is true that these women, dressed as the}^ were in the costume of the day, could not but present ridiculous objects to men who had not town-bred eyes, and to whom hooped skirts, high-heeled shoes, overpoweringly tall powdered wigs, and hats which they were vainly pursuing as these continued most provokingly to elude their efforts, could not but afford some excuse for merriment. For however much the military uniform of that day may be said to have been in character with the civilian attune, the soldiers wearing powdered and pomatumed hair tied into a plaited and pendent queue, their heads surmounted by the three-cornered beaver, thev at least presented a certain picturesqueness, and the ladies' costume did not. Among notable Brighton celebrities of this time was a I'l'ajbe Hesseii remarkable character, Phoebe Hessell, who lived into tliis Goidiug. century and was pensioned by the Regent ; her history is so curious that it is worth relating. She rejoiced in the not very singular patronymic of Smith, and being born at sea (1713), was registered as of Stepney parish. In telling her own story she dwelt so slightly on her earlier years that the lirst incident in her life she thought worthy of record was her love-passage with one of " Kirke's Lambs," a private soldier named Sam Colding. Phoebe, who was a handsome, buxom lass of sweet fifteen, was so sincerely attached to her lover and he to her, that they formed between them a plan by which, when his regiment was ordered to the West Indies 216 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES in 1728, she should disguise herself as a lad and enlist.^ Her regiment was the 5th Infantry, under General Pearce, also about to embark for the same destination. In this part of our Colonies Phoebe served for five years without any suspicion being raised as to her history. Hence she went to Mont- serrat, where slie saw active service, and having thence re- turned to England, Pearce's regiment was ordered to join the forces commanded by the " Butcher " Duke of Cumberland, and therefore took part in the battle of Fontenoy in 1745, in which Marechal Saxe was victorious. Here the valiant female soldier was wounded. Her regiment and that of her lover were ordered simultaneously to Gibraltar, where he was so seriously wounded as to be sent home invalided to Ply- mouth. On this, Phoebe sought General Pearce's wife and confided to her the details of her life ; this lady, touched by the poor woman's admirable devotedness, obtained her dis- charge, and she was sent back with letters of recommenda- tion to England, where she was allowed access to the Plymouth Hospital to nurse her lover, Golding, unable to [' This incident turns up at various periods in the folk-history of all countries. In Italy it has been embodied in stirring lines worthy to be a genuine folk-song, which may be rendered thus : — ■ Good-bye, Livorno ! Sheltering walls, Good-bye ! Perhaps it is not given to see you more. My parents dear within the churchyard lie, . . . But called to arms is he whom I adore. My Love's war-chance to follow let me hie, — I, too, an arm can wield, the foe before. The ball that's sped mine own true Love to slay, (Unknown to him) with mine own heart I'll stay. When he bends o'er his arms-companion dead To see the face of him, for him has bled ; Then — me he'll see ! and know why I am there — ■ Poor lover mine ! How fierce then his despair ! By a coincidence, even as I was writing this note a very similar case was reported in the C/iro7iicle (Novemhev 19th, 1S96): — '-"When the 4th Queen's Own Hussars left Hounslow for India, an unusually large number of wives of men who had married ' off the strength ' were left behind. One young bride declined to accept the decree of the War Office, and succeeded in getting on board the Britannia as a stowaway . . . the military axithorities so far relented as to allow her to go the whole way to India with her husband, premising that once arrived she must be shipped back to England. . . . As her friends have no news of her re-shipment, though the mails containing the account of her escapade have reached . . . they believe that either the authorities have relented again, or that she has eluded their vigilance once more. . . ."— R. H. B.] HER LATTER DAYS 217 return to tlie service, received a pension from Chelsea and the faithful pair were married. After twenty years of wedded liappiness,Pha3be became a widow and subsequently re-married, her second husband's name being Thomas Hessell. From whatever cause, her second marriage would seem to have not l)een very prosperous, for at Hessell's death about 1792 she found herself with so small an amount of capital that she had barely enough to purchase a donkey and paniers, with which she became an itinerant vendor of fish and vegetables. It was on one of these excursions that she became instrumental in procuring the arrest of Howell and Kooke, the highwaymen, who for their daring exploit in robbing the Brighton and Shoreham mail, then carried on horseback, were hung in chains in a w^ood near Cuckfield. Age and infirmity overtook the poor old woman in the early years of the present century, for she was obliged to seek the shelter of the Brighton poor- house. The annals of that institution, however, show a record of her having quitted it at her own request on August I4th, 1808, receiving " as a parting gift one change of linen and a pair of stockings." As it was at about this time that the Kino;- besfan to make her a well-merited allowance of half a guinea a week, it was doubt- less to this source she owed her liberation. It appears that the king offered her double that sum, but she said that half a guinea was as much as she needed ; however, at the sugges- tion of some ladies, she obtained leave to sit at the corner of the Steyne and Marine Parade with a little basket containing sweets, small toys, pincushions, and such-like commodities, so that altogether she contrived to make her modest little living out of these resources. Her appearance as she sat there was very quaint, and the long wash-leather mittens that covered her arms, her knitted woollen tippet, and the old bonnet from under which appeared the frill of a thick, com- fortable-looking cap, called to her the attention of passers-by, even in those days. By her first marriage Phabe had had a numerous family, 218 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES but eiglifc of her children had died young, and their only survivor, a son, had goue to serve his country in foreign parts and had never come back, so that her latter years, which reached 107, were very solitary. There was a great fete given at Brighton under a marquee on the old Steyne on July 12th, 1815, in celebration of the victory at Waterloo, when the veteran she-soldier, then aged 102, and being Brighton's " oldest inhabitant," was seated in the place of honour at the Vicar's right hand, and a consider- able sum was poured into her lap from the voluntary liberality of those present, who could not but feel interested in her strangle and heroic life. By the time the coronation of George IV. took place, she had reached her 107th year and had become blind ; still she was able to take her little share in the ceremonies ; the Vicar, the Rev. B. Carr, making a place for her in his carriage, whence she delightedly joined in the National Anthem, insist- ing on rising to her feet and standing while it was sung. On this occasion she was the object of universal notice and benevolent interest, and a sufficient sum was raised to secure her every comfort for the last days of her long and adventurous life. There was still maintained in Sussex, in her time, a good old county custom called " Gooding," observed on St. Thomas's da}- ; this consisted in visits paid by the poorer to the better-off parishioners, who welcomed them with mulled elder wine and home-made cake, chatting with them the while. Phoebe enjoyed this annual treat and rarely missed it, but on the last " Shortest Day," being too infirm to leave her home, she was disappointed at receiving no visits from her old acquaintances, most of whom, however, she knew she was surviving. Phoebe Hessell's tomb is still to be seen in St. Nicholas' churchyard, not far from that of Captain Tettersell,^ cele- ' Captain Tettersell is as worthy of remembrance as anyone connected with old Brighton. Though only the captain of a coal brig trading between that little A MOJDKKN lUZPAH 219 brated as liavino- assisted King Charles II. to escape from Ovingdean to Fecamp on the coast of Normandy. Phoebe Hessell was a welcome aid to justice in the capture as noted above of the highwaymen who robbed the Brighton and Shoreham mail, but there is a sad story connected with the conviction and execution of the younger misdemeanant — James Rooke. He was a mere boy, waylaid and led astray for his own purposes b}?" the elder robber — a crafty fellow named Howell. But extenuating circumstances in those days had little place in the course of justice, and the two prisoners being treated as equally guilty were alike condemned to hansfinc^ and the gribbet. James Rooke was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow ; her heart was broken by the boy's criminality, and after his sad execution she had but one object in life — to keep him in remembrance. She lived at Shoreham, and every night, be the weather what it might, she walked through storm and darkness to the foot of the gibbet, than which she thenceforward knew no other resting-place. As time went on, clothes and flesh mouldered away till the bones became uncovered — the bones of that son whose birth she had Avelcomed as a joy, and whose presence had made the gladness of her bereaved and poverty-stricken life ! Yes, nothing now remained but a few rattling bones sAvaying to and fro in the midnight wind ; by degrees they began to fall, and each one as it fell was picked up as a precious relic, till after long dreary and persevering visits this second Rizpah had collected the whole; she kept them in a little box, and tishing villatjo and Newcastle. Ho was, however, a hiave and faitlifnl Roj-alist, and meeting; with liis fugitive kini,' at the Uttle inn where His Majesty was servini,' in the disijnise of a help i)erfonnin<,' the duties of cook and waiter, he took him on hoard his little craft on Octoher ll'th, l()ol, and landed him safely on the French coast. His Majesty, however, underwent more than one alarm even on this short voyage amone. 220 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES one night she took a spade, stole into Shorehani churchyard and buried it there. Her mission was ended, she had nothing more to do in the world ; she lay down on the spot, and through that long, silent, dreary night the snow fell over her. The next day she was missed, but no one guessed where to look for her. Two days after she was found and piously laid beneath the sod, her bones once more reunited to those of her hapless son. An old Brighton woman with a traditional history I remember there as being stout of figure and rubicund of face, presided over a small vegetable and fruit establishment in a narrow lane which ran doAvn the west side of the Norfolk Hotel, assisted in the business by a middle-aged good-tem- pered son, who also hawked crabs and lobsters about the streets. Her name was Booth er, and her boast was that she had nursed Madame Vestris from her birth. I never heard that she was pensioned, but she was faithful to iier charge, for she never retailed any scandalous stories about her, though gossiping ladies who dealt with old Mrs. Boother would often go in and have a chat with her in the hope of eliciting some spicy I'evelation which they could serve up again over their tea. I particularly remember being in her shop with my mother one day when her son brought in a basketful of live lobsters, which she immediately began making preparations to boil. My mother having expressed her horror of the proceeding, the old Avoman — g-ood-natured as she was — manifested the callousness which no doubt she had acquired by long habit, by assertmg that "it was impossible the creatures could feel anything through such thick shells ! " CHAPTER XVI. TIIK ^FAKING OF TUNBKIDGE WELLS. Early became a Favourite Resort — Its Movable Houses — The Comte de Gramont — Description of Life at Tunbridge AVells — The Grove — Its IHustrious Visitors — Lord ^Mansfield — His Motto for Dr. ^loss" Almshouses — Arclilnshoj) Whatoly — Hotels — Lord Xorth, Karl of (ruilford — His Mot about ColoiiL'l JJarrr — The Princesse de Lamballeat Tunbridtre Wells — Her Devotion to Loid Xorth in his Blindness — Sii- Stephen Lushintfton — Vice-Chaneellor Shadwell — Unitarian Colony — Duke of Leeds' sys- tematic Visits to Tunbridj?e Wells — His Stateliness — " Tui-nhani Green " — Hichai'dson describes Tunbridge Wells to a Young Lady — And its " Beauties" — Miss Peggy Banks a Has-been — Miss Chudleigh — Gibber in Love with Her — Remai'ks on the Pertuess of Daughters — Whiston — Cumberland's Description of Tunbridge Wells — Of Lord Xorth — His Pathetic Appeal to Him — Bubb Dodington — his Power of Rcpartie — Lord Primate Robinson — Cumberland House — Sir James Bland Burgess the Dramatist — ]Mrs. Montagu's Admiration foi- Tunbridge AVells — Her Letters to the Duchess of Portland — Visits Tunbridge Castle — Her Delio-ht with the Excursion — Her numerous Visitors — •' Honest Will Whiston" — Caustic Remarks — Pitt sent to Tunbridge "Wells to cure Insomnia " Xew Vauxhall " — " Salvator Rosa Scenery "^Michael Kelly and Jack Bannister's Visit to Cumberland at Tunbridge Wells — Plav-readinf Servants' Indiscretions — The '• Treat " — How They escaped It — Anecdote of Sheridan — The Patronage of the Court adds brilliancy, and at the same time deteriorates the Place — Gambling — ^Madame Piozzi on Card- playing — Necessity for an M.C. — Mr. Eld — Beau Xash — His Con- stitutional Advantages — His Foibles — His Qualities — Respect in which He was held — Statue of Him at Bath — His Costume — Portrait in the Assembly Room — Facetia^ — His Yearly Entry into Tunbridge Wells Nash's Library — The Regent's Visit — Amsinck Writes of Tunbrido-e Wells in 1810— Dr. Evans in 1821 — Lord Thurlow — Tlieatre— lis Pearliest Patrons — '• St. Charles' Chapel " — Absence of Architet-tural Attractions — Quaint Style — 'lender Memories lingering round Its shape- less Form — lilack Oak Cherubs — Inaugurated by Archbishoji Tillotson A Sermon on .Mineral Waters — Tlie Pai-son of ^ly Time — The Clerk Anecdotes — Ritualistic Duologue — The Choir — The Hymns — The Becher Family — '-The Pope of Tunbridge Wells" — "He said 'Dish'!" Dumnell — His Transmigrations — Eccentricities — The Crier — As "Lord Rawlings" — Old Walpole — Tunbridge Wells loses its Traditional Character. Tunbridge Wells lias been the temporary resort of a lono- line of distinguished visitors, many of whom have left on 222 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES record glowing descriptions of its attractions. Though it does not boast like Torquay of combining as many as seven varieties of climate, yet its various hills and dells, with their Scripture-drawn^ appellations, have long enjoyed the dis- tinction of being disputed for by various classes of admirers. Origin of its ^^g goon as the virtues of its mineral waters and the popularity. amenities of its situation became known, it never ceased to be increasingly frequented, though we have little information as to how it first came into repute. [I have a book on Tunbridge Wells of the date of 1780 which asserts that the chalybeate was known even " in the Dark Ages," when its virtues were ascribed to the inter- position of " some avaritious saint " (!), but it cites no authority, though it is likely enough that they were known to the neighbourhood long before they came into vogue among Londoners. Another old book, date 1771, gives as the most probable among many stories of how their notoriety arose, that " at the end of Elizabeth's reign, or beo-inning of James I.'s, Dudley, tliird Baron North, having hurt his constitution by living too gayly, came down to Lord Abergavenny's country seat to repair his health by a more retired and regular life. He casually discovered these waters by observing the mineral scum on the surface, and their chalybeate taste ; bottled up some and sent it to his physician. ..." After Lord T^orth's recovery (he was twent^'^-three at the [' John Hnss similarly gave Scriptural names to several places in Bohemia, which quickly superseded the old names. In his case, however, these were not merely fancy designations as at Tunbridge Wells, but with topographical know- led o-e wonderful at his date he applied them to places that by natural conforma- tion presented an actual similarity to the place in the Holy Land whose name he borrowed. I was struck by a conhrraation of this circumstance which came within my own experience one day, when a friend, pointing to a sketch hanging on my walls, exclaimed, " I thought you said you had never been in the Holy Land. Then how did you do that painting of Horeb, and the Jordan flowing round it ? '' It was not the Horeb and Jordan he meant, but the place and river Huss had selected to bear those names. Nobody has thought of giving Orvieto the name of Jerusalem, but pictures of the one, when not too detailed, may almost be imagined to be intended for the other, each with their hills standing about them as the Lord standeth about His people, according to the imagery of the Psalms.— R. H. B.j HOUSES OX WHEELS 223 time and lived to be eighty-five in 16G6), Lord Abergavenny cleared the ground of brushwood and bushes and gave the waters a free flow. Seven springs were found : lie enclosed and fenced in the two principal. Frora this beginning their fame soon spread. Xumbers found refuge when the Plague was raging in London. Queen Henrietta Maria came to them after the birth of Charles II., and Avitli her retinue lived in a magnificent manner in tcntx on the tract now called Bishop's Down. At the Restoration, Charles II. and his jocund Court made it still more celebrated. The Springs were now (1780) " more strongly and neatly fenced ; shady walks planted, with many other new accommoda- tions." Royalists and Churchmen lived together at South- borough, and Roundheads and Presbvterians at Rusthall. " At last it grew, like all great cities and empires, from small beginnings to its present magnitude and fame."(!) — R. H. B.] In early days enterprising inhabitants invented the ingenious and perhaps unique device of constructing little houses on sledges or wheels which could be moved from one JJ^g* ^^^ spot to another to suit the caprice of desirable tenants, also, it was said, in some way or other to escape certain rates or taxes. These must of necessity have been but of light and temporary structure, and in time were replaced by more permanent dwellings. One of them, however, at least, survived down to my time, called Rock Lodge. It stood, wheels and all, on the west side of the road leading to the Common, not far from a group of cottages built among rocks, and known as " Gibraltar." Most of these cottages, as well as many houses of greater importance, were formed of the overlapping slips of wood, called " weather-boarding," a style of building which, by aid of frequent painting, forms a warmer and more permanent construction than inexperience would imagine. Houses on wheels, and a rock almost at one's own door capable of being confounded with " fJir 224 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBKITIES Rock " of the Geography-lesson, were marvels which could not but find a secure harbour in the juvenile imagination. [The old History of the date of 1780, speaking of the date of 1664 and onwards, says : " Many houses were now brought from Southborough, Rusthall, and some from Mount Ephraim, to be rebuilt on Mount Zion ; some, whole and entire as they were, were wheeled or sledged in, to be fixed on this new seat of honour. Oamfield's shop adjoining the Chapel was brought in this manner from Mount Ephraim with a band playing and a jovial company drinking to its success." This shop was probably wheeled back to its former site wheii Mount Ephraim, at a later date, became the favourite quarter. My father used to employ for all his fencing and gates a very quaint old blacksmith, named Camfield, who occupied a weather-boarding shanty, near a Huntingtonian chapel, and who boasted that his people had worked in it for many generations. A great many of the wooden houses were destroyed in a fire in 1687, and though they were speedily rebuilt, no doubt many of the wheels then | disappeared. The work I have quoted also says the waters were in such high reputation, people gladly put up with any inconvenience, and paid an extravagant price for any hut. — R. H. B.] These primitive little dwellings, when at the height of their glory, are thus alluded to in the chatty Memoirs of the The Comte de Qomtc de Gramout, v/ho evidently appreciated the attractions Oramout. ^^ Tunbridgc Wells to the full (Vol. 11. pp. 220 ff.). Under date of 1664 he writes : — " La cour partit pour passer deux mois dans le lieu de I'Europe le plus simple et le plus rustique, mais aussi le plus agreable et le plus divertissant. " Tunnebridge est a la meme distance de Londres que Fontainebleau Test de Paris. Ce qu'il y a de beau et de galant dans I'un et dans I'autre sexe s'y rassemble au temps des eaux. La compagnie, toujours nombreuse, y est toujours choisie : comme ceux qui ne cherchent qu'a se divertir I'emportent toujours sur le nombre de ceux qui n'y vout que THE COMTE DE GRAMONT AT TUNBRIDGE WELLS 225 par necessite, tout y respire les plaisirs et la joie. La contrainte en est bannie ; la familiarite etablie ties la premiere connaissance, et la vie qii'oii y m^nm est dclicieuse. " Ou a pour logement de petites habitations propres et commodes, separces les lines des autres et repandues ]iartout, a une demi-lieue des eaux. " On s'assemble le matin a i'endroit ou sont les fontaines. Cest une grande allee d'arbres touffus, sous lesquels on se promene en prenant le^ eaux. D'un coto de cette allee regue une longue suite de boutiques garnies de toutes sortes de bijoux, de dentelles, de bas et de gants, oii Ton va jouer comme on fait a la Foire. De Taut re cote de I'allee se tient le marclie ; et comme cliacun y va clioisir et marcbander ses provisions, on n'y voit point d'etalage qui soit degoutant. Ce sont de petites villageoises blondes, fraiclies avec du Huge bien blauc, de petits chapeaux de paille et proprement cbaussees, qui vendent du gibier, des legumes, des fleurs et du fruit. " On y fait aussi bonne cliere qu'on veut. On y joue gros jeu, et les tendres commerces y vont leur train. Des que le soir arrive, chacun quitte son petit palais pour s'assembler an Boulingrin. Cest la qu'en plein air, on danse, si Ton veut, sur nn gazon plus doux et plus uni que les plus beaux tapis du monde." [My 1771 writer describes so quaintly tlie Tunbridge Wells of the age of Gramont that he is worth quoting. Queen Catherine, consort of Charles IT., came with liim and his ^'""'•^^ ^^-at ,. , . . . , n 1 . Tuiibridi'e tacetious courtiers, and spent part of the season in great Weiis. splendour (sic), good humour, and atlability. . . Tlie Duke of York and his two daughters came in 1670 and 1688 (!) . . . . Princess Anne of Denmark was also here, and Tillofcson jireachcd before her his famous sermon on the Parable of tlie Ten Virgins. Queen Anne came several seasons successively. When lie brings the account down to his own date he winds up, "and really the appearance of the Company when VOL. II. P 226 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES assembled together is quite beautiful and noble. The morning is passed in undress between drinking the waters, public and private breakfastings, prayers at the Chapel, social converse on the Parade, public rooms or bookseller's shop ; also How the time raffling for, and cheapening and buying goods, or at tbe milleners (si^), turners, or other shops, billiards, cotillon dances, private concerts, cards. Or else some adventitious curiosity, as a painter, a musician, a juggler, a fire-eater, a philosopher. " After dinner, all go dressed to the Parade again and to tea in private parties or public. At night, to the balls on Tuesdays and Fridays, or assembly, or sometimes to a Play ; cards every night except Sunday ; a band twice in tlie morning, before and after prayers, and again in the evening. " A few minutes are spent by some in making Verses, as the Waters or the genius of the place inspire. These jeu^ d'esjyrit are chiefly complimentary to the ladies. A copy is usually left at the bookseller's and entered in a book kept for tke entertainment of the company. " This poetical pastime when confined within the bounds of politeness is very pleasing, and is always understood to be exempt from criticism." Several collections of these poems were published. I have Water sccu ouc entitled " Water Poetr}?-," and a much fuller volume called " Tunbrigalia "; this has curious illustrations with names under the figures ; as Johnson, Garrick, Colly Cibber, &c. The verses are for the most part very insignificant ; some, too, are not in reality of such a gentle nature as is implied abov^e, e.g.: — " Was Doctor D— t (Dent) Fi'om Heaven sent To prate npon a Sunday, Or did his muse The Dotard chuse To sci'ibble rhpne on Monday ? " Another is inscribed " A Rod for Tunbridge Beaux, bundled up at the Request of Tunbridge Ladies to jirk {sic) Fools inta poets." THE HILLS (JF TUNlUilDtiK WKLLS 227 more Wit and Clowns into more manners." And another " To be Published every Summer so long as the Rakes continue their Rudeness and the Gentry their Vertue." Addison {GttanliaH, Vol. IT., Xo. 174) says of the writers (^f these compositions, " The Water Poets are an innocent tribe and deserve every encouragement. It would be barbarous to treat those authors with bitterness who never write out of .' The old Catliolic HiUv, viilgiirly called Wyclitre'.-, circa l;?oO. says under Mark i. 10, '' the Holy (Jhost coming down as a culvere. ' 228 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES Queens who visited Tun- bridge Wells. The namiug of Tunbridge Wells. The Grove. And its visitors. Lord Mans- field. Epliraim by Baptists, where the sect, now dwindled to nothing,^ still retains a burjing-ground, the Meeting-house being turned into a dwelling, and the locality called Bishop's Down. "The Grove" was originally called "Queen's G-rove," in memory of Queen Anne, who was often at Tunbridge Wells, but the epithet did not endure long. The Black Dog alehouse, on the road to Frant, had been for a time called " the Queen's Stone," from another Queen — Henrietta Maria — having once outwalked her strength and rested there on a stone which afterwards had the event inscribed on it, but it was destroyed in Cromwell's time and the memory of the incident obliterated. Dr. Rowzee, who wrote so much about the place and its waters, tried to get Tunbridge Wells called Queen Mary's Wells, but the memory of queens seem to have taken no hold on the people, for neither did this name survive. It was some time, however, before the name Tunbridge Wells was actually established. Kilburne in his " Survey of Kent " calls it " Frant Wells," and as the actual Well is situated within the borders of Speldhurst parish it stood some chance of being called Speldhurst Wells. The account of 1771 says it got named after Tunbridge because when visitors first crowded round the chalybeate, that was the nearest town. The huts being insufficient to accom- modate all, many had to lodge there, though five miles distant. Early in the present century many of the old trees in " The Grove " having decayed, it is recorded that " it was planted again with 49 sycamores and 49 chesnuts, March 21st, 1811," though I find no reason given for the choice of these numbers. — R. H. B.] At the end of last century and some time after, the houses in " The Grove " were the resort of the best visitors. One of these was occupied by Lord Mansfield, of legal celebrity. He lived to be very old, and was very popular in ^ It became rather numerous again later on. I'RINCESSE nE LAMBALLE. {To J ace page 229, vol. IF. Bishop !*• ;md later Ai Cl ana tl. ,,- iiild each ( le another nou ith so t ex I s^pnpi Spt hip aid paym: THE PRINCESSE DE LA.MliALLE AND LORD NORTH 220 society on account of liis bright, even temper. Cumberland lias a good story about meeting at his table Dr. Moss, the Bishop of Bath and AVells ; that prelate happened to mention that he had just founded a nest of almshouses at AVells as a refuge for twenty-five widoAVS of clergymen, and apostrophized Cumberland to su[)ply him with a suitable inscription. " Don't ask Cumberland," said Lord Mansfield, "he'll only addle his brains and give you no satisfaction after all ; it's very simple. Write up, ' Here reside five and twenty women, all kept by the Bishop of Bath and Wells.' " Ecclesiastics were well represented — Archbishop Seeker, Bishop Pearson, and later Archbishop Whately, were well- known figures among the company who visited the Wells. At this time, hotel accommodation was at a low ebb, the ^"^^^'• Kentish being the only house dignified with that appellation, and this afterwards became a commercial hotel. The Smsex Tavern on the lower Promenade then went in for fashionable company, calling itself Tlie Siisscv Hotel. Lord Xorth, second Earl of Guilford, and minister during LordN..ith. the American A7ar, frequently visited the Wells, both before and after he lost his sight, and preferred to any other residence there one of the " Grove Houses." After he became blind he remained bright and cheerful, his conversation being always seasoned with humour; Colonel Barre, his brilliant political opponent, also laboured under loss of sight, and strange to say, his temper, whicli had always been remarkable for its asperity, became gentle and amenable. T have heard my father say that Lord Xorth was fond of saying facetiously, " Though Bariv and I were always fierce political antagonists, we should each of us be very glad to see one another now." The Princesse de Lamballe, fated to meet with so tragic an Je^LrmbiUi^ end, once visited Tunbridge Wells while the ex-minister was there in the days of his sightlessness, and showed the excellence and generosity of her heart by making him the special object of her attention, being as much as possible in his society, and paying him little compliments with an 230 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES amiability and grace whicli he appreciated at their worth. He was indeed a pitiable shadow of his former self, and there was no longer any parity between the powerful and austere statesman who, during seven devastating years, wrouglit such powerful desolation over the vast American SIR STEPHEN LUSHINGTON. Continent, and the sightless old man led about by liired care and dependent on the good will and good faith of a menial ! This amiable trait of this beautiful woman adds piquancy to the terrible episode Olery has chronicled concerning her. He relates that on the night after the first valet had been sent to prison, and he remained alone to serve the Royal Family, a head stuck on to a pike was held up to the window of the THE PRINCESSE DE J.AMJiALLES HEAD UN A TIKE 231 its houses *"• Lancelot Suadwell. room where he was havins: supper. Tisou's wife, who was at table with liiin and her husband, naturally screamed ; the assassins, thinking; they recognized the Queen's voice, gave way to hilarious rejoicings over the success of their atrocious little plot. The head was held in position in such a manner, that the female they saw at table, and whom they took to be the Queen, could not choose but see its features. Tt was the head of the Princesse de Lamballe ! He adds, " Quoique sanglante, elle n'ctait pas defiguree ; ses cheveux blonds encore bouclcs, flottaient autour de la pique." My own recollection of the " Grove " and beofins at the time when one of them was occupied by Sir Stephen Lushington, and I remember also going with my mother to visit there the family of Vice-Chancellor Sir Lancelot Shadwell, who was twice Commissioner of the Great Seal, viz. during part of the years 183-5 and 1836, and again during part of 1850, the year he died. AVe also visited his son's widow and daughters later ; their mother had a wonderful talent for cuttinq; out admirable likenesses with great dexterity in black jiaper,^ an unusual pursuit for an amateur. My mother preserved one which she did of me as a child. At one time there was quite a little Unitai'ian colony at Tunbridge Wells, and for some reason they congregated about the " Grove." But every denomination of Christians found accommodation there, and chapels of all sorts abounded. I don't remember a Jews' synagogue in those days, but there is })rul)ably more than one now. ' Mr. Locker Lampson had an aimisiiifi story toucliiiiij '' silhouette " portraits. A housemaid seeinrj one of her mistress's father one day on the table, exclaimed triumpli.intly, "A l>liirk portrait, eh I I allers said missus had a touch of the tar-brush in her I " R. H. B. SILHOUETTE PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR, AS A CHILD. 232 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBEITIES One of the most illustrious admirers of Tunbridge Wells Mi-s.Montagu. was Mrs. Montagu. Sbe grew so enamoured of the place that after having once made its acquaintance she became a constant visitor there, and was never tired of boasting its charms ; nor was she satisfied lo enjoy them herself, she must have all her dear friends, and even her slighter acquaint- ances, brought within its influence and come to admire and enjoy them with her. In 1745 she imparts her experience of the life she was leading there to her friend the Duchess of Portland as follows ; and the letter that succeeds it, continu- ing much in the same strain, gives so lively a picture, not only of the place but of the visitors and of the rural excursions with which they amused themselves, that it seems well worth perusing. The first of these two letters runs thus :— Her letters to u T^ ^^^ DuCHESS OF PORTLAND, the Duchess of Portland. " Tuubridge Wells, September 3rd, 1745. "My dear Lady Duchess. — I am here in good company, and extremely happy in Dr. Young's company ; he has dined with me sometimes, and the other day rode out with me. He carried me into places suited -to the genius of the muse, sublime, grand, and with a pleasing gloom diflTused over them. There I tasted the pleasure of his conversation in its full force ; his expressions all bear the stamp of novelty, and his thoughts, of sterling sense. I think he is in perfect good health; he practises a kind of philosophical abstinence, but seems not obliged to any rules of physic. All the ladies court him, more because they hear he is a genius than that they know him to be sucli. I tell him I am jealous of some ladies that follow him ; he says he trusts my pride will preserve me from jealousy. The Doctor is a true philosopher, and sees how one vice corrects another, till an animal made up of ten thousand bad qualities, by the eternal art of educing good from ill, grows to be a social creature, tolerable to live with. "Your Grace orders me to give an account of spirits, MRS. iMONTAGU AT TUXUKIUGE WKLLS 233 appetite, and all the articles of my constitution. As to the first, they are good enouirh to laugh at a very little jest, to be pleased with indifferent entertainment, and not to be unhappy in dull company ; as to the second, I can eat more buttered roll in a morning than a great girl at a boarding-school, and more beef at dinner than a yeoman of the guard, and I sleep well, and am indeed in perfect health, and the waters have done me much service." The second, it will be seen, is like the last a delightful word-picture, with real people for its heroes. "Tunbridge, 174."). " Dear Madam, — I hope your Grace is sensible I should write oftener if it was consistent with drinking these waters ; but really it is very inconvenient to apply a head to any business that cannot think Avithout achingf. I am not sing-ular in this, for many people aflfirm thinking to be a pain at all times ; I have more discretion than to declare as much any- where but at Tunbridge. I have been in the vapours these two days, on account of Dr. Young's leaving us ; he was so good as to let me have his company very often, and we used to ride, walk, and take sweet counsel together. A few days before he went he carried Mrs. Rolt (of Hertfordshire) and myself to Tunbridge, five miles from hence, where we were to see some fine old ruins ; but the manner of the journey was admirable, nor did I, at the end of it, admire the object we went to observe more than the means by which we saw it. And to give your Grace a description of the place, without an account of our journey to it, would be contradicting all form and order, and setting myself up as a critic upon all writers of travels. Much — " 'Might bo said of our passiufj Avortli. And manner bow we saUied fortb.' But I shall, as briefly as possible, describe our progress \vithout dwelling on particular circumstances, and shall divest 234 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBKITIES myself of all pomp of language, and proceed iu as humble a style as my great subject will admit, " First rode the Doctor on a tall steed, decently caparisoned in dark grey ; next ambled Mrs. Rolt, on a hackney horse lean as the famed Rozinante, but in shape much resembling Sancho's ass. Then followed your humble servant on a milk- white palfrey, whose reverence for the human kind induced him to be governed by a creature not half as strong, and, I fear, scarce twice as wise as himself. By this enthusiasm of his, rather than my own skill, I rode on in safety, and at leisure to observe the company, especially the two figures that brought up the rear. The first was my servant, valiantly armed with two undischarged pistols, whose holsters were covered with two civil, harmless monsters, that signified the valour and courtesy of our ancestors. The last was the Doctor's man, wdiose uncombed hair so resembled the mane of the horse he rode, one could not help imagining they were of kin, and wishing that for the honour of the farail}^ they had had one comb betwixt them. On his head was a velvet cap, much resembling a black saucepan, and on his side hung a little basket. Thus did we ride, or rather jog on, to Tunbridge town, which is five miles from the Wells. " To tell you how the dogs barked at us, the children squalled, and the men and women stared, would take up too much time. Let it sufl&ce that not even a tame magpie or caged starling let us pass unnoted. At last we arrived at the King's Head, where the loyalty of the Doctor induced him to alight, and then, knight-errant like, he took his damsels from off their palfreys and courteously handed us into the inn. We took this progress to see the ruins of an old castle ; but first our divine would visit the churchyard, where we read that folks were born and died, the natural moral and physical history of mankind. In the churchyard grazed the parson's steed, whose back was worn bare with carrying a pilHon-seat for the comely, fat personage, this ecclesiastic's wife ; and though the creature ate daily part of the parish, he was most HEK KXCUKSiONS WlTJl J)K. YOUNU 235 miserably lean. Tired of tlie dead and living bones, Mrs. Rolt and T jumped over a stile into the parson's field, and from tlience, allured by the sii^ht of golden pippins, we made an attempt to break into the holy man's orchard. He came most courteously to us, and invited us to his apple trees ; to show our moderation we each of us gathered two mellow codlings, one of which I put into my pocket, from whence it sent forth a smell that I uncharitably supposed to proceed from the Doctor's servant as he waited behind me at dinner. The good parson offered to show us the inside of his church, but made some apology for his undress, which was a true canonical dishabille. " He had on a grey striped calamanc nightgown, a wig that once was white, but, by the influence of an uncertain climate, turned to a pale orange, a brown hat, encompassed by a black hatband, a band, somewhat dirty, that decently retired under the shadow of his chin, a pair of grey stockings well mended with blue worsted, strong symptom of the conjugal care and affection of his wife, who had mended his hose with the very worsted she boug-ht for her own ; what an instance of exalted friendship, and how uncommon in a degenerate age ! " ' How rare meet now such j)air,s in love and honour join'd.' " When we had seen the church, the parson invited us to take some refreshment at his house ; but Dr. Young thought we had before enough trespassed on the good man's time, so desired to be excused, else we should no doubt have been welcomed to the house by Madam, in her muslin pinners and sarsenet hood, who would have given us some mead, and a piece of a cake that she had made in the Whitsun holidays to treat her cousins. However, Dr. Young, who would not be outdone in good offices, invited the divine to our inn, where we went to dinner ; but he excused himself, and came after the meal was over in hopes of smoking a pipe; but our Doctor hinted to him that it would not be proper to offer any incense but sweet praise to such goddesses as Mrs. liolt Tunbridge Castle. 236 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES and yoiir humble servant. To say the truth, I saw a large horn tobacco box, with Queen Anne's head upon it, peeping out of his pocket, but I did not care to take the hint and desire him to put into use that magnificent piece of furni- ture. *' After dinner we walked to the old castle built by Richard de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, in the days of William Rufus. It is a most magnificent building, the situation extremely beautiful. The castle made a kind of half moon down to the river ; and where the river does not defend it it has been guarded by a large moat. It is now in the hands of a country squire, who is no common sort of man, though I cannot help feeling the utmost resentment at him for cutting down some fine timber, almost contemporary with the castle, to make room for a plantation of sour grapes ! The towers at the great gate are finely covered with venerable ivy. '' It was late before we got home, but the silver Cynthia held up her lamp in the heavens, and cast such beams upon the earth as showed its beauties in a soft and gentle light. The night silenced all but our divine Doctor, who sometimes uttered things fit to be spoken in a season when all Nature seems hushed and hearkening. I followed, gathering wisdom as I went, till I found by my horse's stumbling that I was in a bad road, and that the blind was leading the blind ; so I placed my servant between the Doctor and myself, which he not perceiving, went on in his philosophical strain, to the great amazement of ray poor clown of a groom, who, not being wrought up to enthusiasm, nor making any response to all the fine speeches, the Doctor began to wonder why I was dumb, and grieving I was so stupid, looked round, declared his surprise, and desired the man to trot on before ; and thus did we return to Mount Ephraim." In a letter dated the same year, Mrs. Montagu tells her correspondent : — ..." I have been drinking the waters, so you will the less VISITOKS IN 1745 237 v.'onder I have not wrote before, writing being judged improper Iiere, being apt to make the waters get into the head, where they have an effect very uuHke Helicon, and instead of a docte irvesse give one a giddiness and an intoxication accompanied with a strange kind of stupidity. Lady Sandwich and I were here three weeks in great happiness and tranquiUity ; the place was thin of company, and I wanted none while I had hers. A\^e drank and walked in the moriiiug, and in tlie evening drove out in a post-chaise." ^ Lady Sandwich being called away by Lord Sandwich's illness, Mrs. Montagu went np to London with lier . . . " reaching it in little more than four hours. ... I stayed only one night in London, and next day returned in my own post- chaise. As Mrs. Medows had never seen this place, I brought her with me. . . . The company now here have greatly increased, and we have the Duchess of Bedford, Lord and Lady Fitzwalter, Lady Ancram, Lady Anson, Lord and Lady EHbank, Uowager Lady Barrington, Lady Betty Germain, Lord and Lady de Vere Beauclerk, Lady Talbot, Lord March, Lord Eglinton, Lord Grranby and Lord Powis, the Duchess of Somerset and her daughters. Lady Winchelsea, Lady Lucy and Colonel Howard, besides mnny other people of fashion, and of Jews a great and mighty tribe, indeed we have had this last week a great number of people who have added to the number, without increasing the dignity, of our company. . . . We are not confined here to streets, as in Bath ; the houses are scattered irregularly and detached, and Tunbridge AY ells now looks, from the window I sit by on Mount Ephraim, like the village seen from our terrace at Sandleford, only that the inhabitants, instead of Jack and Joan, are my Lord and my Lady. . . . After all this fine morality I must go and dress for the ball at the Assembly- rooms. I live in too much bustle, though my house is a mile from the AVells, and is a comfortable dwelling with pretty grounds. My neighbour is Lady Talbot, and a very agreeable ' Post-cluiisus weru tlicii iiuwly invuntcd liy Jothro Tull. 238 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBEITIES one. As I have my coacli with me, I think myself best situated np here, as it gives me some hours of retirement, and I try to think myself in the country." To another friend to whom Mrs. Montagu wished to impart her own enthusiasm for the Wells, she writes in the summer of 1749:— ..." You are thinhing of the place. . . . Why hesitate a moment about going thither? The waters are good, the air incomparable, and you cannot make a better summer campaign. E-ural and polite life are happily associated there; you may have the most retired or the most public walks as you are disposed ; the variety of persons and characters who frequent the spot make it the epitome of the world . . . the reserve and gravity of our national character are forgotten there ... in such a place people easily enter into an ac- quaintance which may prove lasting, but also can be dropped at the end of the season if it offers no further attraction. You will see beautiful and romantic views, and the place, now lively with fine gay people, has equal charms for the retirement of sages fossilized to savages. When you are there I shall ask you to find me a house on Mount Ephraim, as I like to get as far from the busier haunts as I can." In another letter she writes : — ..." I am obliged to you for pardoning my idleness ; indeed this is a strange place, for one has neither business nor leisure here, so many glasses of water to be drank, so many buttered rolls to be eaten, so many turns on the pantiles to be^ taken, so many miles to be gone in a post-chaise or on horse- back, so much pains to be well, so much attention to be civil, that breakfasting, visiting, &c., &c., leave one no time even to write the important transactions of the day. Since I wrote to vou we have had a change of persons, but not of amusements; we have lost most of those who by the courtesy of the world are called "good company," but of politeness and sense, no visible decrease. In the beginning of the season there are many people of quality whose behaviour is WILLIAM PITT AT TUXBinDCK AVKLLS 239 extremely bonrr/eoise ; at tlie end of it, citizens wlio by their pride and their impertinence think they are behaving like their betters. Timbridge seems the parliament of the world, wliere every country and eveiy rank has its representative. We have Jews of every tribe and Christians of all nations and conditions. Xext to some German whose noble blood might entitle him to be Grand Master of Malta, sits a i)iii-makor's wife fi'om Smock Alley ; pickpockets who are come to the top of their profession, play witli noble dukes at brag. For my part I am diverted with the medley ; the different characters and figures are amusing, especially at the balls, where persons of every age, size, and shape step forth to dance ; some who have but just quitted their leading- strings, others whom it would become to shift into the lame and slippered pantaloon ; but who will believe it is too soon to attempt, or too late to endeavour, to charm ! But I should soon weary of the jjlace if L had no better entertainment than the absurdities of it." As early as in 1751 the social character of the AVells u«-'terioiMtion. seems to have shown signs of deterioration ; for writino- under the date of August that year, she says : — ..." I am drinking the waters successfully. . . . When the countr}^ lady came hither from domestic cares and attendance on her dairy and hen-roost, and her cherrv- cheeked daughter from plain work and pastry, the mechanic's wife from her counter and ledgers, Tunbridge was a place of recreation, but now the squire's lady comes from whisk in assemblies, Miss from liauelagh, and the />o»//t' io»r//f?o/.sv.' from iNIarybone Gardens, it is but the same scene on another stage." In 1753 Pitt's physicians sent him to the Wells to drink wiiiium Pitt the waters " as a remedy for insomnium." Mrs. ]\[ontagu Weii"!' " ^^ seems to have been much in his company and that of ^Ir. and Mrs. Gilbert West while Pitt remained there, residing at the Stone-house on .Mount Kphraim ; on the 8th June, 1753, slie writes : — 240 SOCIAL HOUES AVITH CELEBEITIES " We went from this venerable seat to a place called New Vauxhall, where Mr. Pitt had provided a good dinner ; the view from it is very romantic; we staid there till the cool of the evening and then returned home. We drank tea 3^esterday in the most beautiful rural scene that can be imagined ; Mr. Pitt had discovered it in his morning ride : he ordered a tent to be pitched, tea to be prepared, and his French horn to breathe music like the unseen genius of the wood. The company dined with me, and we set out, number eight. After tea we rambled about for an hour, admiring views as wild and beautiful as Salvator Rosa's, others placid with setting sun worthy of Claude Loraine. These parties are good for health and pleasure, and break the routine of Tunbridge life. . . ." The Duke of Tliomas, fourth Duke of Leeds, visited Tunbridge Wells every year with a constancy and punctuality characteristic of his life, for his stay was always of ten weeks' duration, and occurred regularly for twenty successive years, till his death in 1789. It has been remarked of this nobleman that he illustrated Burke's definition of nobility — *'The Corinthian capital of the polished shaft of society." He was wont to arrive at the Wells in his ducal equipage, and wearing his star on his great-coat. He was noted for his hospitality, and seldom sat down to dinner with less than half a dozen guests. Every evening his coach and six was at the door, and with his friends he drove along the London Road till he arrived at a place which admitted of the turning of his ponderous coach ; this spot he facetiously called '' Turnham Green." On the Regent's birthday the Duke used to give in its celebration, a fete and ball; whenever the weather permitted, the ball became ?if(He cliamiMre and the dancing was carried on on the Parade instead of the Assembly-rooms. Samuel A Icttcr from the author of " Clarissa Harlowe " to a young S'lSrurge lady friend towards the middle of the last century, written Wells. from Tunbridge^Wells, affords a picturesque idea of the social SAMUEL RICHARD8UX 8 DESCRIPTION 241 condition ot" this fashionable watering-place which took so mightily with the quality. . . . "You are absolutely right in judging that I had rather be in a desert than in a place so })ublic and giddy, if I may call the place so from its frequenters. But these waters were almost the only thing in medicine that I had not tried; and as my disorders seemed to increase, I was willing to try them. Hitherto, I must own, without effect is the trial. But people here, avIio slide in upon me as I traverse the utmost edges of the walk, that I may stand in nobody's way, nor have my dizziness increased by the swimming tritlers, tell me I shall not give them fair play under a month or six weeks ; and that I ought neither to write nor read, yet my business as well as inclination compelling me to do a great deal of both. For I have all my town concerns upon me here, sent me every post and coach, and cannot help it." " Plere are very great numbers of people got together. A very full season, and more coming every day. Great comfort to me ! When I say that I cannot abide them nor the diversions of the place, you must not think that I am such a stoic as to despise the amusements I cannot partake of, purely on that account ; indeed I do not. And I think youth is the season for gaiety. Nor is it a folly, as you are pleased to call it, in you, that you can find allurements in a brilliant circle, and at a sparkling ball. But there is a moderation to be approved of in all these, which I see not here. And raethiuks I would wish that wives (particularly some that I see here) would not behave as if they thought themselves unmarried coquettes, and that it were polite to make their husbands the last persons in their notices. " Is it not enough for these people to find themselv'es dressed and adorned, adorned at an expense, both as to quality and (juantity, that would furnish out two wives or mistresses ; but they must show that their dresses and ornaments are bestowed upon them to please and delight anybody, rather than the person whom it should be their principal study to VOL. ir. Q 242 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES please ; and who, perhaps, confers, or contributes to confer, upon them the means by which they shine, and think them- selves above him ? Secret history and scandal I love not — or I could tell you — you don't think what I could tell you. " But, waiving these invidious subjects, what if I could inform you, that among- scores of belles, flatterers, triflers, who swim along these walks, self-satisfied and pleased and looking defiance to men (and to modesty, I had like to have said, for bashfulness seems to be considered as want of breeding in all I see here), a pretty woman is as rare as a black swan ? And when one such starts up, she is nicknamed a Beauty, and old fellows and young fellows are set a-spinning after her. " Miss Banks (Miss Peggy Banks) was the belle when I first came down. . . . Yet she had been so many seasons here, that she obtained but a faint and languid attention ; so that the smarts began to put her down in their list of had- beens. . . . New faces, my dear, are more sought after than fine faces, A piece of instruction lies here — that women should not make even their faces cheap. " Miss Chudleigh next was the triumphant toast : a lively, sweet-tempered, gay, self-admired, and, not altogether without reason, generally-admired lady. . . . She moved not without crowds after her. " She smiled at every one. Every one smiled before they saw her, when they heard she was on the walk. Slie played, she lost, she won — all with equal good-humour. But alas ! she went off, before she was wished to go off. And then the fellows' hearts were almost broke for a new beauty. "Behold! seasonably, the very day tliat she went away entered upon the walks Miss L,, of Hackney. Miss Chud- leigh was forgot (who could wish for so transient a dominion in the land of fickledom !). And have you seen the new beauty ? And have you seen Miss L. ? was all the inquiry from smart to smartless. But she had not traversed the walks two days, before she was found to want spirit and life. THE DUCHESS oF KINGSTON 243 Miss Cluidleigh was remembered by those who wished for tlie brilliant mistress, and scorned the wife-like quality of sedateness. And ]\[iss L. is now seen with a very silly fellow or two, walking backwards and forwards nnmolested. . . . Dwindl(Ml down from the new beauty to a very pretty girl ; nnd perhiips glad to come off so. For, upon my word, mv dear, there are very few pretty girls here. And yet I look not upon the sex with an undelighted eye, old as I am, nor with a very, very severe one. . . . But, modesty, humilitv, graciousness are now all banished from the behaviour of these public-place frequenters of the sex. . . . Women are not what they were. ... I see not but they have as much courage as the men. . . . The men, indeed, at these public places seem to like them the better for it. Xo wonder; for they find the less difficulty to make parties Avith them, and to get into their company. . . . But one secret I could tell tlieiii : tliat the single men who would make the best com- panions for life come not, on set purpose, to these public places to choose one. *' But here, to change tlie scene, to see Mr. W — sh at eighty (Mr. Gibber calls him papa) and Mr. Gibber at seventy- seven, hunting after new faces ; and thinking themselves happy if they can obtain the notice and familiarity of a fine woman ! . . . How ridiculous ! If you have not been at Tunbridge you may nevertheless have heard that there are a parcel of fellows, mean traders whom they call touts, and their business touting . . . riding out miles to meet coaches and company coming hither, to beg their custom while here. " Mr. Gibber was head over ears in love with Miss Chud- leigh. Her admirers (such was his happiness !) were not jealous of him ; but, pleased with that wit in him which they had not, were always calling him to her. She said pretty things, for she was Miss Ghudleigh, and he said pretty things, for he was Mr. Gibber ; and all the company, men and women, seemed to think they had an interest in what was said, and were half as well pleased as if they had said the sprightly 244 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBRITIES things themselves ; and mighty well contented were they to be second-hand repeaters of the pretty things. But even I faced the Laureate squatted upon one of the benches, with a face more wrinkled than ordinary with disappointment. ' I thought,' said I, ' you were of the party at the tea-treats.' * Pshaw ! ' said he, ' there is no coming at her, she is so surrounded by the toupets.' And I left him upon the fret. But he was called to tea soon after ; and in he flew, and his face shone again, and looked smoothly. " He had written a dialogue between a father and a daughter — the intention, to show that the paternal authority and filial obedience may be reconciled ! He has read it to half a score at a time of the fair sex ; and not a young lady but is mightily pleased with a lesson that will teach her to top her father. He read it to the speaker and me. I made objections to it. I told him that I saw he intended not to make his girl dutiful, but I besought him to let her be generous. The speaker advised, that he should let me have it to look upon. He insisted himself that I should give him some remarks upon it. I did, upon the first page only ; excusing myself as to the rest . . . but in short, the piece is calculated, as it stands at present, to throw down all dis- tinction between parents and children. . . . Yet it has met with so much applause among the young flirts, that I don't know whether he will not publisli it. . . . If he does, I had a good mind that Miss Howe, who is pert enough of conscience to her mama (Clarissa, you know, is dead), should answer it. " You see, my dear, what a trifling letter I have written. You set me upon it. My head is very indifferent, my nerves no better than when I came down . . . and I should not write so much, they say, as I do . . . otherwise, if you could bear such stuff, I could run on a volume, relating others' follies and forgetting my own. . . ." whiston. Whiston, the successor of Sir Isaac Newton in the Mathe- matical Chair at Cambridge, and intimate friend of Dr. Samuel Clark and most of the scholars and theologians of "HONEST WILL WHISTOX" 245 the early lialf of tlie last century, frequented the Wells. He was surnanietl honest Will Whiston, and Richardson speaks of him as " an extraordinary Old Man, showing eclipses and explaining the phenomena of the stars and preaching the Millennium and Anabaptism (for he is, now, it seems, of that persuasion) to gay people who, if they have white teetli, hear him with open mouths, thougli probably with shut hearts, and after his lectures are ovei\ not a bit the wiser, run from him the more eagerly to Gibber and Walsh, and to flutter among the loud-laughing young fellows upon the Walks like boys and girls at a breaking-up ! " In 1750 Miss Chudleigh, afterwards the far-famed Duchess xiie Duchess of Kingston, who was tried for bigamy, and Colley Cibbei', !Ju,fcSy" the old but vain Poet Laureate, Avere again at the W^ells. Gibber. Richardson writes of them once more, callinof them leadini^ characters. A more genial account of the Wells comes from the pen Ricimrd of Richard Cumberland, the dramatic author and grandson of Richard Bentley, the placid years of whose later life, twenty in number, were passed here. He calls it a charming spot, having much to recommend and little to be said against it. [He had served the Government by accepting an arduous mission to Spain during the American War, wliicli he ful- filled with fidelity and success. Not only were his services not rewarded, but not even were his expenses reimbursed. Disgusted at this treatment, he resolved to have nothing more to do with public life, and fixed on Tunbridge Wells for his retreat. His mind was too active, however, to allow him to remain idle, so he took up his pen and wrote plays, poems, and novels. Much of his time was also spent in solacing and entertaining Lord North in his affliction, in which he showed great amiability, for it was exactly under that states- man's administration that his just claims above-mentioned were disallowed. — R. H. B.] This is how he tells his experiences of Tunbridge Wells : — " It is not," he wrote, " altogether a public place, yet at 246 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES no period of the year is it a solitude. A reading man may command his hours of study, and a social man will find full gratification for his philanthropy. Its vicinity to the capital brings quick intelligence of all that passes there — the morning papers reach us before the hour of dinner, and the evening ones before breakfast next day ; whilst between the arrival of the general post and its departure, there is an interval of twelve hours, an accommodation in point of correspondence that even London cannot boast. The produce of the neighbouring farms and gardens and the supplies of all sorts for the table are excellent in their quality. The country is on all sides beautiful, the climate pre-eminently healthy and in a most peculiar degree restora- tive to enfeebled constitutions." Cumberland seems to have taken an active interest in the "people in and about Tunbridge Wells," and cannot express himself too warmly about both the place and its inhabitants. Thus he writes again : " It is no small credit to the loj^alty of Tunbridge Wells that it is the headquarters of one troop of Yeomen Cavalry and four companies of Volunteer In- fantry." He also speaks, among the distinguishing points of the Kentish character, of the sense of honour which ruled it. To tliose few survivors who, like myself, can recall Tun- bridge Wells as it had gone -on unaltered from the days of its primitive reputation as the resort of illustrious celebrities, and before — lamentable to say — it was gradually perverted into a great ugly town, it is delightful to revisit in imagina- tiou with this na'if diarist the time-honoured gorse- covered common, the several mounts with their quaint biblical names, and the neighbourhood far and wide matchless for its scenery; to tread the traditional " Pantiles " and trace on the worn paving-stones the footprints of the mighty dead wlio once lived and mingled there. Of these he has much to say, much of a close and intimate nature, painting to us their characters with a minuteness of detail which we fail to find in broader and more serious biographies. LOKD .AIAXSFIKLJ) 247 Among the " visitors so respectable " who formed the " summer society " of the place we have delightful sketches of "Lord Chief Justice :Mansficld, the ex-Premier, Lord North, the Duke of Leeds, the Lord Primate Ptobinson, the Lord Chancellor Eosslyn, Archbishop ]\[oorc, Bishop Moss, and others, who, hke them, have paid the debt of nature, and are now no more." How our hearts go with him when with touching simplicity he proceeds : " I must confess that when these, and some, if less ilhistrious, yet more near and dear, were struck down, it seemed to me as if tlie place had lost its sunshine. Since I first made Tunbridge Wells ray i-esidence I have had to mourn the loss of many friends : I liave followed Lord Sackville to his vault at Withyham, and ray lamented wife, as well as ray son-in-law, to their graves in the church of Frant." ^ The company of Lord ^fansfield was one detail that made Lord Cumberland's residence at Tunbridge Wells interesting, and though he modestly disclaims his ability to be a competent delineator of his cliaracter, he writes : " Some few features as they caught my observation I may venture to trace out, and can say of him what everybody who knew him in his social hours must say without the risque of a mistake. I cannot recollect the time when, sitting at the table with Lord Mans- field, 1 ever failed to remark that happy and engaging art which he possessed, of putting the company present in good humour with themselves : I am convinced they liked him the more for his seeming to like them so well : this has not been the general property of all the witty, great, and learned men whom I have looked upon in the course of ray life. " Lord Mansfield would lend his ear most condescendingly to his company, and cheer the least attempt at humour with ' The rural rrnivoyard of Witliyliain conlines witli the stately park of Buck- hurst, of which its venerable l")th century chiucli is the parish. The churchyard of Frant was celebrated for its rural beauty. My father, always devoted to tho picturescjue. chose for his family vault a spot in it wliich overlooked lialf the county. Its lirst occupant was my niaturnal grandfather, who having been a detnui in Paris, his bones were sent over in a comparatively small box after the Peace.— R. H. B. 248 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBEITIES the prompt payment of a species of laugh which cost his muscles no exertion, but was merely a subscription that he readily threw in towards the general hilarity of the table ; he would take his share in the small talk of the ladies with all imaginable affability; he was, in fact, like most men, not in the least degree displeased at being incensed by their flattery. He was no great starter of new topics, but easily led into anecdotes of past times ; these he detailed with pleasure, but he told them correctly, rather than amusingly ; he did not covet that kind of conversation which gave him any pains to carry on : his professional labours were great, and it was natural he should resort to society more for relaxation and rest of mind than for anything that could put him upon fresh exertions. Even dulness, so long as it was accompanied with placidity, was no absolute disrecommendation of the com- panion of his private hours ; it was, so to speak, a cushion to his understanding. " I cannot but agree with the general remark that he had the art of modelling his voice to the room or space he was in ; but I cannot say I admired its tone ; its pitch was too sharp, and seemed more tuned to argumentation than to urbanity. His attentions, whenever he pleased to bestow tbem, were not set off with any noble air, and I would call him civil, rather than polite ; the stamp of his profession was upon him, and his deportment wanted grace and ease. Pope, above all the sons of song, was his Apollo, but I suspect he had no real attach- ment to the Muses, and was merely civil to them in response to the compliments they paid him. ... I knew Mr. Andrew Stuart ; he was an acute and able man, and would have been glad to draw Lord Mansfield into the fair field of controversy ; but there was more sound wisdom in his lordship's silence than there could have been sound reasoning in his answer had his spirit led him to accept the challenge. " His last affecting interview with Lord Sackville was the only opportunity I had of knowing something of the move- ments of his heart : I caught a ghmpse, as it were, through BUBB DODINGTON 249 a crevice, but it soon slint up, and the exterior remained as before, fotii.s terex ati/ue rotundus.'^ The house occupied by Lord Xorth was, as 1 have said, situated in " The Grove," and of him, and the " darkness of his latter days," Eichard Cumberland writes pathetically, Avhile also admiring the charm of his genius. " One day," he writes, " the blind ex-minister took my arm, and asked me to conduct him to the Pantiles — ' I have a general recol- lection,' he said, ' of the way, and if you will make me understand the posts upon the footpath, and the steps about the chapel, I shall remember them in future.' T could not lead blind Gloucester to the cliff: I executed my affecting trust, and brought him safely to his family : the mild and ministering daughter of Tiresias received her. father from my hands. ... I do not know the person to whose society a man of sensibility might have given himself with more pleasure and security than to that of Lord Xorth, His gifts were brilliant, but his manners polished ; for his wit never wounded, and his humour never ridiculed, nor diil he nuike an unmerciful use of the power due to the superiority of his talents, to oppress a weaker understanding : he had great charity for dulness of apprehension, and a pert fellow could not easily put him out of patience : there was no irritability in his nature. To his friends and acquaintance he was all complacency ; to his family all adection : he was generous, hospitable, open-hearted, and loved his ease too well to sacrifice it to solicitude about mone3\ " The vivacity of his natural parts was strikingly contrasted B"bb Dotiinp. with the heaviness of his appearance, and, in this, as in some other particulars, he occasional!}' reminded me of Dodington ; both were scholars and lovers of literature and the Muses ; both were quick in repartie, but Dodington could be sarcastic, and I fear it was too truly said that he kept a tame booby or two about him for the sake of always having a butt at hnnd." ]\lr. Richard Cumberland is inelegantly sarcastic when he adds — " a kind of luxury very little above the grati- 250 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES fication of a bog wlien he rubs himself against a post." He also mentions among his practices that of successfully " aping the rusticity of the vulgar and showing considerable humour in his mimicry of their dialect and their manners." When the ladies Hervey were visiting Dodington in Staffordshire, Cumberland relates that he asked them if they " had seen him in the print-shops astride upon the ear of an elephant with a sunflower in his mouth," but no such caricature, it appears, was in existence, though there was one in which he was represented as a mastiff sitting upon a coach-box between the knees of John, Duke of Argyle, his name " Bubb " on his collar; but Bubb was such a notorious tuft-hunter that he was quite satisfied to be admitted into the group even under the semblance of a dog. " Noue of these caprices," he continues, " were to be found in Lord North ; he bore his part in conversation and introduced his anecdotes to the full as appositely as Doding- ton, but, I confess, he did not set them off with the same advantages of manner. " When Lord North lost his sight he enjoyed a vivid recollection of the pictures stored in his memory from men and. books. ... He repeatedly expressed a wish to me that some young man of education might be found to read to him and live an inmate of his family." It is touching to learn that " the man who had for so many years been minister of this great country, confessed that his means were too scanty to provide such an assistance. Like the great Lord Chatham and Mr. Pitt, he kept his own hands clean and empty, and when he applied to his son, who could not afford to keep his favourite mare, that happy quotation — " ' Equam memento rebus in arduis Servare — ' the son might have filled up the sentence as ifc stands in the original and. have applied it to his father, who, when deprived of sight, could not afford to maintain a reader, though he had administered the revenues of a nation." CUMBEELAM) JIUUSE 251 The next of liis Tiinbridge Wells associates this diarist Lord Primate passes in review is the Lord Primate Rol^inson, whom he ° "^^"°' describes as " splendid, liberal, lofty, ]mblicly ambitious of great deeds and privately capable of good ones — all mildness, suavity and benevolence, he supported the first station iu the Irish hierarchy with the magnificence of a Prince Palatine, and without courting ])opularity he benefited the whole nation by his public works" — but all that he says of this princely prelate and of his admiring elder brother, Sir AVilliam Ilobinson, would, however entertaining, carry us quite away from Tunbridge AVells, nor may we dwell too long on his account of the estimable Archbishop Moore, or Doctor Moss, Bishop of Bath and AVells — " an amiable and edifying instance of benevolence and serenity in extreme old age." Cumberland House will readily be remembered by those Cumberiami who knew Tunbridge Wells before its scattered dwclhugs, standing in leafy grounds, were pulled down to build up pert, vulgar " terraces " and gas-lighted streets ; a lament- able desecration of the peaceful, rural beauties of this once lovely spot, a melancholy tearing up the associations left there by the literary celebrities Avho had chosen it for their retreat from the fatigues, frivolities, and fatuities of fashion- able town life. Cumberland House was a quaint old tenement, rather inqtosing from its dimensions and the site it occupied on the brow of the hill, standing back among the chestnut trees which overshadowed it, and railed off from the London turnpike road on the north side, opposite Culverdens. Cumberland describes the lawn in front and how he turned this plot into a flourishing garden, with the assistance of his faithful old servant, Thomas Caniis.^ He took a crreafc interest in the place and made himself of nnich account among the inhabitants, between whom and himself there subsisted a nuitually friendly feeling. H(.' was dehghted with ' I tliiiik tliis huusu later served for many years (perhaps still) as a popular Hydropathic Estaijlishinent. — R. H. B, 252. SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES its salubrity, for though he went there an invahd, he not only- recovered, but never experienced an ailment of an}^ kind while he remained there ; he was delighted too with both residents and visitors, whose society, he says, " was of a sort rather to favour than obstruct his studies and literary work." Sir James Bland Burgess, the dramatic author, was his nearest neighbour, and proved an altogether kindred spirit to this grandson of Richard Bentley. Bubb Dodington seems to have served to amuse all these wits, but they naturally did not respect him ; indeed his frivolitj^ and his time-servinor tero:iversations were not calculated to elicit friendship from men of honour and principle. [My father had a story of this shallow society man which affords good testimony of the estimation in which he was held. It seems his curt name of Bubb was a great annoy- ance to him, so that one day he consulted a friend whether he could not improve it by some ingenious prefix. " To be sure," replied the friend, " put ' Sylla ' before it, Sylla was a great man and a S3dlabub is a mighty good thing;" but behind his back he w^as often nicknamed Silly-Bubb. The annoyance hardly ceased when he contrived to get himself raised to the peerage as Lord Melcombe. — E. H. B.] Michael Kelly Jn the amusino^ diarv of Michael Kelly, the actor, we find and Jack Ban- ° -^ • ■ i • i - nister. a liumorous account of a visit he paid, m company with Jack Bannister, to Richard Cumberland at Tunbridge Wells. The invitation — a most hospitable one — hoping they would stay as long as they could, included, however, one very naif condition Avhich they do not seem to have highly relished, viz. that he would " read to them his new comedy." Alarmed by this threat, they prudently arranged that on the second day they should receive a letter from Mr. Crouch, which they would be able to show him, stating that Mr. Taylor required their presence in town on business connected with the theatre; by this means they could, if they desired it, leave without srivino; offence. Jack Bannister, like John Grilpin, rode down on horseljack ; MICHAEL KELLY AT TUNBRIDGE WELLS 253 Kelly availed himself of an outside seat on the coach, Avhicb set him down at " The George." His adventures by the way were lively. " Seated on the roof of the coach were two very pretty maids and two livery servants," whom he soon discovered to be p?a't of the establishment of the Duchess of Leinster, her Grace having driven down in her own carriage. While toiling up Morant's Court Hill they overtook Bannister, who, full of fun, called out, " What, :Michael ! who would have thought to see you on the top of the coach ! I hope you have brought your curling-irons with you, I shall want my hair (h-essed before dinner: Tunbridge ^Ye\h is very full, and no doubt you will get plenty of custom, whether in shaving or dressing." With a familiar " Good-day ! " he rode on. Kelly followed up the joke, and when the coach stopped at Sevenoaks for dinner, he made his luncheon, and sat down with the servants in the room allotted to outside passengers. They soon grew quite familiar ; the lady's maids and footmen pro- mised him their protection, and declared they would do all in their power to get him custom ; they regretted they could not invite him to come and see them at the ducal residence, " because the most rigid stinginess was practised there." " I suppose," said Kelly, " you can offer a friend a glass of ale now and then?" "Ale!" replied one of the men: " Bless your heart, we never have ale, we never see such a thing ; we get nothing but small beer, T can tell you." As long as the journey lasted these abigails and knights of the shoulder-knot entertained their new friend with anecdotes of tbe family, all of the most unflattering nature, and which he felt sure were false, having long known the Duchess and her husband, Mr. Ogilvie. " On our parting where the coach set us down," he con- tinues, " we all vowed eternal friendship, and I got to Mr. Cumberland's in time for dinner. The party consisted of Jack Bannister, Mrs. Cumberland, an agreeable, well-informed old lady, our host, and myself. We passed a pleasant eveuing, 254 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES but wine was scarce, though what we had was excellent, and wliat was wanting in beverage was amply supplied in con- verse sweet and the delight of hearing a five-act comedy read. Five acts of a comedy read by its author after tea are at any time an opiate of the most determined character, even if one has risen late and moved little ; but accom- panied by somnolency, induced by the drive, the dust, the sun, the air, the dinner and conversation, what was to be expected ? " Long before the end of the second act I was as fast as a church, and a slight tendency to snoring rendered the act more appalling than it would otherwise have been, while the continual sly kicks I received from Bannister under the table served only to vary the melody with which nature chose to accompany my slumbers. " When it is recollected that our host had served Sheridan as the model for Sir Fretful, it may be supposed he was somewhat irritated by my inexcusable surrender of my senses ; but no, he closed his proceedings and his manuscript at the end of Act 2, and we adjourned to a rational supper on a cold mutton-bone and the dissipation of two tumblers of weak red wine and water. "When this was over, our host conducted us to our bed- rooms : the one set apart for me was his study: he paid me the compliment to say he had a little tent-bed put up there which he always appropriated to his favourite guests ; ' the book-case at the side,' he added. ' was filled with his own writings.' I bowed and said, ' 1 daresay, sir, I shall sleep very soundly.' " The reply does not seem very apposite unless Kelly meant it as Cumberland was pleased to understand it, for he replied good-humoiu^edly : " Ah, I see, even the proximity of my books will prove a sacrifice. W^ell — Grod bless you ! you are a kind creature, Kelly, to come down to the country to listen to my nonsense. Buenas noches, as we say in Spain ; I hope it will be fine in the morning that you may walk about the GOSSIPING SERVANTS CAUGHT OUT 255 place, for I agree with Lord Falkiaiul in pitying unlearned gentlemen on a rainy day." Cumberland was a sensitive man, liad liis susceptibilities as an author, and entertained a tolerable opinion of his literary capabilities ; no wonder, therefore, that Kelly, who, however, disclaims any intention of giving him offence, " could see that the old gentleman was not over-pleased." But " with all the irritability which so frequently belongs to dramatists, Cumberland was a perfect gentleman in manners, and a good classical scholar." " I was walking wit1i liiin one morning on the Pantiles," says Kelly, " when I took the opportunit}^ of telling him that his dramatic works were in great request in Vienna, and that his West Indlayi and Brothers were first-rate favourites. This pleased him so much that I flattered myself it made him overlook my drowsy propensities. "He took me np to Mount Ephraim, where we met the Duchess of Leinster walking with anotlier lady ; she had just alighted from her carriage, and the two identical footmen who had been on the coach with me were walking behind her. Her Grace stopped to speak to us, and nothing could be more comical than the faces of the servants when she said to me, — " * Mr. Kelly, I am truly pleased to see you ; have you been long at the Wells ? ' '* I replied, ' No madam, only two days.' " ' Did you come down alone ? ' said the Duchess. " *My companion, Mr. Bannister,' I replied, ' came on horse- back and T by the coach, and I have no reason to reo^ret it, as I assure you I met some ver}- pleasant, chatty fellow- travellers, gentlemen's servants ; who amused me all the time Avith a variety of information about themselves, their situa- tions, and their masters and mistresses.' As I said this I kept looking with a smile at my two sworn friends, who seemed on thorns, fearing I was about to go further and betray them. 256 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES " ' Well,' said the Duchess, ' I hope you will enjoy your visit.' " ' I am afraid not,' I rejoined, ' as I am very fond of malt liquor, and they told me it is execrable here, and that in the very best houses one gets nothing but bad small beer.' " With this I again glanced at my friends, who were wishing me at Jericho, and they seemed quite relieved when we made our bow and walked away. " Next morning's post brought the letter we had planned ; we informed our host that we should be obliged to quit his hospitable roof early the following day. "' My children,' said he, * I regret you must leave your old bard so soon, but business must be attended to, and as this is the last da}'^ I am to have the pleasure of your com- pany, when you return from your evening rambles on the Pantiles I will give you what I call a treat. " After dinner I went with Bannister to the Reading- rooms. ' AYhat,' said I to him, ' can be the treat Cumberland has promised us to-night ? ' "'I suppose,' he answered, 'he took notice of your saying that your favourite meal was supper, and as we leave to-morrow morning, intends to give us some little delicacies.' '' On our return we found Cumberland waiting for us ; the cloth was laid for supper ; the table was temptingly supplied, but in the middle was a covered dish, which, as no attempt was made to serve it, necessarily excited general curiosity. Cumberland being pressed to reveal the mysterious contents, and the appetites of his guests being sharpened by expectation, he desired his servant to remove the cover, and exhibited ... a roll of manuscript . . . another play ! , " ' There, my boys,* said he, ' there's the treat I have been keeping for you ; it is neither more nor less than ray five- act tragedy of Tiberius, and as soon as we have had our grog I mean to read you every line of it. I am not vain, as you LITKKARY INJURIES HARD TO FORliiVK 257 knol;^^ but 1 honestly consider it the bast ])hiy I have yet written.' " This was no idle menace, and he actually did read the play, but at the end of the tliird act the victim^ cauld hold out no longer, and pleading fatigue, got off thy remaining two, which Cumberland promised to let them hive in the mornincy before they started. To this proposal they readily assented, but gave him the slip by starting and getting off before he was out of bed. Kelly states that Cumberland had an invincible dislike for .Sheridan, and would not even allow his merits as a dramatic author ; this is not very surprising, as he could hardly b3 expected to forgive Sheridan's stinging criticism of him in the Critic. Sheridan was rather amused by Cumberland's enmity, and told Kelly the following anecdote : — When the School for Scandal was put on the stage Cumberland's children prevailed on their father to take them to see it ; they had the stage boxes, and their father was seated behind them. A friend of Sheridan's, who was within earshot, heard him persistently che3k their laughter, for they were intensely amused, but he pinchad them, exclaiming, " AVliat can you find to laugh at, my dear little folks ? You should never laugh, my angels, unless there is something worth laughing at; here there really is nothing;" and then in an nndertone, " Be quiet, will yon, you little dunces r" Sheridan, having been told, remarked : " It was very ungrateful of Cumberland to forbid his children to laugh at mi/ coined!/; I went to see his fnujedij, and roared with laughter the whole time." [Cumberland had found it easy to be indulgent to Lord North, who hud treated him in pecuniary matters unjustly, but affords an instance of how much more difficult it is to forgive a literary injury even when (or perhaps still more when) there is some justice in it ! — R. H. B.] In 1781 a ball was given at the Assembly-rooms in cele- VOL. II. li 258 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBEITIES bration of the King's birthday (June 4th). Their Majesties were present. The King, it is recorded, "wore a stone- coloured silk coat with diamond star and epaulettes. The Queen was in white, with silver tissue ornamented with bows bordered with brilliants. The Princess Royal's dress was a fawn-coloured silver tissue ornamented with festoons of white silver tissue bordered with green. The Prince of "Wales wore a bright-coloured pink silk coat richJy embroidered with silver and a waistcoat of silver tissue. The gentlemen's dresses were for the most part spring silks witli flowered borders. Those of the ladies were of white, straw colour, and green lustring, most beautifully trimmed with gauze and tiffany, and interspersed with natural and artificial flowers." Gorgeous and wonderful in their day must have been those birth-night balls, celebrated with scarcely less magni- ficence than at Court, at the fashionable " Assembly-rooms '^ of Bath, Brighton, and Tunbridge Wells. It is true that (according to Beau Nash's wise regulation) the men wore no swords as at Court, but their costumes must be said to have vied with those of the ladies in brilliancy, colour, and even material. We can read without surprise of queens and princesses attired in gold and silver tissues, rose-coloured, white, and orange-coloured satins bedizened with gold and silver laces and fringes, and covered with jewels ; but the Regent and his brothers must have been a sight to see at the end of the last centmy, and some years into this, habited in embroidered velvets and rich satins trimmed with fur. Some of the courtiers wore a black velvet coat with, waistcoat and cuffs of flame-coloured satin embroidered with gold and pearls. On such occasions the King often appeared in rich crimson velvet with a star and shoulder-knot of diamonds, and the Prince of Wales, pearl-coloured satin embroidered with gold, a black velvet hat with white feathers and rows of gold beads. If ladies danced minuets etiquette required they should don lace lappets. GA:\irxa introduced 250 When the Recent visited Tunljridofe "Wells, lie einoyed his [{[''^ Rffentat ^ o ' J ^ Tun bridge walk on the Parade, chatting affably with those he kuew, and Weiis. often choosing Lord Thiirlow for his companion. The visit of the Court of course had given a start to exertions for improving the place, which, owing to the vast numbers attracted by the royal festivities, attained a greatly increased celebrity, not only as a watering-place, but as a spot encouraging gaiety and annisement. Unfortunately gaming Oiuniuj. was the folly of the da}^, and with the class of society which accompanied and followed the Court it had become a habit they neither could nor sought to shake off. We all know how fatally this passion tends to level distinctions of rank, and how infallibly it leads to a degrading mixture of the fashionable and the profligate. How many healthy and attractive localities have been polluted by the lamentable weakness of character of those Avhose example ought to elevate the lower classes, whereas they allow themselves to descend to fJicir level ! There was at that time apparently too little social reserve, and too much facility of association between the various classes of visitors, those of the upper rank yielding too readily to the enjoyment of a temporary removal of those restraints which had perhaps become too exacting in the estimation and practice of the Quality ; but here the relaxation was too indiscriminate. Conventionality has not inaptly been termed the cactus-hedge of society, but it has its uses, and its advantages, and the remission of some of that extreme stiffness in those days a marked characteristic engendered in Court life was too violent not to lead to disastrous results ; the disappearance of the original simplicity of manners which had characterized the Wells society was so gradual as not to be perceived until the company having become detrimentally mixed, the way of life there became so notorious that a code of social laws became indispensable, and an official representative being required to enforce them, the appointment of a Master of the Ceremonies was decided on. iS'or as long as the place could be made attractive by social 260 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES diversions was the task of reform and restraint altogether easy, for there were now serious abuses to remove, practices to abohsh, regulations to introduce and to enforce, and it was an invidious duty to have to organize a system of social laws wdiicli could not but dissatisfy some and must give offence to many whom it was necessary to conciliate. Still a new order of things was inevitable, and the man who could do it had to be found, for he was to be the accepted founder of a permanent institution. Amusements and entertainments, concerts, flower-shows, assemblies, routs and balls, were still, in my childhood, held in the " Assembly-rooms," all under the direction of a Thefii-st Master of Ceremonies. The earliest of these whom I Master of Ceremonies, remember was Mr. Eld ; it was part of his office to call on every family shortly after their arrival — he used to pay periodical visits to our house, and was always invited to my mother's parties. Eld had been preceded by a Mr. Roberts, and he by Mr. Amsinck, w^ho made a careful study of the locality and its environs, and wrote a not uninteresting account of that part of the country ; but the one who attained the most fame in that somewhat responsible capacity, and had the honour of BeauXash. being the first in this office, was Beau T^Tash, remarkable for his personal attractions and the grace with which he assumed and carried out its delicate duties, but he was clever enough to know that unless he gave them a certain dignity and Qiade himself respected as a " character " he would not be taking full advantage of the position. Nash was a Swansea man of no birth, but he had been gifted by Nature with a face and figure which lent themselves readily to the support of his assumed distinction of manner, and alternating between Tunbridge Wells and Bath, as the " season " alternated at those places, he contrived to constitute himself the arbiter of fashion and local etiquette, and the leader of amusements and entertainments in both. He succeeded in making himself agreeable to the upper ranks, and soon became popular among DKAi; NASH 261 them, for liviiiijf tu a very advanced age, at which his httle foibles were good-hiimouredl}' smiled at and pardoned in favour of his better rpialities, ! lie died so much respected that he was buried with much demonstrativeuess in Bath Abbey in 1761. The pump-room at Bath still retains a marble effigy of Ik^au Xash, occupying a special niche, represented in the costume in which he predilected to appear on all jniblic occasions. He wears the long waistcoat of that day, closed only at the last button, a broad frill filling up the opening, while he carries his hat under his arm. At the Tunbridge AVells Assembly-rooms his portrait, in a massive gilt frame between two panelled mirrors hung with giran- doles and flat glass spangles, represented him in a richly embroidered satin coat, waistcoat embellished with gold lace, frilled lace ruffles, and bearing in his hand a scroll which recorded his zeal in founding the hospital at Bath ; for he on many occasions showed a benevolent disposition. A story is told of the Bean's having obtained a donation of ■»/. for a poor man whom he had overheard say a 5/. note would make him happy ; on the donor's asking him how lie had disposed of the money, he made out an account to which he procured the signature of the recipient : — " To making a miserable man happy — 5/." [Parry, I see, tells this story with an unimportant variation ; but he also gives currency to two other illustrations of Nash's free-handed disposition which have a spice of the fabulous in them : — He seems to have overheard another man say how happy a sum of money would make him ; this one was a broken-down gentleman standing behind his chair at play, and observing the indifference with which he gathered in his winnings, could not forbear commenting on it to a neighbour, adding, "How happy that 200l. would have made mr!" Nash immediately turned round and clapped the money into his hand, saying, " Then go, and be happy ! " " When the Earl of T d was a youth he was passionately fond of play, and never better pleas(Hl than with having Xash •262 SOCIAL HOUKS WITH CELEBRITIES for his antagonist. Nash saw his Lordship's foible and undertook to cure him. Conscious of his superior skill, he engaged him in single play for a very considerable sum. . . . He lost his estate . . . his very equipage was deposited as a last stake, and he lost that also. But when our generous gamester fouud his Lordship sufficiently punished, he returned all ; only stipulating that he should be paid 5000/. if ever he had occasion to ask for it. Nash never made any demand during his Lordship's life, but some time after his decease, his own affairs being on the wane, he demanded it of his Lordship's heirs, who honourably paid it without hesitation. — R. H. B.J AlthouQfh in o^eneral mauifestino- his recoo^nition of the laws of good taste, he made a practice of signalizing his arrival for the season by dashing into Tunbridge Wells in a chariot drawn bv six fine greys, preceded by two outriders who heralded his approach with 2^ fanfare on their horns. Unhappily this gilded grandeur was not of indefinite duration, and the magnificent owner of the coveted position, and once triumphant organizer of the state with which he ^Jresumed to surround himself, survived to sink into a much humbler place in society. Nash's Nash's library and reading-rooms were a w^elcome feature ' ^"'^' among the details of the place, forming a sort of club where their frequenters used to meet and while away the idle hours of the morning discussing the Court gossip, political news and events of the day. A w^riter of that time relates with exultation the rapidity and regularity with which Tunbridge Nevvspapeiv-. AVells was Supplied with daily information. " Newspapers," says he, " are now composed, printed, and circulated with such celerity, that we get a complete historical register of all the occurrences of one day, systematically exhibited on the breakfast table of the succeeding one. There are now near a dozen morning prints w^hich settle the political faith of the day, and teach their readers how to walk safely in (paper) leadingf-strino's." TIIKATKK 2C3 The theatre was a snug, well-appoiiUecl little building I'l'e Theatre, beyond the market, on the lower Promenade, and often had a brilliant season. In 1810, Dowton was its manager, and from July to October inclusive gave three performances a week. Ten or twenty years later ]\[r. John Becher, of Chancellor House, and my father, whose place was Culverdens, both on JMount Ephraim, were among its principal patrons, and were deferred to in many of the arrangements, choice of pieces, &c. ; they also helped to patronize the races and race-balls which made a salient feature in the summer season. Of the card-parties many traditions remained afloat. J!-',^"™*'ce^^ Madame Piozzi, for instance, is said to have held aloof from sm-^oathe ' _ Ciinl-parties. them, and being twitted on her inability to take a hand, she replied : — " The human mind is like a barrel-organ which plays many tunes, but cards is one that never was pricked on mine." Dr. Samuel Clarke, the well-remenibercd Rector of St. James's, Piccadilly, and a great favourite at the Court of George II., was a great card-player. Being at the "Wells, he was one day playing a rubber in the Assembly-rooms, and after the game sat over the table with his three friends, talking and laughing in a somewhat frolicsome way. Presently, Beau Nash entered at the other end of the rooms. Clarke, unwilling in his clerical character to give any scandal, shuffled away the cards and, checking the exuberant spirits of his associates, said : " Let us be grave, my boys ; here comes a fool." Sir J. Willes, Chief Justice of the Court of Common Pleas, was once playing a game at these same Assembly-rooms, when there came up a young barrister, who indiscreetly stood cloGe to the card-table watching the game ; as he continued from behind the Chief Justice's chair to scrutinize the cards he held, the latter turned round and spoke sharply to the youth, who, feigning intoxication, replied, staggering and with an assumed thickness of speech : " Sir, I beg pardon, but I 264 SOCIAL HOTJES WITH CELEBRITIES Am si nek. Tunbridge Wells in 1810. want to improve in my card-playing, wliicli at present is inclifTerent, so I came to look over yours ; as, if I am not mistaken, you are a j^Jf/e." Amsinck, writing of the place in 1810, thus alludes to the description of the Comte de Gramont's remarks on Tunbridge Wells which I have given above : — " Those acquainted with Tunbridge Wells and the adjacent country, will be surprised at the fidelity of this picture of the spot, while others who have long frequented the place, and paid attention to the customs which have till very late years prevailed, will be struck by the very minute coincidence which has subsisted through so long a period of time. The account of these customs exactly characterizes those of the last twenty years." [He might have said " the last forty years," for the follow- ing description of them as they existed at that date is almost identical with that of the writer of 1771.^— R. H. B.] The arrangements of the day at Tunbridge Wells at this date seem to have been quite systematic and eminently social. Apparently the visitors for the most part, if not altogether, belonged to the same monde ; they met in the early morning wearing a conventional deshahiUe, the men in white dimity suits, and while walking about in the Parade went to the well for their prescribed glasses of water.^ A band consisting of flutes, hautboes, and fiddles occupied the orchestra in the middle of the Parade and played the while. They then went home to breakfast and reappeared in full prcmenade toilet at the Episcopal Chapel at eleven o'clock. After morning prayers they again resorted to the Parade, where they walked about, met, chatted, sauntered into the reading- room and made plans and parties for their afternoon drives ; neither were the pastry-cooks nor mercers' shops neglected. Early dinner was according to the hygienic order of the day ; and for those who preferred it there were "ordinaries," or ' Sujwa, pp. 22o-6. [- The quantity of water imbibed — 200 ounces — would be incredible, but that Dr. Rouzee, who records it, gives it on faith of his own knowledge. — R. H. B.] DONKFA'S INTRODUCED 265 Avliat Nvould iiuw be called f waters. preaclicd at the St. Charles' Chapel by Dr. Wm. Nichols, and was afterwards published at the request of the congrega- tion. The subject was " God's blessing on the use of mineral water ": the preacher ingeniously took his text from the gospel narrative of the Bethesda pool, which he discussed much in the way in which Mr. Haweis deals with such matters at the present day ; he said that there was nothing more miraculous in this than in any other mineral waters, and as for the " angel's stirring up the pool," that meant no more than the figurative way of accounting for its efficacy ; the Jews, he said, were wont in their descriptions to employ Oriental imagery, and here it was a mere form of expression ; no doubt the time when the pool was " stirred " was that of some periodical ebullition of sulphureous or bituminous matter Avhich abounds in Judsea, as is yet discernible in Lake Asphates. What more probable, then, that at such periods the result to the bather was more efficacious, and hence the desire of each one to avail himself of the earliest manifest- ation of a change in the quality or temperature of the water. [This church has always been called St. Charles' within my memory, but the narrative of 1771 says it was preceded by a chapel-of-ease built by John Parker, Clerk of the Privy Seal, " votive in thankful remembrance of Prince Charles' return from Spain." Long before there could have been excuse for calling him " Saint," therefore. The subscribers to the present edifice could not have been severally very generous, as though several accounts agree that it cost 3000L, no less than 2600 names are recorded of contributors, and it ' Hasted states that St. Charles' stands partly in three parishes, the altar being in Tunbridge, the pulpit in Speldhurst, and the vestry in Frant. PARSON AND CLERK 269 took eleven years to obtain sufficient money to complete this sum.— R. H. B.] At one time, for want of better accommodation, it is said 5^^'';i\. that Bishop Sherlock used to ]-)reach to a congrenfation assembled on the common from the window of his house. [No doubt in the summer weather many visitors made light of the country walk to tlic old viHage churches in the neigh- bourhood. 1 remember it was always a joy when the nurses proposed a walk through the fields to service at Speldhurst or Bidborough or Southborough— and there were always many o-oing the same way. And in the early days when people lodged at Speldhurst and Tunbridge they had church accommoda- tion close at hand, so it was only when the AVells came to be built round that one was required on the spot. — E. H. B.] In the days in which T first remember St. Charles' the ;\;>:;"" =''"^'- incumbent was the Rev. Martin Benson, whom I can still recall as a venerable old man who had then become white-haired and infirm, bent in form, but having a most benevolent expression of countenance, which doubtless conti-ibuted to his becoming such a favourite with his congregation. It was interesting to me to find in Cumberland under date 1807 an account of the induction of this very Martin Benson whom I knew so many years later. Cumberland was instru- mental in getting him the incumbency, and bears kindly testimony to his unblemished character and untiring zeal. Up to the time that St. Charles' was consecrated the inhabitants of Tunbridge Wells had been very ill supplied with religious privileges ; as a consequence various Xou- conformist congregations had been set up, and were so flourishing at the time Mr. Benson came on the scene, that his labours to bring them back to the Church of England were, of necessity, very arduous. Cumberland, who seems to have taken a great and practical interest in the Wells, conferred on the matter with his friend ^Martin Benson, and after this consultation they agreed that Primate Robinson, who fre- quently visited the Wells, should be asked for his opinion as 270 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES to what course it would be best to pursue. " If you wish to get these people back again," he replied, " there is only one way; you must sing them in: they won't come to your preaching ; arguments will do nothing with them, but they have itching ears, and will listen to a hymn or an anthem, and as you have an organ, such as it is, you must set to work and assemble the best singers your place affords." This advice being followed, a very respectable rural choir was soon established. "From that time," continues the narrator, " Mr. Benson's exhortations, backed by our melodies, thinned the ranks of the seceders, and a certain female apostle was deserted by her closet-congregation ; and she thenceforth devoted her attention to a pot monkey, who profited more by her caresses, and about as much by her instructions as the silly souls who had followed her lectures." Nevertheless in our time the sects were rampant, and there was scarcely any denomination that was not represented at the Wells. I remember what seemed to be a persistent contest for pronunciation of the King's English which was carried on daily (for there was daily service at St. Charles') between poor old Mr. Benson and the — also elderly — clerk, by name Okill. Mr. Benson sticking resolutely to — " Lord have mercj upon us," and the clerk apparently correcting him with " Lord ha' niarcj upon us," throughout numerous ver- sicles, to say nothing of the alternate verses of the lo6th Psalm, which gave Okill a fine opportunity for asserting his incorrigible view of the matter. There are other character- istic stories told of this old clerk, jDrobabh^ known only to those acquainted with the traditions of Tunbridge Wells ; one of these was, that owning a cottage orne on Mount Sion,.on the rent of which he mainly depended, he made a point whenever it was untenanted of giving out the hymn — " Mount Zion is a pleasant place." Another, that one Sunday his sight having become so weak that it was with difficulty he could make out the type of his hymn-book, in his irritation at the predicament, and holding the page close to HYMX-SIXGIXa 271 his face, lie gave vent to liis vexation in the following words : — " Mj eyes are dim, I cannot see, I cannot see at all ;'' which tlie congregation taking to be the h^-mn itself, attacked it bravely with one accord to some usual tune, thus : — " ^liiie eyes are dim, !Mine eyes are dim, I cannot see at all," till at last, as the congregation waited for the next instal- ment of the sacred song to be given out, the old clerk grew maddened as he realized what was happening. Ultimatelv he commanded silence with ludicrous gesticulations, and a neighbour having charitably meantime brought him a liirhted candle, he was enabled to give out the h3'mn originally intended. At this time the old custom still prevailed of dividing the sexes, and alternate verses of Psalms and hymns were sung by each. [I don't think this custom lasted down to my time, but I well remember a tradition current in the nursery that when it existed there used to be a general titter oa occasion of two hymns that seem to have been ofteu sung there. One was, — '* for a man, O for a man. for a mansion in the skies ;" and tlien it was the women's side which chiefly made its voice heard. The other was, — " Come down, gi-eat Sal, (.'ome down, great Sal, Come down, great Salvation from above;" and then the voices from the men's side chiefly jirevailed. I believe the custom of prefacing the announcement of the hymns with the sentence, '* Let us sing to the praise and glory of God," is quite obsolete now, but I remember at the time when it was still the universal custom, having been taken to some country church not far from Tunbridge AVells. A strange clergyman did the service, and finding the clerk failed to give out any hymn before the sermon, he supposed 272 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBRITIES it was his business, and beo-an searching^ under the cushion for the notice paper. He had meantime s^ot as far as " let us sing to the praise and glory of God," when the clerk bobbed up his head sharply like a " Jack-in-the-box," and exclaimed, " We doesn't do that 'ere, sur." — R,. H. B.] My father's estate was not large, but it was very beautiful and very complete; the older wooden part of the house was a bower of moss-roses ; to this he had added several spacious rooms ; the lawns were planted with graceful groups of trees ; variegated and flowering evergreens were his delight. Look- ing from the drawing-room windows across the park, we saw one of the loveliest views imaginable, and we lived there an absolutely country life. Cows and sheep enlivened the meadows, and the dear old low-roofed farm-house with barns and farm buildings grouped round it, the farm-yard and the duck pond, might have been 500 miles away from London. There was on the property a beautiful wood where niglit- iugales gave us their songs, and which my father laid out in wild serpentine walks with great taste ; beyond this was the mill-plat, for we grew our own corn, ground it in our own mill, and the bread was baked in the farm-house oven. Farming had its poetry in those days, and mowing, hay- making, and stacking were among the delights of country life. Children got up at six, and even earlier in the mush- room season, and were put to bed at eight, and well do I recall the evening air of the long summer's day flowing in at the open window and bringing with it the voices and the sounds which still went on for another hour as with an indistinct murmur, coaxing one to sleep. How far off all this seems now ! and how few there will be still surviving who will remember the charming old Tunbridge Wells of those simple days ! My father's property was not in, but near, " the AVells," and our land touched that of Chancellor House, since the abode of Hoyalty, but at that time owned by the Becher family. We and the Becher boys used to meet on Sundays on Mount Ephraim, and followed by parents A PATIiloTlC EXtlLISH FAMILY 273 or governess, used t(j walk togetlier across the common, gathering wild flowers on our way, to the ivy-grown old church of St. Charles. Those " boys," and there were alto- gether eleven of them I have all been dispersed since, and only two now survive ; those who lived to be sixteen or so all went out to India, where they earned their laurels and made their figure in the history of our Anglo-Indian Empire, numbering besides those who acquired civilian fame, a captain, a colonel, three generals, one a C.B., one a K.C.B., and one killed in his youth at Lucknow in his country's cause. But in those days we all disported ourselves on our way to church together with little thought for the future. And when once we had gained our respective pews, many a chuckling glance would pass between us if there chanced to be anything in the least calculated to excite our interest. One little diversion which somewhat relieved the monotouv of the service was watching a large square pew on the ground floor (and of which from ours in the front row of the gallerv we had an excellent view), appropriated to a mixed Sundav- school of boys and girls. These youngsters were watched over by a vigilant hybrid, something between a beadle and a schoolmaster, armed with a very long cane resembling a fishing-rod. This individual, who certainly could not himself have paid much attention to the Order of Morning Prayer, would occasionally lean back in his corner, close his eyes, and so well simulate sleep that the little imps, emboldened by his apparent absorption, would at once begin their games. Sometimes it was nothing more than an earnest con- versation carried on in whispers ; sometimes it was a communication by signal across the pew between the occupiers of opposite benches ; sometinies there might be a quarrel, which would necessarily be fatal, as the excitement could not but attract notice. Then, again, some would get so audacious as to start a game of push-pin or fox and geese on the bench. VOL. II. s 274 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBKITIES Whatever it might be that was going on, as soon as the old iichoolmaster found any number of the boys thoroughly confirmed in the conviction that he had travelled into the land of Nod, he would rise with extremest caution, and with the long wand that never left his hand, come suddenly down with a startling tap on the heads of the offenders. This was splendid fun for us, not only in the manoeuvre itself, but in the general titter it excited. It was not that we ourselves were much more attentive to what was going on than the poor little charity boys, but we felt the superiority we had attained in having learnt to give no outward exhibition of the direc- tions in which our thoughts wandered. By this time the living had passed into the hands of a Mr. Pope ; as it seemed to us, an old man, but not so venerable as Mr. Benson. He had a round, rubicund face set on a very short neck, giving him a sovpron of resemblance to a pouter pigeon, the rather that he was also stout, and fussy, and important. He w^as not the ideal of a country parson, but was popular for all that. He had a smile — perhaps a little too patronizing — for every one, and a pleasant word for us children, who used to meet him about everywhere, find him a standing dish at all small parties, whether our own or those of friends, and to hear of him at all the card parties of the quieter sort, fancy bazaars, flower shows, and assembly- room concerts. Even at the races and at the little theatre The Pope of when stars came down from London, "the Pope of Tun- 'J'uubridge . Wells. bridge Weils was sure to put m an appearance. [On the occasion of some early tea -gathering of my mother's a few years later than this, having been told, though not more than four years old, " to make myself useful," I adroitly took possession of this old clergyman's cup, which wanted filling, as he was the one of all the company of whom I felt least .in awe. " Thankee, my little dear," said the good man. " Willee get me another dish — " This word proved altogether too much for my gravity. Beyond measure astounded, I can well recall to this day ITvIN'CESS VICTORIA AT TUM'.KIDGK WKLLS 27 L'< J how I stood still ill my progress through the middle of the assembly, feeling very much like an Israelite with the waters of the Ked Sea standing on either hand, and with the shrill exclamation, " He said disit ! " let fall on the carpet the china cup and saucer I was endeavouring to convey. — R. H. B.] The " Pope of Tunbridge Wells " rejoiced in the possession of three sisters. One married a Mr. Bishop ; one. Arch- bishop AVhately, the preacher of " my first sermon," ^ and the third, after long hesitation, ended by marrying one of the Baden-Powells. [As other royalties who have visited Tiinbridge Wells have been spoken of in this chapter, a greater" than any of them — her present IMajesty — ought not to be passed over. As "Princess Victoria" she was very fond of Tunbridge "Wells ; the Duchess of Kent occupying the big house in Calv^erley Park, which afterwards became " The Calverley Hotel." I well remember one insignificant tradition of her which gave me great comfort as a small child. Oa some path where we used to take our walks, and which according to the simple habits in which she was brought up she had equally fre- quented, there was some very choice gravel in which were to be found tiny semi-opaque pebbles which children called " Tun- bridge Wells pearls." To discover these and work them out with the end of one's parasol was a glorious occupation, but which the nursery governess tabooed as " unbecoming in a young lady." It was delightful, therefore, when one day the old nurse defended the practice by declaring she had formerly seen the Princess Victoria herself do the like lots of times, so it couldn't be wrong. Although the other ventured to declare that what was right for the Princess Victoria might not be right for little girls, the precedent was too strong for her, and the joy of pearl-fishing thenceforward went on unabated. Thoufrli too infantine at the time actuallv to remember ' Supruy vol. i. i>. .'i.'](>7. 276 SOCIAL HOURS WITH CELEBRITIES this circumstance also, the nurse so strenuously kept up the memory of it that I could almost fancy I did. It seems that she more than once overtook us on these walks ; stroked and admired our hair, and would say, " There are those dear little girls ! " with genuine girlish pleasure, and no show of condescension. — R. H. B.] The early shops of Tunbridge Wells seem to have been no more " monumental " than the Chapel of Ease, as the follow- ing quaint interior view of Lashmar's, the grandest of them, testifies. It is from a bill-head I found lingeriog among other toilette notes in my mother's papers. //^^^y^^t^^ Dunmall the mysterious. A well-known traditional character at Tunbridge Wells in its early days was a spirited old gentleman, by name Dunmall, who must morally have been a duplicate of the celebrated and mysterious Comte de St. Germain, for like him he claimed to have been born at the Creation, and asserted that he should never die. He would, like that nobleman, rattle off with fullest details anecdotes of celebrities of all dates, from Jonah downwards, asserting that he had been with that Prophet in the whale's belly, and that he was surprised at the cowardliness he betrayed on that occasion : TUNBRIDGE WELLS "CHARACTERS" 277 he had been in the confidence of Lycurgus, of xMexander the Great and Juhus Ci\3sar, and woidd repeat with the greatest aplomb conversations he had hehl Avith Phito, then with Cicero, and again with Lord Bacon. Both these patriarchal impostors made their way respectively with the assistance of a striking presence and winning manners, and the English- man was no purer in his character than the French nobleman. Tn eccentricity they may fairly be said to bave been on an extraordinary level, for it is not probable that Dunmall ever heard of the French Court favonrite. One day when Dunmall was walking to Buckhurst, he met a pedlar on the road : he called to him and asked him his name, which the other having told him, " Are you really sure," said he, with an accent of surprise, " that such is your name ? " '• As sure as I am of anything," he replied. " No one ever knew me by any other." " In that case," said Dunmall, " the angel Gabriel has ordered me to give you ten guineas." " AYell, now, this is strange," answered the pedlar, who seems to have been blessed with ready wit, " the same gentleman has ordered me to receive it." "Then that must be all right," rejoined Dunmall, who then and there handed him the sum. Dunmall's delusions appear to have always taken a benevolent turn, so that he lived on unmolested, affording a source of amusement as well as of wonderment to all who knew him. I cannot find any record of his death. There was, too, amonof what mav be called the characters "Loi-a Raw. of the place, the AVells crier, who went by the name ottowu crier. Lord Baidinns, in consecjuence of having been taken up to London by the notorious Duke of Wharton, who thought it funny to dress him up in rich clothes and introduce him to some of the nobility, who, entering into the spirit of the Duke's spree, invited him to their parties, and introduced him to their friends as Lord Kawlings. The Duke made up 278 SOCIAL HOUES WITH CELEBEITIES speeches for liim, whicli he taught him by heart, and made him deliver on certain occasions, to the infinite amusement of all present. He was also taught to sing drinking-songs, and one in particular, called the toiitintj-song, procured him more fame than his head was able to stand. He never recovered the effects of this foolish episode, and when he went back refused to divest himself of his "title," insisted on being my-lorded by every one, and at last became so mad that he had to be consigned to the insane department of the work- house, where he died. "OidWai- About the same time lived at and about the Wells a queer pole." gQp^ of fellow it would be difficult to classify, who rejoiced in the name of Walpole, and really was a natural son of Sir Robert, whom he resembled much more than did Lord Orford or any of his legitimate offspring. Sir Robert seems to have made some feeble efforts to rescue him from the adventurous, not to say profligate way of life into which he had fallen, but with no permanent result, and when Sir Edward Walpole visited the Wells, he used to say " it was strange his brother did not call upon him ! " The old Geovf/e Inn on the London Road, standing at the wide part where that becomes Mount Ephraim, was a staunch, respectable, unpretending country inn, homely and comfort- able ; the very type of what a country inn should be, with its small-paned windows, scarlet curtains, and snug parlour. Before it on a sign-post swang the board painted with the effigy of one of the Georges on horseback, careering proudly in his royal riding-suit of scarlet and gold, top-boots and three-cornered hat, and it goes on still pursuing the even tenour of its way unharmed, whether by its earlier rivals or the imposing modern guest-houses that have since sprung up all over the place, doing their best to spoil it, and succeeding beyond all expectation. Tunbridge Alas ! Alas ! Beautiful, rustic, peaceful Tunbridge Wells, teadUionai'^' for thoso who kncw it and loved it sixty or seventy years ago, picturesque- lonecr exists. The pure air, the rural sounds, village life. TUXJiRIDGE WELLS MODERNIZED 279 for such it virtually Avas to the residents, all the romance and poetry that it breathed are things of tlio long gone past ! Tunbridgc AVells has been turned into an ugly upstart town ; a network of tasteless streets, terraces and shops covers every square inch of ground, to the exclusion of all that ouce was picturesque and traditional. L'ENYOI. {From Peter Coxe's "Social Day," Canto 1, 1823.) " There was a time -vvlien Poets sung Fearless of adverse pen or tongue : Fearless — because reviewers then Had never vexed the minds of men. :. But when the press had learning spread, And men would print, to prove they'd read, Critics arose .... But be it right, or be it wrong — Gotten the critic folk among, We trust they'll treat us kind, though freely, Nor make us, like distrest Miss Bailey, Complain they've used us ungenteelly ; Nor deem us vulgar, though they see We talk about a common flea."' E. H. B. INDEX. Aboyeurs, I. 190 f. -Adelaide, Quoon, II. 179 n., 199. Agar, Millie., I. 129, 137. Aldborough, Cotiutetis of, I. on. 11, 181. Ambidexter training, I. 01. Aiidryane, I. 40. Anecdotes, mots, philippics, A'c. : — ,, Absence of mind, I. 307. ,, St.-Amaiul, Gen., I. 71. ,, An American in Rome, I. 437. ,, Balloons, I. 204. ,, Batthyani, Card., I. 239. ,, Beaumarchais, I. 123-4. ,, Brougliam, Lord, 1. 421. ,, Caroline, Q., II. 179 n. ,, Cai-touche, I. 155 fff. „ Clerical, I. 307, 367-9, 396, 401 404. „ Clerical,II. 150-1,270 ff., 274-5. ,, Coaching, II. 209-10. ,, Coleman, Geo., II. II. ,, Canning, II. 200. ,, Canova, I. 26. ,, Caro, Professor, I. 85. ,, Clarke, Dr. Samuel, II. 263. ,, Cousin, Victor, I. 94-5, 96. ,, Czerny, I. 76. ,, Dames de it Halle, I. 338. Deon, Chev., I. 126 flf. ,, Dumas, A. (pere), I. 13-t-5. ,, Dodington, Bubb, II. 252. Douglas, Rev. W., II. 200. ,, Diipauloup, I. 406 ,, Dupin, I. 33-4. Hdgeworth, Abbe, I. 151-2. ,, Gaudenzi, Padre, I. 4;57. Gavazzi, I. 414, 417-18. George IV., II. 169, 202-3. ,, Ghent, scandalous chronicles of, I. 190 fff. ,, C!h(*nt and Bruges, I. 177n. ,, (jinirdin, Emile de, I. 41, 44-5. ,, Gloucestershire schoolboys, I. 296. Goodall, Dr., II. 187. ,, Goldsmith, .Mr. Nathaniel, I. 259-00. Anecdotes, St.-lluljoi-t, I. 214, 216. „ Italian, I. 438-9. ,, .lohnson, Dr., II. 189. ,, Kitchiner, Dr., II. 17. ,, Lacordaire, Pere, I. 394. „ Lavigerie, Card.. I. 364. „ Louis-Philippe, 1. 7, 9, 11, 13, 16, 19, 27. ,, Liszt, I. 76 and n. ,, Lobsters, II. 220. ,, Locker-Lampson, I. 26 ; II. 231 n. ,, Manning's Irish and utiier stories, I. 262-3, 265, 272,279. ,, Manning's imitators, I. 270-1. ,, ,, an Irish admirer, I. 277. ,, Manning's Sermons, I. 274-5. „ Mansfield, Lord, II. 229. ,, Mirabeau, I. 38, 147. ,, Montgolfier, Mdme. de, I. 66-7. ,, Monk Bishop of Gloucester,' 1. 293-4. ,, Mozart, II. lS4n. ,, Napoleon III., I. 41, 94, 353-4. ,, Nash, Beau, II. 261-2. „ North, Lord, II. 229. ,, Piozzi, Mrs., II. 263. ,, Parisis, Mgr., I. 345. ,, Piigin, I. 347. ,, Reculon, Pere, I. 355. ,, Robespierre, I. 147. ,, Rothsciiild, Baron, I. 51, 53, 54-5. ,, Routh, Dr., I. 186-7 n. ,, Roux, JIarius, 1. 88-9. ,, In S'llpetrien; I. 59 flf . ,, Sambre ct Mouse, I. 206. ,, Sheridan, I. 310 n.; II. 357. ,, Sibour, Monseigneur, I. 356 n. ,, Smitii, Sydney, II. 16S-9. ,, Soldiers, female, 11. 127. Talleyrand, I. 25-7. ,, Ventura, Padre, 1. 355. Wagner, Rev. H. M., II. l<)()fF. Rev. A.. II. 2(10-1. ,, Watorton, Sipiire, II. 46, 54, 68, 72 ff. ' By an obvious oversight "1801" occurs at line 3, p. 293, in place of R. H. B. VOL. II. T 1804."— 282 INDEX Anecdotes, Wellington, Duke of, I. 82-3 ; II. 32. Wharton, Duke of, II. 277-8. Wilberforce, Sanauel, I. 290-1. Wm., II. 169. Wiseman, Card. , I. 310-14, 319. ,, Writer, a hapless, I. 92. Angouleme, Luchesse d', I. 151 and n. Archives, French, 'passim chap. iv. ,, Theatre Francais, passim chap. v. Ardennes, the, I. 208. St.-Amaud, Gen., I. 71. Arouet, Francois. See "Voltaire." Artot, I. 40. Ass, the, his qualities according to Bviffon, II. 190 n. "Ass, the Dead," II. 38-9, 99 f. Augier, Emile, I. 96. ,, mont. by Duchesse cJ'Usez, I. 100. Averuiii, Monf, I. 68-9. Balloons, I. 65, 67 ; II. 203-4. Balzac, I. 40. Banks, Miss Peggy, II. 242. "the Banquet," II. 12-13. Barry the Architect, II. 190. Baths and Wash-houses, II. 131. Batthyani, Card., I. 237, 239. Baudelaire, I. 136. Bauffretnont, Mdme. de, I. 159-61. Beaujolais, Comie de, I. 28 ff. Beaumarchais, I. 116-17, 123 &. Beauval, Mdlle., I. 111. Becher family, II. 263, 272. Beecher, J. J., plagiarized by Longfellow, I. 93. Beguinagcs, I. 178 ff. Belgian manners and customs, I. 169 ff. ,, gossip, I. 190 ff. Belioc, Mdmc. Swanton-, I. 64 f. ,, ,, Parkes-, and her family, I. 64 n. Bennett, Rev. W. J. E., I. 412. Bernhardt, Sarah, I. 78, 106. "Dr. Borrington," II. 131-5. Berryer, I. 30, 37-8, 40. Bevle. See " Stendhall." Bicetre, I. .58. Bird legends, II. 68-9. Blagden, Sir Charles, experiments with fire, II. 127-8. Blanc, Louis, I. 4n., 16, 67-70, 433. ,, Charles, I. 69-70. Blanqui, Louis-Auguste, I. 335. Blatchington, Brighthelmstone cum, I. 199. Blomfield, B])., I. 369, 425. Bloomfield, II. 170. Bois-Robert, Vahhe, I. 99-100. Bonjean, president, I. 335 ff. Bossuet, I. 99. Boulanger, Gen., I. 100. Bourget, Paul, on Coppee, I. 137. Bourmont, Gen. de, I. 8. Bracq, Monseigneur, I. 179 ff. Bradlaugh, as Lecturer, I. 320 ff. ; as M.P., I. 329. Brazil, Emperor of, I. 74. Brighton : — Adelaide, Queen, at, II. 179 n., 199. Attractions of Brighton denounced, I. 372. Barrymore, Lord, II. 165. St. Bartholomew's, II. 200-1. Bathing and bathing-women, II. 211-14. Brighton in 1736, II. 156. 1775, II. 161 n. 1781, II. 157, 160. „ 1782, II. 1.57-S, 160 and n., 161, 169. 1785, II. 162. 1788, II. 158. 1791, II. 158. 1792, II. 1.58-9. 1796, II. 160. 1798, II. 158. 1803, II. 166, 173. 1807, II. 156 n. 1821, II. Ill, 182, 203. 1822, II. 185. 1828, II. 202. 1834-5, II. 161. 1835-46, II. 203. Brighthelmstone, date of changed nanie^ II. 161 and n. Canning's Epigram on Wm. Douglas, II. 200. Catholic Church at, II. 181 and n. Caroline, Queen, II. 179 n. Chapels Royal, II. 163-4,' 181, 185, 188, 199. Charles II. at, II. 1.56, 219. Charlotte, Queen, II. 169. Cliarlotte, Princess, at the Pavilion, II. 170-2. Clarence, Duke of, II. 170, 202-3. Coaching, II. 203 fff. ,, accidents, II. 209-10. Cobbett at the Pavilion, II. 170. Cobbett's description of the Pavilion, II. 182. Cuckfield, II. 208, 217. Cumberland, Duke of, II. 158, 161 and n. Darner, Hon. Mrs. Dawson-, II. 179 and n., 180-1. Douglas, Rov. W., II. 200. f.m.igre's at, II. 1.58-9. ' The (ju(^stion raised in the text, \i. 163, refers to a chapel within the i)rociucts ; the Ko-callcd Chapel Royal outside the Pavilion of course there is no question about. — ■ R. 11. H. INDEX 283 Briohtox (contiinu'ii) — Erskiiip, Lord, II. 2()2. 2(Hi-7. Fitzlu'ibert, Mrs., II. I.j;:o IV., "II. 181. Fox and Mr.s. Fitzhi-rbcrt, II. 177-8. Frainpton, Ladv H.. II. 171-2. .Mary. II. 171- n., 17!>n. fJattoii Park, rnad tlinui<,'h, II. 204-5. (ilouct-'ster, Duke of, II. 183. "Goodiuf,'," II. 218. (ianii. Martlia, II. 211-13. Hertford, Ladv. II. 178-9. Hcssoll, Pha-l)e. II. 21.'>-17. 21!). llchester, Countess of. II. 171 f. Inns andliotfls in i-ariy days, II. l.'iGandn. Invasion of England, local fear of, II. lt)7 n. Issue of Mrs. Fitzhcrbert's marriage, was there any ? II. 180. Jersey, Countess of, II. 178. The Jernint.'hani Lcttcr.s quoted, II. 173. Dr. John.son in Hritriiion, II. 189-90. Kemp. Mr.. II. 1(51. 19.j. Leopold, King of the Belgians, II. 172. Louis-riiilippe at. II. 19. Luttrel, Mrs., II. Kil. St. Martin's, II. 20l. Michell. Mr., and his rwo sons, II. 189-90. Nagle. Admiral. II. UJS. St. Nicholas, U. 160. IWandn.. 199-2(X1. Ndrt'ulk, Puke of. at the Pavilion, II. 1(57-8. St. Pauls, II. 196-7. Pavilion, II. 154-.J. 162f.. UU f . , 171-2. lHl-2, 182-3. Pavilion, heat of. II. 171, 183. Pepvs at, II. 157. St. Peter's, II. li»0. Portntit, Mrs. Fitzherliert's, buried with (k-orgo IV., II. 179 and n. Practit-al jokes ami ]. ranks at Pavilion, II. 163, 164 fff. Prince Regent, what lie did for it, II. 154, 160, 173 n., 179 and n. Road to Brighton, anecdotes of, II. 206 ff. Russell. Dr., II. 155-6. Sealed packet about .Mrs. Fitzherbcrt, II. 180. Sevmour, Lady Horatia, II. 178, 179 n., i80. Smith, Sydney, II. 16S-9. ,, Horace and .lames and their sister, II. 191. Rmoaker. Tom. II. 213-14. Sortain, Rev. .1.. II. 3S7. Stourton, Lord, on .Mrs. Fitzherbcrt, II. 175, 176, 180. Stvles, Dr., I. 372-3. Svdnev Smith, II. 16H-9. Tettersell, Captain. II. 218-19. '■The Temple." II. 19.5. Tliurlow. Lord, II. 165-6, 173 n. Troojis, discipline of, in 1S03, II. 160-7. Vestris's, Mdme., nurse, II. 220. Vinai'irtttes, II. 210-11. Wagner, Rev. H. M., II. 1S7-201. BkigHToX {continued) — Wagner, Rev. Arthur, II. 196-7, 2tX) f . Mr. Henr^^ 1. 19; II. 164, 191. 201. Miss, II. 164, 195. 201. Waterloo, Celebration of, II. 218. Watson, Rev. J., II. 201. Wellington, Duke of, memorial to, II. 200. ,, 2nd Duke, his death there, II. 201. Wilberforce, Wm., at Pavilion, II. 169 f. William IV. at, II. 179 and n. Broglie, Due ,h\ I. 4. Brougham, Lord, I. 277-8, 421. Brunswick, Duke of, I. 4. Buffon quoted (on donkeys), II. lOl n. Bugeautl. Marshal, I. 35. Bulwer, Sir II., on Thiers, I. IH. Bm-ied treasures. I. 192, 221. Buniev, Fannv, 1. 214-15. Busk, "Hans. \. 2H4 ; U. 2, 12-13, 14, 19 n., 29, 35, 131-3, 18;j. 2.52, 263. Busk, Capt. Hans, II. 108. ,, Prof. George. I. 242. Bute, Lady, I. 6. 29. Bvron, Waterton's appreciation of, II. 34, 39. ,, incidental mention of, I. 127-8,252. Bvron's generosity, I. 376. CAGr.lO.> II. Ficsrlii. I. 1-7. Fit/licrlHTt, Mrs.,liur!ittnicti()ii.'<, II. 17:{-4. ,, L'haniotcr uiul i|u;ili- tios, II. \7'-i II.. 171. 17.j, 17<>. the liajijiy tiiin- uf Iht inunicil lift', 11. 17ri, 177, 178. ,, ,, lier lioiiso in Brighton, II. 173 n. ,, ,, ,, indifjnation against Fox, II. 177-K. ,, ,, Issuo, was there aiiv r II. ISO. ,, ,. iiK-idiMital iniMition, II. I.'jS), 181, 213. ,, ,, lior intervention for Princess Charlotte. II. 172. ,, ,, ,, Marriafre with George IV., II. 176,179-81. ,, ,, ,, Marria^res, jirevioii;-, 11. 174, 181. ,, ,, ,, Mortilieatioiis,!!.! 7!' ,, ,, Monument, II. 1H(I-81. ,, ,, ,, Partie.s well attended. II. 173. ,, ., ,. Portrait buried with Geor-;o IV., II. 17i» and n. ,, ,, ., Po])ularitv, II. 176. 177. ,, ,, received at Court, II. 176. ,, ,, hersealed packet, II. 180, ,, ,, alwavs justly treated bv Hoval Family, II. 176, 17H, 179 n. Flemish languaj^fe and manners, I. 166 ff. Fonviello, i]tii}s. ih\ I. 67. Fordyee, Dr. , e.vperinient with fire, II. 127. Fox and Mr.s. Fit/.herbert, II. 173, 177. Fi-anklin, Lady, I. 427-8. Friends' Jleetiiifr-house, a, I. 371-2. G.^LLF.K.wi, I'iuJ,;-, ir. 43."5 ff. Garciii, Mariiis, T. 32, 43-4, 94-.'}, 363. Gautier, Thcophile, (luoted. I. 136. Gavazzi, bad reception in America and Canada, I. 415 ; and in Oxford, I. 416 ff. ,, f;rote.-*<|ue ajipearanco, I. 4 IS. ,, as a lecturer, 1. 413 ff. ,, prosclytizint^ efforts, I. 412, 411'. ,, i'uncli on, 1. 416-17. ,, in Uome, I. 413 f. ,, Terfjfiversation, 1. 413. ,, Underfrracl's squib on, I. 41 7- IS. Vulgaritv, I. 413, 416. Gay, Delphine, [. 40. 43. ,, Sophie, I. 43. Georj,'e III., I. 29; 11. 171, 172, 176, ITS, 184 n. Ceiir^'e IV., his character, II. 162. Uu. 174. ,, rapid driving, II. 162, 204, 20.3. ,, Founder or second founder of HriKhton. 11. 1.34-3. 173 n. ,, Fitzherbert. Mrs., devittion to, and marriaj^-e, II. 173, 174-.3, 176, 178. 179. ,, dies with Mrs. Fitzherbert's jfortrait round his neck, II. 179. his infidelities to her. II. 177, 17H. ,, ,, kindness, traits of, II. 1.39, 173. 1S3-6 and n., 214-15, 217. ,, the license ho pive wav to, II. 163. 164-3. 179. Mimicry, his jiowers of, 1 1. 20l -3, Music and musicians, his culti- vation of, II. 166, 1H4-6. ,, practical jokes and voutliful pninks. II. 164 ff.", 166-9, 213-14. ,, reasons for bizarrerie of Pa- vilion. II. 1.34-3, 162, 164. at Tunbridfre Wells, II. 238, 2.39. ,, twomenin Gooj^e IV., II. 203. ., youthful preference for Hrifrhton, II. 1(!0-1. Goorfjes, Madlle.. I. 103. Germain, the Coiute dc i Century," ([iioted or re- ferred to, I. V, 31, 427 ; 11. 27 n. (iossip, curious, of (ihent families. I. llKiff. (iramont, Comte de, 11. 221-6. Gran in Hunparv, I. 232 ff. (Presley, Rev. \Vm., II. 197 ff. (iriinod do la Heyni^re, II. 1. 9. (^ueronni^re, Vicotnte de la, I. 4.S9. '• O'i'irhiuilo de Jtih''-," the, I. 99. tluizot, I. 13, 14, 30. 34-7, 39. Giiriiev, Hev. Archer, I. 10(5-7. Gyp. 1. 39. Hah.stone, Mr., II. 113-16. llaji Haba, II. 191. " lliillr, /.v d,nin:i d, la." \. 33S. Handel Fe^tival in 17s7. H. 1st n. 286 INDEX Harley, Dr. Geo., at Walton Hall, II. 49-50, Kitchiner,Dr. , Invitation, facetious, II. 7. 52, 71, 74, 99 n. ,, ,, Manners, II. 1-3. Hartshome, Mr. Albert, I. 55. ,, ,, Maxims, II. .5, 6, 9,21 ff., 26, Heronry at Walton Hall, II. 67. 30. Hill, Rev. Eowland, I. 368-9, 378 ff. ,, ,, Medicine, study of, II. 4,18. Hogan, Abbe, 1. 335-6. ,, ,, Music, cultivation of, II. 8, Holland, Lord, on Mrs. Fitzherbert, 11.173, 19. 175. ,, ,, Optics, study of, II. 18 f. Honolulu, black Bishop of, I. 428 S. ,, ,, Oysters, views on, II. 9-10. Houssaye, Arsene, I. 26, 27, 47, 77 f. )) ,, "Oracle, the Cook's," Il.lf., Hubert, Saint-, in Ardennes, village, abbey. 30. cures, traditions, I. 205 ff. >) , , " Oracle, the Housekeeper's," Hugo, Victor, I. 39. IT. 6-7, 16. "The Hundi'ed Hours," executions of, >) ,, "Oracle, the Traveller's," I. 144-5. II. 22 ff. Hungary, its Crown, I. 247. )) ,, Originahty, II. 7, 18. ,, ,, manners, I. 213. ,, ,, Person, 11 . 2-3, 4. ,, ,, agreeable people, I. 231. )' ,, Prolonging life, the art of, ,, ,, railway.-, I. 249. II. 21 ff., 29. Husbands, French, I. 49. ,, ,, Servants, his treatment and Hvdrophobia, belief in miraculous cure training, IT. 11, 14, 16 f. ■for, I. 206 fff . ,, ,, Sleep, views on, II. 18, 21-2. ,, Tomb, II. 14-15. ,, Travelling, views on, II. 22 ff. ,, Unobtrusiveuess, IT. 415. "Iconoclast." See "Bradlaugh." ,, ,, Works, IT. 5ff. Immortals, would-be, II. 118 ff., 276-8. '' ,, Will, IT. 13-14. 28. ,, Will-making, hints on, IT. 16. ,, " Young Kitchiner," II. 27 ff. Japanese usages, I. 339 ff. Jarjaye, M. de, I. 150. JaiTiac, Comfe de, I. 28-9. Jesuit preachina-, I. 394, 395 ff., 435-7. Labatte, M., pere. I. 143 fff. Johnson, Dr., at Brighton, II. 189-90. ,, M., nls, I. 162-3. ,, ,, at Tunbridge Wells, II. 226. Lacordair 3, Pere, I. 392 ff. Joinville, Comte de, I. 21 ff. La Fontaine, Epitajih on Moliere, I. 122. ,, Prince de, I. 15. Lagarde, [. 335. Josephine, Empress, I. 72. Lagrange' s Diary, L 107 ff. Lamartinc , I. 14, 30, 31, 39, 40, 43. Lamballe, Princesse de, I. 144 ; II. 229-30, 230-1. La Thoril' iere, T. 109. Kelly, Michel, IT. 181 n.. 185, 2.52 ff. Lavigerie, Cardinal, I. .362 ff. Kelsey, Mr. Warren, I. 128 ff. Lecouvreur, Ach-ienne, I. 121. Kenible as a preacher, I. 373. Legend of the Mar family, I. 88-9. Kemble, Fanny, and Louis Blanc, I. 68. Leighton, Sir Fk., quoted, 11. 83 n. " St.-Keromef," I. 85. Leiningen , Prince, II. 149, 152. Kitchincr, Dr., astronomy,study of,II. 43-14. Lekain, I. 104. ,, Attainments, 11. 3. Leoi^old, King of the Belsians, I. 167, 204 j ,, his l)iographv wanted, II. 2. II. 172. ,, Children, his'love of, II. 1-2. Lepaux's Xew Religion, I. 26. ., ,, Coffee, views on making, and Letronne, I. 55. its use, II. 12. Lever, Dr . Charles, I. 204. ,, Death, II. 12-13. Liszt, I. 76-7. ,, Dinners, II. 6ff.,8f., lOf. Literary injuries hard to forgive, IT. 257. his last, II. 12-13. Locker-Lampson, Mr. Fk.. 1. 26; IT. 231. ,, Dress, II. 3, 8, 12. Lombroso , Professor, I. 277-8. ,, "Dumpy," 11. 19. Louis XVI., last hours of, I. vii, 148 ff. ,, ,, Eton, lo.st an eye at, II. 2. ,, XVIIL, L 151-2. ,, Geniality, 11. 1, 3, 14, 21. ,, -Philippe, his abdication, I. 14 ff., 35. ,, ,, Hygiene, views about, II. 11, ) J ,, ,, early adventures, I. J7-J8, 21. 4, 7, 9n., 19. INDEX 287 Louis-riiilii)po, his I'lirtitiulo,' I. 7-N. , ,, sti-ontr t'aiiiily uffoctions, I. 27 PI. ,, ,, Attempts on his litV, I. 2-7. ,, Was ho a Bourbon? I. 19 ff. ,, ,, Chsirai-tiT, variable, I. 4, H, l:i. 17. ,, ,, "Days, his happiest," I. 7n. iuexile, 1.12, 15-16, 17 ff., 27 ff. a luiiiitic's story of, I. -"j^. ,, Music, 1. 27. ,, ,, I'ersou, I. 8, 18. ,, ,, liis " Poignees de main," I. 9. Wit, I. 26, 27. Louvoiro, I. viii. Lunatics, anecdotes of, I. oS fff. Macaulav, (|Uote(l, I. 8H6-7 ; H. :59. ,, strictures on, I. 3.S7 n. Magyar, a typical, 1. 2 tiff. Mail'laril, I.'l45. Mandrin, the Bandit, I. 1")3. Manning, Card., alistemiousncss, I. 2()k ,, acumen, I. 2S8. ,, artistic wunl-^iainting, T. 27-1-0 and n., ;{Sf)-7. ,, artistic instincts latent, L. 2S.'j. ,, his anecdotes, I. ^162 ff. ,, buoyancy and humour, I. 2(51). ,, convei'sions, his success in, T. 259 ff., 269 f., 273. ,, Dock-.strike, his intervention, I. 277. ,, Friendship, tenderness in, I.28-1-.J. ,, •• Hours of Ease," 1. 278. ,, Imitators, I. 270-1. ,, Irish, apology for, I. 265. ,, Lying iu state, I. 276. his marriage, I. 268-9, 286. ,, ••neutral ground," I. 21(). 279. ,, nose-twitching, I. 277-8. ,, riedge, takes the, I. 26-1-5. ,, popularity, J. 276 f. Manning, Card., his preaching, I. 271- ff., 286-7, :«)l-7, :W7-8. ,, his self-identification with tho cause of tJod, I. 283.- ,, ,, sermons, I. 268. ,, ,, liis method in them, 1.301 fff. ,, sounding-boards, hi-; df^^cripticn of, I. 3(>6. wife, I. 286-7. Mario- Antoinette, I. 143 ff., 150,338; II. 231. Marie-Amelie, I. 13, 17 ff.. 30. .Martignac, Madame (!•; I. 97. .Mary Queen of Scots' latest chamiiion, I. '70-1. Marston, Westland, II. 148 ff. Mars, Madlh'., I. 103. Massacres of 1793, I. 144-6. 1871, I. 336 ff. ^rasquerrier, II. 191. Mathew, Father, I. 418ff. Matilde Serao, (|uoted. I. 439. Maturin, Rev. C. K.. I. 373 ff. Mendez, Catulle, quoted, I. 126, 130. Mileriot, Pere, I. 399 ff. Miller's, Joe, tomb, I. 15-16 n. Mirabeau, I. 38, 147. ••Le Misantltwpe," I. 99. Jfohl, Mie., on L. Blanc, T. 69. Moliere, I. 107 ff. ., Kjiitaph by La Fontaine, I. 122. his Works^ I. 107, 115, 116. " Mademoiselle Moliere," I. 108-9. •■ Le Motide oh Von s'ennuie," I. 83-4. .Monaco la Valletta, Card., I. 434-5. .Monro, Kev. Ed., I. 407-9. .Monsabre, Fere, I. 390. Montagu, Duke of, II. 164 and n. Mrs., II. 233 fff. Montaigne, quoted, I. 438. .Montausier, Due Je, I. 99. .Montgoltier family, I. 65 f. .^rontgomery, Rev. R., I. 384 ff. Montpensier, Due de, I. 27 f. (souof L.-Ph.) I. 13, 15. Morier, .Tames, II. 191. Morlot, Card., I. 332 ff. ; II. 284 n. 1 In the valuable volume of "Recollections" just published by Aubrey do Acre a dramatic instance is introduced of a fugitive captured in his hiding-place, brought to trial and executed, entirely through want of similar fortitude in i)recisely sinnlar circumstances. — R. H. B. • • ii - I am hapi)y to find the opinions I have ventured to express of Manning m tlie text remarkal)ly contirii>e. Routh. Dr., on Railways, I. lN(j-7 n. Roux, Marias, I. 85, 88 f . Ruby, story of a, I. 192 f. Talleyrand, I. 24 f., 289. Talmar, I. 104, 121-2. Teleky, Count, I. 21-3. Sabbatarianism, 1 1. 1:50, 11)8-1), 2()(j. Texts, singular, I. 367-8; II. 196. SaUn bleii, the, II. S>f>. Thackeray, quoted, I. 388. Salpelriere, the, I. 5(5 ff. Tliedire Ftangais, history, records, «fec., I. Sandreau, I'ere, I. ;i!K) ff. 101 fff. Sanson, I. 152. ,, ,, and the Revolution, I. Schcffer, Arv, I., 55. 115 f.. 119f. Septembreurs, tiie, I. 144-(). Thiers, I. 13, 17 f., 30 ff., 32. .35, 335. Serao, Matihhi, quoted, I. I3'J n. ,, his squeakv voice, I. 32 '. Sermons, family, I. 372. Thuriow, Lord, II". 165-6, 173 n., 259. ,, See also under " Proachinj?." Tithe of Tlitt'itre Fntnrais iirofits to poor. ,, Manninpr's framework for, I. L 111. 301 fff . ,, Charles Waterton's, 11. 8. Servants, the training of, I. 283, 2!) I; TI. Tongerloo, I. 168 f. 16 ft. Tooke. John ll(»riie. 11. 176-7. Seymour, Sir Hamilton, I. 203-4. Tourville, de, II. 1-15 ff. Ladv (r., II. 205. Tractarians, I. 293. See " Puseyito move- ,, ,, ' Huratia, II. 178, 179 n., ment." 180. Trappist preaching, I. 394-5. Sheets, hotel. II. 23. Travelling, II. 22 ff. Sibom, Mfrr., I. 356 n. ; IT. 284 n. Trelat, Dr. and Mdme., I. 57 fff . Silence, remarkable instances, II. 51-2 Triplets, I. 194 f. and n. Simon Cure de Si. E">i-7. Waterton, Cliarles, bis bedroom. 11. 43 ff. Vocations, luissod, I. «!»-l(0. Bird.-, how attracted to >> romarkahii', I. M4<>-4. Walton. II. Curd. iMaiiiiiiiir, ad\ ice on, I. 63 ff., 71. 115. 154-5. their love for him, II. 66 ff. follow his fune- Wagxee Hov. M. M., apjiointiiicnt to ral, II. 68-9, 94, nri^litoii, 11. lh7-8. BU'.ssing the fields, II. >i ,. (,'liiircli - Imililinfr, 80-1. II. iHH, itK), lyy. liis Bust. IT. 83 n. 200. ,, ,, Bvron, his api)reciation i> ,, Commensals, II. of, 11. 34, 39. iyo-1. ,, ,. his Burial-place. II. 68, »> ,, Conversation, 11. 69. 94, 111, 114-15. 188. ,, ,, his Cats, II. 52, 87-8. ,, ,, Determination of ,, ,, Cayman, adventure character, 11. with. II. 77, 97. 192-4. ,, ,, his Clock, II. 53 and n. >> ,, Early-ri.sing, re- ,, ,, his Cordiality. 11. .33-4. markable, II. ,, ,, Cromwell's bullet. 11. 195-6. 40. .53, 113. )> ,, Hospitality, II. his Descendants, 11. 51, 190-1 . 107-11, 115. >> ,, Marriajrcs and ,, ,, Determination of hi.s family, II. 190, character, II. 97. 2(K)-l". ,, .. Disintereste» ,, Vicarage, builds 62. 73-7. "78. the, 11. 195. ,, ,, Epitaj)!). II. 94. 114-15. 1) ,, Wellington, Duke ,, ,, daily Fare, 11. 52. of, intimacy ,, ,, Funeral attended bv with, II. 188, birds. 11. as-9. 94. 194, 201. ,, ,, (ilass found in Walton j> Rev. Arthui-, II. 196-7, 200 f. lake. II. ,54-5. Mr. Henry, I. 19; II. 164, 191, his Hair, II. 74. 201. ,, Heronry. II. 6<)-7. ,, Miss, 11. 164, 195, 201. ,, Hospitality, 11. 74-5, Walpolo, Horace, I. 155 ; II. 35, 39, 107 ff.. 79-SO, Nl, 116. 115, 155. .. iluniour. 11. ()2, J, Robert, 11. 277-8. 72 ff . . S2 f. CI Old," II. 277-8. ■ ■ Hygienic practice. Walford, Edward, II. 144-5, 101 n., 291 n. II. 88. Walton Hall, II. :«, :59f., 53 f., (>{f., G'J f., Legend of the Mar lUfff. family, 11. 88-9. ,, ,, Echo, II. 114. liis Literary style. II. (!1. Watch, Louis XVlth's, I. 1-19 f. ,, ,, Letters! 1 1. !t4ff.. 110. Watorton.Chai'les, his ancestor.s,' II. ')2, 53, .. Marriage. 11. .53. 69. 57. 60, 71. ,, ,, animal life, his regard .. Modesty, 11. 62. for, II. 101. the Nondescri])t. 11. >> ,, Ascent of " Ball " of St. 50-1. 86. Peter's, II. 58-9. ,, ,, iiis Originality. II. 61 . >» ,, "Ass, the dead," II. ,, ,, Ourali Poison, II. 97» 38-9, 99 f. 99 and n. )> ,, austerities, II. 41, 51, Portniit-taking, liis ob- 52, 60, 77-.S. jection to, II. 83. ' In Walfords " County Families" is the note, " Mr. Waterton is lineal ivpresentativo in male descent of Uevner, son of Xorthman or Northmanebi, who acquired the villo of Watei'tou, Lincolnshire, and assumed the name 1159." — R. H. B. 292 INDEX Watert on, Charles Rattlesnakes, his hand- Wellington, the 2nd Duke of. II. 202. ling of, II. 97 f. Wharton, Duke of, a spree of, II. 277-8. 9 J 3 J Rats, how he got rid of Whately, Archbishop, I. 366-7; II. 229, the, II. 66. 275. ) > his Reading, II. 34. ? Second-sight, II. 78-9. )) , , his ' ' Historic Doubts " anticipated, 1.366 n. )) •> 3 Sisters-in-law, 11.33,34, Wilberforce, Samuel, I. 269, 289-91. 38, 60, 68, 87, 92, 105, )3 William, racy description of 109. Pavilion, and visits there, Ji 33 Sterne, his opinion of, II. 169 f . II. 34 fE., 99. Will-making deferred, instances of, I. 26, yy jj Taxidermy, liis skill. 94-5 ; II. 13, 28. 11.42-3,46 ff.,102f., William IV. , II. 179, 198-9, 210. 109 ff. Wiseman, C ardinal, attainments and quali- i y 3 3 Tithes, II. 8. ties, I. 232.309,405-6. y J Vampires, II. 65 n. jj facetiEe, I. 311ff., 319. J> )3 "Vermin," useful, his protection of, II. 55 f ., 65 f. " ,, treniality aiid hospi- tality, I. 310, 330. ,, humour, I. 310. >» 3) his Wanderings, II. 56 fE., 63. ., Writings, II. 61. ,, Wife, II. 57f., 60,71. ., Youth, II. 55,57-8. 33 ,, incidental mention, I. 179, 231-2, 233, 234, 249, 276, 308 ff., 340, 347, 352-3, 430, 432 ; II. 40-1. ,, Ediiuud, II. 51, 107 ff.3 115, 155. ., ,, as a lecturer, I. 316 f., ,, Charlie, ' II. 109-10 n. 320. Wellin ^ton, Duke of, on Louis- PhiUppe, I. 33 , , his Lecture on Words, 17. I. 317 fff. )j ,, Napoleon's ashes, I. 32. his exercise of Church preferment, I. 293 ; II. 187. .. funeral sermon, I. 381. 33 3 3 ,, a good listener, I. 315-16. ,, his lying in state, I. 331. ,, ,, funeral, I. 331 and note. ,, at Walton Hall, II. 40-1. >> >> ,, sayings,II. 32,396. on the portrait buried with Geo. IV., II. 179 and u. ,, as a preacher, I. 405-6. ,, Principal of Oscott, I. .329, 330. ,, his reveilloii.->, I. 330. >> 33 Incidental mention, II. 187-8,189,193-4, " ,, ,, versatility, I. 315, 330. 396. Worth, the tailor, his chateau, I. 50. j> ,, Memorial to, II. 200. " Wycliffe's Bible," quoted, II. 227 n. 99 33 his sons, II. 187-8,201. )} 39 on Geo. IVth's mimi- cry, II. 201. YocxG, Dr. II. 193 n., 232, 233-6. ^ Yet another scion — a posthumous son of Charlie Waterton —has been added to the number of the Squire's descendants since the above notice was in type ; in October of the present year. — R. H. B. \< PBINTED BY QILBEBI AND BITINGTON, fO., ST. JOHir's H0T7SE, CLEBKES^WELL, £.C. D 000 263 149 7