Part 17

“SIR,--You having promised to give an account of the curiosities of art, as well as the wonders of nature, I thought it would oblige the public to acquaint you that the effigies of his late Majesty, King William III., of glorious memory, is curiously done to the life in wax, dressed in coronation robe, with so majestic a mien that nothing seems wanting but life and motion, as persons of great honour upon the strictest view have with surprise declared. Likewise the effigies of several persons of quality, with a fine banquet, and other curiosities in every room, passing to and from the King’s apartment, are all to be seen at Mrs. Goldsmith’s, in Green Court, in the Old Jury, London.”

From the following flummery bespattered on this wax-worker by the editor of the _Post Angel_, I may, with the greatest probability, conclude that his substance was just as vulnerable as that of many of the hirelings who feed themselves by puffing what they denominate “the fine arts,” and that he had no objection to a dozen of port, _had it been ever so crusted_.

“The Observator” states that “the ingenuity of man hath found out several ways to imitate Nature, and represent natural bodies to the eye by sculpture, picture, carving, waxwork, etc.; and though some of the ancients were famed for this art, as Zeuxis and Apelles, yet our last ages have outstripped them, and made considerable improvements, as may be easily discernible to those who are skilled in antiquities, and have observed the _rude_ and _coarse_ pieces of the ancients. Those that question the truth of this, need but step to that famous artist, Mrs. Goldsmith, in the Old Jewry, whose _workmanship_ is so absolute (_in the effigies which she has made of his late Majesty_), as it admits of no correction. She also made the late Queen, the Duke of Gloucester, to the general satisfaction of a great number of the nobility and gentry. I am not for the Hungarian’s wooden coat of mail, the work of fifteen years; nor Myrmeride’s coach with four horses, so little that you might hide them under a fly’s wing: these are but a laborious loss of time, an ingenious profusion of one of the best talents we are entrusted with; but _this effigy of his late Majesty_ has taken up but a small part of Mrs. Goldsmith’s time, and yet it is made with so much art, that nothing seems wanting but life and motion. I own,” continues this time-server, “’tis little wonder to see a picture have motion; but Mrs. Goldsmith is such a person (as all will own that see this effigy which she has made of King William), that she has almost found the secret to make even dead bodies alive.”

1832.

“You are never idle,” observed my _old_, OLD, very OLD friend John Taylor,[497] as he entered my parlour on the 3rd of November, in his ninety-third year: “bless me, how like that is to your father! Well, Howard is a very clever fellow! Pray now, do tell me, did your father know Churchill? My friend Jonathan Tyers introduced me to him in Vauxhall Gardens much about the time Hogarth represented him as a bear with a pot of porter.[498] I think, to the best of my recollection, the print was brought out in 1763. Mr. Tyers asked Mr. Churchill what he thought of it. ‘Oh!’ said he, ‘it is a silly thing, Sir. I should have thought Hogarth had known better.’” I then requested Mr. Taylor to describe Mr. Churchill’s dress for Vauxhall Gardens. “Oh! not as a clergyman, not in black, as he appeared in the pit of the theatre. Let me see: his coat was blue, edged with a narrow gold lace; a buff waistcoat; but I won’t be certain whether that was laced or not--I rather think it was not. He had black silk small-clothes, white silk stockings, small silver shoe-buckles, and a gold-laced three-cornered hat.”

“Did you know Gainsborough, Sir?” “Oh! I remember him; he was an odd man at times. I recollect my master Hayman coming home after he had been to an exhibition, and saying what an extraordinary picture Gainsborough had painted of the Blue Boy; it is as fine as Vandyke.”[499] “Who was the Blue Boy, Sir?” “Why, he was an ironmonger, but why so called I don’t know. He lived at the corner of Greek and King Streets, Soho; an immensely rich man.” “Did you know Mrs. Abington?” “Oh yes; she was a most delightful actress of women of fashion, though she made herself very ridiculous by attempting the part of _Scrub_.[500] Mr. Hoole, when he heard she was to play the character that evening, sent for a chair and went to see her; but he said it was so truly ridiculous, that he was quite disgusted. Ay, I see you have got Nollekens’s bust of Dr. Johnson. I made two drawings of him when I was at Oxford: one was for Sir Robert Chambers,[501] who married the pretty Miss Wilton, that went to India; who had the other, I can’t immediately say. I remember the Doctor asked me what countryman I was.--‘A Londoner, Sir, a Londoner.’ ‘And where born?’ ‘In the parish of Ethelburga, in Bishopsgate Within.’ It is a very small church; but my father and mother[502] were buried there, though I suppose, by this time, there’s nothing of them left. My friend Jonathan Tyers took milk and water for upwards of twenty years at his meals, though he very well knew what a good glass of wine was, as well as any man in England. Ay, and a fine haunch of venison, too. Many and many a time I have dined with him in the gardens, when I was making the drawing for Boydell, of Hayman’s picture of the Admirals. Mr. Tyers gave very excellent dinners, I must say.”

The truly skilful manner in which Mr. John Seguier has proceeded with the pictures painted by Rubens, which adorn the ceiling of Whitehall Chapel, will, I hope, prove a lasting record of his success in picture-cleaning. When first I ascended the scaffold, my astonishment was beyond conception at the enormous size of the objects. The children are more than nine feet, and the full-grown figures from twenty to twenty-five in height. The pictures were in a most filthy and husky state. However, it afforded me infinite delight to hear Mr. Seguier declare, that he firmly believed he should be able to remove Cipriani’s washy colouring completely; and that he expected to find that of Rubens in its pristine state. Upon my seeing these pictures on the floor, after they had been cleaned,[503] I found his predictions verified, and can now, by the judicious nourishment afforded to the canvas, announce their effect to be truly glorious. Every precaution has been taken, under the able direction of Sir Benjamin Clarke Stevenson, to render the roof impervious to the most inveterate weather, so that posterity, in all probability, may long enjoy the beauties of these masterpieces of art.

“UPPER GOWER STREET, BEDFORD SQUARE, _16th November 1832_.

“MY DEAR SIR,--As I am desirous to make your valuable collection of letters from bygone professional characters complete, gratify me by accepting the accompanying original communication from Mrs. Abington to Mrs. Jordan.[504] It will call to your remembrance the period when that skilful and excellent man, John Bannister, delighted the town by _his_ performances; whose retirement from public life in June, 1815 (after thirty-seven years of hard and honest service), opened the doors of Old Drury to a young aspirant for histrionic honours in the person of your humble servant.

“I need not here enumerate _all_ the advantages derived from a constant association with such an artist as John Bannister. An uninterrupted friendly intercourse of many years manifested the sincerity in which he penned the following note to me a short time after my appearance at Drury Lane Theatre:--

“‘65 GOWER STREET, _Dec. 30, 1815_.

“‘MY DEAR SIR,--I have been confined to my room more than three weeks with the gout; but I am now recovering, though slowly. Early next week, will you favour me with a visit in Gower Street? It will please me to give you all the information and gratification in my power, and to converse with you personally about theatrical matters.

“‘You are my successor, and I beg leave to say that I do not know any person more calculated to tread in my shoes. I sincerely hope you may never have occasion for the _gouty ones_! I remain, my dear Sir, yours sincerely,

“‘JOHN BANNISTER.’[505]

“‘TO J. P. HARLEY, ESQ., Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.’

“And now, my dear Sir, with every sincere hope for your continued health and happiness, believe that I am very truly yours,

“J. P. HARLEY.[506]

“TO JOHN THOMAS SMITH, British Museum.”

1833.

Mrs. Piozzi, in her anecdotes of Dr. Johnson, speaking of Porridge Island, says it “is a mean street in London, filled with cook-shops, for the convenience of the poorer inhabitants; the real name of it I know not, but suspect that it is generally known by to have been originally a term of derision.”

Porridge Island consisted of a nest of old rat-deserted houses, lately forming narrow alleys south of Chandos Street, and east of St. Martin’s church, which were originally occupied by numerous cooks for the accommodation of the workmen engaged in erecting the said church.[507]

FOOTNOTES

[1] Two other residences of Smith’s, less definitely associated with his books or etchings, are recorded. The first is No. 8 Popham Terrace, near the Barley Mow Tavern, in Frog Lane, Islington. His sojourn here is mentioned, without dates, by Lewis in his _History of Islington_ (1842). Frog Lane is now Popham Road, of which Popham Terrace appears to have been part. In 1809, Smith was living at No. 4 The Polygon, Somers Town.

[2] Thomas Lowe had taken Marylebone Gardens in 1763, at a rent of £170. Fresh from his triumphs as a tenor at Vauxhall, he made concerts the principal entertainment. In 1768 he compounded with his creditors.

[3] This theatre at Richmond was built two years before Smith’s birth, and was opened in May 1765, by Mr. Love, who spoke a prologue by Garrick. Love was the stage name of James Dance, who, as a son of George Dance, R.A., the City Architect, adopted it that he might not “disgrace his family,” a proceeding on which Genest comments: “Shall we never have done with this miserable cant? Foote, with much humour, makes Papillion say, in _The Lyar_: ‘As to Player, whatever might happen to me, I was determined not to bring a disgrace upon my family; and so I resolved to turn footman.’” _The Devil to Pay_, by Charles Coffey, was adapted from a play by Jevon called _The Devil of a Wife_, first produced at Drury Lane in 1731, when Love played “Jobson” and Mrs. Love “Nell.”

[4] “A convivial glass-grinder, then residing at No. 6, in Earl Street, Seven Dials, and who had, for upwards of fifty years, worn a green velvet cap,” is Smith’s note on his uncle. In his _Nollekens_ he says: “In the British Museum there is a brass medal of Vittore Pisano, a painter of Verona, executed by himself … his cap, which is an upright one with many folds, reminded me of that sort usually worn, when I was a boy, by the old glass-grinders of the Seven Dials.”

[5] Dr. William Hunter (1718-83) was elder brother of the celebrated Dr. John Hunter, to whom in 1768 he gave up his house in Jermyn Street, taking possession of the one he had built for himself in Windmill Street. In 1764 he had been appointed Physician Extraordinary to the Queen. He became a foundation member of the Royal Academy, as Professor of Anatomy. It is related that half an hour before his death he exclaimed: “Had I a pen, and were I able to write, I would describe how easy and pleasant a thing it is to die.”

[6] Now rebuilt as No. 38.

[7] Strype’s edition of Stow, 1720, contains many such plates. John Kip, the engraver, was born in Amsterdam. He died at Westminster in 1722.

[8] In the miscellaneous pages of his _Nollekens_, Smith reports Elizabeth Carter, of “Epictetus” fame, as saying to a Covent Garden fruiterer, named Twigg (jocularly known as the “Twig of the Garden”): “I recollect, Sir, when Mr. Garrick acted, hackney chairs were then so numerous that they stood all round the Piazzas, down Southampton Street, and extended more than half-way along Maiden Lane, so much were they in requisition at that time.”

[9] Voltaire first came to London in May 1726, after his confinement in the Bastille, landing at Greenwich on a cloudless night. His first impressions of London are quoted by Mr. Archibald Ballantyne in his interesting _Voltaire’s Visit to England_. After being the guest of Bolingbroke, Voltaire returned to Paris in a state of indecision, but, again crossing the Channel, he settled at Wandsworth, where he found a friend and host in Sir Everard Falkener. He met Pope, and improved his English by attending the theatres. Chetwood says: “I furnished him every evening with the play of the night (at Drury Lane), which he took with him into the orchestra (his accustomed seat): in four or five months he not only conversed in elegant English, but wrote it with exact propriety.” Voltaire became a well-known figure in London, and wrote his _Henriade_ in his London lodging at the sign of the “White Peruke,” Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, next door to the Bedford Head.

[10] _Notes of Proceedings and Occurrences during the British Embassy to Pekin_, 1816. Geo. Thos. Staunton, 1824. Printed for Private Circulation.

[11] Pliny the Younger, in writing to his friend, Baebius Macer, on the habits and life of his uncle, C. Plinius Secundus (Pliny the elder), says: “A shorthand writer constantly attended him, … who, in the winter, wore a particular sort of warm gloves, that the sharpness of the weather might not occasion any interruption to my uncle’s studies; and for the same reason, when in Rome, he was always carried in a chair. I recollect his once taking me to task for walking. ‘You need not,’ he said, ‘lose these hours.’ For he thought every hour gone that was not given to study” (_Letters of Pliny the Younger_, bk. iii. letter 5, p. 82. Bohn’s Classical Library).

[12] The Catalogue of this exhibition is entitled: “A Catalogue of the Paintings, Sculptures, Architecture, Models, Drawings, Engravings, etc., now exhibiting under the Patronage of the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce, at their Great Room in the Strand, London.” It credits Mr. Nathaniel Smith, St. Martin’s Lane, with the following:--

210. A bust as large as life.

211. A figure of Time, imitating a bronze.

[13] Smith’s naval ancestor won his sobriquet, “Tom of Ten Thousand,” very easily. He had compelled the French corvette _Gironde_ to salute the British colours in Plymouth Sound, for which, on complaint, he was dismissed the navy for exceeding his instructions, but was shortly reinstated. The public believed that he had fired into the _Gironde_ to compel its respect to our flag, and on this exaggerated report gave him the name “Tom of Ten Thousand.” Smith, who rose to high rank, but won no great personal distinction, presided over the court-martial which condemned Admiral Byng in 1757.

It may be added that the name “Tom of Ten Thousand” has been borne by several men, notably by Thomas Thynne of Longleat, who was so called on account of his wealth. He was murdered in Pall Mall in February 1682, by three assassins hired by Count Königsmark. The murder is realistically portrayed on his tomb in the south aisle of Westminster Abbey. Another “Tom of Ten Thousand” was Thomas Hudson, a native of Leeds, who lost a large fortune in the South Sea Scheme, and, becoming insane, wandered the streets of London for years, leaning on a crutch.

[14] These coincidences of residence seem to be overstated by Smith. It must have been after, not before, his visit to Italy, which he made in his 36th year, that Wilson took apartments in the Piazza on the north side of Covent Garden. He lived above the rooms of Cock, the auctioneer, who was followed by Langford, and later still by George Robins. Sir Peter Lely had lived in the same house from 1662 until his death in 1680, and here his collections were sold in 1667. Smith seems to be wrong about Kneller. This painter’s house had been on the east side of the Square, known as the Little Piazza. Its garden, stretching back to Bow Street, was the scene of the famous quarrel between Kneller and Dr. Ratcliffe. A tenant who did precede Wilson was Hogarth, who, though he did not reside at Cock’s, had exhibited here his “Mariage à la Mode” gratis, with a view to its sale.

Wilson had a model made of a portion of the Piazza, which he used as a receptacle for his implements. The rustic work of the piers was provided with drawers, and the openings of the arches held pencils and oil bottles. An unbending devotion to his Italian manner of painting (he so Italianised a view of Kew Gardens that George the Third failed to recognise it) and a rough temper brought this fine painter to humbler dwellings in Charlotte Street, Great Queen Street, and Foley Place; finally, to a room in Tottenham Street. His fortunes were mended at the last by his appointment as Librarian to the Royal Academy, and his succession to a small estate in Wales on the death of his brother.

[15] See a plate in the _Lady’s Magazine_ of 1870, in which Miss Catley wears such elbow ruffles in the character of Rosetta in _Love in a Village_.

[16] The death of Molly Mogg was thus announced in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_: “Mrs. Mary Mogg, at Oakingham: she was the person on whom Gay wrote the song of ‘Molly Mogg.’” This song was first printed in _Mist’s Weekly Journal_ of August 27, 1726, with a note stating that “it was writ by two or three men of wit (who have diverted the public both in prose and verse), upon the occasion of their lying at a certain inn at Ockingham, where the daughter of the house was remarkably pretty, and whose name is Molly Mogg.” These “men of wit” were supposed to have been Pope, Swift, and Gay, and it was believed that they had together concocted the song, but the weight of evidence is in favour of Gay’s sole authorship. There is, however, enough doubt to warrant one in holding to the pleasant tradition that the three poets, over their cups at the Rose Inn, made the song which began (original version):--

“Says my Uncle, I pray you discover What has been the cause of your woes, That you pine and you whine like a lover? I’ve seen Molly Mog of the Rose.

Oh, Nephew! your grief is but folly, In town you may find better prog; Half a crown there will get you a Molly, A Molly much better than Mog.

…

The school boys delight in a play-day, The schoolmaster’s joy is to flog; The milk-maid’s delight is in May day, But mine is in sweet Molly Mog.”

[17] Finch’s Grotto Garden stood on the site now occupied by the headquarters of the Metropolitan Fire Brigade. It was opened--six years before John Thomas Smith was born--on the strength of a spring in the grounds which a Dr. Townshend was willing to declare medicinal. Concerts and fireworks were given with fair success, and here “Tommy” Lowe accepted engagements after his failure in the management of Marylebone Gardens. The tavern was burnt down in May 1795, and was replaced by another called the “Goldsmith’s Arms,” afterwards styled the “Old Grotto New Reviv’d.” This tavern bore the inscription--

“Here Herbs did grow And flowers sweet, But now ’tis call’d Saint George’s Street.”

All that is known about Finch’s Grotto is told by Mr. Warwick Wroth in his admirable _London Pleasure Gardens of the Eighteenth Century_.

[18] This famous aid to the teething of children was invented about the year 1717, when there appeared a _Philosophical Essay upon the Celebrated Anodyne Necklace_, dedicated to Dr. Paul Chamberlen (who died in this year), and the Royal Society. This tract, quoted by Mr. J. Eliot Hodgkin in _Notes and Queries_ of Feb. 16, 1884, argues the advantages of the necklace as follows:--

“For since the difficult _Cutting of Children’s Teeth_ proceeds from the hard and strict Closure of their _Gums_; If you get Them but once separated and opened, the _Teeth_ will of themselves Naturally come Forth; Now the Smooth Alcalious Atoms of the _Necklace_, by their insinuating figure and shape, do so make way for their Protrusion by gently _softening_ and _opening_ the hard swelled _Gums_, that the TEETH will of themselves without any difficulty or pain CUT and come out, as has been sufficiently proved.”

Mr. Hodgkin describes the necklace as “of beads artificially prepared, small, like barley-corns,” costing five shillings. An early depôt was Garraway’s at the Royal Exchange Gate. In Smith’s day they were sold in Long Acre by Mr. Burchell at the sign of the Anodyne Necklace, and the price was still “5s. single,” with “an allowance by the dozen to sell again.” Burchell advertised: “After the Wearing of which about their Neck but One night, Children have immediately cut their TEETH with Safety, who but just before were on the Brink of the Grave.”

[19] According to Daulby’s numbering.

[20] For some curious erudition on go-carts see Smith’s _Life of Nollekens_, where he says (1829 ed. i. 221): “When I was a boy, the go-cart was common in every toy-shop in London; but it was to be found in the greatest abundance in the once far-famed turners’ shop in Spinning-wheel Alley, Moorfields: a narrow passage leading from those fields to the spot upon which the original Bethlehem Hospital stood in Bishopsgate Street. In 1825-26, however, both Spinning-wheel Alley and Old Bethlehem were considerably altered and widened, and subsequently named Liverpool Street.”

[21] Hone says: “The late King George IV. and his brothers and sisters, all the royal family of George III., were rocked. The rocker was a female officer of the household, with a salary” (_Every Day Book_). Rocker cradles are to-day made in Ireland by villagers, and sold from door to door.

[22] Two artists, father and son, bore the name of Israel von Meckenen. They flourished in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, and appear to have collaborated on some 250 prints. The British Museum has a fine set of their engravings.

[23] The stone inscribed “Here lies Nancy Dawson” no longer exists. M. Dorsay Ansell, the obliging keeper of the burial-grounds (now laid out as one recreation-ground) of St. George the Martyr and St. George’s, Bloomsbury, is frequently applied to for information as to its existence. Eighteen years ago, when these grounds were formed, careful search was made for interesting stones, and the gravestone of Zachary Macaulay, among others, was discovered by Mr. Ansell. That of Nancy Dawson was never found, but it may be buried out of sight.

Nancy Dawson is stated to have died at Haverstock Hill, May 27, 1767. Her portrait in oils still hangs in the Garrick Club, and the print-sellers are familiar with her figure in theatrical costume. She is believed to have been born about 1730, to have been the daughter of a Clare Market porter, and to have lived in poverty in St. Giles’s or in a Drury Lane cellar. The rather ill-supported narratives of her career speak, as does Smith, of her waiting on the skittle-players at a Marylebone tavern, which Mr. George Clinch thinks (_Marylebone and St. Pancras_) may have been the old “Rose of Normandy” in High Street.

Nancy Dawson’s fortune was made in 1759 in the Beggars’ Opera. The man who danced the hornpipe among the thieves happened to have fallen ill, and his place was taken by Nancy, who was then a rising young actress. From that moment her success was secure. Her real monument is the song beginning--

“Of all the girls in our town, The black, the fair, the red, the brown, That dance and prance it up and down, There’s none like Nancy Dawson!