The changes in the manners and customs of our metropolis
may be agreeably gathered from such glimpses
as we gain of the history of "houses of entertainment"
in the long lapse of centuries. Their records present
innumerable pictures in little of society and modes, the
interest of which is increased by distance. They show
us how the tavern was the great focus of news long
before the newspaper fully supplied the intellectual
want. Much of the business of early times was transacted
in taverns, and it is to some extent in the present
day. According to the age, the tavern reflects the
manners, the social tastes, customs, and recreations;
and there, in days when travelling was difficult and
costly, and not unattended with danger, the traveller
told his wondrous tale to many an eager listener; and
the man who rarely strayed beyond his own parish, was
thus made acquainted with the life of the world. Then,
the old tavern combined, with much of the comfort of an
English home, its luxuries, without the forethought of
providing either. Its come-and-go life presented many
a useful lesson to the man who looked beyond the cheer
of the moment. The master, or taverner, was mostly
a person of substance, often of ready wit and cheerful
manners—to render his public home attractive.
The "win-hous," or tavern, is enumerated among the
houses of entertainment in the time of the Saxons; and
no doubt existed in England much earlier. The peg-tankard,
a specimen of which we see in the Ashmolean
Collection at Oxford, originated with the Saxons; the
pegs inside denoted how deep each guest was to drink:
hence arose the saying, "he is a peg too low," when a
man was out of spirits. The Danes were even more
convivial in their habits than the Saxons, and may be
presumed to have multiplied the number of "guest
houses," as the early taverns were called. The Norman
followers of the Conqueror soon fell into the good cheer
of their predecessors in England. Although wine was
made at this period in great abundance from vineyards
in various parts of England, the trade of the taverns was
principally supplied from France. The traffic for Bordeaux
and the neighbouring provinces is said to have
commenced about 1154, through the marriage of Henry
II. with Eleanor of Aquitaine. The Normans were the
great carriers, and Guienne the place whence most of
our wines were brought; and which are described in this
reign to have been sold in the ships and in the wine-cellars
near the public place of cookery, on the banks of
the Thames. We are now speaking of the customs of
seven centuries since; of which the public wine-cellar,
known to our time as the Shades, adjoining old London
Bridge, was unquestionably a relic.
The earliest dealers in wines were of two descriptions:
the vintners, or importers; and the taverners, who kept
taverns for them, and sold the wine by retail to such as
came to the tavern to drink it, or fetched it to their
own homes.
In a document of the reign of Edward II., we find
mentioned a tenement called Pin Tavern, situated in the
Vintry, where the Bordeaux merchants craned their
wines out of lighters, and other vessels on the Thames;
and here was the famous old tavern with the sign of the
Three Cranes. Chaucer makes the apprentice of this
period loving better the tavern than the shop:—
"A prentis whilom dwelt in our citee,—
At ev'ry bridale would he sing and hoppe;
He loved bet' the tavern than the shoppe,
For when ther any riding was in Chepe,
Out of the shoppe thider would he lepe;
And til that he had all the sight ysein
And dancid wil, he wold not com agen."
Thus, the idle City apprentice was a great tavern
haunter, which was forbidden in his indenture; and to
this day, the apprentice's indenture enacts that he shall
not "haunt taverns."
In a play of 1608, the apprentices of old Hobson, a
rich citizen, in 1560, frequent the Rose and Crown, in
the Poultry, and the Dagger, in Cheapside.
"Enter Hobson, Two Prentices, and a Boy.
"1 Pren. Prithee, fellow Goodman, set forth the ware, and
looke to the shop a little. I'll but drink a cup of wine with a
customer, at the Rose and Crown in the Poultry, and come again
presently.
"2 Pren. I must needs step to the Dagger in Cheape, to send
a letter into the country unto my father. Stay, boy, you are the
youngest prentice; look you to the shop."
In the reign of Richard II., it was ordained by statute
that "the wines of Gascoine, of Osey, and of Spain,"
as well as Rhenish wines, should not be sold above sixpence
the gallon; and the taverners of this period frequently
became very rich, and filled the highest civic
offices, as sheriffs and mayors. The fraternity of vintners
and taverners, anciently the Merchant Wine Tonners of
Gascoyne, became the Craft of Vintners, incorporated
by Henry VI. as the Vintners' Company.
The curious old ballad of London Lyckpenny, written
in the reign of Henry V., by Lydgate, a monk of
Bury, confirms the statement of the prices in the reign
of Richard II. He comes to Cornhill, when the wine-drawer
of the Pope's Head tavern, standing without the
street-door, it being the custom of drawers thus to waylay
passengers, takes the man by the hand, and says,—"Will
you drink a pint of wine?" whereunto the
countryman answers, "A penny spend I may," and so
drank his wine. "For bread nothing did he pay"—for
that was given in. This is Stow's account: the ballad
makes the taverner, not the drawer, invite the countryman;
and the latter, instead of getting bread for nothing,
complains of having to go away hungry:—
"The taverner took me by the sleeve,
'Sir,' saith he, 'will you our wine assay?'
I answered, 'That cannot much me grieve,
A penny can do no more than it may;'
I drank a pint, and for it did pay;
Yet, sore a-hungered from thence I yede,
And, wanting money, I could not speed," etc.
There was no eating at taverns at this time, beyond
a crust to relish the wine; and he who wished to dine
before he drank, had to go to the cook's.
The furnishing of the Boar's Head, in Eastcheap,
with sack, in Henry IV., is an anachronism of Shakspeare's;
for the vintners kept neither sacks, muscadels,
malmseys, bastards, alicants, nor any other wines but
white and claret, until 1543. All the other sweet wines
before that time, were sold at the apothecaries' shops
for no other use but for medicine.
Taking it as the picture of a tavern a century later,
we see the alterations which had taken place. The
single drawer or taverner of Lydgate's day is now
changed to a troop of waiters, besides the under skinker,
or tapster. Eating was no longer confined to the cook's
row, for we find in Falstaff's bill "a capon 2s. 2d.;
sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d.; anchovies and sack, after
supper, 2s. 6d.; bread, one halfpenny." And there
were evidently different rooms[27] for the guests, as
Francis[28] bids a brother waiter "Look down in the
Pomgranite;" for which purpose they had windows, or
loopholes, affording a view from the upper to the lower
apartments. The custom of naming the principal rooms
in taverns and hotels is usual to the present day.
Taverns and wine-bibbing had greatly increased in
the reign of Edward VI., when it was enacted by statute
that no more than 8d. a gallon should be taken for any
French wines, and the consumption limited in private
houses to ten gallons each person yearly; that there
should not be "any more or great number of taverns in
London of such tavernes or wine sellers by retaile, above
the number of fouretye tavernes or wyne sellers," being
less than two, upon an average to each parish. Nor did
this number much increase afterwards; for in a return
made to the Vintners' Company, late in Elizabeth's
reign, there were only one hundred and sixty-eight
taverns in the whole city and suburbs.
It seems to have been the fashion among old ballad-mongers,
street chroniclers, and journalists, to sing the
praises of the taverns in rough-shod verse, and that
lively rhyme which, in our day, is termed "patter."
Here are a few specimens, of various periods.
In a black-letter poem of Queen Elizabeth's reign,
entitled Newes from Bartholomew Fayre, there is this
curious enumeration:
"There hath been great sale and utterance of Wine,
Besides Beere, and Ale, and Ipocras fine,
In every country, region, and nation,
But chiefly in Billingsgate, at the Salutation;
And the Bore's Head, near London Stone;
The Swan at Dowgate, a tavern well knowne;
The Miter in Cheape, and then the Bull Head;
And many like places that make noses red;
The Bore's Head in Old Fish-street; Three Cranes in the Vintry;
And now, of late, St. Martins in the Sentree;
The Windmill in Lothbury; the Ship at th' Exchange;
King's Head in New Fish-street, where roysterers do range;
The Mermaid in Cornhill; Red Lion in the Strand;
Three Tuns in Newgate Market; Old Fish-street at the Swan."
This enumeration omits the Mourning Bush, adjoining
Aldersgate, containing divers large rooms and lodgings,
and shown in Aggas's plan of London, in 1560. There
are also omitted The Pope's Head, The London Stone,
The Dagger, The Rose and Crown, etc. Several of the
above Signs have been continued to our time in the very
places mentioned; but nearly all the original buildings
were destroyed in the Great Fire of 1666; and the few
which escaped have been re-built, or so altered, that
their former appearance has altogether vanished.
The following list of taverns is given by Thomas
Heywood, the author of the fine old play of A Woman
killed with Kindness. Heywood, who wrote in 1608, is
telling us what particular houses are frequented by particular
classes of people:—
"The Gentry to the King's Head,
The nobles to the Crown,
The Knights unto the Golden Fleece,
And to the Plough the Clown.
The churchman to the Mitre,
The shepherd to the Star,
The gardener hies him to the Rose,
To the Drum the man of war;
To the Feathers, ladies you; the Globe
The seaman doth not scorn;
The usurer to the Devil, and
The townsman to the Horn.
The huntsman to the White Hart,
To the Ship the merchants go,
But you who do the Muses love,
The sign called River Po.
The banquerout to the World's End,
The fool to the Fortune Pie,
Unto the Mouth the oyster-wife,
The fiddler to the Pie.
The punk unto the Cockatrice,
The Drunkard to the Vine,
The beggar to the Bush, then meet,
And with Duke Humphrey dine."
In the British Apollo of 1710, is the following doggrel:—
"I'm amused at the signs,
As I pass through the town,
To see the odd mixture—
A Magpie and Crown,
The Whale and the Crow,
The Razor and the Hen,
The Leg and Seven Stars,
The Axe and the Bottle,
The Tun and the Lute,
The Eagle and Child,
The Shovel and Boot."
In Look about You, 1600, we read that "the drawers
kept sugar folded up in paper, ready for those who called
for sack;" and we further find in another old tract,
that the custom existed of bringing two cups of silver
in case the wine should be wanted diluted; and this was
done by rose-water and sugar, generally about a pennyworth.
A sharper in the Bellman of London, described
as having decoyed a countryman to a tavern, "calls for
two pintes of sundry wines, the drawer setting the wine
with two cups, as the custome is, the sharper tastes of
one pinte, no matter which, and finds fault with the
wine, saying, ''tis too hard, but rose-water and sugar
would send it downe merrily'—and for that purpose
takes up one of the cups, telling the stranger he is well
acquainted with the boy at the barre, and can have two-pennyworth
of rose-water for a penny of him; and so
steps from his seate: the stranger suspects no harme,
because the fawne guest leaves his cloake at the end of
the table behind him,—but the other takes good care
not to return, and it is then found that he hath stolen
ground, and out-leaped the stranger more feet than he
can recover in haste, for the cup is leaped with him, for
which the wood-cock, that is taken in the springe, must
pay fifty shillings, or three pounds, and hath nothing
but an old threadbare cloake not worth two groats to
make amends for his losses."
Bishop Earle, who wrote in the first half of the
seventeenth century, has left this "character" of a
tavern of his time. "A tavern is a degree, or (if you
will) a pair of stairs above an alehouse, where men are
drunk with more credit and apology. If the vintner's
nose be at the door, it is a sign sufficient, but the
absence of this is supplied by the ivy-bush. It is a
broacher of more news than hogsheads, and more jests
than news, which are sucked up here by some spungy
brain, and from thence squeezed into a comedy. Men
come here to make merry, but indeed make a noise, and
this music above is answered with a clinking below.
The drawers are the civilest people in it, men of good
bringing up, and howsoever we esteem them, none can
boast more justly of their high calling. 'Tis the best
theatre of natures, where they are truly acted, not
played, and the business as in the rest of the world up
and down, to wit, from the bottom of the cellar to the
great chamber. A melancholy man would find here
matter to work upon, to see heads, as brittle as glasses,
and often broken; men come hither to quarrel, and
come here to be made friends; and if Plutarch will lend
me his simile, it is even Telephus's sword that makes
wounds, and cures them. It is the common consumption
of the afternoon, and the murderer or the maker
away of a rainy day. It is the torrid zone that scorches
the face, and tobacco the gunpowder that blows it up.
Much harm would be done if the charitable vintner had
not water ready for the flames. A house of sin you may
call it, but not a house of darkness, for the candles are
never out; and it is like those countries far in the
north, where it is as clear at midnight as at mid-day.
After a long sitting it becomes like a street in a dashing
shower, where the spouts are flushing above, and the
conduits running below, etc. To give you the total
reckoning of it, it is the busy man's recreation, the
idle man's business, the melancholy man's sanctuary,
the stranger's welcome, the inns-of-court man's entertainment,
the scholar's kindness, and the citizen's
courtesy. It is the study of sparkling wits, and a cup
of comedy their book, whence we leave them."
The conjunction of vintner and victualler had now
become common, and would require other accommodation
than those mentioned by the Bishop, as is shown in
Massinger's New Way to pay Old Debts, where Justice
Greedy makes Tapwell's keeping no victuals in his house
as an excuse for pulling down his sign:
"Thou never hadst in thy house to stay men's stomachs,
A piece of Suffolk cheese, or gammon of bacon,
Or any esculent as the learned call it,
For their emolument, but sheer drink only.
For which gross fault I here do damn thy licence,
Forbidding thee henceforth to tap or draw;
For instantly I will in mine own person,
Command the constable to pull down thy sign,
And do't before I eat."
And the decayed vinter, who afterwards applies to
Wellborn for payment of his tavern score, answers, on
his inquiring who he is:
"A decay'd vintner, Sir;
That might have thriv'd, but that your worship broke me
With trusting you with muscadine and eggs,
And five-pound suppers, with your after-drinkings,
When you lodged upon the Bankside."
Dekker tells us, near this time, of regular ordinaries
of three kinds: 1st. An ordinary of the longest reckoning,
whither most of your courtly gallants do resort:
2nd. A twelvepenny ordinary, frequented by the justice
of the peace, a young Knight; and a threepenny
ordinary, to which your London usurer, your stale
bachelor, and your thrifty attorney, doth resort. Then
Dekker tells us of a custom, especially in the City, to
send presents of wine from one room to another, as a
complimentary mark of friendship. "Inquire," directs
he, "what gallants sup in the next room; and if they
be of your acquaintance, do not, after the City fashion,
send them in a pottle of wine and your name." Then,
we read of Master Brook sending to the Castle Inn at
Windsor, a morning draught of sack.
Ned Ward, in the London Spy, 1709, describes several
famous taverns, and among them the Rose, anciently,
the Rose and Crown, as famous for good wine. "There
was no parting," he says, "without a glass; so we
went into the Rose Tavern in the Poultry, where the
wine, according to its merit, had justly gained a reputation;
and there, in a snug room, warmed with brash
and faggot, over a quart of good claret, we laughed over
our night's adventure."
"From hence, pursuant to my friend's inclination,
we adjourned to the sign of the Angel, in Fenchurch-street,
where the vintner, like a double-dealing citizen,
condescended as well to draw carmen's comfort as the
consolatory juice of the vine.
"Having at the King's Head well freighted the hold
of our vessels with excellent food and delicious wine, at
a small expense, we scribbled the following lines with
chalk upon the wall." (See page 98.)
The tapster was a male vendor, not "a woman who
had the care of the tap," as Tyrwhitt states. In the
17th century ballad, The Times, occurs:
"The bar-boyes and the tapsters
Leave drawing of their beere,
And running forth in haste they cry,
'See, where Mull'd Sack comes here!'"
The ancient drawers and tapsters were now superseded
by the barmaid, and a number of waiters: Ward
describes the barmaid as "all ribbon, lace, and feathers,
and making such a noise with her bell and her tongue
together, that had half-a-dozen paper-mills been at work
within three yards of her, they'd have signified no more
to her clamorous voice than so many lutes to a drum,
which alarmed two or three nimble fellows aloft, who
shot themselves downstairs with as much celerity as
a mountebank's mercury upon a rope from the top of
a church-steeple, every one charged with a mouthful
of coming, coming, coming." The barmaid (generally
the vintner's daughter) is described as "bred at the
dancing-school, becoming a bar well, stepping a minuet
finely, playing sweetly on the virginals, 'John come
kiss me now, now, now,' and as proud as she was handsome."
Tom Brown sketches a flirting barmaid of the same
time, "as a fine lady that stood pulling a rope, and
screaming like a peacock against rainy weather, pinned
up by herself in a little pew, all people bowing to her as
they passed by, as if she was a goddess set up to be
worshipped, armed with the chalk and sponge, (which
are the principal badges that belong to that honourable
station you beheld her in,) was the barmaid."
Of the nimbleness of the waiters, Ward says in another
place—"That the chief use he saw in the Monument
was, for the improvement of vintners' boys and
drawers, who came every week to exercise their supporters,
and learn the tavern trip, by running up to the
balcony and down again."
Owen Swan, at the Black Swan tavern, Bartholomew
Lane, is thus apostrophized by Tom Brown for the goodness
of his wine:—
"Thee, Owen, since the God of wine has made
Thee steward of the gay carousing trade,
Whose art decaying nature still supplies,
Warms the faint pulse, and sparkles in our eyes.
Be bountiful like him, bring t'other flask,
Were the stairs wider we would have the cask.
This pow'r we from the God of wine derive,
Draw such as this, and I'll pronounce thou'lt live."
This celebrated tavern, situated in Southwark, on the
west side of the foot of London Bridge, opposite the end
of St. Olave's or Tooley-street, was a house of considerable
antiquity. We read in the accounts of the Steward
of Sir John Howard, March 6th, 1463-4 (Edward IV.),
"Item, payd for red wyn at the Bere in Southwerke,
iijd." Garrard, in a letter to Lord Strafford, dated 1633
intimates that "all back-doors to taverns on the Thames
are commanded to be shut up, only the Bear at Bridge
Foot is exempted, by reason of the passage to Greenwich,"
which Mr. Burn suspects to have been "the
avenue or way called Bear Alley."
The Cavaliers' Ballad on the funeral pageant of Admiral
Deane, killed June 2nd, 1653, while passing by
water to Henry the Seventh's Chapel, Westminster, has
the following allusion:—
"From Greenwich towards the Bear at Bridge foot,
He was wafted with wind that had water to't,
But I think they brought the devil to boot,
Which nobody can deny."
Pepys was told by a waterman, going through the
bridge, 24th Feb. 1666-7, that the mistress of the Beare
Tavern, at the Bridge foot, "did lately fling herself into
the Thames, and drown herself."
The Bear must have been a characterless house, for
among its gallantries was the following, told by Wycherley
to Major Pack, "just for the oddness of the thing."
It was this: "There was a house at the Bridge Foot
where persons of better condition used to resort for
pleasure and privacy. The liquor the ladies and their
lovers used to drink at these meetings was canary; and
among other compliments the gentlemen paid their mistresses,
this it seems was always one, to take hold of the
bottom of their smocks, and pouring the wine through
that filter, feast their imaginations with the thought of
what gave the zesto, and so drink a health to the toast."
The Bear Tavern was taken down in December, 1761,
when the labourers found gold and silver coins, of the
time of Elizabeth, to a considerable value. The wall
that enclosed the tavern was not cleared away until 1764,
when the ground was cleared and levelled quite up to
Pepper Alley stairs. There is a Token of the Bear
Tavern, in the Beaufoy cabinet, which, with other rare
Southwark tokens, was found under the floors in taking
down St. Olave's Grammar School in 1839.
The celebrated Mermaid, in Bread-street, with the
history of "the Mermaid Club," has been described in
Vol. I. pp. 8-10; its interest centres in this famous
company of Wits.
There was another Mermaid, in Cheapside, next to
Paul's Gate, and still another in Cornhill. Of the latter
we find in Burn's Beaufoy Catalogue, that the vintner,
buried in St. Peter's, Cornhill, in 1606, "gave forty
shillings yearly to the parson for preaching four sermons
every year, so long as the lease of the Mermaid, in Cornhill,
(the tavern so called,) should endure. He also gave
to the poor of the said parish thirteen penny loaves every
Sunday, during the aforesaid lease." There are tokens
of both these taverns in the Beaufoy Collection.
This celebrated Shakspearean tavern was situated in
Great Eastcheap, and is first mentioned in the time of
Richard II.; the scene of the revels of Falstaff and
Henry V., when Prince of Wales, in Shakspeare's
Henry IV., Part 2. Stow relates a riot in "the cooks'
dwellings" here on St. John's eve, 1410, by Princes
John and Thomas. The tavern was destroyed in the
Great Fire of 1666, but was rebuilt in two years, as
attested by a boar's head cut in stone, with the initials
of the landlord, I. T., and the date 1668, above the first-floor
window. This sign-stone is now in the Guildhall
library. The house stood between Small-alley and St.
Michael's-lane, and in the rear looked upon St. Michael's
churchyard, where was buried a drawer, or waiter, at
the tavern, d. 1720: in the church was interred John
Rhodoway, "Vintner at the Bore's Head," 1623.
Maitland, in 1739, mentions the Boar's Head, as
"the chief tavern in London" under the sign. Goldsmith
(Essays), Boswell (Life of Dr. Johnson), and
Washington Irving (Sketch-book), have idealized the
house as the identical place which Falstaff frequented,
forgetting its destruction in the Great Fire. The site
of the Boar's Head is very nearly that of the statue of
King William IV.
In 1834, Mr. Kempe, F.S.A., exhibited to the Society
of Antiquaries a carved oak figure of Sir John Falstaff,
in the costume of the 16th century; it had supported
an ornamental bracket over one side of the door of the
Boar's Head, a figure of Prince Henry sustaining that
on the other. The Falstaff was the property of one
Shelton, a brazier, whose ancestors had lived in the shop
he then occupied in Great Eastcheap, since the Great
Fire. He well remembered the last Shakspearean
grand dinner-party at the Boar's Head, about 1784:
at an earlier party, Mr. Wilberforce was present. A
boar's head, with tusks, which had been suspended in a
room of the tavern, perhaps the Half-Moon or Pomegranate,
(see Henry IV. act ii. sc. 4,) at the Great Fire,
fell down with the ruins of the house, and was conveyed
to Whitechapel Mount, where, many years after, it
was recovered, and identified with its former locality.
At a public house, No. 12, Miles-lane, was long preserved
a tobacco-box, with a painting of the original
Boar's Head Tavern on the lid.[29]
In High-street, Southwark, in the rear of Nos. 25 and
26, was formerly the Boar's Head Inn, part of Sir John
Falstolf's benefaction to Magdalen College, Oxford. Sir
John was one of the bravest generals in the French wars,
under the fourth, fifth, and sixth Henries; but he is not
the Falstaff of Shakspeare. In the Reliquiæ Hearnianæ,
edited by Dr. Bliss, is the following entry relative to this
bequest:—
"1721. June 2.—The reason why they cannot give so good an
account of the benefaction of Sir John Fastolf to Magd. Coll.
is, because he gave it to the founder, and left it to his management,
so that 'tis suppos'd 'twas swallow'd up in his own estate
that he settled it upon the college. However, the college knows
this, that the Boar's Head in Southwark, which was then an inn,
and still retains the name, tho' divided into several tenements
(which bring the college about 150l. per ann.), was part of Sir
John's gift."
The above property was for many years sublet to the
family of the author of the present Work, at the rent of
150l. per annum; the cellar, finely vaulted, and excellent
for wine, extended beneath the entire court, consisting
of two rows of tenements, and two end houses,
with galleries, the entrance being from the High-street.
The premises were taken down for the New London
Bridge approaches. There was also a noted Boar's Head
in Old Fish-street.
Can he forget who has read Goldsmith's nineteenth
Essay, his reverie at the Boar's Head?—when, having
confabulated with the landlord till long after "the
watchman had gone twelve," and suffused in the potency
of his wine a mutation in his ideas, of the person of
the host into that of Dame Quickly, mistress of the
tavern in the days of Sir John, is promptly effected, and
the liquor they were drinking seemed shortly converted
into sack and sugar. Mrs. Quickly's recital of the history
of herself and Doll Tearsheet, whose frailties in
the flesh caused their being both sent to the house of
correction, charged with having allowed the famed Boar's
Head to become a low brothel; her speedy departure to
the world of Spirits; and Falstaff's impertinences as affecting
Madame Proserpine; are followed by an enumeration
of persons who had held tenancy of the house
since her time. The last hostess of note was, according
to Goldsmith's account, Jane Rouse, who, having unfortunately
quarrelled with one of her neighbours, a
woman of high repute in the parish for sanctity, but as
jealous as Chaucer's Wife of Bath, was by her accused
of witchcraft, taken from her own bar, condemned, and
executed accordingly!—These were times, indeed, when
women could not scold in safety. These and other prudential
apophthegms on the part of Dame Quickly, seem
to have dissolved Goldsmith's stupor of ideality; on his
awaking, the landlord is really the landlord, and not the
hostess of a former day, when "Falstaff was in fact an
agreeable old fellow, forgetting age, and showing the
way to be young at sixty-five. Age, care, wisdom, reflection,
begone! I give you to the winds. Let's have
t'other bottle. Here's to the memory of Shakspeare,
Falstaff, and all the merry men of Eastcheap."[30]
This was one of Ben Jonson's taverns, and has already been
incidentally mentioned. Strype describes it as
situate in "New Queen-street, commonly called the
Three Cranes in the Vintry, a good open street, especially
that part next Cheapside, which is best built and
inhabited. At the lowest end of the street, next the
Thames, is a pair of stairs, the usual place for the Lord
Mayor and Aldermen to take water at, to go to Westminster
Hall, for the new Lord Mayor to be sworn before
the Barons of the Exchequer. This place, with the
Three Cranes, is now of some account for the costermongers,
where they have their warehouse for their
fruit." In Scott's Kenilworth we hear much of this
Tavern.
This tavern, situated in Cannon-street, near the Stone,
is stated, but not correctly, to have been the oldest in
London. Here was formed a society, afterwards the
famous Robin Hood, of which the history was published
in 1716, where it is stated to have originated in a meeting
of the editor's grandfather with the great Sir Hugh
Myddelton, of New River memory. King Charles II.
was introduced to the society, disguised, by Sir Hugh,
and the King liked it so well, that he came thrice afterwards.
"He had," continues the narrative, "a piece of
black silk over his left cheek, which almost covered it; and
his eyebrows, which were quite black, he had, by some
artifice or other, converted to a light brown, or rather
flaxen colour; and had otherwise disguised himself so effectually
in his apparel and his looks, that nobody knew
him but Sir Hugh, by whom he was introduced." This is
very circumstantial, but is very doubtful; since Sir Hugh
Myddelton died when Charles was in his tenth year.
Mr. Akerman describes a Token of the Robin Hood
Tavern:—"IOHN THOMLINSON AT THE. An archer fitting
an arrow to his bow; a small figure behind, holding an
arrow.—℞. IN CHISWELL STREET, 1667. In the centre,
HIS HALFE PENNY, and I. S. T." Mr. Akerman continues:
"It is easy to perceive what is intended by the representation
on the obverse of this token. Though 'Little
John,' we are told, stood upwards of six good English
feet without his shoes, he is here depicted to suit the
popular humour—a dwarf in size, compared with his
friend and leader, the bold outlaw. The proximity of
Chiswell-street to Finsbury-fields may have led to the
adoption of the sign, which was doubtless at a time when
archery was considered an elegant as well as an indispensable
accomplishment of an English gentleman. It
is far from obsolete now, as several low public-houses
and beer-shops in the vicinity of London testify. One
of them exhibits Robin Hood and his companion dressed
in the most approved style of 'Astley's,' and underneath
the group is the following irresistible invitation to slake
your thirst:—
"Ye archers bold and yeomen good,
Stop and drink with Robin Hood:
If Robin Hood is not at home,
Stop and drink with little John.
"Our London readers could doubtless supply the variorum
copies of this elegant distich, which, as this is an
age for 'Family Shakspeares,' modernized Chaucers,
and new versions of 'Robin Hood's Garland,' we recommend
to the notice of the next editor of the ballads in
praise of the Sherwood freebooter."
After the destruction of the White Bear Tavern, in
the Great Fire of 1666, the proximity of the site for all
purposes of business, induced M. Pontack, the son of
the President of Bordeaux, owner of a famous claret
district, to establish a tavern, with all the novelties of
French cookery, with his father's head as a sign, whence
it was popularly called "Pontack's Head." The dinners
were from four or five shillings a head "to a guinea, or
what sum you pleased."
Swift frequented the tavern, and writes to Stella:—"Pontack
told us, although his wine was so good, he
sold it cheaper than others; he took but seven shillings
a flask. Are not these pretty rates?" In the Hind and
Panther Transversed, we read of drawers:—
"Sure these honest fellows have no knack
Of putting off stum'd claret for Pontack."
The Fellows of the Royal Society dined at Pontack's
until 1746, when they removed to the Devil Tavern.
There is a Token of the White Bear in the Beaufoy collection;
and Mr. Burn tells us, from Metamorphoses of
the Town, a rare tract, 1731, of Pontack's "guinea ordinary,"
"ragout of fatted snails," and "chickens not two
hours from the shell." In January, 1735, Mrs. Susannah
Austin, who lately kept Pontack's, and had acquired
a considerable fortune, was married to William Pepys,
banker, in Lombard-street.
This noted tavern, which gave name to Pope's Head
Alley, leading from Cornhill to Lombard-street, is mentioned
as early as the 4th Edward IV. (1464) in the account
of a wager between an Alicant goldsmith and an
English goldsmith; the Alicant stranger contending in
the tavern that "Englishmen were not so cunning in
workmanship of goldsmithry as Alicant strangers;"
when work was produced by both, and the Englishman
gained the wager. The tavern was left in 1615, by Sir
William Craven to the Merchant Tailors' Company.
Pepys refers to "the fine painted room" here in 1668-9.
In the tavern, April 14, 1718, Quin, the actor, killed in
self-defence, his fellow-comedian, Bowen, a clever but
hot-headed Irishman, who was jealous of Quin's reputation:
in a moment of great anger, he sent for Quin to
the tavern, and as soon as he had entered the room,
Bowen placed his back against the door, drew his sword,
and bade Quin draw his. Quin, having mildly remonstrated
to no purpose, drew in his own defence, and endeavoured
to disarm his antagonist. Bowen received a
wound, of which he died in three days, having acknowledged
his folly and madness, when the loss of blood had
reduced him to reason. Quin was tried and acquitted.
(Cunningham, abridged.) The Pope's Head Tavern was
in existence in 1756.
Was more than five hundred years ago a house for
public entertainment: for, in 1323, 16 Edw. II., Rose
Wrytell bequeathed "the tenement of olde tyme called
the Swanne on the Hope in Thames-street," in the
parish of St. Mary-at-hill, to maintain a priest at the
altar of St. Edmund, King and Martyr, "for her soul,
and the souls of her husband, her father, and mother:"
and the purposes of her bequest were established; for,
in the parish book, in 1499, is entered a disbursement
of fourpence, "for a cresset to Rose Wrytell's chantry."
Eleanor Cobham, Duchess of Gloucester, in 1440, in
her public penance for witchcraft and treason, landed at
Old Swan, bearing a large taper, her feet bare, etc.
Stow, in 1598, mentions the Old Swan as a great
brew-house. Taylor, the Water-poet, advertised the
professor and author of the Barmoodo and Vtopian
tongues, dwelling "at the Old Swanne, neare London
Bridge, who will teach them at are willing to learne,
with agility and facility."
In the scurrilous Cavalier ballad of Admiral Deane's
Funeral, by water, from Greenwich to Westminster, in
June, 1653, it is said:—
"The Old Swan, as he passed by,
Said she would sing him a dirge, lye down and die:
Wilt thou sing to a bit of a body? quoth I,
Which nobody can deny."
The Old Swan Tavern and its landing-stairs were
destroyed in the Great Fire; but rebuilt. Its Token, in
the Beaufoy Collection, is one of the rarest, of large size.
This noted house, which faced the north gate of the
old Royal Exchange, was long celebrated for the excellence
of its soups, which were served at an economical
price, in silver. One of its proprietors was, it
is believed, John Ellis, an eccentric character, and a
writer of some reputation, who died in 1791. Eight
stanzas addressed to him in praise of the tavern, commenced
thus:—
"When to Ellis I write, I in verse must indite,
Come Phœbus, and give me a knock,
For on Fryday at eight, all behind 'the 'Change gate,'
Master Ellis will be at 'The Cock.'"
After comparing it to other houses, the Pope's Head,
the King's Arms, the Black Swan, and the Fountain,
and declaring the Cock the best, it ends:
"'Tis time to be gone, for the 'Change has struck one:
O 'tis an impertinent clock!
For with Ellis I'd stay from December to May;
I'll stick to my Friend, and 'The Cock!'"
This house was taken down in 1841; when, in a
claim for compensation made by the proprietor, the
trade in three years was proved to have been 344,720
basins of various soups—viz. 166,240 mock turtle,
3,920 giblet, 59,360 ox-tail, 31,072 bouilli, 84,128 gravy
and other soups: sometimes 500 basins of soup were
sold in a day.
Upon the site of the present chief entrance to the
Bank of England, in Threadneedle-street, stood the
Crown Tavern, "behind the 'Change:" it was frequented
by the Fellows of the Royal Society, when they met
at Gresham College hard by. The Crown was burnt
in the Great Fire, but was rebuilt; and about a century
since, at this tavern, "it was not unusual to draw
a butt of mountain wine, containing 120 gallons, in
gills, in a morning."—Sir John Hawkins.
Behind the Change, we read in the Connoisseur, 1754,
a man worth a plum used to order a twopenny mess of
broth with a boiled chop in it; placing the chop between
the two crusts of a half-penny roll, he would wrap
it up in his check handkerchief, and carry it away for
the morrow's dinner.
This Tavern, which stood at the western extremity of
the Stocks' Market, was not first known by the sign of
the King's Head, but the Rose: Machin, in his Diary,
Jan. 5, 1560, thus mentions it: "A gentleman arrested
for debt; Master Cobham, with divers gentlemen and
serving-men, took him from the officers, and carried
him to the Rose Tavern, where so great a fray, both the
sheriffs were feign to come, and from the Rose Tavern
took all the gentlemen and their servants, and carried
them to the Compter."
The house was distinguished by the device of a
large, well-painted Rose, erected over a doorway, which
was the only indication in the main street of such
an establishment. In the superior houses of the metropolis
in the sixteenth century, room was gained in
the rear of the street-line, the space in front being
economized, so that the line of shops might not be interrupted.
Upon this plan, the larger taverns in the
City were constructed, wherever the ground was sufficiently
spacious behind: hence it was that the Poultry
tavern of which we are speaking, was approached through
a long, narrow, covered passage, opening into a well-lighted
quadrangle, around which were the tavern-rooms.
The sign of the Rose appears to have been a costly work,
since there was the fragment of a leaf of an old account-book
preserved, when the ruins of the house were
cleared after the Great Fire, on which were written
these entries:—"Pd. to Hoggestreete, the Duche Paynter,
for ye Picture of a Rose, wth a Standing-bowle and
Glasses, for a Signe, xxli. besides Diners and Drinkings.
Also for a large Table of Walnut-tree, for a Frame;
and for Iron-worke and Hanging the Picture, vli." The
artist who is referred to in this memorandum, could be
no other than Samuel Van Hoogstraten, a painter of
the middle of the seventeenth century, whose works in
England are very rare. He was one of the many excellent
artists of the period, who, as Walpole contemptuously
says, "painted still-life, oranges and lemons, plate,
damask curtains, cloth-of-gold, and that medley of familiar
objects that strike the ignorant vulgar."
But, beside the claims of the painter, the sign of the
Rose cost the worthy tavern-keeper, a still further outlay,
in the form of divers treatings and advances made to
a certain rather loose man of letters of his acquaintance,
possessed of more wit than money, and of more convivial
loyalty than either discretion or principle. Master
Roger Blythe frequently patronized the Rose Tavern
as his favourite ordinary. Like Falstaff, he was "an
infinite thing" upon his host's score; and, like his
prototype also, there was no probability of his ever discharging
the account. When the Tavern-sign was about
to be erected, this Master Blythe contributed the poetry
to it, after the fashion of the time, which he swore was
the envy of all the Rose Taverns in London, and of
all the poets who frequented them. "There's your
Rose at Temple Bar, and your Rose in Covent-garden,
and the Rose in Southwark: all of them indifferent
good for wits, and for drawing neat wines too; but,
smite me, Master King," he would say, "if I know
one of them all fit to be set in the same hemisphere
with yours! No! for a bountiful host, a most sweet
mistress, unsophisticated wines, honest measures, a
choicely-painted sign, and a witty verse to set it forth
withal,—commend me to the Rose Tavern in the
Poultry!"
Even the tavern-door exhibited a joyous frontispiece;
since the entrance was flanked by two columns twisted
with vines carved in wood, which supported a small
square gallery over the portico surrounded by handsome
iron-work. On the front of this gallery was erected the
sign, in a frame of similar ornaments. It consisted of
a central compartment containing the Rose, behind
which appeared a tall silver cup, called in the language
of the time "a standing-bowl," with drinking-glasses.
Beneath the painting was this inscription:—
"THIS IS
THE ROSE TAVERNE
in the Poultrey:
KEPT BY
WILLIAM KING,
Citizen and Vintner.
"This Taverne's like its Signe—a lustie Rose,
A sight of joy that sweetness doth enclose:
The daintie Flow're well-pictur'd here is seene,
But for its rarest sweetes—Come, Searche Within!"
The authorities of St. Peter-upon-Cornhill soon determined,
on the 10th of May, 1660, in Vestry, "that the
King's Arms, in painted-glass, should be refreshed, and
forthwith be set up by the Churchwarden at the parish-charges;
with whatsoever he giveth to the glazier as a
gratuity, for his care in keeping of them all this while."
The host of the Rose resolved at once to add a Crown
to his sign, with the portrait of Charles, wearing it in
the centre of the flower, and openly to name his tavern
"The Royal Rose and King's Head." He effected his
design, partly by the aid of one of the many excellent
pencils which the time supplied, and partly by the inventive
muse of Master Blythe, which soon furnished him
with a new poesy. There is not any further information
extant concerning the painting, but the following remains
of an entry on another torn fragment of the old account-book
already mentioned, seem to refer to the poetical
inscription beneath the picture:— ... "on ye Night
when he made ye Verses for my new Signe, a Soper, and
v. Peeces." The verses themselves were as follow:—
"Gallants, Rejoice!—This Flow're is now full-blowne;
'Tis a Rose—Noble better'd by a Crowne;
All you who love the Embleme and the Signe,
Enter, and prove our Loyaltie and Wine."
Beside this inscription, Master King also recorded the
auspicious event referred to, by causing his painter to
introduce into the picture a broad-sheet, as if lying on
the table with the cup and glasses—on which appeared
the title "A Kalendar for this Happy Yeare of Restauration
1660, now newly Imprinted."
As the time advanced when Charles was to make his
entry into the metropolis, the streets were resounding
with the voices of ballad-singers pouring forth loyal
songs, and declaring, with the whole strength of their
lungs, that
"The King shall enjoy his own again."
Then, there were also to be heard, the ceaseless horns
and proclamations of hawkers and flying-stationers, publishing
the latest passages or rumours touching the royal
progress; which, whether genuine or not, were bought
and read, and circulated, by all parties. At length all
the previous pamphlets and broad-sheets were swallowed
up by a well-known tract, still extant, which the newsmen
of the time thus proclaimed:—"Here is A True
Accompt and Narrative—of his Majestie's safe Arrival
in England—as 'twas reported to the House of Commons,
on Friday, the 25th day of this present May—with the
Resolutions of both Houses thereupon:—Also a Letter
very lately writ from Dover—relating divers remarkable
Passages of His Majestie's Reception there."
On every side the signs and iron-work were either
refreshed, or newly gilt and painted: tapestries and rich
hangings, which had engendered moth and decay from
long disuse, were flung abroad again, that they might be
ready to grace the coming pageant. The paving of the
streets was levelled and repaired for the expected cavalcade;
and scaffolds for spectators were in the course of
erection throughout all the line of march. Floods of all
sorts of wines were consumed, as well in the streets as
in the taverns; and endless healths were devotedly and
energetically swallowed, at morning, noon, and night.
At this time Mistress Rebecca King was about to add
another member to Master King's household: she
received from hour to hour accounts of the proceedings
as they occurred, which so stimulated her curiosity, that
she declared, first to her gossips, and then to her husband,
that she "must see the King pass the tavern, or
matters might go cross with her."
A kind of arbour was made for Mistress Rebecca in
the small iron gallery surmounting the entrance to the
tavern. This arbour was of green boughs and flowers,
hung round with tapestry and garnished with silver
plate; and here, when the guns at the Tower announced
that Charles had entered London, Mistress King took
her seat, with her children and gossips around her. All
the houses in the main streets from London-bridge to
Whitehall, were decorated like the tavern with rich
silks and tapestries, hung from every scaffold, balcony,
and window; which, as Herrick says, turned the town
into a park, "made green and trimmed with boughs."
The road through London, so far as Temple-Bar, was
lined on the north side by the City Companies, dressed
in their liveries, and ranged in their respective stands,
with their banners; and on the south by the soldiers of
the trained-bands.
One of the wine conduits stood on the south side of
the Stocks' Market, over which Sir Robert Viner subsequently
erected a triumphal statue of Charles II.
About this spot, therefore, the crowd collected in the
Market-place, aided by the fierce loyalty supplied from
the conduit, appears for a time to have brought the
procession to a full stop, at the moment when Charles,
who rode between his brothers the Dukes of York and
Gloucester, was nearly opposite to the newly-named
King's Head Tavern. In this most favourable interval,
Master Blythe, who stood upon a scaffold in the doorway,
took the opportunity of elevating a silver cup of
wine and shouting out a health to his Majesty. His
energetical action, as he pointed upwards to the gallery,
was not lost; and the Duke of Buckingham, who rode
immediately before the King with General Monk,
directed Charles's attention to Mistress Rebecca, saying,
"Your Majesty's return is here welcomed even by a
subject as yet unborn." As the procession passed by
the door of the King's Head Tavern, the King turned
towards it, raised himself in his stirrups, and gracefully
kissed his hand to Mistress Rebecca. Immediately such
a shout was raised from all who beheld it or heard of
it, as startled the crowd up to Cheapside conduit; and
threw the poor woman herself into such an ecstasy, that
she was not conscious of anything more, until she was
safe in her chamber and all danger happily over.[31]
The Tavern was rebuilt after the Great Fire, and
flourished many years. It was long a depôt in the
metropolis for turtle; and in the quadrangle of the
Tavern might be seen scores of turtle, large and lively, in
huge tanks of water; or laid upward on the stone floor,
ready for their destination. The Tavern was also noted
for large dinners of the City Companies and other public
bodies. The house was refitted in 1852, but has since
been closed.
Another noted Poultry Tavern was the Three Cranes,
destroyed in the Great Fire, but rebuilt, and noticed in
1698, in one of the many paper controversies of that
day. A fulminating pamphlet, entitled "Ecclesia et
Factio: a Dialogue between Bow Church Steeple and
the Exchange Grasshopper," elicited "An Answer to
the Dragon and Grasshopper: in a Dialogue between an
Old Monkey and a Young Weasel, at the Three Cranes
Tavern, in the Poultry."
Was a noted old Tavern. Pepys, in his Diary, Sept. 18,
1660, records his going "to the Mitre Tavern, in Wood-street,
(a house of the greatest note in London,) where
I met W. Symons, D. Scoball, and their wives. Here
some of us fell to handicap, a sport I never knew before,
which was very good." The tavern was destroyed in the
Great Fire.
No. 17, Newgate-street (north side), was, according to
the tradition of the house, the tavern where Sir Christopher
Wren used to smoke his pipe, whilst St. Paul's was
re-building. There is more positive evidence of its being
a place well frequented by men of letters at the above
period. Thus, there exists a poetical invitation to a social
feast held here on June 19, 1735-6, issued by the
two stewards, Edward Cave and William Bowyer:
"Saturday, Jan. 17, 1735-6.
"Sir,
"You're desir'd on Monday next to meet
At Salutation Tavern, Newgate-street.
Supper will be on table just at eight,
[Stewards] One of St. John's [Bowyer], 'tother of St. John's Gate [Cave]."
This brought a poetical answer from Samuel Richardson,
the novelist, printed in extenso in Bowyer's Anecdotes:
"For me, I'm much concerned I cannot meet
'At Salutation Tavern, Newgate-street.'
Your notice, like your verse, so sweet and short!
If longer, I'd sincerely thank you for it.
Howe'er, receive my wishes, sons of verse!
May every man who meets, your praise rehearse!
May mirth, as plenty, crown your cheerful board,
And ev'ry one part happy—as a lord!
That when at home, (by such sweet verses fir'd)
Your families may think you all inspir'd.
So wishes he, who pre-engag'd, can't know
The pleasures that would from your meeting flow."
The proper sign is the Salutation and Cat,—a curious
combination, but one which is explained by a lithograph,
which some years ago hung in the coffee-room.
An aged dandy is saluting a friend whom he has met in
the street, and offering him a pinch out of the snuff-box
which forms the top of his wood-like cane. This box-nob
was, it appears, called a "cat"—hence the connection
of terms apparently so foreign to each other. Some,
not aware of this explanation, have accounted for the
sign by supposing that a tavern called "the Cat" was at
some time pulled down, and its trade carried to the Salutation,
which thenceforward joined the sign to its own;
but this is improbable, seeing that we have never heard
of any tavern called "the Cat" (although we do know
of "the Barking Dogs") as a sign. Neither does the
Salutation take its name from any scriptural or sacred
source, as the Angel and Trumpets, etc.
More positive evidence there is to show of the "little
smoky room at the Salutation and Cat," where Coleridge
and Charles Lamb sat smoking Oronoko and drinking
egg-hot; the first discoursing of his idol, Bowles, and
the other rejoicing mildly in Cowper and Burns, or both
dreaming of "Pantisocracy, and golden days to come on
earth."
The sign Salutation, from scriptural or sacred source,
remains to be explained. Mr. Akerman suspects the
original sign to have really represented the Salutation of
the Virgin by the Angel—"Ave Maria, gratia plena"—a
well-known legend on the jettons of the Middle Ages.
The change of representation was properly accommodated
to the times. The taverns at that period were the
"gossiping shops" of the neighbourhood; and both Puritan
and Churchman frequented them for the sake of
hearing the news. The Puritans loved the good things of
this world, and relished a cup of Canary, or Noll's nose
lied, holding the maxim—
"Though the devil trepan
The Adamical man,
The saint stands uninfected."
Hence, perhaps, the Salutation of the Virgin was exchanged
for the "booin' and scrapin'" scene (two men
bowing and greeting), represented on a token which still
exists, the tavern was celebrated in the days of Queen
Elizabeth. In some old black-letter doggrel, entitled
News from Bartholemew Fayre it is mentioned for
wine:—
"There hath been great sale and utterance of wine,
Besides beere, and ale, and Ipocras fine;
In every country, region, and nation,
But chiefly in Billingsgate, at the Salutation."
The Flower-pot was originally part of a symbol of the
Annunciation to the Virgin.
Garrick appears to have kept up his interest in the
City by means of clubs, to which he paid periodical visits.
We have already mentioned the Club of young merchants,
at Tom's Coffee-house, in Cornhill. Another
Club was held at the Queen's Arms Tavern, in St. Paul's
Churchyard, where used to assemble: Mr. Samuel Sharpe,
the surgeon; Mr. Paterson, the City solicitor; Mr. Draper,
the bookseller; Mr. Clutterbuck, the mercer; and
a few others.
Sir John Hawkins tells us that "they were none of
them drinkers, and in order to make a reckoning, called
only for French wine." These were Garrick's standing
council in theatrical affairs.
At the Queen's Arms, after a thirty years' interval,
Johnson renewed his intimacy with some of the members
of his old Ivy-lane Club.
Brasbridge, the old silversmith of Fleet-street, was a
member of the Sixpenny Card-Club held at the Queen's
Arms: among the members was Henry Baldwyn, who,
under the auspices of Bonnel Thornton, Colman the elder,
and Garrick, set up the St. James's Chronicle, which
once had the largest circulation of any evening paper.
This worthy newspaper-proprietor was considerate and
generous to men of genius: "Often," says Brasbridge,
"at his hospitable board I have seen needy authors,
and others connected with his employment, whose abilities,
ill-requited as they might have been by the world
in general, were by him always appreciated." Among
Brasbridge's acquaintance, also, were John Walker,
shopman to a grocer and chandler in Well-street, Ragfair,
who died worth 200,000l., most assuredly not
gained by lending money on doubtful security; and Ben
Kenton, brought up at a charity-school, and who realized
300,000l., partly at the Magpie and Crown, in Whitechapel.
This noted tavern, established in the reign of Queen
Anne, has for its sign, the cook Dolly, who is stated to
have been painted by Gainsborough. It is still a well-appointed
chop-house and tavern, and the coffee-room,
with its projecting fireplaces, has an olden air. Nearly
on the site of Dolly's, Tarlton, Queen Elizabeth's favourite
stage-clown, kept an ordinary, with the sign of the
Castle. The house, of which a token exists, was destroyed
in the Great Fire, but was rebuilt; there the "Castle
Society of Music" gave their performances. Part of
the old premises were subsequently the Oxford Bible
Warehouse, destroyed by fire in 1822, and rebuilt.
The entrance to the Chop-house is in Queen's Head
passage; and at Dolly's is a window-pane painted with
the head of Queen Anne, which may explain the name
of the court.
At Dolly's and Horsman's beef-steaks were eaten
with gill-ale.
Two early houses of entertainment in Aldersgate were
the Taborer's Inn and the Crown. Of the former, stated
to have been of the time of Edward II., we know nothing
but the name. The Crown, more recent, stood at
the End of Duck-lane, and is described in Ward's London
Spy, as containing a noble room, painted by Fuller,
with the Muses, the Judgment of Paris, the Contention
of Ajax and Ulysses, etc. "We were conducted by the
jolly master," says Ward, "a true kinsman of the bacchanalian
family, into a large stately room, where at the
first entrance, I discerned the master-strokes of the famed
Fuller's pencil; the whole room painted by that commanding
hand, that his dead figures appeared with such
lively majesty that they begat reverence in the spectators
towards the awful shadows. We accordingly bade the
complaisant waiter oblige us with a quart of his richest
claret, such as was fit only to be drank in the presence
of such heroes, into whose company he had done us the
honour to introduce us. He thereupon gave directions
to his drawer, who returned with a quart of such inspiring
juice, that we thought ourselves translated into one
of the houses of the heavens, and were there drinking
immortal nectar with the gods and goddesses:
"Who could such blessings when thus found resign?
An honest vintner faithful to the vine;
A spacious room, good paintings, and good wine."
Far more celebrated was the Mourning Bush Tavern,
in the cellars of which have been traced the massive
foundations of Aldersgate, and the portion of the City
Wall which adjoins them. This tavern, one of the largest
and most ancient in London, has a curious history.
The Bush Tavern, its original name, took for its sign
the Ivy-bush hung up at the door. It is believed to have
been the house referred to by Stowe, as follows:—"This
gate (Aldersgate) hath been at sundry times increased
with building; namely, on the south or inner side, a
great frame of timber, (or house of wood lathed and
plastered,) hath been added and set up containing divers
large rooms and lodgings," which were an enlargement
of the Bush. Fosbroke mentions the Bush as the
chief sign of taverns in the Middle Ages, (it being ready
to hand,) and so it continued until superseded by "a
thing to resemble one containing three or four tiers of
hoops fastened one above another with vine leaves and
grapes, richly carved and gilt." He adds: "the owner
of the Mourning Bush, Aldersgate, was so affected at the
decollation of Charles I., that he painted his bush
black." From this period the house is scarcely mentioned
until the year 1719, when we find its name
changed to the Fountain, whether from political feeling
against the then exiled House of Stuart, or the whim of
the proprietor, we cannot learn; though it is thought to
have reference to a spring on the east side of the gate.
Tom Brown mentions the Fountain satirically, with
four or five topping taverns of the day, whose landlords
are charged with doctoring their wines, but whose trade
was so great that they stood fair for the alderman's gown.
And, in a letter from an old vintner in the City to one
newly set up in Covent Garden, we find the following in
the way of advice: "as all the world are wholly supported
by hard and unintelligible names, you must take care to
christen your wines by some hard name, the further
fetched so much the better, and this policy will serve to
recommend the most execrable scum in your cellar. I
could name several of our brethren to you, who now stand
fair to sit in the seat of justice, and sleep in their golden
chain at churches, that had been forced to knock off long
ago, if it had not been for this artifice. It saved the Sun
from being eclipsed; the Crown from being abdicated;
the Rose from decaying; and the Fountain from being
dry; as well as both the Devils from being confined to
utter darkness."
Twenty years later, in a large plan of Aldersgate
Ward, 1739-40, we find the Fountain changed to the
original Bush. The Fire of London had evidently, at
this time, curtailed the ancient extent of the tavern.
The exterior is shown in a print of the south side of
Aldersgate; it has the character of the larger houses,
built after the Great Fire, and immediately adjoins the
gate. The last notice of the Bush, as a place of entertainment,
occurs in Maitland's History of London, ed.
1722, where it is described as "the Fountain, commonly
called the Mourning Bush, which has a back door into
St. Anne's-lane, and is situated near unto Aldersgate."
The house was refitted in 1830. In the basement are
the original wine-vaults of the old Bush; many of the
walls are six feet thick, and bonded throughout with
Roman brick. A very agreeable account of the tavern
and the antiquities of neighbourhood was published in
1830.
In Phœnix Alley, (now Hanover Court,) Long Acre,
John Taylor, the Water Poet, kept a tavern, with the
sign of "the Mourning Crown," but this being offensive
to the Commonwealth (1652), he substituted for a sign
his own head with this inscription—
"There's many a head stands for a sign;
Then, gentle reader, why not mine?"
He died here in the following year; and his widow in
1658.
These houses took their name from the Knights of
St. John of Jerusalem, around whose Priory, grew up
the village of Clerkenwell. The Priory Gate remains.
At the Suppression, the Priory was undermined, and
blown up with gunpowder; the Gate also would probably
have been destroyed, but for its serving to define
the property. In 1604, it was granted to Sir Roger
Wilbraham for his life. At this time Clerkenwell was
inhabited by people of condition. Forty years later,
fashion had travelled westward; and the Gate became
the printing-office of Edward Cave, who, in 1731, published
here the first number of the Gentleman's Magazine,
which to this day bears the Gate for its vignette.
Dr. Johnson was first engaged upon the magazine here
by Cave in 1737. At the Gate Johnson first met
Richard Savage; and here in Cave's room, when visitors
called, he ate his plate of victuals behind the screen, his
dress being "so shabby that he durst not make his appearance."
Garrick, when first he came to London,
frequently called upon Johnson at the Gate. Goldsmith
was also a visitor here. When Cave grew rich, he had
St. John's Gate painted, instead of his arms, on his carriage,
and engraven on his plate. After Cave's death in
1753, the premises became the "Jerusalem" public-house,
and the "Jerusalem Tavern."
There was likewise another Jerusalem Tavern, at the
corner of Red Lion-street on Clerkenwell-green, which
was the original; St. John's Gate public-house, having
assumed the name of "Jerusalem Tavern" in consequence
of the old house on the Green giving up the
tavern business, and becoming the "merchants' house."
In its dank and cobwebbed vaults John Britton served
an apprenticeship to a wine-merchant; and in reading
at intervals by candle-light, first evinced that love of
literature which characterized his long life of industry
and integrity. He remembered Clerkenwell in 1787,
with St. John's Priory-church and cloisters; when
Spafields were pasturage for cows; the old garden-mansions
of the aristocracy remained in Clerkenwell-close;
and Sadler's Wells, Islington Spa, Merlin's Cave, and
Bagnigge Wells, were nightly crowded with gay company.
In a friendly note, Sept. 11, 1852, Mr. Britton tells
us: "Our house sold wines in full quarts, i.e. twelve
held three gallons, wine measure; and each bottle was
marked with four lines cut by a diamond on the neck.
Our wines were famed, and the character of the house
was high, whence the Gate imitated the bottles and
name."
In 1845, by the aid of "the Freemasons of the
Church," and Mr. W. P. Griffith, architect, the north
and south fronts were restored. The gateway is a good
specimen of groining of the 15th century, with moulded
ribs, and bosses ornamented with shields of the arms of
the Priory, Prior Docwra, etc. The east basement is
the tavern-bar, with a beautifully moulded ceiling. The
stairs are Elizabethan. The principal room over the
arch has been despoiled of its window-mullions and
groined roof. The foundation-wall of the Gate face is
10 feet 7 inches thick, and the upper walls are nearly
4 feet, hard red brick, stone-cased: the view from the
top of the staircase-turret is extensive. In excavating
there have been discovered the original pavement, three
feet below the Gate; and the Priory walls, north, south,
and west. In 1851, there was published, by B. Foster,
proprietor of the Tavern, Ye History of ye Priory and
Gate of St. John. In the principal room of the Gate,
over the great arch, meet the Urban Club, a society,
chiefly of authors and artists, with whom originated the
proposition to celebrate the tercentenary of the birth of
Shakespeare, in 1864.
About forty years since there stood at a short distance
north of St. Botolph's Church, a large old hostelrie,
according to the date it bore (1480), towards the close
of the reign of Edward IV. Stow, in 1598, describes
it as "a fair inn for receipt of travellers, next unto the
Parish Church of St. Botolph without Bishopsgate."
It preserved much of its original appearance, the main
front consisting of three bays of two storeys, which,
with the interspaces, had throughout casements; and
above which was an overhanging storey or attic, and the
roof rising in three points. Still, this was not the
original front, which was altered in 1787: upon the old
inn yard was built White Hart Court. In 1829, the
Tavern was taken down, and rebuilt, in handsome modern
style; when the entrance into Old Bedlam, and
formerly called Bedlam Gate, was widened, and the
street re-named Liverpool-street. A lithograph of the
old Tavern was published in 1829.
Somewhat lower down, is the residence of Sir Paul
Pindar, now wine-vaults, with the sign of Paul Pindar's
Head, corner of Half-moon-alley, No. 160, Bishopsgate-street
Without. Sir Paul was a wealthy merchant, contemporary
with Sir Thomas Gresham. The house was
built towards the end of the 16th century, with a wood-framed
front and caryatid brackets; and the principal
windows bayed, their lower fronts enriched with panels
of carved work. In the first-floor front room is a fine
original ceiling in stucco, in which are the arms of Sir
Paul Pindar. In the rear of these premises, within a
garden, was formerly a lodge, of corresponding date,
decorated with four medallions, containing figures in
Italian taste. In Half-moon-alley, was the Half-moon
Brewhouse, of which there is a token in the Beaufoy
Collection.
Was one of the political taverns of the Civil War,
and was kept by Daniel Rawlinson, who appears to have
been a staunch royalist: his Token is preserved in the
Beaufoy collection. Dr. Richard Rawlinson, whose
Jacobite principles are sufficiently on record, in a letter
to Hearne, the nonjuring antiquary at Oxford, says of
"Daniel Rawlinson, who kept the Mitre Tavern in Fenchurch-street,
and of whose being suspected in the
Rump time, I have heard much. The Whigs tell this,
that upon the King's murder, January 30th, 1649, he
hung his sign in mourning: he certainly judged right;
the honour of the mitre was much eclipsed by the loss
of so good a parent to the Church of England; these
rogues [the Whigs] say, this endeared him so much to
the Churchmen, that he strove amain, and got a good
estate."
Pepys, who expressed great personal fear of the
Plague, in his Diary, August 6, 1666, notices that notwithstanding
Dan Rowlandson's being all last year in
the country, the sickness in a great measure past, one of
his men was then dead at the Mitre of the pestilence;
his wife and one of his maids both sick, and himself
shut up, which, says Pepys, "troubles me mightily.
God preserve us!"
Rawlinson's tavern, the Mitre, appears to have been
destroyed in the Great Fire, and immediately after,
rebuilt; as Horace Walpole, from Vertue's notes, states
that "Isaac Fuller was much employed to paint the
great taverns in London; particularly the Mitre, in
Fenchurch-street, where he adorned all the sides of a
great room, in panels, as was then the fashion;" "the
figures being as large as life; over the chimney, a Venus,
Satyr, and sleeping Cupid; a boy riding a goat, and
another fallen down:" this was, he adds, "the best part
of the performance. Saturn devouring a child, the
colouring raw, and the figure of Saturn too muscular;
Mercury, Minerva, Diana, and Apollo; Bacchus, Venus,
and Ceres, embracing; a young Silenus fallen down,
and holding a goblet into which a boy was pouring wine.
The Seasons between the windows, and on the ceiling,
in a large circle, two angels supporting a mitre."
Yet, Fuller was a wretched painter, as borne out by
Elsum's Epigram on a Drunken Sot:—
"His head does on his shoulder lean,
His eyes are sunk, and hardly seen:
Who sees this sot in his own colour
Is apt to say, 'twas done by Fuller."
Burn's Beaufoy Catalogue.
No. 53 is a place of historic interest; for, the Princess
Elizabeth, having attended service at the church of
Allhallows Staining, in Langbourn Ward, on her release
from the Tower, on the 19th of May, 1554, dined off
pork and peas afterwards, at the King's Head in
Fenchurch Street, where the metal dish and cover she
is said to have used are still preserved. The Tavern has
been of late years enlarged and embellished, in taste
accordant with its historical association; the ancient
character of the building being preserved in the smoking-room,
60 feet in length, upon the walls of which are
displayed corslets, shields, helmets, and knightly arms.
In the year 1826 was taken down the old Elephant
Tavern, which was built before the Great Fire, and
narrowly escaped its ravages. It stood on the north
side of Fenchurch-street, and was originally the Elephant
and Castle. Previous to the demolition of the premises
there were removed from the wall two pictures, which
Hogarth is said to have painted while a lodger there.
About this time, a parochial entertainment which had
hitherto been given at the Elephant, was removed to
the King's Head (Henry VIII.) Tavern nearly opposite.
At this Hogarth was annoyed, and he went over to the
King's Head, when an altercation ensued, and he left,
threatening to stick them all up on the Elephant taproom;
this he is said to have done, and on the opposite
wall subsequently painted the Hudson's Bay Company's
Porters going to dinner, representing Fenchurch-street
a century and a half ago. The first picture was set down
as Hogarth's first idea of his Modern Midnight Conversation,
in which he is supposed to have represented
the parochial party at the King's Head, though it differs
from Hogarth's print. There was a third picture,
Harlequin and Pierrot, and on the wall of the Elephant
first-floor was found a picture of Harlow Bush Fair,
coated over with paint.
Only two of the pictures were claimed as Hogarth's.
The Elephant has been engraved; and at the foot of the
print, the information as to Hogarth having executed
these paintings is rested upon the evidence of Mrs.
Hibbert, who kept the house between thirty and forty
years, and received her information from persons at that
time well acquainted with Hogarth. Still, his biographers
do not record his abode in Fenchurch-street. The
Tavern has been rebuilt.
Another of the Cornhill taverns, the African, or Cole's
Coffee-house, is memorable as the last place at which
Professor Porson appeared. He had, in some measure,
recovered from the effects of the fit in which he had
fallen on the 19th of September, 1808, when he was
brought in a hackney-coach to the London Institution,
in the Old Jewry. Next morning he had a long discussion
with Dr. Adam Clarke, who took leave of him at
its close; and this was the last conversation Porson was
ever capable of holding on any subject.
Porson is thought to have fancied himself under
restraint, and to convince himself of the contrary, next
morning, the 20th, he walked out, and soon after went
to the African, in St. Michael's Alley, which was one of
his City resorts. On entering the coffee-room, he was
so exhausted that he must have fallen, had he not caught
hold of the curtain-rod of one of the boxes, when he
was recognized by Mr. J. P. Leigh, a gentleman with
whom he had frequently dined at the house. A chair
was given him; he sat down, and stared around, with a
vacant and ghastly countenance, and he evidently did
not recollect Mr. Leigh. He took a little wine, which
revived him, but previously to this his head lay upon
his breast, and he was continually muttering something,
but in so low and indistinct a tone as scarcely to be
audible. He then took a little jelly dissolved in warm
brandy-and-water, which considerably roused him. Still
he could make no answer to questions addressed to him,
except these words, which he repeated, probably, twenty
times:—"The gentleman said it was a lucrative piece of
business, and I think so too,"—but in a very low tone.
A coach was now brought to take him to the London
Institution, and he was helped in, and accompanied by
the waiter; he appeared quite senseless all the way, and
did not utter a word; and in reply to the question where
they should stop, he put his head out of the window,
and waved his hand when they came opposite the door
of the Institution. Upon this Dr. Clarke touchingly
observes: "How quick the transition from the highest
degree of intellect to the lowest apprehensions of sense!
On what a precarious tenure does frail humanity hold
even its choicest and most necessary gifts."
Porson expired on the night of Sunday, September
20, with a deep groan, exactly as the clock struck twelve,
in the forty-ninth year of his age.
There are two taverns with this name,—in St. Leonard's-road,
and Whitechapel-road. The history of the
sign is curious. Many years ago the latter house had
a written sign, "The Grave Morris," but this has been
amended.
But the original was the famous Prince of Orange,
Grave Maurice, of whom we read in Howel's Familiar
Letters. In Junius's Etymologicon, Grave is explained
to be Comes, or Count, as Palsgrave is Palatine Count;
of which we have an instance in Palsgrave Count, or
Elector Palatine, who married Princess Elizabeth,
daughter of James I. Their issue were the Palsgrave
Charles Louis, the Grave Count or Prince Palatine
Rupert, and the Grave Count or Prince Maurice, who
alike distinguished themselves in the Civil Wars.
The two princes, Rupert and Maurice, for their
loyalty and courage, were after the Restoration, very
popular; which induced the author of the Tavern Anecdotes
to conjecture: "As we have an idea that the
Mount at Whitechapel was raised to overawe the City,
Maurice, before he proceeded to the west, might have
the command of the work on the east side of the metropolis,
and a temporary residence on the spot where his
sign was so lately exhibited." At the close of the troubles
of the reign, the two princes retired. In 1652, they
were endeavouring to annoy the enemies of Charles II.
in the West Indies; when the Grave Maurice lost his
life in a hurricane.
The sign of the Grave Maurice remained against the
house in the Whitechapel-road till the year 1806, when
it was taken down to be repainted. It represented a
soldier in a hat and feather, and blue uniform. The
tradition of the neighbourhood is, that it is the portrait
of a prince of Hesse, who was a great warrior, but of
so inflexible a countenance, that he was never seen to
smile in his life; and that he was, therefore, most properly
termed Grave.
It is curious to find that a century and a half since,
science found a home in Spitalfields, chiefly among the
middle and working classes; they met at small taverns
in that locality. It appears that a Mathematical Society,
which also cultivated electricity, was established
in 1717, and met at the Monmouth's Head in Monmouth-street,
until 1725, when they removed to the
White Horse Tavern, in Wheeler-street; from thence,
in 1735, to Ben Jonson's Head in Pelham-street; and
next to Crispin-street, Spitalfields. The members were
chiefly tradesmen and artisans; among those of higher
rank were Canton, Dollond, Thomas Simpson, and Crossley.
The Society lent their instruments (air-pumps,
reflecting telescopes, reflecting microscopes, electrical
machines, surveying-instruments, etc.) with books for
the use of them, on the borrowers giving a note of hand
for the value thereof. The number of members was not
to exceed the square of seven, except such as were abroad
or in the country; but this was increased to the squares
of eight and nine. The members met on Saturday
evenings: each present was to employ himself in some
mathematical exercise, or forfeit one penny; and if he
refused to answer a question asked by another in mathematics,
he was to forfeit twopence. The Society long
cherished a taste for exact science among the residents
in the neighbourhood of Spitalfields, and accumulated a
library of nearly 3000 volumes; but in 1845, when on
the point of dissolution, the few remaining members
made over their books, records, and memorials to the
Royal Astronomical Society, of which these members
were elected Fellows.[32] This amalgamation was chiefly
negotiated by Captain, afterwards Admiral Smyth.
In the last century, when public amusements were
comparatively few, and citizens dwelt in town, the Globe
in Fleet-street was noted for its little clubs and card-parties.
Here was held, for a time, the Robin Hood
Club, a Wednesday Club, and later, Oliver Goldsmith
and his friends often finished their Shoemaker's
Holiday by supping at the Globe. Among the company
was a surgeon, who, living on the Surrey side of
the Thames (Blackfriars Bridge was not then built), had
to take a boat every night, at 3s. or 4s. expense, and the
risk of his life; yet, when the bridge was built, he
grumbled at having a penny to pay for crossing it.
Other frequenters of the Globe were Archibald Hamilton,
"with a mind fit for a lord chancellor;" Carnan, the
bookseller, who defeated the Stationers' Company upon
the almanac trial; Dunstall, the comedian; the veteran
Macklin; Akerman, the keeper of Newgate, who always
thought it most prudent not to venture home till daylight;
and William Woodfall, the reporter of the parliamentary
debates. Then there was one Glover, a surgeon,
who restored to life a man who had been hung in Dublin,
and who ever after was a plague to his deliverer. Brasbridge,
the silversmith of Fleet-street, was a frequenter
of the Globe. In his eightieth year he wrote his Fruits
of Experience, full of pleasant gossip about the minor
gaieties of St. Bride's. He was more fond of following
the hounds than his business, and failure was the ill
consequence: he tells of a sporting party of four—that
he and his partner became bankrupt; the third, Mr.
Smith, became Lord Mayor; and the fourth fell into
poverty, and was glad to accept the situation of patrol
before the house of his Lordship, whose associate he had
been only a few years before. Smith had 100,000l. of
bad debts on his books, yet died worth one-fourth of that
sum. We remember the Globe, a handsomely-appointed
tavern, some forty years since; but it has long ceased to
be a tavern.
This celebrated Tavern is described in the present
work, Vol. I., pp. 10-15, as the meeting-place of the
Apollo Club. Its later history is interesting.
Mull Sack, alias John Cottington, the noted highwayman
of the time of the Commonwealth, is stated to have
been a constant visitor at the Devil Tavern. In the garb
and character of a man of fashion, he appears to have
levied contributions on the public as a pick-pocket and
highwayman, to a greater extent than perhaps any other
individual of his fraternity on record. He not only
had the honour of picking the pocket of Oliver Cromwell,
when Lord Protector, but he afterwards robbed
King Charles II., then living in exile at Cologne,
of plate valued at £1500. Another of his feats was
his robbing the wife of the Lord General Fairfax. "This
lady," we are told, "used to go to a lecture on a weekday,
to Ludgate Church, where one Mr. Jacomb preached,
being much followed by the precisians. Mull Sack,
observing this,—and that she constantly wore her watch
hanging by a chain from her waist,—against the next
time she came there, dressed himself like an officer in
the army; and having his comrades attending him like
troopers, one of them takes out the pin of a coach-wheel
that was going upwards through the gate, by which
means, it falling off, the passage was obstructed; so
that the lady could not alight at the church-door, but
was forced to leave her coach without. Mull Sack,
taking advantage of this, readily presented himself to
her ladyship; and having the impudence to take her
from her gentleman usher, who attended her alighting,
led her by the arm into the church; and by the way,
with a pair of keen or sharp scissors for the purpose, cut
the chain in two, and got the watch clear away: she
not missing it till sermon was done, when she was going
to see the time of the day." At the Devil Tavern Mull
Sack could mix with the best society, whom he probably
occasionally relieved of their watches and purses. There
is extant a very rare print of him, in which he is represented
partly in the garb of a chimney-sweep, his original
avocation, and partly in the fashionable costume
of the period.[33]
In the Apollo chamber, at the Devil Tavern, were
rehearsed, with music, the Court-day Odes of the Poets
Laureate: hence Pope, in the Dunciad:
"Back to the Devil the loud echoes roll,
And 'Coll!' each butcher roars at Hockley Hole."
The following epigram on the Odes rehearsals is by
a wit of those times:
"When Laureates make Odes, do you ask of what sort?
Do you ask if they're good, or are evil?
You may judge—From the Devil they come to the Court,
And go from the Court to the Devil."
St. Dunstan's, or the Devil Tavern, is mentioned as
a house of old repute, in the interlude, Jacke Jugeler,
1563, where Jack, having persuaded his cousin Jenkin,
"As foolish a knave withall,
As any is now, within London wall,"
that he was not himself, thrusts him from his master's
door, and in answer to Jenkin's sorrowful question—where
his master and he were to dwell, replies,
"At the Devyll yf you lust, I can not tell!"
Ben Jonson being one night at the Devil Tavern,
a country gentleman in the company was obtrusively
loquacious touching his land and tenements; Ben, out
of patience, exclaimed, "What signifies to us your dirt
and your clods? Where you have an acre of land I
have ten acres of wit!" "Have you so," retorted the
countryman, "good Mr. Wise-acre?" "Why, how
now, Ben?" said one of the party, "you seem to be
quite stung!" "I was never so pricked by a hobnail
before," grumbled Ben.
There is a ludicrous reference to this old place in
a song describing the visit of James I. to St. Paul's
Cathedral on Sunday, 26th of March, 1620:
"The Maior layd downe his mace, and cry'd,
'God save your Grace,
And keepe our King from all evill!'
With all my hart I then wist, the good mace
had been in my fist,
To ha' pawn'd it for supper at the Devill!"
We have already given the famous Apollo "Welcome,"
but not immortal Ben's Rules, which have been thus
happily translated by Alexander Brome, one of the wits
who frequented the Devil, and who left Poems and Songs,
1661: he was an attorney in the Lord Mayor's Court:
"Ben Jonson's Sociable Rules for the Apollo.
"Let none but guests, or clubbers, hither come.
Let dunces, fools, sad sordid men keep home.
Let learned, civil, merry men, b' invited,
And modest too; nor be choice ladies slighted.
Let nothing in the treat offend the guests;
More for delight than cost, prepare the feast.
The cook and purvey'r must our palates know;
And none contend who shall sit high or low.
Our waiters must quick-sighted be, and dumb,
And let the drawers quickly hear and come.
Let not our wine be mix'd, but brisk and neat,
Or else the drinkers may the vintners beat.
And let our only emulation be,
Not drinking much, but talking wittily.
Let it be voted lawful to stir up
Each other with a moderate chirping cup;
Let not our company be, or talk too much;
On serious things, or sacred, let's not touch
With sated heads and bellies. Neither may
Fiddlers unask'd obtrude themselves to play.
With laughing, leaping, dancing, jests, and songs,
And whate'er else to grateful mirth belongs,
Let's celebrate our feasts; and let us see
That all our jests without reflection be.
Insipid poems let no man rehearse,
Nor any be compelled to write a verse.
All noise of vain disputes must be forborne,
And let no lover in a corner mourn.
To fight and brawl, like hectors, let none dare,
Glasses or windows break, or hangings tear.
Whoe'er shall publish what's here done or said
From our society must be banishèd;
Let none by drinking do or suffer harm,
And, while we stay, let us be always warm."
We must now say something of the noted hosts.
Simon Wadlow appears for the last time, as a licensed
vintner, in the Wardmote return, of December, 1626;
and the burial register of St. Dunstan's records:
"March 30th, 1627, Symon Wadlowe, vintner, was
buried out of Fleet-street." On St. Thomas's Day, in
the last-named year, the name of "the widow Wadlowe"
appears; and in the following year, 1628, of the
eight licensed victuallers, five were widows. The widow
Wadlowe's name is returned for the last time by the
Wardmote on December 21st, 1629.
The name of John Wadlow, apparently the son of
old Simon, appears first as a licensed victualler, in the
Wardmote return, December 21, 1646. He issued his
token, showing on its obverse St. Dunstan holding the
devil by his nose, his lower half being that of a satyr,
the devil on the signboard was as usual, sable; the
origin of the practice being thus satisfactorily explained
by Dr. Jortin: "The devils used often to appear to the
monks in the figure of Ethiopian boys or men; thence
probably the painters learned to make the devil black."
Hogarth, in his print of the Burning of the Rumps,
represents the hanging of the effigy against the sign-board
of the Devil Tavern.
In a ludicrous and boasting ballad of 1650, we read:
"Not the Vintry Cranes, nor St. Clement's Danes,
Nor the Devill can put us down-a."
John Wadlow's name occurs for the last time in the
Wardmote return of December, 1660. After the Great
Fire, he rebuilt the Sun Tavern, behind the Royal Exchange:
he was a loyal man, and appears to have been
sufficiently wealthy to have advanced money to the
Crown; his autograph was attached to several receipts
among the Exchequer documents lately destroyed.
Hollar's Map of London, 1667, shows the site of the
Devil Tavern, and its proximity to the barrier designated
Temple Bar, when the house had become the resort
of lawyers and physicians. In the rare volume of
Cambridge Merry Jests, printed in the reign of Charles
II., the will of a tavern-hunter has the bequeathment
of "ten pounds to be drank by lawyers and physicians
at the Devil's Tavern, by Temple Bar."
The Tatler, October 11, 1709, contains Bickerstaff's
account of the wedding entertainment at the Devil
Tavern, in honour of his sister Jenny's marriage. He
mentions "the Rules of Ben's Club in gold letters
over the chimney;" and this is the latest notice of this
celebrated ode. When, or by whom, the board was
taken from "over the chimney," Mr. Burn has failed
to discover.
Swift tells Stella that Oct. 12, 1710, he dined at the
Devil Tavern with Mr. Addison and Dr. Garth, when
the doctor treated.
In 1746, the Royal Society held here their Annual
Dinner; and in 1752, concerts of vocal and instrumental
music were given in the great room.
A view of the exterior of the Devil Tavern, with its
gable-pointed front, engraved from a drawing by Wale,
was published in Dodsley's London and its Environs,
1761. The sign-iron bears its pendent sign—the
Saint painted as a half-length, and the devil behind him
grinning grimly over his shoulder. On the removal of
projecting signs, by authority, in 1764, the Devil Tavern
sign was placed flat against the front, and there remained
till the demolition of the house.
Brush Collins, in March, 1775, delivered for several
evenings, in the great room, a satirical lecture on
Modern Oratory. In the following year, a Pandemonium
Club was held here; and, according to a notice in
Mr. Burn's possession, "the first meeting was to be on
Monday, the 4th of November, 1776. These devils
were lawyers, who were about commencing term, to the
annoyance of many a hitherto happy bon-vivant."
From bad to worse, the Devil Tavern fell into disuse,
and Messrs. Child, the bankers, purchased the freehold
in 1787, for £2800. It was soon after demolished,
and the site is now occupied by the houses called
Child's-place.
We have selected and condensed these details from
Mr. Burn's exhaustive article on the Devil Tavern, in
the Beaufoy Catalogue.
There is a token of this tavern, which is very rare.
The initials stand for Simon Wadloe, embalmed in
Squire Western's favourite air "Old Sir Simon the
King:"—"AT THE D. AND DVNSTANS. The representation
of the saint standing at his anvil, and pulling the
nose of the 'D.' with his pincers.—R. within temple
barre. In the field, I. S. W."
The notoriety of the Devil Tavern, as common in
such cases, created an opponent on the opposite side
of Fleet-street, named "The Young Devil." The Society
of Antiquaries, who had previously met at the
Bear Tavern, in the Strand, changed their rendezvous
Jan. 9, 1707-8, to the Young Devil Tavern; but the
host failed, and as Browne Willis tells us, the Antiquaries,
in or about 1709, "met at the Fountain Tavern,
as we went down into the Inner Temple, against Chancery
Lane."
Later, a music-room, called the Apollo, was attempted,
but with no success: an advertisement for a concert,
December 19, 1737, intimated "tickets to be had at
Will's Coffee-house, formerly the Apollo, in Bell Yard,
near Temple Bar." This may explain the Apollo Court,
in Fleet-street, unless it is found in the next page.
The Apollo Club, at the Devil Tavern, is kept in
remembrance by Apollo Court, in Fleet-street, nearly
opposite; next door eastward of which is an old tavern
nearly as well known. It is, perhaps, the most primitive
place of its kind in the metropolis: it still possesses a
fragment of decoration of the time of James I., and the
writer remembers the tavern half a century ago, with
considerably more of its original panelling. It is just
two centuries since (1665), when the Plague was raging,
the landlord shut up his house, and retired into the
country; and there is preserved one of the farthings
referred to in this advertisement:—"This is to certify
that the master of the Cock and Bottle, commonly called
the Cock Alehouse, at Temple Bar, hath dismissed his
servants, and shut up his house, for this long vacation,
intending (God willing) to return at Michaelmas next;
so that all persons whatsoever who may have any accounts
with the said master, or farthings belonging to the said
house, are desired to repair thither before the 8th of this
instant, and they shall receive satisfaction." Three years
later, we find Pepys frequenting this tavern: "23rd
April, 1668. Thence by water to the Temple, and there
to the Cock Alehouse, and drank, and eat a lobster, and
sang, and mightily merry. So almost night, I carried
Mrs. Pierce home, and then Knipp and I to the Temple
again, and took boat, it being now night." The tavern
has a gilt signbird over the passage door, stated to have
been carved by Gibbons. Over the mantelpiece is some
carving, at least of the time of James I.; but we remember
the entire room similarly carved, and a huge
black-and-gilt clock, and settle. The head-waiter of our
time lives in the verse of Laureate Tennyson—"O plump
head-waiter of the Cock!" apostrophizes the "Will
Water-proof" of the bard, in a reverie wherein he
conceives William to have undergone a transition similar
to that of Jove's cup-bearer:—
"And hence (says he) this halo lives about
The waiter's hands, that reach
To each his perfect pint of stout,
His proper chop to each.
He looks not with the common breed,
That with the napkin dally;
I think he came, like Ganymede,
From some delightful valley."
And of the redoubtable bird, who is supposed to have
performed the eagle's part in this abduction, he says:—
"The Cock was of a larger egg
Than modern poultry drop,
Stept forward on a firmer leg,
And cramm'd a plumper crop."
Hercules Pillars Alley, on the south side of Fleet-street,
near St. Dunstan's Church, is described by
Strype as "altogether inhabited by such as keep Publick
Houses for entertainment, for which it is of note."
The token of the Hercules Pillars is thus described
by Mr. Akerman:—"ED. OLDHAM AT Y HERCVLES. A
crowned male figure standing erect, and grasping a pillar
with each hand.—℞. PILLERS IN FLEET STREET. In the
field, HIS HALF PENNY, E. P. O." "From this example,"
illustratively observes Mr. Akerman, "it would seem that
the locality, called Hercules Pillars Alley, like other places
in London, took its name from the tavern. The mode of
representing the pillars of Hercules is somewhat novel;
and, but for the inscription, we should have supposed
the figure to represent Samson clutching the pillars of
temple of Dagon. At the trial of Stephen Colledge,
for high-treason, in 1681, an Irishman named Haynes,
swore that he walked to the Hercules Pillars with the
accused, and that in a room upstairs Colledge spoke
of his treasonable designs and feeling. On another occasion
the parties walked from Richard's coffee-house[34]
to this tavern, where it was sworn they had a similar
conference. Colledge, in his defence, denies the truth
of the allegation, and declares that the walk from the
coffee-house to the tavern is not more than a bow-shot,
and that during such walk the witness had all the conversation
to himself, though he had sworn that treasonable
expressions had been made use of on their way
thither.
"Pepys frequented this tavern: in one part of his
Diary he says, 'With Mr. Creed to Hercules Pillars,
where we drank.' In another, 'In Fleet-street I met
with Mr. Salisbury, who is now grown in less than two
years' time so great a limner that he is become excellent
and gets a great deal of money at it. I took him to
Hercules Pillars to drink.'"
Again: "After the play was done, we met with Mr.
Bateller and W. Hewer, and Talbot Pepys, and they
followed us in a hackney-coach; and we all supped at
Hercules Pillars; and there I did give the best supper I
could, and pretty merry; and so home between eleven
and twelve at night." "At noon, my wife came to me
at my tailor's, and I sent her home, and myself and Tom
dined at Hercules Pillars."
Another noted "Hercules Pillars" was at Hyde Park
Corner, near Hamilton-place, on the site of what is now
the pavement opposite Lord Willoughby's. "Here,"
says Cunningham, "Squire Western put his horses up
when in pursuit of Tom Jones; and here Field Marshal
the Marquis of Gransby was often found." And
Wycherley, in his Plain Dealer, 1676, makes the spendthrift,
Jerry Blackacre, talk of picking up his mortgaged
silver "out of most of the ale-houses between
Hercules Pillars and the Boatswain in Wapping."
Hyde Park Corner was noted for its petty taverns,
some of which remained as late as 1805. It was to one
of these taverns that Steele took Savage to dine, and
where Sir Richard dictated and Savage wrote a pamphlet,
which he went out and sold for two guineas,
with which the reckoning was paid. Steele then "returned
home, having retired that day only to avoid his
creditors, and composed the pamphlet only to discharge
his reckoning."
This odd sign exists in Chancery-lane, at a house on
the east side, immediately opposite the old gate of
Lincoln's-Inn; "and," says Mr. Burn, "being supported
by the dependants on legal functionaries, appears
to have undergone fewer changes than the law, retaining
all the vigour of a new establishment." There is
another "Hole in the Wall" in St. Dunstan's-court,
Fleet-street, much frequented by printers.
Mr. Akerman says:—"It was a popular sign, and
several taverns bore the same designation, which probably
originated in a certain tavern being situated in
some umbrageous recess in the old City walls. Many
of the most popular and most frequented taverns of the
present day are located in twilight courts and alleys,
into which Phœbus peeps at Midsummer-tide only when
on the meridian. Such localities may have been selected
on more than one account: they not only afforded good
skulking 'holes' for those who loved drinking better
than work; but beer and other liquors keep better in
the shade. These haunts, like Lady Mary's farm,
were—
'In summer shady, and in winter warm.'
Rawlins, the engraver of the fine and much coveted
Oxford Crown, with a view of the city under the horse,
dates a quaint supplicatory letter to John Evelyn, 'from
the Hole in the Wall, in St. Martin's;' no misnomer,
we will be sworn, in that aggregation of debt and dissipation,
when debtors were imprisoned with a very remote
chance of redemption. In the days of Rye-house and
Meal-Tub plots, philanthropy overlooked such little
matters; and Small Debts Bills were not dreamt of in
the philosophy of speculative legislators. Among other
places which bore the designation of the Hole in the
Wall, there was one in Chandos-street, in which the
famous Duval, the highwayman, was apprehended after
an attack on—two bottles of wine, probably drugged by
a 'friend' or mistress."
This was the true Johnsonian Mitre, so often referred
to in Boswell's Life; but it has earlier fame. Here, in
1640, Lilly met Old Will Poole, the astrologer, then
living in Ram-alley. The Royal Society Club dined at
the Mitre from 1743 to 1750, the Society then meeting
in Crane-court, nearly opposite. The Society of Antiquaries
met some time at the Mitre. Dr. Macmichael,
in The Gold-headed Cane, makes Dr. Radcliffe say:—"I
never recollect to have spent a more delightful
evening than that at the Mitre Tavern, in Fleet-street,
where my good friend Billy Nutly, who was indeed the
better half of me, had been prevailed upon to accept
of a small temporary assistance, and joined our party,
the Earl of Denbigh, Lords Colepeper and Stowel, and
Mr. Blackmore."
The house has a token:—WILLIAM PAGET AT THE.
A mitre.—℞. MITRE IN FLEET STREET. In the field,
W. E. P.
Johnson's Mitre is commonly thought to be the
tavern with that sign, which still exists in Mitre-court,
over against Fetter-lane; where is shown a cast of
Nollekens' bust of Johnson, in confirmation of this
house being his resort. Such was not the case; Boswell
distinctly states it to have been the Mitre Tavern in
Fleet-street; and the records by Lilly and the Royal
Society, alike specify "in Fleet-street," which Mr. Burn,
in his excellent account of the Beaufoy Tokens, explains
was the house, No. 39, Fleet-street, that Macklin
opened, in 1788, as the Poet's Gallery; and lastly,
Saunders's auction-rooms. It was taken down to enlarge
the site for Messrs. Hoares' new banking-house.
The now Mitre Tavern, in Mitre-court, was originally
called Joe's Coffee-house; and on the shutting up of
the old Mitre, in Fleet-street, took its name; this being
four years after Johnson's death.
The Mitre was Dr. Johnson's favourite supper-house,
the parties including Goldsmith, Percy, Hawkesworth,
and Boswell; there was planned the tour to the Hebrides.
Johnson had a strange nervous feeling, which
made him uneasy if he had not touched every post between
the Mitre and his own lodgings. Johnson took
Goldsmith to the Mitre, where Boswell and the
Doctor had supped together in the previous month,
when Boswell spoke of Goldsmith's "very loose, odd,
scrambling kind of life," and Johnson defended him as
one of our first men as an author, and a very worthy
man;—adding, "he has been loose in his principles, but
he is coming right." Boswell was impatient of Goldsmith
from the first hour of their acquaintance. Chamberlain
Clarke, who died in 1831, aged 92, was the last
surviving of Dr. Johnson's Mitre friends. Mr. William
Scott, Lord Stowell, also frequented the Mitre.
Boswell has this remarkable passage respecting the
house:—"We had a good supper, and port-wine, of
which he (Johnson) sometimes drank a bottle. The
orthodox high-church sound of The Mitre—the figure
and manner of the celebrated Samuel Johnson—the
extraordinary power and precision of his conversation,
and the pride arising from finding myself admitted as
his companion, produced a variety of sensations, and
a pleasing elevation of mind, beyond what I had ever
experienced."
This noted Tavern, the site of which is now denoted
by Ship-yard, is mentioned among the grants to Sir
Christopher Hatton, 1571. There is, in the Beaufoy
Collection, a Ship token, dated 1649, which is evidence
that the inner tavern of that sign was then extant. It
was also called the Drake, from the ship painted as the
sign being that in which Sir Francis Drake voyaged
round the world. Faithorne, the celebrated engraver,
kept shop, next door to the Drake. "The Ship Tavern,
in the Butcher-row, near Temple Bar," occurs in an
advertisement so late as June, 1756.
The taverns about Temple Bar were formerly numerous;
and the folly of disfiguring sign-boards was then,
as at a later date, a street frolic. "Sir John Denham,
the poet, when a student at Lincoln's-Inn, in 1635,
though generally temperate as a drinker, having stayed
late at a tavern with some fellow-students, induced them
to join him in 'a frolic,' to obtain a pot of ink and a
plasterer's brush, and blot out all the signs between
Temple Bar and Charing Cross. Aubrey relates that
R. Estcourt, Esq., carried the ink-pot: and that next
day it caused great confusion; but it happened Sir John
and his comrades were discovered, and it cost them
some moneys."
This once celebrated Tavern, opposite the Ship, occupied
the site of Palsgrave-place, on the south side of
the Strand, near Temple Bar. The Palsgrave Frederick,
afterwards King of Bohemia, was affianced to the
Princess Elizabeth (only daughter of James I.), in the
old banqueting house at Whitehall, December 27, 1612,
when the sign was, doubtless, set up in compliment to
him. There is a token of the house in the Beaufoy
Collection. (See Burn's Catalogue, p. 225.)
Here Prior and Montague, in The Hind and Panther
Transversed, make the Country Mouse and the City
Mouse bilk the Hackney Coachman:
"But now at Piccadilly they arrive,
And taking coach, t'wards Temple Bar they drive,
But at St. Clement's eat out the back;
And slipping through the Palsgrave, bilkt poor hack."
Near the Palsgrave's Head tavern, was Heycock's Ordinary,
much frequented by Parliament men and gallants.
Andrew Marvell usually dined here: one day, having
eaten heartily of boiled beef, with some roasted pigeons
and asparagus, he drank his pint of port; and on the
coming in of the reckoning, taking a piece of money
out of his pocket, held it up, and addressing his associates,
certain members of Parliament, known to be in
the pay of the Crown, said, "Gentlemen, who would
lett himself out for hire, while he can have such a dinner
for half-a-crown?"
This famous tavern extended from Arundel-street eastward
to Milford-lane, in the rear of the south side
of the Strand, and occupied the site of an older house
with the same sign. Strype, in 1729, described it as
"the Crown Tavern; a large and curious house, with
good rooms and other conveniences fit for entertainments."
Here was instituted the Academy of Music
in 1710; and here the Royal Society Club, who had
previously met at the Mitre in Fleet-street, removed in
1780, and dined here for the first time on December
21, and here they continued until the tavern was converted
into a club-house in 1847.
The second tavern was built in 1790. Its first landlord
was Thomas Simpkin, a very corpulent man, who,
in superintending the serving of a large dinner, leaned
over a balustrade, which broke, when he fell from a
considerable height to the ground, and was killed. The
sign appears to have been originally "The Crown," to
which may have been added the Anchor, from its being
the emblem of St. Clement's, opposite; or from the
Lord High Admiral having once resided on the site.
The tavern contained a ball-room, 84 feet by 35 feet
6 inches; in 1798, on the birthday of C. J. Fox, was
given in this house, a banquet to 2000 persons, when
the Duke of Norfolk presided. The large room was
noted for political meetings in the stormy Tory and
Radical times; and the Crown and Anchor was long
the rallying-point of the Westminster electors. The
room would hold 2500 persons: one of the latest
popular orators who spoke here was Daniel O'Connell,
M.P. There was originally an entrance to the house
from the Strand, by a long passage, such as was the
usual approach to our old metropolitan taverns. The
premises were entirely destroyed by fire, in 1854, but
have been rebuilt.[35]
Here Johnson and Boswell occasionally supped; and
here Johnson quarrelled with Percy about old Dr.
Monsey. Thither was brought the altar-piece (St.
Cecilia), painted by Kent for St. Clement's Church,
whence it was removed, in 1725, by order of Bishop
Gibson, on the supposition that the picture contained
portraits of the Pretender's wife and children.
There is a rare Token of this house, with the date,
1665. The locality of the "Canary House in the
Strande," says Mr. E. B. Price, "is now, perhaps, impossible
to trace; and it is, perhaps, as vain to attempt
a description of the wine from which it took its name,
and which was so celebrated in that and the preceding
century. Some have erroneously identified it with sack.
We find it mentioned among the various drinks which
Gascoyne so virtuously inveighs against in his Delicate
Diet for daintie mouthde Droonkardes, published
in 1576: "We must have March beere, dooble-dooble
Beere, Dagger ale, Bragget, Renish wine, White wine,
French wine, Gascoyne wine, Sack, Hollocke, Canaria
wine, Vino greco, Vinum amabile, and al the wines that
may be gotten. Yea, wine of its selfe is not sufficient;
but Suger, Limons, and sundry sortes of Spices must
be drowned therein." The bibbers of this famed wine
were wont to be termed "Canary birds." Of its qualities
we can perhaps form the best estimate from the
colloquy between "mine hostess of the Boar's Head and
Doll Tearsheet;" in which the former charges the latter
with having "drunk too much Canaries; and that's a
marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere
one can say, What's this?"[36]
Strand, now the site of Nos. 101 and 102, Ries's
Divan, gave the name to the Fountain Club, composed
of political opponents of Sir Robert Walpole. Strype
describes it as "a very fine Tavern, with excellent
vaults, good rooms for entertainment, and a curious
kitchen for dressing of meat, which, with the good wine
there sold, make it well resorted to." Dennis, the Critic,
describes his supping here with Loggan, the painter, and
others, and that after supper they "drank Mr. Wycherley's
health by name of Captain Wycherley."
Here, Feb. 12, 1742, was held a great meeting, at
which near 300 members of both Houses of Parliament
were present, to consider the ministerial crisis, when the
Duke of Argyll observed to Mr. Pulteney, that a grain
of honesty was worth a cart-load of gold. The meeting
was held too late to be of any avail, to which Sir Charles
Hanbury Williams alludes in one of his odes to Pulteney,
invoking his Muse thus:—
"Then enlarge on his cunning and wit;
Say, how he harang'd at the Fountain;
Say, how the old patriots were bit,
And a mouse was produc'd by a mountain."
Upon the Tavern site was a Drawing Academy, of
which Cosway and Wheatley were pupils; here also was
the lecture-room of John Thelwall, the political elocutionist.
At No. 101, Ackermann, the printseller, illuminated
his gallery with cannel coal, when gas-lighting
was a novelty.
In Fountain-court, named from the Tavern, is the
Coal-hole Tavern, upon the site of a coal-yard; it was
much resorted to by Edmund Kean, and was one of the
earliest night taverns for singing.
Among the four hundred letters of Steele's preserved
in the British Museum, are some written from his tavern
haunts, a few weeks after marriage, to his "Dearest
being on earth:"
"Eight o'clock, Fountain Tavern, Oct. 22, 1707.
"My dear,
"I beg of you not to be uneasy; for I have done a great
deal of business to-day very successfully, and wait an hour or
two about my Gazette."
In the next, he does "not come home to dinner, being
obliged to attend to some business abroad." Then he
writes from the Devil Tavern, Temple Bar, January 3,
1707-8, as follows:—
"I have partly succeeded in my business, and enclose two
guineas as earnest of more. Dear Prue, I cannot come home to
dinner; I languish for your welfare, and will never be a moment
careless more.
"Your faithful husband," etc.
Within a few days, he writes from a Pall Mall tavern:—
"Dear Wife,
"Mr. Edgecombe, Ned Ask, and Mr. Lumley, have desired
me to sit an hour with them at the George, in Pall Mall,
for which I desire your patience till twelve o'clock, and that you
will go to bed," etc.
When money-matters were getting worse, Steele
found it necessary to sleep away from home for a day or
two, and he writes:—
"Tennis-court Coffee-house, May 5, 1708.
"Dear Wife,
"I hope I have done this day what will be pleasing to
you; in the meantime shall lie this night at a baker's, one Leg,
over against the Devil Tavern, at Charing Cross. I shall be able
to confront the fools who wish me uneasy, and shall have the
satisfaction to see thee cheerful and at ease.
"If the printer's boy be at home, send him hither; and let
Mr. Todd send by the boy my night-gown, slippers, and clean
linen. You shall hear from me early in the morning," etc.
He is found excusing his coming home, being "invited
to supper at Mr. Boyle's." "Dear Prue," he says on
this occasion, "do not send after me, for I shall be ridiculous."
There were Caudles in those days.[37]
Clare Market lying between the two great theatres,
its butchers were the arbiters of the galleries, the leaders
of theatrical rows, the musicians at actresses' marriages,
the chief mourners at players' funerals. In and around
the market were the signs of the Sun; the Bull and
Butcher, afterwards Spiller's Head; the Grange; the
Bull's Head, where met "the Shepherd and his
Flock Club," and where Dr. Radcliffe was carousing
when he received news of the loss of his 5000l. venture.
Here met weekly a Club of Artists, of which
society Hogarth was a member, and he engraved for
them a silver tankard with a shepherd and his flock.
Next is the Black Jack in Portsmouth-street, the haunt
of Joe Miller, the comedian, and where he uttered his
time-honoured "Jests:" the house remains, but the
sign has disappeared. Miller died in 1738, and was
buried in St. Clement's upper ground, in Portugal-street,
where his gravestone was inscribed with the following
epitaph, written by Stephen Duck: "Here lie the remains
of honest Joe Miller, who was a tender husband,
a sincere friend, a facetious companion, and an excellent
comedian. He departed this life the 15th day of August,
1738, aged 54 years.
"If humour, wit, and honesty could save
The humorous, witty, honest, from the grave,
This grave had not so soon its tenant found,
With honesty, and wit, and humour crown'd.
Or could esteem and love preserve our health,
And guard us longer from the stroke of Death,
The stroke of Death on him had later fell,
Whom all mankind esteem'd and loved so well."
The stone was restored by the parish grave-digger at
the close of the last century; and in 1816, a new stone
was set up by Mr. Jarvis Buck, churchwarden, who
added S. Duck to the epitaph. The burial-ground has
been cleared away, and the site has been added to the
grounds of King's College Hospital.
At the Black Jack, also called the Jump, (from Jack
Sheppard having once jumped out of a first-floor window,
to escape his pursuers, the thief-takers,) a Club known as
"the Honourable Society of Jackers," met until 1816.
The roll of the fraternity "numbers many of the popular
actors since the time of Joe Miller, and some of the
wits; from John Kemble, Palmer, and Theodore Hook
down to Kean, Liston, and the mercurial John Pritt
Harley. Since the dissolution of this last relic of the
sociality of the Joe Miller age, 'wit-combats' have
been comparatively unknown at the Old Black Jack."[38]
This modern Tavern was part of the offices of Craven
House, and the adjoining stabling belonged to the mansion;
the extensive cellars still remain, though blocked
up.
Craven House was built for William Lord Craven, the
hero of Creutznach, upon part of the site of Drury House,
and was a large square pile of brick, four storeys high,
which occupied the site of the present Craven-buildings,
built in 1723. That portion of the mansion abutting
on Magpie-alley, now Newcastle-street, was called Bohemia
House, and was early in the last century, converted
into a tavern, with the sign of the head of its
former mistress, the Queen of Bohemia. But a destructive
fire happening in the neighbourhood, the tavern was
shut up, and the building suffered to decay; till, at
length, in 1802, what remained of the dilapidated mansion
was pulled down, and the materials sold; and upon
the ground, in 1803, Philip Astley erected his Olympic
Pavilion, which was burnt down in 1849.
The Craven Head was some time kept by William
Oxberry, the comedian, who first appeared on the stage
in 1807; he also edited a large collection of dramas.
Another landlord of the Craven Head was Robert Hales,
"the Norfolk Giant" (height 7 ft. 6 in.), who, after
visiting the United States, where Barnum made a speculation
of the giant, and 28,000 persons flocked to see
him in ten days,—in January, 1851, returned to England,
and took the Craven Head Tavern. On April 11th
Hales had the honour of being presented to the Queen
and Royal Family, when Her Majesty gave him a gold
watch and chain, which he wore to the day of his death.
His health had been much impaired by the close confinement
of the caravans in which he exhibited. He
died in 1863, of consumption. Hales was cheerful and
well-informed. He had visited several Continental capitals,
and had been presented to Louis Philippe, King of
the French.
This Tavern, of indecent notoriety, was situated about
the middle of the east side of Bow-street, then consisting
of very good houses, well inhabited, and resorted to by
gentry for lodgings. Here Wycherley and his first wife,
the Countess of Drogheda, lodged over against the Cock,
"whither, if he at any time were with his friends, he
was obliged to leave the windows open, that the lady
might see there was no woman in the company, or she
would be immediately in a downright raving condition."
(Dennis's Letters.)
The Cock Tavern was the resort of the rakes and
Mohocks of that day, when the house was kept by a
woman called "Oxford Kate." Here took place the
indecent exposure, which has been told by Johnson, in
his life of Sackville, Lord Dorset. "Sackville, who was
then Lord Buckhurst, with Sir Charles Sedley, and Sir
Thomas Ogle, got drunk at the Cock, in Bow-street, by
Covent-garden, and going into the balcony, exposed
themselves to the company in very indecent postures.
At last, as they grew warmer, Sedley stood forth naked,
and harangued the populace in such profane language,
that the public indignation was awakened; the crowd
attempted to force the door, and being repulsed, drove
in the performers with stones, and broke the windows
of the house. For this misdemeanour they were indicted,
and Sedley was fined five hundred pounds; what was the
sentence of the others is not known. Sedley employed
Killegrew and another to procure a remission of the
King, but (mark the friendship of the dissolute!) they
begged the fine for themselves, and exacted it to the last
groat."
Sir John Coventry had supped at the Cock Tavern, on
the night when, in his way home, his nose was cut to the
bone, at the corner of Suffolk-street, in the Haymarket,
"for reflecting on the King, who, therefore, determined to
set a mark upon him:" he was watched; when attacked,
he stood up to the wall, and snatched the flambeau out of
the servant's hands, and with that in one hand, and the
sword in the other, he defended himself, but was soon
disarmed, and his nose was cut to the bone; it was so
well sewed up, that the scar was scarce to be discerned.
This attempt at assassination occasioned the Coventry
Act, 22 and 23 Car. II. c. 1, by which specific provisions
were made against the offence of maiming, cutting off,
or disabling, a limb or member.
This Tavern, in Duke's Court, was once kept by a
facetious person, named Jupp, and is associated with a
piece of humour, which may either be matter of fact, or
interpreted as a pleasant satire upon etymological fancies.
One evening, two well-known characters, Annesley
Shay and Bob Todrington (the latter caricatured by
Old Dighton), met at the Queen's Head, and at the bar
asked for "half a quartern" each, with a little cold
water. They continued to drink until they had swallowed
four-and-twenty half-quarterns in water, when
Shay said to the other, "Now, we'll go." "Oh, no,"
replied he, "we'll have another, and then go." This
did not satisfy the Hibernians, and they continued
drinking on till three in the morning, when they both
agreed to go; so that under the idea of going they made
a long stay, and this was the origin of drinking, or calling
for, goes of liquor; but another, determined to eke
out the measure his own way, used to call for a quartern
at a time, and these, in the exercise of his humour, he
called stays. We find the above in the very pleasant
Etymological Compendium, third edition, revised and
improved by Merton A. Thoms, 1853.
Of this noted theatrical tavern, in the Piazza, Covent
Garden, several details were received by Mr. John Green,
in 1815, from Twigg, who was apprentice at the Shakspeare.
They had generally fifty turtles at a time; and
upon an average from ten to fifteen were dressed every
week; and it was not unusual to send forty quarts of
turtle soup a-week into the country, as far as Yorkshire.
The sign of Shakspeare, painted by Wale, cost nearly
200l.: it projected at the corner, over the street, with
very rich iron-work. Dick Milton was once landlord; he
was a great gamester, and once won 40,000l. He would
frequently start with his coach-and-six, which he would
keep about six months, and then sell it. He was so
much reduced, and his credit so bad, at times, as to send
out for a dozen of wine for his customers; it was sold at
16s. a bottle. This is chronicled as the first tavern in
London that had rooms; and from this house the other
taverns were supplied with waiters. Here were held
three clubs—the Madras, Bengal, and Bombay.
Twigg was cook at the Shakspeare. The largest dinner
ever dressed here consisted of 108 made-dishes, besides
hams, etc., and vegetables; this was the dinner to
Admiral Keppel, when he was made First Lord of the
Admiralty. Twigg told of another dinner to Sir Richard
Simmons, of Earl's Court, Mr. Small, and three other
gentlemen; it consisted of the following dishes:—A
turbot, of 40lb., a Thames salmon, a haunch of venison,
French beans and cucumbers, a green goose, an apricot
tart, and green peas. The dinner was dressed by Twigg,
and it came to about seven guineas a head.
The Shakspeare is stated to have been the first tavern
in Covent Garden. Twigg relates of Tomkins, the landlord,
that his father had been a man of opulence in the
City, but failed for vast sums. Tomkins kept his coach
and his country-house, but was no gambler, as has been
reported. He died worth 40,000l. His daughter married
Mr. Longman, the music-seller. Tomkins had
never less than a hundred pipes of wine in his cellar; he
kept seven waiters, one cellar-man, and a boy. Each
waiter was smartly dressed in his ruffles, and thought
it a bad week if he did not make 7l. Stacie, who
partly served his apprenticeship to Tomkins, told Twigg,
that he had betted nearly 3000l. upon one of his racehorses
of the name of Goldfinder. Stacie won, and
afterwards sold the horse for a large sum.
There was likewise a Shakspeare Tavern in Little
Russell-street, opposite Drury-lane Theatre; the sign
was altered in 1828, to the Albion.
Shuter, the actor, at the age of twelve, was pot-boy
at the Queen's Head (afterwards Mrs. Butler's), in
Covent Garden, where he was so kind to the rats in the
cellar, by giving them sops from porter, (for, in his time,
any person might have a toast in his beer,) that they
would creep about him and upon him; he would
carry them about between his shirt and his waistcoat,
and even call them by their names. Shuter was next
pot-boy at the Blue Posts, opposite Brydges-street, then
kept by Ellidge, and afterwards by Carter, who played
well at billiards, on account of the length of his arms.
Shuter used to carry beer to the players, behind the
scenes at Drury-lane Theatre, and elsewhere, and being
noticed by Hippisley, was taken as his servant, and
brought on the stage. He had also been at the house
next the Blue Posts,—the Sun, in Russell-street, which
was frequented by Hippisley. Mr. Theophilus Forrest,
when he paid Shuter his money, allowed him in his
latter days, two guineas per week, found him calling for
gin, and his shirt was worn to half its original size.
Latterly, he was hooted by the boys in the street: he
became a Methodist, and died at King John's Palace,
Tottenham Court Road.
This noted Tavern, on the east side of Brydges-street,
flourished in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,
and from its contiguity to Drury-lane Theatre, and close
connection with it, was frequented by courtiers and men
of letters, of loose character, and other gentry of no
character at all. The scenes of The Morning Ramble,
or the Town Humour, 1672, are laid "at the Rose Tavern,
in Covent Garden," which was constantly a scene
of drunken broils, midnight orgies, and murderous assaults,
by men of fashion, who were designated "Hectors,"
and whose chief pleasure lay in frequenting taverns
for the running through of some fuddled toper,
whom wine had made valiant. Shadwell, in his comedy
of the Scowrers, 1691, written at a time when obedience
to the laws was enforced, and these excesses had in
consequence declined, observes of these cowardly ruffians:
"They were brave fellows, indeed! In those days
a man could not go from the Rose Tavern to the Piazza
once, but he must venture his life twice."
Women of a certain freedom of character frequented
taverns at the commencement of the last century, and
the Rose, doubtless, resembled the box-lobby of a theatre.
In the Rake Reformed, 1718, this tavern is thus noticed:
"Not far from thence appears a pendent sign,
Whose bush declares the product of the vine,
Whence to the traveller's sight the full-blown Rose
Its dazzling beauties doth in gold disclose;
And painted faces flock in tally'd clothes."
Dramatists and poets resorted to the house, and about
1726, Gay and other wits, by clubbing verses, concocted
the well-known love ditty, entitled Molly Mogg of the
Rose, in compliment to the then barmaid or waitress.
The Welsh ballad, Gwinfrid Shones, printed in 1733,
has also this tribute to Molly Mogg, as a celebrated
toast:
"Some sing Molly Mogg of the Rose,
And call her the Oakingham pelle;
Whilst others does farces compose,
On peautiful Molle Lepelle."
Hogarth's third print of the Rake's Progress, published
in 1735, exhibits a principal room in the Rose Tavern:
Lethercoat, the fellow with a bright pewter dish and a
candle, is a portrait; he was for many years a porter
attached to the house.
Garrick, when he enlarged Drury-lane Theatre, in
1776, raised the new front designed by Robert Adam,
took in the whole of the tavern, as a convenience to
the theatre, and retained the sign of the Rose in an
oval compartment, as a conspicuous part of the decoration,
which is shown in a popular engraving by J. T.
Smith.
In D'Urfey's Songs, 1719, we find these allusions to
the Rose:
"A Song in Praise of Chalk, by W. Pettis.
"We the lads at the Rose
A patron have chose,
Who's as void as the best is of thinking;
And without dedication,
Will assist in his station,
And maintains us in eating and drinking."
"Song.—The Nose.
"Three merry lads met at the Rose,
To speak in the praises of the nose:
The flat, the sharp, the Roman snout,
The hawk's nose circled round about;
The crooked nose that stands awry,
The ruby nose of scarlet dye;
The brazen nose without a face,
That doth the learned college grace.
Invention often barren grows,
Yet still there's matter in the nose."
At the north-west corner of Covent Garden Market
is a lofty edifice, which, with the building that preceded
it, possesses a host of interesting associations. Sir
Kenelm Digby came to live here after the Restoration
of Charles II.: here he was much visited by the philosophers
of his day, and built in the garden in the
rear of the house a laboratory. The mansion was
altered, if not rebuilt, for the Earl of Orford, better
known as Admiral Russell, who, in 1692, defeated
Admiral de Tourville, and ruined the French fleet. The
façade of the house originally resembled the forecastle
of a ship. The fine old staircase is formed of part of
the vessel Admiral Russell commanded at La Hogue;
it has handsomely carved anchors, ropes, and the
coronet and initials of Lord Orford. The Earl died
here in 1727; and the house was afterwards occupied
by Thomas, Lord Archer, until 1768; and by James
West, the great collector of books, etc., and President
of the Royal Society, who died in 1772.
Mr. Twigg recollected Lord Archer's garden (now
the site of the singing-room), at the back of the Grand
Hotel, about 1765, well stocked; mushrooms and cucumbers
were grown there in high perfection.
In 1774, the house was opened by David Low as an
hotel; the first family hotel, it is said, in London.
Gold, silver, and copper medals were struck, and given
by Low, as advertisements of his house; the gold to the
princes, silver to the nobility, and copper to the public
generally. About 1794, Mrs. Hudson, then proprietor,
advertised her hotel, "with stabling for one hundred
noblemen and horses." The next proprietors were
Richardson and Joy.
At the beginning of the present century, and some
years afterwards, the hotel was famous for its large
dinner- and coffee-room. This was called the "Star,"
from the number of men of rank who frequented it.
One day a gentleman entered the dining-room, and
ordered of the waiter two lamb-chops; at the same time
inquiring, "John, have you a cucumber?" The waiter
replied in the negative—it was so early in the season;
but he would step into the market, and inquire if there
were any. The waiter did so, and returned with—"There
are a few, but they are half-a-guinea apiece."
"Half-a-guinea apiece! are they small or large?"
"Why, rather small." "Then buy two," was the reply.
This incident has been related of various epicures; it
occurred to Charles Duke of Norfolk, who died in 1815.
Evans, of Covent-Garden Theatre, removed here from
the Cider Cellar in Maiden-lane, and, using the large
dining-room for a singing-room, prospered until 1844,
when he resigned the property to Mr. John Green.
Meanwhile, the character of the entertainment, by the
selection of music of a higher class than hitherto,
brought so great an accession of visitors, that Mr.
Green built, in 1855, on the site of the old garden
(Digby's garden) an extremely handsome hall, to which
the former singing-room forms a sort of vestibule. The
latter is hung with the collection of portraits of celebrated
actors and actresses, mostly of our own time,
which Mr. Green has been at great pains to collect.
The spécialité of this very agreeable place is the
olden music, which is sung here with great intelligence
and spirit; the visitors are of the better and more
appreciative class, and often include amateurs of rank.
The reserved gallery is said to occupy part of the site
of the cottage in which the Kembles occasionally resided
during the zenith of their fame at Covent-Garden
Theatre; and here the gifted Fanny Kemble is said to
have been born.
The Restoration did not mend the morals of the
taverns in Covent Garden, but increased their licentiousness,
and made them the resort of bullies and other
vicious persons. The Fleece, on the west side of
Brydges-street, was notorious for its tavern broils;
L'Estrange, in his translation of Quevedo's Visions, 1667,
makes one of the Fleece hectors declare he was never
well but either at the Fleece Tavern or Bear at Bridge-foot,
stuffing himself "with food and tipple, till the
hoops were ready to burst." According to Aubrey, the
Fleece was "very unfortunate for homicides;" there
were several killed there in his time; it was a private
house till 1692. Aubrey places it in York-street, so
that there must have been a back or second way to the
tavern—a very convenient resource.
Was a luxurious refectory, in Southampton-street, whose
epicurism is commemorated by Pope:—
"Let me extol a cat on oysters fed,
I'll have a party at the Bedford Head."
2nd Sat. of Horace, 2nd Bk.
"When sharp with hunger, scorn you to be fed
Except on pea-chicks, at the Bedford Head?"
Pope, Sober Advice.
Walpole refers to a great supper at the Bedford Head,
ordered by Paul Whitehead, for a party of gentlemen
dressed like sailors and masked, who, in 1741, on the
night of Vernon's birthday, went round Covent Garden
with a drum, beating up for a volunteer mob; but it did
not take.
This was a noted tavern in the last century, at the
corner of Tavistock-court, Covent Garden. Its original
sign was taken down by Mr. Yerrel, the landlord, who
informed J. T. Smith, that it consisted of two gentlemen
saluting each other, dressed in flowing wigs, and coats
with square pockets, large enough to hold folio books,
and wearing swords, this being the dress of the time
when the sign was put up, supposed to have been about
1707, the date on a stone at the Covent Garden end of
the court.
Richard Leveridge, the celebrated singer, kept the
Salutation after his retirement from the stage; and here
he brought out his Collection of Songs, with the music,
engraved and printed for the author, 1727.
Among the frequenters of the Salutation was William
Cussans, or Cuzzons, a native of Barbadoes, and a most
eccentric fellow, who lived upon an income allowed him
by his family. He once hired himself as a potman, and
then as a coal-heaver. He was never seen to smile.
He personated a chimney-sweeper at the Pantheon and
Opera-house masquerades, and wrote the popular song
of Robinson Crusoe:
"He got all the wood
That ever he could,
And he stuck it together with glue so;
And made him a hut,
And in it he put
The carcase of Robinson Crusoe."
He was a bacchanalian customer at the Salutation,
and his nightly quantum of wine was liberal: he would
sometimes take eight pints at a sitting, without being
the least intoxicated.
In Bedford-street, near St. Paul's church-gate, was an
old tavern, the Constitution (now rebuilt), noted as the
resort of working men of letters, and for its late hours;
indeed, the sittings here were perennial. Among other
eccentric persons we remember to have seen here, was
an accomplished scholar named Churchill, who had
travelled much in the East, smoked and ate opium to
excess, and was full of information. Of another grade
were two friends who lived in the same house, and
had for many years "turned night into day;" rising at
eight o'clock in the evening, and going to bed at eight
next morning. They had in common some astrological,
alchemical, and spiritual notions, and often passed the
whole night at the Constitution. This was the favourite
haunt of Wilson, the landscape-painter, who then lived
in the Garden; he could, at the Constitution, freely
indulge in a pot of porter, and enjoy the fun of his
brother-painter, Mortimer, who preferred this house, as
it was near his own in Church-passage.
This strange place, upon the south side of Maiden-lane,
Covent Garden, was opened about 1730, and is
described as a "Midnight Concert Room," in Adventures
Underground, 1750. Professor Porson was a great
lover of cider, the patronymic drink for which the cellar
was once famed; it became his nightly haunt, for wherever
he spent the evening, he finished the night at the Cider
Cellar. One night, in 1795, as he sat here smoking his
pipe, with his friend George Gordon, he abruptly said,
"Friend George, do you think the widow Lunan an
agreeable sort of personage, as times go?" Gordon
assented. "In that case," replied Porson, "you must
meet me to-morrow morning at St. Martin's-in-the-Fields,
at eight o'clock;" and without saying more,
Porson paid his reckoning, and went home. Next morning,
Gordon repaired to the church, and there found
Porson with Mrs. Lunan and a female friend, and the
parson waiting to begin the ceremony. The service being
ended, the bride and her friend retired by one door
of the church, and Porson and Gordon by another. The
bride and bridegroom dined together with friends, but
after dinner Porson contrived to slip away, and passed the
rest of the day with a learned friend, and did not leave
till the family were about to retire for the night, when
Porson adjourned to the Cider Cellar, and there stayed
till eight o'clock next morning. One of his companions
here is said to have shouted before Porson, "Dick can
beat us all: he can drink all night and spout all day,"
which greatly pleased the Professor.
We remember the place not many years after Porson's
death, when it was, as its name implied, a cellar, and the
fittings were rude and rough: over the mantelpiece was
a large mezzotint portrait of Porson, framed and glazed,
which we take to be the missing portrait named by the
Rev. Mr. Watson, in his Life of the Professor. The
Cider Cellar was subsequently enlarged; but its exhibitions
grew to be too sensational for long existence.
This noted tavern, of our day, enjoyed great and deserved
celebrity, though short-lived. It was No. 23,
on the south side of Henrietta-street, Covent Garden,
and its fame rested upon Burton ale, and the largest
supper-room in this theatrical neighbourhood; with no
pictures, placards, paper-hangings, or vulgar coffee-room
finery, to disturb one's relish of the good things there
provided. Offley, the proprietor, was originally at Bellamy's,
and "as such, was privileged to watch, and occasionally
admitted to assist, the presiding priestess of the
gridiron at the exercise of her mysteries." Offley's chop
was thick and substantial; the House of Commons' chop
was small and thin, and honourable Members sometimes
ate a dozen at a sitting. Offley's chop was served with
shalots shred, and warmed in gravy, and accompanied
by nips of Burton ale, and was a delicious after-theatre
supper. The large room at that hour was generally
crowded with a higher class of men than are to be seen
in taverns of the present day. There was excellent
dining up-stairs, with wines really worth drinking—all
with a sort of Quakerly plainness, but solid comfort.
The fast men came to the great room, where the spécialité
was singing by amateurs upon one evening of the
week; and to prevent the chorus waking the dead in
their cerements in the adjoining churchyard, the coffee-room
window was double. The "professionals" stayed
away. Francis Crew sang Moore's melodies, then in
their zenith; sometimes, in a spirit of waggery, an amateur
would sing "Chevy Chase" in full; and now and
then Offley himself trolled out one of Captain Morris's
lyrics. Such was this right joyously convivial place
some five-and-forty years since upon the singing night.
Upon other evenings, there came to a large round table
(a sort of privileged place) a few well-to-do, substantial
tradesmen from the neighbourhood, among whom
was the renowned surgical-instrument maker from the
Strand, who had the sagacity to buy the iron from off
the piles of old London Bridge, and convert it (after it
had lain for centuries under water) into some of the
finest surgical instruments of the day. Offley's, however,
declined: the singing was discontinued; Time had
thinned the ranks and groups of the bright and buoyant;
the large room was mostly frequented by quiet, orderly
persons, who kept good hours; the theatre-suppers grew
few and far between; the merry old host departed,—when
it was proposed to have his portrait painted—but
in vain; success had ebbed away, and at length the
house was closed.[39]
Offley's was sketched with a free hand, in Horæ Offleanæ,
Bentley's Miscellany, March, 1841.
The locality of this noted tavern is given by Cunningham,
as "two doors from Locket's, between Whitehall
and Charing Cross, removed to the water-side of Charing
Cross, in 1710, and burnt down Nov. 7th, 1750. It
was kept in the reign of Charles II., by Samuel Prior,
uncle of Matthew Prior, the poet, who thus wrote to
Fleetwood Shephard:
"My uncle, rest his soul! when living,
Might have contriv'd me ways of thriving:
Taught me with cider to replenish
My vats, or ebbing tide of Rhenish.
So when for hock I drew prickt white-wine,
Swear't had the flavour, and was right wine."
The Rummer is introduced by Hogarth into his picture
of "Night." Here Jack Sheppard committed his
first robbery by stealing two silver spoons.
The Rummer, in Queen-street, was kept by Brawn, a
celebrated cook, of whom Dr. King, in his Art of Cookery,
speaks in the same way as Kit-Kat and Locket.
King, also, in his Analogy between Physicians, Cooks,
and Playwrights, thus describes a visit:—
"Though I seldom go out of my own lodgings, I was
prevailed on the other day to dine with some friends at
the Rummer in Queen-street.... Sam Trusty would
needs have me go with him into the kitchen, and see
how matters went there.... He assured me that Mr.
Brawn had an art, etc. I was, indeed, very much pleased
and surprised with the extraordinary splendour and
economy I observed there; but above all with the great
readiness and dexterity of the man himself. His motions
were quick, but not precipitate; he in an instant
applied himself from one stove to another, without
the least appearance of hurry, and in the midst of smoke
and fire preserved an incredible serenity of countenance."
Beau Brummel, according to Mr. Jesse, spoke with
a relish worthy a descendant of "the Rummer," of the
savoury pies of his aunt Brawn, who then resided at
Kilburn; she is said to have been the widow of a grandson
of the celebrity of Queen-street, who had himself
kept the public-house at the old Mews Gate, at Charing
Cross.—See Notes and Queries, 2nd S., no. xxxvi.
We remember an old tavern, "the Rummer," in
1825, which was taken down with the lower portion of
St. Martin's-lane, to form Trafalgar-square.
Spring Garden is named from its water-spring or
fountain, set playing by the spectator treading upon its
hidden machinery—an eccentricity of the Elizabethan
garden. Spring Garden, by a patent which is extant,
in 1630 was made a bowling-green by command of
Charles I. "There was kept in it an ordinary of six
shillings a meal (when the king's proclamation allows
but two elsewhere); continual bibbing and drinking
wine all day under the trees; two or three quarrels
every week. It was grown scandalous and insufferable;
besides, my Lord Digby being reprehended for striking
in the king's garden, he said he took it for a common
bowling-place, where all paid money for their coming
in."—Mr. Garrard to Lord Strafford.
In 1634 Spring Garden was put down by the King's
command, and ordered to be hereafter no common
bowling-place. This led to the opening of "a New
Spring Garden" (Shaver's Hall), by a gentleman-barber,
a servant of the lord chamberlain's. The old garden
was, however, re-opened; for 13th June, 1649, says
Evelyn, "I treated divers ladies of my relations in
Spring Gardens;" but 10th May, 1654, he records that
Cromwell and his partisans had shut up and seized on
Spring Gardens, "wch till now had been ye usual rendezvous
for the ladys and gallants at this season."
Spring Garden was, however, once more re-opened;
for, in A Character of England, 1659, it is described as
"The inclosure not disagreeable, for the solemnness of
the grove, the warbling of the birds, and as it opens into
the spacious walks at St. James's.... It is usual to
find some of the young company here till midnight; and
the thickets of the garden seem to be contrived to all
advantages of gallantry, after they have refreshed with
the collation, which is here seldom omitted, at a certain
cabaret in the middle of this paradise, where the forbidden
fruits are certain trifling tarts, neats' tongues,
salacious meats, and bad Rhenish."
"The New Spring Garden" at Lambeth (afterwards
Vauxhall) was flourishing in 1661-3; when the ground
at Charing Cross was built upon, as "Inner Spring
Garden" and "Outer Spring Garden." Buckingham-court
is named from the Duke of Buckingham, one
of the rakish frequenters of the Garden; and upon the
site of Drummond's banking-house was "Locket's Ordinary,
a house of entertainment much frequented by
gentry," and a relic of the Spring Garden gaiety:
"For Locket's stands where gardens once did spring."
Dr. King's Art of Cookery, 1709.
Here the witty and beautiful dramatist, Mrs. Centlivre,
died, December 1, 1723, at the house of her third
husband, Joseph Centlivre, "Yeoman of the Mouth"
(head cook) "to Queen Anne."[40] In her Prologue to
Love's Contrivances, 1703, we have
"At Locket's, Brown's, and at Pontack's enquire
What modish kickshaws the nice beaux desire,
What famed ragouts, what new invented sallad,
Has best pretensions to regain the palate."
Locket's was named from its first landlord:[41] its fame
declined in the reign of Queen Anne, and expired early
in the next reign.
At the north end of Lindsay-lane, upon the site of the
Committee-rooms of the House of Commons, was a
tavern called "Heaven;" and under the old Exchequer
Chamber were two subterraneous passages called "Hell"
and "Purgatory." Butler, in Hudibras, mentions the
first as
"False Heaven at the end of the Hell;"
Gifford, in his notes on Ben Jonson, says: "Heaven
and Hell were two common alehouses, abutting on
Westminster Hall. Whalley says that they were standing
in his remembrance. They are mentioned together
with a third house, called Purgatory, in a grant which I
have read, dated in the first year of Henry VII."
Old Fuller quaintly says of Hell: "I could wish it
had another name, seeing it is ill jesting with edged
tools. I am informed that formerly this place was
appointed a prison for the King's debtors, who never
were freed thence until they had paid their uttermost
due demanded of them. This proverb is since applied
to moneys paid into the Exchequer, which thence are
irrecoverable, upon what plea or pretence whatever."
Peacham describes Hell as a place near Westminster
Hall, "where very good meat is dressed all the term
time;" and the Company of Parish Clerks add, it is "very
much frequented by lawyers." According to Ben Jonson,
Hell appears to have been frequented by lawyers'
clerks; for, in his play of the Alchemist, Dapper is forbidden
"To break his fast in Heaven or Hell."
Hugh Peters, on his Trial, tells us that he went to
Westminster to find out some company to dinner with
him, and having walked about an hour in Westminster
Hall, and meeting none of his friends to dine with him,
he went "to that place called Heaven, and dined there."
When Pride "purged" the Parliament, on Dec. 6,
1648, the forty-one he excepted were shut up for the
night in the Hell tavern, kept by a Mr. Duke (Carlyle);
and which Dugdale calls "their great victualling-house
near Westminster Hall, where they kept them all night
without any beds."
Pepys, in his Diary, thus notes his visit: "28 Jan.
1659-60. And so I returned and went to Heaven,
where Ludlin and I dined." Six years later, at the
time of the Restoration, four days before the King
landed, in one of these taverns, Pepys spent the evening
with Locke and Purcell, hearing a variety of brave
Italian and Spanish songs, and a new canon of Locke's
on the words, "Domine salvum fac Regem." "Here,
out of the windows," he says, "it was a most pleasant
sight to see the City, from one end to the other, with a
glory about it, so high was the light of the bonfires, and
thick round the City, and the bells rang everywhere."
After all, "Hell" may have been so named from its
being a prison of the King's debtors, most probably a
very bad one: it was also called the Constabulary. Its
Wardenship was valued yearly at the sum of 11s., and
Paradise at 4l.
Purgatory appears also to have been an ancient prison,
the keys of which, attached to a leathern girdle, says
Walcot's Westminster, are still preserved. Herein were
kept the ducking-stools for scolds, who were placed in a
chair fastened on an iron pivot to the end of a long pole,
which was balanced at the middle upon a high trestle,
thus allowing the culprit's body to be ducked in the
Thames.
In a pleasantly written book, entitled A Career in the
Commons, we find this sketch of the singular apartment,
in the vicinity of the (Old) House of Commons
called "the Kitchen." "Mr. Bellamy's beer may be
unexceptionable, and his chops and steaks may be
unrivalled, but the legislators of England delight in
eating a dinner in the place where it is cooked, and
in the presence of the very fire where the beef hisses
and the gravy runs! Bellamy's kitchen seems, in fact,
a portion of the British Constitution. A foreigner, be
he a Frenchman, American, or Dutchman, if introduced
to the 'kitchen,' would stare with astonishment
if you told him that in this plain apartment, with its
immense fire, meatscreen, gridirons, and a small tub
under the window for washing the glasses, the statesmen
of England very often dine, and men, possessed of
wealth untold, and with palaces of their own, in which
luxury and splendour are visible in every part, are willing
to leave their stately dining-halls and powdered
attendants, to be waited upon, while eating a chop in
Bellamy's kitchen, by two unpretending old women.
Bellamy's kitchen, I repeat, is part and parcel of the
British Constitution. Baronets who date from the
Conquest, and squires of every degree, care nothing for
the unassuming character of the 'kitchen,' if the steak
be hot and good, if it can be quickly and conveniently
dispatched, and the tinkle of the division-bell can be
heard while the dinner proceeds. Call England a proud
nation, forsooth! Say that the House of Commons is
aristocratic! Both the nation and its representatives
must be, and are, unquestionable patterns of republican
humility, if all the pomp and circumstance of dining
can be forgotten in Bellamy's kitchen!"[42]
Of "a great Coffee-house" in Pall Mall we find the
following amusing story, in the Correspondence of Gray
and Mason, edited by Mitford:
"In the year 1688, my Lord Peterborough had a
great mind to be well with Lady Sandwich, Mrs. Bonfoy's
old friend. There was a woman who kept a great
Coffee-house in Pall Mall, and she had a miraculous
canary-bird that piped twenty tunes. Lady Sandwich
was fond of such things, had heard of and seen the bird.
Lord Peterborough came to the woman, and offered
her a large sum of money for it; but she was rich, and
proud of it, and would not part with it for love or
money. However, he watched the bird narrowly, observed
all its marks and features, went and bought just
such another, sauntered into the coffee-room, took his
opportunity when no one was by, slipped the wrong bird
into the cage and the right into his pocket, and went
off undiscovered to make my Lady Sandwich happy.
This was just about the time of the Revolution; and, a
good while after, going into the same coffee-house again,
he saw his bird there, and said, 'Well, I reckon you
would give your ears now that you had taken my money.'
'Money!' says the woman, 'no, nor ten times that
money now, dear little creature! for, if your lordship
will believe me (as I am a Christian, it is true), it has
moped and moped, and never once opened its pretty lips
since the day that the poor king went away!"
Pall Mall has long been noted for its taverns, as well
as for its chocolate- and coffee-houses, and "houses for
clubbing." They were resorted to by gay nobility and
men of estate; and, in times when gaming and drinking
were indulged in to frightful excess, these taverns
often proved hot-beds of quarrel and fray. One of the
most sanguinary duels on record—that between the
Duke of Hamilton and Lord Mohun—was planned at
the Queen's Arms, in Pall Mall, and the Rose in Covent
Garden; at the former, Lord Mohun supped with his
second on the two nights preceding the fatal conflict in
Hyde Park.
Still more closely associated with Pall Mall was the
fatal duel between Lord Byron and Mr. Chaworth,
which was fought in a room of the Star and Garter,
when the grand-uncle of the poet Lord killed in a duel,
or rather scuffle, his relation and neighbour, "who was
run through the body, and died next day." The duellists
were neighbours in the country, and were members
of the Nottinghamshire Club, which met at the Star and
Garter once a month.
The meeting at which arose the unfortunate dispute
that produced the duel, was on the 26th of January,
1765, when were present Mr. John Hewet, who sat
as chairman; the Hon. Thomas Willoughby; Frederick
Montagu, John Sherwin, Francis Molyneux, Esqrs., and
Lord Byron; William Chaworth, George Donston, and
Charles Mellish, junior, Esq.; and Sir Robert Burdett;
who were all the company. The usual hour of dining was
soon after four, and the rule of the Club was to have the
bill and a bottle brought in at seven. Till this hour all
was jollity and good-humour; but Mr. Hewet, happening
to start some conversation about the best method of preserving
game, setting the laws for that purpose out of
the question, Mr. Chaworth and Lord Byron were of
different opinions; Mr. Chaworth insisting on severity
against poachers and unqualified persons; and Lord
Byron declaring that the way to have most game was to
take no care of it at all. Mr. Chaworth, in confirmation
of what he had said, insisted that Sir Charles Sedley and
himself had more game on five acres than Lord Byron
had on all his manors. Lord Byron, in reply, proposed
a bet of 100 guineas, but this was not laid. Mr. Chaworth
then said, that were it not for Sir Charles Sedley's
care, and his own, Lord Byron would not have a hare
on his estate; and his Lordship asking with a smile,
what Sir Charles Sedley's manors were, was answered
by Mr. Chaworth,—Nuttall and Bulwell. Lord Byron
did not dispute Nuttall, but added, Bulwell was his; on
which Mr. Chaworth, with some heat, replied: "If you
want information as to Sir Charles Sedley's manors, he
lives at Mr. Cooper's, in Dean Street, and, I doubt not,
will be ready to give you satisfaction; and, as to myself,
your Lordship knows where to find me, in Berkeley
Row."
The subject was now dropped; and little was said,
when Mr. Chaworth called to settle the reckoning, in
doing which the master of the tavern observed him to be
flurried. In a few minutes, Mr. Chaworth having paid
the bill, went out, and was followed by Mr. Donston,
whom Mr. C. asked if he thought he had been short
in what he had said; to which Mr. D. replied, "No;
he had gone rather too far upon so trifling an occasion,
but did not believe that Lord Byron or the company
would think any more of it." Mr. Donston then returned
to the club-room. Lord Byron now came out,
and found Mr. Chaworth still on the stairs: it is doubtful
whether his Lordship called upon Mr. Chaworth, or
Mr. Chaworth called upon Lord Byron; but both went
down to the first landing-place—having dined upon the
second floor—and both called a waiter to show an empty
room, which the waiter did, having first opened the door,
and placed a small tallow-candle, which he had in his
hand, on the table; he then retired, when the gentlemen
entered, and shut the door after them.
In a few minutes the affair was decided: the bell was
rung, but by whom is uncertain: the waiter went up,
and perceiving what had happened, ran down very
frightened, told his master of the catastrophe, when he
ran up to the room, and found the two antagonists
standing close together: Mr. Chaworth had his sword
in his left hand, and Lord Byron his sword in his right;
Lord Byron's left hand was round Mr. Chaworth, and
Mr. Chaworth's right hand was round Lord Byron's neck,
and over his shoulder. Mr. C. desired Mr. Fynmore,
the landlord, to take his sword, and Lord B. delivered
up his sword at the same moment: a surgeon was sent
for, and came immediately. In the meantime, six of
the company entered the room; when Mr. Chaworth
said that "he could not live many hours; that he forgave
Lord Byron, and hoped the world would; that
the affair had passed in the dark, only a small tallow-candle
burning in the room; that Lord Byron asked
him, if he addressed the observation on the game to Sir
Charles Sedley, or to him?—to which he replied, 'If
you have anything to say, we had better shut the door;'
that while he was doing this, Lord Byron bid him draw,
and in turning he saw his Lordship's sword half-drawn,
on which he whipped out his own sword and made the
first pass; that the sword being through my Lord's
waistcoat, he thought that he had killed him; and,
asking whether he was not mortally wounded, Lord
Byron, while he was speaking, shortened his sword, and
stabbed him in the belly."
When Mr. Mawkins, the surgeon, arrived, he found
Mr. Chaworth sitting by the fire, with the lower part of
his waistcoat open, his shirt bloody, and his hand upon
his belly. He inquired if he was in immediate danger,
and being answered in the affirmative, he desired his
uncle, Mr. Levinz, might be sent for. In the meantime,
he stated to Mr. Hawkins, that Lord Byron and he (Mr.
Chaworth) entered the room together; that his Lordship
said something of the dispute, on which he, Mr.
C., fastened the door, and turning round, perceived his
Lordship with his sword either drawn or nearly so;
on which he instantly drew his own and made a thrust
at him, which he thought had wounded or killed him;
that then perceiving his Lordship shorten his sword to
return the thrust, he thought to have parried it with
his left hand, at which he looked twice, imagining that
he had cut it in the attempt; that he felt the sword
enter his body, and go deep through his back; that
he struggled, and being the stronger man, disarmed his
Lordship, and expressed his apprehension that he had
mortally wounded him; that Lord Byron replied by saying
something to the like effect; adding that he hoped
now he would allow him to be as brave a man as any in
the kingdom.
After a little while, Mr. Chaworth seemed to grow
stronger, and was removed to his own house: additional
medical advice arrived, but no relief could be given him:
he continued sensible till his death. Mr. Levinz, his
uncle, now arrived with an attorney, to whom Mr. Chaworth
gave very sensible and distinct instructions for
making his will. The will was then executed, and the
attorney, Mr. Partington, committed to writing the last
words Mr. Chaworth was heard to say. This writing
was handed to Mr. Levinz, and gave rise to a report that
a paper was written by the deceased, and sealed up, not
to be opened till the time that Lord Byron should be
tried; but no paper was written by Mr. Chaworth, and
that written by Mr. Partington was as follows: "Sunday
morning, the 27th of January, about three of the
clock, Mr. Chaworth said, that my Lord's sword was
half-drawn, and that he, knowing the man, immediately,
or as quick as he could, whipped out his sword, and had
the first thrust; that then my Lord wounded him, and
he disarmed my Lord, who then said, 'By G—, I have
as much courage as any man in England.'"
Lord Byron was committed to the Tower, and was
tried before the House of Peers, in Westminster Hall,
on the 16th and 17th of April, 1765. Lord Byron's
defence was reduced by him into writing, and read by
the clerk. The Peers present, including the High
Steward, declared Lord Byron, on their honour, to be
not guilty of murder, but of manslaughter; with the
exception of four Peers, who found him not guilty generally.
On this verdict being given, Lord Byron was
called upon to say why judgment of manslaughter should
not be pronounced upon him. His Lordship immediately
claimed the benefit of the 1st Edward VI. cap. 12,
a statute, by which, whenever a Peer was convicted of
any felony for which a commoner might have Benefit of
Clergy, such Peer, on praying the benefit of that Act,
was always to be discharged without burning in the
hand, or any penal consequence whatever. The claim
of Lord Byron being accordingly allowed, he was forthwith
discharged on payment of his fees. This singular
privilege was supposed to be abrogated by the 7 & 8
Geo. IV. cap. 28, s. 6, which abolished Benefit of Clergy;
but some doubt arising on the subject, it was positively
put an end to by the 4 & 5 Vict. cap. 22. (See Celebrated
Trials connected with the Aristocracy, by Mr. Serjeant
Burke.)
Mr. Chaworth was the descendant of one of the oldest
houses in England, a branch of which obtained an Irish
peerage. His grand-niece, the eventual heiress of the
family, was Mary Chaworth, the object of the early unrequited
love of Lord Byron, the poet. Singularly
enough, there was the same degree of relationship between
that nobleman and the Lord Byron who killed
Mr. Chaworth, as existed between the latter unfortunate
gentleman and Mr. Chaworth.[43]
Several stories are told of the high charges of the Star
and Garter Tavern, even in the reign of Queen Anne. The
Duke of Ormond, who gave here a dinner to a few friends,
was charged twenty-one pounds, six shillings, and eight
pence, for four, that is, first and second course, without
wine or dessert.
From the Connoisseur of 1754, we learn that the fools
of quality of that day "drove to the Star and Garter to
regale on macaroni, or piddle with an ortolan at White's
or Pontac's."
At the Star and Garter, in 1774, was formed the first
Cricket Club. Sir Horace Mann, who had promoted
cricket in Kent, and the Duke of Dorset and Lord
Tankerville, leaders of the Surrey and Hants Eleven,
conjointly with other noblemen and gentlemen, formed
a committee under the presidency of Sir William Draper.
They met at the Star and Garter, and laid down the first
rules of cricket, which very rules form the basis of the
laws of cricket of this day.
"Come and once more together let us greet
The long-lost pleasures of St. James's-street."—Tickell.
Little more than a century and a half ago the parish
of St. James was described as "all the houses and
grounds comprehended in a place heretofore called 'St.
James's Fields' and the confines thereof." Previously
to this, the above tavern was most probably a thatched
house. St. James's-street dates from 1670: the poets
Waller and Pope lived here; Sir Christopher Wren died
here, in 1723; as did Gibbon, the historian, in 1794,
at Elmsley's, the bookseller's, at No. 76, at the corner
of Little St. James's-street. Fox lived next to Brookes's
in 1781; and Lord Byron lodged at No. 8, in 1811.
At the south-west end was the St. James's Coffee-house,
taken down in 1806; the foreign and domestic news
house of the Tatler, and the "fountain-head" of the
Spectator. Thus early, the street had a sort of literary
fashion favourable to the growth of taverns and clubs.
The Thatched House, which was taken down in 1844
and 1863, had been for nearly two centuries celebrated
for its club meetings, its large public room, and its
public dinners, especially those of our universities and
great schools. It was one of Swift's favourite haunts:
in some birthday verses he sings:—
"The Deanery-house may well be matched,
Under correction, with the Thatch'd."
The histories of some of the principal Clubs which
met here, will be found in Vol. I.; as the Brothers,
Literary, Dilettanti, and others; (besides a list, page
318.)
The Royal Naval Club held its meetings at the
Thatched House, as did some art societies and kindred
associations. The large club-room faced St. James's-street,
and when lit in the evening with wax-candles in
large old glass chandeliers, the Dilettanti pictures could
be seen from the pavement of the street. Beneath the
tavern front was a range of low-built shops, including
that of Rowland, or Rouland, the fashionable coiffeur,
who charged five shillings for cutting hair, and made a
large fortune by his "incomparable Huile Macassar."
Through the tavern was a passage to Thatched House-court,
in the rear; and here, in Catherine-Wheel-alley,
in the last century, lived the good old widow Delany,
after the Doctor's death, as noted in her Autobiography,
edited by Lady Llanover. Some of Mrs. Delany's
fashionable friends then resided in Dean-street, Soho.
Thatched House-court and the alley have been swept
away. Elmsley's was removed for the site of the Conservative
Club, In an adjoining house lived the famous
Betty, "the queen of apple-women," whom Mason has
thus embalmed in his Heroic Epistle:—
"And patriot Betty fix her fruitshop here."
It was a famous place for gossip. Walpole says of a
story much about, "I should scruple repeating it, if
Betty and the waiters at Arthur's did not talk of it
publicly." Again, "Would you know what officer's on
guard in Betty's fruitshop?"
The Tavern, which has disappeared, was nearly the
last relic of old St. James's-street, although its memories
survive in various modern Club-houses, and the
Thatched House will be kept in mind by the graceful
sculpture of the Civil Service Clubhouse, erected upon
a portion of the site.
This sign, in Charles-street, Berkeley Square, carries
us back to the days of bad roads, and journeying at snail's
pace, when the travelling equipage of the nobility required
that one or more men should run in front of the
carriage, chiefly as a mark of the rank of the traveller;
they were likewise sent on messages, and occasionally
for great distances.
The running footman required to be a healthy and
active man; he wore a light black cap, a jockey-coat,
and carried a pole with at the top a hollow ball, in which
he kept a hard-boiled egg and a little white wine, to
serve as refreshment on his journey; and this is supposed
to be the origin of the footman's silver-mounted
cane. The Duke of Queensberry, who died in 1810, kept
a running footman longer than his compeers in London;
and Mr. Thoms, in Notes and Queries, relates an amusing
anecdote of a man who came to be hired for the duty by
the Duke. His Grace was in the habit of trying their
paces, by seeing how they could run up and down Piccadilly,
he watching them and timing them from his
balcony. The man put on a livery before the trial; on
one occasion, a candidate, having run, stood before the
balcony. "You will do very well for me," said the
Duke. "And your livery will do very well for me,"
replied the man, and gave the Duke a last proof of his
ability by running away with it.
The sign in Charles-street represents a young man,
dressed in a kind of livery, and a cap with a feather in
it; he carries the usual pole, and is running; and beneath
is "I am the only running Footman," which may
relate to the superior speed of the runner, and this may
be a portrait of a celebrity.
Kindred to the above is the old sign of "The Two
Chairmen," in Warwick-street, Charing Cross,[44] recalling
the sedans or chairs of Pall Mall; and there is a similar
sign on Hay Hill.
Piccadilly was long noticed for the variety and extent
of its Inns and Taverns, although few remain. At the
east end were formerly the Black Bear and White Bear
(originally the Fleece), nearly opposite each other. The
Black Bear was taken down 1820. The White Bear
remains: it occurs in St. Martin's parish-books, 1685:
here Chatelain and Sullivan, the engravers, died; and
Benjamin West, the painter, lodged, the first night after
his arrival from America. Strype mentions the White
Horse Cellar in 1720; and the booking-office of the
New White Horse Cellar is to this day in "the cellar."
The Three Kings stables gateway, No. 75, had two Corinthian
pilasters, stated by Disraeli to have belonged
to Clarendon House: "the stable-yard at the back presents
the features of an old galleried inn-yard, and it is
noted as the place from which General Palmer started
the first Bath mail-coach." (J. W. Archer: Vestiges,
part vi.) The Hercules' Pillars (a sign which meant
that no habitation was to be found beyond it) stood a
few yards west of Hamilton-place, and has been mentioned.
The Hercules' Pillars, and another roadside
tavern, the Triumphant Car, were standing about 1797,
and were mostly frequented by soldiers. Two other
Piccadilly inns, the White Horse and Half Moon, both
of considerable extent, have given names to streets.
The older and more celebrated house of entertainment
was Piccadilly Hall, which appears to have been
built by one Robert Baker, in "the fields behind the
Mews," leased to him by St. Martin's parish, and sold
by his widow to Colonel Panton, who built Panton-square
and Panton-street. Lord Clarendon, in his
History of the Rebellion, speaks of "Mr. Hyde going to
a house called Piccadilly for entertainment and gaming:"
this house, with its gravel-walks and bowling-greens,
extended from the corner of Windmill-street and the
site of Panton-square, as shown in Porter and Faithorne's
Map, 1658. Mr. Cunningham found (see
Handbook, 2nd edit. p. 396), in the parish accounts of
St. Martin's, "Robt Backer, of Pickadilley Halle;"
and the receipts for Lammas money paid for the premises
as late as 1670. Sir John Suckling, the poet,
was one of the frequenters; and Aubrey remembered
Suckling's "sisters coming to the Peccadillo bowling-green,
crying, for the feare he should lose all their portions."
The house was taken down about 1685: a
tennis-court in the rear remained to our time, upon the
site of the Argyll Rooms, Great Windmill-street. The
Society of Antiquaries possess a printed proclamation
(temp. Charles II. 1671) against the increase of buildings
in Windmill-fields and the fields adjoining Soho;
and in the Plan of 1658, Great Windmill-street consists
of straggling houses, and a windmill in a field west.
Colonel Panton, who is named above, was a celebrated
gamester of the time of the Restoration, and in
one night, it is said, he won as many thousands as purchased
him an estate of above 1500l. a year. "After
this good fortune," says Lucas, "he had such an aversion
against all manner of games, that he would never
handle cards or dice again; but lived very handsomely
on his winnings to his dying day, which was in the year
1681." He was the last proprietor of Piccadilly Hall,
and was in possession of land on the site of the streets
and buildings which bear his name, as early as the year
1664. Yet we remember to have seen it stated that
Panton-street was named from a particular kind of
horse-shoe called a panton; and from its contiguity to
the Haymarket, this origin was long credited.
At the north-east end of the Haymarket stood the
Gaming-house built by the barber of the Earl of Pembroke,
and hence called Shaver's Hall: it is described
by Garrard, in a letter to Lord Strafford in 1635, as "a
new Spring Gardens, erected in the fields beyond the
Mews:" its tennis-court remains in James-street.
From a Survey of the Premises, made in 1650, we
gather that Shaver's Hall was strongly built of brick, and
covered with lead: its large "seller" was divided into six
rooms; above these four rooms, and the same in the
first storey, to which was a balcony, with a prospect
southward to the bowling-alleys. In the second storey
were six rooms; and over the same a walk, leaded, and
enclosed with rails, "very curiously carved and wrought,"
as was also the staircase, throughout the house. On
the west were large kitchens and coal-house, with lofts
over, "as also one faire Tennis Court," of brick, tiled,
"well accommodated with all things fitting for the
same;" with upper rooms; and at the entrance gate to
the upper bowling-green, a parlour-lodge; and a double
flight of steps descending to the lower bowling alley;
there was still another bowling alley, and an orchard-wall,
planted with choice fruit-trees; "as also one pleasant
banqueting house, and one other faire and pleasant
Roome, called the Greene Roome, and one other Conduit-house,
and 2 other Turrets adjoininge to the walls.
The ground whereon the said buildings stand, together
with 2 fayre Bowling Alleys, orchard gardens, gravily
walks, and other green walks, and Courts and Courtyards,
containinge, by estimacion, 3 acres and 3 qrs.,
lying betweene a Roadway leading from Charinge Crosse
to Knightsbridge west, now in the possession of Captayne
Geeres, and is worth per ann. clli."[45]
If you look at a Map of London, in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, the openness of the northern suburbs is very
remarkable. Cornhill was then a clear space, and the
ground thence to Bishopsgate-street was occupied as
gardens. The Spitalfields were entirely open, and Shoreditch
church was nearly the last building of London in
that direction. Moorfields were used for drying linen;
while cattle grazed, and archers shot, in Finsbury Fields,
at the verge of which were three windmills. On the
western side of Smithfield was a row of trees. Goswell-street
was a lonely road, and Islington church stood in
the distance, with a few houses and gardens near it.
St. Giles's was also a small village, with open country
north and west.
The ancient Islington continued to be a sort of dairy-farm
for the metropolis. Like her father, Henry VIII.,
Elizabeth paid frequent visits to this neighbourhood,
where some wealthy commoners dwelt; and her partiality
to the place left many evidences in old houses, and spots
traditionally said to have been visited by the Queen,
whose delight it was to go among her people.
Islington retained a few of its Elizabethan houses to
our times; and its rich dairies were of like antiquity:
in the entertainment given to Queen Elizabeth at Kenilworth
Castle, in 1575, the Squier Minstrel of Middlesex
glorifies Islington with the motto, "Lac caseus infans;"
and it is still noted for its cow-keepers. It was once as
famous for its cheese-cakes as Chelsea for its buns; and
among its other notabilities were custards and stewed
"pruans," its mineral spa and its ducking-ponds; Ball's
Pond dates from the time of Charles I. At the lower
end of Islington, in 1611, were eight inns, principally
supported by summer visitors:
"Hogsdone, Islington, and Tothnam Court,
For cakes and creame had then no small resort."
Wither's Britain's Remembrancer, 1628.
Among the old inns and public-houses were the Crown
apparently of the reign of Henry VII., and the Old
Queen's Head of about the same date:
"The Queen's Head and Crown in Islington town,
Bore, for its brewing, the brightest renown."
Near the Green, the Duke's Head, was kept by Topham,
"the strong man of Islington;" in Frog-lane, the Barley-mow,
where George Morland painted; at the Old
Parr's Head, in Upper-street, Henderson the tragedian
first acted; the Three Hats, near the turnpike, was
taken down in 1839; and of the Angel, originally a
galleried inn, a drawing may be seen at the present
inn. Timber gables and rudely-carved brackets are
occasionally to be seen in house-fronts; also here and
there an old "house of entertainment," which, with the
little remaining of "the Green," remind one of Islington
village.
The Old Queen's Head was the finest specimen in the
neighbourhood of the domestic architecture of the reign
of Henry VII. It consisted of three storeys, projecting
over each other in front, with bay-windows supported by
brackets, and figures carved in wood. The entrance was
by a central porch, supported by caryatides of oak, bearing
Ionic scrolls. To the left was the Oak Parlour,
with carved mantelpiece, of chest-like form; and caryatid
jambs, supporting a slab sculptured with the story of
Diana and Actæon. The ceiling was a shield, bearing
J. M. in a glory, with cherubim, two heads of Roman
emperors, with fish, flowers, and other figures, within
wreathed borders, with bosses of acorns.
White Conduit House was first built in the fields,
in the reign of Charles I., and was named from a stone
conduit, 1641, which supplied the Charterhouse with
water by a leaden pipe. The tavern was originally a
small ale and cake house: Sir William Davenant describes
a City wife going to the fields to "sop her cake
in milke;" and Goldsmith speaks of tea-drinking parties
here with hot-rolls and butter. White Conduit rolls
were nearly as famous as Chelsea buns. The Wheel
Pond close by was a noted place for duck-hunting.
In May, 1760, a poetical description of White Conduit
House appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine. A description
of the old place, in 1774, presents a general
picture of the tea-garden of that period: "It is formed
into walks, prettily disposed. At the end of the principal
one is a painting which seems to render it (the walk) in
appearance longer than it really is. In the centre of the
garden is a fish-pond. There are boxes for company,
curiously cut into hedges, adorned with Flemish and
other paintings. There are two handsome tea-rooms,
and several inferior ones." To these were added a new
dancing and tea-saloon, called the Apollo Room. In
1826, the gardens were opened as a minor Vauxhall;
and here the charming vocalist, Mrs. Bland, last sang
in public. In 1832, the original tavern was taken down,
and rebuilt upon a much larger plan: in its principal
room 2000 persons could dine. In 1849, these premises
were also taken down, the tavern rebuilt upon a smaller
scale, and the garden-ground let on building leases.
Cricket was played here by the White Conduit Club,
as early as 1799; and one of its attendants, Thomas
Lord, subsequently established the Marylebone Club.
White Conduit House was for some years kept by
Mr. Christopher Bartholomew, at one time worth 50,000l.
He had some fortunate hits in the State Lottery, and
celebrated his good fortune by a public breakfast in his
gardens. He was known to spend upwards of 2000
guineas a day for insurance: fortune forsook him, and
he passed the latter years of his life in great poverty,
partly subsisting on charity. But his gambling propensity
led him, in 1807, to purchase with a friend a
sixteenth of a lottery-ticket, which was drawn a prize of
20,000l., with his moiety of which he purchased a small
annuity, which he soon sold, and died in distress, in
1809.
Bagnigge Wells, on the banks of the Fleet brook, between
Clerkenwell and old St. Pancras church, was
another tavern of this class. We remember its concert-room
and organ, its grottoes, fountain and fishpond,
its trim trees, its grotesque costumed figures, and its
bust of Nell Gwynne to support the tradition that she
had a house here.
A comedy of the seventeenth century has its scene
laid at the Saracen's Head, an old hostelrie, which in
Queen Mary's reign had been hallowed by secret Protestant
devotion, and stood between River Lane and the
City Road.
Highbury Barn, upon the site of the barn of the
monks of Canonbury, was another noted tavern.[46] Nearly
opposite Canonbury Tower are the remains of a last-century
tea-garden; and in Barnsbury is a similar relic.
And on the entrance of a coppice of trees is Hornsey
Wood House, a tavern with a delightful prospect.
Islington abounds in chalybeate springs, resembling
the Tunbridge Wells water; one of which was rediscovered
in 1683, in the garden of Sadler's music-house,
subsequently Sadler's Wells Theatre; and at the Sir
Hugh Myddelton's Head tavern was formerly a conversation-picture
with twenty-eight portraits of the Sadler's
Wells Club. In Spa Fields, was held "Gooseberry
Fair," where the stalls of gooseberry-fool vied with the
"threepenny tea-booths," and the beer at "my Lord
Cobham's Head," which denotes the site of the mansion
of Sir John Oldcastle, the Wickliffite, burnt in 1417.
This old suburban tavern, which stood in Copenhagen
Fields, Islington, was cleared away in forming the site
of the New Cattle Market.
The house had a curious history. In the time of
Nelson, the historian of Islington (1811), it was a house
of considerable resort, the situation affording a fine prospect
over the western part of the metropolis. Adjoining
the house was a small garden, furnished with seats
and tables for the accommodation of company; and a
fives ground. The principal part of Copenhagen House,
although much altered, was probably as old as the time
of James I., and is traditionally said to have derived
its name from having been the residence of a Danish
prince or ambassador during the Great Plague of 1665.
Hone, in 1838, says: "It is certain that Copenhagen
House has been licensed for the sale of beer, wine, and
spirits, upwards of a century; and for refreshments,
and as a tea-house, with garden and ground for skittles
and Dutch pins, it has been greatly resorted to by Londoners."
The date of this hostelry must be older than
stated by Hone. Cunningham says: "A public-house
or tavern in the parish of Islington, is called Coopenhagen
in the map before Bishop Gibson's edition of
Camden, 1695."
About the year 1770 this house was kept by a person
named Harrington. At his decease the business was
continued by his widow, wherein she was assisted for
several years by a young woman from Shropshire. This
female assistant afterwards married a person named
Tomes, from whom Hone got much information respecting
Copenhagen-house. In 1780—the time of
the London Riots—a body of the rioters passed on their
way to attack the seat of Lord Mansfield at Caen-wood;
happily, they passed by without doing any damage, but
Mrs. Harrington and her maid were so much alarmed
that they dispatched a man to Justice Hyde, who sent a
party of soldiers to garrison the place, where they remained
until the riots were ended. From this spot the view of the
nightly conflagrations in the metropolis must have been
terrific. Mrs. Tomes says she saw nine fires at one
time. On the New Year's-day previous to this, Mrs.
Harrington was not so fortunate. After the family had
retired to rest, a party of burglars forced the kitchen window,
and mistaking the salt-box, in the chimney corner,
for a man's head, fired a ball through it. They then ran
upstairs with a dark lantern, tied the servants, burst
the lower panel of Mrs. Harrington's room door—while
she secreted 50l. between her bed and the mattresses—and
three of them rushed to her bed-side, armed
with a cutlass, crowbar, and a pistol, while a fourth kept
watch outside. They demanded her money, and as she
denied that she had any, they wrenched her drawers
open with the crowbar, refusing to use the keys she
offered to them. In these they found about 10l. belonging
to her daughter, a little child, whom they threatened
to murder unless she ceased crying; while they packed
up all the plate, linen, and clothes, which they carried
off. They then went into the cellar, set all the ale barrels
running, broke the necks of the wine bottles, spilt
the other liquors, and slashed a round of beef with their
cutlasses. From this wanton destruction they returned
to the kitchen, where they ate, drank, and sung; and
eventually frightened Mrs. Harrington into delivering
up the 50l. she had secreted, and it was with difficulty
she escaped with her life. Rewards were offered by
Government and the parish of Islington for the apprehension
of the robbers; and in May following one
of them, named Clarkson, was discovered, and hopes of
mercy tendered to him if he would discover his accomplices.
This man was a watchmaker of Clerkenwell;
the other three were tradesmen. They were tried and
executed, and Clarkson pardoned. He was, however,
afterwards executed for another robbery. In a sense,
this robbery was fortunate to Mrs. Harrington. A subscription
was raised, which more than covered the loss,
and the curiosity of the Londoners induced them to
throng to the scene of the robbery. So great was the
increase of business that it became necessary to enlarge
the premises. Soon afterwards the house was celebrated
for fives-playing. This game was our old hand tennis,
and is a very ancient game. This last addition was
almost accidental. "I made the first fives-ball," says
Mrs. Tomes, "that was ever thrown up against Copenhagen
House. One Hickman, a butcher at Highgate,
a countryman of mine, called, and, seeing me counting,
we talked about our country sports, and, amongst the
rest, fives. I told him we'd have a game some day.
I laid down the stone myself, and against he came again
made a ball. I struck the ball the first blow, he gave
it the second—and so we played—and as there was
company, they liked the sport, and it got talked of."
This was the beginning of fives-play which became so
famous at Copenhagen House.
In Upper-street, Islington, was formerly a house with
the sign of the Duke's Head, at the south-east corner
of Gadd's Row, (now St. Alban's Place), which was
remarkable, towards the middle of the last century, on
account of its landlord, Thomas Topham, "the strong
man of Islington." He was brought up to the trade of
a carpenter, but abandoned it soon after his apprenticeship
had expired; and about the age of twenty-four
became the host of the Red Lion, near the old Hospital
of St. Luke, in which house he failed. When he had
attained his full growth, his stature was about five feet
ten inches, and he soon began to give proof of his
superior strength and muscular power. The first public
exhibition of his extraordinary strength was that of
pulling against a horse, lying upon his back, and placing
his feet against the dwarf wall that divided Upper
and Lower Moorfields.
By the strength of his fingers, he rolled up a very
strong and large pewter dish, which was placed among
the curiosities of the British Museum, marked near the
edge, "April, 3, 1737, Thomas Topham, of London,
carpenter, rolled up this dish (made of the hardest
pewter) by the strength of his hands, in the presence of
Dr. John Desaguliers," etc. He broke seven or eight
pieces of a tobacco-pipe, by the force of his middle finger,
having laid them on his first and third fingers. Having
thrust the bowl of a strong tobacco-pipe under his
garter, his legs being bent, he broke it to pieces by the
tendons of his hams, without altering the position of his
legs. Another bowl of this kind he broke between his
first and second finger, by pressing them together sideways.
He took an iron kitchen poker, about a yard
long, and three inches round, and bent it nearly to a right
angle, by striking upon his bare left arm between the
elbow and the wrist. Holding the ends of a poker of
like size in his hands, and the middle of it against the
back of his neck, he brought both extremities of it together
before him; and, what was yet more difficult,
pulled it almost straight again. He broke a rope of two
inches in circumference; though, from his awkward
manner, he was obliged to exert four times more
strength than was necessary. He lifted a rolling stone
of eight hundred pounds' weight with his hands only,
standing in a frame above it, and taking hold of a chain
fastened thereto.
But his grand feat was performed in Coldbath Fields,
May 28, 1741, in commemoration of the taking of Porto
Bello, by Admiral Vernon. At this time Topham was
landlord of the Apple-tree, nearly facing the entrance
to the House of Correction; here he exhibited the exploit
of lifting three hogsheads of water, weighing one
thousand eight hundred and thirty-one pounds: he
also pulled against one horse, and would have succeeded
against two, or even four, had he taken a proper position;
but in pulling against two, he was jerked from his seat,
and had one of his knees much hurt. Admiral Vernon
was present at the above exhibition, in the presence of
thousands of spectators; and there is a large print of
the strange scene.
Topham subsequently removed to Hog-lane, Shoreditch.
His wife proved unfaithful to him, which so distressed
him that he stabbed her, and so mutilated himself
that he died, in the flower of his age.
Many years since, there were several signs in the
metropolis, illustrative of Topham's strength: the last
was one in East Smithfield, where he was represented as
"the Strong Man pulling against two Horses."
This noted tavern, described by Strype, a century and
a half ago, as a house of considerable trade, has been, in
our time, the head-quarters of the Prize Ring, kept by
two of its heroes, Tom Belcher and Tom Spring. Here
was instituted the Daffy Club; and the long room was
adorned with portraits of pugilistic heroes, including
Jem Belcher, Burke, Jackson, Tom Belcher, old Joe
Ward, Dutch Sam, Gregson, Humphreys, Mendoza,
Cribb, Molyneux, Gulley, Randall, Turner, Martin,
Harmer, Spring, Neat, Hickman, Painter, Scroggins,
Tom Owen, etc.; and among other sporting prints, the
famous dog, Trusty, the present of Lord Camelford to
Jem Belcher, and the victor in fifty battles. In Cribb's
Memorial to Congress is this picture of the great room:—
"Lent Friday night a bang-up set
Of milling blades at Belcher's met,
All high-bred heroes of the Ring,
Whose very gammon would delight one;
Who, nurs'd beneath the Fancy's wing,
Show all her feathers but the white one.
Brave Tom, the Champion, with an air
Almost Corinthian, took the chair,
And kept the coves in quiet tune,
By showing such a fist of mutton
As on a point of order soon
Would take the shine from Speaker Sutton.
And all the lads look'd gay and bright,
And gin and genius flashed about;
And whosoe'er grew unpolite,
The well-bred Champion serv'd him out."
In 1828, Belcher retired from the tavern and was
succeeded by Tom Spring (Thomas Winter), the immediate
successor of Cribb, as Champion of England.
Spring prospered at the Castle many years. He died
August 17, 1851, in his fifty-sixth year; he was highly
respected, and had received several testimonials of public
and private esteem; among which were these pieces of
plate:—1. The Manchester Cup, presented in 1821.
2. The Hereford Cup, 1823. 3. A noble tankard and
a purse, value upwards of five hundred pounds. 4. A
silver goblet, from Spring's early patron, Mr. Sant.
Spring's figure was an extremely fine one, and his
face and forehead most remarkable. His brow had
something of the Greek Jupiter in it, expressing command,
energy, determination, and cool courage. Its
severity was relieved by the lower part of his countenance,
the features of which denoted mildness and playfulness.
His actual height was five feet eleven inches
and a half; but he could stretch his neck so as to make
his admeasurement more than six feet.
Smith, in his very amusing Book for a Rainy Day,
tells us that in 1772, beyond Portland Chapel, (now St.
Paul's,) the highway was irregular, with here and there
a bank of separation; and having crossed the New Road,
there was a turnstile, at the entrance of a meadow leading
to a little old public-house—the Queen's Head and
Artichoke—an odd association: the sign was much
weather-beaten, though perhaps once a tolerably good
portrait of Queen Elizabeth: the house was reported to
have been kept by one of Her Majesty's gardeners.
A little beyond was another turnstile opening also
into the fields, over which was a walk to the Jew's Harp
Tavern and Tea Gardens. It consisted of a large upper
room, ascended by an outside staircase for the accommodation
of the company on ball-nights. There were a semicircular
enclosure of boxes for tea and ale drinkers; and
tables and seats for the smokers, guarded by deal-board
soldiers between every box, painted in proper colours.
There were trap-ball and tennis grounds, and skittle-grounds.
South of the tea-gardens were summer-houses
and gardens, where the tenant might be seen on
Sunday evening, in a bright scarlet waistcoat, ruffled
shirt, and silver shoe-buckles, comfortably taking his
tea with his family, honouring a Seven Dials friend with
a nod on his peregrination to the famed Wells of Kilburn.
Such was the suburban rural enjoyment of a century
since on the borders of Marylebone Park.
There is a capital story told of Mr. Speaker Onslow,
who, when he could escape from the heated atmosphere
of the House of Commons, in his long service of thirty-three
years, used to retire to the Jew's Harp. He
dressed himself in plain attire, and preferred taking his
seat in the chimney-corner of the kitchen, where he
took part in the passing joke, and ordinary concerns of
the landlord, his family and customers! He continued
this practice for a year or two, and thus ingratiated
himself with his host and his family, who, not knowing
his name, called him "the gentleman," but from his
familiar manners, treated him as one of themselves. It
happened, however, one day, that the landlord of the
Jew's Harp was walking along Parliament-street, when
he met the Speaker, in his state-coach, going up with an
address to the throne; and looking narrowly at the chief
personage, he was astonished and confounded at recognising
the features of the gentleman, his constant customer.
He hurried home and communicated the extraordinary
intelligence to his wife and family, all of
whom were disconcerted at the liberties which, at
different times, they had taken with so important a person.
In the evening, Mr. Onslow came as usual to the
Jew's Harp, with his holiday face and manners, and
prepared to take his seat, but found everything in a state
of peculiar preparation, and the manners of the landlord
and his wife changed from indifference and familiarity
to form and obsequiousness: the children were not
allowed to climb upon him, and pull his wig as heretofore,
and the servants were kept at a distance. He, however,
took no notice of the change, but, finding that his
name and rank had by some means been discovered, he
paid his reckoning, civilly took his departure, and never
visited the house afterwards.
The celebrated Speaker is buried in the family vault
of the Onslows, at Merrow; and in Trinity Church,
Guildford, is a memorial of him—"the figure of the
deceased in a Roman habit," and he is resting upon
volumes of the Votes and Journals of the House of
Commons. The monument is overloaded with inscriptions
and armorial displays: we suspect that "the
gentleman" of the Jews' Harp chimney-corner would
rather that such indiscriminate ostentation had been
spared, especially "the Roman habit." If we remember
rightly, Speaker Onslow presented to the people of
Merrow, for their church, a cedar-wood pulpit, which
the Churchwardens ordered to be painted white!
To return to the taverns. Wilson, our great landscape-painter,
was fond of playing at skittles, and frequented
the Green Man public-house, in the New-road,
at the end of Norton-street, originally known under the
appellation of the "Farthing Pye-house;" where bits
of mutton were put into a crust shaped like a pie, and
actually sold for a farthing. This house was kept by a
facetious man named Price, of whom there is a mezzotinto
portrait: he was an excellent salt-box player, and
frequently accompanied the famous Abel, when playing
on the violoncello. Wilkes was a frequenter of this
house to procure votes for Middlesex, as it was visited
by many opulent freeholders.
The Mother Redcap, at Kentish Town, was a house
of no small terror to travellers in former times. It
has been stated that Mother Redcap was the "Mother
Damnable" of Kentish Town; and that it was at her
house that the notorious Moll Cutpurse, the highway-woman
of the time of Oliver Cromwell, dismounted,
and frequently lodged.
Kentish Town has had some of its old taverns rebuilt.
Here was the Castle Tavern, which had a Perpendicular
stone chimney-piece; the house was taken
down in 1849: close to its southern wall was a sycamore
planted by Lord Nelson, when a boy, at the entrance
to his uncle's cottage; the tree has been spared.
Opposite were the old Assembly-rooms, taken down in
1852: here was a table with an inscription by an
invalid, who recovered his health by walking to this
spot every morning to take his breakfast in front of
the house.
Bowling-greens were also among the celebrities of
Marylebone: where, says the grave John Locke (Diary,
1679), a curious stranger "may see several persons of
quality bowling, two or three times a week, all the
summer." The bowling-green of the Rose of Normandy
Tavern and Gaming-house in High-street is
supposed to be that referred to in Lady Mary Wortley
Montagu's memorable line; and it is one of the
scenes of Captain Macheath's debaucheries, in Gay's
Beggar's Opera.
The Rose was built some 230 years ago, and was
the oldest house in Marylebone parish: it was originally
a detached building, used as a house of entertainment
in connection with the bowling-green at the back;
and in 1659 the place was described as a square brick
wall, set with fruit-trees, gravel walks, and the bowling-green;
"all, except the first, double set with quickset
hedges, full-grown, and kept in excellent order, and indented
like town walls." In a map of the Duke of
Portland's estate, of 1708, there are shown two bowling-greens,
one near the top of High-street, and abutting
on the grounds of the Old Manor House; the
other at the back of this house: in connection with the
latter was the Rose Tavern, once much frequented by
persons of the first rank, but latterly in much disrepute,
and supposed to be referred to by Pennant, who,
when speaking of the Duke of Buckingham's minute
description of the house afterwards the Queen's Palace,
says: "He has omitted his constant visits to the noted
Gaming-house at Marybone; the place of assemblage
of all the infamous sharpers of the time;" to whom
his Grace always gave a dinner at the conclusion of
the season; and his parting toast was, "May as many
of us as remain unhanged next spring meet here
again."
These Bowling-greens were afterwards incorporated
with the well-known Marylebone Gardens, upon the site
of which are now built Beaumont-street, part of Devonshire-street,
and Devonshire-place. The principal entrance
was in High-street. Pepys was here in 1688:
"Then we abroad to Marrowbone, and there walked in
the Gardens: the first time I was ever there, and a
pretty place it is." In the London Gazette, 1691, we
read of "Long's Bowling-green, at the Rose, at Marylebone,
half a mile distant from London." The Gardens
were at first opened gratis to all classes; after the
addition of the bowling-greens, the company became
more select, by one shilling entrance-money being
charged, an equivalent being allowed in viands.
An engraving of 1761 shows the Gardens in their
fullest splendour: the centre walk had rows of trees,
with irons for the lamps in the stems; on either side,
latticed alcoves; and on the right, the bow-fronted
orchestra with balustrades, supported by columns; with
a projecting roof, to keep the musicians and singers free
from rain; on the left is a room for balls and suppers.
In 1763, the Gardens were taken by Lowe, the singer;
he kept them until 1769, when he conveyed the
property by assignment, to his creditors; the deed we
remember to have seen in Mr. Sampson Hodgkinson's
Collection at Acton Green: from it we learn that the
premises of Rysbrack, the sculptor, were formerly part
of the Gardens. Nan Cattley and Signor Storace
were among the singers. James Hook, father of Theodore
Hook, composed many songs for the Gardens;
and Dr. Arne, catches and glees; and under his direction
was played Handel's music, followed by fireworks;
and in 1772, a model-picture of Mount Etna, in eruption.
Burlettas from Shakspeare were recited here in
1774. In 1775, Baddeley, the comedian, gave here his
Modern Magic Lantern, including Punch's Election;
next, George Saville Carey his Lecture on Mimicry; and
in 1776, fantoccini, sleight of hand, and representations
of the Boulevards at Paris and Pyramids of Egypt.
Chatterton wrote for the Gardens The Revenge, a
burletta, the manuscript of which, together with Chatterton's
receipt, given to Henslow, the proprietor of the
Gardens, for the amount paid for the drama, was found
by Mr. Upcott, at a cheesemonger's shop, in the City;
it was published, but its authenticity was at the time
doubted by many eminent critics. (Crypt, November,
1827.)
Paddington was long noted for its old Taverns. The
White Lion, Edgware-road, dates 1524, the year when
hops were first imported. At the Red Lion, near the
Harrow-road, tradition says, Shakspeare acted; and
another Red Lion, formerly near the Harrow-road bridge
over the Bourn, is described in an inquisition of Edward
VI. In this road is also an ancient Pack-horse;
and the Wheatsheaf, Edgware-road, was a favourite resort
of Ben Jonson.[47]
Kilburn Wells, a noted tea-drinking tavern and garden,
sprang up from the fame of the spring of mineral
water there.
Bayswater had, within memory, its tea-garden taverns,
the most extensive of which were the "physic gardens"
of Sir John Hill, who here cultivated his medicinal
plants, and prepared from them his tinctures, essences,
etc. The ground is now the site of noble mansions.
The Bayswater springs, reservoirs, and conduits, in olden
times, brought here thousands of pleasure-seekers; as
did Shepherd's Bush, with its rural name. Acton, with
its wells of mineral water, about the middle of the last
century, were in high repute; the assembly-room was
then a place of great fashionable resort, but on its decline
was converted into tenements. The two noted taverns,
the Hats, at Ealing, were much resorted to in the last
century, and early in the present.
Kensington, on the Great Western road, formerly had
its large inns. The coffee-house west of the Palace Road
was much resorted to as a tea-drinking place, handy to
the gardens.
Kensington, to this day, retains its memorial of the
residence of Addison at Holland House, from the period
of his marriage. The thoroughfare from the Kensington
Road to Notting Hill is named Addison Road. At
Holland House are shown the table upon which the
Essayist wrote; his reputed portrait; and the chamber
in which he died.
It has been commonly stated and believed that Addison's
marriage with the Countess of Warwick was a
most unhappy match; and that, to drown his sorrow,
and escape from his termagant wife, he would often slip
away from Holland House to the White Horse Inn,
which stood at the corner of Lord Holland's Lane, and
on the site of the present Holland Arms Inn. Here
Addison would enjoy his favourite dish of a fillet of veal,
his bottle, and perhaps a friend. He is also stated to
have had another way of showing his spite to the
Countess, by withdrawing the company from Button's
Coffee-house, set up by her Ladyship's old servant.
Moreover, Addison is accused of having taught Dryden
to drink, so as to hasten his end: how doubly "glorious"
old John must have been in his cups. Pope also states
that Addison kept such late hours that he was compelled
to quit his company. But both these anecdotes are
from Spence, and are doubted; and they have done
much injury to Addison's character. Miss Aikin, in
her Life of Addison, endeavours to invalidate these imputations,
by reference to the sobriety of Addison's early
life. He had a remarkably sound constitution, and
could, probably, sit out his companions, and stop short
of actual intoxication; indeed, it was said that he was
only warmed into the utmost brilliancy of table conversation,
by the time that Steele had rendered himself
nearly unfit for it. Miss Aikin refers to the tone and
temper, the correctness of taste and judgment of Addison's
writings, in proof of his sobriety; and doubts
whether a man, himself stained with the vice of intoxication,
would have dared to stigmatize it as in his 569th
Spectator. The idea that domestic unhappiness led him
to contract this dreadful habit, is then repudiated; and
the opposite conclusion supported by the bequest of his
whole property to his lady. "Is it conceivable," asks
Miss Aikin, "that any man would thus 'give and hazard
all he had,' even to his precious only child, in compliment
to a woman who should have rendered his last
years miserable by her pride and petulance, and have
driven him out from his home, to pass his comfortless
evenings in the gross indulgence of a tavern." Our
amiable biographer, therefore, equally discredits the
stories of Addison's unhappy marriage, and of his intemperate
habits.
The White Horse was taken down many years since.
The tradition of its being the tavern frequented by Addison,
was common in Kensington when Faulkner
printed his History, in 1820.
There was a celebrated visitor at Holland House who,
many years later, partook of "the gross indulgence."
Sheridan was often at Holland House in his latter days;
and Lady Holland told Moore that he used to take a
bottle of wine and a book up to bed with him always;
the former alone intended for use. In the morning, he
breakfasted in bed, and had a little brandy or rum in
his tea or coffee; made his appearance between one or
two, and pretending important business, used to set out
for town, but regularly stopped at the Adam and Eve
public-house for a dram, and there ran up a long bill,
which Lord Holland had to pay. This was the old roadside
inn, long since taken down.
When the building for the Great Exhibition of 1851
was in course of construction, Alexis Soyer, the celebrated
cook from the Reform Club, hired for a term,
Gore House, and converted Lady Blessington's well-appointed
mansion and grounds into a sort of large restaurant,
which our poetical cook named "the Symposium."
The house was ill planned for the purpose, and underwent
much grotesque decoration and bizarre embellishment,
to meet Soyer's somewhat unorthodox taste; for
his chief aim was to show the public "something they
had never seen before." The designation of the place—Symposium—led
to a dangerous joke: "Ah! I understand,"
said a wag, "impose-on-'em." Soyer was horrified,
and implored the joker not to name his witticism
upon 'Change in the City, but he disregarded the restaurateur's
request, and the pun was often repeated between
Cornhill and Kensington.
In the reconstruction and renovation of the place,
Soyer was assisted by his friend Mr. George Augustus
Sala, who, some years after, when he edited Temple Bar,
described in his very clever manner, what he saw and
thought, whilst for "many moons he slept, and ate, and
drank, and walked, and talked, in Gore House, surrounded
by the very strangest of company":—
"From February to mid-March a curious medley of carpenters,
scene-painters, plumbers, glaziers, gardeners, town-travellers
for ironmongers, wine-merchants, and drapers, held high
carnival in the place. By-and-by came dukes and duchesses,
warriors and statesmen, ambassadors, actors, artists, authors,
quack-doctors, ballet-dancers, journalists, Indian princes, Irish
members, nearly all that was odd and all that was distinguished,
native or foreign, in London town. They wandered up and down
the staircases, and in and out of the saloons, quizzing, and talking,
and laughing, and flirting sometimes in sly corners. They
signed their names in a big book, blazing with gold and morocco,
which lay among shavings on a carpenter's bench in the library.
Where is that wondrous collection of autographs, that Libro
d'Oro, now? Mr. Keeley's signature followed suit to that of
Lord Carlisle. Fanny Cerito inscribed her pretty name, with
that of 'St. Leon' added, next to the signature of the magnificent
Duchess of Sutherland. I was at work with the whitewashers
on the stairs, and saw Semiramis sweep past. Baron
Brunnow met Prof. Holloway on the neutral ground of a page
of autographs. Jules Janin's name came close to the laborious
paraphe of an eminent pugilist. Members of the American
Congress found themselves in juxtaposition with Frederick
Douglas and the dark gentleman who came as ambassador from
Hayti. I remember one Sunday, during that strange time, seeing
Mr. Disraeli, Madame Doche, the Author of Vanity Fair, a
privy councillor, a Sardinian attaché, the Marquis of Normanby,
the late Mr. Flexmore the clown, the Editor of Punch, and the
Wizard of the North, all pressing to enter the whilom boudoir
of the Blessington.
"Meanwhile, I and the whitewashers were hard at work. We
summoned upholsterers, carvers and gilders to our aid. Troops
of men in white caps and jackets began to flit about the lower
regions. The gardeners were smothering themselves with roses
in the adjacent parterres. Marvellous erections began to rear
their heads in the grounds of Gore House. The wilderness had
become, not exactly a paradise, but a kind of Garden of Epicurus,
in which some of the features of that classical bower of bliss
were blended with those of the kingdom of Cockaigne, where
pigs are said to run about ready roasted with silver knives and
forks stuck in them, and crying, 'Come, eat us; our crackling is
delicious, and the sage-and-onions with which we are stuffed distils
an odour as sweet as that of freshly gathered violets.' Vans
laden with wines, with groceries, with plates and dishes, with
glasses and candelabra, and with bales of calico, and still more
calico, were perpetually arriving at Gore House. The carriages
of the nobility and gentry were blocked up among railway goods-vans
and Parcels Delivery carts. The authorities of the place
were obliged to send for a detective policeman to mount permanent
guard at the Gore, for the swell-mob had found us out, and
flying squadrons of felonry hung on the skirts of our distinguished
visitors, and harassed their fobs fearfully. Then we sent
forth advertisements to the daily papers, and legions of mothers,
grandmothers, and aunts brought myriads of newly-washed boys;
some chubby and curly-haired, some lanky and straight-locked,
from whom we selected the comelier youths, and put them into
picturesque garbs, confected for us by Mr. Nicoll. Then we
held a competitive examination of pretty girls; and from those
who obtained the largest number of marks (of respect and admiration)
we chose a bevy of Hebes, whose rosy lips, black eyes
and blue eyes, fair hair and dark hair, very nearly drove me
crazy in the spring days of 1851.
"And by the end of April we had completely metamorphosed
Gore House. I am sure that poor Lady Blessington would not
have known her coquettish villa again had she visited it; and I
am afraid she would not have been much gratified to see that
which the upholsterers, the whitewashers, the hangers of calico,
and your humble servant, had wrought. As for the venerable
Mr. Wilberforce, who, I believe, occupied Gore House some
years before Lady Blessington's tenancy, he would have held up
his hands in pious horror to see the changes we had made. A
madcap masquerade of bizarre taste and queer fancies had turned
Gore House completely inside out. In honest truth, we had
played the very dickens with it. The gardens were certainly
magnificent; and there was a sloping terrace of flowers in the
form of a gigantic shell, and literally crammed with the choicest
roses, which has seldom, I believe, been rivalled in ornamental
gardening. But the house itself! The library had been kindly
dealt by, save that from the ceiling were suspended a crowd of
quicksilvered glass globes, which bobbed about like the pendent
ostrich-eggs in an Eastern mosque. There was a room called
the 'Floriana,' with walls and ceiling fluted with blue and white
calico, and stuck all over with spangles. There was the 'Doriana,'
also in calico, pink and white, and approached by a portal called
the 'door of the dungeon of mystery,' which was studded with
huge nails, and garnished with fetters in the well-known Newgate
fashion. Looking towards the garden were the Alhambra Terrace
and the Venetian Bridge. The back drawing-room was the
Night of Stars, or the Rêverie de l'Etoile polaire; the night being
represented by a cerulean ceiling painted over with fleecy clouds,
and the firmament by hangings of blue gauze spangled with stars
cut out of silver-foil paper! Then there was the vestibule of
Jupiter Tonans, the walls covered with a salmagundi of the architecture
of all nations, from the Acropolis to the Pyramids of
Egypt, from Temple Bar to the Tower of Babel. The dining-room
became the Hall of Jewels, or the Salon des Larmes de
Danaë, and the 'Shower of Gems,' with a grand arabesque perforated
ceiling, gaudy in gilding and distemper colours. Upstairs
there was a room fitted up as a Chinese pagoda, another as an
Italian cottage overlooking a vineyard and the Lake of Como;
another as a cavern of ice in the Arctic regions, with sham columns
imitating icebergs, and a stuffed white fox—bought cheap
at a sale—in the chimney. The grand staircase belonged to me,
and I painted its walls with a grotesque nightmare of portraits
of people I had never seen, and hundreds more upon whom I had
never set eyes save in the print-shops, till I saw the originals
grinning, or scowling, or planted in blank amazement before the
pictorial libels on the walls.
"In the gardens Sir Charles Fox built for us a huge barrack of
wood, glass, and iron, which we called the 'Baronial Hall,' and
which we filled with pictures and lithographs, and flags and calico,
in our own peculiar fashion. We hired a large grazing-meadow
at the back of the gardens, from a worthy Kensington cowkeeper,
and having fitted up another barrack at one end of it, called it
the 'Pré D'Orsay.' We memorialized the Middlesex magistrates,
and, after a great deal of trouble, got a licence enabling us to
sell wines and spirits, and to have music and dancing if we so
chose. We sprinkled tents and alcoves all over our gardens, and
built a gipsies' cavern, and a stalactite pagoda with double windows,
in which gold and silver fish floated. And finally, having
engaged an army of pages, cooks, scullions, waiters, barmaids,
and clerks of the kitchen, we opened this monstrous place on the
first of May, 1851, and bade all the world come and dine at
Soyer's Symposium."
However, the ungrateful public disregarded the invitation,
and poor Alexis Soyer is believed to have lost
4000l. by this enterprise. He died a few years after, at
the early age of fifty. His friend Mr. Sala has said of
him with true pathos:—"He was a vain man; but he
was good and kind and charitable. There are paupers
and beggars even among French cooks, and Alexis always
had his pensioners and his alms-duns, to whom his hand
was ever open. He was but a cook, but he was my dear
and good friend."
We remember to have heard Soyer say of the writer
of these truthful words, in reply to an inquiry as to the
artist of the figures upon the staircase-walls, "He is a
very clever fellow, of whom you will hear much,"—a
prediction which has been fully verified.
Brompton, with its two centuries of Nursery fame,
lasted to our time; southward, among "the Groves,"
were the Florida, Hoop and Toy, and other tea-garden
taverns; there remains the Swan, with its bowling-green.
Knightsbridge was formerly a noted "Spring-Garden,"
with several taverns, of gay and questionable
character. Some of the older houses have historical
interest. The Rose and Crown, formerly the Oliver
Cromwell, has been licensed above three hundred years.
It is said to be the house which sheltered Wyat,
while his unfortunate Kentish followers rested on the
adjacent green. A tradition of the locality also is that
Cromwell's body-guard was once quartered here, the
probability of which is carefully examined in Davis's
Memorials of Knightsbridge. The house has been much
modernized of late years; "but," says Mr. Davis,
"enough still remains in its peculiar chimneys, oval-shaped
windows, the low rooms, large yard, and extensive
stabling, with the galleries above, and office-like
places beneath, to testify to its antiquity and former
importance." The Rising Sun, hard by, is a seventeenth
century red-brick house, which formerly had much
carved work in the rooms, and a good staircase remains.
The Fox and Bull is the third house that has existed
under the same sign. The first was Elizabethan with
carved and panelled rooms, ornamented ceiling; and it
was not until 1799, that the immense fireplaces and
dog-irons were removed for stove-grates. This house
was pulled down about 1836, and the second immediately
built upon its site; this stood till the Albert-gate improvements
made the removal of the tavern business to
its present situation.[48]
The original Fox and Bull is traditionally said to have
been used by Queen Elizabeth on her visits to Lord
Burghley, at Brompton. Its curious sign is said to be
the only one of the kind existing. Here for a long time
was maintained that Queen Anne style of society,
where persons of parts and reputation were to be met
with in public rooms. Captain Corbet was for a long
time its head; Mr. Shaw, of the War Office, supplied
the London Gazette; and Mr. Harris, of Covent Garden,
his play-bills. Sir Joshua Reynolds is said to have been
occasionally a visitor; as also Sir W. Wynn, the patron
of Ryland. George Morland, too, was frequently here.
The sign was once painted by Sir Joshua, and hung till
1807, when it was blown down and destroyed in a
storm. The house is referred to in the Tatler, No. 259.
At about where William-street joins Lowndes-square
was "an excellent Spring Garden." Among the entries
of the Virtuosi, or St. Luke's Club, established by
Vandyke, is the following: "Paid and spent at Spring
Gardens, by Knightsbridge, forfeiture, 3l. 15s." Pepys
being at Kensington, "on a frolic," June 16, 1664, "lay
in his drawers, and stockings, and waistcoat, till five of
the clock, and so up, walked to Knightsbridge, and
there eat a mess of cream, and so to St. James's," etc.
And, April 24, 1665, the King being in the Park, and
sly Pepys being doubtful of being seen in any pleasure,
stepped out of the Park to Knightsbridge, and there ate
and drank in the coach.
Pepys also speaks of "the World's End," at Knightsbridge,
which Mr. Davis thinks could only have been the
sign adopted for the Garden; and Pepys, being too soon
to go into Hyde Park, went on to Knightsbridge, and
there ate and drank at the World's End; and elsewhere
the road going "to the World's End, a drinking-house
by the Park, and there merry, and so home late."
Congreve, in his Love for Love, alludes, in a woman's
quarrel, to the place, between Mrs. Frail and Mrs.
Foresight, in which the former says: "I don't doubt
but you have thought yourself happy in a hackney-coach
before now. If I had gone to Knightsbridge, or to
Chelsea, or to Spring Garden, or Barn Elms, with a
man alone, something might have been said." The
house belonging to this Garden stood till about 1826.
Knightsbridge Grove, approached through a stately
avenue of trees from the road, was a sporting-house.
Here the noted Mrs. Cornelys endeavoured to retrieve
her fortunes, after her failure at Carlisle House. In
1785, she gave up her precarious trade. "Ten years
after," says Davis's Memorials of Knightsbridge, "to
the great surprise of the public, she re-appeared at
Knightsbridge as Mrs. Smith, a retailer of asses' milk.
A suite of breakfast-rooms was opened; but her former
influence could not be recovered. The speculation
utterly failed; and at length she was confined to the
Fleet Prison. There she ended her shallow career,
dying August 19, 1797."
A once notorious house, the Swan, still exists on the
Knightsbridge-road, a little beyond the Green. It is
celebrated by Tom Brown. In Otway's Soldier's Fortune,
1681, Sir Davy Dunce says:—
"I have surely lost, and ne'er shall find her more. She promised
me strictly to stay at home till I came back again; for
ought I know, she may be up three pair of stairs in the Temple
now, or, it may be, taking the air as far as Knightsbridge, with
some smooth-faced rogue or another; 'tis a damned house that
Swan,—that Swan at Knightsbridge is a confounded house."
To the Feathers, which stood to the south of Grosvenor-row,
an odd anecdote is attached. A Lodge of Odd
Fellows, or some similar society, was in the habit of
holding its meetings in a room at the Feathers; and
on one occasion, when a new member was being initiated
in the mysteries thereof, in rushed two persons, whose
abrupt and unauthorized entrance threw the whole
assemblage into an uproar. Summary punishment was
proposed by an expeditious kick into the street; but,
just as it was about to be bestowed, the secretary recognized
one of the intruders as George, Prince of Wales,
afterwards George IV. Circumstances instantly changed:
it indeed was he, out on a nocturnal excursion; and
accordingly it was proposed and carried that the Prince
and his companion should be admitted members. The
Prince was chairman the remainder of the evening; and
the chair in which he sat, ornamented, in consequence,
with the plume, is still preserved in the parlour of the
modern inn in Grosvenor-street West, and over it hangs
a coarsely-executed portrait of the Prince in the robes
of the order. The inn, the hospital, and various small
tenements were removed in 1851, when the present
stately erections were immediately commenced. On
the ground being cleared away, various coins, old horse-shoes,
a few implements of warfare, and some human
remains were discovered.[49]
Jenny's Whim, another celebrated place of entertainment,
has only just entirely disappeared; it was on the
site of St. George's-row. Mr. Davis thinks it to have
been named from the fantastic way in which Jenny, the
first landlady, laid out the garden. Angelo says, it was
established by a firework-maker, in the reign of George
I. There was a large breakfast-room, and the grounds
comprised a bowling-green, alcoves, arbours, and flower-beds;
a fish-pond, a cock-pit, and a pond for duck-hunting.
In the Connoisseur, May 15, 1775, we read:
"The lower sort of people had their Ranelaghs and
their Vauxhalls as well as the quality. Perrot's inimitable
grotto may be seen, for only calling for a pint of
beer; and the royal diversion of duck-hunting may be
had into the bargain, together with a decanter of Dorchester,
for your sixpence, at Jenny's Whim." The
large garden here had some amusing deceptions; as
by treading on a spring—taking you by surprise—up
started different figures, some ugly enough to frighten
you—a harlequin, a Mother Shipton, or some terrific
animal. In a large piece of water facing the tea-alcoves,
large fish or mermaids were showing themselves above
the surface. Horace Walpole, in his Letters, occasionally
alludes to Jenny's Whim; in one to Montagu
he spitefully says—"Here (at Vauxhall) we picked up
Lord Granby, arrived very drunk from Jenny's Whim."
Towards the close of the last century, Jenny's Whim
began to decline; its morning visitors were not so
numerous, and opposition was also powerful. It gradually
became forgotten, and at last sank to the condition
of a beer-house, and about 1804 the business altogether
ceased.[50]
Jenny's Whim has more than once served the novelist
for an illustration; as in Maids of Honour, a Tale of
the Times of George the First:—"There were gardens,"
says the writer, mentioning the place, "attached to it,
and a bowling-green; and parties were frequently made,
composed of ladies and gentlemen, to enjoy a day's
amusement there in eating strawberries and cream,
syllabubs, cake, and taking other refreshments, of which
a great variety could be procured, with cider, perry,
ale, wine, and other liquors in abundance. The gentlemen
played at bowls—some employed themselves at
skittles; whilst the ladies amused themselves at a swing,
or walked about the garden, admiring the sunflowers,
hollyhocks, the Duke of Marlborough cut out of a
filbert-tree, and the roses and daisies, currants and gooseberries,
that spread their alluring charms in every path.
"This was a favourite rendezvous for lovers in courting
time—a day's pleasure at Jenny's Whim being considered
by the fair one the most enticing enjoyment that
could be offered her; and often the hearts of the most
obdurate have given way beneath the influence of its
attractions. Jenny's Whim, therefore, had always,
during the season, plenty of pleasant parties of young
people of both sexes. Sometimes all its chambers were
filled, and its gardens thronged by gay and sentimental
visitors."[51]
This famous place of entertainment was opened in 1742,
on the site of the gardens of Ranelagh House, eastward
of Chelsea Hospital. It was originally projected by
Lacy, the patentee of Drury Lane Theatre, as a sort of
Winter Vauxhall. There was a Rotunda, with a Doric
portico, and arcade and gallery; a Venetian pavilion in
a lake, to which the company were rowed in boats; and
the grounds were planted with trees and allées vertes.
The several buildings were designed by Capon, the eminent
scene-painter. There were boxes for refreshments,
and in each was a painting: in the centre was a heating
apparatus, concealed by arches, porticoes and niches,
paintings, etc.; and supporting the ceiling, which was
decorated with celestial figures, festoons of flowers, and
arabesques, and lighted by circles of chandeliers. The
Rotunda was opened with a public breakfast, April 5,
1742. Walpole describes the high fashion of Ranelagh:
"The prince, princess, duke, much nobility, and much
mob besides, were there." "My Lord Chesterfield is
so fond of it, that he says he has ordered all his letters
to be directed thither." The admission was one shilling;
but the ridottos, with supper and music, were one guinea.
Concerts were also given here: Dr. Arne composed the
music, Tenducci and Mara sang; and here were first
publicly performed the compositions of the Catch Club.
Fireworks and a mimic Etna were next introduced; and
lastly masquerades, described in Fielding's Amelia, and
satirized in the Connoisseur, No. 66, May 1, 1755;
wherein the Sunday-evening's tea-drinkings at Ranelagh
being laid aside, it is proposed to exhibit "the story of
the Fall of Man in a Masquerade."
But the promenade of the Rotunda, to the music of the
orchestra and organ, soon declined. "There's your famous
Ranelagh, that you make such a fuss about; why,
what a dull place is that!" says Miss Burney's Evelina.
In 1802, the Installation Ball of the Knights of the Bath
was given here; and the Pic-nic Society gave here a
breakfast to 2000 persons, when Garnerin ascended in
his balloon. After the Peace Fête, in 1803, for which
allegorical scenes were painted by Capon, Ranelagh was
deserted, and in 1804, the buildings were removed.
There was subsequently opened in the neighbourhood
a New Ranelagh.
This property was formerly known as Chelsea Farm,
and in 1803, devolved to the Viscount Cremorne, after
whom it was named, and who employed Wyatt to build
the elegant and commodious mansion. In the early part
of the present century, Cremorne was often visited by
George III., and Queen Charlotte, and the Prince of
Wales. In 1825, the house and grounds devolved to
Mr. Granville Penn, by whom they were much improved.
Next, the beauty of the spot, and its fitness for a pleasure-garden,
led to its being opened to the public as
"the Stadium." After this, the estate fell into other
hands, and was appropriated to a very different object.
At length, under the proprietorship of Mr. T. B. Simpson,
the grounds were laid out with taste, and the tavern
enlarged; and the place has prospered for many years
as a sort of Vauxhall, with multitudinous amusements,
in variety far outnumbering the old proto-gardens.
Upon the site of which is built the northern portion of
Buckingham Palace, was planted by order of James I.,
in 1609, and in the next two reigns became a public
garden. Evelyn describes it in 1654 as "ye only place
of refreshment about ye towne for persons of ye best
quality to be exceedingly cheated at;" and Pepys refers
to it as "a silly place," but with "a wilderness somewhat
pretty." It is a favourite locality in the gay comedies
of Charles II.'s reign.
Dryden frequented the Mulberry Garden; and according
to a contemporary, the poet ate tarts there with
Mrs. Anne Reeve, his mistress. The company sat in
arbours, and were regaled with cheesecakes, syllabubs,
and sweetened wine; wine-and-water at dinner, and a
dish of tea afterwards. Sometimes the ladies wore masks.
"The country ladys, for the first month, take up their
places in the Mulberry Garden as early as a citizen's
wife at a new play."—Sir Charles Sedley's Mulberry
Garden, 1668.
"A princely palace on that space does rise,
Where Sedley's noble muse found mulberries."—Dr. King.
Upon the above part of the garden site was built Goring
House, let to the Earl of Arlington in 1666, and
thence named Arlington House: in this year the Earl
brought from Holland, for 60s., the first pound of tea
received in England; so that, in all probability, the first
cup of tea made in England was drunk upon the site of
Buckingham Palace.
Pimlico is a name of gardens of public entertainment,
often mentioned by our early dramatists, and in this
respect resembles "Spring Garden." In a rare tract,
Newes from Hogsdon, 1598, is: "Have at thee, then, my
merrie boys, and hey for old Ben Pimlico's nut-browne!"
and the place, in or near Hoxton, was afterwards named
from him. Ben Jonson has:
"A second Hogsden,
In days of Pimlico and eye-bright."—The Alchemist.
"Pimlico-path" is a gay resort of his Bartholomew Fair;
and Meercraft, in The Devil is an Ass, says:
"I'll have thee, Captain Gilthead, and march up
And take in Pimlico, and kill the bush
At every tavern."
In 1609, was printed a tract entitled Pimlyco, or Prince
Red Cap, 'tis a Mad World at Hogsden. Sir Lionel
Hash, in Green's Tu Quoque, sends his daughter "as far
as Pimlico for a draught of Derby ale, that it may bring
colour into her cheeks." Massinger mentions,
"Eating pudding-pies on a Sunday,
At Pimlico or Islington."—City Madam.
Aubrey, in his Surrey, speaks of "a Pimlico Garden on
Bankside."
Pimlico, the district between Knightsbridge and the
Thames, and St. James's Park and Chelsea, was noted
for its public gardens: as the Mulberry Garden, now
part of the site of Buckingham Palace; the Dwarf Tavern
and Gardens, afterwards Spring Gardens, between Ebury-street
and Belgrave-terrace; the Star and Garter, at the
end of Five-Fields-row, famous for its equestrianism,
fireworks, and dancing; and the Orange, upon the site
of St. Barnabas' church. Here, too, were Ranelagh and
New Ranelagh. But the largest garden in Pimlico was
Jenny's Whim, already described. In later years it was
frequented by crowds from bull-baiting in the adjoining
fields. Among the existing old signs are, the Bag o' Nails,
Arabella-row, from Ben Jonson's "Bacchanals;" the
Compasses, of Cromwell's time (near Grosvenor-row);
and the Gun Tavern and Tea-gardens, Queen's-row, with
its harbours and costumed figures taken down for the
Buckingham Gate improvements. Pimlico is still noted
for its ale-breweries.
On the south bank of the Thames, at the time of the
Restoration, were first laid out the New Spring Gardens,
at Lambeth (Vauxhall), so called to distinguish them
from Spring Garden, Charing Cross. Nearly two centuries
of gay existence had Vauxhall Gardens, notwithstanding
the proverbial fickleness of our climate, and its
ill-adaptation for out-door amusements. The incidents
of its history are better known than those of Marylebone
or Ranelagh Gardens; so that we shall not here repeat
the Vauxhall programmes. The gardens were finally
closed in 1859, and the ground is now built upon: a
church, of most beautiful design, and a school of art,
being the principal edifices.
"Though Vauxhall Gardens retained their plan to the
last, the lamps had long fallen off in their golden fires;
the punch got weaker, the admission-money less; and the
company fell in a like ratio of respectability, and grew
dingy, not to say raffish,—a sorry falling-off from the
Vauxhall crowd of a century since, when it numbered
princes and ambassadors; 'on its tide and torrent of
fashion floated all the beauty of the time; and through
its lighted avenues of trees glided cabinet ministers and
their daughters, royal dukes and their wives, and all the
red-heeled macaronies.' Even fifty years ago, the evening
costume of the company was elegant: head-dresses of
flowers and feathers were seen in the promenade, and
the entire place sparkled as did no other place of public
amusement. But low prices brought low company. The
conventional wax-lights got fewer; the punch gave way
to fiery brandy or doctored stout. The semblance of
Vauxhall was still preserved in the orchestra printed
upon the plates and mugs; and the old fire-work bell
tinkled as gaily as ever. But matters grew more seedy;
the place seemed literally worn out; the very trees were
scrubby and singed; and it was high time to say, as
well as see, in letters of lamps, 'Farewell for ever!'"[52]
Several other taverns and gardens have existed at
different times in this neighbourhood. Cumberland
Gardens' site is now Vauxhall Bridge-road, and Cuper's
Garden was laid out with walks and arbours by Boydell
Cuper, gardener to Thomas, Earl of Arundel, who gave
him some of the mutilated Arundelian marbles (statues),
which Cuper set up in his ground: it was suppressed in
1753: the site is now crossed by Waterloo Bridge Road.
Belvidere House and Gardens adjoined Cuper's Garden,
in Queen Anne's reign.
The Hercules Inn and Gardens occupied the site of
the Asylum for Female Orphans, opened in 1758; and
opposite were the Apollo Gardens and the Temple of
Flora, Mount-row, opened 1788. A century earlier
there existed, in King William's reign, Lambeth Wells,
in Three Coney Walk, now Lambeth Walk; it was reputed
for its mineral waters, sold at a penny a quart,
"the same price paid by St. Thomas's Hospital." About
1750 a Musical Society was held here, and lectures and
experiments were given on natural philosophy by Erasmus
King, who had been coachman to Dr. Desaguliers.
In Stangate-lane, Carlisle-street, is the Bower Saloon,
with its theatre and music-room, a pleasure-haunt of
our own time. Next is Canterbury Hall, the first established
of the great Music Halls of the metropolis.
The Dog and Duck was a place of entertainment in
St. George's Fields, where duck-hunting was one of its
brutal amusements. The house was taken down upon
the rebuilding of Bethlehem Hospital; and the sign-stone,
representing a dog squatting upon his haunches, with a
duck in his mouth, with the date 1617, is imbedded in
the brick wall of the Hospital garden, upon the site of
the entrance to the old tavern; and at the Hospital is a
drawing of the Dog and Duck: it was a resort of Hannah
More's "Cheapside Apprentice."
Bermondsey Spa, a chalybeate spring, discovered about
1770, was opened, in 1780, as a minor Vauxhall, with
fireworks, pictures of still life, and a picture-model of the
Siege of Gibraltar, painted by Keyse, the entire apparatus
occupying about four acres. He died in 1800, and
the garden was shut up about 1805. There are Tokens
of the place extant, and the Spa-road is named from it.
A few of the old Southwark taverns have been described.
From its being the seat of our early Theatres,
the houses of entertainment were here very numerous,
in addition to the old historic Inns, which are fast disappearing.
In the Beaufoy collection are several Southwark
Tavern Tokens; as—The Bore's Head, 1649 (between
Nos. 25 and 26 High-street). Next also is a
Dogg and Dvcke token, 1651 (St. George's Fields); the
Greene Man, 1651 (which remains in Blackman-street);
ye Bull Head Taverne, 1667, mentioned by Edward Alleyn,
founder of Dulwich College, as one of his resorts;
Duke of Suffolk's Head, 1669; and the Swan with Two
Necks.
Mr. Elmes, in his admirable work, Sir Christopher
Wren and his Times, 1852, thus glances at the position
of Freemasonry in the Metropolis two centuries since,
or from the time of the Great Fire:
"In 1666 Wren was nominated deputy Grand Master
under Earl Rivers, and distinguished himself above all
his predecessors in legislating for the body at large, and
in promoting the interests of the lodges under his immediate
care. He was Master of the St. Paul's Lodge,
which, during the building of the Cathedral, assembled
at the Goose and Gridiron in St. Paul's Churchyard,
and is now the Lodge of Antiquity, acting by immemorial
prescription, and regularly presided at its meetings
for upwards of eighteen years. During his presidency
he presented that Lodge with three mahogany
candlesticks, beautifully carved, and the trowel and
mallet which he used in laying the first stone of the
Cathedral, June 21, 1675, which the brethren of that
ancient and distinguished Lodge still possess and duly
appreciate.
"During the building of the City, Lodges were held
by the fraternity in different places, and several new ones
constituted, which were attended by the leading architects
and the best builders of the day, and amateur
brethren of the mystic craft. In 1674 Earl Rivers resigned
his grand-mastership, and George Villiers, Duke
of Buckingham, was elected to the dignified office. He
left the care of the Grand Lodge and the brotherhood
to the deputy Grand Master Wren and his Wardens.
During the short reign of James II., who tolerated no
secret societies but the Jesuits, the Lodges were but
thinly attended; but in 1685, Sir Christopher Wren
was elected Grand Master of the Order, and nominated
Gabriel Cibber, the sculptor, and Edward Strong, the
master mason at St. Paul's and other of the City
churches, as Grand Wardens. The Society has continued
with various degrees of success to the present day,
particularly under the grand-masterships of the Prince
of Wales, afterwards King George IV.,[53] and his brother,
the late Duke of Sussex, and since the death of the
latter, under that of the Earl of Zetland; and Lodges
under the constitution of the Grand Lodge of England
are held in every part of the habitable globe, as its
numerically and annually-increasing lists abundantly
show."
Sir Francis Palgrave, in an elaborate paper in the
Edinburgh Review, April, 1839, however, takes another
view of the subject, telling us that "the connexion between
the operative masons,[54] and those whom, without
disrespect, we must term a convivial society of good
fellows, met at the 'Goose and Gridiron, in St. Paul his
Churchyard,' appears to have been finally dissolved
about the beginning of the eighteenth century. The
theoretical and mystic, for we dare not say ancient,
Freemasons, separated from the Worshipful Company
of Masons and Citizens of London about the period
above mentioned. It appears from an inventory of the
contents of the chest of the London Company, that not
very long since, it contained 'a book wrote on parchment,
and bound or stitched in parchment, containing
113 annals of the antiquity, rise, and progress of the
art and mystery of Masonry.' But this document is
not now to be found."
There is in existence, and known to persons who take
an interest in the History of Freemasonry, a copperplate
List of Freemasons' Lodges in London in the
reign of Queen Anne, with a representation of the
Signs, and some Masonic ceremony, in which are eleven
figures of well-dressed men, in the costume of the above
period. There were then 129 Lodges, of which 86 were
in London, 36 in English cities, and seven abroad.
Freemasonry evidently sprang up in London at the
building of St. Paul's; and many of the oldest Lodges
are in the neighbourhood. But the head-quarters of
Freemasonry, are the Grand Hall, in the rear of Freemasons'
Tavern, 62, Great Queen-street, Lincoln's Inn
Fields: it was commenced May 1, 1775, from the designs
of Thomas Sandby, R.A., Professor of Architecture in
the Royal Academy: 5000l. was raised by a Tontine
towards the cost; and the Hall was opened and dedicated
in solemn form, May 23, 1776; Lord Petre,
Grand-Master. "It is the first house built in this
country with the appropriate symbols of masonry, and
with the suitable apartments for the holding of lodges,
the initiating, passing, raising, and exalting of brethren."
Here are held the Grand and other lodges, which hitherto
assembled in the Halls of the City Companies.
Freemasons' Hall, as originally decorated, is shown
in a print of the annual procession of Freemasons'
Orphans, by T. Stothard, R.A. It is a finely-proportioned
room, 92 feet by 43 feet, and 60 feet high;
and will hold 1500 persons: it was re-decorated in 1846:
the ceiling and coving are richly decorated; above the
principal entrance is a large gallery, with an organ; and
at the opposite end is a coved recess, flanked by a pair of
fluted Ionic columns, and Egyptian doorways; the sides
are decorated with fluted Ionic pilasters; and throughout
the room in the frieze are masonic emblems, gilt
upon a transparent blue ground. In the intercolumniations
are full-length royal and other masonic portraits,
including that of the Duke of Sussex, as Grand-Master,
by Sir W. Beechey, R.A. In the end recess is a marble
statue of the Duke of Sussex, executed for the Grand
Lodge, by E. H. Baily, R.A. The statue is seven feet
six inches high, and the pedestal six feet; the Duke wears
the robes of a Knight of the Garter, and the Guelphic
insignia: at his side is a small altar, sculptured with
masonic emblems.
At what period the lovers of good living first went to
eat Whitebait at "the taverns contiguous to the places
where the fish is taken," is not very clear. At all
events, the houses did not resemble the Brunswick, the
West India Dock, the Ship, or the Trafalgar, of the
present day, these having much of the architectural
pretension of a modern club-house.
Whitebait have long been numbered among the delicacies
of our tables; for we find "six dishes of Whitebait"
in the funeral feast of the munificent founder of
the Charterhouse, given in the Hall of the Stationers'
Company, on May 28, 1612—the year before the Globe
Theatre was burnt down, and the New River completed.
For aught we know these delicious fish may have been
served up to Henry VIII. and Queen Elizabeth in their
palace at Greenwich, off which place, and Blackwall
opposite, Whitebait have been for ages taken in the
Thames at flood-tide. To the river-side taverns we
must go to enjoy a "Whitebait dinner," for, one of the
conditions of success is that the fish should be directly
netted out of the river into the cook's cauldron.
About the end of March, or early in April, Whitebait
make their appearance in the Thames, and are then
small, apparently but just changed from the albuminous
state of the young fry. During June, July, and August,
immense quantities are consumed by visitors to the
different taverns at Greenwich and Blackwall.
Pennant says: Whitebait "are esteemed very delicious
when fried with fine flour, and occasion during the
season a vast resort of the lower order of epicures to
the taverns contiguous to the places where they are
taken." If this account be correct, there must have
been a strange change in the grade of the epicures frequenting
Greenwich and Blackwall since Pennant's
days; for at present, the fashion of eating Whitebait is
sanctioned by the highest authorities, from the Court
of St. James's Palace in the West, to the Lord Mayor
and his court in the East; besides the philosophers of
the Royal Society, and her Majesty's Cabinet Ministers.
Who, for example, does not recollect such a paragraph
as the following, which appeared in the Morning Post
of the day on which Mr. Yarrell wrote his account of
Whitebait, September 10th, 1835?—
"Yesterday, the Cabinet Ministers went down the
river in the Ordnance barges to Lovegrove's West India
Dock Tavern, Blackwall, to partake of their annual fish
dinner. Covers were laid for thirty-five gentlemen."
For our own part, we consider the Ministers did not
evince their usual good policy in choosing so late a
period as September; the Whitebait being finer eating
in July or August; so that their "annual fish dinner"
must rather be regarded as a sort of prandial wind-up
of the parliamentary session than as a specimen of refined
epicurism.
We remember many changes in matters concerning
Whitebait at Greenwich and Blackwall. Formerly, the
taverns were mostly built with weather-board fronts,
with bow-windows, so as to command a view of the
river. The old Ship, and the Crown and Sceptre,
taverns at Greenwich were built in this manner; and
some of the Blackwall houses were of humble pretensions:
these have disappeared, and handsome architectural
piles have been erected in their places. Meanwhile,
Whitebait have been sent to the metropolis, by railway,
or steamer, where they figure in fishmongers' shops, and
tavern cartes of almost every degree.
Perhaps the famed delicacy of Whitebait rests as
much upon its skilful cookery as upon the freshness of
the fish. Dr. Pereira has published the mode of cooking
in one of Lovegrave's "bait-kitchens" at Blackwall.
The fish should be dressed within an hour after being
caught, or they are apt to cling together. They are
kept in water, from which they are taken by a skimmer
as required; they are then thrown upon a layer of flour,
contained in a large napkin, in which they are shaken
until completely enveloped in flour; they are then put
into a colander, and all the superfluous flour is removed
by sifting; the fish are next thrown into hot lard contained
in a copper cauldron or stew-pan placed over a
charcoal fire; in about two minutes they are removed
by a tin skimmer, thrown into a colander to drain, and
served up instantly, by placing them on a fish-drainer
in a dish. The rapidity of the cooking process is of the
utmost importance; and if it be not attended to, the
fish will lose their crispness, and be worthless. At table,
lemon juice is squeezed over them, and they are seasoned
with Cayenne pepper; brown bread and butter is substituted
for plain bread; and they are eaten with iced
champagne, or punch.
The origin of the Ministers' Fish Dinner, already
mentioned, has been thus pleasantly narrated:
Every year, the approach of the close of the Parliamentary
Session is indicated by what is termed "the
Ministerial Fish Dinner," in which Whitebait forms a
prominent dish; and Cabinet Ministers are the company.
The Dinner takes place at a principal tavern,
usually at Greenwich, but sometimes at Blackwall: the
dining-room is decorated for the occasion, which partakes
of a state entertainment. Formerly, however, the
Ministers went down the river from Whitehall in an
Ordnance gilt barge: now, a government steamer is employed.
The origin of this annual festivity is told as
follows. On the banks of Dagenham Lake or Reach, in
Essex, many years since, there stood a cottage, occupied
by a princely merchant named Preston, a baronet
of Scotland and Nova Scotia, and sometime M.P. for
Dover. He called it his "fishing cottage," and often
in the spring he went thither, with a friend or two, as
a relief to the toils of parliamentary and mercantile
duties. His most frequent guest was the Right Hon.
George Rose, Secretary of the Treasury, and an Elder
Brother of the Trinity House. Many a day did these
two worthies enjoy at Dagenham Reach; and Mr. Rose
once intimated to Sir Robert, that Mr. Pitt, of whose
friendship they were both justly proud, would, no doubt,
delight in the comfort of such a retreat. A day was
named, and the Premier was invited; and he was so
well pleased with his reception at the "fishing cottage"—they
were all two if not three bottle men—that, on
taking leave, Mr. Pitt readily accepted an invitation for
the following year.
For a few years, the Premier continued a visitor to
Dagenham, and was always accompanied by Mr. George
Rose. But the distance was considerable; the going
and coming were somewhat inconvenient for the First
Minister of the Crown. Sir Robert Preston, however,
had his remedy, and he proposed that they should in
future dine nearer London. Greenwich was suggested:
we do not hear of Whitebait in the Dagenham dinners,
and its introduction, probably, dates from the removal
to Greenwich. The party of three was now increased to
four; Mr. Pitt being permitted to bring Lord Camden.
Soon after, a fifth guest was invited—Mr. Charles Long,
afterwards Lord Farnborough. All were still the guests
of Sir Robert Preston; but, one by one, other notables
were invited,—all Tories—and, at last, Lord Camden
considerately remarked, that, as they were all dining at
a tavern, it was but fair that Sir Robert Preston should
be relieved from the expense. It was then arranged
that the dinner should be given, as usual, by Sir Robert
Preston, that is to say, at his invitation; and he insisted
on still contributing a buck and champagne: the rest
of the charges were thenceforth defrayed by the several
guests; and, on this plan, the meeting continued to
take place annually till the death of Mr. Pitt.
Sir Robert was requested, next year, to summon the
several guests, the list of whom, by this time, included
most of the Cabinet Ministers. The time for meeting
was usually after Trinity Monday, a short period before
the end of the Session. By degrees, the meeting, which
was originally purely gastronomic, appears to have assumed,
in consequence of the long reign of the Tories,
a political, or semi-political character. Sir Robert
Preston died; but Mr. Long, now Lord Farnborough,
undertook to summon the several guests, the list of
whom was furnished by Sir Robert Preston's private
secretary. Hitherto, the invitations had been sent
privately: now they were dispatched in Cabinet boxes,
and the party was, certainly, for some time, limited to
the Members of the Cabinet. A dinner lubricates ministerial
as well as other business; so that the "Ministerial
Fish Dinner" may "contribute to the grandeur
and prosperity of our beloved country."
The following Carte is from the last edition of the
Art of Dining, in Murray's Railway Reading:—
Fish Dinner at Blackwall or Greenwich.
| |
|
La tortue à l'Anglaise. |
| |
|
La bisque d'écrevisses. |
| |
|
Le consommé aux quenelles de merlan. |
| |
|
De tortue claire. |
|
Les casseroles de green fat feront le tour de la table. |
| |
|
Les tranches de saumon (crimped). |
| |
|
Le poisson de St. Pierre à la crême. |
| |
|
Le zoutchet |
de perches. |
| |
|
" |
de truites. |
| |
|
" |
de flottons. |
| |
|
" |
de soles (crimped). |
| |
|
" |
de saumon. |
| |
|
" |
d'anguilles. |
| |
|
Les lamproies à la Worcester. |
| |
|
Les croques en bouches de laitances de maquereau. |
| |
|
Les boudins de merlans à la reine. |
Garnis
de
persil
frit. |
{
|
Les soles menues frites. |
| Les petits carrelets frites. |
| Croquettes de homard. |
| Les filets d'anguilles. |
| |
|
La truite saumonée à la Tartare. |
| |
|
Le whitebait: id. à la diable. |
Second Service.
Les petits poulets au cresson—le jambonneau aux épinards.
La Mayonnaise de filets de soles—les filets de merlans
à l'Arpin.
Les petits pois à l'Anglaise—les artichauts à la Barigoule.
La gelée de Marasquin aux fraises—les pets de nonnes.
Les tartelettes aux cerises—les célestines à la fleur d'orange.
Le baba à la compôte d'abricots—le fromage Plombière.
Mr. Walker, in his Original, gives an account of a
dinner he ordered, at Lovegrove's, at Blackwall, where
if you never dined, so much the worse for you:—
"The party will consist of seven men besides myself, and
every guest is asked for some reason—upon which good fellowship
mainly depends; for people brought together unconnectedly
had, in my opinion, better be kept separately. Eight I
hold the golden number, never to be exceeded without weakening
the efficacy of concentration. The dinner is to consist of
turtle, followed by no other fish but Whitebait, which is to be
followed by no other meat but grouse, which are to be succeeded
simply by apple-fritters and jelly, pastry on such occasions being
quite out of place. With the turtle, of course, there will be
punch; with the Whitebait, champagne; and with the grouse,
claret; the two former I have ordered to be particularly well
iced, and they will all be placed in succession upon the table, so
that we can help ourselves as we please. I shall permit no other
wines, unless, perchance, a bottle or two of port, if particularly
wanted, as I hold variety of wines a great mistake. With respect
to the adjuncts, I shall take care that there is cayenne,
with lemons cut in halves, not in quarters, within reach of every
one, for the turtle, and that brown bread and butter in abundance
is set upon the table for the Whitebait. It is no trouble
to think of these little matters beforehand, but they make a
vast difference in convivial contentment. The dinner will be
followed by ices, and a good dessert, after which coffee and one
glass of liqueur each, and no more; so that the present may be
enjoyed without inducing retrospective regrets. If the master
of a feast wish his party to succeed, he must know how to command;
and not let his guests run riot, each according to his own
wild fancy."
Situated about the middle of the western side of
Bishopsgate-street. Within, presents in its frontage a
mezzanine-storey, and lofty Venetian windows, reminding
one of the old-fashioned assembly-room façade.
The site of the present tavern was previously occupied
by the White Lion Tavern, which was destroyed in an
extensive fire on the 7th of November, 1765; it broke
out at a peruke-maker's opposite; the flames were
carried by a high wind across the street, to the house
immediately adjoining the tavern, the fire speedily
reaching the corner; the other angles of Cornhill,
Gracechurch-street, and Leadenhall-street, were all on
fire at the same time, and fifty houses and buildings
were destroyed and damaged, including the White Lion
and Black Lion Taverns.
Upon the site of the former was founded "The London
Tavern," on the Tontine principle; it was commenced
in 1767, and completed and opened in September, 1768;
Richard B. Jupp, architect. The front is more than
80 feet wide by nearly 70 feet in height.
The Great Dining-room, or "Pillar-room," as it is
called, is 40 feet by 33 feet, decorated with medallions
and garlands, Corinthian columns and pilasters. At
the top of the edifice is the ball-room, extending the
whole length of the structure, by 33 feet in width and
30 feet in height, which may be laid out as a banqueting-room
for 300 feasters; exclusively of accommodating
150 ladies as spectators in the galleries at each end.
The walls are throughout hung with paintings; and the
large room has an organ.
The Turtle is kept in large tanks, which occupy a
whole vault, where two tons of turtle may sometimes be
seen swimming in one vat. We have to thank Mr.
Cunningham for this information, which is noteworthy,
independently of its epicurean association,—that "turtles
will live in cellars for three months in excellent condition
if kept in the same water in which they were
brought to this country. To change the water is to
lessen the weight and flavour of the turtle." Turtle
does not appear in bills of fare of entertainments given
by Lord Mayors and Sheriffs between the years 1761
and 1766; and it is not till 1768 that turtle appears by
name, and then in the bill of the banquet at the Mansion
House to the King of Denmark. The cellars, which
consist of the whole basement storey, are filled with
barrels of porter, pipes of port, butts of sherry, etc.
Then there are a labyrinth of walls of bottle ends, and
a region of bins, six bottles deep; the catacombs of Johannisberg,
Tokay, and Burgundy. "Still we glide on
through rivers of sawdust, through embankments of
genial wine. There are twelve hundred of champagne
down here; there are between six and seven hundred
dozen of claret; corked up in these bins is a capital of
from eleven to twelve thousand pounds; these bottles
absorb, in simple interest at five per cent., an income
amounting to some five or six hundred pounds per
annum."[55] "It was not, however, solely for uncovering
these floods of mighty wines, nor for luxurious feasting
that the London Tavern was at first erected, nor for
which it is still exclusively famous, since it was always
designed to provide a spacious and convenient place for
public meetings. One of the earliest printed notices
concerning the establishment is of this character, it
being the account of a meeting for promoting a public
subscription for John Wilkes, on the 12th of February,
1769, at which 3000l. were raised, and local committees
appointed for the provinces. In the Spring season such
meetings and committees of all sorts are equally numerous
and conflicting with each other, for they not
unfrequently comprise an interesting charitable election
or two; and in addition the day's entertainments are
often concluded with more than one large dinner, and
an evening party for the lady spectators.
"Here, too, may be seen the hasty arrivals of persons
for the meetings of the Mexican Bondholders on
the second-floor; of a Railway assurance 'up-stairs, and
first to the left;' of an asylum election at the end of
the passage; and of the party on the 'first-floor to the
right,' who had to consider of 'the union of the Gibbleton
line to the Great-Trunk-Due-Eastern-Junction.'
"For these business meetings the rooms are arranged
with benches, and sumptuously Turkey-carpeted; the
end being provided with a long table for the directors,
with an imposing array of papers and pens,
"'The morn, the noon, the day is pass'd' in the
reports, the speeches, the recriminations and defences
of these parties, until it is nearly five o'clock. In the
very same room the Hooping Cough Asylum Dinner is
to take place at six; and the Mexican Bondholders are
stamping and hooting above, on the same floor which
in an hour is to support the feast of some Worshipful
Company which makes it their hall. The feat appears
to be altogether impossible; nevertheless, it must and
will be most accurately performed."
The Secretary has scarcely bound the last piece of
red tape round his papers, when four men rush to the
four corners of the Turkey carpet, and half of it is
rolled up, dust and all. Four other men with the half
of a clean carpet bowl it along in the wake of the one
displaced. While you are watching the same performance
with the remaining half of the floor, a battalion
of waiters has fitted up, upon the new half carpet, a
row of dining-tables and covered them with table-cloths.
While in turn you watch them, the entire apartment is
tabled and table-clothed. Thirty men are at this work
upon a system, strictly departmental. Rinse and three
of his followers lay the knives; Burrows and three more
cause the glasses to sparkle on the board. You express
your wonder at this magical celerity. Rinse moderately
replies that the same game is going on in the other four
rooms; and this happens six days out of the seven in
the dining-room.
When the Banquet was given to Mr. Macready in
February, 1851, the London Tavern could not accommodate
all the company, because there were seven
hundred and odd; and the Hall of Commerce was taken
for the dinner. The merchants and brokers were transacting
business there at four o'clock; and in two hours,
seats, tables, platforms, dinner, wine, gas, and company,
were all in. By a quarter before six everything was
ready, and a chair placed before each plate. Exactly at
six, everything was placed upon the table, and most of
the guests were seated.
For effecting these wonderful evolutions, it will be
no matter of surprise that we are told that an army of
servants, sixty or seventy strong, is retained on the
establishment; taking on auxiliary legions during the
dining season.
The business of this gigantic establishment is of such
extent as to be only carried on by this systematic means.
Among the more prominent displays of its resources
which take place here are the annual Banquets of the
officers of some twenty-eight different regiments, in the
month of May. There are likewise given here a very
large number of the annual entertainments of the different
Charities of London. Twenty-four of the City
Companies hold their Banquets here, and transact official
business. Several Balls take place here annually.
Masonic Lodges are held here; and almost innumerable
Meetings, Sales, and Elections for Charities alternate
with the more directly festive business of the London
Tavern. Each of the departments of so vast an establishment
has its special interest. We have glanced at
its dining-halls, and its turtle and wine cellars.[56] To
detail its kitchens and the management of its stores and
supplies, and consumption, would extend beyond our
limit, so that we shall end by remarking that upon no
portion of our metropolis is more largely enjoyed the
luxury of doing good, and the observance of the rights
and duties of goodfellowship, than at the London Tavern.
This sumptuous hotel, the reader need scarcely be
informed, takes its name from its being built upon a
portion of the gardens of Clarendon House gardens, between
Albemarle and Bond streets, in each of which the
hotel has a frontage. The house was, for a short term,
let to the Earl of Chatham, for his town residence.
The Clarendon contains series of apartments, fitted
for the reception of princes and their suites, and for nobility.
Here are likewise given official banquets on the
most costly scale.
Among the records of the house is the menu of the
dinner given to Lord Chesterfield, on his quitting the
office of Master of the Buckhounds, at the Clarendon.
The party consisted of thirty; the price was six guineas
a head; and the dinner was ordered by Count D'Orsay,
who stood almost without a rival amongst connoisseurs
in this department of art:—
"Premier Service.
"Potages.—Printanier: à la reine: turtle.
"Poissons.—Turbot (lobster and Dutch sauces): saumon à la
Tartare: rougets à la cardinal: friture de morue: whitebait.
"Relevés.—Filet de bœuf à la Napolitaine: dindon à la chipolata:
timballe de macaroni: haunch of venison.
"Entrées.—Croquettes de volaille: petits pâtés aux huîtres:
côtelettes d'agneau: purée de champignons: côtelettes d'agneau
aux points d'asperge: fricandeau de veau à l'oseille: ris de veau
piqué aux tomates: côtelettes de pigeons à la Dusselle: chartreuse
de légumes aux faisans: filets de cannetons à la Bigarrade:
boudins à la Richelieu: sauté de volaille aux truffes: pâté de
mouton monté.
"Côté.—Bœuf rôti: jambon: salade.
"Second Service.
"Rôts.—Chapons, quails, turkey poults, green goose.
"Entremets.—Asperges: haricot à la Française: mayonnaise
de homard: gelée Macédoine: aspics d'œufs de pluvier: Charlotte
Russe: gelée au Marasquin: crême marbre: corbeille de
pâtisserie: vol-au-vent de rhubarb: tourte d'abricots: corbeille
des meringues: dressed crab: salade au gélantine.—Champignons
aux fines herbes.
"Relevés.—Soufflé à la vanille: Nesselrode pudding: Adelaide
sandwiches: fondus. Pièces montées," etc.
The reader will not fail to observe how well the
English dishes,—turtle, whitebait, and venison,—relieve
the French in this dinner: and what a breadth,
depth, solidity, and dignity they add to it. Green goose,
also, may rank as English, the goose being held in little
honour, with the exception of its liver, by the French;
but we think Comte D'Orsay did quite right in inserting
it. The execution is said to have been pretty nearly on
a par with the conception, and the whole entertainment
was crowned with the most inspiriting success. The
price was not unusually large.[57]
This well-appointed tavern, built by William Tyler,
in 1786, and since considerably enlarged, in addition to
the usual appointments, possesses the great advantage
of Freemasons' Hall, wherein take place some of our
leading public festivals and anniversary dinners, the
latter mostly in May and June. Here was given the
farewell dinner to John Philip Kemble, upon his retirement
from the stage, in 1817; the public dinner, on his
birthday, to James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, in 1832;
Mollard, who has published an excellent Art of Cookery,
was many years Maître d'Hôtel, and proprietor of the
Freemasons' Tavern.
In the Hall meet the Madrigal Society, the Melodists'
and other musical clubs: and the annual dinners of the
Theatrical Fund, Artists' Societies, and other public institutions,
are given here.
Freemasons' Hall has obtained some notoriety as
the arena in which were delivered and acted the
Addresses at the Anniversary Dinners of the Literary
Fund, upon whose eccentricities we find the following
amusing note in the latest edition of the Rejected
Addresses:—
"The annotator's first personal knowledge of William
Thomas Fitzgerald, was at Harry Greville's Pic-Nic
Theatre, in Tottenham-street, where he personated
Zanga in a wig too small for his head. The second time
of seeing him was at the table of old Lord Dudley, who
familiarly called him Fitz, but forgot to name him in his
will. The Viscount's son, however, liberally supplied the
omission by a donation of five thousand pounds. The
third and last time of encountering him was at an anniversary
dinner of the Literary Fund, at the Freemasons'
Tavern. Both parties, as two of the stewards, met their
brethren in a small room about half-an-hour before
dinner. The lampooner, out of delicacy, kept aloof from
the poet. The latter, however, made up to him, when
the following dialogue took place:
"Fitzgerald (with good humour). 'Mr. ——, I mean
to recite after dinner,'
"Mr. ——. 'Do you?'
"Fitzgerald. 'Yes: you'll have more of God bless
the Regent and the Duke of York!'
"The whole of this imitation, (one of the Rejected
Addresses,) after a lapse of twenty years, appears to the
authors too personal and sarcastic; but they may shelter
themselves under a very broad mantle:—
"Let hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
His creaking couplets in a tavern-hall."—Byron.
"Fitzgerald actually sent in an address to the Committee
on the 31st of August, 1812. It was published
among the other Genuine Rejected Addresses, in one
volume, in that year. The following is an extract:—
"The troubled shade of Garrick, hovering near,
Dropt on the burning pile a pitying tear."
"What a pity that, like Sterne's recording angel, it
did not succeed in blotting the fire out for ever! That
falling, why not adopt Gulliver's remedy?"
Upon the "Rejected," the Edinburgh Review notes:—"The
first piece, under the name of the loyal Mr. Fitzgerald,
though as good we suppose as the original, is not
very interesting. Whether it be very like Mr. Fitzgerald
or not, however, it must be allowed that the vulgarity,
servility, and gross absurdity of the newspaper
scribblers is well rendered."
This extensive establishment has long been famed for
its good dinners, and its excellent wines. Here take
place the majority of the banquets of the Corporation of
London, the Sheriffs' Inauguration Dinners, as well as
those of Civic Companies and Committees, and such
festivals, public and private, as are usually held at taverns
of the highest class.
The farewell Dinners given by the East India Company
to the Governors-General of India, usually take
place at the Albion. "Here likewise (after dinner) the
annual trade sales of the principal London publishers
take place," revivifying the olden printing and book
glories of Aldersgate and Little Britain.
The cuisine of the Albion has long been celebrated for
its recherché character. Among the traditions of the tavern
it is told that a dinner was once given here, under the
auspices of the gourmand Alderman Sir William Curtis,
which cost the party between thirty and forty pounds
apiece. It might well have cost twice as much, for
amongst other acts of extravagance, they dispatched a
special messenger to Westphalia to choose a ham. There
is likewise told a bet as to the comparative merits of the
Albion and York House (Bath) dinners, which was to
have been formally decided by a dinner of unparalleled
munificence, and nearly equal cost at each; but it became
a drawn bet, the Albion beating in the first course,
and the York House in the second. Still, these are reminiscences
on which, we frankly own, no great reliance
is to be placed.
Lord Southampton once gave a dinner at the Albion,
at ten guineas a head; and the ordinary price for the
best dinner at this house (including wine) is three
guineas.[58]
This new building which is externally concealed by
houses, except the fronts, in Piccadilly and Regent-street,
consists of a greater Hall and two minor Halls, which
are let for Concerts, Lectures, etc., and also form part of
the Tavern establishment, two of the Halls being used
as public dining-rooms. The principal Hall, larger than
St. Martin's, but smaller than Exeter Hall, is 140 feet
long, 60 feet wide, and 60 feet high. At one end is
a semicircular recess, in which stands the large organ.
The noble room has been decorated by Mr. Owen Jones
with singularly light, rich, and festive effect: the
grand feature being the roof, which is blue and white,
red and gold, in Alhambresque patterns. The lighting
is quite novel, and consists of gas-stars, depending from
the roof, which thus appears spangled.
The superb decoration and effective lighting, render
this a truly festive Hall, with abundant space to set
off the banquet displays. The first Public Dinner was
given here on June 2, 1858, when Mr. Robert Stephenson,
the eminent engineer, presided, and a silver
salver and claret-jug, with a sum of money—altogether
in value 2678l.—were presented to Mr. F. Petit Smith,
in recognition of his bringing into general use the
System of Screw Propulsion; the testimonial being
purchased by 138 subscribers, chiefly eminent naval
officers, ship-builders, ship-owners, and men of science.
In the following month, (20th of July,) a banquet
was given here to Mr. Charles Kean, F.S.A., in testimony
of his having exalted the English theatre—of his
public merits and private virtues. The Duke of Newcastle
presided: there was a brilliant presence of guests,
and nearly four hundred ladies were in the galleries.
Subsequently, in the Hall was presented to Mr. Kean
the magnificent service of plate, purchased by public
subscription.
The success of these intellectual banquets proved a
most auspicious inauguration of St. James's Hall for—
"The feast of reason and the flow of soul."
Among these establishments, the Eagle, in the City-road,
deserves mention. It occupies the site of the
Shepherd and Shepherdess, a tavern and tea-garden of
some seventy-five years since. To the Eagle is annexed
a large theatre.
Sadler's Wells was, at one period, a tavern theatre,
where the audience took their wine while they sat and
witnessed the performances.
