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Title: A Walk from London to Fulham
Author: Croker, Thomas Crofton, 1798-1854
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.

*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "A Walk from London to Fulham" ***

                                  A WALK
                          From London to Fulham

                               BY THE LATE
                 THOMAS CROFTON CROKER, F.S.A., M.R.I.A.

                      REVISED AND EDITED BY HIS SON,
                  T. F. DILLON CROKER, F.S.A., F.R.G.S.

                          F. W. FAIRHOLT, F.S.A.

                         [Picture: Illustration]

                          LONDON: WILLIAM TEGG.


Note by T. F. Dillon Croker.                                    v
Dedication to Thomas Wright, Esq., M.A., F.S.A.                 vii
Memoir of the late Thomas Crofton Croker, F.S.A., M.R.I.A.,     ix
Text of ‘A Walk from London to Fulham.’                         22
Index of Places.                                                250
Index of Names of Persons.                                      253


A series of papers which originally appeared in ‘Fraser’ are now, for the
first time, published in a collected form with the consent of the
proprietors of that Magazine.  It should, however, be stated, that this
is not a mere reprint, but that other matter has been inserted, and
several illustrations, which did not appear originally, are now added, by
which the work is very materially increased: the whole having undergone a
necessary revision.

Since the late Mr. Crofton Croker contributed to ‘Fraser’ the ‘Walk from
London to Fulham,’ there have been many important changes on the road:
time has continued to efface interesting associations; more old houses
have been pulled down, new ones built up, and great alterations and
improvements have taken place not contemplated a few years ago.  It would
be impossible, for example, that any one who has not visited the locality
during the last few years could recognize the narrow lanes of yesterday
in the fine roads now diverging beyond the South Kensington Museum, which
building has so recently been erected at the commencement of Old
Brompton; but modern improvements are seemingly endless, and have of late
become frequent.  It is in the belief that the following pages will be an
interesting and acceptable record of many places no longer in existence,
that they are submitted to the public in their present shape by

                                                      T. F. DILLON CROKER.

                    THOMAS WRIGHT, ESQ., M.A., F.S.A.


As a mark of sincere regard to an old and esteemed friend of my late
Father, I offer these pages to you.

                                                    Yours most faithfully,

                                                      T. F. DILLON CROKER.

19 _Pelham Place_,
      _Brompton_, 1860.


The late eminent genealogist, Sir W. Betham of Dublin, Ulster
King-at-Arms, well known as the author of numerous works on the
Antiquities of Ireland, and Mr. Richard Sainthill, an equally zealous
antiquary still living in Cork, were two of the most intimate friends and
correspondents of the late Mr. Crofton Croker.

The first-named gentleman drew up an elaborate table tracing the Croker
pedigree as far back as the battle of Agincourt.  The Croker crest—“Deus
alit eos”—was granted to Sir John Croker, who accompanied Edward IV. on
his expedition to France in 1475, as cup and standard-bearer; but without
going back to the original generation, or tracing the Limerick or any
other branch of the family, it will be sufficient to say here that the
Crokers, if they did not “come over with William the Conqueror” came
originally from Devonshire, and settled in Ireland in the reign of
Elizabeth.  Thomas Crofton Croker was the only son of Thomas Croker, who,
after twenty-five years of arduous and faithful military service in North
America, Holland, and Ireland, and after having purchased every step in
the army, was gazetted brevet-major on the 11th May, 1802, in the same
regiment which he had at first joined (the 38th, or 1st Staffordshire
Foot), and in which he had uninterruptedly served.  Indeed, he was so
much attached to his regiment, that, in his case at least, the
Staffordshire knot became perfectly symbolic.  The closer the knot was
drawn the firmer the tie became.  He commenced, continued, and ended an
honourable life of activity in the service of his country from mere
boyhood, until ill-health and a broken constitution forced him to sell
his commission.  Thomas Croker was the eldest son of Richard Croker, of
Mount Long in the county of Tipperary, who died on the 1st January, 1771;
and his mother was Anne, the daughter of James Long of Dublin, by the
Honourable Mary Butler, daughter of Theobald the seventh Earl of Cahir.
Thomas Croker was born on the 29th March, 1761.  In 1796 he married
Maria, eldest daughter and co-heir of Croker Dillon of Baltidaniel in the
county of Cork, and on the 15th January, 1798, Thomas Crofton Croker was
born at the house of his maternal grandmother in Buckingham Square, Cork,
receiving his first Christian name after his father, and his second after
his godfather, the Honourable Sir E. Crofton, Bart.

While very young, during the years 1812 and 1815, Crofton Croker made
several excursions in the south of Ireland, studying the character and
traditions of the country, on which occasions he was frequently
accompanied by Mr. Joseph Humphreys, a Quaker, afterwards master of the
Deaf and Dumb Institution at Claremont near Dublin.  In 1813 he was
placed with the mercantile firm of Messrs. Lecky and Mark, and in 1817 he
appeared as an exhibitor in the second exhibition of the Cork Society,
for he had already displayed considerable talent as an artist.  In 1818
he contributed to an ephemeral production called ‘The Literary and
Political Examiner:’ on the 22nd March of that year his father died, and
he left Ireland, not to revisit it until he made a short excursion there
in 1821 with Alfred Nicholson and Miss Nicholson (who afterwards became
Mrs. Croker), children of the late Mr. Francis Nicholson, one of the
founders of the English water-colour school, and who died in 1844 at the
patriarchal age of ninety-one years.

Crofton Croker’s first visit to England was paid to Thomas Moore in
Wiltshire; and soon after his establishing in London he received from the
late Right Hon. John Wilson Croker an appointment at the Admiralty, of
which office his namesake (but no relation) was secretary, and from which
he (Crofton) retired in 1850 as senior clerk of the first class, having
served upwards of thirty years, thirteen of which were passed in the
highest class.  This retirement, although he stood first for promotion to
the office of chief clerk, was compulsory upon a reduction of office, and
was not a matter of private convenience.  In 1830 Crofton Croker married
Miss Marianne Nicholson, and the result of their union was an only child,
Thomas Francis Dillon Croker, born 26th August, 1831, the writer of the
present memoir.

The literary labours of Crofton Croker were attended with more gratifying
results than his long and unwearied official services.  The ‘Researches
in the South of Ireland’ (1824), an arrangement of notes made during
several excursions between the years 1812 and 1822, was his first
important work.  It was published by John Murray, the father of the
present publisher of the ‘Quarterly Review,’ and contained illustrations
by Mr. Alfred and Miss Nicholson: with the ‘Fairy Legends,’ however, the
name of Crofton Croker became more especially associated, the first
edition of which appeared anonymously in 1825, and produced a
complimentary letter from Sir Walter Scott, which has been published in
all subsequent editions.  The success of the first edition of the legends
was such as immediately to justify a second, which appeared the next
year, illustrated with etchings after sketches by Maclise, and which was
followed by a second series (Parts 2 and 3) in 1827.  The third part,
although it appeared under the same title, namely ‘Fairy Legends and
Traditions of the South of Ireland,’ may be considered as forming almost
a separate work, inasmuch as it comprised the fairy superstitions of
Wales and other countries, in addition to those current in Ireland.  A
translation of the legends by the Brothers Grimm appeared in Germany in
1825, and another in Paris in 1828 (‘Les Contes Irlandais, précédés d’une
introduction par M. P. A. Dufau’), but it was not until 1834 that Murray
published them in a condensed form in his ‘Family Library,’ the copyright
of which edition, as revised by the author, was purchased of Murray by
the late Mr. Tegg, and is now published by his son.  In October, 1826,
Croker was introduced to Sir Walter Scott at Lockhart’s in Pall Mall.
Sir Walter recorded the interview thus:—“At breakfast Crofton Croker,
author of the Irish fairy tales—little as a dwarf, keen-eyed as a hawk,
and of easy, prepossessing manners, something like Tom Moore.  Here were
also Terry, Allan Cunningham, Newton, and others.”  At this meeting, Sir
Walter Scott suggested the adventures of Daniel O’Rourke as the subject
for the Adelphi pantomime, and, at the request of Messrs. Terry and
Yates, Croker wrote a pantomime founded upon the legend, which was
produced at the Adelphi the same year.  It succeeded, and underwent two
editions: the second was published in 1828, uniform with the legends, and
entitled ‘Daniel O’Rourke; or, Rhymes of a Pantomime, founded on that
Story.’  Croker wrote to his sister (Mrs. Eyre Coote, alive at the
present time) the following account of the breakfast party at Lockhart’s,
which, though already published in ‘The Gentleman’s Magazine’ (November,
1854), is sufficiently interesting to be repeated.  He first mentions
“the writing and preparing for the Adelphi Theatre a Christmas pantomime
from the renowned adventures of Daniel O’Rourke, two or three meetings
with Sir Walter Scott, some anxious experiments in lithography under the
directions of Mr. Coindet, one of the partners of Englemann’s house of
Paris, who has lately opened an establishment here, which will be of the
utmost importance to the advancement of the art in this country, and of
which I hope soon to send you specimens.”  Then he adds: “To tell half
the kindness and attention which I received from Sir Walter Scott would
be impossible.  The breakfast party at Lockhart’s consisted of Allan
Cunningham, Terry (the actor), Newton (the artist), a Dr. Yates of
Brighton, Captain, Mr., and Mrs. Lockhart, Miss Scott, Mr. Hogg, and your
humble servant.  We had all assembled when Sir Walter entered the room.
Maclise’s sketch does not give his expression, although there is
certainly a strong likeness—a likeness in it which cannot be mistaken;
but I have a very rough profile sketch in pen and ink by Newton, which is
admirable, and which some time or other I will copy and send you.  When I
was introduced to the ‘Great Unknown’ I really had not the power of
speaking; it was a strange feeling of embarrassment, which I do not
remember having felt before in so strong a manner; and of course to his
‘I am glad to see you, Mr. Croker, you and I are not unknown to each
other,’ I could say nothing.  He contrived to say something neat to every
one in the kindest manner—a well-turned compliment, without, however, the
slightest appearance of flattery—something at which every one felt
gratified.  After speaking for a few moments to Mr. Terry and Allan
Cunningham, he returned to where I stood fixed and ‘mute as the monument
on Fish Street Hill;’ but I soon recovered the use of my tongue from the
easy manner in which he addressed me, and no longer seemed to feel myself
in the presence of some mighty and mysterious personage.  He spoke
slowly, with a Scotch accent, and in rather a low tone of voice, so much
so, indeed, that I found it difficult to catch every word.  He mentioned
my ‘Fairy Legends,’ and hoped he should soon have the very great
enjoyment of reading the second volume.  ‘You are our—I speak of the
Celtic nations’ (said Sir Walter)—‘great authority now on fairy
superstition, and have made Fairy Land your kingdom; most sincerely do I
hope it may prove a golden inheritance to you.  To me,’ (continued Sir
Walter) ‘it is the land of promise of much future entertainment.  I have
been reading the German translation of your tales and the Grimms’ very
elaborate introduction.’  Mr. Terry mentioned having received from me
Daniel O’Rourke in the shape of a Christmas pantomime.  ‘It is an
admirable subject,’ said Sir Walter, ‘and if Mr. Croker has only
dramatized it with half the skill of tricking up old wives’ tales which
he has shown himself to possess, it must be, and I prophesy, although I
have not seen it, it will be as great a golden egg in your nest, Terry,
as Mother Goose was to one of the greater theatres some years ago.’  He
then repeated by heart part of the conversation between Dan and the
Eagle, with great zest.  I must confess it was most sweet from such a
man.  But really I blush, or ought to blush, at writing all this
flattery.”  Here the origin of Maclise’s illustrations to the legends is
thus given by the editor of the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine.’  “The artist, who
had not then quitted his native city of Cork, was a frequent visitor to
Mr. Sainthill (the author of ‘Olla Podrida’), at the time that the first
edition of the work appeared.  Mr. Sainthill read the tales aloud from
time to time in the evening, and Maclise would frequently, on the next
morning, produce a drawing of what he had heard.  These were not seen by
Mr. Croker until his next visit to Cork: but when he did see them he was
so much pleased with them that he prevailed upon Mr. Sainthill to allow
them to be copied for his forthcoming edition: and this was done by
Maclise, and the drawings were engraved by W. H. Brooke, and Maclise’s
name was not attached to them, but merely mentioned by Mr. Croker in his

Scott made favourable mention of the ‘Fairy Legends’ in the collected
edition of the ‘Waverley Novels’ published in 1830.  In a note on Fairy
Superstitions to Chapter XI. of ‘Rob Roy,’ speaking of the elfin
traditions peculiar to the wild scenery where Avon Dhu or the River Forth
has its birth, he observes: “The opinions entertained about these beings
are much the same with those of the Irish, so exquisitely well narrated
by Mr. Crofton Croker.”  Again, in his ‘Letters on Demonology and
Witchcraft,’ Scott says: “We know from the lively and entertaining
legends published by Mr. Crofton Croker, which, though in most cases,
told with the wit of the editor and the humour of his country, contain
points of curious antiquarian information” as to what the opinions of the
Irish are.  And again, speaking of the Banshee: “The subject has been so
lately and beautifully investigated and illustrated by Mr. Crofton Croker
and others, that I may dispense with being very particular regarding it.”
This was indeed gratifying from such an authority.  The late Thomas
Haynes Bayley dedicated to Crofton Croker a volume entitled ‘Songs from
Fairy Land.’

Having dwelt at considerable length upon the legends, the required limits
of this notice will not permit more than a reference to the literary
works of Mr. Croker which succeeded them; and as there is but occasion
for their enumeration, they shall be here given in the order of their
appearance, merely premising that the tales of ‘Barney Mahoney’ and ‘My
Village _versus_ Our Village,’ were not by Mr. Croker, although they bore
his name: they were, in reality, written by Mrs. Croker.  The list stands

1828–9.  ‘The Christmas-Box, an Annual Present for Children, a collection
of Tales edited by Mr. Croker, and published by Harrison Ainsworth’ (Sir
Walter Scott, Lockhart, Ainsworth, Maria Edgeworth, and Miss Mitford were
among the contributors).

1829.  ‘Legends of the Lakes; or, Sayings and Doings at Killarney,
collected chiefly from the Manuscripts of R. Adolphus Lynch, Esq., H. P.
King’s German Legion, with illustrations by Maclise (Ebers).’  A second
edition, compressed into one volume as a guide to the Lakes, appeared in
1831.  (Fisher.)

From this time Croker became contributor to the ‘Gentleman’s’ and
‘Fraser’s’ Magazines.  In 1832 he was a steward at the famous literary
dinner given to Hogg the Ettrick Shepherd.

1835.  ‘Landscape Illustrations to Moore’s Irish Melodies, with Comments
for the Curious.’  (Only one number appeared.)  (Power.)

1837.  ‘A Memoir of Joseph Holt, General of the Irish Rebels in 1798.
From Holt’s Autobiographical MS. in the possession of Sir W. Betham.’

‘The Journal of a Tour through Ireland in 1644, translated from the
French of M. de la Boullaye le Gouz, assisted by J. Roche, Father Prout,
and Thomas Wright.’  (Boone.)  Dedicated to the elder Disraeli, “in
remembrance of much attention and kindness received from him many years
ago;” which dedication was cordially responded to by that author.

1839.  ‘The Popular Songs of Ireland.’  (Colburn.)

1843.  A Description of Rosamond’s Bower, Fulham {18} (the residence of
Mr. Croker for eight years), with an inventory of the pictures,
furniture, curiosities, etc., etc.  (Privately printed.)

It was here that Moore, Rogers, Maria Edgeworth, Lucy Aikin, “Father
Prout” (Mahony), Barham (Ingoldsby), Sydney Smith, Jerdan, Theodore Hook,
Lover, Planché, Lords Braybrooke, Strangford, and Northampton, Sir G.
Back, John Barrow, Sir Emerson Tennent, Wyon, Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall, T.
Wright, and many others were the guests of Mr. Croker.  One room in the
house was fitted up as a Museum, where such visitors delighted to

During subsequent years Mr. Croker produced several minor works on
antiquarian and popular subjects, some of them printed for private
circulation among his friends, and others as contributions to the
different societies of which he was a member.  He died at his residence,
3, Gloucester Road, Old Brompton, on the 8th of August, 1854, aged 57,
and was buried in the private grave of his father-in-law, Mr. Francis
Nicholson, in the Brompton Cemetery, a sketch of which, by Mr. Fairholt,
appears in these pages.  It should not be forgotten that Mr. Crofton
Croker was a contributor to the ‘Amulet,’ ‘Literary Souvenir,’ and
‘Friendship’s Offering,’ as well as (more extensively) to the ‘Literary
Gazette,’ when that journal possessed considerable influence under the
editorship of W. Jerdan.  Mr. Croker also edited for the Camden and Percy
Societies (in the formation of which he took an active part) many works
of antiquarian interest.  He was connected, also, with the British
Archæological Association as one of the secretaries (1844–9) under the
presidency of Lord Albert Conyngham (the late Lord Londesborough).  That
recently-deceased nobleman was one of Mr. Croker’s most attached friends,
and opposite his Lordship’s pew in Grimston church, Yorkshire, a neat
marble tablet was erected bearing the following inscription: “In memory
of Thomas Crofton Croker, Esq., the amiable and accomplished author of
the ‘Fairy Legends of Ireland,’ and other works, Literary and
Antiquarian.  This tablet is erected by his friend Lord Londesborough,

To enumerate all the societies and institutions of which Crofton Croker
was a member, honorary or otherwise, would in these pages be superfluous;
but one society shall be here especially mentioned as originating with
Mr. Croker and a few members of the Society of Antiquaries.  In 1828 a
club was established, composed of a select few F.S.A.’s, in consequence
of an excursion during the summer to the site, which, in the time of the
Romans, had been occupied by the city of Noviomagus.  In a field at
Keston, near Bromley Common in Kent, Mr. Croker had learned that the
remains of a Roman building were apparent above the grass, and it was to
ascertain this fact that the excursion was undertaken.  An excavation was
made, and a few fragments of Roman pottery and a stone coffin were
discovered.  From this circumstance the club was called the Noviomagian
Society.  Mr. Croker was elected its president, and although most of the
original members had died off, he continued in that office until within a
very few months of his death.  There are amongst them at the present time
many highly-valued friends of their late president, who succeed in
keeping up their meetings in the true Noviomagian spirit.  Long may they
be spared to assemble together, occasionally introducing fresh life to
the little society, that its pleasant gatherings may not be allowed to
die out!  A portrait of Mr. Croker was painted a few years before his
death by Mr. Stephen Pearce (the artist of the ‘Arctic Council’).  It is
a characteristic and an admirable likeness.  The next best is that in
Maclise’s well-known picture of ‘All Hallow Eve’ (exhibited in the Royal
Academy in 1833), on which Lover, in describing the engraving, has
remarked: “And who is that standing behind them?—he seems ‘far more
genteel’ than the rest of the company.  Why, ’tis Crofton Croker, or, as
he is familiarly called amongst his friends, ‘The honourable member for
fairy-land.’  There you are, Crofty, my boy! with your note-book in your
hand; and maybe you won’t pick up a trifle in such good company.”  It may
be added, that Mr. Croker was for many years one of the registrars of the
Royal Literary Fund.  And now, in drawing this slight sketch of Mr.
Croker’s life to a close, the writer hopes that it may not be an
uninteresting addition to the present volume.

                                                               T. F. D. C.



[Picture: Anyone] Obliged by circumstances to lead the life of a
pendulum, vibrating between a certain spot distant four miles from
London, and a certain spot just out of the smoke of the metropolis,—going
into town daily in the morning and returning in the evening,—may be
supposed, after the novelty has worn off, from the different ways by
which he can shape his course, to find little interest in his monotonous
movement.  Indeed, I have heard many who live a short distance from town
complain of this swinging backwards and forwards, or, rather, going
forwards and backwards over the same ground every day, as dull and
wearisome; but I cannot sympathise with them.  On the contrary, I find
that the more constantly any particular line of road is adhered to, the
more intimate an acquaintance with it is formed, and the more interesting
it becomes.

In some measure, this may be accounted for by studious habits; a
tolerable memory, apt to indulge in recollections of the past, and to
cherish rather than despise, when not impertinent, local gossip, which
re-peoples the district with its former inhabitants,—

   “Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale
   Oft up the tide of time I turn my sail,
   To view the fairy haunts of long-lost hours
   Blest with far greener shades—far fresher flowers.”

“We have all by heart,” observes the author of the _Curiosities of
Literature_, “the true and delightful reflection of Johnson on local
associations, where the scene we tread suggests to us the men or the
deeds which have left their celebrity to the spot.  ‘We are in the
presence of their fame, and feel its influence.’”  How often have I
fancied, if the walls by which thousands now daily pass without a glance
of recognition or regard, if those walls could speak, and name some of
their former inmates, how great would be the regret of many at having
overlooked houses which they would perhaps have made a pilgrimage of
miles to behold, as associated with the memory of persons whose names
history, literature, or art has embalmed for posterity, or as the scene
of circumstances treasured up in recollection!

If the feelings could be recalled, and faithfully recorded, which the
dull brick walls that I cannot help regarding with interest must have
witnessed, what a romantic chapter in the history of the human mind would
be preserved for study and reflection!—

   “Ay, beautiful the dreaming brought
      By valleys and green fields;
   But deeper feeling, higher thought,
      Is what the City yields.”

The difficulty, however, is incredible of procuring accurate information
as to any thing which has not been chronicled at the moment.  None but
those who have had occasion to search after a date, or examine into a
particular fact, can properly estimate their value, or the many inquiries
that have to be made to ascertain what at first view would appear to be
without embarrassment,—so deceptive is the memory, and so easy a thing is
it to forget, especially numbers and localities, the aspect and even
names of which change with a wonderful degree of rapidity in the progress
of London out of town.  Thus many places become daily more and more
confused, and at last completely lose their identity, to the regret of
the contemplative mind, which loves to associate objects with the
recollection of those who “have left their celebrity to the spot.”

These considerations have induced the writer to arrange his notes, and
illustrate them by such sketches as will aid the recognition of the
points mentioned, the appearance of which must be familiar to all who
have journeyed between London and Fulham,—a district containing, beside
the ancient village of that name, and remarkable as adjacent to the
country seat of the Bishop of London, two smaller villages, called Walham
Green and Parson’s Green.  The former of which stands on the main London
road, the latter on the King’s Road,—which roads form nearly parallel
lines between Fulham and the metropolis.  For all information respecting
the neighbourhood of Knightsbridge the reader may be referred to a
recently published work “The Memorials of the Hamlet of Knightsbridge,
with notices of its immediate neighbourhood,” by the late Henry George
Davis, edited by Charles Davis (Russell Smith).

From Knightsbridge, formerly a suburb, and now part of London, the main
roads to Fulham and Hammersmith branch off at the north end of Sloane
Street (about a quarter of a mile west of Hyde Park Corner), thus:—

                              [Picture: Map]

And at the south termination of Sloane Street, which is 3,299 feet in
length, the King’s Road commences from Sloane Square.

THE MAIN FULHAM ROAD passes for about a mile through a district called by
the general name of Brompton, which is a hamlet in the parish of
Kensington.  The house, No. 14 Queen’s Buildings, Knightsbridge, on the
left-hand or south side of the road, [Picture: Hooper’s Court] at the
corner of Hooper’s Court, occupied, when sketched in 1844, as two shops,
by John Hutchins, dyer, and Moses Bayliss, tailor, and now (1860) by
Hutchins alone, was, from 1792 to 1797 inclusive, the residence of Mr. J.
C. Nattes, an artist, who deserves notice as one of the sixteen by whose
association, in 1805, the first exhibition of water-colour paintings was

From 1792 to 1797 this house was described as No. 14 Queen’s Buildings,
Knightsbridge; but in the latter year the address was changed to No. 14
Knightsbridge Green. {25a}  In 1800 it was known as No. 14 Knightsbridge,
and in 1803 as No. 14 Queen’s Row, Knightsbridge. {25b}  In 1810 as
Gloucester Buildings, Brompton. {25c}  In 1811 as Queen’s Buildings.
{25d}  In 1828 as Gloucester Row. {25e}  In 1831 as Gloucester Buildings;
{25f} and it has now reverted to its original name of Queen’s Buildings,
_Knightsbridge_, in opposition to Queen’s Buildings, _Brompton_, the
division being Hooper’s Court, if, indeed, the original name was not
Queen’s _Row_, Knightsbridge, as this in 1772 was the address of William
Wynne Ryland (the engraver who was hanged for forgery in 1783).  When
houses began to be built on the same side of the way, beyond Queen’s
_Row_, the term “_Buildings_” appears to have been assumed as a
distinction from the row west of Hooper’s Court; which row would
naturally have been considered as a continuation, although, in 1786, the
Royal Academy Catalogue records Mr. J. G. Huck, an exhibitor, as residing
at No. 11 Gloster Row, Knightsbridge.

These six alterations of name within half a century, to say nothing of
the previous changes, illustrate the extreme difficulty which attends
precise local identification in London, and are merely offered at the
very starting point as evidence at least of the desire to be accurate.

About the year 1800, the late residence of Mr. Nattes became the lodgings
of Arthur Murphy, too well known as a literary character of the last
century to require here more than the mere mention of his name, even to
those who are accustomed to associate every thing with its pecuniary
value; as Murphy’s portrait, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds for Mr.
Thrale, sold at Christie’s in the sale of Mr. Watson Taylor’s pictures
(June, 1823), for £94 10s.  Murphy had prepared his translation of
Tacitus {26} for the press, at his house on Hammersmith Terrace (the last
at the west end); but declining health and circumstances induced his
removal into lodgings near London, at “14 Knightsbridge.”  From these
apartments “he soon removed to others in Brompton Row, where he did not
remain long, not liking the mistress of the house, but returned to his
former residence (No. 14), where he resided till the time of his death.”
In 1803, the late Lord Sidmouth (then Mr. Addington), conferred a pension
of £200 a-year on Murphy, “to mark the sense” his majesty entertained “of
literary merit, particularly when accompanied with sound principles and
unquestionable character;” which gracious mark of royal favour Murphy
acknowledged on the 2nd of March, from “14 Queen’s Row, Knightsbridge.”
Here he wrote his life of Garrick, {27a} a work which, notwithstanding
Mr. Foot’s ingenious defence of it, shews that Garrick’s life remains to
be written, and that Murphy’s intellectual powers were, at the time when
he composed it, in a state of decay.

Murphy, according to his biographer, “possessed the first and second
floors of a very pleasant, neat house, where there was a long gravel walk
in the garden; {27b} and though his library had been much diminished,
yet, in the remaining part, he took care to reserve the Elzevir editions
of the classics.  Mrs. Mangeon (the mistress of the house) was a neat and
intelligent woman, and Mr. Murphy secured her friendship by giving her
son a presentation to Christ’s Hospital.  Anne Dunn, his own
servant-maid, was an excellent servant, honest, faithful, and attentive;
so that, what with the services he had rendered to the mistress of the
house, and what with the intrinsic fidelity of his female domestic, he
could put the whole family into a state of requisition, and command an
elegant table, as well as ready attention, upon any particular occasion.
Such was the situation of a man of genius, and an author, in the decline
of a long life, and in a country at the highest pitch of grandeur and
wealth.  But it must be remembered, that the comforts he possessed were
not derived from the profits of literature.”

During the last year of Arthur Murphy’s life he possessed a certain
income of £500, and added to this was £150 for the copyright of his
Tacitus, which, however, was less than half the sum he had been
frequently offered for it.  The translation of Sallust, which Murphy left
unfinished, was completed by Thomas Moore, and published in 1807.

Murphy appears to have perfectly reconciled his mind to the stroke of
death.  He made his will thirteen days previous to it, and dictated and
signed plain and accurate orders respecting his funeral.  He directed his
library of books and all his pictures to be sold by auction, and the
money arising therefrom, together with what money he might have at his
bankers or in his strong box, he bequeathed to his executor, Mr. Jesse
Foot, of Dean Street, Soho.  To Mrs. Mangeon (his landlady) he gave “all
his prints in the room one pair of stairs and whatever articles of
furniture” he had in her house, “the bookcase excepted.”  And to his
servant, Anne Dunn, “twenty guineas, with all his linen and wearing
apparel.”  After the completion of this will, Murphy observed, “I have
been preparing for my journey to another region, and now do not care how
soon I take my departure.”  And on the day of his death (18th June, 1805)
he frequently repeated the lines of Pope:—

   “Taught, half by reason, half by mere decay,
   To welcome death and calmly pass away.”

All that we can further glean respecting the interior of Murphy’s
apartment is, that in it “there was a portrait of Dunning (Lord
Ashburton), a very striking likeness, painted in crayons by Ozias

Humphrey, who was portrait-painter in crayons to George III., and in 1790
was elected member of the Royal Academy, resided, in 1792 and 1793, at
No. 19 Queen’s Buildings, _Knightsbridge_; but whether this was the fifth
house beyond Nattes’, or the No. 19 Queen’s Buildings, now called
_Brompton Road_ (Mitchell’s, a linen-draper’s shop), I am unable, after
many inquiries, to determine.  It will be remembered that Dr. Walcott
(Peter Pindar) introduced Opie to the patronage of Humphrey, and there
are many allusions to “honest Ozias,” as he was called in the
contemporary literature.

   “But Humphrey, by whom shall your labours be told,
   How your colours enliven the young and the old?”

is the comment of Owen Cambridge; and Hayley says,

   “Thy graces, Humphrey, and thy colours clear,
   From miniatures’ small circle disappear;
   May their distinguished merit still prevail,
   And shine with lustre on the larger scale.”

A portrait of Ozias Humphrey, painted by Romney in 1772, is preserved at
Knowle, a memorial of the visit of those artists to the Duke of Dorset.
It has been twice engraved, and the private plate from it, executed by
Caroline Watson in 1784, is a work of very high merit.  In 1799 Humphrey
resided at No. 13 High Row, Knightsbridge, nearly opposite to the house
in which Murphy lodged, and there, with the exception of the last few
months, he passed the remainder of his life.

At No. 21 Queen’s Buildings (the second house beyond that occupied by
Ozias Humphrey), Mr. Thomas Trotter, an ingenious engraver and
draughtsman, resided in 1801.  He engraved several portraits, of which
the most esteemed are a head of the Rev. Stephen Whiston and a head of
Lord Morpeth.  Nearly the last work of his burin was a portrait of
Shakspeare, patronized by George Steevens.  Trotter died on the 14th
February, 1803, having been prevented from following his profession in
consequence of a blow on one of his eyes, accidentally received by the
fall of a flower-pot from a window.  He, however, obtained employment in
making drawings of churches and monuments for the late Sir Richard Hoare,
and other gentlemen interested in topographical illustration.

Queen’s Buildings, Brompton, are divided, rather than terminated, at No.
28 (Green’s, an earthenware-shop) by New Street, leading into Hans
Place—“snug Hans Place,” which possesses one house, at least, that all
literary pilgrims would desire to turn out of their direct road to visit.
Miss Landon, alluding to “the fascinations of Hans Place,” playfully
observes, “vivid must be the imagination that could discover them—

   ‘Never hermit in his cell,
   Where repose and silence dwell,
   Human shape and human word
   Never seen and never heard,’

had a life of duller calm than the indwellers of our square.”  Hans Place
may also be approached from Sloane Street, and No. 22 Hans Place, is the
south-east corner.  [Picture: No. 22 Hans Place] Among its inmates have
been Lady Caroline Lamb, {31} Miss Mitford, Lady Bulwer, Miss Landon,
Mrs. S. C. Hall, and Miss Roberts.  How much of the “romance and reality”
of life is in a moment conjured up in the mind by the mention of the
names here grouped in local association!

The editor of the memoirs of L. E. L. records two or three circumstances
which give a general interest to Hans Place.  Here it was that Miss
Landon was born on the 14th August, 1802, in the house now No. 25; and
“it is remarkable that the greater portion of L. E. L.’s existence was
passed on the spot where she was born.  From Hans Place and its
neighbourhood she was seldom absent, and then not for any great length of
time; until within a year or two of her death, she had there found her
home, not indeed in the house of her birth, but close by.  Taken
occasionally during the earlier years of childhood into the country, it
was to Hans Place she returned.  Here some of her school time was passed.
When her parents removed she yet clung to the old spot, and, as her own
mistress, chose the same scene for her residence.  When one series of
inmates quitted it, she still resided there with their successors,
returning continually after every wandering, ‘like a blackbird to his

The partiality of Miss Landon for London was extraordinary.  In a letter,
written in 1834, and addressed to a reverend gentleman, she ominously
says, “When I have the good luck or ill luck (I rather lean to the latter
opinion) of being married, I shall certainly insist on the wedding
excursion not extending much beyond Hyde Park Corner.”

When in her sixth year (1808), Miss Landon was sent to school at No. 22
Hans Place.  This school was then kept by Miss Bowden, who in 1801 had
published ‘A Poetical Introduction to the Study of Botany,’ {32a} and in
1810 a poem entitled ‘The Pleasures of Friendship.’ {32b}  Miss Bowden
became the Countess St. Quentin, and died some years ago in the
neighbourhood of Paris.  In this house, where she had been educated, Miss
Landon afterwards resided for many years as a boarder with the Misses
Lance, who conducted a ladies’ school.  “It seems,” observes the
biographer of L. E. L., “to have been appropriated to such purposes from
the time it was built, nor was L. E. L. the first who drank at the ‘well
of English’ within its walls.  Miss Mitford, we believe, was educated
there, and Lady Caroline Lamb was an inmate for a time.”

It is the remark of Miss Landon herself, that “a history of the how and
where works of imagination have been produced would often be more
extraordinary than the works themselves.”  “Her own case,” observes a
female friend, “is, in some degree, an illustration of perfect
independence of mind over all external circumstances.  Perhaps to the L.
E. L., of whom so many nonsensical things have been said, as that she
should write with a crystal pen, dipped in dew, upon silver paper, and
use for pounce the dust of a butterfly’s wing, a dilettante of literature
would assign for the scene of her authorship a fairy-like boudoir, with
rose-coloured and silver hangings, fitted with all the luxuries of a
fastidious taste.  How did the reality agree with this fancy sketch?
[Picture: Attic, No. 22 Hans Place] Miss Landon’s drawing-room, {33}
indeed, was prettily furnished, but it was her invariable habit to write
in her bed-room.  I see it now, that homely-looking, almost uncomfortable
room, fronting the street, and barely furnished with a simple white bed,
at the foot of which was a small, old, oblong-shaped, sort of
dressing-table, quite covered with a common worn writing-desk, heaped
with papers, while some strewed the ground, the table being too small for
aught besides the desk; a little high-backed cane chair, which gave you
any idea rather than that of comfort.  A few books scattered about
completed the author’s paraphernalia.”

In this attic did the muse of L. E. L. dream of and describe music,
moonlight, and roses, and “apostrophise loves, memories, hopes, and
fears,” with how much ultimate appetite for invention or sympathy may be
judged from her declaration that, “there is one conclusion at which I
have arrived, that a horse in a mill has an easier life than an author.
I am fairly fagged out of my life.”

Miss Roberts, who had resided in the same house with Miss Landon,
prefixed a brief memoir to a collection of poems by that lamented lady,
which appeared shortly after her death, her own mournful lines—

   “_Alas_! _hope is not prophecy_—_we dream_,
   _But rarely does the glad fulfilment come_;
   _We leave our land_, _and we return no more_.”

And within less than twenty months from the selection of these lines they
became applicable to her who had quoted them.

Emma Roberts accompanied her sister, Mrs. M’Naughten, to India, where she
resided for some time.  On her sister’s death Miss Roberts returned to
England, and employed her pen assiduously and advantageously in
illustrating the condition of our eastern dominions.  She returned to
India, and died at Poonah, on the 17th September, 1840.  Though
considerably the elder, she was one of the early friends of Miss Landon,
having for several years previous to her first visit to India boarded
with the Misses Lance in Hans Place.

    “These were happy days, and little boded the premature and melancholy
    fate which awaited them in foreign climes.  We believe,” says the
    editor of the ‘Literary Gazette,’ “that it was the example of the
    literary pursuits of Miss Landon which stimulated Miss Roberts to try
    her powers as an author, and we remember having the gratification to
    assist her in launching her first essay—an historical production,
    {35} which reflected high credit on her talents, and at once
    established her in a fair position in the ranks of literature.  Since
    then she has been one of the most prolific of our female writers, and
    given to the public a number of works of interest and value.  The
    expedition to India, on which she unfortunately perished, was
    undertaken with comprehensive views towards the further illustration
    of the East, and portions of her descriptions have appeared as she
    journeyed to her destination in periodicals devoted to Asiatic

The influence of Miss Landon’s literary popularity upon the mind of Miss
Roberts very probably caused that lady to desire similar celebrity.
Indeed, so imitative are the impulses of the human mind, that it may
fairly be questioned if Miss Landon would ever have attuned her lyre had
she mot been in the presence of Miss Mitford’s and Miss Rowden’s “fame,
and felt its influence.”  Miss Mitford has chronicled so minutely all the
sayings and doings of her school-days in Hans Place (H. P., as she
mysteriously writes it), that she admits us at once behind the scenes.
She describes herself as sent there (we will not supply the date, but
presume it to be somewhere about 1800) “a petted child of ten years old,
born and bred in the country, and as shy as a hare.”  The schoolmistress,
a Mrs. S---, “seldom came near us.  Her post was to sit all day, nicely
dressed, in a nicely-furnished drawing-room, busy with some piece of
delicate needlework, receiving mammas, aunts, and godmammas, answering
questions, and administering as much praise as she conscientiously
could—perhaps a little more.  In the school-room she ruled, like other
rulers, by ministers and delegates, of whom the French teacher was the
principal.”  This French teacher, the daughter of an _émigré_ of
distinction, left, upon the short peace of Amiens, to join her parents in
an attempt to recover their property, in which they succeeded.  Her
successor is admirably sketched by Miss Mitford; and the mutual antipathy
which existed between the French and English teacher, in whom we at once
recognise Miss Rowden:—

    “Never were two better haters.  Their relative situations had
    probably something to do with it, and yet it was wonderful that two
    such excellent persons should so thoroughly detest each other.  Miss
    R.’s aversion was of the cold, phlegmatic, contemptuous, provoking
    sort; she kept aloof, and said nothing.  Madame’s was acute, fiery,
    and loquacious; she not only hated Miss R., but hated for her sake
    knowledge, and literature, and wit, and, above all, poetry, which she
    denounced as _something fatal and contagious_, _like the plague_.”

Miss Mitford’s literary and dramatic tastes seem to have been acquired
from Miss Rowden, whom she describes as “one of the most charming women
that she had ever known:”—

    “The pretty word _graziosa_, by which Napoleon loved to describe
    Josephine, seemed made for her.  She was full of a delicate grace of
    mind and person.  Her little elegant figure and her fair mild face,
    lighted up so brilliantly by her large hazel eyes, corresponded
    exactly with the soft, gentle manners which were so often awakened
    into a delightful playfulness, or an enthusiasm more charming still,
    by the impulse of her quick and ardent spirit.  To be sure she had a
    slight touch of distraction about her (distraction French, not
    distraction English), an interesting absence of mind.  She united in
    her own person all the sins of forgetfulness of all the young ladies;
    mislaid her handkerchief, her shawl, her gloves, her work, her music,
    her drawing, her scissors, her keys; would ask for a book when she
    held it in her hand, and set a whole class hunting for her thimble,
    whilst the said thimble was quietly perched upon her finger.  Oh!
    with what a pitying scorn our exact and recollective Frenchwoman used
    to look down on such an incorrigible scatterbrain!  But she was a
    poetess, as Madame said, and what could you expect better!”

Such was Miss Landon’s schoolmistress; and under this lady’s especial
instruction did Miss Mitford pass the years 1802, 3, and 4; together they
read “chiefly poetry;” and “besides the readings,” says Miss Mitford,
“Miss R. compensated in another way for my unwilling application.  She
took me often to the theatre; whether as an extra branch of education, or
because she was herself in the height of a dramatic fever, it would be
invidious to inquire.  The effect may be easily foreseen; my enthusiasm
soon equalled her own; we began to read Shakspeare, and read nothing

In 1810 Miss Mitford first appeared as an authoress, by publishing a
volume of poems, which, in the course of the following year, passed into
a second edition.

At No. 21 Hans Place, the talented artistes, Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Wigan,
resided some time.

Returning from Hans Place to the Fulham Road through NEW STREET, No. 7
may he pointed out as the house formerly occupied by Chalon, “animal
painter to the royal family;” and No. 6 as the residence of the Right
Hon. David R. Pigot, the late Solicitor-General for Ireland, while (in
1824–25) studying in the chambers of the late Lord Chief-Justice Tindal,
for the profession of which his pupil rapidly became an eminent member.

BROMPTON was formerly an airy outlet to which the citizen, with his
spouse, were wont to resort for an afternoon of rustic enjoyment.  It had
also the reputation of being a locality favourable to intrigue.  Steele,
shrewdly writing on the 27th July, 1713, says:—

    “Dear Wife,—If you please to call at Button’s, we will go together to

                                                              “Yours ever,
                                                   “RICHARD STEELE.” {38a}

Now is Brompton all built or being built over, which makes the precise
locality of crescents and rows puzzling to old gentlemen.  Its heath is
gone, and its grove represented by a few dead trunks and some
unhealthy-looking trees which stand by the road-side, their branches
lopped and their growth restrained by order of the district surveyor; and
Brompton National School, nearly opposite to New Street, a building in
the Tudor style, was, in 1841, wedged in there “for the education of 400
children, after the design of Mr. George Godwin, jun.;” so at least the
newspapers of the day informed the public.

BROMPTON ROW on the north, or right-hand side of the main Fulham Road,
now consists of fifty-five respectable-looking houses, uniform, or nearly
so, in appearance; and, according to the statements in the ‘Gentleman’s
Magazine’ {38b} and Mr. Faulkner’s ‘History of Kensington’ {38c} here
died Arthur Murphy.  But although this was not the case, in Brompton Row
have lived and died authors, and actors, and artists, whose performances
deserve full as much consideration from posterity.

No. 14 BROMPTON ROW was the abode for more than ten years (1820 to 1831)
of John Vendramini, a distinguished engraver.  [Picture: No. 14 Brompton
Row] He was born at Roncade, near Bassano, in Italy, and died 8th
February, 1839, aged seventy.  Vendramini was a pupil of Bartolozzi,
under whom he worked for many years, and of the effect he produced upon
British art much remains to be said.  In 1805 Vendramini visited Russia,
and on his return to England engraved ‘The Vision of St. Catherine,’
after Paul Veronese; the ‘St. Sebastian,’ after Spagnoletti; ‘Leda,’
after Leonardo da Vinci; and the ‘Raising of Lazarus,’ from the Sebastian
del Piombo in the National Gallery.

No. 14 Brompton Row, in 1842, was the residence of the late Mr. George
Herbert Rodwell, a favourite musical and dramatic composer, who died
January 22nd, 1852.

At No. 23 Brompton Row resided Mr. Walter Hamilton, who, in 1819,
published, in two volumes 4to, ‘A Geographical, Statistical, and
Historical Description of Hindostan and the Adjacent Country;’ according
to Lowndes’ ‘Bibliographer’s Manual,’ “an inestimable compilation,
containing a more full, detailed, and faithful picture of the whole of
India than any former work on the subject.”  [Picture: Embellishment] Mr.
Hamilton subsequently lived for a short period at No. 8 Rawstorne Street,
which street divides No. 27 (a confectioner’s shop), and No. 28 (the
Crown and Sceptre) Brompton Row, opposite to the Red Lion (a public-house
of which the peculiar and characteristic style of embellishment could
scarcely have escaped notice at the time when the annexed sketch was
made, 1844, but which decoration was removed in 1849.)  Soon after his
return to his house in Brompton Row, Mr. Hamilton died there in July or
August, 1828.

Rawstorne Street leads to Montpellier Square (built about 1837).  In this
square, No. 11, resides Mr. F. W. Fairholt, the distinguished artist and
antiquary, to whose pencil and for much valuable information the editor
of these pages is greatly indebted; and No. 38 may be mentioned as the
residence of Mr. Walter Lacy the favourite actor.

Mrs. Liston, the widow of the comedian, resided at No. 35 Brompton Row,
and No. 45 was the residence of the ingenious Count Rumford, the early
patron of Sir Humphry Davy.  The Count occupied it between the years 1799
and 1802, when he finally left England for France, where he married the
widow of the famous chemist, Lavoisier, and died in 1814.  Count
Rumford’s name was Benjamin Thompson, or Thomson.  He was a native of the
small town of Rumford (now Concord, in New England), and obtained the
rank of major in the Local Militia.  In the war with America he rendered
important services to the officers commanding the British army, and
coming to England was employed by Lord George Germaine, and rewarded with
the rank of a provincial lieutenant-colonel, which entitled him to
half-pay.  [Picture: No. 45 Brompton Row] In 1784 he was knighted, and
officiated for a short time as one of the under-secretaries of state.  He
afterwards entered the service of the King of Bavaria, in which he
introduced various useful reforms in the civil and military departments,
and for which he was promoted to the rank of lieutenant-general, and
created a count.  At Munich, Count Rumford began those experiments for
the improvements of fire-places and the plans for the better feeding and
regulation of the poor, which have rendered his name familiar to every

    “As his own household hearth.”

No. 45 was distinguished some years ago by peculiar projecting windows,
now removed, outside of the ordinary windows—an experimental contrivance
by Count Rumford, it is said, for raising the temperature of his rooms.

The same house, in 1810, was inhabited by the Rev. William Beloe, the
translator of Herodotus, and the author of various works between the
years 1783 and 1812.  In his last publication, ‘The Anecdotes of
Literature,’ Mr. Beloe says, “He who has written and published not less
than forty volumes, which is my case, may well congratulate himself,
first, that Providence has graciously spared him for so long a period;
secondly, that sufficient health and opportunity have been afforded; and,
lastly, that he has passed through a career so extended and so perilous
without being seriously implicated in personal or literary hostilities.”
It is strange that a man who could feel thus should immediately have
entered upon the composition of a work which appeared as a posthumous
publication in 1817, under the title of ‘The Sexagenarian; or, the
Recollections of a Literary Life;’ and which contains the following

    “Dr. Parr branded Beloe as an ingrate and a slanderer.  He says, ‘The
    worthy and enlightened Archdeacon Nares disdained to have any concern
    in this infamous work.’  The Rev. Mr. Rennell, of Kensington, could
    know but little of Beloe; but, having read his slanderous book, Mr.
    R., who is a sound scholar, an orthodox clergyman, and a most
    animated writer, would have done well not to have written a sort of
    postscript.  From motives of regard and respect for Beloe’s amiable
    widow, Dr. Parr abstained from refuting B.’s wicked falsehoods; but
    Dr. Butler, of Shrewsbury, repelled them very ably in the ‘Monthly

At No. 46 Brompton Row, Mr. John Reeve, an exceedingly popular low
comedian, died, on the 24th of January, 1838, at the early age of forty.
Social habits led to habits of intemperance, and poor John was the
_Bottle Imp_ of every theatre he ever played in.  “The last time I saw
him,” says Mr. Bunn, in his ‘Journal of the Stage,’ “he was posting at a
rapid rate to a city dinner, and, on his drawing up to chat, I said,
‘Well, Reeve, how do you find yourself to-day?’ and he returned for
answer, ‘The lord-mayor _finds_ me to-day!’”

BROMPTON GROVE commences on the south, or left-hand side of the main
Fulham Road, immediately beyond the Red Lion (before mentioned as
opposite to 28 Brompton Row), and continues to the Bunch of Grapes
public-house, which was pulled down in August, and rebuilt in September,
1844, opposite to No. 54 Brompton Row, and in the wall of which
public-house was placed a stone, with “YEOMAN’S ROW, 1767,” engraved upon
it—the name of a street leading to the “Grange,” and, in 1794, the
address of Michael Novosielski, the architect of the Italian Opera House.
In that year he exhibited, in the Royal Academy, three architectural
designs, viz:—

“558.  Elevation of the Opera House, Haymarket;

“661.  Section of the New Concert Room at the Haymarket; and

“663.  Ceiling of the New Concert Room at the Opera House.”

But of Novosielski and the Grange more hereafter.

Brompton Grove now consists of two rows of houses, standing a little way
back from the main road, between which rows there was a green space
(1811), now occupied by shops, which range close to the footway, and have
a street, called Grove Place, in the centre.

_Upper Brompton Grove_, or that division of the Grove nearest London,
consists of seven houses, of which No. 4 was the abode of Major Shadwell
Clerke, who has reflected literary lustre upon the ‘United Service,’ by
the able and judicious manner in which he conducted for so many years the
periodical journal distinguished by that name.  Major Clerke died 19th
April, 1849.

_Lower Brompton Grove_ consisted of three houses only in 1844, numbered
8, 9, and 10; the 11 of former days being of superior size, and once
known as “Grove House.”  The 12, which stood a considerable way behind
it, as the “Hermitage,” and the 13, as the “House next to the Bunch of
Grapes,” all of which, except No. 8, claim a passing remark.

In No. 9, where he had long resided, died, on the 12th of August, 1842,
Mr. John Sidney Hawkins, at the age of eighty-five.  He was the eldest
son of Sir John Hawkins, the well-known author of the ‘History of Music,’
and one of the biographers of Dr. Johnson.  Mr. Hawkins was brother of
Letitia Matilda Hawkins, the popular authoress, and a lady of whom the
elder Disraeli once remarked, that she was “the redeeming genius of her
family.”  Mr. Hawkins, however, was an antiquary of considerable
learning, research, and industry; but his temper was sour and jealous,
and, throughout his whole and long literary career, from 1782 to 1814, he
appears to have been embroiled in trifling disputes and immaterial
vindications of his father or himself.

No. 10 Brompton Grove, now occupied by the “Sisters of Compassion,” was
the residence of James Petit Andrews, Esq., younger brother of Sir Joseph
Andrews, Bart., and one of the magistrates of Queen Square Police Office;
a gentleman remarkable for his humane feelings as well as for his
literary taste.  His exertions, following up those of Jonas Hanway, were
the occasion of procuring an Act of Parliament in favour of chimney-sweep
apprentices.  Mr. Andrews was the author of a volume of ancient and
modern anecdotes in 1789, to which a supplemental volume appeared the
following year.  He also published a ‘History of Great Britain, connected
with the Chronology of Europe;’ {45a} and a continuation of Henry’s
‘History of Great Britain:’ {45b} soon after the appearance of which he
died, on the 6th of August, 1797.

Grove House (called in 1809 and 1810, as already mentioned, No. 11
Brompton Grove), was, for many years, the residence of Sir John
Macpherson, Bart.; and here he died, at an advanced age, on the 12th of
January, 1821.

[Picture: Grove House]

In 1781 he was appointed Member of the Supreme Council of Bengal, and
when proceeding to the East Indies, in the ‘Valentine,’ Indiaman,
distinguished himself in an action with the French fleet in Praya Bay.
Sir John, who was a very large man, to encourage the sailors to stand to
their guns, promised and paid them from his own pocket five guineas a
man, which, coupled with his bravery during the action, so pleased the
seamen, that one of them swore “his soul must be as big as his body,” and
the jokes occasioned by this burst of feeling terminated only with Sir
John Macpherson’s life.  “Fine soles!—soles, a match for Macpherson’s!”
was a Brompton fishmonger’s greeting to Sir John, etc.  In the
neighbourhood of Brompton he was known by the _sobriquet_ of “the Gentle
Giant,” from his usually riding a very small pony, flourishing in the
most determined manner a huge oak stick over the little animal’s head,
but, of course, never touching it with his club.

Upon the after-dinner conversation at Grove House of Mr. Hugh Boyd rests
chiefly that gentleman’s claim to be considered as one of the many
authors of ‘Junius.’  His host, having temporarily retired from table,
Boyd’s words were, “that Sir John Macpherson little knew he was
entertaining in his mansion a political writer, whose sentiments were
once the occasion of a chivalrous appeal from Sir John to
arms,”—immediately adding, “_I am the author of ‘Junius_.’”  The will of
Sir John Macpherson is a remarkable document, and contains the following
tribute to the character of George IV.:—

    “I conclude this, my last will and testament, in expressing my early
    and unalterable admiration of his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales,
    the truly glorious reigning prince of the British empire; and I
    request my executors to wait upon his royal highness immediately
    after my decease, and to state to him, as I do now, that I have
    bequeathed to his royal highness my celebrated antique statue of
    Minerva, which he often admired, with any one of my antique rings
    that would please his royal highness.  I likewise request you to
    assure his royal highness that I will leave him certain papers, which
    prove to a demonstration that the glorious system which he has
    realised for his country and the world, in his difficult reign of
    eight years, was the early system of his heart and his ambition.”

The large room on the east side of Grove House, shown in the annexed
sketch, was used as the drawing-room, and measured thirty-two feet by
eighteen.  It was built by Sir John Macpherson for the purpose of
entertaining the Prince Regent.

[Picture: Grove House from the East (1844)]

Grove House was afterwards occupied by Mr. Wilberforce, who, in his diary
of the 2nd of July, 1823, notes, “Took possession of our new house at

Mr. Wilberforce remained there about a year, and his successor in the
tenancy was Mr. Jerdan, the agreeable and well-known editor of the
‘Literary Gazette’ (1817–50).  This house, pulled down in 1846, stood
upon the ground which now forms the road entrance to Ovington Square.

A narrow lane, which ran down by the west side of Grove House, led to the
Hermitage, a retreat of the much admired Madame Catalani during her
sojourn this country, and subsequently converted into an asylum for
insane persons.  This building was pulled down in 1844, and Grove Place
has been erected on its site.

[Picture: The Hermitage (1844)]

In the house (No. 13 Brompton Grove) which stood a little way back from
the road, between Grove House and the Grapes public-house, and which was
taken down in December, 1844, and in the previous June, when sketched,
occupied by a stone-mason, Mr. Banim lodged from May, 1822, to October,
1824.  [Picture: No. 13 Brompton Grove (1844)] While residing here, he
was engaged in contributing to and editing a short-lived weekly paper,
entitled the ‘Literary Register,’ the first number of which appeared on
the 6th of July, 1822, and which publication terminated with the
forty-fourth, on the 3rd of May, 1823, when Banim devoted his attention
to preparing the ‘Tales of the O’Hara Family’ for the press.  It is a
remarkable local coincidence, that Gerald Griffin, who

    “To his own mind had lived a mystery,”

the contemporary rival of Banim, as an Irish novelist and dramatist,
should have immediately succeeded him in the tenancy of “13 Brompton
Grove,” as this house was sometimes called.

    “About this period (1825) he [Griffin] took quiet, retired lodgings,
    at a house at Brompton, now a stonemason’s, close by Hermitage Lane,
    which separated it from the then residence of the editor of the
    ‘Literary Gazette,’ and a literary intercourse rather than a personal
    intimacy, though of a most agreeable nature, grew up between them.”

On the 10th of November, 1824, Griffin, writing to his brother, commences
a letter full of literary gossip with,—

    “Since my last I have visited Mr. J--- several times.  The last time,
    he wished me to dine with him, which I happened not to be able to do;
    and was very sorry for it, for his acquaintance is to me a matter of
    great importance, not only from the engine he wields—and a formidable
    one it is, being the most widely-circulated journal in Europe—but,
    also, because he is acquainted with all the principal literary
    characters of the day, and a very pleasant kind of man.”

To the honest support of the ‘Literary Gazette’ at this critical period
in Griffin’s life may be ascribed the struggle which he made for fame and
fortune through the blind path of literary distinction.  He came a raw
Irish lad to the metropolis, with indistinct visions of celebrity
floating through his poetical mind; or, as he candidly confesses

    “A young gentleman, totally unknown, even to a single family in
    London, with a few pounds in one pocket and a brace of tragedies in
    the other, supposing that the one will set him up before the others
    are exhausted,” which, he admits, “is not a very novel, but a very
    laughable, delusion.”

Banim’s kindness—his sympathy, indeed, for Griffin, deserves notice.

    “I cannot tell you here,” writes the latter, “the many, many
    instances in which Banim has shown his friendship since I wrote last;
    let it suffice to say, that he is the sincerest, heartiest, most
    disinterested being that breathes.  His fireside is the only one
    where I enjoy anything like social life or home.  I go out (to
    Brompton Grove) occasionally in an evening, and talk or read for some
    hours, or have a bed, and leave next day.”

Again, in a letter dated 31st of March, 1824, Griffin says:—

    “What would I have done if I had not found Banim?  I should have
    instantly despaired on ****’s treatment of me.  I should never be
    tired of talking about and thinking of Banim.  Mark me! he is a man,
    the only one I have met since I left Ireland, almost.  We walked over
    Hyde Park together on St. Patrick’s Day, and renewed our home
    recollections by gathering shamrocks, and placing them in our hats,
    even under the eye of John Bull.”

MICHAEL’S PLACE, on the same side of the way with the Bunch of Grapes, is
railed off from the main Fulham Road, although a public footpath admits
the passenger as far as No. 14.  It consists of forty-four houses, and
was a building speculation of Michael Novosielski, already mentioned,
whose Christian name it retains, having been commenced by him in 1786.
But the shells of his houses for many years remained unfinished, and in
1811, the two last houses (Nos. 43 and 44) of Michael’s Place were not
built.  Novosielski died at Ramsgate, in 1795; and his widow, for some
years after his death, occupied No. 13.

[Picture: No. 8 Michael’s Place] No. 8 Michael’s Place, to be recognized
by its bay-windows, was, for several years, the residence of the Rev. Dr.
Croly, now rector of St. Stephen’s, Walbrook, distinguished in the pulpit
by his eloquence, admired as a writer in almost every walk of English
literature, and respected and beloved by those who know him.  Croly’s
fame must live and die with our language, which he has grasped with an
unrivalled command.

BROMPTON SQUARE is opposite to the commencement of Michael’s Place, to
which it will be necessary to return, after a visit to the square.

At No. 6 has lived Mr. John Baldwin Buckstone, the actor-author, or
author-actor, so well known and esteemed by the public.  And at No. 14
has resided Mr. Edward Fitzwilliam, the musical composer, who died on the
19th of January, 1857, at the early age of 33.

No. 21 was, between the years 1829 and 1833, the residence of
Spagnoletti, the leader of the Opera band.  He was succeeded in the
tenancy by Mrs. Chatterly, a lively and accomplished actress, who
continued to occupy the same house after her marriage with Mr. Francis

[Picture: Nos. 22, 23, 24, Brompton Square] At No. 22 (which now belongs
to the well-known and much respected actor Mr. James Vining, and is at
present tenanted by Mr. Shirley Brooks) George Colman the younger died on
the 26th of October, 1836, at the age of 74, having removed to this house
from No. 5 Melina Place, Kent Road.  “He ceased to exist on the 17th of
October, 1836,” says his medical attendant, in a letter published in the
memoirs of the Colman family.  But this is an error, as on the 19th of
October he appears to have written to Mr. Bunn.  The last earthly
struggle of George Colman has been thus described:—

    “It has never fallen to my lot to witness in the hour of death so
    much serenity of mind, such perfect philosophy, or resignation more
    complete.  Up to within an hour of his decease he was perfectly
    sensible of his danger, and bore excruciating pain with the utmost

    “At one period of his life a more popular man was not in existence,”
    observes Mr. Bunn; “for the festive board of the prince or the peer
    was incomplete without Mr. Colman.  He has left behind him a
    perpetuity of fame in his dramatic works; and much is it to be
    lamented that no chronicle has been preserved of his various and most
    extraordinary _jeux-d’esprit_.  He has, moreover, left behind quite
    enough of renown, could he lay claim to none other, to be found in
    the following tribute from the pen of Lord Byron:—‘I have met George
    Colman occasionally, and thought him extremely pleasant and
    convivial.  Sheridan’s humour, or rather wit, was always saturnine,
    and sometimes savage; he never laughed (at least that I saw and I
    have watched him), but Colman did.  If I had to _choose_, and could
    not have both at a time, I should say, let me begin the evening with
    Sheridan, and finish it with Colman.  Sheridan for dinner, Colman for
    supper.  Sheridan for claret or port, but Colman for everything, from
    the madeira and champagne at dinner, the claret with a layer of port
    between the glasses, up to the punch of the night, and down to the
    grog or gin-and-water of daybreak.  Sheridan was a grenadier company
    of life-guards, but Colman a whole regiment—of light infantry, to be
    sure, but still a regiment.’”

The sale of Colman’s effects took place on the 29th of November, 1837;
among the pictures sold was the well-known portrait of George Colman the
elder, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, which has been engraved; another by
Gainsborough, also engraved; a third in crayons, by Rosalba; and a fourth
by Zoffani, which formerly belonged to Garrick, a highly-finished
miniature of Shakspeare, by Ozias Humphrey, executed in 1784 (a copy of
which, made for the Duchess of Chandos, sold at her sale for £40); some
watercolour drawings, by Emery, Mrs. Terry, and others; some engravings;
more than 1,000 volumes of French and English books; and a collection of
miscellanies, including the MSS. of the elder Colman’s most admired
productions, and several by George Colman the younger,—amounting in all
to twenty-six pieces.  John Reeve bought largely of the books; but before
two months had elapsed Reeve himself was no more.

No. 23 Brompton Square is occupied by Mr. William Farren, who was for a
long period the unrivalled representative of old men upon the stage, {53}
and who took his farewell at the Haymarket Theatre in 1855; and No. 24,
between the years 1840 and 1843, was the residence of Mr. Payne Collier,
who has given to the public several editions of Shakspeare, and who has
been long distinguished by his profound knowledge of dramatic literature
and history, and his extensive acquaintance with the early poetry of

Mr. Collier’s house, in Brompton Square, stood between that which Mr.
William Farren occupies, and one (No. 25) of which Mr. Farren was
proprietor, and has now been sold.  At No. 28 resides Mr. William Frogatt
Robson, Solicitor and Comptroller of Droits of Admiralty.  Mr. William
Farren has resided at No. 30, next door to Mr. Henry Luttrell (No. 31),
“the great London wit,” as Sir Walter Scott terms him, well known in the
circles of literature as the author of many epigrams, and of a volume of
graceful poetry, entitled ‘Advice to Julia,’ and who died on 19th
December, 1851, aged 86.

In addition to these literary and dramatic associations of Brompton
Square, Liston resided for some time at No. 40, Mr. Yates and Mr. John
Reeve at 57 and 58; and that pair of comic theatrical gems, Mr. and Mrs.
Keeley, have been inhabitants of No. 19.

[Picture: First grave] BROMPTON NEW CHURCH, a little beyond the Square,
is dedicated to the Holy Trinity.  The architect was Mr. Donaldson, and
the first stone was laid in October, 1826.  On the 6th of June, 1829, the
Bishop of London consecrated this church and its burial-ground, which had
been a flower-garden.  When the first grave was made in the month
following, many of the flowers still appeared among the grass; and, after
viewing it, Miss Landon wrote the following verses.  The “first grave” is
in the extreme south-west of the corner churchyard, close to the narrow
pathway that skirts the wall, leaving only space for a grave between.
The inscription on the stone which originally marked the “first grave,”

                               TO THE MEMORY OF
                                MR. IOHN CORPE
                                OF THIS PARISH
                        OF ST. GEORGE’S HANOVER SQUARE
                            WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE
                              18TH OF JULY 1829
                                AGED 51 YEARS.

   “A single grave! the only one
      In this unbroken ground,
   Where yet the garden leaf and flower
      Are lingering around.
   A single grave!—my heart has felt
      How utterly alone
   In crowded halls, where breathed for me
      Not one familiar tone.

   “The shade where forest-trees shut out
      All but the distant sky,—
   I’ve felt the loneliness of night,
      When the dark winds pass’d by.
   My pulse has quicken’d with its awe,
      My lip has gasp’d for breath;
   But what were they to such as this—
      The solitude of death?

   “A single grave!—we half forget
      How sunder human ties,
   When round the silent place of rest
      A gather’d kindred lies.
   We stand beneath the haunted yew,
      And watch each quiet tomb,
   And in the ancient churchyard feel
      Solemnity, not gloom!

   “The place is purified with hope—
      The hope, that is, of prayer;
   And human love, and heavenward thought,
      And pious faith, are there!
   The wild flowers spring amid the grass,
      And many a stone appears
   Carved by affection’s memory,
      Wet with affection’s tears.

   “The golden chord which binds us all
      Is loosed, not rent in twain;
   And love, and hope, and fear, unite
      To bring the past again.
   But _this_ grave is so desolate,
      With no remembering stone,
   No fellow-graves for sympathy,—
      ’Tis utterly alone!

   “I do not know who sleeps beneath,
      His history or name,
   Whether, if lonely in his life,
      He is in death the same,—
   Whether he died unloved, unmourn’d,
      The last leaf on the bough,
   Or if some desolated hearth
      Is weeping for him now?

   “Perhaps this is too fanciful,
      Though single be his sod,
   Yet not the less it has around
      The presence of his God!
   It may be weakness of the heart,
      But yet its kindliest, best;
   Better if in our selfish world
      It could be less repress’d.

   “Those gentler charities which draw
      Man closer with his kind,
   Those sweet humilities which make
      The music which they find:
   How many a bitter word ’t would hush,
      How many a pang ’t would save,
   If life more precious held those ties
      Which sanctify the grave.”

Now (1860) the grave-stone has received two additional inscriptions, and
the character of the upright stone has been altered.

[Picture: Reeve’s Grave] Corpe was a ladies’ shoemaker, and his son
carried on that business at No. 126 Mount Street, Berkeley Square, after
the father’s death.  While sketching the grave, the sexton came up, and
observed, “No one has ever noticed that grave, sir, before, so much as to
draw it out for a pattern, as I suppose you are doing.”

John Reeve’s grave (“alas, poor Yorick!”) is in the first avenue at the
back of the church, to the left hand, and immediately at the edge of the
path that runs parallel with the north side of the building.  The stone,
which is similar to others in the same vicinity, is inscribed:—

                                  IN MEMORY
                               IOHN REEVE ESQ.
                                 LATE OF THE
                            THEATRE ROYAL ADELPHI.
                          OBIIT JANUARY. 24TH. 1838.

                                   ALSO OF
                               IOHN REEVE ESQ.
                              UNCLE OF THE ABOVE
                       OBIIT JANY. 22ND. 1831 AGED 71.

In the central path, leading from the Church Tower, is the grave of
Harriet Elizabeth Farren, who died 16th of June, 1857, aged 68.  She made
her first appearance in London in 1813, as Desdemona.

[Picture: Bell and Horns sign] Close to Brompton New Church, at a
public-house called the Bell and Horns, {58} the road branches off again;
that branch which goes straight forward leading to Old Brompton, Earl’s
Court, Kensington, and North End, Fulham.  The turn to the left, or bend
to the south, being the main Fulham Road.  Here, till within the last few
years, was standing the stump of an old tree, shown in the accompanying
sketch.  [Picture: Stump] A cluster of trees at the commencement of the
Old Brompton Road have also been removed, and the road has been
considerably widened.  On the right-hand side, adjoining Brompton New
Church, is the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, a Roman Catholic Establishment
of considerable extent, which stands on the ground once occupied by Mr.
Pollard’s school.  It was opened on 22nd March, 1851, and was originally
located in King William Street, Strand.  It is bounded on the east by the
avenue of lime trees leading up to Holy Trinity Church, on the north by
its cemetery, on the west by the South Kensington Museum, and on the
south by the road, which has been widened by the commissioners to eighty
feet.  The superior in London is the Rev. F. W. Faber, and at Birmingham,
the Rev. J. H. Newman, D.D.  The building, which does not show its size
to advantage from the road, is erected in the shape of the letter T.
Some idea of the scale on which the building is executed may be gathered
from the following dimensions.  The oratory 72 feet long, 30 wide, 29
high.  The library 72 feet long, 30 wide, 23 high.  The refectory 50 feet
long, 30 wide, 28 high.  The corridors of the house 164 feet long, 9
wide, 14 high.  The architect is Mr. Scoles.  Next to the oratory is the
South Kensington Museum, which was built upon the Kensington Gore estate,
[Picture: Oratory and Museum] purchased by the Royal Commissioners with
the surplus funds derived from the Exhibition of 1851.  It was opened on
the 24th June, 1857, and is a result of the School of Design, founded at
Somerset House in 1838.  It is the head-quarters of the Government
Department of Science and Art, previously deposited in Marlborough House,
which is under the management of Mr. Henry Cole.  The collections are
temporarily placed in a range of boiler-roofed buildings, hence the term
“Brompton boilers” has been applied to them.  There are specimens here of
ornamental art, an architectural, trade, and economical museum; a court
of modern sculpture, and the gallery of British Art, founded on the
munificent gift of Mr. John Sheepshanks.  Mr. Sheepshanks having bestowed
on the nation a collection of 234 oil paintings, mostly by modern British
artists, and some drawings, etc., the whole formed by himself, including
some of the most popular works of Wilkie, Mulready, Sir Edwin Landseer,
Leslie, and other eminent artists of the English school.  To these have
been since added, in several large rooms, the Turner Collection, and the
pictures from the Vernon Gallery; also the collection bequeathed to the
nation by the late Mr. Jacob Bell, and the pictures by British artists
removed from the National Gallery; all which are well lighted from the
roof.  The objects of ornamental art consist of medieval furniture and
decoration, painted glass, plaster casts, electrotype copies,
photographs, engravings, and drawings, etc., the whole designed with the
view of aiding general education, and of diffusing among all classes
those principles of science and art which are calculated to advance the
individual interests of the country, and to elevate the character of the
people: facilities are afforded for taking copies of objects upon
application at the Art Library.  The Educational collections formed by
the Government, which are in the central portion of the building,
comprise specimens of scientific instruments, objects of natural history,
models, casts, and a library; refreshment and waiting rooms are provided;
and there are lectures delivered in a building devoted to that purpose.
The admission, which is from ten till four, five or six, according to the
season, is free on Monday, Tuesday, and Saturday, also on Monday and
Tuesday evening, from seven till ten, when the galleries are lighted; on
Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, being students’ days, the admission is

In form the building is rectangular, the centre or nave is 42 feet wide,
and is open from the floor to the roof.  Along the aisles galleries run,
access to which is obtained by two large central staircases at the ends
of the building, which is for the most part lighted from the roofs.
There is ample ventilation, and by means of hot water pipes, the building
is heated when required.  The exhibition space in floor and galleries is
nearly one acre and a half, exclusive of the wall space in the galleries
and aisles.  The arrangement, it may be seen from this description, is
much the same as that adopted in the Great Exhibition of 1851.  There are
separate catalogues for each department to be had, which give the visitor
all necessary information.  The building was constructed from designs and
drawings prepared by Messrs. Charles D. Young and Co. of Great George
Street, Westminster.  Opposite the Museum is Thurloe Place.  No. 1 may be
mentioned as the residence of Mr. Henry Holl, well known some years ago
as the light comedian of the Haymarket Theatre.  That gentleman has now
retired from the profession, but in addition to some dramatic productions
written many years since, he is the author of two or three successful
pieces recently produced.  It is not the intention of the writer to
follow the course of the Old Brompton Road, but he will at once return to
the main road after alluding to the newly-formed magnificent approaches
from this point to Kensington, by Exhibition Road and Prince Albert’s
Road, on the site of Brompton Park, now broken up. {62}  A winter garden
is in course of formation here, and the Horticultural Society intend to
appropriate part of the ground for their annual fêtes.  The total amount
expended on the purchase and laying out of the Kensington Gore Estate
from 1851 to 1856 inclusive, was £277,309.



To return to the continuation of MICHAEL’S PLACE.  It is divided between
Nos. 11 and 12 by MICHAEL’S GROVE, which led to Brompton Grange, for some
years the seat of the favourite veteran vocalist, Braham, who made his
appearance as a public singer at the age of ten years, and so far back as
1787.  The Grange was taken down in October 1843, and, in the course of
twelve months, its spacious grounds were covered by a decided crescent
and other buildings.  Brompton Grange, which was constructed by
Novosielski for his own residence, was, previous to Mr. Braham’s tenancy,
occupied by a gentleman of large fortune and weak nerves, which were most
painfully affected by the tone of a bell.  After considerable research,
this spot was selected for his London residence, in the belief that there
he would be secure from annoyance.  But the folly of human anticipation
was speedily illustrated by the building of Brompton Church on the north
side of his abode, and of Chelsea New Church on the west; so that,
whatever way the wind blew,

    “The sound of the church-going bell”

was certain of being wafted to the Grange, which was got rid of in

From Michael’s Grove, BROMPTON CRESCENT is nearly a straight row of
twenty-five houses, and forms an angle to the line of the main Fulham
Road, uniting with Michael’s Place at “Crescent House,” where the
carriage communication was formerly interrupted by a bar, in place of
which a post supporting two lamps is now substituted.

No. 9 was for some time in the occupation of Dr. Oswald Wood, the
translator (1835) of Von Hammer’s ‘History of the Assassins,’ and who
died at the early age of thirty-eight, on the 5th of November, 1842, in
the West Indies, where he held the appointment of Provost-Marshal of

At No. 13 Brompton Crescent resided Charles Incledon, the rival of his
neighbour Braham, whose singing he was wont to designate as “Italianised
humbug;” declaring that no one but himself, Charles Incledon, knew how to
sing a British ballad: and it must be admitted, that “The Storm” and
“Black-eyed Susan,” as sung by Incledon, produced a deep impression on
the public mind.  He was a native of Cornwall, and the son of a medical
gentleman.  As a chorister, under the tuition of Jackson, in Exeter
Cathedral, Incledon acquired his knowledge of music; for when he was
fifteen he entered the Royal Navy, in which he served in the West Indies
from 1779 to 1783, when he abandoned the naval profession, and joined a
theatrical company at Southampton.  After a popular professional career
of upwards of forty years as a public singer, Incledon died at Worcester,
on the 11th of February, 1826.

Of Incledon many amusing anecdotes are told, chiefly caused by his
inordinate vanity, and his mental singleness of purpose.  He thought of
no one but himself; he saw nothing beyond the one and immediate object at
which he grasped; and yet these faults were caused rather by natural
weakness of intellect than by an unkind or selfish disposition.  In fact,
Incledon lived and died a petted servant of the public; which
administered intoxicating draughts of applause to his self-esteem.

Mr. G. Rodwell, already mentioned as having been an inhabitant of No. 14
Brompton Row, resided at No. 15 Brompton Crescent, in 1830.

No. 20 Brompton Crescent was, between the years 1822 and 1844, occupied
by Mr. Planché, well known as, perhaps, the most prolific and skilful
dramatic writer of the day, and as a gentleman of high literary and
antiquarian attainments.  His connexion with the last musical efforts of
the German composer Weber, in his opera of ‘Oberon,’ which was produced
at Covent Garden on the 12th of May, 1826, {65} cannot be forgotten; and
to Planché’s knowledge of costume and taste for pictorial effects the
English stage is deeply indebted.  In the drawing-room of this house have
some of our most agreeable acting dramas been composed, and nothing could
have been, in its style and appointments, more typical of Planché’s
dialogue than was the apartment—smart and neat, fit for all occasions,
and suited in a moment to the present purpose, whatever that might be.
It was polished and elegant; but there was nothing superfluous, beyond a
bit of exquisite china on the mantel-piece, or a picture, excellent in
its way, on the wall; something which pleased the eye, and which the mind
received and relished like a nicely-pointed joke.  A well-painted
portrait of Planché himself, by Briggs, the Royal Academician, which has
been engraved, hung opposite to the fireplace; and, as if to carry out
the similitude between Planché’s writings and the place where they were
written, folding-doors revealed a back drawing-room, which, like his
memory, was richly stored with the works of heralds and antiquaries, and
of our elder dramatists and poets, so judiciously arranged, that in a
moment he was certain of producing the precise passage or the effect
which he desired.  At the same time so completely was this little battery
of knowledge masked under quaint bindings and tasteful covers, that no
one suspected what a mine of learning lay beneath; nor, like his own
mental resources, was a volume displayed without cause, or unclasped
without its effect.

Speaking earnestly to Planché respecting the pains and pleasures of
authorship, L. E. L. once said, “I would give this moment all the fame of
what I have written, or ever shall write, for one roar of applause from a
crowded house, such as you must have heard a thousand times.”

Mr. Planché afterwards removed to a new and detached house, built on the
site of Brompton Grange.  He has now quitted the neighbourhood.

Mr. C. J. Richardson, an architect, whose publications illustrative of
Tudor architecture and domestic English antiquities have materially
tended to diffuse a feeling of respect for the works of our ancestors,
and to forward the growing desire to preserve and restore edifices which
time and circumstances have spared to the country, has resided at No. 22
Brompton Crescent.  At No. 28 in this crescent, Mrs. Liston died in 1854.

The continuation of MICHAEL’S PLACE, which we left on our right to visit
Michael’s Grove and Brompton Crescent, is the corner house, now Dr.
Cahill’s and Mr. Hewett’s.  At No. 12, Lewis Schiavonetti, a
distinguished engraver, died on the 7th of June, 1810, at the age of
fifty-five.  He was a native of Bassano, in the Venetian territory, and
the eldest son of a stationer, whose large family and moderate
circumstances made him gladly accept the offer of Julius Golini, a
painter of some repute, to receive his son, at the age of thirteen, for
instruction in the arts.  [Picture: No. 12 Michael’s Place] In three
years after, Golini expired in the arms of his youthful pupil.  Upon the
death of his master he determined to seek the patronage of Count
Remaudini, who had given employment to Bartolozzi and Volpato, and began
to study the mechanical process of engraving, under a poor man named
Lorio, who, unable to support himself by his profession, officiated as
sacristan to a church, and could offer him no better accommodation for
study than the sacristy.  The circumstances of Schiavonetti not
permitting him to seek for higher instruction, he remained with this
master about twelve months, when, finding that he had learned all that
poor Lorio was able to teach, and feeling an aversion to work
occasionally among dead bodies, he determined to alter his situation.  A
copy of a ‘Holy Family,’ from Bartolozzi, after Carlo Maratta, gained
Schiavonetti immediate employment from Count Remaudini, and attracted the
notice of Suntach, an engraver and printseller in opposition to

About this time there came to Bassano a Mr. Testolini, of Vicenza, a
wretched engraver of architecture, but a man of consummate craft and
address.  He became acquainted with Schiavonetti at Suntach’s, and,
finding in his genius and tractable disposition, a tool which he could
use to great advantage, he engaged him to work at his house.
Bartolozzi’s engravings in the chalk manner were then in great repute at
Bassano, and Testolini made several abortive attempts to discover the
process.  His young friend succeeded better, and imitated several of
Bartolozzi’s prints to perfection; and Testolini took some of
Schiavonetti’s productions to the son of Bartolozzi at Venice, and passed
them off as his own.  They gained him an introduction to that artist, and
an invitation to London, where he was then in full occupation, and his
works highly appreciated.  The change of climate seems to have
deteriorated the talents of Testolini; but such was his adroitness that
he gained a complete ascendancy over the easy temper of Bartolozzi, and
lived in his house at North End, Fulham, about three years.  During that
time, finding that yet more important advantages might be derived from
the aid of his former friend, he made several propositions to
Schiavonetti to come to London.  These were for a time declined: the
rising fame of the young artist caused his talents to be better
appreciated, and some Venetian noblemen offered him a pension and
constant employment if he would abandon his proposed emigration.
Testolini, to frustrate this, induced Bartolozzi to write a letter of
persuasion, partly dictated by himself; and, confident of its effect, he
set out for Italy to bring Schiavonetti over.  During his absence
Bartolozzi gained an insight into his real character and interested
views, and, on his return with his _protégé_, told him that his house was
no longer open to him, but that Schiavonetti was welcome to consider it
his home.  Testolini, however, having found a house in Sloane Square,
soon persuaded Schiavonetti that it would be better for him to follow his
fortune than to remain with Bartolozzi, to which Schiavonetti consented.
This circumstance terminated the connexion between Bartolozzi and
Schiavonetti; and shortly after the reputation of the latter as an
engraver became established in London, where he conducted every
transaction he was engaged in with an uprightness and integrity that
cause his memory to be equally respected as a gentleman and as an artist.
The ‘Madre Dolorosa,’ after Vandyke; the portrait of that master in the
character of Paris; Michael Angelo’s cartoon of the ‘Surprise of the
Soldiers on the banks of the Arno;’ a series of etchings from designs by
Blake, illustrative of Blair’s ‘Grave,’ with a portrait of Blake after
Phillips; the ‘Landing of the British troops in Egypt,’ from De
Loutherbourg; and the etching of the ‘Canterbury Pilgrims,’ from
Stothard’s admired picture, are some of the most esteemed works of Lewis
Schiavonetti.  His funeral, which took place on the 14th June 1810, from
Michael’s Place, was attended by West, the president, Phillips, Tresham,
and other members of the Royal Academy, by his countryman Vendramini, and
almost all the distinguished engravers of the day, with other artists and
friends to art.

The greater portion of No. 13, Michael’s Place, is shown in the sketch of
No. 12, and the former may be mentioned as the residence of the widow of
the builder, Madame Novosielski, who died here on the 30th November,
1820.  This was the address of Miss Helen Faucit, immediately previous to
her successful appearance in the English drama before a French audience,
and is at present in the occupation of Mr. Weigall, an artist whose works
are highly prized.

Mrs. Billington, the well-known singer and actress, has resided at No.

Miss Pope, an actress of considerable reputation, died at No. 17,
Michael’s Place, on the 30th July, 1818, aged seventy-five.  Her talents
had been cultivated by the celebrated Mrs. Clive, and she was
distinguished by the notice of Garrick.  As a representative of old
women, Miss Pope is said to have been unrivalled; and, for more than half
a century, she remained constant to the boards of Drury Lane Theatre,
never having performed at any other with the exception of a season at
Dublin and another at Liverpool.

Mr. John Heneage Jesse, in 1842, while engaged in the publication of
‘Memoirs of the Court of England, from the Revolution of 1688 to the
Death of George II.,’ 3 vols. 8vo, a continuation of his ‘History of the
Court of England during the Reign of the Stuarts,’ lodged at No. 18.

Mr. Yates, the manager of the Adelphi Theatre, and an actor of
considerable and varied powers, resided at No. 21, Michael’s Place,
immediately previous to his accepting a short engagement in Ireland,
where he ruptured a blood-vessel, and returned to England in so weak a
state that he died on the 21st June, 1842, a few days after his arrival
at the Euston Hotel, Euston Square, from whence it was considered, when
he reached London, imprudent to remove him to Brompton.  He was in the
forty-fifth year of his age, and made his first appearance in London at
Covent Garden on the 7th November, 1818.  On the 30th November, 1823, Mr.
Yates married Miss Brunton, an exemplary woman and an accomplished
actress, who had retired from the profession for some years previous to
her death, aged 61, on 30th August, 1860.  Before Mr. Yates’ tenancy, No.
21 was the residence of Mr. Liston, whose comic humour will long be
remembered on the stage.

Mrs. Davenport, a clever actress and an admirable representative of old
women, died at No. 22, on 8th May, 1843, aged eighty-four.  On the 25th
of May, 1830, she retired from the stage, after an uninterrupted service
of thirty-six years at Covent Garden Theatre, where she took her “first,
last, and only benefit,” performing the Nurse in ‘Romeo and Juliet.’

No. 25, Michael’s Place, may be pointed out as the house in which Miss
Pope, “the other delicious old woman,” dwelt previous to her removal to
No. 17; and No. 26, as the lodgings of Mrs. Mathews, when occupied in the
composition of the ‘Memoirs’ of her husband, {72} the eminent comedian,—

   “A man so various, that he seemed to be,
   Not one, but all mankind’s epitome.”

At No. 33 died Madame Delille, in 1857, at an advanced age.  This lady
was the mother of the late Mr. C. J. Delille, professor of the French
language in Christ’s Hospital and in the City of London School, and
French examiner in the University of London.  Mr. Delille’s French
Grammar is universally adopted by schools, in addition to his ‘Répertoire
Littéraire,’ and his ‘Leçons et Modèles de Poésie Française.’

The ground upon which Michael’s Place and Brompton Crescent are built was
known by the name of “Flounder Field,” from its usual moist and muddy
state.  This field contained fourteen acres, and is said to have been
part of the estate of Alderman Henry Smith, which in this neighbourhood
was upwards of eighty-four acres.  He was a native of Wandsworth, where
he is buried.  It has been asserted that, from very humble circumstances,
he rose to be an alderman of London—from circumstances so humble, indeed,
that Salmon, in his ‘Antiquities of Surrey,’ mentions that he had been in
early life whipped out of Mitcham parish for begging there.  Being a
widower, and without children, he made over all his estates in 1620 to
trustees for charitable purposes, reserving out of the produce £500
a-year for himself.  He died in 1627–8, and the intent of his will
appears to have been to divide his estate equally between the poorest of
his kindred, and in case of any surplus it was to be applied to the
relief and ransom of poor captives.  Mr. Smith is said, but we know
little of the history of this benevolent and extraordinary man, to have
himself suffered a long captivity in Algiers.  No application having been
made for many years to redeem captives, in 1772 an act of parliament was
passed “to enable the trustees of Henry Smith, Esq., deceased, to apply
certain sums of money to the relief of his poor kindred, and to enable
the said trustees to grant building leases of an estate in the parishes
of Kensington, Chelsea, and St. Margaret’s, Westminster.”

No. 1, North Terrace, leading into Alexander Square, was for some time
the residence of the celebrated “O.” Smith, who, though a great ruffian
upon the stage, was in private life remarkable for his quiet manners and
his varied attainments.  At the end of this terrace is the Western
Grammar School.

ALEXANDER SQUARE, on the north or right-hand side of the main Fulham
Road, between the Bell and Horns public-house and Pelham Crescent,
consists of twenty-four houses built in the years 1827 and 1830, and
divided by Alfred Place: before each portion there is a respectable
enclosure, and behind numerous new streets, squares, and houses have been
built, extending to the Old Brompton Road.

No. 19, Alexander Square, was the residence of Captain Glascock, who
commanded H.M.S. Tyne, and whose pen has enriched the nautical novel
literature of England {73} with the same racy humour which has
distinguished his professional career.  When commanding in the Douro,
some communications which Glascock had occasion to make to the Governor
of Oporto not having received that attention which the English captain
considered was due to them, and the governor having apologised for his
deafness, Glascock replied that in future he would write to his
excellency.  He did so, but the proceeding did not produce the required
reply.  Glascock was then told that the governor’s memory was defective;
so he wrote again, and two letters remained unanswered.  In this state of
things it was intimated to Captain Glascock by a distinguished
diplomatist, that, as his letters might not have been delivered, he ought
to write another.  “Certainly,” replied that officer; “my letters to his
excellency, as you say, might not have been delivered, for I have had no
report absolutely made to me that they had ever reached his hands: but I
will take care this time there shall be no mistake in the delivery, for
you shall see me attach my communication to a cannonball, the report of
which I can testify to my government; and, as my gunner is a sure shot,
his excellency _will_ (Glascock was an Irishman) have my epistle
delivered into his hand.”  This intimation produced at once the desired
effect of a satisfactory reply and apology.

Captain Glascock was one of the inspectors under the Poor Relief Act in
Ireland.  He died in 1847.

No. 24 Alexander Square is the residence of Mr. George Godwin, the editor
of the ‘Builder,’ and one of the honorary secretaries of the Art
Union,—an association which has exercised an important influence upon the
progress of the fine arts in England.  Mr. Godwin is likewise favourably
known to the public as the author of several essays which evince
considerable professional knowledge, antiquarian research, and a fertile

The bend of the Fulham Road terminates at

                            THE ADMIRAL KEPPEL

[Picture: The old Admiral Keppel] public-house, from whence the road
proceeds in a straight line to Little Chelsea; Marlborough Road and
Keppel Street, leading to Chelsea, branching off at each side of the
tavern.  Since this sketch was taken, the old building has been pulled
down (1856), and a large hotel erected on the same spot, by B. Watts,
where, in addition to the usual comforts of an inn, hot and cold baths
may be had.

In 1818 the Admiral Keppel courted the custom of passing travellers by a
poetical appeal to the feelings of both man and beast:—

   “Stop, brave boys, and quench your thirst;
   If you won’t drink, your horses murst.”

There was something rural in this: the distich was painted in very rude
white letters on a small black board; and when Keppel’s portrait, which
swung in air, like England’s flag, braving

    “The battle and the breeze,”

was unhinged and placed against the front of the house, this board was
appended as its motto.  Both, however, were displaced by the march of
public-house improvement; the weather-beaten sign of the gallant
admiral’s head was transferred to a wall of the back premises, where its
“faded form” might, until recently, have been recognised; but, though the
legible record has perished, _opus vatum durat_.

AMELIA PLACE is a row of nine houses immediately beyond the Admiral
Keppel.  Within the walls of the last low house in the row, and the
second with a verandah, the Right Hon. John Philpot Curran died on the
14th of October, 1817.  It had then a pleasant look-out upon green fields
and a nursery-garden, now occupied by Pelham Crescent.  Here it was, with
the exception of a short excursion to Ireland, that Curran had resided
during the twelve months previous to his death.  [Picture: No. 7 Amelia
Place] Curran’s public life may be said to have terminated in 1806, when
he accepted the office of Master of the Rolls in Ireland, an appointment
of £5000 a year.  This situation he retained until 1815, when his health
required a cessation from its laborious attendance.  Upon his retirement
from office, he “passed through the watering-places with the season,” and
then fixed himself at No. 7, Amelia Place, Brompton, which house has now
Kettle’s boot and shoe warehouse built out in front.  To no other
contemporary pen than that of the Rev. George Croly can be ascribed the
following glowing sketch of Curran:—

    “From the period in which Curran emerged from the first struggles of
    an unfriended man, labouring up a jealous profession, his history
    makes a part of the annals of his country: once upon the surface, his
    light was always before the eye, it never sank and was never
    outshone.  With great powers to lift himself beyond the reach of that
    tumultuous and stormy agitation that must involve the movers of the
    public mind in a country such as Ireland then was, he loved to cling
    to the heavings of the wave; he, at least, never rose to that
    tranquil elevation to which his early contemporaries had one by one
    climbed; and never left the struggle till the storm had gone down, it
    is to be hoped for ever.  This was his destiny, but it might have
    been his choice, and he was not without the reward, which, to an
    ambitious mind conscious of its eminent powers, might be more than
    equivalent to the reluctant patronage of the throne.  To his habits
    legal distinction would have been only a bounty upon his silence; his
    limbs would have been fettered by the ermine; but he had the
    compensation of boundless popular honour, much respect from the
    higher ranks of party, much admiration and much fear from the lower
    partizans.  In Parliament he was the assailant most dreaded; in the
    law-courts he was the advocate deemed the most essential; in both he
    was an object of all the more powerful passions of man but rivalry,—

                      ‘He stood alone and shone alone.’”

During Curran’s residence in Amelia Place he suffered two slight
apoplectic attacks; but he, nevertheless, “occasionally indulged in
society, and was to his last sparkle the most interesting, singular, and
delightful of all table companions.”  The forenoon he generally passed in
a solitary ramble through the neighbouring fields and gardens (which have
now disappeared), and in the evening he enjoyed the conversation of a few
friends; but, though the brilliancy of his wit shone to the last, he
seemed like one who had outlived everything in life that was worth
enjoying.  This is exemplified in Curran’s melancholy repartee to his
medical attendant a few days before his decease.  The doctor remarked
that his patient’s cough was not improved.  “That is odd,” remarked
Curran, “for I have been practising all night!”

On Thursday, the 9th of October, Curran dined abroad for the last time
with Mr. Richard (“Gentleman”) Jones, {78} of No. 14 Chapel Street,
Grosvenor Place, for the purpose of being introduced to George Colman
“the Younger.”  The party, besides the host and hostess, consisted of Mr.
Harris and Sir William Chatterton.  Colman that evening was unusually
brilliant, anticipating, by apt quotation and pointed remark, almost
everything that Curran would have said.  One comment of Curran’s,
however, made a deep impression on all present.  Speaking of Lord Byron’s
‘Fare thee well, and if for ever,’ he observed that “his lordship first
weeps over his wife, and then wipes his eyes with the newspapers.”  He
left the dinner-table early, and, on going upstairs to coffee, either
affected not to know or did not remember George Colman’s celebrity as a
wit, and inquired of Mrs. Jones who that Mr. Colman was?  Mr. Harris
joined them at this moment, and apologised for his friend Colman
engrossing so much of the conversation to himself, adding, that he was
the spoiled child of society, and that even the Prince Regent listened
with attention when George Colman talked.  “Ay,” said Curran, with a
melancholy smile, “I now know who Colman is; we must both sleep in the
same bed.”

The next morning Curran was seized with apoplexy, and continued
speechless, though in possession of his senses, till the early part of
Tuesday the 14th, when he sunk into lethargy, and towards evening died
without a struggle; so tranquil, indeed, were the last moments of Curran,
that those in the room were unable to mark the precise time when his
bright spirit passed away from this earth.  His age has been variously
stated at sixty-seven, sixty-eight, and seventy.

The first lodging which John Banim, the Irish novelist, temporarily
occupied in England (April, 1822) was in the house where his illustrious
countryman had breathed his last, and from whence Banim removed to 13,
Brompton Grove, as already noticed.  Banim’s first wish, when he found
himself in England, was to visit the scene of Curran’s death; led to the
spot by a strong feeling of patriotic admiration, and finding, by a bill
in the window, that lodgings were to be let there, he immediately took
them, “that he might dream of his country,” as he energetically told the
writer, “with the halo of Curran’s memory around him.”

[Picture: Dropped Capitals for In] PELHAM CRESCENT, which consists of
twenty-seven houses, and is divided in the centre, between Nos. 14 and
15, by Pelham Place, both Crescent and Place built upon part of the
nursery-grounds over which Curran had wandered, dwell at No. 10 Mr. and
Mrs. Keeley.  At No. 20 resides Mr. John Cooper the well-known veteran
actor.  M. Guizot, the celebrated French statesman, after the overthrow
of the government of Louis Philippe, resided for some time at No. 21,
where Madame Guizot, his mother, died in March, 1848, at the advanced age
of eighty-three; and the same house was, by a singular coincidence,
afterwards occupied by Ledru Rollin.  Pelham Place, at the back of the
Crescent, is notable for having, at No. 2, Mr. Lazarus, the celebrated
clarionet player, and at No. 8 resides Mr. A. Harris, the present lessee
of the Princess’s Theatre.

Nearly opposite to Pelham Crescent is POND PLACE, where Mr. Curtis, the
eminent botanist, of whom more hereafter, died on the 7th July, 1799; and
a little further on, on the same side of the way, appears Chelsea New
Church, dedicated to St. Luke.

                                * * * * *

[Picture: Dropped Capital T] he first stone of this church was laid on
the 12th October, 1820, and the New Church was consecrated on the 18th
October, 1824.  The architect was Mr. Savage of Walbrook. {80}  The
burial-ground in which it stands had been consecrated on the 21st
November, 1812; and an Act of Parliament, 59 George III., cap. 35, 1819,
authorised the appropriation of part of that ground for the site of
building a church.  In the burial-ground repose the remains of Dr. John
M’Leod, the companion and friend of the gallant Sir Murray Maxwell, and
the author of ‘A Narrative of a Voyage in H.M.S. Alceste to the Yellow
Sea, and of her Shipwreck in the Straits of Gaspar,’ published in 1817.
On his return to England, the services of Dr. M’Leod were rewarded by his
appointment to the Royal Sovereign yacht, which he did not long enjoy, as
he died in lodgings in the King’s Road, Chelsea, on the 9th November,
1820, at the age of thirty-eight.

Signor Carlo Rovedino, a bass singer of some reputation, also lies buried
in this churchyard.  He was a native of Milan, and died on the 6th of
October, 1822, aged seventy-one.  The remains of Blanchard and Egerton,
two actors of established character, repose here side by side.  William
Blanchard was what is termed “a useful comedian;” whatever part was
assigned to him, he made the most of it.  At the age of seventeen, he
joined a provincial theatrical company at York, his native city, and in
1800, after fourteen years of laborious country practice, appeared at
Covent Garden as Bob Acres in ‘The Rivals,’ and Crack in ‘The Turnpike
Gate.’  At the time of his death, 9th May, 1835, he resided at No. 1,
Camera Square, Chelsea.  Blanchard had dined with a friend at
Hammersmith, and left him to return home about six in the evening of
Tuesday.  On the following morning, at three o’clock, poor Blanchard was
found lying in a ditch by the roadside, having been, as is supposed,
seized by a fit; in the course of the evening he was visited by another
attack, which was succeeded by one more violent on the Thursday, and on
the following day he expired.

Daniel Egerton—“oh! kingly Egerton”—personified for many years on the
stage of Covent Garden all the royal personages about whom there was
great state and talk, but who had little to say for themselves.  He was
respected as being, and without doubt was, an industrious and an honest
man.  Having saved some hardly-earned money, Egerton entered into a
theatrical speculation with a brother actor, Mr. Abbott, and became
manager of one of the minor houses, by which he was ruined, and died in
1835, under the pressure of his misfortunes.  His widow, whose
representations of the wild women of Scott’s novels, Madge Wildfire and
Meg Merrilies, have distinguished her, died on the 10th August, 1847, at
Brompton, aged sixty-six, having supported herself nobly amidst the
troubles of her latter days.  Mrs. Egerton was the daughter of the Rev.
Peter Fisher, rector of Torrington, in Devonshire.  She appeared at the
Bath theatre soon after the death of her father in 1803, and in 1811 made
her first appearance at Covent Garden Theatre as Juliet.

On the right-hand side, a little off the main road, is Onslow Square,
which was built upon the site of the extensive house and grounds once
occupied as a lunatic asylum.  The row of large trees now in the centre
of the square was formerly the avenue from the main road to this house.
Mr. Henry Cole, C.B. lives at No. 17, Onslow Square; he is well known to
the public as a member of the Executive Committee of the Crystal Palace,
a promoter of art manufactures, and the author of numerous works
published under the _nom de plume_ of “Felix Summerly.”  No. 31 is the
residence of Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Martin (better known as Miss Helen
Faucit).  At No. 34 resides Baron Marochetti, the celebrated sculptor,
who settled in England after the French revolution of February, 1848, and
has obtained high patronage here.  At the back of the house is the
studio, with an entrance from the main road, where the avenue of trees
continues.  W. M. Thackeray, the popular writer, lives at No. 36, and
Rear-Admiral Fitzroy, the distinguished geographer and navigator, is at
No. 38.

A few yards beyond Sydney Place (leading into Onslow Square), on the
opposite side of the road, is Sydney Street, leading direct to St. Luke’s
Church, the late incumbent of which, the Rev. Charles Kingsley, who died
on 29th February, 1860, aged 78, was the father of the well-known popular
writer, the Rev. Charles Kingsley, of Eversley Rectory, Hants.  Sydney
Street was originally called Upper Robert Street, as being the
continuation of Robert Street, Chelsea; but, under some notion of raising
its respectability, the inhabitants agreed to change the name.  It
happened, however, that the corner house adjoining the Fulham Road, on
the western side, was occupied by a surgeon, who imagined that the change
in name might be injurious to his practice, and he took advantage of his
position to retain the old name on his house.  Thus for some time the
street was known by both names, but that of Upper Robert Street is now
entirely abandoned.  The opposite corner house, No. 2, Sydney Street, was
for some years occupied by the Rev. Dr. Biber, author of the ‘Life of
Pestalozzi,’ and editor and proprietor of the ‘John Bull’ newspaper.  On
his selling the ‘John Bull,’ it became incorporated with the ‘Britannia.’

No. 24 was for some time the residence of Mr. Thomas Wright, the
well-known antiquary and historical writer, who now lives at No. 14.

ROBERT STREET, which connects the main Fulham Road with the King’s Road,
passes directly before the west side of the spacious burial-ground, and
immediately opposite to the tower of St. Luke’s Church; at No. 17
formerly resided Mr. Henry Warren, the President of the New Society of
Water-Colour Painters.

Returning to the main Fulham Road, and passing the Cancer Hospital, now
in course of erection, we come to YORK PLACE, a row of twenty-two
well-built and respectable houses on the south, or, according to our
course, left-hand side of the road.

No. 15, York Place, was, between the years 1813 and 1821, the retirement
of Francis Hargrave, a laborious literary barrister, and the editor of ‘A
Collection of State Trials,’ {84} and many other esteemed legal works.
Here he died on the 16th of August, 1821, at the age of eighty-one.

In 1813, when obliged to abandon his arduous profession, in consequence
of over-mental excitement, the sum of £8,000 was voted by Parliament,
upon the motion of Mr. Whitbread, for the purchase of Mr. Hargrave’s law
books, which were enriched with valuable notes, and for 300 MSS., to be
deposited in the library of Lincoln’s Inn, for public use.  As documents
of national historical importance may be particularised, Mr. Hargrave’s
first publication, in 1772, entitled ‘_The Case of James Somerset_, _a
Negro_, _lately determined by the Court of King’s Bench_, _wherein it is
attempted to demonstrate the present unlawfulness of Domestic Slavery in
England_;’ his ‘_Three Arguments in the two causes in Chancery on the
last Will of Peter Thellusson_, _Esq._, _with Mr. Morgan’s __Calculation
of the Accumulation under the Trusts of the Will_, _1799_;’ and his
‘_Opinion in the Case of the Duke of Athol in respect to the Isle of

Opposite to York Place was a fine, open, airy piece of ground to which
Mr. Curtis, the eminent naturalist, removed his botanical garden from
Lambeth Marsh, as a more desirable locality.  Upon the south-east portion
of this nursery-ground the first stone was laid by H.R.H. Prince Albert,
on the 11th July, 1844, of an hospital for consumption and diseases of
the chest, and which was speedily surrounded by houses on all sides;
probably a circumstance not contemplated at the time the ground was

The botanical garden of Mr. Curtis, as a public resort for study, was
continued at Brompton until 1808, when the lease of the land being nearly
expired, Mr. Salisbury, who in 1792 became his pupil, and in 1798 his
partner in this horticultural speculation, removed the establishment to
the vacant space of ground now inclosed between Sloane Street and Cadogan
Place, where Mr. Salisbury’s undertaking failed.  A plan of the gardens
there, as arranged by him, was published in the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine’
for August, 1810. {85}

Mr. Curtis, whose death has been already mentioned, was the son of a
tanner, and was born at Alton, in Hampshire, in 1746.  He was bound
apprentice to his grandfather, a quaker apothecary of that town, whose
house was contiguous to the Crown Inn, where the botanical knowledge of
John Lagg, the hostler, seems to have excited rivalry in the breast of
young Curtis.  In the course of events he became assistant to Mr. Thomas
Talwin, an apothecary in Gracechurch Street, of the same religious
persuasion as his grandfather, and succeeded Mr. Talwin in his business.
Mr. Curtis’s love of botanical science, however, increased with his
knowledge.  He connected with it the study of entomology, by printing, in
1771, ‘Instructions for Collecting and Preserving Insects,’ and in the
following year a translation of the ‘Fundamenta Entomologiæ’ of Linnæus.
At this time he rented a very small garden for the cultivation of British
plants, “near the Grange Road, at the bottom of Bermondsey Street,” and
here it was that he conceived the design of publishing his great work,
‘The Flora Londinensis.’

    “The Grange Road Garden was soon found too small for his extensive
    ideas.  He, therefore, took a larger piece of ground in Lambeth
    Marsh, where he soon assembled the largest collection of British
    plants ever brought together into one place.  But there was something
    uncongenial in the air of this place, which made it extremely
    difficult to preserve sea plants and many of the rare annuals which
    are adapted to an elevated situation,—_an evil rendered worse every
    year by the increased number of buildings around_.  This led his
    active mind, ever anxious for improvement, to inquire for a more
    favourable soil and purer air.  This, at length, he found at
    Brompton.  Here he procured a spacious territory, in which he had the
    pleasure of seeing his wishes gratified to the utmost extent of
    reasonable expectation.  Here he continued to his death;”

having, I may add, for many years previously, devoted himself entirely to
botanical pursuits.

To support the slow sale of ‘The Flora Londinensis,’ Mr. Curtis, about
1787, started ‘The Botanical Magazine,’ which became one of the popular
periodicals of the day, and Dr. Smith’s and Mr. Sowerby’s ‘English
Botany’ was modelled after it.

What Mr. Curtis, as an individual, commenced, the Horticultural Society
are endeavouring, as a body, to effect.

Immediately past the Hospital for Consumption is Fowlis Terrace, a row of
newly-built houses, running from the road.

At the corner of Church Street (on the opposite side of the road) is an
enclosure used as the burial-ground of the Westminster Congregation of
the Jews.  There is an inscription in Hebrew characters over the
entrance, above which is an English inscription with the date of the
erection of the building according to the Jewish computation A.M. 5576,
or 1816 A.D.  Beside it is the milestone denoting that it is 1½ mile from

The QUEEN’S ELM TURNPIKE, pulled down in 1848, was situated here, and
took its name from the tradition that Queen Elizabeth, when walking out,
attended by Lord Burleigh, {87a} being overtaken by a heavy shower of
rain, found shelter here under an elm-tree.  After the rain was over, the
queen said, “Let this henceforward be called The Queen’s Tree.”  The
tradition is strongly supported by the parish records of Chelsea, as
mention is made in 1586 (the 28th of Elizabeth, and probably the year of
the occurrence), of a tree situated about this spot, “at the end of the
Duke’s Walk,” {87b} as “The Queen’s Tree,” around which an arbour was
built, or, in other words, nine young elm-trees were planted, by one
Bostocke, at the charge of the parish.  The first mention of “The Queen’s
_Elm_,” occurs in 1687, ninety-nine years after her Majesty had sheltered
beneath the tree around which “an arbour was built,” when the surveyors
of the highway were amerced in the sum of five pounds, “for not
sufficiently mending the highway from the Queen Elm to the bridge, and
from the Elm to Church Lane.”  In a plan of Chelsea, from a survey made
in 1664 by James Hamilton, and continued to 1717, a tree occupying the
spot assigned to “The Queen’s Elm,” is called “The Cross Tree,” and in
the vestry minutes it is designated as “The High Elm,” which latter name
is used by Sir Hans Sloane in 1727.  Bostocke’s arbour, however, had the
effect of giving to the cross-road the name of “The Nine Elms.”  Steele,
on the 22nd June, 1711, writing to his wife, says, “Pray, on the receipt
of this, go to the Nine Elms, and I will follow you within an hour.” {88}
And so late as 1805, “The Nine Elms, Chelsea,” appeared as a local
address in newspaper advertisements.

Again let me crave indulgence for minute attention to the changes of
name; but much topographical difficulty often arises from this cause.

The stump of the royal tree, with, as is asserted, its root remaining in
the ground undisturbed, a few years ago existed squared down to the
dimensions of an ordinary post, about six feet in height and whitewashed.
But the identity appears questionable, although a post, not improbably
fashioned out of one of the nine elms which grew around it, stood till
within the last few years in front of a public-house named from the
circumstance the Queen’s Elm, which house has been a little altered since
the annexed sketch was made, by the introduction of a clock between the
second floor windows, and the house adjoining has been rebuilt,
overtopping it.

[Picture: Queen’s Elm Public House]

On the opposite or north side of the Fulham Road, some small houses are
called SELWOOD PLACE, from being built on part of the ground of “Mr.
Selwood’s nursery,” which is mentioned in 1712 by Mr. Narcissus Luttrell,
of whom more hereafter, as one of the sources from which he derived a
variety of pear, cultivated by him in his garden at Little Chelsea.

CHELSEA PARK, on the same side of the way with the Queen’s Elm
public-house, and distant about a furlong from it, as seen from the road,
appears a noble structure with a magnificent portico.  [Picture: Chelsea
Park Portico] The ground now called Chelsea Park belonged, with an
extensive tract of which it formed the northern part, to the famous Sir
Thomas More, and in his time was unenclosed, and termed “the Sand Hills.”
It received the present name in 1625, when the Lord-Treasurer Cranfield
(Earl of Middlesex) surrounded with a brick wall about thirty-two acres,
which he had purchased in 1620 from Mr. Blake.  In 1717 Chelsea Park,
which extended from the Fulham to the King’s Road, was estimated at forty
acres, and belonged to the Marquis of Wharton, with whom, when appointed
in 1709 Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, Addison went over as Secretary.  It
subsequently became the scene of a joint-stock company speculation under
a patent granted in 1718 to John Appletree, Esq., for producing raw silk
of the growth of England, and for raising a fund for carrying on the
same.  This undertaking was divided into shares of £5 each, of which £1
was paid down.  Proposals were published, a subscription-book opened, in
which several hundred names were soon entered; a deed of trust executed
and enrolled in Chancery; directors were chosen by the subscribers for
managing the affairs of the Company; and, Chelsea Park being thought a
proper soil for the purpose and in a convenient situation, a lease was
taken of it for 122 years.  Here upwards of 2000 mulberry-trees were soon
planted, and extensive edifices erected for carrying on the work: this
number of trees was, however, but a small part of what the company
intended to plant if they were successful.  In the following year Mr.
Henry Barham, F.R.S., who was probably a member of the company, published
‘An Essay on the Silk Worm,’ in which he thinks “all objections and
difficulties against this glorious undertaking are shown to be mere
phantoms and trifles.”  The event, however, proved that the company met
with difficulties of a real and formidable nature; for though the
expectation of this gentleman, who questioned not that in the ensuing
year they should produce a considerable quantity of raw silk, may have
been partly answered, the undertaking soon began to decline, and, in the
course of a few years, came to nothing.  It must, however, be admitted
that the violent stock-jobbing speculations of the year 1720, which
involved the shares of all projects of this nature, might have produced
many changes among the proprietors, and contributed to derange the
original design.  However, from that period to the present time, no
effort has been made to cultivate the silkworm in this country as a
mercantile speculation, although individuals have continued to rear it
with success as an object of curiosity.

Walpole, in his ‘Catalogue of Engravers,’ tells us that James Christopher
Le Blon, a Fleming by birth, and a mezzotint-engraver by profession, some
time subsequent to 1732, “set up a project for copying the cartoons in
tapestry, and made some very fine drawings for that purpose.  Houses were
built and looms erected in the Mulberry Ground at Chelsea; but either the
expense was precipitated too fast, or contributions did not arrive fast
enough.  The bubble burst, several suffered, and Le Blon was heard of no
more.”  Walpole adds, “It is said he died in an hospital at Paris in
1740:” and observes that Le Blon was “very far from young when he knew
him, but of surprising vivacity and volubility, and with a head admirably
mechanic, but an universal projector, and with at least one of the
qualities that attend that vocation, either a dupe or a cheat; I think,”
he continues, “the former, though, as most of his projects ended in air,
the sufferers believed the latter.  As he was much an enthusiast, perhaps
like most enthusiasts he was both one and t’ other.”

The present mansion was built upon a portion of Chelsea Park by Mr.
William Broomfield, an eminent surgeon, who resided in it for several
years.  The late possessor was Sir Henry Wright Wilson, Bart., to whose
wife, Lady Frances Wilson (daughter of the Earl of Aylesbury), was left a
valuable estate in Hampshire, {92} said to be worth about £3,000 a year,
under the following very singular circumstances.  Her ladyship was
informed one morning in February, 1814, while at breakfast, that an
eccentric person named Wright, who had died a few days previously at an
obscure lodging in Pimlico, had appointed her and Mr. Charles Abbott his
executors, and after some legacies had bequeathed to Lady Frances the
residue of his property by a will dated so far back as August, 1800.  As
Lady Frances declared herself to be unacquainted even with the name of
the testator, she at first concluded that there was some mistake in the
matter.  After further explanation, the person of Mr. Wright was
described to her, and Lady Frances at last recollected that the
description answered that of a gentleman she had remembered as a constant
frequenter of the Opera some years previously and considered to be a
foreigner, and who had annoyed her extremely there by constantly staring
at her box.  To satisfy herself of the identity, she went to the lodgings
of the late Mr. Wright, and saw him in his coffin, when she recognized
the features perfectly as those of the person whose eyes had so often
persecuted her when she was Lady Frances Bruce, but who had never spoken
to her, and of whom she had no other knowledge whatever.

Mr. Wright left legacies of £4,000 to the Countess of Rosslyn, £4,000 to
the Speaker of the House of Commons, £1,000 to the lord-chancellor, and
the same sum to Archdeacon Pott, the rector of St. Martin-in-the-Fields,
which church Mr. Wright had been in the habit of frequenting, having as
little acquaintance with any of these parties as he had with Lady Frances
Wilson.  It may be supposed from these facts that Lady Frances Wilson was
exceedingly beautiful, and that an admiration of her charms might have
influenced Mr. Wright to make this extraordinary bequest in her favour;
but those who knew Lady Frances well assert that such could not possibly
have been the case, as she was far from beautiful at any period of her
life; and the oddity of the story is, and it seemed to be the general
opinion, that Mr. Wright’s legacy was intended for a lady who usually
occupied a box next to that in which Lady Frances sat, and who, at the
period, was regarded as the _belle_ of the Opera.

THISTLE GROVE, on the opposite side of the road from Chelsea Park, leads,
by what had been a garden pathway, to the Old Brompton Road.  At each
side of “the Grove,” now occupying the sites of trees, are detached
villas, houses, lodges, and cottages, named, or not named, after the
taste of their respective proprietors; one of which, on the left hand,
some fourteen houses distant from the main Fulham Road, was for many
years the residence of Mr. John Burke, whose laborious heraldic and
genealogical inquiries induced him to arrange and publish various
important collections relative to the peerage and family history of the
United Kingdom, in which may be found, condensed for immediate reference,
an immense mass of important information.

In Thistle Grove Mr. J. P. Warde, the well-known actor, died in 1840.

Immediately beyond Chelsea Park the village of LITTLE CHELSEA commences,
about the centre of which, and on the same side of the way, at the corner
of the road leading to Battersea Bridge, stands the Goat in Boots
public-house.  [Picture: Goat in Boots] In 1663, there was a “house
called the Goat at Little Chelsea,” which, between that year and 1713,
enjoyed the right of commonage for two cows and one heifer upon Chelsea

How the Goat became equipped in boots, and the designation of the house
changed, has been the subject of various conjectures; the most probable
of which is, that it originates in a corruption of the latter part of the
Dutch legend,—

    (Mercury is the messenger of the gods,)

which being divided between each side of a sign bearing the figure of
Mercury—a sign commonly used in the early part of the last century to
denote that post-horses were to be obtained—“der goden boode” became
freely translated into English, “the goat in boots.”  To Le Blon is
attributed the execution of this sign and its motto; but, whoever the
original artist may have been, and the intermediate retouchers or
repainters of the god, certain it is that the pencil of Morland, in
accordance with the desire of the landlord, either transformed the
petasus of Mercury into the horned head of a goat, his talaria into spurs
upon boots of huge dimensions, and his caduceus into a cutlass, or thus
decorated the original sign, thereby liquidating a score which he had run
up here, without any other means of payment than what his pencil
afforded.  The sign, however, has been painted over, with considerable
additional embellishments from gold leaf, so that not the least trace of
Morland’s work remains, except, perhaps, in the outline.

Park Walk (the road turning off at the Goat in Boots) proceeds to the
King’s Road, and, although not in a direct line, to Battersea Bridge.
Opposite the Goat in Boots is Gilston Road, leading to Boltons and St.
Mary’s Place.  At No. 6, St. Mary’s Place, resides J. O. Halliwell,
F.R.S., F.S.A., the well-known Shaksperian scholar, whose varied
contributions to literature have been crowned by the production of his
folio edition of Shakspere—a work still in progress.  At No. 8, Mr.
Edward Wright, the popular actor, resided for a short time.

A few paces further on the main Fulham Road, at the north or opposite
side, stood “Manor House,” now termed Manor Hall, and occupied by St.
Philip’s Orphanage, a large, old-fashioned building, with the intervening
space between it and the road screened in by boards,—which were attached
to the antique iron gate and railings about twenty years ago, when it
became appropriated to a charitable asylum.  Previously, Manor House had
been a ladies’ boarding-school; and here Miss Bartolozzi, afterwards
Madame Vestris, was educated.

SEYMOUR PLACE, which leads to Seymour Terrace, is a cul-de-sac on the
same side of the main Fulham Road, between Manor Hall and the Somerset
Arms public-house, which last forms the west corner of Seymour Place.

At No. 1, Seymour Terrace expired, on the 19th of June, 1824, in her
twenty-fifth year, Madame Riego, the widow of the unfortunate patriot
General Riego, “the restorer and martyr of Spanish freedom.”  Her short
and eventful history possesses more than ordinary melancholy.  While yet
a child she had to endure all the hardships and privations consequent
upon a state of warfare, and under the protection of her maternal
grandfather, had to seek refuge from place to place on the mountains of
Asturias from the French army.  At the close of 1821 she was married to
General Riego, to whom she had been known and attached almost from
infancy, and, in the spring of the following year, became, with her
distinguished husband, a resident in Madrid.  But the political confusion
and continued alarm of the period having appeared to affect her health,
the general proceeded with her in the autumn to Granada, where he parted
from his young and beloved wife, never again to meet her in this world,
the convocation of the extraordinary Cortes for October 1822 obliging him
to return to the capital.

Accompanied by the canon Riego, brother to her husband, and her attached
sister, Donna Lucie, she removed in March to Malaga, from whence the
advance of the French army into the south of Spain obliged them to seek
protection at Gibraltar, which, under the advice of General Riego, they
left for England on the 4th of July, but, owing to an unfavourable
passage, did not reach London until the 17th of August.  Here the
visitation which impended over her was still more calamitous than all
that had preceded it.  Within little more than two months after her
arrival in London, the account arrived of General Riego’s execution. {97}

Gerald Griffin, the Irish novelist, in a letter dated 22nd of November,
1823, says,—

    “I have been lately negotiating with my host (of 76 Regent Street)
    for lodgings for the widow and brother of poor General Riego.  They
    are splendid apartments, but the affair has been broken off by the
    account of his death.  It has been concealed from her.  She is a
    young woman, and is following him fast, being far advanced in a
    consumption.  His brother is in deep grief.  He says he will go and
    bury himself for the remainder of his days in the woods of America.”

The house,

                          No. 1, SEYMOUR PLACE,

[Picture: No. 1 Seymour Place] as it was then, Seymour Terrace, Little
Chelsea, as it is now called, became, about this period, the residence of
the unhappy fugitives.  Griffin, who appears to have made their
acquaintance through a Spanish gentleman, named Valentine Llanos, writes,
in February, 1824,—

    “I was introduced the other day to poor Madame Riego, the relict of
    the unfortunate general.  I was surprised to see her look much better
    than I was prepared to expect, as she is in a confirmed consumption.”

Mental grief, which death only could terminate, had at that moment
“marked” Madame Riego “for his own;” yet her look, like that of all
high-minded Spaniards, to a stranger was calm—“much better than he was
prepared to expect.”

On the 18th of May, exactly one month and a day before the termination of
her sufferings, Griffin says,—

    “The canon Riego, brother to the poor martyr, sent me, the other day,
    a Spanish poem of many cantos, having for its subject the career of
    the unhappy general, and expressed a wish that I might find material
    for an English one in it, if I felt disposed to make anything of the
    subject.  _Apropos_, Madame Riego is almost dead.  The fire is in her
    eye, and the flush on her cheek, which are, I believe, no beacons of
    hope to the consumptive.  She is an interesting woman, and I pity her
    from my soul.  This Mr. Mathews, who was confined with her husband,
    and arrived lately in London, and who, moreover, is a countryman of
    mine, brought her from her dying husband a little favourite dog and a
    parrot, which were his companions in his dungeon.  He very
    indiscreetly came before her with the remembrances without any
    preparation, and she received a shock from it, from which she has not
    yet, nor ever will recover.  What affecting little circumstances
    these are, and how interesting to one who has the least mingling of
    enthusiasm in his character!”

Madame Riego died in the arms of her attached sister, attended by the
estimable canon.  In her will she directed her executor, the canon, to
assure the British people of the gratitude she felt towards them for the
sympathy and support which they extended to her in the hours of her
adversity.  But what makes the will peculiarly affecting is her solemn
attestation to the purity and sincerity of the political life of General
Riego.  She states that she esteems it to be the last act of justice and
duty to the memory of her beloved husband, solemnly to declare, in the
awful presence of her God, before whose judgment-seat she feels she must
soon appear, that all his private feelings and dispositions respecting
his country corresponded with his public acts and professions in defence
of its liberties.

A few yards beyond the turn down to Seymour Place, on the opposite side
of the road, stood, until pulled down in 1856, to make room for the new
one, the additional workhouse to St. George’s, Hanover Square, for which
purpose Shaftesbury House was purchased by that parish in 1787; and an
Act of Parliament passed in that year declares it to be in “St. George’s
parish so long as it shall continue to be appropriated to its present
use.”  [Picture: Shaftesbury House] [Picture: Back of Shaftesbury House]
The parochial adjuncts to Lord Shaftesbury’s mansion, which remained,
until the period of its demolition, in nearly the same state as when
disposed of, have been considerable; but the building, as his lordship
left it, could be at once recognised through the iron gate by which you
entered, and which was surmounted by a lion rampant, probably the crest
of one of the subsequent possessors.  It is surprising, indeed, that so
little alteration, externally as well as internally should have taken
place.  The appearance of the back of Shaftesbury House, as represented
in an old print, was unchanged, with the exception of the flight of steps
which led to the garden being transferred to the west (or shaded side) of
the wing—an addition made by Lord Shaftesbury to the original house.
This was purchased by him in 1699 from the Bovey family, as heirs to the
widow of Sir James Smith, by whom there is reason to believe it was built
in 1635, as [Picture: Stone] was engraved on a stone which formed part of
the pavement in front of one of the summer-houses in the garden.

The Right Honourable Sir James Smith was buried at Chelsea 18th of
November, 1681.  He was probably the junior sheriff of London in 1672.

[Picture: Summer-house]

    “It does not appear,” says Lysons, “that Lord Shaftesbury pulled down
    Sir James Smith’s house, but altered it and made considerable
    additions by a building fifty feet in length, which projected into
    the garden.  It was secured with an iron door, the window-shutters
    were of the same metal, and there were iron plates between it and the
    house to prevent all communication by fire, of which this learned and
    noble peer seems to have entertained great apprehensions.  The whole
    of the new building, though divided into a gallery and two small
    rooms (one of which was his lordship’s bedchamber), was fitted up as
    a library.  The earl was very fond of the culture of fruit-trees, and
    his gardens were planted with the choicest sorts, particularly every
    kind of vine which would bear the open air of this climate.  It
    appears by Lord Shaftesbury’s letters to Sir John Cropley that he
    dreaded the smoke of London as so prejudicial to his health, that
    whenever the wind was easterly he quitted Little Chelsea,” where he
    generally resided during the sitting of Parliament.

In 1710 the noble author of ‘Characteristics,’ then about to proceed to
Italy, sold his residence at Little Chelsea to Narcissus Luttrell, Esq.,
who, as a book-collector, is described by Dr. Dibdin as “ever ardent in
his love of past learning, and not less voracious in his bibliomaniacal
appetites” than the Duke of Marlborough.  Sir Walter Scott acknowledges
in his preface to the works of Dryden the obligations he is under to the
“valuable” and “curious collection of fugitive pieces of the reigns of
Charles II., James II., William III., and Queen Anne,” “made by Narcissus
Luttrell, Esq., under whose name the editor quotes it.  This industrious
collector,” continues Sir Walter, “seems to have bought every poetical
tract, of whatever merit, which was hawked through the streets in his
time, marking carefully the price and the date of the purchase.  His
collection contains the earliest editions of many of our most excellent
poems, bound up, according to the order of time, with the lowest trash of
Grub Street.  It was dispersed on Mr. Luttrell’s death,” adds Sir Walter
Scott, and he then mentions Mr. James Bindley and Mr. Richard Heber as
having “obtained a great share of the Luttrell collection, and liberally
furnished him with the loan of some of them in order to the more perfect
editing of Dryden’s works.”

This is not exactly correct, as Mr. Luttrell’s library descended with
Shaftesbury House to Mr. Sergeant Wynne, and from him to his eldest son,
after whose death it was sold by auction in 1786.  On the title-page of
the sale-catalogue the collection is described as “the valuable library
of Edward Wynne, Esq., lately deceased, brought from his house at Little
Chelsea.  Great part of it was formed by an eminent and curious collector
in the last century.”  At the sale of Mr. Wynne’s library, Bindley
purchased lot ’209, Collection of Poems, various, Latin and English, 5
vols. 1626, &c.,’ for seven guineas; and ’211, Collection of Political
Poems, Dialogues, Funeral Elegies, Lampoons, &c., with various Political
Prints and Portraits, 3 vols. 1641, &c.,’ for sixteen pounds; and it is
probable that these are the collections to which Sir Walter Scott refers.

Dr. Dibdin, in his enthusiastic mode of treating matters of bibliography,
endeavours to establish a pedigree for those who

    “Love a ballad in print a’ life,”

from Pepys, placing Mr. Luttrell the Second in descent.

    “The opening of the eighteenth century,” he observes, “was
    distinguished by the death of a bibliomaniac of the very first order
    and celebrity; of one who had no doubt frequently discoursed largely
    and eloquently with Luttrell upon the variety and value of certain
    editions of old ballad poetry, and between whom presents of curious
    old black-letter volumes were in all probability passing, I allude to
    the famous Samuel Pepys, secretary to the Admiralty.”

Of Narcissus Luttrell he then says:—

    “Nothing would seem to have escaped his lynx-like vigilance.  Let the
    object be what it may (especially if it related to poetry), let the
    volume be great or small, or contain good, bad, or indifferent
    warblings of the Muse, his insatiable craving had ‘stomach for all.’
    We may consider his collection the fountain-head of these copious
    streams, which, after fructifying in the libraries of many
    bibliomaniacs in the first half of the eighteenth century, settled
    for awhile more determinedly in the curious book-reservoir of a Mr.
    Wynne, and hence breaking up and taking a different direction towards
    the collections of Farmer, Steevens, and others, they have almost
    lost their identity in the innumerable rivulets which now inundate
    the book-world.”

It is to the literary taste of Mr. Edward Wynne, as asserted by Dr.
Dibdin, that modern book-collectors are indebted for the preservation of
most of the choicest relics of the Bibliotheca Luttrelliana.

    “Mr. Wynne,” he continues, “lived at Little Chelsea, and built his
    library in a room which had the reputation of having been Locke’s
    study.  Here he used to sit surrounded by innumerable books, a great
    part being formed by ‘an eminent and curious collector in the last

What Dr. Dibdin says respecting Mr. Wynne’s building a library and
Locke’s study is inaccurate, as there can be no reasonable doubt that the
room or rooms his library occupied were those built by Lord Shaftesbury,
which had (and correctly) the reputation of having been his lordship’s
library, and the study, not of Locke, although of Locke’s pupil and
friend.  It is not even probable that Lord Shaftesbury was ever visited
by our great philosopher at Little Chelsea, as from 1700 that illustrious
man resided altogether at Oates, in Essex, where he died on the 28th of
October, 1704.

Whether to Lord Shaftesbury or to Mr. Luttrell the embellishments of the
garden of their residence are to be attributed can now be only matter for
conjecture, unless some curious autograph-collector’s portfolio may by
chance contain an old letter or other document to establish the claim.
Their tastes, however, were very similar.  They both loved their books,
and their fruits and flowers, and enjoyed the study of them.  [Picture:
Summer-house] An account drawn up by Mr. Luttrell of several pears which
he cultivated at Little Chelsea, with outlines of their longitudinal
sections, was communicated to the Horticultural Society by Dr. Luttrell
Wynne, one hundred years after the notes had been made, and may be found
printed in the second volume of the Transactions of that Society.  In
this account twenty-five varieties of pears are mentioned, which had been
obtained between the years 1712 and 1717 from Mr. Duncan’s, Lord
Cheneys’s, Mr. Palmer’s, and Mr. Selwood’s nursery.

Until recently it was astounding to find, amid the rage for alteration
and improvement, the formal old-fashioned shape of a trim garden of Queen
Anne’s time carefully preserved, its antique summer-houses respected, and
the little infant leaden Hercules, which spouted water to cool the air
from a serpent’s throat, still asserting its aquatic supremacy, under the
shade of a fine old medlar-tree; and all this too in the garden of a
London parish workhouse!  [Picture: Hercules fountain] Not less
surprising was the aspect of the interior.  The grotesque workshop of the
pauper artisans, said to have been [Picture: Workshop] Lord Shaftesbury’s
dairy, and over which was his fire-proof library, was then an apartment
appropriated to a girls’ school.

On the basement story of the original house the embellished mouldings of
a doorway, carried the mind back to [Picture: Doorway] the days of
Charles I., and, standing within which, imagination depicted the figure
of a jolly Cavalier retainer, with his pipe and tankard; or of a
Puritanical, formal servant, the expression of whose countenance was
sufficient to turn the best-brewed October into vinegar.  The old carved
door leading into this apartment is shown in the annexed sketch.

Nor should the apartment then occupied by the intelligent master of the
workhouse be overlooked.  The panelling of the room, its chimney-piece,
and the painting and [Picture: Fireplace with painting above] framework
above it, placed us completely in a chamber of the time of William III.
And we only required a slight alteration in the furniture, and Lord
Shaftesbury to enter, to feel that we were in the presence of the author
of ‘Characteristics.’

The staircase, too, with its spiral balusters, as seen through the
doorway, retained its ancient air.

                [Picture: Staircase seen through doorway]

Narcissus Luttrell died here on the 26th of June, 1732, and was buried at
Chelsea on the 6th of July following; where Francis Luttrell (presumed to
be his son) was also buried on the 3rd of September, 1740.  Shaftesbury
House then passed into the occupation of Mr. Sergeant Wynne, who died on
the 17th of May, 1765; and from him it descended to his eldest son, Mr.
Edward Wynne, the author of ‘Eunomus: a Dialogue concerning the Law and
Constitution of England, with an Essay on Dialogue,’ 4 vols. 8vo; and
other works, chiefly of a legal nature.  He died a bachelor, at Little
Chelsea, on the 27th of December, 1784; and his brother, the Rev.
Luttrell Wynne, of All Souls, Oxford, inherited Shaftesbury House, and
the valuable library which Mr. Luttrell, his father, and brother, had
accumulated.  The house he alienated to William Virtue, from whom, as
before mentioned, it was purchased by the parish of St. George’s, Hanover
Square, in 1787; and the library formed a twelve-days’ sale, by Messrs.
Leigh and Sotheby, commencing on the 6th of March, 1786.  The
auction-catalogue contained 2788 lots; and some idea of the value may be
formed from the circumstance, that nine of the first seventeen lots sold
for no less a sum than £32 7s., and that four lots of old newspapers,
Nos. 25, 26, 27, and 28, were knocked down at £18 5s.  No. ‘376, a
collection of old plays, by Gascoigne, White, Windet, Decker, &c., 21
vols,’ brought £38 17s.; and No. 644, Milton’s ‘Eiconoclastes,’ with MS.
notes, supposed to be written by Milton, was bought by Waldron for 2s.,
who afterwards gave it to Dr. Farmer.  Dr. Dibdin declares, that “never
was a precious collection of English history and poetry so wretchedly
detailed to the public in an auction-catalogue” as that of Mr. Wynne’s
library; and yet it will be seen that it must have realised a
considerable sum of money.  He mentions, that “a great number of the
poetical tracts were disposed of, previous to the sale, to Dr. Farmer,
who gave not more than forty guineas for them.”



After what has been said respecting Shaftesbury House, it may be supposed
that its associations with the memory of remarkable individuals are
exhausted.  This is very far from being the case; and a long period in
its history, from 1635 to 1699, remains to be filled up, which, however,
must be done by conjecture: although so many circumstances are upon
record, that it is not impossible others can be produced to complete a
chain of evidence that may establish among those who have been inmates of
assertion may appear—two of the most illustrious individuals in the
annals of this country; of one of whom Bishop Burnet observed, {110} that
his “loss is lamented by all learned men;” the other, a man whose “great
and distinguishing knowledge was the knowledge of human nature or the
powers and operations of the mind, in which he went further, and spoke
clearer, than all other writers who preceded him, and whose ‘Essay on the
Human Understanding’ is the best book of logic in the world.”  After
this, I need scarcely add that BOYLE and LOCKE are the illustrious
individuals referred to.

The amiable John Evelyn, in his ‘Diary,’ mentions his visiting Mr. Boyle
at Chelsea, on the 9th March, 1661, in company “with that excellent
person and philosopher, Sir Robert Murray,” where they “saw divers
effects of the eolipile for weighing air.”  And in the same year M. de
Monconys, a French traveller in England, says, “L’après diné je fus avec
M. Oldenburg, {111} et mon fils, à deux milles de Londres en carosse pour
cinq chelins à un village nommé _le petit Chelsey_, voir M. Boyle.”  Now
at this period there probably was no other house at Little Chelsea of
sufficient importance to be the residence of the Hon. Robert Boyle, where
he could receive strangers in his laboratory and show them his great
telescope; and, moreover, notwithstanding what has been said to prove the
impossibility of Locke having visited Lord Shaftesbury on this spot,
local tradition continues to assert that Locke’s work on the ‘Human
Understanding’ was commenced in the retirement of one of the
summer-houses of Lord Shaftesbury’s residence.  This certainly may have
been the case if we regard Locke as a visitor to his brother philosopher,
Boyle, and admit his tenancy of the mansion previous to that of Lord
Shaftesbury, to whom Locke, it is very probable, communicated the
circumstance, and which might have indirectly led to his lordship’s
purchase of the premises.  Be that as it may, it is an interesting
association, with something more than mere fancy for its support, to
contemplate a communion between two of the master-minds of the age, and
the influence which their conversation possibly had upon that of the

Boyle’s sister, the puritanical Countess of Warwick, under date 27th
November, 1666, makes the following note: “In the morning, as soon as
dressed, I prayed, then went with my lord to my house at Chelsea, which
he had hired, where I was all that day taken up with business about my
house.” {112}  Whether this refers to _Little Chelsea_ or not is more
than I can affirm, although there are reasons for thinking that
Shaftesbury House, or, if not, one which will be subsequently pointed
out, is the house alluded to.

Charles, the fourth Earl of Orrery, and grand-nephew to Boyle the
philosopher, was born at Dr. Whittaker’s house at Little Chelsea on the
21st July, 1674.  It was his grandfather’s marriage with Lady Margaret
Howard, daughter of the Earl of Suffolk, that induced the witty Sir John
Suckling to write his well-known ‘Ballad upon a Wedding,’ in which he so
lusciously describes the bride:—

    “Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
    No daisie makes comparison;
       Who sees them is undone;
    For streaks of red were mingled there,
    Such as are on the Cath’rine pear—
       The side that’s next the sun.

    “Her lips were red; and one was thin,
    Compared to that was next her chin—
       Some bee had stung it newly;
    But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face,
    I durst no more upon her gaze,
       Than on the sun in July.”

The second Earl of Orrery, this lady’s son, having married Lady Mary
Sackville, daughter of the Earl of Dorset, is stated to have led a
secluded life at Little Chelsea, and to have died in 1682.  His eldest
son, the third earl, died in 1703, and his brother, mentioned above as
born at Little Chelsea, became the fourth earl, and distinguished himself
in the military, scientific, and literary proceedings of his times.  In
compliment to this Lord Orrery’s patronage, Graham, an ingenious
watchmaker, named after his lordship a piece of mechanism which exhibits
the movements of the heavenly bodies.  With his brother’s death, however,
in 1703, at Earl’s Court, Kensington, the connection of the Boyle family
with this neighbourhood appears to terminate.

Doctor Baldwin Hamey, an eminent medical practitioner during the time of
the Commonwealth, and a considerable benefactor to the College of
Physicians, died at Little Chelsea on the 14th of May, 1676, after an
honourable retirement from his professional duties of more than ten

Mr. Faulkner’s ‘History of Kensington,’ published in 1820, and in which
parish the portion of Little Chelsea on the north side of the Fulham Road
stands, mentions the residence of Sir Bartholomew Shower, an eminent
lawyer, in 1693; Sir Edward Ward, lord chief baron of the Exchequer, in
1697; Edward Fowler, lord bishop of Gloucester, in 1709, who died at his
house here on the 26th August, 1714; and Sir William Dawes, lord bishop
of Chester, in 1709, who, I may add, died Archbishop of York in 1724.
But in Mr. Faulkner’s ‘History of Chelsea,’ published in 1829, nothing
more is to be found respecting Sir Bartholomew Shower than that he was
engaged in some parochial law proceedings in 1691.  Sir Edward Ward’s
residence is unnoticed.  The Bishop of Gloucester, who is said to have
been a devout believer in fairies and witchcraft, is enumerated among the
inhabitants of Paradise Row, Chelsea (near the hospital, and full a mile
distant from _le petit Chelsey_); and Sir William Dawes, we find from
various entries, an inhabitant of the parish between the years 1696 and
1712, but without “a local habitation” being assigned to him.  All this
is very unsatisfactory to any one whose appetite craves after map-like
accuracy in parish affairs.

Bowack, in 1705, mentions that

    “At Little Chelsea stands a regular handsome house, with a noble
    courtyard and good gardens, built by Mr. Mart, now inhabited by Sir
    John Cope, Bart., a gentleman of an ancient and honourable family,
    who formerly was eminent in the service of his country abroad, and
    for many years of late in Parliament, till he voluntarily retired
    here to end his days in peace.”

And here Sir John Cope died in 1721.  Can he have been the father of the

   “Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye wauking yet,
   Or are ye sleeping, I would wit?
   O haste ye, get up, for the drums do beat;
   O fye, Cope! rise up in the morning!”

—of the Sir John Cope who was forced to retreat from Preston Pans in “the
’45,” and against whom all the shafts of Jacobite ribaldry have been

Faulkner says that this house, which was “subsequently occupied by the
late Mr. Duffield as a private madhouse, has been pulled down, and its
site is now called Odell’s Place, a little eastward of Lord
Shaftesbury’s;” that is to say, opposite to Manor Hall, and Sir John
Cope’s house was not improbably the residence of two distinguished naval
officers, Sir James Wishart and Sir John Balchen.  The former was made an
admiral, and knighted by Queen Anne in 1703, and appointed one of the
lords of the Admiralty, but was dismissed from the naval service by
George I. for favouring the interests of the Pretender, and died at
Little Chelsea on the 30th of May, 1723.  In the ‘Daily Courant,’ Monday,
July 15, 1723, the following advertisement appears:—

    “To be sold by auction, the household goods, plate, china ware,
    linen, &c., of Sir James Wishart, deceased, on Thursday the 18th
    instant, at his late dwelling-house at Little Chelsea.  The goods to
    be seen this day, to-morrow, and Wednesday, before the sale, from 9
    to 12 in the morning, and from 3 to 7 in the evening.  Catalogues to
    be had at the sale.

    “N.B.  A coach and chariot to be sold, and the house to be let.”

Admiral Sir John Balchen resided at Little Chelsea soon after Sir James
Wishart’s death.  In 1744, Admiral Balchen perished in the Victory, of
120 guns, which had the reputation of being the most beautiful ship in
the world, but foundered, with eleven hundred souls on board, in the Bay
of Biscay.

On the 31st of March, 1723, Edward Hyde, the third Earl of Clarendon,
died “at his house, Little Chelsea;” but where the earl’s house stood I
am unable to state.

Mrs. Robinson, the fascinating “Perdita,” tells us, in her autobiography,
that, at the age of ten (1768), she was “placed for education in a school
at Chelsea.”  And she then commences a most distressing narrative, in
which the last tragic scene she was witness to occurred at Little

    “The mistress of this seminary,” Mrs. Robinson describes as “perhaps
    one of the most extraordinary women that ever graced, or disgraced,
    society.  Her name was Meribah Lorrington.  She was the most
    extensively accomplished female that I ever remember to have met
    with; her mental powers were no less capable of cultivation than
    superiorly cultivated.  Her father, whose name was Hull, had from her
    infancy been master of an academy at Earl’s Court, near Fulham; and
    early after his marriage, losing his wife, he resolved on giving this
    daughter a masculine education.  Meribah was early instructed in all
    the modern accomplishments, as well as in classical knowledge.  She
    was mistress of the Latin, French, and Italian languages; she was
    said to be a perfect arithmetician and astronomer, and possessed the
    art of painting on silk to a degree of exquisite perfection.  But,
    alas! with all these advantages, she was addicted to one vice, which
    at times so completely absorbed her faculties as to deprive her of
    every power, either mental or corporeal.  Thus, daily and hourly, her
    superior acquirements, her enlightened understanding, yielded to the
    intemperance of her ruling infatuation, and every power of reflection
    seemed absorbed in the unfeminine propensity.

    “All that I ever learned,” adds Mrs. Robinson, “I acquired from this
    extraordinary woman.  In those hours when her senses were not
    intoxicated, she would delight in the task of instructing me.  She
    had only five or six pupils, and it was my lot to be her particular
    favourite.  She always, out of school, called me her little friend,
    and made no scruple of conversing with me (sometimes half the night,
    for I slept in her chamber) on domestic and confidential affairs.  I
    felt for her very sincere affection, and I listened with peculiar
    attention to all the lessons she inculcated.  Once I recollect her
    mentioning the particular failing which disgraced so intelligent a
    being.  She pleaded, in excuse of it, the unmitigable regret of a
    widowed heart, and with compunction declared that she flew to
    intoxication as the only refuge from the pang of prevailing sorrow.”

Mrs. Robinson remained more than twelve months under the care of Mrs.

    “When pecuniary derangements obliged her to give up her school.  Her
    father’s manners were singularly disgusting, as was his appearance,
    for he wore a silvery beard, which reached to his breast, and a kind
    of Persian robe, which gave him the external appearance of a
    necromancer.  He was of the Anabaptist persuasion, and so stern in
    his conversation, that the young pupils were exposed to perpetual
    terror; added to these circumstances, the failing of his daughter
    became so evident, that even during school-hours she was frequently
    in a state of confirmed intoxication.”

In 1772, three years afterwards, when Mrs. Robinson was fourteen, her
mother, Mrs. Darby, was obliged, as a means of support, to undertake the
task of tuition.

    “For this purpose, a convenient house was hired at Little Chelsea,
    and furnished for a ladies’ boarding-school.  Assistants of every
    kind were engaged, and I,” says Mrs. Robinson, “was deemed worthy of
    an occupation that flattered my self-love, and impressed my mind with
    a sort of domestic consequence.  The English language was my
    department in the seminary, and I was permitted to select passages
    both in prose and verse for the studies of my infant pupils; it was
    also my occupation to superintend their wardrobes, to see them
    dressed and undressed by the servants, or half-boarders, and to read
    sacred and moral lessons on saints’ days and Sunday evenings.

    “Shortly after my mother had established herself at Chelsea, on a
    summer’s evening, as I was sitting at the window, I heard a deep
    sigh, or rather groan of anguish, which suddenly attracted my
    attention.  The night was approaching rapidly, and I looked towards
    the gate before the house, where I observed a woman, evidently
    labouring under excessive affliction.  I instantly descended and
    approached her.  She, bursting into tears, asked whether I did not
    know her.  Her dress was torn and filthy; she was almost naked, and
    an old bonnet, which nearly hid her face, so completely disfigured
    her features, that I had not the smallest idea of the person who was
    then almost sinking before me.  I gave her a small sum of money, and
    inquired the cause of her apparent agony.  She took my hand, and
    pressed it to her lips.  ‘Sweet girl,’ said she, ‘you are still the
    angel I ever knew you!’  I was astonished.  She raised her bonnet;
    her fine dark eyes met mine.  It was Mrs. Lorrington.  I led her into
    the house; my mother was not at home.  I took her to my chamber, and,
    with the assistance of a lady, who was our French teacher, I clothed
    and comforted her.  She refused to say how she came to be in so
    deplorable a situation, and took her leave.  It was in vain that I
    entreated—that I conjured her to let me know where I might send to
    her.  She refused to give me her address, but promised that in a few
    days she would call on me again.  It is impossible to describe the
    wretched appearance of this accomplished woman.  The failing to which
    she had now yielded, as to a monster that would destroy her, was
    evident, even at the moment when she was speaking to me.  I saw no
    more of her; but, to my infinite regret, I was informed, some years
    after, that she had died, the martyr of a premature decay, brought on
    by the indulgence of her propensity to intoxication—in the workhouse
    of Chelsea!”

Mrs. Robinson adds, that—

    “The number of my mother’s pupils in a few months amounted to ten or
    twelve; and, just at a period when an honourable independence
    promised to cheer the days of an unexampled parent, my father
    unexpectedly returned from America.  The pride of his soul was deeply
    wounded by the step which my mother had taken; he was offended even
    beyond the bounds of reason.

                                  * * * * *

    “At the expiration of eight months, my mother, by my father’s
    positive commands, broke up her establishment, and returned to

Nearly opposite to the workhouse is the West Brompton Brewery, formerly
called “Holly Wood Brewery,” and immediately beyond it an irregular row
of six houses, which stand a little way back from the road, with small
gardens before them.  The first house is now divided into two, occupied,
when the sketch was made in 1844, by Miss Read’s academy (Tavistock
House) and Mrs. Corder’s Preparatory School; the latter (Bolton House) to
be distinguished by two ornamented stone-balls on the piers of the
gateway, was a celebrated military academy, at which many distinguished
soldiers have been educated.  [Picture: Bolton House gateway] The academy
was established about the year 1770, by Mr. Lewis Lochee, who died on the
5th of April, 1787, and who, in 1778, published an ‘Essay on
Castrametation.’  “The premises,” says Mr. Faulkner, “which were laid out
as a regular fortification, and were open to view, excited much attention
at the time.”  When balloons were novelties, and it was supposed might be
advantageously used in the operations of warfare, they attracted
considerable notice; and, on the 16th of October, 1784, Mr. Blanchard
ascended from the grounds of the Military Academy, near Chelsea.  The
anxiety to witness this exhibition is thus described in a contemporary

    “The fields for a considerable way round Little Chelsea were crowded
    with horse and foot; in consequence of which a general devastation
    took place in the gardens, the produce being either trampled down or
    torn up.  The turnip grounds were totally despoiled by the multitude.
    All the windows and houses round the academy were filled with people
    of the first fashion.  Every roof within view was covered, and each
    tree filled with spectators.”

Mr. Blanchard, upon this occasion, ascended with some difficulty,
accompanied by a Mr. Sheldon, a surgeon, whom he landed at Sunbury, from
whence Blanchard proceeded in his balloon to Romsey, in Hampshire, where
he came down in safety, after having been between three and four hours in
the air.

After Mr. Lochee’s death, his son, Mr. Lewis Lochee, continued the
establishment which his father had formed, but, unfortunately for
himself, engaged in the revolutionary movements which agitated Flanders
in 1790; where, “being taken prisoner by the Austrians, he was condemned
to be hanged.  He, however, obtained permission to come to England to
settle his affairs, upon condition of leaving his only son as a hostage;
and, upon his return to the Continent, he suffered the punishment of
death.” {120}

“His son, a schoolfellow of mine,” adds Mr. Faulkner, “afterwards married
a daughter of the late Mr. King, an eminent book auctioneer of King
Street, Covent Garden, and, lamentable to relate, fell by his own hands,”
8th of December, 1815.

The residence beyond Mr. Lochee’s Military Academy is named WARWICK
HOUSE—why, unless, possibly, the name has some reference to Boyle’s
brother-in-law, the Earl of Warwick, I am at a loss to determine.  The
next house is Amyot House.  Then comes MULBERRY HOUSE, formerly the
residence of Mr. Denham, a brother of the lamented African traveller,
Colonel Denham.  The fifth house is called HECKFIELD LODGE, an arbitrary
name bestowed by its late occupant, Mr. Milton, the author of two clever
novels, ‘Rivalry,’ and ‘Lady Cecilia Farrencourt,’ recently published,
and brother to the popular authoress, Mrs. Trollope.  And the sixth and
last house in the row, on the west side of which is Walnut-tree Walk,
leading to Earl’s Court and Kensington, is distinguished by the name of
Burleigh House, which, some one humorously observed, {121} might possibly
be a contraction of “hurley burley,” the house being a ladies’ school,
and the unceasing work of education, on the main Fulham Road, appearing
here for the first time to terminate.  [Picture: Burleigh House (1844)]
The following entry, however, in the parish register of Kensington,
respecting the birth of the fourth Earl of Exeter, on the 21st of May,
1674, may suggest a more probable derivation:—“15 May.  Honble. John
Cecill, son and heir apparent of the Rt. Honble. John Lord Burleigh and
the Lady Anne his wife born at Mr. Sheffield’s.”

William Boscawen, the amiable and accomplished translator of Horace,
resided at Burleigh House; and here he died, on the 6th of May, 1811, at
the age of fifty-nine.  He had been called to the bar, but gave up that
profession in 1786, on being appointed a commissioner for victualling the
navy.  An excellent classical scholar, and warmly attached to literary
pursuits, Mr. Boscawen published, in 1793, the first volume of a new
translation of Horace, containing the ‘Odes,’ ‘Epodes,’ and ‘Carmen
Sæculare.’  This, being well received, was followed up by Mr. Boscawen,
in 1798, by his translation of the ‘Satires, Epistles, and Art of
Poetry,’—completing a work considered to be in many respects superior to
Francis’s translation.  As an early patron and zealous friend of the
Literary Fund, Mr. Boscawen’s memory will be regarded with respect.
Within five days of his death, he wrote a copy of verses for the
anniversary meeting, which he contemplated attending:—

   “Relieved from toils, behold the aged steed
   Contented crop the rich enamell’d mead,
   Bask in the solar ray, or court the shade,
   As vernal suns invite, or summer heats invade!
   But should the horn or clarion from afar
   Call to the chase, or summon to the war,
   Roused to new vigour by the well-known sound,
   He spurns the earth, o’erleaps the opposing mound,
   Feels youthful ardour in each swelling vein,
   Darts through the rapid flood, and scours the plain!

   “Thus a lorn Muse, who, worn by cares and woes,
   Long sought retirement’s calm, secure repose,
   With glad, though feeble, voice resumes her lay,
   Waked by the call of this auspicious day.”

Alas! the hand which on May morning had penned this introduction to an
appeal in the cause of literary benevolence,—that hand was cold; and the
lips by which, on the following day, the words that had flowed warmly
from the heart were to have been uttered,—those lips were mute in death
within a week.

On the 16th of April, 1765, Mr. James House Knight, of Walham Green,
returning home from London, was robbed and murdered on the highroad in
the vicinity of Little Chelsea; the record of his burial in the parish
register of Kensington is, “Shot in Fulham Road, near Brompton.”  For the
discovery of the murderers a reward of fifty pounds was offered; and, on
the 7th of July following, two Chelsea pensioners were committed to
prison, charged with this murder, on the testimony of their accomplice,
another Chelsea pensioner, whom they had threatened to kill upon some
quarrel taking place between them.  The accused were tried, found guilty,
hanged, and gibbeted; one nearly opposite Walnut-tree Walk, close by the
two-mile stone, the other at Bull Lane, a passage about a quarter of a
mile farther on, which connects the main Fulham Road with the King’s
Road, by the side of the Kensington Canal.  In these positions, for some
years, the bodies of the murderers hung in chains, to the terror of
benighted travellers and of market-gardeners, who

   “Wended their way,
   In morning’s grey,”

towards Covent Garden, until a drunken frolic caused the removal of a
painful and useless exhibition.  A very interesting paper upon London
life in the last century occurs in the second volume of Knight’s
‘London;’ in which it is observed that “a gibbet’s tassel” was one of the
first sights which met the eye of a stranger approaching London from the

    “About the middle of the last century, similar objects met the gaze
    of the traveller by whatever route he entered the metropolis.  ‘_All_
    the gibbets in the Edgware Road,’ says an extract from the newspapers
    of the day in the ‘Annual Register’ for 1763, ‘on which _many_
    malefactors were being hung in chains, were cut down by persons
    unknown.’  The _all_ and the _many_ of this cool matter-of-fact
    announcement conjure up the image of a long avenue planted with
    ‘gallows-trees,’ instead of elms and poplars,—an assemblage of
    pendent criminals, not exactly ‘thick as leaves that strew the brook
    in Valombrosa,’ but frequent as those whose feet tickling Sancho’s
    nose, when he essayed to sleep in the cork forest, drove him from
    tree to tree in search of an empty bough.

    “Frequent mention is made in the books, magazines, and newspapers of
    that period, of the bodies of malefactors conveyed after execution to
    Blackheath, Finchley, and Kennington Commons, or Hounslow Heath, for
    the purpose of being there permanently suspended.  In those days the
    approach to London on all sides seems to have lain through serried
    files of gibbets, growing closer and more thronged as the distance
    from the city diminished, till they and their occupants arranged
    themselves in rows of ghastly and grinning sentinels along both sides
    of the principal avenues.”

This picture is not over-coloured; and it is to the following occurrence
in the main Fulham Road that the removal of these offensive exhibitions
is to be attributed.  Two or three fashionable parsons, who had
sacrificed superabundantly to the jolly god at Fulham, returning to
London, where they desired to arrive quickly, had intellect enough to
discover that the driver of their post-chaise did not make his horses
proceed at a pace equal to their wishes, and, after in vain urging him to
more speed, one of them declared that, if he did not use his whip with
better effect, he should be made an example of for the public benefit,
and hanged up at the first gibbet.  The correctness of the old saying,
that “when the head is hot the hand is ready,” was soon verified by the
postboy being desired to stop at the gibbet opposite Walnut-tree Walk,
which order, unluckily for himself, he obeyed, instead of proceeding at a
quicker pace.  Out sprung the inmates of his chaise; they seized him,
bound him hand and foot, and throwing a rope, which they had fastened
round his body, over the gibbet, he soon found himself, in spite of his
cries and entreaties, elevated in air beside the tarred remains of the
Chelsea pensioner.

The reverend perpetrators of the deed drove off, leaving the luckless
postboy to protest, loudly and vainly, to “the dull, cold ear of death,”
against the loathsome companionship.  When the first market-gardener’s
cart passed by, most lustily did he call for help; but every effort to
get free only tended to prolong his suspense.  What could the carters and
other early travellers imagine upon hearing shouts proceeding from the
gibbet, but that the identical murderer of Mr. Knight had by some miracle
come to life, and now called out, “Stop! stop!” with the intention of
robbing and murdering them also?  And they, feeling that supernatural
odds were against them, ran forwards or backwards, not daring to look
behind, as fast as their feet could carry alarmed and bewildered heads,
leaving the fate of their carts to the sagacity of the horses.  Finding
that the louder he called for help the more alarm he excited, the
suspended postboy determined philosophically to endure the misery of his
situation in dignified silence.  But there he was suffered to hang
unnoticed; or, if remarked, it was only concluded that another criminal
had been added to the gibbet, as its second tassel.  The circumstance,
however, of a second body having been placed there speedily came to the
knowledge of a magistrate in the neighbourhood, who had taken an active
part in the apprehension of Mr. Knight’s murderers; and he proceeded,
without delay, to the spot, that he might satisfy himself as to the
correctness of the report.  Judge, however, his astonishment on hearing
himself addressed by name from the gibbet, and implored, in the most
piteous manner, to deliver from bondage a poor postboy, whose only
offence was that he would not goad on two overworked horses to humour a
pair of drunken gentlemen.  These “drunken gentlemen” are said to have
been men of rank and influence: their names have never transpired, but
the outrage with which they were charged led to the immediate removal
from the Fulham Road of the last pair of gibbets which disgraced it.

Upon the ground which was occupied by the gibbet where the kind-hearted
postboy was strung up, a solitary cottage stood some years ago; and
tradition asserted, that both the murderer and his gibbet were buried
beneath it.  [Picture: Solitary cottage] This cottage is now pulled down;
Lansdowne Villas and Hollywood Place have been erected on the spot, and
villas and groves continue to the ‘Gunter Arms,’ a public-house that
takes its name from Richard Gunter, the well-known confectioner, by the
side of which is Gunter Grove.  This is now the starting-point of the
Brompton omnibuses, which formerly did not go beyond Queen’s Elm.  Edith
Grove, a turning between Lansdowne Villas and Gunter Grove, is in a
direct line with Cremorne Gardens.

Proceeding on our road towards Fulham, the next point which claims
attention is the extensive inclosure of the West of London and
Westminster Cemetery Company,—a company incorporated by act of parliament
1st of Victoria, cap. 180.  The burial-ground was consecrated on the 12th
of June, 1840, and extends from the Fulham Road to what is called,
generally, “Sir John Scott Lillie’s Road,” and sometimes “Brompton Lane
Road,” which, in fact, is a continuation, to North End, Fulham, of the
line of the Old Brompton Road,—the point, as the reader may recollect,
that we turned off from at the Bell and Horns, in order to follow the
main Fulham Road to Little Chelsea.  The public way on the east of the
burial-ground is called Honey Lane, and on the west the boundary is the
pathway by the side of the Kensington Canal.  The architect of the chapel
and catacombs is Mr. Benjamin Baud.  The cemetery is open for public
inspection, free of charge, from seven in the morning till sunset, except
on Sundays, when it is closed till half-past one o’clock.  The first
interment took place on the 18th of June, 1840, from which time, to the
22nd of November, there were thirty-four burials, the average number
being then four per week.  It is scarcely necessary to add, that a
considerable average increase has taken place; but the first step in
statistics is always curious.

One of the most interesting instances of longevity which the annals of
the West of London and Westminster Cemetery Company present occurs on a
stone in the north-east corner of the burial-ground, where the age
recorded of Louis Pouchée is 108; but this does not agree with the burial
entry made by the Rev. Stephen Reid Cattley—“Louis Pouchée, of St.
Martin’s in the Fields, viz., 40 Castle Street, Leicester Square, buried
Feb. 21, 1843, aged 107.”

This musical patriarch, however, according to a statement in the ‘Medical
Times,’ {128} was admitted as a patient to St. George’s Hospital November
24, 1842.  January 4, went out, and died, about three months afterwards,
of diarrhoea and dysentery.

Another instance of longevity, though not so extraordinary, is one which
cannot be contemplated without feeling how much influence the
consciousness of honest industry in the human mind has upon the health
and happiness of the body.  A gravestone near a public path on the
south-east side of the burial-ground marks the last resting place of
Francis Nicholson, landscape-painter, who died the 6th March, 1844, aged
91 years.

Mr. Nicholson originally practised as a portrait-painter, but the
simplicity and uprightness of his heart did not permit him to tolerate or
pander to the vanities of man (and woman) kind.  To flatter was with him
an utter impossibility; and, as he could not invariably consider the
“human face divine,” he was incapable of assuming the courtly manners so
essential in that branch of the profession.  He never, indeed, quite
forgave himself for an approach to duplicity committed at this time upon
an unfortunate gentleman, who sat to him for his portrait, and who
squinted so desperately, that in order to gain a likeness it was
necessary to copy moderately the defect.  The poor man, it seemed,
perfectly unconscious of the same, on being invited to inspect the
performance, looked in silence upon it a few moments, and, with rather a
disappointed air, said—

“I don’t know—it seems to me—does it squint?”

“Squint!” replied Nicholson, “no more than you do.”

“Really! well, you know best of course; but I declare I fancied there was
a _queer look_ about it!”

The opening of the Water-Colour Exhibition, in 1805, may be dated as the
commencement of Mr. Nicholson’s fame and success in London.  In
conjunction with Glover, Varley, Prout, and others, an advance in the art
of watercolour painting was made, such as to astonish and call forth the
admiration of the public.

In a manuscript autobiography which Mr. Nicholson left behind him, and
which is full of curious anecdotes, he gives the following account of the
formation of that exhibition.

    “Messrs. Hills and Pyne asked me to join in the attempt to establish
    such a society, which I readily agreed to.  It was a long time before
    a number of members sufficient to produce so many works as would be
    required to cover the walls of the exhibition room in Brook Street
    could be brought to join it.  Artists were afraid they might suffer
    loss by renting and fitting up the room, the expense being certain
    and the success very doubtful.  After a great while the society was
    formed, and, in the first and second exhibition, the sale of drawings
    was so considerable, and the visitors so numerous, that crowds of
    those who had refused to join were eager to be admitted into the

[Picture: Nicholson’s Grave] Since the annexed sketch of Mr. Nicholson’s
grave was taken, the stone bears the two additional melancholy
inscriptions of Thomas Crofton Croker, son-in-law of Francis Nicholson,
who died 8th August, 1854, and Marianne, widow of Thomas Crofton Croker,
who died 6th October, 1854; and an iron railing has been erected on
either side of the grave.

[Picture: St. Mark’s Chapel] Opposite to the Cemetery gates is Veitch’s
Royal Exotic Nursery.

St. Mark’s Chapel, within the grounds of the college, stands opposite to
St. Mark’s Terrace, a row of modern houses immediately beyond the
cemetery.  The grounds extend to the King’s Road, and contain about
eleven acres, surrounded by a brick wall; and the entrance to the
National Society’s training college is from that road.  Stanley House, or
Stanley Grove House, which was purchased in 1840 for upwards of £9000 by
the society, stood upon the site of a house which Sir Arthur Gorges, the
friend of Spenser, allegorically named by him Alcyon, {131} built for his
own residence; and upon the death of whose first wife, a daughter of
Viscount Bindon, in 1590, the poet wrote a beautiful elegy, entitled
‘Daphnaida.’  In the Sydney papers mention is made, under date 15th
November, 1599, that, “as the queen passed by the faire new building, Sir
Arthur Gorges presented her with a faire jewell.”  He died in 1625; and
by his widow, the daughter of the Earl of Lincoln, the house and adjacent
land, then called the “Brickhills,” was sold, in 1637, to their only
daughter, Elizabeth, the widow of Sir Robert Stanley; which sale was
confirmed by her mother’s will, dated 18th July, 1643.  The Stanley
family continued to reside here until 1691, when by the death of William
Stanley, Esq., that branch of this family became extinct in the male

The present house, a square mansion, was built soon afterwards; and the
old wall, propped by several buttresses, inclosing the west side of the
grounds, existed on the bank of the Kensington Canal until it was washed
down by a very high tide.  This new or square mansion remained unfinished
and unoccupied for several years.  In 1724 it belonged to Henry Arundel,
Esq. and on the 24th May, 1743, Admiral Sir Charles Wager, a
distinguished naval officer, died here, and was buried in Westminster
Abbey.  After passing through several hands, Stanley Grove became the
property of Miss Southwell, afterwards the wife of Sir James Eyre, Lord
Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, who sold it in 1777 to the Countess of

Here her ladyship indulged her love for botany by building extensive
hot-houses and conservatories, and collecting and introducing into
England rare exotics.

    “She had purchased,” says her biographer, “a fine old mansion, with
    extensive grounds well walled in, and there she had brought exotics
    from the Cape, and was in a way of raising continually an increase to
    her collection, when, by her fatal marriage, the cruel spoiler came
    and threw them, like loathsome weeds, away.”

Mr. Lochee, before mentioned, purchased Stanley Grove from the Countess
of Strathmore and her husband, Mr. Bowes.  It was afterwards occupied by
Dr. Richard Warren, the eminent physician, who died in 1797, and who is
said to have acquired by the honourable practice of his profession no
less a sum than £150,000.  In January 1808, Mr. Leonard Morse, of the War
Office, died at his residence, Stanley House, and about 1815 it was
purchased by the late Mr. William Richard Hamilton, who ranks as one of
the first scholars and antiquaries of his day.  Between that year and
1840 Mr. Hamilton resided here at various periods, having occasionally
let it.  He made a considerable addition to the house by building a
spacious room as a wing on the east side, in the walls of which casts
from the frieze and metopes of the Elgin marbles were let in.

When Mr. Hamilton proceeded as envoy to the court of Naples in 1821,
Stanley Grove House became the residence of Mrs. Gregor, and is thus
described by Miss Burney, who was an inmate at this time, in the
following playful letter {133} to a friend, dated 24th September, 1821:—

    “Whilst you have been traversing sea and land, scrambling up rocks
    and shuddering beside precipices, I have been stationary, with no
    other variety than such as turning to the right instead of the left
    when walking in the garden, or sometimes driving into town through
    Westminster, and, at other times, through Piccadilly.  Poor Miss
    Gregor continues to be a complete invalid, and, for her sake, we give
    up all society at home and all engagements abroad.  Luckily, the
    house, rented by Mrs. Gregor from William Hamilton, Esq. (who
    accompanied Lord Elgin into Greece) abounds with interesting
    specimens in almost every branch of the fine arts.  Here are statues,
    casts from the frieze of the Parthenon, pictures, prints, books, and
    minerals; _four_ pianofortes of different sizes, and an excellent
    harp.  All this to study does Desdemona (that’s me) seriously
    incline; and the more I study the more I want to know and to see.  In
    short, I am crazy to travel in Greece!  The danger is that some
    good-for-nothing bashaw should seize upon me to poke me into his
    harem, there to bury my charms for life, and condemn me for ever to
    blush unseen.  However, I could easily strangle or stab him, set fire
    to his castle, and run away by the light of it, accompanied by some
    handsome pirate, with whom I might henceforward live at my ease in a
    cavern on the sea-shore, dressing his dinners one moment, and my own
    sweet person the next in pearls and rubies, stolen by him, during
    some of his plundering expeditions, from the fair throat and arms of
    a shrieking Circassian beauty, whose lord he had knocked on the head.
    Till these genteel adventures of mine begin, I beg you to believe me,
    dear Miss ---,

                                                        “Yours most truly,
                                                           “S. H. BURNEY.”

Theodore Hook notes, in one of his manuscript journals, “5th July, 1826.
W. Hamilton’s party.  Stanley Grove.”

About 1828, Stanley Grove was occupied by the Marquess of Queensberry;
and, in 1830–31, by Colonel Grant, at the rent, it was said, of £1000 per

On the west side of the house the National Society added a quadrangle,
built in the Italian style after the design of Mr. Blore; and, in the
grounds near the chapel, an octagonal building as a Practising School,
for teaching the poor children of the neighbourhood.

                       [Picture: Practising School]

Crossing the Kensington Canal over Sandford Bridge, [Picture: Sandford
Bridge] sometimes written “Stanford” and “Stamford,” we enter the parish
of Fulham.  The road turning off on the west side of the canal is called
“Bull Lane;” and a little further on a footway existed not long since,
known as Bull Alley; both of which passages led into the King’s Road, and
took their names from the Bull public-house, which stood between them in
that road.  [Picture: Bull Alley] Bull Alley is now converted into a
good-sized street, called Stamford Road, which has a public-house (the
Rising Sun) on one side, and a bookseller’s shop on the other.  Here, for
a few years, was a turnpike, which has been recently removed and placed
lower down the road, adjoining the Swan Tavern and Brewery, Walham Green,
established 1765.  [Picture: No. 4, No. 3 Stamford Villas] Houses are
being built in all directions opposite several “single and married
houses,” with small gardens in front and the rear, known as STAMFORD
VILLAS, where, at No. 2, resided, in 1836 and 1837, Mr. H. K. Browne,
better known, perhaps, by his _sobriquet_ of “Phiz,” as an illustrator of
popular periodical works.

No. 3 and No. 4 are shown in the annexed cut, and No. 3 may be noticed as
having been the residence of Mr. Kempe, the author of ‘A History of St.
Martin-le-Grand,’ the editor of the ‘Losely Papers,’ and a constant
contributor, under the signature of A. J. K., to the antiquarian lore of
the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine.’  Mr. Kempe died here on 21st August, 1846.
The three last houses of the Stamford Villas are not “wedded to each
other,” and in the garden of the one nearest London, Mr. Hampton, who
made an ascent in a balloon from Cremorne, on the 13th June, 1839, with
every reasonable prospect of breaking his neck for the amusement of the
public, came down by a parachute descent, without injury to himself,
although he carried away a brick or two from the chimney of the house,
much to the annoyance of the person in charge, who rushed out upon the
aeronaut, and told him that he had no business to come in contact with
the chimney.  His reply exhibited an extraordinary coolness, for he
assured the man it was quite unintentional upon his part.

The milestone is opposite the entrance to No. 20 Stamford Villas, which
informs the pedestrian that it is one mile to Fulham; and passing Salem
Chapel, which is on the right hand side of the main road, we reach the
village of Walham Green.



The village of Walham Green, which is distant from Hyde Park Corner
between two and a half and three miles, appears to have been first so
called soon after the revolution of 1688.  Before this, it was known as
Wansdon Green, written also Wandon and Wandham; all of which names,
according to Lysons, originated from the manor of Wendon, so was the
local name written in 1449, which in 1565 was spelled Wandowne.  As the
name of a low and marshy piece of land on the opposite side of the Thames
to Wandsworth, through which _wandered_ the drainage from the higher
grounds, or through which the traveller had to _Wendon_ (pendan) his way
to Fulham; it would not be difficult to enter into speculations as to the
Anglo-Saxon origin of the word, but I refrain from placing before the
reader my antiquarian ruminations while passing Wansdown House, for few
things are more fascinating and deceptive than verbal associations.
Indeed, if indulged in to any extent, they might lead an enthusiast to
connect in thought the piers of Fulham (bridge) with the _Piers_ of
Fulham, who, in the fourteenth or fifteenth century, “compyled many praty
conceytis in love under covert terms of ffyssyng and ffowlyng;” and which
curious poem may be found printed in a collection of _Ancient Metrical
Tales_, edited by the Rev. Charles Henry Hartshorne. {138}

Two of “some ancient houses, erected in 1595, as appeared by a date on
the truss in the front of one of them,” were pulled down at Walham Green
in 1812; after which the important proceedings in the progress of this
village in suburban advancement consisted in the establishment of
numerous public-houses; the filling up of a filthy pond, upon the ground
gained by which act a chapel-of-ease to Fulham, dedicated to St. John,
has been built, after the design of Mr. Taylor, at the estimated expense
of £9683 17s. 9d.  The first stone was laid on the 1st of January, 1827;
and it was consecrated by the Bishop of London on the 14th of August,
1828.  This was followed by the building of a charity-school upon an
angular patch of green, or common land, where donkeys had been wont to
graze, and the village children to play at cricket.  Then the parish
pound was removed from a corner of the high road, near a basket-maker’s,
to a back lane, thereby destroying the travelling joke of “Did you ever
see the baskets sold by the pound?”  And, finally, Walham Green has
assumed a new aspect, from the construction of the Butchers’ Almshouses,
the first stone of which was laid by the late Lord Ravensworth, on the
1st of July, 1840.  Since that time, fancy-fairs and bazaars, with
horticultural exhibitions, have been fashionably patronised at Walham
Green by omnibus companies, for the support and enlargement of this

   “Hail, happy isle! and happier Walham Green!
   Where all that’s fair and beautiful are seen!
   Where wanton zephyrs court the ambient air,
   And sweets ambrosial banish every care;
   Where thought nor trouble social joy molest,
   Nor vain solicitude can banish rest.
   Peaceful and happy here I reign serene,
   Perplexity defy, and smile at spleen;
   Belles, beaux, and statesmen, all around me shine;
   All own me their supreme, me constitute divine;
   All wait my pleasure, own my awful nod,
   And change the humble gardener to the god.”

Thus, in the ‘London Magazine’ for June 1749, did Mr. Bartholomew Rocque
prophetically apostrophise Walham Green,—the “belles, beaux, and
statesmen,” by which he was surrounded being new varieties of flowers,
dignified by distinguished names.  In 1755, he printed a ‘Treatise on the
Cultivation of the Hyacinth, translated from the Dutch;’ and in 1761 an
‘Essay on Lucerne Grass,’, of which an enlarged edition was published in
1764.  Mr. Rocque {139} resided in the house occupied by the late Mr.
King, opposite to the Red Lion, where Mr. Oliver Pitts now carries on
business as builder and carpenter.

Immediately after leaving Walham Green, on the south, or left-hand side,
of the main Fulham road, behind a pair of carriage gates, connected by a
brick wall, stands the mansion of Lord Ravensworth; in outward appearance
small and unostentatious, without the slightest attempt at architectural
decoration, but sufficiently spacious and attractive to have received the
highest honour that can be conferred on the residence of a subject, by
her Majesty and Prince Albert having visited the late lord here on the
26th of June, 1840.  The grounds at the back of the house, though not
extensive, were planted with peculiar skill, care, and taste, by the late
Mr. Ord; and on that occasion recalled to memory the words of our old
poet, the author of ‘Britannia’s Pastorals,’ William Browne:—

   “There stood the elme, whose shade so mildely dym
   Doth nourish all that groweth under him:
   Cipresse that like piramides runne topping,
   And hurt the least of any by the dropping;
   The alder, whose fat shadow nourisheth
   Each plant set neere to him long flourisheth;
   The heavie-headed plane-tree, by whose shade
   The grasse grows thickest, men are fresher made;
   The oak that best endures the thunder-shocks,
   The everlasting, ebene, cedar, boxe.
   The olive, that in wainscot never cleaves,
   The amourous vine which in the elme still weaves;
   The lotus, juniper, where wormes ne’er enter;
   The pyne, with whom men through the ocean venture;
   The warlike yewgh, by which (more than the lance)
   The strong-arm’d English spirits conquer’d France;
   Amongst the rest, the tamarisks there stood,
   For housewives’ besomes only knowne most good;
   The cold-place-loving birch, and servis-tree;
   The Walnut-loving vales and mulberry;
   The maple, ashe, that doe delight in fountains,
   Which have their currents by the side of mountains;
   The laurell, mirtle, ivy, date, which hold
   Their leaves all winter, be it ne’er so cold;
   The firre, that oftentimes doth rosin drop;
   The beech, that scales the welkin with his top:
   _All these and thousand more within this grove_,
   _By all the industry of nature strove_
   _To frame an arbour that might keepe within it_
   _The best of beauties that the world hath in it_.”

Since the royal visit, Lord Ravensworth’s residence has been called
_Percy Cross_, but no reason has been assigned for the alteration of name
from Purser’s Cross, which is mentioned as a point “on the Fulham road
between Parson’s Green and Walham Green,” so far back as 1602, and at
which we shall presently arrive.  [Picture: View of Percy Cross] No
connection whatever that I am aware of exists between the locality and
the Percy family, and it only affords another, very recent local example
of what has been as happily as quaintly termed “the curiosity of change.”
The most favourable aspect of the house is, perhaps, the view gained of
it from a neighbouring garden across a piece of water called Eel Brook,
which ornaments an adjacent meadow.

John Ord, Esq., the creator of Lord Ravensworth’s London residence, is
better known as “Master Ord.”  He was the only son of Robert Ord, Chief
Baron of the Court of Exchequer in Scotland.  In 1746 Mr. Ord entered
Trinity College, Cambridge, and in 1762, vacated a lay fellowship by
marriage with Eleanor, the second daughter of John Simpson, Esq., of
Bradley, in the county of Durham.  After being called to the bar, Mr. Ord
practised in the Court of Chancery; and, in 1774, was returned to
parliament as member for Midhurst.  In 1778 he was appointed Master of
Chancery; and the next session, when returned member for Hastings, was
chosen chairman of “Ways and Means,” in which situation his conduct gave
much satisfaction.  Mr. Ord retired from parliament in 1790, and in 1809
resigned his office of Master in Chancery, and that of Attorney-General
for Lancaster the following year, when “he retired to a small place at
Purser’s Cross, in the parish of Fulham, where he had early in life
amused himself in horticultural pursuits, and where there are several
foreign trees of his own raising remarkable both for their beauty and

Lysons, in 1795, says—

    “While I am speaking upon this subject” (the trees planted by Bishop
    Compton in the gardens of Fulham Palace), “it would he unpardonable
    to omit the mention of a very curious garden near Walham Green in
    this parish, planted, since the year 1756, by its present proprietor,
    John Ord, Esq., Master in Chancery.  It is not a little extraordinary
    that this garden should, within the space of forty years (such have
    been the effects of good management and a fertile soil), have
    produced trees which are now the finest of their respective kinds in
    the kingdom.  As a proof of this may be mentioned the _sophora
    Japonica_, planted anno 1756, then about two feet high, now eight
    feet in girth, and about forty in height; a standard _Ginko_ tree,
    planted about the year 1767, two feet three inches in girth; and an
    Illinois walnut, two feet two inches in girth, growing where it was
    sown about the year 1760.  Among other trees, very remarkable also
    for their growth, though not to be spoken of as the largest of their
    kind, are a black walnut-tree (sown anno 1757), about forty feet
    high, and five feet four inches in girth; a cedar of Libanus (planted
    in 1756), eight feet eight inches in girth; a willow-leaved oak (sown
    anno 1757), four feet in girth; the Rhus Vernix, or varnish sumach,
    four feet in girth; and a stone pine of very singular growth.  Its
    girth at one foot from the ground is six feet four inches; at that
    height it immediately begins to branch out, and spreads, at least,
    twenty-one feet on each side, forming a large bush of about fourteen
    yards in diameter.”

The second edition of Lysons’ ‘Environs of London’ appeared in 1810, when
the measurement of these trees, in June 1808 and December 1809, was
placed in apposition.  Faulkner’s ‘History of Fulham,’ published in 1813,
carries on the history of their growth for three years more; but as, from
the marginal pencil note signed J. M., and dated January 1835 in Lysons’,
I am led to conclude that some of these interesting trees exist no
longer, the following tabular view compiled from these sources may not be
unacceptable to the naturalist, who is well aware that

   “Not small the praise the skilful planter claims,
   From his befriended country.”

About the time of Mr. Ord’s death, 6th June, 1814, his garden contained
much that is remarkable in horticulture:—

    “There was,” we are told, “a good collection of American plants;
    amongst others, a fine _Andromeda Arborea_, planted about eight
    inches high in March 1804; and now (1812) eleven feet eight inches

    “The _Glastonbury Thorn_ flowered here on Christmas day, 1793.

    “In the kitchen garden is (1812) a moss-rose, which has been much
    admired.  Many years ago Mr. Ord ordered his gardener to lay a
    moss-rose, which, when done, he thought looked so well, he would not
    allow the layers to be taken off, but laid them down year after year,
    till it covered the ground it does at present, viz. a diameter of
    forty-seven feet; want of room has confined it to its present size
    for several years.”

                  Girth at 3 feet   Girth in June     Girth in          Girth in 1812     Girth in Jan
                  from the ground   1808              December 1809     (Faulkner)        1835 J.M.
                  in 1793

                  f.   i.           f.  i.            f.  i.            f.  i.            f.  i.

{144a} in 1809,   8    0            9   4             9   7½            10  1             0   0
about 50 feet
in height; it
flowered for
the first time
in August 1807,
and has
continued to
flower the two

biloba_,          2    3            3   6             3   9             3   10            0   0
standard) about
37 feet high.

A tree from an
given by Mr.      2    2            2  10             2  11             3    0            0   0
Aiton to Mr.
Ord, about 40
feet high.

A black
(_juglans         5    4            6  11 {144c}      7   3             10   0
niger_), sown
where it stands
in 1757, about
64 feet high in

A cedar of
Lebanon, when
planted being     8    8            9  11 {144d}      9   9             10   0
two years old,
in 1809 being
about 55 feet

A willow-leaved
oak, sown in
1757.             4    0            5   5 {144e}      5   7             5    10

The _rhus
vernix_, or
varnish sumach.   4    0            4   10            4   10            5     1

ornus_, which
is covered with                                                         3    10
flowers every

sown in 1759,                                                           4     8
produced pods 2
feet long in
1780, but the

common_, sown
in 1757,                                                                7     7
planted where
it stands in

_Ilex_                                                                  6     9

sown where it
stands in 1758,                                                         5     6
first flowered
in 1782.

_Cyprus                                                                 5     6
deciduus_, sown
in 1760

(Constantinople                                                         3     2
hazel), between
30 and 40 feet
high, bears
fruit, but

cedar_, (red)
sown in 1758                                                            4     0

_Guilandina                                                             2     1
dioica_, or

_Juglans alba_,
or white
hickory.                                                                3     1

_Lombardy_, or
_Po poplar_, a
cutting in 1766                                                         10    0
near 100 feet

_Poplar_,                                                               8     6
planted in 1772

    Another column headed 1845, carrying out this view, would be an
    important addition to statistical observation.

Two agaves, or American aloes, flowered in Mr. Ord’s greenhouse in the
summer of 1812, one of which was a beautiful striped variety.  The plants
had been there since the year 1756.  Amid all these delightful
associations, there is one melancholy event connected with the place.  On
the night of the 9th September, 1807, a fire broke out in the
garden-house of Mr. Ord’s residence (a cottage upon the site of the
present stables): the flame raged so furiously as to burn the principal
gardener, an old and valued servant, almost to ashes before any help
could be afforded to him.  Upon the following Sunday (13th), the Rev.
John Owen, the then curate of Fulham, preached so effective a sermon upon
the uncertainty of the morrow, {145} that having printed a large
impression “without any loss to himself,” a second edition appeared on
the 3rd of the following month.

In the second volume of the ‘Transactions of the Horticultural Society,’
a beautifully-coloured representation of ‘Ord’s apple’ may be found,
illustrative of Mr. Salisbury’s communication respecting it, which was
read to the Society on the 17th of January, 1817.  After acknowledging
his obligations to Mrs. Anne Simpson, the sister of Mrs. Ord, and who Mr.
Salisbury represents as “being as fond of gardening as her late
brother-in-law, Mr. Ord,” it is stated that,—

    “About forty years ago, the late John Ord, Esq. raised, in his garden
    at _Purser’s Cross_, near Fulham, an apple-tree from the seed of the
    New-town pippin, imported from North America.  When this tree began
    to bear, its fruit, though without any external beauty, proved
    remarkably good, and had a peculiar quality, namely, a melting
    softness in eating, so that it might be said almost to dissolve in
    the mouth.  The late Mr. Lee, of Hammersmith, often had grafts of
    this tree, and he sold the plant so raised first with the name of
    Ord’s apple, and subsequently with the name of New-town pippin. . . .

    “This seedling tree,” continues Mr. Salisbury, “is now (1817) of
    large dimensions, its trunk being four feet four inches round at a
    yard above the ground; but it has of late years been very unhealthy,
    and scarcely borne any fruit worth gathering, its roots having, no
    doubt, penetrated into a stratum of unfavourable soil.”

Mrs. Anne Simpson sowed some pippins from this remarkable tree,—

    “And two of the healthiest seedlings of this second generation were
    planted out to remain in the kitchen-garden, which are now (1817)
    about twenty years old.  One of these trees began to bear fruit very
    soon, which is not unlike that of its parent in shape, with a thin
    skin; and, being a very good apple, grafts of it have been
    distributed about the metropolis with the name of _Simpson’s pippin_.
    The other seedling of the second generation was several years longer
    in bearing fruit; and, when it did, the apples were quite of a
    different shape, being long, with a thick skin and poor flavour, and
    so numerous as to be all very small.  Of late years, however, they
    have gradually improved so much in flavour, as to become a remarkably
    spirited, juicy apple, attaining a good size, which has probably been
    promoted by thinning them, though a full crop has always been left
    upon the tree; and they are now greatly esteemed by all who taste

This apple is in perfection for eating from Christmas to the middle of
March.  The skin is thick, and always of a green colour while on the
tree, but tinged with copper-coloured red, and several darker spots on
the sunny side; after the fruit has been gathered some time, the green
colour changes to a yellowish cast.  It may be mentioned that, before the
death of the late Lord Ravensworth, the house was inhabited by those
celebrated artistes, Madame Grisi and Signor Mario.

On the opposite side of the road to Lord Ravensworth’s, and a few yards
beyond it, on the way to Fulham, is Walham Lodge, formerly Park Cottage,
a modern well-built house, which stands within extensive grounds,
surrounded by a brick wall.  This was for some years the residence of Mr.
Brand, the eminent chemist, who particularly distinguished himself by the
course of lectures which he delivered on geology, at the Royal
Institution, in 1816; and which may be dated as the popular starting
point of that branch of scientific inquiry in this country.

A house, now divided into two, and called Dungannon House and Albany
Lodge, abuts upon the western boundary wall of the grounds of Walham
Lodge.  [Picture: Dungannon House—Albany Lodge] Tradition stoutly asserts
that this united cottage and villa were, previous to their division,
known by the name of _Bolingbroke Lodge_, and that here Pope did, more
than once,

    “Awake my St. John,”

by an early morning visit.

At Albany Lodge, the farthest part of the old house in our view (then
Heckfield Villa), resided Mr. Milton, before-mentioned as having lived at
Heckfield Lodge, Little Chelsea; both of which names were introduced on
the Fulham Road, from that gentleman’s attachment to the name of his
reverend father’s living, near Basingstoke.

Dungannon House formerly went by the name of Acacia Cottage, and was so
called from a tree in the garden.  It was for many years the country
residence of Mr. Joseph Johnson, of St. Paul’s Churchyard, a publisher
worthy of literary regard; and here he died on the 20th of December,
1809.  He was born at Liverpool, in 1738; and, after serving an
apprenticeship in London, commenced business as a medical bookseller,
upon Fish Street Hill; “a situation he chose as being in the track of the
medical students resorting to the hospitals in the Borough, and which
probably was the foundation of his connexions with many eminent members
of that profession.”

Having entered into partnership, he removed to Paternoster Row, where his
house and stock were destroyed by fire, in 1770: after which, feeling the
advantage of a peculiar locality, he carried on business alone, until the
time of his death, at the house which all juvenile readers who recollect
the caterers for their amusement and instruction will remember as that of
“Harris and Co., corner of St. Paul’s Churchyard.”  This step was
considered at the time, by “the trade,” as a bold and inconsiderate
measure; but it was successfully imitated by the late Mr. Murray, in his
removal from Fleet Street to Albemarle Street; and, indeed, John Murray,
as a publisher, seems only to have been a fearless copyist, in many
matters, of Joseph Johnson.  Whether, as a tradesman, he was judicious or
not in so doing, is a question upon which there may be two opinions; but
there can be no hesitation about the perfect application of Dr. Aikin’s
words to both parties:—

    “The character Mr. Johnson established by his integrity, good sense,
    and honourable principles of dealing, soon raised him to eminence as
    a publisher; and many of the most distinguished names in science and
    literature during the last half century appear in works which he
    ushered to the world.”

The imprint of Johnson is to be found upon the title-pages which first
introduced Cowper and Darwin to notice:—

    “The former of these, with the diffidence, and perhaps the
    despondency, of his character, had actually, by means of a friend,
    made over to him (Johnson) his two volumes of poems, on no other
    condition than that of securing him from expense; but when the
    public, which neglected the first volume, had discovered the rich
    mine opened in the _Task_, and assigned the author his merited place
    among the first-rate English poets, Mr. Johnson would not avail
    himself of his advantage, but displayed a liberality which has been
    warmly acknowledged by that admirable, though unfortunate, person.”

A score of equally generous anecdotes might be told of Murray.  In one
particular, however, there was, as publishers, a decided difference
between the views of Johnson and Murray.  Those of Johnson are at present
in the ascendancy; but they may produce a revolution in favour of the
opinion of John Murray against cheap literature.  Johnson was the
opponent of typographical luxury.  Murray, on the contrary, supported the
aristocracy of the press, until obliged, “by the pressure from without,”
in some degree to compromise his views by the publication of the ‘Family

In the wing (comparatively speaking a modern addition) attached to this
house, and in the room where Mr. Johnson died, is a remarkable
chimney-piece, of a monumental character; but I can learn nothing
respecting it.

The history of Dungannon House when Acacia Cottage, could we procure a
correct record of all the ideas which [Picture: Chimney-piece] have
passed through the human mind within its walls, respecting literature and
art, would form a chronicle of singular interest.  The late Mr.
Hullmandel, well known as one of the most experienced and successful
practitioners of lithography in England, resided here in 1839 and 1840,
when he discovered a new process in his favourite art, by simple mental
reasoning, upon the application of the process of copperplate aquatint to
lithographic purposes.  For this discovery—and it is one of considerable
importance—he subsequently took out a patent, under the name of
lithotint.  Ever since the infancy of lithography, hundreds of persons
connected with the art, beginning with its inventor himself, Senefelder,
had endeavoured to produce impressions from stone of subjects executed
with the brush, in the same manner as drawings are made with sepia, or
Indian ink.  And it was natural enough that artists should have made
every effort to supersede the tedious and elaborate process by which
alone a liquid could be rendered available for the purpose of drawing on
stone.  The mode of drawing technically called “the ink style,” consists
merely of a series of lines, some finer, some thicker, executed on the
white surface of the stone, with ink dissolved in water, by means of a
fine sable or a steel pen, in imitation of an etching on copper.  All
attempts, however, at producing variety of tints, by using the ink
thicker or thinner, failed,—the fainter lines either disappearing
altogether, or printing as dark as thick ones.  In every attempt made to
use this ink as a wash, the result was still more disastrous, producing
only one dirty mass of indistinctness, amid which the original drawing
was scarcely to be traced.  For twenty years did Mr. Hullmandel labour to
attain some mode of printing drawings, made by a series of washes, with a
brush, on stone, feeling this to be the great desideratum in the art.
Lithographers in Germany, in France, and in this country, had pronounced
it to be “utterly impossible;” when the idea suddenly flashed upon him,
that, if he could effect a minute granulation of the ink, by treating it
as a copperplate engraver would the ground of an aquatint plate, the
relative strength of the different washes might be preserved.  He
hastened from Acacia Cottage to his printing-office in London, to put his
theory into practice, and was rewarded by the most satisfactory results.

Since that period, several prints, by this process of lithotint, were
produced by Mr. Hullmandel, from drawings made by Harding, Nash, Haghe,
Walton, and other clever artists, in which all the raciness, the
smartness, and the beauty of touch, are apparent, which hitherto could
only be found in the original drawing.  [Picture: Arundel House—front]
[Picture: Arundel House—back] In fact, lithotint was not a translation,
but a multiplication of the original; and its discovery, or, rather, the
proper application of knowledge, became an eventful era in the history of
the fine arts.

Arundel House, a few yards beyond Dungannon House, stands on the same
side of the road, opposite to Parson’s Green Lane, which leads to the
King’s Road.  It is a house of considerable antiquity, judging from the
stone mullions brought to light by some repairs,—probably as old as the
time of Henry VIII.; although the brick front, as shown above, appears to
be the work of the latter part of the seventeenth century.

The back of Arundel House is quite different in character, and retains an
old porch leading into the garden.  At the farther end of the garden a
venerable yew-tree arbour exists; and not [Picture: Arundel House porch
and Yew Tree Arbour] far from it used to stand a picturesque old pump,
with the date 1758 close to the spout; which pump is now removed, and a
new one put in its place.  Upon a leaden cistern at the back of Arundel
House, the following monogram occurs beneath an earl’s coronet, with the
date 1703:—[Picture: Old Pump and monogram] Notwithstanding that this is
obviously compounded of the letters L. I. C., or C. I. L., and at the
first glance with the connexion of an earl’s coronet and a date would
appear to present no difficulty respecting the correct appropriation, I
must confess my inability to state to whom the monogram belonged.  For
the name of Arundel I am equally unable to account.  No mention whatever
is made of this house by Mr. Faulkner; nor does the name of Arundel occur
in the parish records of Fulham, although in 1724, as before mentioned,
Stanley Grove House appears to have been in the possession of Henry
Arundel.  In the midst of this obscurity, the residence of the late Mr.
Hallam, the historian, who occupied Arundel House in 1819, invests it
with a literary association of interest.

On the opposite side of the road is the carriage entrance to Park House,
which stands in Parson’s Green Lane.  A stone tablet has been let into
one of the piers of the gateway, inscribed

                               PURSER’S CROSS,
                                 7TH AUGUST,

This date has reference to an occurrence which the monthly chronologer in
the ‘London Magazine’ thus relates:—

    “An highwayman having committed several robberies on Finchley Common,
    was pursued to London, when he thought himself safe, but was, in a
    little time, discovered at a public-house in Burlington Gardens,
    refreshing himself and his horse; however, he had time to remount,
    and rode through Hyde Park, in which there were several gentlemen’s
    servants airing their horses, who, taking the alarm, pursued him
    closely as far as Fulham Fields, where, finding no probability of
    escaping, he threw money among some country people who were at work
    in the field, and told them they would soon see the end of an
    unfortunate man.  He had no sooner spoke these words but he pulled
    out a pistol, clapped it to his ear, and shot himself directly,
    before his pursuers could prevent him.  The coroner’s inquest brought
    in their verdict, and he was buried in a cross road, with a stake
    drove through him; but ’twas not known who he was.” {155a}

In the ‘Beauties of England and Wales,’ “Purser’s Cross” is said to have
been corrupted from “Parson’s Cross,” and the vicinity of Parson’s Green
is mentioned in support of the conjecture.  However, that Purser, and not
Percy Cross, has been for many years the usual mode of writing the name
of this locality is established by the ‘Annual Register’ for 1781, where
the following remarkable coincidence is mentioned:—

    “Died, 30th December, 1780, at Purser’s Cross, Fulham, Mrs. Elizabeth
    and Mrs. Frances Turberville, in the seventy-seventh year of their
    ages, of ancient and respectable west country family; they were twin
    sisters, and both died unmarried.  What adds to the singularity of
    this circumstance, they were both born the same day, never were known
    to live separate, died within a few days of each other, and were
    interred on the same day.”

Park House presents a fac-simile of an old mansion which stood precisely
on the same site, and was known as Quibus Hall, a name, as is
conjectured, bestowed upon it in consequence of some dispute respecting
possession between the coheirs of Sir Michael Wharton, who died about
1725. {155b}  When rebuilt by Mr. Holland for the late Mr. Powell, it was
called High Elms House, and was for some time occupied as a school,
conducted by the Rev. Thomas Bowen, who published in 1798 ‘Thoughts on
the Necessity of Moral Discipline in Prisons.’  After Mr. Bowen’s death
in the following year, his widow, with the assistance of the Rev. Joshua
Ruddock, carried on the establishment until 1825, since which time Park
House became the occasional residence of Mr. Powell, of Quex, in the Isle
of Thanet, until his death in 1849.  A cottage opposite (formerly
“Brunswick Cottage”) was called “Rosamond’s Bower,” during the time the
late Mr. Crofton Croker lived in it (1837–46).

In a privately printed description of this cottage, when the residence of
Mr. Croker, of which but a very few copies were distributed to his
friends, Mr. Croker himself writes:—

    “In what, it may be asked, originates the romantic name of
    ‘Rosamond’s Bower?’  A question I shall endeavour to answer.  The
    curious reader will find from Lysons’ ‘Environs of London’ (II. 359),
    that the manor of Rosamonds is an estate near Parson’s Green, in the
    [Picture: Old Rosamond’s Bower and Park House, from a Sketch made
    about 1750] parish of Fulham.  Lysons adds, ‘the site of the mansion
    belonging to this estate, now (1795) rented by a gardener, is said,
    by tradition, to have been a palace of Fair Rosamond.’  There seems
    to be, however, no foundation beyond the name for this tradition, and
    it is unnoticed by Faulkner in his ‘History of Fulham,’ published in
    1813.  He merely mentions, adjoining High Elms, or Park House, an old
    dwelling, which ‘ancient house,’ continues Faulkner, ‘appears to be
    of the age of Elizabeth, and is commonly called Rosamond’s Bower.’
    This ‘ancient house’ was taken down by Mr. Powell, in the year 1826,
    and the present stables of Park House are built upon the site.  But I
    have recently learned that the name of ‘Rosamond’s Dairy’ is still
    attached to an old house probably built between two and three hundred
    years, which stands a little way back from the high-road at the
    north-west corner of Parson’s Green.

    “I have always felt with Dr. Johnson that relics are venerable
    things, and are only _not_ to be worshipped.  When, therefore, I took
    my cottage, in 1837, and was told that the oak staircase in it had
    belonged to the veritable ‘Rosamond’s Bower,’ and was the only relic
    of it that existed; and when I found that the name had no longer a
    precise ‘local habitation’ in Fulham, I ventured, purely from motives
    of respect for the memory of the past, and not from any affectation
    of romance, to revive an ancient parochial name which had been
    suffered to die out, ‘like the snuff of a candle.’  In changing its
    precise situation, in transferring it from one side of Parson’s Green
    Lane to the other, a distance, however, not fifty yards from the
    original site, I trust when called upon to show cause for the
    transfer, to be reasonably supported by the history of the old oak
    staircase.  Indeed I may here venture to assert that the change of
    name from ‘Brunswick Cottage,’—so was ‘Rosamond’s Bower’ called when
    I took it,—and the assumption of that name, if contrasted with the
    name changing and name travelling fashion of the district, is a
    proceeding in which I am fully borne out by numerous precedents.

    “Miss Edgeworth, in her reply, dated 31st January, 1840, to the
    letter of a juvenile correspondent (then nine years of age) inquires,
    ‘Is Rosamond’s Bower a real name?’  And I well remember the gestures
    and even some of the jests which the omnibus passengers made when
    ‘Rosamond’s Bower’ was first painted upon the stone caps of the gate
    piers, such as Father Prout’s ‘_Rosy_-man’s Bower near the _White_
    Sheaf’ (Wheatsheaf).  But the novelty wore off in a week or two, and
    the name has long since ceased to be an object of speculation to any
    but the inquisitive.  For their information I may state, that in the
    time of Elizabeth all the gardeners’ cottages in this neighbourhood
    were called bowers.  It was the Saxon term for a room, and,
    therefore, applied to the dwelling occupied by the labouring class.
    And Rosamond, or Rosaman, is said to have been the name of a family
    of gardeners bestowed upon the district which they had long
    cultivated—possibly a sobriquet derived from the fame of their roses
    in times when that flower was a badge of party distinction. . . .  It
    only remains for me to add, that ‘Rosamond’s Bower’ stands 22 feet
    back from the high road, and has a small garden or court before it,
    measuring, exclusive of the stable-yard, 63 feet.  The garden behind
    the house is of that form called a gore, gradually narrowing from 63
    to 22 feet, in a distance of 550 feet or 183 yards—five turns up and
    down which ‘long walk’ may be reckoned, by exercise meters, ‘a full
    mile,’ it being 73 yards over and above the distance, an ample
    allowance for ten short turnings.  Of the old ‘Rosamond’s Bower’
    three representations have been preserved; two of these are
    pen-and-ink sketches by Mr. Doherty, made about the middle of the
    last century, one of which is an authority for the name of Pershouse
    Cross.  The third view appears in a well-executed aquatint plate of
    ‘Fulham Park School taken from the Play Ground.’

    “The foundation of the present ‘Rosamond’s Bower,’ judging from the
    brickwork on the south side, and the thickness of the walls, is
    probably as old as the time of Elizabeth—I mean the original building
    which consisted of two rooms, one above the other, 12 feet square,
    and 7 feet in height.  On the north side of this primitive dwelling
    was a deep draw-well.  Subsequently two similar rooms were attached,
    one of which (the present hall) was built over the well, and two
    attics were raised upon this very simple structure, thus increasing
    the number of rooms from two to six.  Then a kitchen was built (the
    present dining-room), and another room over it (the present
    drawing-room), at the back of the original building, which thus from
    a labourer’s hut assumed the air of an eight-roomed cottage.  It was
    then discovered that the rooms were of very small dimensions, and it
    was considered necessary to enlarge four of them by the additional
    space to be gained from bay windows in the dining-room, drawing-room,
    blue bedchamber, and dressing-room.  But the spirit of improvement
    seldom rests content, and when it was found that the kitchen, which
    looked upon the garden, was a more agreeable sitting-room, both as to
    aspect and quiet, than the more ancient and smaller room which looked
    upon the road, it was determined to create another attachment on the
    north side, by building a kitchen of still larger dimensions, with a
    scullery and storeroom behind, to replace the old scullery and
    out-offices by a spacious staircase, and over this new kitchen to
    place a room of corresponding size, or equal to that of the two
    bedrooms upon the same line of building.  Thus in 1826 did
    ‘Rosamond’s Bower’ become a cottage of ten rooms; and as it was soon
    afterwards presumed from the march of luxury that no one could live
    in a decade cottage without requiring a coachhouse and stable, an
    excellent one was built not far from the north side, making the
    third, though not the last, addition in that direction.

    “Parva domus! nemorosa quies,
    Sis tu quoque nostris hospitium laribus
    Subsidium diu: postes tuas Flora ornet
    Pomonaque mensas.”

                                 THE GARDEN.

    “It is much more difficult to describe the garden of Rosamond’s Bower
    than its shape.  I may, however, mention that by means of a sunk
    fence {159} and a wen-like excrescence upon the original gore, made
    in the Spring of 1842, the extensive meadow of Park House, with the
    piece of water which adorns it, appear to belong to my residence so
    completely, that so far as the eye questions the matter, ‘I am
    monarch of all I survey.’  [Picture: Distant View of ‘Rosamond’s
    Bower’ from the adjoining Meadow] The first lawn of the garden
    rejoices in two very remarkable trees, one a standard Ayrshire rose,
    rising ten feet in height from a stem ten inches in circumference,
    and from which, during sunny June, ‘every breeze, of red rose leaves
    brings down a crimson rain.’ {160}  The other a weeping ash of
    singularly beautiful proportions.  It has been trained, or rather
    restrained, to the measurement of fifty-six feet in circumference,
    the stem being two feet round, and the branches shooting out at the
    height of five feet with incredible luxuriance.  Under its branches I
    had the pleasure of seeing no less than thirty-eight friends sit down
    to breakfast on the 22nd June, 1842; and Gunter, who laid covers for
    forty-four, assured me, that another arrangement with circular
    tables, made for the purpose, would have comfortably accommodated
    sixty.  A miniature shrubbery, not in height, but in breadth,
    intervenes between the first lawn and the flower garden, where, in
    the centre of beds, stands the ‘Baylis Vase’—a memorial, I sincerely
    trust, of a more enduring friendship.  Miss Aikin’s question—but a
    very long acquaintance with that lady’s fame warrants me here writing
    ‘Lucy Aikin’s question—to me, one evening while walking down the
    garden, whether that urn had been placed over the remains of any
    favourite, was the occasion of the following lines being painted on

    Think not that here was placed this urn
    To mark a spot o’er which to mourn.
    Should tender thoughts awake a tear
    For fading flowers or waning year,
    Remember that another spring,
    Fresh flowers and brighter hopes will bring.

    Two elevated strawberry beds, facetiously termed ‘twin strawberry
    hills,’ rear themselves between the vase and the back lawn, the
    further corners of which are respectively protected from wheelbarrow
    intrusion by an Irish Quern and a Capsular Stone, venerated in Irish
    tradition—the former a remarkably perfect, the latter an exceedingly
    compact specimen, having on one side a double, and on the other a
    single hollow. . . .  The remaining points of interest in my garden
    may be noticed in a very few words.  It gradually decreases in
    breadth, and is fenced off on one side from the garden of a very kind
    neighbour (which contains two of the finest walnut trees in the
    parish) by an oak paling partially covered with broad, or Irish, and
    embellished by the picturesque narrow-leaved ivy.

    “On the other side a trim hedge, kept breast high, which runs beside
    ‘the long walk,’ separates it from the extensive meadow of Park
    House, and at the termination the following inscription from one of
    Herrick’s poems has been placed—

          Thine own dear grounds,
    Not envying others larger bounds,
    For well thou knowest ’tis not the extent
    Of land makes life, but sweet content.

    “The garden produces plenty of strawberries, an abundance of
    raspberries, and generally a good crop of apples and pears, but few
    vegetables; the cultivation, except of asparagus (of which there are
    two excellent beds), having been abandoned, as the bird monopoly of
    peas, caused every shilling’s worth that came to table to cost five,
    and the ingenuity of the slugs and snails having completely baffled
    all amateur gardening schemes of defence against their slimy
    invasions.  [Picture: Rustic bench] Among many experiments I may
    mention one.  Some vegetables were protected by a circumvallum of
    salt; but, notwithstanding, the slugs and snails contrived to pass
    this supposed deadly line of demarcation by fixing themselves on dry
    leaves which they could easily lift, and thus they wriggled safely
    over it.  My greatest enjoyment in the garden has been derived from a
    rustic bench at the north side of the shrubbery, through the back and
    arms of which a honeysuckle has luxuriantly interlaced itself; there,
    particularly when recovering from illness, I have sat, and have
    found, or fancied, that pain was soothed, and depressed spirits
    greatly elevated, by the monotonous tone of the bees around me.”

The pamphlet from which the above has been taken then enters into a
minute description of the curiosities, pictures, &c., collected by Mr.
Croker at ‘Rosamond’s Bower,’ which it is unnecessary further to refer
to; indeed, although intended for private circulation only, it was not
completed, as Mr. Croker was led to believe it might appear but an
egotistical description of an unimportant house.

The following particulars, connected with Thomas Moore’s visit to
‘Rosamond’s Bower,’ may prove interesting:—

On the 6th October, 1838, Moore wrote to Mr. Crofton Croker as follows:—

    “Many thanks for your wish to have me at Rosamond’s Bower, even
    though I was unlucky enough not to profit by that wish—some other
    time, however, you must, for _my_ sake, try again; and I shall then
    be most ready for a rummage of your Irish treasures.  Already,
    indeed, I have been drawing a little upon your ‘Researches in the
    South of Ireland;’ and should be very glad to have more books of
    yours to pilfer.

                                               “Yours, my dear Mr. Croker,
                                                              “Very truly,
                                                           “THOMAS MOORE.”

On the 18th November, 1841, Major-General (then Colonel) Sir Charles
O’Donnell lunched at Rosamond’s Bower; before luncheon Mr. Croker
happened to point out to him the passage in the preface of the fourth
volume of Moore’s Works, p. xxxv, in which the poet says—

    “With the melody entitled, ‘Love, Valour, and Wit,’ an incident is
    connected, which awakened feelings in me of proud, but sad pleasure,
    to think that my songs had reached the hearts of some of the
    descendants of those great Irish families, who found themselves
    forced, in the dark days of persecution, to seek in other lands a
    refuge from the shame and ruin of their own;—those whose story I have
    associated with one of their country’s most characteristic airs:—

    ‘Ye Blakes and O’Donnells, whose fathers resign’d
    The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find
    That repose which at home they had sigh’d for in vain.’

    “From a foreign lady, of this ancient extraction,—whose names, could
    I venture to mention them, would lend to the incident an additional
    Irish charm,—I received about two years since, through the hands of a
    gentleman to whom it had been intrusted, a large portfolio, adorned
    inside with a beautiful drawing representing Love, Wit, and Valour,
    as described in the song.  In the border that surrounds the drawing
    are introduced the favourite emblems of Erin, the harp, the shamrock,
    the mitred head of St. Patrick, together with scrolls containing
    each, inscribed in letters of gold, the name of some favourite melody
    of the fair artist.

    “This present was accompanied by the following letter from the lady

It is unnecessary to quote this letter, but the gentleman alluded to was
Sir Charles O’Donnell, who had brought the parcel from the Continent, and
being about to proceed to Canada, and personally unacquainted with Moore,
requested Mr. Croker to get it safely delivered; who took the present
opportunity of pointing out to Sir Charles this public acknowledgment
that his commission had been executed.

They had not been at luncheon many minutes when Mr. Moore was announced,
and appeared to be no less pleased at meeting Sir Charles O’Donnell, than
the latter was at being introduced to Moore.

A few days afterwards, Mr. Croker received the following note from Mr.

    “_November_ 24, 1841.


    “I was obliged to leave London much sooner than I originally
    intended, and thus lost the opportunity of paying you another visit.
    . . .  My next visit to London will, I hope, be sufficiently free
    from other avocations to allow me to devote a good deal of time to
    the examination of your various treasures.  Pray give my kind
    remembrances to Mrs. Croker.—I constantly think of my great good luck
    in lighting by chance on so agreeable a dinner-party that day.  The
    only drawback was, that it spoiled me—both mentally and physically
    speaking—for the dinner that followed.

                                                        “Yours very truly,
                                                           “THOMAS MOORE.”

The name of MOORE was subsequently cut by Mr. Croker on the back of a
chair which the poet occupied during this visit.  It produced the
following epigram by the Rev. Francis Mahony (Father Prout):—

   “This is to tell o’ days
      When on this Cathedra,
   He of the Melodies
      Solemnly sat, agrah!”

Mr. Thomas James Bell, the next tenant of ‘Rosamond’s Bower,’ altered the
name to ‘Audley Cottage,’ which it now bears, and the agreeable
associations connected with the former title are in the recollection of
many who may be unaware of the change, and may regret the substitution of
a name, for which there appears to have been very little reason.

Parson’s Green Lane continues from Rosamond’s Bower to Parson’s Green.
It is for the most part composed of small cottages.  On the left-hand
corner of the Green is the ‘White Horse’ public-house, the sign of which
was, some few years ago supported by the quaint piece of iron-work shown
in the annexed cut.  It is now altered.

          [Picture: Iron-work sign and White Horse Public-House]

East End House, on the east side of the Green, next the pond, was
originally built by Sir Francis Child, who was Lord Mayor of London, in
1699.  It was afterwards the residence of Admiral Sir Charles Wager; and
Dr. Ekins, Dean of Carlisle, died here 20th November, 1791.  The house
was subsequently modernized by the late John Powell, and became the
residence of Mrs. Fitzherbert, who erected the porch in front of the
house as a shelter for carriages.  Here the Prince of Wales (afterwards
George IV.) was a frequent visitor.  Piccolomini lived here for a short
time lately.

The celebrated Sir Thomas Bodley lived at Parson’s Green from 1605 to
1609.  The old mansion at the west side of the Green was formerly the
Rectory House, and is traditionally reported to have been the residence
of Adoniram Byfield, the noted Presbyterian Chaplain to Colonel
Cholmondeley’s regiment in the Earl of Essex’s army, who took so
prominent a part in Cromwellian politics, that he became immortalized in
Hudibras.  [Picture: The Rectory House] An old stone building is noticed
by Bowack in 1705, as adjoining this house, and presumed by him to be of
three or four hundred years’ standing, and in all probability a chapel
for the rectors and their domestics.  This building was pulled down,
according to Lysons, about the year 1742, and the house is now divided
into two, that at the corner being occupied by Dr. Lauman’s Academy.  At
the south-west side of the Green is the old entrance to Peterborough
House, a residence with the recollections of which the names of Locke,
Swift, Pope, Gay, Prior, and a crowd of others are associated.

The present Peterborough House, which is a little beyond the old brick
gateway, was built by Mr. J. Meyrick, who died there in 1801.  Ho was the
father of Sir Samuel Meyrick the well-known antiquary.  Ho purchased the
house, in 1794, of R. Heavyside, Esq., and pulled down the old mansion
that stood close to the site of the ancient maze, which became converted
into a lawn at the rear of the modern house.  The place was originally
[Picture: Old Gate of Peterborough House] termed Brightwells, or
Rightwells, and here, in 1569, died John Tarnworth, Esq., one of
Elizabeth’s privy counsellors, who lies buried at Fulham.

Brightwells afterwards belonged to Sir Thomas Knolles, who, in 1603, sold
it to Sir Thomas Smith, who had been secretary to the unfortunate Earl of
Essex, and became, under James I., Clerk of the Council, Latin Secretary,
and Master of the Requests; and here he died in 1609, and was buried in
the chancel of Fulham Church, where a handsome monument is erected to his
memory.  After Sir Thomas Smith’s death, his widow married the first Earl
of Exeter, and continued to reside at Brightwells until her death, in
1633.  Sir Thomas Smith’s only daughter having married the Honourable
Thomas Carey, the Earl of Monmouth’s second son, he became possessed of
the estate in right of his wife, and after him the place was called Villa
Carey, which has led to the belief that old Peterborough House was built
by him.  It stood facing the pond on Parson’s Green, and at about the
same distance from the road as the present house.  Francis Cleyne, who
came over to England in the reign of Charles I., was certainly employed
to decorate the rooms.  Mr. Carey died about 1635; and his widow, about
five years afterwards, married Sir Edward Herbert, Attorney-General to
King Charles.  Sir Edward was a firm loyalist, and resided at Parson’s
Green till the death of his royal master, when he accompanied Charles II.
in his exile, who created him Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, and he died
abroad in 1657.  His estate was ordered to be sold with the estates of
other loyalists in 1653, but the sale does not appear to have taken
place, as Villa Carey, in 1660, was in the possession of Lord Mordaunt,
who had married the daughter and heiress of Mr. Carey.  Lord Clarendon
bears honourable testimony to the daring spirit and devoted zeal in the
royal cause evinced by this “young gentleman,” and to the no less
chivalric conduct of his charming bride.

    “He was,” says the historian, “of great vigour of mind, and newly
    married to a young and beautiful lady of a very loyal spirit and
    notable vivacity of wit and humour, who concurred with him in all
    honourable dedications of himself.”

When her husband was arrested and brought to trial in 1658, as a partizan
of Charles II., by her contrivance one of the principal witnesses against
him was kept out of the way, and his judges, being divided in their
opinion of his guilt, he was acquitted only by the casting vote of the
President, the notorious John Lisle, who had sat upon the trial of
Charles I., by whom he was addressed in the following remarkable strain:—

    “And I have now to speak to you Mr. Mordaunt: God hath appeared in
    justice, and God doth appear in mercy, as the Lord is just to them,
    so the Lord is exceeding merciful to you, and I may say to you that
    God appears to you at this time, as he speaks to sinners in Jesus
    Christ, for Sir, he doth clear sinners in Christ Jesus even when they
    are guilty, and so God cleareth you.  I will not say you are guilty,
    but ask your own conscience whether you are or no.  Sir, bless God as
    long as you live, and bless my Lord Protector, by whose authority you
    are cleared.  Sir, I speak no more, but I beseech you to speak to

The very active part which Lord Mordaunt had taken in effecting the
restoration of Charles II., in which service, according to his epitaph,
he “encountered a thousand dangers, provoking and also defeating the rage
of Cromwell,” was not rewarded by any extraordinary marks of distinction
or favour, and he seems after that event to have quietly resided on his
estate at Parson’s Green, where he died in the forty-eighth year of his
age, on the 5th June, 1675, and was buried in Fulham Church.  The son of
Lord Mordaunt, who afterwards received the title of Earl of Peterborough,
married first, Carey, daughter to Sir Alexander Fraser, of Dover.  His
second wife was the accomplished singer Anastasia Robinson, who survived
him.  The earl was visited at Peterborough House by all the wits and
literati of his time.  Bowack, in 1706, describes the gardens of
Peterborough House, as containing twenty acres of ground, and mentions a
tulip-tree seventy-six feet in height, and five feet nine inches in
girth.  Swift, in one of his letters, speaks of Lord Peterborough’s
gardens as the finest he had ever seen about London.

On the same side of the Green as Peterborough House, stood the residence
of Samuel Richardson, who removed to Parson’s Green from North End in
1755, and in this house his second wife, who survived him, died in
November, 1773, aged seventy-seven.  Formerly the same house belonged to
Sir Edward Saunders, Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench in 1682.  A
sketch of the house will be found in Chambers’ Cyclopædia of English
Literature.  Drury Lodge, situated on the King’s Road adjoining Parson’s
Green, and immediately opposite the Malt House, formerly known as Ivy
Cottage, was built by Walsh Porter in the Gothic style, and is now the
residence of Mr. E. T. Smith, who has called the house after his theatre.
The name of the lane which runs down by the side of Drury Lodge has,
however, not been altered to _Drury_ Lane, but still retains its old
title of Broom Lane.

It is said that on the site of what is now called Drury Lodge, was
formerly a house, the residence of Oliver Cromwell, which was called the
_Old Red Ivy House_.  Part of the old walls of that building form the
west side of the present cottage.

Proceeding forward from Purser’s Cross on the main Fulham Road, where St.
Peter’s Villa may be noticed as the residence of Madame Garcia in 1842,
about a quarter of a mile brings us to Munster House, which is supposed
to owe its name to Melesina Schulenberg, created by George II., in 1716,
Duchess of Munster.  [Picture: Munster house (1844)] According to
Faulkner, it was also called _Mustow_ House—this was not improbably the
duchess’s pronunciation; and he adds that tradition makes it a
hunting-seat of Charles II., and asserts that an extensive park was
attached to it; but Faulkner also tells us that Munster House “was during
the greater part of the seventeenth century, the _residence_ and property
of Sir William Powell, Bart., who founded the almshouses.”  How, after
this statement, Mr. Faulkner could have admitted the tradition, requires
some explanation, as he seems to have followed, without acknowledgment,
the particulars supplied to Lysons from authentic documents by Mr. Deere,
of the Auditor’s Office, who appears merely to have informed that
gentleman, that among the title-deeds of this property there is one of
Sir Edward Powell’s, dated 1640, and that Sir William Powell’s will bears
date 1680.  According to the same unquestionable records, Munster House
came from the Powells into the possession of Sir John Williams, Bart., of
Pengethly, Monmouthshire.

In 1795, Lysons says that Munster House was “occupied as a school.”
Faulkner, in 1813, states that it was “in the occupation of M. Sampayo, a
Portuguese merchant.”  And his successor in the tenancy was John Wilson
Croker, Esq., M.P., then secretary of the Admiralty, and afterwards the
Right Hon. Mr. Croker, {171} a gentleman who brilliantly retired into
private life, but whose character is so well known, and has been so often
discussed in political and literary circles, that I shall only venture to
remark the local coincidence of three indefatigable secretaries of the
Admiralty, during the most critical periods of England’s history—namely,
Sir Philip Stevens, Sir Evan Nepean, and Mr. Croker—having selected the
quietude of Fulham as the most convenient and attractive position in the
neighbourhood of London, where they might momentarily relax from the
arduous strain of official duties.

[Picture: Marble bust]

About 1820, Mr. Croker resigned Munster House as a residence, after
having externally decorated it with various Cockney embattlements of
brick, and collected there many curious works of art, possibly with a
view of reconstruction.  In the garden were two marble busts, one of
which is figured on previous page.  The other a female head, not unlike
that of Queen Anne.

There was also a fragment of a group, representing a woman with a child
at her side, obviously the decoration of a fountain, and a rustic stone
seat, conjectured to have been the bed of a formidable piece of ordnance.

               [Picture: Woman and child—Rustic stone seat]

A recent tenant of Munster House, the Rev. Stephen Reid Cattley, who is
known to the reading public as the editor of an issue of Fox’s ‘Book of
Martyrs,’ was unacquainted with the history of the relics in the garden,
and can only remember the removal of two composition lions from the
gate-piers of Munster House,—not placed there, it must be observed, by
Mr. Croker, but which had the popular effect, for some time, of changing
the name to _Monster House_.  It is now a Lunatic Asylum.  Opposite
Munster House is Dancer’s extensive garden for the supply of the London
market, by the side of which a road runs leading by a turning on the left
direct back to Parson’s Green, or if the straight road is kept, the
King’s Road is reached opposite Osborn’s Nursery; adjoining which nursery
is Churchfield House, the residence of Dr. Burchell the African

[Picture: Fulham Lodge] Fulham Lodge stood on the opposite, or south
side, of the road from Munster House, on the ground immediately beyond
Munster Terrace, which was built a short time prior to its demolition.
This cottage, for it was no more, was a favourite retirement of the late
Duke of York.  An affecting story is told by George Colman the younger,
connected with his own feelings while on a visit here.  He had lost sight
of an old college friend, the Rev. Robert Lowth, son of the Bishop of
London, from the year 1781 to 1822 (one and forty years!), when Colman
was surprised and pleased by the receipt of the following letter, written
and left upon his table by a gentleman who had called when he was not at

                                                       “_August_ 16, 1822.

    “DEAR COLMAN,—It may be some five-and-thirty years since we met, and
    I believe as near forty years as may be since I was promoted from my
    garret, No. 3 Peckwater, into your _ci-devant_ rooms in the old Quad,
    on which occasion I bought your things.  Of all your household
    furniture I possess but one article, which I removed with myself to
    my first house and castle in Essex, as a very befitting parsonage
    sideboard, viz., a mahogany table, with two side drawers, and which
    still ‘does the state some service,’ though not of plate.  But I have
    an article of yours on a smaller scale, a certain little flat
    mahogany box, furnished partially, I should say, with cakes of paint,
    which probably you over-looked, or undervalued as a _vade-mecum_, and
    left.  And, as an exemplification of the great vanity of over-anxious
    care, and the safe preservation _per contra_, in which an article may
    possibly be found without any care at all, that paint-box is still
    _in statu quo_, at this present writing, having run the gauntlet, not
    merely of my bachelor days, but of the practical cruelties of my
    thirteen children, all alive and merry, thank God! albeit as unused
    and as little disposed to preserve their own playthings or chattels
    from damage as children usually are, yet it survives!  ‘The reason
    why I cannot tell,’ unless I kept it ‘for the dangers it had passed.’

    “Though I have been well acquainted with you publicly nearly ever
    since our Christ Church days, our habits, pursuits, and callings,
    having cast us into different countries and tracts, we have not, I
    think met since the date I speak of.  I have a house at Chiswick,
    where I rather think this nine-lived box is, and, whether it is or
    no, I shall be very glad if you will give me a call to dine, and take
    a bed, if convenient to you; and if I cannot introduce you to your
    old acquaintance and recollections, I shall have great pleasure in
    substituting new ones,—Mrs. Lowth and eleven of our baker’s dozen of
    olive-branches, our present complement in the house department, my
    eldest boy being in the West Indies, and my third having returned to
    the military college last Saturday, his vacation furlough having
    expired.  As the summer begins to borrow now and then an autumn
    evening, the sooner you will favour me with your company the surer
    you will be of finding me at Grove House, the expiration of other
    holidays being the usual signal for weighing anchor and shifting our
    moorings to parsonage point.  I remember you, or David Curson, had
    among your phrases, _quondam_, one of anything being ‘d---d
    summerly;’ I trust, however, having since tasted the delights of the
    sweet shady side of Pall Mall, that you have worn out that prejudice,
    and will catch the season before it flies us, or give me a line,
    naming no distant day, that I may not be elsewhere when you call, and
    you will much oblige, yours sincerely,

                                                           “ROBERT LOWTH.”

    “P.S.—In your address to me you must not name _Chiswick_, but Grove
    House, Turnham Green, as otherwise it goes into another postman’s
    walk, who walks it back again to the office, and it does not reach
    me, per Turnham Green, peripatetic, till the next day, which is
    _toute autre chose_.”

Colman seems to have been sincerely delighted at the receipt of this
letter; he answered it immediately, expressing to his old friend how much
he had gratified him, and how readily he accepted the invitation.

    “After refreshing my friend’s memory,” says Colman, “by touching on
    some particulars which have already been mentioned, I informed him
    that I was of late years in the habit of suburban rustication, and
    that I had passed a considerable part of my summers in a house where
    I was intimate at Fulham, whither I desired him to direct to me, as
    much nearer Chiswick than my own abode, being within a few hundred
    yards of his old family residence, where we last parted.  Whenever I
    was at this place, I told him the avenue and bishop’s walk by the
    river side, the public precincts of the moated episcopal domain, had
    become my favourite morning and evening lounge.  I told him, indeed,
    merely the fact, omitting all commentary attached to it, for often
    had I then, and oftener have I since, in a solitary stroll down the
    avenue, thought of him, regretting the wide chasm in our intercourse,
    and musing upon human events.”

There is a regret expressed by Colman that he kept no copy of his answer,
“which,” he adds, “was written in the ‘flow of soul,’ and at the impulse
of the moment?”  Mr. Lowth wrote in reply to Colman, detailing in a most
amusing manner his having, in the pursuit of two Cockneys, who had made
an attack upon a grove of Orleans plum-trees in his grounds, taken cold,
which confined him to his room.

    “But for this _inter poculum et labra_,” continued Mr. Lowth, “it was
    my intention to have made you my first _post restante_, with,
    perhaps, a walk down the old avenue, in my way to town, that
    identical day; and, still hoping to accomplish three miles and back,
    I have hoped from day to day, but I cannot get in travelling
    condition, even for so short a journey.  Therefore I hope you will
    send me word by my new Yorkshire groom lad, that you will take
    pot-luck with me on Sunday as the most likely day for you to

Colman accepted the invitation, believing from the length of Mr. Lowth’s
letter (three pages), and the playfulness of his old friend’s
communication, that nothing more than an ordinary cold was the matter
with him.  A note, however, which followed from one of Mr. Lowth’s
daughters, stated that the meeting proposed by her father must be
postponed, that he “had become extremely unwell, that bleeding and
cupping had been prescribed,” and the most perfect quiet enjoined.

On the day after the receipt of this note, Colman sent over to Grove
House, Chiswick, to make inquiries as to Mr. Lowth’s health, when the
reply given by an elderly female at the gate, after considerable delay,
was that “her master was no more.”

A letter from Dr. Badeley to Colman, dated 22d August, 1822, confirmed
the melancholy intelligence, which he had at first hesitated to believe.
It stated that “the decease of Mr. Lowth took place on Sunday evening,”
the very evening appointed by him for their anticipated happy reunion;
and that his remains were to be interred in the family vault at Fulham on
Monday morning at ten o’clock.

    “I continued,” said Colman, “at Fulham Lodge, which is nearer in a
    direct line to the church than to the Bishop’s Palace and the ‘old
    avenue.’  On Monday the adjacent steeple gave early notice of the
    approaching funeral; religion and sorrow mingled within me while the
    slow and mournful tolling of the bell smote upon my heart.  Selfish
    feelings, too, though secondary, might now and then obtrude, for they
    are implanted in our nature.  My departed friend was about my own
    age: we had entered the field nearly at the same time; we had fought,
    indeed, our chief battles asunder, but in our younger days he had
    been my comrade, close to me in the ranks: he had fallen, and my own
    turn might speedily follow.”

These are the ideas which George Colman the younger records as having
passed through his mind while an inmate of Fulham Lodge:—

    “My walk next morning,” he says, “was to the sepulchre of the Lowths,
    to indulge in the mournful satisfaction of viewing the depository of
    my poor friend’s remains.  It stands in the churchyard, a few paces
    from the eastern end of the ancient church at Fulham.  The
    surrounding earth, trampled by recent footsteps, and a slab of marble
    which had been evidently taken out and replaced in the side of the
    tomb, too plainly presented traces of those rites, which had been
    performed on the previous day.  For several mornings I repeated my
    walk thither, and no summer has since glided away, except the last,
    when my sojournment at Fulham was suspended, without my visiting the
    spot and heaving a sigh to the memory of Robert Lowth.”

Theodore Hook’s manuscript Diary contains the following entries with
reference to visits made by him at Fulham Lodge:—

    “2nd January, 1826.—Called.  Mrs. Carey’s luncheon.

    “Thursday, 5th January.—Drove over to Fulham.  Mrs. Carey’s din.
    Colman, Harris, Mrs. G.  Good hits.  Mrs. Coutts, ‘Julius Cæsar,’ &c.
    Stayed very late, and walked home.”

Fulham Park Road is now where Fulham Lodge stood, and the ground is
partly built on, the rest is to be let for building.

This walk is exactly three miles and a half from Hyde Park Corner; and
what an Irishman would call the iron mile-stone stood exactly opposite to
Ivy Lodge, until placed against the brick wall immediately beyond the

Ivy Lodge was for some years the residence of Rudolph Ackermann, a name,
as a printseller, known (it is not using too broad a word to say)
throughout the world, and whose representatives still carry on this
business in Regent Street.

Ackermann was a remarkable man.  He was born in 1764, at Stollberg, near
Schneeberg, in Saxony; and, having been bred a coach-builder, upon
visiting England shortly before the French Revolution, found employment
as a carriage-draughtsman, which led to his forming the acquaintance of
artists, and becoming a print-publisher in London.  The French refugees,
whose necessities obliged them to exercise their acquirements and talents
as a means of support, found in Mr. Ackermann’s shop a repository for the
exhibition and sale of decorative articles, which elevated this branch of
business to an importance that it had never before assumed in England.
Ackermann’s name stands prominently forward in the early history of gas
and lithography in England, and he must be remembered as the introducer
of a species of illustrated periodicals, by the publication of the
‘Forget-Me-Not;’ to which, or to similar works, nearly every honoured
contemporary name in the whole circle of British literature have
contributed, and which have produced a certain, but advantageously a
questionable, influence upon the Fine Arts.

After the battle of Leipzig, Mr. Ackermann publicly advocated the cause
of the starving population of many districts of Germany, in consequence
of the calamities of war, with so much zeal and success, that a
parliamentary grant of £100,000 was more than doubled by a public
subscription.  In the spring of 1830, when residing at Ivy Lodge, he
experienced a sudden attack of paralysis; and a change of air was
recommended by his medical attendants.  This led to Mr. Ackermann’s
removal to Finchley, where he died on the 30th of March, 1834.

Having now arrived at Fulham, we will in the next chapter accompany the
reader in a walk through that ancient village.

                 [Picture: The Entrance to Fulham (1844)]



In Faulkner’s ‘History of Fulham’ we learn that the earliest mention of
that village occurs in a grant of the manor by Tyrhtilus Bishop of
Hereford, to Erkenwald Bishop of London, and his successors, about the
year 691; in which grant it is called _Fulanham_.  Camden in his
‘Britannia’ calls it _Fulham_, and derives its name from the Saxon word
_Fulanham_, _Volucrum Domus_, the habitation of birds or place of fowls.
Norden agrees with Camden, and adds, “It may also be taken for _Volucrum
Amnis_, or the river of fowl; for _Ham_ also in many places signifies
_Amnis_, a river, but it is most probable it should be of land fowl,
which usually haunt groves and clusters of trees, whereof in this place
it seemeth hath been plenty.”  In Somner’s and Lye’s Saxon dictionaries
it is called Fulanham, or Foulham, supposed from the dirtiness of the
place.  The earliest historical event relating to Fulham, is the arrival
of the Danes there in the year 879.  On the right hand side as we enter
the village stands Holcrofts’ _Hall_ (formerly Holcrofts’) built about
1708, which is worthy of mention as belonging to John Laurie, Esq., and
as having been the residence of Sir John Burgoyne, where he gave some
clever dramatic performances, distinguished not only for the considerable
talent displayed by the actors, but remarkable for the scenery and
machinery, considering the limited space, the whole of which was
superintended by the Honourable Mr. Wrottesley, son of Lord Wrottesley,
who afterwards married Miss Burgoyne, an admirable amateur actress: here
it was that the celebrated Madame Vestris died, on the 8th August, 1856,
in her 59th year.  During the time she lived there it was called Gore
Lodge.  The house has been since tenanted for a short time by Mr. Charles
Mathews and his present wife.  Holcroft’s Priory, which is opposite, was
built upon the site of Claybrooke House, mentioned by Faulkner.  In the
back lane (Burlington Road) Fulham Almshouses are situated, opposite to
Burlington House, formerly Roy’s well-known academy, on the ground
attached to which is now a Reformatory School, built about four years
ago.  This lane leads to the termination of the King’s Road by the Ship
Tavern.  The Almshouses were originally built and endowed by Sir W.
Powell, Bart., and were rebuilt in 1793.  The old workhouse (built 1774)
still stands on the left-hand side of the High Street.  It has been in a
dilapidated condition for many years, and is about to be pulled down.
The Fulham and Hammersmith Union is now in Fulham Fields.  Cipriani lived
in a house adjoining the workhouse.  Further on in Fulham High Street is
the Golden Lion Inn.  There is a tradition that Bishop Bonner resided in
the Old Golden Lion, and that it had a subterranean communication with
the palace.  The late Mr. Crofton Croker read the following paper at the
meeting of the British Archæological Association at Warwick in 1847:—


    It is certainly extraordinary that of the personal history of a man
    whose writings are of so high an order of genius that they may almost
    be considered as works of inspiration, we should know so little, and
    that conjecture should have to supply so much, as in the biography of
    William Shakespeare.

    Pilgrims as are we at this moment to the birth-place and the tomb of
    the highest name in the literature of this country, we all feel that
    we now tread the classic ground of England—ground too rich in
    unquestionable memories of Shakespeare, to admit of any feeling of
    jealousy in an attempt to connect his fame by circumstantial evidence
    with any other locality.  I therefore venture to call attention to
    the two following entries in the parish records of Fulham, a village
    in the county of Middlesex, on the Thames, about four miles west of
    London, and where the Bishop of London has a seat.

    In an assessment made on the 12th October, 1625, for the relief of
    the poor of Fulham side, John Florio, Esq., was rated at six
    shillings, for his house in Fulham Street.

    And in the same assessment upon the “Northend” of the parish, the
    name of Robert Burbage occurs.

    Meagre as this appears to be, and wide of the date at which I aim by
    thirty years, it is all that I can produce in the shape of novel
    documentary evidence for an attempt to connect the name of
    Shakespeare with Fulham; the other points which I have to offer in
    evidence being admitted facts, although no result has been deduced
    from them.

    In the High Street of Fulham stands a cleanly-looking brick house,
    square in form and newly built, called the Golden Lion, where any
    suburban traveller requiring refreshment may be supplied with a mug
    of excellent ale and bread and cheese, in a parlour having a sanded
    floor, the room, it must be confessed, smelling rather strongly of
    tobacco smoke:—

    “You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will—
    But the scent of the roses will hang round it still;”—

    And so it is, to my mind, with the tobacco smoke of the Golden Lion,
    which stands upon the site of an old hostelry, or inn, of the Tudor
    age, which was pulled down in April, 1836, and was described soon
    afterwards in the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine.’  While the work of
    destruction [Picture: Ancient tobacco pipe] was going on, a tobacco
    pipe of ancient and foreign fashion was found behind the old
    wainscot.  The stem was a crooked shoot of bamboo, through which a
    hole had been bored, and a brass ornamental termination (of an
    Elizabethan pattern) formed the head of the pipe.—Why may not this
    have been the pipe of that Bishop of London who had risen into
    Elizabeth’s favour by attending Mary on the scaffold at Fotheringay,
    and who, having fallen into disgrace in consequence of a second
    marriage at an advanced period of his life, sought, we are told, in
    the retirement of his house at Fulham, “to lose his sorrow in a mist
    of smoke,”—and actually died there suddenly on the 15th June, 1596,
    “while sitting in his chair and smoking tobacco?”

    Could this have been the tobacco pipe produced at “Crowner’s ’quest”
    assembled at the Golden Lion to inquire into the cause of his
    lordship’s sudden death?  It is not even impossible that it may have
    been produced there by his son, John Fletcher, whose name is
    associated with that of Francis Beaumont in our literature.

    Mr. Charles Knight has set the example of an imaginary biography of
    Shakespeare, and has brought many probable and some improbable things
    together on the subject.—Why, then, has he overlooked the Golden Lion
    in Fulham?  The name of John Fletcher naturally leads to this
    question.  At the time of his father’s death, he was in his twentieth
    year; and who will doubt that, at that period of his life, his
    father’s (the Bishop’s) house was his home.  That he may have
    resorted to the Golden Lion, and there have met with Shakespeare, is,
    therefore, quite as probable as that our great dramatist associated
    with Fletcher at the Falcon or the Mermaid, if good cause can only be
    shown for Shakespeare’s having had as much reason to frequent Fulham
    as the Bank-side—or Borough of London.

    I have already stated that Florio’s house was assessed for the
    poor-rate in Fulham Street, on the 12th October, 1625, the year of
    Florio’s death; and be it remembered that Florio was the translator
    of Montaigne’s Essays, of which a copy of the original edition,
    bearing Shakespeare’s very rare autograph, was not very long since
    purchased by the British Museum, at what was considered to be a very
    large price.  When the genuineness of that autograph was keenly
    discussed among antiquaries, and the probable date at which the
    ‘Tempest’ was written, became a question, no one presumed to deny
    that the coincidences between the passage in the 2nd Act of the
    ‘Tempest’ where Gonzalo says—

    “I’ the commonwealth I would by contraries
    Execute all things; for _no kind of traffic_
    Would I admit; _no name of magistrate_;
    Letters should not be known: _riches_, _poverty_,
    _And use of service_, none: contract, _succession_;
    Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
    No use of metal, corn or wine or oil;
    No occupation; all men idle, all;
    And women too; but innocent and pure:
    No Sovereignty:”—

    is but an echo of the following in Florio’s translation of

    —“It is a nation, would I answer Plato, that hath _no kind of
    traffic_, no knowledge of letters, no intelligence of numbers, _no
    name of magistrate_, nor of politic superiority; no _use of service_,
    of _riches_, or of _poverty_; no _contracts_, no _successions_; no
    occupation, but idle, no respect of kindred but common; no apparel,
    but natural; no manuring of lands, no use of wine, corn, or metal,”

                                  * * * * *

    There are other coincidences also, free from the very great
    difficulty of reconciling satisfactorily printed dates with an
    imaginary career—which coincidences are too remarkable to have
    escaped the host of ingenious commentators upon the supposed sources
    of Shakespeare’s information—of his observation what shall I say?

    The coincidence between passages in Daniel’s “Civil Warres,”
    published in 1595, and passages in Shakespeare’s Richard II., induce
    Mr. Charles Knight to observe that “We”—thereby meaning himself—“have
    looked at this poem with some care, and we cannot avoid coming to the
    conclusion that, with reference to parts of the conduct of the story,
    and in a few modes of expression, each of which differs from the
    general narrative and the particular language of the chroniclers,
    there are similarities betwixt Shakespeare and Daniel which would
    lead to the conclusion either that the poem of Daniel was known to
    Shakespeare, or the play of Shakespeare was known to Daniel.”

    This position is, indeed, established by Mr. Knight, who arrives
    satisfactorily enough for his own conclusion, that of fixing the date
    of the composition of Shakespeare’s play to 1597; adding, candidly
    enough, that “the exact date is really of very little importance; and
    we should not have dwelt upon it had it not been pleasant to trace
    resemblances between contemporary poets, who were themselves personal

    Now, with regard to dates, and the disputed dates of the composition
    of the ‘Tempest,’ it is important to ascertain who John Florio and
    Samuel Daniel were.

    We know that Florio was the Italian scholar of his day, and the Court
    favourite.  We know that Daniel, whose name is now scarcely popularly
    remembered, was helped into the office of poet-laureat by his
    connection with Florio as his brother-in-law, by Florio’s
    recommendations to be the successor of “that poor poet, Edmund
    Spenser.”  Here, at once, by admitting Shakespeare’s personal
    intimacy with Florio and Daniel, with his knowledge of their
    writings, there can be no question; and supposing that he had seen
    Florio’s translation of Montaigne in MS., much difficulty about dates
    is got rid of, and we can account for Shakespeare’s acquaintance with
    Italian literature.

    And allow me to add to this the fact noticed by Mr. Collier, in his
    memoirs of the principal actors in the plays of Shakespeare, printed
    for the Shakespeare Society, that Shakespeare’s fellow-player, Henry
    Condell, did some time sojourn at Fulham; for a tract printed in
    1625, entitled ‘The Runaway’s Answer to a book “A Rod for Runaways,”’
    in reply to a pamphlet published by Decker, is inscribed “to our much
    respected and very worthy friend, Mr. H. Condell, at his country
    house at Fulham.”  Again, couple with the name of Condell that of
    Burbadge, in 1625, at Fulham; is not the association most
    extraordinary, although there is no further agreement in the
    Christian name than the first letter, Robert being that in the Fulham
    assessment of poor-rates, Richard that of Shakespeare’s fellow-actor.
    The family name of Burbadge, however, belongs not to Middlesex, but
    to Warwickshire.  Alas! for the credit sake of ‘Robert Burbadge, of
    Northend, Fulham,’ in the place in the poor-rate assessment of 1625,
    where the sum should have been inserted, there is a blank; although
    twenty-two of his neighbours at North End are contributors of sums
    varying from 6s. 8d. to 1s.

    Joshua Sylvester, who was born in 1563 or 1564, and died in 1618,
    thus describes the village of North End, Fulham, where his uncle
    Plumbe resided, and he (Sylvester) formed the attachment which is the
    subject of his poem:—

    I was wont (for my disport)
    Often in the summer season,
    To a Village to resort
    Famous for the rathe ripe peason,
    Where beneath a _Plumb_-tree shade
    Many pleasant walks I made.

    And Norden, whom we consider as the father of English topography,
    dates the address “to all courteous gentlemen,” prefixed to his
    account of Middlesex and Hertfordshire, from his “poore home, near
    Fulham, 4th November, 1596.”

    Here, then, we have a mass of facts, which render it impossible for
    us to doubt that the Golden Lion, Fulham, must have been, according
    to the custom of the times, frequented by Florio and his
    brother-in-law Daniel; by Fletcher; by Henry Condell, Shakespeare’s
    fellow-player; by some one of the name of Burbadge; by Joshua
    Sylvester, and John Norden, about the years 1595 and 1596.  Is there
    not, then, every reasonable presumption that our immortal Shakespeare
    was also a member of this clique?

               [Picture: Fireplaces in the old Golden Lion]

On the pulling down of the Old Inn by Mr. Powell, the panelling was
purchased by Mr. Street, of Brewer Street, and was afterwards sold to
Lord Ellenborough, for the fitting up of his Lordship’s residence,
Southam House, Cheltenham.

Fulham High Street, which extends from the London Road to Church Row,
appears to have been denominated Bear Street, and is called in the more
ancient parish books Fulham Street.  The direct approach to Fulham Church
is by Church Row, which branches off to the right of the High Street.  On
the left of the churchyard entrance is the Vicarage.  The present vicar
is the Rev. R. G. Baker.  Opposite the vicarage is a piece of ground,
which was consecrated in 1843 by Bishop Blomfield, who is buried there.
Upon this recent addition to the burial-ground formerly stood Miss
Batsford’s seminary for young gentlemen.  There are several curious old
monuments in the church, which have been described and engraved by
Faulkner, to whose work the curious reader may be referred.  In the
churchyard are the tombs and monuments of several of the old bishops of
London—Compton, Robinson, Hayter, Gibson, Terrick, Lowth, Sherlock, and

The grave of that distinguished author and brilliant wit, Theodore Hook,
is immediately opposite the chancel window.  The stone bears the plain
inscription “Theodore Edward Hook, died 24th August, 1841, in the
fifty-third year of his age.”

           [Picture: Old entrance to Pryor’s Bank, 1844] {188b}

Leaving the church by the other entrance, we are in Church Lane.  The
first house opposite the gate of the churchyard is Pryor’s Bank, to which
a separate chapter of our little volume is devoted, so that we can pass
on immediately to the next house, Thames Bank, the present residence of
Mr. Baylis, whose well-known taste will no doubt soon change its present
aspect.  Granville Sharp’s {188a} House stood opposite.  It was pulled
down about twenty-five years ago.  John’s Place (erected 1844) is on the

Next to Thames Bank, formerly stood Egmont Villa, the residence of
Theodore Hook, and the house in which he died, now pulled down, the back
of which, is shown in the annexed sketch.  This house, though of the
smallest dimensions, was fitted up with much good taste.  [Picture: Back
of Egmont Villa] There was a small boudoir on the side of the
drawing-room, which was very rich in articles of virtù, more especially
in some remarkably fine carvings, attributed to Cellini, Brustolini, and
others.  These were left to Hook by his brother, the late Dean of
Worcester.  As an improvisatore, Hook was unapproachable.  In regard to
his literary merits, let the following suffice, taken from the late Mr.
Barham’s life of Hook, published in 1848:—

    “There can be no need,” says the Editor, “at this day to enter upon
    any lengthened criticism of Theodore Hook’s merits as a novelist;
    they have been discussed over and over again, with little variety of
    opinion, by every reviewer of the kingdom.  Indeed, both his faults
    and his excellencies lie on the surface, and are obvious and patent
    to the most superficial reader; his fables, for the most part ill
    knit and insufficient, disappoint as they are unfolded; repetitions
    and omissions are frequent: in short, a general want of care and
    finish is observable throughout, which must be attributed to the
    hurry in which he was compelled to write, arising from the
    multiplicity and distracting nature of his engagements.  His tendency
    to caricature was innate; but even this would probably have been in a
    great measure repressed, had he allowed himself sufficient time for
    correction: while, on the contrary, in detached scenes, which sprang
    up as pictures in his mind, replete with comic circumstance, in
    brilliant dialogue and portraiture of character, not to mention those
    flashes of sound wisdom with which ever and anon his pages are
    lighted up, his wit and genius had fair play, revelling and rioting
    in fun, and achieving on the spur of the moment those lasting
    triumphs which cast into the shade the minor and mechanical blemishes
    to which we have adverted.”

Hook was a successful dramatist, and an extensive journalist.  Of his
novels, ‘Gilbert Gurney’ may be considered to be the most remarkable.

Hook’s furniture was sold by George Robins, in September, 1841.  In 1855
the aqueduct was erected by the Chelsea Water Works Company, for
conveying the water from Kingston-upon-Thames to the metropolis, and it
was necessary that the contractor, Mr. Brotherhood, should get possession
of Egmont Villa, to enable them to erect the tower on the Fulham side.
Here the piles and timbers of the old Bishop’s Ferry, used for the
conveyance of passengers across the river from Putney to Fulham, before
the old bridge was built, were discovered.  It was subsequently
considered desirable to pull the villa down; and there now remains no
trace of the house in which Hook lived and died, and which stood within a
few paces of his grave.  Bowack mentions that Robert Limpany, Esq.,
“whose estate was so considerable in the parish that he was commonly
called the Lord of Fulham,” resided in a neat house in Church Lane.  He
died at the age of ninety-four.  Beyond the Pryor’s Bank on the right, is
the Bishop’s Walk, which runs along the side of the Thames for some
little distance, and from hence a view of the Bishop’s Palace is
obtained.  This palace has been from a very early period the summer
residence of the Bishops of London.  The land consists of about 37 acres,
and the whole is surrounded by a moat, over which are two bridges.

Following the course of the Bishop’s Walk, we come to the road leading to
Craven Cottage, originally built by the Margravine of Anspach, when
Countess of Craven, and since altered and improved by Walsh Porter, who
occasionally resided in it till his death in 1809.  Craven Cottage was
considered the prettiest specimen of cottage architecture then existing.
The three principal reception-rooms were equally remarkable for their
structure, as well as their furniture.  The centre, or principal saloon,
supported by large palm-trees of considerable size, exceedingly well
executed, with their drooping foliage at the top, supporting the cornice
and architraves of the room.  The other decorations were in corresponding
taste.  The furniture comprised a lion’s skin for a hearth-rug, for a
sofa the back of a tiger, the supports of the tables in most instances
were four twisted serpents or hydras: in fact, the whole of the
decorations of the room were of a character perfectly unique and uniform
in their style.  This room led to a large Gothic dining-room of very
considerable dimensions, and on the front of the former apartment was a
very large oval rustic balcony, opposed to which was a large,
half-circular library, that became more celebrated afterwards as the room
in which the highly-gifted and talented author of ‘Pelham’ wrote some of
his most celebrated works.

Craven Cottage was the residence of the Right Hon. Sir E. Bulwer-Lytton,
from whom it passed to Mr. Baylis, now of Thames Bank, who parted with it
to Sir Ralph Howard, its present occupant, who removed the door shown in
the annexed cut, through which the library is seen.

            [Picture: Door of Egyptian Hall at Craven Cottage]

Returning to Church Lane, we come out at the bridge, built in 1729, and
close to which is Willow Bank, the late residence of Mr. Delafield and
General Conyers.  The Ferry belonged to the See of London, and it was
necessary that the consent of the Bishops should be had, for the erection
of the bridge and consequent destruction of their Ferry; it was,
therefore, stipulated for the right of themselves, their families, and
all their dependents, that they should pass over the bridge toll free,
which right exists at the present time; and passengers are often very
much astonished at hearing the exclamation of “Bishop!” shouted out by
the stentorian lungs of bricklayers, carpenters, or others, who may be
going to the palace, that being the pass-word for the privilege of going
over.  The architect of the bridge was the eminent surgeon, W. Cheselden,
who died in 1752, and is buried in the graveyard attached to Chelsea
Hospital.  His tomb is close to the railings of the new road, leading
from Sloane Street to the Suspension Bridge at Chelsea.  Cheselden was
for many years, surgeon of Chelsea Hospital.

                        [Picture: The Swan Tavern]

Standing by the Ferry is the Swan Tavern, a characteristic old house,
with a garden attached, looking on to the river, and scarcely altered in
any of its features since Chatelaine published his views of “The most
agreeable Prospects near London,” about 1740.  It is a good specimen of a
waterside inn, and appears to have been erected about the time of William

At the foot of the bridge is ‘The Eight Bells’ public-house, where the
Fulham omnibuses leave for London.

                   [Picture: Approach to Putney Bridge]

Bridge Street brings us to the point at which we turned off at the
termination of the High Street, and on the right-hand side as we look
towards London is Church Street (formerly Windsor Street, according to
Faulkner), leading up to the Ship Tavern, and thence into the King’s

The Charity School is in Church Street.  This building was erected in

Retracing our steps towards London, we come to the George at Walham
Green, which turns off to the left.  The church stands on the right hand
side.  Opposite Walham House, near the church, is North End Lodge, the
residence of the late Mr. Albert Smith, and where he died on the 23rd
May, 1860.  As novelist, dramatist, and lecturer, he had achieved
considerable reputation; and his unexpected death, at the early age of
forty-four, brought to a sudden close the most popular monologue
entertainment of this, or of any, time.  Mr. Smith was an amusing writer
and a most genial companion, and was ever ready to assist a professional
brother in the hour of need.  Against the brick wall, close to the gate
of North End Lodge, is a slab with the inscription “From Hyde Park
Corner, 3 miles 17 yards.”  We are now in North End, where there are many
houses of interest which deserve attention; we will therefore go out of
the direct road and return to London by way of North End.



NORTH END may be described as a series of residences on each side the
lane, more than a mile in length, which runs from the church at Walham
Green to the main road from Kensington to Hammersmith.  There were but
few houses in it when Faulkner published his map in 1813.  Market gardens
were on both sides the road, and the gardeners cottagers were very old.
[Picture: Panelled Door] The panelled door, here represented, was fitted
to one of them, and evidently was fashioned in the seventeenth century.
The celebrated bookseller, Jacob Tonson, lived for some time at North
End.  At York Cottage, which is on the right hand side of the road, about
a quarter of a mile from the church, resided for many years Mr. J. B.
Pyne, the landscape painter.  At a short distance beyond, the road from
Old Brompton crosses into Fulham Fields.  Here, at one corner, is a house
(Hermitage Lodge) which was originally constructed as stables to the
residence of Foote, the dramatist and comedian, {196} which still stands
on the opposite side of the road leading to Brompton, and where he lived
for many years, expending large sums upon its improvement.  It is now
called “The Hermitage,” and is completely surrounded by a large garden
enclosed by high walls.

           [Picture: Hermitage Lodge (1844) and The Hermitage]

Exactly opposite to this house, in the angle of the road, stands an old
house in a moderate-sized garden (Cambridge Lodge).  Francis Bartolozzi,
the celebrated engraver, who arrived in England in 1764, came to reside
here in 1777.  He was born at Florence in 1730, and died at Lisbon in
1813.  His son, Gaetano Bartolozzi, father to the late Madame Vestris,
was born in 1757, and died August 25th, 1813.  Passing up the road,
beside market gardens, is the old garden wall of Normand House, with some
curious brick gates (now closed in): the house is very old; the date,
1661, is in the centre arch, over the principal gateway, and it is said
to have been used as a hospital for persons recovering from the Great
Plague in 1665.  [Picture: Bartolozzi’s House] Sir E. Bulwer Lytton has
resided here.  In 1813 “it was appropriated for the reception of insane
ladies” (Faulkner), and it is now a lunatic asylum for ladies, with the
name of “Talfourd” on a brass plate.  A little further on the road, out
of which we have turned, is a cottage to the right named Wentworth
Cottage.  Here Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall once resided.  The willow in front
of the cottage was planted by them from a slip of that over the grave of
Napoleon at St. Helena.  The land opposite this cottage is now to be let
on building lease.  This district, now known as “Fulham Fields,” was
formerly called “No Man’s Land,” and according to Faulkner, the local
historian, contained, in 1813, “about six houses.”  One of these was “an
ancient house, once the residence of the family of Plumbe,” which was
pulled down about twenty-three years ago, and replaced by a cluster of
dwellings for the labourers in the surrounding market gardens, which
extend from Walham Green nearly to the Thames in a north-west direction;
“the North End Road,” as it is called, forming the eastern boundary of
“Fulham Fields.”  To establish the connection of Sylvester’s lines,
quoted in the late Mr. Crofton Croker’s Paper on the “Golden Lion,” with
this locality, the antiquary who pointed it out observed that—

    “Our poet had an uncle named William Plumbe, who resided at North
    End, Fulham, having married the widow of John Gresham, the second son
    of Sir John Gresham, who was Lord Mayor of London in 1547, and which
    lady was the only daughter and heir of Edward Dormer of Fulham.  Here
    it was, while visiting his uncle, that Sylvester formed the
    attachment which is the subject of his poem (see the folio edition of
    his works, 1621).  Uncle Plumbe had been a widower; and from
    monuments which exist, or existed, in the parish church of Fulham,
    appears to have departed this life on the 9th February, 1593–4, aged
    sixty.  In the previous May, his widow had lost her son Edmund (or
    Edward) Gresham, at the age of sixteen; and seriously touched by the
    rapid proofs of mortality within her house, from which the hand of
    death had within twelve months removed both a husband and a child,
    made preparations for her own demise by recording her intention to
    repose beside their remains: and to her husband’s memory she raised,
    in Fulham Church, a monument ‘of alabaster, inlaid and ornamented
    with various-coloured marble,’ leaving a space after her name for the
    insertion of the date of her death and age, which appear never to
    have been supplied.”

The arms of “Dormer, impaled with Gresham,” we are told remain, “those of
Plumbe are gone.”  Sylvester’s “Triumph of Faith” is consecrated “to the
grateful memory of the first kind fosterer of our tender Muses, by my
never sufficiently honoured dear uncle, W. Plumb, Esq.”  It is not our
intention to linger over the recollections connected with the age of
Elizabeth in Fulham Fields or at North End, although there can be no
doubt that a little research might bring some curious local particulars
to light connected with the history of the literature, the drama, and the
fine arts of that period,

The gardens here provide the London markets with a large supply of
vegetables.  A very primitive form of draw-well was common here,
consisting of a pole, balanced horizontally on an upright, the bucket
being affixed to a rope at one end.  [Picture: Draw-well] The pole is
pulled downward for the bucket to descend the well, and when filled, is
raised by the weight of wood attached to the opposite end of the pole.
This mode of raising water is still in use in the East, and Wilkinson, in
his ‘Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians,’ Series I. vol. ii. p.
4, has engraved representations of this machine, from paintings on the
walls of Thebes, of the time of the Pharaohs.  [Picture: Cottage in
Fulham Fields] In “Fulham Fields” are still standing many old cottages,
inhabited by market-gardeners.  A sketch, taken in 1844, of one of the
best examples then existing, is here given as a specimen.

A little beyond “Wentworth Cottage,” the road branches off, the turning
to the right going to Hammersmith, and that to the left leading to
Fulham.  Hammersmith was a part of Fulham until 1834, when it was formed
into a separate parish by Act of Parliament.

[Picture: Elm House] Returning to the lane at North End, immediately
beyond Bartolozzi’s house, is an old wall, apparently of the time of
Charles II., enclosing a tall peculiar-looking house, now called Elm
House, once the residence of Cheeseman the engraver, of whom little is
known, except that he was a pupil of Bartolozzi, and lived in Newman
Street about thirty years ago.  He is said to have been very fond of
music, and having a small independence and less ambition, he was content
to engrave but little, and with his violoncello and musical friends,
passed a very happy life.

A little further on the opposite side of the road stood Walnut-Tree
Cottage (pulled down in 1846), once the residence of Edmund Kean, and
also of Copley the artist, which took its name from the tree in the
fore-court.  [Picture: Walnut-Tree Cottage] We then come to the North End
Sunday and Day Schools, erected in 1857.  The road here curves round by
the wall of Kensington Hall, a large mansion on the right, built by
Slater, the well-known butcher of Kensington, and it has been called in
consequence Slater’s Mansion.  It is at present a school, kept by Mr. and
Mrs. Johnson, but it is to be let or sold.

A little further to the left is Deadman’s Lane.  Here, in the midst of
garden grounds, stands a venerable and isolated fabric, which would
appear to have been built in the reign of James I.  This lane leads to
Hammersmith, but a more agreeable way has been made opposite Edith
Villas, called Edith Road.  The land is to be let on building lease; and
here once stood the house of Cipriani, the painter.  [Picture: Cipriani’s
House] Cipriani was born at Florence, in 1727, and died in London in
1785.  He came to England in 1755; and he was one of the members of the
Royal Academy at its foundation in 1769, when he was employed to make the
design for the diploma given to Academicians and Associates on their
admission, which was engraved by Bartolozzi.  The character and works of
this artist are thus described by Fuseli: “The fertility of his
invention, the graces of his composition, and the seductive elegance of
his forms, were only surpassed by the probity of his character, the
simplicity of his manners, and the benevolence of his heart.”  A few
plates were engraved by himself after his own designs.

Another curve of the road brings us to the site of Dr. Crotch’s house,
where a row of houses, called Grove Cottages, have been built.  [Picture:
Dr. Crotch’s House] Dr. Crotch was, in 1797, at the early age of
twenty-two, appointed Professor of Music in the University of Oxford,
where he received the degree of Doctor of Music.  In 1822 he was
appointed Principal of the Royal Academy of Music.  He performed for the
last time in public in 1834 in Westminster Abbey, during the royal
festival, and died 20th December, 1847, while sitting at dinner.  Dr.
Crotch has composed numerous pieces for the organ and pianoforte, and
published, in 1812, ‘Elements of Musical Composition and Thorough Bass,’
and subsequently specimens of various styles of music of all ages.  W.
Wynne Ryland, the engraver, lived in this house before Dr. Crotch
inhabited it.

Opposite where Dr. Crotch’s house formerly stood, facing a turning which
is called on one side Lawn Terrace, on the other Ashton Terrace, is a
large brick mansion inhabited by Richardson the novelist before his
removal to Parson’s Green.  It is of the period of William III., the
appearance of which may be recognized from the annexed sketch.  In the
garden was a summer-house, in which the novelist wrote before the family
were up, and he afterwards, at the breakfast table, communicated the
progress of his story.  [Picture: House of Richardson] How little the
exterior has been altered in the last fifty years, a comparison of this
sketch, made in 1844, with the print prefixed to the 4th volume of
Richardson’s ‘Correspondence,’ will show at a glance.  Sir Richard
Phillips’s print was published by him May 26, 1804.  Then, as now, this
mansion was divided into two houses, and the half nearest to the eye was
that occupied by the novelist, the other half was the residence of a Mr.
Vanderplank, a name which frequently occurs in ‘Richardson’s
Correspondence.’  Richardson’s house has been subsequently inhabited by
the late Sir William and Lady Boothby, the latter, better known to the
public as that charming actress Mrs. Nisbett.  A few extracts from
‘Richardson’s Correspondence’ may here prove interesting.

One of the most romantic incidents in the business-like and hospitable
life of Richardson, was his correspondence with, and introduction to Lady
Bradshaigh, the wife of a Lancashire Baronet, whom he tried to prevail
upon to visit him at North End.  After the appearance of the fourth
volume of Clarissa Harlowe, a lady, who signed herself Belfour, wrote to
Richardson, stating a report that prevailed, that the history of Clarissa
was to terminate in a most tragical manner, and requesting that her
entreaties may avert so dreadful a catastrophe.

This correspondence with Mrs. Belfour commenced in October, 1748; and she
thus concludes her letter to the novelist, her ladyship taking care to
mystify her identity by giving her address, Post-office, Exeter, although
resident at Haigh in Lancashire.  “If you disappoint me,” she writes,
“attend to my curse.”

    “May the hatred of all the young, beautiful, and virtuous for ever be
    your portion, and may your eyes never behold anything but age and
    deformity!  May you meet with applause only from envious old maids,
    surly bachelors, and tyrannical parents; may you be doomed to the
    company of such! and after death may their ugly souls haunt you!

    “Now make Lovelace and Clarissa unhappy if you dare!

    “Perhaps you may think all this proceeds from a giddy girl of
    sixteen; but know I am past my romantic time of life, though young
    enough to wish two lovers happy in a married state.  As I myself am
    in that class, it makes me still more anxious for the lovely pair.  I
    have a common understanding, and middling judgment, for one of my
    sex, which I tell you for fear you should not find it out.”

The correspondence thus commenced goes on, until the vanity of Richardson
induces him to describe to his unknown correspondent his private
circumstances: and to a hint given in the January following by Lady
Bradshaigh, of her intention to visit London before she is a year older,
when she “shall long to see” Mr. Richardson, and “perhaps may contrive
_that_, though unknown to him,” he replies,—

    “But do not, my dear correspondent (still let me call you so) say,
    that you will see me, _unknown to myself_, when you come to town.
    Permit me to hope, that you will not be personally a stranger to me

This is followed by an acknowledgment from Madame Belfour, that she is
not his “Devonshire lady,” having but very little knowledge of the place,
though she has a friend there; observing archly, “_Lancashire_, if you
please;” adding an invitation, if he is inclined to take a journey of two
hundred miles, with the promise of “a most friendly reception from two
persons, who have great reason to esteem” him “a very valuable

Richardson responded to this invitation by another—

    “But I will readily come into any proposal you shall make, to answer
    the purpose of your question; and if you will be so cruel as to keep
    yourself still incognito, will acquiesce.  I wish you would accept of
    our invitation on your coming to town.  _But three little miles from
    Hyde Park Corner_.  I keep no vehicle.”

(This was before the age of omnibuses.)

    —“but one should be at yours, and at your dear man’s command, as long
    as you should both honour us with your presence.  You shall be only
    the sister, the cousin, the niece—the what you please of my
    incognito, and I will never address you as other than what you choose
    to pass for.  If you knew, Madam, you would not question that I am in
    earnest on this occasion; the less question it, as that at my little
    habitation near Hammersmith, I have common conveniences, though not
    splendid ones, to make my offer good.”

Richardson, in the letter from which this passage has been extracted, is
again led away by his vanity into a description of his person, and very
plainly hints at a meeting in the Park, through which he goes “once or
twice a week to” his “little retirement.”  He describes himself as

    “Short, rather plump than emaciated, about five foot five inches;
    fair wig; lightish cloth coat, all black besides; one hand generally
    in his bosom, the other a cane in it, which he leans upon under the
    skirts of his coat usually, that it may imperceptibly serve him as a
    support, when attacked by sudden tremors or startings and dizziness.”
    . . . “Of a light-brown complexion; teeth not yet failing him;
    smoothish faced and ruddy cheeked; at some times looking to be about
    sixty-five, at other times much younger; a regular even pace,
    stealing away ground, rather than seeming to get rid of it; a grey
    eye, too often overclouded by mistiness from the head; by chance
    lively—very lively it will be if he have hope of seeing a lady whom
    he loves and honours; his eye always on the ladies”—and so on.

In return to this description, Lady Bradshaigh on the 16th December,
1749, half promises a meeting in an appointed place, for she tells the
elderly gentleman with “a grey eye, too often overclouded by mistiness
from the head,” but “by chance lively,” “that she will attend the Park
every fine warm day, between the hours of one and two.  I do not,” adds
this perfect specimen of a literary coquette,

    “Say this to put you in the least out of your way, or make you stay a
    moment longer than your business requires; for a walk in the Park is
    an excuse she uses for her health; and as she designs staying some
    months in town, if she misses you one day she may have luck another.”

And Lady Bradshaigh proceeds to present, as if in ridicule of
Richardson’s portrait as drawn by himself, her own.

    “In surprise or eagerness she is apt to think aloud; and since you
    have a mind to see _her_, who has seen the King, I give you the
    advantage of knowing she is middle aged, middle sized, a degree above
    plump, brown as an oak wainscot, a good deal of country red in her
    cheeks: altogether a plain woman, but nothing remarkably forbidding.”

Any one might think that a meeting would immediately have followed these
communications, and that the novel-writer and the novel-reader would have
presented themselves to each other’s gaze for admiration, at the time and
place appointed, and thus the affair which their letters have left upon
record might have been satisfactorily wound up in one volume.  But this
did not accord with the sentimental typographical taste of the times,
which required the dilution of an idea into seven or eight volumes to
make it palatable.  For we are told that a young Cantab, who, when asked
if he had read Clarissa, replied, “D---n it, I would not read it through
to save my life,” was set down as an incurable dunce.  And that a lady
reading to her maid, whilst she curled her hair, the seventh volume of
Clarissa, the poor girl let fall such a shower of tears that they wetted
her mistress’s head so much, she had to send her out of the room to
compose herself.  Upon the maid being asked the cause of her grief, she
said, “Oh, madam, to see such goodness and innocence in such distress,”
and her lady rewarded her with a crown for the answer.

January the 9th (1749–50) has arrived—the tantalizing Lady Bradshaigh,
the unknown Mrs. Belfour has been in London six weeks, and the novelist
begins “not to know what to think” of his fair correspondent’s wish to
see him.  “May be so,” he writes,

    “But with such a desire to be in town three weeks; on the 16th
    December to be in sight of my dwelling, and three weeks more to
    elapse, yet I neither to see or hear of the lady; it cannot be that
    she has so strong a desire.”

Let any one imagine the ridiculousness of the situation of “dear, good,
excellent Mr. Richardson” at this time.  He had, he confesses,

    “Such a desire to see one who had seen the King, that” (he speaking
    of himself, says) “though prevented by indisposition from going to my
    little retirement on the Saturday, that I had the pleasure of your
    letter, I went into the Park on Sunday (it being a very fine day) in
    hopes of seeing such a lady as you describe, contenting myself with
    dining as I walked, on a sea biscuit which I had put in my pocket, my
    family at home, all the time, knowing not what was become of me.—A

    “Last Saturday, being a fine warm day, in my way to North End, I
    walked backwards and forwards in the Mall, till past your friend’s
    time of being there (she preparing, possibly, for the Court, being
    Twelfth Night!) and I again was disappointed.”

On the 28th January, nineteen days after this was written, Lady
Bradshaigh, in a letter full of satirical banter, which, however, it may
be questionable if Richardson did not receive as replete with the highest
compliments to his genius, says,

    “Indeed, Sir, I resolved, if ever I came to town, to find out your
    haunts, if possible, and I have not ‘said anything that is not,’ nor
    am at all naughty in this respect, for I give you my word, endeavours
    have not been wanting.  You never go to public places.  I knew not
    where to look for you (without making myself known) except in the
    Park, which place I have frequented most warm days.  Once I fancied I
    met you; I gave a sort of a fluttering start, and surprised my
    company; but presently recollected you would not deceive me by
    appearing in a grey, instead of a whitish coat; besides the cane was
    wanting, otherwise I might have supposed you in mourning.”

Could anything exceed this touch about “a grey, instead of a whitish
coat,” except the finishing one of the “mole upon your left cheek?”

    “To be sure on the Saturday you mention, I was dressing for court, as
    you supposed, and have never been in the Park upon a Sunday; but you
    cannot be sure that I have not seen you.  How came I to know that you
    have a mole upon your left cheek?  But not to make myself appear more
    knowing than I am, I’ll tell you, Sir, that I have only seen you in
    effigy, in company with your Clarissa at Mr. Highmore’s, where I
    design making you another visit shortly.”

All this and much more is followed by a most tantalizing and puzzling
P.S. to poor Richardson.  His fair, or rather “brown as an oak-wainscot,
with a good deal-of-country-red in her cheeks” correspondent, requests
him “to direct only to C. L., and enclose it to Miss J., to be left at
Mrs. G.’s” etc. etc., previously observing that, “whenever there happens
to be a fine Saturday I shall look for you in the Park, that being the
day on which I suppose you are called that way.”

Roused into desperation, Richardson on the 2nd February writes to Mrs.
Belfour as follows:—

    “What pains does my unkind correspondent take to conceal herself!
    Loveless thought himself at liberty to change names without Act of
    Parliament.  I wish, madam, that Lovelace—‘A sad dog,’ said a certain
    lady once, ‘why was he made so wicked, yet so agreeable?’

    “Disappointed and chagrined as I was on Friday night with the return
    of my letter, directed to Miss J---, rejected and refused to be taken
    in at Mrs. G---’s, and with my servant’s bringing me word that the
    little book I sent on Thursday night, with a note in it, was also
    rejected; and the porter (whom I have never since seen or heard of,
    nor of the book) dismissed with an assurance that he must be wrong;
    my servant being sent from one Mrs. G--- to another Mrs. G--- at
    Millbank; yet I resolved to try my fortune on Saturday in the Park in
    my way to North End.  The day indeed, thought I, is not promising;
    but where so great an earnestness is professed, and the lady possibly
    by this time made acquainted with the disappointment she has given
    me, who knows but she will be carried in a chair to the Park, to make
    me amends, and there reveal herself?  Three different chairs at
    different views saw I.  My hope, therefore, not so very much out of
    the way; but in none of them the lady I wished to see.  Up the Mall
    walked I, down the Mall, and up again, in my way to North End.  O
    this dear Will-o’-wisp, thought I! when nearest, furthest off!  Why
    should I, at this time of life?  No bad story, the consecrated rose,
    say what she will: and all the spiteful things I could think of I
    muttered to myself.  And how, Madam, can I banish them from my
    memory, when I see you so very careful to conceal yourself; when I
    see you so very apprehensive of my curiosity, and so very little
    confiding in my generosity?  O Madam! you know me not! you will not
    know me!

    “Yesterday, at North End, your billet, apologizing for the
    disappointment was given me.  Lud! lud! what a giddy appearance!
    thought I.  O that I had half the life, the spirit! of anything worth
    remembering I could make memorandums.

    “Shall I say all I thought?  I will not.  But if these at last reach
    your hands, take them as written, as they were, by Friday night, and
    believe me to be,

                                         “Your admirer and humble Servant,
                                                          “S. RICHARDSON.”

Sir Walter Scott says, that “the power of Richardson’s painting of his
deeper scenes of tragedy has never been, and probably never will be,
excelled;” and in Mrs. Inchbald’s ‘Life of Richardson,’ we read, that “as
a writer he possessed original genius, and an unlimited command over the
tender passions.”  He carried on a foreign literary correspondence, and
was on terms of intimacy with many eminent and literary persons of his
time, particularly Dr. Young, Dr. Johnson, Aaron Hill, and Arthur Onslow,
Esq., Speaker of the House of Commons.

A short distance further on, we enter the Hammersmith Road, opposite a
tavern called “The Bell and Anchor,” which stands beside the turnpike,
and passing about twenty shops on the left towards Hammersmith, we notice
in the fore-court of a house called “The Cedars,” two noble cedar trees
of immense girth, one of which is represented in the accompanying cut.
This was formerly the residence of Sir James Branscomb, who, according to
Faulkner, “in his early days had been a servant to the Earl of
Gainsborough, and afterwards, for upwards of forty years, carried on a
lottery office in Holborn.  He was a common-councilman of the Ward of
Farringdon Without, and received the honour of knighthood during his
shrievalty.”  The house has been a ladies’ boarding-school for many
years.  From the Kensington Road we can return direct to London, having
in this chapter departed from our even course on the Fulham Road for the
purpose of visiting the North End district.

            [Picture: Tree in the fore-court of “The Cedars”]



Nestling in trees beneath the old tower of Fulham Church, which has been
judiciously restored by Mr. George Godwin, there may be seen from Putney
Bridge a remarkable group of houses, the most conspicuous of which will
be conjectured from a passing glance to belong to the Gothic tribe.  This
house, which has been a pet kind of place of the Strawberry Hill class,
is called the Pryor’s Bank, and its history can be told in much less than
one hundredth part of the space that a mere catalogue of the objects of
interest which it has contained would occupy.  In fact, the whole
edifice, from the kitchen to the bedrooms, was a few years since a
museum, arranged with a view to pictorial effect; and if it had been
called “The Museum of British Antiquities” it would have been found
worthy of the name.

In a print, published about forty years since, by J. Edington, 64
Gracechurch Street, of Fulham Church, as seen from the river, the ancient
aspect of the modern Pryor’s Bank is preserved.  [Picture: Fulham Church]
The situation of this humble residence having attracted the fancy of Mr.
Walsh Porter, he purchased it, raised the building by an additional
story, replaced its latticed casements by windows of coloured glass, and
fitted the interior with grotesque embellishments and theatrical
decorations.  The entrance hall was called the robber’s cave, for it was
constructed of material made to look like large projecting rocks, with a
winding staircase, and mysterious in-and-out passages.  [Picture: Vine
Cottage] One of the bed-rooms was called, not inaptly, the lion’s den.
The dining-room represented, on a small scale, the ruins of Tintern
Abbey; and here Mr. Porter had frequently the honour of receiving and
entertaining George IV., when Prince of Wales.  It was then called Vine
Cottage, {213} and having been disposed of by Mr. Porter, became, in
1813, the residence of Lady Hawarden; and, subsequently, of William
Holmes, Esq., M.P., who sold it to Mr. Baylis and Mr. Lechmere Whitmore
about 1834.

By them a luxurious vine which covered the exterior was cut down, and the
cottage, named after it, replaced by a modern antique house.  Mr. Baylis
being a zealous antiquary, his good taste induced him to respect
neglected things, when remarkable as works of art, and inspired him and
his friend Mr. Whitmore with the wish to collect and preserve some of the
many fine specimens of ancient manufacture that had found their way into
this country from the Continent, as well as to rescue from destruction
relics of Old England.  In the monuments and carvings which had been
removed from dilapidated churches, and in the furniture which had been
turned out of the noble mansions of England—the “Halls” and “old
Places”—Mr. Baylis saw the tangible records of the history of his
country; and, desirous of upholding such memorials, he gleaned a rich
harvest from the lumber of brokers’ shops, and saved from oblivion
articles illustrative of various tastes and periods, that were daily in
the course of macadamisation or of being consumed for firewood.

The materials thus acquired were freely used by him in the construction
of a new building upon the site of Vine Cottage, and adapted with
considerable skill; but when neither the vine nor the cottage were in
existence, it appeared to Mr. Baylis ridiculous to allow a misnomer to
attach itself to the spot.  After due deliberation, therefore, respecting
the situation upon a delightful bank of gravel, and the association which
an assemblage of ecclesiastic carvings and objects connected with
“monkish memories,” there collected, were likely to produce upon the
mind, the new house was styled the “Pryor’s Bank.”

As Horace Walpole’s villa was celebrated by the Earl of Bath, so the
charms of the Pryor’s Bank have been sung in “the last new ballad on the
Fulham regatta”—a _jeu d’esprit_ circulated at an entertainment given by
the hospitable owners in 1843:—

   “Strawberry Hill has pass’d away,
   Every house must have its day;
   So in antiquarian rank
   Up sprung here the Pryor’s Bank,
   Full of glorious tapestry,—
   Full as well as house can be:
   And of carvings old and quaint,
   Relics of some mitr’d saint,
   ’Tis—I hate to be perfidious—
   ’Tis a house most sacrilegious.

   “Glorious, glowing painted glass,
   What its beauty can surpass?
   Shrines bedeck’d with gems we see,
   Overhung by canopy
   Of embroider’d curtains rare—
   Wondrous works of time and care!
   Up stairs, down stairs, in the hall,
   There is something great or small
   To attract the curious eye
   Into it to rudely pry.

   “Here some niche or cabinet
   Full of rarities is set;
   Here some picture—‘precious bit’—
   There’s no time to dwell on it;
   Bronzes, china—all present
   Each their own sweet blandishment.
   But what makes our pleasure here,
   Is our welcome and our cheer;
   So I’ll not say one bit more,—
   Long live Baylis and Whitmore!”

I would endeavour to convey some idea of the Pryor’s Bank and its now
dispersed treasures as they were in 1840, in which year we will suppose
the reader to accompany us through the house and grounds; but before
entering the house, I would call attention to a quiet walk along the
garden-terrace, laved to its verdant slope by the brimming Thames.
[Picture: Terrace at Pryor’s Bank] Suppose, then, we leave those
beautiful climbing plants—they are Chilian creepers that so profusely
wanton on the sunny wall—and turning sharply round an angle of the river
front, cut at once, by the most direct walk, the parties who in luxurious
idleness have assembled about the garden fountain; and, lest such folk
should attempt to interrupt us in our sober purpose, let us not stop to
see or admire anything, until we reach the bay-window summer-house at the
end of the terrace.  “How magnificent are those chestnut-trees!” I hear
you exclaim; “and this old bay-window!”

Ay, this summer-house which shelters us, and those noble balusters which
protect the northern termination of the terrace, how many thoughts do
they conjure up in the mind!  [Picture: Fountain at Pryor’s Bank] These
balusters belonged to the main staircase of Winchester House.  Do you
remember Winchester House in Broad Street, in the good city of London,
the residence of “the loyal Paulets?”  Perhaps not.  There is, however, a
print of its last appearance in the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine’ for April,
1839, and by which you will at once identify this summer-house as the
bay-window of the principal apartment.  Indeed the editor tells you that
“the greater part of the remaining ornamental wood-work has been
purchased by Thomas Baylis, Esq., F.S.A., who is fitting up with it the
kitchen and some of the new rooms of his house, Pryor’s Bank, Fulham.”

It is stated in the same magazine, that in 1828 the motto of the Paulets,
AYMES LOYAULTE, was to be seen in the windows of the principal apartment
on the first floor, in yellow letters, disposed in diagonal stripes;
which motto, it is added, “was probably put there by the loyal Marquis of
Winchester, in the time of Charles I., by whom the same sentence was
inscribed in every window of his residence at Basing House, in Hants,
which he so gallantly defended against the Parliamentarians.” {218}

Now, is it not more probable that the recollection of this motto in the
windows of his paternal mansion, conveyed through the medium of coloured
glass, indelibly stamped by sunshine (or daguerreotyped, as we might term
it) upon the youthful mind of the gallant marquis those feelings of
devoted loyalty which influenced his after conduct, and led him to
inscribe with the point of his diamond ring the same motto upon the
windows of Basing House?  [Picture: Turn Buckle] Be this as it may, it is
gratifying to know that many of the panes of glass which bore that
glorious yellow letter motto in Winchester House, at the period when it
was doomed to be taken down, are preserved, having been with good taste
presented to the present Marquis of Winchester; and two or three which
were overlooked have come into the possession of Lord Adolphus
Fitzclarence.  But much of the diamond-shaped glass in this bay-window,
as it stood upon the terrace of the Pryor’s Bank, was ancient, and very
curious.  You could not fail to remark the quaint window-latch, termed “a
Turn Buckle.”

Had we time to linger here, how amusing it might be to attempt to
decipher the monograms, and names, and verses inscribed upon the various
lozenge-shaped panes of glass, which practically exemplified the phrase
of “diamond cut diamond.”

The fragments of the old Royal Exchange, with a Burmese cross-legged idol
perched thereon—the urn to the memory of “POOR BANQUO;” the green-house,
with its billiard-table, and even an alcove, the most charming spot in
“the wide world” to talk sentiment in, must not detain us from returning
to another angle of the river front, after [Picture: Alcove: and Angle of
the River Front] glancing at which, we enter the outer hall or passage,
wainscoted with oak and lined above with arras, separated from the inner
hall by an oak screen, which was usually guarded upon gala nights by most
respectable “Beef-eaters,” who required the production of invitation
[Picture: Inner Hall with oak screen] cards from all visitors.  They
permit us to pass without question; and that is a very proper example for
you to follow, and a good reason why you should not question me too

         “Do you think that I
   Came here to be the Pryor’s Bank directory?”

You must use your own eyes, and judge for yourself.  I will tell you,
however, all that I know as briefly as possible, and point out whatever
occurs to me in our scamper, for a scamper it can only be termed: just
such a kind of run as a person makes through London who has come up by
railroad to see all its wonders in a week.  But I cannot allow you to
examine so closely that curiously carved oak chimney-piece in the inner
hall, although I admit that it may be as early as Henry VIII.’s time, and
those interesting old portraits.  Where shall we begin?  You wish to
inspect everything.  Suppose, then, we commence with the kitchen, and
steam it up-stairs to the dormitories, going at the rate of a
high-pressure engine.

You are already aware that the kitchen was panelled with oak from the
drawing-room of Winchester House, and now you see the whole style of
fitting-up accords with that of “bygone days.”  Look, for instance,
towards the kitchen window, and you will find that the various cupboards,
presses and dressers—even the cooking utensils—correspond; but, although
modern improvements have not been lost sight of, antique forms have been
retained.  Let one example suffice, that of an ancient gridiron, of
beautiful and elaborate workmanship.

             [Picture: Kitchen Window: and Ancient Gridiron]

The history of the plates and dishes displayed in this kitchen would
afford an opportunity for a dissertation on the rise and progress of the
fine arts in this country, as they present most curious and important
specimens of early drawing, painting, and poetry.  The old English plate
was a square piece of wood, which indeed is not quite obsolete at the
present hour.  The improvement upon this primitive plate was a circular
platter, with a raised edge; but there were also thin, circular, flat
plates of beech-wood in use for the dessert or confection, and they were
gilt and painted upon one side, and inscribed with pious, or instructive,
or amorous mottoes, suited to the taste of the society in which they were
produced.  Such circular plates are now well known to antiquaries under
the name of “roundels,” and were at one time generally supposed by them
to have been used as cards for fortune-telling, or playing with at
questions and answers.  More sober research into their origin and use
shows that they were painted and decorated with conventional patterns by
nuns, who left blank spaces for the mottoes, to be supplied by the more
learned monks; and a set of these roundels generally consisted of twelve.
As specimens of the style of these mottoes about the time of Henry VII.
or VIII. the following may be taken:—

   “Wheresoever thou traveleste,
      Este, Weste, Northe, or Southe,
   Learne never to looke
      A geven horsse in the mouthe.”

   “In friends ther ys flattery,
      In men lyttell trust,
   Thoughe fayre they proffer
      They be offten unjuste.”

There are many sets of verses for roundels extant in manuscript, and a
few have been printed; indeed, it appears likely that to the love for
this species of composition we owe Tusser’s “Five Hundred Points of Good
Husbandry,” and most of his other admonitory verses.

After the Reformation, coloured prints superseded the painted and
manuscript “poesies” of the nuns and monks, and the elder De Passe, and
other artists of the period of James I. and Charles I., produced a
variety of oval and circular engravings, which were pasted upon roundels
and varnished over.  The subjects generally selected were those which
naturally arranged themselves into a set of twelve, as the months.  By
the Puritans the beechen roundels thus decorated were regarded with
especial dislike, and they returned to the use of the unadorned trencher
and “godly platter.”  When the “Merry Monarch” was restored he brought
over with him from Holland plates and dishes manufactured at Delft, where
the porcelain known as Faenza, Faience, Majolica, and Fynlina ware, made
during the fifteenth century in the North of Italy, and upon the
embellishments of which, according to Lamartinière, the pencils of
Raffaelle, Giulio Romano, and the Caracci, were employed, had been
successfully, although coarsely imitated.  And it must be confessed that
many of the old Dutch plates, dishes, and bowls, upon the kitchen-shelves
of the Pryor’s Bank, deserved to be admired for boldness of design,
effective combinations of colour, and the manual dexterity displayed in
the execution of the patterns.  The superior delicacy of the porcelain of
China, which about this time began to be imported freely into England
from the East caused it to be preferred to the “Dutch ware,” and the
consequence of international commerce was, that the Chinese imitated
European devices and patterns upon their porcelain, probably with the
view of rendering the article more acceptable in the Dutch and English
markets.  But while the Chinese were imitating us, we were copying their
style of art in the potteries of Staffordshire, with the commercial
manufacturing advantage given by the power of transferring a print to the
clay over the production of the same effect by means of the pencil, an
idea no doubt suggested by our roundels of Charles I.’s time, and which
process became of the same relative importance as printing to manuscript.
This was the origin of our common blue-and-white plate, or what is known
as “the willow pattern,” where

   “Walking through their groves of trees,
      Blue bridges and blue rivers,
   Little think those three Chinese
      They’ll soon be smash’d to shivers.”

The popularity of this porcelain pattern must not be ascribed to superior
beauty or cheapness, for to the eye of taste surely a pure plain white
plate is infinitely superior to an unfeeling copy of a Chinese pagoda,
bridge, and willow-tree “in blue print.”  The fact is that the bugbear of
a vulgar mind—“fashion”—long rendered it imperative upon every good
housewife and substantial householder to keep up a certain dinner-set of
earthenware, consisting of two soup-tureens and a relative proportion of
dishes and vegetable-dishes, with covers, soup-plates, dinner-plates, and
dessert-plates, which were all to correspond; and should any accidental
breakage of crockery take place, it was a manufacturing trick to make it
a matter of extra-proportionate expense and difficulty readily to replace
the same unless it happened to be of “the blue willow pattern.”  The
practice, however, of using for the dessert-service plates of Worcester
china painted by hand, and the execution of many of which as works of art
call for our admiration as much as any enamel, created a taste for
forming what are called harlequin sets, among which, if a few plates
happen to be

    “Smash’d to shivers,”

the value of the whole set is only proportionately depreciated, and what
has been broken may perhaps be advantageously replaced.

                         [Picture: Earl of Essex]

If you like, we will return to the inner hall, where is a portrait of the
celebrated Earl of Essex, an undoubted original picture, dated 1598,
three years previous to his being beheaded (Zucchero), and from it at
once enter the library, or breakfast-room.  Here there is a superbly
carved Elizabethan chimney-piece.

                   [Picture: Elizabethan chimney-piece]

What are you about?  You should not have touched so thoughtlessly that
“brass inkstand,” as you call it.  It is actually a pix, or holy box,
{227} which once contained the host, and was considered “so sacred, that
upon the march of armies it was especially prohibited from theft.”  We
are told that Henry V. delayed his army for a whole day to discover the
thief who had stolen one.  You may admire the pictures as much as you
please; they are odd and hard-looking portraits to my eye; but they are
historically curious, and clever, too, for their age.  [Picture: Pix, or
Holy Box] Could you only patiently listen to a discussion upon the
characters of the originals of the portraits that have hung upon these
walls, or the volumes that have filled these shelves; you might gain a
deeper insight into the workings of the human heart than, perhaps, you
would care to be instructed by.  There were in the next room—the
dining-room—into which we may proceed when you please, for only by a
sliding door between the library and dining-room are they separated—such
pictures!  [Picture: Sliding door into dining-room] An unquestionable
‘Henry VIII.,’ by Holbein; a ‘Queen Mary,’ by Lucas de Heere, from the
collection of the late Mr. Dent; and a glorious ‘Elizabeth,’ that had
belonged to Nathaniel Rich of Eltham, who we know from the particulars of
sale that were in the Augmentation Office, was the purchaser of Eltham
Palace, when disposed of by the Parliament after the death of Charles I.;
and we also know from Strype’s _Annals of the Reformation_, that
Elizabeth visited Eltham and passed some days there in 1559, and that she
made her favourite Sir Christopher Hatton keeper of the royal palace

You should not disturb those books; you will look in vain for the
publication of George III.’s ‘Illustration of Shakspeare,’ and corrected
in the autograph of the king for a second edition.  How remarkable are
the opinions entertained by His Majesty respecting Doctors Johnson and
Franklin, and how curious are some of the notes!  This book is the true
history of his reign, and would be worth to us fifty black-letter
Caxtons.  Mr. Thorpe of Piccadilly can tell you all about it.  [Picture:
Monastic chair and damask curtains] Oh, never mind that manuscript in its
old French binding, and those exquisitely-wrought silver clasps, and dear
old Horace Walpole’s books.  We must enter the dining-room.  Here sit
down in this monastic chair, and look around you for five minutes.  This
chair Mr. Baylis picked up in Lincoln; and the curtains beside it, they
came from Strawberry Hill, and are of genuine Spitalfields damask.  There
is no such damask to be had now.  Eighty years ago were these curtains
manufactured, and yet they are in most excellent condition.  The greater
portion of the Gothic oak panelling around us originally formed the back
of the stalls in the beautiful chapel of Magdalen College, Oxford.
During the late repairs this panelling was removed and sold.  Much of it
was purchased by the Marquess of Salisbury for Hatfield House, and the
remainder Mr. Baylis bought.  More of the oak panelling in the room,
especially the elaborately-wrought specimens and the rich tracery work,
have been obtained from Canterbury Cathedral, York Minster, St. Mary’s
Coventry, and other churches.

                     [Picture: Ornate chimney-piece]

The chimney-piece is a rich composition of ancient carving; the canopy
came from St. Michael’s Church, Coventry, and in the niches are some fine
figures of the kings and queens of England.  [Picture: Knight’s armour]
The fire-back is an interesting relic, as it is the original one placed
in the great dining-hall of Burghley House, by Elizabeth’s minister,
whose arms are upon it, with the date 1575.  The sideboard, with its
canopy of oak, assimilates with the fitting of the room, and had upon its
shelves a glittering display of ancient glass and early plate.  Salvers
and cups of singular forms and beautiful shapes arose proudly up, one
above the other, with dishes of Raffaelle ware beneath them.  But I
cannot help seeing that the steel-clad knight, who keeps guard in a
recess by the sideboard, attracts more of your attention.  [Picture:
Leathern black jack and iron jug] The effigy is an excellent suit of
fluted armour of Henry VIIth’s time; and in the opposite recess, those
huge drinking-vessels are only an honest old English leathern black jack
and an iron jug; the former from St. Cross, Winchester, the latter from
the castle of some German baron, and full of feudal character.

As for the other relics in the dining-room, I will only particularise two
or three more; and they are a pair of round and solid well-carved
pendents from the chancel of the church of Stratford-on-Avon, which have
been removed from their original station immediately over the tomb of
Shakspeare; and are now, as you see, inverted and used here as

    “Think of that, Master Brooke!”

The other relic is that matchless piece of sculptured oak [Picture:
Effigy in oak of Emperor Rudolph II.] which represents the Emperor
Rudolph II., the size of life (five feet six inches in height), and which
was brought from Aix-la-Chapelle by the late Sir Herbert Taylor.  What
may have been its former history I cannot tell you, but it resembles in
execution the exquisite Gothic figures in the chimney-piece of the
town-hall at Bruges, and is of about the same height and size.

Are you willing to forsake the thoughtful soberness of antique
oak-panelling for the tinsel of Venetian gold and the richness of Genoa
velvet, Florentine tapestry, and Persian arras?  If so, we will ascend to
the drawing-rooms and gallery.  But stay a moment and permit this lady
and oddly-dressed gentleman to pass us on their exit from the gallery,
where they have been rehearsing some charming entertainment for the
evening, or getting up some piece of fanciful mummery to amuse the idle
guests who have congregated around the garden fountain.  [Picture: Couple
exiting from gallery] The light is not favourable for seeing all the
pictures that deserve inspection on the staircase—you had better ascend;
and now, having reached the head of the semi-staircase, our course is
along this lobby to the opposite door-way, which is that of the

Let us enter at once, and in our tour of the Pryor’s Bank regard the
ante-drawing-room as a kind of middle or passage-room, belonging either
to the gallery or the drawing-room.  I admit that the arrangement of the
house, which, however, is very simple, appears puzzling at first: the
reason of this is, that the senses are often deceived, from mirrors here
and there being so judiciously arranged, that they reflect at happy
angles objects which would otherwise escape observation.  It is
impossible to convey an idea of the whole effect of the Pryor’s Bank,
made up as it has been of carvings of unrivalled richness, grace, and
variety, solemn and grotesque.  Statues are there, some of the highest
class of art, others which belong to an early Gothic period, and yet an
harmonious effect has been produced.  Where will you take up your
position for a general view?  At the other end? or in the oriel window
looking on the Bishop’s Walk?

                 [Picture: Oriel Window.  Venetian Table]

Now if it were not for that richly gilt Venetian table, the companion to
which is in the possession of the Earl of Harrington, we might have an
excellent view of that magnificently embellished recess, upon the merits
of which Mr. Baylis is commenting to another oddly equipped gentleman.
There certainly is something going forward in the fancy-dress way.  On
this Venetian table stands a French astronomical clock; upon it are
silver medallions of Louis XIII. and XIV., and among its ornaments the
monograms of these monarchs appear.

Here is a group, in ivory, of bacchanals, with attendant boys; a genuine
piece of Fiamingo’s work, cut from solid ivory, and formerly in the
collection of the Vatican.  Here, [Picture: Group in Ivory: Tapestried
Recess] come this way, we may as well pick up something of the history of
this tapestried recess, the canopy and seats of which, and the three
other recesses in the drawing-room, are fashioned out of the remains of a
large throne or dais brought from Florence, and which had belonged to the
Medici family.  The materials are of the richest possible kind, being
flowers of floss silk upon a ground-work of gold thread, interspersed
with silver.  The effect produced by this combination is gorgeous in the
extreme.  “And those figures?”  That nearest the eye is a statue of the
Emperor Rudolph of Hapsburgh, admirably carved in oak, the armour is of
silver damasked with gold.  The other figure, and a corresponding one on
the opposite side of the room, represent Gothic queens, whose robes have
been restored in the illuminated style of decoration.  “And the tapestry
in the recess?”  Listen to what Mr. Baylis is saying.  “Thinking over
it,” remarked Sir Bulwer Lytton to me, “I have very little doubt but that
my guess was right—that the fisherman is meant for Antony and the lady
for Cleopatra; it was a favourite story in the middle ages, how Antony,
wishing to surprise Cleopatra with his success in angling, employed a
diver to fix fishes on his hook.  Cleopatra found him out, and, in turn,
employed a diver of her own to put waggishly a salt (_sea_) fish on his
hook.”  The story is in Plutarch, and the popularity of the anecdote may
be seen by the use Shakspeare makes of it.  Charmian says,—

         “’Twas merry when
   You wagered on your angling; when your diver
   Did _hang a salt fish on his hook_, which he
   _With fervency_, _drew up_.” {235}

It is no doubt correctly conjectured by Sir Bulwer Lytton, that many
subjects in tapestry (not Scriptural) have their explanation in Plutarch,
the fashionable classic source of tale and legend for our fathers of the
middle ages.  Shakspeare, it need scarcely be observed, depends on him
for all his classic plots; and he was no less a favourite on the
Continent than with us.  If you observe the attitude and expression of
Cleopatra, for so we will consider her, you will perceive that there is
something impressive, as well as smiling, about her which would suit the
words she is supposed to have uttered, when she had laughed sufficiently
at the trick she played him, and which, to the best of my recollection,
ran thus, “Leave fishing to us smaller potentates; your angling should be
for cities and kingdoms.”

Every article of the furniture merits your attention.  Here is a Venetian
chair; {236} it is one of a set of twenty-six, with a sofa, brought from
the Gradenigo Palace, and is carved and gilt all over,—the back, and
seat, and cushions for the arms, being Genoa red velvet.  [Picture:
Venetian chair] Fourteen of these chairs, with the sofa, are in this
room; the other twelve were purchased by the Earl of Lonsdale.

Vases of Dresden china, marqueterie tables, and a shrine (see page 237)
of gilt carved work at one end of the room, reflected in mirrors of
gigantic dimensions, dazzle the senses; and its ceiling studded with blue
and gold pendants, and its walls all painted over with quaint devices
like the pages of a missal.  Also a magnificent Gothic chimney-piece (see
page 238) of Carrara marble, fitted with brass-work of ormolu and
chimney-glass.  The chimney was removed from the grand Gothic-room at
Carlton House, and cost George IV. many hundred pounds.  Indeed the
drawing-room of the Pryor’s Bank seems to be more like some scene in an
enchanted palace, than in an every-day residence upon the bank of the
river Thames.

                            [Picture: Shrine]

The ante-room is not less splendidly furnished.  Its ceiling is even more
elaborately embellished than that of the drawing-room, for the heads of
mitred abbots, jolly monks, and demure nuns look down upon us from each
intersection of the groining.

A Florentine cabinet (see page 239), of mosaic work in lapis lazuli,
pietra dura, topaz, agates, etc., one of the finest specimens of the kind
ever seen,—it eventually came into the possession of Mr. Hurst, who asked
fifteen hundred [Picture: Gothic Chimney-piece] guineas for it—a
magnificent carved oak chimney-piece (see page 240); chairs which
belonged to Queen Elizabeth; and among other pictures, an undoubted one
by Janssen, of “Charles II. dancing at the Hague,” must not detain us,
although it be a duplicate of the celebrated picture in the possession of
Her Majesty, with which the history of this is completely identical, both
having been purchased from the same individual at the same period.

                     [Picture: A Florentine Cabinet]

“And that portrait of Elizabeth?”  It was given by Charles II. to Judge
Twysden.  “And that other portrait?”  Yes, it is Lord Monteagle; not of
Exchequer documentary fame, but of Gunpowder Plot notoriety.  And there
are portraits of Katharine of Aragon and Prince Arthur from Strawberry
Hill.  I positively cannot allow you to dwell on that chimney-piece of
Raffaelle design, carved in oak and coloured in ultra-marine and gold.

I entirely agree with you in thinking it a pity that the [Picture: Carved
Oak chimney-piece] vast labours of our ancestors—things upon which they
bestowed so much time and thought—should be blown into oblivion by the
mere breath of fashion.  How much nobler is the fashion to respect,
cherish, and admire them!

And now we are again within the gallery, and look upon the ante-room
through the private entrance, and in another second we might be within
the bay-window of the gallery; for, place these sketches together at a
right angle, side by side, and the part of the sofa which appears in one,
is only the continuation of the same seat in the other.  But this must
not make you think that the Pryor’s Bank is but a miniature affair, or
give you a contemptible idea of the size.  You should rather take your
general notion of the proportions of the gallery from a glance at that
lady who is studying with so much attention the part she has undertaken
to enact, and look up as to the comparative height of the window at the
top compartments made up of ancient [Picture: Bay-Window:  Private
Entrance] painted glass, charged with the arms of some of the medieval
kings of England, among which you cannot fail to notice those of Richard
III.  Those two elaborately-wrought lanterns which depend from the
groined ceiling, formerly hung in the Gothic conservatory of Carlton
House, and the recesses of the walls are adorned with eleven full-length
portraits of kings and queens of Spain painted upon leather.

Look at those ebony and ivory couches, and this ebony chair, from which
justice was formerly meted out by the Dutch and English rules to the
Cingalese; and see here this great chair, so profusely carved and
cushioned with rich black velvet worked with gold.  [Picture: Black
velvet chair] It is said to have been the Electoral coronation chair of
Saxony; and the date assigned to it in the ‘Builder’ is 1620.  The
armorial bearings embroidered upon the back would probably settle the
question; but I know little of foreign heraldry beyond the fact that
sufficient attention is not paid to it in this country.

Attached to the gallery at the opposite end of the lobby from which we
entered the drawing-room, there is a boudoir, or robing-room—a perfect
gem in its way.  [Picture: Nell Gwynne’s mirror] You have only to touch
this spring, and that picture starts from the wall and affords us free
egress.  Just take one peep into this fairy boudoir.

There hangs against the wall Nell Gwynne’s mirror, in its curious frame
of needlework.  Oh!  You wish to take a peep at yourself in Nelly’s
looking-glass?  Odds, fish! mind you do not overset that basset table of
Japan manufacture—another Strawberry Hill relic.  Now, are you satisfied?
Those beautiful enamels, and that charming Bermudian brain-stone, the
wonderful network of which infinitely exceeds the finest lace?  Well, I
must admit that some philosophy is required to feel satisfied when
revelling among the ornaments of palaces, the treasures of monasteries,
and the decorations of some of the proudest mansions of antiquity; and
did we not turn our eyes and regard the infinitely superior works of
Nature, alike bountifully spread before the poor and the rich man, the
heart might feel an inward sickening at the question.  In the state
carved-oak bed-room is a finely carved walnut-wood German cabinet of the
true Elizabethan period.

              [Picture: German cabinet (Eizabethan period)]

Though within the walls of the Pryor’s Bank, or any other human
habitation, all that is rich in art may be assembled, yet, without the
wish to turn these objects to a beneficial purpose, they become only a
load of care; but when used to exalt and refine the national taste, they
confer an immortality upon the possessor, and render him a benefactor to
his species; when used, also, as accessories to the cultivation of kindly
sympathies and the promotion of social enjoyment, they are objects of
public utility.  The revival of old-fashioned English cordiality,
especially at Christmas, had been always a favourite idea with the owners
of the Pryor’s Bank, and in 1839 they gave an entertainment which, like

   “O’Rourke’s noble feast, will ne’er be forgot
   By those who were there or those who were not.”

They were fortunate in securing the aid of Theodore Hook, of pleasant,
and, alas! of painful memory, who was their neighbour, with that of some
other friends and acquaintances, who thoroughly entered into the whim of
recalling olden times by the enactment of masques and other mummeries.

Hook, in his manuscript journal of Thursday, the 26th of December, 1839,
notes that he was engaged to dine with Lady Quentin at Kew:—

    “Weather dreadful, so resolved to write her an excuse and came home
    in coach early, so up to Baylis’s, where I was asked to dine.  They
    came here, and we walked up together; so to rehearsal, and then back
    again to bed.”

Hook’s letter, in a feigned hand, to Mr. Baylis upon this occasion ran

    “Sir,—Circumstancis hoeing too the Fox hand wether in Lunnun as
    indered me of goen two Q.  wherefor hif yew plese i ham reddy to cum
    to re-ersal two nite, in ten minnits hif yew wil lett the kal-boy hof
    yewer theeter bring me wud—if you kant reed mi riten ax Mister
    Kroften Kroker wich his a Hanty queerun like yewerself honly hee as
    bin longer hatit           yewers two kommand,

                                                            “TEE HEE OOK.”

          “_Master Bailies hesquire_,
             _Manger hof thee_,
    _T.R.P.B. and halso Proper rioter thereof_.”

On Saturday, Hook records in his ‘Diary’ his having refused his “firmest
friend’s command” that he should dine with him—“because,” writes Hook, “I
cannot on account of the things to be done at Pryor’s Bank.”

Of the memorable Monday, the 30th of December, Hook notes:—

    “To-day, not to town, up and to Baylis’s; saw preparations.  So,
    back, wrote a little, then to dinner, afterwards to dress; so to
    Pryor’s Bank, there much people,—Sir George and Lady Whitmore, Mrs.
    Stopford, Mrs. Nugent, the Bully’s, and various others, to the amount
    of 150.  I acted the ‘Great Frost’ with considerable effect.  Jerdan,
    Planché, Nichols, Holmes and wife, Lane, Crofton Croker, Giffard,
    Barrow.  The Whitmore family sang beautifully; all went off well.”

The part of the Great Frost to which Hook alludes was in a masque,
written for the occasion, and printed and sold in the rooms, for the
benefit of the Royal Literary Fund; and among the record of miscellaneous
benefactions to this most admirable charity are registered—“Christmas
masquers and mummers at the Pryor’s Bank, Fulham, the seat of Thomas
Baylis, Esq., F.S.A., and William Lechmere Whitmore, F.S.A. (1840), £3
12s. 6d.”  Thus carrying out in deed as well as act the benevolent
feelings of the season.

What little plot there was in this production had reference to the
season, the house in which it was performed, and temporary events.
Egomet, an imp, most piquantly personified by Mr. John Barrow, opened the
affair in a moralising strain prophetically applicable to the moment.

After stating who and what he was, he starts:—

         “But I’m all over wonder.
   Surely the kitchen must be somewhere under?
   But where’s _the_ room?—the matchless little chamber,
   With its dark ceiling, and its light of amber—
   That fairy den, by Price’s pencil drawn,
   Enchantment’s dwelling-place?  ’Tis gone—’Tis gone!
   The times are changed, I said, and men grown frantic,
   Some cross in steamboats o’er the vast Atlantic;
   Some whirl on railroads, and some fools there are
   Who book their places in the pendant car
   Of the great Nassau—monstrous, big balloon!
   Poor lunatics! they think they’ll reach the moon!
   All onward rush in one perpetual ferment,
   No rest for mortals till they find interment;
   Old England is not what it once has been,
   Dogs have their days, and we’ve had ours, I ween.
   The country’s gone! cut up by cruel railroads,
   They’ll prove to many nothing short of jail-roads.
   The spirit vile of restless innovation
   At Fulham e’en has taken up his station.
   I landed here, on Father Thames’s banks,
   To seek repose, and rest my wearied shanks;
   Here, on the grass, where once I could recline,
   Like a huge mushroom springs this mansion fine.
   Astounding work! but yesterday ’twas building;
   And now what armour, carving, painting, gilding!
   Vexed as I am, yet loth to be uncivil,
   I only wish the owner at the ---!”

Father Thames (Mr. Giffard), who had been slumbering between two painted
boards, respectively inscribed “MIDDLESEX COUNTY BANK” and “SURREY BANK,”
and surrounded by flower-pots filled with bulrushes and sedge, roused by
the intended imprecation upon their host, here interrupted Egomet, and
entered into a long dialogue with him, in which he detailed all his
grievances so far as gas and steam were concerned.  At length he feels
the influence of Hook as “the Great Frost,” who turns

   “The old blackguard to solid ice.”

Upon which Egomet’s remark was, that—

   “The scene to Oxford shifted in a trice is,
   This river-god—no longer Thames, but Isis.”

Father Christmas (Mr. Crofton Croker) then appeared with a long speech
about eating, drinking, and making merry, and the wondrous power that a
good fire and a cheerful glass have upon the heart.  Beholding “poor
Thames a-cold”—“an icy, heartless river”—the question follows, what

         “Do I the matter see?
   I’ll thaw you soon—begone to Battersea,
   There let thy icebergs float in Chelsea Reach.”

The Great Frost, too, after much buffoonery, turns himself into

    “A pleasant fall of fleecy snow,”

which he effected by the vigorous use of the kitchen dredging-box, and an
ample supply of flour, therewith bepowdering Jolly Christmas, Father
Thames, and Egomet, so plentifully as to leave no doubt upon the minds of
the audience respecting the transformation.

Another Christmas revel followed, and then came “a Grand Tournament,” in
which a contest between “the Blue Knight” (Mr. Lechmere Whitmore), and
“the Yellow Knight” (Mr. Baylis), each mounted upon hobby-horses, was
most fiercely executed.  Nor was the Giant Cormoran (fourteen feet in
height), nor the Queen of Beauty, nor the Dragon Queen wanted to complete
the chivalry of this burlesque upon the memorable meeting at Eglinton.

The fun which now became

    “fast and furious,”

and to which an impudent but most amusing jester (Mr. Jerdan) mainly
contributed, was checked only by the announcement of supper; and as the
guests descended the stairs from the gallery, or assembled on the lobby,
they beheld their cheer borne in procession from the kitchen, headed by a
military band and a herald-at-arms.  A cook, with his cap and apron of
snowy whiteness, placed a boar’s head

    “Bedeck’d with bays and rosemary,”

upon the table; then came two ancient halberdiers, followed by a
serving-man in olden livery, carrying the wassail-bowl; then another
herald in his tabard, and servitors with Christmas-pie, and brawn, and
soup, and turkey, and sirloin of beef, and collared brawn, whereof was an
abundant supply, and of the most magnificent dimensions.  Father
Christmas, carving-knife in hand, and belted with mincepies, and his
attendant Egomet, with followers bearing holly, ivy, and mistletoe,
brought up the rear.  Then was sung “beautifully,” as Hook notes, by four
voices, the Oxford chant of

    “The boar’s head in hand bear I.”

And here we must drop the curtain, but not without stating that several
of the guests felt the enjoyment of the evening so warmly, that it was in
long debate among them what suitable acknowledgment in recollection of it
should be made to Mr. Baylis and Mr. Whitmore; and, that the actors in
the masque presented these gentlemen with an ancient charter horn, which
had belonged to the Pickard family, and which they were fortunate enough
to secure.  The height of this horn, which is supposed to be that of the
Highland buffalo—an animal said to be extinct nearly three hundred
years—is one foot two inches, its length is one foot six inches, its
width at the top five and a half inches; and it is capable of containing
one gallon.

Upon this most gratifying memorial to the owners of the Pryor’s Bank, of
the esteem created by their hospitality, suitable inscriptions were
placed by the donors, with the motto:—

   “While Thames doth flow, or wine is drank,
   par-hæl to all at Pryor’s Bank.

The remembrance of the pleasant hours passed within the walls of the
Pryor’s Bank will not easily be forgotten, though the character of the
interior is changed since this was written.  The first sale took place on
the 3rd May, 1841, and five following days: and there was a subsequent
sale on the 25th May, 1854, and four following days.  Both these sales
took place on the premises, and the Auctioneer, on both occasions, was
Mr. Deacon.

Pryor’s Bank is now let to Mr. E. T. Smith, of Her Majesty’s and Drury
Lane Theatres.


ACACIA Cottage, 148.
“Admiral Keppel,” 75.
Albany Lodge, 147.
Alexander Square, 73–4.
Alfred Place, 73.
Amelia Place, 76.
Amyot House, 120.
Arundel House, 152–4.
Ashton Terrace, 202.
Audley Cottage, 164.

BATTERSEA Bridge, 94.
Bear Street, Fulham, 187.
“Bell and Anchor,” 210.
“Bell and Horns,” 58.
Bishop’s Walk, 190.
Bolingbroke Lodge, 147.
Bolton House, 118.
Boltons, 96.
Bostocke’s Arbour, 88.
“Brickhills,” 131.
Bridge Street, 193.
Brightwells, 166.
Brompton, 24.
— Crescent, 64–7.
— Grange, 63.
— Grove, 43, 48.
— — Lower, 44.
— — Upper, 43.
— Hall, 87.
— National School, 38.
— New Church (Holy Trinity), 54.
— Park, 62.
— Road, 29.
— Row, 26, 38, 42.
— Square, 51–4.
Broom Lane, 169.
Brunswick Cottage, 156.
Bull Alley, 135.
Bull Lane, 135.
— Public House, 135.
“Bunch of Grapes,” 43.
Burleigh House, 121.
Burlington House, 181.
— Road, Fulham, 181.
Butchers’ Almshouses, Walham Green, 138.

CAMBRIDGE Lodge, 196.
Cancer Hospital, 84,
Carey Villa, 167.
“Cedars, The,” 210.
Cemetery, West London and Westminster, 127.
Chelsea New Church, 80, 81.
— Park, 89, 90, 93.Church Lane, 187.
— Row, Fulham, 187.
— Street, Brompton, 87.
— — Fulham, 193.
Churchfield House, 173.
Claybrooke House, 181.
Consumption Hospital, 85.
Corder’s, Mrs., Preparatory School, 118.
Craven Cottage, 190–1.
Cremorne Gardens, 127.
Crescent House, 64.
“Crown and Sceptre,” 40.

DANCER’S Nursery, 172.
Deadman’s Lane, 201.
Door, Old, Fulham Fields, 195.
Draw Well in Fulham Fields, 199.
Drury Lodge, 169.
Dungannon House, 147.

EARL’S Court, 58.
East End House, Parson’s Green, 164.
Edith Grove, 127.
— Road, 201.
— Villas, 201.
Eel Brook, 141.
Egmont Villa, 188.
“Eight Bells,” 193.
Elm House, 200.
Exhibition Road, 62.

“FLOUNDER Field,” 72.
Foote’s House (North End), 196.
— Stables (North End), 196.
Fowlis Terrace, 87.
Fulham, 180.
— Almshouses, 181.
— Aqueduct, 189.
— Bridge, 192.
— Charity School, 193.
— Church, 187.
— Ferry, 192.
— Fields, 195, 197–9.
— High Street, 181, 187.
— Lodge, 173–7.
— Palace, 190.
— Park Road, 177.
— Street, 187.
— Vicarage, 187.
— Workhouse, 181.

GARDENER’S House, Old, Fulham Fields, 199.
“George, The,” 193.
Gilston Road, 96.
Gloucester Buildings, Brompton, 25.
— Row, Brompton, 25.
— — Knightsbridge, 26.
“Goat in Boots,” 94–5.
“Golden Lion,” Fulham, 181–6.
Gore Lodge, Fulham, 181.
— — Old Brompton, 62.
Grove House, 44–7.
— Place, 43, 47.
“Gunter Arms,” 126.
— Grove, 127.

HANS Place, 30, 37.
— — Attic at, 83.
Heckfield Lodge, 120.
— Villa, 147.
Hermitage, Brompton, 44, 47.
— North End, 196.
— Lodge, North End, 195–6.
High Elms House, 155.
Holcroft’s Hall, 180.
— Priory, 181.
Hollywood Brewery, 118.
— Place, 126.
Honey Lane, 127.
Hooper’s Court, 25.
Hospital for Consumption, 85.

IVY Cottage, 169.
— House, Old Red, 170.
— Lodge, 177.

JEWS’ Burial-ground, 87.
John’s Place, 188.

KENSINGTON Canal, 127, 134.
— Gore Estate, 59.
— Hall, 200.
— Road, 211.
“Keppel, Admiral,” 75.
— Street, 75.
King’s Road, 24.
Knightsbridge, 24.
— Green, 25.
— High Row, 30.

LANSDOWNE Villas, 126.
Lauman’s Academy, 166.
Lawn Terrace, 202.
Little Chelsea, 94.

MACHINE for Raising Water (Fulham Fields), 199.
Main Fulham Road, 24.
Manor Hall, 96.
— House, 96.
Marlborough Road, 75.
Michael’s Grove, 63.
— Place, 50, 67, 70–2.
Military Academy, Chelsea, 119.
Montpellier Square, 40.
Mulberry House, 120.
Munster House, 170–2.
— Terrace, 173.
Mustow House, 170.

NATIONAL School, Brompton, 38.
— Society, Practising School of, 134.
New Street, 30, 37.
“No Man’s Land,” 197.
Normal School Chapel, 130.
Normand House, 196.
North End, 195–211.
— — Lodge, 193.
— — Road, 197.
— Terrace, 73.

ODELL’S Place, 115.
Old Brompton Road, 58.
Onslow Square, 82.
Oratory of St. Philip Neri, 58.
Osborn’s Nursery, 172.
Ovington Square, 47.

PARADISE Row, 114.
Park Cottage, 147.
— House, 154–5.
— Walk, 95.
Parson’s Green, 164–9.
— — Lane, 164.
Pelham Crescent, 76, 79.
— Place, 79–80.
Percy Cross, 141, 155.
Peterborough House, 166–9.
Pollard’s School, 58.
Pond Place, 80.
Porch, Old, of Arundel House, 153.
Prince Albert’s Road, 62.
Pryor’s Bank, 187, 212–249.
Pump, Old, in Arundel House, 153.
Purser’s Cross, 141, 154–5.

QUEEN’S Buildings, Brompton, 25, 30.
— — Knightsbridge, 25, 29, 30.
— Elm, 88–9.
— Turnpike, 87.
— Row, Knightsbridge, 25.
Quibus Hall, 155.

RAWSTORNE Street, 40.
Read’s, Miss, Academy, 118.
Rectory House, Parson’s Green, 165.
“Red Lion,” 40.
Reformatory School, Fulham, 181.
Rightwells, 166.
“Rising Sun,” 135.
Robert Street, 83–4.
— — Upper, 83.
Rosamond’s Bower, 156–164.
Rosamond’s Bower, Old, 156.
— Dairy, 157.

ST. LUKE’S Church, Chelsea, 80, 83.
St. Mark’s Chapel, 130.
— College, 130.
— Terrace, 130.
St. Mary’s Place, 96.
St. Peter’s Villa, 170.
St. Philip’s Orphanage, 96.
Salem Chapel, 136.
“Sand Hills,” The, 90.
Sandford Bridge, 134.
School, Practising, at St. Mark’s College, 134.
Selwood’s Nursery, 89.
Selwood Place, 89.
Seymour Place, 96, 98.
— Terrace, 96, 98.
Shaftesbury House, 100–12.
— — Garden of, 104–5.
Sign, Old (“White Horse” at Parson’s Green), 164.
Sir John Scott Lillie’s Road, 127.
“Sisters of Compassion,” 44.
Sloane Square, 24.
— Street, 24.
“Somerset Arms,” 96.
South Kensington Museum, 59–61.
Stamford Road, 135.
— Villas, 135.
Stanley Grove, 132–3.
— — House, 131–2.
— House, 131.
Swan Tavern, Fulham, 192.
— — and Brewery, Walham Green, 135.
Sydney Place, 83.
— Street, 83.

TAVISTOCK House, 118.
Thames Bank, 187.
Thistle Grove, 93–4.
Thurloe Place, 61.

VEITCH’S Royal Exotic Nursery, 130.
Vine Cottage, 213–14.

WALHAM Green, 136–7.
— House, 193.
— Lodge, 147.
Walnut Tree Cottage, 200.
— — Walk, 121.
Wansdon Green, 137.
— House, 137.
Warwick House, 120.
Wentworth Cottage, 197.
West Brompton Brewery, 118.
Western Grammar School, 73.
“White Horse,” old sign of, 164.
Willow Bank, 192.
Windsor Street, 193.
Winter Garden, Old Brompton, 62.
Workhouse, additional, to St. George’s, Hanover Square, 100.

YEOMAN’S Row, 43.
York Cottage, 195.
— Place, 84.


ACKERMANN, Rudolph, 177–9.
Aikin, Lucy, 160.
Albert, Prince, 85.
Andrews, J. Petit, 44.
Anspach, Margravine of, 190.
Appletree, John, 90.
Arundel, Henry, 131, 154.

BAKER, Rev. R. G., 187.
Balchen, Sir John, 115.
Banim, 48–9, 79.
Barham, H., 90, 189.
Barrow, John, 246.
Bartolozzi, F., 68–9, 196.
Batsford, Miss, 187.
Baud, Benjamin, 127.
Baylis, Thomas, 187, 191, 214.
Bayliss, Moses, 25.
Bell, T. J., 164.
Beloe, Rev. W., 42.
Biber, Rev. Dr., 83.
Billington, Mrs., 70.
Blake, Mr., 90.
Blanchard, Mr., 119.
—, William, 81.
Blomfield, Bishop, 187.
Blore, Mr., 134.
Bodley, Sir Thomas, 165.
Bonnor, Bishop, 181.
Boothby, Sir W., 203.
Boscawen, William, 121.
Bovey Family, the, 101.
Bowen, Rev. Thomas, 156.
Bowes, Mr., 132.
Boyd, Hugh, 46.
Boyle, Hon. Robert, 111.
— Family, the, 113.
Bradshaigh, Lady, 203–210.
Braham, John, 63.
Brand, Mr., 147.
Branscomb, Sir James, 210.
Brooks, Shirley, 51.
Broomfield, W., 92.
Brotherhood, Mr., 189.
Browne, H. K. (“Phiz”), 135.
Brunton, Miss, 71.
Buckstone, J. B., 51.
Bulwer, Lady, 31.
Burbage, Robert, 182.
Burchell, Dr., 173.
Burgoyne, Sir John, 181.
—, Miss, 181.
Burke, John, 94.
Burleigh, Lord, 121.
Burney, Miss, 133.
Byfield, Adoniram, 165.

CAHILL, Dr., 67.
Carey, Hon. Thomas, 167.
Catalani, Madame, 47.
Cattley, Rev. Stephen Reid, 128, 172.
Cecill, Hon. John, 121.
Chalon, Mr., 37.
Chatterley, Mrs., 51.
Cheeseman, 200.
Cheselden, W., 192.
Child, Sir Francis, 165.
Cipriani, 181, 201.
Clerke, Major Shadwell, 44.
Cleyne, Francis, 167.
Cole, Henry, 60, 82.
Collier, Payne, 53.
Colman, George, the Younger, 51–2, 173–7.
Conyers, General, 192.
Cooper, John, 79.
Cope, Sir John, 114.
Copley, 200.
Corpe, John, 55.
Cranfield, Lord Treasurer, 90.
Craven, Countess of, 190.
Cribb, R., 94.
Croker, Rt. Hon. John Wilson, 171.
—, Thomas Crofton, 130, 156, 162–3, 181, 198, 247.
—, Mrs. Crofton, 130.
Croly, Rev. Dr., 50, 77.
Cromwell, Oliver, 170.
Crotch, Dr., 202.
Curran, John Philpot, 76–9.
Curtis, Mr., 80, 85–7.

DARBY, Mrs., 117.
Davenport, Mrs., 71.
Davis, the late Henry George, 24.
—, Charles, 24.
Dawes, Sir W., 113–114.
Deacon, Mr., 250.
Delafield, Mr., 192.
Delille, C. J., 72.
—, Madame, 72.
Denham, Mr., 120.
—, Colonel, 120.
Doharty, Mr. 158.
Donaldson, Mr., 54.
Dormer, Edward, 198.
Duffield, Mr., 115.
Dunn, Anne, 27–8.

EDINGTON, J., 212.
Egerton, Daniel, 81.
—, Mrs., 82.
Ekins, Dr., 165.
Elizabeth, Queen, 87.
Ellenborough, Lord, 187.
Evelyn, John, 111.
Eyre, Sir James, 132.

FABER, Rev. F. W., 59.
Fairholt, F. W., 40.
Farren, W., 53.
—, Harriet Elizabeth, 57.
Faucit, Helen, 70, 82.
Fitzherbert, Mrs., 165.
Fitzroy, Rear Admiral, 83.
Fitzwilliam, Edward, 51.
Florio, 182, 184–5.
Foot, Jesse, 27, 28.
Foote, Samuel, 196.
Fowler, Edward, 113.

GARCIA, Madame, 170.
George IV., 165, 213.
Giffard, Mr., 247.
Glascock, Captain, 73–4.
Godwin, George, jun., 38, 74.
Golini, Julius, 67.
Gorges, Sir Arthur, 131.
Grant, Colonel, 134.
Green, 30.
Gregor, Mrs., 133.
Gresham, John, 198.
Griffin, Gerald, 48, 49, 97–8.
Grisi, Madame, 146.
Guizot, 79.
—, Madame, 80.
Gunter, R., 127.

HALL, S. C., 197.
—, Mrs. S. C., 31, 197.
Hallam, H., 154.
Halliwell, J. O., 96.
Hamey, Dr. Baldwin, 113.
Hamilton, Walter, 39–40.
—, William Richard, 132.
Hampton, Mr., 136.
Hargrave, Francis, 84.
Harris, A., 80.
—, H., 78.
Hartshorne, Rev. C. H., 138.
Hawarden, Lady, 214.
Hawkins, John Sidney, 44.
Heavyside, R., 166.
Herbert, Sir E., 167.
Hewett, Mr., 67.
Holl, Henry, 61.
Holland, Mr., 155.
Holmes, W., M. P., 214.
Hook, Theodore, 133, 177, 187–90, 245–6.
Howard, Sir Ralph, 191.
Huck, J. G., 26.
Hullmandel, Mr., 150–1.
Humphrey, Ozias, 29.
Hutchins, John, 25.
Hyde, Edward, 3rd Earl of Clarendon, 115.

INCLEDON, Charles, 64.

JERDAN, W., 47, 248.
Jesse, J. H., 70.
Johnson, Mr. Joseph, 148–9.
Jones, Richard, 78.

KEAN, Edmund, 200.
Keeley, Mr., 54, 79.
—, Mrs., 54, 79.
Kempe, A. J., 135.
King, Mr., 139.
Kingsley, Rev. Charles, 83.
Knight, James House, 123.
Knolles, Sir Thomas, 166.

LACY, Walter, 40.
Lamb, Lady Caroline, 31.
Lance, the Misses, 32.
Landon, Miss (“L. E. L.”), 30–7, 54.
Laurie, John, 180.
Lazarus, H., 80.
Le Blon, James Christopher, 91.
Lillie, Sir John Scott, 127.
Limpany, Robert, 190.
Liston, Mr., 54, 71.
Liston, Mrs., 40, 67.
Lochee, Lewis, 119–20, 132.
Locke, 104, 111.
London, Bishop of, 54.
Lorrington, Meribah, 116.
Lowth, Rev. Robert, 173–6.
Luttrell, Francis, 108.
—, Henry, 54.
—, Narcissus, 89, 102–3, 108.
Lytton, Sir E. Bulwer, 191, 197, 236.

M’LEOD, Dr. John, 80.
M’Naughten, Mrs., 34.
Macpherson, Sir John, 45–6.
Mahony, Rev. F., 164.
Mangeon, Mrs., 27–8.
Mario, Signor, 146.
Marochetti, Baron, 82.
Mart, Mr., 114.
Martin, Theodore, 82.
Mathews, Charles, 62, 181.
—, Mrs., sen., 71.
Meyrick, Mr. J., 166.
Milton, Mr., 121, 147.
Mitford, Miss, 31.
Moore, Thomas, 162–3.
Mordaunt, Lord, 167–8.
More, Sir Thomas, 89.
Morland, 95.
Morse, Leonard. 132.
Murphy, Arthur, 26–8, 38.
Murray, John, 148–9.
—, Sir Robert, 111.

NATTES, J. C., 25.
Newman, Rev. J. H., 59.
Nicholson, F., 128–30.
Nisbett, Mrs., 203.
Novosielski, Madame, 70.
—, Michael, 43, 50, 63.

O’DONNELL, Major-General Sir Chas., 162–3.
Ord, John, 140–5.
Orrery, 2nd Earl of, 113.
—, Charles, 4th Earl of, 112.
Owen, Rev. John, 145.

PARR, Dr., 42.
Piccolomini, 165.
Pigot, the Right Hon. D. R., 37.
Pitts, Mr. Oliver, 139.
Place, Francis, 51.
Planché, J. R., 65–6.
Plumbe, W., 198.
Pope, 147.
—, Miss, 70–1.
Porter, Walsh, 169, 190, 213.
Pouchée, Louis, 128.
Powell, Mr., 156, 186.
—, Sir W., Bart., 170, 181.
Pyne, J. B., 195.

QUEENSBERRY, Marquis of, 134.

RAVENSWORTH, Lord, 138, 140.
Reeve, John, 42, 53–4, 57.
Remaudini, Count, 67.
Rennell, Rev. Mr., 42.
Richardson, C. J., 66.
—, Samuel, 169, 202–210.
Riego, General, 96–9.
—, Madame, 96–9.
Roberts, Emma, 31, 34.
Robins, George, 189.
Robinson, Anastasia, (“Perdita,”) 115–18, 169.
Robson, W. Frogatt, 53.
Rocque, Bartholomew, 139.
Rodwell, G. H., 39, 65.
Rollin, Ledru, 80.
Romney, 29.
Rovedino, Signor Carlo, 81.
Rowden, Miss, 32, 36.
Roy, 181.
Ruddock, Rev. Joshua, 156.
Rumford, Count, 40.
Ryland, William Wynne, 26, 202.

ST. JOHN, 147.
St. Quentin, Countess, 32.
Salisbury, Mr., 85, 145.
Sampayo, M., 171.
Saunders, Sir Edward, 169.
Savage, Mr., 80.
Scoles, Mr., 59.
Schiavonetti, Lewis, 67–69.
Schulenberg, Melesina, 170.
Shaftesbury, Lord, 101, 104.
Shakespeare, 182–6.
Sharp, Granville, 188.
Sheepshanks, John, 60.
Shower, Sir Bartholomew, 113.
Simpson, Mrs. Anne, 145–6.
Slater, Mr., 200.
Smith, Albert, 194.
—, E. T., 169, 249.
—, Alderman H., 72.
—, Sir James, 101.
—, “O.,” 73.
—, Sir Thomas, 167.
Southwell, Miss, 132.
Spagnoletti, 51.
Stanley Family, 131.
Stanley, W., 131.
Steele, R., 38, 88.
Strathmore, Countess of, 132.
Street, Mr., 186.
Suckland, Sir John, 112.
Sylvester, Joshua, 185.

Tarnworth, John, 166.
Taylor, Mr., 138.
Testolini, 68.
Thackeray, W. M., 83.
Tindal, Lord Chief Justice, 37.
Tonson, Jacob, 195.
Trotter, Thomas, 30.
Turberville, Mrs. Elizabeth, 155.
—, Mrs. Frances, 155.
Tyrhtilus, 180.

Vestris, Madame, 62, 96, 181.
Vining, James, 51.
Virtue, William, 109.

WAGER, Admiral Sir Charles, 131, 165.
Ward, Sir Edward, 113–14.
Warde, J. P., 94.
Warren, H, 84.
—, Dr. Richard, 132.
Warwick, Countess of, 112.
Watts, B., 75.
Webster, Mr., 62.
Weigall, Mr., 70.
Wharton, Marquis of, 90.
—, Sir Michael, 155.
Whitmore, Lechmere, 214.
Whittaker, Dr., 112.
Wigan, Alfred, 37.
—, Mrs. Alfred, 37.
Wilberforce, Mr., 47.
Williams, Sir John, Bart., 171.
Wilson, Lady Frances, 92.
—, Sir Henry, 92.
Winchester, Marquis of, 218.
Wishart, Sir James, 115.
Wood, Dr. Oswald, 64.
Wright, —, 92–3.
—, Edward, 96.
—, Thomas, 83.
Wrottesley, the Hon. Mr., 181.
Wynne, Edward, 103–4.
Wynne, Rev. Luttrell, 108.
—, Serjeant, 102, 108.

YATES, Mr., 54, 71.
—, Mrs., 71.
York, Duke of, 173.
Young, C. D. and Co., 61.


{18}  See pages 156–164.

{25a}  Catalogues of Royal Academy.

{25b}  Foot’s Life of Arthur Murphy.

{25c}  Lockie’s _Topography of London_.

{25d}  Mr. J. Salway’s MS. plan, executed for the Kensington trustees.

{25e}  Cruchley’s Map of London.

{25f}  Elmes’ _Topography of London_.

{26}  4 vols. 4to, published in 1793.

{27a}  2 vols. 8vo, 1801.

{27b}  The extent of this garden may still be estimated by walking round
through Hooper’s Court into Sloane Street.

{31}  Born 13th November, 1785, and married to the Honourable William
Lamb (afterwards Viscount Melbourne) in 1805.  Lady Caroline published
three novels, viz., _Glenarvon_, in 1816; _Graham Hamilton_; and _Ada
Reis_, 1823.  Her ladyship died in 1828.

{32a}  8vo, 2nd ed. 1812.

{32b}  Ibid.

{33}  It was the wing attached to the house between it and “the
Pavilion.”  From the back a flight of steps descended into a small

{35}  Memoirs of the Rival Houses of York and Lancaster, Historical and
Biographical.  1827.  2 vols. 8vo.

{38a}  Correspondence, vol. i. p. 293.

{38b}  Vol. lxxv.  Part I. p. 590.

{38c}  Ed. 1820, p. 616.

{45a}  2 vols. 4to, 1795.

{45b}  1 vol. 4to, and 2 vols. 8vo, 1796,

{48}  ‘Literary Gazette,’ November 25, 1843.

{53}  It is no slight testimony to the genius of Mr. Farren, that since
his retirement no actor in London has attempted to represent “Grandfather

{58}  Rebuilt, and the sign here engraved removed.

{62}  Brompton Park was the retreat of one or two favourite actors.  Mr.
Webster, the talented and versatile performer, lessee of the Ade1phi
Theatre, resided there for many years.  Mr. and Mrs. Charles Mathews
(Madame Vestris) lived at Gore Lodge—now pulled down—a name they
afterwards gave to their residence at Fulham.

{65}  Weber died on the 7th of June following, at No. 91, Great Portland
Street, in his fortieth year.

{72}  4 vols. 8vo; I. and II. 1838; III. and IV. 1839.

{73}  The ‘Naval Sketch-book,’ 1828; ‘Sailors and Saints,’ 1829; ‘Tales
of a Tar,’ 1830; ‘Land Sharks and Sea Gulls,’ 1838.

{78}  Died 30th August, 1851.

{80}  Died 7th May, 1852, aged 74.

{84}  II vols. folio, 1781.

{85}  Vol. lxxx.  Part II.

{87a}  Brompton Hall, said to have been the residence of Lord Burleigh,
stands on the Old Brompton Road, which, as pointed out in the previous
chapter, branches from the main Fulham Road at the Bell and Horns.

{87b}  The Duke of Buckingham.

{88}  Correspondence, vol. i. p. 219.

{92}  Sir Henry Wilson, who was in Parliament when this estate came into
his wife’s possession, ordered iron gates for it; in one of which were
wrought his initials, H. W., and to correspond, M.P, was placed in the
other.  Before the gates were put up he had to contest his seat, and lost

{97}  Riego was executed, on the 7th of October, 1823, at Madrid, with
every mark of ignominy.

{110}  Funeral Sermon preached at St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, 7th January

{111}  See Birch’s ‘Life of Boyle,’ p. 114.

{112}  MS. Diary.

{120}  The obituary of the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine’ for June 1791,
records:—“At Lisle, in Flanders, Lewis Lochee, Esq., late lieutenant
colonel of the Belgic Legion, and formerly keeper of the Royal Military
Academy at Chelsea.”

{121}  The gates here represented have now given place to a light iron
railing, and the posts have been surmounted by balls.

{128}  No. 276, vol. xi. p. 301.

{131}  Todd’s ‘Spenser,’ viii. 23.

{133}  MS.

{138}  Pickering, 1829.

{139}  Mr. Rocque, the florist, was brother to the surveyor of that name,
who published a plan of London, Westminster, and Southwark, on
twenty-four sheets, in 1747; and a map of London and the country ten
miles round, in sixteen sheets, the following year.  He also published a
road-book of Great Britain and Ireland in 1763.

{144a}  “This tree was first introduced into England in 1753, by Mr.
James Gordon.”—_Lysons_.

{144b}  “The foliage more resembles that of the _juglans nigra_ than of
the Illinois-nut in Kew Gardens.”—_Ibid_.

{144c}  “At two feet from the ground it was seven feet two inches, and
now (1810) seven feet five inches.”—_Ibid_.

{144d}  “The girth of this tree was taken in 1808 at two feet and a half
from the ground.”—_Ibid_.

{144e}  “At two feet and a half from the ground.”—_Ibid_.

{145}  James iv. 14.

{155a}  On the same page of the ‘London Magazine’ which chronicles this
occurrence, may be found the announcement of the death of “Mr. Joseph
Miller, a celebrated comedian.”

{155b}  Lysons, on the authority of the parish books, states that a Sir
Michael Wharton was living at Parson’s Green, anno 1654.

{159}  The ground has been recently levelled.

{160}  L. E. L.

{171}  Died, 1858.

{188a}  He died there in 1813.

{188b}  Since this sketch was made, the gateway, with the coat of arms
over it, has been removed, and a battlemented and Gothic entrance, more
in accordance, perhaps, with the architecture of both church and mansion,
has been erected in its stead.

{196}  Died 20th October, 1777, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.

{213}  Copied from a picture in oil in the possession of George Bunnett,
Esq., of Fulham.

{218}  John, the fifth Marquis of Winchester, sustained a siege in his
seat at Basing from August, 1643 to 16th October, 1645, when the place
was taken by storm and burned to the ground, “money, jewels, and
household stuff” being found therein to the value of £200,000, among
which was a rich bed worth £14,000.

{227}  Now in the South Kensington Museum.

{235}  Antony and Cleopatra, act ii. sc. 5.

{236}  Now in the possession of the Duke of Hamilton.

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