Читать книгу A Book for a Rainy Day; or, Recollections of the Events of the Years 1766-1833 - John Thomas Smith - Страница 26

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Many a summer’s evening, when I have been enjoying Runnymede, and its far surrounding variegated meadows, from the wooden seat of Cooper’s Hill (upon which were engraven numerous initials of lovers, and the dates of their eternal vows), little did I think that in my future days it would be in my power to state that I had made drawings of most of the parish churches as well as family mansions which were then in view, for the topographical collections of the Duke of Roxborough, Lord Leicester, the Hon. Horace Walpole, Mr. Bull, Mr. Storer, Dr. Lort, Mr. Haughton James, Mr. Crowle, and Sir James Winter Lake, Bart.[181] Several of these, which have since been distributed, I now and then meet with in the portfolios of more modern illustrators, and they bring to my recollection some truly pleasing periods. It was in the old house at Ankerwycke that I was introduced by Lady Lake to Lady Shouldham. It was at Old Windsor that I dined with Mrs. Vassal, and at Staines Bridge with the beautiful Miss Towry, since Lady Ellenborough. It was at Chertsey I was first introduced to Mr. Douglas, Colonel St. Paul, and those truly kind-hearted characters, Mr. Fox and Mrs. Chamberlain Clark. At Staines I was benefited by the skill of Dr. Pope;—at Harrow made known to Dr. Drury;—at Southgate to Alderman Curtis;—at Trent Park to Mr. Wigston;—at Forty Hill, Enfield, to the antiquary Gough;—at Bull’s Cross to the facetious Captain Horsley, brother to the Bishop of Rochester, and the Boddams;—at the “Firs,” Edmonton, to my ever-to-be-revered friend the late Sir James Winter Lake, Bart.;—at Weir Hall to the benevolent and highly esteemed Mr. Robert Jones, Mr. Webster and his friendly son;—at Bruce Castle to Mr. Townsend;—at Tottenham to Mr. John Snell, and to Mr. Samuel Salt. This gentleman informed me that he was one of the four who buried Sterne.[182] Of the friendly inhabitants of these houses, and many others to whom I had the pleasure of being known, within the extensive view from Cooper’s Hill, very few are now living.

During the Races on Runnymede, I have often seen their late Majesties George the Third and Queen Charlotte driving about in an open four-wheeled chaise, enjoying the pleasures of the course on equal terms with the visitors. I remember to have been spoken to three times by his Majesty; once on a very foggy morning at a stile near Clewer, when I stepped back to give a gentleman, who had nearly approached it in the adjoining field, the preference of coming over first; but upon his saying, “Come over, come over,” I knew the voice to be the King’s, consequently I took off my hat, and obeyed. His Majesty observed in his quick manner, when getting over, “A thick fog, thick fog.” Another time, when I was drawing an old oak in Windsor Park, the King and Queen drove very near me in their chaise, and one of his Majesty’s horses shied at my paper; upon which the King called out to me, “Shut your book, sir, shut your book!”

The last time I was noticed by the King, I must say his Majesty appeared to be a little startled, as well he might. It was under the following circumstances. Wishing to make a drawing of one of the original stalls in St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, before they were finally taken down, a shilling prevailed upon one of the workmen to lock me in during his dinner-hour. However, it so happened that his Majesty, who frequently let himself into the Chapel at that time to look at the progress of the works, did not perceive me, as I stood in a corner, but on his return from the altar, he asked, “Who are you, sir? Oh! you startled my horse in the park the other day. What are you about?” I then held up my drawing; and his Majesty, who must have noticed my embarrassment, did me the honour to say, “Very correct; I believe you are at Mr. Wyatt’s—a very good man;—I have a high regard for him and all his family.”

During the time I was studying the scenery of Windsor Park, Mr. Thomas Sandby, who was busily engaged in placing the numerous stones to form the representation of rocks and caverns at the head of the Virginia Water, in Windsor Park, frequently dug for stones in Bagshot Heath. Fortunately he discovered one of an immense size, which he thought would afford him a massive breadth in his composition, but it was so large he was under the necessity of breaking it with gunpowder; however, fortune favoured his design by blowing it into two nearly equal parts, so that he was enabled to join them on their destined spot to great advantage as to general effect. This was Mr. Thomas Sandby’s second attempt at the water-head;[183] he had in the first instance failed by using only sand and clay, for which failure that worthy man was not only nicknamed “Tommy Sandbank,” but roughly scourged by the throng of Huddesford, who composed a song upon the occasion, from which I have selected the following verses:—

1.

When Tom was employ’d to construct the Pond Head,

As he ponder’d the task, to himself thus he said:

“Since a head I must make, what’s a head but a noddle?

So I think I had best take my own for a model.”

Derry down, etc.

2.

Then his work our projector began out of hand,

The outside he constructed with rubbish and sand;

But brains on this head had been quite thrown away,

Those he kept for himself, so he lined it with clay.

5.

But the water at length, to his utter dismay,

A bankruptcy made, and his head ran away;—

’Twas a thick head for certain; but, had it been thicker,

No head can endure that is always in liquor.

12.

Hence, by way of a Moral, the fallacy’s shown

Of the maxim that two heads are better than one;—

For none e’er was so scurvily dealt with before,

By the head that he made and the head that he wore.

Derry down, etc.

FRANCIS GROSE

“A chiel’s amang ye takin’ notes.”

For many years the back parlour of the “Feathers”[184] public-house (a sign complimentary to its neighbour, Frederick, Prince of Wales, who inhabited Leicester House), which stood on the side of Leicester Fields, had been frequented by artists, and several well-known amateurs. Among the former were Stuart,[185] the Athenian traveller; Scott,[186] the marine painter; old Oram, of the Board of Works;[187] Luke Sullivan,[188] the miniature painter, who engraved that inimitable print from Hogarth’s picture of the “March to Finchley,” now in the Foundling Hospital; Captain Grose,[189] the author of Antiquities of England, History of Armour,[190] etc.; Mr. Hearne,[191] the elegant and correct draughtsman of many of England’s Antiquities (so beautifully engraved by his amiable friend Byrne), Nathaniel Smith, my father, etc. The amateurs were Henderson, the actor; Mr. Morris, a silversmith; Mr. John Ireland, then a watchmaker in Maiden Lane, and since editor of Boydell’s edition of Dr. Trusler’s work, Hogarth Moralized; and Mr. Baker, of St. Paul’s Churchyard, whose collection of Bartolozzi’s works was unequalled.[192] When this house, the sign of the “Feathers,” was taken down to make way for Dibdin’s Theatre, called the “Sans Souci,” several of its frequenters adjourned to the “Coach and Horses” public-house in Castle Street, Leicester Fields; but in consequence of their not proving customers sufficiently expensive for that establishment, the landlord one evening venturing to light them out with a farthing candle, they betook themselves to Gerard Street, and thence to the “Blue Posts” in Dean Street, where the club dwindled into two or three members, viz. Edridge, the portrait draughtsman; Alexander, of the British Museum; and Edmunds, the upholsterer, who had been undertaker to the greater part of the club.[193]

Mr. Baker, the gentleman before mentioned, being a single man, and sometimes keeping rather late hours, was now and then accompanied by a friend half way home, by way of a walk. It was on one of these nights, that, just as he and I were approaching Temple Bar, about one o’clock, a most unaccountable appearance claimed our attention—it was no less an object than an elephant, whose keepers were coaxing it to pass through the gateway. He had been accompanied by several persons from the Tower Wharf with tall poles, but was principally guided by two men with ropes, each walking on either side of the street, to keep him as much as possible in the middle on his way to the menagerie, Exeter Change; to which destination, after passing St. Clement’s Church, he steadily trudged on with strict obedience to the commands of his keepers. I had the honour afterwards of partaking of a pot of Barclay’s Entire with this same elephant, which high mark of his condescension was bestowed when I accompanied my friend the late Sir James Winter Lake, Bart., to view the rare animals in Exeter Change—that gentleman being assured by the elephant’s keeper that if he would offer the beast a shilling, he would see the noble animal nod his head and drink a pot of porter. The elephant no sooner had taken the shilling, which he did in the mildest manner from the palm of Sir James’s hand, than he gave it to the keeper, and eagerly watched his return with the beer. The elephant then, after placing his proboscis to the top of the tankard, drew up nearly the whole of the then good beverage. The keeper observed, “You will hardly believe, gentlemen, but the little he has left is quite warm;” upon this we were tempted to taste it, and it really was so. This animal was afterwards disposed of for the sum of one thousand guineas.[194]

COVENT GARDEN THROUGH HOGARTH’S EYES

“The first square inhabited by the great.”

J. T. Smith