Dropped Capital The 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 respectedas 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 thenom de plumeof “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 isthe 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 Roadwith 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 toYork 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’sCalculation 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 Man.’
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 secured.
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 hebecame 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;”
“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 computationa.m.5576, or 1816a.d.Beside it is the milestone denoting that it is 1½ mile from London.
TheQueen’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 youngelm-trees were planted, by one Bostocke, at the charge of the parish. The first mention of “The Queen’sElm,” 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 apublic-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.
Queen’s Elm Public House
On the opposite or north side of the Fulham Road, some small houses are calledSelwood 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.Chelsea Park PorticoThe 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 timewas 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 acheat; 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 consideredto 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 thebelleof 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 ofLittle Chelseacommences, 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.Goat in BootsIn 1663, there was a “house called the Goat at Little Chelsea,” which, between that year and 1713, enjoyed theright of commonage for two cows and one heifer upon Chelsea Heath.
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,—
“mercurius is der goden boode,”(Mercury is the messenger of the gods,)
“mercurius is der goden boode,”(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 isGilston 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 theFrench 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. Theyare 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.”
“I have been lately negotiating with my host (of 76 Regent Street) for lodgings for the widow and brother of poor General Riego. Theyare 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,
No. 1 Seymour Placeas 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.”
“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 careerof 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!”
“The canon Riego, brother to the poor martyr, sent me, the other day, a Spanish poem of many cantos, having for its subject the careerof 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 additionalworkhouse 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.”Shaftesbury HouseBack of Shaftesbury HouseThe 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—anaddition 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, asStonewas 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.
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 wheneverthe wind was easterly he quitted Little Chelsea,” where he generally resided during the sitting of Parliament.
“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 wheneverthe 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 thesale-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,”
“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.”
“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 ofFarmer, Steevens, and others, they have almost lost their identity in the innumerable rivulets which now inundate the book-world.”
“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 ofFarmer, 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 century.’”
“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 century.’”
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.Summer-houseAn account drawn up by Mr. Luttrell of several pears which he cultivated at LittleChelsea, 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!Hercules fountainNotless surprising was the aspect of the interior. The grotesque workshop of the pauper artisans, said to have beenWorkshopLord 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 toDoorwaythe 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 andFireplace with painting aboveframework 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.
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.”
from little chelsea to walham green.
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 theadditional Workhouse of St. George’s,Hanover Square—startling as the 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 theHuman Understanding’ is the best book of logic in the world.” After this, I need scarcely add thatBoyleandLockeare 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 nomméle 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 itssupport, 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 other.
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 toLittle Chelseaor 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.”
“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 years.
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 ofChelsea,’ 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 fromle 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.”
“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 levelled?
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.”
“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 herautobiography, 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 Chelsea.
“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.”
“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. Lorrington,
“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.”
“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!”
“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 London.”
“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 London.”
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 bedistinguished by two ornamented stone-balls on the piers of the gateway, was a celebrated military academy, at which many distinguished soldiers have been educated.Bolton House gatewayThe 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 account:—
“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.”
“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, whomhe 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 namedWarwick 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 comesMulberry House, formerly the residence of Mr. Denham, a brother of the lamented African traveller, Colonel Denham. The fifth house is calledHeckfield Lodge, an arbitrary namebestowed 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.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 victuallingthe 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 steedContented 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 afarCall 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 theheart 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 sea.
“About the middle of the last century, similar objects met the gaze of the traveller by whatever route he entered the metropolis. ‘Allthe gibbets in the Edgware Road,’ says an extract from the newspapers of the day in the ‘Annual Register’ for 1763, ‘on whichmanymalefactors were being hung in chains, were cut down by persons unknown.’ Thealland themanyof 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.”
“About the middle of the last century, similar objects met the gaze of the traveller by whatever route he entered the metropolis. ‘Allthe gibbets in the Edgware Road,’ says an extract from the newspapers of the day in the ‘Annual Register’ for 1763, ‘on whichmanymalefactors were being hung in chains, were cut down by persons unknown.’ Thealland themanyof 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.”