In 1820, a rather curious circumstance transpired, which created a good deal of conversation, and even consternation amongst the inhabitants of Everton. This was the extraordinary and mysterious disappearance of the Cross which stood at the top of the village, a little to the westward of where the present Everton road is lineable with Everton-lodge. This Cross was a round pillar, about four feet from the top of three square stone steps. On the apex of the column was a sun-dial. This Cross had long been pronounced a nuisance; and fervent were the wishes for its removal by those who had to travel that road on a dark night, as frequent collisions took place from its being so much in the way of the traffic. When any one, however, spoke of its removal, the old inhabitants so strongly protested against its being touched, that the authorities gave up all hope of ever overcoming the prejudice in favour of itsremaining. However, a serious accident having occurred, it was at length determined by the late Sir William Shaw, to do what others dared not. One dark and stormy winter’s night, when all Everton was at rest—for there were no old watchmen then to wake people up with their cries—two persons might have been seen stealing towards the Cross, in the midst of the elemental war which then raged. One of them bore a lantern, while the other wheeled before him a barrow, laden with crowbar, pickaxe, and spade. The rain descended in torrents, and the night was as dark as the deed they were about to commit could possibly require. They approached the ancient gathering place, where, in olden times, during the sweating sickness, the people from Liverpool met the farmers of the district and there paid for all produce by depositing their money in bowls of water. Amidst the storm the two men for a moment surveyed their stony victim, and then commenced its destruction. First, with a strong effort, they toppled over the upper stone of the column; then the next, and the next. They then wheeled them away, stone by stone, to the Round House on Everton-brow, wherein each fragment was deposited. The base was then ruthlessly removed and carried away, and at length not a vestige was left to mark the spot where once stoodEverton Cross—raised doubtless by pious hands on some remarkable occasion long forgotten.
The Cross was thus safely housed and stored away in the Round House, and no one was the wiser. When morning dawned the astonishment of the early Everton birds was extreme. From house to house—few in number, then—ran the news that Everton Cross had disappeared during the storm of the previous night. The inhabitants soon mustered on the spot, and deep and long and loud were the lamentations uttered at its removal. Who did it? When? How? At length a whisper was passed from mouth to mouth—at first faintly and scarcely intelligible—until, gathering strength as it travelled, it became at length boldly asserted that the Father of Lies had taken it away in the turbulence of the elements. And so the news spread through Liverpool, in the year 1820, that the Devil had run off with the Cross at Everton. My old friend, who many a time chuckled over his feat, and who told me of his doings, said that for many years he feared to tell the truth about it, so indignant were many of the inhabitants who knew that its disappearance could not have been attributable to satanic agency. My friend used to say that he had hard work to preserve his gravity when listening to the various versions that were prevalent of the circumstance.
Opposite the Cross there were some very old houses of the same type, character, and date as that known as Prince Rupert’s cottage. The latter was a low long building, constructed of stone, lath, and plaster, and presented the appearance of an ordinary country cottage. Prince Rupert’s officers were quartered in the village houses. At the back of the cottage, Rupert constructed his first battery. It was a square platform, and was used as a garden, until cottage and all were swept away for the new streets now to be found thereabouts. I can recollect the whole of the land from Everton Village to Brunswick Road being pasture land, and Mr. Plumpton’s five houses in Everton Road, overlooking the fields, commanded high rents when first erected. Low-hill at this time was a rough, sandy, undulating lane with hedges on both sides. The only dwellings in it were a large house near the West Derby-road, and two low cottages opposite Phythian-street, still standing. The public-house at the corner of Low-hill and the Prescot-road is of considerable antiquity, there having been a tavern at this spot from almost all time, so to speak. Hall-lane was then called Cheetham’s-brow.
Amongst other objects of interest that have disappeared at Everton, may be numbered “Gregson’s Well,” which stood on the left hand side of the gateway of Mr. Gregson’s mansion. Thiswell, before water was brought into our town in such abundance, was a great resort for the matrons, maids, and children of the neighbourhood, and slaked the thirst of many a weary traveller. It was a fine spring of water, and was approached by stone steps: the water issuing from a recess in the wall. “Gregson’s Well” was a known trysting-place. There was an iron railing which enclosed the side and ends of the well, to prevent accidents. The water from the well is still flowing, I have been told. The stream runs underground, behind the houses in Brunswick-road—or, at least, it did so a few years ago. I have seen the bed of the stream that ran in the olden time down Moss-street, laid open many times when the road has been taken up. There was a curious story once current about the way that Brunswick-road obtained its name. It is said that when the new streets in that vicinity were being laid out and named, the original appellation which it bore, was chalked up as copy for the painter; but a patriotic lady, during the absence of the workman rubbed out the old name and substituted for it “Brunswick-road,” which name it has ever since borne.
Where Mr. Gregson’s house stood, or nearly so, there was a house which, in the early part of the last century, belonged to a gentleman and his sister named Fabius. Their real name wasBean; but, after the manner of the then learned, they assumed the name of Fabius, from “Faba.” Mr. or, as he was called, “Dr.” Fabius was an apothecary, and received brevet rank—I suppose from being the only medical practitioner about. At any rate, from the limited population of the vicinity, he was doubtless sufficient for its wants. This Mr. Fabius was one of the first Baptists in this part of the country, and in 1700 obtained a license from Manchester, to use a room in his house as a prayer-room for that particular class of worshippers. Mr. Fabius and his sister Hanna built, after a short time, a chapel or tabernacle of wood, in their garden, and gave to the Baptists “for ever” the “piece of land adjoining the chapel-field,” as a burying-place; and in this little cemetery have all the earliest leading members of this influential body been interred. It has been quite full for some years, and in consequence the Necropolis Cemetery sprung as it were from it, where dissenters of all denominations could be buried. The Baptists, increasing in numbers, quitted Low-hill, and built a chapel in Byrom-street, which is now St. Matthew’s church. When this chapel was built it was thought to be too far out of town to be well attended.
There once lived a curious person at Low-hill who had peculiar tastes. He built a place which was called “Rat’s Castle.” It stood on the brinkof a delf, the site of which is now occupied by the Prescot-street Bridewell. This person used to try experiments with food, such as cooking spiders, blackbeetles, rats, cats, mice, and other things not in common use; and, it is said, was wont to play off tricks upon unsuspecting strangers by placing banquets before them that were quite unexpected and unprecedented in the nature and condition of the food.
While lingering over my “Recollections” of Everton, I ought not to forget mentioning that, as time went on and Liverpool became prosperous, and its merchants desired to get away from the dull town-houses and imbibe healthy, fresh air, this same Everton became quite the fashionable suburb and court-end of Liverpool. Noble mansions sprung up, surrounded by well-kept gardens. Gradually the gorse-bush and the heather disappeared, and the best sites on the hill became occupied. The Everton gentry for their wealth and their pride were called “Nobles,” and highly and proudly did they hold up their heads, and great state did many of the merchants who dwelt there keep up. The first mansion erected was on the Pilgrim Estate; the next was St. Domingo House. A brief history of these estates may not be uninteresting. In 1790 the whole of Everton hereabouts was owned by two proprietors. When Everton was all open, waste, and uncultivatedland, one portion of it was enclosed by a shoemaker who called his acquisition “Cobbler’s Close.” This property was bought by Mr. Barton, who realized upwards of £190,000 through the capture of a French vessel calledLa Liberte, by a vessel owned by Joseph Birch, Esq., M.P., calledThe Pilgrim. The estate of Cobblers’ Close was then re-named “Pilgrim.” The property next passed into the hands of Sir William Barton, who sold it to Mr. Atherton. It was this gentleman who gave the land on which Everton Church is built, with this stipulation only—that no funerals should enter by the West Gate. The reason assigned for this was because Mr. Atherton’s house was opposite to it.
Mr. Woodhouse purchased the Pilgrim estate from Mr. Atherton, and re-named it “Bronté,”, from his connection with the Bronté estate in Sicily, which had been bestowed on Lord Nelson for his great services. When Lord Nelson received his first consignment of Marsala wines ordered for the fleet from his estate, he was asked to give the wine a name so that it might be known to the English people. Nelson said “call it Bronté.” His lordship was told that “Bronté” meant “thunder.” “Oh,” replied the hero, “it will do very well; John Bull will not know what it means, and will think all the better of it on that account.”
The St. Domingo Estate, in this vicinity, wasoriginated by Mr. Campbell, who in 1757 purchased the estate. He continually added to it, as occasion presented, and called the whole “St. Domingo,” in consequence of a rich prize taken by a privateer which he owned when off that island. These two contiguous estates may be said, therefore, to have been purchased by English bravery.
Mr. Crosbie was the next proprietor. He purchased it for £3500, paying £680 as deposit money. On his becoming bankrupt the estate was again put up for sale. It remained some time on hand, until Messrs. Gregson, Bridge and Parke purchased it for £4129. They sold it for £3470, losing thereby. In 1793, Mr. Sparling, who was Mayor of Liverpool in 1790, bought it. He took down the house built by Mr. Campbell and erected the handsome mansion now standing. This gentleman stipulated in his will that the house should be only occupied by a person of the name of Sparling, and that it was not to be let to any person for longer than seven years. In 1810 the legatees got the will reversed by an act of Parliament. The Queen’s Dock was projected by Mr. Sparling, and Sparling-Street was called after him. The St. Domingo Estate was next sold for £20,295. It was afterwards resold for £26,383, and used as barracks.
The objections made by the people of Everton to barracks being formed in their neighbourhood were very great. A strong memorial wasnumerously signed by the inhabitants against the movement. The memorialists represented the demoralization attendant upon the introduction of numbers of soldiers into a respectable and quiet neighbourhood, and the annoyances that would have to be endured. But the prayer failed, and St. Domingo House, for a time, became barracks accordingly. Everton appears always to have been a favourite locality for the quartering of soldiery, when it has been necessary or expedient to station them in the vicinity of Liverpool. On several occasions entire regiments have been quartered at Everton.
The encampment of soldiers in the fields near Church-street, which a few years ago attracted great attention and curiosity, is of too recent occurrence to require remark from me, as also the occupancy of the large houses on Everton-terrace and in Waterhouse-lane and Rupert-lane by officers and men. As of old, the inhabitants of the present day sent up a remonstrance to the authorities at the Horse Guards, against soldiers being located in the neighbourhood, but with the same want of success. A most intolerable nuisance, amongst others, entailed upon the inhabitants was the beating of what, in military parlance, is called “the Daddy Mammy.” This dreadful infliction upon light sleepers and invalids consisted of half a dozen boys at military daybreak (that is, as soonas you can see a white horse a mile off) learning to beat the drum. The little wretches used to batter away in Mr. Waterhouse’s garden and Rupert-lane half the day through, until several letters appeared in the newspapers on the subject, which excited the wrath of the commanding officer of the regiment then stationed there, who vowed vengeance on all civilians daring to interfere with, or comment on, the rules of the service.
The Breck-road, and indeed all the roads about Everton were, but a few years back, mere country lanes, along which little passed except the farmers. There was no traffic on them as there was no leading thoroughfare to any place in the neighbourhood of the least importance. It is only within the last ten years that Everton can be said to have been at all populous. It was in my young days out by Breck-road and Anfield (originally called Hangfield), Whitefield-lane, and Roundhill-lane, completely open country. On Breck-road or Lane the only house was that at the corner of Breckfield-road, called the “Odd House.” It was then a farm.
Connected with Whitefield-lane I recollect a good story told by a gentleman I knew, of his getting a free ride to Liverpool, behind the carriage of a well-known eccentric and most benevolent gentleman, some thirty years ago. My young friend who was then but lately come to Liverpool, had beeninvited to spend Sunday at Whitefield House, which stands at the corner of Whitefield-lane and Boundary-lane. At that time there was not a house near it for some distance. Boundary-lane was a narrow, rutted road, with a hedge and a ditch on each side, while the footpath—on one side only—was in a most miserable condition. There was then adjoining West Derby-road a large strawberry garden, which in summer time was the resort of pleasure-seekers, and it was the only approach to neighbourship along the whole length of the lane.
On leaving Whitefield House the night proved so intensely dark that my young friend found himself quite bewildered, and scarcely know whether to turn to the right or the left, being unacquainted with the locality. Fortunately turning to the right, he stumbled along the miserable road, and with the utmost difficulty made his way onward, but not without misgivings of being knocked down and robbed, as there had been several daring attacks made upon people at night in that vicinity. He fervently wished himself in Liverpool, but shortly arriving at the West Derby-road he began to understand his “whereabouts.” Having proceeded a few yards, a carriage passed him driven by a postilion. There was an unoccupied dicky behind, which my young friend thought it seemed a pity not to appropriate. Quickas youth and activity prompted, he climbed upon the carriage with the notion of the Dutchman “that it was better to ride than walk,” and found his condition materially benefited by being carried through the darkness of the night instead of walking. When the carriage reached the London-road my friend thought it was time to alight, as he was then near home; but to his dismay he found that, although it was very easy to get up, it was not very easy to get down in safety. On he went with the carriage until it arrived at Lime-street, and began to turn down Roe-street, which was a good mile from my friend’s lodgings. What was to be done? A bold thought struck him. “Hallo, hallo! I’ll get down here!” he cried. Upon this the postilion pulled up short, when down came the window of the carriage, and an inquiry from it took place as to the reason of the stoppage. My friend had by this time managed to drop off his perch, when he found the head protruding was that of the excellent lessee of the Theatre Royal, Mr. Lewis. As he was quite as polite a man as the worthy lessee himself, on finding to whom he had been indebted for his ride, he made a very low bow, with thanks for his most welcome “lift,” exclaiming with Buckingham, “I will remember that your Grace is bountiful.” In very sharp tones “John” was told to drive on, while my friend walked away, quietly laughing in his sleeve at thesuccess of his impudence, but regretting that he had not alighted sooner to be nearer home.
Surprising are the changes that have taken place on the West Derby-road of late years. It was originally called Rake-lane, and Rocky-lane from Richmond-hill. A complete little town has sprung up upon its pleasant meadows and bountiful cornfields. The Zoological Gardens, within a very few years, was the uttermost verge of this suburb. I recollect very well the opening of those once beautiful gardens. They were projected by the late Mr. Atkins, a gentleman who was the proprietor of the largest travelling-menagerie in the country. The place he had selected for his undertaking was called “Plumpton’s Hollow.” This was originally a large excavation, whence brick-clay which abounds in the neighbourhood had been obtained. Mr. Atkins, possessing great taste and judgment, was highly favoured and much thought of by the late Lord Derby, who consulted him on many occasions and honoured him with his patronage, benefiting the gardens as much as he could, by adding to the collection. Mr. Atkins chose this site for his gardens, believing it to be far enough out of town for the convenience of the public, and healthy enough for the due growth of his trees and plants, and the well-being of his animals. The Zoological Gardens were, under Mr. Atkin’s management, very different, byall accounts, from what they are now. I have seen on fine summer days, numbers of ladies of the highest respectability taking the air in them, accompanied by their children, while at night the attendance was most excellent, being patronized by the highest families in the town who seemed to enjoy the amusements provided with the utmost zest and relish. The collection of animals was remarkable at that time. Captains of vessels frequently brought rare and curious animals as presents, so that every week some new specimen of interest was added. I look back with pleasure to the many hours I have spent in the Gardens shortly after their being opened. They were admirably conducted, and in great repute as a zoological collection. Mr. Atkins took his idea of forming them from the success of the Gardens then lately established in Regent’s Park, and at Kennington, in Surrey.
A great sensation was once produced by the abduction of a Miss Turner from Miss Daulby’s School, on the West Derby-road, by Mr. E. Gibbon Wakefield. This is the white house that stands retired a field distant from the road, on the right hand side, about a quarter of a mile beyond the Zoological Gardens.
The abduction took place in March, 1826. It caused immense excitement throughout England. Miss Turner was the daughter of Mr. Turner, ofShrigley Park, Cheshire. By means of a forged letter addressed to Miss Daulby, intimating that Miss Turner’s mother was dangerously ill, the young lady was permitted to leave the school for the purpose of going home. In the carriage in waiting was Mr. E. Gibbon Wakefield, a widower with one child (a perfect stranger to Miss Turner). It is believed he had been put up to this disgraceful act of villainy by a Miss Davies, with whom he was acquainted in Paris, and who was a member of a small coterie of friends, meeting for social purposes at each other’s houses. This Miss Davies afterwards became the wife of Mr. E. G. Wakefield’s father. She was tried with her two stepsons for the conspiracy. The object in taking Miss Turner away was the large fortune in expectancy from her father as his sole child and heiress. Miss Turner was taken from Liverpool to Manchester, next to Kendal, and on to Carlisle, and thence across the borders and there married to Mr. Wakefield; he having represented to her that by marrying him, he could save her father from impending ruin. From Scotland, they went to London, thence to Calais, where Miss Turner was found by her relatives and taken away.
The Wakefields were tried at Lancaster. Edward was found guilty of abduction and sentenced to transportation. He went to Australia inpursuance of his sentence, and after some years became the Government commissioner. The marriage with Miss Turner was not consummated. Miss Turner stated that she had received the utmost politeness and attention from Mr. Wakefield, and had been treated by him with deference and respect throughout. Had it not been for Mr. Wakefield’s forbearance, it was thought that his sentence would have been different. Edward Gibbon Wakefield was said to have been a natural son of Lord Sandwich. He wrote some exceedingly clever works upon colonial matters, and on emigration.
In the fields at the top of Brownlow-hill lane, just where Clarence and Russell-streets now meet, there was once a Powder House, to which vessels used to send their gunpowder while in port. This Powder House, in the middle of the last century, was a source of anxiety to the inhabitants of the town, who fully anticipated, at any moment, a blow-up, and the destruction of the town. The Powder House was afterwards converted into a receptacle for French prisoners. My grandfather knew the place well.
It does not require a man to be very old to remember the pleasant appearance of Moss Lake Fields, with the Moss Lake Brook, or Gutter, as it was called, flowing in their midst. The fields extended from Myrtle-street to Paddington, and from the top of Mount Pleasant or Martindale’s-hill, to the rise at Edge-hill. The brook ranparallel with the present Grove-street, rising somewhere about Myrtle-street. In olden times, before coal was in general use, Moss Lake Fields were used as a “Turbary,” a word derived from the French wordTourbiere, a turf field. (From the way that the turf is dried we have our termtopsy turvy,i.e., top side turf way). Sir Edward More, in his celebrated rental, gives advice to his son to look after “his turbary.” The privilege of turbary, or “getting turf,” was a valuable one, and was conferred frequently on the burgesses of towns paying scot and lot. I believe turf, fit for burning, has been obtained from Moss Lake Fields even recently. Just where Oxford-street is now intersected by Grove-street, the brook opened out into a large pond, which was divided into two by a bridge and road communicating between the meadows on each side. The bridge was of stone of about four feet span, and rose above the meadow level. The sides of the approach were protected by wooden railings, and a low parapet went across the bridge.[167]Over the stone bridge the road was carried when connection was opened to Edge-hill from Mount Pleasant, and Oxford-street was laid out. When the road was planned both sides of itwere open fields and pastures. The first Botanic Gardens were laid out in this vicinity; they extended to Myrtle-street, the entrance Lodge stood nearly on the site of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum. In winter the Moss Lake Brook usually overflowed and caused a complete inundation. On this being frozen over fine skating was enjoyed for a considerable space. The corporation boundary line was at this side of the brook. In summer the volunteers sometimes held reviews upon these fields, when all the beauty and fashion of the town turned out to witness the sight. At this time all the land at the top of Edge-hill was an open space called the Greenfields, on part of which Edge-hill church is built. Mason-street was merely an occupation lane. The view from the rising ground, at the top of Edge-hill, was very fine, overlooking the town and having the river and the Cheshire shore in the background. Just where Wavertree-lane, as it was called, commences there was once a large reservoir, which extended for some distance towards the Moss Lake Fields, Brownlow-hill Lane being carried over it.
While we are wandering in this neighbourhood there must not be forgotten a word or two about Mr. Joseph Williamson (who died about 1841) and his excavations at Edge-hill. As I believe there is no authentic record of him, or of them, so far as I can recollect, a brief description of him andhis strange works may not be uninteresting to the old, who have heard both spoken of, and to the present generation who know nothing of their extent and his singularity. It certainly does appear remarkable, but it is a fact, that many people possess a natural taste for prosecuting underground works. There is so much of mystery, awe, and romance in anything subterranean, that we feel a singular pleasure in instituting and making discoveries in it, and it is not less strange than true that those who once begin making excavations seem loth to leave off. Mr. Williamson appears to have been a true Troglodite, one who preferred the Cimmerian darkness of his vaulted world, to the broad cheerful light of day. He spent the principal part of his time in his vaults and excavations, and literally lived in a cellar, for his sitting room was little else, being a long vault with a window at one end, and his bedroom was a cave hollowed out at the back of it. In his cellar it was that he dispensed his hospitalities, in no sparing manner, having usually casks of port and sherry on tap, and also a cask of London porter. Glasses were out of use with him. In mugs and jugs were the generous fluids drawn and drank. When Williamson made a man welcome that welcome was sincere. Before I say anything about the excavations, a few “Recollections” of Joseph himself are worthy to be recorded. He was bornon the 10th of March, 1769, at Warrington, and commenced his career in Liverpool, with Mr. Tate the tobacco merchant, in Wolstenholme-square. Williamson used to tell his own tale by stating that “I came to Liverpool a poor lad to make my fortune. My mother was a decent woman, but my father was the greatest rip that ever walked on two feet. The poor woman took care that all my clothes were in good order, and she would not let me come to Liverpool unless I lodged with my employer. I got on in the world little by little, until I became a man of substance, and I married Betty Tate, my master’s daughter. When the wedding day arrived I told her I would meet her at the (St. Thomas’) church, which I did, and after it was all over I mounted the horse which was waiting for me, and told Betty to go home and that I would come to her after the Hunt. I was a member of the then famous ‘Liverpool Hunt,’ and when I got to the Meet somebody said, ‘Why, Williamson, how smart you are!’—‘Smart,’ said I, ‘aye!—a man should look smart on his wedding day!’ ‘Wedding day,’ exclaimed some of the fellows, ‘Who have you married?’ ‘I haven’t married anybody,’ I said, ‘but the parson has married me to old Tate’s daughter!’ ‘Why, where’s your wife?’ ‘She’s at home, to be sure, where all good wives ought to be—getting ready her husband’s dinner.’ I’ll tell you what, Bettyand I lived but a cat and dog life of it, but I was sorry to part with the old girl when she did go.” On the day of Mrs. Williamson’s funeral, the men employed on the works were seen lounging about doing nothing. Williamson noticed this, and inquired the reason? They told him that it was out of respect for their mistress. “Oh! stuff,” said Williamson, “you work for the living, not for the dead. If you chaps don’t turn to directly, I shall stop a day’s wages on Saturday.”
Mr. Williamson’s appearance was remarkable. His hat was what might have been truly called “a shocking bad one.” He generally wore an old and very much patched brown coat, corduroy breeches, and thick, slovenly shoes; but his underclothing was always of the finest description, and faultless in cleanliness and colour. His manners were ordinarily rough and uncouth, speaking gruffly, bawling loudly, and even rudely when he did not take to any one. Yet, strange to say, at a private dinner or evening party, Mr. Williamson exhibited a gentleness of manner, when he chose, which made him a welcome guest. His fine, well-shaped, muscular figure fully six feet high, his handsome head and face made him, when well-dressed, present a really distinguished appearance. He seemed to be possessed of two opposite natures—the rough and the smooth. It was said that once, on a Royal Duke visiting Liverpool, he received a salute fromWilliamson, and was so struck with its gracefulness that he inquired who he was, and remarked that “it was the most courtly bow he had seen out of St. James’s.” Williamson was very fond of children. The voice of a little one could at any time soothe him when irritable. He used to say of them, “Ah, there’s no deceit in children. If I had had some, I should not have been thearch-rogue I am.”. The industrious poor of Edge-hill found in Williamson a ready friend in time of need, and when work was slack many a man has come to the pay-place on Saturday, who had done nothing all the week but dig a hole and fill it up again. Once, on being remonstrated with by a man he had thus employed, on the uselessness of the work, Williamson said, “You do as you are told—you honestly earn the money by the sweat of your brow, and the mistress can go to market on Saturday night—I don’t want you to think.” He often regaled his work-people with a barrel of ale or porter, saying they “worked all the better for their throats being wetted.” His vast excavations when they were in their prime, so to speak, must have been proof of the great numbers of men he employed. He always said that he never made a penny by the sale of the stone. He gave sufficient, I believe, to build St. Jude’s Church. He used vast quantities on his own strange structures.
A lady of my acquaintance once caughtWilliamson intently reading a book. She inquired its purport. He evaded the question, but being pressed, told her it was the Bible, and expressed a wish that he had read much more of it, and studied it, and that he always found something new in it every time he opened it. This lady said that the touching way, the graceful expression of Mr. Williamson’s manner, when he said this, took her completely by surprise, having been only accustomed to his roughness and ruggedness. He added, “The Bible tells me what a rascal I am.” Mr. Stephenson, the great engineer, inspected the excavations, and it was with pride Mr. Williamson repeated Mr. Stephenson’s expressions of high estimation of his works. Mr. Stephenson said they were the most astonishing works he had ever seen in their way. When the tunnel to Lime-street from Edge-hill was in progress, one day, the excavators were astonished to find the earth giving way under them, and to see men actually under the tunnel they were then forming. On encountering Mr. Williamson, he told them “he could show them how to tunnel if they wanted to learn a lesson in that branch of art.” It seemed a strange anomaly, and quite unaccountable that Mr. Williamson should be so chary in allowing any strangers to visit his excavations. He seemed to keep them for his own gratification, and it was with the greatest difficulty permission could be obtained togo through them. He would say to the numberless persons who applied, “they were not show-shops, nor he a showman.” When he did grant permission he always gave the obliged parties fully and unmistakably to understand that he was conferring upon them a great favour. His temper was suspicious. I recollect being told of a person calling on him, to pay a long over-due rent account for another person, when, as Williamson was handing over the receipt, and about to take up the money, he suddenly fixed his keen eye upon his visitor, and asked him what trick he was going to play him, as it seemed strange that he should pay money for another man. “Take your money away, sir,” said he, “and come again to-morrow; there is something underhand in your proceedings, and I’ll not be done.” For some of his tenants he used to execute cheerfully the most costly alterations, while for others he would not expend a shilling, and would let his premises go to rack, rather than put in a nail for them.
There was a house of his once standing at the corner of Bolton-street, which he built entirely for a whim. It was a great square house, with enormously wide and long windows. It was of three stories, two upper tiers and a basement. There was no kitchen to it, no conveniences of any kind sufficient to render it habitable. From the cellar there was a tunnel which ran underMason-street to the vaults opposite. He built it intending it for his friend, Mr. C. H---, the artist, who had one day complained of the bad light he had to paint in, and Mr. Williamson told him he would remedy that evil if he would wait a bit. Presently he commenced the house in Bolton-street, and when it was completed the artist was sent for, and told that it had been built for him as a studio. Mr. H--- stood aghast on seeing the immense windows, and could not make Mr. Williamson understand that an artist’s light was not wanted in quantity but quality. Williamson swore lustily at H---’s obstinacy, and could not be made to understand what was really required. A reverend gentleman, still living and highly respected, who happened to be passing along the street, was called in to give his opinion on the subject by Mr. W. He, however, joined issue with Mr. H---, but neither could make Mr. W. understand the matter. The rooms were very lofty and spacious, and if I recollect rightly each floor consisted of only one room. I believe it was never occupied. In High-street, Edge-hill, Mr. Williamson also built some houses which were skirted by Back Mason-street. The houses at the corner of High-street and Back Mason-street were built up from a quarry. They are as deep in cellarage as they are high, while the rooms in them are innumerable. Williamson used to call himself “King of Edge-hill,” and had greatinfluence over the work people residing in the neighbourhood. I knew a lady who once had an encounter with Williamson wherein she came off victorious, and carried successfully her point. The affair is curious. This lady, about 1838 or ’39, wanted a house, and was recommended to go up to Edge-hill and endeavour to meet with Mr. Williamson and try to get on the right side of him, which was considered a difficult thing to do. She was told that he had always some large houses to let, and if she pleased him he would be a good landlord. Mrs. C---, accompanied by a lady, went up to Edge-hill and looked about as they were told to do for a handsome-looking man in a shabby suit of clothes. They were told that they were sure to find Mr. W. where men were working, as he always had some in his employ in one way or another in the neighbourhood. On arriving at Mason-street, sure enough, they espied the object of their search watching the operations of some bricklayers busily engaged in erecting the very house in Bolton-street just spoken of. Mrs. C---, who was a sharp, shrewd person, good looking and pleasant in her manners, sauntered up to Williamson and inquired of him if he knew of any houses to be let at Edge-hill. “Houses!” replied Williamson in his roughest and rudest style: “What should I know of houses, a poor working man like me!” “Well,” said the lady, “Ithought you might have known of some to let, and you need not be so saucy and ill-tempered.” Williamson roughly rejoined, and the lady replied, and thus they got to a complete wordy contest attracting the attention of the bystanders, who were highly amused to find that Williamson had met his match. The lady’s sarcasms and gibes seemed to make Williamson doubly crusty. He at length asked the other lady—who, by the way, was becoming nervous and half-frightened at what was going on—“what this woman,” pointing to Mrs. C---, “would give for a house if she could meet with one to her mind.” Mrs. C--- told him £30 per annum. Williamson burst out with an insulting laugh, and called all the men down from the house they were erecting, and when they had clustered round him he told them that “this woman wanted a house with ten rooms in it for £30 a year! Did they ever know of such an unreasonable request?” Of course the men agreed with their employer, and they were all dismissed after being regaled with a mug of porter each. Mrs. C--- narrowly watched Williamson and saw through him at once, and was not surprised on being invited to step into a house close by and see how she liked it. She found fault with some portions of the house and approved others. Williamson at length, after a short silence, inquired whether she really did want a house and wouldlive in Mason-street. Mrs. C--- replied that she did really require one and liked the street very much. Williamson then asked her if she was in a hurry. On being told she was not, he bade her return that day fortnight at the same hour and he would try then to show her a house he thought would suit her exactly. With this the ladies departed, Williamson saying:—“There now, you be off; you come when I tell you; you’ll find me a regular old screw; and if you don’t pay your rent the day it is due I shall law you for it, so be off.” Mrs. C--- then said, “My husband is a cockney, and I will bring him with me, and we will see if we can’t turn the screw the right way.” The ladies had no sooner arrived at the end of Mason-street, when on turning to take a last look of their singular friend they saw the men from the house in Bolton-street all following Williamson into the house they had just left, and as it eventually proved he had set them there and then to work to make the alterations she had suggested and desired.
On the termination of the fortnight the ladies called on their remarkable friend, and found him in waiting at the house with two great jugs of sherry and some biscuits on a table. He then took them over the house, and to their surprise found everything in it altered: two rooms had been opened into one, one room made into two, twohad been made into three, and so on, and he asked Mrs. C--- if she was satisfied and if the house would suit her? He appeared to have completely gutted the house and reconstructed it. Putting it down at an unusually low rent for what had been done, the bargain was struck between the parties, and the landlord and his tenant were ever after good friends. He told the lady he liked her for sticking up to him “so manfully” and “giving him as good as he sent.” Mr. Williamson took great delight in this lady’s children and made great pets of them. On her family increasing the lady and her husband frequently asked Williamson to build her an extra room for a nursery, reminding him that as he was always building something, he might as well build them an extra room as anything else. He, however, declined until one day the lady sent him a manifesto from the “Queen Of Edge-hill,” as he had been accustomed to call her, commanding him to build the room she wanted. Williamson, thereupon, wrote her a reply in the same strain, promising to attend to her commands.
A few mornings after his reply had been received the lady was busy in her bedroom dressing her baby, when she suddenly heard a loud knocking in the house adjoining, and down fell the wall, and amid the falling of bricks and the rising of dust Mr. Williamson himself appeared, accompanied by two joiners, who fitted a door into the opening,while two bricklayers quickly plastered up the walls. Through the door next stepped the landlord. “There, madam, what do you think of this room for a nursery,” he exclaimed, “it is big enough if you had twenty children.” Mr. Williamson had actually appropriated the drawing-room in his own house to her use. She thanked him, but said he might have given her some warning of what he was going to do, instead of covering her and the baby with dust, but Williamson laughed heartily at his joke, while the lady was glad to get a noble room added to her house without extra rent. This lady told me that one night just previous to this event they had heard a most extraordinary rumbling noise in Mr. Williamson’s house which continued for a long time and it appeared to proceed from one of the lower rooms. On inquiring next day of Mr. Williamson what was the cause of the disturbance he took the lady into a large dining-room, where she found about fifty newly-painted blue barrows with red wheels all ranged along the room in rows. These had been constructed for the use of his labourers and were there stored away until wanted.
My acquaintance told me that one night they heard in the vaults below their house the most frightful shrieks and screams, and the strangest of noises, but they never could ascertain what was the cause of the commotion. The noises seemedto proceed from directly below their feet, and yet they fancied they came from some distance. The cries were not those of a person in agony, but a strange mixture of most unaccountable sounds.
A good story is told of a quaint speech made to Williamson by the Rev. Dr. Raffles. The Doctor and the Rev. Mr. Hull, who were neighbours, and, I fancy, tenants of Williamson’s, were once met by him walking together, when W. exclaimed “I say, if I’d my way you two should be made bishops.” Dr. Raffles very quickly replied, “Ah, Williamson, you ought to be anarchbishop!” alluding to his well-known predilection for vault building. He once invited a party of gentlemen to dine with him. The guests were shown into a bare room with a deal table on trestles in the middle, with common forms on each side. Williamson, with the utmost gravity, bade his friends take their seats, placing himself at the head of the table. Facing each of the guests was a plate of porridge and some hard biscuits of which they were invited to partake. Some of the party taking this as an insulting joke, rose and left the room. Williamson, with the utmost grace, bowed them out without explanation. When the seceders had retired, a pair of folding doors were thrown open, exhibiting a large room with a costly feast prepared, to which the remainder of the party adjourned, laughing heartily over the trick that hadbeen played and the agreeable surprise in store for them. Another good story is told of Mr. Williamson. He possessed some property at Carlisle which gave him a vote at the elections. Sir James Graham’s committee sent him a circular, as from Sir James, soliciting his vote and interest. On receipt of this letter Williamson flew into a violent passion, went down to Dale-street there and then, took a place in the North Mail, proceeded to Carlisle, obtained one of Sir James Graham’s placards from the walls, and posted back to Liverpool without delay. On his arrival at home he enclosed the obnoxious circular and placard in a parcel which he addressed with a most abusive letter to Sir James Graham, in which he charged him with such a string of political crimes as must have astonished the knight of Netherby, winding up the abuse by asking how he dared to solicit an honest man for his vote and by what right he had taken so unwarrantable a liberty.
In the last chapter of my “Recollections” I spoke of the man—Joseph Williamson; the present will be of his “excavations.” In various parts of the world we find, on and under the surface, divers works of human hands that excite the wonder of the ignorant, the notice of the intelligent, and the speculation of the learned. Things are presented to our view, in a variety of forms, which must have been the result of great labour and cost, and which appear utterly useless and inapplicable to any ostensibly known purpose. Respecting many of these mysterious records of a past age, page after page has been written to prove, and even disprove, the supposed intent of their constructors; and it cannot but be admitted that after perusing many an erudite disquisition, we are sometimes as well-informed, and as near arriving at a conclusion as to the original purpose forwhich the object under discussion was intended, as when our attention was first engaged in it. In some instances, those who have discovered uses for the strange remnants of, to us, a dark age, have exceeded in ingenuity the projectors of those relics.
Could we draw aside the thick veil that hides the future from us, we might perhaps behold our great seaport swelling into a metropolis, in size and importance, its suburbs creeping out to an undreamt-of distance from its centre; or we might, reversing the picture, behold Liverpool by some unthought-of calamity—some fatal, unforeseen mischance, some concatenation of calamities—dwindled down to its former insignificance: its docks shipless, its warehouses in ruins, its streets moss-grown, and in its decay like some bye-gone cities of the east, that once sent out their vessels laden with “cloth of blue, and red barbaric gold.” Under which of these two fates will Liverpool find its lot some centuries hence?—which of these two pictures will it then present? Be it one or the other, the strange undertakings of Joseph Williamson will perhaps, some centuries from now, be brought again to light, and excite as much marvel and inquiry as any mysterious building of old, the purpose of which we do not understand, and the use of which we cannot now account for. They will be seemingly as meaningless as any lonelycairn, isolated broken piece of wall, or solitary fragment of a building, of which no principal part remains, and which puzzles us to account for at the present time.
Mr. Williamson’s property at Edge-hill, was principally held under the Waste Lands Commission. His leases expired in 1858. It commenced adjoining Miss Mason’s house, near Paddington, and extended to Grinfield-street. It was bounded on the west by Smithdown-lane, along which ran a massive stone wall of singular appearance, more like that of a fortress than a mere enclosure. Within this area were some of the most extraordinary works, involving as great an outlay of money as may be found anywhere upon the face of the earth, considering the space of ground they occupy. In their newly-wrought state, about the years 1835 and ’36, or thereabouts, they created intense wonder in the minds of the very few who were permitted to examine them. During the last few years, I believe they have been gradually filled up and very much altered, but they are still there to be laid open some day. Few of us know much of them, though so few years have elapsed since they were projected and carried out, since the sounds of the blast, the pick, and the shovel were last heard in their vicinity. Now what will be said of these minings, subterranean galleries, vaults and arches, should they suddenly be discovered a centuryhence, when their originator as well as their origin shall have faded away into nothing like the vanishing point of the painter? Here we behold an astonishing instance of the application of vast labour without use, immense expense incurred without hope of return, and, if we except the asserted reason of the late projector that these works were carried on for the sole purpose of employing men in times of great need and depression, we have here stupendous works without perceptible motive, reason, or form. Like the catacombs at Paris, Williamson’s vaults might have been made receptacles for the dried bones of legions of our forefathers. Again, they might have been converted into fitting places for the hiding of stolen goods, or where the illicit distiller might carry on his trade with impunity.
I hardly know in what tense to speak of those excavations, not being aware in what state they are at present. A strange place it is, or was. Vaulted passages cut out of the solid rock; arches thrown up by craftmen’s hands, beautiful in proportion and elegant in form, but supporting nothing. Tunnels formed here—deep pits there. Yawning gulfs, where the fetid, stagnant waters threw up their baneful odours. Here the work is finished off, as if the mason had laboured with consummate skill to complete his work, so that all the world might see and admire, although nohuman eyes, save those of the master’s, would ever be set upon it. Here lies the ponderous stone as it fell after the upheaving blast had dislodged it from its bed; and there, vaulted over, is a gulf that makes the brain dizzy, and strikes us with terror as we look down into it. Now we see an arch, fit to bridge a mountain torrent; and in another step or two we meet another, only fit to span a simple brook. Tiers of passages are met with, as dangerous to enter as they are strange to look at. It must ever be a matter of regret that after Mr. Williamson’s death, some one able to make an accurate survey of the property did not go through and describe it, because it has been greatly changed since then by the accumulations of rubbish that have been brought to every part of it. All the most elaborate portions of the excavations have been entirely closed up. In one section of the ground (that near Grinfield-street), where there was of late years a joiner’s shop, the ground was completely undermined in galleries and passages, one over the other, constituting a subterranean labyrinth of the most intricate design. Near here also was a deep gulf, in the wall sides of which were two houses completely excavated out of the solid rock, each having four rooms of tolerable dimensions.
This chasm is now quite filled up. The terrace extending from Grinfield-street to Miss Mason’shouse is threaded with passages, vaults, and excavations. At the northern corner there is a tunnel eight feet high, and as many wide, which runs up from what was once an orchard and garden, to a house in Mason-street. The tunnel is, I should think, 60 yards long. As the ground rises up the hill, there are several flights of stone steps with level resting-places. About two-thirds up, where the first flight is encountered, may be seen a portion of a large vault which runs a short way southwardly. A small portion of the top of the arch, between it and the steps, is left open, but for what reason I never could make out. The further end of this vault opens into another great vault, which I shall presently describe. The passage is very dry, but the air has a cold “gravey” taint, very unpleasant to inhale. At the second landing there is a sort of recess, into which rubbish from the garden above is shot down through a spout or funnel. At the top of the passage is a doorway opening upon the back of a house in Mason-street. This passage or tunnel was evidently intended for a mode of communication between the house and the orchard. In the garden or orchard, and near the tunnel mouth, were four lofty recesses, like alcoves, three of which were four feet deep. In one of those recesses, which was carried much further back than the others, the stones were lying as they fell, and there was a channel on one sideof the flooring which seemed to have been intended for a drain. Through a large folding gate access is obtained from Smithdown-lane into a wide passage or vault, in shape like a seaman’s speaking trumpet. It is broad enough to accommodate two carts at least, and has been used when the stone has been carted away from the delph at its eastern end. This vault is constructed of brick. It gradually deepens at the eastern end, and is about 15 feet wide, and 20 high. At the opening it is not more than 15 high. The top outside is covered by soil, and forms part of the garden previously mentioned. At the left hand side of the tunnel end will be found a vault, running northward for about fifty or sixty feet. The end of this vault is the limit of Mr. Williamson’s property. The tunnel already described as running up to Mason-street crosses the top of this vault. This vault is about thirty-six feet wide and perhaps thirty feet high, but the floor has been considerably raised since Mr. Williamson’s time by debris and rubbish of all sorts thrown into it. In the right hand corner of the vault, about ten feet from the ground, there is the mouth of a tunnel which runs up first towards Mason-street, it then turns and winds in a variety of ways in passages continuing under the houses in Mason-street, and opening upon many of the vaults. To the left of the entrance vault, there is a large square area from which immense massesof red sandstone have been quarried. It is forty feet from side to side. There is a vault in the southern wall opposite the wall just described. It runs towards Grinfield-street, and is composed of two large arches side by side, surmounted by two smaller ones. In the eastern face of the quarry there is an immense arch perhaps sixty feet high; and about thirty feet from its entrance there is an immense and massive stone pier from which spring two arches on each side, one above the other, but not from the same level. The pier is hollowed on the inside by three arches. On the left hand wall inside the arch there are two large arches, from which vaults run northwardly, and on the right hand side of the wall there are also two vaults which extend to a great distance in a southwardly direction, towards Grinfield-street. From these vaults, other vaults branch off in all sorts of directions. The houses in Mason-street all rest upon these arches; and as you passed along the street, the depth of some of them at one time was visible through the grids. The construction of these arches is of the most solid description, and seems stable as the earth itself. There are some openings of vaults commenced at the end near Grinfield-Street, but discontinued. These arches seem to have given way and presented a curiously ruined aspect. In the lower range of vaults there was a run of water and what Williamson called “a quagmire.”In several places there are deep wells, whence the houses in Mason-Street seem to be supplied with water. Sections of arches commenced, but left unfinished, were visible at one time in various places. The lowest range of arches opening from the Grinfield-street end run to the northward. From the roof of many of these vaults were stalactites, but of no great length. The terraced gardens are ranged on arches all solidly built. The houses in Mason-street are strange constructions. In one house I saw there was no window in one good-sized room, light being obtained through a funnel carried up to the roof of the house through an upper floor and room. This strange arrangement arose from Mr. Williamson having no plan of the house he was building for the men to work by, consequently it was found the windows had been forgotten. He never had, I believe, any drawings or plans of either his houses or excavations. The men were told to work on till he ordered them to stop. In another house I went through there was an immense room which appeared as if two stories had been made into one. The bedroom—I believe there was only one in the house—was gained by an open staircase, run up by the side of the west wall of the large room. After passing the room door you mounted another flight of stairs which terminated in a long lobby, which ran over the top of theadjoining house, to two attics. The gardens of this house were approached by going down several stone steps (all was solid with Mr. Williamson) past the kitchen, which was also arched, and thence down another flight of stone steps until you came to a lofty vaulted passage of great breadth. You then entered a dry, wide arch. From this another arch opened in a northwardly direction. At the end of the principal vault was a long, narrow, vaulted passage, which was lighted by a long iron grating which proved to be a walk in a garden belonging to two houses at a distance. This passage then shot off at right angles, and at length a garden was gained on a terrace, the parapet wall of which overlooked the large opening or quarry previously described; and a fearful depth it appeared.
Some of the backs of the Mason-street houses project, some recede, some have no windows visible, others have windows of such length and breadth as must have thrown any feeble-minded tax-gatherer when he had to receive window duty into fits. These houses really appear as if built by chance, or by a blind man who has felt his way and been satisfied with the security of his dwelling rather than its appearance. The interiors of these houses, however, were very commodious, when I saw them years ago. They were strangely arranged, with very large rooms andvery small ones, and long passages oddly running about.
I recollect once going over a house in High-street which Williamson erected. The coal vault I went into would have held at least two hundred tons of coals. In all these vaults and places the rats swarmed in droves, and of a most remarkable size. I once saw one perfectly white. Wherever Williamson possessed property there did his “vaulting ambition” exhibit itself.
Such is a brief account of Williamson and his works. A book might be filled with his sayings and doings. Amid all his roughness he was a kind and considerate man, and did a great deal of good in his own strange way. His effects were sold by Trotter and Hodgkins on the 7th June, 1841, and one of the lots, No. 142, consisted of a view of Williamson’s vaults and a small landscape. I wonder what has become of the former. Lot 171 was a “cavern scene” which showed the bent of the man’s taste.
The conversion of the huge stone quarry at the Mount into a cemetery was a very good idea. This immense excavation was becoming a matter of anxiety with the authorities, as to what should be done with so large an area of so peculiar a nature. To fill it up with rubbish seemed an impossibility; while the constant and increasing demand for stone added to the difficulties of the situation. The establishment of a cemetery at Kensal Green in Middlesex, suggested the conversion of this quarry to a similar purpose. A feeling in the minds of people that the dead should not be interred amidst the living, began to prevail—a feeling that has since grown so strong as to be fully recognised in the extensive cemeteries now formed at the outskirts of this and all large towns. Duke-street used to be called “The road to theQuarry,” and was almost solely used by the carts bringing stone into the town. Eighty years ago, there were only a few houses at the top of this street, having gardens at the back. There was a ropery which extended from the corner of the present Berry-street (called after Captain Berry, who built the first house in it), to the roperies which occupied the site of the present Arcades. All above this was fields, with a few houses only in Wood-street, Fleet-street, Wolstenholme-square, and Hanover-street. This latter street contained some very handsome mansions, having large gardens connected with them.
Rodney-street was laid out by a German named Schlink, who, being desirous to perpetuate his name, called his new thoroughfare Schlink-street. Several houses were erected in it, but the idea of living in “Schlink”-street—the word “Schlink” being associated with bad meat—deterred persons from furthering the German’s speculation. In deference to this notion, the name of the then popular hero, “Rodney,” was given to the street; and it has continued to be occupied by families of the highest respectability, and especially of late years by the medical profession.
I recollect a rather curious circumstance, connected with one of the best houses in this street, which caused some amusement at the time amongst those who were acquainted with the particularsand the parties. It was a complete instance of “turning the tables.” About thirty years, or more, ago, a gentleman lived in Rodney-street, whose commercial relations required him to be frequently in the metropolis. He found his presence there was likely to be continuous, and determined to give up his house in Liverpool and reside permanently in London. He, therefore, took steps to let his house (which he held under lease at one hundred and five pounds per annum) by advertising it, and putting a bill in the window to that effect. To his surprise he received a notice from his landlord informing him that by the tenure of his lease, to which he was referred, he would find that he could not sub-let. Finding this to be the case, he went to the owner of the property, and expressed a desire to be released from his occupancy on fair terms, offering to find a substantial tenant and pay half a year’s rent. The landlord, knowing he had a good tenant, rejected this offer in a way somewhat approaching to rudeness. Finding himself tied to the stake, as it were, the gentleman inquired under what terms he could be released? The answer was, that nothing short of twelve months rent and a tenant, would suffice to obtain a release. Without making a reply to this proposal, the gentleman went his way. A few mornings after this interview, the owner of the house, in passing, saw a man painting thechequers[197]on the door cheeks, and on looking up found that “--- --- was licensed to sell beer by retail, to be drunk on the premises.” Astonished at this proceeding, he ordered the painter to stop his work, but the painter told him he was paid for the job, and do it he would. On being told who it was that spoke to him his reply was that he did not care, and that he might go to a place “where beer is not sold by retail nor on the premises,” for aught he cared. Furious at this insolence, the angry landlord sent word to his tenant that he wanted to see him, at the same time giving him notice of what he would do if he persisted in appropriating the house to thepurpose intimated. The only answer returned was, that the tenant would be at “the beer-shop” at ten in the morning, where he would meet his landlord. At ten, accordingly, the old gentleman went to his tenant, and on meeting him asked him what was the meaning of his proceedings. “Why,” replied the tenant, “I find by my lease that it is true I cannot sub-let, and as you will not accept what I consider fair terms of release, I intend, for the remainder of my term, to keep the place open as a beer-shop. I have taken out a license, bought furniture for the purpose, and here comes the first load of forms and tables” (at that moment, sure enough, up came a cart heavily laden with all sorts of beer-house requisites). “I intend to make the drawing-room a dancing saloon, and the garden a skittle alley. I have engaged an old warehouseman to manage the business for me, and if we don’t do a roaring business, I hope to make enough to pay your rent, and become free from loss.” The intense anger of the landlord may be imagined; and he left the house uttering threats of the utmost vengeance of the law; but on an interview with his attorney he found there was no redress—a beer-shop was “not in the bond.” He, therefore, went again to his refractory tenant, for it was clear that if the house was once opened as a beer-shop, the adjoining property would be deteriorated. He was smilingly greeted, and histenant regretted that he had not tapped his ale, or he would have offered him a glass. “Come, Mr. ---,” said the landlord, “let us see if we cannot arrange this matter. I am now willing to accept your offer of half a year’s rent, and a tenant.” “No,” said Mr. ---, “I cannot think of such terms now.” “Well, then, suppose you give me a quarter’s rent, and find me the tenant.” “No!” “Then the rent without the tenant.” “No!” “Then a tenant without the rent.” “No; but I will tell you what I’ll agree to, my good sir—you see, I have been put to some expense. I made you a fair, and, as I think, a liberal offer, which you would not accept. Now, if you will reimburse me all the expense I have been put to, and pay £10 to the town charities, I will abandon my beer-house scheme, undertake to give up the key, and close the account between us.” With these terms the landlord eventually complied, thus having “the tables fairly turned” upon him.
Cock-fighting was at one time a favourite sport in Liverpool, amongst the lower orders, and, indeed, amongst all other classes too. In a street leading out of Pownall-square (so called after Mr. William Pownall, whose death was accelerated during his mayoralty in 1708, in consequence of a severe cold, caught in suppressing a serious riot of the Irish which occurred in the night-time in a place near the Salthouse Dock, called the Devil’s acre), therewas a famous cock-pit. The street is now called Cockspur-street. Where the cock-pit stood there is a small dissenting chapel, and the entrance to it may be found up a court. This cock-pit was the resort of all the low ruffians of the neighbourhood. In consequence of the disturbances which continually took place, it was suppressed as the neighbourhood increased in population. It is rather singular that in more than one instance cock-pits have been converted into places of public worship. The cock-pit at Aintree, for instance, was so converted; and the first sermon preached in it was by the Rev. Dr. Hume, who skilfully alluded to the scenes that had been enacted in it, without in the least offensively describing them. That sermon was a remarkable one, and made a great impression on the congregation assembled there for the first time. The late Lord Derby was an enthusiastic cock-fighter, and kept a complete set of trainers and attendants. When I was a boy, it was thought nothing of to attend a cock-fight, and, such was the passion for this cruel sport, that many lads used to keep cocks for the purpose.
It is a curious thing to watch the changes that have taken place from time to time in different neighbourhoods as to the character of the inhabitants. Where at one time we may have found the aristocracy of the town assembling, we have noticed its respectability gradually fading away, andthose who inhabited large mansions removing elsewhere. For instance, Rose-hill, Cazneau-street (called after Mr. Cazneau; at one time a pretty street indeed, with gardens in front of all the houses), and Beau-street, were fashionable suburban localities. St. Anne-street abounded in handsome mansions and was considered the court-end of the town. The courtly tide then set southward; Abercromby-square, and its neighbourhood sprung up, and so surged outward to Aigburth one way and to West Derby another. Everton I have already spoken of. I remember the houses in Faulkner-terrace remaining for years unfinished, and it was at one time called “Faulkner’s Folly,” from the notion that no one would ever think of living so far out of the town. Mr. Faulkner, however, proved himself to be more long-sighted than those who ridiculed his undertaking.
I remember the present Haymarket a field with a rivulet flowing through the midst of it, and the whole of this neighbourhood fields and gardens. In Cazneau-street there was an archery lodge, a portion of which is still standing.
I remember, too, the erection of Richmond Fair, in 1787. It was projected by a Mr. Dobb, who dwelt in a bay-windowed house still standing in St. Anne-street. He intended it for a Cloth Hall for the Irish factors to sell their linens in, which they brought in great quantities at that time toLiverpool. The Linen Hall at Chester gave him the idea of this undertaking. It took very well at first, but in consequence of complaints being made by the shopkeepers in the town that the dealers in linen, instead of selling wholesale were carrying on an extensive retail trade and injuring their business, the authorities stopped all further traffic in it, and, after remaining some years unoccupied, it has of late been converted into small tenements.