"The chairs are order'd, and the moment comes,When all the world assemble at the rooms."
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For the ball-room itself, it was the most splendid scene that the magic power of fancy could devise. The variety of characters, the elegance of the dresses, and the beauty of the graceful fair, joined to their playful wit and accomplished manners, produced a succession of delights which banished from the heart of man the recollection of his mortal ills, and gave him, for the passing time, a semblance of Elysian pleasures. The rooms are admirably calculated for this species of entertainment, and are, I believe, the largest in England; while the excellent regulations and arrangements adopted by the master of the ceremonies to prevent any of those unpleasant intrusions, too often admitted into mixed assemblies, deserved the highest commendation. It is from scenes of this description that the writer on menand manners extracts his characters, and drawing aside from the mirth-inspiring group, contemplates the surrounding gaieties, noting down in his memory the pleasing varieties and amusing anecdotes he has there heard; pleasantries with which at some future time he may enliven the social circle of his friends, or by reviving in print, recall the brightest and the best recollections of those who have participated in their gay delights.
"In this distinguish'd circle you will findMany degrees of man and woman kind."
And as I am here "life's painter, the very Spy o' the time," I shall endeavour to sketch a few of the leading Bath characters; most of the gay well-known being upon this occasion present, and many an eccentric star shining forth, whose light it would be difficult to encounter in any other circle. The accompanying view of the rooms by Transit will convey a correct idea of the splendour of the entertainment, and the fascinating appearance of the assembled groups.
"Ranged on the benches sit the lookers-on,Who criticise their neighbours one by one;Each thinks herself in word and deed so bless'd,That she's a bright example for the rest.Numerous tales and anecdotes they hatch,And prophesy the dawn of many a match;And many a matrimonial scheme declare,Unknown to either of the happy pair;Much delicate discussion they advance,About the dress and gait of those who dance;One stoops too much; and one is so upright,He'll never see his partner all the night;One is too lazy; and the next too rough;This jumps too high, and that not high enough.Thus each receives a pointed observation,Not that it's scandal—merely conversation."
A three months' sojournment at Bath had afforded my friend Eglantine an excellent opportunity forestimating public character, a science in which he was peculiarly well qualified to shine; since to much critical acumen was joined a just power of discrimination, aided by a generosity of feeling that was ever enlivened by good-humoured sallies of playful satire. To Horace Eglantine, I may apply the compliment which Cleland pays to Pope—he was incapable of either saying or writing "a line on any man, which through guilt, through shame, or through fear, through variety of fortune, or change of interest, he would ever be unwilling to own." It too often happens that the cynic and the satirist are themselves more than tinged with the foibles which they so severely censure in others. "You shall have a specimen of this infirmity," said Horace, "in the person of Peter Paul Pallet; a reverend gentleman whom you will observe yonder in the dress of a Chinese mandarin. Some few years since this pious personage took upon himself the task of lashing the prevailing follies of society in a satire entitled Bath Characters, and it must be admitted, the work proves him to have been a fellow of no ordinary talent; but an unfortunate amour with the wife of a reverend brother, which was soon after made public, added to certain other peculiarities and eccentricities, have since marked the satirist himself as one of the most prominent objects for the just application of his own weapon."
Come hither, Paul Pallet, your portrait I'll paint:You're a satirist, reverend sir, but no saint.
But as some of his characters are very amusing, and no doubt very correct portraits of the time, 1808, my readers shall have the advantage of them, that they may be the better able to contrast the past with the present, and form their own conclusions how far society has improved in morality by the increase of methodism, the influx of evangelical breathings, or the puritanical pretensions of bible societies. I shall pass by his description of the club; gaming ever wasand ever will be a leading fashionable vice, which only poverty and ruin can correct or cure. The clergy must, however, be greatly delighted at the following picture of the cloth, drawn by one of their holy brotherhood. "The Bath church," says the satirist, "is filled with croaking ravens, chattering jays, and devouring cormorants; black-headed fanatics and white-headed 'dreamers of dreams;' the aqua-fortis of mob politics, and the mawkish slip-slop of modern divinity; rank cayenne pepper, and genuine powder of post!" Really a very flattering description of our clerical comforters, but one which, I lament to say, will answer quite as well for 1826, with, perhaps, a little less of enthusiasm in the composition, and some faint glimmerings of light opposed to the darkness of bigotry and the frauds of superstition. Methodism is said to be on the wane—we can hear no better proof that true religion and good sense are coming into fashion. The sketch of Mrs. Vehicle, by the same hand, is said to have been a true copy of a well-known female gambler; it is like a portrait of Sir Joshua Reynolds, a picture worthy of preservation from its intrinsic merits, long after the original has ceased to exist: how readily might it be applied to half a score card-table devotees of the present day! "Observe thattonof beauty, Mrs. Vehicle, who is sailing up the passage, supported like a nobleman's coat of arms by her amiable sisters, the virtuous widow on one side, and the angelic Miss Speakplain on the other. By my soul! the same roses play upon her cheeks now that bloomed there winters ago, the natural tint of that identical patent rouge which she has enamelled her face with for these last twenty years; her gait and presence, too, are still the same—Vera incessa patuit Dea; she yet boasts the enchanting waddle of a Dutch Venus, and the modest brow of a Tower-hill Diana. Ah, Jack, would you but take a few lessons from my old friendat the science of shuffle and cut, you would not rise so frequently from the board of green cloth, as you now do, with pockets in which the devil might dance a saraband without injuring his shins against their contents. Why, man, she is a second Breslaw with a pack; I have known her deal four honours, nine trumps to herself three times in the course of one rubber, and not cut a higher card to her adversary than a three during the whole evening. Sensible of her talents, and of the impropriety of hiding them in a napkin, she chose Bath, independence, and her own skill in preference to a country parsonage, conjugal control, and limited pin-money. Hercaro sposomeanwhile retired to his living; and now blesses himself on his escape from false deals, odd tricks, and every honour but the true one." One more sketch, and I have done; but I cannot pass by the admirable portrait of a Bath canonical, "Jolly old Dr. Mixall, rosy as a ripe tomata, and round as his own right orthodox wig,
'With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bearThe weight of mightiest monarchies!'
Awful and huge, he treads the ground like one of Bruce's moving pillars of sand! What a dark and deep abyss he carries before him—the grave insatiate of turtle and turbot, red mullet and John Dories, haunches and pasties, claret, port, and home-brewed ale! But his good-humour alone would keep him at twenty stone were he to cease larding himself for a month to come; and when he falls, may the turf lie lightly on his stomach! Then shall he melt gently into rich manure;
'And fat be the gander that feeds on his grave.'""But now for the moderns," said Horace; "for theenchanting fair,'Whose snow-white bosoms fascinate the eye,Swelling in all the pride ofnudity;
The firm round arm, soft cheek, and pouting lip,And backs exposed below the jutting hip;To these succeed dim eyes, and wither'd face»,And pucker'd necks as rough as shagreen cases,But whose kind owners, hon'ring Bladud's ball,Benevolently show their little all.'"
But I must not particularize here, as I intend sketching the more prominent personages during a morning lounge in Milsom-street; when, appearing in their ordinary costume, they will be the more easily recognised in print, and remain a more lasting memorial of Bath eccentrics,
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Well-known Characters in the Pump-room taking a Sip withKing Bladud—Free Sketches of Fair Game—The awkwardRencontre, or Mr. B———and Miss L.—Public Bathing orstewing alive—Sober Thoughts—Milsom-street Swells—AVisit to the Pig and Whistle, Avon-street—of the BuffClub.To the pump-room we went, where the grave, and the gay,And the aged, and the sickly, lounge time away;Where all the choice spirits are seen making freeWith the sov'reign cordial, the trueeau de vie.
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Thedéjeunéover, the first place to which the stranger in Bath is most desirous of an introduction is the Pump-room; not that he anticipates restoration to health from drinking the waters, or imagines the virtues of immortality are to be found by immersion in the baths; but if he be a person of any condition, he is naturally anxious toshow offmake his bow to the gay throng, and, at the same time, elucidate the exact condition of Bath Society. If, however, he is a mere plebeian in search of novelty, coupling pleasure with business, or an invalid sent here by his doctors to end his days, he is still anxious, while life remains, to see and be seen; to observe whom he can recognise among the great folks he has known in the metropolis, or perchance, meet consolation from some suffering fellow citizen, who, like himself, has been conveyed to Bath to save his family the misery of seeing him expire beneath his own roof. "What an admirable variety of character does this scene present," said Transit, who, on our firstentrance, was much struck with the magnificence of the rooms, and still more delighted with the immense display of eccentricities which presented themselves. "I must introduce you, old fellow," said Eglantine, "to a few of the oddities who figure here. The strange-looking personage in the right-hand corner is usually called Dick Solus, from his almost invariably appearing abroad by himself, or dangling after the steps of some fair Thespian, to the single of whom he is a very constant tormentor. Mrs. Egan of the theatre, 'who knows what's what,' has christened him Mr. Dillytouch; while the heroes of the sock and buskin as invariably describe him by the appellation of Shake, from an unpleasant action he has both in walking and sitting. The sour-visaged gentleman at this moment in conversation with him is the renowned Peter Paul Pallet, esq., otherwise the Reverend Mr. M—————-. Behind them appears a celebrated dentist and his son, who has attained the rank of M.D., both well known here by the titles of the Grand Duke of Tusk-aney and Count Punn-tusk-y, a pair of worthies always on the lookout for business, and hence very constant attendants at the promenade in the Pump-room. The old gentleman in the chintz morning-gown hobbling along on crutches, from the gout, is a retired vinegar merchant, the father of a Chancery M.P., of whom the Bath wags say, 'that when in business, he must always have carried a sample of his best vinegar in his face.'" At this moment old Blackstrap advanced, and requested permission to introduce to our notice Jack Physick, an honest lawyer, and, as he said, one of the cleverest fellows and best companions in Bath. Jack had the good fortune to marry one of the prettiest and most attractive actresses that ever appeared upon the Bath stage, Miss Jamieson, upon which occasion, the wags circulated many pleasantjeux d'espritson the union of "love, law, and physic." The arrival of a very pompous gentleman, who appeared toexcite general observation, gave my friend Eglantine an opportunity of relating an anecdote of the eccentric, who figures in Pultney-street under the cognomen of the Bath bashaw. "There," said Horace, "you may see him every morning decorated in his flannelrobe de chambreand green velvet cap, seated outside in his balcony, smoking an immensely large German pipe, and sending forth clouds of fragrant perfume, which are pleasantly wafted right or left as the wind blows along the breakfast tables of his adjoining neighbours. This eccentric was originally a foundling discovered on the steps of a door in Rath, and named by the parochial officers, Parish: by great perseverance and good fortune he became a Hambro' merchant, and in process of time realized a handsome property, which, much to his honour and credit, he retired to spend a portion of among the inhabitants of this city, thus paying a debt of gratitude to those who had protected him in infancy when he was abandoned by his unnatural parents. The little fellow yonder with a military air, and no want of self-conceit, is a field-officer of the Bath volunteers, Adjutant Captain O'Donnel, a descendant from the mighty King Bryan Baroch, and, as we say at Eton, nosmall beer man, I assure you." "Who is that gigantic fellow just entering the rooms'?" said Heartly. "That is Long Heavisides," replied Eglantine, "whom Handsome Jack and two or three more of the Bath wits have christened, in derision, Mr. Light-sides, a right pleasant fellow, quite equal in intellect and good-humour to the altitude of his person, which, I am told, measures full six feet six." "Gentlemen," said the facetious Blackstrap, "here comes an old lady who has paid dearly for a bit of the Brown, lately the relict of the late Admiral M'Dougal, and now fresh at seventy the blooming wife of a young spark who has just attained the years of discretion, at least, as far as regardspecuniary affairs; for before leading the old lady into church, she very handsomely settled three thousand per annum upon her Adonis, as some little compensation to his feelings, for the rude jests and jeers he was doomed to bear with from his boon companions." "Eyes right, lads," said Eglantine; "the tall stout gentleman in a blue surtout and white trowsers is General B————-."
"Pshaw! never mind his name," said Heartly; "what are his peculiarities?" "Why—imprimis, he has a lovely young female commander in chief by his side—is a great reader with a very little memory. A very good story is told of him, that I fear might be applied with equal justice to many other great readers; namely, that some wags having at different times altered the title-page, and pasted together various leaves of a popular Scotch novel, they thus successfully imposed upon the General the task of reading the same matter three times over—by this means creating in his mind an impression, not very far from the truth, that all the works of the Great Unknown bore a very close similitude to each other; an opinion which the General is said to maintain very strenuously unto this hour. Of all the characters in the busy scene of life which can excite a pleasurable sensation in the close observer of men and manners, is your gay ancient, whether male or female; the sprightly Evergreens of society, whose buoyant spirits outlive the fiery course of youth, while their playful leafage buds forth in advanced life with all the freshness, fragrance, and vigour of the more youthful plants. Such," said Eglantine, "is the old beau yonder, my friend Curtis, who is here quaintly denominated the Everlasting.
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The jolly Bacchanalian, who accompanies him in his morning's lounge, is Charles Davis, a right jolly fellow, universally respected, although, it must be admitted, he is apartyman, since in ashow of hands, Charles must always, unfortunately, be on one side." A promenade up and down the room, and a visit to the goddess Hygeia, for such, I suppose, the ancient matron who dispenses the healing draught must be designated, gave us an opportunity of observing the fresh arrivals, among whom we had the pleasure to meet with an old naval officer, known to Heartly, a victim to the gout, wheeled about in a chair, expecting, to use his own sea phrase, to go to pieces every minute, but yet full of spirits as an admiral's grog bottle, as fond of a good joke as a fresh-caught reefer, and as entertaining as the surgeon's mate, or the chaplain of the fleet. "I say, Master Heavtly," said the captain, "the frigate yonder with the brown breast works, and she with the pink facings, look something like privateers. My forelights, Master Heartly, but if I had the use of my under works, I should be for firing a little grape shot across their quarters to see if I could not bring them into action!" "And I will answer for it, they would not show any objection to lie alongside of you, captain," said Eglantine, "while you had got a shot left in your locker. Mere Cyprian traders, captain, from the Gulf of Venus, engaged in gudgeon bawling, or on the lookout for flat fish. The little craft, with the black top, is called the Throgmorton; and the one alongside the Ormsby of Berkeley is the Pretty Lacy, a prime frigate, and quite new in the service. If you have a mind to sail up the Straits of Cytherea, captain, I can answer for it we shall fall in with a whole fleet of these light vessels, the two Sisters; the Emery's; the yawl, Thomson; that lively little cutter, Jackson; the transports, King and Hill; the lugger, Lewis; and the country ship, the Lady Grosvenor, all well found, and ready for service, and only waiting to be well manned. A good story is just now afloat about the Lacy, who, being recently taken up for private trade by Commodore Bowen, wasdiscovered to be sailing under false colours. It appears, that during the commander's absence a dashing enemy, the captain of the Hussar, a man of war, had entered the cabin privately, and having satisfied himself of the state of the vessel, took an opportunity to overhaul the ship's stores, when drinking rather freely of some choice love-age, a cordial kept expressly for the commodore's own use, he was unexpectedly surprised by the return of the old commander on board; and in making his escape through the cabin window into a boat he had in waiting, unfortunately left his time-piece and topmast behind. This circumstance is said to have put the commodore out of conceit with his little frigate, who has since been paid off', and is now chartered for general purposes." At this little episode of a well-known Bath story, the captain laughed heartily, and Transit was so much amused thereat, that on coming in contact with the commodore and the captain in our perambulations, he furnished the accompanying sketch of that very ludicrous scene, under the head of
The Bath beau and frail belle,Or Mr. B———and Miss L——-.
An excellent band of music, which continues to play from one to half past three o'clock every day during the season, greatly increases the attraction to the rooms, and also adds much to the cheerfulness and gaiety of the scene. We had now nearly exhausted our materials for observation; and having, to use Transit's phrase, booked every thing worthy of note, taken each of us a glass of the Bath water, although I confess not swallowing it without some qualmish apprehensions from the recollection of the four lines in Anstey's Bath Guide.
"They say it is right that for every glass,A tune you should take that the water may pass;So while little Tabby was washing her rump,The ladies kept drinking it out of the pump."
A very pleasant piece of satire, but somewhat, as I understand, at the expense of truth, since the well from which the water in the pump room is obtained is many feet below the one that supplies the baths; situation certainly assists the view of the satirist. I ought not to pass over here the story told us by our old friend Blackstrap, respecting the first discovery of these waters by Bladud, the son of Lud Hudibras, king of Britain; a fabulous tale, which, for the benefit of the city all true Bathonians are taught to lisp with their horn book, and believe with their creed, as genuine orthodox; and on which subject my friend Horace furnished the following impromptu.
Oh, Lud! oh, Lud! that hogs and mud{1}Should rival sage M.D.'s;And hot water, in this quarter,Cure each foul disease.
"Throw physic to the dogs, I'll have none on't,'" said Horace: "if hot water can effect such wonders, why, a plague on all the doctors! Let a man be content to distil his medicine fresh from his own teakettle, or make his washing copper serve the double purpose for domestic uses and a medicated bath.
'But what is surprising, no mortal e'er view'dAny one of the physical gentlemen stew'd.From the day that King Bladud first found out these bogs,And thought them so good for himself and his hogs,Not one of the faculty ever has triedThese excellent waters to cure his own hide;Though many a skilful and learned physician,With candour, good sense, and profound erudition,Obliges the world with the fruits of his brain,Their nature and hidden effects to explain.'1 See the fabulous account alluded to in Warner's History ofBath, where Bladud is represented to have discovered theproperties of the warm springs at Beechen Wood Swainswick,by observing the hogs to wallow in the mud that wasimpregnated therewith, and thus to have derived theknowledge of a cure for 'tis leprous affection.
Butallons, lads," said Horace, "we are here to follow the fashion, and indulge in all the eccentricities of the place; to note the follies of the time, and depict the chief actors, without making any personal sacrifice to correct the evil. Our satire will do more to remove old prejudices when it appears in print, aided by Bob Transit's pencil, than all our reasonings upon the spot can hope to effect, although we followed Mr. M'Culloch's economy, and lectured upon decency from break of day to setting sun. In quitting the pump-room we must not, however, omit to notice the statue of Beau Nash, before which Transit appears, inpropria personæ, sketching off the marble memento, without condescending to notice the busts of Pope and Newton, which fill situations on each side; a circumstance which in other times produced the following epigram from the pen of the witty earl of Chesterfield.
"The statue plac'd the busts betweenAdds satire to the strength;Wisdom and Wit are little seen,But Folly at full length."
Such is the attachment of man to the recollections of any thing associated with pleasure, that it is questionable if the memory of old Joe Miller is not held in higher estimation by the moderns than that of Father Luther, the reformer; and while the numerous amusing anecdotes in circulation tend to keep alive the fame of Nash, it is not surprising that the merry pay court to his statue, being in his own dominions, before they bow at the classic shrine of Pope, or bend in awful admiration beneath the bust of the greatest of philosophers.
"'Twas said of old, deny it now who can,The only laughing animal is man."
And we are about to present the reader with a right merry scene, one, too, if he has any fun in his composition, or loves a good joke, must warm the cocklesof his heart. Who would ever have thought, in these moralizing times, when the puritans are raising conventicles in every town and village, and the cant of vice societies has spread itself over the land, that in one of our most celebrated places of fashionable resort, there should be found baths where the young and the old, the beauteous female and the gay spark, are all indiscriminately permitted to enjoy the luxurious pleasure together. That such is the case in Bath no one who has recently participated in the pleasures of immersion will dispute, and in order to perpetuate that gratification, Bob Transit has here faithfully delineated the scene which occurred upon our entering the King's Bath, through the opening from the Queen's, where, to our great amusement and delight, we found ourselves surrounded by many a sportive nymph, whose beauteous form was partially hidden by the loose flannel gown, it is true; but now and then the action of the water, produced by the continued movements of a number of persons all bathing at the same time, discovered charms, the which to have caught a glimpse of in any other situation might have proved of dangerous consequences to the fair possessors. The baths, it must be admitted, are delightful, both from their great extent and their peculiar properties, as, on entering from the Queen's Bath you may enjoy the water at from 90 to 96 degrees, or requiring more heat have only to walk forward, through the archway, to obtain a temperature of 116. The first appearance of old Blackstrap's visage floating along the surface of the water, like the grog-blossomed trunk of the ancient Bardolph, bound up in a Welsh wig, was truly ludicrous, and produced such an unexpected burst of laughter from my merry companions, that I feared some of the fair Naiads would have fainted in the waters from fright, and then Heaven help them, for decency would have prevented our rushing to their assistance. The notices to prevent gentlemenfrom swimming in the baths are, in my opinion, so many inducements or suggestions for every young visitor to attempt it. Among our mad wags, Horace Eglantine was more than once remonstrated with by the old bathing women for indulging in this pleasure, to the great alarm of the ladies, who, crowding together in one corner with their aged attendants, appeared to be in a high state of apprehension lest the loose flannel covering that guards frail mortality upon these occasions should be drawn aside, and discover nature in all her pristine purity—an accident that had very nearly happened to myself, when, in endeavouring to turn round quickly, I found the water had disencumbered my frame of the yellow bathing robe, which floated on the surface behind me.
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One circumstance which made our party more conspicuous, was, the rejection of the Welsh wigs, which not all the entreaties of the attendant could induce any of the wags to wear. The young ladies disfigure themselves by wearing the black bonnets of the bathing women; but spite of this masquerading in the water, their lovely countenances and soul-subduing eyes, create sensations that will be more easily conceived than prudently described. A certain facetious writer, who has published his "Walks through Bath," alluding to this practice, speaks of it as having been prohibited in the fifteenth century. How long such prohibition, if it ever took place, continued, it is not for me to know; but if the Bath peripatetic historian had made it his business to have seen what he has described, he would have found, that the practice of bathing males and females together inpuris naturalibuswas still continued in high perfection, in spite of the puritans, the Vice Society, or the prohibition of Bishop Beckyngton.{2}
2 It appears, that about the middle of the fifteenth centuryit was the custom for males and females to bathe together,in puris naturalibus, which was at length prohibited byBishop Beckyngton, who ordered, by way of distinction, thewearing of breeches and petticoats; this indecency wassuppressed, after considerable difficulty, at the end of thesixteenth century, (quere, what indecency does our author ofthe "Walks through Bath" mean? the incumbrance of thebreeches and petticoats, we must imagine). It also seems,that about 1700 it was the fashion for both sexes to bathetogether indiscriminately, and the ladies used to decoratetheir heads with all the advantages of dress, as a mode ofattracting attention and heightening their charms. Thehusband of a lady in one of the baths, in company with BeauNash, was so much enraptured with the appearance of hiswife, that he very im-prudently observed, "she looked likean angel, and he wished to be with her." Nash immediatelyseized him by the collar, and threw him into the bath; thiscircumstance produced a duel, and Nash was wounded in hisright arm: it however had the good effect of establishingthe reputation of Nash, who shortly after became master ofthe ceremonies.
"You cannot conceive what a number of ladiesWere wash'd in the water the same as our maid is:How the ladies did giggle and set up their clacksAll the while an old woman was rubbing their backs;Oh! 'twas pretty to see them all put on their flannels,And then take the water, like so many spaniels;And though all the while it grew hotter and hotter,They swam just as if they were hunting an otter.'Twas a glorious sight to behold the fair sexAll wading with gentlemen up to their necks,And view them so prettily tumble and sprawlIn a great smoking kettle as big as our hall;And to-day many persons of rank and conditionWere boil'd, by command of an able physician."
From the baths we migrated to the grand promenade of fashion, Milsom Street, not forgetting to take a survey of the old Abbey Church, which, as a monument of architectural grandeur without, and of dread monition within, is a building worthy the attention of the antiquarian and the philosopher; while perpetuating the remembrance of many a cherished name to worth, to science, and to virtue dear, the artist and the amateur may derive much gratification from examining the many excellentpieces of sculpture with which the Abbey abounds. But for us, gay in disposition, and scarcely allowing ourselves time for reflection, such a scene had few charms, unless, indeed, the English Spy could have separated himself from the buoyant spirits with which he was attended, and then, wrapt in the gloom of the surrounding scene, and given up to serious contemplation, the emblems of mortality which decorate the gothic pile might have conjured up in his mind's eye the forms of many a departed spirit, of the blest shades of long-lost parents and of social friends, of those who, living, lent a lustre to the arts, of witty madcaps frost-bitten by the sable tyrant Death, nipped in the very bud of youth, while yet the sparkling jest was ripe upon the merry lip, and the ruddy glow of health upon the cheek gave earnest of a lengthened life———But, soft! methinks I hear my reader exclaim, "How now, madcap, moralizing Mr. Spy? art thou, too, bitten by the desire to philosophize, thou, 'the very Spy o' the time,' the merry buoyant rogue who has laughed all serious scenes to scorn, and riding over hill, and dale, and verdant plain upon thy fiery courser, fleet as the winds, collecting the cream of comicalities, and, beshrew thee, witling, plucking the brightest flowers that bloom in the road of pleasure to give thy merry garland's perfume, and deck thy page withal, art thou growing serious? Then is doomsday near; and poor, deserted, care-worn man left unprotected to the tempest's rage!" Not so, good reader, we are still the same merry, thoughtless, laughing, buoyant sprite that thou hast known us for the last two years; but the archer cannot always keep his bow upon the stretching point; so there are scenes, and times, and fancies produced by recollective circumstances and objects, which create strange conceits even in the light-hearted bosom of the English Spy. Such was the train of reflections which rushed involuntarily upon my mind as I noted down the passing events of the day, a practice usual with me when, retiring from the busy hum of men, I seek the retirement of my chamber to commit my thoughts to paper. I had recently passed through the depository where rest the remains of a tender mother—had sought the spot, unnoticed by my light-hearted companions, and having bedewed with tears of gratitude her humble grave, gave vent to my feelings, by the following tribute to a parent's worth.
MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.
Beneath yon ivy-mantled wall,In a lone corner, where the earthPresents a rising green mound, allOf her who lov'd and gave me birthLies buried deep. No trophied stone,Or graven verse denotes the spot:Her worth her epitaph alone,The green-sward grave her humble lot.How silent sleep the virtuous dead!For them few sculptured honours rise,No marble tablet here to spreadA fame—their every act implies.No mockery here, nor herald's shield,To glitter o'er a bed of clay;But snow-drops and fresh violets yieldA tribute to worth pass'd away.Tread lightly, ye who love or knowEn life's young road a parent's worth,Who yet are strangers to the woeOf losing those who gave you birth,
Who cherish'd, fondled, fed, and taughtFrom infancy to manhood's pride,Directing every opening thought,Teaching how Reason's power should guide.Ye rich and bold, ye grave and gay,Ye mightiest of the sons of men,Wealth, honours, fame shall sink away,And all be equalized again;Save what the sculptor may pourtray,And any tyrant, fool, or knaveWho has the wealth, may in that wayHis name from dull oblivion save;That is, he may perpetuateHis worthlessness, his frauds, and crimes;No matter what his tomb relate,His character lives with the times.Shade of my parent! couldst thou hearThe voice of him, thine only child,Implore thy loss with filial tear,And deck thy grave with sonnets wild,'Twould all thy troubles past repay,Thy anxious cares, thy hopes and fears,To find as time stole life away,Thy mem'ry brighten'd with his years.Yes, sacred shade! while mem'ry guidesThis ever wild eccentric brain,While reason holds or virtue chides,Still will I pour the filial strain.
"What," said my old friend Horace Eglantine, after reading this tribute to parental worth, "Bernard Blackmantle moralizing; our Spy turnedmonody-maker, writing epitaphs, and elegies, and odes to spirits that have no corporal substance, when there are so many living subjects yet left for his merrier muse to dwell upon? Come, old fellow, shake off this lethargy of the mind, this vision of past miseries, and prepare for present merriments.
'The streets begin to fill, the motley throngTo see and to be seen, now trip along;Some lounge in the bazaars, while others meetTo take a turn or two in Milsom-street;Some eight or ten round Mirvan's shop remain,To stare at those who gladly stare again.'
In short, my dear fellow, we are all waiting your company to join the swells in Milsom-street; where, I have no doubt, you will find many a star of fashion, whose eccentricities you will think justly entitles him to a niche in your gallery of living characters.
'Lords of the creation, who, half awake,Adorn themselves their daily lounge to take;Each lordly man his taper waist displays,Combs his sweet locks, and laces on his stays,Ties on his starch'd cravat with nicest care,And then steps forth to petrify the fair.'
Such, for instance, is that roué yonder, the very prince of Bath fops, Handsome Jack, whose vanity induces him to assert that his eyebrows are worth one hundred per annum to any young fellow in pursuit of a fortune: it should, however, be admitted, that his gentlemanly manners and great good-nature more than compensate for any little detractions on the score of self-conceit. What the son is, the father was in earlier life; and the old beau is not a little gratified to observe the estimation in which his son is held by the fair sex, on account of his attractive person and still more prepossessing manners.
"You have heard of Peagreen Hayne's exploits at Burdrop Park; and here comes the proprietor of theplace, honest Tom Calley, as jovial a true-hearted English gentleman as ever followed a pack of foxhounds, or gloried in preserving and promoting the old English hospitalities of the table: circumstances, the result of some hard runs and long odds, have a little impaired the family exchequer; however the good wishes of all who know him attend him in adversity. But the clouds which have for a time obstructed his sunshine of mirth are fast wearing away, and when he shall return to the enjoyment of his patrimonial acres, he will be sure to meet a joyous welcome from all surrounding him, accompanied with the heartfelt congratulations of those to whom in Bath he is particularly endeared. The smart little fellow driving by in his cabriolet is beau Burgess, a single star, and one of no mean attraction among the fair spinsters, who can estimate the merits and admire the refulgence of ten thousand sovereign attendant satellites.
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Bath is, perhaps, now the only place in the kingdom where there is yet to be found a four-in-hand club; a society of gentlemen Jehus, who formerly in London cut no inconsiderable figure in the annals of fashion, and who, according to our mode of estimating the amusements of the gay world, were very unfairly satirized, seeing, that with the pursuit of pleasure was combined the additional employment of a large number of mechanics, and a stimulus given, not only to the improvement of a noble breed of horses, but to the acquirement of a knowledge, the perfection of which in the metropolis is particularly necessary to the existence of the peripatetic pleasures of his majesty's subjects. Here we have Colonel Allen, who puts along a good team in very prime style, and having lately been spliced to a good fortune, is a perfect master in themanage-ment of the bit.
"Squire Richards is, also, by no means a contemptible knight of the ribbons, only he sometimes measureshis distance a little too closely; a practice, which if he does not improve upon, may some day, in turning a corner, not bring him off right. 'A follower of the Buxton school and a true knight of the throng,' says old Tom Whipcord in the Annals of Sporting, 'must not expect to drive four high-bred horses well with an opera-glass stuck in his right ogle.' A bit of good advice that will not only benefit the squire if he attends to it, but perhaps save the lives of one or two of the Bath pedestrians. The leader of the club, who, by way of distinction from his namesake the colonel, is designated Scotch Allen, is really a noble whip, putting along four horses in first-rate style, all brought well up to their work, and running together as close and as regular as the wheels of his carriage. The comical little character upon the strawberry pony is the Bath Adonis; a fine specimen of the Irish antique, illustrated with a beautiful brogue,and emblazoned with a gold coat of arms. The amours of old B—————-in Bath would very well fill a volume of themselves; but the anecdote I gave you in the Pump-room of little Lacy and her paramour will be sufficient to show you in what estimation he is held by the ladies." "Give me leave to introduce you to a Raer fellow," said Heartly; "an old friend of mine, who has all his lifetime been a wholesale dealer in choice spirits, and having now bottled off enough for the remainder of his life, is come to spend the evening of his days in Bath among the bon vivants of the elegant city, enjoying the tit bits of pleasure, and courting the sweet society of the pretty girls. By heavens! boys, we shall be found out, and you, Mr. Spy, will be the ruin of us all, for here comes our old sporting acquaintance, Charles Bannatyne, with his Jackall at his heels, accompanied by that mad wag Oemsby, the Cheltenham amateur of fashion, and the gallant little Lieutenant Valombre, who having formerly made a rich capture of Spanish dollars, is perhaps upon the look-out herefor a frigate well-laden with English specie, in order to sail in consort, and cruize off the straits of independence for life. Well, success attend him," said Heartly; "for he well deserves a good word whether at sea or on shore. The military-looking gentleman yonder, who is in close conversation with that rough diamond, Ellis, once a London attorney, is the highly-respected Colonel Fitzgerald, whom our friend Transit formerly caricatured under the cognomen of Colonel Saunter, a good-humoured joke, with which he is by no means displeased himself." "But, my dear fellows," said Transit, "if we remain fixed to this spot much longer, we shall have the eyes of all thebeau mondeupon us, and stand a chance of being pointed at for the rest of the time that we remain in Bath." A piece of advice that was not wholly unnecessary, for being personally known to a few of the sporting characters, our visit to the elegant city had spread like wildfire, and on our appearance in Milsom-street, a very general desire was expressed by the beaux to have a sight of the English Spy and his friend Transit, by whose joint labours they anticipated they might hereafter live to fame.
One of the most remarkable personages of the old school still left to Bath is the celebrated Captain Mathews, the author of "a short Treatise on Whist," and the same gentleman who at an early period of life contested with the late R. B. Sheridan, upon Lansdowne, for the fair hand of the beauteous Miss Lindly, the lady to whom the wit was afterwards married. In this way did my pleasant friends Heartly and Eglantine continue to furnish me with brief notices of the most attractive of the stars of fashion who usually lounge away the mornings in Milsom-street, exchanging the familiar nod and "How d'ye do?" and holding sweet discourse among their fragrant selves upon the pursuits of thehaute classe, the merits of the last new novel, or the fortune of the last unmarried femininearrival. To these may be added reminiscences of the last night's card-table and remarks upon the Balls at the rooms; for