The English Spy Part 42

1 John Liston, the comedian, is in private life not less conspicuous for finished pleasantry and superior manners than he is on the stage for broad humour; but nothing can offend the actor more than an invitation given merely in the expectation of his displaying at table some of his professional excellences. John had, on one occasion, accepted an invitation to dine with a wealthy citizen en famille; the repast over--the wine had circulated--a snug friend proposed the health of Mr. Liston; and John returned thanks with as much dignity as a minister of state eating white bait at Blackwall with the wors.h.i.+pful company of fishmongers. Then came the amiable civilities of the lady of the mansion, evidently intended to ingratiate herself with the actor, the better to secure his a.s.sent to her request, but not a muscle of the comedian gave the least encouragement. The little citizens, who were huddled round their mamma, and had been staring at the actor in anxious expectation, were growing very impatient. The eldest boy had already recited young Norval's speech to Lady Douglas, by way of prologue; but the actor still continued mute, never for a moment unbending to the smirking encourage-ment of his hostess, or the jolly laugh-exciting reminiscences of his ruby-faced host; as, for instance, "Lord, Mr. Liston, what a funny figure you looked t'other night in Moll Flaggon!" or, "How you made thorn laugh in Tony Lumpkin! and then what a fright you was in Mrs. Ches.h.i.+re. Couldn't you give us a touch just now?" "Ay, do, Mr. Liston, pray do," vociferated a dozen tongues at once, including mamma, the little misses and mastery. "The children have been kept up two hours later than usual on purpose," said the lady mother. "Ay, come, my good fellow," reiterated the cit, "take another gla.s.s, and then give us some-thing funny to amuse the young ones." This was the finis.h.i.+ng blow to Liston's offended dignity--to be invited to dinner by a fat fleshmonger, merely to amuse his uncultivated cubs, was too much for the nervous system of the comedian to bear; but how to retreat?" I have it,"

thought John, "by the cut direct;" rising and bowing, therefore, to the company, as if intending to yield to their entreaties, he begged permission to retire to make some little arrangement in his dress, to personate Vanish; when, leaving them in the most anxious expectation for more than half an hour, on ringing the bell, they learned from the servant that Mr. Liston had suddenly Vanished by the street- door, and was, of course, never seen in that direction more.

~59~~of a cracked trumpet in the street arrested my attention. "I vonder vat that ere hinstrument can mean, my dear!" said Mrs. Alderman Marigold, (advancing to the window with eager curiosity). "It's wery likely some fire company's men marching to a bean-feast, or a freemason's funeral obscenities," replied the alderman. When another blast greeted our ears with a few notes of "See the Conquering Hero comes," "La, mamma," whined out Miss Biddy Marigold, "I declare, it's that filthy fellow Punch coming afore our vindow vith his imperence; I prognosticated how it voud be, ven the alderman patronised him last veek by throwing avay a whole s.h.i.+lling upon his fooleries." "You've no taste for fun, Biddy," replied the alderman; at the same time making his daughter and myself a subst.i.tute for crutches, by resting a hand upon each shoulder. "I never laid out a s.h.i.+lling better in the whole course of my life. A good laugh beats all the French medicine, and drives the gout out at the great toe. I mean to pension Mr. Punch at a s.h.i.+lling a veek to squeak before my vindow of a Sat.u.r.day, in preference to paying six guineas for a ~60~~box to hear all that outlandish squeaking at the hopera." "La, pa, how ungenteel!" said Miss Biddy; "I declare you're bringing quite a new-sense to all the square, vat vith your hurdy-gurdy vonien, French true-baw-dears, and barrel organ-grinders, n.o.body has no peace not at all in the neighbourhood." During this elegant colloquy, the immortal Mr. Punch had reared his chequered theatre upon the pavement opposite, the confederate showman had concealed himself beneath the woollen drapery, and the Italian comedian had just commenced his merry note of preparation by squeaking some of those little s.n.a.t.c.hes of tunes, which act with talismanic power upon the locomotive faculties of all the peripatetics within hearing, attracting everybody to the travelling stage, young and old, gentle and simple; all the crowd seem as if magic chained them to the spot, and each face exhibits as much anxiety, and the mind, no doubt, antic.i.p.ates as much or more delight, than if they were a.s.sembled to see Charles Kemble, Young, and Macready, all three acting in one fine tragedy. There is something so indescribably odd and ridiculous about the whole paraphernalia of Mr.

Punch, that we are irresistibly compelled to acknowledge the superiority of the lignum vito Roscius over the histrionic corps of mere flesh and blood. The eccentricity of this immortal personage, his foreign, funny dialogue, the whim and strange conceit exhibited in his wooden drama, the gratuitous display, and the unrestricted laugh he affords--all combine to make Mr. Punch the most popular performer in the world. Of Italian origin, he has been so long domiciled in England, that he may now be considered naturalized by common consent. Indeed, I much question, if a greater misfortune could befall the country, than the removal or suppression of Mr. Punch and his laugh-provoking drolleries:--it would be considered a national calamity; but Mirth protect ~61~~us from such a terrible mishap! Another sound from an old cracked trumpet, something resembling a few notes of "Arm, Arm, ye Brave," and an accompaniment by the great actor himself of a few more "tut, tut, tutura, lura, lu's," in his own original style, have now raised excitement to the highest pitch of expectation. The half inflated lungs of the alderman expand by antic.i.p.ation, and his full foggy breathings upon the window-gla.s.s have already compelled me more than once to use my handkerchief to clear away the mist. The a.s.sembled group waiting the commencement of his adventures, now demands my notice. What a scene for my friend Transit! I shall endeavour to depict it for him.

The steady looking old gentleman in the fire-shovel clerical castor, how sagaciously he leers round about him to see if he is likely to be recognised! not a countenance to whom he is known; he smiles with self-complacency at the treat he is about to enjoy; plants himself in a respectable doorway, for three reasons; first, the advantage from the rise of the step increasing his alt.i.tude; second, the security of his pockets from attacks behind; and third, the pretence, should any Goth to whom he is known, observe him enjoying the scene, that he is just about to enter the house, and has merely been detained there by accident.

Excellent apologist!--how ridiculous!--Excessive delicacy, avaunt! give me a glorious laugh, and "throw (affectation) to the dogs; I'll have none of it." Now the farce begins: up starts the immortal hero himself, and makes his bow; a simultaneous display of "broad grins" welcomes his felicitous entree; and for a few seconds the scene resembles the appearance of a popular election candidate, Sir Francis Burdett, or his colleague, little Cam Hobhouse, on the hustings in Covent Garden; nothing is heard but one deafening shout of clamorous approbation.

Observe the butcher's boy has stopped his ~62~~horse to witness the fun, spite of the despairing cook who waits the promised joint; and the jolly lamp-lighter, laughing hysterically on the top of his ladder, is pouring the oil from his can down the backs and into the pockets of the pa.s.sengers beneath, instead of recruiting the parish-lamp, while the sufferers are too much interested in the exhibition to feel the trickling of the greasy fluid. The baker, careless of the expectant owner's hot dinner, laughs away the time until the pie is quite cold; and the blus.h.i.+ng little servant-maid is exercising two faculties at once, enjoying the frolics of Signor Punch, and inventing some plausible excuse for her delay upon an expeditious errand. How closely the weather-beaten tar yonder clasps his girl's waist! every amorous joke of Signor Punch tells admirably with him; till, between laughing and pressing, Poll is at last compelled to cry out for breath, when Jack only squeezes her the closer, and with a roaring laugh vociferates, "My toplights! what the devil will that fellow Punch do next, Poll?" The milkman grins unheedful of the cur who is helping himself from out his pail; and even the heavy-laden porter, sweating under a load of merchandise, heaves up his shoulders with laughter, until the ponderous bale of goods shakes in the air like a rocking-stone. (See Plate.) Inimitable actor! glorious Signor Punch! show me among the whole of the dramatis persona in the patent or provincial theatres, a single performer who can compete with the mighty wooden Roscius.

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The alderman's eulogium on Mr. Punch was superlatively good. "I love a comedy, Mr. Blackmantle," said he, "better than a tragedy, because it makes one laugh; and next to good eating, a hearty laugh is most desirable. Then I love a farce still better than a comedy, because that is more provokingly merry, or broader as the critics have it; then, sir, a pantomime beats both comedy and ~63~~farce hollow; there's such lots of fun and shouts of laughter to be enjoyed in that from the beginning to the end. But, sir, there's one performance that eclipses all these, tragedy, comedy, farce, and pantomime put together, and that is Mister Punch--for a right-down, jolly, split-my-side burst of laughter, he's the fellow; name me any actor or author that can excite the risibilities of the mult.i.tude, or please all ages, orders, and conditions, like the squeaking pipe and mad waggeries of that immortal, merry-faced itinerant. If any man will tell me that he possesses genius, or the mellow affections, and that he can pa.s.s Punch,

'Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind;'

then, I say, that man's made of 'impenetrable stuff;' and, being too wise for whimsicality, is too phlegmatic for genius, and too crabbed for mellowness." Mark, what a set of merry open-faced rogues surround Punch, who peeps down at them as cunningly as "a magpie peeping into a marrow bone; "--how luxuriantly they laugh, or stand with their eyes and mouths equally distended, staring at the minikin effigy of fun and phantasy; thinking, no doubt,

"He bin the greatest wight on earth."

And, certainly, he has not his equal, as a positive, dogmatic, knock-me-down argument-monger; a dare devil; an embodied phantasmagoria, or frisky infatuation. I have often thought that Punch might be converted to profitable use, by being made a speaking Pasquin; and, properly instructed, might hold up his restless quarter staff, in terrorem, over the heads of all public outragers of decency; and by opening the eyes of the million, who flock to his orations, enlighten them, at least, as much as many greater folks, who make more noise than he, and who, ~64~~like him, often get laughed at, without being conscious that they are the subjects of merriment. The very name of our old friend Punch inspires us in our social moments. What other actor has been commemorated by the potential cup? is not the sacred bowl of friends.h.i.+p dedicated to the wooden hero? would you forget the world, its cares, vexations, and anxieties, sip of the mantling, mirth-inspiring cordial, and all within is jollity and gay delight.

"For Punch cures the gout, the cholic, and the phthisic, And it is to every man the very best of physic."

Honest, kind-hearted Punch! I could write a volume in thy praise, and then, I fear, I should leave half thy merits untold. Thou art worth a hundred of the fas.h.i.+onable kickshaws that are daily palmed upon us to be admired; and thy good-humoured efforts to please at the expense of a broken pate can never be sufficiently praised.

But now the curtain rises, and Mr. Punch steals from behind his two-foot drapery: the very tip of his arched nose is the prologue to a merry play; he makes his bow to the mult.i.tude, and salutes them with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance. What a glorious reception does he meet with from an admiring audience! And now his adventures commence--his "dear Judy," the partner of his life, by turns experiences all the capricious effects of love and war. What a true picture of the storms of life!--how admirable an essay on matrimonial felicity! Then his alternate uxoriousness to the lady, and his fondlings of that pretty "kretur" with the family countenance; his chivalrous exploits on horseback, and mimic capering round the lists of his chequered tilt-yard; his unhappy differences with the partner of his bosom, and her lamentable catastrophe; the fracas with the sheriff's subst.i.tute; and his interview with that incomprehensible personage, ~65~~the knight of the sable countenance, who salutes him with the portentous address of "schalabala! schalabala! schalabala!" his successive perils and encounters with the ghost of the martyred Judy; and, after his combat with the great enemy of mankind, the devil himself, "propria Marte" his temporary triumph; and, finally, his defeat by a greater man than old Lucifer, the renowned Mr. John Ketch. Talk of modern dramas, indeed!--show me any of your Dimonds, Reynolds, Dibdins, or Crolys that can compare with Punchiana, in the unities of time, place, costume, and action, intricate and interesting plot, situations provokingly comical and effective, and a catastrophe the most appallingly surprising and agreeable. Then his combats aux batons are superior even to Bradley and Blanchard; but the ne plus ultra of his exploits, the cream of all his comicalities, the grand event, is the ingenious trick by which Mr. Punch, when about to suffer on the scaffold, disposes of the executioner, and frees himself from purgatory, by persuading the unsuspecting hangman, merely for the sake of instruction to an uninitiated culprit, to try his own head in the noose: Punch, of course, seizes the perilous moment--runs him up to the top of the fatal beam--Mr. John Ketch hangs suspended in the air--Punch shouts a glorious triumph--all the world backs him in his conquest--the old cracked trumpet sounds to victory--the showman's hat has made the transit of the circle, and returns half-filled with the voluntary copper contributions of the happy audience. The alderman drops his tributary s.h.i.+lling, while his fat sides shake with laughter; even Mrs. Marigold and the amiable Miss Biddy have become victims to the vulgar inspiration, and are laughing as heartily as if they were enjoying the grimaces of the first of buffos, Signor Ambrogetti. And now the curtain falls, and the busy group disperse their several ways, chuckling with delight over the ~66~~recollections of the mad waggeries of immortal Mr. Punch.

All hail! thou first great mimic chief, Physician to the mind's relief; Thrice hail! most potent Punch.

Not Momus' self, should he appear, Could dim the l.u.s.tre of thy sphere; So hail! all hail! great Punch.

Bernard Blackmantle.

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THE WESTMINSTER SCHOLAR.

Reminiscences of former Times--Lamentations of Old Crony-- Ancient Sports and Sprees--Modern Im-provements--Hints to Builders and Buyers--Some Account of the School and its Worthies--Recollections of old Schoolfellows--Sketches of Character--The Living and the Dead.

"Fast by, an old but n.o.ble fabric stands, No vulgar work, but raised by princely hands; Which, grateful to Eliza's memory, pays, In living monuments, an endless praise."

From a poem by a Westminster Scholar, written during Dr. Friend's Masters.h.i.+p, in 1699.

~67~~

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"What say you to a stroll through _Thorney Island_,{1} this morning?"

said old Crony, with whom I had been taking a _dejeune a la fourchette_; "you have indulged your readers with all the whims and eccentricities of Eton and of Oxford, and, in common justice, you must not pa.s.s by the _Westminster blacks_."{2} Crony had, I learned, been a foundation scholar during the masters.h.i.+p of Dr. Samuel Smith; when the poet Churchill, Robert Lloyd, (the son of the under-master) Bonnel Thornton, George Colman the elder, Richard c.u.mberland, and a host of other highly-gifted names, were a.s.sociated within the precincts of the abbey cloisters. Our way towards

1 The abbey ground, so called by the monkish writers; but, since Busby's time, more significantly designated by the scholars _Birch Island.--Vide Tidier_.

2 Black------s from Westminster; ruff--s from Winchester; and gentlemen from Eton.--_Old Cambridge Proverb_.

~68~~Westminster from the Surrey side of Vauxhall bridge, where Crony had taken up his abode, lay through the scene of his earliest recollections; and, not even Crockery himself could have been more pathetic in his lamentations over the improvements of modern times.

"Here," said Crony, placing himself upon the rising ground which commands an uninterrupted view of the bank, right and left, and fronts the new road to Chelsea, and, the Grosvenor property; "here, in my boyish days, used the Westminster scholars to congregate for sports and sprees. Many a juvenile frolic have I been engaged in beneath the shadowy willows that then o'ercanopied the margin of old father Thames; but they are almost all destroyed, and with them disappears the fondest recollections of my youth. Upwards, near yonder frail tenement which is now fast mouldering into decay, lived the beautiful gardener's daughter, the flower of Millbank, whose charms for a long time excited the admiration of many a n.o.ble name, ay, and inspired many a n.o.ble strain too, and produced a chivalrous rivalry among the young and generous hearts who were then of Westminster. Close to that spot all matches on the water were determined; and beneath yon penthouse, many a jovial cup have I partook of with the contending parties, when the aquatic sports were over, in the evening's cool retirement, or seated on the benches which then filled up the s.p.a.ce between the trees in front of Watermans'

Hall, as the little public house then used to be called. About half a mile above was the favourite bathing-place; and just over the water below Lambeth palace, yet may be seen Doo's house, where, from time immemorial, the Westminster boys had been supplied with funnies, skiffs, wherries, and sailing-boats. The old mill which formerly stood on the right-hand of the river, and from which the place derived its name, has now entirely disappeared; and in lieu of the ~69~~green fields and pleasant walks with which this part of the suburbs abounded, we have now a number of square brick-dust tubs, miscalled cottages _ornee_, and a strange-looking Turkish sort of a prison called a Penitentiary, which from being judiciously placed in a swamp is rendered completely uninhabitable. c.u.mberland-gardens, on the opposite side, was, in former times, in great vogue; here the cits used to rusticate on a summer's evening, coming up the water in shoals to show their dexterity in rowing, and daring the dangers of the watery element to _blow a cloud_ in the fresh air, and ruralise upon the 'margin of old father Thames.'

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But where can the Westminster boys of the present day look for amus.e.m.e.nts? there's no snug spot now for a dog-tight or a badger-bait.

Earl Grosvenor has converted all the green lanes into Macadamised roads, and covered the turf with new brick tenements. No taking a pleasant toodle with a friend now along the sequestered banks, or shooting a few sparrows or fieldfares in the neighbourhood of the _five chimnies_{3} not a s.p.a.ce to be found free from the encroachments of modern speculators, or big enough for a bowling alley or a cricket match.

Tothill-fields have altogether disappeared; and the wand of old Merlin would appear to have waved over and dispersed the most trifling vestiges and recollections of the past. A truce with your improvements!" said Crony, combating my attempt to harmonise his feelings; "tell me what increases the lover's boldness and the maiden's tenderness more than the fresh and fragrant air, the green herbage, and the quiet privacy of retired spots, where all nature yields a delightful inspiration to the mind. There where the lovers find delight, the student finds repose, secluded from the busy haunts of men, and yet able, by a few strides, to mingle again at pleasure with the world, the man of

3 Since called the Five-fields, Chelsea; and a favourite resort of the Westminster scholars of that time, but now built upon.

~70~~contemplation turns aside to consult his favourite theme, and having run out his present stock of thoughtful meditation, wheels him round, and finds himself one of the busy group again.{4} As we advance

4 The Rogent's-park, formerly called Marylebone, is an improve-ment of this nature. It was originally a park, and had a royal palace in it, where, I believe, Queen Elizabeth occasionally resided. It was disbarked by Oliver Cromwell, who settled it on Colonel Thomas Harrison's regiment of dragoons for their pay; but at the restoration of Charles II. it pa.s.sed into the hands of other possessors; from which time it has descended through different proprietors, till, at length, it has reverted to the Crown, by whose public spirit a magnificent park is secured to the inhabitants of London. The expense of its planting, &c. must have been enormous; but money cannot be better laid out than on purposes of this lasting benefit and national ornament.

The plan and size of the park is in every respect worthy of the nation. It is larger than Hyde-park, St. James's, and the Greenpark together; and the trees planted in it about twelve years ago have already become umbrageous. The water is very extensive. As you are rowed on it, the variety of views you come upon is admirable: sometimes you are in a narrow stream, closely overhung by the branches of trees; presently you open upon a wide sheet of water, like a lake, with swans sunning themselves on its bosom; by and by your boat floats near the edge of a smooth lawn fronting one of the villas; and then again you catch the perspective of a range of superb edifices, the elevation of which is contrived to have the effect of one palace. The park, in fact, is now belted with groups of these mansions, entirely excluding all sight of the streets. Those that are finished, give a satisfactory earnest of the splendid spirit in which the whole is to be accomplished. There will be nothing like it in Europe. The villas in the interior of the park are planted out from the view of each other, so that the inhabitant of each seems, in his prospect, to be the sole lord of the surround-ing picturesque scenery.

In the centre of the park there is a circular plantation of im-mense circ.u.mference, and in the interior of this you are in a perfect Arcadia. The mind cannot conceive any thing more hushed, more sylvan, more entirely removed from the slightest evidence of proximity to a town. Nothing is audible there except the songs of birds and the rustling of leaves. Kensington gardens, beautiful as they are, have no seclusion so perfect as this.

~71~~in life we cling still closer to the recollections of our infancy; the cheerful man loves to dwell over the scenes and frolics of his boyish days; and we are stricken to the very heart by the removal or change of these pleasant localities; the loss of an old servant, an old building, or an old tree, is felt like the loss of an old friend. The paths, and fields, and rambles of our infancy are endeared to us by the fondest and the purest feelings of the mind; we lose sight of our increasing infirmities, as we retrace the joyous mementos of the past, and gain new vigour as we recall the fleeting fancies and pleasant vagaries of our earliest days. I am one of those," continued Crony, "who am doomed to deplore the destructive advances of what generally goes by the name of improvement; and yet, I am not insensible to the great and praiseworthy efforts of the sovereign to increase the splendour of the capital westward; but leave me a few of the green fields and hedgerow walks which used to encircle the metropolis, or, in a short s.p.a.ce, the first stage from home will only be half-way out of London. A humorous writer of the day observes, that 'the rage for building fills every pleasant outlet with bricks, mortar,rubbish,and eternal scaffold-poles, which, whether you walk east, west, north, or south, seem to be running after you. I heard a gentleman say, the other day, that he was sure a resident of the suburbs could scarcely lie down after dinner, and take a nap, without finding, when he awoke, that a new row of buildings had started up since he closed his eyes. It is certainly astonis.h.i.+ng: one would think the builders used magic, or steam at least, and it would be curious to ask those gentlemen in what part of the neighbouring counties they intend London should end. Not content with separate streets, squares, and rows, they are actually the founders of new towns, which in the s.p.a.ce of a few months become finished and inhabited. The precincts of London have more the appearance of a newly-discovered colony than ~72~~the suburbs of an ancient city.{5} And what, sir, will be the pleasant consequences of all this to posterity? Instead of having houses built to enc.u.mber the earth for a century or two, it is ten to one but they disenc.u.mber the mortgagee, by falling down with a terrible crash during the first half life, and, perhaps, burying a host of persons in their ruins. Mere paste-board palaces are the structures of the present times, composed of lath and plaster, and Parker's cement, a few coloured bricks, a fanciful viranda, and a balcony, embellished within by the _decorateur_, and stuccoed or whitewashed without, to give them a light appearance, and hide the defects of an ignorant architect or an unskilful builder; while a very few years introduces the occupant to all the delightful sensations of cracked walls, swagged floors, bulged fronts, sinking roofs, leaking gutters, inadequate drains, and other innumerable ills, the effects of an originally bad const.i.tution, which dispels any thing like the hopes of a reversionary interest, and clearly proves that without a renovation equal to resurrection, both the building and the occupant are very likely to fall victims to a rapid consumption." In this way did Crony contrive to beguile the time, until we found ourselves entering the arena in front of the Dean's house, Westminster. "Here, alone," said my old friend, "the hand of the innovator has not been permitted to intrude; this spot remains unpolluted; but, for the neighbourhood, alas!" sighed Crony, "that is changed indeed. The tavern in Union-street,

5 For instance: in what a very short time back were the Bays-water-fields, there is now a populous district, called by the inhabitants "Moscow;" and at the foot of Primrose- hill we are amazed by coming upon a large complication of streets, &c. under the name of "Portland Town." The rustic and primaeval meadows of Kilburn are also filling with raw buildings and incipient roads; to say nothing of the charming neighbourhood of St. John's Wood Farm, and other spots nearer town.

~73~~where Charles Churchill, and Lloyd, and Bonnel Thornton used to meet and mix wit, and whim, and strong potation, has sunk into a common pot-house, and is wholly neglected by the scholars of the present time: not that they are a whit more moral than their predecessors, but, professing to be more refined, they are now to be found at the Tavistock, or the Hummums, at Long's, or Steven's; more polished in their pleasures, but more expensive in their pursuits."

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As we approached the centre of Dean's-yard, Crony's visage evidently grew more sentimental; the curved lips of the cynic straightened to an expression of kindlier feeling, and ere we had arrived at the school-door, the old eccentric had mellowed down into a generous contemplatist. "Ay," said Crony, "on this spot, Mr. Black mantle, half a century ago, was I, a light-hearted child of whim, as you are now, a.s.sociated with some of the greatest names that have since figured in the history of our times, many of whom are now sleeping in their tombs beneath a weight of worldly honours, while some few have left a n.o.bler and a surer monument to exalt them with posterity, the well-earned tribute of a nation's grat.i.tude, the never-fading fame which attaches itself to good works and great actions. Among the few families of my time who might be styled ''_magni nominis_' in college, were the Finches, the Drummonds, (arch-bishop's sons), and the Markhams. Tom Steele{6} was on the foundation also, and had much fame in playing Davus. The Hothams{7} were considered among the lucky hits of Westminster; the Byngs{8} thought not as lucky as they should have been.

Mr. Drake{9}

6 A descendant of the celebrated Sir Richard Steele, the a.s.sociate of Addison in the Spectator, Tatler, Crisis, &c.

7 Sir Henry and Sir William Hotham, admirals in the British navy.

8 Viscount Torrington, a rear-admiral of the blue.

9 Thomas Tyrwhitt Drake, Esq., (I believe) member for Agmondesham, Bucks.

~74~~of Amersham was one of the best scholars of his time; for a particular act of beneficence, two guineas given out of his private pocket-money to a poor sufferer by a fire, Dr. Smith gave him a public reward of some books. Lord Carmarthen{10} here came to the t.i.tle, on the death of his eldest brother. Here too he found the Jacksons, and what was more, the Jacksons{11} found him. Lord Foley had, during his stay here, two narrow escapes for his life, once being nearly drowned in the Thames, and secondly, by a hack-horse running away with him: the last incident was truly ominous of the n.o.ble lord's favourite, but unfortunate pursuits{12}. Sir John St. Aubyn is here said to have formed his attachments with several established characters in the commercial world, as Mr. Beckett, and others; which afterwards proved of the highest consequence to his pursuits and success in life. Lord Bulkley had the credit of being one of the handsomest and best-humoured boys of his time, and so he continued through life. Michael Angelo Taylor{13} was remarkable for his close application, under his tutor Hume, and the tutor as remarkable for application to him.

Hatton, junior. Lawyers, if not always good scholars, generally are something better; with much strong practical sense, and a variety of all that "makes a ready man; "Hatton was all this, both as to scholars.h.i.+p, and the pertinent application of it. Though a nephew of Lord Mansfield, and bred up under his auspices, he was not more remarkable than his brother George for the love of bullion. His abilities were great, and they would have been greatly thought of, had he been personally less locomotive. "Ah, ah," said his uncle, "you'll never prosper till you learn to stay in a place." He replied, "O never fear, sir, do but get me a place; and I'll learn of you to stay in it."