292~The worthy Bristolians must not feel offended if we pass them by rather briefly; had ours been a tour of business, connected with commercial pursuit instead of a search after whim and character, we should no doubt have found materials enough to have filled a dozen chapters; but such pursuits are foreign to the eccentric volumes of the English Spy, whose sole aim is humour, localized, and embracing characteristic scenes. Such is the above sketch, which struck Transit and myself, as we took a stroll down Bridge-street while our breakfast was preparing at the White Hart; it was a bit of true life, and cannot fail to please: but, after all, Bristol resembles London so closely, at least the ~293~~eastern part of the metropolis, that although we saw much that would have been worthy the attention of the antiquary and the curious in their several churches and museums, or might, with great advantage, have been transferred to the note book of the topographer, yet we met with none of that peculiar whimsical character that distinguishes the more fashionable places of resort. The sole object of the Bristolians is trade, and every face you meet with has a ledger-like countenance, closely resembling the calculating citizen of London, whose every thought is directed to the accumulation of wealth, by increased sales of merchandize, or the overreaching his neighbour in taking the first advantage of the market.



The arrival of the London mail, which comes in about ten o'clock in the morning, afforded Transit another opportunity of picking up what little of character there was to be found. At Bristol there is always a great anxiety to obtain the London news and price current; so much so, that the leading merchants and others assemble in front of the Post-office, which also joins the Exchange, to wait the arrival of the mail (see Plate), and receive the letters of advice which are to regulate their concerns. It is but justice to add, there is no place in the kingdom of the same distance to which the conveyance is quicker, and the facility of delivery more promptly attended to. After breakfast we took a stroll round the docks, and then bent our steps towards the heights, and along the delightful walk which leads to the Hot Wells and Clifton.

To attempt a just description of the magnificent and romantic scenery which surrounds Clifton, as it is viewed from the Downs, would occupy more space than our limits will allow us to devote to the beauties of landscape; and would, besides, interfere with an intention which Transit and myself have in view at some future period of our lives, namely, the making a topographical and characteristic tour through the United Kingdoms, which being divided into counties, ~294~~and embracing not only the historical and the picturesque, will be enlivened by all the humorous vagaries, eccentric characters, and peculiar sports of each, written in a colloquial style; and embracing the lingual localisms, proverbs, and provincialisms of the inhabitants: thus producing a humorous but most correct view of the present state of society and manners. The materials for such a work have gradually presented themselves during the progress of the present eccentric volumes; but, as our object here has been good-humoured satire joined to comic sketches of existing persons and scenes, more in the way of anecdote than history, we hope to meet with the same kind friends in a more extended work, among those who have journeyed onwards with us through two years—pleasantly we must suppose, by their continued support; and profitably, we are gratefully bound to acknowledge, to all parties interested. An early dinner at Clifton, and a pleasant walk back by the terrace-road, brought us once more into the busy streets of Bristol, where after sauntering away the time until five o'clock, we mounted a Bath coach, and started forwards with a fresh impetus, and much promise of amusement, to explore the territories of King Bladud.



SKETCHES IN BATH.

~235~~

First View of the elegant City—Meeting with Old Blackstrap —Domicile at the Castle Tavern—Matthew and Mrs. Temple worthy Characters—Sportsmans Hall—Bath Heroes of the Turf the Ring, and the Chace—Portraits and Peculiarities drawn from the Life.

May I ne'er flutter in the thoughtless train With fashion's elves, the giddy, and the vain; May I ne'er stroll again with Milsom swells To Tully's shop, or lounge with pump-room belles; May I no more to Sidney Gardens stray, If, Bath, I wrong thee in my hum'rous lay. Court of King Blad', where crescents circling rise Above each other till they reach the skies; And hills o'er-topping with their verdant green The Abbey Church, are in the distance seen:

~296~~Where inns invite ye, and where lodgings smile A ready welcome to some Grecian pile; Where chairmen wait ye, ready to attend And box ye up upon your latter end; Where summer breezes on Hygeia wait, And cards and fashion hold their courts of state. Hither we're come to Bath, to spy and tell What reigning follies mark the beau and belle; What stars eccentric move within thy sphere, Or who's the greatest lion of the year. "Have at ye all," we satirists give no quarter; Yet shall our mirth prove grateful as Bath water.

The distant appearance, or first glimpse of the city of Bath, is enough to impress a stranger with the most favourable opinions of the place. The regularity of the streets, and the tasteful character of the architecture of the principal buildings, are certainly superior to that of any other place of public resort in England; added to which, there is an attention to cleanliness apparent in the costume of the lower classes that is not so conspicuous in other places. "Blest source of health! seated on rising ground, With friendly hills by nature guarded round; From eastern blasts and sultry south secure, The Air's balsamic, and the soil is pure." Surrounded by delightful scenery, and guarded from the piercing north winds by the hilly barriers of nature, the spot seems above all others best calculated to restore the health of the valetudinarian, whose constitution has become shattered and infirm by a course of fashionable dissipation, or a lengthened residence in the pestilential climates of the Indies. "Sweet Bath! the liveliest city of the land; Where health and pleasure ramble hand in hand, Where smiling belles their earliest visit pay, And faded maids their lingering blooms delay. Delightful scenes of elegance and ease! Realms of the gay, where every sport can please." ~297~~Thus sings the Bath poet, Bayly; who, if he is somewhat too servile an imitation of Moore in his style, has certainly more of originality in his matter than generally distinguishes poems of such a local nature. One of the greatest characters in the city of Bath was the worthy host of our hotel, the Castle; at whose door stood the rubicund visage of our Cheltenham friend, Blackstrap, ready to give us a hearty welcome, and introduce us to Matthew Temple, who making one of his best bows, led the way into the coffee-room, not forgetting to assure us that Mistress Temple, who was one of the best women in the world, would take the greatest care that we had every attention paid to our commands and comforts; and, in good truth, honest Matthew was right, for a more comely, good-humoured, attentive, kind hostess exists not in the three kingdoms of his Gracious Majesty George the Fourth. In short, Mrs. Temple is the major-domo of the Castle, while honest Matthew, conscious of his own inability to direct the active operations of the garrison within doors, beats up for recruits without; attends to all the stable duty and the commissariat, keeps a sharp look-out for new arrivals by coach, and a still sharper one that no customer departs without paying his bill; and thus having made his daily bow to the inns and the outs, honest Matthew retires at night to take his glass of grog with the choice spirits who frequent Sportsman's Hall, a snug little smoking room on the left of the gateway, where the heroes of the turf and the lads of the fancy nightly assemble to relate their sporting anecdotes, sing a merry chaunt, book the long odds, and blow a friendly cloud in social intercourse and good fellowship.

I do not know that it matters much at what end of Bath society I commence my sketches; and experience has taught me, that the more fashionable frivolities of high life seldom present the same opportunity for the 298~study of character, which is to be found in the merry, open-hearted, mirthful meetings of the medium classes and the lower orders. The pleasure we had felt in Blackstrap's society at Cheltenham, induced us to engage him to dine in the coffee-room, with our early friends Heartly and Eglantine, both of whom being then at Bath, we had invited to meet us, in the expectation that Dick Gradus, having arranged his legal affairs at Berkeley, would, by the dinner hour, arrive to join such a rare assemblage of old Eton cons—a gratification we had the pleasure to experience; and never did the festive board resound with more pleasant reminiscences from old friends: the social hour fled gaily, and every fresh glass brought its attendant joke. Heartly and Eglantine had, we found, been sufficiently long in Bath to become very able instructors to Transit and myself in all that related to the haute class, and old Barnaby Blackstrap was an equally able guide to every description of society, from the mediums down to the strange collections of vagrant oddities which are to be found in the back Janes and suburbs of the city of Bath. It has been well said, in a spirited reply to the Reverend Mr. Ek—r—s—l's illiberal satire, entitled "The Bath Man," that "London has its divisions of good and bad sets as well as Bath; nay, every little set has its lower set; Bank looks down contemptuously upon wealth; those who are asked to Carlton Palace cut the muligatawny set; the ancient aristocracy call law-lords and parvenues a bad set; and so downward through the whole scale of society, from Almack's to a sixpenny hop, 'still in the lowest deep a lower deep,' and human pride will ever find consolation that there is something to be found beneath it. Plain men, accustomed to form their notions of good and evil on more solid foundations than grades of fashionable distinctions, will not consent to stigmatize as bad any class of society because there may happen to ~299~~be a class above it." And what better apology could we desire for our eccentric rambles through every grade of Bath society? with us every set has its attractions, and I have known my friend Transit cut a nobleman and half a dozen honourables for the delightful gratification of enjoying the eccentricities of a beggars' club, and being enabled to sketch from the life the varied exhibition of passion and character which such a meeting would afford him. It will not, therefore, create any surprise in my readers, that our first evening in Bath should have been devoted to the social pipe; the pleasant account Blackstrap gave us of the sporting party, in Matthew Temple's snuggery, induced us to adjourn thither in the evening, where we might enjoy life, smoke our cigars, join a little chaffing about the turf and the ring, sip our punch and grog, enjoy a good chaunt, and collect a little character for the pages of the English Spy. To such as are fond of these amusements, most heartily do I recommend a visit to the Sporting Parlour at the Castle, where they will not fail to recognise many of the jovial characters represented in the opposite page; and as old Time pays no respect to worth and mellow-hearted mortals, but in his turn will mow down my old friend Matthew and his merry companions, I am desirous to perpetuate their memory by a song, which will include all of note who upon this occasion joined the festive scene.



SPORTSMAN'S HALL.

A SCENE AT THE CASTLE.

~300~~

Come all you gay fellows, so merry and witty, Ye Somerset lads of the elegant city, Ye sons of the turf who delight in a race, And ye Nimrods of Bath who are fond of the chase; Come join us, and pledge us, like true brothers all, At old Matthew Temple's, the Castle and Ball.

Will Partridge, the father of sports, in the chair, With honest George Wingrove will welcome you there, While Handy, who once on two horses could ride, And merry Jack Bedford will meet you beside; Then for sport or for spree, or to keep up the ball, We've an excellent fellow, you'll own, in Bill Hall.

~301~~

Captain Beaven, a yeoman of merry renown, Will keep up the joke with the gay ones from town, While, if you'd go off in a canter or speed, You've only to take a few lessons with Mead; Then Sharland can suit every beau to a T, So haste to the Castle, ye lovers of glee.

Sweet Margerim, clerk of the course, will be found With any young sportsman to trot o'er the ground, Though his Honesty, since at Wells races 'twas tried, It must be admitted, has bolted aside; The Newcombe's are good at all sports in the ring, While, like Chanticleer, Hunt the Cocker will sing.

Jack Langley, the fam'd 'Squire Western of Bath, A jolly fox-hunter, who's fond of a laugh, With mellow Tom Williams, of Brewers a pair, Are the bacchanals form'd for to banish dull care; Then haste to the Castle, ye true merry sprites, Where the song, and the chase, and the fancy delights.

Give a host more to name of the jovial and free, That my song would extend till to-morrow d'ye see: But a truce to particulars; take them all round, There's nothing in Bath like themselves to be found; Where harmony, friendship, and mirth can combine, The pleasures of life with kind hearts and good wine.

And in good truth, there is no place within the dominions of King Bladud, where the social man can find more cheerful companions, the sporting man more kindred spirits, and the lovers of the characteristic and the humorous meet with a greater variety of genuine eccentricity, unalloyed with any baser or offensive material. Matthew Temple himself is a great original, pure Somerset, perfectly good-natured, ever ready to oblige, and although for many years the commander-in-chief of the Castle, is yet in all the chicanery of his

~302~~

profession, and the usual obtrusiveness of a landlord, as unlike the generality of his brethren as a raw recruit is to an effective soldier. Old Master William Partridge is also worthy of notice as the father of the turf, and then if you would ride to hounds, no man in Bath can mount you better, or afford you such good corn, great attentions, and a warm stall for a prime hack. Rich in anecdote, and what is still better, with a charitable purse and a worthy heart, there are few men who have earned for themselves more respect in this life, or deserve it better, than William Handy, Esq. the once celebrated equestrian, who having realized a handsome competency, retired, some years since, to Bath, to enjoy his otium cum dignitate: here, at an advanced age, with all the spirits of youth, and a lively interest in every thing relating to sporting, you will meet with the character I have described; and, take my word for it, will not be disappointed in the likeness. Among the bon vivants of Sportsmans' Hall I must not omit that care-killing soul Captain Beaven, whose easy flow of good-humour and love of good sport is not less conspicuous than his love for a pretty lass, and his delight in a good song and a cheerful glass. Honest George Wingrove, a wealthy baker, and the patriarch of the room, will never prove a crusty customer, I am sure; and if that good-looking fellow Mead, the riding-master, does sometimes "o'erstep the modesty of nature" in his mode of addressing his pupils, adopting the familiar style of addressing them by their christian name—as, for instance, "set upright, Sally; more forward, Eliza; keep your rein-hand more square, Ellen;" and soon; he hath, however, yet many good points that amply compensate for this perverseness of habit. Among the genuine good ones, the real thing, as the sporting phrase has it, not a biped in Bath beats Tom Williams, who, agreeable to our Eton Gradus, is good at every thing: a more jovial, worthy-hearted, respected soul breathes not within the merry court of King Bladud, and very ~303~~few there that can rival him in a good horse, a long run, or as a lively companion. Tom is married to the sister of Bartley, the comedian, and carries with him into private life the estimation which ever attends him in public. For a rum story, a bit of real life, or a roguish joke, who shall excel Jack Bedford? And then, if your honour would knock the balls about, why "Jack's the lad" to accommodate you. And little Bill Hall, who keeps the Kingston billiard-rooms, will be most happy to make his best bow to you without any view to the mace. But, i' faith, I am sketching away here in Sportsman's Hall at old Matthew Temple's, and could continue so to do for another chapter; forgetting, as Transit says, that we have yet to traverse the whole city of Bath through, spying into the vagaries and varieties of the more polished, and taking a slight occasional glance at the lowest grade of society, in order to diversify and keep up the chiaroscuro of our pictures.



Merry reader, for such I hope thou art, we have now travelled on for nearly two years together; and many a varied scene in life's pilgrimage have we set before you, from the gilded dome of royalty to the humble shed of the Emeralder; but our visit to Bath will afford you a richer treat than aught that has yet preceded it. It was when the party broke up at Temple's, and that was not before the single admonition of old father Time had sounded his morning bell, that a few bon vivants of the Castle, accompanied by the English Spy and his merry friends, sallied forth in quest of strange adventure; for it must be admitted, that in the elegant city

"Candles and ladies' eyes oft shine most bright, When both should be extinguish'd for the night."

A fancy ball at the Upper Rooms on this night had attracted all the elegance, fashion, and beauty to be found within the gay circle of pleasure, and thither 304~we bent our steps, having first provided ourselves with the necessary introductions. The scene above all others in the fascination of gay life and the display of female charms is a fancy ball; a species of entertainment better suited to the modest character of our countrywomen than the masquerade, and, in general, much better liked in this country, where the masked entertainment, unless in private, is always avoided by females of rank and character. One of the most amusing scenes which first presented itself to our notice on approaching the entrance to the rooms was the eager anxiety and determined perseverance of the liveried Mercuries and Bath dromedaries, alias chairmen, to procure for their respective masters and mistresses a priority of admission; an officious zeal that was often productive of the most ludicrous circumstances, and, in two or three instances, as far as indispensable absence from the pleasures of the night could operate, of the most fatal effects. A well-known city beau, who had been at considerable expense in obtaining from London the splendid dress of a Greek prince, was completely upset and rolled into the kennel by his chairmen running foul of a sedan, in which Lord Molyneaux and his friend Lord Ducie had both crammed themselves in the dress of Tyrolese chieftains. The Countess of D————, who personated Psyche, in attempting to extricate herself from an unpleasant situation, in which the obstinacy of her chairmen had placed her, actually had her glittering wings torn away, unintentionally, from her shoulders by the rude hand of a Bath rustic, whose humanity prompted him to attempt her deliverance. Old Lady L————, in the highest state of possible alarm, from feeling her sedan inclining full twenty degrees too much to the right, popped her head up, and raising the top part of the machine, screamed out most piteously for assistance, and on drawing it back ~305~~again, tore off her new head-dress, and let her false front shut in between the flap of the chair, by which accident, all the beautiful Parisian curls of her ladyship were rendered quite flat and uninteresting. An old gentleman of fortune, who was suffering under hypochondriacal affection, and had resolved to attempt Sir John Falstaff, received the end of a sedan pole plump in his chest, by which powerful application he was driven through the back part of the machine, and effectually cured of "la maladie imaginaire" by the acuteness of a little real pain. The flambeau of a spruce livery servant setting fire to the greasy tail of a Bath chairman's surtout produced a most awkward rencontre, by which a husband and wife, who had not been associated together for some years, but were proceeding to the ball in separate chairs, were, by the accidental concussion of their sedans in a moment of alarm, actually thrown into each other's arms; and such was the gallantry of the gentleman, that he marched into the ball-room bearing up the slender frame of his heretofore forsaken rib, to whom he from that time has become reunited. The lady mayoress of the city was excessively indignant on finding her preeminence of entree disputed by the wife of a Bristol butcher; while the chair of the master of the ceremonies was for some time blocked in between the sedans of two old tabbies, whose expressions of alarm, attempts at faintings, and little flights of scandal, had so annoyed the poor M. C. that when he entered the ball-room, he felt as irritable as a tantalized lover between two female furies. In short, the scene was rich in amusement for the group of merry hearts who had left the Castle in quest of adventure; and while we were enjoying the ludicrous effects produced by the jostling of the sedans, my friend Transit had sketched the affair in his usual happy style, and designated it thus: 306



THE BATTLE OF THE CHAIRS.

"The chairs are order'd, and the moment comes, When all the world assemble at the rooms."

Illustration: page306]

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 men ~307~~and 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 find Many 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 for ~308~~estimating 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 was 309~and 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 that ton of 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 friend ~310~~at 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. Her caro sposo meanwhile 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 bear The 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 the enchanting fair,

'Whose snow-white bosoms fascinate the eye, Swelling in all the pride of nudity;

~311~~

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,



SKETCHES IN BATH—CHAPTER II.

~312~~

Well-known Characters in the Pump-room taking a Sip with King Bladud—Free Sketches of Fair Game—The awkward Rencontre, or Mr. B———and Miss L.—Public Bathing or stewing alive—Sober Thoughts—Milsom-street Swells—A Visit to the Pig and Whistle, Avon-street—of the Buff Club.

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 free With the sov'reign cordial, the true eau de vie.



The dejeune over, 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 to show off make 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 first ~313~~entrance, 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 pleasant jeux d'esprits on the union of "love, law, and physic." The arrival of a very pompous gentleman, who appeared to ~314~~excite 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 flannel robe de chambre and 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, no small 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 regards ~315~~pecuniary 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.



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 a party man, since in a ~316~~show 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, was ~317~~discovered 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."

~318~~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'd Any 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 tried These 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 of Bath, where Bladud is represented to have discovered the properties of the warm springs at Beechen Wood Swainswick, by observing the hogs to wallow in the mud that was impregnated therewith, and thus to have derived the knowledge of a cure for 'tis leprous affection.

~319~~But allons, 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, in propria personae, 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 between Adds 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 cockles 320~of 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 gentlemen ~321~~from 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.



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 in puris naturalibus was 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 century it was the custom for males and females to bathe together, in puris naturalibus, which was at length prohibited by Bishop Beckyngton, who ordered, by way of distinction, the wearing of breeches and petticoats; this indecency was suppressed, after considerable difficulty, at the end of the sixteenth century, (quere, what indecency does our author of the "Walks through Bath" mean? the incumbrance of the breeches and petticoats, we must imagine). It also seems, that about 1700 it was the fashion for both sexes to bathe together indiscriminately, and the ladies used to decorate their heads with all the advantages of dress, as a mode of attracting attention and heightening their charms. The husband of a lady in one of the baths, in company with Beau Nash, was so much enraptured with the appearance of his wife, that he very im-prudently observed, "she looked like an angel, and he wished to be with her." Nash immediately seized him by the collar, and threw him into the bath; this circumstance produced a duel, and Nash was wounded in his right arm: it however had the good effect of establishing the reputation of Nash, who shortly after became master of the ceremonies.

~322~~

"You cannot conceive what a number of ladies Were wash'd in the water the same as our maid is: How the ladies did giggle and set up their clacks All 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 sex All wading with gentlemen up to their necks, And view them so prettily tumble and sprawl In a great smoking kettle as big as our hall; And to-day many persons of rank and condition Were 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 excellent 323~pieces 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 in ~324~~voluntarily 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 earth Presents a rising green mound, all Of her who lov'd and gave me birth

Lies 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 spread A 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 yield A tribute to worth pass'd away.

Tread lightly, ye who love or know En life's young road a parent's worth, Who yet are strangers to the woe Of losing those who gave you birth,

~325~~

Who cherish'd, fondled, fed, and taught From 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 knave Who has the wealth, may in that way His name from dull oblivion save;

That is, he may perpetuate His worthlessness, his frauds, and crimes; No matter what his tomb relate, His character lives with the times.

Shade of my parent! couldst thou hear The 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 guides This 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 turned ~326~~monody-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 throng To see and to be seen, now trip along; Some lounge in the bazaars, while others meet To 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 roue 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 the ~327~~place, 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.



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 the manage-ment of the bit.

"Squire Richards is, also, by no means a contemptible knight of the ribbons, only he sometimes measures 328~his 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 here ~329~~for 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 the beau monde upon 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 the haute classe, the merits of the last new novel, or the fortune of the last unmarried feminine ~330~~arrival. To these may be added reminiscences of the last night's card-table and remarks upon the Balls at the rooms; for

"Two musical parties to Bladud belong, To delight the old rooms and the upper; One gives to the ladies a supper, no song, And the other a song and no supper."

"The jolie dame to the right," said Horace, "is the mother of England's best friend, the Secretary for the Foreign Department, George Canning, a man to whom we are all indebted for the amalgamation of party, and the salvation of the country The clerical who follows immediately behind Mrs. Hunn is a reverend gentleman whose daughters both recently eloped from his house on the same morning attended by favoured lovers to bind with sacred wreaths their happy destinies at the shrine of Hymen." We had now reached the bottom of the street again, after having made at least a dozen promenades to and fro, and were on the point of retiring to our hotel to dress for dinner, when Heartly directed my attention to a dashing roue, who, dressed in the extreme of superlative style, was accompanied by a beautiful piece of fair simplicity in the garb of a Puritan. "That," said my friend, "is the beautiful Miss D**T—one of the faithful, whom the dashing Count L***c***t has recently induced to say ay for life: thus gaining a double prize of no mean importance by one stroke of good luck—a fine girl and a fine fortune into the bargain." I must not forget our friend the consulting surgeon H***ks, or omit to notice that in Bath the faculty are all distinguished by some peculiar title of this sort, as, the digestive Physician, the practical Apothecary, and the operative Chemist; a piece of quackery not very creditable to their acknowledged skill and general respectability. At dinner we were again joined by our facetious 331~friend Blackstrap, who, to use his own phraseology, having made "a good morning's work of it," hoped he might be permitted to make one among us, a request with which we were most willing to comply. In the evening, after the bottle had circulated freely, some of our party proposed a visit to the theatre, but as Bath theatricals could not be expected to afford much amusement to London frequenters of the theatres royal, Transit suggested our sallying forth for a spree;" for," said he, "I have not yet booked a bit of true life since I have been in Bath. The pump-room, the bathers, and the swells in Milsom-street, are all very well for the lovers of elegant life; but our sporting friends and old college chums will expect to see a genuine touch or two of the broad humour of Bath—something suburban and funny. Cannot you introduce us to any thing pleasant of this sort!" said Transit, addressing Blackstrap: "perhaps give us a sight of the interior of a snug convent, or show us where the Bath wonderfuls resort to carouse and sing away their cares."—"It is some years since," said Blackstrap, "that in the company of a few merry wags, I paid a visit to the Buff-club in Avon-street: but as you, gentlemen, appear disposed for a little fun, if you will pledge yourselves to be directed by me, I will undertake to introduce you to a scene far exceeding in profligacy and dissipation the most florid picture which our friend Transit has yet furnished of the back settlements in the Holy-land." With this understanding, and with no little degree of anticipatory pleasure, did our merry group set forth to take a survey of the interior of the long room at the Pig and Whistle in Avon-street. Of the origin of this sign, Blackstrap gave us a very humorous anecdote: the house was formerly, it would appear, known by the sign of the Crown and Thistle, and was at that time the resort of the Irish Traders who visited Bath to dispose of their linens. One of these Emeralders ~332~~having lost his way, and being unable to recollect either the name of the street or the sign of his inn, thus addressed a countryman whom he accidentally met: "Sure I've quite forgotten the sign of my inn." "Be after mentioning something like it, my jewel," said his friend. "Sure it's very like the Pig and Whistle," replied the enquirer. "By the powers, so it is:—the Crown and Thistle, you mean;" and from this mistake of the Emeralder, the house has ever since been so designated. Upon our visit to this scene of uproarious mirth, we found it frequented by the lowest and most depraved characters in society; the mendicants, and miserable of the female sex, who, lost to every sense of shame or decency, assemble here to indulge in profligacies, the full description of which must not stain the pages of the English Spy.



As a scene of low life, my friend Transit has done it ample justice, where the portraits of Lady Grosvenor as one of the Cyprian frequenters is designated, the Toad in a Hole, and Lucy the Fair, will be easily recognised. A gallon of gin for the ladies, and a liberal distribution of beer and tobacco for the males, made us very welcome guests, and insured us, during our short stay, at least from personal interruption. It may be asked why such a house is licensed by the magistracy; but when it is known that characters of this sort will always be found in well-populated places, and that the doors are regularly closed at eleven o'clock, it is perhaps thought to be a measure of prudence to let them continue to assemble in an obscure part of the suburbs, where they congregate together under the vigilant eye of the police, instead of being driven abroad to seek fresh places of resort, and by this means increase the evils of society.

The next morning saw my friend Transit and myself again prepared to separate from our friends Heartly and Eglantine, on our way to Worcester, ~333~~where we had promised to pay a visit to old Crony on our road back to London. Reader, if our sketches in Bath are somewhat brief, remember we are ever on the wing in search of novelty, and are not disposed to stay one day longer in any place than it affords fresh food for pen and pencil In the characters we have sketched we disclaim any thought of personal offence; eccentrics are public property, and must not object to appear in print, seeing that they are in the journey through life allowed to ride a free horse, without that curb which generally restrains the conduct of others But I must here take my farewell of the elegant city of that attractive spot of which Bayley justly sings

"In this auspicious region all mankind (Whate'er their taste) congenial joys may find; Here monied men may pass for men of worth; And wealthy Cits may hide plebeian birth. Here men devoid of cash may live with ease, Appear genteel, and pass for what they please."



WAGGERIES AT WORCESTER.

~334~~The meeting with an old friend at Worcester induced us to domicile there for the space of three days, during which time I will not say we were laid up with Lavender, but certainly near enough to scent it. Most of our Worcester acquaintance will however understand what is meant by this allusion to one of the pleasantest fellows that ever commanded the uncivil customers in the Castle, since the time of the civil wars. The city is perhaps as quiet a dull place as may be found within his majesty's dominions, where a cannon-ball might be fired down the principal street at noon-day without killing more than the ruby-nosed incumbent of a fat benefice, a superannuated tradesman, or a manufacturer of crockery-ware. No stranger should, however, pass through the place without visiting the extensive China works of Messrs. Flight and Barr, to which the greatest facility is given by the proprietors; and the visit must amply repay any admirer of the arts. A jovial evening, spent with our old friend of the Castle, had ended with a kind invitation from him to partake of a spread at his hotel on the following morning; but such was the apprehensions of Transit at the idea of entering this mansion of the desolate, from being troubled with certain qualmish remembrances of the previous night's debauch, that not all my intreaties, nor the repeated messages of the worthy commander of the Castle, could bring our friend Transit to book.

~335~~To those who know my friend John, and there are few of any respectability who do not both know and admire him, his facetious talent will require but little introduction. Lavender is what a man of the world, whose business it has been to watch over the interests of society, should be, superior in education and in mind, to any one I ever met with filling a similar situation: the governor of the Castle is a companion for a lord, or to suit the purposes of justice, instantly metamorphosed into an out and outer, a regular knowing cove, whose knowledge of flash and the cant and slang used by the dissolute is considered to be superior to that of any public officer. A specimen of this will be found in the following note, which a huge fellow of a turnkey brought to my bedside, and then apologised for disturbing me, by pleading the governor's instructions.

"QUEER COVES,

"I hope you have left your dabs,{1} and nobs,{2} all right: perhaps prime legs{3} is queer in the oration-box{4} from a too frequent use of the steamer{5} last darky.{6} I make this fakement{7} to let you know I and morning spread are waiting.

Steel-hotel, Yours, &c.

June 9, 1825. LOCKIT."



My readers will very readily conceive that with such a companion we were not long in tracing out what little of true life was to be found in Worcester, and certainly one of the pleasantest scenes in which we participated was a visit to the Subscription Bowling Alley, where, in the summer time, the most respectable of the inhabitants of Worcester meet every evening

1 Beds.

2 Heads.

3 Cruikshank..

4 Cranium.

5 A pipe.

6 Night.

7 A note.

~336~~for recreation; and a right pleasant company we found them. The Caleb Quotem of the society, Dr. Davis, united in one person all the acquirements of the great original: he not only keeps the time of the city, but keeps all the musicians of the place in time; regulates the watch and the watches, and plays a solo a la Dragonetti upon the double bass. Sam Swan is another choice spirit, who sings a good chant, lives well respected, and sails down the stream of time as pleasantly as if he was indeed a royal bird.

An old Burdettite, Will Shunk, recognised in us a partizan of the government candidate at one of the Westminster Elections: "But, sir," said Will, "politics and I have nearly parted; for you must know, I am tolerably well breeched, and can fairly say I am hand and glove with all the first nobility in the kingdom." A truth to which Captain Corls readily assented by explaining that Master William Shunk was a first-rate glover, and considered worth a plum at least: "in short, sir," said the captain, "he is a nabob here, and brings to my mind some of the eastern princes with whom I have met during my Campaigns in the East." The very mention of which exploit induced our friend the governor to tip us the office, and the joke was well humoured until silver Powell, who they say comes from Norfolk, interrupted our travels in India, with, "Captain, can't you see that ere Athlantic fellow, the governor, is making fun of you to amuse his London friends." A hint that appeared to strike the Captain very forcibly, for it struck him dumb. A good-humoured contest between honest Joe Shelton, and Probert the school-master, elicited some very comical exposures in the way of recriminations. Joe, it would appear, is an artist in economy; and an old story about a lobster raised Joe's ire to its height, and produced the Lex taliones on Probert, ~337~~whose habits of frugality wanted his competitor's humour to make them pass current. Transit, who had been amusing himself with sketching the characters, had become acquainted with a sporting Reverend, whose taste for giblets had proved rather expensive; and who was most desirous of appearing in print: a favor merry Stephen Godson, the lawyer, requested might also be extended to him." "Ay," said John Portman, "and if you want a character for your foreground rich in colour, my phiz is much at your service; and here's George Brookes, the radical, to form a good dark object in the distance." In this way the evening passed off very pleasantly. Our friend had made the object of our visit to the Bowling Alley known to some few of his intimates, circumstance that I have no doubt rather operated to prevent a display of some of those good-humoured eccentricities with which it is not unfrequently marked. Upon my return to town, I received a farewell ode from my Spirit in the Clouds, evidently written under a misconception that the English Spy was about to withdraw himself for a time, from his sketches on men and manners, when in fact, although his labours will here close with the completion of a Second Volume, his friends will find, that he is most desirous of still engaging their attentions in a new form, attended not only by all his former associates, but uniting in his train the brightest and the merriest of all the choice Spirits of the Age.



BERNARD BLACKMANTLE TO HIS READERS.

To prevent a misconception, and do himself justice, the author of the English Spy feels it necessary to state, that in every instance the subjects for the Plates illustrating this work have been furnished by his pen, and not unfrequently, the rough ideas have ~338~~first emanated from his own pencil; while he states this fact to prevent error, he is most anxious to acknowledge the great assistance he has derived from the inimitable humour and graphic skill in the execution of the designs, by his friend Robert Transit.



A SHORT ODE AT PARTING,

FROM HIS "SPIRIT IN THE CLOUDS"

TO THE ENGLISH SPY.

~339~~

Prospero. Now does my project gather to a head; My charms crack not; my spirits obey: ——How's the day?

Ariel. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, You said our work should cease.

—Shakspkare's Tempest.

So fare you well; I have left you commands. Ibid.—As you like it.

"'Tis true, and pity 'tis, 'tis true," That though on fairest winds we flew, I in the clouds, beneath them you, We still must parted be;

And that, e'en whilst the world still hung On what you wrote, and what I sung, Enamour'd of our double tongue, Exits my Bernard B——-.

Well, all great actors must have pause, When toiling in a patriot cause, And ere another scene he draws, New characters to cast,

~340~~

Secure of having played his part, As nature dictates, from the heart, 'Tis fair before another start, He brush up from the last.

But how will humbugs of the age, (I don't mean Mr. B.'s dull page,) Crow that they scape satiric rage, And get off in whole skins;

How will dramatic fools rejoice! No more is heard great Bernard's voice, And that, Heav'n knows, there is a choice, Their flummery begins.{1}

But go your ways; it may be wise, To let these puny, pestering flies Buzz about people's ears and eyes, A season or two longer;

There must be evil mixed with good, A bottom to the clearest flood, And let them stand where others stood, Till shown who is the stronger.

Then, fortune-hunting squires of Bath, Fine as the Burmese jewell'd Rath,{2} Pray totter o'er your Bond-street path, A respite short is yours.

1 I speak of would-be actors (male and female), vain and incompetent managers, flippant and unequal critics, puffed and translating authors, in short, of all before and behind the curtain who have injured, or may injuro, the legitimate drama. Let the theatres, like our trade, be free, and monopoly thrive not, and for their success the Spirit will ever pray; at present, it is "a mad world, my masters;" and I am afraid Mr. Rayner with his long and set speeches, as chairman of Thomas's Shakspeareans, will not mend the matter. We note this to him in a friendly way; seeing, that he is a worthy fellow, and a clever Caliban, and really loves Shakspeare next to Newmarket and Doncaster.

2 The Burmese carriage is certainly a curious machine of Indian workmanship; but it is, we should fancy, mere outside—fine to look at, but a "rum one to go," like the be-togged, be-booted, be-spurred, furred, and cloaked half pays, fortune-hunters, gentlemen with the brogue, &c. that pay their court so assiduously to Mrs. Dolland's cheesecakes and Mr. Heaviside's quadrilles. But the world is often ornament caught.

~341~~

And daughter-selling mothers, still Lure the young boys, their eyes may kill, To wed your flesh and blood, and fill Your purse, and pay your tours.

Ye London blacks, ye Cheltenham whites,{3} Ye turners of the days to nights, Make, make the most of all your flights, Whilst I and Bernard doze;

But still be sure, by this same token, We still shall sleep with one eye open{4} And the first hour our nap is broken, You'll pay for't through the nose.

3 There are indeed "black spirits and white spirits" of all sorts and sizes, at all times and places; and a well-cut coat and a white satin dress are frequently equally dangerous glossings to frail and cunning mortality within. To be sure, we have brought down the "tainted wethers of dame Nature's flock" with the double barrels of wit and satire, right and left; but like mushrooms or mole-hills, they are a breeding, increasing species, and it will be only a real battue of sharp-shooting that will destroy the coveys. Nevertheless,

"I have a rod in pickle, Their—————————"

I declare the Spirit is growing earthly.

4 The Bristol men "down along," sleep, they say, in this way and hence is it rare for Jew or Gentile, Turk or infidel, to get the blind side of them. Some of them, however, have ere now been done brown, and that too by being too fanciful and neat in their likings. These tales of the sleepers of an eye are too good to be lost; they shall be bound up in the volume of my brain, hereafter to be perused with advantage. At present,

"I hear a voice thou canst not hear; I see a hand thou canst not see; It calls to me from yonder sphere, It points to where my brethren be."

~342

When that time comes, and come it must, For what we say is not pie-crust, To yield to every trifling thrust, England shall see some fun.

Like "eagles in a dove-cote," we Both rooks and pigeons will make flee, Whilst every cashless company Shall, laugh'd at, "cut and run."

Thus telling painted folly's sect, What they're to look to, what expect, My farewell words I now direct To thee, migrating Spy;

That done, deliver'd all commands, I man a cloud-ship with brave hands, And sail to (quitting mortal lands), My parlour in the sky.

Bernard, farewell; may rosy health Companion'd by that cherub wealth, Be constant to you, like myself, Your own departing spirit.

Not that you're going to die; no, no, You'll only take a nap or so; But yet I wish you, 'fore you go, These blessings to inherit.

Bernard, farewell; pray think of me, When you ride earth, or cross the sea; On both, you know, I've been with thee, And sung some pretty things;

Great Spy, farewell; when next you rise To make of fools a sacrifice, You'll hear, down-cleaving from the skies, The rustle of my wings.

January, 1826.

~343~~

Bernard Blackmantle and Bob Transit,



THE END.