Lord Wenables54
To those who are in the habit of recurring with a feeling of devotion to the golden gone-by times of our forefathers, and who “track back” upon antiquity to hunt out subjects for admiration, it must be in some degree consolatory to discover, that even in these degenerate days there still exist amongst us men capable of recording the noble deeds of the “mighty living;” and that one of the most important occurrences of modern date has found an historian worthy of the subject which it has been made his duty to transmit to posterity.
To such of our readers as are generally conversant with the history, political or statistical, of the City of London, it may perhaps be needless to observe, that it affords, by virtue of its charter and constitution, power and authority, might and majesty, for one year at a time, to one illustrious individual (made, indeed, illustrious by his office), and that this illustrious individual is pre-eminently distinguished above all others of God’s creatures (within his special jurisdiction) by the title of Lord Mayor. Having been a Liveryman, he proceeds to Sheriff and Alderman, and in time, being an Alderman, he becomes Mayor, and being Mayor of London, becomes a Lord!—that he is not a Peer, arises only from the difficulty of finding any to compare with him.
Thus, then, it being conceded that there is, and always will be, a Lord Mayor of London, so long as London stands—for the constitution of Cornhill and the majesty of the Mansion House remain unshaken by the storms of treason or the efforts of rebellion, and shine in all their native excellence with equal purity and brightness, whether under the gentle sway of an amiable Mary, the gloomy troubles of a martyred Charles, the plain dominion of a protecting Oliver, or the glorious sway of a liberating William—it being then, we say, conceded that the Lord Mayor, officially, never dies, we seek to show the imperative necessity which presses upon every Lord Mayor while in office, personally so to distinguish himself from the long line of his predecessors and those who are to follow him, by some striking deed, either bodily or mental, political or financial, literary or scientific, so that when he shall have returned from the pinnacle of earthly splendour at the corner of Walbrook into the softer retirement of his patrimonial shop in Pudding-lane or Fish-street-hill, children yet unborn may learn to lisp the name of their great ancestor mingled with their prayers, never forgetting to singularise him especially from all the other Figginses, Wigginses, Bumpuses, and Snodgrasses of their respective houses, by prefixing in their minds to the patronymic, the deed, or work, or act, or book, as it may be, by which that particular branch of their family has so flourished into virid immortality.
By observing this system, an association is formed in the mind of men and deeds highly refreshing, at once useful and agreeable. Who ever hears of Walworth without thinking of Wat Tyler?—who ever reads of Whittington without having a Cat in his eye?—who speaks of Wood without thinking of Whittington?—who of Waithman without recollecting Knightsbridge foot-path? Thus it is that these illustrious men are distinguished, not only from all other Lord Mayors, but from all other Whittingtons, Walworths, Woods, and Waithmans, in the world.
With such examples before him, was it unnatural, or not to be expected, that the late Lord Mayor, Venables, should be contented to sink back into the shades of Queenhithe from the Civic throne without leaving something behind him which might entitle him to fill a niche in the Temple of Fame? We think not; and we have no hesitation in saying that his Lordship’s well-directed ambition, blending as it has done the eminently-useful with the strikingly-agreeable, has produced results which will hand him down to future ages with as much grace, certainty, and propriety as his Lordship ever exhibited in his late great life-time in handing down an Alderman’s lady to dinner.
When we say, “late life-time,” we mean official life—Venables the man, is alive and merry—but, alas! Venables the mayor, is dead.
It now becomes our duty to explain what it is that has so decidedly stamped the greatness of Lord Wenables—so he was called by the majority of his subjects—and in doing so, we have to divide (although not in equal parts) the fame and glory of the enterprise between his Lordship and his Lordship’s Chaplain, who, upon this special occasion, and at his Lordship’s special desire, was the historian of his Lordship’s exploits.
It seems, that in the course of last summer, the Lord Wenables having over-eaten himself, brought upon himself a fever and rash, and during his confinement to the house the disorder took an ambitious turn, and his Lordship’s organ of locomotiveness having been considerably enlarged and inflamed by his Lordship’s having accidentally bumped his noble head against the corner of the bedstead, his Lordship was seized with a desire to glorify and immortalise himself by foreign travel the moment he got better of his green-fat fever—and having sent for his Chaplain to consult upon some sort of expedition which might answer his purpose, his Lordship and the Divine deliberated accordingly.
At one time he suggested going down the shaft of Brunel’s tunnel at Rotherhithe, but the work was not far enough advanced to render it even commonly hazardous—that was abandoned. Going up in a balloon was suggested, but there was no utility blended with the risk. The dreadful dangers of Chelsea reach had already been encountered, and a colony established by his Lordship on the east end of Stephenson’s Island, beyond Teddington—something even more daring must be tried; and, as it happened that a first cousin of my Lady Wenables had been reading to his Lordship, who was not able to read himself (from illness, not from want of learning), “Travels undertaken in order to discover the Source of the Nile,” his Lordship at once resolved to signalise himself by undertaking a journey to discover, if possible, the “Source of the Thames.” His Lordship was greatly excited to the undertaking upon being told that Mungo Park had been carried into Africa by a similar desire—and he observed with wonderful readiness, that if it were possible to remove a whole Park into Africa, there could be no insurmountable obstacle to transporting Lady Wenables to the source of the Thames.
When Lord Wenables was first put upon the project, he was rather of opinion that the source of the Thames was at its mouth—“a part which,” as his Lordship observed, “is in man the source of all pleasure;” and he suggested going by land to Gravesend, to look out for the desired object. But the Chaplain informed his Lordship that rivers began at the other end—upon which his Lordship, not having gone so far into the study of geography as to ascertain the exact course of the river beyond Stephenson’s Island, hinted his intention of going with Lady Wenables by land as far as Dunstable, and then proceeding in the search.
The Chaplain, it seems, although not quite sure enough of his experience to give Lord Wenables a downright negative to his suggestion, deemed it necessary forthwith to consult a map of Europe, in which the relative courses of the River Thames and the Dunstable turnpike-road are laid down in different degrees of latitude, and having ascertained that Dunstable was an inland town, proceeded to examine his charts until he discovered Oxford to be a more likely point to start from with any reasonable hopes of success; this he mentioned to Lord Wenables, and when his Lordship arose convalescent from his calipash fever, he mentioned his design to the Court of Aldermen on Midsummer Day, and the last week of July was ultimately and unanimously fixed upon for the expedition.
“Instructions,” says the author of the history of the expedition, “were, accordingly, agreed to be given to the Town Clerk, to secure such accommodation at an inn in Oxford, Reading, and Windsor, as might be adequate for the civic party; and to make every other necessary arrangement.”
And here, before we go any further, it may be necessary to state, that the work of which we are about to speak has actually been written by command of Lord Wenables, by his ci-devant Lordship’s ci-devant Chaplain, and published by Messieurs Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, and Green, embellished with two beautiful engravings; all we should add is, that the author is perfectly serious in his details, and that our extracts are made from his work, correctly verbatim et literatim.
Scarce had the Lord Wenables and his Council decided upon going to Oxford, when the Corporation of that City sent them a letter inviting them to dinner on the 26th. This unexpected and welcome letter puzzled the Lord and his Council, inasmuch as they had fixed only to stay one day at Oxford—that day the 26th, and on that day to entertain (as no doubt they would) the heads of houses at dinner.
That the Lord Wenables and his Aldermen could have arranged the matter satisfactorily to all parties by eating two dinners in one day is evident, but not at the same time, and upon this dilemma the reverend author makes this communication:—
“From this difficulty,” says he, “they were happily released by the question, ‘Could not your Lordship go a day sooner to Oxford?’ It was immediately seen that this slight alteration of the plan first intended would obviate every difficulty: it would allow them the opportunity of showing their respect to the Mayor and Magistrates of Oxford by dining with them on the Tuesday; and would also give them the honour of having the University and City to dinner on the Wednesday.”
The quickness of perception in the Lord Wenables and his Aldermen, which gave them the advantage of “immediately seeing” that by going to Oxford on the 25th, they could dine there on the 26th, and by staying till the 28th they might also dine there on the 27th, if they liked, is well worthy of praise; and the liberality of inviting the University and City to dine at the Star Inn, cannot fail to impress upon the reader the magnificence of Lord Wenables’ mind. Suffice it to say, the Mayor of Oxford accepted the Mayor of London’s invitation, and that the Mayor of London adopted the Mayor of Oxford’s proposition.
The reverend author then says:—
“Every preliminary arrangement being completed, and ample accommodation having been secured at the Star Inn, Oxford, for his Lordship and suite, to the number of about thirty persons, the civic party began to lay their plans for the journey!
“It had been previously understood that while his Lordship and friends should return together, in the City state barge, they should yet go to Oxford in such a way, and at such a time, as best comported with their own convenience. Mr. Alderman Atkins, accompanied by two of his daughters, Miss Atkins and Miss Sarah Jane, left his seat, Halstead Place, in Kent, on Monday, the 24th of July, and set out from London for Oxford in the cool of the following morning. On the same day, Mr. Alderman and Mrs. Lucas, with their daughters, Miss Charlotte and Miss Catharine, left their house, at Lee, in Kent, and went by land as far as Boulter’s Lock, near Maidenhead, where they embarked on board the Navigation shallop, and proceeded by water to Reading; thus selecting some of the finest views on the river.”
Lord Wenables himself was, however, not so rash; for having satisfied himself of the actual existence of Oxford by receiving a letter from one of the natives, he resolved to proceed thither by land. See we then from his reverend chaplain’s history the mode of his Lordship’s setting forth:—
“On the morning of the 25th, the Lord Mayor, accompanied by the Lady Mayoress, and attended by the Chaplain, left the Mansion House, soon after eight o’clock.
“The private state-carriage, drawn by four beautiful bays, had driven to the door at half-past seven. The coachman’s countenance was reserved and thoughtful, indicating full consciousness of the test by which his equestrian skill would this day be tried, in having the undivided charge of four high-spirited and stately horses—a circumstance somewhat unusual; for, in the Lord Mayor’s carriage, a postillion usually guides the first pair of horses. These fine animals were in admirable condition for the journey. Having been allowed a previous day of unbroken rest, they were quite impatient of delay, and chafed and champed exceedingly on the bits, by which their impetuosity was restrained.
“The murmur of expectation, which had lasted for more than half an hour, amongst the crowd who had gathered around the carriage, was at length hushed by the opening of the hall-door. The Lord Mayor had been filling up this interval with instructions to the femme de menage! and other household officers, who were to be left in residence, to attend, with their wonted fidelity and diligence, to their respective departments of service during his absence, and now appeared at the door. His Lordship was accompanied by the Lady Mayoress, and followed by the Chaplain.
“As soon as the female attendant of the Lady Mayoress had taken her seat, dressed with becoming neatness, at the side of the well-looking coachman, the carriage drove away; not, however, with that violent and extreme rapidity which rather astounds than gratifies the beholders; but at that steady and majestic pace, which is always an indication of REAL GREATNESS!
“Passing along Cheapside and Fleet Street—those arteries, as Dr. Johnson somewhere styles them, through which pours the full tide of London population—and then along the Strand and Piccadilly, the carriage took the Henley-road to Oxford.
“The weather was delightful; the sun, as though it had been refreshed by the copious and seasonable showers that had fallen very recently, seemed to rise more bright and clear than usual, and streamed in full glory all around. The dust of almost a whole summer had been laid by the rain; the roads were, of consequence, in excellent order, and the whole face of creation gleamed with joy!”
In fact, creation was so delighted with the appearance of Lord Wenables, that “Nature wore an universal grin.”
The reverend gentleman then describes the blowing up of a powder-mill as they reached Hounslow, which at first startled Lord Wenables, who imagined fondly that he had accidentally set fire to the great river whose source he was seeking; but Lady Wenables concurred with the reverend writer in assuring his Lordship that he might make himself perfectly easy upon that particular point.
“At Cranford-bridge,” says the reverend author, “which is about thirteen miles from Hyde Park Corner, the Lord Mayor staid only long enough to change horses. For, his Lordship intending to travel post from Cranford-bridge to Oxford, his own fine horses were, after a proper interval of rest, to return to town under the coachman’s care.
“These noble animals, however, seemed scarcely to need the rest which their master’s kindness now allotted them. For though they had drawn a somewhat heavy carriage a distance of nearly seventeen miles, they yet appeared as full of life as ever; arching their stately necks, and dashing in all directions the white foam from their mouths, as if they were displeased that they were to go no farther!
“Just as the carriage was about to drive away, Mr. Alderman Magnay, accompanied by his lady and daughter, arrived in a post-chaise! After an interchange of salutations, the Lady Mayoress—observing that they must be somewhat crowded in the chaise—invited Miss Magnay to take the fourth seat, which had as yet been vacant in the carriage. As the day was beginning to be warm, this courteous offer of her Ladyship was readily accepted.”
Here we have, in one short page, a striking instance of the “true instinct” of Lord Wenables’ fine horses, who were quite displeased that they were not allowed to drag him any farther—a delightful picture of a worthy Alderman and his family—three in a chay—a splendid specimen of Lady Wenables’ sagacity and urbanity, and a fair estimate of the value of the latter upon the mind of the young invitée, who accepted her Ladyship’s offer of a seat in the state coach because the day was beginning to get warm!
In safety, however, did Lord Wenables get to Oxford, of which, the reverend author says—“There is something peculiarly imposing in the entrance, particularly in the eastern entrance, to this city.” Now this, which is ably twisted into the beginning of a flourishing description of towers and colleges, evidently refers to the toll at the Bridge-gate, and which Lord Wenables, who paid the turnpikes himself and kept the halfpence in the coach pockets, declared to be one of the greatest impositions at the entrance of a city that he had ever met with.
We are unable to give our readers the account of the highly honourable reception which Lord Wenables met with at Oxford, or the description of the dinner of which he partook—but we must, let what may happen, extract the whole account of the dinner given by his Lordship to the Oxfordians—a dinner which took place after a somewhat protracted lecture on comparative anatomy, which, if it failed in the delivery of establishing a likeness between a “bat” and a “whale,” most certainly bears evidence, in its transmission to paper, of the great similitude between a Lord Mayor’s Chaplain and a donkey.
It will be needless for us to make an observation upon what follows:—
“The hour of six had scarcely arrived, when the company, invited by the Lord Mayor to dine with him at the Star, began to assemble. The City watermen, in their new scarlet state liveries, were stationed in the entrance hall; and a band of music was in attendance to play on the arrival of the visitors.”
The reverend author, by blending the band and the watermen (who are also firemen), leaves it somewhat doubtful to which corps the duty of playing on the arrival of the visitors was confided. He proceeds:—
“In a large drawing-room, on the first floor, fronting the street, on a sofa at the upper end, sat the Lady Mayoress, accompanied by Mr. Charles Venables, and surrounded by the other ladies of the party. The City Marshal of London, Mr. Cope, dressed in full uniform, and carrying his staff of office in his hand, took his station at the door, and announced the names of the guests as they severally arrived. Near the entrance of the room also stood Mr. Beddome, in a richly-wrought black silk gown, carrying the sword downwards. The Lord Mayor, who was in full dress, and attended by the Chaplain in clerical robes, wore on this occasion the brilliant collar of S.S. (quære A.SS.) The Worshipful the Mayor, and the other Magistrates of Oxford; Richard Cox, Esq., Thomas Fox Bricknell, Esq., Aldermen; William Folker, Esq., Thomas Robinson, Esq., Richard Ferdinand Cox, Esq., Assistants; Mr. Deodatus Eaton, and Mr. Crews Dudley, Bailiffs; together with Mr. Percival Walsh, the City Solicitor, attended by the Town Clerk, in his robe of office, which resembled in some degree the undress black silk gown worn by Gentlemen Commoners of the University—were all severally introduced, and received by the Lord Mayor with a warmth and cordiality adequate to that which they had so kindly manifested on the preceding day.
“The Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, the Rev. Dr. Richard Jenkyns, Master of Baliol, preceded, as usual, by one of the Yeomen Bedels, carrying a large mace, and the Rev. Dr. Thomas Edward Bridges, President of Corpus Christi College, the Rev. Dr. George William Hall, Master of Pembroke; the Rev. Dr. Nicholas Philip Shuttleworth, Warden of New College; the Rev. Dr. John Dean, Principal of St. Mary’s Hall, and Lord Almoner’s Prælector in Arabic; together with the two Proctors, the Rev. George Cumming Rashleigh, M.A., and the Rev. Wadham Harbin, M.A.; the Rev. Mr. Woodgate, to whom allusion has before been made, and other Members of the University, all of whom were dressed in full academicals, were severally introduced to the Lady Mayoress. To this distinguished list of visitors must be added the names of John Fane, Esq., one of the Members of Parliament for the county of Oxford; and James Haughton Langston, Esq., and John Ingram Lockhart, Esq., Members for the City of Oxford.
“When dinner was announced, the party, amounting to nearly sixty persons, each gentleman taking charge of a fair partner, descended to a long room on the ground floor.
“Every attention had been given by the proprietor of the Star to render the dinner as excellent as the occasion required, and to fit up the dining-room with as much taste as its extent would admit of; and no means had been left untried to keep the apartment as cool as possible. Wreaths of flowers were hung thickly round it, and the windows, which opened on a garden, were overspread with branches of trees, to exclude, as much as possible, the warm beams of a western summer sun. The band of musicians now removed their station from the entrance hall to the garden under the windows, where they played, at proper intervals, with excellent effect, the whole evening. The Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress took their seats at the head of the table, the Vice-Chancellor of the University sitting on the right hand of his Lordship, and the Chief Magistrate of Oxford on the left of her Ladyship. The heads of the Houses then took their seats, according to the priority of their admission to the degree of Doctor, alternating with the ladies and daughters of Aldermen Atkins, Magnay, Heygate, and Lucas. The Aldermen of London and of Oxford then filled the remainder of the table.
“Amidst much elegance and beauty, the Lady Mayoress attracted particular observation. Her Ladyship was arrayed in the most splendid manner, wore a towering plume of ostrich feathers, and blazed with jewels!
“When the Chaplain, by craving a blessing on the feast, had set the guests at liberty to address themselves to the dainties before them, and the room was illuminated throughout by a profusion of delicate wax candles, which cast a light as of broad day over the apartment, it would not have been easy for any eye, however accustomed to look on splendour, not to have been delighted, in no common manner, with the elegance of the classic and civic scene now exhibited in the dining-parlour of the first inn in Oxford.
“The accompaniments, indeed, fell short of that splendour which they would have had in the Egyptian Hall of the Mansion House in London, but still the general effect was peculiarly striking; and when the rank of the company is considered, may with truth be called brilliant!
“The conversation naturally assumed that tone best qualified for the discovery of those talents and learning, of which the evening had drawn together so select and bright a constellation.
“After dinner, as soon as the health of the King, the welfare of the Church, the prosperity of the University and City, and other toasts of loyalty, literature, and religion, had been honoured, the Lord Mayor proposed the health of the Vice-Chancellor of Oxford. This was followed by toasts to the health of the other Heads of Houses, the Professors, and Proctors; the Worshipful the Mayor and other Magistrates of Oxford, and the Right Hon. the Lord Mayor of London; each toast giving rise to such acknowledgments as the individuals, to whom they referred, considered appropriate and adequate. The health of the Lady Mayoress, and the other ladies of the company, was proposed by one of the Heads of the Houses; the toast was hailed with warm demonstrations of respect, and the honour was acknowledged with considerable point and taste by Mr. Lockhart, the Member, at her Ladyship’s request.
“The Ladies, who, to the great gratification of the Company, had sat longer than is usual at most tables, at length obeyed the signal of the Lady Mayoress, and retired to the drawing room,
‘With grace,
Which won who saw, to wish their stay.’
“The conversation was, however, in no degree changed in their absence. The Lady Mayoress and her fair friends had taken their share in it with much good sense and delicacy; and their departure, so far from being succeeded by that obstreperous and vulgar merriment, or anything like that gross profligacy of conversation, which indicates rejoicing at being emancipated from the restraint of female presence, only gave occasion to the Magistrates of Oxford to express their wish, that, in the invitations to their Corporation dinners, arrangements could be made that would include the ladies.”
After such a dinner and such an evening, it may easily be imagined that Lord Wenables and his Court slept like tops—not but that his Lordship had “requested his friends not to devote too many hours to repose.” In obedience to a wish, which when breathed by a Lord Mayor becomes a command, everybody was up and busy “while the morning was early:” the yeoman of his Lordship’s household, half covered with an awning, was occupied with the cook, who was busied on this lovely day in making a fire to boil the tea-kettle, in a grate in the bow of the boat.
“About seven o’clock,” says the reverend historian, “signals of the approach of his Lordship’s party were descried and heard. The populace, thickly stationed on the road through which the carriages were to pass, caught up the acclamation; and announced to all who thronged the margin of the river, that——the Lord Mayor was coming! His Lordship and the Lady Mayoress alighted from the carriage at the bridge, and walked through the respectful crowd, which divided to give them passage; and were at once conveyed to the state barge——in the Water Bailiff’s boat!”
The shouts of delight which rent the air were music to the ears of greatness—it was quite a genial morning, and one of those days “when we seem to draw in delight with the very air we breathe, and to feel happy we can scarcely tell why.” So writes the reverend author, with more taste than judgment; for a man, placed as he was in the society of Lord Wenables and his Court, not to know why he felt happy, shows, we fear, a want of perception equally lamentable with the want of tact displayed in confessing it.
The reverend author laments that the eagerness of the party to do honour to the delicacies of the Lord Mayor’s breakfast-table, prevented their seeing the beauties of Nuneham.
At ten o’clock they made Abingdon—and at Clifton the water shoaled suddenly from eighteen inches to fourteen and a half, so that his Lordship’s yacht, which drew nearly two feet, could be drawn no farther, and they remained hard and fast till a fresh supply of the element could be procured.
The following passage is in the author’s happiest style:—
“The crowds of people—men, women, and children—who had accompanied the barge from Oxford, were continually succeeded by fresh reinforcements from every town and village that is skirted by the river. Distant shouts of acclamation perpetually re-echoed from field to field, as the various rustic parties, with their fresh and blooming faces, were seen hurrying forth from their cottages and gardens; climbing trees, struggling through copses, and traversing thickets, to make their shortest way to the water-side. Handfuls of halfpence were scattered to the children as they kept pace in running along the banks with the City Barge; and Mr. Alderman Atkins, who assisted the Lord Mayor in the distribution, seemed to enter with more than common pleasure into the enjoyment of the little children. It was gratifying to see the absence of selfish feeling manifested by some of the elder boys, who, forgetful of themselves, collected for the younger girls.”
It will be remembered that the voyage now under detail was undertaken in the dreadful year of panic—but we confess we had no idea of the desperate state of affairs in the country which could induce so severe a run on the banks for a few halfpence, such as is here described. It may not be uninteresting to trace the source of the Lord Wenables’s munificence. The halfpence in question were those which we mentioned his Lordship to have taken in change at the turnpike-gates during his Lordship’s over-land journey to Oxford, and were now distributed with that liberality and grace for which his Lordship and Mr. Alderman Atkins will never cease to be remembered. The reverend writer, indeed, says:—
“There is, unquestionably, something genuine and affectionate in the cheerfulness of the common people, when it springs from the bounty and familiarity of those above them: the warm glow of gratitude spreads over their mirth; and a kind word or look, or a little pleasantry, frankly said or done—and which calls in no degree for any sacrifice of personal dignity—always gladdens the heart of a dependant a thousand times more than oil and wine. It is wonderful, too, how much life and joy even one intelligent and good-humoured member of a pleasure-party will diffuse around him. The fountain of indwelling light, which animates his own bosom, overflows to others; and every thing around quickly freshens into smiles.”
It is, we fear, too evident that this passage comes direct from the reverend writer’s heart: it seems clear to the meanest capacity, that he speaks from experience—perhaps of himself—when he expresses the delight which even one intelligent person can convey to a party. It is quite clear, that in the party now assembled there either was no intelligent person, or only one—at least, the observation of the author leaves little room to doubt the disagreeable fact.
At page 80, the following account of the natives of Caversham and the neighbouring districts is given, which is at once romantic and picturesque:—
“Among the equestrians, two are deserving that their looks and equipments should be alluded to in more than general terms. The animals they bestrode were a couple of broken-down ponies, gaunt and rusty, who had possibly once seen better days. The men themselves were not unsuitable figures for such a pair of steeds. They rode with short stirrups, that brought their knees almost under cover of the shaggy mane that overspread the ewe necks of the poor creatures; and carried their short thick sticks perpendicularly in their hands. Such was the appearance of these country wights as they shambled along the road that gave them so good a view of the City State Barge. And so mightily pleased was the Lord Mayor with their uncouth and ludicrous appearance, that he hailed one of them, and asked him to be the bearer of a message to Reading, touching his Lordship’s carriage. The fellow seemed to feel as he never felt before! An honour was about to be conferred upon him alone—to be the avant-courrier of the Lord Mayor of London!—above and beyond all other riders, drivers, and walkers of whatever quality and degree, who had thronged to the view of the civic party. And no sooner had his Lordship flung him a piece of money, and told him to ‘make haste to the Bear Inn, Reading, and order the Lord Mayor’s carriage to meet the barge at Caversham Bridge,’ than the fellow instantly belaboured the starveling ribs of the poor animal that carried him, with kicks and cudgel; who, in a moment, dashed briskly forward, snuffling and snorting across the fields. In the eagerness of his flight, the doughty messenger had much ado to maintain his seat: he sometimes slipped on one side of the saddle, and sometimes on the other; while the skirts of his unbuttoned coat fluttered out far behind him. He executed his commission, however, with fidelity equalled only by the dispatch which he had used; for when the barge arrived at Caversham Bridge, the carriage was waiting the Lord Mayor’s arrival. Other carriages were also in attendance. It was now nearly nine o’clock; and as the evening shadows were beginning to shroud the surrounding scenery, the Lady Mayoress, and the other ladies of the party, except the Misses Atkins, fearful of too long exposure to the night air, landed at the bridge, amidst the firing of guns and other demonstrations of respectful salutation, and proceeded in their carriages to Reading.”
That a Lord Mayor should devote much time to Reading, Mr. Rogers would declare highly improbable—but his Lordship and party partook of a sumptuous supper and went to bed. That we cannot devote much more space to Lord Wenables is equally mortifying—suffice it to say, that on the following day, after a hearty breakfast, an eleven o’clock snack, and a one o’clock luncheon, Lord Wenables and his court partook of a cold collation at Cliefden, at which were present Mrs. Fromow and her son, Broom Witts, Esq.; the Mayors of Maidenhead, Windsor, and Reading, the brothers and sisters of Lord Wenables, and sixty or seventy other persons.
“The gardens and grounds were thronged with spectators, either strolling about or seated on the grass; and on the opposite banks, several tents were erected for general convenience; around which the children shouted and threw up their hats!”
What particular occurrences excited the mirth and activity of the children round this particular spot, the reverend gentleman omits to mention; the following, however, must not be overlooked:—
“The increasing pressure of the surrounding people now rendered the adoption of some plan necessary by which their curiosity could be better gratified. Arrangements were accordingly made to admit the female part of the spectators, in small successive parties, to walk round the tables as the company were seated at dinner; and it was curious to see how many eager eyes were strained, and fingers pointed, to distinguish the individuals of the party. But it was something more than a mere idle feeling of curiosity that prompted this anxiety in the honest peasantry to see the Lord Mayor of London.”
It seems, in fact, that Lord Wenables was born in those parts, so that his anxiety about the source of the Thames was in fact instinctive and intuitive, and as natural as it was laudable.
The next thirty or forty pages of the work consist of a character of his late Majesty, an account of Mr. Wenables’s paper-mill, and a description of the royal Castle at Windsor, copied, we presume, from the Guide to that building, which has been long since published for the benefit of Lions, at the small charge of sixpence.
The details of breaking a bottle over the stone at Staines we cannot give, although the anxiety of Lord Wenables to discover the London water-mark appears to have been professionally natural. At Richmond the barge remained—like the great Lord’s stock in trade—stationary, and his Lordship’s fine foaming horses having been delighted once more with the sight of his Lordship, dashed from Richmond to the Mansion House with a celerity which, although somewhat inconsistent with “true dignity,” brought the illustrious personage, his wife, his chaplain, and his sword-bearer, to the end of the Poultry in “no time;” having safely achieved an adventure which will hand down to posterity the great names of Wenables and Fromow, and the unrivalled powers of an historian, who (though modesty may induce him to keep himself snug) will live in his works till time shall be no more.