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LIVERPOOL
A FEW YEARS SINCE.
LIVERPOOL
A FEW YEARS SINCE
BY
AN OLD STAGER.
THIRD EDITION.
LIVERPOOL:
ADAM HOLDEN, 48, CHURCH STREET.
1885.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Page
Liverpool fifty years since. Goree warehouses. The docks.
Extent of the town. Ships in dock. Ships for sea. Outward
bound .. •• •• .• •• .. I
CHAPTER H.
War. The old " Princess." The Press-gangs — their un-
popularity — Jack's race for life . . . . . .
- CHAPTER HL.
Captain Colquitt. Convoys. Privateers. Dublin packets.
The deserts of Cheshire . . . . . . . .
12
CHAPTER IV.
Volunteers. Captain Bolton. The Marquis of London-
derry. General Benson. General Fisher . .
CHAPTER V.
Prince William of Gloucester. The Prince of Wales. The
Duke of Clarence. Scene at the Mayor's dinner
CHAPTER VI.
Old stagers — Dr. Currie, John Foster, Dr. Brandreth, Sir
William Barton, John Bridge Aspinall, John Bolton . .
i8
23
29
vi Contents.
CHAPTER VII.
Mcses Benson. Fashionables. Military beaux. Major
Brackenbury. Thomas Leyland. Pudsey Dawson . . .. 35
CHAPTER VIII.
Fletcher Raincock. James Clark. The Recorder non-
suited. George Rowe. Jack Shaw. The old Corporation . . 41
CHAPTER IX.
Sir George Dunbar. Tom Dunbar. Thomas Wilson.
Edward Houghton. Mr. Black's white wig. Roger Leigh . . 47
CHAPTER X.
Joseph Leigh. Shakespeare Tom. William Harper.
Bamber Gascoigne . . • . . . . . . . 54
CHAPTER XI.
Society. Sets. Roscoe — how appreciated. Anecdote.
Dr. Shepherd .. •. .. .. .. .. 61
CHAPTER XII.
Sir Joseph Birch. Arthur Heywood. Tom Lowndes.
Colonel Nicholson. Rushton. Captain Crowe. Night
Action. Peter Tyrer . . . . . . . . , , 68
CHAPTER XIII.
William James. Silvester Richmond. Anecdotes. Joseph
Daltera. Puns. Jokes. Sermon .. .. •• 76
CHAPTER XIV.
Practical Jokes and Jokers. Committee of Taste — their
doings and misdoings. Quarrel with Mr. Staniforth — how
settled. Their Chairman. Improvement of the present age . . 83
Contents, vii
CHAPTER XV.
The old tower in Water-street. Committee of Taste again —
more of their pranks. William Wallace Currie — his character
and writings . . . . . . . • . . . . 90
CHAPTER XVI.
Sir John Gladstone — his character. Ottiwell Wood. Judge
Littledale. General D'Aguilar. Devaynes, the conjurer . . 97
CHAPTER XVH.
Old watchmen — tricks played upon them. Pigtails. The
last and very last of the pigtails. Hair powder. Barbers
ruined. Marshall Blucher — preparing for the Battle of Leipsic 104
CHAPTER XVHI.
The old Corporation — their exclusive spirit — their doings.
Management of public affairs. Anecdotes. Corporation din-
ners — county guests. Honest John Watkins, and his defeat at
Waterloo .. .. .. .. .. ..113
CHAPTER XIX.
The Clergy. Blair's sermons. The Rev. Thomas Kidd.
The Rev. Thomas Moss. Anecdotes. The Bottle and the
Wood. Chat Moss .. .. .. .. ..122
CHAPTER XX.
Rector Roughsedge. Anecdotes. The Bishop astonishing
the Clergy. The Rector's one joke. St. George's Church.
The Mayor's Procession. Maternal discipline. After Church.
Lord Street. The Athenaeum steps .. .. .. 130
CHAPTER XXI.
Jonas. Mr. Pitt. The Duke. Archdeacon Brooks. The
Rev. James Hamer. Dr. Hodgson — in Liverpool — in Oxford —
his character, career, and brilliant talents . . . . . . 138
Vlll
Contents.
CHAPTER XXII.
An Election. Parties in the Town and Council. General
Tarleton. Old Freemen. General Gascoigne. Bamber Gas-
coigne. Conscience ... ', . . . . . . 145
CHAPTER XXIII.
Shops. Danson. Shower bath. The Liverpool Hunt.
Peter Carter and his gray horse. Abraham Lowe, the hunts-
man. Cheshire Squires. Sir Peter Warburton. Sir Harry
Mainwaring .. .. .. .. .. ..154
CHAPTER XXIV.
Old Coaches. Macadam. Coachmen. The Umpire. The
Bang-up. Pleasures of travelling on the old roads. Hours
kept by our grandfathers and grandmothers. Visiting. Sedan
Cahirs. Routs. Going out and going home .. .. 164
CHAPTER XXV.
Theatres — the managers — actors — singers. Elliston. Lord
Nelson. George Bailey. Abolition of the Slave Trade. Liver-
pool ruined. Liverpool revived. Conclusion .. .. 172
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.
This little volume has been twice published, and this
issue of it is in ready response to the " third time of
asking " by an appreciating public, largely, as we
imagine, made up of families associated in some way
or other with " Old Liverpool" as it appeared in the
earlier part of the present century.
The traditions of the " Good Old Town " naturally
have an interest to many of us who are also quite able
and equally willing to estimate at their full value the
modern development and rapid progress of the " New
City."
" The inaudible and noiseless foot of time"
passes rapidly on, but even the days that are spent
may
"As withered roses yield a late perfume,"
and so give us often very bright and happy retro-
spects.
Perhaps it may soon be a self-inspired and pleasur-
able task for someone to take up the thread of the
" Old Stager's " story, and bring it down to the present
X Preface to the Third Edition.
time. Meanwhile, let us hope that the kindly enter-
prise of the publisher may be rewarded by a rapid
demand for this little book, at once of real interest to
old Liverpool families and at the same time so simple
and sketchy in its style as to give it no place whatever
in the " records " of the community.
CLARKE ASPINALL.
Liverpool, 1885.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
In the year 1852, Liverpool a Few Years Since, by "An
Old Stager," was republished in " a more abiding
form " than it had previously assumed in the columns
of the Liverpool Albion. The little book sold off rapidly,
notwithstanding its being somewhat expensive, as
compared with the wonderfully cheap publications of
the day, and it is now out of print. It has many a
time and oft been suggested that a further and cheaper
issue would be acceptable to the Liverpool public.
The publisher has, therefore, assumed the responsi-
bility of the present issue ; and, learning that such
was his intention, I have ventured to "preface" the
original preface by a word or two in explanation of
the circumstances and surroundings under which the
Author penned these sketches.
It is scarcely imparting information, to make known
the simple truth that the *' Old Stager " in question
was none other than the late Rev. James Aspinall,
M.A. Oxon, at one time Incumbent of St. Michael's
Church, and more recently officiating at St. Luke's,
xii Preface to the Second Edition.
and afterwards transferred to the Crown Rectory of
Althorpe in Lincolnshire, where he continued to
reside until his death in 1861. The "Old Stager"
was always a man of great activity of mind and body,
and could never be idle. Every moment of his time
was turned to some account ; and thus the very remote
sphere of his parochial and magisterial duties in
Lincolnshire never induced the slightest dulness or
discontent. With a Church, and a Chapel of Ease
three or four miles off, to serve, and with a tolerably
large parish to care for, the " Old Stager " was not
without considerable clerical duty ; and, added to this,
he most unwillingly undertook the responsibilities of
the magisterial office. Notwithstanding the avocations
thus indicated, time was always found for literary
pursuits, for receiving .and imparting knowledge, for
refreshing and renewing his powers of mind, in order
to the successful communication, either by voice or
pen, of his thoughts and ideas to his neighbours and
to the general public. Amid the many written utter-
ances of the " Old Stager's " ready and comprehensive
mind, we must enumerate these notes upon men and
things in our good old town, penned with very con-
siderable pleasure to their writer, as being the jottings
down of his own personal experiences and recollec-
tions of a place and of a people very deeply rooted in
the affections of this true son of Liverpool.
We well remember the bright and genial counten-
ance of the "Old Stager," as he thought aloud upon
his old and early associations. Liverpool was his
home, as against all other homes. His father had
Preface to the Second Edition. xiii
been its chief magistrate so long ago as 1803. His
sons, or some of them, had adopted it as their abiding
place ; and thus, for several generations, this thriving
community seemed to the " Old Stager " to smile upon
him and upon his belongings, and as a consequence,
not at all unnatural, the " Old Stager " felt a devotion
to the town, and towards its inhabitants, which kept
it and them ever in his grateful remembrance.
C. A.
Liverpool, Jamiavy^ i86g.
PREFACE.
The original intention of the Author was to amuse
the younger readers of the Albion, by dashing off a
few sketches of " men and things," as he recollects
them in Liverpool a few years since. For this pur-
pose all that was worth telling, he thought, might be
comprised in about two papers, or chapters. The
public, however, like hungry Oliver Twist, revelling
on the thin workhouse gruel, flatteringly asked for
"more"; and with this request he, not being of a
nature akin to that of Mr. Bumble, has willingly
complied to the extent of his ability. Nor is this
all for which the naughty public is to be held respon-
sible. The chapters having been spun out to the
length which they now occupy, greedy Oliver again
cries out for " more," and demands that, instead of
being left to die out, and be forgotten, as the ephe-
meral occupants of the columns of a newspaper, they
shall be collected, and re-published in a more abiding
form ; and once more our good nature triumphs over
our prudence, and we comply. Under such circum-
stances, the writer of these sketches and reminiscences
Preface. xv
neither courts nor deprecates criticism ; his only ob-
ject in perpetrating these " triiles light as air" was,
he repeats, to set before the rising generation a picture
of the " good " old town, at the commencement of the
present century, and to show them how " men and
manners," and customs and fashions, have changed
since the times in which their grandfathers " ruled the
roast," and were the heroes of the day. In working
out this design, the Author has had neither dates nor
memoranda to refer to, but has trusted entirely to his
own powers of recollection, even as far back as the
period when he reached the mature age of six years !
It is satisfactory, however, to add that, although he
has painted wholly from memory, no one has yet dis-
puted the accuracy of any of the characters which he
has drawn, the events which he has related, or the
anecdotes which he has revived. This may be fairly
assumed as a testimony in favour of their correctness.
For the rest, he has only once more to say, with
Horace, " Non meus hie sernio," &c. ; that is, our re-
appearance is no fault of our own. Oliver Twist "has
done it all," and must bear the blame.
Liverpool, October, 1852.
^^<^<^te)^)^
Liverpool a Few Years Since.
CHAPTER I.
E are not great at statistics. We do not
pretend to be accurate to an hour in
dates, chronology, and so forth. We write,
indeed, entirely from memory, and there-
fore may perhaps occasionally go wrong in fixing " the
hour for the man, and the man for the hour," as we
dot down a few of our recollections of the " good old
town of Liverpool," from the time when we cast off
our swaddling clothes, crept out of our cradle, opened
our eyes, and began to exercise our reasoning powers
on men and things as in those days they presented
themselves to our view. We think that our memory
has a faint glimmering of the illuminations which took
place when peace was made with Napoleon, in 1801.
We also remember being called out of our bed to gaze
at the terrible flames when the Goree warehouses were
burnt down, and how we crept out of the house at day
dawn, and rushed to see the blazing mass and all its
tottering ruins in dangerous proximity.
B
2 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
It might only have happened yesterday, so vividly is
the scene impressed upon our mind. But what was
Liverpool in those days of early hours, pigtails, routs
and hair-powder ?
The docks ended with George's at one extremity
and the Queen's at the other. There was a battery
near the latter and another near the former. Farther
north was a large fort of some thirty guns, and half-
way towards Bootle, a smaller one with nine. The
town hardly on one side extended beyond Colquitt-
street. The greater part of Upper Duke-street was
unbuilt. Cornwallis-street, the large house which Mr.
Morrall erected, the ground on which St. Michael's
Church stands, all were fields at the time of which we
speak. There was a picturesque-looking mill at the
top of Duke-street, and behind Rodney-street we had
a narrow lane, with a high bank overgrown with roses.
Russell-street, Seymour-street, and all beyond were
still free from bricks. Lime-street was bounded by a
field, in which many a time we watched rough lads
chasing cocks on Shrove Tuesday for a prize, the
competitors having their hands tied behind them, and
catching at the victims with their mouths. Edge-hill,
Everton, and Kirkdale were villages, as yet untouched
by the huge Colossus which has since absorbed them
and transmuted them into suburbs. What pilgrimages
we children used to achieve to the second of these
places, the very Mecca of our affections, that we might
expend our small cash upon genuine Molly Bushell's
toffee. And what wonderful tales we heard from
our nurses and companions about Prince Rupert's
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 3
Cottage, — only lately demolished by some modern
Goth, under the plea of improvement ! And then we
crept on to peep at the old beacon at San Domingo,
thinking what a clever device it was to rouse and
alarm the country, never dreaming in our young heads
of telegraphs, and electric telegraphs, and other inven-
tions, which have now superseded the rude make-
shifts of our forefathers. And what a grand house we
thought Mr. Harper's, at Everton, now turned into
barracks. And Hope-street, now so central, then gave
no hopes of existence. It was country altogether. At
one end of it were two gentlemen's seats, inhabited by
the families of Corrie and Thomas, and far removed
from the smoke and bustle of the town.
But go we back to the docks. There were no
steamers in those days to tow out our vessels. The
wind ruled supreme, without a rival. The consequence
was, that when, after a long stretch of contrary winds,
a change took place, and a favourable breeze set in, a
whole fleet of ships would at once be hauled out of
dock, and start upon their several voyages. It was a
glorious spectacle. It was the delight of our younger
days to be present on all such occasions. How we
used to fly about, sometimes watching the dashing
American ships as they left the King's and Queen's
Docks, and sometimes taking a peep at the coasters in
the Salthouse Dock, or at the African traders in the
Old Dock, since filled up, at the instigation of some
goose anxious to emulate the fame of the man who set
fire to the Temple at Ephesus. This fatal blunder it
was which first gave a wrong direction to our docks,
4 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
stretching them out northwards and southwards in
extenso, instead of centralising and keeping them
together. But we must not morahse. We are at the
dock side, or on the pierhead. The tide is rising, the
wind is favourable, " The sea, the sea, the open sea,"
is the word with all. What bustle and confusion !
What making fast and casting off of ropes ! How the
captains shout ! How the men swear ! How the
dock-masters rush about ! What horrible " confusion
worse confounded " seems to prevail ! And yet there
is method in all this seeming madness. Order will
presently come out of all this apparent chaos. The
vessels pass through the dockgates. Meat and bread
are tossed on board of them at the last moment. Friends
are bidding farewell ! Wives tremble and look pale.
There is a tear in the stout-hearted sailor's eye as he
waves his adieu. But, " Give way, give way there,
my lads ; heave away my hearties ! " The vessel
clears the dock, passes through the gut, and then
pauses for a brief space at the pier, while the sails are
set and trimmed. Then comes the final word, " Cast
off that rope ! " and many a time have we, at hearing
it, tugged with our tiny hands until we have succeeded
in effecting it, and then strutted away as proudly as if
we had just won Waterloo or Trafalgar. And now
the sails fill ; she moves, she starts, there is a cheer,
" Off she goes ! " dashing the spray on either side of
her as soon as ever she feels the breeze. And now all
the river is alive. The heavy Baltic vessels are
creeping away. The Americans, always the same, are
cracking along with every stitch of canvas they can
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 5
carry. The West Indiamen sail nobly along, like the
very rulers of the ocean. There are the coasters, and
the Irish traders, and packets, while the smart pilot-
boat dashes along under easy sail, here, there, and
everywhere almost at the same time. And so they go
on, until, like a dissolving view, they are lost behind
the Rock, and we retire from our post, with the
determination to be there again when the same scene
is repeated.
CHAPTER II.
UT the peace of which we spoke in our last
chapter was nothing but a hollow and
armed truce, which gave both parties
time to breathe for a few months. Eng-
land was suspicious. Napoleon was ambitious. The
press galled him to the quick. At all events, "the
dogs of war " were hardly tied up before they were
again " let slip"; and then into what a bustle, and what
a fever of excitement, do we remember old Liverpool
to have been plunged. What cautions and precautions
we used to take, both by land and water. We had a
venerable guard ship in the river, the "Princess,"
which we believe had originally been a Dutch man-
of-war, and, if built to swim, was certainly never
intended to sail. There she used to lie at her moor-
ings, opposite the old George's Dock pier, lazily
swinging backwards and forwards, with the ebbing
and flowing of the tide, and looking as if she had been
built expressly for that very purpose and no other.
Her very shadow seemed to grow into that part of the
river on which she lay. But, besides her, we had
generally some old-fashioned vessel of war, which had
come round from Portsmouth or Plymouth to receive
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 7
volunteers, or impressed men. A word about these
last. Those who live in these " piping times of
peace" have no idea of the means which were employed
in the days of which we are speaking, to man our
vessels of war. The sailors in our merchant service
had to run the gauntlet, as it were, for their liberty,
from one end of the world to the other. A ship of
war, falling in with a merchant vessel in any part of
the globe, would unceremoniously take from her the
best seamen, leaving her just hands enough to bring
her home. As they approached the English shore, our
cruisers, hovering in all directions, would take their
pick of the remainder. But the great terror of the
sailor was the press gang. Such was the dread in
which this force was held by the blue-jackets, that
they would often take to their boats on the other side
of the Black Rock, that they might conceal themselves
in Cheshire ; and many a vessel had to be brought into
port by a lot of riggers and carpenters, sent round by
the owner for that purpose. And, truly, according to
our reminiscences, the press-gang was, even to look at,
something calculated to strike fear into a stout man's
heart. They had what they called a " Rendezvous," in
different parts of the town. There was one we recol-
lect, in Old Strand-street. From the upper window
there was always a flag flying, to notify to volunteers
what sort of businsss was transacted there. But look
at the door, and at the people who are issuing from it.
They are the Press-gang. At their head there was
generally a rakish, dissipated, but determined looking
officer, in a very seedy uniform and shabby hat. And
8 Liverpool a Few Years Since,
what followers! Fierce, savage, stern, villainous-look-
ing fellows were they, as ready to cut a throat as eat
their breakfast. What an uproar their appearance
always made in the streets ! The men scowled at them
as they passed ; the women openly scoffed at them ;
the children screamed, and hid themselves behind
doors or fled round the corners. And how rapidly the
word was passed from mouth to mouth, that there
were " hawks abroad," so as to give time to any poor
sailor who had incautiously ventured from his place
of concealment to return to it. But woe unto him if
there were no warning voice to tell him of the coming
danger ; he was seized upon as if he were a common
felon, deprived of his liberty, torn from his home, his
friends, his parents, wife or children, hurried to the
rendezvous-house, examined, passed, and sent on
board the tender, like a negro to a slave- ship. And so
it went on, until the floating prison was filled with
captives, when the living cargo was sent round to one
of the outports, and the prisoners were divided among
the vessels of war which were in want of men.
Persons of the present generation have certainly heard
of the press-gang, but they never attempt to realise the
horrors by which it was accompanied. Nay, the
generality seem to us to hardly believe in its existence,
but rather to classify it with Gulliver's Travels, Don
Quixote, Robinson Crnsoe, or the Heathen Mythology. But
we can recollect its working. We have seen the
strong man bent to tears, and reduced to woman's
weakness by it. We have seen parents made, as
it were, childless, through its operation ; the wife
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 9
widowed, with a husband yet ahve ; children orphaned
by the forcible abduction of their fathers. And yet,
there were many in those days, not only naval men,
but statesmen and legislators, who venerated the
press-gang as one of the pillars and institutions of the
country. In those days, indeed ! We much fear that,
if even now we could look into the heart of hearts of
many a veteran admiral and captain, we should find
that they have, in the event of a war, no other plan in
their heads for manning the navy but a return to this
dreadful and oppressive system. We would, however,
recommend those in whose department it lies to be
devising some other scheme, as we are strongly im-
pressed with the conviction that public opinion will
not in these days tolerate, under any plea or excuse of
necessity, such an infringement upon the liberty of
the subject. But we are not writing a political article,
but only describing our old-world fashions. Pretty
rows and riots, you may suppose, now and then
occurred betwen the press-gang and the fighting part
of the public ; and not a few do we remember to have
witnessed in our younger days. On more than one
occasion we have seen a rendezvous-house gutted and
levelled to the ground.
Sometimes the sailors and their friends would show
fight, and, as the mob always joined them, the press-
gang invariably got the worst of it in such battles.
Sometimes, too, the press-gangers would " get into the
wrong box," and " take the wrong sow by the ear," by
seizing an American sailor or a carpenter, and then
there was sure to be a squall. The bells from the
10 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
shipbuilding yards would boom out their warning call
in the latter case, and thousands would muster to set
their companion at liberty. A press-gangman was
occasionally tarred and feathered in those days, when
caught alone. We remember, as if it were only
yesterday, walking down South Castle Street (it was
Pool Lane then), with the Old Dock, where the
Custom-house now stands, before us. It was, for
some reason or other, tolerably clear of ships at the
time. We well remember, however, that there was
one large vessel, or hulk, somewhere about the middle.
Before we tell what happened, we must observe that,
attached to the Strand Street press-gang, there was
one most extra piratical-looking scoundrel, named
Jack Something-or-other. Perhaps, as is often the
case, " they gave the devil more than his due ; " but,
if one half of the things said against this Jack were
true, he deserved to be far and away prince and
potentate and prime minister in Madame Tussaud's
Chamber of Horrors. Well, as aforesaid, the Old
Dock was in front of us, when all at once we heard a
noise behind us, which told us that the game was up,
and the hounds well laid on and in full cry.
At the same moment, Jack shot past us, like an
arrow from a bow, while hundreds of men, women,
and children, were howling, shouting, screaming,
yelling, threatening close behind him. Every street
sent forth its crowd to intercept him. There was no
turning until he reached the dock-quay, but there the
carters and porters rushed forward to stop him.
What was to be done ? How was he to escape ?
Liverpool a Few Years Since. ii
The dock, as we said before, was in front, and there
was the vessel in the middle. Without a moment's
hesitation, the terrified wretch took the water, dived,
like Rob Roy, to baffle his pursuers, and soon gained
the deck of the hulk. Some talked of boarding her,
and dragging him from his concealment ; but the
majority of the mob decided that justice was better
than vengeance, and, satisfied with Jack's fright and
ducking, concluded that although he was a bad one,
he was game, and would make them more sport
another time, and so dispersed.
CHAPTER III.
JE spoke of the old guardship, the " Prin-
cess," in our last chapter. Many and
many a time have we walked on her
deck, until we thought that we our-
selves might grow into a Nelson, a St. Vincent, or a
Collingwood. Her captain, who used to take us on
board with him, in the days of which we speak, was
Colquitt — Captain Colquitt, of course, when afloat,
but, on shore, among his friends, and he had many,
Sam Colquitt, glorious Sam, pleasant Sam, clever
Sam, up to anything, equal to anything, with a never-
failing amount of fun and frolic, and an untiring fund
of conversation, generally instructive, always agree-
able, a giver and taker of a joke, full of anecdote,
and the best teller of a good story we ever met with.
We like to dwell upon his name. Much of the happi-
ness of our boyhood sprung from our acquaintance
with him. Beyond him, we recollect but the name of
one of the crowd of faces which we used to see in the
" Princess," the purser's clerk, named Vardy, a tall,
fine looking fellow, some six feet two in height. And
where are all the rest of them ? How many survive ?
And where, and how, are those who do, supported?
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 13
Besides the " Princess," and the tubs of tenders
which came round for the impressed men, we had
occasionally a livelier and more interesting kind of
craft in the Mersey. A dashing sloop of war would
now and then look in, after a cruise in the Channel,
and occasionally would act as convoy to any fleet of
vessels bent upon a long voyage. It was interesting
to see the start of one of these accumulations of ships,
under the care of their watchful guardian. There
they lay in the river, all prepared to make sail when-
ever she made the signal, with all sorts of noises and
confusion going on among their crews. In the midst of
them she was at anchor, with everything made snug
on board, lying like a duck on the water, with silence
and order prevailing from one end of her to the other.
Spying glasses are turned towards her, but there is no
appearance of hurry or anxiety. The wind chops
round, and is favourable for outward-bound vessels.
Still all is quiet and motionless in the man-of-war.
We are not nautical, recollect, and only speak in
landsman's phraseology. What we cannot accom-
plish we will not attempt. All eyes are now anxiously
bent towards her, and the skippers of the merchantmen
begin inwardly, and perhaps outwardly, some of them,
to curse the caprice, or ignorance, or indolence of her
captain ; but, all in good time, gentlemen. Let him
alone, if you please. He knows what he is about.
He is only doubting whether the change of wind will
hold. At last he is satisfied, and look ! — a flash — a
smoke — bang ! It is the signal gun to make ready ;
another to weigh anchor — another to set sail — and
14 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
away she goes, gracefully, like a hen followed by her
chickens ; or, to speak more appropriately, like a
sheep-dog marshalling the flock. Sailing in convoy
was certainly all equality and fraternity, but there was
no liberty. The fast-sailing vessels were compelled to
hoist no more canvass than would enable their slow
companions to keep up with them. It was like the
bed of Procrustes applied to sea affairs. And what
fun it was to watch the crowd of vessels as they
rounded the narrow channel by the Rock ; such
bumping and thumping, such fidgeting and signal-
firing on the part of the guardian angel to check the
fast ones, and stimulate the slow ones, and keep
them all well together.
Nor must we forget here to mention another class of
vessels, which made a very remarkable and prominent
feature of the days which we are describing. We
speak of the privateer. Liverpool was famous for this
kind of craft. The fastest sailing vessels were, of
course, selected for this service ; and, as the men
shipped on board of them were safe, in virtue of the
letter of marque, from impressment, the most dashing
and daring of the sailors came out of their hiding-holes
to take service in them. On the day when such a
vessel left the dock, the captain, or owner, generally
gave a grand dinner to his friends, and it was a great
treat to be of the party. While the good things were
being discussed in the cabin, toasts given, speeches
made, and all the rest of it, she continued to cruise in
the river, with music playing, colours flying, the centre
of attraction and admiration, '* the observed of all
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 15
observers," as she dashed like a flying-fish through the
water. And then the crew ? The captain was always
some brave, daring man, who had fought his way to
his position. The officers were selected for the same
qualities ; and the men — what a reckless, dreadnaught,
dare-devil collection of human beings, half-disciplined,
but yet ready to obey every order, the more desperate
the better. Your true privateer's-man was a sort of
" half-horse, half-aligator, with a streak of lightning "
in his composition — something like a man-of-war's
man, but much more like a pirate — generally with a
superabundance of whisker, as if he held, with
Samson, that his strength was in the quantity of his
hair. And how they would cheer, and be cheered, as
we passed any other vessel in the river ; and when the
eating and drinking and speaking and toasting were
over, and the boat was lowered, and the guests were
in it, how they would cheer again, more lustily than
ever, as the rope was cast off, and, as the landsmen
were got rid of, put about their own vessel, with for-
tune and the world before them, and French West
Indiamen and Spanish galleons in hope and prospect.
Those were jolly days to some people, but we trust we
may never see the like of them again. The dashing
man-of-war, and the daring privateer, dazzled the eyes
of the understanding, and kindled wild and fierce
enthusiasm on all sides. The Park and Tower guns
and the Extraordinary Gazette confirmed the madness,
and kept up a constant fever of excitement. But
count the cost. Lift up the veil, and peep at the
hideous features of the demon of war. Look at the
1 6 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
mouldering corruption beneath the whited sepulchre
of glory ! But no sermons, if you please.
And there were the old Dublin packets in those days,
before steam had turned sailor. If you took a passage
in one of them, and had a fair wind, and were lucky,
you might hope to arrive in Dublin some time, but if
the wind were against you, then, as the old coachman
said of the railway smash, " Where were you ? " You
would be heard of eventually, when worn to a
skeleton, and in a fit of indigestion from eating your
shoe soles in the agony of starvation. And some of
us used to get an annual voyage to Hilbre Island, an
exploit which set us up as sailors for life. Occa-
sionally visitors penetrated about as often to the one
good house which was near the magazines. The Old
Priory at Birkenhead was then " alone in its glory."
All Cheshire, indeed, was in those days a kind of
Africa, inviting and daring the young Bruces and
Mungo Parks of Liverpool to explore it. We con-
sidered it to abound in deserts and Great Saharas.
To penetrate to Wallasey, or to Upton, was to reach
Timbuctoo. Bidston and the Lighthouse were our
Cairo and the Pyramids ; and as to Leasowe Castle,
we cared not to approach it, under especial guardian-
ship of so many fairies, ghosts, and hobgoblins was it
supposed to be. These things sound like so many
fables at the present day, when our steamboats,
bridging the river, carry us across by thousands every
hour. But in those times, an occasional ferry-boat
was the only communication between the Lancashire
and Cheshire shores of the Mersey. Few loved to
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 17
cross from the one to the other, except under the
pressure of business or necessity. Many persons,
indeed, going from Liverpool to Chester, would travel
round by Warrington, rather than chance a rough
passage across the river in a small dangerous-looking
boat. But nons avons change tout cela. The things
which we have been telling only live in the memory of
a very few old fellows like ourselves.
-O^ /^7T;=^ K ^=rS\ ^y^ ^^^'3)
¥
CHAPTER IV.
UT when the war, at the beginning of the
century, was renewed with Napoleon, the
preparations against him were not con-
fined to the water. We had not only
our guardship in the river, but the town itself was
stoutly garrisoned against any enemy. We had
always several regiments of regular soldiers or militia
quartered here. But, besides these, O ! what drum-
ming and fifing and bugling and trumpeting there used
to be among the regiments of our own raising ; for
old Liverpool did her duty well and nobly in those
days of threatened invasion. Young and old, gentle
and simple, high and lowly were all alike seized with
a military fever and a patriotic glow, and hastened
to don red coats and cocked hats, carry muskets, or
wear swords by their sides. And some famous soldiers
we had amongst us, and plenty of them. Let us see.
There was Colonel Bolton's regiment, consisting of as
fine and well-disciplined a body of men as ever
mounted guard in St. James's or Buckingham Palace.
In what awe we used to stand of the tall, upright,
somewhat prim, and starched old colonel, as, mounted
on his favourite white charger, he marched, band
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 19
playing, colours flying, at the head of his men, round
and round Mosslake fields, looking, both he and they,
defiance at all the world in general, and Napoleon,
and Ney, and Soult, and Lannes, and Davoust, and
Murat, and all the rest of the frog-eaters in particular.
And then there was the fine old major, called Joe
Greaves among his familiars, who lived at the top of
Mount Pleasant, and kept a glorious house, and wel-
comed everybody, and was welcome everywhere. A
fine fellow was the major as ever we set eyes upon,
and he was the father of as fine a family as ever
sprung up, like olive branches, round any man's table.
He was always kind, affable, and good-natured,
whenever we met him. Peace to his memory ! And
Sir Thomas Brancker, quiet citizen as he now looks,
used to wear, to us, a most formidable aspect, when
an officer in Bolton's Invincibles. Occasionally he
would act as adjutant to the regiment, and, if our
memory does not fail us at this distance of time, we
once saw him — we certainly saw some one achieve the
feat — ride at a troublesome boy, who would intrude
within the line of sentinels, and leap his horse clear
over the head of the terrified urchin. We also recol-
lect a Hurry and an Aspinall, officers in this regiment.
There was also Colonel Williams's regiment of volun-
teers, a fine body of men, and well ordered and
officered. The colonel had seen some hard service,
and heard real hostile bullets whistling abroad. He
was a strict disciplinarian, and a good soldier. We
need not attempt to describe him. He lived to so ripe
an old age, and to the last took such an active part in
20 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
our public affairs, that most of our readers must have
his picture, in his white Russian ducks, fully im-
pressed upon their memory. He was an ardent lover
of his race and of his country, spared no labour in the
cause of improvement and reform, and in earnestness,
and sincerity, and integrity of purpose never was sur-
passed. Moreover, we had Colonel Earle's regiment
of Fusiliers ; a company of Artillery, commanded by
Major Brancker, the father of Sir Thomas ; a Custom-
house Corps ; a Rifle Corps, second to none in the
country ; and Major Faulkner's Light Horse, better
mounted than any cavalry in the service. And the
military infection spread so far that the very boys at
the schools used to form themselves into regiments,
and drum about the streets, with their little colours
streaming in their front. And what reviews there
were on the North Shore, and sham fights ! And the
waterside carts were all numbered, so as to be easilj'
brought into use in case of an enemy appearing.
Occasionally the soldiers were practised in them.
Benches for seats were placed in them, and they
would drive off as if for some distant place, to which
a railway would now carry them like a flash of
lightning. Once or twice there were sham alarms,
raised in the night to try the activity and spirit of our
volunteers ; and O ! what rattling of artillery, galloping
of horsemen, beating of drums, and blowing of
trumpets aroused the affrighted women and children
from their beds, to look at the crowds of soldiers rush-
ing through the streets to the several places of
mustering for which they were bound. One of the
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 2i
most distinguished officers quartered amongst us in
those busthng old times was Colonel Stuart, now
the Marquis of Londonderry. A strange man is
this said old marquis reported to be, and funny stories
are told of him as ambassador at Vienna, and in
various matters, political and diplomatic. But, never-
theless, a daring and gallant soldier was he in his
youth ; and, as a cavalry officer, in dash and skill,
was reckoned, not only second, but almost equal, to
Murat, the Marquis of Anglesea, and perhaps Jerome
Buonaparte, whose desperate charges at Waterloo
drew from his brother the exclamation, that if all had
fought like him the day would have had a different
issue. Well do we recollect Colonel Stuart, on his
prancing Arabian horse, which he had brought with
him from the Egyptian campaign ; and a noble pair
they looked as they dashed along. There was a
rumour at the time, let us hope an idle one, that this
steed of Araby was begged from him by a royal duke,
and subsequently passed into a hackney coach. And
how well do we recollect the encampment which was
formed one summer, somewhere towards Litherland,
and how the proud soldiers, living under tents, fancied
that they were undergoing all the horrors and hard-
ships of war in behalf of their beloved country. And
what heroes we had in command of this military
district. There was old General Benson, whose
quarters were in Islington, a little of a martinet, and
more of a prig, with a large slice of the pedant in
things warlike — a regular old pig-tail, but reputed to
be a good soldier. After him, we had a hero of
22 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
another cut, figure, and appearance, General Fisher,
whom it was glorious to behold. We will attempt to
describe him. It was his custom to creep up Duke
Street, where he was quartered, every morning before
breakfast. He used to have on a pair of long, light
blue pantaloons ; slippers, down at the heels ; a seedy
coat, dear at three-halfpence for a scare-crow ; a
cocked hat to match, with much more grease than
nap on it — we all hated Nap in those days — and a
little feather, about two inches high, just peeping
above it. And then the figure of fun arrayed in these
habiliments. The general was a stout man, with
rather a protuberant corporation. His cheeks bore
the marks, it may be of many campaigns, but
certainly of many vintages. He blushed port wine
unceasingly. His nose, no small one, grew into some-
thing like a large bulbous root towards the extremity ;
and he wore a pig-tail, huge in its dimensions, both as
to length, breadth, and thickness, even in those days
of pig-tails. Such was the one-time champion of
this district, as he might be seen creeping every
morning through the streets, with his hands in his
pantaloon pockets, not unlike an old pantaloon him-
self, and with a crowd of little boys admiring the
war-like apparition, but strongly doubting whether it
was St. George or the Dragon that stood before them.
CHAPTER V.
IE spoke, in our last chapter, of the false
alarms by which the soldiers forming our
garrison were once or twice called to-
gether in the night, to try their zeal and
alacrity ; and we said how terribly alarmed were the
women and children on such occasions. But we can,
as truly as proudly, add that their fears did not extend
to our brave and gallant volunteers. They rushed to
their gathering spots, wild and eager for the coming
danger, and, we verily believe, were sorely dis-
appointed when they found that the actual oppor-
tunity had not arrived for teaching the enemy how
Englishmen could fight for their country, their king,
their altars, hearths, and homes. Let us, however,
be thankful that we were never subjected to the
horrors of invasion, but that the bold front of our
champions kept it and them at a distance. The worst
of our military fever was, that, in imitation of the bad
practice of real soldiers at that day, it led to several
duels. One of them ended fatally, a member of one of
the most respectable families in the town having fallen
by the hand of another, with whom he had always
previously been on the most intimate terms. It was
24 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
supposed at the time that this sad afifair was encour-
aged by some who should have made every exertion
and used every effort to have prevented it, but did not.
We have already spoken of several of the general
officers who commanded in this district at the time we
speak of. There was one, however, who will occupy
a larger space in our canvas than we can afford to
give to any other. When our military enthusiasm
was at its height, Prince William Frederick of
Gloucester came down to take the command. It has
always been said that " Liverpool loves a lord," and
there is some truth in the sarcasm. You may fancy,
then, into what a fever of loyalty we were all thrown,
young as well as old, by the presence of a prince of the
blood royal amongst us, the veritable nephew of "the
good old king," George the Third. And then how
that fever grew and inflamed into actual white heat
when the Duke of Gloucester, the king's brother and
the father of the prince, arrived on a visit to his son.
We remember him as if it were but yesterday ; a fine,
benevolent-looking old man, who was all smiles and
kindness as he spoke to you. The prince himself was
a tall, handsome, noble-looking young man, not too
clever, as some of his intimates whispered, as they
profanely called him " Silly Billy," the name having
been originally fastened upon him by his royal cousin,
subsequently George the Fourth, of splendid and dissi-
pated memory. But what of that ? We did not want
him to set the Mersey on fire, but to fight if fighting
were to become necessary. And O ! what gaieties,
what parties, what festivities, what flirtations, we had
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 25
in honour of his arrival and residence amongst us.
Beauty was beauty in those days, and so the prince
thought, and so did the train of gallant and glorious
staff-officers who accompanied him. There was the
magnificent Mrs. , and the pretty Mrs. , and
the clever Mrs. , and the splendid-looking Miss
. How other hearts beat, perhaps with jealousy,
perhaps with spite, as the prince, at most of the gay
parties, generally devoted himself, more or less, to one
or other of these Lancashire witches. Occasionally,
however, a fit of formality came over him, and then
nothing could be so stupid as to have the honour of
meeting him. The duke, his father, had not married
a bit of German silver, but had followed the bent of
his inclinations and united himself to an English lady
of great beauty. This led to the passing of the Royal
Marriage Act. To annoy the prince, under these
circumstances, his cousins used to raise a question
occasionally whether he should be called Highness or
Royal Highness, although there was no doubt that the
latter was his title. This made him ever and anon
tenacious of the amount of honour and respect to be
paid to him, and when the fit was upon him, he would
push etiquette to the extreme, and keep the whole
company standing in his presence, just as another
prince does sometimes at the present day. But when
he did relax, he could be a delightful companion. He
possessed prodigious strength, and was very fond of
displaying it at those times when he forgot his stiffness
and starch. There was, however, one sad interrup-
tion to the worship and adoration with which he had
26 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
hitherto been surrounded in Liverpool. The Prince
of Wales (George the Fourth) and the Duke of
Clarence (the sailor king) paid a visit to " the good
old town." As the stars twinkle not before the moon,
and the moon herself pales before the brighter beams
of the sun, so certain of our tuft-hunters here forgot
the respect which was due and which they had long
paid to the prince, in their anxiety to bow down and
render homage to the new and passing visitors. We
are not going to recount all the follies of the occasion.
How the Duke of Clarence pushed a milk-pail from a
poor girl's head, in Water-street, and then astonished
her with a guinea for her loss, and so forth. We
shall hasten at once to a scene which took place at
the Town Hall. A magnificent banquet was given
there by the Mayor of the time being. The Prince
of Wales, the Duke of Clarence, Prince William
Frederick of Gloucester, the Earls of Derby and
Sefton, with a crowd of military officers, were
present. After dinner the usual toasts were proposed ;
then the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Clarence,
each with three times three. At last it was Prince
William's turn, when, under the influence of some
demon of mischief, the Mayor, instead of proposing
his health, as usual, with all his titles and all the
honours, foolishly consulted the Prince of Wales and
the Duke of Clarence on the subject, asking in
what form he should give the toast, and whether he
should say Highness or Royal Highness. The answer
of the Prince of Wales was said to be, " Certainly not
Royal Highness, and without the honours," while the
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 27
Duke of Clarence more bluntly replied, " D him,
don't give him at all." The Mayor then rose and
simply proposed, " The commander-in-chief of the
District, Prince William Frederick of Gloucester." It
was drunk in solemn silence. The company all looked
grave, as feeling that, under the influence of a higher
idolatry, a gross insult had been offered to the late
god of Liverpool adoration. Fierce glances were
exchanged between the staff-officers and the other
military men present. The prince himself writhed
under the stroke, like a wounded tiger smarting under
the lance of the hunter. Fire and brimstone and the
devil himself flashed from his eyes, but he kept his
seat. Presently the fearful and appalling silence was
broken by the voice of the Mayor, calling out, as the
next toast, " The lord-lieutenant of the county, with
three times three," the three times three omitted at
the name of the commander-in-chief, being revived
with that of the next toast. A thunderbolt falling into
the midst of the party could not have caused more
astonishment and excitement. There could be no
mistake now. The insult was meant to be an insult,
and nothing but an open, prominent, and most insult-
ing insult. The words had hardly passed from the
lips of the Mayor, when Prince William, glancing a
signal to his staff, who had their eyes fixed upon him,
rose from his seat and left the room, followed not only
by them, but by the whole of the military officers of
his command who were present, leaving the table
almost deserted, the Mayor gaping in amazement, and
the royal cousins astounded at the spirit which they
2S Liverpool a Few Years Since.
had evoked, more, perhaps, in mischief than in
wanton insolence. However that may have been,
from that day forth there was an uncomfortable
feeling between the people of Liverpool and Prince
William. It is only just to the rest of the corporation
and to the gentry of the place to state, that to a
man they felt strongly that an unwarrantable insult
had been offered to him. He was, we believe, per-
suaded of this, but he never could be cordial again.
If he forgave, he could not forget, the slight and
mortification to which he had been so publicly
exposed.
CHAPTER VI.
E have already said that, in the days of
which we are speaking, the Cheshire side
of the Mersey, now bridged to us by
steam, was a tevva incognita to the general
inhabitants of Liverpool. Almost as little was known
of Aigburth, Childwall, Knotty Ash, Walton, West
Derby, and so forth. Our fashionables were then
satisfied to live in their comfortable town residences,
without looking upon a country house and garden,
and hothouse, as necessary to their existence. And
we question whether they were not as happy as,
we are certain they were more sociable and hospitable
than, their more refined and degenerate children. We
had not so many sets, cliques, and coteries. Men
were more sincere than flashy in those times, and their
entertainments more solid than showy. But we must
not omit to give a " local habitation and a name "
to some of our old leaders. The HoUinsheads lived
then, and for many a day after, in the big family
house near the canal. Some few respectable families
lingered in Oldhall-street, to which the venerable Mrs.
Linacre, who lived through so many generations,
stuck to the last. Mr. Drinkwater, the father of Sir
30 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
George, inhabited a large house in Water-street.
Jonas Bold lived splendidly at the lower end of
Redcross-street. The market at that period was held
round St. George's church, and chiefly in the space
then contracted by a row of houses standing between
it and the Crescent, in the rear of which stood a
narrow, winding street, called Castle Ditch, com-
municating with Lord-street, then very narrow, and
with no pretentions to attract admiration or even
notice from the casual passenger, although the shops
in it were always among the best in the town. In
Church-street lived the old and respectable family of
the Cases, now represented by Mr. J. D. Case,
formerly a member of our town council, and at
present a resident in Cheshire. His father, George
Case, was for many years the leader of the Tory party
in the ancient town council, and was, without excep-
tion, the best chairman of a public meeting whom we
ever met with. Clayton-square was a strong resort of
our leading and substantial merchants. Many a
happy day have we spent in what was then the
splendid mansion of the Rodie family. Kind, magni-
ficent, and munificent in their hospitalities, but now
alas, without a representative of even the name sur-
viving. Dr. Currie, so celebrated in his day, and so
celebrated yet, lived in Basnett-street.
Bold-street had its Tobins, Aspinalls, Dawsons, &c.
That kind-hearted man. Rector Renshaw, lived here in
a corner house, with its door opening upon Newington-
bridge. A little farther, on the opposite side, was the
house of the famous John Foster, the most influential,
Liverpool a Few Years Sifice. 31
as he assuredly was the cleverest, man of his day ; the
father of the generation who have lived and died
amongst us, abused, every one of them, for their name,
but admitted, all and each, to have been gifted men in
their several callings and professions. Opposite to
the house of Rector Renshaw was that of Harry Park,
as we familiarly called him, the Abernethy or Astley
Cooper of Liverpool ; as a surgeon, we believe, second
to no man of his day. At the very next door lived
Dr. Brandreth, of whose eminence, or pre-eminence,
as a physician, it is impossible to speak too highly.
In all our wanderings over, and sojournings in,
different parts of the world, we never remember to
have met with a medical man whose standing was so
thoroughly ascertained, admitted, and appreciated.
And his position was as elevated in the social as in
the medical world. There was no appeal against the
fiats which Fashion issued from her seat in Bold-
street. We now come to Slater-street, then only
partially built upon. Here lived the Myers family,
and here resided Mr. Tobin — at a much later period,
Sir John.
In Seel-street was Mr. Perry, the first dentist of his
day and locality ; and next door to him lived the
tremendous Mrs. Oates, the best instructress of small
children in the rudiments of English whom the world
has ever seen. She had the knack of measuring baby
capacity, and of drawing out all that it contained,
helped thereto, doubtless, by a concentrated essence of
birch-rod-look which she constantly wore in school-
hours, and which had " no mistake " written upon it
32 Liverpool a Feiv Years Since.
in large letters. At all events, her name was celebra-
ted at that day in all our public schools, as the best
grounder and trainer of the young idea from whom
they ever received recruits. But now we are in
Duke-street, one of the most fashionable streets in the
town at that remote period, and for some years
afterwards. Here lived Mr. Whitehouse, and Mr.
Peter Ellames. A little higher up resided a glorious
old soul, Mr., afterwards Sir WilHam Barton, as
hearty a true Briton as ever walked on shoe-leather,
and who had many experiences to tell of the West
Indies in general, and Barbadoes in particular ; and
many also were the jokes tossed off at his expense.
There used to be a nigger song quoted against him,
extemporised by the black poets, it was said, on some
occasion when he had lost a horse-race in Barbadoes.
Some of the jingling rhymes we recollect ran thus :
" Massa Barton, Massa Barton, we are sorry for your loss ;
But when you run again you must get a better oss ! "
And then, as they rushed away at his supposed angry
approach, came —
" Run boys, run, run for your life,
For here comes Massa Barton with his stick and knife."
At a later period, when Sir William was mayor, a
very laughable occurrence took place at his own table.
A gentleman, rising to propose his worship's health,
thus commenced his speech, " Addressing myself to
you, sir," &c., but it so happened that Sir Wilham,
who was no enemy to a jolly full bottle, or two if you
like, was, by this time, in a tolerably muddy, misty.
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 33
and oblivious state of mind, having no tangible recol-
lections at the moment, save and except of his Bar-
badian experiences, where "you sir" was the term
of contempt used by the master to the slave. Up
jumped his worship, his eyes sparkling with wine and
wrath, and with much hiccuping, exclaimed, "You
sir, you sir, good heavens, you sir, that I should have
lived to be called you sir ! " Then down he bumped,
looking like Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, rolled all into one,
but continuing to start up and interjectionally to
shout, " You sir ! " until he fell asleep and slipped
under the table. Nobody, however, laughed more
heartily the next morning at the scene than did the
mayor himself, who had returned from Barbadoes to
Duke-street.
A few doors from Barton lived John Bridge Aspinall,
a man much esteemed by all in his day, princely in
his hospitalities, and with a heart and hand open to
every call of charity. Then came Leather, Naylor,
Black, Penkett, and a crowd of solid and substantial
men, much looked up to and regarded at that time.
But whose noble mansion have we here ? Built by
one of the Lake family, it was subsequently, for many
years, the residence of a townsman whose name was
identified with Liverpool, and who, comparatively
speaking, but lately departed from amongst us. We
talk of John Bolton, a man who worked his own way
up from poverty to riches, and then lived in the most
magnificent way, and in so becoming a manner that
he might have been born to the magnificence in which
he lived. No one knew the value of silence better than
D
34 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
Mr. Bolton. He had not received much education,
but he saved appearances by making it an invariable
rule never to open his mouth on a subject he did not
understand. But we must stop to-day in the catalogue
of our worthies. It may sound to some of our young
readers like a dry chronicle of names. But never
mind them. There are still some old stagers, like our-
selves, left, and they will be delighted with this flight
back to the men and things of their youthful days.
Like veterans, we still love the clash of arms, and to
fight our battles over again ; and we much mistake if
Liverpool were not at least as remarkable then for its
guiding and leading spirits as it is now.
r^ ,jf-
CHAPTER VII.
LITTLE higher up than Colonel Bolton's,
but on the same side of Duke-street,
stood the noble palace mansion of Moses
Benson, one of the merchant princes of
the old times of which we are speaking, with its gar-
dens and pleasure grounds, bounded on one side by
Cornwallis-street, and on the other by Kent-street, and
extending backwards to St. James-street. In Duke-
street also lived his son, Ralph Benson, one of the
pleasantest and most agreeable men we ever met with,
but somewhat, indeed, too much of a Lothario. After
his father's death he resided at Lutwyche, in Shrop-
shire, became connected with the turf, and represented
Stafford in several parliaments. His wife, Mrs. Ralph
Benson, was an Irish lady, of good family, — a Ross
Lewin, we believe, — a charming person, handsome,
and accomplished, who gave delightful parties, where
all the wits and fashionables of the day used to
assemble. And here we must say that the beaux of
those times were beaux indeed. There are none such
to be met with at the Wellington-rooms now, or seen
at the windows of the Palatine Club. The Littledales,
Hamiltons, Duncans, Dawsons, Lakes, etc., of that
36 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
generation, — where are they now ? — were then a list of
fine young fellows. And all the parties were so set off
by the red jackets and blue jackets of our brave
defenders, who made strange havoc among the ladies'
hearts. Among the stafF-ofificers who figured at them
all, how well we remember the names and faces of
Moultrie, Cox, Oisted, Higgins, and a host of others.
And let us not forget the naval aid-de-camp of the
Duke of Gloucester, Captain Browne, whose fine
manly bearing and noble person must still be im-
pressed upon the memories of many of our older
readers. He was a true specimen of the British sailor,
deeply respected by all who knew him, as well by
landsmen as in naval circles. A generation later, if
we may take such a jump, we had, among the staff-
officers quartered here, Bainbrigge, now a general,
and one of the ablest officers m the service, and
one of the cleverest men out of it. There was
Peddie, also, a delightful man among those with
whom he was intimate. Nor must we forget William,
we should say Major William, Brackenbury, a charm-
ing fellow, as the ladies said, and a rattling, pleasant,
agreeable companion, as all admitted, the life and
charm of every party, equal to a good song, and
foremost in the dance. But what miracles does time
work ! Major Brackenbury, and his charger, and his
dashing uniform, and his waving plume left Liverpool,
and we lost sight of him for a long season. Years
elapsed, when we went on a visit to a friend, who lived
in a remote village in a far-off corner of the country.
One day two strangers were announced. They were a
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 37
deputation from some missionary society, and had
come to invite our host to attend a meeting to be
held that evening at the village schoolroom. They
were grave looking persons ; hair combed down, black
coats, white ties, and all the rest of it. As they
entered, we were sure that we had seen the coun-
tenance of one of them before. We looked at him,
and he looked at us. The recognition was mutual,
and at the same instant. " By Jove, Brackenbury,"
said we. " Ah, ! " exclaimed he, not less warmly,
but less profanely ; and in an instant, after a hearty
hand-shaking, we went back at rattling railway pace
to the old times, the old people, and the old memories,
to the bewilderment of both of our friends, but clearly
to the utter horror of his grave companion. But we
could not stop till we had it all out, nor till then
could we proceed to business. He died soon after-
wards. Poor fellow ! he was a good soldier in his
soldier days. And his closing career was that of a
good Christian. Peace to his memory! And when
we go, may those who survive us be able to say the
same of us.
But to return to our story. In Duke-street, from
which he subsequently removed to Walton Hall, at
that time likewise lived Thomas Leyland, the eminent
banker, who, from small beginnings, worked his way,
by energy, industry, and perseverance, to the posses-
sion of immense wealth. He was a man of amazing
shrewdness, sagacity, and prudence. When the north
countryman was asked for the receipt of his ale, which
was always good, he answered, " There's just a way of
38 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
doing it, man." And so it was with Mr. Leyland. He
had "just the way of doing things." We will not
compare him to the animals which are said " to see
the wind," but, by some intuition, instinct, or presenti-
ment, call it what you will, he seemed always to have a
warning of any coming storm in the money market, and
trimmed and steered the ship, and took in sail accord-
ingly. He was a fine-looking man, with what some
thought a stern and forbidding, but what we should
call a firm and decided look. We remember him with
favour and gratitude. We received many civilities,
and not a few substantial kindnesses, from him in his
day. We omitted to state that what is now the
Waterloo hotel,* at the bottom of Ranelagh-street,
was then the mansion of the Staniforth family. The
son, Samuel, lived to be an old man amongst us, and
was once the mayor of Liverpool, and afterwards sunk
down into being the stamp distributor of the district.
He was a gentlemanly kind of person in society, but
of a strangely austere and forbidding aspect, the
most vinegar-visaged man we ever beheld. And the
index was a correct representative of the inner man.
When the election poet wrote of him " Sulky Sam
Staniforth," he drew his character in those three
words. By his marriage with a most estimable lady,
he was closely connected with the Case, Littledale,
and Bolton families. His son came in for the great
bulk of Colonel Bolton's wealth, to the exclusion of
his own relations ; one of the happily rare instances
in which a north countryman forgets his own blood in
the disposal of his property.
* Since removed, with other premises, for the Central Station.
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 39
We now approach Colquitt-streel, in which resided
that shrewd, plodding merchant, Gilbert Henderson,
the father of our respected and able Recorder. Here,
also, lived Thomas Parr, who afterwards retired into
Shropshire. His house was disposed of by a tontine,
and, at a later day, became the Royal Institution,
from which so many youths have gone forth to en-
counter the storms or pluck the honours of the world.
Here, likewise, lived that true-hearted man of the old
school, Peter Whitfield Brancker, one of the worthiest
among the worthies of the days we write of. He was
one who eschewed anything like nonsense, and was
highly gifted with common sense. What he said he
meant, and what he did he did with all his heart and
soul. Few thought that he had so much kindness
beneath his somewhat blunt and bluff bearing ; and
many called him selfish, when he laid up for his family
what others threw away upon vanity and ostentation.
We always looked upon him as one of the best men of
the day ; and, although he was a silent man in general
company, he was far before most of our merchant
princes in reading and intellectual attainments. In
Rodney-street, then only partially built upon, lived
Mr. Leicester, and also that " fine old English gentle-
man," Pudsey Dawson, who was the delight of our
boyhood, as we listened to his powers of talking, and
watched, with amazement, his capabilities for taking
snuff. He was the father of, we may say, besides his
other sons, a race of heroes. William, who was in
the Royal Navy, distinguished himself greatly in the
East Indies, by the capture, after a desperate action,
40 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
of a French frigate, which had long been an annoy-
ance and a thorn in the side of our trade in that
quarter. Another fell, gloriously, in Spain. Charles,
a lamb in society, a lion in battle, was killed at
Waterloo. If our memory holds good, both of these
last mentioned were then in the 52nd, a crack regi-
ment in the famous fighting brigade of those gun-
powder times. Noble old Pudsey Dawson ! How he
would talk by the hour, of wars and rumours of wars,
to the circle which would gather round him at the
Athenaeum, until, as he turned from one to another,
the whole ring in which he moved might be tracked
by the overflow of his snuff-box. And what a horror
he had of Napoleon and Frenchmen and everything
French. It was well for them, as he used to say, that
he was not at Blucher's elbow when he entered Paris,
it being his firm belief that the earth would never be
quiet, until that city of trouble and confusion was
blotted from its face. But Liverpool society could not
point to a man of whom it was prouder, or one more
respected, esteemed, or honoured, than this same
Pudsey Dawson. All men liked him, and we did not
make an exception.
CHAPTER VIII.
N Rodney-street, likewise, lived Fletcher
Raincock, one of the most remarkable
characters of his day. He had few equals
in a legal capacity, and no superiors in
literary attainments. He had a most gluttonous
appetite for books, and read everything, old and new.
He was a regular "curiosity shop" in the variety of
his knowledge, and could produce all sorts of odds and
ends at a moment's notice, from all sorts of ancient
authors, unknown to and never heard of by other
people. This made him a most agreeable companion,
his conversational powers being tremendous, and set
off, rather than impaired, by a spice of originality and
eccentricity, just enough to draw a line between him
and the common herd of ordinary and every-day
people by whom he was surrounded. Like Yorick,
"he would set the table in a roar," by the combined
wit and wisdom which he had ever at command. And
while speaking of lawyers, let us digress for a moment
to mention another old giant of those times. We
allude to Mr. Hargreaves, who was for some years the
Recorder of Liverpool, a deep and profound lawyer,
hand ulli veterum virtute secimdtis. He was succeeded by
James Clarke, who lived to a much later date amongst
42 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
us. Poor Clarke ! We never thought him crushed
down by the weight of legal lore which he carried.
But he was a man given to books, and had learned
much from them. A pleasant man in a party, too, he
was, abounding in anecdote and the passing stories of
the day. And, on one point, we must admit that he
was unmatched. We never met with any one who
possessed more shrewdness and knowledge of the
world. He had thoroughly studied the volume of man
as well as printed books, and we often point to his
career as a proof of the usefulness of this knowledge.
He had a remarkable coolness and calmness about his
character, but we did once see him put into a regular
"fix," in his own court, by an obstreperous juryman,
who would have a will of his own. A huge sailor and
a small boy were being tried for stealing an immense
piece of cable. The sailor threw it all upon the boy,
and the Recorder, believing him, was charging the
jury to the same effect, when one of them rising, and
hitching up his trousers, commenced, " But, Mr.
Recorder ! " This was too much. Mr. Recorder,
electrified with indignation at being so interrupted,
looked his best thunderbolts at the remonstrant, who
still, however, kept sturdily on his legs, muttering
protests against the opinion of the bench. The spec-
tators became excited and amused at such an unusual
scene, and a titter went round the court. This only
added fuel to the fire, and Mr. Recorder made another
attempt to silence his persevering assailant. " I tell
you," he exclaimed, " that from the evidence, the boy
must have been the culprit who carried off the cable ;
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 43
the law says so, and I say so." But the obdurate
juryman had not yet done. He instantly answered,
" But, Mr. Recorder, I do not know what you and the
law may tell me, but common sense tells me that that
boy could not even lift that piece of cable from the
ground, much less run away with it." This was a
poser with a vengeance. It was a new and original
view of the case, which set all evidence at naught.
The titter in the court grew into a regular burst of
laughter, which nothing could check. The poor
Recorder was fully nonplussed and nonsuited, and the
jury acquitted the boy without a moment's hesitation.
And here, if we may descend from barristers to
solicitors, let us render a tribute of respect to the
memory of a fine old fellow, a practitioner in the latter
branch of the legal profession. We speak of George
Rowe, of whom we knew much, and nothing but what
was admirable. He was a warm friend and a delight-
ful companion. He loved the good things of this
world, but he liked others to enjoy them with him.
He was fond of society, and in his own house kept, we
always thought, the best table in Liverpool. But we
we were going to speak of him as a lawyer. We can-
not fathom the exact depth of his reading in Coke,
Blackstone, and so forth. We leave his head, to speak
of his heart. And in this point of view, we can
mention several things which will prove that, unless
lawyers in general are greatly maligned, George Rowe
was a miracle of a lawyer, in allowing the milk of
human kindness to flow so largely through his nature.
We recollect an instance in which he offended and
44 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
lost an old and valuable client, because he refused to
make a will for him which he thought unjust towards
the gentleman's own family and relations. And more
instances than one could we tell of in which he
worked, and included even expensive papers, docu-
ments, and stamps, all "free gratis for nothing," for
poor and deserving parties who had solicited his help
in the expectation that they were to pay for it on the
usual terms. There may be others in the profession,
and we trust there are many, equally liberal and kind-
hearted. But knowing it of him, we tell it, and we
add further, that, in our voyage of life, we never met
a kinder, a warmer, and a truer friend. We honoured
him in life, and in death we treasure his name and
memory.
In Queen-square lived another family, called, with a
different spelling. Roe, and of most respectable stand-
ing were they, among the substantial old stagers of the
town. In the same locality resided Colonel Graham,
and also another party upon whom we must bestow a
somewhat longer notice. This was Mr. John Shaw,
commonly called Jack Shaw, a man of immense
wealth and intense vulgarity. Never was there such
a sacrifice to the golden calf as that betrayed, not
simply by the elevation of such a person to the highest
municipal honours, and the civic chair, but in giving
him an influence which he held undisturbed for years.
He was positively known by the sobriquet of " the King
of the Council," or " King Jack." His grammar was
truly a la Malaprop. On one occasion we recollect
hearing him, when wishing to be fine, call the old
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 45
constables his " mermaids," instead of his " myrmi-
dons." At another time, when he was sitting on the
bench, the Town-clerk observed to him that a sen-
tence which he was about to pass would be contrary
to the Act of Parliament, when the magisterial despot
silenced his functionary by retorting, " D your
Acts of Parliament. What cares I for your Acts of
Parliament ? " He had a habit also of invariably
pronouncing the word "digest" as if it were "disgust."
One day, at his own table, he had a waggish friend of
his, Carruthers, dining with him. The fish was not
very good, as Jack always dealt in the cheapest
market. Carruthers rather turned up his nose at the
savour, but his host fell to with the greatest vigour,
observing, "Oh, I can disgust anything." "Yes, by ,
that you can," exclaimed C, with a roaring laugh.
Presently, however, Jack paid him off, as he thought,
with compound interest. " Carruthers, my boy, how
many shirts a week do you wear?" said he. "One
every day, and sometimes more," was the answer.
"Why, man," was Jack's rejoinder, "what a dirty
hide you must have. One serves me a fortnight."
Such were the municipal pleasantries of the municipal
monarch of his day. We believe that it was the same
worthy potentate who once threatened to ''slat an ink-
stand at the head of a Jew, who was a witness before
him, if he did not tell him what his Christian name
was," and he would have said the same thing to a
Turk or a Hindoo.
We believe it was the same Jack who once com-
plained to the late Egerton Smith that he had not
46 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
reported something that he had said fairly, when that
respected editor facetiously replied, that " if he ever
grumbled again, he would report everything he uttered
on the bench or elsewhere, verbatim et literatim, exactly
as he delivered it." But our readers must not suppose
that because, by some strange metamorphosis more
wonderful than any related by Ovid, this awful Jack
was translated into a Town-Councilman, we had,
therefore, a whole council of such men. Far from it.
Jack was a pelican in the wilderness, a thing out of
place, an accidental nuisance, how and why admitted
into that body, it is impossible now even to guess. As
a whole, and with this exception, the old Town
Council of Liverpool consisted of some of the first
and most respectable and most respected men in the
place. Its fault was, that it was too exclusive ; like
the late Whig cabinet, too much of a family affair. It
did its work well in its day ; we may, indeed, say
remarkably well, considering its irresponsibility. But
a change was demanded with the changing times.
We sometimes question, however, whether we have
improved the class of men. Then it was selection,
without election ; now it is too often election, without
selection. But the present system has this great
advantage : a black sheep is not a perpetuity. We
can get rid of him at the end of his three years, and
that is something, and a great something.
^S^v
CHAPTER IX.
;N Mount Pleasant lived, in those good old
times, Sir George Dunbar, the representa-
tive of an ancient race in Scotland, and a
model gentleman, both in appearance and
manners. He was originally in business in Liverpool;
but when the family title descended to him, the pride
of ancestry was stronger than the pride ol "the mer-
chant prince " within him, and he retired from vulgar
trade, cut sugar hogsheads and rum puncheons, and
was no more seen on the " Rialto," discussing markets
and inquiring the price of barilla and pearl ashes. It
was a false move on the part of the worthy baronet.
No rank would have been sullied by remaining in the
firm of which he was the head. His junior partners,
Ewart and Rutson, became not only eminent, but pre-
eminent, amongst our giants of that day, and achieved
a name and reputation known to the ends of the earth,
and are still well represented amongst us. The son of
the latter is a large landowner in Yorkshire, univer-
sally respected ; while, of the family of the former,
one son, William, has long been in parliament, and
another, Joseph Christopher, was a candidate for
48 Liverpool a Feiv Years Since.
Liverpool at a recent general election. But the
Dunbars have altogether vanished from the scene.
The best of them that we knew, poor Tom Dunbar,
was one of the handsomest and cleverest, and cer-
tainly the most brilliant and the wittiest, of inankind.
He had abilities for anything, for everything, but he
never cultivated them ; at all events, he never used
them. He wanted either application or resolution.
It might be the pride of his father in another shape.
He was a lounger where he might have been a
leader. He was satisfied to flash and dazzle as a
meteor in society, while men much less intellectually
endowed, but of a more persevering and plodding
spirit, passed over him, and became persons of mark,
position, and distinction. It was mortifying to his
friends to see him ever with the game in his hands,
yet always throwing up the cards. His active life
amounted to just nil; but his sayings, his polished
witticisms, his delightful retorts, his splendid and pun-
gent repartees, in English, Greek, and Latin, would
fill volumes. They are still treasured by the survivors
of the circle of which he was the life and joy and
pride, and brought out every now and then, with a
sadly smiling countenance, as one of Dunbar's gems :
just as on high and grand days we go to the oldest
bin for a bottle of the best vintage. And everything
was original with him. He never borrowed nor
repeated. It was fresh and fresh with him, as often
as you met him.
But we must pass on. Russell-street and Clarence-
street had no existence in those days. In St. Anne-
Liverpool a Few Yean Since. . 49
Street resided the old families of Bridge, Fisher, and
Rogers. Here also lived Mr. Blundell, the clergyman ;
Mr. Smith, at a later period of Fulwood Lodge ; and
Mr. Haywood, the father of the eminent cotton-broker
of that name. Close to St. Anne's Church was the
house of a celebrated character amongst us, both then
and long afterwards. We speak of Mr. Thomas
Wilson, profanely called Tommy Wilson, the dancing-
master, by his wicked pupils. A good fellow was
Tommy, although a strict disciplinarian in "teaching
the young idea," not " how to shoot," but how to turn
out its toes and go through the positions. But, unfor-
tunately, Mr. Wilson grew too ambitious, and, instead
of contenting himself with fiddling for boys and girls
to dance to, would preside over orchestras and con-
certs, and cater for the amusement of the public, by
which we fear he did not grow too rich. He was a
worthy, warm-hearted man in his way, and somewhat
of an original, and withal possessing the good opinion
of all who knew him. Nor must we forget to state
that in St. Anne-street likewise lived Mr. Rutson, of
whom we have already spoken. His partner, Mr.
Ewart, resided in Birchfield. In Soho-street was the
house of Mr. Butler, somewhat too convivial in his
habits, but one of the most thorough gentlemen we
ever met with. His son is the present Mr. Butler
Cole, of Cote and Kirkland Halls, both in this county.
In Rose-place, then a fashionable suburb, more
country than town, resided Mr. Lake, who subse-
quently retired to Birkenhead Priory, and afterwards
to Castle Godwyn, in Gloucestershire. He was the
£
50 . Liverpool a Few Years Since.
father of the Captain Lake whose wound from a
Minie rifle, at Weedon, was recently mentioned in the
newspapers. A little further out towards the green
fields, now all streets, we come to the mansion of a
noble old worthy of those times, Edward Houghton,
the father of Richard and Raymond, of "that ilk,"
so well known and so much respected amongst us.
How well we remember his amiable and benevolent
countenance! He had a kind word for everybody,
and was prompt to do kind acts too. And what a
staunch sportsman he was, seldom missing his bird,
and devoted to his work. And then what a famous
breed of pointers he had, jet black and all black.
How they would set and back set. How they would
range the stubble and never flush a partridge nor run
a hare. How they would " down charge " at the
sound of a gun, without a word being said. We
wonder whether any of the descendants of this cele-
brated race of dogs are yet in being.
But, before we pass beyond the boundaries ot the
old borough, let us hark back a little, and enumerate
a few more of the ancient worthies, or " standards,"
of the town whom we have omitted in the foregoing
catalogue. There were the Boardman, Harding, Ban-
croft, Downward, and Lorimer families. Nor must
we forget to mention that admiration of our boyhood,
WiUiam Peatt Litt. He always seemed to us to be
the original of the lines —
"Old King Cole was a jolly old soul,
And a jolly old soul was he."
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 51
A munificent, magnificent, generous, hospitable soul
indeed was Mr. Litt. There are few like him now.
And there were several families of the Byroms. The
Naylors and Bournes, the grandfathers of the present
generation of those names, lived in Duke-street, and
were among the most respectable and respected of our
citizens. There, also, lived Mr. Patrick Black, a fine
old stager even at the time we speak of. We can see
him yet before us. Picture to yourselves a kind and
venerable man, in a cloak enveloping his whole body
from head to foot, a gold-headed cane in his hand, and
a wig. Oh ! such a wig, a regular wig of wigs, as
white as the whitest of hair-powder could make it, of
a transcendental cauliflower appearance, and in size
far beyond the proportions of the largest Sunday wig
assigned to Dr. Johnson in the pictures which have
come down to us. We recollect once, when about
some six years old, getting into an awful scrape about
this said venerable gentleman and his megatherium
wig. We were walking with a small friend of our own
age and inches, when suddenly the apparition of Mr.
Patrick Black, arrayed as we have described him,
came in sight. Our admiration, as usual, burst forth
in the far from respectful and almost profane exclama-
tion, "There goes old Black with his white wig."
Hardly were the words out of our mouth, when a
gentle tap came upon our shoulders, and a soft
whisper fell upon our ear, " Master , if it would be
any particular pleasure to you, I will ask my father to
wear a black wig in future." We looked round, and,
O ! horror of horrors ! were we not thrown into real
52 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
agonies, and almost hysterics, when, in the person
uttering this mild remonstrance, we recognised the
daughter of the old gentleman whose wig we had been
blaspheming ? We stammered and hammered at an
excuse, and then ran for our life. And for many a
long day we disappeared round the nearest corner as
quickly as possible if any of the Black family came in
sight of us in our walks. The joke, however, got
wind, and it was long before our martyrdom and per-
secution ceased, even in our own circle, where " Old
Black with his white wig " was thrown into our teeth
whenever we were inclined to be obstreperous and
naughty. Neither must we forget the name of Brian
Smith, who lived in Bold-street, and whose very look
was a picture of benevolence. John Leigh, too, the
attorney, a man of gravity and silence, but with a
very intelligent countenance, lived then in Basnett-
street. As we shall have occasion to mention his
name in a future chapter, we shall merely allude to it
here. And there was the firm of M'lver, M'Viccar,
and M'Corquodale, never mentioned by us youngsters
without the addition of the awfully bad joke about the
old woman, a mythological old woman doubtless,
going into their office and asking if they were the
house of M'Viper, M'Adder, and M'Crocodile.
But who is this " Goliath of Gath " whom we see
approaching, and whom, if he had lived in these days
and been a poor man, Barnum would certainly have
bagged, and caravaned, and made a fortune out of as
a giant ? It is Roger Leigh, as kind-hearted a man as
ever lived, with an amiable and benevolent smile ever
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 53
playing upon and irradiating his huge countenance.
He was a general favourite, as he walked amongst us
like Gulliver among the Liliputians. And what a
character he was at an election ! His activity and
energy in such times were tremendous. But Roger
was rather a paradox in his politics. A Roman
Catholic in his religion, he was what was then called
'• a Church and King man " to the backbone ; a Tory
of Tories, in days when Tories were not the faint-
hearted chickens which we now see them. Poor old
Roger Leigh ! Like Sir Abel Handy, he had always
some scheme on the anvil for getting rich, but we fear
that, like the rest of us, he sometimes took two steps
backward for one forward. The stone of Sisyphus is
the type of most of us. But, rich or poor, successful
or otherwise, peace to his memory ! We never heard
harm of him. He had everybody's good word. We
wish that the world contained many more like him.
CHAPTER X.
E who undertakes to be the chronicler of
Liverpool society at the commencement,
and in the early years, of the present
century, must not forget to mention the
old and respectable families of Gildart and Golightly.
And who is this easy, good-tempered soul, whom the
mind's eye now brings before us ? It is Mr. William
Rigg, profanely called " Billy Rigg " by his familiars.
And who comes next ? Henry Clay, frank, jovial,
light-hearted fellow, once Mayor of Liverpool, and a
generous and hospitable chief magistrate he made.
And there goes that veritable ancient, Arthur Onslow,
collector of customs, with a name which testifies that
family interest was as strong in those days as it is in
these. And now, if we go on 'Change, surely this
is an original whom we see before us. His name is
Brown, but among the gentlemen "on the flags "he
is better known as " Muckle John," A shrewd,
sagacious man of business is he, as ever lived ; and
many were the stories which used to be told of his
sayings and doings and somewhat sharp practice in
his money transactions. " Mr. So-and-so will be my
security to you," said some gentleman one day to him.
Liverpool a Few Years Since. ^^
" Aye, mon, but who will be the security for the
security?" was his retort. In after life we became
acquainted with the celebrated "Jemmy Woods," the
Gloucester banker, and it always struck us that he
strongly resembled " Muckle John " in many features
of his character, especially in crescit amor mimnii quantum
ipsa pecunia crescit. The cash book seemed to be father
and another, wife and child, comfort and consolation,
joy and glory of both of them. But we had reached
Great Nelson-street North before we turned back
again into the town. A little further on, in Everton,
lived Mr, Thomas Hinde, second to none here in his
day. The representatives of his family are now to be
found at Lancaster. At Everton, likewise, resided
Mr. Shaw, the father of Mr. Thomas Shaw ; also one
of the Earle family ; another brother lived then, and
long afterwards, at Spekelands. At St. Domingo was
the mansion of Mr. Sparling. The country-houses
beyond that were "few and far between." Close to
the old London-road, about two miles from Liverpool,
lived Mr. Falkner, the Major of the Liverpool Light
Horse. A mile or two further out was Oak-hill, the
seat of Mr. Joseph Leigh, one of the most pushing
and rich of our enterprising merchants, and as fine,
handsome looking a fellow as you may meet with in a
ten days' journey. The march of intellect did not
advance per railway in those times ; and Mr. Leigh,
although marvellously at home in arithmetic, com-
pound addition, the rule of three, multiplication and so
forth, had not much studied history, poetics, and the
other graces, and, as by many they were then thought.
56 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
exotics of education. Consequently endless were the
stories told of his blunders and mistakes in the literary
line when he crept up in life, and thought it necessary
to come out as a Maecenas. For instance, it was said
that, in ordering his library, he directed that so many
feet of books should be placed in it, and that, when
asked if he would have them bound in Russia, he
answered promptly, "No, in England, to be sure!"
On one occasion, a waggish bookseller asserted that he
called at his shop and told him that, as Shakespeare
was considered to be such a first-rate writer, he must
send him immediately any more works which he might
publish ; while on another, after surveying shelf after
shelf covered with books having Tom. for Vol. in-
scribed upon their backs, he exclaimed, in the highest
degree of admiration, " Upon my word, that Tom
must have been a monstrous clever fellow." We, of
course, receive such accounts cum gram salis, or to
speak in more mercantile phrase, with a little dis-
count, not as absolutely fabulous, but as somewhat
highly coloured. Moreover, we have no doubt that, in
addition to his own blunders, Mr. Leigh was made to
bear all " the tales of our grandfathers " in previous
circulation. He subsequently removed to Belmont, a
splendid place in Cheshire, when the proud squires of
that proud county took up the ball, and coined and
circulated all sorts of odd tales about him. In their
visits, one with another, they passed from house to
house for a week at least, and brought with them an
immense retinue of horses and servants. And it was
a standing joke for years among them, that, when first
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 57
Mr. Leigh settled in that part of the country, he told
some of them who called upon him that he should be
happy to see them at tea occasionally. But as we
have also heard this story told against the first Mr.
France, of Bostock Hall, who also passed from Liver-
pool into Cheshire, it may not have been originally
levelled against Mr. Leigh. Another laugh, however,
against him was, that some village wag, who probably
had not been valued at his own price by some of the
new inmates of Belmont, inscribed over the lodge
gates, where they were found one morning, the follow-
ing doggrel :—
" In this house there is no beer,
In this park there are no deer.
And why ? Joe Leigh lives here."
We must, however, recollect that the Cheshire
squires had then, and probably have yet, a strong
aversion to Liverpool and all its works. Looking
at their mortgages, — for in those days a Cheshire
squire without mortgages would have been a vara avis
indeed, — they had a sort of prophetic feeling that the
merchant princes of Liverpool were destined to eat
them up, like another Canaan ; in other words, to buy
the acres of all the wiseacres in the county, and so
exterminate the original squirearchy. Hinc HIcb lack-
vymm. Hence, when they lost the game, they took
their revenge in bad jokes which kill nobody, and,
indeed, are very harmless affairs, if, as the French pro
verb has it, 11 rit bien qui nt le dernier, he has the best of
the laugh who has the last of it. Mr. Leigh had a
58 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
brother, a very quiet and respectable man. He lived
in Duke-street at one time, and afterwards at Roby
Hall.
But, in speaking of Everton just now, we forgot to
mention William Harper, one of the wealthiest men
of his day, a blunt, downright sort of person, a mem-
ber of the old corporation, and mayor in his turn. He
also had made an encroachment on the pride, and
trod on the toes, of the Cheshire squires, by buying
an estate at Davenham, near Northwich. He had
three daughters, co-heiresses, whom, when at school,
he never forgot to toast at his own table as " The
lasses of Ashbourn." Some people thought this a
good joke, and it was even alluded to in some of the
election squibs of the day. But we always admired
the old man for it, and looked upon it as an excellent
trait in his character. One of them married Mr.
Hoskins, or, as he afterwards became, Mr. Hoskins
Harper. Another was Mrs. Formby. The third was
united to Dr. Brandreth, or, as he was called in his
father's lifetime. Dr. Joseph Brandreth, who, in the
second generation, has so well maintained the medical
distinction achieved by the first.
But to return from this digression ; not far from
Oak-hill was Highfield, now the seat of that prince of
good fellows, Thomas Littledale, Esq., the chief magi-
strate of Liverpool, but then belonging to, and the
residence of, the Parke family. A fine, glorious, jovial
old man do we recollect Mr, Parke. He had three
sons, whom we remember ; Mr. Thomas Parke, Major
Parke, and a third, of world-wide fame and celebrity.
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 59
Baron Parke, of whom "the gude old town" cannot
be too proud, as first and foremost among the legal
ornaments of the judicial bench.
Not far from Highfield was Ashfield House, the
mansion of John Clarke, a brother of the Recorder,
and himself a member of the Town Council, and once
Mayor of Liverpool. He was a peculiarly good-
looking little man, always well-dressed, rode a good
horse, and drove a neat carriage. Further on we
arrived at Broad Green, belonging to the Staniforth
family. Mr. Ashton, whose sons and descendants
still reside in the neighbourhood, lived at Woolton,
honoured and respected by all the circle of his friends
and acquaintance. At Childwall was the noble man-
sion of the Gascoignes, which has now passed into the
hands of the Marquis of Salisbury, who married the
only daughter and heiress of the last possessor,
Bamber Gascoigne, who was at one time, as his
ancestors had been before him, the member for Liver-
pool. His retired habits, however, and his literary
tastes, interfered with his bringing any very great
portion of activity to his duties, and on one occasion,
having thereby been brought into collision with some
of the merchant-princes amongst his constituents,
they renounced their allegiance to him, but still, not
altogether repudiating the family name, they selected
as his successor his younger brother, the famous
General Gascoigne, who, however, was a very inferior
person to Bamber. But we shall come to him pre-
sently. At Childwall likewise resided Thomas Clarke,
whose two brothers we have already mentioned ; a
6o
Liverpool a Few Years Since.
man whose good-nature, generosity, and nobleness of
soul have seldom been equalled, never surpassed. Mr.
' Clarke had also a splendid place, Peplow Hall, in
Shropshire, now, we rather think, belonging to Lord
Hill.
CHAPTER XI.
'ei;j§^
IVERPOOL society, like that of every
other place, has always been divided into
sets ; how formed, by what mysterious
line separated into divisions and sub-
divisions, and sections, and cliques and coteries, we
can no more tell than we can explain the causes
at work to produce the eddies of the tide. There
they are, and we must take them as we find them.
It is so, always was so, and ever will be so. But,
in enumerating the old stagers of half-a-century ago,
more or less, we have passed them in review " pro-
miscuously, as it were," without undertaking the
invidious task of cataloguing the particular set to
which they individually belonged. Generally speak-
ing, however, they may be placed under three heads :
the fashionable set, the wealthy and commercial set,
and the Corporation set. But many of those who
have been named belonged to all of these sets. There
was, moreover, a literary set; but it was numerically
very small. Its three principal ornaments were
Dr. Currie, Dr. Shepherd and Mr. Roscoe. The
latter, who became so world famous at once, and so
deservedly, was a remarkable and striking instance of
62 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
the proverbially small estimation in which prophets
are generally held in their own country. It is true
that, by a momentary enthusiasm, he was sent to
parliament to represent his native town. But it was
transient and evanescent, and as speedily burnt out as
a fire of stubble. Liverpool never appreciated Roscoe
as the rest of the world appreciated him, nor does it
now appreciate him as the rest of the world appre-
ciates him, in spite of its feeble talk about his
immortal memory, and its weak and mocking attempts
to support Roscoe clubs. In any other place, his
name would have been what Shakespeare's is to Strat-
ford, " a household word," familiar in the mouth of
age, manhood and childhood. But it is not so here,
and with him. He has a small and decreasing circle
of friends, who remember him when alive, and still
treasure every word of wisdom which they ever heard
from his lips. He has a somewhat wider circle of
admirers, who read his works, and find a giant's hand
impressed upon them all. And there are others who
profess to read and admire, because they have learned
that no badge of ignorance would be thought greater
in the literary world than a confession that they have
not studied the writings of Roscoe.
But when all these are counted, we still remain con-
vinced that the general public of Liverpool, beginning
from the topmost pinnacle of its society, possess a
marvellously small knowledge, and as small an appre-
ciation, of the literary remains of this illustrious man.
We can give a remarkable instance of this, of which
probably the generality of our readers have never
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 63
heard. Not many years ago, a Liverpool lady, whose
literary attainments are of the highest order, was,
when in London, asked to meet a very select party
combining some of the most intellectual, as well as
the most aristocratic, persons of the west end of the
metropolis. She was delighted with the company,
and they were equally delighted with her, with her
stores of information, her lively conversation, her
brilliant wit, her sparkling repartee, the tout ensemble
which made her the lion, or, speaking of a lady, the
star of the day. But at last, unhappily for the
moment, the name of Roscoe was mentioned, and she
became astonished, confused, and silent as she heard
him spoken of with an awe, an admiration, and a
reverence due and paid only to minds of the most
magnificent calibre. " Take any shape but that," she
might have said, " and I can talk with the best here
present." On this topic, however, she was mute,
and her perplexity and annoyance were dreadfully
increased when, at every pause, the rest of the party
seemed to wait for her opinions and sentiments. " He
was a Lancashire man. He was a Liverpool man.
She must have visited, as the Mahommedan does his
Mecca, with the steps of a pilgrim, every locality
hallowed and consecrated by his presence and foot-
steps. She must have treasured and embalmed in her
memory anecdotes of his sayings and doings which
had not yet appeared in print ; stories of his habits,
and customs, and daily life, which enthusiasm had
cherished and tradition handed down." But they
laboured under a huge delusion. She was no Boswell,
64 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
to read from her diary the hourly records of the life
of another Dr. Johnson. In fact, she was ignorant on
this point, and knew nothing of the man of whom
they were speaking.
It may be explained. She was of an ultra-Tory
family, with large estates in the West Indies, of
which past generations had run passenger ships for
involuntary black emigrants from Africa to the other
side of the Atlantic. In her home circle, then, as a
child, a girl, she had always heard Roscoe spoken
of, not as a great philanthropist, not as a first-rate
scholar, not as a writer whose books will be read and
referred to until the world's last blaze, but as a busy-
body, as a meddler, as a mischief-monger, whose wish
and object were to injure and destroy the town and
trade of Liverpool. We may not wonder then that
her amazement was great, and her perplexity not less,
when now, for the first time in her life, she heard
what was the public estimation in which her world-
celebrated and world-appreciated townsman was held.
The mists of local prejudice were at once scattered
from before her eyes. She honestly and candidly
took refuge in a confession of the truth, and so dissi-
pated the half sneer, half smile of wonder which was
gathering on the lips of some of the company. We
recollect the circumstance well, and were not more
amused than pleased with the avidity with which the
very next day our fair friend provided herself with
everything written by or of Roscoe, and with the
keenness of appetite with which she set to work to
devour them as speedily as possible. He is now
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 65
one of the Dii Majores in her intellectual Pantheon.
But we also mentioned Dr. Shepherd, clartan et vene-
rabile notiien, as one of the literary giants of our locality
some years since. He was, indeed, and no mistake
about it.
We have frequently in our time heard him com-
pared by turns with Theodore Hook and Sidney Smith.
But he was, in our opinion, infinitely superior to either
of those luminaries in the Metropolitan world of wit ;
and, had he shone in the same sky, our belief is that
their lesser rays would have paled before his greater
brilliancy, as the stars go out and tapers grow dull
and dim when the sun is up and dazzling us with
his glory. Dr. Shepherd was a thorough and solid
scholar ; an advantage not possessed by either of his
rivals. Hook's education was notoriously deficient.
Smith had not accumulated equal stores of learning
from his. Hook, when not running riot as a roue, a
debauchee, mad wilh dissipation, and intoxicated with
the flattery of the circle in which he moved, never
soared to anything beyond the character of a first
class Jack Pudding. His practical jokes were those
of a boy blackguard. His jokes uttered were almost
invariably of the coarsest kind, which derived a
momentary zest and relish, not from their own intrin-
sic value, but from the political excitement which then
prevailed, and which they were generally intended to
subserve. Friendship has indeed sought, in more than
one biography, to rescue him from such a character.
But friendship would have been more friendly, so to
speak, if it would have allowed him to be forgotten.
F
66 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
There is no advocate so eloquent as oblivion for
some reputations. With Sidney Smith, again, it was
"Figaro here, Figaro there, Figaro everywhere." His
whole life was one long, enduring, universal jest.
He never seems to have been serious. In all his
conversations, and most of his writings, puns and
points, often not soaring to sparkling antithesis or
dazzling epigram, beset you, like " man traps and
spring guns," at every turn in the road, until you
become wearj^ and exhausted, Man cannot always be
laughing. A perpetual joker must sometimes excite
a yawn. But we never found Dr. Shepherd guilty on
this head, and in this fashion. He was witty in
season, but not out of season. He could be the man
of business. He could bring gravity to the discussion
of grave affairs, and treat things serious with serious-
ness. But when in the social circle, and amongst his
friends, it was the season for relaxing, then came forth
the mighty stream of his wit, rolling like another
Mississippi, in its glorious, resistless course, and
sweeping all before it, and as remarkable for its point,
polish and elegance, as for its strength and poignancy.
There were few who could keep the saddle in the
intellectual tournament with him. Before that terrible
lance, adversary after adversary went down, like chaff
before the wind. Nor do we recollect any greater
treat than a perusal of the correspondence with which
the Doctor used, from time to time, to season our
newspaper reading. Upon whatever controversy he
entered, he was sure to come off victorious. The very
opposite to Mrs. Chick, whose maxim was to carry
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 67
everything by "an effort," he never seemed to make
any effort at all. It was the very ease with which he
crushed the most daring of his foes which was so
annoying to them, and so amusing to the spectators.
How he would bowl down a whole string of sophis-
tries, which had been boldly set up before the world
as so many philosophical conclusions not to be over-
turned ! How he would turn a fallacy inside out !
How he would scatter every kind of mystification, and
expose every attempt at falsehood and imposition I
How he would strip every jackdaw of his borrowed
plumes, and raise the laugh against every presuming
quack ! Yes ! He was wit, scholar, philosopher,
author, controversialist, all in one, and good in all.
But he was something more. We believe Dr. Shep-
herd's charity, for his means, to have been something
wonderful. We have heard of acts of kindness on his
part which would have been pronounced noble had
they been performed by the wealthiest of our mer-
chant princes, or the highest in the land. What, then,
were they, when done by one of his limited income
and resources ? His heart was a bank, upon which
misery had only to draw, and its drafts were sure to
be accepted and honoured. All respect to his name
and memory ! We know few men who have lived
more esteemed ; we know of none who have done
more good in their time. Let his surviving friends
join with us in offering this tribute to one of the
giants of the past.
CHAPTER XII.
OME people have very strange notions of
the duties of the historian and the bio-
grapher. They fancy that our part is to
suppress or distort the truth, and to sub-
stitute flattery for it ; that we should deal in sickening
and nauseous eulogy only, —
" In sugar and spice,
And all that 's nice,"—
and exert our energies in the vain effort to extract
sunbeams from cucumbers, or to make deal boards
out of sawdust. The child, walking in the church-
yard, and reading the epitaphs, exclaimed, " Mother,
where do they bury the bad people, for I can only find
the good ones here ? " But we are not epitaph-
mongers, we are not flattery-spinners, we are not
eulogy-penners. We are not, we never were, a society
of angels, and we take men as we find them. We are
not making a collection of fancy sketches, to be all
beauties. We are forming a cabinet of likenesses.
We took up our pen with this end in view, and we
shall continue to work it out. We shall tell " the
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 69
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
We shall " nothing extenuate, and nought set down in
malice," but state facts as facts, call a spade a spade,
and describe men as they were, not as they ought to
have been. We have, of course, an object in these
prefatory remarks. We have. It seems that certain,
it may be well-intentioned, or it may be over squeam-
ish, censors and critics are bombarding us with good
advice, to the effect that we ought in chronicling the
past to praise everybody ; in other words, as we have
already hinted, to write epitaphs, not history. But,
once for all, we beg leave to state that we are not
going to take this advice. We have, however, two
propositions to make in answer to it. The first is,
that those amiable persons who are shocked by our
plain speaking, should just skip our effusions ; or, if
that does not satisfy them, we will surrender our task
and pen and inkstand altogether to them, and allow
them to begin with the next chapter, and carry our
work to a conclusion in their own fashion, which we
doubt not will be infinitely superior to our way of
putting our rough notes together, and stating our
homely thoughts in homely language. We trust that
this offer will be accepted. We would rather be
learners than teachers, and shall be delighted to be
convinced that every common councilman of the last
generation was a Chesterfield and an Adonis, and
every merchant a Lindley Murray and an Admirable
Crichton, miracles of wit, literature and learning.
But we, at all events, are not the Plutarch to record
the mythology, not the history, of these impossible
yo Liverpool a Few Years Since.
prodigies and inconceivable wonders. And now we
proceed, until our critics volunteer to supersede us.
But, verily, as we return to our work, vires acquirit
eundo, it grows upon our hands. When first we under-
took it, we had a notion that we could in a brace
of chapters dot down all our reminiscences of the
times we speak of. But here we are now, in Chapter
XII, with as yet no port in view, and scudding along
with all sail set over the interminable ocean of garru-
lity, and with our catalogue of worthies growing into
a far greater magnitude than that of Homer's ships.
'• Who goes there ? " It is Mr. Birch, afterwards
Sir Joseph, the father of our late worthy representa-
tive. A noble-looking specimen of the merchant
prince and the " fine old English gentleman " was
Mr. B., and much esteemed and respected by all who
knew him. And look at the tall, commanding figure
that now approaches. It is Mr. Brooks, the father of
the venerable Rector and Archdeacon of that name.
And there were the Walkers, who lived in Hanover-
street, and who in their day were the very tip-top of
the tip-tops, and the head of all the gaiety and fashion
of Liverpool. And there were the Gregsons, ever one
of our first and leading families ; and the Heskeths,
and the Midgleys, and the Caldwells. And Arthur
Heywood, then a middle-aged man, has a foremost
place in our recollections. And there were the Rath-
bones, Bensons and Croppers, of that generation, as
brave-hearted and active and zealous philanthropists
as their descendants of the present day. And there
was Hugh Mulleneux, who went through a long life
Liverpool a Few Yean Since. 71
marked by deeds of charity, and who to the last of
his life, was one of the most guileless and sterling
men we ever met with. And there were the other
families of the same name, with a different spelling,
Thomas Molineux, William Molineux, and other
brothers, of whom we can safely say that we never
heard any evil, and knew much good. They had
hearts exactly in the right place, and with the right
feelings in them. They are worthily represented yet
amongst us. Nor must we forget to chronicle the
name of old Mr. Yates, whose sons still walk worthily
in the steps of their respected sire. And there were
Hughes and Duncan, and the celebrated world-famous
"Tom Lowndes," who shot like a meteor across the
sky of the commercial world, and who, in the mag-
nificence of his speculations, would have thought no
more of bidding for the United States for a cabbage
garden, or of undertaking to pay off the national debt
at a week's notice, than he would of swallowing his
breakfast. A fine fellow comes next, Mr. Nicholson,
or Colonel Nicholson, as we used to call him, a title
which, we believe, he bore in the Militia. He was a
gentleman, out and out, through and through, every
inch of him, in look, in bearing, in manner, in feeling.
We never saw, to our fancy, a handsomer man than
he was in those days, and amiability sat on every
feature of his noble countenance. And how he could
skate ! How we have by turns laughed, and trembled,
and shouted, and clapped our young hands as we have
watched him darting along on the St. Domingo pit,
and then cutting figures of eight and all sorts of fancy
72 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
forms and hieroglyphics on the ice, and taking the
most surprising leaps, and achieving all kinds of dan-
gerous miracles. But, arma cedtmt togce. The soldier
subsequently subsided into the citizen. Mr. Nicholson
became a member of the Corporation, and was Mayor
of Liverpool. He married one of the Miss Roes, in
Queen-square. She was a niece of the celebrated
Council king, Mr. Shaw ; and their son, having
dropped his paternal name for that of his maternal
great-uncle, now lives at Arrow, in Cheshire. He has
a strong look of his father in his features, and seems
to have inherited his kindness of heart and manner.
And there go the Harveys, fine fellows every one of
them. And there is noble old Rushton, who, like his
son after him, our late respected and lamented magis-
trate, had a head upon his shoulders with something
in it, and a heart swelling and flowing, aye, and over-
flowing, not merely with a river, but with an ocean, of
" the milk of human kindness," Shall we ever " look
upon his like again ? " Selfishness was not in his
nature. He felt for the woes and sorrows of his
fellow-creatures, without respect to colour, climate,
creed, or country. His sympathies were universal.
The earth's limits alone were their limits. He might
have taken for his motto the glorious sentiment which,
nearly two thousand years ago, called forth such
thunders of applause in the theatre of ancient Rome :
Homo sum, humani nil a me alictium puto.
All honour and respect and peace to his memory !
But we must go on, although you may say —
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 73
" What ! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom ?
Another yet ? "
Yes ; and one very different from our last-mentioned
hero. The next figure upon our canvas was also a
character in his way. Look at his bluff, resolute,
determined countenance. It is Captain Crowe, as
brave a sailor and as odd and eccentric a man as ever
walked a quarter-deck. Once, in the good ship Mary,
he fell in with two English sloops of war, somewhere
in the middle passage, which Liverpool ships were
engaged upon in those times. They took his trim-
looking vessel for a French cruiser, and he took them
for a couple of the same craft. It was, however,
nothing to old Crowe that they were two to one. He
was like the stout-hearted ancient, who said that he
would count his enemies when he had beaten them.
Night was coming on, and they could not distinguish
each other's flags. To it they went, and kept at it
hammer and tongs until morning showed them the
English colours floating on all their masts. The
cruisers had, in the dark, made several efforts to board
him, and had been repulsed with terrible loss. The
firing of course ceased as soon as the light showed
them their mistake, and the senior commander of the
man-of-war sent an officer on board, with a sulky civil
message, to know if they could do anything for him in
the way of helping him to repair damages. " I want
nothing," said the old Turk, with a grim smile, which
meant that he had given as much as he had taken in
the action ; " I want nothing, but a certificate to my
owner that I have done my duty."
74 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
And who next ? That is Taylor the brewer. And
there is another of the same trade, jolly old Ackers,
great in malt and hops, greater in politics, and
greatest of all in the actual bustle and conflict of an
election. And there is his friend with him, old
Hesketh, the famous tailor, of Paradise-street. Instead
of being the ninth part of a man, Hesketh was nine
men all in one, the picture of a true Englishman, the
very portrait of John Bull himself, a regular old Tory,
for men, out of his trade, more than measures, and
with such a good-tempered countenance, that it drew
customers, better than a thousand advertisements, to
his shop.
And there was another character who must not be
excluded from the " curiosity shop " of our reminis-
cences. Every old stager must recollect Peter Tyrer,
the coach-builder, and keeper of hackney coaches. A
very primitive-looking man was old Peter, but as full
of eccentricity and solemn jocularity as an egg is full
of meat. Peter's jests were always uttered with a
serious tone, and spoken out of his nose more than
through his lips, so that we laughed at the twang
when there was nothing else to laugh at. There was
occasionally some originality in his humour ; but he
had one standing joke, a very grave one, which has
now passed into a regular Joe Miller with the men of
his craft. Whenever any one came to order the
funeral cavalcade which he had to let out, he in-
variably pointed to the plumed hearse, of which he
was very proud, and observed, " That is the very
thing for you, for of all that have travelled by it none
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 75
have ever been heard to complain that they had not
an easy and pleasant journey by it." Poor Peter !
And when thy turn came, we trust that thy journey,
both to the grave and through it, was an easy one !
Nor do we doubt it. With all his whims and oddities,
Peter was a good man, no idle professor, but a zealous,
practical Christian. We could do with more like him.
^^K^^^^S)^
CHAPTER XIII.
MONG the great West Indian merchants of
the days we are writing of, we must not
forget to place the James and France
famihes. The representative of the latter
resides at Bostock Hall, not far from Northwich, in
Cheshire. The present Mr. James sat for some years
in the House of Commons, and gave evidence of talent
far beyond mediocrity. There was also a spice of
originality about him which commanded attention
whenever he spoke. It was but seldom, however, that
he opened his lips. Senatorial honours, we presume,
had no attractions for him. We so conclude from his
voluntary and premature retreat from their pursuit,
much to the regret of all his friends. There was
another Mr. James in Liverpool in those days, rather
a roughspun and unhewn kind of person, and very
eccentric and amusing in his way, a character, in
short, amongst his own circle. Many of our old
readers must remember Gabriel James, or, " the Angel
Gabriel," as some of his waggish friends called him.
He had a ready tongue and plenty of mother wit, and
seldom came off second best in a tilt and tournament
with words. Nor must we omit to mention old
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 77
Mr. Waterhouse, of Everton, a grave and venerable-
looking man, whom we always regarded with awe and
reverence. There was Mr. Neilson, too, whose sons
still uphold the family name amongst us with so much
credit and respectability. And there was the lively,
gay, agreeable "Jack Backhouse," who lived in Smith-
down-lane; and Mr. Backhouse of Everton, and
another family of the same name at Wavertree ; and
the Colquitts, and the Dawsons of Mossley-hill. And
the gay parties in those times used frequently to be
enlivened by Lord Henry Murray, who was often a
visitor with the Neilsons and Backhouses.
And we had also our circle of wits, whose sharp
sayings were passed round, as household words, from
mouth to mouth, and so afforded pleasure and amuse-
ment, as they spread from set to set, from one
extremity of society to the other. First and foremost
in this bright and brilliant band, we must place Mr,
Silvester Richmond, or " Sil Richmond," as he was
generally called. Next to him was Joe Daltera. And
with them we must join Sam Pole, and " Jim Greg-
son," who lived in Rodney-street, a man of racy
humour, with a fund of originality about him which
revelled in the utterance of good things. And here be
it observed, that, as Liverpool is still called the town
of " Dicky Sams," so, in those ancient days, its people
were all Sils, and Joes, and Sams, and Jims. It was
the custom of the place, and equally observable in
every rank of society. But, for a time, let us speak of
our prince of wits, Sil Richmond, who was one of
the most sparkling, agreeable men ever met with in
78 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
company. Amongst his own set no party was ever
thought to be complete without him. He held the
post of a searcher in the Customs, and many were the
amusing stories, coined, perhaps, to raise a laugh at
his expense, of the " diamond cut diamond " warfare
carried on between him and persons striving to break
the Revenue laws, of which he was a most vigilant
guardian. His powers of conversation were immense,
and never flagged. He was always the rocket, never
the stick ; and he was as potent with the pen as he
was brilliant with the tongue. We may call him the
poet laureate of the tories, with whom he warmly
sided. The encounters, therefore, between him and
Dr. Shepherd, who was ever the principal scribe for
the liberal party, were frequent, fierce, and savage.
His weapons were not quite so keen and polished as
the doctor's, but they would do a great deal of
mangling work, and, like Antaeus springing from his
mother earth, if foiled and thrown in one round, he
was always ready for another. No amount of punish-
ment could dishearten him, and he was always in
wind, and, what is more, kept his temper unruffled in
the thickest of the fray. He was the author of all the
election squibs in his day. Out they poured, grave
and gay, in prose and verse, and he seemed never to
be exhausted. We doubt not that some of our old
stagers yet retain many of them among their treasures
and curiosities. One line in one of his songs is still as
fresh upon our mind as if we had heard it but yester-
day for the first time. Mr. Fogg, a butcher, was one
of the most zealous and active canvassers in the
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 79
reform ranks at some election. Richmond instantly
had his eye upon him, and, bringing intellect as well
as ink to the work, thus impaled him on the point of
his wit as he spoke of him as
" A Fogg that could never be Mist."
This, of course, told better in the midst of political
excitement ; but still, at all times, we must admire it
as a specimen of our friend's ready wit. We used
often to look up at him in boyish wonder and admira-
tion, as he cracked his jokes, and his filberts, and his
bottle all at the same time. And one thing particu-
larly struck us. He never led the laugh at his own
jests, but looked as grave as a judge, and far more
knowing, through his spectacles, while " setting the
table in a roar." O, for another Hamlet ! to say
for us, "Alas, poor Yorick ! I knew him well,
Horatio ; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent
fancy," etc. Of Mr. Richmond's family, one went
into the navy, and another into the army. They
were both fine young fellows. The soldier, called after
his father, distinguished himself and was wounded
in the last, we hope that it will always be the last,
American war.
But we spoke of Mr., alias " Joe," Daltera just now^
as one of the circle of wits in the former days which
are slipping from our memory. He was a regular
character in his day and in his way. He was brought
up to be a solicitor, and at one time was in partner-
ship with the late Mr. Topham. He had abilities to
have raised himself to the greatest eminence in his
8o Liverpool a Few Years Since.
profession, but he wanted business habits. He had no
application, no attention, no steadiness of purpose.
In short, he was of a jovial, convivial turn of mind,
full of fun and frolic and glee, was fond of company,
and greatly preferred shining in society to poring over
parchments. He was a terrible sitter at a party. He
never sung, "We'll not go home till morning," but
practically it was impossible to get rid of him until
long after the short hours had set in ; and, in truth, he
was such a pleasant companion, so overflowing with
sparkling conversation, "full of mirth and full of glee,"
as we said before, that no one ever made the attempt.
Steady old fellows at whose houses he used to visit
would say, before he arrived, "We will be rude to that
Daltera to-night, and give him a hint that shall send
him home in decent time." But when the appointed
hour had struck, and long after, these same steady old
boys, fascinated by Joe's wonderful powers of jest and
anecdote, were the loudest in pressing him to keep his
seat, a pressure which he never resisted. He thought,
with Dibdin's famous song, that there was " nothing
like grog," or, as he and his familiars called it,
" rosin." Often, when you thought that at last he
was really going, he would suddenly exclaim, instead
of " one glass more," " Now, lads, rosin again, and
then we'll positively go." He could not use his pen
like Richmond, but he was quite his match in wit and
repartee. Countless were the stories told of his say-
ings and doings. Once the watchman found him in
the street quite unequal to steer his course home.
This friend in need wished to place him in a wheel-
Liverpool a Few Yean Since. 8i
barrow, and to carry him to his house in this kind of
triumphal car, when Daltera, steadying himself for a
moment, and throwing himself into a theatrical atti-
tude, astonished " poor old Charley" as he addressed
him, a la John Kemble, whom he had seen performing
the character that night, "Villain, stand back; the
gods take care of Cato ! " We ourselves remember
crossing the river with him, in one of the old-fashioned
ferry-boats, before the invention of steamers. There
was a stiff breeze, next door to a gale of wind, blowing,
and we were in momentary peril from the rash
attempt of the boatmen to head a ship at anchor.
The sailors themselves were alarmed, while most of
the passengers were in an agony of terror. One poor
market-woman, in the excess of her fright, threw her-
self upon her knees in the middle of the boat, and
burst out into the exclamation, " Lord have mercy
upon us ! " when the inveterate punster, alluding to the
name of the river, thus cried out to her, " No, no, my
good woman ; do not say, ' The Lord have Mersey
upon us ' this time ! " We were both vexed and
shocked at the moment, as the jest out of season
jarred upon our ears, while the crew and the
passengers looked inclined to extemporise poor Joe
into a Jonah at the instant. But we have often
smiled at it since. Poor fellow, he could not help it.
He could no more have kept it in than the efferves-
cence will remain quiet in a ginger-beer bottle when
the cork is drawn. It was the ruling passion strong in
death, or in the face of death. Like Sheridan, " he
had it in him, and it would come out." On another
G
82 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
occasion, it was said that, upon landing from the
boat at Runcorn, or some village between here and
Chester, he was seized upon by several persons, who
supposed him, from his dress of sober black, to be
some celebrated preacher whom they expected, and
were on the look out for. Joe, having made himself
safe and certain on two points, namely, in the first
place, that none of the villagers had ever seen the
anticipated star ; and, secondly, that he could not
possibly arrive that day by any conveyance, humoured
the mistake, was carried in triumph to the chapel,
preached the most brilliant sermon ever heard, and
delighted and won the hearts of the elders, by whom
he was entertained, withal taking care to disappear
from the scene the next morning before the real Simon
Pure arrived. We do not, recollect, vouch for the
accuracy of all the details connected with this episode.
We only relate it as we have heard it related by
Daltera himself a hundred times. Poor Joe ! He
had many friends and only one enemy, and that was
himself. He wasted talents, energy, wit, brilliancy,
which would have made an intellectual capital for a
hundred shining characters. But who is faultless ?
Let us look at the beam in our own eye.
CHAPTER XIV.
N our last chapter we mentioned the names
of some of the wits and illustrious in jest
of whom Liverpool could boast a few
years since. We now descend the scale,
to speak of a class whom we would mildly call " the
practical jokers." The Spectator makes glorious old
Sir Roger de Coverley horribly afraid of the club of
Mohocks who, many years since, pushed their horse-
play in the metropolis into positive ruffianism, and
perpetrated the most savage outrages under the name
of fun and frolic. But the sports of the Liverpool
mischief-mongers at the commencement of the present
century were of a much more harmless and innocent
character. One young gentleman, who subsequently
flourished as a grave old stager amongst us, had a
passion for collecting, in a kind of museum, or
" curiosity shop," all the signs and signboards which
struck his fancy ; and it was said that he had a large
muster of black boys, carried off from the different
tobacconists' shops in the town. And sometimes he
varied the amusement in the following fashion : — In
Pool-lane, now modernised into South Castle-street,
was a famous ship-instrument maker's shop, in the
front of which was elevated a wooden figure of a mid-
84 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
shipman in full costume, at which we have often gazed
with fond delight in ancient days, and which we are
now convinced must have been the original of the one
which Dickens, in Dombey, makes Captain Cuttle
contemplate with so much pride and pleasure. Some-
where in the same locality was one of the tobacconists'
shops of which we have spoken, with the then usual
sign of a black boy over the door. Time after time
would our funny and facetious friend substitute these
signs one for the other, so that, when morning broke,
the midshipman would shine forth in all his glory at
the door of the snuff and tobacco store, while the black
boy would be grinning in front of the ship-instrument
maker's premises. At last the joke wore itself out.
The perpetrator of it never was discovered. He pre-
ferred to play his " fantastic tricks " alone, and kept
his own secret. But there were also associated bodies
for the performance of the same kind of mad pranks.
One set of them formed themselves into what they
dignified with the name of " A Committee of Taste,"
although they and their friends called them, over their
cups, " The Minions of the Moon." Their object
seemed to be to emulate and imitate the merry doings
of FalstafF and his companions. They occasionally,
however, pushed their jokes somewhat too far. There
was a house in Daulby-street, then a sort of rus in urbe,
or, rather, country altogether. It had a garden in
front, and was ornamented with a verandah. This it
appears did not please these fastidious gentlemen, and
the owner was served with a notice, signed by " the
Chairman of the Committee of Taste," directing him
Liverpool a Few Yean Since. 85
to alter or remove it by a certain day. To this com-
mand he paid no attention. Well, the day arrived ;
" ' The ides of March are come.'
' Ay, Csesar ; but not gone.' "
The verandah was still there. But that very night, at
a few minutes before twelve o'clock, a loud knock at
the door called the owner of the house to the window
which overlooked it. The moment he appeared, with
his head and the nightcap upon it looming through
the darkness, a cheer welcomed him from the opposite
side of the street. Then came a pull, and smash,
crash ; the verandah, with all its trellis-work and
ornaments, was gone. The rogues had sawed away
the supports, made their ropes fast, and then, with
wicked waggishness, summoned the gentleman of the
house to witness the destruction of his offending
property. We will chronicle another of the feats of
the " Committee of Taste." At that period Mr.
Samuel Staniforth lived in the large house at the
bottom of Ranelagh-street, afterwards converted into
the famous Waterloo Hotel. Something about it,
either a shutter, or a knocker, or a bell-handle, we have
forgotten which, was excommunicated by this tasteful
inquisition, and ordered to be removed. Mr. Staniforth
was about the last man in the world to obey such a
lawless mandate, being one of that class who, " if
reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, would not
give one on compulsion." He therefore treated the
notice served on him with contempt. And now the
battle began in good earnest.
86 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
" When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war."
the thing denounced, whatever it was, was removed,
then restored, and again removed, to be once more
restored, and still in the original offending form,
without an atom of alteration. And so the struggle
went on, until Mr. Staniforth became highly exaspe-
rated, as well as extremely indignant at the persever-
ing annoyance. Of this, the jokers, who met him with
grave and sympathising faces every day in society,
were fully aware, and only made thereby more resolute
in their fun. In the extremity of his vexation he
consulted George Rowe, the attorney, of whom we
have made honourable mention in a former chapter.
We speak from authority, for we had the story from
Mr. Rowe himself, who used often to tell it with great
glee. When the offended alderman had unbosomed
all his griefs to the solicitor, and had urged him to
exert all his vigilance to discover the offenders, and
then to put in force all the terrors and pains and
penalties of the law against them, the latter met the
history of his sorrows with one of his good-natured
and hearty laughs, to the great astonishment of his
client, who certainly did not belong to the laughing
portion of the creation. When he had settled himself
into seriousness, he said, " Well, Mr. Staniforth, I
suppose, after all, your object is to abate the nuisance,
rather than trounce the sinners." Staniforth, however,
was not so sure that he would not like to do both, and
" kill two birds with one stone." But at last, after a
long and serious confabulation, he was persuaded to
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 87
leave the whole affair in the hands of the lawyer, who,
indeed, would only undertake it on that condition.
Now Mr. Rowe, although he had no guilty knowledge
of the offenders, had a shrewd guess in his own mind,
and, acting upon the impulse, wrote a note, desiring to
have a conference with the chief captain of the
knocker and bell banditti. They met, and on the next
day glorious old George, sending for Mr. Staniforth,
laid the result before him. The latter was exceedingly
angry at first when he heard that the bold rogues,
instead of being overwhelmed with sorrow and remorse,
still took up very high ground, being determined to
make him capitulate on the immediate point at issue,
but with a promise on their part that he should never
more be annoyed by them on any other. At first he
would listen to no such terms, regarding any treaty
with the parties as little better than compounding for
a felony. Gradually, however, he yielded to the
reasonings of his adviser, and the agreement, without
being duly signed and sealed, was honourably carried
out on both sides. " And to whom," we said to
George Rowe, when sitting one day with him after
dinner, with our legs under his mahogany, " to whom
did you address your note when you wanted to have
this celebrated interview with the ' Chairman of the
Committee of Taste?'" "Why, to Joe Daltera, to
be sure," he answered, with a very thunder-clap of
laughter, which almost made me tremble lest a blood
vessel should burst or apoplexy ensue ; " Why, to Joe
Daltera, to be sure, who else could it be ? "
But alas, alas ! for the flight and power of time !
88 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
Of the actors in this amusing scene, all have passed
from the arena of busy life. We marvel whether any
of the aforesaid " Committee of Taste " yet survive, to
sigh or to smile over the wild pranks of their youth !
But how is it that such follies are only remembered,
not perpetrated, now ? As Mr. Pickwick observed ,
when prosecuted for a breach of promise, men are
very much the victims and tools of circumstances.
When we look at the class to which the parties of
whom we have been speaking belonged, we can find
many reasons, without any boast of merit and im-
provement, which will explain why young gentlemen
in these times should not roam through the streets by
night, bent upon fun and mischief, for hours and
hours. Forty or fifty years ago, men met together to
dine about three o'clock. They had, consequently,
not only a longer time to devote to the bottle, but also,
when they broke up, excited by wine, some hours to
get through as best they could, before they retired to
bed. This would have a wonderful influence upon
their conduct. Moreover we had only a few old
watchmen in those days, who were as much alarmed
at the approach of our " bucks," as the travellers by
an Eastern caravan at the appearance of the wild
Arabs of the desert. Again, the introduction of gas
for lighting the streets, instead of the old oil lamps
which, '« few and far between," used to twinkle in the
distance and just to " make darkness visible," had a
wonderful influence upon the habits of our young
men. Some great authority on such matters in the
metropolis calculated that, for enforcing order, one
Liverpool a Few Yean Since. 89
gas-lamp was equal, at least, to three policemen.
There are many persons over whom the fear of being
found out exerts a strong power. What they would
do under the veil of darkness they strenuously avoid
when its shelter is removed. The temptation may be
strong, the will may be present, but the opportunity is
wanting. These remarks, however, only apply to one
class of society. But, when we make our survey more
general, we must also take into account the march of
knowledge, the increase of mechanics' and literary
institutes, and the spread of cheap and useful books
among the masses. To the printing-press we doubt-
less owe much for our improved tastes and habits*
Who, indeed, can calculate the might, the magnitude,
and extent of its diversified influences and powers ?
It is our schoolmaster, our instructor, our guide, our
guardian, our police, all in one. Praise and honour to
those who wield the pen, so long as they use it for the
benefit and advantage of their fellow-creatures. Ill-
disposed persons may pervert it to be an instrument of
evil. But who can tell the amount of its well-doing
when directed to good ? Truly did the wit observe,
that the greatest stand ever yet made for the improve-
ment and civilisation of mankind was the inkstand.
CHAPTER XV.
LITTLE back from Water-street, between
it and St. Nicholas's Church, stood an
ancient Tower in those days. It was one
of the remaining antiquities of Liverpool.
It had originally belonged to the Lathoms of Lathom,
and subsequently passed, by the marriage of the
heiress of that family, into the hands of the Stanleys,
some generations before the elevation of that illustri-
ous house to the Derby title. At a later period it had
become an assembly-room, and, last of all, by one of
those strange vicissitudes to which all earthly things
are liable, was a prison for debtors. But at the time
we speak of there it was, as if frowning in gloomy
strength upon the encroachments which modern im-
provements and the spirit of enterprise were making
on every side of it, a grim old giant, the type, and
symbol, and representative of other times. As we
contemplated its massive walls or walked under its
shadow, what reflections it was calculated to awaken
within us. We were then too young for our mind to
dwell very seriously or very long upon such topics, but
we have often since thought within ourselves that, if
stone walls had ears, and eyes, and tongues, what
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 91
strange histories that old Tower could have told. It
carried us back to what we call an age of romance,
but what, in fact, was an age of stern and iron realities.
What associations and recollections did the very sight
of it conjure up within us ! The monument of many
centuries of glory and crime ! In its day, although
now merely an object of curiosity and a prison for
debtors, the palace and fortress of nobles ! In its day,
perhaps, like other old castles within the land, the
living grave, and the grave, when dead, of the guilty
and innocent alike, of the ambitious and the victims of
ambition, of heroes and saints, of martyrs and traitors,
of princes and impostors, of patriots and conspirators !
How often has the mailed chivalry of the middle ages
rode forth through these gates in all its magnificence,
pomp, and pride ! How often has chained innocence
been dragged through them to its dungeon's depths,
and to the shambles to which, perchance, they were
the passage, feeling, as they turned upon their grating
hinges and shut it from the world for ever, all the
tremendous force of the " Hope no more ! " which the
Italian poet wrote over the entrance to his Infernal
Regions ! If, we repeat, its walls had tongues, what
wonders could they tell, what secrets reveal, what
mysteries unravel ! What mighty or memorable
names have resided, or been imprisoned and perished
here ! What strange things have been enacted within
these gray old stones now crumbling into ruin, while
the wronged and the wrongdoers have together passed
to judgment ! But the period for indulging such con-
templations has long since passed away. The spirit
92 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
of feudalism, after holding its ground for so many
centuries, at last yielded to the genius of commerce,
and the gloomy old Tower was sacrificed upon the
altars of modern improvement. Carters and porters
now shout and swear where stout old knights and
ladies fair held high revelry; and sugar hogsheads,
and rum puncheons, and cotton bales are now hoisted,
and roll, and creak, and clash where prisoners once
groaned and chains clanked. It is a new version of
arma cedunt tog^.
But we are becoming grave ; we moralise ; we
preach ; Vive la bagatelle. Let us go back for a few
moments to the subject of the last chapter, and speak
a little more of those mischief-mongers who dignified
themselves with the title of " The Committee of
Taste." We therein stated that Daltera was the
understood or suspected head of the said Committee.
On the same authority, neither better nor worse than
the assertion of common report, it was whispered that,
amongst its members, were some other dashing spirits
of the day, to wit, Mr. William, alias " Billy Graham,"
" Young Sutton," as Mr. William of that ilk was
always called, " Bob Pickering," cum multis aliis, the
multis aliis including some, we find, who are yet
amongst us, and whom, therefore, we would not name
for all the world, and so expose them to their children
and grandchildren, who look up to them as models of
gravity, propriety, and piety. One venerable gentle-
man, whom, from his confessions, we suspect to have
been at least an honorary member, said to us only the
other day, — and in such a free and easy and im-
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 93
penitent sort of way, that we verily believe that, with
youth restored, and opportunity returned, and police-
men and gas-lamps extinguished, he would soon be at
his old pranks again, — " Daltera was always pre-
eminent for good taste, and was, therefore, elected
President of the Committee." Finding that our friend
was inclined to be communicative, we pressed him for
more of his reminiscences, when he added, "They
were fine fellows, and woe unto anything that came
under their waggish displeasure ! " They carried on,
he told us, a long war, a repetition of that which
has been already described between them and Mr.
Staniforth, with Mr. Parke, the celebrated surgeon,
touching the shape of his knocker. Dr. Solomon, who
then lived in the large house at the top of Low-hill,
had his grounds studded over with statues, of which
he was not a little proud. They were voted to be not
classical by the men of taste, and the decree went
forth for their removal, and was carried out on the
appointed night, when they were all taken from their
pedestals, the "old charley" of the beat being either
asleep, or feed or frightened into silence. And we
must record another of their performances.
Our readers must recollect Mr. William Wallace
Currie. He was not himself a man of jokes, and he
was about the last man in the world to joke with.
Well, he had an office for his business, upon the door
of which was inscribed, in the usual way, " William
Wallace Currie." One morning, upon his arrival,
he was utterly horrified to find into what the men of
taste had transmuted or translated him. The intro-
94 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
duction of a comma and the addition of a single letter
astonished him with this new reading of his name
and profession, " William Wallace, Currier." He
joined in the laugh, and there was an end of it. Nor
is this the only play upon Mr. Currie's name which we
have to record. The late Egerton Smith, to whom
be all honour and respect as the father of the
Liberal press in this district, and for the honesty and
independence and goodness of character which dis-
tinguished his long career, once made an admirable
hit upon it, which, although it has been in print
before, will bear repeating, and is worth preserving.
When Mr. John Bourne, as worthy a man as ever
lived, was Mayor under the old Corporation, Mr.
Currie was one of his bailiffs ; and Egerton, being
asked on some occasion for a toast or sentiment,
following the Lancashire pronunciation of their names,
electrified the company by proposing, " Burn the
Mayor, and Curvy the bailiff."
And now for one more witticism from Daltera, of
whom we have already related so much. It was at
the expense of the same Mr. Fogg, whose impalement
by Richmond, in an electioneering song, we have
immortalised in a former chapter. At a dinner given
at Ormskirk by the mess of a regiment of volunteers,
or local militia, in which Fogg was a subaltern,
Daltera was among the guests. When the cloth was
removed, Poor Joe, as was " his custom of an after-
noon," became very lively and exhilarated, and,
fancying that the other was somewhat dull, suddenly
turned to him, and slapping him on the back, ex-
Liverpool a Few Years Since. g5
claimed, " Come, Fogg, clear up ! " amidst roars of
laughter from the party. A veteran officer of the
Guards, who happened to be one of the company, still
tells this story with the greatest glee and pleasure, and
looks back upon the day in question as one of the
merriest and most amusing he ever spent.
But we mentioned the name of Mr. William
Wallace Currie just now. We must return to him.
He was not a man to be casually mentioned and then
passed by. He was the eldest son of the great Dr.
Currie. His abilities were above mediocrity, and his
mind well-cultivated and stored with literature. He
may be described as a reading man, in an almost non-
reading community. As a speaker, he was ready, but
not eloquent. He had more affluence of argument
than command of oratory, but he never failed to
express himself to the satisfaction of his hearers.
In his own circle of society he was much esteemed.
As a party leader, he was greatly respected by the
public, who regarded him as that rara avis, an honest
politician. His life confirms the verdict, for, with
undoubted influence at his command, he never used
it to subserve his own ambition or push his own
private interest. That he was never in Parliament
may be ascribed to his own modesty. We have heard
of more than one borough where the electors would
gladly have chosen him to be their representative.
Mr. Currie is still remembered with strong affection
by his friends, and, when they likewise have passed
away, his name will yet survive for many a generation
in the title-page of one of the most delightful books
g6 Liverpool a Feiv Years Since.
which we ever remember to have read. We speak of
the Life of Dr. Cmvie, by his son. In reading it, we
were charmed and fascinated by the letters and senti-
ments of the father, and so pleased with the setting in
which these jewels were exhibited to us, that our only
regret was, that the biographer did not, in executing
his task so well, give us more of his own work, but left
us to rise from the intellectual treat which he had set
before us with an appetite rather whetted than satis-
fied by the feast which we had been enjoying.
We have said that the reading men in old Liverpool
were few. Let us chronicle another of their names,
Mr. Alexander Freeland, who still survives amongst
us. His inquisitive mind has long since, we may
say, made the tour of literature, and the stores of it
which he has accumulated are surprising, as he
unlocks the treasuries of his mind in the chosen circle
before whom "he comes out." We must also place
another veteran, Mr. Henry Lawrence, in the ranks of
both well-read and literary men. He always had a
good seat in the intellectual tournament, and carried
a good lance in the tilting of wit. He was never
wanting to contribute his part, when present, at " the
feast of reason and the flow of soul." To catalogue
all his clever sayings would be an endless work. His
conversational powers were brilliant and infinite. His
wit was keen and of the purest order. We defy the
young stagers of to-day to produce his match out of
their ranks.
CHAPTER XVI.
mm
mm
T would be a strange picture of " Liverpool
a few years since" which did not exhibit
Mr. (afterwards Sir) John Gladstone in
the foreground of the canvas. He had, in
those early days, already taken his position, and was
evidently destined to play a conspicuous part in this
busy world. We never remember to have met with a
man who possessed so inexhaustible a fund of that
most useful of all useful qualities, good common sense.
It was never at fault, never baffled. His shrewdness
as a man of business was proverbial. His sagacity in
all matters connected with commerce was only not
prophetic. He seemed to take the whole map of the
world into his mind at one glance, and almost by
intuition to discover, not only which were the best
markets for to-day, but where there would be the best
opening to-morrow. What was speculation with others
was calculation with him. The letters which from
time to time, through a long series of years, he sent
forth, like so many signal-rockets, to the trading world,
under the signature of Mercator, were looked upon as
oracular by a large portion of the public. And there is
little doubt that his authority was often sought and
H
gS Liverpool a Feiv Years Since.
acted upon, in commercial legislation, by the different
Administrations by which the country has been
governed during the last half-century. We recollect,
many years ago, standing under the gallery of the
House of Commons with the late Mr. Huskisson. A
sugar question was under discussion, and Mr. Goul-
burn was hammering and stammering through a string
of figures and details, which it was clear he did not
comprehend himself, and which he was in vain labour-
ing to make the House comprehend. Mr. Huskisson
smiled, as he quietly observed, " Goulburn has got his
facts, and figures, and statistics from Mr. Gladstone,
and they are all as correct and right as possible, but
he does not understand them, and will make a regular
hash of it ! " Mr. Gladstone was himself in Parlia-
ment for some years, and was always listened to most
respectfully on mercantile affairs. If he did not make
any very distinguished figure, it was because he did
not enter upon public life until he had reached an age
at which men's habits are formed, and at which they
rather covet a seat in the House of Commons as a
feather or crowning honour of their fortunes, than as
an admission into an arena in which they intend to
become gladiators in the strife, and to plunge into all
the toils, and intrigues, and bustle of statesmanship.
Had our clever townsman entered Parliament at an
earlier period, and devoted himself to it, we have no
doubt that he would have been found a match for the
best of them, and might have risen to the highest
departments of the Government. His name is well
represented amongst us still. He left four sons behind
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 99
him, one of whom, the Right Honourable WiUiam
Ewart Gladstone, is second to no statesman of the
day, either in promise or performance, eloquence or
abilities. Mr. Gladstone lived in Rodney-street, in a
house subsequently taken by Mr. Cardwell, the father
of our late clever and gifted representative. So that,
by a remarkable coincidence, Mr. W. E. Gladstone
and Mr. Cardwell, severally the best men of their
standing, first at the university, and now in the list of
statesmen, are not only from the same county of
Lancaster, which produces so large a proportion of the
able men in every profession, but from the same town,
and the same street in the same town, and the same
house in the same street. Did ever house so carry
double, and with two such illustrious riders, before ?
Nor must we forget to mention Mr. Robert Gladstone,
an amiable, kind-hearted man, and one of the most
agreeable persons ever to be met with in society,
always anxious to please and be pleased.
And there was Dr. Crompton, a fearless, outspoken
man, English all over in his bearing. He was the
father of the new judge, v/hose appointment enabled
proud Liverpool to say that, as before in Judge Parke,
she had furnished the cleverest occupant of the bench,
so now she may boast that the two best are both her
sons. And what a glorious old fellow, kind, clever,
benevolent, well-read, well-informed, and well-disposed
was Ottiwell Wood. Who can forget him ? His
Christian name was a curious and rare one. He was
once a witness on some trial, when the judge, rather
puzzled in making out his name, called upon him to
loo Liverpool a Few Years Since.
spell it. Out came the answer in sonorous thunder :
"O double T, I double U, E double L, double U,
double O, D." His lordship, if puzzled before, was
now, if we may perpetrate such an atrocious pun,
fairly " doubled up," amidst the laughter of the court.
We lately, in our travels, met with a gentleman at a
party in a distant county. His name, as he entered
the room, was announced, " The Rev. Ottiwell ."
When we had been introduced to him, we ventured to
ask him where he got it. " Oh ! " he replied, " I was
so called after an old Lancashire relation of mine, as
worthy a man as ever lived, Mr. Ottiwell Wood, of
Liverpool." We struck up an alliance, offensive and
defensive, and " swore eternal friendship " on the spot.
We recollect another gentleman, also called Wood,
who once, playing upon the names of some of our
fashionables, at a party where he was amongst the
guests, thus exclaimed, as he entered the room, " There
are, I see, Hills, Lakes, and Littledales, it only wanted
Wood to perfect the scene."
The Littledales here mentioned were then, as the
representatives of the family still are, among the most
thriving and prosperous of our leading people. They
brought both intelligence and industry to their work.
They owed nothing to chance, for they left nothing to
chance. And we may truly say of them, that, to
whatever branch of commerce or the professions they
devoted themselves, they deserved and adorned the
success which they achieved. And here we cannot
pass on without relating an excellent ban mot from the
lips of Judge Littledale, the brother of Anthony,
Liverpool a Few Years Since. loi
Isaac and George, of the last generation, all, in their
different ways, distinguished men amongst our old
stagers. Some years since, a gentleman, now one of
the most prominent of the rising barristers on the
Northern Circuit, had, when almost a boy, to appear
before the judge in some legal matter. We do not
understand the jargon and technicalities of the law.
The opposing party, however, moved that, in a certain
case, " the rule be enlarged." To this our young
friend demurred, alleging, according to the letter of
his instructions, that " he had never, in the whole
course of his experience, heard of a rule being en-
larged under such circumstances." "Then," replied
the judge, with the blandest of smiles, "young gentle-
man, we will enlarge the rule and your experience
at the same time." Never was anything better than
this uttered in a court of justice. We heard the story
from the young gentleman of such great experience
himself. It made an impression on him that will
never be effaced ; and, doubtless, when a judge him-
self, he will repeat the anecdote for the benefit of the
horse-hair wigs of the next generation.
But, to keep to Liverpool, there must be many yet
alive who remember Mr. D'Aguilar among the celebri-
ties and fashionables of the town. A tall, fine-looking,
portly man he was. Mrs. D'Aguilar was a charming
person in society, the life of every party, and retained
to the end of a long life all the vivacity and cheerful-
ness, as well as the appearance, of youth. She seemed
never to grow older. One of their sons, Mr. Joseph
D'Aguilar, was decidedly among the wits of the day,
102 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
and had many a sharp saying and good story attri-
buted to him. Another was General D'Aguilar, who
distinguished himself in the Peninsular war, and is
the soldier, scholar and gentleman, all three combined
in one. Mrs. Laurence, so long the queen of fashion
in this locality, was one of their daughters, and, like
her brothers, inherited a large portion of intellect
from her parents. The patroness of literature in
others, she has herself just gone far enough into its
realms to excite our regret that she has not gone
further. A kindred spirit of Mrs. Hemans, we often
wish that she had not only extended her sympathies to
that gifted genius, but had, with her own pen, roamed
with her, " fancy free," into the regions of poesy, and
emulated her inspirations.
And here let us turn aside to embalm the memory of
another old stager, well known and much liked in his
day, William Rigby. A gentleman in his bearing,
endowed with no slight powers of conversation ;
clever, witty, social, convivial, he was a most popular
man in his circle. And, besides, he played a hand at
whist second to none, which always made him a
welcome guest at houses where card tables appeared.
He was a tall, handsome man, with eyes twinkling
with the humour and jocularity which made him
such an agreeable companion. And shall we forget
Devaynes, that nonpareil of an amateur in the conjur-
ing line ? Talk not to us of your wizards of the
north, or of the south, or of the east, or of the west.
Devaynes was worth them all put together. How we
have stared in our boyish days, half in wonder and
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 103
half in alarm, at his wonderful tricks, perfectly con-
vinced in our own mind that such an accomplished
master of arts must assuredly be in league with some
unmentionable friend in the unseen world. As you
sat at table with him, your piece of bread would
suddenly begin to walk towards him. Before you had
recovered from this astonishment your wine glass
would start after it, next your knife and fork, and then
your plate would move, like a hen after its chickens,
in the same direction. And then how he would
swallow dishes, joints of meat, decanters, and every-
thing that came in his way. He was a perfect terror
to the market-women, who really believed that he was
on the most intimate terms with the unmentionable
old gentleman aforesaid. Having made his purchases
and got his change for his guinea or half guinea, he
would put the coin into their hand, and say to them,
" Now, hold it fast, and be sure you have it ; " and
then, before leaving them, he would add, "Look again,
and be certain," when, the hand being opened, there
was either nothing in it, or perhaps a farthing, or a
sixpence. And even when the joke was over, and he
had left the market, they eyed the fairy money both
with suspicion and alarm, lest it should disappear,
and were never easy until they had paid it away in
change to some other customer. How well we remem-
ber these things ! The performer of them was a
quiet, unassuming man, much respected by all who
knew him, and certainly one of whom it could not be
said that he was ** no conjuror."
CHAPTER XVII.
|E have spoken in a former chapter of the
oil lamps, which, " few and far between,"
just made darkness visible, and of the old
watchmen, who were supposed or not
supposed to be the guardians of our lives and property.
The latter deserve another word. The old watchmen,
or "Charleys," as they were generally called, were
perfect " curiosities of humanity," and the principle on
which they were selected and the rules by which they
were guided were as curious as themselves. They
seem to be chosen as schoolmasters are still chosen in
remote villages in the rural districts, namely, because
they were fit for nothing else, and must be kept off the
parish as long as possible. They were for the most
part, wheezy, asthmatic old men, generally with a
very bad cough, and groaning under the weight of an
immense great coat, with immense capes, which
almost crushed them to the ground, the very ditto,
indeed of him of whom it was written,
" Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door."
They carried a thick staff, not so much a weapon of
offence as to support their tottering steps. They had
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 105
also rattles in their hands, typical, we presume, of the
coming rattles in the throat, for they were of no
earthly use whatever. Each of them was furnished
with a snug box, in which they slept as long as
possible. But, if ever they did wake up, their pro-
ceedings were of a most remarkable kind. They set
forth round their beat with a lantern in their hands, as
a kind of a beacon to warn thieves and rogues that it
was time to hide, until these guardians of the night
had performed the farce of vigilance and gone back to
snore. Moreover, like an army marching to surprise
an enemy with all the regimental bands performing a
grand chorus, they also gave notice of their approach
to the same kind of gentry by yelling the hour of the
night and the state of the weather with a tremulous
and querulous voice, something between a grunt and a
squeak, which even yet reminds us of the lines in
Dunciad ;
" Silence, ye wolves ! while Ralph to Cynthia howls,
And makes night hideous : answer him, ye owls."
But, to be sure, the wisdom of our forefathers had a
double object in view when they ordered this musical
performance to be got up. It not only saved the poor
old watchmen from conflicts in which the}' must have
suffered grievously, but it served another purpose, and
so " killed two birds with one stone " with a vengeance.
Only fancy the happiness of a peaceful citizen, fast
asleep after the toils and fatigues of the day, to
have his first slumber disturbed that he might be told
that it was •' half-past eleven o'clock, and a cloudy
io6 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
night," and then, by the time that he had digested
this interesting intelhgence and was composing him-
self on his pillow again, to be again aroused to learn
that it was now " twelve o'clock, atid a starlight
morning," and so on every half-hour until day-break.
The vagaries of the veritable queen Mab, with " tithe
pigs' tails" and all .the rest of it, were only more
poetical, not the least more rest-disturbing, than the
shouts of these bawlers of the night. Truly, the watch
committee of those days might have taken for their
motto, " Macbeth does murder sleep." And many
were the funny tricks played upon these poor, helpless
old creatures, by the practical jokers who then so
abounded amohgst us. Sometimes they would, when
caught napping, be nailed up in their boxes, while
occasionally, by way of variety, their persecutors
would lay them gently on the ground with the doors
downwards, so that their unhappy inmates would be
as helpless as a turtle turned upon its back, and be
kept prisoners till morning. In short, "a Charley"
was considered fair game for every lover of mischief
to practise upon, and their tormentors were never
tired of inventing new devices for teazing and annoy-
ing them. Latterly, however, as the town grew
larger, the veteran battalions, the cripples, wheezers,
coughers, and asthmatics, were superseded by a more
stalwart race, who looked as if they would stand no
nonsense, and could do a little fighting at a pinch.
The last of these men, whom we recollect before the
establishment of the new police, had the beat in the
neighbourhood of Clayton-square. Many of our
Liverpool a Feiv Years Since. 107
readers must recollect him. He was a six-foot mus-
cular Irishman. " Well, Pat," some of the young
ones, who are middle aged gentlemen now, used to say
to him, "Well, Pat, what of O'Connell?" On such
occasions Pat invariably drew himself up, like a
soldier on parade, to his full height, looked devoutly
upwards, and then solemnly exclaimed, " There 's One
above, sir — and — next to him — is Daniel O'Connell ! "
And it was a name to conjure with in his day ! We
respected, as often as we heard of it, that poor fellow's
reverence for his mighty countryman, and felt that,
had we been Irish, we also should have placed that
name first and foremost in our calendar of saints,
martyrs, patriots and heroes. Who is there now of
his name and nation who can rise and say, " Mr.
Speaker, I address you as the representative of
Ireland." But, forward. How the old times, and the
old things, and the old oil-lamps, and the old watch-
men have all passed away and disappeared ! And the
old pig-tails, too, have vanished with them. When
we first escaped from petticoats into jacket and
trousers, every man, young and old, wore a hairy
appendage at the back of his head, called a pig-tail, as
if anxious to support Lord Monboddo's theory, that
man had originally been a tailed animal of the monkey
tribe ; for surely our wholesale re-tailing, if we may so
speak, could have been for no other purpose. Pig-
tails were of various sorts and sizes. The sailors wore
an immense club of hair reaching half-way down their
backs, like that worn by one of Ingoldsby's heroes,
and thus described by him, —
io8 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
"And his pigtail is long, and bushy, and thick,
Like a pump handle stuck on the end of a stick."
Those of the soldiers were somewhat less in magni-
tude, but still enormous in their proportions. And
quiet citizens wore jauntily one little dainty lock, tied
up neatly with black ribbon, and just showing itself
over the coat collar. It was a strange practice, but
custom renders us familiar with everything. At last,
however, Fashion, in one of her capricious moods,
issued her fiat, and pigtails were curtailed. But some
few old stagers, lovers of things as they were, and the
enemies of all innovation, saw revolution in the doom
of pigtails, and persevered in wearing them long after
they had generally disappeared. The pigtail finally
seen in society in Liverpool dangled on the back
of ; but, no, no ! never mind his name. He still
toddles about on 'Change, and might not like to be
joked about it, even at this distance of time. Its fate
was curious. Through evil report and good report he
had stood by that pigtail as part and parcel of the
British Constitution, the very Palladium of Magna
Charta, Habeas Corpus, and the Bill of Rights. But
the time for a new edition of The Rape of the Lock
arrived. He dined one day with a party of gay
fellows like himself. The bottle went freely round,
until, under its influence, our unlucky friend fell fast
asleep. The opportunity was seized upon. After some
hours' refreshing slumber he awoke, and found himself
alone. On the table before him was a neat little
parcel, directed to him, made up in silvery paper, and
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 109
tied with a delicate blue ribbon. What could it be ?
He eagerly opened it, and found, // Diavolo ! that it
was his pigtail. " Achilles' wrath," as sung by Homer,
was nothing compared with the fury of the wretched
man. He stormed, he swore, he threatened, but he
could never discover who had been the operator who
had so despoiled him, like another Samson, of his
pride. Let us hope that remorse has severely visited
the guilty criminal. Its work, however, must have
been inwardly, for outwardly he is a hale, hearty,
cheerful-looking old man, who still carries himself
among his brother merchants as if he had never per-
petrated such an enormous atrocity.
This, we said, was the last of the pigtails seen in
Liverpool society. But we did meet with another, the
very Ultimus Romanorum, after a lapse of many years,
under very peculiar and interesting circumstances.
We were walking in Lime-street, when all at once we
caught sight of a tall, patriarchal, respectably-dressed
man, some three-quarters of a century old, with a pig-
tail. It was like the ghost of the past, or a mummy
from Egypt, rising suddenly before us. The old
gentleman, whose pigtail seemed saucily to defy all
modern improvements as the works of Satan and his
emissaries, was, with spectacles on nose, reading some
document on the wall. Being naturally of an inquisi-
tive turn of mind, and especially anxious at that
moment to find out what still on earth could interest a
pigtail, we stopped to make the discovery. Ha ! ha !
ha ! It nearly killed us with laughter. It was the
electioneering address of Sir Howard Douglas. No
no Liverpool a Few Years Since.
wonder the old man's sympathies were excited : it
was pigtail studying pigtail, Noah holding sweet com-
munion with Methuselah or Tubal Cain. We often
marvel within ourselves whether that last survivor of
the pigtail dynasty is yet alive, and whether he
believes in steam-ships, and railways, and electric
telegraphs ; whether indeed he believes in the nine-
teenth century at all, or in anything except Sir
Howard Douglas and pigtails.
Hair-powder, which also used generally to be worn
in those days, went out of fashion with pigtails. It
was in allusion to this practice that the old song
laughingly asked,
" And what are bachelors made of?
Powder and puff,
And such like stuff,
Such are bachelors made of —
Made of!
Such are bachelors made of."
Even ladies wore hair-powder. The last, within our
memory, so adorned, was Mrs. Bridge, the mother
of Mr. James Oakes Bridge, who lived in St. Anne-
street, and a fine, stately, venerable lady of the old
school she was.
A terrible time was it for hair-dressers, who then
carried on a thriving business, when pigtails and
hair-powder were abolished at one fell swoop. It was
in reality to them like the repeal of the Navigation
laws, in idea, to the ship-owners, or free-trade to the
farmers. We were amusingly reminded of it only a
few weeks since. Being on our travels, with rather a
Liverpool a Few Years Since. iii
wilderness of hair upon our head, we turned into a
barber's shop, in a small town through which a rail-
way, lately opened, runs. The barber had a melan-
choly look, and seemed to be borne down by some
secret sorrow, to which he gave utterance from time
to time in the most dreadful groans. At length he
found a voice, and rather sobbed than said, " Oh sir,
these railways will be the ruin of the country ! " Did
our ears deceive us ? Or was the barber really gone
mad ? We were silent, but, we suppose, looked
unutterable things, for he continued, " Yes, sir, before
this line was opened, I shaved twenty post-boys a day
from the White Hart, and now if I shave one in a
week I am in high luck." Unhappy shaver, to be thus
shaved by the march of improvement ! And inconsist-
ent George Hudson ! thou talkest of the vested rights
of shipowners and landlords, and yet didst thou ever
stay thy ruthless hand and project a line the less that
country post-boys might flourish, and country barbers
live by shaving their superfluous beards ? O ! most
close shaver thyself, not to make compensation to thy
shavers thus thrown out of bread and beards by thy
countless innovations !
But it is time that we should finish this chapter, and
we will do so with copying an anecdote touching hair
powder, which greatly struck us as we lately read it in
the History of Hungary. Some great measure was under
discussion in the diet of that country, when Count
Szechenyi appeared in the Chamber of Magnates, on
the 28th of October, 1844, in splendid uniform, his
breast covered with stars and ribbons of the various
112 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
orders to which he belonged. " It is now thirty-three
years," said he, " and eleven days since I was sent to
the camp of Marshal Blucher. I arrived at the dawn
of day, and at the entrance of the tent found a soldier
occupied in powdering his hair before a looking-glass.
I was rather surprised, but, on passing on a little
further, I found a page engaged in the same way. At
last I reached the tent of the old general himself, and
found him, like the others, powdering and dressing his
hair also. ' General,' said I, ' I should have thought
this was the time to put powder in the cannon and not
in the hair.' 'We hope,' was the reply, ' to celebrate
a grand fete to-day, and we must, therefore, appear in
our best costume.' On that day the battle of Leipsic
was fought. For a similar reason, gentlemen, I appear
here to-day, dressed in this singular manner. I believe
that we are to-day about to perform one of the bright-
est acts in the history of our nation." The address
was received with loud acclamations. But hair-
powder and gunpowder have, we believe, long since
been divorced, even in the camp. It was incon-
venient. It was found, as touching the former, that,
on a hot day, it was impossible " to keep your powder
dry."
^^
CHAPTER XVIII.
HETHER we consider the magnificence of
its estate, the amount of its revenue, or
the extent of its influence, the Liverpool
Corporation might ever be compared to a
German principaHty put into commission. We have,
in a former chapter, alluded briefly to its state and
condition in those old days, when
»
"All went merry as a marriage bell,"
and no Municipal Reform Bill ever loomed in the
distance. But we feel that we must say something
more about such an important body. The old Liver-
pool self-elected Corporation was always looked up to
and spoken of with respect from one end of the
country to the other. It was, indeed, considered to
be a kind of model Corporation by all others, and
quoted, and emulated, and imitated on all occasions
and in all directions.
We have said that it was self-elected. We must
add that it was most exclusive in its character and
formation. " W^e don't shave gentlemen in your line,"
says the hair-dresser in Nicholas Nickleby to the coal-
I
114 Liverpool a Few Yean Since.
heaver. " Why ? " retorted the other, " I see you
a-shaving of a baker, when I was a-looking through
the winder last week." " It's necessary to draw the
line somewheres, my fine feller," replied the principal.
" We draw the line there. We can't go beyond
bakers." And so it was with the old Corporation.
They drew a line in the admission of select recruits
into their body, and strictly kept to it. All tradesmen
and shopkeepers, and everything retail, were carefully
excluded, and classified in the non-presentable " coal-
heavers' schedule." But they were not only exclusive
in the fashion which has been indicated, but in other
ways also. Their line of distinction was more than a
separation of class from class. They were not only a
self-elected body, but a family party, and carefully
guarded the introduction of too many " outsiders," if
we may so speak, of their own rank and order in
society. They would, indeed, occasionally admit a
stranger, without any ties of relationship to recom-
mend him. But this was only done at long intervals,
and just to save appearances. Thus, such men as
Mr. Leyland, Mr. Lake, and Mr. Thomas Case were,
from time to time, introduced into the old Corporation.
But extreme care was taken that the new blood should
never be admitted in too large a current. For the
same reason, that of saving appearances, our ancient
municipals, although ultra-Tory in their politics, occa-
sionally opened the door of the Council Chamber to a
very select Whig. Nothing, however, was gained for
the public by this g'Mas^-liberality of conduct. The
Whigs, so introduced, generally fell into the ways of the
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 115
company into which they had been admitted ; and it
was remarked, that in every distribution of patronage
they were at least as hearty and zealous jobbers as the
most inveterate Tories. This may have been said
enviously. But, at all events, it was said. We are,
recollect, writing history, not censure. Human nature
is of one colour under every shade of politics. "Caesar
and Pompey very much 'like, Massa ; 'specially
Pompey."
We have said that, with the exception of the occa-
sional Whig ac^itted for the sake of appearances, or
to be ornamental, the politics of the old Corporators
tended to extreme Toryism. They were, nevertheless,
divided into two parties, as cordially hating each other
as the rival factions in Jerusalem. As their opinions
on all great public matters exactly coincided, the apple
of discord between them must have been the immense
patronage at their disposal, and which was too often
considered as the heir-loom of the Corporate families.
On one side were the Hollingsheads, Drinkwaters,
Harpers, etc. On the other, and at that time, and
for years after, the stronger interest, were arrayed the
Cases, Aspinalls, Clarkes, Branckers, etc. The latter
party owed much of their preponderance to the influ-
ence of the great John Foster of that day, who,
although not a member of the Council himself, pos-
sessed a strange power over its decisions and judg-
ments, and brought to his friends the aid of as much
common sense and as strong an intellect as ever were
possessed by any individual. But it is not to be
supposed that the members of the former Corporation
ii6 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
limited their attention and zeal to the battle for
patronage and place. Let us do them justice. Con-
sidering the immensity of the trust committed to their
charge, the fact that there was no direct responsi-
bility to check, control, or guide them, and the sleepy
sort of animal which public opinion, now so vigilant
and wakeful, so open-eared, open-eyed, and loud-
tongued, was in those old stagnant times, our convic-
tion has always been that they performed their duty
miraculously well. We are neither their accusers nor
eulogists. If they were not perfect, they were not
altogether faulty. They expended the town's revenues
for the town's good. Their foresight extended to the
future as well as the present. They perceived the
elements of coming greatness which the port of Liver-
pool possessed, and laid the foundation, often in the
face of as loud clamour and criticism as those days
were capable of exciting, of their growth and develop-
ment. Their successors have but walked in the path
which they had opened, and carried out the plans
which these Council forefathers had devised. In every
part of the town may be seen their works and crea-
tions, carried on under the superintendence of the
Mr. Foster whom we have mentioned, and of his
gifted son, too little appreciated amongst us until he
he was beyond the reach of all human praise and
applause. On the tablet to Sir Christopher Wren,
in St. Paul's, London, it is written. Si momimentum
quavis, circumspice. And, even so, if we are asked
to point out the ever-abiding epitaph which, from
generation to generation till the world's last blaze.
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 117
will uphold the memory of our old defunct Corpora-
tion, we should answer " Liverpool." When we are
told of their extravagance ; when we hear of their
nepotism ; when their spirit of exclusion is scoffed at ;
when their ultra politics are ridiculed ; let us draw a
veil over all and everything, as we contemplate our
docks, our churches, our public buildings, and once
more exclaim. Si inonunienUim qucsvis, circtimspice. These
speaking memorials will remain when all their faults
are forgotten !
But we said, just now, that the members of the old
Corporation would, from time to time, for the sake of
appearances, admit a select Whig or Liberal into
their number. This reminds us of a good story, which
was circulated at the time, when it was debated
among them whether they should or should not elect
the present Mr. William Earle. " He is a very clever
fellow," said one of them to a grim old banker, think-
ing thereby to conciliate his favour and win his
support. The eulogy had just a contrary effect. " So
much the worse," replied old money-bags, "we have
too many clever fellows amongst us already." As
nobody cried out, "Name, name!" the list of this
multitude, this constellation of clever ones, is lost to
posterity. And, having mentioned this joke against
one of the old Council, let us add another. One day
Prince William of Gloucester and his staff of officers
were dining with a certain member thereof, who
treated them with the best which his house contained
and which money could command. When the cloth
was drawn, his wines, which were excellent, were not
ll8 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
only enjoyed, but highly praised. Being a little bit of
a boaster, he perpetrated a small white fib by saying,
•* Yes ! that port is certainly very fine, but I have some
better in the cellar." " Let us try it," instantly
rejoined a saucy young aide-de-camp, amidst the
laughter of the company at the alderman being thus
caught in his own trap. On another occasion it was
said that the presiding genius at a table where His
Royal Highness was a guest, thus encouraged his
appetite, " Eat away, your Royal Highness, there 's
plenty more in the kitchen." For the honour of
Liverpool refinement, be it known that it was not one
of our natives who made this speech, so much more
hospitable than polite. It was a gentleman of an
aristocratic family, officially connected with the town.
But taste was not so fastidious, neither was society so
conventional, in those days as they are now. The
most expressive word was the word used when it was
intended to mean warm sincerity, not empty form.
And what a crowd of the county nobility and the
gentry were invited to the Corporation banquets in
those old days. There was the venerable Earl of
Derby, the grandfather of the present Lord. There
was likewise the Earl of Sefton, gay, dashing, and
agreeable. Mr. Bootle Wilbraham, and Mr. Bold of
Bold Hall, then Mr. Patten, were frequent guests at
the Mayor's table. And there was old Mr. Blackburne,
who was the county member for so many years in
those quiet times of Toryism, when the squirearchy
reigned supreme even in the manufacturing districts.
An easy-going man, of very moderate abilities, was
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 119
old Squire Blackburne. He stuck by his party, and his
party stuck by him. Many a sugar-plum of patronage
fell into the mouths of his family and friends. The
Mr. Blundell of Ince, of that day, came frequently
amongst us, although, generally speaking, a man of
reserved habits, and more given to cultivate his
literary tastes than to mix in company. He presented
one of the Mayors of Liverpool, Mr. John Bridge
Aspinall, with a portrait of himself, half-length, and
an admirable likeness. It hung for many years in the
drawing-room of the gentleman in Duke-street. Side
by side with it was a splendid painting of Prince
William of Gloucester, also a gift from His Royal
Highness to Mr. Aspinall. Where they are now we
know not. But, when dotting down the names of
some of the neighbouring gentry who used to look in
upon us some forty odd years ago, we must not forget
to recall honest John Watkins, " the Squire " of
Ditton. Squire Watkins, as many of our old stagers
will recollect, was a Tory, if ever there was one in the
world. But a noble-souled, true-hearted, generous,
hospitable man was he withal, as ever lived, a kind of
Sir Roger de Coverley, from the crown of his head to
the sole of his foot. And what a house he kept ! And
how he came out in his especial glory on his coursing
days, when all the Nimrods and Ramrods in the
county assembled under his roof, and did not resemble
a temperance society in the slightest degree. Poor
old Squire Watkins ! Some terrible Philistine once
planted a hedge, or built a wall, we forget which,
which trespassed, or was supposed to trespass, an
120 Liverpool a Few Yean Since.
inch or two upon his land. It was just the sort of
trifle for two people in the country with nothing to do
to quarrel about. The feud, or " fun, grew fast and
furious." The squire insisted upon the removal of
the encroachment. His opponent refused. Threats
followed, defiance succeeded, until, one morning, like
Napoleon making his swoop upon Brussels, John
Watkins, Esq., took the field at the head of his
household troops, the butler, coachman, groom,
gardener, etc. At last they arrived on the field of
Waterloo. But the opposing Wellington was already
there, in position with his followers, himself in front
with a double-barrelled gun in his hand. Nothing
daunted, the squire, pointing to the encroaching fence
which was to be destroyed, cheered on his men to the
attack, and the " Old Guard" advanced merrily to the
charge. But they were presently brought to a check.
" Up Guards !" shouted the hostile Wellington as they
approached, while " click " went the cock of his
double-barrelled gun, as he raised it to his shoulder,
vehemently swearing at the same time that he would
shoot the first man who dared to lay hands upon the
debatable boundary. The assailants wavered. The
squire shouted to them in vain. Even he himself did
not like the look of the double-barrelled gun, but,
fixing upon John, his butler, to be his Marshal Ney,
he encouraged him to the attack. John, however,
feeling that " discretion was the better part of valour,"
hesitated, when his master again cheered him to the
fight with this promise of posthumous consolation,
" Never mind him, John ; if the scoundrel does shoot
Liverpool a Few Yean Since. I2i
you, we'll have him hanged for it afterwards." "But
please, master," said John, as wisely and innocently,
*' I 'd rather you hanged him first." This was too
much. There was no help for it. Hugoumont was
saved. Napoleon and his forces retreated, baffled and
discomfited, from the field. The squire, peace to his
memory, fine old fellow, used often to tell this story
in after years, never failing to revile poor John for his
cowardice, which lost the day. But we always
defended John, and turned the laugh against the
squire, by gently insinuating that there was somebody
more interested in the quarrel, who was even more
prudent than prudent John.
CHAPTER XIX.
HE Church, in the days we are speaking of,
was in a very torpid and sleepy state, not
only in Liverpool, but throughout the
land. None of the evangelical clergy had
then appeared in this district, to stimulate the pace of
the old-fashioned jog-trot High Churchmen. Neither
had Laudism revived, under its new name of Pusey-
ism. Nothing was heard from our pulpits but what
might have passed muster at Athens, or been preached
without offence in the great Mosque of Constantinople.
In fact, ** Extract of Blair" was the dose administered,
Sunday after Sunday, by drowsy teachers to drowsy
congregations. If it did no harm, it did no good. We
do not here speak of James Blair, Commissary of
Virginia, President of William and Mary College, &c.,
whose works, little known, contain a mine of theo-
logical wealth. We allude to Dr. Hugh Blair, whose
sermons, so celebrated in his day and long after, are
really, when analysed, nothing better than a string of
cold moral precepts, mixed up with a few gaudy flowers
culled from the garden of rhetoric. We have often
wondered at the praise beyond measure which Dr.
Johnson again and again bestowed upon Blair's diluted
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 123
slip-slop and namby-pamby trifles. He not only spoke
of them in the highest terms on every occasion, but
thus, in his strange way, once exclaimed, " I love
Blair's sermons. Though the dog is a Scotchman,
and a Presbyterian, and everything he should not be,
I was the first to praise them. Such was my candour."
At all events, as we have already stated, " Extract of
Blair " was the pulpit panacea universally prescribed
at the beginning of the nineteenth century. And we
are bound to add, as far as our youthful recollections
go, that the majority of the Liverpool clergy in those
days were rather below than above the average of
mediocrity.
There were some among them, however, whose
names are worth recalling. One of the best preachers
in those old times was the incumbent of St. Stephen's,
Byrom-street, the Rev. G. H. Piercy, a fine fellow in
every way. He is still alive at his living of Chaddes-
ley, in Worcestershire, to which he was presented
through the influence of old Queen Charlotte. His
mother-in-law, the wife of the Rev. Mr. Sharp, then
vicar of Childwall, had been about the court in some
capacity or other, and it was the good fashion of her
Majesty never to forget her friends. Mr. Piercy must
have reached the age of the patriarchs at least. Then
there was the Rev. Mr. Milner, of St. Catharine's
Church, Temple-street, which was removed in making
some improvements in that part of the town. Poor
Mr. Milner ! When not washing his hands, he em-
ployed each hour of the day in running after the hour
before, and was always losing ground in the race. A
124 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
kind-hearted man he was, and a pleasant one when
you could catch him. He was known as " the late
Mr. Milner." The Rev. Mr. Vause preached in those
days at Christ Church. He was considered to be a
brilliant star in the pulpit, and was indeed a first-rate
scholar, a fellow-student with the illustrious Canning,
who made many and strong efforts to reclaim him from
a course of life which unhappily contradicted and
marred all his Sunday teachings. But, even with
regard to his sermons, effective and telling as they
were made by style, voice and manner, it was found,
after his death, when they passed into other hands,
that they were chiefly Blair, with others copied from
the popular writers of the day. A clergyman, who
was to preach before the Archbishop of York, had the
choice of them for the occasion. He picked out the
one which seemed to him to be the most spicy and
telling, and, confident at the time that it was the pro-
duction of Vause himself, delivered it with mighty
emphasis and stunning effect. When it was over, the
Archbishop blandly smiled, praised it exceedingly, and
then, to the horror and astonishment of the preacher,
whispered, " I always liked 's sermons," naming
the author from whom it was taken. Never did poor
jackdaw feel so much pain at being divested of his
borrowed plumage.
One of the ablest men, although a mumbling kind of
preacher, in those times, was the Rev. Mr. Kidd, who
was for so many years one of the curates of Liverpool,
a kind of Church serf, who could never rise to be a
Church ruler. He had many kind friends, and at
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 125
many a table which we could mention a plate and
knife and fork were always laid for the poor curate.
But he ever appeared to us to be an oppressed and
depressed man, with a weight upon his spirits which
nothing could shake off. There was indeed a romance
attached to his history, although he was perhaps the
most unromantic looking person that the human eye
ever rested upon. He was a brilliant scholar, when a
student at Brasenose College, Oxford, and his hopes
and ambition naturally aspired to a fellowship. It was
supposed to be within his grasp. But how wide is the
distance between the cup and the lip ! The principal
was unpopular, and some of his doings were severely
flogged in a satirical poem which appeared without a
name. Its cleverness led him to suspect Mr. Kidd,
and, without looking for any other proof of the author-
ship, he became his sworn enemy, and used all his
influence, and only too successfully, to turn the
election against him. Some love aff'air, we have also
heard, but this was, it may be, only " one of the tales
of our grand-father," went wrong with him about the
same time. So that, altogether, he was thrown upon
the world a sad and downcast man, with blighted
hopes and blasted expectations from his very youth,
and settled down into the curacy of Liverpool, where
he saw more than one generation of inferior men,
inferior in scholarship, in learning, in wit, in all and
everything, promoted over his head. A pleasant,
agreeable, quaint and original companion was poor
Kidd amongst his intimates, but tongue-tied in a large
party. He saw through the hollowness of the world.
126 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
and despised it. There was nobody like him for
unmasking a sham, and reducing a pretender to his
real and proper dimensions. And then his chuckling
laugh when he had accomplished such a feat, and
impaled the human cockchafer upon the point of his
sarcasm ! And how bitterly he would allude to his
curate's poverty, as, smacking his lips over a glass of
old port at some friend's table, and he did not dislike
his glass of port, he would tell us that his own
domestic allowance of the same was " to smell at the
cork on a week-day, and to take a single glass to
support him through his duties on a Sunday." Poor
fellow ! Once upon a time, and such godsends did not
often fall to his portion, he had married a couple
among the higher orders, and received for it a bank-
note which perfectly dazzled him. Then came the
marriage breakfast, then the marriage dinner. He
was a guest at both, and perhaps took his share of the
good things which were stirring. His way home was
through the Haymarket. Another gentleman, whose
path was in the same direction, hearing a great noise,
came up and found our friend fighting furiously for
his fee with a lamp-post, and exclaiming, as he struck
it with his stick, " You want to rob me of it, you
scoundrel, do you? But come on, we'll see ! " He was
a relation of the celebrated Dr. Kidd, who wrote one
of the Bridgewater treatises, and who lately died at
Oxford full of years and honours.
Another well-known clergyman in those days was
the Rev. Mr. Moss, who was afterwards vicar of
Walton for so many years. His share of " the drum
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 127
ecclesiastic " was decidedly the drum stick. But,
although a very moderate performer in the pulpit, he
had a very good standing in society, and was very
much liked in his own " set." Not over witty himself,
never was man the cause of so much wit in others, and
often at his own expense. He was known in his own
circle as *' Old England," because " he expected every
man to do his duty ; " that is, he never met a
brother clergyman by any chance without seizing
upon him, and asking him if he could do his duty on
the next Sunday. In allusion to his convivial qualities
and bad preaching, somebody once said of him that
" he was better in the bottle than in the wood." This
gave him such dreadful offence that he positively con-
sulted his lawyer on the subject of prosecuting the
impious blasphemer for a libel. The answer to his
enquiry was a hearty laugh on the part of the solicitor
himself, with an intimation that he would be laughed
out of court also, amidst a shower of jokes about the
poet's description of the Oxonians of that day,
" Steeped in old prejudice and older port,"
and be poked with all sorts of fun about canting,
recanting, and decanting. The decanter triumphed,
although it was a strong allusion to the original
offending joke, and the idea of a prosecution was
abandoned.
Mr. Moss had an intense horror of all sorts of
innovations, and, in the case of the first railway, that
between Manchester and Liverpool, this feeling was
greatly increased by the fact of his being a large share-
128 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
holder in a certain canal which might be affected by
its success. He was in a fever of excitement and
almost raved whenever the subject was mentioned in
company. He long clung to the notion that the
accomplishment of the line was impossible and fabul-
ous. He magnified every difficulty, dwelt upon every
obstacle, and concluded every harangue on the ques-
tion with the triumphant exclamation, " But, never
mind, they cannot do it ; Chat Moss will stop it ; Chat
Moss will stop it," This was said in allusion to that
great boggy waste, so called, which for so long a time
did really battle with and baffle the skill and efforts of
the engineers. On one occasion, when our friend had
been holding forth in his usual strain, and finished
with a look of defiance at all around him, " Chat Moss
will stop it,'" Mr. Thomas Crowther, who was one of
the party, quietly answered, " Depend upon it, your
chat, Moss, will not stop it." This to us is the purest
essence of wit, the very ne plus ultraism of it.
"The force of humour can no further go."
Like Pitt's description of what a battle should be,
" it is sharp, short, and decisive." It is brilliant,
pointed, telling.
There is a joke of almost a similar kind in Boswell's
Life of Johnson. " I told him " (writes the former)
" of one of Mr. Burke's playful sallies upon Dean
Marley: ' I don't like the Deanery of Ferns, it sounds
so like a barren title.' ' Dr. Heath should have it,'
said I. Johnson laughed, and, condescending to trifle
in the same mode of conceit, suggested Dr. Moss."
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 129
But the wit here is overdone and wire-drawn, until it
becomes forced, heavy, and exhausted. Crowther's
extempore retort beats the laboured efforts of Burke,
Boswell, and Johnson, all put together, as it bursts
forth, sparkling, glittering, dazzling, on the spur of
the moment. " Depend upon it, your chat, Moss, will
not stop it." We treasure a good thing when we hear
it, and love to embalm it. Mr. Crowther, the author
of this unrivalled witticism, had a twinkle about the
eye which seemed to say for him, that he had many
" a shot in the locker," of equal calibre and ready for
action. We did not know much of him ourselves, but
have always been told that his stores of humour and
wit were as rich as they were inexhaustible. The
specimen, or, as men say in Liverpool, the sample,
which we have given amply justifies such an opinion.
We must not forget to mention, in connection with
the Rev. G. H. Piercy, that of the sons of Liverpool
worthies under his care in 1804, and who thumbed
their lexicons with redoubled zeal when promised a
holiday to witness the marching and counter-marching
of the "brave army" before his Royal Highness
Prince William of Gloucester, in Mosslake fields or
Bank-hall Sands, (where are these now?) the following,
although in the " sere and yellow leaf." are still fit for
active service : — W. C. Ritson, E. Molyneux, Thomas
Brandreth, F. Haywood, R. W. Preston, and James
Boardman. The Rev. James Aspinall, rector of
Althorpe, Lincolnshire, was also long a favourite pupil
of the reverend patriarch.
K
CHAPTER XX.
HE two rectors of those old days were the
Rev. Samuel Renshaw and the Rev.
R. H. Roughsedge. They were both men
past the meridian of life, at the earliest
period to which our recollection extends. There was
a tradition among the old ladies, that Rector Renshaw
in his younger days had been a popular and sparkling
preacher of "simples culled" from "the flowery
empire " of Blair. We only knew him as a venerable-
looking old gentleman, with a sharp eye, a particularly
benevolent countenance, and a kind word for every-
body. Rector Roughsedge also was a mild, amiable,
good-hearted man of the old school, with much more
of the innocence of the dove than of the wisdom of
the serpent in his composition. He was, in fact, the
most guileless and unsophisticated person we ever met
with. His studies must have been of books. Cer-
tainly they had not extended to the human volume.
He was utterly ignorant of the world and the world's
ways, thereby strongly reminding us of the great navi-
gator, of whom it was said that " he had been round
the world, but never in it," As a proof of this we
may mention, that once, when the Bishop of Chester,
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 131
the present Bishop of London, was his guest, he
invited Alexandre, the ventriloquist, to meet him at
breakfast. There surely never was a worse assortment
than this in any cargo of Yankee "notions." Alex-
andre, who had a fair share of modest assurance, was
quite at home, and made great efforts to draw the
bishop into conversation. The latter, however, rather
recoiled from his advances, and was very monosyllabic
in his answers. Nothing daunted, however, the ven-
triloquist rattled away quite at his ease, and, amongst
other things, assured his lordship that " he had had
the honour of being introduced to several of the epis-
copacy ; that, in fact, he had received from more than
one of them copies of sermons which they had pub-
lished, and which he had kept and valued amongst
his greatest treasures ; " and then finished up with the
expression of a wish that he would himself favour
him with a similar memento. This was too much,
and prompt and tart and cutting was the bishop's
answer — " Yes ; I will write one on purpose ; it shall
be on Modesty!" Vulcan never forged such a
thunderbolt as that for Jupiter Tonans himself. It
completely floored Alexandre, overwhelming the chap-
lain and scorching the rector's wig in its way.
And having mentioned the name of Bishop Bloom-
field, let us give another specimen of his ability to
check any improper intrusion upon his dignity and
position. He was a very young man when first he
came into this diocese, and some of the older clergy
rather presumed upon this. There were at that time
many among them who would cross the country, and
132 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
take a five-barred gate as if it were that fortieth article
of which Theodore Hook spoke to the Vice-Chancellor
of Oxford. The bishop one day met a number of these
black-coated Nimrods. The scene was not far from
Manchester. After dinner, some of the old incorrigi-
bles persevered for a long time, with marvellously bad
taste, in talking of their dogs and horses, and nothing
else. His lordship looked grave, but was silent. At
last, one of them, directing his conversation imme-
diately to him, began to tell him a long story about
a famous horse which he owned, and " which he had
lately ridden sixty miles on the North road without
drawing bit." It was the bishop's turn now, and
down came his sledge hammer with all the force of
a steam-engine. "Ah," he said, with the most cutting
indifference, " I recollect hearing of the same feat
being once accomplished before, and, by a strange
coincidence, on the North road, too : it was Turpin, the
highwayman.'" Warner's long range was nothing to
this. It was a regular stunner. The reverend fox-
hunter had never met with such a rasper before. He
was fairly run to earth, and did not break cover again
that night, you may be sure. The idea of a Church
dignitary, for such he was, having had Turpin for his
college tutor, was a view of the case which he had
never studied before, and old Tally-ho left the table
fully convinced that his spiritual superior was more
than his match even at the lex Tally-ho-nis. The same
annoyance was never attempted again. The lesson
had its effect upon more than one.
But to go back to Rector Roughsedge ; he also once
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 133
perpetrated a joke, and it was so dreadfully heavy that
it deserves recording for its exceeding badness. He
was a man of strong opinions, prejudices some people
would call them. He did not like the evangelical
clergy, who so greatly increased in number towards
the latter end of his reign in this locality, and, at
their expense, he perpetrated the single jest of eighty
years. He was at Bangor, on a tour, and, at the same
inn there was a large party of the rival section of the
Church. They were in the room exactly over the one
in which he was sitting, and, as they moved about
with rather heavy tread, the old man suddenly ex-
claimed, " Sure the gentlemen must be walking on
their heads ! " We do not say much for this ponder-
ous effort ourselves. But it was, we are informed,
duly reported at the Clerical Club, and entered among
their memorabilia. The curates especially relished it
as a great joke, a very gem of brilliancy, and would
persist in laughing at and repeating it for months and
months in all companies, parties and meetings ; and
their mirth, it was observed, was always particularly
jocund and boisterous when the rector himself was
present. But who grudges them the enjoyment of
their laugh ? A poor curate's life is such a career
of toil and hardship, that anything which can enliven
him, even a rector's jest, should be most welcome.
We, at at all events, are not iron-hearted enough to
envy their few enjoyments. But it was real happiness
to hear the old rector and his old wife talk of their son
in India. He was their pride, their boast, their trea-
sure, their idol. We never met with him ; but from all
134 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
that we have heard of him, we believe that there was
no exaggeration of praise even in the character which
his fond parents drew of him. Everybody endorsed it
as fact, not eulogy. But the church of churches in
that day was St. George's, How we used to rush
down to Castle-street, about a quarter of an hour
before the service began, to see the mayor and his
train march to church ! We were never tired of
watching that procession. It was super-royal in our
estimation. Sunday after Sunday we would gaze at
it with never-wearying and still-increasing admiration.
Such cloaks they wore ! There never were such
cloaks. And such cocked-hats ! No other cocked-hats
ever seemed to be like them. And one man carried a
huge sword, which, in our nursery, we verily believed
to have been the identical one taken by David from
Goliath, although there was a counter tradition, which
asserted that Richard the First had won it from a
Pagan knight in single combat when in Palestine.
We now rather ascribe a " Brummagem " origin to it.
And there were other men who carried maces, and
various kinds of paraphernalia, which, if not useful,
were supposed to be vastly ornamental and magnifi-
cent. The mayor himself held what was called a
white wand in his hand, which was intended, we
opine, to impress the public with the notion that his
worship, for the time being, was a bit of a conjurer.
But even we little boys knew better than that.
Heaven help those dear, darling, innocent old mayors !
They knew how to fish up the green fat out of a turtle-
mug, and had a tolerably correct idea touching the
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 135
taste of turbot and lobster- sauce ; but as to doing
anything in the conjuring line, they were as guiltless
on that head as any babe unborn. They would never
have run any chance of being burnt for witches. But,
nevertheless, it was a very imposing spectacle to see
them tramping along Castle-street every Sunday
morning to St. George's Church. Our impression
always was, that the very Gauls who paid such small
respect to the Roman senate would have trembled
with awe at such a sight. Such was our enthusiasm
that, often as we witnessed it, we still, on our return
home, assembled all our brothers and sister, and
arraying ourselves in table-cloths and great-coats, with
the shovel, tongs and poker carried before us as our
official insignia, performed a solemn march upstairs
and down stairs, from garret to cellar, until inter-
rupted by some older member of the family, who
looked upon our imitations to be as sinful as sacrilege
or "flat blasphemy" itself.
And what a congregation there used to be at St.
George's in those days ! It was a regular cram.
Every corporator had a pew there, and felt himself in
duty bound to attend out of respect to the mayor.
And how gay and smart were the bonnets and dresses
of their wives and daughters. There was one seat in
particular which always divided our attention with the
service. It was constantly full of children, who were
not at all more unruly than the rest of us. But their
mother, who was of a very Christian and pious turn
of mind, seemed to be of a different opinion ; for when
she thought nobody was watching her (but we were
136 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
always watching her), what sly opportunities she
would take of pulling their hair, treading on their toes,
and pinching them in all directions. Pinching was
the favourite mode of dealing with them. How we
used to speculate during the sermon upon the con-
sequences of her practices ! We wondered that they
did not cry out. And then we wondered more
whether hair-pulling, toe-treading, and pinching were
apostolical receipts for training young Christians.
And then we thought within ourselves that they would
be quite bald in so many years at the rate of so many
hairs pulled out every Sunday ; and then we used to
long to know how many square inches of their skin
had turned black and blue under the pinching process,
and to speculate whether their fond mother boxed
their ears, or set them a chapter to learn, or kept
them without their dinner when she got them home,
and found that we had grinned them out of all memory
of the text as we telegraphed them out of our pew to
let them know that we were quietly enjoying the fun
in theirs.
And what a muster of carriages there always was at
St. George's, to take the corporators and fashionables
home after service. How the coachmen squared their
elbows, and how the horses pranced, and how the foot-
men banged-to the doors ! And then when " all right "
was heard, how they dashed off, to the right and left,
some taking one turn and some the other, down
narrow old Castle-ditch, and so into narrow old Lord-
street, down which they flew "like mad," until the
profane vulgar called these exhibitions " the Liverpool
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 137
Sunday races ! " And what a crowd of dandies and
exquisites always assembled on the Athenaeum steps,
not to discuss the sermon, we fear, but to criticise the
equipages as they rattled by, and, when they were
gone, to pass judgment upon the walkers, their dress,
appearance, etc. The ladies, we recollect, invariably
pronounced this phalanx of quizzers to be an accumu-
lation of " sad dogs " and " insufferable puppies ; " but
it always struck our young mind that it was very odd,
if they really thought so, that they did not avoid them
by ordering their carriages to be driven, or themselves
walking, some other way. If the moth flies into the
candle more than once, we must presume that it does
not dislike the operation.
CHAPTER XXL
E spoke, in the last chapter, of St. George's
as the church which the mayor and cor-
poration always attended. Once, when
Mr. Jonas Bold was Mayor, it happened
that Prince William of Gloucester was present. By a
strange coincidence, which somewhat disturbed the
seriousness of the congregation, the preacher for the
day took for his text, " Behold, a greater than Jonas is
here." Both Mayor and Prince, we believe, as well as
the discerning public, fancied that there was some-
thing more than chance in the selection of so very
telling and apposite a text. It reminds us of the
Cambridge clergyman, who, when Pitt, Chancellor of
the Exchequer, while yet almost a boy, attended the
University Church, preached from the words, " There
is a lad here which hath five barley loaves and two
small fishes ; but what are they among so many ? "
Some years since the Duke of Wellington, attended
by a single aide-de-camp, walked into a Church at
Cheltenham. Here there could have been no design ;
he was totally unexpected. But, when the text was
announced, out came the startling words, " Now,
Naaman, captain of the host of the king of Syria,
was a great man with his master and honourable,
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 139
because by him the Lord had given deliverance unto
Syria: he was also a mighty man in valour, but he
was a leper." This chance shot evidently told. A
grim smile seemed for a moment to gather upon the
features of the " Iron Duke," as he cast an intelligent
look at his companion, who telegraphed him in return
with an equally knowing glance. They were both
particularly attentive to the sermon, in which there
were many hard hits, which might have been made to
order, as they seemed to be as applicable to Duke
Arthur as to Duke Naaman.
But it is time that we should speak of the clergymen
attached to St. George's Church, in the days we are
writing of. They were rather a superior lot. Arch-
deacon Brooks was one of them, and already looked
upon as a very promising young man. The Rev. T.
Blundell was another. He used to bring out occa-
sionally, in preaching, very odd things in a very odd
manner, and sometimes very original things in a very
original manner. The Rev. Jas. Hamer was another
of the preachers at St. George's, and very admirable
sermons he gave. He was a sedate, grave, serious
looking man, a fair scholar, and had a good place in
society. He was a fellow of Corpus Christi College,
Oxford, and, according to the universal anticipation,
would have been its next head, had he lived. But he
was cut off in the prime of his days, when all the toils
and difficulties of his career were surmounted, and, to
human judgment,
•' The world was all before him, where to choose
His place of rest."
140 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
But here we must make room on our canvas for the
portrait, if we can draw it, of one of the most remark-
able men whom Liverpool has ever produced. We
speak of Dr. Frodsham Hodgson, who, in our young
days, was also among the St. George's preachers. His
manner was pompous, and he had a catch in his voice
which may still be traced among Oxford men of the
old school, some having adopted it from admiration,
and others having mimicked it until they could not
get rid of it. Never was the truism, that " a prophet
is not a prophet in his own country," more wonder-
fully illustrated than in the case of Dr. Hodgson.
Here, in Liverpool, he was neither known, valued, nor
appreciated. He visited chiefly, when amongst us,
with the corporation, and those who met him came
away with the impression that they had spent their
time with a very agreeable and pleasant person, a
jovial companion, with great conversational powers,
and, for a book worm, wonderfully at home on every
subject started and spoken of on every occasion. This
was the opinion generally formed of him, this and
nothing more. Our municipal magnificos, while
condescendingly patronising and listening to their
chaplain, never seemed for a moment to feel that
Jupiter himself was among them in disguise.
But let us change the scene to the University of
Oxford. Ha ! who comes here ? " Richard's himself
again." " The king's once more at home." It is the
principal of Brasenose College, the same Dr. Hodgson
whom we lately saw in Liverpool ; but, Quantum
mutaius ah illo Hectore, he is here another and a
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 141
different man. He is in the scene of his glory, his
triumphs, and his celebrity, among those who honour,
respect, and look up to him, and who are proud to be
the followers of such a leader. He stood out from
among them as one of nature's true nobility. Magnifi-
cent in his manner and bearing, princely in his tastes,
and habits, and notions, and ideas, a scholar in every
sense of the word, thoroughly acquainted with, at
home in, every branch of literature, and familiar with
all the mysteries and workings of the human volume,
he was exactly the person to perform a great part
wherever his lot of life had been cast. Accordingly he
was a potentate even among the self-elated potentates
of the University. His will was law. His sic volo sic
jubeo was supreme. He ruled without a rival near the
throne. From time to time murmurs were heard
against the autocrat, and the whispering tokens of a
coming storm were frequently perceived. But mind
triumphed over matter. He always contrived to crush
the incipient rebellion, and to rise, like another
Antaeus, refreshed and strengthened from the struggle.
And we may add here that his ambition was as un-
bounded as his talents were great and brilliant. The
force of his genius, the power of his tact, and the
extent of his influence were never so remarkably
proved as in the management and clever combinations
by which, with the help of Tory tools subdued to his
will, he contrived to return the Whig Lord Grenville,
as Chancellor of the University of Oxford, against
Lord Eldon, the most powerful opponent whom it was
possible for Toryism to have selected for the struggle
1^2 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
in those days of its supremacy. The time at last
arrived when Dr. Hodgson was marked for the next
elevation to the episcopal bench, and he was spoken
of for either an Enghsh bishopric or an Irish arch-
bishopric. But who can dive into the secrets of
to-morrow ? At the moment when to his friends and
family it seemed certain that all their fond hopes
and anticipations were about to be realised, he was
suddenly attacked by the fatal illness which brought
him to the grave in a few daj^s. To the end of his life
he retained all his influence over the University, and,
when he departed, it was as if Gulliver had been
taken from Lilliput, and the Lilliputians left to them-
selves. Nothing soaring above the common place of
mediocrity has since shown itself among the college
heads and rulers. When we heard of his death, we
exclaimed,
" He was a man, take him for all in all,
"We shall not look upon his like again."
Nor have we since had occasion to recall the ex-
clamation, either with regard to men in the Church or
out of the Church. And we have yet a more pleasing
sight in which to view the character of Dr. Hodgson,
namely, as he was seen in the domestic circle. It was
a positive treat to see him, with all the pomp and
pride of the outer world thrown off, in the bosom of
his family. Never was there so kind and affectionate
a husband, never so fond, and tender, and indulgent a
father. In his home, surrounded by those whom he
loved, and who loved him, he seemed to forget at once
Liverpool a Feiv Yean Shice. 143
all things beyond, and to leave behind all the aspira-
tions and longings, pains and pleasures, sweets and
bitters of ambition. You had thought him, perhaps,
a cold and calculating competitor in the race of in-
triguing rivals for promotion. You had watched with
pleasure his splendid career at college and in the
University. You had admired him as a scholar, been
dazzled by his literary attainments, or struck by his
tact and bearing as a polished and finished courtier,
a character on which he laid such stress that it was a
frequent saying with him, that, "in his estimation,
manner was everything, next to religion." But it was
in the enjoyment of his home, to him not figuratively,
but really " home, sweet home," that you were at once
startled and delighted by seeing him in the best and
most amiable point of view. Here the exquisite
nature of the man was beheld in in all its glory, affec-
tionate, gentle, and earnest, with a heart overflowing
with every kindly feeling and domestic virtue. " The
most loveable man, perhaps," as some one has written
of the poet Moore, " that ever lived, judging him in the
shade of his own home, apart from the artificial glare
of society." All selfishness was there renounced. His
happiness was in the happiness of those around, and
that those moments, stolen from his active and proud
career, were the sweetest and most delicious of his life
it was impossible to doubt. He must, hke every other
public man, often and often have been taught the
bitter truth that " all is not gold that glitters." But, .
whenever the bubble of popular applause in which he
so delighted was grasped, only to burst in his hand,
144 Liverpool a Few Yean Since.
whenever the seemingly gorgeous gems of ambition
turned out to be mere trash and tinsel, when they had
passed from a dream or a hope into realities, he could
dwell upon his home treasures, which were to him his
greatest "joys for ever," far more precious to him than
the world's most approving smiles, and his best and
truest consolation if ever it frowned upon him. We
respect and honour the name of Dr. Hodgson, when
we recollect him as the scholar, the gentleman, and
the clergyman ; but we love it and fondly dwell upon it
when we recall his memory as the husband and the
father. How little was he known and how ill under-
stood in his native town ! and how few amongst us
even remember him or his name at all ! And yet
Liverpool, and she has been a fruitful parent of
worthy children, never had a son of whom she had
more cause to be proud than Frodsham Hodgson.
We have but feebly sketched a character which, we
trust, some stronger pen will undertake to delineate in
all its fair proportions and colossal dimensions. Until
this is done there will be a gap in biography which
certainly ought to be supplied, and the sooner the
better.
^(^^^^&>^
CHAPTER XXII.
N election was an election, indeed, in those
days. It was not merely a rush to the
hustings for a few short hours, and then
all over. There was no getting the lead
by ten o'clock in the morning, and winning at once by
making a good start. Votes were then taken by tallies,
or tens, each tally marching to the hustings, with a
band of music and colours before it, and each party
bringing up its tally in its regular turn. The curiosity,
and excitement, and suspense, and anxiety were kept
up, day after day, until there was a grand smash at
last on one side or the other ; in other words, until
" no tally " forthcoming in its turn betrayed weakness,
and proclaimed that it was U P with somebody. An
election, then, in those times, was a great and solemn
affair with our jolly old freemen, who had the vote-
market all to themselves, no intrusive ten-pounders
having yet been thrust upon the constituency. How
well we recollect the hurly-burly of some of those old
elections. There were two sections of the Tory party
always in the field, the green, or Tarleton party, and
the blue, or Gascoigne and " Townside " party. But,
at a pinch, they always coalesced against the pinks or
Reformers. Among the greens were the Drinkwaters,
L
146 Liverpool a Few Years Sime.
HoUinsheads, Harpers, etc. Foremost in the ranks of
the blues were the Fosters, Cases, Aspinalls, Gregsons,
Branckers, Clarkes, Leylands, etc. And the pinks
also numbered a gallant phalanx to do battle for them
in every struggle, Earles, Lawrences, Croppers, Rath-
bones, Roscoes, Curries, Harveys, Mathers, cum multis
aliis. And how Jack Backhouse and Corf, the butcher,
used to head up the greens on horseback, in Castle-
street, both they and their horses bedizened all over
with ribbons of their favourite hue ! And how popular
old Tarleton was with the fishwomen ! And then how
the Tories would shout for •' Negro-slavery, and no
Popery ! " And the Reformers had " Civil and Reli-
gious Liberty ! " written on their flags. And how well
we remember one, long before the opening of the
trade to the East Indies, on which was inscribed,
" The China trade for ever." This was quite beyond
the geography of the party who carried it ; for, sup-
posing it to be an allusion to a competition between
home-made crockery and Dresden china, they had, by
way of illustration, or commentary, hung the flagstaff
round with all sorts of specimens of plates, and dishes,
cups and jugs, and so forth. Many a laugh was raised
at their expense, as they marched about in blessed
ignorance of their blunder.
On one occasion, as if foreshadowing events which
were to happen half-a-century later, a big loaf or Free
Trade candidate took the field, to the great delight of
all the hungry non-electors. It seems but as yesterday
when, patriotically braving all the pains and penalties
attached to such an audacious proceeding, we escaped
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 147
from the nursery to clap our little hands, and set up
our little shout, as we followed the music and yellow
banners of the champion of cheapness and plenty to
his house in Kent-square. His name was Chalmer,
and he was the father of the venerable, and worthy,
and clever doctor and town councillor of that name.
Sir Isaac Coffin, too, once made his appearance here
just before an election. It was, of course, suspected
that he had a design upon the borough. If he had,
the intention died in the egg. No chicken ever was
hatched out of it. Richmond, however, instantly
fired at him with a squib, which opens in this uncere-
monious fashion : —
" Sir Isaac Coffin's come to town, not to please the lasses,
But to gull the Whigs, a set of stupid asses."
A good story is told against Sir Isaac on the other
side of the Atlantic. He once made a bet that he
would find a given number of gigantic alderman
lobsters of the weight of thirty pounds each. It
happened not to be in the lobster season, and the
monsters were not forthcoming on the appointed day.
Sir Isaac, however, not liking to lose his money, sent
in certain depositions to the stakeholders from fisher-
men on the coast, stating that they had frequently met
with lobsters of the required weight ; to which this
pithy answer was returned, " Depositions are not
lobsters."
The old freemen of those days were worthy grand-
sires of their present worthy grandsons. Some of
them were witty rogues in their generation. One of
148 Liverpool a Few Yean Since.
them, on the eve of an election, when in a state of
intoxication, asked one of the Hope family to give him
a five pound note for his vote. The demand was
indignantly rejected. "Then," rejoined the incor-
rigible fellow, " if you will not give it me, lend it me,
and you may believe I will return it on any day you
fix." Mr. Hope shook his head with resolute incre-
dulity. " Ah," said the offended elector, staggering
away, " they may call you Hope, but hang me if you
have eWher faith ox charity in your composition."
But we must not pass by, without some remarks, the
two soldier representatives who so long sat for Liver-
pool in the House of Commons. General Tarleton
was a fearless old guerilla of the American war, in
which his achievements, successful or otherwise,
proved him to be as brave as the sword he wore, and
were more like the creations of romance than the
realities they were. He was open, frank, and free,
with many qualities to recommend him to popular
favour, but no more fit to represent the mighty
interests of Liverpool, even in those days, than any
child of three years old taken out of the street. He
had not one point of the statesman in his whole
character. He was as capriciously selected as he was
capriciously ejected by his friends. He was originally
adopted without a single recommendation. He was
finally repudiated without a fault or failure in addition
to those which had marked his career from the first.
We have heard many things laid to the charge of our
old freemen, but they never appeared in so bad a light
to us as when, at the bidding of their employers, or
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 149
under some other influence, they ahnost to a man
turned their backs with freezing indifference upon a
candidate towards whom, on all previous occasions,
they had affected to feel an enthusiasm amounting to
positive frenzy. Human nature was never presented to
us in so despicable a point of view. Poor old Tarleton.
We never felt a sympathy for him except when he was
thus suddenly victimised by popular caprice, his
former worshippers flying from their idol. And why ?
Tell it not in Gath, if you like, but we will tell it in
Liverpool ; because the rich men of his party had set
up another image, and he presented himself for their
votes in forma pauperis, Say not, or we shall laugh at
you, that he was rejected to make way for the brilliant
Canning. Aye, Canning, all honour and glory to his
memory, was the most brilliant of all the brilliant stars
that ever shone in this lower world of ours. But we
never loved brilliancy from our hearts in Liverpool.
We have tolerated it at times for the sake of other
qualities by which it has been accompanied, but we
were always anxious to get rid of it as soon as
possible. Liverpool looks upon able and clever men
as Athens looked upon Aristides. Mediocrity suits
our temper best.
But we spoke of General Tarleton's military col-
league, the Castor to his Pollux, General Gascoigne.
" The old general," as the latter was familiarly called,
was a remarkable instance of how little is required to
make a legislator. He had all the unfitness of
General Tarleton without his dashing and brilliant
exploits as a soldier, to veneer and varnish over the
150 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
preter-pluperfect common-place of his character. He
was an ignorant and illiterate man. This may,
perhaps, be ascribed to the early age at which he had
joined the army. At all events, his education must
have been more in the school of Mrs. Malaprop than
of Dr. Syntax. His highest attribute was a species of
cunning, which sometimes did for him what greater
talent has failed to do for other persons. He was a
man of intense selfishness. His gratitude was of that
peculiar kind which burns with a white heat glow for
benefits to come, but looks with cold and freezing eyes
upon favours received. He treated his friends as he
did his gloves, that is, he wore out both, and then cast
them from him. He constantly forgot his supporters
at the last election, to coquet with those who, he
hoped, might help him at the next. But such a game
could not be played for ever.
General Tarleton was, we said, in his summary
expulsion from the representation, the victim of
ingratitude. When General Gascoigne's turn came,
he was justly punished for his ingratitude towards so
many of his best friends. He had most industriously
earned the fate which overtook him. His immediate
predecessor in the seat for the borough was his
brother, Bamber Gascoigne, of Childwall-hall, whose
only daughter and heiress married, at a later period,
the Marquis of Salisbury. Bamber was a man of a
very different stamp and calibre from his brother. He
was a good specimen of the gentleman of the old
school, and very much superior generally to the
country squires of his day. His tastes were refined
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 151
and literary. He was a thoroughly educated and
well-read person. He was at once proud and cour-
teous in his manner, and aristocratic in his bearing.
His habits attached him more to his library than to
the arena of the House of Commons, and he, con-
sequently, did not kill himself with toiling in the cause
of his constituents. On some occasion, a deputation
of our merchants waited upon him to remonstrate
upon some alleged lack of zeal in their behalf. The
interview was not a pleasant one. The member
received the remonstrants with either too little
humility or too little courtesy. As they grew warmer,
he became colder and stiffer. The end of the matter
was that they did not exactly part company in a gale
of wind, but, while they gave him notice to quit, they
relented so far that they told him that, out of respect
to a family which had so long represented the town,
they would, in depriving him of his seat, transfer it
to his younger brother, the redoubtable general. It
was a pity, for he had every quality which the other
wanted. The thing, however, was done, and for years
Bamber Gascoigne was a stranger to the town for
which he had once sat in parliament. He had
received a blow, an insult he deemed it, which he
could never forget, although towards the end of his life
he seems to have forgiven it, and once more, to some
small extent, had some intercourse with Liverpool
society. Mrs. Gascoigne, his wife, however, as
excellent and kind-hearted a person as ever lived,
always took a most lively and remarkably fussy
interest in our elections. She felt that, if her husband
152 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
could not retain the representation of Liverpool, still
it was a prize worth keeping in the family. It may be
that her husband thought so too, but he was too proud
and impassive to show it.
But let us return to the " Old General." In politics
he was a Tory, " thorough and thorough." He never
flinched nor wavered, but followed the banner of his
party "for better and for worse," through good report
and evil report, to the close of his career. He was
once, indeed, dreadfully puzzled when a schism
occurred amongst the leaders of Toryism. On that
occasion he wrote a letter, said to be still in existence,
to a leading friend in Liverpool, in which he thus
expressed himself: — "Dear , I cannot as yet see
my way clearly, or make out which section will
prevail, and obtain the government. Until that is
decided, I shall vote according to my conscience.'' It is
refreshing to discover even these brief traces of a
conscience in a hack politician of the old school. We
have already observed that the education of the
General had not been too carefuily cultivated. He
once, in the House of Commons, gave a remarkable
proof of his deficiency, to the great delight of the
young and waggish portion of our legislators. In
some debate, touching the extension of political privi-
leges to the dissenters, one of the orators had dwelt
eloquently upon the beauty and loveliness of harmony
and union between different sects. Gascoigne rose to
do a bit of bigotry for his friends, but, being most
singular in his notions of the plural of the word used,
thus commenced his reply, " I hate to hear all this
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 153
cant about the harmony and union which ought to
exist between different sexes.'' He got no further. A
regular " Hurrah " of laughter burst from every corner
of the House. On it went gathering strength as it
advanced, explosion after explosion, thunderclap after
thunderclap, in the wildest confusion. The younger
members shouted with glee and merriment. Grave
old statesmen held their sides, and were nearly thrown
into fits in the vain endeavour to repress their mirth.
Mr. Speaker himself, after an idle attempt to check
the row, led the chorus until the very mace danced
upon the table, and every hair of his wig stood on end
in horror at the profanation. Never was such a scene
enacted before or since in the House of Commons ;
and what gave the greatest zest to the whole thing
was, that the General seemed to be unconsciously
innocent and ignorant that he was the cause of the
unusual commotion which was going on. It was the
greatest performance of his life. In parting with him,
we may as well add here, that, from a quality which
we have before ascribed to him, he was called, his
name being Isaac, " Cunning Isaac," both by friends
and foes.
In finishing the chapter, we would remark that
subscriptions for electioneering expenses were raised
in those times after a fashion which, we trust and
believe, does not prevail at the present day. The
figure written in the list was understood to be the
price of the patronage to be received in return. There
was a regular scale. This was corruption in its most
unblushing and unscrupulous form.
CHAPTER XXIII.
UR shops frequented by the fashionables
were "few and far between " in those old
times. We had not then reached the
bustling age of competition, colossal plate-
glass windows, and " selling off under prime cost ; "
and so, as the Irishman said, making our fortunes by
the amount of business transacted. One shop greatly
patronised by the ladies was Wilson's, near the old
dock, that is, what was the old dock, but which was
most unwisely filled up. The Custom-house now
stands where the Jack Park, and the Mary, and the
Lovely Nancy once rested on the waters after achiev-
ing their homeward voyage, and poked their bowsprits
into the windows of the opposite houses, which were
inconveniently near. Wilson dealt in all sorts of
ladies' wares, clothing, linen, table-cloths, &c.
At the bottom of Duke-street there was a kind of
ornamental or nick-nack shop, kept by a Miss Gregson,
who had a monopoly of that line of business. At the
corner of King-street and old Pool-lane, now South
Castle-street, there was a famous haberdashery and
silk shop, presided over by a most respectable person,
Mr. Orton. His private residence was in St. Anne-
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 155
street, opposite to Mr. Boardman, and next door to
Mr. Huddleston, whose son, John, lived there in 1790,
and lives there still in 1852. There was another in
Castle-street, kept by Mr. Bernard or Brennand,
almost as celebrated. We remember this one more
particularly, as several of the young men who stood
behind the counter subsequently embarked as mer-
chants in different lines of business, and were some of
them eminently successful. One of them died not very
long ago, and is understood to have left an almost
princely fortune behind him,
Danson was then, and for many a long year after-
wards, our Magmis Apollo in the hair-dressing line.
Never was there such a good-natured, polite, kind soul
as Danson. He was the most talkative of haircutters,
and they are genearally a talkative race. What
demand he used to be in on the eve of a ball or a great
party in those days, when so much stress was laid
upon curls and wiggery ! Many a good story was told
at his expense ; but gentlemen of his profession have
ever been so martyred. He was said to be of a very
inquisitive turn of mind, and much given to fathoming
the why and the wherefore of every novelty and
mystery which came in his way. This propensity once
led him into an awkward scrape. Shower-baths were
not as general and everywhere affairs then as they are
now. Our Apollo, once summoned to put some lady
patroness into curls, had, upon his arrival, to wait
some little time in the ante-room. A tall, oblong,
curtained sort of box met his eye. What could it be ?
He cautiously opened the door, peeped and peeped
156 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
into it, but could make nothing of it. A string dangled
from above. And what was that for ? Our philo-
sopher, bent upon experiment, took it into his hand ;
pulled it ; and fiz — souse — splash ! he was not exactly
caught like a rat in a trap, but down came Niagara
upon his devoted head, as quick as lightning, and as
loud as thunder. The victim screamed ; while, to
enjoy the sport, in rushed the lady, and the lady's
maid, and the lady's husband, and Prim, the butler,
and John, the footman, and Jane, the housemaid, and
Molly, the cook, and Sally, the scullion, and the
children, and the lap-dog, and there was such laughing
and such barking as human misfortune never called
forth before. Merry mourners at a funeral never
equalled them in their uproarious enjoyment. There
had not been a richer scene since Falstaff was
" carried off in a buck basket," and then, as he
described it, " thrown into the Thames and cooled,
glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe ; think of
that, hissing hot, think of that. Master Brook." It
was enough to give a man hydrophobia for life.
Our old stagers must also recollect the Liverpool
Hunt of those days, famous, far and wide, for its good
riders, good horses, and good dogs. It was a glorious
sight to the lovers of the sport to see them turn out
when
"A southerly wind and a cloudy sky
Proclaimed it a hunting morn."
Mr. Haywood, who lived in St. Anne-street, was a
leading Nimrod among them. It was a treat to have
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 157
a walk through his stables. And there was Mr.
Joseph M'Viccar, with his slight, elegant, and compact
figure, who was second to no man in crossing the
country. Nor must we forget another of them, Peter
Carter. Peter was an original in his way. He loved
a good horse and always rode one, and knew how to do
it. When George the Fourth, then Prince of Wales,
visited Liverpool, Peter had a gray horse, of which
he was very fond and very proud. It might have been
the very nag of which it was written,
'• But the horse of all horses that rivalled the day
Was the squire's Neck or Nothing, and that was a gray."
We rather think, if our memory does not play us fast
and loose, that Carter was a member of the Liverpool
Light Horse, which formed the escort of his royal
highness from Knowsley to the town. At all events,
the prince saw the horse, and was much struck with
it. The price was asked. A hundred guineas was the
answer. It was to be a bargain. A few days after-
wards a royal groom made his appearance at Peter's
stable. He had come for the horse. Now it so hap-
pened that there was a general impression that the
prince's credit with his banker was not very extensive
at that time. Peter was awake to this.
" Where 's your money ? "
" I 've forgot," etc.
The groom, as we said before, had come, but the
hundred guineas were not forthcoming. With some
people the wish of royalty is said to be a command.
158 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
but nothing less than an order upon the bank would
satisfy Peter Carter. No other "Open Sesame"
would unlock his stable door. We will not assert that
our old acquaintance was familiar with the axiom
which teaches that " there is no royal road to mathe-
matics ; " but he was sagacious enough to feel that
there was no royal way in horse dealing. " A bird in
the hand is worth two in the bush." He had pos-
session of the horse ; he might never get the money.
It was, therefore, to use a vulgar phrase, " No go with
him ; " that is, he would not let the horse go. The
groom took his leave, greatly astonished and dis-
gusted, and nothing more was ever heard of the
matter. And all that we can say of it is, that Peter
was no courtier, but a sensible man of business, while
the gray continued to adorn the Liverpool, instead
of the Royal, Hunt.
And then there was Abraham Lowe, queer, quaint,
odd, original, eccentric, funny, unequalled Abraham
Lowe, the huntsman to the pack. How well we
recollect him ! When we were a boy in buttons, that
dress which ladies' pages now usurp and monopolise,
we had a taste for haunting and strolling about in the
quiet lanes in the neighbourhood of Childwall. We
used to fish in some of the pits in that quarter, that
is, we threw in our line and hook, and watched them
by the hour. But the result was always, like a bad
banker's account, "No effects." Probably there were
no fish in our favourite ponds. We have often
thought so since. But "hark back" to Abraham
Lowe ! How we did reverence and respect him ! And
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 159
how we would listen to his peculiar stories, told in his
own peculiar way ! We liked and honoured everything
at Childwall. We had a strong regard for that fine
old fellow, Mr. Clarke, of Stand-house. We rather
looked up to the vicar, Mr. Sharpe. We stood in
some sort of awe of Bamber Gascoigne, of the Hall,
with his proud and grave bearing. It was our pleasure
to watch the members of the Childwall Club, at their
afternoon sports, with bow and arrow. It was our
delight, when our pockets could afford it, to devour
the exquisite pies which they made at the inn near the
church. But the vicar and the squire, Mr. Clarke,
the club, and even the pies, all paled into nothingness
when compared with Abraham Lowe. We used to
wonder whether Nelson and Julius Caesar could be at
all like him. His horse always seemed to be the best
horse in the world, and his whip the nicest whip, a
little greasy or so, but that looked knowing. And with
what especial reverence his hounds regarded him !
They seemed to know and feel that there was but one
Abraham Lowe in the world, and that he was their
huntsman, and that they were his hounds. And how
he would top the fences and gates ! Nothing could
stop him ! And what a voice he had when he shouted
" Tally ho ! " or gave the " Hark ! " when a hare was
up before the dogs. And who so acquainted with
every art, and trick, and dodge of his craft ! How he
always hit upon the right spot for affording the best
sport ! And who like him for recovering a lost, or
keeping the hounds up to a cold, scent ? Poor
Abraham Lowe ! It seems but yesterday that he
i6o Liverpool a Few Years Since.
stood before us with his tall, wiry figure ; all sinew
and bone, not a superfluous ounce of flesh about him.
What a treasure of a character he would have been to
Scott, or Dickens, or Thackeray ! Reality is more
wonderful than fiction. These word-painters never
delineated anything equal to Abraham Lowe. Poor
Abraham ! he was run to earth himself at last, and we
fear that, in his declining years, the world did not
smile upon him as it did at first. Long after the time
of which we have been speaking, we have seen him
occasionally creeping about the streets of Liverpool
with his limbs stiffer than they were of yore, his
old top-boots terribly worn and patched, and his old
red coat awfully stained and soiled. We always had
a passing word with him, for the sake of " auld lang
syne." He never seemed to be downhearted, but
maintained his independent character to the end of
his days. There are, we trust, other old stagers left
who will join us in saying, " Peace to the memory
of old Abraham Lowe." *
And talking of hunters, we were, in those days,
occasionally visited by Nimrods of another sort, of
* We copy with much pleasure the following note, which appeared
in the Albion of the 2nd August, 1862 : — " Old Abraham Lowe. —
A Subscriber says, ' The writer of the interesting papers upon Liver-
pool a Few Years Since has fallen into an error, which I wish to
correct. "Old Abraham Lowe, the huntsman," did not end his days
in poverty, but enjoyed a small annuity, which was purchased for
himself and wife for their joint lives, by subscription among those
who had enjoyed his services for so many years. This fund was, I
believe, under the care of the Messrs. Fletcher, of Allerton, by whose
kindness and attention the latter days of the veteran were well pro-
tected.' "
Liverpool a Few Years Since. i6i
the very race of the Centaurs themselves. We speak
of the Cheshire squires of the old times, before rail-
ways were thought of, and when Macadam was a
theorist. A Cheshire squire was then a remarkable
peculiarity of the "old-fashioned English gentleman."
He was proud of his family, of his house, of his
grounds, of his horses, of his dogs, and of everything
belonging to him. But he was especially proud of his
county, and his county was especially fond of him.
He seldom passed beyond its borders, except when a
fox led the hounds over them. He was constant in
his attendance at the Hoo-green Club, where the con-
versation, not dazzlingly intellectual, generally ran
upon proud Cheshire, and its right to be called proud
Cheshire, with an occasional episode upon horses,
dogs, the crops, the weather, and " the next meet." A
long frost in the winter was a terrible interruption to
the comforts and habits of these gentlemen. At such
times they would, although not often, get as far as
Liverpool, to lay in a stock of wine and so forth.
You might always know them. The Cheshire squire,
when perambulating our streets in the old times, wore
a low crowned hat, a cut-away green coat, and a stripy
sort of waistcoat, buckskins, and top boots, looking
very like what, in these days, is vulgarly called " a
regular swell." There were some curious characters,
very original, spicy, and eccentric among them. How
well we recollect old Sir Peter Warburton. He was
for many years the master of the Cheshire Hunt. For
some reason or other there was not much love lost
between him and the people of Knutsford. One day,
M
i62 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
when the hounds were at fault, a sudden " Tally ho ! "
was heard from a distant hill. "Who's that?" said
the baronet. " A Knutsford man," answered the
huntsman. At the same moment a favourite dog gave
tongue, and led off the pack in another direction.
'• Hark to Jowler ! hark ! hark ! " shouted Sir Peter,
adding with a most uncomplimentary emphasis, " I 'd
rather believe that dog than any man in Knutsford ! "
Sir Harry Mainwaring was another of these ante-
diluvian worthies and wonders. He took the direction
of the hounds after the death of Sir Peter. He was a
hard rider, and loved his glass of port after the
fatigues of the day. At one time his constitution was
supposed to be somewhat shaken by these combined
labours of love, and his medical adviser was called in.
" Sir," said the doctor, " you are overtaxing your
strength in every way. You should go out with the
hounds one day less each week ; and you must reduce
your allowance of wine. You are destroying the coats
of your stomach." " Then, hang me, doctor, if I do
not fight in out in my waistcoat,'" said the quaint,
eccentric old baronet. And truly, medical science
was baffled in this instance ; for, instead of following
the advice of the physician, he added another to his
hunting days per week, and doubled his portion of
wine, laughed at the doctor, and grew fat and strong.
And let us add another story about Sir Harry. It
speaks for his heart, and deserves to be told. He
called at Hoo-green one day to return a bad five
pound note which he had received from the innkeeper
at his last visit. " I hope," he said, "that it will be no
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 163
loss to you, and that you know from whom you
received it ? " " Oh yes ! Sir Harry, it 's all right ; I
took it from Mr. ," he answered, naming a poor
curate in the neighbourhood. They were standing by
the fire, and Sir Harry had still the note in his hand.
In an instant it was torn to fragments and in the
flames, while he said, " Poor fellow ! I can stand the
loss of it better than he can ; and see that you don't
make him uncomfortable by telling him anything
about it. He might feel uneasy at being in any way
obliged to me ; " and in another moment he was on
horseback and galloping down the lane. Honour to
the memory of this brave old baronet ! In this one
act, so beautifully done, there was a combination
of pure benevolence and true delicacy of feeling which
could not possibly be surpassed. It could not have
been done more kindly ; it could not have been done
more gracefully. The heart of the wild huntsman
was in its right place.
CHAPTER XXIV.
RAVELLING was both a difficult and a
dangerous operation in former days. We
do not know when a direct communica-
tion by coach between Liverpool and
London was first established ; but we have been told
that some sort of stage was started to Warrington and
Manchester in the year 1767. We have indeed read
in an old Liverpool Chronicle, January 21st, 1768, that
John Stonehewer, a driver of the said stage, had
broken his thigh by a fall from the box, a very likely
accident in those old-fashioned days of rough stone
pavements. Many of our readers must recollect
with what persevering tenacity the shaking old road
between Liverpool and Prescot was maintained as
part and parcel of the British constitution, to the
great loss and damage of our more modern coach pro-
prietors, whose vehicles were more tried and injured
by the eight miles of paving stones between these two
towns than by all the rest of the journey to the metro-
polis. The surveyors stood by the paving stones to
the last. Liverpool always adhered to the old ways,
however rough they might be. Macadam, "the
Colossus of roads," as some wit called him, was an
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 165
innovator ; what right had he to make improvements
which would mihtate against the trade of coach-
builders and menders ? Macadam ! What a short
reign was his ?
" Come like shadows ; so depart ! "
Hardly had he grasped his sceptre firmly in his
hand, and persuaded the people to mend their ways,
when another and a mightier magician waved his
wand, and all was changed. George Stephenson and
railways burst upon us, and Macadam's meteor flight
was brought to a sudden close. The fast man gave
way to the faster.
The first coach which we can ourselves recollect
travelling by was of a very long shape, and moved at
a very slow pace. Its destination was Birmingham,
at which we ultimately, after many delays and
dangers, managed to arrive. It had many " odorifer-
ous names," as Mis. Malaprop would say, among
which "the cheap and nasty" was the most pro-
minent and usual. The coachman was a fat man,
with a low-crowned hat, and a large nosegay stuck in
his button-hole, the very man, we should say, who sat
for the picture of old Mr. Weller in Pickwick. What
business he had to transact on the road ! He seemed
to be the universal agent for the universal affairs of all
mankind, between town and town, and village and
village. And what stoppages, not only at public-
houses, but "here, there and everywhere," had the
miserable passengers consequently to undergo ! And
what universal flirtations he used to carry on with the
1 66 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
universal womankind who dwelt by the wayside ! He
appeared to have reached high pressure or breach-of-
promise point with some inmate of every cottage on
the road. And then when at last we reached Bir-
mingham, into what universal fleadom we found that
we had plunged when we went to bed ! We have
eschewed sleeping at Birmingham ever since. A Bir-
mingham bed is a perfect "Cannibal Isle," with a
more carnivorous population than can be met with in
any part of the globe. There is even less danger of
being devoured in New Zealand itself.
But a new era sprang up in the coaching business.
The " Bang-up " was started for Birmingham, and the
" Umpire " for London. Those were splendid convey-
ances compared with their slow moving predecessors,
combining, as they did, speed, safety, regularity and
comfort. They were literally the timekeepers for the
several towns and villages through which they passed.
They started to a moment, arrived at each stage to
a moment, and reached their final destination to a
moment. The regularity of the dial could not have
been greater. We have heard of the man who boasted
that his clock regulated the sun, and truly the old
Umpire and Bang-up seemed to regulate the clock.
But " where are they now ? " An echo answers,
"Where?" Enter, as we have said before, George
Stephenson, and exit Bretherton. Railways came in
and coaches went out. Sic transit gloria mundi. We
are all for speed now. The march of improvement
first became a run, then a gallop, and now it has
increased into a flight, beating wings and the wind.
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 167
But, nevertheless, it was pleasant travelling in those
old days, "All right," said the guard; smack went
the whip ; " off she goes ! " What a team ! How the
bits of blood do their work ! Even the experienced
hands of the veteran Jehu can hardly tame their fire
and check their speed. And now the horn blows, we
dash into the market-place of some country town, to
the delight of the congregated idlers and gazers ot the
place. What a bustle among the grooms and stable
boys. Parcels are handed up and down ; the smoking
horses are unharnessed ; fresh ones put to, all in less
time than it takes to tell it. Off again ! We sweep at
speed past the village green, dogs barking, pigs squeal-
ing, geese hissing, children shouting, men huzzaing,
women smiling. Through the winding pleasant lanes
we go, with their lovely hedgerows on either side, the
spire in the distance, the mansion in the park, the
glorious old trees, the noble woods, the delicious lakes,
the sparkling streams, altogether a landscape of sweet-
ness and beauty which no country but merry England
can set before the traveller's eye. All this, however,
was lost to us when the last of the coaches dis-
appeared from the road. We now fly, but we do not
see. We are, as it were, shot forth from station to
station at a speed becoming the spirit of the age. But
one consequence of all this is, that the rising genera-
tion know nothing of the old high-ways and by-ways
of their country, its many beauties, its shady lanes, its
lovely nooks and corners, the sudden turns in our old
lines of road which used unexpectedly to open to us
the most charming prospect, and then as suddenly to
1 68 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
hide it, only to reveal to us some other vision of
beauty on the fair face of nature spread before us.
These were exquisite treats to us old travellers. We
miss them, but we are not regretting. We like to
keep up with the pace of the age.
And what early hours our grandfathers and grand-
mothers used to keep ! What an anarchical, chaotical,
daring, radical innovator, the very as triplex circum
pectus man of old Horace, was that bold spirit consi-
dered to be amongst them who first wrote four o'clock,
instead of mid-day, upon his " ticket for soup." Then
came dinner at five, at six, and all hours, until day
and night changed places, and late hours and indiges-
tion became triumphant, until wise people learned that
the best plan was to lay in a stock of solids at lunch,
and then only trifle and coquet with the grand banquet
of the evening.
But how different was the style of visiting in those
days from what it is now. About five or six o'clock
you might see the ladies on a visit to the house of
some one of their number, who was giving what was
called " a rout " to her female friends. We speak
advisedly when we say her female friends, because it
was as difficult to press a gentleman into the service
on such occasions as to catch an ostrich or a real live
rhinoceros. A treasure, indeed, was the man, and a
star, and an idol, who would come to these parties.
Dr. Gerard, once mayor of Liverpool, was an especial
pet with the ladies in St. Anne-street for accepting all
their invitations to these meetings. But what was a
rout ? It was a muster of all her female friends, with
Liverpool a Few Years Since. i6g
the rara avis of a gentleman, if, like Mrs. Glass's hare
in the cookery book, one could be caught by the
heroine or lady-hostess of the evening. The custom
was to crowd as many guests as possible into a small
room, or a large one, as the case might be. As the
hour for assembling arrived, there was a tremendous
crush of sedan-chairs towards the mansion where
the party was given. There were several stands for
these old-fashioned conveyances in Newington-bridge.
Those ladies who were not so magnificent in their
notions, or more moderate in their pocket, might be
seen making their way to the festival with what were
called calashes over their heads, a reduced form of the
covering still raised over gigs on a rainy day. When
the party, or a sufficient number to commence opera-
tions, had mustered, tea and coffee, rather weak than
strong, and bread and butter, rather thin than thick,
were handed round. This ceremony performed, the
business of the evening fairly began. The lady of the
house made up her card tables. Some would sit down
to whist, of course, in those old days, long antedi-
luvian patriarchal whist, silver threepences the stake,
and nothing more. Short whist had not then come in,
with gas, steam railways, and electric telegraphs.
But the favourite game with the ladies was one called
quadrille or preference. Perhaps they liked it better
than whist because it was carried on with more
talking. We never could fathom its mysteries. In
truth, we never tried to dive into them. All that we
recollect of it is, that it went on with a dreadful
clamour about the "pool," "basting," " spadille,"
170 Liverpool a Feiv Yean Since.
" manille," " ponto," and ** basto ; " some of which
phrases sounded very hke Egyptian hieroglyphics
turned into language, while others had a sporting
smack about them. Indeed we are not certain
whether "ponto" is not altogether a fiction or con-
fusion of our memory. When the lady of the house
began to tire, or fancied that her company began to
flag or look fatigued over their cards, she gave the
signal, and in rushed the servants with the trays, on
which were spread refreshments of a very mild and
innocent character. Ices were almost unknown in
those days. Weak lemonade and weaker negus, with
jumbles and ratafia cakes, were handed round, and, as
they were nibbled and sipped at, Mrs. Gildart would
vow that she was nearly ruined by a run of bad luck,
which had impoverished her to the amount of two-
and-sixpence. Dr. Gerard would meekly affirm that
he had had a most delightful evening. Robert Norris
would lay his hand upon his heart, and swear that he
was always at the service of the ladies. Beau Sealy,
still, we are told, a flourishing and vigorous plant
somewhere near Bridgewater, would smile one of his
demure smiles, and say ditto to Norris, ditto to
Gerard. The hostess was delighted ; the ladies were
in raptures. Who like Norris ? Who like Gerard ?
Who, especially, like Sealy ? Sealy being single, as
he is single still. By this time all the nibbling and
sipping were over. The jumbles, and cakes, and
negus, and lemonade had disappeared. The candles
were burning low. There was a cry for the calashes,
and a rush to the sedans, and "the feast of reason
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 171
and the flow of soul " were at an end for that evening.
And all this happiness, recollect, was achieved before
nine o'clock. Our mothers and grandmothers were
unrobing for the night before their glasses at the hour
at which our modern belles are sitting before theirs,
clasping the sparkling necklace, arranging the last
curl, and practising the fatal smile which is to do such
execution at the Wellington-rooms or some private
party. We will not attempt to decide upon the
charms of the ancient and modern Homis ; but the
hours kept by the former were certainly more reason-
able and seasonable. They had the advantage of
all " the beauty sleep," which is said to come before
midnight.
CHAPTER XXV.
HERE must be many old stagers still sur-
viving amongst us who can remember the
two managers of the Theatre Royal,
Messrs. Knight and Lewis. The latter
was the father of Mr. Thomas Lewis, so well known
to the present and last generations. In Tyke and
similar characters Knight was unequalled ; while
Lewis was the best Mevcutio ever seen upon the stage.
Both were gentlemen, and much liked in society. In
those days, moreover, we had occasional visits from
the celebrated John Kemble, and his as celebrated
sister, Mrs. Siddons, when they were " starring it " in
the provinces. Cooke, likewise, the predecessor of
Kean in his peculiar line of characters, often appeared
upon the Liverpool boards. He was not famous for
his sobriety, and one night, being hissed for his usual
sin, he rushed forward to the lights, and most uncere-
moniously told the audience that " he was not there to
be insulted by a set of wretches, every brick in whose
infernal town was cemented by an African's blood ! "
This was a home thrust for our grandfathers. For-
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 173
tunately for the offender, Lynch-law was unknown in
those times, or he might have been the author and
hero of a tragedy of his own.
And what glorious singers used to warble in our
music-hall in those days ! We can just remember
them, although singing to us, in our babyhood and
childhood, was very like " wasting their sweetness on
the desert air." Among them were Incledon, Bartle-
man, Braham, the semper florens, then in his prime,
if not ever since and always in his prime ; Mrs.
Billington, and, above all and before all, that wonder
of the world, Catalani herself. It is something to say
that we have heard this glorious songstress, although
then quite unable to appreciate her spirit-stirring and
soul-melting notes.
But we forgot to mention Elliston among our list
of actors ; eccentric, clever, well-educated, well-read,
accomplished, amusing, gentlemanly Elliston. He
was a prodigious favourite in Liverpool, as much so
off as on the stage. He was ever a welcome guest
at the tables of our merchant princes, and, by his
powers of conversation and amazing fund of informa-
tion, well repaid all the attentions which he received.
His range of characters, both in tragedy and comedy,
was a very extensive one. His performance in Three
and the Deuce was the perfection of acting, and, how-
ever often repeated, never failed to command the
rapturous applause of the theatre-going public of
Liverpool. A pleasant, agreeable man was Elliston,
full of fun, abounding in good stories, and with an
encyclopaedia of anecdotes at his command. He was
174 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
somewhat proud of his profession, and his profession
was proud of him. It lost nothing when represented
in his person.
And now, as we bring our reminiscences to a con-
clusion, we must not omit to chronicle that, three
times since memory and observation dawned within
us, we have seen Liverpool overwhelmed by grief and
sorrow. The first of these occasions was when the
intelligence arrived of the death of Nelson, in achiev-
ing the greatest of his great victories, that of Trafal-
gar. As a sailor, and the chief of sailors, he was an
especial favourite in this seaport town. His name
was among our " household words." His life, a
thousand romances in one reality, was the popular
theme at every table, and round every fire. Welling-
ton was in the bud then, and all the talk was of
Nelson, Nelson, nothing but Nelson. When, there-
fore, the account of his death was received, there was
not a man in Liverpool but wished with all his heart
and soul that the battle had been unfought, and the
victory unwon, and the departed hero yet alive and
spared to us. It seemed, so intense was the feeling of
regret, as if the destroying angel had again passed
through the land, as of old through Egypt, and taken
one from every house. Grief was in every family,
lamentation in every circle, sorrow on every counten-
ance. These feelings were the more intense in
Liverpool, inasmuch as the intelligence of the hero's
death followed close upon a letter from himself, in
which he announced his intention, as he had never yet
seen " the good old town," of paying it a visit, as soon
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 175
as he had "settled his small account" with the
French and Spanish fleets, which he was then block-
ading in Cadiz, How uncertain are the events of this
life \ We wept the hero dead, whom we hoped to
welcome in all the pride and brilliancy of his glory !
The envelope containing the letter in which the
announcement alluded to was made, hung for many a
long year, in a splendid frame, in the dining-room of
Mr, J. B. Aspinall, of Duke-street. But there are
hero-worshippers yet surviving, who look up to Nelson
as their idol. A few months since we entered a
cottage in a remote district, far from Liverpool, Our
eye at once settled upon an autograph, framed and
suspended against the wall. It was Nelson's hand-
writing. The owner of the house entered as we
were gazing at it, and seeing how we were employed,
remarked, " That is the greatest treasure I possess.
Nothing on earth should separate me from it while
I live." We looked at the man, who seemed not to
have a spark of enthusiasm in his composition on
any other subject ; but, upon talking to him, we found
that his whole soul was wrapped up in adoration of
the memory of Nelson. We may not wonder, then,
when such a feeling is found to exist now, at the burst
of enthusiasm which echoed through the nation during
the life, and at the death, of the popular idol ; and
what a subscription was raised for a monument to the
mighty and fallen hero ! And what collections were
made in all our churches for the widows and orphans
of the brave defenders of their country, who fought
and were killed on the same day with their glorious
176 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
chief! But Liverpool was never deaf to the call and
inspirations of charity. To the poet's question,
' ' Art thou content to be the modern Tyre,
Half pedlar and half tyrant of the world ? "
she may proudly and truly answer, that she has ever
recognised and acted upon a loftier and nobler
mission. Behold her Infirmary, her Blind Asylum,
her Dispensaries, her Hospitals, her institutions of
every kind, for every form and shape in which woe
and want come upon mankind ! Freely have her sons
of many generations received, and freely have they
given. They are not perfect, but selfishness has never
been among their faults.
The second time when Liverpool, within our recol-
lection, was struck with distress, but it was altogether
of another character, was when the great West Indian
merchant, George Bailey, failed. It was thought at
the time that nobody could survive the shock. For a
season all trade was checked, all credit and confidence
paralysed, and " Who next ? " was the question of
every day in every mouth, as men walked about
doubtingly on 'Change, and looked into every new
Gazette with fear and trembling.
The third season of consternation to which we have
alluded was the actual panic occasioned by the aboli-
tion of the African slave trade. Our whole community
was terror-stricken, when the cause of philanthropy
triumphed in Parliament, and it was decreed that
England should no longer play a guilty part in per-
petrating and perpetuating the horrors of the middle
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 177
passage. When this was proclaimed in Liverpool,
prophets of woe and evil sprung up in every street.
Destruction was about to fall upon us, chaos was to
come again, an avalanche was to overwhelm us, or an
earthquake to swallow us up, grass was to grow in the
area of the Exchange-buildings, our warehouses were
to moulder into ruins, the streets were to be ploughed
up, the docks were to become fish-ponds, and our
mercantile navy, whose keels penetrate to every land,
and whose white sails woo the breeze on every ocean,
was to dwindle into a fishing vessel or two, or be
utterly extinguished. It is true that there were some
men amongst us of too sanguine or too sagacious a
spirit to believe in these melancholy predictions.
They had yet hope or faith in the development of the
resources and energies of their townsmen. Among
them we must place Mr. Shaw, of Everton, and Mr.
Edward Houghton, of Great Nelson-street, both large
holders of land in their respective neighbourhoods,
who, influenced by an inward and assured conviction
that Liverpool, cut off" from one branch of trade, had
yet a great future before her, calmly " bided their
time," and waited for the period when the town would
reach them, and building land at so much per yard
would be the cry. Above all Mr. Leigh, the solicitor,
one of the shrewdest men of his day, clung to this
notion, and boldly speculated upon it. And the
result has been, in his case, that his son, Mr. John
Shaw Leigh, is one of the wealthiest, probably the
wealthiest, commoner in England, able, as some one
lately observed in his presence, " not only to buy up
N
178 Liverpool a Few Years Since.
a duke, but half-a-dozen dukes, if they were in the
market."
But these far-seeing men were the exceptions. Ruin
to Liverpool was the general fear of her inhabitants
upon the abolition of the slave-trade. We wonder
now, when we look back, that England, and English-
men, should ever have tolerated and sanctioned the
nefarious traffic in human flesh. But, while the trade
existed, it had champions and defenders, not only
among those who were interested in it, but among
classes whose blindness can only be attributed to pre-
judice, the offspring of habit and custom. Thus,
Boswell, in his Life of Johnson, calmly writes, " The
wild and dangerous attempt which has been for some
time persisted in to obtain an act of our Legislature,
to abolish so very important and necessary a branch
of commercial interest, must have been crushed at
once, had not the insignificance of the zealots who
vainly took the lead in it made the vast body of
planters, merchants, and others, whose immense pro-
perties are involved in the trade, reasonably enough
suppose that there could be no danger. The
encouragement which the attempt has received ex-
cites my wonder and indignation, and, though some
men of superior abilities have supported it, whether
from a love of temporary popularity, when prosperous,
or a love of general mischief, when desperate, my
opinion is unshaken. To abolish a status, which, in all
ages, God has sanctioned, and man has continued,
would not only be robbery to an innumerable class of
our fellow-subjects, but it would be extreme cruelty to
Liverpool a Few Years Since. 179
the African savages, a portion of whom it saves
from massacre and intolerable bondage in their own
country, and introduces into a much happier state of
life, especially now when their passage to the West
Indies, and their treatment there, is humanely regu-
lated. To abolish this trade would be, to
' Shut the gates of mercy on mankind.'
Whatever may have passed elsewhere concerning it,
the House of Lords is wise and independent.
Intaminatis fulget honoribus ;
Nee sumit aui ponit secures
Arbitrio populaHs aurcey
Such was the hollow and feeble sophistry of such men
as Mr. James Boswell, and so fondly and foolishly did
they talk.
But not of his opinion was our own noble and
immortal Roscoe, who devoted a long life to the cause
of philanthropy, and battled for freedom for the slave
in every variety of ways, beginning with his poem of
" Mount Pleasant," and ending with his vote for
abolition in the House of Commons. But not of his
opinion were the Wilberforces, and Clarksons, and
Macaulays, and Croppers, and Rathbones, and Rush-
tons, and Curries, who fought the great battle of out-
raged humanity, at first, against mighty and tremend-
ous odds, but still struggling on,
•' Like a thunder-cloud streaming against the wind."
until the poptilaris aura, public opinion, pronounced
i8o Liverpool a Few Years Since.
in their favour. Then was heard the sic volo, sicjubeo,
of the British people ; and truly, in this instance, we
may say it was vox populi, vox Dei. Justice triumphed.
The foulest blot which ever darkened the name of
England was removed. The slave-trade was abolished.
And what became of Liverpool ? Were the melan-
choly predictions of her prophets fulfilled ? Were her
docks turned into fish-ponds ? Did the mower cut
hay, or the reaper gather in his harvest, in her
deserted streets ? Look round, and see. Compare
what she was then with what she is now. Then we
counted her inhabitants by tens, now by hundreds, of
thousands. Then we talked of her acres, now of her
miles, of docks. New channels of commerce sprung
up, new fields of adventure and enterprise were dis-
covered in the East and the West, and the far off
South. Steam gave an additional impulse to the
gigantic energies of trade, the manufacturing districts
soared to the miraculous point of prosperity which
they have attained, and Liverpool was the main
artery through which all the imports and exports of
these busy hives of industry unceasingly flowed.
What a different place the town is now from what
it was when first we old stagers knew it, and were
acquainted with every face which flitted through its
streets ! So changed, so altered is it ! Old streets
and old buildings gone, and new ones occupying their
places ; streets where once were fields ; docks where
of old were strand, and shore, and forts, and baths ;
retired villages swallowed up by the insatiable and
still growing town ; trees, gardens, meadows, corn
Liverpool a Few Years Since. i8i
land, all yielding to the spread of brick and mortar.
So marvellous are all these things, that, as we wander
through the transmuted scene, losing and finding our
way by turns, we know not how to describe the feel-
ings which swell within us ;
" We see, we recognise, and almost deem
The present dubious, or the past a dream ! "
And what of the future of Liverpool ? Has she
reached the meridian height of her glory and pros-
perity ? or is she yet in her dawn and beginning ?
Shall we moralise upon the fate of Tyre, of Carthage,
of Genoa, and Venice, and other marts of commerce
in bygone days ? It was not for such a purpose that
we took up our pen. We do not aspire to be pro-
phets. But as yet no cloud is in the sky. All is
bright and clear above the horizon ; all is fair, pro-
mising, hopeful. And when we contemplate " the
good old town," in which we have spent so many
happy years, and to which we are bound by so many
ties of friendship and affection, we take leave of her
with the prayer of the Italian for his country —
"EsTo Perpetua."
LIVERPOOL:
ADAM HOLDEN, PRINTBR,
CHURCH STREET.
690
THE LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
Santa Barbara
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE
STAMPED BELOW.
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