From
the first we hear of musical rarities at the gardens. There
was Mr. Stanesby, jun., for example, who in 1738 produced
"two grand bassoons, the greatness of whose sound surpass
that of any other bass instrument whatever," and a
little later Mr. Ferron performed on "the Pariton,
an instrument never played in publick before."
For
thirty years, too, there was a succession of famous vocalists.
Mary Anne Falkner, the pretty ballad singer, who fascinated
half the young men of the middle century; Tommy Lowe, the
tenor, whose warblings were for many seasons one of the
attractions of Vauxhall, and Mrs. Vincent, who sang "Let
the Merry Bells go Round," to the accompaniment of
"a new instrument called the tintinnabula "; Charles
Bannister gave his 'popular imitations of other well-known
singers, anticipating a favourite entertainment of our own
variety theatre; Nan Catley, the prima donna from Covent
Garden; Defesch, the famous violinist; Dibdin, of Drury
Lane; the fresh full voices of "the young gentlemen
from St. Paul's choir," and scores of others, made
the groves of Marylebone melodious for two generations.
The
great Handel himself was often in the gardens listening
to the performances of his own cantatas, and Dr. Arne was
to be seen conducting his own glees, with a visage "like
two oysters in a plate of beet-root," as Mr. Sheridan
unkindly recorded in describing the Doctor's eyes and complexion.
Harmony and decorum were the features of Marylebone Gardens
at its prime, broken rarely by a quarrel under the trees,
or the rudeness of a royal visitor like the burly Duke of
Cumberland.
The
pleasant amenities of the place appear even in the announcements
of its simple pleasures. The naive and quaint advertisements
of Miss Trusler, the daughter of one of the proprietors
of the place at its best, could never have issued from the
raffishness of Islington or the vulgarity of Bagnigge Wells.
Said this lady in 1759, "Mr. Trusler's daughter begs
leave to inform the nobility and gentry that she intends
to make fruit tarts during the fruit season, and hopes to
give equal satisfaction as with the rich cakes and almond
cheesecakes. The fruit will always be fresh gathered, having
good quantities in the garden, and none but loaf sugar used
and the finest Epping butter. Tarts of a twelve-penny size
will be made every day from one to three o'clock. New and
rich seed and plum cakes are sent to any part of the town."
Marylebone,
to be sure, was an Arcadia under the presidency of such
a genius as this. It was, in fact, a place where the gentry
who had country houses in the village hard by could send
their children and their nursemaids in the summer days and
evenings without fear of untoward molestation, and where
they themselves could, and indeed often did, take their
breakfast under the planes in the sun and the gentle breezes
of the hayfields with which the gardens were surrounded.
Not
that Marylebone was without its mild excitements on occasion.
It is recorded that pretty Miss Fountayne, a relation of
"Dr. Fountayne's, a dean of the Established Church,
"was one day taking the air in the gardens when she
was saluted by a young man of a gallant bearing, who boldly
kissed her before all the quality. The lady started back
shocked and surprised, as in duty bound. "Be not alarmed,
madam," said the gentleman, "you can now boast
that you have been kissed by Dick Turpin."
On
an occasion of a much later date it is painful to record
that Dr. Johnson was concerned in a slight disturbance at
Marylebone. The place was then on the downward grade, and
its good musical attractions had been diluted by more or
less unsatisfactory displays of fireworks, displays which
generally marked the beginning of the end of the better
class of the London al fresco. The Doctor had been attracted
by the fame of Mr. Torre's fireworks, and went to see them
with his friend George Steevens. The afternoon had proved
wet, there were few people present, and the management announced
that the fireworks, "being water-soaked," could
not be fired. "This," said the Doctor, "is
a mere excuse to save their crackers for a more profitable
company; let us both hold up our sticks and threaten to
break those coloured lamps, and we shall soon have our wishes
gratified. The core of the fireworks cannot be injured;
let the different pieces be touched in their respective
centres and they will do their offices as well as ever."
Moved
by this very Johnsonian eloquence, some young men broke
the lamps; but the respective centres of the different pieces
remained untouched, and the uninjured cores still refused
to do their offices. Such troubles, however, were rare at
Marylebone, and its decorous joys, its harmonious concerts,
its simple banquets of syllabubs and negus, of coffee and
plumcake, are the theme of a score of kindly allusions in
the memoirs and diaries of the past.
Its
groves and its great room, its latticed arb ours and its
fine company are reflected in the fine engraving published
by J. Tinney in 1755, and many knowing connoisseurs contend
that its simple beauty inspired the lovely painting by George
Morland called the" Tea Garden," the plate after
which by Smith is now one of the prizes of the sale rooms.
We have described at some length these three old places
of amusement, because they are, as we believe, typical specimens
of the very numerous class of similar establishments, usually
of smaller extent and fewer pretensions, but still having
each its own special attraction for a special body of patrons,
and each with a record of prosperity, fleeting often, but
real at one stage or other of its career.
There
was often a prodigious competition between neighbouring
establishments. Islington Spa, for example, had an enterprising
competitor at its very gates in the London Spa, a name gi
ven to a spring discovered in a tavern garden on a spot
marked now by the junction of Exmouth Street and Rosoman
Street. This institution was advertised by its proprietor,
Mr. Halhead, as as good, if not better, than the opposition
affair over the way "so mightily cry'd up." He
produced something in the shape of a garden, and London
Spa became famous as a rendezvous of milkmaids on May day.
His "chalybeate," when brewed, made ale of a surpassing
richness, with which the pleasure-seekers of the Welch Fair
in the adjoining Spa Fields were accustomed to wash down
the orthodox dish of roast pork eaten at those merry-makings
in pleasant derision of the Jews. Within a hundred yards
of the London Spa were the New Wells, with a reputation
from quite early times for a quasi theatrical and spectacular
entertainment.
