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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

VOL. XIV, No. 383] SATURDAY, AUGUST 1, 1829. [PRICE 2d.



TUNBRIDGE WELLS.


[Illustration: TUNBRIDGE WELLS IN 1748. With sketches of Dr. Johnson,
Cibber, Garrick, Lyttleton, Richardson, &c. &c. _For Explanation, see the
annexed page._]

_References to the Characters in the Engraving._

1. Dr. Johnson.--2. Bishop of Salisbury (Dr. Gilbert.)--3. Lord
Harcourt.--4. Cotley Cibber.--5. Mr. Garrick.--6. Mrs. Frasi, the
singer.--7. Mr. Nash.--8. Miss Chudleigh (Duchess of Kingston.)--9.
Mr. Pitt (Earl of Chatham.)--10. A. Onslow, Esq. (the Speaker.)--11. Lord
Powis.--12. Duchess of Norfolk.--13. Miss Peggy Banks--14. Lady
Lincoln--15. Mr. (afterwards Lord) Lyttleton.--16. The Baron (a German
gamester.)--17. Samuel Richardson.--18. Mrs. Onslow.--20. Mrs. Johnson
(the Doctor's wife.)--21. Mr. Whiston--22. Loggan, the artist.--23. Woman
of the Wells.

Tunbridge, or as old folks still call it, "the Wells," was a gay,
anecdotical resort of the last century, and about as different from the
fashionable haunts of the present, as St. James's is to Russel Square, or
an old English mansion to the egg-shell architecture of yesterday. In its
best days, it was second only to Bath, and little did its belles and beaux
dream of the fishified village of Brighthelmstone, in the adjoining county,
spreading to a city, and being docked of its syllabic proportions to the
_Brighton_ of ears polite.

The annexed Engraving represents Tunbridge Wells about 80 years ago, or in
the year 1748. It is copied from a drawing which belonged to Samuel
Richardson, the novelist, and was found among his papers at his death in
1761. The original is in the possession of Sir Richard Phillips, who
published Richardson's _Correspondence_, in 1804; it contains portrait
figures of all the celebrated characters who were at Tunbridge Wells, in
August, 1748, at which time Richardson was likewise there, and beneath the
drawing is the above key, or the names of the characters, in the
hand-writing of the novelist.

But the pleasantest illustration that we can supply is the following
extract from one of Richardson's Letters to Miss Westcomb, which
represents the gaiety and flirtation of the place in very attractive
colours. At this time Richardson was at Tunbridge Wells for the benefit of
his health; but he says, "I had rather be in a desert, than in a place so
public and so giddy, if I may call the place so from its frequenters. But
these waters were almost the only thing in medicine that I had not tried;
and, as my disorder seemed to increase, I was willing to try them.
Hitherto, I must own, without effect is the trial. But people here, who
slide in upon me, as I traverse the outermost edges of the walks, that I
may stand in nobody's way, nor have my dizziness increased by the swimming
triflers, tell me I shall not give them fair play under a month or six
weeks; and that I ought neither to read nor write; yet I have all my town
concerns upon me here, sent me every post and coach, and cannot help it.
Here are great numbers of people got together. A very full season, and
more coming every day--Great comfort to me."

"What if I could inform you, that among scores of belles, flatterers,
triflers, who swim along these walks, self-satisfied and pleased, and
looking defiances to men (and to modesty, I had like to have said; for
bashfulness seems to be considered as want of breeding in all I see here);
a pretty woman is as rare as a black swan; and when one such starts up,
she is nicknamed a Beauty, and old fellows and young fellows are set
a-spinning after her."

"_Miss Banks_ (Miss Peggy Banks) was the belle when I came first down--yet
she had been so many seasons here, that she obtained but a faint and
languid attention; so that the smarts began to put her down in their list
of had-beens. New faces, my dear, are more sought after than fine faces. A
piece of instruction lies here--that women should not make even their
faces cheap."

"_Miss Chudleigh_ next was the triumphant toast: a lively, sweet-tempered,
gay, self-admired, and not altogether without reason, generally-admired
lady--she moved not without crowds after her. She smiled at every one.
Every one smiled before they saw her, when they heard she was on the walk.
She played, she lost, she won--all with equal good-humour. But, alas, she
went off, before she was wished to go off. And then the fellows' hearts
were almost broken for a new beauty."

"Behold! seasonably, the very day that she went away entered upon the
walks Miss L., of Hackney!--Miss Chudleigh was forgotten (who would wish
for so transient a dominion in the land of fickledom!)--And have you seen
the new beauty?--And have you seen Miss L.? was all the inquiry from smart
to smartless. But she had not traversed the walks two days, before she was
found to want spirit and life. Miss Chudleigh was remembered by those who
wished for the brilliant mistress, and scorned the wifelike quality of
sedateness--and Miss L. is now seen with a very silly fellow or two,
walking backwards and forwards unmolested--dwindled down from the new
beauty to a very quotes pretty girl; and perhaps glad to come off so. For,
upon my word, my dear, there are very few pretty girls here."

"But here, to change the scene, to see Mr. W----sh at eighty (Mr. Cibber
calls him papa), and Mr. Cibber at seventy-seven, hunting after new faces;
and thinking themselves happy if they can obtain the notice and
familiarity of a fine woman!--How ridiculous!--If you have not been at
Tunbridge, you may nevertheless have heard that here are a parcel of
fellows, mean traders, whom they call touters, and their business,
touting--riding out miles to meet coaches and company coming hither, to
beg their custom while here."

"Mr. Cibber was over head and ears in love with Miss Chudleigh. Her
admirers (such was his happiness!) were not jealous of him; but, pleased
with that wit in him which they had not, were always for calling him to
her. She said pretty things--for she was Miss Chudleigh. He said pretty
things--for he was Mr. Cibber; and all the company, men and women, seemed
to think they had an interest in what was said, and were half as well
pleased as if they had said the sprightly things themselves; and mighty
well contented were they to be secondhand repeaters of the pretty things.
But once I faced the laureate squatted upon one of the benches, with a
face more wrinkled than ordinary with disappointment 'I thought,' said I,
'you were of the party at the tea-treats--Miss Chudleigh has gone into the
tea-room.'--'Pshaw!' said he, 'there is no coming at her, she is so
surrounded by the toupets.'--And I left him upon the fret--But he was
called to soon after; and in he flew, and his face shone again, and looked
smooth."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Another extraordinary old man we have had here, but of a very different
turn; the noted _Mr. Whiston_, showing eclipses, and explaining other
phaenomena of the stars, and preaching the millennium, and anabaptism (for
he is now, it seems, of that persuasion) to gay people, who, if they have
white teeth, hear him with open mouths, though perhaps shut hearts; and
after his lecture is over, not a bit the wiser, run from him, the more
eagerly to C----r and W----sh, and to flutter among the loud-laughing
young fellows upon the walks, like boys and girls at a breaking-up."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Your affectionate and paternal friend and servant, S. RICHARDSON."

Richardson has mentioned only a few of the characters introduced in the
Engraving. Johnson was at that time but in his fortieth year, and much
less portly than afterwards. Cibber is the very picture of an old beau,
with laced hat and flowing wig; half-a-dozen of his pleasantries were
worth all that is heard from all the playwrights and actors of our
day--on or off the stage: Garrick too, probably did not keep all his fine
conceits within the theatre. Nos. 7, 8, and 9, in the Engraving, are a
pretty group: Miss Chudleigh (afterwards Duchess of Kingston,) between
Beau Nash and Mr. Pitt (Earl of Chatham,) both of whom are striving for a
side-long glance at the sweet tempered, and as Richardson calls her,
"generally-admired" lady. No. 17, Richardson himself is moping along like
an invalid beneath the trees, and avoiding the triflers. Mrs. Johnson is
widely separated from the Doctor, but is as well dressed as he could wish
her; and No. 21, Mr. Whiston is as unexpected among this gay crowd as snow
in harvest. What a _coterie_ of wits must Tunbridge have possessed at this
time: what assemblies and whistparties among scores of spinsters, and
ogling, dangling old bachelors; with high-heeled shoes, silken hose, court
hoops, embroidery, and point ruffles--only compare the Tunbridge parade of
1748 with that of 1829.

We have room but for a brief sketch of Tunbridge Wells. The Springs, or
the place itself, is a short distance from the town of Tunbridge. The
discovery of the waters was in the reign of James I. Henrietta Maria,
Queen of Charles I. staid here six weeks after the birth of the prince,
afterwards Charles II.; but, as no house was near, suitable for so great a
personage, she and her suite remained under tents pitched in the
neighbourhood. The Wells, hitherto called Frant, were changed to Queen's
Mary's Wells: both have given place to Tunbridge Wells; though the springs
rise in the parish of Speldhurst.

Waller, in his Lines to Saccharissa,[1] celebrates the Tunbridge Waters;
and Dr. Rowzee[2] wrote a treatise on their virtues. During the civil
wars, the Wells were neglected, but on the Restoration they became more
fashionable than ever.[3] Hence may be dated assembly rooms, coffee houses,
bowling greens, &c.; about which time, to suit the caprice of their owners,
many of the houses were wheeled upon sledges: a chapel[4] and a school
were likewise erected. The accommodations have been progressively
augmented; and the population has greatly increased. The trade of the
place consists chiefly in the manufacture of the articles known as
Tunbridge-ware. The Wells have always been patronized by the royal family;
and are still visited by some of their branches.

Our Engraving represents the Upper, or principal walk, where are one of
the assembly rooms, the post-office, Tunbridge-ware, milliners, and other
shops, with a row of spreading elms on the opposite side. It is not
uninteresting to notice the humble style of the shops, and the wooden
portico and tiled roofs, in the Engraving, and to contrast them with the
ornamental shop-architecture of our days: yet our forefathers, good old
souls, thought such accommodations worthy of their patronage, and there
was then as much gaiety at Tunbridge Wells as at Brighton in its best days.


[1] Saccharissa, or the Lady Dorothy Sydney, resided at Penshurst, near
    Tunbridge.

[2] He prescribed eighteen pints of the water for a morning's dose.

[3] Grammont, in his fascinating "Memoirs," thus describes the Wells at
    his period, 1664, when Catherine, Queen of Charles II. was here for
    two months, with all the beauties of the court:

    "Tunbridge is the same distance from London that Fontainebleau is from
    Paris, and is, at the season, the general rendezvous of all the gay
    and handsome of both sexes. The company, though always numerous, is
    always select; since those who repair thither for diversion, even
    exceed the number of those who go thither for health. Every thing here
    breathes mirth and pleasure; constraint is banished; familiarity is
    established upon the first acquaintance; and joy and pleasure are the
    sole sovereigns of the place. The company are accommodated with
    lodgings in little clean and convenient habitations, that lie
    straggling and separated from each other, a mile and a half round the
    Wells, where the company meet in the morning. The place consists of a
    long walk, shaded by pleasant trees, under which they walk while they
    are drinking the waters. On one side of this walk is a long row of
    shops, plentifully stocked with all manner of toys, lace, gloves,
    stockings, and where there is raffling, as at Paris, in the Foire de
    Saint Germain. On the other side of the Walk is the Market and as it
    is the custom here for every person to buy their own provisions, care
    is taken that nothing offensive appears upon the stalls. Here young,
    fair, fresh-coloured country girls, with clean linen, small straw hats,
    and neat shoes and stockings, sell game, vegetables, flowers, and
    fruit. Here one may live as one pleases. Here is likewise deep play,
    and no want of amorous intrigues. As soon as the evening comes, every
    one quits his little palace to assemble on the bowling-green, where,
    in the open air, those who choose, dance upon a turf more soft and
    smooth than the finest carpet in the world."

[4] "This chapel," says Hasted, "stands remarkably in three parishes--the
    pulpit in Speldhurst, the altar in Tunbridge, and the vestry in Frant.
    The stream also, which parted the counties of Kent and Sussex,
    formerly ran underneath it, but is now turned to a greater distance."
    --_Hist. Kent_, vol. iii.

       *       *       *       *       *


LOVE.

(_For the Mirror_.)


  Sing ye love? ye sing it not,
  It was never sung, I wot.
  None can speak the power of love,
  Tho' 'tis felt by all that move.
  It is known--but not reveal'd,
  'Tis a knowledge ever seal'd!
  Dwells it in the tearful eye
  Of congenial sympathy?
  'Tis a radiance of the mind,
  'Tis a feeling undefin'd,
  'Tis a wonder-working spell,
  'Tis a magic none can tell,
  'Tis a charm unutterable.

LEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *


GRAYSTEIL.[1]

AN HISTORICAL BALLAD.

(_For the Mirror_.)


  Beneath the Douglas plaid, he wore a grinding shirt of mail;
  Yet, spite of pain and weariness, press'd on that gallant Gael:
  On, on, beside his regal foe, with eyes which more express'd
  Than _words_, expecting favour still, from him who _once_ caress'd!

  "_'Tis_," quoth the prince, "my poor Graysteil!" and spurr'd his steed
    amain,
  Striving, ere toiling Kilspindie, the fortalice to gain;
  But Douglas, (and his wither'd heart, with hope and dread, beat high)
  Stood at proud Stirling's castle-gate, as soon as royalty!

  Stood, on his ingrate _friend_ to gaze; no answ'ring love-look came;
  Then, mortal grief his spirit shook, and bow'd his war-worn frame;
  Faith, _innocence_, avail'd not _him!_ he suffer'd for his line,
  And fainting by the gate he sunk, but feebly call'd for _wine!_

  The menials came, "_wine?_ up! begone! _we_ marvel who thou art!
  Our _monarch_ bids to France, Graysteil, his trusty _friend_ depart!"
  Blood to the Douglas' cheek uprush'd: proud blood! away he hied,
  And soon afar, the "poor Graysteil," the _broken hearted_, DIED!

M.L.B.

_Note_--Graysteil (so called after the champion of a romance then popular)
had returned from banishment in the hope, as he was perfectly innocuous,
of renewing his ancient friendship with the Scottish king; and James
declared that he would again have received him into his service, but for
his oath, never more to countenance a Douglas. He blamed his servants for
refusing refreshment to the veteran, but did not escape censure from our
own Henry VIII. for his cruel conduct towards his "poor Graysteil," upon
this occasion.


[1] Archibald, of Kilspindie, a noble Douglas, and until the disgrace of
    his clan, a personal friend and favourite of James V. of Scotland. For
    the incidents of this ballad, vide _Tales of a Grandfather_, 1st
    Series, vol. 3.

       *       *       *       *       *


TO THE MEMORY OF SIR HUMPHRY DAVY, BART.

(_For the Mirror._)


  To this low orb is lost a shining light.
  Useful, resplendent, and tho' transient, bright!
  For scarce has soaring genius reach'd the blaze
    Of fleeting life's meridian hour,
  Than Death around the naming meteor plays,
    And spreads its cypress o'er the short liv'd flower.
  The great projector of that grand design,[1]
  In time's remotest annals, long will shine;
  While sons of toil aloud proclaim his name,
  And _life preserv'd_ perpetuate his _fame_.


[1] The Safety Lamp

       *       *       *       *       *


SODA WATER.

(_To the Editor of the Mirror._)


The following extract from a medical periodical on _Soda Water_, will not
perhaps be deemed _mal-apropos_ at the present period of the year, and by
being inserted in your widely circulated work may be of some service to
those who are not aware of the evil effects produced by a _too free_ use
of that beverage.

M.M.M.


On this fashionable article, the editor remarks, Dr. Paris makes the
following observations:--"The modern custom of drinking this inviting
beverage during, or immediately after dinner, has been a pregnant source
of indigestion. By inflating the stomach at such a period, we inevitably
counteract those _muscular_ contractions of its coats which are essential
to chymification, whilst the quantity of soda thus introduced scarcely
deserves notice; with the exception of the carbonic acid gas, it may be
regarded as water; more mischievous only in consequence of the
_exhilarating_ quality, inducing us to take it at a period at which we
would not require the more simple fluid."

In all the waters we have obtained from fountains in London and other
places, under the names of "Soda Water" and "_double_ Soda Water," we have
not been able to discover any soda. It is common water mechanically
super-saturated with fixed air, which on being disengaged and rarified in
the stomach, may, as Dr. Paris observes, so over distend the organ as to
interrupt digestion, or diminish the powers of the digestive organs. When
acid prevails in the stomach, which is generally the case the day after
too free an indulgence in wine, true soda water, taken two or three hours
before dinner, or an hour before breakfast, not only neutralizes the acid,
but the fixed air, which is disengaged, allays the irritation, and even by
distending the organ, invigorates the muscular coat and nerves. As the
quantity of soda, in the true soda water, is much too small to neutralize
the acid, it is a good practice to add fifteen or twenty grains of the
carbonate of soda, finely powdered, to each bottle, which may be done by
pouring the contents of a