CHAPTER XXXVI.
HAMPSTEAD (continued).—THE TOWN.
"A steeple issuing from a leafy rise,
With balmy fields in front, and sloping green,
Dear Hampstead, is thy southern face serene,
Silently smiling on approaching eyes.
Within, thine ever-shifting looks surprise,
Streets, hills, and dells, trees overhead now seen,
Now down below, with smoking roofs between—
A village revelling in varieties.
Then northward, what a range—with heath and pond,
Nature's own ground; woods that let mansions through,
And cottaged vales, with pillowy fields beyond,
And clumps of darkening pines, and prospects blue,
And that clear path through all, where daily meet
Cool cheeks, and brilliant eyes, and morn-elastic feet."—Leigh Hunt.
Description of the Town—Heath Street—The Baptist Chapel—Whitefield's Preaching at Hampstead—The Public Library—Romney, the Painter—The "Hollybush"—The Assembly Rooms—Agnes and Joanna Baillie—The Clock House—Branch Hill Lodge—The Fire Brigade Station—The "Lower Flask Inn"—Flask Walk—Fairs held there—The Militia Barracks—Mrs. Tennyson—Christ Church—The Wells—Concerts
and Balls—Irregular Marriages—The Raffling Shops—Well Walk—John Constable—John Keats—Geological Formation of the Northern
Heights.
The town of Hampstead is built on the slope of
the hill leading up to the Heath, as Mr. Thorne,
in his "Environs" styles it, "in an odd, sidelong,
tortuous, irregular, and unconnected fashion.
There are," he adds, "the fairly-broad winding
High Street, and other good streets and lanes,
lined with large old brick houses, within highwalled enclosures, over which lean ancient trees,
and alongside them houses small and large, without a scrap of garden, and only a very little dingy
yard; narrow and dirty byways, courts, and passages, with steep flights of steps, and mean and
crowded tenements; fragments of open green
spaces, and again streets and lanes bordered with
shady elms and limes. On the whole, however,
the pleasanter and sylvan character prevails, especially west of the main street. The trees along
the streets and lanes are the most characteristic
and redeeming feature of the village. Hampstead
was long ago 'the place of groves,' and it retains
its early distinction. It is the most sylvan of sub
urban villages." Besides these avenues or groves,
almost every part of "old Hampstead" is distinguished by rows of trees, of either lime or elm,
planted along the broad footpaths in true boulevard
fashion. Mr. Howitt, in his "Northern Heights,"
in writing on this subject, says: "Its old narrow
roads winding under tall trees, are continually conducting to fresh and secluded places, that seem
hidden from the world, and would lead you to suppose yourselves far away from London, and in some
especially old-fashioned and old-world part of the
country. Extensive old and lofty walls enclose
the large old brick houses and grounds of what
were once the great merchants' and nobles' of
London; and ever and anon you are reminded of
people and things which lead your recollection
back to the neighbouring capital and its intruding
histories."
THE OLD WELL WALK, HAMPSTEAD, ABOUT 1750.
Like Tunbridge Wells and other fashionable
resorts of the same kind, Hampstead was not without its inducements for the "wealthy, the idle, and
sickly," who flocked thither; and "houses of entertainment and dissipation started up on all sides."
The taverns had their "long-rooms" and assemblyrooms for concerts, balls, and card parties; and
attached to them were tea-gardens and bowlinggreens. On the Heath races were held, as we
have stated in the previous chapter; fairs were held
in the Flask Walk, and the Well Walk and Church
Row became the fashionable promenades of the
place. But to proceed.
Leaving the Lower or East Heath, with its
pleasant pathways overlooking the Vale of Health,
the "ponds," and the distant slopes of Highgate
behind us, we descend Heath Mount and Heath
Street, and so make our way into the town. On
our left, as we proceed down the hill, we pass the
Baptist Chapel which was built for the Rev.
William Brock, about the year 1862. It is a good
substantial edifice, and its two towers are noticeable
features in its architecture. This fabric, or rather
its predecessor on the same site, is not without its
historical reminiscences. "The Independent congregation at Hampstead," says Mr. Howitt, "is
supposed to owe its origin to the preaching of
Whitefield there in 1739, who, in his journal of
May 17, of that year, says, 'Preached, after several
invitations thither, at Hampstead Heath, about
five miles from London. The audience was of
the politer sort, and I preached very near the
horse course, which gave me occasion to speak
home to the souls concerning our spiritual race.
Most were attentive, but some mocked. Thus
the Word of God is either a savour of life unto
life, or of death unto death.' The congregation
experienced its share of the persecutions of those
times. The earliest mention of the chapel is 1775."
It was some time leased by Selina, Countess of
Huntingdon, who relinquished her right in 1782.
The present fabric is called Heath Street Chapel.
In a house on the same side of Heath Street is
the Hampstead Public Library. After undergoing
many vicissitudes of fortune, this institution seems
to have taken a new lease of life with the commencement of 1877.
On our right, between the High Street and the
Heath, lived—from 1797 to 1799, George Romney,
the famous painter. He removed hither from
his residence in Cavendish Square. (fn. 1) He took
great pains in constructing for himself a country
house, between the "Hollybush Inn" and the
Heath, with a studio adjoining. He did not derive,
however, any great pleasure from his investment,
for he entered the house when it was still wet, and
he never enjoyed a day of good health afterwards.
Allan Cunningham, in his "Lives of British
Painters," says that Romney had resolved to withdraw to the pure air and retirement of Hampstead
"to paint the vast historical conceptions for which
all this travail had been undergone, and imagined
that a new hour of glory was come;" but after a
few months—a little more than a year—finding his
health growing worse and worse, he made up his
mind to return back to the wife whom more than
a quarter of a century before he had deserted, and
who nursed him carefully till his death. The great
artist's studio was subsequently converted into the
Assembly Rooms. These rooms were erected on
the principle of a tontine; but all sorts of legal
difficulties arose, and no one knows who is now the
rightful owner. Here for many years—1820 to 1860—were held, at first every month, and subsequently
every quarter of a year, conversazioni, to which
the resident artistic and literary celebrities used to
lend all sorts of works of art to enliven the winter
evenings. The cessation of these pleasant gatherings
was much regretted. About 1868 an attempt was
made to revive these gatherings by means of a
succession of lectures during the winter, but these
also came to an end after the second season.
The "Hollybush" is not at all an uncommon
sign in England, and as it is generally found near
to a church, we may conclude that it points back
to the ancient custom—now so generally revived
amongst us—of decking our houses with evergreens at Christmas. It is said that this custom
is as old as the times of the Druids.
The sisters Agnes and Joanna Baillie lived in
the central house of a terrace consisting of three
mansions facing the Assembly Rooms at the back
of the "Hollybush Inn." The house is now called
Bolton House, and is next door but one to Windmill Hill, a name which points to the fact of a
windmill having stood there at one time. Joanna
Baillie, who is well known for her "Plays on the
Passions," enjoyed no small fame as a poetess, and
was the author of several plays, which were praised
by Sir Walter Scott. Basil and De Montfort, however, were the only tragedies of Miss Joanna Baillie
that were performed on the London stage, though
The Family Secret was brought out with some
success at the Edinburgh Theatre.
In Mr. H. Crabbe Robinson's "Diary," under
date of May, 1812, we find the following particulars
of this amiable and accomplished lady:—"Joined
Wordsworth in the Oxford Road (i.e., Oxford
Street); we then got into the fields, and walked
to Hampstead. … We met Miss Joanna Baillie,
and accompanied her home. She is small in
figure, and her gait is mean and shuffling; but
her manners are those of a well-bred lady. She
has none of the unpleasant airs too common to
literary ladies. Her conversation is sensible. She
possesses apparently considerable information, is
prompt without being forward, and has a fixed
judgment of her own, without any disposition to
force it on others. Wordsworth said of her with
warmth, 'If I had to present to a foreigner any
one as a model of an English gentlewoman, it
would be Joanna Baillie.'"
Indeed, according to the testimony of all those
who knew her, Joanna Baillie was a plain, simple,
homely, unpretending woman, who made no effort
to dazzle others, and was not easily dazzled by
others. She loved her home, and she and her
sister contrived to make that home for many years
a centre of all that was good, as well as intellectual.
"I believe," says Miss Sedgwick, an American
lady, "of all my pleasures here, dear J. will most
envy me that of seeing Joanna Baillie, and of
seeing her repeatedly at her home—the best point
of view for all best women. She lives on Hampstead
Hill, a few miles from town, in a modest house,
with Miss Agnes Baillie, her only sister, a kindly
and agreeable person. Miss Baillie—I write this
for J., for women always like to know how one
another look and dress—Miss Baillie has a wellpreserved appearance: her face has nothing of the
vexed or sorrowful expression that is often so
deeply stamped by a long experience of life. It
indicates a strong mind, great sensibility, and the
benevolence that, I believe, always proceeds from
it if the mental constitution be a sound one, as it
eminently is in Miss Baillie's case. She has a
pleasing figure, what we call lady-like—that is,
delicate, erect, and graceful; not the large-boned,
muscular frame of most English women. She
wears her own gray hair—a general fashion, by the
way, here, which I wish we elderly ladies of
America may have the courage and the taste to
imitate; and she wears the prettiest of brown silk
gowns and bonnets, fitting the beau-ideal of an old
lady—an ideal she might inspire, if it has no
pre-existence. You would, of course, expect her
to be free from pedantry and all modes of affectation; but I think you would be surprised to find
yourself forgetting, in a domestic and confiding
feeling, that you were talking with the woman
whose name is best established among the female
writers of her country; in short, forgetting everything but that you were in the society of a most
charming private gentlewoman."
The Quarterly Review also gives her the credit
of having borne a most tasteful and effective,
though subordinate part, in that entire and wonderful revolution of the public taste in works of
imagination and in literature generally, which
contrasts this century with the latter half of the
last. "Unversed in the ancient languages and
literature, and by no means accomplished in those
of her own age, or even of her own country, this
remarkable woman owed it, partly to the simplicity
of her Scottish education, partly to the influence of
the better part of Burns's poetry, but chiefly to the
spontaneous action of her own powerful genius,
that she was able at once, and apparently without
effort, to come forth the mistress of a masculine
style of thought and diction, which constituted
then, as it constitutes now, the characteristic merit
of her writings, and which contributed most beneficially to the already commenced reformation of
the literary principles of the century."
We learn from Lockhart's "Life," that Sir
Walter Scott, too, on being asked whether among
poets born north of the Tweed he preferred Burns
or Campbell, gave no direct answer, but said, "If
you wish to speak of a real poet, Joanna Baillie is
now the highest genius of our country." In fact,
Scott was one of her most ardent admirers. Mentioning in a letter at the time his own "House of
Aspen," he says, "The 'Plays of the Passions' have
put me entirely out of conceit with my Germanised
brat." His esteem of the talents of the author
led, in Miss Baillie's case, as in that of Miss Edgeworth and others, to Scott's acquaintance and
friendship with the woman. The cordial and
agreeable intimacy between Miss Baillie and Scott,
which ceased but with the life of the latter, dates
from his introduction to her at Hampstead, in
1806, by the translator and poet, Sotheby. Joanna
Baillie herself, many years afterwards, described
the interview to a friend as one of the most remarkable events of her life. She, from that period of
their first acquaintance, became a continual correspondent of the mighty minstrel; and some of the
most entertaining letters he ever wrote are addressed
to her. The author of the "Man of Feeling" was
also her friend. The prologue to the play of The
Family Legend was written by Scott, the epilogue
by Mackenzie. Joanna Baillie was honoured also
from Lord Byron with the remark that she was the
only woman who could write a tragedy.
When her "Plays on the Passions" were first
published, they appeared without a name, and
great was the speculation of the public as to who
the author could be. Mrs. Piozzi stood almost
single-handed in maintaining that they were the
work of a woman; and she tells us, what is in
itself a proof of the faulty taste and judgment of
her age, that no sooner was their authorship owned
by "an unknown girl" than the work fell so much
in value as to become almost unsaleable.
William Howitt, who knew her in her Hampstead
home, calls her a "powerful dramatic writer," a
"graceful and witty lyrist," and a "sweet and gentle
woman." Miss Berry says that her tragedies were
highly appreciated by that connoisseur of literature
and art, Sir George Beaumont, who sent them to
Charles James Fox, and that the latter was in such
raptures about them that he wrote a critique of
five pages upon the subject.
Miss Lucy Aikin has preserved a few traits of
her character, having been acquainted with her
through meeting her at Mr. Barbauld's house.
She was shy and reserved to a degree, for the
"expression of all emotions, even the most gentle
and the most honourable to human nature, seems
to have been the constant lesson taught by her
parents in her Presbyterian home." The first
thing which drew upon Joanna the admiring notice
of Hampstead society was the devoted assiduity
of her attention to her mother, then blind as well as
aged, and whom she attended day and night. But
this part of her duty came at length to its natural
termination; and the secret of her authorship
having been at length permitted to transpire, she
was no longer privileged to sit in the shade,
shuffling off upon others her own fair share of
conversation. Latterly her discourse flowed freely
enough; but even then it was less on books than
on real life and the aspects of rural nature that
she loved to talk. "Her genius," writes Miss
Aikin, "had shrouded itself under so thick a veil
of silent reserve, that its existence seems scarcely
to have been ever suspected beyond the domestic
circle when the 'Plays on the Passions' burst
upon the world. The dedication of the volume to
Dr. Baillie gave a hint in what quarter the author
was to be sought; but the person chiefly suspected
was the accomplished widow of his uncle, John
Hunter. Of Joanna, at all events, no one dreamed
on this occasion. She and her sister—I well
remember the scene—arrived on a morning call
at Mr. Barbauld's; my aunt immediately introduced the topic of the anonymous tragedies, and
gave utterance to her admiration with that generous
delight in the manifestation of kindred genius
which always distinguished her. But not even the
sudden delight of such praise, so given, would
seduce our Scottish damsel into self-betrayal.
The faithful sister rushed forward, as we afterwards
recollected, to bear the brunt, while the unsuspected
author of the 'Plays' lay snugly wrapt up in the
asylum of her taciturnity."
Miss Aikin remarks that in spite of her long
residence in the neighbourhood of London, Joanna
Baillie retained her Scotch predilections to the
last. She died in 1851, at the age of ninety, carrying with her to the grave the love, reverence, and
regrets of all who had enjoyed her society.
Hard by the house of Joanna Baillie is an old
mansion named Fenton House, but generally known
as "The Clock House," from a clock which adorned
its front, though now superseded by a sundial; the
house is chiefly remarkable for its heavy high-pitched
roof, not unlike that of many a château in Normandy. It now belongs to a member of Lord
Mansfield's family.
The large red-brick house, on the left in ascending from Hollybush Hill towards the Heath, is
called Branch Hill Lodge. It was in part rebuilt
about the year 1745 for Sir Thomas Clark, Master
of the Rolls. The house was afterwards the
residence of Lord Chancellor Macclesfield, and
subsequently, among others, of Lord Loughborough,
before his removal to Rosslyn House, where we
shall presently speak of him again. At the close
of the last century it was purchased of Colonel
Parker, a younger son of Lord Macclesfield, by
Sir Thomas Neave, who, as Lysons states in his
"Environs of London," here had "a very large
and most valuable collection of painted glass, a
great part of which was procured from various
convents on the Continent, immediately after the
French Revolution."
At the junction of Heath and High Street is the
Fire Brigade Station, an attractive building of
coloured bricks, with a lofty watch tower and
clock, erected by public subscription in 1870; it
commands a view over a large extent of country.
Mr. G. Vulliamy was the architect.
On the east slope of the hill, and covering the
ground on our left as we descend Heath Street and
the High Street, lies that portion of the town which
may fairly lay claim to being called "Old Hampstead." Our approach to this once fashionable
quarter is by a narrow passage out of the High
Street, which brings us at once to the "Lower
Flask Tavern," which we have incidentally mentioned at the close of the previous chapter.
The "Flask" is a very appropriate, and therefore a very common, sign to mark a house devoted
to the service of topers. There was a celebrated "Flask" in Pimlico; and the "Upper" and
"Lower Flasks" at Hampstead are historical.
Flask Walk, which runs eastward from the tavern,
is a long straggling thoroughfare, in part planted
with trees along the edge of the broad pavement.
In the triangular space near the end—now a
pleasant grass-plat—an annual fair was formerly
held. It was noted for its riotous character; conducted as it was much on the same principle as
the celebrated "Bartlemy Fair" in Smithfield. An
advertisement on the cover of the original edition
of the Spectator is as follows:—"This is to give
notice, that Hampstead Fair is to be kept upon
the Lower Flask Tavern Walk, on Friday, the
first of August, and holds (i.e., lasts) for four days."
Formerly the Flask Walk was open to the High
Street, and was shaded throughout with fine trees;
many of these, however, are now gone, and small
houses have taken their place. In Flask Walk
were formerly the parish stocks. Not long ago some
busy-bodies wanted to change the name of the
thoroughfare, but common sense ruled otherwise.
One of the chief sources of the Fleet, as we have
already stated, was in Hampstead; it rose in a
spring nearly under the walls of Gardnor House,
at the east end of Flask Walk, and within a
hundred yards westward of the old Wells. At the
junction of Flask Walk and Well Walk, and nearly
opposite the "Wells Tavern," are the Middlesex
Militia Barracks, a spacious brick building, partly
formed out of an old mansion, called Burgh House,
two projecting wings having been added. The
barracks was built in 1863, from the designs of
Mr. Henry Pownall.
In a house at the corner of Flask Row, opposite to the Militia Barracks, the mother of the
poet Tennyson spent the last years of her life;
and here she died about the year 1861. It is
almost needless to add that up to that date Alfred
Tennyson was a constant visitor at Hampstead,
and was frequently to be seen strolling on the
Heath wrapped up in thought, though he mixed
little with Hampstead society. Mrs. Tennyson
lies buried in Highgate Cemetery.
Close by this spot, on the sloping ground
leading up to Squire's Mount, is one of the many
religious edifices of the town, Christ Church, a
large Perpendicular building, with a lofty spire,
which serves as a landmark for miles around; this
church was built in 1852. In the same neighbourhood is the new workhouse, a large and well-built
structure of brick and stone, together with the
other parochial offices.
Both Flask Walk and Well Walk have an air of
fading gentility about them, and, like many of the
other streets and lanes in the village, they are
planted with rows of shady limes or elms, which
every year, however, are becoming fewer and fewer.
Well Walk (which connects Flask Walk with the
lower portion of East Heath) and the "Wells
Tavern" still serve to keep in remembrance the
famous "wells," which commanded an open view
across the green fields towards Highgate.
In the days of the early celebrity of its "waters,"
Hampstead must have rivalled Tunbridge Wells
and Epsom; and its Well Walk in the morning,
with all its gay company of gentlemen in laced
ruffles and powdered wigs, and of ladies in hoops
of monstrous size, must have reminded one of the
Mall in St. James's Park, or the gardens of Kensington Palace. At the time when London was
surrounded by "spas" and "wells"—when the
citizens resorted to Bagnigge Wells in the morning,
to Sadlers' Wells and the White Conduit in the
evening, and to Tunbridge Wells, Bath, and Cheltenham in the summer and autumn—the springs of
Hampstead were in great repute, and they were,
no doubt, exceedingly beneficial to people whose
principal complaints were those of idleness, dissipation, and frivolity. A local physician wrote a
long account of these valuable waters, describing
them in terms of extravagant hyperbole, and lauding
their virtues to the skies. The analysis which he
publishes is, however, a curious practical comment
on his rapturous enthusiasm. As a matter of fact,
the water was and is simply exceedingly pure
spring water, with a faint trace of earthy salts such
as those of iron, magnesia, and lime. The total
amount of solid matter is but seven grains to the
gallon—about as much as is to be found in the
water of the Kent Company, and about a fourth of
the quantity held in solution by the water of the
companies which derive their supply from the
Thames. Other physicians were to be found who
were as ready as him of Hampstead to trumpet
the merits of the spa. Says one of them, "It
is a stimulant diuretic, very beneficial in chronic
diseases arising from languor of the circulation,
general debility of the system, or laxity of the
solids, or in all cases where tonics and gentle
stimulants are required, and in cutaneous affections.
The season for drinking it is from April to the end
of October."
THE OLD CLOCK HOUSE, 1780.
The "Wells," we need hardly say, formed one
of the leading features of Hampstead in its palmy
days. As far back as the year 1698 they are
spoken of by the name of "The Wells;" and two
years later it is ordered by the authorities of the
Manor Court, "that the spring lyeing by the purging wells be forthwith brot to the toune of Hamsted, at the parish charge, and yt ye money profitts
arising thereout be applied towrds easing the Poor
Rates hereafter to be made." It was not long
before they came into fashion and general use.
The Postman of April, 1700, announces that "the
chalybeate waters of Hampstead, being of the same
nature, and equal in virtue, with Tunbridge Wells,
are sold by Mr. R. Philps, apothecary, at the
"Eagle and Child," in Fleet Street, every morning,
at threepence per flask, and conveyed to persons
at their own houses for one penny more. [N.B.—The flask to be returned daily.]"
Early in the eighteenth century we meet with
advertisements to the effect that the mineral waters
from the wells at Hampstead might be obtained
from the "lessee," who lived "at the 'Black Posts,'
in King Street, near Guildhall." They are also to
be had at ten or twelve other houses in London,
including "Sam's Coffee-house, near Ludgate, and
the 'Sugar Loaf,' at Charing Cross."
KEATS' SEAT, OLD WELL WALK.
In 1734, Mr. John Soame, M.D., published some
directions for drinking the Hampstead waters,
which he designated the "Inexhaustible Fountain
of Health." In this work the worthy doctor
placed on record some "experiments of the
Hampstead waters, and histories of cures." Hampstead has long been celebrated for the choice
medicinal herbs growing abundantly in its fields
and hedgerows; and Dr. Soame in his pamphlet
tells us how that "the Apothecaries Company very
seldom miss coming to Hampstead every spring,
and here have their herbalising feast. I have
heard them say," he adds, "that they have found
a greater variety of curious and useful plants near
and about Hampstead than in any other place."
For the first ten or twelve years of the last
century the Wells seem to have been in full favour,
for at that time dancing and music were added to
the attractions of the place. In the Postman, of
August 14–16, 1701, it is announced that "At
Hampstead Wells, on Monday next, being the 18th
of this instant August, will be performed a Consort
(sic) of both vocal and instrumental musick, with
some particular performance of both kinds, by the
best masters, to begin at 10 o'clock precisely.
Tickets will be delivered at the said Wells for 1s.
per ticket; and Dancing in the afternoon for 6d.
per ticket, to be delivered as before." In September
the following advertisement appeared:—"In the
Great Room at Hampstead Wells, on Monday
next, being the 15th instant, exactly at 11 o'clock
forenoon, will be performed a Consort of vocal and
instrumental musick, by the best masters; and, at
the request of several gentlemen, Jemmy Bowen
will perform several songs, and particular performances on the violin by 2 several masters. Tickets
to be had at the Wells, and at Stephen's Coffeehouse in King Street, Bloomsbury, at 1s. each
ticket. There will be Dancing in the afternoon,
as usual." In 1702, the London Post, for May 5,
has this advertisement:—"Hampstead Consort.
In the Great Room of Hampstead Wells, on Monday next, the 11th instant, will be performed a
Consort of vocal and instrumental musick by the
best masters, with particular entertainments on the
violin by Mr. Dean, beginning exactly at 11 o'clock,
rain or fair. To continue every Monday, at the
same place and time, during the season of drinking
the waters. Tickets to be had at Stephen's Coffeehouse, in Bloomsbury, and at the Wells (by reason
the room is very large) at one shilling each ticket.
There will be dancing in the afternoon as usual."
The Postboy, of May 8–10, 1707, informs "all
persons that have occasion to drink the Hampstead
mineral waters, that the Wells will be open on
Monday next, with very good music for dancing
all day long, and to continue every Monday during
the season;" and it further adds that "there is all
needful accommodation for water-drinkers of both
sex (sic), and all other entertainments for good
eating and drinking, and a very pleasant bowlinggreen, with convenience of coach-horses; and very
good stables for fine horses, with good attendance;
and a farther accommodation of a stage-coach and
chariot from the Wells at any time in the evening
or morning." No. 201 of the Tatler, July 22, 1710,
contains the following announcement:—"A Consort
of Musick will be performed in the Great Room at
Hampstead this present Saturday, the 22nd instant,
at the desire of the gentlemen and ladies living in
and near Hampstead, by the best masters. Several
of the Opera songs by a girl of nine years, a scholar
of Mr. Tenoe's, who never performed in public
but once at York Buildings with very good success.
To begin exactly at five, for the conveniency of
gentlemen's returning. Tickets to be had only at
the Wells, at 2s. and 6d. each. For the benefit of
Mr. Tenoe."
Gay, author of the "Fables" and the Beggar's
Opera, drank of the waters and rambled about the
Heath in 1727, and was cured of the colic; but
his friend, Dr. Arbuthnot, had less success a few
years afterwards, perhaps from medical want of
faith. While he was staying there, Pope used to
visit him; and then it probably was that the worthy
doctor enjoyed those meetings with Pope's friend,
Murray, which Cowper celebrated.
In more than one novel, written about the
middle of the last century, we are treated with
some remarks upon the visitors to the Wells at
Hampstead, where we get a glimpse of the vulgar
cockneyism which had succeeded to the witty
flirtations of the fine ladies and gentlemen of fifty
years previously. One author tells us how Madame
Duval, rouged and decked in all the colours of the
rainbow, danced a minuet; how "Beau Smith" pestered the pensive Evelina, who was thinking only
of the accomplished and uncomfortably perfect
Lord Orville, and much annoyed at the vulgar
impertinence of the young men who begged the
favour of "hopping a dance with her." Of the
Long Room our author says: "The room seems
very well named, for I believe it would be difficult
to find any other epithet which might with propriety
distinguish it, as it is without ornament, elegance,
or any sort of singularity, and merely to be marked
by its length." This building was used for many
years previous to 1850 as a chapel of ease to the
parish church; and a few years later was fitted up
as the drill-room for the Hampstead (3rd Middle-sex) Volunteers.
Nor is this all that we have to say about the
Wells. From an advertisement in the Postboy,
April 18, 1710, it appears that Hampstead rivalled
for a time Mayfair (fn. 2) and the Fleet (fn. 3) in the practice
of performing "irregular" marriages, and that the
"Wells" even enjoyed sufficient popularity to have
a chapel of their own.
"As there are many weddings at Zion Chapel,
Hampstead," we read, "five shillings only is required for all the church fees of any couple that
are married there, provided they bring with them
a licence or certificate according to the Act of
Parliament. Two sermons are continued to be
preached in the said chapel every Sunday; and the
place will be given to any clergyman that is willing
to accept of it, if he is approved of."
The lessee at this time was one Howell, who
was commonly spoken of as "the Welsh ambassador," and under his management irregular
marriages were frequently celebrated. The advertisements of the period show pretty plainly what
was the nature of the proceedings here. One
notice which appeared in 1711 announced that
those who go to be married must carry with them
licences or dispensations, a formality which we may
readily imagine was not unfrequently dispensed
with. In Read's Weekly Journal, September 8,
1716, it is announced that "Sion Chapel, at Hampstead, being a private and pleasure place, many
persons of the best fashion have lately been married
there. Now, as a minister is obliged constantly to
attend, this is to give notice that all persons upon
bringing a licence, and who shall have their wedding dinner in the gardens, may be married in that
said chapel without giving any fee or reward whatsoever; and such as do not keep their wedding
dinner at the gardens, only five shillings will be
demanded of them for all fees."
The exact site of this chapel is no longer known,
but in all probability it adjoined the Wells, and
belonged to the keeper of the adjoining tavern.
There can be little doubt that it was a capital
speculation before the trade in such matters was
spoiled, a century or so ago, by the introduction of
the "Private Marriage Act," so cruelly introduced
by Lord Hardwicke.
This being the condition of the place, we need
not be surprised to learn that its popularity with
certain classes was unbounded. In fact, so much
was Hampstead the rage at the beginning of the
last century, that in the comedy of Hampstead
Heath above referred to we find one of the characters, "Arabella," the wife of a citizen, thus
telling us what she thinks of the place:—
"Well, this Hampstead's a charming place, to
dance all night at the Wells, and be treated at
Mother Huff's; to have presents made one at the
raffling shops, and then take a walk in Caen Wood
with a man of wit. But to be five or six miles
from one's husband!—marriage were a happy state
could one be always five or six miles from one's
husband."
This, we need scarcely remark, is a sentiment
very congenial with the morals—or rather want of
morals—which marked the age. The "Mother
Huff" referred to so admiringly by the lady, was
better known in the gossiping literature of the time
by the even less euphonious name of "Mother
Damnable." As we have seen in a previous
chapter, (fn. 4) she appears to have been a person of
accommodating disposition, who fixed her modest
abode near the junction of the roads leading to
Hampstead and through Kentish Town to Highgate, and made herself useful and agreeable to such
modish ladies as Arabella and her witty friend.
The "raffling shops," also alluded to, are
mentioned in the Tatler, in which Mr. Isaac
Bickerstaffe, otherwise Sir Richard Steele, the
"Christian hero," thought fit, as censor of public
morals, to call attention to them. Writing in
August, 1709, he says:—"I am diverted from my
train of discourse by letters from Hampstead,
which give me an account there is a late institution
there under the name of a Raffling Shop, which is
(it seems) secretly supported by a person who is a
deep practitioner in the law, and out of tenderness
of conscience has, under the name of his maid
Sisly, set up this easier way of conveyancing and
alienating estates from one family to another."
The Wells continued to be more or less a place
of resort for invalids, real and imaginary, down to
the early part of the present century, when their
fame was revived for a time by Mr. Thomas Goodwin, a medical practitioner of the place, who had
made the discovery that the Hampstead waters
were possessed of two kinds of saline qualities,
answering to the springs of Cheltenham and
Harrogate; but the tide of popular favour seems
to have flowed in another direction, after the visit
of George III. and his Court to Cheltenham, and
Hampstead soon became deserted by its fashionable loungers, notwithstanding the efforts of the
doctors, who missed their guineas, and those of
the proprietors of the ball-rooms and the rafflingshops, to resuscitate its fame. Dr. Soame complained that the royal family visited the wells at
Islington, then achieving a temporary popularity,
and neglected Hampstead; and he also seized the
opportunity of levelling his shafts at the habit of
tea-drinking, then a comparatively modern innovation. "I hope," he says, "that the inordinate
drinking of tea will be retrenched, which, if continued, must bring a thousand ills upon us, and
generations after us—the next generation may be
in stature more like pigmies than men and women."
What would Dr. Soame have said could he have
lived to see the members of the Middlesex Rifle
Volunteers, every fine fellow of which corps drinks
tea every day, performing feats of prowess and
agility while skirmishing among the furze-bushes
and gravel-pits of his beloved Hampstead?
But no amount of appeal or puff direct could
make Hampstead what it was in its aristocratic
days. The wells and ball-rooms remained, and
were well attended, but by another class. Their
prestige was gone, and the world of fashion resigned
them to the London aborigines dwelling east of
Temple Bar. The waters of Hampstead are no
longer taken medicinally, and their former celebrity
is now only remembered in the name of the charming little grove called Well Walk, which leads from
Flask Walk towards the eastern side of the Heath,
and where there has been set up, as though in
mockery of the past, a modern drinking-fountain.
Well Walk was in former times the fashionable
morning lounge for the visitor to the "Wells;"
and here the gallants of the period could enjoy the
fresh air in the shade of the tall lime-trees, which
still remain along the edge of the raised pathway.
In Well Walk, between the "Long Room" and the
"Wells Tavern," lived and died John Constable,
the painter. Like Gainsborough and Crome,
Constable always proved himself a heartfelt lover
of an English homestead. "I love," he said,
"every stile, and stump, and lane in the village;
as long as I am able to hold a brush I shall never
cease to paint them." "The Cornfield or Country
Lane" and "The Valley Farm," both in the
National Gallery, may have suggested to Leslie the
following passage:—"There is a place," says this
most sympathetic of critics on simply English art,
"among our painters which Turner left unoccupied,
and which neither Wilson, Gainsborough, Cozens,
nor Girtin so completely filled as Constable. He
was the most genuine painter of English cultivated
scenery, leaving untouched its mountains and its
lakes." His tomb in the old churchyard records
that he was "many years an inhabitant of this
parish." He died in 1837. Mrs. Barbauld, too, at
one time, lived in Well Walk, where she was visited,
not only by literary folks, but by men of high
scientific attainments, such as Josiah Wedgwood.
She afterwards lived at the foot of Rosslyn Hill,
where we shall presently have more to say concerning her.
It was in Well Walk that John Keats wrote both
his "Endymion" and his "Eve of St. Agnes;"
and it was probably after hearing the nightingale
in the adjoining gardens that he wrote those wellknown stanzas, in which he apostrophises "The
light-winged Dryad of the trees."
Hone, in his "Table Book," writes of this place:
"Winding south from the Lower Heath, there is a
charming little grove in Well Walk, with a bench
at the end, whereon I last saw poor Keats, the
poet of the 'Pot of Basil,' sitting and sobbing his
dying breath into a handkerchief—glancing parting
looks towards the quiet landscape he had delighted
in so much—musing as in his 'Ode to a Nightingale.'"
Samuel Taylor Coleridge would sometimes come
over across the green fields, by way of Millfield
Lane, from Highgate, to have a chat with Keats
on his seat at the end of Well Walk; and when he
last shook hands with him here, he turned to
Leigh Hunt, and whispered, "There is death in
that hand." And such was too truly the case; for
John Keats was in a consumption; and he went
abroad very soon afterwards, to die beneath the
sunny skies of Italy.
"And wilt thou ponder on the silent grave
Of broken-hearted Keats, whom still we love
To image sleeping where the willows wave
By Memory's fount, deep in the Muses' grove;
Shaded, enshrouded, where no steps intrude,
But peace is granted him; his dearest boon;
And while he sleeps, with night-time tears bedew'd,
'Endymion' still is watched by his enamoured moon."
The copyhold property in the rear of Well Walk
belongs to the trustees of the Wells Charity, who
are bound to devote its proceeds to apprenticing
children, natives of Hampstead, under a scheme
lately approved by the Court of Chancery.
Although it has not been attempted in these
columns to enter into details respecting the geological structure of the localities which we have
described, yet we ought not to omit to mention,
with respect to Highgate and Hampstead, a few
facts of interest to those who have the least taste
for that branch of science.
It is well known to most readers that the whole
of London lies on a substratum of chalk formation,
which is covered by a higher stratum of a stiff
bluish clay. On this again, there is every reason
to believe, there once lay a covering of gravel and
sand, which in the course of long ages has been
washed away by the action of water, at a time when,
probably, the whole valley of the Thames was an
arm of the sea.
The "Northern Heights" of Highgate and
Hampstead, if their formation is considered in
detail, throw considerable light on this statement.
Their summits exhibit a top coating or "cap" of
gravel and sand, which, by some chance or other,
has not been so swept away, but has maintained
its position unchanged. This gravel and sand rest
on an undersoil of a soft and spongy nature, from
which issue springs of water, which appear to be
squeezed out of the sides of the hills by the weight
of the superincumbent mass.
These spongy soils gradually die away into a
blue clay from thirty to five hundred feet in depth,
in which, both at Hampstead and at Highgate, a
variety of fossils have been found, proving the
existence here of plants, trees, and animals akin to,
but still differing from, those of our own age and
latitude; some of these are of a marine and estuarine aquatic nature, showing that a sea must at one
time have washed the sides of the heights that we
have been climbing. As an instance in point, it
may be mentioned that, in 1876, in boring a well
through the clay at the brewery in High Street,
the workmen came upon a fine specimen of the
nautilus. Other marine shells of a smaller kind
have been constantly dug up in the same stratum
about these parts.