RANELAGH.

THE pleasure-loving 'prentice of the last century

when, in Chepe or Fleet, he put up his shutters, and put on his sword, can seldom have been at a loss for amusement. Not only had every inn on the outskirts of the sign-haunted City its skittle-ground, or bowling-green, or ninepin alley, where he might doff his tarnished galadress, perch his scratch wig upon a post (as he does in Mr. Edwin Abbey's charming pictures), and cultivate to his heart's content the mysteries of managing a bowl with one hand and a long C churchwarden' with the other, but nearly every village within a mile or two of Paul's boasted its famous summer garden, presenting its peculiar and specific programme of diversions-diversions which included the enviable distinction of rubbing elbows with the quality, and snatching, for a space, the fearful joy of 'Bon Ton.' At Pentonville there was the White Conduit House, upon whose celebrated cakes and cream Dr. Oliver Goldsmith had once the misfortune of entertaining a party of ladies, and of then finding himself—like

Señor Patricio in Le Sage-without the wherewithal to pay the reckoning; at Islington there was Sadler's Wells, where you might not only genteelly discuss the 'killibeate' (as Mr. Weller's friend called it), but regale yourself with the supplementary and gratuitous recreation of balancemasters, walking on the wire, rope - dancing, tumbling, and pantomime entertainments.' At Bagnigge Wells, in what is now the King's Cross Road, you might, after being received at the Assembly Room by a dignified Master of the Ceremonies with a Cocked Hat, enjoy, to the sound of an organ, the refreshment (with gilt spoons) of tea, which would be handed to you by a page with a kettle, like Pompey in the second plate of Hogarth's 'Harlot's Progress'; at Cuper's (vulgo Cupid's') Gardens, on the Surrey side of the water over- against Somerset House, you might witness the noted fireworks, listen to Mr. Jones, his harp-playing, and assist at various other amusements, some of which, it is to be feared, were more suited to Thomas Idle than to Francis Goodchild. Then-as time-honoured as any, since they dated from Pepys and the Restoration, and survived until Chatterton could write their burlettas-there were, at the bottom of Harley Street, the renowned Gardens of Mary bone, which,

in addition to the pyrotechnic displays of Caillot and Torre,' and the privilege of having your pockets emptied by the illustrious George Barrington or some equally quick-handed artist, offered the exceptional attractions of fine Epping butter,' 'Almond Cheesecakes,' and 'Tarts of a Twelvepenny size,' made by no less a personage than the sister of Dr. Trusler, author of that popular didactic work, the 'Blossoms of Morality.' All of these, however, were but the shadows of the two greater rallying-places, Vauxhall and Ranelagh, both of which were on the Thames. Of Vauxhall, with its hundreds of lamps, its Grove, its Gothic Orchestra, and its statue of Handel, a sufficient account has already been given in an earlier ingathering of these papers. It is of the more fashionable, but not more frequented Ranelagh that it is now proposed to speak.

To Ranelagh, as to Vauxhall, the pleasantest approach was by water. If you walked, the old

1 According to J. R. Smith, Torré was also a printseller in the Haymarket. Johnson used him for his unjust depreciation of Gray, whom he called 'the very Torré of poetry, [who] played his coruscations so speciously that his steel dust is mistaken by many for a shower of gold.'

2 See 'Old Vauxhall Gardens' in 'Eighteenth Century Vignettes,' 1892, pp. 230-261.

guide-books-which seem to assume that everyone started from Charing Cross-are careful to tell you that you must cross St. James's Park, go out by Buckingham Gate, and make your way toward Chelsea Hospital, on the left side of which would ultimately become visible the 'large Building of an orbicular Figure, with a Row of Windows round the Attic story,' which, according to a writer in the 'Champion,' 'a Man, of a whimsical Imagination, would not scruple to call, a Giant's Lanthorn'-the resemblance, it may be added, being sensibly increased at night by the fact that, for those days, it was very lavishly illuminated within. Arrived at the entrance, known as Ranelagh House, you could either present your ticket or pay your half-crown, and, after purchasing 'a gift for your fair' in the shape of a nosegay or button-hole, pass through the building into the somewhat contracted grounds in front of the central structure. But you might, if you chose, and you probably would, turn to the left, descend a flight of steps, and, entering a matted avenue, repair forthwith to the Rotunda. After a few paces you found yourself in a large circular chamber or amphitheatre, about the size of the Reading Room at the British Museum, the accesses to which were through four equidis

tant Doric porticoes. Between these porticoes, the sides of the room were filled with alcoves or supper-boxes, slightly raised above the floor, each of which had its table, its decorative humorous painting as at Vauxhall, and its bell candle-lamp. Above this line of alcoves was a gallery containing a second row of boxes; and above these, again, the range of sixty windows you had seen illuminated from without. In the centre of the enclosure, rising to the ceiling, and materially assisting in the support of the roof, was a cluster of 'four triumphal arches of the Doric order,' which, with the intervals between them, formed an octagon. The upper part of this was, at first, intended for the Orchestra, but the position proved too high for the performers; and, from the circumstance that a huge grate for heating the building had been constructed in the lower part, it came subsequently to be known as 'the fireplace.' In the old descriptions, this fireplace is magniloquently characterized as 'one of the most curious contrivances that ever the judgment of man could form,' but when it is further stated that it could neither smoke nor become offensive, it is obvious that something had been achieved to which, even now, it is difficult to attain. The pillars of the triumphal arches, which, as already