and Nell Gwyn at the other theatre the mistress of Lord Buckhurst. Lord Buckhurst was reputed the best-bred man of his day, was a brave soldier, young, accomplished, the friend of poets and men of letters, and "the most munificent patron ofe literature this country has yet seen." H was a fine-hearted English gentleman whose epitaph was afterwards written by Pope; while Prior, Walpole, and Macaulay, have all praised him with the warmth of friends. The connection was, in fact, much to Nelly's credit in one point of view,-poor, ignorant girl as she had been, now introduced to the society of the most accomplished men of her time, and filling her new position with a grace and charmingness which made Lord Buckhurst as much envied as she was, when she kept merry house" with him at Ep som "All hearts fall a leaping wherever she comes, And beat night and day, like my Lord Craven's drums." Eventually, however, Lord Buckhurst and she parted, upon some quarrel, and in October, 1667, Pepys gives us a glimpse of Nell behind the scenes again,-besides a glimpse of the manners and morals of the times. The italics are ours. 5 October, 1667. To the King's House, and there going in met Knipp, and she took us into the 'tiring-rooms; and to the women's shift, where Nell was dressing herself as Flora, and was all unready, and is very pretty, prettier than I thought (which can mean nothing but that he saw more of her person than he had seen before). But 10 see how Nell cursed for having so few people in the pit was pretty. This from the grave and virtuous Pepys ! On the 11th of January, 1667-8, Pepys notes a rumor that "the King had sent for Nelly;" and it is known that Lord Buckhurst was then pensioned, promised a peerage, and sent on what Dryden calls "a sleeveless errand" to France. In the spring of 1670, a tragedy of Dryden's, "The Conquest of Granada,' in which Nelly was to have taken the leading part-had to be put off, to give time for the future Duke of St. Alban's to make his first appearance on this earthly stage-tiny little whimperer! When the play did appear, Dryden said in his epilogue, referring also to little Miss Davis," 64 Think him not duller for the year's delay; He was prepared-the women were away. Pity the virgins of each theatre, Mr. Cunningham says hereupon-"The poet's meaning has escaped his editors"—and we do not doubt he is right; still, we cannot help saying, is it possible it should escape any man with eyes and brains? Mr. Jerrold makes his plot out of a triple intrigue, in which Lord Buckhurst, an old barrister, and King Charles, appear personally or by deputy. King Charles protects Nelly from the old barrister, and-seizes her for his own behoof. It is while Charles is in chase of her, with the old lawyer for a competitor, that Mr. Jerrold makes Nelly suggest Chelsea Hospital: SCENE.-An Apartment in the Mitre Tavern. NELL GWYNNE, CHARLES, and BERKELEY, at table. Nell. Listen. I dreamt that I was riding in a fine golden coach with the king. Char With the king! Nell. You know we do dream such strange things with the king. Well, the coach stopped; when there came up a poor old soldier without any legs or arms; and of a sudden he held out his handChar. What! without any arms? Nell. You know, it was only in a dream. Char. Yes, Nelly; but you ought to dream according to anatomy. gray Nell. I say, he held out his hand; and, telling us, that he had no place to lay his old head upon, not a morsel of bread to put into his mouth, he begged for charity, while the tears came peeping into the corners of his eyes. Char. Well? Nell. I turned round to the king,-for, bless you, I was altogether at my ease, no more afraid of him than I am of you, and I said "Charles !"— Char. Charles! Nell. "Is it not a shame to let your old soldiers carry about their scars as witnesses of their king's forgetfulness ?-is it not cruel that those who for your sake❞— [Unconsciously laying her hand upon the Char. For my sake? Nell. "Who for your sake have left some of their limbs in a strange country, should have no resting-place for the limbs they have, in their own ?" Char. I see the end: the king relieved the soldier, and then you awoke? Nell. No I didn't: for I thought the coach went on towards Chelsea, and there Char. Well what happened at Chelsea? Nell. There, I thought I saw a beautiful building suddenly grow up from the earth; and going in and coming out of it, just like so many bees, heaps of old soldiers, with their long red coats, and three-corner hats, and some with their dear wooden legs, and all with their rough faces looking so happy and contented,-that, when I looked and thought it was all my work, I felt as if I could have kissed every one of 'em round! and perhaps admitted its truth, so that the house in Pall Mall was conveyed free to Nell and her representatives forever. The truth of the story is confirmed by the fact that the house No. 79 is the only freehold on the south or Park side of Pall Mall. We believe there is no reasonable ground With the poor Queen quite crushed, and for doubting that Nelly was the originator of ceasing to complain at anything the King Chelsea Hospital, though we (the present did; with the Countess of Castlemaine wanwriter) are, to be sure, predisposed to being in the royal favor; with Louise de Querlieve it, from early impressions. We were born at Chelsea, and Nell Gwyn mingles with our first recollections; we well remember puzzling our little brains with the apparent contradiction that "a naughty woman" founded a House of Mercy! The famous "broad-brimmed hat and waistbelt" arose from what in those times would be called a "banter" or "satyr" upon French costume, which took wonderfully at "the other House." It was in the character of Almahide, in the "Conquest of Granada," while speaking the prologue in the hat and belt, that Nelly seems to have added "the last ounce which broke the donkey's back," and made Charles her slave for ever. So great an effect as was produced upon Charles by this performance finds, says Mr. Cunningham, onaille, afterwards Duchess of Portsmouth, for a rival; Eleanor Gwyn seems to have maintained her hold upon Charles' affections (such as they were), and to have incurred wonderfully little enmity from any class or person. Between her and Louise de Queronaille (called Mrs. Carrel by the people!), who was disliked for her creed, and her political mission," there were some tiffs, in which the imperious "baby-face' seems to have come off second-best, owing to the invincible good-humor and wit of her plebeian antagonist. Madame de Sevigné writes in these terms: acknowledge him, and I am assured he will; for he loves me as well as Mademoiselle.' As to Mademoiselle, she reasons thus: "This lady," says she," pretends to be a person of qual ity; she says she is related to the best families in France; whenever any person of distinction dies, she puts on mourning. If she be a lady of quality, why does she demean herself to be a a parallel in the passion which George the Fourth, for me, I do not pretend to be anything better. courtezan? She ought to die with shame. As when Prince of Wales, evinced for Mrs. Robin-He has a son by me; I contend that he ought to son while playing the part of Perdita, in " A Win: ter's Tale." What a true name is Perdita indeed for such a fate, and what a lesson may a young actress learn from the story of poor Mrs. Robinson, when told, as I have heard it told, by her grave in Old Windsor Churchyard! Nor is Nelly's 's story without its moral; and now that we have got her from the purliens of Drury Lane, and the contaminations of the Green Room-for the part of Almahide was her last performance on the stage-we shall find her true to the King, and evincing in her own way more good than we should have expected to find from so bad a bringing up. Nelly's first son, Charles Beauclerk, was born in Lincoln's Inn-fields. She afterwards removed to No. 79, Pall Mall, which is now "tenanted," says Mr. Cunningham, by the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts. Nelly at first had only a lease of the house, which, as soon as she discovered, she returned the conveyance to the King, with a remark characteristic of her wit, and of the monarch to whom it was addressed.* The King enjoyed the joke, We presume the "joke" cannot be reported otherwise than vaguely to decent people. Mr. Cunningham proceeds: The news of the Cham of Tartary's death reached England at the same time with the news of the death of a prince of the blood in France. The Duchess appeared at Court in mourning. So did Nelly! The latter was asked in the hearing of the Duchess for whom she appeared in mourning. Oh,' said Nell, "have you not heard of my loss in the death of the Cham of Tartary?" And what relation," replied her friend, ส was the Cham of Tartary to you?" Nelly, "exactly the same relation that the Prince "Oh," answered was to M'elle Queronaille." of But, says Defoe I remember that the late Duchess of Portsmouth gave a severe retort to one who was praising Nell Gwyn, whom she hated. They were talking of her wit and beauty, and how she diverted the King with her extraordinary repartees, how she had a fine mien, and appeared as much the lady of quality as anybody. "Yes, madam," said the Duchess," but anybody may know she has been an orange-wench by her swearing. 1 When Nelly was insulted in her coach at Oxford | 66 had an exemplary affection. Charles Beauclerk was playing about, when she and the King were together. Come hither, you little bastard," cries Mamma. "For shame, Nelly!" says the King. Laughing snappishly The mob were delighted, and she went on (for her), she replied, "Well, I have no bet unharmed. An eminent goldsmith of the early part of the last century was often heard to relate a striking instance of Nelly's popularity. "His master, when he was an apprentice, had made a most expensive service of plate as a present from the King to the Duchess of Portsmouth: great numbers of people crowded to the shop to see what the plate was like; some indulged in curses against the Duchess, while all were unanimous in wishing the presents had been made for Mrs. Gwyn." With the London 'Prentices, long an influential body, both east and west of Temple Bar, Nell was always a favorite. A half-sheet of rhymes was printed in 1682, called "A Dialogue between the Duchess of Portsmouth and Madame Gwyn," in which Nelly says, in reply to a threat of her haughty and intriguing rival The people's hate, much less their curse, I fear, How truly English these lines, are they not? Out of a thousand stories of Nell's good But we are anticipating. On the 25th of ter name to call him by!" The King forthwith remedies that by creating the fine little fellow Baron of Headington and Earl of Burford-besides betrothing to him (!) the lovely heiress of the Veres. In 1680, her son James died; near about then died many of her old companions, and she was full of grief. Honors, too, were being heaped upon her old rival, Portsmouth's, son; but, without ill humor, she persisted in seeking, and finally obtained, another title for her surviving boy. Charles was made Duke of St. Alban's, Registrar of the High Court of Chancery, and Master Falconer of England--an office still held by the present Duke. The only existing letter of Nelly's, in the hand of an amanuensis, is dated April 14, 1684, and is a truly feminine affair; incoherent, goodnatured, anxious about "my mantle which you were to line with Musk-Color Sattin," and rather affecting, in that it says--“ I am extreame ill, and believe I shall die.” We have had many thoughts all this while of the slighted, insulted Queen, and have but lightly touched the depravity of the King and his Court. "I can never forget," writes Evelyn, "the inexpressible luxury and profaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness, and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God, it being Sunday evening, which this day se'nnight I was witness of; the King sitting and toying with his concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland, Mazarine, &c.; a French boy singing love songs in that glorious gallery, whilst the courtiers were at basset, with a bank of at least 2,000l. in gold before them." At eight the next morning, the King had an apoplectic fit; on the following Friday he died, begging pardon of the Queen, and saying, "Let not poor Nelly starve !"There is reason to believe King Charles was poisoned, it seems; or at least the arguments pro and con are pretty evenly balanced. Nelly did not starve. She was in some difficulty after Charles's death, and had to pledge, or sell, or, as she phrases it, "boyle" some plate. But, to his everlasting honor, James cared for her when Monmouth was even at the door, and his own troubles were many; so kindly, indeed, did he care for her, that a report arose that she went to mass." Nelly, however, remained a Pro testant, and, as it would seem, a not unintelligent or insincere Protestant, up to her death. It must not be supposed-will not be supposed, by any one who has read life in the great broad world, as well as in conventicles--that Nelly was destitute of religious feeling, because she was gay and thoughtless. That she had sagacity enough to make her preference of the reformed faith only a natural thing, is abundantly clear. Some of her shrewd comments on men and things are very striking, and prove that if she did not meddle with politics and State-religion, it was not for want of capacity. Nelly was extreame ill," and Dr. Lower, her physician, brought Tenison to her bedside; from him she received much consolation, and he became attached to her. "Her repentance in her last hours," says Cibber, "appeared in all the contrite symptoms of a Christian sincerity." Cibber might not know much about it, but Nelly's directness of nature creates a probability in her favor. In the codicil to her will she left "One hundred pounds for the use of the poor, to be disposed of by Dr. Tenison, for taking any poor debtors out of prison, and for clothes this winter, and other necessaries, as he shall find most fit."-"To show my charity for those who differ from me in religion, I desire that fifty pounds may be put into the hands of Dr. Tenison and Mr. Warner, who taking to them any two persons of the Romish religion-(we beg the reader to notice the kind thoughtfulness of this)-may dispose of it for the use of the poor of that religion, inhabiting the parish," &c., &c.-" That Jo, my porter, may have ten pounds given him." The will leaves her property " to my dear natural son, His Grace, the Duke of St. Alban's," with 100l. to each executor. The bequest to "poor prisoners" is noticeable: Nelly's father was said to have died in prison, at Oxford, and she, remembering this, gloried all her life in relieving "poor prisoners." Dr. Tenison boldly preached an affection ate sermon for her funeral, not without incurring obloquy; he made it imperative in his own will, that no one should preach any funeral sermon for him! She died in November, 1687, aged 37--the exact day is not known-of apoplexy." Readers who are aware of the significance of a large cerebellum and thick neck, will think *It was, besides, one of her last requests to the Duke of St. Alban's, that he would cause to be laid out every Christmas twenty pounds in relieving poor debtors. leniently of Nelly's sensuous career, and be thankful she was so different from the Pompadours, Catherines, and Portsmouths. We may add that Eleanor Gwyn could not write much, as was the case with many of better opportunities; and that she used to sign with a clumsy E. G. half an inch high and wide, painfully dotted at the first and last points of contact between pen and paper. Also, that little attention is due to stories of her having lived here, there, or anywhere; there are more houses with which tradition has connected her name, than there are watches of Oliver Cromwell. She was to have been made Countess of Greenwich, if the King had lived, but it is better for her memory that she died untitled, and that the English think of her as she is painted on the signboard at Chelsea, only a pretty girl, with a pet lamb at her side. We grieve over Nell, and cry, How happy she might have made an honest man's house! we cannot help it. But that was not to be, and Charles might have been a worse man than he was, if he had not been brought under the influence of so sunny and kind a nature. It is worth notice that her repentance seems to have been quite free from gall and gloom. We hope this little labor of ours-(introducing one of Mr. Cunningham's)-will not have been in vain, and that some reader who has hitherto thought of Nell only as a vain, debauched, worthless woman, may now find Charles Lamb, with which we started. Gooda degree of significance in the words of ness, be assured, does not depend upon the notions of cliques, and is found in play-bouses, and even in worse places. In particular, women, with their naturally superior morale, and greater imitableness, have generally some cultivable germ of feeling in their characters, from which their redemption may be made to grow. We remember being much affected by an account in the papers of a few months. back, of a poor, lost girl at Cambridge, who. was broken hearted over a young collegian who had died on her bed we wondered whether any one in the town thought of the "spark divine" in this young creature, andɩ sought to fan it into a heavenly flame! We are conscious that a danger attaches.. to reading-and to writing-such papers as. these-a danger that, except in staid and settled characters, the boundary lines of We would therefore beg the "general" reader virtue and vice may be partially obliterated. not to dismiss this story of Nell Gwyn light ly, but to remember that Christian self-con trol is, practically, the highest wisdom, and impulsive, but ill-regulated goodness, too the sure means to the happiness which often, misses. From Dickens' Household Words. PLAGUES OF LONDON. you, which hath made the sickness, I believe, rage more. For south winds are always observed to be bad in such times, and the wind stays not long out of that quarter. It (the plague) decreases in some places and grows very much in others. I hope that there will not so many die here as did last week, and yet we have twenty-one or twenty-two dead already. I suppose you think that I intend to stay here still, though I understand by your question you would not have me. But, my friend, what am I better than another? Somebody must be here, and is it fit I should set such a value upon myself as my going away and leaving another will signify?" [Here you speak, Mr. Symon, like a minister right worthy of your calling.] "I preach to those who are well, and write to those who are ill (I mean, print little papers for them, which yet are too big to send to you by the post;) but I am sure while I stay here I shall do good to their bodies, and perhaps save some from perishing." HARROWING accounts of the great plague are familiar to all readers. We do not wish to add to their number, and mean only to suggest some analogies between the plague of sixteen hundred and sixty-five and the plague of our own times, say of eighteen hun dred and fifty-five, by showing how a sensible man talked about it. There are extant a number of unpublished letters from the Rev. Patrick Symon, Rector of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, afterwards Lord Bishop of Ely. He addressed these letters to a lady who had retired, for safety's sake, into the country. On the ninth of August, sixteen hundred and sixty-five, he wrote to his friend in a tone used certainly by many who wrote from London in the same month of last year. "There is some danger, no doubt, in this place, and it increases a little; but I am not in any fear, which will make the danger less. There died, as you will see by the bills of mortality to-morrow, twenty in this parish, whereof sixteen of the plague. This, I know, will debar me of the liberty of seeing you, and I The terrible phantom which was the espe submit to that restraint. For though you cial horror of the plagues of our forefathers will be inclined, I believe, to give me that rises in this passage from a letter written freedom, yet it will not be either civil or kindlater in the autumn: " May I not buy a pair to accept of that grant till we be in a better condition of health." But he went on to suggest a terror happily banished from the current history of London pestilence. "If you think there is any danger from those papers which you receive, the fire, I suppose, will expel it, if you let them see it before they come into your hands. You see how cautious I am grown." In the month following says the good pastor-"Last week I was more than ordinary feeble, which was a thing common to me with others, the effects of which you see in the vast increase of the sickness. It was a lovely season yesterday, and we hoped for some sweet, clear weather, but it pleases God the wind is changed again, and brings abundance of rain with it; and, indeed, we have had no settled weather since I saw of stockings of a friend whom I can be confident is not infected, and which have lain long in his shop? I want nothing else at present, and how should it be more dangerous than to receive beer and wine, the vessels being capable of infection; but especially bread, they say, is the most attractive of it, which I am forced to buy, for I have no other ways to have it." Upon the daily bread of the poor with how terrible a curse must this notion have rested! "I saw last Tuesday," says the Rector of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, "about thirty people in the Strand, with white sticks in their hands, and the doctor of the pest-house in his gown, walking before them. The first woman rid on an horse, and had a paper flag on the top of her stick with LAUS DEO writ |