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VAUXHALL GARDENS. OLD and young-the world in all its seven ages-every one loves Vauxhall. It is a pleasant place for old folks to think of by-gone days and scenes; and there is so much agreeable anecdote respecting the spot, that it is impossible not to be charmed with the name. You dream of its hundred fold associations :as Addison, and Sir Roger de Coverley's voyage to the Gardens; old Jonathan Tyers, and all the paintings in the pavilions by Hayman and Hogarth; and the singers, too; and the old-fashioned orchestra; and the few glimmering lamps and dark walks, when mirth and modesty went hand in hand, and little soul-breathing ecstacies were exchanged here from dewy eve till morn. We need not tell the reader that such places of amusement as Vauxhall are very frequent on the Continent; but, in point of splendour, they all yield to that of our metropolis. The French have their Tivoli, and half-a-score others, and they have

even condescended to borrow our name: they have their "Wauxhall" d'été, and d'hiver, and their annoncés, or bills, may be seen posted on the columns of the Palais Royal, at Paris. Many a time has the French name, uncouth as it may sound, sent our eyes and heart back to loving friends in Old England "Merry England," as she was once distinctively called. But the French entertainments of this description are far better entitled than are our splendid doings to that name. We think we have hit upon the true cause of our failure, or rather Sterne has for us, since he says, "A true feeler always brings half the entertainments along with him." The French have more of the gaieté de cœur than we have, and, consequently, our mirth requires stronger excitement; and this does not always succeed, for we have seen more joy at a Sunday fête in the Park at St. Cloud, than we ever saw at Vauxhall.

But, to the Engraving-OLD VAUX

HALL.

The reader need hardly be told that these celebrated Gardens are situated near the Thames, in the parish of Lambeth, about a mile and a half from Westminster Bridge. They derive their name from the manor of Vauxhall, or Faukeshall; but the tradition that this property was the property of Guy Fawkes, is erroneous. The premises were, in 1615, the property of Jane Vaux, and the mansion was then called Stockdens. The gardens appear to have been originally planted with trees, and laid out into walks, for the pleasure of a private gentleman, Sir Samuel Moreland,

who displayed in his house and gardens many whimsical proofs of his skill in/ mechanics.*

The time when this enchanting place was first opened for the entertainment of the public is involved in some uncertainty. Its celebrity is, however, established to be upwards of a century and a half old. In the reign of Queen Anne, it appears to have been a place of great public resort; for, in the Spectator, No. 383, dated May 20, 1712, Addison has introduced Sir Roger de Coverley, as accompanying him in a voyage from Temple Stairs to Vauxhall, then called Spring Garden. The morality of the place is rather equivocal, upon Addison's showing, for the motto to his paper is

Criminibus debent portos-Juvenal.
A beauteous garden, but by vice maintain'd.

He says 66 we made the best of our way for Fox-hall," (in the folio edition,) which implies that the place was called Spring Garden, Fox-hall. He describes the garden as "excellently pleasant at this time of year. When I considered the fragancy of the walks and bowers, with the choirs of birds that sung upon the trees, and the loose tribe of people that walked under their shades; I could not but look upon the place as a sort of Mahometan paradise." Masks were worn there, at least by some visiters, for Addison talks of " a mask," tapping Sir Roger upon the shoulder, and inviting him to drink a bottle of Mead with her. A glass of Burton ale and a slice of hung beef formed the supper of the party.

The place, however, resembled a teagarden of our days, till the year 1730, when Mr. Jonathan Tyers took a lease of the premises, and shortly afterwards opened Vauxhall, with an advertisement of a Ridotto al Fresco. The novelty of this term attracted great numbers; and Mr. Tyers was so successful in occasional repetitions of the same entertainments, as to be induced to open the Gardens every evening during the summer. Hogarth, at this time, had lodg-* ings at Lambeth Terrace,† and becoming intimate with Tyers, was induced to embellish the Gardens with his designs. "He drew," says his biographer, "the

* It is said that the gardens were planted in the reign of Charles I. nor is it improbable, since, according to Aubrey, they were well known in 1667, when Sir Samuel Moreland, the proprietor. added a public room to them, "the inside of which," he says, "is all looking-glass, and fountains, very pleasant to behold, and which is much visited by strangers."

The house which he occupied is still shown; and a vine pointed out, which he planted.Allan Cunningham.

Four Parts of the Day, which Hayman copied; the two scenes of Evening and Night, with portraits of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn. For this assistance, which seems to have been gratuitous, the proprietor presented him with a gold ticket of admission for himself and a friend, which he enjoyed long, and his wife after him. Some of these works have perished; nor is this much to be regretted—they had little of the peculiar character which distinguished his other productions."'* Hayman who joined Hogarth in embellishing the Gardens, was one of the earliest members of the Royal Academy, and was, when young a scene-painter at Drury Lane Theatre. Tyers's improvements consisted of sweeps of pavilions and saloons, in which these paintings were placed. He also erected an orchestra, engaged a band of music, and placed a fine statue of Handel, by Roubiliac, in a conspicuous part of the Gardens.† Mr, Tyers afterwards purchased the whole estate, which is copyhold of inheritance, and held of the Prince of Wales, as Lord of Kennington Manor, in right of his Duchy of Cornwall.

To trace Vauxhall through its alterations and embellishments would be too lengthy a task for our pages; so that we can only glance at the period of our Engraving about ninety years since, or at the commencement of Tyers's proprietorship. Probably few visiters, comparatively speaking, have paid much attention to the topography of the Gardens. A slight exertion of memory will, however, enable them to see how little the present disposition of the grounds varies from the original plan, or that before them in the annexed Engraving. The foreground is occupied by the entrance now distinguished as "the Water Gate." Next are the principal sweep of pavilions, and the roofs of the Rotunda, and the adjoining saloons. To the left, in a line since called "the Dark Walk," near the pavilions, was the artificial Cascade, afterwards displaced by the Cottage scene, with the old man smoking, &c.; and at the extremity of the walk was some other decoration. The Cascade was, doubtless, one of the original exhibitions; for in the Connoisseur dated Thursday, May 15, 1755, it is mentioned, though not as a novelty-" At Vauxhall the artificial

* Allan Cunningham.

+ Mr. Cunningham dates the appearance of this statue at 1732. It was Roubiliac's earliest work, and its history is quoted from Mr. Cunning ham's work, at page, 411 of vol. xv. of the Mirror.

ruins are repaired; the cascade is made to spout with several additional streams of block-tin; and they have touched up all the pictures, which were damaged last season by the fingering of those curious connoisseurs, who could not be satisfied without feeling whether the figures were alive." The Quadrangle, or Grove is shown, occupied by Tyers's orchestra, with a few glass vase lamps on posts, and a single line of pavilions.‡ Next is the principal walk, crossed by elegant festal arches, and thus we reach another semicircle of pavilions, in the front of which is Roubiliac's statue ; and in the right-hand corner of the foreground is another sweep of pavilions, and the present entrance to the Gardens from the road. The neighbourhood, or what we may call the distance of the Engraving, is not of a suburban, but of a rustic, character. The land appears common and unenclosed; and not a mansion, nay, hardly a cottage, cheers the wide waste: all that appears of culture is in the strip, apparently of kitchen-garden, which flanks the right side of the Gardens.

It would be un

Sight-loving reader, we crave your attention but for a few minutes longer, Turn to the Engraving, and consider how little art appeared requisite to provide our forefathers with amusement in the good old times of old Vauxhall. The walks are wide and open, and the lights, if not far between,* are few. What happy ease appears in the straggling groups of company; the ladies in their hoops, sacques, and caps, as they appeared in their own drawing-rooms; the gentlemen in their grotesque hats, with swords and bags. grateful to say that the covering of the walks, and fretting their roofs with "golden fires," have not increased the splendour of the place. The Gothic orchestra, too, which now occupies the centre of the Quadrangle, is much more sightly and appropriate than Tyers's music-house; yet this has stood long enough for some folks of revolutionary taste.§ Lastly, the contrast of Old Vaux, hall and the Gardens in our times will bear us out in what we have said at the commencement of this article, on the Gardens of England and France.

The Gardens were originally opened daily (Sundays excepted); and till the year 1792, the admission was ls.; it

The spacious pavilion which now fronts the orchestra, was built for Frederick Prince of Wales, who was a liberal patron of the Gardens, § The present orchestra at Vauxhall was built by a carpenter. The ornaments are of a composition something like Plaster of Paris, but known only to the ingenious architect.

was then raised to 2s. including tea and coffee; in 1809, several improvements were made, lamps added, &c. the price was raised to 3s. 6d. and the Gardens were only opened three nights in the week; in 1821 the price was again raised to 4s.

Upon the death of Mr. Jonathan Tyers, the Gardens became the property of Bryant Barrett, Esq. who married the granddaughter of the original proprietor. They next descended to Mr. Barrett's son. In 1818, the entire property was advertised for sale, but no purchaser was obtained. In 1821 it was purchased by the London Wine Company; and it is but bare justice to say they have done all in their power to revive the fashionable celebrity of Vauxhall. Had not a purchaser been found at the last-mentioned date, the fairy groves and palaces would have fallen before the mere speculator, and the site would be now covered with houses-for the whole was, in the language of the roadside," to be let as building ground." We rejoice at the result, and, as no public resort has given rise to more pleasurable associations than have been enjoyed in this delightful spot, we hope it may long remain to gladden the dull routine of London summer.

We have only room to speak of a few of the vocalists, who have from time to time warbled in the Vauxhall orchestra. Beard and Lowe were among the early favourites; then came Dignum, Mrs. Billington, Madame Storace, Incledon, Mrs. Bland, and Charles Taylor. Of a truth, Sir Roger de Coverley would have said Spring-garden put him in mind of "an aviary of nightingales,' " had he lived in the latter half of the last century, to have heard the silver strains of Vauxhall Gardens.

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"Yon Upas tree, Whose noxious leaves pervert the genial air, Whose with'ring poison tips the warrior's dart, Had ne'er attain'd to such a worthless bulk, Had some kind hand erased its primal root. Then let us blight all evil in its bud, And timely hinder what we cannot cure." The Recluse.

THE paper on "Burying in Vaults," which appeared in a late No. of The Mirror, would seem to have excited some interest in a portion of the public,

Tyers had a beautiful retreat called Denbies, near Dorking, in the same county, where he planned a sort of anti-Vauxhall, for the

though exhibited in fear. Subsequent to the publication of that article, a letter appeared in the Morning Advertiser, assuring the inhabitants of Fetter Lane and its neighbourhood of their non-contagious safety; and stating that because of a report circulated by the press, the Inquest of St. Andrew's, Holborn, deemed it incumbent on them to examine the vaults.

Connected with the subject of burying in vaults is another pernicious custom, that of interring in crowded churchyards; an existing comment on which has been communicated to the Lancet, and seemingly well authenticated. The following is an extract:

"Most of the deaths in a beautiful village in Suffolk have been occasioned by malignant putrid fever. Wangford churchyard, with its ancient Gothic church, and the remains of its Abbey, occupy the top of a little hill, and the small white houses and cottages, of which the town is composed, are built in a circle around. No spot can appear more healthy, or freer from malaria. There is a peculiar cleanness and cheerfulness about it, and it is altogether situated in an excellent natural climate. The ravages from typhus fever, therefore, can only be accounted for on Dr. Armstrong's principle, from its central churchyard, which is thickly populated with dead, not very deeply buried, according to the custom of the country. It is united to Henham, another extensive parish, which has neither church nor churchyard. Within the last seven years one of the surgeons, who lives in the yard, has three times had the typhus fever in his house. The last attack was dreadful, and fatal to several of a numerous family. Two masters of the little inn died of this fever; the glazier died of it; his wife laid many weeks at months after."t the point of death, and died a few

amusement of himself and friends. We may describe this place at some future opportunity. Denbies is now the seat of W. J. Denison, Esq., M. P.

We may append, as an interesting little note, another extract from the same article. The incident contains materials for a ballad which might emulate the pathetic one of " Edwin and Emma."

"A fine young man of twenty-three, whose sybarite (banns) was out-asked at church, died of a sudden putrid fever, two days before he was to have been married to their daughter, a village belle. The little poem called The newmade Grave,' inserted in the New Monthly Magazine, some summers ago, was occasioned by the authoress, in one of her walks through Wangford churchyard, meeting the funeral of this young man, with his bride holding the pall; he was buried on the day appointed for their marriage."

Wangford churchyard is not a solitary instance. But if the practice is productive of fatal consequences in a village, how much more so in a town, and, further, in our populous cities! The inhabitants of London may deem themselves fortunate that England is possessed of such an atmosphere: for, were it less humid, this great metropolis might become one of the "cities of the plague." In proportion to the density of the population, those great and increasing nuisances, crowded churchyards, obtrude their unseemly appearance upon our attention. A small space of earth, hardly ever exceeding an acre, is charged with the bodies of generations, and the soil, gorged with the accumulations of its kindred clay, swells to an unsightly bulk, overtopping, in some parts, the stone tablet erected to perpetuate the "hic jacet" of remains whose deposition it would be a difficult task to recognise, where the obliteration of graves, owing to daily interments in so limited a space, obliges the sexton to be "no respecter of persons." One evasion of too flagrant a violation of the tomb consists in having recourse to the revolting system of boring, in order to avoid disturbing the graves of those recently interred; and it is not unusual, in accordance with the mandate of family affection, to open a grave for the reception of a second and even of a third, coffin, ere the tenant of the first has more than passed the stage of decomposition.

But the most flagrant feature of these disgusting facts, is, that these churchyards are situated contiguous to, or immediately upon, our most public metropolitan promenades and thoroughfares, surrounded by public shops and private dwellings; as if the unhealthy effluvia of narrow streets and the pernicious stench of gas and vegetable refuse, together with the smells arising from indispensable manufactures, were not tax enough upon the citizens' health, but we must appropriate space for our bones to rot under the eye of the living!

It perhaps were magnifying the evil too much to contend that the origin and propagation of many of our fevers in London are owing to the crowding of churchyards; yet the opinion of the regretted Dr. Armstrong goes far to second this supposition, as he asserted that he had invariably observed, in the course of his town practice, the prevalence of typhus to be in the neighbourhood of burial grounds; and when we recollect the hidden wings on which infection hovers over our walks; the "stealthy step" with which it insinuates

itself into our habitations; it behoves us to consider, most promptly and earnestly, the obviation of those practices, which, however, otherwise warranted, may have the most remote possibility of inducing disease.

Poetry and sentiment have consecrated the churchyard as sacred to feeling and reflection; but we think that the ardent muse would shrink from the scene as developed in the city, and pour out her metrical sorrow for "the unhonoured dead,”

"Beneath the rugged elms and yew trees' shade."

For amidst the adust and verdureless depositories of our metropolitan dead she would find but little to call forth her poetical yearnings. Yet, the nuisance complained of seems to have been partially reformed in the case of some of the London new churches; where the space usually allotted for burials is laid out in gravel-walks, with grass-plats and flowering shrubs-an example which the ecclesiastical authorities of some of the antique edifices of London and Westminster would do well to imitate. St. Pancras, satirically denominated "the heathen temple," (though less heathen in the particular under review than some other temples,) and Trinity Church in the Borough, may be adduced as models in the formation of central churchyards, having detached burial grounds, at such a distance from population as to render them innocuous; while around each church we see the neat substitution of rollered walks and artificial swards.

A general cemetery situated at such a distance from town as may be compatible with convenience, and constructed on a scale so extensive as to afford each grave an undisturbed rest of twenty years, (or the term variable, perhaps, according to circumstances,) would provide against the necessity of filling our churchyards to the monstrous extent which has given rise to Dr. Armstrong's opinion as to the prevailing cause of typhus. In emulation of our philosophical ancestors, we might render such a cemetery attractive by adornment. Flowers and trees, of the latter the mourning willow mingled with the melancholy yew, growing around and entwining the sculptured record, intervening swards, central fountains, and intersecting walks, would not, we think, be too fairy an anticipation of a General Cemetery. "Though I would like a dry death," said Jeremy Taylor, " yet I should not like a dry funeral. Some flowers sprinkled upon my grave would do well

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