These clubs are described in Macky’s “Journey through England,” 1724. He says they were formed to uphold the Royalist party on the accession of King George I. “This induced a set of gentlemen to establish Mughouses in all the corners of this great city, for well-affected tradesmen to meet and keep up the spirit of loyalty to the Protestant succession,” and to be ready to join their forces for the suppression of the other party. “Many an encounter they had, till at last the Parliament was obliged by a law to put an end to this city strife, which had this good effect, that upon the pulling down of the Mughouse in Salisbury Court, for which some boys were hanged on this act, the city has not been troubled with them since.” It was the custom in these houses to allow no other drink but ale to be consumed, which was brought in mugs of earthenware; a chairman was elected, and he called on the members of the company for songs, which were generally party ballads of a strongly-worded kind, as may be seen in the small collection printed in 1716, entitled “A Collection of State Songs, Poems, &c., published since the Rebellion, and sung in the several Mughouses in the cities of London and Westminster.”—Ed.
My researches could never obtain more than one letter of Cowley’s—it is but an elegant trifle—returning thanks to his friend Evelyn for some seeds and plants. “The Garden” of Evelyn is immortalised in a delightful Ode of Cowley’s, as well as by Evelyn himself. Even in this small note we may discover the touch of Cowley. The original is in Astle’s collection.
MR. ABRAHAM COWLEY TO JOHN EVELYN, ESQ.
“Barn Elms, March 23, 1663.
“Sir,—There is nothing more pleasant than to see kindness in a person for whom we have great esteem and respect: no, not the sight of your garden in May, or even the having such an one; which makes me more obliged to return you my most humble thanks for the testimonies I have lately received of you, both by your letter and your presents. I have already sowed such of your seeds as I thought most proper upon a hot-bed; but cannot find in all my books a catalogue of these plants which require that culture, nor of such as must be set in pots; which defects, and all others, I hope shortly to see supplied, as I hope shortly to see your work of Horticulture finished and published; and long to be in all things your disciple, as I am in all things now,
“Sir, your most humble and most obedient Servant,
“A. Cowley.”
[Barn Elms, from whence this letter is dated, was the first country residence of Cowley. It lies low on the banks of the Thames, and here the poet was first seized with a fever, which obliged him to remove; but he chose an equally improper locality for a man of his temperament, in Chertsey, where he died from the effects of a severe cold.]
Such were the ordinary letters which passed between two men whom it would be difficult to parallel for their elegant tastes and gentle dispositions. Evelyn’s beautiful retreat at Sayes Court, at Deptford, is described by a contemporary as “a garden exquisite and most boscaresque, and, as it were, an exemplar of his book of Forest-trees.” It was the entertainment and wonder of the greatest men of those times, and inspired the following lines of Cowley, to Evelyn and his lady, who excelled in the arts her husband loved; for she designed the frontispiece to his version of Lucretius—
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“In books and gardens thou hast placed aright (Things well which thou dost understand, And both dost make with thy laborious hand) Thy noble innocent delight; And in thy virtuous wife, where thou again dost meet Both pleasures more refined and sweet; The fairest garden in her looks, And in her mind the wisest books.” |
A term the French apply to those botches which bad poets use to make out their metre.