After the death of the landlord of this house, the club removed to the Prince in Sackville Street; and after two or three more changes, it finally settled down at the Thatched House, St James’s. The original portrait of Sir Joshua Reynolds, presented to the club by the painter himself, is still preserved; one of its peculiarities is, that the artist has represented himself wearing spectacles. The club is still in existence, under the name of the Dilettanti Club. “The Turk’s Head in Gerrard Street, Soho,” says Moser in his Memorandum-book, “was, more than fifty years since, removed from a tavern of the same sign, the corner of Greek and Compton Streets. This place was a kind of head-quarters for the Loyal Association during the rebellion of 1745.”[616]
About that time there was a waiter in this tavern, who, like Tennyson’s waiter at the Cock, Templebar, had obtained considerable celebrity. His name was Little Will. On an engraving dated 1752, he is represented as a small man with a large head and a periwig, dressed in a long apron, with a pair of snuffers suspended from the waist. The Rev. Mr Huddersford, of Trinity College, Oxford, in a letter to Granger, says,—
“Little Will, as I have heard, was a great favourite with the gentlemen of the coffee-house; there is a print representing him in his constant attitude, apparently insensible to anything around him, but swallowing every article of politicks that dropped, which, I am told, he understands better than any of his masters.”
The Three Turks was a sign at Norwich in 1750,[617] and even now, though the crescent is decidedly in the “last quarter,” there are still signs of Turks to be found, as the Turk and Slave, Brick Lane, Spitalfields; the Great Turk (i.e., the Sultan) at Wolverhampton—the last is of considerable antiquity, for in 1600 it was the sign of John Barnes, a bookseller in Fleet Street. One of the most opulent Turkish towns was commemorated by the Smyrna coffee-house, in Pall Mall, a fashionable coffee-house in the reign of Queen Anne, when the wits and beaux used to take their constitutional in St James’ Park, and then go to the Smyrna, where, sitting before the open windows, they could see the ladies carried past in their sedans or coaches, on their return from the Mall. This coffee-house seems to have had a reputation for politics. In the Tatler, (No. 10,) a “cluster of wise heads” is said to sit every evening from the left side of the fire at the Smyrna to the door; and in No. 78, the public is informed that “the seat of learning is now removed from the corner of the chimney on the left hand towards the window, to the round table in the middle of the floor, over against the fire; a revolution much lamented by the porters and chairmen, who were greatly edified through a pane of glass that remained broken all the last summer.” Prior, Swift, and Pope, were constant visitors at this house.
There was a Grecian coffee-house in Devereux Court, Strand, which for nearly two centuries was equally well frequented. It derived its name probably from having been opened by a Greek, the natives of that country having been among the first to open coffee-houses in London. It was a very fashionable house in the time of the Spectators and Tatlers: “My face is likewise very well known at the Grecian,” says Addison in Spectator, No. 1. It seems generally to have been frequented by literati and savants, some of them rather hot-headed:—
“I remember two gentlemen, who were constant companions, disputing one evening at the Grecian coffee-house, concerning the accent of a Greek word. This dispute was carried to such a length that the two friends thought proper to determine it with their swords; for this purpose they stept into Devereux Court, where one of them (whose name, if I remember right, was Fitzgerald) was run through the body, and died on the spot.”[618]
In this coffee-house Mrs Mapp, the famous bone-setter, (see [p. 113]) performed her cures before Sir Hans Sloane:—
“On Saturday and yesterday, Mrs Mapp performed several operations at the Grecian coffee-house, particularly one upon a niece of Sir Hans Sloane,[430] to his great satisfaction and her credit. The patient had her shoulder-bone out for about nine years.”—Grub Street Journal, October 21, 1736.
The coffee-house was closed in 1843; a bust of Essex is in front of the house it formerly occupied with the inscription, “This is Devereux Court, 1676.”
Various reasons are given to account for the sign of the Saracen’s Head. “When our countrymen came home from fighting with the Saracens, and were beaten by them, they pictured them with huge, big, terrible faces, (as you still see the sign of the Saracen’s Head is,) when, in truth, they were like other men. But this they did to save their own credit.”[619] Or the sign may have been adopted by those who had visited the Holy Land, either as pilgrims or when fighting the Saracens. Others, again, hold that it was first set up in compliment to the mother of Thomas à Becket, who was the daughter of a Saracen: formerly the sign was very general. During the time of the Commonwealth, the Saracen’s Head in Islington was a place of resort for the Londoners. In the “Walks of Islington and Hogsden, with the Humours of Wood Street Compter,” a comedy by Thomas Jordan, gentleman, 1648, the scene is laid at that tavern. It was also the sign of the house occupied by Sir Christopher Wren in Friday Street, which remained almost unchanged till it was taken down in 1844. The Saracen’s Head, Snow Hill, is one of the last remaining, and, at the same time, one of the oldest, being named in Dick Tarlton’s Jests as “the Sarracen’s Head without Newgate;” and Stow says, “next to this church [St Sepulchre’s in the Bailey] is a fair and large inn for receipt of travellers, and hath to sign the Sarrazen’s Head.” The courtyard has still many of the characteristics of an old English inn, with galleries all round leading to the bed-rooms, and a spacious gate, through which the dusty mail-coaches used to rumble in, the tired passengers creeping forth, and thanking their stars in having escaped the highwaymen, and the holes and sloughs of the road. How many hearts, beating with hope on their first entry into London, have passed under this gate, that now lie mouldering in the quiet little churchyards of the metropolis: some finding a resting-place in Westminster, whilst others ceased to beat at Tyburn. It was at this inn that Nicholas Nickleby and his uncle waited upon Squeers, the Yorkshire schoolmaster. Mr Dickens describes the old tavern as it was in the last years of our mail-coaching, when it was one of the most important places for arrivals and departures in London:—