A celebrated leader of fashion during the early part of this century was Robert Coates, popularly styled Romeo Coates in consequence of his fondness for playing the part of Romeo at amateur theatricals. Among other past notabilities of fashion we may mention Beau Fielding, Beau Brummell, and Beau Nash, severally so styled from the foppishness of their attire. The last-named (born 1674, died 1761) was a notorious diner-out, and for some time Master of the Ceremonies at the fashionable Assembly Rooms at Bath, where he provided a series of entertainments the like of which had never been known. On this account he was surnamed King of Bath. Alas! though literally the “monarch of all he surveyed” during the brief period of his popularity, when at length Death claimed him for his own he was as poor as the meanest of King George’s subjects.
But Richard “Beau” Nash was not the only British subject who has rejoiced in the erstwhile title of King. As examples: Richard Oastler, of Bradford (born 1789, died 1861), merited the style of The Factory King, in recognition of his success in promoting the “Ten Hours’ Bill”; George Hudson, of Yorkshire (born 1800, died 1871), chairman of the Midland Railway Company, was denominated The Railway King, because in one day he cleared the large sum of £100,000 by fortunate railway speculations; John Law, the projector of the Mississippi Scheme (born 1671, died 1729), bore the name of The Paper King, than which, by the way, nothing could have been more appropriate. The huge fortunes anticipated by the subscribers to this wholesale fraud appeared promising enough upon paper, or, to put it more precisely, in the prospectus; but hard cash there was none, saving such as passed into the pockets of the wily promoter. In our own decade we have The Nitrate King, the sobriquet of Colonel J. T. North, of Eltham, consequent upon his successful speculations in the commodity with which his name has become associated.
John Kyrle, of Ross, Herefordshire (born 1637, died 1754), well known for his artistic tastes and acts of benevolence, was styled by Pope The Man of Ross, because he was constantly effecting improvements for the public good in the neighbourhood of his estate. Another local philanthropist was Dr. William Gordon, of Hull (born 1801, died 1849), whose surname, The People’s Friend, so well merited during life, literally followed him to the grave, where it appears chiselled on his tombstone. Perhaps the greatest benefactor of the human race with whom we have become practically acquainted in modern times, was Father Mathew (born 1790, died 1856), universally styled The Apostle of Temperance, beside whom, judging from results, all our latter-day temperance advocates sink into insignificance. He was also made the recipient of the sobriquet The Sinner’s Friend, on account of the special interest he took in the fallen and the outcast; even the most degraded always met with a welcome at his hands.
The Musical Small-coal Man was the popular designation of Thomas Britton (born 1650, died 1714), a vendor of small coals, which he carried in a sack over his shoulder and cried in the streets, who on Thursday evenings gave a series of high-class instrumental concerts in the room over his shed in Clerkenwell, assisted by the best talent he could procure, that attracted all fashionable London. This gifted person was actually frightened to death by the freak of a ventriloquist. Thomas Rawlinson, the bibliopolist (born 1681, died 1725), was appropriately enough styled Tom Folio. The Infant Roscius (born 1791, died 1874) was William Henry Betty, a histrionic prodigy named after the greatest actor of antiquity. His début took place at Belfast, August 19, 1803; and three months later he appeared at Covent Garden (then under the management of the elder Macready) for twelve nights at a salary of fifty guineas a night and a clear benefit. During this brief season the public excitement was so great that the military had to be called out every night to preserve order. His last appearance as a boy-actor occurred at Bath in the year 1808.
William Gerard Hamilton, the Irish Chancellor of the Exchequer (born 1729, died 1756), has been handed down to posterity under the name of Single-speech Hamilton, because he delivered but one speech in the House, and that was such a marvellous outburst of rhetoric that it electrified all who heard it. This memorable incident took place November 13, 1755. Henry Dundas, afterwards Lord Melville (born 1740, died 1811), merited the sobriquet of Starvation Dundas in consequence of his repeated use of the word “starvation” in the course of a debate on American affairs in the year 1775. Sir Robert Peel (born 1750, died 1830), during the time he was Chief Secretary for Ireland (1812 to 1816), was popularly denominated Orange Peel, on account of his strong anti-Catholic spirit [see [Orangemen]]. William Pitt, Earl of Chatham (born 1708, died 1778), was styled The Heaven-sent Minister because the most splendid triumphs of British arms were achieved during his administration. John Russell, afterwards created Earl Russell (born 1792, died 1878), received the nickname of Finality John from the fact of his maintaining that the Reform Bill of 1832 was a finality. The late Earl of Beaconsfield (born 1804, died 1881) owed his popular name of Dizzy to his own habit of setting forth his early novels during the lifetime of his father under the authorship of “D’Israeli the Younger.” In course of time this became shortened into “Dizzy,” and it clung to him ever afterwards.
Mr. W. E. Gladstone (born 1809) first received the nickname of The Grand Old Man on the occasion of the unseating in the House of Commons of Mr. Charles Bradlaugh (June 1880), through his refusal to take the oath after his election as member for Northampton. At this time Mr. Bradlaugh found a strong champion in Mr. Labouchere; and the nickname arose out of the latter’s conversation in the tea-room of the House “I told some friends,” said Mr. Labouchere, referring to the incident of Mr. Bradlaugh’s expulsion, “that before I left Mr. Gladstone came to me, and that grand old man, with tears in his eyes, took me by the hands and said, ‘Mr. Labouchere, bring me Mr. Bradlaugh back again.’”
Mr. William Henry Smith, M.P., the present First Lord of the Treasury (born 1825), is popularly known by the name of Bookstall Smith because he originated the idea of railway bookstalls, and founded the now widely-popular firm of “W. H. Smith and Sons.”
Sir Christopher Hatton (born 1540, died 1591) was styled The Dancing Chancellor because he first attracted the notice of Queen Elizabeth by his graceful dancing at one of the Court masques. In recognition of this accomplishment he was created a Knight of the Garter and subsequently made Chancellor of England. Praise-God Barebones, or, rather, Barebon, who died in 1680, was a leather-seller and the leader of the celebrated “Barebones Parliament.” It was a common custom among the Puritans to nickname people in accordance with their habits and peculiarities; consequently this individual must have been addicted to praising God in the hearing of his neighbours. William Huntingdon, the preacher and theologian (born 1744, died 1813), called himself Sinner-saved Huntingdon for reasons doubtless best known to himself. Orator Henley, otherwise John Henley (born 1692, died 1756), was an English divine who in 1726 delivered a course of lectures on theological subjects on Sundays, and on secular subjects on Wednesdays, in a kind of “oratory” or chapel in Newport Market, which attracted large congregations.
Memory Woodfall was the sobriquet of William Woodfall (born 1745, died 1803), brother to the reputed author of the famous “Letters of Junius.” This person’s memory was so perfect that he was able, after listening to a Parliamentary debate, to report it the next morning word for word without the assistance of any notes whatever. Of another kind was the memory possessed by John Thompson, the son of a greengrocer in the parish of St. Giles, popularly known as Memory-corner Thompson (born 1757, died 1843) on account of his astounding local knowledge. Within twenty-four hours, and at two sittings, he drew entirely from memory a correct plan of the parish of St. James’s. This plan contained all the squares, streets, lanes, courts, passages, markets, churches, chapels, houses, stables, and angles of houses, in addition to a number of minor objects, such as walls, trees, &c., and including an exact plan of Carlton House and St. James’s Palace. He also, on another occasion, made a correct plan of St. Andrew’s parish, and offered to do the same with the parishes of St. Giles, St. Paul’s, Covent Garden, and St. Clement-Danes. If a particular house in any given street were named, he would tell at once what trade was carried on in it, the appearance and position of the shop, and its contents. In going through a large hotel completely furnished, he was able to retain a recollection of everything he saw, and afterwards make an inventory of the whole. But, perhaps more wonderful than all, he could, after having read a newspaper overnight, repeat any desired portion of its contents verbatim the next morning. Nowadays such a one would be exhibited at the Royal Aquarium as a natural curiosity.