Close by the church, in the corner house, lived the Earl of Orford, better known as the great Admiral Russell, who defeated the French off La Hogue. His ship was called the Britannia, and from its beams he made the staircase of his house, which had—and, I believe, still has—wonderful carvings of ropes and anchors, the whole being surmounted by the coronet and initials of the house of Orford. Here he was living in 1710, and on his left, three houses further up in the Piazza, was the painter Closterman, whose beautiful portrait of Purcell was reproduced for readers of The Girl’s Own Paper in the last December number.
To the right of Admiral Russell’s house was King Street; in fact this house, which has since been re-built, is now numbered 43, King Street.
Our illustrations shows Covent Garden as it was in 1660; that is, fifty years previous to the time now under discussion. Lord Orford’s house had then not been built, and the so-called Little Piazza, a column of which appears in the foreground to the left, was not completed. But the church is there and a portion of the Great Piazza, in the corner to the right. The gabled houses just beyond the Piazza are in King Street, then, as now, a business street. No. 38, which we know as Stevens’ Auction Rooms—a great place for buying bulbs at certain times of year—was long occupied by Paterson, the celebrated book auctioneer, whose son, Samuel, was the godson of Dr. Johnson. In Paterson’s rooms the literary men of the day used to meet; there Dibdin wrote some of his finest songs, and there the walls have often echoed to the applause which followed his singing of “Poor Jack.”
Four doors further down, at No. 34,[1] there was living in 1710 an upholsterer—Thomas Arne, by name—whose sign was the Two Crowns and Cushions. In 1690, this Arne had been overseer of the poor of the parish of St. Paul’s, Covent Garden, and he was then living in a much more modest dwelling in Bedford Street.
Apparently he was a man of artistic tastes, for his rate-book, which may still be seen, bears his name upon its cover in very beautiful ornamental lettering.
That he was also an excellent man of business is sufficiently proved by the fact that he occupied his house in King Street until 1733, paying a yearly rent of £75—a high price in those days. He was twice married, his second marriage taking place in 1707 at Mercer’s Chapel, and the lady’s name being Anne Wheeler. In 1710, two important events took place. On March 12th, there was born to Mr. and Mrs. Arne a little son, whom they called Thomas Augustine, and who has since been called “the English Amphion.”
A month later there came to lodge with them four Indian kings, or, as we should say, chiefs of the North American Indians. These chiefs had been brought over to England by an English officer, who very wisely foresaw that the best way to secure their allegiance, and obtain the assistance of their tribes in driving the French out of the English settlements in Canada was to impress them with the grandeur and power of England.
Accordingly, the visitors were treated with every courtesy; they were received by Queen Anne herself, and loaded with presents. Two royal carriages were placed at their disposal, they were lodged, as we have seen, in “a handsome apartment,” and they were taken about to see the sights of London.
The ruse was successful. When the “kings” left our shores they were quite willing to back the English against all the world. Readers of Fenimore Cooper’s stirring novel, The Last of the Mohicans, will gain some further knowledge of Queen Anne’s strange visitors, for the Mohicans are there said to be subordinate to the Iroquois, or Five Nations, to which the chiefs belonged.
Addison was much interested in the strangers, and says in the Spectator of April 27, 1711, that he often mixed with the rabble and followed them for a whole day together. Some very amusing accounts of the “kings” are given both in the Tatler and Spectator. One of them I must repeat.