J. H.
On Wednesday the 23d of April, 1740, the upper church at Guildford, in Surrey, fell down. It was an ancient building, and not long before, seven hundred and fifty pounds were expended upon it in repairs. There was preaching in it on the Sunday before, and workmen were employed in taking down the bells, who, providentially, had quitted the spot about a quarter of an hour before the accident happened, so that not one person received any hurt, though numbers were spectators. Three bells had been taken down, and the other three fell with the steeple, which broke the body of the church to pieces, though the steeple received but little damage by the fall.
Spring in the City,
and
Jemmy Whittle.
At Laurie and Whittle’s print-shop “nearly opposite St. Dunstan’s church, Fleet-street,” or rather at Jemmy Whittle’s, for he was the manager of the concern—I cannot help calling him “Jemmy,” for I knew him afterwards, in a passing way, when every body called him Jemmy; and after his recollection failed, and he dared no longer to flash his merriment at the “Cock,” at Temple-bar, and the “Black Jack,” in Portugal-street, but stood, like a sign of himself, at his own door, unable to remember the names of his old friends, they called him “poor Jemmy!”—I say, I remember at Jemmy Whittle’s there was always a change of prints in spring-time. Jemmy liked, as he said, to “give the public something alive, fresh and clever, classical and correct!” One print, however, was never changed; this was “St. Dunstan and the Devil.” To any who inquired why he always had “that old thing” in the window, and thought it would be better out, Jemmy answered, “No, no, my boy! that’s my sign—no change—church and state, you know!—no politics, you know!—I hate politics! there’s the church, you know, [pointing to St. Dunstan’s,] and here am I, my boy!—it’s my sign, you know!—no change, my boy!” Alas, how changed! I desired to give a copy of the print on St. Dunstan’s day in the first volume of the Every-Day Book, and it could not be found at “the old shop,” nor at any printsellers I resorted to. Another print of Jemmy Whittle’s was a favourite with me, as well as himself; for, through every mutation of “dressing out” his window it maintained its place with St. Dunstan. It was a mezzotinto, called
The Laughing Boy.
“In summer’s heat, and winter’s cold.”
During all seasons this print was exhibited, “fresh, and fresh.” At that time prints from the Flemish and Dutch masters, and humorous matters of all kinds, were public favourites. From my early liking to the “Laughing Boy,” and because, with the merit of good design, it is a superior specimen of popular taste at the time I speak of, a [copy] is at the service of that reader, who may perhaps think with “poor Jemmy Whittle,” that an agreeable subject is always in season, and that as a worse might have been presented, this speaking relatively, is really very pretty.