Page:All the Year Round - Series 2 - Volume 1.djvu/464

 aided by Lord Bateman and Dr. Wolcot, in 1777, and helped to illustrate Boydell's Shakespeare. Fashion soon deserted him when it found the rough Cornish man did not flatter, so he took to historical painting, executed several broad vigorous works, and died in 1807. Family picture galleries are like Noah's Ark—they contain strangely contrasted couples; as, for instance, here—Dean Prideaux and the Duchess of Cleveland; Jupiter and Europa and the Madonna and Child.

thirty-three years ago there was still alive, in the city of Gloucester, a very singular Mr. Wood, who was regarded there with a mixture of pride, contempt, and derision. Though this gentleman was of good family, being of "the old Brockthorp stock," which must be accepted on local authority as a good one, he was keeping a poor shop, and kept it until the day of his death. Here he attended himself, and would supply any article in the chandler's way, from a mouse-trap to a ship's anchor. Not that he kept such articles in stock, but his name was so good, his credit so strong, that he would take an order for fitting out a ship, and complete it by ordering the supplies from other merchants. There was nothing to excite derision in such proceedings. But in one corner of the shop was a little dark office, where he himself sat, with two clerks, and did business. The name of this corner was the "Old Gloucester Bank," admitted to be the oldest private establishment of the kind in the kingdom, with perhaps the exception of Child's well-known house. This in itself was an oddity—the huckstering shop and bank combined. It was more remarkable still that in that corner had been built up a fortune, which was said to make its owner the richest commoner in England.

He was of course watched, and his proceedings noted and talked of. He used to exhibit the most characteristic trait that has yet been recorded of misers—taking a ride upon a hearse, on its return journey, to avoid coach hire. The grand speculation was, what would "old Jemmy Wood" do with his money? He had no relatives to speak of, beyond some second cousins; his two sisters were dead. Would he leave it to charities? Scarcely; for it was repeated with satisfaction how he had been used to quote his father's advice: "James, don't thee leave thy money to charity; it only makes so many rogues." An officious neighbour suggested an alms-house, adding, "it would immortalise him, and do good," but received for answer a pleasant chuckle, with rubbing of hands and the old speech, "Ay, ay, and make rogues." He was an alderman, but the stupid corporation would insult him when he came to their meetings, and play practical jokes on him. They were heavily in debt, and he had been heard to say he would do something for "poor old Gloucester;" but here they only acted according to the visual corporation lights. His ways were noted. It was remarked that every Sunday he devoted to a long and solitary walk. He was not what is technically called a miser, and did not pick up old hats in the street, or deny himself food. He would give nothing in charity. He would acknowledge no relations, but, with a common shape of pride, had taken a fancy to a gentleman of the same name, whose proceedings in connexion with the Queen's trial had attracted attention—namely, "Mr. Alderman Wood, M.P., of London." There was no relationship between them, but he no doubt chose to assume there was, and the tribe of local Woods were at times not a little disquieted by this partiality. A female relation of the miser's, although unknown to the alderman, had written to him in admiration of his behaviour in relation to the Queen. At her death she left him some property, and the alderman came down to attend her funeral. This lucky tribute of respect brought him the acquaintance of her kinsman, who conceived great admiration and respect for him, gave him a house at Hatherley rent free, and wrote to Lord John Russell begging the commission of the peace for "his esteemed friend." The local folks were more and more alarmed at this intimacy, and one disinterestedly warned him: "I understand Alderman Wood has been paying you great attention. I hope you won't be imposed upon;" on which the other winked and chuckled and rubbed his hands, to hint that he knew what he was about.

No one was watching him with greater interest than a certain artful solicitor of the name of Chadborn. This gentleman managed all his business for him, as the miser believed, on the most disinterested terms. Chadborn, he said, never charged him anything save costs out of pocket, but all the while the attorney was secretly registering attendances and services of all kinds.

Mr. Chadborn soon grew to have great influence. It was reported about that the old miser had said to tenants asking for long leases, "His Honour would take care of them." That "in good time all would come to His Honour;" and this strange title of respect, recalling Sir Giles's humour in the play, he seemed to roll out with satisfaction. His Honour, with great skill, too, instead of setting himself against Mr. Alderman Wood, prudently associated that functionary in his own interests.

At last, as old Jemmy Wood was now getting on towards eighty, efforts were made to get him to make a will, and it was soon known that this had been happily accomplished. One morning in April, Alderman Wood of London received a pressing letter from one of the clerks to the effect that the old man was poorly, could not dress himself, and begged of him to come down at once. The alderman flung himself into the mail, travelled all night, and arrived to find his friend down-stairs in his bank. But the end was at hand. Jemmy Wood was carried up in a chair to bed, and