thus showing that the Pindar of Wakefield was the older house, and famous in that locality. This doorway and stone were in existence within the last forty years, for, in a footnote to page 572 of the _Gentleman's Magazine_ of June, 1847, it says, "The gate and inscription still remain, and will be found, where we saw them a few weeks since, in the road called Coppice Row, on the left going from Clerkenwell towards the New Road." The following illustration gives Bagnigge Wells as it appeared at the end of last century. [Illustration: BAGNIGGE WELLS, NEAR BATTLE BRIDGE, ISLINGTON.] We have read how these gardens were first started in 1757, but they soon became well known and, indeed, notorious, as we read in a very scurrilous poem called "Bagnigge Wells," by W. Woty, in 1760-- "Wells, and the place I sing, at early dawn Frequented oft, where male and female meet, And strive to drink a long adieu to pain. In that refreshing Vale with fragrance fill'd, Renown'd of old for Nymph of public fame And amorous Encounter, where the sons Of lawless lust conven'd--where each by turns His venal Doxy woo'd, and stil'd the place _Black Mary's Hole_--there stands a Dome superb, Hight Bagnigge; where from our Forefathers hid, Long have two Springs in dull stagnation slept; But, taught at length by subtle art to flow, They rise, forth from Oblivion's bed they rise, And manifest their Virtues to Mankind." The major portion of this poem (?) is rather too _risque_ for modern publication, but the following extract shows the sort of people who went there with the view of benefiting their health-- "Here ambulates th' Attorney looking grave, And Rake from Bacchanalian rout uprose, And mad festivity. Here, too, the Cit, With belly, turtle-stuff'd, and man of Gout, With leg of size enormous. Hobbling on, The Pump-room he salutes, and in the chair He squats himself unwieldy. Much he drinks, And much he laughs to see the females quaff The friendly beverage. He, nor jest obscene, Of meretricious wench, nor quibble quaint, Of prentic'd punster heeds, himself a wit And dealer in conundrums, but retorts The repartee jocosely. Soft! how pale Yon antiquated virgin looks! Alas! In vain she drinks, in vain she glides around The Garden's labyrinth. 'Tis not for thee, Mistaken nymph! these waters pour their streams," &c. And in the prologue to "Bon Ton: or _High_ Life above Stairs," by David Garrick, acted at Drury Lane for the first time, for the benefit of Mr. King, in 1775, not much is said as to the character of its frequenters. "Ah! I loves life and all the joy it yields, Says Madam Fupock, warm from Spittlefields. Bon Ton's the space 'twixt Saturday and Monday, And riding in a one-horse chaise on Sunday, 'Tis drinking tea on summer's afternoons At Bagnigge Wells, with china and gilt spoons." [Footnote 34: Otherwise the Fleet.]