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Updated: May 3, 2025
It is a great title for anyone to win, and no one ever earned it more truly than this son of the rich upholsterer of Smithfield, born in Clapton, then a country village of the parish of Hackney, in 1727.
More than 65,000 persons came to Clapton Congress Hall to look upon his face as he lay in his coffin, and more than 35,000 gathered for the great Memorial Service in the Olympia, the largest obtainable building in London, on the evening before the funeral.
I dreamt that a wicked Magician had spirited you away from me. I could not find you and was all alone in the world." She put her arms around me, so tight as almost to hurt me. And thus we remained until again I must have fallen asleep. It was towards the close of these same holidays that my mother and I called upon Mrs. Teidelmann in her great stone-built house at Clapton.
My uncles, who remained bachelors to the end of their lives, earned a comfortable living; E. by teaching, A. as 'something in the City', and they rented an old rambling house in Clapton, that same in which I saw the greyhound. Their house had a strange, delicious smell, so unlike anything I smelt anywhere else, that it used to fill my eyes with tears of mysterious pleasure.
Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. He walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last.
In cynical self-derision, he pictured himself accompanied by his Indian tribe, knocking at the door of the old red house on Clapton Common and his reception there. He gave a name to his picture, and it was "The Return of the Ne'er-do-well." His brain was getting cloudy; he could not tell whether he was asleep or awake.
One familiar and very uncanny form of premonition, or of foreseeing, is that in which a coffin is seen before the death of some member of the household. The following narrative is communicated to me by Mrs. Crofts, of 22, Blurton Road, Clapton. She is quite clear that she actually saw what she describes:
The description, in Gordano, still attached to four places in this neighbourhood, Clapton, Easton, Walton, and Weston, and formerly affixed to Portbury and Portishead besides, goes back to the 13th cent. Clapton Church and manor house are both of considerable antiquity.
The Estlins and Tribes had come all the way from Bristol to attend the great meeting. The Patons of Glasgow had delayed their departure, so as to be present. The Massies had come in from Upper Clapton.
It was at this time that he wrote some verses called "Autumn," with a refrain of "For all my hopes are cold and dead, And fallen like the fallen leaves," which were published in the Clapton Methodist, and afterwards set to music by a young lady who wished to bind up another wounded heart.
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