The Lloyd Family
Charles Lloyd
Thomas
Lloyd
Mary
(Shepherd) Lloyd
returning from India
Charlotte (Lloyd) Evans
3 February 1746/7 (OS/NS), in
Wrexham, Denbighshire, Wales
Thomas
Lloyd
Mary
(Shepherd) Lloyd
Maurice Evans on 2 November 1767, in
Wrexham, Denbighshire, Wales
Charlotte was almost a surrogate mother to Samuel Talyor
Coleridge, who was at school with her son Thomas and fell in love with
her daughter Mary. Coleridge, whose father had died, was not close to
his mother who lived in Devon, and he spent a lot of time at the
Evans's home in Villiers Street, London, close to the school, as well
as when he moved on to Cambridge. In Life of Coleridge p28 (1838), James
Gillman quotes Coleridge as saying that her "son, I, as upper boy, had
protected, and who therefore looked up to me, and taught me what it was
to have a mother. I loved her as such. She had three daughters, and of
course I fell in love with the eldest."
In a letter to his brother on 24 January 1792 (Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge vol 1
pp23-4 ed. Ernest Coleridge, 1895), Samuel writes that:
...my own corporealities are in a state of better health, than I ever
recollect them to be. This indeed I owe in great measure to the care of
Mrs. Evans, with whom I spent a fortnight at Christmas: the relaxation
from study coǒperating with the cheerfulness and attention, which I met
there proved very potently medicinal. I have indeed experienced from
her a tenderness scarcely inferior to the solicitude of maternal
affection.
A number of letters written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge to Charlotte while he was at Cambrisge have been preserved in Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge
(ed. Ernest Hartley Coleridge, 1895). The first contains a poem "To
Diappointment", written specially for Charlotte regarding her upcoming
visit to Wales:
Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge vol 1
pp26-30:
February 13,
1792.
MY VERY DEAR,
- What word shall I add sufficiently expressive of the warmth which I
feel? You covet to be near my heart. Believe me, that you and my sister
have the very first row in the front box of my heart's little theatre -
and - God knows! you are not crowded.
There, my dear spectators! you shall see what you shall see - Farce,
Comedy, and Tragedy - my laughter, my cheerfulness, and my melancholy.
A thousand figures pass before you, shifting in perpetual succession;
these are my joys and my sorrows, my hopes and my fears, my good
tempers and my peevishness: you will, however, observe two that remain
unalterably fixed, and these are love and gratitude. In short, my dear
Mrs. Evans, my whole heart shall be laid open like any sheep's heart;
my virtues, if I have any, shall not be more exposed to your view than
my weaknesses. Indeed, I am of opinion that foibles are the cement of
affection, and that, however we may admire
a perfect character, we are seldom inclined to love and praise those
whom we cannot sometimes blame. Come, ladies! will you take your seats
in this play-house? Fool that I am! Are you not already there? Believe
me, you are!
I am extremely anxious to be informed concerning your health.
Have you not felt the kindly influence of this more than vernal
weather, as well as the good effects of your own recommenced
regularity? I would I could transmit you a little of my superfluous
good health! I am indeed at present most wonderfully well, and if I
continue so, I may soon be mistaken for one of your very children: at least, in
clearness of complexion and rosiness of cheek I am no contemptible
likeness of them, though that ugly arrangement of features with which
nature has distinguished me will, I fear, long stand in the way of such
honorable assimilation. You accuse me of evading the bet, and imagine
that my silence proceeded from a consciousness of the charge. But you
are mistaken. I not only read your
letter first, but, on my sincerity! I felt no inclination to do
otherwise; and I am confident, that if Mary had happened to have stood
by me and had seen me take up her
letter in preference to her mother's,
with all that ease and energy which she can so gracefully exert upon
proper occasions, she would have lifted up her beautiful little leg,
and kicked me round the room. Had Anne indeed favoured me with a few
lines, I confess I should have seized hold of them before either of
your letters; but then this would have arisen from my love of novelty, and not from any
deficiency in filial respect. So much for your bet!
You can scarcely conceive what uneasiness poor Tom's accident
has occasioned me; in everything that relates to him I feel solicitude
truly fraternal. Be particular concerning him in your next. I was going
to write him an half angry letter for the long intermission of his
correspondence; but I must change it to a consolatory one. You mention
not a word of Bessy. Think you I do not love her?
And so, my dear Mrs. Evans, you are to take your Welsh journey
in May? Now may the Goddess of Health, the rosy-cheeked goddess that
blows the breeze from the Cambrian mountains, renovate that dear old
lady, and make her young again! I always loved that old lady's looks.
Yet do not flatter yourselves, that you shall take this journey tête-à-tête. You
will have an unseen companion at your side, one who will attend you in
your jaunt, who will be present at your arrival; one whose heart will
melt with unutterable tenderness at your maternal transports, who will
climb the Welsh hills with you, who will feel himself happy in knowing
you to be so. In short, as St. Paul says, though absent in body, I
shall be present in mind. Disappointment? You must not, you shall not
be disappointed; and if a poetical invocation can help you to drive off
that ugly foe to happiness here it is for you.
TO DISAPPOINTMENT.
Hence! thou
fiend of gloomy sway,
Thou
lov'st on withering blast to ride
O'er fond Illusion's air-built pride.
Sullen Spirit! Hence! Away!
Where Avarice lurks in sordid cell,
Or mad
Ambition builds the dream,
Or Pleasure plots th' unholy scheme
There with
Guilt and Folly dwell!
But oh! when Hope on Wisdom's wing
Prophetic
whispers pure delight,
Be distant far thy cank'rous blight,
Demon of
envenom'd sting.
Then haste thee, Nymph of balmy gales!
Thy poet's prayer,
sweet May! attend!
Oh! place my parent and my friend
'Mid her lovely native
vales.
Peace, that lists the woodlark's strains,
Health, that breathes
divinest treasures,
Laughing Hours, and Social Pleasures
Wait my friend
in Cambria's plains.
Affection there with mingled ray
Shall pour at once
the raptures high
Of filial and maternal Joy;
Haste thee then, delightful
May!
And oh! may Spring's fair flowerets fade,
May Summer cease her limbs
to lave
In cooling stream, may Autumn grave
Yellow o'er the corn-cloath'd glade;
Ere, from sweet retirement torn,
She seek again the crowded mart:
Nor thou, my selfish selfish heart
Dare her slow return to mourn!
In what part of the country is my dear Anne
to be? Mary must and shall be with you. I want to know all your summer
residences, that I may be on that very spot with all of you. It is not
improbable that I may steal down from Cambridge about the beginning of
April just to look at you, that when I see you again in autumn I may
know how many years younger the Welsh air has made you. I shall go into
Devonshire on the 21st of May, unless my good fortune in a particular
affair should detain me till the 4th of June.
I lately received the
thanks of the College for a declamation I spoke in public; indeed, I
meet with the most pointed marks of respect, which as I neither flatter
nor fiddle, I suppose to be sincere. I write these things not from vanity,
but because I know they will please you.
I intend to leave off suppers,
and two or three other little unnecessaries, and in conjunction with
Caldwell hire a garden for the summer. It will be nice exercise - your
advice. La! it will be so charming to walk out in one's own garding, and
sit and drink tea in an arbour, and pick pretty nosegays. To plant and
transplant, and be dirty and amused! Then to look with contempt on your
Londoners with your mock gardens and your smoky windows, making a
beggarly show of withered flowers stuck in pint pots, and quart pots,
menacing the heads of the passengers below.
Now suppose I conclude
something in the manner with which Mary concludes all her letters to me,
"Believe me your sincere friend," and dutiful humble servant to command!
Now I do hate that way of concluding a letter. 'T is as dry as a stick, as
stiff as a poker, and as cold as a cucumber. It is not half so good as my
old
God bless you
and
Your affectionately grateful
S.T. COLERIDGE
Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge vol 1
pp39-41:
February 22 [1792].
DEAR MADAM,
- The incongruity of the dates in these letters you will immediately
perceive. The truth is that I had written the foregoing heap of
nothingness six or seven days ago, but I was prevented from sending it
by a variety of disagreeable little impediments.
Mr Massy must be arrived in Cambridge by this time; but to call
on an utter stranger just arrived with so trivial a message as yours
and his uncle's love to him, when I myself had been in Cambridge five
or six weeks, would appear rather awkward, not to say ludicrous. If,
however, I meet him at any wine party (which is by no means improbable)
I shall take the opportunity of mentioning it en passant.
As to Mr. M.'s debts, the most intimate friends in college are perfect
strangers to each other's affairs; consequently it is little likely
that I should procure any information of this kind.
I hope and trust that neither yourself nor my sisters have
experienced any ill effects from this wonderful change of weather. A
very slight cold is the only favour with which it has honoured me. I feel myself apprehensive for all of you, but more particularly for Anne, whose frame I think most susceptible of cold.
Yesterday a Frenchman came dancing into my room, of which he
made but three steps, and presented me with a card. I had scarcely
collected, by glancing my eye over it, that he was a tooth-monger,
before he seized hold of my muzzle, and, baring my teeth (as they do a
horse's, in order to know his age), he exclaimed, as if in violent
agitation: "Mon Dieu! Monsieur, all your teeth will fall out in a day
or two, unless you permit me the honour of scaling
them!" This ineffable piece of assurance discovered such a genius for
impudence, that I could not suffer it to go unrewarded. So, after a
hearty laugh, I sat down, and let the rascal chouse
me out of half a guinea by scraping my grinders - the more readily,
indeed, as I recollected the great penchant which all your family have
for delicate teeth.
So (I hear) Allen will be most precipitately emancipated. Good
luck have thou of thy emancipation, Bobbee! Tell him from me that if he
does not kick Richards' fame out of doors by the superiority of his
own, I will never forgive him.
If you will send me a box of Mr Stringer's tooth powder, mamma! we will accept of it.
And now, Right Reverend Mother in God, let me claim your
permission to subscribe myself with all observance and gratitude, your
most obedient humble servant, and lowly slave,
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE,
Reverend in the future tense, and scholar of Jesus College in the present time.
Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge vol 1
pp45-47:
February 5, 1793.
MY DEAR MRS. EVANS,
- This is the third day of my resurrection from the couch, or rather,
the sofa of sickness. About a fortnight ago, a quantity of matter took
it into its head to form in my left gum, and was attended with such
violent pain, inflammation, and swelling, that it threw me into a
fever. However, God be praised, my gum has at last been opened, a
villainous tooth extracted, and all is well. I am still very weak, as
well I may, since for seven days together I was incapable of swallowing
anything but spoon meat, so that in point of spirits I am but the dregs
of my former self - a decaying flame agonizing in the snuff of a tallow
candle - a kind of hobgoblin, clouted and bagged up in the most
contemptible shreds, rags, and yellow relics of threadbare mortality.
The event of our examination was such as surpassed my expectations, and
perfectly accorded with my wishes. After a very severe trial of six
days' continuance, the number of the competitors was reduced from
seventeen to four, and after a further process of ordeal we, the
survivors, were declared equal each to the other, and the Scholarship,
according to the will of its founder, awarded to the youngest of us,
who was found to be a Mr. Butler of St John's College. I am just two
months older than he is, and though I would doubtless have rather had
it myself, I am yet not at all sorry at his success; for he is sensible
and unassuming, and besides, from his circumstances, such an accession
to his annual income must have been very acceptable to him. So much for
myself.
I am greatly rejoiced at your brother's recovery; in proportion,
indeed, to the anxiety and fears I felt on your account during his
illness. I recollected, my most dear Mrs. Evans, that you are
frequently troubled with a strange forgetfulness of yourself, and too
apt to go far beyond your strength, if by any means you may alleviate
the sufferings of others. Ah! how different from the majority of others
whom we courteously dignify with the name of human - a vile herd, who
sit still in the severest distresses of their friends,
and cry out, There is a lion in the way! animals, who walk with leaden
sandals in the paths of charity, yet to gratify their own inclinations
will run a mile in a breath. Oh! I do know a set of little, dirty,
pimping, petty-fogging, ambidextrous fellows, who would set your house
on fire, though it were but to roast an egg for themselves! Yet surely,
considering it were a selfish view, the pleasures that arise from
whispering peace to those who are in trouble, and healing the broken in
heart, are far superior to all the unfeeling can enjoy.
I have inclosed a little work of that great and good man Archdeacon Paley; it is entitled Motives of Contentment,
addressed to the poorer part of our fellow men. The twelfth page I
particularly admire, and the twentieth. The reasoning has been of some
service to me, who am of the
race of the Grumbletonians. My dear friend Allen has a resource against
most misfortunes in the natural gaiety of his temper, whereas my
hypochondriac, gloomy spirit amid blessings
too frequently warbles out the hoarse gruntings of discontent! Nor have
all the lectures that divines and philosophers have given us for these
three thousand years past, on the vanity of riches, and the cares of
greatness, etc., prevented me from sincerely regretting that Nature had
not put it into the head of some rich man to beget me for his first-born,
whereas now I am likely to get bread just when I shall have no teeth
left to chew it. Cheer up, my little one (thus I answer I)! better late than never. Hath literature been thy choice, and hast thou food and raiment? Be thankful, be amazed
at thy good fortune! Art thou dissatisfied and desirous of other
things? Go, and make twelve votes at an election; it shall do thee more
service and procure thee greater preferment than to have made twelve
commentaries on the twelve prophets. My dear Mrs. Evans! excuse the
wanderings of my castle building imagination. I have not a thought
which I conceal from you. I write to others, but my pen talks to you. Convey my softest affections to Betty, and believe me,
Your grateful and affectionate boy,
S.T. COLERIDGE.
1792: York House, Villiers Street, London (Collected Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge vol 1 1785-1800 p32)
Christopher Lloyd
William
Lloyd
Kitty
Alderson (Lever)
Lloyd
Landed Gentry of Great Britain and Ireland
(Burke, 1850) p207
notes that Christopher died young. He presumably was born and died
before the birth of his brother Christopher Alderson Lloyd in 1790.
Christopher Alderson (Lloyd) Alderson
29 September 1790
14 May 1793, in St Stephen,
Coleman Street,
London, England
William
Lloyd
Kitty
Alderson (Lever)
Lloyd
Fanny Greig
In the 1841 census, Christopher and Fanny's son, William, is staying at
Tulloch, Kilmonivaig, Inverness-shire, at the home of a Robert
Greig, farmer, aged 50. Quite possibly this Robert was Fanny's father.
13 December 1845, in Brighton,
Sussex, England, aged 54
The Gentleman's Magazine vol 179 p109
(Sylvanus Urban, 1846)
OBITUARY
SUSSEX
Dec. 13. At Brighton,
aged 54, Christopher Alderson Alderson, esq. of the Five Houses,
Clapton.
Christopher
entered
the East India Company's Army in 1809 as an officer cadet.
In
accordance with the will of his great-uncle Christopher Alderson, who
died in 1810, Christopher Alderson Lloyd changed his name by Royal
license, 11 June 1812, to Christopher Alderson Alderson. Christopher's arms reflected a
mixture of his Lloyd and Alderson
ancestry:
(CHRISTOPHER ALDERSON ALDERSON, of Homerton, Middlesex, Esq., who, by
sign manual 1812, changed his patronymic LLOYD for the name of ALDERSON
only).
ARMS:..Argent three saracens' heads affrontee couped at the shoulders
proper wreathed about the temples of the first and sable quartering
azure three boars' heads couped in pale or, for LLOYD.
CRESTS:..A dove, holding in the beak an olive branch proper, for
ALDERSON; and a boars' head couped or, for LLOYD.
1845: Five Houses, Clapton, Hackney, Middlesex (death
notice of son Robert, see also British
History online)
Elizabeth Lloyd
31 May 1745, in Wrexham,
Denbighshire, Wales
Thomas
Lloyd
Mary
(Shepherd) Lloyd
1797
Elizabeth Lloyd
7 May 1789
8 June 1789, in St Martin
Ludgate, London, England
William
Lloyd
Kitty
Alderson (Lever)
Lloyd
Elizabeth is not
mentioned in the will of her great-uncle Christopher
Alderson in 1810, although four of her siblings are named in the will,
and so it is likely that she died before 1810.
Emma (Lloyd) Plumbe
27 January 1798
26 February 1798, in St.
Lawrence Jewry and St Mary Magdalene, Milk Street, London, England
William Lloyd
Kitty
Alderson (Lever)
Lloyd
Samuel
Plumbe on
26
January 1824 in Old Church, St Pancras, London, England
Kitty Alderson (Lloyd) Charretie
2 February 1793
14 May 1793, in St Stephen,
Coleman Street,
London, England
William
Lloyd
Kitty
Alderson (Lever)
Lloyd
John Charretie in 1816. At the
time of their marriage, Kitty was of Upper Homerton, Middlesex, and
John was of Gt Coram St, Middlesex.
The
will of Kitty Alderson Charretie, wife of Farzebrook House near
Axminster, Devon was proved on 8 October 1838 in the Prerogative Court
of Canterbury.
Margaret (Lloyd, Wood) Shepherd
29 December 1796
9 February 1797, in St
Lawrence Jewry & St Mary Magdalene, Milk Street, London, England
William
Lloyd
Kitty
Alderson (Lever)
Lloyd
_____ Wood
_____ Shepherd.
This was possibly the marriage recorded on 2 February 1824, in Old
Church, St. Pancras, London between Margaret Wood and Henry Shepherd
(IGI marriage extracts batch M047931)
Mary Lloyd
17 May 1788
12 June 1788, in St Martin
Ludgate, London, England
William
Lloyd
Kitty
Alderson (Lever)
Lloyd
Mary is not
mentioned in the will of her great-uncle Christopher
Alderson in 1810, although four of her siblings are named in the will,
and so it is likely that she died before 1810.
Mary Ann Frances Lloyd
2 March 1795
4 August 1795, in St
Lawrence Jewry & St Mary Magdalene, Milk Street, London, England
William
Lloyd
Kitty
Alderson (Lever)
Lloyd
Mary Ann is not
mentioned in the will of her great-uncle Christopher
Alderson in 1810, although four of her siblings are named in the will,
and so it is likely that Mary Ann died before 1810.
Thomas Lloyd
of Plas Madoc and Wrexham, Denbighshire, Wales
25 August 1711
Thomas Lloyd
Elizabeth (Leche) Lloyd
Mary
Shepherd
on 18 December 1740 in St Martins, Birmingham, Warwickshire
Mercer
(a merchant, usually dealing in textiles and fabrics).
In 1731, Thomas bought an inn, The
Mitre
at 30 High Street, Wrexham, on the death of its proprietor, Mr. John
Stephenson, and converted the building into a mercer's shop. He
remained here until 1756, when he moved to a new shop higher up the
street at 38 & 39 High Street which he occupied until his death in
until his death in 1793.
24 April 1793
William Lloyd
21 October 1742, in Wrexham,
Denbighshire, Wales
Thomas
Lloyd
Mary
(Shepherd) Lloyd
Kitty
Alderson Lever
on 24
April 1785, in London, England
20 June 1797
William Lloyd
5 December 1791
30 January 1792, in St
Stephen, Coleman Street,
London, England
William
Lloyd
Kitty
Alderson (Lever)
Lloyd
Landed Gentry of Great Britain and Ireland
(Burke, 1850) p207 notes that William died young.
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