One reason for thischange of fashion is not far to seek. The restored king, Charles 11., had lived much abroad. He married a Portuguese wife, and the influence of France and Portugal between them is answerable for the introduction of the new style. No one can examine one of those high-backed, black, stamped leather-covered chairs, studded with large round-headed brass nails, known as Portuguese, without seeing a resemblance to our chairs of Charles II. Neither can we fail to notice that the spiral-turned stretcher, which is one of their chief characteristics, is very frequent upon Portuguese furniture. As usual, however, it is difficult to say whence the spiral turning originally came. Mr. J. H. Pollen, in his introduction to the catalogue of furniture and woodwork in the Victoria and Albert Museum, reproduces a chair of short-backed 'Cromwellian' or Dutch type, with spiral-turned legs and stretchers, which was not uncommon in Italy about the year 1620.

A stimulant to the making of new furniture was afforded by the wholesale wreckings of the Civil War. 'Mercurius Rusticus, or the Countries Complaint of the barbarous outrages committed by the Sectaries of this late flourishing Kingdom,' tells us that 'a few hours disrobe' Sir John Lucas's house 'of that rich furniture that had adorned it many years.' The Countess of Rlvers's house at St. Osyth was a rich prize. The Parliamentarians pulled down, cut in pieces, and carried away her costly hangings, beds, couches, chairs, and the whole furniture of her house. Her loss there and at Melford, in Suffolk, was said to have been £100,000 or £ 150,000. Sir Richard Minshull's house at Bourton, Bucks, 'held many suits of the rich hangings, etc., of three houses, Sir Richard having disrobed two houses, one in Essex, the other in London.' All locks and keys and hinges were taken away by such wreckers as those who at Warder Castle, Wilts, which was besieged and taken, 'utterly defaced and beat down with poleaxes all the carved work of an extraordinary chimneypiece - amongst many rich ones - and valued at £2000.' Not much was likely to be spared by plunderers who at Westminster Abbey broke down the organ, and went up and down the streets pretending to blow the pipes. 'Boys,' they said to the choristers, whose surplices they had already stolen, 'Boys, we have spoiled your trade, you must go and sing Hot Pudding Pyes.' What was bad for one trade was probably good for another, and there must have been a great demand for new furniture when the Royalists came by their own again.1