| Main Index |
| Volume I. Part 1 |
| Volume I. Part 2 |
| Volume II. Part 2 |
Chapter I.
A return to the metropolis, 2. Instance of exorbitant
charges, 3. Field-marshal Count Bertrand, 4. Lines on the
late Napoleon, 5. A mysterious vehicle, 6. The devil in Long
Acre, 7. The child in the hay, 8. A family triumvirate, 9.
Egyptian monuments, 10. Relations of Gog and Magog
discovered, 11. The Theban ram, 12. Egyptian antiquities,
13. Egyptian mummies, &c. 14. Curiosities of the museum, 15.
Statues of Bedford and Fox, 16. The knowing one deceived,
17. Covent Garden Market, 18. Miss Linwood's exhibition, 19.
Chapter II.
Tothill-fields Bridewell, 20. Perversion of justice, 21. A
laudable resolution, 22. Success and disappointment, 23. A
story out of the face, 24. A critical situation, 25. A hair-
breadth escape, 26. Kidnappers, or crimps, 27. Summary
justice averted, 28. Swindling manoeuvres, 29. Estates, &c.
in nubibus, 30. Fetters and apathy, 31. Urchin thief
picking-pockets, 32. Juvenile depravity, 33.
Chapter III.
Life in St. George's Fields, 34. Chums—Day rules, &c. 35.
Hiring a horse—A bolter, 36. Characters of Abbot's priory,
37. Introductory sketch, 38. The flying pieman, 39.
Commercial activity, 40. A cutting joke, 41. Magdalen
Hospital, 42. Curious anecdote, 43. Surrey Theatre, &c, 44.
Admixture of characters, &c. 45.
Chapter IV.
Entry to Abbott's park, 46. A world within walls, 47.
Finding a friend at home, 48. Exterior of the chapel, 49. A
finish to education, 50. The walking automaton, 51. The
parliamentary don, 52. The tape merchant, &c. 53. A morning
in the Bench, 54. Prison metamorphoses, 55. Friendly
congratulations, 56. Preparations for a turn to, 57. The
college cries, 58. Another real character, 59. A mutual
take-in, 60. A college dinner, 61. Free from college rules,
62. A heavy-wet party, 63. Keeping the game alive, 64. An
agreeable surprise, 65. Harmony disturbed, 66.
Chapter V.
London munificence, 67. Vauxhall Bridge, 68. Millbank
Penitentiary, 69. Metamorphoses of time, 70. Cobourg
Theatre, 71. Retrospection, 72. Intellectual progress, 73.
Wonders of the moderns, 74. Bridge-Street association, 75.
Infidel pertinacity, 76. City coffee house, 77. St. Paul's
Cathedral, 78. Clockwork and great bell, 79. Serious
cogitations disturbed, 80. A return homeward, 81.
Chapter VI.
Westminster Abbey, 82. Monuments—Poets' corner, 83. Henry
Seventh's chapel, 84. Interesting prospect, 85. Fees exacted
for admission, 86. Westminster Hall—Whitehall, 87. Sir
Robert Wilson, 88. Temptations to depredation, 89. Sympathy
excited, 90. A sad story strangely told, 91. Fleet Street—
Doctor Johnson, 92. Fleet Market, 93. The market in an
uproar, 94. The rabbit pole-girl, 95. Princess of
Cumberland, 96. Doubts of royal legitimacy, 97. Mud-larks,
picking up a living, 98. The boil'd beef house, 99. A
spunger, 100. Gaol of Newgate, 101. Jonathan Wild's
residence, 102. Entering the Holy Land, 103. The Holy Land,
104. Salt herrings and dumplings, 105. Deluge of beer, 106.
Mrs. C*r*y, 107. Andrew Whiston, 108.
Chapter VII.
A dinner party, 109. Complimentary song, 110. Irish posting,
111. Extraordinary robbery, 112. Follies of fashion—ennui,
113. A set-to in a gambling house, 114. A nunnery—the Lady
abbess, 115. Life in a cellar, 116. Advantageous offer
rejected, 117. "Bilge water not whiskey," 118. Aqua fortis
and aqua fifties, 119. A quarrel—appeal to justice, 120.
Finale of a long story, 121.
Chapter VIII.
An unexpected visitor, 122. Private accommodations, 123. The
hero of Waterloo, 124. "The lungs of the metropolis," 125.
How to cut up a human carcass. 126. Resurrectionists, 127. A
perambulation of discovery, 128. Irish recognition, 129. A
discovery—Mother Cummings, 130. Wife hunting, 131.
Elopement, 132. Female instability, 133. Manouvres Return to
town, 134. Making the most of a good thing, 135. Ingenious
female shop-lifter, 136.
Chapter IX.
Thieves of habit and necessity, 137. A felicitous meeting,
138. Shopping—Ludicrous anecdote, 139. A tribute of
respect, 140. Royal waxworks, Fleet Street, 141. Sir Felix
as Macbeth, 142. Irish love, 143. Apathy in the midst of
danger, 144. "No wassel in the lob," 145. The bear at
Kensington Palace, 146.
Chapter X.
A change of pursuits, 147. Almack's Rooms, 148. A fancy-
dress ball, 149. Selection of partners, 150. Family
portraits, 151. A rout and routed, 152. Pleasures of
matrimony, 153. The discomfited Virtuoso, 154.
Chapter XI.
Frolics of Greenwich fair, 155. Dr. Eady—Wall chalking,
156. Packwood and puffing, 157. Greenwich Hospital, 158.
Greenwich pensioners, 159. Veterans at ease, 160. The old
commodore, 161. "Fought his battles o'er again," 162. The
Chapel—Hall, &e. 163.
Chapter XII.
An early hour in Piccadilly, 164. Cleopatra's needle, 165. A
modest waterman, 166. Interesting scenery, 167. Philosophy
in humble life, 168. Southwark Bridge, 169. London Bridge-
The Shades, 170. Itinerant musicians, 171. "Do not leave
your goods," 172. Riches of Lombard Street, 173. Mansion
House, 174. Curious case in justice room, 175. A reasonable
proposition, 176.
Chapter XIII.
An hour in the Sessions House, 177. A piteous tale of
distress, 178. Low life, 179. Serious business, 180. A
capture, 181. Johnny-raws and green-horns, 182. Decker the
prophet, 183. A devotee in danger, 184.
Chapter XIV.
A morning at home, 185. High life, 186. Converting felony
into debt, 187. Scene in a madhouse, 188. Apathy of
undertakers, 189. A provident undertaker, 190. A bribe
rejected, 191. Antiquated virginity, 192. Arrangements for
Easter, 193. A Sunday morning lounge, 194. Setting out for
Epping hunt, 195. Involuntary flight, 196. Motley groups on
the road, 197. Disasters of cockney sportsmen, 198. A
beautiful crature of sixty, 199. Tothill-fields fair, 200.
Whimsical introduction, 201. Ball at the Mansion-House, 202.
Chapter XV.
Guildhall, 203. Palace Yard—Relieving Guard, 204. The
regions below, 205. An old friend in the dark, 206. Seeing
clear again, 207. A rattler, 208.
Chapter XVI.
Civic festivity, 209. Guildhall, 210. Council chamber—
Paintings, 211. City public characters, 212. A modern
Polyphemus, 213. A classic poet, 214. Rhyming contagious,
215. Smithfield prad-sellers, 216. Jockeyship in the east,
217. A peep at the Theatre, 218. The Finish, Covent Garden,
219. Wags of the Finish, 220. Smoking and joking, 222.
Chapter XVII.
A morning visit, 223. The fine arts, 224. Public
exhibitions, 225. Living artists, 226. Horse Guards—
Admiralty, 227. Westminster Bridge, 228. Promenade Rooms,
229. Improvements in the Park, 230. Ludicrous anecdote, 231.
A crazy fabric, 232. Regal splendour, 233. Marlborough
House, 234. Limmer's Hotel, 235. Laconic prescription, 236.
How to take it all, 237. How to get a suit of clothes, 238.
Ingenious swindling, 239. Talent perverted, 240.
Chapter XVIII.
The Harp, Drury Lane, 241. Wards of city of Lushington, 242.
The social compact, 243. A popular election, 244. Close of
the poll, 245. Oratorical effusions, 246. Harmony and
conviviality, 247. Sprees of the Market, 248. A lecture on
heads, 249. A stroll down Drury Lane, 250. A picture of real
characters, 251. "The burning shame," 253. Ludicrous
procession, 254.
Chapter XIX.
An old friend returned, 255. A good object in view, 256. An
alarming situation, 257. Choice of professions, 258. Pursuit
of fortune, 259. Advantages of law, 260. A curious law case,
261. Further arrangements, 262.
Chapter XX.
St. George's day, 263. Royalty on the wing, 264. Progress to
the levee, 265. An unfortunate apothegm, 266. How to adjust
a quarrel, 267. Wisdom in wigs, 268. A classical
acquaintance, 269. Royal modesty, 270. Ludicrous anecdote,
271. A squeeze in the drawing-room, 272. Pollution of the
sanctorum, 273. Procession of mail coaches, &c. 274. A
parody, 275. Two negatives make a positive, 276. Remarkable
anecdote, 277. Marrow-bones and cleavers, 278. The king and
the laureat, 279. A remonstrance, 280. Hint at retrenchment,
281.
Chapter XXI.
Diversity of opinions, 282. A fresh start, 283. A critique
on names, 284. The Cafe Royale, Regent Street, 285. A
singular character, 286. Quite inexplicable, 287.
Development, 288. Aquatic excursion, 289. A narrow escape,
290. Tower of London, 291. The lost pilot found, 295. River
gaiety, 296. Rowing match, 297.
Chapter XXII.
The tame hare, 298. Ingenuity of man, 299. London sights and
shows, 300. Automaton chess player, 301. South sea bubble,
302. New City of London tavern, 303. Moorfields, 304.
Epitaph collector, 305. Monumental gleanings, 307.
Voluminous collectors, 309. A horned cock, 310.
Extraordinary performance, 311. Female salamander, 312.
Regent's Canal, 313. Anecdote of a gormandizer, 314. Eating
a general officer alive, 315. A field orator, 316.
Chapter XXIII.
Munster simplicity, 317. A visit to an astrologer, 318. A
peep into futurity, 319. Treading-mill, 320. An unexpected
occurrence, 321. The sage taken in, 322. Statue of ill luck,
323. A concatenation of exquisites, 324. How to walk the
streets, 325. How to make a thoroughfare, 326. Dog stealers,
327. Canine knavery, 328. A vexatious affair, 329. How to
recruit your finances, 330. A domestic civic dinner, 331.
The very respectable man, 332.
Chapter XXIV.
Vauxhall Gardens, 334, Various amusements, 335. Sober
advice, 336. Fashionable education, 337. University
education, 338. Useful law proceedings, 339. How to punish a
creditor, 340. Exalted characters, 341. Profligacy of a
peer, 342. Mr. Spankalong, 343. Other characters of ton,
344. Sprig of fashion, 345. An everlasting prater, 346. And
incorrigible fribble, 347. Kensington Gardens and Park, 348.
Statue of Achilles, 349.
Chapter XXV.
A medley of characters, 353. Fashionables, 354. More
fashionables, 355. More life in St. Giles's, 356.
Reconnoitring—a discovery, 357. Tragedy prevented, 358.
Fat, fair, and forty, 359. Philosophic coxcombs, 360 Blanks
in society, 361.
Chapter XXVI.
A ride, 362. Exceptions to trade rivalship, 363. Effects of
superior education, 364. Affectation in names, 365.
Portraits of governesses, 366. Road to matrimony, 367.
Villainy of private madhouses, 369. Appearances may deceive,
370.
Chapter XXVII.
Pleasing intelligence, 371. Moralizing a little, 373. Cries
of London, 374. The Blacking Poet, 375. Literary squabble
376. Curious Merchandise, 377.
Chapter XXVIII.
A new object of pursuit, 378. Royal visit to Scotland, 379.
Embarkation, 381. Royal recollections, 38'2.
Chapter XXIX.
Port of London, 383. Descriptive entertainment, 384. A rea
swell party, 385. An Irish dancing master, 386. Female
disaster, 387. Blackwall—East India Docks, 388. Sir Robert
Wigram, 389. Domestic happiness, 390. West India Docks, 391.
Loudon Docks, 393. News from home, 394.
Chapter XXX.
Travelling preparations, 395. Whimsical associations, 396.
Antiquity and origin of signs, 397. Signs of altered times,
398. Ludicrous corruptions, 399. A curious metamorphosis,
400. A sudden breeze, 401. A smell of powder, 402.
Chapter XXXI.
An unexpected visitor, 403. Sketches of fashionable life,
404. A Corinthian rout, 405. A Corinthian dinner party, 406.
A new picture of real life, 409. More wise men of the East,
411.
Chapter XXXII.
Anticipation of danger, 415. Smoke without fire, 416.
Fonthill Abbey, 417. Instability of fortune, 419. Wealth
without ostentation, 420. Eccentricity of character, 421.
Extremes meeting, 422.
Chapter XXXIII.
Sketches of new scenes, 423. A critical essay on taste, 424.
The pleasures of the table, 425. A whimsical exhibition,
426. Canine sobriety, 427.
Chapter XXXIV.
Anticipation, 428. Obligation, 429. Change of subjects, 430
Magasin de Mode, 431. Bell, Warwick Lane, 432. Bull and
Mouth Street, 433. Bull and Mouth Inn, 434. Jehu chaff, 435.
Adieu to London, 436.
With what unequal tempers are we form'd!
One day the soul, elate and satisfied,
Revels secure, and fondly tells herself
The hour of evil can return no more:
The next, the spirit, pall'd and sick of riot,
Turns all to discord, and we hate our being,
Curse our past joys, and think them folly all.
[1]MATTER and motion, say Philosophers, are inseparable, and the doctrine appears equally applicable to the human mind. Our country Squire, anxious to testify a grateful sense of the attentions paid him during his London visit, had assiduously exerted himself since his return, in contributing to the pleasures and amusements of his visitors; and Belville Hall presented a scene of festive hospitality, at once creditable to its liberal owner, and gratifying to the numerous gentry of the surrounding neighbourhood.
But however varied and numerous the sports and recreations of rural life, however refined and select the circle of its society, they possessed not the endless round of metropolitan amusement, nor those ever-varying delights produced amid "the busy hum of men," where every street is replete with incident and character, and every hour fraught with adventure.
Satiety had now evidently obtruded itself amid the party, and its attendants, lassitude and restlessness, were not long in bringing up the rear. The impression already made upon the mind of Bob by the cursory view he had taken of Life in London was indelible, and it required little persuasion on the part of his cousin, the Hon. Tom Dashall, to induce him again to return to scenes of so much delight, and which afforded such inexhaustible stores of amusement to an ardent and youthful curiosity.
[2]A return to the Metropolis having therefore been mutually agreed upon, and every previous arrangement being completed, the Squire once more abdicated for a season his paternal domains, and accompanied by his cousin Dashall, and the whole ci-devant party of Belville Hall, arrived safe at the elegant mansion of the latter, where they planned a new system of perambulation, having for its object a further investigation of manners, characters, objects, and incidents, connected with Real Life in London.
"Come," cried Dashall, one fine morning, starting up immediately after breakfast—
"——rouse for fresh game, and away let us haste,
The regions to roam of wit, fashion, and taste;
Like Quixote in quest of adventures set out,
And learn what the crowds in the streets are about;
And laugh when we must, and approve when we can,
Where London displays ev'ry feature of man."
"The numerous hotels, bagnios, taverns, inns, coffee-houses, eating-houses, lodging-houses, &c. in endless variety, which meet the eye in all parts of the metropolis, afford an immediate choice of accommodation, as well to the temporary sojourner as the permanent resident; where may be obtained the necessaries and luxuries of life, commensurate with your means of payment, from one shilling to a guinea for a dinner, and from sixpence to thirty shillings a night for a lodging!
"The stranger recommended to one of these hotels, who regales himself after the fatigues of a journey with moderate refreshment, and retires to rest, and preparing to depart in the morning, is frequently surprised at the longitudinal appearance and sum total of his bill, wherein every item is individually stated, and at a rate enormously extravagant. Remonstrance is unavailable; the charges are those common to the house, and in failure of payment your luggage is under detention, without the means of redress; ultimately the bill must be paid, and the only consolation left is, that you have acquired a useful, though expensive lesson, how to guard in future against similar exaction and inconvenience."{1}
1 Marlborough Street.—Yesterday, Mrs. Hickinbottom, the
wife of Mr. Hickinbottom, the keeper of the St. Petersburgh
Hotel in Dover Street, Piccadilly, appeared to a summons to
answer the complaint of a gentleman for unlawfully detaining
his luggage under the following circumstances: The
complainant stated, that on Thursday evening last, on his
arrival in town from Aberdeen, he went to the White Horse
Cellar, Piccadilly; but the house being full, he was
recommended to the St. Petersburgh Hotel in Dover Street;
where, having taken some refreshment and wrote a letter, he
went to bed, and on the following morning after break-fast,
he desired the waiter to bring him his bill, which he did,
and the first item that presented itself was the moderate
charge of one pound ten shillings for his bed; and then
followed, amongst many others, sixpence for a pen, a
shilling for wax, a shilling for the light, and two and
sixpence for other lights; so that the bill amounted in the
whole to the sum of two pounds one shilling for his night's
lodging! To this very exorbitant charge he had refused to
submit; in consequence of which he had been put to great
inconvenience by the detention of his luggage. The
magistrate animadverted with much severity on such
extravagant charges on the part of the tavern-keeper, and
advised that upon the gentleman paying fifteen shillings,
the things might be immediately delivered up. To these
terms, however, Mrs. Hickinbottom refused to accede, adding
at the same time, that the gentleman had only been charged
the regular prices of the house, and that she should insist
upon the whole amount of the bill being paid, for that the
persons who were in the habit of coming to their house never
objected to such, the regular price of their lodgings being
ten guineas per week! The magistrate lamented that he had
no power to enforce the things being given up, but he
recommended the complainant to bring an action against the
tavern-keeper for the detention.
[3] These were the observations directed by Dashall to his friend, as they passed, one morning, the Hotel de la Sabloniere in Leicester Square.
"Doubtless," he continued, "in those places of affluent resort, the accommodations are in the first style of excellence; yet with reference to comfort and sociability, were I a country gentleman in the habit of occasionally visiting London, my temporary domicile should be the snug domesticated Coffee-house, economical in its charges and pleasurable in the variety of its visitors, where I might, at will, extend or abridge my evening intercourse, and in the retirement of my own apartment feel myself more at home than in the vacuum of an hotel."
The attention of our perambulators, in passing through the Square, was attracted by a fine boy, apparently about eight years of age, dressed in mourning, who, at the door of Brunet's Hotel, was endeavouring with all his little strength and influence to oppose the egress of a large Newfoundland dog, that, indignant of restraint, seemed desirous in a strange land of introducing himself to [4] canine good fellowship. The boy, whose large dark eyes were full of animation, and his countenance, though bronzed, interestingly expressive, remonstrated with the dog in the French language. "The animal does not understand you," exclaimed Tallyho, in the vernacular idiom of the youth, "Speak to him in English." "He must be a clever dog," answered the boy, "to know English so soon, for neither him nor I have been in England above a week, and for the first time in our lives."—"And how is it," asked Tallyho, "that you speak the English language so fluently?" "O," said the little fellow, "my mother taught it me; she is an English woman, and for that reason I love the English, and am much fonder of talking their language than my own." There was something extremely captivating in the boy. The dog now struggling for freedom was nearly effecting his release, when the two friends interposed their assistance, and secured the pre-meditating fugitive at the moment when, to inquire the cause of the bustle, the father of the child made his appearance in the person of Field Marshal Count Bertrand. The Count, possessing all the characteristics of a gentleman, acknowledged politely the kind attention of the strangers to his son, while, on the other hand, they returned his obeisance with the due respect excited by his uniform friendship and undeviating attachment to greatness in adversity. The discerning eye of Field Marshal Bertrand justly appreciated the superior rank of the strangers, to whom he observed, that during the short period he had then been in England, he had experienced much courtesy, of which he should always retain a grateful recollection. This accidental interview was creative of reciprocal satisfaction, and the parties separated, not without an invitation on the part of the boy, that his newly found acquaintances would again visit the "friends of the Emperor."{1}[5]
1 LINES SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY
THE EX-EMPEROR NAPOLEON IN HIS LAST ILLNESS.
Too slowly the tide of existence recedes
For him in captivity destined to languish,
The Exile, abandon'd of fortune, who needs
The friendship of Death to obliviate his anguish.
Yet, even his last moments unmet by a sigh,
Napoleon the Great uncomplaining shall die!
Though doom'd on thy rock, St. Helena, to close
My life, that once presag'd ineffable glory,
Unvisited here though my ashes repose,
No tablet to tell the lone Exile's sad story,—
Napoleon Buonaparte—still shall the name
Exist on the records immortal of Fame!
Posterity, tracing the annals of France,
The merits will own of her potent defender;
Her greatness pre-eminent skill'd to advance,
Creating, sustaining, her zenith of splendour;
Who patroniz'd arts, and averted alarms,
Till crush'd by the union of nations in arms!
I yield to my fate! nor should memory bring
One moment of fruitless and painful reflection
Of what I was lately—an Emperor and King,
Unless for the bitter, yet fond recollection
Of those, who my heart's best endearments have won,
Remote from my death-bed—my Consort and SON!
Denied in their arms even to breathe my last sigh,
No relatives' solace my exit attending;
With strangers sojourning, 'midst strangers I die,
No tear of regret with the last duties blending.
To him, the lorn Exile, no obsequies paid,
Whose fiat a Universe lately obey'd!
Make there then my tomb, where the willow trees wave,
And, far in the Island, the streamlet meanders;
If ever, by stealth, to my green grassy grave
Some kind musing spirit of sympathy wanders—
"Here rests," he will say, "from Adversity's pains,
Napoleon Buonaparte's mortal remains!"
We have no disposition to enter into the character of the
deceased Ex-Emperor; history will not fail to do justice
alike to the merits and the crimes of one, who is inevitably
destined to fill so portentous a page on its records. At the
present time, to speak of the good of which he may have been
either the intentional or the involuntary instrument,
without some bias of party feeling would be impossible.
"Hard is his fate, on whom the public gaze
Is fix'd for ever, to condemn or praise;
Repose denies her requiem to his name,
And folly loves the martyrdom of fame."
At all events, he is now no more; and "An English spirit
wars not with the dead."
"The Count," said Dashall to his Cousin, as they pursued their walk, "remains in England until he obtain [6] permission from the King of France to return to his native country: that such leave will be given, there is little doubt; the meritorious fidelity which the Count has uniformly exemplified to his late unfortunate and exiled Master, has obtained for him universal esteem, and the King of France is too generous to withhold, amidst the general feeling, his approbation."
Passing through Long Acre in their progress towards the British Museum, to which national establishment they had cards of admission, the two friends were intercepted in their way by a concourse at a coach-maker's shop, fronting which stood a chariot carefully matted round the body, firmly sewed together, and the wheels enveloped in hay-bands, preparatory to its being sent into the country. Scarcely had these precautionary measures of safety been completed, when a shrill cry, as if by a child inside the vehicle, was heard, loud and continuative, which, after the lapse of some minutes, broke out into the urgent and reiterated exclamation of—"Let me out!—I shall be suffocated!—pray let me out!"
The workmen, who had packed up the carriage, stared at each other in mute and appalling astonishment; they felt conscious that no child was within the vehicle; and when at last they recovered from the stupor of amazement, they resisted the importunity of the multitude to strip the chariot, and manfully swore, that if any one was inside, it must be the Devil himself, or one of his imps, and no human or visible being whatsoever.
Some, of the multitude were inclined to a similar opinion. The crowd increased, and the most intense interest was depicted in every countenance, when the cry of "Let me out!—I shall die!—For heaven's sake let me out!" was audibly and vehemently again and again repeated.
The impatient multitude now began to cut away the matting; when the workmen, apprehensive that the carriage might sustain some damage from the impetuosity of their proceedings, took upon themselves the act of dismantling the mysterious machine; during which operation, the cry of "Let me out!" became more and more clamorously importunate. At last the vehicle was laid bare, and its door thrown open; when, to the utter amazement of the crowd, no child was there—no trace was to be seen of aught, human or super-human! The [7] assemblage gazed on the vacant space from whence the sounds had emanated, in confusion and dismay. During this momentary suspense, in which the country 'Squire participated, a voice from some invisible agent, as if descending the steps of the carriage, exclaimed—"Thank you, my good friends, I am very much obliged to you—I shall now go home, and where my home is you will all know by-and-by!"
With the exception of Dashall and Tallyho, the minds of the spectators, previously impressed with the legends of superstition and diablerie, gave way under the dread of the actual presence of his satanic majesty; and the congregated auditors of his ominous denunciation instantaneously dispersed themselves from the scene of witchery, and, re-assembling in groupes on distant parts of the street, cogitated and surmised on the Devil's visit to the Coachmakers of Long Acre!
Tallyho now turned an inquisitive eye on his Cousin, who answered the silent and anxious enquiry with an immoderate fit of laughter, declaring that this was the best and most ingenious hoax of any he had ever witnessed, and that he would not have missed, on any consideration whatsoever, the pleasure of enjoying it. "The Devil in Long Acre!—I shall never forget it," exclaimed the animated Cousin of the staring and discomfited 'Squire.
"Explain, explain," reiterated the 'Squire, impatiently.
"You shall have it in one word,"answered Dashall—"Ventriloquism!"{1}
1 This hoax was actually practised by a Ventriloquist in the
manner described. It certainly is of a less offensive nature
than that of many others which have been successfully
brought for-ward in the Metropolis, the offspring of folly
and idleness.—"A fellow," some years ago, certainly not "of
infinite humour," considering an elderly maiden lady of
Berner Street a "fit and proper subject" on whom to
exercise his wit, was at the trouble of writing a vast
number of letters to tradesmen and others, magistrates and
professional men, ordering from the former various goods,
and requiring the advice, in a case of emergency, of the
latter, appointing the same hour, to all, of attendance; so
that, in fact, at the time mentioned, the street, to the
annoy-ance and astonishment of its inhabitants, was crowded
with a motley group of visitants, equestrian and pedestrian,
all eagerly pressing forward to their destination, the old
lady's place of residence. In the heterogeneous assemblage
there were seen Tradesmen of all denominations, accompanied
by their Porters, bearing various articles of household
furniture; Counsellors anticipating fees; Lawyers engaged
to execute the last will and testament of the heroine of the
drama, and, not the least conspicuous, an Undertaker
preceded by his man with a coffin; and to crown the whole,
"though last not least in our esteem," the then Lord Mayor of
London, who, at the eager desire of the old Lady, had, with
a commendable feeling of humanity, left his civic dominions,
in order to administer, in a case of danger and difficulty,
his consolation and assistance. When, behold! the clue was
unravelled, the whole turn'd out an hoax, and the Author
still remains in nubibus!!!
[8] "And who could have been the artist?" enquired Tallyho.
"Nay," answered his friend, "that is impossible to say; some one in the crowd, but the secret must remain with himself; neither do I think it would have been altogether prudent his revealing it to his alarmed and credulous auditory."
"A Ventriloquist," observed the 'Squire, "is so little known in the country, that I had lost all reminiscence of his surprising powers; however, I shall in future, from the occurrence of to-day, resist the obtrusion of superstition, and in all cases of 'doubtful dilemma' remember the Devil in Long Acre!"{l}
"Well resolved," answered Dashall; and in a few minutes they gained Great Russel Street, Bloomsbury, without further incident or interruption.
1 The child in the hat.—Not long since, a Waggoner coming
to town with a load of hay, was overtaken by a stranger, who
entered into familiar conversation with him. They had not
pro-ceeded far, when, to the great terror of Giles Jolt, a
plaintive cry, apparently that of a child, issued from the
waggon. "Didst hear that, mon?" exclaimed Giles. The cry was
renewed—"Luord! Luord! an there be na a babe aneath the
hay, I'se be hanged; lend us a hand, mon, to get un out, for
God's sake!" The stranger very promptly assisted in
unloading the waggon, but no child was found. The hay now
lay in a heap on the road, from whence the cry was once more
long and loudly reiterated! In eager research, Giles next
proceeded to scatter the hay over the road, the cry still
continuing; but when, at last, he ascertained that the
assumed infantine plaint was all a delusion, his hair stood
erect with horror, and, running rapidly from his companion,
announced that he had been associated on the road by the
Devil, for that none else could play him such a trick! It
was not without great difficulty that the people to whom he
told this strange story prevailed on him to return, at last,
to his waggon and horses; he did so with manifest
reluctance. To his indescribable relief, his infernal
companion hail vanished in the person of the Ventriloquist,
and Jolt still believes in the supernatural visitation!
[9] Amongst the literary and scientific institutions of the Metropolis, the British Museum, situated in Great Russel Street, Bloomsbury, stands pre-eminent.
Entering the spacious court, our two friends found a party in waiting for the Conductor. Of the individuals composing this party, the reconnoitering eye of Dashall observed a trio, from whence he anticipated considerable amusement. It was a family triumvirate, formed of an old Bachelor, whose cent per cent ideas predominated over every other, wheresoever situated or howsoever employed; his maiden Sister, prim, starch and antiquated; and their hopeful Nephew, a complete coxcomb, that is, in full possession of the requisite concomitants—ignorance and impudence, and arrayed in the first style of the most exquisite dandyism. This delectable triumviri had emerged from their chaotic recess in Bearbinder-lane; the Exquisite, to exhibit his sweet person along with the other curiosities of the Museum; his maiden Aunt, to see, as she expressed it, the "He-gipsyian munhuments, kivered with kerry-glee-fix;" and her Brother, to ascertain whether, independent of outlandish baubles, gimcracks and gewgaws, there was any thing of substantiality with which to enhance the per contra side in the Account Current between the British Museum and the Public!
Attaching themselves to this respectable trio, Dashall and Tallyho followed, with the other visitants, the Guide, whose duty it that day was to point out the various curiosities of this great national institution.
The British Museum was established by act of parliament, in 1753, in pursuance of the will of Sir Hans Sloane, who left his museum to the nation, on condition that Parliament should pay 20,000L. to his Executors, and purchase a house sufficiently commodious for it. The parliament acted with great liberality on the occasion; several other valuable collections were united to that of Sir Hans Sloane, and the whole establishment was completed for the sum of 85,000L. raised by lottery. At the institution of this grand treasury of learning, it was proposed that a competent part of 1800L. the annual sum granted by parliament for the support of the house, should be appropriated for the purchase of new books; but the salaries necessary for the officers, together with the contingent expenses, have always exceeded the allowance; so that the Trustees have been repeatedly [10] obliged to make application to defray the necessary charges.
Mr. Timothy Surety, the before mentioned Bearbinder-lane resident, of cent per cent rumination; his accomplished sister, Tabitha; his exquisite nephew, Jasper; and the redoubtable heroes of our eventful history, were now associated in one party, and the remaining visitants were sociably amalgamated in another; and each having its separate Conductor, both proceeded to the inspection of the first and most valuable collection in the universe.
On entering the gate, the first objects which attracted attention were two large sheds, defending from the inclemency of the seasons a collection of Egyptian monuments, the whole of which were taken from the French at Alexandria, in the last war. The most curious of these, perhaps, is the large Sarcophagus beneath the shed to the left, which has been considered as the exterior coffin of Alexander the Great, used at his final interment. It is formed of variegated marble, and, as Mrs. Tabitha Surety observed, was "kivered with Kerry-glee-fix."
"Nephew Jasper," said his Uncle, "you are better acquainted with the nomenclature, I think you call it, of them there thing-um-bobs than I am—what is the name of this here?"
"My dear Sir," rejoined the Exquisite, "this here is called a Sark o' Fegus, implying the domicile, or rather, the winding-sheet of the dead, as the sark or chemise wound itself round the fair forms of the daughters of O'Fegus, a highland Chieftain, from whom descended Philip of Macedon, father of Alexander the Great; and thence originated the name subsequently given by the highland laird's successors, to the dormitory of the dead, the Sark o' Fegus, or in the corruption of modern orthography, Sarcophagus."
Timothy Surety cast an approving glance towards his Nephew, and whispering Dashall, "My Nephew, Sir, apparently a puppy, Sir, but well informed, nevertheless—what think you of his definition of that hard word? Is he not, I mean my Nephew Jaz, a most extraordinary young man?"
"Superlatively so," answered Dashall, "and I think you are happy in bearing affinity to a young man of such transcendent acquirements."
[11]"D—n his acquirements!" exclaimed Timothy; "would you think it, they are of no use in the way of trade, and though I have given him many an opportunity of doing well, he knows no more of keeping a set of books by double-entry, than Timothy Surety does of keeping a pack of hounds, who was never twenty miles beyond the hearing of Bow bells in all his lifetime!"
This important communication, having been made apart from the recognition of the Aunt and Nephew, passed on their approach, unanswered; and Dashall and his friend remained in doubt whether or not the Nephew, in his late definition of the word Sarcophagus, was in jest or earnest: Tallyho inclined to think that he was hoaxing the old gentleman; on the other hand, his Cousin bethought himself, that the apparent ingenuity of Jaz's definition was attributable entirely to his ignorance.
Here also were two statues of Roman workmanship, supposed to be those of Marcus Aurelius and Severus, ancient, but evidently of provincial sculpture.
Mrs. Tabitha, shading her eyes with her fan, and casting a glance askew at the two naked figures, which exhibited the perfection of symmetry, enquired of her Nephew who they were meant to represent.
His answer was equally eccentric with that accorded to his Uncle on the subject of the Sarcophagus.
"My dear Madam!" said Jaz, "these two figures are consanguineous to those of Gog and Magog in Guildhall, being the lineal descendants of these mighty associates of the Livery of London!"
"But, Jaz" rejoined the antique dame, "I always understood that Messieurs Gog and Magog derived their origin from quite a different family."
"Aunt of mine," responded Jaz, "the lofty rubicunded Civic Baronet shall not be 'shorn of his beams;' he claims the same honour with his brainless brothers before us-he is a scion of the same tree; Sir W*ll**m, the twin brothers of Guildhall, and these two sedate Gentlemen of stone, all boast the honour of the same extraction!"
Behind them, on the right, was a ram's head of very curious workmanship, from Thebes.
"Perhaps, Sir," said Mrs. Tabitha, graciously addressing herself to 'Squire Tallyho, "you can inform us what may be the import of this singular exhibition?"
"On my honour, Madam," answered the 'Squire, "I cannot satisfactorily resolve the enquiry; I am a country [12] gentleman, and though conversant with rains and rams' horns in my own neighbourhood, have no knowledge of them with reference to the connexion of the latter with the Citizens of London or Westminster!"
Jaz again assumed the office of expositor.—"My very reverend Aunt," said Jaz, "I must prolegomenize the required explanation with a simple anecdote:—
"When Charles the Second returned from one of his northern tours, accompanied by the Earl of Rochester, he passed through Shoreditch. On each side the road was a huge pile of rams' horns, for what purpose tradition saith not. 'What is the meaning of all this?' asked the King, pointing towards the symbolics. 'I know not,' rejoined Rochester, 'unless it implies that the Citizens of London have laid their heads together, to welcome your Majesty's return!' In commemoration of this witticism, the ram's head is to the Citizens of London a prominent feature of exhibition in the British Museum."
This interpretation raised a laugh at the expense of Timothy Surety, who, nevertheless, bore it with great good humour, being a bachelor, and consequently not within the scope of that ridicule on the basis of which was founded the present sarcastic fabric.
It was now obvious to Dash all and his friend, that this young man, Jasper Surety, was not altogether the ignoramus at first presumed. They had already been entertained by his remarks, and his annotations were of a description to warrant the expectancy of further amusement in the progress of their inspection.
From the hall the visitors were led through an iron gateway to the great staircase, opposite the bottom of which is preserved a model in mahogany, exhibiting the method used by Mr. Milne in constructing the works of Blackfriars' Bridge; and beneath it are some curious fragments from the Giant's Causeway in Ireland.
These fragments, however highly estimated by the naturalist and the antiquary, were held in derision by the worldly-minded Tim. Surety, who exclaimed against the folly of expending money in the purchase of articles of no intrinsic value, calculated only to gratify the curiosity of those inquisitive idlers who affect their admiration of every uninteresting production of Nature, and neglect the pursuit of the main chance, so necessary in realizing the comforts of life.
[13] These sordid ideas were opposed by Dashall and the 'Squire, to whom they seemed particularly directed. Mrs. Tabitha smiled a gracious acquiescence in the sentiments of the two strangers, and Jasper expressed his regret that Nuncle was not gifted and fated as Midas of ancient times, who transformed every thing that he touched into gold!
The Egyptian and Etruscan antiquities next attracted the attention of the visitors. Over a doorway in this room is a fine portrait of Sir William Hamilton, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Dashall and Tallyho remarked with enthusiasm on these beautiful relics of the sculpture of former ages, several of which were mutilated and disfigured by the dilapidations of time and accident. Of the company present, there stood on the left a diminutive elderly gentleman in the act of contemplating the fragment of a statue in a posterior position, and which certainly exhibited somewhat of a ludicrous appearance; on the right, the exquisite Jasper pointed out, with the self-sufficiency of an amateur, the masculine symmetry of a Colossian statue to his Aunt of antiquated virginity, whose maiden purity recoiling from the view of nudation, seemed to say, "Jaz, wrap an apron round him!" while in the foreground stood the rotunditive form of Timothy Surety, who declared, after a cursory and contemptuous glance at the venerable representatives of mythology, "That with the exception of the portrait of Sir William Hamilton, there was not in the room an object worth looking at; and as for them there ancient statutes," (such was his vernacular idiom and Bearbinder barbarism) "I would not give twopence for the whole of this here collection, if it was never for nothing else than to set them up as scare-crows in the garden of my country house at Edmonton!"
Jasper whispered his aunt, that nuncks was a vile bore; and the sacrilegious declaration gave great offence to the diminutive gentleman aforesaid, who hesitated not in pronouncing Timothy Surety destitute of taste and vertu; to which accusation Timothy, rearing his squat form to its utmost altitude, indignantly replied, "that there was not an alderman in the City of London of better taste than himself in the qualities of callipash and callipee, and that if the little gemmen presumed again to asperse his vartue, he would bring an action against him tor slander and defamation of character." The minikin man gave Timothy a glance of ineffable disdain, and left the room. Mrs. [14] Tabitha, in the full consciousness of her superior acquirements, now directed a lecture of edification to her brother, who, however, manfully resisted her interference, and swore, that "where his taste and vartue were called in question he would not submit to any she in the universe."
Mrs. Tabitha, finding that on the present occasion her usual success would not predominate, suspended, like a skilful manoeuvreist, unavailable attack, and, turning to her nephew, required to know what personage the tall figure before them was meant to represent. Jasper felt not qualified correctly to answer this enquiry, yet unwilling to acknowledge his ignorance, unhesitatingly replied, "One of the ancient race of architects who built the Giant's Causeway in the north of Ireland." This sapient remark excited a smile from the two friends, who shortly afterwards took an opportunity of withdrawing from further intercourse with the Bearbinder triumviri, and enjoyed with a more congenial party the remaining gratification which this splendid national institution is so well calculated to inspire.
Extending their observations to the various interesting objects of this magnificent establishment, the two prominent heroes of our eventful history derived a pleasure only known to minds of superior intelligence, to whom the wonders of art and nature impart the acmé of intellectual enjoyment.
Having been conducted through all the different apartments, the two friends, preparing to depart, the 'Squire tendered a pecuniary compliment to the Guide, in return for his politeness, but which, to the surprise of the donor, was refused; the regulations of the institution strictly prohibiting the acceptance by any of its servants of fee or reward from a visitor, under the penalty of dismissal.{1}
1 Although the limits of this work admit not a minute detail
of the rarities of the British Museum, yet a succinct
enumeration of a few particulars may not prove unacceptable
to our Readers.
In the first room, which we have already noticed, besides
the Egyptian and Etruscan antiquities, is a stand filled
with reliques of ancient Egypt, amongst which are numerous
small representatives of mummies that were used as patterns
for those who chose and could afford to be embalmed at their
decease.
The second apartment is principally devoted to works of art,
be-ginning with Mexican curiosities. The corners opposite
the light are occupied by two Egyptian mummies, richly
painted, which were both brought from the catacombs of
Sakkara, near Grand Cairo.
The third room exhibits a rich collection of curiosities
from the South Pacific Ocean, brought by Capt. Cook. In the
left corner is the mourning dress of an Otaheitean lady, in
which taste and barbarity are curiously blended. Opposite
are the rich cloaks and helmets of feathers from the
Sandwich Islands.
The visitor next enters the manuscript department, the first
room of which is small, and appropriated chiefly to the
collections of Sir Hans Sloane. The next room is completely
filled with Sir Robert Harley's manuscripts, afterwards Earl
of Oxford, one of the most curious of which is a volume of
royal letters, from 1437 to the time of Charles I.. The next
and last room of the manuscript department is appropriated
to the ancient royal library of manuscripts, and Sir Robert
Cotton's, with a few-later donations. On the table, in the
middle of the room, is the famous Magna Charta of King John;
it is written on a large roll of parchment, and was much
damaged in the year 1738, when the Cotton library took fire
at Westminster, but a part of the broad seal is yet annexed.
We next reach the great saloon, which is finely ornamented
with fresco paintings by Baptiste. Here are a variety of
Roman remains, such as dice, tickets for the Roman theatres,
mirrors, seals for the wine casks, lamps, &c. and a
beautiful bronze head of Homer, which was found near
Constantinople.
The mineral room is the next object of attention. Here are
fossils of a thousand kinds, and precious stones, of various
colours and splendours, composing a collection of
astonishing beauty and magnificence.
Next follows the bird room; and the last apartment contains
animals in spirits, in endless variety. And here the usual
exhibition of the house closes.
[15] Issuing from the portals of the Museum, "Apropos," said Dashall, "we are in the vicinity of Russell-square, the residence of my stock-broker; I have business of a few moments continuance to transact with him—let us proceed to his residence."
A lackey, whose habiliment, neat but not gaudy, indicated the unostentatious disposition of his master,, answered the summons of the knocker: "Mr. C. was gone to his office at the Royal Exchange."
"The gentleman who occupies this mansion," observed Dashall to his friend, as they retired from the door, "illustrates by his success in life, the truth of the maxim so frequently impressed on the mind of the school-boy, that perseverance conquers all difficulties. Mr. C, unaided by any other recommendation than that of his own unassuming modest merit, entered the very [16] respectable office of which he is now the distinguished principal, in the situation of a young man who has no other prospect of advancement than such as may accrue from rectitude of conduct, and the consequent approbation and patronage of his employer. By a long exemplary series of diligence and fidelity, he acquired the confidence of, and ultimately became a partner in the firm. His strictly conscientious integrity and uniform gentlemanly urbanity have thus gained him a preference in his profession, and an ample competency is now the well-merited meed of his industry."
"Combining with its enjoyment," responded the 'Squire, "the exercise of benevolent propensities."
"Exactly so much so, that his name appears as an annual subscriber to nearly all the philanthropic institutions of the metropolis, and his private charities besides are numerous and reiterated."
"This, then, is one of the few instances (said the 'Squire) of Real Life in London, where private fortune is so liberally applied in relief of suffering humanity—it is worthy of indelible record."
Circumambulating the square, the two observers paused opposite the fine statue of the late Francis Duke of Bedford.
The graceful proportion, imposing elevation, and commanding attitude of the figure, together with the happy combination of skill and judgment by the artist, in the display on the pedestal of various agricultural implements, indicating the favourite and useful pursuits of this estimable nobleman, give to the whole an interesting appearance, and strongly excite those feelings of regret which attend the recollection of departed worth and genius. Proceeding down the spacious new street directly facing the statue, our perambulators were presently in Bedford-square, in which is the effigy of the late eminent statesman Charles James Fox: the figure is in à sitting posture, unfavourable to our reminiscences of the first orator of any age or country, and is arrayed in the Roman toga: the face is a striking likeness, but the effect on the whole is not remarkable. The two statues face each other, as if still in friendly recognition; but the sombre reflections of Dashall and his friend were broke in upon by a countryman with, "Beant that Measter Fox, zur?" "His effigy, my [17]friend." "Aye, aye, but what the dickens ha've they wrapt a blanket round un vor?"
Proceeding along Charlotte Street, Bloomsbury, the associates in search of Real Life were accosted by a decent looking countryman in a smock-frock, who, approaching them in true clod-hopping style, with a strong provincial accent, detailed an unaffectedly simple, yet deep tale of distress:
"——Oppression fore'd from his cot,
His cattle died, and blighted was his corn!"
The story which he told was most pathetic, the tears the while coursing each other down his cheeks; and Dashall and his friend were about to administer liberally to his relief, the former observing, "There can be no deception here," when the applicant was suddenly pounced upon by an officer, as one of the greatest impostors in the Metropolis, who, with the eyes of Argus, could transform themselves into a greater variety of shapes than Proteus, and that he had been only fifty times, if not more, confined in different houses of correction as an incorrigible rogue and vagabond, from one of which he had recently contrived to effect his escape. The officer now bore off his prize in triumph, while Dashall, hitherto "the most observant of all observers," sustained the laugh of his Cousin at the knowing one deceived, with great good humour, and Dashall, adverting to his opinion so confidently expressed, "There can be no deception here," declared that in London it was impossible to guard in every instance against fraud, where it is frequently practised with so little appearance of imposition.
The two friends now bent their course towards Covent Garden, which, reaching without additional incident, they wiled away an hour at Robins's much to their satisfaction. That gentleman, in his professional capacity, generally attracts in an eminent degree the attention of his visitors by his professional politeness, so that he seldom fails to put off an article to advantage; and yet he rarely resorts to the puff direct, and never indulges in the puff figurative, so much practised by his renowned predecessor, the late knight of the hammer, Christie, the elder, who by the superabundancy of his rhetorical [18]flurishes, was accustomed from his elevated rostrum to edify and amuse his admiring auditory.{1}
Of the immense revenues accruing to his Grace the Duke of Bedford, not the least important is that derived from Covent Garden market. As proprietor of the ground, from every possessor of a shed or stall, and from all who take their station as venders in the market, a rent is payable to his Grace, and collected weekly; considering, therefore, the vast number of occupants, the aggregate rental must be of the first magnitude. His Grace is a humane landlord, and his numerous tenantry of Covent Garden are always ready to join in general eulogium on his private worth, as is the nation at large on the patriotism of his public character.
Dashall conducted his friend through every part of the Market, amidst a redundancy of fruit, flowers, roots and vegetables, native and exotic, in variety and profusion, exciting the merited admiration of the Squire, who observed, and perhaps justly, that this celebrated emporium unquestionably is not excelled by any other of a similar description in the universe.
1 The late Mr. Christie having at one time a small tract of
land under the hammer, expatiated at great length on its
highly improved state, the exuberant beauties with which
Nature had adorned this terrestrial Paradise, and more
particularly specified a delightful hanging wood.
A gentleman, unacquainted with Mr. Christie's happy talent
at exaggerated description, became the highest bidder, paid
his deposit, and posted down into Essex to examine his new
purchase, when, to his great surprise and disappointment, he
found no part of the description realized, the promised
Paradise having faded into an airy vision, "and left not a
wreck behind!" The irritated purchaser immediately returned
to town, and warmly expostulated with the auctioneer on the
injury he had sustained by unfounded representation; "and as
to a hanging wood, Sir, there is not the shadow of a tree on
the spot!" "I beg your pardon, Sir," said the pertinacious
eulogist, "you must certainly have overlooked the gibbet on
the common, and if that is not a hanging wood, I know not
what it is!"
Another of Mr. Christie's flights of fancy may not unaptly
be termed the puff poetical. At an auction of pictures,
dwelling in his usual strain of eulogium on the unparalleled
excellence of a full-length portrait, without his producing
the desired effect, "Gentlemen," said he, "1 cannot, in
justice to this sublime art, permit this most invaluable
painting to pass from under the hammer, without again
soliciting the honour of your attention to its manifold
beauties. Gentlemen, it only wants the touch of Prometheus
to start from the canvass and fall abidding!"
[19] Proceeding into Leicester Square, the very extraordinary production of female genius, Miss Linwood's Gallery of Needlework promised a gratification to the Squire exceeding in novelty any thing which he had hitherto witnessed in the Metropolis. The two friends accordingly entered, and the anticipations of Tallyho were superabundantly realized.
This exhibition consists of seventy-five exquisite copies in needlework, of the finest pictures of the English and foreign schools, possessing all the correct drawing, just colouring, light and shade of the original pictures from whence they are taken, and to which in point of effect they are in no degree inferior.
From the door in Leicester Square the visitants entered the principal room, a fine gallery of excellent proportions, hung with scarlet broad-cloth, gold bullion tassels, and Greek borders. The appearance thus given to the room is pleasing, and indicated to the Squire a still more superior attraction. His Cousin Dashall had frequently inspected this celebrated exhibition, but' to Tallyho it was entirely new.
On one side of this room the pictures are hung, and have a guard in front to keep the company at the requisite distance, and for preserving them.
Turning to the left, a long and obscure passage prepares the mind, and leads to the cell of a prison, on looking into which is seen the beautiful Lady Jane Gray, visited by the Abbot and keeper of the Tower the night before her execution.
This scene particularly elicited the Squire's admiration; the deception of the whole, he observed, was most beautiful, and not exceeded by any work from the pencil of the painter, that he had ever witnessed. A little farther on is a cottage, the casement of which opens, and the hatch at the door is closed; and, on looking in at either, our visitants perceived a fine and exquisitely finished copy of Gainsborough's Cottage Children standing by the fire, with chimney-piece and cottage furniture compleat. Near to this is Gainsborough's Woodman, exhibited in the same scenic manner.
Having enjoyed an intellectual treat, which perhaps in originality as an exhibition of needlework is no where else to be met with, our perambulators retired, and reached home without the occurrence of any other remarkable incident.[20]
"Look round thee, young Astolpho; here's the place
Which men (for being poor) are sent to starve in;—
Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease.
Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench,
Doth Hope's fair torch expire, and at the snuff,
Ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and wayward,
The desperate revelries of fell Despair,
Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to deeds
That the poor Captive would have died ere practised,
Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition."
The Prison.—Act I. Scene III.
TRAVERSING the streets, without having in view any particular object, other than the observance of Real Life in London, such as might occur from fortuitous incident; our two perambulators skirted the Metropolis one fine morning, till finding themselves in the vicinity of Tothill-fields Bridewell, a place of confinement to which the Magistrates of Westminster provisionally commit those who are supposed to be guilty of crimes. Ingress was without much difficulty obtained, and the two friends proceeded to a survey of human nature in its most degraded state, where, amidst the consciousness of infamy and the miseries of privation, apathy seemed the predominant feeling with these outcasts of society, and reflection on the past, or anticipation of the future, was absorbed in the vacuum of insensibility. Reckless of his destiny, here the manacled felon wore, with his gyves, the semblance of the most perfect indifference; and the seriousness of useful retrospection was lost in the levity of frivolous amusement. Apart from the other prisoners was seated a recluse, whose appearance excited the attention of the two visitants; a deep cloud of dejection overshadowed his features, and he seemed studiously to keep aloof from the obstreperous revelry of his fellow-captives. There was in his manner a something inducing a feeling of commiseration which could not be extended to his callous [21] companions in adversity. His decayed habiliment indicated, from its formation and texture, that he had seen better days, and his voluntary seclusion confirmed the idea that he had not been accustomed to his present humiliating intercourse. His intenseness of thought precluded the knowledge of approximation on his privacy, until our two friends stood before him; he immediately rose, made his obeisance, and was about to retire, when Mr. Dashall, with his characteristic benevolence, begged the favour of a few moments conversation.
"I am gratified," he observed, "in perceiving one exception to the general torpitude of feeling which seems to pervade this place; and I trust that your case of distress is not of a nature to preclude the influence of hope in sustaining your mind against the pressure of despondency."
"The cause of my confinement," answered the prisoner, "is originally that of debt, although perverted into crime by an unprincipled, relentless creditor. Destined to the misery of losing a beloved wife and child, and subsequently assailed by the minor calamity of pecuniary embarrassment, I inevitably contracted a few weeks arrears of rent to the rigid occupant of the house wherein I held my humble apartment, when, returned one night to my cheerless domicil, my irascible landlord, in the plenitude of ignorance and malevolence, gave me in charge of a sapient guardian of the night, who, without any enquiry into the nature of my offence, conducted me to the watch-house, where I was presently confronted with my creditor, who accused me of the heinous crime of getting into his debt. The constable very properly refused to take cognizance of a charge so ridiculous; but unluckily observing, that had I been brought there on complaint of an assault, he would in that case have felt warranted in my detention, my persecutor seized on the idea with avidity, and made a declaration to that effect, although evidently no such thought had in the first instance occurred to him, well knowing the accusation to be grossly unfounded. This happened on a Saturday night, and I remained in duresse and without sustenance until the following Monday, when I was held before a Magistrate; the alleged assault was positively sworn to, and, maugre my statement of the suspicious, inconsistent conduct of my prosecutor, I was immured in the lock-up house for the remainder of the day, on the affidavit of [22] perjury, and in the evening placed under the friendly care of the Governor of Tothill-fields Bridewell, to abide the issue at the next Westminster sessions."
"This is a most extraordinary affair," said the Squire; "and what do you conjecture may be the result?"
"The pertinacity of my respectable prosecutor," said the Captive, "might probably induce him to procure the aid of some of his conscientious Israelitish brethren, whom 1 never saw, towards substantiating the aforesaid assault, by manfully swearing to the fact; but as I have no desire of exhibiting myself through the streets, linked to a chain of felons on our way to the Sessions House, I believe I shall contrive to pay the debt due to the perjured scoundrel, which will ensure my enlargement, and let the devil in due season take his own!"
"May we enquire," said Dashall, "without the imputation of impertinent inquisitiveness, what has been the nature of your pursuits in life?"
"Multitudinous," replied the other; "my life has been so replete with adventure and adversity in all its varieties, and in its future prospects so unpropitious of happiness, that existence has long ceased to be desirable; and had I not possessed a more than common portion of philosophic resignation, I must have yielded to despair; but,
"When all the blandishments of life are gone, The coward sneaks to death,—the brave live on!"
"Thirty years ago I came to London, buoyant of youth and hope, to realize a competency, although I knew not by what means the grand object was to be attained; yet it occurred to me that I might be equally successful with others of my country, who, unaided by recommendation and ungifted with the means of speculation, had accumulated fortunes in this fruitful Metropolis, and of whom, fifteen years ago, one eminently fortunate adventurer from the north filled the civic chair with commensurate political zeal and ability.
"Some are born great; others achieve greatness, And some have greatness thrust upon them!"
"Well, Sir, what can be said of it? I was without the pale of fortune, although several of my school-mates, who had established themselves in London, acquired, by dint of perseverance, parsimony and servility, affluent [23]circumstances; convinced, however, that I was not destined to acquire wealth and honour, and being unsolaced even with the necessaries of life, I abandoned in London all hope of success, and emigrated to Ireland, where I held for several years the situation of clerk to a respectable Justice of the Quorum. In this situation I lived well, and the perquisites of office, which were regularly productive on the return of every fair and market day, for taking examinations of the peace, and filling up warrants of apprehension against the perpetrators of broken heads and bloody noses, consoled me in my voluntary exile from Real Life in London. I was in all respects regarded as one of the family; had a horse at my command, visited in friendly intimacy the neighbouring gentry; and, above all, enjoyed the eccentricities of the lower Irish; most particularly so when before his honour, detailing, to his great annoyance, a story of an hour long about a tester (sixpence), and if he grew impatient, attributing it to some secret prejudice which he entertained against them.{1}
1 Their method is to get a story completely by heart, and to
tell it, as they call it, out of the face, that is, from the
beginning to the end without interruption.
"Well, my good friend, I have seen you lounging about these
three hours in the yard, what is your business?"
"Plase your honour, it is what I want to speak one word to
your honour."
"Speak then, but be quick. What is the matter?"
"The matter, plase your honour, is nothing at all at all,
only just about the grazing of a horse, plase your honour,
that this man here sold me at the fair of Gurtishannon last
Shrove fair, which lay down three times with myself, plase
your honour, and kilt me; not to be telling your honour of
how, no later back than yesterday night, he lay down in the
house there within, and all the children standing round, and
it was God's mercy he did not fall a-top of them, or into
the fire to burn himself. So, plase your honour, to-day I
took him back to this man, which owned him, and after a
great deal to do I got the mare again I swopped (exchanged)
him for; but he won't pay the grazing of the horse for the
time I had him, though he promised to pay the grazing in
case the horse didn't answer; and he never did a day's work,
good or bad, plase your honour, all the time he was with me,
and I had the doctor to him five times, any how. And so,
plase your honour, it is what I expect your honour will
stand my friend, for I'd sooner come to your honour for
justice than to any other in all Ireland. And so I brought
him here before your honour, and expect your honour will
make him pay me the grazing, or tell me, can I process him
for it at the next assizes, plase your honour?"
The defendant now, turning a quid of tobacco with his
tongue into some secret cavern in his mouth, begins his
defence with
"Plase your honour, under favour, and saving your honour's
presence, there's not a word of truth in all this man has
been saying from beginning to end, upon my conscience, and I
would not for the value of the horse itself, grazing and
all, be after telling your honour a lie. For, plase your
honour, I have a dependance upon your honour that you'll do
me justice, and not be listening to him or the like of him.
Plase your honour, it is what he has brought me before your
honour, because he had a spite against me about some oats I
sold your honour, which he was jealous of, and a shawl his
wife got at my shister's shop there without, and never paid
for, so I offered to set the shawl against the grazing, and
give him a receipt in full of all demands, but he wouldn't,
out of spite, plase your honour; so he brought me before
your honour, expecting your honour was mad with me for
cutting down the tree in the horse park, which was none of
my doing, plase your honour;—ill luck to them that went
and belied me to your honour behind my back. So if your
honour is plasing, I'll tell you the whole truth about the
horse that he swopped against my mare, out of the face:—
Last Shrove fair I met this man, Jemmy Duffy, plase your
honour, just at the corner of the road where the bridge is
broke down, that your honour is to have the present for this
year—long life to you for it! And he was at that time
coming from the fair of Gurtishannon, and 1 the same way:
'How are you, Jemmy?' says I. 'Very well, I thank you,
Bryan,' says he: 'shall we turn back to Paddy Salmon's, and
take a naggin of whiskey to our better acquaintance?' 'I
don't care if I did, Jemmy,' says I, 'only it is what I
can't take the whiskey, because I'm under an oath against it
for a month.' Ever since, plase your honour, the day your
honour met me on the road, and observed to me I could hardly
stand, I had taken so much—though upon my conscience your
honour wronged me greatly that same time—ill luck to them
that belied me behind my back to your honour! Well, plase
your honour, as I was telling you, as he was taking the
whiskey, and we talking of one thing or t'other, he makes me
an offer to swop his mare that he couldn't sell at the fair
of Gurtishannou, because nobody would be troubled with the
beast, plase your honour, against my horse; and to oblige
him I took the mare—sorrow take her, and him along with
her! She kicked me a new car, that was worth three pounds
ten, to tatters, the first time I ever put her into it, and
I expect your honour will make him pay me the price of the
car, any how, before I pay the grazing, which I have no
right to pay at all at all, only to oblige him. But I leave
it all to your honour; and the whole grazing he ought to be
charging for the beast is but two and eight pence halfpenny,
any how, plase your honour. So I'll abide by what your
honour says, good or bad; I'll leave it all to your honour."
I'll leave it all to your honour, literally means, I'll
leave all the trouble to your honour.
[25]But this pleasant life was not decreed much longer to endure, the insurrection broke out, during which an incident occurred that had nearly terminated all my then cares in this life, past, present, and to come.
"In my capacity as clerk or secretary, I had written one morning for the worthy magistrate, two letters, both containing remittances, the one 150L. and the other 100L. in bank of Ireland bills. We were situated at the distance of fifteen miles from the nearest market town, and as the times were perilous and my employer unwilling to entrust property to the precarious conveyance of subordinate agency, he requested that I would take a morning ride, and with my own hands deliver these letters at the post-office. Accordingly I set out, and had arrived to within three miles of my destination, when my further progress was opposed by two men in green uniform, who, with supported arms and fixed bayonets, were pacing the road to and fro as sentinels, in a very steady and soldier-like manner. On the challenge of one of these fellows, with arms at port demanding the countersign, I answered that I had none to give, that I was travelling on lawful business to the next town, and required to know by what authority he stopt me on the King's highway, "By the powers," he exclaimed, "this is my authority then," and immediately brought his musket to the charge against the chest of my horse. I now learnt that the town had been taken possession of that morning by a division of the army of the people, for so the insurgents had styled themselves. "You may turn your nag homewards if you choose," said the sentry; "but if you persist in going into the town, I must pass you, by the different out-posts, to the officer on duty." The business in which I was engaged not admitting of delay, I preferred advancing, and was ushered, ultimately, to the notice of the captain of the guard, who very kindly informed me, that his general would certainly order me to be hanged as a spy, unless I could exhibit good proof of the contrary. With this comfortable assurance, I was forthwith introduced into the presence of the rebel general. He was a portly good-looking man, apparently about the age of forty, not more; wore a green uniform, with gold embroidery, and was engaged in signing dispatches, which his secretary successively sealed and superscribed; his staff were in attendance, and a provost-marshal in waiting to perform the office of summary execution on those to whom the general might attach suspicion. The insurgent leader [26]now enquiring, with much austerity, my name, profession, from whence I came, the object of my coming, and lastly, whether or not I was previously aware of the town being in possession of the army of the people, I answered these interrogatories by propounding the question, who the gentleman was to whom I had the honour of addressing myself, and under what authority I was considered amenable to his inquisition. "Answer my enquiries, Sir," he replied, "without the impertinency of idle circumlocution, otherwise I shall consider you as a spy, and my provost-marshal shall instantly perform on your person the duties of his office!" I now resorted to my letters; I had no other alternative between existence and annihilation. Explaining, therefore, who I was, and by whom employed, "These letters," I added, "are each in my hand-writing, and both contain remittances; I came to this town for the sole purpose of putting them into the post-office, and I was not aware, until informed by your scouts, that the place was in the occupation of an enemy." He deigned not a reply farther than pointing to one of the letters, and demanding to know the amount of the bill which it enveloped; I answered, "One hundred and fifty pounds." He immediately broke the seal, examined the bill, and found that it was correct. "Now, Sir," he continued, "sit down, and write from my dictation." He dictated from the letter which he had opened, and when I had finished the copy, compared it next with the original characters, expressed his satisfaction at their identity, and returning the letters, licensed my departure, when and to where I list, observing, that I was fortunate in having had with me those testimonials of business, "Otherwise," said he, "your appearance, under circumstances of suspicion, might have led to a fatal result."—"You may be assured, gentlemen," continued the narrator, "that I did not prolong my stay in the town beyond the shortest requisite period; two mounted dragoons, by order of their general, escorted me past the outposts, and I reached home in safety. These occurrences took place on a Saturday. The triumph of the insurgent troops was of short duration; they were attacked that same night by the King's forces, discomfited, and their daring chieftain taken prisoner. On the Monday following his head, stuck upon a pike, surmounted the market-house of Belfast. The scenes of anarchy and desperation in which that [27] unfortunate country became now involved, rendered it no very desirable residence. I therefore procured a passport, bid adieu to the Emerald Isle, Erin ma vorneen slan leet go bragh! and once more returned to London, to experience a renewal of that misfortune by which I have, with little interval, been hitherto accompanied, during the whole period of my eventful life."
The two strangers had listened to the narrative with mingled sensations of compassion and surprise, the one feeling excited by the peculiarity, the other by the pertinacity of his misfortunes, when their cogitations were interrupted by a dissonant clamour amongst the prisoners, who, it appeared, had united in enmity against an unlucky individual, whom they were dragging towards the discipline of the pump with all the eagerness of inflexible vengeance.
On enquiry into the origin of this uproar, it was ascertained that one of the prisoners under a charge of slight assault, had been visited by this fellow, who, affecting to commiserate his situation, proposed to arrange matters with his prosecutor for his immediate release, with other offers of gratuitous assistance. This pretended friend was recognised by one of the prisoners as a kidnapper.
A kidnapper, or crimp, is one of those fellows of abandoned principles, who enter into the pay of the East India Company in order to recruit their army, and when a guinea or two is advertised to be given to any person that brings a proper man of five feet eight or nine inches high, lie in wait to entrap men for the money. Some of these gentry assume the character of officers, others of Serjeants, drummers, and recruits, without the least shadow of commission among them. They have many ways of inveigling the artless and unthinking. One or two of these kidnappers, dressed as countrymen, go five or six miles out of town to meet the waggons and stages, and enquire if John Such-a-one is come up, which is answered in the negative, no such person being known; they then enter into discourse with the countrymen, and being perfectly complaisant, engage attention, and by the time they get to London, learn their occupations and business to town; whether they are in search of places, trades, or intend to return home again, which intelligence they in general profit by. Coming to the place of rendezvous, the [28] kidnappers propose a pint of porter, which being agreed on, they enter the house where their companions are in waiting, enjoy themselves over flowing bowls, and exhilirating their spirits with loyal toasts and songs, begin their business by enquiring who is willing to serve His Majesty. The countryman, if inclined thereto, is generally deceived; if his desire is for the guards, or any other particular regiment, there are at hand mock Serjeants and privates, who will swear they belong to the corps, and the dupe is trepanned for the East Indies, hurried on board a ship, or kept in some dismal place of security till a sufficient number is collected, and an opportunity serves to send them away.
On the other hand, should the countryman be averse to enlisting, and talk of going away, these crimps will swear that he has received a shilling or more of the bounty-money, insisting that they saw him put the money into such and such a pocket; it is in vain that the countryman denies having received it, search is made, money found, and he is compelled to submit or pay the smart.
Others again, of these prowlers, frequent the places of confinement, and learning the particular case of some prisoner for small debt or slight assault, kindly otter to mediate with the prosecutor or creditor in effecting liberation. The pretended friend assumes the most disinterested feeling of sympathy, ingratiates himself into confidence, and generally terminates his machinations with success; accomplishes the prisoner's release, and sends him ultimately from temporary duresse to perpetual exile.
Such was the character of the fellow now placed in the ominous guidance of an exasperated multitude; they urged him forward to the place of punishment; but the tumultuary assemblage were disappointed in their anticipated vengeance, by the interposition of the turnkeys, and the pretended friend escaped the meditated castigation.
"Observe, again," said the narrator, "that dashing young fellow, arrayed in the first style of dandyism."
"My good fellow," interrupted Bob, "he is not, I should think, one of the community; he has, apparently, the manners of the well bred and accomplished gentleman." "And for that very reason, Sir, is the better qualified to [29] carry on his profession with impunity; he whom you dignify with the appellation of a well bred and accomplished gentleman, is all that you have expressed of him, with the exception of one word, that is, substitute for gentleman, swindler, and the character is justly delineated. This fellow, of desperate enterprize, is one of the numerous practitioners of knavery, who set themselves up for men of property and integrity, the more easily to defraud the unwary and ignorant out of their substance and effects. This Spark, connecting himself with several others of similar pursuit, they took a genteel house in a respectable part of the town, and dividing themselves into classes of masters, clerks, out-riders, shopmen, porters, and servants, and thus making a show of opulence, they easily obtained credit, and laid in goods of every kind, which they sent into the country and sold, or bartered for other commodities; these commodities they brought up to London, and sold for ready money, generally taking in exchange double the quantity, and paying for the same with notes of their own drawing, indorsing, and fabricating, for the purpose of cheating the poor deluded farmer, shopkeeper, and tradesman in the interior of the country. With respect to tradesmen in town, the goods they took of them on trust they disposed of to Jews, and other receivers of stolen goods, at about thirty per cent under value, for ready money, nay, forty per cent rather than not have the cash; and as their stay in one place could not safely exceed five months, on account of their creditors calling in their debts, and their country notes becoming due, they used to make all possible dispatch to dispose of the various articles, and evacuate the premises before detection. This done, they played the same game elsewhere, when, Proteus like, they changed shapes, and disguised themselves so as not to be known, and carried on business in another house, but in a different name; the master became the rider, the rider the master, the clerks descended to footmen and porters, the footmen to porters and clerks, and so on throughout, until they had drained many parts of the town and country, to the ruin of several worthy and honest families. However, the co-partnership is now dissolved, the establishment is broke up, and the different individuals of this nefarious gang of depredators, of whom the well bred and accomplished gentleman, the subject of our remarks, is one of the principals, are consigned to [30] different gaols for further examination and final commitment."
Dashall expressed thanks for the interesting communication, and the Squire his astonishment that the credulity of man could warrant the hope of success to such a combination, however systematically arranged; and where so many were concerned (and the distribution of plunder perhaps by no means equalized,) that some dissatisfied individual did not renounce the dangerous connection in the hope of impunity and reward.
"We know not that there is any subordinate division of spoil," said the other; "but if such there be, it may in this union of interests be the maxim as with other co-partnership concerns, that he, by whatsoever means, who contributes the most to the general stock, shall participate the most in the general benefit.
"Swindlers have other means of cheating and tricking the public, such as answering the advertisements of tradesmen who are in want of a sum to make good a payment, and offering, in consideration of a small premium, to get them the money required, on their note of hand, which they premise must be first given, and the money will be immediately advanced; the necessitated person agrees to the terms, and unthinkingly gives his note, which one of the Swindlers carries away, with a promise of a speedy return with the money wanted, but neither Swindler nor note is forthcoming until it becomes due, after having passed through many different hands, some of whom can ascertain giving a valuable consideration for the same, and fix the drawer to the payment, whose consolation for his credulity is, paying the money or going to prison.
"In case of a stagnation of trade, the Swindlers advertise themselves to borrow or lend upon good security. If they borrow, they have sham deeds, and make false conveyance of estates in nubibus, nobody knows where; if they lend, they artfully inveigle the borrower out of his security, which they take up money upon and convert to their own use, without the deluded person's knowledge; and by absconding, leave him to the mortification of descanting on their roguery, and his own want of foresight."
[31] The triumvirate were once more interrupted; a newcomer had arrived, and the prisoners hailed his initiation with the first stanza of an old song:—
"Welcome, welcome, brother debtor,
To this poor, but merry place,
Where no Bailiff, Dun, nor Setter,{1}
Dares to shew his frightful face:
But, kind Sir, as you're a stranger,
Down your garnish you must lay,
Else your coat will be in danger,—
You must either strip or pay!"
1 Setters—This appellation is applicable to others than
those-alluded to in the above stanza, as connected with Duns
and Bailiffs. They are a dangerous set of wretches, who are
capable of committing any villany, as well by trepanning a
rich heir into matrimony with a cast-off mistress or common
prostitute, as by coupling a young heiress with a notorious
sharper, down to the lowest scene of setting debtors for the
bailiff and his followers. Smitten with the first glance of
the lady, you resign your heart, the conjugal knot is tied,
and, like the Copper Captain, you find the promised land,
houses, and furniture, the property of another, and not of
yourself.
The novitiate, neither surprised at his reception, nor adverse to the custom of the place, seemed quite at home, paid his garnish without hesitation, and entered at once into the vacuum of indifference with his new associates.
The attention of Dashall and Tallyho was attracted by the clank of fetters, as one of the prisoners squatted himself on the pavement of the yard. Leaning his back against the wall, he commenced darning an old stocking, chanting at same time an old song from the Beggar's Opera, as if predicting his own fate, yet with a manner indicating the most callous indifference—
"Since laws were made for every degree,
To curb vice in others as well as in me,
I wonder we ha'n't better company
Upon Tyburn tree.——
But gold from law can take out the sting,
And if rich men like us were to swing,
'Twould thin the land, such numbers would string
Upon Tyburn tree.——
The irreclaimable depravity of this man could not excite any urgent feeling of sympathy in his behalf, and our two friends took no further notice of him.
[32] Their Intelligencer, who in the meanwhile had gone forth for information, now advancing,—"I thought," said he, "that I had seen elsewhere this Johnny Newcome; he is a sharper, another precious addition to our respectable community."{1}
"Respectable, indeed," exclaimed Tallyho, as he detected an urchin thief in the act of picking his pocket of his handkerchief. This hopeful imp, though young in years, was experienced in iniquity, had served an active apprenticeship to the art of picking pockets with impunity,
1 The Sharper, who has generally had a genteel education, is
a person of good address and conversation, has more the
power of delusion at will than the unlettered cheat, devoid
of address and other requisites to complete the pretended
gentleman, and therefore should be more carefully avoided.
These villains, having run through their fortunes at an
early period of life by associating with professed gamblers
and sharpers, (who having eased them of their money, in
return complete them for the profession by which they have
been ruined) set up for themselves, throw aside honour and
conscience, and quote the lex talionis for deceiving others,
as they themselves have been deceived. These gentry are to
be met with at horse-races, cock-fights, the billiard and
hazard tables, and at all public places of diversion. On
your entering the coffee-house, tavern, or gaming-house, the
Sharper views you with attention, and is not long before he
becomes acquainted and very intimate with you; if you agree
to his proposal to play, if he cannot beat you by fair, he
will by foul means. Rather than lose, he will elude your
attention, and raise your passion sufficiently to put you
off your guard, while he plays his underhand game, and
cheats you before your face; and though you are sensible of
being cheated, yet you shall not be able to discover by what
means it is effected. The various methods sharpers have to
cheat and deceive are so many and unaccountable, that it
would exceed the limits of our publication to detail even
the tenth-part of them; their study is to supply their
exigencies by means within their power, however wicked or
villanous. If you associate with sharpers, you must not only
expect, but deserve to be cheated by them for your
credulity; for who would go with his eyes open into a den of
thieves, but in expectation of being robbed? Or, who would
herd with sharpers, and not expect to be cheated? We would
therefore advise the stranger in London to shun these
reptiles of the creation, fraught with guile, and artful as
the serpent to delude. Beware of their conversation, avoid
their company, take no notice of their tricks, nor be caught
by their wheedling professions of friendship; listen not to
any of their enticements, if you would preserve your peace
and property; be not fond of making new acquaintance with
persons you do not know, however genteel in appearance and
behaviour, for many a villain lurks under the disguise of a
modern fine gentle-man; and if any stranger asks you to play
with him for money, set him down in your mind as a Sharper,"
and leave the room immediately.
[33]and at last became so great an adept in the profession, that at the early age of thirteen years he was unanimously elected captain of an organized band of juvenile depredators, some much younger, none older than himself, who for a considerable length of time set at defiance the vigilance of the police. These young fry carried on a long protracted successful war of extermination against ladies' reticules. One urchin, watching her approach, would lay himself across the path she must pass, and it frequently happened that she tumbled over him; a grab was then made at the reticule, the watch, and the shawl, with which the young villains generally got clear off. Others, in detachments of two or three, would hover about the door or window of a tradesman's shop, cut out a pane of glass, and abstract some valuable trinket; or watch the retirement of the shopkeeper into his back-room, when one of the most enterprizing would enter on hands and knees, crawl round the counter with the stillness of death, draw out the till with its contents, and bear off the spoil with impunity. One night, however, luckily for the public, the whole gang was made prisoners of, and dispersed to various gaols, each delinquent being ordered a severe flogging and solitary confinement. Availing himself of this indulgence, the Captain had watched the opportunity of approximating towards Tallyho, and was detected, as we said before, in the exercise of his former propensities; so difficult it is to eradicate vice from the human mind, even though in this instance so early implanted. Lenity in this case would have been equally misplaced as unjust, although the Squire humanely pressed his intercession; the incorrigible pilferer was therefore handed over to the custody of one of the turnkeys, until the Governor might award a punishment suitable to the heinousness of the offence.
The two friends had been here above an hour—it was an hour they thought not idly spent. And now leaving a small donation for distribution amongst such as appeared deserving objects, they returned home gratified by the additional knowledge acquired of Real Life in London.[34]
"......Would you see
The Debtors' world, confide yourself to me.
Come; safely shall you pass the fatal door,
Nor fear it shuts you in, to ope no more.
See, frowning grimly o'er the Borough Road,
The crossing spikes that crown the dark abode!
O! how that iron seems to pierce the soul
Of him, whom hurrying wheels to prison roll,
What time from Serjeants' Inn some Debtor pale
The Tipstaff renders in default of bail.
Black shows that grisly ridge against the sky,
As near he draws and lifts an anxious eye:
Then on his bosom each peculiar spike,
Arm'd with its proper ill, appears to strike."
THE recollection of past enjoyments in the vivacious company of Merry well, could not fail to be revived in the minds of Dashall and his Cousin; and as some persons, with due attention to his safety, had manifested their interest and regard for him by obtaining his admission to the Priory, where he was at this moment pursuing his studies, and could not quite so conveniently call on them, an early visit was determined on.
"We shall," said Tom, "by a call on Merrywell after six weeks residence among the gay blades that inhabit the walls of the King's Bench, have all the benefit of his previous observation. He will be able to delineate the characters, consciences, and conduct of his neighbours. He will describe all the comforts and advantages of a college life, introduce us to the Bloods and the Blacks, and, in short, there are few persons I know, except Sparkle himself, more able to conduct us through the intricacies of the Building, to point out the beauty and excellence of the establishment, its uses and abuses, than Merrywell."
"Do they charge any thing on admittance?"enquired Bob.
"O yes," was the reply, "they charge you, by a public [35] notice in the lobby, not to convey into the interior any spirituous liquors, on pain of being yourself discharged from thence, and confined elsewhere. Bless your soul, why the King's Bench is a little world within itself, a sort of epitome of London; it is in a healthy situation, and the space which it occupies is extensive. There are in all 224 rooms, and they measure each about 14 or 16 feet by 12 or 13; of these, eight are called State-rooms, are much larger than the rest, and more commodious; and a well-breech'd customer may have almost any accommodation. It is the prison most immediately belonging to the Court of King's Bench, and, exclusive of debtors there sued, all persons standing in contempt of that Court, and most of those committed under its sentence, are confined."
"And pretty generally all inhabited?" interrogated Tallyho.
"Yes, and frequently it is difficult to obtain a place to sleep in even as a chum."
Bob found himself at fault, and required an explanation of the word chum.
"The chum," replied Dashall, "is a partner or bed-fellow, a person who has an equal right to all the comforts and conveniences of a room, previously wholly in the possession of one."
"I understand," said Bob; "then when every room has already one occupant, they accommodate him with a companion."
"Exactly so, and he may prove friend or foe. This, however, may be avoided, if the student is in possession of the rubbish, by an escape into the Rules, which extend for three miles round the priory. These Rules are purchaseable after the following rate, viz. Ten guineas for the first hundred pounds, and about half that sum for every hundred pounds afterwards; day-rules, of which three may be obtained in every term, may be purchased for 4s. 2d. for the first day, and 3s. 10d. for the rest. Each also must give good security to the Marshal.[36]
"——The fiction of the law supposes,
That every prisoner, with means to pay,
(For he that has not this advantage loses,)
Either has business in the courts, or may;
Bond, fee, and sureties fresh prepare the way
And Mister Broothoft's manual sign declares
'That Mister such-a-one, on such a day,
'Hath got a rule of Court, and so repairs
'To town, or elsewhere, call'd by his affairs.'
This little Talisman of strange effect,
(Four shillings just and sixpence is the price)
From Bailiff's power the wearer will protect,
And nullify a Capias in a trice:
It bears a royal head in quaint device,
At least as true as that which Wellesley Pole,
With taste for English artists much too nice,
Stamp'd by Pistrucci's aid (Heaven rest his soul!
And shield henceforth the Mint from his controul.)
In various ways the various purchasers
That sally forth with this protecting spell,
Employ the privilege this grant confers:
Some, like myself, their lawyer's citadel
Besiege, his speed long striving to impel;
To take a dinner with a friend some go;
In fashion's haunts some for an hour to swell;
Some strive, what creditors intend, to know;
And some the moments on their love bestow."
"Thus you have a full, true, and particular, as well as amusing account, of a Day Rule, or what in the cant language of the day is termed hiring a horse, which sometimes proves a bolter."
"And what is meant by a bolter?"
"He is one," replied Dashall, "who, having obtained the privilege of a Day Rule, brushes off, and leaves his bondsmen, or the Marshal, to pay his debt; or one who transgresses the bounds; but such a one when retaken, usually undergoes some discipline from the inhabitants of the College, who being all honourable men, set their faces against such ungentleman-like proceedings."
"Then they do sometimes make an escape?"
"Yes, notwithstanding their restrictive arrangements, such things have occurred, and you must recollect that of Lord Cochrane, confined for the memorable Stock Exchange hoax. The means by which it was effected, I believe, have never been discovered; but certain it is, that he was in the House of Commons, while a prisoner in the King's Bench, and on the first night of his subsequent liberation, gave the casting vote against a proposed grant to a certain Duke."
"I remember it very well, and also remember that the generality of thinking persons considered his Lordship harshly treated."
[37] "However, he is now bravely fighting the battles of independence, increasing both his fame and fortune, while some of the Ministerial hirelings are subjected to a similar privation. We shall have a view of some of the residents in this renowned place of fashionable resort; the interior of which perhaps exhibits a spectacle far more diversified, and if possible more immoral and vicious, than the exterior. There are quondam gentlemen of fortune, reduced either so low as not to be able to pay for the Rules, or so unprincipled and degraded as to have no friend at command who could with safety become their surety. Shop-keepers, whose knavery having distanced even their extravagance, dread the appearance of ease exhibited in the Rules and the detection of fraud, by producing the reverse of their independence, and who even grudge the expenditure of money, to obtain limited liberty. Uncertificated bankrupts, and unconvicted felons; Jews—gamblers by trade—horse-dealers—money scriveners—bill discounters—annuity procurers—disinterested profligates—unemployed and branded attorneys—scandal mongers and libel writers—Gazetted publicans, and the perhaps less culpable sinners of broken officers—reduced mechanics—starving authors, and cast-off Cyprians."
"A very comprehensive and animated account truly," said Tallyho.
"And you will find it accurate," continued Dashall, "for the turn-out of this dwelling of crime and misery, resembles the Piazza de Sant Marco at Venice, in the Carnival time. There are all descriptions and classes in society, all casts and sects, all tribes and associations, all colours, complexions and appearances, not only of human and inhuman beings, but also all shades, features, and conformations of vice. The Spendthrift, or degraded man of fortune, lives by shifts, by schemes, by loans, by sponging on the novice, by subscription, or on commiseration's uncertain aid. He has however in perspective some visionary scheme of emolument and dishonour blended, to put into execution as soon as he obtains his discharge. The uncertificated Bankrupt has many opportunities left yet; he has other dupes, other tricks of trade, other resources in reserve. The Swindler mellows, refines, and sublimates his plan of future operations, and associates in it, perchance, a fallen fair one, or an incipient Greek, [38] put up in the Bench. Horse-dealers, money scriveners, bill doers, attorneys, &c. have either the means of setting up again, or some new system of roguery to be put in practice, in fresh time and place, which may conduct them to the harbour of Fortune, or waft them over the herring pond at the expence of the public purse. The disinterested Profligate here either consumes, corrupts, and festers, under the brandy fever and despair, or is put up by a gambler, who sells his art to his brother debtors, and thus lives in hope of yet turning the honest penny in imitation of those who have gone before him. The Cyprian, still exercising her allurements, lingers and decays until persecution loses the point of its arrow, and drops from the persecutor's hand, grasping more hardly after money, and opening from the clenched attitude of revenge. Then, to conclude the picture, there are youths living upon the open infamy of easy-hearted women, who disgrace and ruin themselves without the walls, in order to pamper the appetite and humour the whims of a favourite within, thus sacrificing one victim to another. Partners carrying on trade in the world, communing with their incarcerated partners in durance vile. Misery and extravagance, rude joy and frantic fear, with more passions than the celebrated Collins ever drew, and with more scenes, adventures, and vicissitudes, than ever Jonathan Wild or any other Jonathan exhibited."
"Excellent description," exclaimed Bob.
"And you shall have ocular demonstration of its absolute existence; nay, this sketch might serve for many other places of confinement, the Fleet, &c. They are like the streets of the Metropolis, constantly varying in their company, according to entrances and exits of their visitors."
"This, however," continued the Hon. Tom Dashall, "is rather a mental picture of what we shall presently witness in reality, a sort of introductory sketch by way of passport through the doors of this Panorama of Beal Life, to which you will shortly be introduced; a sort of ideal, or dramatic sketch of its inhabitants en masse, before the drawing up of the curtain."
The eagerness of Bob to listen to his Cousin's sketches of London society, on the one hand, and the earnestness with which Dashall had been exercising his imaginary powers, on the other, had led our perambulators to the [39] foot of Blackfriar's Bridge, on their road to the King's Bench, without any particular circumstance exciting their attention; when Bob, suddenly twitching his Cousin by the arm, and directing his eye at the same time to a thin spare figure of a man, without hat or coat, who was rapidly passing towards Fleet market, enquired who it was, and what was his occupation or calling.
"Don't you hear his calling?" was the reply.
"Hot, hot, hot, pudding hot!" was in a moment vociferated in his ears, while the active and industrious mercantile pedestrian, with a swing of his head, which was in continual motion from right to left, gave Bob a wipe in the eye with his tail, which by the velocity of the wearer was kept in full play like the pendulum of a clock, or the tail of Matthews in his admirable delineation of Sir Fretful Plagiary.
"Zounds," cries Bob, "it is true I may hear, but I can't pretend to say I can see; who the devil is he? there is no looking at him, he seems to leave time and space behind him; where is he?"
Tom laughed heartily, while Bob rubbed his eyes in vain to obtain another view.
"That," said Dashall, "is a sort of Commissary, a dealer in stores for the stomach—red hot pudding, all hot, and commonly called the Flying Pieman."{1}[40]
1 James Sharpe Eglaud, more commonly known in the streets of
the Metropolis by the appellation of the Flying Pieman, may
fairly be held forth as an example of what may be effected
by persevering industry and activity, especially in a large
and populous city. Those qualities, joined with a moderate
share of prudence, cannot fail to ensure to every man at
least comfort and respectability, it" not competence and
wealth, however humble his sphere, and however unpromising
his beginnings. He was bred to the sedentary trade of a
tailor, and worked for some years with his relation, Mr.
Austerbury, of Friday Street, Cheapside; but love, which
works so many changes, and which has ere now transformed
blacksmiths into painters, and which induced Hercules to
exchange his club for the distaff, caused this Knight of the
Steel Bar to relinquish the shop-board and patch up his
fortune by the patty-pan. He married his landlady, a widow,
who resided in Turnmill Street, Clerkenwell. He had a soul
above buttons, and abandoned the making of garments to cover
the outside, in order to mould cakes, pies, and other small
pastry, to comfort the internals. His active genius,
however, could not brook the tedious task of serving his
customers behind the counter; he therefore took up his
eatables and went abroad in quest of them, and we doubt not
he has found this practice, which he has continued ever
since, very profitable. The neatness and cleanliness of his
appearance at all times are truly pleasing. Hail, rain, or
shine, he may be seen abroad without coat or hat; his hair
powdered, his shirt sleeves turned up to his elbows, and a
steel hanging on his apron-string. Originally he carried a
tin case, something like a Dutch oven, in which he
constantly kept a lire, but is now generally seen with a
small tray. In serving a customer, he never touches his
pudding with his hands, but has a knife for the purpose of
presenting it to the purchasers, and his sale is so
extensive, that he is obliged to replenish several times in
a day; and in order to secure a regular and ready supply,
his female partner and himself convey a quantity of pudding
to a certain distance, and deposit their load at some
public-house, where she takes care to keep it "all hot,"
while Egland scours the neighbourhood in search of
customers. The first cargo being disposed of he returns for
more, and by this method he has it always fresh, and is
never in want of goods.
Many laughable anecdotes are told of this flying pieman, and
perhaps a day's excursion in following him during his
peregrinations would furnish much of curious and interesting
amusement. We shall however select one, authenticated by his
appearance at Marlborough Street Police Office on Monday,
July 8, 1821, as most intimately connected with Real Life in
London; when he preferred a serious charge against a Beggar,
no other than the president of a smoking club in the Holy
Land, and others, for stealing his mutton pies, cutting off
his tail, and otherwise disfiguring his person. By the
evidence of Egland, it appeared that he was introduced, with
his goods for sale, to a company chiefly consisting of
street beggars in St. Giles's, the chair at that moment
being filled by a beggar without hands, well known in the
vicinity of the Admiralty as a chalker of the pavement. The
dignity of the chair was well sustained by this ingenious
colourer, who was smoking a pipe as great as an alderman
over a bason of turtle soup; but no sooner did Egland make
his appearance, than the company seized upon his goods and
crammed them down their throats, in spite of the repeated
vociferations of "honour, honour, Gentlemen," from the
assailed. Resistance was vain, and Egland in this dilemma
began to consider that his only safety lay in flight. This,
however, he found equally impracticable; he was detained,
and by way of consolation for his loss, was called upon for
a song. His lungs were good, and although his spirits were
not much exhilarated by the introductory part of the
entertainment, he began to "tip 'em a stave;" but whilst he
was chanting "The stormy winds do blow," a fellow cut off
his tail. This was worse than all the rest; it was, as it
were, a part of his working tools, and the loss of it was
likely to injure his business by an alteration of his
appearance, and could not be tacitly submitted to.
The magistrates gravely considering this a most serious
charge of unprovoked attack upon an industrious individual,
ordered the parties to find bail, in default of fully
satisfying the inoffensive dealer in pastry, which was
accordingly done.
In the year 1804, scorning to be behindhand in loyalty as
well as activity, he became a member of the Clerkenwell
Volunteers, and was placed in the light company, in which
capacity he obtained the character not only of being the
cleanest man, but the best soldier in the regiment.
It is said, that for amusement, or the gratification of a
whim, he will sometimes walk a distance of fifty or a
hundred miles from the Metropolis, and return the same way.
On such occasions he always manages to take some companion
or friend out with him, but was never known to come back in
the same company; for so irresistibly are they allured
forward by his inexhaustible fund of humour and
sprightliness of conversation, that they seldom think of the
distance till they find themselves too far from home to
return on foot.
[41]"Then," said Bob, "he is not like some of the London dealers, who invite their customers to taste and try before they buy, for he scarcely seems to afford a chance of seeing what he sells."
"You did not try him," replied Tom, "nor would he have expected you to be a customer. He is a remarkable character, well known all over the Metropolis. Particularly noted for his activity in disposing of his goods; never standing still for a moment, but accosting with extraordinary ease and fluency every person who appears likely to be a purchaser; always ready with an answer to any question, but delivering it with so much volubility, that it is impossible to propose a second enquiry, suiting at the same time his answer to the apparent quality of the querist, though frequently leaving it unfinished in search of a customer, and moving on with so much rapidity, that you may almost find him at the same moment at Tower Hill, Billingsgate, and Spa Fields; at Smithfield, Temple Bar, and Piccadilly; indeed he may be said to be in all quarters of the town in a space of time incredibly short for a man who obtains a livelihood by seeking customers as he moves along."
"Zounds," cried Bob, "this walking genius, this credible incredible, and visible invisible pedestrian dealer in portable eatables, has almost blinded me.
"For, by this flying pieman,
I've nearly lost an eye, man."
"Come," said Tom, "I've no fear of your eye while you can muster a couplet; so let us proceed."
Crossing Black friars Bridge, and approaching the road, Bob, who had assuaged the pain of which he had previously [42] been complaining, could not help admiring the extensive range of nouses on each side of the way, terminated by a handsome building in the distance.
"That Building," said Dashall, "will be the extent of our journey, for very near to it is the habitation of Merrywell, where I entertain no doubt you will find enough for observation of a useful as well as a humorous nature: for an epitome of men and manners is there to be obtained."
"Here are abundance of subjects worthy of inspection in this quarter," replied Tom, "and we therefore ought not to exhaust too much time on one, so let us proceed: do you see that high wall to the right? That is the Magdalen Hospital,{1} established for the relief and
1 The Magdalen Hospital in Blackfriars Road, enclosed from
public view, occupies an extensive space of ground, and is
from the nature of its inhabitants very properly so
enclosed. It was opened in the year 1758, and it must be a
delightful reflection to its governors, that during the
period it has subsisted, more than two-thirds of the women
who have been admitted have been reconciled to their
friends, or placed in honest employments or reputable
services: besides which, a very considerable portion have
since been married, and are at this moment respectable
members of society: circumstances which prove the great and
important utility of this admirable institution.
There is no prescribed time for the objects of this charity
to remain in the house, it being varied according to
circumstances. Every effort is made use of to find out their
relations and friends, if possible, to bring about a
reconciliation with them, and if they prove to be persons of
character, to put them under their protection. If, however,
the young women are destitute of such friends, they are kept
in the house till an opportunity offers of placing them in
reputable services, or otherwise procuring them the means of
obtaining an honest livelihood, and they never discharge any
one without providing for her. There have been but few
discharged beyond the age of twenty years.
The general business of the establishment is conducted by a
Committee consisting of 32 Governors, who meet at the
Hospital every Thursday at twelve o'clock precisely, except
on the first Thursday of every mouth, when they meet at
eleven. Two of them attend at the Chapel in rotation every
Sunday at morning and evening service, when a collection is
made at the door on entrance. The hours of divine service
are a quarter after eleven in the forenoon, and a quarter
after six in the evening; and on account of the fascination
of the singing, no place of worship in the Metropolis is
more worthy of the notice of strangers.
An opportunity is afforded to companies who wish to visit
this charity, by addressing a request by letter to the
Committee any Thursday, or to A. Bonnet, Esq. the Treasurer,
any day in the week, and no fees are allowed to be taken.
reformation of wretched outcasts from society. The principle on which it is founded, entitles it to the countenance and support of the public, and particularly of the female sex, the object being to reclaim and restore to virtue such wanderers in the labyrinths of vice as are not totally depraved."[43]
"Admirable intentions indeed," cried Tallyho, "if they are but as well carried into effect."
"The records of the establishment have proved its advantages to society, or rather, I should say, to its conductors, for they are of a nature which cannot be publicly exposed, without much private injury to the individuals who partake of them. It is, however, not a little remarkable, that till lately, on the very opposite side of the road, the neighbourhood has exhibited scenes of vice, immorality, and indecency, which it is the great object of this Charity if possible to prevent, by an endeavour to reclaim the miserable and deluded wretches from their evil ways. I remember the late John Home Tooke related in the House of Commons a curious anecdote, in allusion to himself and his situation at the time, in which this institution was mentioned, and which excited considerable interest.
"It is well known that the late John Home Tooke, of political memory as the reputed tutor of a certain patriotic Baronet of the present day, as well as the author of the Diversions of Purley, and a correspondent of the yet undiscovered Junius, was a reverend divine of the Church of England; and when he became a Member of Parliament, it was objected against him that no person in Holy Orders could hold a seat in the honourable House of Commons. In his reply, he very ingeniously observed, that this objection reminded him of an applicant for admission to the Magdalen, who, upon being exhorted by the Chaplain to forsake her evil ways, replied that she was not aware of his meaning, and upon explanation she was excluded from the Charity, because she was not bad enough to require reforming. 'This,' said Mr. Home Tooke, 'is exactly my case; because I am in Holy Orders I must leave the House, and after committing some act of impropriety to lose my gown, I may yet be eligible for a Member of this Assembly.'"
"Pointed enough," said Bob Tallyho.
"Yes," replied Tom; "and having mentioned the name of the man, you may perhaps recollect the order of the day, [44] as well as the curious definition (before the Commissioners of the Income Tax) as to how a man lives who has no income at all. Being interrogated by the Commissioners, as to how he obtained his living, Mr. Home Tooke replied as follows:—'Why, it appears to me, Gentlemen, that there are three modes by which a person may obtain a living; the first is by begging—now this I am too proud to submit to;—the second, by stealing—this I don't choose to resort to;—and the third is by the exercise of the wits—and this, Gentlemen, I presume, you know nothing about.'
"Here," said Dashall, "is the Surrey Theatre, formerly denominated the Royal Circus. I shall, however, dispatch my description of it in a very few words, as we will ere long pay a visit to its interior. It is a neat building, and shews a good front to the road; is fitted up with a considerable degree of elegance, and is a very convenient theatre. It was originally conducted by Hughes and Jones, and its exhibitions were both scenic and equestrian, something in the style of what Astley's Amphitheatre is now; but you must see the one in order to form an idea of the other. Horses are now banished at this place, where, under an annual license from the magistrates of the county, burlettas, melodramas, dancing, and pantomimes are got up, and performed in a style which would not disgrace even the patent theatres. It is at present under the management of Mr. Dibdin, a son of the celebrated writer of so many of our national, patriotic, and characteristic ballads.—Just through the turnpike, the building which gives a sort of finish to the road, is the School for the Indigent Blind; at the back of which is the Philanthropic Institution, calculated to unite the purposes of charity with those of industry and police, to rescue from destruction the offspring of the vicious and criminal; and Bethlem Hospital, for the care and cure of insane persons, well deserving of minute inspection; and to the right, at the corner of a road which leads from Westminster Bridge towards Vauxhall, is an Asylum for Female Orphans, which, as the Magdalen was intended to reclaim prostitutes, was originally intended to prevent prostitution. To the left again is the King's Bench; and as that is our present place of destination, we will forego any further description, till another opportunity.
"I cannot, however, refrain a few remarks on the [45]situation we are now in, for from this place may be seen the children of penance (the Magdalen); the children of darkness (the School for the Indigent Blind); the insane (New Bethlem); the infatuated and fanatic (the congregations of the Zoar Chapel, and the faithful of mewses, garrets, and wooden tabernacles); the children of Thespis and Terpsichore (the Surrey Theatre), mingled together as it were with the debtor and the captive (the King's Bench): at least, placing ourselves at this obelisk in the centre of the road, the mind's eye can comprehend them within a short distance of each other."
"And a curious admixture of the useful and the sweet it certainly is," exclaimed Tallyho, anxious to give his Cousin a little respite, while they turned to the left on their way to the Bench.
"You will find," continued Tom, "all the before-mentioned infirmities, blindness, infatuation, madness, and profligacy, within the walls that we shall shortly enter, without the repentant spirit of the Sisters within the walls we have just passed. You will also find there is a plenty of self-interest and hypocrisy combined with them; nay, an hospital of incurables is only wanting to complete the scene. It is not till lately that a little reform has been effected in this quarter, for Dover Street and its vicinity, as I before observed, so near to these benevolent charities and to the walls of a prison, have been the sink of female profligacy, of the lowest, most dangerous, and most disgusting kind; and suffered too long to pollute the streams of charity and impede the road to reform. However, at length the nuisance is removed, at least the public appearance of it, though the neighbourhood is not altogether bereft of its private negociations and stolen accommodations. But come, now for an interior view of the. Abbott's Park, its interesting scenery, and its multi-farious characters. There you shall see what you shall see, and Merrywell will tell you more in ten minutes than you might wish to know in your whole life, I mean practically, though it is well to know in theory what ought never to be reduced to experiment."[46]
"——Give me leave to ask a question;
Pray, in the King's Bench have you ever been?
The Bench! Good Heaven! how shocking a suggestion!
Was e'er so saucy a companion seen?
Well, you ne'er saw the place; or if you did,
'Twere better not too closely to surmise;
Enough, enough, those frowns the thought forbid,
Who sees too much is rarely counted wise;
I rather boast that mine are prudent eyes;
Persons and things so quietly they read,
Nor by a glance confess they scrutinize,
That thoughtless lookers think me blind indeed,
When of themselves I take the strictest heed.
But since you wish me to believe that College
Ne'er gave its finish to your education,
I, of its laws and customs having knowledge,
Ere I take up the thread of my narration,
Must say a little for your information."
THEY had now passed the outer gates of the prison, and entered a court yard surrounded by a wall, which enclosed some good looking houses.
"These houses," said Dashall, "are occupied by the principal officers of the place, and devoted to purposes of business, or let out by them for the accommodation of those who' have purchased the privilege of the Rules. This door directly opposite the gate, is the only entrance to the Park."
They next passed up the steps, and entered a gloomy apartment, where after a few minutes a Turnkey, surveying their persons rather minutely, opened the ponderous door, which admitted them to an inner court of confined dimensions. Bob looked around him with surprise after the description of his Cousin, and began to think he had been vamping up imaginary pictures of what was not to be realized; however, hearing a variety of voices, and perceiving another gate, he quelled his conjectures and [47] followed Dashall, who, upon knocking at the door, was surveyed from a sort of loop-hole by the keeper within, who quickly gave them entrance; and the spacious appearance of the parade, racquet ground, and habitations, and a moving panorama of personages of both sexes, attracted his immediate attention.
Gazing with enquiring eyes upon this world-within-walls,{1} they scarcely heeded the variety of salutations with which they were greeted on entering, such as nods, winks, and touches on the shoulder from one who appeared as unconscious of such familiarity as if he had for some time been wholly absorbed in the solution of a mathematical problem, or the horse-laugh of the ignorant and vulgar, by whom they found themselves surrounded. Struggling through the throng, Dashall impelled his Cousin forward, repeating as he proceeded,
"How many o'er this threshold pass that mouru,
Wanting our power at pleasure to return;
A moment let us pause ere we ascend
The gallery that leads us to our friend;
Survey the place, where all that meets your view,
Is full of interest, and strangely new.
Could we but hide those grinning spikes awhile,
Borne spacious barrack we might think the pile."
"However," continued he, "I perceive we are quizzed, we will just take a turn round, and probably we may meet Merrywell, if not, we will soon find him out by enquiry. You perceive, they have the accommodation of a butcher's shop, and a baker's, besides green stalls, fish stalls, and chandlers' shops, which give the place the appearance of a public market, while the racquet players and others amusing themselves in various ways, resemble that of a fair."
"Indeed," said Tallyho, "your description is just, for I have as yet seen but few sorrowful faces, every one seems to have some object in view, either of business or pleasure, almost as attractive as those without the walls."
[48] "And in many instances," continued Dashall, "of as much, nay, more interest. However, you perceive the
1 The walls of the King's Bench are about thirty feet high,
sur-mounted by a chevaux de frieze, and as a place of
confinement, it is of great though uncertain antiquity.
accommodation of the inmates has been studied by the founders of the College. Water is well supplied from four pumps, and were it not that the walls intercept the views, a man here might almost consider himself in his own habitation, with only one drawback."
"And what is that?" enquired Tallyho.
"Merely, that like the starling, he can't get out."
"How now," said Merry well, who had espied the entrance of his friends from the window of his apartment, and immediately descended to greet them—touching the Honourable Tom Dashall on the shoulder, while he seized Bob by the opposite arm.
"What are you a'ter, exploring the secrets of the prison-house?"
Mutual congratulations having passed, Merrywell welcomed them to his habitation, significantly informing them at the same time, that notwithstanding his powers of entertainment were just then not what he could wish, all was right, the trick was done, that he was arranging for a house in the Rules, pro tempore, and that it would not be long before he should have the honour of meeting them in a way that would be more agreeable to all parties. "However," continued he, "if you can bear a confined apartment, I promise you shall have nothing else to complain of. Can you put up with pot-luck in a prison?"
"Certainly," was the reply, "our object was to spend a convivial hour with you, to wile away a little of the time, to see and learn, to take a peep at things as they are, and to form our judgments upon their existence."
"Then," replied Merrywell, "you have arrived en bon heure, for in this place a volume of information may be obtained, which, if judiciously applied, must prove beneficial; and while dinner is preparing, I can afford you abundance of amusement; so come along, we must move round this way to the gate again, in order to take any thing like an accurate survey, and I can furnish some anecdotes of the paraders, the players, the officers of the Court, and the visitors, which cannot fail to prove interesting. This, however, must be done with caution, for suspicion is ever active, and jealousy constantly awake within these walls; and as I mean to give you sketches of individual characters, rather than a general view of [49] the society with which I am now in association, a little discretion may be well made use of."
"Now let us analyse, but not too loud,
If wise, the composition of this crowd;
Made up from native soil and foreign clime,
Of waste and folly, accident and crime.
Here join the Speculator and the Fool,
Greybeards, and youngsters rather tit for school,
(At least for any school but this alone,
Where College vices in the shade are thrown.)
Of pugilists, of haberdashers, jugglers,
Horse jockeys, swindlers, Bond Street beaux, and smugglers,
By hollow friendship some in prison thrown,
By others' follies some—more by their own."
By this time they had traversed round the open walk of the prison, and on arriving at the place of entrance—
"Do you observe that small building on the right? it is called the State House, and contains the largest and most convenient rooms; it is usually devoted to the accommodation of such as are best enabled to pay; and there are persons residing here, who live as well, and in as dashing a style as those without the walls, or at least pay as much for their living. On the left hand you may also perceive the chapel, for the spiritual wants of those confined are not to be forgotten."
"There, in the centre, is the chapel door,
With ever changing notices spread o'er:
Whatever doctrines may within be taught,
With words of peace that door is rarely fraught:
For there, mid notices of beds for hire,
Of concerts in the state-house by desire,
Some ill-spelt scrawl demands the mighty debt
Of half a crown, with a ferocious threat;
Some traitorous agent is denounced; some spy,
That blabb'd of gin, is hung in effigy;
Here angry fools proclaim the petty jar,
And clumsy pasquinades provoke to war."
By this time they had reached the door of the Chapel, which, by the various placards pasted against it, fully confirmed the description of Merrywell.
Bob, casting his eyes around him, discovered much for enquiry. "Who are those in the corner in close conversation together?"
"The farthest from us," replied Merrywell, "is a Jew attorney, well acquainted with all the shuffling arts of the [50] place; one who can explain the whole game, from raising the wind, down to the White-washing Act, for the knowledge and experience of gentlemen in these days are astonishing. You would scarcely believe it, but such is the fact, there are rakes of quality and of fashion, who are their own farriers, horse dealers, who know every trick upon the cards and dice—cutting, shuffling, slipping, cogging, securing; who have cards and dice always at hand, and ready made to their hand; who, although they are awake to a good thing, know the odds to a nicety, and can give or take according as it may best suit their purpose, yet are not properly initiated in all requisite mysteries, till a sort of finish is given to their education, by a temporary retirement here; where they learn a sufficiency of the law to give information on all the quirks and quibbles of the arrest laws, of bailing, demurring, justifying bail, putting in bail above, of writs of error, county and Marshalsea writs, of letters of licence, the laws against usury, the bankrupt laws, and finally of acts of grace; perhaps the last and only one in their lives bearing that name: but we must walk on, or we may be overheard."
"Then," said Dashall, "you are by this time pretty well acquainted with the characters of your companions, and expect to leave the College with more information than you previously possessed."
"No doubt of it," was the reply; "but as my case was not desperate, I have not sought desperate remedies. I am at this moment supposed by certain friends of mine to be in the gay city of Paris, enjoying all the luxuries of the Thuilleries, the Louvre, the Palais Royal, and the Elysian Fields; and I doubt not I shall be able to convince an old rich uncle of mine of the fact. And as my expectations chiefly rest on him, and he cannot last long, I shall upon liberation make my approaches to him with a little of the French polish I am preparing while here. This, however, is selfish conversation."
"Yet perfectly in point," continued Dashall.
"And equally interesting too," said Bob.
"Do you see," said Merrywell, "that young man buttoned up to the chin, in what has been a blue great coat? He is one of the lecturers."
"Lecturers?" enquired Tallyho; "what, have you lectures in the College?"
[51] "Undoubtedly we have, on subjects of the utmost importance too. That young man, who began the world with slender property, but who contrived by a strict adherence to ways and means to cut a dashing figure, and live as if he had a large fortune, is in possession of volumes of information, which he is willing to retail to such as require it. What are termed lecturers here, are needy debtors, who put up young men less knowing than themselves, for money or for a dinner; and his experience is great, for when he had worn out all quarters of the town in the way of trick, when the fashionable watering places were teeming with clamorous creditors, when he was expelled from all the clubs in consequence of not paying his subscriptions, nay, when he owed almost all the waiters money, he came to this place nearly pennyless, and now, by singing a good song, telling a tough story, and occasionally giving lectures to his brothers in confinement, he manages to get a good dinner daily, and seldom goes to bed sober."
"Then his ways and means are not yet exhausted; he must be a good financier, and might be made very useful to the Minister," replied Tom; "and it is really a pity such talents are not duly appreciated."
"Who is that little stout man who passed you just now with a nod of the head?" enquired Tallyho.
"That," answered Merrywell, "is Capt. W——, a sort of walking automaton, a kind of medley of incomprehensibles, something like pedants' periods, very inanimate, and as you perceive, very round. He was formerly a button maker, but having a desire to sink the shank, he enlisted under the banners of Cupid, paid his addresses to one of the Queen's maids, carried the fortress by a coup de main, and gained a safe lodgement in the covert way, by taking the oath of allegiance at the altar of Hymen. Spurning buttons, he aspired to the epaulette, and was appointed paymaster to the 7th Hussars. Then he set up a coach to run to and from Maidenhead. This being one iron too many in the fire, soon became too hot for him. He defaulted for a considerable sum, and has been in quod for four years. Here comes a beau of the first order, a Colonel, and a most determined Dandy, even in confinement. Colonel R—— adheres as much to the nicety of dress in this place, as he would for a military appearance on parade. He [52] is Colonel of the New Grenada Horse. I have not yet learned much of his former pursuits or his origin. There is, however, an anecdote of him circulated, which prove the admirable fitness of such a person for such a command. It is said that when he obtained his appointment, he very significantly asked the General, what stocks he should have for his guns, meaning the gun carriages."
"That's a little too severe," cried Dashall, laughing at the same time, "it was but a lapsus linguæ, such as might happen to any man."
"I claim no merit in the relation," was the reply; "however, it has raised many a laugh at his expence, and as I had it so you now have it. But we have other game in view, and must not be exhausting our time in criticising immaterial points of propriety.
"Here ruin'd Lawyers, ruin'd Clients meet;
Here Doctors their consumptive Patients greet,
Sick of one malady that mocks all skill,
Without the true specific golden pill
Here finished Tailors, never to be paid,
Turn eyes on many a coat themselves have made;
And Bailiffs, caught by their own arts at last,
Meet those their capias yesterday made fast.
There stalks a youth whose father, for reform,
Has shut him up where countless vices swarm.
But little is that parent skill'd to trace
The springs of action,—little knows the place,
Who sends an ailing mind to where disease
Its inmost citadel of health may seize."
"You entertain us with a diversity of mental dishes," said Tom; "Manacles, Mammon, and Morality, dance through the mazes of your imagination in rapid and admirable succession—I wonder you don't commence Lecturer."
"I do not conceive myself qualified, and as I have no real occasion to be a pretender, I leave it to those who have.—O! there goes a curiosity—
"If you look sharp you'll see the short knee'd breeches, Brown hat and powdered head of stalking P—tch—s."
"He is known here by the title of Don; he has been a long resident within these walls, has seen much of Life, and is still a gay fellow. He was formerly a Member of Parliament, but not being able to overrule the Speaker, he out-run the Constable, and was seized by [53] the Bailiffs. He is, however, a jolly companion, and lives well; but to show his contempt for riches, he has actually seated his inexpressibles with the parchment title deeds of his own estate, with impressions similar to the old song—
"Why should we quarrel for riches,
Or any such glittering toys?
A tight heart and a thin pair of breeches
Will go through the world, my brave boye."
"Who is that with the rackets under his arm?" enquired Bob.
"That is Baker, a sort of privileged man, who is allowed the advantages of supplying the inmates with rackets, balls, &c. He lends rackets, sells balls, keeps scores, and occasionally carries on the haberdashery trade."
"Then he is a shop-keeper, I suppose."
"He is a measurer of tape" replied Merry well, "by way of refreshment, or in other words, under safe circumstances, can spin out Old Tom or Blue-ruin."
"I understand," said Bob, "a little of the Cratur."
"Here," continued Merry well, "is the coach-maker to the late Christophe, King of Hayti, Mr. H—— of Long Acre notoriety. This gentleman bought a considerable estate, which, with true parental regard, he settled on his daughter, and paying for his purchase by his residence here, whether his intentions will be fulfilled or not, so as to obtain liberation by the Whitewashing Act, no one at present can tell—and Colville is taking his walks—he is one of the Janitors, and Crier of the place. He has a Stentorian voice, which is a part of his business to exercise in calling the prisoners. I know but little of him, and even that is not worth knowing. He, however, has the character of being an informer, and I am not aware that he is in possession of any good qualities. I shall, therefore, rather give a slight sketch of the office he holds, than of the person.[54]
"Whoe'er one night has slept within these walls,
Has heard the din that each new comer calls,
To where the keen-eyed Turnkeys wait to trace
The lineaments of every novel face.
Each morning thro' the Bench goes forth a cry,
By Colville sent thro' every gallery high.
To number "One," peals round the shout from "Ten,"
Far rolling heard, "Pull up! now Gentlemen!"
"This is the custom with every new comer, and is productive sometimes of much mirth to some, but of infinite mortification to others, according to the circumstances of the case. As it would occupy some time to describe them, I shall give you a poetical sketch of a morning in the Bench; and by the introduction of a fictitious name, make you acquainted with a general practice. Imagine for a moment,
"Rous'd by the force of that Stentorian sound,
Rose Belcour, dressed, and soon the lobby found.
About the door a throng of varlets stood,
A grinning and ill-favoured brotherhood,
That scoff and gibe at every wight that wears
Linen less black, or better coat than theirs.
For these, young Belcour was too fair a mark;
'Make way,' cries one, 'he's going to the Park:
His horses wait; he's going for a ride.'
'Fool, 'tis his tilbury,' another cried;
'D'ye think his lordship rides without his spurs?'
'A curse upon such base unmanner'd curs,'
Between his teeth impatient Belcour mutter'd,
As each his wit so truly attic utter'd;
Then, 'mid the laughter of the brutal throng,
Dark frowning through the door he moved along.
Within the upper lobby Morris sate,
And touch'd with easy complaisance his hat;
And cried, not deigning from his seat to stir,
'We hope you're pretty comfortable, Sir.
'These chaps about the door are rather rum;
'But, love you! So they do to all that come.'
Short was the conference; the Turnkey's look
Quick cognizance of Belcour's features took;
And never, from that hour might he pass by
Unnoted by that well-observing eye."
"Well," said Tallyho, "I must confess such scrutiny on the one part, and such observations on the other, would be more than likely to ruffle my temper, and I should be apt to signify my disapprobation, at least of all that was unnecessary."
"In that case," replied Merry well, "you would only subject yourself to additional torment: you would have songs, epigrams, lampoons, and epitaphs in abundance, which would prove still more irritating; for this is the seat of learning and of wit, of poets, painters, and musicians, who, being enraptured with their own arts, neglect that of book-keeping, till a residence here gives them a leisure opportunity to close their ledgers.
[55] Speaking on that subject, by the by, we have among us, at this moment, the publishers of the John Bull, whose combined efforts in the way of scurrility have rendered them notorious among the periodicals of present times. There is, however, little of public attraction about them; and although they profess to have a subscription opened, to enable them to pay the fine imposed upon them, it is doubted whether any such is really in existence. Here, however, is a character of another description:
Captain K—— is still a gay fellow, though I apprehend rather what we call hard up just now. He has had the opportunity of expending a very considerable property in seeing Life, but if report say true, it has been chiefly exhausted among the fair sex, and coffee-house keepers. Seldom much depressed in spirits, let the world wag as it will, he sometimes gives good dinners and enjoys himself with a friend, though I suspect that can, under present circumstances, only be done when he can pitch the gammon to the wine merchant, and induce him to stand the nonsense."
"And do wine merchants give credit to persons in confinement?" enquired Bob.
"Certainly," was the reply, "for services done or promised to be done, or upon the security of some friend, who perhaps intends soon after to pay his engagements by a similar mode to that of the person whose debt he pretends to secure. No place can be found where the study of ways and means is more closely attended to than this. Of our prisons in general, much the same may be said as of our gaming houses; very few get out of them as they went in. A dupe is the general character of those who first enter; but they seldom fail to acquire that of knave before their departure. The air is infectious, the society fatal to morality and to honesty; few pass through the ordeal with purity, and return uncontaminated to the world; and yet, after all the frauds, tricks, and speculations practised, it is well to be acquainted with them, in order to guard against the recurrence, if a man can but have fortitude enough to avoid practising them himself.[56]
"Think not that the action of the place
Is all revealed upon this open space;
The darkest portion of the picture lies
Obscur'd and cover'd up from public eyes;
Here much you see, that bids you all mistrust,
Much that provokes aversion and disgust;
New friends, who coolly ask a one pound note,
Or borrow for an hour, then pawn, your coat.
Such stuff as this upon the surface swims;
He little sees who but the surface skims.
How much of fraud and finished wickedness,
How much of deep despair and keen distress,
Thought of by few, and seen by none, the while,
Is chamber'd in the niches of this pile!"
"Zounds," cried Dashall, "your pictures have so much light and shade, so much to admire, and so much to condemn, that there is scarcely any possibility of arriving at any conclusion.—Bless me, there is Dick Rakewell!"
"Do you know him?" said Merry well.
"What the devil are you doing here?" cried a young man advancing, and at the same time catching the Honourable Tom Dashall by the hand; "Are you initiated, or merely come to take a peep at the curiosities of this menagerie? Have you tipp'd and shewn yourself in due form; or do you still sport a game leg among the gallants of Bond Street?"
"Fortunately," said Dashall, "I can still boast of the latter, and have no very strong inclination to aspire to all the honour and happiness of the former."
"Grown serious and sedate; I suppose married, and ca'nt come—pretty wife—lots of children—love and fireside comfort at home—pleasure abroad—cash in hand, and care for nobody. That's the sort—give you joy with all my heart—never were such times."
"I am glad you find them so," continued Tom; "but your anticipations are a little too rapid, and your imagination rather too vivid for my proceeding; however, there is no knowing what we may come to; life is a labyrinth full of turnings and windings. But what brought you here?"
"Driven in by the Philistines," was the reply; "caught like a harmless dove by the Greeks—clean'd out.—By the cog, I was obliged to fly to this pigeon house, in order to avoid being cut up by my creditors; and, up to a little of the Newmarket logic, I am now crossing and justling though it is doubtful at present who will win the race."
"You have not far to run, however," replied Dashall, "and it is therefore fair to presume the heat will soon be over."
[57] "As usual," cried Rakewell, "always something short, but pungent, like a pinch of merry-go-up{1}—satire and sentiment—mirth, morality, and good humour—unmarried and still the same man. These are better subjects of congratulation than the former."
"We shall dine at half past three," said Merry well, "and if you are inclined to make one along with us, you will find me at home."
"I should have no objection to meet you abroad," exclaimed Rakewell; "but, however, I'm your man. Half past three, d——nd unfashionable; but never mind,
I'll pick a bone with you; and spite of dull care and high walls, 'locks, bolts, and bars, we'll defy you;' and my life for it we have a jolly afternoon. Is the cellar well stored, and the kitchen in good repair?"
"All right, my boy!" exclaimed Merrywell, "bring your bellows{2} in good order, and don't be afraid of your bread basket.{3} The dibs are in tune.{4} A ball of fire,{s} a dose of daffy, or a blow out of black strap, will set the blue devils at defiance, give a spur to harmony, and set the spirits a jogging."
"Then at half past three I'll have a turn to with you," continued Rakewell; "so no more at present from your loving Cousin. I am going now to call on Fred. Fearnought; that fellow has deceived me; I thought him a trump, but he's eaten up with hopes and fears, tormented in mind, body, and estate, no more pluck than a dunghill chick. I must stir him up with a long pole, give him a lesson or two, touch him to the quick, and then quickly adjourn to you; so adieu for the present."
Thus saying, he made his escape from his friends, and, passing through one of the entrances to the interior, was quickly out of sight.
"That," said Dashall, addressing his Cousin, "was one of the gayest of the gay in all the leading circles of haut ton."
"And I assure you," said Merrywell, "he has not lost one atom of his vivacity, notwithstanding the alteration in his circumstances; he is always full of humour, ready for a bit of fun even in confinement; he plays, laughs, sings, drinks, and is about one of the most cheerful companions I know."[58]
1 Merry-go-up—Snuff.
2 Bellows—A cant term for the lungs.
3 Bread-basket—The stomach.
4 The dibs are in tune—There is plenty of money.
5 A ball of fire—A glass of brandy.
"Then," rejoined Bob, "he is a philosopher, for he has learned to bear."
"Yes," continued Dashall, "but the other, and by far the most important, part of philosophy is to forbear."
"That," said Merry well, "he yet has to learn, and I have my doubts whether he will accomplish that desirable object while here. He has, with a moderate allowance from his father, contrived to drive his four-in-hand at times, to keep seven or more horses on his hunting and Town establishments; has kept some of the most dashing and expensive ladies, expensive male company; indulged in extravagant habits of all sorts, and has twinkled for a while in the highest gambling circles. A run of ill luck has at last sent him here, but not before he had honoured almost all the horse-dealers, coach-makers, and saddlers, gunsmiths and tavern-keepers in Town, with his custom, or rather with his name on their books. His father is a man of considerable property, which must eventually come to him, and he may yet form a conspicuous figure in High Life."
"What have we here?" said Tallyho, stopping to read a paper displayed in the window of a barber's shop.
"The old and only established shop at the prison
"price: shave well for one penny, hair fashionably cut
"for twopence, at 17 in 16, first staircase round the corner."
"Seventeen in sixteen—I don't understand this."
"Each of the doors," said Merry well, "which lead to the apartments is numbered, as is likewise every room in each passage, by which means much facility is afforded to visitors who come to make a call upon their friends. The operator himself is a prisoner, and so are most of those who carry on trades; but opportunities are afforded for any person to come in and supply articles to the inhabitants; and at an early hour in the morning you may hear almost all the cries of London."[59]
"Milk, matches, eggs, and Epping sausages,
Greens, water-cresses, chips, geranium trees;
A brush or broom, deal wood, cow-heel, and tripe,
Fresh butter, oranges all round and ripe;
Rabbits, a kettle, jug, or coffee pot,
Eels, poultry, home-bak'd bread, and rolls all hot;
Shirt buttons, nosegays, coals, and God knows what
Such are the goods that pass the lobby door,
Cried in all tones that vary, squeak, and roar."
"A little further on," said Merry well, "is the public kitchen, where, for a trifling fee, cooking is performed for the prisoners, and hot water supplied at a penny per kettle. Then there is a coffee-room and a tap-room for general accommodation, according to the circumstances of the inmates; so that in point of fact there is little to be regretted here, but the loss of liberty, and the want of money."
"Zounds," said Bob, "those two articles constitute all that is valuable in life, and in their absence it dwindles into mere existence.
"And bare existence man to live ordained,
"Wrings and oppresses with enormous weight."
"I admit the justice of the remark, for to become an article of vegetation, were it sure of continuance, would be one of the most irksome, as well as degrading situations to which a man could be reduced. But you should recollect, that the generality of persons who study in this College expect an early termination of their privations, by which hope is kept alive; and when the cherished hope is realized, of escaping from these walls, all recollection of the past is banished; and it is doubtful whether the temporary absence from the possibility of indulging in folly does not increase the possibility as well as the power, when at liberty."
"Who do you call that man with his hands in his pockets?" pointing to a person at a short distance from them at the moment, in slovenly attire, and with a vacant countenance.
"Hush," replied Merry well, "for we have modest men here as well as elsewhere; men who, though they have rendered themselves famous (a more delicate term than notorious) are not emulous of having their deeds recorded in history, and are indeed very tenacious of satisfying enquiries: his name is F—rr—ter, not quite so vacant as he looks; for it is, generally speaking, not your empty-headed fellows who can arrive at the honour of a residence here, it is rather those of brilliant imagination, of aspiring talent, who have been determined to have money for a time, without heeding the source from which it was derived—who have been up to snuff, till they have reduced themselves to the necessity of resting contented with the marrow-bone stage instead of a phaeton or a [60] curricle, and twopenny in lieu of claret The person you allude to, however, is brother to Cecil F—rr—ter of Court notoriety, and has really been in possession of considerable property. It is said that his principal failing has been too strong an inclination to resort to the law, and that upon the law and lawyers he has expended the bulk of his fortune."
"He cuts a curious figure now, however," said Tallyho, "and every view at first sight would take him for a. fortunate youth."
"Do you observe that man in mustachios, now talking with P——s? That is Captain R——n, who bears a more striking resemblance in character to the celebrated youth you mention; he had at one time inspired a belief among those who knew him, that he was a man of property—married with a view to realize it; and upon comparing notes after the nuptial knot was tied, both parties discovered they were taken in; but it is not ascertained whether this mutual disappointment ended with smiles."
"Why, it was no laughing matter," said Tom; "the lucky hit was all a miss."
"Yes, there was a Miss taken, and a Biter bit. Love is a lottery as well as life, and the chances two to one against the adventurer," replied Dashall.
"It may be so," said Merrywell; "I am not fly{1} to the subject at present; perhaps Sparkle could by this time unravel some of its mysteries, and give beneficial lessons to us all: however, time is flying, we will just make one more turn, and then to dinner with what appetite we may. Do you observe the pericranium topp'd with a Prussian cap, and the wearer with a pipe in his mouth?"
1 Fit—To be up to any thing, to understand, to know, or be
awake.
"I was on the point of enquiry," said Bob; "Pray who is he?"
"That is another Captain."
"Who! One would almost think you have the whole army of Martyrs confined here," said Tallyho; "at all events, your ranks are not deficient of officers."
"But then," said Dashall, "they are out of commission and out of practice."
"For want of command," continued Merrywell; "though Capt. S——, although never made a Commander in Chief, has been an exalted character, having once been made [61]inspector of the pavement,{1} or in other words knapp'd the stoop; and, if report says true, he has also figured away in other situations equally honourable—a flash turf man—a naval character, and a smuggler. But come, I have given you a sort of index by which you may read, mark, and learn more, when we are more at leisure. It is now half past three o'clock, and punctuality is always my motto."
1 Inspector of the pavement, or knapp'd the stoop—Cant term
for the pillory.
"Humph," ejaculated Tom; "Cash down, and no grumbling."
"D——n severity," was the reply; "no more of that, or we cut: touch my honour, and you touch my life."
"Dot and go one," cried Dashall. "Come along, Bob!" and catching his Cousin by the arm, they followed Merrywell in silence to his apartment in the State House.
On arrival, they found the dinner on table; and Hakewell, true to his appointment, arrived before them. The keen air of Surrey, though rather confined, had furnished them with good appetites. Apologies were banished, and to it they went without "let, hinderance, or molestation"—the viands were good, the wines exquisite and plentiful. The cloth being removed, mirth and conviviality were the order of the day.
Confusion to soft heads and hard hearts!—Parks and pleasure ground s without priories! were drank in bumpers with enthusiastic applause. The merriment and hilarity of Merrywell and his fellow student crowned the afternoon with as much pleasure and delight, as Bob conceived he could have found under unlimited circumstances. The good humour and hospitality of the host was manifested in the perfect satisfaction of those he entertained; and about eight o'clock, when Rakewell began to mangle his mother tongue, our friends, after dropping their mites into the canisters held out for their bounty, repassed the gates, well pleased and highly diverted with the information they had obtained, and the occurrences of the day; and not a little exhilarated by the Bacchanalian juice.
"Well," said Tallyho, "this is a scene of Real Life, which I should judge could scarcely be equalled, and would almost induce one to wish for an opportunity of a residence along with the Collegians."
[62] "Provided always nevertheless with an equal opportunity of leaving it when we please," said Dashall; "and probably we have only seen one of the best pictures it contains, for although we have been as jolly as Sandboys, there is a large store of misery unseen. But let us proceed. We shall soon be free from College Rules, and a thought strikes me, that we can make a call on our road that will afford another view of society equally amusing and refreshing. I have often observed to you, that in order to see Life, there is no necessity to buz about with court flies, to waste time and money in getting introduced to the tip tops of the West, to join what are termed the fashionable circles, and to end a fashionable career by a whereas or a whitewashing. The true student of Real Life should occasionally mingle with all descriptions of persons, mark the characters and their conduct; and, believe me, there are those in the humblest situations, who enjoy themselves in their own way with as much of heartfelt satisfaction as those in the highest, of which, I think, I shall be able to give you a decided proof before we reach home."
They now pursued their way along the London Road and over Westminster Bridge, till Tom called a halt at the door of a friend.
"Come, Bob," said he, "here we must uncase—doff the present toggery, and turn out in new trim for the evening."
"What!" enquired Bob, "another masquerade?"
"No, no," was the reply, "a temporary suspension of the dress and character of a gentleman, in order to avoid being tormented and suspected by the company to which I intend to introduce you."
Finding his friend at home, they were quickly supplied with tatter'd garments and slouch'd hats, in which they again sallied forth, and about nine o'clock they entered a low public-house in Scotland-yard.
"Fear nothing," said Tom, as they passed the threshold; "don't be flurried by any thing said to you, 'tis only a heavy-wet party among the coal-heaving coves."
As Bob entered the room, his very first action betrayed him, for, being accustomed to genteel behaviour, he took off his hat, which was in a moment knocked out of his hand by a hard featured fellow near him, whose face indicated the want of water, although so near the river.
[63] "Order, order," was vociferated in an instant by a jolly good-natured looking man exalted above the rest, who, at the same moment, rapped the table with his knuckles—"This here vay, gentlemen—Bill Muggins, mind you I arn't had your penny in the plate for Backy."
"Vy, that's a lie!" roar'd out a Stentorian voice, "I never takes my seat before I sees my vay clear upon the board. I put a crooked ha' penny."
"Yes, and two bad fardens vhat an't vorth nothing,'' said another. "Make him tip" cried a third, "or else stick him in the nitch."{1}
1 Stick him in the nitch—Send him to Coventry.
Bob having regained his castor, followed his Cousin to the other end of the room, and after each depositing a penny in the plate, they took their seats at the table, where, being supplied with a flowing quart, they began to look around them.
The first thing which struck Tallyho's eye, was "No trust," printed in large letters at one end of the room; a sort of indication, that a man without money would not be likely to meet with agreeable entertainment: then turning his head the other way, he discovered they were in a house of call for Coal Porters. Before the president (who, by way of distinction, had turned the broad flap of his coal-heaving hat forward in the fashion of a huntsman's cap) was placed a small round table, on which stood a gallon measure of heavy wet. On his right sat a worn-out workman fast asleep, and occasionally affording his friends around him a snoring accompaniment to a roar of laughter.
"Silence, silence! vy don't you all be more quieter when I am going to begin?"
"Order, order, chair, chair!" now resounded from every one.
"Vell, you know its no use at all for to make me take this here chair, because vy—I an't got no woice."
"I knows better nor that," said Bill Muggins, "for, by ——ven you fell overboard the other day you roared like a rum un, and ven I pulled you out you squeaked like a pig, so that are proves vhat you have got two woices, and that's one more than you ought to have. Lord, Lord, if you had but seen him and I get drunk a'ter it, you would ha' laughed—Dick bolted blue ruin till his eyes sparkled just for all the vorld like a vooden spoon against a soot bag."
[64] A general laugh succeeded this sally, which was accompanied by the speaker with a violent blow upon the table, which threatened confusion to the candles, glasses, and porter-pots, with which it was loaded.
"Veil," continued the chairman, "you know its all my eye, I an't got no sing in me, so if you're a mind to be friendly, vill you heave out."
"Vy, you know Dick, for the matter o' that are, I never refuses you nothing; nor, vhat's more, I never vont, so here goes.
"Vhat a hearty blade am I,
Care ca'nt never touch my heart,
Every trouble I defy,
Vhile I views the foaming quawt.
A very good song, and very well sung;
Jolly kimpanions, every one,
Clap your hats on, keep your heads vann,
A little more liquor will do us no harm.
Blankets and pins, blankets and pins,
When a man's married his sorrow begins."
The six last lines were repeated as a chorus, till every one appeared to be exhausted, and was succeeded by thunders of approbation, and reiterated cries of "Well done, Bill—go it, Bill—Bill Muggins for ever!" and the still unabated snoring of their companion in the corner.
"Bill Muggins a'nt nothing but a good'un, Gemmen,"said the President; "here's his health. Landlord, bring him a bolus of blue ruin. I say, Bill, vhat shall ve say a'ter that are good song?"
"Here's bad luck and no blue ruin to bad masters, and leg o' mutton and turnups for trumps—that's all I got to say, so here goes."
The toast being drank,
"Who is ve to call on now, Bill?"
"Vy, Bob Martlet's the boy to come it strong."
Bob Martlet was accordingly called upon, but requested a few minutes to prepare himself, as he was rather hoarse.
During this interregnum, Dashall slipped out of the room, and gave the landlord an order to place two bowls of punch on the tables, cautioning him at the same time to say nothing of the party who paid for it, but to say that a Gentleman, passing by the door and hearing them all merry, had given an order for it at the bar.
[65] Upon re-entering the room, Bob Martlet, with one eye bound up and his hat in his hand, was bawling with lungs of leather,
Lovely nymph! assuage my anguish,
At thy feet a tender swain,
Prays you will not let him languish,
One kind look would ease his pain.
Did you know the lad who courts you,
He not long need sue in vain—
Prince of song and dance—you
Scarce will meet his like again!
As this was a song to be sung in character, Bob Martlet determined to profit by the instructions of Shakspeare, "to suit the action to the word, and the word to the action," and consequently at the word "dance," he introduced some steps to the great entertainment of the company; but unfortunately jigging to another tune, in which all the broad brims joined, he forgot the connexion of the words, and was compelled to sing it over again, and to give his hornpipe by way of conclusion, which was accompanied by the barking of a dog.
Tallyho laughed heartily at this; the grotesque appearance of the "tender swain," and the dance in wooden shoes, were admirable, and highly relished by his companions. The room resounded with applauses, and it was some moments before silence could be obtained, when, lo and behold, the landlord entered the room as a peace-breaker with two bowls of punch.
Consternation and surprise were visible in every countenance. The confusion of tongues could scarcely equal the enquiries made in a moment; but the landlord, having his cue, made no reply. But there it is, will you drink it? It is all your own—and, to set you a good example, here goes—Success to trade!—and took a hearty swig from the bowl he placed before the President; then, taking the other bowl to the lower end of the room, he evaporated, but soon returned with glasses. Where he came from or how it was obtained, was banished from consideration, and to make more, the remnant of a pot of heavy wet was thrown into the bowl to mellow it, as the President observed, because vy he liked things mellow. The punch was handed about, the song and the toast passed merrily in succession till near twelve, when an unlucky disturber of harmony, with a candle set fire to the whisker of Phill the flue faker so called from his [66]having in his younger days been a chimney-sweeper. Phill, who had slept during the noise of the evening, was, notwithstanding his former trade, not fire-proof, awoke in a flame, and not knowing the real depredator, upset the President, and nearly knock'd him through a window just behind him—mill'd away in all directions, growling with as much melody as he had before snored. During the confusion of this affray, Tom and Bob took their departure from Charley's Crib, which they understood was a nickname given to the place, and, throwing themselves into a rattler, soon arrived in Piccadilly, where we shall for the present leave them to their repose.
"Since Life's but a jest, let us follow the rule,
There's nothing so pleasant as playing the fool,
In town we may practise, as well as at school.
The world turns about the same things o'er and o'er;
We fool it—our forefathers fool'd it before;
They did what we do, which our sons will encore.
Life's but a half holiday, lent us to stare;
We wander and wonder in vanity's fair,
All, baby-like, bawling for each bawble there:
We, children like, covet the glitter of gay things,
Make racket for ribbands, and such sort of play-things,
Which we cannot have tho'—without we can say things.
We take, or are in all our turns, taken in;
The world to be sure—'tis a shame and a sin,—
Might soon be much better—but who will begin?"
[67] "LONDON," said the Hon. Tom Dashall to his Cousin, "abounds with so much of munificence, that notwithstanding all its intricacies and inconveniences, he who travels through life without visiting it, may justly be said to know nothing; for it is all Life, its remotest corners are full of animation, and although it is difficult to fancy how all live, there are few but could give some satisfactory information if they chose, though I am willing to believe many would rather wish to avoid interrogation. We have already explored some parts of it, but be assured there is still much to admire, much to applaud, and much to deprecate. Our researches, after all, have been rather confined than extensive. It is such an ever varying and never ceasing mine of observation, that it is almost like the wishing cap of Fortunatus, with this exception, that although every wish may be supplied, it requires something more than putting on the cap to obtain the object desired."
[68] "From what I have already seen," replied Tallyho, "I perfectly coincide with you in the latter part of your observation, for I have no doubt but perseverance and integrity, with some portion of ability, is sure to meet reward."
"You are right," continued Tom; "many instances could be pointed out in proof of the justice of that remark: some of the greatest men of the present day have rose from the lowest origin. Shop-boys and porters have become tradesmen and merchants; shoe-blacks have become statesmen, and servants councillors. But on the other hand, many who have been born, as the old saying is, 'with a silver spoon in their mouths,' have 'fallen from their high estates,' and lingered out the latter parts of their lives in prisons or work-houses, laying the blame on fate, rather than attributing failure to their own want of ability, prudence, or active exertion. But come, I perceive the curricle is ready; let us take a spank through the City, and look a little more minutely at the mercantile world."
This call was instantly obeyed by Tallyho, who never doubted but his Cousin had some object in view, though he frequently started from Piccadilly without being previously acquainted with it.
Passing out at Hyde Park Corner, Bon remarked that he thought the City lay the other way.
"Never mind," replied Dashall, "we shall come to the point without doubt. Why, man, there are more ways than one, and I am not particularly partial to being blocked up in the public streets, amidst knowing jarveys and cramp carmen, sugar hogsheads, molasses, and slush carts, which is so frequently the case, when by a slight deviation from the direct way, we can give the tits a rattler on a good road without obstruction, and pocket a handful of time into the bargain."
He now turned into the road which leads directly to Vauxhall Bridge; on arriving at which, Tallyho was much delighted with an extensive view of the Thames.
"This," said Dashall, "will bring us to a favourite place of amusement, where you have already cut a conspicuous figure."
"What do you mean?" enquired his Cousin.
"A masquerade," replied he significantly. "Go along Bob."
[69] Passing gently over the Bridge, "Do you observe," continued he, "that extensive building? That is called the Penitentiary. It is a building designed for the punishment, employment, and reformation of offenders of secondary turpitude, usually punished by transportation for a term of years. It has been conceived since the commencement of the disputes which terminated in the separation of the American States. The plan of it is known to be partly that of Mr. Jeremy Bentham. The culprits are confined in circular buildings, the windows of which are so constructed, that the overseer from his room in the centre may be able to view every one of their rooms. The external wall encloses no less than eighteen acres of ground, within which are six of these circular buildings, each capable of lodging and employing from 150 to 200 prisoners, with a chapel, infirmary, and other conveniences. Its situation is called Millbank."
"It looks," said Bob, "like a castle, or tower, of impregnable strength."
"It is, however," continued Tom, "a useful institution, since it supersedes that indiscriminate transportation so long practised, and which, as applied to definite periods, was cruel and unjust, since the wretched objects were precluded from the power of ever returning to their native land, however short the intended period of their banishment. This part of the world is much improved of late years. The Bridge we are now passing, is an admirable light and elegant structure, but recently erected, according to the plan of Mr. J. Walker, and connects, as you perceive, by a straight line of road with Hyde Park Corner. The road before us leads to Newington Cross, and thence by various ways to the City. The Bridge consists of nine arches, of equal span, in squares of cast iron, on piers of rusticated stone formed of fragments, united by means of Parker's cement. Its width is 809 feet, the span of the arches 78 feet, the height 29 feet, and the clear breadth of the road way is 36 feet. It cost above 300,000L. But we shall shortly cross another bridge, far surpassing it in point of magnificence."
"It is wonderful indeed," said Bob, "that in a country complaining of a starving population, such serious sums of money should be expended in the erection of splendid mansions and magnificent bridges."
[70] "Not at all," was the reply, "for perhaps it is one of the best ways of expending, as it gives employment to thousands who would otherwise have become beggars on private charity, or paupers on public bounty, either of which is revolting to the mind of an Englishman: besides, if your observation applied at all, it would cut at every improvement of the day; and you should recollect, that, whether upon true foundations or not, every generation think the age they live in is the most enlightened: so it may be with respect to the preceding, and indeed, so much so, that the succeeding will rather decline than improve upon it, but it would be difficult to convince them of the fact. It is certain, however, that scarcely a day passes but some new invention or improvement is offered to public notice. The perusal of the newspapers is an evidence of my assertion; and as London is the centre of attraction, so it is the seat of knowledge, of science and information."
"I should judge, that if a person who had lived some two hundred years ago, even in this wild place, were to rise up amongst us, his surprise and astonishment would be strongly excited," said Bob, endeavouring to draw forth more of his observations as they bowled along the road.
"There can be no question on that subject," said Tom, "for how would the high ideas he entertained of the ingenuity of the age in which he had lived, dwindle into nothing! Nay, should he appear in the country first, what would he think of the various implements of husbandry, for ploughing, and preparing the land; the different machines for sowing the corn, for threshing, grinding, and dressing it; and in numerous instances (though perhaps not quite so much now as it has been, on account of the present agricultural distresses) he would find something else too which he might not consider an improvement: instead of meeting the honest homely farmer, assisting personally in the gathering in his crops, and his daughter following the cart with a rake, he would find the former mounted on his Prad following the hounds, and the latter at boarding school. Instead of the farmer's son bringing home his cows of an evening, and his sister going out to meet him at the sound of his well known voice, with her milk-white pail, he would find the one poring over Latin and Greek, and the other running her fingers over the chords of a harp or piano-forte."
[71] "These," said Bob, "are refinements in manners at least."
"Then, should he take a peep at London, as we are now doing, he would be struck dumb with admiration. But here we are on the Waterloo Road. That building on the right is the Coburg Theatre, so named in compliment to the Prince of Saxe Coburg, who married the unfortunate Princess Charlotte of Wales, the much regretted daughter of our present King. Before us is Waterloo Bridge, which leads to the Strand, and was originally denominated the Strand Bridge; it is acknowledged to be one of the most majestic structures of the kind, perhaps, in the known world, and was built under the direction of the late Mr. Rennie, to whose memory it is said a monument is intended to be erected. The Bridge consists of nine equal arches, and like the bridges of the ancients, is perfectly flat, which you perceive the road we are now travelling is not, for in some instances you may look over the wall upon another world below, as we are above the tops of the houses. Its being level is a circumstance highly favourable to the draught of carriages across it, and without any apparent subtraction from its beauty. We will alight here and walk leisurely across, taking time for remark."
The servants now took charge of the curricle, with orders to wait at the corner of the Strand, while our heroes, having each deposited his penny at the toll-house, strolled forward.
Tallyho appeared delighted with the views around him: In the front, a fine prospect of one of the finest cities in the world, and behind an equally pleasing sight over the Surrey Hills. The day being fine, and the sun darting his refulgent beams on the bosom of the Thames, contributed to form, altogether, one of the most enraptured sights he had ever beheld. The passing and repassing of boats and barges below; and carriages, horsemen, and pedestrians, crossing the bridge, alternately attracted his attention.
"Each arch of this bridge," said Dashall, "is 120 feet span; the piers 20 feet thick, with Tuscan columns; the width between the parapets 42 feet; these footpaths are seven feet each, and the road-way is 28 feet. The cost has been immense, and it is not likely that the original subscribers will ever realize the capital expended."
[72] At this moment the sound of music attracted the ears of Tallyho.
"What have we here?" said he, thrusting his head through the balustrades, by which he found himself almost suffocated with smoke, which stopped further enquiry.
"Behold," said Tom, "another improvement of the age; that is the Richmond Steam Boat, proceeding with a cargo of live stock to that celebrated place of public resort, and, in spite of wind and weather, will return in the evening. They always have a band of music on board, for the amusement of their passengers."
"Zounds," said Bob, "they ought to have a smoke-consumer."
"They had one just now," replied Tom; "for I apprehend you assisted them in some degree, though not voluntarily."
"You are smoking me," said Bob.
"Never mind, you have only been puffing a cloud."
"However, as the mist is dispelled," said Tallyho, "and we have, a clear sky before us again, let us make use of our senses."
"To the right you perceive Blackfriars' Bridge, and beyond that the Southwark Bridge. By the way, we were speaking of the alterations to be witnessed in a country life. We will now pursue the subject, and suppose for a moment our two-thousand-years-ago friend, after his visit among the Swains, inclined to transfer his observations to the Great Town. The first question would be, How shall I get there? Oh, there are plenty of night coaches, and day coaches too, Sir. Well, then "fancy him seated in a night coach, and having supped on the road, on resuming his corner of the vehicle, he falls into a sound sleep. Guess what must be his surprise on waking in the morning, to find himself in the bustle and apparent confusion of the streets of the Metropolis. But how altered! Wide streets and upright houses, instead of narrow lanes with houses meeting each other at the tops. Then what elegant shops!—He would exclaim, rubbing his eyes, 'Why, this is all a dream
"Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain!"
[73] 'It cannot be reality!'—However, he swallows a hasty breakfast, and sallies out again to look about him. From London Bridge he espies the one I have just mentioned, the Southwark Bridge.—'What have we here?'—'Oh, Sir, that is the cast-iron bridge, with three arches, over the Thames.' He hastens to it, and when upon it, what must be his astonishment, at the power of the human mind to form, and of the human body to bring together, such immense pieces of iron? To connect Queen Street, Cheapside, with the Kent and Surrey Roads by three arches, the centre of which is 240 feet span, and the side ones 210 feet each, the arches all composed of cast iron, the piers and abutments of stone. 'Zounds,' he would exclaim, 'if the race of man dwindle in stature, they grow daily more stupendous in intellect! 'But we will suppose, like you, with an anxiety to see all that can be seen, he perceives a machine sailing down the river with astonishing velocity; 'Why, formerly,' said he, 'wind and tide against a vessel were insurmountable obstacles in its passage, but now they seem to add to its swiftness; how is this to be accounted for? '—'Easily enough,' replies a bye-stander; 'Lord bless you, it's all done by steam. Hot water and smoke do every thing now-a-days! Why there are a great number of machines, which formerly required from two to forty or more horses each to put and keep in motion, entirely worked by the steam arising from boiling water.'—' Prodigious! Steam do all that! Astonishing!'"
"And truly," replied Bob, "notwithstanding I have witnessed many improvements, I confess I am astonished at the various uses to which this discovery has already been devoted, and the extraordinary powers it possesses.
"Well, we will pursue the train of thought a little further: Suppose, perambulating the streets till he is quite tired, and seeing alterations and changes out of number, he enters a Coffee House, eats a hearty meal, and taking a glass or two of wine, he falls into a musing train of ideas of the wonders he has been witnessing, from which he is not disturbed, till the hoarse voice of a Charley sounds in his ear, 'Past ten o'clock, and a cloudy night,' at which he hastily starts up, discharges his bill, and prepares, by buttoning up close and securing his trusty stick, for (as he would naturally expect) a dull dreary walk. He sallies out thus equipped, and, to his utter astonishment, finds the streets as busy as in the middle of the day, and almost as light. He steps up to one of the lights to [74] examine it—'What can this be? It is not oil, there is no vessel to contain it; surely this can't be steam also! But what can it be?'—'Gas, Sir,' says a passenger, who overhears the question, 'Gas; it is produced from coals set on fire and confined in a furnace, the subtle vapour from which is conveyed by means of pipes, and, light applied to it, immediately bursts into a flame.' His astonishment would now be complete, and if he did sleep after, it would be difficult to persuade him it was not all a dream."
"Our wise forefathers knew the worth of land,
And bank'd the Thames out with laborious hand;
From fresh encroachments bound it's restless tide
Within a spacious channel deep and wide.
With equal pains, revers'd, their grandsons make
On the same spot a little inland lake;
Where browsing sheep or grazing cattle fed,
The wondrous waters new dominion spread;
Where rows of houses stood through many a street
Now rows of ships present a little fleet.
Nay, we had made, had Nature not refus'd,
Had Father Thames not begg'd to be excus'd,
A pretty tunnel underneath his bed,
And left him running, grumbling, over head;
Had scratch'd a track out, like a grubbing mole,
Through a long, dark, and damp and dirty hole—
Like rats in sewers, had flounder'd through the mud,
Instead of sailing, duck-like, o'er the flood;
But bubbling springs chok'd up the project deep,
And trickling waters on our folly weep."
By this time they had crossed the Bridge, and having regained the curricle, the Hon. Tom Dashall tickled the tits in prime style along the Strand, in the road to the City. Soon after passing Temple Bar, they were attracted by a vast concourse of persons surrounding the shop of Mr. Carlile,{1} from whence upon enquiry they learnt the
1 Perhaps some of the most remarkable occurrences in the
City of London have taken place at the house of Carlile. The
whole family have been tried and convicted of selling
treasonable or seditious works, and are now suffering the
sentence of the law. But, notwithstanding the combined
efforts of a powerful body, the shop is kept open, and it is
more than likely that a greater business is carried on now
than ever. In a recent Number of the Re-publican, published
by him, he makes the following observations:—
"Since my last went to press, we have thought it prudent to
resort to stratagem to defeat the schemes of the Gang, in
taking out every new hand from the shop by a warrant. We
now sell all publications, to suspicious and unsuspicious
customers, through a hole in a part of the shop, where it is
impossible for the purchaser to identify the seller, as
there are always two or three serving in the back ground,
none of whom can be seen or heard, to be identified
individually. These persons are frequently changed, so that
even if the enemy resorted to burglary and house-breaking,
upon the strength of any warrant, the seller of any pamphlet
or pamphlets could not be identified. Where the statue of
Paine stood, we are about to caricature the defeat of Murray
and Sharpe, and make them watch the hole through which the
money and pamphlets pass, without being able to prevent it.
There are fifty stratagems by which I could give full effect
to the sale of my publications, as well as if they were
sold openly, and which would defy prosecution, as the vender
could not be identified. I dislike this mode of doing
business; I like open, fair play; and I now make a
proposition to Stoddart, Clarke, Murray, and Sharp, that I
will do every thing openly, and give them the name of every
individual in my employ from time to time, if they will
confine themselves to the professions they have made through
"Cato," their scribe, and not arrest until a Grand Jury have
pronounced a true Bill against the individual. If they will
not accept this proposition, they shall arrest no more, and
my business shall go on just the same. I tell them, for
their comfort, that the pamphlets sold daily through the
hole, have doubled the number of those sold openly
heretofore. Public curiosity they have excited, and am
reaping the benefit. They cannot put-me down. I will put
them down. Let the result bear witness. My friend in the
enemy's camp and councils, has my thanks for his valuable
information. He will perceive that all his information and
instructions have been acted upon."
The previous observations of Mr. Carlile are admirably
elucidated by the following Police Report of one of the
Newspapers:
The Bridge-street Association.—After a cessation of
hostilities for two or three days, Mr. Secretary Murray, and
the forces of the Bridge Street Association under his
command, re-assembled at this Justice-room [Guildhall] on
Saturday.
Mr. Honorary Secretary Sharp was also in attendance, and
remained in the public room with the Yeomen, while the Co-
Secretary was indulged with a private interview with the
Magistrate, Mr. Alderman Birch, in the parlour. Mr. Newman,
the City Solicitor, was also called into council, and
remained iu consultation with Secretary Murray some time;
there was much marching and countermarching in and out of
the office on the part of the Secretary and the Yeomen, but
no public application on the part of the Association was
made to the Alderman, and it was understood that there was
much difficulty in determining the manner of renewing, with
any prospect of success, the attacks upon the inmates of
"The Temple of Reason."
The difficulty, it seems, arose from the new mode of defence
adopted by the besieged. The little parlour which
adjoins the shop has been converted into a citadel, the
glass partition which separates them is closely blinded, and
the operations carried on in ambush behind it; two of the
squares of glass have been taken out, and in the place of
one of them is erected a box with an aperture for the
receipt of money, over which is an inscription, "Put your
money in here;" and in the other, a contrivance by which the
pamphlet wanted is slid down to the purchaser from the
inside of the citadel. This machinery, however, is used only
for the sale of such works as have already been made the
object of prosecution. The seller is invisible, and the
identification of his person rendered impracticable, unless
the citadel be taken by storm. Little Waddington, heretofore
the Radical standard-bearer, whose own experience has
procured for him an extensive acquaintance with the persons
of officers and informers, has assumed the command, and
conducts the operations in the front shop, where the sale of
such of Carlile's publications as have not as yet come under
the censure of the law, is carried on as usual.
[76] officers of the Police had just taken one of the shopmen in custody, for vending an alleged seditious or treasonable publication, upon the information of a Yeoman in the pay of the Bridge Street Gang. The crowd of persons induced our friends to make a little further enquiry into the cause, who were soon informed, that in consequence of the repeated attempts to stop the issue of books and pamphlets sold, at what is denominated the Temple of Reason, a part of the shop had been boarded off, so as completely to screen the venders of any publication from the eye of the purchaser, and by this means to render abortive all future attempts to identify any supposed offender.
"Why," said Dashall, "it is an old saying, and I believe a very true one, If you tread upon a worm it will turn. Such appears to be exemplified in the case of this man. You have also heard me remark, that in London it signifies little by what means a man obtains popularity, and here is a case exactly in point. An extensive body of rich men have combined their efforts to crush an individual of little importance in the world, and who perhaps would before this have been forgotten, but for their indiscreet interference with his pursuits. They are now not only foiled in their endeavours to obtain fresh exercise for their Yeomen, and more work for their Lawyers, but, in consequence of their determined opposition, the world is likely to be deluged with every obnoxious publication, without any chance of detecting the sellers."
"It is a curious manouvre," said Tallyho.
"Yes, and it appears to have the desired effect with the Carliles and their adherents. They carry on the war in ambuscade, and are selling, without fear, books and [77] pamphlets, of which but for the Constitutional Committee, as they call themselves, perhaps half the world would have known nothing. Such, however, is frequently the effect of intemperate zeal, and these Gentlemen have blown into notoriety that which they intended to suppress, whether upon the substantial grounds of reason or propriety, I leave others to decide."
Becoming now entangled in a double row of carriages, with little prospect of making further progress for some time, our friends resigned the curricle to the care of the servant, and proceeded on foot to the City Coffee House, Ludgate Hill, for refreshment.{1}
1 When the City Coffee House was first opened, Dr. Johnson
frequently called there, and one morning observing a large
book upon the table, took it up, and after inspecting the
outside with great attention, he found it to be Minshew's
Dictionary of Twelve Languages; upon which he turned round
to the master of the house and asked him, "What use he could
have for such a book?" "To amuse literary Gentlemen," was
the reply. "Do you under-stand any of these languages?" "I
find it a very difficult task, Sir, to understand my own,
and I am not possessed of the erudition of a Johnson." The
Doctor looked at him stedfastly and replied, "Sir, you are a
very impudent fellow." "Sir, I am sorry you think so,"
replied the proprietor, "and I hope we shall both of us mend
our manners." On this the Doctor drank his chocolate, and
marched out of the house.
This Coffee House is much resorted to, and, in point of comfortable accommodation, is perhaps not surpassed by any in London.
Having regaled themselves, and looked over the leading papers of the day, they proceeded to inspect the interior of that noble edifice, the pride of the British empire, St. Paul's Cathedral.
"According to vulgar tradition," said Dashall, "this church occupies the site of a Roman temple, which was consecrated to Diana; but the son of Sir Christopher Wren, in his Parentalia, controverts this opinion, and contends, that the first cathedral of the Episcopal see of London was built in the area, the seat of the Roman Prætorian camp, the precise spot on which the present church stands. It is supposed to have been destroyed in the general persecution under the emperor Dioclesian, to have been re-edified under Constantine, to have been demolished by the Pagan Saxons, and to have been restored in the seventh century, when the Saxons embraced [78] Christianity. From this period it has been four times rebuilt, and at the great fire of London was totally destroyed."
These remarks premised by Dashall for the information of his friend, they proceeded to view the several statues and funeral monuments, displayed with uniformity and executed with considerable taste, by which the interior of the church has been much improved in appearance.{1}
After having examined these stately and expressive mementos of mortality, the two visitors were asked by their attendant, whether they would pass to the stone and iron galleries outside of the church; but this, having so lately enjoyed the extensive prospect from the Monument, they declined, and proceeded at once to the Library, the first object to be seen in the ascent.
Our two visitors were very much pleased with this handsome room, which in its dimensions is about fifty feet by forty, having shelves of books to the top, with a gallery
1 The statues of Dr. Johnson, and Howard the philanthropist,
both executed by the late Mr. Bacon, were opened for public
inspection in 1796. That of Dr. Johnson represents a moral
philosopher, with the attitude and expression of intense
thought, leaning against a column, indicative of the
firmness of mind and stability of principles of the man whom
it is intended to commemorate.
The statue of Howard, in which the character of active
benevolence is well expressed, stands upon a pedestal of
white marble, on which is a group of bas-relief,
representing a scene in a prison, where the philanthropist,
having broken the chains of the prisoners, is bringing
provision and clothing for their relief.
The statue of Sir William Jones, a man well known for his
extensive and multifarious erudition, whose study it was to
make the British name honoured and revered amongst the
nations of the East, is also the work of Bacon, and was
erected by the East India Company.
Amongst the monuments lately raised in commemoration of de-
parted worth, is that of Nelson, and in design and execution
it is not exceeded by any in the Cathedral.
In the open part of the Cathedral, the stranger will be
struck with the appearance of numerous tattered flags, the
trophies of British valour. Those over the aisle leading
from the western door, were taken in part during the
American War, and the rest by the Duke of York at
Valenciennes. Those on both sides near the north door, were
reprisals made from the French by Lord Howe, on the 1st of
June, 1794; opposite to which, on the right hand, are the
flags taken from the Spaniards by Lord Nelson, in 1797; and
on the left are those taken from the Dutch by Lord Duncan,
at Camperdown, and by Lord Keith at the Cape of Good Hope.
[79]running along the sides. The floor is of oak, consisting of 2376 small square pieces, and is not only curious for its being inlaid, without a nail or a peg to fasten the parts, but is very neat in the workmanship, and beautiful in its appearance. The principal things pointed out to a stranger, are several carved stone pillars, some Latin manuscripts, written by Monks 800 years ago, and an English manuscript illuminated, containing rules for the government of a convent, written in old English, about 500 years since, all in fine preservation.
The clock-work and the great bell were the next curiosities that attracted the attention of our visitants. On the latter, weighing 11,470lbs. the hammer of the clock strikes the hours. It was now noon, and the ponderous hammer put itself into motion, and slowly, yet with astounding impetus, struck the bell, and the reverberation tingled on the auricular organs of the two strangers with painful and stunning effect throughout the long protracted intimation of the hour; nor was it until a considerable time had elapsed, that their hearing recovered from the clanging agitation.{1}
1 This bell is never tolled but upon the death of some of
the Royal Family, of the Bishop of London, or of the Dean of
St. Paul's, and then the clapper is moved and not the bell.
In the stillness of night, the indication of the hour by the
deeply sonorous tone of this bell may be heard, not merely
over the immense Metropolis, but in distant parts of the
country. The fact is well known of the sentry at Windsor,
who, when accused of having been asleep one night on his
post, denied the charge, saying, "That he had been listening
to St. Paul's in London, which had just struck thirteen!"
And this assertion was, upon enquiry, satisfactorily
corroborated.
They were now ushered into the Whispering Gallery, which is constructed on the very simple principle of an unbroken communication. It is 140 yards in circumference, and a stone seat runs round the gallery along the foot of the wall. On the side directly opposite to the entrance door, Dashall and his friend seated themselves, when the person who shewed the gallery whispered close to the door, at the distance of 140 feet, and yet they heard his voice seemingly at their ear. The shutting of the door resembled a clap of thunder. From this gallery, round the inner circle of which is an iron balustrade, the marble pavement of the church exhibits a beautiful appearance, and the paintings of the dome, which have [80] greatly suffered by time, are thence seen to the greatest advantage.
The ascent to the ball is attended by some difficulty, and is not encountered by many. Our two visitants therefore declined its inspection. The interior diameter of the ball is six feet two inches, and will contain twelve persons.{1}
1 A new ball and cross have lately replaced the former, of
similar dimensions. The erection of the scaffolding, and
subsequent proceedings of the workmen, at so fearful a
height from the "haunts of men," excited a very general
interest, more particularly so on the recent happy
accomplishment of the undertaking, when the in-trepid
aeronauts cheered the admiring multitude far beneath, and,
seated in the clouds like the deities of Mount Olympus,
drank to the prosperity of their friends in the nether
regions.
The best view of the metropolis is obtained, in a clear day, from the gallery at the foot of the lantern. The diminutive appearance of the passengers and other objects beneath is extremely amusing, and resembles the Elfin Panorama of the capital of Lilliput.
The calm serenity of the interior, the awful grandeur of the structure itself, and the reflections arising from the contemplation of monuments erected to the memory of departed worth, with the splendid achievements of heroic minds, formed a strange contrast to the scene which presented itself to their view on leaving this magnificent pile. The hurry, bustle, and confusion of the street, the noisy vociferations of coachmen, carmen, &c. burst upon their senses at a moment when the mind had been soothed by reflection, and the eye gratified with a sight which led imagination into futurity, before which the past and the present had appeared to evaporate. The Hon. Tom Dashall, however, was quickly recalled by observing his curricle so completely hemmed in between contending parties to obtain liberation at the corner of Paul's chain, as to afford but little chance of escape from its intricate situation for some time.
"Zounds," said Tom, "we had better return and take a seat among the worthies within, for I have no idea of mounting the curricle, to sit and be quizzed."
"Any chance," said Bob, "is better than that; but at all events your man is able to take care of the carriage and cattle, and we are competent to the care of ourselves."
"Well hinted," replied Tom, "and it shall be acted upon."
[81] Thus saying, he made his way through the throng, and gave orders for the curricle to proceed home as soon as it could be extricated from its present confinement. Then returning to his Cousin,
"It is not the first time I have been disappointed; I had made up my mind to proceed much farther; but the very scenes we have been inspecting are proofs of the inability of man to perform all his wishes, although equally' a proof of the splendid talents and determined valour of our renowned and deservedly remembered countrymen, and are well calculated to inspire us with patience, fortitude, and forbearance. At the other door we can escape from the bustle of this side; and perhaps the best thing we can do under existing circumstances, will be to speed homewards, and after dinner relax a little from our toils, in order to recruit for further activity."
"Have with you," said Bob; "we have enjoyed the first part of the day on a variety of interesting subjects, and after a cheerful and refreshing ride, have at last arrived at the threshold of eternity. We may as well escape for this time if we can, and cheat the grim tyrant of mankind. Although our ride has been a long one, our walk back is but short, so let us lose no time."
In accordance with this recommendation, he caught hold of Dashall's arm, proceeded through the Cathedral, and arrived at Piccadilly without any thing remarkable or particular to record, where we shall for the present leave them to their enjoyments among the able writers with which Tom's bookcase was well stored.
Hail! venerable pile! with awe I tread
The sacred mansion of th' illustrious dead!
Where rise, o'er forms now mould'ring into dust,
The "storied urn" and "animated West."—
Beneath the fretted dome, aspiring high,
Here monarchs, heroes, poets, sages, lie!
"Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue,"
Here sleeps the bard with those whom erst he sung;
And all consigned to one impartial doom,
Lo! kings and subjects levelled in the tomb!
IN a perambulation westward, our friends shortly reached the precinct of Westminster Abbey, or the collegiate Church of Saint Peter; the most ancient religious structure in the metropolis.
Divested of fabulous narration, its history is briefly as follows. Its name is obviously derived from its situation, in the west, and from its original destination as the church of a monastery. It was founded by Sebert, king of the East Saxons; was destroyed afterwards by the Danes; was subsequently re-built by king Edgar in 958; the church was again re-built by Edward the Confessor in 1065; and by Pope Nicholas II. it was constituted a place of inauguration of the English Monarchs. Henry III. re-built it from the ground, and Henry VII. added a magnificent chapel at the east end of it. The monastery was surrendered by the abbot and monks to Henry VIII. who first converted it into a college of secular canons, and afterwards into a cathedral, of which the county of Middlesex was the see. His successor, Edward VI. dissolved the see, and restored the college, which was again converted by Mary into an abbey. That institution was dissolved by Elizabeth in 1560; she founded the present establishment, which is a college consisting of a dean, 12 secular canons, and 30 petty canons; to which is attached a school of 40 boys, denominated the Queen's or King's scholars, with a master and usher; and also twelve alms-men, an organist, and choristers.
Its greatest length is 489 feet; the breadth of the west front 66 feet; the length of the cross aisle 189 feet; and the height of the roof 92 feet; the west end is adorned with two towers, which were built by Sir Christopher Wren. The nave and cross aisles are supported by two rows of arches, of Sussex marble, one above the other, each of the pillars of which is a union of one massy round pillar, and tour others of a similar form, but slender. These aisles are lofty, and each of the small pillars being extended from the base to the roof, they produce an idea at once sublime and awful. Besides the cross aisle there are two side aisles, which are lower than the nave; and, being in a just proportion, they unite with the other parts of the edifice to produce a harmonious effect. The choir, from which there is an ascent by several steps to a magnificent altar-piece of white marble, is divided from the western part of the great aisle by two iron gates, and is perhaps the most beautiful choir in Europe: its roof was materially injured by fire, occasioned by the carelessness of the plumbers who were repairing it in 1803, but it has since been completely restored, at an expence of upwards of £4000. In this choir is performed the coronation of the Kings and Queens of England.
This succinct account will not prove unacceptable, we hope, to our readers.
The attractive spot at the southern extremity of the cross aisle was now entered by the two friends. "This," said Dashall, "is called Poet's Corner, and never could a place be named with more propriety."
Tallyho cast an eye of intense observation on these sacred records of departed excellence. Here he found the names of Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, Johnson, Milton, Dryden, Butler, Thomson, Gay, Goldsmith, &c. There also, as though the spot were dedicated to genius of the highest rank, are the tombs of Handel and Garrick. The Squire in his admiration of the British Poets, now gave full scope to the ardency of his feelings, and surrounded by the sculptured images of the bards of former days, he seemed as if environed by a re-animated constellation of genius, and wrapt in the delirium of its inspiritive influence.
[84] Westminster Abbey contains a great number of monuments of kings, statesmen, heroes, poets, and persons distinguished by genius, learning, and science; but many of these monuments can be regarded as little better than so many disfigurements of the buildings. Some however are to be spoken of with praise, and the best are the productions of Reubilliac and Bacon.
The curiosities of Westminster Abbey consist chiefly of twelve chapels, the principal of which were visited by Dashall and his cousin; but to the chapel of Henry VII. their chief attention was directed. This chapel is contiguous to the eastern extremity of the church, and opens into it: it is dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and is one of the finest specimens of Gothic antiquity in the world. On its site formerly stood a chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and also a tavern, distinguished by the sign of the White Rose: Henry resolving to erect a superb mausoleum for himself and his family, pulled down the old chapel and tavern, and on the 11th of February in the year 1503, the first stone of the new structure was laid by Abbot Islip, at the King's command. It cost £14,000, an immense sum for that period, particularly considering the rapacious temper of the king. The exterior of the chapel is distinguished by the richness and variety of its form, occasioned chiefly by 14 towers, elegantly proportioned to the body of the edifice, and projecting in different angles from the outer-most wall: the inside is approached by the area at the back of the chapels of Edward the Confessor and Henry v. The floor of this chapel is elevated above that of the area, and the ascent is by a flight of marble steps: the entrance is ornamented with a handsome gothic portico of stone, within which are three large gates of gilt brass, of curious open workmanship, every pannel being enriched with a rose and a portcullis alternately. The chapel consists of the nave and two small aisles: the centre is 99 feet in length, 66 in breadth, and 54 in height, terminating at the east in a curve, and having five deep recesses of a similar form: the entrance to these recesses is by open arches, and they add greatly to the relief and beauty of the building: it is not improbable that they were originally so many smaller chapels, destined to various uses. The side aisles are in a just proportion to the centre, with which they communicate by four arches, turned on gothic pillars; each of them is relieved by four recesses, a window, with minute and curious [85]divisions, running the whole height of each recess. The upper part of the nave has four windows on each side, and ten in the eastern extremity, five above and five below. The whole of the roof of the chapel, including the side aisles and the curve at the end, is of wrought stone, in the gothic style, and of exquisite beauty. An altar-tomb erected by Henry, at the cost of £1000, to receive his last remains, stands in the centre of the chapel. It is of basaltic stone, ornamented and surrounded with a magnificent railing of gilt brass. This monument was constructed by Peter Torregiano, a Florentine artist, and possesses extraordinary merit. Six devices in bas-relief, and four statues, all of gilt brass, adorn the tomb.
In addition to these venerable antiquities, which all deserve to be seen, a variety of figures in wax, and in cases with glazed doors, are shewn as curiosities to the stranger; but they ought to be removed, as disgraceful to the grandeur and solemnity of the other parts of the scene, and as a satire on the national taste, which can scarcely be excused, when such things are exhibited in a room for children's amusement.
Every lover of the arts must lament that this beautiful relic of gothic taste is falling rapidly to decay; notwithstanding, within the last twenty-four years, the Dean and Chapter of Westminster have expended the sum of £28,749 in general repairs of the abbey. Parliament, however, has at last granted the requisite aid, and the sum of £20,000 has been voted to commence the repairs, which are now going on. It has been estimated that the necessary repairs of Henry the VIIth's chapel will cost about £14,800 and the ornamental repairs about £10,400.
The prospect from the western tower of the abbey is more beautiful and picturesque, though less extensive, than that from St. Paul's. The west end of the town and its environs, the Banquetting-house at Whitehall, St. James's park, the gardens of the Queen's palace, the extremity of Piccadilly and Hyde-park, with the Serpentine River, and the distant groves of Kensington Gardens, present a varied and magnificent view towards the west. On the other hand, the bridges of Westminster, Waterloo, and Blackfriars, with the broad expanse of the Thames, and Somerset-house on its banks, and St. Paul's towering pile, together with the light Gothic steeple of St. Dunstan's in the East, present a most noble and [86] interesting prospect. From this tower the exterior form of St. Paul's, when the sun falls upon it, is distinctly seen, and here its exquisite beauty will be more fully comprehended than in any part of the city, for a sufficient area to take in the entire outline is not to be found there.
This prolixity of description will not, we presume, be considered by our readers, as a tedious digression from the main subject.—Real Life in London cannot be better elucidated, than by uniting incident with appropriate anecdote, and amidst the perambulations of our respectable associates, which led them to the ancient and interesting edifice of Westminster Abbey, it necessarily followed that we should illustrate the subject, by a brief, yet accurate and interesting account of the antiquity, et cetera, of the object under consideration.
Having gratified their wishes by a cursory inspection of what their guides were pleased to denominate "Curiosities," our two heroes were on the eve of departure from the Abbey, when Bob begged that the guide would repeat the terms of admission to view these repositories of mortality.
"The tombs," said the conductor, "at the east end of the church, with the chapel of Henry VIIth, the price of admission to view these, sir, is six-pence; the models three-pence; the tombs at the northern part of the cross aisle three-pence; and the west end and tower of the abbey six-pence."
Tallyho expressed his surprise that the house of God and the depository of the dead, should be so shamefully assigned over to the influence of Mammon, and a price of admission as into a place of public amusement, exacted by those to whose mercenary government the ancient structure of Westminster Abbey had devolved. "Was it thus, always," asked he, "from the time of Henry IIId?" To this enquiry, the guide replied merely by a shrug of his shoulders, rather indicative of contempt than otherways, and to a further question of "Who is the receiver general of these exactions, and to what purpose are they applied?" he preserved a sullen taciturnity.
From the south aisle of the abbey there are two entrances into the cloisters, which are entire, and consist of four arched walks on the sides of an open quadrangle. There are many monuments in these walks, but four of them, beneath which are the remains of four of the abbots [87]of Westminster, at the east end of the south walk, are all which merit particular attention.—
Amongst the ancient records deposited here, the two friends were gratified with a sight of those of the Court of Star-chamber, and of the original Domesday-book, which is still as legible as the first hour it was written.
Against the south-west part of the west front of the abbey, is the north front of the Jerusalem chamber, remarkable for being the place where king Henry IV. breathed his last.{1}
North from the abbey stood the Sanctuary, the place of refuge allowed in old times, to criminals of a certain description; and, on the south side, was the eleemosynary or almonry, where the alms of the abbot were distributed.—This place is remarkable for being the spot in which the first printing-press ever used in England was set up; and here, in 1474, Caxton printed the Game and Play of Chesse, the first book ever printed in England.—A new Court House is now built on the site of the sanctuary.
Having seen in the Abbey every curiosity of note, its two visitants directed their course into Westminster Hall, the great national seat of justice.—This together with the House of Lords, and the House of Commons, are the remains of the palace of Westminster, built by Edward the Confessor, the situation of which was close to the river Thames, and the stairs leading from it still retain the name of palace stairs. The hall itself is the largest room in Europe, except the theatre at Oxford, unsupported by columns. It is 275 feet in length, 74 in breadth, and 90 in height, the roof being of oak, of curious gothic architecture. It was originally used as a place of festivity, and Richard IId entertained 10,000 guests within its walls. In this hall Charles I.. was tried and condemned; and at present it is occasionally fitted up for the trial of peers or of any person impeached by the Commons.
Our heroes now relinquishing the contemplation of the olden times for the enjoyment of the passing scenes of the modern, turned their steps in the direction of Whitehall; passing through which, and facing the Banquetting-House,{2} their observation was attracted to a gentleman on
1 See Shakespeare's Play of Henry IV. Part II.
2 In front of the Banquetting House, on a scaffold, Charles
I. was beheaded on the 30th of January, 1648;—His Majesty
passed from the Banquetting House to the scaffold through
one of the windows.
[88]horseback, followed by a number of people, by whom he was frequently and warmly cheered; and en passant was recognized with other popular feeling of regard and respect. Dashall stept forward to reconnoitre, and ascertained that the favourite was no other than the worthy representative of the borough of Southwark, Sir Robert Wilson, Knt. lately deprived of his rank as a General, "for," continued Dashall, "nobody knows what, unless the enormous crime of paying his last tribute of respect to the memory of an "injured Queen;" and endeavouring, in the temperate language of remonstrance, to prevent the effusion of human blood! His character however, is too firmly rooted to sustain injury from the breath of slander; and the malignity of his enemies has recoiled on themselves: thanks to a brave, just, and generous people, who are ever prone to save whom persecution aims to destroy."
Dashall seemed warm in defending the cause of this gallant officer, and the Squire listened with correspondent satisfaction.
"The allied Sovereigns," observed Dashall, "in General Sir Robert Wilson, found all the essential requisites of a good soldier: of skill to plan, and of valour to execute. They were chiefly indebted to his judgment and intrepidity for the victory of Leipsic; to which ample testimony was given by the Emperors of Russia and Austria; the latter of whom, during the intensity and perils of the engagement, he extricated from the imminent hazard of captivity. His services have not been of less importance in the armies of his own country, as acknowledged by the Commander in Chief, who has now rewarded him by recommending his dismissal, at the instance, no doubt, of Ministers; anxious by this procedure to annihilate his independent feelings, and render them more subservient to the doctrine of non-resistance and of passive obedience to the existing authorities!"{1}
1 This object is already defeated.—Amongst all classes Sir
Robert Wilson's dismissal has excited strong feelings of
reprobation. Certainly, whatsoever other name may be given
to the act, it cannot be called a just one, to degrade an
honourable man from his rank, and deprive him of the half
pay (which in a great measure accrued to him from purchase,)
without accusation, arbitrarily, and on secret and suborned
information of having; merited the inflicted contumely. But
futile has been the effort of malevolence; Sir Robert
Wilson's half pay was £460 per annum, and the subscriptions
in indemnification of his loss already exceed £10,000.
[89]Pursuing their course along the Strand, and ruminating on the alarming increase of juvenile depravity, Tallyho could not avoid remarking on the numerous temptations held out to the vicious and necessitous in this wide-spreading and wealthy metropolis—"For instance," making a full halt, with his friend, against the spacious and unlatticed window of a jeweller's shop, Dashall admitted the truth of his companion's observation. Here on promiscuous display were seen most valuable articles of jewelry, stretching multitudinously from one extremity to the other of the window, consisting of gold and silver watches, elegant and richly wrought seals, musical snuff-boxes, diamond rings, diamond pins, &c. embracing, in vast variety, a property of immense value, divided from the street by "thin and undefended squares of glass only; and that the lure might prove still more attractive, each article marked at its price, some 25, some 50, 75, 100, and 200 guineas each! A dash and a grab might secure to the depredator possession of wealth; and while such temptations are held out, the surprise is, not that so many street robberies are, but that a great many more are not committed. The many thousands in London out of employment, and of these perhaps the greatest number unhoused and famishing, would it be much to be wondered at if some of these sons of misery, goaded onwards to crime by the extremity of human suffering, were to attempt the possession of spoil, so carelessly exposed, and apparently so easily obtainable?{1}
1 Lord Mansfield once presided as Judge, when an unfortunate
man was tried for stealing an article of jewellery from a
shop-window, exposed by its unguarded state to depredation,
and more encouraging than otherwise, the hope of success.—
It proved differently, and the prosecutor seeming determined
to proceed against the wretched man, even to capital
punishment, Lord Mansfield, indignant at the severity of the
owner of the trinket, and compassionating the state of
misery and destitution, under the influence of which the
poor prisoner at the bar, stimulated too by its careless
exposure, had committed the felony, desired the Jury to
value the trinket in question at ten pence.—The prosecutor
started up in surprise, and exclaimed, "Tenpence, my Lord!
why the very fashion of it cost me ten times the sum!" "That
may be," returned his Lordship, "but we must not hang a man
for fashion's sake!"
[90]"Here conies silly Tom and staggering Bob," exclaimed a fellow, as he approached towards our pedestrians. Tallyho had grasped more firmly his oaken sprig, with the intention of trying the crankness of the observer's pericranium, when Dashall perceived that the obnoxious remark was directed to a simple looking old man, dejectedly leading a horse "done up," and apparently destined for the slaughter-house.
"Where now, Tommy," continued the querist, "with thy decayed bit of blood?"
"Aye, aye," answered Tommy, despondingly, "even to the naggers,{1}—'tis what we must all come to."
1 A Naggerman is a wholesale horse-butcher! his business is
frequently so extensive as to enable him to employ a vast
many hands, and so lucrative as to ensure him a fortune in a
very few years; the carcases are sold to the dealers by whom
they are cut up, and sold in quarters to the retailers, and
purchased by the street venders; these latter form one of
the prominent itinerant avocations, and supply with food all
the dogs and cats of the metropolis!
"And so thy master has passed the doom of death against his old servant Bob, on whose back he has been safely borne, in the chase, "many a time and oft," as the song says, "o'er hedges, gaps, ditches and gates; and fleet of foot as thou wert," patting the animal with feelings of commiseration," and often as thou hast replenished thy master's purse, thou art now going to the slaughter-house!"
"Even so—the faithful servant, now no longer useful, is discarded."
"And put to death!—Why man, thy master is a d——d unfeeling, ungrateful scoundrel, else he would have turned this poor nag at large on the green sward, to roam as he list in summer, with a warm stable in winter, and have left him to die the death of nature."
An assemblage of passengers had now collected round the doom'd horse and his sympathizing friend, whose vehemence of expression had attracted much attention. The feelings of his auditory were in full unison with his own, and as the throng increased, with inquisitive curiosity, the advocate in the cause of humanity repeated the following lines:
"And hast thou doom'd my death, sweet master, say,
And wilt thou kill thy servant, old and poor?
A little longer let me live, I pray;
A little longer hobble round thy door!"
[91]The spectators were evidently affected. He next sung the stanza of an old song, extemporaneously produced (with the exception of the first two lines)
At last having labored, drudg'd early and late,
Bow'd down by degrees he draws on to his fate:
His blood must the Naggerman's sluicing knife spill;
His carcase the Naggerman's slaughter-house fill!
Now led to his doom, while with pity we view
Poor Bob, may mishap still his master pursue;
Who callously spurning humanity's bounds,
Now sells his old servant as food for the hounds.
The Squire having occasion to call at a banker's in Fleet Street, the two friends entered at the moment when a countryman with a most rueful expression of countenance, stood transfixed to the floor, like the statue of Despair, incapable either of speech or motion. After an absorption of mental faculty of several minutes duration, he burst out into the incoherent exclamations of
"Murrian take un, zay I!—Icod, I'ze in a voine pickle! I ha brought my pigs to market wi a vengeance! O luord! O luord! whoa would ha thought en't?"
He then began exercising his feet by stamping each alternately on the floor, with a violence that shook the room to its foundation; and this vehement thunder he accompanied by correspondent energy of gesticulation; distorting his visage, and casting about his arms with the action of an infuriated maniac. The place was thrown into alarm, and business was suspended. Dashall now addressing himself to the presumed lunatic, begged him to compose himself, and endeavour briefly to state what had happened, that if he had sustained an injury, redress might be obtained.
After several fruitless attempts at narration, he at length told his story; and that it may lose nothing of its originality, we shall give it in the first person.
"I'ze cuom zur, frae Zumersetzshire to Lunnon, first time o' my loife, by coach, where it putt en at a pleace called the two Gooses necks, and zo having a cheque on this house for Fifty Pounds, and not knowing the way, I axed a vera civil gentleman whom I met wi' hovering about Inn-yard; and telling him my business, Pze go with you, zaid he, vera kindly, and help thee to take care o! thy money, vor there be a desperate set o' sharp fellows in Lunnon ready to take every advantage of a stranger; [92] and zoa we came along, and just avore we gotten into house here, he said to I, zays he, I'ze take thy money and zee that all's right, vor there be a vast many bad sovereigns about.—Well, zur, zoa he did; and just as I wur looking about, it seems he had taen himself off wi'the money, vor when I looked round he wur no where to be zeen; and zoa zur, I have lost Fifty good Pounds to my sorrow. Who would ha thought it!—I wish the murrian had ha hold on me avore I had come to this wicked world o' Lunnon!"
Here the countryman concluded his narrative, exciting the amusement of some and the sympathy of others of his auditory.—The banker dispatched one of his clerks with the unlucky wight to one of the Public Offices, for the purpose of describing the depredator, altho' with very small chance of recovering the property.{1}
Eliminating on the folly of this credulous countryman, our perambulators now proceeded down Fleet Street, where casting a look into Bolt Court—"Here," said Dashall, "lived and died the colossus of English literature, Doctor Samuel Johnson,{2} a man whose like the world may
1 In all the Coach and Waggon yards in London there are
fellows loitering about with the view of plunder; they
frequently are taken by the unwary countryman, for domestics
of the Inn, and as such are entrusted with property with
which they immediately decamp, and by many other artful
manouvres secure their spoil.
2 The most trivial circumstance in the life of a great man,
carries with it a certain somewhat of importance, infinitely
more agreeable to the generality of readers than the long
details which history usually presents. Amongst the numerous
anecdotes of Doctor Johnson, perhaps the following is not
the least amusing.—When the Doctor first became acquainted
with David Mallet, they once went, with some other
gentlemen, to laugh away an hour at South-wark-fair. At one
of the booths where wild beasts were exhibited to the
wondering crowd, was a very large bear, which the showman
assured them was "cotched" in the undiscovered deserts of
the remotest Russia. The bear was muzzled, and might
therefore be approached with safety; but to all the company,
except Johnson, was very surly and ill tempered. Of the
philosopher he appeared extremely fond, rubbed against him,
and displayed every mark of awkward partiality, and ursine
kindness. "How is it, (said one of the company,) that; this
savage animal is so attached to Mr. Johnson?" From a very
natural cause, replied Mallet: "the bear is a Russian
philosopher, and he knows that Linnæus would have placed him
in the same class with the English moralist. They are two
barbarous animals of one species."—Johnson disliked Mallet
for his tendency to infidelity, and this sarcasm turned his
dislike into downright hatred. He never spoke to him
afterwards, but has gibbeted him in his octavo dictionary,
under the article "Alias."
[93]perhaps never see again; yet with all his vast erudition he had his prejudices and superstitions; he believed in apparitions, and he despised all countries save his own.—The Scotch and Irish he affected particularly to dislike.—In his poem of "London," in imitation of Juvenal, he says,—
For who unbrib'd would leave Hibernia's land,
Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand?—
There none are swept by sudden death away,
But all whom Hunger spares, with age decay!
But, with all his foibles, (and who is there without human infirmity?) Doctor Samuel Johnson was the most highly talented writer of any age or nation."
Facing the Obelisk, "let us stroll down the market," said Dashall, "considered the cheapest in London.—Flesh, fish and fowl, fruits, roots and vegetables, are here abundantly attainable, and at moderate prices."
Amongst the various venders, our two observers passed on, unmolestedly, excepting the annoyance and importunity of "What d'ye buy? what d'ye buy, buy, buy?" from" barking butchers, who instinctively reiterated the phrase as the casual passenger approached, like so many parrots, unconscious of its import being unproductive in effect; for who would be induced to purchase by the clamorous invitation universally in use by these vociferous butchers of the metropolis?—"My fine fellow," observed Tallyho to one who annoyed him, "good wine, they say, needs no bush, neither does good meat require a barker."
"Bad luck to my mother's own daughter, and that is myself, sure," exclaimed a retail venderess of vegetables, to her opponent in trade, "if I wouldn't for the value of a tester, or for the value of nothing at all at all, give you freely just what you ask for my jewel.—Arrah now, is it law that you want of me! Faith and troth then you shall have it, club-law, when and where you plase, my darling!"
"Dirty end," rejoined the other lady, "to the girl who fear* you!—Here am I, Kate, of the Maclusky's of Ballymena, in the county of Antrim, long life to it! and it would be a hard case, and a shameful one to boot, if a well educated northern lass should suffer her own self to be disgraced by a Munster-woman."
[94] "The devil fly away with Ballymena, and the Macluskys along with it!" retorted the other; "and is it Munster and heddication that you are bothering about? Whillaloe graraachree! my sweet one! and did you begin your larning in Ballymena, and come to finish it in Fleet-market? By my conscience, Kate Maclusky, if you are not very much belied, you know more than you ought to do."
"And what would you 'sinuate by that?" demanded Kate;—"What do you 'sinuate by that, Ma'am?—I acknowledge that I'm both a whore and a thief—what then? Bating that I defy you to say, black is the white of my eye!"
Here Mrs. Maclusky with arms a-kimbo, and a visage strongly expressing exasperation and defiance, advanced towards the Munster-woman.
"Let us step aside," said Dashall, "hostilities are about to commence."
He was right; a few more irritable preliminaries, and the heroines came in contact, in due order of battle.
"Two to one on the Munster-woman." "Done! Ulster for ever! go it Kate!—handle your dawdles, my girl;—shiver her ivory;—darken her skylights;—flatten her sneizer;—foul, foul,—ah you Munster b——ch!"
"Fair, fair;—arrah, now for the honor of Munster;—dig away;—mind your hits;—rattle her bread basket;—set her claret-spout a-going;—stand firm on your pegs;—what, down!"
Thus ended round the first; the amazons had, in the fray, reduced each other from the waist upwards to nearly a state of nudity. On either side the partisans were numerous, the combatants eager to renew the fight, and the spectators, the majority of whom were of Irish distraction, anxious for the result, when the officious interposition of official authority, terminated the "tug of war," and the honor of the two provinces remained undecided.—
"Success to the land that gave Patrick his birth." Tranquillity thus restored, a new scene in the drama of Fleet-market attracted the attention of the two visitants.
A rabbit pole-woman passing through the market, was accosted by a lady, who enquiring the price of the Rabbits, purchased a couple, in front of the shop of a similar exhibitant.—This was considered by the rabbit-dealers of the market, a gross breach of privilege, more particularly as the obnoxious female had presumed to undersell them, even with a superior article. Not willing, however, from [95]prudential reasons, to appear in avowed personal hostility against the object of their vengeance, and that, too, a woman, who had inadvertently incurred the displeasure of their high mightinesses, the subordinate agency of boys was deputed for the purpose of wrecking summary retribution; and the juvenile deputation quickly overthrew in the apparent wantonness of mischief, the whole of the poor girl's day-property, and scrambling for the spoil, disseminated themselves in different directions, leaving not the vestige of a rabbit behind!
A torrent of tears, feelingly shewed the anguish of her mind. She was ruined beyond hope of redemption; the rabbits she had every morning on credit, she plied the streets in selling them, through many a wearisome hour in the day, happy if next morning, having realized a very moderate profit by her laborious vocation, she could settle accounts with the wholesale dealer, and take a fresh cargo with which to commence another day's adventure.—But now, wringing her hands in an agony of grief, "It is all over with me!" she exclaimed,—" my means of subsistence is gone,—my credit is lost,—and God's will be done,—I must go home and starve!"{1}
1 It is scarcely credible that one salesman in Leadenhall
market, at the present time, sells on an average 14,000
rabbits weekly. He contracts with the coach masters for the
carriage, and pays them eleven pounds per thousand,
amounting, weekly, to £154. The way he disposes of them, is
by employing 150 travelling pole-men and women; in the
morning they are started upon credit, and the next day they
return, bringing back the skins, settle the accounts, and
then take a fresh cargo.
Ever prone to relieve distress, Dashall and Tallyho sympathized most sincerely with this unfortunate girl; there was an indescribable something of extreme interest about her, which was well calculated to excite a feeling of generous commiseration.
Shall we now say the two philanthropists? for such they proved themselves. Each then, in the same moment, expanded his purse, and together more than compensated the delighted and astonished girl for her loss, who, blessing her benefactors, went home rejoicing.
Gaining the extremity of the market, at the bottom of Skinner-street, the two friends rounded the corner, and verged towards Ludgate-hill by the Fleet Prison. Here a fresh claim, though of lesser magnitude, obtruded itself on their benevolence. "Pity the poor debtors, having no [96] allowance!" exclaimed an emaciated being, gazing with an eye of wistful expectancy, through the thrice-grated window of a small apartment on a level nearly with the street; "Pity the poor debtors;" The supplicating tone of deep distress in which these words were uttered spoke irresistibly to the heart, and the blessing of Heaven was once more invoked on the donors.
"And this is the prison," observed the Squire, "where a presumed scion of the Royal branch, a few days ago surrendered to her bail, as a prisoner for debt."—"The same," rejoined his Cousin, "and the Princess is now most unroyally domiciled at a private-house within the rules of the Fleet, on Ludgate-hill.—Sic transit gloria mundi!"
"Certainly," said the Squire, "this London produces extraordinary sights, and not less extraordinary occurrences;—but of all the scenes of Real Life which has hitherto come within the scope of our observation, the most singular is that of the presumed legitimate cousin of the King of England, recently in a Spunging-house, and now confined for a debt of a few hundred pounds to the rules of the Fleet."{1}
1 Ci-divant Princess of Cumberland
To the Right Hon. Lord Sidmouth.
My Lord,'—When I reflect on the injuries I have received by
the refusal of your Lordship to forward my claims in a
proper way to his Majesty, I consider it as a duty that I
owe to my high descent, to enquire of your Lordship, why I
have been suffered to remain so long neglected and deprived
of the rights, which in common with other younger branches
of the Royal Family, I am entitled to? As soon as the demise
of my late Royal Uncle, his late Majesty, occurred, I
addressed your Lordship, for his present Majesty's gracious
knowledge. In my letters, repeatedly sent to your Lord-ship,
I assured you for the King's knowledge, that I had but one
anxious desire, which was to act in conformity to his
Majesty's Royal will and pleasure, after an audience had
been allowed to shew my papers. If, my Lord, I had been an
impostor, it was the duty of Ministers to have enquired into
my claims, and to have exposed them if unjust or illegal.
But, no! my Lord; every application was treated with cold
and apathetic contempt; and although all the writings of my
parent's marriage and my birth have been verified according
to law, at Judge Abbott's chambers, Sergeants' Inn,—at
Master Simeon's Office, Court of Chancery,—before Sir
Robert Baker and Barber Beaumont Esq.—and twelve affidavits
sworn and sent in to your Lordship, yet at this late moment
I find myself neglected and oppressed, and without one
guinea of support from the Government or Royal Family! My
dear late cousin, Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, supported and
protected me several years before his lamented death. His
Royal Highness saw the papers delivered to me by the Earl of
Warwick of my legitimacy, and there are at least a hundred
papers connected with my parent's affairs and my own; and
General Wetherall, Comptroller to his late Royal Highness,
looked over many such papers, at my residence in his Royal
Master's life-time. The excellent heart of the late Duke of
Kent was of a nature to decide, in all events of life
meeting his eye, with religion and moral justice. Thus has
he loved and cherished me, his cousin, and solemnly bound
himself to see me righted the moment that the death of his
late Majesty authorised my papers meeting the eye of the
nation.
My Lord,—You well know why my claims are neglected—a
mighty cause exists! But it is a duty that I owe to myself
and the English nation to give a narrative of facts as they
are, unless immediate justice is done me. I am Olive, the
only child of the late Duke of Cumberland, by Olivia, his
virtuous, injured wife; and very shortly the public shall
know the great and forbearing conduct of Dr. Wilmot. To him
at one period, the English were indebted for tranquillity;
it can be proved, my Lord. And although my health is similar
to the late injured Queen's (my first cousin,) from having
experienced every deprivation and persecution from
interested enemies, yet I religiously trust the time is not
remote, when truth will triumph over calumny and
oppression.—I have the honor to be, my Lord,
Your obedient servant,
Olive.
Ludgate-hill, Nov. 6th. 1821.
[97]"Some Kings are not partial to female cousins; and the legitimacy (said Dashall,) of this pretended Princess of Cumberland does not appear sufficiently tangible to admit of recognition, otherwise, without doubt, she would have been provided for!"
"Her case, however, wears not much the semblance of imposition," said the Squire. "The circumstances which she so minutely states, with reference to living characters, strongly imply that her pretensions are not ill-founded."
They had now reached Ludgate-hill; a crowd was collected opposite the residence of the Princess of Cumberland, when the captive heroine condescended to shew herself at the window.—She is of matronly appearance, and was well dressed.—The mobility received her with due respect; the lady made her obeisance, and the assemblage retired, on terms apparently of reciprocal satisfaction.—
Strolling onwards until they gained the centre of Blackfriars Bridge, the two friends paused in admiration of the interesting scene before them.
Amidst the spires and turrets of the metropolis, Saint Paul's, close at hand, rose in the proud pre-eminence of stupendous grandeur, like a mighty monarch surrounded [98] by tributary kings, rendering him the homage of vassalage.
—Emerging from the dense mass of buildings on the line from the Tower to Westminster Abbey, appeared a continued succession of prominent public edifices; on the river Thames the scene was diversified by numerous wherries, gliding pleasurably on the rippling wave; some shooting under the arches of the elegant Waterloo, and others under the spacious span of the lofty iron bridge of Southwark,—while on either side the river, Labour was on the alert, and the busy and ceaseless hum of Industry resounded far and near.
'Twas low water, and the mud-larks now intent on their several vocations, engaged the eye of the Squire.—"What are those people about?" he asked, "What are they in search of?"
"These are mud-larks," answered his friend, "in search of what chance may throw in their way; all's fish that comes to net! You have much to learn yet of Real Life in London, and must prolong your stay accordingly.—Willing to eat the bread of honesty, these poor people are in the daily practice of frequenting the shores of the Thames, to literally pick up a living. Nothing comes amiss; all that is portable, however insignificant in value, goes into the general repository. The mud-lark returns home, when his labours are ended, sorts the indiscriminate heterogeneous "mass of matter," and disposes of it as well as he can."{1}
1 How many hundreds and thousands, in a metropolis like that
of the British empire, obtain a subsistence, in a way of
which those of its inhabitants who are not compelled to such
an exercise of their ingenuity can have no idea! In the
midst of a crowded city, man is much more closely cut off
from all assistance on the part of his fellows, and is
obliged to trust entirely for the support of life to the
individual exertions of his strength, his talents, or his
ingenuity. Various and singular are the expedients practised
by numbers in the British capital. Among these the class of
Mud-larks is not the least extraordinary, that is people,
who, on the ebb of the tide re-pair to the river-side, in
quest of any article that the water may have left behind in
the mud. To this description of people belonged Peggy Jones,
the well known Mud-lark at Black Friars. She was a woman,
apparently about forty years of age, with red hair; the
particular object of whose researches was the coals which
accidentally fell from the sides of the lighters. Her
constant resort was the neighbourhood of Blackfriars, where
she was always to be seen, even before the tide was down,
wading into the water, nearly up to the middle, and scraping
together from the bottom, the coals which she felt with her
feet. Numbers of passengers who have passed by that quarter,
particularly over Blackfriars Bridge, have often stopped to
contemplate with astonishment, a female engaged in an
occupation apparently so painful and disagreeable. She
appeared dressed in very short ragged petticoats, without
shoes or stockings, and with a kind of apron made of some
strong substance, that folded like a bag all round her, in
which she collected whatever she was so fortunate as to
find. In these strange habiliments, and her legs encrusted
with mud, she traversed the streets of this metropolis.
Sometimes she was industrious enough to pick up three, and
at others even four loads a day; and as they consisted
entirely of what are termed round coals, she was never at a
loss for customers, whom she charged at the rate of eight-
pence a load. In the collection of her sable treasure, she
was frequently assisted by the coal-heavers, who, when she
happened to approach the lighters, would, as if
undesignedly, kick overboard a large coal, at the same time
bidding her, with apparent surliness, go about her business.
Peggy Jones was not exempt from a failing to which most
individuals of the lower orders are subject, namely,
inebriety. Her propensity to liquor was sometimes indulged
to such a degree, that she would tumble about the streets
with her load, to the no small amusement of mischievous
boys, and others, who, on such occasions, never failed to
collect around her. After concluding the labors of the day,
she retired to a wretched lodging in Chick Lane. This woman
carried on her extraordinary calling for many years, but
about the month of February, 1805, she suddenly disappeared
from her usual places of resort, and nobody can tell what is
become of her. A man who has the appearance of a coal-
heaver, has since stepped into her place, and adopted the
profession which she so long followed.
[99] "Thus it is that the Mud-lark earns a precarious and scanty subsistence, and in many other instances in this metropolis, Ingenuity and Perseverance overcome difficulties that in the country would prove insurmountable."
Retracing their steps to Ludgate-hill, the associates passed into the Old Bailey, where the Squire seemed struck with surprise at the simple bill of fare of an eating-house, not inscribed on paper and exhibited against the window, but deeply engraven on brass, and conspicuously fixed by the side of the door, expressed in four syllables only, "The boil'd-beef house."—"Compendious enough," exclaimed his Cousin. "Multum in parvo," rejoined the Squire; and immediately walking in, they were ushered into a snug room partly occupied by guests of apparent respectability, each actively employed in the demolition of buttock or flank with great seeming satisfaction. The two strangers intimating a desire to follow so laudable an example, the waiter submissively put the question, "Which would you please to have, gentlemen, buttock or flank, or a plate of both?" That the quality of each might be ascertained, plates of both were ordered, and presently brought in, piping hot, and in the first style of culinary perfection.{1}
[100] It was amusing to observe the characteristic features of the different guests.
The young man hurrying over his meal, and frequently casting a look on the dial, indicated a tradesman's book-keeper, desirous of enjoying his pipe and pint ere the allotted dinner hour expired, when he must return to his desk.
Another, of meagre and cadaverous appearance, had his plate replenished, thrice repeated, and each time dispatched the contents with astonishing celerity. This man without doubt, was either a poet or a bookseller's hack, who, probably had not for sometime enjoyed the novelty of a dinner, and was thus making atonement to appetite accordingly.
One gentleman fashionably attired kept mincing his meat, and at long intervals supplying masticates that seemed not at all alert in the performance of their office.—His attention was given rather to the company than to his plate, and was particularly directed to Dashall and Tallyho, on whom it alternately settled with fixed and favourite regard.—This very polite personage was assiduously eager by every possible courtesy to ingratiate himself into the notice of our two friends; but Dashall was a knowing fish, so the bait wouldn't take; and the Squire happening to ejaculate the word Spunger, the stranger prudently took the hint, and withdrew.{2}
1 Thirty years ago this house was noted for the excellent
quality of its boiled beef;—no other meat is ever drest
here,—Hobson's choice, or none! During that period it has
had several occupants, and each has retired with a very
considerable fortune. In the decided superiority of its
buttock and flank, the house still sustains its pristine
reputation.
2 These gentry are hardly to be distinguished from the
Hanger-on, except by being, if possible, more impudent; they
frequent all places of public resort, in order to pick up a
dinner or a bottle, and otherwise prey upon the credulity of
the unwary. Whenever they meet with a countryman, they
salute him with enquiring the time of day, or describing the
weather, and entertaining him with a story of little
consequence, till they have artfully wheedled you into an
invitation to dine or sup with you. They can tell you where
the best entertainment is to be met with; which is the best
comedian; can get you introduced to see such an actress; to
hear this sing or that spout; will provide you with the best
seat at the play-house, or keep a place for you in the front
row of the first gallery, should you prefer it to the pit;
can procure a ticket for the exhibition rooms for half
price, and explain every thing in the museum as well as the
librarians themselves.—If your inclination is for mischief,
he is the only man in the world to assist you; would you
break the lamps, or Mill the Charleys, he will stand by and
cry Bravo! till you are carried to the Watch-house, but will
not engage in the quarrel himself, acting only as a corps
de reserve. When you are taken, he will negotiate with the
constable of the night about your ransom, for which you must
pay smartly, other-wise be detained till Justice opens her
doors to descry and punish your enormities, according to the
nature of the crime committed; upon which the Spunger says,
that he foresaw and told you the consequences that would
happen if you persevered, but that you would not listen to
his advice.
[101] Having done satisfactory justice to the buttock and flank, and further refreshed themselves with a draught of Whitbread's Entire; our pedestrians, leaving the "Boil'd Beef House," recommenced their excursion by proceeding up the Old Bailey, when Dashall remarking on the number of Eating Houses with which that street abounds, observed, that it seemed a favorite seat of consolidation for the professors of the culinary art, like Cloth-fair for Woollen-drapers, Paternoster-Row for Booksellers, and Clerkenwell for Watch-makers, &c. "This," said Dashall, "is His Majesty's Gaol of Newgate, and from this door ascend the numerous victims to the fatal scaffold, in immolation to the offended laws of their country. Let us enter this temporary abode of crime and wretchedness. It has been much meliorated by the humane and indefatigable attentions of an excellent lady, Mrs. Elizabeth Fry, and I am desirous of seeing the result of her philanthropic exertions." The gentlemanly appearance and demeanour of the two strangers facilitated their admission, and they entered the prison preceded by one of the turnkeys, who courteously had proffered his services in shewing the place, and giving every required information.
Newgate, on the eastern side of the Old Bailey, has been rebuilt, its walls or shell excepted, since it was destroyed by the rioters, in the year 1780. A broad yard divides Newgate from the Sessions House, a very handsome stone and brick building. Another edifice, where that lately stood, commonly called Surgeon's Hall, has been erected; it is arched underneath, and supported upon pillars, and is used as a place of accommodation for witnesses and other persons, while waiting for the trials during session time.
[102] This prison, until within these few years back, was a place of confinement as well for debtors as felons, but by late arrangements, and the erection of the new gaol in Whitecross-street, Newgate has now become the receptacle of felons only.{1}
1 Newgate has been the scene of two remarkable events, which
frequently serve as eras of reckoning to some of the
inhabitants of Loudon; the first is, that of the memorable
riots in 1780, when this imposing edifice was attacked by a
furious mob in the evening of Monday the 5th of June, who by
breaking the windows, batter-ing the entrances of the cells
with sledge hammers and pickaxes, and climbing the walls
with ladders, found means to enter Mr. Akerman's house,
communicating with the prison, and eventually liberated
three hundred prisoners. The next of these events oc-curred
on the 23rd of February, 1807. This was when Haggarty and
Holloway were to suffer for the murder of Mr. Steele on
Houns-low Heath. The populace began to assemble so early as
five o'clock, and to accumulate until eight. (It is supposed
that the concourse of people was greater than at the
execution of Governor Wall.) At eight o'clock the prisoners
ascended the scaffold. Im-mediately after they were launched
off, a most dreadful scene took place. The approaches to the
place were completely blocked up with carts, filled with
spectators, and when some of the crowd began to move away,
the pressure became dreadful. Some fell, and others falling
over them they were trampled to death. Terror took
possession of the crowd, they became desperate, and their
efforts only contributed to increase their danger. As soon
as this frightful confusion ceased, forty-two sufferers in
the scene were carried to St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Of
these, twenty-seven were dead; and though every effort was
made for their resuscitation, in not one instance was it
crowned with success. Of forty-two, the whole number, five
were women, and three of them were among the dead. Of the
remaining twenty-four bodies, five were men, and the rest
lads, from twelve to seventeen years of age. Among the dead
men was a pye-man, who was said to have fallen first, and
caused the dreadful catastrophe. A great number of the
pupils in attendance happened to be collected in St.
Bartholomew's Hospital at the time, and afforded prompt
assistance; and Dr. Powell, and a Surgeon, who were both
upon the spot, directed their humane exertions.
In the Old Bailey stood Sydney-house, known by the white front, and the recess in which it is concealed; and here Jonathan Wild is said to have lived the greatest part of his time. The north side of Newgate consists of two court-yards, which are far too circumscribed for the numerous inhabitants, this prison always exhibiting a multitudinous calendar of human depravity. The men's court is only 49 feet 6 inches, by 31 feet 6, and the women's of the same length, and about half the width. The whole square is entirely surrounded by the wards, [103] which rise three stories above the pavement. The women's yard is separated from the men's by a wall. In the south and south-east yards, felons for trial are confined, and four other yards are similarly occupied. The yard assigned to female felons is a wretched place, containing three wards, in which are sometimes kept upwards of one hundred women. In the north-east corner, next Newgate-street, is the condemned yard, in which are kept persons under sentence of death. The yards and all the wards are repeatedly lime-washed, and by these and other excellent regulations of the Sheriffs of London, Newgate is changed from a loathsome prison, dangerous to the health of the metropolis, to a state which may be quoted as a model for all similar places. Water is plentiful, ventilators are introduced into every window, and a general system of cleanliness prevails throughout the whole prison. The morals of its inmates have been improved, and their condition greatly meliorated by Mrs. Elizabeth Fry, who like her predecessor in the exercise of philanthropy, the celebrated Howard, delights in reducing the sum of human misery. The feelings of the two visitors having been amply gratified by demonstration of the happy result, from superior management, accruing to the prisoners, they departed, not forgetting the poor box, put up for general benefit, inviting the contributions of charitable strangers.
Continuing their route, our perambulators proceeded down Skinner street into Holborn, and traversed its extended line without any remarkable occurrence, until they reached Broad Street, St. Giles's. "We are now," said Dashall, "in the Holy Land."
"Long life to your honors," exclaimed a ragged professor of mendicity: "give a poor fellow the price of a shake down, and may you never be without the comforts of an upright!"
"What mean you," asked the Squire, "by a shake down and an upright?"
"Not the worse luck that you don't know that self same thing now; but sure enough a shake-down is a two-penny layer of straw, and saving the tatters on my back, not a covering at all at all; may the son of my father never have a worse birth any how."
"And an upright?"
[104] "Is it an upright your honor's spaking about?—fait and troth, as to that same, may the devil fly away with Thady O'Flannagan, and that is myself sure, if he knows much about it at all at all, seeing as how he has not rested his old bones on such a thing, arrah, these many long years; but sure enough it is four stumps, with boards across, a good flock-bed, a blanket below and a sheet above, with a decent coverlet pieced and patched in a hundred places to boot;—may you never want the like of it, any how!"
"Thanks for your good wishes, my friend," said Dashall; "and this for the information which you have given us."
"By the powers of good luck!" exclaimed the itinerant philosopher, "a tirteener!—Now an Irishman's blessing upon you for two good-hearted gentlemen; may you live all the days of your lives in peace and prosperity both here and hereafter!"{1}
1 The many impoverished and deserted beings who daily wander
the streets, trusting for the vegetative existence of the
moment to eleemosynary occurrences, are incalculable.
Amongst these sons and daughters of misery, happy is the one
who, after partially satisfying the cravings of hunger,
possesses two-pence, the price of a shake down for the
night, in Rainbridge or Buckeridge-street, St. Giles's!—The
upright is a wretched semblance of a bed, at the rate of
three-pence or four-pence; but the lofty aspirant to genteel
accommodation, must put down a tester. In this way there are
frequently beds to the number of seventy in one house, made
up for nocturnal visitants!
Palestine in London, or the Holy Land, includes that portion of the parish of St. Giles, Bloomsbury, inhabited by the lower Irish, with whom it seems a favorite place of residence. The Squire having expressed to his friend a desire of perambulating these boundaries, they proceeded, by the way of George street, to explore the sanctified labyrinths, the scenes of diurnal clamour, and hebdomadary conflict.
"Arrah now," exclaimed a voice of maternity, in the person of a legitimate daughter of Erin,—"Arrah now, you brat of the devil's own begetting, be after bowling along to your fader: bad luck to him, and be sure that you bring him home wid you, by the token that the murphies are cracking, the salt-herrings scalding, and the apple-dumplings tumbling about the pot,—d'ye mind me, you tief of the world, tell him that his dinner waits upon him."—"I'll be after doing that same, moder;" and forth from the ground floor of a mean looking house in Buckeridge-street, sprang an urchin without hat, shoe or stocking, and the scanty tattered habiliment he wore, fluttering in [105]various hues, like pennants in the wind, with such heedless velocity, urged no doubt by the anticipated delicacies of the dinner-pot, that he came in furious, unexpected, and irresistible contact with Squire Tallyho, who borne forward by the shock, was precipitated into a stagnant collection of mud and water, to the total disfigurement of his Boots, which had that morning received the "matchlessly brilliant polish of Warren's inestimable Jet blacking." Not like many others in London, who will run you down and leave you to your fate, the heir of his fader's whimsicalities stopped short in the inauspicious set-out of his rapid career; and "dirty end," he exclaimed, "to the scavenger that didn't think of the gentleman's boots!" And at the same time the mother of this hopeful representative of the Mac Dermott family, made her appearance with the genuine warmth of Irish hospitality; and inviting the two strangers to walk in, consoled the bespattered Squire with the prospect of speedy and effectual reparation, for "fait and troth, (said she) his dinner is all of a heap in the pot there, praaties, salt-herrings, and apple-dumplings,{1} and that is my husband Thady Mac Dermott, who is neither more nor less than a bricklayer's laborer, is after amusing himself and obliging his neighbours, at a small outlay, of a Sunday morning, by claning their boots and shoes; so it is an ill wind that blows nobody good, they say." The accommodating hostess then producing a bottle of blacking, with the requisite brushing implements, applied herself assiduously to the operation of claning the Squire's boots, and restored them, in a few minutes, to the splendour of their pristine brilliancy.
Scarcely had this important operation been performed, when entered Thady Mac Dermott and his son, the origin of the accident. "The devil burn your trampers, you imp of the Mac Dermotts," cried the father: "couldn't you run against the gentleman without dirtying his boots? Never mind it at all at all; I'll be after giving you a walloping for it, any how."
1 The fastidious delicacy of English cookery, when
contrasted with that of Irish culinary preparation in the
Holy-land, is surprising. The wife of an Irish laborer who
is desirous of giving her husband a delectable meal, and of
various description, bodders not her brain with a diversity
of utensils; but from the same pot or pan will produce, as
if by enchantment, potatoes, (without which an Irishman
cannot possibly make a dinner,) salt-herrings, and apple-
dumplings; nor, does this extraordinary union of opposites
affect the appetite of those partaking the oglio.
[106] The first instrument of attack that comes to hand is an Irishman's weapon.—Thady brandished in terrorem a red hot poker, and his son with the agility of a cat took sanctuary under the bed, but at the intercession of the Squire was allowed to emerge with impunity, and admitted to a participation of the salt-herrings and apple-dumplings. The two friends declining an invitation to taste of these dainties, now departed, Tallyho not forgetting the "outlay, and the ill-wind that blows nobody good."
Winding the mazes of the holy land, which may not unaptly be considered a colony of Irish emigrants, our perambulators without further occurrence worthy of notice, threaded their way through streets, lanes, and alleys, until they emerged at the bottom of Tottenham-court Road, close by the extensive brewery of Read and Co. Entering the premises, they were gratified with a view of every thing interesting in the establishment; and the Squire, to whom the spectacle was entirely new, stood wrapt in wonder at the vast magnitude of its immense vats and boilers, containing, as he observed, of the fluid of Sir John Barleycorn, a sufficiency to inundate the whole neighbourhood! "Such a circumstance," said the attendant, "actually occurred a few years ago, when the vat burst, and an ocean of beer rushed forth, with such impetuous force as to bear down, in its resistless progress, the side of a house, and fill, to the imminent hazard of drowning the astonished and alarmed occupants, all the cellars in the vicinity."{1}
1 Scarcely any thing contributes so much to characterize the
enterprising spirit of the present age, as the vast scale on
which many branches of manufacture are carried on in this
country. Every one has heard of the celebrated tun of
Heidelberg, but that monument of idle vanity is rivalled by
the vessels now employed in the breweries of this
metropolis.
Having seen all that is remarkable in this spacious concern, the two associates turned into Oxford Street, where their attention was directed to a gay female in an elegant equipage, pair in hand, dashing along, in the manner of royal celerity.
"Observe that lady," said Dashall, "She is the celebrated Mrs. C*r*y, the favourite sultana of a certain Commander in Chief, and I shall give you her history in a few words."
[107] "Sutherland, a bombadier at Woolwich, obtained a commission, but was less successful in securing the fidelity of his wife, who eloped with an officer to Gibraltar; the produce of this intercourse was the amoroso whom we observed en passant; in process of time she married C*r*y, an officer in a veteran battalion, but shortly afterwards getting tired of the connection, she adopted the laudable example set by her respectable mamma, deserted her husband and came to England, under the protection of a surgeon in the army, whose embraces she relinquished for those of her present illustrious possessor. How long she may keep him in captivation, is a surmise of rather equivocal import; however ardent at present, his attachment, Mrs. C*r*y must be aware of the versatile propensities of his R*y*l H*ghn*ss of Y**k, and sans doubt like her predecessor, Mary Ann C***ke, will make the most of a favourable opportunity."
"London exhibits Real Life in all its forms and gradations, from the hireling of royalty in a curricle, to the passive spouse of all the town, on the pavement; from the splendour of affluence to the miseries of penury; even Mendicity itself has its shades of variety, its success being less frequently derived from the acuteness of distress than the caprice of Nature, in having gifted the mendicant with some peculiar eccentricity of person or character, to attract attention and sympathy. He who is without these endowments passes unnoticed; but the diminutive and deformed creature, seated on a child's cart, who with the help of crutches shoves himself along the street, and whose whole height, including his machine, does not exceed two feet; this minikin, ecce homo, is gazed at by the casual passenger as a prodigy, and seldom fails to benefit by the excitation of curiosity."—
Approaching the tiny personage alluded to,—"Well, Mr. Andrew Whiston," said Dashall, "what important business brings you so far westward? I thought that your migrations from Bankside had never extended beyond the precincts of Temple-bar."
"I wot weel, your honor, that I have strayed far frae hame, and to little purpose,—better fortune has not lit on me this wearisome day, than meeting wi' your honor, for God bless you many a time has the poor dwarfish body tasted your bounty."
During this colloquy, Tallyho gazed on the poor dwarfish body with commiseration, intermixed with no small portion of surprise, at this fresh display of general knowledge by his intelligent and amusing coz, to whom all of interest and curiosity in the metropolis, animate and inanimate, seemed perfectly familiar.
[108] "And whither away now, Master Whiston; do you mean to look in at the rendezvous to night?"{1}
"Faith no, sir,—I got a fright there some few years since, and I shall be very cautious of getting into the like disaster a second time."
The conversation had so far proceeded, to the entertainment of congregated passengers, when the auditory getting rather inconveniently numerous, the two friends left each his mite of benevolence with Maister Andrew Whiston, gaining home without further incident or interruption.{2}
1 Recurring to the holy land, the rendezvous is a noted
house in St. Giles's, where, after the labors of the day,
the mendicant fraternity assemble, enjoy the comfort of a
good supper; amongst other items, not unfrequently an
alderman in chains, alias a roast turkey, garnished with
pork-sausages; elect their chairman, and spend the night as
jolly beggars ought to do, in mirth and revelry.
2 Andrew Whiston was born at Dundee in Scotland, February
10th, 1770, and has, during the last twenty-eight years,
resided in London. The person of this man is well known to
the perambulators of the metropolis. He forms altogether a
disgusting little figure, pushing himself about on a small
cart, which moves upon wheels, and wearing an apron to
conceal the deformity of his legs. His whole height,
including his vehicle, does not exceed two feet. To avoid
the penalties attached to begging and vagrancy, he carries a
few pens stuck between his coat and waistcoat, and declares
that the dealing in those articles is the only trade to
which he has been brought up. It is not improbable, that by
means of this, and other arts and mysteries which he
exercises, Andrew has been enabled to procure something more
than salt to his porridge. It cannot be supposed that his
person is calculated to excite the tender passion; it must
therefore be to the idea of his having accumulated wealth,
that we are to attribute the following circumstance. A short
time since, Andrew began to think seriously of taking unto
himself a wife, and having looked round among his female
acquaint-ance for a desirable partner, he fixed his choice
on a Mrs. Marshall, the widow of a waterman, who follows the
trade of a retail dealer in fish, at the corner of Spiller's
public-house, on that side of the Surrey Road which he
usually frequents. This fair lady, who might perhaps have
been dead as a roach to his addresses, if he had possessed
nothing but his deformed person to offer, proved leaping
alive, ho! at the thought of Andrew's little hoard, of which
she hoped to become mistress. Several presents attested the
seriousness of the lover's proposals, and his charmer was
all compliance to his wishes, till he had actually sent the
money to pay for publishing the banns at Christ Church, when
the ridicule of all her acquaintance urged her to abandon
the design of so preposterous a match.
Gae him strong drink until he wink,
That's sinking in despair;
And liquor gúid to fire his blúid,
That's prest wi' grief and care;—
Then let him boose and deep carouse,
Wi' bumpers flowing o'er;
'Till he forgets his fears and debts,
And minds his ills no more.
[109] DASHALL, during a stroll with his relation round the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, learning that several of his friends had formed a select party to dine at the Shakespear that day, sent in the names of himself and Coz, and they were received by the social and convivial assemblage with acclamation.
The Dinner-party comprised Sir Felix O'Grady, an Irish baronet just imported from the province of Munster; the honorable Frederick Fitzroy, a luminary in the constellation of Fashion; Colonel Mc. Can, a distinguished Scotch Officer; an amateur Poet; a member of the Corps Dramatique; and our old friends Sparkle and Mortimer, with the augmentation of Dashall and Tallyho, as already mentioned.
The viands were excellent, and the wines of the first quality. Conviviality was the order of the evening, and its whimsicalities were commenced during the repast, by the player, who, taking up a goblet of wine, and assuming the attitude of Macbeth in the banquet scene, exclaimed—
"I drink
To the general joy of the whole table;—
May good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on both."——
[110]The bottle was now put into quick circulation; harmony and hilarity prevailed; and the poet, availing himself of the moments of inspiration, gave the following chant, extempore.—
Song.
Air. Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen.
Here's to the land where fair Freedom is seen,
Old England,—her glory and trade, aye;—
Here's to the island of Erin so green,
And here's to Sir Felix O'Grady;
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
Here's to the beaus and the belles of the day,
The pleasures of life who enjoy, sir;—
Here's to the leaders of fashion, so gay,
And here's to the dashing Fitzroy, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
Here's to our sailors who plough the salt wave,
And never from battle have ran, sir;—
Here's to our soldiers who nobly behave,
And here's to brave Colonel Mc. Can, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
Here's to the joys that our reason engage,
Where Truth shines our best benefactress;
Here's to the triumph of Learning,—the Stage,-
And here's to each actor and actress.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
Here's to the man with a head to discern,
And eke with a heart to bestow, sir,
Tom Dashall, well skill'd Life in London to learn;
And here's to the Squire Tallyho, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
Here's to the friendship united and true,
That paces variety's round, sir;
To Sparkle and Mortimer fill then, anew,
And let us with pleasure abound, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.
This complimentary bag-a-telle was well received, and Sir Felix, shaking the amateur cordially by the hand, observed, that amongst other attainments before he left London, he meant to acquire the art of making verses, when he should give the poet a Rowland for his Oliver!
The player having but recently returned to Town, after completing his engagements with some of the Irish provincial theatres, proceeded to amuse his auditory, the baronet excepted, with accounts of the manner of posting in the sister kingdom.—
"Travelling," said he, "in the province of Munster, having got into a chaise, I was surprised to hear the driver knocking at each side of the carriage.—"What are you doing?"—"A'n't I nailing your honor?"—"Why do you nail me up? I don't wish to be nailed up."—"Augh! would your honor have the doors fly off the hinges?" When we came to the end of the stage, I begged the man to unfasten the doors.—"Ogh! what would I be taking out the nails for, to be racking the doors?"—"How shall I get out then?"—"Can't your honor get out of the window like any other jontleman?" I then began the operation; but having forced my head and shoulders out, could get no farther, and called again to the postillion.—"Augh! did any one ever see any one get out of a chay head foremost? Can't your honor put out your feet first, like a Christian?"
Here the baronet manifested considerable impatience, and was about to interrupt the narrator, when the latter requesting permission, continued:
"Next day four horses were attached to the crazy vehicle;—one, unfortunately, lost a shoe; and as I refused to go on until the poor animal was shod, my two postillions commenced, in my hearing, a colloquy.—"Paddy, where will I get a shoe, and no smith nigh hand?"—"Why don't you see yon jontleman's horse in the field; can't you go and unshoe him?"—"True for ye," said Jem, "but that horse's shoe will never fit him." "Augh! you can but try it," said Paddy. So the gentleman's horse was actually unshod, and his shoe put upon the posting hack; and fit or not fit, Paddy went off with it.
[112] "Same day, during a violent storm of wind and rain, 1 found that two of the windows were broken, and two could not, by force or art of man, be pulled up. I ventured to complain to Paddy of the inconvenience I suffered from the storm pelting in my face. His consolation was, "Augh! God bless your honour, and can't you get out and set behind the carriage, and you'll not get a drop at all, I'll engage!"
The player having thus closed his narrative, and the laughter of the company having subsided, the baronet very candidly admitted, that the sister kingdom in many parts, was miserably deficient in the requisites of travelling, and other conveniences to which the English were accustomed. But in process of time (he continued) we shall get more civilized. Nevertheless, we have still an advantage over you; we have more hospitality, and more honesty. Nay, by the powers! but it is so, my good friends. However much we unhappily may quarrel with each other, we respect the stranger who comes to sojourn amongst us; and long would he reside, even in the province of Munster, before a dirty spalpeen would rob him of his great coat and umbrella, and be after doing that same thing when he was at a friend's house too, from which they were taken, along with nearly all the great coats, cloaks, shawls, pelisses, hats and umbrellas, belonging to the company."{1}
1 We are inclined to believe that Sir Felix alludes to the
fol-lowing instance of daring depredation.
Extraordinary Robbery. On Thursday night, whilst a large party of young folks were assembled at the house of Mr. Gregory, in Hertford Street, Fitzroy Square, to supper, a young man was let in by a servant, who said he had brought a cloak for his young mistress, as the night was cold. The servant left him in the hall, and went up stairs; when shortly after, a second arrived with a hackney coach, and on his being questioned by the servant, he said he brought the coach to take his master and mistress home. The servant was not acquainted with the names of half the company, and therefore credited what was told her. The two strangers were suffered to stand at the stairs head, to listen to the music and singing, with which they appeared highly delighted, and also had their supper and plenty to drink. But while festive hilarity prevailed above, the villains began to exercise their calling below, and the supper table in a trice they unloaded of four silver table spoons, a silver sauce-boat, knives and forks, &c. and from off the pegs and banisters they stole eight top-coats, several cloaks, shawls, pelisses and hats, besides a number of umbrellas, muffs, tippets, and other articles, all of which they carried off in the coach which was in waiting. To complete the farce, the watchman shut the coach door, and wished "their honours" good night. The robbery was not discovered until the company was breaking up. No trace of the thieves can be found.
[113] There was certainly somewhat of an Irishism in the baronet's remark.—Of eight great coats stolen, the thieves could not discriminate who were the respective owners, and if it had been possible that they could have discriminated, it is not likely that any regard for the laws of hospitality would have induced them to make an exception of Sir Felix O'Grady's property amidst the general depredation.
The company, although secretly amused by the baronet's remarks, condoled with him on the loss he had sustained; and the player protesting that in stating the facts of Irish posting, he had no intention of giving the baronet the least offence, unanimity was restored, and the conviviality of the evening proceeded without further interruption.
Sir Felix made Irish bulls, and gave Irish anecdotes; the amateur occasionally gave a song or a stanza impromptu; the player spouted, recited, and took off several of his brother performers, by exhibiting their defects in close imitations,—
"Till tired at last wi' mony a farce,"
They sat them down—
and united with the remaining company in an attentive hearing to a conversation which the honorable Frederick Fitzroy had just commenced with his friend Dashall.—
"You have now," said the honourable Frederick Fitzroy, addressing himself to Dashall, "You have now become a retired, steady, contemplative young man; a peripatetic philosopher; tired with the scenes of ton, and deriving pleasure only from the investigation of Real Life in London, accompanied in your wanderings, by your respectable relative of Belville-Hall; and yet while you were one of us, you shone like a star of the first magnitude, and participated in all the follies of fashion with a zest of enjoyment that forbid the presage of satiety or decline."
"Neither," answered Dashall, "have I now altogether relinquished those pleasures, but by frequent repetition they become irksome; the mind is thus relieved by opposite pursuits, and the line of observation which I have latterly chosen has certainly afforded me much substantial information and rational amusement."
[114] "Some such pursuit I too must think of adopting," replied Fitzroy, "else I shall sink into the gulph of ennuit to the verge of which I am fast approaching. Independent of the frequent ruinous consequences of the gaming-table, I have taken a dislike to its associates, and therefore abandoned their society; nor will you be surprised at my having adopted this resolution, when I inform you, that at my last sitting in one of these nefarious haunts of dissipation, I was minus to the extent, in a few hours, of several thousand pounds, the prize of unprincipled adventurers, of swindlers, black-legs, and pigeon-fanciers!"{1}
1 A pigeon-fancier is one of those speculators at the
Gambling Houses, whose object it is to lie in wait for
inexperienced noviciates, and under the pretext of fair and
honorable dealing pluck their feathers; that is to say,
strip them bare of their property. Days and nights are
passed at the gaming-table. "I remember," said the Earl
of G——, "spending three days and three nights in the
hazard room of a well-known house in St James's Street; the
shutters were closed, the curtains down, and we had candles
the whole time; even in the adjoining rooms we had candles,
that when our doors were opened to bring in refreshments, no
obtrusive gleam of day-light might remind us how the hours
had passed. How human nature supported the fatigue, I know
not. We scarcely allowed ourselves a moment's pause to take
the sustenance our bodies required. At last one of the
waiters, who had been in the room with us the whole time,
declared that he could hold out no longer, and that sleep he
must. With difficulty he obtained an hour's truce; the
moment he got out of the room he fell asleep, absolutely at
the very threshold of our door. By the rules of the house he
was entitled to a bonus on every transfer of property at the
hazard-table; and he made in the course of three days, up-
wards of Three hundred pounds! Sleep and avarice had
struggled to the utmost, but, with his vulgar habit, sleep
prevailed. We were wide awake. I never shall forget the
figure of one of my noble associates, who sat holding his
watch, his eager eyes fixed upon the minute-hand, whilst he
exclaimed continually, "This hour will never be over!" Then
he listened to discover whether his watch had stopped, then
cursed the lazy fellow for falling asleep, protesting, that
for his part, he never would again consent to such a waste
of time. The very instant the hour was ended, he ordered
"that dog" to be awakened, and to work we went. At this
sitting Thirty-five Thousand Pounds were lost and won. I was
very fortunate, for I lost a mere trifle—Ten Thousand
Pounds only!"
Dashall congratulated Fitzroy on his resolution, in having cut the dangerous connexion, and expressed a hope that in due process of time he would emancipate himself from the trammels of dissipation generally.
[115] "That," rejoined Fitzroy, "is already in a considerable degree effected."
"In the higher and middle classes of society," says a celebrated writer, "it is a melancholy and distressing sight to observe, not unfrequently, a man of a noble and ingenuous disposition, once feelingly alive to a sense of honor and integrity, gradually sinking under the pressure of his circumstances, making his excuses at first with a blush of conscious shame, afraid to see the faces of his friends from whom he may have borrowed money, reduced to the meanest tricks and subterfuges to delay or avoid the payment of his just debts, till ultimately grown familiar with falsehood, and at enmity with the world, he loses all the grace and dignity of man."—
"Such," continued Fitzroy, "was the acmé of degradation to which I was rapidly advancing, when an incident occurred to arrest the progress of dissipation, and give a stimulus to more worthy pursuits.
"One morning having visited a certain nunnery in the precincts of Pall-Mail, the Lady Abbess introduced me to a young noviciate, a beautiful girl of sixteen.
"When we were left alone, she dropped on her knees, and in attitude and voice of the most urgent supplication, implored me to save her from infamy!"
"I am in your power," she exclaimed, "but I feel confident that you will not use it to my dishonor.—I am yet innocent;—restore me to my parents,—pure and unsullied,—and the benediction of Heaven will reward you!"—
She then told me a most lamentable tale of distress;—that her father was in prison for a small debt; and that her mother, her brothers and sisters, were starving at home.—Under these disastrous circumstances she had sought service, and was inveighd into that of mother W. from whence she had no hope of extrication, unless through my generous assistance! She concluded her pathetic appeal, by observing, that if the honorable Frederick Fitzroy had listened to the call of humanity, and paid a debt of long standing, her father would not now be breaking his heart in prison, her family famishing, nor herself subject to destruction.
"And I am the Author of all!" I exclaimed, "I am the dis-honorable Frederick Fitzroy, who in the vortex of dissipation, forgot the exercise of common justice, and involved a worthy man and his suffering family in misery! But I thank heaven, the injury is not irreparable!"
[116] "I immediately explained to Mother W. the peculiarly distressing situation of this poor girl, rescued her from meditated perdition,—restored the husband to his family, with improved circumstances,—and by a continuance of my support, I trust, in some degree to atone for past transgression."
This narrative excited much interest, and the approval, by the company, of Fitzroy's munificence was expressive and unanimous.
The conviviality of the evening was renewed, and sustained until an early hour, when the party broke up; having enjoyed "the feast of reason, and the flow of soul," with temperate hilarity.
Dashall, his Cousin, and Fitzroy, proceeding under the piazzas of Covent Garden, the latter suggested an hour's amusement in the Cellars underneath the Hotel, a proposition which was immediately acceded to by his companions, and the trio descended into the lower regions.
The descent however bore not any resemblance to that of Telemachus into Hell. A brilliant light irradiated their passage, and the grim shadows of the infernal abode were, if present, without the ken of ocular observation. In place of the palace of Pandemonium, our triumvirate beheld the temple of Bacchus, where were assembled a number of Votaries, sacrificing to the jolly Deity of the Ancients, in frequent and powerful libations.
By some unaccountable means the daemon of discord, however, gained admission and ascendancy.
A scene now took place which baffles every attempt at description.—The row became general; decanters, glasses, and other fragile missiles, were resorted to,—their fragments strewed the floor,—and the terrified attendants hastened to require the interposition of the guardians of the night, in restoring order and tranquillity.
Amidst the ravage and dissonance of war, our trio preserved a strict neutrality, and before the arrival of the mediating powers, had regained their position in the piazzas, where they waited the result of the conflict.
Negotiations of peace having been unavailingly attempted, the refractory combatants were taken into custody, after an obstinate resistance, and conducted to "duress vile," in the Watch-house.
[117] The tragi-comedy was dacently wound up by one of the performers, a native of the Emerald Isle, who thinking it necessary that the neighbourhood should have an intimation of the proceedings, announced the hour of "past three," with the accompaniment of "a bloody MORNING!"{1}
The neutrals now proceeded to their respective homes, and our two associates reached their domicile, without the occurrence of further incident.
Next morning the indicative double rit-tat of the postman induced the Squire from the breakfast-parlor to the hall. The servant had opened the door, and received the letters; when an itinerant dealer in genuine articles obtruded himself on the threshold, and doffing his castor after the manner of a knowing one, enquired whether his honor was pleased to be spoke with. Tallyho desired him to step in, and required to know his business. The fellow with a significant wink, and many prelusive apologies for the liberty he was about to take, stated that he had accidentally come into possession of some contraband goods, chiefly Hollands, Geneva, and India silk handkerchiefs, of prime and indisputable excellence; which he could part with at unparalleled low prices;—that he had already, in this private way, disposed of the greatest portion, and that if his honor was inclined to become a purchaser, he now had the opportunity of blending economy with superlative excellence, in an almost incredible degree, and unequalled in any part of the three kingdoms.
This flourish the Squire answered with becoming indignity; expressed his surprise at the consummate assurance of any trickster who would dare to offer him a contraband article, to the prejudice of His Majesty's revenue; and ordered the servant to turn the "scoundrel" out of doors.{2}
1 The above mentioned fracas took place a few weeks ago.—
The offenders "against the peace of our Sovereign Lord the
King," were next day held before one of the Police
Magistrates, when it appearing that the row occurred under
the influence of ebriety, and that the landlord and the
watchmen were the only sufferers, a com-promise was
permitted, and the parties were discharged with a suitable
admonition.
2 "Contraband articles." The Squire apparently was not
aware that the superlatively excellent Hollands, Geneva, and
India-hand-kerchiefs were, the one the manufacture of
Spital-fields, and the other the sophisticated balderdash
known by the name of Maidstone gin. It is a fact, altho' not
generally known, that at the different watering places every
season, the venders of silk handkerchiefs manufactured in
Spital-flelds, carry on a lucrative trade, by disposing of
them under the affectation of secrecy, as the genuine
produce of the Indian loom; and thus accommodating
themselves to the prejudice of their customers against our
native productions; get off in threefold proportion, the
number sold in London, and at a cent per cent greater
advantage!
With respect to alleged contraband SPIRITS, the deceit is
more successfully manoeuvred in Town than in the country.—
The facility of smuggling on the coast frequently supplies
the maritime visitant with a cheap and genuine beverage. In
Town the same opportunity does not occur, and on the
uninitiated in the cheats of London, the system of this
species of imposition is more frequently practised.
Professing to exhibit Real Life in London, we shall not
trouble our readers with an apology for the introduction of
the following appropriate incident—
Court ok Requests.—Holborn.—A case of rather a curious
nature, and which was characterised rather by the absurd
credulity of the parties than by its novelty, came before
the Commissioners on Thursday last. A man of the name of
O'Regan attended the Court, to show cause against a summons
which had been issued, calling upon him to pay a debt of
eighteen shillings, which was alleged to be due by him to a
person who stated his name to be Higgins. The parties were
both Irishmen, and exhibited a good deal of irritation as
well as confusion, in their stories. With some difficulty
the following facts were collected from their respective
statements;—On Tuesday week, about nine o'clock in the
evening, a man dressed in the costume of a sailor, and
wearing a large rough coat, similar to that commonly worn by
sea-faring men, in bad weather, entered the shop of O'Regan,
who is a dealer in salt fish, and other haberdashery," as he
called it, in St. Giles's; and beckoning to the back part of
the room, and at the same time looking very significantly,
said, "May be you would not like a drop of the "real thing,"
to keep a merry Christmas with?" "What do you mane?" says
O'Regan. "Whiskey, to be sure," says the man. "Faith, and
it's I that would, "replied O'Regan, "provided it was good
and chape." "Och, by the piper of Kilrush," says the man,
"there has not been a noter, claner, more completer drop of
Putshean (whiskey illicitly distilled,) smuggled across
the Herring-brook (the Irish Channel,) for many a long
day, and as for chapeness, you shall have it for an ould
song." "You don't mane to say it's after being smuggled!"
says O'Regan. "Be my soul, but I do," rejoined the man,
"it's I and Jack Corcoran, a friend of mine, brought it safe
and sound into the Thames last Sunday, in the shape of a
cargo of butter-firkins, from Cork." "Could a body taste
it?"pursued O'Regan. With a couple of "why nots," says the
man, "I've a blather full of it under my oxther (his arm-
pit,) if you'll lind us hould of a glass." O'Regan said he
hadn't a glass handy, but he brought a cup, and the bladder
being produced, a fair taste was poured forth, which
O'Regan, having tippled it off, after collecting his breath,
swore was "the darling of a drop, it was the next kin to
aquafortis."—"Aqua fifties you mane" says the man,
"aquafortis is a fool to it." The next question was, as to
the price?"Och, by the powers," says the honest smuggler,
"as you're a countryman and friend, you shall have it for
ten shillings a gallon, and less than that I would'nt give
it to my mother." O'Regan thought this too much, and
proposed eight shillings a gallon; but, after much
chartering, he agreed to give nine shillings. The quantity
was next discussed. The man could not sell less than an
anker, four gallons. This was too much for O'Regan; but he
finally determined to get a friend to go partners, and
Higgins, who lodged in his house, was called down and also
indulged with a taste, which he likewise pronounced
"beautiful." It was then arranged, with strong injunctions
of secrecy, that the tub should be brought the next night,
in a half-bushel sack, as if it were coals, and the hour of
nine was appointed. The smuggler then departed, but was true
to his appointment. He came at the hour fixed on the
Wednesday night, and in the disguise proposed. The commodity
was then carried into a little back parlor, with great
mystery, and deposited in a cupboard, and the doors being
all shut, he demanded his cash. "To be sure," says Higgins;
"but, first and foremost (for he was more cautious than his
friend,) let us see if it is as good as the sample was?"
"Och, the devil burn me," says the smuggler, "if I'd desave
you." "Sure I know you would'nt," replied Higgins, "only
just I'd like to wet my whistle with another drop, as you
may say." "Touch my honor, touch my life," says the
smuggler; and seizing the tub with some indignation, he
called for the poker, and then striking the barrel on each
side the bung-hole, out started the bung. He next called for
a table-spoon, and a cup, and ladling out about a noggin,
alias a quartern, handed it to O'Regan, who, having taken a
suck, by the twist of his eye and the smack of his lips,
evinced his satisfaction. Higgins finished it; and
exclaiming, "it's the dandy," passed his hand in his
pocket, without further hesitation, and produced his
eighteen shillings. O'Regan did the same, and the cask being
safely locked in the cupboard, the smuggler was let out with
as much caution as he had been admitted. O'Regan and Higgins
then held a council upon the division of the spoil; and the
latter went up stairs to fetch down a two gallon jar, while
the former ran to the public-house to borrow a measure. They
soon met again in the parlor, and the tub was brought out.
They endeavoured at first to get the bung out in the same
manner which they had observed the smuggler pursue, but not
being equally acquainted with the subject, they could not
succeed. This difficulty, however, was soon obviated.
O'Regan obtained a large gimblet from a next door neighbour,
and a hole being bored in one of the ends, the liquor began
to flow very freely into the measure which was held to
receive it. Higgins remarked that it looked very muddy, and
on the pint being full, lifted it up to have another sup;
but he had no sooner taken a gulp, than, to the dismay of
O'Regan, he exclaimed, "Oh, Holy Paul, it's bilge!"
mentioning a very unsavoury liquid. "Brother," says O'Regan,
and snatching the measure from his partner, took a mouthful
himself, which he as quickly spirted about the floor; and
then, in an agitated tone, cried out, "Sure enough Higgins,
it is bilge, and precious bail it is, as ever I drank." They
now eyed each other for some time with mutual surprise, and
then sympathetically agreed that they must have been "done."
It was still, however, a matter of surprise to them, how
their friend, the smuggler, could have taken good whiskey
(which that they had tasted from the bung-hole certainly
was,) from such nastiness. In order to solve their doubts,
they procured a pail; and, having emptied the cask, they
proceeded to break it to pieces, when, to their
astonishment, the mystery was unravelled, and their folly,
in being made the dupes of a pretended smuggler, made fully
manifest; for immediately under the bung-hole they found a
small tin box, capable of containing about half a pint,
which, being tightly tacked to one of the staves, kept the
pure liquor, a small quantity of which still remained, from
that which was of a very opposite character. It was no
laughing matter, and they were not, therefore, very merry on
the occasion; and still less so, when Higgins demanded of
O'Regan the repayment of his eighteen shillings; this
O'Regan refused, and a quarrel ensued, which after having
terminated in a regular "set to," attended with painful
consequences to both; was followed by Higgins applying to
this Court for the summons which led to their appearance
before the Commissioners. The whole of the circum-stances,
with infinite trouble, having been thus unravelled; the
Commissioner declared his inability to afford Mr. Higgins
any re-dress. There was clearly no debt incurred; there was
a mutual compact, entered into for an illegal purpose, for
had the liquid which they had purchased been smuggled
spirits, they were liable to pay a large penalty for having
bought it. But putting aside all these considerations, it
was clear that Higgins had, with a proper degree of caution,
endeavoured to satisfy himself of the quality of the article
before he paid his money; and thereby showed that he was not
acting under a confidence in any guarantee on the part of
O'Regan; and consequently could have no claim on him. In
this view of the case, he should dismiss the summons without
costs. The parties then retired, amidst the laughter of the
by-standers; and Higgins, who was evidently much mortified,
swore he would take the worth of his eighteen shillings
"out of O'Regan's bones!"
This command was obeyed with alacrity, and as promptly acceded to by the discomfited intruder, who, however, retrieved, without doubt, in the credulity of others, the disappointment he had sustained by the pertinacity of the Squire.
[120] The morning was unfavourable to pedestrian excursion. The library was well stored with literature in choice variety. To this antidote of ennui the Squire resorted, while Dashall wrote cards of invitation to a few select friends, whom he knew would, sans cerémonie honor his table to take bachelor's fare with him in the evening.
"I pity the man in a rainy day," says a writer, "who cannot find amusement in reading." This was not the case with the two associates;—the intellectual treat afforded by the library was fully enjoyed; and the moments glided on, imperceptibly, until verging on the hour of dinner.
The friends to whom Dashall had sent round, one and all accepted his invitation, and the remainder of the day was devoted to that refined hilarity, of which his hospitable board was always the chief characteristic.
London, thy streets abound with incident.—
Dashing along, here roll the vehicles,
Splendid, and drawn by highly pamper'd steeds,
Of rank and wealth; and intermix'd with these,
The hackney chariot, urg'd to sober pace
Its jaded horses; while the long-drawn train
Of waggons, carts, and drays, pond'rous and slow,
Complete the dissonance, stunning the ear
Like pealing thunder, harsh and continuous,
While on either side the busy multitude
Pass on, various and infinite.—
[122] THE following morning presented the exhilarating aspect of an unclouded sky, and the two friends were anticipating, at the breakfast-table, the enjoyment of a fine day,—when
A double rat-tat, quickly doubled again, »
Announced an intruder of Consequence vain,
Decorum inclin'd to defy all;—
Again went the knocker, yet louder and faster,
John ran to the door, and one ask'd for his master,
Resolv'd against taking denial.—
"My good fellow," said the stranger, "will you be after representing my obeisance and all that, to the Honorable Mr. Dashall, and I beg to know whether he is at home?"
"Your name, sir?"
"Augh, what does it signify?—Tell him an old friend with a new face,—arrah, not so,—tell him, that a new friend with no face at all at all, would be glad to wait upon him.—Sir Felix O'Grady, the Munster baronet, d'ye mind me?"
This was an unexpected visit, and the more kindly received by Dashall and Tallyho, who promised themselves considerable amusement in the acquisition of the baronet's society, which was readily conceded for the day, to their request.
[123] "Have you breakfasted?" asked Dashall. "Whether or not," answered Sir Felix, "I'll take a cup of taa with you, any how."
When the repast was finished, the triumvirate set out on their pedestrian excursion; interrupted however, in their progress, by a temporary shower, they took refuge in a Coffee-house, where Sir Felix taking up a Newspaper, read from amongst the numerous advertisements, the following selected article of information,—"Convenient accommodations for ladies who are desirous of privately lying in, and their infants carefully put out to nurse." "Well now, after all," observed the baronet, "this same London is a very convanient place, where a lady may gratify her pleasurable propensities, and at same time preserve an unblemished reputation. It is only going into the country, sure, for the benefit of her health; that is to say, she retires to one of the villages in the neighbourhood of London, pays her way without name given or questions asked, and in a few months, returns to Town improved in health, but more slender in person, all her acquaintance exclaiming, "La! my dear, how vastly thin you have grown!"—
"There are in London and its neighbourhood," said Dashall, "numerous such convenient asylums; but I cannot acquiesce in their utility.—I am rather of opinion that they have a demoralizing tendency, as accelerating by concealment, the progress of licentiousness.—Human failings will still predominate, and the indulgence of illicit intercourse is less frequently prevented by an innate principle of virtue than the dread of shame. When facility of concealment is therefore given to the result, these connexions will still become more prevalent."
"By the Powers," exclaimed Sir Felix, "but I think Morality ought to feel particularly benefited by these convanient asylums; they preserve reputation, and in some instances have prevented suicide and murder. I know of two cases wherein both crimes were perpetrated through a sense of shame and dread of discovery, which probably would not have happened could the unfortunates have resorted to "convanient accommodations."—Well, here's good luck to the fair sex, the dear cratures! and may they, every one of them, die on a Christmas day, any how!"{1}
[124] This eccentric wish elicited a look of surprise from the Squire, which Sir Felix observing,—
"My rason is," said he, "that the gates of heaven being open all that day long, a body may slip in unknownst, as it is to be hoped that you, Mr. Dashall, and I may do, some day shortly without any interruption at all, at all."
This ludicrous finis excited the laughter of the company—
"But lo! the clouds break off, and sideways run,
Out from his shelter lively looks the sun:"
and the united observers of Real Life hailing the favorable presage, resumed their perambulation.—
Advancing along Piccadilly towards Hyde Park, they reached the splendid mansion of the hero of Waterloo; the gates were open, and a travelling carriage with four horses was in waiting for his Grace, who was then about setting off to inspect the fortifications of the Netherlands.{2} Neither Sir Felix nor Tallyho having ever seen the Duke, the triumvirate paused at the entrance of the Court-yard, until the carriage came forth, when they saluted the gallant warrior with the tribute of respect due to distinguished services and exalted genius, which his Grace very courteously returned.
1 On the subject of "convenient accommodation for ladies
who wish privately to ly in," if we might hazard an opinion,
it would be in coincidence with that of our friend Dashall.
These establishments' are certainly an encouragement to
licentiousness, and it is well known, that in many of these
receptacles, "where the strictest honor and secrecy may be
relied on," the allurement of abortion is held out to the
unhappy female, if she declines the anticipation of maternal
solicitude.
2 Thirty-Two Great Personages! Anecdote of the Duke of
Wellington,—His Grace, the Duke of Wellington, when last in
the Netherlands, and travelling without attendants, in a
part of the country where his multitudinous titles were not
well understood, was overtaken on the road by a veteran
officer, whose route lay in the same direction with that of
his Grace. The Duke having occasion to stop; and as the
officer would reach a certain town several hours before him,
he requested that the veteran would take the trouble of
ordering dinner for him, at the principal Inn. The old
officer made his congee, and pro-ceeded on his mission. "I
am desired to order dinner here," said he, to the landlord;
"but stay, I had better state who for." Then calling for
pen and ink, he presented the astonished and delighted host
with the following list of his forthcoming illustrious
guests.
The Prince of Waterloo!
The Duke of Wellington.—The Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo,
and The Duke of Vittoria.
The Marquis of Douro, and a Marshal General of France.
Master General of the Ordnance.
Colonel of the Royal Regt. of Horse Guards, Blue.
Colonel of the Rifle Brigade.
The Lord Lieutenant of Hampshire.—And
The Governor of Plymouth.
Field Marshal of Austria,
——————————Russia,
——————————Prussia,
——————————France,
——————————England, and
——————————The Netherlands.
A Grandee of the Highest Class.
A Captain General of Spain.
Knights of the Orders of
The Garter, in England.—St. Andrew, in Russia.—The Black
Eagle, in Russia.—Charles III. in Spain.—St. Ferdinand and
Merit, in Spain.—The Golden Fleece, in Spain.—Maximilian
Joseph, in Bavaria.—St. Maria Theresa, in Austria.—The
Sword, in Spain.—St. Esprit, in France.—St. George, in
Russia.—The Tower and Sword, in Portugal.
And, (to bring up the rear,)
A Doctor of Civil Laws!
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the host, in extacy, "what a noble
company!" He then began to tell them over;—"One Prince,"
he continued,—"Three Dukes—One Marquis—A Marshal General
of France—An English Governor—An English Lord Lieutenant—
The Master General of the Ordnance, and Two English
Colonels—Six Field Marshals—One Grandee of the Highest
Class—A Captain General of Spain—Twelve Knights, and a
Doctor of Civil Laws!.'—Mon Dieu! Thirty-two Great
Personages!!"
All the provisions of the town, all the delicacies of the
season and all the celebrated wines, were immediately put in
requisition for the illustrious company in expectancy.
At last the Duke of Wellington arrived, and was ushered into
a spacious dining-room, where a cloth was laid with thirty-
two covers. The person of the Duke was unknown to the
Innkeeper, who, full of important preparations for the
Thirty-two Great Personages, thought not of any thing
else.—"I ordered dinner here," said his Grace.—"Mon
Dieu!" responded the Innkeeper, "are you one of the Thirty-
two Great Personages?" presenting the list at same time. His
Grace glanced his eye over it,—"they are all here!" said
he, "so send up the dinner immediately." The Inn-keeper
stood aghast with amazement; at last finding utterance, he
ventured to express a hope that his Grace would be pleased
to take into consideration, that he (the Innkeeper,) had, at
great trouble and expence, provided a most sumptuous
entertainment for Thirty-two Great Personages. "D——n
the Thirty-two Great Personages," exclaimed the Duke, "Send
up the dinner, and your bill.—Thus I must pay the penalty,"
said he, "for not having invited the old veteran to be of
the party!!"
[125] The Squire observed, that the brilliant victories of his Grace, although acknowledged and rewarded by all the Potentates of Europe, had not procured him much popularity at home. The remark was confessed by Dashall to be correct, but whence the public indifference originated, he could not presume to explain.
Crossing Hyde Park, which a celebrated physician denominated the lungs of the Metropolis, our pedestrians made their egress into Oxford-road. This fine street, with longitudinal reference the first in London, excited the admiration of the baronet; the long line of perspective indeterminable to the view, stretching from Hyde Park corner to St. Giles's, the general uniformity of the buildings, the neatness, and in many instances the splendor of the tradesmen's shops, together with the comfortable manner of their perambulation, unjostled and unimpeded by the hurry, throng and bustle of passengers, with which [126] many other parts of the Town are annoyed, gave an additional zest of enjoyment to the trio in their excursion, while the Squire observed, that he felt in this part of the Town, always as if he had been suddenly removed to some other region of the world, far remote from the city of London, its dissonant uproar, and crowded inconveniences.
Turning into Blenheim street, Dashall apprized his companions, that if they felt inclined to take a peep into the Theatre of Anatomy, he could procure their admission.
The Squire seemed to recoil from so disgusting an exhibition; while on the other hand the baronet expressed a great desire to enter the theatre. "I have been used to murder and mutilation!" said he.
"The devil you have!" ejaculated the Squire, "where, how?"
"Where else should it be but in Ireland?" replied the baronet:—"and as to the how, was it not, sure, after the manner of my profession, while I was a member of a Corps of Yeoman Cavalry, during the rebellion, when we whipped, hanged, beheaded, and mutilated men, every day, by dozens! So you may guess, my good [127]friend, that cutting up a human carcase is nothing new to me. Only now, I should like to see if there is any difference in the mangling of human bodies by the anatomical artists of London from the ci-devant military professors, "The Loyal Troop of Doneraile."
The hesitation manifested by the Squire yielded, ultimately, to the importunity of the baronet, and they entered the human shambles, where the cutters up were at work upon a subject, securing to themselves the advantage of personal experience, in the process of dissection; the abdomen had been already cleared out, and the corpse was portioned out to the different students of anatomy for the purpose of illustration; the arms to one class, the legs to another, the head to a third, &c. so that in less than a quarter of an hour, decapitation and dismemberment were completely effected; and the trunk was deserted, as an uninteresting object, from which there could not be derived any information of importance, further than that which the students had already obtained!!!
Sir Felix whispered his friends, that these adepts in human mutilation far exceeded in apathy of feeling and adroitness of execution, even the ci-devant Loyal Troop of Doneraile!—But when one of the young artists brought forward in his hands smeared with gore, a human heart for the operation of the dissecting knife, Tallyho declaring that he could bear it no longer, rushed out of the theatre, and was followed by his two companions, all disgusted with this spoliation of the dead, however conducive it might prove to the interests of the living.{1}
1 The human subjects for these Theatres of Anatomy and
private dissection, are chiefly supplied by
"Resurrectionists;" a class of depraved wretches whose only
employment is that of body-snatching, or robbing the graves
of their dead; from which they derive a ready and lucrative
emolument. The anatomists are ready at all hours to receive,
without questions asked, and with prompt remuneration, the
produce of these unsanctified depredations.—Dreadful must
be the feelings of the fond relatives of a departed friend,
to learn that the sanctuary of the grave has been violated,
and the body of perhaps a beloved wife, sister, or other
revered female, exposed to the gaze, and subjected to the
scalping-knife, of these butchers.
Iron Coffins have been resorted to as a safe-guard, which
once closed cannot be opened. For this improvement the
artist obtained a patent; but he is not likely to derive
much advantage from his invention, as the parish officers
within the bills of mortality have generally refused the
rites of sepulture to bodies cased in iron; alleging, that
the almost imperishable material would shortly compel an
enlargement of burying ground, at a vast expence, which it
is the duty of the parish officers to prevent, by resisting
the interment of bodies in iron coffins; and this resolution
has lately had the sanction of legal authority.
Proceeding along Oxford Street, Sir Felix enquired for the Holy Land, informing his friends, at same time, that his servant, whom he had entrusted the preceding day with a cheque on his banker, had not been at home all night, and the probability was, that he had got amongst his Munster friends in Palestine. Sir Felix was therefore desirous of ascertaining, if possible, the sanctuary of the fugitive; and with that view requested his friends to accompany him in a perambulation of discovery, through (to him) these hitherto unexplored regions.—This application was readily assented to, and the triumvirate passed onwards to the place of destination.
They had now reached the Church of St. Giles in the Fields, situated in Broad Street, St. Giles's; and their attention was immediately directed to that fine piece of sculpture over the iron gateway, leading into the Church-yard, representing the Resurrection and Last Judgment. The figures are in basso relievo, and although diminutive, are admirably grouped, and the expression of each gives to the whole a finished and impressive effect.
Two minutes more, and the three friends were on the boundaries of the Holy Land, namely, George Street, or, as formerly cognomened, Dyott Street, Bloomsbury.
At the end of this street, next to St. Giles's, were several of the Lower Irish, of both gender, who, clustering together, seemed to hold a close confabulation, casting occasionally, an inquisitive eye on Sir Felix O'Grady.
"By the soul of the priest!" at last exclaimed one of the Munster emigrees, "but it is him, and I would take my davy on it;—but sure enough, I will ax the jontleman himself now, whether he knows who he is, or if he is any body at all, at all!"
This real representative of the tag-rag and bob-tail of the Emerald Isle, was arrayed in the appropriate costume of his class and country. A nameless something that had once been a hat, covered a shock head of hair; the redundancy of which protuberated sideways and perpendicularly, [129]from the ci-devant castor, in many a knotty combination, impervious to wind and weather. The fragments of a loose great coat decorated his tall athletic form, which scarcely reaching his knees, exposed fully to observation his nether habiliment,—
"His galligaskins, that had long withstood
The winter's fury and encroaching frost
By Time subdued,—what will not Time subdue,
Now horrid rents disclosed, portending agues."
His brawny legs were partially cased in worsted hose, the dilapidations of wear and tear ingeniously repaired with cloth, pieced and patched, and comprising all the prismatic colours of the rainbow; his toes, disdaining the trammels of duress, peeped through his brogues, as if anxious for freedom; and to complete the singularity of this strange figure, his vacant face was incrusted with filth, his bristly beard unshorn,—
And stuck in his mouth of capacious dimensions,
That never to similar shape had pretensions,
A pipe he sustain'd, short and jetty of hue,
Thro' which the dense clouds of tobacco he drew.
This apparition stalking onwards to our admiring triumvirate,—"May be," said he, "your honor can be after telling me,—will your honor be Sir Felix O'Grady of Munster, that is, long life to it?"—"The same, by the powers of my father who begot me!" exclaimed the baronet: "sure enough I am Sir Felix O'Grady that is, not that will be!" "Erin ma vorneen!" rejoined the enquirer,—"the pot of Saint Patrick be upon you, and may your honor live all the days of your life, and many years longer, if that's all!—Arrah, but I'm plased to my heart's content to meet wid your honor in a strange land!"
The congregated expectants now approached, and respectfully united their congratulations with those of their respectable deputy.—"The pot of Saint Patrick be upon you, and may your reverence live for ever and a day afterwards!" It was in vain that Sir Felix offered them money. "No, the devil a drap would they taste, unless it was wid his honor's own self, by the holy poker!"
There was no remedy; so Sir Felix, with his friends Dash all and Tallyho, who were much amused by this [130]unsophisticated manifestation of Irish recognition, accompanied the motley groupe to the blue-ruin shop.{1}
Entering then, the neighbouring den, of a licensed retailer of destruction, the first object on whom the scrutinizing eye of the baronet cast a glance, was his servant, regaling himself and his blowen with a glass of the "right sort." The indignant Sir Felix raised his cane, and was about to inflict a well-merited chastisement, when the transgressor, deprecating the wrath of his master, produced the full amount of the cheque in mitigation of punishment, expressing his obligations to mother Cummings for the preservation of the property.
"And who, in the devil's name," asked the baronet, "is mother Cummings?"{2}
"Och! a good sowl," said the valet, "for all that, she keeps convanient lodgings. And so your honor, just having got a drap too much of the cratur last night, this girl and I took up our lodgings at mother Cummings's: good luck to her any how! And if your honor will but forgive me this once, I will, as in duty bound, serve you faithfully by night and by day, in any or in no way at all at all, and never will be guilty of the like again as long as I live, gra."
1 Blue-ruin, alias English Gin.—Not unaptly is this
pernicious beverage so denominated. It is lamentable to
observe the avidity with which the lower orders of society
in London resort to this fiery liquid, destructive alike of
health and morals. The consumption of gin in the metropolis
is three-fold in proportion to what it was a few years ago.
Every public-house is now converted into "Wine Vaults," as
they are termed, which the venders of poison and their
account in; it is true, that the occupants are compelled to
sell beer also, but in many of these receptacles, there is
not even sitting room, and "something short," is thus the
resource of men, women, and even children!
2 This discreet matron has realized a very daccnt
competency, by keeping, in the Holy Land, a house of
accommodation for single, men and their wives.—When a
couple of this description require the asylum of her
hospitable roof, she demands possession of all the money
which the male visitor may have about him. This conceded, it
is told over, and carefully sealed up in the presence of its
owner, and left for the night in charge of the prudent
landlady. The party is then shewn into a room, and in the
morning the money is forth-coming to its utmost farthing.
[131] Circumstances considered, and as this had been his first offence, the servant, at the intercession of Dashall, was let off with a reprimand only, and ordered home, a mandate which he instantly and with many expressions of gratitude obeyed.
The baronet having adjusted this business to his satisfaction, directed his attention to his newly acquired Munster friends, whom he not only treated with a liberal potation of aqua vitæ, but in the warmth of his kindly feelings, actually drank with them, a condescension infinitely more acceptable to the generous nature of these poor-people, than was the more solid proof which he left them of his munificence; and of which, until absolutely forced upon them, they long and pertinaciously resisted the acceptance.
Our party pursuing their route, entered Holborn, and ordered refreshment at the George and Blue Boar Coffee-House; a place of excellent accommodation, and convenient for persons coming from the West of England.
Here, while our perambulators amused themselves in conversation on the occurrences of the morning, a chaise and four drove rapidly into the yard, the postillions decorated with white ribbons, "denoting," said Dashall, "the successful denouement, perhaps, of a trip to Gretna Green." His conjecture was correct; the happy pair just arrived, had been rivetted in the ties of matrimony by the far-famed blacksmith of Gretna.{1}
1 In tracing the pursuits of needy and profligate
adventurers, with whom this vast metropolis abounds beyond
that of any other capital in the world, wife-hunting is not
the least predominant. This remark we cannot better
illustrate than by introducing to the notice of our readers,
the following extraordinary detail, exhibiting in High Life,
atrocious premeditated villainy, and in the mediocrity of
female rank extreme and fatal cupidity.
An anecdote has come to our knowledge within the last few
days which we think calls for publicity, as it may tend to
place on their guard those tender-hearted spinsters whose
sensibility of feeling may induce them for a moment to
forget that prudence which is at all times the best
safeguard of their sex. The circumstances which we shall
describe are considered quite unique among certain orders of
the sporting world; and the Hero of the Tale, from the
dashing completion of his plan, has obtained no small
importance in the eyes of his associates.
To our purpose;—About a fortnight back, a person, we will
not call him a gentleman, the first letter of whose name is
not far re-moved from the last letter of the alphabet, and
who has been particularly distinguished for the dashing,
although not very meritorious affairs in which he has been
engaged, both on the turf and the road, as well as in the
stable, found himself (to use one of his own fashionable
phrases,) "hard up." In plain terms, his Exchequer was
completely exhausted, and what was worse, his credit was
altogether "out at the elbows." All ordinary, and, indeed,
almost all extraordinary modes of "raising the wind," had
long since been worn threadbare. Something, however, must be
done; and to be "well done," it must be "done quickly." A
happy thought struck him. He had heard of a lady, some few
years beyond her "teens," who was possessed of a pretty
round sum; he could not ascertain exactly how much, in her
own right. This was a prize which he thought it would be
most desirable to obtain. It was true, the lady was past
that age when passion is not at all times to be con-trolled;
but then certainly not so far advanced as to have abandoned
all hope of obtaining an agreeable husband, or not to be
perfectly convinced that her attractions entitled her to
entertain such an expectation. The only difficulty which
suggested itself, was the mode of introduction. Two heads
are better than one, and our hero called in a friend, to
whom he unfolded his scheme, and whose advice and assistance
he immediately bespoke. The friend had no scruples on the
subject, and at once became a partner in the plot. Means
were found to overcome the first impediment, and behold our
two gentlemen in the presence of the fair object of their
attack. The principal was immediately introduced as the
son of Sir George ——, a highly respectable Baronet of the
same name, but of a very different character. His manners
were chastened for the occasion, his appearance fashionable,
and his address distinguished by a warmth which the
acknowledged purpose of his visit, that of soliciting the
honor of being permitted to pay his addresses, in some
measure justified. The lady was not displeased: to all
appearance the connexion, which was thus offered to her was
most nattering; the son of a baronet, and one especially who
had expressed himself in a most disinterested manner, was
not to be dismissed without due deliberation; she,
therefore, with becoming frankness, consented to grant
another interview on the ensuing day. The friends were
punctual to the time appointed, and came in the carriage
(pro tempore) of the suitor. They were shown into the
drawing-room, and the conversation was mutually pleasing. At
length our hero proposed to the lady to take a short airing
in his carriage. At first she exhibited the usual coyness at
such an invitation from one, to whom she was almost a
stranger; but was ultimately bantered into a consent, and
accordingly dressed for a ride. Having taken her seat
between the two gentlemen, they engaged her on such topics
as they thought most amusing, and the time passed so
agreeably that she scarce knew where she was going, till she
had arrived at Barnet, on the north road. They stopped at
one of the principal inns, and alighting, a slight cold
repast was ordered. The convenient friend shortly after
quitted the apartment to look to the horses, and the soi-
disant son of the Baronet instantly commenced an
assault upon the lady's heart, which it would seem, was but
too well received. He protested that he had long sighed at a
distance, without having the courage to confess his flame;
and, in short, that he could not exist unless she became
his. The lady, whatever might be the feelings of her heart,
laughed at the warmth of his declarations. This only induced
him to become more impetuous; and at last, as a proof of his
sincerity, he proposed, as they were so far on the north
road, that they should order four horses, and set off at
once to Gretna Green. This produced additional merri-ment on
the part of the lady, which, as there was no specific
refusal, was taken for consent; and on the return of the
friend, he received a wink, which instructed him in the
course he was to pursue, and in a moment, four horses were
clapped to the travelling chariot in which they had arrived.
The lady was shortly afterwards handed to her seat, and,
accompanied as before, was whirled off with the utmost
velocity. She had gone thirty miles of the road, however,
before she believed that her lover was really serious. On
alighting at the end of the third stage, reflection came to
her aid, and she began to repent of having suffered herself
to be prevailed on to consent so far to what she still
pretended to believe was but a joke. On our hero quitting
the coom, she represented to his friend the utter
impossibility of proceeding further, and entreated that he
would take means to have her re-conducted to town. The
friend, however, who was too much interested in the success
of a plot so well commenced, endeavoured to dissuade her, by
every argument of which he was master, to go on; but she
positively refused; when, as the last resource, he
determined to work on her fears, and accordingly told her,
that Mr.—— had long spoken of her, in terms of impatient
rapture; that he was a man, unhappily, of a most passionate
temper, and that he had vowed, sooner than he would go back
to London without making her his wife, he would blow out his
brains, for which purpose he was provided with a brace of
pistols, then in his pocket, and double loaded. To this was
added the still more persuasive observation, that he was a
gentleman of family and fortune and figure, to whom no
rational objection could be taken by any woman whose heart
had not been previously engaged. The result was, that the
unfortunate woman, half consenting, half relenting, agreed
to go forward, and on they drove till they arrived full
speed at Gretna Bridge, in Yorkshire. Here a new difficulty
arose; our hero had exhausted his purse, and had not a
shilling left to enable him to complete his journey; his
good genius, however, had not deserted him, and, with that
effrontery for which he is distinguished, he called the
landlord into a private room, told him he was on his way to
Gretna Green with an heiress, again described himself to be
the son of a baronet, and finally requested him to give cash
for a cheque which he proposed drawing on a respectable
banking-house in town, (where, by the bye, he happened to
have no account.) The cause he assigned for his distress was
the suddenness of his flight from town. His appeal
proved successful, and he was furnished with the means of
completing his journey. Again the trio resumed their course,
and in the end reached the quarters of the celebrated
Blacksmith, who was immediately summoned to their presence.
Here another impediment threw them into fresh alarm; the
Blacksmith seeing the style in which they had arrived, and
judging from that circumstance that they were persons of no
mean consequence, refused to rivet their chains under a
douceur of One hundred pounds. This sum it was impossible,
at so short a notice, they could raise; and their hopes
would have been altogether frustrated, had not the eloquence
of our hero once more proved successful. He explained to the
venerable priest that their finances were but slender; and
having assured him of that fact, he induced him to accept of
Five pounds down, and a note of hand for Fifty pounds more.
The Gordian knot was then tied, and Mr. and Mrs.——
having received the congratulations of their friend, who
witnessed the ceremony, returned to Gretna Bridge; where
they agreed to wait a few days, until a remittance for which
the lady, under some plausible excuse, was induced to draw,
had arrived. The necessary sum at length reached their
hands; the bill was dis-charged; the cheque upon which the
cash had been previously advanced, redeemed; and the party
pursued their journey back to the metropolis.
On reaching London, the marriage ceremony was repeated in a
more formal manner, and thus all question of the validity of
the union was set at rest. Our hero had now to render
available the funds of his Lady; and in a morning tete-a-
tete requested some information as to the state of her
fortune? It was a subject, he said, of no great importance
in his estimation, but still he wished to know what she had?
The Lady candidly told him that all she had under her own
control, was £1,100 in the 5 per Cents, and a bond of her
brother's for £2,500 payable on demand. On the very same
day, the disinterested husband was found soliciting several
brokers in the city, to sell out the stock which his wife
had described, but they all declined, unless the lady were
present. This was an objection easily got over; he returned
to his wife, and having assigned some feasible reason for an
immediate want of ready cash, induced her to accompany him
to the market, where the value of the stock was soon
transferred into his pocket.
The friends of the lady had by this time been apprised of
her marriage, and naturally felt anxious to ascertain the
character of the connexion which she had formed. She, of
course, repeated the story told her by her "Lord and
Master;" but inquiry having been made as to its truth, it
was found to be fictitious in all its main features. Her
husband, although of the same name, was not the son of Sir
George, nor was he at all connected with that family; and in
addition to this, it was ascertained that he was, as we have
already described him to be, a gentleman "much better known
than trusted." It is needless to say that the feelings of
the lady were greatly agitated at these discoveries, and she
did not hesitate to upbraid her husband with his deceitful
conduct. His sensibility, however, was not to be excited
on such an occasion; he coolly told her he knew all she
could say on that subject without putting her to any further
trouble; and, in fine, confirmed all that she had heard to
his prejudice. She had taken him "for better for worse,"
and she must make the best of a bad bargain. The brother
of the lady now interfered; he had an interview with her
husband, and could not suppress the indignation which he
felt in his presence. Our hero had too long been accustomed
to the reverses of the sporting world to be easily ruffled;
he preserved his temper with admirable presence of mind, and
having heard the enraged brother to a conclusion, at last
very coolly replied, that "all he had said might be very
true, but that did not alter the fact that his sister was
his lawful wife; and further, that, as her husband, he held
a bond of his (the brother's) for £'2,500, payable on
demand, and of which he requested immediate payment as he
was short of "the ready." The cold-blooded gravity with
which this demand was made, incensed the brother still
more, and he gave vent to the feelings which were excited in
his breast. Our hero was in no respect thrown off his
guard, and at last, after having heard that the brother, as
well as the lady, whose eyes were now open to his real
character, would be glad to get rid of him on any terms; he
proposed to "do the thing," what he called "handsomely," and
with very little qualification suggested, that in order to
settle the business "amicably," he had no objection to give
up his wife and her brother's bond for £1,000 in addition to
the £1,000 he had already received. Unprincipled as this
offer was, the brother, upon reflection, felt that he was
"in the jaws of the lion," and therefore, after consultation
with his sister, who was but too happy in escaping from such
a companion, he agreed to the terms proposed. The £1,000
was paid, the bond returned, and a separation mutually
agreed upon without further delay, to the infinite
satisfaction of our hero, who tells the adventure among his
friends with extra-ordinary glee, taking no small credit to
himself for its happy issue. We have suppressed the names of
the parties, for obvious reasons; there are those by whom
they will be immediately recognised. We wish, however,
not to give unnecessary pain to the individuals really
injured; and have only to hope the facts we have detailed
may operate as a sufficient caution to others who may be
placed in similar situations in future.
[135] Sir Felix O'Grady was all a-gog to learn from the postillions the names of the party, but nothing satisfactory could be elicited.
Our trio now directed their progress along Holborn, in which route they had advanced but a few minutes when their attention was arrested by a concourse of people assembled at the door of a Linen-draper, who it seems had detected a thief in the person of a pregnant woman. This information excited the sympathy of our three friends, and they accordingly entered the Shop. Tallyho entreated of the Linen-draper, that he would be merciful to the unfortunate woman, in consideration of her being so far in a family way.
"And yet, sir," answered the Shopkeeper, "I fancy we shall be able to relieve the lady without the assistance of a midwife." The woman was then taken into a back room and searched by two of her own sex. The result [136]of this investigation was soon made known.—The pregnancy was assumed, the better to evade suspicion; her under garments were completely lined with hooks, to which were suspended, in vast variety, articles of stolen property, including not only those of light weight, viz. handkerchiefs, shawls, stockings, &c. but several of less portable description, amongst which were two pieces of Irish linen. These articles she had conveyed through an aperture in her upper habiliment of sufficient dimensions to admit an easy access to the general repository. The ingenuity of this invention created much surprise, and as it greatly facilitated concealment and evaded detection, there is no doubt of its having frequently produced a rich harvest. This female adept was now committed to the charge of an officer, the Shopkeeper having identified upon her person several articles of stolen property.
Ladies,—the chariot waits;—the toilet now
Where erst so many hours were idly spent,
Asks of its wonted due the tythe alone;—
Braid then your tresses of luxuriant now,
And wrap your forms angelic in the dress
Simple, yet rich and elegant, that gives
Your matchless beauties half revealed to view;
The broad capacious bosom's luscious swell,
Still heaving strong, and suing to be prest;—
Grace then the vehicle.—We, observers
Of Real Life, the while, in London go
To "catch the living manners as they rise,
"And give the age its very form and pressure."
[137] CONTINUING their route down Holborn, the adventure in the Linen-draper's shop became the theme of conversation.—"It is not alone," said Dashall, "to the lower orders and necessitous that this system of Shop-lifting is confined; many recent instances have occurred of similar depredation, by women above the mediocrity of rank, who, however, frequently contrive to compromise prosecution, while the delinquent of poverty is visited by the utmost rigor of the law!—Of the two, certainly the thief from habit is more culpable than the thief from necessity."
Sir Felix and the Squire entirely agreed with their friend in opinion.—"Shop-lifters," continued Dashall, "are as pernicious to the trading part of the community as any of the cheats of London; there is not, on a moderate calculation, less than 5000 of these artful thieves in the metropolis, and the prejudice they do to the industrious tradesman is incalculable."
"By the powers of safety, then," exclaimed the baronet "the honest dealer should consider every stranger a thief until further acquaintance."
"Not exactly so; however, it is necessary that the London tradesman should be upon his guard, and keep [138] a sharp look out upon his customers, not knowing, by their appearance, whether they are honest or otherwise."{1}
Turning from Holborn into Chancery Lane, our pedestrians were encountered by a very handsome chariot, in which were two elegantly dressed and beautiful women, who, ordering the carriage to stop, saluted Dashall and the Squire in the most fascinating terms of friendly recognition.
"Your Ladyships render me," said Dashall, "infinite happiness; this is a most unexpected pleasure!"
"You are a gallant cavalier," observed one of the lovely inmates, "another gentleman would probably have used the word honor instead of happiness, but you are fertile in felicitous expression."
"Not more felicitous than appropriate; but whither away, my fair captivators?"
"We are on a shopping expedition," replied one of the ladies, "you and your friend of Belville-hall, are observers of Life in London generally;—ours is a mere circumscribed sphere of action; we go to view Life in a Mercer's shop.—When the Squire and you are not more pleasantly engaged, give us a call, and perhaps we may grant you the honor of an interview.—We would ask the Unknown," said she, in a whisper, "who is he?"
1 A thief from habit.—Not long since, there existed in
the fashionable world, a female of rank and property, who
was an habitual, expert, and incorrigible thief.—She would
frequently sally forth in her carriage, and alighting at the
doors of perhaps, half a dozen different tradesmen, rummage
over their goods, without mak-ing a purchase, and embrace
the opportunity of purloining any portable article that lay
in her way. Those tradesmen to whom her thieving
propensities were known, used to watch, carefully, her
manoeuvres, let her walk off with the spoil, and then send a
bill of depredation, which she uniformly, and without
hesitation, dis-charged. This unfortunate woman was one
morning detected in the shop of a Mercer to whom she was a
stranger, in the act of pilfering some article of value. He
was about to detain her, when she burst into an agony of
tears, acknowledged, and lamented deeply, the irresistible
infatuation under which she acted, disclosed her rank and
family, and the compassionate mercer suffered her to depart.
At another time, being one of a card-party, a gold snuff-box
vanished from the table. Every person present denied any
knowledge of it;—"Madam, you are mistaken," said one of the
company, "you have got the snuff-box in your pocket."—"How
very absent I am!"exclaimed our heroine, producing the
box.—"And I beg that you will continue absent!" said the
lady of the mansion.
[139] "Sir Felix O'Grady, Madam," answered Dashall, "an Irish baronet, of recent acquaintance; like every other gentleman of the Emerald Isle, combining, with characteristic eccentricity, a sound head and a warm heart."
"Then, of all things, bring him with you." "So," waving gracefully her hand, "adieu!" the trio responded, by respectfully raising their hats, "Allons donc," she exclaimed, and the carriage drove off.
"There go," exclaimed Dashall, "two of the most lovely and accomplished women in London, and perhaps the least tinctured with fashionable folly."
"With the exception," observed the Squire, "of shopping, that is, I presume, making the morning tour of tradesmen's shops, tumbling over their goods, giving them every possible trouble, and ultimately making no purchase."{1}
Dashall admitted the correctness of the Squire's observation, as generally applicable, but claimed an exemption for the ladies in question.
On the left, proceeding down Chancery Lane, Dashall pointed to a respectable house as the occasional residence of a lady in the first class of literature, whose writings have given universal satisfaction, and will continue to be read with increased avidity, as conveying the most admirable lessons of morality, told in a manner alike impressive and pathetic;—Mrs. Op*e; the widow of the late celebrated artist. This excellent woman is endeared to the circle of her numerous acquaintance by a pre-eminent
1 Tallyho had improved in his knowledge of Real Life in
London.—His definition of Shopping was perfectly correct.
One of those fashionable female idlers, who delight in
occupying the time, and exercising the patience of the
industrious, alighted, a short time since, at the shop of a
tradesman in Ludgate-street, and after a couple of hours
spent in examining and re-examining a variety of rich silks,
made her election at last, and desired the mercer to cut her
off a shilling's worth, throwing, at the same time, the
money on the counter. The tradesman, with perfect coolness,
took up the piece of coin, laid it on a corner of the silk,
circum-scribed it with his scissors, and presented the part
so cut out to the lady, as the shilling's worth required. We
feel pleasure in recording the result. The lady admired the
mercer's equanimity of temper, laughed heartily at his
manner of illustrating it, and in atonement for trouble
given and patience exemplified, became, and still continues,
one of his most valued customers.
[140] suavity of disposition, blended with superior mental endowments; to the unfortunate by her benevolent heart, to which the appeal of distress is never made in vain; and to the public generally, by her invaluable works, the uniform tendency of which is the advancement of virtue and the inculcation of the benign feelings of humanity.{1}
1 To the admirers of Mrs. Op*e, the following lines, never
before published, will not prove unacceptable.
TRIBUTE OF RESPECT.
O Thou of matchless power to raise
And bend the Passions to thy sway I—
Whose pen with magic force portrays,
Whose spell the shadowy forms obey.
Of Joy and Grief, of Hope and Fear,
And wiles from Apathy a tear,—
Enchantress! take the duteous lays
To Worth that Admiration pays.
To thee, as to thy Op*e, given
On Immortality a claim;
His virtues pass'd from Earth to Heaven,
Yet still exist in deathless fame;—
His pencil to thy pen assign'd
To charm, instruct, and grace mankind!—
And Oh! could but my humble strains
To thy impressive skill aspire,
The Muse that faintly now sustains
Thy worth, would make poetic fire,
And glowing high, with fervid name,
Would graft her honors on thy name.—
But ah! bereft of every stay,
From Hope exil'd, with Woe I keep
My vigils, each sad sorrowing day,
And wake, each dreary night, to weep!—
By Penury chill'd poetic powers,
No voice to soothe, no hand to save,
And snatch a victim from the grave,—
Around me Desolation lours,
And glaring, midst the deep'ning gloom,
Despair and Famine urge me to the tomb!
If, all unmeet, my humble strain
Is destin'd still to flow in vain;—
Shouldst thou the tribute now refuse
Essayed by Misery and the Muse;
Reject not yet the lay with scorn,
To thee by kindred feelings borne;—
For still thy tales of plaintive tone
Breathe pain and sufferings, like mine own.
[141] Facing the entrance to the Royal Wax Works, Sir Felix made a full stop;—"That fellow," said he, alluding to the whole length figure of the Centinel, "stands as motionless as a statue; by the powers, but half-a-dozen peep-o-day boys in his rear would be after putting life and mettle in his heels!—Shoulder and carry your arms, you spalpeen; and is this the way that you show the position of a soldier?" at same time enforcing his admonition with a smart stroke of his cane over the arm of the inanimated military representative. The attendant, a young man in the costume of the Yeomen of the Guards, remonstrated; Dashall and Tallyho laughed most immoderately; and the baronet, equally enjoying the joke, persisted in affecting to believe, that he was addressing himself to a living object, greatly to the amusement of the now congregating street passengers.
"Begging your pardon, ray jewel," continued Sir Felix, "long life and good luck to you, in your stationary quarters, and may His Majesty never find a more active enemy than yourself!—By the soul of my grandmother, it would be well for poor Ireland, who has taken leave of her senses, if her bog-trotting marauders were as peaceably inclined as you are.—Fait and troth, but you're a fine looking lad after all, and with the assistance of your master, and a touch of Prometheus, we might raise a regiment of braver fellows than the King's Guards, without bounty or beat of drum, in the twinkling of an eye, honey; but with your leave, and saving yourself unnecessary trouble, we'll be after paying a visit to the company above stairs; "and the party proceeded to the exhibition room.—
Here were representatives of the living and mementos of the dead! Kings and Queens, Princes and Princesses,
Ah! cease the sad resemblance here!—
Thee, then, to every feeling dear
Of tender sympathy,—thy way
Illumin'd to life's remotest day.
In bliss, in worth, in talent shine,
Though pain, and want unsuccour'd, mine!
Adorning this terrestrial sphere,
Be long an Op*e's talents given;
And Virtue consecrate the tear
When call'd to join her native Heaven!
A. K.
[142] warriors, statesmen, poets, and philosophers, in social communion: not forgetting the lady who had three hundred and sixty-five children at a birth!!{1}
The baronet made many congees to the great and inferior personages by whom he was surrounded, admired the heterogeneity of the group, and regretted that their imperfect creation precluded the possibility of converse.
One of the figures, by an unobserved excitement of the attendant, now inclined its head to Sir Felix, who, nothing daunted, immediately assumed the attitude of Macbeth in the banquet scene, and exclaimed,
"Nay, if thou canst nod, speak too! if our graves And charnel houses give those we bury back, Our monuments shall be the maws of kites."
The company present pronounced the baronet a player, and a lady, to whom the manly and athletic form of the supposed tragedian had given apparent pleasure, assured him she had never heard the passage more impressively delivered, and that certainly, in the character of the Scottish Usurper, there was no doubt of his becoming to Mr. Kran a very formidable rival!
Sir Felix sustained his part admirably, expressing his high acknowledgment of the lady's favorable opinion; but the enquiry when and in which theatre, he meant to make his first appearance, had so nearly deranged his gravity and that of his two friends, as to induce them to hasten their retreat.
Dashall and Tallyho congratulated the baronet on his promising dramatic talent, and advised him still further to court the favors of the tragic Muse.
"May the devil burn the tragic Muse!" he exclaimed;
1 Thus runs the legend.—
A lady in former times, who, it seems, like some of our
modern visionaries, was an enemy to superabundant
population, and would have restricted the procreation of
children to those only who could maintain them; was applied
to for alms by a poor woman, with no less than five little
famishing urchins in her train. The haughty dame not only
refused to relieve the unfortunate mendicant, but poured
upon her a torrent of abuse, adding that she had no right to
put herself in the way of having children whom she could not
support.—The woman dropped on her knees, and prayed "that
the lady might have as many children at one birth as there
were days in the year!" and so, (as the legend runs,) it
actually happened!
[143] "Arrah, give me the favors of that sweet pretty crature, the comical Muse at the Wax-works, who took me for a player,—Och! the fascination of her smile and the witchery of her eye before all the Muses that ever fuddled the brain of a garreteer!"
"Why baronet," said the Squire, "you are love-struck,—deeply lurched,—taken in by the knowing one!"
"Taken in, that is as it may hereafter happen, but an Irishman, my jewel, is never so desperately in love with one girl but he can spare a bit of affection for another.
"Sure love is the soul of a nate Irishman,
He loves all that's lovely, loves all that he can
With his sprig of shilleleagh and shamrock so green."—
The three friends had now rounded the corner at the bottom of Fleet-street, in the direction of Blackfriars, when Dashall claimed the attention of his associates.—
"This is the domicil," said he, "of the patriotic Alderman, who, during so many years has uniformly and ably opposed the civic hirelings of Corruption, advocated the cause of Freedom, and acquired the well-earned meed of high estimation by all the respectable and independent portion of his fellow-citizens.
"Firm in principle, and resolute in difficulty, the conscientious discharge of his duty has ever been his prominent object. But perhaps in no instance has he so greatly endeared himself to humanity, than in that of the long protracted inquest on the bodies of the two unfortunate men, Honey and Francis, the victims of military outrage; his constant attendance and indefatigable exertions on that occasion, were the means of eliciting many particulars which otherways might not have been known, and which ultimately led the Jury to record the atrociousness of the crime by the several verdicts of murder and manslaughter.
"Again, on the memorable day of the funeral of these two immolated men, Mr. W. in his capacity of Sheriff, supported with becoming dignity, his high station, and undaunted amidst imminent danger, enforced obedience even from the military, and saved the effusion of human blood."
London exhibits, daily, a series of depravity perhaps unparalleled in any other part of the British Empire.—
[144] Dashall had just finished his eulogium on the worthy Alderman, in which his friends heartily coincided, when the attention of the triumvirate was attracted by the appalling appearance of five men rivetted together, and conducted along the street by officers of justice. Tallyho enquired into the nature of their crimes, and was informed that they were in custody under suspicion of house-breaking in the night-time, and that two of them, particularly, had been taken in the house which they had plundered, regaling themselves, in perfect ease, with cold meat, wine, and liquors, and the stolen property tied up in a bag, with which, on the moment of alarm, they attempted an escape, but were intercepted in their retreat, and taken in charge by the officers after a desperate resistance, in which shots and hurts were received both by the victors and the vanquished. It is almost beyond belief, that men engaged in an enterprise wherein ignominious death awaits discovery, would sit down to regale themselves after having secured their booty, with as much composure, as if in their own homes; yet so it is; such is the daring callousness of mind attached to long confirmed and successful habits of guilt.{1}
1 Police. Mansion House.—William Johnson was charged by Mr.
Miller of Lower Thames Street, on suspicion of having com-
mitted a robbery on Thursday night, under circumstances of
rather an extraordinary kind.. Mr. Miller's evidence was to
the following effect. He has a cut glass and earthenware
warehouse in Thames Street, but does not reside there. Upon
visiting his warehouse yesterday morning, he found that
thieves had been very busy upon the concern the night
before. They did not get much, but while they were in the
house they enjoyed themselves. They lighted a fire, and paid
a visit to the wine-cellar, from which they took two bottles
of wine and three bottles of perry, which it seemed they
drank warm with sugar, and Mr. Miller received a very polite
letter from one of them, acknowledging the obligations they
were under to him for the excellent beverage his cellar
afforded. Upon examining other parts of the premises. Mr.
Miller found that his iron chest had been forced open. The
instrument (a large chissel) with which this feat was
performed was lying on the premises, and a dark lanthorn,
which the thieves had forgotten, was also picked up in the
course of the search. The petty cash drawers of the iron
chest lay open empty, but Mr. Miller believed there had been
in them when he left the Warehouse, a sum perhaps not
exceeding a couple of pounds. The bills and papers were not
taken away, neither had any thing been removed that was
likely to be recovered. Some silver cruet-tops were taken,
but the cruets were left behind. The chissel, which,
though very strong, had been broken in the effort to open
the chest, was of the largest size. All the rooms of the
building, except those in front, had been visited by the
depredators, and there were various circumstances concurring
to fix a very strong suspicion on the prisoner, besides the
probability that he was the writer of the letter "of thanks"
to Mr. Miller for the entertainment afforded. The letter,
which was written in a good hand, began with the word
"Gemmen," and stated that they (the writer and his friends)
had called, regretted that there was no "wassel in the
lob," (money in the chest) but expressed the highest
opinion of the wine, begged pardon for disturbing the
papers, and expressed how happy those who drank the wine
would be to visit the premises upon a future occasion! The
prisoner was remanded.
[145] It sometimes happens that even juvenile depredators who have imbibed a propensity for liquor, have been caught in the snare thus laid by themselves. Of this fact Dashall gave the following very curious illustration.—"A few evenings ago," said he, "the family of my next door neighbour retired to rest, leaving every thing, as they imagined, in a state of perfect security. On the servant however, coming down stairs in the morning, he was surprised to find a new and unexpected inmate, fast asleep in the kitchen, a quantity of plate packed up lay by his side, and before him were a bottle of brandy and another of wine. He was a lad not more than sixteen years of age, who had ingeniously contrived, in the nighttime, to get access to the house, and having secured his spoil, had resorted to the pantry and wine-cellar for refreshment. Of the stores from the latter receptacle, he had partaken so liberally that he was thrown into a deep slumber, from which he was roused by the unwelcome voice of the Officer who had been sent for to take him into custody."
Our perambulators had now passed along the bridge, and advanced a short distance on Blackfriar's road, when they observed a spacious travelling caravan, stationary by the side of the high way, intimating that there was to be seen within, the great northern bear, known by the name of "Autocrat of All the Russias," while a fellow with a speaking tube invited in the most alluring terms of itinerant oratory, the gaping multitude to walk in,—"Walk in, ladies and gentlemen, and behold this most wonderous of all wonders that ever was wondered at in this wonderful world,—the Ursa major,—that gives its name to one of the constellations, and was taken by a ruse de guerre in one of the hitherto undiscovered deserts of the remotest Siberia! This stupendous animal was sent from these unknown regions as a present to a certain great personage in this country, who having a superabundancy of native bears already prowling about him, was pleased to order the dismission of this northern stranger, without a pension; and thus it came into the possession of its present exhibiter!"
[146] This irresistible invitation was accepted by several of the auditory, including the baronet, Dashall, and the Squire, who were gratified beyond their anticipations, with a sight of the great polar bear, the desolate inhabitant of a frigid and dismal clime, where Nature has forbid the vegetative, and stinted the growth of the animal creation, with the exception of the shaggy wanderer of the desert and the floundering leviathan of the ocean. The animal was perfectly tractable; and its exhibition well compensated both for time and gratuity.
The proprietor, however, in answer to an enquiry apart by Dashall, acknowledged that his Ursine companion had never been attached to the household of any great personage; although a northern quadruped of lesser interest was under the protection of one of the Royal Dukes and frequently played its mischievous gambols in the environs of Kensington Palace.{1}
1 The Bear at Kensington Palace. Early on Sunday morn-ing it
was discovered, that a large black bear, sent as a present
to His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex, had contrived to
break out of his cage, which was placed in a coach-house,
and Bruin, having an inclination to explore these premises,
containing a hand-some new chariot, mounted the foot-board,
and began to play with the tassels; he next ascended the
roof and the box, the covering of which became a prey to his
claws; after enjoying himself as an outside passenger, as
long as he thought proper, he proceeded to examine the
interior of the vehicle, and turning from the box, made his
entre through the front windows into the carriage, which
bore serious marks of his savage curiosity. No one dared to
approach this northern visitor, and in order to prevent
further depredations in his probable rambles, guards were
placed, with fixed bayonets, until some keepers arrived from
a Menagerie, who secured him, after great difficulty, in one
of their strong cages.
"Oh the dear pleasures of the velvet plain,
The painted Tablets, deal't and deal't again
Cards, with what rapture, and the polish'd die
The yawning chasm of indolence supply.
Then to the Dance and make the sober moon
Witness of joys that shun the sight of noon.
Blame cynic if you can, quadrille or ball,
The snug close party, or the splendid hall,
"Where night down stooping from her ebon throne
Views constellations brighter than her own.
'Tis innocent and harmless, and refined,
The balm of care, elysium of the mind."
[147] THE rapid succession of novelty in a Life in London where the scenes like those of a Pantomime are constantly changing
"From grave to gay, from lively to severe,"
scarcely required those attentions which the Hon. Tom Dashall continued to enjoy on the score of arrangements for the gratification and information of his cousin. He was ever watchful of opportunities to furnish new views of Real Life and character to Tallyho, and who never failed to profit by his observations upon Men and manners: for Tom, notwithstanding the gaiety of his disposition, was an acute and discerning companion, who having mingled in all ranks and degrees of Society, was able to associate himself with the high or the low, as circumstances might require, and to form tolerably accurate estimates of those by whom he was surrounded.
It was, therefore, with his usual view to the accomplishment of his cousin as a votary of Real Life in London, that he had proposed a visit to a fancy dress Ball at Almack's, and preparations had accordingly been made between them.
"A Fancy dress Ball," said Tom, in order to give his cousin an idea of the entertainment he was to partake, "bears some similitude to a Masquerade, with two important exceptions: first, Masks are not general; and second, [148] No practical Jokes are expected or admitted. Dress however, is left wholly to the taste or inclination of the visitors, and the amusements consist principally of dancing and cards. The Rooms are of the most splendid description, and the company generally of the first order; combining all that is elegant and fashionable in what is termed the higher ranks of society,—'Tis said
"If once to Almacks you belong,
Like monarchs you can do no wrong.
But banish'd thence on Wednesday night,
By Jove you can do nothing right.
I hear (perhaps the story false is,)
From Almacks, that he never waltzes
With Lady Anne or Lady Biddy,
Twirling till he's in Love, or giddy.
The girl a pigmy, he a giant,
His cravat stiff, her corset pliant.
There, while some jaded couple stops,
The rest go round like humming tops.
Each in the circle with its neighbour
Sharing alternate rest and labour;
While many a gentle chaperon
As the fair Dervises spin on,
Sighs with regret that she was courted,
Ere this new fashion was imported.
Ere the dull minuet step had vanished, .
With jigs and country scrapers banished.
But —— whose energy relaxes
No more revolves upon his axis,
As sounds of cymbal and of drum
Deep clanging from the orch'tra come,
And round him moves in radiance bright
Some beauteous beaming sattelite.
Nor ventures as the night advances,
On a new partner in French dances,
Nor his high destiny fulfilling
Through all the mazes of quadrilling,
Holds, lest the figure should be hard
Close to his nose a printed card,
Which for their special use invented,
To beaus on entrance is presented.
A strange device one must allow,
But useful as it tells them how
To foot it in their proper places,
Much better than their partners faces.
Mark how the married and the single,
In yon gay groupes delighted mingle:
Midst diamonds blazing, tapers beaming,
Midst Georges, Stars, and Crosses gleaming.
We gaze on beauty, catch the sound
Of music, and of mirth around.
And discord feels her empire ended
At Almacks—or at least suspended."
"Zounds," said Dashall, "I am happy to see the Rooms so well attended this evening, and particularly to find Mr. Maitland and his two lovely sisters. Do you observe," continued he, "that Gentleman in Regimentals on the opposite side?"
"I do, and is he in the Army?" enquired Bob "No," replied Tom, "that is only an assumed character for the Evening, but I must introduce you to them, though the Ladies are considered to be sharp shooters with their eyes, therefore it will be necessary for you to be on your guard."
"I've heard that by a single glance
Strange witchery is sometimes done,
And only by a look askance,
Ladies have many a lover won."
The elegant and tasteful illuminations of the Room, the sprightly sound of the music by a well selected band, and the gay movements of the well dressed circles, were attractive in the mind of Tallyho, and alternately rivetted his attention, while his cousin was as frequently addressed and congratulated by his friends.
"My Dear Tom," said Maitland, who was lounging round the Room with his two sisters, and who seemed to consider himself the rose of the party by the affected levity of a military character, "I am glad to see you—'pon Honor—just going to make up a quadrille—know you are a good dancer—list you in my Corps with Misa Maitland's permission—but can't be denied 'pon Honor."
"That is very gallant, truly," replied a lovely and interesting girl, his eldest sister. "With my permission, and yet he won't be denied."
"If Miss Maitland were to command," said the Hon. Tom Dashall, "denial were impossible, disobedience were disgrace and dishonor."—bowing politely to the Ladies.
"Vastly pretty indeed Mr. Dashall, and to speak the truth I am very glad to find you here; for you know my brother is but a nobody, except when he shews himself off in Regimentals:" replied Miss Maitland.
[150] "Aye, and we want somebody to talk to," continued her sister.
"'Pon my word, this is strange ill usage," said Maitland.-"I shall desert."
"Nay," said Tom, "there is no need of that: but if you do, the ladies shall not be deserted while I have a hand at their service, and I believe I may venture to offer additional protection on the part of my Cousin."
Bob nodded assent, and assured the party he was proud of the honor of the introduction; while Maitland eyed him from top to toe, and was heartily laughed at by his sisters, which not a little mortified him.
"If that's the case," said he, taking out his quizzing-glass, and staring each of them in the face in succession, "why I've nothing more to say upon it, so come along, I am anxious for a dance." The music just at the moment striking off, a Quadrille was formed, but the younger sister having declined dancing, Bob, who had no great inclination to "trip it on the light fantastic toe," had a good opportunity of following her example, and during the dance they amused themselves with observations on the dresses and manners of the company before them, in the course of which he discovered that Maitland was something of the fashionable insipid, and not very high in the general estimation of the Ladies, and the contrast between the easy and graceful movements of the Hon. Tom Dashall, with those of Maitland braced up in military uniform, and dancing with the stiffness of a Halbert, afforded them high amusement, it brought to Tallyho's recollection a French Dancing Master in the country, who, upon the occasion of his annual Ball, perceiving a gentleman and lady in person and figure perfectly contrasted, the latter being short and stout, and the former tall and thin, addressed the Gentleman in the following complimentary stile, as well as his broken English would admit, "Ma dear sare—bien obligé—ah! ma goot sare—you vill do me the honneur to lead off de next dance—you do dance as de Poker, and your Lady she do dance as de Butter fierke"—(meaning a butter firkin.) The allusions were exactly in point, and the company within hearing, did not suffer the sarcasm to escape unnoticed. How far the observations were well timed by the dancing master, or well received by the loving couple, is not our business here to enquire.
[151] Miss Caroline Maitland was about 20 years of age, of a most prepossessing and engaging form, fond of dress and full of vivacity with no mean conception of her own wit or captivating powers, her attire was elegant and shewy, almost approaching to the gaudy, rather than the selection of refined Taste and Judgment.
Miss Amelia was about 19 with features calculated to make conquest certain where the attack was not made on hearts of stone, the simple modesty of her wardrobe seemed rather to indicate the thoughtful and contemplative mind, rich in its own resources, and requiring no foil to render conspicuous its real value, her auburn locks parted in the front, discovered a fine well arched forehead, from under which darted glances from her beautiful dark eyes, that when purposely directed for observation, spoke volumes to the heart. Unadorned by the feathers which waved in majestic splendor over the temples of her sister as she threaded through the mazy windings of the dance, she attracted the attention of the company in a much greater degree than the dress-delighted Caroline. Her figure was neither well nor ill formed, but the open and animated expression of her countenance, together with the graces of her mind, would in the opinion of all judicious thinkers, have been considered as a compensation for the absence of beautiful form. Her whole appearance however, was not only pleasing, it was prepossessing, while her manners and conversation were captivating. Bob gazed and admired, listened and was charmed.
The Hon. Tom Dashall was at the same time fully occupied in his attentions to the other sister, but could not occasionally help a sly glance at Bob, indicative of the pleasure he derived from seeing his cousin thus engaged.
The Quadrille being over, "Come," said Col. Maitland, "we must go and have a peep at the Card Tables, and enquire how the cash moves, for you know if your aunt is losing her money, she will be as cross as the——"
"Silence Charles," said his sister, "remember you have no occasion to make such observations here, why you might almost as well entertain us with a pedigree of the family, as expose the tempers and dispositions of your relations; besides I am sure the party alluded to would feel herself very much offended to hear such conversation in a Ball room. It is neither a fit time or place;"—and with [152] this, each of his sisters seizing an arm, led him towards the Card Room, alternately schooling him as they passed along, and leaving our Heroes to draw their own conclusions from what had occurred.
"Thus it is," said Tom, "that a Commander in the field is obliged to be an obedient in the Ball Room, he is however a very poor creature at the best of times, and depends more upon the abilities of others than his own for the appearance he makes in the world, and is rather to be looked at than admired and esteemed. Here," continued he, "I shall have an opportunity of introducing you to a character of another kind, here is my friend Dick Distich, a logger of Rhyme, a poet and a contemplative philosopher, he is recently married, but appears to be without his rib."
"My dear friend Dashall," exclaimed a tall thin man advancing and catching him by the hand, "I am glad to see you, for I am bewildered and lost."
"Good," replied Tom, "then I am very glad to have found you, what is the Reward—are you advertised—are your manuscripts stolen, or is your Library on Fire? Has the good woman brought forth twins or disappointed your hopes?"
"Walk this way," replied the other, "you are a happy fellow, always gamesome and gay, but I know you have a fellow feeling for all mankind, and will pour the balm of pity into a wounded heart."
"Zounds," said Tom, "you attack a body with a mouthful of pity, and a heart full of wounds at a strange time, for the introduction of such subjects. What can you mean, probably you appear here as the knight of 'the woeful countenance, with a determination to support the character to the end of the chapter. Why you look as melancholy as a mute, and one would almost fancy you were making a funeral visit, instead of attending a Mask'd
"I have enough to make me so," was the reply, "I shall be brief in my narrative, in order that I may not interfere with your enjoyments, and you know that mine are of another kind. I am routed from home."—
"How do you mean?"
"Thus it is then, you know I am a plain man, a quiet man, a civil and humble man. I hate Balls and Routs, but my wife and I differ in taste. She has determined [153] on having a Rout at home, and it proves no misnomer with me, for Heaven knows they rout me from Study to Drawing Room, from Drawing Room to Chamber, and all because truly my little woman must have her party."
"And why not?" enquired Tom.
"Why man for this reason, you must know I had myself the sweetest little sanctuary in the world. I had gothicised my Study, its walls were painted in imitation of oak, my books were arranged with the most unauthor-like neatness, my prints hung, my casts and models all bracketed, and all have vanished like the
—baseless fabric of a vision."
"And is this your misery," said Tom, "upon my soul I began to think you had lost your wife; but it seems you have only lost your wits. What the devil did you expect when you joined issue—to live as you have done like a hermit in a cell? Well if this is all I do pity you indeed."
"But you have not heard half yet. The whole house is transformed."
"And I think you ought to be reformed," continued Tom.
Notwithstanding the lightness and satire with which our Hero appeared to treat the subject, poor Distich was not to be stayed in his course.
"Ah!" said he, with a sigh, "In vain did Cicero strain his neck to peep over Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful—Shakespeare beard Blair's Sermons and Humphrey Glinkert or Milton's sightless balls gleam over Sir Walter Scott's Epics—all, all, is chaos and misrule. Even my greenhouse over my head which held three ci-devant pots of mignonette, one decayed mirtle, a soi-disant geranium and other exotics, which are to spring out afresh in the summer—my shrubs are clapped under my couch, and my evergreens stuck over the kitchen fire place, are doomed to this unpropitious hot-bed, in order to make room for pattens, clogs, cloaks, and shawls, for all the old maids in Town."
Tom bit his lip to stifle a laugh, and treading lightly on the toe of his cousin, had so strongly excited Tallyho's risibility, that it was with difficulty he resisted the momentary impulse.
The routed Benedict continued—"Our Drawing Room, [154]which conveniently holds ten persons, is to be the black hole for thirty—My study, dear beloved retreat, where sonnets have been composed and novels written—this spot which just holds me and my cat, is to be the scene of bagatelle, commerce, or any thing else that a parcel of giggling girls may chuse to act in it,—my statues are converted—Diabolus is made to hold a spermaceti candle, while the Medicean nymph, my Apollo Belvidere, and my dancing fawn, being too bulky to move, are adorned with aprons of green silk, because forsooth Betty says they are vastly undecent with nothing on them, and my wife is quite certain "that no one will visit us, unless we do as other people do." Alas! until the success of my last poem, we never cared about other people, and I am now absolutely turned out, to make room for them, and advised to come here to-night in order to prepare myself for the approaching festivity."
Dashall was unable to contain himself longer, and Bob, who had been for some time stuffing his white cambric handkerchief into his mouth, could no longer resist the laugh he had been trying to avoid. They look'd alternately at each other, and then at the doleful complainant, who with unaltered features sat for a moment between his laughing companions, till perceiving the ridiculous situation he was in, he rose from his seat and hastily left the room.
Our friends then took a further survey of the company without making any additional remark except upon the view of the various elegant and tasteful dresses exhibited, the grace and agility of the dancers, and the brilliance of the decorations, when supper was announced.
Moving onward to the Supper Room, they again encountered poor Distich, who although he had no relish for the generality of the amusements, declared he would not quit till he had supped: after which, Tom determined if possible to drive away the blue devils, who seemed to have occupied his brain. For this purpose he listened to his additional complaints, and filling his glass at every pause, became lively and agreeable, as the toast was circulated, till the invigorating effects of the bottle sunk him again, and at length putting him into a hackney coach, they dispatched him in good order to his Rib; after which they took their departure towards Piccadilly.[155]
"I be one of they sailors who think 'tis no lie
That for every wherefore there should be a why,
That by fortune's strange weather a calm or a squall,
Our births, good or bad are chalk'd out for us all:
That the stays and the braces of Life will be found
To be some of 'em rotten, and some of 'em sound.
Thus the good we should cherish, the bad never seek,
For death will too soon bring each anchor apeak."
IT was half past eleven o'clock before our friends approaching the breakfast parlour, had an opportunity of congratulating each other on the amusements of the previous evening, when the Hon. Tom Dashall ever upon the active look-out for the most pleasureable amusements to occupy the mind and attention of his cousin, observing it was a very tine morning, proposed a ride to Greenwich, and with this object in view all being prepared, it was not long before they were seated in the curricle.
"Greenwich," said Tom, "is not a very long journey, nor do I know, speaking of the town itself, independent of its surrounding attractions, particularly to be admired, though it is a neat town, about five miles from London Bridge, in the county of Kent, with a market on Wednesdays and Saturdays. It is however, famous for an hospital for decayed Seamen, the brave defenders of their native soil, who have fought and bled for their king and country; thought to be the finest structure of the kind in the world, and for an observatory built by Charles II. on the summit of a hill, called Flamstead Hill, from the great astronomer of that name, who was here the first astronomer Royal: and we compute the longitude from the meridian of this place. It is also a place of great resort at holiday time, for being so near London. The Lads and Lasses move off in groups to Greenwich fair, and the amusements at those times are of so varying a kind as almost to defy description.
"The hills and dales are lined
With pretty girls all round."
[156]And there are but few who have had an opportunity, but have occasionally enjoyed a roll down this hill. The roads leading to the sporting spot are to be seen clogged with coaches, carts, and waggons, decorated with laurel, and filled with company, singing their way down or up to participate in the frolics of Greenwich fair. It is however, much more celebrated for its once having been a Royal Palace, in which Edward VI. died, and Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth were born. On a part of the site of it, now stands the house belonging to the Ranger of the Park at Greenwich, also a College called the Duke of Norfolk's College, for the maintenance of 20 decayed Housekeepers, and another called Queen Elizabeth's, as well as a Royal Naval asylum for the orphans of Sailors and Marines; and although we are going down when there is no fair to attract multitudes to the spot, I can still promise you more solid entertainment in a review of these truly splendid and useful national establishments, besides which, the town affords plenty of good accommodation for refreshment and comfort."
By this time they had passed Westminster Bridge on their road. Bob thanked his cousin for the information he had imparted, but as the objects and subjects directly under his eye generally engrossed his immediate attention, he could not resist the impulse of the moment, as they turned the corner of the asylum wall, to remark that he had witnessed in many instances before, a practice which appeared in and about London, of chalking the walls, and perceiving in large letters "Dr. Eady 32 Dean Street Soho," enquired what was meant by it.
"That," replied his cousin, "is one of the most ingenious modes of advertising, hit upon in the Metropolis, and the Doctor at all events deserves credit for the industry and perseverance he has manifested in making his name known. It is not altogether new, for it has been successfully practiced in popular elections. Men are sent out at night to chalk the names of Candidates on walls and other places, to keep their interest alive; but in all probability no one has ever before carried the system to so great a length as this Doctor Eady, for it is scarcely possible to travel ten miles round the metropolis without meeting with his name, which naturally excites enquiry into the object and pretensions of the chalked up Hero. You will also find in many cases that the proprietor of the Bonassus has [157]lately adopted the same system. It is a species of puffing which can hardly fail of producing notoriety, and I have before observed, it matters but little to the parties themselves by what means this is produced save and except the avoidance of expence."
"It is a curious scheme however," replied Bob, "and I have two or three times before intended to enquire its meaning."
"There are numerous instances," returned Tom, "in which the eccentricities of an individual have blown him into notice, and puff'd fortune into his pocket. Packwood of Gracechurch street, had many whims and fancies, and acted upon the idea, that when a man's name is once up, he may go to bed, or take a nod elsewhere. By making razor strops and a certain paste for sharpening razors, he pasted his name on public credulity, and pocketed the proceeds. His advertisements were frequently laughable, and he caught his customers in their risible moments, wisely taking care never to laugh himself, 'till he had realized the possibles. I remember in the year 1807, he published a book, price "Two good Tower shillings," containing his advertisements, entitled "Packwood's whim, Packwoodiana, or the Goldfinches nest, or the way to get money and be happy." And to make the publication worth the money, and that there might be no grumbling, An half crown was according to the title-page, placed between the leaves."
"That was no laughing matter, however," said Bob, "he could not have got rich by such means."
"You must not trust the title-pages of books," replied Tom, "no more than the advertisements of Quacks, or the looks of persons. The half crown was not visible, or at least not tangible. It proved to be an anecdote related in the work. He however managed to circulate many copies, and it is generally understood, gained considerable money by his pursuits. He has left the benefit of his invention to his daughter, who now lives in Bride Lane, Fleet Street. But a more prominent character of recent times was the late celebrated Martin Van Butchell, whose name and fame are well known to Newspaper readers, and whose personal appearance at all times, excited in London the attention of the spectators. He was rather a tall man with a very long beard, and used to ride a short pony sometimes, spotted all over with a variety of colours."
[158] "He must have cut a curious figure," said Bob, "certainly, but what building have we here?"
"That," replied his communicative cousin, "is The New Bethlem for the care and cure of lunatics. Bethlem was formerly situated on the South side of Moorfields, but as that building was hastening to decay, this elegant receptacle for its inmates has been prepared. It is not a little curious to remark, that it now occupies a part of that ground which was formerly devoted to mirth and revelry, The Dog and Duck Tea Gardens, the scene of many a frolic. The structure was designed by Mr. Lewis, and executed at an expence of £95,000. It is 580 feet in length, and capable of receiving in this front 200 patients. Another line of building extending to the South, is designed to admit an equal number, as well as 60 lunatics, the charge of which latter department, exclusively belongs to Government. The ground around it, occupying twelve acres, is devoted to the exercise of the patients."
They were now dashing along the road towards the Elephant and Castle, when Bob was attracted by the appearance of the Philanthropic Chapel and School, which his cousin dismissed in a few words, by observing it was the school of reform, which he had alluded to, when last in the vicinity of Blackfriars, and which deserved more attention than he could just then give it. So touching up the tits in prime twig, they pushed on to the originally proposed place of destination.
Having arrived at Greenwich, and partaken of some refreshment, our heroes proceeded immediately to the Hospital; the magnificent appearance of which had an evident effect upon Tallyho, as he gazed upon its exterior, and some of its venerable inhabitants taking their peaceable walks before it, while others were seated on accommodating benches, viewing the vessels passing up and down the river.
"Why," said Bob, "this Hospital is more like a Palace."
"It is," replied Tom, "a noble monument of National gratitude to its defenders, who deserve to be protected and assisted when disabled for service. Here the lame, the wounded, and the aged, are enabled to spin out the thread of a useful existence, in comfortable retirement. It was founded by William and Mary for invalid seamen, and many an old Commodore and gallant hardy Tar is [159] preserved in this establishment, after being doused from his pins, to puff old sorrow away and sing,
"Yet still I am enabled
To bring up in life's rear,
Although I'm quite disabled
And lie in Greenwich tier.
The King, God bless his Majesty,
Who sav'd me from the main,
I'll praise with Love and Loyalty,
But ne'er to sea again."
"You perceive," continued he, "that the costume of the place is a suit of blue, with proper distinctions of rank and station allotted to each."
"But," inquired Bob, "some of them appear to have their coats turned inside out; is that according to choice?"—"Not so," replied Tosi, "that is a mark of disgrace, by way of punishment, for some errors or improprieties of which they have been guilty; and there are some, in spite of misfortune, who cannot forget former times, and occasionally verify the words of the song—
"So in misfortune's school grown tough,
In this same sort of knowledge,
Thinking mayhap I'd had enough,
They sent me here to College.
And here we tell old tales and smoke,
And laugh while we are drinking;
Sailors, you know, will have their joke,
E'en though the ship were sinking.
For I while I get grog to drink
My wife, or friend, or King in,
'Twill be no easy thing, I think,
D—— me to spoil my singing."
And although used to severe discipline on board a ship, they do sometimes forget what they are subject to here, and "slip the cable upon an ocean of grog," grow dizzy over the binnacle, unship the rudder, lose their calculations, and stand too far out to sea to reach the intended Port; but more of this presently. You perceive this magnificent structure consists of four grand buildings, completely separated from each other; yet forming a very entire and most beautiful plan—especially viewed from the river, which runs in the front of it. Here the comforts and [160] conveniences of the hardy veterans, who have faced the enemies of their country in many fearful encounters, are studied, when they can no longer give the word of command, or answer it in such active services. The four different buildings you now see, contain accommodations for bed and board for about 2600 persons of different ranks and stations; and you may perceive by those you have before you, that the ranks they have formerly held in his Majesty's employ are still visible in their outward habiliments."
They were now in the centre of the building, approaching the edge of the Thames, on whose bosom were seen sundry small vessels, gliding in majestic pride; and perceiving a seat capable of holding four or five persons, in the corner of which sat an old weather-beaten tar, in a gold-laced hat and coat, with a wooden leg, who was watching with apparent delight one of the larger vessels, with all her sails set to catch the breeze; they took a seat alongside of him.
"Come," said the Hon. Tom Dashall, "we may here at «ase survey the exertions of such as still retain the power, and contemplate the comforts of those who no longer have powers to exert." The Pensioner remained in mute attention to the moving scene on the river, occasionally smiling and squirting from his jaws the accumulating essence of his quid, seeming at the same time to enjoy in retrospection scenes similar to what he had formerly been engaged in, but without bestowing one look on our Heroes. "There is a fine fresh breeze down the river," continued Tom, addressing the wooden legged warrior; and then a pause ensued—but no reply.
"It is a beautiful situation for retirement in old age," said Bob. "I should think, Sir," said he, "that you must be very comfortable under this protecting roof," determined, if possible, to elicit something from the hardy old Pensioner, approaching a little closer to him, and at the same time to take his attention, respectfully moving his hat.
Tins address, however, was received with nearly the same effect as the previous observations, except that the veteran moved his hat in return. "He is a churlish old blade," said Tom; thinking by this remark to rouse and animate the blood of their taciturn companion.—"There seems to be no intelligence in him. Pray, Sir," continued he, "may I be so bold as to inquire, laying his hand upon [161] his knee, what is the name of that vessel on which you appear to bestow so many anxious looks?"
Roused by the touch, he darted a hasty look at Tom, and then at Bob, started hastily from his seat, held up his stick, as they supposed, in a menacing attitude, then shouldering it, he marched, or rather hobbled, on his wooden pin some paces from them, and, with an air of commanding authority, returned in front of them, took off his hat, and began to describe two lines on the gravel, but which was to them perfectly unintelligible.
However, in a few minutes, the arrival of a younger Pensioner, with one arm and a wooden stump, in breathless haste, informed them that the old gentleman was deaf and dumb.
"God bless you, my worthy masters," said the interpreter, who first paid his respects to the old Commodore, "you have started my revered commander on his high ropes; he is as deaf as the top-lights, and as dumb as a stantion: two and twenty years ago, your Honors, he and I were both capsized together on board; the shot that took off his leg splintered my arm, and the doctor kindly took it off for me afterwards."
"That was a lamentable day for you," said Tom. "Why aye, for the matter of that there, d'ye see, it disabled us from sarvice, but then we both of us had some consolation, for we have never been separated since: besides, we were better off than poor Wattie the cook, who had his head taken off by a chain-shot, and was made food for sharks, while we are enabled to stump about the world with the use of our remaining limbs, and that there's a comfort, you know."
During this introductory conversation, the old Commodore was intent upon the work he had began, which, upon inquiry, was a sort of practical description of the situation in which the ships were placed at the period when he lost his limb. "He is now pouring in a broadside, and in imagination enjoying a part of his life over again. It is a sorry sight, my worthy Sirs, and yet upon the whole it is a cheerful one, to see an old man live his time over again; now he is physicing them with
grape-shot—Bang—Bang—like hail—my eyes how she took it—Go it again, my boys, said the old Commodore—Ditto repeated, as the Doctor used to say. D——m the Doctor; the words were scarcely out of his mouth, when down he [162] went; and as I stood alongside him, ready to attend to his orders, I was very near being sent down the hatchway stairs without assistance; for the same shot that doused my old master, carried away my arm just here.—" D——me," said the old man, to his brave crew, as they carried us down to the cockpit—"I shall never forget it as long as I live—That was a pepperer—Once more, my boys, and the day's your own.—My eyes, he had hardly said the words, before—Bang, bang, went our bull dogs—and sure enough it was all over. They cried Piccavi, and went to the Doctor; but after that I know no more about the matter—we were a long while before we got the better of our wounds; and as for him, he has never spoken since—and as to hearing, I believe he never wished to hear any more, than that the enemies of his country had got a good drubbing."
By this time the old gentleman having gone through his manouvres, with perhaps as much accuracy as my Uncle Toby did the siege of Dendermond—having blown up the enemy with a flourish of his stick, made a profound bow, and hobbled away.—"Thank you, my friend," said the Hon. Tom Dashall, "for your information; we should never have understood him without your assistance, for which accept of this, and our best wishes—giving him a couple of half-crowns, with which, after thanking the donors, he made the best of his way in search of the old Commodore, who put our heroes forcibly in mind of the following lines:
"What a d——d bad time for a seaman to sculk,
Under gingerbread hatches on shore;
What a d——d hard job that this battered old hulk,
Can't be rigg'd out for sea once more."
"Thus you see," said Dashall, "how our habits become rooted in us: the old Commodore, though unable to give the word of command, or to hear the thunder of the cannon, still lives in the midst of the battle, becomes warmed and animated by the imaginary heat of the engagement, and
"Thrice he routed all his foes,
And thrice he slew the slain."
"But come, we will now proceed to a view of the Chapel, the Painted Hall, and the other curiosities of the [163] interior; which done, we will take our refreshment at the Crown, and pursue our way home."
They now took another cursory survey of this magnificent pile of buildings, the grandeur and effect of which is scarcely to be imagined; the beauty and variety being heightened by the grand square, and the area beyond terminating with a view of the Observatory, which stands on a hill in Greenwich Park.
Tallyho was next delighted with a view of the Chapel, which is 111 feet long, and 52 broad, and capable of conveniently accommodating 1000 Pensioners, nurses, and boys, exclusive of pews for the Directors, the several officers of the establishment, &c—The altar-piece, painted by West, representing The escape of St. Paul from Shipwreck on the Island of Malta, and the paintings between the cornice and the ceiling of the Ascension, by the same artist, claimed particular attention. The splendid decorations of the Great Hall, with its variety of paintings and statues, were also objects of peculiar admiration, the effect of which must be seen to be duly appreciated. After these gratifications, according to the proposal of Dashall, they retired, to the Crown, where having partaken of à good dinner, and a glass of wine, they returned to town, fully satisfied with their excursion, and arrived in Piccadilly without any occurrence worthy of further remark.
And have you not heard of a jolly young Waterman,
At Blackfriar's Bridge who is used still to ply!
Who feathers his oars with such skill and dexterity.
Winning each heart, and delighting each eye:
He looks So neat, and he rows so steadily,
The maidens all flock to his boat so readily,
And he eyes the young rogues with so charming an air
That this Waterman ne'er is in want of a fare.
[164] IT was in one of those inviting mornings, mild and temperate, that Dashall and Tallyho, lounged along Piccadilly, observant of passing events, and anticipating those of more interest which might occur in the course of another day devoted to the investigation of Real Life in London.
The street already exhibited its usual bustle. The early coaches were rattling along on their way to their respective inns, loaded with passengers, inside and out, from the western parts of the country; the ponderous waggon, the brewer's dray, and not less stunning din of the lighter and more rapid vehicles, from the splendid chariot to the humble tax-cart, combined to annoy the auricular organs of the contemplative perambulator, and together with the incessant discord of the dust-bell, accompanied by the hoarse stentorian voice of its athletic artist, induced Squire Tallyho to accelerate his pace, in order to escape, as he said, "this conspiration of villainous sounds," more dissonant than that of his hounds at fault, and followed by his friend Dashall, slackened not his speed, until he reached the quietude of the new street leading to the King's Palace, in Pall Mall.
In Regent Place (at the extremity of this fine street) the two friends paused in admiration of the noble pile of buildings, which had on this new interesting spot so rapidly risen, as if by the direction of that necromantic and nocturnal architect, the Genius of the Wonderful Lamp.
[165] "Until lately, Carlton House, or more properly, now the King's Palace, was hid from observation, and the Royal view, in front of his princely mansion, was bounded to the opposite side of the way, the distance of a few yards only; now the eye enjoys a perspective glance of a spacious and magnificent street, terminating in a handsome public edifice, and yet terminating in appearance only, for here the new improvements sweep shortly to the left, and our attention is attracted to a superb circus, or quadrant, from whence without further deviation, Regent Street continues in lengthened magnificence, until it unites itself in affinity of grandeur with Great Portland Place."
Thus far had Dashall proceeded, when the Squire expressed his surprise that the new street had not been so planned as to lead, in one direct and uninterrupted line, from Pall Mall to its ultimate termination.
"Then indeed," answered his friend, "it would have been one of the finest streets in the world." "Here too," continued the Squire, "is a manifest deficiency in Regent Place, there is a vacuum, it ought to be supplied with something, be it what it may, for the eye to rest on."
"True, and your idea has been anticipated. One of the most interesting amongst the antiquities of Egypt, the column known as Cleopatra's Needle{1} is destined to raise
1 CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE.
The Court of Common Council +
Fogrum, Botlieram, Gotham, &c. a full meeting.
Fog. (Laying down a newspaper.)
The City should be told of it.—They say
That Cleopatra's Needle's to be stuck
In front of Carlton House!
Got. They'll make the square
A pin-cushion.
Bot. No! worse—a needle-case.
Has my Lord Sidmouth sent no letter yet
To my Lord Mayor!—It should be pasted up.
Fog. 'Tis said the Deptford Sheer-hulk has been cleared
Of all its vagabonds, to bring it here.
Hot. This beats Whitechapel hollow. What's its weight?
Fog. About three hundred tons.
Bot. All solid steel?
A pond'rous weapon for a lady's handling!
Fog. No, stone with scratches on't; and here they say
They're making five-mile telescopes to read them!
But. Zounds! what a strapping hand she must have had!
Who was the sempstress?
Fog. Sir, a giantess,
About ten thousand yards—without her shoes,
Her thimble has been guessed, tho' rotten now,
To fill the place they call the Lake of Maris,
By Alexandria!—Nay, the noseless tilings
That sit upon their tails in Russell Street,
Were Cleopatra's pebbles, taws and dolls!
Bot. Why, what a monstrous thread she must have used!
Fog. The Chronicle here says—a patent twist
Of elephants' legs, and dromedaries' spines,
And buffaloes' horns!
Got. What was her favourite work?
Fog. (Rising majestically) Sir, she sewed pyramids!
All lift their hands and eyes in silence.—The Council adjourns.
[166] its lofty summit in Regent Place, and the western will shortly outrival the eastern wonder of the metropolis.{1}
1 The Monument.
"Where London's column pointing to the skies,
Like a tall bull! lifts its head and lies."
"By the bye, let us once more extend our excursion to the Monument, the day is delightful, and the atmosphere unclouded. We will approximate the skies, and take a bird's-eye view of the metropolis." In conformity with this suggestion the Squire submitted himself to the guidance of his friend, and an aquatic trip being agreed on, they directed their progress to Spring Garden Gate, and thence across the Park, towards Westminster Bridge.
"A boat, a boat, your honour," vociferated several clamorous watermen, all in a breath; of whose invitation Dashall took not any notice; "I hate importunity," he observed to his friend. Passing towards the stairs he was silently but respectfully saluted by a modest looking young man, without the obtrusive offer of service.—"Trim your boat, my lad," this was the business of a moment; "now pull away and land us at the Shades—'of Elysium,'" said the Squire, terminating the instructions rather abruptly, of the amphibious conveyancer. "I am rather at a loss to know," said the waterman, "where that place is, but if your honors incline to the Shades at London Bridge, I'll row you there in the twirling of a mop-stick." "The very spot," said Dashall, and the waterman doffing his jacket, and encouraged to freedom by the familiar manner of the two strangers, [167] plied his oars lustily, humming, in cadence, the old song:
"I was, d'ye see a waterman,
As tight and blythe as any,
'Twixt Chelsea town and Horsley-down,
I gain'd an honest penny."
They now glided pleasantly on the serene bosom of the Thames, and enjoyed, in mute admiration, the beauties of a variegated prospect, which, if equalled, is at least not excelled by any other in the universe. On either side of this noble river, a dense mass of buildings presented itself to the eye, and as the buoyant vehicle proceeded, the interest of the varying scene increased in progressive proportion. Thousands of barges skirted the margin of the lordly stream, and seemed like dependant vassals, whose creation and existence were derived from and sustained by the fiat of old father Thames; and imagination might well pourtray the figure of the venerable parent of this magnificent stream regulating its rippling wave, and riding, in the triumph of regal sway, over his spacious domains. The grandeur of the public edifices on the left, the numerous indications of art on the right, the active industry on both sides, and the fairy-like boats of pleasurable conveyance gliding to and fro', and shooting, in the distance, through one or other of the lofty arches of Waterloo Bridge, produced an effect imposingly grand, and was dwelt upon by our hero of Belville Hall, particularly with mingled sensations of surprise, admiration, and delight.
Silence had prevailed for some time, with the exception of the waterman, who now and then carroll'd a stanza responsive to the stroke of the oar, when the attention of his fare was drawn towards him.
"You seem to enjoy a merry life, my good friend," said the Squire.
"Ay, ay, your honour, God bless you, why should not I? At my poor home, and your honour knows that the cottage of the peasant is equally dear to him as is the Palace to the Prince, there is my old woman, with her five little ones, all looking forward to the happiness of seeing me in the evening, after the labours of the day; and to feel that one is cared for by somebody, is a sweet consolation, amidst all our toils,—besides, your honour, the old times are partly come round again; half-a-crown will go farther, aye, thrice-told, now, than it did a few [168]years ago;—then hang sorrow, I am a contented waterman, your honour; so d——n the Pope, long life to King George the Fourth, and success to the land that we live in!" "Here," said Dashall, "is an heterogeneous mixture of prejudice, simplicity and good nature."
"You are but a young man, and cannot long have followed your present profession.—Is it from choice that you continue it."
"Why, your honour, I served an apprenticeship to it, am not long out of my time, and continue it as well from choice as necessity; the first because I like it, and lastly, as our parson says, because in any other situation I could serve neither my neighbour nor myself."
By this time the tiny bark had shot the centre arch of Waterloo; and new scenes of interest presented themselves, in ever-varying succession, as they proceeded towards Blackfriars. Somerset House wore, particularly, an aspect of great and imposing effect, and not less, as they ploughed the liquid element, was the interest excited, and the reminiscence of the Squire brought into action by the appearance of the Temple Gardens.—The simple, yet neatly laid out green-sward, reminded him of the verdant slope on part of his domains at Belville Hall, but here the resemblance finished; a diminutive, although pure and limpid rivulet only, passed the slope alluded to, and here was a world of waters, into which the influx of ten thousand such rivulets would produce no apparent increase. Amidst these cogitations by the Squire, and others of an unknown description by Dashall, the boat passed underneath Blackfriars' Bridge, and the lofty doom of St. Paul burst upon the view of the two associates, with gigantic majesty, and withdrew from their minds every impression save that of the towering object in view, superseding the consideration of all else, either present or retrospective.
"Rest on your oars," was the order now given by the two friends, and while the waterman implicitly obeyed the mandate, they gazed with enthusiasm, on the stupendous edifice, seen perhaps, to better advantage from the river than from any other station, and felt proud in their affinity to a country and countryman, capable, the former of instituting, and the latter of carrying into effect so august an undertaking.{1}
1 During the building of St. Paul's Church, a country
carpenter applied to the Overseer of the workmen for
employment as a carver. The Overseer smiling at the man's
temerity, hearing he had never worked in London, it was
observed by Sir Christopher Wren, who was present, who
calling the man to him, asked him what he had chiefly worked
at in the country?"Pig-troughs, &c." was his answer. "Well
then," says Sir Christopher, "let us see a specimen of your
workmanship in a sow and pigs." The man returned in a few
days, having performed his part with such exquisite skill,
that he was immediately employed; and in tine, executed some
of the most difficult parts of the Cathedral, to the great
astonishment of all that knew the circumstance. So true it
is that genius is often lost in obscurity.
[169] Again proceeding on their way, they arrived in a few minutes, at another amongst the many in the metropolis, of those surprising works of public utility which reflect the highest honor on the laudable enterprize of the present times,—the Iron Bridge, known as Southwark Bridge, leading from the bottom of Queen Street, Cheapside to the Borough. It is constructed of cast-iron, and, from the river particularly, presents an appearance of elegance and magnificence; consisting of three arches only, the spacious span of each, stretching across the Thames in towering majesty, affords an aquatic vista equally novel and interesting.
Gliding on the pacific wave, the "trim-built wherry" now passed under the lofty elevation of the centre arch; and our observers were struck with the contrast between the object of their admiration and its ancient neighbour, London Bridge, that "nameless, shapeless bulk of stone and lime," with its irregular narrow arches, through which the pent-up stream rushes with such dangerous velocity.
"This gothic hulk," said the Squire, "is a deformity in the aspect of the river." "And ought at least to be pulled down, if not rebuilt," added his Cousin. "Even on the principle of economy, the large and incessant expenditure in support of this decayed structure, would be much more profitably applied in the erection of a new bridge of correspondent grandeur with the first metropolis in the universe; but the citizens seem inclined to protract the existence of this heavy fabric, as a memento of the bad taste of their progenitors."
"Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness in the desert air.'
[170] The indefatigable waterman continued to ply his oars, sans intermission, and in a few minutes our two associates in adventure were safely landed a short distance westward of the bridge. After remunerating the waterman, they ascended the stairs with an appetite quickened by the water breeze, and retired into the Shades, close at hand, for refreshment, previous to a renewal of their excursion.
The Shades, near London Bridge, is a house, or rather cellar, much resorted to by respectable citizens of "sober fame," induced chiefly by the powerful attraction of genuine wines, which may here be had either drawn immediately from the wood, and served in regular standard pewter measures, or in bottles, also of full measure, containing the pure beverage, of various age and vintages. To these cellars numbers of the most respectable mercantile characters adjourn daily; enjoying the exhilarating juice of the grape, and further attracted by the pleasantness of situation, as commanding a full view of the river, whence the refreshing breeze is inhaled and enjoyed.
Here then, our heroes recruited; and while taking their wine, Bob was much gratified by the performance of an itinerant band of musicians, playing outside, some of the latest and most popular airs, in a masterly style of execution. "Among other numerous refinements and improvements of the age," observed Dashall, "may be considered that of our itinerant metropolitan musicians, for instead of the vile, discordant and grating hurdy-gurdy; the mechanical organ grinder, and the cat-gut scraper, "sawing a tune," we have now parties who form themselves into small bands of really scientific and able performers, who from instruments well selected produce a combination of delightful melody; and this progress of harmony is equally evident with respect to vocalists, who frequently posting themselves opposite some well frequented tavern or coffee-house, amuse the inmates with catches, glees, duets, &c. and trust to the liberal feelings which the "concord of sweet sounds may have inspired, for remuneration and encouragement."
Scarcely had Dashall concluded his remarks, when the musical party ceased their instrumental exertions, and, diversifying the entertainment, one of the performers struck up a song, which we here present to the reader as a subject not inapplicable to our work.[171]
In London where comical jokes go free,
There are comical modes of cheating,
Birch-brooms are cut up for Souchong and Bohea,
And plaster for bread you are eating!
And plaster for bread you are eating!
(Spoken) "How do you do, Mrs. Caphusalent I hope you
approved of the genuine tea." "O yes, new brooms sweep
clean, and I have no occasion to buy birch ones, while I
deal at your shop for tea." "There's nothing like my cheap
bread," says Doughy the baker. "O yes," says Neddy, "you
forget plaster of Paris is very like it."
What are you at? each knave may cry,
Who feels my honest rhymes;
What are you after's? my reply,—
There never were such times!
There never were such times!
In Accum's test you'll find it clear,
For spirits of wine read Royal gin!
Quashee and drugs they call strong beer,
And Turtle soup is Ox's shin!
And Turtle soup is Ox's shin!
(Spoken) "By the powers of Moll Kelly, Mr. Max, but you've
murdered my dear friend Patrick O'Shaughnessy, for after
taking a noggin of your blue ruin, he went to blow out the
candle on stepping into bed, when the poor dear creature
went off in a blaze, and set fire to the house. Its all
nothing at all but spirits of wine, you bog-trotting
swindler!"
Moist sugar is made from the best red sand,
New milk from whiting and water!
Sloe juice poisons half the land,
And the weights get shorter and shorter!
And the weights get shorter and shorter!
(Spoken) "I hope," says Mr. Deputy Doublethroat, "you found
the port I sent you last of the right sort: six years in
bottle, Sir, I warrant it made your heart glad." "You mean
my bowels sad, Mr. Deputy. Out of six friends whom I invited
to partake of it four have already been booked inside
passengers for the other world, and my dear Mrs. Fribble and
me have been confined with inflammation ever since. Instead
of importer of foreign wines, Mr. Deputy, I'd have you write
up retailer of English poisons." {1}
1 The following receipt is copied from a book, which is
there said to be worth the price of the volume. "What is
drank as port wine, is very often only a mixture of malt
liquors, red wine, and turnip juice. For the benefit of
economical readers, the following are the proportions: forty-
eight gallons of liquor pressed from turnips, eight gallons
of malt spirits, and eight gallons of good port wine,
coloured with cochineal, and roughened with elder tops. It
should stand two years in casks, and one in bottles. If
rough cider is substituted for turnip juice, and Coniac
brandy for malt spirits, the wine will be the better."
Turkey-coffee is Horse-beans ground,
Irish eggs are boil'd in lime:
In every trade deception's found,
Except it be in yours or mine!
Except it be in yours or mine!
(Spoken) "There's more milk drank in London in a week than
all the Cows in England could give in a fortnight;" says
Blunderskull. "How can that be?" "Why to be sure, because
two-thirds of it is white-wash!"
What are you at? each knave may cry,
Who feels my honest rhymes:
What are you after's? my reply,—
There never were such times!
There never were such times!
It was but a few steps from the Shades to the Monument, to which our adventurers were now pursuing their way, when they met with an incident not unworthy of observation. Do not leave your goods, is the friendly admonition generally inscribed, in large characters, over the resting place for porters, throughout the metropolis. Opposite the church of Saint Magnus, close by London Bridge, a porter having pitched his load, turned his back upon it, and reclined himself against the post in careless ease, and security. It was just as our heroes approached, that the porter had turned himself round to resume his burden, when lo! it had vanished; in what manner no one can tell! without doubt, one of those numerous street-prowlers who are continually on the look out for prey, observing the remissness of the porter, had availed himself of the favourable opportunity, and quietly walked off with his booty. A crowd collected round the sufferer, but it afforded him neither sympathy nor relief. Our associates, however, contributed in mitigation of his loss, and proceeding up Fish-street Hill, were, in a few moments, shrouded under the towering column of the Monument.
Ascending the spiral stair-case of black marble, consisting of three hundred and forty-five steps, winding like a cork-screw, to the summit, our aspirants reached their aerial station in the gallery of this lofty edifice, and enjoyed one of the most variegated and extensively [173] interesting prospects of any in the metropolis. Far as the eye could reach, skirting itself down the river, a forest of tall masts appeared, and the colours of all nations, waving gaily in the breeze, gave a splendid idea of the opulence and industry of the first commercial city in the universe. The moving panorama, far beneath the giddy height, resembled the flitting figures of a camera obscura; the spacious Thames was reduced to a brook; the stately vessels riding on its undulating wave seemed the dwarfish boats of the school-boy navigator; and glancing on the streets and along London Bridge, horses dwindled in appearance to mice, and carriages to children's toys! after having enjoyed, during several minutes, the prospects afforded by their elevated position, the two friends descended, and with a feeling of relief again trod the safer and less difficult path of terra firma.
Our observers now turned their direction westward, and passed into Lombard Street, chiefly formed of banking-houses and other public edifices. "This street," said Dashall, "is noted as the focus of wealth, the point of convergence of civic riches, and its respectable bankers are not more dignified by the possession of superabundant property than enhanced in the estimation of their fellow-citizens by strictly conscientious honour and integrity.
"And of these not the least important in self-consequence is the jolly civic Baronet," continued Dashall, "who has already come more than once within the scope of our observation."
"Ecce homo! behold the man!" responded the Squire, and the Baronet was descried rolling his ponderous form from the opposite alley to his banking-house.
"It is rather unfortunate," observed Dashall, "that nature has not kept pace with fortune, in liberality to the Baronet. Profuse in giving him a colossal magnitude of person, he exhibits a most disproportionable endowment of intellect. Unlike his great prototype Sir John, in one sense, but yet resembling him in another, 'He is not witty himself, but he occasions wit in others.'"
"You are very fond of making a butt of me," observed the Baronet to a brother Alderman.—"By no means," rejoined the latter, "I never was fond of an empty butt in my life." "Is the worthy Baronet inclined at times, (asked the Squire) in his capacity of M.P. to irradiate the gloom of St. Stephens?"
[174] "O yes, frequently, particularly so when in the plenitude of his wisdom he conceives that he can enlighten the house with a modicum of information. The last time I heard him hold forth was as an apologist for the tumultuary loyalists at the Mansion House Meeting, when he delivered himself in a manner so heterogeneal of commonsense, and so completely in a style of egotism, as to excite the ridicule and risibility of the whole house, and discompose the gravity of even the speaker himself."{1}
1 The following is a strictly literal versification of the Speech
alluded to:
THE MANSION-HOUSE ROW, AND APOLOGY FOR
THE LOYALISTS.
Being a literal versification of the eloquent Speech of Sir
W—ll—m C—RT—s, Baronet, in the House of Commons, Friday,
February 2, on the presentation, by Mr. John Smith, of the
Petition of the Merchants of London.
I rise, Mr. Speaker, indulgence entreating
A Speech while I make on the Mansion-house Meeting.
The prior Requisition was certainly signed
By men of good substance, with pockets well lin'd!
With such I am ever good humour'd and civil,
But worth, without wealth, I would pitch to the devil'.
The Lord Mayor, I think, then, assum'd a position
Of duty, in yielding to said Requisition;
For may my oration be given to scorn,
If ever I saw, from the day I was born,
A list of more honoured, more propertied men,
And probably never may see such again.
Now high as I prize both the merits and station,
Of loyalists signing the first declaration;
Permit me to say, it was too mild by half,
Too much milk and water—Some Members may laugh—
I care not;—I say that it did not inherit
The tythe of a loyal and time serving spirit.
I'm charged too with signing it, nevertheless,
I DID,—for I knew not how else to express
My zeal, in supporting, with firm resolution,
The Crown,—and Old England's decay'd Constitution!
Who they are, Constitution and Crown that sustain,
The people should now,—else we labour in vain!
And, therefore, I sign'd the fore-named declaration.
Altho' such a weak milk and water potation!
For why should the loyalists smother their cause,
And lose the high gain,—ministerial applause.
'Pon honour,—aye, even in detractions despite—
In corners and holes, Sir, I take no delight;
And, never on any pursuit do I go,
Of which 1 don't want the Almighty to know!
I signed, Sir, the loyal, luke-warm declaration,
To bring to its senses a turbulent nation!
To cheer up His Majesty,—win his good graces,
And keep his lov'd Ministers still in their places!
The hon'rable member, my friend, who spoke last,
Is not quite correct in detailing what pass'd
At the Mansion-house Meeting; for patiently heard
He was, until symptoms of riot appear'd.
At last it broke out, with a vengeance 'tis true,
And dire was the fracas! but what could we do,
Where adverse opinion so warmly prevail'd,
And each with revilings his neighbour assail'd?
Why, Sir, to this house, I could prove in a minute,
That greater majorities out than now in it,
Of sound thinking persons, in these fair dominions,
Are scouting the hon'rable member's opinions.
Well-bred, Sir, believe me, and good-looking people,
Were wedg'd in the Mansion-house quite of a heap all;
Whilst I, most politely, besought their attention,
But no,—not a word was I suffer'd to mention!
A party oppos'd me, altho' no long speeches
I make,—(a kind lesson that prudence still teaches;)
And waiting a hearing an hour, perhaps longer,
The dissonant clamour grew fiercer and stronger!
In fact, when I open'd my mouth, the commotion
Exceeded in fury the storms of the ocean!
Some hale stout young men, who had mix'd with the throng,
And press'd, the conflicting addressers among,
Escap'd from the Meeting in tumult and smother,
And swore that they never would visit another!
I well recollect, in the year ninety-three,
A similar fracas I happen'd to see;
The place, Grocers' Hall, where contention was wrought,
So high, that a stout battle-royal was fought!
Indeed, save one Meeting, I ne'er knew a case,
Where wrangling and fighting had not taken place!
In that one, so happen'd, good luck to betide,
Its fortunate members—were all on one side!
Reverting again to the Mansion-house Row,
When next our staunch loyalists mean to avow
Their zeal,——may they issue a strong declaration,
Then mix'd with a water and milk preparation!
The gout in my toe, for I wore a great shoe,
At last sent me home, without bidding adieu.
And now having said, Mr. Speaker, thus much
I hope on this house the impression is such,
The loyalists fully to clear, and their leader
From charge, at that Meeting, of boisterous proceedure.
The Honourable Baronet now sat down, amid the ironical cheers,
of the Treasury, and the tumultuous laughter of the whole house.
[175] The two partners in adventure had now reached the Mansion House. The Justice Room was open, and the friends ascended the stairs in order to witness the equitable dispensation of right by the Civic Sovereign.
The case now under investigation was a curious one, and excited the interest and amusement of a numerous auditory.
The itinerant exhibitor of a dancing bear, complained that the person (proprietor of a small menage) now summoned into the presence of his lordship, illegally withheld from him a monkey, his property, and the ci-devant associate of the ursine dancer aforesaid.
On the other hand, the master of the menage roundly asserted that he was the rightful proprietor of the monkey, and had been in possession of the animal for several years.
"My lord," said the master of the bear, "let the monkey be produced, and I will abide by his choice between this man and me as his master." This proposition appearing reasonable, and pug having been brought forward as evidence, before giving his testimony made a respectful obeisance to the Chief Magistrate, and so far as chattering and grinning were indicative of his good intentions, seemed desirous of expressing his courtesy to the auditory in general. After having stared about him for some time, with an inquisitive eye, and corresponding gesticulation, he discerned the bear-master, and springing into his arms with all the eagerness of affectionate recognition, expressed the utmost joy at the unexpected meeting, and when the other claimant attempted to approach, he repulsed him in the most furious manner, and clung to the friend of his election with renewed pertinacity.
Under these circumstances, the monkey was adjudged to the bear-master as his proper owner, and pug and his friend left the Justice Room, with mutual exchange of endearments.
Nothing else meriting notice, occurred to the two strangers in this their new scene of observation. The Civic Sovereign having resigned the chair to one of the Aldermen, in order that he might attend the Sessions at the Old Bailey, Dashall and the Squire, at the same time, retired with the intention (the day now waning apace) of making the best of their way home, which they reached without further adventure.[177]
The charge is prepar'd, the lawyers are met,
The judges all rang'd, a terrible show!
I go undismay'd, for death is a debt,
A debt on demand,—so take what I owe.
Since laws were made for every degree,
To curb vice in others as well as in me;
I wonder we ha'n't better company
Upon Tyburn tree!
But gold from law can take out the sting,
And if rich men like us were to swing
'Twould thin the land such numbers would string
Upon Tyburn tree!
PURPOSING to spend an hour in the Sessions House at the Old Bailey, our adventurers started next morning betimes, and reaching their destination, took their seats in the gallery, for which accommodation they were charged one shilling each, which the Squire denominated an imposition, inquiring of his friend by what authority it was exacted, and to whose benefit applied, as from the frequent sittings of the Court, and general crouded state of the gallery, the perquisites must be considerable.
"Custom in every thing bears sovereign sway," answered Dashall. "I know not whence this is derived, nor whose pockets are lined by the produce; but you will probably be surprised to learn, that a shilling admission is only demanded on common occasions, and that on trials of great public interest, from one to two guineas has been paid by every individual obtaining admission."
The arrival of the Judges now terminated this colloquy. The Lord Mayor and several Aldermen were in waiting to receive them, and these sage expounders of the law were conducted to the Bench by the Sheriffs of London and Middlesex. The Chief Magistrate of the City uniformly and of right presiding at this Court, his Lordship [178] took his seat on the same Bench with the Judges, and the usual forms having been gone through, the dispensation of justice commenced.
Several prisoners were tried and convicted of capital felony, during the short space of time that our associated observers remained in Court; but the cases of these wretched men, and the consciousness of their impending fate, seemed in no respect to operate upon their minds, as they left the bar apparently with perfect indifference.
An unfortunate man was next brought forward, and accused of having stolen from an auction room a couple of wine glasses. He was of respectable demeanor, and evidently had seen better days. When asked what he had to allege in his defence, the victim of misery preluding his story with a torrent of tears, told the following piteous tale of distress:
He had been in business, and sustained an unimpeachable integrity of character for many years. Independence seemed within his reach, when misfortune, equally unforeseen as inevitable, at all points assailed him! In the course of one disastrous year, death deprived him of his family, and adversity of his property. He had unsuccessfully speculated, and the insolvency of several who were considerably indebted to him, had completed his ruin! At the time he committed the act for which he stood convicted at that bar, he had not tasted food for three days, neither had he in the world a friend or relative to whom he could apply for relief. The Jury found him Guilty, but strongly recommended him to mercy. The Judge humanely observed, that the least possible punishment should be inflicted on the prisoner. He was then sentenced to a fine of one shilling, and to be discharged. A sum of money, the spontaneous bounty of the spectators, was immediately collected for him, while one of the Jury promised him employment, on his calling at his house on the following day. The gratitude of the poor man was inexpressible: the sudden transition from the abyss of despair to the zenith of hope, seemed to overwhelm his faculties. He ejaculated a blessing on his benefactors, and departed.
[179] Dashall and his friend were much affected by this incident. Another, however, presently occurred, of a more lively description. In the course of the next trial, the counsellor, on cross-examining a witness, found occasion to address him with, "Well, my old buck, I suppose you are one of those people who do not often go to church?"—"Perhaps," said the other, "if the truth were known, I am as often there as you are." The promptness of the reply produced a laugh, in which the witness very cordially joined. "What makes you laugh?" said the lawyer. "Is not every body laughing?" replied the other. "True," said the man of law; "but do you know what they are laughing at?"—"Why, I think in my heart," rejoined the fellow, "that they take either me or you to be a fool, but I do not know which!"
The Judge at this repartee could not retain his gravity; a tumult of mirth pervaded the whole Court, and the discomfited counsellor adjusted his wig and sat down.
During the few minutes longer that our heroes remained, nothing of interest occurring, they withdrew; and passing down the Old Bailey to Ludgate Street, and from thence towards the Temple, they crossed Fleet Street, and taking the direction of Shire Lane, were induced, by way of investigating Real Life in its lowest classification, to enter one of those too frequent receptacles of vice denominated Coffee Shops.
This was a house of notorious irregularity, the occupant of which had more than once experienced the visitation of the law for his utter contempt of social order—and from the present appearance of his guests, it did not seem that legal interference had effected moral amendment.
As our two friends entered this Augean Stable, a whisper of surprise, mingled with dismay, went round the motley assemblage of female street-drabs, cracksmen,{1} and fogle-hunters; and a wary glance of suspicion darted from the group "many a time and oft" on the new-comers, who notwithstanding kept possession of their seats, and ordering without apparent notice of the party a cup of coffee, apprehension subsided into security, the re-assured inmates resumed their interrupted hilarity, and our adventurers were thus afforded the means of leisurable observation.
1 Cracksmen (Burglars), Fogle-hunters (Pickpockets).
[180] The Squire, who had not perused the annals of blackguardism, and consequently was not an adept in the knowledge of the slang or vulgar tongue, was under the frequent necessity of applying to his friend for explanation of the obscure phraseology of those ladies and gentlemen of the pad, which Dashall contrived to occasionally interpret without the assistance or notice of its multitudinous learned professors.
The desire of witnessing the exhibition of Real Life in its lowest state of human degradation, induced a prolongation of stay by our two associates. In the meanwhile, "the mirth and fun grew fast and furious," exemplified by dance, song, and revelry, interspersed with practical jokes, recriminative abuse, and consequent pugilistic exercise, where science and strength alternately prevailed; and in deficiency of other missiles, poker, tongs, coffee-cups, saucers, and plates, were brought into active requisition.—The scene was a striking illustration of "Confusion worse confounded." Luckily our two observers were in a situation without the reach of injury; they therefore "smiled at the tumult and enjoyed the storm."
The landlord now interfered in defence of his fragile property. Preliminaries of peace were agreed on, through his high mediation, and finally ratified betwixt the contending parties, ending as they began, like many other conflicting powers, statu quo ante bellum!
"And now to serious business we'll advance, says one of the King's of Brentford.
"But first let's have a dance."
The present party followed exactly Mr. Baye's proposition; the dance and the row over, they now proceeded to serious business.
Seated in various groups, each engaged itself in conversation, which, from its almost inaudible expression, was singularly contrasted with the recent tumultuous uproar.
The next box where sat our two friends, was occupied by cracksmen and fogle-hunters, one of whom, whose superior skill gave him an ascendancy over his associates, had delineated on the table the plan of certain premises, and having given in a very low tone of voice, a verbal illustration to his fellow-labourers, with what intention it is not difficult to conjecture, observed, "We may as well pad (walk) it, as Sir Oliver (the moon) is not out to night."
[181] The party to whom this remark was addressed, prepared to pad it accordingly,—when the desired egress was opposed by the entrance of three men, who unbuttoning their great coats, exhibited, each a hanger and brace of pistols, and took the whole community, male and female, into safe custody
This was a coup-de-main on the part of the captors, and sustained with the most perfect sang froid by the captured.
The officers next turned their attention to Dashall and Tallyho, who giving their cards, and candidly explaining the motives which led them into the temporary society of the prisoners, they were treated with becoming respect, the officers with their captives proceeding on their route to Bow Street, and our heros to the occurrence of future adventure.
Tallyho congratulated himself on his escape from expected mortification and inconvenience, but Dashall, whose more active and enterprizing mind was not to be checked by trifles, enjoyed the vague apprehensions of his friend, and by way of making amends for the penance they had inflicted on themselves in Shire Lane, agreed to dine and finish the evening at a Tavern in Covent Garden.
Thither, then, as they pursued their course, the Squire expressed his surprise that a final stop was not put to scenes such as they had just witnessed, and all such places of nefarious rendezvous, abolished by the vigilance of the police.
"On the contrary," observed Dashall, "it is the interest of the police, not utterly to destroy these receptacles of vice. They are the toleration haunts of profligacy, where the officers of justice are generally assured of meeting the objects of their inquiry, and therefore, under proper restrictions, and an occasional clearance, the continuance of a minor evil is productive of public benefit, by arresting the progress of infamy, and preventing the extension of crime."
Passing along the Strand, the humane feelings of the Squire were excited by apparently a mutilated veteran seaman, who in a piteous tone of voice, supplicated his charitable consideration. The applicant stated, that he had lost an arm and an eye, and was deprived the use of a leg, in the service of his country, without friend or home, and entirely destitute of the means of subsistence, that he had no other resource than that of a humble reliance on public benevolence. The Squire with his usual philanthropic promptitude drew out his purse, but his [182] friend intercepted the boon, and inquired of the seaman under whom, in what ship, and in what action he had sustained his misfortunes. To these questions a satisfactory answer was given, and the claim of the man to compassion and relief was about to be admitted, when another inquiry occurred, "are you a pensioner?"
A pause ensued: in the interim the mendicant seeing a person approach, of whose recognition he was not at all ambitious, dropped in a moment his timber toe, unslung his arm, dashed a patch from his eye, and set off with the speed of a race-horse.
During the amazement of our two observers of Real Life, excited by this sudden and unexpected transformation, the officer, for such was the quondam acquaintance of the imposter, introduced himself to their notice. "Gentlemen," said he, "you are not up to the tricks of London, that fellow on whom you were about to bestow your charity, and who has just now exhibited his agility, is one of the greatest imposters in London;—however, I shall not run him down at present.—I know his haunts, and reckon sure of my game in the evening."
"I confess," replied Dashall, "that in the present instance I have been egregiously deceived;—I certainly am not up to all the tricks of London, although neither a Johnny Raw nor a green-horn; and yet I would not wish to prove callous to the claim of distress, even if sometimes unguardedly bestowing the mite of benevolence on an undeserving object."
"The Society for the Suppression of Mendicity in the Metropolis," said the Officer, "think differently, they recommend that no relief should be given to street-beggars."
"Then," said Dashall, offended by the officer's interference,—"I envy them not the possession of their feelings," and the two friends renewed their walk.
Proceeding, without further interruption, our pedestrians, were induced to intermingle with a crowd which had collected round a man who wore a most patriarchal redundancy of beard, and had been recognized by an acquaintance as a shoe-maker of the name of Cooke, a disciple of the American Prophet, John Decker.
[183] Their high mightinesses the mobility were mischievously inclined, and would certainly have grossly insulted, if not injured the poor devotee, had not Dashall and his friend taken him under their protection.{1} He had been quietly making his way through Covent Garden Market, when the greetings and surprise of his friend at his strange transformation, attracted the curiosity of the multitude, and his unhesitating declaration, that he meant to accompany the great Prophet to Jerusalem, excited derision and indignation against the unfortunate enthusiast, when luckily our two heros interposed their good offices and conducted the proselyte in safety to the Shakespeare Tavern.
1 On Monday, in consequence of a very great uproar on Sunday
night, in Worcester Street, Southwark, about the house of
the American Prophet, John Decker, that singular person was
brought before the Magistrates of this office, the
inhabitants of the neighbourhood having attributed the
disturbance to the unfortunate fanaticism of the prophet and
his followers.
The constables stated, that on Sunday night, at half-past
eight o'clock, they saw a mob, consisting of about three
hundred people, collected at the door of the house, and
heard the cries of "murder" issue from within. The officers
on going up stairs, found the Prophet lying on his back.
Some persons who had been abusing him escaped, and the
Prophet said the cause of their violence was, that he had
refused to get out of his bed to preach. He was conveyed to
the watch-house. The witnesses informed the Magistrate, that
the Prophet had made some proselytes, who were actually
about to leave the country with him, and accompany him upon
an expedition to the Holy Land. The parish officers were
naturally alarmed at the inconveniences to which such an
emigration would expose them, and hoped that every thing the
arm of the law could do would be done to prevent it. The
fanatic spirit of some of the followers of the Prophet may
be guessed at from the following facts:—
The officers who apprehended him, had, two or three times,
in the course of Sunday evening, gone to the house in
Worcester Street, and dispersed a large congregation that
had assembled in the room appropriated to preaching. The
Prophet preached first, and was succeeded by one of his most
zealous followers, who was followed by another. This was
constantly the practice, and during the service, which was
being listened to with rapture, upwards of a dozen of the
congregation seemed to be as violently engaged as the
Prophet himself, whose sincerity is well known. One man, a
shoe-maker, named Cooke, has actually sold off his stock and
furniture, which were worth £300.; and if he were not known
to be the greatest admirer of the Prophet might be called
his rival, for he has allowed his beard to grow to an
immense length, and goes about preaching and making
converts. He has a little son, who looks half-starved, and
is denied all animal food by the Prophet and his father,
upon the principle of Pythagoras—that he might not be
guilty of eating a piece of his own grand-mother. Another
trades-man, who was most industrious, and attached to his
wife and seven children, proposes to leave them all, and go
to Jerusalem. His beard is also becoming indicative of his
intention, and he sleeps, as the others who are struck by
the Prophet do—with his clothes on. None of the sixteen
families who reside in the house in which the Prophet lives,
have, however, caught the infection, and the land-lady
complained most severely of the annoyance to which she was
subject.
Mr. Chambers said he expected to have heard that the Prophet
was on his way to Jerusalem.
The Prophet said he only waited for a Tunisian vessel to set
sail with his brother Cooke, and nine other of his brethren.
Upon being questioned as to his inducing those men to leave
their families, he said he did not take them, a higher power
took them. After having stated the manner in which he had
been pulled out of the bed, and declared that he forgave his
enemies, he said, in answer to a question whether he was at
Brixton, and worked there, "Yea," and to the question
whether he liked it, "Nay."
Cooke, the shoe-maker, then stepped forward, and told the
Magistrate that he was determined to follow his brother
Decker to Jerusalem, but that the parish should suffer no
inconvenience, for he should take his son with him on his
pilgrimage. He said that they should not preach again where
they had been so abused, but should remove to a house near
the National School, in St. George's Fields, where they
would preach till the day of their departure.
The Magistrate assured the Prophet that he should be
committed if he preached again without a license, which he
might have next Sessions for four-pence. The Prophet was
then discharged.
Decker, it appeared, had baptized seventeen persons, since
he commenced his labours in St. George's Fields.
[184] No remonstrances of Dashall were of any avail in inducing the pertinacious fanatic to forego his resolution of a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and when the inquisitive numbers who still lingered in front of the tavern had dispersed, Cooke, with appropriate acknowledgment of the protection which had been afforded him, took his leave, after having unsuccessfully endeavoured to make converts of Dashall and the Squire to the tenets of Prophet Decker, or to prevail on them to accompany the sacred band in the projected expedition to Jerusalem.
My son, time was when by necessity,
(Nought else could move me to the enterprize,)
My steps were urg'd to London's wide domains,
I made my will, as prudent friends advis'd;—
For little wot they, that beset with peril,
I ever should return.—Safe though thou speed'st
To London's wond'rous mart, thy pleasaut way,
Think not that dangers cease, they but begin,
When ent'ring the metrop'lis; slowly then
Receive even Friendship's overtures, and shun
The softer sex their wiles and blandishments;
Walk cautiously the streets, of crowds beware,
And wisely learn to fly each latent snare.
[185] AMONGST other occurrences of the preceding day, Cousin Bob adverted, at the breakfast table, to the confused intermixture of carriages, dissonant din of attendant lacqueys clamouring for vehicles, and the dangers occasioned by quarrelsome coachmen, precipitately, and at all hazards, rushing forwards to the doors of a mansion, on the breaking-up of a route, each claiming, and none willing to concede precedency in taking up their masters and mistresses,—" I am surprised," said the Squire, "that any rational being would sacrifice his time and comfort in making one of an assemblage where within doors you are pressed to the dread of suffocation, and in making your exit, are environed by peril and difficulty."
"Such," rejoined Dashall, "are the follies of fashion. Its influence predominates universally; and the votarists of bon ton, are equally assiduous in the pursuit of their object, whether with the satellites in the gay and volatile regions of the court, or amongst those of 'sober fame' in the mercantile bustle of the city. In the purlieus of the great, bon ton is characterized by inconvenience; four or Ave hundred people, for example, invited to crowd a suite of rooms not calculated to accommodate half the number, the squeeze must be delightful! But
'Custom in every thing liears sovereign sway!'
[186] thence yield the followers of High Life in the West to the follies of fashion, where the enjoyment of ease is a subordinate, if not altogether exploded consideration.—Eastward on the other hand:
'I loves High Life, and all the joys it yields,'
Says Madam Fussick, warm from Spitalfields.
'High Life's the day, 'twixt Saturday and Monday,
'And riding in a one-horse chay on Sunday,
''Tis drinking tea on summer afternoons,
'At Bagnigge Wells, in china and gilt spoons.'"
"Again," added the Squire, "what a vast expence is incurred by these idle and ostentatious displays of luxury, without one object of advantage gained!"
"Unproductive result," rejoined Tom, "is not always the case; it not unfrequently happens that a route and card-party are united; when the lady of the mansion generally contrives, by skill and finesse, to transfer a portion of the spoil into her own private treasury; and notwithstanding expense, there are those who have given splendid routes and entertainments, and at the same time, recruited their exhausted finances, at the sole charges of incautious tradesmen, who notwithstanding repeated losses, yet absorbed in the love of gain, become the dupes of avarice and credulity.—In the elucidation of my remark,—
'If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleased to hear a modern tale.'
"Not long since," continued Dashall, "an aspiring young limb of the law, of property, in expectancy (but that is neither here nor there) and fertile in expedient, contrived to insinuate himself into the good fellowship of a few bon vivants; and resolving to irradiate with 'surprising glory' the galaxy of fashion, he furnished a house, by permission of an accommodating upholsterer, in a style of magnificence, and decorated a side-board with a splendid service of plate, borrowed auspiciously for the occasion from a respectable silversmith, on a promise of liberal remuneration and safe return; after effecting the object of its migration, in dazzling the eyes of his honourable friends at his projected entertainment.
[187] "Amidst the busy 'note of preparation,' the important day at last arrived; the suite of apartments became thronged with company, and every one admired the elegance of the furniture; the tasteful ornaments of the rooms; the brilliancy of the lights and massive construction of the valuable family plate! In fact every thing conspired to give eclat to the scene, and confirm the friends of the founder of the feast in their belief alike of his exquisite judgment and high respectability.
"The silversmith, that he might not appear indelicately obtrusive, let a few days elapse after this grand gala had taken place, before he applied for restoration of his property, the borrower congratulated him on his good fortune, told him, that several friends had very much admired the plate, and even expressed an intention of ordering similar services; and that with regard to the borrowed plate, he had taken so strong a fancy to it, as to feel disposed to become a purchaser, if the price was reasonable, and an adequate consideration was made for prompt payment.
"The silversmith, who chuckled inwardly at the prospect of extending his business, and connecting himself with so many 'honourable men,' gratefully expressed his acknowledgments, and assuring him of liberal dealing, the several items of the borrowed plate were examined and dilated upon, the price of each article, after much higgling, was ultimately fixed, the sum total ascertained, and an early clay appointed for a final settlement of the accompt. It never was the intention of the borrower to return the plate, but he now had achieved a great object, by entirely changing the whole complexion of the business; he had now converted fraud into debt, and happen what might, the silversmith could only sue him on a civil process, which against a limb of the law, and as such, privileged from arrest, must be tedious and uncertain, whereas, had he made away with the plate, without accomplishing the object of this last manouvre, (such is the indiscriminating severity of English law,) that he might have been amenable to the punishment of felony!
"Now comes the reckoning when the banquet's o'er! the parties met for final settlement, when behold! the accepted purchaser offers the silversmith a bill at a month; he refuses it indignantly, and consults his solicitor as to the possibility of compelling the restoration of the plate; but the lawyer told him, that on his own shewing this could not be done. The silversmith had now no other resource than that of taking the [188] proposed bill, and waiting the expiration of the month, for payment. In the meanwhile, the debtor exhibiting the talent of an able conveyancer, transmuted the silver into gold, and now laughs at the credulity of London tradesmen, and sets the silversmith at defiance!"{1}
1 This incident, as related by Dash all, actually and very
recently occurred.
An interesting and useful volume might be compiled on the
subject of frauds practised on London tradesmen. Many of
these tricks have been highly characteristic of ingenuity.
The following is a ludicrous instance of female stratagem.
We give the article literally, as it occurred.
A few days ago, a female, apparently a person of rank,
visited in her carriage, towards the evening, a Silk
Mercer's Shop, westward of Temple Bar, where she made
choice, for purchase, of silks and other rich articles of
feminine dress and decoration, to the value of above fifty
pounds. Her manner was that of a perfectly well-bred
gentlewoman, and her person displayed no small portion of
attractive and elegant accomplishment. Having completed
her selection, she expressed much regret that she could not
pay the amount of the bill on the instant: "But,"she
continued, "it is a delightful evening; my house is in the
suburbs of town; a short and easy ride will prove a pleasant
recreation, and if you will accompany me home in my
carriage, you shall, on our arrival, be immediately paid."
The mercer was more gallant of spirit than to reject the
courtesy of a lady so fair and fascinating, and accepting
with pleasure the proferred honour, the vehicle soon
reached its destination. The lady first alighted, taking
with her, into an elegant mansion, the articles of
purchase; the mercer presently followed, was shewn into a
handsome drawing-room, and received with much politeness, by
apparently by a gentleman of the faculty.—A silence of a
few minutes ensued, when the mercer inquired for the lady,
observing, at the same time, that it was necessary he should
return to town immediately. The courteous physician
recommended silence, and the mercer became irritated and
clamorous for his money and freedom of exit. Two
attendants making their appearance, they were directed to
conduct the patient to his apartment. The mercer
suspecting that he was the dupe of artifice, grasped a
poker, with the intention of effect-ing, at all hazard, his
liberation from "durance vile," but his efforts had no other
result than that of confirming his trammels, and he was
presently bound over to keep the peace, under the guarantee
of a straight-waistcoat! The unfortunate mercer now told a
"plain unvarnished tale," which gained the attention of the
humane physician, who was no other than the proprietor of
the mansion, in which he managed its concerns as an Asylum
for Lunatics. The lady who accompanied the mercer to the
house, had been with the physician the preceding day, and
made arrangements with him for the reception of an insane
patient.—It was now discovered that she had come under a
fictitious name; had retreated in the hired vehicle with the
mercer's property; and had adopted this curious stratagem,
the more effectually to silence suspicion and prevent
detection.
[189] This detail threw the Squire into a train of rumination, on the tricks and chicanery of metropolitan adventurers; while Dashall amused himself with the breakfast-table concomitant, the newspaper. A few minutes only elapsed, when he laid it aside, approached the window, and seeing a funeral pass, in procession, along the street, he turned towards his Cousin, and interrupted his reverie with the following extemporaneous address:—
"Dost thou observe," he said, "yon sable tribe
Of death anticipates?—These are they
Who, when men die, rejoice! all others else
Of human kind, shed o'er departed friends
The tear of reminiscence; these prowlers
Hunt after Death, and fatten on his prey!
Mark now their measur'd steps, solemn and slow,
And visage of each doleful form, that wears
The semblance of distress; they mourn for hire,
And tend the funeral rites with hearts of stone!
Their souls of apathy would never feel
A moment's pang were Death at one fell sweep,
Even all their relatives to hurl from earth!—
Knaves there exist among them who defraud
The grave for sordid lucre; who will take
The contract price for hurrying to the tomb
The culprit corse the victim of the law,
But lay it where? Think'st thou in sacred ground!
No! in the human butcher's charnel-house!
Who pleas'd, reserves the felon for the knife,
And bribes the greater villain with a fee!"
Cousin Bob was very much surprised by this sudden effusion, and inquiring the source of inspiration, Dashall put into his hands the newspaper, pointing to the following extraordinary communication, extracted verbatim.{1}
1 The King v. Cundick.—This was an indictment against the
defendant, undertaker to the Horsemonger-lane gaol, for a
mis-demeanour, in corruptly selling for dissection the body
of a capital convict, after he had been executed, contrary
to his duty, in viola-tion of public decency, and the
scandal of religion. There were various counts in the
indictment, charging the offence in different ways. The
defendant pleaded Not Guilty.
The case excited considerable interest, as well for its
unprecedented novelty as the singularity of its
circumstances. It was a public prosecution at the instance
of the Magistracy of the County.
Mr. Nolan and Mr. Bolland conducted the case for the Crown;
and Mr. Adolphus, Mr. Turton, and Mr. Ryland, were for
the defence.
It appeared in evidence that a capital convict, named Edward
Lee, who had been tried and found guilty at the last
Croydon Assizes, of a highway robbery, was publicly executed
at Horse-monger-lane gaol, on Monday, the 10th of September.
After he was cut down he was delivered over to the
defendant, the appointed carpenter and undertaker of the
gaol, for interment at the County's expense, for which he
was allowed three guineas. He received particular
directions that the afflicted mother and other friends of
the deceased were to be permitted to see the body before
inter-ment, and follow it to the grave, if they thought
proper. The friends of the deceased called on the
defendant, who lives in Redcross-street, to know when the
funeral would take place. He appointed the following day,
Tuesday, the 11th of September. The unhappy mother of the
deceased, being confined to her bed, was unable to attend
the funeral, but sent a friend to the house of the defendant
to see the body, and cut a lock of its hair. Application
being made to the defendant for this purpose, he said he had
already buried the body, because he could not keep such
people any longer in his house. The friend demanded a
certificate of the funeral, which he promised to procure on
a subsequent day, upon paying a fee. On the Thursday
following the uncle of the deceased called for a certificate
of the burial, but could not get it, the de-fendant then
saying that the body had been buried the day before. The
friends then became clamorous, and complaint being made to
Mr. Walter, the gaoler, he sent repeatedly for the defendant
to come to the gaol and explain his conduct, which he
declined. At length one of the turnkeys was sent after
him on the Friday, with positive directions to bring him
forthwith. As soon as the de-fendant found that he was
compelled to go to Mr. Walter, he made an excuse, that he
had some immediate business to attend to, but would meet the
messenger in an hour at a neighbouring public-house. To
this the turnkey consented, but watched the defendant to his
house, where he saw two or three suspicious looking men
lurking about. After waiting for some time, the defendant
came to him, and expressed his surprise that he was not gone
to the public-house. The defendant appeared agitated, and
went off as hard as he could towards the Southwark Iron
Bridge. A person named Crisp, who was with the turnkey,
went one way after the defendant, and the turnkey another.
The latter went to Crawford's burial ground, where he saw
the same suspicious looking man whom he had observed about
the defendant's house, in the act of interring a coffin.
He immediately interposed, and said the coffin should not be
buried until he examined its contents. At this moment
the defendant came into the burying-ground, and
seemed angry at the interruption, and begged he
might be allowed to inter the body, which he acknowledged
was Edward Lee; and excused himself for not burying it
before, by saying, that the pressure of other business
prevented him. The turnkey remonstrated with him for
disobedience of the orders he had received to permit the
friends of the deceased to see the body and attend the
funeral. The defendant seemed greatly perplexed: at length
he took hold of Crisp and the turnkey by the sleeve, and,
with considerable agitation, offered them 10L. each to
permit him to bury the coffin, and say no more about the
matter. This was peremptorily refused. The turnkey insisted
upon opening the coffin, and whilst the defendant went to
explain his conduct to Mr. Walter, he did open it, and found
that it contained nothing but earth. It appeared that the
defendant had been applying to the sexton in the course of
the week for a certificate of the burial, but was unable to
succeed, the body not having been buried. Search was then
made for the body, and at length it was traced to Mr.
Brooks's dissecting rooms in Blenheim-street, Marlborough-
street, where it had undergone a partial dissection. The
upper part of the scull had been removed, but replaced.
Several persons identified the body as that of Edward Lee.
It was proved that about ten o'clock in the evening of
Tuesday, the 11th September, a hackney-coach had stopped at
the defendant's house, and the defendant was seen assisting
two men in lifting a large hamper into the carriage, which
then drove off. This was the substance of the case for the
prosecution.
Mr. Adolphus, in an able and ingenious address to the Jury,
contended that the indictment must fail, inasmuch as the
evidence did not satisfy the allegation in the indictment,
that the defendant had sold the body for lucre and gain. Now
there was no proof whatever that it had been sold, which
might have easily been made out, if the fact was so, by
summoning Mr. Brooks, the anatomist. The real fact was, that
the body had been stolen by other persons from the
defendant's house, and the defendant had been driven to the
miserable shifts proved in evidence, in order to conceal the
misfortune, and prevent the loss of his lucrative situation
in the gaol.
No witnesses to facts were called for the defendant; but
several persons gave him a good character for honesty and
industry.
The Jury, under the learned Judge's directions, found the
defendant Guilty.
[192] The Squire having perused this appalling account of human depravity, expressed himself in energetic terms of indignation against the miscreant, who to the acute miseries of maternal affliction at the premature loss of a son, and by such a death! could add the bitter anguish of consigning his cold remains, unseen by any earthly spirit of sympathy, to the knife of the dissector, in breach of every law moral and divine! In the warmth of his kindly feelings, the Squire would have uttered a curse, had he not been prevented by the entrance of his old friend, Sir Felix O'Grady. The two friends received their quondam acquaintance with much cordiality. "Cuish la mevchree! exclaimed the Baronet, shaking heartily the hands of Tom and Bob; "and how have you done these many long days past?"—This inquiry having been satisfactorily answered, Sir Felix explained the object of his visit:—"Aunts of all sorts, or any sort, or no sort at all at all," said he, "are cursed bad things, sure enough; as somebody in the play says."
This abrupt commencement excited the risible feelings of Dashall and his Cousin, which were further stimulated by Sir Felix seriously appealing to their commiseration, under the pressure of misfortune,—"for this same respectable maiden lady, Mrs. Judith Macgilligan, my venerable aunt as aforesaid, has recently imported her antiquated piece of virginity from her native mountains near Belfast, and having had my address pat enough, the worse luck, the sowl, with an affected anxiety for my welfare, must take up her residence, while in town, in the same house with her dutiful nephew, that she may have the opportunity of watching over him in his erratic pursuits, as she says, with maternal solicitude; that is, in other words, to spy into all my actions, and bore me everlastingly with her intolerable company. It was but the blessed morning of yesterday that she took a fancy to exhibit her beautiful person at the lounge in Bond-street;—by-the-bye, this same paragon of perfection has passed her grand climacteric, being on the wrong side of sixty;—is as thin as a lath and as tall as a May-pole;—speaks an indescribable language of the mongrel kind, between Irish and Scotch, of which she is profuse to admiration; and forgetting the antiquity of her person, prides herself on the antiquity of her ancestry so much, that she is said to bear a strong resemblance to her grandmother, judging from the full-length portrait (painted seventy years ago,) of that worthy progenitor of our family, who was a descendent, lineally, from O'Brien king of Ulster, that she copies her dress on all public occasions, to the great amusement and edification of the spectators; and in these venerable habiliments she promenaded Bond-street, hanging on my arm;—by the Powers, till I felt ashamed of my precious charge, for all the world was abroad, and my reverend aunt was the universal magnet of attraction."
"Well, and you find yourself comfortable," said Dashall,—"we have all of us foibles, and why expect your aunt to be exempted from them?—Have you any thing in expectance,—is she rich?"
[193] "Twenty thousand pounds, twice told," replied Sir Felix, "sterling money of Great Britain, in which I have a reversionary interest."
"Why then," said Tallyho, "you cannot do better than contribute all in your power to her ease and pleasure; and in exercising this commendable duty, you will gain present satisfaction, and may justly anticipate future benefit."
"And," added Dashall, "if my Cousin or myself can by any means further your object, in contributing towards the full attainment of your aunt's amusement while she remains in town, you may command our services."
"By the powers of fortune," exclaimed the Baronet, "you have just given me the opportunity I was wishing for; that is, I had a favour to ask, but which I could not find courage enough to do, notwithstanding my native assurance, until now. You must know, then, that on Easter Monday, the illustrious Judith Macgilligan, descendant lineally from O'Brien king of Ulster, means to honour the Civic entertainment with her sublime presence, and grace the Ball at the Mansion-house in a dress resembling that of her grandmother the princess, worn seventy years ago. Now, my dear friends, having pledged yourselves to contribute all in your power towards the pleasure of my venerable aunt, which of you will be her partner for the evening?"
The pause of a moment was succeeded by a hearty laugh; Tallyho had no objections to the hand, as a partner at the ball, of Miss Judith Macgilligan, even should she choose to array herself after the manner of the princess her grandmother. But Dashall observing that as no masque balls were given at the Mansion-house, it would be necessary that Miss Macgilligan should forego her intention of appearing otherwise than in modern costume. Sir Felix undertook to arrange this point with his relative, and in the name and on behalf of Squire Tallyho, of Belville-hall, to engage the distinguished honour of her hand at the ensuing Mansion-house Ball. This important affair having been satisfactorily adjusted, it was proposed by Dashall that, as his Cousin and the Baronet had neither of them ever been present at the Epping Hunt on Easter Monday, they should form themselves into a triumvirate for the purpose of enjoying that pleasure on the morrow. The Squire having in town [194] two hunters from his own stud, embraced the proposition with the avidity of a true sportsman, and Sir Felix declining the offer of one of these fleet-footed coursers, it was agreed they should be under the guidance of Tom and Bob, and that Sir Felix should accompany them, mounted on his own sober gelding, early in the morning, to the field of Nimrod, from which they purposed to return to town in sufficient time to witness other holiday sports, before dressing for the entertainment at the Mansion-house.
These preliminaries settled, and Sir Felix agreeing to take a pot-luck dinner with his two friends, the trio resolved on a morning lounge of observation, and sallying forth, took their way along Piccadilly accordingly.
Although it was Sunday morning, this street presented, with the exception of the shops being closed, nearly the same appearance of bustle as on any other day; the number of pedestrians was not apparently less, and of equestrians and carriage-occupants, an increase; the two latter description of the ton, actually or would-be, passing onwards to the general Sunday rendezvous, Hyde-Park, where Real Life in London is amusingly diversified; and where may be seen frequently, amongst the promiscuous promenaders of the Mall, a prince of the blood-royal undistinguishable by external ornament from any of the most humble in the moving panorama; while an endless succession of carriages, in which are seated, what England beyond any other country may proudly boast of, some of the most beautiful women in the world, present the observer with an enlivening theme of admiration; and, together with the mounted exhibiters, from the man of fashion on the "pampered, prancing steed," to the youth of hebdomadary emancipation on "the hacked Bucephalus of Rotten Row," form an assemblage at once ludicrous and interesting.
Having circumambulated the "Ring," our triumvirate returned by the gate in Piccadilly, and crossing from thence to Constitution-hill, Dashall pointed out to his companions the seat, as now fixed upon (on the summit of the Green Park) of a Military Pillar, intended to be raised in commemoration of the many victories achieved by British valour in the last war. "This plan, if properly carried into effect by the erection (said Dashall) of a column equal in splendor of execution [195] with the glory it is meant to record, will be the greatest ornament of the metropolis."
"If again," added the Squire, "it does not prove like some other recent projections, a Castle in the air!"{1}
1 Tallyho probably alludes to the long meditated Monument in
memory of the late Princess Charlotte, towards the memory of
which a very large sum of money was raised by public
subscription.
Without any other occurrence worthy of remark, the perambulators reached home, and enjoyed the comfortable quietude of an excellent domestic dinner, without interruption. Every arrangement having been made for the amusements of next day, the party broke up, Sir Felix returning to his lodgings, to gladden the heart of Miss Judith Macgilligan with the anticipation of conquest; and Dashall and Tallyho retiring to early repose, that they might encounter the business of the morning with recruited renovation.—Next day
The feathered songster chanticleer
Had wound his bugle horn,
And told the early villager
The coming of the morn;—
When the Baronet made his appearance "on a milk-white steed," before the mansion of Dashall. In a few moments the friendly trio were assembled in the breakfast-parlour, and partook of a hasty repast while the coursers from the Belville-stud, destined to perform a prominent part in the forthcoming adventures of the day, were getting in readiness. The preparations were soon completed,—the hunters, two noble animals, were brought to the door,
Each "with neck like a rainbow, erecting his crest,
Paniper'd, prancing and pleas'd, his head touching his breast."
"Saddle White Surrey for the field to-morrow,"
was the order of Richard," said the Baronet; "but had he been in possession of such a horse as either of these, 'White Surrey' might have gone to the devil."
"I'll warrant them both, sound, wind and limb, and gentle to boot," said the Squire,—"Come then, if you wish to be well-mounted, and would really look like a "baron bold," seat yourself fearlessly on either, and bear yourself through the streets of London with the dignity [196] befitting a true, magnanimous and puissant knight of Munster!"—This address had the desired effect,—it implied a doubt of the Baronet's courage, and he seated himself on the "gallant steed" immediately.—Tom and Bob at same time betook themselves, the former to the other "high mettled racer," and the latter to the unassuming rejected Rosinante of Sir Felix. A trifling delay, however, occurred; the stirrups of the Baronet's charger were too short, and he alighted while the groom repaired the defect.
Now see him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed;
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,
With caution and good heed.
Whether, like the Calenderer's horse under the its guidance of the celebrated John Gilpin, the disdainful steed now in the management of Sir Felix, "wondered what thing he'd got upon his back," we are not competent to decide; but he certainly in his progress "o'er the stones" manifested frequent impatience of restraint. These symptoms of contumaciousness were nevertheless borne by the Baronet without complaint,—
Till finding soon a smoother road
Beneath its well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which galled him in his seat.
And, as if intuitively knowing the incapacity of his rider to restrain him, and despising curb and rein, the indignant animal set off at full speed, to the great dismay of Dashall and the Squire, who putting their horses to the pith of their mettle, hurried after their friend with the utmost solicitude. Luckily, however, the career of the spirited animal was impeded, and finally stopped, by the frequent interposition of the passengers on the road, and the Baronet was safely set down, ready to exclaim with Hawser Trunnion, "If ever I get astride the back of such another harum scarum son of a bitch again, my name is not Felix O'Grady."
The pursuers speedily rejoined the pursued, and felt happy in the knowledge of his welfare. The abashment of the baronet, occasioned by this untoward adventure, soon gave way to his characteristic good-humour; and [197] having resigned all further government of the Squire's unruly quadruped, and resumed possession of his own, the triumvirate proceeded towards the place of destination.
In the meanwhile, the city horsemen arose with Phoebus, to mount their rosinantes, to be present at the enlargement of the stag, and were roused from their slumbers according to order by the watchmen. The motley group, that was early in the field, furnished a capital subject for the caricaturist. Carts, horses, lame mares, and refractory donkies, with their grotesque riders, covered the field, together with dandies in chaises, and the lassies from St. Giles's, Chick-lane, Wapping, and St. Catherine's, in market carts, with their sweet-hearts, considerably swelled the number of the hunters. The stag was decorated with bunches of ribbons, and seemed when enlarged much more frightened at the appearance of the Londoners, than at the hounds, his natural enemies. When the chase commenced, never was witnessed such a scene of confusion and disorder. Upset carts, and unhorsed huntsmen, were seen in all directions. The stag went off in good style, and out of hundreds of horsemen, not above a dozen were able to keep their seats, but a number of fellows were on the lurk to take care of the stray horses.
After a cursory glance at the variegated and boisterous assemblage, the stag bounded forward with the velocity of lightning, amidst the astounding shouts of the multitude, and was instantly followed by his biped and quadruped foes of indescribable diversity, from the amateur of the turf on his spirited and well caparisoned steed, to the spavined gelding, bearing its cockney rider, and numerous other annual equestrians, preceded by every description of the canine race, from the high bred beagle to the "cur of low degree." All was tumultuous dissonance, and confusion worse confounded. Tallyho enjoyed the scene to the very acme of delight, and giving the reins to his experienced courser, high in blood, and eager for accustomed exercise, the noble animal accompanied by its companion under the guidance of Dashall, started off with unrivalled celerity, and in a few moments set all competition at defiance. Sir Felix, in an attempt to follow his friends, leaped a fence, but gaining the opposite side, horse and rider came to the ground: fortunately neither of them sustained any injury.—Sir Felix, [198] however, on regaining his footing, found that his horse, which had gone forward, was in possession of a stranger, who losing his own, had availed himself of this opportunity of remounting, and now pursued his way bare-headed; for the wind had uncourteously uncovered his pericranium, and he abandoned his castor to its fate rather than by stopping to pick it up, risque the restitution of his prize, and the wrath of the baronet, who stood spell-bound against the fence, vociferously demanding his gelding, and extending his arm in reiterated denunciation of vengeance. The unceremonious intruder turning round on the saddle, without slackening his career.—" Bide you where you are, my fine fellow," he provokingly exclaimed, "until the chase is over, and your gelding shall then be forthcoming." If the sense of misfortune is alleviated by seeing it participated by others, the baronet had ample fund of consolation, for numbers around him were involved in similar calamity. He profited too, by an admirable lesson of patience under disaster. On the right of his runaway gelding, and its rider, he perceived a dismounted horseman, quietly submitting to adversity, by seating himself on a bank, while his unburthened steed pursued the chase with unabating celerity, leaving its owner to wait, at leisure, its return. Two cockney equestrians now approached, at full speed, the fence where Sir Felix still stood, in the attitude of remonstrance and irritation; and attempting the leap, one, like the baronet, gained the opposite side, but with a less successful result; for the rider was pitched over with some violence, with his heels aloft in the air, as if about to perambulate the field on his hands, while his horse came to the ground on its face and knees, suspended by its hind legs from the upper bar of the fence, and vainly essaying at extrication. The other cockney sportsman was similarly situated: his horse had not cleared the fence, neither had the rider, although he had reached the neck of his rosinante in his progress to the opposite side; in this position he assumed a permanent aspect, for his horse rested with his fore-legs over the fence, and seemed incapable of either retrograding or proceeding. These lessons taught the baronet resignation in mishap; the result of which was the return, in about an hour, of his friends Tom and Bob, to his great comfort, which was further increased by their bringing with them his gelding, having recognized the animal [199] in the possession of a stranger, who, on their claiming it as belonging to Sir Felix O'Grady, very readily gave it up, saying, that the baronet had not forgot in the midst of his threats, frequently to announce his name, and hoping that he would excuse him for having resorted to the privilege which every person claims on this day, of taking care of the stray horses. The party now fully satisfied with the humours and disasters of the Easter Hunt, turned their steeds homewards, and journeying unimpeded, notwithstanding the throng of the road, they quickly gained town, without the occurrence of any other memorable incident.
Having reached the mansion of Dashall, Sir Felix acquainted Tallyho with the success of his mission respecting the hand, as a partner, at the Mansion-house Ball, of the august descendant of the Kings of Ulster, the sage and venerable Miss Judith Macgilligan. "O, the beautiful illustrissimo! the sweet crature" exclaimed the baronet, "with commendable care of her virgin purity, and fair unsullied fame, is tenacious of etiquette, and insists that she shall be asked with all due form and respect, (after I have introduced your Squireship to the honour of her notice) at the Mansion-house. By my conscience, I believe she is in love with your character, and no doubt will prove desperately so with your person. Faith and troth now, she is both too young and too old for matrimony; too young, because she may live to torment you these twenty years to come, which is a penance no sprightly lad should voluntarily undergo for all her fortune; and too old, being in all respects disqualified by age, for the important object of marriage, which was instituted for the procreation of children."
"My dear sir," rejoined the Squire, "immaculate may the lady remain in her person and property, I have no views on either."
"By the powers of charity retract that 'stern decree,'" exclaimed the baronet, "would you break the heart of the love-sick nymph, by chilling indifference to the potency of her charms and the magnitude of her fortune? However, all joking apart, my good friends, will you do my aunt and your humble servant the honour of calling at our lodgings; we shall wait your coming and proceed together to the civic entertainment?" This was agreed to;—the baronet retired, and the two cousins having the best part of the day still before them, set out on a stroll to Tothill-fields Fair, with the view of ascertaining Real Life in Westminster, amongst the middle and lower orders of its extensive population.
[200] Crossing St. James's Park, our two observers soon reached the scene of jollity. Here, as in all the fairs held in London, and its vicinity, was a vast assemblage of idlers, including both sexes and all ages. "They talk of the severity of the times," said Dashall, "and the distress of the lower orders of society; I cannot say, however, that I have witnessed any semblance of distress or privation amongst such in this metropolis to the extent represented,1 in the whole course of my observation. These fairs, for instance, more properly marts of iniquity, are crammed to excess; and in pursuit of low enjoyment there appears no deficiency of pecuniary means. In all these resorts of dissipation, not only the shows are filled with spectators, but the booths and neighbouring public-houses are crowded with male and female revellers."
The Squire acquiesced in the correctness of his friend's remark, and both coincided in opinion that the regular daily public places of amusement in the metropolis afford ample opportunity for rational recreation, independent of the continuance of fairs, which have no other tendency than facilitating the progress of licentiousness.
Dashall observed, that on the present occasion, in the midst of so much alleged distress,-the booths and shows of Tothill-fields Fair were much more extensive than in former years. "We must, however," said he, "although the evil continues, do the Magistrates the justice to say that they have acted meritoriously in preventing the erection of those dangerous machines named round-abouts, by which, at former fairs, many serious accidents were occasioned."
While Ton and Bob were quizzing the costermongers and the Venuses, they in their turn were queered out of their wipes; thus another cogent argument was afforded as to the necessity of suppressing these nuisances, as being the rendezvous of infamy, and the harvest of depredation. The visitors appeared in all their glory, as elegant and boisterous as usual; the consumption of gin and gingerbread was apparently prodigious, and the great luxury amongst the fashionables was fried sausages and the bolting of oysters with sugar for wagers. Having lost their wipes, the two friends resolved at least to save [201] their tattlers; and having seen a sufficiency of Westminster jollification, they left the fair to those visitors who might better appreciate its enjoyment.
Returning home, they were not encountered by farther mischance, and having shortly reached their destination, and dressed for the evening gala, a chariot was ordered, and they were set down at the lodgings of Sir Felix O'Grady.
The baronet introduced his two friends to his aunt, with much affected form, and with an arch leer of expression, which, on an occasion of minor import, would have excited the risibility of Bob, but this was no laughing affair; the presentation therefore was conducted with all due solemnity, and Miss Judith Macgilligan received him with a maidenish diffidence and complacency, yet with the dignity becoming a descendant of O'Brien, King of Ulster.
Having partaken of a slight repast, the party drove off, in the lady's temporary vehicle, and rattling rapidly along the streets, were in a very short time arrived at the Mansion-house. The company was select and elegant; the ladies particularly, might vie in splendour of ornament and fascination of personal charms, with first rate beauties of the west; and what gave the entertainment a superior zest above every other consideration, was the condescending affability of the Civic Queen, who received her numerous and delighted guests with a truly hospitable, yet dignified politeness; nor was there any deficiency on the part of her lord; all that the most excellent arrangements and the most minute attention could accomplish was done, to the entire gratification and comfort of the company.{1}
1 Easter Amusements.—Mansion-house. The customary Easter
Civic Dinner and Ball were given at the Mansion-house. A
material alteration was effected in the entertainment upon
this occasion, by considerably abridging the number of
cards, which it was the practice hitherto to issue. The Lady
Mayoress received the company before dinner in the ball
room; in dis-charging which office her ladyship displayed
much ease and elegance of manner. The company adjourned to
the Egyptian Hall to dinner, at about half-past six o'clock.
They consisted of Lord Viscount Sidmouth, the Earl of
Shaftesbury, Mr. Peel, and some other members of the
Ministry, the Lords Bishop of London and Landaff, and other
church dignitaries; the Lords Chief Justices of England, and
the Court of Common Pleas; the Vice Chancellor, several of
the diplomatic corps, as well as the leading Members of the
Senate and the Army, and other gentlemen of distinction, her
Grace the Duchess of Rutland, and several ladies of rank, in
all about three hundred and fifty individuals of both sexes.
There were five tables laid out in the hall, which from
being prettily ornamented with festoons of flowers attached
to pillars along the centre of each, had an extremely
picturesque appearance upon entering the room. After dinner
the usual toasts were drank, and the respective parties
present returned thanks. Messrs. Pyne, Broadhurst, and other
professional gentle-men, sung several songs and glees in
their happiest style. At a little after nine o'clock the
Lady Mayoress and the ladies with-drew, and the gentlemen
shortly afterwards rejoined them in the ball-room.
At a little before ten o'clock, the ball-room was prepared,
and in a short time the most distinguished of the guests
repaired thither. The dresses of the ladies were in general
particularly elegant. The ball was opened by two of the
younger daughters of the Lord Mayor, Misses Ann and Harriett
Magnay, who danced the minuet de la cour in so elegant and
finished a manner, as elicited general approbation. The
quadrilles were led off by the Duke de Cazes and Baron
Langsdorff, and were continued with the greatest spirit
throughout the night. The centre tables in the Egyptian Hall
were removed for the accommodation of the company, but the
side tables were retained, and refreshments served out from
them in abundance.
We believe that in the general participation of pleasure
there existed one solitary exception only, in the person of
Miss Judith Macgilligan. It unfortunately happened that an
opportunity offered not for the display of her graces in the
dance. She then became peevishly taciturn, complained of
indisposition, and expressing a desire of returning home,
the gentlemen consequently assented, and the party left the
Mansion-house at an earlier hour than they had either
anticipated or desired.
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