LIBRARY THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA BARBARA PRESENTED BY JOHN & ANNA GILLESPIE '/*> THE OLD CITY. r f ' - ■°*m; fci O a a Eh Q S5 o ►J O ,r=-si U ^-U^y=?3~=p:^*J. -HJ--Q THE OLD CITY, AND ITS HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. SKETCHES OF CURIOUS CUSTOMS, CHARACTERS, INCIDENTS, SCENES, AND EVENTS ILLUSTRATIVE OF LONDON LIFE IN OLDEN TIMES. BY "ALEPH," Author of " London Scenes and London People." LONDON: W. II. COLLI NGRIDGE, CITY PRESS, Alder sgate Street, E.C. M.IK CC.LXV. PUBLISHEB'S PEEFACE. The remark made in the preface to " London Scenes and London People," as to the supposed inexhaustibility of Aleph's budget, may have been considered by many as in part a promise that in due time a companion volume to that work would be produced. Whether the reader has any care about the origin of this work or not, the publisher feels it to be no less than his duty to state that • the whole of the papers now presented have appeared in the columns of the City Press weekly newspaper, and that the object of reproducing them is simply to preserve in an elegant and permanent form a series of sketches which, for their literary and anticpiarian excellence, merit some more lasting home than the columns of a newspaper. This is in every sense a companion volume to "London Scenes and London People," and might have been pub- lished under that title, with the distinction only of being designated a second series : but it was thought best to pub- lish the present collection under an altogether different title; because, in the first place, the distinction of first and second series might not always suffico to indicate their IV PKEFACE. separateness ; and, on the other hand, because the pub- lication of a second series of ''London Scenes" might be considered to imply that the former volume was incom- plete, and must necessarily be accompanied by the present. The adoption of a distinct title relieves the subscribers to the previous volume from any supposed obligation to purchase the present work ; but, as that has met with an unexampled success, and has been received with every demonstration of favour, it is not doubted that "The Old City," being from the same hand, and equally well stored with the results of personal observation and reminiscence, will meet with a similar generous welcome. The Publishes. Christmas. 1 864. CONTENTS. Page a bargain at the auction mart . . .1 mail-coach days ..... 7 invasion and volunteering . . . .13 "warwick lane ..... 21 the young roscius . . . • .30 patience flint, the old "woman of hanway yard 38 the princess charlotte . . . .44 ancient conduits . . . . .56 old st. Paul's . . . • .64 st. Paul's cross ..... 74 cheapslde cross . . • • .80 the monument . . . . .89 william lambe, his chapel and almshouses . 102 milton a londoner . . . . 110 TnE STANLEYS . . . . . .121 THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE . . . . 128 TnE GREAT LONDON SURGEON . . . .141 A DREAM ABOUT QUEEN ELIZABETH . . 150 JOHN WILKES, PATRIOT AND LORD MAYOR . .158 ALDERSGATE . . . . .169 JAMES LACKINGTON . . . . .177 BAYNARD'S CASTLE . . . . 188 MI.LLNGSGATE MARKET ..... 197 THE PRISON LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH . 205 VI CONTENTS. Page THE SMALL TRADES OF LONDON . . .217 EXHIBITION AT IRONMONGERS' HALL . . 227 SPECIAL SERVICES AT ST. PAUL'S . . .231 THE boar's HEAD, EASTCHEAP . . . 241 rahere, the minstrel, and his good works . 250 three london 'prentices . . . 256 sion college ...... 265 london in a november fog . . . 276 london lions at feeding time . . . 284 street architecture — new cannon street . 293 a public supping at christ's hospital . . 302 colonel blood . . . . . 311 london after dark . . . . .321 smithfleld . . . . .330 the physician's daughters . . . .340 london watchmen . . . . 349 tokenhouse yard . . . . .358 nelson's burial . . . . .367 twelfth day ..... 377 ILLTJSTKATIONS. (engraved by c. w. sheeres). city auctions . wreck of the dover mail swan* with two necks old london lamp gateway oe the old college of master henry west betty princess charlotte ancient conduit — st. james's old st. paul's cheapside cross monument of lambe . milton's london . milton's signet sir astley cooper JOnN WILKES ALDERSGATE BAYNABD's CASTLE billingsgate place of execution within the 1 flower girl asms of the ieonmongees' company st. pattl's cathedral Page . . 1 . 7 . . 12 . 21 PHYSICIANS . . 26 . 30 . 44 . 56 . 64 . . 80 . 102 . . 110 . 120 . • 141 . 158 . 169 . 188 . . 197 TOWER . 205 . 217 LNY . . 227 . 233 Till ILLUSTRATIONS. SIGN OF THE BOAR'S HEAD INN RELICS OF SHAKSPEARE ST. BARTHOLOMEW THE GREAT, SMITHFIELD THE THREE 'PRENTICES OLD STAGE WAGGON A LONDON FOG .... THE FIVE SWANS, BISHOPSGATE OLD LONDON SHOP TRAITOR'S GATE — TOWER VICTORIA CROWN .... ANTIQUE RING — ROYAL REGALIA OLD WHITE CONDUIT TEA-HOUSE . THE FUNERAL OF LORD NELSON CITY GREENERY .... Page 241 249 250 256 259 276 293 299 311 317 320 357 367 387 CITY AUCTIONS. A BARGAIN AT THE AUCTION MART. Yotr never saw my silver candlesticks, and if you did you would probably not admire them ; for they are small, plain, and light. Were they broken up for old silver, they would be worth little ; and, as candlesticks, I question whether they would now find any purchaser. Recollections and associations, however, make even inanimate things objects of affection, and I regard this antiquated pair of time- worn light-bearers as of far higher value than the heaviest and most elegant candelabra the silversmith could provide. There is a story connected with them which makes them precious, and as the garrulity of old men is proverbial, you will, perhaps, bear with me while I give its outline. In my thirtieth year my profession was far from occupy- ing the whole of my time, and having some literary pre- tensions, I bethought me of turning vacant hours to account in such pursuits, and was entrusted with the com- 2 A BARGAIN AT THE AUCTION MART. pilation of a work of reference, likely to require the labour of a day or two weekly for several years. It was a laborious undertaking, but the anticipated reward sweetened the long task ; and probably no portion of my life has been more agreeable. Pioneering among worm- eaten book stores, and sharpening by exertion the blunt- ness of intellect, would be attended with pleasure if it brought no money compensation ; and even now, when I can generally fill up the day with profitable work, it is a delightful recreation to me to break it off, and indulge in a chat like this. I did not labour for myself only then. There was a dear companion who soothed every toilsome moment, and made every joyous season doubly cheering. What was exertion, if it gave happiness to such a friend? To rise early and to rest late were positive privileges — if I might be so enabled to add to her comfort. It was a favourite indulgence with us to discuss bow the money I was earning with my pen, probably over £200, might be used to the greatest advantage. It was such a fortune — how many luxuries and elegancies it would procure ! Our candlesticks were brass (very bright though) ; our teapot was of Britannia metal (but well polished) ; and our cups and saucers of vastly common ware. All this must be reformed. A plated teapot and candlesticks would look so much better; and china, too — what would a modest set cost ? There was no doubt that silver, if one could bear the first price, was far the cheapest ; it never wore out, and it looked so genteel ; but then tea-sets in the precious metal were so expensive. I had to stay at home, and write ; but my other self, in her necessary walks, looked inquir- ingly at the shop- windows, and made daily reports as to what she had seen. Such beautiful china at the pawn- broker's in the High Street (there was but one in the village then) ; such an elegant tea-set, and so cheap in St. John Street ; and a pair of candlesticks as good as new, A BARGAIN- AT THE AUCTION MART. 3 and at such a low price, in Holborn — " visions of glory" to us, and far more brilliant in expectation than in reality. One summer day — business obliged me to visit the City — I was passing the Auction Mart, there was a great sale of remanent china going on. I entered the sale-room ; the auctioneer was dilating on the merits of some pastile burners. They were too fine for us, and besides we had no pastiles to burn ! but the next lot was the very thing we were pining for, a tea and coffee service in extremely elegant yet quiet looking china ; it would be so suitable, as we prided ourselves on our good taste. Almost dreading the sound of my own voice, I made a bid for them, £1 Is. Of course it was nonsense ; they must be worth six times as much, so I fancied ; but still advancing in my offers — till £1 15s. was reached — there was a pause ; the hammer vibrated uneasily. "Your name, sir," said the auctioneer ; they were ours. That was my first luxury — except a book now and then — yet the far larger sums I have expended since, never brought a tithe of the enjoyment. Hiring a boy and a basket, and securing my treasure, it was taken home in triumph. With what satisfaction we examined each piece, and using a few of the cups by way of experi- ment, how delicious the tea tasted ; we had heard about porter from a silver tankard, but what could that be to coffee from china? Many of the pleasant draughts "that cheer, but not inebriate " did we quaff from that service. I keep it still, and treasure it as hallowed by lips, the lips of love and friendship, whose soft tones I shall hear no more ; and of forty-eight pieces, after nearly forty years, only two have been broken. It is saddening to reflect that at no distant period the auction may be repeated, and the cherished china be treated as unconsidered lumber. Close to Northampton Square, in 1832, there was a sale shop (and it is still there), where I often lingered in my walks. There were four silver candlesticks in the window, b 2 4 A BARGAIN- AT THE AUCTION MART. marked £5 5s. per pair. Should we be any the better for burning; our moulds in silver ? and the price was enormous. Yes, but we had reckoned on such an indulgence when the book-money came ; and we could pinch in something else. I must think of it ; perhaps they would take a little less. Of a bright June morning, the lady had gone out, and was not to return before the evening ; next day, too, would be the anniversary of our wedding. What a de- lightful surprise for her if I could buy those coveted candlesticks, and have them ready as my annual gift to- morrow. I sallied forth; the thing must be done, and with no end of bargaining, secured them, strange to relate, for £4 10s. All next day I was burning with impatience to disclose my success, but it wouldn't grow dark, and it was barely twilight when, with two tall fours, duly en- sconsed in their silver sockets, I entered our snug parlour. They burnt splendidly, and the candlesticks looked superb ; how nicely the curtains stood out in the bight ; but, pray pardon my fancies, the bight in her eyes was far the most brilliant. Never was money so well invested as that £4 10s. Instead of spoiling with use, they seemed to grow more dignified in their appearance every day ; and were they not pledges of the good times in store; earnests of ap- proaching prosperity ? In truth, they proved so ; and we had, during a season of chequered years, more than " A dram of pleasure with our pound of pain." The teapot came in due season ; and though there were many unexpected demands on the book-money when it arrived, it certainly became the nest egg of our worldly comfort ; yet nothing that followed ever yielded us such genuine content as those early acquisitions. When all was in keeping, and there remained no palpably mean point in our housekeeping, we ceased to admire, because A BARGAIN AT THE AUCTION MART. 5 it was no longer remarkable, while those buddings of abundance, long denied, were keenly appreciated, because its absence had been so acutely felt. It would vex me, no doubt, were I now deprived of all the conveniences to which I have grown habituated ; but no Lively relish remains : it would grieve me to leave my warm bed for one of coir or straw, yet I am frequently restless, however soft the couch. Let not the young lament the struggles of early life, for no morsel is half so delicious as that which is won by care and labour. Well, I am sitting by the firelight in a large solitary room ; there stand the silver candlesticks ; the unkindled tapers have quite a spectral outline among the nickering shadows ; a crowd of memories, that appeared extinct in the bustle of the world, float around me ; the chairs were all vacant a few moments since; now they seem full of Longfellow's angels ; a silent convocation have taken the old familiar seats. "What a celestial tranquillity clothes each mild, virtue-beaming face ! what seraphic smiles hang upon their lips ! what a serene gladness beams from their eyes ! Surely they are speaking to me ; but it is not in the harsh language of man ; alas ! my dull ears cannot catch the subtle melody. Yet my heart beats quickly, and a warmth of spiritual joy rouses into unwonted activity the precious hopes that point to a happy re-union with the lost and loved in a nobler and more permanent existence. I said inanimate things may grow objects of affection, as the writing-desk, the gift of a fond parent ; the Prayer-book, bestowed by a tender sister ; or the Bible, by one dearer still. Think of the ancient tree, whose broad-spread branches shaded your trysting-place ; of the faded arm- chair, in which you watched a mothor's slumbors ; of the narrow patch of ground in God's acre, where morning and evening dews moisten the dust of a beloved friend. I have sometimes gazed till my eyes ran over with tears on an old 6 A BARGAIN AT THE ATTCTTOIV MART. leathern spectacle-case — and perhaps you may be as senti- mental over an empty cigar-box. It is not the things but the associations they call up. Deeply thankful though I am for the numerous comforts and the few luxuries permitted to me, I would not barter these sad and sober satisfactions for anything that mere wealth can produce — " There's such a charm in melancholy, I would not if I could be gay." "When I pass the Auction Mart, an irresistible attraction carries me into the well-known sale-room. Bargains have no charm now, but there is a pleasure in revisiting a spot so deeply graved in the chronicles of youth. Jostled by the busy crowd of buyers and sellers, a strange incongruous apparition in the noisy mart, I have no eyes but for the obsolete china sale, no ears but for the drop of the ham- mer which declared the coveted cups and saucers to be mine. The retina of memory is wonderfully tenacious ; I can recal the pattern of that tea-set with unfailing accuracy — no leaf or flower is ever omitted. Within the last few years English porcelain has been vastly improved, in form, colour, and purity, — yet I keep the old set, and am thankful. [Since the above was written, the Auction Mart itself has been sold, and the place which knew it will shortly know it no more !] WBECK OF THE DOVEB MAIL. MAIL-COACH DAYS. M In my hot youth, when George the Third was king." It was a glorious June season — the skies were of an Italian blue, and the streets fidgctingly dusty ; the ladies were absolutely radiant in their summer costume ; the gents looked hot and languid, yet endeavoured to appear vastly comfortable, though almost tempted to wish it were March again — when we found ourselves at the bottom of St. James's-street, opposite to the palace, a unit of an immense crowd assembled in honour of the king's birth- day (for it was the 4th of June), and on tiptoe in expecta- tion of the annual mail-coach procession, for there were no railways in those primitive times, and folks were quite content to journey at a speed of ten miles an hour. It is the fashion at present to speak of George III. as a narrow- 8 MAIL-COACH DATS. minded, obstinate old man, very unfortunate in his manage- ment of public affairs, and pugnacious to a most trouble- some degree. Possibly he was all this, only his admirers thought him firm rather than obstinate, and resolute rather than pugnacious. Be that as it may, the national heart was with him ; his manners, those of a mere country gentleman, made him easy of access ; he came frequently amongst his people, and they loved him, and kept his natal day with genuine warmth. For many years it had been the custom for the whole postal locomotive establishment, in the shape of coaches, each with four horses, the drivers and guards, all in their new scarlet liveries, the vehicles newly painted, and the magnificent stud covered with ribands and flowers, to parade along the streets from the chief office in Lombard- street to the quaint red-bricked domicile of royalty in Pall Mall, there to drink His Majesty's health in an abundant supply of Barclay's best. Pall Mall was sup- posed to be a fine street at that period, though in truth it had little to distinguish it from the common-place wilder- ness of brick around. The only portion of it comparable to the splendour of the modern club-houses was Carlton-palace, the residence of the Prince of "Wales. The main building was low, and far from striking as to its architecture, but the facade, with its long range of pillars, was exceedingly noble, and London certainly lost one of its ornaments when it was removed to make an opening into the park from Pegent-street. The thousands congregated on this occasion were in high good humour, and bore a continued assault on toes and heels without wincing. Those who were nearest the palace occasionally attempted to be funny, by shouting with stentorian voices, "King, king ;" "Queen, queen;" while others, who were thirsty, proved what they desired most, by bellowing somewhat hoarsely, "Beer, beer." MAIL-COACH DAYS. 9 All public sights, to be thoroughly attractive, need long waiting for, in order that the pleasures of imagination may be fully enjoyed. It was well known the mails could not arrive earlier than four o'clock, yet the people began to assemble before twelve, that they might not be too late. I was mounted on the top of a lofty flight of doorsteps, and had the advantage of frequently climbing to a friendly pair of shoulders as well, so that I com- manded the whole line of the street, and could give a shrewd guess as to the expected arrival, from the agitation and pressure in the crowd. The bugle horns of the coach- guards gave the first notes of approach : and first came a rather faint echo of "The Girl I left behind me;" this gradually deepened into "The British Grenadiers;" then "Rule Britannia" warmed and stirred every heart; and finally, as the first mail-coach entered Pall Mall, and the buglers commenced the National Anthem, the vast multitude sent forth an enthusiastic " Hurrah ! " It has been often said that no European public can raise such genuine shouts of welcome as Englishmen ; and on this 4th of June they were even more loud and hearty than usual. Out-of-door pageantry is for the most part a sadly dull business — a Lord Mayor's show, even with the men in armour, is very poor indeed ; but an ovation of mail- coaches was quite another thing ; coaches, drivers, horses, all were so absolutely national, that the spectators treated them as family flesh and blood, and the applause seemed given to their own kith and kin. The first turn-out, quite the pet effort of Long Acre, was drawn by four noble greys, literally covered from mane to tail with favours of all the colours of the rainbow. The creatures evidently knew it was a festival day, and paced along with dainty steps, as if they were the chief objects of admiration, occasionally snorting and throwing up their 10 MAIL-COACH DATS. heads with an air of enjoyment. Their driver, the oldest and most respected of his class, was a good specimen of Mr. John Bull. His gold-laced heaver (the lace was twice the width of any hrother coachman's band) was jauntily set upon a flaxen wig of superlative size ; his eyes were of a sleepy grey, overlaid with heavy, fat, thickened eyelids ; his face was as red as his coat, but of a colour much nearer to crimson than scarlet ; and his bottle-nose, deepening into purple, showed that the proprietor had en- countered all the variations of weather on the road, under which he had consoled himself with frequent imbibitions of brandy and water. He was amazingly stout ; and his swollen legs were of one size from the ancle to the knee ; it was a matter of wonder how he could ever reach the box. He rejoiced in a splendid bouquet, chiefly composed of full-blown peonies, chosen, doubtless, because they har- monised so well with his complexion. His whip, which he never used, was gay with parti- coloured ribands, and he •seemed to be viewed with great reverence by the lookers on. By his side sat his wife, not a whit less jolly than himself, and under the care of the guard were several promising olive branches — whips and whips' wives in futuro. Mail two had a much younger coachman, Herculean in proportion, with muscles of iron, and a resolute sort of countenance, upon which one might read " Take no liber- ties with me." He wore a single white rose in his button- hole, and the four beautiful blaek horses he guided had red roses attached to their head-gear. The third coach- man was remarkably short and dwarfish in figure, yet his face was radiant with jollity, and, to make himself as conspicuous as possible, he wore an immense sunflower in his waistcoat ; his horses were white, and contrasted finely with their dark companions Don't be alarmed, reader, I am not going to inflict a catalogue of all the charioteers, MAIL-COACH DATS. 11 •which would be neither edifying nor amusing, since in general there was a great sameness among them. There were probably from 150 to 200 vehicles, all most carefully horsed, and forming a stud hardly to be equalled in the world. Of course, on this occasion each horse was picked, and I have heard it asserted that they were worth at least £100 a-piece. As the coaches arrived before the palace, they drew up, and were arranged in long rows over that wide open space. Then came a pause of expectation, and the crowd appeared to subside into a deep silence. Presently two huge barrels of porter were set flowing, and whip No. 1, standing up, with a quart tumbler filled to the brim, took off his hat, and waved it as he said, ' ' We drink to His sacred Majesty's health — God bless him ! " All his brother Jehus followed his lead ; a military band suddenly woke up, and at the opening strain every head was uncovered, and a loud, long shout of " God Save the King ! " burst from the lips of loyal thousands. The scene at that moment, made up though it was of very ordinary materials, was exceedingly grand ; I have seldom been so deeply excited ; and this was certainly owing more to the realness of what was passing than to its intrinsic importance. I was a very little fellow on the 4th of June, and was told by my friend to look at tho king, who, they said, was standing at one of the palace windows. So I looked, and noticed a stout elderly gentleman, in the Windsor uniform, with a star on his breast. lie had a retreating forehead, an inexpressive eye, a rather rubicund face, and, though he seemed pleased, did not impress one with any idea of intellectual superiority. I thought they joked with me. "That the king," I said, " why he has neither crown nor sceptro." Nevertheless it most probably was George tho Third, for when tho National Anthem commenced, and the people began to shout, the old gentleman took off his hat 12 MAIL-COACH DAYS. and bowed. It would be difficult to find a scene like this in other lands, for either foreigners are less loyal or more polite, and can never be induced to express their feelings so boisterously. The sons of George III. were all grand-looking men. George IV., in addition to the graces of carriage and figure, had a highly intellectual expression of countenance. The Duke of York was rather remarkable for a good- humoured expression of face than of mental power; but the Dukes of Kent, Sussex, and Cambridge possessed, with fine features, an air warranting the conclusion that they were not deficient in mind. The most careless ob- server felt that they " were all gentlemen bom." SWAN WITH TWO NECKS. INVASION AND VOLUNTEERING. " With a Row dow, dow, and a Row dow, dow, And Hurrah for the British volunteers I " Such was the queer, slipshod sort of doggrel which was supposed to stimulate the patriotism of the English people less than fifty years since. The poetry of that period was of the weakest possible character — the Goldsmiths and Johnsons had died out, Darwin was an indifferent sub- stitute, and the author of the "Pleasures of Memory" was almost unknown. It was a very unpromising morning twilight to usher in the grand epoch of national genius, to culminate at no distant day in such mighty bards as Scott and Byron ; yet it would be unjust to forget the great merit of the elder Dibdin, whose sea-songs were like trumpet-calls to the hearts of his countrymen, and had no small influence in rendering the designs of the first Na- poleon abortive. The peace of Amiens was a sadly tinkered effort of diplomacy ; and, on its sudden rupture, the mighty Corsican despot sought to terrify Mr. Bull by raising the terrible phantom of invasion. Many writers have tried to prove that ho nevor seriously contemplated this threatened expedition. If he did not, it was a monstrously-expensive piece of gasconade; but knowing, as we do, his intense hatred of this nation of shopkeepers, it is not unreason- able to believe that he really meant to make the attempt. lie could hardly have flattered himsebf that the ultimate 14 INVASION AND VOLUNTEERING. conquest of our "tight little island" was a possibility; but be might tbink tbat the mere landing on our shores would be a great success. In his conversations at St. Helena, Napoleon frequently asserted, that if he could have landed with an army of 50,000 men, he should have forced the British Government to accede to any terms, and have crippled the greatness of England for a long course of years. Thanks to the untiring vigilance of our naval heroes, the French force was locked up in harbour, and never had an opportunity of carrying out the threats of their master. The vast camp formed at Boulogne, with the almost innumerable fleet of flat- bottomed vessels, destined to transport the invading bands across the channel, became ridiculously inactive, though often damaged seriously by the intrepidity of our sailors ; and no memorial now remains of them, save the recently- inaugurated statue of their leader, whose countenance of impatient anger, as he looks over the waters, may be rightly considered rather ludicrous than heroic. Baffled as he was in his war scheme of ambition, we are entitled to laugh at such a puerile assumption of triumph. If, however, to alarm us Britishers was the object of the plan, it fully succeeded. Our shores had been free from any hostile visit for many centuries. The Dutch admiral sailed down the Thames with a broom at his mast-head, but he never attempted to land; nor could William of Orange have made good his footing at Torbay, had he not been invited by the owners of the soil, while the visits of the Pretender were mere matters of party. War had increased our taxes, we had suffered in pocket, and bread was both dear and scarce, but we had never seen the face of an enemy. All the other countries of Europe were familiar with fire and sword ; the fierce giant of battle, "with garments dyed in blood," had often in other lands found a paradise and left a wilderness, but a INVASION AND VOLUNTEERING. 15 gracious Providence had spared us this plague, and every Englishman's house was still his castle ; nevertheless, ex- treme excitement followed the rumour of an intended invasion ; there were many persons who remembered the audacious conduct of Paul Jones in Scotland, and the landing of a French force in Jersey was not forgotten. If, so reasoned the politicians of the day, the Boulogne army could, under cover of night, embark, find the wind favourable, elude the blockading fleet, escape our cruisers, and ultimately effect a descent on Dover, it would be a frightful calamity; who could say what would be the result? It was full time for the British Lion to awake, and roar his loudest; there must be "a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether," and then it would appear, if the usurper would presume to violate our white cliffs; one Englishman was a match for at least three frog- eating Frenchmen, and who could have any fears on the subject. Magnanimous resolutions, truly ; but how were they to be embodied? Well, there was sufficient promptitude on the part of the Government. The whole line of coast, though watched and defended before, received additional attention. The Martello towers previously erected were strengthened at every weak point; new forts, for such they were, bristled on every height, and at night-fall beacon-fires blazed from each, so that signals to indicate the approach of any danger from the seaboard might be given in a moment. Without the wonderful aids afforded by railways and the electric telegraph, every rumour was conveyed to London with marvellous celerity, and both ministers and people assumed an attitude of defence which would have made the boldest invader pause in his purpose. Our wooden walls, too, were well-manned. It was the age of Rodney, of Horatio Nelson, and Sydney Smith ; our fleets did indeed "rule the waves." The French navy 16 INVASION AND VOLUNTEERING. slunk into harbour for security, and were not always safe even there. Something more must be done; why should not the military be as complete as the naval service ? Why should not every man above twenty and under sixty be a soldier? Now was the time to manifest our zeal "for England, love, and beauty" in something more than mere talk. A few fervid patriotic orators loudly expressed this opinion, never dreaming that they were about to take up arms themselves. It was a mere notion one day, and became an imposing reality the next. The volunteer epidemic manifested itself with irresistible energy, and a red coat was an indispensable mark of respectability. All the quiet habits and occupations of every-day life seemed forgotten. The tailor was too busy over his own regimentals to attend to the wants of his customers ; the baker's loaves were blackened in the oven, while he was en- gaged at drill ; and the butcher, instead of cutting up sheep or pigs, sharpened his weapon, a sword or bayonet, to make mincemeat of the expected invaders. The doctors, whether they "killed in chariots or on foot," were thoroughly aroused, and the lancet-case was exchanged for the cart- ridge-box. If Mr. Apothecary was content to shoulder a musket in the ranks, the fashionable physician rejoiced in the new title of captain or major. The Inns of Court were in strange commotion. Pale students, whose days and nights had hitherto been devoted to the statutes at large, rushed from their solitudes, and looked daggers in scarlet. Such men as Brougham, Sugden, and Copley, caught the fever and put themselves in training ; while the clergy no longer preached peace, and Butler's — "Pulpit, drum ecclesiastic — Beaten with fist instead of a stick," was no longer a fancy. If you went into a private house you tumbled over a musket, and the landlord was sure to INVASION AND Y0LT7NTEERING. 17 be a member of some loj'al corps ; if you joined an evening party all the male visitors were in regimentals, while in the streets every third man you met was "a soldiering," and very indifferent soldiers some of them were. Men are not born heroes, and undoubtedly a large proportion of these extempore Alexanders belonged to the awkward squad. Bad as they were, however, I think the militia men during the Crimean war were worse. There was a volunteer demonstration in Foote's time, but it was a mere "little go" to this, yet a few extracts from his " Mayor of Garrett," first performed in 1763, will serve to exemplify the singular national light-headedness I am anxious to depict : — Sir Jacob Jollup. — But, Major, was it not rather late in life for you to enter upon the profession of arms ? Major Sturgeon. — A little awkward in the beginning, Sir Jacob ; the great difficulty they had was to get me to turn out my toes ; but use — use recon- ciles all them kind of things ; why, after my first campaign, I no more minded the noise of the guns than a flea-bite. We have had some desperate duty. Oh ! such marchings and counter-marchings, from Brentford to Ealing, from Ealing to Acton, from Acton to Uxbridge ; the dust flying, sun scorching, men sweating. Why, there was our last expedition to Hounslow, that day's work carried off Major Molassas. Bunhill Fields never saw a braver commander. He was an irreparable loss to the service. I advised him to pull oil' his spurs before he went into action, but he was resolute, and would not be ruled. We were quartered at Isleworth. The Major made a fine disposition ; on we marched, the men in high spirits, to attack the gibbet where Gardel is hanging ; but turning down a narrow lane, in o: 1 i to possess a pig's-stye, that we might attack the gallows in flank, who should come by but a drove of fat oxen for Smithfield. The drums beat, the dogs barked, the oxen galloped : on they came, broke through our ranks, and threw the whole corps into confusion. The Major's horse took to his heels. That gallant commander stuck both his spurs into the flank, and held on by his mane, but in crossing a ditch, the horse threw up his head, and plumped the Major into a gravel-pit, just by the powder-mills; and whether from the fall or the fright, he moved off in a month. It was an unfortunate day for us nil. Yet I succeeded the Major, being tl nly one of the corps thai could ride Let me tell you, Sir Jacob, it was lucky fur Monsieur that he kept his myrmidons at home, or we should have peppi-ivd In- flat -bottom boats; we should have taught him what a Briton was, who is lighting pro arts etfvcis. C 18 INVASION AND VOLUNTEERING. Of course there must alwa} 7 s be more than a single point of view for every picture, and while we laugh, with Foote, at the oddities and mistakes of a people suddenly trans- formed from peaceful citizens into military patriots, we cannot but acknowledge the absolute sublimity of the scene, when a whole nation rose up in martial array, to defend, with their own strong right hand, the land they loved, the laws they reverenced, their birth-places, and the graves of their fathers. There were two remarkable days during this volunteer epidemic — reviews of the whole body of warlike patriots in Hyde Park and on Wimbledon Common by George the Third. On both occasions the Prince of Wales attended his Eoyal father ; and all that were highest and noblest in the country gathered around them. I was not on the ground at Hyde Park ; but being in the immediate neighbourhood, I saw the long columns of improvised warriors passing, in seemingly endless march, through the crowded streets. The shops were all shut ; it was a general holiday ; men, women, and children all gazing with eager delight on their martial companions, for almost every family in the metropolis had given a pledge of loyalty in the shape of husband, brother, or son, to swell the volunteer regiment. Thus every parish and district was represented, and the people had a lively " personal interest in the armed masses around them. In spite of ridicule, the exhibition of popular feeling, whether as regarded spectators or soldiers, was exceedingly impres- sive. A great multitude, actuated by one motive, is always grand, and often sublinie. On this occasion not less than 30,000 men passed in review, and a portion of them, especially the City Light Horse and the Artillery Volun- teers, would have extorted praise from the most fastidious disciplinarian. I was present at the Review on Wimbledon Common, INVASION AND VOLUNTEERING. 19 which seemed much, farther from town than it does now, and, in the ahsence of railways and omnibuses, was quite in the country. Partly walking and partly riding, as I could get accommodation, I arrived at the scene of action about eleven o'clock a.m. The review was expected to commence at half-past one. Vast crowds had already assembled, and most of the regiments were in position. It was an exceedingly warm summer day. Soda-water and ginger-beer were in great request, and the itinerant vendors of oranges were doing a gainfid trade. The company, many of them being ladies, were arranged in a vast semi-circle, on the verge of the space allotted to the troops. There was abundance of warlike music : drums and cymbals more than sufficient ; trumpets not of the most sdvery sound; whilst the flageolets seemed to have caught cold, so hoarse were their tones. Presently the multitude, which had been marvellously quiet, began to sway to and fro in evident excitement ; there was a distant sound of carriage wheels— a halt : indicated by a long loud shout of welcome; then a brief pause; a roll of drums, a deafening trumpet-call, gradually mellowing into " God save the King," and the people, opening right and left, admitted the Eoyal cortege into the square kept by the volunteers. The king came first, in the costume of a field- marshal, mounted on a magnificent black charger, and bowing his bare head continually, amidst the enthusiastic acclamations of his subjects. He looked old, worn, and anxious, but his eye occasionally lit up, as he acknowledged the greeting he received. The Prince of Wales and the Duke of York followed. It would have been difficult to have found two finer looking men. The prince was then about thirty. Ho rode a splendid -white horse, managing if with infinite grace. The upper portion of his face gave the idea of superior intellect, but about the mouth and lips the lower passions had already left their impress. c 2 20 INVASION AND VOLUNTEERING. Far more noble in his bearing than the king, he wanted the air of absolute self-reliance which marked his Royal father. The Duke of York sate firmly on a beautiful grey ; he was then a great favourite, and, without giving any evidence of mental power, there was a kind of magnetism in his evident kindness of temper that won the good wishes of every spectator. A noble cortege of general officers followed, and the whole common rang from end to end with the sustained cheering of the soldiery and the crowd. All reviews partake of the same character — smoke, noise, artillery fortissimo, small arms pianissimo, the gleam of swords, and the rush of horse, the rattle of muskets while bayonetted, and the charge of infantry, the tread of the soldiers, " regular as rolling water," as they defile before the great man of the hour ; and all is over. Yet, simple and monotonous as this appears, few things excite the imagination more than the " Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ;" and in this instance, at least, there was something far better than the mere display of power, for here was a patriotic nation, declaring in the language of action their scorn of a despot's threats, and their devotion to a father- land. No country can ever be conquered that cherishes and embodies such feelings. Supported by manifestations like these, the clouds that have from time to time darkened over England have melted away like " dew-drops from the lion's mane ;" and no truth is more self-evident than that expressed by Shakespeare in the well-known lines : — " Come wrack, come storms — Come the four corners of the world in arms, — And we shall fright them. Nought can make us rue If England to herself does prove but true." OLD LONDON LAJIP. WARWICK LANE. There is hardly a street or lane in old London which would not afford scope for an interesting history. The rise, decline, and fall of the various localities, as regarded their early or primitive inhabitants, their middle age, noble houses, or their modern wealthy merchants, would afford inexhaustible materials for the antiquarian. Indeed, there is scarcely a tenement boasting its two or three centuries that woidd not offer a mine of exciting anecdotes to any industrious Froudo or Massey. What a rich sub- ject for biography would our Lord Mayors, ancient and modern, supply! "LTallam on the Constitution" might be surpassed by " Scott on Civic Dignities," and Lord Campbell's "Chancellors" bo laid aside for the "Chronicles of the Aldermen and Common Council." WTien I am about to select a new subject the reasons for preference are so 22 WARWICK LA^E. cogent that, like the fabled ass between two bundles of hay, there is danger of making no choice, because the themes for study are so numerous. Bayle wrote his definition of words on fragments of paper as they occurred to him, and kept them in his common-place bag, not book, till the time arrived to arrange them in alphabetical order ; and my method is analogoiis, for I string together these scraps just as the fancy of the moment decides. Thus running over the metropolis without any fixed plan, we pick up here a prettily-marked pebble, and there a mouldering fragment of antiquity ; notice on one page an obsolete but suggestive custom, on the next, some grand relic of the buried city ; yet honestly striving, through all, to blend instruction with amusement. No portion of London is just now more likely to be visited by the magician Change than the few acres comprising Smithfield and Newgate Street. The old slaughter-houses and market will, in a few years, become things of the past ; a dead meat mart, almost as pre- tentious as the Islington beast emporium, will soon spring up ; suitable abattoirs will supersede the dismal dens of Warwick Lane ; and the gutters of that dangerous thoroughfare will be no longer polluted with blood. Pope describes Ms Homo as " Of half that live the butcher and the tomb ;" and most revoltingly was the poet's assertion borne out by a visit to this narrow, dark, disgusting thoroughfare. I resided in the neighbourhood for more than two years, and was quite familiar with all its ins and outs ; yet habit never bred liking, though a dear friend kept house there, and his kindness, if anything could, would have made his residence pleasant. Yet there was a bright summer morning, when I roused the sleeper in Warwick Lane with a summons louder than the postman's ; when, to the hopeful eye of youth, the dingy street wore a fairer aspect, WARWICK LAKE. 23 and vivid anticipations of a country holiday invested it with, imaginary advantages. The light and warmth of that June day, the hopes of that youthful season, cannot be restored. Yet there was hope and summer for this well-abused spot "once upon a time." Call Chronicler Stow into the box. Thus he witnesseth : — " Warwick Lane, so called of an ancient house there built by an Earl of "Warwick, and since called Warwick Inn. I read that in the 36th of Henry VI., the greater estates of the realm being called up to London, Richard Nevile, Earl of Warwick (the king-maker) came with 600 men, all in red jackets, embroidered with ragged staves before and behind, and was lodged in Warwick Lane ; in whose house there were often six oxen eaten at a breakfast ; and every tavern \\ as full of his meat ; for he that had any acquaintance in that house might have there so much of sodden and roast meat as he could prick and carry on a long dagger." At the entrance of the lane towards Newgate Street there is a bas-relief of Guy, Earl of Warwick, with the date 1668; and it will help the busy-minded antiquary to look much further into the past, summoning up the gorgeous chivalry of the Plantagenets, and peopling the narrow flags with knights and men-at-arms. Within the Earl's rudely-built mansion, strength rather than comeliness being chiefly prized, our gay Edward IV. often caroused, and there, too, the sweet breath of Elizabeth Woodville streamed forth in unison with the cittern; yet music belike had little com- panionship for such wild warriors as the " Setter-up and putter-down of lungs;" nor will the rudest organ-grinder or noisiest brass band venture a tune in Warwick Lane. Butchers have less harmony in them than even Babbages. The Oxford Anns Inn, on the west side, was well frequented. In the London Gazette, March, 1672-3, we 24 WARWICK LANE. find this notice : — " These are to notify that Edward Bartlett, Oxford carrier, has removed his inn in London from the Swan, in Holborn Bridge, to the Oxford Arms, in Warwick Lane, where he did inn hefore the Fire ; his coaches and waggons going forth on their usual days, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. He hath also a hearse, with all things convenient to carry a corpse to the burial." There is a curious passage in Bishop Burnett's History of His Own Times, which must not he overlooked: — "Archbishop Leighton used often to say that if he were to choose a place to die in, it should be an inn ; it looking like a pilgrim going home, to whom this world was all as an inn, and who was weary of the noise and confusion in it." He added that the officious care and tenderness of friends was an entanglement to a dying man ; and that the unconcerned attendance of those that could be procured at such a place would give less disturbance ; and he obtained what he desired, for he died (1684) at the Bell Inn, in Warwick Lane. This suggests Shenstone's melancholy fines : — "Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, Where'er his wanderings may have heen, Will sigh to think he still has found His warmest welcome at an inn." Milton's epitaph on "Old Hobson," the Cambridge carrier, deserves a place here, for it is sadly suggestive of the experience that will force itself more and more on us all, as our mill-horse journeys, whether of business or pleasure, are repeated until they close in weariness and vexation : — " Here lies old Hohson ; Death hath hroke his girt, And here, alas ! has laid him in the dirt. T was such a shifter, that, if truth was known, Death was half glad when he had got him down ; WARWICK LAKE. 25 For he had any time, these ten years full, Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and the Bull ; But lately, finding him so long at home, And thinking that Ms journey's end was come, And that he had ta'en up his latest inn, In the kind office of a chamberlain, Shew'd him the room where he must lodge that night, Pull'd on' his boots, and took away the light. If any ask for him, it shall be said, ' Hobson has newly supp'd, and gone to bed.'"" In comparatively recent times no building in Warwick Lane was so remarkable as the College of Physicians. The college was founded in 1518, by Dr. Linacre, the physician of Henry VII. and VIII., who resided in Knight- rider Street, and there frequently entertained his friends, Erasmus, Latimer, and Sir Thomas More. He was the first president of the college, and the members met at his house, which he left to them by will. They removed from thence to Amen Corner, where Dr. Harvey lectured on the circulation; and built in the college garden a museum, upon the site of the present Stationers' Hall. These being destroyed in the Great Fire, Wren built them a new college in Warwick Lane, opened in 1689. It was a fine building, having a grand entrance-porch, and being surmounted by a dome. The structure was octangular. The theatre was admirable for seeing and hearing; the anatomical demonstrations were made on a table in the centre. There was a lofty hall, with a magnificont staircase ; a dining-room, with a most elaborately carved ceiling ; and a carved oak chimney and gallery. In the court-yard was erected a statue of -Charles II. The Fellows met here, notwithstanding the abominations per- petrated under their immediate notice, until 1825, when they removed to a new hall in Pall Mall. The old rooms were hung with some very remarkable portraits — of Dr. Hannuy, Cromwell's physician ; of Dr. Friend ; and of Sir Edmund King, who bled Charles II., in a fit, without 26 WARWICK LANE. consulting his colleagues, and who was promised £1,000 by the Council for his service, though it was never paid. There were also portraits of Sydenham, Linacre, Sir Thomas Browne, and Andreas Vesalius, the Italian anatomist. They also preserved a curious collection of eni GATEWAY OF THE OLD COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS. gold-headed canes, once used by famous physicians ; for in those days a doctor of medicine was nothing without his cane. Wren's college is now used partly as a meat market, and partly as a brass foundry. WARWICK LANE. 27 Garth, in his clever satire, The Dispensary., thus ridicules the disused college : — "Not far from that most celebrated place, Where angry Justice shows her awful face, Where little villains must submit to fate, That great ones may enjoy the world iD state, There stands a dome majestic to the sight, And sumptuous arches bear its oval height; A golden globe, plac'd high with artful skill, Seems to the distant sight a gilded pill." The court-loving fashion of our days allured the wor- shippers of Esculapius west, in spite of the supposed salutary influence derived from the immediate presence of horned,cattle, an ancient method of curing consumption being to locate the patients in cow-sheds. Even later than 1825 many celebrated physicians continued to live and practice in the City, and especially the justly famous Dr. Babington, whose house in Aldermanbury was con- tinually crowded by eager seekers after health. At present the medical sage has no sooner accjiiired celebrity in the east than he migrates from Finsbury Square, or St. Mary Axe, or the Old Jewry, to Grosvenor Street or Belgravia, since nobility would scarcely think of a physician from the haunts of trade. Yet it sometimes happens that a practice at Ilyclo Park Corner is far less lucrative than that left behind in Broad Street. The changes and improvements constantly going on in London have done much to make it more suitable as the mighty centro of traffic than it long Was. These changes are only possible at the expense of removing entirely obstructive portions of the old City. "Whenever a grand, wide street is laid down it must occupy the site of a densely packed puzzle of small, dark, inconvenient man- sions, either spared by the Great Fire or inconsidevately built shortly after. When all that can bo effected in this way shall have been carried out, the work of im- 28 WARWICK LANE. provement will remain sadly incomplete; nothing short of some terrible convulsion of nature, or awfully sweeping conflagration would suffice to clear the encumbered around to such an extent as to make London fit for the business of London. A few feet of land in Cornhill or in the Poultry are worth more than hundreds of acres elsewhere. The fortunate possessor of a tenement or two in Cheapside, or in the narrow streets that branch off from it, is too well pleased with the yearly rent they yield to think of sacrificing them on the altar of improvement. Nor when houses falling into decay are pulled down does the rebuilding greatly mend matters. The shop or warehouse remains as much straitened as ever, only the buikler grows ambitious, emulates old Babel, and sets up his ' ' sky parlour" among the clouds. A glance at the giant buildings in St. Paul's Churchyard will convince the reader that we do not exaggerate. London, even in our time, may be likened to nests of pill-boxes, box within box, ad infinitum. Turn into Gutter Lane, thread your way from court to alley — from the patchy, tumble-down squares, with their one tree and straggling yellow grass — to dreary- looking graveyard, from whence the church has long vanished ; then dive into the underground world of crypts and cellars, and as you pull off the lid of the last tiny box, represented by the creaking door of some Lilliputian office six feet by four, one's head grows dizzy, and the far-off noise of vast metropolitan roadways sounds like the impatient surging of a vast ocean. The man who stood upon a door-step until the street crowds had gone by was no such a jackanapes after all. Claudian's old man of Yerona would have been perfectly justified in doing so. Talk of the population of Pome, or Nineveh, or Babylon ! They must have been but thinly peopled in comparison. Nebuchadnezzar indulged in a pleasure-garden ; the men of Nineveh raised corn within their walls. In Julius WARWICK LAXE. 29 Caesar's day there were hardly a million of inhabitants in Koine, and though a census in the reign of Claudius gives five millions, it was probably a myth to tickle imperial vanity, whereas there is nothing at all mythical about the population of London in 1864. The long, narrow slip of ground, including "Warwick Lane, one side of Paternoster Row, Newgate Street, Ivy Lane, and traversed in all directions by a strange set of courts and alleys, seems hardly capable of improvement. Nothing short of a complete and sweeping change woidd suffice to let in the day-light, and sweeten with thoroughly fresh air the encumbered acres. MASTER HENRY WEST BETTY. THE YOUNG ROSCIUS. A raspberry tart, or a bun, were especial luxuries with little boy Alepli. Even now he keenly remembers a baker's shop in Oxford- street, where an oblong, pigeon-tail shape bun was sold, which he thought so delectable as never to be self-denying enough to pass without making a purchase when he was in pence. The shadow of the shop remains there still, after more than fifty years, and the same sort of bun may be purchased ; but oh, so inferior. Is the flour or the baker in fault ? or have I lost the readily enjoyable THE YOUNG ROSCIUS. 81 nature of youth ? I was tempted to try a bun there a few months since, and found it detestable. My great emporium for buns, however, in those early times was nearer home — at the shop of Mrs. Tupp, the pastry woman, in Tottenham Court Eoad. It was just opposite Papworth's, the grocer's, at the corner of Tavistock Street. I do not expect you to feel any interest in the locality, but somehow it is pleasant to map out the old spot, and think of things even more attractive than pastry. I have heard that when a new apprentice enters a confectioner's he is allowed to eat of the sweets till he is cloyed, as a security against his long- ings in future. Either the edge of my appetite was never so blunted, or I have an inordinately sweet tooth, for I still hanker after such dainties. Mrs. Tupp was the high- priestess of gossips — all the nursemaids and children, a good sprinkling of the mammas, and a few superannuated old gentlemen frequented her shop daily. The Ad/o&rUser and Chronicle might be read there, intermixed with pleasant sips of cherry brandy ; and, what was even more appetising, you might prey on your neighbours' reputation without stint, though in general the scandal was both pointless and harmless. One day, my pocket burning with some odd pence, I crossed the threshold. How tempting those buns look ! not the stale overplus of yesterday, which are tumbled together on a tin at the door, and may be had for a halfpenny each, but literally hot from the oven. Plain buns, currant buns, Bath buns — what a pity the latter are twopence a-piece! Mrs. Tupp had a larger leree than usual. As we entered, the good lady, warmed with her subject, was reporting in shrill tones, the wonders of the day. "Bread will be 20d. on Saturday; and flour is so dear, I must raise the price of my tarts. What a misfor- tune for poor children! Do you knew the new comer in Percy Street, and have you seen that dear boy Betty? His 32 THE YOTTXG EOSCIUS. hair resembles a wax doll's, only it 's longer, and his eyes are the colour of stone blue. Good gracious, how fond he is of sweets ! Why, here he comes." At this moment, in stepped the promising youth in question, surrounded by several smaller, flaxen-haired youngsters, some with hoops and some with skipping-ropes, but all hungry and anxious for buns. You may see a similar sight any morning at Nugent' s — and I opine Mrs. Tupp never made better buns than he does. The Master Betty to whom attention was called was probably then about 1 3 years old, but tall for that age, and remarkably upright, with a pair of bright intelligent eyes, good features, and singularly active limbs ; while his hands were so white and delicate, that it might be doubted whether he had ever played at taw in his life. He seemed in high spirits, and every few minutes spoke in a loud, shrill, alto tone, while he munched his bun, which appeared infinitely to astonish Mrs. Tupp. His first open aside was — " My name is Norval, on the Grampian Hills, My father feeds his flock — " Presently, out came matter far more heroic : — " The times are out of joint. Oh, cursed spite, That I was ever bom to set them right ! " Then raising his arm like a barrister over his brief, he addressed us thus — " My brave associates, partners of my toil, My feelings, and my fame," with many other equally brave words, which so startled Mrs. Tupp's friends, that one lady spilt her cherry-brandy over a lace dress ; another dropped her ice ; and an elderly gentleman ejaculated, with great seriousness, "What a pity the poor lad is allowed to use such bad language." Yet it was not so terrible after all ; for this was the incipient THE YOTOG ROSCHJS. 33 young Eoscius — tlie world-renowned Henry West Betty — who was so soon to break the shell of private life, and start at once into an intellectual prodigy. I saw him frequently after this, often driving a hoop, or dragging his sister's miniature chaise, or playing at horses with his brothers. In truth I was rather envious of him, for his stock of coppers seemed to be unlimited, and he consumed more pastry than any other boy in the parish. It soon became known that he was about to appear as a play actor ; and when his name, in Brobdignagian letters, graced the theatrical bills, he used to draw a crowd when- ever he passed through Percy Street, and his friends soon found it expedient to give him his airings in a hackney coach. For my part, except Sadler's Wells, I had never been within the walls of a playhouse. My curiosity was excessively excited. Every morning I visited the tobacco shop to read the bill of the play, and when at length, in that of Covent Garden, it was announced that the young Eoscius would shortly make his debut as Achmet, in the tragedy of "Barbarossa," I hung over the large poster with a kind of eager desire, and tried to swop my pence with Mr. Drugger for the bill; unsuccessfid, I hurried home to proclaim the important fact. "Ah, might I go? might I see that wonderful boy as Aclunet?" This childish enthusiasm meanwhile filled the whole town; Master Betty was as constant a theme of conver- sation as the weather. He was to have £50 per night. £100 had been refused for a box in a good situation. It was expected the pit-doors woidd be crowded all day. Long strings of advertisements, offering premiums for seats, filled the public prints, and even Bonaparte dwin- dled to a minor character. The theatre about to be graced by this peerless paragon was old Covent Garden, Manager Eich's house, where the careful impressario judged whether an audience paid or nut by pouring the D 34 THE YOUNG EOSCTUS. cask received into a rough, deal box, duly graduated, when, if filled beyond a certain line, it was a capital house, and good, bad, or indifferent, according to the level reached. This theatre was much smaller than either the present Drury Lane or Covent Garden, but it paid far better ; the scenery was less splendid, and the salaries less ex- cessive. The ever; tful evening came, "Barbarossa" received a marvellous reception, and the Boscius was at once elevated into an idol. In a few days his effigy might be purchased on a cotton handkerchief for a shilling. Neatly-painted portraits of the fascinating Betty ornamented screens and work-boxes, and to answer affirmatively to the universal question, "Have you seen the young Boscius?" became a necessity. The time-honoured favourites of the public seceded from the boards, for they ceased to attract ; Siddons, Kemble, and Cooke were deserted for the crude performances of a mere child. Of course the Court caught the Boscius fever. It is honourable, however, to the good taste of George III. that he would not consent to patronize Betty, though he was a great playgoer, and, in general, fond of novelty. A nobleman said to him, " Will not your Majesty command a play with the young Boscius? he is exceedingly clever, and when he grows a man is sure to be a great actor." " I will wait till then," was the king's answer. The Drury Lane manager, feeling that he must close his doors or secure a portion of the attraction, set on foot negotiations to have " the Boscius " on alternate even- ings — a plan ultimately adopted. Betty's strange popularity continued unabated for a whole season, during which he went through a very wide circle of characters, including many wholly absurd at his age. Achmet was followed by Young Norral, Frederick, in "Lovers' Yows," the Stranger, Richard III., Hamlet, Macbeth, and nearly all the great parts in Shakespeare's THE YOUNG ROSCITTS. 35 dramas. On the night of his first personation of Hamlet both Houses of Parliament were adjourned, that the Lords and Commons might have an opportunity to enjoy the treat ; and at the end of the season his gains wet-e so abun- dant that his friends thought it expedient to make him a ward in Chancery. His success will appear the more ex- traordinary when we consider that the actors who played with him were below mediocrity, for all the veterans in both companies, with proper dignity, refused to act with him. I saw three of his performances — the parts were Young Nor vol, Frederick, in "Lovers' Vows," and Hamlet. My age precluded me from forming a sound critical opinion, but I may be excused if I state my impressions, which are still cpiite fresh. Betty possessed an astonishing memory. He was never at fault, even for a word ; his voice was powerful and sweet ; he trod the stage with perfect confi- dence ; and his gestures were easy and picturesque. No doubt he was carefully assisted in the dressing of his characters, and when they were meant to be youthful he became them wonderfully well. When for novelty's sake he attempted parts such as Richard or Holla, the effect was simply ludicrous. In the latter he was compelled to carry the infant he was supposed to rescue under his arm instead of on his shoulder, and it was a doll. Perhaps no play was then so finely acted as "Douglas," with Charles Kemble for Young Norval, John Kemble as the Stranger, Cooke for Glenarvon, and Mrs. Siddons as Lady Randolph. Yet Betty made a great impression in Young Norval. He looked noble and chivalrous ; and much of the acting with his mother deserved the praise it received. "When wounded and ready to fall, he rushed forward, exclaiming, " My mother's voice ! I can protect thee still," the hearts of the audience were touched, and tho house rose at him. Frederick, in Kotzebue's play, was also a D 2 36 THE YOUNG ROSCRTS. success. He played it unaffectedly and naturally. It was only when the sentiment of the dialogue called for power that he rose out of his level tone, and the exertion being made in the proper place, always ensured genuine applause. Though much too juvenile for Hamlet, he looked the Prince of Denmark remarkably well, and proved a forcible excuse for Ophelia's preference. The mighty poetry of the part, however, found but a feeble exponent in Betty. Too often it was obvious that he did not understand the language he uttered, and by consequence it fell quite pointless. Nor could he assume with any truthfulness the passion of the character. The public began to feel their folly after see- ing him a few times in " Hamlet." Still a second season opened with the young Eoscius — but to gradually dimi- nishing audiences. The applause grew less frequent and less hearty. The bubble was about to collapse. He was not re-engaged at Drury Lane. Sheridan's comedies were acted and brought full houses. About Christmas, "Macbeth" was revived with great splendour (for that period), and Kemble and Mrs. Siddons re-appeared in their best characters. The town, blushing at their folly, left the idol, and returned with a new zest to their old favoiuites. Betty's name disappeared from the bills, but he had made a golden harvest. It was understood that in London and the provinces he had netted over £30,000 in less than two years. This was in 1806, his first appear- ance having been in 1804. Some twenty years after, when he was nearly thirty-four, he attempted the part of Alexander the Great, at one of the London theatres, and failed, all the newspaper critics declaring that he did not evince a single redeeming point as an actor. He made similar attempts at some minor houses, but broke down in the same decided manner, and he was hardly named again till his death was announced, at a comparatively early age. THE YOUNG EOSCIUS. 37 Betty's career and its termination were alike extra- ordinary ; such great success, and certainly a large share of natural talent, might have warranted the expectation that he would end as a favourite actor ; but the public, who at first were more than just, and showered favours upon him which it was impossible for him so soon to deserve, since the profession of an actor requires the devotion of a life, if ever perfectly learnt, ended by a conviction that they had lavished praise where the desert was small, and revenged themselves by refusing to acknowledge the merit he really possessed. Always fond of the stage, and especially when it is occupied by the "solemn muse in gorgeous pall," my thoughts often revert to the past, summoning back again the wondrous mimic sovereigns of the drama, and, while owning the boyish skill of Betty, in parts suitable to his years and talent, I cannot but feel unmixed surprise that so mere a lad could ever have seduced from their allegiance the admirers of such matchless performers as those by whom our great dramatist's works were then interpreted. Nor can I avoid regret that our stage at present is little better than a home for French vaudevilles or Italian operas. I am far from denying the merits of both, but desire to possess a stage for national dramatic works. We may delight in fine music and gonial mirth, but why should there not be room and verge enough for the noble tragedies of our noblest bard ? PATIENCE FLINT, THE OLD WOMAN OP HANWAY YARD. If you desire to attain extreme old age, you seek a very doubtful benefit. You are bardly twenty, and probably consider sixty a great age, and so it is relatively ; but our standard of comparison for years, as for everything else, is very variable. It is better not to form any wish on the subject — or, perhaps better still, not to desire life beyond the moment when our mental faculties grow feeble, and we cease to possess bodily power to provide for our own necessities. When man or woman becomes indebted for every convenience and comfort to the care of others, no matter whether it be son, or daughter, or friend, the wayfarer will begin to be thought a burden. Even the lips of affection will murmur such words as these, or they will be thought over even if unspoken, ''Poor soul, he ages sadly; it will be a happy release when he departs." A son once said to me, complaining of the cost of house- keeping, ' ' You see, I have to keep my old father, and his appetite is still amazingly good." Nor can we buy love for money ; if it does not come without, we have no chance. While our downward progress in life is unattended with a weak intellect or paralyzed limbs, we may plod on without repining ; but when thus finally PATIENCE FLINT. 39 thrown out of the race, I know not why we should desire to linger amid scenes that cease to interest, since we can no longer perform the duties they involve.] I was born a parishioner of St. Giles-in-the-Fields, and was as intimately accjuainted with that locality fifty years ago as I am now with Islington. Well, one of my favourite haunts was Hanway Yard, now widened, improved, and called Hanway Street. It was extremely narrow and dirty at the time referred to, but it possessed several attractions. At one corner (and it is still there) was Baldock's old china shop, a sort of museum for Chinese horses and dragons, queer-looking green vases, and doll- sized teacups, all of which excited my warm admiration. At the end nearest to Oxford Street there was something still more fascinating, in the shape of a muffin and crumpet shop, where each afternoon one might see the liquid paste spread on the heated stove, and baked into crumpets while the customers waited. The demand for this indigestible tea-dough was immense ; frequently that end of the yard was crowded with applicants, and if you got served after an hour's waiting, you were for- tunate. The shop had an ill-name besides, which very possibly made it more attractive. The neighbours said (but it might have been mere scandal) that it was a store for smuggled goods, and that if you needed a bottle of French brandy, or a piece of real bandanna, it might be procured there as well as crumpets. The rest of the yard was tenanted by Jew dealers in curiosities, or, indeed, in anything that turned up ; and though in the widening and smartening process the shop-fronts have caught the plate-glass fever, the class of occupants and their trade is still much the same. In those days, however, there was one shop which had especial claims on my notice; it was a receptacle for Dutch toys. Many were the quarters of an hour I have stood fancy-stricken 40 PATIENCE FLINT. at that window ; my first love being decidedly a sort of Venus, carved in some white wood, though it must he owned that the attachment was impartially shared with an elephant in vegetable ivory. The proprietors were a foreign couple, Flemings, I had heard, and with them lived the wife's great-great-grandmother, who they de- clared was a hundred and seven years old. They were both over sixty ; very short in stature ; simple in their dress and mode of living ; and apparently anxious to shun all intimacy with their neighbours. The name of Flint was over the shop-door, and it was always closed for the night as soon as it grew dark. I often made purchases of them, for they encouraged the visits of children, and seemed to let them have the toys at a lower price than grown people. Patience Flint was a general subject for gossip in the locality, but she seldom entered the shop. Anxious to see her, I commonly lingered by the counter as long as I was allowed, but was constantly disappointed, till one day, going in, I found the place empty, and as I opened a glass case to inspect some bewitching figures of Punch, an inner door slowly opened, and there stood the Old "Woman of Hanway Yard. My first feeling was of alarm, for the sight was unexpected as well as disagreeably novel. Was it a woman or a ghost ? Could it speak ? Would it be offended with my visit ? I must endeavour to describe Patience Flint, and give a likeness from the camera of memory. The outlines of that poor, thin, emaciated form are sharply graven there ; many things of yesterday are less marked. She must have been several inches under five feet in height, and seemed little else than a bony structure, tightly covered with a coffee-coloured skin. No portion of her person except the hands and face could be seen, for she wore a scanty gingham gown, closely fitting about the throat, and her hair was entirely taken up by a stiff muslin cap, the PATIENCE FLINT. 41 border of which was drawn tightly over her forehead. I never could determine the colour of her eyes, but they were small and heavy, being so far set back that you might suppose they never moved. Her face was not wrinkled in the ordinary sense, but gave the idea of having been contracted into an infinite number of lines or puckerings, rough, unequal, and disagreeable. The lips were strangely thin and leather-like, indicating the sort of slit that formed the mouth, from the centre of which a single tooth protruded. There was nothing of neglect or uncleanliness about her or her dress ; yet, though she breathed and moved, the evidences of vitality were so unsatisfactory that you doubted whether she did not belong wholly to the past. Gliding, rather than walking, into the shop, she seemed by her gestures to inquire what I wanted. My reply, in a stammering voice, was, " Please, ma'am, the price of this teetotum?" She raised two fingers ; and thinking she meant two-pence, laying down that amount, I took xip the teetotum and hurried away. I often saw Patience Flint during the next two years, and became acquainted with all her habits. She took very little food ; three or four ounces of bread, moistened in about a quarter of a pint of lukewarm milk, served her for a whole day. She never took meat, malt- liquor, wine, or spirit. She did not sleep more than five hours out of tho twenty-four, and that not continuously, but by naps of from half an hour to an hour in duration. Her hearing was tolerably good; she could not distinguish the voice if highly pitched, but if modidated in a low, distinct tone, and close to her ear, she soon caught the meaning intended. She could not read without tho aid of a. powerful magnifying glass, and then only for a few minutes at a time ; nor would she open any book but the Bible. Sometimes she would romain for many hours apparently unconscious, but humming to herself, in a low 42 PATIENCE FLINT. musical whisper, the lines of an old Flemish hymn. For several years she had not left the house ; but of warm summer days she would sit at an open window on the upper floor, not looking into the street, however, hut merely enjoying the cooler air. She delighted to have water poured over her lirabs, and liked it best as drink when brought fresh from the pump in Soho Square. She had no pet dog or cat, nor, indeed, any known object of special regard, except a broken and much worn minia- ture, which appeared to have been the portrait of a very young man; and this she wore round her neck. She could not kneel, but occasionally she was seen to stoop forward, by leaning on a chair-back ; and her relatives thought she was then in prayer. The expression of her countenance, as far as I coidd study, was so settled in general as to be almost corpse-like ; but there was neither grief nor passion, and certainly never the slightest approximation to a smile. She seldom spoke at all; when she did, it was in monosyllables, uttered at long intervals. The man and woman who kept the house seemed to gather a meaning from them ; but otherwise they had little or none. One bright August day I had been gathering a beau- pot of wild flowers — buttercups, daisies, and poppies — in some fields near the New Road, now covered by Gor- don Square, and, on my return, called at the toy-shop in Hanway Yard. The old woman sat in the window, swaying herself backward and forward to a dreary- sounding hum, like the phantom of a living voice. She did not notice me; if she thought at all, " her thoughts were far away." My young heart was sorry for her, and I laid the already half-withered flowers in her lap. She regarded them with a strange fixedness for a long while, and then — or it was fancy — I heard her say, in a deep, low whisper, "Flowers — flowers — for me — good child — God bless him!" Poor Patience! one winter's morning PATIENCE FLINT. 43 they told me she was dead, and that they were going to bury her in the ground of Old St. Paneras Church. It was a walking funeral ; all the neighbours followed ; and I was amongst them. Standing near the grave, I saw them lower the coffin — it was of plain elm; and the inscription-plate bore, "Patience Flint, 109 years." As the clergyman said, "Dust to dust," and it rattled on the lid as it fell, my eyes were running over, and I felt deeply grieved for the Old Woman of Hanway Yard ; yet I knew not why ; for with her life was truly a worn- out garment; and why should we mourn for those to whom existence is but one dark day? I have lived a good deal among the very old; and though the association is always in some degree sad, our feelings of melancholy at witnessing their decaying facul- ties are often agreeably modified, when the dim eye is lightened by devotional fire, and the wrinkled face takes the exquisite composure of resignation. One dear old lady, who first saw me in my cradle, and whose death-bed I watched over, conferred a beauty on " life's last lagging years," which I never noticed before or since, justifying and personifying Pope's exquisite couplet: — " To sounds of heavenly harps she dies away, And melts in visions of eternal day." PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. For the memories of Englishmen there is but one Duke of Wellington, one Lord Byron, and one Princess Charlotte. Our grateful reverence belongs to the first, our almost in- voluntary admiration to the second, and our enduring love to the third. The two first feeling's arise out of strong convictions, the last is a generous, affectionate sentiment. Lord Byron — there was or is a Gold or Silver Stick so called, and no doubt a most estimable individual, but we THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. 45 can only tliink of the title as the property of the author of " Childe Harold." The Duke of Wellington— there is still such a nobleman at Apsley House, and we hear of him as the Master of the Buck Hounds, or some such office at Court ; but when the public talk of Wellington, they mean the " Hero of a hundred fights," the conqueror at Water- loo. And if among our amiable Queen's " daughters fair " there had been a Princess Charlotte, our thoughts would still have abided so faithfully with the withered Eose of Brunswick, that the name would only have suggested the Royal bride and mother suddenly snatched from the hopes and wishes of a loving nation. Young princes are usually favourites ; the world is always ready to give them credit for all the excellent qualities they ought to possess. Had Nero died young, history would have recorded him as a most amiable and tender-hearted youth; and yet the germs of a madman, tyrant, and murderer, were latent in his nature from bovhood. How zealous all our chroniclers t/ and historians are in setting forth the virtues of Edward VI., and even modern writers echo the same strain in his praise, though we know scarcely anything of a boy who died so early, and who, judging from his diary, pre- served in the British Museum, was a very imperfect scholar, and quite unable to thiuk for himself. His weeping, when called upon to sign a death-warrant, proves little ; Nero did much the same. Henry, Prince of Wales, the eldest son of James I., was almost adored in his generation, and went to the grave bemoaned by millions as an absolute Phoenix of a prince. It was even pretended that, in order to get rid of a prince of such precocious talents, his own father sanctioned a plan to poison him. This doubtless was a foul libel ; and who can tell what would have been his character or fate had he lived to be king? George, Prince of Wales, the father of George III., was, up to manhood, exceedingly popular ; we know what Walpole 46 THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. says of liim, and the verdict has not been unsettled by more recent writers. Probably there never was a prince more idolized in youth than George IV. ; need we say how he ultimately converted "golden opinions" into un- mitigated contempt, in spite of his many noble qualities ? Why do we dwell on these mistakes of national regard ? — they were generous errors, and do honour to the steady loyalty of our countrymen. Yet, now that nearly half a century has laid its dust on the sepulchre of our lamented princess, such considerations must somewhat sober our reflections on a loss once thought wholly irreparable. Alas ! nobody is long missed. The vacancy caused by the death of the most highly gifted of human beings is sure to be filled up, even before our tears are dried. The parish beadle or stone-yard keeper has a dozen successors self- proposed ere his grave is closed ; and we know that within a few months of the princess's death, royal mar- riage upon marriage was clapped up, in order to console the nation with new scions of royalty. The people mourned, but the members of her own family, notwith- standing their genuine sorrow, did not forget that her place must be filled. Had the princess lived, she would have been now about sixty-six years old, and a queen of thirty-two years. Who will venture to affirm that her crowned head would never have ached ? that she would never have been hissed or caricatured by the very persons who idolised her in her young days, and thought they were inconsolable when she died ? " Oh, thou inconstant many." Had not the Great Duke to make iron shutters for his windows ? and did he not once narrowly escape being torn to pieces by the mob ? No marvel, — it was the fate of Marlborough before him. The thoughtless crowds that bullied Queen Charlotte in her sedan, would have been 'the princess charlotte. 47 just as likely to smash the glass of the princess's carriage, for any or no cause. The adored princess of twenty — a queen in her own right at sixty — might have been mobbed and derided in the public streets. No longer fresh and fair, with the hopeful looks and bright eyes of youth, but worn to wrinkles and grey hairs, with a thoughtful, heavy brow, an anxious expression of face, a suspicious glance, doubt and dread struggling together in the same eye which once lightened with expectation and joy. A gloomy pic- ture, but scarcely exaggerated. History will show us many such. Never was matrimonial union more unfortunate, or more likely to be so, than that of the parents of the princess. The reluctant bridegroom, coaxed or cajoled into the match by the promise (not ultimately fulfilled) that his debts should be paid ; the bride, careless, indiscreet, perhaps worse, induced to accept her new country from the love of rank or pleasure. "When the prince first met his intended wife, he rushed from her to the ante-room, exclaiming to a nobleman in attendance, "Give me a glass of brandy," whose answer, " Your Royal Highness had better have a glass of water," failed to calm down his rage or vexation. They were scarce a day married, when dissensions began ; the women placed about the princess were dangerous advisers. An irreconcilable quarrel soon followed, and before the "daughter of the isles" saw the light, her unhappy parents had finally separated. She was born January 7, 179G, and her birth was hailed with unbounded rejoicings everywhere but in her wretched royal home. To any good purposo she never had a mother ; and if her father loved her, lie was a miserable substitute for the watchful maternal friend she needed. Vice in ono parent, and folly, to use no harsher term, in the other, what guidance could they give? The king, her grandfather, had failed of success in the education of his own children, 48 THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. nor did he succeed in the nurture of his son's child. She received instruction from ladies of talent and station. Her natural abilities were good, and if mere school knowledge would supply the place of moral tuition, nothing was left undone. With considerable intellect, she possessed great strength of will — a most desirable attribute, but when permitted to grow undisciplined, often dangerous, and sometimes fatal. She loved her mother with intense warmth, and as they seldom met, her affection became obstinacy as regarded her father. She quickly learnt that she was the nation's darling. All her little sayings and doings were fondly chronicled, and wherever she was re- cognised in her walks and drives, people crowded around her, and women sought to touch and even kiss her clothes, while the rougher sex broke into exclamations of ' ' God preserve our princess. "What a queen she will make ! " We only allude to the gross revelations or fables of the " delicate investigation," to express a hope that they[never polluted the ears or wounded the heart of our girl princess. The slightest whisper of such foul stories would have proved a source of severe pain. As for the world of news- paper readers, they seemed to feed on the garbage offered to them by their superiors with keen relish. The folly or turpitude of the parents only increased the popularity of the child, and even to obtain a passing glimpse of her was esteemed a privilege. On a September day, in 1807, I was walking on the bank of the Grand Junction Canal, near Paddington, and then quite in the country, when a plain private carriage drew up. Two ladies, one very young, and the other of middle age, got out, and commenced promenading. It was the Princess Charlotte and her governess (the Duchess of Northumberland, I think). They were both in morning dress, and evidently sought to avoid notice. The Princess, tall and rather stout for her age (eleven), wore a white THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. 49 muslin frock and a straw bonnet, crossed by a white satin riband. The waist of the frock, according to the ugly fashion of the time, was placed high under her arms, much as may be seen in her more mature portrait by Lawrence. She looked healthy, and had a slight colour, her com- plexion and hair being extremely fair, and her eyes of a light grey-blue tint. Her forehead was broad, rather high, the face full, and the nose prominent, but not dis- agreeably so. She might have been styled pleasing, but had no pretensions to beauty. She was more womanly in her appearance than is usual with girls of the same age. She frequently asked questions of her companion, and the tones of her voice were soft and musical. Once, apparently forgetting her studied school step, she was breaking into a run, but the duchess checked her by a look, and the decorous step was resumed. For a few minutes she escaped notice, but the instant her rank was known, im- portunate promenaders of all ages thronged about, and soon obliged her to retreat to the carriage. The English are a sadly-mannered people in this respect. I was once at Kew, when Queen Adelaide visited the palm-house with Sir William Hooker, when in less than a quarter of an hour she was absolutely mobbed, and forced to leave the place. On another occasion, at the Italian Opera, I saw the present Queen so annoyed by the hundreds of glasses levelled at her, that she drew the curtain half over the front of the box, and retired behind it. Nor can we forget how she was driven out of Brighton by similar rude conduct. As the princess advanced towards womanhood, her feelings resp< 'i 'ling her mother grew quite unmanageable. In a lit of unreflecting anger she contrived to escape from (i\vy ST. PAUL'S CROSS. About forty years ago, I can well recollect, at the north- east end of St. Paul's Churchyard, a small, stunted, ill- conditioned tree, now long decayed, which marked the spot where the Cross stood during so many ages. This unhappy looking tree was helieved to be one of several which had been planted when green leaves were not ex- ceptional in the district, and probably its branches, or those of its kindred, had actually waved around and shaded the City rostrum itself. Paul's Cross, or pulpit, was set up in the year 1449, by Kempe, Bishop of London, on the site of a former ancient cross which had been thrown down by an earthquake in 1382. It was first named in 1259, when Henry III. commanded the Mayor to oblige all the City youths, from fourteen years of age upwards, to take the oath of allegiance, at St. Paul's Cross, to him and his heirs. In all likelihood it was in use for similar purposes, and for open air exhortations from the clergy, as early as the first Norman monarchs. Out-of-door preaching, denounced and ridiculed in the days of Whitfield and Wesley, was there- fore quite a recognized institution, although, from disuse, entirely forgotten. During several centuries the Cross was used for almost every purpose, whether political or ecclesi- astical. We hear of it continually from the pages of our old chroniclers. Monks declaimed, officials and law officers proclaimed, legends or doctrines, acts of Parliament or st. pahl's cross. 75 the kings who made them ; and while the fourth estate (the press) was absolutely unknown, the people crowded around the Cross to hear news, or receive precepts, as almost their only source of information. In the Pepysian Library at Cambridge there is a curious original drawing of the Cross as it existed shortly previous to its final destruction in 1643. In the centre of a rather broad base, having an ascent of three wide steps, stands a sort of watch-box on a large scale, with a door and six unglazed lancet-shaped openings for light, which is covered in by a sexagonal dome, surmounted by a cross. In front of the door stands a pulpit, wherein a friar is depicted in the energetic delivery of a homily. The pulpit is encircled by a wooden partition, within which, seated, appear a congregation of nine per- sons, with a tenth about to join, dressed in long cloaks, knee breeches, and peaked hats, with exceedingly broad brims. But the princial part of the audience are seated outside the partition, on benches enclosed by a rail. Their costume is precisely the same as that of the more favoured hearers. In wet weather, there was a contrivance, by which the people were screened from the rain by a kind of awning, called " the shrouds." The preaching was not exclusively on Sunday, and of course secular matters were discussed there on all days in the week. In the "Visions of Piers Plowman" we read, that the most abstract questions of theology were treated of here, and that it was the recog- nized seat of pulpit elocpaence, so that clerical orations were little valued unless they had been "preached at St. Paul's." The friars and the regular clergy, in especial, had their spiritual duels at this rostrum. The hearers were com- monly extremely numerous. According to Pennant, the sanctity of such crosses often caused a great resort of people to pay their devotion to the Divine Being in whose honour they were erected. A preacher, seeing a large concourse, might be seizod by a sudden impulse, to ascend the steps, 76 st. paul's cross. and deliver his pious advice from a station so fit to inspire attention. The example might be followed, till the practice became established by custom. Paul's Cross, and many others, to be found in all parts of the kingdom, was originally an ordinary pulpit coeval with the church. When first covered in, and used as a pulpit cross, we are not informed. Stow describes it in his day, as " pulpit cross of timber, mounted upon steppes of stone, covered with lead, and standing in the middest of the churchyard." It was in daily use to promulgate Papal bulls, pronounce sentence of excommunication, give bene- dictions ; for recantations, and to expose penitents under ecclesiastical censure. Jane Shore and the wife of Hum- phrey, Duke of Gloucester, did penance therein. Richard III., before he became king, caused a discourse to be deli- vered here, anent the pretended bastardy of Edward IV. 's sons. Thus we read in Shakespeare's play : — " Go, Lovell, with all speed to Dr.. Shaw, Go, Catesby, to Friar Parker ; bid them both Meet me within this hour at Raymond Castle. Now will I in to take some special order, To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight ! " Shaw and Parker were popular preachers. Instead of publishing pamphlets to enforce his ambitious views, he followed the custom, then common, of proclaiming his as- sumed rights in sermons at St. Paul's Cross. About fifteen years before, the great Earl of Warwick employed his chaplain, Dr. Goddard, to convince the people that Henry VI. ought to be restored, and that Edward IV. was an usurper. Another passage from the dramatist — and it is only a poetical version of what really happened — will prove how monstrously the Cross was misused : — Scene — A Street. Enter a Scrivener. " Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings ; Which, in a set hand, fairly is engrossed, That it may be to-day read o'er at Paul's. st. Paul's cross. 77 And mark how well the sequel hangs together ; Eleven hours have I spent to write it over : For yesternight by Catesby was it sent to me ; The precedent was full as long a doing, And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty — Here's a good world the while ! " There was no London Gazette to record the deeds of the Plantagenets, and if there had been, their subjects could not have read it. From Paul's Cross, or some similar ros- trum, the Londoners must first have heard of the triumphs at Cressy and Poictiers — of their glorious Black Prince and his captive, King John ; as in a latter age of the victory at Agincourt. After the latter battle, Henry V. made a magnificent entry over London Bridge into the metropolis — the citizens crowding about his war horse to kiss his hands, and those of mimic angels showering French gold on their heads. Mr. Kean lately gave a lively representation of all this on the stage, but such shadows from the chronicles are seldom effective ; the poorest exercise of fancy can easily conjure up a nobler vision than anything the scene-painter can do. The spiritual distinctions of this Cross were more con- siderable than any connected with war or politics. Many of the proudest of the ancient Catholic hierarchy preached from its pulpit. Legates and Cardinals attracted the ad- miring eyes of thousands at this spot ; Wolsey and Bonner, probably, Latimer and Cranmer, certainly, preached here. The former, in a sermon still preserved, denounced the practice of intramural burial ; and spoke of the egregious folly of mixing the dead and the living in the churches of the land. " I trow," said he, " folkes are graved in Paid's because of their riches or holiness ; but will their unsavoury odour be the less?" Bishop King's eloquence, when he preached before James I., we have already Bpoken of; but 78 st. pattl's cross. a specimen of the actual sermon is well worth preservation. It is quite in the popular style of the period, when quaint and extravagant figures of speech were thought indispen- sable for a speaker — a fashion which prevailed universally, and had scarcely died out at the accession of "William III. : — " I am now," saith the preacher, " to speak unto you of litterall and artificial Zion — a temple without life, yet of a sicklie and crazie constitution, sicke of age itselfe, and with many aches in her joynts, together with a lingering con- sumption that hath long been in her bowels, the timber in the beames whereof cryeth, ' I perish,' and the stone in the walles answereth no less, and part is already moultered away to stone, part to dust, and (that which is more) sym- bolizing with the other Zion, not only when fates and casualties, but in the very retinues and revolutions of those fates. After her first building (600 years after Christ), salted with fire, sacrificed to the anger of Grod, and being raised, as a Phoenix, out of the ashes, betwixt 400 and 500 more (two in a thousand years), touched by an invisible hand, with a coal from the altar of heaven, that was never blowne, which wholly consumed the crest and vertical point, the top and top-gallant, and so scorched the rest, that ever since it hath remained valetudinary and infirm, rather peced out with an ordinary kind of physic, than restored to a sound plight." He wound up thus : " Set it as a seale upon your hearts that your king has come unto you. Such comings are not often ; Queen Elizabeth once, and now your sovereign once. "Would it be almost believed that a king should come from his Court to this Crosse, where princes seldom or never come, and that ceremony to be in state, with a kinde of sacred pompe and procession, accom- panied with all the fair flowers of his field, and the fairest rose of his own garden, to make a request to his subjects, not for his private, but for the public ; not for himselfe, but for God ; not out of reason of State policy, but of reli- st. patjl's cross. 79 gion and piety ; no lesae fruit of honour and favour -with. God and man accruing thereby to his people, than to his sacred Majesty. You that see it, value and prize it I" How -would such a preaching and speaking in an open- air pulpit suit our present manners ? Dr. Cumming, Mr. Spurgeon, and the Bishop of Oxford do not expound " under the canopy," though divers good men do, and believe they are helping forward a pious work. Think of Cumming, Spurgeon, or "Wilberforce, in a pulpit of boards, with no shelter from the rain but a " shroud." It would be a stir- ring novelty. Mr. Cowper made a capital speech from a bench recently in Kensington-gardens. What a gather- ing there would be to hear Russell, or Palmerston, or the Chancellor of the Exchequer ! It would be a plea- sant invasion of the monotony of Parliamentary reports. The front of the Exchange would be an admirable place to extemporize a cross ; or the trial might be made on the veritable site of Paul's Cross, and our fancies beguiled into a dream of olden times, when shaven friars indoctrinated, and ambition's gold-giving tongue persuaded the throng- ing citizens of London. Stranger things have happened, and should this again occur, " May I be there to see ! " Of late, open-air preaching has once more become common among the clergy of the establishment. Several Bishops have addressed the people under the canopy; and during the summer almost every commanding situation lias its clerical orator. In the space before the Exchange ; on Clerkenwell Green, and in all the parks, thousands are gathered to listen to sacred teaching. The days of Wesley and Whitfield seem to havo returned. CHEAPSIDE CROSS. CHEAPSIDE CROSS. Monumental or devotional crosses were once common in every great city of England. Affection, in the case of royal or noble persons, evinced its enduring recollections of the dead by setting up some beautiful column, topped by the sacred symbol of our faith; while the wealthy devotee, whether layman or priest, esteemed it a pious act to erect for constant reverence an enduring type of the Saviour's passion. In the majority of instances the work was not remarkable ; the mason did his best, but Ids efforts were mere commonplaces in stone ; while there are a few beautiful examples, and especially in those monumental crosses erected by Edward I. on every spot where the body of his beloved queen rested, on its way for interment at Westminster. Italian artists appear to have been em- ployed by the Eoyal mourner, and the representations or CHEAPSIDE CROSS. 81 remains of their work that we still possess, can hardly he excelled by any modern architecture in a similar style. What might be the moral or religious effect of thus presenting the cross to every eye in thronged thorough- fares may be doubtful; some writers think it led to superstition, and even to idolatry, as it is alleged pictures and statues, in Eomanist places of worship, still do ; per- haps, in the case of the utterly ignorant, it might be possible. To such, symbols may become realities, and the work of man's hands, in wood, stone, or canvas, receive adoration, instead of the divine originals. To any rational worshipper, such folly appears out of the question ; while, on the contrary, the pious mind, dwelling on the " outward and visible form," would feel devotion quickened — the soul excited to soar from contemplating the beauty of material objects to the celestial, unseen, eternal Perfection, which mortal creatures can never behold. Old English crosses have always been regarded with interest. Their variety and beauty, even their antiquity, and a sort of traditional sacredness, entitle them to vene- ration. We may well lament their destruction, too, as memorials of the taste and skill of our forefathers. The cross of West Chepe was the most remarkable of them all. Cheapside was, from the earliest times, a sort of open-air show place. Chaucer's apprentice, we are told, if he once found himself there, was not likely to return in a hurry, for there was always some exciting affair in progress ; and the cross was a favourite meeting-place for all ranks. A very ancient engraving gives an outline of Edward VI. in procession to his coronation, just as he is passing the cross, which, as there shown, is equally grand and elegant. The building thus displayed consists of three octangulai tabernacles, each supported by eight delicate colums ; ihe first, probably, 20 feet in height; the second, 10; the third, G. In tho niche of the first, the effigy of a pope is o 82 CHEAPSIDE CROSS. installed ; round the base of the second stand four figures of the apostles, their heads encircled (each) by a nimbus. Immediately above them stands a Madonna, with the infant Jesus in her arms. The third is occupied by five standing figures, and above it rises a cross (all the limbs of which are equal), surmounted by the celestial dove. The whole must have been very richly ornamented, and has an aspect of high finish, not, however, inconsistent with strength. The houses in the background constitute " Goldsmiths' Row," built by Thomas Woodman, goldsmith, and Sheriff 1491. Stow, speaking of them, says, "It is a most beau- tiful frame of foure houses and shops, consisting of tenne faire dwellings, uniformly builded foure stories high, beautified towards the streete with the Goldsmiths' arms, and likeness of "Woodman, in memorie of his name, riding on monstrous beasts, all richly painted and gilt." Mait- land assures us, " It was beautiful to behold the glorious appearance of goldsmiths' shops in the south row of Cheapside, which reached from the Old Change to Buck- lersbury, exclusive of four shops." Fox, the martyrologist, informs us, " That the first cross was set up in the north parts, in Havenfield, upon occasion of Oswald, King of Northumberland, fighting against Cadwalla ; where he, in the same place, set up the sign of the cross, kneeling and praying there for victory." This was a very rude example, but as taste and wealth advanced, they became highly elaborated, and none more so than the monumental tributes of Edward I., of which that in Chepe was perhaps the grandest. The original, of stone, was erected in 1290, on what was then almost an open space. We have no reliable description of it; but some authors say a statue of Queen Eleanor stood at the top, which seems inconsistent with its name. In 1441 it was rebuilt, in combination with a drinking fountain. It CHEAPSIDE CROSS. 83 was a long time building, for it was hardly complete in 1486. It was new gilt all over in 1522, against the visit of the Emperor Charles V. This second edifice was partly , of timber, covered with lead, which may account for its frequent regilding. On the accession of Edward VI., it underwent extensive alterations, and seems then to have attained its greatest beauty. It continued thus to adorn the City until the closing years of Elizabeth's reign, when it began to be denounced as a relic of Popish superstition. Presented as a common nuisance, and not removed, the complainants sought help themselves. In the night of June 21st, 1581, an attack was made on the lower tier of images, being of the Resurrection, Virgin, Christ, and Edward the Confessor, all which were miserably muti- lated ; the Virgin " was robbed of her son, and her arms broken, by which she staid him on her knees ; her whole body also haled by ropes, and left ready to fall." The Queen offered a reward, but the offenders were not dis- covered. In 1595, the effigy of the Virgin was repaired, and after- wards "a newe sonne, misshapen (as borne out of time), all naked, was laide in her arcnes, the other images con- tinuing broken as before." Then an attempt was made to pull down the woodwork, and substitute a pryarnid for the crucifix ; the Virgin was superseded by the goddess Diana, "a woman for the most part naked, and water, conveyed from the Thames, filtering from her naked breasts, but oftentimes dryed up." Elizabeth was indignant at these fanatical doings, and thought a plain cross, a symbol of the faith of the country, ought not to give scandal ; she ordered one to be placed on the summit, and gilt. The Virgin also was restored, but twelve nights afterwards w as again attacked, "her crown being plucked off, and almost her head, taking away her naked child, and stabbing her in tho breast." Thus dishonoured, the cross was left till g2 84 CHEAPSIDE CROSS. the next year, 1600, when it was rebuilt. The Universities were consulted as to whether the crucifix should he re- stored. They (with the exception of Dr. Abbot, after- wards Archbishop) sanctioned it, but there was to be no dove. Abbot's zeal against such compliances with Papistry took a strange form. "He brought an oil painting, wherein was the semblance of God the Father, over a crucifix, ready to receive the soul of Christ," into the market place of Oxford, and caused it to be burnt before a crowd of the townspeople. In a sermon of the period, the following passages occur : — "0! this cross is one of the jewels of the harlot of Rome, and is left and kept here as a love token, and gives them hope one day that they shall enjoy it and us againe." Yet the cross remained undisturbed for several years. At this period it was surrounded by a strong iron railing, and was decorated in the most inoffensive manner. It consisted of four stories. Superstitious images were superseded by grave effigies of apostles, kings, and prelates. The crucifix only of the original was retained. The cross itself was in bad taste, being half Grecian, half Gothic ; the whole was architectually much inferior to the former fabric. The uneasy zeal of the Puritanical sects soon revived. On the night of January 24th, 1641, it was again defaced; and a sort of a literary contention began. We have " The Reso- lution of those Contemners that will no Crosses ;" " Articles of High Treason exhibited against Cheapside Cross;" "The Chimney-sweepers' Sad Complaint, and Humble Petition to the City of London for Erecting a New Cross ; " "A Dialogue between the Cross in Cheap and Charing Cross." Here is a specimen : — Anabaptist. O, Idol now, Down must thou ? Brother Ball, Be sure it shall. CHEAPSIDE CROSS. 85 Brownist. Helpe ! Wren, Or we are undone men. I shall not fall, To ruin all. Cheap Cross. — I'm so crossed, I fear my utter destruction is at hand. Charing Cross. — Sister of Cheap, crosses are incident to us all, and our children. But what 's the greatest cross that hath befallen you ? Cheap Cross. — Nay, sister, if my cross were fallen, I should live at more heart's ease than I do. Charing Cross. — I believe it's the cross upon your head that has brought you into this trouble ; is it not ? Another tract concludes with, The Doleful Lamentation of Cheapside Cross. I, Jasper Crosse, of Cheapside, London, upon Munday night, January 24th ; the signe being in head and face which caused more suffering, and in the 16-41, when almost everie man is to seek a new religion; high water at the Bridge ; as their braines were full of malice and envy : I, Jasjiar, was assaulted and battered by many ill-affected brethren ; and whether they were mad with zeal or new wine from New Englande, I cannot be resolved ; but am sure, as may be seen by all passers, that I was much abused and defaced, and had never done them any harme ; for had I given them any cause for offence I should be sorrie. Love and charity they had none ; for why should they come, like thieves, to steal here a head, there a leg, here an arm, and there a nose ? They did not go away from me, the crosse, without profit. I tell you, my crosse brethren, at that time you wanted both wit and money; wit to govern your overboyling zeal, and crosse money to pay your landlord's rent ; that is a crosse to you, not I, and so, wanting such crosses as these, would be revenged of me, to satisfy your nialitious crosse-hunioms. I conclude with this caution, that as long as we have such crosse people, crosse every way, especially to men of authority, and still go unpunished, we shall alwaies have such crosse doings ; and so I, poor Jaspar Crosse, leave you to your crosse wives and to your owne crosse opinions. Then came an answer to the lamentation in rhyme — very poor indeed, as witness : — Old Jasper Crosse of late was wrong'd, As I did heare one say, A I>;im' atlVcm! to 1 1 in* was l,H'i) Upon the King's highway. For which Lis friends do much lament, They writ a doleful theame; It grieves them much thej cannoi iind Who did Hi'' hurt to him. 86 CHEAPSIDE CROSS. These disputes were the precursors of its final destruc- tion. In May, 1643, the Parliament deputed Robert Harlow to the work, who went with a troop of horse and two companies of foot, and executed his orders most com- pletely. Here is the official account : — On the 2nd of May, 1643, the cross in Cheapside was pulled down. At the fall of the top cross drums heat, trumpets hlew, and multitudes of caps were thrown in the air, and a great shout of people with joy. The 2nd of May, the almanack says, was the invention of the cross, and the same day at night was the leaden popes hurnt (they were not popes, hut eminent English prelates) in the place where it stood, with ringing of hells and a great acclamation, and no hurt at all done in these actions. The 10th of the same month, the Book of Sports (a collection of ordinances allowing games on the Sahbath, put forth hy James I.) was burnt by the hangman, where the cross used to stand, and at the Exchange. Here is the title of a curious tract, published the very day the cross was destroyed : — The Downfall of Dagon ; or, the taking down of Cheapside Crosse ; wherein is contained these principalis : — 1. The crosse sicke at heart. 2. His death and funerall. 3. His will, legacies, inventory, and epitaph. 4. Why it was removed. 5. The money it will bring. 6. Noteworthy, that it was cast down on that day when it was first invented and set up. It may be worth giving an extract or two : — I am called the "Citie Idoll:" the Brownists spit at me, and throw stones at me ; the Fanialists hide their eyes with their fingers ; the Anabaptists wish me knockt in pieces, as I am like to be this day ; the sisters of the fraternity will not come near me, but go about by Watling Street, and come in again by Soaper Lane, to buy their provisions of the market folks . . . . I feele the pangs of death, and shall never see the end of the merry month of May ; my breath stops — my life is gone ; I feel myself a-dying downwards. Here are some of the bequests : — I give my iron work to those people which make good swords at Houn- slow, for I am all Spanish iron and Steele to the backe. I give my body and stones to those masons that cannot telle how to frame the like againe, to keep by them for a patterne, for in time there will be more crosses in London than ever there was yet. I give my ground, whereon I stood, to be a free market-place. CHEAPSIDE CROSS. 87 Jasper Crosse, his Epitaph. I looke for no praise when I am dead, For, going the right way, I never did tread. I was harde as an Alderman's doore, That's shut and stony-hearted to the poore. I never gave almes, nor did anything AV:is good, nor e'er said, " God save the King." I stood like a stoek that was made of wood, And yet the people would not say I was good, And, if I tell them plaine, they're like to mee — Like stone to all goodnesse. But no'w, reader, see Me in the dust ; for crosses must hot starid, ' There is too much crosse tricks within the land; And, having so done never any good, • I leave my prayse for to be understood ; For many women, after this my losse, Will remember me, and still will be crosse — Crosse tricks, crosse ways, and crosse vanities. Believe the crosse speaks truth, for here he lyes. I was built of lead, iron, and stone. Some say that divers of the crowns and sceptres ar< of silver; besides the rich gold I was gilded with, which illicit have been filed and saved, yielding a good value. Some have offered 6400, gome £500; but they that bid most offer £1,000 for it. I am to be taken down this very Tuesday, and I pray, good reader, take notice by the almanack, for the eigne foils just at this time, to be in the feete. to shows that the crosse must be laide equall with the grounde for our feet to tread' on, and what day it was demolished ; that is, on the day when crosses were first invented and set up, and so I leave the rest to your consideration. Vignettes to the last pamphlet represent the destruction of the cross, and the burning of the "Book of Sports." They are characteristic illustrations of the cast-iron gravity of the various sects then ruling under authority of the Parliament. Wild and fanatical as they undoubtedly were, they sit or stand by the falling cross, or round the bonfire which consumes King James's ordinances, with an appearance of imperturbable gravity quite ridiculous; their Long cloaks, broad-brimmed hats, ami white-falling collars seem frozen into the same icy sobriety as tlioir owners. Even the horses they are mounted upon appear without a particle of mettle, and are jusl such solid, 88 CHEAPSIDE CROSS. quiet beasts as Brownists or Fainalists might be expected to ride. It was not merely crosses or open-air monuments that were destroyed at this period. Many of our noblest Gothic buildings were almost irretrievably ruined by Cromwell's Ironsides, who often stabled their steeds in cathedral chancels, and delighted to deal despitefully with those venerable sanctuaries. Stained glass windows were held in abomination ; workmen were employed at 2s. 6d. per diem to break them. Fine carved work especially excited their destroying zeal, and they seldom left any richly ornamented church until it was made as bare as their own conventicles. No doubt, those stern reformers had many great qualities, and amongst them we may remember a few truly illustrious men ; but their domination crushed the advancing heralds of the fine arts (the pupils of Rubens), and the accomplished masters of science, en- couraged and most liberally patronized by Charles I. "We may rejoice that the germs of tyranny perished beneath the iron heel of the Commonwealth men (though they often tyrannized far more than the Royalists) ; but our sorrow will not be out of place for the growing refinement in all the arts of civilized life, arrested, during so many years, under the Frotectorate. Happily, we live in an age when the antagonistic elements have blended peacefully, and the good qualities of every great British party have become indissolubly united. Various plans for commemorating Albert the Good have been suggested, and in turn abandoned ; but the Eleanor cross appears now finally chosen as a type for his monu- ment. The skill of such an accomplished artist as Scott may well be trusted to make it worthy of a great nation, and especially of our Queen's enduring love for her departed husband. THE MONUMENT. After the battle of Cannae, in which the Romans sustained the most terrible defeat recorded in their history, that wonderful people, so far from owning themselves con- quered, went forth in solemn procession to thank the discomfited Consul that he had not despaired of the Re- public ; and a few days afterwards, when they were in momentary expectation of the advance of Hannibal on the city, the land where he had pitched his camp was sold by auction, and fetched a large price. After a still greater calamity — the awful conflagration of 1666 — the citizens of London evinced an equally noble spirit. Amidst the burning ruins of shops, houses, churches, and palaces, the indomitable courage of Englishmen was singularly con- spicuous. Half the population of a mighty city was reduced to beggary ; homes and property were lost in a moment ; thousands of delicate women knew not where to shield themselves from the weather ; while their stalwart sons, brothers, and husbands were deprived of daily work and broad. Yet they did not sit down in the ashes, like Job's Mends, in silence and despair, but were up and doing in an instant. Charles II. and the Duke of York (justly unpopular as they are on the whole) acted on this occasion liko truly bravo men. For several days, while the flames were still spreading, they wero constantly on 90 THE MONUMENT. horseback in the burning streets. It was at the king's suggestion that a block of buildings was either pulled down or mined, in order to stop the fire — an expedient which ultimately succeeded. All the private means he possessed were lavishly bestowed upon his suffering people, and the prince, who, in ordinary, was so effeminate and luxurious, manifested all the virtues of a hero. His sub- jects emulated the example. The flames, so tenacious of their prey, were hardly extinguished, the ground was scarcely cooled, when they began to sink new foundations. Armies of bricklayers and masons were eagerly employed. Very few of the City churches had escaped ; before many months had elapsed, those capable of restoration were again used for divine worship ; while, to replace those utterly destroyed, Wren was commissioned to build fifty new sanctuaries. Private shops and dwellings were huddled together with little care or taste (a fact we must still lament), but most of the churches were really fine structures, and a few were in the highest style of art. The mighty Cathedral took forty years to complete, but the Monument was finished within twelve years. These two buildings, particularly the last, might have been deemed unnecessary by a nation visited with so dire a calamity, and the estimate both of the wealth and gallantry of our countrymen must be very high, when we find them cheer- fully making such sacrifices. In an Act for rebuilding London, passed in 1637, the year after the Tire, we meet with the clause : — And the better to preserve the memory of this dreadful visitation, by means of a pillar to be set up to commemorate the conflagration, be it further enacted that a column, of brass or stone, be erected on, or as near unto, the place where the said fire so unhappily began as conveniently may be, in perpetual remembrance thereof. Fish Street Hill was the site selected, which was only a few yards distant from the spot where it commenced. THE MONUMENT. 91 The spot chosen was singularly inappropriate. Literally at the bottom of the hill leading to the bridge, half the height of this magnificent pillar is lost. Had it been placed where the fire ceased, as a testimony of national gratitude to heaven, the elevation, close to Newgate Street, being one of the noblest in the metropolis, it would have become a most commanding object, and would probably have borne comparison with any obelisk, ancient or modern. "While London was burning, the citizens were haunted with the notion that it had been caused by incendiaries. The crime was attributed to a class. Roman Catholic emissaries, it was believed, had contrived and caused the frightful catastrophe. Many strangers and foreigners were arrested on the charge of depositing fire-balls in empty wooden tenements, or scattering inflammable mis- siles to increase the fury of the conflagration. A Portugese passing along one of the streets was seen to place a parcel within the shutters of an unoccupied house, and was taken before a magistrate on the charge. He declared his innocence, but owned that ho did place a piece of bread, which he had picked up, in the shop as described. Being led to the spot, he pointed out the aperture through which he had passed his hand, and the lump of bread was found there. He declared it was a custom in Portugal never to leave bread in the street; citing the text, " Gather up the fragments, that nothing may be lost." He was imme- diately liberated. At the same time, a man, unknown, went to .1 i Mil ice-office, and confessed he was an incendiary, having actually assisted in spreading the flames. No evidence could be found to criminato him, and the tale he repeated was altogether improbable; nevertheless, in tho then e\ ( ited state of the public mind, it was considered righl to bring him to trial. The judge who presided thought there was no case; but the jury choosing to 92 THE MONUMENT. credit his confession, he was declared guilty, and suf- fered death. The Monument would have been finished earlier, but delay was occasioned by the deficiency of Portland stone of suitable quality and dimensions. "Wren complained to the Council, and a proclamation was issued, May 4th, 1659, prohibiting the exportation of any more stone from the Isle of Portland without his permission, as Surveyor General. In Evelyn's "Diary" there is this passage: — ' ' Came to dine with me Sir Christopher Wren, now build- ing the new Cathedral of St. Paul, and the column in memory of the City's conflagration ; and he was in hand with the building of fifty parish churches. A wonderful genius had this incomparable person " — the fitting tribute of one illustrious man to another. It was originally intended by the architect to place on the top of the Monument a brass gilded statue of Charles II. "I cannot but commend a large statue," says he, " as carrying much dignity with it. It has been proposed to cast such a one in brass, of twelve foot high, for £1,000. I hope we may find those who will cast a figure of fifteen foot high for that money, which will suit the greatness of the pillar, which would undoubtedly be the noblest finish- ing to so goodly a work, in all men's judgments." A ball of copper, nine feet diameter, and a phoenix were also suggested, but were ultimately superseded by the present ornament. The edifice received the emphatic name of The Monu- ment. It is a fluted column of the Doric order, standing on a Palladian pedestal, 40 feet high, rising from a plinth 27 feet square. On the abacus at the top is an iron balcony supporting a flaming vase of gilded bronze. The entire height from the pavement is 202 feet, and it is certainly the loftiest as well as the noblest isolated column in existence. The shaft consists of forty courses of stone. THE MONUMENT. 93 The greatest diameter of the pillar within is 15 feet, and it forms a staircase of 345 steps of black marble, 10* inches broad. It is lighted by four series of seven loop-holes, and a large ornamental oval window, on the eastern side, furnished with niches for seats. The external gallery, lined with copper, commands a fine view of the City and river. A short flight of stone stairs leads into the urn above. The figures at the base are by Caius Gabriel Cibber. They are chiefly allegorical. We have London personified as mourning over the ruined metropolis. Be- hind her stands Time, assisting her to rise ; while a female figure, typifying Providence, points to the angels of Peace and Plenty descending to her aid. Opposite appear effigies of Charles II. and the Duke of York, a group of the Sciences, a terminal statue of Nature, Liberty waving a cap, and Architecture bearing a plan of the new City. Under their feet is Envy, gnawing a heart. Quite in the background, a representation of the Fire is given. The whole is encircled with beautiful carvings of festoons, the Eoyal and Civic arms, and at each angle a dragon, as the supporters, assigned by the Heralds' College. The other sides of the pedestal are occupied with inscrip- tions in Latin. The translation we shall condense is taken from " Londina Illustrata." On the North Side.— In the year 1GGG. on the -2nd of Sept, mber. ■ju:> fret eastward of this column, a fire broke out in the middle of the night, which, driven .by a high wind, laid waste not only the adjacent parts, but very remote places, with incredible i'ury. It consumed 89 churches, the pates, the Guildhall, public Btrnctures, hospitals, schools, libraries, and 13,200 lling-houses, and 400 streets. 25 wards were utterly destroyed, 1 escaped damage, and 8 were partially burned. The ruins of the City were 43G acres, and extended from the Tower, by the Thames, to the Temple Church, and thence along the Citj wall to the Fleet ditch. It was fatal to the fortunes of the citizens, but harmless to their lives, that it might in all things resemble the last conflagration. The destruction was rapid; for within a Bhorf spa..' the Citj was seen most flourishing, and reduced to ashes. On the third day when the fatal tin- had baffled all human counsels, it stoppi d, as 11 were, by 94 THE MONUMENT. a command from Heaven, and was on every side extinguished ; but the Papistical fury which so execrably achieved it is not yet quenched. On the South side. — Charles II., son of Charles the Martyr, a most gracious prince, commiserating the deplorable condition of all things, while the ruins were yet smoking, provided for the comfort of his citizens and the ornament of his city, remitted their petitions to Parliament, which imme- diately passed an Act, that the public works should be restored to greater beauty with the public money, to be raised by an impost on coals ; that the churches and cathedrals should be rebuilt with all magnificence ; bridges, gates, and prisons should be newly made, the conduits improved, the streets made straight and regular, and the markets and shambles removed to open places. It was enacted that all private houses should have party walls, the whole made of equal height in front, and that none should delay building beyond seven years. All lawsuits concerning boundaries were forbidden; anniversary prayers were enjoined, and, to perpetuate the memory hereof to endless posterity, this column was erected. The work was carried on with diligence, London has risen again, and it is doubtful whether with greater speed or beauty ; for the space of three years saw that finished, which was believed to be the labour of an age. On the East side. — Commenced by Sir Richard Ford, Lord Mayor, 1671 : carried on by Sir George Waterman, Sir Robert Hanson, Sir William Hooker, Sir Robert Hiner, and Sir Joseph Sheldon ; completed by Sir Thomas Davies, in 1677. On the Plinth, West Side. — This pillar was set up in perpetual remem- brance of that most dreadful burning of this Protestant city ; South. — Begun and carried on by treachery and malice of the Popish faction in the beginning of September, in the year of our Lord, 1666 ; East. — In order to the carrying on their horrid plots for extirpating North. — The Protestant religion and old English liberty, and the intro- ducing Popery and slavery. Another inscription, similar, but more violent, was cut in stone, against a house on the eastern side of Pudding Lane, on the spot where the fire commenced : — Here, by the permission of Heaven, hell broke loose upon this Protestant city, from the malicious hearts of barbarous Papists, by the hand of their agent, Hubert, who confessed, and on the ruins of this place declared the fact, for which he was hanged. That here began that dreadful fire, which is described and perpetuated on and by the neighbouring pillar ; erected anno 1681, by Sir Patience Ward, Lord Mayor. According to the " Parentalia," 28,198 feet of Portland stone were employed in the column, black marble being used for the staircase, and the whole shaft, in addition, with THE MONUMENT. 95 4,784 superficial feet of Portland stone, the whole amount of cost incurred being £13,450 lis. 9d., seemingly a small sum, but probably equal to £100,000 at present. Sir Christopher Wren wished to mark on the pillar the measurement of the most famous obelisks and buildings in the world, in order to show its superiority. We subjoin a hst:— 66 feet 67 i >j 88 n 88£ n 130 n 150 n 330 »i 350 n 437 n 66 n 95 n 155 >i 126 ?) 205 n 163 a 340 51 124 Cleopatra's Needle The Obelisk at Heliopolis The Sistine Obelisk, at Rome . Pompey's Pillar, Alexandria Leaning Tower, Bologna . Leaning Tower, Pisa Campanile at Venice Asinelle Leaning Tower, Bologna St. Peter's, Rome Antwerp Cathedral Spire . Column of Henry II., France . Tower of St. Jacques Nelson Pillar, Dublin W. Uington Obelisk, Dublin Pagoda, Kew .... St. Paul's, London York Column, Carlton Terrace . John Evelyn, in his "Discourse of Medals," says of the Monument, " Why is not the great burning commemorated in medals ? There is none of the column erected in its memory, and infinite pity it is that it had not been set up where the incendium and burning ceased, like a Jupiter Stator, rather than where it fatally began, not only in regard of the eminency of the ground, but for the reason of the tlung, since it was intended as a grateful monument and recognition to Almighty God for its extinction, and should, therefore, have been placed where the devouring flames ceased and were overcome. But this w as overruled, though, I doubt not, I have the architect himself on my side, whose ran and extraordinary talent, and what he has performed of great and magnificent, this column, and what 96 THE MONUMENT. lie is still about, will speak and perpetuate Ms memory, as long as one stone remains upon another, in this nation." In the same author's "Account of Architects" he says, " If the whole art of building were lost, it might be re- covered and found again in St. Paul's, the Historical Pillar, and those other monuments of happy talent and extraordi- nary genius." It seems doubtful at what precise time the accusatory incriptions were first placed on the column. Perhaps the nation generally did not credit the charge against the Cathohcs until Titus Oates produced his narrative of the Popish plot. Shortly after, the Common Council, 12th November, 1680, ordered an inscription, in Latin and English, to be affixed to the Monument, signifying that the City was burnt by the treachery of the Papists. 1 7th June, 1681, the exact words, as given above, were settled, as well as those for the house in Pudding Lane. 12th July, 1681, it was agreed that the new inscription should be cut on the column, the original to be taken out as far as necessary. As for the supposed culprit Hubert, though he persisted in his confession on the scaffold, and "was able to distinguish, though led blindfold to several parts of the City, the particular site of the building, while the owners themselves were in doubt ; for he led them to the place, described the little yard, the fashion of the doors and windows, and where he first put the fire, with wonder- ful exactness;" still, Lord Clarendon adds, "neither the judges nor any present at the trial did believe him guilty, but that he was a poor, distracted wretch, weary of his life, and chose to part with it in this way. On the strictest examination the King and Parliament could make, there never was any probable evidence that there was any other caufe of this woeful fire than the displeasure of Almighty God." During the reign of Charles II. the inscription remained, but on the 6th of February, 1685, a few months THE MONUMENT. 97 after his death, Evelyn writes, in his "Diary:" — "June 1 7th. At this time the words engraven on the Monument, intimating that the Papists fired the City, were erased and cut out ;" but no sooner had James II. abdicated, than they were restored. " Court of Aldermen, 16th September, 1689. — Ordered, That the inscriptions placed on the Monu- ment and house where the dreadful fire began, in the Mayoralty of Sir P. Ward (which have been since taken down), be again set up in their former places." They re- mained intact until the middle of the last century. We read in Pope's "Moral Essays," 1734 : — Where London's Column, pointing to the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies. The inscription in Pudding Lane was removed about 1769, owing to the annoyance produced by idlers gathering round the house to read it. The four first fines of Pope's poem, celebrating " Sir Balaam," were once used as the address of a letter, sent by post, and duly delivered to a tradesman of that day ; and, in an old list of Liverymen, the name of Thomas Balaam, fishmonger, Monument Yard, actually occurs : — Where London's Column, pointing to the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies, There dwells a citizen of sober fame, A plain, good man, and Balaam is his name. The record, so obnoxious to the Roman Catholics, was finally removed, soon after the passing of the Emancipation Bill, April 13th, 1829, when, in spite of some opp-^ition, it was resolved, that " all matters insinuating the Fire of London to be the work of Papists should be erased from tho Monument." Whether there was ever any ground for such charges it is now impossible to ascertain, but all right-thinking men must rejoice that such a rce H 98 THE MONUMENT. of bitterness to our Catholic fellow- subjects has been finally obliterated. Party differences need not be perpetuated, and the welfare of the nation will be best consulted when all classes and sects learn to live like brethren. As a matter of curiosity, we may state that the resolution of the Com- mon Council was carried out on Wednesday, January 26th, 1831, when Mr. Charles Pearson, Mr. Richard Taylor, and Mr. Thornhill attended with the masons, and were the first to commence the erasure. It is stated in the " Parentalia" that the pillar was built hollow, that it might be used as an astronomical tube to discover the parallax of the earth, by observing the diffe- rent distances of the stars in the Dragon's Head from the zenith, at various seasons of the year, but, as the column was found to oscillate considerably by the motion of carriages, the intention was abandoned. It was also employed by Dr. Robert Hooke, to ascertain the pressure of the atmosphere at various altitudes. The Monument, from 1709, or even earlier, became a City Hon, and was exhibited by a decayed Liveryman, who was allowed to reside there. Strype writes, in 1720, " This building shows a fine prospect above the houses, and especially to those that are in the balcony ; and it being such a curiosity, that many desire to go up, there is one that hath the keeping of it, and hath a salary, besides what people give him." The interior of the column and the wooden doors of the gallery are covered with thousands of names ; and one, Gr. Perry, sought to be re- membered by printing his name with white paint, in letters eighteen inches long, on the north-east side of the cippus. The Corporation used to pay £20 a-year to the keeper, which was raised to £200 by admission money. In de- scriptive pamphlets, sold by the keepers, there is an acknow- ledgment to the Corporation for the appointment. In that of Samuel Arnott were these words: — "My Lord, and Gentlemen, — Permit me to add a few lines with the THE M03TDMENT. 99 account of the Monument to you, under whose protection I remain, with all due respect and gratitude, S. A., March 20th, 1805 :— For threescore years life's various scenes I've past, And Providence has fix'd me here at last ; Within these ancient walls to find repose From all the sorrows that misfortune knows : "Wit li thankfulness to pass my latest hour, With gratitude proclaim my friends' kind pow'r; Whilst life remains, God's mercies to record, And pray that you may gain a Llest reward. We have spoken of the oscillation of the pillar. Some years ago a rumour circulated that it was dangerous, and that £10,000 had been offered by the City to any person who would undertake to remove it safely. It was, however, the work of an artist of such consummate skill, that we may regard it as secure from anything but an earthquake. About 1732 a singular feat of agility called steeple-flying was common. On the 16th of September, as we read in the Daily Journal — About five o'clock in the evening, though it was very windy, a sailor flew from the top of the Monument to the Upper Three Tun Tavern, in Grace- church Street, which he did in less than half a minute ; there was a numerous crowd to see him. He came down within twenty feet to the place where the rope was fixed, and then flung himself off, and offered, if the gentlemen would make a handsome collection, to go up and fly down again. In the morning, when the rope was tied round the Monument, a waterman's hoy paid for going up the gallery, but in his return, finding the stairs crowded, he thought the quick * . j down again was by the rope; and he accordingly swung down upon it, as it hung loose, to the ground, without any injury. Several suicides have been committed by jumping from the Monument. On Monday, Juno 25th, 1750, William Green, a weaver, threw himself from the gallery, and was dashed to pieces. Monday, July 7th, 1788, four persons ascended; our of them climbed over the railings on the north side, threw himself down, and was taken up dead. ,i _' 100 THE MONUMENT. He was a baker, named Cradock, and had spoken of his intention, inquiring whether it would be sinful. This was regarded as idle talk. "He was proud, and in dis- tress, and determined to kill himself in a manner that would attract notice." In 1810, Mr. Lyon Levy, a pearl and diamond merchant, of Haydon Square, threw himself from the gallery. He walked several times round the iron railings before he sprang off ; in its descent, his body re- peatedly turned over. Its fall was broken by striking against one of the dragons at the base, and, on reaching the ground, his skull was fractured, and he was dead in a moment. Mr. Levy was subject to hereditary insanity. In the "Rejected Addresses," there is a wretched in- stance of bad taste in the parody of Southey's " Curse of Kehema" — Descending, he twisted like Levy, the Jew, Who a durable grave meant To dig on the pavement Of Monument Yard. " Levy, an insolvent Israelite, who threw himself from the top of the Monument a short time before." This was written two years after the event, and is an inexcus- able attempt at facetiousness on a subject wholly unfit for mirth. One or two other suicides of the same strange kind followed, and it was thought expedient to inclose the gallery with strong iron bars, so as to prevent similar deplorable events. "With some persons, ascending to any great height excites the insane desire for sudden descent. This feeling frequently distresses persons standing over a wide, open space, as in the "Whispering Gallery at St. Paul's, and on the Monument. Some are even assailed by it on the bridges; and others are, on this account, in- capable of remaining in front of elevated rows of seats in theatres or churches. It is a disfigurement to our national THE MONUMENT. 101 column to be capped by so unsightly a cage, yet if it could not be left open but at the risk of life, it was time to secure it. The Monument was illuminated June 15, 1825, to commemorate the laying of the first stone of a new bridge ; and in 1833 the removal of some opposite houses, in forming a new street, made it possible to obtain a good view of this noble pillar, so long blocked up by unsightly buildings, when its beauty, grandeur, and faultless sym- metry were fully appreciated — probably for the first time. Adam Littleton, the learned author of many classical works, wrote a very remarkablo Latin inscription for the Monument. A portion of it, though rather grandiloquent, will be a suitable tail-piece to this paper : — May this devoted column emulate those of Seth, and endure to the Last Day, when the universe shall he consumed, equally adorned hy and adorn- ing this place and the dwellings which he heneath it on every side, long seeing and long to be seen, the monument of the extinction and the beauti- fied resurrection of the same City. MONUMENT OF LAMBE. WILLIAM LAMBE, HIS CHAPEL AND ALMSHOUSES. An old and admirable form of benevolence among the wealthy and kindly citizens was the erection of alms- houses. Previous to 1810, the jubilee year of George III., there were few almshouses of a modern date ; and the majority of those still remaining were the good works of our forefathers, many blocks of them being several centuries old. At that period some philanthropist sug- gested that to build asylums for the poor and aged would be a proper mode of expressing our gratitude to Providence, who had so long spared the king to his people. The idea was acceptable ; jubilee almshouses were built in various parts of the country, and this led to a revival of the fashion, and scarce any suburb of WILLIAM LAMBE. 103 London is now without some elegant pile of miniature asylums — as Whittington's College — offering a pleasant refuge for the declining years of respectable but decayed individuals. Our various classes of tradesmen, especially, have adopted this mode of providing for their indigent members; and within the last few years the Dramatic College has been projected, and is now completed — a kindly work to give ease and comfort in the time of their sorrow and decrepitude to those who exhausted the vigour of their best days in ministering to our pleasures. Actors, as a body, have always evinced the greatest sympathy for each other, and, in this instance, the public have promptly seconded their generous endeavours. Many a poor man or woman, who coidd not exist within the workhouse doors, would gratefully avail themselves of such a refuge as this. I knew a worn-out merchant who, being compelled to enter a parish asylum, felt the shock so terrible that he died in less than twelve hours, without any known cause, except his distress at being forced to herd in his misery with the rude inmates of such a place. In an almshouse a home may be possible, and, however humble the accommodation and scanty the food, the incalculable satisfaction is left of ownership and freedom; while, in the parish asylum, all freedom of action is lost, and eating, sleeping, or waking, every- thing is carried on without the will of the pauper being in the least consulted. In some communities on the Continent the poor are provided for in villages of alms- houses, and it is affirmed that the system answers admirably. Of course, with our vast population, this would be wholly impossible, but whenever the rich offer their thousands on the shrine of charity, they can hardly employ their wealth more wisely or kindly than in erect- ing almshouses. To make them really useful, there 104 WILLIAM LAMBE, should be some endowment : the small sum of 2s. weekly would often give competence to an ancient granny or a superannuated tradesman, and even much less would be enough when there was no rent to find. Few are so deso- late that they have no child or friend to give them a little help, and if the house was provided, every penny would prove important aid. The almshouses of old London are fast disappearing, and those that remain seem to belong to a bygone age. Notice those few low, narrow hovels which stand back a few feet from the kerb in Gray's Inn Lane. When the doors open you almost expect to behold an apparition of the days of Charles or Anne. Step into Monkwell Street — surely the pensioners who live there must be remanent citizens of the Elizabethan period. When they were built, one or both were within sight of green fields, but now the oppressive reign of King Brick has hemmed them in ; to get a glimpse of the blue sky is a wonder — to feel a breath of country air an impossibility. Never build almshouses in a close neighbourhood — nor did the worthy citizens do so. They provided for their pensioners in pleasant open localities — near Abbey Garden or Convent Lawn — where the fair face of nature was constantly in sight. They would not know their pet foundations, coidd they again revisit them. William Lambe was one of these old-world charity builders. An ancient chapel or hermitage is spoken of so early as Edward I., as being built on the City wall. St. James' s-on-the-Wall it was called, and stood at the upper end of Muckwell or Monkwell Street. A stipend was assigned to it from the king in 1275. It was patronised by the Crown up to 1346, but soon after appears to have passed into the care of the Corporation, and on the suppression of monastic establishments, in 1543, it was granted to Lambe, for a money conside- HIS CHAPEL AND ALMSHOUSES. 105 ration, who was then a gentleman of the King's Chapel, and a clothworker by his guild and occupation. He re-edified the sanctuary, making a place of worship for his almsmen, who inhabited a number of small tene- ments, which he had caused to be erected on the ground adjoining. He died in 1577, after a life of unostentatious usefulness, and by his will left the foundation to the Clothworkers. He orders that, yearly, on the nativity of St. John Baptist, and some other feast-days, a sermon shall be preached at St. James's-on-the-Wall, the minister to be paid 6s. 8d. That on every 1st of October, the Master and Wardens shall clothe twelve men and twelve women, at the cost of £6 6s., the parties to be poor, lame, or* aged. He also left funds to other City com- panies, to clothe or feed the indigent, on fixed days, for ever. 'Tor ever" is a phrase little reliable, yet the charity still exists, and pensioners are clothed annually, with the addition of 4s. in money. Materials are given to each person, with 5s. 6d. for making them up. The Company, too, out of the surplus rents, devote £100 per annum, in sums of £4 to £25, for deserving members, who are styled " Lambe's pensioners." In 1825 the chapel was rebuilt, with ten almshouses of two rooms each, on the original site, the Tudor style being chosen. A portion of the structure is now brought forward into Monkwell Street, and is ornamented with the Cloth- workers' arms, sculptured in stone. An arched entrance leads to a plot of greensward, placed on the base of the ancient watch-tower of the City wall. The almsmen are poor Freemen, who receive £20 yearly, with a chaldron of coals. Lambe employed the whole of his fortune in labours of love. Stow writes of him : — "Out of his kindness to learning and scholars, in the town of Sutton- Valens, Kent, where he was born, he built a free grammar school, for the instruction of youth in tho fear 106 WILLIAM LAMBE, of God, good manners, knowledge, and understanding, allowing to the master yearly £20, and £10 to each of the ushers. In the same town he built six almshouses, having an orchard and gardens, each pensioner receiving yearly £10." He gave £300 to the clothiers of Suffolk. He raised a conduit at Holborn Bridge, at a cost of £1,500, giving twelve pails to such women as were willing to work.* In early times there were persons in London called water-hearers, who carried water at so much a tub. Cob, in Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour," is one of them. They used a vessel denominated a tankard, formed of wood, hooped with iron, and holding about three gallons. Sir John Hawkins says: — "About the year 1730, Mr. Colebrook, a rich banker, had a shop by the Antwerp Tavern, Royal Exchange. Opposite was a spring, with a pump, from which a porter fetched water in such a tankard." Women also carried water in pails. They exposed water for sale. One of Lawson's "London Cries," published late in the seventeenth century, is illustrated by a carrier, with yoke and pails, shouting, " Any New River water here ?" Lambe also gave £15 to Cripplegate for bells; to Christ's Hospital £6 yearly for ever, and £100 in ready money; to St. Thomas Spital, Southwark, £4 yearly. For the relief of poor prisoners at Newgate, Ludgate, the Marshalsea, the King's Bench, and the "White Lion, he dealt very bountifully, giving them £6 a-piece, to be paid to them by 20s. each month, as well as six mattresses to each. He was mindful of poor maid's marriages, giving 10s. a-piece to forty such, providing that they should be of good name. * The conduit was removed after the Great Fire to the neighbourhood of the Foundling Hospital. HIS CHAPEL AND ALMSHOUSES. 107 He provided lovingly for all his servants, and ordered 108 freize growns to be distributed at bis funeral. This good man was buried in the church of St. Faith, in the crypt under St. Paul's, where, according to Dug- dale, an epitaph to his memory was engraven on a brass plate affixed to a pillar in the open nave. Here it is : — William Lambe, so sometime was my name, While I alive did run my mortal race, Serving a Prince of most immortall fame — Henry the Eight ; who, of his princely grace, In his chapell allowed me a place ; By whose favour, from gentleman to esquire, I was preferr'd, with worship for my hire. "With wyves three I joined wedlock's hand, Which, while alive, time lovers were to me; Jane, Alice, Joane, for so they came to hand, Whal ueedeth prayse recording then- degree ? In worldly truth none stedfast more could be : \\ ho, tho' on earth, death's force did once dissever, lie ;i\i ii yet, I trust, shall join us altogether. Lambe of God, which sinne didst take away, And as a Lambe was offered up for sinne ; When I, poor Lambe, went from thy flock astray ; Yet thou, good Lord, vouchsafe thy Lambe to winne Home to thy fold, and hold thy Lambe therein. That at the day when lambes and goates shall sever, Of thy choice lambes Lambe may be one for ever 1 1 pray you all that receive bread and pence, To say the Lord's prayer, before ye go hence. The punning and pathos of this singular attempt at poetry are more calculated to "raise the waters" in tho way of laughter, than to induce a solemn feeling. Still, the brief history of Lambe and his wives indicates so truthfully the course of a pious and amiable man, that, while we wish him a better poet, we are constrained to say:— The memory of the good and just Smells sweet and blossoms from the dust. 108 WILLIAM LAMBE, The great Fire spared a large portion of Lambe's chapel and almshouses. "We read in the " Gentleman's Maga- zine," " That when an old wall was demolished in the process of rebuilding, it gave access to a remarkable vault ; after descending ten or twelve steps, a low, vaulted chamber appeared, twenty-six feet long and thirty broad, supported originally by nine short, round columns, six of which remained, with a groined roof; the capitals were Saxon — the arches were beautifully moulded — the crypt was constructed with a reddish sort of freestone. The whole fabric was remodelled in 1612, which date is placed on the pediment of an arch, under which appeared the old half-length figure of the founder. The effigy wears the livery gown of the Company, with a flat cap, holding a purse in one hand and gloves in the other. Just under this figure was the Master's oaken chair, and in the window were four paintings of apostles on glass ; at the altar was a painting of Moses, with the Decalogue, Lord's Prayer, and Creed." The citizens do well to preserve, with jealous care, such monuments as these ; the glory of their annals would sustain a sad eclipse, should the period ever come when such illustrious waymarks of ancient London are oblite- rated. Vestiges connected with knightly honour, edifices evincing the proud estate of departed generations, the decaying banners that waved at Blenheim, the pompous memorials to kings or warriors, though well entitled to preservation, deserve it less than the charitable foundations of the warm-hearted merchants who gladly spared from their stores an ample offering to honour their Creator, and bless their fellow men. As for the memorial stones of such worthies, however quaint or humble, never may the dust of oblivion obscure them, but may our anti- quaries still furnish some zealous rival of Old Mortality HIS CHAPEL AND ALMSHOUSES. 109 to restore, refresh, and keep sacred from desecration the tombs of such social heroes as William Lambe. The American philanthropist, Peabody, by his princely munificence, has made himself an enduring name among us. Building suitable dwellings for the poor would often prevent their ever needing the shelter of almshouses. Indeed, were working men provident, they would but seldom need parish allowances or private charity — a few cases of early illness excepted ; there would be little or nothing to hinder the workman and his family enjoying the priceless endowment of independence. ajjjjfj; MLLTON S LONDON. MILTON A LONDONER, No metropolis in the universe can rival our imperial City in the varied sources of interest which it so justly claims. In mere commercial grandeur it has no competitor. The vastness of its monetary operations quite distances rivalry. Talent of no common order is continually evolved to mature vast schemes of individual or national aggrandisement. Our merchants index the whole globe in their ledgers, and the genius of trade triumphs hourly on Gresham's Exchange, or among the mysteries of the Stocks' market. If the art-riches of London, with the exception of a few noble buildings, are consigned to holes and corners, so that visitors are puzzled in their search, and imagine MILTON A LONDONER. Ill they have seen all, when they have seen nothing, we can truly boast that there is scarce a street, court, or alley, between Temple Bar and "Whitechapel, so obscure as not to be crowded with undying memories. If "beautiful Florence " had nothing to distinguish it but the glory left on its decaying stones by departed genius, it would still attract the reverence of travellers ; and had London no claim to distinction but as the birthplace of John Milton, it might surely compete in dignity and fascination with Stratford-upon-Avon. In the register of Allhallows, Bread Street, we find this significant inscription: — "The xxth daye of December, 1608, was baptized John, the sonne of John Mylton, scrivenor." This worthy member of the legal force lived at the sign of the Spread Eagle (which was the armorial ensign of the family), Bread Street. He was of good birth, educated at Christchurch, Oxford. His law labours were successful, and he ultimately retired to his own country estate. He was able to trace his ancestors up to the civil wars of York and Lancaster. Attorney Milton was remarkable for his musical tastes, which he assuredly transmitted to his son. As a boy, poet Milton was educated in Bread Street, having for his tutor one " Thomas Young, called by Aubrey a Puritan, in Essex, who cutt his haire shorte." Indeed, the Puritans mostly had short hair. Yet, whatever religious tenets the pupil imbibed from Young, he carefully preserved his clustering locks, though all the reigning powers were Roundheads. The famous painter Cornelius Jansen mado a portrait of Milton when only ten years old, at which age Aubrey avers he was a poet. It exhibits a profusion of light brown curling hair. There is a modern engr;i\ inu' from it in the shop windows, which represents the mar- vellous Bread Sheet lad as almost too lovely for h is sex. At the age of fifteen, in 1623, young Milton became a 112 MILTON A LONDONER. pupil at St. Paul's school. There was no better founda- tion seminary then in England. There he studied with extreme avidity, and regardless of health, seldom leaving his books before midnight, and thus, probably, his blind- ness may be traced to an early passion for letters. His devotedness to books began still earlier, nor could he be deterred from his work by the natural weakness of his eyes, or by continual headaches. Dr. Johnson is disposed to sneer at Milton's boyish proficiency in Latin; but whoever reads the "Exercises" carefully, must admit they contain marks of real genius. How good Dean Colet would have rejoiced over so apt scholar ! He was admitted a pensioner at Christ College, Cambridge, in February, 1624 — 5, being then in his seventeenth year. Here his Latin elegies were justly applauded ; yet he seems to have angered some of his instructors. It is believed he was condemned to rusti- cation, and it is affirmed by some writers that he was actually whipped. Whipping at college was not then uncommon for students, as a punishment, up to their twentieth year. The statutes of 1556 allow it. Till recently, most of Milton's biographers were believers in the flagellation, but Sir Egerton Brydges considers it a mere fable, and I am assured that the college books preserve no record on the subject. Milton's parents and his own resolves had once dedicated him to the Church, but in his twenty-third year he finally gave up that intention. Nor could he view the law with more favour ; not caring to have any fellowship ' ' with chancellors and suffragans, delegates and officials, with all the hell-pestering rabble of sumners and apparitors," having determined "to lay up as the best treasure and solace of a good old age, if God vouchsafe it, the honest liberty of free speech from my youth." His powerful mind could brook no trammels; he "was for compre- MILTON A L05TDOXEE. 113 hending all sciences, but professing none." "With the degree of M.A., in 1632, he retired to the paternal mansion in Buckinghamshire, where he spent five years, during which many of his early poems "were composed. In 1638 he visited the Continent, including some of the most famous cities of Italy, and formed an acquaintance with Galileo. Soon, however, learning the civil distractions at home, he resolved to return, not thinking it became him as an honest man to remain neutral. Passing through Canterbury, he is said to have written in a Bible which he carried about with him these lines : — "This will be a year of very dreadful commotion, and I weene there will ensue murderous times of conflicting fight." How pro- phetic ! He now hired a lodging in St. Bride's Churchyard, Fleet Street (I believe no vestige of the place remains), where he undertook the education of his nephews, John and Edward Phillips, "the first ten, and the other nine years old, and in a year's time made them able to interpret a Latin author at "sight." In the " Tractate on Education, " he insists that boys should be taught the classics at four years of age — a mistake, surely, into which he fell be- cause he judged from his own exceptional abilities. As regards ordinary lads, such an early development of the mind can only bo mischievous. His school increasing, he took a handsome garden-house in Aldersgate Street, situate at the end of an entry, that he might avoid the noise of the road. Most of the poet's houses were situate in gardens, which in this part of the town were then common, especially in Jewin Street, Redcross Street, and Cripplegate parish generally. The City then solaced itself in such pleasant green outskirts, where trees, birds, and flowers still preserved some semblance of the country. I passed through Aldersgate Street the other day, and fchough.1 of the poet's Arcadia, but was not Quixotic enough to search for it. In his new abode, he settled 114 MILTON A LONDONER. down to instruct the sons of his intimate friends. Accord- ing to Aubrey, " As he was severe on one hand, so he was most familiar and free in his conversation to those he must serve in his way of education." The younger Phillips relates his method and the books he employed. They included all the Greek and Latin classics, as well as the cultivation of the chief Oriental languages, Hebrew, Chaldee, and Syriac, besides the modern tongues, Italian and French, with a knowledge of mathematics and astro- nomy. On Sunday the pupils were exercised in reading a chapter of the Greek Testament, with his learned exposi- tion, writing from dictation, and part of a system of divinity. Yet he sometimes relaxed from rigid study and spare diet, of which he set an eminent example, and permitted "the regale of a gaudy day" "with certain friends of his, the beaux of those times, but nothing near so bad as those now- a-days." He also allowed his pupils the occasional solace of music, playing to them on a chamber organ with infinite sweetness. His system does not seem to have been success- ful — at least, he turned out no remarkable scholars. His plan of instruction was too high-toned for ordinary mortals, and it must ever be subject for regret that he was sadly addicted to manual punishments ; the golden ferule of love is far more effective than that wielded by Dr. Birch. In 1641 Milton began to plunge deeply into the turbid waters of theological and political controversy, and a bitter partizan he was, even when personal acrimony was the rule. Thus his prose writings are often quite in contrast to the holy calm of his poetry. Yet of beauty and majesty of diction, grandeur of thought, and power of expression, abundant instances might be cited from all his treatises ; and above all, from his discourse " On the Liberty of Un- licensed Printing." He used to say that his prose works were written with his left hand. In 1643, being then thirty-five years old, Milton married MILTON A LONDONER. 115 his first wife, Mary Powell. It was not a happy union. In a few weeks he allowed her to return to her friends on a visit, but she did not mean to return. Aubrey tells us, " That sho was brought up and bred where there was a great deal of company and merriment, as dancing, &c. ; and when she came to live with her husband, she found it solitary ; no company came near her, and she often heard her nephews cry and be beaten." When the poet summoned his wife to return she positively refused, whereupon (1644) he wrote his famous treatise, "The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce." Few readers now considt it, and it would have been forgotten long since, but for his other works. The school increasing, he quickly needed a larger house. It was in the same neighbourhood, surrounded by its own grounds, and uniting all the advantages of town and country. During some City troubles, having some dread that his house might be sacked by the rioters, he penned the following sonnet : — Captain, or colonel, or knight in arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If deed of honour did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He con requite thee, for he knows the charms That call fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er land and seas, Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower ; The great Emathian conqueror l>iil span; The house of PLndarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground : and the repeated air Of sad Kl' ctia's poet had the power To save the Athenian walls from ruin hare. To increase their ground-rents, poor practitioners with brick and mortar have done since what the illustrious bard, addressing the eager spirits of his age, so earnestly deprecated. About this period Milton, visiting a friend in I 2 116 MILTON A LONDONER. St. Martin's-le-Grand, found his wife awaiting him in peni- tence and sorrow. Mr. Powell, her father, had become obnoxious to the reforming party. The poet willingly received hack his repudiated partner, and this scene was the original of the exquisite description of the reconcile- ment of Adam and Eve after the Fall. In 1647, Milton removed to a smaller house in Holborn, which communicated at the back with Lincoln's Inn Fields, then cpiite a rural neighbourhood. Phillips thinks there was then a design to make him an adjutant-general in Sir "William Waller's army ; not very probable, if we re- member that he was an Independent, and Waller was a Presbyterian. After the king's murder, Milton published a defence of king-killing in general. Whether his zeal recommended him to Cromwell, we know not, but in the next year he was appointed " Secretary for the forreigne tongues," and became pamphleteer in ordinary. He now obtained lodgings in Whitehall, and had a warrant to furnish them with some of the royal hangings. In a short time, languishing, it would seem, for open air, he removed to "a pretty garden house in Petty Prance, Westminster." About this period, his sight began to fail; and he wrote an elaborate account of his symptoms, in which he bravely says, " I do not think man can derive light from his eyes alone ; he should think himself best enlightened by the providence of God. Shall I not cheer- fully bid my eyes keep holiday, since such appears to be His pleasure?" His income was now about £200 per annum. In 1653 his first wife died in childbed. He married again in 1656, and this second partner, to whom he was warmly attached, also died in childbed, within a year of their union. His salary, which had risen to £280, was in 1655 reduced to £150, which was ordered to be paid to him during his life ; of course this income ceased with the MILTON a loixdoneii. 117 Protectorate. "We thus see how small were the rewards given during the Commonwealth to scholars. At the Restoration, Milton being in some personal danger, with- drew to a friend's house in Bartholomew-close, thus again coming within the City precincts. In this retreat, in order to favour his concealment, a mock funeral was made for him — a subterfuge at which Charles II. was much amused, laughing at the policy of avoiding death by a seasonable show of flying. Some of his books, however, were ordered to be burnt by the common hangman. This was done August 27, 1660. In December he was in the custody of the Serjeant-at-Arms, but on the loth, the House of Commons resolved " that Mr. Milton be forthwith released on paying his fees." We now find him settled in Holborn, near Red Lion Fields, but he quickly removed to Jewin Street, Cripplegate, and there wedded his third wife, "the year before the sickness," 1664. Here Ellwood, the Quaker, found him, and became his fast friend, being ex- ceeding helpful to him ; for while the plague was raging, he took a residence for him at Chalfont St. Giles. For a time he dwelt with Millington, the renowned book- auctioneer, and then rented a tenement in Artillery Walk, leading to Bunhill Fields. At Chalfont, Ellwood first saw the MS. of " Paradise Lost," which must have been completed in 1665. No doubt the mighty theme had dAvelt on Milton's mind for years, but the wonderful work was only achieved after the ruin of all his worldly prospects, when he was surrounded by every privation incident to age, poverty, and blindness. " Choosing late, and pondering long " — this was the noble "something" which "posterity should not willingly die." It was in tho Bunhill Row dwelling, the plague having subsided, thai the poem was composed, his daughters or any friendly stranger writing to his dictation. T great epic licensed, though not without difficulty, tho 118 MILTON A LONDONER. copyright was sold to Simmons for £5, other sums, making in the whole £20, being promised, should the demand justify two more editions. Milton died in 1674. He had long suffered from the gout, and in July, feeling that his end drew near, he wished his brother to make his will. He expired on the 8th of November, so easily, that persons in the room were not aware of his death. His remains were followed to the grave by "all his learned and great friends in London, and not without a friendly concourse of the vulgar." He was interred next his father, in the chancel of St. Giles, Cripplegate. There is a scandalous story that, in 1795, the grave was opened, the body exposed, and most irre- verently treated. "We trust other and meaner remains were dealt with. Such curiosity is wholly unpardonable. Mr. "Whitbread set up a bust, by Bacon, to his memory, with an appropriate inscription. In youth, Milton was called the lady of his college. He had a fine skin, and fresh complexion; his hair a fine light brown ; his eyes grey, and, when he was quite blind, they exhibited no signs of disease. Aubrey says, " His harmonicall and ingeniose soul did lodge in a beautiful and well-proportioned body." Dr. Wright "found John Milton in a small chamber, hung with rusty green, sitting in an elbow-chair, dressed neatly in black, pale, but not cadaverous, his hands and fingers goutty and with chalk- stones." " He used to sit in a grey, coarse, cloth coat, at the door of his house near Bunhill Fields, in warm, sunny weather, to enjoy the fresh air; and so, as well as in his room, received the visits of people of distinguished parts as well as quality. Of wine or strong drink he drank little. He was not delicate in his food. While able he was fond of exercise, and used to amuse himself in botanical pursuits ; but when blind and old, he had a machine to swing in, to preserve health. In summer he MILTON A LONDONER. 119 remained in bed from nine till four, in winter till five. If lie could not then rise, he had a person by his bed to read to him. He first studied the Hebrew Bible, dined at twelve, then played on the organ or bass viol, and then either sang himself, or made his wife sing. This was followed by study till six; then he entertained visitors till eight, took a light supper, and after a pipe and a draught of water, retired to bed." "He was delightful company, the life of conversation." He speaks of his own " haughtiness and self-esteem, but seasoned with becoming modesty." The nuncupative will of the poet was declared to be inadmissible by Sir Leoline Jenkins. The portion due to me from Mr. Powell I leave to the unkind children I had hy Mary Powell. They shall have none other benefit of my estate, they having been very undutii'ul ; all the residue I leave to the disposal of Elizabeth, my loving wife. Such were his testamentary last words. The widow promised, if she got more than £1,000, she would give the surplus to his children. Shortly before his death Milton, being at dinner with his wife, said to her, " Make much of me while I live, for thou knowest that I have given thee all when I die." He also said to her, "God have mercy, Betty, I see thou wilt perform thy promise, in providing me such dishes as I think fit while I live, and when I die, thou knowest I have left thee all." Milton's great mind was probably giving way when these expres- sions were used, and it is impossible to admire the mode in which his property was to have been disposed of. Ul- timately, the three daughters received £100 each from their stepmother, for the receipts signed by them were disposed of in 1828, at the sale of BoswelTs library. Milton was not happy in his domestic relations. A biographer, speaking of Mary Powell's death, says, "Pre- sently afterwards ho married again." His life, ubtless, 120 MILTON A LONDONER. was an example of purity and holiness, but he was not amiable as a husband or father. With tastes and feelings sublimed above the reach of ordinary humanity, and with perceptive powers continually occupied "beyond this visible diurnal sphere," the customs and necessities of daily life could have no charms for him. He must have dwelt apart. "Where, in his domestic circle, could the great poet and patriot seek for companionship ? His com- munings were with the lofty spirits of antiquity — saints, heroes, lawgivers. In the days of his blindness, his Bunhill Fields house was tenanted for him by Homer and the Greek dramatists, by the He- brew prophets, and the Apostles of the Lord ; how, then, could he relish the mere common- places of man's existence ? Such surpassing intellects are quite exceptional, and when we speak of City worthies — merchants, Mayors, and millionaires — we may duly estimate their character, but we find no companion for citizen John Milton. Eecently Milton's bust has been placed on a handsome marble pediment, in one of the side aisles of Cripplegate Church — a mistake, surely, to remove it from the locality of his grave. But does he not merit a national monument equally with Shakspeare ? Why should England and the world's Milton be neglected? We read Shakspeare's history chiefly in his marvellous works ; but apart from his poems, the incidents of Milton's life prove him to have been a patriot as well as a poet. THE STANLEYS. Truth is often stranger than fiction, and what we count absurd and novel may frequently be met with in the chronicles of real life. The monotony of mere every-day occurrences is constantly varied by eccentric facts, as all observant men must long since have discovered for them- selves. Diaries, however, are seldom kept, and though we stare with astonishment at the oddities that cross our path, we soon settle down again into the half-sleep of ordinary existence. Still it is not a waste of time occa- sionally to recur to the red-letter epochs of our journey, and read a page or two from the memorabilia of the past. In Tottenham Court Eoad, close to Tavistock Street, in a first floor over a cheesemonger's shop, there lived, about the year 1808, three maiden ladies of the name of Stanley. They were greatly respected by their neighbours, though familiarly known to none of them. The eldest was scarcely forty ; their manners and appearance impressed all who saw them with a feeling of regard. The youngest, though rather pretty, was exceedingly shy and retiring, and neither of her sisters would ever utter two words when one would do. They were tall, and their gait indicated p. ustomed to good society. They constantly wore black silk dresses, with a slight margin of crape. Keeping no servant, they performed all their own domestic 122 THE STAHXEYS. work, yet at the earliest hour, if they answered the door (the entrance was cleaned by a charwoman), there was no untidiness in their costume, which seemed never to be changed, for it was black silk in winter, black silk in summer, and all the year round. They walked out daily, but only two at a time ; nor did they all go to church, where they were frequent attendants, at the same service. They appeared to be charitable, for they had several poor pensioners, who came each afternoon for a dole of broken food ; and they had a competence, for no trades- man ever applied to them for payment twice. They had no gentlemen visitors ; nor any indeed, except two very aged ladies, their aunts, it was believed, who came monthly in a carriage to their lodging. Every six months they went in a hack coach to the Bank ; and it was noticed that after their periodical visits their everlasting silk gowns looked fresher, though their fashion did not alter in the least. Each of them gave Jack, the street-sweeper at the corner, a penny each Sunday ; and whenever they met the cheesemonger's children at the door, they dis- tributed a few halfpence among them. An unusual noise, even in the broad day, alarmed them terribly ; and when the road was watered in dusty weather, the noise of the fluid in falling was evidently a source of great distress. Once, I remember, when there was a chimney on fire at a neighbour's, they rushed into the street, exclaiming, " Oh, save us !" and could hardly be persuaded to return to their room while the slightest smoke could be detected. "What was the cause of this strangeness in their beha- viour ? And why did ladies, in ordinary so quiet in their demeanour, thus expose themselves to ridicule ? It was a long while before I could get any satisfaction on these points ; but, at length, having attained the mature age of thirteen years, I was let into the secret, though of course in strict confidence ; yet I soon found, when speak- THE STANLEYS. 123 ing to equally confidential persons, that every resident, rising from my age, within haK-a-mile, knew the whole history. Allow me to narrate it. The parents of the Stanleys were people moving in a superior walk of life ; and when they died, left them unmarried, and without any relatives save two elderly aunts. They had property worth over £900 per annum, and were able to retain the family house in Great liussell Street. A portion of their means was in the funds ; but they converted some valu- ables they no longer required into cash, and, unfortunately, kept it in the house — a practice not uncommon at that period, when even Government securities were thought far from indisputable. During the mutiny at the Nore, Consols went down to 53 (I have seen a stock receipt at that price), and the rage for selling out was general. On a winter night, they had entertained a party of friends, and had retired to bed long enough to be sound asleep, when they were alarmed by a cry of "Fire!" and awoke to find the house in flames from the basement to the roof. "Without being able to save anything, they, with extreme difficulty, escaped in their night-dresses, and must certainly have perished but for the aid of the parish fire-ladders. They were wholly uninsured. There were but few offices then, and the public had comparatively little confidence in them. They had a long lease of the house in which they had lived, and were compelled to re-build it, so that on finally arranging their accounts, they found their income reduced to under £600 per annum. They then took a small tene- ment in Charlton Street, Somers Town, only a portion of which was then built; and, trying to forget their former easy circumstances, strove to settle down to the content- ment which they might still possess. They insured their new furniture in the Iland-in-Hand Office (little think- ing they were only on the threshold of their trials), for 124 THE STANLEYS. scarcely a third of its value. In less than two years after the change of residence, the merchant to "whom the larger portion of their remaining means had been lent at interest, failed, and his estate did not pay a shilling in the pound ; so that they were compelled to dispose of their property in the Russell Street house, and found themselves with a yearly income of something less than £300. Submitting without a murmur to this unlooked-for calamity, they once more endeavoured to suit their expenditure to their means, when they were again startled from sleep by the fearful cry of "Fire!" This time it was in the next dwelling, but the destructive element had gained full possession of its prey, and, long before a single engine arrived, their house, too, was involved in the flames. They could save nothing, though able to escape with less hazard than on the former occasion. With yet further diminished resources, they then settled in a tenement of four rooms, among some new buildings called Clarendon Square, also in Somers Town ; and their character began to undergo a marked change. Up to this period they occasionally evinced the joyous feelings proper to their age ; now, however, their countenances wore continually an anxious or melancholy expression, and they seemed to shrink yet more and more upon themselves, as if they felt that they must look for nothing but sorrow in times to come. They insured again, though they had little to insure now, and everything around them took the humble tone of their circumstances. They had fewer visitors in Charlton Street than in Russell Street, and fewer still in Clarendon Square ; yet the aunts I have already men- tioned were faithful to their impoverished nieces, and were eloquent on the duty of resignation, which they enforced by their example ; for, though gentlewomen, and accustomed to live as such, their income was barely sufficient for the narrowest comfort. THE STANLEYS. 125 Eighteen months were hardly passed after the second conflagration, when at 3 o'clock on a February morning, the ground being covered with snow, and the frost very severe, so that the difficulty of procuring water was ex- treme, a cabinet maker's workshop which abutted upon the premises burst into flames, and quickly involved their small cottage. Two of the sisters were in a deep sleep, having gone late to bed, so that the third could hardly rouse them ; and, on escaping, they found that not a single article of their furniture had been saved. Their actual loss was, perhaps, under £50, but this last calamity completely wrecked the nervous system of these poor ladies, and for the rest of their lives they became the victims of a morbid terror, which never left them for a moment, day or night. In their waking hours the cold shadow of fear darkened their faces, and in their short, unrefreshing slumbers, phantoms of danger and suffering were ever before them. Removing for the last time, they took the lodgings at the cheesemonger's, in Tottenham Court Road, and came to a resolution, which they never broke, that one of them should con- stantly keep watch. They lived many years after this, but each night in turn one of the sisters sat up to awaken the others should danger approach ; and at length this be- came so much a settled matter, that the night of watching for each seemed to have grown an inevitable necessity. When they had resided in Tottenham Court Road some years, the Stanleys asked me to take tea with them, for they fancied I paid them unusual respect, and they thought mo a comely lad. If they were right, I :im sadly altered since. They took tea at 5 o'clock. I was punctual; ami on entering gazed round the neat though plain sitting-room as on an absolute terra incognita. An old Turkey carpel covered the floor; the sofa was cased in patchwork, the table shone as brightly as bees' -wax 126 THE STANLEYS. and elbow-grease could make it, and the walls were deco- rated with a set of Hogarth's more decent prints. It was a cold October evening, and there was a comfortable fire ; but the grate was completely enclosed by a strong iron guard, and there was a large free space between the fender and the tea-table. I found the ladies waiting — all was ready, and the cake and buns had a welcome look about them. The candles were not lit ; and at that instant the lamp-lighter placed his ladder against an oil burner near the window. The flash of his lantern illuminated the apartment, and with a low cry of irre- pressible alarm they all started from their chairs; but presently, seeming to recollect themselves, they resumed their seats, making some incoherent excuse. They tried to be cheerful, and wished to amuse me, showing me a book of prints, and inviting me to a game of dominoes ; but they were evidently far from tranquil, and, because they strove to restrain their feelings, their perturbation was more apparent. I quickly left them, carrying off the last bun, and felt infinite pleasure at home in describing all the wonders I had seen. On another occasion they called on my mother; she invited them to drink tea with her, and so they did; but at short intervals one of them would start up, and say she would just step home, and see if all was safe. Poor things! there could be no renewing of hope or peace for them — no fresh ties could be formed to bind them to life, and the old ones were all broken. Their attached aunts were dead, and, except a kind neighbour, there was not a single visitor. Signs of bodily infirmity grew evident — the eldest, when she ventured abroad, always carried a stick, and she paused every few minutes to rest ; whilst the younger sisters strove to assume an air of activity, which it was too apparent they could not sustain. They died within a few months of each other, and who can THE STANLEYS. 127 doubt that they found the rest in a better world which it was not permitted them to taste here ? Let it not be imagined that these and similar papers are mere nouvellettes — I could fill a volume with memoirs of such human oddities. Of course they are seldom met with on the surface of society. Such eccentrics invariably shun observation, and there is nothing sensational in their history. The strange traits of character they exhibit are not always obvious, and can only be understood by the quiet student who takes his lessons in the lanes and bye- ways of human life. THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE. Any notice of this singular access of commercial frenzy — a compound of fraud and delusion — would be incomplete without some notice of the Mississippi Company, which had just previously convulsed all France. John Law was born in Edinburgh, 1681, and was the son of a gold- smith. From boyhood his mind had been occupied with speculations as to public credit, and the various operations of trade. While a mere youth certain moral errors led him into pecuniary difficulties, and he broached a scheme for the circulation of notes, on the security of land, but could find no converts in Scotland. His failure induced him to visit Paris, where monetary difficulties were then exigent. Law, obtaining the ear of a few notable French- men, revived his Scotch plan for the benefit of the Gallic people. It was not generally countenanced ; still he did not despair of success, but obtaining a licence to establish a bank, it soon grew so popular, that while Government notes were at a tremendous discount, Law's were at a premium of 15 per cent. The Regent Orleans abolished the new establishment in 1718, but founded a Royal bank, appointing Law the manager. This led =fco the daring speculation known as the Mississippi Scheme. Law pro- posed to merge the privileges and revenues of all the trading companies, the farms, the Mint, and the whole of THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE. 129 the national income, into one company, with power to multiply the notes to any extent. The Regent sanctioned this wild dream of finance ; the bank was chartered as " The Company of the West." The province of Louisiana was granted to them ; 200,000 shares were sold at 500 livres each, and State paper, then at 70 per cent, discount, was taken in payment at the full nominal value. Law pro- mised a dividend of 120 per cent. The shares were soon disposed of, and the association were national creditors for 100,000,000 of livres. The plan grew into great favour; 50,000 new shares were created, at 550 livres each, which instantly rose to 1,000. The street where Law lived became impassable ; people of all ranks anxiously seeking an interest in the scheme filled it from morning till night. 300,000 appli- cants contended for the 50,000 shares. This mania led to the issuing of 300,000 fresh shares at 5,000 livres each, and the Regent fancied he could pay off the National Debt. Law was literally worshipped. A rumour of his illness damaged the stock upwards of 200 per cent., but a favourable bulletin of health improved it to a much greater extent. In September, 1719, shares sold for 10,000 livres each. Law lived in the utmost luxury, and was tolerated in the most flagrant immoralities ; though, indeed, the Court itself had abandoned all pretensions to decency. All ranks plunged into the wildest excesses, in the belief that Law could furnish them with inexhaustible funds. The projector now established liimself in the Hotel de Soissons. "In the garden 500 pavilions were set up ; and their gay colours, the eager crowds, the music, and the strange mixture of business and pleasure, gave the place an air of enchantment." The price of the shares perpetually varied; a servant ordered to sell 250, found the value bo much increased that he made £20,000 sterling by the change. Law's coachman realized a fortune, and K 130 THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE. at his master's request, bringing two candidates for the place, declared whichever was refused he would engage for himself. "Money rightly gained was Hghtly spent." "Palaces rose on all sides; fortunes were lavished on furniture and jewellery, and banquets were given daily which rivalled the splendour spoken of in fairy tales." Notes became an absolute passion. If any person in- quired, "Have you any gold?" the constant answer was, " Nothing to do with it." Of course, crime augmented with wealth ; or rather, the dream of wealth led to the in- dulgence of the grossest vices. Law became Marquis of Eossery, and the proprietor of fourteen landed estates. The people of Edinburgh sent him the freedom of their city in a gold box. Changing his religion and affecting to be a devout Catholic, he was appointed Controller- General of the Finances. He dis- bursed vast sums, paying in a single week 580,000 livres for land, and 1,700,000 for the Marquisate of Eossery. Either by a concerted plan, or by accident, two richly- laden ships arrived in France during these proceedings, and seemed to give a material sanction to the enthusiasm of the public. Yet the bubble was on the point of collapsing. The bank was most flourishing in November, 1719, when six shares were bought at 10,000 livres, and the managers granted loans at 2 per cent. The first shock was a large demand for specie, notes began to be pertinaciously pre- sented, and the very limited sum of bullion in the bank was quickly exhausted. The money thus realized was immediately sent out of the country. Law, in alarm, pro- cured an ordinance, prohibiting the use of gold or silver in the way of exchange. This only increased the growing distrust, and in 1720, the payment of notes was suspended. Ten-livre notes, however, might be cashed ; vast crowds collected at the offlce, and a number of persons were crushed to death. In September a mark of gold was worth THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE. 131 1,800 livres in notes, though ten months previous they bore the nominal price of 160,000 livres. No security was recognized by Government but Mississippi stock. Various conflicting decrees as to the value of the notes threw the whole population into an agony of terror ; Law shared the alarm, and resigned his office of Controller-Greneral. He was allowed a company of Swiss guards, to prevent his being summarily punished by the infuriated Parisians. The bank stopped ; there were 90,000,000 of notes in circu- lation ; national insolvency followed ; a loaf of bread was more precious than any amount of paper. The company were deprived of their privileges, Law left France to avoid the popular rage, taking with him about £5,000 in jewels. Law lived in England during the commercial mania now to be described, and though not openly concerned in it, it is highly probable that it was in some degree owing to his agency. He died very poor in 1729. Many substances that kindle slowly ultimately burn fiercely : and thus our non- excitable countrymen, though in this instance warned by the example of their volatile neighbours, fell, in the year 1720, into the wildest and most insane speculations. " It was a period," says a writer of the day, " of wild excitement and wilder despair," and " were it not, in its consequences, so full of the materials that make tragedy, the South Sea Bubble might have f >rmed a telling farce, satirizing more broadly than comedy would have thought dignified, or the common sense of probability tolerated, the eternal passion for wealth." Smollett informs us : — The King, having recommended to the Commons the consideration of propel means fo] Li • X ding the National Debt, was a prelude to the famous South Sea Act. The scheme was projected bj Sir John Blunt, who had been bred a Bcrivener, and was possessed of all the cunning, plausibility, and boldness requisite for such an undertaking, lie communicated bis plan to Mi. aislabie, the Chancellor of the exchequer, and a Secrctan "I State. He answ( red ev< rj objection, and the project was adopted. K 2 132 THE SOUTH SEA BTTBBLE. The plan bore that the public debt might be liquidated by reducing the various funds into one. January 22nd, 1720, a committee met on the subject. The South Sea Company offered to melt every kind of stock into a single security. The debt amounted to £30,981,712, at 5 per cent, for seven years, and afterwards at 4 per cent., for which they would pay £3,500,000. The Government approved of the scheme : the Bank of England opposed it, and offered £5,000,000 for the privilege. The South Sea shareholders were not to be outdone, and ultimately increased their terms to £7,500,000. In the end, they remained the sole bidders, though some idea prevailed of sharing the advantage between the two companies,, until Sir John Blunt exclaimed, "No, sirs, we'll never divide the child ! " The preference thus given excited a positive frenzy in town and country. On the 2nd of June their stock rose to 890 ; it quickly reached 1,000, and several of the principal managers were dubbed baronets for their " great services." Mysterious rumours of vast treasures to be acquired in the South Seas got abroad, and 50 per cent, was boldly promised. All classes crowded Change Alley, as is graphically shown in a modern painting, where peers, noble ladies, clergymen, and traders are seen jostled together, quite oblivious of decency and character, in the maniacal hope of gain. The King made himself a purse, and his German mistresses realized large fortunes, which they secured in Hanover. A journalist of the time writes,, August 5 : — Our South Sea equipages increase daily ; the City ladies buy South Sea jewels, hire South Sea maids, take new country South Sea houses ; the gentlemen set up South Sea coaches, and buy South Sea estates: they neither examine the situation, the nature or quality of the soil, or price of the purchase, only the annual rent and title ; for the rest, they take all by the lump, and pay forty or fifty years' purchase ! 18th of April, the Duchess of Ormond wrote to Swift : — THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE. 183 The King adopts the South Sea, and calls it his beloved child ; though perhaps you may say, If he loves it no better than his son, it may not be saying much ; but he loves it as much as he does the Duchess of Kendal, cand that is saying a good deal. I wish it may thrive, for some of my friends are deep in it. I wish you were so too. Prior declared : — I am lost in the South Sea. The roaring of the waves, and the madness of the people are justly put together. It is all wilder than St. Anthony's Dream, and the bagatelle is more solid than anything that has been endea- voured here this year. Smollett, who watched its progress carefully, assures us it promised no rational benefit, and was supported only by the folly and avarice of needy adventurers. During the infatuation, says he, luxury, vice and profligacy increased to a shocking degree ; the adventurers, intoxicated by their imaginary wealth, pampered themselves with the rarest dainties and the most costly wines ; they purchased the most sumptuous furniture, equipage, and apparel, though with no taste or discernment. Their criminal passions were indulged to a scandalous excess, and their discourse evinced the most disgusting pride, insolence, and ostentation. They affected to scoff at religion and morality, and even to set Heaven at defiance. The poets stood aside and laughed. Take a specimen: — In London stands a famous pile, And near that pile an Alley, Where merry crowds for riches toil, And wisdom stoops to folly. Here stars, and garters, too, appear — Among our lords, the rabble ; To buy and sell, to see and hear, The Jews and Gentiles squabble. Our greatest ladies hither come And ply in chariots li lewdness and sound sense, and such genuine honesty of purpose, that we are tempted to give a feu tracts, in order Id bring before our readers his extra- ordinary career. They will probably induce them to think highly of one who began life a poor, uneducated, and x 178 JAMES LACKINGTOX. almost homeless country lad, to end it as a wealthy citizen, an influential bookseller, and the founder of the " Temple of the Muses," in Finsbury Square. There is a pleasant strain of self-sufficiency in the fol- lowing passages from his dedication : — To the Public. — I should be guilty of flagrant ingratitude were I to omit this favourable opportunity of expressing the respect and veneration I entertain for you, resulting from the very extensive and ample encourage- ment with which you have crowned my indefatigable exertions to obtain your patronage, by largely contributing to the diffusion of science and national entertainment, on such moderate terms as were heretofore un- known. To that part of the numerous body of booksellers of Great Britain and Ireland, whose conduct justly claims the additional title of respectable, whose candour and liberality he has in numerous instances experienced, and feels a sensible pleasure in thus publicly acknowledging. And lastly (though not least in fame), to those sordid and malevolent booksellers, whether they resplendently dwell in stately mansions, or in wretched huts of dark and grovelling obscurity — " I'll give every one a smart cut in my way." To their assiduous and unwearied labours to injure his reputation with their brethren and the public, he is, in a considerable degree, indebted for the confidence reposed in him, and the success he has been honoured with productive of his present prosperity. These memoirs are, with all dis- crimination of the respective merits of each, inscribed by the author. After various strange, windy exordiums, in the shape of prefaces and introductory chapters, occupying more than twenty pages, we get some plain prose : — I was born at Wellington, in Somersetshire, 31st August (old style), 1746. My father, George Lackington, was a journeyman shoemaker. He dis- pleased his own father by marrying a woman without a shilling, of a mean family, who lived by spinning wool into yarn ; and she was delivered of your humble servant, her first-born and hope of the family, in my grandmother Trott's poor cottage ; and that good woman took me to church, unknown to my father, who was (nominally) a Quaker, that being the religion of his ancestors. My father ultimately became a drunkard, but to our mother we are indebted for everything. Never did I hear of a woman who worked and lived so hard as she did, to support eleven children. For many years she worked nineteen and twenty hours out of every twenty-four. Whenever she was asked to drink half a pint of ale, she always asked leave to take it home to her husband, who was always so mean and selfish as to drink it. JAMES LACKmGTON. 179 Out of love to us, she abstained from all drink save water. Her food was chiefly broth (little more than water and oatmeal), turnips, potatoes, cab- bages, carrots. Her children fared somewhat better, but not much. I was put, for two or three years, to a day school, kept by an old woman, where I was thought, from being able to repeat several chapters of the New Testa- ment, to be a prodigy of science ; but my mother soon became so poor that she could not afford twopence a-week for my schooling. Indeed, I was forced to nurse my brothers and sisters, and soon forgot what little I knew. Then I commenced the captain of all the mischievous boys in the place ; so that if an old woman's lanthorn were kicked out of her hand, or drawn up a sign- post, or if anything were fastened to her tail, or if her door were nailed up, I was sure to be accused of the crime, whether I were guilty or not. Spiriting the town lads to mock our butcher, who was given to yawning, I had nearly been killed like one of his calves, for he flung his cleaver at me. At ten years old I cried apple-pies in the streets. I had noticed a famous pieman, and thought I could do it better. I told a neighbouring baker what I thought I could do. My mode of crying pies soon made me a street favourite, and the old pie merchant left off trade. You see, friend, I soon began to make a noise in the world. But one day I threw my master's child out of a wheelbarrow, so 1 went home again, and was set by my father to learn his trade, continuing with him for several years. My fame as a pie- man led to my selling almanacks on the market days at Christmas. This was to my mind, and I sorely vexed the vendors of " Moore," " Wing," and " Poor Robin." My nest move was to be bound apprentice for seven years tn Mr. George and Mrs. Mary Bowdon — yes, to both wife and husband, and an honest, worthy couple they were. They were Anabaptists, and I attended their place of worship ; though, for a long while, I had no idea that I had any concern in what the minister preached about. Master had two sons, who had been at school, but all they read was the Bible. Master's whole library ((insisted of a school-size Bible, "Watts's Hymn?," " Foote on Baptism," "Culpepper's Herbal," "The History of the Gentle Craft," " Receipts in Physic," and a Ready Reckoner. His chief object was " mind- ing the main chance." About this time one of Wesley's preachers came into the neighbourhood, and is described as making a strange revo- lution in spiritual matters, and completely addling the heads of the young men. This is narrated in a sadly profane style, and excites a doubt as to Lackington's real frame of mind, for truly religious persons rarely permit them- selves to joke on sacred subjects. He proceeds: — [had a re for knowledge, thai I mighl Learn who was right and who was wrong, but, to my great mortification, I could not read. Knowing in" ' of the l> fctera and a few easy v. rd I ibout lea with all my " N 2 180 JAMES LACKINGTON. might. Mistress would sometimes instruct me ; and, having threehalfpence from my mother, I gave it to young Master John, who, for every three- halfpence, taught me to spell one hour. This was done in the dark, as we were not allowed a candle when we went to bed. This is followed by a wretched attempt at merriment, in a description of how he was horn again. What we now give is deeply interesting : — I was soon able to read easy parts of the Bible and Wesley's Hymns ; every leisure minute was so employed. I worked from six to ten, yet managed to read ten chapters every day, as well as some sermons. My eyes were good, and I could often read by moonlight. I was far gone in en- thusiasm, and on a Sunday, being locked in my room to prevent my going to meeting, I opened the Bible for direction, and read, " He has given His angels charge concerning thee, and in their hands shall they bear thee up, lest at any time thou shouldest dash thy foot against a stone." Whereupon, I threw myself out of window, and ran to the meeting-house, though quickly carried back to bed, where it was a month before I recovered the use of my limbs. I was ignorant enough (he adds) to think that the Lord had not used me very well, and resolved not to put so much trust in Him for the future. Is this a truthful account ? He tells several very doubt- ful tales. His mental culture went on : — My memory was tenacious ; all I read became my own. I repeated volumes of hymns; and after a sermon, could preach it again. I was thought quite a champion of Methodism. But as his intellect was developed, it became corrupted, and he fell into the practice of open vice. Having a vote in his native place, he was induced to drink freely, though he would not take a bribe. Beginning to work on his own account, he lost his little money, about £3, and part of his clothes among sharpers. He then quitted Wellington, having formed a disreputable intrigue, and travelled about the country, intending to visit Bristol. His love of reading continued, and at Taunton he laid out all his spare money for books, of which he gives a very miscellaneous list, though they were chiefly devotional. He persuaded some JAMES LACKINGTON. 181 shopmates to read alternately with him, not allowing themselves above three hours' sleep out of the twenty-four. For many months they were not all in bed at the same time. One sat up to work till the others awoke, lest they should sleep too long. This scheme had nearly ended in a fatal manner, for some bedding caught fire, and was extinguished with great difficulty. While at Bristol, he practised great abstinence, having read deeply some translations from the Stoic phdosophers ; and he says : — I can scarcely help thinking that I received more real benefit from studying Plato on " The Immortality of the Soul," the morals of Plutarch, Seneca, and Epicurus, together with Confucius and Epictetus, than from all other books that I had read before, or have ever read since that time. I read those fine productions at the age of twenty-two. At this period he lived almost wholly on bread and tea, and he persevered in this self-denial till he left Bristol, 1769. He then removed to Kingsbridge, near Exeter, where he was employed by a Mr. Taylor. I refrain from inflicting any of Lackington's poetry on the reader, for it is neither elegant, amusing, or instruc- tive. He left Kingsbridge in 1770, and returned to Bristol. Here he married his first wife, Nancy Smith : — I told her (he informs us) that my attachment to books, and my disregard for money, had prevented me from saving any ; and that while single, I was never likely to make any savings. We were married at St. Peter's Church, and took famished Lodgings at 'is. Gd. per week. We had just cash enough for tin' day ; for, next morning, we found we had but one halfpenny to begin tin' world with ; still we had a supply of eatables for a day or two, and might earn more before we wanted it. I only earned 9s. per week, and my wife could earn but little at binding shoes. We made 4s. 6d. per week pa] for all we consumed in eating and drinking. Strong beer we had none, nor liquor, and instead of tea or coffee we toasted a piece of bread; at o times we Cried wheat, which, when boiled in water, made a tolerable sub- stitute for coffee. As for meat, we made little use of it. My wife proved verj ailing, and, with a view to a better price for my work, I resolved to i London. I left her all the money I could spare, and arrived iu the 182 JAMES LACKINGTON. metropolis in August, 1773, with 2s. 6d. in my pocket. I took lodgings in Whitecross Street, and found work with Mr. Heath, of Fore Street. I laughed then, and whistled, and sang, too, most sweet, Saying, just to a hair I've made both ends to meet. In a month I saved enough to bring up my wife. Having now plenty of work and better wages, we procured a few clothes ; my wife had done well enough with a broadcloth cloak, but now I prevailed on her to have one of silk. In November, a relation left me £10. How could it be brought to town ? I resolved to make a long journey for it. I lost or spent more than half of it on the road ; but Seneca says, " A wise and good man is proof against all accidents," and that " a brave man is a match for fortune ;" and knowing myself to be equally wise, good, and brave, I bore my losses with the temper of a Stoic. With the residue we bought household goods, and furnished our own room. I did not forget the bookstalls, often pinching my stomach to buy books. One Christmas-eve we had but 2s. 6d. for our Christmas dinner. I went out to purchase it ; but on the way, saw a copy of " Young's Night Thoughts ;" forgot my errand, spent the silver on the precious volume, and went home provisionless. At June, 1774, I heard of a small shop and parlour to let in Featberstone Street. Suddenly it struck me that I might sell books there. How delightful ! for then I should always have plenty of books to read. I possessed about twenty volumes, and bought for a guinea a large bagful, chiefly of divinity. With this stock, and some scraps of leather, which, with my books, were worth about £5, I opened shop on Midsummer-day. It was pleasant to see my name over it ; Nebu- chadnezzar did not rejoice more when he said, "Is not this great Babylon that I have built?" Mr. Wesley's people had a lending fund for those who wanted temporary relief, and I borrowed £5 for three months, without interest, which was of great use to me. We lived very frugally, and in six months my stock increased from £5 to £25. I would not bury this immense capital in Featberstone Street, but finding a shop and parlour to let at No. 46, Chiswell Street, I took them. Then, and for fourteen years, it was a dull and obscure situation ; few passed through it besides Spitalfields weavers on hanging days, and Methodists on preaching nights. I now gave up shoemaking. I turned my all into old books ; and a great sale I had, considering my small stock, and its little variety. In my ignorance, at first, I would not sell the works of Freethinkers, for I thought them dictated by his Sable Highness, and would neither read them myself, nor sell them to others. I went on prosperously until, in September, 1775, my wife and I were taken ill of a dreadful fever. We kept only a boy in the shop, and I fear my wife had too much anxiety, for, before she was confined to her bed, she walked about in a delirious state, and died, in a raving condition, on the 9th of November. She was one of the best of women ; and though ill for nearly four years, which involved me in the depth of poverty, yet I never repented having married her. I remained ill for many weeks, and must have perished, but for the kind care of my sisters. My recovery was JAMES LACKINGTOX. 183 very slow. Fortunately, a friend had saved me from ruin by locking up my shop, which contained my all. I got rid of my sorrow as fast as I could, thinking I could give no better proof of having loved my former wife than by getting another. Miss Dorcas Tuston was of a good family, though much reduced. She kept a school, and worked hard at plain work, to sup- port her father. The old gentleman was now dead. She was very fond of books, and I was enraptured with the thought of having a woman to read with, and also to read to me. So we were married, January 30th, 1776. The book trade in Lackington's day was very different from what he made it, and still more from what it is now. London was satisfied with some half-dozen respectable pubhshers ; and there were one or two libraries, where superior collections of learned works were brought together for sale ; but there were no universal book-stores, where a student might repair, with a reasonable certainty of finding the particular treatises he required. There was no Brown, no Tegg, no Mudie then. Street book-stalls were frequently enriched with priceless literary treasures, which the ignorant book-hawkers had found among house- sweepings, and were willing to sell for the price of waste paper. Scholars not uncommonly traversed the town with the hope of hunting out first editions, choice Caxtons, unique works of Aldus or Stevens, degraded into worm- eaten bindings, and foul with dust. It was a happy idea of James Lackington to make a general gathering of such neglected gems. His early notions on the subject were imperfect. He began with sectarian theology ; then took in divinity in all forms and languages ; then added science in its multiform shapes ; and, ultimately, with commend- able ambition, included the classics, poetry, the drama, and works of imagination. With this he combined the sale of books in sheets, remaining over from heavy editions, and thus was able to supply the public with reading at once cheap and good. He shall speak for himself as to Ids success ; and without claiming too much honour for him, we shall surely not mistake if wo place the name of 184 JAMES LACKINGTON. Lackington high in the list of those plodding, but useful citizens, who, without any pretensions to genius, have yet rendered essential service to their fellow-men. Chiswell Street — now a centre of business — was then a quiet neigh- bourhood, for Finsbury Square was but newly built, and Moorfields was still uncovered. The daring bookseller, who, though he could scarcely write his own name, was anxious to disseminate the wisdom of the learned in all languages, was contented for many years with a shop in an unpaved street, where he could hardly claim the privi- leges of a London citizen : — My new wife's attachment to books was fortunate. She delighted to be in the shop, and could readily get any article that was asked for. Such constant attention procured me many customers. I wanted a larger stock, but had no capital. Mr. John Dennis, an oilman, of Cannon Street, offered to be my partner, and to advance money in proportion to the stock. We soon laid out the cash in second-hand books, which at once doubled them. In 1779, we published a catalogue of 12,000 volumes. We took £20 the first week. This partnership was dissolved in 1780. In that year Lackington determined to give no credit ; and though he admits he had some difficulties in carrying out the plan, he says it fully answered. His business steadily increased ; the catalogue for 1784 contained 30,000 volumes. He declares he sold at a very small profit, and, ultimately, was able to give a larger price when purchasing than other booksellers. At the trade sales there were often 80,000 volumes sold in an afternoon. It was common to destroy one-half or three-fourths of them in order to keep up the prices. This Lackington did for some time, but soon resolved not to destroy any good books, but to sell them off at half or a quarter of the publication prices. Lackington contends that authors obtained fair prices for their works in his day — instancing Dr. Johnson, Hume, and Gibbon ; yet compared with similar remuneration now, JAMES IACKINGTON. 185 the terms given were extremely low. Still, we should remember that readers were comparatively few, and though books bore a high price, the editions seldom ex- ceeded a few hundred copies. My purchases (says he) were now very large. I have purchased 6,000 copies of one book, and at one time have had 10,000 copies of Watts's Hymns and as many of his Psalms in my possession. At one trade sale I have pur- chased books to the amount of £5,000. To remind me of what has led to my prosperity, I have put for a motto on the doors of my carriage, " Small Profits do Great Things." I used always to write my own catalogues, and used to put a price on every book sold in my shop, though I had many assistants ; the necessary knowledge I gained from incessant reading. I have read most English books, and translations from Greek, Latin, Italian, and French poets. When I sometimes blundered in grammar, my customers kindly considered it a venial fault, and bought the books notwithstanding. There is no place to acquire knowledge equal to a bookseller's shop. A bookseller feeds his mind on books, as cooks get fat by the smell of meat. My rivals often said I should fail, and when I was in the country, asked about my return, as if they believed I should never come back. How were they astonished when I sent home several waggon-loads of books. For mam years 1 have expended two-thirds of my profits, but never more. Once I beckoned across the way for a pot of porter ; then a dinner — roast veal ; then with an addition of ham ; and then a wind-up of pudding. Once a glass of brandy and water was a luxury ; raisin wine followed ; then good red port ; nor was sherry long behind. It was long before the country was a necessity once a-year ; lodgings first, then my own mansion ; and at length the inconveniences of a stage coach were remedied by a chariot. For four years Upper Holloway was an elysium ; then Surrey looked charming, and Merton was the sweetest part of Surrey. My profits in 1791, were £4,000 ; in 1792, they were about £5,000. Those profits will be doubled in a few years. For fourteen years I have kept a strict account of my profits. Every book has a private mark of its cost, and a public mark of what it must sell for; and every book, whether sold for (id. or £60, is instantly entered in the day-book. Each night the day's profits are cast up. My accounts are open to all; I regulate my expenses by my profits, but I do not put down every outlay for a bunch of matches, or a penny at the turnpike. I have a cashier. If Mrs. Lackington wants house-money, or if I need it for hobby-horses, we take five or ten guineas, spend it. ;md then come for more, but never put down th iii ins. [ remain in business because I have fiftj poor relations, • very young, some old and infirm. I can manage better for them than they could for themselves. I maintain mygood old mother, who is still alive 1 ipport two aged nun loncwoman. I also maintain and educate four children. I now sell fully 100,000 volumes annually. I publish two catalogues yearly, and of each 3,000 copi 186 JAMES LACKXNGTON. Mr. Laekington now commenced his travels; visited Scotland twice, and various parts of England, which brought him up to 1790 ; and in the following year he returned to his old haunts at Bristol and Wellington, taking great pleasure in seeking out his old masters and companions — their astonishment at his wealth affording him infinite satisfaction. Arriving at Merton, September 11, 1791, he writes, "Should the fine air of Merton pre- serve my stock of health and spirits, I intend to spend a few hours three or four times a-week in Chiswell Street." Laekington did not give up business entirely until 1798, when he placed a cousin, George Laekington, at the head of the firm (he had partners previously), and took up his residence at Thornbury, in Gloucestershire. Soon after he built a Wesleyan chapel, and became the local preacher of that body. In 1806 he removed to Taunton, where he was apprenticed, and spent £3,000 in erecting a second chapel, with an endowment of £150 for the minister. In 1810 he quarrelled with the Wesley ans, and joined the New Connexion. In less than a year, however, he made fresh overtures to the Conference, but soon engaged in a paper war with the managers, who terminated the dispute by purchasing the chapel for £1,000. His final residence was Budleigh Salterton, Devon, where he built a third chapel, which cost £2,000, appointing one Hawkey, a retired army captain, his minister, with a stipend of £150 per annum. His health declining — he suffered from epileptic fits, and ultimately from apoplexy and paralysis — he died November 22, 1815, aged seventy, and his remains were interred in Budleigh churchyard. Such was the singular career of this talented but eccen- tric man. His religious opinions were sadly unsettled, but we cannot doubt that he really desired to be useful in his generation. The " Temple of the Muses " was destroyed by fire many years since, and Laekington' s favourite trade JAMES LACKINGTOK. 187 is no longer carried on there ; yet the annals of bookselling must long commemorate his remarkable enterprize and success, while London, of which he was a useful citizen, will not deny him a line in the golden registry of her com- mercial greatness. BAYNARD S CASTLE. BAYNARD'S CASTLE. This remarkable building, of which Mark Lemon gave a very pretty view at the Gallery of Illustration, was one of two castles built at the west end of the City, with walls and ramparts, as we are informed by Fitz- Stephen. It was named after Ealph Baynard, a noble- man, who, coming over from Normandy with the Con- queror, received many marks of his favour, including the barony of Dunmow. His grandson, to whom the fortress descended, forfeited it to the crown in 1111. Henry I. bestowed the barony of Baynard on Robert Fitz-Bichard, grandson of Gilbert, Earl of Clare; his son Robert was Castellan and Standard-bearer of the City in 1213. En- baynard' s castle. 189 gaging in civil war with the barons, against King John, he was obliged to depart the realm, and the monarch, in his wrath, demolished Baynard Castle. King John, being in France (1214) with a great army, made a trace for five years ; and, there being a river between the two hosts, an English knight challenged any one among those on the other side to come over and take a jonst with him ; where- upon Earl Robert, who was in the French army, ferried across, and, getting on horseback, faced the challenger, striking him so violently, at the first course, with his great spear, that both man and horse fell to the ground, and afterwards, his own spear breaking, he returned to his French friends. King John, witnessing this, exclaimed, "By God's troth (his usual oath), he were a king indeed who had such a knight ;" upon which Robert's friends knelt down and said, "0 King, he is your knight; it is Hubert Fitz-AValter;" and next day, being summoned back, he was restored to the king's grace, receiving leave to re- pair Baynard Castle, and becoming governor of Hertford Castle. The earl, however, soon joined with the con- federate lords, and on June 19, 1215, obtained at Runny- mede, Magna Charta, that memorable security for Engbsh freedom. He afterwards was styled "Marshal of the Army of God and of the Church," ultimately rendering himself famous in the Crusades. In 1216, Louis, Dauphin of France, taking possession of Hertford Castle, the Earl alleged that by "ancient right and title, it pertained to him;" but the haughty prince answered, that "English- men were unworthy any posts of trust, because they did betray their own lord." Robert died in 1216, and was buried at Dunmow. During some years the barony of Baynard was held in ward by Henry III., during the minority of a grandchild, Robert Fitz-Walter, who, in L303, claimed tu bo Castellan and Banner-bearer <>f London, before John Blondon, or Blounl, Mayor and 190 baykaed's castle. Custos of the City, making his demand in the following terms : — The said Robert and his heirs ought to be, and are, chief bannerers of London in fee, for the castellary, which he and his ancestors had by Castle Baynard in the said City. In time of war, the said Earl and his heirs, ought to serve the City in manner as followeth, that is : — The said Eobert ought to come, he being the twentieth man of arms, on horseback, covered with cloth and armour, unto the great west door of St. Paul's with his banner displayed before him ; and when he is so come, mounted and ap- parelled, the Mayor with his Aldermen and Sheriffs, armed with their arms, shall come out of the said church, with a banner in his hand, all on foot ; which banner shall be gules, the image of St. Paul gold, the face, hands, feet, and sword of silver. And as soon as the Earl seeth the Mayor come on foot out of the church, bearing such a banner, he shall alight from his horse, and salute the Mayor, saying unto him, " Sir Mayor, I am come to do my service, which I owe to the City." And the Mayor and Aldermen shall reply, " We give to you, as to our banneret of fee in this City, the banner of this City, to bear and govern the honour of this City to your power." And the Earl, taking the banner in his hands, shall go on foot out of the gate, the Mayor and his company following to the door; and shall bring a horse to the said Robert, value £20, which horse shall be saddled, with a saddle of the arms of the said Earl, and shall be covered with sindals of the said arms. Also they shall present him a purse of £20, delivering it to his Chamberlain, for his charges that day. Then Eobert, being in his sell, as soon as he be mounted, shall say to the Mayor that he must cause a marshal to be chosen for the host, a man of the City ; which done, the said Earl shall command the Mayor and burgesses to warn the Commons of the City to assemble, and all go under the banner of St. Paul ; whereupon Robert shall bear it to Aldgate, and then the banner must be delivered to a proper custodian. If they need to leave London, Robert should choose two out of each Ward, the most sage persons, to keep the City after they depart from it, and this counsel shall be taken in the Priory of the Trinity, nigh unto Aldgate ; and of the London host besieging any city for a year, the said Earl shall have for every siege of the commonalty of London one hundred shillings, anil no more. These be the rights of the said Robert in the time of war ; and these following are his rights in the time of peace, namely : — The said Robert Fitz-Walter had a soke or ward in the City, where was a wall of the canonry of St. Paul, which led down by a brewhouse to the Thames, and so to the mill-side, which was in the water, coming down from Fleet Bridge, and went by London wall, betwixt the Friars-Preachers and Ludgate, and so returned to the canonry wall ; that is, all the parish of St. Andrew, which was in the gift of his ancestors, by the said seigniority, and so the Earl had appendant to the said soke all the things underwritten: — " That he ought to have a sokeman, choosing what sokeman he will, for the bayxaed's castle. 191 said ward, and if any of the sokemanry be impleaded in the Guildhall, of anything that toucheth the body of the Mayor, or that toucheth the body of the Sheriff, it is lawful for the sokeman to demand a court of the said Robert, and the Mayor and citizens ought to grant it, and therein he ought to bring his judgments, as it is assented and agreed upon in the Guildhall. If any, therefore, be taken in his sokemanry, he must have his stocks and imprisonment in his soken, and he shall be brought before the Mayor and judgment given him, but it must not be published till he come into the court of the said Earl, and in his liberty : and if he have deserved death by treason, he is to be tied to a post in the Thames, at a good wharf, where boats are fastened, two ebbings and two flowings of the water. And if he be condemned for a common theft, he ought to be led to the elms, and there suffer his judgment as other thieves. And so the said Earl hath honour that he holdeth a great franchise within the City, that the Mayor must do him right, — and when he holdeth a great council, he ought to call the said Robert, who should be sworn thereof, against all people, saving the King and his heirs. And when he cometh to the hustings, at Guildhall, the Mayor ought to rise against him, and sit down near him, so long as he re- maineth, all judgments being given by his mouth, according to the records of the said Guildhall; and the waifes that come while he stayeth, he ought to give them to the town bailiff, or to whom he will, by the counsel of the Mayor." " These (says Stow) are the Earl's franchises in London, in times of war and peace, which, for the antiquity thereof, I have noticed out of an old record." Baynard's Castle stood in Thames Street, and was close to the river, so as to secure a good landing-place. It must originally have been important as a stronghold, and, from its favourable position for defence 1 , no doubt afforded a very effectual barrier against interlopers, who, in those early times, sought to plunder the citizens of London. No vestiges of the building remain above ground ; but the massive foundations are still visible at low water. Some years ago the site was used as a timber-yard : an old en- graving of the Castle represents a very extensive structure with three front-buttresses, with their basements in the river, and raised far above the roof; while, surmounting all, towards the centre, a lofty tower or steeple is shown. Tho b "S and all the intervening projections, are 192 baynard's castle. pierced with, long narrow lights, and the walls probably had openings in every direction for the discharge of missiles, and, after the introduction of gunpowder as a means of aggression, for the employment of gunnery, and even of mortars and small pieces of artillery. It is not known how the place fell to the Crown, but, when destroyed by fire, in 1428, it was rebuilt by Hum- phrey, Duke of Gloucester. Henry VI. made it a royal residence, but tdtimately granted it to Richard, Duke of York, who made it his head-quarters during the Wars of the Roses. A scene in Shakspeare's play of "Richard III." is laid in the Court of Baynard's Castle ; and its im- portance as a military station must have been immense, as it would so readily control the artisans as to political manifestations, from its great strength, its situation in the centre of London, and from overlooking the Thames. In 1468, the Earls of March and Warwick entered the City with a large body of men, " where they were joyfully received ; and upon the 3rd of March the said Earl, son to Richard, Duke of York, mustered his people in St. John's Fields, proclaiming certain articles and points wherein King Henry, as they said, had offended, demanding of the commonalty whether the said king was worthy to reign any longer; whereunto the people cried, 'Nay.' Then it was asked whether they would have the Earl of March for their king, and they answered, ' Yea, yea ! ' Then captaines were appointed to report the matter to the said earl, then being lodged at his Castle of Baynard. And when he was advertised thereof, he thanked God and them for his election, notwithstanding he showed some countenance of insufficiency in him to occupy so great a charge, till, by exhortation of the Archbishop of Canter- bury, the Bishop of Exeter, and divers lords, he granted their petition ; and on the next morrow, at Paul's, he went, on procession offered, and had Te Deum sung. Then baynaed's castle. 193 he was conveyed, with great royalty, to Westminster ; and in the great hall was set in the king's seat, with St. Edward's sceptre in his hand." Richard III. first assumed the kingly office at Baynard's Castle. He was attended by the Duke of Buckingham, who had been to Guildhall, to bring the Lord Mayor and Aldermen. " If you thrive well, bring them hither, where you shall find me well accompanied with reverend fathers and learned bishops." Our great dramatist sets forth all these particulars, resuscitating the arch-hypocrite and his followers with marvellous skill ; which, probably, never took so life-like a form as when the elder Kean strutted his little hour as the mighty hunchback. Henry VIII. , who seemed to have a penchant for water residences, ex- pended large sums in repairing and beautifying the castle : changing it, indeed, from a fortress to a palace, where he frequently lodged, and from whence he made various splen- did processions ; and, in 1505, entertained Philip of Austria, King of Castile, who was forced to seek hospitality in England by a storm. In 1553, July 19th, a council, presided over by Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, who then occupied the place, assembled at Baynard Castle, and, after consultation, summoned the Lord Mayor, and rode to the cross in Cheapside, where Garter King of Arms proclaimed the Princess Mary Queen of England, with sound of trumpet. Queen Eliza- beth also supped here with the earl, and afterwards em- barked on tho Thames to show herself to her loving people ; whereupon her barge, brilliant with cloth of gold, but far more honoured by the presence of many of the noblest and greatest of tho land, was surrounded by a vast fleet of row boats, whilst acclamations, music, fireworks, and every possible expression of delight, hailed the royal presence. This display took plan' in April, and it might bo fancied went far into tho night ; but no, early hours o 194 baynard 's castle. were then fashionable, and her virgin Majesty returned to her home palace before ten o'clock. Think of delicate ladies breakfasting at six of the clock a.m., on salt her- rings and strong beer ; dining at twelve, undisguised, sub- stantial joints of beef or mutton being the constant fare ; and supping (there was no tea-drinking in those days) by seven or eight, all well-conducted folks being quiet in their beds in an hour or two after. Early to bed, and early to rise, * Makes people healthy, wealthy, and wise. When Elizabeth was on her journey to Tilbury, in order to review her troops assembled there, in readiness for the approaching Armada, she tarried on the road, according to the quaint old song — To eat a nice beef-steak, All with her maids of honour ; and, without question, that genuine English food had much to do in prompting her glorious address to the warriors who hung enraptured on her Hps. The last inhabitants of Baynard Castle were the Earls of Shrewsbury. It had ceased to be a depot for arms, and its character as a fortress was almost forgotten, when it finally perished in the awful conflagration of 1666. We have spoken of the timber-yard, which for many years covered the ground plan of the building, and was suc- ceeded by the Carron Iron Works, and the Castle Baynard Copper Company's house and wharf. We recollect going over the stove warehouses in search of something cheap and elegant, which we did not find ; and though, perhaps, the sheds and shops were modern enough, the light was so imperfect, the walls so dingy, and the connecting stair- cases of such a break-neck build, that we insensibly reverted to old-world histories, and thought of Castle baynard's castle. 195 Baynard in the troublesome times of our civil wars, and peopled it again with Yorkists or Lancasterians — the splendour of a Tudor court, or the expiring glories of the house of Shrewsbury. Who knows? the terrible " setter- up and putter-down of kings " might have had a sleeping chamber in that dark nook, with little to light it but the blaze of his gorgeous armour. On to the right, there, on that long, narrow, bare strip, the baronial hall might have been laid out ; and there Warwick and March, with their rebel retainers, might have plotted treason against our sixth Henry; whose "holy shade," according to Gray, "now walks in saintly calmness through the cloistered glades of Eton." Or, in yonder queer receptacle of Romford stoves, ranges, and bright steel-fronted grates, bluff Hal, and the imperious Cardinal (with occasional visits from Queen Catherine, or lovely Anne), might have taken pleasant counsel together, revelling in regal state, on the newly rush-strewn floor, around the rich but rude banquetting board ; or engaged with obsequious but gor- geously dressed courtiers, and mirthful maids of honour, in torch dances and stately minuets. And then the gloomy, stern-minded Mary, whispering hard decrees against her luckless Protestant subjects, in willing accord with Bonner and his bigot satellites : a dismal scene, soon to be changed by our grand sovereign lady Elizabeth. Did Raleigh compliment her at Castle Baynard ? Was Bacon at her elbow in those antique chambers, with a screed of philosophy ? Did Chancellor Hatton dance a coranto in her presence here ? or Walsingham and Bur- leigh shake their heads there, over Hie wise suggestions of their strong-minded mistress? And who came after her ? Was King Jamie a guest here? or the hapless Charles, and his lair Erenrh wife? Did Cromwell's frown make the walls still darker? Or, when the Shrewslmries were in the ascendant, did the "Merry Monarch" sometimes o 2 196 baynard's castle. look in, with Nell or the duchess on his arm, to lose or win broad pieces at speculation ? "Who can tell ? Castle Baynard is a dream of the past. Every year — nay, every month — obliterates some of the lingering traces of the past. The George and Blue Boar, one of the most ancient of old London hostelries, has disappeared under the ruthless hands of improvement. There is a tradition that in the yard of this inn Cromwell seized a pack-saddle, containing a letter from Charles I. to Queen Henrietta, which furnished evidence of the dis- simulation of the king, and his intention to punish Oliver as a traitor, should he ever have the power ; and the dis- covery, it is affirmed, led to the trial and execution of the writer. BILL1XGSGATE. BILLINGSGATE MARKET. Jokn Brompton says, in his Chronicon, "If a small ship come up to Byllyngsgate it shall give one halfpenny of toll ; if a greater one, which hath sails, one penny ; if a small ship, or the hulk of a ship, come thereto, and shall he there, it shall give fourpence for the toll ; for ships which are filled with wood, one log of wood shall he given as a toll ; in a week of bread, toll shall be paid for three days, the Lord's day, Tuesday, and Thursday." Hence we gather that at a very early period Billingsgate was not merely a fish-market, but for the sale of general commo- dities. Paying toll in kind is a curious fiscal regulation ; though, doubtless, when barter was the ordinary mode of transacting business, taxes must have been collected in the form of an instalment of the goods brought to market. Originally the City had several water-gates. Of these, Billingsgate, opening from tho Thames, whero its com- merce chiefly centred, was one of the most important. Our 198 BILLINGSGATE MAEKET. fanciful annalist, Geoffrey of Monmouth, gives a singular etymology for the name, certainly more marvellous than trustworthy. "Belin," he says, "was a king of Britain about 400 years previous to the Saviour's birth ; and at his death, his body being burned, the ashes, in a vessel of brass, were set upon a high pinnacle of stone over the said gate, whence it was called Belin's Gate." Stow informs us — That it is a port or harborough for ships and boats, commonly arriving there with fish, both fresh and salt, shell-fishes, salt, oranges, onions, and other fruits and roots ; wheate, rie, and graine of divers sorts, for service of the City, and the parts of this realme adjoining. It is more frequented now than when the Queen's Hith was used, as being appointed by the kings of this realme to be the speciall or only port for taking up of all such mer- chandises, brought to this City by strangers or forreiners; because the drawbridge of timber at London Bridge was then to be raised, or drawn up for passage of ships, without toppes, thither. Billingsgate was first made a free port by Act of Par- liament, 1699. Our vernacular English has been much enriched by tributes from the peculiar dialect of the fishermen of this market. Coarse invective, rough scold- ing, and torrents of acid humour, in the plainest possible language, have been for ages termed Billingsgate. In Lupton's " Country and City Carbonadoed," the nymphs of the locality are thus described : — Fisherwomen. — These crying, wandering, and travelling creatures carry their shops on their heads, and their storehouse is ordinarily Billingsgate, or the Bridge foot ; and their habitation Turnagain Lane. They set up every morning their trade afresh. They are easily furnished ; get some- thing, and spend it jovially and merrily. Five shillings, a basket, and a good cry, are a large stock for one of them. They are merriest when all their ware is gone. In the morning, they delight to have their shop full ; at even, they desire to have it empty. Their shop is but little, some two yards compass, yet it holds all sorts of fish, or herbs, or roots, strawberries, apples, or plums, cucumbers, and such like ware. Nay, it is not destitute, often, of nuts, oranges, and lemons. They are free in all places, and pay nothing for rent, but only find repairs to it. If they drink out their whole stock, it is but pawning a petticoat in Long Lane, or themselves in Turnbull BILLINGSGATE MARKET. 199 Street, for to set up again. They change daily ; for she that was for this day for fish, may be to-morrow for fruit, next day for herbs, another for roots ; so that you must hear them cry before you know what they are furnished withal. When they have done their fair, they meet in mirth, singing, dancing, and in the middle (a parenthesis) they are scolding ; but they do use to take and put upwards, and end not till either their money, or wit, or credit be clean spent out. Well, when on any evening they are not merry in a drinking-house, it is thought they have had bad return, or else have paid some old score, or else they are bankrupts : they are crea- tures soon up and soon down. This quaint account of the ancient Billingsgate ladies answers exactly to the costermongers and their wives of the present day, who are just as careless and improvident; they are merry over their last rope of onions, and laugh over a basketful of stale herrings. There was till very recently a colony of these singular people in the Lower Road, Islington, where (in Ward's Place) a student of human nature might learn much that books will not teach him. They have little religion, and less politeness. In person they are tolerably clean, but they are not at all particular as to decency, and are habitu- ally foul-mouthed. Some of the younger men are tall, strong, and fearless ; some of the girls are exceedingly good-looking, but quickly lose all modesty of demeanour, and become masculine both in word and deed. The older men and women are frequently reduced to the most deplorable wretchedness ; while the children tumble in the filth that surrounds their dwellings, and learn to curse and swear as soon as they are weaned. At night, the donkey, the children, the mothers and fathers — for not uncommonly there were several families in one hovel — all huddled together in the same rooms. The stock-in-trade — fish, fruit, or vegetables — was stored, amidst miscellaneous filth, under the press bedsteads, to be hawked afresh the next day. They went to market very early in summer, and as soon as it was light in winter ; purchasing the cheapest 200 BILLINGSGATE MAEKET. stock, fish, fruit, and vegetables, when there was a glut, or a better commodity when the price was reduced by its remaining on hand. They sold their bargains in the poorer streets, at a small profit, making their chief advantage by using false weights and measures. They were content to live very hardly, and were seldom habitual drunkards, though often, in extremely bad weather, they resorted to drinking in mere despair ; and in absolute destitution, had no refuge but the workhouse, where they remained till the Guardians gave them a new start by advancing them a few shillings, frequently as little as 2s. 6d., and scarcely ever more than Vs. 6d. or 10s. On this they traded for months. When such advances were made by private hands, in the way of loans, they generally repaid them. Nor are these folks entirely useless to the community ; for it is chiefly through their agency that cheap fish, fruit, and vegetables are brought to the doors of the working classes, who, in their absence, would seldom be able to benefit by the bounty of nature in abundant seasons. My first recollections of Billingsgate Market are of an open space by the Thames side, dirty, and difficult of approach ; where, in business hours, it needed some courage to venture, so coarse and rude were the dealers, and the buyers so mobbish and impudent. First-class fishmongers had the pick of the smacks as they came in. What they rejected or passed over, was then at the mercy of street dealers ; who strove by crowding and violence, to prevent private customers from coming altogether, or forcing unreasonable bargains upon them when they did. The market folks connived at their tricks, and fancied they were benefitted by excluding the public. The police were not in those days ; and if Billingsgate was under any con- trol, it must have been of the loosest possible sort. By rather a strange accident, I became acquainted with the humours of Billingsgate, as they were enacted in 1817 ; BILLINGSGATE MARKET. 201 and looking backward on tlie dark retreating vista of years, the whole scene is freshly renewed before me. On the morning of a June day, I had gone to Gravesend, by coach. It was then a pleasant, thinly-inhabited country village, with no Eosherville to tempt Cockney travellers, no booths on "Windmill Hill, no pretentious houses of re- freshment to attract the weary. The Margate hoy called there once a-day, and there were boats to and from London, which, in the height of the summer, made the voyage twice in the twenty-four hours; but during fully eight months of the year, a single journey per diem was all that could be attempted, for the number of passengers rarely exceeded a dozen. Gravesend had many charms then ; its vicinity was extremely picturesque, and the view down or up the river, in bright weather, extremely fine. I wished to return to town before night, and at two o'clock p.m. reached the deck of a small, fast-sailing boat (so it was thought), fully expecting to reach London Bridge by six o'clock. For the first two hours of the voyage, we six travellers, two women and four of the nobler sex (why is it so denominated?), might have reasonably looked for a quick passage. About four o'clock, however, our hopes were dashed, for our little ark entered into a dense fog, very unusual at the season ; whereupon the good blue- jacket in charge thought it wisest to lay-to, and wait for clearer weather. It wouldn't come. If the sun peeped out at all, it was only to aggravate the disappointment, when its deep-red face was eclipsed again in the mist. To all our inquiries of "Can't you go on?" Master Captain curtly answered, "Do you wish me to scuttle my boat?" About six o'clock the fog banks began to dissolve, the cloud- were breaking, and we moved once more. By this timo most of us were getting hungry. We had had a slight Lunch at starting; but now there was a general demand for dinner. Alas! the boat was only victualled 202 BILLINGSGATE MARKET. for three, and there -were nine on hoard ; so that a hard crust each and some sour beer (I took water) was all we could procure. Perhaps we might reach Billingsgate by eight, so it did not much matter. At eight o'clock, unfortunately, we were still on the wrong side of Black- wall. The tide was turning, and would soon be dead against us, and what wind there was would help us back to Gravesend, but opposed our progress to London. Pre- sently it began to grow dark, and there would be no moon to cheer us. We were getting very chilly. The crew com- forted themselves with short pipes, and appeared to bear the protracted journey with perfect nonchalance ; while the passengers, abandoning themselves to the blues, har- boured all sorts of gloomy anticipations. Ten o'clock, the boat did not move a mile in an hour ; midnight, we had just passed Blackwall. At last, at half-past two a.m., much to our astonishment, we arrived at Billingsgate, and got to land, six as hungry and weary creatures as ever left a Gravesend sailing boat. We had been nearly thirteen hours on the river. It was beginning to dawn ; my five companions slunk away in the uncertain light, and ' ' I saw them no more." Cold, sleepy, hungry as I was, the walk home, to find all friends fast asleep, was distasteful. There was a nighthouse already open, where a fire blazed in- vitingly. Going in, I asked, Could they give me supper and a bed? "Yes." The supper was a failure; the sleeping-room quite a temple of unrest. The cleanliness of the lodging was more than doubtful ; so I wrapped my- self in the coverlid and lay down in my clothes. Dozing from sheer fatigue, I was unpleasantly aroused by a sensa- tion of heat, and as if something crept on the skin. Jump- ing up in disgust, and raising the dirty blind, I found it was broad day, and that the market-place was beginning to fill with dealers : men and women with baskets ; some surrounding coffee-stalls or sipping hot elder wine or far BIIXrXGSGATE MARKET. 203 stronger liquids ; "while, more distant, a noise of fishing vessels, as their bottoms grated at the landing-place, showed that business would soon commence. Then, as herring-boat or mackerel-smack came in, the clamoui- waxed "fast and furious," for the pettieoated worthies of Billingsgate gave tongue in all the astounding varieties of the flash dialect. Costermonger elbowed cos- termonger. It was lobster season, and as the tiny black- mailed militia of the deep were unpacked, a perfect storm of Babylonish expletives rang in my ears. Eyes and limbs were devoted by their owners to destruction in the most wanton manner, and the recognised form of salutation was an oath. I strove to escape from my ill-chosen inn and from the market, but it was not to be done easily. Mixing with the crowd, and known as an interloper, I was speedily beset by half a score of fish- wives, who mockingly invited me to make a purchase. "Want a Dutch plaice, old fellow?" "Buy a hundred of hive herrings?" They smelt confoundedly. "Take a few lobsters, young 'un?" Just at this moment, my handkerchief was adroitly borne off; and feeling for my watch, I found it was in the very act of going : this I was able to prevent, and after much struggling, was permitted to dive down a neighbouring lane, and save myself from further damage. I encountered a half-blind, half-drunk Charley in my retreat, who laughed hoarsely when I told him of my troubles. I avoided the unsavoury locality of Billingsgate for years, and could not even be tempted to revisit it by the cheap and excellent fish dinner provided there for all comers. One day, however — quite recently — business led me into Thames Street, and I was surprised to discover that the dirty, disorderly market I had shunned was trans- formed into a clean, well-governed exchange for Neptune's fishy treasures, where the most delicate customer might walk without abuse or obstruction. Even the ill-famed 204 BILLINGSGATE MARKET. sisterhood, if not absolutely polite, were become, in com- parison, quiet and good-humoured ; and you might ask the price of cod or salmon, without any risk of haying a tail or a jowl flung in your face. Still, I do not recommend buyers to make purchases unless they are good judges of fish, since innocents as to the signs of finny freshness may chance to invest their money in woolly cod or tainted salmon. PLACE OF EXECUTION WITHIN THE TOWER. THE PRISON LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. A.D. 1611. Scene. — A Chamber in the Tower of London — A Table covered tcith Maps and Charts — A Portrait of Queen Elizabeth over the chimney — On a side table a folio Bible, and a Parcel of MSS. — Oaken Chairs. Characters. — Henry Prince of Wales; Sir "W. Raleigh; Lady Raleigh ; Carew Raleigh ; the Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir Allen Apsley. The Prince and Sir Walter Raleigh occupied at the table. Prince. — Of a surety this place is not so dismal to-day as it is wont to he. Mr. Lieutenant lias taken good order in the matter, and it rejoices mo to think that 3 r our restraint will now be less irksome. Yet what king hut my royal father would keep such a bird in a cage ? 206 PRISON LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. Raleigh. — Dear Prince, I owe you much ; the rigours of captivity are now softened, and I can behold God's blessed light, and feel His reviving air without hinderance; yet the iron bondage has entered into my very soul. There is a sad cell-chamber, deep in the foundation, hewn into the ancient wall, whence no sound can issue, and where no wholesome light can enter, and there I tasted all the bitterness of imprisonment. The stone walls are thickly inscribed with the names and sorrows of hapless captives. In a fit of depression I added my own ; and, long years hence, some purblind antiquary may trace it out, and wonder at my dungeon life. Prince. — My gallant friend, such wrongs will not be renewed. The Queen honours you ; she is never weary of praising the excellent cordial you sent her. It did her more good than all the doctors. Raleigh. — Had I wronged his Majesty, the prison and the block were justly my wages ; but a more loyal heart than his poor soldier's here, throbs not in his dominions. Prince. — I will move him yet further for your ease. But now, my noble Walter, tell me something of your past story ; you have often promised. Raleigh. — I will recount a few passages. The whole narrative were too long for your patience or my peace. I am this day fifty-nine years old. Until this dreary bondage began, life was strong in me, and few men of like age could bear equal fatigue. The chase, gymnastic exercises, the toils of war, the camp, or the ship-deck, were all pleasant ; but now the prison damp has taken hold of my joints, and ofttimes I suffer with a grievous quartan ; so that, when I looked only for a sharp cure — the axe — it vexed me, lest the fit should make me shake on the scaffold, and men might fancy I was afraid. Prince. — Alas ! thou wert evil rewarded for thy patriotic labours. PRISON LIFE OF SIR "WALTER RALEIGH. 207 Raleigh. — I love my native village in Devonshire, and, among other dreams, hoped I might die there. Haye's Farm was a pleasant place ; I had a natural disposition for it, being horn in that house. I was a boy in Mary's gloomy days. At Oriel they called me witty and studious ; but I longed to mix in the busy world, for I had read many books of travels, and especially of the New World, and the bloody foot-prints of the Spaniard there. I have traced for you the map of those lands. Prince. — Aye ; nor are your instructions lost. Methinks I should rejoice to cross that bright ocean, and tread those golden shores. Raleigh. — My mother — praise be to Grod who gave me so excellent a mother ! — fostered in my young heart every noble desire. When only sixteen I fought with the Huguenots in France. I remember well that when Conde was slain, the Protestants mourned for him, by reason of faith, person, and birth ; yet they comforted themselves in the wisdom of Coligni. I was also with Count Ludovich of Nassau, when, in his able retreat, he saved half the army, of which I was myself an eye-witness. But nothing more struck my young fancy than this : I saw in the third civil war, certain caves in Languedoc, which had but one narrow entrance cut in the high rocks, which we knew not how to enter by any ladder or engine ; 'till, at last, by bundles of straw lowered by a chain, with a weighty stone in their midst, those that defended it were so smothered, as they rendered themselves with their plate, money, and other goods. Prime. — Snared like foxes ! Raleigh. — There was a Colonel Richard Bingham, with whom I companioned in the Netherlands, who had a Bcheme for a plantation in America. We gathered a band of adventurers, and, led by Sir Humphrey Gilbert, tried our fortune, but failed, for there was discord amongst us. 208 PRISON LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. We returned home, with the loss of a " tall ship." Then, in my twenty-fifth year, I served in Ireland ; and, in one skirmish, a Kerne being made prisoner, and having in his hand a bundle of willow ropes, was asked what they were for. "Why, to hang up the English churls!" "Then," was my answer, "they will do for an Irish Kerne;" and the bold thief was hanged in one of his own collars. Edmund Spenser, that sweetest of all poets, was with us in the camp, and he begged for the man's life. We heeded him not. Was he right ? Prince. — Yes, for human life is a precious thing; but our stern war code would scarce allow of his pardon. Raleigh. — I commanded at York, and, I hope, atoned for the Kerne's fate, by twice saving soldiers of my company from what seemed inevitable death. You have heard of the incomparable Sir Philip Sidney ; we were friends. He read his " Arcadia " to me, but it liked me not so well as his " Valour Anatomised." Eead it, Prince ; the words of so great a man are worth careful study. And now I will tell you how I first found grace with our great Queen. Woidd that she lived still ! for then I should not waste existence in captivity. There is her effigy ; a poor work, considering the subject, and yet the likeness is good enough to be reverenced, though, as brilliant Will the playwright saith — After life's fitful fever, she sleeps well. In her progress from the royal barge to the palace, the Queen came to a spot, where the ground was so moist, that she scrupled for a moment to advance. I was standing by, devouring her august presence, and, stepping forward, took off and spread over the miry spot a richly em- broidered cloak which I then wore. Her Majesty smiled, and after a momentary pause, passed over the costly foot- cloth. I was sent for soon after, and taken into her ser- PRISON LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 209 vice. Hence all my good and evil in public life ; for Elizabeth loved stalwart soldiers, and this is no self- flattery, for Providence and my mother's care had given me a noble figure — how miserably marred now, you know. Prince. — None of our court roysterers are half so grand- looking. I saw you, when I was but a child, passing to the Tower, and called you King Raleigh. Raleigh. — I woidd have gone to the Americas with Gilbert in 1583, but court chains kept me at home. It was a fatal expedition, yet it would have been glory and happiness to die like Sir Humphrey. Just before they were cast away, he was seen sitting on deck with a Bible in his hand, and was heard to say, as if encouraging his men, "Be of good heart, my friends, we are as near to heaven on the ocean as on the land;" and thus he died, like a resolute soldier of Jesus Christ ! There was another voyage in 1584. I longed to join in the venture, but dared not. One of the brave gallants wrote me word, "As we neared the Canaries, we discerned the delicious fragrance with which the air was loaded, as if we had been in the midst of some delicate garden, abounding with all kinds of odoriferous flowers." It was a fairy-land — the soil rich, the air mild and healthy. They counted fourteen sorts of sweet-smelling trees, besides an underwood of laurels and box, with oaks whose girth was greater than in England. The fruits were as rich as the flowers were delicate. Oh, to live and die in such a paradise ! The ships returned safe with some of the natives. Prince. — A delightful country, truly. I sometimes, after a masque of learned Ben, dream of such a delicious place, and wish myself king there. llnh'iijh. — Nay, Henry, thou shaft be an English monarch: thou canst not fill a nobler throne than thai so lately filled by our imperial unstress. P 210 PRISON LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. Prince. — I spoke vainly. I shall never be king. Dr. Dee, it is whispered, foretells my early death. Raleigh. — Dee is mad. We are not the servants of the stars, but of Him who made them ! My next advance was one which many desired, but few attained, for the Queen was chary in conferring honours. I received the dignity of knighthood, and as I rose from my knees "Sir Walter," I anticipated a glorious and happy career; but " all is vanity ! " Again brave fleets went out to seek a north-west passage, and to colonise Virginia ; and again they failed, though their toils were not in vain, but have laid a solid foundation for our country's future triumphs. Thou wilt laugh at a tale I remember anent these things. A worthy Spaniard planted a colony in the Straits of Magellan. He was my prisoner, and asking him about a certain island in those Straits, he told me merrily that it was to be called the Painter's Island, saying that while the fellow drew the map we were tracing, his wife, sitting by, desired him to put in one country for her, that she, in imagination, might have an island of her own. These voyagers brought home samples of the herb tobacco, against which your royal father hath written his ingenious book, the " Counterblast." When I first smoked it, my servant coming into my study with a tankard of ale, seeing smoke issuing from my mouth, threw the liquor in my face, because he thought I was on fire : not more ridi- culous than the mistake of the Virginians, who sowed a quantity of gunpowder for grain. I once posed the Queen by saying I could tell her the exact weight of tobacco smoke. Her Majesty wagered it could not be done. I caused a pound to be thoroughly smoked, and, weighing the ashes, declared the weight of the smoke to be the overplus ; whereupon the Queen, paying her money, remarked that she had heard of persons turning gold into smoke, but I was the first who had turned smoke into gold ! PRISON LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 211 Prince. — I have tried to smoke tobacco chiefly, I blush to say, because the King forbade me. Why do we hanker so after forbidden pleasures ? Raleigh. — It is our nature, Prince. Half the things we covet would have no charm were they cast into our laps. After this, I served against the Spaniard, and I will be bold to say did good service. If ever thou holdest the sceptre, make much of your fleet ; ships, without putting themselves out of breath, easily outrun soldiers. Armies neither fly nor go post. A fleet may be seen at sundown at the Lizard, and by morning recover Portland, whereas an army would not march it in six days. I need not speak of the Armada, and the gallant labours of our Effingham and Drake, or the grand words of our great Elizabeth : they are graven on the rock of memory, and will be read until the end of time. About this period I would have set up "an office of address," where the wants and wishes of the wise and learned might be made known to each other, that their efforts might no longer be as so many scattered lights, which, without union, are soon quenched, but being brought together would yield a steady beacon fire. I had few or no helpers. Perhaps two or three centuries hence the plan may succeed. Then I went forth with Norris and the Earl of Essex to restore Don Antonio to the throne of Portugal. He did well, but dissension among the commanders marred our success. Essex was a brave man : I honoured him, but loved him not. There were party feuds between us. At his downfall there might have been an evil joy in my heart ; yet, when he laid his noble head on the block, I could not bear to witness his death, but, stepping aside, shed tears. Has God punished me on his account? And shall I, too, die under the headsman ? Prince. — What a sad book our history is ; and how many of our noblest heroes have bled on the scaffold ! r-2 212 PRISON LIFE OP SIR WALTER RALEIGH. Raleigh. — Being in great favour with, the Queen, I often inrportuned her on behalf of "worthy men in distress, and once she said to me, rather impatiently, "When, Sir Walter, will you cease to he a beggar?" I think I was happy enough to make the right answer: "When your gracious Majesty ceases to be a benefactor." Sir Richard Grrenville had been foully aspersed ; have you read my vindication of him ? Hear how he ended. His ship was a naked hull, having received 800 shot of great artillery ; her deck covered with the Hmbs and carcases of forty valiant men — the rest wounded, and painted with their own blood ; her masts beat overboard ; all her tackle cut asunder ; her upper works level with the water, and she herself incapable of any motion save that given by the billows. Grrenville wished to sink the vessel, but he was compelled to sur- render. Faint with loss of blood, and, like his ship, shat- tered with many wounds, he expired uttering these words, "Here die I, Richard Grenville, with a joyful and quiet mind, for that I have ended my life as a true sailor ought to do, fighting for his country, queen, religion, and honour." I was at sea on a Spanish expedition, when I was sum- moned back to England, and sent to the Tower. It was my first visit here. Shortly previous, I had plighted my troth to dear Elizabeth Throgmorton, then a maid of honour. The Queen liked not matrimony among her favourites ; and in this only was a woman, that she loved to engross all the admiration of her courtiers. I wrote my imperial mistress an epistle of sugared words, and was pardoned. Not long after, my sweet Bessy became my wife, and we dwelt a few blessed months in retirement. That brief period was the sole verdant oasis in the desert of my life. Prince. — There shall be good days for you yet, if I may prophesy. England owes you much, and it shall not be my fault if she fails to pay you ! FRISON LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 213 Raleigh. — And now I dreamed of the conquest of Guiana, my greatest adventure in the New "World. Making' ship- wreck of my newly-found domestic comfort, in 1595, with many bold gentlemen, I sailed in the "Lion's Whelp" — we were five vessels in all, with barges and wherries. Our success was great. The simple natives woidd have made me king, but were content to worship the Queen's picture, calling it Carrepuna Aquerewana — Elizabeth the mighty Princess. But our sufferings were severe ; we lay for weeks at the mouth of the Orinoco, and were often attacked by the natives. At one time we were 400 miles from the ships ; our clothes were in rags, our food was scanty, and often disgusting. My enemies, too, were busy at home, and I was forced to return, having lost a large part of my private fortune. Again I strove against the Spaniard, and taught him that Englishmen were worthy foes. Again I sent out ships to Guiana, but how could a mere subject prosper ? The Queen helped me not. I had many dis- putes with Essex about the taking of Fayal, and we could not secure the Plato fleet. Prince. — You touch too lightly on your own achieve- ments ; but they are matter of history. Raleigh. — I had some solace in London from the company of my learned friends Spelman, Selden, Cotton, Camden, and many more now lost ; and there was a Literary club at the Mermaid, where the meetings were intellectual fes- tivals worthy the highest genius. Jonson, Shakspeare, Donne, Carew, Fletcher, and Beaumont were of the members. Prince, you have read their works, and may judge what their company was. Those were gay days, when I was the Queen's most favoured knight, and coni- peted in splendour with Essex and the noblest knights at court — a court then tlif most magnificent in Europe. The Queen Pell into a hopeless melancholy after the death of Essex. I grew popular in Parliament, but my star had 214 PRISON LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. declined from the ascendant, and grew pale at the advent of King James. Prince. — Yes, I do fear me the Stuart dynasty has heen your stumbling-block ; yet, brave heart, faint not ; all may be well again. Raleigh. — I will not dwell on what followed. Charged with a string of strange treasons — the work of a madman to invent, and of a fool to execute — I was tried and con- demned. Suffering all the bitterness of death in appre- hension, I was at length respited, and finally shut up in this fortress, where I have already rotted away eight years of my life. Whether I shall ever breathe as a freeman again, the great God only knoweth, as He doth that I am wholly innocent of the treasons laid to my charge. Prince. — Be of good cheer, Sir Walter, the tide is turn- ing; and as you have " sown in tears, you shall reap in joy." Raleigh. — Let me not be unreasonable in my complaints. The good lieutenant and your princely kindness have made this prison endurable. Bessy and my sweet little Carew are with me. "The mind to all a kingdom is," if they will make it so. I had my pen, and began my " History of the World." See you not how well it advances? I doubt not it will live when I am in the grave. I have a chemical laboratory in the Tower garden, where your Highness often experiments. I spend whole days "in distillations ;" and though I neither seek the philosopher's stone, nor the elixir vitce, I find a new universe in science, and things fairer and more beautiful in the same ideal world of poesy, than could ever be met with even in Guiana. Here are some verses which you have not heard : — THE PILGRIMAGE. Give me my scallop shell of quiet, My staff of faith to walk upon, My scrip of joy, immortal diet, My bottle of salvation, PRISON LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 215 My gown of glory (hope's true gage) ; And thus I'll take my pilgrimage. Blood must be my body's balmer ; No other balm will here be given ; Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer, Travels to the land of heaven, Over all the silver mountains Where do spring those nectar fountains. And I there will sweetly kiss The happy bowl of peaceful bliss, Drinking mine eternal fill, Flowing on each milky hill. My soul will be adry before, But after it will thirst no more. \_A door opens. Carew Raleigh entering, runs to the Prince ; Lady Raleigh and Sir Apsley Allen follow. ~\ Lady. — Your gracious Highness will pardon the poor child. He is not awed by your greatness, because he has so often tasted your kindness. Prince ^putting a coral chain round Carew" 1 s neclc]. — Happy, innocent boy ! I love him too well to grudge him a kiss! Sir Apsley Allen. — Sir Walter, we have a plot to cele- brate your birthday : Lady Raleigh is a chief conspirator. There is a poor banquet toward, with store of good wine ; please you to receive our poor endeavours kindly. And would your Highness be so gracious as to share our humble treat, it would be doubly honoured. Prince. — I have yet two hours' leisure, and, if I may partake your good cheer, shall be the favoured rather than the honoured guest. Raleigh. — Nay, dear pet Carew, fear not to climb the man of war's knees, nor shrink from his grisled beard : the white hairs will soon outnumber the black. I have not such soft hands as Bessie — mother's ; but my heart, I warrant, is, to you at least, as tender as a woman's. Aye, 216 PRIS0X LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. child, it is a bonny chain. I have been where such coral grows, and have seen the whole sea-bottom red with coral branches. Most excellent Lady Bess, will yon celebrate a landless prisoner's birthday ? I have proved a costly hus- band to you, for they have forfeited all your worldly goods for my sake. Sir Apsley, my good master, you are a gentle gaoler, and I owe you more than I can pay. As for my Prince here, who humbles himself into a broken soldier's companion, I will not thank him : his own heart will do it much better. So let us to this pleasant meal ; a cup of old wine will brighten the image chamber in my brain ; and, while the nation's hope is my guest, and this true lady wife smiles on her captive lord, and our keeper warrants the feast, the heavy curtain of sorrow will vanish, and the stage be peopled with all that is bright and beau- tiful. Note. — Those who are familiar with the history of Sir Walter Raleigh will not need to be told that, through the whole course of the dream, my phantom hero has con- tinually made use of his own words, as set down by him- self in his works. Lady Ealeigh was allowed to reside with him in the Tower for several years, and their youngest child, Carew, was born there. FLOWER GIRL. THE SMALL TRADES OF LONDON. Tiie queenly City of London has many strange servants. She has a long train of merchant princes, but a yet more numerous retaining' of humble traders, who, with much more ado, earn their daily bread. A perpetual jumble of deep poverty and abounding wealth takes place in our streets. The millionaire fi-om Capel Court, and the orange-girl from Houndsditch, walk together. The broad waggon, with its mighty team of Flanders horses, divides the roadway with the costermonger's truck. Luxury, swollen with a thousand delicately-cooked dinners, elbows the sharp-boned pauper who only exists from meal to meal. The metropolis is a wonderful hive of work and wealth, where, though there are numerous drones, the labouring bees are far in excess, and queen bee Industry is the recognised mistress of all. We worship capital. Can anything bo done without it? Much! Many thousands rise from their flock or straw beds every morning to toil for food, and to win it, whose capital is restricted to a few 218 THE SMAIiL TRADES OF LONDON. poor coppers, and yet battle with, their difficulties without a murmur. Nor are these despised members of society useless. Each in his turn contributes something to the general good ; and not seldom, while starving himself, in- creases the full abundance of the rich. "We hardly class the costermonger's trade in fish and vegetables with small trades, for probably two-thirds of all the fish and vege- tables brought to market is distributed to the countless consumers by them. When the choicer specimens of cod, turbot, and salmon are appropriated by well-to-do dealers ; when the carefully pulled peas, beans, and broccoli have found buyers, Bob and his donkey, Bet and her basket, •Tim and his truck, come into play ; and all the cheaper second-rate articles are carried off. When there is a glut of mackerel or herrings, when strawberries are dead-ripe, or cherries a penny a pound, there is gladness in coster- dom — capital fish-dinners for thousands of poor families, and luscious fruit puddings, that need no sugar, for half the ragged-schools within the bills of mortality. Without these rough but patiently-enduring and hard-working ministers of trade, a large portion of the people would never taste fresh fish, fruit, or vegetables. While the money employed by itinerant vendors of such necessary supplies would represent in the aggregate a large sum, most of them are extremely poor, many of them in abject want. A substantial costermonger owns a donkey, a barrow, a stable, a home of some sort ; but his needy brother hires a donkey or barrow by the week, and trusts to Providence for his sleeping apartment. Should a fit of illness incapacitate them for a time, they fall into absolute starvation, and on their recovery must petition the Board of Guardians for a start — 5s., 7s., or 10s., to begin life anew. This small supply is often the nucleus of fresh prosperity, and they seldom ask for relief again in less than six or eight months. Nothing can be wilder or THE SMALL TKADES OP LONDON. 219 rougher than the habits of these men and women. They live apart, encountering hardships we can scarcely under- stand ; and they die apart, too often without the consola- tions of religion, but not without the affectionate attendance of their own class. I have had some knowledge of their ways, vices, virtues, and sufferings, for several years, and am certain that there is a large amount of good and kindly feeling among them. A costermonger often, however ignorant, makes a fond father, an attached husband, and is kind to his beast. No doubt there are numerous exceptions, but shall we not find them in higher classes also ? Here are a few specimens of street traffic : — ■ June, bright and warm — Houndsditch — Gubbins and barrow: "Mackerel, all alive, oh! six a shilling." Cus- tomer at shop door : " Why, Beka, what are you about ? I must have eight for my shilling, master." "Yes, mem, if you Like to have Saturday's ; some folks prefers the flavour. The fresh ones are only six." Gubbins extinguished by Chaffinch, donkey, and panniers : " Peas, fresh malefat peas, sixpence a peck ; mint for nothing." Woman from the first floor : " Those peas are stale ; take a peck at four- pence ?" Chaffinch " wishes you may get them." " Straw- berries, fresh-gathered strawberries, threepence a pottle." A pleasant, clean-looking young woman, with a basket of "bigaroon" cherries, 'warbling in a sweet voice — " Cherry ripe, cherry ripe, cherry ripe, I cry ; Full and fair ones, come and buy." Old woman, from lane round the corner : " Have you any black-hearts? Peter likes that sort. No matter, give us a pound : all sound, though." " Can't, mum ; they grows perverse; you must have two soft to four sound — it's natural." October — Whitechapel — rainy day ; Higgins, with a 220 THE SHALL TRADES OF LONDON". pyramid of sprats piled on a truck : " Sprats, fresh sprats, fit for my Lord Mayor, three-halfpence a pound; now's your time." Little girl wants a pound for a penny. Oyster-man at the post offers her two natives for her penny. Stalwart operative arrives for his lunch. " Got a new roll, Jack ? " " Fourpence a dozen, fresh. " " Open us two dozen." The barrow over the way has a copious dressing of rather suspicious-looking soles, which the pro- prietor declares to he " dainty live soles." " Why, missus, they smells, and I can't abear tainted fish." "Quite wrong, mem, it's the smell of the sea." Presently you may hear from various pedestrian traders a mingling cry of "Bed cabbages to pickle," "Onions, keeping onions," "Sweet marjoram; want any savoury herbs?" "Coals, best coals," "Gas coke," "Wood, 0!" while rumbling along the street comes a four-wheeled cart, formed into a building, first-floor high, and covered on all sides with mats, rugs, brooms, pails, brushes, fire-irons, cinder- sifters, and other articles too numerous to mention. The careful proprietor has his "parlour, kitchen, and all" inside; where, with "wife and children three," he lives happily, independent of landlord and tax-gatherer. Then follows a miniature pony, drawing a miniature cart filled with "Gravesend shrimps." "Have a relish for tea, ladies ? Only twopence a pint." But the tasteful public are more attracted by the full-bass roar of "Eels, live eels! threepence a pound, eels — as big as the sea-sarpent." This hum of untiring industry should be musical to a Londoner's ear. His noble City will continue great so long as such busy, restless sounds are heard, whether from street, shop, or factory. Be gentle to these poor traffickers under "the canopy," good Master Magistrate! I heard Sir Eichard Mayne declare that it was quite lawful to vend one's chattels in the open air, wherever a customer could be found. Do not you, Mr. Beak, read the law differently ! THE SXALE TRADES OF LOXDOX. 221 Protect the shopkeepers, but spare the toiling costerinonger and the friendless apple-woman. I love flowers, and have a penchant for flower-girls. Even a cleverly-tinted artificial pink or geranium excites my sympathy. Spring and summer would be imperfect without flowers. The citizens are of my humour in this respect, and liberally patronise the floral merchants in petticoats, who are never wanting at the season in the busiest London thoroughfares, and especially about the Exchange, in the shadow of the Great Duke's statue. Little girl — Corporal Yiolet never fails to had the early bright days of April with sweet-smelling liliputian bouquets ; nor when the broad beams of a midsummer sun bake the granite of Cornhill, are dainty budding moss- roses, the deeply-tinted damask, or the full-blown pride of the garden absent. "With hands full of twin roses on stalk, or knit together by dozens in liberal beauty, and edged with a delicate laced paper, the not uncomely priestess of May or July (albeit her gown be of coarse russet or threadbare white) woos the smiling man of business, who longs to transfer the tempting flowers to his buttonhole. Some well-known banker or broker passes by, and poor Jenny presents her violets or roses with a lowly curtsey ; or should March winds be yet untamed, there she stands with pale primrose or fragile snowdrop, meekly beseeching the great man's custom. Yes, Sir Thomas, pay her well for the offering, and may the queenly dame in your luxu- rious home transfer it from your coat to her bosom with a kindly smile ! There was a poor, pretty little maid who sold flowers about Newgate Street, often noticed by me when I lived in Ivy Lane. She began her rounds with violets, and ended them with "Sweet lavender — six bum lies a penny." Prissy Pane (for so tin v called her) was probably soino thirteen years old, and herself but a frail blossom. On business days she stood at the lane 222 THE SMALL TEADES OF LONDON". entrance to the market with her flowers. She commonly wore a plain print frock, a plain Irish linen collar, a coarse straw bonnet, and light grey mittens. Even the rude slaughtermen, as they passed candle in hat, and axe or knife in hand, felt a touch of pity for her, and left their halfpence, though they did not want flowers. Folks said she was an orphan, and many of the small shopkeepers' wives were very kind to her. Occasionally she sang snatches of old songs, and the last time I saw her was late on a dark November day, when she had nothing for her customers but " Sweet lavender." She looked out of spirits, and was crooning this simple ditty : — I am poor, and my friends are all dead, Nor mother nor father have I ; Cold charity finds me in bread, And thus as I wander, I cry — Sweet lavender ! I'm sad, and no comfort is mine ; I'm tired, and no home have to rest ; In sorrow, neglected, I pine, With a wearisome load at my breast. Sweet lavender ! In vain through the day do I grieve, While taking my rounds, as you see ; The folks who are rich ne'er relieve Or pity a poor girl like me. Sweet lavender I Cold, cold blows the winterly wind, The rain-drops they beat on my head ; When, when in the grave shall I find Repose with my friends who are dead ? Sweet lavender ! Soon, soon may that hour come, I pray, The time that sound slumber shall bring; When no more in my grief I shall stray, When no more with faint voice I shall sing — Sweet lavender ! THE SMALL TRADES OF LONDON. 223 The muffin bell tinkles up the Row. ' ' Muffins, crumpets ; all hot from the stove ! They are two and three a penny, fine crumpets." Truly, that man had a musical voice, and his commodities were well enough, but then I remembered the muffins and crumpets of Han way Yard, where in the old days you saw the batter spread on the stove, and the baking process completed while you waited. Certainly no other tea bread could equal them. We have an unlimited control over the seasons on paper ; let it be summer again, while we take a peep in " Change Alley," a sort of open-air drawing-room, and the very paradise of stall-keepers. This business is carried on en- tirely by the fair sex ; and judging by their dark tresses and brilliant eyes (dark as night too), with a masculine broadness of face and prominence of nose, they must be of Jewish origin. Here, showily dressed, they preside over fruit-stalls rich in the finest treasures of Pomona pears, apples, peaches, grapes, and pines, all of the choicest, and by no means for needy customers — a Rothschild may pur- chase his dessert here, and not find it a saving. If nature is so well represented in fruits, art may rejoice in a supply of richly-framed engravings, and even oil paintings, prin- cipally landscapes or marine views, which are exposed for sale by peripatetic dealers, who, should you covet a spe- cimen of the old masters, can gratify you at a moment's notice. Then there are dog merchants (though they often ply about the Bank also), who tempt you with the minutest King Charles's, or silken-coated spaniels with trailing ears, that are constantly whining for a master or mistress, and seem through their imploring eyes to say, " Come, buy me, please ;" or if you would rather transport to the villa at Clapham a piping bullfinch, or chattering parrot, or lark in full song, or a love of a tamo canary, here you can be accommodated on the most advantageous terms : only take caro you are not bamboozled. A friend of mine 224 THE SMALL TRADES OP LONDON. cheapened and bought, as he fancied, a pair of love birds, absolutely radiant in emerald green and bright scarlet. How the family at Laurel Cottage were amazed and de- lighted ! Yet the birds moped ; when, lo, at a week's end, the brilliant colours wearing off, nothing remained but a pair of common sparrows. Or perhaps you desiderate a globe of gold-fishes, all ready to place among the fuchsias in the bow- window at Barnes. Our ingenious small traders will meet your wishes in any of these ways ; nay, if you are looking for articles of vertu — bronze statuettes, medals, Parian group, alabaster Apollo, Eve, or Cupid — they court your possession on the easiest terms. ' ' Oranges and lemons — Seville oranges ; real St. Michael's, as sweet as sugar — two a penny." When does the orange season begin ? In my young days you got no oranges before Christmas, and the first arrivals were terribly sour ; but now, thanks to the steamboats, the first pale yellows are exposed early in November, up to which time the old season fruit may still be procured, so that the orange season lasts all the year round. "What a priceless boon is this golden fruit, so cool and refreshing to the fever-parched mouth ! Grapes are pleasant, but oranges are both meat and drink to the restless invalid. The flavour of the pine is vaunted, and the richness of the melon, but can either be justly preferred to a fine orange ? No fruit supplies so much employment to the poor as the orange. From the great depots in Thames Street, the itinerant vendors — men, women, boys, and girls — procure their stores. Happy he or she that can secure a whole chest. Soon in every street, lane, and alley the orange stall or basket is inevitable. The weary bank collector sucks his orange ; Mrs. Fidfacl, from the country, while she seems gazing through Everington's plate glass, sucks her orange ; old Participle, as he turns out of the cloisters of St. Paul's School, sucks an orange; and Buckram, his pupil, forgets his trouble anent the Greek roots, while he THE SMALL TRADES OF LONDON. 225 munch.es an orange. Think how many workers this in- cessant demand must create ! What would Mr. Bull do if there was an orange famine ? " "Want a comb ? — smoothing, small-tooth, or back-hair comb ? " We did not, and crossing over to the Poultry, regaled our eyes with the curious old-world stall for copper toys, located at the corner by the church : copper kettles in their babyhood, teapots, coffeepots, saucepans — all of a size for a fairy's kitchen, and so brilliant that they are almost as good as gold. I used to Linger about this stall when I was a lad, and now that I am on the verge of second childhood it still attracts me. Here are three non- descript traders, one with a bag of damaged sponges, a masquerading Turk with genuine root rhubarb, a draggle- tailed woman with skins of wash-leather, two poor children, one with crochet-work, the other with leather slippers. Let us dive down some of the lanes, and make a short cut to the bridge on our way to Southwark. This is the High Street : how changed ! how unlike, and yet how suggestive of, the Borough of 1825 ! Here comes a man and truck with salt : " Rock salt for horses ;" and two Italians with image boards : Cupid and Tsyche for the classical — pussy- kins, with loose, nodding heads, for the infant population. Ensconsed in a wide doorway, never used, sits a motherly- looking woman, with pillow and bobbins, making lace ; and within sight a man with a kettle of preserved pears, which he dispenses to the juveniles at one halfpenny apiece. From an alley close to St. George the Martyr's church darts a man with a tray, shouting, " Hot sheep's heads !" while a vival relics on the attractiveness of "Hot baked potatoes." A forlorn dealer in envelopes, steel-pens, and note-paper, has no chance after such appetising viands. The short day is over, for we are in December; the grinder is wheeling his harrow homeward, and has covered his pot of charcoal; as the light fades out, a gorgoous display of Q 226 THE SMALL TRADES OF LONDON. abbeys and cathedrals, bright with a candle-end, and rich in stained glass, demands attention. A tempting trans- parent label offers " hot elder wine " at twopence a gill, and the ancient coffee- woman by Blackman Street displays her brimming cups and thick layers of bread and butter — how cheap and how refreshing; while her vis-a-vis, a countryman, quite a character, in a brown smock-frock, and a broad slouched hat, stands sentry over an odd taber- nacle of evergreen leaves, sheltering a clip-winged owl, who looks " unutterable things " at the passers-by. My paper is full, but I might fill it over again with fresh oddities from the small trades of the metropolis. The enumeration grows comical ; yet each of these seeming eccentricities is a really serious matter to the chief actor. If that owl blinks for nothing, the proprietor will have no supper. If the mistress of the pillow and bobbins yonder sells none of her lace, her sick daughter at home will fare sadly to-night. Do business with the sheep's-head man, and taste the elder wine, or woe to the cook and the dis- penser of spiced cordial. Wonderful London ! A human heart beats strongly in connexion with these and a thou- sand other equally unconsidered things. Let us be wary whose corns we tread upon, and never, in our vain fastidi- ousness, think any trade too small (if only it be honest) for our aid and sympathy. ARMS OF THE IRONMONGERS COMPANY. EXHIBITION AT IRONMONGERS' HALL. Tins ancient company has distinguished itself so favourably by its liberality and taste, in the noble exhibition it has recently placed before the public, that a few brief notices will not be unacceptable. I had an opportunity of visiting the spacious hall on Thursday, the 9th of May, 1861, and though but a careless spectator at first, my curiosity amis soon excited by a collection of splendid or interesting specimens of art and rertu, perhaps never before equalled at one point of view. The Exhibition of 1851 might have exceeded it in variety, but the bewildering assemblage of "things rich and beautiful," in tho present instance, was quite unrivalled. The press having abounded with notices on the subject, those that follow may be regarded as gL ings in a wide field, carelessly or hastUy passed over by others. A complete catalogue of the exhibition would be extremely valuable. The ivury carvings, of which there were various Bp Q 2 228 EXHIBITION AT IRONMONGERS' HALL. mens, besides having high claims as works of art, were exceedingly tasteful and attractive. A group of Adam and Eve, about fifteen inches in height, and wrought out of a single piece of ivory, struck me as unique ; while a pastoral staff, most elaborately carved, brought back the days of the potent Abbots of Glastonbury and Westminster. A perplexing assortment of keys in all conceivable shapes, proved that the science of making " locks, bolts, and bars " secure, is by no means a modern one. Some of them were awkward looking implements, no doubt, but not a few were as delicate and complex as any ever invented by Bramah or Chubb. Curiously preserved in a case by them- selves were two most elaborately worked locks with keys, evidently prepared to be attached fro re nata to the earl's donjon keep, or my lady's chamber. We were assured that they were travelling companions of Henry VIII., who used them in his progresses to ensure personal safety, and that he had last employed them at Hever, then the abode of Anne Boleyn. In a side room there was an exquisite series of coral ornaments of all shades and forms, polished or carved so elaborately that they must excite the envy and despair of the modern jeweller. There was a wonderful display of gems and rings, from the clumsy gold hoop of Alfred the Great to the delicate cameos and richly diamonded circlets of queens regnant or queens of hearts. The gold and silver plate, in every varied shape, ornamental and useful, left the precious metal fashioners of the nineteenth century far behind. Many of the gold dishes, enriched with mimic flowers, fruits, or figures, or with historiettes from classic lore, were quite inestimable as works of art. The marvellous silver shield given by Francis II. to our Henry Till., on the Field of the Cloth of Gold, and exhibited by permission of Queen Victoria, could only be studied under difficulties, arising out of the presence of a EXHIBITION AT IRONMONGEES' HALL. 229 constant bevy of ladies ; still, enough was visible to justify our praise of the ancient armourer's skill. Among dented casques, morions, and time-blackened corslets, chain suits of mail and hacked swords, eloquent in silence, there were some fine modern works in metal, especially a helmet fashioned of the new ore, aluminum — so chaste in design, and so impressive from its pale, unpretending colour, that Cellini himself might have admired it. The collection of apostle spoons was enough to break the heart of a disappointed antiquary, one perfect set of twelve being the only complete set in existence. Then the spoons believed to have been engraved by Hogarth have a deep interest for the lover of genius, which, once known, is privileged to give additional value to all it touches. The porcelain Chinese and Dresden vases — the first win- ningly hideous ; the latter, both in design and execution, faultless ; many of them doubly precious from the paintings by which they are embellished. And the miniatures (who would care to be photographed after seeing them ?), many less than a half-a-crown in size, as in the famous Buccleuch cases ; while others, as in the likenesses of Oliver Crom- well, took larger proportions, but lost none of their beauty. Certainly the art of miniature painting is dying out, and who can contend that we have a sufficient substitute ? We happened to notice two pairs of hunting gloves in a com- paratively obscure case, which were far from remarkable, i ither in material or shape, yet they at once arrested our attention ; a pair of them had been worn by Charles I. on the morning of his execution, and as he drew them off he handed them to Bishop Juxon just previous to his laying his head on the block. The other pair had been worn by James II. Not far from these relics stood a small altar of Diana, dug up from the site of Goldsmiths' Hall ; and in contiguity with this were several fino old mosaics, and the remains of tesselated bath floors. At intervals were dis- 230 EXHIBITION AT IRONMONGERS' HALL. played the original charters of several City companies, a few valuable portraits and paintings — variety and contrast increasing the charm. Nor must we forget a holograph of the Protector's, being a letter to his "Dear Dick," approv- ing his study of " Ealeigh's History of the World;" and one of Wellington's, being an answer to a request for an interview from some City admirers, expressing their horror at the attempt on his life. What a pity that this splendid collection, brought to- gether at so much pains and cost, should be so soon dis- persed. If all the splendid things enumerated were thrown without care into a single heap, the wonder and beauty would be entirely obscured. But on this occasion the hand of discriminating taste had brought every ex- ample of triumphant art into its right place, and it became more impressive and seemed more perfect from the position it occupied. It is really quite lamentable that the brilliant show proved but a three days' wonder, and faded like Aladdin's palace, or Milton's pandemonium, from Fancy's kaleidoscope — a lovely vision, too short-lived to be estimated as it deserved. A very elaborate catalogue of this remark- able exhibition has been promised, and when published will gladden the heart of the antiquary.* The matchless shield of Henry VIII. is now at Windsor, but is compa- ratively unnoticed in its present position. For several months, together with many other gems of the City collec- tion, it was the chief source of attraction at South Kensing- ton. The goldsmiths' work, especially, was justly con- sidered superior in beauty to any similar specimens from modern artists. Yet these matchless ornaments were wrought in the dark ages. * The first part has heen recently published. SPECIAL SERVICES AT ST. PAUL'S. The special Sunday evening services at the metropolitan church, which were suggested and have been so zealously fostered by the venerable Dean, may now be considered a great success ; and it must be a subject of deep regret that their continuance is endangered by a want of funds. Every service, it appears, costs the Chapter upwards of £20, and it is obvious that such a weekly outlay must require liberal subscriptions, though for a great city like London the amount is very small, especially when we con- sider the results contemplated. From the building of the cathedral up to the last three or four years, no adequate use has been made of its vast area ; and now when the mighty structure is filled with the praises of our almighty Father, it is a dreary thing to anticipate that these conse- crated walls should be again reduced to silence and desertion, because a comparatively trifling sum is not forthcoming. Dean Milman has read the lessons (how admirably we shall presently say) at almost all the special services. Mr. Goss, the talented organist, has been inde- fatigable in promoting the grand musical effects ; while 400 choristers, with Mr. Buckland for their leader, have attended constantly, without any remuneration. A fund for carrying out "Wren's design for the decoration of the cathedral was formed, and the work has been par- 232 SPECIAL SERVICES AT ST. PAUL'S. tially executed, with the addition of a noble organ. About £7,000 is the amount subscribed, but this falls very far short of what is needed ; and while more worldly plans are quickly carried out with little or no pecuniary difficulty, a scheme, the embodiment of which would be ahke honour- able to the present generation, and acceptable to posterity, is allowed to languish in the strangest manner. I am almost tempted to sermonize on the Scripture text, "Oh, worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness ! " I was early at the south door on this occasion, and had ample time to survey the building and its occupants. Choosing a seat on a bench forming an extemporised barrier to an open space some six feet wide, intended for the transit of the Bishop and Dean from the choir to the pulpit and reading-desk, my observations were commencing, when a lady, who formed the goodly centre of an enormous crinoline, proceeded to establish herself near me, occupying at least three seats, and completely overshadowing the whole reserved space. A verger politely intimated that ladies must not use that bench. " Why ?" " Because the Dean and clergy would pass that way." " Well, what does it signify ? shall I hurt your Dean ?" Madam did not stir. Other ladies were warned off, with a promise of better seats, but ultimately the prohibition was ignored, and the form was almost entirely engrossed by ladies. In the next seat to me, there was a prodigious crinoline, and the fair owner was so civil that I could not avoid responding to her politeness ; so we read from one book, and in a short time I had no seat left, or at best only half a seat for my right leg, with the imminent peril of a seat still more uncomfort- able on the kamptulicon. Looking round the cathedral, it was delightful to observe the whole area open. When these services commenced, the dome space was to no small extent enclosed by curtains, to the height of 15 or 20 feet, and the vast proportions of the building were lost. But SPECIAL SERVICES AT ST. PAUL'S. 233 now at a single glance the eye receives an impression of its whole extent and marvellous symmetry — the glorious cupola crowns nave, choir, transept, and aisles with a ST. PAUL 8 CATHEDRAL. golden ring of uniquo grandeur. The tasteful gilding has advanced considerably, and the air of blank coldness, so invariably felt on a survey of the roof, is beginning to dis- 234 SPECIAL SERVICES AT ST. PAUL'S. appear, but much, very much, remains to be done. Several of the City companies have subscribed to this good work ; if the others would copy their liberality, the suggested im- provement would soon be an accomplished fact. Sixteen months ago, the great organ (at the performance of the " Messiah") was an absolute eyesore, from its nakedness. An appropriate case was planned, but where could the funds be found ? "Well, the gilded pipes are in part mounted, and probably in two or three years' time the case may be completed. The citizens do not manage their secular works in so dilatory a style. The re-fitting and decoration of the Egyptian Hall and entrance corridor has been completed in a couple of months. What does this strange contrast prove ? Busy among the congregation, now pouring in on all sides in a continuous stream, vergers and officials might be noticed on all sides. One patriarchal verger I particularly noticed, a very old man, certainly not above five feet in height, scrupulously clean in person, feeble, but upright, and most sedulous in performing his duties. Everybody knew him : a brother verger promised, should he feel tired or unwell before the conclusion of the service, to see him safe home ; all assured him that he looked quite hearty, and he evidently fancied the success of the service depended on his presence. " I was here until five o'clock last even- ing. The trumpets were refreshed for the ' Hallelujah ;' Winn and Buckland will do their best, and everything will go well." I lost sight of him immediately after the Dean's entrance, whose procession he headed, with infinite dignity. Then there was a prodigiously tall " gent.," six feet three inches at least, who bustled about in a most remarkable manner, and was literally everywhere at once. This son of Anak was quite a young man, and wished to be par- ticularly courteous to the ladies. "No, mem, there's not a chair vacant : better go into the choir ; it's your only SPECIAL SERVICES AT ST. PAUI/S. 235 chance." Now, the unfortunates at the back of the chapel (the place indicated) might hear pretty well, but could see little or nothing. It wanted ten minutes to seven o'clock ; crowds were still coming in, though nearly every available seat was occupied. There was a rumour on my bench that "if the Lord Mayor were better this afternoon, the Lady Mayoress would come." And I am glad to say she came in a few minutes, for Mr. Cubitt's illness would be quite a calamity. * At about five minutes previous to the commencement of divine service, the gas, which had been kept low, was raised. The general appearance of the church, previous to this, was rather gloomy ; yet this gave work to the imagi- nation, for the dimness imparted an air of mystery to the whole scene. The statuary (very dirty, I grieve to say) loomed in the semi-darkness, with a threatening, or rather mournful air. Dr. Johnson looked like a huge negro, and the hero of Trafalgar seemed to be doing penance in a sheet. The effect of the gas, when fully turned on, was truly dazzling, though beautiful. The dome, with its bril- liantly scintillating coronal of light, its golden gallery (for the rails have been gilded), and the tongues of fire, quiver- ing by reflection in the rich border below — the far-stretching area rendered more striking by its comparative darkness, and the congregation, numbered by thousands, most reve- rentially attentive — combined to form a scene seldom wit- nessed, and never to be excelled. The people were quite unlike ordinary church-goers. Up to the moment of the first organ burst, they amused them- selves without stint, chatting in anything but a hushed tone ; but when the voluntary commenced, and filled tho cathedral with its awful harmonics, a marked change came over them. Some bent their heads in reverential silence ; ♦ This venerable gentleman, a truly model Lord Mayor, since the above was written, has been gathered to his fathers, full of days and honours. 236 SPECIAE SERVICES AT ST. PATJe's. many sank on their knees; others opened their prayer- hooks; and all preserved a religious silence. A minute previous the clergy and choristers were hurrying in, but now all were in their places ; and as the priest (Rev. W. S. Simpson, M.A.) uttered the solemn words, " To the Lord our God belong mercies and forgivenesses, though we have rebelled against Him," the appearance of the vast assem- blage was devotional in the extreme. The proper Psalms, cxiii., cxiv., cxviii., were given with single chants, and the music of the responses was by Tallis. The Psalms were most admirably chanted, and the effect was awfully impres- sive, in such passages as " Tremble, thou earth, at the presence of the God of Jacob!" the low, deep thunder of the organ permeating the whole space, and dying away in a soul-subduing echo. The "Magnificat " and the " Nunc Dimittis" were matchless specimens of choral harmony, and were not at all injured in effect by a large portion of the worshippers joining in the strain. Nothing, however, was so stirring as the old Easter Hymn, "Jesus Christ is risen to-day." The familiar tune was instantly caught up by fully two-thirds of the congregation, and the effect of the oft-repeated " Hallelujah !" as it rolled in overwhelm- ing bursts of sound through the lofty corridors, and seemed concentrated in the surpassingly magnificent dome, to be, after a momentary pause, echoed and re-echoed in softer and sweeter tones, was indescribably sublime. The hymn before sermon, " Son of God, to Thee I cry ! " was set to a comparatively unknown air, and did not produce anything like the same effect. The success of congregational singing unquestionably depends on the people being thoroughly acquainted with the themes chosen. Taking the service as a whole, it was in the highest degree impressive, and every individual present must have had a vivid sense that he was worshipping his Creator in one of His grandest temples. It was, indeed, a triumphant Easter-day at St. Paul's; SPECIAL SERVICES AT ST. PAUL'S. 237 and who can calculate the amount of moral good such celebrations may ultimately accomplish ? The men of London may well be proud of their Dean. We were close to him as he passed to the Lectory. He is a very old man, a mere physical wreck. His hair, white and thin ; his face shrunk, the cheek bones almost break- ing through the wrinkled skin, and nothing left but the bright, commanding eye, to speak of the lofty spirit still inhabiting that frail clay cottage. His spine has given way, so that the back is painfully arched ; and his tread is so unsteady, that you think he would fall but for the energy of his will. He opened the Bible to read the lessons — the wonderfid narrative of the passing of the Red Sea, and St. Peter's sermon on the day of Pente- cost. "Why does he task himself thus in his old age? Hark ! how distinctly and impressively he reads ; how ex- quisitely he modulates his voice ; how understandable he makes every sentence of the sacred book. Which of the younger ministers in the cathedral could perform his portion of the service half so well ? While he reads, our recollec- tions travel back to his earlier, more vigorous, but not more intellectual days. We think of Milman, the author of " Samor, Lord of the Bright City," of the " Fall of Jeru- salem," and the "Martyr of Antioch." Or, much more recently, of liim who gave to his countrymen the researches of a thoughtful bfe in the " History of Latin Christianity." When the Bishop had ended his sermon, and the marvel- lous "Hallelujah Chorus " had been performed, the Dean, haning over the rails of the choir, pronounced the final benediction. How soft, full, and richly-toned was the rendering of that short prayer ! It was an admirable ex- ;imple of sacred elocution, and made Dr. Thomson's (the preach r hush voice sound still harsher. When it ended, wo thought, and it was with deep sadness, will this be the last time we shall hear Dean Milinan ? 238 SPECIAL SERVICES AT ST. PAUL'S. Dr. Thomson, now Archbishop of York, is tall, strongly built, manly looking, and quite in the prime of life. His features and general bearing indicate firmness, but his countenance is not remarkable for intellectual ex- pression ; and while he seems fully to estimate his own importance, his appearance to the bystander is not digni- fied. Most clergymen deliver the prayer previous to the sermon in a subdued tone, but the Bishop gave it in a very loud voice, and not at all in the accent of supplication. In doing so, his voice was raised so much above the natural pitch, that it split, and became exceedingly harsh and unmusical. He sustained his tone, however, and though frequently obbged to moisten his mouth with water, and on the point of wholly breaking down, was loud and dis- tinct to the termination of his discourse. A marked echo followed the close of each sentence of the Bishop's ser- mon. The loud tone and emphatic pronunciation no doubt produced it. He does not use much gesture, but it is appropriate. He has long been considered a superior preacher, both at Oxford and in London, but the address on this occasion scarcely entitled him to that character. His subject was the Resurrection — a grand and command- ing one, but, with a few exceptions, he did not evince any striking eloquence. His text (Luke xxiv. 2, 3 : " And they found the stone rolled away from the sepulchre. And they entered in, and found not the body of the Lord Jesus ") afforded a truly noble theme, and might have tasked the most exalted talents ; yet much of the discourse was dry and uninteresting, while the style was often careless and colloquial: "wouldn't," "couldn't," "shouldn't," "didn't," were continually employed; and once he spoke of "the disciples seeing Jesus in the clutches of his enemies." Now, Dr. Thomson, who is principal of Queen's College, Oxford, would hardly sanction such looseness of speech in his undergraduates, and should be careful how he gives SPECIAL SERVICES AT ST. PAUL'S. 239 them so bad an example. Here are some of his best sentences : — "Nearly two thousand years have rolled away since that awfully-important Easter-day. Jerusalem has almost vanished from the face of the earth, and we cannot with certainty point even to the locality of the holy tomb. What then ? the stone has been rolled away ; ' Christ is risen,' and our faith and our hope are alike secure." "In vain do sceptics and hair-splitting reasoners strive to dis- tract us with doubts and difficulties as to the sacred text : the very rumour of which it tells us, that the disciples had stolen away the Lord's body to deceive the people, only convinces us of its exceeding truthfulness; and we rise from the perusal of the touching narrative of the re- surrection, as assured of that all-important fact, as if the sepulchre itself were preserved under this noble church." " It is the intensity of the proofs, rather than their nume- rical power, that carries conviction to our minds. We may have followed to the grave some mighty warrior, or great civil hero, over whose remains a nation's gratitude has raised some grand marble trophy. Do we doubt that the dead shall live again ? Has not one such marble cere- ment been broken down ? ' He is risen.' " "If, then, ye be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth at the right hand of God ; and then, whon we commit our loved ones to the dust, we may con- fidently cherish a sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life, for ' He is risen ! ' " Dr. Thomson is earnest in manner, but does not evince much deep feeling, and his sermon was more like a studied exercise than tho expression of his own settled convictions; and no congregation can be much impressed by a preacher who does nul soem to speak from the heart. Iliindcl's "Hallelujah Chorus" was a fit finale to the praises and thanksgivings of the evening. Mr. Goss's 240 SPECIAL SERVICES AT ST. PAUL'S. organ-playing (and he had a really fine instrument) did it ample justice. But the organ, employed alone, lacks much of the power and variety of a complete vocal and instrumental orchestra, which, led by a Costa, has all its multiform sources of expression melted into one sublime utterance. The little army of unpaid choristers, too, did wonderfully well, but could hardly satisfy those who had heard the work at Exeter Hall. Still, the want of abso- lute perfection was more than atoned for by the feelings of a large Christian assembly, awed by the sacred services in which they had participated, and kneeling under the roof of a sanctuary, on the site of which, from the days of Augustine, prayers have been continuously offered to our God and Saviour. I left the Cathedral (or rather I stumbled down the steps from the south door, which the want of light makes absolutely dangerous) in a quiet, humble frame of mind, which I cannot doubt was fully shared by others. May we trust that these grand and most useful services will soon be renewed, and carried on without interruption ? It would be disgraceful to the metropolis, and indeed to the whole country, were they to be discontinued on account of dimi- nishing funds. The adornment of the Cathedral, we grieve to say, has not been completed ; the organ is still unfinished ; and the continuance of the special services is still uncertain, owing to the lack of funds. The Dean — that marvellous old man — still appears in his place ; but he is a year older, and his voice begins to lose distinctness. King Death has been very busy among our grand seigniors of late : Lord Clyde, Archbishop Whately, and Lord Lyndlrurst are gone. Who will be summoned next ? SIGN OF THE BOAE S HEAD INN. THE BOAR'S HEAD, EASTCHEAP. How wonderful is the power of genius ! After the lapse of three hundred years, a City tavern, not one stone of which now remains, is so familiar to our thoughts that we still dwell on its wild revels with interest. Many an old baronial hall, where mighty nobles, warriors, and even renowned monarchs, indulged in wine and wassail, is entirely wiped out of remembrance, while a house of entertainment, nothing remarkable for either splendour or refinement, excites the curiosity of antiquarians and literati to recover, if possible, some relics of the rude temple of Momus, where Jack Falstaff and Prince llenry heard the chimes at midnight. "We know little more of the Boar's Head than that there certainly was such a tavern ; but as for the scenes localized there, and for which alone it is remarkable, what are they but the poet's dreams ? Even the notices we painfully cull from the chroniclers were, perhaps, sug- gi sted to them by the great dramatist. On the front wall of No. 2, Eastcheap, is a stone carving of a boar's head, w hich we desire to think identifies the exact site of the far-famed wine-houso ; indeed, Ihere is evidence that this stone was once let into the wall over the cliimney-piece while it was still a tavern. In Miles Lane is another stone l>as-ivlief) of a mermaid; and wo learn from Pennant E 242 the boar's head, eastcheap. that in his day, on an adjoining dwelling, "was a swan cut in stone," probably the sign of an inn ; so that the whole neighbourhood was, to all appearance, the favourite haunt of the choice spirits of a former generation. "Taverns," says a cpiaint old writer, "are the busy man's recreation, the idle man's business, the melancholy man's sanctuary, and the stranger's welcome ;" and a once- admired poet (Shenstone) — Sighed to think how oft he found His warmest welcome at an inn. " Shall I not take mine ease at mine inn ?" was no un- common sentiment in an age when domestic comforts were fewer, and a man, though he might love his home, did not so necessarily connect it with his every-day enjoyments. Nor were taverns solely restricted to the indulgence of mirth. Gossips of all ranks crowded there — physicians, pamphlet-writers, newsmongers. It was the paradise of the idle. "A tavern was a broach er of more news than hogsheads, and more jests than news, which are sucked up here by some spongy brain, and from thence squeezed into a comedy." Business, too, was constantly transacted in such places ; and it is matter of record, that at the Crown, near the Royal Exchange, it was not unusual, in the course of a single morning, to draw a butt of mountain, or a hundred and twenty gallons, in gills. These slight refreshers of the weary and anxious were whets and seals to bargains ; the profits were greater, and the losses better borne, owing to their imbibition. There has been much and bitter controversy as to what wine was meant by "sack" — Falstaff's darling drink. Mr. Phelps settles the matter by adding after the word "sherry " as the definition. There seems very little doubt that dry sherry is intended, the French word sec (dry) being corrupted into sack. In Pasquil's " Palentia," the boar's head, eastcheap. 213 printed in 1619, sack and sherry are used synonymously, every twelfth, stanza ending thus : — Give me sack, old sack, boys, To make the Muses merry ; The life of mirth, and the joy of earth, Is a cup of old sherry. That the Boar's Head was a haunt for wassailers beyond the ordinary rank, may be gathered from a passage in Stow : — In 1410, the 11th of Henry TV., upon the even of St. John the Baptist, the King's sonnes, Thomas and John, being in Eastcheap at supper (or rather breakfast, for it was after the watch had broken up, betwixt two and three o'clock after midnight), a great debate happened between their men and other of the Court, which lasted an hour, till the Maior and Sheriffs. with other citizens, appeased the same; for which afterwards, the said Maior, Aldermen, and Sheriffs were called to answer before the King, his sonnes and divers lords being highly moved against the City. At which time William Gascoigne, Chief Justice, required the Maior and Aldermen, for the citizens, to put them in the King's grace ; whereunto they answered, that they had not offended, but (according to lawe) had done their best in stinting debate, and maintaining of the peace ; upon which answer the King remitted all his ire, and dismissed them. At this early period, wild young noblemen, breaking from the grave rule of the family mansion, where the dis- cipline was often most uncomfortably strict, found it a pleasant change to unbend over tho brimming cups of mine host. Nay, much later, in Shakspeare's own time, the same unbridled kind of tavern enjoyment prevailed, and he, doubtless, gives us a vivid picture of his own ex- periences. Ben Jonson entered freely into those "keen i mounters of wit," when "the tongue was never sheathed for lack of argument." Tho Devil and Mermaid Taverns wire his favourite haunts, and in a MS. preserved at Dulwich, said to be his journal, he ascribes the failure of some of his plays to bad wine : "I and my boys drank bad wine at the Devil." But this was not invariably the case, for afterwards ho says, "Tho first speech in my E 2 244 the boae's head, eastcheap. 'Cataline,' spoken to Sylla's Ghost, was "writ after I had parted with my friends at the Devil Tavern ; I had drank well that night, and had brave notions." Our early essayists, the " Tatler " and " Spectator," allude constantly to the tavern meetings of men of genius in that day — Wills' and Button's were almost their homes. Sir Richard Steele, writing from a tavern, assures his wife he will be with her, not in half an hour, but " within half a bottle of wine." Dr. Johnson was the oracle of his tavern, and drew around him there the most remarkable men of the period, as Burke, Reynolds, Garrick, and Goldsmith : old Slaughter's Coffee House was continually redolent with their grand sayings or rich witticisms. A certain box at the Chapter Coffee House was once designated the Wit- tenagemote, on account of the literati who assembled there. Even within the memory of some ancient quidnuncs still surviving, Sheridan cracked his jokes at taverns, and the heir-apparent condescended to laugh at them. Modern club-houses by no means supply the place of these free-and-easy houses of entertainment- Stately and elegant, with a first-rate French cook, and a well-chosen cellar of choice wine, they maybe a great boon to lounging Church dignitaries, quiet members of Parliament, half- pay officers, and well-paid editors of popular periodicals ; but whoever has the entree must be upon his good be- haviour, and a comedy concocted from club-talk would be insufferably dull. Whether the change is for the better or not, who shall decide ? But wit or humour from talkers in fidl dress is not of the racy character which hung upon the lips of the roystering gentlemen at the Boar's Head. Antiquated fun is for the most part sadly heavy reading. There is a reprint of Punch, it seems, and it may be well enough as a record of past politics, fashions, and follies ; but who would deliberately take up such a volume for recreation ? There is an amusing tale of some great the boae's head, eastcheap. 245 French wit, •who, being upon his trial for some minor offence, was sentenced to read through in court a folio volume of some exceedingly dull book. He commenced, yawned through one page, and then giving way to his uncontrollable disgust, exclaimed, "No; it is impossible! hang me, if you please, but I cannot read any further." Yet, who ever wearied of the humours of Falstaff, Prince Hal, Poins, and Mrs. Quickly, though the wit is three hundred years old ? "Pat Jack" is among the most original of Skakspeare's characters, and has never been imitated with the least success, unless it be in Scott's " Dugald Dalgetty." Occa- sionally, he is coarse and prurient, but if we make allow- ance for the age when Shakspeare wrote, the exceptionable passages are singularly few. There is more grossness in one page of Beaumont and Fletcher than in the two parts of " Henry IV." Few actors have been able to embody the difficult part of Falstaff. In general, he is made a mere foul-mouthed, fat old libertine. The bard, however, meant to make him far more than this ; and he is never out of place or borne down by the presence of the highest authorities in the realm, but asserts and maintains his equality with them. Quick was remarkable in the cha- racter; Stephen Kemble did it some justice; John Philip Kemble studied it, but shrunk from the task as too diffi- cult ; and, certainly, no performer of our day has gained any fame by attempting it. There was an historical Sir John Falstaff, and it is curious that the poet should have chosen to caricature him on the stage, for as he was a public character, he must have heard of him. He was a benefactor to Magdalen College, Oxford, for which he is celebrated in an animal speech ; and though the particulars are now lost, the Boar's Bead in Southwark, which .still retains the name, though divided into tenements yielding £1.30 per year, and 246 the boar's head, eastcheap. Culdicot Manor, in Suffolk, were part of the lands he bestowed. The Boar's Head was fitly selected as the scene of Prince Henry's revellings, as it was close to his residence ; for we read in Rymer, " A mansion called Cold Harbour (near Allhallows' Church, Upper Thames Street), was granted to the Prince of Wales, 11th Henry IV., in 1410." The dramatist must have passed the tavern daily on his way to the Globe Theatre. Is it not probable that the Mrs. Quickly of the play was a real woman, with whom he was familiar during his London life ? May not his own hostess have had some of the very rich peculiarities ascribed to the mistress of the Boar's Head, which, taking life and shape in the fertile alembic of his fancy, were to become realities for all time, in the marvellous workshop of his teeming brain ? Our knight is described, while enjoying himself at his inn, as putting sugar in his sack ; and some critics have imagined it could not be sherry on that account. But it was once a common practice to sweeten all wines. Thus, Fynes Moryson says, "Clownes and vulgar men only use large drinking of beere or ale, but gentlemen garawse only in wine, with which they mix sugar, which I never observed in any other place or kingdom to be used for that purpose." Waiters in taverns carried papers of sugar about them, to supply those who took sack. So in the Gull's Horn Booke, 1609: "Inquire what gallants sup in the next room, and if they be any of your acquaintance, do not you (after the City fashion) send them in a pottle of wine, and your name sweetened in two pitiful papers of sugar, with some filthy apology crammed into the mouth of a drawer." Falstaff complains that there was lime in his sack — a common mode of adulterating the almost universal drink. Eliot, speaking of sack and Phenish, says, <( The vintners in London put in lime, and thence proceed infinite maladies." Guests in taverns used to send presents of the boar's head, eastcheap. 247 sack, which was sometimes mulled, from one to the other. Yet the poet committed an anachronism in furnishing such wine for revels in the reign of Henry IV. Taylor writes : " The vintners sold no other sacks, muscadels, malvoisies, alicants, nor any other wines but white and claret, till the thirty-third year of Henry VIII. All those sweet wines were sold, till that time, at the apothecaries, for no other use but medicines. Two gallons of sack cost Falstaff 5s. 8d., and the price is very accurate. Claret wine, red and white, is sold for 5d. the quart, and sack for 6d. ; muscadel and malmsey for 8d." — Florid 1 s First Fruites, 1578. Twenty years later, sack had probably risen to 8d. or 8|d. per quart, at which rate two gallons would cost 5s. 8d. "What Sir John says as to the effect of sack on the intellect was then seriously believed. "These wines are goodo for men of cold and flegmaticke complexion, for such wines redresse and amend the coldness of complexion." — Regiment of Health, 1634. The price of Palstaff's linen has been thought absurdly high. Holland of 8s. an ell would make a shirt cost about 22s., and we read, in Stubbe's " Anatomie of Abuses " : "I have heard of shirts that have cost some 10s., some 20s., some 40s., some £5, and somo 20 nobles, and (wliiche is horrible to heare) some £10 apiece. Yea, the meanest shirt that commonly is worn of any doest cost a crowne, or a noble at the least, and yet this is scarcely thought fine enough for the simplest person that is." When Falstaff is first seen in "Henry IV." (Part I.), it is with the Prince, in a room of the palace. He could not, therefore, have meant to represent him as in circumstances of degradation ; and when " Sir John Sack and Sugar " proposes taking a purse at Gadshill, he evidently treats it as a merry expedition, not in the least objectionable on the score of the Prince's high rank. Our experience of the witty company at the Boar's Head is inimitably humorous, 248 the boar's head, eastcheap. and drawn with, surprising truthfulness, so that we can scarce refrain from believing that such people really existed — or, " if they never did, they ought to have done." The whole scene stands out with a strength and vitality quite astonishing; and especially "Fat Jack's" personation of the King, with the mock serious advice to consort chiefly with himself, " a good, portly man, 'i faith, and a corpulent — of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage, and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by 'r Lady, incHning to threescore." .... "If that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me, for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks !" The Prince's rejoinder is equally admirable. No doubt the old rafters in the best room of the Boar's Head often rang cheerily to the mirthful shouts of these joyous spirits, who never forgot, in their intemperance, that intellectual quickness was essential to give a flavour to the richest cup. The interruption to this wild revel by the Sheriff and his "most monstrous watch," and the demand made for "the gross, fat man, as fat as butter," throws a yet more natural colouring over the whole scene, which, from the first moment we read or witness, is impressed so vividly on our recollection, that many of the actual passages of our own existence will be forgotten before it. Nor is it solely the Prince and Palstaff who exercise this power. Bardolph, and his nose — "the perpetual triumph, the everlasting bonfire," that saved the fat knight " a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with him in the night between tavern and tavern," but who, unfortunately, " drank him so much sack that it would have bought lights as good cheap at the dearest chandler's in Europe !" Poins, too ; no waiter in Eastcheap could out-do him in alacrity; "Anon, anon, sir," suited him fully as well as any Francis of them all. The comic scenes in the second part of the play have always struck me as inferior, though they make us more the boar's head, eastcheap. 249 intimate with Mrs. Quickly and her not very creditable companion, Doll Tearsheet. Perhaps Shakspeare sacri- ficed, in some of these particulars, to the bad taste of his age. Our last visit to the Boar's Head is to hear the dame's narrative of FalstafPs death. Listen: "A made a finer end, and went away, as it had been any Christian child. A parted just between twelve and one, e'en at turning of the tide ; for after I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way, for his nose was as sharp as a pin, and a ' babbled of green fields.' So a bade me lay more clothes on his feet. I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone '" This, in spite of its ludicrous touches, is deeply pathetic, and quite appropriate for the speaker. When I pass down Eastcheap, I find myself in a brown study opposite No. 2, and mentally inquire on what floor "Sir John" died. The boar's head on the wall seems alive ; it holds fast with its teeth a fresh lemon, and I hear the shout of revellers within. UELICS OF SHAKSPEARE. ST. BARTHOLOMEW THE GREAT, SMITHEIELD. RAHERE, THE MINSTREL, AND HIS GOOD WORKS. It is an injury to our common nature when deeds of charity and beneficence are suffered to die out of recollection. Such examples have a powerful influence. Nor should we too narrowly scrutinize motives, but be ready to accept the kind action or the munificent gift as dictated by the noblest feelings. The ultimate value of such actions must be left to the almighty Searcher of hearts. Eahere, the minstrel, and Alleyne, the player, were both public benefactors ; and albeit one or both might be ex- cepted against as dissolute and idle persons, their profession excluding them (it would be urged) from the sympathy of the religious community, the excellent institutions which RAHERE, THE MINSTREL. 251 they founded must surely entitle them to our warm gratitude. The chronicles describe Eahere as a worthy gentleman, who, about the year 1102, was chosen by Henry I. as his jester and minstrel. Such an officer was common at Court during several preceding reigns, and so late as the time of Elizabeth the fool or jester was to be met with at Whitehall, as well as generally in the mansions of the nobility. Eahere was the more honoured in his post because, to the gift of humour, he added the accomplish- ments of a superior vocalist and musician. He was pro- bably a man of brilliant talents, and under the humble garb of a merry-andrew could exercise intellectual aptitude of an unusual order. No doubt he was a good courtier, and managed at an early age to secure many pecuniary advantages through the favour of the King. The account we possess of him is in substance as follows. As a youth, he had sung and jested in the houses of the great lords, and being allowed to appear before the King soon after his accession, was promoted to the royal palace, where his pleasant behaviour and melodious voice made him agree- able to warriors, priests, and courtiers. Eerhaps his life was wild or licentious, but no special faults are charged against him. On rising to middle age, however, being smitten with remorse for the follies of his youth, and anxious to be absolved from all his sins, he undertook a journey to Eome, where, bewailing his past errors, and promising amendment, he obtained absolution. Then he fell sick, and imagining the pangs of death distressed him, he vowed solemnly to build an hospital for the poor if God graciously restored him to health. Being somewhat re- covered, and on his homeward journey to fulfil his obligation, one nighi being asleep at an inn, he had a strange dream, in whieli he seemed to be carried by a monstrous creature, with four feet and two wings, and placed on a lofty pre- 252 RAHERE, THE MINSTREL. cipice leaning over a horrible pit, which, appeared to have no bottom. Thinking he should fall therein, he cried for help in his terror, when there came to him a celestial being majestical in face, and of wonderful beauty, who asked him what he would give to be rescued from death. He answered, "All that he had." The heavenly visitor then declared that he was Batholoniew the Apostle, and could give him succour, as well as inform him of a Divine mystery. "Know then," said he, "that by command of the Holy Trinity I have selected a place at Smithfield where thou shalt build a church and hospital in my name." Then he encouraged him by saying that all faithful people worshipping in that place should have an answer to their prayers ; that he, Habere, need not trouble himself as to the cost ; and, with a promise that he would be patron of the new sanctuary, vanished. When Eahere awoke, he doubted whether this was a fantastic illusion or a heavenly oracle, but finally determined to obey the command. Reaching England, he consulted with his friends, to whom he revealed his dream, how so vast a work was to be accomplished. Some of them, citizens of London, recom- mended him to solicit the king's licence, because the ground chosen was Crown property. This he did, and with the aid of the Bishop of London obtained the king's gift of the land, and permission to build thereon. Strong in this suc- cess, he commenced clearing the place, which was moorish, muddy, and often overflowed with water ; it was also in ill repute, for on the portion where the ground was dry, public executions commonly took place. Then he purchased great store of stone and building materials. To help the work forward, he feigned himself an idiot, or lunatic, and by counterfeiting the changeling, attracted a great company of rabble, who, following his example, zealously cleared the ground, and brought wood and stone to Smith- field ; but when all was prepared to his hand, he made RAHERE, THE MINSTREL. 253 known his real pttrpose. He first erected the hospital, and afterwards, in obedience to St. Bartholomew, finished the church and priory, in 1123, both being named in honour of the Apostle, and consecrated by Eichard de Belmees, Bishop of London. He placed canons regular of St. Augustine in his sanctuary, of which he became the first prior. He filled the office nearly twenty-two years, died universally reverenced for his unaffected piety and great liberality, and was buried in the north chancel of his own church. Over him a fine monument was raised, renewed by Prior Bolton shortly previous to the dissolution, and still in excellent preservation. He is represented reposing on his tomb in the monastic habit, with a Bible in his hands, and a kneeling monk on each side. The book is open at the 51st chapter of Isaiah ; an angel, at his feet, bears a shield and coronet, and on the edge of the slab is inscribed — Hie jacet Raherus, primus canonicus et primus prior istius ecclesiae. Rahere had many powerful enemies; and discovering that there was a confederacy to destroy him, he petitioned the King (Henry I.), who granted him a charter, in which the following clauses occur : — Know ye, that I have granted, and by my charter confirmed, to the church of Bartholomew, and to Rahere the prior, and to the poor of the hospital of the same church, that they be free from all earthly servitude, power, and subjection. As any church in all England is free, so shall this be free, and with all lands acquired, or to be acquired. I will maintain and defend it, as free as my crown, against all men. I also deliver prior Habere from all charges and claims whatsoever, and let none presume to usurp any dominion in tin- place Done at Westminster, a.d. 1133, in the 33rd year of our reign. Thus one man, originally a poor jester, was able to estublisli for his countrymen at that day, and we fervently trusl for all time, a house of mercy — an hospital for the reception of the diseased, or those who suller from acci- 254 EAHERE, THE MINSTREL. dental causes, where they receive the most skilful treatment, and are nursed with a degree of care not exceeded in kings' houses. Besides this, Eahere was anxious for men's souls, and provided in his church and priory, according to the best lights of that age, sanctuary for those who were in trouble, instruction for the ignorant, peace and consolation for mourners. Eahere' s church was not the earliest religious building on the site, where, there is little doubt, a Saxon monastery once stood. Eahere's grounds enclosing the priory were extensive. Besides a fine hall and cloisters, it possessed very beautiful gardens, and, in particular, a famous mulberry garden. The priory was rebuilt in 1410. Prior Bolton was a great builder. He erected a manor house at Canonbury, which was the property of his canons. In the wall at Islington, and also in several parts of the church, his device, a bolt through a tun, may be traced. In Stow's days, on Church festivals, the London school- masters assembled with their scholars in certain of the City churches, to dispute on the principles of grammar, all the arguments being conducted with a rigid regard to logical correctness. " I yearly saw," says he, " on the eve of St. Bartholomew, the scholars of divers grammar schools repair unto the priory in Smithfield, where, upon a bank, boarded about, under a tree, some scholar hath stepped up, and there hath opposed and answered, till he were by some better scholar overcome and put down ; and then the over- comer did the like as the first, and in the end, the best scholars had rewards, which made good schoolmasters and also good scholars diligently against such times to pre- pare for obtaining of this garland." There came to these exercises scholars from St. Paul's School, from St. Peter's, Westminster, and from St. Thomas Aeon's Hospital. The best pupils were commonly froni the last school ; they were rewarded with bows and arrows of silver, given by Sir Martin Bowes, goldsmith. They frequently quarrelled : RAHERE, THE MINSTREL. 255 St. Paul's boys called their opponents " Anthony's pigs ;" who often rejoined, " Ye are Paul's pigeons I" Many pigeons then bred in St. Paul's Churchyard, and St. Anthony was usually painted with a pig following him. What remains of the ancient church of St. Bartholomew proves that it possessed extraordinary architectural merit. The east part of the beautiful cloister, consisting of eight arches, may still be seen, though now desecrated into a stable ; the stonework is most elaborately carved. An engraving of a portion of the choir, and of the south transept, evinces equal grandeur and finish. The interior of the present church is a singular mixture of new and old, which at first sight is rather disagreeable ; but on a close inspection, the visitor cannot fail to find many points for admiration. This is an age for testimonials, and statues are daily set up to worthies of past generations ; might not Eahere claim a share of these posthumous honours ? Jenner has a statue — he deserved it ; Hunter rests in the Abbey, and will have a statue at the College; the surgeons who subscribed towards it do honour to him, but more to themselves ; and should not the governors of the best endowed hospital in the world commemorate the founder ? There seems just now some chance of the restoration of the Church of St. Bartholomew the Great. A subscription for the purpose has been commenced, and it will be grievous if the want of a few thousand pounds should hinder so good a work. The anciont monuments of a great nation should bo zealously preserved. THE THREE PRENTICES. THREE LONDON 'PRENTICES. There is no market in the world where industry, integrity, and perseverance bring so high a reward as in our vast commercial emporium. The gold pavement of London town is mythical, no doubt, and sovereigns do not drop into the mouth of every hungry expectant ; but, whenever boy or man, with health, moderate talent, and honesty, offers his bone, muscle, and strong will to the best bid- der, he will not long remain without remunerative work. If it is the glory of England that the poorest peasant's son may fight or plod his way to the woolsack, so is it an honourable boast that in London there are no insuperable hinderances to prevent a labouring pavior or a friendless warehouse drudge becoming Lord Mayor, even at middle age. The lives and adventures of many of our Chief Magistrates fully confirm this fact ; and among that class of citizens who shun civic honours, and are content with the elegancies of a private fortune, we need not seek far to find many who have risen from sweeping the office, or cleaning the shop-windows, to be heads of influential firms, and closed their career with all the dignity of millionaires. THREE LONDON 'PRENTICES. 257 Take an example — one is as good as a thousand, though most of our readers could readily multiply them. At Leighton Buzzard, in 1780, dwelt a hard-working man named Greville. He was very poor — his wages as a day labourer never exceeding 12s. per week, and frequently in the winter falling as low as 9s. He had to maintain a wife and family on this pittance ; but never murmuring at the privations his lot involved, he manfully made the best of it, kept a well-brushed coat for Sundays, and managed to get a clean shirt and a hot dinner once a week. Yet he was in- dependent, for he never troubled the relieving officer. He had six small children, who commenced life by running wild on the common with the ducks and geese, and as for education, getting the scantiest modicum at the nearest dame-school. The three eldest — Benjamin, David, and Jonathan — were triplets ; but whereas you might expect they must have been miserable, puny little boylings, they were from the first remarkably well-built fellows, growing up to be each above six feet in height. At the age of eight years they were sent to the fields — Benjamin as companion to some pigs, David to weed, and Jonathan to scare crows ; each at 4d. per week. They left home by 6 a.m., furnished with a stuff bag rich in scraps of stale bread and mouldy cheese, to be moistened ad libitum at the next brook. Not being expected back before nightfall, they had ample time for reflection. But bearing their early trials bravely, they grew stouter and stronger every day. Hunger was their sorest foe, but perhaps it sharpened their wits, for we learn on high authority that Fat paunches Lave lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the rihs, but banker out the wits. Of learning, these lads did not boast. They could read, by pausing to spell the hard words, and were able to make pothooks and hangers, dipping a skewer into tho ink 258 THREE LONDON 'PRENTICES. instead of a pen. Still they had no inconsiderable share of ambition. David had read in father's old Bible how a namesake had been brought from the sheepfold to marry a king's daughter ; Jonathan longed for a friend as truthful as the son of Jesse ; and Benjamin, the gravest of them all, wondered whether he should ever wear a coat of many colours. One day, when they had reached their tenth birthday, a copy of " The Goodly History of "Whyttington and his Cat " came into their hands — a well-thumbed duodecimo, resplendent with cuts, not by Bewick. The narrative, when fully mastered, kindled their imaginations, and led to impatience at the turnip-field, the flaunting tares on which they made war, and the crows that battled with them. A thousand suggestions and inquiries arose in their minds. Where was London ? Were Cheapside and Bow- bell parcel of it ? Could they walk to this El Dorado of promise without shoes ? or must they get a lift in the carrier's cart ? They had saved pence at odd times, and had amongst them a common purse of one shilling and ninepence. Should they emigrate to the brilliant City, and seek work for their strong right hands ? They must not worry poor father and mother on the subject. Their motto should be " God will provide," and the almighty Being who watched over boy Whyttington in the olden times would not fail to remember His servants, Benjamin, David, and Jonathan ! So, on a calm, bright summer morning, when the sun was beginning to " run his course," they paused at the cottage door to ask a parting benediction from their parents. David was spokesman. "Dear dad and mam, we will not trouble you any more. It be hard to find bread for sisters ; let us be working for ourselves. We be told that Lonon has labour for all that will ask ; we shall surely not die of hunger, and when we can earn four loaves a day, we'll send you one. So kiss us and say f God- THREE LONDON PRENTICES. 259 speed,' and let us go." Mother and father knew that the lads were right, so they sent them away without many words, but the sisters cried as if their hearts would break at losing their playfellows. It cost them three days to get to the great City ; a hay- rick commonly supplied their bed ; breakfast and dinner OLD STAGE WAGGON. were but repetitions of stale scraps, moistened with brook water; and they flattered their uneasy stomachs with an ticipations of fuller meals in the great metropolis. The sun was fast declining as they entered Aldersgate Street, hot and dusty, late on the third evening. Very ill-shod in old cast shoes, tiny were sadly foot-sore, and spent their s 2 260 THKEE LONDON 'PRENTICES. last coppers for the wretched privilege of resting in a tramp lodging-house. Straying into the City next day, their uncouth, countri- fied appearance caused much uncivil mirth, till a bene- volent tea merchant found them near the East India House, and obtained for them a job in the warehouses. Each obtained eightpence for his day's toil, which made them as rich and happy as tings. Civility and good con- duct opened the door for them again, and they continued at this work for several weeks, each boy sending per carrier twelvepence of his money every Saturday. A good time was coming. A kindly-tempered silk merchant took David into his service ; Jonathan and Benjamin were received into the business premises of a wealthy cotton broker ; and to these gentlemen, after a satisfactory trial, they were apprenticed. Partly instructing themselves, and partly taught by a poor schoolmaster, they rapidly progressed in arithmetic, and were soon able to read plainly, and write a fair business hand. People did not then exact so much in the way of book-knowledge, and reckoned it more useful to know a little well than a great many things im- perfectly. I am far from despising even the most Greekish of the ologies, but I have seen pretentious folks so deficient in genuine information, that I have sometimes grumbled to myself — Let all the foreign tongues alone, Till you can read and spell your own. The period of apprenticeship passed pleasantly. They grew up into really noble specimens of young men. Jonathan was slightly knock-kneed, but his frame was well knit ; he could run a mile in five minutes, and walk five miles an hour ; while Judith, the parlour-maid, had been heard to say, "Jonathan's the goodest-looking young man in the house." David was the beau of the brothers, THREE LONDON ' PRENTICES. 261 never tolerating a speck of dirt on his clothes, and keeping his hair well combed, not without a slight oil polish ; besides, by making himself acceptable to a laundress in the neighbourhood (Mincing Lane), he was able to have a clean shirt twice a week. As for Benjamin, he was a bit of a philosopher — studied books on political economy, and was deep in Rapin, though it should be said to his credit that he never neglected his Bible, and owned an odd volume of "Blair's Sermons." They did not neglect the remittances to Leighton Buzzard, though a post letter was a rare luxury; indeed the heavy charge laid it almost under an interdict. By the time their indentures had run out, each received 10s. weekly, which, as they neither smoked, drank, nor used any locomotive but their own limbs, proved quite a for- tune. Clerkships at a guinea per week followed, where- upon David, who dearly loved his elder sister Mary, invited her to town to keep his two rooms. Thus commenced a companionship of over forty years, for he never married during her lifo ; and though she once had a flirtation with an apothecary in Newgate Street, her state of single blessedness continued, and she devoted her whole existence to the happiness of her brother, tidying his humble home, and adorning the more costly dwelling his talents and industry ensured. I was accpiainted with them at this transition period, and truly delightful it was to watch the graceful ease and quiet enjoyment that distinguished them. Mary, albeit scantily instructed in her country home, had learned to be a lady (how soon women accommodate themselves to altered circumstances !) ; and David, though far from a courtior, possessed a hearty John Bulliem which suited him surprisingly well. Mary's tongue " had a kind of a tang," and occasionally, especially after the dismission of Hippocrates, she scolded the servant girl, and criticised 262 THREE LONDON 'PRENTICES. her " darling David ;" but if she found fault with him her- self, she would never suffer anybody else to do so. David passed his evenings at the London Institution (when his increasing prosperity warranted the expense) with great dignity ; and once I saw him in full dress for John Kernble's Hamlet, wearing short tights and black silk stockings, and carrying an opera hat under his arm. Always affectionate to his sister, his naturally grave habits were laid aside at odd times for her sake. At her death he married, and became a thriving paterfamilias. Several of his sons and daughters, now themselves ancients, still flourish in aristocratic neighbourhoods, while a host of goodly grandchildren are rapidly developing. David ulti- mately, after many years of successful industry, became the head of a lucrative silk firm ; and had he coveted civic honours might have attained them with ease. When I saw him last, in 1845, he was still upright, though rather stout — most persons would have called him a fine-looking man ; while, better than this, he was honoured in all the relations of life, and a real Christian. Benjamin and Jonathan were inseparable, and flourished in the hosiery line. A small store grew under their steady manipulations into a noble series of warehouses. Their " women's blacks " were notorious in the far swamps of the West and the burning plains of Africa ; while, nearer home, the delicacy of their " ladies' whites" became gene- rally famous. Both the brothers married early, both had large families, and Jonathan, after sorely bewailing a first wife, found consolation in a second. His first wife had been of humble station and humble attainments ; the second was every inch a lady, and seemed rather to tolerate than love her elderly husband. Yet the villa at Camberwell rang with the merry voices of joyous children, and if he was not quite happy amidst his new family honours, surely he ought to have been. Jonathan did not linger long after THREE LONDON 'PRENTICES. 263 David : " They were lovely in their lives, and in their death they were not divided." Benjamin, the latest survivor, in his eightieth year, surrounded hy fifty children or grandchildren, looked quite patriarchal. Never pretending to ultra- gentility, he was widely reverenced on the score of his upright bearing through a long life. Singularly cheerful, if the gout teased him, as it too often did, he laughed the enemy from his stronghold, and would by no means acknowledge that "pain was an evil." " A little suffering, now and then," he would say, "is humanizing. If we were always well and prosperous, we should be liable to forget the claims of our poorer brethren, like the foolish body who, coming in from a walk on a frosty day, ordered coals and soup for the needy, but growing comfortable by the drawing-room fire, countermanded the order, saying that she was certain it had grown warmer." He was fond of a merrymaking at Christmas and other Church festivals, for he insisted that mirth was as good a quality as wisdom, since " God gave us all things richly to enjoy." A great family dance was his favourite amusement; not on the ex- clusive fashionable principle, however, for all the workers and all the servants he employed were guests. Nor did they waltz or polk. Country dances and Scotch reels were his hobbies ; and up to eighty- four he untiringly joined in them — young with the young, cheerful among the aged, liberal to the poor, sympathizing with the sick and suffering. The old gentleman had a trick of humour, too ; once, when his beautiful granddaughters were dressed for a fashionable ball, he said with an arch smile, "Well, I hope you may always have shoes and stockings, but stockings at all events." His wife desired a diamond necklace — "Margaret," was the reply, "indulge your fancy by all means, but do not grow up ao much of a fine lady as to bo ashamed of the husband who once travelled from 264 THREE LONDON 'PRENTICES. Leighton Buzzard to London with a few coppers in his pocket, and with no shoes on his feet I" And thus my three London 'prentices built themselves a house, and from poor friendless lads grew to be good on 'Change, to have a capital balance on the credit side of their banker's book, and to be in good odour with the wealthy of the land. And thus our noble City nurses as its pets many a poor rustic from Yorkshire or Lincolnshire, to figure among her Greshams and Skinners and Cubitts ; though they have no ancestral honours, no demised gold, no well-to-do friends — nothing, in short, but strength and health, a clear head and a clear conscience. SION COLLEGE. Of the many memorials of the piety and philanthropy of our citizen ancestors, few are more interesting than the collegiate foundation of Dr. Thomas White. From various causes, however, its usefulness has "been cramped ; but it is highly probable that in a few years, when its mort- gaged possessions are emancipated, it will once more enlarge its sphere of action, and fully vindicate the honours so justly due to the memory of its benevolent founder. The seal of Sion College is impressed with the effigies of the Hebrew who fell wounded among thieves, and the kindly-hearted Samaritan who pitied and relieved him, when the priest and Levite had "looked on him, and passed by on the other side ;" and thus even its dry est official documents impart a touching lesson. The facts I am about to give are taken from a pamphlet entitled " Sion College," printed by Mr. Clay, of Bread Street Hill, in 1859, which is faithfully and carefully arranged, besides being very elegantly got up, and every way suitable for the antiquarian's book-shelf. The College was founded under letters patent, originally granted by Charles I., in 1630, and afterwards by Charles II., in 1GG4, to givo effect to the will of the Rev. Thomas White, D.D., Canon of Christ Church, 266 SION COLLEGE. Oxford, and Vicar of St. Dunstan-in-the-West, London, who died in 1623. We have no detailed biography of this good man; he passed his useful life in comparative privacy, but has left behind him a truly honourable re- membrance, and " being dead, yet speaketh." The plan of this by no means his only noble foundation — (Bristol, his native place, as well as London, the scene of his ministerial labours, owes much to his judicious liberality) — deserves the highest praise, since, apart from its charitable object, it aimed at supplying to all his clerical brethren in the metropolis an ever-increasing library, enriched with the most valuable literary treasures of ancient and modern times, as well as a tranquil retreat where they might profitably employ their leisure hours. The college is governed by a president, two deans, and four assistants, elected annually by the Fellows from their own body. There is an almshouse attached, for ten men and ten women (single). Dr. White had not fully esta- blished the library at his death, but it was brought into form and established by the Eev. John Simpson, one of his executors, who contributed about £2,000 to the work. The property consists of the college site and adjoining premises, a portion of the rent of a farm and manor at Bradwell, Essex, the manor and farm at Beaches, in the same county, a farm at Tyler's Causeway, Herts, and £203 3s. 6d. Three per Cent. Consols. A copy of each book entered at Stationers' Hall was given to Sion College by Acts 8 Anne and 54 George III. ; but in 1836 this privilege was taken away, compensation being awarded of £363 15s. 2d., payable yearly from the Treasury. By an order of the Eolls Court, 1836, it was settled that all rents from Bradwell manor should be first applied in maintaining and repairing the college and almshouse ; that the surplus should belong to the college, exclusive of the pensioners ; while the rents from Beaches and Tyler's Causeway, with SION COLLEGE. 267 the dividends from the stock, should belong to the alms- people, exclusive of the college. The order also appointed rules for the choosing, residence, and general management of the pensioners. Rooms for them were originally built on a space extending 120 feet from north to south, with a breadth of 25 feet. Ten rooms opened to the east and ten to the west, the library being idtimately erected over them. This was found objection- able, since half the rooms opened into the lane outside the college ; besides which, the library was endangered by the chimney flues of the alms-people. Two houses, of ten rooms each, were therefore built south of the library, in 1845, at a cost of £2,500. For safety, the library was warmed by hot-air pipes, and the space below afforded additional accommodation for books. The hall, too, was improved, and these further alterations cost £2,000. These charges could only be met by borrowing on the property. An Act of Parliament became necessary, involving a larger expense. Under its provisions £5,500 was borrowed on a terminable annuity of £330, payable for forty-three years. The rents from the London and Brad well estates are there- fore paid to a receiver appointed by the Court of Chancery, who is charged with the maintenance, repairs, and insurance of the college, with the payment of the annuity, and a further payment annually of £150, if tlio receipts admit, to the Court — the surplus only, should there be any, going to the college treasurers. Extreme economy has ensured a small income to meet the general expenses, but the intentions of the founder cannot be fully carried out until the annuity ceases in 1889. Indeed, the Fellows now subscribe for the pnymont of the librarian's salary, £100. The compensation awarded by Parliament when the grant from Stationers' Hall was taken away is, however, strictly applied to aug- ment tin' library. Tho money is not paid till an informa- tion has been laid before the Lords of the Treasury, showing 268 SION COLLEGE. how the grant last received has been expended. £ 360 yearly- laid out in books must ensure the ultimate possession of a fine collection; at present it probably amounts to 50,000 volumes. Many valuable modern volumes have been added recently, and under the admirable management of the librarian, Mr. W. H. Milman, a large accession of valuable theological literature has been made, in addition to the original stock. There are not many manuscripts ; one relating to the Kirk of Scotland that was very valuable had been borrowed for official use (so we were informed) just previous to the destruction of the House of Commons by fire, where it was destroyed. The library is not much frequented by readers, owing, doubtless, to the fact that the Fellows are allowed to peruse the books at their own homes. Possibly a few bachelor clergymen occasionally study there, but few of them are so solitary or unsocial as not to prefer their own pleasant rooms. Here are a few particulars relative to Dr. White, from notices by Anthony Wood and Eichard Newcourt : — He was born at Bristol ; entered of Magdalen Hall, Oxon, about 1566, and became a popular preacher. Settling in London, he was chosen minister of St. Gregory's by St. Paul's, and afterwards Vicar of St. Dunstan's, where he was greatly esteemed. In 1588, he was Prebend of Mora, in St. Paul's Cathedral; 1590, Treasurer of the Church of Salisbury; 1591, Canon of Christ Church, Oxon; and in 1593, Canon of Windsor— dying March, 1623. He was buried in the chancel of St. Dunstan's, where, by his will, a gravestone should have been placed, but it was neglected, for no such monument appears. He was honest, generous, a great encourager of learning, and very bountiful to the poor, bestowing much of his wealth on such good works in his lifetime. Thus in 1 6 1 3 he built a hospital at Bristol, endowing it with £92 per annum. In 1621 he founded a moral philosophy lecture at Oxford, with a stipend of £100 SION COLLEGE. 269 yearly. He also gave five exhibitions to Magdalen scholars of £8 per year, and £4 to the Principal of the hall. He published several sermons, one especially preached at the funeral of Sir H. Sidney. Here is an extract from his will : — Being in perfect memorie, and aboute the age of threescore and twelve, on the 20th of Februarie, in the raigne of King James I., 1622 (a year and eight days before his death), I do give for the buyeing of a fair house and backside, fitt to make a eolledge for a corporacion of all the ministers, parsons, vicars, lecturers, and curates, within London and suburbs thereof. As allso for a convenient house or place fast buy, to make a convenient almshouse for twentye persons — viz., tenne men and tenne women, and one of the discreetest to be chosen every three yeres by the masters, as also a widow woman to be matrone, to govern — I say I give three thousand poundes. I would have the Lord Bishop of London for a visitor, he and his successor for ever, to mayntaine truthe in doctrine, love in conversing together, and to represse such sinnes as follow us as menne. I will have romes for twenty poore, six men and women to be taken out of St. Lunst.-in-the-West's parish, three men and three women, and so to be renewed when anie of them doe die or deserve expulsion for evell manners; two oute of St. Gregorie's parish, and four out of Bristowe, and the residue out of the Company of Merchant Taylers. And if any of my poor kindred, or any of my late wives' kindred, Fortune and Elizabeth White, being honest and qualified, I wolde have them unto the nombre of four, and no more at any one time together, that they should be preferred before the other formerlie spoken of. The letters patent of Charles (1664), containing an amplification of the charter granted by Charles I. (1630), are in Latin, and very lengthy. There have been various legal discussions as to who could claim to be Fellows of Sion College. The final decision of the visitor runs thus : — I am of opinion that all incumbent ministers of churches in London and its suburbs, to which districts have been assigned under the provisions of any of the Church Building Acts, are Fellows, in as full and ample a manner as if they were rectors or vicars, and I hereby determine accordingly. Fulham, 15th June, 1846. C. J. London. An extract from a report of the Charity Commissioners (1834) will give some further information as to the col- lego :— Dr. Thomas White gave .£3,000 for buying a house to make a college mm, I almshouse, The executors purchased a site I'm- £2,460, in UV2", within the parishes of St. Mary, Aldermanbury, and St. Alphage Within, Cripplegatr. 270 SION COLLEGE. There is no incumbrance but an annual rent of £4, and a similar charge of 37s. 2d. Probably the £550 surplus of the £3,000 was employed in defraying the expense of building. In 1631 the executors conveyed to the President and Fellows the whole of the premises and site. In an old vellum register it is stated that Mr. Simpson, one of the executors, endowed both the library and college with yearly revenues, but we find no deeds of such endowments. In 1672 a final settlement of the income was made, and the trustees have ever since remained in possession. The college and library were destroyed in the Great Fire, 1660, but were rebuilt (in part by voluntary subscription) in 1707. In the great vellum register, preserved in the libra^, of which the silver clasps were stolen by Cromwell's soldiers, are some curious entries. "We select a few of them : — 1656. Abraham Colfe gave 20s. yearly, for ever, to buy one, two, or three divinity books, with Is. per annum to the librarian. 1676. John Winn's executors gave £5 yearly to purchase books. 1684. Samuel Brewer gave all his lands for the benefit of the alms-people ; also he gave all his books to the library. " The college never had one of them." 1724. Thomas Sheppard gave £40 to be put out at interest, for the benefit of the pensioners. 1797. Rev. W. Clement gave £50 to repair the library, and the like sum on trust for the alms-folks. 1768. Thomas Reading gave £100 — South Sea Annuities — the interest to be divided yearly, at Christmas, among the resident pensioners. Paul and Anne Bayning, Viscount and Viscountess Sudbury, gave £50 each to the library. 1629. Rev. G. Walker, B.D., Rector of St. John the Evangelist, Watling Street, President, gave, and procured to be given by his parishioners and other citizens, £110. 1630. John Greenhough, citizen and woolman, gave £30. 1632. Sir Paul Pindar and others, chief farmers of the Customs, gave £200, to be laid out in books. 1633. Nathaniel Torperley, M.A., gave upwards of 170 printed works, be- sides nine manuscripts, and a clock. 1636. Walter Travers, minister of God's Word, gave near 200 works. He also gave plate and £50 to the college, on condition that the preacher of the quarterly Latin sermon should receive 10s. for each discourse. 1658. Ann, relict of Sir Thomas Moulson, some time Lord Mayor, gave £100. 1659. Brian Walton, whilst Bishop of Chester, gave a copy of his Poly- glot Bible. 1666. "And here, by reason of the dismal fire, which consumed this famous City of London, and in it this college, with the library and a third part of the books, therein conteyned, a sad stop was put to the registry of benefactors." SION COLLEGE. 271 1682. George, Earl of Berkeley, gave his library (above 700 separate works), which was at first collected by Sir R. Cook, for the use of the London clergy in the troublesome times. 1704. The library repaired and beautified at the sole cost of the London clergy. 1705. John Lawson, M.D., left his whole library (containing 1,100 works). 1711. Richard Chiswell, bookseller, St. Paul's Churchyard, had, while living, set apart for the college a copy of every book he printed. They were not mentioned in his will, but Benjamin Cowse, his successor, delivered them up (upwards of 200 works). In the same year, the Jamesian Library (3,000 volumes in all faculties) was set up. They were the property of Thomas James, a printer in Min- chin Lane, who by his last will left them for the service of the public ; and Mrs. Eleanor James, his widow, did, out of singular respect and affection for the London clergy, send them to be placed, as aforesaid, in Sion College. She also gave pictures of herself, her husband (Dr. Thomas James, first keeper of the Bodleian Library, Oxford), with two paintings of Charles II., a clock, a Turkey carpet, three Turkey chairs, and two tables. 1712. Rev. Edward Waple, B.D., Vicar of St. Sepulchre's, and Arch- deacon of Taunton, President, 170-1, left his books (upwards of 1,800), besides duplicates, which were directed to be sold, and fetched £155. A note is here appended: — "The 'forementioned books are now (1718) all in the library, but some others have been stolen, notwithstanding the chains and all possible care besides." 1714. Dr. Henry Compton, Bishop of London, left all his commentators on the Scriptures, about eighty in number, besides duplicates, which sold for £36. 1799. Executors of Edmund Gibson, Bishop of London, gave 17 volumes <>f tracts in folio, 105 in quarto, and 236 in octavo and duodecimo. Same year Rev. William Clements, librarian of the college, gave by will all his printed books, 500 and more. 1858. Rev. W. Scott, M.A., Perpetual Curate of Christ Church, Hoxton, and President (now Vicar of St. Olave's, Jewry), gave 173 volumes of pam- phlets and tracts, containing upwards of 4,000 items. Other remarkable names are recorded as benefactors : we may mention Bishop Beveridge, Bray, Calamy, Castell, White, Kennet, Newton, Dean Prideaux, Bishop Reynolds, Strype, Walton, Sherlock, Winston, Wilson, Granville, Sharpe, Bishops Lowth, Porteus, Van Mildert, Dean Vin- cent, Lancelot Sharpe, and Ilartwell LTorne. For many years four of the alms-people at Bristol, tho founder's native place, received I' 1 a year more fhan those who were resident. A gross yearly sum of £509 appears 272 SION COLLEGE. to be applicable to the almshouse part of the charity, but not more than £176 was distributed to the pensioners, the surplus being spent in the general management of the col- lege. The final decree of the Rolls Court forbade any out-pensioners in future, though the selection was still to be made in conformity with Dr. White's will. Pensioners must be widows or widowers ; none must be chosen under the age of fifty. Alms-people, in pursuance of the Go- vernor's order (1846), must attend prayers twice a day, in the hall, and at the parish church (St. Alphage), whenever there is service. Pensioners shall not be out of their rooms after ten p.m., between Lady Day and Michaelmas, nor after nine between Michaelmas and Lady Day. They shall not sleep out of their rooms, nor allow a stranger to sleep in them, without the President's leave. If they break these rules after three admonitions, on the offence being repeated they shall be expelled. The pension received by each alms-man or woman had been for many years only £15, but they now receive £17, and on certain festival days an allowance of 5s. for dinner. Strangers are allowed to read in the library, on the re- commendation of Fellows. Cards of admission are given for six months only, but are renewable. Such in substance, though much condensed, is the ac- count compiled by Dr. Eussell, President, 1845, and brought down to 1858 by Mr. Scott. But being anxious to view Sion College for myself, I made a pilgrimage to the dis- trict of Aldermanbury, which is rather difficult to navigate, and passing by Brewers' Hall, en route, I felt desirous to inspect it, for the wicket was invitingly open. So I pulled the bell ; but the wire was rusted, and the clapper would not act. There was no response; and, remembering the nursery line, Pull the latch, and the door will open, I walked into the court-yard, and knocked at a door in the SI03T COLLEGE. 273 right-hand corner. No answer; and, on examination, I discovered a cobweb near the upper hinge. Were the pre- mises to let ? Then mounting a flight of stone steps to the first floor, and rattling several door-handles, but with the same success, I peeped through the windows, but all seemed silent and deserted. What had become of the good folks ? Perhaps they were gone holiday making. How would it be at the college ? I tried my luck, opened an iron gate, and rattled the hall knocker. Mr. Beadle May answered the summons. " Could I see the library?" "No; it was Whit-Tuesday; but I might to-morrow." Representing the hardness of the case, as I came from far, the key was produced, and ascending a flight of stairs I stood in the library. It is a long narrow gallery, receiving light from several side windows, around each of which a recess is formed by bookshelves, and a table and chair being furnished, a very pleasant studious nook is formed. The books, in excellent order and well dusted, reach to the ceiling ; nor are they all theological or classical. I did not notice any novels, but several shelves full of recently published histories and memoirs. Reviews, magazines, and newspapers were on some of the tables, and I pounced upon a huge pile of the Times bound up ; so that our friends, the clergy, do not read divinity exclusively. Comfort is studied, for the chamber is warmed by hot air. It is really a great boon for a scantily-paid curate to have such a snuggery at his command, not to speak of the privilege of being permitted to take the volumes home. Leisurely traversing the library, stopping every minute I" inspect tall copies of elaborate treatises by the erudite authors of old limes, I came at length to the south end of the gallery ; and looking over the narrow lane that bounds it, and the dead wall beyond, I was surprised to notice a strip of green sward, broken by irregular patches, and hemmed in by a mouldering embankment of stone. It was 274 SION COLLEGE. the burial-ground of St. Alphage Church, disused since the destruction of that sanctuary in the Great Fire ; and the crumbling white mound was one of the few remaining fragments of London Wall, raised long ages before the kindly heart of Dr. White had grown warm with the scheme of endowing a college. Will the ancient cemetery remain untouched much longer ? We hope so ; but what capital warehouse room it would afford. In 1880 will there be the same prospect from this window ? It will be a pity to obstruct it ; but the library is filling fast, and when the trustees are in funds, a plan has been broached for cover- ing the gallery with a glass roof, blocking up the side- lights, and thus securing abundance of book room. But we must adjourn to the college hall, a neat wain- scoted chamber, nearly square, and not palatial in size. The oriel window contains a large number of armorial bearings, in stained glass, chiefly of the presidents and visitors, while the walls are hung with oil paintings, some not deficient in merit. We mention a few : — Dr. Thomas White, the founder. The original was burnt in 1666. This was the gift of the Corporation of Bristol, and is equally authentic. — The Head of Christ, on panel. On the reverse, the De- collation of St. John Baptist. There is a tradition that it belonged to the old Priory Church. — King Charles I. ; a very beautiful portrait, apparently ancient. — Two portraits of Charles II., in fine preservation. — Dr. Thomas James, first Librarian of the Bodleian Collection. — Thomas James (his grandson) and his wife Eleanor. — Thomas Tennison, Archbishop of Canterbury. — Thomas Lecher, ditto. — Wil- liam Howley, Bishop of London. — Charles James Blomfield, ditto. There are not many social gatherings in this hall ; when a dinner does take place, the Fellows pay their own ex- penses. We trust the hospitality of the college will increase with its means. 8I0N COLLEGE. 275 A few steps brought us to the almshouses. The plan is far from liberal. Each pensioner is restricted to a single room (about 8 feet by 6), which must serve for parlour, kitchen, and bedroom. The sleeping accommodation oc- cupies fully half the space, and as the ceiling is not lofty, the supply of fresh air, especially at night, must be scanty. The rooms have but one door. It took only a single step from the yard into the chamber of a male pensioner ; he was about sixty, decently dressed, and appeared in health. "Are you comfortable?" I asked. "Yes; but the pay is too little;" and as it is under 7s. per week, the alms-people can have no funds for luxuries. We sincerely hope " the good time coming" will remedy this and the other grievances of the college. I paused in the small gravelled court previous to leaving those quiet precincts. Two or three well-grown trees are in full leaf, "looking tranquillity" within a few feet of the noisy London world. Such cool, silent spots are daily becoming fewer; they fill the mind with suggestive thoughts, and preach forcibly on the solemn text, "Vanity of vanities ! all is vanity!" May Sion College be an heirloom to our posterity ! T 2 A LONDON FOG. LONDON IN A NOVEMBER FOG. Among the eccentricities of our London atmosphere, none are more troublesome to invalids, or more disagreeable to pedestrians in general, than the fogs which so persistently visit us from October to February. Even during the best months of summer the metropolis is never entirely free from mist, which may be defined a compound of coal smoke and aqueous vapour. Climb to the lantern over the dome of St. Paul's, by three or four o'clock a.m. on a fine July morning, and you will be surprised to find how bright and clear the whole prospect looks. Except a thin white haze, marking the course of the river, every object, whether man's work or nature's, comes out sharply and without disguise. Church steeples and factory chimneys still wear their sooty tippets ; the streets retain their greasy surface ; but the sunbeams shed such a golden halo around them LONDON IN A NOVEMBER FOG. 277 that London grows as brilliant as the city of Kubla Khan. This evanescent splendour is easily explained. The m illion fires of London are yet unkindled. Only wait on your lofty perch till the housemaids are all awake, and then as the innumerable chimneys contribute their black and foetid smoke, the beauty of the prospect will be lost in a moment. Our old enemy, coal-fog, will attack both eyes and nostrils, and we must hasten to shut our mouths against the in- truder. It may be as well to give some explanation of the cause of fogs, and their ordinary mode of action. The following particulars are abridged from various scientific sources. Fog is the name of a cloud when it rests on the ground, or when it envelops the spectator. Clouds are commonly con- siderably elevated, that is, from one-quarter of a mile to one mile, and in warm countries or seasons to two or three miles ; but over the whole earth they are sometimes found on the surface, causing a degree of opacity in the atmo- sphere, light or dense, according to circumstances. There is little doubt that fogs and clouds consist of minute drops or molecules of water precipitated by cold from the steam or vapour diffused through the great mass of air. When a large volume of elastic steam rises from a boiler, a cloud is instantly produced, occasioned, no doubt, by the coldness of the air. Fogs are most common in cold weather, and are rare in hot climates. When the thermometer is bolow 32 degrees at the surface of the earth, dense clouds cannot be formed in high regions, because the watery vapour is not copious; but at 80 degrees or upwards, they may form at the height of two or three miles. The temperature diminishes at every hundred yards of perpendicular ascent ; and the aqueous vapour is in proportion to the heat or cold. Fogs are most frequent on sea-coasts and near great rivers. Water lias a greater capacity for heat than land; consequently the former is more slow in cooling than the 278 LONDON IN A NOVEMBER FOG. latter. In winter, changes of wind produce sudden cold ; the air is coldest on land, and least on the water. Hence it throws off a quantity of vapour, which, condensed by the cold air, becomes fog. On this account the fogs observed by mariners on approaching land during frost ; and hence they are so common in London, and other places where the tide penetrates inland. It was noticed of a river thirty or forty yards wide, that often in summer, after sunset, a dense fog followed the course of the water, but that this only happened when the temperature of the water was fully 1 degrees above that of land. The effect of fogs in apparently magnifying distant objects is notorious, but it is an optical deception. Fog diminishes the brightness of objects, and consequently suggests a greater distance ; but when the visual angle remains the same, the greater the distance, the greater is the magnitude ; hence, objects at a moderate distance appear to be magnified. The density of the atmosphere in heavy fogs fully accounts for the fact that sound is greatly deadened, because the medium through which vibrations are conveyed, interposes, in proportion to its opacity, a greater or less degree of resistance. Deaf persons should not venture into crowded thoroughfares during the con- tinuance of dense fogs. Fogs are ordinarily prevalent during the winter months, over marshy grounds. The moist, warm vapour eliminated from them is condensed by the coldness of the superficial atmosphere, and converted into fog. A familiar illustration of this may be offered. The imperfectly drained field between Highbury Place and Crescent, in the warmest days of summer, before sunrise, is often covered with a dense fog, which is only dissipated when the moisture is absorbed by the sun. That fogs follow water-courses is certain. Take an instance : the writer used to traverse the banks of the New Biver after nightfall, and could readily make out their circuitous line LONDON IN A NOVEMBER FOG. 279 by the fringing of white fog which almost invariably marked it from October to March. Even the presence of any large sheet of standing water will in general be indicated in the same manner. Why fog clouds should assume so many shades of colours, though for the most part only variations of orange and deep blue, may be more difficult to explain ; but as the clouds usually dis- tinguished in higher atmospheric regions no doubt owe their beautiful tints to the sun's rays, it is not unreasonable to suppose that the dingy colouring of fogs is but a reflec- tion, under unfavourable circumstances, of the same universal light. The fairy hues of the rainbow and the repulsive yellow of a pea-soup fog may have the same origin. Not many days since, when I left Islington for a City walk (not of pleasure), the prospect behind me was tole- rably bright and clear for November; but long before Hatton Garden was reached, a blanket of white fog en- veloped me, and I shivered from the subtly permeating cold. It had grown frosty during the previous night, and that wonderful goblin artist who pencils landscapes on windows with such delicate fingers, had set his mark on the gutters, and rendered the carriage roads bone-dry. Turn- ing on to Holborn Hill, all the discomfort of the scene became apparent : shop-fronts were whitened with hoar- frost ; the flagged way was as slippery as glass ; carriages and carts toiled painfully upward from Earringdon Street, or were in danger of an overturn at every inch of down- ward progress. The sun was struggling in the mist, and looked (forgive the homely simile) hke a half-cooked muffin. Just by Ely Place, a costermonger's cart had brokon down ; the worn-out donkey had fallen beneath ji is last load, and was evidently struggling with the death agony. "Who cared ? Nobody ! Yes, one, liis master ; yet not for the poor brute, but his own loss. Nearer Shoe 280 LONDON IN A NOVEMBER FOG. Lane a powerful dray-horse had slipped and fallen — his struggles were terrific. Throwing out his hind legs with desperate strength, he strove to free himself from the encumbering harness ; the driver would have helped him, but dared not approach. I did not stay for the upshot. Holborn Hill and Skinner Street are both absolutely mur- derous to horses. Philanthropists and speculators have proposed various plans to mitigate the difficulty, but hitherto scarcely anything has been done. The Cor- poration are now, however, about to bridge over the Holborn Valley. The fog grew denser, and the thin white cloud began to thicken and grow yellow, emitting an odour not in the least resembling that of roses ; you sneezed while inhaling it, and your smarting eyelids ran over with involuntary tears. The Old Bailey, always dreary, seemed more dreary than ever. Passing close to it, the outline of the ill-omened door or window from which, a few days before, Catherine Wilson came forth to die, might be distinguished. Even while I write, another wretched human being may be issuing to expiate his guilt. May he find mercy. The gallows is an awful necessity: murder must be punished with the sternest penalty of outraged law ; nor should any lachrymose pity for criminals sheath the sword of justice. There was a poor little shoeless girl, in grievously tattered clothes, on the footway, selling water-cresses ; her teeth chattered as she besought custom ; a gentleman stopped and purchased two pennyworth. "What could he want with them ? He paused at the cab-stand, and fed a weary hack ; the jaded creature relished the green morsel amazingly. Eleven o'clock ! What a heavy, dull sound follows each stroke on the great bell ! Every vibration distresses the aural nerve ; and yet ordinary noises are so deadened, that you hardly notice cart or omnibus till you are nearly under LONDON IN A NOVEMBER FOG. 281 the wheels. The fog-cloud grew darker and darker ; a deep purple-black tinge began to mix with the thick ochre colour. On Ludgate Hill all the gas jets were kindled, and the long line of shops on either side of the narrow acclivity presented an extraordinary scene. The public lamps, though closely placed, could not be distinguished from post to post ; and in the semi-darkness you risked breaking your shins against them, as they suddenly started up before the passenger, when he was only a few feet from them. Had they been Hghted, their feeble glimmer would have been of little or no benefit. The display of goods in the shop windows had a very odd effect. Here a pile of choice cheeses resembled so many flint stones, while tempt- ing pats of butter, prepared for some aldermanic dinner, looked like half-decayed turnips. The jeweller, a few doors off, sighed over his brilliants, rendered as dead and rayless as decomposing fish eyes. The splendid shawls at Everington's dangled limp and out of fold, more like soiled rags than adornments for lady aristocrats. At a newspaper shop, the outside lamp revealed, through the almost pal- pable opaque mist, the saddening announcements, " Ter- rible News from America," "Starvation and Typhus in Lancashire," "Shocking Case of Garotting." The church by the London Coffee House reared itself up in the gloom (seeming twice as tall as the reality), taking the form of a fossil African giant, the weathercock simulating a fancy cap with a black fowl's plume. It was good not to stare too much, lest you should measure your length in the gutter. London pedestrians are always in a hurry. Eeck- I ■ Hsly shouldering their way onward — onward! none paused to inquire who suffered from their speed. Look to your feet, and bear tho apostolical injunction in mind, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest ho fall." But who can forbear gazing and wondering as St. l'aul's reveals itself among the clouds ? Tho basement is lost in 282 LONDON IN A NOVEMBER FOG. an ocean of vapour, but the campanile towers, grand and gaunt, are mysteriously revealed amidst the sublime sha- dows around them, and aptly represent the guardian genii of our glorious City. Far subliraer even than this is the marvellous dome above — a perfect circle, momentarily interrupted by fog-banks, and surmounted, at a dizzy height, by the goodly lantern and cross of gold (seen in a struggling sunbeam), a physical sign of hope and peace to the vast metropolis it seems to protect — as the true spiritual cross, the symbol of man's redemption, is the pledge and assurance of reconcilement with heaven and eternal life. Will there be any matrimonial business transacted in the Commons to-day? Will Cupid's torch yield light enough to guide impatient bridegrooms to the proctor's door ? Oh, yes ; " Love will find out the way." Yonder smug-looking young man, who has just flattened his nose against the projecting corner of No. 1, does not mean to purchase tea or coffee ; his last purchase was a "plain gold ring," and now his explorations are after "a licence." May his expectant bride reward his courage this foggy morning with a pleasant welcome at home. Our way is by Cannon Street to Billingsgate, but really every step grows more uncertain ; we can no longer make out the ball and cross, and even the dome resembles a solid globe of pitchy matter. "No sun," "total eclipse," all dark ! Let us be careful ; we have sbd into one of the side lanes, and are rapidly descending towards Thames Street. Yes, this must be the Carron Wharf; you may hear the sullen plash of the river against the shore-way. Houses and people — all have such a spectral air, that it would be scarcely a surprise to meet some of the old lords of Bay- nard's Castle out .on leave. Take care ! this is not a ghost, but a very substantial iron truck ; only slip under the wheels, and you will be made mincemeat of in a moment. After a full hour of "marching and counter-marching," LONDON IN A NOVEMBER EOG. 283 turning down one street and up another, quite as often in a wrong as in a right direction, the line to London Bridge was safely crossed, and we were close upon the world's fish market. It was in full business, much later than usual, owing to the dense fog, and all the lamps were lighted. It is a curious thing in cold weather to watch the cloud of breath condensed, as soon as it issues from the lungs, into a thousand white, airy spirals. In the present instance, there was a second cloudlet of tobacco smoke, of which your nose gave warning long previous to your mixing with the busy assembly. It was difficult to say whether the pipe odour or the smell of fish preponderated. The coster- mongers were in great force ; no doubt the well-to-do West- end dealers had been supplied already. No specimens of the more costly sorts of fish remained ; but as you groped through the market, you encountered endless baskets of sprats, herrings, whitings, and in course of transport from the shore-lying smacks, an abundant supply of oysters. A strange Babylonish confusion of tongues denoted the earnest and often angry discussion as to the price demanded for the spoils of the waters. A large portion of the wordy war was carried on by the fish nymphs who, quite as much as the masculine priests of Billingsgate, take part in the purchase and sale of the finny tribes. Numerous places of public refreshment surround the market, among which it is satisfactory to find so many coffee-houses. The fish dinners provided by some of the licensed victuallers are excellent in kind, and extremely moderate in price. The fog clouds are rapidly breaking up ; some of them hive an edge of sunlight. There is a fresh breeze from the Thames. It will soon be broad day again. "Truly, the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for tho eyes to behold the sun." We must not judge of London by what we can see of it in a November fog. LONDON LIONS AT FEEDING TIME. We cast up straws to ascertain the direction of the wind, and by observing the merest trifles we may become ac- quainted with the habits of a great community. Eating and drinking seem vulgar things, unworthy of much study ; but then they are necessities, and, in old Homer's words, Necessity demands our daily bread ; Hunger is obstinate, and will be fed. Out of the imperious demands of " our inward monitor," the stomach, however, an infinite amount of good arises. Charity grows keener and more enlarged with a feast in prospect, and as the champagne froths in the kindly steward's glass, his purse-strings dilate, and his heart expands. No society should be without its annual dinner. Mere dry finance meetings will never be popular ; but let the assembly be at the Albion or the London Tavern, and the generosity of your subscribers will be excited tenfold. Public breakfasts may be better than no festivals at all ; even tea-meetings may have their value ; but if you desire to attract the gentlemen, the best open sesame to their sympathies will be a cosy banquet. Yet, though supplies for the inner man are indispensable — to prove which we need only compare the same face before and after meals — the fixed seasons for gratifying its cravings have been re- LONDON LIONS AT FEEDING TIME. 285 markably various. If any ancient Briton blood still runs in our veins, our remote ancestors dined off ' ' half -raw meat" at ten a.m., while eleven a.m. was a genteel time of repast among the Anglo-Saxons. Our courtly Norman conquerors seldom exceeded midday for consuming their principal supplies of food ; and even so late as the era of the early Georges one o'clock p.m. was the fashionable dinner hour. "We have reformed all this to some purpose. No well-to-do operative can dine earlier than one o'clock now ; steady young tradesfolk, who still tarry within the sound of Bow bells, will scarcely sit down to their mutton before three or four ; and the genteeler classes, including, of course, the whole of clerkdom and the mercantile interests, think five o'clock a respectable dinner hour. Indeed, there are xdtra-gentilities who adjourn from 'Change or the Alley to Clapham or Camberwell, and dress for dinner at eight. If there have been such extraordinary revolutions as to the dinner hour, not less strange has been the alteration as to the dishes in vogue. Our ancestors began with a steak, a red herring, or a plate of whale-blubber, washed down with mead, sack, or porter, according to the period ; and as soon as ,twelve struck, plunged their knives or digits into the prodigious roast or boiled delicacy — boar's head, sturgeon, or peacock, as the case might be — swallowing each huge mouthful with an accompaniment of heady ale. Then the old nodded outright, and the young extemporized a doze, and afterwards sallied forth to business or pleasure like giants refreshed. At present, papa, or brother, or husband, or " my son John," the hope of the house, just rising seven- teen, the recognized bread-wiuners of the family, start to business on ;i light meal of tea or coffee, with toast or mufliu, varied in some comfortable houses with bacon, shrimps, or water-cresses. A curious phenomenon, quite new to modern times, generally accompanies theso outgoings. Eldors and 286 LONDON LIONS AT FEEDING TIME. juveniles, incipient desk and stool occupants — all, from grey-bearded Mr. Stonesend to Master Peter Liquorice — envelop themselves in a cloud of tobacco smoke ; whether they humbly pace the flags, or ambitiously mount the om- nibus knifeboard, each regales himself with pipe or cigar (pipes are most patronized at present), and woe to the innocent non-smoking pedestrian whose morning walk is at the rear of a band performing such matutinal fumiga- tions. We might pity and avoid the half-clad labourer, toiling to his work through fog or icy rain, who indulged in a pinch of short-cut ; but these self-satisfied consumers of the "Indian weed " would despise our pity, and cannot be avoided, for they crowd the Queen's highway, and pollute both omnibus and railway carriage. How strange that so many millions should be annually expended on mere smoke in this economical community ! Fortunately the pipes are smoked out, and the cigars thrown by, at least a hundred yards before reaching shop or office. A suspicious smell continues to cling to the broadcloth, but the wearers assume a dignified unconsciousness of pipe or Havanna. The last lingering puff of cherished smoke dies out before the miscellaneous crowd of London workers enter on the duties of the day. It seems a monstrous time to fast, from the thin morning meal at seven or eight o'clock, till four, five, or six o'clock, for the one substantial repast of the twenty-four hours. Yes ; but on inquiry we shall find that this fast is by no means rigidly kept. When means are narrow, and the smart young wife is saving as well as amiable, she provides her Bank or Custom House hero with a packet of sand- wiches, or a slice of cold meat, neatly arranged in a slender tin case, to satisfy the rebellious stomach, and prevent indigestion. "Jacob, dear (such is the parting word), be sure you remember your lunch. Dr. Fry says it's so bad to go long without food." Of course, the home- LONDON LIONS AT FEEDING TIME. 287 made sandwich, or cake, biscuit, or bun, is not the constant rule. Well-endowed clerks from Highbury, and sub- stantial commercial men from Brixton, are independent of such helps, and know where the best soup, sandwich, or sherry can be obtained, while some well-to-do gents broach tins of potted meat for lunch. Still, in whatever mode the indulgence is sought, from twelve to two there will be unmistakable indications of that meal. The young lion- cubs of Threadneedle Street, and the old master-lions of the Exchange, begin to sniff the savoury viands afar off ; and if the needed refreshment be long delayed, a practised ear will easily distinguish sundry half-suppressed growls from the well-fed, and timid sighs from the lean kine, among the lordly animals. It is pleasant to watch the various feeding-places about 'Change. Here, within a stone's throw of the Bank, we have a butcher's shop and a public-house adjoining. The hungry citizen invests eightpence for a slice of rump-steak, or sixpence for a fraction of mutton, and, skewer in hand, enters the neighbouring kitchen to have it cooked. There, on a stupendous gridiron, traversing a noble sea-coal fire, you will find from noon until dusk divers appetizing morsels preparing for luncheon. Cooking your share of meat costs a penny ; a hunch of bread a second penny ; salt and pepper may be had free of charge ; you get your frothing half-pint of malt for a third penny, which, with another penny to the waiter, if you are liberal, makes just one shilling for an excellent apology for dinner. I have tried the plan, and certainly of a cold or frosty day you cannot do better than dine from the hot pewter platter by the bright red stove. But you are extra genteel, and require lunch. In that case go to "Birch's," ami (all lor a plate of mock-turtle, which, with a French roll and a glass of prime sherry, will form a capital half- way meal. Tyros, hardly emancipated from school, and 288 LONDON LIONS AT FEEDING TIME. green in City customs, commonly rush for bun, tart, or biscuit to Purssell's. Study human bipeds for ten minutes in that magazine of sweets, and you will be astounded at the keen unappeasable appetites of the young fry from the joint-stock banks and assurance offices. One day I paid my penny for a plain bun — I like Bath buns best, but they stick to one's fingers, and cost twopence — and, looking round, took note of the "high jinks " of my juvenile companions. A tall fair youth, fascinated by a tin of currant tarts, was making desperate inroads on the tempting pastry. He had despatched his sixth tart, when my attention was diverted to a ruddy-cheeked lad of fourteen, who was swallowing calves' -foot jelly at a surprising rate, while a lad, his junior, possibly his brother, was trying to bolt two-thirds of a Bath bun, preparatory to eating a pair of sausage rolls which he held ready in his hand. In a corner of the shop, endeavouring to get out of sight, stood a genteel young man in faded black, and sadly cadaverous- looking, eating with ill-disguised avidity an Abernethy biscuit. Was it breakfast, lunch, and dinner at once ? Let us call at Garraway's — they sell delicate sandwiches. Here is the receipt for compounding them : — Two slices of new white bread, buttered with most desirable fresh butter ; ham, cut marvellously thin, to match, and a soupcon of mustard, artistically applied ; the whole divided into four. If you merely seek to amuse your palate, you cannot do better than call for a plateful. If you take wine with them, they will give you full measure, and of superior quality. If you rejoice in teetotalism, cross over to the Jerusalem, where you will find an admirable cup of well-creamed coffee, with crumpet or French roll, quite irreproachable ; or visit Lloyd's refreshment department, and choose a lunch to your own taste. Alas for the departed glories of the Cock by the Exchange! Where are the well-filled, savoury-odoured LONDON LIONS AT FEEDING TIME. 289 soup-kettles? Where the handy, swift-footed waiters? Where the inviting tables, covered with spotless drapery ? Where the faultless kitchen, for well-browned gravy and smooth mock-turtle soup, for inimitable bouilli, with a garnish of crisp celery? What ruthless barbarian hand has extinguished the fire, expelled the cooks, and shut the door ? How many a busy son of commerce — how many a tired wayfarer has handled a spoon at the Cock, and been refreshed ! The public have a warm interest in such places of welcome comfort. Is your home in the suburbs — Wandsworth, Pimlico, Hackney — how delightful to find a choice basin of soup smoking under Gresham's mystic grasshopper, or lunch for an emperor for a few coppers. Not long since I was summoned to the City on purely business affairs ; it was a pleasant, bright day, but rather cold. The great iron tongue of Father Paul struck the final stroke of twelve at noon as I turned into Lothbury. The street was unusually quiet, and the persons who passed had hungry countenances, and seemed hurrying on to satisfy some urgent want. The banks and public offices are thick in that locality, and clerks without cash-books were darkening the doors. One was returning with a whitey-brown paper bag, evidently containing a captain's biscuit or two; and a broad-backed, full-corporationed elder sallied from the London and Westminster, in a direct line for Birch's. Ascending the steps in the rear of the Wellington statue, I entered the Royal Exchange Fire Office. My business (to renew and alter a policy) took a considerable time. The capacious chamber was singularly tranquil ; at one end a row of quill-drivers preserved the semblance of activity, but under cover in a corner, with his back to the desks, stood the messenger, evidently dis- cussing a roll, while another official was refreshing him- self with a draught of Barclay. Though thero were no other applicants, I was obviously ono too many. The u 290 LONDON LIONS AT FEEDING TIME. account-books had got a holiday, but the clerks were not idle. I confess to a curious disposition, and watched my busy friends with great interest. Two thin but tall gentle- men (I fancied them brothers) were engaged in the mys- teries of lunch. The one nearest me had opened and emptied his desk, converting it into a lunching cabinet : knife, fork, plate, cold meat, and bread were in requisition, but as the meal went on he grew aware that the operation was no secret. To remedy this, he set up a giant folio on end, to prevent further inspection. It did not answer, for the tell-tale fork still fetched and carried, and the mouth was in full work. Solids require the action of liquids, and I soon became aware, not of a " leathern bottel," but of a small circular decanter, from which issued at intervals a pale brown stream of Allsopp. After a few minutes the empty bottle was rather stealthily transferred to a con- venient pocket, but the meal was in full progress when I left the place. My next visit was to the Clerks' Office at Drapers' Hall. There was no lunching there, but everything looked hungry. The Assistant and his major-domo both seemed indulging in visions of savoury dishes ; to the junior a plate of pea-soup would have been delectable, to the "grave and reverend " Governor a cut of haunch or saddle might have proved welcome. The office chairs are exceedingly gaunt and angular ; they also seemed hungry. There was an old man in the paved forecourt, whose grey, straggling, un- combed beard looked hungry too. How could this happen ? The company give capital dinners, and possess a first-rate kitchen. Well, it was lunch time. My last business call was at the Bank. Certainly I never obtained my infinitesimal dividend so quickly. I did but mention my letter, and was assured in the blandest tone I should be waited upon directly — a strange contrast to the harsh monosyllables which often in the same establish- LONDON LIONS AT FEEDING TIME. 291 ment have made me examine my face to ascertain if the nose was left. There was no lunching in actual progress; but, who can tell, tit-bits might be fizzing at the moment on the Corporation gridiron, and eager fancy might be wandering among the pleasantnesses of the expected lunches. All living creatures — bipeds and quadrupeds — must eat ; nor can the privilege of shovelling and weighing sovereigns, or counting thousand-pound notes, avail to control the gnawing sensation produced by a vacant stomach. Life is nothing but a system of lunching and dining. It was 1.5 as I left the palatial (rather dirty) residence of the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street, and turned, for a snatch of meditation, on to the Exchange. Truly the spot "where merchants most do congregate" was exceedingly solitary. Here and there a thinly-clad urchin was inspect- ing a trade case, or a middle-aged captain by courtesy, or a Hebrew, was perambulating the corridors, with an eager expression of face, indicative of a restless conscience or an uneasy stomach. Occasionally there were hurried steps across the ambulatory, and it was apparent there was one thought uppermost with these good people : was it lunch ? More than once, waiters with covered trenchers went hastily from side to side, and a tantabzing steam of pleasant food yet further increased the facial perplexity of my companions on 'Change. The old writers who speak of dining with " Duke Humphrey " do not recommend it, nor will a lunch with that great man be found more agree- able in our own times. A dozen steps, and I w;is again at the feet of the illustrious Field Marshal, and surrounded by a group of sturdy -looking shoeblacks in red tunics. It was lunch time with them also, with the exception of one lad, who was in the act of putting tho final polish on a burly countryman's boots. The others were discussing each a monster hunch of bread, with just a taste of salt v 2 292 LONDON LIONS AT FEEDING TIME. beef or a slice of Dutch cheese. Hunger renders the plainest food delicious. There can he no better sauce, and no more infallible promoter of digestion, than hard work. Many of our London lions live in enviable quarters, and "fare sumptuously every day," yet with the shoe- black's health and vigour not a few of them would be happier with the shoeblack's poor rations. The nobility of the Hon is not always shown by the lordliness of his roar, nor his enjoyment by the extent of his hunting ground ; and when we speak of London lions at feeding time, it is no paradox to assert that some of the poorest whelps among them may chance to be the happiest. THE FIVE SWANS, BISHOPSGATE. STREET ARCHITECTURE -NEW CANNON STREET. PEitnArs there is something more picturesque about this old inn than in the gayest modern mansion of Paris, justly denominated magnificent in the reign of Louis XIV., and still the show city of Europe. Undor Louis Philippe, the ruin it had sustained during the revolution of 1789 — only partially repaired by Napoleon I. — was entirely effaced. A spirit of improvement was actively at work, and tourists justly wondered while thoy beheld the re- << lifted capital of France. All this, however, was nothing 294 STREET ARCHITECTURE. in comparison with, the grand and beautiful architectural advances made in Paris by the strong will and uncon- trollable power of Napoleon III. Every unsightly vestige of the old city is rapidly disappearing, and not only are comfort and utility considered for the benefit of the in- habitants, but the eye of taste is consulted, and the dwel- lings of a vast number of human beings arranged so admirably as to give positive pleasure as a spectacle. At our large theatres, when a city is to be represented, every offensive detail is carefully suppressed. Thus at the Princess's, during the representation of " A Midsummer Night's Dream," a view of Athens in its glory was given, and not a single point was brought forward that could diminish the general effect. The restored capital of Greece looked as fresh and fair as when recent from the creative hand of Phidias. Thus it is with Paris in 1864. The mighty despot has moulded even the most unpromising materials into symmetry and beauty, and every year adds to the attraction and completeness of the imperial city. If we contrast the progress of London with that of Paris in architectural fitness and display, our national vanity will be sadly wounded. In solidity and usefulness of construc- tion we may challenge comparison with the whole world : we build with an object, and in general the end is well worked out. Our public buildings may stand for centuries, though the sites are often indifferently chosen ; and a noble plan, well executed, is frequently so concealed from obser- vation (as in the case of Goldsmiths' Hall) that a large portion of our citizens are ignorant of its existence. Even our glorious Cathedral is deplorably hemmed in by mean brick residences ; and when an open space in the vicinity is procured — once in half a century — our resolutions for keeping it open are soon forgotten, and we build piles of warehouses taller and closer than ever. London, previous to the Great Eire, was a strange network of wooden bulks, STREET ARCHITECTURE. 295 made picturesque by their variety, while here and there a church, a red brick mansion, or a fantastically-shaped goods store, gave a singular but still attractive air to the place. Narrow streets and lofty houses, with gable roofs and lattice windows, oddly imagined symbols of trade dangling over each shop door, and not unfrequently shields with armorial bearings, indicating that the trader had superseded some noble family — all gave a romantic aspect to the City, — a busy place even in those days, but not, as now, embarrassed with a perpetual stream of pedes- trians and vehicles. The Great Fire cleared the encumbered ground, and had the spirit of improvement, represented by Sir Christopher Wren, been permitted to employ it aright, our London would now have equalled Paris. Unfortunately, each builder was allowed to set up what was pleasant in his own eyes, and as the immediate need was chiefly considered, the new City was neither more elegant nor more convenient than the old. Still in the chief streets there was some variety of style, and the practice of hanging out signs, though occasionally dangerous, broke the monotony of long lines of shops, and agreeably diversified the scene. As these disappeared, the naked bareness of the ordinary shops and dwellings grew more conspicuous. London, when it commenced " going out of town," was augmented by interminable rows of houses (Harley Street for instance), solid and well built, but each exactly like its neighbour, without the slightest elegance of proportion when viewed singly, and in a range of four or five score remarkable for their distressing sameness. This style will be found to prevail, with few or no excep- tions, from the boundaries of London proper, through Holborn, Lloomsbury, and Oxford Street, with all the outlying squares and places towards Hyde Park and J 'addington. We may date a favourable change from the commence- 296 STREET ARCHITECTURE. ment of the Eegency in 1810, the first grand improvement being the enclosure of a park at Marylebone, and the gradual formation of Regent Street. It began at Port- land Place, and the noble width of that aristocratic locality has been preserved. It was unfortunate that Mr. Nash, the architect, would suffer his fine plan to be disfigured with stuccoed fronts : red or various coloured bricks would have been infinitely superior. The colonnade at Piccadilly, as first erected, was certainly heavy, but with the excep- tion of the piazza at Covent Garden, it was the only open- air covered way in the metropolis, and had many advan- tages. Much more recently, the street through Leicester Fields to Long Acre, as well as New Oxford Street, were valuable improvements. In the latter the style is rather ambitious, and aims at imparting agreeable novelty to ordinary house fronts. In Chester, and a few of the more ancient towns of England, some fine specimens of domestic architecture may be found, not in respect to the mansions of the gentry merely, but as regards ordinary shops and houses ; so that frequently, when the materials are both poor and in decay, the elegance of form makes them still respectable. This, too, is the enduring charm of most of the Italian cities — Pavenna, Yenice, Verona, Florence, and many others, which, quite apart from the palatial buildings by which they are adorned, possess a charm even in their meanest dwellings, arising out of picturesque details which arrest the traveller's notice at every step, and leave a last- ing impression on his memory. Structural change or im- provement proceeds at a snail's gallop in England. The genius of the Circumlocution Office is always at hand to enforce his cardinal maxim, " How not to do it." If the Government plans a national gallery, or desires to make it useful, twenty years or more are consumed in talking about it ; and if action is ever taken, it is sure to be done in the least efficient manner possible. How long have we been STREET ARCHITECTURE. 297 discussing in Parliament, or elsewhere, on the best plans for new law courts or Government offices? When the British lion growls for symbolical lions to keep watch at the base of the Nelson column, how many seasons must be wasted before anything is done, or even promised? The promise at length is, that a painter will make models of them ; but he does not, and the work is as far from execution as ever.* The richest country in the world has only carried out one really grand architectural design during the last fifty years — the Palace at Westminster. Occasionally some wealthy and pubhc-spirited individual makes an investment in bricks or stone, as witness Mr. Hope's noble mansion in Piccadilly, and a few splendid banking houses or offices in the City. As for the Corpora- tion, they move, bke ad great bodies, with amazing slow- ness and decorum. Take as an instance the intended highway from Farringdon Street, which is actually in the same state we saw it — I am afraid to say how many years ago. Yet some admirable improvements have been effected. The new street from Moorgate to the statue of William the Fourth is a vast pubHc advantage, as whoever can recollect the old road through Gracechurch Street to Lon- don Bridge will readily admit. Cateaton Street, improved into Gresham Street, is a very creditable alteration indeed ; and on this site, the buildings already finished, as well as the capacious dep6t on the spot once known from an ancient inn, the Swan with Two Necks, are com- mendable for excellence of style as well as solidity of structure. There are also two or three vast commercial houses in Lothbury, which, could they command a more suitable approach, would have a very striking efFect. By far the best specimen, however, of street architecture in » We tm.w heat that one is actually modelled, so that, perhaps, they will be completed by a.i>. l'JOO. 298 STREET ARCHITECTURE. modern London is New Cannon Street. Hearing much of its admirable and varied style — recalling in some degree what might have been sought, for example's sake, in Genoa, when its merchants were princes — I still delayed paying it a visit, expecting to find the praise too high, and mediocrity the prevailing genius, as it commonly is both east and west. At length, passing from the south side of St. Paul's, and admiring the enormous blocks of ware- houses, tall enough for observatories, at the commencement, I entered the boasted locality, and am bound to say that my most favourable anticipations were abundantly satis- fied. The eye is instantly struck with the size and evident strength of the new structures. In new streets, commonly, you may compare the modern tenements with card buildings — soon up, and soon down again. But here the architect has laboured for posterity. How many generations of Lon- don merchants may toil and grow rich here ? A thousand years have fled since "Watling Street was traversed by a mixed race, descended from Celts, Saxons, Danes, and the conquering Norman. Or look a little higher on the faint chronicle, and you will find the legionaries of Rome proudly marching on the eternal road which they had laid down. Time may shake his century glass often and often, and yet these colossal fabrics, raised by the men of the nine- teenth hundred of our era, may still flourish ; and when from decay or neglect they sink into ruins, the inquisitive New Zealander, when he arrives, will at least notice and com- mend the solidity of the walls. Nor has elegance been sacrificed to strength. The general outline satisfies the fastidious spectator, while the great variety of form and ornament excites and sustains curiosity. Here and there a middle age church keeps possession amidst the recent buildings, and agreeably rouses the mind to include at one thoughtful glance the present, with all its wealth and knowledge, and the past, with all its stern grandeur and STREET ARCHITECTURE. 299 lingering glory. Ruskin, the eloquent advocate for the exercise of superior artistic skill in the construction of domestic dwellings or commercial emporiums, must have surveyed New Cannon Street with great satisfaction, for here at least many of his suggestions are carried out, as to the plan, the style, and the reality of the work. (Hunt out OLD LONDON SHOP. an old London shop — how strange the contrast!) Similar arteries for our rapidly increasing commerce might surely be opened. Why should not Thames Street, both upper and lower, rival their neighbour ? "Why should not the perplex- ing, narrow, dark courts, alleys, and streets about Wood and Milk Streets, and Honey Lano Market, give place to 300 STREET ARCHITECTURE. some such noble thoroughfare ? Even millionaires might help in the work, without forgetting their mammon wor- ship, for as a commercial speculation, changes, when really beneficial, will in general be found profitable. If London is the richest and most populous city in the civilized world, why should it not architecturally become the most noble ? "We are told that a despotic government possesses unbounded facilities for carrying out public im- provements. There are no obstructives. People may murmur, but they are powerless to prevent. If imperial majesty has taste and energy, there can be no limit to his social ambition, especially when he idolizes peace as well as glory. Augustus found Rome of brick, and left it of marble. Louis XIV. transformed mediaeval Paris from a dirty, intricate, thinly-populated city, into a model metro- polis. The authority of Scripture also teaches that Nineveh, Babylon, and Jerusalem were all built under a system of absolutism. Must we conclude, then, that until power is centred in a single man, architectural triumphs will be rare, public buildings insignificant, and the residences of the people mean? History will tell us another tale. Athens, the greatest and most beautiful city that ever adorned the earth, was raised by a free nation. The love of liberty was a passion with Pericles and his brother statesmen, and not less so with Phidias and his accom- plished colleagues ; indestructible forms of symmetry and grace were originated by men who hated tyranny with intense earnestness. "When Athens lost her freedom, her architectural splendour decayed. Corinth and the various cities of Greece, celebrated by Pausanius as rich in art embellishments, and edifices supremely noble in design, were equally the abodes of freedom, and only ceased to flourish when subjugated by the Romans. Nor ought we to forget that Genoa, Venice, and nearly all the more famous Italian states, so celebrated for works of art, were STREET ARCHITECTURE. 301 all in their best days free from the yoke, and did not begin to decline until subdued by their more powerful neigh- bours. We must not, therefore, excuse the defects of London as a capital, on the score of deficient central con- trol ; a nation of freemen, desiring to make itself a name in architecture and high art, as well as in world-wide possessions, wealth which can scarcely be reckoned, and commerce supplying the whole earth, need only to will it. Riches will then cater to genius without stint ; the decaying or obstructive portions of the City will be superseded by more suitable structures ; and London, with its thousand years of glory, become the grandest, as it is the mightiest, capital of the universe. Such anticipations seem justified by the progress now rapidly making in the work of improvement. Most of the City public companies and banks are gradually vacating their ugly brick buildings, and luxuriating in mansions at once substantial and elegant. Gog and Magog are growing ambitious, and the Guildhall is being resuscitated, or rather rebuilt in a grand style of architecture. A PUBLIC SUPPING AT CHRIST'S HOSPITAL, During a long series of years it was a custom of the kings of France to dine in public, for the delectation of their loving subjects. No doubt it was very agreeable to the courtiers and people of note to attend at and rejoice in the festivities of their sovereign. But it is less apparent what real gratification it could minister to the poorer sort (who, it seems, were also admitted), since it must have occasioned a strange and unseemly mingling of wealth and poverty in their greatest extremes. Still we can well understand that the scene was surpassingly brilliant ; and no doubt all the more offensive manifestations of penury, as rags and dirt, were studiously kept out of sight, and nothing would court the eye but the very quintessence of royal pomp. All the French gossiping chroniclers, and many of the amusing letter- writers of the time, are loud and copious in descriptive particulars and loyal trumpetings. Espe- cially when they speak of the Great King (Louis XIV.) feasting in his imperial hall, in the midst of his delighted people, their hearts seem overflowing with joy, and they are evidently ready to worship the mighty Bourbon. From the awful scene recorded in the Book of Daniel, we gather that similar celebrations were common in Babylon ; and we know that our own Norman kings were in the habit of giving such entertainments to their great lords and more A PUBLIC SUPPING AT CHRIST 1 ' S HOSPITAL. 303 distinguished subjects. Some of them, indeed, feasted all comers ; and an ancient annalist declares that Richard II. kept at all the high festivals of the Church a table for several thousand guests. The Tudor monarchs continued the hospitable practice, and Queen Elizabeth continually took her meals in public, so that they were considered in the light of unceremonious receptions for the more dis- tinguished of her subjects. All the Stuart kings were equally condescending, and the glorious banqueting hall and regal galleries of Whitehall were places of ordinary resort for the courtiers, and not unfrequently were thrown open without restraint to any reputable (or rather well- dressed) visitor. Evelyn describes some of these scenes, which in the days of the merry monarch were frightfully immoral, his unhappy queen and shameless courtesans mingling together in such amusements as gambling and undisguised licentiousness could afford. William III., Queen Anne, and George I. discouraged these vanities ; but they were to some extent revived by George II. and Queen Caroline, who rejoiced in a very free and easy Court. George III. was stiff and retiring in his ordinary habits, yet he frequently came among his subjects, walked almost weekly amidst his people on the terrace at Windsor, with Queen Charlotte and her children, each of whom, while in babyhood, was exhibited in a state cradle, at Buckingham House, to all comers, who, in addition to a peep at the royal infant, were indulged with an allowance of cake and caudle. These customs extended far beyond the Court, 1 nearly all great public institutions had their open holidays, when the humble of the land were invariably welcome guests. Nor can we doubt that such a privilege would be extremely dear to those who, in common, were confined to the lower walks of life. Christ's Hospital is a very ancient foundation, and the older denizens of famous "London town" took great 304 A PUBLIC SUPPING AT CHRIST S HOSPITAL. pleasure in giving the children pleasant relaxations from their educational tasks : hence the Lord Mayor's buns and silver pieces; hence the chief scholars' annual visit to Majesty, in order to display their success in mathematics; and hence the public suppings, which now, in the mag- nificent modern hall, attract so many kindly visitors. The gentle boy-king, Edward VI., — does he ever return in spirit to this favourite foundation, and look complacently on this goodly company of royal scholars? The hall where the Blues sup is hardly exceeded, either in size or grandeur, by any in England. Even from its first erection, its massiveness and grandeur, qualities not always found in modern structures, have given it an air of antiquity, which, under the mellowing hand of time, is growing more im- pressive every year. The exterior forms the principal ornament of the close City neighbourhood in which it stands, while the interior, in length, breadth, and height, is equally commanding and satisfactory. One of its great merits is that the whole extent and area is taken in at a single glance, there being no ornamentation in the shape of columns or pilasters, the architect preferring absolute simplicity of design. The roof is flat, but not naked, being groined with compartments of oak, which pleasingly diversify the vast space. There is an organ gallery at the lower end, while at the upper, over a raised platform of seats, there is a second gallery for spectators. The organ is a large and powerful instrument, and, if an unmusical critic may venture to give an opinion, a very fine one. Over the upper gallery there is a painting of considerable size, representing Edward VI. confirming the privileges of the hospital by a royal charter. On the left-hand wall (looking towards the organ) there is another painting of immense magnitude, but too long in proportion to its width, setting forth Charles II. in his regal robes receiving the Lord Mayor and Corporation. There are also several A PUBLIC SUPPING AT CHRIST'S HOSPITAL 305 full-length, portraits of City worthies — amongst others, Mr. Treasurer Pigeon ; and, in addition, an excellent likeness of the Queen on horseback, and one of her lamented Consort in the act of mounting a favourite horse. The •wall, to the height of eight or ten feet, is wainscoted ; and on the left side, at intervals of a few feet, adorned with armorial hearings of the various presidents. When we entered, which we accomplished without much crowding — but having, at the request of the police, to wait and make a lane for the Governors — the hall was already lighted. This was accomplished by ten circular frames, each containing from sixteen to eighteen jets of gas, while two much smaller burners were suspended over the organ gallery ; besides which, on the sixteen tables which occupied the body of the hall, were ranged, four to a table, in sixty-four metal uprights, the same number of tallow candles, which required to be snuffed about every fifteen minutes. Is this done in reverence for old custom, or is it purely for economy's sake ? In my small establishment, even the kitchen candles (thanks to advancing science) have become snuffless, and I verily believe they are only 7-g-d. per pound. The candles glimmered but faintly ; yet it might have been expected that such an ample supply of gas would have set the whole area ablaze. But, no ; after looking round for a few minutes, the spectators felt (for I asked several) that there was a want of light, with the concomitant annoyance of gloom and indistinctness. The sixteen tables were covered with fair white cloths, witli twenty plates on each side, and all supplied with bread and a bttle pat of butter. Each plate was flanked by a basin, containing (we thought) half a pint of milk. This was the supper — a groat improvement on the beer, bread, and cheese of the olden time. The tables were each to accommodate forty boys, the younger taking the upper ones, and the senior lads filling thoso at the lowor ond. 306 A PUBLIC SUPPING AT CHRIST'S HOSPITAL. On the left hand, in a sort of desk, a fine tall young man, but a Blue, stood waiting to read prayers ; and, in the organ loft, from forty to sixty were preparing to sing the hymns and anthem. I secured a seat quite at the top of the raised platform — for those whose cards were not for "reserves" were urged upwards by the officials with "Higher, ladies and gentlemen," at frequent intervals. My business was to watch the in-coming visitors. Two-thirds of the seats are reserved, and it may be proper to accommodate the governors and their allies liberally, but it is an invidious distinction to withhold the anthem papers and cardboard collection of psalms from the rest of the company. The whole additional outlay could not be large, and it would be far more gracious. There was a continuous stream of children, rising from six to fourteen years old. While we waited at the entrance, an official bawled out, "If there's anybody waiting that knows Mr. Young, let them come this way." Well, several of the crowd knew a Mr. Young, but believing it was some peculiar Mr. Young, we held our peace, and presently several pretty little girls answered the inquiry, and were at once admitted by the smiling janitor. Then came a pleasant bevy of graceful young ladies, be-beaued by a company of smart, stalwart young gentlemen. Paters and Maters followed in abundance — some bent and slow, others grey-haired, but firm and upright; many in the sober silk or broadcloth befitting their age ; others trying to look young in bright colours or staring jewellery, and failing egregiously. Now came a good sprinkling of clergymen in full clerical costume — the curates passing unregarded, the recognised dignitaries bowed to their seats by the officials. The incessant tramp of feet, the hum and bustle while the company were thus subsiding into their places, raised an agreeable feeling of expectation as to who would come next. It was just A PUBLIC SUPPING AT CHRIST' S HOSPITAL. 307 seven o'clock. Look ! a procession is advancing between the line of tables : first, a most venerable Mr. Bumble, bearing an awfully solid official staff, with the foundation crest at top in solid silver. What an obese, stately, old- world looking creature. When was he created beadle ? a long time ago — was it under Edward VI. ? Then, in double file, some two score of " potent, grave, and reverend seniors," each, for dignity, carrying a tall wand, extremely like those usually set up in the churchwarden's pew in all well-ordered sanctuaries. These are succeeded by Mr. Treasurer. His satellites divide right and left, ushering him to an easy chair in the centre of the first row of " reserves," at the foot of the platform ; and then take their own places, each continuing to grasp his wand with imposing non- chalance. A hush, succeeded by three strokes on a table, oddly suggestive of " Good people, mind how you behave ;" then a burst of fine, impressive, and solemn music from the organ. How the holy sounds fill and consecrate the vast space ! How wonderfully beautiful is the gradual subsidence of that lofty peal ! The boys, or according to my admission-card, tho "children," had already, to the number of nearly seven hundred, entered ; and dull or heartless must those spec- tators have been who saw that advancing current of young life without feelings of kindliness and sympathy. In a few years, some of these hopeful, joyous boys will slumber in the dust ; many will be scattered over the whole habi- table globe; some, as successful commercialists, will be governors in this very foundation; and others — may they be small in number — unfortunate and heart-broken, will taste in old age all the bitterness of poverty. What an odd costume they wear — yellow stockings, and a lilted, blue cloth petticoat, with a muffin-shaped apology for a hat. Would you have their garments modernized? V>y no means ! They may be rather inconvenient, but x 2 308 A PUBLIC SUPPING AT CHRIST'S HOSPITAL. they keep them warm — and how picturesque they look. When we meet a Blue, we seem to take a backward look to some mediaeval age, or to be waking up from a dream of trousers and frock-coats to the romantic costumes of the sixteenth century. Each boy stands in his place. The Grecian rises in his desk, and in a clear voice says, "Let us sing to the praise and glory of God, the 100th Psalm." The noble hall echoes to the simple but rousing tones; and then a lesson from St. Paul's Epistle to the Philip- pians is read, every word being audible over the whole building, the acoustic qualities of which cannot be too highly commended. Several collects follow, in good taste for the most part. But why make the reader employ such phrases as these: "We, poor children, were naked, and are clothed ; we were empty, and are filled " ? and why speak of " The Eight Honourable the Lord Mayor, the worthy Aldermen and Common Council, and the most worshipful Corporation " ? Far simpler phraseology is suitable in prayer. It is quite proper to pay respect to dignitaries, but not desirable to deal in mere fulsome com- pliments. Next we had the 104th Psalm, really finely rendered — the young, fresh voices of the choristers flowing forth delightfully in the words of Israel's sweet singer. An English grace followed, "beseeching our almighty Father to consecrate the food to our use, and us to His service." We certainly expected a Latin grace, but per- haps the vernacular tongue was better. The preliminaries to the meal occupied exactly twenty-two minutes. How fortunate that the supper was not hot ! Bread, milk, and butter were quickly appropriated, and then ensued a most expeditious clearing of the tables — plates, basins, candles, and cloths disappearing with surprising speed ; and then at each table end might be seen the august Madam Nurse, sitting bolt upright, as she had been doing for more than half an hour, carefully scrutinizing the doings of her flock. A PUBLIC SUPPING AT CHRIST'S HOSPITAL. 309 The winding-up ceremony is a curious one, and might be discarded advantageously, with some of the over-com- plimentary words spoken of already. During the supper, all or the larger portion of the company promenaded between the tables, and a pleasant interlude of quick life it was. Light young feet just whispered a sound as they playfully pattered on, " Oh, they'll ne'er outwear the everlasting flint." Heavy, shambling, aldermanic soles shuffled along very untuneably — silks and satins rustled — pleased voices of sudden recognition were heard. It was an agreeable though indescribable confusion. Grace after meat has been said, and the tables are cleared. How much darker the lower portion of the Hall seems now that the white table-covers have disappeared! But the 700 Blues and their nurses prepare to make a final bow to the Treasurer. Advancing from the bottom table to the top, up the centre, each marches to within two or three feet of the presidential chair, makes a low obeisance, and retires. Here comes a miniature Blue, with a candle in each hand (most of the sconces were dressed with flowers). On reach- ing the easy chair, he raises the candles above his head, makes his bow between them, and exit. To many of these small lads this was but a merry game ; but this tall youth, trencher on shoulder, does not relish the task. How vexed he looks! Basket and head bend forward in unison. Gone! Then comes a genteel, motherly nurse, who executes something between a bow and curtsey. Gone ! Here is a file of boys, who are not carriers — all bow pro- foundly. Gone ! Next a small Blue with a table-cover ; a second with a basket ; then more candles, and trencher- men. The scene, at first novel and amusing, begins to weary because of its sameness, and we wish the " bowing " were over. In general, the mere children make a play of the ceremony ; but the youths, or we greatly mistake, treated it as a degradation, and inclined from their per- 310 A PUBLIC SUPPING AT CHRIST' S HOSPITAL. pendicular as little as possible. And why all this mummery ? The highest respect is due, of course, to the truly honourable and benevolent men who direct the affairs of Christ's Hospital, but such exaggerated cere- monials are laughable, rather than impressive. The exit of the scholars again evoked the spirit of har- mony, and the organ peals were renewed, joining with the voices of the choristers in a very beautiful anthem : — The Lord is good, fresh acts oi grace His pity still supplies ; His anger moves with slowest pace, His willing mercy flies. Therefore will we the righteous ways Of Providence proclaim ;. We'll sing the praise of God most high, And celebrate His name. Chorus. By angels in heav'n of every degree, And saints upon earth, all praise be addressed To God in three Persons, one God ever blessed, As it has been, now is, and always shall be. The soft, tender tones of such youthful lips, especially when heard without any positive accompaniment, appealed powerfully to every heart and ear; but a far more en- thusiastic feeling arose as the final organ-burst in the concluding chorus, the well-known strains of the National Anthem, were poured forth; and "God save the Queen" was the vocal prayer, not of the Blues alone, but of many of the visitors. This was the worthy finale of a delightful evening ; and I left the hospital precincts more than ever proud that I was a Londoner. *. i»Y, - 2§lS i^' " * TRAITOR S GATE — TOWER. COLONEL BLOOD. The annals of crime record no more strange or daring act than the attempt made, almost successfully, to steal the crown from the Tower, in the reign of Charles IT. The following particulars are gathered from " Braley's History of the Tower," "Strype's Edition of Stow," and the "London Gazette." Strype says : " This relation is from the favour of Mr. Edwards himself, the late keeper of the regalia." Sir Gilbert Talbot, master of the jewel-house at the time of the attempt, left a manuscript on the subjoct, and it agrees with the narrative in every respect. Blood was the son of an Irish blacksmith. Ilis whole career was remarkable, and he seems to have possessed 312 COLONEL BLOOD. great talents as well as indomitable courage, which, pro- perly exercised, must have raised him to a high position. When a mere youth, he rescued one of his companions who was under sentence of death, as the officers were leading him to the gallows. He laid a plot for surprising Dublin Castle, seizing the magazine, and usurping the government. The Duke of Ormond discovered this con- spiracy when on the point of execution, and some of Blood's colleagues were tried, and suffered as traitors. Blood, with the other survivors, bound themselves by a solemn oath to avenge their death upon the Duke himself. Ac- cordingly, not long after, with the assistance of his desperate associates, he stopped the Duke of Ormond in his carriage, while driving to his country mansion near London, bound and gagged him, and then, compelling the coachman to drive to Tyburn, would have hanged him on a gibbet prepared for the purpose, had not his villanous plan been frustrated by the arrival of aid at the critical moment. An ordinary criminal would have avoided ob- servation from the dread of punishment, but failure seemed only to excite Blood's daring spirit. In 1660, the regalia were first opened to public in- spection, the fees being given to the treasurer of the jewel- house, as amends for a large reduction of his salary. These fees Sir Gilbert Talbot gave to a confidential servant, Talbot Edwards, who had the custody of the regalia when Blood, on the 9th of May, 1673, so nearly succeeded in stealing the crown. His plan was most artfully arranged. A few days previously he came to the Tower in the disguise of a clergyman (canonicals were worn in ordinary by divines at that period), with a woman who passed for his wife. They requested permission to enter the jewel-house, but while there the supposed lady complained "of a qualm upon her stomach," and Mrs. Edwards, the keeper's wife, invited her into the COLONEL BLOOD. 313 house to rest. Feigning a speedy recovery, they soon departed, with expressions of warm gratitude. In a few days Blood brought some gloves as a present to Mrs. Edwards, and this led to frequent visits. One day Blood said to Mrs. Edwards, " My wife talks of nothing but your kindness, and is anxious to requite it. You have a pretty daughter, and I a young nephew, with two or three hundred a year in land at my disposal. Let us make a match." This pleased old Edwards, who invited the parson to dine. He came, and said grace with much unction, and concluded with a prayer for ' ' King, Queen, and royal family." Going through the rooms, he noticed a handsome case of pistols, and wished to buy them as a present for a young lord, his friend ; but in fact that he might disarm the keeper. On leaving, he fixed a time to bring his nephew ; and added, "As I wish my two friends, who will leave town early in the morning, to see the regalia, we will come at seven o'clock. Edwards was up early to receive his guests, with his daughter in her best clothes, "when, behold Parson Blood, with three more, came to the jewel-house, all armed with rapier blades in their canes, and each with a dagger and a brace of pocket pistols. Two of his companions entered with him ; the third remained at the door, it seems, for a watch." The daughter was ashamed to come down at once, but sent her maid, who thinking the man outside must be the beau, reported her idea of him to her young mistress. Blood told Edwards he would not go into the house until his wife came, but asked to see the crown in the meantime. This was allowed; but no sooner was the door of the jewel chamber shut as usual, than a cloak was thrown over the old man's head, his mouth gagged, and an iron hook fastened to his nose. Ho was then told that they were resolved to carry off the crown, globe, and sceptre ; that if he submitted, they would spare his life ; but if he resisted, 314 COLONEL BLOOD. they would show him no mercy. Yery bravely, however, he tried to make all the noise in his power. They then knocked him down with a wooden mallet, telling him to he quiet, or they would despatch him instantly. Their victim still endeavouring to raise an alarm, they struck him repeatedly on the head, and then stabbed him in the abdomen. In this condition, the poor old man, who was nearly eighty years of age, lay for some time senseless, and was thought to be dead. Edwards, hearing this opinion, being a little recovered, thought it wisest to remain quiet. The coveted booty was now to be secured. Parrott (a silk dyer, who in the civil war had served under Harrison) concealed the orb in his breeches ; Blood held the crown under his cloak.; and the third man was about to file the sceptre in two, to place it in a bag, when a son of Mr. Edwards unexpectedly arrived. On coming to the door, the man who watched, asked what he wanted. Young Edwards., replied he belonged to the house, and hastened up-stairs. The thieves grew alarmed, and de- camped with the crown and orb, leaving the sceptre on the floor. Old Edwards, freeing his mouth from the gag, shouted, "Treason! murder!" upon which his daughter ran out, reiterating the alarm, and adding (why does not appear), "The crown is. stolen." The uproar growing general, young Edwards and Captain Bechman pursued the robbers, who were stopped by one of the warders. Blood discharged a pistol at him; he fell, though not seriously injured. The thieves reached Little Ward House Gate, where one Sill, an old soldier of Cromwell's, was sentinel, but as he made no opposition they got over the drawbridge, and passed to the outer gate upon the wharf, where horses were waiting for them, at St. Katherine's Gate (called the Iron Gate). Eunning in this direction, they raised a cry of " Stop the rogues !" and were un- suspected till overtaken by Captain Bechman. Blood fired COLONEL BLOOD. 315 his second pistol, but missed, and was presently placed in custody. The crown was still under his cloak, and even though a prisoner he grasped it with a firm hand, and when it was wrested from him, exclaimed, "It was a gallant attempt, however unsuccessful, for it was for a crown !" Parrott was also arrested, hut Hunt, Blood's son-in-law, with two accomplices, reaching the horses, escaped. Hunt was soon after discovered, 'and committed to prison. In the struggle, the great pearl, a large diamond, and some smaller gems fell from the crown, but they were ultimately found. The Ballas ruby, wrenched from the sceptre, was discovered in Parrott' s pocket, and nothing Ox consequence was lost. On young Edwards giving a narra- tive of the affair to Sir Gilbert Talbot, the latter communi- cated the strange news to the King. The curiosity of Charles was roused — what could be the motives of so wild an attempt? He determined to examine the prisoners himself, and they were accordingly sent to Whitehall. The King asked Blood whether he was a party to the outrage on the Duke of Orinond. He boldly admitted he was, and being interrogated as to his abettors in that crime, he replied that he would never betray a friend's life, nor deny a crime in defence of his own. As to his provocation to that deed, he declared that the Duke had taken away his estate, and executed some of his friends, and he had sworn solemnly to be revenged. He also volunteered another extraordinary confession. He had been engaged in a design to kill His Majesty with a carbine from among the reeds, by the Thames above l'»;ittersea, "where he often went to swim." The cause for the intended attempt was " the King's severity over the consciences of the godly, in suppressing the freedom of religious assemblies." He actually took his stand among the roeds for that purpose, but his heart was checked by 316 COLONEL BLOOD. an awe of majesty, and he not only relented himself, hut diverted his associates from the design. "By these con- fessions," said he, "lam open to the law, and expect its utmost rigour, for which I am prepared ; hut hundreds of my friends, yet undiscovered, are hound hy a dreadful oath to avenge my death, or that of any companion, on those who hring us to justice, which will expose the King and all his ministers to the daily peril of assassination. If the King, on the contrary, will spare the lives of a few, he will win the hearts of many who, as they were daring in mischief, would he as hold, if pardoned and received into favour, to perform worthy service for the Crown." Whether this appeal most captivated or overawed the King cannot now he known, hut, though remanded to prison, Blood and his accomplices were soon pardoned for their audacious attempt, while the villain-in-chief received a pension of £500 per annum, and was also allowed to appear at Court as a favourite, and was frequently a suc- cessful solicitor on hehalf of others. Strype says, "Many gentlemen sought his acquaintance as the Indians reverence devils — that they may not hurt them." Pennant ends his account of Blood thus : " This miscreant died peacefully in his hed, August 29th, 1680, fearlessly, and without any signs of penitence, totally hardened, and forsaken hy heaven." Blood had become a Quaker during his latter years, and, externally at least, attended to all the duties and decencies of his new calling. We reasonably suspect this was a mere hypocritical trick, played with some sinister intention ; but Pennant would have shown better taste had he left his final state doubtful. The fidelity and courage of Keeper Edwards were tardily rewarded, but not without much intercession, with a yearly grant for £200, and £100 for his son. Even these pensions were so long delayed that they were obliged to sell the COLONEL BLOOD. 317 i orders on the Exchequer at half their real value, for the sake of getting ready money. The elder Edwards died in 1674, aged eighty years and nine months. The moral character of a sovereign who could thus pardon and dis- tinguish so base and impudent a criminal as Blood, actuated either by fear or soothed by flattery, while he suffered a really faithful servant like Edwards to remain so long in absolute want, and ultimately yielded him so inadecpiate a reward for his bravery and devotion, can hardly be rated too low. When Blood was pardoned for his attempt on the VICTORIA CROWN, regalia, his outrage on the Duke of Ormond being known, and even avowed in a defiant confession, Lord Arlington was commissioned to inform that nobleman that it was the King's pleasure that Blood should not be prosecuted, for reasons privately to be rendered. The Duke waived his communication, saying, " His Majesty's command is the only reason that can be given, and therefore let us spare the rest ; the King shall see I value my life as little as His Majesty does his crown." The regalia is now shown in the jewel chamber, behind 318 COLONEL BLOOD. a screen of strong wirework. Being exhibited by gas- light, they are seen to great advantage ; and consist of the following articles : — The imperial crown (St. Edward's), used at coronations. It was made for Charles II., and is very rich in beautiful gems, with a gold mound at the apex, encircled with a fillet of precious stones — three large oval pearls pendent from the cross. It is formed of four crosses, and as many fleurs de lis of gold. The crown of state, worn at great festivals, and in Parliament; remarkable for an emerald seven inches in circumference, a pearl the most perfect in the world, and a ruby of inestimable value. The Queen's circlet of gold, a rim of gold, richly adorned with large diamonds, and curiously set with pearls. The Queen's crown, a circlet of gold, set with very beautiful gems; specially used for the coronation of queens. The Queen's rich crown, worn after the coronation; enriched with splendid brilliants, and, like the other im- perial crowns, composed of crosses and fleurs de lis. The orb, borne in the King's right hand at the coro- nation ; a ball of gold, six inches in diameter, remarkable for an amethyst of extraordinary beauty. The ampulla, or golden eagle, which contains the holy oil. It is shaped like an eagle, with spread wings, all of pure gold, finely chased. The oil is poured from the beak into the anointing spoon. These are believed to be of great antiquity. The curtana, or sword of mercy, borne naked before the King at the coronation, is of plain steel, gilded. The handle is covered with gold wire, and the point flat. The swords of justice, spiritual and temporal ; the first blunt, the latter sharp. St. Edward's staff, a sceptre of beaten gold. COLONEL BLOOD. 319 The King's sceptre, with the dove of gold, set with rose diamonds ; a cross on the top, with a dove — the wings expanded. The King's sceptre, with the cross of gold; the pommel set with rubies and small diamonds. The mound, a cross, set with a large table brilliant. The Queen's sceptre, with the cross ; like the King's, but not so rich. The Queen's ivory rod, a sceptre of white ivory, with a cross and dove of gold on the apex. Another rich sceptre was discovered in 1814, behind some old wainscoting in the jewel-house. The armillo, or bracelets, of sobd fine gold, enriched with pearls, for the sovereigns' wrists, when crowned. The royal spurs, of fine gold, carried at coronations by the Lords Grey of Ruthven. The state saltcellar, a model in gold of the White Tower. A silver font, used at royal christenings. A silver fountain, presented to Charles II. by the town of Plymouth. A magnificent service of communion plate, belonging to the Tower Chapel, of silver, doubly gilt. The chief piece contains a fine representation of the Lord's Supper. Various alterations were made in the form and orna- ments of the imperial crown for George IV. 's coronation, and some adaptation was needed in the case of Queen Victoria, who, when she first addressed her Parliament, had the crown borne before her by Lord Eolle, an aged p< er, who, in retiring from her presence, stumbled, and threw the diadem on the floor of the House. The Queen assisted him to rise, and evinced great concern at the acci- dent. It was thought an uncomfortable omen at the time, and no doubt our forefathers would have deemed it an awful augury. 1 1 appily the great " Lord of lords and King 320 COLONEL BLOOD. of kings," in His good providence, has graciously vouchsafed His noblest gifts to our heloved Queen, and her reign has proved one of unexampled glory and prosperity. Excellent in all the relations of life — an amiable wife, a tender mother, a judicious mistress — she adds to the splendour of her high place all the kindly sympathy of our nature ; her annals personally have no spot, for all parties concur in acknow- ledging her claims to honour, both as a woman and a queen. AXTIQUE RING KOYAL REGALIA. LONDON AFTER DARK. November 5th, 1810. Striving to throw off the weight of fifty years from the tirae-dulled casket of memory, let me endeavour to out- line a picture of what I saw in the City on a dreary winter night before George IV. was king. A deep haze, thick- ening into the gloom of total oblivion, seema to rest over these early scenes, but it is easily penetrated and dispersed when the inquisitive eye of retrospective thought pierces its sullen shadows, and evokes forms and feelings long buried in silence. In the present day, we can have no just idea of the fervid party and political heats which troubled men's minds at the commencement of the Eegency in 1810. Napoleon I., then thought to be finally crushing all opposition under his iron heel, was usually regarded as an actual incarnation of the evil one. The Pope was thoroughly hated, and the English Roman Catholics were held in utter abhorrence by the greater portion of their Protestant brethren. The effort then making to relieve Romanists from civil disabilities was vehemently opposed, and every opportunity greedily seized to express by overt acts the furious passions of folks who, in the ordinary busi- ness of life, were justly esteemed to be quiet, benovolent people. I read in the Times lately that the Prince and Princess Y 322 LONDON AFTER DARK. of "Wales will shortly pay a visit to Napoleon III. at Fon- tainebleau. What would my Lord Chancellor Eldon have said to it ? Now we perpetually hear of ' ' his Eminence Cardinal Wiseman ;" his lectures are fashionable, and even the "Thunderer" quotes his pastorals by the column. What with High Church, Low Church, Broad Church, and Bishop Colenso, we have grown marvellously liberal, and the road to Borne is sufficiently direct on all sides. In 1810 such doings would have raised a shout of indignation. During the last five-and-twenty years, burning the arch- traitor, and exploding fireworks in token of orthodoxy, has been a pastime for schoolboys merely ; and as squibs and crackers will remain popular as long as lads love fun and mischief, the custom is not likely to be forgotten, though the form of prayer for the 5th of November has ceased to make part of our State services. For many years — indeed from the institution of the fashion — grave grown men countenanced the youngsters at this strange auto dafe, and the roar of childish treble pipes, in execra- tion of the Bopish monster, was deepened by the harsh bass tones of manhood. The day now especially referred to began with a sharp frost ; the ground was hard, the pavement slippery, while grass and leaves, where any could be found, looked hoary white in contrast with the pea-soup coloured fog. It was a dreary morning, yet scarcely broad day when every street, square, alley, and road echoed to the strange chorus — Pray remember the 5th of November, Gunpowder treason and plot : I don't know the reason Why gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot. Shoeless boys and girls paraded bare, broken dolls, as excuses for Guys, from door to door ; and when even such LONDON AFTER DARK. 323 miserable substitutes could not be obtained, some half- naked urchin, disguised with charcoaled face, or hideous mask, did duty in their place. "When the chorus had been duly shrieked through, a spontaneous "hurrah," crisp and sharp, rose from a score or two of tiny lips ; and as neither cane or hand interrupted the juvenile patriots, their zeal waxed louder and louder at every fresh demonstration. The rude splendours to be looked for " after dark" were broadly prefigured ; in most public places, a queer mix- ture of sturdy vagabondage and crazy well-to-doism had succeeded in getting up numerous odd pageants — some embodied by half-drunken mummers, representing Master Guy and his satellites, assisted by his Holiness in full pontificals, and the devil in propria persona, wearing a pair of noble bullock's horns, and switching a tail of extraordinary length. Others exhibited, on a raised plat- form drawn by dray horses, several giant lay figures, as frightful as hands could make them. The dumb show was oddly effective. In one case, the Pope's triple crown was mimicked in a very irreverent way, the base being formed by an inverted pot de chombre, decorated by a string of huge black puddings, while the upper portion of the tiara was nothing more than a cone of mortar stuck full of broken glass. The Pontiff's robes had been bor- rowed from some cheap theatre, and were nearly as fine as those I have seen worn by the Cardinal himself. To right and left of the Pope, two barefooted monks stood in the act of scourging their naked backs, the gashes supposed to be inflicted being represented by si of red paint. Satan appeared to be particularly delighted with the spectacle, and "grinned horribly a ghastly smile." A dense crowd sur- rounded these uncouth representations, and the hats in cir- culation to colled coppers for the bonfires were well Blled. Busim .if a si andstill in Cheapside, and about the < >1<1 Exchange a vast gathering of human beings was engaged in x 2 324 LONDON AFTER DARK. vociferously cheering the coming martyrdom of a wonderful Guy Faux who stood six feet eight without his shoes. At noon the fog thickened, and the frost softened into a comfortless, drizzling rain. A red-nosed carman, driving with his Guy towards Tower Hill, pretended to commiserate the damp condition of his prisoner, and tied a bottle-green comforter round his throat, amidst roars of laughter. As the short hours of daylight drew to a close, the display of pyrotechnics commenced — here a squib and there a cracker began to sputter. It was near four o'clock, and the dark- ness grew thicker every moment. Street lamps, supplied with miserable wicks, floating each in its modicum of rancid oil, began to twinkle, while pedestrians, with uncer- tain steps, picked their way from post to post, now sinking ankle-deep in a puddle, and now sticking fast in a mound of London mud. Shopkeepers in the important thorough- fares ensconced themselves behind shutters and locked doors, and in the subways the few business places that continued open were dismally illuminated with make- believe lights — a tallow dip, flaring and guttering, or a pannikin of fish oil, emitting from a shred of sackcloth jets of fire and smoke, neither pleasant to sight or smell. Pausing in the middle of Fore Street, it was too dark to make out Cripplegate tower, and care was necessary lest one should be overturned by some dilapidated Guy and his drunken bearers. Gin was a favourite beverage then as now, but the shameless alcohol palaces of the present time were yet unknown. The craving flocks of thirsty beggars sought to solace their dry, vitiated palates by seeking some den in lane or alley where drink to inebrity was promised for twopence, and clean straw for nothing. Every outlet to Moorfields was thronged — for a grand Guy show, though not the grandest, was expected there. The space in front of Bethlem Hospital was then used as a carpet-ground ; the poles and lines had been removed, and by six o'clock LONDON AFTER DARK. 325 a strange combustible heap, certainly twenty feet in height, composed of tar barrels, the trunks of rotten trees, innu- merable sacks of shavings, and a miscellany of doors and window-frames stolen from empty houses, was erected, and awaited ignition. Around it danced and shrieked a score of half-mad men and boys, each carrying a lighted link, which he playfully sought to dart in the face of a comrade. A drum and fife band, with a variation of Jews' -harps and a few cracked fiddles, strove to enliven the orgies. There were several thousands of spectators, and amongst them a fellow with a tray of fireworks, which he appeared to sell briskly at a large profit, while he chanted in a deep harsh voice Swift's grotesque lines — To-night's the day— I speak it with great sorrow — That we were all to have been blown up to-morrow ; Therefore, take care of star and candle light : The morning's cold and frosty — so good night ; finishing, however, with this exhortation : — But first, if you're loyal, I heartily hope That you love King George, and hate Master Pope ; Then you'll buy srjuib, cracker, or Roman candle, And in a jolly bonfire old Guy Faux handle. The crowd grew uneasy, heaving to and fro most uncom- fortably for quiet people, as a procession of Guys, popes, and demons, of all sizes and shapes, approached the funeral pile. The victim moro especially destined to the flames might be thus described. The mast of a superannuated iishing-smack, with a kilt of particoloured rags, thickly picked out with fireworks ready for explosion. The upper part of the pole was padded into some distant resemblance to a human body ; on the top an empty spirit puncheon was screwed, suppbed with eyes, nose, and mouth by a liberal daubing <>!' paint, the whole being finished off by a prodigious black beard, including an entire sheep's skin 326 LONDON AFTER DARK. and tail. The figure had dummy arms and hands stained of a bright yellow, the left hand wielding a dark lantern, and the right a rusty cleaver. This exaggerated Guy being mounted on the tar barrel, was received with a wild, confused roar of voices, savage and almost frenzied in expression — "Down with the Pope!" "Give him some brimstone broth! "Confusion to priests and Jesuits!" "Send them over the herring pool, or duck them in it!" "Why does their master, the devil, quarter them here ?" Scarcely was this storm of imprecations lulled, when it rose afresh as the pile of combustibles, kindled by a score of torches, after smouldering for a few minutes, burst into a terrific sheet of flame around the mythical Guy in the centre. Every second the fire was interrupted by the explosion of gunpowder, tortured into all possible pyro- technic forms. Children screamed for fear — men and women in rude delight, increased by the occasional capture of a drunken watchman, who underwent a sort of semi- roasting at the blazing pile. No attempt was made to control the mob. Constables hid their staves, and if a Bow Street runner made his appearance, he was saluted in this fashion: "We're burning the arch-devil and his eldest son. Go, tell the beaks how clever we are." As the burning declined, and the puncheon head dropped charred from the pole, a rush commenced, and the dense crowd, breaking into separate streams, rolled towards Bishopsgate or Broad Street, on their way towards Tower Hill, where the chief celebration of Guy's anniversary would take place. Several hand-grenades were already at work, and continual discharges warned the citizens that the martyrdom of their old enemy was imminent. The narrow streets in the neighbourhood of the Tower became wellnigh inaccessible ; no wheeled vehicles could pass, but bipeds of every conceivable class, including itinerant mer- chants, driving barrows or carrying baskets, struggled and LOXDON AFTER DARK. 327 jostled for precedence. In addition to a Guy of surprising dimensions, the Pope previously mentioned was to suffer, and Beelzebub himself was to take part. Making a wide circuit, and avoiding the known thoroughfares by plunging into dark lanes and obscure short cuts, I succeeded in reaching Tower ITill, where fully 20,000 persons had assembled around an immense pile of faggots, shavings, and all kinds of combustibles, destined for the immolation of the great Guy of the night. In addition to drums, fifes, horns, and penny whistles, a numerous band of marrow- bones and cleavers contributed their discord. London and the suburbs had sent ballad-singers by dozens. Their ditties were of the oddest, generally doleful to a fault, but in a few instances spiced with the humorous, though not always in the best taste. Here is a ballad which seemed a favourite : — The old Roman harlot, What's clothed in scarlet, Sitting on seven hills, Which town and country fills With her brimstone savour, The villain Guy she sent, Out precious Parliament, Princes, Lords, and good King James, To blow up in hot flames ; And now he's come to die for his bad behaviour. Guy work'd for old Nick, And had a handy trick Of making brimstone matches. He gathered his sticks By the river Styx, Where bully Charon's dog Is waiting for prog, And each heavy boat-load of lost souls watches. Don't humour vain maggots; Haste, bring link and faggol s, To burn old Pope and old Devil, 328 LONDON AFTER DARK. Burn traitor Guy also — Aye, burn him top and toe ; And as the flames arise, shout and cry — Destruction to old Guy, With all his plotting brothers in evil. An exultant roar, rising from thousands of eager lips, startled the singer and his hearers. The huge pile of inflammable matter was on fire, and the broad, lurid light kindled the surrounding objects into terrible significance. Especially the ancient warlike keep stood out from the thick darkness that enveloped it the instant before. Each tower seemed to assume a fiery diadem; the prison chambers were revealed from the oblivion of lapsed ages ; stern gateway and flying bridge, no longer dumb, ap- peared to live from buried history ; discrowned kings, betrayed queens, headless princes, deserted warriors, and unmitred bishops walked in awful dreams from their heavy sleep. The eye ached over a scene too rudely real to be dwelt on without pain, and yet so toned down by fancy that it was clothed with a wild beauty, and as the tall effigy of Ghry Faux gradually sank down on its blazing bed, imagination peopled the jets of flame, as they shot upwards, with a strange creation of disembodied spirits, typical of a past faith, its martyrs and its heroes — the mighty actors on the stage of an old world ! No boy of fifteen loved fun or mischief more than myself, and at that time I should have thought it a misfortune that Gruy Faux Day should lose a single iota of its splen- dour. To diminish it by an ounce of powder, a squib, or a rocket would have seemed criminal. But a gradual dying-out of bigots' saturnalia has noiselessly followed, without any diminution of the national greatness. When the anniversary recurs, few zealous parish priests venture to perform a service which can no longer be found in the Book of Common Prayer. There is still some waste of LONDON AFTER DAEK. 329 gunpowder, and a hapless manufacturer of fireworks is sacrificed for his painstaking to please the boys. A few Liliputian Guys still survive, but as there is but one black swan at a time, so one giant Guy is more than enough to satisfy the Protestant community. An auto da fe such as I have alluded to would hardly be tolerated now, and if tolerated it would scarcely be possible in or near London. The inhabitants of Finsbury Circus would rise en masse against a Guy burning opposite their institution ; while the Lieutenant of the Tower woidd certainly exercise his veto should an army of City roughs presume to immolate the arch-traitor within his precincts. The much-abused counterblast, King Jamie, would have felt his inner man shivering in a cold fit of ague had the lieges burnt Master Gruy in Palace Yard ; for, devoutly hating sword and pike, his horror at a monster bonfire would have proved equally outspoken. Elizabeth might not have objected to a fry of priests or inquisitors from the Armada. Happily, the in- dulgence of fierce passions on account of religious differ- ences is now legally forbidden, or, what is far better, sooth d away by wiser and holier feelings. Our noble Church still seeks to convert the heathen and win mis- believers from error ; but it no longer recognizes fire and sword among its teachers. "We circulato the Bible by millions, for it is no longer necessary to chain it to the lectory ; but we do not make martyrs of doubting savages, .nor should we, if wo could, burn Bishop Colenso. SMITHFIELD. "What's hallowed ground?" God's acres in Judea! The earth of a few graves at Westminster and in Bunhill Fields ! But may Smithfield be so described ? What ! this strange desolate-looking spot — no longer overflowing with fat oxen, sheep, and pigs, though the empty pens are still suggestive of their old tenants. What ! this od; . polyform area, hemmed in with unsightly groups of smoke- stained houses, neither new or old, with the queer, angular, tasteless front of Eahere's hospital in the midst ; this debateable ground, soon to be shared between a dead-meat market, and, as people are willing to hope, a convalescent garden — this paradise of Cockaigne, rich with memories of Bartlemy Fair, its gilt gingerbread, and its savoury sau- sages. Can you seriously inquire whether this is hallowed ground ? Do you question it ? Then reach down from their quiet shelves those dusty, worm-eaten chronicles ; consult Stow, Fabian, Holingshed, or pass an hour with Fox, the martyrologist, and you will no longer think the assertion untenable. No equal space in London or the world can boast more illustrious and kindhng recollec- tions than Smithfield. Afar off in the hazy light of our early history, Saxon or Norman, these bare acres were the stage for stirring and important events. A grand monastic foundation shed over them a " dim religious light." Piety SMITHFIELD. 33" bowed at the shrine of St. Bartholomew, and charity ded eated a richly endowed spital to succour the sick and h< ' less in their afflictions. Here, too, came our Plantagenet and Tudor kings, while the spirit of chivalry yet breathed in the land, with steel-clad knights and men-at-arms, to indulge in warlike pastimes — jousts and tournaments ; while Beauty, in gorgeous robes, seated as queen, dis- tributed to the victors their envied rewards. Hear ye not that trumpet blast ? Lo ! where cometh the third Edward, glorious from the strife of Cressy, with his black warrior son, to preside among conquering nobles at a passage of arms. How imperial his peerless Philippa looks — a woman to worship as well as obey ! In another age, when chivalry was more a fashion than feeling, Behold bluff Hal, with Catherine his queen, And the great Cardinal. The all-accomplished Sydney is at the king's elbow; how little thinks he of his bloody death from the hand that now caresses him ! They come with lords, ladies, mitred abbots, and holy bishops, to join the princely sports of Smithfield. Nor was the great maiden sovereign wanting there. Drake, Raleigh, and Effingham, with Leicester and Burleigh, have mounted the dais with her, and knelt on its cloth of gold in Elizabeth's august presence. Dreams briefer than morning clouds, soon to be lost in the thick darkness of persecution and bigotry. Yet it was in thi Marian fires that Smithfield had been hallowed ; when enriched with the blood of martyrs and confessors, an abiding glory had rested upon it, No1 many months Bince, a public invitation was given to subscribe for the erection of a Martyrs' Memorial in Smithfield, but the proposition excited no serious notice, and appears to be wholly forgotten. Strange, for this is 332 SMITHFIELD. especially an age of testimonials. Brown, Jones, and Robinson compliment each, other with teapots and salvers ; every retiring curate gets a pair of slippers or a writing- desk ; and sometimes parish or national gratitude takes the substantial form of a purse of sovereigns. Then, as to statues, they are becoming so numerous that London may soon rival ancient Rome in that particular ; but still there is no Martyrs' Memorial in Smithfield. We propose on this occasion to reopen the subject by a few details as to the locabty, some of which will be found to possess a lively interest. About 1100, Smithfield was little better than a swampy meadow, where certain smiths and armourers had set up their shops and forges, on which account it early became a place of considerable resort ; but shortly after Henry I. granted a charter for a Priory of Black Canons, under the guardianship of St. Bartholomew. It became jet further frequented when Henry II. per- mitted the monks to hold a fair, for three days annually, which ultimately grew into an important commercial gathering, as well as the occasion of general festivity. To the fun and frolic of the fair we may make allusion hereafter, but shall at present confine ourselves to the more serious incidents of the Smithfield chronicle. The open space afforded here to the Londoners was for several centuries used by them, in common with Finsbury Fields, for archery and athletic sports generally. Nearly all the court military holidays were held here. Scarcely a tilt, joust, or tournament came off in any other quarter of the town, for it pleased the citizens to witness such scenes, and their presence made them more impressive. Appeals to the judgment of Grod were often decided here, and the ordeal by fire or water was of daily occurrence, as well as the duel or camp-fight of the Saxons. We have alluded to the great Edward's presence here after the victory of Cressy; and in 1374, when he had fallen into "second SMITHFIELD. 333 childishness," though only in his sixty-second year, in- fatuated by the charms of Alice Pierce, he brought her hither in a splendid open car, where he publicly caressed her, and, calling her " the Lady of the Sun," conducted her to the lists, followed by a train of knights, each leading by the bridle a beautiful palfry, mounted by a gaily-dressed damsel. This festival lasted for seven whole days, and, according to the annalists, was marked by the most profli- gate expense. Here, too, his grandson, Richard II., held an unusually magnificent tournament early in his reign. "There issued out of the Tower of London," says Frois- sart, "first, threescore coursers, appareled for the jousts, and on every one a squire of honour, riding a soft pace ; then issued out threescore ladies of honour, mounted on fair palfrys, and every lady led a knight by a chain of silver, which knights were appareled to joust." Certainly the dissipation of these early times was partly rendered excusable by a spirit of gallantry and unselfishness. The gentry of the land, and even the merchants and workers of London and the great towns, were all deeply imbued by a love of warlike exercises, not unmixed with a chivalrous generosity which made English warriors the admiration of the world. "We need only refer, as a proof of this, to the conduct of the Black Prince to his prisoner King John. There was a yet more stirring scene in the same reign, when "Wat Tyler and his country rebels met their youthful monarch in Smithfield, and, insolently demanding Ids own terms, was rebuked and finally sla i o bj the Lord Mayor. There is a great deal of obscurity in the narratives of this event. If the king had but few soldiers with him — and we are assured he had not — it was highly imprudent of Walworth to risk his slaughter before an infuriated mob. Nothing could have been more cool and judicious than the boy-king's invitation to the rebels to follow him ; but how was it that, though they did at first follow him, they pre- 334 SMITHFIELD. sently slunk away, as if in fear of punishment ? It makes us think that they were in the presence of a superior force. As to the cause of this rising, we know little or nothing ; much evil is imputed to the insurgents by contemporary writers, but they are not entirely trustworthy. If Tyler could have left us his account, we should have been in a better position to judge. Duels and trials by ordeal fill the pages of the ancient writers. Here is a specimen. An apprentice accused his master, an armourer, of treason against Henry "VI. The friends of the defendant had so plied him with liquor that he fell an easy conquest to his accuser. Persons of rank fought with sword and lance ; the poorer sort of combatants were only allowed a pole with a heavy sand-bag at the end. We quote Shakspeare's version of the matter ("Henry A 7 !., Part 2). It is as follows : — Suffolk. — Please it your Majesty, this is the man That doth accuse his master of high treason. His words were these, that Eichard, Duke of York, Was rightful heir unto the English throne, And that your Majesty was an usurper. Horner. — Alas, my lord ! hang me if I ever spake the words. My accuser is my apprentice, and when I did correct him for his fault, he did vow upon his knees to be even with me. I have good witness of this ; there- fore, I beseech your Majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusation. Gloster. — Let these have a day appointed them for single combat, in con- venient place. King. — Then be it so. Peter. — Alas, my lord, I cannot fight. For God's sake, pity my case. Gloster. — Sirrah, you must fight, or else be hanged. Enter Horner, made drunk by his neighbours ; he bears a staff and sand-bag, loith a drum before him. Peter in like manner. 1st Neighbour. — Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to thee in a cup of sack ; and fear not you shall do well enough. 2nd Neighbour. — And here's a cup of chameco. 3rd Neighbour. — And here's a pot of good double beer ; drink, and fear not your man. SillTHFIELD. 335 Horner. — Let it come, i'faith ; and I'll pledge you all, and a fig for Peter. 1st 'Prentice. — Here, Peter, I drink to thee, and be not afraid. 2nd 'Pri ntice. — Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master. Fight for the credit of the 'prentices. /' ter. — 1 thank you all ; drink, and pray for me, I pray you, for I think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Eobin, an' if I die, I give thee my apron ; and Will, thou shalt have my hammer ; and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. Lord bless me ; I pray God : for I am never able to deal with my master ; he hath learnt so much fence already. II, nor. — Masters, I am come hither upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave, and myself an honest man. Have at thee, Peter, with a down- right blow. [ They fight, and Petek strih s dawn his master. Horn* r.— Hold, Peter! I confess, I confess treason. King. — Go, take hence that traitor from our sight, For by his death we do perceive his guilt ; .Vnd God, in justice, hath revealed to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, Which he had thought to have murdered wrongfully. Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. The pious Henry makes but an indifferent figure in this case, yet such a mode of judgment was universally received long before and after his time. Smithfield, as well as Tyburn, was called the Elms, and used for the execution of criminals previous to 1219. In 1530, John Iioose, a cook, convicted of poisoning seventeen persons, was by a special law condemned to be boiled to death, which punishment was actually inflicted. In 1541, Margaret Davie, a young woman, suffered in the same manner, for a similar crime ; and many executions for treason and murder were rendered more terrible by burning the culprits. We are now to speak of Smithfield as a place of mar- tyrdom. Many persons accused of heresy suffered by fire during the reigns of our earlier kings — especially a priest was burnt, for denying transiibstantiation, in the time of Henry IV. It is a lamentable fact that Latimer preached patience to Friar Forest, under the torture of a slow fire, for denying the king's supremacy. His own martyr's crown Losee much of its brightness when we remember this. Archbishop Cranmer, too, compelled bis youthful 336 SMITH FIELD. sovereign, Edward VI., to sign the warrant — even forcing his hand to the paper — which consigned Joan Bocher, a weak hut pious woman, to the flames. Our admiration at his own heroic death is sadly marred by this insensibility or cruelty. In 1514, the remains of Eichard Hunne, he being convicted of heresy ten days after his death, were disinterred and consumed by fire. More than a century previous, Wicklifle's body, after remaining in the grave above forty years, was treated in the same savage way. Such is the stern, unrelenting spirit of bigotry! Queen Mary, equally sincere in her superstition and fierce in her unwomanly cruelty, has earned for all time the frightful epithet of " Bloody;" and she did much to deserve it, especially in Smithfield. In 1555, John Eogers, a pre- bendary of St. Eaul's, a man of blameless life and holy doctrine, was burnt there for refusing to endorse some of the extreme tenets of her Church. Between June, 1555 and November, 1558, Mary caused 250 persons to be put to death by burning, on account of their religious tenets — most of them being remarkable for their piety and innocent character. Latimer, Cranmer, and Eidley were soldiers in this "noble army of martyrs," with many other highly gifted members of our reformed Church ; and well might one of the sufferers at Oxford say, "Fear not, brother, for we shall this day light a candle in England which, by God's grace, shall not be easily quenched ! " Soon after the accession of Queen Elizabeth, a remark- able poem, called "The Eegister," recording all the Marian martyrs, written by Thomas Bryce, was published, and very generally read. I transcribe the portion relating to the burnings in Smithfield, not so much for their in- trinsic merit, as because their popularity proves the troublesome character of the age in which they were written. SMITHFIELD. 337 July, 1555. When Bradford, beatified with bliss, When young John Seast in Smithfield died ; When they like brethren, both did kisse, And in the iyre were sorely tried ; When tears were shed for Bradford's death, We wish't for our Elizabeth. January, 1556. When Thomas Whitwell and Bartlett Grene, Amos Foster, Jone Sasheforde, and Browne, Tutson and Wynter, these seven were seen In Smithfield beat their enemies downe, Even flesh and devil, world and death, Then we wish't for our Elizabeth. April, 1557. When Stanley's wife, and Annes Hide, Sturtle, Ranncy, and John Lothesby, Were content torments to abide, And toke the same right paciently ; When these in Smithfield were done to death, We wish't for our Elizabeth. October, 1557. When Sparrow, Gibson, and Hollingday, In Smithfield did the stake embrace; When fire converted flesh to clay, They being joyful of such grace ; When lawless tyranny put them to death, We wish't for our Elizabeth. December. When John Rough, a minister riche, And ret Mercury, with courage died, Because Christ only they did seek, With fire of force they must be tried; When tin v in Smithfield were put to death, We wish't for our Elizabeth. June, 1558. "Wlit-ii Southam, Saunder, and Ruarlice, Hollyday, Holland, Sonde, and Flood, With cheerful look and constant crie, For Christ's cause did spend their blood, In Smithfield dying the martyr's death, We wish't for our-Elizab th. 338 SMITHFIELD. The end of this doleful register has a more triumphant sound : — Our wished wealth has brought us peace, Our joy is full, our hope obtained ; The blazing brands of fire do cease, The slaying sworde, also restrayned ; The simple sheepe preserved from death, By our good queen, Elizabeth. As Hope has here obtained her way, By God's good will and providence, So trust doth truely look for stay, Through His heavenly influence, That great Golia shall be put to death By our great queen, Elizabeth. That God's true Word shall placed be, The hungrie souls for to sustaine ; That perfect love and unitie Shall be set in their seat agayne ; That no more good men shall be put to death, Seeing God has sent Elizabeth. May we, therefore, pray both night and day, For her Highness, as we be bounde. Oh, Lord, preserve this branch of bay, And all her foes with force confounde. Here long to live, and, after death, Receive our queen, Elizabeth. — Amen. Master Bryce might well rejoice, and we can quite under- stand his tone of jubilation while we reverently tread over the holy dust of the martyrs he commemorates. Smith- field, indeed, ceased to be the common shambles for pious Protestants in the days of Elizabeth, yet the imperious spirit of her father sometimes manifested itself ; recreant papists were occasionally burnt, and a few obstinate sect- arians were tried by burning, even in the days of " Good Queen Bess." Such is the miserable frailty of poor human nature. Should we not, though three centuries have elapsed since that sanguinary persecution, still feel our hearts warming SMITHFIELD. 339 with gratitude to the Giver of all Mercies for our country's deliverance ? Surely we should do wisely to spend a por- tion of our gold, which will so soon be taken from us, in raising a national martyrs' memorial (and where so fitly as in Smithfield ?), that our children's children, to the latest posterity, when they look upon the long-enduring granite, may learn to value the high privileges they possess, as the inheritors of civil and religious liberty, and resolve in the strength of God's good providence "that no man shall make them afraid ! " m As if the virulence of the Marian persecution had not been fully exhausted, early in his reign, James I., who was not naturally cruel, was induced by the fanaticism of John King, Bishop of London, to condemn Bartholomew Leggatt (1611) as a blasphemous heretic. His sole crime was that he was an obstinate Arian — his episcopal murderer not allowing freedom of thought to any but himself. Leggatt was burnt in Smithfield, and he was the last victim who suffered at the stake in England. "We heartily hope that no society of Christian men may ever again be horrified by such a spectacle. z 2 THE PHYSICIAN'S DAUGHTERS. If in seasons of reflection we can find a seemingly fixed point in our fast-fleeting existence for a retrospective glance on the receding shadows of life, in order to a com- parison with those of the present, we shall feel abundant cause for astonishment and humiliation. We appear to be surrounded by a universe of quicksands, and can dis- cover no approach to stability. The events of life are well termed dreams ; they change even while we grapple with them ; and we ourselves are never the same for a single hour. The companions of our early days, how altered they look ; many of them Sleep the sleep that knows no waking ; the rest answer to the old names, but are completely transformed in everything else. Yonder grey-headed cripple was said to have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth ; he was christened in a white satin robe ; and last week he received alms at the parish workhouse. On the contrary, that sleek, well-to-do looking man who is turning the corner, was within memory a ragged crossing- sweeper ; he, too, once took the pauper's dole, and now he is senior churchwarden. I saw two lads relieved by the guardians in the very district where their father had been curate. The wealth of a Thelluson cannot always protect THE PHYSICIAN'S DAUGHTERS. 341 Lis posterity from want. The millionaire may be heaping his gold merely to disburse it in legal fees. We quite as often plot ingeniously for our own ruin as advancement ; rich men weary themselves to find expedients to waste rapidly ; and the wise poor man, who is watching them, frequently gains a competence out of their scatterings. An old song calls upon us to "Behold the man that is unlucky;" and, without having much faith in such fatality, it is certain that some hands no sooner grasp money than it runs through their fingers. Generally, a wise course of industry ends in wealth; but, in many cases, men only reach the highest round of the ladder to topple down more swiftly than they rose. The misery such changes inflict spares none within its range ; neither womanhood nor infancy can escape ; and sorrow never wears so sad a garb as when associated with absolute poverty. It attacks the frail, delicate creatures, who, till that moment, have been cherished in the lap of luxury. History tells us of kings and queens wandering as exiles, and experiencing all the bitterness of actual want. In our own days Louis Philippe was glad to escape to England as Mr. Smith; and these are terrible reverses ; but we are more prepared to sympathise in the trials and privations of our neigh- bours, for what happens to them may at any moment happen to us, and perhaps you will be quite as sorry for the physician's daughters of whom I am going to speak as for Queen Araelie. Some thirty-eight years ago, there lived near Golden Square a middle-aged medical man, Mr. Isaac Franklin, who had been for a quarter of a century in rather lar practice, but then it was in a comparatively poor district, and the fees he received were in the Bhape of payment for the medicines lie supplied from his own BUrgery. He i trivedto make his income keep in excess of his expenditure, and had been able to lay by something yearly; bo thai at 342 the physician's daughters. one period lie was master of £2,000 Three per Cent. Stock, as well as other monies invested on mortgage. He had a wife about his own period of life, who brought him a few hundred pounds at their marriage ; but she was slightly deformed, and was in no degree comely ; yet she was a shrewd, bustling, worldly-wise woman ; made an excellent mistress of the house ; took care that not a farthing should be wasted; could at a pinch dispense the medicines, bandage a fracture, or strap up a wound; and at Christmas was quite equal to arranging the accounts. She was a careful, but far from a tender mother ; nor would her two daughters have been so highly educated could she have ruled : it was the doctor's doing, for he delighted to make them accomplished gentlewomen ; and his chief pleasure was to save for their sakes. They took little part in domestic duties ; and, as for plain work, it was much if between them they completed a shirt in a twelvemonth. Berlin wool was unheard-of in those days, but they were adepts in embroidery, and were very proud of an easy chair which they had covered for papa, the back and sides being decorated with his armorial bearings. He fancied he was descended from an ancient family ; and the Herald's College for a moderate fee confirmed him in his opinion. Julia, the eldest daughter, was a tall and rather fine- looking woman ; she was proficient in music, and especially excelled on the harp ; she had been taught by a first-rate master, and was pronounced his best pupil. She suffered much from nervous irritability, even when a child ; and before her eighteenth year was finished, began to find her hearing imperfect, particularly if surprised or vexed. Her sister, Greorgina, was much the most talented ; she was an admirable pianist ; could sing very tastefully to her in- strument ; sketched in Indian-ink, and painted in water- colours with great skill ; and was a good French and Italian scholar. Her father, too, had taught her Latin, so THE PHYSICIAN'S DAUGHTERS. 343 that many of the classics were familiar to her. All these acquirements, however, were made solely with a view to her own and her parent's gratification. It would have distressed her extremely could she have imagined that one day she should be reduced to practise her accomplishments for bread. Mr. Franklin himself was habitually a gentleman : his manners were mild and conciliatory ; his temper even and forbearing ; his intellect ready and inventive. When he reached his fiftieth year, he had many friends — was likely to make more ; and shoidd he live to threescore, might retire upon a respectable fortune. Unfortunately, his prosperous circumstances rendered him ambitious ; he had heard of several general practitioners who had taken a step higher ; become physicians ; got rid of the drudgery of pharmacy; obtained gainful connections, and been re- cognised among the heads of the profession. Why should he not follow the example ? He was health}-, and in the prime of bife, with moans to bear the expense necessary to make the experiment. He could obtain his doctorate at St. Andrew's, become a licentiate of the college, and then all would follow as a matter of course. So Mr. Franklin imitated the dog in the fable that dropped his mouthful of meat to leap at the shadow in the water. Selling his practice, he took a handsome house in a fashionable neigh- bourhood, put on the door-plato " Dr. Franklin," set up a smart carriage, and quickly found himself, not as he had fondly expected, on the road to honours and emoluments, but to ruin. Most of his old patients were unable to fee a physician, and those who were wealthier preferred giving their guineas to established favourites. Why should we pursue the narrative? His savings were soon exhausted; anxiety produced illness; he was thrown on a bed of Buffering; and in a few days he died, of a disease much commoner than tho registrar's reports imply — a broken 344 the physician's dattghteks. heart. While he was on his death-bed there was an execution in his house, and he was scarcely consigned to the grave when Mrs. Franklin and her daughters became homeless, with hardly the means to exist for a single month. It was a terrible shock to the widow ; all her useful talents seemed crushed ; and she did nothing from day to day but complain of her calamities, worrying by her querulous murmurs her poor girls, who were quietly preparing to wrestle with sorrow, and endeavour to procure food for themselves and their mother. Julia was then thirty-five, Georgina thirty-two. They were known in numerous respectable families, and readily obtained pupils for music and drawing. On the whole, too, they were kindly received in the houses where they taught. It was sometimes convenient to have at private parties accomplished women who were willing to exert their talents to entertain the guests. Still they were not long in discovering, with a sigh, that they were not con- sidered guests, but rather objects of charity; for when a whispered inquiry was made, " "Who are those agreeable ladies?" there was a perfectly audible reply, "Oh, they are Dr. Franklin's daughters. He died insolvent a few months since." They were subjected, too, to various petty slights, which were not the less painful because they ap- peared insignificant. In their prosperous days they were universal favourites. No ball went off without them ; no new music was purchased without their opinion being asked at evening parties. Julia's harp and Georgina's songs were in constant request. At supper they had the best seats, and were helped among the first. Now they were treated as supernumeraries. If they played or sung, they were rather ordered than asked ; they seldom found partners at the dance ; and at supper the worst seat and the driest sandwich seemed to fall to them as a matter of course. They bore these vulgar slights with imperturbable THE PHYSICIAN'S DAUGHTERS. 345 meekness ; jet it was impossible that the " perpetual dropping in the rainy day " of adversity should fail to do its work. It gradually chilled their hearts, until they grew incapable of joy in the present or hope in the future. It was a touching thing to observe the faultless neatness of their dress. The gowns and ornaments of a better time were so carefully worn and skilfully altered, that they were still remarkable for elegance of costume. They re- tained no jewellery, except that each had a coral necklace, of little value, their father's gift when they were children. They kept and wore them, as the last symbol of happier days. As the dresses wore out, and they were compelled to substitute the most inexpensive fabrics, they continued to appear genteel, or even elegant, in their plain muslin frocks or close-fitting ginghams. You could not mistake them for underbred persons, however mean their apparel ; and strangers bowed lower to the Misses Franklin than to the grocer's daughter or the tailor's wife, in spite of their gay-coloured dresses and pretentious ornaments. The moral courage which enabled them to meet intended con- tumely with a smile, raised them at once, for the time, out of the reach of their persecutors. But privations and annoyances soon began to prey on Julia's health ; her nervous deafness, especially, was so aggravated, that she was frecpiently quite insensible to all ordinary sounds save her sister's low soft whisper, and the delicate tones of her own harp. It is a curious fad that deaf persons are more inaccessible to loud, harsh sounds than gentle but emphatic whispers. I have raised my voice to the highest pitch when addressing such per- sons, without the slightest effect; but when it sunk into a gentle though distinct tone, it became fully audible. This poor lady, however, was alike unapproachable by the medium of sort or loud sounds, unless they came from G-eorgina's lips or the strings of the instrument she loved. 346 the physician's daughters. It is difficult to explain such, caprices of the auditory nerve ; though Mr. Charles Kemble, when exceedingly deaf, was still able to give readings from Shakspeare ; for while he could not hear the applause they excited, he was able to distinguish and modulate his own voice. Ultimately, how- ever, his deafness became absolute, and he could no longer make his beloved author vocal. Miss Franklin, when in company, sat alone, rigid and almost corpse-like ; the eye apprehensionless ; the counte- nance an absolute blank ; the face blanched to unnatural paleness. She would remain passive for hours, unless led to her harp, or when the unnoticed whisper of her sister sent a faint colour over her cheek. Her outward frame might be almost regarded as the tomb of her mind. Georgina, originally far more lively and in firmer health, battled bravely with misfortune. In addition to teaching, she made copies of famous pictures in the public galleries ; and they were so truthful and beautiful, that, could they have been known to persons able to appreciate them, they would have found remunerative purchasers. As it was, works that cost her weeks of labour were often parted with for two or three pounds. I recollect two of these pictures, on account of their extraordinary merit — they were copies of "Murillo's Spanish Boys," and "St. John with the Lamb." They were about the size of " The Trial of Lord William Eussell," and, when neatly glazed, she only asked £5 each for them, and was at length compelled to sell the pair for £7. With all her exertions, far the larger portion of her earnings was absorbed by the rent of their lodgings, for unless they could be respectable they might as well have been out of the world. Mrs. Franklin lived with them ; she had no other home ; she was now nearly seventy years of age, and, though not infirm, was as " touchy and wayward " as a spoiled child ; she could not learn the duty of resignation, and increased the bitterness of poverty by THE PHYSICIAN'S DAUGHTERS. 347 useless repining. She was not sensible of her children's kindness, and thought infinitely more of her own wants than theirs. Desiring to have some exclusive means, she sought aid from the Royal Benevolent Society, and for fully three years taxed the compassion of all her ac- quaintance at every election. At the age of seventy-one she succeeded ; and, with her annuity of £20, left her daughters, and was received into the house of an old friend. Perhaps this desertion of their mother distressed the sisters more than all their former troubles. Julia became still sadder, and seemed abstracted wholly from ordinary subjects of interest. Georgina seldom smiled after this ; and when she did, it was such a chilly, winter-like lighting up of the face, that it only made her sorrow more apparent. They were both getting into years, and less likely to be considered desirable visitors. People began to be from home when they called ; or, if they gained admittance, they could not but feel the coldness of their welcome. One winter evening, returning on foot through the snow to their now humble lodging, from the house of one who was still glad to receive them, Julia caught cold (her dress was not fitted for the season), and found herself, after a feverish, restless night, suffering from acute rheumatism. This illness made her a prisoner for three months, and her recovery was far from complete ; she did not lack medical aid, but she had few or none of the comforts her situation required. By this time their scanty funds were nearly exhausted; Georgina's teaching and painting had been interrupted; many articles of furniture hud gradually dis- appeared ; the coral necklaces had been pledged ; and how they were to obtain food was becoming a problem. They did not complain,; they received assistance gratefully, but did not sohcit it, and such silent pensioners aro seldom much regarded. 348 the physician's daughters. One morning they called on an attached friend, wearing common print gowns, partially covered by half worn-out shawls, and each carrying a small parcel. Lunch was placed before them; they declined to partake of it; but, on being pressed, ate with eagerness, though by snatches, as if they were ashamed. They said they were going from London ; a distant relative in North Wales had invited them ; they thought change would benefit Julia's health ; when they were settled they would send their address. They did not stay long; but, rising hastily, shook my friend's hand with almost painful warmth, and left the house. "What became of them we cannot tell; their address was never sent ; and Mrs. Franklin, who remained in London, declared she was ignorant of their residence. It is probable, however, that they did retire to some distant part of the country, thinking, perhaps, that they could live more cheaply where they were unknown ; indeed, Georgina had once expressed a belief that she could get an existence in some rural district by taking portraits and teaching music. Be that as it may, dark and few must have been the remaining days of the physician's daughters, whose life commenced with the brightest prospects, though it was to terminate, without any fault of theirs, certainly in want, and very possibly in the poor-house of some obscure village. Such unfortunates as these, avoiding as they do the notice of a "sympathizing public," receive far less help than the mere beggar class, who, never having known a better condition, know none of its special bitterness. Their shameless importunity compels a certain amount of attention, even while the aid they obtain is yielded with contempt; on the contrary, more quiet sufferers pine and too often perish without notice. LONDON WATCHMEN. From numerous passages in Saxon authors, it may be gathered that, in large townships, certain of the settled inhabitants were appointed to watch, after nightfall, over the goods and lives of the rest. As any public mode of lighting roads was then unknown, the safeguard provided consisted chiefly in traversing the principal thoroughfares with lighted torches ; or, before that invention, with vessels filled with oil or grease, furnished with a rude kind of wick which would burn for two or three hours. Probably this primitive species of police were effective in exact pro- portion to their necessity : they watched for their own lives as well as those of their neighbours, and, unless they were vigilant, death and ruin might fall upon their own habi- tations. The system seems to have made the watchers responsible for the safety of their own townsfolk, who, in return, the next night would be called upon to protect them. Thus some slight degree of security was obtained in an age when the rudest outrage and cruelty was the rule rather than the exception. The police arrangements of old London must have been similar. Even alter the Conqu' we shall presently '' citizens were in- cessantly exposed to violenci and robbery after sunset. No sooner had it grown dark-, than "thieves and evil- doers" commenced their marauding ; and no man laid 350 LONDON WATCHMEN. himself down to sleep without a feeling that the hand of murder might be upon him before the morning. Our ancient chronicles abound with lamentations over the miserable condition of the metropolis and other great towns. The law sometimes made terrible examples of the offenders, but until the inhabitants began systematically to watch for themselves, little good was done. Yarious particulars are given by Stow as to the old City watch. William the Conqueror ordered that a bell should be rung nightly at eight o'clock, and that all people should then extinguish their fires and candles, which order was observed until the death of William Eufus : But Henry I. restoring to his subjects the use of fire or lights, as afore, it followeth (by reason of warrs within the realm) that many men gave themselves to robbery and murders in the night. "For it was," saith Roger Hovenden, "a common practice in this City that a hundred or more, in a company, young and old, woidd make nightly invasions upon the houses of the wealthy, to the intent to rob them ; and if they found any man stirring that were not of their crew, they would presently murder him, insomuch that no man could adventure to walk in the streets at night. When this had continued a long time, a crew of such citizens assaulted a stone house, and broke through the wall. The good man of that house was prepared in a corner, and when he saw the leader, Andrew Busquent, coming on, with a burning brand in one hand, and a pot of coals in the other, he flew upon him and smote off his right hand, crying, " Thieves ! thieves !" The thieves fled, save he who had lost his hand, which (next morning) the good man delivered to Richard de Lucie, the King's Justice. Other thieves were taken, and among them one John Senex, a citizen of much credit, who, being unable to acquit himself by the water-doom, he offered to the King five hundred pounds of silver for his life, but the King commanded him to be hanged on the gallows, which was done, and then the City became more quiet for a long time after. Such ill-doers were common in the reign of Edward III., and to suppress them letters patent were sent to the mayor and sheriff's, describing their misdemeanors thus : ' ' That they went through the City by day and night, with swords and bucklers, and some they beat and misused, commit- ting other great wickedness and enormities against the LONDON WATCHMEN. 351 king's peace." This disorder continuing, a second royal missive came to the municipal authorities : Whereas we hear that many evil-doers do run here and there, beating, wounding, and ofttimes killing divers of the people, spoiling others of their goods, and imprisoning others until they give great fines and redemptions, to the great terror of our subjects: We therefore command that as many us ye find so doing ye cause to be laid in prison without delay. These sore disturbances of the public peace remaining unchecked, we find that, in 1253, Henry III. commanded "watches in cities and borough towns to be kept, for the better preserving of peace and quietness among his people." He further enacted that should any citizen be damnified by thief or robber, he who kept the city or borough should compensate him for the loss, which was a source of much complaint in those unsettled times. But the Londoners contrived to extract pleasure from their grievances : — In the months of June and July, after sun-setting, there were bonfires in the street,, every man bestowing wood for them. The wealthier sorts set tables before their doors, furnished with sweet bread and good drink, and on festival days with meat and drink plentifully, to which they invited neighbours and passengers, praising God for His benefits. At these bonfires lod tires) all enemies were reconciled, and the bitterest foes became good friends. On the vigil of St. John, St. Peter, and St. Paul, each door was shadowed with green birch, long fennel, St. John's wort, aspin, white lillies, and such like, garnished with beautiful flowers, and lamps of glass, with oyl burning in them all night. Some hung out branches of iron, curiously wrought, containing hundreds of lamps, which made a fair show in Fish Street and Thames Street. There was also a marching watch, which paraded the 1 1 lief streets, "from the little conduit by Laid's-gate, through West Cheap, by the stocks, through Cornhill, by Leaden-hall, to Aldgate, then back, down Fenehurch Street, by Grasso Church, about Grrasse Church conduit, and up into Cornhill." This marching watch extended to 3,200 Taylors' yards of assize. There were appointed for it Too cressets, 500 being found by the Companies, and 200 by the chamber of London; besides which, every 352 LONDON WATCHMEN. constable (and there were 240) had his cresset. Each cresset cost 2s. 4d., and every cresset had two men — one to hold it, another to carry a bag with a light, and to serve it. The whole number was about 2,000, and the marching watch were quite equal in number. Curious details exist concerning the grand pageants at these solemn watches, and truly our citizen ancestors embraced every occasion for such displays. The practice of indulging in such pompous festivals at night was gradually laid aside, on account of the various disturb- ances it occasioned. So late, however, as 1585, attempts were made to revive them (ineffectually) in a tract dedi- cated to Sir Thomas Pullison, Lord Mayor ; which recom- mended their renewal because " they set artificers at work, old soldiers, and poor men, for which the rich paid." In Stow's day, and no doubt long previous, there was a regular watch kept. All housekeepers, whether freemen or not, were bound to keep watch in their own ward after nightfall, or procure a proxy for the purpose. Every constable was the head of his watch, and he, with a beadle, was bound to be present. Each constable was empowered to act all over the City. The watch was commonly accompanied by a bellman, who went before ringing a bell, and when it ceased he saluted his masters and mistresses with certain suitable rhymes, bidding them look to their lights. This custom commenced in the reign of Queen Mary, January, 1556, and was set up first in Cordwainer "Ward. " Then and there, one went all night with a bell, and at each lane's end gave warning of fire and candle, and to help the poor, and pray for the dead." The number of the watch in each ward varied according to its size — from 130 in Farringdon Without to four in Bartholomew the Less. In 1603 it was ordered that the watch, with a constable and beadle, should watch from nine at night till seven in the morning, from Michaelmas to LONDON "WATCHMEN. 353 April 1, and from Lady Day to Michaelmas, from ten in the evening till five in the morning. The inhabitants watched in rotation. Every constable failing in his duty was fined £5. Every person not watching after notice forfeited £l. " The watch," says Stow, " is a good means to keep the City, if it were performed according to law, but there be great neglects. Some of the watchmen leave their stands, and go to alehouses, or light people home, so that many times there are not more than five or six, instead of sixteen ; so that if fire or other accident happen in the night, little or no'help can be expected. At present, the beadle provides the roll at his own discretion, and there only attend thirty at Bishopsgate, where there should be eighty." Their pay was usually sixpence per night. As London progressed in wealth and commercial import- ance, the personal care of property and life grew irksome ; people were ready enough to pay others for the laborious duties of night-watching, but declined the work for them- selves. Of course, such an imperfect system would only partially succeed. The guardians of public peace and pro- perty were but too often either old or ignorant, slumbered on their watch, or leagued with the night-walkers against the security of their employers. Shakspeare is singularly rich and graphic on this subject in his "Much Ado About Nothing ":— Act. III. Scene HI. — A Street. — Dogberky and Verges with the Watch. Dogh rry, — Are you good men and true? Pi rgea. — fes, or else it were pity that they should suffer salvation, body and soul. Give them tbeir eb.n-^e, nei<,'lil>our Dogberry^ /< \gh rry. - First, who think you the most disartb-ss man to be constable? 1 i Watch.- Bugb Oateake, sir, or George Seacoal, for they can write and read. Dogbt rry. — Come hither, neighl r S( acoal. God hath blessed you with a good name. To lie a well favoured man istbe •jit't of fortune, but to write and read comes by nature. 'Zuil Watch. — Both which, master constable Dogberry. — You have; I kne* it would be your answer. Well, for your 2 A 354 LONDON WATCHMEN. favours, sir, give God thanks, and make no boast of it ; and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man to he constable of the watch ; therefore bear you the lantern. This is your charge, you shall com- prehend all vagrom men. You are to bid any man stand in the Prince's name. 2nd Watch. — How if he will not stand? Dogberry. — Why, then take note of him, but let him go ; and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of a knave. Verges. — If he will not stand, he is none of the Prince's subjects. Dogberry. — True, and they are to meddle with none but the Prince's subjects. You shall make no noise in the streets; for the watch to babble and talk is most tolerable, and not to be endured. 2nd Watcli. — We will rather sleep than talk ; we know what belongs to a watch. Dogberry. — Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman ; for I cannot see how sleeping should offend : only have a care that your bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. 2nd Watcli. — How if they will not? Dogberry. — Why, then, let them alone till they are sober ; if they make you not then the better answer, you may say, they are not the men you took them for. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man ; and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 2nd Watch. — If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him? Dogberry.— Suvely, by your office you may ; but I think, they that touch pitch will be defiled : the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your company. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse and bid her still it. 2nd Watch. — How if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us? Dogberry. — Why, then, depart in peace ; and let the child wake her with crying ; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baas, will never answer a calf when it bleats. This is the end of the charge. You, con- stable, are to present the Prince's own person ; if you meet the Prince in the night, you may stay him. Verges. — Nay, by our Lady, that, I think, he cannot. Dogberry. — Five shillings to one on't ; with any man who knows the statutes, he may stay him. Marry, not without the Prince be willing ; for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no man, and it is an offence to stay a man against his will. Nocturnal disorder and insecurity was general under the Stewarts, and certainly not less so at the accession of the LONDON ■WATCHMEN. 355 House of Brunswick. The public roads, although kept by a mounted patrol, were so dangerous, that no experienced traveller undertook a night journey without firearms. Even the mail coaches were frequently stopped and robbed, while a pedestrian or single horseman went in constant fear both of life and property. The City watchmen were commonly old men past work, who, ill-clothed and worse paid, armed with a lantern and a rattle, perambulated the streets from dark to sunrise, having no positive duty but to cry the hour from house to house, as if it was their chief business to give the burglar notice of their approach. The poverty of these miserable guardians of the metropolis often induced them to take bribes, and grow conveniently deaf and blind when their services were required. They were a remarkably sleepy tribe, and, if ever on the alert, it was for a short time after the clock struck, when, having duly bawled the hour, they crept into their boxes, and dosed with quiet consciences till the same signal roused them to a like temporary activity. I remember an old street song, which shows what was thought of their services : — A watchman I am, and I knows all the rounds — The housekeepers, the strays, and the lodgers; I knows when young cits are a-breaking the bounds, To join with night-walkers and codgers. Down alleys I drives, Where men and their wives Are drinking and cursing — While thieves are cut-pursing ; While loudly T bawls, At the stroke of St. Paul's, Past one o'clock, and a cloudy morning. - through the Row, a rope ladder I spies, An I \h Forward expecting her lover; If they tips me a crown, I strata fest my eyes, Anil lets them elope all in clover. [f the burglar breaks in, 1 i tiikc gold is no sin ; 2 A 2 356 LONDON" TVATCHMEN. And Bill Pickpurse may pass, If he gives us a glass — As I drinks and I bawls, At the stroke of St. Paul's, Past two o'clock, and a cloudy morning. As a child, I regarded with, alarm the queer-looking, infirm old man in a blanket coat, with lantern, rattle, and staff, and the inevitable " Past eight o'clock," who used to topple through "our street" in winter; but, as I grew older, the watch-box in the corner, decorated with " a lantern, dimly burning," and the nasal organ-pipes, so busily engaged within, as the guardian of the night took his first hour's sleep, excited a feeling of mirth. Passing through. Goldsmith Street, Cheapside, one evening, about ten o'clock, I found a crowd (an unusual thing there) ; some mischievous youngster had toppled over the Charley's sleeping berth, and the inmate, scarcely awake, bawled from the gutter, " Past eleven o'clock." Many such scenes might be met with in London streets ; people laughed or grumbled at the inefficiency of the watch, yet still the evil was tolerated, and nothing better seemed possible. During the working hours of the day, petty thieves pursued their calling unmolested; and as night approached, designs of an alarming character might be carried on, without much impediment from, and often assisted by, the ancient watch. The men who took this duty received from eight to twelve shillings per week, with the loan of a rough over- coat in severe weather, and often, on relinquishing what was called their "beat," they had no asylum but the parish workhouse. Strange that such a system should remain unaltered and unimproved for so many years ! Wben, at length, the reformer appeared, and a day and night police was proposed, to consist of young, active men, the public were extremely slow to admit the advantage of the plan. So wedded were many grave citizens to their LONDON WATCHMEN. 357 venerable old watch, that long after the Bill enacting a " New Police" had become law, they were content to keep up the force, sarcastically so called, at their own expense. "Peel's raw lobsters" was a phrase of contempt in Mr. Bull's mouth for several years, and only when a fresh generation, unacquainted with the Charlies, but from some almost worn-out specimen, began to understand the value of the new plan, was it cordially supported. Even now, a few lingering sexagenarians murmur against the era of able-bodied constables, and sigh for the watchman's lantern as " the light of other days." The last of the old watchmen, as I well remember, used to snore in a box opposite the " original "White Conduit." After the establishment of "the New Police," being allowed to retain his great-coat by the parish, and re- ceiving divers elemosynary sixpences weekly, he continued :iis nightly warnings for several years. OLD WHITE CONDUIT TEA-HOUSE. TOKENHOUSE YARD. Every nook of the metropolis is memorable. At first the names of many places are bafiiing, hut on closer inquiry we are sure to find an historical significance about them. The modern Lothbury — why was it so called ? Even at present the subject is doubtful; but we may trace it from Lotisbury, Lathbury, Loadbury, Lothbery, to Lothbury, it having borne all these titles in succession. Lode, in old English, means "to load;" so it might have been Load- bury, as the site of the first mansion as one came from Moorgate. In Stow's time, the neighbourhood was inha- bited by makers of candlesticks, chafing-dishes, spice- mortars, and other domestic utensils, fabricated from metal; porcelain, and even clay pans and jugs, were but little known or used ; wooden or leaden trenchers were then employed, and no doubt the trade in such articles, rude and unornamented as they were, was very con- siderable. If we turn into Tokenhouse Yard, we are startled at its name, and not favourably impressed by the place itself. Since the completion of the monster banking-house at the corner, it has assumed an increase of importance ; but its confined area and shabby brick tenements, which seem hardly to be painted or repaired once in a century, do not invite our stay a single moment beyond the necessities of TOKESTHOUSE YARD. 359 "business. I knew it thirty years ago, as I know it now, as a harbour for stockbrokers, and other well-to-do priests of mammon, who seldom or ever disturb their dingy account- book racks for cleanliness' sake. My particular factotum in this region occupies a house which acts as a kind of huge brick cork, shutting up the narrow carriage-way, and opposing a positive negative to all further progress. The dwelling (but why call it so, for you need seek none of the amenities of life there ?) is parcelled off into chambers, and you rent a floor, or a portion of one, accord- ing to your wants. A moderate-sized room, converted into an office, is worth in rent as much as a comely villa of ten rooms at Islington. The whole yard is a queer slip of buildings, with just space enough for four wheels to pass down — though, if they ever do, it must be to back out — between two marvellously-straitened flagged footpaths ; and if you are curious, and look upwards, there, over the i-Insely-abutting roofs, creeps a leaden-coloured, or might I not say a dirt-coloured mass of clouds or smoke, seldom or ever sun-bt, and then only for a few hasty moments. My first acquaintance in the yard was a well-fed, burly old gentleman on the shady side of seventy, who might be found constantly on his desk stool from 1 1 a.m. to 4 p.m. He evidently thought it an article of faith, never to be for- gotten, that business was pleasure, and pleasure business. Almost mechanically, he stretched out his broad, fat hand to all comers; but the shako was heartiest on the days when your purchases or sales were largest. As the exe- i u tor of a dear Mend, it was my duty to soil out several thousand pounds of stock, and I had a tedious job at waiting while the official forms were completing. The loftiest stool in the offico was mine; I sal paramount over ihreo men and a boy, and wearied of the visitors, who talked of nothing but consols. So, making a survey of the premises, and noticing the grimy ceiling, the dilapidated 360 TOKENHOUSE YARD. desk, -with, a panel broken through to admit warmth to the clerk's legs from the handful of fire, and the floor, guiltless of soap, with the accumulations of half a century trodden into it, I ventured to ask whether the whole concern would not be improved by a little cleansing. "Repaired, indeed! why we would not suffer brush, mop, or pail to intrude here for a whole twelvemonth's income. Such a breaking- up of the old place would be quite fatal to our interests." And perhaps the old gentleman was right ; for a far more important establishment "over the way opposite" (the Bank) seems under a similar difficulty. Well, our admirable money-monger — for elsewhere he was really a capital sort of man, and not a mere composite of stock lists and dividends — has passed away. His son, now too growing grey, reigns in his stead ; and I have observed lately certain younglings, from fourteen to seven- teen, peering over the desks, and looking profoundly wise, who are, doubtless, worthy chips of the old block, and will in due time thrive in their generation. But why was this mid-London alley called Tolcenhouse Yard ? I will endeavour to inform you on the best autho- rity. It was so entitled from an ancient building, once an office for the delivery of tradesmen's farthing pocket-pieces or tokens. Here let us have a short chat on copper coins generally. Copper money was common in Greece, was known for two centuries previous to a silver coinage in Borne, and yet, singularly enough, was not employed in modern Europe till upwards of a thousand years afterwards. The Saxons adopted the form of their penny from the Boman denarius. It was divided by a cross, and being ordinarily divided into four quarters, was used as the fourth-thing, or farthing, the epithet now applied to our smallest coin. Might not an eighth be useful ? — unless, indeed, we advocate a decimal coinage, which would afford numerous facilities. Copper coins were unauthorized, with TOKENHOUSE YARD. 361 but few exceptions, until 1672. It was' objected to such a coinage that it would favour a spurious circulation of counterfeits, called black money — which, though of copper, were washed with about a fifth of silver. Two kinds of this money existed — one forged to pass as silver, and that tolerated called billon money, originally coined in France, while under English rule, for the French population ; and the name was given to distinguish it from the white or pure silver coinage. Queen Elizabeth and her subjects were very reluctant to admit this base coin into circulation. 3dward V. was the last king who coined silver farthings, zhe value of metals having increased so much that it in came impossible to cast so small a species of money. It is certain that such an issue was made by this prince, but none of them are preserved. The small size of a silver halfpenny (four grains or under) though tolerated down to the time of the Commonwealth, was very inconvenient. Many cities issued tokens in the reign of Elizabeth, but hey were only permitted to be circulated where first issued ; and were ultimately called in by the Government. In London, the necessities of trade made the issue of tokens exceedingly great. No less than three thousand dealers coined tokens, whioh, when returned to the issuer, were exchanged for ancient coin or value. This circulation going on to an enormous extent, the Government in 1594 were forced to legalize a copper coinage. A small coin a 1 ! i struck, about the bulk of a silver twopence, with the Queen's monogram on one side, and a rose on the oihrr, with a running legend for each of " The pledge of a halfpenny." It was soon called in, however, for the Queen refused to confirm the issue. In 1609, Sir Robert Cotton wrote a tract named " How Kings of England have Supported and Repaired their Estates," in w hich he says, — 362 TOKENHOUSE YARD. Benefit to tbe king will fall out if he restrain retailers from using their own tokens, for in London were about 3,000 that cast one with another five pounds a-piece yearly of leaden tokens, whereof a tenth remaineth not to them at the year's end, and when they renew their store, which amounteth to £15,000. And the whole realm is not inferior to the City, in proportion. In London, which is not a 24th part of the people, was lately found 800,000, which so giveth 2d. to each person, which may be no burden at the first issue, but of benefit to the meaner sort. Buyers would not be tied to one seller and his bad commodities, if the tokens were made current by authority among all ; and to the poor it would be much relief, since men are like to give a farthing alms that will not part with a greater sum. Thus, threepenny and fourpenny silver pieces are in great request at charity sermons, though it is a disputed point whether the collections are larger or smaller in consequence. The issue of King James's royal farthings commenced on May 19, 1613, by proclamation. They had two sceptres in saltier, surmounted by a crown on one side, and the harr> on the reverse — perhaps to indicate that, if refused in England, they would be ordered to pass in Ireland. They were not made a legal tender, but merely tokens, foi which Government would give other coin on demand. This copper money was distrustfully received, and had but a small circulation. In 1635, Charles I. coined some with a rose instead of a harp. The following year he granted to Henry, Lord Maltravers, and Sir Francis Crane a patent to coin farthings, but they were not made a lawful tender. During the civil war, private persons issued tokens to a vast extent. Charles II. coined halfpence and farthings at the Tower, in 1670, but two years elapsed before they were issued by proclamation. They were composed of pure Swedish copper, and circulated freely until 1684, when they were called in, owing to a dispute as to the value of copper ; after which came a coinage of tin farthings, with a copper centre, and the inscription, " Humorum famulus, 1685-1686." Halfpence of the same kind were used in the next year, and the use of copper was not resumed till TOKEKHOUSE YAED. 36.° 1696, when all the tin money was called in. Was it front this wretched coin that the cant phrase of "tin," inst» of "money," came into vogue? Pinkerton winds up his account of tokens by informing us that " all the farthings of Anne's reign were trial pieces ; they were struck in 1712, and are of exquisite workmanship, exceeding most copper coins, both ancient and modern." Croker, the artist, derived lasting honour from them. On the finest is Peace in a car, inscribed, " Pax missa per orbem." Another has Britannia under a portal. AH readers of Swift's works must remember his "Drapers' Letters," occasioned by the issue of a debased copper coinage in Ireland. It would probably have circulated without complaint but for the Dean's energetic invectives, which quickly raised the anger of the Emerald Islanders to fever heat, and, after a short but violent struggle, the obnoxious coppers were with- drawn. Anne's precious farthings are in great request with collect* >rSj and are said to fetch their weight in gold. The shilling of the same reign is also a very fine coin. In the previous reign, the whole coinage of the country was miserably debased, and when Newton became Master of the Mint, in 1699, it was his grand object to restore its efficiency. In 1705, when he was knighted by Queen Anne, he had to a great extent accomplished this laudable object; at all events, the coin, as restored by his labours, remained in circulation with little or no change after the death of his royal mistress up to the close of the reign of George II. The heavy, coarse copper money, which now included pence as well as halfpence and farthings, was composed of a very debased species of copper, and often resembled cast- iron more than anything else. The pence, halfpence, and Earthings of George II. were especially clumsy: five shil- lings worth of them was quite a load, and though indispen- sable as small change — for there were no silver pieces of a 364 TOKENHOUSE YARD. lower denomination than sixpence — it was quite an object to escape such a burden in receiving or paying money. The iron money of ancient Sparta seemed re-produced, recalling to mind the Italian painter who died from fatigue owing to the weight of a money payment. Late in the reign of George III., when my boyish recollections of copper money commences, the pennies and halfpence con- tinued to be uncomfortably heavy, and the king's un- gainly effigy looked uneasy on the clumsy disc. The farthings probably were about the size of our present halfpence, but tradespeople readily received them in payment, because the silver coin was so scandalously deteriorated that it was often difficult to make out whether you possessed shillings and sixpences, or merely pieces of hammered tin. One expedient to ameliorate the coinage was to stamp some Spanish dollars, captured in a naval engagement, with a miniature die of the sovereign, and with that addenda they were circulated as tokens, first at 4s. 9d. each, and ultimately at 5s. A second plan was to issue silver tokens at a value of Is. 6d. and 3s., but no attempt was made to substitute anything more satisfactory for the worn-out or spurious shillings and sixpences, which had become a positive nuisance. To add to the annoyance, during the long war, nearly all the great towns, and many of the chief manufacturing firms, coined copper money for themselves. This, it was alleged, was only a medium for the payment of workmen, and the restricted wants of the township. But how restrain it within such narrow limits? The whole country was quickly deluged with this unauthorized coin, while Ireland, eagerly seizing the example, set up her copper mint; and few things were more troublesome than to distinguish between genuine and spurious copper money. During the Eegency, and in the reign of George IV., the debased coin gradually disap- TOKENHOUSE YARD. 365 pearecl, and some of the new coins, especially a five -shilling piece (never much circulated), were very beautiful. The pence, halfpence, and farthings grew perceptibly lighter, but in other respects were not improved. William IV. did not alter the coinage to any great extent, and the pieces we now occasionally handle — sovereigns arid half-sove- reigns being the most common — certainly have no preten- sions to elegance. Her present Majesty has nearly en- grossed the whole coinage to herself. For one gold coin with the bust of George or William, at least ten or twelve bear that of Queen Victoria; and inspecting a handful of silver just now, there was only a single piece with the ghost-like shadow of George III., and a second with the nearly impalpable head of William IV., while all the others, over twenty, rejoiced in the effigy of Victoria. As for the copper circulation, its tendency from the early years of our gracious lady has been to lightness, and the latest change has culminated in what is facetiously called a " bronze coinage." It is wonderfully light, and so far eminently convenient, but one's digital feelings have grown sadly at fault. Till recently, a penny was a penny, and a peripatetic philosopher was not likely to disburse twopence in almsgiving where he only reckoned upon one ; now, on the contrary, pence, confounded with halfpence, are seldom definitely known, while a bright farthing has more than once passed muster for a half-sovereign. There still seems an obvious want of some more ma- nageable coin. Could gold be rendered available, and miniature angels do duty as small coin ? Our silver pieces of threepence and fourpcnco are so much alike that there is no distinguishing thorn without trying the edge. Gold will bear to be beaten extremely thin, and migh.1 be unmis- takably marked with the real value. It woidd be easy to have 5s. and lis. (id. tokons of value in the same metal, the superior hardness of which would be another advantage. 366 T0KENH0TTSE YARD. It is remarkable that England possesses an unbroken series of pennies from Egbert to Yictoria, if we except the reigns of Richard I. and John, whose coins were Erench and Irish. The earliest pennies weigh 22-^ grains Troy. Edward III.'s weigh 18 grains; they then fell to 15, and in the reign of Edward IV. were but 12. Edward YI. reduced his pennies to 8 grains, and Elizabeth to little more than 7. We also meet with halfpennies and farthings of silver. Such coins were struck by Edward L, and were in use up to Charles I. There was also the groat piece, in- troduced by Edward III., and the festoon, or shilling, by Henry VII. Crown pieces of silver were originally issued by Henry VIII., and Queen Bess coined three-halfpenny and three-farthing pieces, which were not continued by succeeding monarchs. Thus, after a long ramble among the small money bags, we find ourselves again standing at the corner of Token- house Yard, and wondering whether the reader will suppose we have been dallying among Mr. Forster's media — Mr. Eorster, a favourite conjuror of this novelty-loving age, who, while Mr. Tyrrwhitt sends card magicians to prison, coolly pockets guineas innumerable for securing to the fashionable world a seance with their departed relatives. Mr. Home, the grand conjurer for the edification of the nobility and gentry, has gradually gone into the shade, and his popularity as a seer of visions has ended in a mania for pantomime ghosts, now to be met with at all public places of amusement, from Eosherville to the Crystal Palace. Strange that we Britishers, who pride ourselves so much on common sense, should yet keep a nook in our hearts for the oddest of superstitious fancies — witness the degrading yet tragical fury of a whole village (Sible Hedingham) towards the dumb Frenchman, whose Book of Charms was a psalter in his native tongue. THE FUXEKAL OF LOUD NELSON. NELSON'S BURIAL. When the great Admiral was dead, people remembered his lasl words when he quitted England on his final expedition, "Victory or "Westminster Abbey." Yet the wish implied in those words was not to be gratified, and no sooner was hie heroic death at Trafalgar known, than a general desire was expressed, especially by the citizens of London, that the remains of their famous sea-captain should find a sepulchre in St. Paul's Cathedral. Not long before, he had appeared in the Guildhall to be thanked by the Lord Mayor and Corporation, and to be made free of London, his diploma beinjj; presented in a gold box; and now he was to rest in Wren's glorious sanctuary, " alono in his glory," until, after half a century, Britain's most illustrious soldier should be brought to share his chamber of repo 368 nelson's burial. Is there any superstition in breathing a prayer with the laureate over their ashes, as we repeat his words ? — And in the vast cathedral leave them : Christ accept them ! God receive them ! No hero of modern times was ever more loved by the people than Nelson. They had watched his career from boyhood. As a middy, when he sailed with Captain Phipps, in 1773, to the North Pole, there was a romance about his chase of a bear on the ice which excited the fancy and touched the heart ; as a bold sailor in his West Indian voyage, 1780 ; as a skilful leader when Corsica was reduced, and where he lost his right eye, in 1794 ; as the daring companion of Jervis at Cape St. Vincent, 1797. His heroism in the capture of the mighty Spanish galliot won him the rank of admiral — how deservedly! His desperate valour at Santa Cruz, where his right arm was blown off by a cannon-shot, followed in the next year, 1798, by the battle of the Nile ; and his honours as a baron, with that glorious title ; and his advancement to a dukedom as Duke of Bronte, by the King of Naples ; then the splendid success of Copenhagen, when Campbell wrote his noble lyric : — Of Nelson and the north Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone. Then, as he approached the close of his marvellous career, the untiring pursuit of the combined fleets to the West Indies and back again to Europe, in 1805; a pain- fully short visit to his native land in August of that year, when the thanks of his King and of the Legislature greeted him ; and as he passed through Cheapside, the horses were taken from his carriage, and he was drawn in triumph by nelson's burial. 369 the citizens to the Mansion House, amidst the rapturous cheers of grateful thousands ; then the voyage to Cadiz, and the wonderful triumph and victory at Trafalgar. These were indeed things to touch a nation's heart ; but much that was purely personal endeared the ocean warrior to his countrymen. Nelson rejoiced to be the man of the people — there was not a jot of the " stuck-up hero " in his com- position. Hence his sailors idolized him, and the poorest street wanderer, as he vociferated his praises, fancied he was applauding one of his own "kith and kin." The ex- tinguished eye, the lost arm, better than all his medals and badges of nobility, gave him a claim to the gratitude of England, and warmly and affectionately was it rendered. The news of his last victory and death produced a strange mixture of feelings throughout the land : Albion indeed had "triumphed gloriously," but Nelson was slain. Should men mourn or rejoice '? The realm was delivered from its most inveterate foes, but the heaven-sent Admiral was lost for ever. When the tidings of Trafalgar came, I was a boy of scarcely ten years, and I listened in astonished silence to the stirring narrative, and shed a few tears, very unlike any ever devoted to my childish sorrows. We lived near Soho Square, where an elder sister went to school (it was not thought infra dig. to send girls to day-schools in those days), and in the afternoon it was my duty or play to fetch her home. I was bursting with the news, and when we met imparted my whole budget thus: "Oh, Fanny dear! there's such wonderful news; the foreigner's fleets are destroyed at Trafalgar, and brave Lord Nelson is killed ; and they've put him in a cask of v\un, and are bringing him homo to be buried." There was an odd story connected with this butt of rum. A jack tar, who doubtless loved the hero in his life, was found drunk near the hogshead, and owned that "he had tapped tho Admiral." 2 11 Ol kelson's burial. Though, this memorable sea-fight took place October 21, 1805, it was the end of the year before the body arrived in England, and the funeral did not take place till January, 1806. Nelson's remains were disembarked at Greenwich, and the public lying-in-state was held in the Painted Chamber of the hospital, a most appropriate spot for the ceremony. Hardly knowing what it meant, I was wild to be a spectator, and a kind, but perhaps indiscreet relative allowed me to accompany him. The crowd round the lofty night of stone steps leading to the funeral hall was alarm- ingly dense ; a few companies of soldiers and a body of the pensioners strove to keep order, but the wave of excited human beings was too strong for them. Even now, while recalling the scene of tumult, I am amazed at my own temerity. Being unaware of the danger, all my anxiety was to get in. Men struggled, children and women screamed. It was impossible to keep on one's feet. I was borne slowly from step to step on the shoulders of the mul- titude, and but for a. stalwart sailor, who held me up, must have fallen, and been trampled under foot. At length the strong oaken barriers were passed, and we were allowed to enter by twelves, with a peremptory warning to ' ' Move on." A long, wide corridor, hung with black cloth — floor, walls, and roof — very dimly lighted by wax tapers, and thickly lined alternately with sailors and foot-guards, each standing motionless — the soldiers leaning on their fire- locks, and the sailors with clasped hands — led to the state chamber, a noble apartment of vast dimensions. In the centre stood a lofty catafalque, covered with black velvet, the whole lighted by a vast number of immensely thick wax candles, burning in massive silver candelabra. The coffin, only partly hidden by a gorgeous pall, on which were placed the sword, hat, and orders of the deceased, attracted and riveted every eye. A great gathering of noblemen and official personages surrounded the bier, nelson's burial. 371 while the blaze of light at this point was rendered awfully imposing by the gloom and indistinctness of the rest of the apartment. I have since seen various public spectacles, and some of them of the same character, but whether because it was the first, or on account of its own actual grandeur, this seemed the most sublime. The crowd were only permitted to traverse this stately room in pairs, and were forbidden to stand still even for a moment. I was a little fellow then, and should have seen scarcely any- thing, had not one of the attendants, observing my trouble, allowed me to creep inside the railing, so that I had a capital view, and felt fully rewarded for all previous diffi- culties. Many years afterwards I witnessed the lying-in- state of the Duke of York, at St. James's Palace, which was as public as this of the great Admiral. The Iron Duke had similar honours at Chelsea Hospital, but this "pomp in death" will probably soon become an extinct fashion. It seems to have originated in a bar- barous age, the bodies of kings being exhibited, clad in royal robes, to the gaze of their subjects, that they might not suspect that they had died by violence. Thus Richard the Second, who was foully murdered at Pontefract, was masqueraded in Westminster Hall ; and similar mockeries have been perpetrated in Guildhall. Death by poison or strangulation was the doom of illustrious persons who had grown obnoxious to the "powers that were," and in this manner the commonalty were deceived, and their ven- nco appeased. January 9, 1806, was the day appointed for Nelson's funeral. On the previous afternoon the body was con- veyed by water from Greenwich to Whitehall Stairs, and thence (o the Admiralty, where the final procession was to commence. The transit along the water was intended to be a grand ceremonial, and innumerable barges, with flags and bands of music, came in its wake. Winn the centre 2 it 2 372 NELSON'S BTJEIAIi. barge, containing the hero's coffin, which was placed on deck, under a velvet canopy, surmounted with funeral feathers, arrived near London Bridge, the oars were slowly drawn out of the water, a heat of muffled drums broke the solemn silence, minute-guns at all the principal wharfs began firing, the flags of the vessels in the Pool were lowered half-mast high, and the bands wailed forth the "Dead March in Said," while the countless thousands on the bridge quay sides seemed painfully to hold in their breath lest even a sigh should destroy the dumb sadness of the world's great mart. There is nothing new under the sun. Thus, on the same river, though on an older bridge, mourned London and her busy inhabitants when The Queen was brought from Greenwich to Whitehall, and England wept over the relics of her departed Eliza- beth. But winter is not favourable for a water procession. The shades of night closed early on the Thames and its melancholy burden ; and the many thousands who waited at the landing-place could scarcely distinguish the coffin as it was borne from the state barge. With early morning — long, indeed, before the day broke — every available seat and window, including the roofs of houses, public buildings, each elevated spot, walls however narrow, and chimneys however dangerous, were crowded and covered with occupants. Not a single standing-place was vacant from Charing Cross to St. Paul's. The Golden Cross Hotel was teeming at its many windows with restless heads ; the mews beyond, as far as the slightest view could be obtained from it, was hidden with frail wooden booths, where an unsteady footing was offered to spectators at high prices. The Hon over the chief entrance to Northumber- land House was taken possession of by several sturdy nelson's burial. 373 workmen; even the tail gave support to a rash urchin, who had risked his neck to gratify his eyes ; while at a dizzy height, clinging to St. Martin's steeple, were perched several sailors, who appeared likely to topple down every instant. Charing Cross and the vicinity presented a strange contrast in 1805 to their modern aspect. As a background to the equestrian statue of Charles I. (on this occasion giving seats to many more riders than the king) stood the Golden Cross, a queer-looking middle-age build- ing, attached to which, on the right, was a line of sheds, accommodating several saddlers' shops and a smith's forge ; and contiguous was a dismal line of dead wall, enclosing what was called the King's Mews — a large open space leading to a range of stabling. The houses and streets immediately adjoining were of the humblest description. St. Martin's Lane was both narrow and dirty, while the Strand itself could not have exceeded thirty-five or forty eet in width. It is easy to understand that a crowd in such straitened thoroughfares would occasion terrible con- fusion. The whole line of road from this point to Temple Bar was equally inconvenient, and the only carriage-way round the church of St. Clement's Danes was dangerous. The foot pavement, while the procession passed, was lined with files of military — standing, in many instances, three deep ; among their ranks not a few civilians, who were included by virtue of silver tickets ; and behind the soldiers stood a closely-packed back-wall of spectators — every shop window being closed. The day was damp and misty, often almost dark, and with scarcely a glimpse of sunlight. The spectators hart to wait from dawn to one o'clock p.m. before the procession began to move from the Admiralty. It was miserably ill- arranged, like most out-door spectacles in London. Many of the equipages of the nobility, including the Bang's state carriage, were in attendance; and it was assorted that the 374 nelson's BURIAL. Prince of "Wales (George IV.) was one of the chief mourners, but he was never recognized by the people. The funeral car was an ill-contrived, lumbering vehicle, in shape resembling a four-post bedstead, but hung, of course, with black, and the canopy adorned with a broad board of ostrich feathers. Originally it was intended that it should be drawn by eight of the King's famous black horses ; ultimately it was settled that the crew of Nelson's flag-ship, the " Victory," should be permitted to draw the remains of their noble captain to their last home. The dull, booming sound of the minute-guns on the river, and in St. James's Park, announced that the procession was moving. First came a band of mounted marshal's men to clear the way (the roads had been gravelled the whole length to the Cathedral). Then followed a long train of Yeomen of the Guard, and several trumpeters, all in their state dresses, but with crape scarves. After this, drum and fife bands, the drums muffled. A picked body of soldiers, chiefly from Scotch regiments, and said to have served with Abercrombie at Alexandria, all with their muskets reversed, and crape dressings on their arms. Next the crews of several line-of-battle ships which had been engaged at Trafalgar. Then a band of wind instru- ments (thought, at that period, surpassingly fine), with silver kettle-drums, thickly muffled, and playing the "Dead March." A deep, impressive pause — the vast crowd hushed to a death-like silence — and presently the broad, clumsy wheels of the car were heard as they slowly rotated on the gravel, striking a chill through every bosom. See, it comes ! the coffin raised to a considerable height, the foot hidden by a splendid pall, and the remainder of the lid exposed, bearing the sword and cocked hat of the Admiral, with his stars and orders, the gifts of nearly all the sovereigns of Europe. Around are the armorial bearings of the dead, and the flag of the " Victory" floats nelson's buriai, 375 in heavy folds over the hero's dust, as if in sorrow. Twenty sailors from his own crew propel the car, and they appear in profound grief. Nothing 1 can be more solemn — nay, terrible — than the reverend silence of a mighty multitude. A more sublime example of the kind was never witnessed than on this occasion. Then came a second band of wind instruments ; another large detach- ment of foot soldiers, marching with steady, regular tramp ; a splendidly mounted troop of heavy dragoons ; Earl Nelson, as chief mourner ; royal carriages ; the ministers and principal nobibty ; a number of private vehicles, seemingly without object but to lengthen the procession, which was upwards of two hours in passing. With no small difficulty we managed to escape down St. Martin's Lane into Long Acre, and from thence, by Holborn and the Old Bailey, succeeded in reaching the corner of Ludgate Hill, where we invested certain pieces of silver in wooden chairs, and thus obtained standing- places where we could see over the heads of the crowd. The crush at T.mple Bar was frightful, for no sooner were the gates thrown back, at the summons of the King-at- arms, then the people attempted to break through with the procession, impeding its progress, and perilling their own lives. As we stood on the rise of the hill, tho wail of the trumpets and the funereal beat of the drums filled our ears and saddened our hearts. Constables were wildly busy in clearing the narrow roadway: we could just see the tops of tho plumes above the car. At intervals, as the crowd grew immovable and noiseless, we could just hear the click of muskets as the troops presented arms. Every church in the City spoko with its bells in melancholy music; wo fancied the great bell of St. Paul's raised ii voice amid < the din — Was it so ? Minute-guns were dis- charged with untiring regularity. The car, with its pre- cious freight, was at hand. Looking towards Fleet Street, 376 nelson's bueiax. one could observe little but a sea of huinan heads, impelled in every direction by the approaching sounds. And the multitude was singularly picturesque, for though the majority wore black, the red coats of the soldiers were freely intermixed, and the gleam of the gun barrels and bayonets caught the eye at every point. When you turned towards the Cathedral, you found its mighty porch and majestic towers alive at every nook and retreating point with human figures, who from that dizzy height contem- plated the busy area beneath. Even the giddy gallery under the ball was occupied, and we were told that anxious spectators watched the procession from apertures in the ball and cross. Listen ! for now truly the great bell speaks. It is three o'clock. The church doors are thrown open : heralds and churchmen, bishops and archbishops, stand in waiting for the new inhabitant of the silent crypt. Ne'er to that mansion where the mighty rest, Since its foundation came a nobler guest. Slowly, slowly, the heavy car is dragged up the steep incline by hard sailor hands. The last wail of the " Dead March " rolls forth — the coffin with its princely pall-bearers passes into the central nave ; and we are fain to fancy we can hear the sublime welcome it receives, " I am the resur- rection and the life ! " We could not enter those hallowed precincts, but we looked through the closing doors, and caught glimpses of the mourning assembly and the distant lights, and heard the organ's swell, and the voices of those that made melody as they sung the anthem, " His body is buried in peace; his soul liveth evermore." Londoners, you have much to be proud of; but of nothing more than that your noble cathedral has become the resting-place of such illustrious heroes as Nelson and Wellington ! TWELFTH DAY. A fly, with, Mrs. Stubbs and her five olive-branches, on the way from Clapham to Cornhill. Mrs. Stubbs. — Now, my dears, you've been so good this half, that kind papa says I'm to buy the finest cake I can get, — indeed, it's to be Purssell's best. Master Charles. — Won't that be fine, ma ? but then it must be very large, for my schoolfellows do eat such a load of cake ; but Fanny West wants more than any of them. Who's to be king — I or Jonathan ? Miss Amelia. — You, of course. Jonathan's a year younger. And I'm to be queen : and mind you do as I bid you. Master Jonathan. — But they'll draw for king and queen ; and how can you tell who'll get it ? Miss Penelope. — Tell! why, mamma knows, and can make the characters come as she pleases. Don't she pay for it all ? Miss Lizzy. — Mrs. Jones, at No. 10, will have a Christ- mas tree as well as a cake. I do so wish we might have one. Mrs. Stubbs. — Yes, and your father's a Common Council- man ; ami why should the Jones's have a gayer party? You shall have a Christmas tree, my loves — only behave yourselves prettily, and don't eat more than one Bath bun apiece. 378 TWELFTH DAY. [Fly stops at PursselTs; Mrs. Stubbs and her family enter the shop, which is full of wonderful cakes and marvellous Christmas trees; children go on tiptoe for a view ; and mamma tries in vain to compare the advantages of the various temptations in the shape of currants and frosted sugar ; Charles votes for a cake with the British lion a-top ; Amelia for ditto, with Harlequin and Columbine : Jonathan and Penelope are loudly in favour of the Three Graces ; while Lizzy is fascinated by a Venus airing herself in a perambulator drawn by doves. At last the purchase is determined by weight, and the heaviest cake is selected. What about the Christmas tree? — all are so charming. Ask Mr. Purssell which will look best when lighted up. Mr. Purssell and his factotum are men of taste, and of course will choose the most expensive.] Mrs. Stubbs (speaking to Mrs. Joyce, who is on the same errand). — Well, it is worth all the money to see these children. What bright eyes your Jemima has ; how much my Charles admires her; and your Pobert seems quite struck with my Penelope ; what nice couples they woidd make! A pastrycook's shop becomes a palace of pleasure on these occasions ; and it often proves far more agreeable to buy than to distribute the luscious compound called a twelfth cake. In the evening, when the little parties assemble, as gay and graceful as hands can make them, there will be some heartburnings as to who chooses the royal characters, and who gathers the choicest fruit from the tall illuminated furze bush. Many a precious tiny maiden will sigh to herself, " Shall I be queen of the cake?" Many a romping young master will pine for the mimic kingship, and, when he gains it, finds his cares as numerous as those that cling to the reality. Look in the TWELFTH DAY. 379 corner — that fair girl in blue, how vexed she appears ; are those tears trickling down her smooth cheeks ? Yes — hex- doll is worse dressed than Mary Payne's ! Bob Bicker- staff is red with anger— they've given him a copy of "Bunyan's Pilgrim," and he wanted "The Arabian Nights." We talk about "the tear forgot as soon as shed," and sadly underrate childish sorrows ; but if they are short, they are certainly bitter. Little maids, accord- ing to the story book, are compounded of Sugar and spice, And all that's nice ; while many boyish imps are made of "puppy-dogs' tails." But for both, the Liliputian world of childhood is as full of petty ambitions, and jealousies and vexations, as the great Babylon they must soon enter. Yet the festival of the Three Kings yields us another white-bean day. It affords a sort of oasis in the dry hard-working road of life, and the addition of a thousand young parties to society's visiting list. Softening away the wrinkles of aldermanic gravity, and making the quietest civic dignitary lively, is no common boon. In London (says Hone) it is " high 'change " on Twelfth Day with every pastrycook. From the taking down of the shutters in the morning, the window V begins. By dusk the windows are complete. Then the gas is turned on, with supernumerary argand lamps and manifold wax lights, t<> illuminate countless cakes of all prices and dimensions. The richest and dearest are placed on massy salvers. One monster cake is the chief object of cariosity; but all are decorated with innumerable images of stars, castles, kin dragons, trees, fish, palaces, cats, dogs, churches, lions, milkmaids, knights, serpents — all in snow-white confectionery, painted in variegated colours, and glittering with a blaze of reflected light from minor, festooned with artificial " wonders of Mora." This paradise of dainty devices is crowded within and without, all desiring the rich delica- cies, or laughing at the gaudy show. It used to be considered a capital joko to nail the gar- ments of outsiders to the window-frame. Urchin boys 380 TWELFTH DAY. ventured to nail the coat-tails of such as came near enough to the shop-front, or pin several garments together. Eight or ten persons have been closely attached in this manner. Driving the nail was so dextrously managed that one stroke was sufficient. Of course, the party thus secured would leave a portion of his dress behind him, or, at best, escape with a rent. This nailing and pinning was an abundant source of laughter. A youth, giggling at the misfortune of a companion, suddenly found himself nailed also. The humblest bun or cake shop in London comes out brilliantly on Twelfth Day; even the gingerbread shops indulge in trays of frosted buns, intended to resemble miniature cakes ; or they will occasionally go the length of exhibiting a few curranted roundabouts, rich with Dutch metal and gaily coloured images. In Each el UeveFs "Winter Evening Pastimes," we are thus admo- nished : — First, buy your cake. Before visitors come have your characters ready, each with a pleasant verse. Then count your ladies and gentlemen. Fold characters for your lady guests, taking care to number the king No. 1, and the queen No. 2. Serve tea and coffee as the visitors come. Put the lady characters in a reticule, the gentlemen ditto in a hat. Let each lady draw a ticket, and keep it unopened. Let the gentlemen draw from the hat. Them place all according to the numbers — king No. 1, queen No. 2. The king must recite the verses on his eard, then the queen, and so on. Then let the cake and wine go round, and hey for fun and merri- ment. "They come! they come! each hlue-ey'd sport, The Twelfth Night king and all his court. 'Tis mirth, fresh crown'd with mistletoe ; Music with her many fiddles, Joy " on light fantastic toe," Wit with all his jests and riddles, Singing and dancing as they go ; And love — young love, among the rest, A welcome, nor unbidden guest." According to Twelfth Night law, the character chosen by TWELFTH DAY. 381 each should be sustained until midnight. This, however, is seldom or ever done. " I visited a friend," says a maga- zine correspondent, 1774, "and did not return till I had been present at drawing king and queen, and eaten a slice of rich cake. The ^distribution was made after tea. Our host filled up the tickets, and the whole company, save the sovereigns, were to be ministers of state, maids of honour, and ladies of the bedchamber." Such is probably the received method of conducting the celebration ; but in Cumberland we learn the visitors meet in a large room, begin dancing at seven, and finish at twelve o'clock, when they regale themselves on lobscouse and ponsondie, the first being made of beef, potatoes, and onions fried together, and ponsondie constitutes the wassail, or waes-hael of ale, boiled with sugar and nutmeg, into which are put roasted apples — the anciently-admired lambs- wool. The feast is by subscription. Two women go round with wooden bowls to collect from the women ; all con- tribute something — none more than a shilling. There are male collectors for the men. In a strange book of pre- dictions, "Vox Graculi," 1623, we read that on Twelfth Night, from five to eleven or twelve — There is such a massacre of spiced bread, that ere the next day, a twopenny brown loaf will set twenty poor folks' teeth on edge, the hungry humour being so violent that a number of good fellows will not refuse to give a statute marchant of all the binds and goods they possess for half-a-crown's worth of twopenny pasties. On this night there will be much masking in the Strand, Cheapside, Holbourne, and Fleet Street. Old Tusser would restrict the jollity of the season to six days (twelve being the ordinary number), yet he is no enemy to innocent recreation, for he commences January thus : — When Christmas is ended, Bid feasting adue, Goe play the good busband, Thy stock to renm ; 382 TWELFTH DAT. Be mindful of rearing, In hope of a gaine, Dame Profit shall give thee Reward for thy fame. In a curious old poem called "The Popish Kingdom," we find the following passage : — Then also every householder To his abilitie, Doth mak a mighty cake, That may suffice his companie ; Herein a penny doth he put Before it come to fire ; This he divides according as His household doth require. And every piece distributeth As round about they stand, Which, in their names, unto the poore Is given out of hand. But whoso chanceth on the piece Wherein the money lies, Is counted king among them all, And is with shouts and cries Exalted to the heavens up. Fosbrooke was aware of the custom, for he tells us, — The cake was full of plums, with a bean in it for the king, and a pea for the queen ; and sometimes a penny was put in, and the person who found it, becoming king, bless'd all the beams and rafters of the house against devils. Then a chafing dish, with burning franMneense, was brought, and the odour sniffed up by the whole family, to keep off disease for the year. After this, the master and mistress went round the house with a pan, a taper, and a loaf, against witchcraft. In Nichol's " Progresses of Queen Elizabeth," we read of an entertainment given to her at Sudley, wherein "Meliboeus," the King of the Bean, and "Nisa," the Queen of the Pea, have this dialogue : — Mel. — Cut the cake — who hath the beane shall be king ; and where the pease is, she shall be queen. Nisa. — I have the pease, and must be queen. Mel. — I have the beane, and king I must command. TWELFTH DAY. 383 Pemberton refers to a letter dated Edinburgh, January 15, 1563, and mentions that Lady Plerurning was " Queen of the Beane." Herrick's " Twelfth Night" is to the same purpose : — Now, now the mirth comes, With the cake full of plums, Where Beane's the king of the sport here; Beside we must know The Pea also Must revell as queen of the court here. Begin, then, to chuse This night, as ye use, Who shall for the present delight here, Be a king hy the lot, And who shall not Be Twelfe Day queen for the night here ; Which known, let us make Joy sops with the cake, And let not a man, then, be seen here, Who unurged will not drinke, To the base from the brrnke, A health to the king and the queen here. Next crowne the bowl full With gentle lambe's-wool, And sugar, nutmeg, and ginger ; With store of ale, too, And thus ye must doe To make the wassaile a swinger. Give them to the king And queen wassailing ; And though with ale ye be whet here, Yd part ye from hence As free from offence As when ye, innocent, met here. Brand, from a very ancient book, gives us the compo- sition of an ancient twelfth-cake— flour, honey, ginger, and pepper. The maker thrust in at random a small coin, as she kneaded it. When baked, it was divided into as many parts as there were guests, and each had a share. Portions were also assigned to Christ, the Virgin, and the three Magi —the whole being ultimately given to the poor. 384 TWELFTH DAY. The custom of Twelfth Night keeping is very general. The students of the various academies in Germany do so with great ceremony and feasting. In France it is a season of infinite mirth. The Normans place a child under the guest-table, his eyes being covered. When the cake is cut, one takes up a slice, and cries out, "Fabe Domini pour qui ?" The child answers, " Pour le bon Dieu." If the bean is found in that piece, the king is chosen by long or short straws. During the revolution in 1792, Twelfth Day was ordered to be called "La Fete de sans Culottes," instead of " La Fete de Eois." At this ancient festival the king and his nobles waited on the Twelfth Night monarch. The Bourbons did not revive the custom at their restora- tion, but instead washed the feet of some poor people, and gave them alms. Our European observance of the feast of the kings is certainly derived from a desire to honour the wise men of the east, but there was a similar custom among the Greeks and Romans, who at the festival of Saturn, about the same season, drew lots for kingdoms, and allowed the winners to exercise authority like real sovereigns. Beans were also used by the ancients in drawing lots. It is noticed in The Gentleman's Magazine for 1731, that the king and prince, at the Chapel Eoyal, made offerings at the altar of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and that at night their majesties played at hazard for the benefit of the Groom Porter. Alfred the Great ordered that twelve days after the Nativity should be kept as festivals. The first usage of the ceremony in England belongs to Druidical times, and that it savours not a little of heathenism will be seen from some verses of Barnaby George : — Twise six nights then from Christmasse, They do count with dilegence, Wherein each master in his house Doth burn frankincense ; TWELFTH DAY. 385 And on the table sets a loaf, When night approacheth nere, Before the coals and frankincense To be perfumed there. First bowing clown his head he stands, And nose, and ears, and eyes He smokes, and with his mouth receives The fume that doth arise ; Whom followeth streight his wife, and doth The same full solemnly, And of then- children every one, And all their family. Which doth preserve, they say, their teeth, And nose, and eyes, and ears, From every kind of maladie, And sickness all the yeare. The dress for Henry VII., according to Le Neve, on Twelfth Day, was as follows : — He must go crowned, in robes royal, with a long train, and his cutlas before him, wearing armilla of gold, set full of precious-stones, no temporal man to touch it. He must carry his sceptre in his right hand, and the ball with the cross in his left. He must offer, that day, gold, myrrh, and sense (frankincense). A messenger must take the offering to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and then must his Grace give the next benefice that falleth to the messenger. For the "void" at night, the queen ought to have it in the hall. The steward shall come for the wassail; the royal servants must have fair towels about their necks, and dishes in hand, such as their majesties shall eat of; none shall serve but Bucb. as are sworn for three months; ushers of the chamber must bring the royal cups ; the singers may stand on one side, and when the steward crieth " wassail" thrice, they must answer it with a good song. 1622. The gentlemen of Gray's Inn, to make an end of Christmas, on Twelfth Night shot off all the chambers (small cannon) which they hud borrowed from the Tower (they filled four carts) ; and James I., starting from his bed, cried "Treason! treason!" tlio whole Court being raised, and tho City in an uproar. January G, 1GG2. Evelyn writes in his journal, — 2 c 386 TWELFTH DAY. This evening, his Majesty (Charles II.) opened the revels by throwing the dice in the Privy Chamber, where was a table set, and lost his £100 ; the year before he won £1,500. The ladies also played very deep. I came away when the Duke of Ormond had won about £1,000, and left them still at passage (a gambling game). At Kome, on Twelfth Day, there is a grand carnival. James Nott, editor of the " Cooks' Dictionary," speaks of the old divertisements used for Twelfth Day. A favourite device was a cardboard castle, all done over with paste, and brought to table in a charger, salt and eggshells filled with rose-water being stuck round it. The castle was furnished with cannons in paste, covered with Dutch gold- leaf, and charged with gunpowder, so that they might be fired off. Then there was a stag in the middle of the board, filled with claret. Then there was a ship, sailing over a sea of salt. Then were two great pies — live birds in one, and live frogs in the other. All being ready, an arrow was drawn from the stag's side, and wine flowed out. The guns were discharged against the ship. Then the pie crust being raised, the birds flew out, and the frogs scam- pered away, putting out the lights, and causing the ladies to cry out in terror. Truly our ancestors were not particu- larly tasteful in their amusements. In Sydney's "Arcadia" we read of sports before the Maiden Queen, in which birds, miserably mutilated, were allowed to be set flying for the joke's sake ; and G-eoffiy Hudson, the dwarf, was on one occasion enclosed in a pie for the recreation of Charles II. I have exhausted my Twelfth Day budget. The season in modern times has lost much of its quaintness and undis- guised mirth. Many of us are too genteel to venture on unsophisticated enjoyment. The grown folks at such a festival are wonderfully precise and demure, while the juveniles, literally running over with a passion for rollick- ing merriment, are afraid to indulge the natural instinct, and often continue to look as icy as the frosted cake. TWELFTH DAY. 3S7 Fortunately, this cannot last the whole evening : the moral atmosphere begins to thaw at supper ; " Quips and cranks, and wreathed smiles," mixed with burst of irrepressible laughter, light up and make pleasant echoes in the warm, cosy room ; And old and young all mis in play On the Three Kings' holiday. '.. fl «iw INDEX. A Dream about Queen Elizabeth, 150. Aldersgate, 169. Mansions of the Nobility in, 172. Ancient Conduits, 56. Auction Mart, A Bargain at the, 1. Baynard's Castle, 188. and Richard HI., 193. as Palace of Henry VIII., 193. Queen Elizabeth at, 193. Billingsgate Market, 197. Derivation of the name of, 198. Fishwomen in the olden time, 198. in 1817, 201. Boar's Head, Eastcheap, 241. Charlies, The, 355. Cheapside Cross, 80. Doleful lamentation of, 85. Destruction of, 86. Colonel Blood, 311. Exhibition at Ironmongers' Hall, 227. Great London Surgeon, The, 111. Invasion and Volunteering, 13. Lackington, .lames, 178. Lamlic William, Chapel and AJm houses of, 102. Epitaph on, 107. London in a November Fog, 276. Lions at Feeding Time, 285. after Dark (5th November, 1810), 321. • Watchmen, 349. • Established by Henry HE., 351. • Marching Watch, 351. Mail-coach Days, 7. Processions, 8, Milton a Londoner, 110. Marriage of, 114. Residence in Aldersgate, 113. Residence in Bartholomew Close, 117. Residence in Holborn and West- minster, 116. — "Paradise Lost," 117. — Death of, 118. — Will of, 119. Monument, The, 83. Figures on, 93. Inscription on, 93. Removal of obnoxious Inscrip- tion on, 98. Suicides from, 92. Nelson's Burial, 367. Patimice Flint, the Oil Woman of II mway Yanl. 88. Physician's Daughters, 341. 11 INDEX. Princess Charlotte, The, 44. Marriage of, 51. Death of, 53. Public School Disputations, 254. Public Supping at Christ's Hospital, A, 302. Rahere, the Minstrel, and his Good Works, 250. Dream of, 251. Monument of, 253. Sion College, 265. Dr. White, Founder of, 268. Entries in Register of, 270. Small Trades of London, 217. Smithfield, 330. Athletic Sports in, 332. Wat Tyler slain in, 333. Martyrology of, 335. South Sea Bubble, 128. Special Services at St. Paul's, Easter Day, 240. St. Paul's, Old, 64. Pictorial Views of, 72. St. Paul's, Old, Bishop King's Sermon at, before James I., 78. St. Paul's, Cross, 74. Stanleys, The, 120. Street Architecture — New Cannon Street, 293. Three London Apprentices, 256. Tokenhouse Yard, 358. Tradesmen's Tokens, 361. Twelfth Day, 377. Volunteer Reviews by George III., 18. Walter Raleigh, Sir, Prison Life of, 205. Warwick Lane, 21. College of Surgeons, 25. Wilkes, John, Patriot and Lord Mayor, 158. and the " North Briton," 160. " Wilkes and Liberty " Riots, 162. Young Roscius, The, 30, LONDON : W H. COLUNGRIDGE, PRINTER, ALDERSGATE STREET, E.C. 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