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SKETCHES IN LONDON.

BY JAMES GRANT,

AUTHOR OF

" RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LORDS AND COMMONS,"
" THE GREAT METROPOLIS," &c, &c.

BY "PHIZ,
AND OTHERS.

LONDON :
W. S. ORR & CO., PATERNOSTER ROW.

MDCCCXXXVIII.

JXINDON :
BRAOBUR'k AND EVANS, PIIINTERS,
WHITE FRIARS.

3^ 2 "Ci

PREFACE.

In presenting this volume to the public, the Author thinks
it proper to mention that his object has been to exhibit life in
London in some of the more striking aspects it assumes ; and at
the same time to lay before the reader such information respect
ing this modern Babylon, as may prove instructive as well as
amusing. Everything the Author has described, has either
come under his own observation, or been verbally communi
cated to him by friends who were cognizant of the facts stated,
and in whose veracity he could place the utmost reliance ; and
he trusts that the work will be found to contain a great amount
of information which is not only nowhere else to be found, but
which is possessed of permanent interest.
With regard to the Illustrations by " Phiz," which embellish
the volume, the Author can speak more unreservedly than he
could do of the letter-press. They are among the happiest
achievements of the genius of one who, though yet but young in
years, is unquestionably, in this particular style of engraving, the
first artist of the day.
London, September 1, 1838.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
BEGGING IMPOSTORS.

PAGE
Begging-letter Impostors— Their supposed number — Probable amount of the
money they receive — Probable number of letters they send, -with the propor
tion of successful to unsuccessful applications — General materials of their
letters — Occasional remarks on the result of their applications — Means by
which they obtain available information regarding the parties to whom they
apply — Modes of going to work — Illustrative anecdotes — Underwood and
other begging-letter impostors — Specimens of their letters, &o. — Street-beg
ging impostors — Their probable number, and the amount of their aggregate
gains — Large sums which some of them have amassed — E.'ipedients resorted
to by them in the prosecution of their calling — Instances of feigned distress —
Blind beggars — Speculations in the business of begging — Begging copart
neries — Professional rehearsals — Meetings and carnivals of the fraternity — ¦
Crossings sweepers  • . 1

CHAPTER II.
debtors' prisons  THE aUEEN's BENCH.
Debtors' Prisons — The various debtors' prisons — ^The average number of pri
soners in each — The Queen's Bench ; extent and nature of the accommoda
tion in it- — The practice of chumming prisoners — Shops, business, &c. — Story
of the Pie-man — The tap-room — Eccentric characters — Tom Snaggs — Cir
cumstances under which persons are imprisoned — Partiality of some of the
prisoners to the Queen's Bench — Striking instance of this — Efforts made by
some of the prisoners to keep up their former dignity — Story of a dinner —
Various classes of persons in the Queen's Bench-^Changes in the external
appearance of the better class of prisoners after they have been a short time
in the place — Unexpected meetings of friends in the Bench — Illustrative anec
dotes — General observations, and anecdotes  19

VI CONTENTS.

CHAPTER III.
THE LUMBER TROOP. PAGE
Origin of the Troop — Distinguished members — Coat of Arm.s — Troop Hall —
Admission of distinguished members — Remarks on the Charge delivered on
the admission of Troopers of distinction — System of punishments adopted by
the Troop — Scenes which sometimes occur on the proposed exaction of
fines — An instance given — ^Visit of the City Members to Troop Hall — Their
speeches on the occasion — The uproarious scenes which sometimes occur —
Specimen of one — Miscellaneous observations. ...... 89

CHAPTER IV.
THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT.
Meeting of Parliament— Taking the oaths— Introduction of a new Peer into the
House of Lords— Further observations on taking the oaths — Mr. O'Connell's
manner in taking the oaths— Opening of the Parliament by her Majesty in
person— Appearance of the House of Lords on the occasion — Conduct of the
members of the House of Commons on being summoned into the presence of
the Queen— The Queen's delivery of her speech— Her Majesty's personal
appearance— Moving the Address m the Lords, in answer to the Queen's
speech — The Duke of Sussex — Lord Portman — Lord Brougham— The Ad
dress in the Commons — Lord Leveson — Mr. Gibson Craig— Scenes in the
, House of Commons— A missing amendment which had been moved by Mr.
Daniel Whittle Harvey— Parliamentary d^uts in the present session— Mr.
Blewitt— Mr, D' Israeli— Remarks on the reception of the latter gentleman
by the House— New members— Miscellaneous observations . . . .129

CHAPTER V.
PENNY THEATRES.
Their supposed number— Computed attendance in them— Their moral ten
dency—The manner in which they are fitted up— Destitute conation of the
performers— Squabbles between proprietors and actors about pay— Differ
ences among the performers— Abridging pieces— Character of the productions
written by the actors— The" intimacy which subsists between the actors and
the audience— Dramatic taste of the audiences— Specimens of the pieces—
The play-bills-Mr. Guff and his bear— Mr. Abel Smith's two dogs— Quality
of the acting— The suppression of the Penny Theatres recommended . . 16!

CONTENTS. vn
CHAPTER VI,
THE POLiciS OFFICES, PAGE
Their number and names — Remarks on Bow-street Office — The Thames Police
Office — The magistrates — Number of cases daily brought before them —
Yearly expenses of the Police Offices — Their expenses forty years ago — ^The
station-houses— Anecdote of a prisoner — Scenes to he witnessed in the sta
tion-houses — Exhibitions of human nature to be witnessed in the Police
Offices — Specimens given — North Country Simplicity — The Poetical Cob
bler — A Drunken Frolic — Case of alleged Horse-SteaUng , . . . 193
CHAPTER VII.
WORKHOUSES.
Inmates of workhouses — ^The republican character of the communities in work
houses — Difficulty of obtaining accurate statistics regarding them — ^Maryle-
bone 'Workhouse — Its size and statistics — ^Statements and calculations as to
metropolitan workhouses generally ¦ — Farming out paupers — The horror
generally entertained of the workhouse — Description of a particular case,
illustrative of the fact^ — ^The romantic incidents in the life of many inmates — -
The New Poor-Law Bill — Its harshness and injustice to the poor — Conclud
ing observations. .  225
CHAPTER vni.
LUNATIC ASYLUMS.
Difficulty of obtaining accurate information on the subject of the Lunatic Asylums
in London — Private madhouses — Their number, and the number,&c., of their
inmates — Public Lunatic Asylums — St. Luke's — Bethlem — Hanwell Asy
lum — Insanity on one particular point, while on all other points the party is
quite rational— Sanity on one point, while on all others the parties are insane
— Diversified ways in which insanity manifests itself — Partiality of particular
lunatics to particular employments — Instances given — Cunning of some
lunatics — ^Their great physical energies — Harsh treatment they sometimes
receive— General remarks  ¦ 257
CHAPTER IX.
BARTHOLOME-W^ AND GREENWICH FAIRS.
Prefatory remarks — Bartholomew Fair — The numbers which attend it— De
scriptive observations — Greenwich Fair — The numbers which frequent it —
The voyage downward — ^Throwing the stick, and other games — The park —
The hill — Blackheath— The appearance of the Fair — Supply of commodities
— Exhibitions — Theatres— Gamblers, and gaming — Swings — Booths — Im
moral tendency of the Fair  • • 289

VIII CONTENTS.
CHAPTER X.
COURTS OF REaUESTS. PAGE
Their origin and objects— Their number, and for what districts — The 'Westmin
ster Court of Requests — The Court of Requests for the Borough — The Court
of Requests for the City — The Court of Requests for the Tower Hamlets —
The County Court of Requests — Mode of proceeding in the Courts of Re
quests — Number of suits instituted for various sums — Curious cases decided
at these courts — Instances given — The Useless Cradle — Board, Lodging, and
Love — The Ultra-Radical Patriot — The Cambric Pocket Handkerchief — An
Affecting Case — Utility of Courts of Requests  321
CHAPTER XI.
GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS.
Supposed origin of gambling — Little kno-wn of its history — Increase in the num
ber of gaming-houses in London — Many of them kept open all day — How
managed — Morals of the upper classes, in connexion -with gambling — ^Visit
to a gambling-house— Anxiety consequent on gambling — Its pernicious effects
on the mind — Suicides caused by play — The injuries it entails on relatives
and families — Insidious character of gambUng — Gambling in the last cen
tury — Female gamblers — Cheating at the gambling-table — Instance of the
debasing tendencies of gambling— UniversaUty of the vice — The propriety of
doing something to put an end to gambling.

CHAPTER XII.
THE METROPOLIT.iN AND CITY POLICE.
Introduction of the new system— The old poUce— Number, salaries, &c., of the
new pohce— Their organization— Pensions for the aged and infirm of their
number recommended— Character of the new poUce— Difference between them
and the old police, in regard to then- trustworthiness and efficiency— The City
pohce— Its composition, and the e.xpeuse of its maintenance— Number of the
City police— Contemplated amalgamation of the metropolitan and City pohce—
Diminution of crune since the introduction of the new police— Then- ingenuity
in tracing out guilty parties— Reference to the French system pf police. . . 385

SKETCHES IN LONDON.

CHAPTER I.
BEGGING IMPOSTORS.

Begging-letter Impostors — Their supposed number — Probable amount of the money
they receive — Probable number of letters they send, with the proportion of sue -
cessful to unsuccessful applications — General materials of their letters — Occa
sional remarks on the result of their applications — Means by which they obtain
available information regarding the parties to whom they apply — Modes of going
to work — Illustrative anecdotes — Underwood and other begging-letter impos
tors — Specimens of their letters, &c. — Street-begging impostors — Their probable
number, and the amount of their aggregate gains — Large sums which some of
them have amassed — Expedients resorted to by them in the prosecution of their
calling — Instances of feigned distress — Blind beggars — Speculations in the busi
ness of begging — Begging copartneries — Professional rehearsals — Meetings and
ceirnivals of the fraternity — Crossings sweepers.
London is proverbial all the world over for the number and
ingenuity of the tricks which are daily practised in it ; but per
haps there is no department of metropolitan roguery in which a
greater amount of ingenuity is displayed than in that of begging.
The London beggars are divided into a great variety of classes ;
but I shall confine myself to the begging impostors who ply their
avocation by means of letters, and to those who by the assump
tion of distress which they do not actually feel, endeavour, in the
open streets, to enlist the sympathies of the charitable and hu
mane in their behalf.
Of the begging-letter class of impostors, it is exceedingly
difiicult to obtain statistical information so copious as could be
desired. I have been at great pains to possess myself of as full
and accurate particulars as are accessible. If I have not suc
ceeded to the extent of my own wishes as regards the copiousness
of my facts, I have great reason for reposing an implicit reliance
on the accuracy of those I have ascertained.

SKETCHES IN LONDON.

1 need hardly say, that it is impossible to ascertain what may
be the average number of persons in the metropohs who make a
trade of writing begging-letters. There can be no question that
hundreds do so who are either never detected in the practice, or
vs^ho if they are so by some of the individuals on whom they
have sought to impose, are never publicly exposed ; and conse
quently their names are unknovm. A guess, however, may be
made at the number of these men. The great majority of them
confine their attempts at deception to the nobility and gentry.
The reason is obvious enough ; they know, in the first place,
that the aristocracy are so much occupied with other matters,
that they are less likely than the middle classes of society to
put themselves to the trouble, in the event of any suspicion of
attempted imposition, of detecting and prosecuting the offenders ;
in 'the second place, they know that, while the chances of detec
tion are less with the nobility and the more affluent portion of
the gentry, than with persons in an humbler sphere of Kfe,
they will necessarily, in the event of success, reap a much more
abundant harvest from the former than from the latter. Half
a crown, or five shillings, even were their tale of distress be
lieved, would bo all that they could, taking one case with
another, expect to receive from persons in the middle classes
of society ; whereas, with the aristocracy they never dream of a
successful effort being productive of less than a sovereign ; while
the average produce, from calculations I have made, and which
they, as a matter of course have made long before me, is about
fifty shillings.
Assuming, then, as before stated, that the vast majority of
people who follow the avocation of writing and sending letters
soliciting charity under got-up cases of -distress, confine their
business to the higher classes, I am enabled by means of data
which are in my possession, to form something like a confident
conjecture as to the average number of such impostors. Some
time ago I saw a letter from a nobleman of a very humane and
benevolent disposition, in which it was stated that, in the course
of the year, he had received nearly three hundred and fifty
begging letters, all of which were dated from London, and de
tailed trumped-up cases of the deepest distress. The noble lord,
before remitting any amount of money in answer to either of the
letters, took the precaution, which he had been led to do from
having been so often imposed on before, of inquiring into the
individual cases. And what does the reader suppose was the
result ? Why that forty-nine out of every fifty of the parties
were gross impostors. And as these persons are, for the most
part, men of great shrewdness, it is fair presumption that they
would take care to find out who were the noblemen to whom

BElGGING IMPOSTORS.

they might apply with the greatest prospect of success, and,
consequently, that the nobleman to whom I refer was not likely
to be overlooked by many of them. In all the circumstances,
I think it is a very moderate computation when I suppose the
average number of those who live by begging-letter impositions
to be about two hundred and fifty.
Another question -will very naturally be asked — " What is
the probable amount per annum which is averaged by the begging-
letter impostors?" If I cannot answer the question with an
absolute certainty, I have facts in my possession which enable
me to speak with confidence as to what is near the sum. The
highest which any one of the fraternity was in the habit of yearly
deriving from his impositions, was very nearly lOOOZ. This may
appear an incredible sum ; it is nevertheless a true one. I shall
have occasion to refer to the case more particularly in an after
part of the chapter. The lowest sum earned by any of. the
supposed two hundred and fifty begging-letter impostors to whom
I have alluded, cannot be under 100?. a year ; but as a greater
number are between this sum and that of SOOZ. than there are
above the latter amount, I should suppose that if the average
sum were estimated at the intermediate sum of 200Z. we are pretty
near the mark. This, then, would give no less than 50,000Z., out
of which the benevolent public of London, chiefly the nobility, are
annually swindled by the begging-letter impostors.
I have been at some pains to ascertain the probable number
of begging-letters which are, on an average, daily addressed to
noblemen, gentlemen, and ladies in the metropolis. To speak
¦with any thing like certainty on the subject were, of course, out
of the question. From all the facts I have been able to learn,
I should suppose that there must be at least, speaking in round
numbers, 1000 such letters written everyday by these impostors.
Those who confine themselves to what they call the higher game,
namely, the nobility and affluent gentry, do not deal.to a great
extent in epistles of this description, because the field is of ne
cessity comparatively limited, and also because if they succeed in
one case out of five they mak» a rich harvest, seldom receiving
less than two sovereigns, in many instances five, in some ten,
and occasionally, though very rarely, as high as twenty ; but
in my computation as to the probable number of begging-letters
¦written daily in London, I include the class of impostors who
chiefly, if not exclusively, confine their labours to epistolary
applications to clergymen, dissenting ministers, and other persons
of krio'wn benevolence, in the middle ranks of life. Instances
consist with my own personal knowledge of an individual of this
last class of impostors, writing no fewer than twenty of these
letters in a day. Not long since sixteen letters of this descrip-
b2

4 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
tion, all sealed and ready for delivery, were found m a basket at-
the house of one of these persons, in Blackfriars Road ; and it
was ascertained that all the sixteen had been intended to be for
warded to their respective destinations within a few hours after
the discovery. If then some of these rogues are so indefatigable
in their epistolary attempts on the pockets of the charitable and
humane, as to pen twenty letters in one day, surely, considering
their number, and after making every allowance for the compa
ratively contracted labours of the least industrious portion of the
swindling community, there is nothing extravagant in the sup
position that 1000 such letters are daily indited and forwarded
to their several destinations in London.
As to the average proportion the successful bear to the un
successful applications in such cases, I have no data on which to
ground even a confident conjecture. The comparative success
in individual cases depends, as a matter of course, on the dex
terity of the parties. To insure distinguished success as a
begging-letter impostor, two things are indispensable ; first,
judgment in the selection of the persons on whose pockets the
attempt is to be made ; and secondly, skiU or ingenuity in de
ciding on the form or mode of making it. These are just as
necessary to success in this way, as the choice of a proper place
and a skilful baiting of the hook, are to success in angling for
any species of the finny tribe. The difference in the comparative
success of the begging-letter impostors is very great. Some do
not succeed in above one case out of twenty ; others success
fully practise their impositions every fifth time they make the
attempt. I beheve that this last amount of success is the most
distinguished that any of them meet with.
It will appear on the first blush of the thing incredible, but the
fact has in various cases been ' established beyond all question,
that some of the more successful begging-letter -writers keep their
clerks, and sport their horses and gigs. This was the case with
blind Williams, so well kno-wn in town some years ago. It was
ascertained at the time, that his annual income, from his beg
ging epistles, averaged from 60W. to SOOZ. He regularly em
ployed two clerks, at a salary, if I remember rightly, of 80Z.
a-year, in the one case, and 50Z. in the other. He also kept his
horse and gig, and might often be seen "showing off" in the most
fashionable parts of the town. He kept his mistress also, and
on his death, his principal clerk, Joseph Underwood, of whom
I shall have to speak hereafter, actually married her, regarding
the printed documents and business materials* of her late " pro
tector" — for so the term is in such cases perverted — as equivalent

I shall aftei wards have occasion to state of what this stock in trade consisted.

BEGGING IMPOSTORS.

to a fortune. The other clerk of Williams also afterwards esta
blished a good business, on his own account, in the begging-letter
way; but it was not nearly equal to that of his late employer.
A common practice in the begging-letter business is, for a
number of impostors to enter into a sort of partnership together,
it being found that the trade can generally be carried on most
successfully that way. In such cases, however, they do not all
" share-and-share alike." The company, if I may so speak, is
formed on the banditti principle ; in other words, they have
always a head who acts in the capacity of a general, and all
their movements or "operations," as they themselves phrase it,
must be in strict conformity with his instructions. The .late
notorious Peter Hill, whose case was brought so prominently
before the public ten or twelve years since, was the head of one of
these companies or gangs. It was ascertained, beyond all ques
tion, at the period to which I refer, that the average amount of
which the charitable public were daily plundered by the imposi
tions of Peter and his gang, was upwards of 20Z. His o'sm share,
after paying all the subordinates, or his "men," as he used to call
them, and after deducting for expenses, in the shape of paper,
postage, and other incidentals, was not much under 600Z. a-year.
Of all the begging-letter impostors of whom I have heard,
Peter was unequalled in the facility and success with which
he could change his personal appearance. In the course of
one day he could aissume and sustain, with admirable effect,
seven or eight different characters ; so that those who saw him,
and were conversing with him, at ten o'clock in the morning,
might have been in his company at twelve, and never had the
slightest suspicion of the fact. He had a pair of huge artificial
whiskers, which he put on and off just as he pleased ; and he
had also a pair of moveable mustachios, which a Spanish Don
would have looked on with envious eye. Of wigs, too, he had an
abundant supply, embracing every variety of colour ; while his
wardrobe was so extensive, that you would have thought he had
purchased the entire contents of some Jew clothesman's shop in
Hplywell-street. By these means, coupled with great natural
cleverness, he was able to assume so many different characters,
and to appear so very unlike himself, if there be not an Irishism
in the expression, that, though the Mendicity Society had at one
time no fewer than three hundred cases of begging letter impos
tures against him, and though its officers had repeatedly seen
him in the police-offices, they passed him day after day in the
public streets, without recognising him. I may mention one fact,
out of hundreds, illustrative of the singular adroitness with which
he managed to disguise himself, and to assume different charac
ters ; namely, that he applied personally one morning to the Earl

(> SKETCHES IN LONDON.
of Harrowby, as an unbeneficed clergyman of the Church of Eng.
land, in great distress, when he received a sovereign, and in the
evening in the character of an unfortunate portrait-painter, when
he again received a sovereign from the hands of the noble Earl,
after having had a personal interview with his Lordship on both
occasions. The notorious Underwood, who was brought so prominently
before the public three or four years ago, under irmunierable
aliases, was also the head or general of a gang of this description.
He is the impostor to whom I have before alluded as having
netted about lOOOZ. per annum as his own share of the plunder.
He also jkept his gig, and had a private clerk at a handsome
salary. Underwood made one of the most successful single hits
to be found, perhaps, in the annals of the letter-begging profes
sion. Not many years since, he swindled the late Earl of Ply
mouth out of 50Z. by one letter. I know several instances in
which 20?., 25Z., and even 30Z., have been got at once ; but this
is the only case which has come to my knowledge of 50Z. being
given at a time. When I come to describe some of the in
genious expedients resorted to by these impostors in the prose
cution of their avocation, I shall refer to the way in which the
above benevolent nobleman was swindled out of his 50Z., and
shall, at the same time, make some observations on Underwood's
qualifications for his profession.
The more experienced class of begging-letter writers conduct
their operations on the most approved business principles. In
addition to their constantly retaining clerks in their employ,
whenever the success of their schemes will justify that expense,
they keep their books in the most perfect order. There is not a
merchant in the city who is more regular or correct in this way.
They make a memorandum of each day's proceedings, which an-
s.vers to the day-book of the merchant ; while they have also a
book corresponding with the ledger of the mercantile man.
Ail the begging-letter impostors who carry on an extensive
business keep a regular diary of their proceedings. The fol
lowing is copied from one of the morning papers of June last, as
the journal of a notorious impostor named John Douglas, who
was only liberated from the House of Correction, where he had
been confined for his fraudulent practices, in September. I may
just observe, that I some time since saw the original of the jour
nal, but not having access to it Ut present, I, am obliged to quote
the extract from the morning paper referred to. It wiU be
seen that, in most cases, the writer first mentions the name of
the party applied to ; then the assumed name in which the ap-
phcation is made; thirdly, the fictitious case of distress got
up ; and lastly, the result of tho appHcation where suocessful.

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 7
In some cases one or two terms are made use of, as " Derry "
in the first entry, which are not so intelligible : —
Feb. 6. — Marquis of Bristol. Derry ; Mary Cole ; bh'nd ; seven chil
dren ; three cripples.
Feb. 8. — Admiral Curzon. Ship Pallas ; Sara Bowden, mate ; seized
for 41. 4s. rent ; paralytic stroke. Result, 21.
Feb. 15. — Admiral Curzon. Ship Douglas ; Powden, Mackey, and
Bill Stroud, cripples, and two stone blind. Received 2Z.
Feb.26. — Sir Peter Durham. Lieutenant Spratt ; leg off; hard up.
Result, 20Z.
March \2. — Countess of Mansfield. Widow; nine children ; hoop
ing cough ; cholera morbus ; measles.
March 14.— Lord Melbourne. Jane Simpson ; father blind ; mother
dead ; no money to bury her.
March 18. — Countess of Mansfield. Daughter supporting mother
and grandmother by needle-work ; lost use of both hands ; furniture
seized for 6Z. 10*. Received 3Z.
March 24. — Earl Fitzwilliam. Goods seized for 41. 4s. ; no bed ;
wife just lying-in. Result, 2?.
The above is, of course, but a mere skeleton or outline of the
letters which are addressed. The writers dwell with an edifying
circumstantiality, and expatiate with an amazing pathos, on the
pretended cases of distress ; and are great adepts at that sort
of flattery of the persons addressed, which, to use their own ex
pression, is most likely to " gammon" them. Of the admirable
tactics of these epistolarian impostors I shall have occasion to
speak at greater length by-and-bye, when I shall give some ap
proved specimens of their correspondence.
Some of the begging-letter writers occasionally make droll
remarks in their journals, as to the result of their applications.
The following is a specimen : —
June 20. — Addressed the Duke of Richmond under the name of
John Smith ; case, leg amputated, out of work for six months, and
wife and seven children starving. Result, 2Z. Not amiss, but hope to
be more successful next time.
June 25. — Letter to Bishop of London ; name, William Ander
son ; case, licensed clergyman of the Church of England, but unem
ployed for four years, and wife dead three weeks ago, leaving five mother
less children. Result, no go ; too old a bird to be caught with chaff; but
try it on again next week.
June 28. — Try Sir Peter Laurie ; case, industrious Scotchman, but
no employment ; lived on bread and water for eight days, but no bread,
nor anything to eat, for the last three days ; name, John Laurie. Re
sult, referred to the Mendicity Society, Sir Peter being too far north to
be done ; knowing rogues these Scotchmen ; there is no gammoning
them.

§ SKETCHES IN LONDON.
June 30.— Addressed Sir Peter Durham ; case, lost a leg and arm in
the service ; was one of his men on board the ship Pallas ; great desti
tution ; not even as much as to get my timber leg repaired, being broken
by accident ; name, Jack Scraggs. Result bl. ; Sir Peter a regular
trump ; drink his health in a bottle of best Madeira ; have at him again in
a fortnight or so ; plenty more cases to be got up ; plenty more names
to assume.
July 4. — Address Lord Wyndford ; name, Samuel Downie ; case,
ruined by attachment to Toryism ; have often detected treasonable con
spiracies, and been a proscribed man by my former acquaintances in con
sequence ; great hater of Reform, which means Revolution ; ready to
shed my blood in defence of Church and State. Result, long letter, en
closing half a sovereign ; miserable work this : won't pay for consumption
of time and paper ; Wyndford a stingy customer ; stingy old boy to deal
with ; cut the connexion at once.
July 6. — Letter to Lord Holland ; name, Jonathan Manson ; case,
endured for a long series of years a species of living martyrdom for my
zeal for Reform principles ; was intimately acquainted with Muir, Palmer,
and the other Scotch Reformers who suffered in 1794, for their princi
ples ; am now struck with palsy ; wife dying, and six children without a
bed to lie on, a rag to cover them, or a morsel of food of any kind to put
into their mouths ; most deplorable case altogether ; dire necessity that
induces to write ; great outrage to feelings. Received 51., with a very
compassionate letter; the compassion may go to the dogs, but the 5?.
something substantial ; jolly old cock yet ; long may he live to lean on
his crutches ; will go it again ; stick it into him at least once a fort
night, July 3. — Wrote to Lord Brougham ; directed to apply to the Mendi
city Society ; particularly obliged to his Lordship for his advice, but
would have preferred a sovereign or two ; have no wish to make the
acquaintance of these Society gentry ; wonder how his Lordship him
self would like their bone-gruel, which they dignify with the name of
soup, and to be kept to hard work at the mill to the bargain.
Unless some such journal or memoranda as this were regu
larly kept of the proceedings of these gentry, it would be impos
sible for them to do business at all. They would not only, by
exposing their impostures, defeat their objects, but they would
soon find themselves in Bow-street, or some other of the police-
offices._ The success of their schemes depends on the skill and
dexterity with which they can vary their assumed names and
pretended cases. If two letters were sent to any nobleman or
gentleman soon after each other, with the same names or cases,
their detection and consequent punishment would be a matter
of almost moral certainty.
Those who are not in the secret, are at a loss to understand
how the beggmg-letter writers manage to get acquainted with
such circumstances, either in the oases of the persons whose

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 9
names they assume, or in those of the parties they addi-ess, as
could impose on the latter. The way in which the thing is
managed is this : — They first of all ascertain who are the
noblemen or gentlemen of the most benevolent disposition and
ample means, and they then take care to learn what is the most
probable way of procuring a favourable hearing to their got-up
tale of di.stress. This done, their ingenuity is put to the rack,
with the view of trurnping-up the most plausible possible case.
An instance or two will suffice to explain this more fully. Sup
pose I take the cases of Sir Peter Durham and Admiral Cur
zon, as gentlemen whose names have been already mentioned.
The begging letter -writers, having in the first place ascertained
that these gentlemen are distinguished for their benevolence of
disposition, and for their strong attachment to the naval ser
vice, they then apply themselves to the procuring of some par
ticulars respecting particular ships they commanded, and the
men who served under them. They succeed in this by going
do-wn to Greenwich, and entering, as if it were by the merest
accident, into conversation with some of the pensioners there,
who, over a pot of porter or a tumbler of grog, are remarkably
communicative on all matters pertaining to the naval service.
They at once mention the day and date of particular engage
ments, and particular occurrences. They also learn who were spe
cial favourites with Sir Peter Durham, or Admiral Curzon,
as the case may be ; and then pretending to be one of those per
sons, they refer, with an edifying minuteness, to a particular
occurrence. The imposition is thus in most cases effectual, and
the gentlemen addressed believing the trumped-up tale of woe,
and sympathising with an old sailor who served under them,
naturally put their hands in their pockets, and send the appli
cant either one or two sovereigns to administer to his exi
gencies. Where higher game is aimed at, that is to say, where the
prize on which the impostor has his eye, is 10?., 20Z., or 30Z.,
something more is done, with the view of practising the impo
sition successfully. They find out, from the sailors, who were
the most favoured officers who served under the commanders,
and what their pecuniary and other circumstances now are.
They also contrive to possess themselves of the autographs of
these officers, and then they set to work to draw out begging-
letters, written in a hand as like theirs as possible. The letters
thus written have the forged autographs of the officers in ques
tion attached to them ; and so closely is the handwriting imi
tated, that in some instances even the parties themselves
can scarcely detect the imposture, in so far as mere penman
ship is concerned. I may mention, as an instance of the re-

10 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
markable skill with which these impostors imitate the_ hand
writing of other persons, and also as a proof of the inhnite
dexterity with which they draw up their letters, that in June
last, when the impostor Douglas, already alluded to, was
brought to Bow-street Office, Sir Peter Durham, from whom
he had a few days before got 20?., in answer to a begging-let
ter, written in the name of Lieutenant Pratt, an officer who
formerly served under the gallant admiral, — the latter could not
without great difficulty be made to believe that the application
was -not actually made by and in the handwriting of the
lieutenant. On ordinary occasions, they have four styles of penmanship.
The first is a sort of handwriting which may suit " cases in
general," as they aro called ; the second is that of an old man ol
education, say a clergyman or doctor, who has been reduced in
circumstances ; the third is that of a young lady ; and the
fourth,' of an old lady. I have seen a great many of the ori
ginal letters, written in each of these styles, which were manu
factured by Underwood. They are remarkably characteristic
in every point of view. The facility with which some of the im
postors can, through long practice, imitate different handwrit
ings, is of essential service to them. Indeed, the begging-letter
profession could never be carried on with any measure of suc
cess without this capability of writing in a variety of hands;
for being, as the rogues are, in the habit of sending a great
many letters to the same parties in the course of the year, the
mere assumption of different names would not, were the calli
graphy the same, be a -security to them against detection. I
may mention, as one illustration of their skill in this way, that
the impostor Douglas, already mentioned, got nearly 30Z.,-from
Admiral Curzon, in the course of last year, in sums of 2?.
and 1?. each, the letters having been all -written in different
names, with suitable variations in the penmanship. This con
summate impostor was thus, in one sense, living as a pensioner
on the bounty of the gallant and benevolent admiral, the latter
supposing all the time that he had been administering to the ne
cessities of as many different individuals as he had received dif
ferent letters.
In the cases in which the begging-letter impostors give the
names of men of education and respectability of character, the
writers take particular precautions against detection, because
the punishment, in the event of discovery, is usually much
greater than it is in what are called general cases. The answers
to their appUcation are always directed to be made to some
public-house, coffee-room, or hairdresser's or other shop, they
having previously asked the persons in the house or shop to re-

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 11
ceive any letter which may come to their care with a particular
address. This the parties, knowing nothing about the matter,
and having the amount of postage left with them, readily en
gage to do. The impostors then make a point of watching for
the postman outside, at the time they expect, an answer, to
see whether he calls at the place to which they requested their
answers might be sent. Their object in watching for him is to
see that no police or Mendicity Society officer accompanies him,
for the purpose of pouncing on the letter--writer as an im
postor. This they look for as a matter of course, in the event
of their imposture being detected by the party on whom it was
attempted to be practised.
Whenever the begging-letter writers are fortunate enough,
which they frequently are, in getting, along with some sum of
money from a nobleman or person of distinction, . a letter ex
pressive of sympathy with their supposed distress, such letter is
looked on as quite a windfall. It is immediately enclosed, with
a begging-letter from themselves, to the various affiuent and
charitable friends of the party, and usually insures some simi
lar donation from them. The friends of the party take it for
granted, that before such party would have written the sym
pathetic letter, he would have taken special care to satisfy
himself that the case was one of a. legitimate kind. One such
letter has often been productive of an abundant harvest, without
the impostors being put to any other ingenious shifts to
make a plausible case. The late Earl of Plymouth once
wrote a letter of this kind to a consummate impostor, at
the same time enclosing a 20?. note, which enabled the
rogue to levy contributions, without any trouble to himself,
to an immense extent, on the aristocratic connections and ac
quaintances of that very benevolent nobleman.
But the most successful mode of letter-begging, when dexter
ously managed, yet remains to be mentioned. It is this : — The
impostor, instead of applying to the party, on whose pockets he
meditates an attempt, either by means of some trumped-up case
of a general nature, or by passing himself off as some given in
dividual, pretends to be himself a man of substance, and to have
drawn out, from motives of the purest benevolence, a representa
tion of the case of some unfortunate person, whose name and
designation are always given with an edifying accuracy. The
impostor, in such cases, always sends to the party appHed to, a
fist of pretended subscriptions for the benefit of the alleged
sufferer, along with the details of his afflicting case ; and on this
list, he himself figures as one of the most liberal of the benevo
lent subscribers. The letter always winds up withan assurance
that any remittance which may be made to the wTiter on behalf

12 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
of the unfortunate partv, will be most strictly applied to his
relief, and that in the way which will be least likely to 'svound
his feelings. As clergymen in reduced circumstances are, of all
other classes of men, those who excite the most deep and general
sympathy, the name of some clergyman is usually preferred in
such cases to that of any other individual. This mode of letter-
begging is, as I said before, generally the most_ successful, where
skilfully managed; but it requires very great mgenuity to do it
well. I alluded on a former occasion to the fact of 50?. being got
on one occasion by the impostor Underwood from the late Earl
of Plymouth. The mode of application which I have just
described, was that which the impostor adopted. I may add
that, so pleased was he with the success of his expedient, as well
he might, and with the princely though mistaken liberality of
the noble Earl, that immediately on receiving the 50?. note,
he called on two of his brother impostors, and invited them to
dinner in a fashionable hotel at the west end, by way of cele
brating his good fortune. Repeated bumpers were dedicated
to the health of his Lordship, and the most anxious wishes were
expressed that he would soon, by another proof of his unsuspi
cious disposition and princely liberality, give occasion for the
dedication of a few more bumpers to him. Upwards of 5Z. out
of the 50Z. were spent before the trio of rogues rose from their

A few years since, one of the impositions of the kind
described above was detected under very curious circumstances.
The impostor — whose name I forget, though it was mentioned
to me by a gentleman who was personally privy to the circum
stances connected with the detection of the imposition — ^having
trumped-up a most affecting case of distress, in which a clergy
man of the Church of England, whose name I forbear to give,
because he is still alive, was represented as the suffering party,
applied to Lord J  for any donation he might think
proper to give on behalf of the afflicted divine. Along with
this application there was a pretended list of subscriptions given
towards the same benevolent object ; and the impostor, who on
this occasion assumed the name of John Hughes, took care to
call his Lordship's attention to the fact of his own name, though
in comparatively limited circumstances, being on the subscription
list. Knowing that there was a clergyman of the name of
Mr. G  , whose living was anything but large, and seeing
so many names heading a subscription fist on his behalf, he
generously sent " John Hughes, Esq.," a 5?. note, to aid in ad-^
ministering to the necessities of the unfortunate clergyman;
adding in the note which accompanied the donation that if,

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 13
afterwards, it should be necessary, he would have great pleasure
in remitting another 5?. to alleviate the distresses of a worthy
man. In precisely ten days afterwards, another letter was re
ceived by Lord J  , to which was appended the signature
of " John Hughes," The letter, as the reader will anticipate,
was highly eulogistic of his Lordship's humanity, benevolence,
and so on ; and stated that the writer, " Mr. John Hughes,"
was so affected with the continued distress of the clergyman,
that he had given him, though he could ill spare it, an additional
2?. The conclusion of the epistle of course was, that a more
charitable action could not be performed by the noble Lord than
that of bestowing the second 5Z. on Mr. G-  , which he
had before so generously intimated his intention to give. It is
unnecessary to observe that Mr. John Hughes again expressed
his readiness, from motives of the purest disinterestedness, to
take the trouble of conveying the additional 5Z. to the dis
tressed clergyman. When Lord J  received the beg
ging letter, he was in the act of putting on his hat to go to a
public dinner in aid of the funds of a charitable institution.
But for that circumstance the second 5?. note would have been
immediately entrusted to the care of Mr. John Hughes. The
noblemen and gentlemen who sat down to dinner were about
two hundred in number ; so that it was impossible for any one
to see all who were present. After the cloth had been re
moved, oratory became the order of the evening, and at length
the Rev. Mr. G-  ¦ was announced as about to address
the company. Lord J  was thunderstruck at the an
nouncement : he was still more confounded when the verita
ble reverend gentleman stood up, with his face redolent of
health, though Mr. John Hughes's letter of that morning
represented him as not only bed-ridden, but unable to move
either arm or leg. His Lordship waited patiently until the
reverend gentleman concluded his speech ; and then, determined
if possible, to have the mystery cleared up, he advanced to
him and congratulated him on his " sudden recovery."
" Sudden recovery !" said the clergyman, in a tone of surprise.
" Yes ; from your illness."
" My Lord, you must have been misinformed : there has
been nothing the matter with me."
Here again his Lordship looked unutterably confounded.
" Were you not ill ten days ago ?" he inquired, after a mo
ment's hesitation. „ , n 1
' "Not in the slightest degree, was the answer oi the
reverend gentleman. j. , i i i •
" Nor this morning, either — ^not confined to bed this mom-
ingl"

14 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
•' Certainly not, my Lord. I have reason to be thankful, I
never enjoyed better health in my fife than I have done for the
last few weeks."
" Well, this is certainly strange," said Lord J  , em
phatically. ,
" May I ask, my Lord, what made you thmk I was ill i said
the reverend gentleman. ^^
" Why, your friend, Mr. Hughes, assured me you were so.
" Mr. Hughes !" exclaimed the clergyman in accents of as
tonishment. " Mr. Hughes !" he added,- puttmg his two fore
fingers to his lips, and looking on the floor, as if trying to
recollect which of his friends rejoiced m the name of Mr.
Hughes. " My Lord," he observed, after a pause of a few seconds,
"I am not personally acquainted with any gentleman of that
name." "•Well," said his Lordship, " you certainly do astonish me."
" Did this Mr. Hughes communicate the fact of my alleged ill
ness to your Lordship verbally ?"
" No, it was by letter."
"Has your Lordship got the letter with you? Possibly I
might know something of the handwriting."
His Lordship, fearing the nature of the contents might
wound the feelings of the reverend gentleman, hesitated for a
few moments to return any direct answer to the question ; but
the idea then flashed across his mind that the whole affair had
been got up by some swindling impostor; and putting his
hand into his pocket, he drew out the second letter, the
one he had received that morning.
The feelings of the reverend gentleman will be better
imagined than I could describe them, when he saw himself repre
sented as if at the very gates of death, in a state of absolute
destitution, and the subject of a subscription list, on which his
Lordship's name, and that of "Mr. John Hughes" were the
most prominent. Some other parties were consulted as to
what ought to be done, and it was agreed that his Lordship
should, with the view of detecting and punishing the fellow,
enclose another cheque for 5?. on his bankers, to Mr. John
Hughes, for the benefit of his friend, the Rev. Mr. G  ,
only taking care that a police-officer should be previously
instructed to be in readiness at the banking establishment,
which is in Fleet-street, to take him into custody the moment
he presented ¦ the cheque and received the money. The re
mainder of " Mr. Hughes's" history is soon told : he figured
shortly after at the Old Bailey, and then quitted this country for
the antipodes, the expenses of his voyage being defrayed out of
tho public purse.

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. Ig
Other and very ingenious expedients adopted by the more en
terprising of the begging-letter fraternity, in the prosecution of
their deceptive purposes, yet remain to be mentioned. One of
these expedients is, to have a very large quantity of warrants
of distraint, for house- rent or taxes, always on hand, regularly
printed, and filled up in the usual form. These they enclose
in letters to persons of known charitable disposition, detail
ing most affecting cases of domestic misery, and supplicating
assistance. At the same time they enclose a certificate as to
character, and a testimony to the facts stated, either from the
pretended churchwardens of the parish whence the letter is
written, or from some surgeon or other professional man resid
ing in the neighbourhood. This mode of imposture, when skil
fully executed, is usually a most profitable one. Another,
somewhat similar, is that of having pawnbrokers' duplicates
printed in the usual form, and the blanks duly filled up with
dates, names, and so forth, in writing. These are sent, at any
time, to charitable persons, the impostors pretending that the
articles of furniture, clothing. Sec, mentioned in the duplicates,
have been deposited -with the pawnbrokers under the most dis
tressing circumstances, and from dire necessity, and imploring
something to enable them to redeem the articles, and thus save
their families from dying of cold or destitution. But though
such fictitious pawnbrokers' duplicates are forwarded at any
time to persons of a charitable disposition, with the view of
S'windling them out of their money, and are successful to a
very great extent, they are found particularly serviceable when
a pawnbroker's shop has been destroyed by fire. In such
cases, availing themselves of the information given by newspa
pers regarding the calamity, they forge the name of the party,
and 'send the fictitious duplicates as those of valuable proper
ty they had pledged, and which, being all destroyed, leaves
them in utter destitution. The accompanying letter fervently
supplicates, as a matter of course, some assistance, to enable the
parties, viz. the impostors, to rescue their family from absolute
starvation. This expedient is, in most cases, a peculiarly suc
cessful one. It is in many instances most abundantly productive
to the impostors. Underwood used to regard the destruction
of a pawnbroker's shop by fire as a great windfall. His dupli
cates, on such an occurrence, were diffused through all parts
of town in a day or two after the accident ; and rich was the
harvest he reaped from his tact and ingenuity.
And this reminds me of the promise I made in an early part
of the chapter, to explain what was meant by the printed ma
terials and other stock in trade which Underwood got by way of
fortune, when he married the mistress of his former employer.

16 SKETCHES IN LONDON
Old Blind WiUiams, as he was always called. These materials
and stock consisted chiefly of an immensely large quantity of
printed warrants of distraint for rent or taxes, pawnbrokers'
duplicates, the names and residences of persons most easdyim-
posed on, with the journal of all the letter-begging transactions
of his deceased master.
And here I may remark, that, taken all in all, this Under
wood was one of the most ingenious impostors ever known on
town. He was the natural son of one of our London aldermen,
and possessed all the advantages which a classical _ education
could give him. But mere education could never of itself have
made him the man he was. He was a person of great natural
talents, which had been improved by constant exercise. I have
known other begging-letter impostors, who displayed very con
siderable resources in the practice of their profession, but they
all fell far short of him. Their expedients were limited in num
ber, his were boundless. And they were as ready as they were
inexhaustible. I have referred to the four classes of penman
ship used by the impostors ; each of these he could vary to an
incredible extent. Other contemporary impostors were generally
obliged to call in the assistance of other persons to insure variety,
and consequently escape detection, in their handwriting. Those
of them who carried on business to any extent, were obliged
to have, at any rate, some female to imitate the penmanship
of a lady : Underwood needed no such assistance. He was
everything himself: he was, to use another expression which
a mathematical friend of mine is particularly partial to, " a self-
contained personage." And not only could he write every variety
of calligraphy, but his intellectual resources were ample even to
excess. He could write on any subject ; he had not only the
ingenuity to assume every conceivable character, but he could
immediately, on assuming such character, sit down and write
in that strain which was most consonant to it. I have
looked over a large collection of his letters, and have been at
a loss to know whether I ought most to admire the mechanical
dexterity which enabled him to write so great a variety of
hands, or the intellectual resources, which the appropriate
ness of his sentiments and style to the various characters he
assumed, proved him to be possessed of His inventive powers
were of the first order. If the faculty of creation be one of the
principal attributes of genius, Underwood was a genius of the
first magnitude. The force and felicity of his imaginative facts
were remarkable. Had he turned his attention to novel-writing,
instead of to the profession of a begging-letter impostor, there
is no saying how high his name might at this moment have
stood in the current literature of the country. United as were

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 17
his inventive powers to great facility and force of composi
tion, he must certainly, had he applied himself to the produc
tion of works of fiction, have attained to no ordinary reputa
tion. It can hardly be necessary to say, that a man of so
much ingenuity was successful in his profession, I am assured
by a gentleman whose means of ascertaining the fact must
have been equal to those of any second party not one of his
coadjutors in crime, that his annual income from his begging-
letter practices must, as already stated, have been close on lOOOZ.
He was repeatedly detected and imprisoned. He died in Cold-
bath-fields' Prison, in the spring of the present year.
Before I proceed farther in my observations on the beg
ging-letter class of impostors, it may be right, in order to show
with what ingenuity they go to work, to give a few specimens
of their epistolary talents. The following letters were written
by the notorious Underwood, of whom I have just spoken;
and as I have seen the originals, it may be right to state, that
they are given without the alteration of a single word. The
first is addressed to Lord Skelmersdale, and is signed " Mary
Burn." It will be seen, that in this instance Mr. Underwood
assumes the character of a widow.
" My Lord, — It is with most agonised mind and heart I presume
to address these few lines to your lordship's notice, whom I have had
the honour of knowing by sight for a great many years, and also your
lordship's seat (Latham House), at some small distance from which I
lived with some late relations, in the years 1797 and 1798. I am, how
ever, a native of Preston, where I am descended from a respectable
family, named Grimshaw. My parents have been dead many years,
and 1 am the widow of a late respectable schoolmaster, who was proprie
tor of a boarding-school at Guildford, in this county, for a number of
years, but who unhappily died of fever some five years ago, when I
was left with four children, under eleven years of age, and obliged to
dispose of my premises for the purpose of settling my husband's few
debts, defraying funeral expenses, &c. Since then, my lord, I have
kept a day-school, in the parish of St. George, Southwark, and held
the situation of governess at a Sunday-school, although the emolu
ment arising from the situation is scarcely worth my acceptance ; but
through its having pleased the Almighty to deprive me of the use of
my lower extremities by rheumatic gout, during the last seventeen
months, during which period I have been wholly prevented from attend
ing to the duties of my avocation, in conjunction with the great ex
pense attending the support of my family, have been the means of
reducing me, from a comfortable station in life, to that of exf'reme and
heart-rending distress; inasmuch as, being unable to pay my rent, my
furniture has been distrained, and is now under the hands of my late
landlord, or his broker ; and I have been obhged to quit my late resi
dence to save myself from an arrest and incarceration for a small debt
c

18 , SKETCHES IN LONDON.
incurred for the necessaries of fife. I am become a great cripple, a me
lancholy spectacle ; and but for the kindness of a frieijd, I and my father
less children would have been driven into the workhouse, or have become
poor houseless wanderers. However, through God's blessing, and the
aid of humanity, I have been enabled to pay one moiety of the rent,
for which my goods and chattels were seized, and I am allowed until the
24th instant to pay the rest ; but am unable to do so, except through
the aid of charitable assistance. In addition to which, my lord, I am
sadly fearful, and under the apprehension that my present place of
abode will be discovered, and that I shall be arrested, torn away from
my dear children, and incarcerated for the small debt above alluded
to, which is only 1?. 17*. 6d., and which accumulated for bread only. I
know not what to do, my lord ; I am almost distracted, while my dear
children, who are as innocent as lambs, during the last six weeks, appear
to me to be quite happy with bread, potatoes, or whatever I can give
them, which is a great consolation to me. In reflecting, this morn
ing, on my unhappy situation, considering to whom I should apply, it
suggested to my mind, from some little knowledge of your lordship's
disposition, that your lordship would, in all probability, be pleased to
afford me some small pecuniary assistance towards helping me to sur
mount my difficulties, and for which I humbly appeal to your lordship's
goodness and generosity. I assure your lordship, that whatever assist
ance you may be pleased to render, I shall remember it with gratitude
to the end of my life. 1 beg to subscribe myself, my lord, your lord
ship's most humble servant,
"2, Cross Street, Newington Butts. "Mary Burn."
This letter was written in quite a lady-like hand, and was
accompanied by a certificate from a pretended Mr. Mansfield,
surgeon, London Road. Mr. Mansfield, alias Mr. Underwood,
was, of course, very eloquent in his commendation of the excel-.
lent moral character of " Mary Burn," alias Joseph Underwood,
and most earnestly recommended her distressing case to the
favourable consideration of his lordship.
The following letter, from the same voluminous epistolarian,
was addressed to the Earl of Stamford and Harrington, and
is dated July 1st, 1833. The character assumed on this occasion
is that of a young lady, who had been seduced from her " tender
parent's " roof by a gentleman, under promise of marriage. But
the young lady, alias Mr. Underwood, will speak much better
for herself than I could : let her tale therefore, by all means, be
heard. " My Lord,— It is with shame, indescribable shame, I presume to
address your Lordship with these lines ; but from having a knowledge of
your Lordship's person from my infancy, and through the report of your
Lordship's sympathising and benevolent character, I am about entrusting
a most unfortunate affair to your Lordship's honour and secrecy. I

am

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 19
really ashamed to detail my misfortunes, my Lord, but I must; I must
acquaint your Lordship. I know of no other person so likely to render
me some assistance in the hour of need, and to save me from perdition
and a premature grave, as your Lordship, whose humanity does honour
to the feelings of a susceptible heart. Allow me to acquaint your Lord
ship, that I am a native of Warrington, Lancashire, and the youngest
daughter of a gentleman who, for a number of years, held the rank ot
lieutenant in the British army, and who died in the year 1815, when
I was but a year old, leaving my mother, who has for some years resided
at Bolton-le-Moor, with five children (all girls) to support on a small
stipend ; that at Christmas last, I was prevailed on, by a person calling
himself a gentleman, under the most solemn promises and assurances
of marrying me as soon as we arrived in London, to leave my dearly
beloved mother at Bolton, without her consent or knowledge ; that he
has forfeited his promises and assurances ; and since I have been here,
through my having frequently reproached him for his ungentlemanly
and dishonourable conduct, he has left me in a most destitute condition.
A few days subsequently he sent me the enclosed letter as a sort of an
excuse ; but, through my having spared no pains in referring to the
sheriff of this county, Surrey, Sussex, Middlesex, and the city of London,
I have ascertained that no such person has been arrested or is in
custody ; for in fact, no -writ has been issued against any person of his
name, and that therefore his letter is nothing but a subterfuge for his
absence. " Oh, my Lord ! I am ruined and undone. I am lost, totally lost —
lost to my dear mother, who knows no tidings of me or my misfor
tunes — lost to my dear sisters — lost to all my young friends and ac
quaintances in Lancashire and Cheshire — lost to all respectable society —
have lately been turned out of my lodgings for the arrears of my rent,
in the sum of seven pounds, for which my trunks and wearing-apparel
have been, and still are, detained and withheld from me — that / am
much in want of a change of linen and dress — have no home or habita
tion to dwell in, with the exception of a miserable place I am allowed
just to enter and sleep in at night only, at a poor widow's, who has a
large family and several lodgers, and whose house I consider would be
an unsafe and improper place for your Lordship's letter to be addressed
to, which has induced me to take the precaution of begging your
Lordship to address it as above. My sufferings are extremely great,
my Lord. I have frequently walked from here to Dean Park, a distance
of some miles, and there spent the whole of the day in solitude, with
out breaking my fast, or having the means to break it. Oh, ray Lord !
I am suffering, justly suffering, for my act of imprudence ; but the art
and deceptions which have been used to ensnare and ruin me are really
beyond human imagination, as letters and other documents, which I
have in my possession, will fully prove ; yet nothing wiU erase the
stain, the everlasting stain, from my character. This is what I feel,
my Lord, above all. I hate myself, "and despise the wretch, the invidi
ous and despicable fellow, who has caused it, and all my sufferings,
I am sadly fearful your Lordship will form a bad opinion of me ; but,
c2

20 SKETCHES IN LONDON,
when I inform your Lordship that I am yet under nineteen years of
age, and him who thus deceived me is thirty-three years old, and, in
my opinion, prone to deceive and ruin the young and virtuous of ray
sex that you will be pleased to permit my inexperience to plead a httle
in extenuation of my offence, and 1 hope to mingle your pity with your
censure. I am gradually wasting away through the want of food and
nourishment, and, without the aid of humanity, must inevitably fall a
victim to poverty and starvation. To acquaint my beloved parent with
my unparalleled misfortunes and sufferings would, I am sure, be more
than she could bear ; it would certainly be the means of confining her
to her bed, if not sending her to a premature grave. In this unfor
tunate situation, 1 humbly venture, in appealing to your Lordship's
humanity, for a sraall pecuniary assistance, to help me to discharge my
late landlord's demand, and to redeem my trunks and wearing-apparel ;
which done, I will immediately set out for Bolton, where 1 have no
doubt of being able to prevail on a lady, a most intimate friend of mine
and my family's, to call on my mother, and interpose in my behalf, and.
for my reconcihation with her. It is true, I acknowledge, with a sin
cere and contrite heart, I have erred in the respect above named, but in
no other case, can the world, or any individual in it, say I have. I have
honestly and candidly told your Lordship the worst of myself; and, as
soon as 1 rea;cli Bolton, I will take care your Lordship shall be furnished
with a memorial of my abilities, qualifications, and general character,
from a gentleman of unquestionable character, who at present knows
nothing of ray sufferings, yet has known me from fny cradle, and my
family a great many years, and who, I have no doubt, will exert him
self, under this unfortunate affair, to obtain the situation of teacher or
governess in some respectable family for me, which I trust I am com
petent for, and which I shall prefer, under my unhappy circumstances,
to my staying at Bolton, and living with my mother and sisters, the
latter of whom might in all probabihty, on some occasion, be induced
to reproach me for my misconduct, the more particularly as I am the
youngest. I consider, therefore, that I should be tar happier in a
situation, and am convinced I can be recommended by some few of the.
most respectable characters at Bolton, where, to say the truth, I shall
be ashamed to be seen. Let me beseech you, my Lord, under these
circumstances, to take the particulars of ray misfortunes into your Lord
ship's mo.st serious consideration, and to pause ere you put a negative:
for on your Lordship's answer depends much — much more than I can
possibly describe; ray fate even depends on it, I in truth declare ; and
I trust, though your Lordship may in some measure blame me for my
imprudence, yet, when you consider the art and deceptions that have
been used against me by a most wicked man, that you will sympathise
with me, and not suffer my supplications to be made in vain ; assuring
your Lordship that your assistance will be the means, or part of the
means, of rescuing an orphan daughter of a British officer, under un
paralleled distress, from, entire destruction, and a miserable death •
that although it perhaps may never be in my power to return it or
compensate your Lordship for it, I have no doubt but your Lordship

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 21
will feel amply satisfied and gratified in being convinced that your aid
had the desired effect. This I promise shall be done, my Lord, not by
my own hand, but by one whose honour, word, and testimony, none
can dispute. I now beg leave to leave my case in your Lordship's hands,
anxiously waiting the favour of your Lordship's reply, with the return of
the enclosed letter for Mr. Henry Mannings, which, with a number of
other letters and documents I have of his, will be absolutely necessary
to show to my mother, and also to produce in a court of law some day;
for I am convinced, he has got property both in the county of Lancas
ter and Cheshire. My Lord, I have the honour to remain, with the
greatest deference and respect, your Lordship's most humble servant,
" Martha Turner."
This letter was written in a small neat lady-like style. In
deed, one would think it impossible that any other than a
female could have •written such a hand. The letter was ac
companied by another, purporting to be from the pretended
seducer, which was written in a gentleman's hand. The latter
was as follows : —
" My dearest Martha — It is really most revolting to my feelings to
be obliged to tell you, that, through some gambling transactions in
which I have been unfortunately engaged, I have been arrested, and
am now locked up in a sponging-house for a debt I am wholly unable
to pay. I care but little for myself, my dear girl ; but for you I feel
most deeply, and I am wholly at a loss how to advise you for the best.
I know well that I merit your anger for what is past, but the reproaches
of my own conscience are, I assure you, sufficient punishment for the
injury I have done you. If fortune should ever shine upon me, I will
acquaint you with it, and fulfil all my pledges. Pray endeavour to'
console yourself, my dearest Martha, and lose no time in endeavouring
to return home, in order that no greater evil may happen you. Please
give the bearer my pocket-book, which contains some memorandums
and a bill of exchange, which would be of no use to you. In my port
manteau you will find a new case of surgical instruments, which you
can convert into your immediate use. I have the honour to remain,
my dearest girl, with unalterable truth, your unfortunate
" William Hands,
" George Street, Blackfriars Road.
" P.S. — Don't ask the bearer any questions respecting me,"
There was also, in addition to this last letter, the accompani
ment of a certificate, purporting to be from a clergyman in
Margate, testifying to the truth, from personal knowledge, of
all the facts stated by the unfortunate pretended victim of
seduction. The certificate was -written in a "different hand
from the letter of Mr. Hands the seducer, and was an admirable
specimen of the style of penmanship most characteristic of
clergymen.

22 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
I am sure my readers will concur with me, that in point
of ingenious invention, the above letters might put our modem
novelists to the blush. The creative powers of these writers
will not stand a moment's comparison with those of the author
of the above productions.
Hitherto I have spoken only of male begging-letter impos
tors. These characters, however, are not confined to persons of
the mascidine gender. Even among the female sex there are
occasionally some very dexterous begging-letter impostors to be
found. By far the most noted and successful of the present
day, is Harriet Reid, alias Harriet Minette. Not content with
getting up cases of distress of every possible variety, and re
citing them in a most pathetic manner, she introduces into all
her letters, more or less liberally, a dash of the romantic. The
last time I heard of her, was in June 1834, when she was
brought before the magistrates of Marlborough street, on a
charge of endeavouring to obtain money by a fraudulent let
ter from the Rev. Mr. Leigh, the rector of St. George's
Bloomsbury. The letter extended to four folio sheets of
paper, and was written as if from some gentleman who was
a mutual friend of Mr. Leigh's and of Miss Harriet Reid,
alias Mrs. Harriet Minette. The penmanship was bold and
masculine, and no one could ever have, dreamed that it
emanated from a female hand. The following was written on
the envelope : —
" The enclosed, dear Leigh, tedious as it is, for Heaven's sake, per
use most carefully ; the cause of it must at once excuse it. It contains
a melancholy occurrence, indeed, one which, while it engages your at
tention, must cut you to the heart. Poor Mrs, Minette will soon be
lost, unless immediately seen after. O, Leigh I I am all anxiety about
her — in agonies until you receive this — then all will be well. Heaven
crown your efforts with success I Even now, should the memory of
the past be granted us, you must look down on your bounty to her
with rapture ! ''
From the long letter, all written in a similar strain, I give
the following extract, which, as in the one just given, appears
without the alteration of a single word : —
" Poor Mrs. Minette I I shall surprise you when I tell you of what
family she is by the mothers side. She is related to yourself; but I
must not explain who she is, or who I am, at present ! Oh ! may
Heaven, in its infinite mercy, avert the blow that now seems impending
over this poor unfortunate lady. Continue your bounty to her, and
you will soon learn what she is. She is thoroughly amiable, Leigh,
and to me somewhat dear! Her mother married a man of inferior
birth, and her relations discharged her. She married Minette, a villain,
who has thrown her, after riding in her carriage, on the wide world in

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 23
helpless adversity. As I told you, Leigh, in my first letter, she is an
amiable unsuspecting creature— artless—being truly warm in her friend
ship and love. Silly young creature as she is, we must, however, save
her some pangs. Do something, dear Leigh, for her support— recom
mend her to your friends— set her up in a school, and get her some
pupils ; but don't let her teach Italian, as that would bring her sorrows
to her mind. But now for the more iramediate melancholy purport of
my letter. She will be lost unless you save her ; but I know you
won t let her want. I am in an agony of mind about her. I shudder
to name the subject, but I must. On Sunday, a friend of mine, on her
way to church, saw Mrs. Minette walking to and fro, in an unfre
quented path, by the side of the river. She accosted her, but the
unfortunate lady seemed quite lost. It is too clear, Leigh, her wicked
thoughts. Dear Leigh, watch her narrowly. Things, at all events,
look black. Take her under your care— reason with her  give her
books— let her have a doctor, and see her take her physic; but don't
hint a word to her of what you do ; it might wound her sensitive feel
ings. She respects you— calls you her benefactor. Adopt her, then,
as your protegee. Let her read to you, and come to you at church.
Providence must surely have thrown her in your way, and made you
his agent in dehvering her frora the fangs of Satan. Give her a few
pounds, and Heaven bless you I "
What a pity that Mrs. Harriet Minnette did not apply herself
to novel writing ! Why, the letter from which I have only given
a short extract, in conjunction with what was -written in its
envelope, contains more of the romantic than will be found
in many of the three volume works of fiction which ever
and anon emanate from the establishments of the west end
bibliopoles. There are dashes of the pathetic in the extract I
have given, which even Goethe himself would have readily ad
mitted into his " Sorrows of Werter."
Who could resist such an appeal to one's feelings? The
Rev. gentleman to whom it was addressed could not. He proceed
ed forthwith to the residence* of the lady herself She at
once appeared in her proper person, and a dashing personage
she was ; but though the subject of his correspondent's letter
was there to be seen as large as life, the worthy divine was
as much perplexed as ever, as to who his very familiar corres
pondent, who had taken such an intense interest in the fate
of " Mrs. Minette," could be. He had not been many moments
in the lady's company when he began to have some shrewd
suspicions that all was not right. He, therefore, cut his visit
to Mrs. Harriet Minette short, and proceeding direct to the
office of the Mendicity Society, deposited the lengthened and
sentimental letter with which he had been honoured from her
* In High Street, Bloomsbury.

24 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
ladyship, in the hands of one of their officers The result was
that Mrs Minette had the honour of a public interview v^^ith
the magistrates of Marlborough street office, who kindly under
took to guarantee to all parties interested, that society should
not have, at least for three months to come, to suffer the
calamity of losing poor Mrs. Minette by her throwing herself
into the river when under the ascendancy of " wicked thoughts.
In other words, she got a quarter of a year's free lodgings pro
vided for her in a well-known public edifice in Cold-bath-fields.
The most extensive begging-letter impostors at present, are
the person Douglas already named, and another individual
of the name of Johnson. Both have already been often _ in
prison for detected attempts at imposture. Indeed, all the im
postors of this kind spend a very considerable portion of their
life in prison. However, this circumstance does not surprise
them ; for they have beforehand taken it into account, as a con
tingency to be expected, in their estimate of the comparative
pains and pleasures which are connected with the pursuit of
their profession.
Of all the begging-letter impostors of whom it has been my
fortune to hear, there is none for whose fate I ever felt the slight
est compassion, with the exception of one of the name of David
Jones. This poor fellow had a world of spirit and enterprise in
the pursuit of his self-chosen avocation, but nature never intended
him for it ; for he possessed no variety of mental resources, nor
could he in any case disguise his hand-writing. He always, too,
prosecuted his profession under the most dangerous circumstan
ces ; that is, by forging the signatures of particular individuals.
About ten years ago, he adhibited the name of a Mr. Alder-
son to a fraudulently got up case, and passed himself off as a
Mr. James Smith. He was convicted at the Old Bailey, and
sentenced to seven years' transportation. Will my readers be
lieve it? On the very same day on which he returned from New
South Wales, he wrote the very same letter, word for word, as
that for which he had been transported, and adhibited the same
name of James Smith to it ! One would have thought that
the lapse of seven years, especially in the capacity of a convict
in New South Wales, which of course must have prevented any
other than a very sparing use of his pen, — one would have
thought that this would have made some considerable change
in his hand- writing. But no ; the penmanship of James Smith
before he left England, and that of James Smith after his re
turn, were so very similar that you would have thought both the
letters, for I have seen them both, were written within an hour
of each other, and with the same pen. The poor fellow was de
tected, and taken into custody on this his very first attempt after

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 25
his return. He was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment,
before the expiration of which he died. I may mention that
begging-letter writing, by means of forged names, seems to
have been, in his case, a family vice ; for the poor fellow's
father is now, if still alive, undergoing the sentence of trans
portation for life, for a fraud which he committed on the late
Lord Dudley and Ward.
I come now to speak of the other class of begging impos
tors. I mean those who are to be seen openly following their
profession in the streets. The number of beggars is astonish
ing. Ten years ago it was estimated at 7,500 ; I am sure the
number has not diminished since then ; my impression is, that
it has, on the contrary, considerably increased. I think
it may be safely enough assumed, that the present number of
beggars of this class, to be seen in the streets of London, is not
under 8,000. It will startle those whose attention has never
been called to the subject, when they are informed, that of
the beggars who in so great a variety of ways, audibly and
silently, solicit alms in the public streets, there is only one ,
out of every twenty who is a proper object of charity ; the re
maining number are -impostors. In a case of this kind I would
not, lest I should in any instance dry up the stream of charity
where it ought to flow, trust to my own calculations : the re
sult I have mentioned, is given as one of undoubted accuracy,
in a pamphlet published about two years since, by the Hon.
and Rev. Baptist Noel, one of the most amiable and humane
men in the metropolis. But suppose we take the proportion of
street-beggars who are real objects of charity to those who are
not, at nearly one in sixteen, that will give, on the above com
putation, the immense number of 7,500 of this class of impos
tors who are constantly on town. I have made inquiries of a
gentleman who has been officially occupied with the subject for
the last few years, as to what may be the average amount which
the street-beggars annually receive from a generous but too con
fiding public ; and he says that very few of them average less
than thirty shillings a week. In order, however, that we may
be under rather than above the mark, let us take the average
at twenty shillings per week, and this will give the immense sum
of 7,500Z. per week, or 350,000Z. per year, which these persons
levy on a charitable public.
But though I have taken the average of the weekly individual
proceeds of these impostors at twenty shillings, and though
the gentleman to whom I refer estimates these proceeds at above
thirty shillings, they do in many cases amount to a great deal
more. ' I know of a boy, not yet fourteen years of age, who
averages from ten to twelve shillings per day, and thus by sim-

26 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
ply holding out a paper before him, while sitting on some door
step, with the words written on it, "A poor orphan boy."
This juvenile impostor has been actually more than fifty times
in Bridewell or the House of Correction, for begging in this
way in the streets. He has been frequently brought before the
pohce magistrates by his father, who is a most respectable man,
and in easy circumstances, in the hope of reclaiming him from his
mendicant practices ; but the little rogue has proved incor
rigible, and has been given up by his parents as such. It may
be asked how he spends so much money. A good deal of it is
spent at the theatre, to which he goes with a regularity equal
to the actors themselves, and in treating other youthful rogues
with whom he is in the habit of associating. It is in order
that he may get money to spend in this way that he persists in
begging. There are various instances on record, so clearly authenticated
as to leave no room whatever for doubting them, of London
street-beggars having amassed fortunes, varying from 1,500Z. to
3,000Z. In one or two very rare instances they have been stiU
more fortunate. Some years ago a woman, who had stood with
a broom in her hand for about a quarter of a century in the
neighbourhood of Charing Cross, died worth nearly 3,000Z. She
got the name, among the fraternity, of the banker, because she
was in the habit of lending small sums to others, at an enormous
rate of interest. She sometimes also lent considerable sums to
tradesmen, but never unless she received an exorbitant rate
of interest. It was proved by a bill found in her possession,
after her death, that she had lent one tradesman in West
minster 60Z. for three months, but at the monstrous interest of
fifty per cent, per annum. But the most extraordinary in
stance of good fortune in this way I ever heard of, was ex
hibited in the case of a man, a black, who for nearly thirty
years swept another crossing at Charing Cross. He actually
¦saved in that time, by his profession, 8,000?. The case of this
«able personage is alluded to in " Blackwood's Magazine" for
August last, where the writer calculates the yearly average
proceeds of the man's broom at nearly 300?.,— the above named
8,000Z. being found at his death, in the wretched hovel in which
he vegetated ; so that none of it could have been the pro
ceeds of interest on stock. Another woman, who for many
years swept a crossing in the Kent road, left at her death
1500?. to a clerk in the Bank of England, simply because he was
in tne habit of giving her a penny more frequently than any
other passer by she knew. I have mentioned, in my First Series
ol The Great Metropolis," the case of the black man with
•one eye and snow-white hair tied behind, who died some years

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 27
ago, leaving many hundred pounds to one of the late Alderman
Waithman's daughters, all of which money he had amassed
by means of his broom at the crossing, on Bridge street side,
from Ludgate street to Fleet street. The reason why this old
black left his money to Miss W'aithraan, was that she not only
gave him a penny or a halfpenny more frequently than any one
else, but enhanced the value of the gift by condescending to ac
company it with a gracious smile. The only other instance I
shall mention of crossings sweepers having amassed large for
tunes, is that of a black man, who some years ago returned to
his native country, the West Indies ; carrying with him, as the
savings of a long professional life, from 1,500Z. to 1,800Z.
But though a great many of our street beggars might, in
the course of twenty or thirty years, save as much in the pro
secution of their avocation as would enable them to retire on a
handsome independency, the great majority of them are extrava
gant and dissipated, and consequently live up to their income.
Not many years ago, one of them, a man about forty years of
age, actually paid to the landlord of a public-house, in the neigh
bourhood of Oxford street, fifty shillings per week, for a consider
able time, merely for what he ate and drank there. Thirty shil
lings have been frequently the result of one day's skilful prose
cution of street mendicancy. It is a fact, which has been proved
to the satisfaction of several persons who had the curiosity to
inquire into it, that a gentleman having some years ago, in
1830 I think, accidentally met with an old schoolfellow, beg
ging in the streets, — offered to procure him a situation which fo
had then at his disposal, the remuneration for which was either
80Z. or 60Z. per annum, I forget which, and a free house ; but the
other at once refusedit, saying he preferredhis present mode of life.
Begging, however, it is but right to state, is not now so pro
fitable a business as it was thirty years ago. I am assured
that two of the fraternity, a young man and an old one, hav
ing met one day accidentally in the streets, the young man in
quired at the other, what success he had met with that day :
" Ah," said the old man, fetching a deep sigh, " Ah ! Tommy,
very poor indeed, my boy ; begging is not now what it was in
my earlier days ; it is 60Z. a-year worse than when I began
the trade."
The expedients resorted to by the street-begging fraternity
of impostors, are of an infinitely varied kind. Some of them
must appear incredible to my readers ; they did so to myself
when I first heard them, and until the testimony of individuals,
whose statements I could no more question than I could my own
existence, established their truth beyond all possibility of doubt.
All sorts of physical ailments and infirmities are assumed; but

28 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
to be blind and lame seem to be two of the most favourite arti
fices. I could relate numerous anecdotes respecting the pre
tended want of vision, want of legs, or at least the want of the
use of them, of London beggars ; but I am afraid of extend
ing the chapter to too great a length. Another expedient very
generally resorted to by the impostor portion of the London
beggars, is that of pretending to be quite feeble, either from
want or illness ; and in that assumed character, either lean
ing against the wall of some house, or sitting on the steps of
some door, or other place where there is a great thoroughfare.
Not long since, a man, seemingly about fifty years of age, waS
sitting, with nothing but rags on his back, on the steps leading
to St. Andrew's Church, Holborn, which, as most of my read
ers know, is one of the most crowded parts of London. The
day was cold, and the person not only appeared to be suffer
ing severely from the inclemency of the weather, but looked
as if he had been in the last stage of consumption, and in
a state of utter debility. To produce the latter impression,
and to impart as much as possible of a pale complexion to his
countenance, which he could any time cause to assume a most
sickly expression, he had wrapped up his head in a white napkin,
which having extended over his ears, he tied under his chin.
A more spectre-like appearance, I am assured by a gentle
man who witnessed the scene, could not have been exhibited
by a human being. The ghosts which are personated in the
theatres by those who act the part of the elder Hamlet,
have not a tithe of the unearthly appearance which this per
sonage had. The thing took amazingljr. You not only saw the
deepest sympathy in the countenances of the spectators, but
every now and then you saw pence, in one or two instances
silver, finding their way into his hat, which was of course lying
beside him in the position most convenient for the ready re
ception of whatever portion of the circulating medium should
come that way. " The poor man's dying," said one.
"See how he gasps for breath !" observed another.
" Poor creature, he won't live an hour !" remarked a third.
"Why don't some one  " A lady was in the act of mak
ing some sympathetic observation, when, before she had time
to finish her sentence, he started in a twinkling to his feet,
and rushing through the ring formed by the spectators, darted
down Holborn with a rapidity which would have bid defiance,
I will venture to say, to the racing capabilities of the most
nimble of the assembled spectators. Had the man actually
risen from the dead, and come up from under the stones on
which he sat, they could scarcely have looked more surprised
at each other. The mystery was soon explained. While the

BEGGING IMPCSTORS. 29
kind and compassionating people were thus lost in amazement
at what they had witnessed, an officer of the Mendicity Society
made his appearance. ' The impostor, as they say in Scotland,
had caught a glimpse of him with the tail of his eye coming down
Holborn Hill, when some yards distant ; and not relishing a
month or six weeks in Bridewell, he thought it the best way to
take to his legs at once. About two years since another begging
impostor was often to be seen in Holborn, in the neighbour
hood of Gray's- inn lane, who appeared, from his way of walking,
or rather of crawling, to be an impersonation of weakness itself.
People were afraid to touch him in passing, lest they should
upset him in the street. You would have fancied that a breath
of wind would have laid him prostrate on the ground beyond
all possibility of resistance. An officer of the Mendicity Society,
who saw one evening in twilight with what success he was im
posing his pretended infirmities on the public, took him into
custody. He walked some forty or fifty yards without offer
ing any resistance, and without giving expression to even a
murmur ; but having then come to a rather retired place, he
suddenly wrested himself from the officer's grasp, and beat, or to
use his own expression, " walloped" him so severely, that he was
four months afterwards confined to his room. He is still alive,
but has not entirely recovered, and never will recover, from the
effects of the maltreatment he received at the hands and feet
of a ruffian, who but ten minutes before one would have
thought did not possess sufficient physical power to hurt even a
fly. The poor fellow's injuries are so great that he has not the
slightest chance of ever being able to do any thing towards his
own support.
There are a great many blind beggars in the metropolis. Those
who really are blind, and are, consequently, not in that sense im
postors, are, in many instances, led by dogs in their various
professional peregrinations through town. Some of these dogs
are so skilfully trained up in the parts they have to perform, that
they look almost as imploringly to the passers-by for alms as
their masters could do, had they the use of their vision. The
sagacity of some of these animals, too, also enables them, in
many cases, to distinguish between those persons who are likely
to give anything, and those who are not. Most of these dogs
carry a small tin box, in their mouths, to receive the gifts of
the charitably disposed. By far the most successful beggar,
through the assistance of a dog, of whom I have ever heard was
Charles Wood, a blind man, who lived upwards of twenty years
ago. As that was long before I resided in the metropohs, I will
give the account of this singularly dexterous and successful beg
gar ini the words of an author already alluded to. This writer

30 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
says, " Wood's dog, which was certainly a most extraordinary
one, he declared to be ' the real learned French dog Bob, and
extolled his tricks by the following address :— ' Ladies and gen
tlemen, this is the real learned French dog ; please to encourage
him : throw anything down to him, and see how nimbly he'll pick
it up, and give it to his poor blind master. Look about. Bob ;
be sharp— see what you're about. Bob !' Money being thrown
down. Bob picks it up, and puts it inta his master's pocket.
' Thank ye, my good masters ; should any more ladies and gen
tlemen wish to encourage the poor dog, he's now quite in the
humour ; he'll pick it up almost before you can throw ,it down !' "
This ingenious mendicant is said to have realized a large sum
with the aid of his " real learned French dog Bob ;" but as I
have not been able to ascertain the amount, I will not indulge in
any conjectures on the subject.
There was one other blind beggar whose dog displayed such
extraordinary sagacity, that I cannot forbear adding a word
or two regarding the mendicant and his four-footed leader. The
beggar was none other than George Dyball, who was so noto
rious in town a good many years since, and celebrated as the
favourite pupil of the mendicant whom Flaxman, the eminent
sculptor, chose as his model for his admirable statue of " The
Jolly Beggar." He always dressed as a sailor, though he never
put foot on board a ship in his life. His dog, which went by the
appropriate name of Nelson, would lead him to any particular
part of town which he named ; and, incredible as it may appear,
the fact has been established by personal pbservation, that the
dog, by choosing the best road, and taking the nearest cuts,
would, in mafiy cases, conduct his master to the place in question
in the same space of time that an ordinary-paced walker would
have taken to go by the usual route. But Nelson could do
much more than this. He was actually instructed, by his inge
nious and roguish master, to make a sort of response to the
latter's petition, — " Pray pity the poor blind !" This response
the animal made by uttering a most impressive whine, accompa
nying his doleful language, if so it may be called, by raising his
eyes, and giving a most significant and imploring turn to his
head. But if he failed to attract the attention of the spec
tators passing by, he would sometimes rub the tin box he carried
m his mouth against their knees, by way of an additional appeal
to their charitable feelings. And when successful in his solicita
tions. Nelson would lay down the box in the street, take out the
money deposited in it with his mouth, and, putting it into the
hand of his master, wag his tail in token of his happiness at his
good fortune.
There was another blind mendicant, who for many years levied

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 81
contributions on the west-end people, in Bond-street and tho
neighbourhood, under the guidance of a little dog he called
Blucher, after, I believe, the great Prussian General of that
name. The only sentence this man was ever heard to utter, was
a short apostrophe addressed to his dog, whenever he supposed,
from the absence of the sound of people's feet, that no one was
within hearing. And what does the reader suppose the apos
trophe was ? Why this — " Look after the money, Blucher !"
the little dog carrying in his mouth a tin box for that purpose.
The most successful of the impostors assuming the character
of a dumb person, that have ever been brought under my know
ledge, was that of a stout ruffian-looking fellow, who used, in the
prosecution of his mendicant avocation, to perambulate the streets
in the neighbourhood of Holborn-hill. He was in the habit of
going up to ladies, to whom he restricted his attempts at impos
ition, and uttering the most unearthly and uninteUigible sounds,
looking at the same time most piteously in their face. One day
he thrust himself in before two young ladies, who were walking
along the pavement in Ely-buildings, and looking wildly yet
imploringly at them, muttered out, ".Hum, hum, hum," in such
frightful tones, that one of the young ladies could not divest her
mind either of his personal appearance or of the unearthly sounds
of his voice for some days afterwards, and was very ill in conse
quence. A policeman, who had seen the conduct of the fellow
and the alarm of the ladies, took him to the station-house, and
brought him up next day before the magistrates at Hatton-Gar-
den. On being placed at the bar, the presiding magistrate
asked the policeman the nature of the charge against the pri
soner. The former having stated the circumstances under which
the prisoner was taken into custody, the magistrate inquired
whether he was really dumb ?
" Not at all," was the answer.
" All pretended, is it ?" said the magistrate.
" It is, your worship ; he can speak as well as I can," re
plied the poHceman.
" Well, Sir !" turning to the prisoner, " we'll hear what you
have to say to this."
" Hum, hum, hum," growled the fellovsr.
" 0, you can't speak yet, eh !" said the magistrate sternly.
" Hum, hum, hum," was the only answer.
" I'll give you three months in Clerkenwell prison ; perhaps
you may recover your organs of speech by the end of that time,"
observed the magistrate.
The prisoner looked fiercely at the magistrate, but uttered not
a word, not .even a " hum."
" Take him away, officer."

32 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
This iniunction had a miraculous effect on the prisoner. >
" Please your vorship, I'm surely entitled to the eighteen s nl-
linffs this 'ere policeman took from me, any how, said he, with a
fullness and distinctness of enunciation which would have done
credit to the most accomplished orator of modern times, and
amidst convulsions of laughter from all present.
One of the most extraordinary assumptions of distress, and
unquestionably one of the best sustained, which ever came under
my own observation, occurred some years ago, in a street in the
neighbourhood of Shoreditch. The impostor in this case affected
to have been suddenly seized with a species of epileptic fits. I
was not present at the commencement of the performance, but
understood that he first pretended to fall with his back to the
wall, and then threw himself down, without injuring himself, till
he was in pretty nearly a horizontal position. He foamed at the
mouth at a furious rate ; his eye looked dim and glassy ; and his
whole body was dreadfully agitated, A number of personswere
soon congregated around him, and one or two_ silver pieces,
if I remember rightly, were put into his hat by ladies. I confess
that I myself was for once completely deceived. I did beheve
the rogue laboured under some serious affiiction. I could not
suppose that any one would ever think of assuming that peculiar
kind of distress, if they could ; and I did not believe that they
could assume it so effectually as to impose on the spectators, if they
would. I was soon undeceived. A policeman chanced to pass
that way, and coming in to see what the passengers were
stopping to gaze at, he exclaimed, " Ah, Jim, my boy, is it you
again ?" * at the same time seizing him in the most unceremo
nious manner by the breast of the coat. " Come away, my lad ;
a good shake from me, you know, always cures you," giving him
two or three sound shakes, not, I should suppose, very unlike those
which the Newcastle apothecary gave to his patient. The impos
tor affected to look up in the face of the policeman, just as if he
had recovered from a delirium, and observed, " O yes, I'm always
better after a shake or two from you !"
In the winter season the most approved mode of practising
deception among the street-begging impostors, is to aiipear
in a state of almost nakedness. They calculate on their ragged
appearance in inclement weather appealing more forcibly to the
feelings of the passers by, than any ordinary artifice to which
they could have recourse. In some cases their clothes, if such
they must be called, are in so tattered a condition, that one
cannot help wondering how they manage to get them to hold
together, I am sure that many of my metropolitan readers
* This had reference to recent impositions of a similar ^kind.

BEGGING IMPOSTORS.. 33
must often have been struck with the tattered appearance of a
slender skeleton-looking woman, with the fragment of a black
straw-bonnet on her head, who is frequently to be seen in Fleet-
"treet and the Strand, in inclement weather. Her wardrobe is
literally a bundle of. rags, and they seem somehow or other to fit
so well, as to give her the appearance of being in stays all over.
This destitute-looking creature is seldom to be seen except in
cold or rainy weather. Her Bardolphian nose and blotched face
afford presumptive evidence that she expends in the gin shop
whatever she receives in charity. It is not that she cannot get
better clothes wherewith in some measure to protect herself from
the inclemency of the weather : it is that her tattered appear
ance works more powerfully than any ordinary expedient would, on
the sympathies of those who see her. Suppose she were to receive
half a dozen gowns in a day, from persons compassionating her
situation, she would never put one of them on. Her begging
speculation in that case would cease to answer ; all of the
gowns, in the supposed instance, would forthwith find their way to
the pawnbrokers, and the proceeds to the palaces whence blue
ruin is vended. It is a favourite practice with begging-impostor
mothers, to compel their children to remain in some gateway, or
other place fronting the public street, without shoes or stockings,
in the coldest days of winter ; because experience has taught
them, that, in addition to money, gifts of shoes and stockings are
often made to them. Some time ago, it was ascertained beyond
all question, that one mother who compelled her two children,
of the respective ages of ten and eight, to stand shivering in the
cold in the winter season, in a gateway in Broad-street, Holborn, —
actually averaged four shillings per day for the price of shoes
given her children to wear, but every pair of which was nightly
sold to a second-hand shoe dealer in Monmouth-street. One of
the most skilful impostors in this way who ever came under my
own observation, was a dark looking man about thirty years of
age, who stood, a very considerable portion of last winter,
without shoes or stockings, or anything to cover his head, in the
gateway leading from Amen Corner, Paternoster Row, to Sta
tioners' Hall Court. He was a stout healthy looking fellow,
and my opinion is, that he had become so inured to the cold as
to feel little inconvenience from it. He was all ears to catch
the sound of any footstep coming from either side before the
party made his appearance, and the moment he did hear any
such footstep, he assumed, with a truth to nature I have seldom
seen equalled, a fit of violent shivering. The stratagem an
swered well; he collected considerable sums. He was never to be
seen in a mild day. In fact, all this class of impostors disappear
in good weather. They are clothed »in 'a comparatively comfort-
D

34 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
able manner in summer, because a ragged aspect would not teU
at that season of the year. „ ,^ c
But of all the expedients ever resorted to for the purpose ot
extracting money from the pockets of the charitable by impos
ing on them through fictitious cases of distress, those adopted by a
fellow, a few years since, were incomparably the most extraordi
nary. Will it be believed that this rogue, who was an excellent
swimmer, was in the habit of pretending attempts at suicide, by
throwing himself into the Thames, with a view to work upon the
feelings of whoever chanced to see him after being taken out of
the water? He alwavs contrived to select a part of the river
near which there were" a number of bye-standers, while another
person, who was a party to the affair, took care to give the
alarm, and call aloud for some boat in the vicinity. Whenever
the fellow pretending to have attempted suicide was brought out
of the water, the other, affecting to have been passing acciden
tally at the time, addressed the spectators, and said that the
unfortunate man had been induced to make the rash attempt
through the greatest distress, and that this was the fourth or
fifth time he had sought to put an end to his life, and that within
a very short period. Every spectator who had a heart within
him, believing, as all always did, the got-up tale, put his hand
into his pocket, and gave something to "the poor unhappy
man." The collections thus made often amounted to two or
three pounds. This daring expedient, however, was only conve
nient in the summer season ; winter was much too cold for doing
the thing comfortably. It will be asked, in what way, then, did
this consummate rogue manage to live in winter ? Why, by
affecting to commit suicide by hanging himself in some pubhc
place, in the evenings ! He used to fasten a rope to some lamp
post or other projection at the corner of a partially frequented
lane or street, and then encircling his neck with another part of
the rope, he would scale the lamp-post or other projection, as if
about to throw himself down again and thereby hang himself;-
but always at this critical moment his partner in imposture
made his appearance, and, cutting the rope, prevented the rogue
from carrying his pretended purpose into effect. Of course an
assemblage of people presently gathered around; the same story of
distress was vamped up; the deepest sympathy was expressed for
the " unhappy man;" and the shillings and sixpences were forth
coming from every pocket, accompanied with the warmest com
mendation of the humanity of the other rogue. But the lead-"
mg performer in this drama of imposition on the benevolent
pubhc, was eventually constrained to relinquish his part. The
catastrophe was one evening very nearly realised in all its horrors.
In ascending a lamp-post, after the rope had been fairly round

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 35
his neck, he slipped his foot and fell, and would actually have
been hanged but for the opportune appearance of his friend, who
cut him down. From that moment he ever afterwards had such a
horror of a rope, that the very sight of one made him turn pale.
I may here mention, that in the summer of last year, I myself
saw a woman conducted by two policemen to Bow-street, who
having taken a boat at Waterloo Bridge under the pretext of
wishing to cross the river, threw herself into the water when
the boat had gone a few yards. She was brought out of the
river, after being for several seconds fairly immersed in it. The
policemen mentioned to me, that she had done the same thing,
at the same place, in open day, several times before. Whether
it ever was productive to her in a pecuniary point of view, I
cannot tell ; indeed, I do not know whether it was done with
that view; but certainly when I saw her, which was a few
minutes after she was taken out, she seemed to regard the cir
cumstance as a mere matter of course.
Among the many expedients resorted to by the female
begging impostors, to excite the sympathies of the humane and
charitable, that of having two children, representing them as
twins, is a very common one. The usual practice in such cases
is to borrow from some acquaintance a child as like their own in
age and size as possible. In some cases, where the impostor
has no child of her own, she procures the loan of two children
from acquaintances, making a compensation to the parties out
of the proceeds of her imposition.
Those in the habit of observing what is passing in the streets,
can hardly fail to have been struck with the circumstance of the
apparent age and size of the alleged twins remaining the same
for a long time. I know a lady, who was for a long time in the
habit of giving, every Saturday night, a small sum to a woman
she always saw on that evening sitting in Clare Market, with
a couple of pretended twins. She at length began to feel sur
prised that the babies, as she called them, never appeared to
grow bigger. This led to enquiries, and to the consequent de
tection of the imposition. But the most singular case of this
kind of which I have ever heard, was one which was proved
before a committee of the House of Commons some years ago.
The case was that of a woman who had regularly, at the same
hours, occupied the same spot for ten years, all the while exhibit
ing two children as pretended twins.
But by far the most ingenious expedient I ever heard of as
being resorted to by any of the impostor sisterhood, in connec
tion with children, was that employed about six months ago by a
woman who usually restricted her efforts at imposition to the
west end. This woman was, about the time I have mentioned,
D 2

36 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
seen standing one cold winter's day, at the corner of Davies-
street, Berkeley Square, shivering from the inclemency of the
weather, and seemingly in a state of the greatest misery. She
stated, in answer to enquiries made by some ladies, who in passing
commiserated her condition, that her great concern was about
her " dear baby," and not herself. " The dear infant," she
said, giving something she held in her arms a gentle pressure to
her breast, "the dear infant has not tasted any nourishment to
day, I having no milk to give it owing to the destitute condition
in which I am placed."
The ladies looked at each other in a very sympathetic manner,
and one of them put a trifle into the woman's hand, desiring her
to go and get some food for herself, that she might be able to
suckle her baby. Just at this moment a plainly dressed man
advanced to the spot where the woman stood, who was now sur
rounded by a small crowd of persons. " What's the matter?''
he enquired, as he elbowed his way past some of the spectators.
" A woman and child starving," was the answer of one of the
ladies in the crowd. On getting nearer the woman, he at once
recognised her as a person he had seen in similar circumstances
but a few days before, " Is the child ill ? just let me see it if
you please," he observed, at the same time putting out his hand,
and pulling the woman's cloke forcibly aside. Down dropped
soniething bulky on the pavement. " O the dear child's killed !"
shrieked the female bystanders, as if -with one voice ; and' a
feeling of horror came over the minds of all the male persons
present. On taking up the supposed child, what does the reader
suppose it turned out to be ? Why, a bundle of rags made up
as the effigy of a child !
It will appear a startling statement to those who have never
paid any attention to the subject, but it can be proved to be a
fact by several of the police magistrates, that in street-mendi
cancy, as in almost every thing else, there have been a great
deal of speculation and several co-partneries of late years. Two
or three persons take a house, and receive into their keep
ing a number of beggars ; just as certain women do those poor
females who call themselves unfortunate girls. They take
them on the condition of receiving every day all they collect,
they providing them with bed, lodging, food, &c. and allowing
them in some cases, though not in all, a certain per centage
on what they receive. One inducement to the working mendi-
cants to accept these terms, is that they have a sort of home
to remain in, at least for some time, if they are unable to ply
their vocation, or if not successful in it. Another inducement is
that they enjoy, in this way, the society of kindred spirits It
was proved by undeniable evidence— if I recollect rightly on

BEGGING IMPOSTORS.

oath-— about three years ago, in one of our police offices, that
certain parties, residing in the neighbourhood of Saffron Hill, had
no fewer than about thirty beggars, chiefly Italian boys, living
in one house ; and that in order to insure a profitable result
from the speculation, the younger ones were threatened with
exclusion from the house on their return at night, if they
did not bring home a certain sum. It was established at the
same time on the clearest evidence, that a trade had been car
ried on for some time by the same parties, in the importation
of these boys, who pursued their avocation by means of a hand
organ, a white mouse, or something else to afford an excuse for'
begging. It was stated, in April 1834, by an Itahan gentle
man named Lucioni, before Mr. White, one of the magis
trates of Queen Square police office, that there were then no
fewer than 4,000 of these boys in England, and that many of
them were sent to beg through all parts of the country. The
same gentleman also stated that the boys were most cruelly
used by their masters. " The food of the poor lads," said he,
" when they came home at night, and when the pence were
taken from them by their masters, consisted of the very worst
rice that could be procured, potatoes, and the rinds and scraps
of bacon, bought at the cheesemongers', which are all boiled
up together; they were then all huddled into a room to lay
upon straw. Their masters," he added, " dress in the most
fashionable style; wear gold chains, brooches, rings, &c.,
about their persons, and frequent the west end." I am as
sured, that in several instances, these speculators in youthful
Italian mendicants, have made a fortune by the business and
returned to their own country, where they have purchased small
estates and are now living in independence. In a great many
other cases parents make a trade by sending out their children
to the streets, threatening to beat them if they return with
out a certain amount of money.
Two or three cases have come to my own knowledge, of beg
ging companies being formed on the most approved principles,
and street mendicancy being carried on, on a system of the
most perfect organization. The most singular instance of this
kind occurred about fifteen years ago, when several rogues, all of
whose names were given me, entered, with the view of plundering
the lieges, into a brotherhood, so close and cordial that that
of freemasons, were compared with it, unworthy of the name.
They divided the metropolis into districts, each having his own
" beat" duly assigned him ; and availing tliemselves of a London
Directory, they easily found out the names and occupations of
such individuals as they thought the most likely subjects for being
imposed on. Each of the number of the fraternity averaged

38 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
from twelve to fifteen shillings per diem, allowing only six
working hours to the day. Their head-quarters were m the
Commercial Road, where they had their jolhfication every
niffht The brotherhood lasted for some years. What the
causes were of its eventually breaking up, I have not been
able to learn. . . .
Most of the begging companies or co-partneries which exist in
different parts of London, hold stated meetings at the place pa
tronized by the leading commanders of the band. Such place is
always considered head-quarters. When new troops or partners
are admitted, or rather when they are candidates for admission
to the honour and advantages of membership, it is customary to
examine, with great care, their pretensions. If they are not
deemed fit for the profession ; if, in other words, it is supposed
they are not likely to prove profitable to the general concern, but
rather, from their ignorance of their business, to be a burden upon
the existing members, they are rejected at once. If a favour
able opinion be entertained of their mendicant qualifications ; if,
in other terms, they are looked on as skilful impostors, they are
received into the brotherhood with open arms.
But the most amusing part of the proceedings of a begging
association usually takes place at the formation of the company.
A sort of rehearsal, such as takes place in a theatre when a new
piece is about to be produced, is then duly gone through, in which
the pretensions of each member of the fraternity to the part he
assumes are put to the test by the leaders of the gang, assisted
by the opinions of some of "the friends." About two years
since, a young man, now, I fear, dead — for he was then in a very
delicate state of health, and I have heard nothing of him since —
about two years ago this young man* was seized with so uncon
querable a desire to make himself personally acquainted with the
habits, conversation, &c., of the leading mendicants in town, that
he actually put on a suit of ragged clothes, and spent a whole night
with fifteen or twenty of them in a house in St. Giles's. From
his account of what he saw that night, I hope to be able to con
vey to the mind of the reader some idea of what takes place at
one of the rehearsals to which I have referred. The best way to
do this will be to refer to a particular case. In the formation
of a company it was lately proposed to establish, in consequence
of a dissolution, caused partly by deaths and partly by differences,
in an old one, there were three persons who took the lead in the
matter. What was rather unusual, these three persons belonged
to the different sections of the United Kingdom. The first was
* Leigh Hunt referred to this young man in one of the numbers of his " London
Journal."

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 39
an Englishman, the second a Scotchman, and the third an Irish
man. At all rehearsals it is an invariable practice to have an
ample supply of gin, and, if the funds will permit, something in
the shape of boiled ham, bacon, or other butcher's meat. On
the occasion to which I allude there was no lack either of " sum-
mut" to drink or " summut" to eat.
"Now, then, Mick Ryan, my honey !" said the Irishman, whose
name was Murtach O'Flannagan, to a countryman of his own,
who wished to become a member : " now, then, what character
would your jewel of a self be after a-takin' up."
" Och, it's meself would like to go upon a pair of sticks," an
swered Mick.
"A pair of sticks !" said Tom Smith, the Englishman, evidently
at a loss to know Mick's meaning.
" O, he means twa stalves," observed Charlie Mackay, the
Scotchman. " Stalves !" exclaimed Tom, evidently as much in the dark as
before ; " stalves ! what's that ?"
" Sure an' it's what you EngUsh call crutches that he inanes,"
interposed Murtach.
" O, crutches is it ?" said Tom, surprised at his own stu
pidity. "And do you think, man, that ye can gae like a cripple ?" in
quired the Scotchman. " Lat's see fat ye can do that way,"
taking two crutches from a nook of the apartment and putting
them into Mick's hand.
" Aye, come let's see how you can walk on crutches," said Tom
Smith. " Do, come, Mick, my darlint, and be after showin' us what
it's yourself can do in that same way," echoed O'Flannagan.
" Joe Higgs, don't you be a swallowin' that ere bakun faster
nor you're a roastin' on it," said Smith, by way of parenthesis,
to a hungry-looking fellow who was turning a piece of bacon with
his fingers on a gridiron, which had evidently seen much service
in that way.
" I vas only a lickin' o' my fingers, because as how they were
burnt by this ere fat," said the personage who was presiding at
the gridiron, without deigning to lift up his eye from it.
" Well, don't do it no more," observed Smith, turning towards
Mick, who by this time had put the crutches in a proper position
for a start.
" Noo," said Charlie Mackay, " noo, man, gae awa till we see
fu' the stalves becomes you. I wish I had a drap o' Highland
whiskey, the real Glenlivat. I dinna like that stuff o' gin," he
added, addressing himself to Tom Smith, who at this moment was
in the act of tendering him a bumper of blue ruin.

40 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
Mick made two or three tottering steps through the room,
leaning on his crutches.
"Och, thunder and lightnin' !" exclaimed O'Flannagan, "that
will never do. Ned Stubbs," he continued, addressing himself to
a little ragged fellow, who held in his hand a pewter pot full of
gin, " Ned Stubbs, my boy, just give me a mouthful of the cratur to
comfort my poor sowl wid." '
" You walk too stately like," said Tom Smith to the candidate
for membership.
"Aye, you must put yoursel' a little mair twa-fall*, man, be
fore you can do ony good !" observed Charlie.
Mick, obeying the instructions given him, put himself into
a diagonal position, and crawled away three or four yards
farther. " By the powers !" exclaimed Mick's countryman, a gleam of
joy irradiating his countenance as he gazed on Mick, " By the
powers ! that same's just the thing. Isn't it, my jewel ?" turn
ing to Tom Smith.
" It is to a hair ; nothing could be better," answered the lat
ter. " I say, O'Flannagan," added Tom, winking knowingly at
the Scotchman, " He'll do capital well — eh ?"
" Naething could be better : it's true to nature," replied
Charlie Mackay.
" You'll make a trump of a 'un ; take a glass of gin," said
Smith, addressing himself to Mick, and handing him a glass of
Fearon's best, which Mick drank off with due expedition, licking
his lips after it, as much as to say, " I would have no objection to
another of that same."
" Fred. Jones, vot character would you like to appear in?" in
quired Smith, turning himself to a skin-and-bone-looking little
Welshman, with a most demure expression of countenance,
— just as if he had been made for frightening away the crows
from the corn ; " vot character would you prefer ?"
" Voy, I don't know as how I knows myself," was the luminous
and satisfactory answer.
" My opinion is," said Charlie ; " my opinion is, that"  He
was about to deliver his opinion, but was interrupted by Mur
tach exclaiming in a voice of Stentorian power —
" Och, bad luck to. that spalpeen in the corner there ! By my
sowl he's drinkin' the last dhrop of the gin." Here Murtach
pointed to a stout athletic fellow, with a face as black as the re
mains of the hat he had on his head, who was standing -with his
back to the others, with the pewter jug of gin at his mouth,
and emptying it as fast as the liquid could find a passage down
his throat. * Twofold.

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 41
" Vy that's too bad, Harley ; you ought to be ashamed of
yourself," said Mr. Smith.
Why or wherefore this personage was called Harley, or whe
ther that was really any part of his name, I have not been able to
ascertain ; but he turned about, and putting a bold face on the
matter, insisted that he was not drinking the gin, but had only
put it to his lips without being aware of the circumstance.
" Mackay," said Smith, apostrophising the Scotchman, " you
were a-going to say something about Fred."
" I was just going to say that I dinna think he'll need any ither
character -than he has by nature. I think his very awfu' looking
face will be enough to get him plenty o' bawbees."
After some further discussion it was agreed that Fred. Jones
should, in the first instance, take the streets in his real character,
and that if that was not found to answer, it should afterwards be
taken into consideration what other one it would be most ad
visable to assume.
" Timothy Soaper, I think you said you would prefer a wooden
leg and an arm crutch — did you not ? "
This was addressed by Smith to a young, healthy-looking fel
low, with a straw broad-brimmed hat, who was sitting cross-
legged on the floor, in the neighbourhood of the hearth-stone,
munching the remains of a quartern loaf, and a piece of bacon half
raw. " Yes," he answered in a gruff tone, assuming a perpendicular
position; " yes, I thinks as how I'll try that ere."
" Come away, then, my darlint, and try on the wooden leg,"
said O'Flannagan.
" Ned, my boy, jost gie us a wooden leg out of that ere nook,"
said Charlie, pointing to a corner of the room in which there was
a very large assortment of wooden legs, crutches, brooms, tat
tered garments, and everything necessary to equip one in any
particular character which either of the mendicants might think
proper to assume.
A wooden leg having been produced, Soaper advanced to have
it put on. Mackay undertook the task of strapping it. The knee
having been fairly inserted, he proceeded to fasten it, when pull
ing the strap too hard, Soaper roared out as lustily as if he had
been undergoing the operation of tooth-drawing.
" Be aisy, be aisy 1" said O'Flannagan to Charhe, " and
don't be after killin' him quite."
The knee of Soaper was fairly fastened, and he made several
steps through the place, but he did the thing so very clumsily,
and the foot which protruded behind him, notwithstanding
its being wrapped in rags, looked so very unhke a lame one,
that the three leading personages in the company came to an

42 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
unanimous conclusion that he would never do in that cha
racter. " Then," said he, on hearing their decision, " I'll take up
again the one vot I use to be in ;" clapping his fingers on his
eyes to denote that he meant the character of a bhnd man.
This did not altogether meet the view of Smith, Mackay, and
O'Flannagan, because the candidate had not done great thmgs
in that character before. It was, however, agreed that he should
appear in it for some time, until they saw whether any better
one which he could sustain with effect, should suggest itself.
There was another candidate, a fat shrivelled-faced middle-
aged man, deeply pitted with the small-pox, who also aspired at
sustaining the character of a blind beggar. He had before "tried
it on" by appearing to shiver with cold at the corners of streets,
but as he had not found the thing so profitable as he expected,
even in the winter season, he saw clearly, now that summer was at
hand, that it would not answer at all ! He had therefore thought
of trying what could be done by personating the character of a
blind man, and had, with the view of ensuring success in his
new line, been for nine weeks trying how mournfully he could
repeat the words " Pity the poor blind !" " Let us hear you,"
said Smith.
" Yes, sure," said O'Flannagan, "be after repating it to us."
The other did so, and drawled out the words in so touching
a tone, that one would have thought it impossible for any human
being to resist his appeals for a few pence.
" Charlie, my boy," whispered Smith, into the Scotchman's
ear, the moment he heard the peculiar twang of the candidate ;
"Charlie, my boy, this fellow vill do ; blow me tight if he don't."
" Jim Burgess, vat vould you like to be ?" said Smith, to a
black curly-headed copper-faced, thick-lipped personage, sitting
on a broken chair, who all this time had never opened his
mouth. " I vould likes to be a negro character," answered Jim.
" Och! by the mother that bore me, but that's just the thing
for him — isn't it, Jim ?" said O'Flannagan, turning to Smith.
" I thinks so too," said the latter. " With a little wet soot on
his ugly face he'll look the character to a hair. Bring the wet
soot here, Mac."
The Scotchman brought the commodity with all expedition,
and Jim lost no time in thoroughly besmearing his frontispiece
with it. " Och, by the powers !" exclaimed O'Flannagan, as he
gazed on the sooty visage of Jim ; " Och ! by the powers ! but
he'll make the fortune of us all."
Two other candidates were admitted, who were each confident
that a legible written label, with suitable words, would, with the

'Tlie cros sing's -sweepers are.gceatslicliLersfarjtrescadptiveii^ts,
If arty newcanier Thereto attenrpt to dispossess coie of thelirother-
liood from thai small pCErticoi of the ]netrqpQ]it£ai terri.tcoy.i'chich
lie lias pcafessianallj^ occupied l3efare,aIltheliroams iaXandoiL'waiild.
l>eTmlifted a^ain^rLhiiiL'.
-f^^ ° PAGE 43.

BEGGING IMPOSTOES. 43
advantage they possessed of a most distressed personal appear
ance, insure a very fair measure of success without resorting to
any other expedient. The one was to hold out his label in his
hands, and the other was to have it affixed to his hat. The
label of the first was agreed to be " Out of Employ ;" that of
the other " Great Distress." The last was to be the one which
was to be affixed to the hat. Both were certainly very short
and very simple.
But I must not go into further details respecting this rehearsal
of the beggars. Some there were who claimed to be admitted
into the society on the ground of their powers of enduring cold,
and consequently being able to appear half naked in the streets ;
while others thought they might, without any thing of an adven
titious kind, confidently trust to the power they pessessed over
their features, by which they could assume the iriost frightful
conceivable expression of countenance. The scene was altoge
ther one of ineffable richness, to which no justice can be done
by mere description. The rehearsal having been completed and
the arrangements for commencing operations next day been
concluded, the party ordered a fresh. supply of chops, ham,
bacon, gin, porter, and spent one of the most jovial evenings
ever witnessed even in St. Giles's,-^which is by far the most
jovial locality'in. London. Who could have believed, that next
da;y the rogues would be seen crawling about the streets the very
perRonifioatibri of apparent wretchedness and destitution ?
I have often thought that, of all modes of street begging, that
pf sweeping .the crossings is the least, troublesome and the most
profitable. The latter opinion wiU, I am sure, be" concurred in by
all who have read the statements formerly, given of individual in
stances of fortunes having been made in this branch of the mendi
cant professsion. Of course, then,.it is an object to get possession
of a good stand ; for if once fairly in the possession of one of the
fraternity, the tenure will remain undisputed for the party's life.
The crossings-sweepers are great sticklers for prescriptive rights.
If any new comer were to attempt,' either by physical force or
otherwise, to dispossess one of the brotherhood from that small
portion of the metropolitan territory which he has profes
sionally occupied before, all the brooms in London would be
uplifted against him before he knew what he was about, and he
would have cause to bless his stars if he escaped being scrubbed
or "broomed" to death. The crossings-sweepers never fight
with any other weapons than their brooms. A scuffle between
two or more of them is a rich scene ; it is one of the richest
which a person will see in a life -time. Whenever a crossing-
sweeper dies, it is a great matter to be the first to take pos
session of the vacant spot. This priority of possession is to

44 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
insure it to the party for life. Hence if the circumstance should
chance to transpire that one of the brotherhood is dangerously
ill, the greatest anxiety is evinced to be the first, if possible, to
take possession of his vacant post, after he has breathed his last.
The number of aspirants after such a productive stand, that is,
one in a good part of the town, when the- existing occupier is
understood to be dangerously ill, is incredibly great.
In some cases, as in that, for instance, of the black formerly
referred to, who retired with a fortune of fifteen hundred
pounds, and returned to his native country, the West Indies;
in some cases, the possessors of a good stand dispose of it
just as men do other trades. It was proved, a few years since,
before a select committee of the House of Commons, that beg
ging businesses had actually been sold for considerable sums.
I have often been struck, as I am sure every one who has
passed through the streets of London must have been, with the
great number of black men who possess lucrative stands. How
it happens that so many of these ebony personages have been so
fortunate, compared with the white population of London, is
one of those things which are beyond the reach of my phi
losophy. I have already' remarked that, with very few exceptions, all
the London beggars live up to their means; and that what they
earn, or rather swindle out of a benevolent and confiding public,
is spent in eating and drinking. The luxuries in this way, which
some of our street mendicants can often boast of, would appear
incredible to those who are unacquainted with the subject. But
gin is the great thing with most of them. I knew one, and
only one, who spent a considerable portion of his professional
proceeds in the article of dress. This man, who used to be seen
daily in the neighbourhood of Holborn, decrepit in appearance,
and with the most ragged wardrobe that was ever fastened about
the human body, regularly gave up his avocation at six in the
evening, and in about an hour afterwards, was to be seen in the
parlour of a public-house in Gray's Inn Lane, where he remained
till eleven at night, smoking his pipe and drinking his brandy
and water, and dressed in a suit of clothes, with his legs encased
in top boots, which no gentleman would be ashamed to wear.
The gentleman to whom I am indebted for this interesting fact,
tells me that he has missed this mendicant for some time, and
has not been able to learn what has become of him. Very few
of the fraternity, however, waste much of their gleanings in
apparel ; the belly is the great thing with the vast majority of
them : they are great gourmands. Not more partial is an
alderman to his turtle soup, than are these gentry to the good
things of this life. There are several of them who "spit" their

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 45
goose or duck at least three times a week. There are also
numbers who hold regular convivial meetings, at which some
remarkable gastronomic feats are performed. On some special
occasions they regularly elect their chairman, and have their
series of toasts, their speeches, and songs, as on other great public
occasions. It is known to several persons, that George the
Fourth, when Prince of Wales, went, on one occasion, with
his friend Major Hanger, to witness the scenes which take place
at these guzzUing exhibitions of the mendicants. Tutored as
the young prince was by Sheridan and others of his boon com
panions in all sorts of frolics, he enjoyed the scene for some
time. At last, however, a circumstance occurred which some
what disconcerted him. The beggar who presided on the occa
sion as chairman, after a temporary pause in the merriment of
the evening, rose, and pointing to the Prince said, " With the
permission of the company, I calls on that ere gemman with
the clean shirt on, for a song." A round of applause from the
rest of the "jolly beggars" showed how eagerly they responded
to the appeal thus made to his Royal Highness. He winked
significantly at Major Hanger, and then stammered out the
expression of a hope, that as he was no singer the company
would excuse him.
" Not a bit of it," said the chairman.
" Ve'U have no denial, young man," said another of the jovial
crew. " Perhaps, gentlemen, you'll allow the gentleman to sing by
proxy," interposed Major Hanger.
" Proxy !" said several voices at once, "vat's proxy?"
" 0, another person singing for him," answered the major.
" O certainly, if he can find one," said the chairman, looking
round for the concurrence of the company in his sentiment.
" O, there can be no objections to that," observed a dozen
voices at once.
" Come then, H — — , you must do it yourself," said the
prince, addressing himself to the major. The latter promptly
responded to the appeal, and sung amidst great applause a well-
known ballad — well-known, I mean, among the fraternity them
selves—called " The Beggar's Wedding."
" Gen'l'men," said the proprietor of a little unwashed and un-
shaved face, and a nose of remarkable flatness, who sat opposite
the chairman, "Gen'l'men, let us drink the health and song
of the genTman vot's just sung."
" Gen'l'men," shouted the chairman, drawing his own glass
towards himself; "gen'l'men, fill your glasses."
Every glass was full to the brim in a moment.

46 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
"The gen'l'man's health and song," said the chairman in
Stentorian accents.
" The gen'l'man's health and song," shouted a host of voices,
and in an instant every glass was emptied of its contents, except
that of the Prince.
" I say, young man, vy don't you drink to your friend?" said
a round faced mendicant, who sat opposite his Royal Highness,
his eyes rolling in a fine frenzy through the inspiring influence
of the liquid he had so copiously quaffed.
" O, I beg your pardon. Sir," answered the Prince, who had
been for the moment lost in surprise at the ecstasies of up
roarious merriment he witnessed every where around him ; " 0,
I beg your pardon. Sir, for the omission, it was quite accidental,
I assure you." This was addressed to the personage who had
challenged him for not drinking to the major.
" Veil, vy don't you do it now ?" inquired the other, who was
a very consequential personage in his own estimation.
The Prince filled up his glass, and having drunk off the con
tents to the health and song of Major Hanger, held it out in
his hand in an inverted position.
" Bravo ! you're a trump ! " " Go it, clean shirt ! " shouted a
dozen voices.
" Three cheers for the gentleman who has favoured us with so
excellent a song ! " exclaimed the Prince, beginning to feel him
self more at homA. As he spoke he rose, and waved his hand
with his empty glass in the air, as if to lead the plaudits of the
others. All present were on their legs in an instant, and deaf
ening and universal were the cheers with which the major was
greeted. The scene was kept up with great spirit and eclat,
until at least one half of the "jolly beggars" had drunk them
selves asleep, and lay hke so many masses of inert clay on the
floor, in a horizontal position. The Prince often afterwards
spoke of this adventure. He never mentioned it in the hearing
of Sheridan, without the latter feeling the deepest regret that
he was not an actor in so rich a scene of low life.
The beggars, at all their carnivals, adhere most scrupulously
to the good old custom of having their toddy made in ,a large
bowl, usually a pewter one. They hold that there is nothing
like brotherly feeling in the modern practice of every one having
his toddy made in a tumbler of his own. They are great Tories
as regards all ancient usages ; they have a perfect horror of
innovation in such cases.
They are for the most part, early risers, and will walk any
distance m the morning, before setting out professionally, to visit
those pubhc-houses which are most largely patronized by the

BEGGING IMPOSTORS. 47
fraternity. There is one public-house in Oxford-street, which
used to be, — and I have no doubt still is, though I cannot
speak positively to the latter fact, — crowded with them by six
o'clock in the morning. The landlord of this house has repeat
edly mentioned that, on an average, about one hundred and
fifty mendicants were in the habit of visiting his house in a day,
and he has always added that he would never wish to have any
better customers ; for it was quite a common thing for the ma
jority of the number to have individually their half pint of gin
before nine in the morning.
In those lodging-houses which were formerly open to the beg
ging fraternity promiscuously, and where business was carried on
on a large scale, it was found, from experience, necessary to take
certain precautions against the abstraction of any of the articles
of furniture. Mother Cummings, who died a few years since,
and who for a long period kept a lodging-house in a low street in
Bloomsbury, always made a point "of turning the key on her cus
tomers when they went to bed, and then unlocked the door with
her own hand in the morning. By this means she prevented any
of them making away with any articles of furniture in the course
of the night ; and as she witnessed every one of them quit their
hovels in the morning, the idea of felony in the case of her pro-
, perty was out of the question. I may here mention, that Mother
Cummings, while she was alive, kept by far the most exten
sive lodging-house for mendicants, of any of her contemporaries.
She has been known to have had, on repeated occasions, upwards ,
of eighty lodgers in one night. And, strange as it may seem, it
was proved to be a fact, that she had one round bed in which,
when there was an unusual demand for accommodation, eighteen
or twenty persons have been huddled together for the night.
Mother Cummings made always a distinction between the better
and inferior class of mendicants. With this view she had two
prices for accommodation for the night. The charge for a bed
in ordinary circumstances was two-pence per night ; but if any
one chose to indulge in the luxury of clean straw, the charge was
four-pence. The choice, therefore, of the different applicants for
lodgings, in the matter of their bed, enabled her at once to range
her customers into two classes ; and both were treated by her
with, a measure of attention corresponding to the place they
occupied in her estimation.*
It would seem as if some improvement had taken place of late
in the morals of the mendicant gentry ; for until about twelve
* Mother Cummings eventually retired from business, having amassed a consider
able amount cf money. She took a private house in Somerstown, where she died.
The news of her death spread hke wUdfire among the fraternity, and her funeral was
attended by an immense number of her former lodgers.

48 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
years since, not only was it necessary to lock these personages
into their hovels at night, but it was found equally necessary that
the knives and forks, the tongs and poker, and every other por
table article in the places they used to frequent, should be fixed
by iron chains to the table, or the walls of the house, as the only
means of security against their being stolen. There was a sort
of low eating-house in St. Giles's, that used to be largely fre
quented by the brotherhood, which furnished the last instance,
so far as I am aware, of thiis precaution being taken against
theft. That house was thrown down some years ago, preparatory
to improvements in the neighbourhood ; and I am not aware of
either the locking-in or the chaining system having been resorted
to in any subsequent case. It is gratifying to hear of an improve
ment in morals among any class of the community ; there are few
classes in which there is yet room for greater improvements than
among the mendicant fraternity.

CHAPTER II.
DEBTORS' PRISONS— THE QUEEN'S BENCH,
Debtors' Prisons — The various debtors' prisons. — The average number of prisoners
in each — The Queen's Bench; extent and nature of the accommodation in
it— The practice of chumming prisoners — Shops, business, &c  Story of the
Pie-man — The tap-room— Eccentric characters — Tom Snaggs — Circumstances
under which persons are imprisoned — Partiality of some of the prisoners to the
Queen's Bench — Striking instance of this — Efforts made by some of the pri
soners to keep up their former dignity — Story of a dinner — "Various classes of
persons in the Queen's Bench — Changes in the external appearance of the better
class of prisoners afler they have been a short time in the place — Unexpected
meetings of friends in the Bench — Illustrative anecdotes — General observations,
and anecdotes.
The question of imprisonment for debt having been of late so
often under the consideration of the legislature, the attention of
the public has been drawn to it within the last few' years much
more generally than at any former period. Intimately connected
with this subject is that of the Debtors' Prisons in London ; and
as very few, with the exception of those who have had the mis
fortune to be inmates, know any thing regarding these places, I
shall devote this chapter to them. I have only one preliminary
remark to make, which is, that all the facts and anecdotes which
I shall give relative to the Queen's Bench Prison, have been verb
ally communicated to me by persons in the place, in the course
of repeated visits which I lately paid to it, for the purpose of
obtaining such information.
The Debtors' Prisons in London are five in number. They are,
the Queen's Bench, the Fleet, the Marshalsea, White Cross-
street, and Horsemonger-lane prisons.
As I shall afterwards have occasion to speak at considerable
length of the first-named prison, I shall make a few observations
on the others in this part of the chapter. The Fleet is a prison
for the confinement of persons under process of debt issuing
out of either the Court of Common Pleas, or the Court, of Ex
chequer ; or for the confinement of parties who have been guilty of
contempt of either of these courts. The Fleet is also the place
of imprisonment for persons who are held guilty of a contempt
of the Court of Chancery, or of the Duchy Court of Lancaster.
There is a certain space without the prison which is called " The
Rules." Within this space the prisoners are permitted to reside
at large, on furnishing satisfactory security against their escape.

50 sketches IN LONDON.
This is done by a warrant of attorney to confess judgment, and
on paying the warden of the prison a certain per centage upon
the debt, the amount of which per centage varies according to the
magnitude of the debt, and the circumstances of the debtor, but
never exceeds five per cent, on the first lOOZ., nor two and a
half on the second. The space within the rules embraces a cir
cumference of three miles, and includes the London Coffee House.
Day rules may be had any day, during term, on which the Courts
of Common Pleas and Exchequer respectively sit, on applying
to the warden, and furnishing the same kind of security as in the
case just mentioned. A day rule enables the prisoner to go at
large during the particular day for which it is granted, from the
opening of the prison gates in the morning till eleven o'clock at
night. The expenses of a day rule, exclusive, of course, of the
amount of security required, are four shillings and sixpence. Of
this sum the warden gets one shilling ; the clerk of the papers
one shilling and tenpence; and the officers of the court, who
grant the rules, receive the remaining one shilling and eight-
pence. With regard to " chumming" and other internal arrange
ments of the prison, I shall not say any thing here, as they will
be fully described when I come to speak of the Queen's Bench ;
the arrangements being essentially the same in both places.
The average number of persons confined in the Fleet is about 230.
The Marshalsea Prison is situated in Southwark. The
number of persons confined in this prison is always much smaller
than in any of the other prisons in the metropolis. The reason
of this is, that it is restricted to the reception of two classes of
men ; first, officers and privates of the Royal Na-vy under sen
tence of naval courts-martial for mutiny, desertion, &c. ; and,
secondly, persons committed for debt or contempt, by the Palace
Court, whose jurisdiction extends to the distance of twelve miles
round the Palace at Westminster. It has no rules like the Fleet :
once consigned to it there is no getting out again, until you are
liberated altogether. The prisoners in this place are obliged
to find themselves in their own bedding, furniture, fuel, and
every thing else. Their number does not average more than 130.
White Cross-street Prison is a place appropriated exclusively
to those who are debtors to society. It is divided into three de
partments ; the first is set apart for those persons who are free
men of the city of London, and is called the Ludgate side of the
prison ; the second is set apart for persons within the jurisdiction
of the city, and is called the London side ; and the third is ap
propriated to the reception of those arrested in the county, and
is called the Middlesex side. The number of persons committed
to this prison is much greater than in the case of any other of
the metropohtan prisons. This is to be accounted for from the
fact, that the majority of those ordered for imprisonment by the

DEBTORS PRISONS  THE QUEEN S BENCH, 51
Courts of Requests, are sent to this place. And such is the faci
lity of the debtor and creditor law in consigning human beings to
prison, that a person has only to go and swear a debt of a shil
ling or sixpence against any other party, before the City Court
of Requests, to have that party, if unable or unwilling to pay the
debt, shut up in this prison for twenty days. The number of
persons annually committed to White Cross-street prison is sup
posed to be very nearly 2000 ; and the average number of per
sons always confined in it exceeds 470. Its locahty is in the City.
HoRSEMONGER-LANE Prison is Very similar in its constitution
to that of White Cross-street, It is situated on the other side
of the water, at no great distance from the Queen's Bench prison.
A large proportion of its inmates consists of persons committed
on process issued by the Courts of Requests. The average annual
commitments are about 1200, and the average number of indivi
duals confined in it at a time is upwards of 100.
The Queen's Bench Prison, from its greater importance, is
deserving of a more detailed notice than either of the others.
It is situated in the Borough of Southwark, and embraces,
with its open space, about four acres of ground. The princi
pal building is 300 feet in length, and has a good deal of the
appearance of a barracks. The whole is enclosed by a wall 35
feet in height ; and which, to render the assurance of the safe
keeping of the inmates doubly sure, is surmounted by large iron
spikes. The exterior of the building is gloomy, owing partly to
the dingy hue of the bricks, and partly to the smallness and
plainness of the windows. The entire number of rooms within
the walls of the Queen's Bench prison, is 225, of which eight are
called " state rooms," and are set apart for the better class of
prisoners. Half-a-crown a-week is paid as rent for one of these
rooms. For the other rooms, with the exception of a few back
ones which poor prisoners occupy rent free, the inmates pay one
shilling weekly, and have to provide their own furniture. If,
however, two persons are appointed to the same room, they are
only charged sixpence each ; if three, only fourpence each. In
addition to the 225 rooms, there are a coffee-house and public
kitchen, and a public-house. At one end of the prison there is a
kind of market, consisting of several sheds, occupied by butchers,
poulterers, green-grocers, &c., each tenant paying a weekly rent
of one shilling. These shilhngs, with the amount received for
the various rooms, go into the pockets of the marshal, and are
one source whence he receives his remuneration. His other
sources are fees on commitments and discharges, or for grant
ing the rules, or the liberty of living within the walls of the
prison. The last-named source is the most productive one,
as may be inferred from what I have said when speaking
E M

52 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
of the rules of the Fleet Prison. Altogether, the marshal's
emoluments are usually, or were lately, after deducting draw
backs, worth nearly 3000Z. a-year.
Should the number of prisoners happen, which is very rarely
the case, to be under the number of rooms in the place, then each
prisoner is entitled to a room to himself on the payment of one
shilling rental weekly. When the shilling cannot be paid, the
marshal, as before stated, foregoes his claim, and allows the
party to occupy his apartment rent free. The rooms are all very
small ; they must of necessity be so, from the number there is of
them in so limited a space.
When there is more than one person to each room, which, as
just observed, is almost always the case, the new-comers are,
what is called " chummed" on the previous inmates. The system
of " chumming" is difficult to be understood, to one who has not
been an inhabitant of the place. It was some time before I could
comprehend it : I shall explain it as well as I can. When a pri
soner is first confined within the walls, he is entitled to what is
termed a " chum ticket," which is a small piece of paper on
which one of the officers of the prison, called the chum-master,
writes the name of the party, and the number of the room in
which he is to be " chummed." With this ticket he proceeds to
the room in question, and showing it to the inmate, the latter
must either share his apartment with him, or pay him five shil
lings, by way, as the phrase goes, of purchasing him out. If the
new comer he offered the five shillings, he is compelled to take
it, and then go and provide himself with the share of some other
room, as he best can. The chum-master generally takes care to
chum a poor prisoner, to whom the five shilhngs must be a great
object, on one who is able to purchase him out. There are
always a number of poor people in the place who will be glad to
let any new prisoner have a part of their room for one shilling or
eighteen-pence a week ; so that the new prisoner gains four shil
lings or three-and-sixpence per week by the transaction. When
the prison is full, the previous inmates are liable to have two
persons chummed on them, so that, if they are desirous of pos
sessing their rooms to themselves, they must pay ten shillings
a week to the " chums," exclusive of their own shilling in the
shape of rent to the marshal. Some years ago, instances oc
curred in which three persons were chummed on one indivi
dual who previously tenanted a room. Since then, however, an
act of parliament has been passed, prohibiting the chumming of
more than two individuals on a previous inmate. This, however,
does not prevent a greater number than three individuals lodg
ing and sleeping in one room. The anxiety of the poorer class of
prisoners to save a few shillings per week,' by congregating toge
ther in one room, has often led to six or eight persons vegetating

DEBTORS PRISONS — THE QUEEn's BENCH. 53
together in a dark dirty apartment, measuring only sixteen by
nineteen feet. In other cases, the same desire to save a trifle
wherewith to administer to the necessities of the belly, leads
numbers of the poorer order of prisoners to sleep on the benches
in the tap-room, without any other covering than their clothes.
It was stated in a report drawn up on the subject some years
since, by a committee of the House of Commons, that as many
as forty-eight persons have slept in this way in the tap-room at
once. Why should we wonder, then, that the imprisonment of
the poorer classes in the Queen's Bench proves, in many cases, the
pathway to a premature grave ; and that, in others, the constitu
tion receives a shock from which it never afterwards recovers ?
There is a class of tickets called " in-chum tickets." This means
that the chum-master gives a new-comer, who wishes to have as
comfortable a room as possible rather than the five shilhngs
and the certainty of being obliged to live with other persons of
the lowest class, a ticket on a previous prisoner who is known
to be willing to receive into his room any person in the same
rank of life as himself, in order that he may be spared the
necessity of paying five shillings weekly to purchase any one out.
Formerly, the practice was to chum all new prisoners on the
junior inmates, in the first instance, in order that those who had
been longest in the place might have the chance of exemption,
as a sort of privilege to which their long residence in the prison
was supposed to entitle them. It accordingly often happened,
that all the junior inmates had persons chummed on them,
while those who had been there for a number of years escaped
entirely, except in those cases when the prison was so crowded
that there were chums for every person in it. A different course
has been adopted for some time past. The practice, I believe,
has been of late, to begin the process of chumming with the
senior prisoners, regularly descending downwards to those who
have most recently entered the place. This is a very improper
arrangement ; so, at least, I am assured by those who have been
some years within the walls of the building. In order that I
might glean as much original information about the place as
possible, I spent the greater part of a day in it, in August last ;
and on that occasion, the hardship of saddhng all the new-comers
on the oldest inmates, in the first instance, was depicted to me
by some of the latter in the strongest and most feeling terms.
They say that the thing is most partial in its operation, inas
much as that, while the senior prisoners have to submit almost all
the year round to the calamity of having mere novices in the
ways of the prison chummed on them, the " six-week" class of
persons, that is to say, those who only come to the prison for a
six weeks' probation there, prior to their transit through the

54 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
Insolvent Debtors' Court, often escape altogether. As far as I
can comprehend the merits of the case, this ought not to be. "And
if I were the marshal," as one of the prisoners of a long-standing
date emphatically observed to me, " it should not be." But I
am not the marshal, any more than the party making the obser
vation, and therefore cannot redress the grievance.
Some of the prisoners, who manage to get their rooms decently
done up and furnished, let them out to those new_ prisoners who
can afford to pay for them. A guinea a week is often got in
such cases for a room ; while the party letting it goes, perhaps,
and shares one, with some one in the same rank of life, at half-a-
erown. There are generally one or more prisoners who let out
articles of furniture to those who wish to speculate in furnished
lodgings in the Queen's Bench.
There are always, in addition to the butchers, green-grocers,
&c., formerly mentioned, a number of tradesmen, prisoners in the
Queen's Bench, who pursue their respective callings there. When
I last visited the place, which was two months ago, I found
almost all the apartments on the ground-floor tenanted by what
Robert Owen would call the sons of industry. One of these
rooms is converted into a sort of bazaar in miniature, brimfuU —
that is to say, if one may judge from a passing glance at the win-
dow^of the most miscellaneous assortment of merchandise ever
collected together ; while no individual article could possibly have
cost more than three-halfpence. Next door to this depot of
small-wares, was a barber's shop. But the best of it was, that
the man of soap and suds arrogated to himself the professionally
aristocratic title of " hair-dresser and perfumer ;" and, to com
plete his pretensions, he added, on his paper placard — which
rejoiced in broken-backed and deformed letters, evidently the
triumphs of his o-wn pen—" From Regent-street." Then followed,
in characters formed of more colours than I can enumerate, but
in which the black, blue, and yellow predominated, the words
" Shave for a Penny." Hear this, ye hair-dressers and per
fumers of the aristocratic Regent-street ! Here is one of your
number — if his own story may be credited — who scrapes the
lower extremities of the frontispieces of her Majesty's subjects in
the Queen's Bench, " and all for the small charge of one penny !"
If Tensor's razors be no better than his orthography, I envy not
the unfortunate wights who are doomed to encounter the opera
tion of shaving at his hands : far rather would I, were I in their
situations, turn Jew at once : I mean as regards the article of
my beard. The aforesaid inscription or sign-board, appeared
thus : " Mathew Maggs, Har Drsr and Parfoomr frome Regnt
Street — Sheve for a Peny."
A few doors from this importation from Regent-street, is a

DEBTORS PRISONS — THE QUEEN S BENCH. 55^
room in which tailorifics are practised by a knight of the thim
ble, whom some ill-natured creditor — so, at least, it is intimated
on the sign-board — transferred to that locality from the " exqui
site" regions of New Bond-street. I could not help compassion
ating poor Snip, as I thought of the mortification he must feel
when he reflected on the contrast between " decorating" the
very elite of aristocratic dandyism in New Bond-street, and
patching the tattered corduroy unmentionables of the poor me
chanics in the Bench. But I find — and, I doubt not, so does the
industrious man of buckram now in the Bench, though late of
New Bond-street — that there is no use in moralising on such
things. We live in a changeable world ; and I admire the phi
losophy of the man who can adapt himself to circumstances which
he can no longer control. It were an endless task to enumerate
the various descriptions of "¦ callings" pursued in this part of the
Queen's Bench. The range of rooms on the ground-floor is,
in fact, almost exclusively occupied by an industrious colony of
merchants and operatives. At the back part of the buildings,
again, which is chiefly tenanted by the very poorest of the pri
soners, there are shops of an humbler class. The first one which
attracted my notice was set apart for the sale of sausages, and
had a placard in the window with the words, after the name of
the vender, " Sausage-maker to the Queen." This may appear a
joke ; I assure my readers it is nothing of the kind. The fact
can be attested by every person who was in the place some few
months ago. Whether this sausage-maker to her Majesty be
still engaged in the useful occupation of vending these articles to
her subjects, is a question which I cannot answer. The stock in
hand, when I passed the window, consisted of half-a-dozen, — not
one more nor less. As to the quality of the sausages, I am not
competent to speak, not having tasted them. If, however, one
may judge from appearances, I should doubt whether they were
what they were warranted to be, namely, "prime 'uns." Let me
not be understood by this as " insinuating," as the American was
charged with doing when he one day went up to a sausage vender
in New York, and asked him very significantly whether " them
'ere saussengers were good 'uns?" — let me not, I say, be charged
with " insinuating" that the half-dozen sausages I saw in the win
dow in question were not of the best quality. They may, to use
the words of the Yankee just referred to, have been " worry good
saussengers, for anything as I knows to the contrary ; but this
I knows, as how they did not look worry hke good 'uns." I would
say further, in favour of the sausage manufacturer alluded to,
that though the assortment which greeted my vision as I passed
the b{i.ck part of the building were not particularly attractive in

56 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
appearance, they may have been a bad lot owing to accidental
circumstances, and by no means fair specimens of the quality of
sausages manufactured and vended in the same quarter.
Next came " The Original Shop For Cleaning Knives, Spoons,
And Boots." Why forks were omitted in the brief catalogue of
articles cleaned, I have not, up to this moment, been able to
divine ; however, I have a strong impression that the tenant of the
shop will suffer but little, if at all, from the omission. I saw no
appearance of any business doing in the cleaning of either of the
three other articles ; and though forks had been included in
the list, I am afraid the insertion would not have increased the
custom. The fact I take to be, that those in the Queen's Bench
who ever enjoy the luxury of clean knives, spoons, or boots,
must perform the polishing operation themselves. I am sure I
need not add, that, to a very large proportion of the unfortunate
inmates, the luxury of knives, spoons, or boots, clean or other
wise, is one of which they never partake while within the walls.
But I must not take up more of my space with the shops in the
Queen's Bench prison ; nor shall I, having already alluded to the
different kinds of stalls kept in the open air, advert again to them.
It is right, however, I should here mention one species of mer
chandise carried on in the prison to which I have not before
alluded. I refer to a portable stand, kept by an old man who
never gets any other name than John, for the sale of penny pies,
" all hot." This antiquated worthy is most eloquent and inces
sant in praise of his pies. All day long does he heap the most
superlative commendation on them. An African says, " Strike
me, but do not curse my mother :" John will a thousand times
sooner submit not only to be abused, but even personally assaulted,
rather than that a word should be said against the quality of his
pies. His character as pie-man is dearer to him than life itself.
If he had a purse, which he has not, he would say, in the words
of Shakspeare, with an emphasis superior to any with which the
phrase has ever been repeated before, " Who steals my purse,
steals trash ; but he who filches from me my good name," — that
is to say, as a pie-man, — " takes from me that which not enriches
him, but makes me poor indeed." " Let me have one of your
pies, John," said a hungry-looking cobbler, while I was one" day
present, as he gazed on the assortment before him, at the same
time laying down a penny on the tin stand.
" Will you have an eel 'un, or a pork 'un, or a weal 'un ? " in
quired John.
" Whichever's best," was the answer.
" That's vich vay people's tastes goes," said John. " They are
all of the worry best quality as can be made," he added.

debtors' PRISONS  THE QUEEn's BENCH. 57
" I thinks I'll take an eel 'un," observed the cobbler, eyeing
the whole lot as eagerly and hungry-like as if he could have
swallowed every one of them at once.
" An eel 'un?" said John, as he handed him the desired com
modity. " 0, this is a cold 'un !" exclaimed the cobbler, laying it down
again the moment it had been placed in his hand. " Vy don't
you give me a hot 'un at once ?"
" And vy didn't you ax for a 'ot 'un?" answered the pie-man,
somewhat tartly. "How vas I to know as how you liked a hot
'un in pref 'rence to a cold 'un ? "
John rummaged through his entire stock of pies, in quest of
an " 'ot eel 'un," but the search was in vain. " Not got any 'ot
eel 'uns," he intimated in accents which showed that he pos
sessed that caloric, as the chemists say, in his temper which was
lacking in his eel-pies.
" Then let me have a hot weal 'un," said the other, gruffly,
being manifestly more powerfully impelled to the step by hunger
than by choice.
" There's a weal 'un, all 'ot," exclaimed the pie-man, with an
evident air of complacency, as he transferred the article to the
mender of shoes. The latter conveyed it to the interior of his
person, through the conduit of his throat, with amazing expe
dition. " It tastes queerish, old chap," said the cobbler, looking
rather droll, in a second or two after the pie had accomplished
the passage of his mouth. " I say, I vishes to know vether that
'ere pie wich I ate vas a weal pie ? " he added somewhat sharply.
" Yes, it vas," answered John, in still angrier accents.
" Vy, it doesn't taste like a weal pie, anyhow, that's certain,"
observed the other.
" None of your insinivations, you ragamuffin-looking feller :
you says that bekase ye've got no money to get no more on 'em."
" Never mind that 'ere person there, John," interposed a ragged
starved-looking youth, about sixteen, who was employed to sup
ply the racket-players with balls.
" He's worry imperent, to make any reflekshuns o' the kind.
He vishes to ruin my professional respectability of karackter,"
remarked the pie-man.
" He's not worth the mindin', John," said the young fellow,
with a knowing wink at the cobbler. " Let me have one o' your
pork 'uns," he immediately added.
" Have you got a penny?" inquired John, significantly looking
the youth in the face, and not stretching out his hand to supply
him with the desired commodity.

58 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" I should think I have," answered the other drily. " It's
time enough to give it though, ven I gets the pie," ^^
" I von't do no sich thing, without the penny first.'
The youth made a form of fumbling in his pocket in search of
a penny, but none, of course, was to be found. "I finds I've lost
the penny, John : vill you just give me the pie on tick, and I'll
pay you to-morrow."
" I von't do nothin' o' the kind," answered John, energetically.
" You owes me three hap'nies already."
" O, wot a thundering he !" exclaimed the other. " I owes
you nothing but one ha'penny."
The cobbler telegraphed the little rascal encouragingly.
" You're a httle too fast, young man ; but mind, I stands none
o' that 'ere gammon— dash my vig, if I do !" said the pie-man,
shifting one of his " weal 'uns" from one part of the tin case to
another. " I only owes you a ha'penny, old chap, and no mistake,"
reiterated the other. " I say, John, you gets more hobstinate
as you gets older," he added, looking the " all 'ot"-man jeer-
ingly in the face.
The latter took no notice of the remark for a few moments ;
but then, as if suddenly seized with a fit of boundless indigna
tion, he shouted out, giving the words the accompaniment of a
lusty application of his fist to the tin concern before him, — " If
you says that 'ere agin, I'll smash every bone in your ugly carcase
to pieces. I'm bless'd if I don't."
The cobbler again winked at the youthful tormentor of the
pie-man, by way of encouraging him to proceed. The latter,
taking the hint, observed, " I don't vender that that 'ere gemman,"
pointing to the shoe-surgeon, " shouldn't like them 'ere pies ; 'cos
they're made of cats'-meat."
John's eyes flashed the " fire of infinite indignation" at the
base and unfounded imputation ; and, bristling up, he thundered
out the threat of making cats'-meat of the body of the " im
perent Old Bailey-looking youth," provided he could lay his
hands on him.
" Vy, old 'un, you knows as how I got a bit of an 'oss's hoof in
that 'ere consam I got from you yesterday, and vich you called a
weal pie."
" Blow me tight, young gallows, if I don't pound your ribs
to powder ! " shouted John^ and with that he made a bound
towards his juvenile tormentor ; but his apron having got entan
gled somehow or other in the feet of his tin machine, the latter .
was upset, and the whole stock of pies hot and cold, whether
made of pork, veal, or eel, or any other animal, was scattered in

"l/j.oW-aD.youirno^/s ashovrl^o-t -d Ijl i nf an''..ss's hoof in
tlicUcT-e causarn Sgol rrom.-.ou ye.s-rcTdav.had. vict-you cni>
ed a \*'"pal pie."

DEBTORS PRISONS — THE QUEEN g BENCH. 59
all directions. Possessing, as they all did, the circular form,
some of them rolled themselves to an amazing distance. The
little rascal, however, who was the cause of the disaster, took
care to run much farther and faster.
A crowd of prisoners immediately gathered around the sub
verted stand of the pie-man; some condoling with him in his
affliction, and others assisting in collecting the widely-circulated
pies. John himself held up his hands, and looking aghast at
what had happened, growled out curses loud and deep on the
head of the " gallows-looking young feller" who had caused the
disaster. In less than a minute, the whole of the runaway pies were
brought back, and replaced on the stand, which had been kindly
restored to its proper position for their reception. Some of them
were, as an American would say, " pretty considerably covered
with mud;" others were so much broken and shattered, that the
contents of the interior were exposed to the unhallowed gaze of
every spectator.
John looked with a most rueful countenance at his stock of
pies. And it was no wonder ; for the muddy aspect of some, and
the fragmentary appearance of others, were very materially ag
gravated by the collectors of them having huddled them up
together in a heap, just as if they had been intended for pigs'-
meat. " I can never sell them 'ere pies to any respektable customer,"
said John, in doleful accents, as he gazed on the confused
heap before him ; " 'cos, if I did, it would lose my karakter. O,
wot shall I do ?" he added with great emphasis, and wringing his
hands. At this moment, a humane gentleman, who had the day before
been received into the prison, advanced to the spot to see what
was the matter. He was informed of the disaster, and how it
had happened. " How many were there of them?" said he,
addressing himself to John.
" Just three dozen and a half, Sir," was the answer.
" Is there any one here who will eat any of them ? " asked the
gentleman, looking round among the poorest and most hungry-
like parties in the little crowd.
" I vill !" " I vill !" shouted at least two dozen voices at once.
" Then let these people have them," said the gentleman, put
ting three-and-sixpence into John's hand.
The words were no sooner uttered, than there was a brisk
scramble among the proprietors of fifteen or sixteen unwashed
paws, to possess themselves of the pies. In an instant the whole
vanished. Most of the parties, instead of waiting to carry them
to their rooms, and eat them there, set to work, and despatched

60 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
several of them at once. What is worthy of observation is, that
one and all of those who tested the qualities of the pies declared,
in the hearing of all present, that they were incomparably the
best they ever tasted. This, coupled with the three-and-sixpence,
was compensation of the most ample kind to John for the ex
treme misery caused by his youthful tormentor. His countenance
brightened up, and he looked the very personification of self-
complacency as he heard the praises of his pies thus publicly
proclaimed ; and he withdrew with his empty tin stand, observ
ing that the young rascal could have got no greater punishment
than to be denied the luxury of a " prime weal 'un."
The Queen's Bench has its general and twopenny post-offices.
In both establishments a good deal of business is done, chiefly
consisting of letters sent by the prisoners to their friends, suppli
cating pecuniary assistance.
There is one room in the place which is contradistinguished
from all the other apartments. It is called the strong-room, and
is appropriated to the reception of those who commit criminal
acts in the prison. They are doomed to a fortnight's or month's
solitary confinement, according to the magnitude of their offence,
or the light in which the marshal happens to view it, he hav
ing the power in all such cases vested exclusively in his own
hands. The tap-room of the Queen's Bench is decidedly the most in
teresting locality in it. It is but very imperfectly lighted, and
is vaulted at the top, while the walls, instead of being lathed and
plastered, exhibit the bricks of which they are composed. When
I last saw it the walls and vaulted ceiling seemed to have, some
short time before, undergone the process of white-washing, I
should suppose, judging from my recollection of its size, that it
is about sixteen feet in length by twelve in breadth. There are
four boxes, if so they must be called. The tables, which look as
thick and strong as if they were cut out of a solid piece of
wood, are all covered over with every variety of figures, to say
nothing of their exhibiting all the letters of the alphabet in glori
ous confusion. They were, I suppose, originally meant, as succes
sively carved out, to signify the initials of the names of the parties
who engraved them there ; but they are now so incorporated to
gether, and with representations of horses, cows, dogs, cats, hens,
&c., that the tables exhibit one mass of hieroglyphics. Some of
the letters, and also of the pictorial abortions — for such they
assuredly are — are two or three inches in length, and engraved
full one quarter of an inch in depth in the tables. The appear
ance of the majority of the inmates of the tap-room is in perfect
keeping with the place. There you see a variety of "waft"
characters : judging from their beards, you would" come to the

debtors' PRISONS  THE QUEEn's BENCH. 61
¦conclusion, that there were not only no barber, but no razor in
Christendom. As for washing their faces — I speak, of course, only
of a portion of them — that is an idea that never enters their
head. That would require soap, provided it were to be done
effectually ; they have got none. It would also require trouble,
a thing they do not like to put themselves to. Their hats are
almost, without exception, either crownless altogether, or they
contain so many perforations as to answer all the purposes of
first-rate ventilators. A whole brim is a perfect rarity ; the last
remains of the wool have vanished, so that it is sometimes a very
nice question to settle the original colour of the article. Their
coats have in many instances degenerated into jackets ; while in
others, one tail remains to indicate what the article of apparel
originally was. As for the other portions of the generality of
the wardrobes to be seen in the tap-room of the Queen's Bench,
I will not attempt to describe them, because I know I should not
succeed. The group of characters which are always to be seen
in this classical spot, presents an edifying appearance, heightened
as is the effect of that appearance by the various employments in
which they are engaged, and the attitudes in which they are to
be seen. That dark-looking man, with the reserved expression
of countenance, cooped up in the corner of the nearest box as
you enter, and reading the advertisements of a double-sheet
" Times" with as great an apparent avidity as if he would eat
them, — is one of the most respectable individuals in the room,
which is the chief cause why he takes so little interest in the oc
cupations of others , You see that thin-visaged personage, ' ' whose
tattered clothes his poverty bespeak," standing at the fire-place,
turning over seriatim the three or four dozen herrings which are
the property of a little bandy-legged man who visits the Bench
four or five times every day, for the purpose of vending his
finny commodities : you see this personage, do you not ? He is a
" rum customer," as the herring-merchant calls him, for he never
purchases but one per diem, and before he commences his nego
tiation as to price, he examines and re-examines every bloater in
the basket. Even when he has fixed on the herring he prefers,
he usually spends a quarter of an hour before he concludes the
bargain. In the box directly opposite the fire-place you see four
or five favourable specimens of regular recklessness ; they are
just as comfortable inside as out, always provided they get plenty
of beer. The one half of the day they sleep with their heads
resting on the table, and the other they spend in swilling Bar
clay and Co.'s Entire. And what is worthy of observation is, that
as if actuated by a sort of Siamese sympathy, they address them
selves, as Don Quixote would say, to sleep, and awake from their

62 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
slumbers much about the same time. Give them beer enough,
and they will never seek to pop their heads, far less their feet,
out of the walls of the place. Mahomet, were he still alive,
might keep his paradise to himself for anything they care : they
are in a perfect elysium as it is. In another box there are four or
five strange-looking broken-down personages, enveloped in so dense
an atmosphere of smoke, manufactured by themselves, that it is
with difficulty you can recognise their features. The head of one
of them is buried amidst a heap of empty pewter pots, and his face
is immersed in a pool of heavy wet, which one of the others has
made, without awakening him from his profound sleep. Six
or seven other "gemmen," as they call one another, are knock
ing one another's hats down over each other's eyes, and display
ing their ingenuity by inventing new tricks at each other's expense.
Those three persons in the seat farthest off, with unwashed faces,
and beards which would defy any razor in London, in earnest con
versation together, — are just as busy and united as they can be
in abusing Sir John Campbell and the Whig Ministry, for not
passing the abolition of imprisonment for debt bill. If these same
Whigs, as Dr. Wade would say, only heard what the triumvirate
are saying, it would make their ears tingle again. Sterne himself,
had he flourished in our time, and been present on the occa
sion, would have found some new hints which would have been
well worth his consideration in framing his celebrated curse. The
man in the opposite side of the box, with a most revolutionary
head of hair, and a most republican-looking countenance, is quite
occupied in signifying his assent to every word they say, by a hearty
nod, and in withdrawing his pipe at intervals from his mouth,
to enable him to mutter an audible concurrence. The middle-
aged little "gemman," with the flannel jacket and one eye, who
is leaning with his back against the box opposite the fire, owes
the extraordinary elongation of his countenance to the fact of his
having spent his last " bob," kno-wing as he does that no " tick"
is to be had in " this here shop." See the envious glance he every
now and then casts at those who have the luxury of a pot of beer
before them, or of a " pipe o' baccy " in their mouths. Poor fellow,
his misery is aggravated by contrast. Others again are quite
uproarious. Nature has given them first-rate lungs, and they are
constitutionally disposed to make the best possible use of them ; in
which disposition they are ably assisted by the oceans of " Entire"
which they are everlastingly swigging. Every one has heard the
observation, that some people are born with a silver fork in their
mouths ; you cannot help fancying, from the enthusiastic devo
tion of some of the inmates of the Queen's Bench tap-room to
heavy wet, and from the circumstance of the lower part of

DEBTORS PRISONS — THE QUEEN S BENCH. 03
their visages being constantly inserted in pewter pots, that they
have been born for no other purpose than to chronicle the turbid
liquid of the London brewers.
But the scene altogether is one to which no description can
do justice. On a stone painted black, above the fire-place, I ob
served the words, written in chalk, " Tuesday, August the 29th,
1837." I inquired the meaning of this, and found that it was a
regular practice to chalk up the day of the week and the day of
the month, in the same way all the year round ; as, otherwise,
many of the poorer and more ignorant of the prisoners would
have no idea of either. Connected with this diurnal chalking
affair I may mention an anecdote of one of the prisoners, who
was under thirty years of age, and evidently a tailor. He re
joiced in a tolerable wardrobe, certainly the best in the place ; a
circumstance, however, which might be satisfactorily accounted
for from the fact, that he was the most recent importation to the
prison. But though his exterior appearance was not amiss, he
soon gave woeful proof that he was most miserably furnished
within. In fact, hp was as ignorant as his own goose. When I
asked the reason why the aforesaid " Tuesday, August the 29th,
1 837," was chalked on the black stone above the fire-place, he,
addressing himself to the brother in adversity next to him in
a geographical point of view, at once chimed in with me, and
said, " Aye, and vy is that 'ere put up there?" Snip got, I need
hardly observe, the same answer as myself. " Very good," re
torted he, " but I think as how they might have spelt ' August'
right, any how."
The word was correctly spelt.
" If you spelt that 'ere word any other way, you would spell it
wrong," observed a middle-aged man, withdrawing his pipe from
his mouth to let a small condensed cloud of smoke escape.
" It's all you knows about it," said Snip, " ven you says so."
"What way would you spell it, then, old dunderhead ?" inquired
another, opening his eyes, as if just awakened from sleep, and
closing them again the moment he had put the question.
"August, august, a — ag — ags," said the man of buckram,
making an ineffectual attempt to master the orthography of the
word. " Vy, I don't know as how it should be spelt, but this I
knows as how that 'ere vay is a rum 'un," he added.
Poor Snip looked as if particularly confounded.
" And how do you know that it's wrong, when you can't spell
it ?" inquired the first of his opponents.
" I do know it though," he rephed, assuming a bold front.
" You're a downright dunce," interposed his half-slumbering,
second opponent, again thrusting his face down in his breast
when he had paid Snip the flattering compHment.

64 SKETCHES IN LONDON.

" I say you're a-

"A what. Sir?" interrupted the other, starting upto his feet,
and having the appearance of anything but a slumbering man.
"A ras  "
Snip was prevented completing his sentence by another of the
prisoners first clapping his hand on his mouth, and then draw
ing him out of the place by the breast of his coat, he meanwhile
darting a most furious glance at his opponent.
" You are a  ," repeated the tailor, twisting about his
head as his friend was dragging him out of the room; but the re
newed application of the aforesaid open fist to his mouth, again
prevented the completion of the sentence.
" Only say that again, you blundering blockhead, you nine
teenth part of a man," shouted his lately slumbering adversary,
" an' I'll knock your ivory down your throat."
" I do say you're a  ." Snip again made an effort to
apply some ugly epithet to his opponent, but the latter part of
the sentence was lost, in consequence of the violence with which
his friend shut the tap-room door as he got the " nineteenth part
of a man" outside.
But for the timely interposition of the latter, a regular affray
must have taken place ; and the probability is that the conse
quence would have been a broken head to both parties. Hence
the result would have been certain, namely, that both would have
got a month's location in the strong-room. I thought with
myself how narrowly Pope's fines escaped an exemplification, —
" What dire effects from trivial causes spring !"
But decidedly the most eccentric character with whom I came
in contact, in the course of my visits to the tap-room, was a per
sonage who went by the sobriquet of Tom Snaggs. He was
altogether an extraordinary personage. He was as diff'erent in
appearance and manners from all the other human beings I
have ever met with, as if he had belonged to some other species,
or been projected from another planet, in consequence of some
eruption; just as philosophers tell us of meteoric stones being
thrust from the moon into our world, through some volcanic or
other powerful agency. Tom belonged, as the phrase is, to the
lower classes. He was a singularly odd-looking character. His
face was thin, and as much shrivelled as if he had been dried in
a kiln for the purposes of preservation in the collection of some
naturalist. His complexion bore a strong resemblance to the
colour of a radish ; while his long lean neck, which was much
exposed in consequence of the absence of a neckerchief, had pre
cisely the appearance of a plucked turkey. In the expression of
his countenance, there were actually blended all the peculiarities
of physiognomy presented in the faces of Lord John Russell and

debtor's PRISONS — THE QUEEN's BENCH. 65
Mr. Goulburn. His eyes were especially remarkable ; they
seemed the most tractable pair I have ever seen in human head.
At one time their mutual affection was so powerful, that you
would have thought they would actually embrace each other.
But for the obstruction presented by the bridge of Mr. Snaggs'
nose, I am sure they would have done so. Never did two
" peepers," as Tom himself called them, look so lovingly towards
each other. If they had possessed the faculty of speaking, attri
buted by the fabulists of old to inanimate things as well as to
beasts, birds, and fishes, I can well imagine with what cordiality
they would have concurred in anathematizing the aforesaid sec
tion of Tom's nose, because it interposed to prevent a closer inti
macy. At other times, both the luminaries of pur hero darted off
at a tangent, and looked in the most opposite directions, just as if
some ground of deadly quarrel, unknown to any but themselves,
had suddenly started up. This latter singular attribute in Tom's
eyes may behest illustrated by the remark, that had he been sitting
in the centre of a large room, with his face directly to the opposite
wall, he would have seen, without moving his head in the slight
est degree, two persons coming into the room at either end, with
the same distinctness as if his gaze had been exclusively directed
to one. Every one has heard a great deal about the "seeing capabi
lities" of Argus, with his century of eyes. Had Tom possessed
two additional ones of the same power in the back of his head,
he would, I doubt not, have been quite as well furnished, for
all practical purposes, as the hundred-eyed personage of antiquity
whose name I have just mentioned.
Tom's wardrobe was in tolerable keeping with his personal
appearance. He was wrapped up — and this, be it remembered,
in the warmest weather of last summer — in a dreadnought coat
of most ample proportions. It was of a brown colour ; and I beg
to be understood as not exaggerating in the slightest degree
when I say, that the wool or pile was about half an inch long.
I would have given something to know the weight of the
article ; but had not an opportunity of fgratifying my curiosity.
If Tom, instead of vegetating in the tap-room of the Queen's
Bench, where, in addition to the oppressive warmth of the
weather, there is always a blazing fire kept for culinary pur
poses ; had Tom, instead of this, been the inmate of some habi
tation in the polar regions, formed of snow, he would not, one
would have supposed, have required any addition to his clothing.
I have a strong impression that he must have a good deal of
the salamander in his composition ; for amidst all this exces
sive warmth of weather, and his constantly wearing this mountain
of a great coat, he always took care to take the seat next to the
fire. He evinced an unconquerable aversion to solid meat; at

66 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
any rate, he ate nothing, so far as I saw, during the day I was there ;
and I did not learn from any one that he ever, under any circum
stances, put his masticators into requisition. Let me not be
understood as insinuating by this that Tom Snaggs lived on
chameleon's fare ; that would be doing him an injustice of which
I would not, on any consideration, have the sin on my head.
Everybody must be aware that there is an intermediate alterna
tive, if I may so speak, between not eating any solid food and living
on the thin and unfattening air. Tom lived on Barclay, Perkins,
and Co.'s Entire ; and I doubt if these gentlemen, amidst their
myriads of customers, could ever boast of a better one than Tom.
To thrust his head into a pot of their frothy liquid, was the very
first act he performed in the morning ; to do ditto was his last
employment in the evening. To say that he was similarly en
gaged during the whole of the intervening day, would be an
exaggeration ; for drinking heavy wet, as well as eating solid food,
requires that there should be at least temporary pauses, to allow
one, were it for nothing else, to take his breath. But this I
can say, that there was rarely an hour of the day in which Tom
had not his jug of beer before him.
His manners and conversation were quite as singular as his
appearance ; and most largely did he contribute to the amuse
ment of those who frequented the tap-room. He possessed
much natural shrewdness, and was happy in turning the laugh
against those who sought to raise it at his expense. I saw at
once, on entering the place, that he was a character. He was
jn the act at the time of carrying on a political discussion with
a shoemaker of the middle size and of a pug-looking dark-com
plexioned countenance.
" You don't know your own principles, Tom," was the first
observation which greeted my ears, as I walked up towards the
fire. " Don't I ?" said Tom emphatically.
" No you don't ; I'm bless'd if you do."
" I 'spose you thinks, old leather-mender, as how you Icnows
your'n," observed Tom, raising the jug of beer to his mouth.
" I'd be 'shamed of myself if I didn't," answered Crispin, taking
out of his waistcoat pocket and unfolding a small dirty paper which
contained the remains of his limited stock of tobacco.
" Then vat is your sentimens ?" inquired Tom.
" Vy, I'm a Radical to be sure," rephed'the other,'with emphasis.
" A Radical, eh ! I'm blow'd if you an't like un."
" Yes, and vill be while the world lasts," added Crispin.
"You're quite sure of that 'ere, are you ?" observed Mr. Snaggs.
" I am quite sure of it," answered the other, with great em
phasis. " I'll stand by my principles while I has a button to

debtors' prisons — THB QUEEn's BENCH. 67
my coat. May I be  if I don't," he added with increased
energy, giving a violent blow with his fist on the table.
" If you don't stand by them any longer than that 'ere, I think
that vont be very long," remarked Tom, significantly eyeing his
opponent's coat, which had only two buttons remaining.
" None of your ignorant jeers. Torn. I'll be hanged if I staild
them," said Crispin, pulling himself up and assuming a most valor
ous aspect.
" Vy this is liberty-hall," retorted Tom. " Every one has a
tight to speak vat he thinks in this 'ere place."
" I won't be insulted by no man as vas ever bom," said the
testy shoemaker.
" ^y you speak'as if you were the prime minister, old shoe-
doctor." " I have a right to speak as I please, you stupid jackass."
" And so have I," observed Mr. Snaggs, winking at the by
standers. "Ve lives here in liberty-hall, don't ve, Harry?" he
added, addressing himself to a sttirdy son of Vulcan, who was
lighting his pipe with a match.
" To be sure we do, Tom, my boy," answered the latter in
encouraging accents.
" I don't vant to have anythink at all to say to an old fool
like you," remarked Crispin, in a pettish tone.
" Vy, if so be as I be an old fool, we're well met, my chap."
" Vat's that, you old dotard, you were a-calling me ?" inquired
the shoemaker, looking fiercely at Tom.
'' Should you like to hear it again, old boot-butcher ?" answered
Tom, with provoking coolness.
" You'll better take care of vat you say, that's all," was the
only reply.
" You said take care, did you not, old Radical ?" rejoined Tom,
drawing the jug of beer towards him.
" I did," was the answer.
" You're a Melbourne chap, are you not ?"
" Vat's that to you, I should hke to know ?" was the reply. "'
"Because as how all you Radical-lookiiig fellows are Mel-
bourne chaps."
" I vont stand this 'ere any longer. I'll be — ;  if I do,"
shouted Crispin, as he suddenly started up to his feet, and as
sumed a menacing attitude.
" Vy you're a-standin' it now," said Tom, with provoking^cool-
ness ; " you're on your legs, are you not, old leather-head ?"
" I say you're a  "
" And you're a Radical," interrupted Tom, before his opponent
of the bodkin and the awl could complete his sentence.
" If you say that 'ere agin, I'll knock your rascally head into
F 2

68 " SKETCHES IN LONDON.
atoms with this here veapon," said Crispin, now worked up to an
alarming pitch of anger, and brandishing in his right hand a
last which he chanced to have with him at the time.
" You're a Radical, and a Melbourne chap too," repeated Tom,
with the most perfect composure, and knocking on the table
with a jug, as an intimation to the waiter to bring him another
pint of beer.
" Just say that agin, you vagabond-looking fellow, and as'sure
as I'm a livin' man I'll  ."
" Holloa ! what's the matter ?" interrupted one of the officers
of the prison, who happened to enter at the moment.
" O nothin' at all," answered Crispin, softening do-wn all at
once into the calmest tone, — a fear of a month's confinement in
the strong-room having suddenly flashed across his mind ; " 0
nothin' at all, I was only a-showin' Tom Snaggs the vay in which
I once heard two men a-quarrelling in the streets ; vasn't that
it, Tom ?"
" Here's jolly good luck, my boy !" said Tom, by way of re
sponse, thrusting his mouth into the jug, and taking a hearty
draught. " Gemmen," said Tom, as soon as the officer withdrew, " Gem-
men, I'll sing you a song, vich is better than disputing about
politiks." " Aye, do ! " shouted every person present.
Mr. Snaggs chanted six verses of a song, which afforded inter
nal evidence of its being one of his own composition. I was struck
with one very appropriate idea which Tom introduced. It con
tained an admission that he had contracted debts which he was
unable to pay.
" Sing the song over agin, Tom, if you please," said a short,
squatting consequential personage, who had been a butler in a
gentleman's house, addressing Mr. Snaggs in a tone of offensive
authoritativeness .
" If you have a servant," answered Tom, " ask him to execute
your orders ; I don't quite like being spoken to in that 'ere way,
I'm not hobligated to sing to please you, my little pot-bellied
chap." " True, Tom ; quite right, Tom," cried a dozen voices.
'' But I'll tell you vat," he resumed, addressing the ex-butler;
" I'll tell you vat, I'll sing it over agin for a pint of beer."
_" Done, Tom ; you shall have it. Come, begin," said the ad
mirer of Mr. Snaggs' vocal talents.
" Von't we better have the beer a'fore we begins ? It clears
and improves the windpipe, you knows," observed Tom.
" 0, certainly, if you prefer it," was the answer,
. " Veil, I do prefer it," said Tom, emphatically.

debtors' prisons  THE QUEEN's BENCH. 69
The beer was ordered, and was forthwith on the table. Tom
took a liberal draught of the beverage, and keeping fast hold of
the handle of the jug, treated his co-inmates to a repetition of
the song.
" That's a true part of it, Tom, which says you have contracted
debts you'll never be able to pay."
This was spoken by a tall demure-looking personage, who had
been some time an apothecary in a small town in the neighbour
hood of London.
" Is it ?" said Tom, looking the apothecary sarcastically in the
face. " Never mind, Tom," said an attorney's clerk ; " never mind,
so as you gets out."
" I don't vant to get out," interposed Mr. Snaggs, hastily.
"You don't, eh?" ^ SS ' ^
" No, I don't ; and surely I knows best myself."
_ " Certainly you must, Tom," said I, now venturing for the first
time to make a remark, with the view of eliciting more fully some
of his more eccentric traits of character.
" Yes, I does knows best," repeated Mr. Snaggs, giving a
knock on the table with the bottom of the pewter pot, which
made the greater part of its contents leap out in the faces of
those who were next to him.
" And are you so much attached to this place ?" I inquired, in
as encouraging a tone as I was master of.
" Quite delighted with it. Sir ; it's a perfect paradise."
" Well, Tom, I can't fancy anything which could make the
place so attractive."
" Lots of beer. Sir, and plenty of racket : call you that no
thing, eh?"
Tom looked up in ray face with an air of infinite self-com
placency, and then decanted the remainder of the beer in the
pot before him. I was about to answer his question when he
resumed. " But I'.ve other reasons, and better 'uns too, for preferring to
remain here : blow'd, if I haven't !"
" Can you mention them, Mr. Snaggs?"
" I can mention one on 'em."
" What may it be, Tom?"
" Vy, Sir, if so be as I must speak the truth, I likes this place,
because I'm out of the reach of my vife ; bad luck to the 'ooman !"
" Ah, Tom ! you're married, then?"
" Aye, I believe you ; married, indeed ! " answered Mr. Snaggs,
fetching a deep sigh, and accompanying it with a most significant
shake of the head.
" So, then, you are no advocate for matrimony, Mr, Snaggs?"

70 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" Vy, I say$ nothink against being spliced once ; but, I'm
bless'd, if I likes second 'uns."
"Second what, Tom?"
" Second vives. Sir."
"Oh! married a second time, then?"
" Vy, yes, I he's, as I knows in experience," replied Tom, with
a very emphatic groan. " People," he added, " says second
thoughts is best ; I'm bless'd, if second vives be ; they are all
reg'lar bad 'uns."
" And you don't, then, approve of second matches?"
" Matches ! " exclaimed Mr. Snaggs, starting up, and looking
surprised at my using the word. " Matches ! May I never swig
another pint of beer, if so be as there be any match in it. I
knows as I'm more than matched, anyhow."
" Yes, Tom," interposed a dark-looking, little-faced man, with
drawing his pipe from his mouth to enable him to articulate
more distinctly. " Yes, Tom, you've been regularly done by your
second wife."
" You may say that, Ben, my boy ; she's a precious bad 'un.
But its all my own fault ; blow'd, if it ain't."
"How so, Tom?"
" Vy, because I vas so big a fool as to take the 'ooman on
character," replied he, looking at the beer-pot.
" On what, Mr. Snaggs ?"
" On character, Sir."
I intimated to Tom that his meaning was beyond my compre
hension. " What I means. Sir, is this 'ere : I took the chap,"— an odd
term to apply to one's wife, — " I took the chap on the faith of a
good character I got of her from one of her former acquaint'
ances, without knowing anything about her. Made short work
of courtship, Sir,— knew her only for seven days,— married the
eighth." " That was certainly making short work of it, Tom."
" You're right. Sir ; never take any -vife on character agin ;
never be in such a hurry to get married agin. Made a deuced
bad speculation of it."
" Possibly Mrs. Snaggs may improve, Tom."
" Improve !" he shouted. " Did you say improve ?"
. " I did, Tom; it is to be hoped she will."
f " Vy, if she improves, all I can say is this,— it will be like the
cow's tail,— in the wrong direction. She improve ! You knows
RQthing about her. Sir, othervise you vould never say so."
"Ay, Tom, you're a very unfortunate person," suggested one
ot his boon companions.
" That's a truth, Henry, my boy ; however, I'm out of the

debtors' PRISONS— THE QUEEn's BENCH. 71
reach of the hussey here. Plenty of freedom in this 'ere place.
Here's the liberty-hall of the right sort. May I be scragged
(hanged) if I ever seeks to leave this place so long as they lets
me remain in it." Mr. Snaggs again had recourse to a liberal
potation. " Does your wife never come to see you, Tom?"
" She come to see me ! —not though I vas a dyin' by the yard.
I've now been nine veeks in this 'ere paradise, and she's never
come to see me once. No loss, as to the matter of that ; never
vish to be vhere she is ; but I vish she had sent me a clean
shirt. I've only had this one," pointing to a piece of linen in his
breast, whose soiled appearance afforded presumptive proof of
the truth of his statement ; " I've only had this one for the last
nine veeks. "
" Too bad, Tom," said his friend Ben, who had on one or two
former occasions interposed a word or two of modified commise
ration. " Too bad, Tom ; it is, indeed."
" Never mind," observed Mr. Snaggs, looking into the pot
before him to see if there was any remnant of the turbid liquid
in the bottom. " Never mind ; one consolation, anyhow."
" What's that, Mr. Snaggs?" inquired a short, flabby-faced-
looking personage, who all the while had been standing before
the fire, but had never until now opened his mouth. " What's
that, Mr. Snaggs?"
" Vy, I left her at home without a farthing ; consequently
she's on starvation allowance ;" and his two eyes sparkled with
delight as he made the observation.
" O, Tom, Tom ! " observed Ben, " you're just as bad as she
is. Come, that's worry wrong."
" You knows nothing about it, you booby ; you have never
had a second vife, or you vouldn't say so."
" Why, Mr. Snaggs, you might as well beat Mrs. Snaggs to
death, as starve her to death," observed a rather respectable-
looking man, of a reserved expression of countenance.
" 0, Sir, she von't die ; she'll neither be starved to death, nor
beaten to death : second vives has as many lives in 'em as an eel."
" I say, Tom, you vouldn't speak in that 'ere way, if your
vife vas in this 'ere place to hear you," remarked his friend
Benjamin. " O, vould'nt I, Ben, my boy ? Aye, that I vould, and give her
a good wallopping to the bargain."
" Come, come, Tom ; you don't mean to say you would beat
Mrs. Snaggs?" observed the aforesaid respectable reserved-look
ing man.
" Say it ; aye, that I do ; and vat's more, Sir, I vould do it
too." As Tom spoke, he gave a violent knock with his fist to

72 sketches IN LONDON.
the crown of his hat, which forced the article down over his
eyes. " I vish," he continued, with great energy, and raising
up his hat again ; " I vish I had my vife here just now. 0,
vouldn't I wallop her so, I'm ¦  ! "
Here Tom, who had risen from his seat to show his auditors,
by a forcible fiourish of his right hand in the air, with what effect
he would " wallop" Mrs. Snaggs, suddenly paused in the midst of
a sentence, and, in an instant afterwards, uttered an exclama
tion of " Oh, Lor !" and turning as pale as death, fell back in
the box.
" O, you rascal, you! I'll give it you !" shouted a strong mas
culine, virago-looking woman, who had that moment entered the
tap-room. As she spoke, she rushed up to the place where Tom was
sitting, shaking her hand at him all the way, while her eyes
glared with ungovernable rage. The stranger woman, it was
soon discovered, was no other than the redoubtable Mrs. Snaggs
herself. What passed between the couple I will not mention,
on the ground of the acknowledged impropriety of taking any
notice of matrimonial quarrels.
It is .interesting "to reflect on the various circumstances under
which the inmates of the Queen's Bench Prison have been
brought there. . The vast majority, as may be inferred from
other parts of this chapter, have to attribute their deprivation
of liberty to their own folly and utter want of principle. They
are men who care nothing about the sufferings they entail on
individuals and families, and the injury their bad example reflects
on society, provided only their own humours can be indulged,
and their propensities gratified.
There are others who are there because they either are, or
fancy themselves to be, the victims of injustice. There is at the
present time, or at least there was some few months since, a
young gentleman, the representative of a family, of wealth and
antiquity in one of our Enghsh counties, who has spent the meri
dian of his life in prison, rather than relinquish, in comphance
with the decision of a court of law, what he conceives to be his
right, and what he thinks would be doing an unpardonable injus
tice to his family were he to give it up. To his determination
not to part with property which he holds to be by every consi
deration of morality and justice the property of his family, and
which, regarding himself as a trustee for them, he feels bound to
protect, — he I have no doubt still adheres, though -with the cer
tain prospect before him, if he does not change his resolution, of
perpetual imprisonment. In this there is much to admire ; it is
a specimen of heroism and self-denial in what the party con
ceives — whether right or wrong does not affect the question— a
good cause, — worthy of the best days of ancient Greece or Rome;

',,'."'iJ i-ssl-h! ' 111 pvr iiyoa! .shoutf'd a 'Jxcne; Taascixlinc .
-¦j;V' lool'.inx '•"-¦ M-n: who hsd thatmom-?i.i '--n tered the

debtors' PRISONS — THE QUEEN's BENCH. 78
for his own pecuniary circumstances, altogether independent of
this case, are so ample that they would enable him to move in
what is called fashionable life.
A third class of persons are confined in the Queen's Bench
Prison from adverse circumstances over which they had no con
trol. These are the only persons who feel their incarceration to
be a punishment, and yet they are the only inmates of the place
who ought not to feel it a punishment ; for they did everything
which, human exertion made in an honest and honourable way,
could do, to meet the demands of their creditors, and conse
quently escape imprisonment : they are the victims of adversity
brought about by an agency not their own. One would think
that this reflection would tranquillise their minds, and reconcile
them to that which no exertions of theirs could have shielded
them against. Such, however, is not the fact : they are degraded
persons in their own estimation, and neither the dictates of
reason nor the representations of friends can remove the
erroneous impression. Their susceptibility on the subject is
in some cases so excessive, that they are impelled to the frightful
alternative of committing suicide. In other instances, though
their sense of religion guards them against a step so revolting
to society, and so opposed to revelation, their sense of self-
degradation preys so forcibly on their minds, that they pine
away, and eventually die under it. I could mention many
instances of this ; but it is unnecessary, as most of my metropoli
tan readers will be able to recal to their minds cases of the kind
which consist with their own personal knowledge. There are at
this moment three or four individuals in the Queen's Bench
Prison, whose sense of self-degradation, in consequence of their
incarceration, is so great, that they never venture out to the
open area allowed the prisoners, nor on any account suffer them
selves to be seen by their fellow-inmates. They shut themselves
up in their narrow cells all day, brooding over their adversities,
though these are not the consequence of any misconduct of their
own ; and never cross the threshold of their rooms until it has
become quite dark. Even then they wrap themselves up in
cloaks, lest any one should by accident get a glance of their fea
tures. I know instances of this kind, in which other parties,
who have no feelings of shame, but who rather glory in their
confinement though entirely the result of their own misconduct,
have hved for upwards of twelve months in the next room to the
individuals to whom I refer, and yet have never been able by any
accident to get a glance of their features. What stronger argu
ment than this could be urged against the principle of imprison
ment for debt? That principle subjects the very parties to
punishment who ought not to be punished, because their embar-

74 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
rassed circumstances have been brought ' about by causes
which it was not in their power to control ; while those un
principled persons who really do deserve punishment, do not
feel confinement within the walls of a civil prison to be any
punishment at all. The honest man is thus punished, while the
rogue virtually escapes. It is high time that in this Christian
country and this enlightened age, so monstrous a state of things
were put an end to.
There is a fourth class of persons who are confined within the
walls of the Queen's Bench Prison from choice. This may
appear a startling announcement ; it is a true one nevertheless.
I do not mean to say that such persons are numerous; they are,
on the contrary, extremely few; but they do exist. It is only a
few months since, that an extraordinary instance of this kind was
pointed out to me, in the person of a man apparently about
fifty-five years of age. This individual was first confined in this
prison about eighteen years ago ; and after -being fifteen years
an inmate, he was liberated. At first he fancied that his libera
tion would add to his happiness, and consequently rejoiced at the
circumstance. He had not, however, been many days out, when
he began to feel himself in the midst of a social desert, though
living in the neighbourhood of Newport Market, which is in th e
very centre of London. All his former acquaintances were either
dead or removed to other parts of the country, or, at all events,
to places which rendered it impossible for him to obtain any
traces of them, far less to hold intercourse with them. The
desolateness of his new position was rendered still greater by
contrast. The new acquaintances he had formed in the Queen's
Bench Prison were all left behind him ; so were the exercises
and amusements in which he was wont daily and hourly to
indulge when an inmate there. Even the very stones of the
pavement, the walls of the building, and the place altogether,
had become, through so lengthened and intimate an acquaint
anceship, dear to him. These things all rushed on his mind ;
they haunted it by day, and he dreamed of them by night. The
man, in other words, was miserable in his altered position. He
felt as if he had been alone in the world — as if he had been, in
one sense, the. "last man," and he literally shed tears at the
thought of his freedom. It was feared by some, who were
acquainted with the circumstances, that he would either pine
away, or, if he did not, that he would lay violent hands on himself.
It was suggested to him that he should return to the Queen's
Bench Prison. In that suggestion he at once and most cordially
concurred ; but he did not, at the moment, possess the requisite
qualification : he was not then in debt. He soon, however, did
acquire it, and was again confined in his old quarters, where

DEBTOES' PRISONS — THE QUEEN''s BENCH. 75
I saw him some months ago, one of the happiest of the three or
four hundred inmates in the place.
I am sure that most of my readers will readily remember
a story which is very similar to this : it is the only parallel one
which my memory can bring to my mind at this moment. I
allude to the well-known story of the man who had been forty
years a prisoner in the Bastile of France. When the populace
burst open the doors of that building, and liberated the pri
soners, an old man, whose appearance had, by forty years' con
finement in a dark dungeon, become almost unearthly, was
found among the number. He was carried to the part of the
town in which he had lived previous to his imprisonment. The
whole aspect of the place was altered, and he could discover
no trace of even one solitary former friend. The aged man felt
himself, as it were, in a new and strange world. The very light
of heaven proved a burden to him ; he felt he could not long
survive in the altered circumstances in which he was placed;
and, with tears streaming down his cheeks, he implored those
who had liberated him, in mercy and for Heaven's sake, to have
the humanity of carrying him back again to his dark and gloomy
dungeon in the Bastile. Habit is, indeed, a strange thing : there
never was a more just observation, than that it is a second nature.
It is curious to witness the efforts which are made by some
of the inmates in the Bench to keep up their former dignity, — in
appearance, at least,-^— in despite of their altered circumstances.
There are scores of persons there who fancy themselves as impor
tant (and are infinitely surprised and mortified to find others do
not also think them so) as when they were living in the greatest
splendour, residing in princely mansions, and keeping up magni
ficent establishments. Though practically on the same footing
with the humblest of their co-inmates, — with this difference, that,
having more money at their command, they can procure greater
comforts in some respects, — they affect to look down on all
others as if they were not of the same species. This is ridi
culous enough out of prison, — in prison it is peculiarly so;
for a place like the Queen's Bench is, to all intents and pur
poses, a repubhc. When the purse of such persons is empty,
their attempts to keep up their fancied dignity not only often
reach the ultima thule of ridiculousness; they are sometimes
amusmg in the highest degree. A lady formerly moving in the
highest circles of society, who had for several years been one of
the inmates, determined, within the last twelve months, or it
may be a little more, to ask four others of her West-end friends
to dinner one Sunday afternoon. The invitations were duly
forwarded, and answers, accepting them, were received in due
course. Unfortunately, the lady had not a sovereign in her pos-

76 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
session, and what was the next worst thing, she had neither credit
enough with any of her fellow-prisoners to get the loan of a few,
nor with the individual who furnishes the dinners to get a
dinner — to use the phraseology of the place — " on tick." She
had, in other words, a heavy score in that quarter already.
What was to be done? It would be a fearful wound to her
pride, an awful outrage on her dignity, to ask friends to dinner
and yet have nothing to set before them when they came. She
saw there was no alternative but to endeavour to do something
by some means or other, with the party who acted as " provi
der " on such occasions. After in vain using every argument
and entreaty she could think of, to induce him to furnish the
requisite repast, and add the bill to the previous account, she at
last proposed that he should have a dinner, consisting of certain
things which she mentioned, ready by six o'clock next Sunday
afternoon ; adding, that she would by that time receive some
money, and pay him the amount before she would ask him to lay
the things on the table. To this he agreed, at the rate of
a guinea a-head, not doubting that when the guests were come,
they would rather pay for it than see their friend and themselves
made ridiculous. At all events, he determined that, if the
amount of the bill was not forthcoming, not a morsel should be
tasted, either by mine hostess or the guests. The day appointed
arrived ; so did the hour, and so did the friends. The lady was
as unencumbered by the circulating medium then as before. She
had not a shilling in her possession. To ask the loan of the
requisite sum from the friends she had invited, — in other words,
to ask them to pay for the dinner of which she had asked them
to partake, — was an expedient to which she was most unwilling
to resort. Telhng her friends that dinner would be on the table
presently, she begged to be excused for a minute or two ; and
so saying she hurried off to the party engaged to provide the
feast. She renewed her entreaties for credit once more, and was
most prodigal of her protestations that the amount of that parti
cular bill, as well as the old score, would be honourably and
cheerfully paid in a few days, by which time she was sure of
a liberal remittance from her friends. But all would not do ;
the "provider" was inexorable. His motto, after the experience he
had had already, was — " No money, no dinner." She left him,
and returned to her friends, thinking that if his heart did not
soften, the circumstance of the dinner being sure to be spoiled,
if not speedily eaten, and his thus losing money by it, would in
two or three minutes operate favourably on him. The lady told
her friends on her return, that dinner was not quite ready, but
would be in a minute or two. They, of course, assured her they
were in no hurry. About three minutes afterwards a knock

debtors' prisons — THE queen's bench. 77
was heard at the door. Mine hostess immediately opened it.
" Are you, ma'am, to have the dinner, or not ! " inquired a voice
on the landing.
" Hush ! hush ! don't speak so loud," answered the lady.
" Say at once, ma'am, whether I'm to bring it, or not."
" Yes, do ; bring it presently ; we're all waiting for it," said
she, in an under tone.
" The money, then, if you please, ma'am."
" O, do bring it, and I'll pay you to-morrow ; I will indeed."
" No, ma'am , not a morsel shall be brought without the
money : if you do not pay first, before I quit this place, I shall
go and dispose of it at a reduced price to the other prisoners. On
that, ma'am, I'm resolved," said the " provider," laying a peculiar
stress on the word resolved, and giving a forcible stroke with the
palm of his right hand to one of his legs a little above his knee.
This announcement, coupled with the energetic manner in
which it was made, alarmed the lady. She saw that if the
dinner was not got by some means or other, without loss of time,
it would not be got at all. The thought was horrifying ; it was
still more so, if possible, to think that it should be disposed of
to, and be eaten by, the vulgar herd of prisoners ; that their
palates should be regaled by the dainties provided for herself
and friends. " O ! the very idea was enough to annihilate one !"
She opened the door, and rushed half frantic into the room.
" My dear friends, how awkward ! O, I can scarcely utter a
word ! but the truth is, that I have been disappointed in a small
remittance I expected yesterday, and which I am sure to receive
to-morrow ; and this brute of a man is so rude and unmannerly
as not to give me credit even for a few hours. I'm quite ashamed ;
indeed, I am !"
The explanation of the cause of the non-appearance of the
dinner was unnecessary ; the party had overheard every word
that had passed between the lady and the other party.
They were as much confounded as herself ; each looked at the
other ; and what aggravated the unpleasantness of the circum
stances in which they were placed, was the fact that they had
not above a guinea amongst them all. In fact, not dreaming of
so " untoward" an affair, they had not thought of taking any
money with them. The confusion of the intended guests was
only made so much worse by the countless apologies and unspeak
able mortification of their friend, the lady prisoner. And if any
thing could have added yet more to the confusion of the lady's
friends, and rendered her own mortification complete, it would
have been the fact of hearing the party providing the dinner
singing out, in tones sufficiently stentorian to make all the pri
soners hear it, as he walked up and down the place—" A dinner

78 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
provided for '  *, to be disposed of in small portions,
at reduced prices." The lady's friends were obliged to return
home with empty stomachs, and she herself has not yet recovered
the shock which her pride received on the occasion.
I am convinced that the deprivation to which I have_ referred
of that respect and obeisance which are paid to the aristocracy
outside the walls of the prison, embitters their situation within,
much more than the mere confinement itself. In the course of
my visits to the place I have been often struck with the crest
fallen appearance of the scions of the aristocracy, when I have
seen them walking about on the pavement without any one
deigning to take the shghtest notice of them. Those only who
have been accustomed to be treated with the greatest deference,
and to have all manner of respect shown to them, just as if they
were a sort of superior beings, can form an idea of the depth
to which those persons fall in their own estimation, when they
are reduced to a level with the humblest individuals in the land.
It is worthy of observation, that there are generally a fair
sprinkling of the nobility in the Queen's Bench. Considering
the proportion which the aristocracy bears to the other inhabit
ants of the country, their relative number in the Bench to the
other prisoners is strikingly great. Take the aristocracy, strictly
so called, of the country at 5000, and the population of the
United Kingdom at 25,000,000, that would give only one aris
tocrat for 5000 of the people. Go to the Queen's Bench, and
you will usually find the nobility to be, to the people, in proper*
tion of one to one hundred and fifty ; which conclusively shows
that, considering their relative numbers, they much more gene
rally incur debts they are unable or unwilling to pay, than those
in the lower walks of life.
It were desirable for the sake of what Lord Grey would call
" the order," that the number of the nobility, who from time to
time grace the Queen's Bench, were not so great ; but there is
another class of persons whom every one must much more' regret
to see there. I mean the clergy of the church of England! The
number of clergymen imprisoned in that place for debt is
relatively great. Not long since there were no fewer than nine
or ten at once. I know of nothing more prejudicial to the inte
rests of that religion, whose ministers they profess to be, and
whose principles they solemnly swore on the day of their ordina
tion to have adopted from conviction, than that, through habits
of extravagance, to use no harsher terms, they should render
themselves amenable to the civil jurisprudence of their country.
A clergyman in the Queen's Bench, through misconduct of his

* The name was pronounced in full.

debtors' prisons  THE QUEEN's BENCH. 79
own, is a most painful spectacle. Not only is his own usefulness
ever afterwards impaired, but scandal is, through his means,
brought on Christianity itself. It is due to the Dissenters
to say, that while the Queen's Bench prison is scarcely ever — I
doubt if it be ever — without several clerical inmates, the circum
stance of one of their ministers being confined within its walls, is
an occurrence which hardly ever takes place.
There are always a considerable number of attorneys and
barristers in the Queen's Bench. I need scarcely say that in the
great majority of cases the attorneys were without practice, and
the barristers briefless, before their entrance. Some of the
former, however, manage to raise a tolerable business within
the walls of the prison. Strange as it may appear, it does some
times happen that persons have to date their prosperity in life to
their incarceration in the Queen's Bench. One remarkable in
stance consists with my personal knowledge. The party was a
barrister, but had never in his life had a single brief in his bag.
I am not sure, indeed, having no use for it, whether he had a
bag at all. He was sent to vegetate for ten or twelve months
in the Bench. While there he contracted an intimacy with one
of the prisoners of some station in society, and of considerable
wealth, though, through some illegal proceedings, temporarily
deprived of it. The case was laid before the briefless barrister,
and having abundant time on his hand he made himself com
pletely master of it in all its bearings. On his liberation he
undertook to bring it before the proper tribunal, making his re
muneration entirely dependent on his success. He did succeed :
the party was liberated, and he amply rewarded for his trouble.
But the remuneration he received was but a very subordinate
portion of the benefit he derived from the case. Possessed of
very respectable natural talents, and knowing the case so
thoroughly, he made so creditable a professional appearance in
court, that briefs, from that time, poured in on him in copious
abundance. This was the tide in his affairs of which Shakspeare
speaks : he wisely took it at the fountain, and it led on to fame
and fortune.
Of military men there is always a good number in the
Queen's Bench Prison. They consist of all degrees of rank ui
the service, from the general down to the officer of the humblest
grade. You can easily distinguish them from the rest of the
prisoners by the stiffness of their gait.
But of all classes of men to be found in the Queen's Bench,
that of authors, in proportion to their relative numbers to
society generally, is by far the most numerous. On some occa
sions they are to be seen in crowds, in that locality. Napoleon
called the English a nation of shopkeepers ; and when George

80 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
the Fourth visited Scotland, mistaking the hoHday clothes in
which the people were dressed to greet his arrival, for the
apparel in which they daily appeared, he called the Scotch
a nation of gentlemen. Were a foreigner, again, to make
his first place of visit, on his arrival in this country, the
Queen's Bench, he would, from the number of literary men he
would find among the inmates, immediately come to the conclu
sion that we were a nation of authors. Formerly, when the
privations and misfortunes of authors were adverted to, the
garrets of Grub-street were mentioned as the place where literary
men were chiefly to be found pining in want and wretchedness.
The miseries of authorship are still more forcibly illustrated in
the Bench. It is, beyond all comparison, the worst trade
going. For one man that succeeds in it, thousands fail. No
wonder that Sir Walter Scott always admonished young men of
literary tastes, not to dream of earning their bread by their
writings. Had he ever visited the Queen's Bench, he would
have been still more earnest in his cautions to them not to lean,
as he himself used to say, on so broken a reed, I have heard
of literary men who had themselves largely experienced the
wretchedness of making literature a profession, giving it as their
most earnest advice to their sons, never to think of making
authorship a trade ; and they have enforced their counsels and
cautions by a reference to particular cases of misery which have
resulted from the attempts thus made to earn their bread by their
literary labours. If such parents were to take their sons to the
Queen's Bench, and by that means bring before them examples
in wholesale, demonstrative of the pains and penalties of living,
or rather endeavouring to live, by literature, — their counsels
would have a much greater chance of making a permanent
impression, and of producing the intended effects.
The number of female prisoners in the Queen's Bench bears
but a small proportion to the male. I should think that, on an
average, there is not one woman for seven or eight of the
male sex.
It is curious, on a visit to the Queen's Bench, to contrast the
external appearance of the higher classes of the prisoners, after
they have been a short time in the place, with what it was before
their admission. The metamorphosis they undergo in the course
of a few months is almost incredible. It is sometimes so com
plete, that their own friends, one would think, would have some
difficulty in identifying them. Were they to meet them acci
dentally in the street, I am sure they would pass them by without
recognising them. It is quite a common thing to see noblemen
and gentlemen, who but a few months before were dressed, or,
as a tailor would say, " decorated," in the extreme of fashion ;

debtors' prisons  THE QUEEN'S BENCH. 81
persons, on whose apparel Stultz, and Willis, and Crellin, and
our other first-rate tailors, had expended all their ingenuity and
taste, in order to make an exquisite fit ; it is, I say, quite a
common thing to see such persons in the Bench nothing better
than the mere wrecks of dandyism. In some instances, you see
their wardrobe " all tattered and torn," just like that of the
little hero in the nursery-book, price one halfpenny, " who
kissed the maiden all forlorn." In many cases parties who on
their introduction to the Queen's Bench were dandies of the
first water, have not the means of " keeping up the steam of
Beau Brummellism ;" they have no cash, and what is worse for
them, no credit. In other cases, they have no inducement to
sustain their reputation as dandies: they see nobody, and are
seen by nobody, as they themselves phrase it. Hence they get
careless in the article of apparel ; and that carelessness eventu
ally degenerates into slovenliness. The brush comes in contact
with their clothes : button after button drops off without being
replaced, until they are pretty nearly buttonless. There is a
hole here, and a rent there. " The shine" is taken out of their
shoes, and is not put into them again. If Warren had no better
customers than the inmates of the Queen's Bench, he would be
obliged to advertise less. The columns of so many country papers
would not be enriched by the poetical praises of his " unrivalled,"
nor would those journals be so often embellished by the picture
of the cat fighting with her own shadow as reflected in the well-
polished boot. Then there are the hats of these broken-down
demi-dandies : they are, indeed, "shocking bad" ones, if they
are worthy of the name. The pile is gone, the colour is faded ;
they are broken and bruised all over. As regards their beards,
again, they find it the least troublesome course to let them have
their own way of it ; hence the chin, which on their entrance
was scraped by some tonsor as bare as if no crop had ever grown
on it, is embellished by a most abundant harvest of hair, which
is dignified with the name of mustachios.
There are always some persons in the Bench who illustrate the
old proverb of not learning wisdom from experience. A few months
since, there was a lady there, who had, after having been for seven
years an inmate before, procured her liberation. By a curious
coincidence, within a few days of her discharge she had the
further good fortune of coming into the possession of property
which had been left her by a deceased relation, to the amount of
4000Z. This might have kept her comfortable for Kfe, as she
had no one dependent on her for support. In a few weeks after
wards, she saw an advertisement in " The Times" newspaper, in
which the advertiser intimated his desire to meet with a party,
commanding a capital of 4000?., to enter with him into a specu
lation which he pledged himself would, the very first year, yield

82 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
a return of 50 per cent, on the money embarked in the affair.
The lady answered the advertisement; it was too tempting a
prospect to be slighted. A personal interview followed. The
advertiser, who was an exceedingly plausible person, assured her
that he had discovered a method of making candles of the first
quality without tallow, and that, if he had the command of
4000Z., wherewith to erect the necessary machinery, and to fit
up suitable premises, the party advancing the sum should be
received as full partner into the concern, and that the fortunes
of both would be made in a few years. The simple lady was
exceedingly pleased with the scheme ; she advanced the last far
thing of her money ; the ingenious rogue was, of course, no more
heard of; and, in exactly twelve months afterwards, she was sent
back to her old quarters in the Bench.
Very unexpected meetings sometimes take place between near
relations or intimate friends, in the Queen's Bench. Not long
since, a woman, moving in a respectable sphere of life, was com
mitted, as the phrase is, to the custody of the Marshalsea. She
had not been three hours in the place, when she was surprised to
see her daughter, who had lived in lodgings of her own, make
her appearance in the coffee-room. " Mercy on me, Matilda I
how did you hear so soon of my being here?" she exclaimed,
advancing to embrace her daughter. The latter uttered a shriek,
and fainted away at the sight of her mother. She had not heard
of her parent's incarceration. The coincidence of both being
imprisoned in one day for their individual debts was curious
enough. We often hear of agreeable surprises : this was a sur
prise of a very different kind : it was a most ^agreeable one for
both parties.
But a meeting of two friends in the Queen's Bench, under stiU
more singular circumstances, occurred a short time ago, Mr.
Bagster, a literary man in a small way, was most devotedly
attached to Miss Bridget Shrimps, who had been many years
known as a dress-maker, in the neighbourhood of Leicester-
square ; and his ardent affection was reciprocated on her part.
Never, indeed, did novehst lavish more high-wrought encomiums
on the ardour of the attachment entertained towards each other,
by any couple of imaginary lovers which his own fancy called into
being, than were merited by Mr. Bagster and Miss Shrimps.
Their love was on the eve, as it was right it should do, of attract
ing each other, by a sort of Siamese sympathy, towards the
hymeneal altar. Just three days more, and Miss "Shrimps would
have been metamorphosed into Mrs. Bagster ; but " the course
of true love" — the reader can complete the sentence. Mr. Bag
ster was one evening on his way, through Coventry-street, to
Miss Shrimps, to renew to her, his protestations of ardent and
unalterable attachment, and to make some necessary prepara,-.

DEBTORS' PRISONS— THE QUEEn's BENCH. 83
tiohs for the approaching nuptials, when he received a rather
smart tap on the right shoulder. He turned about, and encoun
tered the physiognomy of a personage whose visage, even in the
contemplation, had been associated for six months before with
very unpleasant feelings. Mr. Bagster was landed in an hour
or two afterwards in the Bench. That night did pass away ;
but it was an age to poor Mr. Bagster. The image of Miss
Shrimps haunted his mind continually, not even allowing
him one moment's repose. He thought next day what a
wretched person he must be if he was kept many weeks from
the embraces of Miss Shrimps. On the afternoon of the second
day, he sat down to unburden his mind by pouring into her ear,
thi'ough means of a letter, his woes, caused by his sudden and
unexpected separation from her. T.he letter, so far as it had pro
ceeded, was instinct with affection : it was full to overflowing of
protestations of undying attachment. " O, Miss Shrimps ! my
ever adored and ever adorable Miss Shrimps ! how shall I endure
the pangs of separation from you ! Last night was an age ; this
night will be an eternity, because of my not seeing you. Your
presence here would convert this miserable place into a para — "
Mr. Bagster was in the act of completing the sentence, by indit
ing the word " paradise," when interrupted by what he thought
a gentle knock at the door. " Who's there ? Any one there ? "
said he, leaving the word " paradise" in its incomplete state, and
raising his head and looking towards the door. He resumed
writing. No answer was returned to his queries.
" Yes, my  "
He was again interrupted by what he conceived to be another
gentle knock at the door.
" Any person there?" he again inquired, in a subdued tone of
voice, directing his eye towards the door.
Still there was no answer to his question.
" It's all imagination with me," he observed to himself.
" Yes, my dearest ! " resuming his epistolary employment ;
" yes, my dearest Bridget, your presence, which is but another
name for happiness, would convert even this miserable place into
a perfect paradise ; but how  "
A loud knock, which there was no mistaking, interrupted Mr.
Bagster a third time ; and throwing down the pen, he started to
his feet, and threw the door wide open in a moment. A female
figure appeared before him. " Bridget ! " he exclaimed, with an
expression of countenance which showed that he could hardly
credit the evidence of his eyes.
" O Francis ! 0, my  " The remainder of the sentence
was lost, in consequence of Miss Shrimps thrusting her face into
Mr. Bagster's breast. Mr. Bagster opened his arms as wide as

84 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
their length would admit of, to receive his Dulcinea, and then,
pressing her to his bosom, exclaimed, with a most emphatic sigh,
" 0, Bridget ! Bridget ! 0."
" Francis I " faintly ejaculated Bridget, looking up languish-
ingly in her lover's face.
" Bridget, my dear ! " responded the latter, with a sort of sob
which defies specification.
Miss Shrimps looked up in Mr. Bagster's face, but uttered
not a word.
Mr. Bagster looked down in Miss Shrimps's face, and was
equally silent.
" This is a meeting,'' gasped Bridget after a minute's pause ;
" a meeting  "
" It is a meeting, my dear !" answered Mr. Bagster. " But,
come inside." As he spoke, he led Miss Shrimps into his room,
seated her on a chair, and after both had begun to recover
from -the effects of so unexpected an interview, Mr. Bagster
handed to Miss Shrimps the letter he had been writing.
She forthwith commenced reading it, and on coming to the
tender passage which Mr. Bagster had been in the act of indit
ing when she knocked at the door, she threw down the letter,
and thrusting her arms round his neck, cordially embraced him.
" O, Bridget ! I'm so delighted you're come. But how shall
I bear the pang of parting from you when the gates are about to
be shut in the evening ? "
" My dear Francis, I'll stay here ; I won't leave you."
" But you must, my angel ; all strangers must quit previous
to the gates being shut."
" O ! but they won't ask me to go."
" Indeed they will, my dear ; they never allow any one but the
unhappy inmates to remain."
" Francis ! Francis ! How shall I teU you  "
Here Miss Shrimps gasped for breath, and seemed within a
few degrees of a regular swoon.
" Tell what, my dear?" inquired Mr. Bagster eagerly.
" Hoio shall I teU it ? " repeated Miss Shrimps, with additional
emphasis. " Do tell it, my dearest Bridget.''
" /am an inmate— a, prisoner, Francis," answered Miss Shrimps,
and she again buried her head most poetically in the breast of
Mr. Bagster.
" You don't say so !" exclaimed the latter, starting back on
the first intimation of the fact.
" I do, indeed," rejoined Miss Shrimps, clinging still closer to
Mr. Bagster.
" Bridget ! my adored Bridget ! I'm happy to hear it," ob
served Mr. B'agster with great emphasis, after a moment's reflec-

DEBTORS PRISONS — THE QUEEN's BENCH. 85
tion ; and as he spoke, he pressed Miss Shrimps with redoubled
vigour to his bosom.
" O, I'm so happy to hear you say so ! "
" I was afraid, Bridget, that I might forfeit your affections
when you discovered that I was in embarrassed circumstances."
" And I laboured under a similar apprehension when you found
out the state of my pecuniary matters," rejoined Miss Shrimps.
" We are now again on a footing of perfect equality," remarked
Mr. Bagster.
" Quite so," answered Miss Shrimps ; and the lovers again
embraced each other.
They were both liberated in six weeks ; and before the seventh
week had passed away, Miss Shrimps was transformed into Mrs.
Bagster. And there was, after all, more philosophy in the mutual con
gratulations of the lovers, on finding themselves both in prison
for debt, than might appear on the first blush of the thing. The
one would not, in the bickerings which are incidental, as if by
some sort of moral necessity, to the matrimonial state, be able to
reproach the other with a stigma which attached equally to each.
The same philosophy dictated the mutual confessions of Dr. John
son and the lady to whom he was paying his addresses, immediately
before their marriage. " I had a near relation who was hanged,"
said the lady, in order that the Doctor might not afterwards have
any ground for accusing her of concealing the fact, or of reproach
ing her, with any justice, with the circumstance. " My dear,"
said the lexicographer, " there is no inequality in our circum
stances in that respect ; for though no near relation of mine has
been hanged, I have at least twenty who deserve to be so."
I have alluded, in a former part of the chapter, to the length
of time which some of the present prisoners have been inmates of
the Queen's Bench ; and also to the causes, in some cases, of their
protracted imprisonment. There is one of these individuals who
has been fifteen or sixteen years in the place, simply because he
refuses to answer certain questions put to him by the commis
sioners of bankrupts. He has been several times before those
gentlemen, and might, at any time since he was first committed,
have procured his liberation by saying either "Aye," or " No"
to their queries. But no consideration will induce him to use
either of these monosyllables in connexion with their questions,
though he has no particular objection to the words in other
circumstances. On one occasion he was brought before Lord
Brougham, then Lord Chancellor, with a view to the overcoming
what the commissioners of bankrupts call his obstinacy ; and
his Lordship made every effort in his power to get either an affir
mative or negative answer to the questions referred to ; but with
out effect. " Why, my good man," said his Lordship, in the most

86 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
winning tone of which he was master,— never, by the way, very
winning at any time, — " why, my good man, would it not be
a very simple thing to answer affirmatively or negatively the ques
tion put you?"
The prisoner was silent.
" Your conduct is most extraordinary," added his Lordship,
giving a twitch or two to his nose.
Still the prisoner uttered not a syllable.
" You are not asked to answer the questions in any parti
cular wav, but only to give such answers as are in accordance
with the truth."
Not a word proceeded from the prisoner.
" Can't you," resumed his Lordship, in his usual tart and hasty
manner, and imparting a variety of very violent twitches to the
aforesaid part of his face ; "can't you say ' Yes or No ?' "
Whether his Lordship was aware that, in putting the matter
to the prisoner in this way, he was quoting the title of one of
Lord Mulgrave's novels, I cannot say ; but the prisoner con
tinued as mute as before.
" Then, Sir, you won't say either ' Yes or No ?'" repeated Lord
Brougham, with additional warmth.
" No," said the prisoner, in an audible voice.
" O, then," observed his Lordship, in a subdued t9ne, and his
countenance assuming a much milder expression ; " O, then, you
mean, at last, to answer the questions in the negative, do you?"
" Certainly not," answered the prisoner in a firm and steady
voice. I meant by ' No,' that I did not intend to answer them
either way."
" Officers," shouted Lord Brougham, addressing the parties in
whose custody the prisoner was ; " officers, remove this person
back to prison." And he was re- transferred to the Bench accord
ingly, where he has remained ever since.
There are some prisoners, again, who, so far from going into
the Bench with the determination of remaining there for a length
ened period, enter it with the full determination, and under the
assured conviction, of not being in it above a few weeks at furthest.
There was some months since, and I suppose is still, an individual
in it, of the name of Such, who has been an inmate, without once
crossing its threshold, for more than twenty years, who on his
incarceration felt so assured of his being liberated next day, that
be observed to Mr. Sams, a fellow-prisoner who had been a pre
vious acquaintance, that he had come to a resolution not to take
off his boots while he remained there. " Don't be too sure of
I'Ggaining your liberty so promptly," observed the other.
" If I don't get out to-morrow, I'll jump down my own throat,"
rejoined the other.
This promise to jump down his own throat was a favourite

debtors' prisons — THE QUEEn's BENCH. 87
expression of his, when pledging his word to anything which he
was confident would occur.
The hour for shutting the gates next evening arrived, without
any appearance of Mr. Such being liberated. " Come, now," said
Mr. Sams, on the bell being rung for the departure of stran
gers, — " Come, now, I suppose you'll have no objection to take
off your boots ?"
" Take them off ! Certainly not ; perfectly sure of getting out
to-morrow. If I don't, I'll jump down my own throat; blame
me, if I don't!"
" P'r'aps you would like your boots cleaned. Sir?" said a man
of all-work, on seeing the unpolished aspect they presented next
morning, as Mr. Such promenaded the pavement.
" 0, not at all, my good man. I'll have them cleaned in the
Tavistock Hotel in a few hours."
"Vould'nt you better, have them done now?" inquired the
other, having an eye to the penny which was his usual charge.
" Certainly not : I'm resolved they shall never come off my
feet while here ; far less, have them cleaned."
" Veil, Sir, but you knows as how, if you don't get out o' this
here place so soon as you expects, you must take them off to get
them cleaned, for decency's sake."
" O, I'm quite certain of getting out to-day : there can be no
mistake about the matter. I'll jump down my own throat, if
there be."
That day passed away like its two predecessors, and still Mr.
Such's efforts to procure his liberation were unsuccessful. " Come,
come," said his friend, " don't be so foolish; off witli your boots,
and go to bed at the usual time, and in the usual manner, like
other people."
" Will I ! — Not for worlds. I have pledged my word that I
shall not take off my boots while I remain in this place. How-.
ever, I know the causes why I have not already regained my
liberty. All owing to accidental circumstances : but sure to be
out to-day. Here goes, if I don't." As he uttered the last sen
tence, he pointed his finger to his open mouth.
Nearly a month elapsed, during every day of which Mr. Such
was repeatedly urged by one or more of his fellow-prisoners to
take off his boots ; but to each of their entreaties he rephed by a
threatened descent of his own throat, if he did not get out be
fore night. By the close of the fourth day of his incarceration,
he was so uncomfortable and exhausted with sitting up all night,
or only lying down for a few hours with his clothes on, that he
was obliged to go to bed Hke other people, only that he neither
doffed his boots nor trowsers. Just about the commencement of
his fifth week, his toes began to peep out between the soles and
uppers of his " understandings," — as he sometimes facetiously

88 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
called his boots. This was deemed by Mr. Sams a fortunate
circumstance. He thought the boots of Mr. Such must come off
now, whether he was willing or not. " Mr. Such," said he, " your
boots want mending."
" Why, I know that," observed the latter, coolly.
" Take them off, and I'll send for a cobbler to have them
mended." " 0, not at all, Mr, Sams ; though equally obliged to you for
your kind offer."
'• Why, really, Mr. Such, you are carrying the joke a little too
far. You look quite ridiculous with your toes staring people in
' the face that way," pointing to his feet.
" Can't help it ; it will only be for this one day more. I'm
sure to be out before nine this evening. If I be not, I'm down
directly." The latter sentence was accompanied by the appro
priate action of again pointing to his open mouth.
" Come, come, no more nonsense, Mr. Such. Let me bring
you a cobbler at once."
" O, bring him by all means, if you please ; only, if my boots
are to be mended, they must be so on my feet."
" Well, Sir, have your own way of it. Keep them on till dooms
day, if you wish it," observed Mr. Sams in an angry tone, as he
quitted Mr. Such's room. Mr. Sams determined with himself that
he would never again utter a syllable to him on the subject.
In about a fortnight afterwards, one of the prisoners, in pass
ing Mr. Such, chanced to accost him with " Not out yet, Mr.
Such?" He was surprised at not receiving the usual reply of
" I will be out to-night, though. If I don't, down my own
throat I go."
" You should be advised, and take off your boots, Mr. Such."
" /won't take them off," replied Mr. Such, in a subdued tone,
looking significantly at his feet.
" Will you allow me to take them off?"
" O, if you wish it, I have no objections ; only, I don't do it
myself: I won't break my word."
The other endeavoured to release him from the state of living
martyrdom in which he had been for seven weeks, but found his
legs were so swollen, that the boots could not be got off in the
usual way. They were obliged to be cut off in pieces. When
the process had been completed, and Mr. Such saw the frag
ments lying before him, he observed, with something between a
sigh and a groan, " O, there they are ! I have now no longer any
wish to regain my freedom. Here I am willing to live and die."
From that time, nearly a quarter of a century ago, the eccentric
gentleman has never been heard to express a desire to get out of
the Bench ; while his favourite threat of jumping down his own
throat has never since escaped his lips.

89

CHAPTER III.

THE LUMBER TROOP.
Origin of the Troop — Distinguished members — Coat of Arms — Troop Hall — Ad
mission of distinguished members — Remarks ou the Charge delivered on the
admission of Troopers of distinction — System of punishments adopted by the
Troop — Scenes which sometimes occur on the proposed exaction of fines — ^An
instance given — ^Visit of the City Members to Troop Hall — Their speeches on the
occasion — The uproarious scenes which sometimes occiu- — Specimen of one —
Miscellaneous Observations.
The period at which this body was first formed, cannot now be
ascertained. Ask a member of the " Ancient and Honourable
Lumber Troop ," the time when it was first instituted, and his
answer will be — " Its origin is lost in the mist of ages." This,
at any rate, is the answer I have always got from the Troopers
when I have questioned them as to the origin of the Troop.
Some intelligent persons are of opinion that it was originally
instituted to commemorate the destruction of the Spanish Ar
mada, in Queen Elizabeth's time. I do not see any probability
in this hypothesis ; for so far as I am acquainted with the annals
of the Lumber Troop, I can discover no connexion which it could
ever have had with that event. Others are of opinion that it
was founded in the reign of Queen Anne. This theory also
appears to me to be untenable ; for some of the writers in the
commencement of that reign, allude to it as a body of some
standing. Besides there is a portrait of some noted Trooper
of a former period, in the Hall, which, from the style of paint
ing, coupled with the costume of the Trooper, could not have
been taken posterior to the time of the second Charles.
But though the precise time of the institution of the " Ancient
and Honourable Lumber Troop" is thus involved in uncertainty,
there seems to be a pretty general concurrence of opinion as to
the circumstances under which it originated. The general im
pression among the members themselves is, that it originated in
the circumstance of a few boon and frolicsome acquaintances
being in the habit of meeting together to spend their evenings in
the same pubUc-house, and that one of the number having, in
joke, proposed that they should call themselves a Troop, for the
purpose of burlesquing the then trained-band of London, immor-
H

90 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
tahzed by Cowper in his John Gilpin, — they agreed to the pro
posal ; and that afterwards, by way of ridiculing themselves, or
rather of having their joke at each other's expense, they called
themselves the " Lumber" Troop ; meaning that, instead of being
available soldiers, they were no better than so much mere lum
ber. If this hypothesis be correct, we can have no difficulty in
coming to the conclusion that the very imposing adjectives of
" Ancient and Honourable" were prefixed in the same spirit of
burlesque. From first to last, there have been many members of distinc
tion in the Lumber Troop. Such persons, however, have joined
it, in most cases, from a pure love of fun. Prince George of Den
mark, the consort of Queen Anne, was a Lumber Trooper ; and so
was Hogarth, the prince of humorous painters. In fact, Hogarth
joined the Troop with the view of forwarding his professional
business. Some of his best subjects were selected from Troop
Hall. John Harrison, of Bell-yard, Temple-bar, an eccentric
personage, who kept a tobacco-shop, and went to all the meet
ings of the Troop with his pockets stuffed with tobacco, which he
sold in retail to the Troopers, is supposed to be the character
whom Hogarth represents in his " Modern Midnight Conversa
tion," as leaning over the parson when challenged to di-ink to a
particular, toast. The allusion will be better understood by the
following lines : —
" Warm'd and wound up to proper height,
He vows to still maintain the fight ;
The brave surviving priest assails,
And fairly  s the first that fails ;
Fills up a bumper to the best
In Christendom, for that's the taste :
The parson simpers at the feast,
And puts it forward to the rest."
One thing is clear, from this morsel of poetry,— if the latter
word be not a misnomer,— namely, that the Troopers of a cen
tury since were equally renowned with some of their descendants
of the present day for their love of jollity. Hogarth, in return
for the professional advantage which he derived from the Troop,
through the oddities of some of its members, made it a present
of a design by himself for a coat of arms. As most people wiU
be curious to see what so great a genius designed for so droll a
body of persons as the Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop,
I here give a correct engraving of it, onlv premising that a simi
lar engraving is given on the ticket of every member on his
admission.

THE LUMBER TROOP.

91

There is a common impression among the members of the
Troop, that Prince Blucher, the celebrated general, was a
Trooper. Past-Colonel Birch assures me that such was not the
fact ; buj: adds, that the mistake is a very natural one, as one
of his most intimate friends, who was almost always in his com
pany when in this country, joined the Troop, and received from
it, on the occasion, the very appropriate present of a brace of
pistols. The late Alderman Waithman evinced a lively solicitude
in the fortunes of the Troop : so did Sir John Key, for a tirae.
The latter gentleman, indeed, when lord mayor, gave a consi
derable number of the Troopers, and their wives, a grand ball
and supper at the Mansion-house. Sir John Hobhouse was also
a Trooper, when member for Westminster : but all these gentle
men had political objects to serve by joining the Troop, the
members being, almost to a man, of liberal opinions in politics.
I shall afterwards have occasion to refer to the fact of the pre
sent members for the city of London being Lumber Troopers
for the same reason.
Troop Hall, the " head-quarters" of the Troop, is in Bolt-
court, Fleet-street, in the very house where Dr. Johnson so long
lived, and where many of his greatest works were written.
This place is called the Doctor Johnson Tavern, and is kept by
Mr. Beck, the Suttler of the Troop. Troop Hall is open to the
public on the payment of twopence by each individual who en
ters. As he presents himself at the door, he is asked whether he
be a Trooper or visitor, and on answering that he is the latter, his
name is inserted in a book as such. If he do not wish to give
h2

92 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
his right name, he can assume one for the occasion. When he
takes his seat in the Hall, he is politely waited on by one of
Mr. Beck's servants, who coaxingly looks in his face, and says
" What will you take. Sir?" The visitor may order a pint of
ale, or some brandy-and-water, or anything else in the subterra
nean regions of the suttler ; only if it be heavy-wet, the favourite
beverage, according to the Tory journals, of Dr. Wade, he will
not be allowed to drink it out of " the pewter," that being con
trary to a formal resolution of the Troop ; but out of a glass.
The Troopers also order what they please, provided they pay for
it; but until about thirty years ago, the immemorial practice
was to pay sevenpence on their entrance ; they being allowed
to drink, without any further charge, as much porter as they
pleased, and to call for as much tobacco, technically tenned
" Troop-sand," as they could consume at the sitting. This regu
lation was found to answer extremely well for the suttler, for a
time ; but some blacksmiths, whose throats were full of smoke,
thought that to join the Troop was an excellent way of giving
them, at a cheap rate, a thorough " clearing out," as they them
selves used to say ; but the suttler made the discovery that the
quantity of " Entire," requisite for the purifying operation, cost
himself at least twice the sum of sevenpence. Hence the change
to the charge of twopence on entering, and paying for whatever
should be ordered.
Troop Hall is a spacious room, beautifully fitted up -with a
variety of military trappings. On the walls are hung a number
of well-executed portraits of distinguished Troopers, while on
the table or bench, where the Colonel presides, there are two
mortars ; and projecting from the wall, at the Colonel's back,
are twenty-one guns, and a sword seven or eight feet long.
The Lumber Troopers have certain great occasions, on which
new members of importance or celebrity are admitted into the
fraternity, amidst much show of pomp and circumstance. It is
impossible to describe the interest which the Troopers generally
manifest on such occasions. There is a peculiar animation in
their eyes, and their countenances glow with an unusual bright
ness. Not more important is the coronation of a sovereign to
other people, than is the admission of a member, amidst " the
proper forms," to the Troopers. They magnify it into an im
portance of which the uninitiated can form no conception. The
ceremony has nothing very comphcated about it. After being
declared duly elected, the affair begins. The first thing to be
done, is to present the newly-made Trooper to the Colonel, whose
self-importance on such occasions is so great, that it is matter
of wonder that there is not a reahzation of the fate of the frog

lusLdJinic*' a Comrade.

THE LUMBER TROOP. 93
in the fable, which would not rest satisfied with the proportions
which nature had assigned it, but must needs distend its little
body in the hope of forcing itself out to the dimensions of the ox.
Every one knows what was the result. Every Colonel of the
Lumber Troop is, in like manner, so self-consequential on the
great occasions to which I refer, and struts about with an air of
such importance, that it is really surprising no explosive acci
dent occurs to him. When the new-made Trooper is presented
in due form to the Colonel, which is always done by the Ser
jeant, the robe -master standing by his right hand, thus addresses
him : " Sir, allow me to invest you with the star and ribbon
worn by William the Fourth's grandfather, when Prince of
Wales." The robe-master always assumes a very dignified
aspect when performing his part of the ceremony. He moves
as stiffly as if he were a piece of wood, instead of a human being ;
only that when he comes to extend his hand to bestow the
ribbon and star on the newly-created Trooper, he does contrive
to make a bow, and thereby shows that there are joints in his
body. The robe-master then decks out the person of the
newly-enlisted Trooper with the insignia of the corps, by attach
ing the ribbon to his left shoulder, and affixing the star to his
left breast. This done, you see the countenances of all the
Troopers beaming with ineffable joy at the circumstance of
receiving a new comrade ; and that joy is so great that, but for
their rising to their feet, and giving vent to it in roars of
applause which would almost drown the thunder of their own
artillery, there is no saying what might be the consequences.
Some of them, indeed, might die from the very excess of their joy
and happiness. Of the feelings of the party himself, when he sees
the ribbon floating from his shoulder, and beholds the star deco
rating his breast, I will say nothing: no description could do
them justice. Grattan, the Irish orator, in one of those beauti
ful figures of speech of which he was so distinguished a master,
speaks of a man walking forth in all the majesty of freedom. I
wish Grattan had seen a newly-made Lumber Trooper strutting
about in all the majesty of a " comrade. " I am convinced, if he
had, he would have blushed at the thought of having used the
metaphorical expression to which I have referred, as appHed to
one's emancipation from slavery. He would have seen how vastly
superior — at least, in the party's own estimation — was the ma
jesty of the Trooper to that of the freeman.
The next part of the initiatory ceremony is for the Colonel to
fill his cup with ale, and drink to the new-made comrade. The
Colonel having quaffed the contents, which most of the colonels
are remarkably expert at doing, he is to transfer the empty cup

•}

94 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
to the robe-master, who takes it, and, filling it to the brim,
hands it to the new-made comrade, saying, " Take this in your
right hand, and repeat after me—' To the Colonel, the rest of
the officers and comrades, and prosperity to the A.ncient and
Honourable Lumber Troop : ' drink this toast : it is the only
thing we have to require of you." The new Trooper repeats the
words audibly, swills the ale, and is then pronounced a comrade.
He is next addressed by the Colonel in the following lines, which
are called "The Charge:"
Let the Freemasons boast of what they please, 'j
Or Gormagons (of origin Chinese),
The Troopers are as ancient as these.
To this illustrious Troop you have now a right :
We are merry, drink, and sing, but seldom fight.
We had rather meet within this house to dine.
Than beat a march t'other side the Rhine.
But should our country's foes our rights invade,
And our great noble king * require our aid,
No Troop more ready then to take the field,
The first to battle, and the last to yield.
To show that we are free from war's alarms,
Bacchus and Ceres both support our arms :
A bowl of punch does in the centre flow ;
The moon and stars above, lantern below.
For crest there stands a butt of Doniine,
Perch'd on the top of which an owl you see ;
Apparently, this emblem well implies,
That Troopers, though they're merry, still are wise.
Our motto (  ) means, if you construct it right,
In nocte lattamuv.
The merry Troopers revel in the night.
^otu for jiour profits ;
You've twenty pounds a-year as private man ;
To get which sum, you must do the best you can ;
Lend to the Troop a buck oft as you please,
Breeches made of its skin shall be your fees.
If, on a march, you're pennyless and dry.
And  , t our suttler 's house, is nigh,
* Of course the phrase " great noble queen" ought now to be substituted.
t A blank is left here to be filled up with the name of the suttler for the time
being. Mr. Beck, of the " Doctor Johnson," being the present suttler, the reader
can write his name in the blank.

THE LUMBER TEOOP. 95
Boldly advance, and claim a Trooper's due —
Some bread and cheese, a pint of ale (not two).
Don't impose on us — pray have a care ;
For if your pockets are search'd, and money there,
'Tis not only paying for your bread and cheese.
But expulsion you've to fear, should the Colonel please.
If yon at midnight chimes, when Troopers roam,
With strength renew'd should seek your happy home,
And being too much prim'd, — unlucky wight ! —
Should chance to oifend the guardians of the night,
And are by constables, who'll hear no reason.
Under strong guard sent to the nearest prison ;
Next morn, before the justice takes his chair.
Send for the Colonel or the Treasurer :
You'll quickly be discharged, if they appear.
But if they come not to afford you aid,
And your discharge thereby should be delay'd.
Why then submit to law, and pay your fees.
And the Troop will contribute what they please.
The following song used to be always sung by the assembled
company immediately after the delivery of the Charge ; but it has
been omitted on some late occasions :
SONG.
We are full ten thousand brave boys.
Content with a competent wealth ;
And we make an agreeable noise
When we drink to our Colonel's good health.
We scorn to accept any pay.
Each man keeps himself and his steed :
We frequently moisten our clay.
And fight for the King* when there's need.
Our Troop is of excellent blood.
Each man has a generous soul ;
I'm sure it will do your heart good
To go and join the jolly Troop bowl.
There is another verse, but it is not altogether fit for the
public eye, and therefore I omit it.
The newly-made Trooper then descends from the elevated
place which -had been the theatre of all his glory, into the
midst of his comrades, by whom he is received with an enthu
siasm equal to any thing of the kind with which the most dis-
* Read the Queen now.

96 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
tinguished conquering hero of ancient Greece or Rome, was ever
received by his grateful and admiring countrymen.
The task of commentator is one which I do not often take
upon myself, but here the temptation is too great to be resisted.
By whom the above piece of poetry, if so it must be called, was
written, is as great a mystery as is the authorship of Junius.
My researches on the subject have only conducted me to two
certain conclusions ; which conclusions are, that it was written
in Pope's time, but not by Pope himself. There is internal evi
dence of the clearest kind, that the versifier who did the affair,
must either have been by nature as destitute of brains as the
artillery of the Troop, or that, if he ever had any, they must
have been " stole away" by the ale or brandy of the suttler.
But let the poetry of the "Charge" and its authorship pass;
and now for a word or two on the Charge itself.
The first line which deserves notice is the fourth :
" We are merry, drink, and sing, but seldom fight."
This is partly true and partly not. The first clause is perfectly
correct in point of fact : the latter clause is to be received with
certain qualifications. A " merrier" race than the Lumber
Troopers are not to be found. They are the most hearty and
jolly assemblage of beings with whom I have had the fortune to
meet. The merriment of some of the comrades occasionally
verges on " Merry Andrewism" itself. If any one wishes to see
a specimen of Lumber Troop merriment, let him visit the " head
quarters" on any of the evenings on which there is a particular
muster of the Troop, There his eyes and ears will afford him
ample proof of the attainments of the Troopers, both in the art
of drinking and singing. See how constantly and actively the
waiters of the suttler are engaged in meeting the demands of the
comrades, officers and all, for ale, stout, gin, brandy, and so
forth ; and see how suddenly the new supplies vanish. " Bring
me another go, William," is a command enjoined on the poor
fellow before he has had time to give the change for the one he
has just brought. And while one set of Troopers are thus dis
playing such dexterity at absorbing anything and everything in
the shape of liquids which comes before them, another set are
putting their vocal capabilities to the test. Some are singing,
others are roaring : between the two classes of performers, there
is no lack of sound.
But the Troopers, it seems, if the .statements of the " Charge"
may be credited, " Seldom fight."
It is quite true that they arc as innocent, as the most peaceably
disposed people in Christendom could desire, of ever fighting

THE LUMBER TBOOP. 97
with deadly weapons, or with any of their country's enemies ;
nevertheless they do have their occasional skirmishes among
themselves. Their weapons in such cases, are usually their
tongues; but these last are sometimes followed by their fists.
Pugilistic encounters, however, are, it is but justice to the An
cient and Honourable Lumber Troop, to say, of very rare occur
rence. They are not only, taken as a body, the most pacifically
disposed set of soldiers, in reference to other people, I have ever
seen, but they usually breathe a most peaceable spirit as regards
each other. It is not to be denied, that a little martially-
inchned personage, who is remarkable for the quantity of Edin
burgh ale he drinks, without at all exhibiting the slightest
symptoms of a tendency to inebriety, but who having, on a late
occasion, so far forgot himself as to intermingle four " goes" of
brandy-and-water with half-a-dozen glasses of his favourite beve
rage ; it is, I say, quite true, that he, on a recent occasion, sallied
out to the streets, and meeting with no fellow-mortal who would
accept of his challenge to fight, " pitched in," to use his own
elegant phraseology, to a lamp-post. It is unnecessary to say
that in this conflict he came off second best. He not only
knocked his hands, but his head, against his metallic antagonist,
of which conclusive proofs were afforded by his person for several
weeks afterwards. There are various other instances in which
the heroes of the Lumber Troop have, on leaving head-quar
ters, quarrelled with pohcemen, and after a regular fight been
safely transferred to the watch-house, which a Trooper always
calls the Black Hole. And there is one recent instance of a
Tro&per going home, and, in the ardour of his military zeal, giv
ing his wife a sound beating, under the idea that she was one
of some imaginary " enemies" that were running in his mind.
But these are only exceptions to the rule ; and they occur so
seldom, that it is hardly fair to allude to them. As a body of
martial men, the Troopers are the most harmless and peaceable
personages in Christendom. Their artillery has not only never
destroyed the life of a single human being, but it has never dis
charged a single ball.
Let me not be understood as at all reflecting on the bravery
of the Troopers, when adverting to the fact that they have never
been engaged in any great martial enterprise. They don't under
take to peril their lives in war, except their country were imhap-
pily invaded by some foreign foe. In such a case, if their own
word may be taken, they would distinguish themselves in the
battle-field by deeds of surpassing prowess. Hear what they say :
" But should our country's foes our rights invade.
And our great noble King (Queen) require our aid,

98 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
No Troop more ready then to take the field ;
The first to battle, and the last to yield."
Brave boys ! Captain Bobadil himself was not a bit more
valorous at his own fireside, than are the Ancient and Honour
able Lumber Troop in Troop Hall. They would put to the blush
the forty-second regiment of Scottish Highlanders, who won for
themselves so brilliant and enduring a reputation on the field of
Waterloo. Even the valour of the heroes of Thermopylse would
shrink from a comparison with the martial exploits of the
Troopers, did circumstances call the latter to the field of battle.
Passing over various points in the " Charge" which invite com
ment, I come to the line —
" If you at midnight chimes, when Troopers roam," &c.
This roaming at midnight is one of the worst things connected
with the Troop. It is the grand objection which many wives
have to their husbands enlisting under its banners. Why don't
the more domestic class of the Troopers endeavour to procure a
law for the expulsion from the body of those who, on quitting
Troop Hall, do not go direct home ?
The natural consequence of " roaming at midnight chimes" is
clearly predicted :
" And are by constables, who'll hear no reason,
Under strong guard sent to the nearest prison," &c.
The number of " unlucky wights" belonging to the Troop, " too
much prim'd," as the " Charge" has it, who are nightly sent to
prison, is greater than is usually supposed, owing to the circum
stance that, from regard to the character of the corps, they
seldom represent themselves as members of the Ancient and
Honourable Lumber Troop. The phrase " constables who'll
hear no reason," is exceedingly just and happy. Pohcemen
are the most unreasonable class of men who are to be met
with, when they chance to encounter an " unlucky wight" of a
Trooper, " too much prim'd," roaming about " at midnight.
chimes." A word or two now on the " Song." The first fine an
nounces an important fact :
" We are full ten thousand brave boys."
The number of Troopers necessarily varies : at present the num
ber is estimated at from 8000 to 9000. They are scattered
abroad, not only through the British empire, but over all the
world. There is not a part of the civilized globe where Lumber
Troopers are not to be met with ; and when two comrades do

THE LUMBER TEOOP. 99
happen to meet in some distant part of the earth, the friendship
they evince for each other, and their mutual joy at the meet
ing, baffle all description. But though the number of Lumber
Troopers be what I have mentioned, they seldom muster above
1000 strong at a time. The great gatherings with them are
at the annual meetings for the election of the Colonel and officers.
" And we make an agreeable noise
When we drink our Colonel's good health."
That the Troopers do make a noise, when in their more uproari
ous moods, nobody who has ever been in their head- quarters can
deny. But that this noise is agreeable, is a point on which
a difference of opinion obtains. Ask the good people of Bolt-
court, that being the place nearest to Troop-hall, whether they
think the noise caused by the " comrades" agreeable? They will,
on the contrary, one and all, pronounce it to be of a most dis-
agreeable kind. Those of them, indeed, who are conversant
with ^sop, will quote for you the fable of the Boys and the
Frogs, observing that the " noise" may be amusement to the
Troopers, but that it is death, or a species of living martyrdom,
which is the next greatest earthly evil, to everybody else.
" Our Troop is of excellent blood :"
This remains to be proved ; and until it has been so, there wiU
be a difference of opinion on the subject. Why do not the
Troopers achieve some glorious exploits, to set the question as
to the quahty of their blood, at rest ?
" Each man has a generous soul."
Far be it from me to deny this ; only it were as well that the
Troopers gave some proof of the thing by performing some glo
rious deeds : others would then be forward to admit the fact.
Coming from the Troopers themselves, it smacks of egotism, to
say the least of it.
" I'm sure it will do your heart good
To go and join the jolly Troop-bowl."
This is all true. The Troopers, as before mentioned, are the
most "jolly" set of mortals in Europe: only see them over
their " Troop-bowl," and then doubt it who can. But I will
not expatiate on this topic further; abundant proofs of the
jolly disposition, and jolly conduct of the Troopers, will be found
in this chapter.
The system. of punishments which obtains in Lumber Troop
Hall, is as lenient as the most strenuous advocates for a gentle
code of penalties, could desire. The soldier who is found asleep
at his post in her Majesty's army, subjects himself to the penalty

100 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
of death : in the Lumber Troop, the punishment to the officer
who takes a nap is one shilling ; and for the same offence, when
committed by a private, sixpence. The soldier who gets drunk
in her Majesty's service, when on duty, incurs the penalty of as
many lashes as the surgeon of the regiment conceives may be
inflicted without actually flogging the soul out of the body : an
officer in the Lumber Troop who gets drunk, escapes on payment
of a shilling ; and a private, on paying the penalty of sixpence.
There are various other still more lenient punishments for minor
offences ; but it is unnecessary to refer to them.
The proposed or actual exaction of the fines often leads to
amusing scenes in Troop Hall. Some time ago, on a rather imr
portant occasion, the gallant Colonel himself* either had so
forgotten himself as to have degenerated into a temporary doze,
or was supposed to have committed that outrage on the dignity
of his office. " I'm blow'd if that 'ere comrade there," pointing
to the Colonel, " bean't a-sleepin' ! " shouted a Mr. Jambo, a
green-grocer of homely manners, and of a still more homely per
sonal appearance, who had been made a Trooper the week before,
and who having the rule against sleeping on duty fresh on his
mind, deemed it proper, in the plenitude of his zeal as a new
recruit, to give intimation of the circumstance.
" Do you hear that. Colonel?" said another officer who was
sitting next to him, giving him a gentle shake by the arm, his
head being at the time drooping in his breast.
"What is it?" said the gallant gentleman, in a gruff and
drowsy voice, not deigning to raise his head to its usual position.
" Why, you're charged with being asleep."
" Who charges me with it ?" inquired the Colonel, in a smart
and determined tone, and looking up with neck erect, as if
strongly resenting the dishonourable imputation,
" ^hy, comrade  What's the Trooper's name who pre
ferred the charge ?" As the officer, whose name I did not learn,
spoke, he looked in the direction of the Trooper making the
charge with great eagerness, not doubting that as he had for
gotten his name, he would come boldly forward at once, and
avow himself,
" My name is Jambo," said the vaHant green-grocer, with
much energy.
" Oh, aye ; comrade Jambo," observed the officer, nodding to
the vender of vegetables.
" Comrade Jambo 1" echoed a hundred voices at once.
" You said, did you not, comrade Jambo, that the Colonel
was asleep?" inquired the officer in question, encouragingly.
* Not the present Colonel,

THE LUMBER TBOOP. 101
" I did, and I does,'''' shouted Mr. Jambo, with an air of im
mense importance.
" I say it's a  •" Here the Colonel was about to say
something in a loud and energetic tone; but having checked
himself, as if conscious he had been on the eve of uttering some
great verbal impropriety, he continued in a lower voice. " I say
it's a downright untruth."
" Order ! order ! " shouted a score or two of very excellent
voices. " I say, with comrade Jambo," remarked a little pot-bellied
proprietor of a neighbouring public-house ; " I say, with him,
that the Colonel vas asleep."
" And so do I," said another Trooper.
" And me too," added a third.
" And a lot on us saw him," cried a fourth. Who the latter
Trooper represented, it was not so easy to ascertain; unless,
indeed, they were the proprietors of eighteen or twenty voices
which severally exclaimed " I saw him a-sleepin'."
" Brother officers and comrades," said the gallant Colonel,
rising up, and addressing the Troopers with as important and
dignified an air as if he had been some general of celebrity
addressing his soldiers on the eve of some great battle. " Bro
ther officers and comrades, I deny the charge ; there is no truth
in it. I was not asleep. Comrade Potter, did you see me
asleep?" " No, I didn't," answered the latter, with an edifying promp
titude, as he rose up in the body of the room.
" I thought so," observed the gallant Colonel, in a tone of
self-gratulation. " Comrade Dunderhead, did you see me
a-sleepin'?" " Certainly not. Colonel," answered a very bustling conse
quential-looking personage, with a face as red and glowing as a
full moon, at the farthest end of the room, the appeal having
been made to him.
" Or did you see it, comrade Short ?"
" See what?" answered a little man, -with infinite good-nature
in his physiognomy, who was just entering Troop Hall.
" See me asleep ?" repeated the Colonel.
" I object to the question being put to him," interposed com
rade Cotton, with great warmth. " He can't know nothin' about
it ; for he was not in the Hall at the time."
" Raally, gintlemen," said an unadulterated Irishman, mount
ing one of the chairs, while his face displayed the most intense
anxiety mingled with benevolence; "raally, gintlemen, that
person," pointing to the Colonel, " ought not to be condemned
without the clearest proof. Remember, gintlemen, that if he be

i02 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
found guilty of slaping at his post, he'll be shot dead for it. And,
gintlemen, it's  "
While poor simple Pat was thus interposing, from pure hu
manity in favour of the gallant Colonel, he was interrupted by
comrade Joss inquiring whether he was a Trooper.
" I don't Imow what you mane. Sir."
" Do you belong to the Ancient and Honourable Lumber
Troop?" " Is it, am I a soldier, your honour manes ?"
The Troopers looked each other in the face.
" Have you joined this body?" inquired another, thinking the
question might be more level to the capacity of the Irishman
when put in that form,
" Och ! sure and it's myself did join, when I came into this
same place a few minits ago. And it's myself could not bear to
think of that gintlemin being shot for slapin', if he didn't slape
at all at all."
It was now clear to all that poor Pat was no Trooper ; but
that having been recently imported from the Emerald Isle, he
had gone into Troop Hall simply because he saw the door open,
and others entering ; and that confounding the Troopers, from
the strictness of the military phraseology he heard spoken in the
Hall, with a regular military force, and knowing that to sleep on
duty was death to the soldier, — he became alarmed for the fate of
the gallant Colonel.
" Fellow officers, and comrades all," said the Colonel, in a
stentorian voice, and giving a smart knock on the table to com
mand attention ; " fellow officers, and comrades all, I pledge my
honour, as the Colonel of the Ancient and Honourable Lumber
Troop, that I was not asleep."
Loud cheers from the gallant Colonel's special friends fol
lowed the emphatic declaration.
" I say you was," shouted comrade Jambo, in an equally loud
and energetic voice.
" And so do I," said comrade Collins.
" And I too," observed comrade Wink.
" And I also," bawled out some dozen comrades all at once.
" I rise to order," said comrade Slow, assuming a perpendi
cular position, and looking immensely dignified and indignant.
"Really, if such a scene as this is to be any longer exhibited, it
will cover the Troop with deep and indelible disgrace. Possibly
there^ is a little mistake on both sides." (Cries of " No mis
take," from both parties, with tremendous uproar.) " Really,
comrades," continued comrade Slow, " if this sort of work is to
go on much longer, there is no saying  "
" I beg pardon for interrupting you, comrade Slow," inter-

THE LUMBER TROOP. 103
posed some other comrade, whose name I could not learn, ad
dressing himself to the Trooper who was playing the orator ; " I
beg pardon for interrupting you ; but possibly the suggestion I
have to throw out may set this matter to rest. It  "
Here the speaker was himself interrupted by some of the other
comrades singing out, " Out with the suggestion at once, then."
(Cries of " Order ! order!")
The other resumed, on order being restored. " If comrade
 , what do you call him? — I do not know the gentleman's
name, —would only be kind enough to hold his tongue till I
finish my sentence, he would then be at liberty to speak as much
and as long as he pleases. What I was going to say, officers
and comrades, was, that possibly the Colonel had only been
dozing." " I deny the fact," said the Colonel, indignantly.
"What is the difference between dozing and sleeping?" in
quired comrade Smallshins in an under tone, addressing himself
to comrade Trench, who sat opposite to him.
" Bless'd, if I knows," answered Trench, who was a journey
man blacksmith.
" / knows the differens," observed a diminutive, thin-faced,
imshaved Trooper, on the left hand of comrade Smallshins.
" Then, what is it ? " inquired comrade Trench.
" O, I knows, ' replied the other, with a significant shake of
the head, which was promptly followed by a copious draught of
the suttler's best ale.1
"And why don't you tell us?" inquired Smallshins, slightly
offended at the reserve of the little thin-faced personage.
" Veil, then, the differens is this," answered the latter, look
ing as wise as if he had been a second Solomon; " ven a man
sleeps, he is asleep ; but vhen he's a-dozin', he is neither asleep
nor avake."
" O, that's it, is it?" said Trench, with. marked emphasis, as
if he had clearly comprehended the luminous distinction.
" That's it!" nodded the other, with quite an oracular aspect,
withdrawing the pipe from his mouth for the double purpose of
uttering the couple of words, and ridding the interior of his
speaking-box of an immense quantity of smoke which had accu
mulated in it.
This conversation between the two Troopers was carried on in
an under tone, and was confined to themselves. It consequently
offered no interruption to the discussion which was then pro
ceeding among the Troopers, as a body, respecting the alleged
fact of the Colonel having resigned himself for a moment to the
embraces of Morpheus.

104 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" Comrades ! " shouted comrade Slow, " our Colonel denies
that he was even dozing. I  "
"I do ! " interrupted the Colonel, with prodigious emphasis ;
" and I will rather re  "
Here the gallant gentleman was interrupted in his turn by
comrade Slow, who protested against being interrupted by the
Colonel. " Comrades!" continued Mr. Slow, knocking his fist
on the table with great warmth ; " comrades, you all know it
is the duty of the Colonel to preserve order, and to procure a
patient hearing for any Trooper who chooses to address the
Troop ; but instead of this, he himself  "
" I deny it. Sir." (Loud cries of " Order ! order !")
" Will you allow me to make the charge. Sir, before you deny
it ? " (Tumultuous applause.)
When the cheers had subsided, comrade Slow resumed. " I
was about to state, my brave comrades," laying great stress on
the word " brave ;" "I was about to state, when interrupted by
the Colonel, — ^by the Colonel, comrades, — that instead of keeping
order, as from the nature of the important office he fills he is
bound to do, he is the first to set the example of d/worder."
(Loud cheers, mingled with equally loud hisses, and deafening
cries of " Order ! order ! ")
Here the Colonel rose, and looking a perfect tempest of in
dignation at the indignity cast upon him, or, as he himself
termed it, the outrage offered to the office he filled, was about
to address the Troop, when an officer of an inferior grade inter
posed, by stepping in before him, and thus intercepting his view
of the Troopers. " Really," said the interposing party, " if this
unseemly squabble be not put an end to, the Ancient and Honour
able Lumber Troop will be disgraced in the eyes of the civilized
world." (Loud cries of " Hear, hear ! ")
" You're right," exclaimed some unknown comrade in the
body of the Hall ; " and, therefore, the best way to put ah end
to this unsoldierly squabble, will be to take the sense of the
Troop on the question."
" On what question ?" inquired a short thick-set cheesemonger,
rejoicing in the appropriate appellation of conu'ade Stilton.
" Why, the question of whether the Colonel was or was not
asleep ?" replied the other.
" Oh, that's it, is it ?" observed Stilton, seemingly quite enlight
ened by the reply.
" But I cannot put the question myself," said the Colonel, in
a subdued tone, doubtless from a conviction that his acquittal
from the serious charge would be carried by a large majority.
" Oh, I'll put it," said the officer before alluded to. " As many

THE LUMBER TROOP. 105
of the Troop as are of opinion that the Colonel was asleep, will
please to signify the same by holding up their hands." Twenty-
six hands responded to the call.
" You that are of opinion that the Colonel was awake, will
hold up yours." The identical number of twenty-six, including the
fist of the officer putting the question, was again held up, amidst
loud laughter, and cheers from those who espoused the Mor
pheus side of the question.
" The numbers, fellow officers and comrades," said the officer,
" are equal ; but I see a great many Troopers who have not
voted at all."
The reason why many did not vote, was that they had not
been paying any attention to the Colonel before the charge was
made, while a considerable number declared that they could only
conscientiously vote for the dozing view of the matter. " Then I
say now, as I said before," observed the Colonel, thrusting up his
right hand in a perpendicular position, " that I was not asleep."
" Carried, by a majority of one, that the Colonel was not
asleep," said the officer.
The announcement was received with deafening plaudits by
the friends of the gallant gentleman, and with much dissatisfac
tion by the hostile party.
I have before stated, that among the distinguished members of
the Troop may be mentioned the four representatives of the city
of London ; namely, Mr. Alderman Wood, Messrs. Grote, Craw
ford, and Pattison. These gentlemen, however, are not Troopers
on whom much dependence is to be placed. I am pretty confi
dent I may say, without any breach of charity, that the honour
able gentlemen whose names I have just mentioned, only join
the Troop for electioneering purposes, and that they never bestow
a thought either on it or its affairs from one general election
time to another. Of this I am certain, for I heard some of
themselves state the fact at the last general election, that they
never attend any of its meetings, except one or two immediately
previous to the polling-day. When an election is about to take
place in the city of London, a special meeting of the Troop is inva
riably called, to receive, in true military style, comrades Wood,
Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, each of whose names being at
the particular period minus the magical M.P., and the parties
being anxious to have the appendage restored, submit with an
exemplary patience to all the nonsensical ceremonies observed
on such occasions. I was present at the last visit of Messrs.
Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, to the head-quarters _ of
the Troop, where their " comrades" were all met to receive
them. There sat the Colonel, whose name I forget just now—
which, however, is no great matter, and will, I dare say, be
no great privation to the reader — there sat the Colonel on a

106 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
sort of elevation at the farthest end of the room, regularly
equipped in what I suppose was the military uniform of the
Troop. Instead of a sword, or any other warlike weapon, he
held in his hand a brass hammer ; so, at least, it appeared
to me ; and anything more necessary or appropriate he could
not have grasped. The " use," as Shakspeare would have
said, to which this hammer was to be applied, was that of
giving the noisy a hint to be silent, by a rather smart knock on a
sort of desk which lay before the Colonel ; and which desk, let
me observe in justice to it, possessed the most wonderful acous
tical properties I have ever witnessed in any thing of the kind.
I have often admired the sounding capabilities of a little red-
looking box on the table of the House of Commons, especially
when thumped by Sir Robert Peel ; but the sounds evoked by
the hammer of the gallant Colonel of the Lumber Troop from
the small desk, which on this occasion lay on the table before
him, would, I q,m convinced, have made the box on the table of
the House of Commons quite ashamed of itself. And it was of
no ordinary importance to the proceedings of the Lumber Troop
on the evening in question — as it is, I doubt not, to its proceed
ings on every occasion on which it meets — that this desk should
be able to perform the function of emitting sounds of first-rate
power ; for really the noise of the Troop was so great that it would
have drowned any ordinary sounds which the Colonel, by means of
his hammer, might have made, and consequently his commands '
could not have been heard. Need I add that, according to all
the admitted rules of sound reasoning, if they had not been
heard, they could not have been obeyed? To speak a truth,
" the men" were not over prompt in their obedience to the
commands of their gallant Colonel as it was ; but this, though
bad enough in itself, was not quite so bad as it would have been
had they not been obeyed at all.
Comrades Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, were received,
on entering the " head-quarters" of the Troop, with all due
honours. Their fellow-soldiers, though bearing no musketry
with which to greet them on their appearance by firing a salute,
could nevertheless boast of weapons of another kind, which were
duly charged. Each had his " go" of brandy-and-water, or some
other " ardent spirit " and water, before him. The four gentle
men visiting the Troop must have been highly gratified with the
display of " ardent spirits," in a double sense, before them ; for
it is only doing the Troop justice to take for granted, that all
" the men" composing it are, as all soldiers ought to be, " ar
dent spirits." Comrades Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Patti
son, having been greeted with thunders of applause on their
entrance, — I do not mean the thunder caused by artillery, but the

Cheering -the speech of a CaraTade

THE LUMBER TROOP. 107
thunder caused by the throats of the troops,— marched up in
regular military style to an open space set apart for them on
the right hand of the gallant Colonel who presided on the occa
sion. On reaching their destined station in the " head-quarters"
of the Troop, their comrades set up another loud shout of
applause. And no wonder though they did ; for what soldier
would not rejoice once more to meet with an old fellow " trooper"
after an absence of several years ? Every face beamed with de
light at seeing Comrades Wood, Grote, Crawford, and Pattison,
once more in Troop Hall. The latter, I doubt not, were much
gratified with their reception ; for many of their fellow-soldiers
had votes to bestow at the approaching elections, and those who
had not could influence persons who had. The thing, therefore,
was all perfectly intelligible on both sides.
A great many little matters, which, not being a military man,
I cannot well describe, having been disposed of. Comrade Wood,
as being, I suppose, the senior of the other three as a member
of Parliament, if not of the Ancient and Honourable Lumber
Troop, — first rose to address his fellow-soldiers : and really I had
no- previous conception, that one of whom I had never heard a
word, except in his capacity of politician or citizen, could be so
intimately conversant with military phraseology, as the worthy
Alderman — I must still occasionally call him by his civic title —
proved himself to be. After adjusting his collar, and standing
up d la militaire,. he commenced thus :--'' Colonel, officers, andt
comrades ! " and then proceeded to express the supreme satis-
factibn with which he again met his gallant companions in arms,
after an absence of three years. He assured them, however,
tha,t though not with them, he had not been an idle soldier, but
had been fighting for them and for his country. It was true, he
continued, that the battles in which he had been engaged, since he
last appeared among his fellow-soldiers of the Ancient and
Honourable Lumber Troop, were bloodless battles; but they
were not less important battles on that account. He referred,
he added, to the battles in which he had been engaged in the
House of Commons with the common enemy of the country and
the human race. Need he say to whom he alluded ? (Cries of
*' The Tories, of course.") Yes, said comrade Wood, the Tories ;
and he was ready to go and Ijattle with them again ; and he
hoped his gallant comrades would, in the true spirit of soldier
ship, assist him in his ambition again to measure swords with
the enemy on the field of conflict in the House of Commons.
Comrade Wood, still standing in that stiff and upright position
peculiar to military men, went on at some length in the same
strain, amidst the loud applause of his fellow-troopers. And not
content with his soldier-like aspect and warlike phraseology, he
I 2

108 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
actually endeavoured, and with tolerable success, to mimic the
mode of pronunciation, in addressing his fellow-soldiers, which
dandy officers sometimes adopt. The word " here," the gal
lant gentleman pronounced "eeor;" and the word "years,"
" ye-o-ars ; " and so on with most of the other terms he used in
the course of his military harangue.
Comrade Grote's turn came next. The gallant gentleman
deserves all praise for the attitude he assumed while dehvering
his oration. He pulled himself up immediately on starting to
his feet, and looked as stiff and erect all the while he retained
his perpendicular position, as if he had been for a long series of
years in the army ; but the matter of his address to his fellow-
soldiers, was not at all in keeping with the military character.
In imitation of the gallant gentleman (Comrade Wood) who pre
ceded him, he certainly did manage to begin with " Colonel,
officers, and comrades I " but scarcely had these soldierly terms
crossed his lips, than he flew off at a tangent to the subject of
the ballot ; and, to make the matter worse, he never found his
way back to military topics or military phraseology during the
whole course of his somewhat lengthened address. It is but
right, however, to say that, though his speech was so unmili-
tary, if I may invent a word, it was vociferously applauded by
the Troopers. If I may hazard a hypothesis, I should say that
the secret of this was, that the time chosen by Comrades Wood,
Grote, Crawford, and Pattison, for this visit to the head-quar
ters of the Troop, being, as before stated, on the eve of a general
election, the soldiers assembled on the occasion merged their
character as military men, for the moment, in that of politicians.
Next came Comrade Crawford. This gallant gentleman ap
peared to me the most unsoldier-like personage I have ever
seen. He had not a particle of the manner of a martial man
about him, and could not manage to string a couple of mihtary
phrases together. Instead of standing, like his two comrades,
Wood and Grote, in the erect and dignified attitude of a sol
dier, he, in the fervour of the fit of speechification with which he
was seized, repeatedly put his person into a diagonal position,
and to scores of other positions which I will not name, because I
cannot ; into every position, in a word, except that which be
came a hero of the Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop to
assume. His attitude sometimes resembled that of a disciple of
Tom Spring or Dutch Sam. Had I been the Colonel, I would
have ordered him off at once to the awkward squad department
of the service, and given peremptory instructions to the officers
to see that he was properly drilled into his military movements
before he again undertook to exhibit before his fellow-soldiers.
The applause with which his performances were received was very

THE LUMBER TBOOP. 109
faint and feeble indeed, compared with that with which the
addresses of the two gallant gentlemen who preceded him were
greeted. Whether it was owing to the ignorance of military
phraseology and military attitudes which Comrade Crawford
displayed, I cannot say ; but the fact was that the Troopers,
generally, before he had finished his address, began to exhibit
manifestations of insubordination; and it was with no incon
siderable difficulty, aided as he was by the hammer before
referred to, that the gallant Colonel could maintain order.
Not content with telegraphing Suttler Beck, the proprietor of
the head-quarters of the Troop, and his waiters, by winking
with one eye and making significant motions to " charge" their
glasses again with brandy-and-water, and to bring them a fresh
supply of " 'baccy ; " not content with this, some of the more
undisciplined of the band uttered a variety of ludicrous expres
sions, and conducted themselves altogether in a most unmilitary
manner during the time their gallant comrade was addressing them.
Knowing that Comrade Pattison's turn would come next, and
feeling so disappointed by the unsoldier-like address and deport
ment of Comrade Crawford, I had withdrawn my eye and atten
tion from the latter military gentleman for some time before he
resumed his seat, and fixed both on Comrade Pattison. I felt
for him ; and, what is worthy of mention, though I saw others
who were suffering from the closeness of the room and the
atmosphere of cigar and tobacco smoke within which they were
enveloped, — I somehow or other felt for nobody but himself. I
never saw a human being look more uncomfortable in my life.
The infinite "joUiness" of countenance which I had always
before seen characterize him, and which I had persuaded myself
could only disappear with life itself, had completely vanished
before his turn came to harangue his fellow-soldiers. Poor
Comrade Pattison ! I can fancy I see him at this moment. Not
more out of its element would a fish be on dry land, than was the
gallant gentleman on that occasion in the head- quarters of the
Lumber Troop. And no wonder, truly ; for, in addition to the
unmeaning military jargon he was, the whole of the evening,
doomed to hear— the soldierly attitudes he saw everybody
around him attempting to assume — and a closeness and un
pleasantness of atmosphere which could only have been sur
passed by that of the memorable Black Hole of Calcutta, which
proved so awfully destructive of life to those who were doomed
to breathe it ; in addition to all this, some of the Troopers who
sat opposite to him kept up— whether intentionally or not it is
not for me to say— a constant battery of smoke at his face.
They emitted it at him in such continued streams, that it ap
peared to him for some time quite a matter of choice, whether

110 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
he should suffer martyrdom from the suffocating volumes of
tobacco smoke which came from across the table ; or whether he
should come by it by hermetically sealing his mouth with the
view of shutting out the tobacco exhalations. It required no
great stretch of imagination to arrive at the conclusion, that he
was all this while contrasting, in his own mind, the blessings of
the Bank parlour with the miseries he was then enduring. At
length his turn came, and with wonderful alacrity did he take
to his pedestals. For some moments before, he was all but invi
sible through the dense clouds of smoke which filled the place :
not more smoky, indeed, could it have appeared though aU the
artillery of the Troop had been for some time before engaged in
discharging a succession of rounds. I had my fears that when
he rose, I might not get a sight of him ; but from some cause or
other, which it is beyond the reach of my philosophy to explain,
the smoke, contemporaneously with his rising to address his com
rades, did partially disappear in the immediate locality of the
spot where he had taken up his position, and I got a tolerably
fair view of him. The remaining smoke, however, had the effect
of operating, in so far as my optics were concerned, as a magni
fying medium ; for great as are the geometrical dimensions or
physical proportions of Comrade Pattison at any time, they now
appeared to me of a vastly increased magnitude. But let that
pass. Comrade Pattison made short work of it : his speech had
the merit of brevity. It was pre-eminently short ; and because
short, it was sweet. He proved that he was no wordy warrior :
this appeared to me to augur well for him as a Trooper. I
always find that those persons do the most who say the least.
He resumed his seat with all due expedition, and in a few seconds
after was to be seen in Fleet-street. I am strongly of opinion
that Comrade Pattison would rather lose his election next time
for the city of London, than spend such another hour or so
with his fellow-soldiers at their head-quarters at Mr. Beck's,
Bolt-court. I have ^abeady referred to the artillery or musketry of the
Lumber Troop. Which is the proper term, is more than I can
determine; for their fire-pieces are in the form of cannons,
though not larger than guns. Some of the London journals
gave great offence to the Troop, by caUing their fire-pieces pop-
guns, a few weeks ago. They have also two mortars of decent
dimensions. The Troop only discharge their artillery on great
occasions : the last time, I believe, was when the ever-memorable
Mary-le-bone Festival of 1836, took place at St. John's Wood.
The moment that Mr, Wakley, the member for Finsbury, arrived
at the scene of that great festival, there were nearly five thou
sand persons, including the ladies, present. Several rounds were

THE LUMBER TROOP. Ill
fired, to testify the respect of the Troop for Comrade Wakley. It
was proposed, and also eventually agreed to, to fire the guns on the
occasion of the late visit of her Majesty to the city of London.
One of the Troopers, a past suttler, however, through his indivi
dual interference, prevented the intentions of the Troop being
carried into effect. He communicated to the Lord Mayor the
resolution of the Troop, and the circumstance being brought
before a Court of Aldermen, they interdicted all firing in the
City on that day. As might be expected, the conduct of this
comrade became the subject of discussion on the next meeting of
the Troop, which took place on Wednesday evening, the 1st of
November. Of all the scenes which it has ever been my lot to
witness, that which was exhibited on the evening in question
was, out of sight, the most extraordinary. I will venture to
say that it was unparalleled even in the annals of the Troop
itself. At all events, all the Troopers with whom I have con
versed on the subject, say they never saw anything like it. In
attempting to give some idea of it, I seriously assure my readers —
and scores of individuals who were present will bear testimony
to the truth of what I say — that so far from exaggerating the
exhibitions of that evening, no description can come up to the
reality. The motion before the Ancient and Honourable Lumber
Troop, when the scene began, related to the rescinding or suspen
sion of a resolution which had been come to at the previous meet
ing, expressive of the intention of the Troop to salute her Ma
jesty, by a volley from Troop Hall, when she entered the City at
Temple-bar. Four or five Troopers were reproaching comrade
Stout for having communicated the intention of the Troop to the
City authorities, and thus frustrated their wishes, when he ob
served that he had been deputed by some other Troopers to do
what he had done.
Seven or eight comrades — "Who deputed you to do it?
Name, name." (Loud cheers, and cries of " Hear, hoar !")
Comrade Stout raised his glass of brandy-and-water to his
mouth with infinite coolness, but uttered not a word.
Comrade Blood — There's a pretty go of it, to undertake to
do anything of the kind, and then shelter himself under the au
thority of some other Troopers. (Hear, hear, hear, he-ar ! and
laughter at the drawling way in which the last " hear" was
pronounced.) Comrade Stout— I say that I did not shelter myself under
the authority of any one. (Cries of " Oh, oh !" " Attention!"
and great uproar.)
Comrade Blank— Colonel, officers, and comrades, I rise to
order. I protest against this proceeding. We have nothing

112 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
before us. If we are to have a debate, let us have something to
debate about. (Cries of " So we have," drowned by cries of
" We have not.")
Comrade Blank, with prodigious emphasis — I say we have
not : the resolution has not yet been read.
A perfect hurricane of cries of " Read the resolution," " Read
the resolution," succeeded the last observation.
Major Stumps — The resolution is on the books, and there
fore there is no necessity for reading it.
Deafening cries of " There is, there is," " Read it, read it,"
followed this remark. In the midst of this uproar, eight or ten
Troopers rose all at once in different parts of the Hall, each
protesting, in the loudest tones, and with the most violent gesti
culation, — " I'll be heard ; I'm determined VU he heard." The
Colonel in the meantime kept knocking as regularly with his
brass hammer on the table as if h6 had been a blacksmith at the
anvil, accompanying every knock with a loud call for " Atten
tion." Past-Colonel Birch, on the other hand, who acted as
vice-chairman at the other end of the room, took the whole
thing with the most perfect coolness, smoking his pipe as if he
had been sitting at his own fireside, and never uttering a word,
or making any attempt to restore subordination among the dis
orderly Troops, beyond an occasional gentle application of his
hammer to the table. Amidst the Niagarian roar of Lumber
Troop voices, which threatened to " split the house," as one of
the visitors observed, that of Comrade Blood occasionally rose
above all the rest. He was heard repeatedly to say, though no
one paid the least attention to him — I rise to a pint —
(Cries of " A pint of half-and-half," and laughter,) — of order ;
and I von't be called down by any one. Not by any com
rade, he continued, after an expressive pause, and flourishing
his right hand above his head in the air. I'm an old officer of
this 'ere anshent and honourable Lumber Troop. — (Loud cries
of " No, no.") Who's that a-saying " No, no," I should like to
know ? Several voices here said—" I say it," followed by roars of
laughter, and an extraordinary scene of confusion, in the midst
of which. Comrade Trope was repeatedly heard roundly rating
the waiter for not bringing him a fresh supply of troop-sand.
At this moment, another Trooper named Tickler, rejoicing
in the rank of Heutenant-colonel, who had been on his legs for
the previous five minutes, but without uttering, or even attempt
ing to utter a word, now laid down the glass of ale he held in
his hand, and said, in a voice of stentorian power, " I'll stay
here till the Troop break up, rather than be defeated in my
attempts to obtain a hearing." (Cries of " I wish you may get
it," drowned amidst exclamations of " Hear him, hear him.")

THE LUMBER TROOP. 11,"
Lieutenant-colonel Tickler here looked at his watch: it wanted
precisely two hours to the usual time of breaking up the meet
ing. At this moment, some one behind the gallant officer, as a
proof of his respect for the Troop, and his own acquisitions in
military discipline, put an open handkerchief with a yellow
ground, and liberally embellished with large black spots, around
his head, which made the upper story of the Trooper look won
derfully like a leopard's hide. The walls of Troop Hall literally
resounded with the peals of laughter which followed. Not even
the gallant Colonel himself who presided, could in this instance
refrain from joining in the universal laugh, however indignant he
must have been at the deplorable want of military respect which
the party had exhibited.
When the roars of laughter had subsided, which they eventu
ally did from the mere exhaustion of the Troopers, the cry of
" Read the resolution" was again raised with redoubled vigour.
Lieutenant-colonel Tickler — Troopers may assail and at
tempt to annoy me in any way they please, but here I'll stand
till I'm heard. I've got plenty of time. My time is of no im
portance. (Laughter, mingled -with groans and hisses ; in the
midst of which, the gallant officer took out his box, and assisted
himself to a pinch of snuff with the most perfect composure ;
after which he called for another go of brandy and water — the
water to be quite hot.)
The Colonel here interposed with success, for the first time,
and said, addressing himself to Lieutenant -colonel Tickler — If
you wait till the resolution is read, I'll hear you for an hour, if
you like. (Loud cheers, in which the Lieutenant-colonel cordi
ally joined.)
At this moment, another officer, whose name I could not
learn, rose, and was proceeding to address the Troop, but had
not uttered many words, when his voice was drowned amidst
the universal uproar which followed.
The resolution was at length permitted to be read ; on which
Comrade Blank rose, and moved—" That the standing order of
the body be rescinded."
Lieutenant-colonel Tickler— Not "body;" "Troop," Sir, if you
please." Comrade Blank— Then " Troop," if you wish it, Mr. Critic ;
but I contend that the Troop is a body. (Loud cries of "No,
no," and " Yes, yes," amidst stentorian instructions to the waiters
to bring more troop-sand, and to fill up certain glasses again.)
A Trooper— The effect of the motion will be, if carried, to
prewent the firing of the artillery on the Queen's wisit to the
City. I vish to know vy ve should not persist in our original
intention ?

114 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
A host of voices— Because we've got a letter from the City
authorities a-forbiddin' it. (Loud cries of " Read the letter.")
Comrade Jones —I advise the Troop to be cautious ; for the
public press is ready to hold us up to ridicule. (Tremendous
cries of " No ! no I" with equally loud exclamations of " Yes !
yes!") Comrade Jones, with an emphatic application of his fist to the
table— I say yes, though. They ridicule us as smokers, revel
lers, and uproarious persons. (Boars of laughter.)
Comrade Blank — I rise. Colonel, officers, and comrades, to
order. ("Hear! hear! hear! hear! hear.") Comrade Jones
is quite out of order. He is not speaking to the question.
Comrade Jones (to Comrade Blank)— If you don't like my,
speech, I'm blow'd if you don't have a precious dose of it.
(Deafening peals of laughter, mingled with cries of " Oh, oh ! ")
After a moment's pause. Comrade Jones gave a significant
shake of his head, and said energetically — I say he shall,
though; aye, and so shall the Troop too. — (Renewed bursts
of laughter, with loud expressions of disapprobation.) I re
peat  (Loud cries of " Question ! question !") I'm asto
nished — (Here comrade Jones scornfully tossed his head, and
curled his lip) — I'm astonished at those who cry ' Question.' —
(Renewed cries of " Question ! question ! ") Yes, I do say
I'm asto  (Renewed cries of "Question! question!" from a
score of voices.) Will any person tell me that I am not speak
ing to the question ?
The ludicrous gravity with which this last sentence was spoken
was so great, that another universal shout of laughter resounded
through the room, as if all the Troopers had been subjected in a
moment to the effect of a mental electrical agency, — if there
be not an impropriety in the expression.
Comrade Jones — I repeat the question : will any man tell me
that I am not speaking to the question ?
Comrade Blank (winking at a friend) — I do.
As Comrade Blank uttered the last two words, he took a liberal
draught of cold water.
Comrade Jones (assuming an aspect of great seriousness) : —
Will you tell me your name, Sir ? — (Loud cries of " Order !
order!") Comrade Blank (quite coolly) — There is no occasion. (Laughr
ter and cheers.)
Comrade Jones — I must know what comrade I am address
ing. (Loud cries of " Order ! order !" " Chair ! chair !")
Comrade Blank — My name is Fergusson. (Loud laughter.)
A Trooper (with great energy) — I say that person's name
is not Fergu,sson. (Tremendous uproar, during which the gal-

THE LUMBER TUOOP. 115
lant Colonel in the chair, seeing the utter impossibility of pre
serving order, wisely determined, to use the phraseology of a
Trooper, to let the unruly and awkward squad have their full
swing.) The Trooper resumed, addressing himself to Comrade
Blank— You, Sir, are humbugging the Troop. Yes, Sir ; you
are, Sir. (Cries of " Shame ! shame ! ")
Comrade Jones (looking Comrade Blank fiercely in the face) —
You, Sir, have some aliases, perhaps. (Renewed cries of " Order !
order ! " and a frightful storm of uproar.)
The gallant Colonel, seeing the altercation and uproar were
likely to be protracted to midnight, if not put a stop to, here
interposed, and said that both comrades were out of order :
Comrade Blood, in not asking the gentleman's name through
the Chair ; and he in giving a wrong name.
Comrade Blank— Very good, Colonel : my name is not Fer
gusson. I'll tell you what my real name is, if Comrade Jones
sits down.
Comrade Jones— No, I won't. (Loud laughter.) Yes, I will.
(Renewed peals of laughter.) William, fill up this glass again.
Comrade Blank — Now, then. I'll first tell you why I called
myself Fergusson ; and then (looking towards Comrade Jones)
I'll give you my real name. It is—
Comrade Jones— I won't have it. (Loud laughter, and cries
of "Oh! oh!")
Comrade Blank — I won't answer any question unless I'm
heard. My name is Blank ; and if comrade Jones wishes my
address, it is — (Here a tremendous burst of applause greeted
Comrade Blank for the manly and courageous course which he
adopted.) The reason why I gave a wrong name was, that I
wished to have a little bit of pleasantry at Comrade Jones's ex
pense. (Deafening cries of " Order ! order !" " Chair ! chair !"
" Waiter, bring me another go of gin-and-water ; " " More troop-
sand here," &c.)
Comrade Jones — I'm quite delighted to hear it. (Loud
laughter.) I assure — (A cry of " Order ! " here proceeded
from some one in the body of the Hall.) Who calls ' Order,'
I should like to know ? Will anybody call ' Order' again ? I
assure friend Blank that —
Comrade Blank — I rise to order. Colonel. I insist on my
right to be called comrade. (Great applause.)
Comrade Jones (sneeringly) — Well, then. Comrade Blank gives
me his address as if I wished to call him_ out. I never fights
with any other weapon than this 'ere, (pointing to his tongue,
amidst great laughter and loud cheers.) I wish, (continued
Comrade Jones, looking to the Colonel ;) I wish the Colonel
would keep his brother officers in summut better order.—

116 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
(Loud cheers and laughter, mingled with a cry from the middle
of the Hall, " WiUiam, bring me some more 'baccy.")
The Colonel— 0, but I can't. (Shouts of laughter.)
Comrade Strap— I rise, Colonel, to move-
Comrade Pewter — I rise to order. I say-
Comrade Strap— 7 say. Sir, you hold your chat. (Laugh
ter, and cries of "Order! order!") I'm in possession of the
chair and the Troop, Sir. I move, as an amendment to the
motion for rescinding the resolution, that it be allowed to stand ;
my object being, that the guns should be fired on her Majesty's
visit to the City.
Comrade Blank— I rise to object to the amendment. 1
maintain —
Comrade Jones (interrupting Comrade Blank*)— You as
sume too much, young man.— (Loud laughter.) You cannot
object to it till it is seconded.— (Renewed laughter.)
Past-Colonel Hodson— I've seen many scenes in this place,
but I've never seen any one equal to this. ("Hear! hear!")
We are betrayed by Troopers. (Cries of " We are , we are.")
.A. Trooper (in a small penny-trumpet sort of voice) :— Yes, ve
is. I says it, too, past-colonel. Dash my buttons if we ain't
a-being burlesqued ! (Cries of " Hem ! hem !")
Comrade Franks— All this has come from the doings of a
disappointed past-suttler. (Immense applause.) Yes ; yon vot
now vishes to disgrace this 'ere Troop. (Renewed plaudits.)
Here Comrade Blank handed up to the Colonel the motion he
had made, as altered, and moved that it be read.
The Colonel commenced reading the resolution ; but when he
got to the third line, he made a dead pause.
Cries of " Read, read !" and " Go on !" resounded from all
parts of Troop Hall.
A Trooper— It's very easy to bawl out— anybody could do
that—' Read, read !' and ' Go on;' but can the Colonel read the
writing ? — Some more 'baccy, vaiter."(Loud laughter.)
The Colonel— No ; I can't ; and I don't think anybody could.
(Laughter and cheers.)
Comrade Blank — Give it to me, and I'll read it. (Cries of
" No, no ; it must be read by the Colonel.")
Comrade Blank — Then I insist that the Colonel read the
alterations made with the pencil. — Waiter, bring me some cold
water. (Loud laughter.)
The Colonel again closely scrutinized the pencilship, but was
still unable to proceed.
Comrade Blank— Oh ! you can't read it.
* Comrade Blank is a young man.

THE LUMBER TROOP. 117
Comrade Sprat — I rise to order. There's another insult to
the Colonel. I'll take (to the waiter) another go of brandy-and-
water, William.
The Colonel (his face brightening up at the circumstance of
being at last able to decipher the MS.) — Comrade Blank re
quests me to read the pencil writing exactly as it is. It is this,
then, officers and comrades : " That the sZanding orders — " (Loud
laughter, and yells of " Oh ! oh ! oh ! ")
The Colonel — I don't doubt that it means standing orders;
but I have read it as desired, exactly in the way in which it is
written. A Trooper (addressing himself very indignantly to Comrade
Blank) — Yes, Sir, you never scores the tops of your t's.
" No, you don't. Sir," echoed a dozen voices, their proprietors
severally standing up as they delivered themselves.
A Trooper — You aught to score your t's. Comrade Blank.
Another Trooper (with great emphasis) — And vy don't you
do it. Comrade Blank ?
Comrade Scraggs — Really, if we go on at this rate, we'll
never get through the business before the Troop (Loud cries
of " Hear ! hear ! " and of " Question ! question ! ")
Comrade Tugworth — I move that the amendment be put to
the vote.
A Trooper — Vat is the amendment ? May I be pounded in
a druggist's mortar, if I knows. — Vaiter, just bring me a little
more troop-sand. (Peals of laughter.)
Comrade Duckster — We can't put the amendment, because
it's not formal. (" Hear ! hear ! ")
Comrade Blank — O, never mind formalities : don't stand on
them. — (Loud cries of " Order ! order !" " Chair ! chair !" and
a scene of uproar, which defies description, followed this proposal
to depart from the rules of the Troop.) The scene continued for
some time ; and during the greater part of it, a forest of hands
were seen cleaving the air, and at least one half of the Troopers
present were either on chairs, or on their legs on the floor;
while the noise occasioned by the almost universal exclamations
or apostrophes to the gallant Colonel, was not only discordant
in the highest degree, but absolutely deafening. The Colonel
wisely leaned back in his chair until the Troopers had in some
degree exhausted themselves ; while the past-colonel, who pre
sided at the opposite end, renewed his old practice, on such
occasions, of applying his hammer, with a slow but steady hand,
to the table, at the rate, on an average, of ten times a minute
by the Lumber Troop clock.
" I never saw such an unruly Troop," said the Colonel, with
marked emphasis, and much vehemence of gesture, after order

113 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
had been in some degree restored. " I never saw such an unruly
Troop: 111 leave the chair directly." — (Loud cries of " No ! no !
Colonel ; don't do that ;" amidst a renewed scene of disorder and
uproar.) Comrade Tapster— The Colonel must put the original motion.
(Loud cries of " No ! no ! " " The amendment first,") followed
the proposition, and the noise and confusion became still greater
than before. Eight or ten Troopers were seen— for they could not
be Aear<?— addressing the Colonel at once; while others, in different
parts of the Hall, were disputing with and abusing one another
at the full stretch of their voice. Almost every one present was
on his legs ; while growls of " Bow, vow, vow ! " groans of every
kind, and zoological sounds in all their varieties — many of them
I am certain never heard before in any menagerie — issued from
every part of the room. And to complete the ludicrousness of
the scene, voices were now and then heard calling on the waiter
to bring a fresh supply of troop-sand, gin with cold water, brandy
" vith varm vater," &c. Order being again in some degree
restored. Comrade Manson said — Though I seconded the amendment,
I never meant to second it." — (Roars of laughter.)
The amendment was then withdrawn, and the original motion
declared to be carried.
Comrade Blank then rose, and said — I am now about to
make a motion for a vote of censure on the officer who
wrote to the Lord Mayor about the intention oi the Troop to
fire their guns on her Majesty's visit to the City ; and in doing
this, I beg to assure the Troop that I am not to be put down
by opposition bullies. (Deafening cries of " Order ! order ! "
" Chair ! chair ! " and cries of " Apologize," from comrade Tap
ster.) I will apologize ; and (looking Comrade Tapster in the
face) I will pay you in gold instead of copper. (Loud laughter.)
I am prepared to— (Here Comrade Blank was interrupted
by a growl, exceedingly like that emitted by a surly Newfound
land dog, from the left-hand corner of the Hall.) If you. Co
lonel, don't put a stop to this under-growling work, I'll sit down
•at once. Unless I be supported — (Here the interruption was
renewed from the same quarter, only that the sound was differ
ent,) Can you not. Colonel, put a stop to the braying of this
animal ? ( Loud laughter.) The press has been aspersed this
night; and before I make my motion, allow me to vindicate
the press of London from the aspersions thrown on it. (Cries
of " No ! no ! that has nothing to do with the question.") Well,
then, since I am denied the liberty of vindicating the character
of the London press, I'll confine myself to the motion.
Comrade Blank then proceeded to denounce, in the most un-

THE LUMBER TROOP. 119
compromising terms, the conduct of their officer, in writing to
the Lord Mayor ; and several other speakers gave expression
to their sentiments in the same strain, amidst peals of applause
which made the walls of Troop Hall resound again : and yet,
notwithstanding all this, and the groans and clamour also,
which were directed towards him from all parts of the room, the
criminated party smoked away at his pipe, supplied as it was
with additional troop-sand, and swilled suttler Beck's sparkling
ale, as if nothing had been the matter. When his turn came to
address the Troop in vindication of himself, he coolly rose, and
after looking about him for some time, began in the usual mili
tary phraseology of " Colonel, officers, and comrades ; " but be
fore he proceeded farther, he was assailed by such a volley of
yells, hisses, groans, and all sorts of menagerie sounds, that
a discharge of the Troop's twenty-one guns, with their two mor
tars to boot, would have been comparative silence itself. The
scene of uproar which had thus again commenced, lasted for
nearly an hour, during which the accused Trooper took up his hat
two or three times, and said he would " march" himself home
for the night ; but that he would be happy to hear his conduct
discussed any other evening the Troop chose to appoint. On
one of these occasions, he " marched" to the door of Troop
Hall, but was induced to return again, on some Trooper promis
ing he would be heard. The second presentation of himself,
however, only served, if possible, to add to the uproar. Eventu
ally he desisted from the attempt to address his comrades ; but
by this time almost every couple of Troopers in the Hall had
involved themselves in a nice, snug, private quarrel of their own.
The most noisy and the most distinguished of the number was a
"man with a Macintosh;" but whether he was a Trooper, or
only a visitor, nobody seemed to know. He conducted, with
very great spirit, indeed, a smart quarrel with sundry Troopers
at once. But his most formidable opponent was a knight of the
thimble. " You're a tailor. Sir," said " the man with the Mac
intosh" to his valorous adversary, who was a tall lean personage.
" And you're a wagabond," retorted Snip, giving a smart
knock on the table.
" Sir, I repeat, you're a tailor," said the other, sneeringly.
" And I say you're vorse nor a wagabond."
" Hold your tongue, old thread-the-needle."
" Sir, if you say that 'ere agin," said Snip, now wrought up to
the highest pitch of passion,—" I'll knock your  ; 1 will, as
sure as I stands in this 'ere place."
" You'll do what. Sir?" observed the " man with the Macin
tosh," eyeing the knight of the thinible steadily,
" Just call me a tailor, agin. Sir."

120 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" You are a tailor."
" I von't stand this insult any longer, may I  ! "
Here the hand of the tailor was raised, with the view of suit
ing the action to the implied threat ; but it was arrested in its
descent towards the person of his antagonist by a friend who
chanced at the moment to have elbowed his way towards the
particular part of Troop Hall in which the embryo pugilists were
stationed. " What's all this about ?" inquired Comrade Spunk, addressing
his friend the tailor.
" It's that 'ere person has been a insultin' of me and my trade,"
replied the latter, pointing to the " man with the Macintosh."
" In what way ? "
" Vy, he has called me a tailor, vich is no fault of mine. I
couldn't help it, if my father put me to learn that 'ere bisness."
" Pooh, pooh ! " said the other ; " if that's all, it is not worth
fighting about."
"Ay, but  "
The insulted tailor was about to say something, when the Co
lonel suddenly rose from his seat, and said that, as no attention
was paid to him, there was no use in his sitting there.
"Good night, then. Colonel — I'm off," observed the "man
with the Macintosh."
" And I'll be marching too," said another, taking up his hat,
and walking himself out of Troop Hall.
" And we'd better all be gone," shouted a third.
The suggestion was received with acclamation; the Colonel
observing that he had sate there for five hours without rehef. The
Troopers then quitted the Hall in a most irregular and unsoldier-
like manner, without having either adjourned the discussion, or
come to any decision on the motion before it.
I have always observed that -the uproarious scenes which are
so common in Troop Hall, occur when there is the greatest
muster of the Troopers. When the attendance is but limited,
nothing could pass off more smoothly or quietly. All are on
the most friendly terms, — as comrades ought to be. They smoke
their pipe, quaff their go of brandy-and-water, and enjoy their
song in the most perfect harmony. The Colonel, Past-Colonel
Birch, the Secretary, and a great many others whom it is unne
cessary to particularize, are as pleasant and intelligent men as
any one could wish to spend a social hour with.
One of the principal amusements of the Troopers, when there
is no important business to transact, is to hear one another sing.
And I have much pleasure in mentioning, that there are some
very excellent vocalists among the body. I have repeatedly
beard singing in Troop Hall which would do no discredit to per-

THE LUMBER TROOP. 121
sons who live, as Shakspeare would say, by "discoursing the
sweet music" of their voices. And what has always been to
me the source of supreme gratification, is the promptitude with
which every Trooper responds to the call of the Colonel, when
he appeals to some particular comrade for a song. I am far
from meaning to say that there are no unmusical or inharmoni
ous personages in the head-quarters : that could not be expected
when there usually is so strong a muster ; but this I will say,
that I never heard a Trooper refuse to comply with the request
of the gallant Colonel, when demanding a song, on the ground
that he could not sing. Every visitor to Troop Hall must have
contrasted this readiness to " favour the Troop with a song"
with the hesitation and excuses, and affected inability to sing,
which are so common in private society. To be sure, there are
several Troopers who exhibit no variety, either in the matter or
style of their singing. They have but one song, and but one
way of singing it : still they show their subordination by so rea
dily complying with the call of their Colonel for a song. They do
their best, and more cannot be expected from any one. There
is one Trooper who has for years treated his comrades to the
same song almost every night he has been present ; and yet,
notwithstanding the frequency with which he has repeated his
vocal performance, he still sings the song with as much zest as
he did the first time. It is due to the Troop to say, that, judg
ing from the plaudits with which they receive it, and the fervour
and unanimity with which they join in the chorus, they are no
less pleased than the gentleman himself. I am sorry that I do
not now recollect some of the verses of this song ; for, if I did, I
would give a specimen or two, because I think there are some
clever things in it. The chorus, as well as I can remember, is
something like this :
" Now listen to me, if you please.
And I'll soon prove my words,
That the world is but a nest,
And we're all birds, birds."
It is impossible to convey any idea of the effect which is pro
duced by a large body .of the Troopers, causing the walls of
Troop Hall to resound again by the fervour with which they
sing this chorus.
Another Trooper is so devotedly wedded to a particular song,
beginning with " Mary's my lily, and Flora's my rose,"
that no consideration would induce him to sing any other. This
Trooper is, I am told,— for I am not personally cognizant of the

122 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
fact, — an undertaker by trade. He thinks he has a sort of pre
scriptive right to monopolize the singing of this song in Troop
HalL Not long since, a comrade treated the Troop to the same
song. It was clear that the undertaker was mortified beyond
measure at the circumstance, — the more especially as the vocal
performance of his rival was greeted with loud applause. Every
manifestation of approbation was like plunging a dagger into the
bosom of the poor undertaker. Some of his friends observing
this, expressed their opinion that he sang the song much better
than his rival. Some admirers of the vocal capabilities of the
latter, intimated their dissent from this. A fierce discussion in
the first instance, and afterwards a rather violent altercation, as
to the comparative merits of the vocal rivals, followed. It was
eventually proposed that they should both sing again, and that
the sense of the Troop should be taken as to whose vocal per-
form.ince was most meritorious. The undertaker declined the
competition that evening, on the alleged ground that he did not
then feel himself in good condition for singing ; but signified his
readiness to enter the lists with his rival on the next meeting of
the Troop. The proposal was agreed to. In the interim, — the
interim, namely, of a week, — there was a constant clearing of
throats, and an assiduous preparation on the part of the rivals
for the grand vocal competition. Troop Hall was crowded on
the next Wednesday evening, to enjoy the affair. Comrade
Swan, the opponent of the undertaker, was called on by the
Colonel for a song, and the other promptly responded to the call,
by singing, in his best style,
" Mary's my lily, and Flora's my rose."
The applause was pretty cordial, and general ; but the Troopers
were surprised to find that nine or ten persons, sitting beside
each other, and rejoicing in what Mr. O'Connell would call
" churchyard-looking" visages, were wonderfully active, fervid,
and unanimous, in their expressions of disapprobation of Comrade
Swan's vocal exhibition. It was now the undertaker's turn to
sing. After taking out of his pocket a handkerchief of a greater
number of colours than Sir Isaac Newton ever dreamed of, and
applying it to his forehead for the purpose of drying up a perfect
pool of perspiration which had gathered there, in consequence of
the agony of fear as to the result under which he laboured, — he
gave two or three forced coughs, with the addition of a couple of
hems, and then commenced. Before he had finished the first
note, the assemblage of demure-looking personages, already re
ferred to, burst forth, as if moved by some unaccountable sym
pathy with each other, into a literal roar of applause. Of course

THE LUMBER TROOP, 123
the undertaker's voice was drowned; while that of the Colonel,
in calling " Attention ! " " Silence ! " and so forth, was scarcely
in the first instance heard. Their cheers at last died away ; but
were renewed with undiminished energy when the undertaker
had reached the end of verse the first. A regular round of ap
plause from the same vociferous party followed the last word of
each succeeding verse,— in which plaudits, several of the most
disciplined of the Troopers, carried unconsciously away by their
enthusiasm, could not refrain from joining. It was clear to all
that the undertaker was greatly encouraged by these demonstra
tions of applause ; for he waxed more and more confident, till he
reached the end of the song, when he concluded by a vocal
flourish, appropriately accompanied by a flourish of his right
hand in the air, which afforded demonstrative proof that he
already regarded himself as the victor. The melancholy-looking
gentry, who had been so active in cheering the songster as he
proceeded, rose to their feet as he resumed his seat, and wav
ing their hats above their heads, rent the air of Troop Hall with
their plaudits. A general, though more moderate manifestation
of applause from the Troopers, confirmed the undertaker's anti
cipations of a triumph over his rival. The Colonel was about to
put the question to the vote, as to who had sung " Mary's my
lily, and Flora's my rose," best, when one of the proprietors of
the demure physiognomies unguardedly shouted aloud, " Vy,
master's von the day, to be sure : he be the best ; blow me, if
he ben't."
The Troopers first looked at each other with amazement, and
then at the stranger who had made the unintelligible remark.
" Who are you. Sir?" said the Colonel, authoritatively.
" Who am I ?" answered the other, coolly.
" Aye ; who are you ?" interrogated the Colonel, with increased
emphasis. " Vy, I he's in the sarvice of that 'ere gemman," pointing to
the undertaker, " vot's jost a-been a-singin' ; and ve came to this
'ere place to  ¦"
Here another of the sombre-looking party suddenly started up,
and clapping his hand on the mouth of the speaker, caused him
to break off in the middle of the sentence.
" Come, do tell us what you came hero for," said the Colonel,
beginning to suspect that something was wrong. _ The under
taker's countenance exhibited double its usual longitude, as the
gallant gentleman put the question.
" Must I tell?" inquired the other, with great simplicity.
" Certainly you must," exclaimed a host of Troopers at
once. " No, don't," whispered one of the demure-looking gentry.

124 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" Order, Sir !" said the Colonel, with some sternness, looking the
latter hard in the face. The undertaker now appeared as crest
fallen as if he had been about to be expelled from the Troop.
" Come, Sir," repeated the Colonel, " tell us what you came
here for."
" Vy, then, if so be as I must speak the truth, master engaged
nine on us to come here to-night, and to cheer his song, and to
hinterrupt the gemman vot's sung before him. Ve are all in
master's sarvice : ve assists him in performing funerals."
It is impossible to describe the effect produced on the Troopers
by this unexpected disclosure of one of the undertaker's mutes.
The conduct of the party, so unaccountable before, was perfectly
intelligible now. The undertaker saved himself from a vote of
censure in his own presence, for the deception he had practised,
by snatching up his hat, and quitting Troop Hall with an edify
ing expedition. He has never since crossed its threshold.
I have often admired the polite way in which the Lumber
Troop rid themselves of the presence of any comrade who has
so far forgotten himself, and the respect due to the ancient and
honourable body with whom he is associated, as to get drunk.
The Colonel authoritatively desires the suttler, for the time
being, to " see that gentleman safely conducted out of the Hall."
A more genteel way of ejecting a troublesome customer, I hold
it were impossible to imagine. The suttler, thus instructed by
the Colonel, gently, in the first instance, takes hold of the in
ebriated comrade by the breast of the coat. If the latter offers
no resistance, but resigns himself to the safe guidance of the
suttler, good ; all passes off quietly enough. But if he takes it
into his head to refuse quitting Troop Hall, as intoxicated com
rades often do, then he must expect to be handled a little more
roughly. The suttler brings all the physical energy of which he
is proprietor, to bear on the forcible ejectment of the refractory
Trooper ; and if he be not competent for the task himself, there
are always plenty of comrades present, willing and ready on
a moment's notice, to lend a helping hand in a work which so
nearly concerns the honour and respectability of the Troop,
My only surprise is, that the Troop content themselves with the
mere ejection of such persons, and the exaction of a fine of a
shilling or sixpence, according as the offender is an officer or
a private. If I were a Trooper, one of the first motions I would
make, would be, that such members of the body as could disgrace
both themselves and the Troop in this way, should be expelled
at once. It strikes me, that this would be the proper course to
adopt, if the Troop are desirous of insuring well-conducted sol
diers, and due decorum in the proceedings at head-quarters. I
am sure I need not repeat that, under the existing system of dis-

THE LUMBER TROOP. 1 25'
cipline, singularly lenient as that system is, the breaches of mili
tary subordination are of rare occurrence, when the number of
Troopers is considered. But the adoption of a more rigid code
would have the effect of purging the Troop of all disreputable
persons. And here let me observe, that I would be for bringing
under the operation of the code I am recommending, all those
comrades, whether drunk or sober, who persist in creating a dis
turbance in Troop HaU, by unnecessarily interrupting the due
course of the proceedings. There are many individuals, as may
be inferred from what I have said in a former part of the chap
ter, who join the Troop for no other purpose in the world than
that of getting up what they call " scenes." There ought to be
a law for the summary expulsion of such individuals. It was
clear, that there were many of these individuals in Troop Hall
on the evening of the first of last month, when the scene, of
which I have attempted to give some idea in a previous part of
the chapter, occurred. And had the strict system of discipline I
am recommending obtained at that time, and been duly enforced,
all the disturbance and uproar, which threw so much discredit
on the proceedings that evening, would have been prevented.
My plan would be very simple : I would hold it competent for
any Trooper to move that any comrade, whom he supposed to
be seeking to create a disturbance, or to burlesque the Troop,
ought to be expelled Troop HaU at once. Let the question
then be put to the vote, and there would at once be an end to
the matter.
As it is, as before mentioned, any person wishing to enjoy
two or three hours' peaceable and pleasant conversation at a
cheap rate, may have it at the smaU charge of twopence, by
going to Troop Hall in the capacity of a visitor, on the Wed
nesday evenings,, when what is called the usual meetings of the
Troop are held. The lovers of uproar and confusion — for
singular as the taste is, there are some persons who only feel
themselves in their element when in the midst of such scenes —
may have their tastes gratified to their heart's content, by visit
ing Troop Hall on those evenings appropriated for the election
of officers, or for the transaction of other important Lumber
Troop business. The annual election of officers takes place
about the middle of next month, when, as a matter of course,
the usual amount of disorder, noise, and uproar, will be ex
hibited. If any one is ambitious of being a member of the Troop, in
order that he may have a right to take part in their discussions,
and to vote on aU questions submitted for discussion, surely the
annual payment of five shillings is not too great a price for so
important a privilege. Let no man be deterred from allowing

126 SKETCHES I.N LONDON.
himself to be put in nomination for membership, from an appre
hension that his pretensions to the honour wiU be too severely
scrutinized. There could not be a more unfounded apprehen
sion. To speak the truth, there is not— unless under some very
peculiar circumstances — any scrutiny at all. A Trooper pro
poses that Mr. So-and-so " be admitted a member of the An
cient and Honourable Lumber Troop ; " another Trooper seconds
the motion ; and the Colonel, addressing himself to the party no
minated, who receives a hint to assume a perpendicular position
on the occasion, says — " Is it, Mr. So-and-so, with your own free
will and consent, that you are proposed for admission into this
Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop?" The party either
answers " Yes," or gives an affirmative nod; and is that instant
pronounced by the Colonel to be a Trooper.
It is really amusing to hear the Troopers talking in regular
military style. Many of them can do it with the strictest pro
priety. I doubt if Wellington himself be more conversant with
military phraseology than are some of the Lumber Troopers of
the greatest standing. I am almost convinced that the officers do,
on particular occasions, forget that they are plain citizens, and
that they actually, for the time being, fancy themselves to be
officers of regular regiments of soldiers. Even their written ad
dresses are penned in the genuine military style. Let any one
who doubts this, visit Troop Hall at his convenience, and he will
see the walls placarded with the following :
TROOPERS!
SUPPORT YOUR BENEVOLENT FUND !
And here let me give expression to the hope, that the appeal
thus made to the Troopers wiU be promptly responded to, and
that a liberal support will be extended to the Benevolent Fund ;
for the object of that fund is truly benevolent, being nothing else
than to assist Troopers who, by iU health, old age, or adverse
circumstances, are fit subjects of relief by those who are more
fortunate in the world.
There are two of the rules of the Lumber Troop which ap
pear to me to be exceedingly injudicious, in so far as respects
the_ enlistment of new soldiers. I refer to the rule which pro
hibits the drinking of ale or porter out of any pewter vessel ;
and to that which denies the members permission to eat any
thing in the character of Troopers.
With regard to the first prohibition, everybody knows that
there are many persons who would rather not drink ale or
porter at all, than drink either out of a glass. Their affection for

THE LUMBER TROOP. 127
pewter pots is so great, that one cannot help thinking there is
something in the peculiar metal itself as palatable to their taste,
though only put to their mouths, as is the liquid which it con
tains. One of the late Irish M.P.'s was so devotedly attached
to drinking porter out of a pewter pot, that he rather preferred
'running the risk, when he went into any tavern, of being voted,
as he used to say, " ungenteel," than submit to the privation of
not having the liquid in a pewter pot. His plan for con
cealing his metallic partialities from the other persons in the
room, was to instruct the waiter, when he brought in the porter,
to place it under the table. This done, the ex-honourable gen
tleman bowed down his head, and took draught after draught of
Whitbread and Co.'s " Entire," as occasion required, replacing
the pewter pot with its contents, each time, in its locality beneath
the table. Supposing, now, that the quondam M.P. for D  ,
had intended to join the Lumber Troop, the circumstance of
pewter vessels being prohibited in Troop Hall would, with him,
have been an unconquerable objection to his becoming a com
rade. And I have no doubt whatever, that many others who
would have shed a lustre on the Troop, have been deterred from
enlisting themselves under its banners for the same reason.
As regards the prohibition of eating anything in the head
quarters, I am no less convinced that it has largely contributed
to keep down the numbers of the Troop. Many people have no
notion of sitting for hours in a public-house, swilling ale or
porter, or quaffing go after go of brandy-and-water, without
partaking of something of a soHd kind. It is only a short time
since the Troopers had a practical illustration furnished them of
the strong disapprobation with which some persons regard the
rule which prohibits eating, as well as drinking out of the pewter.
A stout country-looking man, whose dialect clearly proved that
he was a recent importation from Yorkshire, chanced to drop one
evening into Troop HaU, without knowing'anything of the Troop.
William, as usual, before the visitor had well seated himself,
seductively inquired, looking up in his face, what he would take.
" A pint of half-and-half," was the answer.
" Yes, Sir," said the waiter, and away he flew to meet the
wishes of his customer. In an incredibly short time he returned
with the liquid in a glass vessel, and was in the act of depositing
it on the table before the Yorkshireman, when the latter said,
" Be kind enough to bring it me in the pe\vter."
" No pe-wter jugs allowed. Sir, to-night."
"Why not?"
" Oh, Sir, because it's a rule of the place." _
" Coom, coom, none of your nonsense," said the other, as if
looking on the thing as a joke.

128 .SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" Quite true, Sir, I assure you," repeated WiUiam, with much
politeness. " Are you serious ?"
" Perfectly so."
" Oh ; then there is no help for it, I suppose. Just bring me
a crust of bread and cheese."
" Can't, Sir," said the waiter.
" Can't bring a customer some bread and cheese !" said the
Yorkshireman, looking as much amazed as if he were at a loss to
know whether or not he ought to credit the evidence of his ears.
" Why, good man, I don't want it for nothing : I mean to pay
for it."
" Don't doubt that. Sir ; but can't bring it. It's contrary to
the rules."
" What rules ?" inquired the other, with considerable emphasis.
" The rules of the Troop, Sir."
" The Troop ! What Troop ?"
" The Ancient and Honourable Lumber Troop, Sir."
The countryman was as much in the dark as before ; but some
one sitting beside him entered into such details as eventually en
abled him to form some idea of the nature of the institution.
" But still," he observed, after the other had concluded his
explanations ; " but still, I don't see why a man should coom
into a public-house to be refused bread and cheese, when he is
willing to pay for it. — Waiter, you bring me some."
" Can't do it. Sir," answered William, pathetically.
" But I insist that you shall. I have a right to demand it,"
said the other, with considerable warmth ; his Yorkshire blood
rising some degrees at the reiterated refusal to meet his wishes.
A regular squabble ensued between the countryman and seve
ral of the Troopers around him, in consequence of their asserting
the propriety of the prohibition.
" Who is that gentleman?" inquired the Colonel, while the
altercation was at its height. " Is he a Trooper?"
" He is only a visitor," answered two or three voices at once.
" Then, Mr. Beck, you see that gentleman conducted safely
along the passage," said the Colonel.
Mr. Beck advanced for this purpose, when the Yorkshireman
dared any man to lay a hand upon him, but signified his inten
tion of quitting Troop Hall of his own accord. He accordingly
proceeded along the passage, and on reaching the door, took
the knob in his hand, and, turning about, shouted as loud as he
was able, " What a precious starved squad you must be, when
you never goes to mess ! " and so saying, he violently slammed the
door, and bolted out of Bolt-court.

A Sccn-c in ll'ie House.

Tira VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 129

CHAPTER IV.

, THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT.
Meeting of Parliament — Taking the oaths — Introduction of a new Peer into the
House of Lords — Further observations ou taking the oaths — Mr. O'Connell's
manner in taking the oaths — Opening of the Parliament by her Majesty in per
son — Appearance of the House of Lords on the occasion — Conduct of the mem
bers of the House of Commons on being summoned into the presence of the
Queen — The Queen's delivery of her speech — Her Majesty's personal appear
ance — Moving the Address in the Lords, ,in. answer to the Queen's speech — The
Duke of Sussex — Lord Portman — Lord Brougham — The Address in the Com
mons — Lord Leveson— Mr. Gibson Craig— Scenes in the House of Commons —
A missing amendment which had been moved by Mr, Daniel Whittle Harvey —
Parliamentary debuts in the present session — Mr. Blewitt — Mr. D'Israeli —
Remarks on the reception of the latter gentleman by the House — New members —
Miscellaneous observations. ,
The day appointed for the meeting of the present parliament
was Wednesday, the l5th of November. On that day the
Commons limited their proceedings to the re-election of Mr.
Aberpromby as speaker. In the Lords, they were confined to the
usual formality of reading her Majesty's writ,^-the Commons
being assembled at 'their Lordships' bar, -^authorising the meet
ing of the new parliament. Thursday, ¦ Friday^ Saturday, and'
the early part of Monday, were occupied with swearing in the
members of both'HoUses. The oaths taken on these occasions
are two: the' oath- of "allegiance, and that which disclaims all
faith in 'the Roman Catholic religion. No member in either
House can, take his seat; or vote on any questidn, until he has
taken the fitst oath. The second, as a matter of course, is only'
taken by Pfdtestants: For the Roman Catholic Risers, and the
Roman*' Catholic Commons, a different oath is provided: they
are made to swear that they will do nothingin thfiir capacity of
members of the legislature to deprive the Church of England of
any part of its property, nor seek to injure it in any way. It was
curious to witness the exposition lately^given in both Houses, of
the peculiar notions of particular individuals on the subject of
the Roman Catholic religion. Lord Melbourne, Earl Mulgrave,
and others of the more liberal Whigs, seemed, judging from the
careless and indistinct manner in which they muttered over the
words of the oath, to look upon it as a piece of mere mummery ;
while Lords -Kenyon, Roden, Winchilsea, and others of the

ISO SKETCHES IN LONDON.
ultra Tory party, repeated the words with a seriousness of coun
tenance, and an emphasis of manner, which showed that they
felt what they uttered. The oath in question disclaims all belief
in the doctrine of transubstantiation, or in the propriety of pray
ing to the Virgin Mary, or other saints. The praying to saints,
and the sacrifice of the mass, the parties taking the oath declare
to be idolatrous. All acknowledgment of the authority of the
Pope is also disclaimed. In the House of Lords, the Lord Chan
cellor sat as motionless and mute on the woolsack, while the two
clerks were administering the oaths to the Peers, as if he had
been a statue. I have often pitied the noble and learned Lord
before, while doomed to witness the nonsense which such men as
Lord Londonderry and the Duke of Newcastle were inflicting on
the House ; because, whUe other Peers can escape the visitation
by quitting the House, he must remain on the woolsack to hear
every word they utter ; and what is more, must, as a matter of
courtesy, appear to listen with respectful attention to everything
they say. Great, however, as has been my compassion for the
Lord Chancellor on the occasions to which I refer, it never
was half so great as when witnessing him on the woolsack
during the four days he was compelled to sit there while the
oaths were being administered to the Peers. His Lordship's
face is grave at any time : on the occasions to which I allude, it
was peculiarly so. And no wonder; for what could be more
tiresome than to have his ears dinned by hearing the same ever
lasting oaths so often repeated ! Nonsensical speeches, if they
have no other recommendation, have at least this one — that
there is variety in them. Here all was an unbroken monotony ;
and what is more, a monotony of a very unpleasant kind. To
be sure, a Peer, either on his entrance, or after he had taken the
oaths and his seat, now and then advanced to the woolsack, and
shook hands with the noble and learned Lord ; but this was
scarcely worthy of the name of variety. The most interesting
little episode which occurred whUe I was present, in the four
days' sederunt of his Lordship, took place when the new Bishop
of Hereford was being admitted to the House as a spiritual peer.
One of the leading officers of the House, whose duty it is to see
that none but Peers be permitted to pass the bar, having ob
served the right reverend prelate standing outside the bar, with
some other bishops behind him, while the Bishop of Durham,
who had undertaken to introduce him, was motioning him to
follow, — sprang to the bar from the centre of the House, where
he chanced to be standing at the time, and inquired audibly of
the reverend prelate, whether he had brought his writ with him?
" I have," answered the right reverend prelate ; and as he
spoke, he produced the important piece of paper.

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 131
*' Then you may walk in," said the officer, opening the little
iron door, and admitting his reverence.
The latter, preceded by the portly Bishop of Durham, and
foUowed by another ecclesiastical dignitary, then advanced to
the table of the House, where the clerks were in readiness to
swear in the new member. One clerk stood on the ministerial
side of the table, and the other on the Tory side. Whether this
was indicative of the respective political views of the parties, or
was the result of pure accident, or agreeably to some usual
arrangement, are points on which I can give no opinion ; nor is
the matter of much importance either way. I allude to the cir
cumstance of the two clerks being thus, as regarded local posi
tion, pitted against each other, for the purpose of mentioning,
that the clerk on the ministerial side handed over to the one on
the Tory side, a small slip of paper, carefully folded up. The
latter opened the piece of paper, and began reading thus : — " To
our trusty and well-beloved, James, Earl of — " Here he sud
denly paused, and looked confounded. The fact flashed on him
that he had been reading the wrong writ, and tossing it over to
the clerk, on the opposite side, from whom he had received it,
indicated by his looks that he thought his colleague had com
mitted a very stupid blunder. The error, however, was forth
with rectified, by the proper piece of paper being handed over to
him whose duty on the occasion it was to read aloud the au
thority on which the new bishop was about to be recognised as
a member. Instead of " the Earl of," the words " right reve
rend father in God" greeted the ears of every one present. The
reverend prelate then proceeded to take the oaths ; which having
done, he laid down the paper and the New Testament on the
table, and looked about him with a strangeness of manner
which denoted that he was in a place which was new to him. A
few seconds passed before the Bishop of Durham, who acted on
the occasion as his " guide, philosopher, and friend," gave any
indication of an inchnation to budge from the spot on which he
stood ; during which time the new spiritual peer looked as if he
had been saying in his own mind, " WeU, I wonder what comes
next ! " The thing that came next was, that the Bishop of Dur
ham, instead of going the nearest way to the bench of bishops,
in order that the new-made spiritual legislator might comply
with the form of "taking his seat," took the most circuitous
way to the ecclesiastical locahty which he possibly could,— the
Bishop of Hereford and the other unknown bishop following his
reverence with a most exemplary dociUty. The form of taking
the seat having been gone through, the Bishop of Durham intro
duced the Bishop of Hereford to the Lord ChanceUor, sitting,
as before mentioned, as if " the sole inhabitant of some desert
l2

132 SKETCHES IN LONDON,
isle," on the woolsack. His Lordship seized the extended hand
of the newly-admitted spiritual peer with so much energy,^-
arising doubtless from the cordiality with which he congratu
lated him on being added to the members of the House, — that
he almost pulled him down on his own knee. After about half
a minute's conversation with the noble and learned Lord, the
Bishop of Hereford left the House, in the company of his right
reverend friends.
In the swearing-in of the members of the Lower House, there
were also many amusing circumstances to be seen. It was not
only amusing, but sometimes laughable, to see those gentle
men returned for the first time, when about to take the oaths.
The members, including old and new, advanced to the table on
several occasions in droves of from a dozen to a dozen- and-a-half;
and anything more awkward than the movements of the newly-
fledged legislators it were impossible to imagine. But decidedly
the best scene of all was exhibited on Friday, when upwards of
one hundred members were sworn in at once. Some of the new
M.P.'s stared at the huge proportions of the Speaker's wig, as if
they had been afraid of the article ; but what chiefly embar
rassed them was, to ascertain the position which they ought
respectively to occupy at the table. They dashed against each
other, displaced each other, and trod on each other's toes, just
as if engaged in a regular jostling match. An Irishman would
have thought the thing an imitation of a row. At one time, two
or three were seen snatching at the same copy of the New Tes
tament ; and immediately after, the same two or three legis
lators were seen holding the book at once with an air of great
gravity. The limited supply of the sacred volume — hmited, I
mean, as compared with the number of gentlemen being sworn
in at one time — rendered this necessary. The various moods of
mind in which the oaths were evidently taken, afforded matter
for curious reflection. Those of liberal poUtics, and of latitudi-
narian notions respecting denominational differences in rehgion,
clearly regarded, hke the Whig Peers, those portions of the oath
which relate to the Roman Catholic faith as a species of mum'-
mery; for they hummed over the words in that careless and
impatient manner in which a school-boy repeats an ungrateful
task. They often looked, on the sly, off the printed slip whence
they read, just as boys of a trifling disposition do at school when
they fancy the eye of the pedagogue is not on them. The Tories,
on the other hand, and all who entertained a conscientious horror
of the Roman Catholic religion, were remarkably serious and
emphatic when repeating the portions pf the oath which apply
to it. I think it would have been no difficult matter, with
out any particular pretensions to a practical knowledo-e of the;

O'CoxinelJ la"kingtlio OaLbs

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 183
system of Lavater, to have distinguished between the more de
vout of the Tories and the more latitudinarian of the Liberals,
from a simple glance at their several countenances while reading
the denunciations against certain points in the Roman Catholic
faith. The grave visages of the former exhibited a marked con
trast to the careless physiognomies of the latter.
The circumstance of so many persons audibly repeating the
same words at once, had a singular effect on the auricular organs.
Only fancy that you hear upwards of one hundred individuals, all
repeating in loud tones the same words after the clerk of the
House of Commons, — words, too, which many of them had never
pronounced before, — and you will easily conceive what must have
been the variety of voices, and the deviation from the proper
time in the delivery, which must have been exhibited on the
occasion. Anything more inharmonious, it has happily been but
seldom my lot to listen to. It needed not aught of the pro
phetic spirit, after hearing, the voices and elocution of many of
the honourable gentlemen, to .predict that they were not des
tined to achieve any remarkable oratorical triumphs on the floor
of the House, of Cornmons.
While the large assemblage of members, pf -vvhom I have been
speaking, were undergoing the initiatory process of taking the
oaths* .a, rather awkward cii-cumstance occurred. I refer to the
fact, that at the same time another pf the clerks was engaged in
administeriiig a different oath to six or seven Roman Catholic
members : standing at the same table ; so that the latter were
obliged to submit, without even a word of murmur, far less of
remonstrance, to hear themselves denounced by the Protestant
members as idolaters, for whom a certain doom, which I shall not
here mention, is in sure reserve. , This might have been avoided
by administering the oath to jihe Catholics at an after period.
Mr. O'Connell came info the House by. himself. His ever
smiling and ample countenance, redolent , of health and of a
cheerful disposition, delighted all present as his athletic person
was recognised passing the bar, and swaggering up towards the
table. It is a positive luxury, in an assemblage where there
are so many artificial dandies and sprigs of fashion, to witness
the plain, farmer-like appearance, and unsophisticated manners
of Mr. O'Connell. Advancing to the corner of the table, on the
ministerial side of the House, next the Speaker's chair, the
honourable member intimated to one of the clerks that he was
ready to take the oaths. The clerk, having placed the oath of
allegiance in his hand, forthwith commenced reading it. Mr.
O'Cctnnell not being able to read without the aid of an eye
glass, and not having taken out of his pocket that necessary aux
iliary to his vision in time to enable him to start with the clerk.

134 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
was obliged to repeat the words, for some time, after the clerk,
without knowing whether the latter was reading correctly or not.
AU this while, the honourable gentleman was making a most
active search for his glass, first in one pocket, then in another ;
when eventnaUy alighting on it, he promptly raised it to his
eyes, and carefully read the remainder of the oath, — as he also
did the one administered only to Roman Catholics, — from the
printed copy before him. It was amusing to observe the slow
and cautious way in which he repeated the words after th6
clerk before he was in a condition to read the oath, contrasted
with the rapidity of his utterance when reading it himself off
the printed copy. In fact, he had hardly commenced reading the
document, when it must have struck all present that, instead of
following the clerk, he was rather in advance of him. It looked,
indeed, as if there had been a regular match between the two
as to who should read the oath most rapidly ; while it was be
yond all question that Mr. O'Connell was the winner. While
this exhibition of rapid-reading rivalry was going on, Mr. O'Con-
neU, instead of taking the document in his hands, as the mem
bers usually do when going through the ceremony of being
sworn in, laid it on the table, and applying his glass to his
eyes with his left hand, thrust the fingers of his right one be
tween his black neckerchief and his neck, at intervals of* a few
seconds, until he had got to the end of the oaths. Mr. O'Con
nell read the whole of the oaths in a distinct and audible,
though rapid, manner ; but was repeatedly observed to lay pe
culiar emphasis on particular expressions. He laid remarkable
stress on that part of the oath of allegiance which refers to the
Queen in particular. If any one had doubted the honourable mem
ber's loyalty before, — which no one, so far as I am aware, ever
did, — ^they could no longer resist the conviction that he was not
only a loyal subject, but that he was one of the most loyal
subjects in her Majesty's dominions. Having got through the
ceremony of swearing in, Mr. O'Connell took up the Roman Ca
tholic oath, and then contemptuously tossed it down again on
the table, as if he had either had some private quarrel with it,
or deemed it an altogether unnecessary affair. This done, he
glanced some half-dozen of his own peculiar smiles at some of
the honourable members beside him, and then went over to
the Speaker, with whom he cordially shook hands, and held a
brief confabulation: after which, he took his seat for a few
seconds, and then waddled out of the House again.
Nearly aU the members of both Houses had taken the oaths
by four o'clock on the Saturday. Those who had not done so,
took them early on Monday, that being the day appointed for
the Queen's opening the parliament in person, and no member

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 135
of either House being qualified to vote on any division that
might take place on the Address, until the oaths had been taken.
The opening of a new parliament by the sovereign in person,
is, at any time, a most interesting circumstance, and never fails
to attract a large concourse of persons, not only to the vicinity
of the parliament-house, but to every part of the line of proces
sion. The interest of such an occurrence was, on this occasion,
greatly heightened by the circumstance of this being not only
the first parliament of the sovereign, but of that sovereign being
an amiable female of the tender age of eighteen. Loyalty and
faUantry, therefore, both combined to draw out the population of
jondon on the occasion of Victoria's opening her first parlia
ment in person. And as has hitherto been the case, on all the
occasions in which our young Queen has appeared in public, the
weather, on the day in question, was propitious in the highest
degree. Under all these circumstances, it is not to be wondered
at if the assemblage of persons who greeted Victoria with their
plaudits on her way to and from her parliament, was far greater
— as I am convinced it was — than were ever congregated toge
ther under similar circumstances. I have witnessed the openings
of several parliaments by the sovereign in person ; but the con
course of people on such occasions was nothing to what it was on
the present. From Buckingham Palace to the Horse Guards
there were two unbroken lines of persons as closely wedged toge
ther, ten or twelve deep, as it was possible for them to be;
while from Charing-cross, down to Arlington-street, a distance
I should suppose of about half-a-mile, the broad pavement on
either side exhibited one dense mass of human beings. It is
hardly necessary to say that the windows and tops of the houses,
and every spot which could command a glimpse of the proces
sion, were most thickly tenanted. In the fronts of most of the
houses in Parliament-street, scaffoldings were erected, many of
which were let out, while others were confined to the accommoda
tion of friends. Palace- yard, again, exhibited one dense mass of
cabs, coaches, carts, waggons, and vehicles of every kind, which
were also let out for the occasion ; and many a Jehu made a
much more profitable couple of hours' work by letting out his
vehicle in this way, than he could have done by driving about in
the streets from morning to night with ordinary " fare." To
compute, with anything like confidence of being near the mark,
the number of persons who, on the 20th of November,^ were
assembled together to get a glance of their young Sovereign, is
what no man would undertake to do. Forming a rough conjec
ture on the subject, I should say it could not have been much
under 200,000.
So early as twelve o'clock, the interior of the House of Lords

136 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
was nearly filled by peeresses and their daughters ; by one, it
was quite full ; and so great was the anxiety to obtain a view of
the Queen while opening parliament, that even the gaUery of
the House of Lords was filled with the female branches of aris
tocratic families by twelve o'clock ; all, as in the body of the
House, in full dress. Lady Mary Montague gives a graphic
description of the siege which a troop of duchesses, countesses,
and other titled ladies, laid to the door of the gallery of the
House of Lords when, in her time, some interesting debate was
expected ; and how, when they found, after a ten hours' assault,
the gallery was not to be taken by storm, they succeeded in
effecting an entrance by stratagem. The ladies, in the present
case, were not under the necessity of attempting an entrance into
the gallery by sheer physical force ; for they had, in most cases,
procured a lord-chamberlain's order of admission ; but several
of them effected an entrance by the persuasive eloquence of
their pretty and fascinating faces, accompanied by a few honied
words, which the officers could not resist ; and which no man,
possessed of an atom of susceptibility, to say nothing of gal
lantry, could, had he been in the officers' places, have withstood.
But this was not all : not only did a number of ladies who had
no order of admission from the Lord Chamberlain, meet with
this wonderful facility of entrance ; but some of them carried the
joke still further, and actually took forcible possession of the
front seat in the gallery, which is always specially and exclu
sively appropriated for the gentlemen of the press. This seat
is capable, on an emergency, of containing, including a back
form, about thirty persons, and yet only three reporters were
fortunate enough to obtain admission ; and even they, but for
the accidental circumstance of having taken possession of their
places the moment the door was thrown open, would also have
been among the excluded. And what does the reader suppose
would have been the consequence ? Why, none other than this :
that not one word of the important proceedings in the House of
Lords, ou the opening of the parliament by the Queen,— be
yond a copy of the speech, which is always sent from the govern
ment offices to the newspapers,— could have appeared in next
day's papers. Let the public imagine what an " untoward affair"
this would have been, and be thankful that three gentlemen of
the press were fortunate enough to secure their places in
the gaUery, The alacrity which the ladies displayed in possess
ing themselves of the seats set apart for the reporters, was truly
astonishing. PhUosophers teU us that nature abhors a vacuum,
and that whenever one is created, she rushes in to fill it up. I
am not myself philosopher enough to know with what ex
pedition nature fiUs up such vacuums ; - but this I know, that

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. . 137
she could not be much more prompt in her movements, than were
the ladies in fiUing up the vacant seats intended for the gentle
men of the press, on this occasion. The three reporters already re
ferred to, when they saw the rush of the ladies to take possession
of the unoccupied seats, felt, in the first instance, inexpressible
surprise ; but on recovering themselves, the predominant feeling
in their minds was one of gratitude to their stars that they had
been fortunate enough to possess themselves of their places. There
they sat for two long hours, amidst a large assemblage of the
fairest of the fair, literally hid from the sight of those who were
lucky enough to get a peep into the House from the door, by
a forest of waving plumes of feathers of the richest kind. By
one o'clock, the House had an appearance which,^ I am con
vinced may be said with truth, it has seldom, if ever, presented
before. The whole of the benches on the floor and the two side
galleries, were occupied by the female portion of the families of
the Peers, all attired in their costliest and most magnificent
dresses. I will not attempt to describe the effect produced on
the mind of the spectator by the dazzling splendour of the jewel
lery they wore. Altogether, the spectacle was perhaps one of the
most interesting of the kind ever witnessed in this or any other
country. I have been in the House of Lords at the opening and
proroguing of several previous parliaments by the sovereign in
person ; but on no former occasion was there any comparison
with the scene in question, either as regarded the number of
ladies present, or the imposing and brilliant aspect the place
presented. I could have wished that the opponents of Mr. Grantley
Berkeley's motion for the admission of ladies into the gaUery of
the House of Commons, had been all present on this occasion :
that is to say, provided there had been accommodation for them.
There can be little doubt that, as respects a considerable num
ber of these ungallant " honourable gentlemen," the real cause,
thaugh they have not the courage to own it, of their opposition
to the admission of ladies into the gallery is, that they labour
under the impression that ladies could not refrain from speak
ing to one another, and thus betray a want of proper respect
for the House and its proceedings. As to the amount of re
spect which is due to the House and its proceedings, I beg to
be excused from expressing an opinion ; but this I feel bound
to say, in justice to the sex, that the .supposition that women
could not, under any circumstances, refrain from speaking, is
altogether groundless. It was proved to have been so on the
occasion in question; and this under circumstances of a very
trying nature ; for all the ladies had to sit about two hours be
fore the arrival of the Queen, and while there were no proceedings

138 i' - SKETCHES IN LONDON.
in the House ; and yet everything was as quiet as the most de
voted admirer of the " silent system" could have wished. I do
not mean to say that the ladies remained all this time as mute
as if they had been so many statues ; but this I wUl say, without
the fear of contradiction, that when one exchanged a word with
another, it was done in a perfect whisper, so as to be audible,
with few exceptions, to no one but her to whom it was addressed.
If, then, an unbroken sUence was observed by the ladies present,
during the two tedious hours they were in the House ¦without
anything in the '^ shape of proceedings to occupy their atten
tion, what a groundless and ungallant imputation for the mem
bers of the House of Commons to say— and I myself have heard
members say it in private, — that if ladies were admitted into
their gallery, they could not refrain from speaking !
A little before two o'clock, a discharge of artillery announced
that her Majesty was on her way to parliament. The first round
startled many a " lady fair," as might be seen by the sudden and
somewhat ungraceful nodding of so many plumes of feathers ;
but the momentary surprise over, every countenance beamed with
joy at the thought that a sovereign of their own sex would in a
very little time be seated on the splendid throne before them.
A short time passed away, and the striking-up of a band of
music on the outside, announced the near approach of her Ma
jesty. A few moments more elapsed, and the thrilling tones of
the trumpet intimated that Queen Victoria, though as yet unseen,
was proceeding along the passage to her robing-room, and would
be in the midst of them presently. That was a moment of
intense interest, and it was visibly depicted in every counte
nance. Every eye momentarily expected to gaze on the youthful
Queen, attired in her robes of state. In a few seconds more,
Victoria entered the House. The Peeresses and all present
simultaneously rose, whUe every breast throbbed with exultation
at the sight of their sovereign. It was a sight to be seen, not
to be described. The most lively imagination would faU far short
of the reality : how fruitless, then, were any effort to attempt to
convey any ideaof it by mere description ! There stood, in the
presence of their young and interesting sovereign, — all emulat
ing each other in doing homage to her in their hearts as well
as outwardly,— the Peers and^Peeresses of the land ! It was a
touching sight : it was a sublime spectacle : it was one which
will never be forgotten by those whose happiness it was to wit
ness it.
Her Majesty having taken her seat on the throne, desired the
Peers to be seated. The intimation was known to be equally
meant for the ladies. The Commons were then summoned
into the royal presence. The summons was forthwith followed

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 139
by a scene which strongly contrasted with that to which I havfe
been alluding. There is a proverb, which is current in certain dis
tricts of the country, that some people are to be heard when
they are not to be seen. The adage received a remarkable illus
tration in the case of the representatives of the people, on this
occasion. No sooner had the door been opened, in obedience to
the mandate of the Queen, which leads into the passage through
which they had to pass, on their way to the bar of the House of
Lords, than you heard a patting of feet as if it had been of the
hoofs of some two or three score quadrupeds. This, however,
was only one of the classes of sounds which broke on the ears
of all in the House of Lords, and even of those who were stand
ing in the passages leading to it. There were loud exclamations
of " Ah ! ah ! " and a stentorian utterance of other sounds, which
denoted that the parties from whom they proceeded had been
suddenly subjected to some painful visitation. All eyes — not
even excepting the eyes of her Majesty — were instantly turned
towards the door of the passage whence the sounds proceeded.
Out rushed, towards the bar of the Hou^e of Lords, a torrent of
members of the lower House, just as if the place which they had
quitted had been on fire, and they had been escaping for their
lives. The cause of the strange, if not alarming sounds, which
had been heard a mopient or two before, was now sufficiently
intelligible to all. They arose from what Mr. O'Connell would
call the mighty struggle among the members, as to who should
reach the House of Lords first, and by that means get nearest
to the bar, and thereby obtain the best place for seeing and
hearing. In this mortal competition for a good place, the
honourable gentlemen exhibited as little regard for each other's
persons as if they had been the principal performers in some ex
hibition of physical energy in Donnybrook Fair. They squeezed
each other, jammed each other, trod on each other's gouty toes,
and " punished" each other, as the professors of the pugilistic
art phrase it, in every variety of form, without the slight
est compunctious visiting. Hence the exclamations — in some
cases absolute roars — to which I have alluded. The most seri
ous sufferer, so far as I have been able to learn, was one of the
honourable members for Sheffield, who had his shoulder dislo
cated in the violent competition to be first at the bar. Even
after the M . P.'s were fairly in the presence of their Sovereign, there
was a great deal of jostling and jamming of each other, which
extorted sundry exclamations indicative of pain, though such ex
clamations were less loud than those before alluded to. The
Irish members played the most prominent part in this unseemly
exhibition ; and next to them, the English ultra Radicals : the
Tories cut but a sorry figure in the jostling match. The Liberals

140 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
were, as the common saying is, " too many for them." I thought
with myself at the time, what must the foreign ambassadors and
their ladies who were present, think of English manners, should
they unhappily form their notions on the subject, from the con
duct on this occasion of the legislators in the lower House ? It
was a rather awkward exhibition for a body of men arrogating
to themselves the character of being " the first assembly of gen
tlemen in Europe."
Her Majesty having taken the oath against Popery, which she
did in a slow and serious, yet audible manner, proceeded to read
the royal speech ; and a specimen of more tasteful and effective
elocution it has never been my fortune to hear. Her voice is
clear, and her enunciation distinct in no ordinary degree. Her
utterance is timed with admirable judgment to the ear : it is the
happy medium between too slow and too rapid. Nothing could
be more accurate than her pronunciation ; while the musical
intonations of her voice imparted a peculiar charm to all the other
attributes of her elocution. The most perfect stillness reigned
through the place while her Majesty was reading her speech.
Not a breath was to be heard : had a person, unblessed with the
powers of vision, been suddenly taken within hearing of her Ma
jesty, while she was reading her speech, he might have remained
some time under the impression that there was no one present
but herself. Her self-possession was the theme of universal ad
miration. Nothing could have been more complete. The most
practised speaker in either house of parliament never rose to
deliver his sentiments with more entire composure. Nor must
I omit to mention, that the manner of her Majesty was na
tural and easy in the highest degree : the utter absence of art or
affectation must have struck the mind of every one present.
The speech being ended, Victoria descended from the throne,
and with slow and graceful steps retired from the House to her
robing-room, a few yards distant ; nodding as she did on her en
trance, to most of the peeresses whom she passed. In person she
is considerably below the average height. Her figure is good ;
rather inclined, as far as one could judge from seeing her in her
robes of state, to the slender form. Every one who has seen her
must be struck with her singularly fine bust. Her complexion is
clear, and has all the indications of excellent health about it. Her
features are smaU, and partake a good deal of the Grecian cast.
Her face, without being strikingly handsome, is remarkably plea
sant, and is indicative of a mild and amiable disposition. She
has an intelligent expression of countenance ; and on aU the
occasions — three in number — on which I have seen her, has
looked quite cheerful and happy.
On the conclusion of the Queen's speech, both Houses ad-

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. l41
journed, as is usual on such occasions, tUl five o'clock, when they
again met to discuss the royal oration, and to consider the pro
priety of voting an address to her Majesty, expressive of the
gratitude of the legislature for her most gracious speech.
In both Houses there was a large attendance of members,
while the galleries were crowded with strangers. In proceeding
along the passage which leads to the reporters' gallery in either
House, immediately previous to the commencement of the de
bate, it was an interesting sight to witness the reporters of the
evening newspapers, with a number of boys all ready to be de
spatched to their several offices with the copy in piecemeal so soon
as prepared, sitting at a table, with the necessary apparatus of
pen, ink, and paper before them, and each more eager than the
other to give a practical proof of the accuracy and expedition *
with which they could commit to paper, and then extend their
notes for publication, the orations with which the minds of the
various intended speakers were surcharged.
In the Lords, the address to the Queen was moved by the
Duke of Sussex. To witness his Royal Highness on this occa
sion, was an interesting sight. Not only did the circumstance
of his being for so many years a veteran in the cause of
reform, — and that, too, in the worst of times, — necessarily
give rise to a variety of associations, of the most hallowed kind, in
the minds of all who wish well to the cause of human improve
ment ; but there was something so exceedingly venerable in his
personal appearance as could not fail to impart an unusual inTe-
rest to everything which proceeded from his lips. There stood
his tall and exceedingly stout person, immediately before the
ministerial bench, not bowed down or decrepit by the load of
sixty-four years, yet evidently feeble, in a physical sense, through
the combined effects of advanced age and recent illness. His
countenance wore a remarkably cheerful expression : it glowed
with benevolence, and so far was an accurate index of his dispo
sition. The tones of his voice, and the occasional energy of his
manner, clearly showed that it was not from mere courtesy towards
the ministers, that he had undertaken the task of moving the ad-
* The accuracy and despatch with which "The Sun" publishes its reports of the
parliamentary proceedings, and of the speeches at public meetings, are really extra
ordinary ; and can only be accounted for from the circumstance of Mr, Young
being so fortunate as to have a corps of reporters, who unite the greatest zeal to
wards the establishment, with first-rate professional abilities. Mr. Young's achieve
ments in parliamentary reporting are unparalleled in the annals of the press. One
very extraordinary recent one may be mentioned in proof. On the motion of Lord
Roden, in the end of November, on the subject of the present state of Ireland,
— " The Sun" gave a verbatim report of the speeches down to eight o'clock,
making upwards of seven columns in all, and had the whole published, in a third
edition by nine o'clock, at which hour expresses were despatched to all parts of the
country

142 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
dress; but that it was to him a labour of love. He spoke with much
distinctness, and with great seeming ease in so far as concerned
the inteUectual part of the exercise. He was audible in all parts
of the House. His speech occupied nearly half-an-hour in the
delivery, and was listened to with the deepest attention by both
sides of the House. Considered as a mental effort, it would have
been regarded as worthy of all praise from any noble Lord in the
prime of life, and was such as but few of their lordships could
equal : considered as the speech of one who has attained the age
of sixty-four, and who has of late years been a severe physical
sufferer, it must have been looked on as a great intellectual
achievement. Lord Portman seconded the motion for the address. His
Lordship having been but recently raised to the peerage, and
not having made any speech before, — unless, indeed, a few desul
tory observations, arising out of some casual circumstances, he
deserving the name, — his appearance on this occasion was re-
farded as his debut in the character of a speaker in the House of
'eers. Hence all eyes were upon him, to see how he would
acquit himself. He spoke for more than half an hour, and
acquitted himself in a highly respectable manner. The matter
of his speech, without being brilliant, displayed considerable
talent. It was occasionally argumentative, sometimes declama
tory, always clear. His style was unassuming and plain: he
never seemed to aim at being rhetorical. His manner was plea
sant rather than impressive. One of his favourite attitudes was
to rest both hands on the table for a short time, and then sud
denly withdraw them to enable him to resume a perpendicular
position. He usually kept his eye fixed on the two or three
noble lords immediately opposite him. He spoke with some
fluency, and without any seeming difficulty. His voice is of the
treble kind. He did not speak in loud tones, but was sufficiently
audible in all parts of the House. He had nothing worthy the
name of gesticulation, beyond his resting himself by means of
his two hands on the table, in the way I have described, and a
slight occasional movement of the head. He is dark-looking,
and has dark hair. His features are regular, and his counte
nance wears an inteUigent aspect. He is rather taU, and of a
stout frame. He is understood to be somewhat reserved in his
habits, and is said to have a good deal of the quality which
the French call hauteur. The noble lord is in the thirty-eighth
year of his age.
There have been already a good many discussions in the House
of Lords. Seven or eight of the debates have been of considerable
importance ; a very unusual circumstance so soon after the be
ginning of a session, I believe there were as many interesting

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 143
discussions during the five weeks the House sat, before the
Christmas holidays, as there were in as many months from the
beginning of either of the last three sessions. To the circum
stance of Lord Brougham being again present, and perfectly
recovered in health, we are, in a great measure, to ascribe this.
The noble Lord seems determined to make up by his activity
this session, for his absence in the session of 18.36, and his inac
tivity in the last session, caused by the indisposition under which
it is now well known, though he himself tried to conceal it,
he then laboured. I know from private sources of information,
that he is resolved to make what is called a sensation this session.
I have met with gentlemen who have had lengthened interviews
with him, within the last few weeks, and they say that he is aU
eagerness for rushing fairly into the political arena in the House
of Lords. He is in excellent spirits : he never was in better
in his life. This, indeed, has been visible in his appearance
and manner during that part of the session which is already
past. He has all the appearance of excellent health about him.
He looks as well, in point of physical vigour, as he did twenty
years since, when, as plain Henry Brougham, he was day after
day achieving such splendid victories both at the bar and in the
senate. He is himself animated with the highest hopes of seeing,
ere long, the complete triumph of those principles, both. in poli
tics and education, with which he has within the last few weeks
identified himself in so remarkable a manner. His speech on
introducing his measure for a system of national education, occu
pied upwards of two hours in the delivery, and was one of the
most masterly speeches I ever heard. It was equal to anything
the noble Lord ever himself achieved ; and yet it was delivered
under the most unfavourable circumstances. There were not
above fourteen or fifteen peers present during the delivery of this
address. Now, every person, who knows anything of public speak
ing, must be aware how dispiriting it is to the speaker to have
to encounter the slight offered to the subject, if not to himself
personally, by the absence of most of those whose duty it is to
be present. Lord Brougham, however, did not seem in the
least disheartened by the thinness of the House, but displayed
great liveliness of manner as well as excellence in his matter. I
am satisfied, indeed, that he would have delivered his two hours'
speech with the same animation and spirit, had no other Peer
than the Lord Chancellor been present. He is not a man to be
dispirited by marked neglect, any more than by strenuous
opposition. In regard to regularity of attendance this ses
sion. Lord Brougham has exceeded every other Peer in the
House ; always, of course, excepting the Lord Chancellor. I do
not recollect missing him for a single evening whUe the House

14,4 SKETCHES IN LONDON,
was sitting. The only Peer who would probably have been Lord
Brougham's rival in the matter of regular attendance, is now out
of the country: I aUude to the Duke of Cumberland, alias the
King of Hanover. His Hanoverian Majesty, as I mentioned
nearly two years ago in my " Random Recollections of the
House of Lords," was, for some years prior to his quitting the
country, more regular in his attendance in the upper House
than any other Peer of the realm. He was always the first to
enter and the last to leave it. , c i
The address in the Commons, in answer to the Queen s Speech,
was moved by Lord Leveson, son of the Earl of GranviUe, and mem
ber for Morpeth. As this was the noble Lord's maiden speech,*
all eyes were naturally fixed on him. What added to the inte
rest of his moving the address, was the circumstance of his
speech being the first after the regular meeting, not only of a
new parhament, but of a new parliament under a new sovereign,
and that sovereign a female of only eighteen. The proceedings
on the election of speaker are only considered a sort of prelimi
nary matter which has no proper connexion with the actual
business of the session. The interest which the circumstances
to which I have alluded gave to the speech of Lord Leveson, was
greatly heightened by his exceedingly youthful, not to say
boyish appearance. The noble Lord is very young to be en
trusted with the representation of an important constituency, for
he is only in his twenty-second year ; but young as he is, he even
looks still younger. He commenced with wonderful self-posses
sion, under all the circumstances of the case, and spoke for about
fifteen minutes with much seeming ease. His utterance was
rapid rather than otherwise, and the words proceeded in regular
order from his mouth. His voice does not appear to be power
ful, but it is clear and pleasant. His articulation was sufficiently
distinct, and in his pronunciation there was an absence of that
dandified " fine-young-gentleman" manner of speaking, which is
somewhat common among the sons of the aristocracy. His ac
tion was quiet and unpretending ; in fact, beyond a slight move
ment of his right arm, and an occasional gentle turning of his
head from one side to t'le other, there was nothing in his manner
to deserve the name of gesticulation at all. In the matter of his
speech there was little either to praise or blame. It was rather
above mediocrity, which is all that can be said about it. But, in
justice to the young nobleman, let me guard the reader against
prejudging him on tiie score of talent, in consequence of my
speaking of his maiden oration in the House as not rising much
* The noble Lord was first elected for Morpeth towards the close of last ses
sion ; but never mads any regular speech in the House before.

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 145
higher than mediocrity. Supposing he were a man of command
ing abilities, he could not, in the circumstances in which he was
placed, have made any striking display of his talents. The
movers and seconders of addresses in answer to royal speeches,
are necessarily tied do'wn to certain topics ; the topics, namely,
embraced in the speech : and even in speaking on these topics,
the mover and seconder are expected to be exceedingly guarded
in what they say. They have no latitude either of thought or of
expression allowed them. It is for this, perhaps, more than for
any other reason that could be named, that no men of distinc
tion as speakers are ever selected to move or second the address
in either House ; for Ministers would be apprehensive, were such
men to be entrusted with the moving or seconding of such ad
dress, that they would, in some ill-starred moment, follow the
impulses of their genius, and overleap the limits of discretion.
Lord Leveson's personal appearance is very prepossessing.
His manner is modest : there is no assumption in it. He is
under the middle height, and slenderly formed. His features
are small ; his complexion is fair; and his hair has something of
a flaxen hue. He has a bright eye, and a rather intelligent
expression of countenance. His face is exceedingly pleasing,
and is not without a feminine expression. I am anxious to
see how so young a legislator wUl acquit himself when he
takes part in any important debate.
Mr. Gibson Craig, the new member for the county of Edinburgh,
seconded the address which had been moved by Lord Leveson.
Mr. Craig having been long known as an advocate of consi"
derable distinction at the Scottish bar, great things were ex
pected of him : great things, I mean, as to the manner of his
speech. The delusion was dispelled before he had uttered half
a dozen sentences. He completely broke down in the very out
set, and never afterwards recovered himself. He commenced
thus : " Mr. Speaker, — I rise. Sir, for the purpose of seconding
-the motion which has just been made by the noble Lord ; and
I — " Here he suddenly paused, and appeared to be labouring
under great tremor. Not resuming his speech for some seconds,
both sides of the House cheered him, with the view of enabling
him to recover his self-possession, and of encouraging him to pro
ceed. I am convinced that these cheers only aggravated the
evU they were kindly meant to remedy ; for though it is the
custom, at aU public meetings in England, to endeavour to en
courage a tremulous speaker in this way, I do not recollect ever
having seen the expedient resorted to m Scotland ; and there
fore it must have sounded strange in the ears of Mr. Craig,— if,
indeed, he did not understand it in a Ught the very opposite of
what was intended. I have seen it stated in several journals,

146 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
that after he had uttered the first sentence, he actually^ sat
down, and did not rise again. This is not correct. He remained
on his legs at least five minutes ; and during aU that time did
continue saying something or other, though that something
was, to use one of his own favourite terms in the law courts of
Edinburgh, often as " irrelevant" to the subjects, to which he
should have confined himself, as it was possible to be. Nor is
this aU. Not only did Mr. Craig wander frora the topics intro
duced into the royal speech, but he wandered from every other
topic. His language, in other words, had often no meaning at
aU. One of the most experienced and accurate shorthand-
Writers, in the gaUery, mentioned to me, a few days after
wards, that he could not, by any exertion of his inteUect
and judgment, extract anything hke meaning or coherency
frora his notes of the learned gentleman's speech. Mr. Craig,
on finding himself break down in the commencement, re
ferred to the notes, which he held in his hand, of what he meant
to say ; but they afforded him no assistance worthy of the name.
It is true, they did help him to an idea or two, when there
seemed to be an utter absence of any in his mind ; but the evil
of it was, that he could not clothe those ideas in the proper
phraseology, so as to make himself intelligible to his audience.
He stuttered and hesitated, corrected and re-corrected his ex
pressions, and then, after aU, left his sentences worse at the
.last than they were at the first. His self-possession all but
completely forsook him ; and his nervousness was so excessive,
that in many cases he could not pronounce the word even when
it suggested itself to his mind. Hence, during a good part of his
speech (if so it may be called), not a word was heard by those
a few yards distant from him, though his lips continued to move.
The most pleasant part of the matter, to all who were present,
was to see him again resume his seat, which he did very abruptly.
Great surprise has been generally expressed, that a la-wyer, so
much accustomed to public speaking as Mr. Craig has been for
many years past, should thus have completely broken down in
the House of Coraraons. To my mind, there is nothing surpris
ing in the circumstance. The causes of his failure appear to me
as plain as can be. They were the peculiar circumstances in
which he was then placed. These were different from any in
which he had ever found himself before. It was the first day of
the meeting of parliament, and the first time in which he had
been on the floor of the House, except during the election of
a Speaker, and while taking the oaths. Everything, therefore,
was new to him. He found himself, too, overwhelmed with that
undefinable sort of awe which almost every man, who ever ad-
, dressed the House immediately on his introduction to it, has

THE VICTORI.V PARLIAMENT. 147
afterwards confessed that he felt. It will doubtless be urged, in
Opposition to this^hypothesis respecting the causes of Mr. Craig's
breaking down, that, on the same grounds. Lord Leveson ought
also to have failed, as he may be said to have been also a
new member. To this, I answer, that there was this difference
between them, — a difference, it will at once be seen to be deci
sive in favour of my theory, — that Lord Leveson, not being a
practised speaker, took the wise precaution of previously writing
out and committing his speech to heart ; so that he had only to
repeat it, just as he did when giving one of his short recitations
at school a few years since ; while Mr. Craig, trusting to his ex
temporaneous powers of utterance, had not prepared his speech,
but trusted to his consulting, if there should be a necessity, a
few confused notes which he had jotted down on paper.
It was a most ill-advised thing on the part of Ministers to ask
Mr. Craig to second the motion for the address, knowing as
they did that he had never been in the House before. It was
still more injudicious on his part to have undertaken the task.
I do not at this moment recollect any previous instance of the
kind ; but I know several instances in which the most distin
guished men have either broken down altogether, or compara
tively so, when they ventured to address the House on the first
day of their introduction to parliament. I have mentioned in
my " Random RecoUections of the House of Commons," that
Cobbett once stated to me, that, bold and confident in his own
resources as he was, he felt a degree of tremor come over him
when he rose to address the House on the day of his first enter
ing it, which almost unnerved him for the task ; but that know
ing every word he uttered would be severely criticised, he took
the precaution of preparing his speech beforehand, and conse
quently managed to get through it in a passable manner.
The instances are innumerable in which men of first-rate
talent have broken down in the House, when making their
maiden speech, even after they have been some tirae in it, and
consequently raight be expected to have felt more at ease. The
case of Addison, who rose up and said, " I conceive," three suc
cessive tiraes, resuming his seat each time, because he was unable
to proceed, and who did not eventually succeed in uttering an
other word, is known toi everybody. Sheridan, also, in his first
effort, completely failed ; so did Erskine, and so also did the late
David Ricardo. The truth is, it will generally be found that
parliamentary failures most frequently occur in the case of great
men. The reason is obvious : they are usually the most diffi
dent : they want that assurance which is so common among per
sons who are below mediocrity. Such tenth-rate personages as
Mr. Peter Borthwick never break down. Their stock of an
m2

148 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
overweening conceit of their own abilities is at all times, and
under aU circumstances, abundant ; and they have consequently
an ample supply of mere words for all occasions.
The nervousness of Mr. Craig, under the peculiar circum
stances in which he was placed, I should have regarded as pre
sumptive proof of his being a man of superior intellect, had I
known nothing of him previously. Cicero mentions, that not
only did his knees tremble, and his whole frame shake, when he
first ventured to address an assemblage of his countrymen ; but
that he never, even after he had enjoyed for years the reputation of
being the first orator in Rome, rose to speak on any important
occasion without feeling himself oppressed in the outset by an
excessive nervousness. Mr. Craig has the matter in him ; and,
as Sheridan said of himself in similar circumstances, " out it will
yet come." I am much raistaken, indeed, if Mr. Craig does not, by
the success of his future efforts, more than atone for the failure
of his first attempt.
The Victoria Parliament has not, as yet, been productive of
many of those uproarious scenes which are of such frequent oc-
curr(tace in the House of Commons. Abundance of such scenes,,
however, are, I have no doubt, in store for those who are partial
to seeing the " first assembly of gentlemen in Europe" making
themselves ridiculous. All the scenes worthy of the name which
have occurred hitherto, took place on one night ; the nighty
namely, on which the conduct of the " Spottiswoode gang," as it
hag been called, was first brought under the consideration of the
House. The House sat on that evening till a quarter past ten ;
and from five o'clock till that hour there was nothing but a con
tinued succession of scenes. The usual discussions, indeed,
constituted the exception, and the scenes the rule on that
memorable night. Sir Edward KnatchbuU had the honour of
commencing, quite unintentionally there can be no doubt, the
uproar and disorder which so largely characterized the after
proceedings. He caUed Mr. O'Brien to order, in a few moments
after the latter honourable gentleman had risen to animadvert
on the " Spottiswoode conspiracy." Sir Edward Sugden soon
after foUowed the example of Sir Edward KnatchbuU, and
lustily called out "Order!" Both baronets interrupted Mr.
O'Brien, on the ground that he was irregular in making observa
tions when presenting a petition. Several other members soon
mixed themselves up with the question of " order," and a regu
lar scene followed. Four or five rose repeatedly at once, amidst
deafening cries of "Order!" "Chair! chair!" and so forth.
Among those who seemed most eager to rush into an altercation
on the point of order, were Mr. O'ConneU, Mr. Wakley, Mr. Lamb-
ton, and last, though not least, Mr. Henry Grattan. The latter

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 149
honourable gentleman is most liberal of his gestures on all occa
sions on which he speaks : when exhibiting in a " scene," he is
particularly so. The interposition of the Speaker restored order
for a tirae, but only for a time. Sir Francis Burdett made a
speech, which called up Mr. O'ConneU, but the latter honour
able gentleman had no sooner presented himself, than he was
assailed by a perfect tempest of clamour frora the Tory benches.
In the midst of all the noise and commotion which prevailed
among the Opposition, and amidst all the din of voices at the
bar, and the moving of feet on the fioor of the House, — loud cries
of " Spoke ! spoke ! " — meaning that Mr. O'Connell had no right
to rise a second time, — were distinctly heard. The honourable
gentleman stood with his arms folded across his breast, in an at
titude of perfect calmness, and looked at the Tories opposite as
if he had been bidding them defiance. At last, seeing the uproar
continue, he threatened to move the adjournment of the House
if the interruption was persevered in. He was then allowed to
proceed for a few seconds, but was again assaUed by cries of
" Spoke ! spoke ! " " Order ! order ! " Mr. Hume now rose
with the view of seeing what he could do for the purpose of
allaying the storm of uproar which was raging in the House ;
but poor good-natured Mr. Hume was himself received with
increased shouts of disapprobation from the Tory benches ; and
what aggravated the thing was, that a universal yell of " Chair !
chair ! " was set up before he had uttered a single word. Good-
tempered as the member for Kilkenny proverbiaUy is, this was
really more than human nature could endure, and he exclaimed,
with considerable sharpness and energy, looking " the enemy "
fairly in the face, " Why ' chair,' when I have not—" The
remainder of the sentence was lost amidst a most vociferous
renewal of the general cry of " Order ! order ! " Amidst some
half dozen who now rose to speak from the Tory side of the
House, — some of them exhibiting an alarming superabundance
of gesticulation, — Sir Robert Inglis was heard to say that he
caUed Mr. Hume to order because the Speaker wished to make
some observations. " But," shouted Mr. Hume again, starting
to his legs, before Sir Robert had time to resume his seat ; " but
how am I out of order ? and why caU out ' chair,' when I have
not yet spoken at aU?" Loud laughter, accompanied by ad
ditional uproarious demonstrations, followed the observation.
Eventually the Speaker's voice prevaUed over that of the per
formers in the scene ; and the scene itself was soon afterwards
put an end to.#In about twenty minutes, however, it was suc
ceeded by another, though of a different kind. It was one to be
seen : not to be described. Sir Francis Burdett having been
keenly attacked by Mr. Maurice O'Connell, and having been

150 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
asked by Mr, Handley whether, after subscribing to the Spottis
woode Fund, he would not feel it binding on him, as a man of
honour, to abstain from voting on all matters connected with
Irish elections, — all eyes were turned to hira; but, instead of
repelling the attack of Mr. Maurice O'Connell, or answering
the question of Mr. Handley, he rose from his seat, and without
uttering a word, made a low bow to the Speaker, and, with a
steady pace, but a most ludicrous carriage, walked out of the
House, as if he had been performing what soldiers call the dead
march. The cheers of the Tories were deafening, while the
laughter of the Reformers was so imraoderate as to threaten
serious injury to their sides.
Soon afterwards came the " last scene of all," — the last, I
mean, to which I shall advert, — in " the strange eventful" pro
ceedings of this memorable evening. Mr. Blewitt, the new
member for Monmouth, having concluded a speech of an hour's
duration, by moving a string of resolutions nearly as long as the
speech itself, condemnatory of the Irish Election Petition Fund,
seemed perfectly at a loss as to whether or not he should press
them to a division. The honourable gentleraan, who is a little
bustling man, leaped about from one part of the House to ano
ther, asking the opinion of different merabers as to what he
should do ; and then, when he had got a most abundant supply of
advice, all to the effect that he should withdraw his resolutions,
he seemed to be, as they say in Scotland, " in a peck of troubles"
as to whether he should take it or not. It is impossible to de
scribe the scene of confusion which the House presented at this
time. The bar was so crowded with honourable gentlemen
laughing and talking, and otherwise amusing themselves, that
there was no getting out or in ; while the floor of the House was
promenaded by other honourable members, just as if they had
been on the pavement in Regent-street. Mr. Blewitt at last
said something about withdrawing four resolutions, and pressing
the fifth ; but the noise and confusion were so great, that nobody
but himself and the Speaker seemed to know anything of the
matter. Eventually, amidst the same scene of disorder, Mr.
Blewitt withdrew the remaining resolution; but nobody being
aware of the circumstance, Mr. Peter Borthwick, Sir Edward
KnatchbuU, Mr. Goulburn, Colonel Sibthorp, Sir Edward Sug
den, and a number of others, aU rose at the same time, some to
speak on the resolutions, and others to ask whether or not they
were still before the House. The scene which ensued defies de
scription. Mr. Blewitt and some of his frienS rose in threes
and fours at a time, to assure the House that all the resolutions
were withdrawn ; while the Tory members not only started up
in dozens to deny the fact, but were prepared, with great vehe-

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 151
mence of gesture, to argue the point. Their friends, on either
hand and at their backs, came forward with an edifying promp
titude and unanimity to support their hypothesis, as to the non-
withdrawal of the resolutions, by loud cries of " They are not
withdrawn," " No, no," &c. Groans, yells, and other zoological
sounds proceeded from several parts of the ministerial side, by
way of answer to the exclamations and affirmation of the Tories.
In the midst of this uproarious exhibition, the Speaker several
times assured the House that the resolutions had all been form
ally withdrawn, and that there was no business before theHouse ;
but for some tirae they persisted in raaintaining that he was mis
taken. At last he satisfied the Tories, or at least seemingly so,
that the resolutions were withdrawn, and order was once more
restored. But so keenly did the right honourable gentleraan
feel the disrespect offered to hira in the implied doubt of his
word, that he next evening mentioned, that if such conduct were
again repeated he would resign his office as speaker.
The most amusing circumstance, not coming under the cate
gory of " scenes," which has yet taken place in the House of
Commons, happened in the second week of parliament. The
occasion was that of the Chancellor of the Exchequer bringing
the question of the Civil List under the consideration of the
House. It will be remembered, that Mr. Daniel Whittle Har
vey gave previous notice of his intention to propose an amend
ment to the motion of the right honourable gentleman. As is
usual on such occasions, as a matter of courtesy, Mr. Harvey,
before coraraencing his speech, handed to Mr. Spring Rice the
amendment he meant to propose ; but instead of handing the
right honourable gentleman a copy of the amendraent in ques
tion, Mr. Harvey handed hira the original itself, and this, too,
without providing himself with a copy. There can be no doubt
Mr. Harvey's intention was to have asked his amendment back
from Mr. Spring Rice before beginning his own speech; but
having forgotten to do this, and also forgetting for the moraent
that the Chancellor of the Exchequer had his araendraent in his
possession, Mr. Harvey concluded an able and lurainous speech
by observing, with his usual volubility, that he now begged
" leave to propose the following amendment." Mr. Harvey im
mediately leaned down to " pick up" his " following amend
raent" from among a quantity of papers which were lying on his
seat ; but no " following amendment" was to be found. It was
then that the fact flashed across his mind that he had handed it
to the Chancej^r of the Exchequer, and that the latter gentle
man had not had the politeness to return it. " My amendment,"
exclaimed Mr. Harvey, with some tartness of manner, " is in the
custody of the ChanceUor of the Exchequer. Be pleased to hand

152 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
it me over." As the honourable gentleman uttered the last sen
tence, he looked anxiously towards Mr. Spring Rice, who was
five or six yards frora him, at the same time stretching out his
hand to receive the document when it should be returned to him
through the means of some of the intervening honourable gentle
men. Mr. Spring Rice looked amazed and confounded when the
honourable member for Southwark so pointedly apostrophized
him as being the custodier of his amendment. To be sure, he
said nothing in the first instance ; but it was very easy to see
that he was inwardly ejaculating " Me, your amendment!"
The fact was, that he also had become oblivious of the circum
stance of the document being in his possession. However, in a
few moraents, the conviction was brought home to his mind
that he was a defaulter in this respect ; and forthwith he com
menced a most vigorous search for -the amendment, Mr. Harvey
all the while standing in his place, with his eye as steadily fixed
on the honourable Chancellor of the Exchequer as if he had
been about to play the cannibal with him^ Mr. Spring Rice
searched his pockets : the missing amendment was not there.
He eagerly and hastily turned over a miniature mountain of do
cuments erected by his side on the seat on which he sat : still
there was no appearance of the lost amendment. He then rose
up, and advancing to the table, rummaged for some time among
a heap of papers there : the search was still in vain. He resumed
his seat, and inquired of Lord Morpeth, who was sitting beside
him, whether he knew anything of the mysterious disappearance
of Mr. Harvey's amendment. Lord Morpeth significantly shook
his head, being just as ignotant on the matter as the Chancellor
of the Exchequer himself. Lord Morpeth, however, kindly con
sented to assist in the search for the missing amendment ; and
great was the activity he displayed in turning and re-turning
over, after Mr. Spring Rice, the various documents that lay on
the seat and on the table. Long before this time, Mr. Harvey,
tired of holding out his hand to receive that which was not likely
to be forthcoming in " a hurry," had drawn it in, and, as if de
termined to take the thing as coolly as possible, folded his arms
on his breast, and stood in that attitude with all the seeming
resignation of a phUosopher who patiently submits to a calamity
over which he has no control. In the meantime, however,
though thus motionless in one sense, he was not so in another.
His tongue was occasionally set a-going. He remarked, on one
occasion, with that bitter sarcasm of manner which is peculiar to
himself, that this was the first document of hislwhich ever had
been taken so much care of by a cabinet minister. Roars of
laughter, to the manifest mortification of Mr. Spring Rice, fol
lowed from both sides of the House. On another occasion, he

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 153
observed that he was quite delighted to see that his amendment
was so safe in the keeping of the Chancellor of the Exchequer,
as that no one would have any chance of abstracting it. All
this time, Mr. Spring Rice and Lord Morpeth were most ex
emplary as regarded the eagerness with which they prosecuted
their search for the lost document. It is worthy of remark, that
no one joined with them; but aU, even the Liberal members,
seemed to enjoy the sport. To the Conservatives, the affair was
a rare piece of amuseraent. I observed some of them laughing
heartily, who were never seen to laugh within the walls of the
House before; and in whose existence, even out of doors, a
hearty laugh might be said to be quite an era. Mr. Spring
Rice, after " turning about and wheeling about," in search of
the amendment, with an agility worthy of his namesake of Jim
Crow notoriety, at length bethought himself of unlocking a small
tin box, in which he keeps the more valuable of his papers, when,
to his infinite joy, after rummaging for a few seconds among
its contents, he discovered the missing amendment. He pounced
upon it just as a Bow-street officer would on some offender, for
whom he had been on a vexatious search, when alighting on
him ; and dragging the innocent amendment out of its place of
concealment, held it up in his hand to the gaze of the House,
exclaiming, as loud as his lungs would permit, and with an air of
triumph, " Here it is ! here it is !" " I'm happy to see that the
right honourable gentleman prizes it so highly," said Mr. Har
vey, in the sarcastic way to which I have alluded, " as to place
it among his most valuable papers, and to lock it up in his box."
Peals of laughter followed ; and during their continuance, the
amendment was handed over, through the assistance of two or
three intermediate merabers, to the honourable gentleman whose
property it was, who, as soon as it reached hira, read it, amidst
renewed peals of laughter. The bursts of laughter, which
were thus resounding through the House, were much increased
by the circumstance of Colonel Sibthorp, who was directly oppo
site Mr. Spring Rice, rising, with his own imperturbable gravity,
and with his huge mustachios looking unusually large, to second
the amendment. It certainly was a novelty in the proceedings of
the House of Coraraons, to witness the most ultra Tory, perhaps,
in the House, rising to second an amendment on a vital question,
moved by one of the greatest Radicals. The shouts of laugh
ter which foUowed the circumstance, had their origin in the im^
pression that the gallant mustachioed Colonel had seconded the
amendment in a mistake ; but when it was understood that there
Avas no mistake in the matter, and that the gallant gentleman
was perfectly aware of what he was about, the Liberal mem
bers looked unutterable things at one another. It was at last

154 SKETCHES. IN LONDO.V.
understood that the Tories were, from factious motives, about
to join the extreme section of the Reformers on that particular
occasion, not doubting that, in the event of a division, ministers
would be in a minority, and consequently be compelled to resign
office. The circumstance, however, of the Chancellor of the Ex
chequer giving Mr. Harvey certain specific pledges, in reference
to the treatment of the Pension List, induced the latter gentle
man to withdraw his amendment, which of course prevented any
division taking place.
The debuts made by new raembers have not been numerous.
Those of Mr, Blewitt and Mr, D'Israeli have attracted most
attention. Mr. Blewitt made his debut by bringing forward cer
tain resolutions connected with the Spottiswoode Subscription.
He commenced by apologizing for venturing, so soon after his
introduction to the House, to occupy its attention by undertak
ing to bring under its notice so important a subject as that em
braced by the resolutions which he had given notice of his
intention to move. There being a self-possession and confidence
in his manner, which seemed at variance with his imploring the
indulgence of the House, the Tories at once set up a loud and
general laugh, mingled with other interruptions which it is not so
easy to characterise. This appeared to embarrass the honourable
gentleraan in some small measure ; but several cheers from the
ministerial benches having immediately succeeded the interrup
tions from the other side, he speedily recovered his composure
of mind, and proceeded to address the House in a distinct and
steady voice. He kept his eye for some tirae as constantly fixed
on the wig of the Speaker, as if it had been a crime of the first
magnitude to withdraw his gaze from it for a moment. By the
time he had been on his legs for about fifteen minutes, he waxed
wondrously magniloquent. He evinced a singular partiality for
expletives. He talked of the " purity and honesty of his mo
tives," and so forth. He made repeated efforts to be impressive ;
but his intended pathos only ended in bathos. He regretted that
he could not introduce honourable gentlemen opposite, to the re
cesses of the bottom of his heart. Of course he could not do this,
as the " recesses of his heart," however capacious, could scarcely
be expected to accommodate three hundred Tory gentlemen. Such
rhetorical flourishes as this — and they were not few in number —
caused, as might have been expected, loud shouts of laughter
from the Tories ; and even the honourable gentlemen who graced
the ministerial benches could not, in several cases, refrain from
joining in the merriment of those on the opposite side. For some
time the interruptions from the Tories were renewed, chiefly
however in the shape of laughter. At last the honourable gen
tleraan degenerated into a raore tame and monotonous manner

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 155
of speaking ; and the consequence was, that the Tories, instead
of keeping up their merriment, entered, in most cases, into
conversation with each other ; while a few of them addressed
themselves to sleep. The greatest inattention to Mr. Blewitt's
speech, also prevailed on the ministerial side. During the hour
he spoke, he only got two cheers, and these very faint and very
partial ones. Mr. Hume, who sat immediately at the back of
the honourable gentleman, repeatedly yawned and spoke to Mr.
Bulwer, the celebrated novelist. Mr. Bulwer did not evince
any greater disposition to engage in conversation with Mr. Hume
than he did to listen to Mr. Blewitt, being, very probably, en
gaged in his own mind in inventing the plot of some new work of
fiction. Mr. O'Connell sat on the other side of Mr. Hume ;
and I speak with all seriousness, when I say that the honourable
and learned member for Dublin looked the very incarnation of
melancholy. I never in my life saw his countenance wear an
aspect of so much gravity. Towards the conclusion of his
speech, Mr. Blewitt repeatedly paused ; and there seemed, on
one or two occasions, to be a general impression that he would
not be able to resume, in consequence of his memory having
proved unfaithful. He contrived, however, to recommence again,
until, having unconsciously made some very ludicrous observa
tion, a general and loud laugh from the Tory side of the House
fairly drove the remainder of his speech out of his head ; and not
being able to resume the thread of his argument, though not
losing his self-possession, he, after a short pause, observed in a
very characteristic manner, that if the gentlemen opposite would
not listen to his speech that was their fault, not his. This eli
cited another burst of laughter ; when, after a temporary pause,
he remarked, with much emphasis, that they (the Tories) had
fairly laughed him out of a great part of his speech, and that,
therefore, he must abruptly conclude by moving the resolutions.
Mr. Blewitt then sat down amidst loud laughter.
Among the new raembers who have already raade their debuts,
Mr. D'Israeli, the raeraber for Maidstone, is the best known.
His o-wn private friends looked forward to his introduction into
the House of Coraraons as a circurastance which would be irame-
diately foUowed by his obtaining for himself an oratorical repu
tation equal to that enjoyed by the most popular speakers in that
assembly. They thought he would produce an extraordinary
sensation, both in the House and in the country, by the power
and splendour of his eloquence. How different the event from
the anticipation ! It was known for some days previously that
he was to make his maiden speech in the course of the discus
sion respecting the Spottiswoode combination : he himself made
no secret of the fact among his party, that he was labouring

156 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
with an oration which he expected would produce a great impres
sion ; and this circumstance, taken in conjunction with the
sanguine notions already referred to of his friends, as to his ca
pability of achieving mighty oratorical triumphs, made the House
aU anxiety to hear him. When he rose, which he did immedi
ately after Mr. O'ConneU had concluded his speech, aU eyes were
fixed on hira, and all ears were open to listen to his eloquence.
Before he had proceeded far, he furnished a striking illustration
of the old story about the mountain in labour bringing forth a
mouse. For the first five minutes he was on his legs, the Tories
met every burst of laughter, or other manifestation of ridicule
which proceeded from the ministerial benches, with loud cheers.
And it is particularly deserving of mention, that even Sir Robert
Peel, who very rarely cheers any honourable gentleman, not even
the most able and accomplished speakers of his own party, greet
ed Mr. D'Israeli's speech with a prodigality of applause which
must have been severely trying to the worthy baronet's lungs.
The latter honourable gentleman spoke from the second row of
benches immediately opposite the Speaker's chair : Sir Robert,
as usual, sat on the first row of benches, a little to the left of Mr.
D'Israeli ; and so exceedingly anxious was the right honourable
baronet to encourage the debutant to proceed, that he repeat
edly turned round his head, and looking the youthful orator in
the face, cheered him in most stentorian tones. AU, however,
would not do. Mr. D'Israeli increased in the absurdity of liis
matter, and the ludicrousness of his manner, with every succeed
ing sentence he uttered. This, of course, called forth fresh bursts
of laughter from the ministerial benches. At last, his own most
devoted friends were obliged to abstain from aU farther manifes
tations of applause. For a time he endeavoured to brave out the
laughter and jeers of the gentlemen opposite ; but it was visible
to aU, that when his own party ceased to cheer him on, he be
gan to lose courage. There was not only less confidence in his
manner ; but, on one occasion, he intimated his wiUingness to
resume his seat, if the House wished him to do so. He pro
ceeded, however, with his speech ; at one time talking a sort of
sickly sentimentahty which would have been scarcely endurable
even in one of his own novels, but to utter wliich m the House
of Coraraons indicated a raost miserable taste ; at another time,
speaking downright nonsense. What for instance, could be
more nonsensical than this passage ? " When we remember that,
in spite of the support of the honourable and learned gentleman,
the member for Dublin, and his weU-disciphned phalanx of
patriots; and in spite of all this, we remember the amatory
eclogue, (roars of laughter,) the old loves and the new loves
that took place between the noble Lord, the Tityrus of the

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 157
treasury bench, and the learned Daphne of Liskeard, (loud
laughter, and cries of ' Question ! ') when we remeraber, at
the sarae time, that with emancipated Ireland and enslaved
England ; on the one hand a triumphant nation, on the other a
groaning people; and notwithstanding the noble Lord, secure
on the pedestal of power, may wield in one hand the keys of St.
Peter, and in the other — " The remainder of the sentence was
lost amidst peals of laughter: but it is not probable that any
after combination of words could have raade sense of the pas
sage. On another occasion he spoke of hiraself, amidst roars of
laughter the loudest and most general I ever remember to have
heard in the House, as being the representative of all the new mem
bers of Parliament. By the tirae he had got half through his
speech, he was assailed by groans and under-growls in all their
varieties, as well as with continued bursts of laughter. The up
roar, indeed, often became so great as completely to drown his
voice. Some of the peals of laughter lasted for a considerable
time ; and when it was thought that honourable merabers were
literally exhausted, the recollection of the ludicrousness of the
matter and manner of Mr. D'Israeli threw them into renewed con
vulsions of laughter before he could commence another sentence.
At last, losing all temper, which until then he had preserved in
a wonderful manner, he paused in the midst of a sentence, and
looking the Liberals indignantly in the face, raised his hands,
and opening his mouth as wide as its dimensions would permit^
said, in remarkably loud and almost terrific tones, — " Though I
sit down now, the time will come when you will hear me.'''' Mr,
D'Israeli then sat down amidst renewed roars of laughter, which
lasted for some time.
A more extraordinary exhibition altogether I have never
seen in the House. Mr. D'Israeli's appearance and manner
were very singular. His dress also was peculiar : it had much
of a theatrical aspect. His black hair was long and flowing ;
and he had a raost araple crop of it. His gesture was abundant :
he often appeared as if trying with what celerity he could move
his body frora one side to another, and throw his hands out and
draw them in again. At other times he flourished one hand be
fore his face, and then another. His voice, too, is of a very
unusual kind : it is powerful, and had every justice done to it in
the way of exercise ; but there is something peculiar in it which
I am at a loss to characterise. His utterance was rapid, alid he
never seemed at a loss for words. Notwithstanding aU the non
sense he spoke, I am convinced he is a man of talent, and
possesses many of the requisites of a good debater. I doubt,
however, if he wiU ever acquire any status in the House. His man
ner and matter created so strong a prejudice against him, that it

158 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
will be exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, for hira ever again
to obtain a fair hearing. He seemed himself to feel deeply mor
tified at the result of his maiden effort. He sat the whole even
ing afterwards, namely, from ten till two o'clock in the morning,
the very picture of a disappointed man. He scarcely exchanged
a word with any other honourable gentleman. He did not cheer
when his party cheered. Lord Stanley and Sir Robert Peel ;
neither did he laugh when they laughed. He folded his arms
on his breast for a considerable part of the evening, and seemed
to be wrapped up in his own unpleasant reflections.
Let me, before concluding my notice of Mr, D'Israeli's parlia^
mentary debut, mention, in justice to him, that however foolish
his speech may have been, and however ranch calculated some
parts of it were to elicit laughter from the House, yet, that the
way in which he was assailed by the ministerial supporters,
was most unbecoming, if not actually indecent. There was an
evident predisposition on the part of many honourable gentle-
raen to put hira down, if at all possible, without reference to the
merits of his speech; and I have always observed, that when
the Liberal members have come to a resolution of this kind,
they never scruple as to the means they employ to accomplish
their purpose. The Tories cannot stand a moment's comparison
with them, in the matter of putting down a member. Not only
are they, generally speaking, blessed with lungs of prodigious
powers, but, on such occasions, they always give them full play.
Their "Oh!'s" and groans, and yells, to say nothing of their
laughing, or rather roaring capabihties, far exceeding anything
I have ever heard elsewhere, not even excepting the ultra Radi
cal assemblages which meet at White Conduit House, or at the
Crown-and-Anohor. I am convinced thatj on this occasion,
Mr. D'Israeli was made to utter a great many foolish things
which otherwise would not have escaped his lips ; for I observed
that he usually made some observations in reference to the inter
ruptions offered to him ; and that it was when doing so, or im
mediately afterwards, that he gave expression to the greatest
absurdities. In the middle of his speech, when respectfully soli
citing the indulgence of the House, especially as it was his first
appearance,— a plea which one would have thought could not
have been ineffectually urged in an assembly, " not only of the
first gentlemen in Europe," but of men sitting there for the
specific purpose of doing justice, — Mr. D'Israeli very empha
tically said, that he hiraself would not, on any account, be a
party to treating any other honourable gentleraan in the way in
which he himself was assailed. I did think that this appeal to
the sense of justice and gentlemanly feeling on the ministerial
side of the House, could not be made in vain. The event showed

THE VICTORIA PARLIAMENT. 159
that I was mistaken. It had scarcely escaped the honourable
gentleman's lips, before he was assailed as furiously and as inde
cently as ever. Mr. D'Israeli is a man of the middling height,
rather slenderly made, and apparently about thirty-five years of
age. His complexion is sallow, and his countenance has so much
of the Jewish cast in it that no one could see it without at once
coming to the conclusion,; that he is of Hebrew extraction ; which,
I need not say, he is.
The number of new merabers in the Victoria Parliaraent is
unusually great : it is no less than 158, being nearly a fourth
part of the whole. The appearance of so raany strange faces in
the House had a curious effect on the old merabers during the
first few days of the session. It awakened in the rainds of those
of thera accustomed to reflection, a train of interesting reflec
tions. They thought of the varied circumstances by which their
¦absence frora the ne'w House was to be accounted for. Sorae
were excluded frora ruined fortunes ; some because they had
quitted the country ; some because of their apostacy from the
principles they had formerly professed, and in the faith of which
they had been returned ; otiiers, from the fickleness of popular
•favour ; and a fifth class, because they are now in their graves.
The contemplative mind had only to follow out this train of re
flection, by recollecting particular individuals who belonged to
each of these five classes. On some occasions, old members
.seemed as if in a strange place ; for on particular nights the new
members, impelled by the novelty of the situation in which they
were placed to be marvellously punctual in their attendance,
.whether the business to be transacted was important or not, far
•outnumbered the old stagers. The side galleries were, for the
first three weeks of the session, nightly crowded by the newly-
imported M.P.'s. And here I may remark, that new members
have a particular partiality to the side gaUeries. By taking
up their position in them, they are enabled to look down on the
more experienced M.P.'s, and by carefully observing their move
ments, become acquainted with the forms and proceedings of the
House. The awkwardness of new members, for the first few
weeks of the session, can only be conceived by those who have
witnessed it. Not only are they, with the few exceptions fur
nished in the case of sorae two or three self-confident or adven
turous spirits, afraid to utter even one brief sentence on any
subject which is under discussion, but they do not even know
how to deport theraselves as regards their raoving frora one
place to another. The knowledge necessary for this, however,
they soon acquire, by lounging about in the side galleries.
Hence, in addition to the raotive to frequent these gaUeries
afforded by their anxiety to learn the forms and proceedings of

160 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
the House, as regards speaking, they have a desire to avoid
laughter at their own expense because of any awkward physical
movement. I do not recollect ever to have seen so many young members
in the House of Commons as there are at present. Some of
them have aU the appearance of mere youths, whom one would
suppose ought to be stiU under the strict guardianship of their
tutors. How they came to be chosen as the representatives of
constituencies does, indeed, seem passing strange. The idea of
such youths having the destinies of a great country, in one
sense, committed to their care, is something more than odd.
There may be men of mature judgment among them ; but their
appearance is not calculated to inspire confidence in the wisdom
of their deliberations.
Among the new merabers returned to the Victoria Parha
ment, there are a great many whose manner, both in the House
and out of the House, is the most undeliberative-hke that the
human mind could fancy. In the House, you see them either
talking to or laughing with each other — very often both toge
ther ; or if not, they are to be seen standing in dozeilS about
the bar, completely blocking up the passage, so as to deny other
honourable gentlemen all egress and ingress. To sit quite quietly,
and to listen with attention to what is going on, is a habit which,
in most cases, they have yet to acquire. Then, again, to see
them leaving the House smoking their cigars, and making a
regular noise as they proceed up Parliament -street, you would
suppose them to be so many sparks bent on what, in homely
language, is called a spree. I could not help contrasting,
in my own mind, the levity of deraeanour exhibited by seve
ral of the young members on their way up Parliament-street,
on pne of the nights of the debate on the Spottiswoode combi
nation, with the staid manner in which Mr. Hume, Mr. War
burton, Mr. WaUace, and others of the older raembers, walked
themselves home. But this is a delicate topic, and therefore I
will say no more on it.

161

CHAPTER V.

PENNY THEATRES.
Their supposed number — Computed attendance in them — Their moral tendency —
The manner in which they are fitted up — Destitute condition of the performers —
Squabbles between proprietors and actors about pay — Differences among the per
formers — Abridging pieces — Character of the productions written by the actors 
The intimacy which subsists between the actors and the audience — Dramatic
taste of the audiences — Specimens of the pieces — The play-biUs — Mr. Guff and
; his bear — Mr. Abel Smith's two dogs — Quality of th» acting— The suppression
. of the Penny Theatres recommended.
Penn^ Theatres, or "Gaffs," as they are usually called by
their fr"uenters, are places of juvenile resort in the metropolis
which are known only by name to the great mass of the popula
tion. I myself knew nothing of these places in any other way,
until I lately visited a number of thera with the view of raaking
them the subject of one of my sketches. With regard to their
statistics, I must still confess myself to be, to a certain extent,
ignorant. There exist no means for ascertaining satisfactorily
either their nuraber, or the number of the young persons in the
habit of attending them. Other facts, however, I have succeeded
in learning, though not without personal inquiry, respecting these
cheap places of juvenile amusement. They exist only, as would
have been inferred from what I shall afterwards have occa
sion to state though I had not raentioned the thing, in poor and
populous neighbourhoods. There is not a single one of thera to
be met with in any respectable part of the town. It needs but
little if any phUosophy to account for this. Respectable pa
rents would never allow their children to visit such places.
Their great patrons are the children not only of poor parents,
but of parents who pay no attention to the morals of their
offspring. Though the number of Penny Theatres in London, cannot be
ascertained with certainty, it is beyond aU question that they
are very numerous. They are to be found in all the poor and po
pulous districts. At the east end of the town, they literally swarm
as to numbers. Ratcliffe-highway, the Commercial-road, Mile-
end-road, and other places in that direction, are thickly studded
with Penny Theatres. St. George's-in-the-Fields can boast of a
N

162 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
fair sprinkling of them. In the New Cut alone I know of three.
In the neighbourhood of the King's-cross there are several ; while
in the west end of Marylebone, they are not only nuraerous, but
so:ne of them are of a very large size. One of them, I under
stand, in Paddington, is capable of containing two thousand per
sons ; and what is raore, is usually filled in every part ; or, as
the proprietors say, is honoured with " brilliant and overflowing
audiences." Incredible as it raay appear, I ara assured that by
some means or other, the proprietors of one of these penny
establishments in the western part of the metropolis, have actu
ally procured a licence. In Marylebone, I know, sorae of them,
conducted on a very extensive scale, have lately, in consequence
of memorials to that effect being presented to the vestry by the
more respectable portion of the neighbouring inhabitants, been put
down as regular nuisances. It can scarcely be necessary to say,
that all the other Penny Theatres are unlicensed. I should supr
pose, from all the inquiries I have made, that the entire number
of these places, in London, is from 80 to 100. Assuming, as
wishing to be under rather than above the mark, the lowest num
ber to be correct, — there will be little difficulty in makil^a con
jecture which raay approximate to the truth, as to the average
number of youths in the habit of nightly attending these places.
The average attendance at those penny establishments which
'have come under my own observation, I should estimate at 150 ;
but then a large proportion of these places have, in the winter
season, from two to nine distinct audiences ; or, to keep by the
phraseology of the proprietors, " houses," each night. About
three-quarters of an hour's worth of tragedy, or comedy, or
farce, or very likely all three hashed up together, is all that is
aUowed for a penny ; and a very good pennyworth the actors
think it is, too, though the little urchins who principaUy form
the audience, often think very differently. At the end of the
" first house," there is a clearing out of the audience, which is
foUowed by the ingress of another set of " httle fellows." If
any one choose to treat himself to the second " entertainment
for the evening," it is aU well ; only he must pay for his plea
sure by the prompt production of penny the second ; and so on,
at each successive " house," till the last scene of all is enacted.
In many cases, each " house" has its two pieces and a song,
thus allowing about twenty minutes to each piece, and five
minutes to the doggrel dignified with the name of song. Sup
posing, which certainly is a moderate computation, that forty
out of the assumed eighty Penny Theatres, have severally their
plurality of " houses" every night, and average 450 patrons, that
would give an entire aggregate nightly attendance of 18,000 ; to
which, if we add, for the other forty penny establishments which

PENNY THEATRES. 163
are supposed to have only one "house" per night, 6000, we
should have an entire average attendance on the Penny Theatres
of the metropolis, of 24,000.
The audiences at these places, as has been already intimated,
almost exclusively consist of the youthful part of the commu
nity. Now and then, it is true, you will see an audience diver
sified by some coal-heaver rejoicing in a dove-tailed hat, which
completely overspreads his neck and shoulders ; or it may be an
adult chimney-sweep whose sooty visage, with his head graced
by a night-cap, is sure to attract the eye of the visitor ; but
grown-up personages are rarely to be seen in such places : —
youths, from eight to sixteen years of age, are the great patrons
of such places. There is always a tolerable sprinkling of girls at
the Penny Theatres ; but, usually, the boys considerably prepon
derate. No one who has not visited these establishments, — if, indeed,
it be not a misnomer to use the word, — could have the faintest
conception of the intense interest with which boys in the poorer
neighbourhoods of London regard them. With thousands, the
desire to witness the representations at the Penny Theatres
amounts to an absolute passion. They are present every night,
and would at any time infinitely sooner go without a meal than
be deprived of that gratification. There can be no question
that these places are no better than so raany nurseries for juve
nile thieves. The little rascals, when they have no other way of
getting pence to pay for their adraission, coraraence by stealing
articles out of their parents' houses, which are forthwith put in
pledge for whatever can be got for them ; and the transition
from theft coraraitted on their parents to stealing from others, is
natural and easy. Nor is this all : at these Penny Theatres, the
associations which boys form with one another, are most de
structive of all moral principle. The one cheers on the other in
crime. Plans for thieving, and robbing houses and shops and
other places, by way of joint-stock concerns, are there formed and
proraptly executed, unless the little rogues be detected in the
act. Then there are the pieces which are perforraed at these
places, which are of the most injurious kind, as I shall after
wards have occasion to state at greater length. The dexterous
thief or viUain of any kind, is always the greatest hero and the
most popular personage with these youths; and such are the
personages, as a matter of course, who are most liberally brought
on the stage, if so it must be called, for their gratification. I have
not a doubt that a very large majority, of those who afterwards
find their way to the bar of the Old Bailey, may trace the com
mencement of their career in crime to their attendance in Penny
Theatres. The " gods," as Garrick used to caU those, who te-
n2

164 SKETCHES IN LONDON,
nant the shiUing gaUeries of our larger theatres, first formed,
for the most part, the irdramatic predilections in the Penny
ones. The interior of the larger theatrical estabhshments is often
the subject of laboured panegyric by the press, as weU as of ad
miration by the pubhc. There is, what an American would caU,
a pretty considerable contrast in this respect between the levia
than houses and the penny establishments. The latter are aU
a sort of out-door houses : most of them, before being set apart
for histrionic purposes, were small stables, sheds, warehouses,
&c. They are, with scarcely an exception, miserable-looking
places.- Judging from their appearance, when lighted up, I
suppose they must have a frightful aspect tlirough the day.
The naked bricks encounter the eye wherever the waUs are
seen ; while, in an upward direction, you see the joist-work in the
same naked state in which it proceeded from the hands of the
carpenter. These establishraents, in fact, have all the appear
ance of prisons ; and would answer the purposes of punishment
admirably, were they sufficiently secure against the escape of the
inmates. The distinctions of boxes, pit, and gallery, are, with a
very few exceptions, unknown. It is all gallery together. And
such galleries ! The seats consist of rough and unsightly forms.
There is nothing below the feet of the audience ; so that any
jostling or incautious movement may precipitate them to the
bottom. The ascent to the galleries is usually by a clumsy sort
of ladder, of so very dangerous a construction, that he who
mounts it and descends without breaking his neck, has abun
dant cause for gratitude. In many of these estabhshments, the
only light is that emitted by some half-dozen candles, price one
penny each. The stage and the lower seats of the gallery, com
municate with each other ; so that should the actors or aciiresses
chance to quarrel with the occupiers of the first row, in conse
quence of anything said or done by the latter, — and such things
do sometimes happen, — they can adjust their differences by a
fistical decision; which, being translated into plain Enghsh,
means, that they may settle their differences 'by having recourse
to a pugiUstic rencontre. The stages in all the Penny Theatres
are of very limited dimensions, it being desirable, in the estima
tion of the proprietors, that as much space as possible should he
set apart for the accommodation of the audience, — meaning, by
the word " accommodation," that room should be provided for
the_ greatest possible number of persons who are willing to pay
their pence. In some places the stage is so small, that the
actors must be chary of their gesture, lest they break one an
other's heads. On the article of scenery, the expenditure of
the proprietors of Penny Theatres, is not extravagant. They

PENNY THEATRES. 165
have usually some three or four pieces of cloth, which are seve
rally daubed over with certain clumsy figures or representations ;
and these are raade to answer all purposes. I am sure I need
not add, that the wardrobe of these gentry is, for the most part,
equally limited in quantity, and moderate in expense. The same
dresses, in many of the establishraents, serve for all pieces, no
matter what their diversity of character. The costume that
suits the broadest farce is found to answer equally well in the
deepest tragedy. The " lovely bride," about to be led to the
hymeneal altar, appears in the sarae apparel as the widow over-
whelraed with grief at the death of her husband. The Ghost of
Hamlet is to be seen in the sarae suit as Paul Pry.
Most of the Penny Theatres have their orchestra — if the term
can be applied to a couple of fiddlers. In fine weather the musicians
usually stand at the door-; because in such cases their " divine
strains" are found to answer a double purpose : they attract the
attention of the passers-by to what is going on inside, and they
at the sarae time administer to the love of sweet sounds whicli
may be cherished by any of the audience. In cold or rainy
weather, the fiddlers take their station nearer the gallery; though
even then, they do not venture farther than the top of the lad
der. In many cases the proprietors dispense with music altoge
ther ; by which means the sixpence usually paid to the fiddler
is saved ; and that is, in raost of these establishments, a very
important consideration.
Shakspeare has given a touching picture of the ¦wretchedness
of a strolling player's life. He describes his wardrobe as a mass
of rags, and his appearance that of starvation personified. The
same description applies with equal truth to the histrionic per
sonages who grace the boards of our Penny Theatres. Their
costume is literally a thing of shreds and patches : in many cases
the repairs made on the original garment have been so numer
ous, that not a vestige of it remains. As for their physiogno
mies, again, they must be guilty of bearing false witness, if a
substantial meal be not an era in the history of the parties.
The fact of Penny Theatre performers living, in a great mea
sure, on chameleon's fare, satisfactorily accounts for the violent
squabbles which often occur among thera when the piece repre
sented requires there should be something in the shape of an
eating exhibition,— as to who has the best right to the shee of
bread provided on such occasions. In November last a very
ludicrous scene, arising out of a squabble between two of the
actresses as to who had the best right to a crust of bread which
required to be munched, occurred at one of these establish
ments, in the imraediate neighbourhood of the Victoria Theatre.
I do not recoUect the narae of the piece represented, but the

166 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
loading characters in the plot were a Queen and a Duchess.
These characters were sustained by two females, tall and bony,
and with a most hungry expression of countenance. Everything
went on smoothly enough for a time : never seemingly were there
two more attached friends in the world, than her majesty and
her grace. At length, her majesty ordered dinner to be pro
vided for herself and the duchess. The servant in waiting
promptly put a piece of board across two chairs, which was
made to answer the purposes of a table admirably weU. A
piece of cloth, which had all the appearance of being the half of
a potato sack, was spread on the board as the only substitute for
a table-cloth which the palace could furnish at the time. A slice
of bread, about half an inch in thickness, was then brought in
on the fragment of a plate, by one of the queen's servants, and
laid on the table. Every one who saw it must have grieved to
think that the sovereign, who but a few rainutes before had
been heard talking in porapous strains, as with an air of royal
dignity, she strutted across the stage, of her extensive empire
and inexhaustible riches, — should not have had a better meal
provided for her; but so it was. Her most gracious majesty
and her grace the duchess, had nothing for dinner between
them, but the one slice of bread : they had not even a morsel of
butter, or a modicum of cheese. While dinner was being laid,
they had, as became the dignity of their station, retired to the
robing-room ; which robing-room is raade out of a corner of the
stage, cut off by a sraall wooden partition, with a door to admit
of egress and ingress. As this LiUiputian box adjoined the first
row of seats, everything that passed in it was distinctly heard by
a large portion of the audience ; except when the noise, caused
by the performances on the stage, was sufficiently great to drown
the voices of the inmates. At this time, there being not only no
noise, but nobody on the stage, every word that was spoken by
either of the exalted personages in the little room, was audible
to all in that end of the house who did not choose to put their
fingers in their ears to exclude the sounds. In the first instance,
a sort of whisper was heard in the inside ; and for a time, as
neither of the inmates were likely to make their appearance, it
looked as if the dinner were to remain untouched. One could
not help thinking, homely as the meal was, that this was a
pity ; for it was clear, from the eagerness with which some of
the audience, especially a chimney-sweeper's apprentice, gazed
on the slice of bread, that there were no want of mouths in the
house that would have despatched the humble meal ordered by
the queen, with an edifying expedition. The whisper, which was
at first so faint as to be scarcely cognizable by the ear, soon
broke out into sounds so loud as to be almost terrific. " I won't —

A Scene in th.e G-reen. .Roam .

PENNY THEATRES. 167
I shan't — I will not let her have it to-night again," said her
majesty, advancing to the door of the little room, and looking
quite savage as well as hungry.
" Let her have it to-night," said a voice, evidently that of a
man, soothingly, " and it will be your turn to-morrow night,"
"Oh, but I won't, though!" shouted the queen, with great
energy. As she spoke, she came out of the robing-room, and
walked with all the appearance of offended majesty a few steps
along the stage. " I don't see why she should have it oftener
than me," she added, wheeling about on her heels, and again
approaching the Lilliputian apartment.
" You have had it twice for ray once for a week-past," said
the duchess, apostrophizing her sovereign in very indignant
accents. ¦
The audience were all this time lost in utter ignorance of the
cause of the scene ; " and it seemed for some time to be quite a
question with many of them whether the parties to it were actu
ally quarrelling with each other, or only acting. To any one of
ordinary penetration, it must at once have appeared that there
was too great a fidelity to nature for the scene to be acted ; and
that, therefore,' there existed some real ground of quarrel be
tween her most gracious majesty and her grace the duchess.
The sudden appearance of the two araazohs — for that was now
the character in which they appeared — on the stage, where the
quarrel rose to ah alarming height, coupled with the frequent
reference made to the shoe of bread, soon satisfied the audience
that it was the innocent cause of the deadly quarrel. The
duchess," not only forgetting all personal respect herself for her
sovereign, but riegardless of the tendency of her disloyal conduct
to lower royalty in the estimation of the audience, was unmea
sured in her vituperation of her majesty. Her grace stoutly as
serted that the queen had a stomach for' eveirything ; that she was
never contented with her own share of victuals, but wished to
have that of everybody else ; and that were she to have her
own way, she would waste all the proceeds of the establish
ment in administering to the cravings of her insatiable ap
petite. *
" Miss," said her majesty, -with much affected dignity, " you
know you don't speak the truth."
" Marm," shouted the duchess, " I do speak the truth, and
you know it too. You know you've got an appetite as there is
no satisfying ; you have, indeed, you starvation-looking 'ooman."
As her grace spoke, she looked quite furiously at the queen,
and strutted a few paces across the stage. The audience, as
might be expected, were quite shocked at the insult thus offered
to her majesty.

168 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" You are a good-for-nothing individwal ; indeed you are.
Miss," retorted the queen, with great warmth, and violentiy
stamping her foot on the floor.
It was now, for the first time, that those of the audience not
previously acquainted witfi the actresses, learnt that her ma
jesty was married, and that her grace was single.
" Vy don't you divide it between you?" said a voice in the
gallery. " Yes," responded another of the penny spectators ; " and
that would set all to rights."
" Ay, do," said the actor already referred to, who aU this
time had been looking very much concerned at the quarrel that
was going on between the queen and the duchess, but seemed
afraid to interfere ; " ay, do, there's good creatures ; and that
will end all disputes."
" WeU, I don't mind, though I do it this once," said her ma
jesty, assuming an aspect of great condescension. The duchess
also assented to the compromise without a word of raurraur ; and
both sat down to the frugal repast the best friends in the world.
The division of the slice, which was made by her majesty, ap
peared, as far as the audience could judge, to be of the most
equitable kind. The exalted personages, however, were not
allowed to eat their meal in peace. Before they had munched
the piece of bread, a noise, like that of an infant screaming, was
heard to proceed frora behind the curtains, and, in a moment
afterwards, a shrill tremulous voice from the same locality, evi
dently addressed to her majesty, was heard to say, " Make
haste, Mrs, Junks ; do pray make haste, for Lubella is crying
for the breast." The matter was clear in an instant ; the scream
ing proceeded from a young princess. Her majesty, to her credit
be it spoken, did not allow the dignity of her situation to inter
fere with her maternal duties ; but hastily snatching up the re
mainder of her share of the slice of bread, and poking it into her
mouth, quitted the stage to administer to the wants of her infant
princess, leaving the duchess to enjoy her dinner at leisure.
It is curious to contrast the actual condition of the histrionic
personages who figure at the Penny Theatres, with the circum
stances in which they are often professionally placed. Their
assumed character, I have frequently thought, must very mate
rially aggravate the evils of their real condition. On the stage,
they often appear as emperors, kings, dukes, empresses, queens,
duchesses, &c,, and as such talk in pompous and boasting
strains of their inexhaustible wealth, their immense resources, and
their vast power ; when the real truth is, that they cannot com
mand a single sixpence wherewith to procure themselves a
homely meal ; nor does their power extend so far as to induce

PENNY THEATRES. 169
any one to bestow on them a morsel of bread. How great the
contrast between the poor creatures strutting about on the
stage with the assumed dignity of monarchs, while they are at
the very raoraent enduring the pains of hunger, and know not
an individual in the world who would raove a step to rescue
thera frora the horrors of actual starvation.
The severity of the privations which these parties are often
doomed to undergo, will at once be inferred when I state what
are the usual salaries they receive. Fourteen pence per night,
and this, be it observed, for performing, it may be, in six or
seven pieces, is thought a high rate of remuneration for the
histrionic services of a poor wight acting at a Penny Theatre.
Tenpence, or five shillings per week, is the more comraon rate
of salary. How the poor creatures raanage to subsist at all on
this, I am at a loss to know; for between rehearsals through
the day, and committing new pieces to memory, they have not
time, even if they had the opportunity, to endeavour to eke out
a miserable existence in any other way. But even this is not
all. I know raany instances in which penny theatre performers
have a wife and three or four children dependent on them for
support. Mr. Hector Simpson, the proprietor of the Tooley-
street penny establishment, and also of a theatre in the neigh
bourhood of Queen-square, Westminster, lately detailed several
affecting cases of this kind to rae. When I spoke of one in
particular, in which each member of the family had not above
three halfpenny worth of food per diem, I asked him how they
managed in such a case to preserve existence.
" That's quite a mystery. Sir," answered Mr. Hector Simpson.
" It is, indeed, a mystery. I cannot think how it can be done
at aU."
" They do it, though," observed Mr. Simpson, significantly
shaking his head.
" But how ?" I again inquired.
" Ay, that's the rub," observed Mr. Hector Simpson, quoting
Shakspeare quite seriously, and still declining to enlighten me
on the subject.
" But it appears to me," I added, " that the thing is physi
cally impossible."
" Oh, you've come to physical imposslbiUties, have you? These
are things we know nothing about. Sir ; there are no physical
impossibilities with us." Mr. Hector Simpson drew his hand
across his beard as he spoke.
" I'm happy to hear it, Mr. Simpson ; it's very fortunate for
you." " It's the case. Sir," said the latter, with an air of sorae
importance, " it is, indeed, Sir."

170 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
In many cases the proprietors of Penny Theatres are as poor
as the players. In other words, the speculation does not pay,
and they are soraetiraes obliged to withhold the supplies, scanty
as they are at best, frora the poor performers. This, as might be
expected, often leads to disputes between the lessees and the
actors ; and it does sometimes happen that, in imitation of the
conduct which has of late been once or twice pursued at some of
the larger theatrical establishments, the actors unanimously
refuse to play until their arrears, or at least an instalment of
them, are paid up. This usually has the effect of either prompt
ing the proprietor to make sorae extraordinary exertions to
raise what they call the "wherewith," or of breaking up the
concern altogether. In those cases in which the latter alter
native occurs, it does occasionally happen that, in iraitation of
the example set thera some short tirae since, by the company at
the English Opera House, the corps dramatique enter into the
speculation on their own account, thankful if they are able, at
the close of the establishment each evening, to divide among
themselves as much profit as will make the remuneration of the
services of each, tenpence or one shilling.
It sometimes happens that the proprietor of a Penny Theatre
takes advantage of the good nature of some particular performer
by allowing his salary to "run up," while he is pretty prompt in
the payment of the salaries of others. Such proprietors, how
ever, are sure to find in the end, that even the best natured of
mortals cannot be always trifled with, or unjustly treated, with
impunity. " A hungry man, is an angry man," — so says the
proverb ; and never was there a truer adage. I need not '
repeat Lord Bacon's just observation, " that of all rebellions the
rebellion of the belly is the worst." Hence when a good-natured
actor is goaded on by hunger to quarrel with his employer in
consequence of the non-payment of his salary, he usually assumes
a very determined aspect, and acts with a decision and spirit
which no one would otherwise have expected of him. At one of
the Penny Theatres over the water, an amusing scene of this
kind lately occurred. The fall of the curtain intimated that the
first piece was over. A considerable space of tirae having elapsed
without any appearance of the second piece being about to be
commenced, the audience became impatient and set up the
shouts and exclamations usual in such circumstances. Even
tually the curtain was raised ; but, behold, the stage was un
occupied ! After the lapse of about half a minute, cries of
"_ Why don't you begin ?" proceeded from aU quarters ; but for a
time no one appeared on the boards to answer the question.
The conduct of the audience eventually became alarmingly
uproarious. Apprehensive of an actual riot, the lessee at last

PENNY THEATRES. 171
came forward, and begged the indulgence of the " ladies and
gentlemen," on the ground that a temporary accident had
occurred to the actor who 'was the leading character in the
piece. "Vat accident is it?" inquired an unwashed ragged youth
in the midst of the audience.
" Vy it was — hem ; it was  ." Here the lessee hesitated,
as if unable, on the moraent, to invent some plausible answer.
" I say, old 'un, you seem at a loss," shouted a tailor's
apprentice. " Voy, I'ra blessed if he knows vat to say," said another patron
of the penny draraa.
" Come, old chap, can't you tell us vat's the matter," said
a third. " Vy, ladies and gemmen, he's ashamed on himself," observed
one of the actors, rushing on the stage. " The cause, ladies and
gemmen, of this delay is, that I von't hact, because this 'ere
person von't pay me my salary."
Cries of " Shame ! shame !" proceeded from every throat in
the house.
" Vill you aUow me to explain?" inquired the lessee of the
establishment, with great earnestness, looking imploringly towards
his patrons, dignified with the name of an audience.
" No, don't you ! " said the actor, casting a most piteous
glance in the same direction ; " no, don't, he owes me a fort
night's salary, and I can't get a stiver from him."
The cries of " Shame! shame!" were here renewed with re
doubled energy.
"I do assure you  ." The unfortunate lessee again
struggled hard to obtain a hearing, but without effect. His
voice was drowned amidst a voUey of exclamations denunciatory
of his conduct in withholding the poor actor's miserable salary
from hira.
" I will pay hira to-morrow," said the lessee.
" Don't believe a word he says," observed the actor.
" I pledge myself to pay hira to  "
"Vy dont you do it now?" interrupted a gruff voice in
the gaUery, the proprietor of which was afterwards ascertained
to be an errand boy in the employ of a neighbouring cheese
monger. "Aye, vy don't you do it now?" echoed the poor actor,
whose lank cheeks bespoke his distressed condition; "you
knows that no one can hact well without vittals, and I have not
had a mouthful since yesterday."
The lessee renewed his promises to settle matters on the
morrow.

172 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" Oh, it von't do," said the actor, drawing back his head, and
giving it a significant shake ; " I've had a precious deal too
many of your promises already, not to know that they are not
worth a straw."
This short speech of the unfortunate actor was greeted with
loud cheers and cries of " Bravo ! bravo ! " — " Go it ! old boy."
" Vill you just allow rae one word? Upon ray honour  "
" We didn't know you ever had any," interrupted a small
shrill voice.
" If he has, I never saw any of it," observed the refractory
actor, with some sharpness.
" I vin pay you to-morrow," said the lessee in soothing strains,
addressing himself to the histrionic personage whose refusal to
act had caused the unpleasant scene which was being exhibited.
" I wiU not move a step nor utter a word until I'm paid," said
the latter in a firm and audible voice.
" I really cannot pay it you just now; I have not got as much
money at my own disposal."
" I'U take a part then, just now, and the rest to-morrow," said
the poor half famished performer.
Loud cheers, mingled with cries of "Surely the old chap can't
refuse that," greeted the intimation.
" Here's five shillings, just now," said the lessee, after fum
bling some tirae in his pocket.
" And you'U pay rae the other five shiUings to-morrow," said
the actor, as he held out his hand to receive the crown.
" I viU."
" Then let the play commence," shouted the histrionic per
sonage, _ advancing some paces on the stage with an aspect of
great dignity ; but stiU keeping his five shillings close in his
hand, which by this time had been thrust into his pocket. The
piece was accordingly begun, amidst the cordial applause of the
audience, and it was a positive luxury to witness the spirit and
effect with which the poor feUow now went through his part,
compared with the feeble, spiritless, and inefficient way in which
he performed his character in the first piece. And it was no
wonder; for not only did he now see the prospect of " summut
to eat tosupper," but it was an epoch in his history to have five
shillings in his possession at once.
But though many of the Penny Theatres are such losing
concerns to the proprietors, and aU concerned, that it is •with
difficulty that either can obtain as much from them as wiU
support fife, there are some of them that prove profitable
speculations. Mr. Hector Simpson has the supreme satisfac
tion of thinking, that if he loses money by his theatre at West
minster, he gains more than he loses by the penny establishment
in the classic regions of Tooley-street.

PENNY THEATRES. J 73
The rentals of the Penny Theatres vary, as a matter of course,
according to the size and condition of the house. Perhaps the
average rental is fifteen shillings per week. In some cases when
a place is to be fitted up for the first time as a theatre, the
proprietors of the house enter into an arrangement with the
lessee, that when the latter thinks fit to quit the place, or is
ejected from it by the proprietor, the latter shall take every
thing in the shape of fixtures, off the lessee's hand, paying him
whatever money he expended in the article of fitting up.
When such arrangements have been entered into between the
parties, the lessee is expected to produce a separate bill for
every thing he had, even in matters of the raost trifling nature,
for his fitting up. One of these lessees lately mentioned to me a
variety of articles, for which he had separate bills to produce
whenever he and the proprietor should tire of each other.
Sorae of them are rather funny. Among the number, one for a
pennyworth of nails, made out as all of them were, in due form,
ran thus: — •? Mr. Tobias Trunk,
Bought of Saunders and Raff,
One pennyworth of nails for his estabUshment in the New Cut £0 0 1
1837. Received payment,
Nov. 20. Saunders and Raff.
Let the reader only fancy three or four score accounts, all for
articles whose individual price was under threepence, made out
in the sarae way, and he will be able to form some idea of the
regularity which the lessees of Penny Theatres are obliged to
observe in their financial dealings with the proprietors. Mr,
Tobias Trunk, observing that I felt considerably surprised at
the circumstance of his asking a bill duly receipted, for so
trifling a purchase as a pennyworth of naUs, said, with a sig
nificant shake of the head, and a slight twitch of his nose,
" I have no doubt. Sir, you think this very strange ; but still it
is necessary it should be done. We never take one another's
word in such matters ; we must have black and white for every
thing we do; we must indeed. Sir."
" But, Mr. Trunk," said I, " what did the merchants whom
you patronized when making your penny and twopenny pur
chases think, when you asked thera for a bill and receipt ?"
" Bless your soul. Sir," answered Mr. Tobias Trunk, " they
thought, as I suppose you do, that I was a little cracked."
" Oh, Mr. Trunk ! that's too bad ; I neither have said nor
done anything that could justify you in concluding that I had
formed that opinion of you."
" You have not ; but I could easily see that they thought
there was a screw loose in the upper part of my machinery ; for

174 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
they first looked as amazed at me as if I had asked them to
make me a present of their property, and then observed that
they were not in the habit of making out accounts for such smaU
purchases." " But stiU you managed to get them to do it at last, Mr.
Trunk." " I did. Sir, I persewered ; and persewerance, as the world now
wags, you know is everything."
" It certainly performs wonderful feats, Mr. Trunk."
" Wery vonderful feats. Sir."
Among the most amusing circumstances to be met with in
the annals of penny theatrical establishments, are the squabbles
which take place between the performers in the private room,
when contrasted with the ardent friendship and boundless affec
tion they show towards each other on the stage. At one of
these theatres in the New Cut, a very laughable instance of this
kind occurred about six weeks since. Mr. Trotter appeared in
the character of a gay Lothario, paying his addresses to an old
and masculine-looking female, rejoicing in the appellation of
Miss Honoria Chessraore. I will answer for it that two more
devoted lovers than this interesting couple, never existed in a
poet's imagination, far less in the regions of actual life,
seen only as they trode the classic boards of the theatre in
question ; and yet, the moment they raade their exit,, in order
that other of the dramatis personse raight appear on the
stage, they renewed with a vigour and point seldom equaUed,
(surpassed were out of the question,) an old quarrel, which I
afterwards learnt was of very considerable standing, respecting
the share which each had in the emptying of a pot of beer which
the lessee had left in the green-room, while none but themselves
were present. After being engaged for about a minute, in an
altercation on the subject, of so violent a nature that the whole
of the audience who heard it, must have moraentarily expected
it would end in a throttling-raatch, it became their turn again
to appear on the stage. They did so with the strictest histrionic
punctuality, and again embraced each other -with a fervour of
affection which it was a positive luxury to witness ; while the
words in which they conversed together, were of the most honied
description that ever escaped human lips. By-and-bye it again
became their duty to retire, to allow other characters to unfold
the part of the plot with the developeraent of which they were
entrusted, when the raortal quarrel about the pot of beer was
recommenced with the same energy as before. These transitions
frora being the most deadly enemies, which they were in reality
in the green-room, to the most devoted of lovers on the stage,
were continued for about ten minutes, and afforded a view of

PENNY THEATRES. 175
human nature in its connection with the realities and assumed
circumstances of life, which the philosopher might have contem
plated with an interest of no ordinary kind.
In connection with the observations I have just made, I may
mention that it often happens, that a husband and wife, not in
the habit of living on the most affectionate terms at home, have
to personate a married couple whom the author has described as
living in a state of the purest love and of uninterrupted concord.
The contrast between their appearance on the stage and at
home, must, in such cases, forcibly strike the minds of all such
parties, if not lost to all reflection. Not long since, a poor wight
of a husband at one of these penny establishments, was so
affected with the acting of his spouse in the character of a
devoted wife, though a perfect Xantippe at home, that he could
not help whispering in her ear in the midst of the perform
ance — " Ah, ray dear, I would give the whole world to see you
as kind and affectionate at home as you appear just now." On
the following night a new piece was produced at the same esta
blishment, in which the poor hen-pecked fellow had again to
sustain the character of husband, and in which his better half
appeared in the character of his wife. In the case of the latter,
however, there was this very important difference, as compared
with her appearance the previous evening — that it now devolved
on her to act the part of a wife who played both the tyrant
and virago at home. Here her acting far surpassed that of the
former evening, though it was wonderfully fair; because she
now appeared in her natural character. She had now simply to
exhibit on the stage what she had for years nightly practised
without an effort at home. And so great was the resemblance
of her manner on the stage, to what it was in her capacity of
wife in the domestic relations of life, that the poor fellow could
not help bursting out, looking significantly and with uplifted
hands, towards the audience — " It's so like — jist the thing —
that's the very way she goes on at home."
The histrionic gentlemen and ladies who grace the boards of
Penny Theatres, are remarkably dexterous hands at mangling,'
or, as they caU it, abridging pieces. Hamlet is often performed
in twenty minutes ; and Macbeth, and Richard the Third, and
the other tragedies of Shakspeare, are generally "done" in much
about the same time. Of all Shakspeare's plays, OtheUo is the
greatest favourite of these estabhshments ; very possibly because
it is easier to assume the appearance of the Moor, than of any
other of Shakspeare's heroes. A httle soot smeared over the
phiz of the actor undertaking the part, is deemed a sufficient
external qualification for the part; whereas in raany other cases,
something m the shape of dresses is supposed to be necessary.

176 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
In the abridging of pieces the performers at the Penny Theatres
are guided by no fixed rules. Time is the only counsellor to
whose directions they will condescend to lend an ear. They
will sometimes unwittingly devote perhaps ten minutes to the
representation of some of the more interesting scenes in the
first act, and then on being apprised that they have only ten
minutes more to finish the whole, they overleap the second,
third, and fourth acts, and very possibly land about the middle
of the fifth. Should they even then be getting on more slowly
than the lessee deems it right, and he wishes to have the piece
"done out of hand," he desires them to come at once to the "last
scene of all," which they do, and then enact that scene with an
expedition with which it were in vain for any steam power to
attempt to compete. I was lately very much amused on learning
that at most of these places the lessee is in the habit of stand
ing on one side of the stage watching the time, and that when it
is within a minute or two of that which he has in his own mind
allotted for that particular piece, he exclaims " Time up ! —
finish the piece ! — down with the curtain !" and it is all done as
he desires. Scarcely have the words passed his lips, when the
whole affair is over, and down falls the curtain. In those cases
in which he knows how the thing ought to end, he is more
precise in his directions. In the case of Othello, for example,
when the time has expired, even though the performers should
not have got beyond the first act, he says, " The time is up
— commit the murder, and down with the curtain." Desdemona
is then strangled in a moment, down goes the curtain, and out
go the audience.
In several of these establishments, as many as from ten to
twelve new pieces are sometimes produced in one week. In the
theatre in Queen-square, Westminster, a round dozen new
pieces were actually brought out in one week in the middle of
last December. Of course, in such cases, but little pains are
bestowed on the composition. Even suppose the writer, and
there are seldom more than one or two writers for one esta
bUshment, had the talents requisite to the production of a
tolerable piece, he can neither have the tirae nor the scope
to display those talents to any advantage. With regard again
to the performers committing pieces to memory, that were
altogether out of the question. They are told a few of the
leading incidents, and are either allowed to look at the manu
script of the piece, and by that means endeavour to remember
some of the phrases, or to express themselves in any words
which occur to themselves. They are, in fact, obliged to do
from necessity, what John Reeve used to be in the habit of
doing from sheer indolence, namely, express themselves in th^

PENNY THEATRES. 177
best way they can. And horrible work, as might be expected,
from the very imperfect education of raany of their number, do
they usually make of it. They murder the Queen's English
much more remorselessly, than they do their own heroes ; for, in
the latter case, you sometimes see in their countenances,
or demeanour, the operation of some qualm of conscience, but
in the former there is nothing of the kind. To speak the
truth, they remain ignorant, and wiU do so to the last, of
the butchery of the English language of which they have been
guilty. But there is something still more ludicrous in the Penny
Theatre productions. Their authors, who are always performers
in the establishment, often begin not only to write thera with
out having made up their minds as to how they will end ; but
even cause the acting of the first part to commence before the
latter part is finished. When the author sees the length of
time which the manuscript he has given out takes to act, he is
then able to decide on the length to which he ought to extend
the remainder of the piece. The performers, in such cases, after
being made acquainted with the incidents, must do the best they
can with them. An instance of this kind occurred about six
weeks since, under my own observation. I asked the lessee
what was the nature of the new piece which was then beginning
to be acted. " Upon my word. Sir, I cannot teU you," was the
answer. " I usually leave these things to the actor who gets
them up," he added. After a moment's pause, he asked, for my
information, the author-actor who chanced to pass us at the
time, how the piece would end. " Vy," said the latter, whose
name was Hardhead, " I'm not exactly sure yet ; but I think
I'U end it either with a murder or a suicide."
" Why not with both?" suggested the lessee.
" That certainly would give the piece a raore tragic termina
tion," I observed.
" Worry veU, then, I shall have both on 'em," said Mr. Hard
head, with the utmost indifference, as if it were quite immaterial
in what way the piece should end. And with what the penny-a-
liners call a "shocking case of suicide," and a "dreadful
murder," it did accordingly end.
The dramatis personse of the Penny Theatres keep up in most
cases a very close intimacy with the audience. In many in
stances they carry on a sort of conversation with them during
the representations of the different pieces. It is no uncomraon
thing to see an actor stop in the middle of some very interesting
scene, to answer sorae question asked by one of the audience, or
to parry any attempted witticism at his expense. This done,
the actor resumes his part of the performance as if nothing had

178 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
happened; but possibly before he has delivered half a dozen
sentences more, sorae other question is asked, or some other
sarcastic observation made by one of the auditory, in which case
the performer again stops to answer or retort, as if by way of
parenthesis. A cross fire is thus sometimes kept up between
the audience and the actors for several rainutes at a time,
and to my taste such "keen encounters of the wits" of the
parties, are much more amusing than the histrionic performances
themselves. Decidedly the best thing of the kind which I ever
witnessed while collecting by personal observation materials for
this chapter, occurred about four months since in an establish
ment some forty or fifty yards off High Holborn. A poor
fellow, short in stature, and half starved in appearance, with a
ragged coat, which but for its tails, would, from its shortness,
have been mistaken for a jacket, came forward in the midst of
the piece to treat the audience to one of his best vocal efforts.
I do not now recollect the name of the song, but it was one of
course of a prodigiously comical kind ; for all the songs at these
establishments are remarkable for their excess of the comical.
I could not help thinking with myself, what a difference there
must have been between the poor fellow's actual mood of mind,
and that in which the song made him appear. The audience,
however, did not seem to be encumbered by any thing in the
shape of moralization, but were clearly resolved to have as much
amusement as possible for their pence. Most heartily did they
laugh at the most laughable things in the song. So far all
was well; for they had an undoubted right, having paid for
it, to exercise their risible faculties as much as they pleased ;
but in the middle of the song, a little urchin threw a potato
at the vocalist, and hit him right on the forehead. As might
be expected, he suddenly paused; and raade a remarkably rapid
transition from the comical to the tragic. He put his hand
to his forehead, and looked for a few seconds terrificaUy at
the part of the house whence the potato was projected. At last
he stammered out, in half indignant half pathetic tones, " Who
did that ?"
" It was not me," answered one.
" Nor me," said another.
" I didn't do it any how," observed a third.
" Nor I either," shouted a chorus of voices.
" Perhaps nobody did it," said the poor fellow, with an aspect
of great simplicity.
" Per'aps not," answered a httle rogue, amidst peals of
laughter. " Whoever did it," said the songster, becoming better hu
moured as the pain abated ; " whoever did it, might, at any rate,
have boiled the potato first,"

PENNY THEATRES. 179
" Vat for ?" inquired another of the patrons of the penny
drama. " I'll teU you what for-

Here the vocalist was interrupted by a voice — " O I knows
vat for !"
" No you don't," said the actor.
" I do though."
" VeU, vat is it for ?" inquired a little sickly-looking boy who
sat beside him.
" Vy, bekase as how if it had been a boiled 'un, it would
have seen so soft as not to have 'urt him."
" No, that's not it," said the poor fellow.
" VeU, vat is it then?" shouted a dozen voices.
" I'm blessed if / don't know," said a tin-trumpet sort of
voice, from the centre of the audience.
" Let's have it then," said the vocalist.
" Voy, bekase if as how it 'ad been a boilt, you could have
eaten it."
A shout of laughter followed the clever observation of the
urchin, in which the vocalist could not refrain frora joining. He
then endeavoured to resume the song at the place at which he
was interrupted ; but not being able to remeraber it, observed
with infinite good nature, " O, we must begin again ;" and he
did begin again and end too in exceUent style.
I will just mention one other amusing proof of the familiarity
which so generally subsists between the corps dramatique at
Penny Theatres and the audience. It occurred about eight
weeks since, at Cooke's estabUshment in the New Cut. The
piece which had been performing, was one of so awfully a tragic
kind, especially towards the conclusion, that even two policemen,
a class of men not said to be remarkable for their susceptibilities
on such occasions, who had stationed themselves in a dark comer
of the house, for the purpose of pouncing on two young thieves,
whom they expected to make their appearance that evening,
could not refrain from affording some indications that they, any
more than the rest of the audience, were not insensible to the
touching scenes which were passing before them. The denoue
ment was at length at hand. The piece was a love one ; and
the lover goaded on by the violence of the green-eyed monster's
operations in his bosom, determined to be revenged both on his
rival, and on the mistress of his heart for countenancing the
tender advances of any one but himself. No sooner had he
formed his determination than he prepares to carry it into
immediate effect. He procures a pair of pistols and a dagger.
He loads the former, and conceaUng thera, with the dagger,
under his cloak, seeks a meeting with the intended victims.
o2

180 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
That meeting he soon gets : he discovers them both together
in very earnest and , affectionate conversation. He dis
charges one pistol at his rival, and the other at his sweetheart,
and then plunges the dagger into his own bosom. The whole
three fall almost instantaneously; but as they fell, and while
the audience were all wrapt in horror at the frightful tragedy,
out came from behind the scenes a ragged boy, with a corduroy
jacket, and a basket in his extended hand, and stepping over
the bodies of the dying trio, as careless-like as if he had been
walking on Waterloo-road, sang out, ?' Apples ! — six a penny !,"
A little dog, at the sarae instant, as if the thing had been the
result of concert, sprung also from behind the scenes, and set iip
aloud barking.. The affaii*' was infinitely ludicrous, and con
verted, as if by somie magical influence, the horror and sorrow
with which the audience were overwhelmed but a moment
before, in consequence of the dreadful tragedy they had wit
nessed, — into a loud and.universal roar of-laughter which was
only put an end to by the fall of the curtain.
The audiences at the Penny Theatres" are pecuUar in their
dramatic taste. . They are not only fond of extrerhes, but will
tolerate notliing else. Comedy is completely ip'roscribed by them;
they must geither .have the. deepest tragedy, or the broadest farce.
In the tragic way, they evince, a reriiarkably strong predilection
for ".horrible murders,", arid, .the moment that, accounts of any
su(jh.'occurrehce;appear in the newspapers, a piece embodying
the most shocking incidents in that.: occurrence, is got up for
reipi-esentation at these establishments. .The recent atrocity
known by the name' of the Edgeware murder,' was quite a wind
fall to many .oj", the 'Penny Theatres. Pieces" founded on the
most frightful ;of the circumstances connected, .with.;it were
forthwith got up, and" acted to crowded houses, amidst great
applause. ' It will hardly be . believed, yet such is the fact,- that
so late, as November -last, that is, full, ten months . after - the
occurrence took pjaqe; .it was represented in these estabhshments
to nuraerous audiences. ' The . foUowing is a verbatim copy of
one of the placards, announcing it for a particular rijght, as the
leading piece for the benefit of one of the performers. .
FOR THE BENEFIT OF MR. TWIG.
On Tuesday next will be performed the Grand National Dramar
OF
GREENACRE, OB
THE MURDER of CARPENTER'S BUILDINGS,

i Scen.0 "before "the Curtain .

PENNY THEATRES. 181
f" The farces, as I have just stated, are of the broadest kind :
the broader and more absurd, the better do they take. At a
penny establishment on the Lambeth side of the water, which
my curiosity and the desire of procuring accurate information
induced me to visit seven or eight weeks since, one of the most
successful pieces consisted of such matter as the following.
Enter Tom Snooks, Harry Finch and Ned Tims.
Tom Snooks. — I say Harry, wiU you lend me a tanner (a six
pence) till to-morrow ?
Harry Finch. — I vould if I could, but blow me tight if so be
as I've got one.
Tom Snooks,-~-I say, Ned, old'un, can you do anything ?
Ned Tims. — Voy, Tom, may I never smoke another pipe
o'baccy if I've got a stiver in the world.
Tom Snooks. — I say chaps, as we are all poor alike, vat do you
say to a goin' a robbin' o' some old rich fellers?
Harry Finch. — Capital, Tom, nothing could be better ; don't
you think so, Ned ?
Ned Tims. — Voy, yes, if it were not for wot follows.
Tom Snooks. — Vat do you mean ?
Ned Tims.— Ya,t I means is this ere, that I'm afear'd we might
all three get scragged (hanged).
Tom Snooks. — Pooh, pooh ! all nonsense.
Harry Finch. — VeU, Ned, I'm blessed_if I ever thought you
were such a coward.
Ned Tims.— YeW, dash my vig if I cares vat be the consekence —
I'U go. I say, chaps, hush— I'm blowed if there be not an old
feller on the road there ; let's begin with him.
Tom Snooks. — Done, Ned, done.
Harry Finch. — Come, Ned, (patting him on the shoulder.
and looking him coaxingly in the face) may I never have a
button to my coat if you b'ent a regular trump.
Fnter an eccentric-looking Stranger.
Stranger. — Can you tell me, friends, how far I am from the
next inn?
Ned Tims (seizing the stranger by the throat)— Your money
or your life. Sir.
Tom Snooks.— Yes, my old bowl, your money or your life.
Harry Finch. — And this moment too.
Stranger.— Oh, ho ! that's it, is it ? but how do you know I've
got any?
Ned Tims.— Then, out goes your brains (putting his hand be
neath a sort of cloak, as if grasping a pistol in his hand).
Stranger. — Why, my good friends, if the truth must be told,
I'm quite as destitute of brains as of money ; I've got none of
neither.

182 ' SKETCHES IN LONDON.
Ned Tims (to the stranger).— Come, old feUer, no gammon
with us. If you don't fork out the yellow boys (sovereigns) pre
sently, I'U send a ball through your carcase, which wiU make a
passage broad enough to let a coach and six be driven through
with ease.
Stranger. — You don't mean that ?
Ned Tims. — We do, indeed, — don't we, young men ?
Harry Finch. — Ay, that we do.
Tom Snooks. — Yes ; and no mistake.
Here the appearance of some person puts an end to the
dialogue, the trio of scamps taking to their heels without loss of
time. In a short time afterwards they again, appear on the
stage, when they are found in a very jocular mood, and con
versing on a variety of subjects.
Tom Snooks. — They say the cholera is coining to wisit this
town. Harry Finch. — Veil, and vat about it ?
Tom Snooks. — Vy it's very alarming.
Ned Tims. — But voy should they let it come into the town?
Tom Snooks. — But how can they keep it out ?
Ned Tims. — Voy, by giving the toll-keeper strict orders not
to let it pass the turnpike gate on any account.
I shall only give one more short specimen of the sort of
dramatic literature which is raost popular at the Penny Theatres.
Harry Finch. — I say, Ned, old feUow, do you know I've be
come a father this morning ?
Tom Snooks. — Vat, a papa, Harry !
Mr. Finch nodded in token of assent.
Ned Tims (seizing his hand). — Ah, Harry, my boy, I wish you
much joy. Pray vot have you got ?
Harry Finch. — Guess.
Ned Tims. — A boy ?
Harry Finch. — No; guess again.
Ned Tims. — Perhaps a girl, eh ?
Harry Finch (apparently with great surprise). — Bless my soul,
Ned, I'm blow'd if you aint a guessed it.
This has but little effect in the mere telUng ; but when spoken
¦with a certain archness of manner, it sets the whole audience in
a roar of laughter.
The play-biUs of the Penny Theatres are never prmted. The
expense of printing is too great for the state of the treasury to
admit of that. They are aU written, and are seldom to be seen
anywhere but on a board in the immediate neighbourhood of
the various places. The titles of the pieces are always of a
clap-trap kind. The foUowing is a specimen.

PENNY THEATRES. 188
On Thursday next will be performed at Smith's Grand Theatre,
THE RED-NOSED MOgySTER,
OR
THE TYRANT OF THE MOUNTAINS.
Red-nosed Monster - - - Mr. SAVAGE.
The Assassin . - - - Mr. TONGS.
The Ruffian of the Hut - - - Mr. D ARTMAN.
The Villain of the Valley - - Mr. PRICE SHORT.
Wife of the Red-nosed Monster - Mrs. TAPSTER.
Daughter of the Assassin - - Miss BLACK.
To conclude with
THE BLOOD-STAINED HANDKERCHIEF,
OB
THE MURDER IN THE COTTAGE.
The characters by the Company.
r The Christmas holidays are the most productive seasons at
the Penny Theatres. The Pantomimes "draw" houses "crowded
to excess." The playbills, on such occasions, are written in un
usually large and striking letters. The following specimen is
copied, without the alteration of a word or the slightest depart
ure from the punctuation, from a placard which was exhibited
at one of these establishments in St. George's Fields, on the
28th of December last. To., Day.
Will, be produced. A, splendid
(New) PANTOMIME
With, New. Scenery Dresses.
Tricks (and) Decorations, Written and
Got, up. under (the) Direction, of
Mr. CLARKE entitled
DR. BOLUS OR HARLEQUIN-THE FAIRY
Of. The.
TEMPLE DIANA.
Albert, afterwards Harlequin - Mr. GUTHRIE.
Gobble, afterwards the Clown - Mr. BUCKSKIN.
Dr. Bolus, afterwards Pantaloon - Mr. DRINKWATER.
Runabout  Mr. SMITH.
Dozey  Mr. JONES.
Rosa, afterwards Columbine - Miss SHUTTLE.
Sunbeam, a Fairy - - - Miss SHORT.
Fishwoman - . - - Mrs. SPRATT.

184 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
In imitation of the conduct of the managers of the larger
establishments — places which are professedly set apart in a
special manner for the protection and encouragement of the legi
timate drama, — ^the Penny Theatre lessees occasionally treat their
audiences to the performances of the brute creation. I need
hardly say that their boards are not sufiiciently large to admit
of the performances of elephants, or of horses; the largest
animal I have ever heard of as performing on the stage of a
Penny Theatre, was a bear. Bruin was amongst the largest of his
species, and was remarkably ferocious in his appearance, to boot.
He was the property of a little lank-cheeked, sharp-eyed man,
named Monsey Guff. To his master. Bruin was very strongly
attached, though a perfect brute to every body else ; and it is
but justice to Mr. Guff to say that there was no love lost be
tween thera ; for Mr. Guff was exceedingly partial to his bear.
The affection of the parties for each other, was far stronger than
any thing of the. kind which goes by the narae of Platonic. A
very interesting practical display of their mutual attachment
was afforded under very trying circumstances some years ago. It
was arranged between the two, that they should make the tour
of Scotland together, to see what luck they should have in the
way of an exhibition ; for Bruin, under the able instructions of
his master, had made considerable progress in the art of dancing.
It is doubtful, indeed, whether he would have made greater
proficiency had he been under the tuition of the most distin
guished French master extant ; for Mr. Guff thoroughly under
stood the genius of his pupU, which a stranger could not be
expected to do. With the bear's acquirements in the art of
tripping on the light fantastic toe, Mr. Guff confidently calcu
lated on reaUzing a rich harvest frora [the tour in Scotland.
He fancied that Bruin would be just the thing to " draw" the
Scotch. Alas ! how different the event from the expectation !
Mr. Guff says, that he soon found to his sad experience,
that the Caledonians either had no "siller" to spare, or that they
would not part -with it. In the lower districts of the country,
he, and his friend the bear, just managed to get a subsistence ;
but when they came to the Highlands, nothing but starvation
stared them in the face. Before setting out on their journey,
the parties came to a distinct understanding that they should
live or die together; and for some days they bore their privations
with a fortitude that would have done credit to phUosophers of
the first order. Mr. Guff says, that not a single murmur escaped
his lips ; unless, indeed, the occasional utterance of a wish to
be back to England deserved the narae ; while poor Bruin, as far
as his friend and master could understand what was passing
within his mind — if a bear can be said to have a mind

PENNY THEATRES. 185
— contented himself with wishing that he were once more in
the polar regions. At length, however, matters reached a crisis :
the hunger of Mr. Guff and Bruin became so great, that, as in the
case of a shipwrecked crew who have been several days without
food, no other alternative presented itself to them but that of the
one eating the other to preserve life. The question, therefore,
was, whether Mr. Guff should eat the bear, or whether the bear
should eat Mr. Guff. It was true, that the animal could take
no audible part in discussing the matter ; but Mr. Guff, who
says he clearly understood on this occasion. Bruin's thoughts,
from his physiognomy and manner, unhesitatingly afiirms that
the bear was perfectly willing to be sacrificed for the preservation
of his master and friend ; but that he (Mr. Guff) could not
reconcile it to his notions of justice, or to his attachment to the
bear, to entertain for a moment the idea of eating hira up,
without first drawing lots, and by that raeans giving him the
same chance as himself for life. Mr. Guff was accordingly about
to draw lots as to whether he or the bear should be the victim,
when he happened, after having travelled through a bleak and
barren part of the country, fifteen miles in length, without seeing
a single house, — to discover smoke issuing from a sraall turf hut
about forty or fifty yards before them. To the hut they both
proceeded, and so far from the inmates, two aged brothers,
being frightened at the sight of Bruin, as they had invariably
found the peasantry to be before, — they were delighted to see
him, observing that he recalled to their minds the repeated voyages
they had made years before, when sailors, to the polar regions.
Both Mr. Guff and the bear were treated to a homely but
abundant repast, and from that day to this, Mr. Guff says that
neither he nor the bear has ever known what hunger is.
But of all quadrupeds, those teachable animals called dogs,
are most frequently introduced to the juvenile personages
who grace with their presence the Penny Theatres. Some
years ago, a Mr. Abel Smith had acquired a tolerable re
putation for the exploits which he had taught a couple of New
foundland dogs to perform. He used to tell a curious story
about one of his engagements with the proprietor of a Penny
Theatre. For some time, he and his dogs confined their exhi
bitions to Sadler's WeUs, which has been for raore than a cen
tury, as many of my readers are aware, the leading establishment
in town for appreciating merit in the brute creation, or anything
in the shape of " astonishing" gymnastic performances in the
two-legged class of animals. Mr. Abel Smith's dogs, like actors
of another kind, eventuaUy ceased to "draw" at the "Wells;" and
accordingly their engagement soon came to a termination. The
proprietor of one of the penny establishments having been ap-

186 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
prised of this, thought it would prove a profitable speculation if
he could get a fortnight of Mr. Abel Smith's dogs on reasonable
terms. He said the thing would be a novelty, at any rate, and
could not fail to please, whether it paid or not. Mr. Cross, the
Penny Theatre proprietor, consequently waited on Mr. Abel
Smith. " Mr. Smith," said the other, " I have come to have a
word or two about your dogs."
" Very good, Sir : vepy wonderful animals. Sir."
" They are said to be very clever, Mr. Smith."
" They are very clever. Sir."
" What terras would you propose for the use of them in my
theatre, in Shoreditch, for a fortnight?"
" For a fortnight of successive nights ?" said Mr. Abel Smith.
" Just so," answered Mr. Cross.
" Oh, we had ten shUlings each, per night at ' Sadler's
Wells.'" " Ah ; but, Mr. Smith, you must reraember, that while the
price of adraission to the boxes at Sadler's Wells is half-a-
crown, the pit eighteenpence, and the gallery one shilling, I
have got neither boxes nor pit in my establishment ; and the
price of admission is only one penny."
" Bless my heart ! " said Mr. Abel Smith, looking surprised,
" I'm not sure, Mr. Cross, if it would be respectable for us
to appear on the boards of such an establishment."
" WeU, certainly, Mr. Smith," said Mr. Cross, pulling him
self up, " you do astonish rae. This is the first time I have
heard anything about the respectability of dogs."
" Do you mean to say we're not respectable, Sir?" remarked
Mr. Abel Smith with great emphasis, entwining his arms on his
breast. " Not at aU, Mr. Smith. I assure you, nothing could be far
ther from my intention as regards yourself personaUy : I only
meant your dogs."
\ " My dogs. Sir !" exclaimed Mr. Smith, with great energy,
and looking Mr. Cross fiercely in the face.
" Yes, Mr. Smith, only your dogs."
" Only my dogs ! I teU you what, Mr. Cross, those dogs are
very respectable animals. I wish all animals -with two legs con
ducted theraselves with as much propriety." Mr. Abel Smith
made two or three hasty paces through the room as he spoke.
" Do you mean any reflection on rae. Sir ?" said Mr. Cross,
with much sharpness. " Do you mean to say that your dogs
are more respectable than me?"
" I mean to say this," answered Mr. Abel Smith, with a firm
and steady voice, but evading the question put to him ; " I
mean to say this, that I shall never stand silent by while the re-

PENNY THEATRES. 187
spectability of my 'dogs is called in question. I will not, Mr.
Cross. They are noble animals ; they are, Mr. Cross."
" Mr. Smith, you seem to labour under a strange misconcep
tion," observed Mr. Cross, in a more conciUatory tone. " I
never impugned, nor meant to impugn, the respectability of
your dogs."
" Then you admit that they are respectable ?"
' I have no doubt they are, in their own way, Mr. Smith."
" Very good," said the latter, in a tone that showed he was
quite satisfied. " Very good: if you wish to engage us, our
terms are seven shillings a-piece."
" Seven shillings a-night ; that is fourteen shillings altoge
ther," observed Mr. Cross, in a slow and subdued tone, and fixing
his eye on the hob as if lost in a calculation as to what the
entire sum would be which he would have to pay Mr. Abel
Smith for the fortnight's performances of his dogs.
" Fourteen shillings ! " said Mr. Abel Smith, with much sur
prise ; " you're mistaken. Sir ; it's a guinea."
" A guinea ! How do you make that out ? There's only
two dogs."
" Very true. Sir ; but there's me."
" Oh, but it is not necessary to have you, Mr. Smith. You
don't act; you only say two or three words to the animals,
which we can say ourselves."
" Sir," said Mr. Abel Smith, adjusting his collar, " if we
don't go together, we don't go at all.
" Really, Mr. Smith, I think that is unreasonable."
" It shall be the case, Sir. My dogs and myself, or no dogs
at all. Besides, Sir, the animals won't perform their wonder
ful feats with any one but myself."
" I don't see why they shouldn't."
" But I teU you they won't, Sir," said Mr. Abel Smith, in a
gruff voice.
" Have you any objections to let rae try them?"
" Oh, none in the least."
" WeU, then, Mr. Smith, perhaps you would caU in the first
one, and see whether, on my running across the room and re
peating the words you use, the animal does not seize me by the
neck of the coat without doing me any injury."
" Oh, certainly, Sir. Stampheels ! Here, here, here."
A large lively-looking dog iraraediately responded to his mas
ter's call, and quitting a back yard, presented himself before
Mr. Abel Smith and Mr. Cross.
The latter made a sort of run through the room, and uttered
the words which Mr. Smith invariably used in Sadler's Wells
when he wished the animal to perform the exploit of seizing

388 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
him by the neck of the coat without hurting him ; but the dog
remained motionless at his master's feet.
" WeU, Sir," said Mr. Abel Smith, triumphantly, " you are
convinced now, I suppose, that the animals won't perform with
out me?"
" It strikes rae," answered Mr. Cross, " that if you were to
say, ' Go, Sir,' in a harsh tone, when I repeat the words, that
he would go at once, and perforra the feat."
" Very weU, Sir ; we shall try the experiment, if you wish it."
" Do, Mr. Smith."
Mr. Cross again made a bound across the room, repeating the
particular words ; on which, Mr, Abel Smith, addressing him
self in an assumed angry tone to Stampheels, said, " Go, Sir ! "
The animal that moment started to his feet, and springing on
Mr. Cross, seized him ferociously by the neck 'of his coat. He
then threw hira on his back on the fioor, and gave two or three
tremendous growls as if he had been about to tear him to pieces.
Here Mr. Abel Smith interfered, and by rescuing Mr. Cross
from the paws and mouth of the animal, prevented the occur
rence of any such catastrophe. Mr. Cross, as might be expected,
was petrified with fright at the horrible situation in which he
had been placed.
" Satisfied now, Sir, I presume, that the dogs won't do with
out me ?" said Mr. Abel Smith, with an air of much self-compla
cency, addressing himself to Mr. Cross, on the partial recovery
of the latter from his fright.
" Oh ! quite satisfied, Mr. Smith," said the latter. " You
shaU come with the dogs, and you'll have your own terms."
Mr. Abel Smith has told this story about " me and my dogs"
with infinite zest, a thousand times over, and he tells it still with
a glee and earnestness of which no description could furnish an
idea. It is amusing to contrast the respect which the speculators in
Penny Theatres pay to their audiences when going in, with the
rudeness they often show to them when coming out. When
a person is going into one of these establishments, he meets with
every politeness from the proprietor, or the person whom he may
have stationed at the door to take up the money. When coming
out again, the audience are ordered to clear the way, just as if
they were so many serfs at the beck of the proprietor or his
servants. _At some of these estabhshments, the audience are
told on going out, in most authoritative tones, by the proprietor,
to "make haste out of the way, to let in my fresh audience."
The " fresh audience" are treated with all deference on their en
trance, because they then pay their money ; but they in due
course become, what I suppose the proprietors would caU their

PENNY' THEATRES. 189
stale audience, and meet with the same disrespectful treatment
on their quitting the place which they saw those receive whom
they encountered in the passage coming out, while they themselves
were going in. And yet this is but a modification of a principle
which is every day seen and felt in its operations in the ordinary
affairs of life. So long as we are of service to our fellow men,
they treat us with at least the outward manifestations of respect ;
but the moment we cease to be so, we meet with a very different
treatment. The fable of the man who overlooked the ninety-
nine times in which the grey-hound had caught the hare, when
the animal failed in the hundredth attempt, is hourly illus
trated in every walk of life. Of course, there are exceptions,
but they are comparatively few in number.
I must in justice say there are some such exceptions — for I
know of two — in the case of the proprietors of Penny Theatres.
Mr. Hector Simpson, to whom I have made such frequent refer
ence already, is one. So respectfully does Mr. Hector Simp
son treat his audiences, that he often goes into the pit, unobserved
by his company of actors, to see that they do full justice to the
audience by fairly acting the piece ; and if he sees that any part
of the piece has been slovenly represented, or rather »izsrepre-
sented, or worse still, not represented at all, he immediately
starts up with the suddenness of an apparition, and sternly
commands his actors to play the part over again, or to perform
that which they omitted, adding in indignant and stentorian
accents, " I'm determined that no persons in my employment
shall insult my audience with impunity." Mr. Hector Simpson
is most assiduous in enjoining on his performers, that they pay
the utmost respect, on all occasions, to his audience. It is not
improbable that this is one of the principal causes of the great
success of his establishment in Tooley-street, while he sees so
many other Penny Theatres around him in so deplorable a con
dition. There is one thing, which in this respect, is in Mr.
Hector Simpson's favour; he never suffers the salaries of his
actors, or actresses, to fall into arrears, which very naturally
insures obedience to orders that otherwise might be slighted.
Hitherto I have said little of the quaUty of the acting at the
Penny Theatres. In those cases in which the arrangements are
such that pieces must be got through in a certain tirae, without
regard to effect, there can, of course, be no good acting, even
where there is the requisite talent on the part of the performers.
In sorae of the establishments, however, where there are only
two or three, instead of six or seven, " houses" in one night, and
where the proprietor trusts to a superior order of acting drawing
numerous audiences, and by that means making up for a reduced
number of " houses," the acting is, in many cases, really good.

190 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
I have seen some pieces, both in tragedy and farce, represented
at these establishments with wonderful effect. Indeed, I am
convinced that the acting, as a whole, in the cases to which I
refer, would have been applauded at some of our more respectable
larger theatres. This wiU appear the less surprising, when I
mention, that many of those who are now subsisting on the
miserable pittance they receive for their performances at Penny
Theatres, were once great favourites at the larger establishments.
One of these unfortunate persons was lately pointed out to me as
not only the bosom friend of the late Mr. Munden, one of the
most distinguished comedians of his day, but as having many
years acted with him in important characters at Drury-lane, and
most efiiciently supported him in his most arduous parts. And now
the poor fellow has only tenpence a night. I forbear mentioning
his name, as that would only add to the unhappiness of his con
dition. It is really painful to think that one who had for so many
years been a popular actor, should now, in his old age, partly
from the infirmities of his advanced years, and partly from the
fickleness of the public taste, be unable to obtain an engagement
in any of the larger houses, and consequently be driven as a last
resource against the workhouse, to toil night after night at one
of these miserable places*. Yet so it is; and not in his case only,
but also in that of many others. These unfortunate men, as will
easily be understood, having been in the habit of acting weU,
now act well without an effort ; it has become a sort of second
nature to them. There are others again, who have a natural
talent for the stage, but who having never been fortunate
enough to get an engagement in any larger house, are obliged to
* It is generally admitted that there is no class of men more improYident than
the members of the theatrical profession, taken as a body. In many cases, they
have what, in speaking of the pieces in which they pefform, they would call such
" a run" of good luck, that in a few years they might, with proper economy, save as
much as would place them beyond the reach of want ; yet it so happens that very
few of them have the prudence to lay aside a part of their earnings. They usually
live up to their means ; very often above their means, even when those means are
abundant. They never contemplate for a moment the possible, not to say probable
contingency of their popularity declining and eventually dying away altogether ;
or of any of the accidents of life occurring to prevent their successful prosecution
of their professional pursuits. They take for granted that they are to continue
to run an equally prosperous career, and think it enough if they make the day
and the journey alike ; consequently when a reverse of circumstances occurs, they
have nothing to fall back upon, but are obliged to accept of any engagement, no
matter how disrespectable, or how painful to their feelings, which is offered to
them. But while I thus refer with regret to the improvidence which is so general
among the members of the histrionic profession, it must be admitted, that from
the extreme precariousness of that profession, the most provident are often unable
to make any provision against a future period. I believe that, between improvi-
dent habits and the precarious nature of their pursuits, there is more suffering
among actors and actresses, than among the members of any other body that
could be named.

FENNY THEATRES. 19l
vegetate in obscurity in these Penny Theatres ; so that between
these two classes of actors, good acting, where sufl&oient time is
aUowed by the proprietors, may often be ¦witnessed at them. In
the generality, however, of these estabhshments, there is no such
thing as acting at all. The performers say what they like and
do as they like. Stabbing and thrusting in the tragic pieces, and
slapping one another's faces, and pulling one another's caps over
each other's eyes in the farces, are the principal kinds of acting
which are to be seen. The pleasure which would otherwise be
enjoyed by those who can appreciate the good acting, must
necessarily be much diminished by the consciousness that the
actors are so miserably remunerated for their services. I have
often wondered how they are able to keep up their spirits suffi-'
ciently to enable them to play their parts so well.
I may here observe, not having done it when speaking of the
number of Penny Theatres, that they are rapidly on the
increase. The oldest of them is of comparatively modern growth,
and if they continue for a few years to increase as rapidly as they
have done for the last five or six years, they cannot fail to
attract the attention of the magistrates, if not the legislature
itself. I am quite satisfied from what I have myself witnessed
at these establishments, to say nothing of what has been com
municated to rae by persons whose word, or opportunities of
acquiring correct information, I had no reason to question,
that they do incalculable mischief to the morals of the youths
who frequent them*. Whenever the police have reason to
believe that some particular boy has been guilty of any act of
theft, or other crime cognizable by the civil authorities, they
proceed as a matter of course to sorae spot in the neighbourhood
of sorae of these establishraents, not doubting they will raeet with
the youth of whora they are in quest, either when going in or
coraing out. But to expatiate here on the mischievous tendency
of these places on the morals of the youths who frequent them,
would only be to repeat what has been said on the subject in
the opening of the chapter. My purpose in again adverting to
the matter, is to impress, if possible, on the minds of the civil
authorities, the propriety of shutting up the Penny Theatres.
The process by which this may be done, is sufiiciently simple
and easy. The magistrates have only to indict them as nuisances,
which they undoubtedly are, to the neighbourhoods in which
* I could indeed refer to particular cases in confirmation of the injurious conse
quences to the morals of both sexes from attendance on Penny Theatres, but that is
unnecessary. One has only to spend a single half hour in one of these places to
see and hear what is passing, to be convinced of their highly immoral tendency.
A few visits to Penny Theatres by the moralist or philanthropist, could not fail
to afford information which might be made conducive to the interests of society.

192 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
they are severally placed. This has already been done by the
proper authorities in several districts in town. A year or two
ago, two or three of them were put down in the east end,
leading, if I remember rightly, out of Ratcliffe Highway ; and
within the last ten or twelve months, several of them, as before
stated, have been shut up in the west end. The evil has already
reached a sufiicient height to justify the interference of the
magistrate. Were it likely to abate of itself, that might afford
sorae excuse for looking passively on these places ; but when, as al
ready stated, the evil is rapidly on the increase, instead of being on
the decline, and when, as I have lately been assured by the
proprietors of two of these establishraents, they are likely to go
on increasing to an extent of which no one has at present any
conception, it is surely high time that the proper authorities inter
fered. As before observed, they must sooner or later be put
down by the arm of the law ; and consequently it were better
they were put done now. Enough of evil has already been done
by these places in the way of corrupting the morals of the youths
in^their respective neighbourhoods ; let not the amount of that evil
be increased, by not only suffering those already in existence to
continue their nightly performances, and by that means extend
the mischief, but by allowing new ones to be caUed into being in
different parts of town.

( H

193

CHAPTER VI.

THE POLICE OFFICES.
Their Number and Names— Remarks on Bow Street Office — The Thames Police
Office — The Magistrates— Number of cases daily brought before them — Yearly
Expenses of the Police Offices — Their Expenses Forty Years ago — The Station
Houses — Anecdote of a Prisoner — Scenes to be witnessed in the Station Houses —
Exhibitions of Human Nature to be witnessed in the Police Offices — Specimens
given — 'North Country Simplicity^ The Poetical Cobbler — A Drunken Frolic —
Case of alleged Horsestealing.
In a work devoted to the metropolis, it were an unpardonable
omission to pass over in silence the Police OflRces. I will, there
fore, make them the subject of the present chapter, and shall
endeavour to enliven the statistical details which it will be
necessary to give by the introduction of matter of a Ughter
kind. The Police Ofiices of London are nine in nuraber. They are
thus enumerated in the report of the Parliamentary Committee
appointed in 18S3 to inquire into matters connected with the
police of the metropolis: — Bow Street, including the horse-
patrol — Marlborough Street — Hatton Garden — Worship Street
— Lambeth Street — High Street, Marylebone — Queen Square —
Union Hall — Thames Police — City of London Police, In this
list of the Police Oflfices it will be observed that no mention is
made of the Mansion House, Guildhall, or the Town Hall in
Southwark. The reason of this is, that these three places are
differently constituted frora the other police establishments.
The Mansion House, as every one knows, is presided in by the
Lord Mayor for the tirae being, while justice is gratuitously
administered in Guildhall, and the Town HaU, by one or more
Aldermen. These last three oflftces are under the jurisdiction
of the City authorities, who have a large police establishment of
their own.
The oldest of the existing ofi&ces is that in Bow Street. It is at
least a century since it was originally estabUshed for the pur
pose of administering justice. Until 1792, however, it was on a
very different footing from what it has been since. Previous to

194 SKETCHES IN LONDON,
that time it was not established by act of parliament, but was
simply an ofiice used by the county magistrates, who gave their
services gratuitously. Mr. Henry Fielding, the author of " Tom
Jones," and other celebrated novels, was the first magistrate
who received any remuneration for his services in administering
justice in Bow Street. The precise time when he first received
a salary is not known. To the circurastance of Fielding having
been a London police magistrate, we are, in a great measure,
indebted for some of his choicest works of fiction. The many-
coloured scenes of life which he witnessed while discharging the
functions of a magistrate there, furniished him with that intimate
knowledge of human life which he displays so strikingly, and
at the same time afforded him some of the happiest incidents
which are to be found in his works.
In 1792, seven police offices were established by act of parlia
ment in different parts of the metropolis. To each of these
offices three magistrates were appointed, at a salary, respectively,
of 400?. per annum. The other two offices were subsequently
established, a growing metropolitan population having so much
increased the amount of police business, as to render them
necessary. Bow Street Ofldce has the most extensive jurisdiction among
the police offices of London. It can take cognizance of any
case which raay occur in any part of the county, though its
positive limits are the line of the city, which is at Temple Bar
eastward, Holborn and High Street on the north, St. Martin's
Lane on the west, and the river Thames on the south.
The only other establishment whose limits I shall mention, is,
the Thames Police Office. My reason for specifying the extent
of its jurisdiction is, that it is much greater than any of the
remaining seven offices. The limits of this ofiice upon the
Thames, are as far as the river runs between the counties of
Middlesex and Surrey, Essex and Kent. The more common
supervision, however, is confined to the busier and more active
parts of the river, namely, frora Greenwich to a little above
Westminster Bridge, The land district is restricted to the
populous parishes of Wapping, Aldgate, St. Katharine's, Shad-
well, and Ratcliffe.
All the police magistrates are either baristers-at-law or
serjeants-at-law. This was not the case formerly; it is the
effect of a recent resolution on the part of governraent, made
under a conviction that it would prove highly essential to the ends
of justice, and conducive to the respectability of the magisterial
character, that the magistrates should be men, not only of
general intelligence, but that they should be weU acquainted
with the law which they are caUed to administer.

POLICE OFFICES. 195
The appointment of the itiagistrates is vested in the Home
Secretary ; and their continuance in office is dependent on the
good pleasure of every successive individual who raay hold that
iraportant appointraent under his sovereign. The magistrates
are liable to be set aside, without being entitled to any pension,
at any time, should it suit the whim or caprice of the Home
Secretary to come to such a determination. In this respect they
are very disadvantageously circumstanced as compared with the
judges, the latter being, from the very moment of their appoint
ment, ever afterwards entirely independent of the crown. It is but
right, however, to say that police magistrates are seldom dis
missed from their situations ; and never without some reason.
The only recent instance was that of Mr. Laing, of Hatton
Garden, who was set aside seven or eight weeks ago.
The salaries of the police magistrates were doubled some years
since. They are now 800?.* per annum. After they have served
for a certain time, they may retire, if they wish it, on a pension
of 500?. per annum. Mr. Halls, of Bow Street Office, retired
on that pension about twelve months since. The police magis
trates are prohibited from pursuing their professional pursuits
as barristers, or engaging in any trade or business ; it is ex
pected that they shall apply themselves exclusively to the duties
of their office. They have to sit every day during the week,
Sunday excepted. They commence -their sittings at eleven
o'clock, and continue, in most cases, till five ; and again sit an
hour or two after seven o'clock. One out of the three magis
trates always presides at each office. Hence the expression, the
" sitting magistrate." One of the other two is always present, but
takes no part, except in extreme cases, in the proceedings. Two
magistrates must be in the office when hearing cases. They
always sit by rotation ; so that each magistrate is the sitting or
presiding magistrate two days in every week.
The magistrates at the Police Offices have no control over the
police constables. They have all a greater or less number of
officers of their own, according to the amount of business done
at each establishment. In Bow Street Office, the nuraber of
constables or officers at the disposal and under the sole control
of the magistrates is ten. Their salaries are in most cases twenty-
five shillings per week ; but when they are sent to the country in
Jmrsuit of any party, the individual so employing them, must
allow them ten shilUngs each per day for his pay, twelve shillings
for living, and pay all coach hire and other expenses besides.
These constables are all appointed by the Home Secretary, the
magistrates seldom interfering even so far as to recommend any
* The chief magistrate in Bow Street has a salary of 1'200;. a-year. There is no
chief magistrate at any of the other offices,
p2

196 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
particular person for the situation. They are always dressed in
plain clothes, and have no connection, and but very little inter
course, with the other policemen. The magistrates employ them
in all those cases in which they have themselves received private
information either of an actual or intended violation of the law.
If, for example, information were communicated of a contem
plated duel, the magistrate to whom such information is given,
immediately despatches two of his o\vn officers to arrest the
parties. The magistrates never employ the ordinary police.
In the other offices, except the Thames Street Office, the number
of constables retained by the establishment, is seven, eight,
or nine, according to circumstances. In the Thames Police
Office, there are nearly as many constables as in all the other
offices put together; the number is seventy, exclusive of thirty-one
surveyors. The reason why so great a nuraber of officers is
required at this establishraent, is the circumstance of all the
business connected with the river being under its jurisdiction.
The parties in the employ of this office, have to look after all
illegal transactions on the Thames. The whole number of per
sons employed as constables in the Police Offices is about one
hundred and forty.
The number of cases daily tried before the Police Offices of
London, considerably varies. Sorae days it is as high as ninety,
other days it is as low as sixty. The Edinburgh Review, in its
last number, estimates the average nuraber at seventy. The
writer grounds his opinion on an examination of the police sheet
for a given day. Probably seventy is about the average number.
Of course it wiU be understood, that I am here speaking only
of the number of cases for larceny, and those other crimes,
which if proved would render the party liable to be tried at the
central crimihal court. I exclude altogether what are called
night charges, that is, quarrelling with the policemen, getting
up a row, or being drunk. If those cases were to be includ
ed, the number would be nearer three hundred ; for] instances
have occurred in which upwards of ninety persons have been
shut up in Bow Street Station-house alone, in one night.
The police sheet, which passes between all the offices every
day, and to which the Edinburgh Review refers as its authority
for the supposition that the average daily number of cases of
the class of offences to which I aUude, is seventy, divides that
seventy into three descriptions of cases. It gives the summary
convictions or comraitraents for trial at the Old Bailey Sessions
at sixteen ; the remands twenty-seven ; and the discharges as
twenty-seven. The yearly expense of the nine Police Offices is upwards of
50,000?. making that of each to be on an average somewhat about

POLICE OFFICES.

197

5500?. One considerable item of expense at each of these
establishments is the salaries of clerks. There are three or four
clerks at each of the eight offices, and double the number at
Thames Street Office. Their salaries vary from 400/. to 120?.
per annum.
Connected with the Police Offices there is a Receiver at a
salary of 500?. per annum. The following tabular view will
show at one glance the various kinds of officers at the different
police establishments, with the salaries they severally receive for
their services. It is taken from the parliamentary returns of
1835. PAY OP EACH CLASS OP OFFICERS.
Chief Magistrate of Bow Street 1200?. per annum.
Police Magistrates 800?. per annum each.
Receiver of the nine Police Offices 500?. per annum.
Chief Clerk of Bow Street, salary 2501., increasing 10?. per
annum to 450?.
Second Clerk, salary 180?., increasing 8?. per annum to 300?.
Third Clerk, salary 120?., increasing 5?. per annum to 250?. .
Constables and Police Officers, 25s. per week.
Thames Police Principal Surveyor 160?. per annum.
Inspecting Surveyor 100?. per annum. Twenty Surveyors
from 75?. per annum to 90?. per annum each.
Thames Pohce River Constables — thirty at 23s. per week
each ; forty at 21s. each.
The foUowing were the expenses of each of the offices in
1835, including contingencies : —

CONTINGENCIES.

OFFICES.

TOTAL EXPENSES

£. s. d.

£. s. d.

1263 11 4

Bow Street

9768 14 2

432 1 0

Queen Square

4574 7 2

351 1 10

Marlborough Street

4402 10 0

246 0 0

Marylebone

3978 17 5

280 4 11

Hatton Garden

4250 18 3

365 4 4

Worship Street

6106 9 4

205 10 5

Whitechapel

3775 6 4

329 19 0

Union HaU

4152 4 10

763 19 11

Thames PoUce, including
the River Force

10,712 17 11

Making the aggregate expenses of the nine Police Offices
in 1835,-51,724?. 5s. 5d.
Connected with Bow Street Office, as before stated, is the
Horse Patrol, the expenses of which, in the sarae year, were
10,169?. ; making, if the cost of both departments be put toge
ther, the expenses of that office in 1835, about 20,000?.

198 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
Forty years ago, the expenses of Bow Street were not above
one-third of what they now are, as will be seen from the fol
lowing table : —
, Three Magistrates at 400?. per annum each -
One Clerk at
One Clerk at
One Clerk at - -
One Extra Clerk
Six Officers at lis. 8c?. per week
An Officekeeper
A Housekeeper
A Messenger
An Assistant Gaoler
Attached to the office there is a patrol, consist
ing of sixty-eight persons, divided into thirteen
parties, each having a captain at 5s. per night,
the men having 2s. 6d. per night ; araounting in
the whole, annually, to about 3695 12 6
There is also paid to the clerks, on account of
the patrol - - - - 71 0 0
And in remuneration to the magistrates in lieu
of fees aijd perquisites, and for special services - 900 0 0
£6641 2 6

£. s.

d.

1200 0

0

160 0

0

130 0

0

100 0

0

80 0

0

182 0'

0

35 0

0

35 0

0

35 0

0

17 10

0

The amount of gratuities, and penalties levied at each of the
nine offices in the same year, is thus given in the parliamentary
paper whence I have copied the above statistics : —
£. s. d.
Bow Street 1528 16 4
Mariborough Street - 1040 3 0
Queen Square - 1007 12 11
Hatton Garden 1112 3 9
Worship Street 804 6 11
Whitechapel - - 799 4 0
Marylebone - - - - 1025 7 1
Union HaU - - 1312 17 '^

9

Thames PoUce - - 753 6 10

Making a total of - - £9383 18 6

Of this sum upwards of 1000?. consisted of fines exacted from
parties who had committed assaults on the police. The money
thus collected is applied to the expenses of the several offices.
Of the expenses of the three City Police Offices, I have said
nothing. As the magistrates there receive no salary, the ex-

The Lock-xip -house

POLICE OFFICES. 199
penses are confined to the pay of a few officers, and do not
much exceed 500Z. per annum.
The Police Offices are for the raost part ill ventilated, con
fined, sombre-looking places. They are not at all worthy of a
great city like London, and the iraportant space they fill in the
public eye. There is a great want of room in them, considering
the amount of the business which has to be transacted. They
are often crowded to suffocation, to the great annoyance of
every one who has occasion to be present. They are also,
with two or three exceptions, in badly chosen situations.
The cells in the station-houses belonging to them, in which
prisoners are locked up over the night, are in striking keeping
with the offices. These cells are most uncomfortable places : they
are so apart from the unpleasantness of feeling which arises
frora the disgrace of the thing, in aU thoSe cases, where the
party is not so intoxicated as to be deprived, for the time, of
his reflecting powers. They are narrow, damp, dark, and cold.
In some of the station-houses they are on a levelwith the
streets ; in others, they are under ground. In either case they
are the most miserable' "receptacles into which a human being
could be put, short of burying him alive. When the num
ber of prisoners'^ is few, each one has often a cbU for himself.
When an " apartment" cannot be spared to each, owing to the
number of candidates for admission, two, in some cases it may
happen three, foiir, or five, are shut up together in one little
cell. It is often curious to reflect on the strange errors as to
where a party is,-' and with whom he is, into which he falls on
recovering from that state of extreme intoxication called "dead
druhk." A few months ago I was amused with the account
given- me by one who was in the sarae cell, of the conduct of a
young man, whose name I afterwards ascertained to be Snitch,
and who. had been deposited in the station-house about ^twelve
o'clock the previous evening, in a state of such entire intoxica
tion, that biit for the circumstance of his breathing, you would
ha,ve concluded he was dead. Until five o'clock in the morning —
it was in the summer season — he slept as soundly and lay on the
stones as quietly as if he had been in his grave ; but he then all
at once opened his eyes, and sitting up, looked for a moraent
wildly around him. His eye at last lighted on his feUow prisoner;
and after a temporary gaze on him, he uttered in accents of a
most, unearthly kind, "Where am IT "Who is that?" '; So-
phemia ! who is that ?" Who Sopheraia was, whether sister,
sweetheart, or wife, was at the tirae a mystery; but it was clear
the unlucky wight fancied he was in his own home, and that he
had metamorphosed his companion in trouble into an apparition.
His horror and bewilderment seemed, for a few seconds only, to

200 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
increase when the other spoke to him. He had not the most
remote idea of where he was ; nor when acquainted with his
temporary " local habitation," could he recal to his mind a
single circurastance connected with his capture by the poUce,
or his conveyance thither. His latest reminiscences did not
come within two hours of the time at which the police took
charge of him. He was then, he stated, admiring " a show of
beauties" in the saloon of Drury Lane Theatre. The period
which elapsed from that hour, which he stated to have been teni
o'clock at night, down to the time of his waking in the station-
house next morning, which, as before stated, was five o'clock,
vvas a perfect blank in his existence. Had he been literally
dead, he could not have been more oblivious of what had
occurred in his personal history in the interim. But the most
interesting circumstance in the affair, was his ignorance of the
offence for which he was locked up, coupled with the intense
anxiety he manifested to ascertain it. What could it be ? Was
it murder or manslaughter ? Was it comraitting some serious
assault ? Was he a prisoner for felony ? Could he have smashed
people's windows? What in the name of wonder could he have
done to justify the police in confining hira in the dungeon — he
was in a cell below ground — in which he then found himself?
These and a dozen other questions suggested themselves to his
mind, and filled him with the raost horrible fears. His awful
apprehensions were not lessened by observing that his hat was
shattered to pieces, and that one of the tails of his coat had
been entirely torn away. At last, no longer able to endure the
frightful forebodings of what might be the disclosures when
brought before the magistrate, he turned to his brother in
adversity, having been by this time satisfied that he was a
fellow mortal, and with a most dolorous expression of counte
nance, and in truly touching accents said, " Pray, Sir, can you
inform me for what crime I was brought here ?"
" I know one violation of the law with which you are charged,"
answered the other, quite coolly.
"Violation of the law. Sir?" said the terrified party, with
great earnestness.
" Of course ; otherwise you would not have been here."
" Pray, Sir, do inform me of its nature ! Was it a serious
breach of the law ?"
" Very serious," answered the other, with some emphasis.
^1 No life lost, I hope ?" gasped Mr. Snitch.
" Why, the policemen who brought you here did say some
thing about being uncertain whether some person of whom they
were talking, were living or dead."
" I'm a lost man ! " groaned the poor fellow, violently striking

POLICE OFFICES. 201
his forehead. A public trial, a verdict of guilty, transportation
for life — if not suspension by the neck — with all their con
comitant horrors, were ideas which in a moment crowded on his
mind. " Oh, Sophemia ! that ever it should have come to this !
Little did I think  "
" Don't be so much alarmed," interrupted his companion ;
" possibly your fears are worse than the reality. It may have
been yourself the policemen alluded to, when they spoke of its
being uncertain whether the party was dead or alive."
" My dear friend," said the poor frightened youth, seizing his
fellow-prisoner with a cordial grasp by the hand, " do you really
think that is the fact ?"
" I hope it may be so," replied the other.
" My dear Sir, you delight me. I feel as if  "
At this moment a friend, to whom the other had written to
come and bail him out, arrived, and he was liberated, — leaving
the unhappy youth to hiraself to be torraented between his
doubts and fears until he appeared before the magistrate, as to
what crimes he had committed while drunk.
I was present at the police-office when the charges for the
night were brought before the magistrate. After several others
had been disposed of, the magistrate said in his usual sharp
and hasty manner, — " The next charge on the list."
" Sopheraia Burgess ! " bawled out one of the officers, at the
full stretch of a powerful voice, opening as he spoke a door
which coramunicated with a passage leading to another room,
where the undisposed " charges" were congregated together.
In a few seconds, Mr. Snitch was conducted to the bar. His
pale countenance, with the marked expression of horror which
was depicted on it, told in silent but impressive terms of the agony
of mind under which he laboured. His unshaved beard, his
dirty face, the crumpled breast and collar of his shirt, and
sundry patches of mud which still adhered to his apparel,
were in strict keeping with his one- tailed coat. Taken alto
gether, the appearance of Mr. Snitch was so much in character
with the usual effects of a drunken debauch, that it needed not
the testimony of any living witness as to the way in which the
unfortunate wight had spent the previous night.
" Why, officer," said the worthy magistrate, with some tart
ness, " you have made a mistake. You have brought me a
man instead of a woman."
" It's quite right, your worship."
"It's what?"
" Quite right, your worship."
" Why, the name on my list, of the next charge, is Sophemia
Burgess."

202 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
"This is Sophemia Burgess," said the officer, with a steady voice.
The magistrate looked at the officer with an air of infinite
surprise ; and Mr. Snitch's pale face coloured deeply, as well
as indicated the utmost amazement, when the name was men
tioned. The latter rapidly glanced his eye round the office, as
if looking to see whether some person of that narae, with whom
he was on terms of intimacy, was in the place. It was after
wards ascertained, that Sophemia Burgess was a young lady to
whom he was paying his addresses ; and as she stUl absorbed his
thoughts so long as he was able to think, he had stammered out
her name when asked his own.
" Why," said the worthy magistrate, addressing himself, with
increased sharpness, to the policeman ; " why Sophemia is a
woman's name, not a man's."
" That is his right name," insisted the knight of the bludgeon.
" Is that your name, Sir ?" said the magistrate, addressing
himself to Mr. Snitch.
" It is not. Sir," answered Mr. Snitch,
The magistrate now looked quite ferocious at the policeman,
as if he had meant to say, " What have you now to say for
yourself, you blundering blockhead ?"
" That is the prisoner's name, your worship," repeated con
stable H., of the G division, without the slightest disconcertion
of manner.
" Is that the name he gave you, when you took him into cus
tody?" inquired the magistrate.
" No, your worship ; he was not able to give any name at all."
" What ! was he so drunk as that ?"
" He was, your worship, dead drunk : he could neither move
hand nor foot, let alone speaking."
Mr. Snitch hung his head still lower, and audibly groaned,
" And how did you come to know his name, then?" continued
the magistrate.
" ^y^ your worship, a person who had seen him before he was
quite so bad, told me he had inquired his name, and that, with
an effort, he managed to answer ' Sophemia Burgess;' but, be
sides that, we found in his pocket a card with that name on it."
" And you mean to say. Sir, do you," said the magistrate,
addressing himself to the prisoner, " that Sophemia Burgess is
not your name ? "
" That is not ray name. Sir."
" WeU, then, will you tell the bench what is your name ?"
" It is Tugworth Snitch, Sir."
Mr. Snitch had no sooner mentioned his right narae, than he
reproached himself for his stupidity in not giving an assumed
one ; but the rapidity with which the magistrate proceeded to

POLICE OFFICES. 203
dispose of the charge, left but little time for reflection on the
subject. " Well, Sir, you hear the charge : what have you to say in
your defence ?"
Mr. Snitch whispered in tremulous accents, that he was not
aware of what specific offence he was charged with.
" Why, with being in a state of beastly intoxication," said
the magistrate, with sorae acrimony.
Mr. Snitch's countenance brightened up, as if a poet's para
dise had all at once opened on his view, on thus hearing that
the charge against him was confined to being drunk.
*' I ara sorry for it. Sir," answered Mr. Snitch, in a tone of
mingled penitence and joy. " I never was in the same situation
before, and hope I never will be again."
" I hope it will be a warning to you, Mr. Tugworth Snitch :
you have great reason to be thankful that you were not run
over, and kiUed by some vehicle, when the policeman found you
rolling in the mud."
Mr. Snitch was silent, and looked as if he assented to the
proposition. " You are fined five shillings, for being drunk," said the ma
gistrate. " Officer, the next charge," he added, in the same
breath. Mr. Snitch paid the fine, and retired from the bar, rejoicing
that matters were not much worse.
Some extraordinary scenes are to be witnessed in the station-
houses, when all the " charges," as the prisoners are called,
are brought forward from their different cells, to one place, im
mediately prior to their being transferred to the police-offices.
Not long since, I saw an odd exhibition of this kind in the Vine-
street station-house. The nuraber of persons who had been shut
up during the greater part of the night, was fifteen. It will at
once be concluded, that they 96nsisted of both sexes ; but it will
not be so readily inferred, though such was the fact, that a ma
jority of the company belonged to the female sex. There may
be, in the estimation of some persons, but little gaUantry in
making this statement ; but gallantry, in such cases, must give
way to the truth. A raore motley assemblage than that to
which I refer, it has never been my fortune to behold, either at
a station-house or elsewhere. It embraced all ranks as well as
both sexes. There were parties moving in the higher walks of
Ufe, and there were the very humblest of mankind. There were
persons of every shade of character; frora those of correct
morals, who had been consigned to a gloomy ceU simply because
they had refused, in going home, to submit obsequiously to the
behests of a capricious policeman, down to the most worthless

204 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
and depraved creatures to be met with in this vast metropolis.
And their external aspect exhibited as great a variety as did
their moral character. There was the tastefully-dressed man of
fashion, and the poor mendicant, wrapped up in a mass of dirty
rags. There were sorae, both men and women, whose apparel,
at the best, had only been of an humble description. There
were others who were what is called " elegantly attired" the
previous night, whose clothes were either torn to tatters, or
covered over with mud. Hats without crowns, and minus the
greater part of their brims to boot; coats converted, by the
tails being torn off, into jackets ; straw and silk bonnets trans
formed into shapes which the milliners who made them never
intended ; shawls and gowns either torn into fragments, or
affording abundant evidence that their wearers had recently
been paying their respects to the pavement, were among the
things which gave variety to the scene. Then there were the
languor and heaviness of manner caused by the dissipation of
the preceding night, which were so visibly impressed on the
countenances of many ; to say nothing of the unwashed faces,
unshaved beards, and unbrushed clothes of others. The odd effect
which all this was so well calculated to produce on the mind of
him who had slept comfortably in his bed at home, and was but
an accidental spectator of the scene, was very materially height
ened by the hanging down of the heads of those who were parti
cularly ashamed of the situation in which they were placed, and
the significant looks which others exchanged with each other, as
if they had meant to say, " We are brethren and sisters in ad
versity." Altogether, it would have been difficult to have fancied
a group in which there could be a greater diversity of external
appearance or in moral or social character. For a time they were
doomed to be separated : instead of being all conveyed together to
the police-office, they were transferred thither in separate detach
ments of ones, twos, or threes. Those of them who could afford
to pay for a hackney-coach, and preferred incurring the expense
to being walked to the police-office in Great Marlborough-street
in the company of a policeman, had it in their power to avail
themselves of the services of Jehu ; whUe those who were less
favourably circumstanced, or grudged the coach fare, were
obliged to submit to encounter the rude and unhallowed gaze of
every unmannerly person they met on the way. The separation
of those who had parted at Vine-street station-house was but of
a temporary kind. At the police-office they were aU destined to
meet again, previous to being severally called before the magis
trate. Here they were aU huddled together, and pent up in a
small space, as if they had been so many black cattle for sale in
Smithfield-market. They were introduced to another lot in the

POLICE OFFICES. 205
same predicament as themselves, who had been deposited in the
course of the night in some other station-house. Here again, the
scene was worth seeing. It was on a still more extensive scale.
What struck me particularly was, the genuine republican cha
racter of the assemblage. The raost strenuous advocate for the
extinction of all conventional differences in society, and for the
substitution of the most thorough equality, would have been gra
tified with the spectacle to his heart's content. The highest and
the lowest — the raost elegantly attired, and the raost ragged in
their apparel — stood there on precisely the same footing, and
treated each other in the genuine republican style. It was alto
gether a truly curious spectacle to witness, and one which could
not fail to lead to an interesting train of reflection in a medi
tative mind.
Perhaps there are no places in the world, in which a more com
plete insight into human nature, in all its simplicity, extrava
gances, eccentricities, follies, and viciousness, raay be had, than
in the police-offices of London. The cases which daily come
before the magistrates, develope at one moment deep-laid
schemes of unredeemed villany ; in the next, instances of such
perfect simplicity or " greenness," as no one could have previ
ously deemed of possible existence. I will give a few of the
more interesting cases which have lately occurred in several of
the offices, which will go far to confirm what I have just said
about the complete exhibition of human nature, in all its aspects,
which is to be seen at these establishments. For the sake of
classification, it may be as well to give the cases such headings
as it is very likely they would have received, had they been
written for the daily newspapers. It may perhaps be right to
mention, that none of the cases have before appeared in print.
The first is a case of

NORTH-COUNTRY SIMPLICITY.
Thomas Watson, whose broad manner of speaking would of
itself have been sufficient to satisfy any reasonable person, that
he was a recent importation from the land o'cakes, carae forward
to prefer a complaint against a young gaudily-dressed damsel,
weU known in the neighbourhood of Co vent-gar den, Mr. Wat
son was seeraingly about twenty years of age, of a copper-
coloured physiognomy, thick lips, broad flat nose, and of a most
good-natured, unsuspecting e.vpression of countenance. He was
clad in his holiday clothes, and had what is called a decent,
though sheepish, appearance. " WeU, Sir, what is your com
plaint?" said the magistrate, in a tone of kindness, being struck
with the manifest simplicity of the young man.

206 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" It's aboot the loss of my sUler, Sir; may I speek a word or
twa?" said the Scotchman.
" Certainly," answered the raagistrato. " That's the very
thing I was requesting you to do. State your case."
" Weel, Sir  "
" But, pray, what are you ?" interrupted the magistrate.
" Do you mean. Sir, what country I belong to ?"
" Oh, no ; I don't want to know that : that is sufficiently
clear without your teUing us."
" Do you mean. Sir, what line of life I follow ?"
" Precisely so."
" Aw, then. Sir, I'm a mekanic."
" But what is your trade ?"
" I'm a heckler. Sir."
"A heckler!" exclaimed his worship, evidently at a loss to
know what the simple Caledonian meant.
" Yes, Sir, a heckler," repeated the latter, with great in
nocence. " It means, your worship, a flax-dresser," interposed a ser
geant of the police, who was himself a transplantation from the
north of the Tweed.
" Oh, very good ; I see," said the magistrate. " Pray go
on with your story," he continued, addressing himself to Mr.
Watson. " Weel, Sir, as I was a-going to tell you, I came up to Lun-
nun, to an uncle wha's in a good way, thinkin' he might do
something for me, as I dinna like my bisness very weel ; but on
comin' up here, I found that he had left his former house, and
the folks that live in it could na tell me whar he had gane to."
Here the young man stopped, as if he had finished his story.
" Well, go on," said the magistrate ; " you have not yet told
the Bench why this female is brought here."
" I'll tell you that the noo," resumed the other. " It was
near ten o'clock at night," he continued, " when I reached the
place which is called the Strand, whar my uncle formerly lived ;
and findin' that he was not there, I made up my mind to go
into the first public-house I could see, to ask for lodgings for the
night. Jost whan I cam' to this resolution, 1 met this young
leddy, wha', as I thought at the time, cam' in o'er to me with
great kindness, and spoke to me."
" What did she say ?" inquired the magistrate.
The poor Caledonian coloured, and hung down his head.
" Come, don't be so modest. TeU us what she said. Some
thing tender, I suppose?"
" VeryV answered the'young man, in a tone something be-
;tween a groan and a sigh.

POLICE OFFICES. 207
" Why," said the magistrate, observing the blushes and
hesitation of Sa-wney, " she seems to have made an impression
on you ! "
The Scotchman only coloured the more.
" Come," resumed the magistrate, with some sharpness, " you
must lay aside your modesty, and tell us what she said."
" Weel, I will," answered Mr. Watson. " She said-^ — "
Here he again faltered, and looked as if he could have sunk
into the earth.
" Come, out with it," said the magistrate.
" She said, ' Ah, my dear ! how do you do ?' " (Loud laughter.)
" And you thought, I dare say, that there was something very
kind in her saying that?"
" I did, indeed, Sir : I thought she must be a tender-hearted
creatur to speek to a perfect stranger like rae in that way."
(Renewed laughter, in which the magistrate joined.)
" And what raore passed between you ?"
" I thaunk'd her kindly for her condescension, and hoped she
was weel hersel'."
" Ladies are not in the habit in your country, I suppose, of
speaking in this way to strangers ?" observed the raagistrate.
" No, Sir, they are not : besides, what made rae think mair
of this leddy's kindness was, that she was so brawly dressed.
She had on a veil. Sir."
" Well, but you have not told us what passed between you."
" When I thaunked her for her kindness, she asked rae whe
ther I was not newly corae to toon ; and I told her that I was,
and that I had been inquiring about an uncle, but could not find
out his boose. She then asked my uncle's name ; I said it was
John Watson. ' Oh ! ' says she, ' I know him quite well ; but
it's too late to go after him to-night, as he lives at such a dis
tance. You'll better corae with rae, my love, and I'll get you a
bed for the night ; and I'll direct you towards your uncle in the
morning.'" " Pray try to make your story as short as possible, and come
to the charge against her as quickly as you can," said the magis
trate, thinking the Caledonian was rather difflise in his mode of
teUing his story.
" I'll soon be done noo. I said to her that I could not think
of troubling a leddy of her respectability to get a bed to me ;
but she begged of me not to mention it, and assured me it would
be a pleasure, and not a trouble to her. As sure as death. Sir !
I thought her the kuidest creatur I ever saw in my Ufe."
"But you don't think so now, I presume?" remarked the
magistrate. Sawney held down his head, and muttered something, which

208 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
was understood to signify a concurrence in the observation of
the Bench.
" You went home with her, I suppose?" continued the ma
gistrate. " Yes, Sir ; but I would not have presumed to do such a
thing, if she had not asked me. She took a-hold o' my arm.
Sir; and I was almost ashamed to be seen walking with so
finely-dressed a leddy." (Loud laughter.)
" Well, and what more?"
" Then I went into an elegant room, whar I saw another
pretty leddy ; and she also spoke in the kindest and most con
descending manner to me."
" I suppose," observed the magistrate, " that you thought all
the women in London were angels ?"
" I just did that same. Sir, if I must teU the truth ; for I
never saw the leddies in our country treat strange men with so
much kindness." (Renewed laughter).
"So the second was as kind to you as the first ?"
" She was. Sir ; indeed, if there was ony difference, she was
the kindest o' the twa."
" In what way did she show her kindness ?"
The poor simpleton blushed at the question, and was silent.
" Corae, tell us ! " said the raagistrate, in half authoritative
tones. " Why, then," answered the other, in broken hesitating ac
cents, " she cam' and sat doon on my knee." (Roars of laughter).
" Without your inviting her to do so, I presume?"
" O dear ! yes. Sir, I would never have had the assurance to
use such freedom with a leddy."
" WeU, go on."
" Weel, after being about a quarter of an hour in the same
room as the twa leddies, I said, if she would tell me whar my
bed was, I would go to it, as I was very wearied ; but, said I,
as I'm a stranger here, might I ask of you the very great favour
to keep my money to me till next morning, in case of accidents.
' Oh, with the greatest pleasure, my love ! ' said the one : ' Oh,
certainly, my dear ! ' said the other. And with that, I gave the
one — the one noo standing there, (pointing to the bar)— a five-
pound note of the British Linen Company, * and said I would
be particularly obleeged to her if she would keep it quite safe to
me till the morn's morning." (Loud laughter).
" And, of course, she promised she would ?"
" She did. Sir : they both assured me it would be quite safe."
* The name of the leading bank in Scotland.

POLICE OFFICES. 209
" And you found, next morning, I suppose, that it was so safe
that you could not get a sight of it again ?" (Laughter.)
^ " It's a' true as your honour says. I never clapped an ee (eye)
either on her or the money, after she got it."
" Did she leave the room as soon as you gave it her ?" inquired
the magistrate.
" Oh, no ; she sat about a quarter of an hour longer, until I
said, that if she would be kind enough to tell me. whar my bed
room was, I would bid them both good night."
" And did she tell you where your bed-room was to be ?"
" She said, Sir, that she would go and call the servant, who
would show me where I was to sleep ; and after thanking
her for her kindness, and saying I was sorry to be putting her
to so much trouble, she said, ' Oh ! it's no trouble at all, my
dear ! ' and then left the room."
" And was in no hurry in returning, I suppose ?" observed the
inagistrate. " Ots, Sir ! " said the poor fellow, with great simplicity and
much emphasis ; " Ots, Sir ? she did not corae back at a'."
(Loud laughter.)
" And did the other reraain long with you?"
" She did for some tirae, until I said, wondering that the
other leddy was so long in returning, ' I'm afear'd that I'm
gieing your frien' a great deal o' trouble?' on which, she begged
me not to mention it ; and said she would go and see what was
detaining her."
"And she also disappeared?"
i " She jost did. Sir."
" And was in no haste in returning either?"
" Faith, Sir ! she did not come back again at a', mair than
the ither." (Roars of laughter.)
" WeU," said the magistrate, "and what'did you do then?"
" To teU you the truth. Sir, I did na ken what to do."
" But what did you do ?"
" What did I do ! " repeated the raw Scotchman, with gi'eat
innocence. " Yes ; what did you^ ? You either remained in the house,
or you quitted it."
" Oh, it's that you mean. Sir ! I remained in the place until
a middle-aged woman came and asked rae who I wanted."
" And you told her, of course?"
" I said to her, that I wanted two leddies."
" Well, and what then?" inquired the magistrate.
" ' Two leddies ! ' says she, as if quite surprised. And I
said ' Yes, mem.' On which she said, ' Pray what's their
names ?' " Q

210 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" And you did not know, I suppose ?" observed the magistrate.
" You have jost spoken the truth. I did not ; and I told the
woman so; adding, that I had never thought of speering at
them." (Renewed laughter.)
" Well, and what happened then?"
" Why, Sir, she said I must have mistaken the house ; for
that no leddies lived there."
" Well, go on," said the magistrate.
" I said, I had been brought there by a leddy, who engaged
to get me lodgings for the night ; when she said, ' Oh, there
must be some mistake ! There's no lodgings here ; but you'U
get lodgings in the public-house over the way.'"
" And did you leave the place ?"
" The woman made rae leave it. Sir : she opened the door,
and told me I could not lodge there."
" WeU, and what next did you do?"
" I ga'ed o'er the way to the public-house, and told them a'
that had happened ; and they told me I had been regularly
done for, and called a poUceman for me, to whom I stated
the whole circumstances ; and he said he would see what he
could do."
The magistrate then desired the policeman to be called. He
stated that, from the description given of the prisoner he knew
her at once, and traced her to a gin-shop, where she had tried
to get the five-pound note changed, but without effect, as it was
on a Scottish bank, and would not therefore pass current in
London. He took the money from the " leddy," and conveyed
her to the station-house. He then went and desired the young
man to attend at the office that day.
, In answer to a question from the magistrate, the prisoner de
clared that she did not mean to retain the five-pound note, but
only went out, knowing that the young man was quite unac
quainted in town, to endeavour to get it changed for him.
"Eh me!" said Sawney, holding up both his hands, and
showing by his looks that, in the simplicity of his soul, he gave
" the leddy" full credit for the truth of her statement ; " Eh
me ! was not that so verra kind o' her ? I'm now so sorry that
I ever said a word about it." The broad accent in which this
was delivered, coupled with the manner of the raw youth, threw
all present into convulsions of laughter.
" If you take my advice, young man," said the magistrate,
when the laughter had subsided, " you'll never again trust to the
friendship or kindness of the ' ladies' who meet you in the street ;
but pass on, and not mind them."
" Weel, Sir," said the unsophisticated youth, with great
earnestness, " if your honour thinks so, I'se tak' your advice.

POLICE OFFICES, 211
I'se never open my mouth to them again, but appear as if I were
both deaf and dumb." (Loud laughter.)
" As for you, madam," said the magistrate, turning to the
prisoner, "it is fortunate for you that this unsuspecting lad
gave you the money, instead of your having taken it. As the
note has been recovered, you are discharged."
The next case I shaU give is one of a different kind. It
smacks of matrimonial squabbles and of poetry, in pretty equal
proportions. Perhaps the most appropriate heading of it
would be, THE POETICAL COBBLER.
Sally Muggs, a little squat-looking woman, not very fair, and
on the wrong side of forty, came bustling forward to the bar,
and looking the sitting raagistr.ate expressively in the face, said,
" Please your vorship," and then suddenly paused.
Magistrate — Well, raa'am, and what is your pleasure ?
Mrs. Muggs — Vy, your vorship, it is  (Here the lady
again abruptly paused, and buried her face, in quite a theatrical
manner, in her handkerchief).
Magistrate — Well, what is it ? Let us hear it.
Mrs. Muggs — Please your vorship, this 'ere man at the bar
is my husband.
Mrs. Muggs turned about, and emitted a disapproving glance
at " the man at the bar."
Magistrate — Very well ; go on.
Mrs. Muggs — And he is a mender of old shoes, your vorship.
Magistrate — WeU, and what about it? Why don't you
proceed ?
Mrs. Muggs (with a deep sigh) — And I married him six
months ago.
Magistrate — Really, my good woman, if you have any com
plaint to make to the bench, you must proceed to do it at once,
otherwise I shall order you from the bar. You have, I under
stand, a charge to prefer against the prisoner ; pray come to it
without any further circumlocution.
Mrs. Muggs — I vill, your vorship. Veil, as I was a sayin', I
married this 'ere man six months ago, and 
Magistrate — What has your marriage six months ago to do
with the present case ?
Mrs. Muggs — I soon diskivered, your vorship, that I had mar
ried a  Oh, Sir ! I cannot utter the word.
Here Mrs. Muggs held down her head, and appeared to
breathe so rapidly as to threaten instant suffocation.
Magistrate— And pray, madam, whom or what did you marry ?
Mrs. Muggs — A — a— a— a poet, your vorship.
q2 ,

2l2 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
The wife of the poetical cobbler pronounced the word " poet"
with a most emphatic groan, as if she had, in her own mind,
associated something horrible with it.
The court was con'vulsed with laughter, in which the worthy
magistrate heartily joined.
Magistrate — But what has the circumstance of your husband
being a poet to do with the present charge ?
Mrs. Muggs — I'll tell you presently, your vorship. I had some
money when I married him ; and so long as it lasted, he alvays
spoke to rae in pleasant poetry ; but ven the money was all
gone, his poetry became very disagreeable.
Magistrate — You mean, I suppose, that he scolds and quar
rels with you in poetry ? (Laughter.)
Mrs. Muggs — He does both of them 'ere, your vorship ; but he
does something more.
Magistrate — Assaults you, perhaps ?
Mrs. Muggs — Yes, your vorship : he beats me, and kicks me
about most cruelly, and all the wile keeps talking poetry.
(Renewed laughter.)
Magistrate— But pray do come to the present charge.
Mrs. Muggs — I viU, your vorship. He came home last night
a little the vorse for leekur, and axed me, in poetry, for half-a-
crown to spend with some feUow-snobs. I told him I had not a
single penny in the house ; on which he threatened, in poetry,
to make gunpowder of me, if I did not give him what he wanted.
Magistrate — And was he as good as his word ?
• Mrs. Muggs— I'U teU you aU about it. (Laughter.) I agam
told him I had not a farthing in the house ; on which he took
down my best green silk bonnet, which was hanging on a nail,
arid which cost rae ten-and-sixpence a fortnight before, and which
I bought from Mrs. 
Magistrate— Never mind what your bonnet cost you, or who
you bought it from, but teU us about the assault.
Mrs, Muggs— Yes, your vorship. VeU, as I was a sayin', he
took down the bonnet, which was as handsome and fashionable a
'un as was ever a-made by any mUliner in Lunnun, and which
was 
Magistrate (with considerable warmth)— Pray do not expa
tiate any raore on the good qualities of the bonnet, but come at
once to the assault on yourself.
Mrs. Muggs— I beg your vorship's pardon ; but I vas a-comin'
to that 'ere as fast as I could. Veil, ven he took down the
bonnet, he dashed it on the floor, and stamped upon it with his
feet, as if he vould drive the wen-y life out on't. " Oh, my new
bonnet ! " said I ; and the vords wos hardly out of my mouth, when
he gave another stamp on it with both his feet. " My ten-and-

OlLlxoyl^aniLet ' my "bonrLet !

POLICE OFFICES. 21S
sixpence bonnet !" said I ; and with that, he gave it a kick which
sent it right up to the ceiling, and down again. (Loud laughter.)
I then tried to snatch it up, saying, " Oh, my green silk bonnet ! "
on which he again put both his ugly hoofs on it, and stood with
it underneath, just as if it had been a mat to wipe one's feet with.
That bonnet, your vorship, wos von of the best 
Magistrate — Really, madam, if you go on in this way, I must
dismiss the case at once. You are speaking only of an assault
on your bonnet; pray come to the assault on yourself.
Mrs. Muggs (curtseying gracefully) — Veil, I viU, your vorship.
As I was a-going to say, I tried to get the bonnet frora hira, and
then he began to have a regular dance upon it. I stood a ghost
at the sight, your vor 
" Aghast, she means, your honour ; but she has no inteUect —
not a morsel," growled the cobbler, who had hitherto not only
looked sulky but remained silent.
Mrs. Muggs resumed — I did, indeed, your vorship ; but he
grinned in my face and spoke poetry. I tried to push him off
the bonnet, ven he struck me so wiolently on the face, that the
blood poured in rivers from my nose, and I feU down on the floor.
I cried out " Murder ! " and another 'ooman as lodges in the
same house called a policeman, who took him into custody.
A black eye and a swollen face bore ample testimony to the
forcible nature of the blows which Mrs. Muggs had received
from her poetical husband.
The policeman said, that when he took the defendant into
custody, he also addressed him in poetry. When he asked him,
' Why did you knock this woman down ? '
he answered, ' Because she refused me half-a-crown.'
(Loud laughter). He then added —
' I'll go to the station-house with you,
If you'll only wait a minute or two.
Till I wash my face and comb my hair,
A request which you must admit is fair.'"
The defendant, who was a short, thick-set, massy-headed per
sonage with a most.unpoetical expression of countenance, evinced,
all this whUe, the utmost impatience to address the worthy magis
trate. The latter having apostrophised the poetical cobbler with a
"Now, Sir," he advanced a step or two further up the bar, and
putting both his hands behind his back, looked the presiding
magistrate earnestly in the face.
Magistrate — Well, Sir, what have you got to say to this
charge ? I admit that I was somewhat rude,
But not until I had reason good :

214 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
She call'd me a horrid ugly brute.
Which sure enough did put me out ;
I then hit Mrs. Muggs two or three blows.
As your worship already very well knows. {Loud laughter.)
Magistrate — You seem very anxious to be considered poetical.
Do you call it poetry to commit an assault of this kind ?
Mr. Muggs — Do I call it poetry to beat my wife?
I do : the deed with poetry is rife.
Magistrate — You do .' will you be so obliging as to teU us (in
plain prose if you please) what kind of poetry you caU it ?
Mr. Muggs — Most certainly : I'll tell you in a fraction
Of time — I call it. Sir, the poetry of action.
At this sally, the office was again convulsed with laughter, in
which the bench heartily joined.
Magistrate — (to Mrs. Muggs) — Does he always speak in this
way? Mrs. Muggs, — Not always, your vorship, but he is sure to do
so when he has drunk too much, and also occasionally when
he is perfectly sober. He is now and then seized with fits of
speaking poetry as he calls it, and threatens at times to knock
my " unpoetical soul " out of me. Mrs. Muggs, as she made the
latter observation, tried to look wise, as if she had said some
thing of surpassing cleverness.
Magistrate — (to Mr. Muggs) — I understand you mend shoes.
Mr. Muggs — (hesitatingly)— Why — yes— I believe I dooes.
(Loud laughter.)
Magistrate — Don't you think you would be much better occu
pied in attending to your business, than in making a fool of
yourself by affecting to be a poet.
Mr. Muggs — It may be so, Sir, but I don't knoio it.
Magistrate — WeU, if you persist in making an ass of yourself
in this way, you must be permitted to do so ; but vou s'haU not
be allowed to assault your wife.
Mr. Muggs— I'U not do it again, Sir, upon my life. (Loud
laughter.) Magistrate— You are sentenced to  ".
" Pi'ay," interrupted Mrs. Muggs, addressing "berself to the
worthy magistrate, her heart having relented as she beheld her
poetical husband looking touchingly towards her, "pray, do,
your honour, let him escape this time ; I'U be bound he von't
beat me again, nor destroy my bonnet."
^/^- Muggs looked as well as spoke so imploringly on behalf
of Mr. Muggs, that even the magisterial nature, proof as it is
generally supposed to be against entreaties of the kind, could not
withstand the earnest supplications of the cobbler's lady.

POLICE OFFICES. 215
Magistrate — (to Mr. Muggs) — Sir, we shall allow you to get
off this once at the request of your wife, but if the offence be
repeated we shall deal with you in a very different way.
Mr. Muggs — I thank you, Sir, and wish you good day.
(Laughter!) Mr. and Mrs. Muggs then cordially embraced each other as
if their mutual affections had been wondrously improved by
what had happened.
" I'm sure, Dick,"* said Mrs. Muggs, looking up touchingly in
her husband's face, as he clasped his arms around her, " I'm
sure, Dick, you von't do it no raore,"
To which tender appeal, Mr. Muggs, as Milton would have
said, answered thus : —
" No, Sally, dear, I will not do't again.
Never, my angel. I will refrain.
From this time forward, and for aye.
Perish my hand, should ever the day
Arrive, in which 'twill hit thee a blow I
Oh, Sally, my love ! oh, Sally, oh !
Your kindness has me quite overcome ;
As I will prove whene'er we get home.
So let us hence, and leave this place ;
I'm thankful we quit it with such a good grace."
The parties then retired, with their arms most affectionately
entwined around each other's neck, amidst peals of laughtet
from all present. A DRUNKEN FROLIC
A young man, who afterwards proved himself to be of good
arfdress, though his dress was rather awkward, and contrasted
oddly with his appearance otherwise, was brought before the
sitting magistrate, charged with being found drunk in th©
streets. There was a general titter in the office as he advanced to the
dock. And no wonder ; for the odd appearance he presented
might well have affected the risible muscles of even Democritus
himself. He carried in his hand the bonnet, and his back was
graced with the coat, of a private soldier ; while his small-clothes,
which had once been light cassimere of a fashionable make, were
so extensively plastered with patches of mud, that it was with
difficulty you could ascertain what the original colour was.
His waistcoat was also of a fashionable cut, and though
now wofuUy soUed with the commodity just mentioned, had
evidently been the night before, one which Beau Brummel him
self need not have been ashamed to wear. Neckerchief or

* Richard was Mr, Muggs' Christian name.

216 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
stock he had none ; his neck — clearly for no other reason than
the accidental absence of either stock or cloth, and not from
choice — was quite exposed to the rude gaze of the policemen,
and of all in the office who chose to fix their vulgar eyes on it.
To add to the singularity of this part of his personal aspect,
the coUar of his shirt had somehow or other disappeared as if
ashamed of itself. His crest-fallen looks also added much to
the oddity of his appearance.
" WeU, Sir," said the magistrate, "what is your name?"
" Anthony Nonsuch," was the answer.
" And, pray, what are you?"
" I am — I am — I am. Sir, I am a gentleman by profession."
The first part of this answer was uttered with great hesitation,
and the latter with an energy which so oddly contrasted with it,
as to raise a general laugh.
" I do not know," said the magistrate, sarcastically, " what
you are by profession, but you certainly are not in a very gentle
manly situation at present. (To the officer.) TeU us what you
know of the prisoner."
" Plase your honour," said the policeman, who was an Hiber
nian, * " as I was on duty last night about one o'clock this
morning, in Great Russell Street, Covent Garden, I saw this
young man lying on his broad back in the mud while it was
pouring oceans of rain. Says I to hira ' what in the name of
St, Patrick was after bringing your body here ?' ' Go home to
Paddy's Land, you spalpeen of an Irishman,' says he. ' It wid
be bother for the likes ov ye iv ye were at home in such a night
as this,' says I. (Laughter.) ' Pat,' says he, ' I mane to sleep
here for an hour or two.' ' By the powers, and you won't do
that same,' says I ; ' it's not a very comfortable bed that your
self would be after finding it,' says I. ' The sheets feel a little
damp, but we must not stick at trifies,' says he. t (Laughter.)
' Come, come,' says I. ' Good night, Pat,' says he ; ' you be sure
and call me early in the morning, my boy.' (Laughter.) Wid that,
your honour, he laid hisself down again on the street, among the
dubs, as if he had been slaping on a bed of down."
" And you raised him up of course," said the magistrate.
" I tried to do that same, plase yer honour, but^ never an
inch would he move. He felt as weighty, yer honour, as a ton
of lead; so I was obliged to get the assistance of another police
man, and we put hira on his feet between us."
" And they were of no use to hira I suppose, when you did so ?"
said the magistrate.
" Maybe yer honour's quite right there," said the Irishman,
* This occurred under the old police system, when almost all the guardians of the
night were Irishmen.

POLICE OFFICES. 217
with a significant shake of the head; "he could not put them
beneath him at all at all."
" Did he speak when you lifted him up ?"
" Did he spake, yer honour? Faith and he did that same."
" What did he say ?"
" 'Paddy,' says he, 'bring rae a noggin of whiskey ;' but I
tould hira, yer honour, there was none to be had. ' Why?' says
he. ' Why !' says I, ' sure bekase all the public houses is shut
up.' ' Is it too late,' says he, ' to get one noggin raore ?' ' It's
meself that doesn't know,' says I, ' whether it be too late or too
early ; but I know that not a drop is to be had for love or money
at this blessed hour of the night."
" Did you ask him what was his name?"
" I did, plase yer honour."
" And what did he say it was ?"
" Och, and faith, yer honour, he did not spake the tliruth."
" Are you quite sure of that ?"
"As sure, yer honour, as it's meself is my mother's son."
(Laughter.) " And pray how did you corae to know that he did not speak
the truth?"
" Bekase, yer honour, it was himself that was after giving
me a wrong name."
" But how did you come to know that ?" repeated the magis
trate with some sharpness.
" Bekase I'm sure it was not the right one." (Bursts of
laughter.) " Let us hear what it was ?"
' " Och, I'm quite sartain, yer honour, it was not the thrue
one," answered the Emeralder, showing an evident reluctance to
answer the magistrate's question.
"Come, come. Sir; do teU us at once what name he gave you."
" WeU, then, yer honour, if I must be after teUing you, sure
enough it was Daniel O'Connell." (Roars of laughter.)
" And how do you know that is not the prisoner's name ?"
" Bekase, yer worship, I know Daniel O'ConneU, and there
fore by this same token could not be mistaken."
" The Agitator, you mean ?" continued the magistrate.
" I mane, Mr. O'ConneU, the same fat gentleman as makes
orashuns in Dublin."
" But you don't mean to say he is the only Daniel O'ConneU
in the world ?"
" Faith, yer honour, and I never thought of that sanie before,"
answered Pat, looking quite surprised at his own stupidity.
" Well, we'll pass over his name. Did you ask him where he
hved?" " I did, yer worship."

218 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" And what answer did he give you ?"
" He said in his own house." (Loud laughter.)
" And what did you say ?"
" Must I tell yer honour the very words I said ?"
" Certainly."
" Then I called him a stupid spalpleen, and tould him that it
was no answer at all at all that he had given meself to the civil
question I asked him."
" Did he then give you his address ?"
" He then said, yer honour, says he, ' Paddy, my boy, I live
in Ireland,' (Renewed laughter,) and thinking that too far to
remove him to that night, we brought him to the watchhouse,
yer honour."
" You did quite right," observed the magistrate ; and turning
to the prisoner, said, " Well, Sir, what have you got to say for
yourself?" " I would much rather not say anything, your worship," an
swered Mr. Nonsuch, in a subdued tone, and hanging his head ;
" the truth is. Sir, I had been dining with some friends, and
took a glass too much."
" But how come you to have on this strange dress! You are
not a private soldier."
" No, Sir, thank Heaven, I am no soldier of any kind ; I am
not come to that yet. The fact is, that all I remember is this ;
that a young friend and myself, in coming home frora the place
tvhere we had been dining, went into the tap-room of a public-
house in the Strand, to have a lark, and two or three privates
being drinking there, one of them proposed, for a frolic, that I
should try on his red coat and bonnet, and he my black coat
and hat, to see how we should severally look with this change in
our apparel. I at once assented, thinking the thing was an
excellent joke, and the moment he had put on ray coat and hat,
he bolted out of the house, crying, ' Catch rae if you can.' "
(Loud laughter.) /
" And did you try to catch him ?" inquired the magistrate.
" I did, your worship ; but I lost sight of him in a few
moments, and have not seen or heard of him since. I suppose
the open air must have made me worse, for after losing sight of
him 1 have no recollection of what passed."
" WeU, Sir," said the raagistrate, with considerable sternness,
" I should think the ridiculous figure you now cut, and the situa
tion you are now in, must be no slight punishment for your folly.
You are fined five shiUings for being drunk. Officer ! the next
charge." " But what am I to do?" said the unfortunate 'wight, address
ing himself to the magistrate in a tremulous tone, " what am I
to do for my coat and hat ? I cannot go home in this state."

POLICE OFFICES. 219
" That is no affair of mine," answered the magistrate hastily.
" The next charge, officer !"
" Coming, Sir," said the latter. And that moment another
servant of the establishment led into the office a man, seemingly
about thirty-five years of age, whose stiff gait and erect head
denoted that he belonged to the military profession.
" Oh, there he is, your worship !" exclaimed Mr. Nonsuch,
with some vehemence, turning about to the magistrate ; " that
is my coat on his back, and that is my hat in his hand," he
added, pointing to the prisoner.
" Silence, Sir ! order in the office !" said the magistrate, in
authoritative accents.
Mr. Anthony Nonsuch remained in the place to see the upshot
of the matter, his countenance irradiated with joy at the sight
of two such indispensable parts of his wardrobe, and especially
at the prospect of their being restored to him.
" What is this person charged with ?" inquired the magistrate,
addressing himself to the police constable who stood beside the
prisoner. " Please your worship," answered the guardian of the night,
" as I was going my round at half past one this morning, I saw
this here man with a crowd around him, quite drunk, and hol
lering aloud that he had been a sodger before, but that he was a
gentleman now. Seeing the trowsers, waistcoat, and stock of a
private on hira, with a gentleman's hat and fashionable black
coat, I took him into custody, not only for being drunk and dis
orderly, but thinking he had stolen the coat and hat."
" What are you. Sir ?" said the magistrate to the prisoner.
" A private in the 69th regiment," answered the latter.
" And what have you to say to the charge ?"
The soldier admitted he had taken a drop too much, and
expressed his sorrow for what had happened.
" Do Ijhat coat and hat belong to that person there ?" said
the magistrate, pointing to Mr. Nonsuch.
" They do, your worship," answered the soldier, after bestow
ing a transient glance on his companion in the previous night's
froUc. " You are fined five shUlings for being drunk."
"Give me back my coat and hat, and I will pay the five
shillings," said Mr. Nonsuch eagerly, addressing the son of Mars.
The latter promptly complied with his wish by doffing coat and
hat. The red coat and bonnet were returned to their proper
owner along with the five shillings, and both parties quitted the
office, Mr. Anthony Nonsuch declaring that he would take care
never to get himself into such a plight again.
I shall only give one more police-office case, which may be
headed — ¦

220 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
CASE OF .ALLEGED HORSE-STEALING.
Rory O'Niel, a short thick-set, recent importation from
" Ould Ireland," whose countenance was one of the most inno
cent-looking that ever graced the bar of a police-office, and
whose black bristly head of hair had as rough an appearance as
if there were not a comb in Christendom, — was charged with
having stolen a horse. The charge excited more than ordinary
interest, and gave rise to a variety of observations on the part
of other persons in the office, touching the enormity of the crime
of horse-stealing.
The complainant, a surly-looking sour-tempered personage, of
middle size, and about forty years of age, stated the case with
freat pomposity. " The horse, your worship, with which this
rishman," pointing with an air of scorn to the prisoner, " ran
away, was  "
"He's not spaking a word o' the blessed thruth, yer ho
nour," interrupted poor Pat, with great earnestness of manner.
"Silence!" said the raagistrate, addressing himself to the
prisoner ; " you must allow the coraplainant to state his case
without interruption."
" But, yer honour, there isn't a morsel of the blessed thruth
in what he's spaking."
" WeU, but you must be silent now ; you'U be heard when he's
done." " Heaven bless yer jewel of a sowl, yer honour, for that same !
If I had known that, sure it's not meself wid have throubled yer
honour with a single word at present."
The complainant resumed. " The horse. Sir, with which this
person ran away, was one of the finest animals in Lon  "
" Do not tell the bench anything about the "qualities of your
horse ; that is not the matter we are caUed to decide," inter
rupted the magistrate.
" Very weU, Sir,'^ said the complainant, in a subdued tone,
his vanity being clearly wounded by the observation of the ma-
gstrate. " Very well. Sir. Having, then, occasion to visit the
British Museum, I desired this person, whom I saw lounging
about in Great Russell-street, to hold the horse, and walk him
about for an hour, saying I would, on ray return, give him a
shUling for his trouble."
"And he undertook to do as you requested?" observed the
magistrate. " He did. Sir : he put his hand to his hat, and said he would
take particular care of the animal. On quitting the British Mu
seum, about an hoiu- afterwards, I found both the horse and the
man were gone."

POLICE OFFICES. 221
" And what did you do then ?" inquired the magistrate.
" I informed the police of the circurnstance, and the horse was
brought back to my hotel, in Westminster, in about two hours
afterwards." The policeman, who restored the animal to the complainant,
stated, that about half an hour after the time mentioned by the
complainant, he saw the horse coming in the direction of Totten
ham-court-road, at a furious gallop, with the prisoner on his
back, but having all the appearance of one who was the re
verse of comfortable in his seat. On turning the corner to go
down Tottenham-court-road, in the direction of the Hampstead-
road, the prisoner fell off the animal, when the latter galloped
away at still greater speed. He was, however, soon seized by the
bridle and stopped by a man in the street ; when he ran up and
took charge of him.
" Of the horse, you mean?" said the magistrate.
" Of the horse, your worship."
" So that you left the rider who had fallen off to take care of
himself?" " I thought, your worship, that as the horse was very restive,
if he was not taken care of, he might escape again and do greater
mischief." " Is the person here who raised the prisoner after he feU off
the horse's back?"
" Yes, yer honour : it was myself that did that same act of
kindness to a countryman," responded a tall, clumsy, but benevo
lent-looking man, in a strong Irish brogue.
" Well, I shall examine you presently," said the magistrate,
addressing himself to the latter.
" Whenever your honour plases," observed the other, drily.
" You hear the charge against you, prisoner ; what have you
to say to it ?"
" A great dale, yer honour."
" WeU, make your statement as short as possible."
" I will, yer honour ; but would yer honour be so condesand-
ing as to allow me to begin first ?" observed Pat, amidst shouts
of laughter, caused not less by the archness with which the re
mark was made, than by the wit of the remark itself. The
magistrate could not help joining in the general laugh.
" WeU, Sir, do be so good as to let us hear your defence."
" Och ! and sure that I will, yer honour, in less than a minit."
" Well, Sir, proceed,"
" My defence, yer honour, is, that the gintlemin has not
spoken a word of the blessed thruth, as sure as the Virgin's
in heaven."

222 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" Do you mean to say," inquired the magistrate, with some em
phasis, " that the coraplainant did not leave his horse with you ?"
" Och ! sure, yer honour, and it's not raeself would be after
sayin' any such thing."
" What do you mean to say, then?"
" What do I mane to say, is it yer honour manes ?"
" Yes, Do you mean to say that you did not run away with
the horse?"
" Faith, and it's myself manes"to do jist that same.J
" How, then, were you seen gallopping in the du-ection of
Tottenham-court-road ?"
" Och, yer honour ! that's it, is it ? Then I mane to say it
happened in this way."
Here Pat hesitated for a moment, as if ruminating on what
he would say further.
" Come, Sir ; you say that you did not run away with the
horse : how, then, were you seen gaUOpping the animal at so
furious a rate ?"
" Bekase, yer honour, the horse ran away with me." (Roars
of laughter, in which not only the magistrate, but even the de
mure sulky-looking complainant, joined).
"How do you mean?" inquired the magistrate, when the
laughter had subsided.
" How do I mane ! What I mane is this, that instead of
meself running away with the horse on my own blessed back,
the horse ran away with me on his back." (Renewed laughter).
" You are not charged," said the magistrate, " with carrying
the animal on your back."
" Am I not, yer honour?" shouted Pat, his countenance sud
denly lighting up with a gleam of joy. " Am I not ? Then the
charge is dismissed, is it?" (Laughter).
" Not quite so fast as that," answered _^the magistrate, drily.
" Then what am I charged with, yer honour?" said Pat, with
great shrewdness of manner.
" With stealing the complainant's horse."
" How, yer honour," said the prisoner, with the most imper
turbable gravity of countenance, " could I stale the baste, when
it ran away with me, and not me with it ?"
" Come, tell us how you got on the horse's back?"
" Faith, and I will, this blessed minit, yer honour ! "
" Well, let us hear. How was it ?"
" Well, yer honour, as sure as I hope that my sowl will be
saved, I'll tell you the blessed thruth. It was in this way."
Here Pat suddenly dropped his eyes on the floor, and made a
dead pause, which lasted for some seconds.
"Why don't you proceed?" inquired the magistrate, with
some tartness.

POLICE orricES. 22S
" Wid yer honour be so good as to let me be after telling
you what I was thinking of?" said the prisoner, with great sim-
pUcity, and slightly scratching his forehead.
" Well, what was it?" inquired the magistrate, sternly.
" WeU, then, yer honour, I was thinking, in case you shouldn't
belave what I say, though it's the thruth of the gospel, it would
be good for meself if the horse could spake, and be produced
here before yer honour."
The office was again convulsed with laughter, which, indeed,
it would have been impossible for the most demure to resist,
owing to the air of simplicity and singularly ludicrous way in
which the poor fellow made the remark.
" WeU, but as we must unfortunately dispense with the pre
sence of the horse, he being unable to give his testimony to the
point, will you tell us," said the magistrate, " in a few words,
how you came to get on his back ?"
" I wiU, yer honour. As I was standing walking (loud laugh
ter) with the animal, a great big spalpleen who was driving
a cart, comes in over to me, and says, says he, ' That's a
handsome-looking horse you have got.' ' May be, you're right
there,' says I. ' Ah, Paddy !' says he, ' why don't you get on
his back, and ride him about?' ' What's that to you?" says I.
' Oh,' says he, ' it's because you cannot ride, you Irish  ' says
he. ' You  ¦' Shall I tell yer honour the word I made use
of here?"
" Do," said the magistrate, " if it's not a very bad one."j
" It's partikeriy bad, yer honour. Says I, ' You lie, you
stupid thiokskuU ! ' On that, says he again, ' You can't put a
leg on horseback. I'll beat you anything you like, you can't.'
' A noggin of gin ?' says I. ' Anything you like,' says he again.
' Well, then,' says I, 'let it be a noggin of Fearon's best.'
' Done ! ' says he. And with that, yer honour, to gain the
wager, as sure's my name is Rory O'Niel, I leaped into the sad
dle, and was about to have a gintle trot, when he takes his whip
and lashes the animal with all his force, and away it flew with
me at full gallop, yer honour. That's the blessed thruth, as I
hope to be saved ! "
I " We shall now hear," said the magistrate, " what the person,
who took the prisoner up, when he fell off the horse, has got to
say. WeU, Sir ?" continued the magistrate, addressing himself
to the witness in question.
" I'm here, yer honour."
" You say you were the first that came to the assistance of
the prisoner when thrown off the horse ? "
" I was, yer honour."
" TeU us, then, what you know about this matter?"
" When I saw him fall," answered Rory's countryman, " I ran

224 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
in over to him, not knowing at the time that he was from Ould
Ireland, and said, says I, 'Are you much hurt, my darlint?'
But, yer honour, the never a word did he spake in answer to my
question. Says I, again, ' Are you living or dead, honey?' And
sure enough, yer honour, he raised up his two big eyes, like a
wild duck in a thunder storm, and said, ' Don't you see I'm
dead, you spalpleen? the horse has kilt me quite!'" (Loud
laughter). " But do you know anything as to the circumstances con
nected with the starting of the horse ?" inquired the magistrate.
" Were you near the place at the time ?"
The witness stated that he was not within sight at the time
the horse went off, and consequently did not know anything
about that part of the matter.
The policeman, who took charge of the horse after he was
caught, here came forward, and said that a highly respectable
gentleman came up immediately after the accident, and when a
concourse of persons were gathered around, and gave precisely
the same statement as that of the prisoner, as to the circum
stances under which the latter had mounted the horse.
The bench being satisfied that poor Rory had told the truth,
and that, instead of deserving more punishment, he had been too
much punished already, ordered hira to be discharged.
" Thank yer honour, and may yer honour never be kilt by a
fall from a horse, to the end of your blessed days," said Rory,
amidst much laughter, on hearing the decision of the raagistrate.
Pat was then in the act of quitting the office, when he suddenly
turned about, and addressing the bench with a remarkable pe
culiarity of manner, said, " But, plase yer honour, the gintleman
has not given me the shiUing yet, at all at aU, for houlding his
horse," " You have not," observed the coraplainant, " entitled your
self to the shilling : you did not fulfil your engagement : you let
the horse go."
" And sure, that was not my fault," answered Rory, with much
dryness of manner. " The baste ran away against ray wiU."
A loud burst of laughter followed the observation ; and so
pleased were the two magistrates who were present, with the
readiness and wit of Rory, that they each gave him half-a-
crown. The coraplainant, surly though he seemed to be
to the last, could not resist following their example. Pat
then left the office, seven-and-sixpence richer than he entered it,
singing, with great seeming sincerity, " Och ! long life to a?? yer
honours !"

A Worklaouse dnmer.

226

CHAPTER VII.

¦WORKHOUSES.

Inmates of Workhouses — The republican character of the communities in Work
houses — ;Difficulty of obtaining accurate statistics regarding them — Marylebone
Workhouse — Its size and statistics — Statements and calculations as to metropoli
tan Workhouses generally — Farming out paupers — The horror generally enter
tained of the Workhouse — Description of a particular case, illustrative of the
fact — The romantic incidents in the life of many inmates — The New Poor-Law
Bill— Its harshness and injustice to the poor — Concluding observations.
The workhouses of the metropolis are institutions which are
rife with materials for a work whose principal object is to
sketch life and society in London. In thera are to be seen
every variety of human character — good, bad, and indifferent.
In the workhouses, also, are always to be found people of every
clime : they are refuges for the destitute and the indolent of all
nations. Nor ought I to omit to mention, that though the inmates
of workhouses are, 'when once there, on precisely the same level
in reference to pecuniary circumstances, yet, in the previous
condition of those inmates there was as great a variety as there
is in the condition of those you wiU meet in the public streets.
Persons who once moved in the highest spheres of society are
there, and so are individuals who occupied every intermediate
station down to the lowest. As regards their past history, the
inmates of the metropolitan workhouses are as promiscuous an
assemblage as it were possible to get together. Adversity, says
the adage, makes us acquainted with strange bed-feUows. Well
may many of the inmates of workhouses say this. Those who
were born in the splendid mansion are there reduced to the
same level as those who first drew their breath in the most
wretched hovel. He who rolled in wealth and luxury, is there
on a footing of perfect equality with the poor wretch who had
aU his life long to struggle with the demon of poverty in its most
repulsive aspect. I have often thought that the workhouse
might, in one sense, be very fitly compared to the grim mes
senger whom all dread, and with whom all will sooner or
later have to grapple. Like death, the workhouse is a fell

226 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
destroyer : it lays the axe at the root of aU the conventional
differences which exist in society. It is, in this respect, the
prince of destructives : it levels all distinctions. The inmates
of the workhouse are a repubhcan community on a smaU scale.
This is of necessity the case, frora the very constitution of these
places. But on this topic I need not make further observations
at present, as many of my remarks and statements, in the course
of the] chapter, wiU incidentally if not directly afford a further
illustration of it.
The changes consequent on the introduction of the New Poor
Law Bill have been so great in the metropolis, that it is not in
ray power to present ray readers with that fullness and accuracy
of statistical inforraation respecting the workhouseSj which I
could have wished to give. The workhouse system, owing to
the New Poor Law Bill, may, indeed, still be said to be in a
state of transition ; and it wiU be so for sorae years to come.
New unions of parishes are constantly being formed, and other
changes taking place ; so that the statistics of the workhouses for
one month would not be the statistics of those places in the
month following. I shall, however, be able to make some state
ments of a statistical kind which may be regarded as, at least,
approximating to the truth. I shall be enabled to do this, by
availing myself of the accurate and copious information which was
lately furnished me when on a visit to Marylebone Workhouse.
1 have also visited other workhouses, but prefer singling out that
of the parish of Marylebone for my statements, because it is
by far the largest, and, in every respect, the most important
workhouse in London. It is a building of very great size : it is
not only the largest in the metropolis, but the largest in the
kingdom. It is capable of containing nearly 2000 inmates. No
fewer than 1 600 have been in it at one time. Of course, the
number of inmates varies according to circumstances. Want of
trade, a bad harvest, the high price of provisions, a long con
tinuance of inclement weather, and other causes, compel paupers
to ' seek refuge in the workhouse, who, but for those causes.
Would have struggled on with the ills of poverty out of doors.
The average number of inmates in Marylebone workhouse, for
some months pastj has been 1200. The number of adults in the
workhouse, at the close of last year, was 808 : of whom 272
were men; the remaining 536, were women. The number of
children was 410 ; of whom 242 were boys, and 168 girls. Each
pauper costs the parish 3s. 6c?. per week : this applies to those
who are in health. In the infirmary, each pauper costs within
a fraction of 6s. 6c?. per week, including wine and other expen
sive medicines. The entire weeldy expenses of the workhouse
exceed 1000?. ; making the yearly cost to the parish about

WORKHOUSES. 227
55,000?. But it must be borne in mind, that the entire expenses
of the establishment are not confined to within doors. The
parish not being under the jurisdiction of the New Poor Law
Commissioners, give a great deal of out-door relief. On an ave
rage, the number of persons receiving out-door reUef is about
2000. In times of great pressure, whether from the inclemency
of the season, the want of employment, or bad harvests, the
number greatly increases : some years ago, it was as high as
8000. So large a nuraber of persons are never, however, likely
to be again dependent on the compulsory support of the rate
payers. At the period to which I refer, there was a gross mis
management of parochial affairs. In proof of this, I may
mention, that when an inquiry was instituted into the circum
stances of the out-door pensioners on the parish bounty, a
very large majority of them had no claim whatever to parochial
relief, being all in the way of earning, or having it in their power
to earn, a competent subsistence for theraselves. One woman
was found to have had four laundresses in her employ for several
years, during which she had been regularly receiving a weekly
allowance from the parish. In proof of the abuses that then ob
tained in the administration of the poor laws, I may here men
tion, that one of the guardians communicated to me a few weeks
since, the singular fact, that out of fifty persons summoned, in
one instance, to appear before the guardians to state on what
grounds their claims to parochial relief rested, only one appeared
in answer to the summons. The amount of out-door relief varies
according to the circumstances of the parties, from one shilling
and a loaf per week, to three shillings and sixpence.
As might be expectfed, there is a vast consumption of bread
ifl the workhouse. The average quantity is six hundred weight
p6r day. The paupers are allowed three meat dinners a week.
The average quantity of butchers' meat consumed per week is
about 240 stones, or 3840 pounds.
The estabUshment is divided into two departments. The
healthy department is called the workhouse : the department
f6r the sick is called the infirraary. The lunatic paupers are
not kept in the workhouse, but are farmed out. The following
was the classification in the half year ending in last December :

IN THE WORKHOUSE.

IN THE INFIRMARY.

Men - 214

Men - - 58

Women - ^ - 424

Women - - 112

Boys - - - 213

Boys - - - 29

Girls - - - 136

Girls - - - 32

987

231

r2

228- SKETCHES IN LONDON.
Total in the house - - - 1218
Casual out-door poor - - - - 1258
Permanent ditto - - - " ^^^
lUegitimate ditto - - - - 51
Lunatics - - - - 72
* Total average number relieved weekly - 3203
The number of paupers in Marylebone, including those receiv
ing permanent out-door relief, is, to the entire population of
the parish, as 1 to 50. Now, taking the population of London
at 2,000,000, which is supposed to be the actual number,
and assuming that the number of paupers in the metropolis bears
the same proportion to the aggregate population as the paupers
in Marylebone do to the entire inhabitants, that would give the
number of paupers in London at 40,000. But Marylebone is one
of the wealthiest and most aristocratic parishes in the metro
polis ; the number of paupers there is not so great in proportion
to the aggregate population as in most of the other parishes,
with perhaps one or two exceptions. I ara confident that, to the
above number of 40,000, we may safely add at least 15,000 more,
making tho entire number of paupers in the metropolis, depen
dent on parish 'support, 55,000. The total amount, therefore,
assuming that the average cost of paupers is the same as in the
Marylebone workhouse, which is annually expended in the com
pulsory maintenance of the pauper population of London, would
be about 550,000?., or upwards of half a million.
Some of the parishes in the City, and in Southwark, " farm
out" their paupers at so much per head per week. They are
taken into the keeping of persons in the neighbourhood, who
speculate in them just as some individuals do in providing black
cattle and horses with " keep" for whatever period may be
agreed on. The parties who engage to provide these paupers
with food, clothing, and lodging, at the small sum — generaUy
about four shillings per head a-week — agreed on, make, as a
matter of course, the most they can of them, by causing those of
them who can work, do whatever they are most adapted for.
Some of them make the workhouse clothes for the men and the
boys ; others make and mend shoes ; others, again, prepare hair
for upholstery articles ; while the cooking, washing, cleaning, &c.
of the workhouse, are all perforraed by paupers chosen for the
purpose. The same principle of making all work who can, is, I
believe, adopted in all the metropolitan worldiouses. In Mary
lebone workhouse, the principle is practically carried into effect
• Shewing an increase of 113, as compared with the corresponding period of 1836.

WORKHOUSES. 229
in a manner which is pleasing to witness. In that establishment,
indeed, everything appears to be conducted in a most judicious
manner. And here I am constrained to say, that, of all the
workhouses which I have seen, the arrangements in that of
Marylebone seem to me to be better than in any other. While
the; strictest econoray is practised, the utmost attention is paid
to the comforts of the inmates. They appear to rae, taken alto
gether, to be the happiest inmates I have ever seen in a work
house. Under any circumstances, the workhouse is a place of misery
to a sensitive and high-principled mind ; but the horrors of the
place can be very materially lessened by kind and humane
treatment. In Marylebone worldiouse, and in most other workhouses of
any note, there is a chapel in which divine service is performed,
agreeably to the forms of the church, every sabbath-day. In
the former workhouse there is also an infant school, which is
conducted by judicious teachers. It were highly desirable that
a similar institution existed in every workhouse in the land. I
regard the idea of infant schools as one of the happiest disco
veries which have been raade in raodern times. Of nothing am
I more thoroughly convinced than this, that if generally adopted,
they would soon exercise a most salutary influence on the condi
tion of mankind.
The horror with which a sensitive mind regards a workhouse,
is a point which I shall afterwards have occasion to illustrate by
a reference to particular cases. This sensibility is not confined
to those who have been at one time in affluent or easy circum
stances ; though, as might be expected, it is most generaUy felt
by them. It is gratifying to be able to state, that it obtains to
a very considerable extent among the working classes ; and that
it causes them to submit to the greatest privations rather than
submit themselves to the degradation of crossing the threshold
of a workhouse. Frora circumstances which have corae under
my own personal observation, I am convinced that there are
hundreds of our mechanics and working men who perish every
year of absolute want, from their extreme horror of the work
house. The feeling is one which refiects the highest honour on
the artizans of the metropolis, though it isto be regretted that
it should be pushed to such an extent as this.
It were impossible for a man of an observant and reflective
mind, to visit the different departments of a workhouse, without
indulging in a train of serious thoughts. He could not help
contrasting in his own mind the present with the past circum
stances of a large proportion of the inmates. He sees numbers
around him who twenty or thirty years ago, surrendered them
selves to the pleasing hope that, instead of closing their lives in

230 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
a workhouse, they would live and die in the possession of every
earthly comfort, if not in splendour; and that, instead of being,
in one sense, outcasts from spciety, without a single friend to
console and soothe their rainds with the whispers of sympathy,
they would, in their dechning years, be surrounded by near and
dear relations. The hneaments of grief, disappointraent, and
self-humihation, are visible on their faces : a solitary sraile does
not play on their countenances from the commencement to the
close of the year. What revelations could some of the metro
pohtan workhouses make, of frustrated hopes, and of sudden
and unlooked-for reverses ! Who can teU the number of broken
hearts in those places ? Those only who have experienced the
thing, can form any conception of the agony endured by those
who formerly rolled in wealth and luxury, but who are now de
pendent on the compulsory contributions of a parish, when they
look back on their more prosperous days. So far from wonder
ing that the contemplation of what such persons were gives,
in many cases, a shock to their minds which produces a set-.
tied melancholy, it is only matter for surprise that it does not
unhinge altogether the rainds of a large proportion of them. In
most other cases, the pleasing delusion of hope comes to the aid
of persons suffering reverses of fortune ; they flatter themselves
with the hope that, amid life's varied vicissitudes, they will be
one day restored to the circumstances and to the station in
society, in which they formerly were; and this sustains and
cheers their rainds. But few indeed, and far between are the
instances in which persons of the forraer class enter a workhouse
with the hope of ever again quitting it. Nothing but the direst
necessity has compelled them to take refuge in these places : it
is only when aU their friends— those, I mean, who in their better
days were called by the name— have deserted them, and when
they see absolute starvation staring them in the face, that such
individuals have been induced to submit to the alternative of
seeking an asylum in a workhouse. And once in, the idea of
again coming out, until they are carried out in their coffins,
never for a moment enters their mind. When they cross the
gate of the workhouse, they look on themselves as having en
tered a great prison, from which death only will release them.
The sentient creations of Dante's fancy saw inscribed over the
gate of a nameless place the horrific inscription,
" All hope abandon, ye who enter here.''
In like manner, the imaginations of the class of persons to whom
I allude, see an admonition in the very circumstance of crossing
the threshold of a workhouse, that they are never again to return-
to the world. By many of the inmates, the workhouse is re-

WORKHOUSES. 231
garded as a sort of sepulchre in which they are entombed alive,
It is assuredly the grave of aU their earthly hopes, It is the
grave, too, if there be propriety in the expression, of their hearts.
Many a broken heart, as just hinted, is there. Could one but
explore the minds of the inmates, he would be appalled at the
discoveries he would make.
The difference which obtains in the constitutional tempera
ments of different individuals, is strikingly displayed in the cases
of the inmates of workhouses. There are many of those who
once were Fortune's favourites, who, in being compeUed to seek
an asylum in one of these places, resign theraselves to utter
despair. They regard themselves as entirely out of the world,
and as placed beyond the pale of society, as well as beyond the
reach of sympathy. They see and hear their fellows in adver
sity, but they never bestow a thought on them. They are as
much wrapt up in their own thoughts as if they were in the
midst of the greatest solitude to be found on the face of the
earth. They brood over their own misfortunes to the exclusion
of everything else : their hard destiny preys incessantly on their
minds, and you see their thoughts visibly impressed on their
dark and desponding countenances. They associate with no
one ; they never speak, save when an unavoidable necessity is
imposed upon them. Others, again, act on the principle of
making a virtue of necessity: they labour to discipline their
minds into submission to a fate which they cannot avert. They
speak to those around thera, and eagerly grasp at anything
which is likely to divert their rainds from unavailing regrets at
their unhappy destiny. Of the latter description of inmates of
workhouses, there are two classes. Besides those whose consti
tutional temperament is of that happy nature which leads them
to extract sunshine frora the darkest and gloomiest circumstances
in which they can be placed, there are others whose spirits are
sustained by the consolations of Christianity. They are recon
ciled to their condition from the pleasing conviction that it is to
them a dispensation of divine Providence, which is intended and
calculated to promote their everlasting happiness in another and
better world. The hopes of a happy state beyond the confines
of this earth, which their religion inspires, support their minds
under their accumulated adversities ; and would support them,
were those adversities ten times greater. I have often thought
that there is not, perhaps, in the earth, a place in which the
happy tendency of Christianity, even as relates to the present
world, is more remarkably exhibited than in a workhouse. There,
as before intimated, and as I shaU afterwards have to show, all
the inmates are on the same footing, as regards the present life ;
so that the comparative advantages of Christianity and Deism are

232 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
clearly shown. The nature of this work forbids ray entering on
this subject in a forraal manner ; but I may be permitted to say,
that Deism can no more be compared to Christianity, in the ten
dencies of the respective systems, than darkness can be to light,
as regards the emotions they inspire in the mind.
The feelings are different with which different persons enter
the workhouse. They are so in the case of those who have, at
some previous period of their lives, been in easy or affluent cirr
curastances. Of the lower classes — those, I mean, who have been
cradled in poverty, and been all their lives steeped to the very
ears in it — it can scarcely be necessary to say that, speaking of
them as a body, they are altogether callous as to the degrada
tion of becoming a workhouse inhabitant. With them, their
entrance, or their remaining without, is never a matter of moral
feeling : it is altogether a question of animal comforts. But with
those who, as the homely phrase has it, have seen better days,
there is, in this respect, a raarked difference. The long series of
previous privations and degradations they have endured, do in
some cases so blunt the feeUngs, that minds which but a few
years before were so excessively sensitive, that they would a thou
sand times sooner have suffered martyrdom, are divested of all
sense of shame on their entering the workhouse. In the cases of
others, again, no amount of privations or hardships can deaden
their raore refined susceptibUities ; and they enter the place -with
a reluctance and abhorrence which nothing but the direst neces
sity could overcorae. They would prefer death, did it come to
them in the usual course of things. The mental struggles which
they have undergone, before they could bring theraselves to subr
mit to becoming inmates of these places, are matters of which
those who have not experienced those struggles can /orm no
eonception. It were impossible to describe the feelings of a person, whose
sensitiveness continued to the last, and who was once in affluent
circumstances, and accustomed to the luxuries of life, on his first
entrance into a workhouse. The observation applies in a special
sense to a female, feminine minds being, in most cases, pecu
liarly sensitive in such matters. Not long since a woman, at the
age of sixty, who had, about five years previously, kept her car
riage, and otherwise hved in great splendour, veas so reduced in
circumstances as to be obliged to take refuge in a metropolitan
workhouse ; and gave, in a letter to a friend, a very vivid pic
ture of what passed in her mind as she entered the place. The
first refiection that overpowered her was, that she was now en
tirely dejsendent on the forced contributions of others for the
means of subsistence. So long as she hved in a room by herself,
miserable though the hovel was, the bounty of those who remem-

WORKHOUSES. 233
bered her in her altered circumstances was bestowed in that de
licate manner which every generous mind would suggest as due
to one who had but lately been so differently situated. The
gifts, too, of the few friends that still stood true to her, were
accompanied with expressions and proofs of sympathy with the
unfortunate woman, which operated as a balm to her mind
amidst all her wretchedness. But when she crossed the threshold
of the workhouse-gate, she felt as if she were an outcast frora the
world : the heart-harrowing conviction took possession of her
mind, that she must never again expect to hear the whisper of
sympathy, nor see the hand of friendship extended to administer
to her wants. She felt that she was now dependent on alms
which were extorted by the law from the pockets of those who
neither knew nor cared anything about her. To a sensitive mind,
there is an infinite difference between the spontaneous benevo
lence of acquaintances, and the corapulsory charity, if charity it
may be called, of strangers. This unfortunate woman now felt
degraded in her own estimation to an extent of which she had
no conception before. Still she was so situated, that refuge in a
workhouse was the only resource left her, if she would not lite
rally perish from want of the necessaries of life. What also
shocked her beyond expression, and made the poor creature
almost literaUy sink under the weight of her misfortunes, was
the sight of those miserable, and in raany instances depraved
beings with whom she was destined to associate. The thought
of the society in which she had been accustomed to move,
took possession of her mind with a tenfold greater force^than it
had ever done before, as she beheld the poor wretches crawling
about in all the abjectness and degradation of their situation.
But what proved the crowning shock to her feeUngs, and sunk
her to the lowest depths of self-degradation, was the circum
stance of her being obliged to put on the workhouse-dress. _ On
this she dwelt with a peculiar emphasis. Had she committed
the most atrocious crime within the range of possibility, she
could not have loathed or despised herself more thoroughly.
From that moraent she felt so utterly lost to the world, so
ashamed of herself and her situation, that even had Fortune, in
one of those caprices by which the disposal of her gifts are so
often characterised, restored her, in point of pecuniary oireura-
stances, to the condition in which she had been placed in her
most affluent days, she would scarcely have been thankful for it.
She felt that she could no longer, even had she been the wealthi
est lady in the land, hold up her head in society ; and that so far
from associating with her former acquaintances, she could hardly
look a stranger in the face. Milton represents his faUen angel
as having sunk so deeply in the mire of depravity, that, apostro-

234 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
phising evil, he says, " EvU, be thou my good ! " It was the
sarae with this unfortunate lady. She now felt as if in compa
rative love with her degraded condition. The gifts of fortune,
had they been again bestowed upon her, she would have regarded
as positive evils. In the workhouse she now wished to live ; in
the workhouse she now wished to die.
The workhouses of London abound with the romance of real
life. I have often wondered that none of our novel-writers have
ever thought of singling out their heroes or heroines frora among
their inmates. Tliere are persons of both sexes there, whose
lives would afford incidents of the most striking nature for a
work of fiction, and which, if skilfully managed, could not fail
to make one of the raost attractive works of the kind, of raodern
times. Innumerable cases would be found which prove that
truth is not only strange, but stranger than fiction.
Many romantic cases of this kind have been communicated to
me ; but in a work of this nature there is no space for relating
them with any effect. AU I can do is merely to relate two or
three of the more prominent features of a few of them. Not
long since, in the workhouse of the parish in which I live, one of
the raost central parishes in London, there was a female whose
life had been full of romantic incidents. She was well educated,
was brought up as a lady, and possessed great personal attrac
tions. Circumstances threw her in the way of a late Turkish
ambassador. He first seduced her, and afterwards took her
under his protection. For some years, she lived with him in the
greatest splendour, in the West-end, being treated in every
respect by hira as if she had been his lawful wife. And so de
votedly attached was he to the young lady, that he had formed
the resolution of taking her with him into Turkey. He partially
executed the resolution ; he took her with him, on his way home,
as far as Malta ; but something there occurred to cause him to
abandon his intention. I have heard it said, that it was an ap
prehension of serious inconveniences to jhimself from his country
men seeing a European female living in his house. Be this as it
may, he abruptly broke off all connection with his victim at
Malta, and she returned to this country. For some time after
wards, she took to the pave ; but circumstances soon compelled
her to relinquish that mode of life. The next expedient to which
she resorted, to obtain the means of subsistence, was betaking
herself to the selhng of apples and other fruit in the streets.
For some time she was to be seen in the neighbourhood of Co-
vent-garden, with a fruit-basket before her, where her beauty
and appearance generally struck every one who passed her.
That resource also failed her ; and after several other ineffectual
efforts to procure the means of subsistence, she threw herself on

WORKHOUSES. 235
the parish in which she had a right of settlement, and was taken
into the workhouse, where she soon afterwards died. The vicis
situdes in this young woman's history were not oidy striking, but
they followed each other with a rapidity seldom heard of, even
in the pages of romance.
Some years ago, the workhouse in Shoreditch parish contained
one inmate, whose history afforded a series of striking incidents
in his descent from affluence to poverty. I do not now recollect
his name, but the story is well known to many persons in the
City-road and its neighbourhood. In addition to a moderate
fortune which he inherited from his father, he had the singular
luck to get two successive prizes of 30,000?. each, in the then
government lotteries ; which having been purchased at Bish's
" Lucky Comer," were duly trumpeted forth by Mr. Bish in the
pubhc newspapers of the day. So long as he possessed only a
competency, he conducted himself with great propriety, and
carefuUy abstained from any thing in the shape of speculation.
The sudden accession of fortune, however, at once turned his
head. Forthwith he started his carriage-and-four : in that, per
haps, there would not have been much harm, as the interest of
his money would have enabled him to support the expense, if
not addicted to extravagance in other departments of his do
mestic establishraent. But conteraporaneously with his deter
mination to sport a splendid equipage, he was seized with the
spirit of speculation. He purchased a large property in the
City-road, and expended a vast sura in iraproving it. He en
tered into other foolish transactions, of a commercial nature ;
between which, and the general habits of extravagance he had
contracted in liis mode of living, he was in a few years reduced
to beggary. I do not raean beggary in a figurative, but in a
literal sense. And singularly enough, he chose as the scene of
his mendicancy the imraediate vicinity of the property in the
City-road, on which he had expended so much money. There
he was to be seen, day after day, for some years after, leaning
against a wall, with his hat in hand, to receive the charitable
contributions of the passers-by. For a time, the singularity of
the circumstances which attended his appearance in the charac
ter of a beggar, procured hira as much aid from the benevolent
as was sufficient to support existence ; but the growing infirmi
ties of age, aggravated by a depression of spirits consequent on
the sudden and extensive reverse which had taken place in his
pecuniary circumstances, eventually rendered him physically in
capable of appearing in the streets ; and as the only resource
against starvation from actual want, he was compelled to seek
refuge in Shoreditch workhouse. There he brooded over the
vicissitudes of the latter part of his life, for a year or two, and
then died.

236 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
The annals of the workhouses in the City abound with cases
of sudden descents from princely affluence to utter destitution.
There, such occurrences are not so much calculated to excite our
surprise, or even our sympathy ; because we look on it as being
in the nature of things, that men engaged in extensive transac
tions should soraetiraes ruin themselves, as well as at other times
make splendid fortunes. In one of the workhouses, not far from
Guildhall, there was lately an inmate whose admission occurred
under circumstances of unusual interest. His mind recoiled at the
bare idea of being dependent on parish relief; but the neces
sities of his case were so great, that there was no alternative be
tween his throwing himself on the parish and his dying of want.
But the thing which drew attention in a particular manner to
his case, was his appearance before the magistrates at an adjoin
ing office, on a charge which I forget, but which very likely was
that of being found sleeping in the streets, and his then showing
their worships, documents which proved beyond all doubt that
some years before he was worth no less a sum than 500,000?.
He had lost his money, and been reduced to beggary, under pe
culiar circumstances. He had been for many years a member of
the Stock Exchange, and had, by a long series of successful spe
culations in the funds, amassed the above sum. He had previ
ously formed a resolution, that if he should ever be worth half a
million, he would purchase an estate, and retire from the City
and its business. To a certain extent he adhered to his resolu
tion. He adhered to it thus far, that he did formaUy quit the
Stock Exchange, and entered into a negotiation for the purchase
of an estate some miles frora London, which, had the purchase
been completed, would have doubtless caused him to settle down
as a country gentleman for the remainder of his Ufe. I do not
recollect what was the sum asked for the estate, but it exceeded
150,000?., and he offered within 5000?. of the price put upon it.
The seller would not accept the offer ; probably he would have
compromised the matter by taking half the difference, but the
other refused to advance one shiUing on the sum he had offered.
The negotiation was accordingly broken off; another purchaser
was soon found who gave the price asked by the seUer ; and the
person to whom I allude returned to the Stock Exchange with
the view of doing, as he thought, a moderate and safe business,
until some other eUgible estate should be in the market. For a
short time he did do a moderate and safe business ; but an
opportunity of doubling his fortune, as he supposed, having pre
sented itself, he embarked the whole of his capital in a specula
tion, and before six months elapsed, he was without a shilling in
the world.
,. The cases I have just given, relate only to individuals who had

WORKHOUSES. 237
to ascribe their reverses of fortune to their extravagant modes of
living, to unsuccessful speculations, or to circumstances over
which they had no control. Let rae now glance at a case of a
truly romantic nature ; one which, had the details of it appeared
in a work of fiction, would be at once pronounced as an outrage
on all probability. I forbear to mention names, because the
principal party, so far as I ara aware, is stiU alive. Of this I
am certain, that many of her nearest relations — for I refer to a
young lady — are not only still alive, but occupying a prominent
place in the public eye. The lady, indeed, to whora I refer,
belongs to a noble family : she is the niece of a peer of the realm.
She not only received a first-rate education, but was brought up
in every respect as became a member of the aristocracy. She
had, however, no fortune, but was dependent on her relations — ¦
her father and mother being dead — for the station she occupied
in society. She was not distinguished for her personal charms,
but she possessed great accomplishraents and agreeable manners.
She was always remarkable, even in her raore juvenile days, for
a certain waywardness and caprice of disposition, which no ad
monition or discipline could correct. Sorae years ago, just as
her thirtieth summer had passed over her head, accident intro
duced her to a gentleraan possessed of the princely fortune of
150,000?. He had just arrived in England from abroad, and
Only intended to make a teraporary stay in England. He was at
once struck with what appeared to hira the young lady's charms,
and being obliged to quit the country soon, had no time to go
through the formalities of a protracted courtship. He accord
ingly embraced the earliest opportunity which presented itself of
intimating to the relation, in whose house the lady resided, and
who was, in point of fact, though not in law, her guardian, the
favourable impression she had made on him, — accompanying the
intimation with a hint which could not be misunderstood, that
if the proposition were likely to meet with her own and her rela
tions' concurrence, he should lose no time in formally proposing
to her. His hopes of receiving her hand were encouraged by
her relatives, and he was invited to meet her again on an early
day at the house in which she resided. In the interim what
had passed between them and the opulent aspirant after her
affections and her hand, was duly communicated to her. The
circumstance of being united to a gentleman of so large a for
tune, and thus having it in her power to make so splendid an
appearance in society as the mistress of a house, was duly im
pressed on her. The lady appeared as if she were fully convinced
of the advantages of the union, without any one pointing them
out to her, or expatiating on thera. She, in short, left her rela
tives no reason to doubt that she was as ready to accept the

238 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
proposals of her lover, as he was to make them. They were
delighted at the thought ; not only frora friendship to her, but
because it would be relieving themselves of a burden. The time
for the appointed meeting arrived, and the parties were left
together. The gentleman proposed ; the lady blushed, and was
silent. Silence in such matters is proverbiaUy consent. The
gentleman viewed it in this light ; but, to make assurance doubly
sure, pressed for a still more unequivocal affirmative answer.
The lady blushed yet more deeply. He repeated his request ;
and the lady, as a positive proof that she acceded to it, courte
ously extended to him her hand. He was happy; so, to all
appearance, putting out of view the tremor of the moment, was
she. The day for the celebration of their nuptials arrived ; and
" the match" became the subject of conversation among all the
lady's acquaintances. Many an heiress of noble birth envied the
good fortune of the portionless Miss  . They wished them
selves in her place. The preparations for the marriage ceremony
were raade on a scale of the utmost splendour. A handsome sum
was placed in the lady's hands by her lover, to provide herself
with the bridal robes. Everything went smoothly on : the more
the lover saw of the young lady, the more was he delighted with
her ; and the more heartily did he congratulate himself on what
he regarded as his good fortune. The marriage morn arrived ;
and there was not a happier man in Christendom. His love had
by this time become a positive passion ; and he was literally
" dying," as the phrase is in fashionable life, to clasp the object
of his affections to his bosom in the character of his wife. Not
less delighted was she, to all appearance, at the prospect of so
soon exchanging the condition of a maid for that of a wife. The
hour appointed for the performance of the marriage ceremony
arrived : several coacheS-and-four appeared at the church door,
while the white favours which floated on the horses' and the ser
vants' heads told the passer-by of what was about to take place.
The clergyman was in his place, and the bride and bridegroom
stood before the altar. The reverend gentleraan comraenced the
marriage ceremony, and everything proceeded in the usual way,
until he came to that part of the service whicli requires the bride
audibly to express her wiUingness to be the wife of the bride
groom. The question was put in the usual way : the lady re
turned no answer. Her silence was supposed to be the effect of
overpowered feelings, in some measure natural to the situation
in which she stood. The question was repeated: still no answer.
It was put a third time, when, to the utter surprise and confu
sion of all present, the lady emphatically and distinctly answered
" No !" and then rushed out of the church, entered her carriage,
and drove home, leaving the bridegroom and the friends of both

WORKHOUSES. 239
to their own reflections on the extraordinary occurrence which
had taken place. To describe their amazement were impossible.
The affair so utterly confounded thera, and appeared so inexpli
cable, that not one of them could even venture a conjecture as to
the cai^se of so singular a proceeding. The lady's friends, when
somewhat recovered frora the effects of so unexpected an event,
begged her to raake the amende, by proceeding again forthwith
to the hymeneal alter : the bridegi?oom would have been satis
fied with this; but she peremptorily refused. She was then
implored to see the bridegroom, in order that, if she had any
vaUd reason for the extraordinary step she had taken, she might
state it to him, for her own and her relations' sake : she was in
exorable. Last of all, she was asked to state to her relatives
the causes which induced her to adopt so unheard-of a course :
she declined to utter a word on the subject. In a short tirae
thereafter the bridegroora quitted the country, inexpressibly
mortified as well as disappointed at what had occurred. He, if
I mistake not, died within three years of the "untoward event;"
and she, being disowned by her relatives, in consequence of the
improper , course she had pursued, was, within the same period
of time, an inmate in a west-end workhouse. There she con
tinued for upwards of twelve months, when she was, at the
expense of the parish, passed, at her own request, to Dublin, of
which place she was a native. She never, so far as I have heard,
has, up to this moment, assigned any reason for her singular re
fusal at the altar to become the wife of him who led her to that
altar. The thing must have been the effect of caprice ; it is a
caprice for whicli she has suffered, and most probably is still
suffering, a most severe punishment. A more rapid descent from
the highest to the lowest station of life, or one which has hap
pened under more romantic circumstances, has perhaps seldoni
occurred. The annals of most of the workhouses in the West-^end abound
with the records of equally great and nearly as sudden reverses
of fortune, though not, perhaps, attended with such romantic
circumstances, as the case I have just given. One of the guar
dians of the workhouse of Marylebone lately mentioned, in my
hearing at a vestry meeting, that some time previously there
were no fewer than four individuals in that workhouse, all of
whom, six or seven years before their entrance, kept their car
riages. Of cases of this nature, in the workhouse in question, I
will only refer to one ; the case, namely, of a man who a few
years previous to his application for adraission, was worth no less
a sum than 100,000?, There was something pecuUariy interest
ing in his case. He was a gentleman of the highest moral prin
ciple : his strict integrity was the admiration of all who had any

240 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
transactions with hira. His habits were not expensive : being
unmarried, he had not to keep up a large establishment ; neither
had he any relations dependent on him for support. In what
way, then, it will be asked, did he lose, and so speedily, so large
a fortune ? By the same way as many others, equally rich_ at
one time, have eventually involved themselves in ruin. "The spirit
of speculation was the cause of all his reverses. _ His propensity
that way was irresistible and uncontrollable. His mind was con
stantly erecting castles in the air : there was scarcely a day in
which he did not devise some new scheme, or embark in schemes
devised by others, by which he made sure of realising thousands.
Foolish as all this may appear, it is nevertheless quite intelli
gible in the case of a man who is constitutionally of a sanguine
mental temperament. But what appears surprising is, that after
finding that he was losing money by every successive project in
which he engaged, he did not desist and thus avert his entire
ruin. No : the lessons of experience were lost upon him. His
failure in half a dozen speculations was no reason why he should
not succeed in the seventh. The event proves that his calcula
tions are wrong in the seventh also : he admits the fact, for his
pocket told him there was no denying it ; but why, nevertheless,
should not the eighth speculation prove .sufficiently fortunate to
do more than counterbalance all his losses on the previous seven
unsuccessful ones ? He soon finds that, instead of retrieving the
portion of his fortune which he had lost, his last speculation
proved the worst of all. The ninth time he makes a still deeper
plunge ; he risks nearly all that remains ; and that all is lost.
In a word, he went on with one speculation after another, until
he had speculated away the last shilling he had in the world, —
just as gamblers at cards or the dice, become more venturesome
and more eager for play, in proportion to the amount of their
losses. Friends, for a time, felt, or affected to feel for him ; but
their sympathy, if sympathy it really was, never extracted a shil
ling from their pockets to assist him. He made every effort to
obtain such employment as he was adapted for : in that he failed.
For months he struggled with all the horrors of want : at last
he found himself unequal to the confiict : he felt that if he at
tempted to stand out much longer, he must perish in the effort.
He capitulated : he submitted to a destiny which no resources of
his own could control, and sought for an asylum frora a world in
which he had been so unfortunate, in the. workhouse of Maryle
bone, where he died a very short tirae since.
The world is fidl of illustrations of the remark, that as one
individual falls, another rises. Two persons may be next-door
neighbours, or be frequently brought into close contact together,
— the one is rolling in wealth, the other has difficulty in pro-

WORKHOUSES. 241
curing the necessaries of life : in twenty, fifteen, or even a dozen
years, their pecuniary circumstances and position in society are
completely reversed. The rich and influential individual is re
duced to the very lowest depths of poverty, and of insignificance in
the social scale, while the poor man is raised to affiuence and
importance among his fellow-men. Not many months since, a
remarkable illustration of what I have stated occurred in a
West-end workhouse, which for particular reasons I forbear to
name. A gentleman, now one of the leading men — I should
say, indeed, the leading man — in a large and aristocratic parish,
had, about twenty years ago, though well educated, but slender
means to live on, like many other intelligent men. He was
acquainted with a lady residing in the same country town as
himself, who was immensely rich and was the moSt distinguished
of her sex among the fashionables of the place. He quitted his
native to-wn for the metropolis, where, through his talents and
perseverance, he eventually raised himself to an influential posi
tion in society, and at the same tirae acquired a handsome inde
pendency. He was chosen one of the guardians of the poor in
the parish to which I refer. He had not been in his new office
for any lengthened period, when, among the names of appUcants
for admission to the workhouse, he found one which, as it was a
very peculiar name, attracted his attention. The only person
bearing that name he had ever known, was the lady to whom I
have alluded. His curiosity being excited, he desired to see the
particular applicant. She was brought to him, and was none
other than the lady whom, but twenty years previously, he had
known living in all the splendour and luxury which the world
could afford. She recognised him at once: the interview, as
may well be supposed, was one of an affecting nature to both
parties. The gentleman felt deeply for the reverse of fortune
which had befallen ibhe lady ; while her mind was overpowered at
the thought of thus unexpectedly meeting with one whom she for
merly knew when in circumstances so materially different. The
emotions of surprise and confusion caused by the unexpected
meeting, and under such pecuUar circumstances, having in some
degree subsided, the unfortunate lady entered into a statement
of the way in which her reverses had been brought about. That
statement was very brief: her tale of misfortune was soon told.
Shortly after Mr. A. had left his native place, she came to town
and took a large house in the West-end. Her income had been
solely derived from West-India property : that property, sorae
years since, became most seriously depreciated in value. She
was obliged to borrow money on the security of her estate : the
money was only lent for a limited time : the property meanwhile
daily diminished in value. At length, the period for which the

242 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
loan was granted, expired; and she being unable to repay the
money, the estate was put up to the hamraer, and brought
Uttle more than paid the loan and the expenses of the sale. Ip
a year or two she was without a shiUing in the world. Acquaintr
ances did something for her for a time ; but they, one after ano
ther, gradually deserted her. In two years raore she was
obliged to throw herself on the parish. She had been friendly
to the gentleman in her better days, and when he was in
indifferent circumstances. Now that he had been raised to an
influential position in society, whUe she had been reduced to the
lowest point in the social scale, he, equally from a sense of grati
tude and a generous disposition, took advantage of the situatipn
he held as one of the board of guardians, to render her as com
fortable as possible.
Parties often meet in the workhouse under peculiar circum-r
stances, though of a very different nature from those I have
mentioned. There is no want of instances in which a high-bred
and haughty lady, living at one time in the greatest luxury, has
met in the workhouse, on a footing of the most perfect equality,
the very mendicant of her own sex whom, in the hey-day of heir
prosperity, she had desired her " pampered menial" to turn
scornfully away from her door, where the poor creature had been
supplicating a crust of bread for her famishing children. Little
do the prosperous and affluent think in the day of their pros
perity, to what complexion matters may come before they quit
the world.
Perhaps there is no other place, speaking of assemblages of per
sons, in which the advantages of religion are so forcibly exhi
bited, as in the workhouse. I believe that every one acquainted
with workhouses, be his individual opinions what they may, will
bear rae out when I say, that there is all the difference in the
world, with regard to the manner in which they raeet their
reverses, between a person of genuine piety and one who has no
proper sense of religion at all. The forraer is not insensible to
the circurastances in which he is placed, and was equally relue-.
tant with th^ other to be placed in those circurastances ; but
you see that the one bears up under his reverses with far more
fortitude and tranquiUity of mind than the other. How could
it be otherwise ? The pious inmate is sustained and cheered by
a firm_ persuasion — no raatter, in so far as his present state of
mind is concerned, even were that persuasion groundless— of a
happy hereafter. The irreligious person has no hope beyond
the present world : possibly he does not even extend his thoughts
beyond the precincts of time. In that case, all must be dark
and gloomy enough; but far darker — much more gloomy
stiU — must be the picture, if his views do extend to a future

WORKHOUSES, 243
state, and yet he have no hope that that state will be to him one
of happiness.
A singularly striking proof of the power of religion in admi
nistering to the happiness of mankind even in this world,
was afforded in the case of a woman who died within the last
year in the workhouse of St. Pancras. She was one of those
of whom I have been speaking, who had undergone very great
reverses of fortune. She had lived at one time in great splen
dour, keeping her carriage, taking a prominent part in the
gaieties of the day, and living in utter thoughtlessness of a world
to come. By a succession of reverses which followed each other
with a remarkable rapidity, she was reduced to absolute destitu-r
tion, and applied as a last resource for adraission into the work
house. For some time after her adraission, her countenance
betrayed the troubled state of her mind. It was not only that
she repined at the altered situation in which she was then
placed, but she felt appalled at the retrospect of the thoughtless
life she had hitherto lived. A variety of circumstances con
spired to turn her mind to the consideration of religious matters.
The pages of inspiration were daily perused by her ; and, in a
very short time, she became a decidedly pious woman. From
that moment her countenance assumed a wonderful serenity of
expression ; and so far it faithfully indexed the state of her
mind. She afterwards repeatedly declared to one of the officers
of the workhouse, that, possessing as she then did the peace which
the gospel inspires, she felt herself an incomparably happier
woman in the workhouse, than ever she had done when in the
zenith of her prosperity, and when hving in all the splendour and
dissipation of fashionable life.
Cases of a similar kind are of quite frequent occurrence ; but
anything of a theological nature being foreign to the objects of
" Sketches in London," I wiU not advert to any more of those
cases in detail.
Among the class of inmates to be found in workhouses, who
once moved in the more respectable spheres of society, the num
ber of members of the learned professions is proportionably smaU.
You meet with few decayed medical gentlemen ; perhaps fewer
still of decayed lawyers ; and certainly fewest of aU of individuals
who were brought up for the pulpit. I may here also_ remark,
that improvident as the habits of literary men proverbially are,
remarkably few of them seek an asylum in the workhouse. I
know of no class of men among whom a greater nuraber of cases
of -hardship and privation occur, than among those who devote
themselves to literary pursuits. In another work *, I have ad-
* The Second Series of " The Great MetropoUs." 
s2

244 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
verted at considerable length to the deplorable circumstances of
thousands in London, who make literature a profession. And
yet, with very few exceptions indeed, the horror with which
they regard the workhouse is so great, that nothing can over
come it. I beheve innumerable instances might be adduced in
which literary men have died from absolute want, rather than
enter a workhouse. Their extreme sensitiveness on this point
may be, in a great measure, accounted for from the refined and
soul-elevating nature of their pursuits.
The best time for seeing a workhouse to advantage, is at
meal-time ; and of the three meals, that of dinner is to be
preferred. In the larger workhouses, there is no apartment suf
ficiently commodious to accommodate a fourth part of the
inmates, and consequently they take their meals in different
places. .The greatest number I have seen at dinner at once, was
about 120. Nothing can exceed the avidity with which the
paupers devour their meals. You would fancy that they lived
for no other purpose than to eat. That certainly was the chief
object they had in view in entering the workhouse ; and they
cling till the last to the idea, that eating is their principal busi
ness. The subject is one which would admit of some observa
tions of a humorous nature ; but I am restrained from any
effort to excite a smile, by the consideration that the unfortu
nate inmates of a workhouse are not legitimate subjects for hu
mour. I trust that, however much I may be disposed to reUsh
anything of a humorous nature, I ara not one of those who
would indulge that taste at the expense of suffering humanity.
The guardians of the poor in raost of the workhouses, have a
fixed day, once a week, for the purpose of granting out-door
relief. The scene on such occasions is usually one of a grotesque
nature. Ragged raothers, with children in their arms, and chil
dren at their feet, are seen congregated together in vast num
bers at the place of distribution; while old infirm men, and
young men who are in destitute circumstances, are interspersed
in very fair proportions. There is not only their ragged appear
ance, but their starved looks : you see, from their faces, that
few and far between are their ample meals, even of the plain
and homely fare to which they are accustomed. The scenes,
however, of this kindj which possess the greatest interest, are
exhibited at those workhouses which are under the operation of
the New Poor Law Act, and where, consequently, the applicants
are uncertain whether they are to be successful in their suppUca-
tions for bread or not. A few weeks since, I witnessed a scene
of this kind, of a very touching nature. It was at the work
house of a small parish, and the number of applicants who had
besieged the office, whence the loaves are distributed, was under

0-utdoor Relief.

WORKHOUSES. 245
one hundred. A more miserable group of human beings I have
never seen ; a more 'wretched assemblage, judging from their
outward appearance, I should suppose, are but seldom to be wit
nessed in any civilised country. When one succeeded in getting a
loaf, every eye was directed to it in a moment, with an eagerness
and intensity of gaze which told much more forcibly than words
could, the hunger which the poor creatures were enduring. The
eyes of the children looked with a speciaUy expressive gaze at
the article of food. But what was most eloquent and affecting
of aU, as showing the agony which the poor young creatures
were suffering from want of food, was the almost ferocious-Uke
manner in which they seized the loaf, the moment their mothers
got one, and the ravenous voracity with which they began to eat
it, And to, add to the wretchedness of their situation, caused
by destitution and hunger, the parish functionaries, dressed in
theirlittle brief authority, treated the poor unhappy applicants
as if they had been no better than so many r.eptiles crawling on
the ground. As if the poor were not made sufficiently miser
able by the hard destiny of their lot, these officials must needs
add to their woes by their overbearing and outrageous manner
towards them. Why cannot .those entrusted with the distribu
tion of relief to paupers, treat the poor wretches who are obliged
to fawn on them and lick the very dust before them, with de-
cenpy at lea^gt, if not with respect? In several instances this,
let me say in justice, is done ; why not in all ? Dp such persons
forget that the poor are human beings as well as theraselves ;
and that, though doomed; to;^apple with the evils of pauperism,
they have their feelings randr. susceptibilities aswell as others?
Are we not al}, including the , humblest and most dependent of
human creatures, descended from the same coramon parent ? Are
we not all influenced by the same motives and feelings? Are we
not all naembers of the great community of man ? Shall we, not
all, whatever maybe the accidental distinctions which exist in our
relative -circumstances at present, be soon placed on a footing of
the most perfect equality ? .Where will be the difference between
us some years hence? Shall we not all be on the same level in
the grave ? Is it not true, though a reflection so mortifying is
carefully excluded from the minds of many of those who have it
at present in their power to tyrannize over and trample on the
poor, that ere many years shall have passed away, no one wUl
be able to distinguish the bodies of these persons, from those
whose feelings they have flagrantly outraged by their harsh
and haughty manner, when doling out a miserable pittance to
them, or when refusing to grant them a morsel of bread though
famishing from want ? There is one other consideration which
may possibly have more weight than any of those to which I

246 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
have alluded. Let me remind the man who takes advantage of
the situation in which he is placed, to insult and wound the feel
ings of the unhappy ' pauper whom destiny has placed in his
power, that he himself may before he dies stand in the same
situation as the wretched person whom he now treats with so
much contumely and heartlessness. Such things have been ; such
things wiU be to the end of time. The records of workhouses
contain many instances of persons, whose office it once was to
dole out a scanty pittance to the poor, becoming themselves the
recipients of parish bounty in precisely the same way.
Many paupers spend what is called " a little life" in the work
house. I knew a Scottish peasant, who died at the advanced
age of eighty in the very cottage in which he was born, never
having, during all that lengthened period, been one night absent
from his home. The case of the man who had been upwards of
forty years a prisoner in the Bastile, is known to most of my
readers. The first was a singular length of time for an indivi
dual to live in one spot, and sleep in the same bed. Scarcely
less wonderful is the circurastance of a person being upwards of
forty years in prison ; for one would suppose that it would be
impossible to survive so lengthened an incarceration in a gloomy
and unhealthy dungeon. I know of no instance of location in a
workhouse for so many years ; but I have heard of a pauper fe
male who was an inmate of one of the raost centrical of our
metropolitan workhouses for upwards of thirty years. One can
not reflect on such a fact, without thinking of the many changes
which took place in the world during her location in one
spot. She first entered the place immediately previous to the
commencement of the French Revolution : it was over for seve
ral years before she died. How many kings were dethroned
and empires overthrown, while she remained in the sarae place \
And how vast the changes which had occurred on the face of
society while she reraained there ! How great, even, the changes
which had taken place on the surface of a large portion of the
physical world, during that lengthened period of time ! Im
mense tracts of waste land had been brought under cultivation ;
marshes had been converted into dry and fruitful soil ; planta
tions had grown into forests ; the size of existing towns and vil
lages had been vastly extended ; and new viUages and towns had
started up in places in which were no human habitations when
this pauper first threw herself on her parish. In London alone,
what extensive changes had taken place ! What vast additions had
been made to its dimensions and population ! How few, com
paratively, of those who were inhabitants of the metropolis when
she entered the workhouse, were among its population immedi-'
ately before she died ! One race had passed away and another

. woRKtrousEs. 247
taken its place in the interval. The appearance also of the
town itself had undergone extensive changes : old streets were
thrown down, and new ones built in their places. But even con
fining oneself to the changes which had occurred in the work
house, under her own eye, how many and great must these have
been ! Not one of those who were the inmates of the place when
she entered remained in it one-half of the time she did. How
many entrances and exits must she have witnessed in„her time ! —
the entrances all of one kind ; the exits of two kinds : sorae
going out in the hope of being able to earn a subsistence
for themselves ; others being carried out to be consigned to
the grave.
Such are some of the thoughts which would natutally arise in
a reflective mind, on hearing of the circumstance of a person
being an inmate of a workhouse for so long a period as thirty
years. The train of thought might be foUowed out to a great
tehgth ; but this is not the proper place for moralization.
- It is a fact which is worthy of mention, that the best reg-u-
lated workhouses are conducive to health rather than otherwise.
I ascribe this in a great measure, to the circumstance of the
rules of these establishments being of such a hature as to ensure
greater regularity of habits than the inmates were previously
accustomed to. They are there regular in going to bed, regular in
rising, and regular in their meals ; and every one knows how
great an influence regularity in such matters has on the health
of ihaflkind. A guardian of one of the workhouses in the
centte of the metropohs, lately mentioned to me some singular
cases of paupers having entered those establishments in a very
bad state of health, brought on by irregularity of living, and of
their complete restoration to health after being a short time
there. The case of the female to whom I have already alluded,
as having for thirty years been an inmate of a workhouse, was
one of those he raentioned. When she applied for admission
she was labouring under illness, brought on by iri-egidarity, to
siich an extent, that no one who saw her supposed she would
Survive a month. The medical gentleraan who had attended her
pronounced her case to be hopeless ; and yet the regularity of
habits enforced by the rules of the workhouse, restored her in a
few months to perfect health ; and that health continued for the
long period already mentioned.
In a chapter devoted to the Workhouses of London, it-will be
expected that, as the great majority of those workhouses are
under the operation of the New Poor Law Amendment Act, I
should express some opinion of that measure. That opinion, if I
must express it, is in decided opposition to it. No man can be
lucre thoroughly impressed wth the conviction than I am, that

248 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
the grossest abuses prevailed under the old system ; and that a
reform, or amendment of that system, was most imperatively
caUed for. The great defect of that system, or of the way in
which it was administered, was the encouragement it held out
to idleness and fraud. A clever rogue of indolent disposition,
could always contrive to raake a very corafortable hving of it,
under the old system. A case was mentioned to me a few weeks
ago, in which a woman was in the habit of receiving four shU
lings per week from the parish of St. Paul, Covent Garden,
while carrying on business on a rather extensive scale, and rent
ing an excellent shop, as a bonnet-maker, in the MUe-end-road.
In another case a party receiving parish relief was followed to
his home, and on his table there was found awaiting his arrival,
and the arrival of some "jolly paupers" he had invited to par
take, of it, a piece of roast beef which was equally pleasant to
the eye and grateful to the olfactory nerves. In the case of a
third person, that person was dexterous enough in the arts of
deception to impose on no fewer than four parishes at one time,
in each of which she professed to have a right of settlement, and-
frora all of which she continued for some years to receive three
or four shiUings, besides a certain quantity of bread, per week.
Innumerable other instances might be adduced in which parties
received relief who had not the slightest claim to it ; and to sup
port whom in vice and idleness, poor industrious rate-payers were
ground down to the earth. But the great objection to the New
Poor Law Amendment Act is, that it has leaped from one ex
treme to another. The errors in the administration of the law
to which I have referred, might easily have been remedied with
out the interposition of the legislature at all. The Poor Law
guardians of the parish of Marylebone have afforded practical
proof of this. They have adopted a course equally huraane and
judicious : one which corabines the strictest justice to the rate
payers, with the greatest attention to the claims of the poor.
They have appointed a certain number of men whom they caU
inspectors, and in whose judgment and humanity they can repose
confidence, to institute a careful inquiry into the circumstances
of aU who apply for parochial relief. The consequence is,
that persons having no claims on parish aid, are refused such
aid ; while those who really are proper objects for parochial as
sistance, at once receive it. The same enlightened caution is
observed in the administration of the Poor Laws in the parish
of St. Pancras ; and the result has been, that m both
these parishes the poor-rates have been reduced much more
than one-half— nearly, I believe, two-thirds— without in the
slightest degree entrenching on the legitimate claims of the
pauper portion of the population. And why, I should like to

WORKHOUSES. 249
ask," might not a similar system have been adopted throughout
the country ? Nothing, surely, could be more simple in theory,
and nothing could be raore easy in practice.
The clause in the New Poor Law Bill which refuses relief to
those who wUl not accept that relief except in the character of
inmates of the workhouse, is as unsound in policy as it is harsh
and despotic in principle. Why not give them as much out of
the workhouse as it requires to support them in it ? Where
would be the loss to the parish in this ? Why say to the poor
applicants that they must either, perish of want, or break
through all their strong and tender attachments to home ? Why
thus gratuitously tear asunder all the ties which bind one to his
own abode, however humble it may be ? " Home is home, how
ever homely," says the adage. Aye, and the humble hovel of
the poor has its attractions and charms to them, as well as the
splendid mansion has its attractions and charms to its wealthy
possessor. To wrench the unhappy pauper from the lowly abode to
which he clings with a tenacity of grasp which nothing but the
horror of absolute starvation can induce him to relinquish, is a
piece of cruelty at which every huraane breast raust revolt, and
is a positive disgrace to a Christian country. Who would beUeve
it, did not the fact stare us in the face, that in the second quar
ter of the nineteenth century, the legislature of Great Britain
should say to a pauper, unable to earn a subsistence, that he must
either submit to be torn frora his home and his wife and chil
dren, or die of absolute want ? There is not a breast in which
there is an atom of humanity, that does not rise up in revolt
against such legislation.
One most objectionable regulation of the workhouse system —
a regulation enjoined by the New Poor Law BUI — is, the denial
of the consolations of religion to those whose conscientious scru
ples will not allow them to worship according to the forms of the
established church. A more flagrant and uncalled-for outrage
on all the higher and more hallowed feeUngs of one's mind, could
not be coraraitted. A regulation raore at variance with the spirit
of Christianity, or raore repugnant to that spirit of civil and reli
gious liberty which is the glory of this country, could not be de
vised. It is one worthy of the worst days of reUgious intolerance.
That a protestant legislature, in the thirty-eighth year of the nine
teenth century, should have sanctioned such a clause, is one of
those facts which would be pronounced incredible, if they did not
unhappily stare us in the face. Why not let those who have been
aU their lives connected with Dissenters, and have heard from
sabbath to sabbath the truths of the gospel preached by pastors
in their own communion ; why not let such persons, if able,
attend on the sabbath the minister of their own choice I What

250 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
probability is there, that the preaching of one against whom
the pauper Dissenters are prejudiced-^if prejudiced must be the
word — wiU be either pleasant or profitable ? In order to a pro
fitable hearing of the word, it is necessary that a feeling of
esteem if not of affection, for the preacher, should be enter
tained. And this esteem or affection must be based on the
circumstance of the preacher holding the sarae views on all im
portant religious questions as the party who hears him. We all
know how strong are the dislikes of many Episcopalians to the
principles of Dissent. I know many members of the Church of
England who would prefer absenting themselves frora pubhc
worship altogether, to entering a Dissenting meeting-house. Not
less strong are the antipathies of many Dissenters towards the
established church. They could not worship with their Episco
palian brethren, without doing violence to all their raost che
rished feelings on the subject of religion. I think that there are
many, both of Dissenters and Churchmen, who carry their dislike
of each other's mode of worship too far. But even where I
think thera in error, I would treat them with tenderness. There
is nothing incompatible in disapproving of this prejudice, and
yet respecting it so far as to extend the utmost indulgence
to those who are its subjects. Let me not be here supposed to
be arguing the raatter on sectarian grounds : not less decidedly
would I denounce the conduct of the Dissenter who would, if he
had the power, compel the Churchman either to listen to the
doctrines of the gospel from the lips of a Dissenting pastor,
or not hear those doctrines at all. In everything appertaining
to religion, there ought to be the most unbounded liberty — the
most perfect toleration. The conscience ought to be utterly un
fettered. There should be an unrestrained freedom of thought-^
the most entire liberty of action, so long as that action does not
interfere with the rights and privUeges of any other member of
the community. The great truth cannot be too frequently
repeated — it cannot be kept too prominently before the eyes of
those invested with authority — that man is not responsible to his
feUow-men for his religious opinions ; that he is responsible only
to his Maker. He, therefore, who seeks to interpose between a
man's conscience and his Maker, on the raost iraportant of all
questions, places himself in a position of moral peril of awful
magnitude. But, for the reasons before stated, I forbear to discuss the
question in its theological bearings. Once for aU, let me say,
that the refusal to allow a Dissenter in the workhouse to
attend, on the sabbath day, on the ministrations of a pastor oi
his own persuasion— one, it may be, from whose lips he had heard
the living Word for a long- series of years— is not only at mani-

WORKHOUSES. 251
fest and direct variance with the spirit of Christianity, but it is
an act of inhumanity, . a piece of heartless cruelty — and as
gratuitous as it is heartless — which may well, as Co-wper says,
cause us to " Hang our heads to think that we are men."
JThen there is the separation regulation. It is difficult to
speak of this regulation in measured language : it is a standing
outrage on human nature ; a foul stain on the national charac
ter; one of the blackest pages in England's history. Posterity will
ask, could there have been one particle of humanity, to say no
thing of Christianity, in the composition of those who were
parties to the framing and enforcing such a regulation ? To me
it has always appeared as the very quintessence of cruelty, It
erects a Juggernaut in every workhouse in the land within the
Sphere of the New Poor Law Bill : and like the Juggernaut of
the East, it can already boast of its nuraerous victiras. Who
can tell the number of hearts which it has already broken ?
Who can compute the number of human beings who are des
tined to be crushed by its moral pressure, should it unhappily
be permitted for any length of time to stain the pages of our
history ? Let not this be mistaken for mere declamation ; let
it not be understood as only figures of speech. When I say
that the separation regulation, in the administration of the New
Poor Law Act, has its victims, I speak of facts -which consist
with my own personal knowledge. Aye, and strange as the
statement may appear, it has its victiras without as well as
within the walls of the workhouse. Not long since, I heard
from the lips of one of the raost worthy ministers in the metro
polis, one very affecting proof of the operation of this regula
tion. The anecdote, it raay be proper to mention, was related
from the pulpit, not for the purpose of condemning the New
Poor Law Bill, but with the view of illustrating a religious
topic. As I cannot give the anecdote in the minister's words,
I must give it in my own. Two persons, man and -wife,
of very advanced years, were at last, through the infirmities
consequent on old age, rendered incapable of providing for
themselves. Their friends were hke themselves, poor; but
so long as they conld, they afforded thera aU the assistance in
their power. The infirmities of the aged couple became greater
and greater ; so, as a necessary consequence, did their wants.
The guardians of the poor— their parish being under the ope
ration of the new measure— refused to afford them the slightest
relief. What was to be done ? They had no alternative but star^
vation or the workhouse. To have gone to the workhouse, even
had they been permitted to live together, would have been pain-

252 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
ful enough to their feelings ; but to go there to be separated
from each other, was a thought at which their hearts sickened.
They had been married for nearly half a century ; and during
all that tirae had lived in the greatest harraony together. I am
speaking the language of unexaggerated truth when I say, that
their affection for each other increased, instead of suffering dimi
nution, as they advanced in years. A purer or stronger attach
ment than theirs has never, perhaps, existed in a world in which
there is so much of mutability as in ours. Many were the joys,
and many the sorrows, which they had equally shared with each
other. 'Their joys were increased, because participated in by
both : their sorrows were lessened because of the consolations
they assiduously administered to each other when the dispensa
tions of Providence assumed a lowering aspect. The reverses
they had experienced in the course of their long and eventful
union, had only served to attach them the more strongly to each
other, just as the tempestuous blast only serves to cause the
oak to strike its roots raore deeply in the earth. With minds
originally constituted alike, and that constitution being based
on a virtuous foundation, it was, indeed, to be expected that the
lapse of years would only tend to strengthen their attachment.
Nothing, in a word, could have exceeded the ardour of their
sympathy with each other. The only happiness which this world
could afford them was derived from the circurastance of being in
each other's company ; and the one looked forward to the possi
bility of being left alone when the other was snatched away by
death, with feelings of the deepest pain and apprehension.
Their wish was, in subordination to the wiU of the Supreme
Being, that as they had been so long united in life, so in death
they might not be divided. Their wish was in one sense real
ized, though not in the sense they had desired. The pressure
of want, aggravated by the increasing infirmities of the female,
imposed on her the necessity of repairing to the workhouse.
The husband would most wiUingly have followed, had they been
permitted to live together when there, in the hope that they
should, even in that miserable place, be able to assuage each
other's griefs, as they had so often done before. That was a
permission, however, which was not to be granted to them.
The husband therefore determined that he would live on a
morsel of bread and a draught of cold water, where he was,
rather than submit to the degradation of a workhoufee in which
he would be separated from her who had been the partner of his
joys and griefs for upwards of half a century. The hour of part
ing came ; and a sad and sorrowful hour it was to the aged
couple. Who shaU describe their feeUngs on the occasion?
Who can even enter into those feelings ? No one. They could

WORKHOUSES. 253
only be conceived by themselves. The process of separation was
as full of anguish to their mental nature, as is the severance
of a limb from the body to the physical constitution. And
that separation was aggravated by the circumstance, that both
felt a presentiment, so strong as to have all the force of a
thorough conviction, that their separation was to be final as
regarded this world. What, then, must have been the agonies
of the parting hour in the case of a couple whose mental powers
were still unimpaired, and who had lived in the most perfect
harmony for the protracted period of fifty years ? They were,
I repeat, not only such as admit of no description, but no one,
who has not been similarly circumstanced, can even form an idea
of them. The downcast look — the tender glances they emitted
to each other — the swimming eye — the moist cheek — the deep-
drawn sigh — the choked utterance — the affectionate embrace ; all
told, in the language of resistless eloquence, of the anguish caused
by their separation. The scene was affecting in the extreme,
even to the mere spectator. It was one which must have soft
ened the hardest heart, as it drew tears from every eye which
witnessed it ; what, then, must the actual realization of it in all
its power have been to the parties themselves ? The separation
did take place ; the poor woman was -wrenched from the almost
death-like grasp of her husband. She was transferred to the
workhouse; and he was left alone in the miserable hovel in
which they had so long remained together. And what foUowed ?
— What foUowed ! That may be soon told : it is a short history.
The former pined away, and died in three weeks after the sepa
ration ; and the husband only survived three weeks more. Their
parting was thus but for a short time, though final as respected
this world. Ere six weeks had elapsed they again met together ;
" Met on that happy, happy shore.
Where friends do meet to part no more."
Here, then, were two victims, under circumstances of a raost
affecting nature, to the separation regulation in the administra
tion of the New Poor Law BUI. Have I overcharged the pic
ture ? I have fallen far short of the reality. Not even those
who felt the agonies and anguish to which I have_ referred, could
have portrayed it, even had they been gifted with the highest
intellects.. The thing was to be experienced, not described.
It is said by the advocates of the regulation, that paupers
themselves have no objection to be separated from each other,
because that, generally speaking, they have become old and un
able to assist each other, before they throw themselves perma
nently on the parish. The man who makes such a representation
libels the unhappy poor, and gives utterance to a calumny on

254 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
human nature itself. The feelings of attachment with which the
poor regard each other, are as strong and tender as those which
exist among the higher classes of society. What if they be even
more strong and tender, because less alloyed by conventional
considerations and circumstances ? The imputation that a pau
per husband and wife care not for one another, but are glad to
be separated, when they are advanced in years, is a calumny of
the raost cruel kind ; and one raore destitute of even the shadow
of a foundation, was never, I will venture to say, invented. Here
I do not speak frora conjecture : I have had many opportunities
of making myself acquainted, frora personal observation, with the
principles, feehngs, and habits of the poor ; and justice to them
requires that I should vindicate them in the mass, .frora so
heartless and unfounded a charge. Those who have once been
in affluent circurastances and wallowed araong the luxuries
of life, are far raore likely to be insensible to the pains of sepa
ration than the poorer classes, The husbands and wives of the
rich and the noble have various enjoyments apart frora those
arising frora their attachraent to each other, which naturally
enough enables thera to subrait raore readily to the dispensation
which disunites them. Not so the ill-fated poor : the only sweet
in their cup of life apart frora the hopes of a happy hereafter,
is the syrapathy with which they regard each other. That sympa
thy supports them amid all j their toUs and trials ; and hav
ing weathered the storms and tempests of life together, is it not
monstrous to suppose, that in their declining years they should
lose their mutual attachment to such an extent as not only to
feel no pang at the prospect of separation, but even to. dehght in
the idea ? Cold-blooded, and revolting to all the better feelings of
our nature, is the philosophy, if so it raust be called, which pre
sents us with so frightful a picture of our pauper population ; a
picture which, happily, is as unfaithful as it is unseemly to
look at.
But why thus reason on abstract principles with those who
seek to justify the separation of man and wife, on the assump
tion that the poor have no affection for, or attachment to, each
other? Has not that assumption been alreadv proved to be
groundless, by the resistless logic of facts ? Has not the ca
lumny been sufficiently exposed by the reference I have made
to a poor but virtuous and noble-minded husband and wife?
Their case, be it remembered, is not the exception, but the rule.
They were but the faithful representatives of their unfortunate
class. It is gratifying to perceive that a feeling of indignation against
this unnatural and anti-christian regulation is spreading through
out the land with a rapidity, and is acquiring a force, which is

WORKHOUSES. 255
sure ere long to sweep it away for ever. Every friend of hu
manity ought to foster this feeling wherever he finds it, and to
inspire it in those breasts in which it has not yet had an exist
ence. Surely the miseries of the poor are sufficiently great
.already ; surely the horrors of a workhouse are already formid
able enough, without gratuitously adding to that misery, and
deepening those horrors, by a regulation of this nature. It is
clearly one of the purposes of the Deity, that those who in his
providence have been united together in marriage, should not
be separated but by himself; and, in accordance with this
manifest design pf the Creator, the minister of the gospel who
pronounces |;hem man and wife, solemnly says, as directed by
the marriage ceremony, " Those whom God hath joined toge
ther, let no man put asunder." The administrators of the
New Poor Law Bill have set this solemn injunction at defi
ance; they have acted in direct opposition to it. The moral
responsibility they have thus incurred, is of fearful magnitude.
Of the regulation which prohibits the visits to the workhouse
of the friends of the inmates, I have hitherto said nothing. It is
one which is of a piece with the general harshness of the admi
nistration of the law. In what way must the mind of the man
be constituted, who first conceived the idea of refusing to the
wretched pauper the meagre consolation of a visit of any remain
ing friend he had when he flung himself, as a last resource, into
a workhouse ? In his nature, there raust, indeed, be little of the
milk of human kindness. There exists not the shadow of a pre
text for this heartless severity. Are we to be told, that if
permission were conceded to the friends of paupers to visit them
in the workhouse, the regulation would be attended with incon
venience ? That has been said ; bnt it has not, to use the mildest
language, the slightest foundation in fact. Alas ! by the time a
poor wretch has been compelled to seek a refuge in the work
house, the nuraber of his friends has been sadly reduced. For^
tunate, indeed, may he consider himself, if there be a single
individual among his forraer acquaintances, even where their
name was legion, who feels for and sympathises with him to
such a degree as to prompt that individual to pay him.
an occasional visit in the workhouse. Reverses have a wonder
ful effect in lessening the number of one's friends. In how many
instances does adversity scatter one's friends to the four winds
of heaven ? In how many instances do they aU vanish as sud
denly as if they had, by some magical influence, been spirited up
to some other planet? How raany paupers are there in _ every
workhouse, who, were the doors open at all tiraes to the visits of
friends, would never be inquired about by a single huraan being
in the world ? How miserable and groundless, then, the pretext

256 SKETCHES IN LONDON
that inconvenience would result from admitting the few persons
who raight feel disposed to pay an occasional visit to those in the
workhouse whom they had known in other and better days?
Surely so poor and cheap a consolation, as the sight of one who
comraiserated thera in their unhappy condition, might be allowed
the inmates. But no : they must needs be shut up from every
manifestation of the syrapathy of their fellow-creatures, as if they
had coraraitted sorae atrocious crime by which they had for
feited all claim to the kindly consideration of mankind. Not
even when visited with sickness, unless there be some hu
mane individual among the leading officers who interposes on
their behalf, will a friend be permitted to see them. More hor
rible still: there are nuraerous instances on record, in which
near relatives have been refused permission to see a dying pau
per ! Will it be believed that cases have occurred — and, it is
to be feared, they are not few or far between — in which a dying
pauper, sensible that his end was approaching, has had his last
request that a beloved daughter raight be sent for, to see him
close his eyes in death and that he might give her his parting
blessing, — haughtily refused him ? An instance occurred a few
months since in a workhouse in the suburbs of the metropohs,
in which intelligence was accidentally conveyed to a daughter
that her father was on his death-bed : she hurried that moment
to the workhouse, but was refused admission. With tears in her
eyes, and a heart that was ready to break, she pleaded the
urgency of the case : the functionary was deaf to her entreaties :
as soon might she have addressed them to the brick wall before
her. His answer was, " It is contrary to the regulations of the
place : come again at a certain hour." She applied to the me
dical gentleman who attended the workhouse, and through his
exertions obtained admission. She flew to the ward in which
her father was confined: he lay cold, motionless, and uncon-
scious_ before her— his spirit was gone : he had breathed his last
five minutes before.
Well may we exclaim, when we hear of such things, " Do we
live in a christian country?- Is this a civiHsed land?"

InteidoT of aJ.u-Datc Asyltmi.

267

CHAPTER VIII.
LUNATIC ASYLUMS.
Difficulty of obtaining accurate information on the subject of the Lunatic Asylums in
, London — Private madhouses — Their number, and the number, &c., of their in
mates—Public Lunatic Asylums^ — St. Luke's — Bethlem — Hanwell Asylum — In
sanity on one particular point, while on all other points the party is quite rational
— Sanity on one point, while on all others the parties are insane — Diversified ways
in which insanity manifests itself — Partiality of particular lunatics to particular
employments — Instances given — Cunning of some lunatics — Their great physical
energies — Harsh Treatment they sometimes receive — General Remarks.
. .. 1,- ' , .; .
The subject of Lunatic Asylums in the metropohs, is one of
great -though painful interest. It is one with the statistics of
which the public are but very imperfectly acquainted. This is
easily accounted for. There is no accessible work, so far as my
knowledge extends, to which persons de'siroiis of obtaining inform
ation on the subject may refer. It is' only by consulting a va
riety of pamphlets, tho reports of committees appointed to
manage the affairs of lunatic asylums, and parliamentary papers,
that any approach can be raade to an accurate knowledge of the
statistics of insanity in London. In none of ray previous chap
ters have I had to encounter so many obstacles in ray endea
vours to acquire that inforraation on the subject which could
either satisfy my own mind, or which appeared to me likely to
prove satisfactory to my readers.
Before speaking of the public lunatic asylums in the metro
pohs, it may be proper to devote a small portion of my pages to
private madhouses. The number of these has varied, for some
years past, from 36 to 42. The latest authentic information on
the subject to which I could obtain access, gives the number at
38. The number of patients in these private establishments,
varied, before the Hanwell Lunatic Asylum was so generally pre
ferred for pauper maniacs, from 2 to 560. As many asthe
latter number have been inmates of Hoxton House at one time.
This establishment, it is proper to state, is by far the largest
private madhouse in the united kingdom : it is doubtful whether
it be not the largest in the world. Next to it, in point of size,
and in respect to the number of patients usually in it, is the
White House, Bethnal Green ; and the third largest, is Bethnal

258 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
House. Of several smaller ones in the same neighbourhood, I
say nothing. How it happens that that part of the metropolis
has been for raany years the locality of so many private lunatic
asylums, especially as St. Luke's is so near to it, is a point which
I cannot determine. In these three establishments there have,
for a long series of years, been a greater 'number of insane per
sons than in all the other private madhouses in London taken
together. Of pauper lunatics in these private houses, the number,
a few years since*, was 1369 ; of whora 596 were males, and 773
females. The number of inmates, not paupers, was 942 ; of
whora 512 were raales, and 430 were feraales; making the total
nuraber of inmates 2311. The number of cures performed in
the course of the year to which I refer, was 121 : of this num
ber, 30 were male paupers, 37 female paupers, 36 males not
paupers, and 18 females not paupers. The expenses vary, as a
matter of course, with the diversity which obtains in the pre
vious circurastances of the patients. In sorae cases, the terms
are as high as 200?. per annum,- This class of inmates, it is
unnecessary to say, receive a diet superior to that of the others,
and have more attention paid to their cleanliness, and to their
comfort in every other respect. Each of them has a keeper to
himself. The price usually paid for the maintenance of pauper
lunatics was formerly lis. 6d. per week ; but now, at the
Hanwell Asylum, it is only 5s. 3c?. This, it will be seen, is a
reduction of more than one-half. The consequence, as might be
expected, has been, that the pauper lunatics in those parishes
which are in Middlesex, have been all taken from the private
madhouses, and sent to the Hanwell institution. Of this institu
tion, I shall have occasion to speak by-and-by.
The public asylums in London, are only two in number.
They are St. Luke's and Bethlem. The first is situated in Old-
street, in the parish of St. Luke ; and the other is over the
water, a Uttle beyond the Obehsk. The first of these estabhsh
ments is, in a great measure, supported by the bequests of bene
volent individuals. With the interest of this money, and the
amount received for the different patients, the usual expenses are
nearly paid : whatever deficiency there is, is made up from the
City's funds. The average number of patients may be given at
250. There is one regulation in this institution which deserves
to be noticed : the ordinary class of patients are only taken m
for one year, which is called a probationary period. If not cured
by the end of twelve months, their friends are written to, to
come and take.ti^em away. It is true, that there is a fund be-

* I have not been able to obtain uiformation asOo these egtablishipents, up tQ the-

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 269
longing to the institution, left by a charitable person for the
permanent support of incurables ; but it is only adequate to the
maintenance of a limited nuraber ; and so great is the anxiety of
individuals to get their insane relatives thus provided for, for
life, that as many as forty candidates have, on some occasions,
been put forward for a place in the incurable department, when
one vacancy has occurred.
A marked change has taken place in the management of this
institution, within the last quarter of a century. Previous to
that time the grossest abuses prevailed in it. They were made
the subject of a parliamentary inquiry, aiid excited great and
general attention. That one huraan being could treat another
human being in the way in which some of the inmates of this
asylum were treated, at the period to which I refer, is one
of those facts which may well make us blush for our species.
One young lady, possessed of great accomplishments, and who
had been for many years a governess in a respectable family,
had been chained for some years to a wall, and was so inade
quately clothed as to be almost in a state of nudity. That there
was nothing in her conduct of so violent a nature as to justify
this extreme rigour — to call it by the mildest narae — was proved
by the fact, that when liberated and clothed, she walked about
among the other patients, in the most peaceable and inoffensive
manner, and employed herself in needlewoHc.
There was another case — ^not to mention any more — of an indi
vidual named Norris, who had been chained to his bed for nine
successive years, during which period he had never been within the
sight of fire. In addition to irons on his legs, of great massive-
ness, he had a collar round his neck, fastened in such away to
his bed as to compel hira to lie almost constantly on his back.
It was true, that he was very violent, and made an attempt on
the life of one of the servants of the establishment ; but means
could have been taken to prevent any future attempt of the kind,
without resorting to such an extreme expedient as chaining him
down to his bed in the manner I have described. For many
years past, however, St. Luke's Asylum has been one of the best
conducted institutions of a simUar kind in the country. The in
mates are treated with gentleness, and are allowed every liberty
consistent with their own safety, and the safety and comfort of
their fellow-patients.
Bethlem Asylum, which, as already mentioned, is situated on
the other side of the water, near the Obelisk, contains, on an
average, from 180 to 200 inmates. It is a well-conducted in
stitution. The cures have been as numerous in it, considering
the general character of the cases, as in any other simUar insti
tution that could be named.
t2

260 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
Perhaps a greater number of lunatics whose names have
been brought prominently before the public, have been, from
first to last, in that asylum, than in any other similar insti
tution in the country. The man who shot at George the
Third, has been there for a long series of years ; for I believe he
is still alive ; and the maniac who set fire to York Minster, is
araong its present inraates.
Hanwell Asylum does not come so properly within the scope
of this work ; and yet, as ten or twelve of the largest parishes
of London send aU their pauper lunatics to that institution, it
must not be omitted. The entire average number of patients, in
Hanwell Asylum has been, for some time past, about 600 ; aU
of whom are paupers, and are supported at the expense of their
respective parishes. This institution has been attacked, both in
parliament and out of parliament, on the ground of the disparity
in the number of cures effected in it, as compared with most
other public institutions for the reception and treatment of
insane persons. It is true, the number of cures has been, pro
portionally, much less in Hanwell Asylum than in most other
similar institutions supported at the public expense ; but those
who rest their condemnation of it on this simple fact, do it a
very great injustice. Mr. Gaily Knight, the raeraber for Not-
tinghara, attacked it on this ground last session of parliament.
" I hold," said he, " in my hand a calculation, resulting from an
examination of twenty-six lunatic asylums. From this calcula
tion it appears, that the proportion of recoveries in asylums
under the treatment now ordinarily pursued, is 40 per cent. ;
and that the lowest proportion in any asylum, but that at Han
well, has been 83 per cent. ; but the recoveries at Hanwell, in
an equal space of time, have not amounted to 19 per cent.
Again, from a return which was made of the state of various
asylums in England, it appears that, whilst out of 100 patients
treated at the other fourteen asylums, 46 were discharged cured,
only 18 have been discharged cured, out of an equal nuraber, at
Hanwell. Here is a frightful disparity ; and how is it to be ac
counted for? That is what I am anxious to ascertain. Has
Hanwell laboured under any disadvantages, from which other
asylums are free? On the contrary, Hanwell is a compara
tively new asylum ; and, therefore, should not be embarrassed
by that residuum of incurables, which is the difficulty with which
other asylums have to contend. Neither wiU it be found, that
Hanwell has had an unusual number of old cases ; by which I
mean, patients who have been some time insane previous to ad
raission, and whose cure is thereby rendered so much the less
probable. I hold in my hand a report from the medical super
intendent, which proves that, in the first year, only such were

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 261
admitted as were the most likely to benefit by the institution ;
that is to say, only recent cases ; and I am in a condition to
prove, that, since that time, the same cautious selection has been
observed. It is not, therefore, in this manner that the paucity of
cures can be accounted for * * * * But if the cures have been
few, the deaths have been many. In 1831, out of 427 patients,
there died 99; in 1833, out of 537, there died 77; in 1834,
out of 580, the number who died was 71 ; in 1835, out of 611,
there died 65. In the same time, out of 1132 patients admitted
into Nottingham Asylum, there died 42; out of 1183, there
died 326, at Hanwell."
These were certainly startling statements ; and when I heard
the honourable gentleman make them in the House of Commons
— for I chanced to be present at the time, — -I was anxious to
hear how they were to be met and answered. From the ob
servations of several members who spoke on the subject, it
appeared that Mr. Gaily Knight must have been unacquainted
with several most important facts connected with the case.
With regard to the comparative nuraber of deaths in the Han
well institution, and at the Nottingham Asylum, Sir George
Strickland showed, conclusively, that the greater proportion
which existed at Hanwell could not be ascribed to any abuses,
or defective administration of affairs, in the latter place ; for
" the same governor, the same physician, had conducted both
establishments. It can, then, I think," continued Sir George,
" be hardly possible, that the man who has conducted the asylum
at Nottingham, upon an average of 18 per cent, of deaths, should
now, at Hanwell, have 32 per cent, of deaths. I raust say,
therefore, that the information of the honourable member ap
pears a little strained."
In reference to the paucity of cures, Mr. C. Barclay observed,
" It has been stated that the proportion of cures effected at
Hanwell is much smaller than at other places. Now, I am
bound, in justice, to say, from the information I have received,
that by far the greatest proportion of lunatics sent to the
Hanwell Asylum, are incurables who have been in other asy
lums. I am informed, that out of 600 patients now at Hanwell,
500 belong to the class of incurables." In an official letter to
the magistrates of the county, in 1836, respecting the diet of the
patients, Sir WiUiam Ellis, the medical superintendent *, sub
stantiates this statement of Mr. Barclay. He says—" Nearly
* WhUe this sheet is 'passing through the press, Sir William ElUs has resigned
his situation as medical superintendent of Hanwell Asylum; and Lady Ellis, as
matron of the institution. Dr, Mullingen, the author of a late work under the title
of " Curiosities of Medical Experience," has been selected out of nearly one hundred
candidates, in the room of Sir William EUis. The salary is EOO;, a-year.

262 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
a?? the patients admitted into this institution are old incurable
cases, who have been the probationary time of twelve months,
either in Bethlem or St. Luke's, or have been confined in some
private madhouse ; and as they remain here until death, we have
consequently a great raany who, from old age or debUity, require
a different diet frora others of the patients." This statement of
Sir WiUiam's at once accounts for the paucity of cures, and the
greater number of deaths in the HanweU Asylum, as compared
-with similar institutions.
It is in contemplation to enlarge Hanwell Asylum to such an
extent as to provide accommodation for 900 inmates. At pre^
sent, it is not capable of containing more than from 610 to 620.
Of late it has been quite full ; and many applications for admis
sion have been refused on account of want of room. It is be
lieved, that when the proposed additions are raade to it, there
will not be any necessity for further enlargement ; the number of
pauper lunatics belonging to the county, rarely exceeding from
1000 to 1050.
In studying the particular forms in which insanity developes
itself, I have often been struck with the utter absence of reason
on particular points, while on other topics the parties could talk
with the most entire coherence and rationality. A curious in
stance of this occurred, within the last few months, in the case
of a young man with whom I had some acquaintance. He had
received all the advantages of a university education, and had
come to London from Scotland in the hope of being able to turn
his talents and acquirements to account in this great city. His
hopes, unfortunately, were not realized ; and the circumstance
preyed much on his spirits. The first indication I had of his
mind being unhinged, was in the fact of his fancying that
all the people, with one exception, in London, had entered
into a conspiracy against him. He imagined that persons whom
he never saw, and whose names he only knew by report, were
writing to the police authorities to have him taken up on charges
of the most serious nature. For several months, he carae almost
daily to me, with what he conceived some new proof of the uni
versal conspiracy against him. I endeavoured for a long time to
reason hira out of his ungrounded notions, but I found I had
atterapted a hopeless task. On every other point but this, he
was as sane as any man in London ; and even when conversing
on that point, he displayed a singular ingenuity in his efforts to
convince me that his opinions were well grounded.
There are other lunatics, again, who are insane on every point
but one, and on that one are perfectly rational. I knew a ma
niac who had been a distinguished lawyer before his intellect
was affected, and who, though his conversation and conduct

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 263
were most insane in reference to all other subjects, was ra
tional in the highest degreec whenever professional matters
were talked of. His opinions on all legal difficulties were as
good after his insanity, as they were when he enjoyed his rea
son in all its perfection ; and what was raore, he could go
through, with the greatest method and clearness, the most intri
cate details of a most difficult case. So long as he confined him
self to professional topics, he displayed the soundest judgment :
on all other subjects he talked the greatest nonsense.
It is curious to reflect on the infinitely diversified ways in
which insanity manifests itself. It is true, that with sorae ma
niacs, the disease exhibits itself in no particular forin. You see
their insanity in every word they speak, in every action they
perform, nay, in almost every look they give to the persons or
objects around them. In their cases, instead of the imagination
running wild on any particular subject, they appear to have np
imagination at all. Their minds seem a perfect blank. With
a majority, however, the case is different. Their fancies are not
only most extravagant, but are usually exercised with the same
subject. One of the most common notions which lunatics enter
tain is, that they are persons of distinguished rank and of great
consequence in the world. A very favourite delusion isj that
they are kings or princesses. Two remarkable instances of this
kind lately occurred, in the cases of persons who were not only
not in any asylum, but were walking at large through London.
The cases to which I refer, will at once occur to the muids of my
readers. One gentleman, it will be recollected, fancying himself
to be the rightful sovereign of the country, was in the habit of
using improper language towards our young Queen when she
appeared in the neighbourhood of Kensington Palace. Anothei-,
it wUl be remembered, made several efforts to obtain an entrance
into Buckingham Palace, under the impression that he was the
legitimate successor of William the Fourth to the throne of
these realms. In the London lunatic asylums" there are at pre
sent a great many persons who entertain similar notions. _ One
fancies himself the king of France ; another imagines he is the
monarch of the world ; a third deludes himself with the idea that
he is Napoleon Bonaparte. The nuraber of Dukes of WeUing-
ton is very great ; nor is there any want of Lords Melbourne.
Others, again, identify themselves with the leading characters of
past ages. Not long sjnce, there was a lady of great literary
afiOotnplishments in one of the private madhouses — whether she
be still aUve or not, I am not in a condition to say— who ima-
gihed herself to be Mary Queen of Scots. In Bethlem there
was lately a lunatic— and I believe he is there stUl- -who fancied
hlinself to be the Redeemer of the world. Several cases have

264 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
occurred, in which the parties iraagined that they were the Deity
hiraself. Such lunatics are, in most cases, in the habit of assum
ing great things : they look down on all the other inmates, and
show, by the whole of their deraeanour, that they deera it an act
of great condescension to speak to, or even look at, their fellow-
unfortunates. In many cases, lunatics exhibit the same predilections and
partialities as they did before they were bereft of reason. Not
long ago, a gentleman who was exceedingly fond of stenography
pre-vdous to the derangement of his intellects, and who amused
himself in his leisure hours, by fiUing a scrap-book which he
kept, with selections from English modern literature, taken in
shorthand, — incessantly wrote shorthand to his own dictation,
after he was placed in an asylum. Mothers who were passion
ately fond of their children, and whose death, it raay be, was the
cause of their insanity, still fancy they see those children, and
address their conversation to them. Many a widow thinks and
talks of her departed husband, to the exclusion of everything
else; and the cases are without number, in which females
whose lovers either proved inconstant or were snatched away
frora thera by death, have their thoughts, if thoughts they can
be called, occupied entirely and incessantly with the former ob
jects of their affections.
Some years since, there was an inmate in one of the lunatic
asylums, who evinced a raost extraordinary taste for writing.
He had been a gentleraan passionately attached to literary pur
suits Avhen in possession of his reason ; and the notion that he
was still engaged on literary works, seemed never, for a moment,
to forsake him. I was struck with his appearance as weU as his
occupations ; for notwithstanding the unmeaning raoveraents of
his eye, and the want of a definite expression in his countenance,
there was something in his largely developed forehead, and about
his face generally, which must have left an impression on every
one who saw him, that he must, at one time, have been one of
the finest and most inteUectual-looking men that ever dignified
the human form. I could learn nothing of his history prior to
the visitation which deprived him of his reason, farther than
that he belonged to a family of great influence and respecta
bility in the country, and that he was not only a gentleman by
birth, but a perfect gentleman in his mind, his manners, and his
conduct. He had been, at the time I saw him, nearly twenty
years in the asylum, and during all that period, except in the
hours allotted to sleep and meals, wrote on without intermis
sion. Being of a > peaceable disposition, he had full liberty to
rise and walk about, either in the ward in which, along with
about twenty others, he was placed, or in the ground outside the

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 265
institution'; but he constantly sat, from morning to night, in one
particular part of the ward. In his notions of writing, there
was something peculiar. If a quantity of clean paper were
placed before hira, nothing would induce him to take up the
pen : the only thing on which he would write, was the margin of
a book. Whether or not he read any part of the print, was a
point on which I could get no information frora the party who
directed my attention to the unfortunate man ; but it was clear
that his impression was, that he was making notes or remarks on
the book on the margin of which he was writing. His words were
all correctly spelt, but his sentences were so incoherent, that it
was impossible even to conjecture what ideas had been passing
through his mind. In his penraanship there was soraething sin
gularly neat and beautiful : it was a remarkably small-hand, and
was not disfigured by the omission of words, or cancels, or blots
of any kind. The writing, too, was very close ; so that the ap
pearance of the page— the margin being entirely written at the
top and bottom, and on both sides — was worthy of preservation
as a curiosity. The book on which the unhappy man was em
ployed, when I saw him, was one of the octavo size, with a very
large margin ; and he had written on about three hundred pages
of it. It is worthy of remark, that he not only employed him
self in constantly writing in the way I have raentioned, but that
he never raised his head from the stooping position in which he
wrote. This was surprising ; for one would have thought the
pain of perpetual stooping must have been too great for him to
endure ; and that, for the purpose of relieving or resting him
self, he would occasionally have raised his head, and assumed an
erect position. He not only never spoke to any one, but took
no notice of any visitor who entered the place : neither could
any noise, or other occurrence in the ward, ever for a moment
withdraw his attention from his employment. So thoroughly
did he appear to be absorbed with his writing, that I am con
vinced he would not have raised his eyes from the book had the
house been falling about his ears. I never saw a man engaged
in any occupation who evinced so great a pleasure in it : a smUe
of enjoyment constantly played on his countenance. He inces
santly spoke to himself, but always in so suppressed a whis
per, that not even the words, far less the sentences, could be
understood. I knew another literary lunatic, if the expression be a correct
one, who manifested nearly as strong a taste for reading as the
one to whom I have just referred, did for writing. He has been
repeatedly known to read for five or six consecutive hours with
out pausing for a moment ; and what makes the circumstance
the more surprising is, that he always read aloud, and with con-

266 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
siderable rapidity. He had been a good EngUsh scholar, and
was noted for the accuracy of his pronunciation and the graces of
his elocution ; but all traces of anything worthy the name of elo
cution were now lost ; and as to pronunciation, what it was, may
be inferred from the fact, that he would pronounce the word
"reflections" as " roultoulfoulchiness." In fact, he rarely pro
nounced a word in such a way as that any one who heard him
Could ascertain what term it was he was mutilating. That not
withstanding his singular partiality for reading, he attached no
meaning, even of his own, to the passages he perused, was clear,
from the fact that though he had never kno-wn anything of any
other language than the English, yet a Latin, Greek, or Hebrew
book was as acceptable to him — so would have been a work full
of Egyptian hieroglyphics — as one written in his own tongue.
Since on this subject, I may mention another instance of the
ruling passion for literary, or rather, in this case, scientific pur
suits, being strong after the dethronement of reason. The unfor
tunate man had been a distinguished matheraatician before he was
visited with the dispensation which deranged his intellects ; and
his chief occupation, after the occurrence of that calaraity, was, as
he supposed, to solve difficult problems. On one occasion,
an acquaintance of mine seeing a pile of papers, aU fuU of
figures, before him, asked him what was the problem he was
endeavouring to solve. His answer was one of the most
striking that ever escaped human lips. " I have been trying,"
he said, in a tone and manner -which would have become the
wisest of men ; "I have been trying to calculate the duration of
eternity," What an answer ! What an idea to enter the mind
of a maniac ! I was never so forcibly struck with anything I
have heard in my life : the very conception was sublime in the
highest degree. The wisest of us may learn an iraportant lesson
frora the employment, on this occasion, of this lunatic. If men
would but sit down, and try to calculate the duration of eter
nity—in other words, overlook for the moraent the impossibility
of the thing, and proceed as if the problem were one which could
be Solved,^t would awaken in the mind the most salutary as
well as solemn considerations, and probably be the means of in
finite good to the person so employing himself. When Simoh-
ides, in answer to an inquiry made of him, as to the nature of the
Supreme Being, applied hiraself for several consecutive days to
the consideration of the awful topic, he found that the
more he thought on the subject, the more he v.'as lost in its
unfathomable depths. So, in like manner, the man who would
set himself down, like this unhappy maniac, to try to calculate
the duration of eternity, would find that the more he thought
on the niatter, the farther he was from the solution of the ques-

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 267
tion. And surely such a train of thought, and such a result,
would have a beneficial effect on his raind.
There was soraething sublirae, if there be not an inaccuracy in
the expression, in all the raanifestations of this individual's raad-
ness. He never occupied his thoughts, if thoughts they could be
called, with things of an earthly nature : his mental aberrations
were always in the direction of the spiritual world. He fancied
himself to be on terms of the closest intimacy with a large com
munity of immaterial beings, and that a constant correspondence
by letter, was carrying on between hira and them. He replied
at great length to written communications which he iraagined
himself to have received frora sorae of their number, and replied
to those imaginary letters in a most elaborate manner. One of
his answers to a supposed communication from one of his corre
spondents in the air, fell into ray hands, and was in my posses
sion for some tirae. It was closely written on three sides of a
foUo sheet of paper, and afforded abundant proofs, that previous
to the deprivation of his reason, he raust have been a raan of
distinguished scholastic attainments as well as great intellectual
vigour. There were various classical allusions in the letter,
which indicated an intimate acquaintance with the writings of
the philosophers of ancient Greece and Rome. I was not able
to detect a single instance of orthographical inaccuracy, or any
defect in the punctuation ; neither did I discover any violation
of the rules of grararaar. But for the incoherency of some of
the expressions, coupled with the nature of the subject, anyone
who had seen the letter, without being apprised of Who the
writer was, would have supposed that it was -the production of
some literary character, This insane man individualized all his
ideal correspondents: he ascribed to them various distinctive
peculiarities of circumstances and character, and invested them
with a great diversity of offices and rank. When writing to
those of inferior rank, his manner was easy and familiar : when
corresponding with those of a higher station in his imaginary
community, he wrote with the pi-ofoundest respect. The letter
to which I have already referred, as having been given to me,
was Regularly folded up, and addressed thus :
(Post Paid.) To His Most Noble and Serene Highness,
The Grand and Imperial Possessor
Of the Principal Palace
in the Spiritual KingdotH.
{In great haste.)

268 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
When I first knew this unhappy man, he was not in a lunatic
asylum ; and he was then in the constant habit of putting aU
his letters into the post-office with his own hand, in order,
as he fancied, to insure their due transmission to their several
destinations. Who can read such things without being affected
-with the thought, that a man of great literary attainments and
of powerful intellect, should be reduced to such a state of mental
imbecility !
In many cases lunatics are exceedingly cunning, and display a
remarkable readiness of resources in unexpected emergencies. I
could raention many instances of this, but will content myself
with one. There was lately, and I ara not sure whether there
be not now, in one of our asyluras, a lunatic, who, on the loss of his
reason, in the first instance — for he was repeatedly cured, though
he always relapsed again — lived in a neighbouring county. Be
longing as he did to a faraily of wealth and respectability, he
was provided with a keeper as soon as the first syraptoms of the
disease appeared. It was hoped that the ynfortunate man's
lunacy would be of but temporary duration ; and that, by com
raitting him to the care of a keeper, his friends would be spared
the pain of sending him to an asylum. His insanity, however,
lasted much longer than his relatives had fondly hoped it would ;
and it was therefore eventually determined to send him to an
institution for the reception of persons labouring under mental
aberration, in the hope that through the superior treatment he
would there receive, an additional chance of recovery might be
afforded him. On the day previous] to that appointed for
his being sent to the asylum, he overheard his brother giving in
structions to his keeper on the subject. He took no notice of
the circurastance that night, nor next morning ; but when told
that he, accompanied by his companion — the narae by which his
keeper was always called — was to have a long drive in the gig
that day, he expressed hiraself as quite delighted with the idea,
and displayed a willingness to take an airing, which strongly con
trasted with the reluctance he had before shown to leave the
house. After breakfast, the gig was ready, and both started for
the county town — about twelve mUes distant — in the suburbs of
which the asylum was situated. The lunatic was unusually cheer
ful and docile all the way. And here I should remark, that his
manner was sometimes so coUected and rational, that it would
have been difficult to convince a stranger that his intellects were
in the slightest degree affected. On reaching the principal
hotel, both parties came out of the gig with a view to get some
refreshment, and to enable the keeper to raake sorae necessary
prelirainary arrangeraents for the reception of his charge into
the asylum. The former, after being some time in the house.

LUNATIC ASYLUMS 269
quitted the apartment into which they were shown, for a few
seconds, not deeming it necessary either to take the lunatic with
him, or to turn the key of the door. The latter, watching the
opportunity, agreeably to a previous determination to that effect,
stole out of the house the moraent the other had quitted the
apartment. On the keeper missing the lunatic on his return, an
alarm was given, and in less than five minutes, at least a dozen
persons were engaged in an active search for the unfortunate
man, the suddenness of whose disappearance was quite unac
countable to his keeper. No trace of him was to be found for
two hours, and the impression began to become general among
aU acquainted with the circurastance, that he had by sorae
means or other destroyed hiraself. Just as all hopes of ever seeing
him alive again were on the eve of expiration, the lunatic ap
peared, to the infinite astonishment and joy of the person entrust
ed with his safe keeping. But where he had been during his
absence, was a point which, notwithstanding all the efforts that
were made with that view, could not be elicited from him.
Where does tho reader suppose he was, or in what way employ
ed ? That was a piece of information which his keeper learned
to his cost in a few hours after the lunatic's return. The latter
had been to the asylum for which his friends had destined
himself, and having procured access to tlie proper party, gave
his keeper's narae as his own, and represented him as being
Mr, So-and-so, the brother of Mr. ¦  . As it was not only
well known at the asylum that the latter gentleman had a bro
ther who was at the time labouring under insanity, but as, on the
previous day, notice had been received that the lunatic was to be
sent to the asylum, the remainder of his story was the more
readily believed. " Now," says he, addressing hiraself to the
manager of the institution, " the lunatic is remarkably clever
and singularly cunning ; and — ^"
" Oh, a great raany of our patients are so," interrupted the
superintendent of the institution. " We see instances of cun
ning and shrewdness every day, which the wisest of us could not
exceed." " I have no doubt of it," observed the lunatic, with the great
est apparent self-possession, and seemingly in the most rational
manner possible. " I have no doubt of it ; none whatever. I
have seen many cases of it myself ; but this unhappy man ex
ceeds in cunning and shrewdness any one I ever heard of. Why
he would almost deceive the  "
" Oh, he won't deceive us," interrupted the other hastUy ; we
are too well accustomed to such things."
" I am happy to hear it," continued the lunatic. " My only
reason for coming out here, before taking him with me, was,
that I might acquaint you with the circumstance beforehand."

270 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" That was unnecessary : let him try all the tricks he chooses,
they will be lost here," remarked the other, with a self-
consequential air, as if he were beyond the power of ingenuity to
deceive. " Very good," observed the lunatic, in a satisfied tone. " I
shall bring hira here in an hour or so : I have left him at the
Fountain hotel, in the care of a friend."
" We shall be ready for him," said the superintendent of the
place, in that careless sort of tone which is so characteristic of
men in authority.
" Good raorning. Sir," said the lunatic, turning on his heel as
he was about to quit the apartment.
" Good morning," echoed the other, in the sarae half-ciril,
half-reserved tone as before.
" Oh, I beg your pardon ! " said the lunatic, hastily turning
round, and advancing a few steps towards the manager of the
institution ; " I beg your pardon. Sir, but I entirely forgot to
mention the particular way in which his madness manifests
itself." " Aye, true ; that is of sorae importance to us," observed the
other. " In what way is it ?"
" Why, he has the notion that every one else is mad but
hiraself." _ " Oh ! that is quite a comraon impression among persons in
his state."
" Yes ; but singularly enough, his notion is, that I am the
insane party, and that he is my keeper. You may rely upon it,
that the very moment we arrive, he wUl affirm in the most posi
tive terms, and with the utmost earnestness of manner, that such
is the fact ; and then he wUl desire you to take me into the
asylum." " Poor fellow!" said the other, with some slight indications
of feeling, " Poor fellow ! — but there is nothing too extraordi
nary for these unhappy beings to fancy."
" I thought it right to inform you of the fact," said the lunatic,
" m order that you might not be taken by surprise."
" Oh, there was not the slightest danger of that. We are too
weU accustomed to such things, to be deceived either by their
affirmations or representations."
_" Good morning, then, for the present," said the lunatic, as he
quitted the superintendent's apartment.
" Good morning," mumbled the latter.
In about two hours afterwards, a gig with two persons in it,
was seen to drive up to the gate of the institution : it was opened,
and both proceeded to the door. As they entered the place,—
" Here is an unfortunate individual," said the lunatic, address-

Sir lim. not "the Ltoiati-C; ihat'is -the L-nnatic

p27/

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 271
ing himself to the superintendent, " whom yoij wiU be kind
enough to take every care of."
The other -was so confounded by the unexpected pbservation,
that he was unable, for sorae seconds, to utter a word.
" Very good," said the superintendent of the institution ;
** we'U take care of him," at the same time laying hold of the
astonished keeper of the lunatic, by the breast of the coat.
"Sir — sir — sir!" stammered the confounded man; "you
labour under a niistake :' that," pointing to the lunatic, " is the
person to be committed to your care. I — I — I — brought him
here." , :_ ,_
" No doubt of it," said the overseer, still dragging tbp hapless
wight forward, assisted by another servant of the establishment,
to the part of the asylum for which he, was intended.
"Gracious Heavens, Sir ! what is the meaning of this?" ex
claimed the luckless party, half suffocated with astonishment and
iitdi^ation, and struggling hard to disengage himself froni the
grasp of the parties.
"Come away, my .good man, quietly with us," Said the super
intendent, soothingly.
"By all that's sacjjed, Sir!" shouted the pther, with the
litmogt vehemencp,' "/"w not the lunatic; that is' he," again
pointing to the actual party; :
"Iknew it all: I'tpld you how it would be," said the' latter,
in a steady voice,: and with the greatpst self-possession.
" This way," said the superintendent, carelessly, stiU dragging
theppfortuiiatej party forward.
" It's a mistake. Sir, by  "
" Oh, there's np mistake, my good man ; no mistake," inter
rupted the guardian o.f the place.
" No mistake," echoed the lunatic, with the most perfect non
chalance, displaying aU the while the most rational demeanour.
'* Sir," shouted the unfortunate party ; " Sir, are you seripus ?
Are you aware of what you're about ?"
" Perfectly serious ; . perfectly aware of what we're doing," re
plied the superintendent, drily.
" Sir, I'm not the lunatic ; that is the lunatic," pointing a
third time to the. proper party. " Let go your hold, or you
retain it at your peril," vociferated the other.
" Never mind the poor fellow : I told you how he would con
duct himself, and what he would say," observed the lunatic.
A few pulls more, and the astonished and enraged party was
actually dragged into his destined apartment. W-hen_ both the
superintendent and the inferior servant let go their hold, I
leave the reader to fancy what were the feelings of the poor
'Wight,

272 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" Quite safe now ; he's in our custody now ; and you are
relieved frora all further responsibUity," said the superintendent
to the insane party, the moment he had shut the door on the
supposed lunatic.
" All right," said the real lunatic, as if relieved of a heavy load
of responsibility. " The family of the unfortunate man will
make the necessary arrangements as to expense."
" Oh, that's all settled already ; the necessary arrangements
were raade yesterday, when the first intiraation of his coming
here was sent to us."
" So I understood," said the lunatic, in a matter-of-course sort
of style ; and with that, he quitted the place ; and springing
into the gig, which had remained at the gate all this time,
drove away home again, as if heJiad been the most sane man in
his majesty's dominions.
It is impossible to describe the mingled surprise and conster
nation with which his relatives and friends were seized on his
return home. Their first apprehension, on missing his keeper,
was, that he had murdered hira on the way; and their fears
were only partially calmed by his assuring them, in answer to
their inquiries as to what had become of his companion, that
when they both proceeded to the asylum, the parties having
charge of the institution, insisted that he was the lunatic, and
took him under their care accordingly. An express was sent off
to the asylum, to inquire whether the parties had been there at
all, when the raessenger found, to his unutterable surprise, that
the facts were as the lunatic had represented ; and as the mes
senger's statements and protestations as to the mistake which
had been committed, were equally discredited with those of the
unfortunate party himself, the latter was not liberated until the
following day.
The great physical exertion of which many insane persons are
capable, as compared with their strength when in a sound state
of mind, has often been the surprise of those who have had an
opportunity of witnessing the circumstance. I knew one lunatic
who was constitutionally weak and infirm while possessed of his
reason, but who, when deprived of it, became so vigorous or
strong, in a physical sense, that it required three men to hold
hira. Not less surprising is the amount of fatigue which lunatics
are frequently capable of enduring. Some years ago, I knew a
gentleman who had been kept sorae weeks by his relations, after
he had become insane, before being sent to a madhouse, and he
was for nearly forty consecutive days, that he did not sleep
above one hour out of the twenty-four, and even then without
putting off his clothes ; and yet he did not appear as if the least
exhausted by his deprivation of sleep and rest. I should"^ also

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 273
mention, that, during all that time, he continued to talk to
those about him with scarcely the intermission of a moraent.
The fluency of his conversation, and the cleverness and point of
many of his observations, I should likewise state, quite astonished
me. In no case did he hesitate an instant either for ideas or
words ; nor did he, in a single instance, stutter or use an impro
per term. About the same time, I chanced to see, in the house
of her parents, a young female lunatic, now, I am sorry to say,
in an asylum, who, I was assured, spoke without intermission for
eight successive days and nights without ceasing, on being first
seized with insanity. She never closed her eyes in sleep during
-aU that time ; and what made the circurastance of her being able
to endure so ranch physical fatigue the more astonishing, was,
that every sentence she uttered in the course of the eight days,
was spoken with ¦ as much distinctness, and in as loud a tone, as
if she had been addressing some public meeting of moderate size.
She also, like the lunatic just referred to, was of a feeble consti
tution, of sickly appearance, and often complained of bodily
Weakness as well as of general bad health.
I know of no sight more affecting, in a world in which there
are so many affecting sights, than that of the interior of a mad
house. What could be more melancholy than to see an assem
blage of our fellow-beings, all of whom were at one time equally
gifted with ourselves, with the greatest and best of the Deity's
gifts to men — the gift of reason — divested of all traces of ration
ality, and showing by their conduct that, in that respect, they
are much below raany of the lower animals ! The spectacle is a
truly pitiable one. Some time ago, I was in an asylum in which
there were about thirty lunatics in one ward. It was a sight not
to be looked on without feelings of the most painful nature under
any circumstances ; but to myself, and to those who were with
me on the occasion, it was doubly touching, in consequence of
the particulars communicated to us respecting several of the un
happy individuals by one of the officers of the institution. It
was, therefore, not necessary in our case, that we should put
our imaginations in requisition, and endeavour to form some idea
of the circumstances in which the helpless beings before us were
previous to the derangement of their intellects, and then contrast
those circurastances with the condition in which we beheld thera.
The contrast could not have been more striking, had we given
fuU reins to our fancy as to what they previously were, and how
they had been circumstanced. Some of thera had distinguished
themselves by their scholastic attainments : of one of the par
ties, indeed, it might be said, that too much learning had
made him mad. There were others who had earned for them
selves a reputation in scientific and philosophical pursuits ; while

274 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
there were at least three who had been in excellent business as
professional men. Two were connected by close relationship
with aristocratic families ; and all of them, in one word, had
been accustomed to every earthly abundance. The high terms,
indeed, of admission and maintenance, in the particular part of
the institution in which they were placed, afforded presumptive
proof that either they themselves must have possessed some pro^
perty, or that their relations must have been in easy circum
stances. Some of them had been tho idol of their circle
of acquaintances ; others had been revered and beloved as hus
bands, parents, brothers, sons, or near relatives. They had
been themselves happy in the bosom of their families; and were
the source of joy and felicity to all within their domestic sphere,
just as the sun is the source of light and heat to the world. One
had been but a few months married ; another was on the eve of
union with an amiable and virtuous woman. How altered their
situation now ! What could be more striking than the contrast
between what they once were, and what I beheld them ? The
joys of friendship or affection were no longer theirs. Friend!
The word was to them an unmeaning sound. Wife, mother,
father, brother, sister, children, were terms which might now be
uttered in their hearing without calling up one idea in their
minds : they were to them as unmeaning as the wildest sounds
which ever escaped the lips of the savage who roams the forest.
In the moral world, all was a perfect blank : in the mental
world, all was either utter darkness itself, or it was peopled with
the strangest and raost fantastic shapes. Even the physical
world could only be said to have remained to them in a qualified
sense. To many of them the change in the seasons afforded
no enjoyment. They seemed incapable of perceiving any differ
ence between the inclemency of a severe winter, and the geni^
ality of the summer season. To them it mattered not whether
the sun shone or shrouded himself amidst the clouds ; whether it
was fair or foul ; whether it was night or day. None of these
changes, ever-recurring though they be, and though bearing so
largely on the happiness of the human race generally, ever ap
peared to have corae within the circle of their consciousness.
They could be said, indeed, to exist in no other sense than
as mere animals ; and as animals, moreover, of the very lowest
class. _ Where, I again repeat, could one go to witness a more
touching scene than this ? In every situation of life, and amidst
the infinitely varied circumstances of this ever-changing world,
the raan of reflection finds something to excite his commisera
tion, and to call forth his sympathies ; but in the wide range of
human misfortune and human misery, there is no misfortune so
great, no misery so deep, no spectacle so truly pitiable, as that

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 275
which the interior of a lunatic asylum presents to our con
templation. And yet there are persons— wiU the fact be believed ? — who
can treat these poor creatures with the greatest harshness and
cruelty. Some years ago, the most horrible disclosures were
made before a committee of the House of Coraraons, as to the
unredeemed inhumanity with which the inmates of a private
lunatic asylum were treated by those who had the charge of
them ; and this not occasionally, but habituaUy. Until those
disclosures were made, and were verified beyond all possibility
of doubt, I had thought that such instances of barbarity could
never have occurred in a Christian or civihzed land. As the
asylum to which I refer still exists, I will not name it. Part
of the cruelties exercised were of such a nature as to render a
detail of them unfit to meet the public eye. Other instances of
the barbarities systematically committed in the institution, can
only be described in general terras. But, in order to preclude
the possibility of being suspected, either unintentionally or other
wise, of any, even the shghtest exaggeration on this subject, I
will quote some portions of the evidence given. Similar cases of
cruelty have occurred of a much later date ; but for reasons
which wiU occur to most persons, I go as far back as to evi
dence published several years since by a select comraittee of the
House of Commons, appointed to inquire into the state of pri
vate madhouses in the metropolis. I shaU only further premise,
that a number of such cases of ill-usage, as those recorded in
what foUows, were brought to light by that comraittee, and by
the committee which sat on the sarae subject, at a much later
date. Mrs. Makv H  called in, and examined.
What was the motive of your coming to this committee } — I came to
answer any questions that the committee might put to me respecting
madhouses. How long have you been come to England? — I arrived here on
Saturday night.
Where did you come from last .?— From M  — — .
Did your brother write you to attend this committee ? — He did.
How long were you resident in the house of Mr.  , at  }
-—Three years, within six weeks.
In what capacity?— Housekeeper.
By whose recommendation did you gain that situation ?— Mr. Rogers
told me of the situation, and I went to Mr.  .
Your brother was then acting as surgeon to the establishment?— He
was. It was through his recommendation to Mr.  , that you obtained
the situation ? — It was, u2

276 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
During the time that you were resident as housekeeper at Mr. — — 's,
did you observe anything in the management of that house which,
knowing the objects of the ' inquiries of this committee, you think it
necessary to state ? — I know that patients were very ill-treated ; a vast
number of them.
How long have you left? — I left on the 6th of August, in 181 — .
State to the committee what those acts of ill treatment were, to which
you liave alluded. — Samuel R  's ill-treating Mr. Driver, a farmer,
from the country.
Did you see that yourself? — I did.
State what you saw. — It was one morning, when I was sitting behind
the table, at breakfast-time, I heard a terrible noise on the gentlemen's
side up stairs. I went up in consequence, and found Samuel R 
ill-treating Mr. Driver, by beating him with a pair of boots, in a most
dreadful maimer.
Was he in bed ? — Yes, lie was in bed : he had beat him out of bed,
and the young man ran down the gallery, with Samuel after him.
Was he in his shirt ? — Yes.
What steps did you take ? — I went to Mr.  , and told him of it.
What was Mr.  's answer ? — He said he knew Samuel was a
cruel brute.
Was nothing further done than making that observation?— Nothing
more. You did not hear Mr.  reprimand Samuel 11  for that
conduct ? — No, I did not.
Is there any other case that you can state, as to the harsh treatment
by this keeper of the patients under his charge? — His general conduct
was extremely brutal.
In what way ? — In kicking the patients, and thumping them sadly.
In striking them with his fists, and kicking them ? — Yes. Captain
D  he used extremely ill, when he was under his care.
In what way ? — In striking him, and using him extremely ill.
Was Mr.  acquainted with his conduct to Captain D^  ? —
He was.
How do you know that ?— I heard the conversation.
What was that conversation ?— Mr, John D  , Mr.  , and Mr.
R  > were together, in the poor women's yard ; they heard a noise,
and looked through the pales, and saw Sam striking Captain D  in
a dreadful manner, while confined in a waistcoat. They came up to the
house together, and I heard Mr. D  say, " Sam is "too great a brute
to have the management of patients, and  you ought to" send him
away." Mr.  said, " I will see about it," or something to that effect.
In what year did that happen ?— I beheve about ten or eleven months
before I left the house ; but I cannot exactly say.
How long was R  a keeper after that time ?— 1 left him a keeper
when I came away.
Will you take upon yourself distinctly to state to the committee, that,
to your knowledge, Mr  was acquainted with the cruel conduct of
P-  to the patients under his charge, and yet continued him as
keeper up to the period of your quitting the establishment ?— Yes.

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 277
Have you any other statement to make, as to the conduct of R  ?
— He used to treat Mr. Holmes exceedingly bad.
In what way did he treat him bad? — By striking him.
Was it the constant practice of R  to strike the patients in the
house ? — It was.
Was there anything particular in the conduct and behaviour of the
three patients whom you have mentioned, that seemed to render coer
cion and severe treatment more necessary in their case than in that of
other patients ? — No. Captain D  was in a very high state of disor
der; but after taking to his bed, it was myself that waited and attended
on him, and gave hira everything, which he took without the least force.
With respect to Mr. Driver, in what state of disease was he ? — He
was a little high at times, but nothing to require his being confined, or
anything of that kind.
Was he manacled? — Very seldom.
With respect to Mr. Holmes ? — He was perfectly harmless.
Were you acquainted with a person of the name of Isabella Adams ?
— She was a patient in the house.
What species of patient ? — She belonged to St. G  's
parish .
Was she often in a state of great irritation? — Not very frequently.
When she was in that state, where was she confined ? — She was con
fined in a place in the yard.
Describe the nature of that place. — It was originally a pig-stye : it
was run up high on purpose for her. I have seen her confined there
for three weeks together.
Was she ironed ? — She had been ironed there, in the crib, with wrist-
locks and leg-locks, and a chain two or three times across her body.
Was there an iron bar placed between her legs, in order to prevent
her joining her feet together ? — There was. Mr.  had the bar
made on purpose for her.
For what purpose was that bar, as she was chained to her crib ? — It
was not used when she was chained to her crib, but when she was
allowed to go about.
For what purpose was it used?— To confine her that she should not
get away ; to prevent her from escaping.
For how long together have you ever seen her using that bar ? — In
deed, I cannot say. At different times she has had it.
For a month together ? — I do not conceive she wore it so long as that.
A fortnight? — Perhaps a week.
Describe the nature of the bar, and the way it was used. — It was
confined to each ancle with a chain, coming up her body, which was at
tached to her handcuffs.
Do you know what was the weight of that chain ? — I cannot say,
indeed. What was the size of it ? — It was very large.
As thick as your middle finger ?— It might possibly be as thick as that.
Could she walk with it ? — Yes.
Was she a very furious patient ? — No ; a very harmless patient ; you
miglit sit and talk to her when she was in the highest state.

278 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
Was she ever employed in domestic purposes about the house ?— Yes,
she was.
In what situation?— Scouring the rooms.
Was she ever employed in the kitchen ?— Not while I was there.
Have you ever heard she was before ?-I have ; but not while I was
Was there a female keeper in that estabUshment, of the name of
B  W  ?— Yes.
What was her character ?— She was a very turbulent woman ; very
harsh and cruel to the patients. „ , , , ..
Did vou ever see her ill-treat Isabella Adams ?— Yes.
Describe what you have seen her do to her.— I have seen her lock
her down in her crib with wrist-locks and leg-locks, and horsewhip
her • and I have seen the blood follow the strokes.
Have you seen her often horsewhip her? -I have sundry times:
three or four times. ,., n j ...i.
Did she do it of her own freewill and pleasure, or did she do it by
the order of any one else ?— By the order of Mr.  .
Did you hear Mr.  give those orders ?— He gave them to me ;
and I begged him to tell B  himself.
What were those orders, to the best of your recollection ? — B  , 1
desire you to go and take IsabeUa Adams, confine her to her crib, and
give her a good horsewhipping.
Do you recollect what she had been doing?— She had been trying
to make her escape.
Did you ever complain to Mr  of the ill-treatment that Isabella
Adams received ? — Yes.
What was his answer ? — He said that lie had leave from the gentle
men of the parish ;' that they told him, the best thing he could do
was to give her a good horsewhipping.
Has she made her escape out of the house more than once ? — Several
times. What was the nature of the whip that B  used to horsewhip
Isabella Adams with? — A whip with a whalebone handle, and a long
lash : a sort of dog- whip.
- Was the situation in which Isabella Adams was confined, extremely
cold? — Very cold.
What covering had she ? — A rug.
Did she appear to suffer from cold ?— She was extremely ill for some
time after she came out.
Ill of what ? — She used to go double, and was very much emaciated.
Was she much straitened for room ? — No ; she had the usual allow
ance of room.
Had she a good allowance of food ? — She had the common allowance
for poor people : sometimes she did not take her food for two days to
gether. The above were not isolated cases : a great many, fully as bad,
and several even worse, were brought to light, not only by the

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 279
Committee of 1816, but by that of 1827. I have selected the
above cases, simply because they are raore fit for publication than
many others. It was proved, by the examination of witnesses of
undoubted integrity, that in one house a nuraber of patients
were fegularly chained, in the coldest days of winter, to the walls
of their cribs, frora Saturday afternoon, at four o'clock, till Mon
day morning, at eight ; and that it was no uncommon thing to
have them washed in a tub of water with a mop, when there was
ice on the water. It was proved, that one poor unfortunate
man had had his eye knocked out by the keeper, whom he had
offended ; that another had been dreadfully cut on the head by
a forcible blow with a key ; and that, in a nuraber of cases,
death had been the result of the cruelties which had been prac
tised towards the poor creatures by those who were paid to pro
tect thera, and to afford them all the comfort in their power.
But this is a topic on which I will not dwell. Since then,
happily, a great improvement has taken place in the treatment
of insane persons in private madhouses. In sorae of these esta
bhshments, it is but justice to say, the unfortunate parties are as
well taken care of, and are in every respect as comfortable, as if
they were with their friends at home. I need hardly add, that
as there is so great a difference in the treatment of the unfortu
nate insane in different private madhouses, even where the terms
are the same, the friends of any such unhappy persons incur a
fearful responsibility, when they fail to make the proper inquiries
as to which of the asyluras afford the best protection and practise
the kindliest treatment.
It was the detection of the gross abuses and shocking cruel
ties which obtained in many of the leading private madhouses in
London, some years ago, which led to the erection of the Han
weU Lunatic Asylum. To the pauper lunatics of the county,
that asylum has, indeed, proved a boon of incalculable value.
In the course of my inquiries into the statistics of lunatic asy
lums in the metropolis, I ascertained that many of the inmates
had been confined for fifteen or sixteen years, without ha-ving
once, aU that time, crossed the threshold of the institution.
There were several who had been shut up in these asylums for
twenty years ; and, in one or two cases, there were parties who
had been there upwards of a quarter of a century *. What, per-
* Mr'SBake.well, the keepe^of a private madhouse at Spring Vale, hear 'Wake-
field, stated, in his evidence before a Comraittee of the House of Commons, appointed
to inquire into thfe subject of insanity, that lie knfew a man-ivho had been, tor the sin-
gftlarly long period of fifty years, a lunaliie in a private asylum ; and that, during all -
«iat tim-e,.he had been confinSito a small dai-k dungeon of an apartrajgit, almost in
a state of nudity, and nevw rising off the heap of straw which was all he had lor a
bed, during a^ that time. I ought also to mention, that he never once saw fire, or
felt its genial warmth in thS-eotirse of thiJse fifty years. Neither Was he visited, ex-

280 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
haps, is more remarkable is, that in various instances, the maniacs
who were longest in the institution were amongst the most fran
tic and ungovernable of the inmates, and were consequently
obliged to be repeatedly kept, by chains or otherwise, closely to
their own apartments. What struck rae as very singular, was
the fact of the human frame being able to support so much men
tal violence, or such a high state of excitement as the technical
phrase is, for so long a period ; and this, too, without one mo
ment's lucidjnterval. Yet so it was. And what is more surpris
ing still, these persons were, in most cases, araong the most
healthy inraates in the various institutions. This is a physiolo
gical anomaly for which I ara unable to account. - I can easily
enough conceive how a lunatic raay endure more than ordinary
physical fatigue, and make more than the usual physical exertion
for the first few weeks after he is visited with the malady ; on
the same principle as a person, stimulated by ardent spirits, or
fired by some other exciting cause, often displays an amount of
physical strengtb to which he would be unequal in ordinary cir
cumstances : the difficulty with me, in the case of the class
of lunatics to whom I refer, is, how their frames can bear up
under this constant violence of maimer, this unintermitting high
state of exciteraent, for a long succession of years.
It is a fact which will surprise those who were not before
aware of it, that raany cases have been discovered, in the recent
annals of the private madhouses of London, of persons having
been for a long period — in some instances, for several years —
confined in these institutions who, before they were sent thither,
and all the time they were inraates, were as sane as any man
in Great Britain. It will be asked, how came they, then, to be
sent to these places ? In a nuraber of cases they were so from
their friends mistaking certain peculiarities or eccentricities in
their manner, for insanity. Not later than towards the close of the
last session of parliament, I heard Mr. Wakley, the member for
Finsbury, state in his place in the House of Commons, that he
himself knew a gentleman, then moving in a respectable sphere
of society, who a short time before had been consigned by his
friends to a lunatic asylum, under the impression that he was
insane. And what does the reader suppose was the ground on
which those friends rested their belief in his insanity ? Simply,
as Mr. Wakley stated to the House, that he happened to feel
very strongly in favour of a certain class of political principles —
whether Tory, Whig, Radical, or Republican, Mr. Wakley did
not say, — and that his zeal for the spread of his views, led him
to be somewhat forward in endeavouring to raake proselytes to
cept a vei-y few times, by any human being. Half a century in one spot, and without the
sight of fire ! To what affecting considerations is the fact calculated to give rise !

. LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 281
his principles. Poor fellow ! he was a living martyr to his poli
tical faith, with a vengeance.
Novehsts and writers of tales often construct their stories on
the singularly affecting circumstances under which lovers, friends,
and acquaintances, sometimes meet. I know of no meeting
which could be more affecting to the relatives and friends of the
parties, than that of those who were dear to each other, in a
lunatic asylum. Sorae years since, a father and grown-up daugh
ter, who were most affectionately attached to each other, were
both inmates of St. Luke's at the same time ; both having by a
painful coincidence been visited with insanity within a short pe
riod of each other, though neither, so far as I have been able to
learn, ever exhibited any symptoms of it before. And within
the last few weeks, a case has been verbally communicated to
me, by a gentleraan who was personally cognizant of the fact, in
which two brothers, between twenty and thirty years of age,
were both visited with mental alienation within a few weeks of
each other ; and so decided was their insanity, that it became
necessary to send both to an asylum. They were both sent to
the same institution ; and, touching thought ! sent on the same
day, and in each other's company. It was a remarkable fact in
the case of these unfortunate young men, that not only was their
attachment singularly strong towards each other, but their tastes,
views, and habits, were so like as to amount to a species of
Siamese sympathy. And yet, when they became insane, nothing
could exceed the dislike which the one entertained to the other :
they seemed then to act on the principle of antipathy: what
the one hked, the other hated, and vice versa.
In a forraer part of the chapter, I adverted to the fact of some
lunatics talking with great rationality on aU other points but
one ; a modification of the disease generally called monomania,
or haUucination of mind. In most of the cases of this kind
which have come under my observation, the parties have ex
hibited a marked predilection for dweUing, in their conversation
with others, on the particular topic on which their minds were
insane — so very strong a predilection for talking on the subject,
that it was with difficulty you could divert their minds for a
short tirae from it. There are occasional cases, however, in
which the insanity of individuals not only manifests itself on a
particular point, but they can. if not led to that point by acci
dent, abstain from introducing it into conversation with others,
and probably, also, from thinking of it themselves, for weeks
and months" at a time. The most remarkable case of this kind
which has been brought before the public, for some years past,
was that of Captain Good, now an inmate in Bethlem, and to
which I referred, when speakino- of lunatics fancying themselves

282 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
to be sovereigns. It will be remembered, that about six months
ago, this individual — a gentleman by birth, education, and man
ners—committed two or three outrages on the Queen, and was
afterwards ascertained to have been as decidedly mad as a human
being could well be imagined to be. Yet it was proved by the
landlady, with whom he had lived for several months in Regent-
street, that his conduct, so far as she saw, was perfectly rational
and orderly. Nothing was seen amiss in his manner, even on the
days on which he behaved so insanely in the presence of the Queen.
His brother also stated, that he had heard whispers of his being
insane some time before this ; but that, after a lengthened inter
view, and a great deal of conversation on every variety of topic
with hira, he thought for some time that he was as sane as him
self. It seems to have been the thought of the Queen, or of
Kensington Palace, in which she then resided, that brought to
his mind the point on which he was deranged, and made him so
outrageous. It also appeared, that the moraent the Queen was
out of his sight, or he had quitted the neighbourhood of Ken
sington, his mind resumed its sanity : for it was proved that he
talked and acted quite rationally, an hour or two after he had
conducted himself so franticaUy in the presence of Her Majesty.
It will be remembered that the unfortunate man was brought be
fore Lord Chief Justice Denman, in the Court of Queen's Bench,
in November last, in consequence of the outrage he had offered
to her Majesty, As the whole of the proceedings afforded a
curious illustration of the particular way in which insanity works
on some minds, I will here quote the report without alteration
which appeared in the public journals, of the examination he
underwent before Lord Denman. Saturday, November 18, 1837.
This morning, on the sitting of the Court, Captain John Good was
brought in, and placed upon the floor of the court ; he was very well
dressed, and had a star on his left breast ; he kept his hat on his head.
Usher — Take off your hat, Sir. Captain Good — I will not : I am
the King of England.
Earl Spencer, Earl Glenelg, Sir John Nicol, Sir Herbert Jenner, and
Sir Frederick Pollock, then entered the court, and took the oaths of
allegiance. On their swearing to be true and faithful to Queen Vic
toria, Captain Good said, " A usurper; what a villanous oath that is !"
The privy councillors having retired. Captain Good was politely asked
by the officers of the court to come forward.
Captain Good then addressed their Lordships — I beg to observe, my
Lord, that this is an illegal Court; the Court of a usurper; the Court
of Princess Victoria, the usurper. The throne of England is mine; 1
am King John the Second.
Lord Denman, with much mildness — Should you not take off youf

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 283
hat? Captain Good — I can't take off my hat, my Lord, without giving
up my claim to the throne of England, which I do not intend to do, I
assure your Lordship. My Lord, in my mother's lifetime, you once
acted honourably and nobly.
The indictment was then read, which charged him as a man calling
himself John the Second, and also with having used seditious language
in the presence of her Majesty.
Captain Good— This is a  infernal  . I will have you off
the throne.
Upon being asked whether he was guilty or not guilty, he said, " I
will not plead before this Court ; it is the Court of a usurper."
The Attorney-General — I now, my Lord, pray an inquest, under the
29th and 30th Geo. Ill,, to try whether this gentleman is now of sound
mind, or insane. ,
Lord Denman — Is the Sheriff in attendance ?
This being answered in the affirmative.
The Attorney-General said — My Lords, at common law, it has
been determined that the second section of the act applied to misde
meanours. Captain Good — You want to get rid of a bad prosecution. You
want to get rid of it on the ground of my insanity. I am as sane as
you are.
A jury was then sworn, to try whether John Good was insane or not.
Captain Good — Why am I not tried for high treason ?
The Attorney-General — Gentlemen of the jury, in a few words, I
may explain the nature of these proceedings. The unfortunate gentle
man who stands before you, is indicted for having spoken seditious
words in the presence of her Majesty, as her Majesty was return
ing frora Brighton to the Palace, on the 4th of November ; and
there is every reason to believe that he is not responsible for his acts.
By the humanity of the common law of England, no person, who is in
an unsound state of mind, shall be put upon his trial ; and it is directed,
that when any person shall be called upon to plead to an indictment,
and there is reason to believe him not to be of sound mind, an inquest
shall be immediately taken, to ascertain that fact ; and if he is found to
be insane, his trial must be postponed until he shall have recovered. A
most salutary act passed in the 39th and 40th years of George III.,
wherein it is enacted, that where any person, indicted for any offence,
shall, upon his arraignment, be found to be insane, he is not to be dis
charged until the pleasure of the sovereign shall be known ; but that
the finding of the jury be recorded ; and the Court shall make an order
that he be placed in confinement at the pleasure of the sovereign, as her
Majesty shall think fit.
Captain Good— That statute was made on purpose for me.
The Attorney-General— By another section of that act, it is enacted,
that if any insane person, without actually committing an offence, shall
try to commit one, that that person may have proceedings taken against
him ; and that that person maybe put into confinement, so that he may
be no longer dangerous.

284 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
Captain Good— That statute was made expressly for the purpose of
meeting my case.
The Attorney-General— I will now state the history of this unfortu
nate gentleraan. He served ten years in the army, and was a most
excellent oflScer, having the good opinion of all men. In the year 1834,
he left his regiment (10th Foot), and was promoted to half-pay. He
had always conducted himself in the most proper and gentlemanly man
ner; but it unfortunately happened, about the month of October last,
that his understanding became impaired : he was still, however, rational
upon every subject but one. He had taken the strange notion into his
head, that he was entitled to the throne of England : he said he was
the son of George the Fourth ; and insisted upon it, that he ought to
reign over this kingdom. He has remained under that delusion to the
present hour ; and you have been witnesses of that delusion, by his con
duct in this court. When the oaths of allegiance were being adminis
tered, he said her Majesty was a usurper. I shall prove to you, that in
the month of October last, in the presence of his own brother, he
declared he did not stand in any relationship to him ; and that be was
the sovereign, and had the right to command the services of all the
officers in the army. Down to the present hour, he labours under that
delusion. Gentlemen, I will call the surgeon who has attended him
lately, and he will tell you, that whenever he talks upon this subject,
he breaks out in the manner you have heard. He says her Majesty is
a usurper. Under these circumstances, he is not a fit subject for
punishment ; he will be humanely and properly taken care of, and will
not longer be dangerous, as he would, if suffered to go at large. , I am
sure, if he were of sane mind, he would be a raost loyal subject of the
sovereign, and would be the first to come forward to protect her.
"W. H. Good, Esq., having been called.
Captain Good said — When a villain comes before his lawful sovereign,
and shall conspire and compass the death of his liege lord, he shall be
hung, drawn, and quartered ; and (addressing his brother, who was then
passing him in his way to the witness-box,) that is your sentence, and
your death is recorded in the Court of King's Bench.
W. H. Good, Esq., was then examined by Mr. Wightman.
You are the brother of Captain Good, I believe ? — I am the brother of
Captain John Good.
You are in the 10th regiment of Foot? — I ara.
Was your brother also in the 10th regiment? — He was also in the
10th regiment, for a period of nine or ten years.
When did he leave that regiment? — I think in the year 1834, on
promotion to half-pay.
Did you remain with the regiment after he quitted ? — I did, till Au
gust last.
Did you then see your brother? — I arrived in London the 1st of
October ; I left the Mediterranean in August.
Did you call upon your brother? — I called upon my brother on
the 12th.
Where did you find him?-7-118. Regent-street.

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 285
Captain Good — You know, you villain, you are not my brother : how
dare you claim relationship to the blood royal of England?
Evidence continued. — Tell us what passed between you ? — He re
ceived me first in a rational manner ; and I had reason then to hope
that the reports I had heard, as to his state of mind, were unfounded.
Very shortly afterwards, he stood up, and asked rae in what relationship
I considered him to stand towards me? I replied, that of brother. He
said, "No, Sir; you are the son of an officer in my service, and occupy
your proper place in society. I am King of England. I am King John
the Second." From that time, his language was incoherent. He
said Queen Victoria was a usurper, and that he would have her oflF the
throne. Captain Good — You are trembling on the verge of the grave. Sir,
remember. Examination continued. — Did you leave him?— I left him at that
tirae : he disclaimed me as his brother. In the afternoon of the same
day, I paid him another visit ; and I found he had given orders that I
should not be admitted. As soon as I entered the room where he was,
he told me that he was King of England, and took up his hat, and
walked away, repeating again that he was lawful heir to the throne.
Have you seen him since? — I saw him once in Waterloo-place : we
passed each other, but did not speak.
That was the last personal communication ? — Yes ; that was the last
personal communication.
By Lord Denman — Had you been on affectionate terms with your
brother? — Most particularly so.
There was no cause of quarrel? — None whatever.
Alice CoUins was then called ; but Lord Denman asked if it was re
quisite to go further. His Lordship then addressed the jury.— Gentle
men, I don't know whether you want any further evidence; there might
be a question, whether the unfortunate man should not be called upon ;
bnt that would be an improper mockery, and would only lead to length
ened observations, without altering the result. If you are of opinion
that this unfortunate^ gentleman is not of sound mind, you will say so by
your verdict.
Jury — Perfectly unsound.
The Attorney-General— It is now my duty to move, my Lords, that
this finding be recorded ; and that your Lordships will be pleased to
order that John Good be kept in strict custody till her Majesty's plea
sure be known.
Lord Denman — Be it so. , , ,
Captain Good— I declare, before this Court, that I will impale the
royal family; that I wiU drag from the sepulchre at Windsor, the bones
of their ancestors, and burn thera before their faces ; that I wiU order a
brig-of-war to be anchored off the Tower, in which their bones shall be
placed, and cast into the deepest part of the Atlantic. I will draw out
their bowels ; I will draw out the bowels, and embowel the Russian and
Dutch embassies, the true foes of England, and hang thera on the
Tower. This is my sentence, pronounced on the floor of the Court ot

286 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
King's Bench ; and, so help me God ! I will perform'it ; for I will regard
as an accomplice, any one who dares to intercede for them, — (This was
delivered with great warmth, accompanied with considerable action).
Lord Denman — Let him now be taken back to the custody from
which he was brought here.
Captain Good then turned round, and quietly walked out, having
first said, in an authoritative tone, '' Make way," He was guarded by
a number of officers, but treated throughout by all as a gentleman.
There is every reason to believe that insanity has not yet been
treated with that scientific skill of which the disease is suscepti
ble. This, at all events, is the impression of most of our present
eminent physicians. The question then suggests itself. How are
the defects of the system of treatment which at present obtains,
to be remedied ? This is a question which it is not for me, or
for any one who like myself is unconnected with the medical
profession, to answer. I may, however, observe, that the general
opinion among the most distinguished physicians of the present
day — those especially whose attention has been particularly
directed to the subject — is, that there ought, as the groundwork
of any efficient system of treatment in cases of mental alienation,
to be a union of moral and medical remedies. One physician of
great celebrity has recorded his conviction, that " medical ad
vice is likely to be useful in cases of insane persons." He adds,
" It is most useful in the early stages of insanity ; but it is useful
also in the progress of the disease, particularly when it recurs in
paroxysras; and it is occasionally useful in confirmed lunacy,
though the good effect of it is less certain in the advanced
stages of the disease. This, however, is analogous only to what
is found to be the case in other distempers. I consider insanity
to be connected with bodily indisposition throughout its course,
though this be less apparent in some cases than in others." In
connection with the medical part of the treatment of lunatics, it
is necessary that the greatest attention should be paid to diet—
a fact which, it is to be feared, is too generaUy overlooked. Sir
Anthony Carlisle, in his examination before a select committee
of the House of Commons, in 1827, on the subject of insanity,
expresses himself on this point as foUows : " I am quite convinced,
from experience, that both for the moral health— that is, the
remedying the derangement of the raind— and for the continu
ance of bodily health, diet is one of the raost essential things ;
and that it should be specifically directed in each case, and that
it requires raedical direction in each case." Again : " Were I the
superintendent, and answerable to the governors of an insti
tution of that sort (a pubUc madhouse), and were they, from
a feeling of economy or saving, to coerce me in the treatment of a
lunatic, or set of lunatics, with regard to diet, I would say.

LUNATIC ASYLUMS. 287
' You neither do the patient justice, nor do you permit me to
exercise my judgment.' Their diet must be of the best kind, and
not of the grossness of diet in general; it must be fresh meat,
and not salt meat. In those institutions where econoray is a
great matter, I have seen coarse pieces of salt beef, coarse
cheese, and not the best kind of bread, and unwholesome vege
tables. There is no chance of restoring a man whose disordered
mind depends on a disordered stomach and disordered bowels, if
he is taking that food. If a man is kept in a state of dreaming
while he is awake — for, in many instances, insanity consists in a
man not being able to distinguish between his waking and sleep
ing powers ; if a man's powers are asleep, he becomes a lunatic
whUe he is awake ; for most men are lunatics when they are
asleep with a disturbed state of the stomach ; and if a man is
thrown into that state, that he is confused while he is awake, he
becomes a continued lunatic, and has no chance. There is an
operation of the mind, arising from the disturbance of that func
tion, which physic can never cure, if a man is eating that
which disturbs his brain, and keeps it from that quiescence and
rest which the health of the raind requires."
The moral remedies to be resorted to, in the treatment of in
sanity are as much dependent on the peculiar condition of the
patient, as are the medical remedies. In the fifth report, writ
ten two years ago by Sir William EUis, of the state of matters
in the Hanwell Lunatic Asylum, Sir WiUiam has some judicious
observations on this point. He says — ¦" By inducing the patient
to exercise and combine the mental faculties which remain to
him, these become strengthened, and others are gradually deve
loped, until the raind is eventually restored to its original powers.
It must be evident, that to carry this plan into execution, a
greater diversity of employment and amuseraent raust be care
fuUy selected, and continued with unremitting attention for
years, according to the different tastes and various habits of the
patients. By keeping the attention completely engrossed, so as
to aUow the mind no time to dweU on its prevaUing delusions,
these almost imperceptibly fade away; and, after a period,
vanish altogether."
In conformity with these views, it is one of the leading fea
tures in the system of treatraent adopted at the Hanwell insti
tution, to employ the patients in some way or other, but always
in a manner agreeable to themselves, in every case where practi
cable. Sir WiUiam Ellis, in the report of 1836, and from which
I have ah-eady quoted, says, in reference to this—" During the
year, upwards" of 360 patients* have been constantiy more or
* Out of 600 ; a very large proportion, when aUowances are made for advanced
years, physical infirmities, and other accidental causes.

288 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
less employed, either in the house, or in the grounds when the
weather has been favourable; and it is with thankfulness re
corded again, without a single accident. The delight," adds Sir
William, " experienced in witnessing the benefit derived by this
system, is, in some measure, a compensation for the additional
duties and dangers it necessarily entails."
Religious as well as moral remedies may, in some, though in
comparatively few cases, be had recourse to with success, in the
treatment of insanity. Sir William Ellis makes some very im
portant remarks on this point. " In former years," says he,
" from the very incorrect notions entertained of this disease,
religious and moral instruction of any kind was never thought of
being afforded to the insane. Happily, a better knowledge, and
a better state of feeling, now exist. And it is at this time gene
rally admitted, that though, on some points, the mind may be
insane, yet on others it raay be perfectly rational. And it is
no ordinary blessing to many of the sufferers, that a just sense
of religion often remains when every other feeling seems oblite
rated. An act of parliament now provides, that the religious
services, according to the established church, should be per
formed in all large asylums in this country. Here the patients
have the instruction of the Rev. J. Stoddart, the chaplain to
the institution ; and a more orderly and attentive congregation
cannot be assembled together. Some of the committee, and
other gentlemen, have frequently been present, and have ex
pressed their astonishment and delight at witnessing the rever
ence and decorum of the patients."
These are important facts in the history of insanity, and if
duly improved may be of great service in the treatment of many
lunatics. They have only been recently discovered ; and were
the subject to be raore fully studied by scientific 'men, and the
facts discovered and the observations made by them, were from
time to time to be published, in the form of periodical papers or
reports — there can be little question that certain principles could
be laid down in the treatment of the disease, which, when taken
in its earliest stages, would insure the speedy recovery of the
patient, except in a few very peculiar cases.

An Outsids Stago.

289

CHAPTER IX.
BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS.
Prefatoiy remarVs— Bartholoinew Fair — The numbers -which attend it — Descriptive
observations — Greenwich Fair-^The numbers which frequent it — The voyage
downwai^d-^Throwing the stick, and othSr games — The park— The hill — Black.
heath — The; appearance of the Fair — Supply of commodities — Exhibitions — Thea
tres — Gamblers, and gaming — Swings — Booths — Immoral tendency of the Fair.
The fairs in London and its vicinity are still iraportant cf-fa,irs,
though not so much so as formerly, in the estimation of the
working classes of the metropolis ; and any work, professing to
treat of Babylonian life and habits, which did not embrace this
Stibject, would be manifestly incomplete.
Some years ago, there were a greajter number of fairs in the
metropolis and its siib'urbs, than there are at present. The two
bf greatest note which now exist, are Bartholomew and Green
wich-Fairs. A few years ago, there were Bow Fair, Stepney
Fair, Edmonton Fair, and Brook-green Fair, besides one or
two others of minor interest. These fairs have all been done
away with by the civil authorities, in consequence of the injury
to public morals which resulted from thera. On this last
point, I shall make a few observations in the conclusion of the
chapter. Bartholomew Fair, or Bartleray Fair, as the cockneys call it,
is held once every year. It takes place in September, in Smith-
field-market, which is in the very heart of London, and is opened
with great pomp and circurastance by the Lord Mayor and others
of the city authorities. It always lasts three days., During each
of these days, it is numerously attended ; but the second day is
usually the best, both with respect to the numbers who attend,
and the spirit with which matters are conducted.
Among the lower classes of London, the return of Bartholo
mew Fair is looked forward to with great interest and anxiety.
The numbers of both sexes— I am not sure whether there be not
more females than of our sex — which attend this fair, must ap
pear incredible to those who have not been made acquainted
with the fact from personal observation, I am convinced I am
X

290 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
under the mark, when I say that 100,000 persons are present
each of the three days, from two to eight o'clock ; and if to
these be added, those who visit the Fair for an hour or two only,
and then quit it, I am satisfied the number who have been at the
Fair, each of the three days, is above, rather than below, 150,000.
That I may not be suspected of exaggeration in this estimate, it
may be proper to mention, that Smithfield-market embraces a
space equal to nearly five acres. Let the reader be informed,.
that not only is this extensive space so densely crowded with
human beings, that they have the appearance of a solid mass,
but that the Fair, or, at any rate, the crowd of persons, extends
itself some distance up all the streets which lead into the market
place : let him only be informed of this, and he wUl, in aU pro-
babUity, come to the conclusion that I have considerably under
rated, rather than over-estimated the numbers who patronize
Bartholomew Fair.
It is here, perhaps, worthy of a passing remark, that the very
spot on which Bartholomew Fair, with all its fun and froUc, is
held, is the very spot on which blazed the fires of Smithfield
which consumed so many distinguished Protestant martyrs, two
centuries ago. Who can help being struck with the differenc?
between the purpose to which Smithfield-market then was, and
now is, applied !
To enumerate the amusements provided for the holiday cookr
neys, at Bartholomew Fair, were a hopeless task : they are legion
itself. Everything that can please the palate, delight the eye;
or gratify the ear, is there to be seen or heard. The " shows,"
or exhibitions on a larger scale, have all their bands of music ;
while inside, you'll see '• sich venders as no von ever saw afore."
In the sweetmeat and toy departments of the Fair, the variety
and abundance are so great that you are quite confounded with
the scene. I have heard a young man ask his sweetheart what
she would like, pointing to a stall on which were displayed, in
rich abundance and most tempting condition, sweetmeats innu
merable ; and I have seen her so completely at a loss to make
up her mind as to which she would prefer, that the fable of the
ass perishing of hunger between the two bundles of hay, has come
across my raind with a force I have very rarely known it do on
any other occasion. In fact, it is no uncoramon thing, in such
circumstances, for the lover to be obliged to decide, as well as to
pay for the object of his affections.
I pass over the leading features of Bartholomew Fair, because
the remarks and statements I shall have to make when speaking
of Greenwich Fair, wiU equally, or in a very great measure, ap
ply to it. The most marked difference, perhaps, between the
two fans, consists in the circumstance of Greenwich Fair being

BAETHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS.

291

jnest liberally suppUed with dancing booths, while Bartholome-w
Fair has no such attraction for the youths of the metropolis. A
substitute, however,, is found in the large rooms of some of the
neighbouring public-houses.
For the reason just mentioned, I now quit Bartholomew Fair,
and proceed to its rival at Greenwich. The latter fair is not
nearly so numerously attended ; a circumstance which is at once
accounted for from the fact of its being four or five miles distant
from the centre of London. As far as I can ascertain from the
imperfect data accessible to me, I should represent the number
of persons who usually attend Greenwich Fair, as somewhere
about 50,000 ; full 40,000 of which number, I should suppose, are
visitors from London. Formerly, there were only two modes of
conveyance to Greenwich —the steamers and the turnpike-road :
now there are three, the railway having been opened upwards of
a year since. Before the opening of the railway, there were
alwaj's a great many pedestrians to be seen on the road to
Greenwich Fair : now, there are very few. Scarcely any now
go by the usual coaches. It was calculated that, at last Easter
Fair, the number who went and returned by the railway, and
the number that patronized the steamers, was pretty equal; giv
ing, on ray estimate, about 20,000 to each. The journey down to
Greenwich is always an important affair in the estimation of the
patrons of the Fair.
No one can form any idea of the sights which are to be wit
nessed, and the occurrences which take place, at our metropolitan
fairs, who has not been present at thera. Bow Fair, Stepney
Fair, and several other fairs I had seen when they existed ; Bar
tholomew Fair I had been at on two occasions ; but until last
Easter Monday, I had never visited Greenwich Fair. Anxious
to describe what had come under my own eye, instead of trust
ing to the representations of others, I that day started for Green
wich, at four o'clock in the afternoon. On passing down Cannon
Street, the first thing which attracted my attention was an
athletic, surly, hodman-looking personage, walking backwards
and forwards, placarded before and behind with immensely large
sheets of paper afiixed to boards, and on which were the words,
in most gigantic letters, " Greenwich Fair." — " Greenwich Fair,
Sir?" "Greenwich Fair, Ma'am?" growled the bearer of these
prodigious placards, as he looked into the face of every person
whom he deemed likely to be on his or her way thither.
" Has the vessel yet started ?" I inquired, as he accosted rae
with his everlasting " Greenwich Fair, Sir ?"
" Not yet. Sir ; but the'r a-going directly," he answered ;
adding, " This way, Sir ; down this lane, Sir," pointing to a
lane, the name of which I forget.
x2

292 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" Are there no vessels to be had at the usual place ?" I in
quired, still proceeding in the direction of London Bridge.
" This is the way to the vessels, Sir," was the reply., from
one, again pointing down the lane.
" But I'U get a vessel, won't I, at the usual place?"
" I assure you. Sir, the vessels are here," was the answer.
I saw at once how the matter stood, and was pleased to find,
notwithstanding the placard-bearer's forbidding look and rude
manner, he had such a perception of the moral beauty of truth,
as to resist the temptation to tell a fib.
" You don't mean to say," I repeated, " that there are no
vessels to Greenwich to be had at the Bridge ?"
" Vy, Sir, I have already given you ray vord, that the wessels
are down this 'ere vay." Again his hand pointed in the old
direction. " Woy,yes, Zur," said a waggon-driver, with a short smockfrock,
a dove-tailed hat, and half-boots with immensely thick soles, who
was standing at the time at the door of an adjoining wine-vaults,
with a pot of Whitbread and Co.'s Entire in his hand ; " Woy,
yes, Zur, there be lots on 'em at the bridge ; but you see, Zur,
as how there be two companies, vich be a-cuttin' o' one another's
throats. That's how it is, Zur."
" Oh, I see," said I ; " and that, I suppose, is  "
I vvas interrupted by the placard -bearer observing, with great
earnestness, " Yes, Sir; but our wessels only charges sixpence,
and the other coves charges ninepence. We be the hopposition,
Sir. I'm sure you'll go on one of our 'uns."
The latter sentence was delivered in a tone and manner so
very winning, and so unlike anything which one could have ex
pected from a person whose physiognomy was so unprepossessing,
that there was no resisting it.
One of the vessels was just on the eve of starting as I got on
board : in other words, " the steam was up." On various occa
sions I have seen steam vessels, when on pleasure trips, suffi
ciently crowded. In July, last year, I sailed round the Isle of
Wight in a steam-vessel much more crowded than I should
like to see again on a similar occasion ; but never did I see such
a dense mass of human beings on the deck of any vessel, as I
witnessed on this Greenwich steamer. It was with difi&culty
that those who were the last to go on board, could procure
standing room. As for walking about on the deck, that was out
of the question. The sailors, if the term be not a misnomer as
applied to those who conduct steam vessels down the river to
Greenwich and back again, had literally, when working the ves
sel, to elbow their way through the crowd of passengers on deck.
AnI then the miscellaneous character of these passengers.

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS,' 293
There you saw a bevy of young dandies, as prim and spruce as
it were possible to imagine, puffing cigars, and ogling the girls
around them. Of dress-makers' apprentices, there seemed a
fair sprinkling ; and of male apprentices to various trades, there
was no lack ; but the preponderance of the passengers were
clearly journeymen mechanics and kitchen-maids. You would
have fancied, to see the swarms of the latter who found their
way to Greenwich on Easter Monday, that every kitchen in
London had emptied itself of its biped contents. Some of them
had their sweethearts ; others had evidently gone on spec. — that
is to say, trusting to meet by chance with some of their male ac
quaintances, either there or on their way thither or home again.
You saw sraall colonies of Sallys in every part of the vessel.
The remains of kitchen smoke which were visible about some of
their caps or bonnets, and the patches of what is, I believe, tech
nically called "• black," which still graced their physiognomies,
told, in language not to be mistaken, what were the avocations
of a large proportion of the females on deck. But if any one
could have been so slow to learn, as not to have been instructed
by what he saw around him, his ears raust have corae to his aid,
and perforraed an office in which his eyes had so unaccountably
failed ; for every word they exchanged with each other, smacked
of the kitchen. There were the usual nuraber of " La's !"
" Well, I never," seemed to be perpetually on their lips ; wliUe
the invariable mode of resenting, or appearing to resent, the con
duct of the young men, when the latter were amusing themselves
at their expense, was by giving thera 'a gentle slap on the face,
and shouting out, with a shrillness of pronunciation peculiar to
those who grace the kitchen — " A- done !" If one Sally asked
another Sally what she thought of sorae male acquaintance
whose name was mentioned, the sure answer was, turning up her
nose as she spoke, with a view to express disdain — " Oh, shock
ing ! I can't a-bear him." " How do you like that gown which
that young ooman sitting opposite there has on ? " " Oh,
shocking ! I can't a-bear it." Then there was an endless mention
of the name of " Missis." " Missis was so cross ven I sought
leave to-day ;" " Missis is such a rum 'un ;"_," Missis is so diffi
cult to please ;" " Missis says she von't aUow no foUo'rs ; but I
contrives to see Tom Toggs for all that."
In the voyage downwards, nothing particular took place. The
only occurrence worthy of mention, was that of a young man's
hat having faUen off his head while looking over the side of the
vessel. The general laughter which foUowed must have been very
annoying to the poor fellow, considering at the same time the loss
of the hat, and the inconvenience of having his head exposed all
the way to a very cold north-easterly wind. Besides, who could

294 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
tell whether the unlucky wight had " the wherewith," as one of
the passengers suggested, to get another ? My hypothesis, judg
ing from his appearance, was, that his coffers were by no means
abundantly replenished with the circulating medium. Be this as
it may, he was doomed to experience the truth of the old adage,
that evils do not come alone. I have mentioned a couple of the
evils which on this occasion simultaneously befel this young
man ; the evils, namely, of losing his hat, and then having his
ears assailed with a loud and universal laugh from his fellow-
voyagers to Greenwich, at the occurrence of the calamity. A
third evil was in store for him, which was that of the disaster
being converted into a subject of wit at his expense by every
person on board who could say, or imagined he could say, a
clever thing on the impulse of the moraent. " Why don't you
take off your hat?" said one, in a gruff grunting sort of voice.
A roar of laughter followed. " Wy doan't you put it on, old
'un ?" said another sraall, shrill, squeaking voice, tiie proprietor
of which wa? evidently a tailor. The laughter was renewed with
additional vigour. The dying lion felt more mortified at being
kicked by the donkey, than regret at the mere circumstance of
dying ; and surely the fact of being made the butt of a taUor's
jokes must have been to this poor fellow more annoying by far
than even the loss of his hat. Another passenger inquired whe
ther the hat was " a vashing beaver von ?" while a fourth inquired
whether it was " a gossamer ventilator ?" Loud laughter fol
lowed each of the witticisms which were levelled at the unfortu
nate young man through raeans of his lost hat. It was easy to
pei-ceive that he was inwardly wishing that some half-dozen or so
of his tormentors were in the same locality as his chapeau, namely,
either at the bottom of the Thames, or on their way to it.
So much for the voyage downwards. " Going down," as it is
called, whether by the river, the railway, or the road, is consi
dered by all the patrons of the fair as an essential part of the
day's gratifications. On debarking — to keep up the nautical
phraseology — we were furnished with abundant earnests of the
amusements which awaited those who were disposed to enjoy
them. The game of throwing the stick seemed to be an espe
cial favourite with the holiday people : it was prosecuted with a
vigour which I have never seen equalled. Within one hundred
yards from the landing-place, there were at least forty proprietors
of " the holes and the sticks," and all of them appeared to be
driving a most extensive business: judging from what I saw,
I should add, that they were doing a profitable one also ; for out
of about thirty throws, I only observed the player win once.
As the game of throwing the stick is unknown in many pal-ts
of the country, I shall describe it in as few words as possible.

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 295
The persons who attend the fair for the purpose, dig three holes,
each about half a foot in diameter, in the ground; and in each of
these holes place a stick three, or three and a half feet in height.
The sticks are each about one yard distant from the other, and
on the top of each stick is placed a snuff-box, a pen-knife, or
some other trinket, whose nominal value is frora sixpence to a
shiUing, but which only costs the proprietor of "the stand"
three or four pence. Any one who chooses to try for either of
the articles on the tops of the sticks, is allowed to do so on the
payment of a penny. For this " small sum of one penny" he
gets three chances, or throws ; three sticks, about two and a half
feet in length, being put into his hand for the purpose. The
particular part frora which he is to throw is duly marked out
for him, which is eighteen or twenty feet frora the sticks them
selves. Those who have never seen the thing played before, eagerly
purchase their " pennyworth of chances," fancying that they
have only to hit the sticks and knock down the articles on the
top of them, to entitle theraselves to the articles so knocked
down. I was amused with a countryman of my own, at the last
Greenwich Fair, in connexion with this tlirowing the stick. He
had evidently never seen anything of the kind before, and had all
the appearance of being a recent importation from the other side
the Tweed. " Try a penny'oth. Sir," — for the poorest and
most homely- dressed persons are all " Sirs" to the owners of the
sticks and holes ; — " Try a penny' orth. Sir, o' them 'ere sticks,"
said one of these personages to poor S.awney, who had the
appearance of a gardener, as he stood by, looking with great
simplicity at the three articles on the tops of the sticks.
" Can I try at ony ane I like ?" inquired the Scotchman, look
ing at the sticks which were proffered hira, but not withdraw
ing his hands frora his trousers' pockets, where they were most
probably " gripping" what little " siller" he possessed.
" O, certainly," answered the other, who was a little tliick-set
sly-looking personage.
" May I airch (throw) at the raiddle ane wi' the snuff-mull
on the top o't ?" asked the Caledonian,
" At any one you like," replied the other, not very clearly
comprehending the import of the terms " airch" and " mull."
" Weel, then," said ray countryman, withdrawing his hands
from his pockets, and holding thera out to receive the three
sticks ; " weel, then, here's the penny and gies the rungs." _
" Jist ha'd oot o' the way there," said the Scotchman, with a
rich Paisley brogue, addressing himself to some boys who stood
father near the sticks; "jist ha'd oot o' the way there for a
minit, and I'll soon bring the snuff-mull, doom"

296 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
The Scotchman threw his " rung," as he caUed it, and sure
enough he hit the stick and down feU the snuff-box in the hole.^^
" Jist gie me my mull ; I was sure I would knock it doon,"
said Sawney to the proprietor of the stand.
" It's in the hole.
Upon my soul,"
said the other, taking up the snuff-box and replacing it on the
top of the stick. " You must make it faU on the ground," he
' continued. " Awa wi' ye're nonsense ; nae matter whar it fa's, so as it's
fairly knocked doon ; fetch it to me," observed the Scotchman.
" No, no," said the other ; " that would never do."
The Caledonian grumbled and disputed for some time ; but
on being assured by the bystanders that such was the invariable
practice, he at last reluctantly relinquished what he had thought
his righteous claim to the snuff-box.
" Try again. Sir ; per'aps you'll be more luckier next time."
Sawney did as he was bid by the proprietor of the " muUs"
and the knives and the sticks, and " airched" a second time ;
but the " rung" missed.
" Third time's always more luckier than a first or second,"
suggested the other.
The Scotchman threw a third time, and hit the stick ; down,
of course, went the snuff-box.
The usual couplet, *' It's in the hole.
Upon my soul,''
again greeted the ears of the unfortunate speculator,
" Try another penny'oth," said the proprietor, coaxingly
' holding out the three sticks again to Sawney. The latter hesi
tated for a few moments, and then dragged out another penny
from his pocket ; in consideration of which he received the trio
of "rungs" which had already proved such traitors to him.
Again he threw thera, but with" no better success than before.
" Can't always win. Sir (though the poor fellow had not won
at all) ; there's a lucky penny'orth this tirae. Sure to win the
third time," said the cunning rogue, in most coaxing accents,
who had fleeced him, as he again presented to him the three sticks.
" Awa wi' them ! awa wi' thera ! " said Sawney, indignantly
turning away his head frora the " rungs," just as a patient does
from some nauseous medicine.
" There's luck in odd numbers. Sir ; the third time's sure to
gain, Sir," continued the other, still pressing the penny'orth of
sticks on the Caledonian.

B.VRTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 297
" Get ye gone, ye cheating rascal !" shouted the Scotchraan,
now losing aU temper with the loss of his twopence ; " if ye offer
me your rungs again, I'll break thera o'er your back."
It is needless to say, that the sticks .were not again offered to
Sawney : their proprietor addressed his solicitations to try their
luck, to other greenhorns, of whora there was no lack.
I was struck with the fact, that the great majority of the new
comers proceeded, as if by a kind of instinct, to the Park. One
thing, which might of itself have attracted a large number of
persons to this classic ground, was the loud uninteUigible noise
which a woman was making within a few yards of tiie gate.
The cause of the noise, as well as the words she uttered — if
words they could be called, which nobody could understand until
they got quite near to her — was a profound mystery when it
first entered the ears of the visitors. The most natural hypo
thesis, had there been a disposition to speculate as to the cause
of the strange sounds which this woman emitted, would have
been, that sorae one had been either raurdered or dangerously
hurt, and that such unfortunate person was lying dead or
damaged at her feet ; for while speaking, or rather vociferating,
she held her right hand in a slanting direction upwards in the
air, while with her left she steadily pointed to something on the
ground. The singularity of her attitude was still further increased
by the stooping position in which she stood. The very moment
I saw her, she brought forcibly to my mind the late Mr. Thel-
wall in one of the attitudes in which he always put himself when
wishing, in his lectures on oratory, to convey to the rainds of his
audience some idea of the way in which Mark Antony delivered
his funeral oration over the dead body of Caesar. My surprise,
and the surprise of others who, like myself, had been attracted
to the spot by the mysterious sounds, may be iraagined, when,
on advancing towards the place where she stood, surrounded by
a seemingly very attentive audience, I found the subject of her
vehement oratory was — a sack of nuts which had been spread
out on a piece of canvas on the ground ! Who could refrain
from a hearty laugh, when finding the reality so very different
from what any one could have expected ? Had I guessed tiU the
crack of doom, before quitting the place in which I first heard
the noise, what the cause of that noise was, I am perfectly cer
tain I should never have come to the conclusion that it was the
woman's vehement commendation of some two or three bushels
of nuts. " Here they are fresh good full sweet a penny a half-
pint from the bag this raorning best sort not a bad 'un among
the lot," was the favourite eulogium which this nut-vender
pronounced on her comraodities I And she soraetiraes delivered
the whole encomium without drawing her breath, and therefore

298 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
all the words appeared, as they came from her lips, as if incor
porated with each other. In fact, her panegyric on the superior
qualities of her nuts looked, in some cases, as if all the above
words had been but one. The next tirae, again, in which she
repeated her praises of her goods, she pronounced the words so
slowly and distinctly, reserabling a sort of chaunt, that you
would have fancied no two of thera had any connexion toge
ther. They were uttered thus : " Here — they — are — fresh —
good — full — sweet— a — penny — a — half — pint — ^from — the — ^bag
— this— morning — best — sort — not — a— bad — ^'un — ^among^^the
— lot." And what rendered the whole affair the more extraor
dinary, was, the singular manner in which, in her more energetic
moments, she howled out the praises of her nuts. She reminded
me of the wild sounds which the Bedouin Arabs were in the
habit of uttering when performing their gymnastic and other
feats, at the Colosseum, a year or two ago. She had the most
powerful voice I ever heard in a woman. She had all the appear
ance of being a great patron of malt liquor. If one were ac
quainted with her domestic history, I have no doubt it would be
found that she is one of the most extensive consumers to be met
with, of Whitbread and Co.'s Entire. She was a woman of
great size, and appeared to have the strength of a Hercules.
How she was able to vociferate so constantly, was to me a
matter of surprise. Had a woman of ordinary lungs, and the
average physical strength, bawled for one quarter of an hour,
instead of a Whole day, at the rate she did, such woman would
have made herself hoarse, and become utterly exhausted by the
effort : but all her exertions seemed to produce no impression on
our heroine. Her face, which was as round and red as a full-
moon when she first presents herself above the horizon, afforded
no indications of weariness; nor did her voice show the least
symptom of exhaustion. If sufficiently pUed with porter, I have
no doubt she could have held on for twenty, instead of for ten,
consecutive hours. What amused rae much, was the singular
dexterity with which she introduced, as if by way of parenthesis^
into her commendation of her nuts, any observation which cir
cumstances rendered necessary ; but never for a moment losing
sight of the main object, namely, the disposing of her half-round,
half-oval commodities. If a boy, for example, picked up a nut
on the sly, either when falling frora the half -pint jug while trans
ferring " a penny'orth" to some customer who had been over
come by the charms of her eloquence, or -when one had crossed
the edge of the canvas on which the stock lay, she would reprove
him for his crime without for a moment losing sight of her main
object. " Here they are fresh (you little rascal, return that nut,
or I'll break your bones) good fuU sweet a penny (and you too^

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 299
you vagabond, just put it back into the heap) a half-pint from the
bag this (stand back there you girl with the red head and dirty
face) morning best sort not a bad 'un among the lot." The only
fault to be found with the matron's praises of her nuts, was a Want
of variety in her words : the above was the only prose eulogium
she pronounced upon them. She had another, which was in
poetry. When she fixed her eye on some particular person
among the crowd who surrounded her commodities, she snatched
up a nut, and thrusting it into the hand of the intended victim
to the tune of a " penny'orth," exclaimed,
" Here, take a nut, and break 'em.
And if you find a bad 'un, don't take 'em.''
And great was the amount of business which our retailer of nuts
did in the course of a day. As she could not conveniently fill
and empty the half-pint jug, and attend to her vociferating -
duties at the sarae tirae, she had a boy, very possibly her son,
who acted in the capacity of assistant : he executed the orders,
but all the money was paid to her. It was not the least amusing
part of the affair, to hear her lisping out the praises of her
articles with a sixpence or shilling in her mouth, while counting
the "change" of those who tendered her silver in payment of
their penny'orths. There were numerous other nut venders in
the Park ; but little, comparatively, was the extent of the busi
ness which they did. I am serious, when I say, that I do believe
she drew more money for her nuts than any half-dozen of per
sons in the same line of business. It is due to their sagacity to
state, that all of them stationed theraselves at a respectful dis
tance from the locality which she chose as the scene of her
merchandise. They knew that if near her they would have had
no chance.
Proceeding up the hiU, so great a favourite with lovers, I
found it crowded in every part with j^oung people, amusing
themselves with the popular exercise of trying how fast they
could run down without losing their equilibrium. Many of
them— even persons of both sexes, who had got out of their
teens sorae years ago — received sorae awkward tumbles. I was
only surprised that the tragical termination which characterised
the ascent of " Jack and GiU," of nursery celebrity, up some
accUvity with whose geographical position I ara unacquainted,
was not literally realized. To me it was, to speak quite soberiy,
a matter of wonder that, Uke poor unfortunate Jack, no one
" broke his neck" when he " fell down." Had such a disaster
occurred, one could not have l-egtetted it so much as one does
its occurrence in the case of Uttie " Jack," the nursery hero.
Poor dear boy, he ascended the hill for a most praiseworthy ob
ject, namely, " To fetch a paU of water ;"

300 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
and it was while so laudably employed that the awful catastrophe
of breaking his neck occurred ; but the parties who " went up"
Greenwich hill, did so for the purpose of foolishly running down
again. If, therefore, any fatal accident had been the result of
their foUy, less sorrow would have been felt than in other cir
cumstances. It happened, however, that no necks were broken
on the occasion. The disaster of greatest magnitude which oc
curred under my observation, took place in the case of a genteel
good-looking girl, seemingly a servant, about twenty years of
age. She fell with tremendous force on her face, and what "the
fancy" call the claret, suddenly gushed from a prominent part
of her phiz. If anything could have made the disaster worse, it
would have been the inexpressibly droll observation which a
youth, about fourteen or fifteen years of age, made, on being
asked by a person who was passing, " what was the matter with
the young woman, that so many persons were standing around
her, and she was holding her pocket-handkerchief to her face?"
" Oh, nothing ! " said the young rascal, with the most perfect
nonchalance ; " she was only having a game at running down the
hill, when she lost her balance, and trode upon her nose : that's
alV The idea of treading on one's nose struck me as irresist
ibly droll.
On the top of the hill a very animated scene was exhibited, in
the shape of a keenly contested battle. The belligerents were, for
the most part, young men, fifty or sixty on either side ; and what
does the reader suppose was the weapons of their warfare ? Their
fists? No.— Sticks? No.— Stones? No.— What then ? Why no
thing else than that description of apples called pippins ! With
these they pelted one another most cordially, and many were
the severe hits which were received on both sides. The chief
source of regret was, that those who were no parties to the
fight, but were walking quite pacifically disposed along the sum
mit of the hill, occasionally came in for their share of the " hits,"
as they were called, which were so liberally given and received
by the opposing parties. I recollect, when a boy, reading a pri
vate letter frora a relative, in which an account was given by
one who took a part in it, of an important action between the
English and French armies; and after detailing, in gi'aphic
terms, the numbers he saw momentarily falling around him on
the field of battle, and the circumstances under which some of
his comrades were killed, he added — as well as I can remember
the words : — " But sad and sorrowful as I was, at seeing so many
men— many of them my acquaintances, in the enjoyment of per
fect health, and in the prime of life — dropping down, and expir
ing around me, I felt far more deeply affected at the fate of a
poor rifleman who, after being wounded, had managed to crawl

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 301
from the scene of action, but was shot by a Frenchman just at the
moment when, in all probability, he thought he had escaped all
further danger." In like manner, nuraerous as were the mili
tants whora I had seen wounded, and sorae of them very pain
fully so, in this battle on the top of Greenwich hUl, I did not
feel for thera a fraction of the concern which I felt for a young
inoffensive girl who, though she kept at a reasonable distance
frora the scene of action, had a large breach made in her Leg
horn bonnet — to say nothing of a very unpleasant " whack" on
the head — by means of an apple. WJfiether this was the result
of design, or of accident, I cannot say : I should hope, for the
credit of huraan nature, that the thing was purely accidental.
I am willing to believe, that depraved and ignoble as many of
the frequenters of metropolitan and suburban fairs are, there
are few of them so utterly lost to all sense of the claims which
the sex have on protection at our hands, as to be capable of
perpetrating so daring an outrage, as aiming a hard apple at a
female's head.
Not knowing whose cranium might receive the next apple,
I lost no time in quitting the scene of conflict, and advanced
to the Heath. And what a scene did I witness there ! There
were, at least, from fifty to sixty four-footed asses on the road
side : how many asses of another kind there were present, is
one of those difficult problems which it is beyond ray power to
solve. In point of numbers, I shrewdly suspect the biped ani
mals, with long ears, were larger than that of the four-footed
quadrupeds that were so tastefully put into classes along the
side of the road. The asses on all-fours were placed there for
the purpose of asses, who walk in another form, riding about the
Heath on their backs. Each had a saddle, such as it was,
covered over with a ragged piece of cloth, which, in most cases,
had, in its better days, answered the purposes of a smock-frock,
or been dignified with the name of a shirt. I pitied the poor
animals, while I felt indignation and contempt towards those — •
and sorry ara I to say, the cases were not few — who could
severely lash and otherwise cruelly treat them. Persons of both
sexes and of advanced years, largely patronised the proprietors
of the donkeys, by hiring the latter out to ride. Had they con
tented themselves with sitting on the backs of the poor beasts, I
should have been silent ; but not satisfied with that, they must
needs lash and strike the unoffending creatures with great severity,
under the pretext of causing them to move at a raore rapid pace.
There were, I understand, several of the officers of the Society
for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, present ; but there
was either not a sufficient number, or they were remiss in the
performance of their duties. Not to mention other instances of

302 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
cruelty which occurred under my own eye, there was one of a
raost flagrant nature. Two young ruffians, about fourteen or
fifteen years of age, foUowed one poor raiserable donkey, on
whose back a clumsy grown-up feUow, of great specific gravity,
sate. It would, positively, have been, in the language of certain
philosophers, raore in accordance with " the fitness of things,"
had this lumbering athletic fellow carried the feeble worn-out
donkey, instead of the ass carrying him. As the poor creature
was unable to do more than move at a slow pace with the two-
legged animal on its back, each of the young barbarians already
alluded to, applied a large stick to its sides with all their force,
with the view of goading it on to greater speed.
But for the cruelties practised towards the helpless jack-asses,
one could have heartily laughed at the odd exhibitions made by
many of the equestrians. Kitchen-maids, cookeys, and various
other riders, of both sexes, had never been on the back of any
four-footed beast before. The females screamed and clung to
the saddle as if it had been an affair of life or death, if the don
keys happened to trot for a pace or two ; and not a few of them
fell altogether, to the manifest gratification of the long-eared
quadrupeds which had been burthened with them but a moment
before. I was much araused with a cockney youth, seemingly about
twenty years of age, of very affected manners, who was ambi
tious of exhibiting his person on the back of a donkey. Advanc
ing towards one of the stands, on which there stood fifteen or
twenty of these animals, with their proprietors all anxious to be
employed, he accosted the latter in what is called a puppyish air
and manner, with " WeU, old fellows, who has got the best don
key for a ride?"
" Here you are. Sir," shouted a dozen voices, each donkey
proprietor drawing his animal towards the cockney.
" I can't ride on aU of thera; which is the best?" said the
dandy, resting his hands on his sides, and strutting about with
an air of great consequence.
" This von's the best. Sir," cried one.
" No, it ain't," vociferated another. " This 'ere hanimal is
betterer nor any won on the stand."
" Both on 'em's told you a gallows lie. Sir ; none of their
basses can lift a leg ; but here's a beast of the right sort," said
a third.
_ " Here's a capital good 'un, Sir ; three years old next gi-ass-
time. Sir," was the recoramendation of his donkey, which waS
given by a fourth.
" My von's the best as vas ever seed. Sir ; ven he's once a-set
a-going, he'U never stop, Sir. It's truth I say. Sir," remarked
a fifth.

A Sce-ne oil liUokhoath .

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS, 308
" Then," said the cockney, " FU take him,"
" Yes, Sir," observed another opposition proprietor of a couple
of donkeys ; " but there's no setting hira a-going. Nobody ever
saw him trot a step."
" Here's a reg'lar trump of an hanimal. Sir," said another ;
" you've only to touch him this way, and off he gallops at once."
As the donkey proprietor spoke, he pretended to touch the
ass's side with his fingers, and, sure enough, the animal made
two or three abortive attempts at a leap.
" Aye, there's sorae spirit in that donkey," said the cockney
youth, not aware that the cunning rogue of a proprietor had
achieved the two or three bungled leaps which the animal gave,
by pricking it with a pin. " What is the charge ?"
, " It depends on how far you ride. Sir."
" From one end of the heath to the other ?"
" Only a shiUing, Sir."
" Then, here goes."
And so saying, the cockney was astride the ass's back in a
-twinkling. " The shilling. Sir, if you please," said the proprietor of the
animal, with a knowing look.
" Why, isn't it time enough when I have had. pay ride ?" said
the dandy, pulling a shiUingout of his pocket, aijd transferring it
,to the other.
. " Always in advance, Sir," answered the ass-proprietor,,archly,
pocketing the silver image of WUliam the Fourth.
, " Now then," said the cockney, applying a switch to the sides
of the donkey, and looking as if he supposed he was about to
start off at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. .'* Now then."
The animal either did not hear or did not heed, the " Now
then" of the cockney. '*. Why,^ he woan't go," said the latter,
in a tone of voice, and with a look at the proprietor of the beast,
indicative of surprise and disappointment.
" He wUl, by-and-by," said the other, coolly.
" But I want hira to go now."
" Worry good. Sir ; as soon as you and the hanimal pleases."
The dandy-rider was confounded at the consummate non
chalance of the person whose ass he was patronising. " I say,
old fellow, I won't stand any nonsense, and pay for it too.
Either raake your ass go, or give me back my shiUing," remarked
the cockney youth, in half-indignant tones.
" We never gives back any shiners. Sir, arter we've got 'era,"
answered the other, with the sarae dryness of manner as before,
" Then, Sir, make your beast go."
" That's more than I can always do, Sir ; he's a little hobsti
nate at times, as all hasaes are ; but when once he sets off, there's
pe'er a better runner on the heath."

304 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" Yez, Zur," interposed a clownish-looking fellow, with a
smock-frock and a dirty demure-looking face ; " but the worst of
it is, he never sets off at alV
I had a shrewd suspicion that such was the fact, before the
latter personage made the observation ; and after two or three
more equally ineffectual attempts to cause the animal to start,
the dandy rider became a proselyte to the same opinion.
Finding he might as soon have expected to move Greenwich
church, as to raove the animal on whose back he sat, he dis
mounted, muttering imprecations of no very pleasant kind,
both on the ass and its owner. His imprecations were equally
disregarded by both.
" Try this one. Sir ;" " Here's a prime 'un. Sir ;" " No mis
take with this here hanimal, Sir;" "Here's the reg'lar racer.
Sir ; " were only a few of the many sounds which greeted his
ears as he alighted. In short, in a few seconds, he was sur
rounded by a congregation, to the number of twenty or two
dozen, of jack-asses and their owners ; the latter of whom respec
tively besieged him with their applications to try their " hani-
mals," with a vehemence and perseverance araounting to positive
persecution. At first, savage and surly at the " hobstii-tacy" of
the beast he had but a few moments ago bestrode, he refused to
listen to any of their solicitations ; but one of the ass-owners
was so very eloquent in his entreaties for a trial of his donkey,
that the cockney at length acceded to his request ; stipulating,
however, beforehand, that he would not pay his shilling until
satisfied of the racing capabilities and disposition of the animal.
He mounted the beast, and the owner, a young knowing-looking
fellow, immediately pricked it with a pin, when it set off at a
smart trot. " Ah, I told you that's your sort. Sir ; that's the
hanimal as can run in slap-up style," said the proprietor of the
beast, keeping up with it, and prompting it forward by re
peated apphcations of the pin to its side. " Aye, this is some
thing like an ass," said the cockney. " Here, take your shiUing,"
he added, pulling up the donkey for a moment, and putting that
amount of the coin of the realm into the hand of the cunning
rogue. " Now then, long-ears," said the dandy, apostrophis
ing the donkey, and applying the switch to it, with the view of
setting out on a regular gallop along the road.
The animal moved not a step.
" Holloa, old donkey ! what's the matter that you woan't go ?"
said the spruce rider, applying his heels to the sides of the
animal. The latter was appealed to in vain. There it stood as motion
less as the bronze horse with the statue of George the Third on
his back, near the Italian Opera House.

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 305
" I say, old feUow," said the cockney, now transferring his
appeal frora the ass to its owner ; " I say, old feUow, why doan't
the aniraal go ?"
" Can't teU, Sir ; he knows the reason best himself," answered
the other, with inimitable coolness.
" Is there no way of making him go ?"
" He won't be made, Sir ; he never does anything by force.
If you wait until he comes to himself, he'll start off agin."
"But when wiU that be?"
" Aye, that's more than I can tell ; but not before he pleases."
! The cockney looked first at the donkey, and then at its owner,
as if he could have eaten both by way of revenging himself for
the obstinacy and laziness of the one, and the consummate cool
ness of the other. He then suddenly dismounted, heaping
curses both loud and deep on asses of all descriptions ; not ex
cepting himself, for being such an ass as to be thus taken in,
and laughed at into the bargain, by the donkey owners of
Blackheath. A Greenwich Fair, without a greater or less number of fights,
would be a raodern miracle. How many took place during the
fair in question, is a point with the statistics of which I ara un
acquainted. I witnessed one which threatened, at one tirae, to
be productive of no inconsiderable number of broken heads, if
not of personal damage of an irretrievable nature. In this fight
to which there were several parties, both soldiers and sailors,
true to their proverbial character, took a marked part. " Drunk
as usual," one soldier displayed a wonderful ingenuity, both by
his words and actions, in inviting aggression ; and he soon got it
to his heart's content. " He met with his marrow," as the
phrase is, in the person of an athletic Irishman newly arrived
from the neighbourhood of Derrynane Abbey. " By the great
Dan himself," said Pat, " if it's a fight he's after wanting, it's
meself will give him that same." " Come on, then," mumbled
the soldier, staggering slightly frora the effects of drink. " May
be I won't," said Paddy, advancing as he spoke, and planting
some heavy blows in the face of his red-coated opponent, which
made him reel yet worse than the liquor. A regular fight
ensued in which sailors and soldiers and other persons took
part with a marvellous promptitude, until it became quite a
general affair. The police interfered ; and when they had put a
stop to the combat, the soldier, who was instrumental in begin
ning it, was found lying on the ground, " floored," as the Fancy
say, either by his Irish antagonist or by his no less formidable, be
cause more frequent and insidious adversary, Barclay and Co.'s
porter. He was carried away on the stretcher to the station-house,
where he lay as straight as a pole and as silent as a bell without
y

306 SKETCHES IN LONDON,
a tongue ; though a few rainutes before, he was all noise and
bluster and "botheration."
I refer to the fights which are so coraraon at all our metro
politan fairs, chiefly for the purpose of expressing my surprise and
regret that so many persons, with a good coat on their backs
and intelligence in their countenances, should not only stand by,
without endeavouring to put an end to such brutal and bar
barous exhibitions, but should encourage the parties in their
disgraceful practices.
The fight or affray which I witnessed, occurred in the park ;
from which I proceeded to the heart of the fair. There were
congregated in the narrow Umits of, perhaps, one hundred and
fifty yards long, by six or seven yards broad, a mass of human
beings, numbering, I should think, not less than 30,000. They
were so densely packed together, that it was quite a Herculean
task to force one's way through them. On either side of the
market-place were stalls and caravans, and other things, to
which I know not what narae to give, of all sizes and descrip
tions. I hold it irapossible that any huraan being, be his ima
gination as fertile as it may, could previously have formed any
idea of the vast variety of expedients which were resorted to at
this fair, with the view of eliciting money from the pockets of the
visitors. Of eatables, of all descriptions, there was a most abun
dant supply : apples, oranges, and nuts, stared you in the face
in every direction; while gingerbread was presented in an incon
ceivable diversity of forms. Nor was there any lack of Uquids :
there was an ample supply of chalk-and-water, which, for the pur
poses of sale, was baptised railk : there were little cans of table-
beer, and ginger-beer, and soda-water ; but the speculators in
these liquids found, before the fair was over, that they had reck
oned without their host. The weather, as before stated, was
intensely cold, which is always fatal to the sale of beer of aU
kinds, especially in the open air ; and which is still raore fatal to
the sale of ginger-beer and soda-water. Loud were the luckless
proprietors of these li(juids in their praises of the quality of the
article they were anxious to vend ; but all the eloquence and
ingenuity in the world would not have insured a demand in this
case. In fact, the shivering persons who stood in tho market-!
place, would not have drunk either soda-water or ginger-beer
on this occasion, had they been paid for doing it. Ardent
spirits were the order of the day, and the order of the hour and
minute also, during the three days the fair lasted. " Summut
to warm us," was the universal motto of the parties; and the
effects of the quantity of these spirits quaffed on the occasion
were visible in the scenes of drunkenness and disturbance which
presented themselves wherever you turned your eye,

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 807
Of showy articles, or things which were merely intended to
please the eye, there was also a moat liberal supply. The assort
ment of dolls was varied and abundant.- It struck me, indeed, as
a sort of libel on the frequenters of the fair, that so many dolls
should be exposed for sale ; for if there be meaning in facts, as
there is in language, the circurastance plainly iraplied that the
dealers in them assumed that the young men and women who
attended the fair were but so many children, though children of
a larger growth. My only surprise was, that they did not resent
the thing as a personal insult, when accosted, as they were at
every step they took, with — " Buy a doll. Sir," " Buy a doU,
Ma'am, " the article which they were invited to purchase being
at the same tirae thrust in their faces. Crackers, scratchers,
little druras, sixpenny looking-glasses, watches which never went
and never were raeant to go, being, like the razors which Peter
Pindar has iramortalized as made not to shave but to sell ;
and innumerable other articles which, to use a favourite expres
sion of George Robins, were too tedious to raention, — were aU
exposed to the eye, under the most attractive possible circum
stances. " There was," as an Irish girl emphatically exclaimed
in describing the scene to an acquaintance she met outside the
market-place, " such a power of fine things !"
In the article of " sights," again, Greenwich Fair was, if that
were possible, still more amply supplied. You would have fan
cied, from the number of caravans, booths, and other places for
the exhibition of wonders of all kinds, artificial and natural, that
the marvels of the whole world had been congregated within the
limited space appropriated to Greenwich Fair. The seven won
ders of the world, is a phrase which became familiar to us in our
younger years : perhaps it is one of the first phrases we remera
ber to have been current in the days of our childhood. Here
we had, instead of seven, at least a hundred wonders of the
world. And what was worthy of observation was, that every
individual wonder was more wonderful — that is to say, if you
took the proprietor's word for it — than any other wonder. The
great difficulty with those who had but little copper in their
pockets, though, peradventure, abundantly supplied with another
weU-known metal in their faces ; the great difficulty with them
was to make a selection. The figures which were daubed on the
canvass which was displayed at the front of the caravans and
other wooden erections, were most inviting ; indeed, as is usually
the case, the representations far surpassed the things represented.
But in addition to the attack they made on your curiosity and
your pockets, through the medium of your eyes, there were dead
gets made at you through the medium of your ears. Nothing
could- exceed the earnestness or the eloquence with which the
y2

308 SKETCHES IN LONDON,
various proprietors of the exhibitions praised the articles exhi
bited. There was " the Lincolnshire Ox, the most biggest hani
mal of the kind as was ever seen, and whose tail alone was not
quite so thick as the mast of a man-of-war." My astonishment
was, how such a "prodigiously-sized" beast could have been got
into a sort of caravan of such limited dimensions, that I should
have fancied a cow of the ordinary stature would not have had
turning room in it. Whether the proprietor of this gigantic
Lincolnshire ox was a disciple of Procrustes, and made the ox
to fit the place, if the place did not fit him, is a problem which I
was prevented from solving, as circumstances interposed to deny
me the gratification of seeing the " wonderful hanimal." The
next-door neighbour of the " raost biggest ox as was ever seen,"
but belonging to a different owner, was " the most extraordinar
sheep with four legs and the half of a fifth 'un." The patrons
of the fair were pressingly invited to " walk up, and see with
their own eyes this truly vonderful production of the vorks of
natur." I was sorry to see that the proprietor's emphatic and
repeated appeals were, in a great measure, lost on the dense
crowd to whom they were addressed. They proved that they
had no relish for " sheep with four legs and the half of a fifth
'un." Adjoining the last " vonderful production," there was a
" vonderful pig ;" not the old pig of literary reputation, nor the
Learned Pig, as the swinish scholar and philosopher was usually
called. No : this was a pig, whose wonderful qualities were of a
physical, instead of an intellectual nature. " It was a pig as was
so fat as never to rise off the place vere she lay, and as could not
stand upon her legs ven she was fairly put on 'era." Judging
from the portrait, if there be propriety in the expression, of this
"worry extrahordinary hanimal," which appeared as large as
life on the canvass that graced the front of the place of exhibi
tion, I should certainly say that her pigship must have been
among the " swinish multitude," what the celebrated Daniel
Lambert was among animals of the biped class. Her belly not
only trailed on the ground, but, if the representation was a cor
rect one, her excessive corpulence had given her a globular ap
pearance. I thought with myself, what a treat must her pigship
be to the lovers of fat pork, when she faUs into the hands of the
butcher. A few yards from the spot in which the fat pig starred
it, there was a collection of animals forming a sort of miniature
menagerie. The figures on the canvass outside were newly
painted, and were unusually inviting to go inside. But lest the
representations outside were not of themselves sufficiently power
ful motives to induce the spectators to go in, to these were
superadded the motive, which could not fail to arise from the
singularly winning way in which the owner of the anijnals ipi-

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH PAIRS. 309
plored them to inspect the beasts. " Ladies and gen'lemen, if the
hanimals within here be not a treat to any one as sees 'em, then
I pledge myself to eat up every beast in the caravan alive, the
tiger and aU. But, ladies and gen'lemen, I'm quite certain of
it, that you will all be vonderfully pleased. Those who are not
satisfied with this extrahordinary sight — the like of which was
never seen before, and never wUl be agin — may have their ' tin'
back again ; and so they will have the splendidest sight as
is in London for nothing. And, ladies and gen'lemen, I am sure
you all knows that it could not be less. Do walk up this way, if
you please ; walk up this way. All the hanimals to be seen for
the small charge of threepence." Of the giant Rockman, and
the dwarf Jarmain, each of whom had his place to himself, and
to whom the payment of a penny always proved a passport ; of
them I say nothing. They were confessedly extraordinary enough
in their respective lines ; but I pass thera by, for the purpose of
saying, that the raost wonderful live exhibition in the fair was,
if the owner might be credited, that of sorae extraordinary un
heard-of aniraal which walked partly on his legs and partly in an
all-four's forra, and which moved like an extraordinary quadruped
mentioned in Captain Marryat's "Peter Simple," as having
been exhibited at Bartholomew Fair, which measured fifteen
feet from the tail to the head, and thirteen feet and a half from
the head to the tail ! But there would be no end to particular
izing the live stock exhibited on this occasion. Every showman
had, if you were good-natured enough to take his own word for
it, something " far more better" than any of his neighbours ;
and he was greatly surprised, as well as indignant, at the perver
sion of public taste, when he saw other exhibitions patronised while
his was deserted. With menageries, on a small scale, Greenwich
Fair was most liberally supplied ; and if the assertions of the
parties who invited the curious in such matters to corae and in
spect them, might be believed, there were in all those menageries
" lots of hanimals of a most extrahordinary kind."
In the theatrical way, there was a good deal of business done.
I should think the nuraber of portable theatres, of one kind or
other, could not have been much under a dozen ; and so great
was the taste for the drama, that theatrical speculations answer
ed much better than any other kind of speculations. " The suc
cessor on the boards" of the late eccentric Richardson, appeared
to be by far the most extensively patronised. The Clown was, as
usual, the great attraction. The spectators stared and laughed,
and laughed and stared again, at his ludicrous evolutions. Sorae
of the audience, including chimney-sweeps, tap-room boys, and
others, to whom the Clown's movements were perfect novelties
in their way, turned up the white of their eyes in the plenitude

310 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
of their amazement at the wonders he performed ; and most un
equivocal were the marks, in so far as a vehement clapping of
hands and loud laughter were concerned, of the approbation
with which they greeted his exploits. If any one wished to see
the legitimate drama burlesqued with the greatest possible effect,
he ought by all raeans to make part of the audience in one of the
portable theatres at Greenwich Fair. The price of admission is
reasonable enough : a fourteenth part of what it costs at Drury
Lane or Covent Garden will procure hira a place either in the
pit or gallery. In other words, one's draraatic taste may be
indulged in the theatrical establishraents at Greenwich Fair, on
the payment of sixpence for the pit, or threepence for the gal
lery. And who will say that the charge is extravagant ? Boxes,
there are none ; and even the order of things, as regards the pit
and gallery, are reversed : for the gallery — at least, in those
establishments I have been in — is on the ground-fioor, while the
pit is six or seven feet above the gallery. However, such things
will happen ; or, as the proprietors themselves say, there is no
use in being too particular. The character of the pieces per
formed, and the quality of acting, are precisely such as I so fully
described in my chapter on " Penny Theatres;" and therefore
it is not necessary to repeat the description here. Any actor
is at liberty, in an emergency, to say what he pleases, or to act
as he thinks fit. All that is stipulated for on the part of the
proprietors, is, that something be said, and that something be
done. If Drury Lane and Covent Garden have their rivals in Green
wich Fair, so has Astley's. Not only are there equestrian per
formances " which has never been ekvalled in this 'ere vorld
before," but there " is the truly vonderful feats on the tight
rope, and various bother exhibishuns too tedious to raention, aU
performed in the best style." I went into one of these rivals of
Astley's Amphitheatre, to witness sorae of these " unekvalled"
and " truly vonderful" " various bother exhibishuns ; " but must
candidly confess, that such was the worthless quality of my taste
in such matters, that I was much more gratified with the ludi
crous conduct and humourous remarks of some of the audience.
Some of my readers may reraember to have heard of a cunning
rogue of a traveller who, on going to an inn, in a small town, on
an intensely cold evening, found that there was only one fire,
namely, the kitchen fire, burning at the tirae ; and it was com
pletely concealed from his view by a nuraber of the neighbours,
who were earnestly engaged in conversation together. Not one
of them moved a stool or chair to aUow the stranger to partake
of the genial warmth, and he had no hope of succeeding by an
appeal either to their poUteness or humanity. At last, he resolved'

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 311
on trying the effect of an ingenious expedient in his endeavours
to procure a place beside the grateful hearth. " Ostler," he
exclaimed. " Coming, Sir.
" Are there any oysters to be had here V
" As many as you please, Sir ; great place this for oysters, Sir."
" Very good. Well, then, you go and give half a peck of the
Very best you've got to my horse in the stable,"
" Your 'oss. Sir ?" said the ostler, looking unutterably amazed.
" Yes, my horse," said the stranger, quite coolly.
" Bless your soul. Sir, 'osses don't eat oysters ! I never heard
of such a thing. You must be mistaken, Sir," suggested the
ostler, with an air of respect.
" Oh no ; no mistake — no mistake ; you bring the oysters
•directly to the horse."
The other scratched his head, and mumbled out, " Yes, Sir,
presently." " As quick as you Can," said the traveller.
" This moment. Sir," said the ostler, darting out of the
kitchen, to provide the horse with his supper of oysters, A
general rush of those who were at the fire followed, every one
being more anxious than another to see how the horse would eat
shell-fish ; so that the stranger had the entire kitchen, fire and all,
to himself. He took the best chair he could find, and seating
himself at the fire, determined on raaking himself quite at home,
In a minute or so, the ostler, accompanied by all his followers,
Returned to the kitchen, saying — " It's jost as I said : the 'oss
von't eat ne'er a one on 'em. Sir."
" Then bring them to me," said the stranger, " and I'll eat
them myself."
I was reminded of this ingenious expedient to secure a com
fortable seat at the fire, when nothing but some such expedient
could have succeeded, by the device to which a person resorted,
to get a good place at the rival Astley's at Greenwich Fair. He
had been among the latest to enter, and all the good places were
pre-occupied. Incomparably the best place, at the threepenny
rate of admission, was on a sort of wooden stair, by means of
which the descent to, and the ascent from, the gallery was to be
achieved. The top of this stair was on a level with the pit ; but
it was densely peopled, or, as the play-biUs say, " crowded in
every part." " Is there no room here?" inquired a cunning-looking
countryman, as he entered the place.
No one made hira any answer.
" po, frien's, try to raake room for a poor fellow," said th©
clodpole-looking personage, whose accent proved to demonstra
tion that Yorkshire claimed him as her own.

312 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
The appeal was ineffectual : the portion of the threepenny
audience, who had planted themselves in that particular locality,
only stood more closely together.
" WeU, coom, I'm cu'st, if ye bean't an uncivil set of people,"
said the Yorkshireman, after a moraentary pause.
Censure seemed to have as little effect on them as an appeal
to their politeness ; for no one moved an inch to accommodate
the new-comer. He paused a few seconds again, when an idea
flashed across his mind. He quietly went out of the place, and
let fall a green cloth curtain, which answered the purposes of
a door, behind him. In a few seconds afterwards, he put the
curtain partially aside, and thrusting in his head, bawled out in
stentorian tones — " Holloa ! clear the stair there ; mind your
eyes ; here comes a horse." Not recognizing the Yorkshireman
in the abrupt and unexpected apostrophe, and supposing that one
of the horses about to ride in the ring, was really coming down
the stair, there was an instantaneous and unusual rush into the
gallery. In two or three seconds, the stair was completely
cleared, and the Yorkshireman promptly took possession of the
best part of it.
The humorous remarks made by the audience, while the per
formances were proceeding, often caused bursts of laughter. In
this respect, indeed, the " Merriraan" found that he had a num
ber of formidable rivals. A young woman, of a copper com
plexion, who monopolized the performances on the tight-rope,
said, in a very affected " fine lady" sort of air, addressing her
self to the Clown — " Chalk my feet. Sir." " Vouldn't your
face, too, be all the better of a little on't. Ma'am ?" observed a
rustic-looking young man araong the audience, with a dryness of
manner which told with much effect. " I say. Miss," exclaimed
another voice, " Vy do you always dance the sarae thing ? Vy
don't you give us ' Jack in the Green ?'" Or " Vy don't you
jurap ' Jim Crow,' young voman ?" said a third. " You hold
your tongue. Sir," rejoined the Clown, authoritatively, looking
in the direction of the place whence the last voice proceeded.
He had scarcely uttered the words, when a small apple
abruptly alighted on the crown of his head, which was graced
with_ a nightcap of many colours. Putting his hand to the part
of his head which was hit, he looked half-piteously and half-in-
dignantly around the audience. " Who did that?'"' he inquired.
" Nobody," answered a voice, after a moraentary pause. " It
was an anonymous blow," said another, amidst bursts of laughter
from all parts of the house, which so disconcerted and annoyed
poor " Mr. Merriraan," that he was not able either to make a
passable new joke the whole evening afterwards, or to retail his
old ones with the slightest spirit.

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 313
It appeared to me, that the scene on the 'sort of hustings
outside the theatres at Greenwich Fair, was better worth
seeing than the performances within. There the female actresses,
if they should be dignified with the name, strutted about in a
mock majesty which, in their circumstances, was truly ludicrous.
They were decked out in all manner of tawdry trumpery : they
had feathers in their heads ; but they were such feathers as I
had never seen before. Their dresses, which, I regret to say, I
am incompetent to describe, were thickly stiidded with sraall
fragments of sorae sort of metal, which, though seemingly opaque
enough in ordinary circurastances, did " cast reflections" when
in contiguity to the blazing lights at the front of the theatre.
Nothing could be more amusing than the would-be dignified step
and consequential air with which these female supporters of the
drama walked about before the assembled thousands ; many of
whom were, no doubt, both wondering and admiring spectators.
Had these actresses been so many princesses, they could not
have assumed greater importance, or appeared more stiff and
stately in their carriage. I thought, as I saw them, of the
females who grace the train of Jack-in-the-Green, on May-day.
I thought of poor Black Moll, who is doomed to dangle, dressed
in white, above the doors of marine store dealers, from one end
of the year to the other. And yet, if these histrionic personages
were happy in the thought of their fancied superiority to
all other females, why should any one seek to undeceive thera ?
It was edifying to witness the different objects which the par
ties in the front of the theatre had in view. The girls in ques
tion thought of nothing but themselves: they sought to show
themselves off. The proprietor, on the other hand, had nothing
in his head but how he could best induce persons to patronize his
performances. His wife was wholly intent on taking money, and
giving checks in return ; while a poor fellow most assiduously
played the Clown outside, in the character of " Spring-heeled
Jack," because he saw that his own interests^ were bound up
with those of his master.
Gambling was carried on in Greenwich Fair to a very great
extent, and in every variety of form. There were roulette,
hazard, and other games, at which persons might play for stakes
of from one shilling upwards to a sovereign ; and raany were the
simpletons these notable hell-keepers victimized on the occasion.
This class of gamblers took care to carry on their business in
places not exposed to the general gaze. There was, however, no
lack of gamblers on a smaUer scale, whose operations were per
formed in the light of day, and in the most densely crowded
parts of the market. There were wheel-of-fortune men ; and
most promptly did these machines and their proprietors fleece

314 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
the simple soft-looking lads who ventured their pence on parti
cular articles. In order to decoy and deceive the unsuspecting
cockneys, or guUible youths belonging to Greenwich or its neigh
bourhood, they took care to keep the wheel in constant motion.
For this purpose, they had severaUy one or two cunning young
rascals in their employ, who, while they saw others losing their
money, contented theraselves with merely looking on and en
couraging greenhorns to " try again," on an assurance that they
were certain of gaining next tirae. They appeared all the while
not only to have no connection with the professed gamblers, but
not even to know them. The moment others ceased to turn
round the wheel, they put down their halfpence ; and when try
ing for two or three articles unsuccessfully several times, the sly
rogues would, in a careless sort of tone, as if the result of the
purest accident, make the observation — " Oh, never mind ; can
afford to lose a few browns this tirae; gained half-a-crown's
worth of things with three hap'nies, a short tirae ago." This
most probably has the effect of inducing some simpleton to try
his luck, thinking in his own raind that there can be no good
reason why he should not gain a half-crown's worth of things for
his three hap'nies as well as others. He begins, and that mo
ment the other ceases to turn round the wheel ; the three hap'nies
are gone, but bring no half-crown; no, not even one penny's'
worth of the trinkets so invitingly spread out before him. fie
tries other three ; they follow their predecessors : three more ;
they are not a whit more lucky. His losses reach a shilling : he
goes on, provided he has the money, untU, possibly, he loses
half-a-crown. Even if he does happen to gain some article which
he fancied was worth eighteenpence, he finds, on inspection, that
it is not worth twopence ; so that he is cheated under any cir
cumstances. The thimble-riggers mustered strong, and appeared to drive a
profitable business. They were to be found in all the leading
openings to the Fair. Much as every man of healthy moral
feeling must disapprove of thimble-rigging, there was no resist-'
ing an occasional hearty laugh at the awkward circumstances
under which some of the victims betrayed their simpUcity.
" Who lifts the thimble that kivers the pea next time ?" was
the everlasting question of the proprietor of the pea, the three
thimbles, and the half-crown table, on which the gambling took
place, — whenever there was a pause in the play ; and as he spoke,
he shifted about the thimbles with an almost slight-of-hand cele
rity. " I knows the one it's under," whispers a greenhorn to
some acquaintance.
" Are you quite sure !"
" Quite sure ; could swear I knows it, and no mistake."

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 315
" Then what a fool you are, not to put down your shiners !"
Thus appealed to, down goes the crown, -half-crown, or shil
ling, as the case may be, and the simpleton lifts the thimble.
Imagine his surprise, his confusion, and mortification, when he
raises it, and finds that neither pea nor anything else is
there. He can scarcely credit the evidence of his eyes. He
would, indeed, live and die in the belief that it had miracu
lously vanished, did not the proprietor lift another thimble, and
exhibit the pea to the gaze of all present.
" It's all the fortune of war," says the thimble-rigger, moving
about his thimbles. " Who tries his luck next ? Can't always
gain." A person who is supposed, by those unacquainted with the
roguery of these fellows, to have no connection with or know
ledge of them, but is one of themselves, now advances, and learn
ing from some secret signs made by the mover of the thimbles, the
one under which the pea lies, says, " I lay five shillings I know
the thimble which kivers the pea."
" Here you are, Sir," says the other, putting down his five
shillings. The supposed stranger puts down his crown : he raises the
thimble, and the pea is there. He is inwardly congratulated on
his good luck by the spectators around, they still imagining that
he is as much a stranger to the thirable-raan as theraselves.
" Never grumbles when I loses, though better pleased when I
wins. Who tries their luck next time ?" says the thimble-rigger,
shifting the thimbles on the table so slowly that no one can
faU to perceive under which one the pea is. " I see the one,"
says sorae greenhorn, in audible tones.
"Which one is it?" inquires the party, in a whisper, who
had tried it last time, and who, though one of the rogues
who are robbing simpletons, is still imagined to be a perfect
stranger. " That one," pointing to the thimble under which the pea ac
tually is.
" Five shiUings again, that I unkiver the pea," says he, with
some eagerness, throwing down his crown.
" Done, Sir," says the thimble-rigger, throwing his five shil-'
lings on the table also.
The supposed adventurer raises the thimble, and, behold, the
pea is again there.
" You were quite right. Sir," says he, in agreeable accents, to
the simpleton, at whose pockets a dead set is made.
" Oh, I knew it," says the latter, giving a consequential nod
of his head, by way of showing that he was perfectly aware of his
own superior imaginary ^iiscernment.

316 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" Just speak a moment," whispers the coadjutor of the thimble-
rigger to the intended victim.
" Certainly," says the latter, and both retire a few steps to
gether. " Why don't you try for yourself, and fleece these
feUows?" says the supposed stranger.
" Woy, I doan't know," answers the poor simpleton.
" Suppose we run halves, when we see a good chance?" ob
serves the other.
" Well, I doan't care, though I do," answers the greenhorn.
They return to the table : the thimble-rigger again shifts the
thimbles, and invites " any one" to try his luck.
" I doan't know vich is the right 'un this time," remarks the
unsuspecting simpleton.
" Ah, but I do," says the other, with a knowing nod of the
head. " That's it," pointing to a particular thimble,
" Then let us put down one half-crown each."
" By all means," says the other, throwing down his half-crown.
The thimble- rigger puts down his crown, and the partner of
the poor greenhorn raises the thimble ; but, lo ! there is no pea
there. He affects to be marvellously surprised ; the thing is be
yond his comprehension ; however, he swears that he won't be
mistaken next time. Another venture is made, but with no
better success. There is no limit to his amazement ; the thing
is altogether so unaccountable, that there must be some legerde
main in it. He givps a still greater oath that he won't be wrong
next time : the victim ventures once more, on the solemn assur
ance that his partner in the speculation knows the right thimble
this time. The latter lifts it, but still no pea is there. He stamps
with his feet, strikes his forehead with his hand, makes extraor
dinary faces, swears so liberally both at the pea and himself, and
altogether acts his part so well, that, though the victim will not
trust his discernment any more, and consequently abstains from
any more gambling, yet he never once questions his honesty ; to
say nothing of his not even suspecting that he is a partner in the
robberies of the thimble-rigger. In this and various other ways
simple persons, whether frora London or the surrounding coun
try, are sure to be fleeced, if they are foolish enough to play at
the game of thimble -rigging.
The proprietors of swings, at the last Greenwich Fair, must
have made a little fortune ; for most liberally were their " ma
chines," as they themselves call thera, patronized. Not one, so
long as I was there, was idle for a raoment. The poor fellows
who had to keep thera in motion, had no sinecure of it. Every
body else seemed half-perishing of cold; they were perspiring with
the warmth caused by their unremitting labours. It was curious to
see how differently the different persons who committed them-

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 317
selves to the swing felt, when they were driven about in the air.
Many of the females — and I have always observed, though I can
not account for the circurastance, that the woraen are the greatest
patrons of swings ; many of the females got up a few screams in
the plenitude of their affected alarm at being moved to and fro
at so rapid a rate in the air ; some shrieked, because they did
actually feel frightened, when suspended between earth and
heaven, though they apprehended no such fears before entering
the car ; while others laughed, joked, and seemed to be as com
fortable as if they had been swinging in the air all their lives.
Many were made dizzy and others sick, by the motion ; but
there was no help for thera : the swing must go for the usual
time, for the sake of those who were neither dizzy nor sick, but
expected, and had anything to the contrary been proposed
would have insisted, that as they had paid for their pleasure, so
they raust have it.
The last, but assuredly not the least of the attractions of
Greenwich Fair, are the dancing-booths. By nine o'clock, they
began to be tolerably attended : by ten, they were full ; that is
to say, as full as was consistent with the requisite space for
dancing. And yet though thus as full as they could conveni
ently hold, one of the parties interested, stood at the door invit
ing, or rather imploring, " ladies and gemmen," to go in, expressly
assuring them that there was room for two or three hundred
more. Most liberally was the light fantastic toe tripped : the
girls seemed in perfect ecstacies : they would have danced them
selves to death, if necessary ; but it fortunately was not, there
being at least two of them to every one of the masculine gender.
Dancing, as they say in the provincial newspapers, when speak
ing of balls in the county town, " was kept up to a late, or rather
early hour." The floor, or rather in this case, the ground, was
not cleared until three in the morning ; and even then, the girls
were loath to relinquish their occupation of it. On one side of
the booths, immediately adjoining the dancing ground, were four
or five boxes constructed on the coffee-house principle, where the
" partners" swigged porter or sipped brandy-and-water, as the
case might be, by way of refreshing theraselves after their dance.
In some cases, the arms of the beau were to be seen affectionately
entwined around the neck of the belle ; while in others, all the
indications and demonstrations of love were given by the young
ladies. Though Greenwich Fair, properly so called, is confined to the
very narrow space before mentioned, it virtually extends for one
or two miles along the leading roads which communicate with
the town. In saying this, I do not so much raean the various
staUs for the sale of sweetmeats and trinkets which are scattered

318 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
SO liberally about the suburbs, as to the number of idlers and
holiday people who are seen lounging about in all directions,
but especially at the doors of public-houses. I wiU venture to
say, that there is scarcely a public-house within two miles of
Greenwich, that cannot boast, provided the weather be at all
endurable, of its ten or twelve loungers about the door ; some of
them drinking gin, others swilling porter, a third class smoking
away at a most furious rate, while many are doing all three to
gether. Inside these pubhc-houses, again, there is hardly stand
ing, far less sitting room. They are crowded in every part with
thirsty customers. You are quite at a loss whether raost to ad
mire, the talking or quaffing capabilities of the inmates. There
is nothing but noise and porter : all talk and all drink at once.
To be sure, an attempt is now and then made to introduce a little
harmony, in the way of a song ; but the audience are anything
but harmonious in hearing it. A vocalist might just as soon
hope to hush into silence the roar of the ocean by the eloquence
of his dulcet strains, as one might expect to restore silence in a
public-house audience, on Greenwich Fair day, by the melody of
his voice. Orpheus may have achieved the wonders ascribed to
hira by the power of his raelody, though I have always doubted
it : he may have tamed savage animals through means of his
musical talents ; but I am quite certain that all the modern Or-
pheuses in the world — if there be any Orpheuses extant —
would not silence, or secure the attention of the biped savages
who, at Easter and Midsummer, patronize the public-houses in
Greenwich and the neighbourhood. They are a set of invete-
rately noisy beings : the unrestrained exercise of their lungs
seems indispensable to their enjoyment of the jovialities of the
occasion. If what I have said, as to the distance to which Greenwich
Fair extends itself, in the shape of crowded public-houses, be
true as regards the Woolwich and other roads, it is far more
so as respects the road leading to London. The whole of that
road, indeed, frora Southwark to Greenwich raay be said to be
only an arra of Greenwich Fair, in so far as the public-houses are
concerned. Though the distance be five railes, they are all
crowded with custoraers, and each has as ranch business, in the
porter and gin way as it is able to go through. I have, indeed,
a strong suspicion, that many hundreds who start from town
with the full intention of visiting the Fair, and sharing its fun
and frolics, put a period to their journey — in other words, make
a full stop — before they have gone half the way. One is cold ;
he goes into a public-house on the road to get a glass of spirits
to warm hira : a second is hot, and he must have ditto to cool
him : a third is thirsty, and he must have a pint of porter to wet

BARTHOLOMEW AND GREENWICH FAIRS. 319
Jiis throat ; while a fourth, more candid than either of the others,
says, according to the old story, that he must have the spirits or
ihe porter, because he likes them. But whatever be the motive or
the pretext which induces the persons to whom I refer, to go
into the public-house, if once they have crossed its threshold,
there is no getting them out again until it is time to return
home : there they enjoy, if enjoyment it raay be called, their
Greenwich Fair. All the public-houses on the road frora London
to Greenwich were, at the last Easter Fair, so much cramraed
with custoraers who had been on their way to the fair, or were
on their I'eturn from it, that the windows were literally blocked
up with them.
But not to attempt any further description of Greenwich Fair,
let me advert for a moraent, in conclusion, to the raoral tenden
cies of that fair. I ara sure the facts I have stated, and the
efforts I have made to describe the scenes which are to be wit
nessed during the three days at Easter, and the three at Mid
summer, on which the fair is held, must have satisfied every
Reflecting mind that nothing could be more injurious to the
morals of the parties who take part in those scenes. They
engender and foster habits of idleness, frivolity, intemperance,
and dissipation of every kind. They deaden every dehcate and
amiable feeling, and inspire notions and lead to practices which
are altogether unworthy of rational beings. Thousands of youths
of both sexes have had to date their physical as well as moral ruin
from attendance at the fairs in the metropolis and its vicinity.
Every one knows how difficult it is to eradicate a taste for such
scenes when once formed : it must be gratified at all hazards.
It never can be satiated : the more the craving after such things
is fed, the more urgent and large in its demands does it become.
A love of drink and debauchery, in all their varied forms, when
once inspired, is very rarely to be abated, much less annihilated,
until both the mind and the constitution are irretrievably ruined
by its indulgence.
I am convinced there are thousands of both sexes who are now
liring in the greatest destitution and wretchedness, who have to
date their misery from their attendance in early life on metro
politan and suburban fairs. Some such instances have come
under ray own personal observation ; nor could it be otherwise.
It is impossible for young persons whose judgment is immature
and whose moral principles want vigour, to witness the scenes
which are exhibited on such occasions, and to take part in the
transactions which take place, without doing the morals of the
individuals great injury. And while there is so much to con
demn in these fairs, there is not a single thing to commend. I
do not know of one rational amUsement araong aU the exhi-

320 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
bitions which are to be witnessed. I would be the last man to
prohibit the youth of either sex from enjoying their arauseraents
and recreations ; but surely there could be no difficulty in point
ing out the raeans of their rationally and innocently enjoying
themselves at particular seasons of the year, instead of their
patronizing the " shows " and " sights" which are to be witnessed
at metropolitan and suburban fairs.
The inference from aU this is plain. The civil authorities
ought to put an end to such fairs. They are only the relics
of a barbarous age, and were established for the sake of an igno
rant and brutahzed people. They are altogether unworthy the
nineteenth century : they are especially unworthy a civihzed and
Christian land. They are a positive reflection on the inteUigence
and moral feeling of those in authority over us. To abohsh
them would be to wipe out a foul blot which now stains the
character of the country, and would confer a lasting ^bene
fit on the lower classes of the metropolitan comraunity. And
that benefit would soon be visible in the improved morals and
ameliorated condition of thousands of those classes. I am no
advocate for the interposition of the magistrate in the amuse
ments of the people, as a general principle ; but where the
obvious and admitted tendency of public amusements is of a
most immoral nature, then, indeed, a case is made out for
magisterial interference.
In the mean time, and until the civil authorities shall see it to
be their duty to interfere, and put down the remaining fairs in
the metropolis and suburbs, let me impress on parents, masters,
and mistresses, that a great moral responsibility is incurred by
them when they do not, in cases where they could do it with effect,
interpose the shield of their authority to prevent their children
or their servants frora visiting such places. How parents, who
have any regard for the morals or well-being of their offspring,
can allow thera to visit fairs, is to me altogether unaccountable.
Even in the cases of servants, masters and mistresses, who have
any regard for the welfare of their domestics, ought to discoun
tenance, in the most marked manner, their visits to such places.

821

CHAPTER X,
COUUTS OF REQUESTS.
Their origin and objects— Their number, and for what districts— The Westminster
Court of Requests — The Court of Bequests for the Borough — The Court of Re
quests for the City— The Court of Requests for the Tower Hamlets — The County
Court of Requests — Mode of proceeding in the Courts of Requests — Number of
suits instituted for various sums — Curious cases decided at these courts — Instances
given — The Useless Cradle — Board, Lodging, and Love— The Ultra-Radical Pa
triot—The Cambric Pooket-Handkerchief— An Affecting Case — Utility of Courts
, of Requests.
' . Courts of Conscience, or Requests, as they are now generally
, termed, are very iraportant institutions in the estiraation of the
lower classes, though known only by name to those in affluent or
easy circumstances. They were first estabUshed about 800 years
ago. They are^Courts for the recovery of small debts by an easier,
more summary, and cheaper process than exists in the ordinary
courts of law. I shall, in an after part of the chapter, describe
the course of proceeding adopted by the plaintiff when prose
cuting his claims in one of these Courts, which are, in the hands
of persons who can properly administer their affairs, ex
ceedingly exceUent institutions ; and it is raatter of wonder that
they are not much raore general throughout the country. The
entire nuraber in England and Wales does not exceed sixty-three
or sixty-four. The nuraber in London is five. They are, begin
ning at the west-end of the metropolis, the Court of Requests
for Westminster — the Court of Requests for the borough of
Southwark — the Court of Requests for the city of London — the
Court of Requests for the Tower Hamlets — and the Court of
Requests for the county of Middlesex. In the constitution and
powers of these courts there is a very considerable dissimUarity,
which I shall afterwards point out.
The Westminster Court of Requests is situated in Castle -
street, Leicester- square. The administration of its affairs is
intrusted to 242 individuals, caUed commissioners. _ Theseniust
be aU respectable rate-payers, residing within the jurisdiction of
the Court, That jurisdiction extends over the parishes of St.
Margaret, St. John the EvangeUst, St. Paul, Covent Garden,
St. Clement Danes, St. Mary-le-Strand, St. George, Hanover-
square ; St. James, and St. Anne ; and over that part of the

322

SKETCHES IN LONDON.

Duchy of Lancaster which adjoins the liberty of Westminster,
It wiU thus be seen that the jurisdiction of this Court is very ex
tensive. Formerly it was deemed advisable to have two Courts
of Requests for Westminster ; but two or three years since, one
of them was abolished, and its business transferred to the court
in Castle-street. The commissioners are chosen by the vestries
of the various parishes in the district. The period for which
they are elected is only one year ; but they can be set aside at
any time by the vestries. As the duties of the office are per
forraed gratuitously, many of the comraissioners very rarely
attend. Others take great pleasure in presiding over the Court,
and are very seldora absent. The average nuraber to be seen on
the bench is frora five to eight. The Court has no power to ad
judicate in cases above forty shillings. It is armed with the
power of enforcing its decisions by imprisoning the debtor for
any period not exceeding seven days.
The Westminster Court of Requests can boast of a very fair
antiquity. It was first constituted nearly a century since. There
are two principal clerks, chosen by the commissioners, for assist
ing in conducting the affairs of the court. Their remuneration
is not by fixed salary, but by certain fees on the various cases
which are tried. In a parliamentary return moved for [in the
year 1835, the following statement on this point is given : " The
emoluments of the Westminster Coprt of Requests consist of
what remains therein, after paying the rent, taxes, and repairs
of two court-houses ; the salaries of the under clerks and officers,
and for the printing, stationery, and other expenses incidental
thereto ; and are divided amongst the High Bailiff of Westmin
ster and the two principal clerks of the said court ; and were, for
the five preceding years, as follows :

YEARS.

total amount of

HIGH bailiff's

BACH clerk's

EMOLUMENTS.

PROPORTION.

PROPORTION.

£. s. d.

£. S. d.

£. s. d.

1880.

1642 19 11

446 0 3^

598 9 9|-

1831.

1221 3 9

833 13 11

443 14 11

1832.

1095 18 2

815 8 1

390 5 Of

1833.

1078 17 6

813 12 8i

383 2 41-

1834.

996 6 7

280 10 7i

' 357 17 m

This would give an annual average amount of emoluments to
each of the two principal clerks of about 400/. ; but as one of
the Courts — the one, namely, which used to sit in Vine-street,
Piccadilly — has been since abolished, the reduction in the ex
penses must, I should suppose, be sufficiently great to make thfl

COURTS OF REQUESTS, 823
emoluments of each of the principal clerks of" the Westminster
juQurt of Requests worth at least 450Z. a-year.
The number of cases tried in this court in the course of a. year,
are, on an average, about 18,000. In 1830, the number tried
was 15,439 ; in 1831, 13,766 ; in 1832, 14,429 ; in 1833, 13,567 ;
and in 1834, it was 12,790. I have not access to official informa
tion respecting the nuraber of cases tried in either of the inter
vening years. The average yearly expenses consequent on the
hearing of the cases is, as near as may be, 2000Z. ; raaking the
average expense of each case to be about three shillings and six
pence. An attempt has been raad^ by the clerks to ascertain
the average amount of money sued for in the course of a year ;
but as a great many cases are settled out of court, a^fter the sum
monses have been issued, and the various amounts in such cases
not being entered on the books, the clerks are afraid to
liazard even a conjecture on the subject-
The Southwark Court of Requests has a raore extensive juris
diction than that of Westminster, It embraces the town and
borough of Southwark, Lambeth, and the eastern half of the
hundred of Brixton. It possesses the power of imprisoning the
person in execution, but not for a longer period than one hundred
days. It is competent to hear and decide all cases under five
pounds. Five comraissioners are necessary to constitute a Court
when the debt is above forty shUlings ; and three, when the debt
is under that sum. Th^ number of commissioners is 1 52. They
are chosen in the same way as tlie commissioners for the Westr
minster Court of Requests, When the court was established,
I have not been g^ble to ascertain. The average number of suits
iljstituted in this court every year, is rather above 16,000. Per
haps there is no other Court of Requests in the kingdom in
winch there is so slight a variation in the number of cases tried,
as in the Court of Requests for Southwark. This fact wiU ap^
pear from the following statement of the respective numbers for
the five consecutive years preceding the year 1835. In 1830,
the number was 16.441 ; iii 1831, 16,751 ; in 1832, 16,192; in
1833, it was 16,250 ; and in 1834, it was 16,450. The total
average amount of debts sued for each year is about 22,000/. ;
and the annual average expenses of prosecuting this amountof
debts is close on 4000/., giving, as in the case of the Westmin
ster fJourt of Requests, the expenses of each case at somewhere
about three shiUings and sixpence. The Southwark Court usu
ally sits two days each week. It begins its sittings at ten o'clock,
and rises at half-past three. It is divided into two branches ; an
arrangement indispensable for getting through, the great quan
tity of business, the transaction of which devolves on the com
missioners. Instead of the chief bailiff for Southwark, and the
z2

324 sketches in London.
two principal clerks, as in the case of the Westminster Court of
Requests, deriving their emoluments from fees on the cases which
are tried before the Court, they have severally a fixed yearly
salary. That of the chief bailiff is 500/., while one of the two
principal clerks, namely, Mr. Meymott, has 750/. The other
chief clerk, viz., Mr. George Drew, receives the same amount
of yearly salary as the chief baiUff, which I have stated to be
600/. The Court sits in Swan-street.
The Court of Requests for the City of London, as re-constituted
under an act passed a few years since, has not the power of im
prisoning for debt until after an execution has been issued
against the goods, and the officer has raade a return in writing
under his hand that the party has no goods, or not sufficient
goods. The jurisdiction of the Court is confined to the city of
London. Formerly it was only competent to adjudicate on sums
under five pounds ; but two years since an act was passed ex
tending its authority to all sums under ten pounds. This was
understood to be only an experiment on the part of the legisla
ture, with the view of seeing whether or not satisfactory deci
sions were likely to be given by courts constituted like Courts of
Requests ; and whether there could, if I may use the expression,
be a union of " good" with cheap and expeditious justice. The ex
periment has been completely successful. It is doubtful, indeed,
whether, on the whole, raore equitable decisions could have been
given in the disputed cases, had they, as formerly, been tried be
fore the superior courts. The consequence in all probabihty
will be, that the power of Courts of Requests generally wiU be
extended to all sums under ten pounds ; a circumstance which
will be conferring a great benefit on the community. It is ques
tionable, indeed, whether it raight not be advisable^to extend the
authority of these courts to all suras under twenty pounds. It is
certain, that originally they were competent to the adjustment of
all disputed sums under the above amount ; for it is to be recol-
lected,_ that three hundred years ago, when Courts of Requests
were instituted, two pounds were equal to at least twenty
pounds of our present money. This, however, is a point which
it would be inconvenient to discuss in this place.
The number of comraissioners in the City Court of Requests,
varies from time to tirae. The City being divided into twenty-
five wards, comraissioners from each ward sit for one calendar
month in every two years ; the month of October in every other
year having two wards. _ The number of commissioners ap
pointed by each ward varies, according to the size of the respec
tive wards, from 25 to 50. Three commissioners constitute a
court in the case of all claims under two pounds; seven are
requisite when the amount in dispute exceeds that sum.

COURTS OP REQUESTS. 325
The elerks of this Court receive no fees whatever : they have
fixed permanent salaries. The principal clerk has a salary of
400/. per annum ; the first assistant clerk receives 800/. a-year
for his services ; and the second clerk has 200/.
The Court sits twice a-week : on Wednesdays and Saturdays.
It is divided into two branches, as in the case of the Southwark
Court of Requests. If the amount of business transacted in
this court goes on diminishing as rapidly as it has done for
several years past, it will soon become very trifling indeed. For
the five years previous to 1835, the extent of the decrease in the
business of the court will be ascertained from the subjoined state
ment : — In 1830, the nuraber of cases decided was 9502 ; in 1881,
it was 8825 ; m 1832, it feU down to 8161 ; in 1888, to 6951 ;
and in 1834, it was reduced to 6560 ; being a diminution to the
extent of nearly one-third in the short space of five years. What
the cause of this rapid and regular decrease in the business of
this court is, I have not the means of knowing ; neither have I
yet been able to ascertain whether the extension of the powers
of the court to all cases under 10/. has as materially contributed
to its regaining its former amount of business, as was expected.
The total amount of debts sued for in those years is thus given :
In 1830, 15,546/. 14s. 6d.; in 1881, 14,769/. 10s. 2d.; in 1882,
13,429/. 6s. lOd. ; in 1833, 11,901/. 7s.; and in 1834, 10,702/.
3s. id. The total amount of costs incurred during the same
years was 2437/. Is. 3^. in 1880 ; 2254/. 17s. 4d. in 1881 ; 2082/.
4s. 8d. in 1832; 1777/. 10s. 6d. in 1833 ; and 1645/. 15s. 3^. in
1834. The Court sits in a street leading from Basinghall-street
to the courts at Guildhall.
The Court of Requests for the Tqwer Hamlets is of the same
antiquity as the Westminster and Southwark courts. It was at
first restricted to adjudication on sums under forty shiUings ; but
five or six years since, an act was passed extending its powers to
any sum not exceeding five pounds. It still does a great deal
more business than any of the other courts. Sorae years ago,
it did half as much as all the others put together. The fact
of so immense a nuraber of oases being brought before this^Court
is easily accounted for. Its jurisdiction not only embraces a
great extent of space, and a vast amount of population, but that
jurisdiction happens to include by far the poorer neighbourhoods
of the metropohs. When I mention that among the districts
within its jurisdiction are Whitechapel, Shoreditch, Norton Fol-
gate, Bethnal Green, Mile-end, Bow, ShadweU, Wapping, Rat-
cliff, Poplar, and Stepney, I am sure the reader, who knows any
thing of London, can be at no loss to account for the immense
number of small debt cases which are brought before the Tower
Hamlets' Court of Requests. Ten years ago, the average num-

326 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
ber of cases decided at this court was nearly 30,000 every year.
Since then, the number has been decreasing at a very rapid rate.
In 1831, I find the nuraber of cases disposed of was 25,890; in
1832, it was 24,194 ; in 1833, the latter number had undergone
a reduction of nearly 7000, the returns for that year only giving
17,318 cases. In the following year, namely, 1834, thei diminu
tion seems to have been to about half the extent of the preced
ing year; for the number given is 13,818; whUe in the year
1835, the latest period to which the returns have been tnade to
government, the nuraber is still further reduced to 11,760. It
will thus be seen that, in the short space of five years, a decrease
frora 25,890 cases to 11,764, has taken place in the number tried
in the Court of Requests for the Tower Hamlets, which is more
than one-half. To account for this very singular diminution, is more
than I can undertake to do. Whether the circumstance, that for
some years past the comraissioners have not, in point of fact, had
the power of imprisoning those who cannot or will not pay, though
tjiey possess that power nominally * ; whether, I say, this fact
has anything to do with the decrease, I cannot tell. It may be,
that the knowledge that the commissioners are not in a condition
to imprison debtors, and that consequently the chances of reco
vering the sums sued for are diminished, has had the effect of
making the smaller class of tradesmen more cautious in giving
credit ; and the sarae consideration may also have indisposed
the creditors to prosecute.
The commissioners of this court are 240 in number. They are
annually chosen by the parishes embraced in the jurisdiction of
the Court. It is supposed that the average number that attends
is twenty. The court-days are Tuesday and Friday. Its lo
cality is Osborne-street, Whitechapel.
The Tower Hamlets' Court of Requests affords an apt
illustration of the well-known adage: " Most work, least
pay." The principal clerks, though they are much harder
worked than the clerks of any of the other Courts of Re
quests in London, have the smallest pay of any. They have
only 300/, each, without one sixpence in the shape of fees.
'^ I come now to the Middlesex County Court of Requests, which
is situated in Kingsgate-street, Holborn. Its constitution is
altogether different frora that of any of the other courts to which
I have referred. _ Mr. Sergeant Heath, or his deputy, Mr. Du
bois, with the assistance of three individuals called juryraen, are
* This, perhaps, requires a word of e.-!:planation. The statute, establishing the
court, invests the commissioners with the power of imprisoning for forty days ',
but the magistrates for the city of London and the county of Middlesex having
refused to permit debtors from the court to be received into the prisons under their
control, the power is nominal only.

courts op requests. 327
the sole dispensers of justice in it. The trio of jurymen are usu
ally men of the humblest class of tradesmen ; a fact which may
be at once discovered not only by their wardrobe, but by their
general demeanour. With few exceptions, they look as if they
were quite unacquainted with the forms and attributes of the trial
by jury. It is due, however, both to Mr. Sergeant Heath and
Mr. Dubois to say, that they are generaUy exceedingly clear
and always strictly impartial, in submitting the various cases to
theii^ consideration ; so that their own innate notions of what is
right must necessarily, in the majority of cases, conduct them to
Siich a conclusion as the claims of justice require. These jury
men are chosen by the sheriff of the county. There is a new set,
or, as an author would say, a new series, every court- day. It
is sometimes highly amusing to see them deliberating — if delibe
ration it can be called, where the verdict is almost invariably
returned within half a minute of the conclusion of the judge's
address ; it is, I say, soraetiraes highly arausing to see thera de-
Jtberating as to the conclusion to which they ought to come.
How it happens, I know not ; but I have always observed that
the juryman who is in the middle, sits up in the miserable box
allotted to them as erectly, as if it were one of his special duties
to do so ; and that his co-jurors on either side, just before agree
ing on their verdict, stretch out their necks sufficiently far to en
able them to look each other in the face, after their heads have
been brought within eight or ten inches of each other. The appear
ance of their craniums on such occasions always reminds me of
three stars — thus*#*. But let that pass. Unaccustomed asmen in
their lowly sphere of life must necessarily be to the appellation of
gentlemen, it is not to be wondered at if they should manifest
extreme gratification when Mr. Sergeant Heath or Mr. Dubois,
arrayed in their barrister's gown and bands, while their heads
are ornamented or disfigured — whichever the reader pleases —
with a wig of ample dimensions — addresses thera with the most
entire gravity, as " Gentlemen of the jury." It has sometimes
afforded me a positive pleasure to see the happiness of the jury
men who assist in dispensing justice at the Middlesex Court of
Requests, while their ears were being greeted with the appeUa-
tion of " gentlemen of the jury." Whether it is merely imagi
nation on my part, or not, I cannot teU ; but I have always sup-
that Mr. Sergeant Heath lays particular emphasis on the word
"gentlemen." Mr. Sergeant Heath was appointed to the presidency, or judge
ship — eaU it which you please — of the County Court of Requests,
in 1819 ; so that he has been nearly twenty years engaged in the
dispensation of justice in Kingsgate-street. He has no fixed
salary; but he has what is much better than any ordinary

328 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
salary ; for he has all the fees consequent on the administration of
the affairs of the court to himself. To be sure, he has, as he
himself says, to pay out of these fees the expenses of the pre-
raises in Kingsgate-street, the salaries of deputy, clerks, criers,
and other officers, if other officers there be ; but after he has
done aU this, there is a very handsorae residuum behind. I can
not say — I am told nobody but himself can — what the exact
amount of his annual emoluments from the court are ; but I am
assured they cannot be under 1500/. ; while the probabihty is,
they are nearer 2000/. One day, when I was in the court,
about a month since, no fewer than four hundred summonses
were issued, which, at one shilling and fourpence each, would give
thirty pounds for that day alone. And as the Court sits about
one hundred days every year, or twice every week ; and as fur
ther expenses are incurred on a large proportion of the sum
monses, it may easily be conceived that the learned sergeant has
a very lucrative berth of it. As I have not been able to obtain
access to any official accounts relative to the average nuraber of
cases now tried annually at this court, I will not hazard any con
jecture on the subject: some years since, the average nuraber
was about 12,000.
The Kingsgate Court of Requests exhibits quite a scene on
the raorning of every Monday and Thursday. The very place,
indeed, may be said to constitute a scene of itself. It is a most
miserable-looking place, whether viewed from the outside or in
side. It has a very dilapidated appearance outside : it is an old
desolate-looking building. Mr. Heath pronounced it to be in
a state of entire disrepair, on his becoming officially connected
with it nineteen years ago, and he then intimated to the House
of Commons the necessity of erecting a new court altogether.
His views on the subject must, however, have soon after
undergone a change ; for the court still continues in pre
cisely the same state as it was then. It is a very commodious
place inside ; capable, I should think, of easily accommodating,
in a standing position, five hundred persons. I have seen as
many as three hundred in it at a time, and yet there was ample
unoccupied space. A more gloomy, ruinous, miserable-looking
place inside is scarcely to be seen. It is in striking keeping with
the condition of the great majority of those who have business to
transact in it. A more ragged assemblage, or one on whose coun
tenances, as well as exterior generally, the genius of destitution
and wretchedness is more visibly impressed, it has never been my
lot to witness. The spectacle is painful to behold : the appear
ance of most of the parties is that of squalor personified. Their
countenances are blanched, except, indeed, in those cases in
which the appUcation of water to them is of so rare occurrence

Outside.

COURTS OP REQUESTS. 329
that the actual complexion is concealed from the view. See what
numbers of wretched raothers are there, with children in their
arms, and children at their feet ! The miseries of the parents are
inherited by the young innocents : the latter are a mass of rags.
Poor things ! they know not what warmth or comfort is : the
cravings of their appetites are but seldom gratified. To have a
full meal — I speak, of course, of those of them that are weaned —
would, indeed, be an era in their youthful existence. The sraile
and the laugh which are so characteristic of their period of life
when the stern hand of adversity does not press upon them, are
looked for in vain in the countenances of the children who hang
about their mothers in the Kingsgate-street Court of Requests.
Sickliness, and want, and suffering, are so distinctly raarked in
their innocent faces, that no one with the slightest pretensions
to huraanity could look on them without feeling the deepest
compassion for them. There they have sometimes to stand, as
have also their mothers, for two or three hours ; and this, too,
in cases without number, without having tasted food that morn
ing. If charitable individuals on whom Providence has con
ferred the riches of this world, are anxious to find out, in a
metropolis in which there is so much imposition and deception,
real objects for their benevolence, let such persons attend the
County Court of Requests on a Monday or Thursday morning,
and before they are an hour there, they will meet with many mi
serable creatures who are as legitimate objects of charity as any
wretches on whom the sun ever shone. But this is a point to which
I shall have occasion to advert again, before closing the chapter.
And yet, amidst the scenes of destitution and wretchedness
which are to be witnessed in this court, you see no proofs of com
miseration on the part of any one present. The miserable crea
tures who are summoned are too much occupied with their own
wretchedness to admit of their passing a thought on the woes of
others around them ; while the hearts of the parties at whose
instance they are summoned, are thoroughly steeled against all
sympathy or pity for their victiras. As regards the officers of
the court, again; they are so habituated to sjiectacles of the
deepest wretchedness, that they are scarcely conscious of see
ing them at aU. You hear them caU out the names of the parties
who are to appear before the Court, with the most entire care
lessness. AU is bustle and confusion as well as wretchedness in
the place. The one-half, in moving from place to place, tread
upon the toes of the other half. Some are constantly advancing
to the inner part of the com-t— which I shaU have to describe
presently,— while others are as constantiy retiring from it. In
short, there is a perpetual movement in court : to this move
ment; the bustUng officiousness of the servants often contributes

330 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
in no small degree. In the middle of the place there is a wooden
erection, having a good deal of the appearance of a pulpit, which
one of the officers of the court ascends, and then proclaims aloud
the names of the parties whose cases have reached a certain stage
in their progress towards adjudication. At the farthest part of
the court, and directly fronting the door, is a small apartment — ^
not, I should think, exceedrag fifteen feet square — which is spe
cially set apart for the adrainistration of justice. Like the body
of the court, it is a miserable dingy-looking place : the windows
never— not even by accident — look clean. At the farthest end,
after you enter at a side-door, you see an easy antiquated chair,
the covering of which is considerably the worse for the wear.
Before this chair is placed a sraall wooden erection, which reminds
one of the desks which the parish-schoolmasters in Scotland,
have in one of the corners of their school-rooms. Mr. Sergeant
Heath, I understand, dignifies this humble wooden affair with the
narae of " the bench of justice." In that arm-chair, and with his
desk before him, sits the learned sergeant, his ruddy counte
nance beaming with good nature, yet indicating all the fancied
dignity of a monarch on his throne. His wig and his bands
rather awkwardly contrast with his self-complacent manner.
The first article is but sparingly powdered, and the second badge
of judgeship partakes of the sinoky appearance of the place gene
rally. On the learned gentleman's right hand sits an intelligent
pleasant-looking clerk ; while three forms, of the most homely
description, seven or eight feet long, are tenanted by pon
tiffs, defendants, and others, mingling together in perfect Con
fusion. They are all impatient spectators of what is going
forward, because they are anxious to know what their own fate
is to be. On the left of Mr. Sergeant Heath are the jury ; con
sisting in most cases, as before remarked, of three plain simple
like men, who, regarding the learned gentleman as oracular on
all matters pertaining to the court, rarely dissent from his view
of the case, as indicated in his summing-up and charge. In a
range of seats, or rather forms, adjoining the jury-box, are
always to be seen fifteen or twenty persons, who appear in the
various capacities of witnesses, friends, or uninterested spec
tators. At the end of an antiquated table, directly opposite the
learned sergeant or his deputy, Mr. Dubois, stand the plaintiff
and defendant, and their witnesses, when the last are giving
their testimony. Here the opposing parties wrangle with one
another, and very often interchange, notwithstanding the repeat
ed interpositions of the Court, some remarkably choice specimens
of abuse. Innumerable are the amusing scenes which have been
witnessed in this spot. Two or three specimens of these, I wUl
give in an after part of the chapter. On the table Hes a large

La side.

COURTS OP REQUESTS. 331
sized New Testament, bound in calf-skin ; but the appearance of
the binding ig^ aU the worse for the wear. In some places, you
see the manifest effects of too much kissing. Everybody has
heard the story of the Pope's toe being nearly kissed away by
the frequency and energy with which it is kissed by his devotees :
what wonder, then — if the story about the pontiff's toe be true-
that the binding of the New Testament which belongs to the
establishment in KingSgate-street, should be considerably im
paired by the extensive system of kissing which prevails in that
court on the Monday and Thursday of every week ? How many
lips have been impressed on that particular copy of the New Tes
tament ! How many false baths, alas ! have been given on it !
This is no uncharitable judgment. No man who has ever been
in Kingsgate-street court could help being shocked, while he has
witnessed the swearing to opposite facts, which is of such frequent
occurrence on the part of plaintiff and defendant.
For the information of those who may be unacquainted with
the subject, it may be right to describe now, in as few words as
possible, the process by which a suit in the County Court- of Re
quests may be prosecuted towards a conclusion. First of all, you
go and take out your summons, which will cost you one shilling,
and fourpence. This is served by one of the officers of the court
on the party against whom you have brought the action. Three
clear days must be allowed the defendant before he is to appear
in the presence of Mr. Sergeant Heath or Mr. Comraissioner
Dubois. If he appear in answer to the summons, the expenses
of the action, which, as in other law courts, always fall on the
losing party, are as moderate as the most inveterate Benthamite
or lover of cheap justice, could desire. They will only be three
shillings and sixpence ; two-and-twopence being charged for the
hearing of the case. If the party summoned do not appear, then
you get your order against him, which will cost you two shillings.
If the order does not insure his appearance that day eight days,
then you get it made absolute on the payment of two shillings more,
when the case is decided against the party without being heard ;
and after some other little but necessary forms are gone through,
you can attach his person. The expenses in prosecuting a case
up to the last stage in this court, cannot exceed eight shiUings
and tenpence.
The proceedings and expenses in the other Courts of Requests
are so very simUar, that it is unnecessary to refer to them in
detaU. The number of suits instituted for amounts under forty shU
lings, where the jurisdiction of the courts extends to aU sums
under five pounds, compared with the number above forty shil
lings, must have struck every one who has turned his attention

332 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
to the subject. I have not access to very recent official inforraa
tion on this point ; but in the Southwark Court of Requests,
sorae time ago, the nuraber of suraraonses issued out of the court,
in one year, for debts under forty shUlings, was 10,051 ; while
for debts above that sum, the number was only 3331. The nura
ber of attachraents on debts under forty shiUings was 1623 ; and
for sums above forty shiUings, 683. The number of executions
on debts not exceeding forty shiUings was, in the sarae year,
2872 ; for sums above forty shillings, it was 1875. The nuraber
of persons sent to prison at the instance of this Court of Re
quests, in the year in question, was 830. So that if we take this
as a fair specimen of the proportion of the irnprisonments to the
nuraber of suraraonses issued, or the suits instituted, that propor
tion would be as one to sixteen. In other words, out of every
sixteen persons suramoned to the Courts of Requests one goes
to prison, either because he cannot or wUl not pay the debt. Of
the 13,381 suits instituted in the Southwark Court of Requests,
in the year referred to, only 10,389 were heard and determined
by the Court ; the remaining 2992 were settled by the parties
out of doors. There are always a great many debtors who resist
payment to the last moment ; that is to say, until the executions
are on the eve of being enforced. In the year aUuded to, the
number who did not pay until " executed," as the technical
phrase is, was 1553.*
I have referred in a former part of the chapter, to the odd
and amusing illustrations of huraan character which are so often
afforded at the London Courts of Requests. In attempting to
convey sorae idea of a few of those cases, it is proper to remark,
that no description can do justice to them, as so much depends
on the looks, tones, gesture, and manner altogether, of the par
ties. The first case may be entitled
THE USELESS CRADLE.
A little, massy-headed, bushy-haired man, with a bluff face,
answered to the narae of Adara Crofts, the moraent the crier of
* Since the Bbove was written, I have got access to the foUowing interesting infor
mation i-especting the imprisonment of parties sued in the Southwark Court of Re
quests. It appears that from August 1823 to 1831, a period of eight years, the
number of debtors committed to the County Gaol was 6104 ; and the number to the
Borough Compter was 1992 ; making a total of 8096. Of the 6104 committed to the
County Gaol, there were 2047 whose debts did not exceed twenty shillings ; 1 798
whose debts did not exceed forty shillings ; 996 whose debts did not exceed sixty shil
lings ; and 1263 whose debts did not exceed one hundred shillings. Of the same
number, 4482 were imprisoned for a period not exceeding twenty days; 828 for a
period not exceeding forty days ; 380 for a period not exceeding sixty days j and 414
for a period not exceeding one hundred days. In the case of those committed to the
Borough Compter, the results are similar.

COURTS OP REQUESTS. 333
the court pronounced it. He appeared before the commissioners
with the view of soliciting their aid to enable him to accomphsh
what he had failed to effect by any means within his own reach,
namely, to compel or induce — ^he did not care which — a Mrs.
Mortimer, a plain-looking woman, seemingly about two-score
years of age, to pay him the sum of seven shillings and sixpence,
which he alleged she owed him ; but which position she totally
denied. Commissioner — ^What are you, Mr. Crofts ?
Mr. Crofts — I am Mr. Crofts, Sir, please your honour.
Commissioner— I did not ask your name.
Mr. Crofts — I beg your vorship's pardon ; I thought you did.
Commissioner — What I wish to know is, what are you ?
Mr. Crofts (with great surprise) — What am I ?
Commissioner — Yes ; what are you 2 The question is a very
plain one.
Mr. Crofts — Well, Sir ; and didn't I give you a plain answer 2
Commissioner — You hav'n't given me any answer at all.
Mr. Crofts (increasingly surprised) — Your vorship's surely
mistaken. Didn't I say I was Mr. Crofts?
Comraissioner — But how do you live ?
Mr. Crofts (looking quite enlightened) — Oh ! that's what you
mean. Sir, is it I
Commissioner — That's what I mean. Pray, then, answer the
question. Mr. Crofts — Oh, certainly, please your honour. Why, then,
I live by my profession.
Commissioner (looking very much surprised) — You don't mean
to say you're a professional man I
Mr. Crofts (with a self-complacent smUe) — I certainly do,
your vorship.
Commissioner — And to which of the professions may you
belong ?
Mr. Crofts — To the profession of a cradle dealer. (Roars of
laughter.) Commissioner (greatly surprised) — To the what profession ?
Mr. Crofts — To the profession of a dealer in cradles. (Renew
ed laughter.)
The several commissioners on the bench looked at each other,
and heartily joined in the general laugh.
Commissioner — Well, this is the first time that I have heard
dealing in cradles dignified with the name of a profession. But
let that pass ; pray what is your claim against this woman?
Mr. Crofts (smoothing his hair with his hand)— I'U teU you in
as few words as I can, Sir.
Commissioner— WeU, be as brief as possible.

334 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
Mr. Crofts — You must know, your vorships, as I makes and
seUs the best cradles as vas ever made or sold ; and this 'ere
voman, who had only been married six months, comes past my
shop where I always keeps a large assortment of cradles of every
variety and at all prices, and all warranted town-made, and the
best quality as 
Commissioner (interrupting hira) — Mr. Crofts, have the good
ness to confine yourself to the case before the Court, and don't
wander into an eulogium on the merits of your cradles.
Mr. Crofts — I beg your honour's pardon for transgressing
(digressing) ; I'll not forget your polite hint. Sir. (Loud laugh
ter.) Well, as I vas a-sayin', she comes one day past ray shop
door — and I should tell your honours that her husband was with
her — and says she to rae, says she, " What is the price of your
cradles!" Says I to her, "Do you want a cradle, Ma'am?"
Says she to me, " Of course I do, or I would not ask you the
price of the articles." " Well, dear, I don't think you do at
present^'' suggested Mr. Mortimer, mildly. " I must be the best
judge of that myself, I should fancy," answered Mrs. Mortimer,
with a contemptuous toss of the head. " No doubt, you must,
Ma'am," said I, anxious, as your vorships will readily believe, to
do business. " Very weU, love," said Mr. Mortimer, soothingly;
" if you think you want a cradle, have one by all means." " I
may require it by-and-by, and it's just as well to have it in the
house beforehand," remarked Mrs. Mortimer, in a subdued tone.
And, says I, " You're quite right. Ma'am ; by all means, you — "
Commissioner — Pray, Mr. Crofts, be so kind as to come to the
debt at once, and don't waste the time of the Court with extra
neous raatter of this kind.
Mr. Crofts — VeU, your worship, I'll tell you the remainder of
it in half a minit. Mrs. Mortimer steps into ray shop, and point
ing to a particular cradle, said, " Vat's the price of that 'ere?"
" Nine shiUings, and not a farden more nor less," says I. " It's
not worth it," says she. " I teU you vat it is. Ma'am ; if you get
as good a cradle as that von in this 'ere town at the money, I'll
make a present of it to you gratis for nothing." (Loud laugh
ter.) " I'll only give you  "
The Court— Really this is insufferable trifling with the Court.
Don't teU us anything about what you asked, or what she offered,
but say at once, did the defendant buy the cradle, and what did
she give you for it ?
Mr. Crofts — Bless your honours' hearts, she didn't give me
nothin' at aU for it, and that's the reason vy I have brought her
here to-day. (Renewed laughter.)
Commissioner— TeU us, then, what she engaged to give 2
Mr. Crofts— She engaged to give me seven-and-sixpence, and
to 

COURTS OF REQUESTS. 335
Mrs. Mortimer^It's all false, your honours ; and so it is ; I
never bought the cradle at aU.
Mr. Mortimer — It's all false, your vorships ; she never bought
the cra.dle at all.
Mr. Crofts (surprised, and with much energy) — There, now ;
there's a couple for your vorships ! She did buy the cradle.
Mrs. Mortimer (with great vehemence) — I did not, you lying
rascal. You sent it to us without being ordered.
Here the Court suggested to the defendant that she must not
aUow herself to be carried away by any temporary heat, and
Mrs. Mortimer nodded to the Court in token of her intention
to act on the suggestion.
A Commissioner — Did you, Mr. Crofts, send the cradle to
the defendant without her having concluded a bargain with
you first ?
Mr. Crofts — I'll tell you how it is, Sir. I said the harticle
was as veil, worth nine shillings as it was worth twopence-half
penny. " Seven-and-sixpence is the outside value of it," says
she. " Let me send it to you, and you can pay it at any other
time," says I. " Seven-and-sixpence," again said she ; " I
vouldn't give a farthin' raore for it." And so saying, her hus
band, who spoke very little, and herself quitted my premises.
I sent her the cradle next day saying I would accept her offer,
Commissioner — When was this ?
Mr. Crofts — Eighteen months ago.
Mrs. Mortimer — Don't believe him, gentlemen; it was only
seventeen months and sorae odd days. (A laugh.)
Commissioner — Well, Mrs, Mortimer, you appear to have got
the cradle at your own price ; what are the grounds on which
you refuse to pay the money ?
Defendant — I never made the bargain ; he did not accept the
offer when I made it ; and therefore I was not bound to take the
article next day.
Commissioner — But why then did you let the cradle into the
house 2 Why did you not return it at once ?
Mrs. Mortimer — I did not like to be uncivU, your honours ;
but I sent a message to him next day to come and fetch the
cradle away, as I did not vant it. He may have it now.
Mr. Crofts— But 1 von't at this 'ere distance of tirae. She
would now return it, because as how she has no prospect of ever
having a Uttie inhabitant to it. (Peals of laughter, during which
Mrs. Mortimer looked quite savage at the distinguished vender
of cradles.)
Mrs. Mortimer-— You're nothing but an impertinent — —
The Court— Mrs. Mortimer, we cannot allow any such expres
sions ; you must restrain yourself while here.

336 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
Mrs. Mortimer, putting her handkerchief to her eyes, sobbed
out — " It's worry, worry difficult to do, Sir."
It was eventuaUy decided that as Mr. Crofts had not ac
cepted Mrs. Mortimer's first offer, but sent the cradle next day
when she had changed her mind as to the probability of requir
ing a cradle at all as a piece of household furniture, and as the
cradle had never been used, Mr. Crofts raust take back the
article, and try to dispose of it to some other customer.
" To some one who will have use for it," sighed Mrs. Mortimer.
" Vich is more than you ever vill," growled Mr. Crofts, as he
turned about to waddle out of the court, manifestly chop-fallen
at the result of his case. As Mrs. Mortimer left the court, she
was overheard to say to a female acquaintance, that she would
never again bargain for any article merely because she might
possibly at sorae future day want it ; and to express her regret
that she should have priced the cradle, or bought, as she had
done, a quantity of baby's clothes before she was justified in be
lieving they should be required.
BOARD, LODGING, AND LOVE.
The next case called on for decision was, perhaps, still more
ludicrous. A thin-faced vixen-looking woman, evidently ap
proaching her fiftieth anniversary — if, indeed, she had not
already celebrated it — with a visage as dark in the complexion,
and as shrivelled in the appearance, as an Egyptian mummy, —
summoned a rather smart-like personage of more than the usual
altitude, for the sum of 1/. 16s. 6d. The plaintiff gloried in the
name of Sarah Cleek, while the defendant assumed, or really was
baptised in, the fashionable cognomen of ,A.ugustus Standish.
Mr. Dubois (to the plaintiff) — Pray, madam, what are you 2
Plaintiff— I'm Missis Cleek, ray lord ; as honest and wirtuous
a hooman as ever lived, though I should not say it rayself.
Mr. Dubois— I did not ask your narae, nor question your
honesty or virtue. What I want to know is, how you get your
living 2
Mrs. Cleek — I takes in men, your honour.
Mr. Dubois — Do what 2
Mrs. Cleek — Takes in men, your wurtship.
Mr. Augustus Standish (sarcastically, and twltcl;iing a sharp
prominent nasal protuberance which ornamented his face) — She's
spoken the truth. Sir. She does take in men.
Mr. Dubois — Takes in men ! For what purpose, pray 2
Mrs. Cleek — For the purpose of keeping them. Sir.
Mr. Dubois looked quite amazed, as if the whole affair had
been thoroughly uninteUigible to him ; but a juryman speedily

COURTS OP REQUESTS. 337
enlightened his ignorance, by suggesting that the woman simply
meant that she kept lodgers.
" Oh ! I see," said the commissioner, with some emphasis, as
the light broke in on his mind. " Oh ! I see the thing quite
clearly. You're a lodging-house keeper 2
Mrs. Cleek— I keeps lodgings. Sir.
Mr. Dubois — And the defendant, I presume, was one of your
lodgers 2
Mrs. Cleek — That's just it, my lord ; and he was the most
worthless one I ever had.
" You were not always of that opinion, Mrs. Cleek," inter-
.posed Mr. Augustus Standish, casting an expressive glance at
the plaintiff.
]\fer. Dubois (addressing the defendant) — You be silent now.
Sir ; you shaU be heard in your defence presently.
" Very good," said Mr. Augustus Standish, drily. '
" He was so very bad, I presume, that you could not keep
ihim 2" suggested Mr. Duljois, addressing himself to the plaintiff.
" You've just spoken the truth, my lord," answered Mrs. Cleek,
with manifest gratification.
. Mr. Augustus Standish delivered himself of a tremendous groan.
Mr. Dubois — And you have summoned him for arrears of
loard and lodging 2
Mrs. Cleek — Your lordship's right again.
Mr. Dubois — And pray what is the amount 2
" Here it is, ray lord," said Mrs. Cleek, handing Mr. Dubois
a slip of paper, which looked as dirty as if it had just made the
descent of the chimney.
Mr. Dubois (looking at the account) — One pound sixteen
.shillings and sixpence.
.. Mrs. Cleek— That's the sum.
Mr. Dubois (to the defendant)— WeU, Mr. Augustus Stan
dish, how do you propose paying this sum 2
,_ Defendant — Paying it. Sir 2
Mr. Dubois — Yes, paying it !
Defendant — Don't owe the woman a farthing. Sir.
" Oh, you good-for-nothing wagabond !" vociferated Mrs. Cleek,
" How can you say so 2"
' Mr. Dubois— Do you mean to say, then, that you have paid
the amount 2
• Defendant— I never owed her a fraction in my life, Sir.
Mr. Dubois— What ! do you mean to say that you never slept
-and boarded in her house 2
Defendant— I did certainly stay in her house for fifteen or six
teen days ; but that was in the capacity of a friend, not as a
lodger. It was on her own invitation. A A

338 SKETCHES IN LONDON,
Mr. Dubois (to the plaintiff)— Is this the fact, Mrs. Cleek !
, Mrs. Cleek— He's the mouth of a  _ .
" Stop, stop, madam, if yoU please," interrupted Mr. Dubois,
anticipating what was coming ; " there must be no improper lan
guage here. You mean," he continued, " to say It's not true 2"
Mrs. Cleek — There's not a morsel of truth In it, my lord. I
got acquainted with him some months ago, greatly to my sorrow
(here Mrs. Cleek sighed, and attempted to cry) ; and having
told me, about three weeks since, that he was going to quit the
house In which he lodged and boarded, because, as he said, the
landlady wished him to raarry her, which he would not agree to,
as he Uked another landlady better, I said to hira, " Come, and
stay in my house."
Mr. Dubois — I suppose you fancied that you were yourseHtthe
other landlady he liked better 2
Mrs. Cleek held down her head, and sighed out — " WeU, if
I did, he gave rae abundant reason to think so."
Mr. Augustus Standish seemed all this time as miserable as
if he had been on the rack.
Mr. Dubois — But though he accepted your invitation to reside
in your house, he was not so affectionate to you as you had been
led to expect 2
" He's a brute, my lord !" replied Mrs. Cleek, with frightful
emphasis ; and after a momentary pause she added, bursting
into a violent fit of crying, " He is married ; he has a wife In
the country, my lord. It was fortunate I made the discovery,
my lord. We were one day sitting at breakfast together, and
he said, says he, ' Mrs. Cleek, raay I trouble you for another
slice of toast 2' Here I should state," continued Mrs. Cleek, by
way of parenthesis, " that he has an awful stomach, my lord
(loud laughter) : he devoured the toast much faster than I could
make it, and swallowed up everything as vas ever put before him.
(Renewed laughter, mingled with sundry groans and Inward curses
frora Mr. Augustus Standish.) Veil, as I vas a-saying, says he,
' Mrs. Cleek, will you obUge me with another slice of that very
excellent toast?' ^ Certainly, my  '' Before I had finished the
sentence, the postman knocked at the door ; and on my opening
it, ' Mr. Augustus Standish— sixpence-halfpenny,' says he, holdi-
ihg out a letter lo me. I took the letter, and carried it to the
brute, and  ^"
_" Mrs. Cleek, you must be more guarded in your language,"
^aid Mr. Dubois, interrupting the voluble and violent plaintiff.
" I viU, my lord ; and yet I'm so aggrawated that it's not
-wery easy to be calm. VeU," I carried the letter to- — "
.. :'' But pray, madam, what has all this to do with the debt for
which you have summoned the defendant ?" interposed Mr, Du
bois, again interrupting Mrs. Clegk.

COURTS OF IffiClUESTS. 339
" A gr«at deal, my lord, as you shall presently see. I carried
the letter to him, and immediately, on looking at its diree^
tion, the fellow exclaimed, wiolently striking his forehead with
the palm of his hand — ' A letter from my vife, by  ! — From
my sister, I means,' he immediately hadded, correcting himself,
for . the purpose of deceiving me ; but it vould not do. ' Oh !
you wagabond ! you're married, are you?' says I. ' Veil,' says
be, with a terrible groan, ' I am married, Mrs. Cleek ; there's no
good in denying it.' ' You're vorse than a —  to de
ceive and hinjure a helpless female voman like me,' says I, worry
hindignant ; and we had a quarrel, my lord, and I turned him
out of the house ; and thafs the vay in vich he howes me the
money." Mr. Dubois— I don't yet see very clearly the connexion of all
this with the debt of one pound sixteen shillings and sixpence.
However (to Mr. Augustus Standish), youhear the woman's
statement 2
Defendant — I do, Sir ; but I owe her nothing. We had been
acquainted for some time, and she implored me to reside in her
house as her friend. She thought. Sir, that if I were once there,
she would take me in, in the matrimonial way ; but I am too old
a bird to be caught with chaff. When she found that I had a
wife, she kicked up such a rumpus, and behaved so very like a
fury, that I would not have staid an hour longer in the house,
though she had given me a world to do so.
, Mr. Dubois-.-Pray, Sir, how do you Uve 2
Defendant — In the best way I can.
Mr. Dubois — What is your profession 2
Defendant — No profession at all. Sir.
Mr. Dubois — What ! have you no means of Uving at aU 2
Defendant — Why, Sir, I think I must have the means of Hv'
ing some way or other, otherwise I could not live ; but what the
means are, is really more than I can tell. (Laughter.)
Mr. Dubois— I suppose you live by your wits 2
Defendant (with much archness of manner) — ^Yes, Sir, when
they will keep me.
¦ Mr. Dubois— I presume you delude foolish woraen like the
plaintiff, with the notion that you are attached to them, and
then partake of their mistaken hospitality 2
. Defendant— Always happy, Sir, to quarter on the enemy.
(Laughter.) Mr. Dubois (looking again at the account)^I see that eight-
and-slxpence of tiie sum is for borrowed money : tha,t, Mr. Au
gustus Standish, you must pay to the plaintiff. I think the one
as bad as the other. Mrs. Cleek evidently had a matrimonial
design on you, when inviting you to reside in her house ; while
A A 2

340' SKETCHES IN LONDON.
you pretended kindness to her for the purpose of living comfort
ably at her expense. You are both tarred with the same stick.
AN ULTRA-RADICAL PATRIOT.
The next case forcibly illustrates the folly of neglecting one's
trade or calling, however humble It may be, for the promo
tion of political objects. The plaintiff, Mr. Robert Smith, was
a most industrious journeyman brass-founder ; and the defendant,
Mr. John Snaggs, pursued the same calling, but was noted for
the preference he gave to politics over his business. His em
ployer, like himself, was a Radical of the first water, so that he
did not lose his place in consequence of his devotion to the cause,
as he always called it, of pure patriotism. The defendant had a
wife and five children ; but he was ready, like Hannibal of
old, to " sacrifice thera on the altar of his country." In so far as
they were concerned, he was a patriot of the most disinterested
class. If there was to be a meeting at the Crown-and-Anchor,
at White Conduit House, or at Mr. Savage's, In Circus-street,
there Mr. John Snaggs was sure to be without fail. His wife
might be sick at home, or his five chUdren might be within a few
removes of death from starvation : no raatter ; these were things
that never moved him. He was In the habit of speaking at those
meetings ; and come what might at home he raust needs parade
his patriotism on such occasions. His wife and children were as
dust in the balance compared with universal suffrage, annual par
liaments, and the vote by ballot. But the character and notions
of the man will best appear from what took place In court.
The plaintiff, Mr. Robert Smith, on his name being caUed,
immediately stepped forward to state the case. He had all the
appearance of a hard-working, but honest raan. He was respect
ably attired ; and whUe his countenance afforded every Indication
of a serene and happy mind, it formed quite a contrast with that
presented by the defendant, Mr. John Snaggs. His apparel was a
mass of rags : It was the surprise of everybody how his clothes
hung together. His toes were unmannerly enough to intrude
through his shoes ; which last exhibited a most marked aversion
to Warren's jet blacking, Hunt's matchless blacking, or any
other blacking, no raatter by what name it is called, His hat
had once gloried in a crown ; but at what period was a problem
which none but himself could solve ; if, indeed, even he could
do it. His elbows, Imbibing the spirit of Uberty which glowed
so intensely in his own bosom, disdained to be confined within
the limits of his coat sleeves; but boldly making their way
through the cloth, displayed to aU around their warm attachment
to freedom. In the article of apparel, indeed, he proved himself
to be perfectly Independent from top to toe. His face looked

COURTS OP REQUESTS. 341
as If It had not been washed for a week ; while any one might
have sworn that his beard had not been visited by a razor for at
least a fortnight. His cheeks were lank and pale, and his hands
bony. He had all the appearance of a raan to whom the advent
of a good dinner must have proved an exceedingly rare occur
rence. His wife, with a child in her arms, was equally famished-
like in appearance ; a circurastance which will not appear surpris
ing when the reader is made acquainted with what foUows.
The plaintiff having been called on to state his case, proceeded
to say, that the debt for which he had summoned the defendant
had been contracted — if that was the proper word — under very
unusual circumstances. He lived in the same house, and on the
same floor as the defendant. One day, in the previous week,
having expected two of his wife's friends to take pot-luck with
them, his wife had determined on treating them to a little boiled
beef, cooked in her own incomparable style. With this view
she had purchased ten pounds of the best beef to be had in the
neighbourhood, which was duly put into a pot in boiling water.
The hour appointed for dinner was two o'clock. At half-past
one, Mrs. Smith had occasion to go out for a quarter of an hour,
to get some necessary articles for dinner. She left the key In
the door, and desired the defendant or any of his family, to
answer her bell if any one rung while she was absent. This was
at once agreed to, and Mrs. Smith accordingly proceeded td
market. " Fancy," said the plaintiff, " my wife's surprise, when
she found on her return, that her friends had arrived, but that
the sirloin of beef was taken out of the pot." Her first im
pression was, that they must hav6 ate it themselves by way of
revenge for her being out of the way when they arrived ; but she
soon discovered that this was an untenable hypothesis. On dis
covering the felony which had taken place, she held up her hands
in amazement and uttered various exclamations, which the plain
tiff did not think proper to repeat to the Court, and which I think
it were Improper to repeat here. She rushed into the room of
the defendant, for the purpose of inquiring whether his wife or
children hadjseen any one in her apartment whUe she was out.
The Court would imagine her surprise, when she found that de
fendant and children were making a hearty repast, or rather had
made a hearty repast, for it was nearly all gone, on her identical
piece of meat. As soon as her astonishment and indignation
would allow her to articulate, she charged the defendant with the
theft, but he stoutly and unblushlngly denied it. " Where, then,"
said she, " did you get the piece of beef on which you have been
dining 2 It is very unusual to see you with a sirloin of beef."
" That may be, Mrs. Smith ; but usual or unusual, you see we
have had as prime a piece of beef as ever  " He was inter-

342 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
rup'ted by one of his own children, a boy about six years of age,
who, in the siraplicity of his innocent soul, exclaimed, " Oh, yes,
father ; now, you know you did take it, for I saw you." At this
critical juncture, Mrs. Snaggs, who had been out of the house for
the last half hour in the hope of obtaining some provender
for her famishing children, raade her appearance ; when the
•matter being stated to her, she soon extorted a reluctant admis
sion from the defendant that he had stolen plaintiff's wife's din
ner ; for which offence he made a thousand apologies, and pleaded
poverty, urgent necessity, and so forth. But though in the first
instance he exhibited so much apparent contrition for his trans
gression of the laws both of good neighbourhood and moral rec
titude, he afterwards chose to be insolent, and pretty plainly
applied, in this particular case, his Radical notion of a universal
equality of the good things of this life. It was under these cir
cumstances that the plaintiff had summoned him to pay the price
of the sirloin of beef, amounting to seven shillings and fourpence.
He had preferred making the thing a matter of debt, though he
had no doubt that he could have proceeded criminally against the
defendant. Commissioner (to the defendant) — Well, Mr. Snaggs, you
hear the plaintiff's statement ; what do you say to it 2
Defendant (putting hiraself into an oratorical attitude, as if
he had meant to speak for an hour) — I have a few words to say,.
Sir, if you'll allow me.
Commissioner — WeU, let them be as few as possible, and see
that they be to the point.
Defendant — I'll take care they shaU, Sir. The facts of this
here case, then, are these. (Here Mr. Snaggs assumed a very
eonsequential aspect, stretching his neck, and placing his arms
a-kimbo.) The facts of this here case are these : Feeling as
every man vot is born an Englishman ought to feel, that we live
in Worry ewentful times ; and that it is every man's duty to hop-
pose despotism, and to stand up for liberty, I vent to Savage's
Great HaU In Circus-street, to make a Uttle bit of a speech, the
night afore this here haccident 'appened, in support of Dr. Wade's
motion for uniwersal sufferage ; and I had — —
" Really, my man," interrupted the Comraissioner, " I don't
see what earthly connexion universal suffrage or Dr. Wade's mo
tion, or any other body's motion, has with your appropriating to
yourself the dinner of the plaintiff. You must confine vourself
to that." ,
Defendant— I was a-going, your honour, to show that I had
patriotism enough in my composition — for you must know, Sir,
that I am an EngUshman bom^-^to sacrifice all indiwidwal con
siderations for the sake of the people of this 'ere country,, by.

COURTS OP REQUESTS. 343
leaving my employment on that occasion to perform a pubhc
duty. And, Sir, I do think, that ven these wagabonds of
Tories 
Commissioner (harshly) — There must be no politics here. If
you do not. Sir, come to the case before the Court at once, I
shall not hear a word from you.
Defendant — I'm sorry, your vorship, that I should "say any
think as vould offend you. I never vishes to offend any one, but
the enemies of England. I vas jist about to say, that feeling as
I do, that until we have uniwersal sufferage, this country can
never be prosjjerous or happy ; and Dr. Wade and Mr. Feargus
O'Connor having 
Commissioner — Really, I cannot aUow this to proceed any
longer. I must at once order 
Here Mrs. Snaggs, with tears In her eyes, starvation in her
looks, and a ragged half-famished child In her arras, stepped for
ward, and begged leave to say a few words. Permission having
been granted her to speak, she stated that her husband had, for
more than twelve months, formed an intimate acquaintance with
five or six persons calling themselves patriots (a term of which
she did not know the meaning), that they talked about nothing
but what they called politics ; and that ever since he. had formed
this acquaintance, he had neglected his business to attend public
meetings, leaving her and his five children whole days without a
particle of food. Her own tears and entreaties, and the cries of
his children, had not produced the slightest effect upon him. On
the day in question, as she understood from her eldest daughter,
he had been so besieged by the cries of his children while she was
but, for something to eat, that, in a fit of desperation, he had
gone into their neighbours' apartment, and abstracted from the
pot the beef intended for their dinner. The poor woman added,
that unless he gave up his patriot acquaintances and public meet-
mgs, and attended to his business, there would be no other
resource for her and the children but throwing themselves on the
parish." The plaintiff here stepped forward, and said he beUeved that
the facts of the case were such as Mrs. Siiaggs had represented.
' Commissioner (to the defendant)— You ought, Su-, to be
ashamed of yourself. You have not only_ brought yoxir wife and
.family to the brink of starvation, but if you persist in your
" patriotism," as you caU it, you wiU speedily ruin yourself for
ever. See the difference between the circurastances of the plain
tiff and your circurastances : he has every corafort which a per
son in his station can wish, whUe you and youi- family are in the
greatest destitution ; and aU this because he attends to his busi
ness, whUe you neglect yours. You must pay the plaintiff thfe

344 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
value of his piece of beef; and I hope you will take a lesson
from what has passed. -If you give another such practical illustra
tion of your theory respecting the equality of the good things of
life, you may have to answer for it In a different place.
The defendant, who up to this time took the matter quite
coolly, now seemed, all of a sudden, quite Impressed with a sense
of the folly of his conduct, and solemnly pledged himself to ab
jure " patriotism" and politics in future, and to attend to his
business. His poor wife heard his declaration with unspeakable
joy, while the plaintiff said the circumstance afforded him so
much pleasure, that he would not only not exact payment for the
beef, but would cheerfully be at the loss of the expenses of the
summons. THE CAMBRIC POCKET-HANDKERCHIEP,
¦¦ The next case afforded Infinite amusement to all present.
A slovenly-dressed but rather good-looking, portly female, seem
ingly about her twentieth year, and calling herself Jane Jukes,
summoned Peter Straps, a stalwart, half-starved young man,
with carroty hair, a marked squint in his right eye, and a beard
which had evidently been suffered to vegetate without interrup
tion for at least six or seven days, — for the sum of three shil
lings and sixpence.
Comraissioner— What is this for, Miss Jukes 2
\ Plaintiff— Please, Sir, I'm not Miss ; I'm Missis Jukes. '
Comraissioner— Well, no matter, Mrs, Jukes. Pray tell us
what the three-and-sixpence is for 2
Mrs. Jukes— It's for a cambric hankercher (a handkerchief),
please your vorship.
Commissioner— What ! are you a handkerchief merchant,
then 2
Mrs._ Jukes— Oh! nothin' of the sort, your vorship. The
money Is for a hankercher lent, not sold.
" Sir, ' she Ues like truth,' as Shakspeare says," interrupted
the defenda,nt, folding his arms on his breast, and assuming a
very theatrical attitude.
Commissioner — Sir, you hold your tongue at present ; you
shall be heard by-and-by.
" She giive it me, Sir, Did I not, Mrs. Jukes (turning to
the plaintiff), on receiving it from your hand, say, in one of
the poems of the immortal Bard of Avon,
' Gifts then seem
Most precious, when the giver we esteem ?'
And did I not  ^"

COURTS OP REQUESTS'. 345';
' Mr. Straps was evidently about to launch Into some long expo
sition of the circumstances under which the handkerchief had
come into his possession, when he was again interrupted by the
Court, and admonished. In pretty plain terms, that if he did not
wait until his turn came, the case would be decided against him.
Commissioner (to the plaintiff) — Proceed with your case.
Mrs. Jukes — If I must tell all. Sir ; this 'ere man Is a hactor
at a small twopenny theatre in Newton-street ; and he said to
me, one afternoon, 'says he, "Jane, my love, we are 'a-goin' to
have a worry affectin' piece of tragedy to hact to-night ; and as
I am to have the principal character, and will have a good deal
of cryin' to go through, per'aps you would oblige rae by the use
of your slap-up hankercher for the occasion 2" ",My carabric
hankercher 2" says I. " The best hankercher you've got," says
he. And so I gave him my cambric hankercher, my lord. —
(Laughter.) Comraissioner (to the defendant) — Well, Sir, what have you
got to say to this 2
Mr. Straps (heaving a sigh, and looking very sentimental) — <¦
The truth is, your worship, there was a sprinkling of the tender
passion in the matter. As Shakspeare says in his " Love's La^
hour Lost," " As love is full of unbefitting strains ;
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ;
Porm'd by the eye, and therefore like the eye,
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms :
Varying in subjects, as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance.
So  "
" Pray, Sir, If you please," Interposed the Commissioner, be
fore the hero of the sock and buskin had time to finish his
sentence ; " pray, Sir, if you please, tell us what you have got to
say yourself, and not what Shakspeare says 2"
Mr. Straps — Ah, Sir ! as Shakspeare says, in his beautiful
drama of " Troilus and Cresslda,"
" Didst thou but know the Inly touch of love,
Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow.
As seek to  "
" Really, Sir," said the Commissioner, again interrupting Mr.
Straps, " this Is trifling with the Court, It must not be per
mitted," Mr. Straps— WeU, Sir, I should be sorry to act improperly,
or to say anything disrespectful to this Court ; but as I was
about to state, I was at the time devotedly attached to Mrs. Jukes,
and believed her to be equally so to me in return. We were, Sir^

346 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
in short, pledged to each other ; and under those circumstances'
I thought the handkerchief was given me as a gift. But, Sir, as
Shakspeare says, in his " Julius Caesar,"
" Ah, me ! how weak a thing
The heart of woman is !"
I soon had reason to believe that her affections were placed upon
another. I remonstrated with her on the subject, which drew
from her such a demonstration as at once brought to my mind
the expressive lines of the Bard of Avon, when he says, in his
comedy of " Taming the Shrew,"
" A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled.
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ;
And while it is so, none, so dry or thirsty.
Will deign to dip or touch one drop of it."
The tragedian or comedian — for I do not know whether Mr.
Straps considered tragedy or comedy his legitimate walk — deliver
ed this latter quotation with so much rapidity, that he had got to
the end of it before the Court could interrupt him. " Yes, Sir," he
resumed, " she resembled a perfect fury. As Shakspeare has it,
' She was the very  ' "
The Court — Don't give us any more of Shakspeare, but come
to the point at once.
Mr. Straps—- 1 will, your worship. I assure 
" There's not a word of truth in what he says, your honour,"
shouted Mrs. Jukes, interrupting Mr. Straps. " It's all false;
I cut the akvantance, because he said to me, one day, that if I
did not behave myself to his satisfaction after we was married,
he would give me the bag, and summons my father for my board
and lodging." (Roars of laughter, in which the Court joined.)
The laughter having subsided, Mr. Straps adjusted the coUar
of a dirty shirt, and looking the Court significantly In the face,
observed with much emphasis, "As the immortal poet says, in
his ' Two Gentlemen of Verona,'
' A fine voUey of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.' "
The Court (with considerable sharpness) — There must be no
more of this nonsense. Did you, or did you not, receive a hand
kerchief frora the prosecutrix 2
Mr. Straps— I did. Sir ; I don't deny It.
The Court— Then why did you not return it 2
Mr. Straps— I understood it to be a gift.
Mrs. Jukes (with great energy)— It was ne'er a no such thing,
you good-for-nothin' feUer ! I only lent it you.

COURTS' OP REQUESTS, 347
Commissioner — Will you swear to that, madam ?
Mrs. Jukes — WiU I swear to It, your vorship ! That I will :
I'll give" as many oaths to it as your vorship pleases. He only
says I made him a present of it, because I married Jem Jukea
in preference to him.
Mr. Straps (to the Commissioner) — There, Sir; there, she
goes with another thundering falsehood. But, , Sir, if you wUl
allow me, I'd rather express my sentiments in the words of the
great dramatist, than In any humble phraseology of my own.
Commissioner — We've had too much of " the great dramatist"
already. Madam (addressing Mrs. Jukes), you swear distinctly
that the handkerchief was no gift 2
Mrs. Jukes— I do, your vorship.
Commissioner (to the officer) — Hand her the book there, and
administer the oath.
Officer (to Mrs. Jukes, holding out a New Testament to her)—
You swear by 
, " It's perjury, Sir ! " shouted Mr. Straps, addressing hiraself
to the Commissioner.
Comraissioner — ^You hold your tongue. Sir, or the officers
must turn you out.
The oath was then administered to Mrs. Jukes, Mr. Straps all
the while making the most wry faces, and assuming every variety
of attitude which could most forcibly express his horror of what
he either conceived, or pretended to conceive, to be a false oath.
Commissioner (to Mr. Straps)— Now, Sir, she has sworn to
the fact of only having lent the handkerchief to you ; what has
become of It 2
Mr. Straps— WeU, Sir, I'U teU you candidly. On thd parti
cular evening on which I got it from her, I had a very arduous
part of a new piece to perform, in which,
" Albeit, unused to the melting mood,"
I had a great deal to do in the way of crying. As I was the
hero of the piece, I thought it right to use the best handker
chief I could procure to dry up my imaginary tears. So far, so
weU, Sir ; but. In the words of the mighty Shakspeare,
" A change came o'er the spirit  "
Commissioner— Never ttiind what carae o'er your spirit ; but
what came o'er, or rather of, the handkerchief 2 (Laughter.)
Mr. Straps— I was just on the eve of teUing you that. Sir.
There was one scene in the. piece of a pecuUarly trying nature,
in which no fewer than six of us were required to cry aU at once.
(Bursts of laughter;) And as we had only this one handkerchief
amongst us, we were obliged to make it serve us aU. As soon as,

"348 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
one of the weeping — that Is, the persons supposed to be weep
ing — parties had made a pretence of drying up his tears with it,
he placed it in his hands at his back, while his face was to the
audience, when another actor, unperceived by the spectators,
took the handkerchief, and then openly applied It to his eyes on
the front of the stage. His turn done, that of another came,
who also placed his hands at his back in the sarae way as the
other, and the next In rotation laid hold of it, unknown to the
audience ; and so on, till the handkerchief went over the whole
six, two or three times, though the spectators fancied that each
of the six actors had a handkerchief to hiraself. (Renewed
laughter.) But, Sir, I now corae to the gist of the story. While
thus raaking the tour, which it had repeatedly to do, of
the half-dozen sorrowing histrionic personages, it unaccount
ably disappeared ; in ^other words, some one in the crisis of
the touching tragic scene, transferred the handkerchief from
his eyes to his pocket; and it has not since been heard of.
(Loud laughter.) This, Sir, if you will allow me, in conclusion,
to quote the prince of dramatists in one of his happiest plays,
" Is the head and front of my offending,"
In regard to the handkerchief which plaintiff still calls her own ;
though my impression was, that being given to me, It became
mine. If, however, it were In ray possession, I would indig
nantly throw It up to her.
Mrs. Jukes (to tiie Court) — It's not the value of the hankercher
that I cares for, or makes me summons him ; It's^ only because
he insulted rae, your honour, both before and after ray marriage.
You (turning to Mr. Straps, and shaldng her hand In his face) ;
you know you did, you good-for-nothing, worthless baggage that
you are. I have no doubt you've got the hankercher yourself.
At the latter sentence, Mr. Straps waxed mighty Indignant,
looked savagely at the quondam object of his affections, stamped
energetically with his foot on the fioor, and raising both his
hands above his head, exclaimed, in stentorian tones, " Woman,
the charge is false ! Yes, your worship," he continued, in a sub
dued tone, " it is, as the mighty genius I adore says in his unri
valled tragedy of ' Hamlet,'
' As false as dicers' oaths ;'
or, as the same great authority has it In his comedy of ' As You
Like It,' It Is ' Falser than vows made in wine.'
Excuse ray indignation. Sir ; but I cannot repress my feelings
when my character Is attacked. I am sure. Sir, you would your-

COURTS OF REQUESTS. 349
self, if placed In my unfortunate situation, feel the full force of
the inimitable lines which Shakspeare puts into the mouth of
OtheUo— ' Good name in man or woman
Is the immediate jewel of their souls :
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ;
But he that filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that which not enriches him.
But makes me poor indeed.'"
The Commissioner (smUing) — ReaUy, Mr. Straps, I have
already allowed too much of this nonsense to go on. You admit
you've lost the handkerchief, and the prosecutrix has sworn she
only lent it to you. There is, therefore, no alternative but to
pay the amount claimed.
" Ah, Sir !" exclaimed Mr. Straps, on hearing the decision of
the Court, " this Is a hard case. As the Bard of Avon says^"
" No more of the Bard of Avon, or any other bard," inter
rupted the Commissioner ; " the case is now decided, and the
money must be paid."
At this raoment, a young man, having the broken-down dandy
appearance of an unfortunate actor, rushed into the court,
almost exhausted. He stated that he and Mr. Straps lived In
the sarae room together, and that some time after Mr. Straps
had quitted home to attend the Court, a sraall package contain
ing the handkerchief, had been addressed to him, with a request
that it might be opened in the event of his absence. Inside, In
a disguised hand, was a note to the effect that the writer had
only taken a temporary loan of the handkerchief, and that hear
ing by accident it was to be made the subject of legal proceed
ings, it had been deemed right to send a special messenger with
it to Mr. Straps, In order that no unpleasant results might ensue,
" Give it me," said Mr. Straps, in exulting tones, stretching
out his hand to receive it. " Here, madam," turning to Mrs.
Jukes, "is your handkerchief, and gently striking his hand
on his breast, exclaimed — " My character stands forth pure and
unsuUIed as the unsunned snow."
Mrs. Jukes took her handkerchief, evidently disappointed that
it had been recovered ; and Mr. Straps having paid the expenses
of the summons, retired from the court ejaculating something to
himself in an under-tone; most probably a quotation from
Shakspeare. The above cases are aU of a laughable character, though in
print they appear far less ludicrous than they are when actuaUy
before the Court. Numerous, however, as are the cases at all
our Courts of Requests, but especially in the court in Kingsgate-

350 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
street, of a laughter-provoking nature, those of a directly opposite
kind are in the proportion of six to one. Disclosures of destitu
tion and distress are there raade, at every sitting of the Court,
of the most shocking nature. I rayself witnessed one such case,
so lately as three weeks ago, which one would have thought would
have softened the hardest heart that ever formed part of hu
manity. A poor emaciated, sickly-looking woman, with nothing
but rags on her back, and deep-rooted care and grief in her
countenance, was summoned for twenty-one shillings, being seven
weeks' rent of a wretched hovel, In one of the lowest places in
St. Giles's. A little, starved, pale-looking girl, seeraingly ten or
eleven years of age, stood by the poor woman's side. " Do you
owe the debt?" inquired the Commissioner.
" I do, your worship," sighed the broken-hearted woman.
" Then why don't you pay It ?"
" Because I have no means, my lord."
" Then the plaintiff (the landlord) will seize your furniture."
"Ah, Sir?" groaned the poor creature, "that's irapossible;
for he has taken everything that was in the house already."
" Is that true 2" inquired the Coraralssioner, turning to the
prosecutor. " It is. Sir," answered the latter, with the greatest Indifference.
" And what's the meaning of bringing this action against the
poor woman ?"
" It's with the view of getting her out of the house, Sir ; she
won't leave it."
Here the poor wretched creature asked permission of the
Court to say a word or two, which being granted, she stated, as
articulately as the fullness of her heart and her physical exhaus
tion would permit her, that for a considerable time past her
husband, who was a day-labourer, had been out of employment,
and that one of her children had for months been confined to a
sick bed; and that under these circurastances, they had no
means of procuring the most necessary articles of food, or of
paying their rent. When pressed for their rent she implored
a little indulgence untU her husband could find some employ*
ment ; but the landlord (the plaintiff) had lent a deaf ear to all
her entreaties, and can-led away every article of furniture In
the house. The poor creature added, amidst tears and sobs,
xthat herself, her husband, and six young chUdren, including the
sick one, had not a bed left them to lie on, nor a blanket to cover
thera, but were obliged to lie as they best could, aU buddled to
gether on^^two shutters which had been got from some neighbour
ing windows ; and that these shutters were all that was between
them and a damp stone floor, during the severe weather
a few months ago. They ^vere quite willing to leave the housey

COURTS OF REQUESTS. 351
but they had nowhere to go to ; and no chair or stool to sit on,
or bed to Ue in, even if they could get some humble apartment.
The unhappy woman then implored of the plaintiff to give her
back one or two of the most necessary articles of her furniture, en
gaging if he did so, not only to quit the house — whatever should
come of herself and family, — but to pay the rent she owed as soon
as her husband could find work. But the man — If he should be
caUed a man — was Inexorable : he betrayed no more feeling on
the occasion than the table at which he stood. How hardened
can the huraan heart become ! How unfathomable are the depths
of human misery in the very midst of this wealthy and luxurious
metropolis !
I wiU not harrow up the feelings of my readers, by a reference to
any of the other cases of distress and destitutIon[so often brought
to light in our Courts of Requests. It would answer no useful
purpose ; it would not lessen the load of misery which the poor
creatures groan under frora day to day, and from year to year.
I might have largely added to the list of laughable cases
which are so common In our London Courts of Requests ; but
the little that remains of the space devoted to each chapter, ad-
njonishes me that that cannot be done. Before concluding, I
am anxious to bear my decided testimony to the great utiUty of
these courts. Indirectly, or by Implication, I have done so
already. They are useful to the customer in a limited way ; in
asmuch as the fear of being summoned to one of them, operates
in Innumerable cases In which a sense of right would have no
effect, and deters him from contracting debts which he does not
see any probability of being able to pay. They are useful to the
party of whom goods have been purchased ; inasmuch as, by a
short and simple process, he Is enabled to compel payment when,
otherwise, the party, even though possessing the raeans, has not
the disposition to discharge his lawful obligations. Then there
is the cheapness of the process of suing for the amount due or in
dispute. As before remarked, It never exceeds a few shillings ;
so that neither party, be the result what It raay, can be out of
pocket to any serious extent.^ The extensive and populous bo
rough of Marylebone Is now applying to the legislature for the
estabUshment of one of these local courts within its boundaries :
so, also, is the borough of Finsbury. I should Uke to see them
established In aU parts of the country ; they would be found ex
ceedingly serviceable to aU tradesmen and small shopkeepers.
Wherever new Courts of Requests shaU be instltuted,;they ought,
as before remarked,;to have jurisdiction on all sums not exceeding
10/., which, as before remarked. Is not above half as great as forty
shillings were three hundred years ago, when these courts were
established. Besides, where the powers of the existmg Courts

352 SKETCHES IN LONDON,
of Requests have been extended so far as to hear and decide on
all sums under ten pounds — as in the case of the City Court,^
the thing has been found to answer exceedingly well, Mr. Ser
geant Heath has a bill now before Parhament, for the purpose
of extending the jurisdiction of the County Court to all sums not
exceeding ten pounds. Whether he ought to succeed in his ap
plication, constituted as his court is, is a point on which I express
no opinion ; but whether he ought to succeed or not, all the
other Courts of Requests in London ought certainly to have
jurisdiction in all cases where the amount does not exceed the sum
just mentioned. My conviction is, thafthe powers of these courts
might be even farther extended than this. I can, I repeat, see
no reason why their decisions on all amounts under twenty
pounds, should not be held binding on the parties. My only ob
jection to the Courts of Requests is, that they have the power of
imprisoning the debtor for certain periods. Opposed as I am to
the principle of imprisonment for debt in all cases where fraud Is
not clearly proved, I am doubly opposed to It In the case of
Courts of Requests ; inasmuch as the suras over which they have
jurisdiction, are so trifling. It Is surely a raonstrous thing, that
an honest. Industrious man, who may chance to owe twenty or
thirty shiUings to a small grocer, which, owing to sickness or the
want of employment he is unable to pay at the time, should be
liable to be torn from his wife and family and sent to White-
cross-street, or any other prison, for seven, forty, or sixty days,
according to the peculiar powers of the particular court before
which his case is tried ! And yet such cases not only may, but
do occur under the existing order of things. However, there is
now, happily, a feeling In the public mind, which is daily acquir
ing additional strength, so hostile to imprisonment for debt, that
it must of necessity, before a long time has elapsed, corapel the
legislature to 'aboUsh such imprisonment, except in cases of
gross and glaring fraud.

^<«5.

A. Raw.

353

CHAPTER XI.
GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS.
Supposed origin of gambling — Little known of its history — Increase in the number
of gaming-houses in London — Many of them kept open all day— How managed — ¦
Morals of the upper classes, in connexion with gambling — Visit to a gambling-
house^Anxietyi consequent on gambling — Its pernicious eifects on the mind —
Suicides caused by play — The injuries it entails on relatives and families — Insidi
ous character of gambling — Gambling in the last century — Female gamblers —
Cheating at the gambUng-table — Instance of the debasing tendencies of gambling
— Universality of the vice — The propriety of doing something to put an end to
gambling. ,
In my First Series of " The Great Metropolis," I devoted a
chapter to the Gaming-houses of London. Since the first edition
of that work was published, I have acquired a good deal of new
Information on the subject, which I at one time intended to have
made use of in the Third Edition, which appeared a few months
since. On second thoughts, however, I have deemed it best to
resume the subject in this work ; only premising, that I shall not
here repeat any of the facts I have stated In " The Great Metro
polis ; " but that the matter of this chapter will be a continua
tion of, or supplement to, what appeared In the work In question.
The vice of gambling Is of very great antiquity. It Is generally
beUeved that it was first resorted to by the Lydlans, upwards of
2500 years ago, when suffering under the effects of famine. It is
said that they had recourse to gambling with the view of diverting
¦their thoughts from the privations they were enduring, and that,
in, the state of Intense excitement into which they worked their
minds, they did forget, for whole days at a time, that they had
iiot tasted food for the previous twenty-four hours. There raay
be some fiction mingled with fact In this account of the origin of
gambUng. It is not, however, to be denied, that if the Lydlans
were desirous of forgetting their privations by an artificial ex-
.citement, there was no expedient to which they could have had
recourse, better adapted to promote their object than the expe
dient of gambling. This vice prevaUed to a great extent araong
the Greeks and Roraans, as Is evident frora the frequent refer
ence to it in the works of their greatest authors.
Of the history of gambUng in London, little definite Is known.
It was very general so far back as the reign of Richard the First ;
B B

354 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
and was practised to a considerable extent in the time of Queen
Elizabeth. It was stlU more prevalent in the reign of Charles
the Second; but I ara not aware that any houses were then
opened for the exclusive purposes of play. When they first
were so, I have not been able to ascertain, the history of gambling
in the metropohs being so imperfectly known. There can be no
doubt that houses for the express purpose of affording knaves
and fools an opportunity of indulging their propensity to play to
any extent, were opened long before the public generally were
aware of the circurastance. The thing was then raanaged with
more secrecy than it is now. Then the hells were in secluded
streets and lanes : now they court distinction not only by being
in the most crowded thoroughfares, but by the blaze of light
which Is to be seen above their doors.
About twenty years since, the number of the larger class of
hells in the metropolis was supposed to be about ten or twelve.
In my first series of the work already mentioned, I estimated the
nuraber. In 1836, at fifteen. Since then, there has been a con
siderable increase in the number. The law which came into
operation In January last for closing all gambling establlsh-r-
ments in Paris at twelve o'clock at night, has had the effect, as
was to be expected, of causing a number of the Parisian specu
lators in hells to come over, and coraraence business In London.
What the number of the additions which have been thus made
to our gambling establishments Is, I am not able to state with
certainty ; that being a kind of statistical information which Is
not very easily to be acquired, owing to the circumstance of there
being certain hells which are still conducted with comparative
secrecy. I should say, however, the number of gambling estab
lishments now in London, doing business to a very considerable
amount, cannot be under twenty-four or twenty-five. Indeed,
I could almost myself name two dozen particular houses which
are solely used for the purposes of gambUng, When I wrote the
work before referred to, two years since, there were only five
gambling-houses in the Regent's Quadrant : now there are eight,
if not nine. In Leicester-square and the neighbourhood, there
have also been several recent additions to the previous number
of hells.
Formerly, the gaming-houses were only open after dark : of
late years, the practice of keeping thera open all day has been
systeraatically adhered to In the case of at least eight or ten of
their number. In these houses, the dice are scarcely ever idle
day or night. Frora Sunday to Sunday, aU the year round,
persons are to be found in these places, losing their money, and
wasting away their very bodies by the consuming anxiety conse
quent on their position at the hazard or roulette table.

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. SS5
It may be asked, how can the proprietor of one of these esta
blishments continue to look after his own interests, if gambling
goes on by day as well as night ; nature requiring, in gamblers
as well as in other men, a certain amount of repose at stated
intervals 2 In the first place, it is to be remarked, that the
cases are extremely rare indeed, in which a gaming-house be
longs to one proprietor. In almost every case there are three or
four individuals who engage jointly in the speculation of opening
such establishments, and putting down, as the phrase Is, a bank
against which any person who chooses may play. But even were
such an establishraent the property of one individual, the house,
if deemed advisable, could be kept open all day as well as night,
by the proprietor employing sorae person to act for him when
not present himself. In all the gaming-houses of any note, there
are unprincipled reckless persons in the pay of the hellites. They
are employed In various capacities, and for various purposes.
Sometimes they play for the proprietors against any person who
chooses to put down his money : at other times, when there are
no other individuals playing at all, they pretend to be strangers
theraselves, and get up sham games with the proprietors, with the
view of practising a deception on any strangers who may be in
the room : and by that raeans Inducing them to put down their
money. There are other occasions, again, In which they go to
coffee-houses, hotels, and other places of a public nature ; where
they look out for simple persons possessed of property, whom
they may decoy into the particular hells with which they are
connected; always, of course, taking care to appear as if they
knew nothing of any of the parties belonging to these establish
ments. In many instances, these persons are allowed a certain
per-centage on the amount of plunder got from the persons
whom they trepan into these dens of Iniquity. In the larger
gaming establishments there are certain individuals kept at a
regular salary for the express purpose of looking out for opulent
young men. To this employment they confine themselves en
tirely. They are dressed in the raost fashionable manner, always
exhibiting a profusion of jewellery and living in great splendour
when they have any particular person in their eye. In the various
hotels throughout town. If report speaks truth, there are men
of very high rank and standing in society, who are retained for
such purposes by one or two of the largest gaming estabhshments
in the metropolis. They are caUed Greeks ; and the parties who
are their victims, are, as I explained at some length in the work
more than once referred to; very appropriately called pigeons;
being, as they generally are,- thoroughly plucked before they are
suffered to escape out of the hands of the heUites. In some
cases, in the higher class of gaming establishments, the Greeks,
B E 2

356 SKETCHES IN LONDON.',
or decoys, being men of title or considerable standing In society,
do not receive a fixed salary for seducing young men of fortune
into these places for the purpose of plundering them of their
property ; but being in every case needy men, they nominally
borrow, frora tirae to time, large sums of money from the hell-
keepers : but It is perfectly understood on both sides that the
amount so borrowed is never to be repaid.
Here let me pause, to ask what must be the state of morals
among a certain portion of the upper classes, when persons who
are quite well known to be constantly on the watch for simple
unsuspecting noblemen or gentlemen of property. In order that
they may decoy thera into places in which their ruin is inevitable
as well as designed, are received into society with as ranch seem
ing respect and cordiality as if they were the raost illustrious
persons for moral worth, that the world ever produced ? It is
a melancholy state of things ; but still more melancholy is the
fact, that when unsuspecting young men of property are thus
seduced into gambhng-houses, there are noblemen and gen
tlemen — by courtesy so called — who, not content with the
slower process of plundering their unhappy victims by means of
their superior skill at the dice or the cards, acquired from long
experience, resort to habitual cheating ; or at least cheating as
frequently as they think they can do it without being detected.
Had I written this eighteen months ago, many persons would
have doubted the truth of what I say. They would have come
at once to the conclusion that I was speaking from erroneous In
formation. That will not be said now. The disclosures which
took place In the Court of Queen's Bench, upwards of twelve
months since, on the occasion of the trial of Lord de Roos for
cheating at cards, furnished the strongest demonstration that he
was not the only titled person who was in the habit of cheating
In certain clubs ; while there were others who. If they could not
be charged with directly cheating, or cheating In their own per
sons, did cheat indirectly and by proxy, inasmuch as they, by
their own admission, were on frequent occasions partners with
Lord de Roos long after they knew that he habitually or syste
matically cheated. The noble lord, by the confession of the titled
parties to whom I allude, thus cheated for himself and them at
the same time. Are such parties, then, now excluded from
i'ashlonable society ? By no means : they have not forfeited the
friendship, or lost the countenance — not, at least, so far as has
yet transpired — of a single aristocratic acquaintance. They are
as great favourites in the circles of high life as If nothing had
happened. Could any fact more strongly prove the low standard
of morals which prevails araong the upper classes of society 2
Butj this is a topic which I have no wish to pursue at any

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. '357
length. It is deeply to be regretted that there should be so
much room for animadversion, in regard to the loose notions
which obtain among a large number of the aristocracy on the
question of morals.
The proprietors of the gaming-houses take every precaution to
guard against the admission of parties who might lodge informa
tions against them. In most of these establishments, the prac
tice is to have the outer or street-door half shut. This, with a
large brilliant display of gas-light above the door, is well known
among those who gamble, to be an indication of the fact that play
is going on in the house at the time. Within a yard or two of
the street-door is another door with an eye-hole in it, which is
always covered by a sliding piece of wood in the Inside. The
party knocks at this inner door : the knock Is not responded to
by the door being opened, but one of the proprietors, or some
one in their confidence, draws the piece of wood aside and
looks at the party seeking adraission. If It is any one unknown
to him, he asks who he is inquiring for, or what is the object of
his visit : if satisfied that he is some simpleton coming for the
purposes of play, the door is thrown open at once, and he is
shown up stairs to the place where the wheel Is revolving or the
dice being thrown. If the party watching the door have his sus
picions that all is not right, then the person seeking admission Is
refused It. And it is wonderful how quick the keepers of heUs,
and those in theii' employ, are in ascertaining who may or may
not be admitted with safety. The very appearance of the party
soliciting adraission, the tones of his voice, or his general man
ner, often suffice for their purpose. Anxious to witness the pro
ceedings in these gambling establishments, in order to describe
and expose them ; and fearing there raight be sorae difficulty in
getting access to them, I got one night the card of a gentleman
who had been in the habit of visiting such places, but who, I have
reason to believe, has by this tirae seen both his guilt and his folly.
He desired me to give this card to a Mr. B  , the proprietor,
or one of thei,,proprIetors, of a largely frequented establishment in
the centre of the Regent's Quadrant. Accompanied by a friend,
whose curiosity to see the Interior of a gaming establishment was
most intense, I went to the place in question. The fact of my
having the card of the gentleman to whom I have referred,
insured our admission without a moment's delay, or a single
question being asked. We were shown up three pairs of stairs
to a commodious room, and were there politely accommodated
with seats. The only articles of furniture we saw m the place—
unless the roulette-table, the table for throwing the dice and
other requisites for play, ought to be caUed by the name of fur
niture— were eighteen or twenty bandsome chairs. It will at

358 SKETCHES IN LONDON,
once suggest itself to the mind of the reader, that in a large
gambling establishraent as this was, this number of chairs would
not be sufficient to accommodate aU the persons who are some
times in it at one time. Very true ; but it must be remembered
that several kinds of play (roulette, for example) require the
parties playing to stand, or at least a standing posture is the
most convenient one. Besides, the excitement which invariably
accompanies gambling Is so great, that in very few cases only are
the parties composed enough to remain In their seats. When
my friend and I were ushered into the room on the occasion in
question, there were only seven or eight persons engaged at play.
One of the proprietors of the place stood at one of the sides of
the table at which the play was going on at the time. He was a
tall, stout, dark-looking raan, with a raost surly, forbidding ex
pression of countenance. Iraraediately opposite to hira lay a
small box, in which were displayed, in the most conspicuous
manner in which it was possible to place them, a number of five-
pound notes. This was what is called the bank. At the .edge of
the table, In the imraediate vicinity of the bank, was a large heap
of half-crowns, probably araounting to sixty or seventy. The
fact of there being so raany half-crowns on the table, while
neither shillings nor slxipences were to be seen, is to be ac
counted for frora the fact that no less sums than half-crowns are
ever played for at the house In question. The parties playing
had also each a greater or less number of half-crowns before
them. The game going on at the tirae was roulette; and
•rapidly, indeed, did the half-crowns change hands. The house,
as the technical phrase Is, had a run of good luck while I was
there. I observed that one gentleman lost three pounds, at
half-crown stakes, in less than fifteen minutes. I may here ob
serve, that there was something very peculiar in the conduct of
this gentleman : whether it arose frora anything constitutional,
or whether frora a secret conviction that he ought not to be so
eraployed or in such a place, I cannot teU ; but the fact was,
that he came into the room, and remained in it. for about a
quarter of an hour, and then quitted It, not only without utter
ing a single word, jjut without giving even a nod to any person
in the place. One of the proprietors, according to the custom in
the gambling estabUshments, was excessively attentive to every
person who entered the roora, in the way of pressing him to have
something to drink. Brandy-and-water, as being the most sti-
niulatlng, was the first thing he invariably asked the intended
victims to take. If they declined, then they were asked, in the
most insinuating manner, whether they would take anything
else. The heU-keeper was manifestly much disappointed when
they refused to drink. And it was to be expected he would ; for

' — -ifesafi'is-'lsa'i

Lieep Pla.y.

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 369
his whole experience had taught him that men play most reck
lessly when under the exciteraent caused by drink. I need
hardly say that the drink in such places is always given gra
tuitously. I observed, too, that no one Is ever asked to play by
the hellites. They rightly judge, that were they to solicit
strangers who had not before been in the practice of frequenting
gaming establishments, to put down their money, and take part
in the play, they would be adopting the very course which would
be most likely to defeat their designs on the pockets of such per
sons ; as the latter would, in that case, suppose that if they
played they would mn a risk of being cheated. The hell-
keepers always trust to the bewitching effect of seeing others at
play ; for experience has taught thera that few raen, with raoney
in their pockets, can resist the temptation to play which is
always held out by seeing others engaged In it. And here I
must take the opportunity of warning those whose eye may meet
these lines, from entering a gaming-house under the impression
that they will come out again without playing. I do not say the
thing is impossible; but it consists with my knowledge that
many men have entered those places with the firm determination
that they would not gamble to the extent of a farthing, and yet
have come out fleeced of the last shilling they had In their pos
session. Nay, I have known cases in which, after they had lost
all their money, and not being acquainted with any one there of
whora they could borrow more, have actually pawned their watches
to enable them to continue the game. The pawning of watches,
waistcoats, and other articles of apparel, to enable persons to
play at the gaming-table. Is quite an every-day occurrence In the
case of persons who have become habituated to gaming : but in
the above case, I am speaking of persons who have entered a
gaming-house for the first time in their lives ; and entered it,
too, let it be remembered, with the firm determination that
under no circurastance would they risk a shiUing.
The Intense anxiety with which gamblers watch the result of
the game, is proverbial. I had ocular demonstration of this, of
the most striking kind, on the evening In question. The counte
nances of aU engaged in play, with the single exception of that
of the hell-keeper entrusted with the bank, indicated a degree of
anxiety as to the result, when the stakes were large, of which
none but he who has experienced it can form any idea. Has
the reader ever seen a wretched culprit, charged with sorae seri
ous offence, standing at the bar of the Old Bailey, or in any
other criminal court, while the jury were deliberating on their
verdict 2 If so, he must, notwithstanding all the assumed indif
ference which sometimes characterises the miserable being, have
seen unequivocal symptoms of the consuming anxiety as to the

360 SKEl'CHES IN LONDON.
result which was burning in his breast. Precisely simUar isthe
case of the gambler when he has much at stake. On the night
in question, the play was deep ; and so wrapt up were the parties
in their work, and so absorbing was their anxiety as to the issue,
that they not only did not, for several minutes at a time, ex
change a word with each other, but they did not even withdraw
their eyes from the dice and the table. And when the game
was finished,' you saw the countenance of the winner brighten
up as if he had raade a princely fortune, while that of the loser
suddenly becarae as pale as if he had been told, through some
supernatural agency, that he was to die the next hour.
The deep and consuming anxiety of gamblers when at table.
Is natural enough in any case ; but there are certain cases in
which it Is peculiarly so. Only iraaglne the case — a very cora
mon case, I regret to say — not only of a man's whole property,
but even his character in the estiraation of raankind, being en
tirely dependent on the numbers which the dice raay chance to
turn up. And to heighten the interest which he attaches to the
result, only suppose that he has a wife and faraily, or it may be
a mother, or sister, or other near relative, dependent on hira for
support : their fate is bound up in his, and that fate is to be
decided by the numbers which turn up. Who but himself can
form any conception of the tumultuous emotions which agitate
his bosom at such a raoraent 2 What these must be, may
be best inferred frora the alternative so often resorted to In such
cases, when the numbers turned up by the dice are adverse. In
how raany instances is ruin at play followed by Immediate sui
cide 2 We hear of only a comparatively small number of the
cases of self-destruction which occur frora losses at play. How
often is it stated at coroners' inquests, by the relatives of the
deceased, that they could assign no reason why he coraraitted
suicide. I am convinced that in almost every instance, especiaUy
where the party moved In a respectable sphere of life, in which
no reason can be assigned by friends or relatives for the " rash
act," that reason was losses at play. Acquaintances often
bear testiraony to the fact that the deceased was in good circimi-
stances ; and that, therefore, the fact of his coramitting suicide
was unintelligible to thera. Aye, it is true, he was in easy cir
cumstances a few months, or even a few weeks before he destroy
ed hiraself; but, then. In the Interim, though they knew nothing
of the fact, he had gambled away the last farthing he had in the
world. An instance of this occurred about ten weeks ago. A
gentlemanly-looking raan carae up from the country, and taking
lodgings in the vicinity of Leicester-square, entered some of the
gaming-houses with which that neighbourhood is infested. He
at once fell a prey to the keepers of. these Pandemoniums. In

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 361
the short space of a fortnight he was plundered of from 2000/. to
3000/., Including a valuable gold watch, which he had risked when
all his money was gone. He then went and blew out his brains.
Of course, if any of those who knew him a month previously, and
who were unacquainted with the fact of his gambling, had been
asked if they knew any cause why he destroyed himself, they
would have answered in the negative ; adding, that he was in
excellent circumstances. It is no uncomraon thing for persons,
who have entered one of these hells with the determination
of hazarding their last shiUing before they corae out again, to
make previous preparations for the commission of suicide, in
the event of their being unfortunate. Their motto In such a case
Is^" Soraething or nothing." If the latter be the result, then
out they go, and straightway carry the purpose on which they
had previously resolved, into effect. In fifteen or twenty rainutes
afterwards their bodies are weltering in their gore*, and their
spirits are before the throne of the Eternal.
The feelings of one who enters a garabling-house for the first
time, are of a very peculiar and painful kind. He has a secret
conviction, though too infatuated to profit by it, that In the very
act of crossing the threshold of such a place for the purposes of
play, he Is not only sinning against Heaven, but perilling his own
reputation and prospects in life. He Is so powerfully impressed
with a sense of doing wrong, that his very head becomes
dizzy, his eyes become dim, and his heart palpitates with a
violence which, perhaps, he never before experienced. I have
even known Instances in which young men, on their first enter
ing a gaming-house to engage in play, have almost been divested
of consciousness itself. They have walked up stairs in a state of
trance ; reminding one, in sorae measure, of the mechanical mo
tions of a somnambulist. I knew one who was so overpowered
with a sense of the impropriety and perils of entering one of these
hells, that he could not collect his scattered senses sufficiently to
play when he had got into the room, and actually quitted it again
without being able to say how many stairs he went up, or to de
scribe the appearance of the place.
No idea can be formed by those who have not experienced it,
of the Intense excitement consequent on gambling. And what
Is worthy of mention Is, that the mere circumstance of being
habituated to play, does not materially abate the exciteraent.
It is weU known to those who are personally acquainted with
gamblers, that they never throw the dice, deal the cards, or put
down their money at roulette, when the stakes played for are
* It is worthy of remark, that very few gamblers commit suicide by hanging or
drowning : they almost invariably, when they do destroy thehiselves, either cut their
throats, or blow out their brains.

362 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
large, without feeling themselves wrought up to the highest pitch
of excitement. A friend of my own who went a few months
since Into one of the hells, says, that, among others, he saw the
son of a nobleman engaged in deep play ; and that though, by a
run of good luck, as the phrase is, he continued to win while my
acquaintance was there, his excitement was so great as to agi
tate his whole frame. His tongue even faltered while he attempt
ed to speak ; and he seemed so absorbed in the game, that he
appeared as if Insensible to everything and every one around
him. Others have been known to sit for sixteen or eighteen
hours at a time at the gaming-table, without feeUng the slightest
hunger, and without Imagining that they had been so employed
more than two or three hours.
I have dwelt at such length In the work to which I have
already made several references, on the debasing and destructive
effects of gaming on the minds of those who give way to It, that
little more is left me to say on that point. Not only does indulg
ence in play extinguish all the finer feelings of our nature, but it
generally does it in a very short time. In the short space of two
or three months, the most amiable and virtuous of men have, In
innumerable cases, been transformed into a species of Incarnate
demons by their nightly visits to the gaming-table. Husbands
that were before most devotedly attached to their wives, soon
treat them with the most perfect brutality; and fathers
who regarded their children with so ardent an affection,
that they would have parted with everything they possessed In
the world rather than that those children should be injured,
would now prefer seeing thera die of cold or hunger, to' being
themselves excluded frora the gaming-house. The cases are in
numerable, in which a man continues to frequent these Pande-
raoniuras — pawning, it raay be, the very clothes off his back, —
while he sees his wife and children literally dying of want In
some wretched hovel. In fact, the confirmed gambler Is utterly
lost to all virtuous feeling : he has not a trace of humanity left.
An affecting Instance of the suddenness with which the passion
of gambling transforms a virtuous man Into one of the most vici
ous kind, occurred within the last two or three years, under my
own observation. A young raan, the son of raost worthy parents,
who had a sraall corapetency to support them in their old age,
after having spent a little fortune on his education, had, on com
ing from the country to London, been very successful In the pro
fession to which he belonged. He was a handsome young man, of
engaging raanners, and possessed an Intimate knowledge of his
profession. Circumstances brought him Into contact with a
young lady, the daughter of a gentleman of great wealth and
high standing in society. Having every reason to beUeve that

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 363
he had only to make matrimonial advances to the young lady to
insure both her own and her parents' consent to their marriage,
he, after a little hesitation, did solicit the hand of the forraer.
His proposals were accepted by her, with the most cordial
concurrence of every member of the family ; and In due time the
marriage took place. With his bride he received a handsome
sum down, and the assurance that, on the father's death, he
would receive a great deal more. The first thing he did was to
send 1500/. to his parents. In return for the expenses which his
education had cost thera ; feeling, that but for that education,
he could never have attained that position in society which he
now occupied. The raarrlage jaunt having been performed, both
parties returned to town, and he comraenced business on his own
account, backed by the great influence and connexions of his
father-in-law. Everything went on smoothly for a time : he took
a large house, at a rental of 300/. a-year, and furnished It In a
style of great splendour : his wife and he lived on the most affec
tionate terms ; and her friends always appeared to me to be ex
ceedingly attached to him. In an evil hour, he met with one or
more Greeks, and by them he was decoyed into a fashionable
hell In the neighbourhood of St. James's-street. In a few weeks
he lost every farthing of ready money he could coraraand. His
father-in-law was applied to, and advanced another sum, not
aware of the purposes for which it was intended. That followed
the first. In a week or two more. Another application was made
to his father-in-law ; but having, by this time, ascertained how the
former sums had gone, he refused to advance a farthing raore.
This led to a quarrel, and to the young raan ordering his father-
in-law to quit the house, and never again to enter It. His
wife took his part, and by that means forfeited the friendship of
all her faraily. They one and all refused to have any intercourse
with hira or her. What was now to be done 2 He wTote to his
father, asking hira for the loan, for a few months, of th^ 1500/.
he had sent him, under the pretext that he was going to appro
priate it to business purposes, with a moral certainty of its pro
ducing a most handsome return. The poor unsuspecting man
sent him a draft for the whole sura by next day's post. In a
fortnight or three weeks, every shiUing of the amount was lost m
one of the dens of iniquity to which I have referred. Inventing
the most plausible story his genius could suggest, he again applied
to his father for the loan, for two or three months, of whatever
remaining money he had, assuring him that the whole would be
returned at the end of that time, with an ample consideration for
the use of it. The stiU unsuspecting parent immediately sent
him the last farthing he had, araounting to nearly 2000/,
In a month, or rather less, that had aU gone the same way as the

364 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
former sum. The splendid establishment was broken up ; the fur
niture was all sold by the creditors to whom he was indebted In
his professional capacity ; and he and his wife were turned into
the streets without a friend or farthing in the world. He now
lost all regard for his wife, as he had done already for all
his friends; and in a short time afterwards, heard, with the
most entire indifference, of the death of his father and the des
titution of his mother. He parted from his wife without the
slightest feeling of regret ; and, to my own knowledge, though
brought up in the first circles of society, she was, in little more
than fourteen months after her marriage, dependent for subsist
ence, and for a place to sleep in, on the charity of an humble
tradesman ; for her parents had been so offended at her conduct,
in taking her husband's part when he insulted them, that it was
not until they had learned that he had quitted the country alto
gether, that they would consent again to acknowledge her.
I give this case in illustration of the rapidity with which gam
bling transforms the raost virtuous into the most vicious of raen, —
because I was rayself intimately acquainted with the unfortunate
young man. I have modified rather than over-stated the cir
cumstances of the case, while I have purposely suppressed several
facts which would have raade It still more touching, lest it should
be recognised by any of the friends of either the husband or the
wife ; and possibly, in such a case, give them a moment's uneasi
ness. Were I to repeat all the other instances which I have
heard of a similar nature, the space that remains of this chapter
would be insufficient for the purpose.
I could relate cases without nuraber of the sudden transitions
frora affiuence and respectability to the lowest depths of destitu
tion and degradation, which have been brought about by a pas
sion for the gambling-table. Not long since, a very affecting
instance of this nature was brought under the personal cognizance
of a number of individuals. A gentleman belonging to a good
family, and who possessed a handsome freehold house and a for
tune of 20,000/,, was somehow or other trepanned into a gambling-
house. He was not long there, when he thought he would play
to the extent of five sovereigns. He alternately lost and gained,
but quitted that evening with the sarae sum as he entered. He
next night repeated bis visit to the place, and then lost a consi
derable sum. A third time he crossed the portals of the Pande
monium, in the hope of regaining what he had lost on the previous
occasion ; but he found that he only doubled his losses. StiU he
clung to the hope, that by trying again he would make up for all
he had lost ; and with that view, and in that expectation, repeat
ed his visits night after night. The result was, that he became
a confirmed gambler. He was speU-bound to the gaming-table.

GAMING-HOUSES AND. GAMBLERS. 365
and every successive loss only seemed to whet his appetite for
further play. With the recklessness of a desperate man, he
played still deeper and deeper with every new game, until he
had gambled away the last, sixpence he had in the world, — which
he did in the short space of two or three months. He was a
married man, with four chUdren. The house and the things In
It, were sold. One article of wearing apparel after another,
whether belonging to his wife, or hiraself, or his children, found
Its way to the pawnbrokers, as being the only means they had of
procuring as much food as would sustain existence. At last the
wretched family was discovered, through the merest accident, by
a former friend, living in a miserable hovel in one of the lowest
parts of the town ; the poor wife on the eve of her confinement,
the four children not only half-naked, but evidently sick and ex
hausted frora utter want ; while he himself had all the appear
ance of a living skeleton. I should add, that there was neither
bed, table, nor chairs in the roora ; nothing, indeed. In the shape
of furniture. The unhappy man confessed to his friend when he
entered, that he had brought all the misery he then beheld, on
his wife, his children, and himself, by his addiction to the gam
ing-table. I have said that In many cases the last resource of the
ruined gambler is suicide. Before having recourse to this expe
dient for ending their earthly miseries, ruined gamesters havoj
In numerous Instances, been so utterly lost to all attachment to
life, that the commission of the fatal act seems not to have cost
them one moment's uneasiness. Gamblers have been known to
set as coolly and deliberately about blowing out their brains as
if they. had only been going to light their cigars. Lord Orford,
in his Correspondence with Horace Walpole, mentions two curi
ous instances of this. Not having the work just named at hand,
and not being able to refer to the particular letter in which the
first of the cases Is related, I cannot give it in his lordship's^
words, I must, therefore, give It as well as I can frora raeraory : —
One of the fashionable young men of Lord Orford's day, had
been unhappily decoyed into a gambling-house, where his passion
for play became so great that he spent nearly the whole of his
time in throwing the dice — excepting, of course, that portion of
time which was necessary for physical repose. He continued to
gamble untU he had not only lost a princely fortune, but had In
curred a large amount of debt among his tradesmen. With the
loss of his money, and the utter beggary which stared him in the
face, the unfortunate victim of play lost aU relish for life. He
saw, or rather fancied he saw. In death the only refuge from the
Infamy and wretchedness which he had entailed on himself; and
therefore, with the coolness and deUberatlon of a man In his pe-

366 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
culiar circumstances, he determined on the commission of suicide.
But though thus past aU feeling for himself, he had still some
lingering concern for the poor hard-working and honest trades
men In whose debt he was so deeply ; and as he was fully resolv
ed on self-destruction, he thought he raight, before carrying his
fatal purpose into execution, as well do thera an act of justice ;
though in so doing, he should do Injustice to others. I suppose —
though this can only be conjecture, he not having expressed any
sentiment on the subject — that he thought in his own mind
there could be no great harm in taking a small sum out of the
pockets of a great many individuals, to raake up an amount, the
loss of which would be ruinous to many of his tradesmen. Be
this as It may, the ruined gambler Insured his life to the extent
of the sura — amounting to several thousand pounds — which he
owed his tradesmen, taking their claims In the aggregate. Being
personally acquainted with several of the directors of the com
pany (he called them his life-and-death brokers) in which he
insured, he invited them to dinner the foUowing day, with the
ostensible view of celebrating the completion of the assurance.
He also requested all his tradesmen to be present at a particular
hour in the evening ; an hour which would allow the party to dis
patch a splendid dinner, and do ample justice to the wine. The
tradesmen received strict orders to be personally present ; and
as the non-payment of their accounts for a long period to come
was to be the penalty of not acceding to his wishes in this respect,
it can scarcely be necessary to say that they were all " punctual
as lovers to the raoraent sworn." The dinner over, and a liberal
allowance of wine having been quaffed, the ruined garabler de
sired the servant to caU up all who were in the hall below. In a
few seconds the dinlng-roora was filled with tradesraen, all eager
to receive payment of their accounts. " Now, gentlemen," said
the gambler, addressing his guests, and pointing to the little
crowd of tradesmen ; " now, gentlemen, these are all my trades
men ; they are honest industrious raen to whom I am Indebted ;
and as I see no other earthly raeans of being ever able to meet
their just claims, you will be so kind as to pay them out of the sum
for which I insured my hfe yesterday. Allow me, gentlemen,
to bid you all farewell," And so saying, he pulled a pistol from
Ills pocket, and placing It to his head, that Instant blew out
his brains.
The other case to which I have referred, as related by Lord
Orford, I can give in his lordship's own words, having access to
it In an extract in one of the periodicals of the day. Lord Or
ford, writing at a time when the friends of the party to whom he
alludes were aUve, very properly suppresses his narae, contenting
himself with substituting a few stars for it. " He himself," says

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 367
Lord Orford, " with all his judgment in bets, would haV6 betted
any man in England against himself for self-murder. Yet after
having been supposed the sharpest genius of his time, he, by all
that appears, shot himself In the distress of his circumstancesj
* * * The same day, he asked immediately for the government
of Virginia, or the fox hounds ; and pressed for an answer with
an eagerness that surprised the Duke of N  , who never had
a notion of pinning down the relief of his own, or any other man's
wants, to a day. Yet that seems to have been the case of * * *,
who determined to throw the die of life or death. Tuesday
se'nnight he received the answer from court, which did not
prove favourable. He consulted Indirectly, and at last di
rectly, several people on the easiest mode of finishing life ; and
seems to have thought that he had been too explicit ; for he
invited company to dinner for the day of his death, and ordered
a supper at White's *, where he supped, too, the night before.
He played at whist till It was one In the raorning : It was New-
year's morning. Lord Bertie drank to ^hlm a happy new year.
He clapped his hands strangely to his eyes. In the raorning, he
had a lawyer and three witnesses, and executed his will, which
he made them read twice over, paragraph by paragraph ; and
then asking the lawyer If that would stand good, though a man
were to shoot hiraself, and being assured that It would, he said,
' Pray stay while I step into the next room,' and shot himself.
He clapped the pistol so close to his head, that they heard no
report." The above are curious Illustrations of the utter indifference to
life, which are so common in the case of ruined gamblers. But,
perhaps, the most singular one on record occurred about four
teen or fifteen years since. A young raan, having garabled away
the last shilling he possessed In the world, solicited the loan of
a few pounds frora one of the proprietors of the hell in which he
had been plundered of his raoney. " What security do you pro
pose, for repaying the sura 2" Inquired the hellite.
" My word of honour," was the answer.
" That won't do ; that's poor security. Indeed," rejoined the
keeper of the heU, in haughty and alraost insulting tones.
" Then you won't lend me a few pounds 2"
" Not without security."
"¦ Why, you surely won't refuse me a couple of sovereigns
after having lost so much 2"
" I won't advance you a couple of shillings without security."
The young man was, if possible, as deeply stung by this refusal
as he was mortified at the loss of his money. A thought struck

* White's Club, St. James's-street.

368 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
him. " I'll give you," he said, addressing himself to the heUIte,
" the security of the suit of clothes on my back, which is quite
new, and cost eight guineas. WiU you advance me a couple of
sovereigns on that security 2"
^ " But supposing you lose, I cannot strip them off your back."
' " Don't trouble yourself about that. If I lose I shall commit
suicide, which I have been meditating for some tirae, and you
shall then have the clothes. I shall return to ray lodgmgs
before day-light. In the most worn-out and worthless dressing-
gown or great cloak you can procure for me, leaving my clothes
with you. The money was advanced, and in ten or twelve
minutes was lost. The hellite demanded his clothes. The un
fortunate youth, with the utmost coolness, stripped forthwith,
and enveloping his body in a great-coat, for which no Jew old-
clothesman would have given half-a-crown, quitted the Pande
monium in which he had lost his raoney, with the firra deterral-
nation of destroying hiraself. Instead, however, of going home
to execute his purpose, he was about to carry It into effect by
suspending hiraself frora a larap-post, in a dark lane, near the
hell in which he had lost his money ; but before he had com
pleted his preparations, he was observed by a policeman, who at
once took him Into custody. He was brought before the police
magistrate next raorning, where the whole circurastances con
nected with the affair transpired. It is worthy of observation,
that the ruined garabler exhibited the most perfect coolness
when discovered in the act of attempting to destroy himself;
and that he resented the interference of the policeman, by which
he was prevented from carrying his purpose into effect, as a
most unwarrantable piece of impertinence. He had squandered
away all his money, and now he conceived he had an undoubted
right to take away his life.
In the work * to which I have two or three times alluded,
I have adverted to some remarkable cases of suicide which have
been committed In consequence of losses at the garalng-table.
I gave those cases in detail, because, having occurred a good
many years ago, they are not now likely to cause that uneasi
ness to the relations of the parties which they must have done
at the time. I could relate many more of recent occurrence
which have been made public to a certain extent; but it is
better to pass them over. There are, again, raany cases of sui
cide arising from losses at play, which are quite well known to
the immediate relations of the parties, but which are carefully
kept by those relations from the knowledge of the public. I
myself could point to various individual cases of this kind ; but
* The Great Metropolis. First Series.

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 36.9
that would answer no useful purpose, while it would inflict a
wound in the breast of surviving relatives.
From what I have already remarked, the reader will at once
infer, that an indulgence in the passion of gambling must be pro
ductive of an awful amount of Individual misery to the parties
themselves. Would that the misery wh'ich Is the inevitable
result of gambling were confined to those parties ! Unhappily
it is not : It extends to faralUes, relatives, and friends ; and thus
indirectly spreads Itself throughout the whole framework of
society. Fathers are reduced to poverty by the losses at the
gaming-table of their sons; wives, by the losses of their hus
bands ; chUdren, by the losses of their fathers ; sisters, by the
losses of their brothers ; and so on throughout all the variety of
family relationship wherever one individual Is dependent on the
pecuniary prosperity of another. But this is not the only way iir
which the baneful effects of the pernicious practice of gambling
are felt by the relations of the parties. The suicides and forge
ries and other discreditable actions, which result from an indul
gence In the practice of gambling, are matters which not only
throw them Into the deepest misery at the time of their occur
rence, but which they can never look back on, at any after period
of life, without the most painful feelings. There Is yet another
though "not so manifest way in wMch gambling Is productive of
a vast amount of misery and wretchedness. I allude to the mar
riages which gamblers on the verge of ruin, enter Into with the
view of retrieving their fortunes, or rather postponing their ruin
for a longer or shorter period, as the case may be. In such
cases, the affections 'are never for a moment consulted : there is
no sympathy of opinion, feeling, or habit : no union of hearts.
With the gambler, the transaction Is one of a thoroughly sordid
kind : he does not even respect the lady he is about to make his
wife. It may be, he utterly detests her ; but she has a fortune,.
and he knows of no other means of obtaining money. Of course
the marriage ends in the greatest unhappiness, if not in entire
separation. This, I need hardly say, chiefly applies to aristo
cratic marriages ; and to them it applies to an extent of which I
am convinced the public have no conception. Every one Is aware
that George the Fourth, when Prince of Wales, was, as the
common phrase is, over head and ears in debt ; and that It was
because he would thereby be enabled to meet the claims of his
creditors, that he consented to marry the Princess Caroline of
Brunswick. But though this is known to every one, compa
ratively few people are acquainted with the circumstances under
which "his debts were contracted. Those debts, then, were the
result of losses at the gaming-table. He was an inveterate gara-
t)Ier ; a habit which he most probably contracted through his

370 SKETCHES IN LONDON,
intimacy with Fox. It is a well ascertained fact, that In two
short years, soon after he attained his majority, he lost nearly
500,000/. at play. It was with the view and in the hope that
marriage would cure his propensity for the gaming-table, that his
father was so anxious to see hira united to Caroline. And it was
solely, as just remarked, on account of his marriage with that prin
cess constituting the only condition of his debts being paid by the
country, that he agreed to lead her to the hymeneal altar. The
unfortunate results of their union are but too weU known, not
only as regarded the parties themselves, but as regarded society
generally. To the gambling habits, then, of the Prince of Wales
are to be ascribed all that unhappiness which he entailed on the
unfortunate Caroline ; and the vast amount of injury which her
separation from him, and subsequent trial, produced on the
morals of the nation generally.
Perhaps there Is not, in the whole catalogue of vices, a single
one which is more Insidious than that of gambling. If a man
once gives way to it — if he once yields to the temptation to play,
it is a thousand to one if he ever relinquishes it until he is ruined
in character and fortune. I have given, in the previous parts of
this chapter, instances of a very remarkable kind illustrative of
the alraost raoral irapossibillty of the person who has once fairly
entered on play, absenting hiraself frora the garabUng-table while
he has a shilling In the world. The Inference frora this Is surely
so plain, that he who runneth may read. Not only ought men
to shun the gaming-houses as they would the path that leads to
their own destruction, but they ought to abstain from aU betting
and gambUng among private friends, even when only for the mere
purposes of amusement. What is begun for amusement soon
ends in a disposition to gamble for gain ; and though the party
may, in the first Instance, confine his risks to trifling amounts,
he will gradually venture on deeper and deeper play, untU he
plays sufficiently large stakes to work his own ruin. Parents
ought to check and eradicate the disposition to all sorts of play
ing for gain araong their children. The spirit of the gambler is
often, I am convinced. Imbibed In our boyish years, though It
may not develop itself In any striking manner until we have
reached the years of maturity.
The disclosures which were made on the trial of Lord de Roos,
proved that not only does the practice of gaming prevaU to a
great extent among the upper classes of society, but that many
of our nobility and gentry are in the "habit of playing what Is
caUed deep game. In this respect, however, our present aristo
cracy have the advantage over the higher classes of the last cen
tury. With the single exception of a noble marquis, two noble
earls, and three or four members of the peerage of inferior rank,

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 371
I am not aware of any of our present aristocracy whose gambling
achievements can at aU be compared with those of scores of the
nobUity and gentry of the middle and latter part of the by-gone
century, whom it were easy to narae. And, perhaps, among all
the aristocratic gamblers of the last century, the Duke of Bedford,
and Charles James Fox, the illustrious orator and statesman,
were the greatest. The Duke of Bedford felt the excitement
consequent on gambling to be, in one sense, necessary to exist
ence : life was to him a -positive burden when not Indulging his
favourite propensity. Even sickness itself, when that sickness
did not prostrate his mental powers, failed to extinguish his dis
position to gamble. But as I have referred to the singularly
strong propensity which the late Duke of Bedford felt for play,
in the work to which I made allusion In the outset, I will say
nothing more relative to his Grace In this volume. I am not
sure, after all, whether his friend, Mr. Fox, was not a still
greater gambler. At all events, Fox was one of the most Invete
rate players that ever put a knee under the table, It is a well-
attested fact, that one evening he lost the immense sum of 25,000/.
No less undoubted is the circumstance of his having, on another
occasion, continued at play for twenty-two consecutive hours ! It
is also, perhaps, worthy of mention, that, singularly enough, he
lost 500/. every hour, without a single Instance of what is tech
nically caUed " a turn" in his favour ; making a total loss for the
twenty-two hours' sederunt, of 11,000/. The fact of Fox having
been able, in a physical point of view, to continue twenty-two
consecutive hours in one position, and at one employment, proves
in the most conclusive manner the stimulating nature of gam
bling. At any other employment, nature would have been un
equal to the effort ; she must have sunk In the attempt. It is
due to the memory of Fox to say, that he was one of the few
inveterate players of his day who was never, known to resort to
unfair practices. There was something. Indeed, of a very pecu
liar nature In the constitution of his raind. Unlike all other
gamblers of whora I have ever heard, his losses, even when ruin
ous, never seemed to cause him a moment's regret or uneasiness.
A contemporary and friend of his has mentioned, in his meraolrs
of the eminent men of that period, that at six o'clock one morn
ing, after having the previous night lost the last farthlng.he had
in the world at the gaming-table, he was found reading, in the
original, the works of one of the most distinguished phUosophers
of ancient Greece. His own favourite observation, in reference
to his gambling propensities, was, that next to the pleasure of
gaining was the pleasure of losing at play. _ , ,„ „
In the time of Fox, and Indeed during the entire latter haU of
the last century, gambling obtained to a very great extent among
c c 2

372 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
the female as well as among the male aristocracy of the country.
Those unacquainted with the fact will be startled to hear, that
to such an alarming height did the spirit of gambUng among the
female portion of the nobility and gentry rise, in the middle of
the eighteenth century, that It was deemed necessary, by way of
example to others, to prosecute publicly sorae of the most distin-
fuished ladles In the land for allowing gambling in their houses.
'he Countess of Buckinghamshire was convicted of this offence,
and fined 200/. ; Lady E. Luttrel was fined 50/. for the same of
fence ; and so were several other distinguished feraales.
How far the spirit of gambling is still cherished by the female
aristocracy of England, is a point on which a diversity of opinion
prevails. My own Impression Is — and that impression Is founded
on facts which have been privately comraunicated to rae — my own
impression Is, that gambling is practised to a far greater extent
among the female branches of the aristocracy than is generally
supposed. The truth Is, that people have little suspicion of a
disposition to gamble on the part of the aristocratic ladles of the
land, because the latter are prudent enough to take every possi
ble precaution to conceal the fact from the public gaze. Not only
.are there no houses kept by their own sex solely for gambling pur
poses, but they do not even go to one particular house belonging
to any one of themselves for many nights in succession. The
understanding among them Is, that, unless under peculiar circum
stances, they shall not indulge their propensity for play for raore
than six consecutive nights in the same house. The aristocratic
female gamblers are divided Into various small coteries ; and they
take each other's houses in rotation, except when particular cir
cumstances occur to interfere with such arrangement. They
meet together on such occasions ostensibly as tea parties ; and
so skilfully and adroitly Is the thing managed, that there are
often gambling lady-parties in a husband's house without his
ever dreaming of such a thing. It is due, however, to these
ladies to say, that so far as I ara aware, they not only refuse to
have anything to do with the dice, but that they never even play
deeply. The cards only are patronised by them ; and the stakes
are usually a sovereign each. Not long since, a countess died at
an advanced age, who was one of the most Inveterate gamblers
of her sex in modern times. This lady dld^nothlng else
but gamble. Living apart frora her husband, and having no
family or any one else to interfere with her, she gave fuU rein to
her propensities In this respect. It Is a fact which is worthy of
mention, that notwithstanding her passionate fondness for gam-,
bling, she almost Invariably lost. It was calculated that her
average losses exceeded fifty pounds per week during the eight
months in the year which she regularly played. The passion for

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 373
the card-table clung to her to the very last : It was only when physi
cally unfit for play that she relinquished her gambling pursuits.
I know of another lady, living by herself, but intimately relat
ed to several of the first families in the country, who never, un
less confined to her bed, suffers a single night to pass without
taking part at the card-table. The lady sees no company, solely
because that would interfere with the indulgence of her disposi
tion to play. She is now upwards of seventy, and yet she displays a
flow of spirits and liveliness of manner, when at the card-table,
which would be worthy a girl just emerging from her teens. She
does nothing else but gamble ; unless, indeed, I ought to except
a glance at the morning newspaper, and a half-hour's " dip" into
some circulating-library book. The infirmities incident to ad
vanced age require that she should not over exert herself at
home ; but the moraent she sits down at the card-table she ap
pears as if she were another person. AU her ailments seem to take
unto themselves wings and fly away the instant the cards are
produced. I could make some curious disclosures respecting the
practice of gaming among the aristocratic ladles of the land ; but
anything which would point in a particular direction in such a
case, would be in bad taste, and might be unpleasant to the rela
tions of the parties, whose feelings ought to be consulted in the
matter. We have often heard of the long time It has taken to decide a
game at chess, when the parties were both first-rate players, or
were very equally matched. Instances of this kind have occurred
in playing at cards, where the opposing parties were both honest.
It also repeatedly occurs when it so happens that both parties
are dexterous at cheating. A rather singular instance of this
kind took place in London a short time since. A Frenchman
had become proverbial among those with whom he was in the
habit of playing, for the unerring certainty with which he gained
from all who ventured to play with him. At last, as raight be
expected, seeing no chance of winning, every one refused to en
gage in the unequal trial of skiU. An Englishman who had
heard of the triumphs of Monsieur, expressed his readiness to
enter the lists with him. The parties played for three hours with
out intermission, and at the end of that time were, in respect to
winning or losing, much about the same as when they com
menced. They then stopped to have a Uttle refreshment. " Sare,"
said the Frenchman, In a sort of whisper, to a party who accom
panied the Englishman, " your friend is a very clever man at de
cards ; deuced clever, Sare." " He is a very clever fellow," ob
served the Englishman. " I shaU try him again," said Monsieur.
As he made the observation, he proceeded to the room in which
they had been playing, and which was fixed on as the scene of

374 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
their future contest. He had scarcely quitted the place, when
the other made his appearance, and observed that the French
man was the raost skilful player he had ever met with. The
parties again met, and the cards were again produced. _ The
game was renewed at eleven o'clock, and continued without inter
mission till six next morning. , At the end of that time, to the
surprise of each other, they found that they had left off_ just as
they had begun. They were respectively the more astonished at
this, as neither had ever before met with his equal. " Sare,"
said the Frenchman, " you are de best player I ever met with."
" And you, Monsieur," returned the other, " are the only gen
tleraan frora whora I could gain nothing."
" Indeed, Sare," said Monsieur, hesitatingly.
" It's the fact, I assure you."
" Sare, I'ra quite surprised at your skill."
" I'ra nd^less so at yours. Monsieur."
" You're the most skllfullest man at de cards in England."
" Not whUe you are in it. Monsieur," replied the Englishman,
with a smile.
" Sare, I cheated, and yet could not gain from you," remarked
the Frenchman, hurriedly and with great emphasis, feeling it ira
possible any longer to restrain his surprise at the circumstance of
being unable to play a winning garae with the Englishman.
" And, Monsieur, I did the sarae with you, and yet you are no
loser," remarked the other, with a corresponding energy of tone.
The enigma was now solved : both had been cheating the whole
night, though each was unconscious of the dishonest practices of
the other. And so equally matched were they in their dexterity
at cheating, that each rose frora the table with the same amount
of raoney as that with which he sat down. The cheats cordially
shook hands, seeraingly much gratified that they had at last ascer
tained how it was that neither could gain from the other.
Persons who have never been in a gambling-house, have very
erroneous notions of how matters are conducted in those sinks of
iniquity. They suppose that there is the conversation, the witty
remark, the repartee, the laughter, and good-humoured uproar,
if I may use the expression, which are the usual characteristics '
of social parties. There could not be a greater misapprehension
as to the real state of things. Gamblers know no friendship ex
cept in those cases in which two or raore of the hellites, or pro
fessed garablers, conspire together for the purpose of fleecing
some unfortunate person who, in an evil hour, has been Induced
to enter one of these Pandemoniuras. Not a word of conversa
tion Is to be heard : no smile is ever seen to light up the counte
nances of those at play. What I witnessed in this respect, in
the gaming-house in the Regent Quadrant, is nightly to be seen

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 375
in every hell In the metropolis. In every face you see the deepest
anxiety and the most grasping avarice clearly depicted ; while In
the countenances of those who have been plundered of their
money, and^have their last farthing at stake, you see a positively
horrible expression. Despair in its most frightful aspects is visi
bly impressed In their looks. In many Instances, you witness an
unearthly, I had almost said a demoniacal expression of coun
tenance. It requires no effort to infer frora their looks what
awful emotions are agitating their bosoms. Every eye is fixed
on the table, and on the dice, or cards, or ball, according to the
nature bf the play that is going on at the time. The stUlness of
the place is only broken by the rattling of the dice, the motions
of the wheel and ball, or by the person who presides over the
game announcing the result, or requesting the players to make their
game anew. In the very silence of the place there is often some
thing awful ; made, of course, infinitely more so by the intense
interest which the parties feel in the result of the game. The
only occasions on which the voices of the parties are to be heard,
is when some unhappy man, who has been robbed of his money
by foul play, accuses the hellites, or the persons in their employ,
of having cheated him. The charge of cheating Is one at whicli
these fellows invariably affect to be mightily indignant ; and
the more guilty of the crime, the lou.der they usuaUy are in their
blustering, and In their pretended regard for their characters.
The victim who has the temerity to charge them with false play,
is sure to be a sufferer In person as well as in purse. Not con
tent with heaping every abuse on his head, and uttering the most
dreadful imprecations, they usually resort, with the view of
silencing the party preferring the charge, to arguments of a phy
sical kind ; that is to say, they have recourse to personal violence ;
and as the one invariably takes the part of the other, It is unne
cessary to say that the unfortunate victim has no chance with
them. In the leading gaming establishraents, they have a bully,
of superior pugilistic capabiUties, regularly retained for the pur
pose of inflicting fistic punishment on any party who may become
troublesome because he has been plundered of his money. The
Cases are innumerable— they are of nightly occurrence, though
'the parties are restrained from a desire not to expose them
selves, from prosecuting the hellites for assault — in which poor
simpletons, who have been fieeced of their last farthing, have
received the raost flagrant personal maltreatment * because they
have ventured to charge the parties who have plundered them of
their money, with unfair play. I could refer to various Instances

* It may be right ho say, that this applies chiefly to the transactions which take
^lace in the minor hells.

376 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
of this kind which have been communicated to me by the parties
who were the victims: that, however, is unnecessary. I will
only add, that a variety of cases have occurred, in which the
remonstrating party has not only been grossly assaulted, biit
has actually been raurdered, or has afterwards died of the
injuries he had received. Nor is this anything but what
might be expected ; for the hellites are the most thoroughly
abandoned class of men under heaven. Their raoral sense has
been utterly deadened by the series of crimes which they had
committed before they became the proprietors of gaming-houses :
of humanity, there exists not the slightest vestige in their bo
soms. In short, they will never hesitate at the comralssion of
any crime, no matter what its enormity, provided they think
there Is a probability of their escaping the retribution which the
laws of their country In all such cases inflict.
And the practice of gambling, it is right to reraark, has the
same effect on alraost every one who gives hiraself up to it ;
whether a gaming-house proprietor or not. The Instances are
exceedingly rare, in which the habitual gambler is not one of the
most vicious members of society. To this point I have alluded
in a previous part of the chapter. An utter disregard of all
virtue and friendship is a necessary consequence of gaming. The
man who, when he enters a gambling den for the first time,
would not be induced to do an unjust or unworthy action for
the world, wIU, by the time he has been a few months a gam
bler, perpetrate the raost atrocious actions Vlthout a corapunc-
tious visiting at the tirae, or a pang of regret at an after period.
Nor Is there anything too mean or ignoble for them to
do, provided it will administer to their" propensity for the
gaming-table. A few months' attendance In one of these fearful
places robs a man of all self-respect. I could give Innumerable
illustrations of this, by a reference to individual cases. I shall
only allude to one ; it came under my own observation a year or
two ago, and possesses some singular features : — A young man of
most respectable connexions, and who possessed great talents in
the profession to which he belonged, had, in the course of two or
three years, got into a business which was producing from
1000/. to 1200/. per annum. He had every prospect of his busi-.
ness considerably Increasing. I ara convinced, from what I my
self knew of the circumstances, that in three or four years more
he would have annually made by his professional exertions from
1500/. to 2000/. Unfortunately, however, he had not the good
sense to let weU alone. To make a fortune graduaUy, and by
means of his professional talents, appeared to him a too common
place sort of affair. His fortune must not be raade by the drud
gery of business : it was far more aristocratic, and much more

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 377
like a man of spirit, to become rich all at once. He had been
told — by those of course whose interest It was to deceive him — ¦
that he might make a fortune in a few weeks, by a suecesslon of
what are called " hits" at the gaming-table. He listened to the
voice which sought his ruin : he entered a Pandemonium ; and
in a few weeks not only was all his available money in the coffers,
or, to speak with technical precision, " the bank" of the hellites,
but also all the borrowed money he had been able by any effort to
raise. Instead of learning wisdom from sad and painful experi
ence, and abjuring gambling for ever, he only became the more
desperately wedded to the dice-box and the cards. What might
have been expected, speedily took place : he lost his business en
tirely, was disowned by his friends, and became a positive outcast
from society. As he could not under any pretext or by any ihge-
n\iity he possessed get his acquaintances to advance him a
sixpence more, he put his wits to the rack to devise methods by
which he could obtain money, or that which would produce
money, with the least amount of legal risk. He was in the habit
of going to the houses of former friends wherever he would still
be admitted, and stealing whatever portable articles of value
came within his reach. He managed his felonies very adroitly.
His favourite practice was to call at those early hours when the
mistress of the house was not likely to be seen, owing to her being
in dishabille, and when the probabihty consequently was, that
he would be shown into the drawing-room until such time as
she could put herself into a condition to see him. In such
cases, his custom was to snatch up whatever he deemed most
suitable for his purpose ; and when walking out, to tell the servant
that he would not wait for Mrs. So-and- So, but would call again
in a day or two. As the lady of the house would not under
these circumstances be, in many cases. In the particular room
until some other person called, the article stolen would not be
missed, and thus an innocent party might be blamed. In one
such case, not seeing any other article sufficiently portable for
theft, he actuaUy stole a pocket bible. On another occasion,
finding nothing of any value which was not too bulky for the
purposes of transfer to another locality, he actually stole a
Macintosh cloak which hung in the passage leading from the
street-door. But of aU the thefts— many of them dexterously
.committed— of which this young man was guilty, the most re
markable and the most ungrateful one was the following. He
had gone to an old acquaintance, and laying before him the
deplorable circurastances to which he had been reduced, pointed
out to him a certain situation which was vacant, and besought
him to use his exertions to procure it for him. His friend,
though perfectly aware that the altered position in which the young

378 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
man stood, was to be ascribed wholly to his own fooUshness, was
so convinced of his being incapable of doing a dishonest action,
that he became positively indignant when any charge of dis
honesty was preferred against him in his hearing. Anxious to
do him a service, hei took the young man with him to the office
of the gentleraan in whose establishraent a situation was vacant.
The parties were shown into a particular room by themselves ;
and on the other being caUed to speak to the gentleman who
had the situation to dispose of, he said to the young man, " Now
you wait here until I return, and I wUl let you know the result
of the application. I wish to Heaven It may be successful ; at all
events, I will do everything In my power to get the place for you.
I will be back in a few minutes." The friend of the young man
then quitted the apartment, leaving his cloak In the care of the
youthful ruined gambler. Hp had no sooner quitted the apart
ment, than the young raan snatched up the cloak, which was
quite new, and had cost six guineas, and proceeded forthwith to
a pawnbroker's with it. It is unnecessary to say that he never
afterwards inquired whether his friend was unsuccessful in his
application in his behalf or not.
But stealing was not the only means to which this youthful
victim of the gambling-table resorted In order to procure money
wherewith to indulge his propensity for play. He was in the
habit of making up false parcels, and delivering thera at certain
offices and houses, pretending they had come a distance, and de
manding several shillings for their carriage. In order to prac
tise the iraposition more effectually, he dressed himself in the
clothes of a porter, and so weU imitated the manner and mode of
speaking of that class of men, that no one ever suspected he was an
impostor. In this way he contrived to raise. In small sums of
two and three shiUings at a tirae, a considerable araount of
money. By-and-by, however, he overdid the thing. He went a
second time to a place in which he had in this way before swindled
a gentleman out of several shillings, when he was taken into cus
tody, tried at the Old BaUey, convicted, and sentenced to twelve
months' Imprisonment ; which sentence he Is now undergoing.
Thus, in the short space of three years, this young raan, whose
circumstances were so excellent and his prospects so bright, has
been reduced not only to absolute penury, and to the loss "of
friends and of society, but to the degradation attaching to a
convicted and imprisoned swindler.
I have before referred to the various games which are most
general in the hells of the metropolis : that at which the greatest
amount is lost or won In the shortest space of time, is French
Hazard. This Is the garae which Is alraost invariably played In
Crockford's, arid aU the Pandemoniums in which the nobiUty and

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. §79
gentry play. The loss of 10,000/., 15,000/.,^ and even 20,000/.,
at this game, by one person in one night. Is an event which is by
no means of rare occurrence. It Is well known, that a distin
guished gambler ventured, a few years since, no less than 6000/.
on the result of a single game at French hazard ; which game
only occupied a few minutes in playing.
Gambling is an almost universal vice. Though more prevalent
in some countries than in others, it obtains to some extent In
every country. The mode of gambling is infinitely diversified ;
but each country has its favourite game. Lewis and Clarke, in
their " Travels to the Source of the Missouri," give an account
of the mode in which the Indians in that part of America gam
ble. These traveUers say — " The games are of two kinds. In
the first, one of the company assumes the office of .banker, and
plays against the rest. He takes a sraall stone, about the size of
a bean, which he shifts from one hand to the other with great
dexterity, repeating at the same time a song adapted to the
game, and which serves to divert the attention of the company,
.till, having agreed on the stake, he holds out his hands, and the
¦antagonist wins or loses as he succeeds or fails at guessing In
which hand the stone is. After the banker has lost his money,
or whenever he is tired, the stone is transferred to another, who
in turn challenges the rest of the company. The other game is
something like the play of nine-pins : two pins are placed on the
floor, about the distance of a foot from each other, and a sraall
hole made behind them. The players then go about ten feet
from the hole, Into which they try to roll a small piece resem-
bUng the men used at draughts. If they succeed in putting it
into the hole, they win the stake : if the piece rolls between the
pins, but does not go into the hole, nothing is won or lost ; but
'the wager Is wholly lost if the chequer rolls outside of the pins.
Entire days are wasted at these games, which are often continued
through the night, round the blaze of their fires, till the last
article of clothing, or even the last blue bead, is won from the
desperate adventurer."
< D'Israeli, In his " Curiosities of Literature," gives sorae curi
ous particulars respecting the vice of garabling, as practised In
the East. He says : — " Dice, and that httle pugnacious animal
the cock, are the chief instruments employed by the numerous
nations of the East, to agitate their minds and ruin their for
tunes : to which the Chinese, who are desperate gamblers, add
the use of cards. When aU other property Is played away, the
Asiatic gambler scruples not to stake his wife, or his chUd, on
the oast of a die, or courage and strength of a martial bird. If
still unsuccessful, the last venture he stakes is— himself !
" In the island of Ceylon, cock-fighting is carried to a great

380 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
height. The Sumatrans are addicted to the use' of dice. A
strong spirit of play characterises a Malayan. After having
resigned everything to the good fortune of the winner, he Is
reduced to a horrid state of desperation : he then loosens a cer
tain lock of hair, which indicates war and destruction to all the
raving gamester meets. He intoxicates himself with opium;
and working himself up Into a fit of phrenzy, he bites and kills
every one who comes in his way. But as soon as ever this lock
is seen fiowing, it Is lawful to fire at the person, and to destroy
him as fast as possible. I think It Is this which our sailors caU,
' To run a muck.' Thus Dryden wi'ites :
' Frontless, and satire-proof, he scours the streets.
And runs an Indian muck at all he meets.'
Thus also Pope —
I ' Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet
To run a muck, and tilt at aU I meet.*
" Johnson could not discover the derivation of the word muck.
I think I have heard that It refers to their employing, on these
fatal occasions, a muck, or lance ; but my recollection Is proba
bly imperfect.
" To_ discharge their gambling debts, the Siamese seU their
possessions, their faralUes, and, at length, themselves. The Chi
nese play night and day, till they have lost aU they are worth ;
and then they usually go and hang themselves. Such Is the pro
pensity of the Japanese for high play, that they were compelled
to make a law, that ' Whoever ventures his money at play, shaU
be put to death.' In the newly-discovered Islands of the Pacific
Ocean, they venture even their hatchets, which they hold as
invaluable acquisitions, on running matches. ' We saw a man,'
as Cook writes in his last voyage, ' beating his breast and tear
ing his hair. In the violence of rage, for having lost three hatchets
at one of these races, and which he had purchased with nearly
half his property.'
" The ancient nations were not less addicted to gaming. In
the same volume are collected nuraerous instances amongst the
ancient Persians, Grecians, and Romans ; the Goths, the Ger
mans, &c. To notice the modern ones were a melancholy task:
there is hardly a family In Europe who cannot record, from their
own domestic annals, the dreadful prevalence of this unfortunate
passion. Affection has felt the keenest lacerations, and genius
been irrecoverably lost, by a wanton sport, which doomed to de
struction the hopes of famlUes, and consumed the heart of the
gamester with corrosive agony."
. I could have given various passages from the works of travel-

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. 381
lers in every part of the world, to prove my position, that the vice
of gambling Is almost universal ; thus proving equally the curse of
civilized and barbarous society. That, however. Is unnecessary.
How it has thus corae to be universally prevalent, is a question
which I am incompetent to solve.
I believe there Is one feature in the gambling of London pecu
Uar to the English metropolis. I refer to the fact of the metro
politan gamblers making stated visits to particular towns in the
provinces, for the purpose of prosecuting their " professional"
pursuits. All the places at which horse-racing, or sporting
amusements of any kind, take place, are regularly frequented by
the hell-keepers of London. Epsom, Ascot, Southampton, and
other favourite resorts of the patrons of the turf, are honoured
during the racing days with a nuraber of portable heUs. The
proprietors of the London Pandemoniums establish these movable
branch hells In the course of a few hours. A marquee or tent
suffices for the^ external part of the erection ; and the bank,
the dice, the wheel, the balls, and sundry packs of cards — not
forgetting an ample supply of intoxicating liquors — are found all
that is necessary, In the shape of furniture, for the interior. I
went into one of these portable hells at the Southampton races
of last year; and during the time I reraained there, I saw a,
nuraber of gentlemen plundered of very considerable sums. The
heUItes reaped a rich harvest on that occasion. After living for
some days in Southampton in the greatest splendour. It is under
stood, they returned to town laden with the spoils of simple un
suspecting victims. At the Epsom races, too, of the present
year, a friend of mine, who was foolish enough to play — which is
almost synonymous with losing one's money, — states that gam-^
bling was carried on by London hellites to an extent of which
none but those who were present, and witnessed the transactions
with their own eyes, could have any idea. And yet, though
thus notoriously carried on under the immediate observation of
the magistrates and the police, no one Interfered to prevent her
Majesty's subjects from being robbed of their money.
¦With regard to the gaming-houses in London, I must say, in
conclusion, that the existence of so great a number of them, and
so openly, is a positive disgrace.to a civUIzed, not to say a chris
tian land. The legislature could easily put them down if it
pleased ; but, unfortunately for society, it does not choose to Inter
fere. The reason is pretty obvious. A large proportion of our
legislators in both Houses are themselves confirmed gamblers :
nothing, therefore, is to be expected from pariiament in the way
of suppressing the heUs which infest the metropolis.
What, then. Is to be done 2 Must the evU, in aU its awful
magnitude and crying enormity, be suffered to exist unmolested

382 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
and ungrappled with 2 Must the demon of the gambUng-table
in the metropolis be perraitted to have his thousands of victims
every year, without one effort being made to rescue a greater or
less number of them frora his grasp 2 I know of no way in which
anything effective can be done to stay the wheels of this de
structive Juggernaut — destructive at once of the fortunes and
raorals of its worshippers — unless it be by the wise and good
doing aU they can to expose the vice, so as that it may be seen
in all its native and horrible hideousness. For this purpose, it
were extremely desirable that some sort of society, consisting of
virtuous and Intelligent individuals, were formed, with the view
of bringing to light the odious deeds practised in the hells of
London ; and the awful results. In the shape of suicides, trials at
the Old Bailey, want, and wretchedness, which follow. I am
sure that if young raen were sufficiently aware of the nature of
these infamous dens before entering them, they would as soon
think of walking into the fire as of crossing their threshold. It
appears to rae, that a small cheap periodical, detailing individual
cases of ruin effected in the hells of the metropolis, and exhibit
ing the characters of the desperate and unprincipled fellows who
keep them, — would be productive of great good. Such a publi
cation would be sure to have a large sale ; for nothing could be
more Interesting — indeed, I may say, romantic — than the inci
dents with which the annals of metropolitan gambling abound.
I am sure there would be no want of materials for conducting
such a periodical for at least some years to come. Many a victim
of play would feel a melancholy pleasure In recording in It his
o\^-n misfortunes. It would be to him sorae alleviation of his
own regrets and mortification, to think that he had turned his
crimes, or folUes, If we must use the mildest term, into the
means of teaching virtue or wisdom to others. There are cer
tain weekly journals which now devote a certain portion of their
space in every successive nuraber to what they call an exposure
of the Hells of the metropolis ; and If, with all the drawbacks
which attach to the character of the publications in question,
men are found to relate, through them, the consequences of
their having frequented the gambUng-houses, how much raore
certainly might the conductors of any respectable periodical,
whose object really was to expose and suppress garabling, rely
on receiving an araple supply of authentic raaterials wherewith
to work on 2
Why such a society as that I have recoraraended should not
be forraed, I can see no reason whatever. We have not only
societies of every forra and class for the promotion of morality
and religion, but we have societies for the express purpose of
grappling with and putting down a variety of specific vices. We

GAMING-HOUSES AND GAMBLERS. §83
have a most exceUent society for putting an end to cruelty
to animals : we have sundry societies for the cure of intemper
ance, including societies which only have for their object to do
away with the consumption of ardent spirits, and societies of a
yet more radical character, namely, to, prohibit the use of wine,
or ale, or beer, or any other Uquor whatever having in it intoxi
cating qualities. We have a Universal Peace Society ; a society
whose object Is to grapple with and put down the vice of war,
and to promote peace and harmony among all mankind. We
have, in short, societies for the promotion of almost everything
that is holy, just, and good, and the correction and extinction of
everything that Is evil. And why not a Society for the Suppres
sion of Gambling 2 If the evils which result from this vice be as
numerous and great as we have stated — and they are far more
nuraerous, and of much greater magnitude — then surely a more
wise or commendable course could not be adopted by the friends of
humanity and virtue, than to form such a society at once. I am
convinced it would be most liberally and most generally support
ed. Many an unhappy victim of the soul-and-body-destroylng
vice of gambling, would be glad to co-operate in rescuing others
from the gulf into which he had flung his character and fortune.
Many a parent would rejoice in countenancing, by every means
in his power, the efforts which would be made by such a society
to prevent young men and others from falling headlong into the
pit prepared for them by the hellites. I do beUeve that the
effects of such a society would speedily be to create In the country
so strong an impression against the pernicious vice of gambUng,
that men would not only themselves feel ashamed that it should
be known that they had ever crossed the portals of a gaming
house, but that people in general — I mean In England —
would be ashamed to receive those persons Into society who were
notorious gamblers. I have a strong impression, that it is not
until garabling be regarded as a vice which disqualifies a raan
for admission into society, that it will be compelled to] hide
its diminished head. At present, among the higher classes — ¦
among a certain portion of them, at least — instead of being
asharaed of the practice of gambling, many persons are forward to
make a boast of their having been at play, even when they have
lost their money.
In the meantirae, and untU some great effort be made by a
body of individuals to bring pubUc opinion to bear against the
destructive vice of garabling, I would warn aU those, into whose
hands this work raay fall, to guard against Indulging to too
great an extent in what is called " a hand at cards" among
private friends. The vice is one of a most insidious kind : it
imperceptibly grows on those who once give way, in however

S84< SKETCHES IN LONDON.
slight a degree, to it. Its rise and progress to a confirmed
incurable passion can, in thousands of instances, be traced to
playing at cards for purposes of pure amuseraent in parties of
friends. They begin, as beforeremarked, by playingfor the raost tri
fling stakes, and not having the slightest wish to gain a sixpence ;
but it will Invariably be found, that the longer persons play even
at these garaes for amusement, and where the stakes are conse
quently trifling, the more does the disposition to proceed with
the game grow upon them ; and that, from an utter disregard,
or rather entire thoughtlessness about gain, they become morti
fied and depressed when they lose, and elated when tliey win.
It Is ten to one but such parties, provided they repeat time
after time playing for amusement, very soon become anxious
to play solely for money, without the slightest reference to amuse
ment. For a tirae they may confine their play to parties of pri
vate friends ; but sooner or later. If the disposition to gamble
for gain be not checked, they wUl undergo the natural transi
tion from the private party to the public Pandemonium. And
scarcely less certain Is the relinquishment of the cards for the
more speedy decision of the game by means of the dice-box.
Garablers are always impatient for the result. They cannot brook
delay or protraction. So much depends on the throw, that it Is
no wonder they wish the point of who is to be the gainer or loser
to be decided with the greatest practicable expedition. It is to the
circurastance of a passion for expeditious as well as deep play,
having becorae general, I raight almost say universal, among gam
blers, that we are to ascribe the fact of raost persons running
their course, or, in other words, squandering away their for
tunes, whether great or small, in so very short a period.

385

CHAPTER XII.
THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE.
Introduction of the new system — The old police — Number, salaries, &c., of the new
., police — ^Their. organization — Pensions for the aged and infirm of their number
recommended — Character of the new police — Difference between them and the old
police, in regard to their trustworthiness and efficiency — The City police — Its com-
¦ position, and the expense of its maintenance — Number of the City police — Con
templated amalgamation of the Metropolitan and City police — Diminution of crime
since the introduction of the new police — Their ingenuity in tracing out guilty
parties— Reference to the French system of police.
The sixth chapter of this work was devoted to the Police-
offices. The present will be exclusively occupied with the Con
stabulary Force, Including both the Metropolitan and City
Police. ¦ The constabulary system which now exists is only, as most of
my readers are aware, of recent origin. It was Introduced by
Sir Robert Peel In 1829. Previous to that time, the police of
the metropolis was in a most defective and inefficient state. It
was the subject of loud and general complaint. For upwards of
a quarter of a century the principles on which the old police force
were established, had been unqualifiedly condemned by every
one who had ever turned his attention to the subject. And no
wonder : for the number of felonies, and other offences of every
kind against property, which were weekly committed without the
parties being detected, or, at all events, without being brought
to justice, was alraost incredible. Nor could it have been other
wise ; for, in the first place, no attention was paid to the charac
ter of the persons chosen to the office of constables. They were
almost, without exception, Irishmen of the very worst class In
point of moral character; and, in addition to this, the smallness
of their wages— from 13s. 6d. to 17s. per week— necessarily render
ed them raore liable to be bribed, than if they had been better
paid. They were not onl^^ notoriously in the pay of the keepers
of flash-houses, and other places for the concoction of scheraes
for the commission of crime, but they might, in the majority of
cases, be bribed at the instance of any private gentleman who,
to use their own phraseology, " did the handsome," by " tipping"
them half a sovereign, however serious might be the charge on
D D

386 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
which he had been taken into custody. They were not. In
fact, inspired with the spirit of their office. They had no plea
sure in taking offenders into custody. They did not, as the new
police do, engage In the duties of thief-catching with gusto.
They preferred being suffered to crawl about as If there had
been no such aniraal as a thief In the metropolis, or to dose
away their time in a corafortable sleep, with their heads resting on
their arras, in their little portable boxes. Their cowardice, too,
as a body, was proverbial. Who does not reraeraber the ever
lasting " rows" which the young men of the metropolis used to
have with thera on their return horae from their convivial meet
ings. The " Charlies," as the old watch were usuaUy called,
were always considered legitimate subjects for a " sound drub
bing." The fact was, that between the timidity of some, and
the helplessness of others — for many of them were very feeble
and advanced In life — they often were assaiilted by half-drunken
youths with impunity. With the present policemen, "young
blades," as the phrase is, take special care not to Interfere. One
very rarely hears of any one attacking them. The reason is
obvious. They are a body of men of great physical vigour and
activity ; and in the great majority of cases, are men of spirit
and courage. A more feeble and inefficient set of men than the
old police could scarcely have been got together. But, in addi
tion to the mental and physical incompetency of the old constat
bulary force for the performance of the duties which word
entrusted to them, the want of intercourse with each other
greatly impaired their efficiency. They were chosen by the
various parishes, and all the police in a particular parish were
entirely under the control of the authorities of that parish. The
consequence was, that there was nothing like concert among
them. ResponsiblUty did not rest anywhere. The authorities
In one parish had their constant quarrels and bickerings with
the authorities of other parishes, which was the du?ect way to
prevent any general understanding among them In regard to the
best means of repressing crime.
The amount of crime committed in the metropolis under this
defective system of police was, as might have been expected, very
great. No man's property was safe ; and the difficulty which
was then experienced in bringing the offender to justice, had the
effect of preventing many of the parties robbed from engaging In
the pursuit. Thus the inefficiency of the poUce estabUshment
encouraged men, on the one hand, to coraralt crirae, while, on the
other, it deterred the parties against whom crimes were coraraitted,
from Incurring the trouble and expense of bringing the offenders
to justice. Crimes were committed under this system in open
day, and under circumstances which would otherwise have been

THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 887
deemed of a most daring nature. Every one not only complained
of the defective state of the police while In this condition ;
but various were the suggestions thrown out from time to time
in the public journals, with the view of remedying the evils.
But no sufficiently comprehensive scheme was thought of until,
in 1829, Sir Robert Peel brought forward his plan for a more
efficient system. The difference in the amount of crime now, and
what it was previous to the introduction of the new police force,
Is a point to which I shall return in an after part of the chapter.
When the new poUce were forraed In 1829, the total nuraber
was 3314. These consisted of 17 superintendants, 68 inspectors,
323 sergeants, and 2906 constables. Since then, the nuraber
has been gradually increasing. What It is at present, I have
not been able to learn ; but six months since It was, In round
numbers, 3500. These 3500 are entrusted with the protection
of the persons and property of about a million and a half of her
Majesty's subjects ; that being supposed to be the amount of the
metropolitan population, exclusive of the City. If this estimate
of the population of London outside the walls of the City be cor
rect. It would give us one poUoe constable to every 425 persons.
The new police are under the control of two conimissloners,
each having a salary of 800/. per year. The present commis
sioners are Colonel Rowan and Mr. Richard Mayne. The 17
superintendants have each an annual salary of 200/. The 68 in
spectors severally receive a yearly salary of lOO/. ; the 323 ser
geants Individually receive 58/. per annum for theit services;
while the pay of the comraon constables Is 19s. per week.
Where the party is single, a deduction of one shilling Is made
in the event of lodgings being found for hira., If raarried,
and lodgings are found for the party, a special agreement must
be made in each case. In addition to his weekly pay of 19s., thd
private constable is entitled to as much clothing aS Is equal to
two suits In the course of a year. The entire yearly expense of
the metropolitan police is 240^000/. Of this sura, 60,000/. is
paid out of the consoUdated fund, and the rest Is made up by a
rate on the parishioners.
The district embraced by the metropolitan police is formed
into seventeen divisions. The number of men and officers, and
the constitution of the force, is the same in each division ; but
" in laying out the division, attention has been paid to local and
other circurastances determining the number of tnen required,
the superficial extent varying in the several divisions, and conse-
quentiy that portion of each which is committed to the care of
each man." Each division is subdivided into eight sections, artd
each section into eight beats. " The Umits of each of these,"
says the form of Instruction Issued, " are cleariy defined : each Is
^ D D 2

388 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
numbered, and the number entered In a book kept for the pur
pose. Each division has an appropriate local name, and is also
designated by a letter of the alphabet. There Is In every divi
sion a station, or watchhouse, placed as conveniently for the
whole as may be, according to circumstances. From this point
all the duty of the division Is carried on." It Is also stipulated
in the " Instructions" given, that the raen belonging to each
section shall, as far as may be found practicable, lodge together
near to the place of their duty, in order to render thera speedily
available in case the services of such as are off duty should be
required for any special emergency. There is a distinct company
for each division ; and each company is divided into sixteen
parties, each party consisting of one sergeant and nine menf
Four sergeants' parties, being a fourth part of the corapany,
form one inspector's party. The whole company is under the
command of a superlntendant. Every police constable Is con
spicuously marked with the letter of a division, and also with a
number corresponding with his name In the books belonging to
the body. The object of this is, to enable the public at once to
identify the party in the event of there being any ground of com
plaint against the constables, whether by overdoing their duty,
or not doing It all. The letter of the alphabet marked on the
collar of each policeman's coat, denotes the particular district in
which he serves. A represents Whitehall; B, Westminster;
C, St. James's ; D, Marylebone ; E, Holborn ; F, Covent Gar
den ; G, Finsbury ; H, Whitechapel ; K, Stepney ; L, Lambeth ;
M, Southwark ; N, Islington ; P, Camberwell ; R, Greenwich ;
S, Hampstead ; T, Kensington ; and V, Wandsworth.
The course to be adopted when a person wishes to become. a
member of the metropolitan police force, is sufficiently easy and
simple. He has only to present a petition to the commissioners,
accompanied with a certificate as to good character from two
respectable householders in the parish in which he resides. In
quiry Is then raade relative to the parties signing the certificate ;
and It being found that they aro respectable men, whose testi
mony as to the applicant's character may be relied on, his name
is put on the Ust of eligible candidates for the situation whenever
a vacancy shaU occur. I need scarcely say that, before appoint
ment, the party Is examined by, a surgeon, to see that he suffers
under no physical defect which would prevent the efficient dis
charge of his duties. It Is also requisite that he should be under
thirty-five years of age, and that he be five feet eight Inches in
height. The average time which an applicant has to wait, after
his name has been Inserted In the list of persons eligible to the
office, Is about eight weeks. Should, however, a party deem it
an object to get appointed with the utmost practicable expedi-

THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 389
tion, he may succeed in the short space of ten or twelve days, by
getting some personal friend of either of the commissioners to
use his influence on' the applicant's behalf. The usual form of a
petition and certificates from rate-payers, and so forth, are dis
pensed with in such cases. All that is necessary on the part of
the appUcant is, that he be able-bodied, the proper height, and
not beyond his thirty-fifth year.
Nothing could be more complete 'than the organization of the
metropolitan police. Each party or company is divided Into
fours ; the first four being on duty for a given time, and the
other four coming to their relief, just as in the case of soldiers,
whenever their allotted period has expired. It is the duty of
the sergeant to see that this arrangement is strictly attended
to, and also that the parties take the night and day watches
alternately. Two of the inspectors are always on duty at once.
One of them examines Into the state of matters throughout the
division ; for which purpose he is constantly going about among
the men : the other inspector Is stationed at the watchhouse to
receive : charges, complaints, and all applications for assistance.
The various sergeants throughout the division regularly report to
the inspectors the existing state of affairs within their respective
districts. When the men are relieved, they raust all asserable at
a particular spot, just as when about to go on duty, in order that
the sergeant may see that they. are all sober, and as correctly
dressed as when he marched thera to the scene of their duties.
It is thus irapossible that any dereliction of duty or improper
conduct can take place in the case of any of the raen, without
Its being iraraediately brought under the notice of, the superln
tendant ; and through him, where the case may be' such as to
require It, under the notice of^ the. commissioners. The latter
gentlemen may dismiss any of their raen at a moment's notice,
and without assigning any reason for such dismissal. It is from
time to time impressed on the mind of each police constable, that
he must make hiraself perfectly acquainted with all the parts of
the streets, courts, thoroughfares, outhouses, &c., of the section
of the metropolis constituting his beat. He is also expected^a
thing which may at first sight appear impossible — " to possess
such a knowledge of the Inhabitants of each house as wiU enable
him to recognise their persons." He is further expected to see
every part of his beat once in ten, or at least fifteen minutes,
unless In such cases as It may be deemed necessary to reraain in
a particular place for a longer period, to watch the conduct of
sorae suspected person. A printed copy of Instructions as to
how he shaU act in alraost every conceivable case, is given to the
pohce constable on his appointraent to the office; so that if he
either neglect or exceed his duty, the fault— with a very few

390 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
exceptions. In which there may exist doubts as to the course he
should adopt^s sure to rest with himself.
The new police are a remarkably fine body of men. As only
nine years have elapsed since their formation, and as no one was
admitted who was not under thirty- five years of age, they are all
in the prime of life. Then their constant exercise has a natural
tendency to render them healthy : nor must It be forgotten, that
the circumstance of being five feet eight inches In height insures
their being at least the ordinary size. And their natural
advantages In these respects are Improved by their manner of
(Jresslng. They are not only always clean, but the form of their
clothes is well adapted to exhibit their persons to the best
advantage. It is to be regretted, for their own sakes, and Indirectly for the
sake of the public, that no provision, in the shape of pension, Is
made for those of the new police who may be disabled from the
performance of their duties while engaged in the pubhc service,
or when old age overtakes them. Many Instances have occurred
in which the most meritorious of their number have been so
severely assaulted — sometimes by drunken " gentlemen," at
others by sturdy beggars — when in the performance of their
duty, as to be unable afterwards either to perform the duties of
policemen, or to provide for theraselves or family by engaging In
any other occupation. Now it is surely manifest injustice to
allow men to be Incapacitated for all future work through per
sonal injuries received In consequence of a zealous and faithful
discharge of their duties, and yet deny them any provision for
their support. But apart frora their UablUty to receive personal
injuries of the serious nature alluded to, there is the certainty, if
their life is to be spared, of old age, with all its concomitant in
firmities. What a miserable prospect for these raen do advanced
years present ! By the time they attain a certain age, they will,
in the nature of things, be unfit for the continued discharge of
the duties of their office ; and just at that moraent they wiU
be turned adrift without a farthing in the world and with
out the physical abUIty to earn as ranch as would, procure
them the most scanty means of subsistence. How gaUing must
be the reflection to them, that they have spent their best days in
the pubUc service, and are now, like the aged greyhound in the
fable, unable any longer to catch the hare, — to have aU their
former meritorious conduct forgotten, and themselves dismissed !
Were their pay such as that with prudence and econoray they
might contrive to raake some provision for old age, the raatter
would be different ; but It is barely sufficient, in such a place as
London, to afford them the means of a homely subsistence. No
man, not prepared to deny himself the most common necessaries

THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 391.
of Ufe, could save a sixpence out of nineteen shillings per week.
The consequence of this insufficient pay, and no pension In the
case of accident or being overcome by old age, raust necessarily
be to diminish their zeal and enterprise in the public service, and
to cause them to avail themselves of any opportunity which pre
sents itself of getting a UveUhood In some other way. It is well
known that many of the most meritorious of their number have
quitted the service and engaged in other avocations. This
would not be the case, were some provision for the future made
for thera by means of a pension. It would not be necessary that
that pension should be large. Just as much — say six or seven
shillings a-week — as would be sufficient to protect them against
actual starvation, or the other horrible alternative, the work
house, would, I am sure, be satisfactory to them. Some time ago,
there was a report in the newspapers that something was in
contemplation by the Home Secretary, with the view of making
some permanent certain pension for the police, in case of acci
dents, or the approach of old age ; but 1 am not aware that
the report was founded in truth. If, however, some such
provision be not made for them, not only !wlll they be most
ungenerously and ungratefully treated by the country, but the
circumstance will speedily impair the efficiency and lessen the
respectability of the body ; and the public will consequently be
the sufferers, in the diminished security of person and property.
The new police were for some time very unpopular. There
was a natural tendency in the rainds of the people to look with
suspicion on a body with very enlarged powers, and which had
been constituted in a maimer different from any previous con
stabulary force which had been known in this country. These
suspicions were converted into positive apprehensions by the
clamorous opposition got up to the new police by one or two
journals circulating largely among the lower orders of the com
munity. Every movement they made was narrowly watched;
and every action they performed was made the subject of severe
criticism, — often of downright misrepresentation. The result
was, that the public prejudice, especially as regarded the work
ing classes in the metropolis, became so strong against the new
constabulary force, that the Impression began to gain ground
that the experiment — for it was admitted by Sir Robert Peel
and others to be in some respects nothing more than an experi-
luent  would not succeed, but that the body must be broken up,
and a recurrence to something like the old system take place.
The vast diminution, however, in the araount of crime committed
in town, and the great addition to the number of cases in which
the offenders were detected, taken into custody, and prosecuted
to conviction, soon became sufficiently apparent to remove

392 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
gradually the prejudices so strongly and generally entertained
against the new force, and to make it popular with the public.
The experience of nine years has confirmed the predictions of
good from it, made by the authors of the measure. Person and
property are how incomparably safer than they were under the
old system. The new police are now the objects of universal ap
probation, and most deservedly so. But this Is a point to which
I shall afterwards have occasion to make Incidental allusions
before I corae to the end of the chapter.
I have not access to an official account of the nuraber of per
sons taken into custody by the metropolitan police for any of the
last four or five years. In 1831, the number of persons they
took into custody was 72,824 ; of whom 45,907 were raales, and
26,917 were feraales. This, on an average, would give the
number of persons taken into custody every year by each police
man, as eighteen or twenty ; 3300 being about the number of
constables in the metropolitan police establishment at the period
in question. And how, it will be asked, were all the charges
brought against those 72,824 persons disposed of 2 In this way :
— 2955 of them were 'committed for trial ; 21,843 were sum
marily convicted ; 24,585 were discharged ; and 23,787, being
cases of drunkenness unaccompanied with any other crime, the
parties were dismissed by the superintendants when they became
sober. The Integrity and trustworthiness of the new police, considered
as a body, are above all praise. It Is surprising In how few
instances charges of corruption have been preferred, far less
proved, against any of their nuraber. One scarcely ever hears of
such a charge. There seems to be a spirit of rivalry as to who
shall be the raost honest — if the expression be a proper one — as
well as to who shall be the most active and enterprising among
the body. This is a feeling which ought to be cultivated by the
commissioners and the governraent. Soraebody, on one occasion,
made the remark to me, in conversing on this point, that so great
is their delight and such their honesty in the discharge of their
duties, that if they found their own fathers or brothers commit
ting a cognizable offence, they would not hesitate an instant In
^conveying them to the station-house. This is, no doubt, over-
colouring the thing ; still I am'convlnced that their faithfulness
to the trust reposed In them is so great, that the motive must be
exceedingly powerful indeed which could prevail on them to betray
that trust. One such instance, and only one, consists with my
own knowledge. A policeman, having undoubted evidence of a
lady uttering forged five-pound notes, knowing them to be forged,
determined on taking her into custody as soon as he should, have
such evidence as would prove conclusive in the eye of the law.

THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 393
That evidence he eventually obtained ; and accordingly proceed
ed, 'dressed In plain clothes*, to her house for the purpose of
taking her into custody in the quietest and most delicate manner
possible. On calling at her residence, which was in the West-end,
and had a handsome exterior, he was shown up to the drawing-room,
where he stood for a few seconds confounded with the dazzling
brilliancy of everything around him. The lady promptly made her
appearance, and he was about to intimate to her. In the politest
way possible, the purport of his visit. He was, however, so over
powered by her surpassing, beauty and dignified appearance, that
he was unable to utter a word ; and actually, solely from the ,
impression the lady's beauty and manner made upon him,
quitted the place without performing his duty, or even hinting to
the lady what the object of his visit had been; but contented
himself with getting up the most Ingenious pretext he could, for
having called, on her. She did not even know, for some. years
afterwards, that he belonged to the constabulary force. Fortu
nately for him, he had acted In this instance without consult
ing any of his colleagues or superiors ; and consequently he
could decline performing his duty without exposing himself to
any "serious personal consequences. This, in my opinion — and,
the fact may be relied on, — is one of the most striking conquests
which ever female beauty achieved. What a proof of; its
power ! Disarming a policeman and deterring him frora the
discharge of his duty in the way I have described, reminds me
of the resistless fascinations of poor Sheridan's manner. I for
get whether it be Byron or Moore, but one of them has related
an anecdote of his having, by his exceedingly winning manner
and address, staved off the legal proceedings which an attorney ;
had instituted against him to recover an araount of raoney which
he owed to a third party. This single fact spoke more for the
singularly fascinating manner of Sheridan, than a huge quarto
volume could have done.
1 Before the establishment of the new force, charges of corrup
tion were not only frequently preferred, but proved against the
pohce. The, Parliamentary Coramlttee, of 1828, after referring
to the great number of compromises which parties robbedt had

-* I shovdd also state that he was an inspector, and had a very gentlemanly
'TThese parties chiefly refer to bankers. To give some idea of the extent to which
bank robberies was then earned, it maybe interesting to quote some extracts from
the evidence of the ParUamentary Committee just mentioned. They say— " Two
banks that had been severally robbed of notes to the amount of 4000?: recovei-ed
them on payment of lOOOA each. In another case, 2200/. was restored out of ,^200/
stolen for 230/ or 240?. This bank having caUed in their old circulation, and issued
fresh notes immediately after the robbery, the difficulty thus occasioned was tie cause
of not much above 10/. percent, being demanded. In another case, Spamsh bonds,

394 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
made with the thieves, goes on to express its conviction at some
length — a conviction founded on the evidence, on oath, of various
witnesses — that some of the leading individuals connected with
the police establishments of that period, had been guilty of very
gerious corruption. In one case, eight hundred pounds more was
received by the police officer who negotiated for the recovery of
stolen property than the thieves asked or received. It Is, no
doubt, true, that in many Instances the police, on becoming the
instruments through whom compromises between the thieves and
the parties whose property was stolen should be effected, were
actuated by no dishonest motive ; or rather did not see anything
morally wrong In getting forty or fifty pounds to themselves for
the part they took in the negotiation, in cases where, otherwise,
no part of the property would have been recovered. Still the
thing was decidedly improper, and was attended with the worst
results. The comraittee in question, In reference to this, very
justly reraark, " That the frequency of these seeraingly blaraeless
transactions has led to the organization of a system which under
mines the security of all valuable property ; which gives police
officers a direct Interest that robberies to a large amount should
not be prevented ; and which has established a set of putters-up
and fences, with means of evading, if not defying, the arra of the
law, who are wealthy enough, if large rewards are offered for
the detection, to double thera for their impunity; and who would,
in one case, have given a thousand pounds to get rid of a single
witness. Sorae of these persons ostensibly carry on a trade : one
nominally worth 2000?., were given back on payment of 100/. A sum, not quite
amounting to 20,000?,, was, in one case, restored for 1000?., In another, where bills
had been stolen of 16,000?. or 17,000?. value, but which were not easily negotiable by
the thieves, restitution of 6000?. was offered for 300?. The bank, in this case, applied
to the Home Office for a free pardon for an informer, but declined advertising a
reward of 1000?., and giving a bond not to compound as the conditions of such grant.
In another case, 3000?. seems to have been restored for 19?. per cent. In 'another
case, where the robbery was to the amount of 7000?,, and the supposed robbers had
Ijegn apprehended, and remanded by the magistrates for examination, the prosecution
Was suddenly desisted from, and the property subsequently restored for a sum not
ascertained by the Committee. In the case of another bank, the sum stolen not being
less than 20,000?., is stated to have been bought of the thieves bya receiver for 200?. ;
and 2800?. taken of the legal owners as the price of restitution. The Committee does
not think it necessary to detail all the cases which have been disclosed to them ; but
though it is evident they have not been informed of anything like all the transactions
that must have occurred under so general a system, they have proof of more than six
teen banks having sought by these means to indemnify themselves for their losses : and
that property of various sorts, to the value of above 200,000?., has, -within the last few
years, been the subject of negotiation or compromise. They have found it difficult,
for many reasons, to ascertain, in several of the cases they have examined, the actual
payments made to the thieves or receivers; bnt they have proof of nearly 12,000?.
having been paid to them by bankers only, accompanied with a clearance from every
risk and perfect impunity to their crimes." What a state of things is here disclosed I
It is no wonder though the integrity of the police of that period was suspected.

THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 395
who had been tried formerly for robbing a coach, afterwards car
ried on business as a Smithfield drover, and died worth, it is
beUeved, 15,000/. Your Committee could not ascertain how
many of these persons there are at present ; but four of the prin
cipal have been pointed out. One was lately the farmer of one
of the greatest turnpike trusts In the metropolis. He was for
merly tried for receiving the contents of a stolen letter ; and as
a receiver of tolls, employed by him, was also tried for stealing
that very letter, being then a postman. It is not too much to
Infer that the possession of these turnpikes Is not unserviceable
for the purposes of depredation. Another has, it Is said, been a
surgeon In the army. Two others of the four have no trade, but
live like men of property ; and one of these, who appears to be
the chief of the whole set, Is well known on the turf, and Is
stated, on good grounds, to be worth 30,000/." Such a state of
things no longer exists. There are still receivers of stolen pro
perty, but none in this wholesale and open way. The vigilance
of the police has put an end to this system. Not only have the
present police largely contributed to the suppression of crime in
the metropolis by their own watchfulness, activity, and enter
prise, but they have indirectly contributed to the improved state
of things by the spirit of emulation which they have excited In
the leading men belonging to the City Police, and' the officers
attached to the various police office establishments in London.
The city of London has a police establishment of its own, over
which the Court of Aldermen and other functionaries, have an
entire and exclusive control. The constabulary force of the City
is divided into two classes ; a day and a night police. The day
police consists of one superlntendant, at a salary of 143/. per an
num, exclusive of 91. 18s. for clothes ; two inspectors, with a
yearly salary each of 87/. 2s,, and 71. 8s. 9f<?. for clothing ; one
inspector, at an annual salary of 83/. 4s., and 71. 8s. 9^d. for
<jlothing ; one sergeant (Smithfield), whose yearly salary is
66/, 6s., with 4/. 16s. 3ft/. for apparel; nine sergeants, at an
annual salary each of 58/. 10s., and 4/. 16s. 3fc/. for clothing;
seventeen constables (Smithfield), severally at yearly salaries of
57/. 4s., and 4/. 16s. Sft/. for clothing; three constables at
12/. 6s. each, with 4/. 16s. S^d. for wearing apparel ; and sixty
C(iiB@tables, each at 49/. 8s. yearly salary, with 4/. 16s. 3f«?. for
clothing. In addition to these, there are sixteen or eighteen con
stables, of different grades, but aU in sorae way or other are con
nected with the ordinary police estabUshment at the Mansion-
house and GuUdhaU. The entire yearly expense of maintaining
the day constabulary force of the City, including the salaries of
a clerk and a surgeon, and the pensions aUowed to eleven old
and infirm poUce servants of a former day, was, in 1835, 7,262/.
12s. 9%d. It is much about the same now.

396 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
The nightly pohce of the City, exclusive of 65 superintending
watchmen, 91 patroUing watchraen, and 47 beadles, nurabers
453. Each of these Is paid by the hour. Threepence per hour
is the sura aUowed ; which, for twelve hours per day, would give
one guinea per week each. The yearly salaries of the superin
tendants vary in different wards from 85/. down to 52/. The
wages of the' patroUing watchmen fluctuate between nine * shU
lings and twenty-five shUlings per week each ; while the annual
pay of the beadles varies from 50/. td 100/. The entire expense
of the nightly watch In the City is 34,924/. 18s. 6d. per annum.
The whole yearly expense of the police of the City is divided
Into three branches, thus :
Marshal and Marshalmen . . . £1675 6 0
Day Pohce  7262 12 9^
Nightly Watch  34,924 18 6
Making a total of  £43,862 17 3i

It will thus be seen that, considering the proportion in regard
to numbers which the City bears to the metropolitan police, the
latter are considerably less expensive than the former ; while
any one who knows anything of the comparative efficiency of the
two forces, must give the palm of superiority at once to the
metropolitan body. This superiority is easily accounted for. In
the choice of men for the metropolitan police, private Infiuence,
except In very rare cases, is not exercised ; and were it so, would
not be attended to : in the choice of men for the City police, a
good deal of this Influence is exercised with effect. Again, aU
the metropolitan policemen are young and active : in the case of
the City constabulary body, many of them are considerably ad
vanced in life, and consequently are not so full of enterprise and
spirit. But that, perhaps, which chiefly gives the superiority to
the metropolitan police is, the admirable manner in which they
are organized. It were difficult to conceive of anything more
perfect than is the organization of that body.
It Is understood that the Home Secretary Is anxious for a
junction or araalga.mation, of the metropolitan and City police
forces, but that the civic authorities are opposed to It. Their
opposition to any such proposal was to be expected. They have
always shown themselves to be exceedingly jealous of their own
peculiar privileges, and determined to preserve thera even in cases
where the public interest would have been manifestly and more
materially promoted by their reUnquishment. But if they wUl
* Of course, it will be understood, that where the salary is so low as this, there
is hardly any duty to be performed.

THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 397
not listen to any proposal for placing their constabulary body
under the control of the Home Secretary, as the metropolitan
police are, why do they not assimilate their own force as much
as possible. In regard to their organization, to the metropohtan
body? It must be admitted, that an Improvement has taken place of
late In the City constabulary force. They are far more effective
than they were before the metropolitan body was established ;
but It is not to be denied, that a great deal more raight yet be
done, even without the City authorities relinquishing their exclu
sive control over their constables. .
I have said that there has been a great diminution in the
amount of crime committed In London, since the institution of
the new police. Alraost all the extensive confederations which
then existed for the purpose of carrying on a regularly organized
system of robbery, and other crimes against property and
person, have been broken up, and scattered in all directions.
We no longer hear of acts of wholesale plunder, or of thieves
being leagued together, and carrying on an organized system of
war against property. In bands of twenties or thirties. What Is
now done, in the way of housebreaking or felony, Is usually done
by some adventurer on his own account, or by small partnerships
of two or three. Nor do we now hear of the ingenuity of former
thieves, in defeating the ends of justice ; an Ingenuity which often
gave an air of rich romance to the adventures of the parties.
The thieves of the present day, owing to the vigilance of the
new police, have but few and slender opportunities of displaying
any Ingenuity they possess ; in other words, their " affairs" are not
now attempted on that large and daring scale on which they
were formerly done. Ingenuity itself finds it Impossible to get
even skilful plans of robbery laid, far less executed. The achieve
ments of our present thieves are poor and spiritless, compared
with the triumphs of their predecessors ten or twelve years
since. What the state of crime in the metropolis then * was,
* A history of the state of crime in the metropolis, from the beginning of the last
century up to the present period, would form a very curious chapter. About a hun
dred years ago, the number of robbers in London was so great, and such was their
daring and desperate character, that persons were afraid, even in the middle of the
day, to cross Moorfields, then an open sort of common, or of going alone to any of
the unfrequented parts of the suburbs. The number of robberies then committed in
daylight, in the suburbs of London, was very great. At night they were, as might be
expected, still greater. Some curious accounts, relative to the state of crime in the
metropohs, in the early part of the last century, will be found in several of the works
respecting London, which appeared during the first half of that century. In the eariy
part of the second half of last century, there seems to have been no improvement, as
regards the number of robberies committed; though they appear to have been, in most
cases attended with less personal violence, and to have been committed under circum
stances of greater secreov. Henry Fielding, the celebrated novelist, and who was one

398 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
may be Infen-ed from the statements made by authorities of un
doubted veracity, and who had araple opportunities of forraing
an accurate opinion on the subject. The Parliaraentary Com
mittee which sat in 1828, to Inquire into the state of the pohce
in the metropohs, brought a great many facts to light, illustra
tive of the extent to wfich crime then prevailed in London. An
author, who had the very best opportunities of acquiring correct
information on the subject, says that the number of persons whd
then lived by thieving In the metropolis, could not be under
80,000 ; and that the amount of property annuaUy stolen must
have been close on 2,000,000/. Now, I will venture to say — and
of the tnagistrates of Middlesex at the time, wrote a small work, about the year 1 75.5,
on the subject of the prevalence of the crime of robbery in London at that time. It
was dedicated to Lord Hardwicke, then Lord Chancellor of Great Britain, and was
entitled "An Inquiry into the Causes of the Increase of Robberies, Sic." Mr, Field
ing Commences his work in these words : — " The great increase of robberies within
these few years, is an evil which, to me, appears to deserve some attention ; and the
rather, as it seems, though already become so flagrant, not yet to have arrived to that
height of which it is capable, and which it is likely to attain ; for diseases in the poli tical
as in the natural body seldom fail going on to their crisis, especially when nourished and
encouraged by faults in the constitution. In fact, I make no doubt, but that the streets
of this town, and the roads leading to it, will shortly be impassable, without the utmost
hazard ; nor are we threatened with seeing less dangerous gangs of rogues among us than
those which the Italians call the banditti," Again : — ' ' For my own part, I cannot help
regarding these depredations in a most serious light; nor can I help wondering that a
nation so jealous of her liberties, that from the slightest cause, and often from no cause
at all, we are always murmuring at our superiors, should tamely and quietly support the
invasion of her property by a few of the lowest and vilest among us. Doth not this situ
ation in reality level us with the most enslaved countries ? If I am to be assaulted , and
pillaged, and plundered ; if I can neither sleep in my own house, nor walk the streets,
nor travel in safety, is not my condition almost equally bad, whether a licensed or unli
censed rogue, a dragoon, or a robber, be the person who assaults and plunders me .'
The orJy difference which I can perceive is, that the latter evil appears to be more easy
to remove. If this be, as I clearly think it is, the case, surely there are few matters of
more general concern than to put an immediate end to these outrages, which are already
become so notorious, and which, as 1 have observed, seem to threaten us with such a
dangerous increase. What, indeed, may not the public apprehend, when they are
informed, as an unquestionable fact, that there is at this time a great gang of rogues
whose number faUs little short of a hundi-ed, who are incorporated in one body, have offi
cers and a treasury, and have reduced theft and robbery into a regular system. There
are of this society, men, who appear in all disguises, and mix in most companies.
Nor are they better versed in every art of cheating, thieving, and robbing, than they are
armed with every method of evading the law, if they should ever be discovered, and an
attempt made to bring them to justice. Then, if they fail in rescuing the prisoner, or
(which seldom happens) in bribing or deterring the prosecutor, they have, for their last
resource, some rotten members of the law to forge a defence for them, and a great num
ber of false witnesses ready to support it."
And when Colquhoun wrote his " Treatise on the Police of the Metropolis," which
was in the year 1800, the state of crime in London appears to have been of the most
frightful kind. He states that persons could not " travel on the highways, or approach
the capital in any direction after dark, without risk of being assaulted and robbed, and,
perhaps, wounded or murdered," The same author further observes, that " we cannot
lie down to rest in our habitations without the dread of a burglary being committed, our
property invaded, and our lives exposed to imminent danger, before the approach of
morning." "

THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 899
I speak from several years' personal observation of what has been
going on at the Old Bailey — that the amount of property yearly
stolen in London does not araount to 100,000/. ; and that the
number of regular thieves, or those who live by theft, Is under
5000. With respect to crimes against the person, they are now
comparatively rare. Every one, in fact, who lives in London,
feels a consciousness of security, both In regard to his person and
property, which was not felt before the establishment of the new
police. I am aware that the great diminution in the amount of
crimes in the metropohs, which has taken place within the last
eight or ten years, is not to be entirely ascribed to the establish
ment of the new police. . The progress of education, and other
accidental causes, have doubtless contributed in some degree to
the happy result ; but the principal instrument in the accomplish
ment of this salutary change, must be admitted by all who
have paid any attention to the subject, to be the metropolitan
constabulary force.
Many of the police are singularly ingenious in tracing out guilt,
and in discovering the guilty, when they have reason to suspect
the one, or have the smallest cue given them to the other.
Some years since, a curious instance of the dexterity with which
a suspicion, resting on very slender grounds, was converted into
positive proof, was given by a policeman who is either now dead,
or has quitted the service. The policeman In question, having
occasion one day to be in New Bond-street, was much struck
with the splendid appearance of a carriage he saw standing at a
jeweUer's door. Several other persons having been equally struck
with it, had assembled at the door of the tradesman to see the
person to whom it belonged. The policeman saw that that per
son was a dashingly-dressed, most lady-Uke woman, seemingly about
forty years of age. He inquired of the by-standers who the lady
was, but no one present could furnish him with the desired inform
ation. While he was making his inquiries, he chanced to over
hear the proprietor of the shop say to her that the twenty pound-
note he held in his hand, and had received from her, was forged ;
adding, whUe returning it to her, that she could pay the ten shil
lings'- worth of articles she had purchased at any other time.
This circumstance, In conjunction with something pecuUar he
observed in the manner of the lady, awakened his suspicions,
and he determined to foUow her to the next place to which she
should direct the coachman to proceed. In prosecuting his re
solve, he engaged a hackney-coach, and foUowed her to a house
in Park-lane. Having remained there for some time, he ascer
tained that she was not likely to go out again a-shopping that
Jay. Next day, about the time at which ladies usually set out
on their shopping excursions, he to6k care to be in the neigh-

400 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
bourhood of the lady's house. The carriage presently came to
the door ; and the lady having made her appearance, and de
sired the coachman to drive to a particular shop in Ludgate-hiU,
sprang Into the vehicle, and drove off. As on the previous day,
the policeman hired a coach, and having leaped into it, desired
Jehu to drive with the greatest possible expedition to the same
place. He reached it before the lady, but did not enter the shop
until he saw her in the act of descending frora her carriage. He
asked a sight of the lowest priced articles In the shop, satisfied
that when a lady so splendidly dressed entered in the capacity of
a customer, the attentions of the shopmen would be withdrawn
from him to be lavished on the lady. The event turned out
exactly as he expected. He was forgotten, while there seemed to
be the greatest rivalry among the shopmen as to who should
show the lady the most marked attention. She raade purchases
to the amount of one pound ten shillings, and again tendered a
twenty-pound note in payment of them. The proprietor of the
premises, after narrowly scrutinizing the note, observed that there
were a great raany forged notes in circulation at that tirae, and
that the note In question had a very equivocal appearance. She
affirraed it was good with ranch energy, and with an air that
seeraed to indicate, that she was Indignant at the bare thought of
having a forged note In her possession. Afraid of offending one
who he thought might become a good customer, the shopkeeper,
though not without sorae raisglvings, took the note, and returned
the eighteen pounds ten shillings. The lady then bade him good
morning, and re-entering her carriage, desired her coachman to
drive to a particular shop in Cheapside. There she was followed
by the policeman ; and there he saw her purchase fifteen shillings'-
worth of trinkets, again tendering a twenty-pound note for pay
ment, and receiving the nineteen pounds five shiUings of change.
The policeman was now satisfied beyond all doubt, that as she
tendered a twenty-pound note by way of payment of the arti
cles she had purchased, while he knew her to have eighteen
pounds odd of loose raoney In her possession, she raust not only
be guilty of uttering forged notes, but that she was aware that
they were forged. He followed her In the sarae way to a third
shop, where he saw the same thing repeated, which, of course,
made hira yet more confident in the soundness of his opinions.
Still he wanted conclusive evidence to prove the charge.
He watched her movements for some time, and got access to the
most conclusive evidence. He then took her into custody. It
was discovered that she lived with a gang of male rogues
who forged the notes, and caused her to utter them, thinking
there was. In that way, less risk of being detected. Seeing the case
so clear against her, she committed suicide by taking laudanum.

THB METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 401
Another successful instance of the Ingenuity displayed by the
police In detecting crime, and securing the conviction of the
offenders, occurred In the spring of last year. Information had
been communicated to the police magistrates In London, that
the town and neighbourhood of Salisbury had been Inundated
with counterfeit silver of every denomination, frora crown pieces
down to sixpences ; but that all the efforts of the magisterial
authorities in that place had failed to obtain a clue to the
offenders. One of the cleverest of the inspectors of the London
police was consulted on the subject, and he at once undertook to
discover and bring the parties to justice. Having, from the
success of former exploits in the sarae way, every confidence in the
ingenuity and ability of the inspector, the raagistrates signified
their willingness to leave the matter wholly in the officer's hands.
The plan which the latter adopted In the execution of his enter
prise was one which would not have suggested Itself to ordinary
minds. He desired a person, in whom he could confide, to go
down Immediately to Salisbury, and in the disguise and charac
ter of a pedlar to visit all the lower class of public-houses In the
town and neighbourhood. He further Instructed him, in the
event of seeing In those houses suspicious characters, to treat
them with gin, or ale, or whatever else in the way of drink they
preferred, and to make himself as familiar as possible with them.
He was to cultivate their acquaintance with the greatest assi
duity ; to give them hints that he hiraself was prepared for any
desperate enterprise, in the way of robbery or otherwise, pro
vided he got any other parties to assist him ; and. In short, have
recourse to every possible expedient to get thera to raake such
disclosures to hira as would not only satisfy hiraself, or might
satisfy any other reasonable mind that they were the guilty par
ties, but as would constitute, or lead to, such evidence as the law
would admit. The pioneer of the police officer had been only two
days in Salisbury, when he carae in contact with two or three
persons whom he at once suspected to belong to the gang of
coiners of false money. At first they fought shy of him ; they
appeared decidedly averse to his acquaintanceship ; but in the
course of two or three days more, their prepossessions against
him wore off, and they entered into faraiUar conversation with
him. The result was the confirmation of his suspicions as to
what they were. The next point to which he directed his atten
tion was the ascertaining what their number was ; for] he knew
that In such cases they took care not to assemble altogether in
any particular place in pubUc, as that might lead to suspicion.
This secret he also soon wormed out of his newly-formed ac
quaintances. Havihg succeeded so far, he wrote, agreeably to
instructions, to the officer in London by whom he was eraployed.

402 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
His eraployer iraraediately proceeded to SaUsbury ; but " lay by,"
as the phrase is, for ten or twelve days, until his beard should
grow to such a length as, with other ingenious expedients, should
enable him to disguise himself sufficiently for the execution of his
plans. He at once conjectured — and In the conjecture he was
right— that the gang of coiners were frora London, and that, 'if
not disguised, he would be recognized before he should be able
to carry his scheraes into effect. His beard having grown to a
great length, and having for sorae days omitted to wash his face
or hands, and having also put on a ragged suit of clothes, he ven
tured into the public-houses which they frequented, got acquaint
ed with them through the "workman" he had sent to prepare
the way before him ; and in a few days was, with one and aU of
them, a regular " Hail fellow ! well met.l' '. He soon ascertained
that they were all to meet at a 'particular house, in a low
secluded part of the town, on a particular . night ; and to raake
assurance doubly sure that this meeting was f o take place for the
purpose of a new coinage, . he. proposed .treating them on the
night and hour they had fixed for their iheeting, in a. public-
house which he mentioned. They one' and^ all said the business
on which they were to meet that night was so urgent, that
It must be attended to; but . they, should be most happy to
have their glass with hirn any :otheiT evening he might appoint.
Thus assured beyond aU .doubt that ¦." an affali"" was to corae
off on the evening In question, hd got assistance from- the
magistrates of the place, ; and proceeded to the house in which
they were met. His anticipations were.; all realized: there was
the whole gaiigof them — nine or ten in riuraber-^busily employed
in the very act of coining various descriptions of raoney. Every
one of them was taken into custody, and all of them were con
victed at the next assizes, and visited with due punishment.
With the view of illustrating how quick the police are in dis
covering an offender when a crime has been committed, I raay
raention an anecdote which has been verbally coramunicated to
me. The anecdote will at the sarae tirae show the regular busi
ness-way In which they perforra the duties of their office. Some
years ago, a robbery of property to a considerable amount had
taken place in the City. Circumstances caused suspicions to fall
on a particular person well known for having been engaged In
similar enterprises before. He was taken into custody, and
brought before the raagistrates on the following day. A young
woraan, servant In the house in which the robbery had been com
mitted, and who had seen the thief go out of the door after com
mitting the robbery, was called before the magistrate to speak
to the question of identity. The prisoner being put to the bar,
she, without a raoment's hesitation, and In the most positive
manner, swore to his being the person. The prisoner veheraently

Coiij3ers detected.

THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 403
declared his Innocence, and begged the magistrate to remand him
for a single day, saying he would be able in that case to prove an
alibi. His request was complied with, and he was remanded till
the following day. In the interim, Forrester, the enterprising
officer of the Mansion-House, was served with a notice to appear
on behalf of the prisoner. On being placed next raorning in the
dock, he asked Forrester whether he did not see him at least
four miles distant from the place where the crime was coraraitted,
at the very time It was perpetrated. " I cannot tell," remarked
Forrester, in that cool and easy manner so characteristic of the
higher class of police officers ; "I oannot tell you in a raoment ;
but I will let you know In a few seconds," putting his hand into
his coat-pocket, and pulling therefrom a small meraorandum-
book*. He turned over a few leaves, and began reading, in an
under tone, as follows : — " Met Tom Swagg, and spoke to him
this evening, at half-past seven precisely, at the west-end of
Oxford-street. Monday, February 20, 1828." Then closing his
raemorandum-book, and raising his head, he turned to the pri
soner, and reraarked that he had seen hira at the particular hour
on the particular evening In question, at least four railes distant
from the place In which the^' robbery was committed. " Then, my
girl," said the magistrate, turning to the young woman who had
deposed to the Identity of the prisoner ; " then, my girl, you
must have been mistaken In your man."
_ " No, your worship ; I'm sure that's the one I seed," said the
girl, manifestly with the greatest confidence.
" Just look him closely in the face again," requested the
magistrate. The girl renewed her Inspection of the prisoner, but at a
distance of several yards, while the light in the office was not
particularly good.
" Just step a little nearer ; go up close to him," said the other
magistrate, who was on the bench.
The witness advanced to the place where he stood, and look
ed up eagerly, and with an air of sharpness, in his face. " Oh,
my G  ! " she suddenly exclaimed, raising both her hands, and
evincing very great excitement of manner ; " that's not hira ; I've
perjured rayself ! He was not pock-pitted ; this man is ; but I
never saw two men so like each other in my life."
" I'll bring the right person here in an hour," observed For
rester, addressing himself to the bench ; and he quitted the room
* In their memorandum-books the police note every meeting they have with, or sight
they get of, the most noted thieves, provided the place be some distance from where
they reside. This is found of great service in directing them to the proper quar
ters whenever any robbery is committed, and the guilty parties are not taken into
custody.

404 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
with the rapidity of lightning. In less than an hour, he returned
with another person, who was afterwards proved, on the clearest
and most conclusive evidence, to be the real deUnquent, and
who eventuaUy, indeed, confessed his guilt. It was the latter
observation of the girl, namely, that she never saw two raen so
like each other in her life as the prisoner and the thief, that fur
nished in this case the clue to the real culprit. The idea flashed
across Forrester's raind that a particular person raust be the cri
minal, as he bore a remarkable resemblance to the prisoner.
But ingenious as-are raany of our policemen in the expedients
to which they resort in discovering and capturing criminals, none
of them have, in this respect, approached to v Idocq, the cele
brated French policeman. Perhaps, the most ingenious and best
managed of his innumerable expedients, when bent on thief-
catching, was that which he adopted when he visited Madame
Noel, This lady, though moving in a respectable sphere In
Paris, not only had a son a notorious thief, but acted as a sort
of protectress to all the thieves who came in her way. Her
house was at all times open to thera; and to it they flew in
crowds, in the hour of peril, as to a place of refuge. Vidocq
having ascertained this, and feigned the name of Germain, a
noted thief, of whora he was sure she must have often heard,
though he chanced to know she had never seen him, disguised
hiraself in tattered clothes, and having purposely blistered his feet
by a chemical preparation that he might the more engage her
attention, proceeded to her house one evening. The remainder
of the adventure must be given in Vidocq's own words : —
" ' Ah ! my poor boy,' cried Mother Noel, ' one has no occasion to
ask where you come from ; I am sure you are famished .-' ' ' Oh ! yes ;
very hungry,' said I ; ' I have not taken any thing for four-and-tvventy
hours.' Immediately, and without waiting for any explanation, she left
the room, and returned with a plate of meat and a bottle of wine, which
she set down before me. I did not eat — I devoured — I choked myself
to get on faster; all disappeared, and between one mouthful and ano
ther I had not uttered a word. Madame Noel was enchanted with my
appetite ; when the table was cleared, she brought me a goutte. ' Ah,
mother ! ' said I, throwing myself on her neck, ' you restore me to life.
Noel did well to say you were good ! ' and I went on to tell her that I
left her son twenty-eight days ago, and to give her intelligence respect
ing all the convicts in whom she was interested. The details into which
I entered were so true and well known, that it was impossible for her
to have the least idea that I was an impostor.
" ' You have heard of me before now,' I continued. ' I have had
many hard rubs. My name is Germain, or Captain — you must have
heard my name.'
'• ' O yes, yes, my friend,' she said ; ' I used to hear of nothing but
you. O my God ! my son and his friends have talked enough of your

THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 405
misfortunes : welcome, welcome, my dear Captain. But, good heavens !
what a condition you are in ; you must not remain in this state. It
seems too that you are troubled with a villanous cattle that torments
you. I must get you a change of linen, and manage to clothe you more
decently.' ,
" I expressed ray gratitude to Mother Noel ; and when I thought I
might, without impropriety, I inquired what had become of Victor Des-
bois and his comrade Mongenet. ' Desbois and the drummer /' an
swered she. ' All, my dear ! don't speak of them ; that rascal Vidocq
has caused them so much trouble, since an officer called Joseph (Joseph
Longueville, formerly inspector of police,) met them twice in this
street, and gave information of their frequenting this quarter, that they
have heen obliged to leave, not to fall into his clutches.'
"' What!' said I, in a tone of disappointment, 'are they not in
Paris ?'
" ' Oh, they are not far off,' replied Mrs. Noel ; ' they have not lost
sight of the Mainmast. I see them now and then, and I hope it wiU
not be long before they pay me a visit. I think they will be delighted
to tind you here.'
" ' I am sure they will not be more happy than I shall be ; and if you
would only write a line to them, I am certain they would send for me
directly.' " ' If 1 knew where they were, I would go myself to find them for
you ; but I am not acquainted with their retreat, and the best thing we
can do is to wait patiently till they come,'
" In my character of new-comer, I excited all the soUcitude of Mo
ther Noel. ' Does Vidocq know you ; and his two bull-dogs, Levesque
and Compere ?'
" ' Alas ! yes ; they have already arrested me twice.'
" ' Then you must be on your guard. Vidocq assumes all kinds of
disguises to entrap unfortunates like you.'
"It required all my knowledge to maintain my position ; for Madame
Noel had every custom and peculiarity of the bagnes at her fingers'-
ends. She not only retained the names of all the robbers she had seen,
but was also acquainted with the most trifling circumstances of the lives
of most of the others ; and she recounted with eAthusiasm the history of
the most famous, especiaUy of her son, for whom her veneration was as
great as her affection. .
" ' This dear son,' said I ; ' you would be very glad to see him ?
" ' Oh, glad ! yes, indeed !' she ejaculated.
« ' WeU, then,' I said, ' you wiU enjoy that pleasure very soon.
Noel has arranged everything for an escape: he only waits a favourable
moment.' , „ , . , t_
" Madame Noel was delighted at the idea of embracing her son : she
actuallv shed tears of joy. I confess that I was much moved ; and at
one time I deliberated within myself, whether for the time I should not
nass over my duties of secret agent; but on reflecting on the crimes of
these people— bearing in mind, above all, the interests of society— I
remained firm and immovable in my resolution to pursue my enterprise
to the' end.

406 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
" In the course of conversation. Mother Noel asked me if I had any
affair in view (any project of robbery) ; and after having offered to pro
cure me one, if I had not, she put some questions, in order to learn
whether I was skilful in forging keys. I answered, that I was as dex
terous as Fossard. ' If this be so,' said she, ' I am easy ; you will soon
be set up again ; and as you are so adroit, I will go to a hardware-shop
and buy a key, whicli you can fit to my safety-lock and keep, so that
you may go out and come in whenever you please.'
" I expressed my gratitude for her goodness ; and as it was getting
late, I went to bed, ruminating on the means of extricating myself from
tliis hornets'-nest, without running the risk of assassination, if by chance
the rogues whom I was looking after should arrive before I had taken
my measures.
" I did not sleep at all, and got up the moment I heard Madame
Noel lighting the fire. She saw that I was an early riser, and told me
she would go and get me what I wanted. Soon after, she brought me
a key without web, some files, and a little vice, which I fixed at the foot
of the bed, and instantly set to work in presence of my hostess, who see
ing that I understood the business, complimented me on my dexterity.
That which she most admired was the expedition I used. In fact, in
less than four hours, I had finished a very workmanlike key. On try
ing it, it opened the door almost perfectly ; a touch or two of the file
made it a capital piece of work ; and, like the others, I could introduce
myself into the house at pleasure.
" I boarded with Madame Noel. After dinner, I told her that I was
anxious to take a turn in the dusk, in order to see if an affair I had had
in view was still feasible. She approved my idea, but recommended me
to take particular care. ' This scoundrel Vidocq,' observed she, ' is much
to be feared ; and if I were in your place, before trying anything, I would
prefer waiting till my feet were cured.' The assurance that I would
soon return quieted her fears. ' Well then, go/ said she; and I went
out limping."
The expedient, after all, notwithstanding the Ingenuity of Its
conception, and the remarkable skill displayed in its execution,
it Is right to say, was unsuccessful. Vidocq did not, on that
occasion, capture the " customers" of whom he was in pursuit.
Before concluding. It is but right to mention, that notwith
standing the efficiency of the metropolitan poUce, it is far inferior
in this respect to the pohce of France. For many years the sub
ject of police has been reduced in Paris Into what raay be called a
system, based on phUosophical principles. Colquhoun, in his
" Treatise on the Police of London," mentions an anecdote
which was verbally comraunicated to him by one of the then
English ambassadors at the court of France, relative to the sin
gular state of efficiency to which the police force of Paris had
then been brought. As the anecdote is short, and affords
an interesting specimen of the romance of real life, I shall
here transcribe it. It is thus related by Colquhoun:  "A

THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE. 407'
merchant, of high respectabiUty, in Bordeaux, had occasion to
visit Paris upon coraraerclal business, carrying with him blUs and
money to a very large amount.
" On his arrival at the gates of Paris, a genteel-looking man
opened the door of his carriage, and addressed him to this effect :
' Sir, I have been waiting for you some time ; according to ray
notes, you were to arrive at this hour ; and your person, your
carriage, and portraanteau, exactly answering the description I
hold In my hand, you wIU permit rae to have the honour of con
ducting you to Monsieur de Sartlne.'
" The gentleman, astonished and alarmed at this interruption,
and still more so at hearing the name of the lieutenant of the
police mentioned, demanded to know what Monsieur de Sartine
wanted with him ; adding, at the sarae tirae, that he never had
committed any offence against the laws, and that he could have
no right to interrupt or detain hira.
" The raessenger declared himself perfectly ignorant of the
cause of the detention ; stating, at the sarae tirae, that when he
had conducted him to Monsieur de Sartine, he should have exe
cuted his orders, which were merely ministerial.
" After sorae further explanations, the gentleraan permitted
the officer to conduct him accordingly. Monsieur de Sartine
received him with great politeness ; and after requesting him to
be seated, to his great astonishment, he described his portman
teau, and told him the exact sum In bUls and specie which he had
brought with him to Paris ; and where he was to lodge, his usual
time of going to bed, and a nuraber of other circurastances which
the gentleraan had conceived could be known only to hiraself.
Monsieur de Sartine having thus excited attention, put this ex
traordinary question to hira : — ' Sir, are you a raan of courage V
The gentleman, still more astonished at the singularity of such
an interrogatory, demanded the reason why he put such a strange
question ; adding, at the sarae time, that no one had ever doubt
ed his courage. Monsieur de Sartine replied, ' Sir, you are to be
robbed and raurdered this night ! If you are a man of courage,
you must go to your hotel, and retire to rest at the usual hour ;
but be careful that you do not fall asleep : neither will it be pro
per for you to look under the bed or into any of the closets which
are in your bed-chamber (which he accurately described) : you
must place your portmanteau in its usual situation, near your
bed, and discover no suspicion. Leave what remains to me. If,
however, you do not feel your courage sufficient to bear you out,
I will procure a person who shall personate you, and go to bed
in your stead.'
" The gentleraan being convinced, in the course of the conver
sation that Monsieur de Sartine's intelligence was accurate in

408 SKETCHES IN LONDON.
every particular, refused to be personated, and formed an
iramediate resolution literally to foUow the directions he had
received. He accordingly went to bed at his usual hour, which
was eleven o'clock. At half-past twelve (the time mentioned by
Monsieur de Sartine), the door of the bed-chamber burst open,
and three raen entered, with a dark-lantern, daggers, and pistols.
The gentleman, who, of course, was awake, perceived one of them
to be his own servant. They rifled his portraanteau undisturbed,
and settled the plan of putting him to death. The gentleman
hearing all this, and not knowing by what means he was to be
rescued, it raay naturally be supposed he was under great per
turbation of mind during such an awful Interval of suspense ;
when, at the raoment the villains were prepared to coraralt the
horrid deed, four police officers, acting under Monsieur de
Sartine's orders, who were concealed under the bed and In the
closet, rushed out, and seized the offenders with the property In
their possession, and in the act of preparing to coraralt murder.
" The consequence was, that the perpetration of the atrocious
deed was prevented, and sufficient evidence obtained to convict
the offenders. Monsieur de Sartine's inteUigence enabled hira to
prevent this horrid offence of robbery and murder ; which, but
for the accuracy of the system, would probably have been car
ried into execution."
This is a curious anecdote. The fact was, as stated by
Colquhoun, that the French system of police was then in its
best days. It had arrived at the greatest degree of perfection
ever reached by any constabulary system In the world.

THE END.

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