by an artificial channel called the New River, which entered on the north
side of the metropolis. The water is naturally good and soft. The spots at
which it is raised from the Thames used to be within the bounds of the
metropolis, at no great distance from the mouths of common sewers; but it
is now obtained from parts of the river much higher up, and undergoes a
very extensive filtration, with which eight companies are concerned. The
returns of the registrar-general showed that the average daily supply of
water for all purposes to the London population, during August, 1870, was
127,649,728 gallons, of which it is estimated the supply for domestic
purposes amounted to about 90,000,000 gallons. The total number of
houses fed was 512,540. The metropolis draws its _coal_ supplies
principally from the neighbourhood of Newcastle, but largely also from
certain inland counties, the import from the latter being by railway.
Newcastle coal is preferred. It arrives in vessels devoted exclusively to
the trade; and so many and so excessive are the duties and profits
affecting the article, that a ton of coal, which can be purchased at
Newcastle for 6_s._ or 7_s._, costs, to a consumer in London, from 28_s._
to 33_s._ The quantity of coal brought to London annually much exceeds
6,000,000 tons, of which considerably more than 2,000,000 come by railway.
[Illustration: SMITHFIELD MARKET.]
As for the markets themselves, "Billingsgate," the great _depot_ for the
distribution of fish, is described in that section devoted to the Thames.
"Smithfield," is the great wholesale cattle market, while "Leadenhall"
Market, in the very heart of the business world of London, is headquarters
for poultry.
A detailed description of "Covent Garden Market," which deals with
vegetables, fruits, and flowers only, must here suffice.
Covent Garden Market occupies a site which is exceedingly central to the
metropolis. It was once the garden to the abbey and convent of
Westminster: hence the name _Convent_ or _Covent_. At the suppression of
the religious houses in Henry VIII.'s reign, it devolved to the Crown.
Edward VI. gave it to the Duke of Somerset; on his attainder it was
granted to the Earl of Bedford, and in the Russell family it has since
remained. From a design of Inigo Jones, who built the banqueting-room at
Whitehall, the York Water Gate, and other architectural glories of London,
it was intended to have surrounded it with a colonnade; but the north and
a part of the east sides only were completed. The fruit and vegetable
markets were rebuilt in 1829-30. The west side is occupied by the parish
church of St. Paul's, noticeable for its massive roof and portico. Butler,
author of "Hudibras," lies in its graveyard, without a stone to mark the
spot. In 1721, however, a cenotaph was erected in his honour in
Westminster Abbey. The election of members to serve in Parliament for the
city of Westminster was formerly held in front of this church, the
hustings for receiving the votes being temporary buildings. The south side
is occupied by a row of brick dwellings. Within this square thus enclosed
the finest fruit and vegetables from home and foreign growers are exposed
for sale, cabbages and carrots from Essex and Surrey, tomatoes and
asparagus from France and Spain, oranges from Seville and Jaffa, pines
from Singapore, and bananas from the West Indies, not forgetting the
humble but necessary potato from Jersey, Guernsey, or Brittany. A large
paved space surrounding the interior square is occupied by the
market-gardeners, who, as early as four or five in the morning, have
carted the produce of their grounds, and wait to dispose of it to dealers
in fruit and vegetables residing in different parts of London; any
remainder is sold to persons who have standings in the market. Within this
paved space rows of shops are conveniently arranged for the display of the
choicest fruits of the season: the productions of the forcing-house, and
the results of horticultural skill, appear in all their beauty. There are
also conservatories, in which every beauty of the flower-garden may be
obtained, from the rare exotic to the simplest native flower. The Floral
Hall, close to Covent Garden Opera House, has an entrance from the
northeast corner of the market, to which it is a sort of appendage, and to
the theatre. Balls, concerts, etc., are occasionally given here. The
Farringdon, Borough, Portman, Spitalfields, and other vegetable markets,
are small imitations of that at Covent Garden.
The greater part of the _corn_, meaning, in this case, _wheat_, as well as
maize, as Indian corn is known throughout Great Britain, used for bread
and other purposes in the metropolis, is sold by corn-factors at the Corn
Exchange, Mark Lane; but the corn itself is not taken to that place.
Enormous quantities of flour are also brought in, having been ground at
mills in the country and in foreign parts.
The _beer_ and _ale_ consumed in the metropolis is, of course, vast in
quantity, beyond comprehension to the layman. If one could obtain
admission to one of the long-standing establishments of Messrs. Barclay &
Perkins or Truman & Hanbury, whose names are more than familiar to all who
travel London streets, he would there see vessels and operations
astonishing for their magnitude--bins that are filled with 2,000 quarters
of malt every week; brewing-rooms nearly as large as Westminster Hall;
fermenting vessels holding 1,500 barrels each; a beer-tank large enough to
float an up-river steamer; vats containing 100,000 gallons each; and
60,000 casks.
PAST AND PRESENT
The American is keenly alive to all the natural and added beauties of
English life, and even more so of London. He does not like to have his
ideals dispelled, or to find that some shrine at which he would worship
has disappeared for ever, like some "solemn vision and bright silver
dream," as becomes a minstrel. For him are the traditions and
associations, the sights and sounds, which, as he justly says, have no
meaning or no existence for the "fashionable lounger" and the "casual
passenger." "The Barbican does not to every one summon the austere memory
of Milton; nor Holborn raise the melancholy shade of Chatterton; nor Tower
Hill arouse the gloomy ghost of Otway; nor Hampstead lure forth the sunny
figure of Steele and the passionate face of Keats; nor old Northumberland
Street suggest the burly presence of 'rare Ben Jonson;' nor opulent
Kensington revive the stately head of Addison; nor a certain window in
Wellington Street reveal in fancy's picture the rugged lineaments and
splendid eyes of Dickens." But to the true pilgrim London speaks like the
diapason of a great organ. "He stands amid achievements that are finished,
careers that are consummated, great deeds that are done, great memories
that are immortal; he views and comprehends the sum of all that is
possible to human thought, passion, and labour, and then--high over mighty
London, above the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral, piercing the clouds,
greeting the sun, drawing unto itself all the tremendous life of the great
city and all the meaning of its past and present--the golden cross of
Christ."
The regular old-fashioned coaches of London were from the first to third
quarters of the nineteenth century supplanted by the ark-like omnibus,
which even till to-day rumbles roughly through London streets. Most of the
places within twenty miles of the metropolis, on every side, were thus
supplied with the new means of transportation. The first omnibus was
started by Mr. Shillibeer, from Paddington to the Bank, July 4, 1829. From
this time to 28th June, 1870,--the number of such vehicles licensed in the
Metropolitan District was 1,218. Every omnibus and hackney-carriage within
the Metropolitan District and the City of London, and the liberties
thereof, has to take out a yearly license, in full force for one year,
unless revoked or suspended; and all such licenses are to be granted by
the Commissioners of Police, whose officers are constantly inspecting
these public vehicles. Generally speaking, each omnibus travels over the
same route, and exactly the same number of times, day after day, with the
exception of some few of the omnibuses which go longer journeys than the
rest, and run not quite so often in winter as in summer. Hence the former
class of omnibus comes to be associated with a particular route. It is
known to the passengers by its colour, the name of its owner, the name
given to the omnibus itself, or the places to and from which it runs,
according to circumstances. The greater portion are now the property of
the London General Omnibus Company. The designations given to the
omnibuses are generally given on the front in large letters.
At least so it is written in the guide-book. As a matter of fact, the
stranger will be fortunate if he can figure out their destination from the
mass of hoardings announcing the respective virtues of Venus Soap and
Nestlés' Milk. To the Londoner this is probably obvious, in which case the
virtues of this specific form of advertising might be expected to be
considerably curtailed.
One who was curious of inspecting contrasting elements might have done
worse than to take an outside "garden seat" on a Stratford and Bow
omnibus, at Oxford Circus, and riding--for sixpence all the way--_via_
Regent Street, Pall Mall, Trafalgar Square, Strand, Fleet Street, St.
Paul's, past the Mansion House and the Bank, Royal Exchange, Cornhill,
Leadenhall Street, Aldgate, Whitechapel Road, Mile End, to Stratford.
The convenient, if ungraceful, cab had completely superseded the old
pair-horse hackney-coaches in London in general use previous to 1850.
According to the returns of the day, there were 6,793 of the modern
single-horse hackney-coaches in the metropolis altogether, of two
different kinds, "four-wheelers" and "hansoms," which took their name from
the patentee. The "four-wheelers" are the more numerous; they have two
seats and two doors; they carry four persons, and are entirely enclosed.
The "hansoms" have seating capacity for but two, and, though convenient
and handy beyond any other wheeled thing until the coming of the
automobile, the gondola of London was undeniably dangerous to the
occupant, and ugly withal, two strongly mitigating features.
Of the great event of Dickens' day, which took place in London, none was
greater or more characteristic of the devotion of the British people to
the memory of a popular hero than the grand military funeral of the
Right Honourable Field Marshal Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington
(November, 1852). Certainly no military pageant of former times--save,
possibly, the second funeral of Napoleon--was so immeasurably of, and for,
the people. By this time most of the truly great of England's roll of fame
had succumbed, died, and were buried with more or less ostentation or
sincere display of emotion, but it remained for Wellington--a popular hero
of fifty years' standing--to outrival all others in the love of the people
for him and his works. He died at Walmer Castle on the Kent coast.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL DURING THE DUKE OF
WELLINGTON'S FUNERAL.]
His body lay there in state, at Chelsea Hospital and in St. Paul's
Cathedral, before it was finally laid to rest in the marble sarcophagus
which is seen to-day in the same edifice. With Nelson, nay, more than
Nelson, he shares the fervid admiration of the Briton for a great warrior.
Disraeli's eulogium in the House of Commons appears to have been the one
false note of sincerity in all the pæan that went forth, and even this
might perhaps have survived an explanation had Beaconsfield chosen to make
one. Certainly racial opposition to this great statesman had a great deal
to do with the cheap denunciation which was heaped upon his head because
he had made use of the words of another eulogist, a Frenchman, upon the
death of one of his own countrymen; "a second-rate French marshal," the
press had called him, one Marshal de St. Cyr. It was unfortunate that such
a forceful expression as this was given second-hand: _"A great general
must not only think, but think with the rapidity of lightning, to be able
to fulfil the highest duty of a minister of state, and to descend, if need
be, to the humble office of a commissary and a clerk; must be able, too,
to think with equal vigour, depth, and clearness, in the cabinet or amidst
the noise of bullets. This is the loftiest exercise and most complete
triumph of human faculties."_
All this, and much more, is absolutely authenticated as having been
uttered by M. Thiers twenty years before the occasion referred to. It is
perhaps true that the great Wellington deserved better than this
second-hand eulogy, and perhaps right that there should have been
resentment, but further comment thereon must be omitted here, save that
the incident is recorded as one of those events of an age which may well
be included when treating of their contemporary happenings.
No account of the London of any past era could ignore mention of those
great civic events, occurring on the 9th November in each year, and
locally known as "Lord Mayor's Day," being the occasion on which that
functionary enters into his term of office. As a pageant, it is to-day
somewhat out of date, and withal, tawdry, but as a memory of much
splendour in the past, it is supposedly continued as one of those
institutions which the Briton is wont to expect through tradition and
custom. Perhaps the following glowing account of one of these gorgeous
ceremonies, when the water pageant was still in vogue, written by an
unknown journalist, or "pressman," as he is rather enigmatically called in
London, in 1843, will serve to best describe the annually recurring event
of pride and glory to your real Cockney.
LORD MAYOR'S DAY
"'Oh! such a day
So renown'd and victorious,
Sure such a day was never seen--
City so gay,
And Cits so uproarious,
As tho' such sight had never been!
"'All hail! November--
Though no _hail_ to-day
(At least that we remember),
Hath pav'd the way
His Civic Majesty hath will'd to go,
And swore he'd _go_ it 'spite hail, rain, or snow!
He takes to _water_ for an _airing_,
Before perhaps he dines with Baring
Or sees the waiter, so alert,
Place the fav'rite _Patties-on_
The table near him--knave expert
To make the most of "what is on!"
By this we mean, what's most in season,
To say no more we have a reason!'
--_Anon._
"Since the first mayoralty procession, in the year 1215, probably there
have been few finer pageants than that of Thursday last, when the November
sun even gilded with his beams the somewhat tarnished splendour of the
City state.
"According to annual custom, the new lord mayor (Alderman Magnay) was
sworn into his office of Chief Magistrate of the City of London, at the
Guildhall.
"Being a member of the Stationers' Company, the master, wardens, and court
of assistants of that company proceeded to Mansion House, where they were
met by the new lord mayor and his sheriffs. After a sumptuous _déjeûner à
la fourchette_, the whole of the civic dignitaries proceeded to the
Guildhall.
"The next day the various officials assembled at the Guildhall, and, the
procession being formed, proceeded thence through King Street, Cateaton
Street, Moorgate Street, London Wall, Broad Street, Threadneedle Street,
Mansion House Street, Poultry, Cheapside, and Queen Street, to Southwark
Bridge, where his lordship embarked at the Floating Pier for Westminster.
This somewhat unusual arrangement arose from the new lord mayor being the
alderman of Vintry Ward, wherein the bridge is situated, and his lordship
being desirous that his constituents should witness the progress of the
civic procession. The embarkation was a picturesque affair; the lord
mayor's state barge, the watermen in their characteristic costume, and the
lord mayor and his party were, in civic phrase, 'taking water.'
"The novelty of the point of embarkation drew clustering crowds upon the
bridge and the adjoining river banks. There were the usual waterside
rejoicings, as the firing of guns, streaming flags, and hearty cheers; and
the water procession had all the festal gaiety with which we have been
wont to associate it in the past. The scene was very animating, the river
being thickly covered with boats of various descriptions, as well as with
no less than seven state barges, filled inside and outside with the livery
belonging to the City Companies, and all anxiously awaiting the word of
command to proceed onward to Westminster. The sun shone resplendently upon
the flags and banners studding the tops of the barges, and the wharfs
near the spot all exhibited similar emblems. As the new lord mayor entered
the City barge, and was recognized, the air was rent with the most
deafening shouts of applause, which his lordship gracefully acknowledged
by repeatedly bowing to the assembled thousands. The aquatic procession
now left the pier, the City barge being accompanied by the Stationers,
Fishmongers, Goldsmiths, Wax Chandlers, and Ironmongers' Companies, in
their respective state barges.
"On arrival at Westminster, the lord mayor and civic authorities having
landed, they walked in procession to the Court of Exchequer, where a large
number of ladies and gentlemen awaited their arrival. Having been
introduced to the chief baron by the recorder, who briefly stated the
qualifications of Alderman Magnay for his important office of chief
magistrate, and the learned baron having eloquently replied, the new lord
mayor invited his lordship to the inauguration dinner, and afterward
proceeded to the other courts, inviting the judge of each court to the
same.
"His lordship and the various officials then reëmbarked in the state barge
for Blackfriars Bridge, where the procession was re-formed and joined by
the ambassadors, her Majesty's ministers, the nobility, judges, members of
Parliament, and various other persons of distinction. The whole then
moved through Ludgate Hill, St. Paul's Churchyard, Cheapside, and down
King Street to the Guildhall, where the inaugural entertainment was to be
given.
[Illustration: LORD MAYOR'S PROCESSION, ASCENDING LUDGATE HILL.]
"The plate given herein shows the return of the procession, just as the
gorgeous state coach is about to wend its way up Ludgate Hill. The coach
is, doubtless, the most imposing feature of the modern show, and has thus
played its part for nearly fourscore years and ten. It is a piece of
cumbrous magnificence, better assorting with the leisurely progress of
other days than the notions of these progressive times. Yet it is a sight
which may have inspired many a City apprentice, and spurred him onward to
become an 'honourable of the land;' it is, moreover, the very type of this
'red-letter day' in the City; and, costly as it is, with its
disappearance, even portly aldermen will vanish into thin air.
"The foremost group shows the lord mayor seated in the coach, attended by
his chaplain, and the sword and mace-bearers, the former carrying--which
has to be held outside the coach, be it observed; its stature is too great
for it to find shelter inside--the pearl sword presented to the City by
Queen Elizabeth, upon opening the Royal Exchange; the latter supporting
the great gold mace given by Charles I. The coach is attended by the lord
mayor's beadles in their gold-laced cloaks, and carrying small maces.
"Onward are seen the other leading features of the procession; the crowd
is truly dense, for at this point is the great crush of the day; 'the
Hill' is thronged, and the City police require all their good temper to
'keep the line.' The scene is exciting, and the good-humoured crowd
presents many grotesque points for those who delight in studies of
character. Altogether, the scene is as joyous, if rather gaudy, picture of
a civic holiday as the times could present."
Perhaps the greatest topographical change in the London of Dickens' day
was the opening, on November 6, 1869, of the Holborn Viaduct. This
improvement was nothing short of the actual demolition and reconstruction
of a whole district, formerly either squalid, over-blocked, and
dilapidated in some parts, or oversteep and dangerous to traffic in
others. But a short time before that same Holborn Valley was one of the
most heartbreaking impediments to horse traffic in London, with a gradient
on one side of one in eighteen, while opposite it was one in twenty. Thus
everything on wheels, and every foot-passenger entering the City by the
Holborn route, had to descend twenty-six feet to the Valley of the Fleet,
and then ascend a like number to Newgate. The new Viaduct levelled all
this, and made the journey far easier than that by Ludgate Hill.
The greatest architectural work which took shape in London during Dickens'
day was the construction of the new Houses of Parliament.
Associated intimately with Dickens' first steps to success were the old
buildings, which were burned in 1834. Here he received his first regular
journalistic employment, as reporter for the _True Sun_, an event which
soon led to the acceptance of his writings elsewhere. Some discussion has
recently been rife in London concerning the name of the paper with which
Dickens had his first Parliamentary employment.
According to Forster, Dickens was in his twenty-third year when he became
a reporter on the _Morning Chronicle_. At this time the _Chronicle_ was
edited by John Black, who had conducted it ever since Perry's death, and
the office of the paper from June, 1834, until it died in 1862, was 332
Strand, opposite Somerset House, a building pulled down under the Strand
improvement scheme. It had then been for nearly forty years--ever since
the _Chronicle_ vacated it, in fact--the office of another newspaper, the
_Weekly Times and Echo_. It may be worth while to add that Dickens first
entered "The Gallery" at the age of nineteen, as reporter for the _True
Sun_, and that he afterward reported during two sessions for the _Mirror
of Parliament_ before he joined the staff of the _Morning Chronicle_.
The new Houses of Parliament form one of the grandest administrative piles
of any city in the world, built though, it is feared, of a stone too soon
likely to decay, and with a minuteness of Gothic ornament which is perhaps
somewhat out of keeping with a structure otherwise so massive.
The House of Peers is 97 feet long, 45 wide, and 45 high. It is so
profusely painted and gilt, and the windows are so darkened by deep-tinted
stained glass, that it is with difficulty that the details can be
observed. At the southern end is the gorgeously gilt and canopied throne;
near the centre is the woolsack, on which the lord chancellor sits; at the
end and sides are galleries for peeresses, reporters, and strangers; and
on the floor of the house are the cushioned benches for the peers. Two
frescoes by David Maclise--"The Spirit of Justice" and "The Spirit of
Chivalry"--are over the strangers' gallery, as well as a half-dozen others
by famous hands elsewhere. In niches between the windows and at the ends
are eighteen statues of barons who signed Magna Charta. The House of
Commons, 62 feet long, 45 broad, and 45 high, is much less elaborate
than the House of Peers. The Speaker's chair is at the north end, and
there are galleries along the sides and ends. In a gallery behind the
Speaker, the reporters for the newspapers sit. Over which is the ladies'
gallery, where the view is ungallantly obstructed by a grating. The
present ceiling is many feet below the original one, the room having been
to this extent spoiled because the former proportions were bad for
hearing.
[Illustration: _Plan of the Houses of Parliament, 1844_]