Hail! venerable pile! with awe I tread
The sacred mansion of th' illustrious dead!
Where rise, o'er forms now mould'ring into dust,
The “storied urn” and “animated West.”--
Beneath the fretted dome, aspiring high,
Here monarchs, heroes, poets, sages, lie!
“Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue,”
Here sleeps the bard with those whom erst he sung;
And all consigned to one impartial doom,
Lo! kings and subjects levelled in the tomb!
IN a perambulation westward, our friends shortly reached the precinct
of Westminster Abbey, or the collegiate Church of Saint Peter; the most
ancient religious structure in the metropolis.
Divested of fabulous narration, its history is briefly as follows. Its
name is obviously derived from its situation, in the west, and from its
original destination as the church of a monastery. It was founded by
Sebert, king of the East Saxons; was destroyed afterwards by the Danes;
was subsequently re-built by king Edgar in 958; the church was again
re-built by Edward the Confessor in 1065; and by Pope Nicholas II. it
was constituted a place of inauguration of the English Monarchs. Henry
III. re-built it from the ground, and Henry VII. added a magnificent
chapel at the east end of it. The monastery was surrendered by the
abbot and monks to Henry VIII. who first converted it into a college of
secular canons, and afterwards into a cathedral, of which the county of
Middlesex was the see. His successor, Edward VI. dissolved the see, and
restored the college, which was again converted by Mary into an abbey.
That institution was dissolved by Elizabeth in 1560; she founded the
present establishment, which is a college consisting of a dean, 12
secular canons, and 30 petty canons; to which is attached a school of
40 boys, denominated the Queen's or King's scholars, with a master and
usher; and also twelve alms-men, an organist, and choristers.
Its greatest length is 489 feet; the breadth of the west front 66 feet;
the length of the cross aisle 189 feet; and the height of the roof 92
feet; the west end is adorned with two towers, which were built by Sir
Christopher Wren. The nave and cross aisles are supported by two rows
of arches, of Sussex marble, one above the other, each of the pillars of
which is a union of one massy round pillar, and tour others of a similar
form, but slender. These aisles are lofty, and each of the small pillars
being extended from the base to the roof, they produce an idea at once
sublime and awful. Besides the cross aisle there are two side aisles,
which are lower than the nave; and, being in a just proportion, they
unite with the other parts of the edifice to produce a harmonious
effect. The choir, from which there is an ascent by several steps to
a magnificent altar-piece of white marble, is divided from the western
part of the great aisle by two iron gates, and is perhaps the most
beautiful choir in Europe: its roof was materially injured by fire,
occasioned by the carelessness of the plumbers who were repairing it
in 1803, but it has since been completely restored, at an expence of
upwards of £4000. In this choir is performed the coronation of the Kings
and Queens of England.
This succinct account will not prove unacceptable, we hope, to our
readers.
The attractive spot at the southern extremity of the cross aisle was
now entered by the two friends. “This,” said Dashall, “is called Poet's
Corner, and never could a place be named with more propriety.”
Tallyho cast an eye of intense observation on these sacred records
of departed excellence. Here he found the names of Chaucer, Spenser,
Shakespeare, Johnson, Milton, Dryden, Butler, Thomson, Gay, Goldsmith,
&c. There also, as though the spot were dedicated to genius of the
highest rank, are the tombs of Handel and Garrick. The Squire in his
admiration of the British Poets, now gave full scope to the ardency of
his feelings, and surrounded by the sculptured images of the bards of
former days, he seemed as if environed by a re-animated constellation of
genius, and wrapt in the delirium of its inspiritive influence.
~84~~ Westminster Abbey contains a great number of monuments of kings,
statesmen, heroes, poets, and persons distinguished by genius, learning,
and science; but many of these monuments can be regarded as little
better than so many disfigurements of the buildings. Some however are to
be spoken of with praise, and the best are the productions of Reubilliac
and Bacon.
The curiosities of Westminster Abbey consist chiefly of twelve chapels,
the principal of which were visited by Dashall and his cousin; but to
the chapel of Henry VII. their chief attention was directed. This chapel
is contiguous to the eastern extremity of the church, and opens into it:
it is dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and is one of the finest specimens
of Gothic antiquity in the world. On its site formerly stood a chapel
dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and also a tavern, distinguished by the
sign of the White Rose: Henry resolving to erect a superb mausoleum for
himself and his family, pulled down the old chapel and tavern, and
on the 11th of February in the year 1503, the first stone of the new
structure was laid by Abbot Islip, at the King's command. It cost
£14,000, an immense sum for that period, particularly considering
the rapacious temper of the king. The exterior of the chapel is
distinguished by the richness and variety of its form, occasioned
chiefly by 14 towers, elegantly proportioned to the body of the edifice,
and projecting in different angles from the outer-most wall: the inside
is approached by the area at the back of the chapels of Edward the
Confessor and Henry v. The floor of this chapel is elevated above that
of the area, and the ascent is by a flight of marble steps: the entrance
is ornamented with a handsome gothic portico of stone, within which
are three large gates of gilt brass, of curious open workmanship, every
pannel being enriched with a rose and a portcullis alternately. The
chapel consists of the nave and two small aisles: the centre is 99 feet
in length, 66 in breadth, and 54 in height, terminating at the east in a
curve, and having five deep recesses of a similar form: the entrance to
these recesses is by open arches, and they add greatly to the relief and
beauty of the building: it is not improbable that they were originally
so many smaller chapels, destined to various uses. The side aisles are
in a just proportion to the centre, with which they communicate by
four arches, turned on gothic pillars; each of them is relieved by four
recesses, a window, with minute and curious ~85~~divisions, running the
whole height of each recess. The upper part of the nave has four windows
on each side, and ten in the eastern extremity, five above and five
below. The whole of the roof of the chapel, including the side aisles
and the curve at the end, is of wrought stone, in the gothic style,
and of exquisite beauty. An altar-tomb erected by Henry, at the cost of
£1000, to receive his last remains, stands in the centre of the chapel.
It is of basaltic stone, ornamented and surrounded with a magnificent
railing of gilt brass. This monument was constructed by Peter
Torregiano, a Florentine artist, and possesses extraordinary merit. Six
devices in bas-relief, and four statues, all of gilt brass, adorn the
tomb.
In addition to these venerable antiquities, which all deserve to be
seen, a variety of figures in wax, and in cases with glazed doors, are
shewn as curiosities to the stranger; but they ought to be removed,
as disgraceful to the grandeur and solemnity of the other parts of the
scene, and as a satire on the national taste, which can scarcely
be excused, when such things are exhibited in a room for children's
amusement.
Every lover of the arts must lament that this beautiful relic of gothic
taste is falling rapidly to decay; notwithstanding, within the last
twenty-four years, the Dean and Chapter of Westminster have expended the
sum of £28,749 in general repairs of the abbey. Parliament, however, has
at last granted the requisite aid, and the sum of £20,000 has been voted
to commence the repairs, which are now going on. It has been estimated
that the necessary repairs of Henry the VIIth's chapel will cost about
£14,800 and the ornamental repairs about £10,400.
The prospect from the western tower of the abbey is more beautiful and
picturesque, though less extensive, than that from St. Paul's. The west
end of the town and its environs, the Banquetting-house at Whitehall,
St. James's park, the gardens of the Queen's palace, the extremity of
Piccadilly and Hyde-park, with the Serpentine River, and the distant
groves of Kensington Gardens, present a varied and magnificent view
towards the west. On the other hand, the bridges of Westminster,
Waterloo, and Blackfriars, with the broad expanse of the Thames, and
Somerset-house on its banks, and St. Paul's towering pile, together with
the light Gothic steeple of St. Dunstan's in the East, present a most
noble and ~86~~ interesting prospect. From this tower the exterior form
of St. Paul's, when the sun falls upon it, is distinctly seen, and here
its exquisite beauty will be more fully comprehended than in any part of
the city, for a sufficient area to take in the entire outline is not to
be found there.
This prolixity of description will not, we presume, be considered by our
readers, as a tedious digression from the main subject.--_Real Life
in London_ cannot be better elucidated, than by uniting incident with
appropriate anecdote, and amidst the perambulations of our respectable
associates, which led them to the ancient and interesting edifice of
Westminster Abbey, it necessarily followed that we should illustrate
the subject, by a brief, yet accurate and interesting account of the
antiquity, et cetera, of the object under consideration.
Having gratified their wishes by a cursory inspection of what their
guides were pleased to denominate “Curiosities,” our two heroes were
on the eve of departure from the Abbey, when Bob begged that the guide
would repeat the terms of admission to view these repositories of
mortality.
“The tombs,” said the conductor, “at the east end of the church, with
the chapel of Henry VIIth, the price of admission to view these, sir, is
six-pence; the models three-pence; the tombs at the northern part of
the cross aisle three-pence; and the west end and tower of the abbey
six-pence.”
Tallyho expressed his surprise that the house of God and the depository
of the dead, should be so shamefully assigned over to the influence of
Mammon, and a price of admission as into a place of public amusement,
exacted by those to whose mercenary government the ancient structure of
Westminster Abbey had devolved. “Was it thus, always,” asked he, “from
the time of Henry IIId?” To this enquiry, the guide replied merely by
a shrug of his shoulders, rather indicative of contempt than otherways,
and to a further question of “Who is the receiver general of these
exactions, and to what purpose are they applied?” he preserved a sullen
taciturnity.
From the south aisle of the abbey there are two entrances into the
cloisters, which are entire, and consist of four arched walks on the
sides of an open quadrangle. There are many monuments in these walks,
but four of them, beneath which are the remains of four of the abbots
~87~~of Westminster, at the east end of the south walk, are all which
merit particular attention.--
Amongst the ancient records deposited here, the two friends were
gratified with a sight of those of the Court of Star-chamber, and of the
original Domesday-book, which is still as legible as the first hour it
was written.
Against the south-west part of the west front of the abbey, is the north
front of the Jerusalem chamber, remarkable for being the place where
king Henry IV. breathed his last.{1}
North from the abbey stood the Sanctuary, the place of refuge allowed
in old times, to criminals of a certain description; and, on the south
side, was the eleemosynary or almonry, where the alms of the abbot were
distributed.--This place is remarkable for being the spot in which the
first printing-press ever used in England was set up; and here, in 1474,
Caxton printed the Game and Play of Chesse, the first book ever
printed in England.--A new Court House is now built on the site of the
sanctuary.
Having seen in the Abbey every curiosity of note, its two visitants
directed their course into Westminster Hall, the great national seat
of justice.--This together with the House of Lords, and the House of
Commons, are the remains of the palace of Westminster, built by Edward
the Confessor, the situation of which was close to the river Thames, and
the stairs leading from it still retain the name of palace stairs. The
hall itself is the largest room in Europe, except the theatre at Oxford,
unsupported by columns. It is 275 feet in length, 74 in breadth, and 90
in height, the roof being of oak, of curious gothic architecture. It
was originally used as a place of festivity, and Richard IId entertained
10,000 guests within its walls. In this hall Charles I.. was tried and
condemned; and at present it is occasionally fitted up for the trial of
peers or of any person impeached by the Commons.
Our heroes now relinquishing the contemplation of the olden times for
the enjoyment of the passing scenes of the modern, turned their steps
in the direction of Whitehall; passing through which, and facing the
Banquetting-House,{2} their observation was attracted to a gentleman on
1 See Shakespeare's Play of Henry IV. Part II.
2 In front of the Banquetting House, on a scaffold, Charles
I. was beheaded on the 30th of January, 1648;--His Majesty
passed from the Banquetting House to the scaffold through
one of the windows.
~88~~horseback, followed by a number of people, by whom he was
frequently and warmly cheered; and _en passant_ was recognized with
other popular feeling of regard and respect. Dashall stept forward to
reconnoitre, and ascertained that the favourite was no other than the
worthy representative of the borough of Southwark, Sir Robert Wilson,
Knt. lately deprived of his rank as a General, “for,” continued Dashall,
“nobody knows what, unless the enormous crime of paying his last tribute
of respect to the memory of an “injured Queen;” and endeavouring, in
the temperate language of remonstrance, to prevent the effusion of human
blood! His character however, is too firmly rooted to sustain injury
from the breath of slander; and the malignity of his enemies has
recoiled on themselves: thanks to a brave, just, and generous people,
who are ever prone to save whom persecution aims to destroy.”
Dashall seemed warm in defending the cause of this gallant officer, and
the Squire listened with correspondent satisfaction.
“The allied Sovereigns,” observed Dashall, “in General Sir Robert
Wilson, found all the essential requisites of a good soldier: of skill
to plan, and of valour to execute. They were chiefly indebted to his
judgment and intrepidity for the victory of Leipsic; to which ample
testimony was given by the Emperors of Russia and Austria; the latter of
whom, during the intensity and perils of the engagement, he extricated
from the imminent hazard of captivity. His services have not been of
less importance in the armies of his own country, as acknowledged by
the Commander in Chief, who has now rewarded him by recommending his
dismissal, at the instance, no doubt, of Ministers; anxious by this
procedure to annihilate his independent feelings, and render them more
subservient to the doctrine of non-resistance and of passive obedience
to the existing authorities!”{1}
1 This object is already defeated.--Amongst all classes Sir
Robert Wilson's dismissal has excited strong feelings of
reprobation. Certainly, whatsoever other name may be given
to the act, it cannot be called a just one, to degrade an
honourable man from his rank, and deprive him of the half
pay (which in a great measure accrued to him from purchase,)
without accusation, arbitrarily, and on secret and suborned
information of having; merited the inflicted contumely. But
futile has been the effort of malevolence; Sir Robert
Wilson's half pay was £460 per annum, and the subscriptions
in indemnification of his loss already exceed £10,000.
~89~~Pursuing their course along the Strand, and ruminating on the
alarming increase of juvenile depravity, Tallyho could not avoid
remarking on the numerous temptations held out to the vicious and
necessitous in this wide-spreading and wealthy metropolis--“For
instance,” making a full halt, with his friend, against the spacious and
unlatticed window of a jeweller's shop, Dashall admitted the truth of
his companion's observation. Here on promiscuous display were seen
most valuable articles of jewelry, stretching multitudinously from one
extremity to the other of the window, consisting of gold and silver
watches, elegant and richly wrought seals, musical snuff-boxes, diamond
rings, diamond pins, &c. embracing, in vast variety, a property of
immense value, divided from the street by “thin and undefended squares
of glass only; and that the lure might prove still more attractive, each
article marked at its price, some 25, some 50, 75, 100, and 200 guineas
each! A dash and a grab might secure to the depredator possession of
wealth; and while such temptations are held out, the surprise is, not
that so many street robberies are, but that a great many more are not
committed. The many thousands in London out of employment, and of these
perhaps the greatest number unhoused and famishing, would it be much to
be wondered at if some of these sons of misery, goaded onwards to crime
by the extremity of human suffering, were to attempt the possession of
spoil, so carelessly exposed, and apparently so easily obtainable?{1}
1 Lord Mansfield once presided as Judge, when an unfortunate
man was tried for stealing an article of jewellery from a
shop-window, exposed by its unguarded state to depredation,
and more encouraging than otherwise, the hope of success.--
It proved differently, and the prosecutor seeming determined
to proceed against the wretched man, even to capital
punishment, Lord Mansfield, indignant at the severity of the
owner of the trinket, and compassionating the state of
misery and destitution, under the influence of which the
poor prisoner at the bar, stimulated too by its careless
exposure, had committed the felony, desired the Jury to
value the trinket in question at ten pence.--The prosecutor
started up in surprise, and exclaimed, “Tenpence, my Lord!
why the very fashion of it cost me ten times the sum!” “That
may be,” returned his Lordship, “but we must not hang a man
for fashion's sake!”
~90~~“Here conies silly Tom and staggering Bob,” exclaimed a fellow, as
he approached towards our pedestrians. Tallyho had grasped more firmly
his oaken sprig, with the intention of trying the crankness of the
observer's pericranium, when Dashall perceived that the obnoxious remark
was directed to a simple looking old man, dejectedly leading a horse
“done up,” and apparently destined for the slaughter-house.
“Where now, Tommy,” continued the querist, “with thy decayed bit of
blood?”
“Aye, aye,” answered Tommy, despondingly, “even to the naggers,{1}--'tis
what we must all come to.”
1 A Naggerman is a wholesale horse-butcher! his business is
frequently so extensive as to enable him to employ a vast
many hands, and so lucrative as to ensure him a fortune in a
very few years; the carcases are sold to the dealers by whom
they are cut up, and sold in quarters to the retailers, and
purchased by the street venders; these latter form one of
the prominent itinerant avocations, and supply with food all
the dogs and cats of the metropolis!
“And so thy master has passed the doom of death against his old servant
Bob, on whose back he has been safely borne, in the chase, “many a time
and oft,” as the song says, “o'er hedges, gaps, ditches and gates;
and fleet of foot as thou wert,” patting the animal with feelings of
commiseration,” and often as thou hast replenished thy master's purse,
thou art now going to the slaughter-house!”
“Even so--the faithful servant, now no longer useful, is discarded.”
“And put to death!--Why man, thy master is a d----d unfeeling,
ungrateful scoundrel, else he would have turned this poor nag at large
on the green sward, to roam as he list in summer, with a warm stable in
winter, and have left him to die the death of nature.”
An assemblage of passengers had now collected round the doom'd horse
and his sympathizing friend, whose vehemence of expression had attracted
much attention. The feelings of his auditory were in full unison with
his own, and as the throng increased, with inquisitive curiosity, the
advocate in the cause of humanity repeated the following lines:
“And hast thou doom'd my death, sweet master, say,
And wilt thou kill thy servant, old and poor?
A little longer let me live, I pray;
A little longer hobble round thy door!”
~91~~The spectators were evidently affected. He next sung the stanza of
an old song, extemporaneously produced (with the exception of the first
two lines)
At last having labored, drudg'd early and late,
Bow'd down by degrees he draws on to his fate:
His blood must the Naggerman's sluicing knife spill;
His carcase the Naggerman's slaughter-house fill!
Now led to his doom, while with pity we view
Poor Bob, may mishap still his master pursue;
Who callously spurning humanity's bounds,
Now sells his old servant as food for the hounds.
The Squire having occasion to call at a banker's in Fleet Street, the
two friends entered at the moment when a countryman with a most rueful
expression of countenance, stood transfixed to the floor, like the
statue of Despair, incapable either of speech or motion. After an
absorption of mental faculty of several minutes duration, he burst out
into the incoherent exclamations of
“Murrian take un, zay I!--Icod, I'ze in a voine pickle! I ha brought my
pigs to market wi a vengeance! O luord! O luord! whoa would ha thought
en't?”
He then began exercising his feet by stamping each alternately on the
floor, with a violence that shook the room to its foundation; and
this vehement thunder he accompanied by correspondent energy of
gesticulation; distorting his visage, and casting about his arms with
the action of an infuriated maniac. The place was thrown into alarm, and
business was suspended. Dashall now addressing himself to the presumed
lunatic, begged him to compose himself, and endeavour briefly to state
what had happened, that if he had sustained an injury, redress might be
obtained.
After several fruitless attempts at narration, he at length told his
story; and that it may lose nothing of its originality, we shall give it
in the first person.
“I'ze cuom zur, frae Zumersetzshire to Lunnon, first time o' my loife,
by coach, where it putt en at a pleace called the two Gooses necks, and
zo having a cheque on this house for Fifty Pounds, and not knowing
the way, I axed a vera civil gentleman whom I met wi' hovering about
Inn-yard; and telling him my business, Pze go with you, zaid he,
vera kindly, and help thee to take care o! thy money, vor there be a
desperate set o' sharp fellows in Lunnon ready to take every advantage
of a stranger; ~92~~ and zoa we came along, and just avore we gotten
into house here, he said to I, zays he, I'ze take thy money and zee that
all's right, vor there be a vast many bad sovereigns about.--Well,
zur, zoa he did; and just as I wur looking about, it seems he had taen
himself off wi'the money, vor when I looked round he wur no where to be
zeen; and zoa zur, I have lost Fifty good Pounds to my sorrow. Who would
ha thought it!--I wish the murrian had ha hold on me avore I had come to
this wicked world o' Lunnon!”
Here the countryman concluded his narrative, exciting the amusement of
some and the sympathy of others of his auditory.--The banker dispatched
one of his clerks with the unlucky wight to one of the Public Offices,
for the purpose of describing the depredator, altho' with very small
chance of recovering the property.{1}
Eliminating on the folly of this credulous countryman, our perambulators
now proceeded down Fleet Street, where casting a look into Bolt
Court--“Here,” said Dashall, “lived and died the colossus of English
literature, Doctor Samuel Johnson,{2} a man whose like the world may
1 In all the Coach and Waggon yards in London there are
fellows loitering about with the view of plunder; they
frequently are taken by the unwary countryman, for domestics
of the Inn, and as such are entrusted with property with
which they immediately decamp, and by many other artful
manouvres secure their spoil.
2 The most trivial circumstance in the life of a great man,
carries with it a certain somewhat of importance, infinitely
more agreeable to the generality of readers than the long
details which history usually presents. Amongst the numerous
anecdotes of Doctor Johnson, perhaps the following is not
the least amusing.--When the Doctor first became acquainted
with David Mallet, they once went, with some other
gentlemen, to laugh away an hour at South-wark-fair. At one
of the booths where wild beasts were exhibited to the
wondering crowd, was a very large bear, which the showman
assured them was “cotched” in the undiscovered deserts of
the remotest Russia. The bear was muzzled, and might
therefore be approached with safety; but to all the company,
except Johnson, was very surly and ill tempered. Of the
philosopher he appeared extremely fond, rubbed against him,
and displayed every mark of awkward partiality, and ursine
kindness. “How is it, (said one of the company,) that; this
savage animal is so attached to Mr. Johnson?” From a very
natural cause, replied Mallet: “the bear is a Russian
philosopher, and he knows that Linnæus would have placed him
in the same class with the English moralist. They are two
barbarous animals of one species.”--Johnson disliked Mallet
for his tendency to infidelity, and this sarcasm turned his
dislike into downright hatred. He never spoke to him
afterwards, but has gibbeted him in his octavo dictionary,
under the article “Alias.”
~93~~perhaps never see again; yet with all his vast erudition he had
his prejudices and superstitions; he believed in apparitions, and he
despised all countries save his own.--The Scotch and Irish he affected
particularly to dislike.--In his poem of “London,” in imitation of
Juvenal, he says,--
For who unbrib'd would leave Hibernia's land,
Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand?--
There none are swept by sudden death away,
But all whom Hunger spares, with age decay!
But, with all his foibles, (and who is there without human infirmity?)
Doctor Samuel Johnson was the most highly talented writer of any age or
nation.”
Facing the Obelisk, “let us stroll down the market,” said Dashall,
“considered the cheapest in London.--Flesh, fish and fowl, fruits, roots
and vegetables, are here abundantly attainable, and at moderate prices.”
Amongst the various venders, our two observers passed on, unmolestedly,
excepting the annoyance and importunity of “What d'ye buy? what d'ye
buy, buy, buy?” from” barking butchers, who instinctively reiterated
the phrase as the casual passenger approached, like so many parrots,
unconscious of its import being unproductive in effect; for who would
be induced to purchase by the clamorous invitation universally in use by
these vociferous butchers of the metropolis?--“My fine fellow,” observed
Tallyho to one who annoyed him, “good wine, they say, needs no bush,
neither does good meat require a barker.”
“Bad luck to my mother's own daughter, and that is myself, sure,”
exclaimed a retail venderess of vegetables, to her opponent in trade,
“if I wouldn't for the value of a tester, or for the value of nothing at
all at all, give you freely just what you ask for my jewel.--Arrah now,
is it law that you want of me! Faith and troth then you shall have it,
_club-law_, when and where you plase, my darling!”
“Dirty end,” rejoined the other lady, “to the girl who fear* you!--Here
am I, Kate, of the Maclusky's of Ballymena, in the county of Antrim,
long life to it! and it would be a hard case, and a shameful one to
boot, if a well educated northern lass should suffer her own self to be
disgraced by a Munster-woman.”
~94~~ “The devil fly away with Ballymena, and the Macluskys along with
it!” retorted the other; “and is it Munster and heddication that you are
bothering about? Whillaloe graraachree! my sweet one! and did you begin
your larning in Ballymena, and come to finish it in Fleet-market? By
my conscience, Kate Maclusky, if you are not very much belied, you know
more than you ought to do.”
“And what would you 'sinuate by that?” demanded Kate;--“What do you
'sinuate by that, Ma'am?--I acknowledge that I'm both a whore and a
thief--what then? Bating that I defy you to say, black is the white of
my eye!”
Here Mrs. Maclusky with arms a-kimbo, and a visage strongly expressing
exasperation and defiance, advanced towards the Munster-woman.
“Let us step aside,” said Dashall, “hostilities are about to commence.”
He was right; a few more irritable preliminaries, and the heroines came
in contact, in due order of battle.
“Two to one on the Munster-woman.” “Done! Ulster for ever! go it
Kate!--handle your dawdles, my girl;--shiver her ivory;--darken her
skylights;--flatten her sneizer;--foul, foul,--ah you Munster b----ch!”
“Fair, fair;--arrah, now for the honor of Munster;--dig away;--mind your
hits;--rattle her bread basket;--set her claret-spout a-going;--stand
firm on your pegs;--what, down!”
Thus ended round the first; the amazons had, in the fray, reduced each
other from the waist upwards to nearly a state of nudity. On either side
the partisans were numerous, the combatants eager to renew the fight,
and the spectators, the majority of whom were of Irish distraction,
anxious for the result, when the officious interposition of official
authority, terminated the “tug of war,” and the honor of the two
provinces remained undecided.--
“Success to the land that gave Patrick his birth.” Tranquillity thus
restored, a new scene in the drama of Fleet-market attracted the
attention of the two visitants.
A rabbit pole-woman passing through the market, was accosted by a lady,
who enquiring the price of the Rabbits, purchased a couple, in front
of the shop of a similar exhibitant.--This was considered by the
rabbit-dealers of the market, a gross breach of privilege, more
particularly as the obnoxious female had presumed to undersell them,
even with a superior article. Not willing, however, from ~95~~prudential
reasons, to appear in avowed personal hostility against the object of
their vengeance, and that, too, a woman, who had inadvertently incurred
the displeasure of their high mightinesses, the subordinate agency of
boys was deputed for the purpose of wrecking summary retribution; and
the juvenile deputation quickly overthrew in the apparent wantonness of
mischief, the whole of the poor girl's day-property, and scrambling for
the spoil, disseminated themselves in different directions, leaving not
the vestige of a rabbit behind!
A torrent of tears, feelingly shewed the anguish of her mind. She was
ruined beyond hope of redemption; the rabbits she had every morning on
credit, she plied the streets in selling them, through many a wearisome
hour in the day, happy if next morning, having realized a very moderate
profit by her laborious vocation, she could settle accounts with the
wholesale dealer, and take a fresh cargo with which to commence another
day's adventure.--But now, wringing her hands in an agony of grief,
“It is all over with me!” she exclaimed,--” my means of subsistence is
gone,--my credit is lost,--and God's will be done,--I must go home and
starve!”{1}
1 It is scarcely credible that one salesman in Leadenhall
market, at the present time, sells on an average 14,000
rabbits weekly. He contracts with the coach masters for the
carriage, and pays them eleven pounds per thousand,
amounting, weekly, to £154. The way he disposes of them, is
by employing 150 travelling pole-men and women; in the
morning they are started upon credit, and the next day they
return, bringing back the skins, settle the accounts, and
then take a fresh cargo.
Ever prone to relieve distress, Dashall and Tallyho sympathized most
sincerely with this unfortunate girl; there was an indescribable
something of extreme interest about her, which was well calculated to
excite a feeling of generous commiseration.
Shall we now say the two philanthropists? for such they
proved themselves. Each then, in the same moment, expanded his purse,
and together more than compensated the delighted and astonished girl for
her loss, who, blessing her benefactors, went home rejoicing.
Gaining the extremity of the market, at the bottom of Skinner-street,
the two friends rounded the corner, and verged towards Ludgate-hill
by the Fleet Prison. Here a fresh claim, though of lesser magnitude,
obtruded itself on their benevolence. “Pity the poor debtors, having no
~96~~ allowance!” exclaimed an emaciated being, gazing with an eye
of wistful expectancy, through the thrice-grated window of a small
apartment on a level nearly with the street; “Pity the poor debtors;”
The supplicating tone of deep distress in which these words were uttered
spoke irresistibly to the heart, and the blessing of Heaven was once
more invoked on the donors.
“And this is the prison,” observed the Squire, “where a presumed scion
of the Royal branch, a few days ago surrendered to her bail, as a
prisoner for debt.”--“The same,” rejoined his Cousin, “and the Princess
is now most unroyally domiciled at a private-house within the rules of
the Fleet, on Ludgate-hill.--_Sic transit gloria mundi!_”
“Certainly,” said the Squire, “this London produces extraordinary
sights, and not less extraordinary occurrences;--but of all the
scenes of Real Life which has hitherto come within the scope of our
observation, the most singular is that of the presumed legitimate cousin
of the King of England, recently in a Spunging-house, and now confined
for a debt of a few hundred pounds to the rules of the Fleet.”{1}
1 Ci-divant Princess of Cumberland
To the Right Hon. Lord Sidmouth.
My Lord,'--When I reflect on the injuries I have received by
the refusal of your Lordship to forward my claims in a
proper way to his Majesty, I consider it as a duty that I
owe to my high descent, to enquire of your Lordship, why I
have been suffered to remain so long neglected and deprived
of the rights, which in common with other younger branches
of the Royal Family, I am entitled to? As soon as the demise
of my late Royal Uncle, his late Majesty, occurred, I
addressed your Lordship, for his present Majesty's gracious
knowledge. In my letters, repeatedly sent to your Lord-ship,
I assured you for the King's knowledge, that I had but one
anxious desire, which was to act in conformity to his
Majesty's Royal will and pleasure, after an audience had
been allowed to shew my papers. If, my Lord, I had been an
impostor, it was the duty of Ministers to have enquired into
my claims, and to have exposed them if unjust or illegal.
But, no! my Lord; every application was treated with cold
and apathetic contempt; and although all the writings of my
parent's marriage and my birth have been verified according
to law, at Judge Abbott's chambers, Sergeants' Inn,--at
Master Simeon's Office, Court of Chancery,--before Sir
Robert Baker and Barber Beaumont Esq.--and twelve affidavits
sworn and sent in to your Lordship, yet at this late moment
I find myself neglected and oppressed, and without one
guinea of support from the Government or Royal Family! My
dear late cousin, Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, supported and
protected me several years before his lamented death. His
Royal Highness saw the papers delivered to me by the Earl of
Warwick of my legitimacy, and there are at least a hundred
papers connected with my parent's affairs and my own; and
General Wetherall, Comptroller to his late Royal Highness,
looked over many such papers, at my residence in his Royal
Master's life-time. The excellent heart of the late Duke of
Kent was of a nature to decide, in all events of life
meeting his eye, with religion and moral justice. Thus has
he loved and cherished me, his cousin, and solemnly bound
himself to see me righted the moment that the death of his
late Majesty authorised my papers meeting the eye of the
nation.
My Lord,--You well know why my claims are neglected--a
mighty cause exists! But it is a duty that I owe to myself
and the English nation to give a narrative of facts as they
are, unless immediate justice is done me. I am Olive, the
only child of the late Duke of Cumberland, by Olivia, his
virtuous, injured wife; and very shortly the public shall
know the great and forbearing conduct of Dr. Wilmot. To him
at one period, the English were indebted for tranquillity;
it can be proved, my Lord. And although my health is similar
to the late injured Queen's (my first cousin,) from having
experienced every deprivation and persecution from
interested enemies, yet I religiously trust the time is not
remote, when truth will triumph over calumny and
oppression.--I have the honor to be, my Lord,
Your obedient servant,
Olive.
Ludgate-hill, Nov. 6th. 1821.
~97~~“Some Kings are not partial to female cousins; and the legitimacy
(said Dashall,) of this pretended Princess of Cumberland does not appear
sufficiently tangible to admit of recognition, otherwise, without doubt,
she would have been provided for!”
“Her case, however, wears not much the semblance of imposition,” said
the Squire. “The circumstances which she so minutely states, with
reference to living characters, strongly imply that her pretensions are
not ill-founded.”
They had now reached Ludgate-hill; a crowd was collected opposite
the residence of the Princess of Cumberland, when the captive heroine
condescended to shew herself at the window.--She is of matronly
appearance, and was well dressed.--The mobility received her with due
respect; the lady made her obeisance, and the assemblage retired, on
terms apparently of reciprocal satisfaction.--
Strolling onwards until they gained the centre of Blackfriars Bridge,
the two friends paused in admiration of the interesting scene before
them.
Amidst the spires and turrets of the metropolis, Saint Paul's, close
at hand, rose in the proud pre-eminence of stupendous grandeur, like a
mighty monarch surrounded ~98~~ by tributary kings, rendering him the
homage of vassalage.
--Emerging from the dense mass of buildings on the line from the Tower
to Westminster Abbey, appeared a continued succession of prominent
public edifices; on the river Thames the scene was diversified by
numerous wherries, gliding pleasurably on the rippling wave; some
shooting under the arches of the elegant Waterloo, and others under the
spacious span of the lofty iron bridge of Southwark,--while on either
side the river, Labour was on the alert, and the busy and ceaseless hum
of Industry resounded far and near.
'Twas low water, and the _mud-larks_ now intent on their several
vocations, engaged the eye of the Squire.--“What are those people
about?” he asked, “What are they in search of?”
“These are _mud-larks_,” answered his friend, “in search of what chance
may throw in their way; all's fish that comes to net! You have much
to learn yet of Real Life in London, and must prolong your stay
accordingly.--Willing to eat the bread of honesty, these poor people
are in the daily practice of frequenting the shores of the Thames, to
literally pick up a living. Nothing comes amiss; all that is portable,
however insignificant in value, goes into the general repository.
The mud-lark returns home, when his labours are ended, sorts the
indiscriminate heterogeneous “mass of matter,” and disposes of it as
well as he can.”{1}
1 How many hundreds and thousands, in a metropolis like that
of the British empire, obtain a subsistence, in a way of
which those of its inhabitants who are not compelled to such
an exercise of their ingenuity can have no idea! In the
midst of a crowded city, man is much more closely cut off
from all assistance on the part of his fellows, and is
obliged to trust entirely for the support of life to the
individual exertions of his strength, his talents, or his
ingenuity. Various and singular are the expedients practised
by numbers in the British capital. Among these the class of
Mud-larks is not the least extraordinary, that is people,
who, on the ebb of the tide re-pair to the river-side, in
quest of any article that the water may have left behind in
the mud. To this description of people belonged Peggy Jones,
the well known Mud-lark at Black Friars. She was a woman,
apparently about forty years of age, with red hair; the
particular object of whose researches was the coals which
accidentally fell from the sides of the lighters. Her
constant resort was the neighbourhood of Blackfriars, where
she was always to be seen, even before the tide was down,
wading into the water, nearly up to the middle, and scraping
together from the bottom, the coals which she felt with her
feet. Numbers of passengers who have passed by that quarter,
particularly over Blackfriars Bridge, have often stopped to
contemplate with astonishment, a female engaged in an
occupation apparently so painful and disagreeable. She
appeared dressed in very short ragged petticoats, without
shoes or stockings, and with a kind of apron made of some
strong substance, that folded like a bag all round her, in
which she collected whatever she was so fortunate as to
find. In these strange habiliments, and her legs encrusted
with mud, she traversed the streets of this metropolis.
Sometimes she was industrious enough to pick up three, and
at others even four loads a day; and as they consisted
entirely of what are termed round coals, she was never at a
loss for customers, whom she charged at the rate of eight-
pence a load. In the collection of her sable treasure, she
was frequently assisted by the coal-heavers, who, when she
happened to approach the lighters, would, as if
undesignedly, kick overboard a large coal, at the same time
bidding her, with apparent surliness, go about her business.
Peggy Jones was not exempt from a failing to which most
individuals of the lower orders are subject, namely,
inebriety. Her propensity to liquor was sometimes indulged
to such a degree, that she would tumble about the streets
with her load, to the no small amusement of mischievous
boys, and others, who, on such occasions, never failed to
collect around her. After concluding the labors of the day,
she retired to a wretched lodging in Chick Lane. This woman
carried on her extraordinary calling for many years, but
about the month of February, 1805, she suddenly disappeared
from her usual places of resort, and nobody can tell what is
become of her. A man who has the appearance of a coal-
heaver, has since stepped into her place, and adopted the
profession which she so long followed.
~99~~ “Thus it is that the Mud-lark earns a precarious and scanty
subsistence, and in many other instances in this metropolis, Ingenuity
and Perseverance overcome difficulties that in the country would prove
insurmountable.”
Retracing their steps to Ludgate-hill, the associates passed into the
Old Bailey, where the Squire seemed struck with surprise at the simple
bill of fare of an eating-house, not inscribed on paper and exhibited
against the window, but deeply engraven on brass, and conspicuously
fixed by the side of the door, expressed in four syllables only, “The
boil'd-beef house.”--“Compendious enough,” exclaimed his Cousin. “Multum
in parvo,” rejoined the Squire; and immediately walking in, they
were ushered into a snug room partly occupied by guests of apparent
respectability, each actively employed in the demolition of buttock or
flank with great seeming satisfaction. The two strangers intimating a
desire to follow so laudable an example, the waiter submissively put the
question, “Which would you please to have, gentlemen, buttock or flank,
or a plate of both?” That the quality of each might be ascertained,
plates of both were ordered, and presently brought in, piping hot, and
in the first style of culinary perfection.{1}
~100~~ It was amusing to observe the characteristic features of the
different guests.
The young man hurrying over his meal, and frequently casting a look on
the dial, indicated a tradesman's book-keeper, desirous of enjoying his
pipe and pint ere the allotted dinner hour expired, when he must return
to his desk.
Another, of meagre and cadaverous appearance, had his plate replenished,
thrice repeated, and each time dispatched the contents with astonishing
celerity. This man without doubt, was either a poet or a bookseller's
hack, who, probably had not for sometime enjoyed the novelty of a
dinner, and was thus making atonement to appetite accordingly.
One gentleman fashionably attired kept mincing his meat, and at long
intervals supplying masticates that seemed not at all alert in the
performance of their office.--His attention was given rather to the
company than to his plate, and was particularly directed to Dashall
and Tallyho, on whom it alternately settled with fixed and favourite
regard.--This very polite personage was assiduously eager by every
possible courtesy to ingratiate himself into the notice of our two
friends; but Dashall was a knowing fish, so the bait wouldn't take;
and the Squire happening to ejaculate the word Spunger, the stranger
prudently took the hint, and withdrew.{2}
1 Thirty years ago this house was noted for the excellent
quality of its boiled beef;--no other meat is ever drest
here,--Hobson's choice, or none! During that period it has
had several occupants, and each has retired with a very
considerable fortune. In the decided superiority of its
buttock and flank, the house still sustains its pristine
reputation.
2 These gentry are hardly to be distinguished from the
Hanger-on, except by being, if possible, more impudent; they
frequent all places of public resort, in order to pick up a
dinner or a bottle, and otherwise prey upon the credulity of
the unwary. Whenever they meet with a countryman, they
salute him with enquiring the time of day, or describing the
weather, and entertaining him with a story of little
consequence, till they have artfully wheedled you into an
invitation to dine or sup with you. They can tell you where
the best entertainment is to be met with; which is the best
comedian; can get you introduced to see such an actress; to
hear this sing or that spout; will provide you with the best
seat at the play-house, or keep a place for you in the front
row of the first gallery, should you prefer it to the pit;
can procure a ticket for the exhibition rooms for half
price, and explain every thing in the museum as well as the
librarians themselves.--If your inclination is for mischief,
he is the only man in the world to assist you; would you
break the lamps, or Mill the Charleys, he will stand by and
cry Bravo! till you are carried to the Watch-house, but will
not engage in the quarrel himself, acting only as a _corps
de reserve_. When you are taken, he will negotiate with the
constable of the night about your ransom, for which you must
pay smartly, other-wise be detained till Justice opens her
doors to descry and punish your enormities, according to the
nature of the crime committed; upon which the Spunger says,
that he foresaw and told you the consequences that would
happen if you persevered, but that you would not listen to
his advice.
~101~~ Having done satisfactory justice to the buttock and flank, and
further refreshed themselves with a draught of Whitbread's Entire;
our pedestrians, leaving the “Boil'd Beef House,” recommenced their
excursion by proceeding up the Old Bailey, when Dashall remarking on the
number of Eating Houses with which that street abounds, observed, that
it seemed a favorite seat of consolidation for the professors of the
culinary art, like Cloth-fair for Woollen-drapers, Paternoster-Row for
Booksellers, and Clerkenwell for Watch-makers, &c. “This,” said Dashall,
“is His Majesty's Gaol of Newgate, and from this door ascend the
numerous victims to the fatal scaffold, in immolation to the offended
laws of their country. Let us enter this temporary abode of crime
and wretchedness. It has been much meliorated by the humane and
indefatigable attentions of an excellent lady, Mrs. Elizabeth Fry, and
I am desirous of seeing the result of her philanthropic exertions.” The
gentlemanly appearance and demeanour of the two strangers facilitated
their admission, and they entered the prison preceded by one of the
turnkeys, who courteously had proffered his services in shewing the
place, and giving every required information.
Newgate, on the eastern side of the Old Bailey, has been rebuilt, its
walls or shell excepted, since it was destroyed by the rioters, in the
year 1780. A broad yard divides Newgate from the Sessions House, a very
handsome stone and brick building. Another edifice, where that lately
stood, commonly called Surgeon's Hall, has been erected; it is arched
underneath, and supported upon pillars, and is used as a place of
accommodation for witnesses and other persons, while waiting for the
trials during session time.
~102~~ This prison, until within these few years back, was a place of
confinement as well for debtors as felons, but by late arrangements,
and the erection of the new gaol in Whitecross-street, Newgate has now
become the receptacle of felons only.{1}
1 Newgate has been the scene of two remarkable events, which
frequently serve as eras of reckoning to some of the
inhabitants of Loudon; the first is, that of the memorable
riots in 1780, when this imposing edifice was attacked by a
furious mob in the evening of Monday the 5th of June, who by
breaking the windows, batter-ing the entrances of the cells
with sledge hammers and pickaxes, and climbing the walls
with ladders, found means to enter Mr. Akerman's house,
communicating with the prison, and eventually liberated
three hundred prisoners. The next of these events oc-curred
on the 23rd of February, 1807. This was when Haggarty and
Holloway were to suffer for the murder of Mr. Steele on
Houns-low Heath. The populace began to assemble so early as
five o'clock, and to accumulate until eight. (It is supposed
that the concourse of people was greater than at the
execution of Governor Wall.) At eight o'clock the prisoners
ascended the scaffold. Im-mediately after they were launched
off, a most dreadful scene took place. The approaches to the
place were completely blocked up with carts, filled with
spectators, and when some of the crowd began to move away,
the pressure became dreadful. Some fell, and others falling
over them they were trampled to death. Terror took
possession of the crowd, they became desperate, and their
efforts only contributed to increase their danger. As soon
as this frightful confusion ceased, forty-two sufferers in
the scene were carried to St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Of
these, twenty-seven were dead; and though every effort was
made for their resuscitation, in not one instance was it
crowned with success. Of forty-two, the whole number, five
were women, and three of them were among the dead. Of the
remaining twenty-four bodies, five were men, and the rest
lads, from twelve to seventeen years of age. Among the dead
men was a pye-man, who was said to have fallen first, and
caused the dreadful catastrophe. A great number of the
pupils in attendance happened to be collected in St.
Bartholomew's Hospital at the time, and afforded prompt
assistance; and Dr. Powell, and a Surgeon, who were both
upon the spot, directed their humane exertions.
In the Old Bailey stood Sydney-house, known by the white front, and the
recess in which it is concealed; and here Jonathan Wild is said to have
lived the greatest part of his time. The north side of Newgate consists
of two court-yards, which are far too circumscribed for the numerous
inhabitants, this prison always exhibiting a multitudinous calendar of
human depravity. The men's court is only 49 feet 6 inches, by 31 feet 6,
and the women's of the same length, and about half the width. The whole
square is entirely surrounded by the wards, ~103~~ which rise three
stories above the pavement. The women's yard is separated from the
men's by a wall. In the south and south-east yards, felons for trial are
confined, and four other yards are similarly occupied. The yard assigned
to female felons is a wretched place, containing three wards, in which
are sometimes kept upwards of one hundred women. In the north-east
corner, next Newgate-street, is the condemned yard, in which are
kept persons under sentence of death. The yards and all the wards are
repeatedly lime-washed, and by these and other excellent regulations
of the Sheriffs of London, Newgate is changed from a loathsome prison,
dangerous to the health of the metropolis, to a state which may
be quoted as a model for all similar places. Water is plentiful,
ventilators are introduced into every window, and a general system of
cleanliness prevails throughout the whole prison. The morals of its
inmates have been improved, and their condition greatly meliorated
by Mrs. Elizabeth Fry, who like her predecessor in the exercise of
philanthropy, the celebrated Howard, delights in reducing the sum
of human misery. The feelings of the two visitors having been
amply gratified by demonstration of the happy result, from superior
management, accruing to the prisoners, they departed, not forgetting
the poor box, put up for general benefit, inviting the contributions of
charitable strangers.
Continuing their route, our perambulators proceeded down Skinner street
into Holborn, and traversed its extended line without any remarkable
occurrence, until they reached Broad Street, St. Giles's. “We are now,”
said Dashall, “in the Holy Land.”
“Long life to your honors,” exclaimed a ragged professor of mendicity:
“give a poor fellow the price of a _shake down_, and may you never be
without the comforts of an _upright_!”
“What mean you,” asked the Squire, “by a shake down and an upright?”
“Not the worse luck that you don't know that self same thing now; but
sure enough a shake-down is a two-penny layer of straw, and saving the
tatters on my back, not a covering at all at all; may the son of my
father never have a worse birth any how.”
“And an upright?”
~104~~ “Is it an upright your honor's spaking about?--fait and troth, as
to that same, may the devil fly away with Thady O'Flannagan, and that is
myself sure, if he knows much about it at all at all, seeing as how he
has not rested his old bones on such a thing, arrah, these many long
years; but sure enough it is four stumps, with boards across, a good
flock-bed, a blanket below and a sheet above, with a decent coverlet
pieced and patched in a hundred places to boot;--may you never want the
like of it, any how!”
“Thanks for your good wishes, my friend,” said Dashall; “and this for
the information which you have given us.”
“By the powers of good luck!” exclaimed the itinerant philosopher, “a
tirteener!--Now an Irishman's blessing upon you for two good-hearted
gentlemen; may you live all the days of your lives in peace and
prosperity both here and hereafter!”{1}
1 The many impoverished and deserted beings who daily wander
the streets, trusting for the vegetative existence of the
moment to eleemosynary occurrences, are incalculable.
Amongst these sons and daughters of misery, happy is the one
who, after partially satisfying the cravings of hunger,
possesses two-pence, the price of a shake down for the
night, in Rainbridge or Buckeridge-street, St. Giles's!--The
upright is a wretched semblance of a bed, at the rate of
three-pence or four-pence; but the lofty aspirant to genteel
accommodation, must put down a tester. In this way there are
frequently beds to the number of seventy in one house, made
up for nocturnal visitants!
Palestine in London, or the Holy Land, includes that portion of the
parish of St. Giles, Bloomsbury, inhabited by the lower Irish, with whom
it seems a favorite place of residence. The Squire having expressed to
his friend a desire of perambulating these boundaries, they proceeded,
by the way of George street, to explore the sanctified labyrinths, the
scenes of diurnal clamour, and hebdomadary conflict.
“Arrah now,” exclaimed a voice of maternity, in the person of a
legitimate daughter of Erin,--“Arrah now, you brat of the devil's own
begetting, be after bowling along to your fader: bad luck to him, and be
sure that you bring him home wid you, by the token that the murphies are
cracking, the salt-herrings scalding, and the apple-dumplings tumbling
about the pot,--d'ye mind me, you tief of the world, tell him that his
dinner waits upon him.”--“I'll be after doing that same, moder;”
and forth from the ground floor of a mean looking house in
Buckeridge-street, sprang an urchin without hat, shoe or stocking, and
the scanty tattered habiliment he wore, fluttering in ~105~~various
hues, like pennants in the wind, with such heedless velocity, urged no
doubt by the anticipated delicacies of the dinner-pot, that he came in
furious, unexpected, and irresistible contact with Squire Tallyho, who
borne forward by the shock, was precipitated into a stagnant collection
of mud and water, to the total disfigurement of his Boots, which had
that morning received the “matchlessly brilliant polish of Warren's
inestimable Jet blacking.” Not like many others in London, who will
run you down and leave you to your fate, the heir of his fader's
whimsicalities stopped short in the inauspicious set-out of his rapid
career; and “dirty end,” he exclaimed, “to the scavenger that didn't
think of the gentleman's boots!” And at the same time the mother of this
hopeful representative of the Mac Dermott family, made her appearance
with the genuine warmth of Irish hospitality; and inviting the two
strangers to walk in, consoled the bespattered Squire with the prospect
of speedy and effectual reparation, for “fait and troth, (said she) his
dinner is all of a heap in the pot there, praaties, salt-herrings, and
apple-dumplings,{1} and that is my husband Thady Mac Dermott, who is
neither more nor less than a bricklayer's laborer, is after amusing
himself and obliging his neighbours, at a small outlay, of a Sunday
morning, by claning their boots and shoes; so it is an ill wind that
blows nobody good, they say.” The accommodating hostess then producing
a bottle of blacking, with the requisite brushing implements, applied
herself assiduously to the operation of claning the Squire's boots,
and restored them, in a few minutes, to the splendour of their pristine
brilliancy.
Scarcely had this important operation been performed, when entered Thady
Mac Dermott and his son, the origin of the accident. “The devil burn
your trampers, you imp of the Mac Dermotts,” cried the father: “couldn't
you run against the gentleman without dirtying his boots? Never mind it
at all at all; I'll be after giving you a walloping for it, any how.”
1 The fastidious delicacy of English cookery, when
contrasted with that of Irish culinary preparation in the
Holy-land, is surprising. The wife of an Irish laborer who
is desirous of giving her husband a delectable meal, and of
various description, bodders not her brain with a diversity
of utensils; but from the same pot or pan will produce, as
if by enchantment, potatoes, (without which an Irishman
cannot possibly make a dinner,) salt-herrings, and apple-
dumplings; nor, does this extraordinary union of opposites
affect the appetite of those partaking the oglio.
~106~~ The first instrument of attack that comes to hand is an
Irishman's weapon.--Thady brandished in _terrorem_ a red hot poker, and
his son with the agility of a cat took sanctuary under the bed, but at
the intercession of the Squire was allowed to emerge with impunity, and
admitted to a participation of the salt-herrings and apple-dumplings.
The two friends declining an invitation to taste of these dainties,
now departed, Tallyho not forgetting the “outlay, and the ill-wind that
blows nobody good.”
Winding the mazes of the holy land, which may not unaptly be considered
a colony of Irish emigrants, our perambulators without further
occurrence worthy of notice, threaded their way through streets, lanes,
and alleys, until they emerged at the bottom of Tottenham-court Road,
close by the extensive brewery of Read and Co. Entering the premises,
they were gratified with a view of every thing interesting in the
establishment; and the Squire, to whom the spectacle was entirely new,
stood wrapt in wonder at the vast magnitude of its immense vats
and boilers, containing, as he observed, of the fluid of Sir John
Barleycorn, a sufficiency to inundate the whole neighbourhood! “Such a
circumstance,” said the attendant, “actually occurred a few years
ago, when the vat burst, and an ocean of beer rushed forth, with such
impetuous force as to bear down, in its resistless progress, the side of
a house, and fill, to the imminent hazard of drowning the astonished and
alarmed occupants, all the cellars in the vicinity.”{1}
1 Scarcely any thing contributes so much to characterize the
enterprising spirit of the present age, as the vast scale on
which many branches of manufacture are carried on in this
country. Every one has heard of the celebrated tun of
Heidelberg, but that monument of idle vanity is rivalled by
the vessels now employed in the breweries of this
metropolis.
Having seen all that is remarkable in this spacious concern, the two
associates turned into Oxford Street, where their attention was directed
to a gay female in an elegant equipage, pair in hand, dashing along, in
the manner of royal celerity.
“Observe that lady,” said Dashall, “She is the celebrated Mrs. C*r*y,
the favourite sultana of a certain Commander in Chief, and I shall give
you her history in a few words.”
~107~~ “Sutherland, a bombadier at Woolwich, obtained a commission, but
was less successful in securing the fidelity of his wife, who eloped
with an officer to Gibraltar; the produce of this intercourse was the
amoroso whom we observed _en passant_; in process of time she married
C*r*y, an officer in a veteran battalion, but shortly afterwards getting
tired of the connection, she adopted the laudable example set by her
respectable mamma, deserted her husband and came to England, under the
protection of a surgeon in the army, whose embraces she relinquished for
those of her present illustrious possessor. How long she may keep him in
captivation, is a surmise of rather equivocal import; however ardent
at present, his attachment, Mrs. C*r*y must be aware of the versatile
propensities of his R*y*l H*ghn*ss of Y**k, and sans doubt like her
predecessor, Mary Ann C***ke, will make the most of a favourable
opportunity.”
“London exhibits Real Life in all its forms and gradations, from the
hireling of royalty in a curricle, to the passive spouse of all the
town, on the pavement; from the splendour of affluence to the miseries
of penury; even Mendicity itself has its shades of variety, its success
being less frequently derived from the acuteness of distress than the
caprice of Nature, in having gifted the mendicant with some peculiar
eccentricity of person or character, to attract attention and sympathy.
He who is without these endowments passes unnoticed; but the diminutive
and deformed creature, seated on a child's cart, who with the help
of crutches shoves himself along the street, and whose whole height,
including his machine, does not exceed two feet; this minikin, _ecce
homo_, is gazed at by the casual passenger as a prodigy, and seldom
fails to benefit by the excitation of curiosity.”--
Approaching the tiny personage alluded to,--“Well, Mr. Andrew Whiston,”
said Dashall, “what important business brings you so far westward? I
thought that your migrations from Bankside had never extended beyond the
precincts of Temple-bar.”
“I wot weel, your honor, that I have strayed far frae hame, and to
little purpose,--better fortune has not lit on me this wearisome day,
than meeting wi' your honor, for God bless you many a time has the poor
dwarfish body tasted your bounty.”
During this colloquy, Tallyho gazed on the poor dwarfish body with
commiseration, intermixed with no small portion of surprise, at this
fresh display of general knowledge by his intelligent and amusing coz,
to whom all of interest and curiosity in the metropolis, animate and
inanimate, seemed perfectly familiar.
~108~~ “And whither away now, Master Whiston; do you mean to look in at
the rendezvous to night?”{1}
“Faith no, sir,--I got a fright there some few years since, and I shall
be very cautious of getting into the like disaster a second time.”
The conversation had so far proceeded, to the entertainment of
congregated passengers, when the auditory getting rather inconveniently
numerous, the two friends left each his mite of benevolence with
Maister Andrew Whiston, gaining home without further incident or
interruption.{2}
1 Recurring to the holy land, the rendezvous is a noted
house in St. Giles's, where, after the labors of the day,
the mendicant fraternity assemble, enjoy the comfort of a
good supper; amongst other items, not unfrequently an
alderman in chains, alias a roast turkey, garnished with
pork-sausages; elect their chairman, and spend the night as
jolly beggars ought to do, in mirth and revelry.
2 Andrew Whiston was born at Dundee in Scotland, February
10th, 1770, and has, during the last twenty-eight years,
resided in London. The person of this man is well known to
the perambulators of the metropolis. He forms altogether a
disgusting little figure, pushing himself about on a small
cart, which moves upon wheels, and wearing an apron to
conceal the deformity of his legs. His whole height,
including his vehicle, does not exceed two feet. To avoid
the penalties attached to begging and vagrancy, he carries a
few pens stuck between his coat and waistcoat, and declares
that the dealing in those articles is the only trade to
which he has been brought up. It is not improbable, that by
means of this, and other arts and mysteries which he
exercises, Andrew has been enabled to procure something more
than salt to his porridge. It cannot be supposed that his
person is calculated to excite the tender passion; it must
therefore be to the idea of his having accumulated wealth,
that we are to attribute the following circumstance. A short
time since, Andrew began to think seriously of taking unto
himself a wife, and having looked round among his female
acquaint-ance for a desirable partner, he fixed his choice
on a Mrs. Marshall, the widow of a waterman, who follows the
trade of a retail dealer in fish, at the corner of Spiller's
public-house, on that side of the Surrey Road which he
usually frequents. This fair lady, who might perhaps have
been dead as a roach to his addresses, if he had possessed
nothing but his deformed person to offer, proved leaping
alive, ho! at the thought of Andrew's little hoard, of which
she hoped to become mistress. Several presents attested the
seriousness of the lover's proposals, and his charmer was
all compliance to his wishes, till he had actually sent the
money to pay for publishing the banns at Christ Church, when
the ridicule of all her acquaintance urged her to abandon
the design of so preposterous a match.